The Sociocultural Effects of Natural Disaster in a Peruvian Highland Community

THE SOCIOCULTURAL EFFECTS OF NATURAL DISASTER IN A PERUVIAN HIGHLAND COMMUNITY

STEPHEN WILLIAM DUDASIK, JR.

A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE J COUNCIL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA

1978 To Curry Slaymaker and Michael Rourke

my friends who touched the sun. PREFACE

Say, when you hear their piteous, half-formed cries, Or from their ashes see the smoke arise, Say, will you then eternal laws maintain, Which God to cruelties like these constrain? -Voltaire

I imagine that fieldwork takes its physical and emotional toll on most researchers who must operate in an alien environment with a poor diet and less than sanitary living conditions. But there is some other, undefinable dimension to working in an area devastated by disaster, some factor transcending culture shock and the routine concerns of personal health and hygiene. I became aware of this dimension in the Callejon de Huaylas where I conducted my field investigation for this dissertation. Dur- ing the four occasions I visited the valley after the earthquake of May 31, 1970, I could discern a certain quality of life, a certain sadness in the people generated not only by the irrevocable loss of loved ones and property, but also by the abrupt disappearance of a way of life that will never be recaptured.

Having lived in Huaraz prior to the earthquake, I have some small notion regarding how the victims feel, and

I too must share the sense of loss and the sadness. Even today, almost eight years after the catastrophic Sunday afternoon, I tend to recall the departmental capital of

Ancash as it was before: the quaintly narrow streets, the white-washed adobe buildings, the red-tiled roofs. Al- though the town was the social, economic and political center of the valley, the pace of life was rarely hectic, and there was always time for a leisurely stroll around the plaza or a few moments to chat with friends encountered along the way. For two years I lived in what has come to be known as Old Huaraz, and that chapter of my life was brought to an end -- as quickly as turning a page -- on a bright Sunday in May of 1970.

I am thankful that I was in California at the time of the earthquake. Had I been in Huaraz I feel that I would surely have perished as did so many of my friends and acquaintances. It took me several months to obtain a special discharge from the Air Force, but when I finally arrived in the Callejon de Huaylas in February of 1971 I was still unprepared to witness firsthand the magnitude of suffering and destruction. I had heard many reports and had read many accounts of the calamity, but no words or pictures could ever have conveyed the sorrow which almost visibly shrouded the valley. Huaraz, once a quiet sierra town, now lay in ruin, and here and there an unscathed structure stood alone in the sea of rubble which had en- gulfed at least a third of the population. For many days

and weeks following my arrival, I joyously greeted friends

IV who had somehow escaped death, wept for those I would never see again, and walked solemnly through the debris of peoples' homes and peoples' lives.

Each visit to the Callejon seems to confirm the loss of what once was. Modern earthquake-resistant buildings have replaced the adobe deathtraps, streets have been widened, and the pace of life has quickened immeasurably.

Planners seem determined to impose their concepts of efficiency and beauty, to build their dream city on the ruins, to sacrifice in the process the charm and grace of Old

Huaraz. And as the old gradually disappears, friends speak of those who died in the disaster and wistfully remember the tranquility of the days before the earthquake.

I did not enjoy the research which went into this dissertation, and I doubt that many readers will find my descriptions entertaining. Although I often deal with the abstract processes of the sociocultural system in disaster, those processes are ultimately reduced to the tragedies of the individuals with whom I spoke during the course of fieldwork. "Collective stress" tends to hide in its meaning the suffering of the persons who compose the collectivity, but the researcher must deal with personal calamity in the quest for valid generalization. It is not surprising, then, that I was frequently depressed by my task and at times lost the perspective necessary to avoid subjectivity in the process of data collection.

v Every phase of the research project represented by this dissertation is associated with blood, sweat and tears, and there would be no dissertation on the effects of disaster in

Marian had there not been many kind and helpful people who assisted and supported me in one way or another. No researcher can claim all credit for his or her work, and I personally can claim very little. Every datum here can be traced to some person besides myself, and even my analysis must to a large degree be credited to insightful individuals who clarified certain points, thereby clearing the path for another step towards completion of the project.

The people of Marian were invariably courteous, accept- ing me into their homes and lives and, with infinite patience, attempting to answer the seemingly endless series of questions

I posed. Sister Mary Anne Faucher was a font of information and gave invaluable assistance in the collection of data in the community. More importantly, she became a cherished friend. Another of my closest friends, Allyn Stearman, willingly undertook the unenviable task of reading each chapter, commenting on content and pointing out the grammatical and typographical errors. The support of Barbara Wubbel has been more important than she could possibly realize.

The community of Los Pinos was a refuge in Huaraz, and each of the Benedictine monks has become a brother to me.

Marco and Cecilia Campos and their children are my family,

and their friendship means more to me than I can express.

Curry Slaymaker and Mike Rourke were unique individuals and

vx .

will be remembered lovingly by all who knew them. I believe the National Park of Huascaran, which they were instrumental in creating, stands as a fitting monument to their love of natural beauty.

My committee guided my graduate career, and I shall strive to live up to their expectations. Paul Doughty, the chairman, gave both professional and personal support for these many years. Solon Kimball, Maxine Margolis, Anthony

Oliver-Smi th , and George Warheit have patiently and unself- ishly given of their valuable and profound knowledge.

There are many individuals who have assisted me in this project and many friends who have stood by me during a difficult period. Although their names do not appear, I have not nor will I forget them. To everyone directly and indirectly contributing to this research project I express my undying gratitude

Finally, I thank the National Science Foundation for the financial assistance which helped in part to defray the expenses of the project.

Vll TABLE OF CONTENTS

PREFACE iii

ABSTRACT x

CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION 1

Disaster-Related Literature 7 The Research Problems 16 Organization of the Dissertation 25

CHAPTER II THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVE, METHODS AND PROCEDURES 27

The Organic Domain of the Sociocultural System. . 29

The Social Domain of the Sociocultural System . . 39

The Cultural Domain of the Sociocultural System . 47 Collective Stress Situations 50

Procedures and Methodology . 58

CHAPTER III MARIAN IN SPACE AND TIME 67

The Physical Setting 68 The Historical Setting 85

CHAPTER IV MARIAN: THE CORE FEATURES OF THE COMMUNITY SYSTEM 102

The People of Marian 104 The Core of the Community System 112

Labor Arrangements in Agricultural Production . . 121 Structure of the Economic Components 13 4

CHAPTER V MARIAN: PERSISTENCE AND CHANGE IN THE COMMUNITY SYSTEM 14 6

Systemic Persistence 147 Controlled and Uncontrolled Systemic Change ... 179

CHAPTER VI THE DISASTER EVENT AND IMMEDIATE EMERGENCY PERIOD 204

The Disaster Event: May 31, 1970 205 Physical Dimensions of the Disaster Event .... 208 Individual Response to Disaster 212

viii Organized Response to Disaster 216 National Intervention 224 International Intervention 231 The Secondary Disaster 234 Concluding Observations Regarding the Initial Emergency Period 241

CHAPTER VII THE PERIOD OF RECOVERY 252

Differential Loss and Destruction in Huaraz. . . . 253

Disaster-Related Factors Contributing to Change. . 257 The Disaster Boom Economy 260 The Recovery Period in Marian 271

CPIAPTER VIII CONCLUDING REMARKS 284

Disaster in Marian 285 The Post-Impact Utopia 290 The Secondary Disaster 293 The Disaster Boom Economy 3 07

REFERENCES 316

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 328

IX Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate Council of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

THE SOCIOCULTURAL EFFECTS OF NATURAL DISASTER IN A PERUVIAN HIGHLAND COMMUNITY

Stephen William Dudasik, Jr.

June 1978

Chairman: Paul L. Doughty Major Department: Anthropology

Research was conducted in the farming community of

Marian, located in an Andean valley approximately 400 kilometers north of Lima, Peru. The major objectives of the research project were to determine the social and cultural consequences of the earthquake which struck north-central

Peru on May 31, 1970.

A principal focus of research was the hypothesis that

community oriented behavior would increase in the research

site as the result of feelings of shared tragedy. What has

been termed the "post-disaster utopia" did not emerge in the

highland community, however, and an important conclusion

based on field data was that no situation of collective stress

arose in Marian. The absence of a primary disaster has sig-

nificant implications for the allocation of emergency supplies

and services during disaster relief operations.

x A second research focus concerns the long-term effects of disaster and subsequent multinational relief activities in the impact zone. Data illuminate an important dimension of relief efforts which has not previously been systematically studied. The resources poured into the disaster-stricken area created a "disaster boom economy," and the phenomenon will have far-reaching effects on the region. Reconstruc- tion created employment opportunities for many unskilled and semiskilled persons who had relied almost exclusively upon agriculture for subsistence, and additional incomes have been

spent for numerous items, including luxury goods. According

to the records of more than thirty commercial establishments

in the departmental capital, Huaraz, business has increased many-fold since the earthquake and far exceeds the volume of

transactions characterizing the predisaster period.

Unfortunately, the extraordinary wealth in the Andean

valley in which Marian is located is ephemeral, and the re-

turn to predisaster normalcy is likely to be a stress period

brought about by frustrations derived from newly created

needs which will no longer be fulfilled by relief funds. The

situation in north-central Peru, therefore, deserves continued

study, for the disasters associated with the earthquake and

the largely ill-planned multinational assistance, programs may

be exacerbated by the phenomenon of rising expectations

triggered by the disaster boom economy. Suggestions are

xi offered to increase disaster preparedness and to improve relief operations in developing nations.

Xll CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION

On every page of humanity's history is written an account of the death, suffering and devastation visited upon some hapless population by the awesome forces of nature.

Each year many lives are lost and disrupted, and at times natural disasters assume preternatural proportions as if the very earth is bent upon the destruction of humankind.

Leviathan storms born in warm ocean currents spend their fury on vulnerable shores, earthquakes shake communities on almost every continent, and floods scour highland valleys in all regions of the globe. In 1970 alone, natural calamity claimed more than 500,000 lives and left more people injured and homeless than could accurately be counted. Even the most affluent nation in the world, the Uni- ted States of America, found that its wealth was insufficient to counteract the winter storms of 1977 and 1978.

Truly great disasters are mercifully uncommon, but their rarity should not obscure the fact that relatively minor destructive phenomena occur with frightening frequency. Although 1970 will long be remembered because of the devastating earthquake in north-central Peru, there were more than 4,300 less "newsworthy" tremors reported that year, and many of these lower-energy seismic

1 2 disturbances were severe enough to cause significant destruction and many deaths. And again, the Pakistani cyclone which claimed some 400,000 lives drew attention away from the three storms which, though less powerful, killed many people and left thousands homeless in South

East Asia, the Gulf of Mexico and the Philippines.

Not only does natural disaster occur more frequently than most people realize, but catastrophe is most likely to affect the poorer nations which lack the material and human resources to meet the urgent needs of the victims.

This unfortunate situation arises logically enough from the fact that most of the world's population is poor, but proportions alone are not sufficient to explain the frequency and severity of destructive events in underdeveloped and developing nations. There is, in other words, a larger number of disasters in poorer regions than could be expected from a random distribution of earthquakes, floods and storms. Other factors must somehow be taken into account to explain the pattern.

One such factor is that disaster agents such as earthquakes are not always randomly distributed. The overwhel- ming majority of seismic disturbances originate either along the series of tectonic faults known as the Pacific

"ring of fire," or in the middle eastern nations along the northern perimeter of the Mediterranean Sea. Although no area is entirely immune to occasional adverse weather. .

3 destructive storms or debilitating droughts occur with characteristic regularity in certain parts of the world and are comparatively rare elsewhere. Thus, some areas of the earth's surface experience disruptive geologic or climatic events more frequently, and to a degree the pattern of destruction creates marginal zones which are less than ideal for human habitation.

With a few notable exceptions (for examples, Japan

and California) , the regions of frequent earthquakes and storms are inhabited by the world's less affluent populations, and again the apparent correlation is not necessarily due entirely to the larger proportion of poor people on the globe. Capital needed for development has not flowed readily where the risk of loss due to natural disaster is greater than the potential return on investment, and many environmentally marginal areas remain economically marginal as well. Those individuals who have no alternatives, however, must accept the risk. Peasants who live in the Andes of South America are fully aware of the inevitability of the earthquakes that are a routine aspect of their precarious existence, yet the subsistence farmers continue to live with the threat of devastation primarily because they are unable to move into a more favorable environment

There is, then, an inverse correlation between the absolute frequency of potentially destructive natural phenomena and the affluence of the population in a stricken 4 area. More importantly, the event is likely to result in death and destruction in poorer areas even when the magnitude of the earthquake or storm is relatively small. Put another way, a tremor in southern California may claim 100 lives and cause some damage, while a tremor of equal (or even less) force in Peru may kill ten times as many persons and completely destroy towns and villages. Two factors may explain this situation. First, in Peru as in other Third

World nations, families lack the capital to build homes which can stand against earthquakes, and the adobe walls familiar to these areas may crumble too quickly to allow the occupants to escape. Moreover, structures are placed closely together to maximize living space in urban centers, and streets are characteristically narrow in the poor sections of town. Individuals who run from their homes when the earth begins to tremble may be buried by rubble falling into the only avenues to safety.

Secondly, continued population growth in the Third

World has increased the likelihood of large scale disaster triggered by minor natural disturbances, particularly where crowding combines with poverty to create urban slum deathtraps. The greatest catastrophes in history have occurred in the densely populated provinces of China and

India where incomprehensible numbers of persons have perished in floods and earthquakes. Accelerating urbanization which characterizes most of the developing nations magnifies the vulnerability of densely populated urban 5 centers, and future earthquakes, floods and droughts may be even more catastrophic and large scale destruction even more frequent.

Two other factors increase the dangers attendant upon the occurrence of a potentially disruptive natural event.

The magnitude of the disaster is commonly measured in terms of the physical dimensions of tragedy: the depth of flood waters, the energy released by a tremor, the number of persons killed, injured or homeless. Such empirical observations, however, are only indirect indicators of suffering.

The true disaster is reflected in the individual and collective grief of the survivors. There is, on the one hand, the psychological trauma resulting from the loss of loved ones, from personal privation, and from the disruption of routine patterns of existence. There is, on the other hand, the collective stress which arises when the social system falters and fails and a great many persons suffer the consequences. Thus, while natural disaster may bring widespread destruction of life and property, the survivors face the psychological and social problems which follow the catastrophic event.

The breakdown of the social system increases the danger of the disaster by affecting the social mechanisms necessary to provide for the needs of the population. Net- works of food distribution may disappear, supplies of potable water may become contaminated, health delivery systems may not operate effectively if at all, and a 6

thousand and one other vital functions of the complex

social machinery may cease. Moreover, in an increasingly

interdependent world, no disaster is entirely contained

within the impact zone, and repercussions of the local

catastrophe may be apparent far beyond the borders of the

stricken area. Destruction of crops, for example, may

affect the regional, national, or even international mar-

kets, and many lives may be directly or indirectly touched

by the tragedy throughout the world community.

In view of the frequency of disruptive natural phe-

nomena and the severity of human problems which arise in

a disaster situation, there is still surprisingly little

understanding of the social dimensions of catastrophe.

Scientists can predict with fair accuracy the path of a

major storm or even the approximate time and epicenter of

an earthquake. A disparity exists, however, between the

need for systematic research into the sociocultural effects

of calamity and the amount of such research actually being

conducted. Ignorance has led to a lamentable paradox mani-

fest in the "secondary disaster" of disaster relief. As will be discussed in this dissertation, humanitarian

efforts to meet the needs of victim populations have all

too frequently compounded the tragedy and added unneces-

sarily to deprivation and misery within the stricken areas.

The situation will not improve until social scientists

have provided the theoretical framework within which ef-

fective planning and preparation for disaster can be 7 accomplished. The magnitude of human suffering attributable to natural phenomena justifies an increase in research, while the frequency with which such catastrophic events occur lends a note of urgency to the task.

Disaster-Related Literature

There can be little doubt of the morbid fascination intrinsic to natural calamity. News of widespread destruction invariably draws crowds of the sympathetically curious who wish to examine for themselves the terrible handiwork of nature. Interest in the human drama associated with disaster has given birth to an immense body of information, for every catastrophe large or small is some- where chronicled in private diaries, public newspapers, films, records of official and unofficial investigations, or in scholarly articles. Most observations thus recorded tend to be rather biased and distorted, creating miscon- ceptions regarding disaster situations which are still evident in numerous disaster-related documentaries or works of fiction.

Subjective, impressionistic accounts based upon unsystematic observations have contributed somewhat to the understanding of disaster, but there has been comparatively little objective research in the literature. Prior to the Second World War, for example, no study of the social effects of natural disaster existed, although students generally recognize two important early . .

publications which deal with other types of calamitous

events. One was an examination of an explosion aboard a

munitions vessel in Halifax Harbor, and the author

attempted to view the catastrophe in its social context

(Prince 1920). The other study, published several years

later, was concerned with the widespread panic following

the radio broadcast of "The War of the Worlds" in 1939

when many individuals were convinced that the earth had

been invaded by extraterrestrial beings (Cantril 1940)

The only other publication prior to World War II dealing

with the social dimensions of disaster was Sorokin's

Man and Society in Calamity (1942)

Following the global conflict, the specter of nuclear

holocaust prompted governments to investigate the possible

psychological and social consequences of wholesale destruc-

tion. Perhaps the most extensive systematic study of man-made disasters was conducted immediately after the war when the United States Strategic Bombing Survey examined

the effects of bombing attacks in Germany and Japan (1947a,

1947b), research which yielded over 7,000 interviews but

which dealt almost exclusively with questions of morale

among the victim populations. Several years later, at the

request of the military medical establishments, the United

States government funded the creation of the Committee on

Disaster Studies whose members were appointed by the Na-

tional Academy of Sciences-National Research Council. The

committee, renamed the Disaster Research Group in 1957, 9 was responsible for a number of research programs concerned

with a broad range of extreme situations, and the resulting

literature contributed substantially to the field of disaster studies.

Most of the earlier research conducted in the 1940s

and 1950s, however, was descriptive in nature and dealt with specific disasters. Since that time there has been

a trend towards more nomothetic analyses which attempt to deal with general processes rather than with particular events. In 1957, for example, Anthony Wallace (1957a) published his theory of "mazeway disintegration" and described the resulting "disaster syndrome" associated with extreme stress. In an article published a year earlier,

Lewis Killian discussed some of the conceptual and methodological problems encountered in conducting field studies in disaster situations. Many significant articles appeared over the next few years, and two particularly important works were published in 1969 and 1970. Allen Barton (1969) summarized the then current research and proffered a theoretical framework for the study of disasters, and a year later Russel Dynes published a book dealing with organizational behavior under stress conditions.

Despite the steadily accumulating literature concerned with disasters, there remain a number of serious deficiencies in published research. In general terms, these deficiencies may be identified as a lack of a holistic framework within which to view extreme emergencies. 10 insufficient information regarding the long term sociocultural effects of catastrophe, and an absence of cross- cultural verification of certain phenomena frequently assumed to be universally associated with the disaster process. Each of these points warrants further discussion.

The Lack of a Holistic Framework

Although there has been a trend away from idiographic, historical accounts towards a more nomothetic approach to the subject of calamity, social scientists have yet to agree upon a unified model of sociocultural process.

Eclecticism -- albeit unavoidable and even useful in the initial stages of theory building — has led to a plethora of constructs which in turn have resulted in rather unsystematic assignment of research priorities and to theoretical fragmentation within the social sciences.

Field investigations in disaster areas continue to be largely data oriented, and this emphasis upon primarily inductive methods has given rise to a hodge podge of unrelated propositions which defy unification. The notion that disasters are unique phenomena, qualitatively different from other collective stress situations, has reinforced the tendency to collect facts and more facts in the hope of discovering basic truths. As the anthropologist Marvin

Harris points out, however, it is evident

both from the history of science in general and from the experience of social sciences, that a strict ad- herence to Baconian induction, even 11

if it were culturologicaly feasible, would not lead to the discovery of regularities. The trouble is that a random sampling of any field of observation will prove beyond the sha- dow of doubt that nature is chaotic. One has merely to observe birds fly- ing, smoke rising, clouds drifting, feathers floating, and stones plum- meting to realize that Galileo's formulation of the laws of motion could not possibly have resulted from the mere collection of facts. If one set out to note all the facts about a single grain of sand, all the computers in the world could not store the information which could eventually be collected on that subject. Cultural phenomena, with their dependence upon complex levels of logico-empirical abstraction, could undoubtedly provide facts in corres- pondingly higher degrees of infinity. "Complete descriptions" of anything are impossible (Harris 1968: 287-8).

What is needed within the social sciences is a unified model of sociocultural process which is operational at all levels of abstraction from the microscopic to the macro- scopic. Admittedly, the lack of agreement among social scientists regarding fundamental principles of individual and collective human behavior precludes at this time the formulation of a single encompassing theory to which all students would adhere. This does not mean, however, that research in this field must remain inductive and data oriented, for reliance upon an idiographic approach will only increase theoretical atomization among and within the various disciplines. Although many areas of the social domain are incompletely mapped, there is sufficient information on different societies to generate tentative "laws" 12 of sociocultural process and to permit a more deductive approach to data collection. Hypotheses logically derived from holistic models may be tested against a broad range of situations and thereby cast doubt upon or confirm the models themselves. An explicitly deductive procedure, therefore, would focus research energies upon specific problem areas, eliminate unsound propositions, and thin the theoretical thicket.

The nature of research in the field of disaster studies in particular reflects the lack of a systematic framework for the social sciences as a whole. Each stu- dent usually views disaster from his or her own peculiar

vantagepoint , and rarely has there been an attempt to make data responsible to a broader theory. Some seek to identify individual psychological dimensions of stress, others examine specific groups and institutions under stress, while still others endeavor to classify the universal

"stages" of disaster. Without a common logico-empirical foundation, however, the various schemes and systems of categorization remain conceptually incompatible and lead to multifarious, low-level models. As a consequence, contradictory priorities diffuse research energies, and the idiographic procedure has assured that many unsound generalizations arising from unsystematic data collection will go unchallenged. 13

The Lack of Longitudinal S tudies

A second deficiency in current disaster literature is the insufficient amount of information regarding the long term effects of natural disaster. Research has dealt primarily with the emergency period immediately following the catastrophic event, and many important questions therefore remain unanswered. Once the worst of the emergency is over, will survivors attempt to restore the status quo ante, permitting only those changes which are absolutely necessary and unavoidable? Or will the reverse occur, with the initial disruption of normal patterns of interaction accelerating the innovative process and counteracting the stresses usually associated with social and cultural change?

Although these questions and others concerned with the long term impact of catastrophe have theoretical and practical importance, students have generally avoided longitudinal research programs. There are, of course, some exceptions, notably William Anderson's study of organizational change in Anchorage (1966) , a team effort to examine the impact of Hurricane Audrey (Bates et al.

1963), and Davis' doctoral dissertation on the resettlement of two Eskimo villages after the 1964 Alaskan earthquake (1971). These studies have contributed to understanding of the disaster process, yet a great deal more research is needed. . .

The Lack of Cross-Cultural Comparative Studies

Although the literature has accumulated rapidly since the end of World War II, disaster research has been conducted almost exclusively in Western industrialized nations. Of the 114 studies inventoried by the Disaster Research Group in 1961 (Disaster Research Group 1961) , only four deal with catastrophes in nonindustrial societies. Three of the four are brief articles (Keesing 1952;

Schneider 1957; Spillius 1957) , and one is a report on the

1960 Chilean earthquake which has never been published in English

Moreover, little cross-cultural research has appeared since the 1961 inventory. The only comparative studies published in recent years concern an earthquake in Sicily

(Haas and Ayre 1969), the Mount Lamington volcanic eruption (Schwimmer 1969), and the 1970 Peruvian earthquake

(Patch 1971) . Occasional papers have been presented at academic meetings, and two lengthy dissertations deal with the social and cultural impact of earthquakes in Alaska

(Davis 1971) and in Peru (Oliver-Smith 1974)

Examination of complex industrial societies contrib utes to knowledge of certain dimensions of the disaster process, but limiting research to one particular type of social system throws suspicion upon any generalization arising from such nonrepresentative data. A community in the United States, for example, is more likely to be 15 prepared for a major storm than is a community in the

Philippines or in Pakistan. Not only can warnings be readily communicated within the threatened areas of the industrial society, but evacuation is facilitated by well- maintained road networks and by the fact that most families own private vehicles. Response to disaster in the

American community, moreover, is characterized by the activation of specialized agencies which are usually absent in less affluent nations, while the recovery period may be shortened because of the wealth available in the more affluent system. A major catastrophe in the United States will prompt the country's president to declare a national emergency, and vast amounts of human and material resources will subsequently be diverted to the stricken area. A similar pronouncement in a poorer country hit by disaster is usually an appeal to the world community for assistance.

In short, preparation for, response to and recovery from natural catastrophe in a complex industrial society is in many respects qualitatively different from the disaster process in an underdeveloped or developing nation.

Because the bulk of data concerning extreme emergencies derives from biased samples, generalizations considered universal are highly suspect and may apply only to specific situations or particular types of societies. This major deficiency in disaster research can only be recti- fied through the testing of theoretical models and propositions in a cross-cultural context. 16

The Research Problems

The practical objective of minimizing the human problems attendant upon natural calamity can be accomplished only through increased understanding of sociocultural systems in general and the disaster process in particular.

To date, research in this vital area has been limited in scope and is carried out without a unifying theoretical model to guide data collection and analysis. The myriad propositions generated from information gathered in one type of society, namely, complex industrial nations, have yet to be tested in a cross-cultural situation and are therefore of questionable universal validity. There is, in short, a theoretical vacuum in the field of disaster studies which invites eclectic speculation based upon nonrepresentative case studies, and the conceptual confusion is tragically manifest in the failure of some societies and of the world community at large to react successfully to sudden, devastating changes in the natural environment.

The general topic chosen for this dissertation -- the sociocultural effects of natural disaster -- conforms both to the practical needs of an increasingly interdependent world and to the theoretical needs of the social sciences.

The specific research problems, drawn from current literature and examined in light of data collected in a field situation, are congruent with these broader objectives and concerns an important aspect of the disaster process.

A central question to be considered bears upon a phenomenon .

frequently reported to occur during the immediate post-

impact period and which figures prominently in many analyses. In general terms, survivors are said to exhibit

increased community-oriented behavior following a major calamity, and interpersonal tensions and rivalries give way to feelings of sympathy, mutual goodwill and cooperation. Such behavior, if found to be associated with the disaster process, would have significant implications for assistance programs and for the long term rehabilitation of the stricken community.

A heightened sense of community among many members of the victim population is characteristic of almost every disaster documented in recent times. When William James visited the city of San Francisco after the great earthquake of 1906, for example, he remarked that

everyone, to some degree, was suffering and one's private miseries were merged in the vast general sum of privation and in the all-absorbing practical problem of general recuperation. The cheerful- ness, or, at any rate, the steadfastness of tone, was universal. Not a single whine or plaintive word did I hear from the hundreds of losers whom I spoke to. Instead of that there was helpfulness beyond the counting. It is easy to glorify this as something characteris-

tically Californian. . . . But I like to think that what I write is a normal and universal trait of human nature

(James 1911 : 91)

Similarly, Prince (1920) found that victims of the

Halifax disaster were highly unified and cooperative, and that this solidarity, manifest in increased participation :

18 in civic activities, continued for several years after the tragedy. Victims of bombing attacks in Britain and Europe in World War II were reported to have acted in much the same way, forgetting personal quarrels and prejudices in the face of common danger (see, for example, Wegierski

1940, Titmus 1950, and Young 1954).

Social scientists have sought to document and to explain what one author has called the "post-disaster utopia"

(Wolfenstein 1957). Dwight Chapman described the phenomenon which became an expected feature of the disaster process

The recovering community is generally found to be drawn together by problems and activities which the majority of its members agree are important and which easily challenge their cooperative energies. Furthermore, the considerable softening of class barriers and the heightening of interaction among people who were formerly strangers contribute to solidarity. Shared sorrows, sympathy, and plans for the future keep visible the common, indispensable values of the community and bring to light a foundation of coherence that is harder to find underneath the pluralism of ordinary times (Chapman 1962: 21).

The term "post-disaster utopia" is a misnomer given that the destructive natural phenomena do not in themselves constitute the disaster. Rather, the disaster is the collective stress situation emerging as a consequence of the earthquake, flood or other disaster agent. In light of this distinction, the post-disaster utopia may more pre- cisely be called the post- impact utopia or, simply, the 19 utopian period. Attempts to explain the utopia have thus far been couched largely in psychological terms. Anthony

Wallace, for example, views increased community solidarity in the context of what he calls the "disaster syndrome" allegedly characteristic of most extreme situations (1961).

In his explicitly cognitive model, Wallace points to several stages of reaction to the breakdown in normal patterns of interaction. The victim may initially be stunned, acting aimlessly or engaging in trivial activities such as visiting casually with neighbors while family members lay injured and unattended. As the reality of the disaster begins to dawn upon the individual, according to Wallace, he or she desperately seeks assurance that familiar persons and things have survived. In the third stage, which gives rise to the utopian phase of the disaster, "a mildly euphoric altruism obtains: the individual enthusiastically participates in group activity, designed to restore and rehabilitate the community. Observers remark on the high morale and selfless dedication to be seen on all sides"

(p. 202).

In a similar vein, James Taylor analyzes the behavior of disaster victims who voluntarily assumed an altruistic

"helper role" following the 1966 tornado in Topeka, Kansas.

The depressed person often has strong feelings of anger and disappointment, which are blocked from expression by excessive guilt. In depression the anger is turned inward against the self, so the individual feels incompetent and worthless. Especially is . ,

this so when the life circumstances give few opportunities for meaningful affection, or for the development of basic self-esteem. The role of the helper provided an escape from such dilemmas. The role tasks were clear-cut, and obviously meaningful. To be a helper was to be on the side of the angels; agression was permissible since the ends were so clear and valued. Residual anxieties could be dissipated in motoric expression. Finally, the sheer grubbiness of much of the work -- its low status implications -- carried two meanings: it was Good because it involved self- sacrifice, and it also met charactero- logical needs for punishment. It would be hard to imagine a social role more congruent with the dynamics of certain types of depression (Taylor 1970: 74)

Not all analyses of the post-impact utopia are psycho- logically oriented like those of Wallace and Taylor.

R. H. Turner, for example, uses a sociological model first formulated by the French sociologist Emile Durkheim (1933) suggesting that mechanical solidarity often resurges following a major disaster and that the "momentary isolation of the individual and nullification of the division of labor when the impact is sudden and drastic sends the group back to rebuild solidarity from the beginning" (Turner, in

Taylor 197 0 : 107 ) .

In view of the fact that many observers have reported an increase in community solidarity in stress situations, can the conclusion be drawn that a utopian period invariably follows a disastrous event? The answer is negative, for many events which fall into the category of disaster .

21 have led to social disorganization rather than to unification in the face of common danger and shared tragedy. Fol- lowing the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima during the

Second World War, for example, survivors did not unite in a community of sufferers, and many persons died from lack of aid from fellow victims (Hachiya 1955) . Earlier during the war in Europe, many French villages were abandoned as refugees fled the advancing German armies rather than band together to confront the threat (Freeman and Cooper 1940)

Allen Barton points to famines in the Orient as notable examples of disaster situations which did not give rise to post-impact utopias (1969: 207).

In short, increased community solidarity seems to occur only under certain conditions, and the question must then be, of what nature are these conditions? No research has focused upon this aspect of the disaster process, and no suitable answer has yet been offered. Gideon Sjoberg's suggestion that "hope for the future" must be present before victims unite is far too vague and subjective to be of much use, and yet Sjoberg is the only author who has offered any explanation at all (1962: 369-70).

If the conditions under which the post-impact utopia arises can be specified, is it then permissible to assume that the phenomenon is universal? Most authors do not attempt to qualify their generalizations regarding the utopian period despite the lack of cross-cultural research to support the proposition that the emergence of community 22 solidarity occurs in all societies following a major disaster. There is only one indication in current literature known to this researcher that the post- impact community of shared tragedy is characteristic of non-Western, nonindustrialized social systems. Writing of the people of Tikopia after the hurricanes and famines of 1952-1953,

Raymond Firth noted that families became even more generous in their gifts of food during the initial stages of the crisis, but that the larger kin groups began to fragment and atomize as deprivation became chronic (Firth 1959).

Changes in the networks of reciprocity in Tikopia do suggest that unification of victims may be a universal feature of disaster, but the generalization cannot be said to apply to all sociocultural systems simply because of one supporting incident in a non-Western society.

Each question regarding the post-impact utopia gives rise to a host of other important questions. Yet the central problem must be to demonstrate the conditions under which the phenomenon occurs and then to formulate a hypothesis which may be tested against available or newly collected data. Therefore, one of the propositions addressed by this dissertation can be stated as follows:

The occurrence of a natural event which results in death, destruction and collective stress will be followed by a period of increased community oriented behavior among the victim population.

The only qualifications to the hypothesis which enter logically at this point are (1) that the social unit 23 affected by disaster not be completely destroyed by the event, and (2) that the population not be threatened by total annihilation during later periods of the emergency.

The first qualification eliminates those cases in which, for example, there are not survivors, and the second condition takes into account the situations in which the victim population can survive only by dispersing.

Although the analysis of the post-impact utopia may vary according to the theoretical predilections of the analyst, the phenomenon itself has been consistently described as an increase in cooperation and goodwill among survivors of disaster. If the utopian period is generally characteristic of the disaster process, then the theoretical and practical implications are significant. For one thing, the disappearance of status distinctions and democratization of the social order may represent a "built-in protective mechanism" which could "account for the resili- ency of groups and society in the face of disaster and their ability to generate more complex social life" (Fritz

1961: 689). Then, too, since the unification of survivors alters (however temporarily) fundamental relationships within the community, the stage may be set for permanent changes in the sociocultural system. Charles Fritz even goes so far as to hypothesize that the concentration of energies following a catastrophic event may result in an

"amplified rebound" effect such that "the society is carried beyond its pre-existing levels of integration, 24

productivity, and capacity for growth" (1961: 692). Even

if the utopian period wanes without bringing major altera-

tions in the social system, community solidarity cannot be

overlooked as unimportant. As Dwight Chapman correctly

points out, when outside rescue and rehabilitation agen-

cies ignore the heightened sense of community in the

disaster-stricken area, "their policies for the administra-

tion of relief can run into dismaying conflict with new and

strongly held values in the community, or their initiative

in making decisions can become disappointingly unwelcome

to people intent on their own ideas for recovery"

(1962 : 21) .

The post-impact utopia as described by various obser-

vers is seemingly a short term response to extreme emer-

gency. That is, the utopian period appears in the first

days and weeks following the impact of the earthquake,

storm or other disaster agent, and then disappears as the

stricken area returns to a predisaster normalcy. The ob-

servations made by Fritz and Chapman, however, indicate

that the repercussions of the post-impact utopia may be

long term in nature. Under what conditions, for example, will the "amplified rebound" occur if it occurs at all?

What are the consequences of the interaction between dis-

aster communities and relief agencies sent into the impact

area? In the same vein, what effect will a large scale

relief program have on community systems? .

Organization of the Dissertation

These and similar questions are to be discussed in this dissertation, and the objectives are at once theoretical and practical. Research was conducted in a small

Andean farming community, Marian, following the earthquake of May 31, 1970, and was designed to test the applicability of the theoretical construct outlined in Chapter II as well as to illuminate the manner in which a group responded to large scale natural disaster in north-central Peru. The data collected between 1971 and 1977 permit analysis of long term as well as the immediate consequences of the calamity in Marian, and the dissertation examines some of the social and cultural processes affected by the extreme situation. Explication of the sociocultural system, on the other hand, has a practical dimension which may be viewed as the ultimate goal of this study: to improve the effectiveness of disaster relief operations in the world community

The organization of the dissertation reflects the theoretical framework which guided the collection and analysis of data pertaining to the sociocultural effects of disaster. The systems model discussed in Chapter II not only provides the foundation for subsequent chapters but constitutes one of the major contributions of the dissertation. The heuristic value of the model is not con- fined to any level of abstraction but is applicable to (and functionally unites) the individual and collective levels. 26

The third chapter places the research community in spatial and temporal context, describing in general terms the physical setting and history of the area. Chapter IV deals with the "core" features of the community system, namely, the processes involved in the satisfaction of basic material needs. The fifth chapter examines Marian from

another vantagepoint , focusing upon some of the means by which the community maintains continuity and controls change. The discussion also emphasizes the on-going changes which characterize the community, thereby providing background for later examination of the impact of the 1970 earthquake.

Chapter VI treats the disaster event of May 31, 1970, and describes the first days and weeks of tragedy in Marian and in Huaraz, the nearby departmental capital upon which

Marian heavily depends for many goods and services. The data will clearly show that the research community did not undergo disaster processes as the direct result of the disaster agent and that a post- impact utopia did not emerge. The seventh chapter will continue the description of the effects of catastrophe upon Marian and Huaraz, but the focus will be upon the long term consequences of the emergency and subsequent disaster relief. The final chapter will summarize the results of fieldwork and discuss the implications of the research in terms of theory and application of theory to disaster relief programs. CHAPTER II THEORETICAL PERSPECTIVE, METHODS AND PROCEDURES

Fundamental to an analysis of the effects of the 1970 earthquake upon Marian is a clear understanding of the sociocultural process in general. A community is more than a geographic unit, a political entity, or a group of individuals who live together and share a common lifestyle. In a very real sense, a community is an on-going system which

ideally functions to provide for the needs of the persons who compose the collectivity. In the broadest sense of

the term, "system" may be viewed as "a complex of elements or components directly or indirectly related in a causal network, such that each component is related to at least

some others in a more or less stable way within any par-

ticular period of time" (Buckley 1967: 41).

Some students would argue that societies and communi-

ties do not fall under this broad definition, that social

systems are merely approximate, convenient analogies to

the more readily visualized mechanical and organic systems.

The basis of such an argument is that structure of a social

entity cannot be viewed directly but must be inferred from

the activities of individuals. All systems, however, whether inorganic, organic or superorganic (i.e., sociocultural ), must ultimately be defined in terms of the

27 28 organized behavior of the constituent parts, and

if social groups are not "real entities" then neither are individual organisms, cells, molecules or atoms, since they all are "nothing but" the constituents of which they are made. But this "nothing but" hides the central key to modern thinking [regarding systems] -- the fact of organization of components into systemic relationships. When we say that "the whole is more than the sum of its parts," the meaning becomes unambiguous and loses its mystery: the "more than" points to the fact of or -

ganization , which imparts to the acP gregate characteristics that are not only different from, but often not found in the components alone; and the "sum of the parts" must be taken to mean, not their numerical addition, but their unorganized aggregation (Buckley

1967 : 42 ).

If the sociocultural system or its subsystems are to be defined in terms of the organized behavior of constituent parts, then any model of the superorganic must ultimately take into consideration the nature of the organic base.

Attempts to examine sociocultural phenomena without reference to the human element have heuristic value at the higher levels of abstraction, but these paradigms, such as those proffered by A. L. Kroeber and Leslie White, among others, are not alone sufficient to explain and predict the behavior of systems under given environmental conditions. The intermediate factor between environment and the system is, in the final analysis, the individual organisms which are the constituent parts of that system. .

The Organic Domain of the Sociocultural System

Individual Needs

The theoretical model which guided the collection, analysis and summary of the data for this research project is based upon the concept of "need." The approach is not entirely unique within anthropology, for Bronislaw Malin- owski adopted the viewpoint several decades ago, proposing that "the satisfaction of the organic or basic needs of man and of the race is a minimum set of conditions imposed on each culture" (1944: 37). Malinowski then attempted to demonstrate that other features of the society emerged in response to satisfaction of basic needs, and these features became "derived needs" defined as the instrumental means by which organic requirements are fulfilled (1944 : 120ff )

This early attempt to functionally unite the organic and superorganic has never quite disappeared from later anthropological literature, but neither has the approach been systematically developed by subsequent generations of anthropologists. One difficulty with Malinowski's line of reasoning was that his model was assumed to be an attempt to link all dimensions of the society directly to satisfaction of individual basic needs. The proposition was hotly debated, especially by Radcliff e-Brown who maintained that the function of any given aspect of society is defined with reference to social solidarity and continuance of the system qua system (e.g., 1940). Supporting his position 30

vis-a-vis that of Malinowski, Radcliff e-Brown wrote that

"the theory of society in terms of structures and process, interconnected by function, has nothing in common with the theory of culture as derived from individual biological

needs " (194 9: 322 ) .

Malinowski's theoretical construct is admittedly weakened by a number of ambiguities, but the approach is a sound one and, appropriately modified, provides a conceptual foundation for a model of the sociocultural system. In developing that model, a necessary first assumption made here is that all human behavior is goal oriented, and the goal of any activity is the satisfaction of needs (see

Murray 1938, Freud 1949, Korman 1974, among others). A need is a condition of stress-creating deprivation, so that "satisfaction" may be viewed as the reduction of stress derived from the condition of need. A common illustration is hunger, a state which stimulates the organism to engage in activities designed to modify the unsatisfying situation, that is, to reduce the stress created by the hunger need. Malinowski listed other basic needs, and psychologists have attempted to identify the categories of genetically programmed biological and psychological requirements of the human species. Some confusion arises

from the purposivists ' emphasis upon biogenic and psychogenic requirements, however, because of the frequent exclu- sion of the cultural factor. Freud is one example, for he 31

maintained that needs-satisf action involves an appropriate modification of an internal source of stimulation, with needs arising from stimuli of instinctual origin. The function of the nervous system, according to Freud, is to reduce such stimulation, and it would, "if this were feasible, maintain itself in an altogether unstimulated condition" (1949: 49).

Although the process is not clearly mapped, needs themselves are not necessarily of instinctual origin.

There are, rather, a theoretically unlimited number which can be inculcated in the human organism, and two broad categories of needs can therefore be defined. The first category includes the genetically programmed biological and psychological requirements which, because they are characteristic of Homo sapiens as a species, are cross- culturally constant. As Malinowski pointed out, they represent "a minimum set of conditions imposed on each culture," and they consequently underly the functional similarities of all sociocultural systems.

"Acquired needs" constitute the second category and are the product of socialization. As such they may be cross-culturally variable, reflecting the nature of the particular system. While these needs may be interrelated with biogenic and psychogenic requirements, the significance of the category for analysis of sociocultural process transcends individual psychology. The relationship between .

the individual and the collectivity is in part a function of acquired needs, a point to be discussed later in the chapter

It is also assumed here that all needs are arranged in a hierarchy of importance corresponding to the respective levels of stress associated with deprivation. Basic requirements, for example, will normally take precedent over acquired needs. Priorities also exist within each category so that, all things equal, biological needs are of more immediate importance than the psychological. Ac- quired needs, on the other hand, may be so engrained in the individual that they become almost as vital as the basic requirements of existence. Deprivation could in such cases lead to psychological impairment or even physical illness. Other acquired needs may be little more than vague desires or wishes, and their lower priority is a function of the lower associated stresses defined, perhaps, as yearnings or mild discontent.

The concept of a needs hierarchy has limited analytic value because of the complexity of the stress-reduction process. At any given moment one need may predominate regardless of "absolute" priority because of disparity in stress levels corresponding to competing needs. Persons who have eaten twelve hours ago may now be hungry, but if they have not slept in 72 hours they will probably forego eating in favor of sleeping. Moreover, "the attainment of 33

a goal reduces the value of that goal, thus increasing the

likelihood that other behaviors will be engaged in since other incentives are now more valued" (Korman 1974: 117).

Once the rest-deprived individuals have slept for a while,

in other words, the hunger need may assume higher priority

than additional rest.

It is further assumed that all individuals will seek

to maximize satisfaction of needs or, stated conversely, to minimize the stresses associated with deprivation. The proposition, familiar to Western economists and members of the purposivist school of psychology, involves

assuming individuals to be continually active, utility maximizing, and value seeking. In this view, the argument is that people are always seeking to get the most of what they can, given their rational expectancies about the world they know. Changing expectancies about the degree to which given goals may be obtained by changing behavior leads to changes in behavioral directions, and so on (Korman 1974: 117).

Maximization does not necessarily involve conscious processes given that many needs of an individual may not be on the level of awareness. The principle not only is useful in understanding human psychology but also provides the theoretical base for a model of the sociocultural sys-

tem. Humans do not operate in isolations but are invari-

ably associated, directly or indirectly, with a larger population. The process of needs-satisf action , therefore, 34

entails the interaction of individuals and contributes to

the nature of the interactional patterns. In short, the

needs hypothesis as developed so far serves as a functional

link between the individual and the collectivity.

The Collectivity

The nature of the human organism presupposes the for-

mstion of groups, with the nuclear family representing the

minimal, pristine social unit. Sexual dimorphism, the long

maturation period of offspring, the utter helplessness of

infants and other factors necessitate the continuing co-

operation of at least one adult male and one adult female

joined in a relatively stable relationship. The nuclear

family constitutes a problem-solving entity, and its pur-

poses are at once economic, nurturative, educative and

reproductive (Murdock 1949). In terms of adaptive success,

however, this minimal social unit is, by itself, inadequate.

Natural selection appears to favor larger social units,

generally composed of nuclear families allied by marriage

or similar bonds (White 1949). Such variables as increased

population density and per capita energy consumption may

give rise to ever more complex social forms which modify

or even supplant the nuclear family, but group formation may still be viewed as the most effective means by which to maximize needs-satisfaction for all individuals who compose the collectivity. 35

Alliance resolves a number of human problems but simultaneously creates others which fall into the category of collective needs. There must be, for example, arrangements to divide tasks among individuals in the group, to procure, prepare and distribute food, to feed, shelter and socialize offspring, to protect the group against preda- tors, and to maintain or replace the tools and implements needed to accomplish these objectives. In sum, the group must develop a strategy of interpersonal relationships to fulfill the minimal biogenic and psychogenic requirements of its members, and the instrumental means to this end become the "derived needs" of the collectivity. The concept of derived needs was offered by Malinowski, who observed that

since in every community there is the need for the renewal of the material apparatus of tools and implements and the production of goods of consumption, there must exist organized economics at every level of development. All the influences which transform the naked infant into a cultural personality have to be studied and recorded as educat- tional agencies and constitute the aspect which we label "education." Since law and order have to be maintained, there must be a code of rules, a means of their readjustment and re-establishment when broken or infringed. In every community there exists, therefore, a juridical system. This functional approach is based on the empirical sum- ming up of the theory of derived needs and their relation to individual bio- logy and cultural cooperation alike (Malinowski 1939: 952). 36

Malinowski's viewpoint seems to link human activity primarily to satisfaction of individual biological needs, an interpretation, as noted earlier, criticized by

Radcliff e-Brown. The latter's strictly structural- functionalist approach, however, leaves a rather large conceptual void between the two positions, and there is ample room to construct a theoretical model between the extremes. Collective needs, therefore, will be redefined to subsume three dimensions of goal oriented behavior.

The first dimension embraces the relational strategies which are most closely related to material needs- satisf action. Activities which are associated with the fulfillment of biological requirements will retain the label "derived needs" to reflect Malinowski's principle, but the concept is here limited only to those activities designed to satisfy individual basic needs. Derived needs, therefore, will refer to such problems as the development of a viable division of labor to exploit material resources, arrangements to distribute such resources, the instrumental means to maintain and renew tools, and so on.

Collective needs, however, cannot always be analyzed in terms of biological necessity, and other human activity may be more closely associated with a social function. A distinction is made here between derived needs and "primary collective needs," with the latter referring to arrangements whose main function is the organizational integrity .

of the social unit itself. Some strategy must exist, for

example, to resolve conflict, to increase group solidarity,

and to control deviance. In general, primary collective

needs are of two kinds: the maintenance of existing pat-

terns of interaction, and the control of change from exis-

ting interactional patterns to more viable alternative strategies

Where derived needs are the instrumental means for physical continuance of the individuals within the popula-

tion, primary collective needs represent the instrumental means for continuance of the group itself. Alliance also gives rise to other problems which are not as closely

correlated with biological or social survival but whose purpose is to satisfy less immediate personal requirements or to support interactional patterns associated less directly with derived and/or primary collective needs. This

third category is termed "secondary collective needs" whose nature is a function of the kinds of strategies developed by a particular alliance to deal with the problems of individual and group continuance.

Like any social or cultural phenomena, the three dimensions of collective needs -- derived, primary and secondary — functionally interrelate and therefore can not be arbitrarily categorized without distorting their nature. The analytical distinction is useful, however, and is based upon similarities and differences 38

characterizing the multifarious adaptive strategies studied by social scientists. In general, derived and primary collective needs may be considered universal given that all viable strategies must take them into consideration.

Secondary collective needs, on the other hand, are cross- culturally variable and system-specific, evolving in res- sponse to the form of the interactional arrangements associated with subsistence and group maintenance. The distinction will be developed further during discussion of the sociocultural system.

One final point must be considered, however, before attention is turned to the concept of sociocultural systems. The link between the individual and the collectivity is apparent when one examines biological necessities and consequent subsistence patterns. Basic and derived needs, therefore, can be accepted without much debate as causally related. The correlation between the individual and the group levels is not so readily apparent in the case of primary and secondary collective needs. Ideally, all persons will be socialized to accept as valid and to conform to the patterns of interaction which are not directly associated with the satisfaction of basic needs. There- fore, the relationship is a function of socialization, and the requirements of the collectivity will be reflected in the acquired needs of its members. The individual's tendency to maximize satisfaction of personal needs, in other 39

words, does not mean that all behavior is necessarily and purely self oriented but, because of the nature of acquired needs, may be group oriented.

The Social Domain of the Sociocultural System

The alliance of individuals and formation of the social unit give rise to strategies of interaction whose purpose is the satisfaction of personal and collective needs. Strategies presuppose organization, and organized behavior is the essence of any system. In a general sense, a sociocultural system

is seen as composed of a number of individuals united by ordered relations, existing in time and space, each individual responding in a customary manner towards others in the system (or outsiders or events which

impinge on the system) . . . (Arens- berg and Kimball 1965: 270).

The customary manner in which members of a group be- have towards one another is relatively stable over time, and purposive patterns of interaction, in abstract, the structure of the system (see Firth 1963 for a similar interpretation) . Social structure, then, is not defined with reference to human individuals themselves but rather in terms of networks of interrelated positions or "statuses"

(see Linton 1936: 113-31) . No status can be discussed in isolation but is defined in terms of its complementary position in the social structure. Thus, "father" is a meaningless concept without reference to, for example, .

"son," just as one cannot speak of the norms of behavior associated with "employer" without considering the complementary status of, say, "employee." Status dyads become the indivisible social unit of analysis, and activation of the networks of status positions to resolve personal and collective problems is considered systemic process.

One can, therefore, view sociocultural phenomena from several levels of abstraction, focusing upon organized behavior of individuals or upon status positions. By examining statuses, one may formulate generalizations regarding the structure of a social unit.

Moreover, the system as a whole is composed of subsystems (or, components or mechanisms) which constitute the means to deal with respective domains of needs.

Arensberg and Kimball, for example, suggest seven major types of "relational [sub] systems" — familial, economic, political, religious, educational, associational and informal (1965: 269) Care must be taken, however, not to assume that all adaptive strategies are characterized by all of the seven components, for only in the more complex societies do these take the form of relatively semiautono- mous substructures. In less complex social units, purposive interaction may take place within any of the components.

The need to educate the young, for example, may give rise to a specialized educational subsystem, or the process may occur within the familial structure. .

Although there is great diversity among societies and

even among subgroups within a particular society, socio-

cultural systems cannot be understood primarily in terms

of their differences but rather in terms of their shared

features. By attempting to explain how and why groups are

alike, two goals are realized. First, such knowledge ad-

vances the search for nomothetic principles of social pro-

cess. Secondly, the reasons giving birth to differences

among systems may be illuminated. Anthropologists have

persistently and oftentimes passionately maintained that

social and cultural variation is due to differing sociali-

zation practices and experiences, not to innate racial

factors. The assumption implicit in this argument is that, within a very narrow range, all human beings share certain

biological and psychological traits. The same argument may

be applied to arrive at a somewhat different conclusion,

that similarities among sociocultural systems derive from

similarities among the human organisms who compose the systems

Every individual must consume food; therefore, every viable sociocultural system will have some component designed to acquire, prepare, store and distribute food.

All persons are at some point too young, too old, or otherwise unable to procure food and protect themselves; there-

fore, every viable system will have mechanisms or processes to deal with the problem of nonproductive members . The .

proposition is that components derived from basic needs are

for every system similar in function (i.e. , purpose) if not

in form. The position conforms to that of Malinowski, with

noted modifications, and corresponds in many respects to

that of Julian Steward (1955) who speaks of the "cultural

core" which he defines as those features of the system most

closely related to subsistence activities and economic arrangements

Every sociocultural system is affected by factors

threaten its integrity as a viable unit, and the problems of maintenance and control of change involving interactional patterns (their structure and organization) necessitate components which fulfill these primary collective needs. The systemic need for continuity and relative stability derives in part from the human need to impose some sort of order on a seemingly chaotic universe (Goodenough

1963: 65) but also from the tendency of extreme disconti- nuity and instability to result in disorganization or disintegration of the system (Wallace 1957a, 1957b) . Al- though the viability of the system is not dependent upon equilibrium (cf. Parsons 1951, Parsons and Shils 1951, and Homans 1950) , the community or society will seek to maintain what Anthony Wallace terms a "steady state" (1957b) , interpreted here as a condition which minimizes the disruptive effects of continual change in the environment and/or of imperfections in the organization of the system's components. .

The need for a steady state is the causal factor

underlying the existence of form-maintaining (morphostatic)

mechanisms which may be classified as conformity-amplifying

or deviance-reducing. Conformity-amplification is accom-

plished through socialization processes which transmit

non-change-oriented knowledge, norms, rules, etc., as well

as through processes which positively reinforce behavior

conforming to operative standards. Deviance-reduction, on

the other hand, entails activation of social controls which

include negatively sanctioning procedures — gossip, ridi-

cule, or formal mechanisms through which authority is

excercised to reduce deviant behavior.

To propose that a sociocultural system generally seeks

continuity and stability is not to imply that the status

quo constitutes the "normal" state or that change is some-

how abnormal. Nonadaptive systems (e.g., most inorganic

entities) are largely equilibrium dependent, for externally

produced change may result in malfunction or breakdown.

Adaptive systems, in contrast, are purposive and equilibrium seeking , and may modify their systemic behavior,

their internal organization or their structure when the

cost of maintaining the steady state exceeds the cost of

change (see Deutsch 1951)

A change in behavior may merely entail a scheduled modification in activity, as when a foraging band fissions

during periods of food scarcity. When these preestablished .

change procedures are insufficient to cope with systemic

stresses, however, the sociocultural unit may activate

form-changing (morphogenic) mechanisms and establish a new steady state characterized by modified structure and organization (see Maruyama 1963). The foraging band, now unable to fission because of increasing population densities, may adopt a more sedentary subsistence strategy requiring new patterns of interaction. Morphogenesis may be accomplished through conformity-reduction (negative sanctions extinguish formerly acceptable behaviors) or through deviance-amplification (what was formerly unaccept- able is positively reinforced if it represents a potentially viable alternative)

The capacity of the sociocultural system to employ morphostatic and morphogenic mechanisms in response to stress conditions implies the existence of a number of features characteristic of adaptive units. The system must be able to perceive changes in the environment in some way, and there must be a process by which information is evaluated with regards to the possible and "appropriate" stress-reducing procedures. Specific components necessary to adaptive response include the morphostatic and morphogenic features already discussed as well as (1) sensory apparati, , or "perceptors " (2) feedback and feedforward loops through which information flows, (3) a control center or decision-making process, and (4) a body of knowledge, goals and rules which are the cultural domain of the system. .

The Process of Alternative Selection

Perceptors are those features related to data collec-

tion. A viable social entity, existing as part of a

larger social and physical system and therefore responding

to changes in the larger context, must remain "aware" of

external conditions before purposive action is possible.

The sociocultural system relies upon the organic base for

data input, although in some cases specialized artifacts

are employed to extend the powers of sight, hearing, touch,

smell and taste to gather information on phenomena which

lie outside the limits of the human sensory apparati

Perception may be an informal process, or it may be for-

malized as subsystems: scouting parties, investigatory

agencies, research institutions, and so on.

Data regarding environmental conditions must be evalu-

ated to determine the possible consequences of these condi-

tions and to select among alternative responses to change.

Thus, the sociocultural system must possess some sort of

"control center" or decision-making process which receives

information through feedback channels. Appropriate morpho-

static or morphogenic mechanisms are then activated (or no action at all is taken) to achieve the goals of the system.

The ideal model of adaptive response is illustrated in

Figure 1.

Ideally, a community or society does not merely respond to a change situation but, rather, responds in an n l 1 .

tn C H 44 -P G c in S

Sociocultural

cd tn G o a a tn

a> tn of 4-> tn G o CD o 0 CD g tn o 2: 4-4 CD G 0 1— 4-4 4-4 O G tC W tn 4-4 P4 Response t>i o,

' V -P 1 CO -> CD a; G d U o CD G G G G w tn to 4-1 -P 0 CD P a G tn 0 o CG T4 D O CD o, < CD CJ •H U +J A a) c r? tn o g _o a A G -> & a a> G g & and Alternative o o > t4-1 s:

G CD Selection G g G G CD O 4-4 G G •H «— o H > tn •H G G -4-1 a> 0) W H G to -G G -4-) G 4-1 -G g , tn O G -H Alternative o a G G 4-4 x: tn •G G CO cr CD a) — g os CD 4-> o Cn X s: G W G -G G U O 47

appropriate, adaptive manner. The existence of perceptors, feedback/feedforward loops and decision-making components provides for selection among alternative behaviors, and the selection process itself is based upon the perceived nature of stress-producing factors, the predicted or actual impact of changes, and the goal parameters of the system which are defined with reference to individual and collective needs. The complex procedure is possible only because the sociocultural system is characterized by a cultural domain which serves as a program for response.

The Cultural Domain of the Sociocultural System

The concept of culture is central to the science of anthropology and has been defined in myriad ways to suit the purposes of the observers of human behavior (see Kroeber and Kluckhohn 1952) . Some definitions focus upon observable traits of a population, listing as "culture" such material phenomena as interpersonal behavior, art, tools, clothing, etc. Other definitions emphasize the immaterial dimensions of ideas, values, attitudes, beliefs and other fundamentally mental processes. The majority of students combine the two viewpoints and maintain that culture is all-inclusive, embracing what people think, do and create. Perhaps the best-known interpretation is that of Sir Edward Burnett Tylor who defines culture as "that complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals. 48

law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired

by men as a member of society" (1871: 1).

The position adopted in this dissertation is that all

observable behavior and extrasomatic traits which charac-

terize a population and which are a function of learning

are the expression of the complex of mental phenomena

called culture. A tool, its manufacture and its use re-

flect the cognitive category of the artifact, the knowledge

pertaining to its fabrication, and the rules governing its

use. Human behavior is to a large degree predicated upon

a mental blueprint ingrained in the individual through

experience and enculturation practices, and insofar as all

cultural phenomena are functionally interrelated, behavior

of individuals sharing a similar behavioral cognitive blue-

print will be patterned. Culture, moreover, is not limited

to the realm of consciousness but gives organization to the unconscious processes as well.

Because interactional configurations have been defined as the foundation of the sociocultural system qua system,

then the social domain can be viewed as a manifestation of the cultural. Syllogistically , behavior is the expression of culture; the social system is defined as organized behavior; therefore, the social system is the product of culture. The anthropologist need not become a psychologist, but he or she must recognize that to study the traits of a people is to study the empirical, material derivative of .

conscious and unconscious conceptual categories, beliefs, assumptions, propositions, values, rules, attitudes, etc.

To label as "culture" both the artifact and the concept of the artifact is to place cause and effect in the same category, confusing the mental phenomenon and its material expression

One cannot, therefore, directly observe culture, any more than one can observe social structure, but must be content to examine its consequences. For analytical purposes, culture is considered here to subsume three broad cognitive areas. The first area contains all percepts, concepts, and beliefs regarding the relationships among the conceptual categories which underly particular interpretations of reality. The area may loosely be labeled

"information" or "knowledge." The data and the propositions and beliefs pertaining to the organization of those data provide the system/individuals with alternative responses to internal and external stimuli.

The second cognitive area of the cultural domain delimits the goal parameters of the sociocultural system and consists of values and priorities. "Value" as used in this context is not the conceptual category or proposition but the positive or negative weight attached to phenomena and their relationships. Physical pain may be assigned a high negative value by a person/population, while food is given a high positive value. The goal parameters of the 50

system can therefore be expressed in terms of right and wrong, proper and improper, desired and undesired, shoulds and shouldn'ts. The contents of the first cognitive area are thereby arranged (1) in order of importance, and (2) in order of propriety. The label "goal parameters" is used to reflect the function of the area, namely, to assign priorities which are the basis for selection of alternative responses to internal and external stimuli.

As might be concluded from the earlier discussions, goal parameters of a system derive from collective needs, and priorities assigned reflect the needs hierarchy.

The final area of the cultural domain is the regula- tory and includes rules, regulations, norms of behavior, laws, and all implicit or explicit, formal or informal formulae for behavior. Thus, culture determines what is perceived and how it is perceived, the priorities of alternative responses, and the procedural guidelines for action.

To put it another way, culture delimits what can be done, what should be done, and how to go about doing it. To emphasize an important point, the process is not necessarily a conscious one.

Collective Stress Situations

The hypothetical construct developed in the preceding sections is an ideal model of a sociocultural system and serves as a device against which to measure and analyze ,

51 real systems. Theoretically, the adaptive social unit operates to minimize stresses attendant upon deprivation; practically, no community or society functions in such a way as to satisfy all individual and collective needs. A degree of tension, or stress,

is ever present in one form or another throughout the sociocultural system — sometimes as diffuse, sociall unstructured strivings, frustrations, enthu- siasms, aggressions, neurotic or nor- mative deviations; sometimes as clustered and minimally structured crowd or quasi-group processes, normatively constructive as well as destructive; and sometimes as socioculturally structured creativity and production, conflict and competition, or upheaval and destruction (Buckley 1967: 51).

Such internal stresses do not necessarily imply, then, that the system is on the verge of collapse. In fact,

"some level of tension [is] characteristic of and vital to such systems" (Buckley 1967: 52). The amount of stress present in a particular system is a function of needs— deprivation and there exists a continuum of stability. At one end there is minimal stress with a steady state approaching equilibrium.

At the other end of the continuum, a failure to meet even the basic nutritional requirements of existence results in severe collective stress possibly leading to disintegration of the social unit. Most systems fall between the polar extremes and will, at any given point in time, manifest varying degrees of tension as changes occur in the internal or external environment. Despite periodic 52

or chronic deprivation, the majority of extant sociocultur-

al systems operate within a margin of tolerance to stress

so that a relatively steady state is maintained.

The sources of collective stress are many, but there

are common causes which in general reflect deviance from

the ideal process of adaptation. Economic arrangements,

for example, may not provide for adequate production or

e ffi c ient distribution of the material requirements for

needs-satisf action . Decision-making processes may operate

in favor of the few, depriving the majority. The system

may lack effective means to perceive changes in the envi-

ronment or to relay that information accurately to the

control center, if one exists.

There may be, on the other hand, incongruence among

areas in the cultural domain. Alternative responses may be inadequate or nonexistent. A disparity may exist be-

tween the capacity of the system to fulfill needs and the needs themselves. Similarly, stress may arise from a mis-

fit between collective and individual goals, a misfit which results from changes in individual or collective needs.

When members of the collectivity acquire new needs which

the system cannot fulfill, a situation of "relative deprivation" may appear (Aberle 1970) , and there is pressure

to reallign systemic goal parameters.

Social and cultural imperfections may be regarded as

internal sources of stress, and there is yet another factor 53 which falls into this category. Each person in the collec-

tivity will seek to maximize satisfaction of personal needs, but even in a perfectly egalitarian society, individual goals will often conflict with those of other members of the group. Sacrifice and compromises made in the process of social exchange will assure, perhaps, that most needs of everyone are met, but satisfaction will not be complete (see Homans 1958) . In view of the fact that no community or society is perfectly egalitarian, stress arising from this source of deprivation is magnified because certain individuals enjoy differential access to the instrumental means of needs-satisf action . Under such circumstances, the social exchange process during which interacting members seek to maximize satisfaction will be weighted in favor of those who hold some advantage.

In a totally stable environment, however, a sociocultural system will move towards a steady state characterized by internal consistency of social and cultural domains. But the environment is continually changing, and modifications in the social and physical context constitute external sources of stress operating on the social unit. Many events are relatively routine and are dealt with by means of mechanisms already in the system. An agricultural population living in an area where seasonal changes in the rate of precipitation prevail, for example, will probably develop some means to provide water during dry spells. If 54

nearby groups pose a threat to safety, defense arrangements will probably appear.

Other external events are not as routine as seasonal changes in rainfall or conflict with neighboring populations. Exceptionally early rains, droughts, killing frosts or hailstorms may damage crops and result in food shortages.

Contact with other societies or groups may change goal parameters and lead to "rising expectations" and relative deprivation, while invasions, war, drug trafficking, and other social phenomena may, like disruptive natural events, cause severe stress in the affected system. The community or society may possess the means to deal with unforeseen emergencies and thereby minimize deprivation. On the other hand, the system may be caught unprepared by such events, or the change in the physical and social environment may be of such magnitude as to make effective response impossible. Consequent stress levels will be extremely high, and the situation may be defined as a disaster.

Disaster

The concept of collective stress bears directly upon the topic of this dissertation, the social and cultural effects of natural disaster. However, the unpredictability of the stress levels that a given sociocultural system can endure and remain intact poses a serious epistemological problem for the social scientist who attempts to study ,

disaster situations. The problem is that definitional criteria are ambiguous in available literature, and no conceptual categories exist to distinguish among calamitous events and other collective stress phenomena. Taking one commonly cited definition to illustrate the point, Charles

Fritz views disaster as

an event concentrated in time and space, which a society or a relatively self- sufficient subdivision of a society, undergoes severe danger and incurs such losses to its members and physical ap- purtenances that the social structure is disrupted and the fulfillment of all or some of the essential functions of the society is prevented (1961: 655).

The definition offered by Fritz reflects the uncer- tainty of other social scientists regarding the nature of the disaster process. A time factor, for example, frequently appears in other attempts to classify calamity, with such events defined as "sudden" (e.g., Sjoberg 1962:

357) taking place "in a short period of time" (Haas and

Ayre 1969: 6), and so on. One criticism of the use of a temporal criterion is that, while earthquakes and similar unanticipated events may occur very suddenly, other phenomena do not take place in so short a time span. Droughts may continue for many years, slowly destroying the subsistence base of a group, and economic depression is likewise of relatively long duration.

A more fundamental criticism of the inclusion of a time factor to define disaster is that it confuses the .

disaster agent (the earthquake, drought, depression) and the effects of the triggering event. Fritz, like most social scientists, agree with Haas and Ayre that it is the "adverse consequences to the human community that is the disaster" (1969: 6). If this viewpoint is valid, then the time dimension is misleading; the earthquake may last a few seconds, but the disaster itself may be tragically protracted if the stricken system cannot recover from the adverse consequences.

Charles Fritz refers to disaster as a "severe danger," and other writers include equally vague qualifiers to con- vey the magnitude of calamitous events. For example,

Gideon Sjoberg defines disasters as "relatively severe occurrences" (1962: 357), Haas and Ayre maintain that such events have "far-reaching effects" (1969: 6), and Wallace speaks of "extreme situations" (1956) The question remains, at what point does a situation become sufficiently severe or extreme to qualify as a disaster? Purely empirical observations fail to provide a basis for categorization and comparison, for the number of deaths or the extent of property damage are only indirect indicators of the magnitude of catastrophe. Intolerable stress may occur with few lives lost, as in an economic depression, or with little property damage, as during an epidemic.

Some disruption of the sociocultural system is generally agreed to be characteristic of a disaster situation. 57

In many cases, networks of food distribution disappear,

social control mechanisms such as police forces may prove

ineffective, and health delivery systems may not provide

adequate facilities for the victims. Again the criterion,

expressed by Fritz, is too ambiguous to be of heuristic value except in the most general sense. Must the community or society be totally inoperable before calamity can be said to have occurred? If only part of the system is affected, which components are partially or completely nonfunctional in a disaster as compared to other stress situations?

Charles Fritz' attempt to define disaster was chosen here not because it is a poor example but rather because it is representative. To summarize the problem, definitions are ambiguous, and though social scientists may agree when calamity has occurred (in most cases) , they cannot as yet adequately explain the difference between disaster and other sociocultural phenomena associated with high stress levels. To offer yet another definition in this dissertation would be counterproductive, for not enough is known about "extreme situations" to permit a distinction, if one indeed exists. The approach adopted here is that of Allen Barton who classifies disasters as part of a larger category of collective stress situations which occur when "many members of a social system fail to receive expected conditions of life from the system" (1969:

38) . 58

The proposition does not allow the observer to draw a line between calamity and other stress phenomena, but the very generality of Barton's approach may prove valuable in the initial stages of investigation. For one thing, further attempts to create categories may simply add to confusion if such categories are based upon inappropriate criteria. To judge from available literature, social scientists are not yet in a position to determine the appropriate criteria and arrive at a more specific, universally applicable definition. Moreover, Barton's proposition implies that disaster situations are not unique, that they are fundamentally like other sociocultural processes.

The social scientist is therefore freed from the historical

particularist ' s bind of assuming differences among social and cultural things to be more important than similarities.

Comparative studies may embrace all collective stress situations, and similarities as well as dissimilarities may be examined to determine not only what effects disaster

(however defined) may have, but the organizational and structural changes occurring when a sociocultural system adapts to modifications in the environment (however severe).

Procedures and Methodology

Research for this dissertation was conducted primarily in the highland farming community of Marian in the Depart- ment of Ancash, Peru. The objectives of the research were 59

to test the hypothesis that a post-impact utopia is associated with major disasters regardless of cultural context; to examine some of the long term effects of disaster on a community system; to apply, or operationalize, the theoretical model discussed in this chapter; and to provide insight into disaster and disaster relief in order to improve relief programs for future catastrophes.

Ideally, the design of the research program should derive from the theoretical assumptions of the researcher and conform to established procedures for the generation and testing of hypotheses in a field situation. Realistically, personal and practical considerations affect the selection of the research site, the feasibility of data-gathering procedures , and the techniques and instruments used to collect information.

Site Selection

If a hypothesis is assumed to be applicable to all situations, then site selection should present no problem.

The researcher determined, however, that some communities in the Callejon de Huaylas offered better test situations than others because of varying degrees of unity manifest in the social groups found in the area. Many villages in the valley correspond to some degree to what Eric Wolf

(1955) terms "closed, corporate peasant communities" which are relatively homogeneous, almost entirely dependent upon .

agriculture, and -- most importantly for some of the objectives of this research project — characterized by a high level of internal cohesion. Conflict exists in these groups, but behavior is generally community oriented and the group tends towards unity in the face of a common threat: exploitation by outsiders.

Testing the proposition that community solidarity increases following a major disaster would have been rather more difficult if the community displayed significant solidarity before the calamity. Therefore, the researcher sought a social group known to be less cohesive but still relatively intact as a system. Marian was therefore chosen as the research site. The assumption was that the appearance of a post-impact utopia would be more discernible in

Marian than in a corporate peasant community.

Marian was selected for a number of other reasons

Although the community is relatively large, the population is not as dispersed as in other possible sites. The settlement pattern cannot be viewed as nucleated, but households are clustered in several areas rather than dispersed throughout the community, thereby reducing the amount of time the researcher would spend walking from one informant's house to another's. Also, the presence of the

Marists made Marian a more attractive location since the investigator could draw upon their knowledge as well as upon their rapport with community members. The initial 61

"settling in" period was reduced because of the help of the Sisters, and the scheduling of interviews was facilitated because of their personal contacts in Marian.

An important consideration in the selection of Marian was the community's proximity to the departmental capital.

The researcher, having lived in Huaraz for two years prior to the 1970 earthquake and for nearly a year after the disastrous event, was thoroughly familiar with the area and many of its people. Long established contacts in the local government agencies aided the process of data collection. Personal friendships with local leaders made many government records readily available and reduced suspicion of the foreigner conducting research in the disaster zone.

On a more personal level, the nearby urban center offered respite from the loneliness and discomfort of living in a small farming community. The accessibility of old friends and good food in Huaraz relieved some of the pressures affecting other students who have worked in an unfamiliar community under discommodious conditions.

Procedures and Methodology

The researcher arrived in Peru of July of 1975 and lived in Marian from August to November of that year.

During this period, the investigator did not attempt to study all aspects of life in the community but, rather, focused upon those things which seemed to pertain to the .

research problems. Specifically, accounts of life before

and immediately following the earthquake were recorded.

Any indication of individual and collective stress were

noted, as were any changes in the essential components of

the community system. Emphasis was placed upon changes

in the economic subsystems, a procedure which in part

conforms to the viewpoint that technoenvironmental factors

and economic arrangements are largely determinant of other

aspects of the system (e.g., se Harris 1968, Steward 1955,

and White 1949) .

The researcher returned to the Callejon de Huaylas in

December of 1976 and gathered additional information on the

long term effects of the earthquake and subsequent relief programs

Participant-observation and informal interviews were

the primary means of data collection. Each morning the

researcher would set out through the community with a

small taperecorder and an inexpensive Polaroid camera.

Without fail, someone would stop to talk awhile, to ask questions and to answer some, and to get his or her pic-

ture taken. The camera, which produced a snapshot in 30

seconds, proved to be a most effective way of establishing

friendships and obtaining informants. As many as four or

five interviews were acquired each day in this manner, and

a few of the conversations were recorded on magnetic tape for later transcription. 63

Early evenings were generally spent visiting informants in their homes, and general impressions and information were accumulated during these informal and friendly visits. Later in the evening, all interviews, observations and impressions were recorded on Burroughs Unisort cards, and each card was then coded and punched for easy re- trieval. The researcher also maintained a diary in which he recounted events too delicate to be recorded on cards, or observations on his own personal problems, state of mind, or health.

An interview schedule was developed after several weeks in the site in 1975, and thirty formal interviews were conducted and recorded. At the end of each session, the researcher would continue the interview on a more informal basis, additional questions tailored to individual informants. Sister Mary Anne Faucher assisted during this period of research and was especially helpful in setting up interviews and in obtaining information from female respondents.

Other data for this dissertation were gathered from various publications and documents in private and public archives, from a census conducted in Marian by Peruvian university students in 1970 (unpublished) , from another census conducted by the Marists in 1975, from certified public accountants, and from interviews with key government .

personnel in the departmental capital. Much of the infor-

mation is drawn from the researcher's previous experience

in the Callejon de Huaylas where he worked for the Peace

Corps from 1966 to 1968 and in 1971.

Procedural and Methodological Problems

Some mention should be made at this point regarding

the major problems encountered during the period of re-

search in Marian and Huaraz. Although the researcher

established close relationships while in the community,

informants were generally reluctant to speak on some

topics, particularly those pertaining to land tenure,

agricultural production and ownership of animals. Reluc-

tance stemmed from the fact that a great deal of confusion

still surrounded the process of agrarian reform imposed by

the Peruvian government, and families feared that lands and

animals would be taken away from them. Tension was so great, in fact, that officials from Huaraz who entered

Marian to measure lands and to count cattle were reportedly threatened with violence. The researcher was repeatedly warned by community members not to gather information on farm size, ownership of land and animals, or any other subject which might be used by the offices of the Agrarian Reform

The office of the Agrarian Reform in Huaraz proved to be a poor source of information for two reasons. For one thing, records were too often innaccurate. For another, 65

officials of the agency were seldom willing to go out of

their way to be helpful and were, on several occasions,

openly hostile to enquiries. Their attitude was in sharp

contrast to that of the personnel of other government

offices who were invariably courteous and supportive.

Official estimates of agricultural production would

have been invaluable, but figures were meaningless because

of the manner in which such information was gathered. The

researcher discovered that officials would simply walk

through a community, briefly look at several fields, and

arrive at a production figure for the entire area based

on intuition. One government informant joked that, to

reduce errors, he would only guess at half the total and

then multiply the result by two. Even if such "guessti- mates" were partially correct, they did not take into

account that some land within the boundaries of Marian was owned by people from other communities, and that many

families in the research site owned plots in other areas of the valley. Therefore, no reasonable production total could be calculated for the community system.

Another major problem revolved about the dimension of time. Five years had passed since the earthquake of 1970, and the researcher was forced to rely upon the memories and impressions of informants without the benefit of direct observation. Much information, therefore, is somewhat distorted by memory, and the investigator could only 66

attempt to minimize the errors associated with retrospec-

ky repeating key questions and seeking confirmation from other informants.

As in any research program, many other problems arose during the periods of research. Whenever possible, statis- tical procedures are included to support the points being made, and when significant doubt exists regarding specific information, the doubt will be noted in the text. The researcher remains responsible for all errors, omissions, and misinterpretations. .

CHAPTER III MARIAN IN SPACE AND TIME

Marian is located towards the southern end of the Callejon de Huaylas an , Andean valley 400 kilometers north of Lima, Peru. Like many other highland communities of the area, Marian is almost exclusively dependent upon agricultural production for subsistence, and produce is generally consumed within the household rather than sold or bartered in the marketplace. Despite its proximity to Huaraz the , departmental capital only three kilometers away, the township has in many ways remained isolated from the forces of change originating in the urban center. The pace of life is slow, activities are inextricably linked to the farmer's calendar of changing seasons, and lifestyles reflect precolombian and colonial traditions as well as more modern trends. In other ways, however, Marian has not successfully resisted the disrupting influence of

Peru s modernizing society. Traditional patterns are increasingly giving way to new interpersonal arrangements, and changes have inevitably led to stresses and tensions apparent in nearly all aspects of life within the community

The impact of the 1970 earthquake must be viewed in light of the dynamics of the community system. Therefore, this chapter as well as Chapters IV and V are devoted to a

67 .

68 description of Marian without reference to the disaster.

The purpose of the description is to give the background necessary for analysis of the social and cultural impact of the earthquake and subsequent relief operations.

The Physical Setting

From southern Chile to Venezuela, the Andes stand as an ever present challenge to the survival of human populations inhabiting the highlands of western South America.

The viability of any sierra community is a function not only of its ability to exploit the physical environment but also of its capacity to adjust to the continuous geologic and climatic changes which characterize the An- dean cordilleras. The notion that the earth is a stage upon which the human drama unfolds loses meaning here, for the region is subject to sudden, unpredictable, and sometimes catastrophic changes as tectonic forces push upward while erosion seeks to destroy what orogeny creates (James

1973) . The physical environment of the Andean range, therefore, is far more than a passive, alternative-limiting constant. The hand of nature touches directly the lives of all who live in the area, and a highland community must respond to as well as interact with the variable natural milieu

In the central Andes of Peru, in the Department of

Ancash, lies the Callejon de Huaylas, a narrow river valley running roughly parallel to and approximately 80 kilometers FIGURE 2

South America 70 71

The Department of Ancash Peru 72

inland from the Peruvian coast. At the southern end of

the valley, above the 10° C. isotherm, lies the puna with

its rolling, rock-strewn hills, sluggish streams and stag-

nant lakes. Extreme variation in diurnal temperatures in

this region restricts protective vegetation, and loose materials have washed down the relatively gentle slopes to

the waste-filled hollows below. The stark landscape offers

little to check the chilling winds, and the low tempera-

tures of the treeless plain makes cultivation of food crops

difficult in the lower altitudes and impossible in higher

elevations. The puna is consequently inhabited only by a

few hardy individuals who graze their flocks and herds on

the short, tough tundra grasses.

The Santa River, which runs the entire length of the

Callejon de Huaylas, begins its initially meandering course

high in the puna at Lake Conacocha and enters the valley

proper (the quechua , or zone of cultivation) near the com-

munity of Catac. From this point northward the flanking

mountain ranges slowly converge upon one another until,

at 9° South Latitude, the two cordilleras are separated by

a few meters. The swiftly flowing Santa, having descended

little more than 2,000 meters from its headwaters 200 kilo-

meters to the south, now becomes a torrent plunging preci-

pitously through the narrow canyon arching towards the

Pacific Ocean.

The quechua region is topologically complex, consis-

ting primarily of gentle, rolling slopes near the Santa FIGURE 4

The Callejon de Huayl Ancash, Peru 74 75

River and steeper inclines in the higher altitudes to either side. The Cordillera Negra on the west was formed as the river cut its way through the original puna surface (Walton 1974: 9), and subsequent exposure of the dark, mineral-rich substrata suggests an origin of the name, the

"Black Range." Peaks of the Negra seldom exceed an altitude of 4,500 meters and do not reach into the zone of perpetual ice. Occasional streams along the western

slopes, therefore, are fed by small tarns replenished by

rainfall rather than by melting glaciers.

The Cordillera Blanca forms the eastern wall of the

Callejon de Huaylas. Their name derived from the ice

which adorns them the year round, the peaks of the "White

Range" reach a maximum altitude of nearly 6,800 meters,

and 29 mountains are over 6,000 meters high. Steep and

spectacularly rugged, the Blanca is the result of intrud-

ing granodiorite batholiths which were slowly eroded and

laid bare by glacial activity. Numerous glaciers have

carved giant box canyons into the range, and the continu-

ally melting snow and ice feed the mountain lakes which

in turn give birth to countless streams descending tur-

bulently to the Santa River below.

The floor of the quechua region descends from 3,500

meters near the town of Catac to a little more than 2,000

meters around the community of Sucre, and the valley be-

comes progressively narrower as one travels northward. Al-

though the flanking ranges gradually converge, there are a 76 number of wider, flatter zones which alternate with areas where mountain spurs jut inward to create hilly barriers.

The northernmost extreme of the quechua is marked by the beautiful Canon del Pato ("Duck Canyon") whose rocky walls reach endlessly upward until the sky is but a ribbon of blue high overhead.

Climate and Vegetation

The Callejon de Huaylas lies well within the southern tropical zone; consequently, diurnal temperature differences greatly exceed variations in monthly mean temperatures.

In higher altitudes the heat dissipates rapidly in the thin

atmosphere so that there is a significant drop in tempera-

ture during the nighttime hours or as one moves from sunlit

areas into the shade. The 10° C. isotherm follows the

3,000-meter contour of the valley, and the zone of perma-

nent ice is found above 4,500 meters in these latitudes.

The Callejon de Huaylas is dry between the months of

April and September, while rains occur almost daily between

October and March. Generally, the southern end of the val-

ley receives more abundant rainfall, although patterns of

precipitation for any given location depend upon terrain

and wind currents. According to the geographer Nyle

Walton (1974: 10), who spent some time in the Callejon de

Huaylas in 1971, the 500-millimeter isohyet divides the

valley near the provincial capital of Carhuaz and curves

northward along both sides of the valley following the

3,000-meter contour. 1 1 l 1 1 I

for

d Rainfall n 0) 1976 ft

- N and d U <0 1965 d m ffi w o Dft o O Temperatures H Peru, =#= ft C H0 -p Huaraz,

Mean 4-> ft w H Monthly

S3 H d p Q)a o P -P o (U

I— w

I I I I I

o u u U u 0 0 0 0 0 hO in ro CM

1 i— i— i— i— — 78

Natural vegetation in the quechua has been affected by centuries of human habitation. Only a few isolated trees along the streams and in the canyons remain of the original forest which once covered the lower slopes of the more humid southern portion of the valley. Eucalyptus trees were introduced shortly after the turn of the century, and the hardy species has thrived in all areas be-

low 3,500 meters. A few native Andean shrubs can still be

found around the tarns high in the box canyons, and repre-

sentatives of the original flora have survived in uncultivated lands along the Santa River and on steeper inclines unsuited for agriculture.

A description of the natural environment of the

Callejon de Huaylas would be incomplete without a brief mention of the dynamics of the valley's geography. Two

processes are proceeding simultaneously, making the geo-

logically young region one of the most active in the Andes.

The peaks of the Cordilleras Negra and Blanca are being

lifted further above sea level each year as the descending

Nazca Plate increases the mass beneath the mountains, and

tectonic instability results in frequent earth tremors and

occasional large scale earthquakes.

What orogenic forces create, wind, water and gravity

seek to destroy. Glaciers scour the rugged White Range

and gradually widen the box canyons, while the Santa River

cuts ever deeper into the valley itself. From time to

time, ice slivers plummet from the peaks to the east. 79

rushing downward in a great wall of water, dirt and rock toward the inhabited regions below. The slopes of both cordilleras are scarred by landslides and avalanches, and everywhere are traces which attest to the destructive energy of erosion in the Andes. Few places in the world can match the beauty of the Callejon de Huaylas, but those who live in the treacherous environment know that it is una belleza que mata -- a beauty that kills.

The Community of Marian

The political boundaries of Marian form a rough rec- tangle with a north-south longitudinal orientation. The

Paria River marks the southern end of the community, while

the eastern border runs parallel to the glacial gorge ex-

tending from the Quebrada ("box canyon") Cojup. To the

north, the quickly steepening slopes of the Cordillera

Blanca divides Marian and the National Park of Huascaran,

a government preserve, while the western side of the community follows land contours and is delineated by streams,

irrigation canals, tree groves and the edges of cultivated

fields. Calculating the surface area is difficult because

of the lack of accurate maps, but Marian is approximately

12 kilometers long and 4.5 kilometers wide, giving a total

area of 54 square kilometers.

Because of the complexity of the terrain, altitude

differences within Marian are equally difficult to calcu-

late using existing maps. Generally speaking, the plane of 80

the community is tilted downward to the southeast so that the corner near the Quebrada Cojup is the highest point while the southwestern corner is the lowest. Altitudes range from about 3,100 meters above sea level along the southern boundary to more than 4,000 meters at the base of the Cordillera Blanca.

Again speaking in general terms, the community is divided into four topographical regions. The southernmost

sector, Anta Oco , is characterized by hilly terrain, and the slopes of this area rise somewhat above the central region directly to the north. This second, central sector called the Central Barrio, is a relatively flat meadow basin bounded by the hills of Anta Oco on the south and the rolling lands of Bella Vista which lie still closer to the

White Range. Beyond Bella Vista lies Cachi Pampa, a plateau which slopes upward to merge with the alpine meadows marking the northernmost boundary of the community. The barrio ("sector") of San Isidro is located almost entirely within this fourth area.

Soil quality varies according to location in the community. Anta Oco and Bella Vista, both characterized by rolling hills, possess the most fertile soils, although alluvial materials from the cordillera have left a deposit of gravel and rock at all levels. Water drainage in these two regions is "good to moderate" (Peru 1973) so that most crops suitable to the altitude can be grown without difficulty. The Central Barrio is more complex because of FIGURE 6

Marian 82 83 excessive water. Underground drainage has loosened the gravelly supporting soils, resulting in erosion where there is any incline at all, while the lowest sectors of the central basin are suited only for grazing because of the higher water table. The plateau region as well as the eastern portion of the Central Barrio do not share the high water table of the basin, but soils are generally less fertile and a good deal rockier.

Water is available to all regions of Marian. The upper region may draw water from the Paria River issuing from the Quebrada Cojup. To the east is the Uquia River which has its headwaters in the Quebrada Llaca and which divides into two smaller streams in the lower section of the Central Barrio. Glacial streams and subsoil drainage provide for most of the water needs of Marian, but during the rainy season the abundance of water becomes a problem.

Rains begin in September or October and reach a peak inten- sity in January. The general pattern is complicated because early rains are not unusual while, on the other hand, there is no rainfall at all until October in many years.

Also, the rainy season itself is punctuated by dry spells which necessitate the use of the irrigation system, especially in September and October when newly planted cultigens are particularly vulnerable. When rains come too

soon, as they did in 1975, the grain crops may be ruined before they can be harvested and shocked. .

Rain generally descends from the Quebradas Cojup and

Llaca into Marian, and local topography creates watersheds in the community. Anta Oco and Bella Vista receive more precipitation since the northwesterly winds rise over the hills of these two sectors, and Bella Vista often experiences the brunt of the more severe storms. In September of 1975, for example, two hailstorms leveled the fields of grain in Bella Vista while other regions of Marian were unscathed

Temperatures in the community vary according to altitude and season. There is a mean 0.5° C. decrease for every additional 100 meters above sea level, although the

terrain may create colder spots because of wind chill

factors. During the dry season from April to September,

the mean daytime temperature in the Central Barrio (in the

shade) is approximately 18° C., while the thermometers will

normally read 5° C. or less at night. Morning frosts are

frequent during June and July, although the apparent tem-

perature in the sun is greatest at this time of year. On

the other hand, mean temperatures are generally higher

during the rainy season because of the greenhouse effect

created by the cloud cover, but the Andean chill is more

penetrating with the higher humidity.

Except in the puna in the northern region of Marian,

the natural vegetation has been almost entirely replaced

by cultivated crops and imported vegetation. A few native

shrubs can be found at the entrances of the canyons, and a 85 number of willows grow along the streams and rivers. Euca- lyptus dominate the uncultivated areas, lining the roads, paths and irrigation canals, and wild grasses flourish wherever the soils are not suited for agriculture. All other lands in the community are given over to food crops or lie fallow to be used in the interim as pasture.

As in all regions of the Andes, the natural environment of Marian is characterized by the ever present threat of geologic disruption. A major fault runs along the base of the Cordillera Blanca, and seismic disturbances along this fault are frequent. In the Quebrada Cojup as well as in Llaca are natural dams which have trapped glacial waters to form a number of icy lakes hanging over the future of the community. Should the rock retaining walls burst,

Marian could be swept away by the descending waves of water, rock and mud. Strangely, the dangers of the physical environment do not over concern the inhabitants whose memory of past disasters seems to recede against the daily pressures of living.

The Historical Setting

Little is known about the first inhabitants of high-

land Peru except that they were hunters who followed the

seasonal migration of small game animals such as the

South American cameloids. The oldest site in the Callejon

de Huaylas , Quishqui Puncu, was in use at least 10,000 years ago, and many archeologists once believed that the 86

Andean region as a whole had not been occupied much before that date. Even the famous caves of Lauricocha near the headwaters of the Marahon River did not yield artifacts older than ten thousand years, and the lithic workshops of the lower Chillon Valley on the central coast have been dated at only 12,000 B.C. Recent excavations in the highlands of central Peru, however, have shown that migratory hunting groups were in the area several millenia earlier, and the caves near Ayacucho have unbroken sequences ranging

from 20,000 B.C. to 1,500 A . D . (MacNeish 1971: 39).

After 2,500 B.C., coastal populations became increasingly dependent upon agriculture, and by 1,500 B.C. the sedentary subsistence strategy had become universal in the fertile river valleys along the arid Peruvian coast

(Lanning 1967: 60). Highland groups apparently continued to hunt and forage, although evidence exists to indicate that the hunting bands had some knowledge of agriculture.

The Culebras site, for example, confirms that at least one highland group cultivated maize in what is now the Depart- ment of Ancash, and agriculture may have been more widespread in the Andes prior to 1,500 B.C. than was previously supposed. Unfortunately for the archeologists, most farming in the mountain valleys would probably have been carried out on the flatter, more fertile lands along the rivers, and earliest traces of cultivation would have long since disappeared because of subsequent human activity and periodic flooding. Despite such probable experiments with 87 plant domestication in the sierra, however, foraging remained an important food source for the highland groups.

In Ancash, Quishqui Puncu was still being used by hunting bands long after agriculture had spread along the entire

Peruvian coast.

As in other areas of the world, the introduction of agriculture brought fundamental changes to Peru. Popula- tion increased dramatically, nucleated settlements proli- ferated, various art forms such as weaving and ceramics were perfected, and monumental architecture appeared. Re- gional variation characterized this period, for the settled areas were separated by the rugged terrain of the coast and sierra. One region and then another would gain ascendency, flourish, and fall to the domination of yet another con- quering population. Ancash was the site of the first great precolombian empire, the Chavin Culture, which reigned over north-central Peru nearly 3,000 years ago and whose influence was felt throughout the Andes. Chavinesque motifs are apparent in the architecture and art forms of temples and burial sites in the Callejon de Huaylas, particularly in Pumacayan and Wilkawain near Huaraz, and

in the many small post-Chavin ruins which abound in the valley (see Schaedel 1948, and Kauffman 1973).

The sequence of smaller empires which appeared after

1,000 B.C. culminated two millenia later in the Tiwantin -

suyo , the kingdom of the Incas. Beginning their expansion

in the 13th century A.D., the Inca kings subjugated the 88 multitudinous warring clans in Ecuador, Bolivia and Peru, imposing an order whose scale was theretofore unknown in the Andean region. Masters of organization, the Quechuas

(as the Incas and their subjects were known) increased communication among the various populations by construc- ting great roads through the highlands and along the coast.

Messages could be sent to any point in the realm by

chasguis , curriers who were stationed at strategic locations on the roads. Running in relays, .the chasquis could deliver their messages in a surprisingly short time. In fact, chroniclers have noted that the curriers could cover the distance between Quito and Cuzco -- more than 2,000 kilometers -- in five days (Von Hagen 1957: 181). Re- ceiving news of rebellion in the kingdom, the Inca could quickly move his forces along the stone-paved highways, thus assuring prompt retaliation and continued harmony among his subjects.

The Callejon de Huaylas did not fall under Inca control until the middle of the 15th century when the area

was conquered by the army led by Capac Yupanqui , brother of the Inca Pachacutec. As was the custom of the Quechuas under Pachacutec, teachers accompanied the troops and taught the official language of the empire to the newly subjugated peoples. To maintain tight control, the Inca created colonies populated by groups of unquestioned

loyalty to the king. These mi timaes not only served as 89 the base for the administrative structure but could report on unrest or rebellion in the recently conquered areas.

Spanish Conquest and the Colonial Period

The remarkable social order imposed by the Quechuas was to last for approximately another century following the conquest of the Callejon de Huaylas. Then, in 1527, the Inca Huayna Capac died without designating an heir.

Civil war ensued between the Inca's two sons, and the con-

flict divided and debilitated Tiwantinsuyo . Five years later, when the empire was its most vulnerable and many people had died from war or from the diseases sweeping down from the north, a small group of men landed on the shores of northern Peru. Led by Francisco Pizarro, the group of 130 foot soldiers and 40 cavalry, armed with strange weapons and riding even stranger animals, was able to take advantage of the chaotic conditions. In six short years, Pizarro was able to bring the Inca kingdom down in defeat, and the Andes were once again united, this time under Iberian rule.

The Spanish Conquest did not bring merely a change in government to the indigenous peoples of Peru. Rather, there were fundamental changes in social organization which worked to the detriment of the Indian population. Span- iards were more interested in gaining personal wealth than in maintaining the intricate social mechanisms of the Inca empire, and this attitude had a disastrous sociological :

90 and ecological impact on the area. As John Hemming observed

Spaniards rarely wantonly killed natives except in war, but they were nevertheless responsible for much of the decline. Un- der the Incas the steep valley of the An- des and the rivers running across the coastal desert had been organized to maintain a large population. The Spaniards, preoccupied with their personal fortunes and embroiled in passionate civil wars, neglected the public works of the Inca regime. Precious irrigation canals were allowed to fall into disrepair, agricultural terraces that used to climb in neat ranks up Andean mountainsides crumbled and became overgrown, roads and bridges that had been built for runners were pitted by heavy horses and wheeled traffic. The Incas maintained great storehouses as in- surance against bad harvests. These were dissipated and looted at the outset of the Conquest, and the great llama herds of the Incas were slaughtered, dispersed and never restocked (Hemming 1970: 350-1).

Under these conditions, life in Peru became intolerable for the native peoples, and many simply lost their will to live. In 1570, a group of elderly Inca officials observed that "the Indians, seeing themselves dispossessed

and robbed . . . allowed themselves to die, and do not openly apply themselves to anything as they did in Inca times" (as quoted in Hemming 1970: 350). The initial years of the colonial period, then, were characterized by disease and poverty as well as a general demoralization among the native peoples which led to a significant decline in the birth rate.

The Spanish Crown rewarded service by granting faith- ful subjects certain rights to newly "discovered" and 91 conquered territory. Some individuals received direct land grants and were allowed to develop these repartimientos as they wished. More commonly, the subject was granted an

encomienda , a feudal arrangement whereby the Spanish over- lord could exact tribute from the inhabitants of the region and require the labor of groups of Indians. In return, the beneficiary of the king's grant agreed to undertake the protection and indoctrination of his native charges, particularly with regards to religious training. Although the native population was protected by Spanish law, and though reciprocal rights and obligations were clearly spelled out, the institutions of repartimiento and encomienda led to cruel exploitation of the Indian. Tributes and taxes were

burdensome, and the forced labor ( mita ) often resulted in death because of the terrible working conditions of the mines where many thousands of natives were forced to work.

A number of Europeans were acutely aware of the in- justices committed in the New World and communicated their concern to the Spanish king. Steps were taken to rectify the situation, particularly under the administration of

Francisco Toledo who served as the king's representative between 1568 and 1581. Toledo refused to grant new en- comiendas, gave to Indian farmers legal title to lands not yet divided among the Spaniards, and attempted to provide

for those peasants who had lost their property to the over-

lords. The Crown tried to protect Indian rights by modi-

fying laws to prevent blatant exploitation, but such .

92 enlightened attempts did little to better the situation.

The best of laws are ineffective if they cannot be en-

forced or if those responsible for enforcement are them-

selves corrupt. The Indian continued to lose territory to

the Spaniard throughout the colonial period, for "colonial

legislation made acquisition [of land] easy for a shrewd man, while administration of the laws made it easy even

for a stupid one" (Ford 1955: 55).

Independence and the Modern Period

Emancipation from Spain in 1821 exacerbated the plight

of the Indian in Peru, for communal lands allowed under

colonial rule were abolished after Independence. Every

individual was given legal title to the lands he or she

worked, but the new laws worked only to the disadvantage

of the indigenous population. No longer protected by the

Crown and ignorant of the legislation imposed upon them,

the Indian farmers lost even more of their land to the

"foreigner" and were forced either to the marginally pro-

ductive areas or into debt peonage.

As the estates controlled by the Spaniards increased

in size, the marginal lands still controlled by the Indians

were divided and divided again as the population steadily

grew. Individual plots frequently became too small to

support the farmer's family, and the minifundia appeared

to take its place beside the great latifundias Land-poor

farmers often became attached to the large estates, working .

93 in the household or in the fields of the landlord in exchange for usufruct of small, marginal plots (see Vazquez

1961) . Throughout the Independence period and into recent years, the land tenure system has remained perhaps the single most important fact contributing to the continuing disparity of wealth in Peru and to tensions between the very rich and the very poor (Feder 1971; Stavenhagen 1975)

A study conducted shortly before the Agrarian Reform of 1969 indicates the magnitude of the minifundia-latif un- dia complex. The Interamerican Committee on Agricultural

Development (CIDA 1966) revealed that the total area under cultivation or in pasture in the Peruvian highlands was only about 15 million hectares. Multifamily largeholdings exceeding 100 hectares of cultivated lands or 2,500 hectares of pasture controlled 75 per cent of this total, and yet the large estates represented only 1.3 per cent of the number of farms in the sierra. On the other hand, over

80 per cent of the farms were less than two hectares each, and these minifundias controlled less than 5 per cent of the area under cultivation or in pasture.

Exploitation of the Indians during the Independence period was not limited to the quasi-legal usurpation of

land. Many officials were corrupt and used their position

and influence to increase personal wealth and prestige.

Frequent boundary disputes and wars with neighboring

countries depleted government coffers and were followed by

heavier taxation and more demands for forced labor to 94 repair roads, bridges and public buildings. To worsen the situation, wars generally led to virtual anarchy in the outlying provinces, leaving local officials completely in control of their personal dominions.

Modern Peruvian history is marked by alternating dictatorship, anarchy, and unsuccessful attempts to alter the disparity of wealth. Not surprisingly, a central issue has involved the redistribution of land, but little was done to initiate a true agrarian reform until the present government, a military dictatorship, emasculated the oligarchy and expropriated the large landholdings.

After a dramatic move to take over the seven largest coastal estates on June 4, 1969, the military has slowly but inexorably carried out reforms not only in agriculture but also in other economic and social domains. The impact of the Peruvian revolution cannot as yet be measured, but there is little doubt that the country has undergone extraordinary changes in the last ten years.

Huaraz and Marian: A Brief History

Little is recorded concerning the community of Marian, and only the rebellion of Atusparia (discussed below) saved the township from complete anonymity during the colonial and Independence periods. Lying several kilometers away from the Santa River which connects the urban centers of the valley, Marian also lies at some distance from the major currents of Peruvian history. Rather than being 95 carried along quickly into modernity, the community remains caught in the eddies of social, political and economic powers largely beyond its control and understanding. The mainstream is located an hour's walk away, in the departmental capital which has grown rapidly in recent years.

Marian, having established its place in history less than one hundred years ago may once again lose its identity as

Huaraz spreads and engulfs the smaller satellite communi-

ties in the southern end of the Callejon de Huaylas . The past as well as the future of Marian, therefore, cannot be understood without an examination of the past, present and future of the capital of the Department of Ancash.

Huaraz was first visited by the Spaniards in 1533 when Francisco Pizarro, seeking the temple of Pachacamac, led a small band of men along the Inca highway running through the Callejon de Huaylas. Entering the valley on

January 17, the contingent marched through the villages located on the Santa River and reached Huaraz (or, Guarax) five days later. Miguel Estete, who accompanied Pizarro on the journey, recorded his impressions of the town which was to become increasingly important in the next 400 years.

On Friday, January 21, Estete wrote that Captain Pizarro

left the village [of Carhuaz"] and by midday arrived at a large town called Guarax, where he visited with the headman of Pumacapillay who provided food and men to carry provisions. This Town is located on a plain, and a river [the Quilcay] flows beside it; from the 96

town one may see other villages where there are many head of cattle as well as maize. The people had corralled 200 head of cattle solely for the purpose of feeding the captain and those who travelled with him (as quoted in Gradilla 1933: 10. My translation).

According to the Libro de los Cabildos de Lima , Huaraz became an encomienda and was granted to Jeronimo de Aliaga, one of the men who entered Cajamarca with Pizarro in 1532

(Gradilla 1933: 15) . Originally part of the Partido de Guay-

las formed soon after the Conquest, Huaraz was named capital of the Corregimiento de Huaylas created under the Viceroy

Lope Garcia de Castro. The area was politically and economically unimportant compared to more accessible and resource-rich valleys in Peru, but the Inca highway running

through the Callejon gave Huaraz a strategic importance.

The highland road was preferred to that of the coast where

travel was difficult for mounts and pack animals unadapted

to the desert environment. During the armed conflicts and rebellions of the colonial and Independence periods, there-

fore, opposing forces would often meet in the valleys of

the Andean sierra. The plain of Huaraz first described by

Estete in 1533 was to be the site of frequent battles.

Exploitation of indigenous peoples reported by chron-

iclers in other parts of Peru was undoubtedly occurring in

the Callejon de Huaylas, although there are scanty records of the region's history. Large estates owned by wealthy

Spaniards diminished land controlled by the Indian, and

taxes were often levied when local or national government 97 ran short of funds. In fact, a burdensome tax placed on families following the debilitating war with Chile during the latter part of the 19th century led to one of the most famous Indian rebellions in Peru's history, and the leader of the uprising against local authorities was from the community of Marian.

The Rebellion of Atusparia

The Chilean conflict had been an expensive ordeal, resulting in widespread destruction of churches and public buildings and in increased poverty in the highlands. In

1885 the Gobierno de Iglesias ("Government of Churches") requested that local authorities collect an additional tax from each family to fund the reconstruction of church structures. The amount was exorbitant and would mean even greater sacrifices and hardships for the peasants of the area. A group of farmers from Marian, among whom was the

native mayor (the varayoc , a traditional position in many

Andean communities) approached the Prefect of Huaraz with a petition signed by 40 individuals who asked that the tax be withdrawn.

The Prefect Francisco Noriega arrested Atusparia,

Marian's native mayor, and horsewhipped him to force the

Indian leader to reveal the author of the petition. Four- teen members of Marian came to Noriega requesting that the prisoner be set free, but Noriega, having failed to intim-

idate Atusparia, had the Governor of the Province cut the 98 tresses of all 15 men — a grave insult to the Indians.

Incensed by the "uprising" of the peasants, civil authorities in Huaraz and other provinces of the Callejon de

Huaylas began to harass local native leaders, and the increased oppression proved to be a catalyst for a true rebellion.

In late February of 1885, a large group of Indians from many communities near Huaraz appeared on the ruins of

Pumacayan east of the city. For several days the crowd grew until it surrounded the capital, and then, on the second day of March, the battle began. Led by Atusparia, the indigenous forces captured Huaraz and began their march through the valley northward to liberate other towns.

Word of the rebellion spread quickly throughout Ancash, and soon many Indian communities in the department stood behind the banner of Atusparia.

The region was not to remain long under the control of the Indians, however, for news of the peasant revolt reached the provisional governor of Peru. Seven hundred men under the command of Colonel Manuel Callirgos marched up the coast to Casma and began to fight their way towards

Yungay in the Callejon. Atusparia sought to reinforce his untrained and ill-equipped army and to halt the advance of government troops, but the holding action was too little and too late. Yungay fell in April of the same year, and

Atusparia 1 s forces retreated to Huaraz. 99

Callirgos marched on the capital in May and took the city after a bitter struggle. The insurrection was all but destroyed, especially with Atusparia lying wounded and unable to lead the rebel forces. Sporadic fighting continued as guerilla groups attempted to lure government troops into the higher altitudes where soroche ("altitude sickness") worked to the advantage of the highlanders. Repeated efforts to retake Huaraz failed, however, and one by one the

Indian leaders capitulated, were captured, or were killed.

The rebellion of Atusparia was over, but the community of

Marian was to become famous as the birthplace of one of

Peru's folk heroes.

Huaraz: The Primate City of the Callejon de Huaylas

The peasant revolt of 1885 was important enough to have national repercussions, but in a larger context,

Huaraz and surrounding communities have had relatively little impact on Peruvian history. On a local level, however, Huaraz has dominated the region politically, socially and economically at least since the early colonial period.

At the time of the Conquest, when the town was given as an encomienda to Aliaga, there were 706 Indians included in the grant, which means that the total population of the settlement was probably between two and three thousand

individuals (women and children were not counted as part of the grant. The population was calculated in terms of

heads of households) . By 1693 the number had at least .

100 doubled, for the census conducted by the Franciscan order recorded some 6,000 residents in Huaraz (Gridilla 1933: 12).

Although the figures are undoubtedly inaccurate to some degree, and no one can be certain that the individuals counted actually lived in Huaraz proper, the data do indicate that the town was large relative to other communities in the Callejon de Huaylas. The last quarter century has shown a dramatic growth in the departmental capital, for the rate of migration from the countryside into Huaraz and other urban centers has steadily increased. By 1972 nearly

53 per cent of all persons living in the District of Huaraz were classified as "urban residents." Officially, urban centers include all capitals, all communities larger than their capitals, and communities exceeding 100 households.

In fact, more than 40 per cent of all urban dwellers in the Callejon de Huaylas resided in Huaraz, which had a total population in 1972 of about 30,000 persons

(Peru 1974 )

Growth in the size of Huaraz reflects its increasing economic importance in the valley. For centuries the political and social center of the region, the departmental capital now dominates the valley as Lima dominates Peru.

The major market for the Callejon is located in Huaraz, and many goods and services elsewhere unavailable can be obtained in the many shops and businesses there. Smaller communities like Marian, once relatively self-sufficient, 101 are becoming ever more dependent upon the "primate city" of the valley, and the process of urbanization has and will continue to have profound effects on the social structure and organization of the satellite settlements. CHAPTER IV MARIAN: THE CORE FEATURES OF THE COMMUNITY SYSTEM

Chapters IV and V examine some aspects of Marian and focus upon the on-going processes of persistence and change in the Andean farming community. The objective of the discussion is to provide the background necessary to eval- uate the nature and magnitude of the sociocultural impact of the 1970 earthquake. The organization of the descriptive chapters conforms to the theoretical perspective adopted by the researcher and is sufficiently unlike other approaches to warrant some preliminary remarks.

First, the hypothetical construct developed in the second chapter is in part built upon the assumptions that all viable sociocultural systems are purposive, and that purpose may be broadly defined in terms of individual and collective needs-satisf action or deprivation-reduction.

Clearly the highest priority in the needs hierarchy is the physical survival of the persons who consitute the organic base of the superorganic system, and the primary goal of any such system must be to provide for the basic biological needs of the population. This objective is realized through activation of processes which identify energy resources, extract them, store or transform them into usable form, and distribute them among members of the

102 103

collectivity. The processes designed to fulfill these functions may be termed the "core" features of the system

(after Steward 1955) and are, in a broad sense, the economic subsystem. The definition of "economic" employed here conforms to that offered by Karl Polanyi, who suggests that the "substantive meaning" of the concept "derives from man's dependence for his living upon natural and social environment, in so far as this results in supplying him with the means of material want satisfaction" (1958: 243).

A final preliminary observation concerns the opera- tionalization of the theoretical model and the consequent organization of the present chapter and the next. The first section contains a straight-forward presentation of appropriate population statistics and a very general description of the people of Marian. Subsequent sections are unlike other, more traditional ethnographic descriptions.

Rather than beginning with structure of the community system and examining various institutions, the researcher begins with goal oriented activities and function. Struc- ture is not ignored; rather, the structural dimension emerges from examination of purposive human interaction related to needs-satisfaction on the individual and collective levels. The heuristic value of the approach is manifest in the explanatory power of the model applied to data gathered in Marian. 104

The People of Marian

Population Statistics

According to the unofficial census completed shortly after the 1970 earthquake, there were about 1,200 individuals residing in Marian. Information regarding natality and mortality is unavailable, and the researcher can only assume that the net birth rate approximates that for the

Callejon de Huaylas as a whole. Extrapolation based upon the estimated birth rate yields a projected population size in 1975 of less than 1,500 persons, and this projected figure must be reduced to account for migration from Marian to Huaraz or to coastal towns.

TABLE 1

Birth Rate by Province in the Callejon de Huaylas

Annual Births per Province 1,000 Persons

Recuay 39 Huaraz 38 Carhuaz 37 Yungay 44 Huaylas 38

MEAN 39 Source: Peru 1974

Population density in Marian is significantly lower

than that characterizing the Callejon de Huaylas as a

whole, although any advantage derived from the smaller . 3.

105

number of individuals per square kilometer is partially offset by the limited amount of productive land in the community. Data indicate that nearly three-fourths of all residents in Marian live either in San Isidro, where soil quality is generally poor, or in the Central Barrio, where poor drainage makes much of the land too wet for cultivation

TABLE 2

Population Distribution and Densities in the Callejon de Huaylas and Marian

Location Area (Km^) % of Total Pop/Km^

Callejon de Huaylas 4,646.54 100.0 45.6

Recuay Province 1,277.77 10.7 17.7 Huaraz Province 1,511.40 40.1 56.3 Carhuaz Province 243.38 14.8 128.1

Yungay Province 743.90 16.3 46 . Huaylas Province 870.10 18.1 44.2

Marian 54 100.0 22

Anta Oco 9 16.0 18 Bella Vista 10 13.0 19 Central Barrio 20 36.0 24 San Isidro 15 35.0 27

Sources: Peru 1974 and projected population size for 1972 for Marian, based upon an unofficial census

Patterns of migration affecting Marian are extremely complex, and detailed analysis of the movement of individuals and families falls outside the scope and purpose of this dissertation. Much of the movement within and among communities is temporary in nature and is correlated with .

106

the agricultural cycle. Temporary migration prompted by cyclic economic arrangements is unlike permanent migration which often reflects more fundamental stresses in the community. While no precise data were collected regarding the number of persons moving into Marian, from one sector to another within the community, or from Marian to urban centers, the general pattern of migration may be summarized as in Figure 7

Bella Other Communities * Vista

* Central -> Coastal San Isidro ^ Barrio -> Huaraz Urban Centers

/t> Anta Oco

FIGURE 7

Patterns of Migration Into, Within, and From the Community of Marian

Composition of the population of Marian reflects patterns of migration. A population pyramid for the year

1975 shows a preponderance of females in the age categories

15 - 25 years. The greater proportion of females in Marian is even more evident when sex ratios are calculated and compared with ratios for the country as a whole. One conclusion to be drawn is that young males are moving from the countryside into the urban centers, a pattern consistent with that found in other areas of the valley (Walton 107

1974: 88). One would expect that Huaraz , the major urban center in the Callejon de Huaylas, would attract male migrants seeking to establish themselves. If true, then the composition of the Huaraz population should indicate a preponderance of males in the young adult age cohorts.

Table 3 supports this proposition.

Age Cohorts Males Females

70 + 65 - 69 60 - 64 55 - 59 50 - 54 45 - 49 40 - 44 35 - 39 30 - 34 25 - 29 20 - 24 15 - 19 10 - 14

5 - 9 0 — 4

876543210123456789 10 Per Cent of Total Sample (N = 403)

FIGURE 8

Population Pyramid for Marian, 1975 s 3 , .

108

TABLE 3

Sex Ratios for Marian, Huaraz, and the Total Population of Peru

Cohort Marian Huaraz Peru

0-14 96.4 104 . 103.2

15 - 19 58.3 107.5 102.4

20 - 39 64.3 103.8 98.4

• 40 - 64 110.3 98.1 99.8

65 + 55.6 63.6 83.9

Sources: Ratios for Peru are based upon figures from Peru 1974. Ratios for Huaraz are based upon Peru 1974 and represent the urban population of the District of Huaraz. Ratios for Marian are projected figures for 1972 based upon a field census (N = 403) Note: The sex ratio is calculated by dividing the total number of males by the total number of females and multiplying the result by 100.

General Observat i o n

No general descriptors would be applicable to all individuals and groups in Marian, for the community is relatively heterogeneous when compared to the corporate peasant communities described by Wolf (1955) and there is significant variation within and among the sectors. A brief statement of some of the broader patterns, however, will serve as a frame of reference for later discussions focusing upon more specific aspects of the community system. It is important to note, for example, that nearly three-fourths of all adult males in Marian consider agri-

culture to be their primary occupation, while less than .

109

10 per cent of all males list skilled or semiskilled activities as their major occupation. It is also important to note that there seems to be a correlation between distance from Huaraz and degree of acculturation. That is to say, the farther the barrio is from the departmental capital, the more "traditional" the lifestyle of the population in that sector. In San Isidro, the barrio farthest from

Huaraz, only Quechua is spoken in the home and among friends and relatives. As one walks towards the capital through Bella Vista, the Central Barrio and Anta Oco, the more likely one is to find males who not only speak Span- ish but who have a better command of the language. The pattern does not apply to females, on the other hand, because most women in Marian speak only Quechua and at best know a few words in Spanish useful in the market of

Huaraz

Clothing is another indicator of the physical and

social distance from Huaraz. As a rule, males in San

Isidro wear more traditional items of dress including a heavy woolen hat, a coarse woolen poncho, and llanquis,

sandals made of scraps from automobile tires and innertubes.

Shirts may be modern in style, but pants are usually of

uncombed, coarsely spun wool called bayeta , and are tight-

ened around the waist by a brightly colored, multipurpose

sash woven on a backstrap loom. Males in the lower sectors

of the community may don traditional clothing while working

in the fields, but they prefer more modern dress while at 110

home or in Huaraz. One quite frequently observes men from all sectors of Marian wearing a mixture of traditional and modern garb, and there are few who do not use at least the dark brown poncho characteristic of the southern end of the Callejon de Huaylas.

As with language, clothing styles generally do not distinguish females from different barrios. Customary dress includes bright skirts (a woman may wear up to six of these polleras at one time, indicating degrees of wealth and prestige), a colorfully embroidered blouse, and a sweater purchased in the market. A heavy woolen hat is covered by a kerchief which hangs down over the neck and shoulders, and the typical woman in Marian wears either llanquis, plastic Western-style shoes, or she goes bare- foot. Younger girls frequently wear cotton print dresses rather than polleras, especially if the young women are from the lower sectors, but their hair is still braided in the traditional style and there is still a woolen felt hat covering the head.

Attitudes and values also vary from sector to sector as a general rule. For example, those living closer to

Huaraz are likely to have greater aspirations for themselves and their children, while those living farther away more frequently do not aspire to greater wealth or greater prestige if it might involve a radical change in lifestyle.

Differences in aspiration are often reflected in the sys-

tem of compadrazgo (fictive kinship) . Couples in the Ill

Central Barrio, Bella Vista or Anta Oco generally will seek godparents and other fictive kin ties in Huaraz or even in Lima, and individuals most often asked to be a compadre are of a higher social and economic status. In

San Isidro, on the other hand, couples tend to choose godparents from among individuals who live in the same sector of the community.

The researcher does not suggest that distance from

Huaraz is causally related to language, clothing styles and values. On the contrary, physical distance probably

has little to do with degree of acculturation , whereas traditional land-use patterns and other social and cultural variables are far more significant. To illustrate the point, almost all residents of San Isidro until recently worked on nearby large estates in exchange for a portion of the harvest or usufruct of the more marginal lands.

The barrio was oriented towards subsistence activities which did not provide a cash income or necessitate trips into the departmental capital. This sector has remained relatively closed socially even after agrarian reform abolished the exploitative land tenure system. Community solidarity is so great in San Isidro that its residents have frequently sought (unsuccessfully) to have their sector established as a separate township.

Solidarity characteristic of San Isidro is not generally found in other areas of Marian where one may observe the continuing atomization of the social structure due to . ,

112 socioeconomic arrangements. Modification in the patterns of production and distribution has had an enormous impact on all facets of life in Marian, and the disaster following the 1970 earthquake seems to have accelerated the change process

The Core of the Community System

Marian is almost entirely dependent upon agricultural production for satisfaction of basic biological needs.

More than 75 per cent of all male heads of households cite farming as the principal or only occupation, and the majority of other respondents depend directly upon cultivation for subsistence even though they may cite another occupation as being primary.

The most important cultigens in Marian include the

potato, maize, wheat, oca ( Oxalis tuberosa , a wood sorrel)

quinoa ( Chenopodium quinoa , pigweed), barley and rye. At this latitude, grains and tubers may be grown up to approximately 3,500 meters above sea level, which means that only San Isidro contains land which is agriculturally un- productive because of altitudinal limitations. In the lower barrios, a variety of legumes, vegetables and herbs are grown in small garden plots near domestic dwellings, and some families raise flowers to sell in Huaraz.

Lands which are not or cannot be cultivated serve as pasture for cattle, horses, burros and sheep. Pasture lands include fallow fields, areas of poor drainage, and 58

113

TABLE 4

Primary Occupation of Heads of Households in Marian, 1975

% of Number of Number of Responding Occupation Males Females Total Sample

Farmer 134 25 159 64.1 Housewife 33 33 13.3 Unskilled

Worker* 16 16 6 . Mason 8 8 3.2 Carpenter 7 7 2.8 Tailor 4 4 1.6 Hatter 3 3 1.2 Police** 2 2 0.8 Shoemaker 2 2 0.8

Truck Driver 2 2 0 . Laundress 2 2 0.8 Spinner 2 2 0.8 Cook 2 2 0.8 Dairy Maid 2 2 0.8 Musician 1 1 0.4 Leatherworker 1 1 0.4 Teacher 1 1 0.4 Store Manager 1 1 0.4 Barber 1 1 0.4 Total Responding Sample 183 65 248 100.0 Unspecified 3 10 13 —

* Obrero or peon ** In Huaraz

the puna regions lying above 3,500 meters. Other animals such as pigs, chickens and cuyes (South American cavies) survive principally on human refuse near dwellings. With the exception of the cuyes, animals represent a capital 114

investment and therefore are not usually eaten by the community members. Products derived from livestock, such as wool, milk and eggs, are sometimes consumed within the home but are more often traded for other needed goods and services or sold in the Huaraz market. Cavies, on the other hand, are consumed during any festive occasion by the community members themselves and symbolize the host's hospitality and the guest's prestige.

Agricultural production in Marian is labor intensive rather than capital intensive, a situation arising from a number of factors. For one thing, division of land among offspring in the bilateral inheritance system has created small plots whose size precludes economies of scale necessary to make large capital investments feasible. For another thing, acquisition of capital through credit arrangements is difficult if not impossible for the farmer.

Finally, the nature of the terrain limits the kind of technology which might be productively employed, for rocky soils, steep inclines and poor drainage will not permit mechanization of farm production even if capital is somehow made available. Also, application of fertilizers in many cases would not increase crop yields much beyond present levels.

Technology associated with agricultural activities in

Marian has not changed significantly since the Spaniards first entered the valley in the early sixteenth century.

The introduction of draft animals into the New World 115 permitted the use of the plow, and today farmers most often prepare their fields for planting in this fashion. The wooden plow is attached to a long shaft fastened at the other end to a yoke tied to the horns of bulls. Admittedly inefficient in comparison to the collar harness, the rigid shaft and yoke provide leverage and allow the farmer to control the draft animals without having to train them to the harness.

TABLE 5

The Agricultural Cycle in Marian

Estimated Yield Principal Planting Harvesting Per Hectare Crops Season Season ( Kilograms )

Wheat Dec - Feb Jul - Sep 20 Potato Aug - Sep Jan - Mar 50 Maize Oct - Nov May - Jun 20 Oca Sep - Oct May - Jun 50 Quinoa Sep - Oct May - Jun 5 Barley Dec - Jan Jun - Jul 50 Rye Jan - Feb Jun - Jul 50

Source: Estimates are based on field interviews. Yields do not reflect use of fertilizers.

Other important farm implements include the barreta

(a pointed metal pole) and the queshe , a hoe designed for the harvesting of tubers. A sickle is used to harvest wheat and other grains, and threshing is accomplished by having animals walk in circles over the piles of grain.

Winnowing entails the use of a wire mesh stretched over a wooden frame. As unwinnowed grain is tossed into the air, the chaff is carried away by the wind. 116

The Domestic Unit of Product ion

The list of farm implements in the preceding section does not constitute a complete technological inventory, but description of the principal tools serves as a basis for analysis of the economic dimensions of Marian. The need to provide for nutritional requirements of the population gives rise to the need to apportion tasks and responsibilities related to production, preparation, storage and distribution of agricultural goods. Division of labor among the people of Marian depends in large part upon technological and environmental (i.e., technoenvironmental) factors as well as upon the composition of the population itself. The most enduring systemic component emerging in response to these and other variables is the domestic group, or family, which George Murdock has defined as

a social group characterized by common residence, economic cooperation, and reproduction. It includes adults of both sexes, at least two of whom maintain a socially approved sexual relationship, and one or more children, own or adopted, of the sexually coha- biting adults (Murdock 1949: 1).

The domestic unit in Marian is most frequently the nuclear family, composed of an adult male, an adult female, and their offspring. The adults may be formally married, but consensual relationships are common in all sectors of the community. The nuclear family reflects the composition of the population in terms of age and sex, a factor which influences division of labor within the household. Adult 117

males typically assume responsibility for the more strenuous tasks, while women and children are charged with the work requiring less physical exertion.

Illustrative of the assignment of tasks during the

production cycle is the chacmeo , the preparation for planting of a field which has lain fallow for a period of time.

The job is an arduous one, requiring the cooperation of at least three adult males. A barreta is plunged into the ground below the root system of the grass, and two men use the pole as a lever to break the sward. The third

man, the rapador , then lifts the sod with his hands or with a qeshe and turns the grassy lump of soil over. The entire procedure is accomplished in a rhythmic fashion, and the rapador is the least envied of the trio of workers because the task is dirty, tiring stoop labor. The role is at times awarded to a hardy female. Most often, however, women participate in the chacmeo by providing lunch and beverages. Children, if they help at all, will gather stones turned up by the barreta and place them in piles in the middle of or at the border of the field. The clods are beaten to remove the soil from the roots, and woman and children carry the tufts to one side.

Once the backbreaking chacmeo is completed, the field

is plowed and prepared for seeding, an activity which often

involves the whole family unit. The plowing is invariably done by the male who must control the animals by applying

leverage to the wooden shaft tied to the horns of the bulls. 118

Men, women and children often follow the plowman, perfora-

ting the soil and dropping seeds into the furrow. Again, women are responsible for supplying food and refreshments, while children are charged with the seemingly endless task of clearing away the smaller stones. Large rocks are dis-

lodged with the barreta and carried by the men with much

groaning and puffing to the center or edge of the field.

Traces of this activity are often seen in ancient, aban-

doned plots high in the puna and identified by the rim of

stones circling the field and its cairn hub.

The harvesting of crops by in large requires a good

deal of physical exertion but not on the same scale as

that required by the chacmeo and plowing. Consequently,

both men and women share the task of gathering the crop,

although there are several alternative strategies possible.

When potatoes are harvested, for example, and when there

are a number of adults of both sexes, the men will work

their way down each furrow, bent over their queshe and

turning the soil to expose the tubers. Women and children

follow, picking up the potatoes which are then sorted and

bagged by the females. Wheat stalks may be cut by the

male, shocked by the female, and later tied in bundles by

children to be carried to a grassy field where the grain

is threshed and winnowed. This last chore is a pleasant

social occasion which allows men, women and children to

work and visit at the same time. 119

The division of labor related to production of food-

stuffs in Marian is thus largely determined by age and sex.

Although the nuclear family is the basic unit of produc-

tion in the community, rarely is the household the only unit of production. That is, many tasks such as the chacmeo require the cooperation of a number of adult males, and other tasks may require the cooperation of a number of adult females. The necessity of frequent cooperative activities, therefore, may unite two or more households in a network of reciprocal obligations, but before the concept of labor exchange may be discussed, some other features of the family must be examined.

Additional Notes on the Nuclear Family

Although the nuclear family is the basic social unit

in Marian, there are several variant familial arrangements.

For example, the household may be vertically extended, containing three or more generations, or extended horizon- tally, containing siblings, their mates and offspring. The extended family is the exception rather than the rule, however, as the census data indicate. The 1975 survey shows that most domestic units in Marian had two children or less in residence, and the mean number of family members was only 4.35.

Another type of family unit is the matrifocal. Deser- tion by the male is not uncommon, and the mother is almost always left to raise the offspring of the broken union. In 120 a number of cases, the abandoned female may move in with her own family, but more frequently she will maintain a separate domestic unit. In either case she receives support from her own family and, at times, from the family of the male who deserted her. Widows and widowers also tend to live apart or with their youngest offspring. If both parents are dead and have left immature offspring, the children may be informally adopted by the male's parents or brothers or may be cared for by elder siblings.

The nuclear family is not only the basic unit of production but is also the primary landowning unit. Inheri- tance patterns do not discriminate between the sexes, and male and female siblings generally are apportioned equal shares of land. The procedure has over the years reduced the size of many individual farm plots and created fields too small to provide for a family's needs. There is, however, some advantage in the parcelization of land through bilateral inheritance. The woman, for example, retains possession of her plot or plots of land even when she marries and moves away from her community, which is the most common residence pattern. A newly formed domestic unit may thereby control land in the male's community as well as in the female's. In an area characterized by diverse microenvironments, the dispersed family minifundias provide a greater variety of crops and diminish the threat of crop loss due to localized adverse weather conditions. The ideal is to own land in several places and 121 altitudes so that a number of different crops may be cultivated; should frost, hail or excessive rain ruin one harvest, the family may rely upon produce from other fields which have not been affected.

Labor Arrangements in Agricultural Production

A nuclear family may expand its productive capacity in a number of ways. A more formal arrangement, one which is ever more common, is direct payment in currency, and individuals will work the lands of another in exchange for a daily wage. The rights and obligations of the employer-employee relationship rarely extend beyond the immediate tasks of production, and payment usually does not include food and drink for the workers. Wages have

increased sharply over the years , and the standard payment for eight hours of labor was 80 soles de oro in 1975 and 1976 (less than two dollars). Despite the relatively high cost of wage labor, this formal contractual arrangement is quickly becoming the rule.

Another common production dyad involves the owner of land and a sharecropper. The former may supply seeds,

tools and draft animals; the latter, the partidario , supplies the labor (see Stavenhagen 1975). The harvest is divided according to prior agreement, with the division of produce marking the termination of all rights and obligations of the owner-worker dyad. The partidario may 122 also be a landowner, but more generally he owns no land at all or has too little to provide for his family. Share- cropping was declared illegal under the Agrarian Reform Law of 1969, but the advantages for both parties -- as well as the difficulty of enforcing the law -- have served to per- petuate the system in Marian and in other highland towns.

A third labor arrangement in Marian no longer exists but warrants mention. Much of the land surrounding Huaraz was once owned by a small number of families, and the large estates drew labor from communities in the immediate area.

Although most of the farmers in Marian call themselves

comuneros (those who own the land they work) , many individuals sought additional income by selling their labor to the owners of the larger farms. In a few cases, payment was in cash, but more often the owner of the estate would share the harvest or grant workers usufruct of more marginal lands. This particular type of production arrangement was terminated with the agrarian reform.

Reciprocity and Agricultural Production

The three production arrangements discussed — wage labor, sharecropping, and usufruct — are comparatively impersonal transactions which generally are not characterized by rights and obligations beyond those directly pertaining to labor sold and payment received. In contrast, there is another set of agreements which may be labelled

"reciprocal," and the systems of reciprocity found in the .

123

community of Marian are established patterns of interaction constituting much of the structure of the sociocultural system. Reciprocity is not limited to the exchange of goods but applies to all dimensions of the economic process.

Reciprocity may also refer to the exchange of noneconomic gifts, favors or services, although in the final analysis the process must be viewed as the "core" component which functions to distribute material commodities necessary for the satisfaction of the biological needs of the population.

In the community, three types of reciprocity systems may be distinguished: generalized, balanced, and negative

(after Sahlins 1972: 185ff )

Generalized reciprocity is a "pure" gift and is defined by the absence of any conscious or expressed expectation of repayment (Mauss 1954). Children in a household, for example, will tend to assigned chores without thought of recompense, while parents provide meals and clothing for all members of the family with no expectation that the recipients will repay the debt incurred. In the abstract, one may argue that the child works and obeys elders in return for the basic needs of survival and other services rendered by relatives. Similarly, one might contend that

food, shelter and affection are repayment for the child's

obedience, respect and affection. Indeed, any social

action may be construed to be an exchange which involves

perhaps emotive rewards rather than material goods and 124

services (see Homans 1958) . Such an analysis may prove useful in other contexts, but the purity of the gift lies

outside the scope of this dissertation. Suffice to say

that certain reciprocal relationships in Marian are ostensibly characterized by altruism.

Generalized reciprocity in the community is not

limited to interaction of near kinsmen, although it gener-

ally is, but may extend beyond the boundary of the house-

hold to include more distant relatives or even non-kin.

Hospitality, generosity and other categories of gift-giving

create a bond between giver and receiver, a bond which

George Foster has termed the "dyadic contract" (1967). One

of the more interesting features of the dyadic contract is

that the original gift nearly always leads to future ex-

changes, none of which should exactly balance the continu-

ing debt between the individuals involved. Should per-

ceived values balance, the relationship is seriously

threatened or is dissolved. A case in Marian illustrates

the process. A resident incurred a number of debts to

relatives and friends. No one expected the gifts of goods

and services to be reciprocated (at least, no-one publicly

expressed such an expectation and would deny that the

gifts should be repayed) , but the recipient wished to terminate the social bonds of obligation created by the gifts.

To do so, he prepared a large dinner and invited all those

persons who had helped him in some way. At one level, the

dinner was symbolic of his gratitude. At another level. .

125

the ritual feast marked the end of all unexpressed, unim-

plied, but nevertheless very real personal debts. The

guests as well as the host were aware of the meaning of

the invitation to dinner, for all realized that the various dyadic contracts had been balanced and thereby cancelled

The rules of etiquette in Marian make it exceedingly

unseemly to expect a gift in return for a gift, although

the receiver almost invariably reciprocates in one way or

another. In a second type of arrangement, balanced reciprocity, rules regarding obligations of giver and receiver

are not as ambiguous. As the label implies, balanced

reciprocity is characterized by the mutual understanding

that whatever is initially given will be returned in some

form so that perceived values are equal. Time is not as critical a variable as the value of goods and services exchanged, and the obligations created by the initial

giving become a kind of credit upon which the giver may

draw in the future. As May Diaz observes, the peasant

farmers "give now, to draw later, in an elementary,

low-risk savings system" (1967: 54).

When referring specifically to labor exchange,

balanced reciprocity in Marian is called rantin (a Quechua

term meaning "mutual aid") or rantimpac (literally, "he

helps"). Rantin occurs most frequently in the agricultu-

ral cycle during field preparation and planting, when time 126

is not an important variable. Paradoxically, when time is of the essence, as it is during the harvest, each domestic unit gathers its own crop and will aid others only when

their own harvesting is completed. Rantin is not a simple

one-for-one exchange of labor but is associated with

subsets of reciprocity. During the work day, the owner of

the farm is obligated to provide food, beverages and coca

leaves. The obligation incurred may be repayed immediately

or may be deferred. (The following illustration is adapted

from Alberti and Mayer 1974: 22).

labor Time 1 A .'.Till-: j* B food, beverages, coca

labor Time 2 A i;r_ 1 B food, beverages, coca

Negative reciprocity, the third and final system of

exchange, rarely applies to labor arrangements in Marian,

for it is defined in terms of self-interest. That is, one

tries to profit from the exchange transaction. Wage labor

may be viewed as a type of negative reciprocity (although

cash exchanges are usually not analyzed as an aspect of

reciprocal systems) , for the worker attempts to earn the

maximum salary with a minimum of work, while the employer

seeks to maximize labor and minimize wages. Negative re-

ciprocity may also arise when the beneficiary of rantin

later refuses to repay the obligation, but he or she who .

127

reneges will be branded an equivador ("reneger") and will

find it difficult or impossible to obtain help in the future

Production and Distribution: Variations in Reciprocity

The discussion so far has focused upon dyadic rela-

tionships among social equals, upon symmetrical arrangements, and upon the exchange of labor. The phenomenon of

reciprocity in Marian, however, is more complex and may be

extended to apply to polyadic arrangements, to asymmetrical

reciprocation, and to distribution of agricultural produce

as well as of nonagricultural goods and services.

Any arrangement of production and distribution which

involves more than two individuals is polyadic, and poly-

adic contracts seem to be far more frequent in Marian than

dyadic contracts because an individual often needs the aid

of several other persons at one time. If the beneficiary

of labor exchange repays each helper with labor, the poly-

adic system is direct and symmetrical:

Time 1 Time 2 Time 3 Time 4

Polyadic reciprocity may be indirect and symmetrical

if repayment in kind goes not the original giver but to a

third party to whom the helper is indebted:

Time 1 Time 2 Time 3 A

C > A A ^ B B > C OR C « B 128

A similar type of arrangement occurs when an individual repays an obligation by having one of his children work in his or her stead. In all polyadic systems discussed, goods and services exchanged are similar (e.g., labor for labor) and are of approximately equal value to the participants. A dyadic or polyadic system of reciprocity in Marian is asymmetrical (a) if repayment does not occur, (b) if goods and services returned are dissimilar to those originally given, or (c) if goods and services returned are not of equal value to those given.

The first category of asymmetrical reciprocity, non- repayment, does not apply solely to reneging. As discussed earlier, generalized reciprocity is defined in terms of the lack of expectation of repayment, although gifts tend to balance over the long run. Under other circumstances, individuals may offer goods and services with no expectation of repayment, but there is a major difference between this type of giving and generalized reciprocity. Several persons may sponsor a festival, for example, and the return on their "investment" is not material but social:

increased esteem, respect and prestige. Such an arrangement may be dyadic, with one member acting as the sponsor of the festival and the other member of the dyad represen-

ting the collectivity:

sponsorship A > B prestige, etc. 129

The arrangement may also be polyadic, with individuals

B, C, and D donating goods and services to an individual,

A, who then redistributes the donations to the community in a festival or a community project. This polyadic agreement places individual A in debt to B, C, and D, and these persons may at a future date call upon A for reciprocation:

Time 1 Time 2 Time 3

A A A > Community BCD BCD

A second category of asymmetrical reciprocity involves the return of goods or services dissimilar to those originally given. A farmer who is also a shoemaker, for example, may ask an individual to assist in the chacmeo in return for a new pair of shoes. More commonly, assistance is repaid in the form of produce, usually a portion of the harvest. An arrangement which has virtually disappeared in

Marian is called the minka , where laborers are not repaid with labor. Instead, the owner of the land being worked provides an especially extravagant meal, and workers may invite family members to partake of the feast. Laborers may even divide what is left and carry the leftovers home with them to eat later. Needless to say, the owner is under no further obligation to the workers.

A final category of asymmetrical reciprocity involves the exchange of goods or services which are not perceived .

130 to be of equal value. Such an unequal exchange may occur when one of the actors possesses significantly more prestige and/or power, or when social equals wish to continue a close relationship. With the disappearance of the large estates, the former type of reciprocal system has become less frequent, but exploitation continues in some cases where the receiving individual can effectively threaten retaliation for refusal to offer gifts or favors. The local brujo ("warlock"), for example, is free to demand almost any item or any service, for he controls the supernatural and can make life intolerable for any who oppose him.

Unequal exchanges among equals was discussed earlier and is the underlying principle of the dyadic contract.

Gifts or favors are exchanged between parties more or less frequently, but the value of the items exchanged are not ostensibly calculated. Still, the individuals are quite aware of the disparity in value, and the continuing and reciprocating debt serves as an adhesive binding the two together, reaffirming the feelings of mutual need and friendship

Agricultural Distribution

Although discussion has emphasized agricultural production, the economic process involves more than the culti-

vation and harvesting of crops. Foodstuffs must be pre-

pared, are consumed within the domestic unit, given as 131

gifts to other households or individuals, exchanged for other items or services, or stored for later consumption, trade or sale. The least important of the processes of distribution in Marian is marketing, for the majority of

family units in the community cannot produce much more than

the members of the family can consume or barter for other

foodstuffs consumed in the home.

This does not mean that market transactions are completely absent in Marian, for a small number of the more

affluent families produce enough to make marketing a

profitable activity. The farmer who cultivates more than

is needed for the household may sell a portion of the

harvest, and cash transactions most often are handled by

the farmer or the wife who carry the produce to the mar-

ketplace in Huaraz. When harvests are particularly good,

a middleman will arrive with a truck, buy small surpluses

from several farmers, and transport the produce to Huaraz

or coastal markets to be sold at a profit. Only a handful

of producers in Marian regularly sell agricultural commo-

dities in markets outside the Callejon de Huaylas or in

any market whatsoever.

By far the most common process by which food is dis-

tributed in Marian is through the systems of reciprocity

already described in connection with production. Negative

reciprocity applies primarily to relationships in the

market and only rarely to reciprocal relationships within

Marian and persons from surrounding farming communities. 132

In the truegue ("barter transactions"), values of traded items are approximately equivalent because the participants are aware of market prices for the commodities. Disparity in the barter transaction does not usually indicate negative reciprocity, nor does it indicate ignorance on the part of the trading partners. Rather, disparity in value of items exchanged symbolizes, creates and/or reinforces the dyadic contract binding the individuals in the economic relationship. Future transactions are thereby assured.

Direct exchange of agricultural produce is one type of balance reciprocity serving to distribute foodstuffs and to provide variety in the diet. It is not necessary, however, that the items exchanged both be cultigens, and food may be traded for any number of goods and services.

One community near Huaraz, for example, manufactures clay pots which are traded for potatoes, grains and other comestibles. The "price" of each pot is determined by the amount of wheat it will hold. Even if grain is not the item to be given for the clay pot, wheat serves as a standard against which to measure the value.

Balanced reciprocity in distribution is not necessarily immediately balanced. An individual who may have had a good harvest may invest his surplus by giving a portion of the produce to another individual who may have had a poor harvest. The giver thereby accrues credit upon which he or she may draw in the future. Distribution through .

133

the system of balanced reciprocity, therefore, is a way to store this year's surplus for consumption at a later date.

Given the vicissitudinary nature of the agricultural strategy, delayed exchange of foodstuffs represents a realistic adaptive process.

As in the production process, generalized reciprocity in distribution characterizes relationships within the domestic unit. Food divided among parents and children is as close as one may come to the "pure" gift, although its purity, as noted, may be questioned. Generalized reciprocity outside the household and immediate family is relatively rare, but a food gift may be given to the elderly and infirm without thought of recompense. Also, individuals may donate produce to the church, and the items are then distributed to the needy.

To summarize the discussion regarding systems of reciprocal relationships, there seem to be three factors distinguishing generalized, balanced and negative reciprocity in Marian. The key factor is expectation of return.

The gift, which defines generalized reciprocity, is given without thought of return, although such exchanges tend to balance after a period of time. Balanced and negative reciprocity, on the other hand, are systems of exchange in which the involved parties recognize and may express the obligation to return the item or its approximate equivalent

A second factor is time. Balanced reciprocity has no explicit time limit. The time dimension is flexible in 134

relationships based on balanced reciprocal agreements, but return of the goods or services must be made within a reasonable period or upon demand. Negative reciprocity is almost always an immediate exchange. Because the rule is caveat emptor, the trading partners wish to finalize the trade and terminate the relationship.

A third and final factor characterizing systems of generalized and balanced reciprocity in Marian is the absence of cash transactions. Goods and services are exchanged, but not money. Therefore the relationships of individuals in the dyadic or polyadic exchange (expecially in generalized and balanced reciprocity) are not as impersonal as a relationship in which goods and services are purchased. The bond between giver and receiver or between barter partners is in part a creation of economic necessity, but the bond also reflects and is reinforced by noneconomic patterns of interaction. Thereby is the individual and the family linked to other individuals and families in Marian, forming the core components and processes of the community system.

Structure of the Economic Components

The various types of reciprocity found in Marian constitute part of the economic component of the community, but what is observed by the researcher is the process of production and distribution of foodstuffs. The structure 135

which emerges cannot directly be observed, for the structural dimension of the sociocultural system is an abstraction which derives from repetitive, culturally patterned behavior. By analyzing the interaction of the people of

Marian during the subsistence cycle, certain generalizations may be generated which describe and explain economic arrangements without the necessity of referring to specific persons. In short, the structure of the economic component may be interpreted as interlocking status positions which represent the elements of the systemic construct.

In the second chapter it was noted that the indivisible unit of social structure is the dyad composed of two complementary statuses. The unit is indivisible because each position is defined in terms of the other; they are complementary because the rights and obligations of the first represent the obligations and rights of the second.

In Marian, the status "husband" has no meaning without reference to the other half of the dyad, "wife." Moreover, it is the husband's right to command, the wife's obligation to obey. The husband is obligated to provide sus- tenance, while the wife may demand the right to partake of what is produced or earned by her spouse.

The nature of the rules, regulations and norms of behavior associated with any given dyad is culturally determined and theoretically congruent with relational patterns arising from the exigencies of the physical and social environment. Thus, the husband-wife dyad described :

136 reflects a broader configuration of human interaction which in turn ideally represents a viable strategy of adaptation.

The structure of this configuration (e.g., the economic component) may be analyzed in terms of the status networks.

In a nuclear family, the position "husband" may be rewrit- ten as "father" when the relationship of the male adult and his offspring is examined.

Agricultural production and distribution in Marian were earlier discussed in relation to reciprocity systems involving dyadic or polyadic interaction, and these reciprocal arrangements in the community largely coincide with the familial relational system. To clarify the structure of the economic component, therefore, one must examine kinship patterns. The nuclear family is the primary unit of production and distribution and may be illustrated by char- ting status positions in the following manner:

A = O parents Symbols A male O female offspring affinal relationship

-- descent

-- collaterality

Each dyadic relationship carries with it separate rights, obligations, and norms of behavior. As noted, the nature of the rights, obligations and norms are culturally 137 determined, and relationships take into account such variables as age, sex, and so forth. In the diagram above, eleven dyads can be identified:

(1) husband-wife (7) mother-offspring (2) father-son (8) brother-sister (3) father-daughter (9) parents-off spring (4) father-offspring (10) parents-son (5) mother-son (11) parents-daughter (6) mother-daughter

Reciprocity within this unit in Marian is generalized,

but the precise manner in which items are distributed may

not be entirely egalitarian. The male adult may receive

the largest portion of a meal. Whatever is left over is

divided among the children, with the female adult eating

anything left uneaten by the others. The eldest male child

may receive a portion of the meal larger than any given to

the rest of the family except the father, with younger

siblings (especially female offspring) receiving the least

or nothing at all during a given meal.

Position within the nuclear family also determines

division of labor. Husband/father assumes responsibility

for strenuous jobs, and wife/mother is charged with less

arduous tasks and domestic chores such as cooking, washing

clothes, and caring for the children. Children may be

assigned duties as well, usually the care of grazing ani-

mals, clearing the fields of stones, and so on.

To a certain point, the nuclear family in Marian is

self-sufficient, but there are factors which force the

domestic unit to ally with other groups: need for additional 138

labor, for tools, for food during lean times, or for trade to assure variety in the diet. Each of these exchanges involves systems of reciprocity described earlier and, again, such exchanges coincide to a large degree with the kinship network. The nuclear family, while relatively independent, is part of a larger system of statuses joined through rules of affinity and descent. The following illustration could be expanded to show other kin positions in the kindred: ~ A = 6 “A . 6

On II -o n A = 6

— A 6 A 6 A 6 nuclear family

According to the norms governing kinship relations, husband/father (s&k) may in need call upon other members of the kindred. Within the nuclear family, reciprocity is normally generalized; outside the domestic unit, however, reciprocity is usually balanced. If husband/father calls upon one or more of his brothers for assistance, for example, he incurs a debt to each of them which must eventually be reciprocated.

Residence rules in Marian favor a modified neolocal pattern. A couple may at first reside with the male's parents but will generally establish a separate household .

139

after a period of time. Also, in all instances known to

the researcher, male heads of households in the community were from Marian. Therefore, husband/father most often

calls upon individuals related by descent to enter into

reciprocal agreements, especially if wife/mother is from

another community. Spouses do, however, have the right

to enter into such arrangements with the relatives of their partners, and the same rules regarding repayment apply.

Familial ties, whether determined by descent or affin-

ity, do not guarantee that an individual will consent to a

reciprocal exchange of any sort. In fact, with all other

factors equal, the further one is removed in the kinship

system, the less likely that any exchange will be genera-

lized or balanced (see Sahlins 1972: 199; also Hagen 1962:

115-6)

Kinship Terminology

Kinship structure in part derives from and in part

creates and reinforces the interactional patterns associ-

ated with agricultural production and distribution. More-

over, the rules, regulations and norms of behavior pertain-

ing to each dyad in the familial network are reflected in

the kinship terminology. The predominant terminological

system in Marian is the "Eskimo." The Eskimo system is most often associated with sociocultural systems which do

not have corporate descent groups, and natural and/or

social conditions which tend to isolate the nuclear family 140

will increase the likelihood that the kinship structure will be bilateral and characterized by Eskimo terminology

(Harris 1971: 348-9). These conditions seem to hold in

Marian, and kinship status labels correspond to the appli-

cability of the various systems of reciprocity. That is,

distinction between ego's lineal and collateral relatives

corresponds to the distinction between generalized reciprocity (applicable to lineal kin, especially in the nuc-

lear family) and balanced reciprocity (applicable to other near kinsmen) . Distant kinsmen may enter into either balanced or negative reciprocal agreements with ego. Also,

the rules related to reciprocal arrangements between ego and ego's father's brother are identical to the rules related to such an arrangements between ego and ego's mother's brother. It is no coincidence that the two male relatives are identified by the same term.

A= O A = O

= 6 A= "A =6 = 6 “i- 4 3 A6 A A A A 6 A A 9 10 9 10 7 EGO 8 9 10 9 10

FIGURE 9

Kinship Terminology in Marian 141

Kinship represents a system of alliance providing

strong social bonds among individuals. Marriage (or

functionally similar familial dyads) constitutes the most

common means by which an individual can expand the network

and increase the social "credit" potentially available in

times of need. In a bilateral system such as that found

in Marian, marriage does not merely create an alliance

between two kindreds, it fuses them. In the highland community, marriages are generally exogamous , an adaptive

arrangment in view of the environmental extremes of the

Andean region. The new couple now owns land in two commu-

nities and, perhaps, in different microenvironments, making

it possible to raise a greater variety of crops and minimize the dangers of localized weather conditions. The

strongest ties exist within the new domestic unit and

among the male's and the female's immediate family. Mem-

bers from one side of the newly created kindred may call

upon members from the other side. In short, exogamous

unions expand the potential for generalized and balanced

reciprocal arrangements.

Another important means by which alliances are created

or strengthened is fictive kinship. One type of strategy

is compadrazgo ("godparenthood." See Mintz and Wolf 1967

for a general discussion) , and the most enduring of such

ties in Marian are associated with the Catholic sacraments,

particularly baptism. Parents will request another person 142

or couple to sponsor the baptismal or other religious

ceremony and thus become godparents of the child. The

new relationships are characterized by bonds whose strength

is rivaled only by those within the domestic unit itself.

Obligations of the compadres ("coparents") are not limited

to the relationship with the ahijado ("godchild") but unite

the godsibs as well. One can always turn to one's compadre when necessary.

Individuals may be called upon to sponsor some event or thing as well. The relationships created depend upon

the nature of the event or object and whether or not a

contribution is involved. When sponsorship is spiritual or honorary, the individuals treat one another as compadres despite the fact that there are no godchildren. If spon-

sors are asked to contribute something, especially towards public works of one kind or another, they then become padrinos of the event or object. In padrinazgo, the re-

lationships are not reciprocal, and the owner does not treat the sponsors as compadres. Paul Doughty has illustrated the three forms of fictive kinship and ritual

sponsorship, and his illustration is reproduced in Figure

10 .

Padrinazgo generally serves as a means to exchange wealth for prestige, but compadrazgo either creates social bonds where none previously existed or strengthens bonds which already exist. A couple may ask a distant relative ) ) ) )

143

Spiritual or Honorary Godparents and Godsibs

Male Plural Female

FATHER PARENTS MOTHER

(Compadre ( Compadres (Comadre 1 $ (Compadre) (Compadres (Comadre) GODSIB GODSIBS GODSIB GODFATHER GODPARENTS GODMOTHER (Padrino) ^ (Padrinos (Madrina) t ( Ahi j ado) GODCHILD

Honorary and Sponsoring Godparents and Godsibs

MALE OWNERS FEMALE

(Compadre ( Compadres (Comadre) l ^ * (Compadre) (Compadres) (Comadre) GODSIB GODSIBS GODSIB GODFATHER GODPARENTS GODMOTHER (Padrino) (Padrinos) (Madrina)

THING

Sponsoring or "Trustee" Godparents

OWNER

4r THING

~~ (Padrino) (Padrinos) "(Madrina) SPONSORING SPONSORING SPONSORING GODFATHER GODPARENTS GODMOTHER

Key Reciprocal Relationship Nonreciprocal Relationship Terms of Terms of Title or Address or Address or name Thing Reference Reference

Source: Doughty 1968: 117.

FIGURE 10

Patterns of Fictive and Ceremonial Kinship 144

to be a ritual sponsor, reducing the social distance between them, or a close friend may be chosen, thereby magnifying the strength of the association. Frequently, a couple will seek godparents from higher economic and social strata, and the coparents become an important resource to be drawn upon in periods of hardship. Thus, fictive kinship increases the number of individuals who are available for labor exchange, food and other goods, services and favors.

Yet another means to expand the network of social ties is through the dyadic contract discussed earlier in this chapter. Mutual assistance, gifts and other types of exchange create a sense of obligation which is repaid in part by esteem, respect and gratitude. The dyadic contract may be defined as generalized reciprocity or as delayed balanced reciprocity, for over a long period of time the exchanges are more or less equal. In the short term, however, that which is given in return cannot equal the original gift; nor may repayment be considered by either party to be repayment for the debt incurred by acceptance of a gift. Under such circumstances, the relationship may be jeopardized or dissolved. As long as the dyadic contract continues, the implicit obligations serve as a

social bond which represents an expansion of alliances

and, thus, an increase in resources upon which the

individual may draw. 145

The patterns of interaction outlined in this chapter

have as their primary function the satisfaction of the material requirements of the individuals composing the

group, although other needs may be fulfilled in the pro-

cess. Activities which are fundamentally economic in

nature are regarded as the core processes of Marian, and

a formal statement of status positions and respective norms

of behavior associated with such activities constitutes the

structural dimension. Although kinship is not the only

economic subsystem in Marian, it is the most important

mechanism for material needs-satisf action . Fictive kin

bonds are also a significant feature of the core component,

with non-kinship-based reciprocal partnerships and market

contacts the least important aspect of the economy.

The patterns which emerge from examination of produc-

tion and distribution in the highland community influence

the nature of the other dimensions of the system. The

interrelationship is clearly evident in the procedures by

which the people of Marian seek to meet primary collective

needs, the topic of the following chapter. CHAPTER V MARIAN: PERSISTENCE AND CHANGE IN THE COMMUNITY SYSTEM

The core features of Marian comprise the most immediately important components of the community system because their function is to satisfy the most immediate of human needs -- those related to the physical survival of the persons who form the collectivity. The very existence of a group gives rise to another dimension of the systemic process, namely, the problems associated with human interaction. Such problems may be broadly defined as collective needs, and where satisfaction of basic needs is required for the physical continuance of the individual organism, primary collective needs are those imperatives related to the continued existence of the sociocultural system itself.

For purposes of analysis, primary systemic requirements may be placed into two categories, both of whose ultimate function is the attainment of a relatively steady state within the system. The process of systemic maintenance, the first category, refers to all responses designed to counteract changes disruptive of existing patterns of interaction among group members. The process of controlled change, in contrast, refers to purposive responses which permit or encourage deviation from the norm while minimizing the social and cultural repercussions of change. Both

146 .

147 sets of primary collective needs must be examined in order to clarify the adaptive nature of a sociocultural system such as Marian and to illuminate the consequences of major modifications in the physical and social environment of the community

Systemic Persistence

The Basis of Systemic Persistence

The structure of a sociocultural system has been de-

fined as deriving from culturally determined patterns of

interaction, and congruence, or "fit," among cultural and

social phenomena provides a continuity which serves a number of purposes. In terms of function rather than form, viable interactional configurations do not appear as the

result of historical accident but represent strategies which have proven at least minimally effective in respon-

ding to environmental exigencies while satisfying the more

important individual and collective needs. A community

like Marian, then, has evolved in such a way as to survive

in its physical and social context, and continuity itself

is adaptive in the sense that it tends to minimize the

disruptive effects of environmental factors which routinely

affect the system. Although the system can tolerate a

certain amount of change, uncontrolled or nonadaptive

changes in the strategy of adaptation may upset the steady

state and lead to a destructive imbalance between the 148 community on the one hand and external phenomena on the other. The concept of systemic maintenance, however, is not limited to the interplay among community, society and the natural environment, and the tendency for a sociocultural system to maintain a relatively steady state may be explained by other processes as well.

At the individual level, for example, continuity in established patterns of behavior provides some guarantee of the physical well-being of the group members. If the

subsistence strategy supplies the goods and services necessary for the satisfaction of biogenic and other material needs, then change may possibly be viewed as a

threat. To illustrate the point, a common misconception

regarding Andean peasants is that they are conservative by nature and are unwilling to consider the benefits of modern

agricultural techniques. Even leaving aside such social

factors as continual exploitation by other groups, the

peasant attitude is not so much conservative as it is

pragmatic. Given that production is often at the subsis-

tence level, the Andean farmer has but to ask, What if an

innovation fails? The loss of one year's harvest could

spell disaster for the reckless innovator.

Again at the individual level, continuity in social

and cultural patterns is important to emotional well-being.

To operate effectively and thereby to maximize

needs-satisf action , an individual must be fairly confident

in the knowledge, values, rules and norms governing 149 interaction with external elements. Custom not only under- lies feelings of security but also allows a person to predict reality as that group defines it and, consequently, to control that reality to some degree. Distortion in established patterns of behavior may create cognitive disorientation which may be associated with anxiety and emotional disorders if extreme. This distortion, brought about by changes in social and cultural variables is in its effects analogous to "culture shock" experienced by persons who have travelled or lived abroad.

Culture shock [or cognitive disorientation] is precipitated by the anxiety that results from losing all our familiar signs and symbols of social inter- course. These signs or cues include the thousand and one ways in which we orient ourselves to the situations of

daily life. . . . All of us depend for our peace of mind and our efficiency on hundreds of these cues, most of which we do not carry on the level of conscious awareness (Oberg 1954: 1-2).

Psychological stresses arising from a change situation, therefore, constitute a powerful counterforce at the individual level and are an important variable in the process of systemic maintenance.

The community system resists change for yet another reason. The social and cultural domains of a community such as Marian are interrelated in a complex configuration of cause and effect, and modification in one aspect will necessarily entail changes in other aspects. An innovation may be beneficial in some respects, but resistance will 150

appear if the negative repercussions of the change outweigh

the benefits. The principle operant in this instance may

be termed systemic maintenance through functional unity of

sociocultural phenomena. An illustration of the principle

can be found in the attempt made several years ago to consolidate the minifundias , postage-stamp sized farms, in

Marian and to create a cooperative enterprise for agricul-

tural production and distribution. There was some merit

to the scheme, and most farmers conceded that the coopera-

tive could be economically advantageous. Fertilizers and pesticides could be purchased at reduced costs to improve

crop yields, and formalized market relationships in the

larger population centers would eliminate the need for the middleman who theretofore had reaped most of the profits.

Yet, such a seemingly efficient strategy of production and distribution met with no small resistance because the

innovation required administrative expertise lacking in the community and entailed creation of credit and market con-

tacts, realignment of important relational patterns, significant changes in attitudes, and so on. The economic and social benefits of the proposed cooperative venture would have had to have been far greater than the real and potential cost of the project before the innovation became acceptable to the people of Marian.

In summary, the tendency of Marian or any sociocul-

tural system to resist change fulfills both individual and collective needs. Since maintenance of the steady state is 151 by definition equivalent to continuance of customary patterns of interaction, the process in the final analysis

involves the regulation of individual and group behavior.

Behavioral control is accomplished through socialization and through activation of form-maintaining (morphostatic) processes which promote conformity and counteract deviance.

Socialization is the transmission of culture from one generation to the next and involves in part the internali-

zation of group values and norms. In contrast to this internal control are the external controls which are based upon the principle of needs-satisfaction and needs- deprivation. Each process contributing to systemic maintenance warrants more complete treatment and is discussed in the following sections.

Socialization

The inevitability of death necessitates replacement of personnel who compose the collectivity. Although replacement may be realized by means of immigration, the more common procedure for maintaining the organic base of the system is reproduction. The birth of an individual gives rise to a host of problems. The human infant, possessing no instinctive patterns to speak of, is completely helpless and dependent upon more mature persons for a number of years. It must be fed, protected, clothed and otherwise cared for. The absence of instincts, moreover, means that the child must learn to interact with the physical and 152 social environment. The learning process, which occurs on the conscious as well as on the subliminal level, not only entails the acquisition of knowledge but also the internalization of values, goals, rules and norms characterizing the group.

The intergenerational transmission of culture is called enculturation or, synonymously, socialization, and occurs in two ways. There is on the one hand the experiential learning process which does not entail purposive instruction; rather, the child absorbs that which he or she observes. There is, on the other hand, formal and informal instruction where the conscious aim of the instructor^) is to transmit information to the child.

The experiential learning process is affected by the nature of the environment to which the child is exposed.

Given the patterns of labor division in Marian, members of the household are usually separated during the daylight hours so that an infant passes the first months and years almost exclusively in the company of mother and other adult females. The most obvious consequence of this pattern is that the child's first language is Quechua, and

Spanish is acquired later in life if at all. The smallest children are carried about on the mother's back, but once the child becomes ambulatory, he or she is rarely discouraged from exploration. Overprotectiveness is certainly not a commonly observed characteristic of Marian mothers. 153

Older male siblings may sometimes be charged with responsibility for an infant, thereby becoming role models, but uxorifocal interaction patterns remain the norm

throughout the period of childhood preceding the beginning of formal education in the school system. Father often

leaves the home early in the morning to return shortly before dark, limiting the amount of time offspring may ob-

serve and model adult male behavior. Interaction between

father and child, in fact, is most frequently negative, for

the male adult assumes the role of disciplinarian until his offspring are old enough to leave the household.

Preschool children in Marian quickly absorb the proper behavioral norms associated with the various statuses in

the nuclear family, and interaction with other relatives expands the child's social universe. Opportunities for experiential learning, however, are multiplied many-fold once the youngster enters school at the age of five or six.

Observation of the behavior of peers clarifies, reinforces and augments knowledge regarding the social environment, and role-play serves to help internalize the values, rules and norms expressed in customary patterns of behavior.

The experiential learning process is not a character-

istic of Homo sapiens alone but may be observed in almost all infrahuman organisms, even in those most dependent upon

instinctive behavior patterns. The human group possesses

a distinct advantage, however, in that individuals of the

species are capable of complex systems of communication .

154 based on symbols. Through the use of language, a person may become aware of abstract concepts or of phenomena which are displaced in time and space. The individual does not have to be burned by a flame or observe another person burned to know that fire can cause pain. Thus, once the child has acquired language, his or her ability to learn by experience is greatly enhanced by the ability to learn vicariously

Language also greatly increases the effectiveness of the second dimension of socialization, instruction. The deliberate intergenerational transmission of information may be analyzed in terms of two general categories, formal and informal. During a child's formative years, informal education is most frequently observed among members of the household and represents spontaneous teaching unassociated with ritual. A child in Marian might be told by parents or siblings, for example, to be more respectful towards elders, to use a tool in a certain way, to play a game according to the rules, or not to tease the bull.

Formal instruction, in contrast, is a socialization practice associated with at least some ritual and is not limited to any age group. Because such a ritual generally involves a change in status or a reaffirmation of a status already held, it has been termed a "rite of passage" (Van

Gennep 1909), an event marked by three distinct phases.

During the first phase, learners are physically and/or symbolically separated from the community and are 155 supposedly divested of all status positions except that of

"neophyte" during the ceremony. Catholic mass in Marian, for example, is celebrated in the church located on the principal plaza in the Central Barrio, and the congregation is thereby physically separated from community members not attending the services.

Formal instruction takes place during the second phase of the rite of passage, that of transition, or liminality. The other actor of the dyad, the instructor

(elder) , is symbolically and/or physically separated from the neophytes during the liminal stage. In the Marian church, the congregation is seated facing the altar at the back of the building while the priest occupies the altar area itself. The area is slightly raised above the main floor, and a wooden rail divides the sections. The priest is also distinguished by ritual garments, religious para- phernalia, and by role-related behavior during the ceremony.

Direct instruction takes several forms. The behavior of the priest reaffirms the sanctity of the event and demonstrates the reverence with which the supernatural

forces are to be approached. The singing of hymns accom-

plishes the same purpose and reinforces belief in the

nature of the universe and its relationship to the reli-

gious domain. In Marian, the priest delivers short ser-

mons on diverse topics almost always related to proper

Christian conduct, and these sermons are then translated

into Quechua for the benefit of monolingual members. 156

The third and final stage of the rite of passage is reincorporation into the larger group with transition completed from one status to another. In the example of the

Catholic mass, members of the congregation are, through the sacrament of communion, absolved of sins and thereby attain the status of "cleansed Christian." An alternate interpretation, one which does not correspond to Van

Gennep's original model, is that the status is revitalized and reaffirmed, and neophytes return to routine activities as "practicing Catholics."

A religious ceremony was chosen as an example of a rite of passage to demonstrate that formal socialization may involve persons of all ages and that the process is not limited to formal schooling as this term is commonly employed. While the assertion that all formal education occurs within the context of rites of passage may be debated, there seems no room for argument that socialization practices involving schedules, ritual, symbols, and so on, are frequently carried on outside the classroom even when a schooling system is well developed. Nevertheless, it is true that, in Marian, the school serves as an important mechanism for the formal, deliberate transmission of culture, and most people in the community (particularly males) have or will have received at least some instruction in the classroom.

Before concluding the discussion of intergenerational

transmission of culture, a number of points deserve brief 157 consideration. Despite the significance of formal instruction and experiential learning outside the familial context, the family itself remains the single most important systemic component associated with the socialization process in the community of Marian. To understand the essential role of the family in maintaining sociocultural continuity, one has merely to note that

. . . the family is the fundamental instrumental foundation of the larger social structure, in that all other institutions depend upon its

contributions . The role behavior that is learned within the family becomes the model or prototype for role behavior required in other

segments of the society (Goode 1964 : 4-5) .

The family is not only the primary context for role modeling and transmission of knowledge regarding the physical and social environment, it is also the means by which values and norms are inculcated in the child. Behavioral regulation by external controls is greatly limited, and systemic maintenance can be assured only if individual members of the collectivity have internalized the rules of behavior upon which interactional patterns depend. More- over, the family serves to imbue the child with the values and goals of the group so that he or she will come to want to do whatever needs to be done to insure the survival of the group and the continuance of the system. This is the ideal objective of the socialization process and the sine qua non of systemic maintenance. 158

Conformity-Amplification

Even theoretically, a sociocultural system cannot

depend soley upon complete and proper socialization pro-

cedures to maintain systemic continuity in a relatively

stable environment, although common experiences, shared

knowledge, and inculcation of the appropriate acquired

needs are centripetal forces acting to solidify the group.

Realistically, the acquired needs of each individual do

not necessarily reflect requirements of the system because

the socialization process is not complete and because ex-

periential learning constitutes a relatively uncontrolled

variable. In light of the frequent disparity between per-

sonal and collective needs, and given that consequent

deviant behavior is disruptive of established patterns of

interaction, the tendency for a person to maximze personal

needs may be a threat to systemic integrity. The result

of deviant behavior may be conflict, stress, loss of

efficiency, atomization of the social unit, or ultimate

dissolution of the sociocultural system as a viable entity.

Because internalization of goals, values, rules, norms

and attitudes is insufficient to maintain the steady state

within tolerable limits of variation, external controls of

behavior may be necessary. One such method of behavioral

regulation is conformity-amplification, the positive rein-

forcement of nondeviant behavior. The effectiveness of

conformity-amplification is a function of the strength of

certain psychological needs including fear of rejection, .

159 dependence upon external expressions of self-worth, the need to interact meaningfully with others in the group, and

so on. Positive reinforcement of proper behavior may also

be accomplished through satisfaction of material needs and may involve the manipulation of material resources, a phe-

nomenon examined when discussion turns to deviance-

reduction. As is the case with virtually every other

process of the sociocultural system, conformity-amplication

may be either informal or formal. Informal positive rein-

forcement for nondeviant behavior includes expressions of

praise, gratitude, respect, etc., and such expressions

may be verbal or symbolized materially, as through gift-

giving. One member of Marian summarizes the importance

of adhering to group norms:

For us of Marian it is important to have the respect of family, of com -

padres , of our neighbors. I lead a good life and cause no trouble, and I teach my children the value of getting along with others and ful- filling one's duties. If one be- haves otherwise, if one thinks of one's self and never of others, there is danger of being scorned. Pride is a hollow thing when one loses the respect of those with whom one must live and work

In addition to personal, informal approbation of non-

deviant behavior, the Marian system possesses more formal

procedures to increase group cohesion through conformity-

amplification. Such procedures are associated generally

with ritual and fall into two overlapping categories. The

first category, rites of passage, was discussed earlier in 160 terms of the primary dyad which includes the instructor

(elder) and the instructed (neophytes) . In terms of the larger system, however, the ritual is a symbolic statement of the legitimacy of the status positions from which and

to which the neophytes are moving. Communal recognition of the validity of the ritual and the newly obtained or

reaffirmed statuses assumed upon reincorporation of the

instructed is tantamount to recognition of the validity

of the network into which those statuses fit. Rites of

passage, therefore, involve more than altered positions of

individuals in the system; such rituals also serve to re-

vitalize the social order and to intensify group cohesion

in a positive manner.

The second category of institutionalized conformity-

amplifying procedures may perhaps be considered to subsume

rites of passage but includes other types of rituals as

well. Rites of solidarity in Marian are usually associated

with some religious event, and religious fiestas ("festi-

vals") are by far the most prominent and spectacular. As

does virtually every other community in Latin America,

Marian has a patron saint who is considered the principal

mediator between community members and the supernatural

hierarchy. Each year, the saint's feast day is celebrated

in extravagant style for more than a week and a half, and

the fiesta is characterized by fireworks, music, dancing,

consumption of special foods and alcoholic beverages, pro-

cessions, bull fights, and an atmosphere of hospitality. .

161

The festival of Saint Michael (San Miguel) begins during the evening hours two days before the feast day which falls on September 29th. A group of ten men (the

huaquillas ) don traditional costumes and weave their way dancing through the community, led by a single musician

playing simultaneously a flute and drum (the roncadora )

Unattended by the townspeople, the huaquillas arrive at the church in the Central Barrio at midnight where they perform an intricate dance whose pattern has remained unchanged for as long as anyone can remember. The fiesta has officially begun.

On the following day, the dancers again make their way through the community asking for gifts of food, drink and money. A few community members join the group and the procession grows as the day wears on. Shortly after dark, fireworks displays are held in the main plaza, and people from all sectors of Marian gather to watch the rituals of the huaquillas on Michaelmas Eve. Early on September 29th, the dancers again weave their way along the paths and roads of the community, calling upon the townspeople to follow them to the chapel where mass is to be held. After church

services, the crowd gathers in the plaza to watch the dancers, to dance themselves, or to converse with family and

friends. Throughout the day, fireworks explode high over

Marian, deafening the ears and announcing to all around

that the community is celebrating an important event. 162

The first segment of the festival of San Miguel is relatively sedate and is highlighted by the huaquillas and their ritual dances. The group continues to dance all day and part of the evening from September 27th until October

1st when the polychrome statuette of Saint Michael is returned to its proper niche in the church. This is the dxa de colocacion ("day of placement") and is marked by a ritual procession led by the huaquillas.

For the next few days the community is quiet, and many small private gatherings are held in the homes with close family and friends attending. Hosts offer sumptuous meals, usually featuring fried cavies, boiled potatoes, a variety of vegetables, and countless gourdsful of sweet corn beer. These intimate gatherings continue until the evening of October 5th, when the second major part of the fiesta of San Miguel begins with a magnificent fireworks display in the central plaza. The display is followed by drinking, music, and dancing, and the revelry continues far into the night as the entire community celebrates the eve of the Octava (the eighth day following the saint’s

day) .

The rest of the day is devoted to various activities including dancing and bull fights. Sponsors of the fiesta distribute meats, vegetables, fruits, corn beer and bottled beer to everyone present, and by evening the entire community can be found in the football field huddled in groups,

sharing the last of the alcoholic drinks. The fiesta again 163

continues far into the night, and the mountains echo the deafening boom of the innumerable skyrockets whose smoke lies over the area like a morning fog.

The festival of San Miguel reinforces conformity and strengthens community solidarity in a number of ways. Ri- tuals contain symbolic expression of group beliefs, values and norms, and in tradition is found a sense of common heritage, continuity and oneness with the past. The event brings together community members in a festive democracy where social distinctions are blurred and interpersonal conflicts are relieved, or at least temporarily suspended.

Paradoxically, the leveling of the social order during the fiesta is concomitant with a process which serves to express the legitimacy of social inequality. This process, sponsorship of the festival, constitutes a group-approved means by which economic disparity may be transmuted into social inequality, by which wealth may be exchanged for greater prestige and for collective approbation of group oriented, conformist behavior.

Sponsorship is at first glance deceptively simple.

During the afternoon of the Octava, individuals publicly announce their willingness to serve as mayordomos ("spon-

sors") for the next year's festival. The responsibility

is an expensive one and is not lightly assumed. Sponsors must supply entertainment, fireworks, food and beverages

for all who participate in the fiesta, even for persons

from other communities who come to Marian for the event. 164

There is, moreover, a spirit of competition, and from year to year the mayordomos seek to best their predecessors by providing more extravagant events, bigger bands, more food, and more beer. The penalty for failure to equal or exceed the preceding year's festival is rather severe, for community members openly express their disappointment and socially rebuff the parsimonious mayordomo.

The expense of the festival of Saint Michael (the

Octava of 1975 alone cost about $2,000) usually means that only the wealthier individuals may serve as sponsors, and anthropologists have long recognized the economic leveling effect of the fiesta system (see Wolf 1955). That is, accumulation of wealth by a few persons may provide a source of conflict within the community and thereby threaten the integrity of the system. The festival functions in part to redistribute the wealth and to compensate the now more impoverished mayordomo with increased prestige.

The richest individuals in Marian, however, cannot and will not assume responsibility for the festival year after year, and the less affluent rarely can bear the cost of a competitively extravagant celebration. Poorer individuals resolve the problem of capital shortage by volun- teering to act as sponsors and then by activating the reciprocity system. In other words, they call upon family,

friends and fictive kin to donate money, goods and services. The process of resource concentration reduces debts

owed to the mayordomo, increases debts already incurred,

and creates new dyadic contracts. 165

Another means by which costs of the festival of Saint

Michael are shared is the division of sponsorship. There

are generally two mayordomos , one for the feast day itself and one for the Octava. Each position may be simultaneously filled by a number of individuals, as in 1975 when several brothers joined resources. Both positions are associated with the responsibility for the organization and expense of major aspects of the festival, although minor events may be sponsored by capitanes de la tarde

("captains of the afternoon") -- less prestigious positions but also less costly. Each capitan, like the mayordomos, turns to kith and kin for financial and other assistance, and each competes with the others in providing the most beer, the loudest band, or the fiercest bulls.

The fiesta of San Miguel is not only a rite of solidarity serving as an economic leveling process or as expression of the legitimacy of social inequality. The festival is also a major vehicle by which individuals may acquire greater prestige and, with increased prestige, greater influence in the community. One who wishes to profit from the fiesta system, however, must be acceptable to most members of the collectivity, for the deviant will find it difficult to establish friendships and fictive kin ties. Without the support of others, a would-be sponsor would be unable to assume responsibility for the celebration. Stated in more positive terms, an individual who generally adheres to community standards of behavior is 166 more likely to establish viable reciprocal relationships and is therefore more likely to be in a position to exchange social credit for money, goods and services needed for proper sponsorship. Leaving material resources aside, the wealthiest person in Marian is he or she whose personal network of family, friends and fictive kin is largest;

therefore, the fiesta system encourages conformist behavior and may be considered an important conformity-

amplifying component of the community system.

Deviance- Reduction

While conformity-amplification is defined in terms of

positive reinforcement of acceptable actions, deviance-

reduction refers to negative sanctions designed to modify

behavior of persons or groups who do not adhere to opera-

tive standards of proper interaction. Deviance arises

from a number of sources. Norms, rules and laws pertain-

ing to alternative actions under specific circumstances,

for example, may be contradictory, ambiguous or nonexis-

tent, leaving room for disparate interpretations of

propriety. Self-interest is a fundamental motivation to

deviate from operative standards if there exists a dis-

parity between the individual's acquired needs and the

collectivity's systemic needs. Most often, however,

deviance is defined in terms of behavior not in the

interests of those persons or groups who are in a position .

167 to enforce the norms, rules and laws which serve their individual purposes

Although deviance is almost always disruptive of the

social order at some level, a sociocultural system and its components are generally characterized by a margin of

tolerance to stress and may continue to operate without

significant changes in the steady state. As will be discussed in another section of the chapter, deviance is not

necessarily detrimental to the group as a unit, for behav-

ior defined as improper may represent alternatives which

may prove more successful than existing paradigms and

thereby be redefined as proper when environmental condi-

tions are altered.

When disruptive effects of improper behavior begin to

exceed the system's tolerance, however, there exists a

threat to systemic integrity and a danger of collective

stress. Even at the individual level when the impact on

the collectivity is less extreme, deviance may prompt

negative sanctions designed to correct or extinguish

aberrant behavior. The process of deviance-reduction is

predicated upon deprivation of needs, which presupposes

disparity of social power among individuals. Social power

in this context is defined as a psychosocial phenomenon

corresponding to the ability of actor A to deprive, or to

threaten to deprive, actor B of some resource instrumental

to satisfaction of basic or acquired needs. While differ-

ential access to resources constitutes the basis of social 168 power, the magnitude of power available to actor A is a

function of the "relative control by each actor . . . over elements of concern to the participants" (Adams 1975: 10).

Equivalence of access and consequent control of resources, therefore, implies a balance of power between actors. Com- plete control by one actor would maximize disparity.

Access to resources, however, is not the only variable which determines the extent to which one actor may modify the behavior of another. As Adams points out, the elements controlled must be "of concern to the participants," and concern is a function of the perceived value of the elements themselves. Expressions of disapproval by close relatives and friends, for example, are more likely to counteract deviance than disapproval expressed by persons with whom the deviant has fewer emotional ties. Likewise, depriving an individual of means for satisfaction of material needs will be ineffective or only paritally effec-

tive if the needs created are of relatively low priority.

To a large extent, the priority of some needs with respect

to others is culturally determined; however, genetically

determined biological requirements supercede acquired needs

as a general rule. Control of access to material resources

necessary for the physical continuance of the individual,

therefore, involves greater degrees of social power than

does the control of less essential elements in the environ-

ment. It is for this reason that economic relations are .

169

primarily determinant of power relationships within a community or society.

Power relationships and consequent power structures are apropos of the discussion of deviance for two reasons.

One is that deviance-reduction necessitates differential access to valued resources, which permits those with greater or more direct control over such environmental elements to modify disruptive behavior of others. Secondly, patterns of power distribution generally determine whatever is defined as deviance in any group, for those who control the instrumental means for needs-satisf action will excer- cise that control to maximize satisfaction of their own basic and acquired needs. The operative norms, rules and laws defining proper and improper behavior, then, are those which serve the interest of the persons or groups who can enforce compliance.

With a view towards analysis of deviance-reduction in

Marian as a process of systemic maintenance, the researcher examined power relationships from several vantagepoints

At the individual level, two distinct patterns of interaction were observed. One the one hand were the relatively informal, noninstitutionalized applications of power. On the other hand were power relationships characterized by legitimate authority, the "direction or control of

behaviors . . . with the informed and committed 'consent' or consensus of those directed" (Buckley 1967: 177). 170

An episode during one year's festival of Saint Michael provides an example of the first, informal paradigm of power relationships. The mayordomo for that year attempted

to persuade one of the wealthiest individuals in Marian to

assume responsibility for the next celebration of the

saint's day. The latter refused, and his refusal consti-

tuted deviant behavior by operative community standards

because accumulation of personal wealth and hesitance to

share that wealth were viewed as improper. A gain by one

person was believed to be at the expense of others because

of the limited nature of material resources (see George

Foster's discussion of the concept of "limited good" in

Foster 1965) , and the operative norm called for redistri-

bution of wealth through the fiesta system.

The mayordomo could not apply economic pressures, for

the disparity in material wealth gave the advantage to the

deviant. Deprivation of some other need was required, and

the festival's sponsor therefore sought to mobilize public

opinion against the wealthy man and subsequently

threatened physical coercion in the form of fireworks

launched towards the deviant's home. Unsuccessful in

swaying his antagonist, the sponsor was forced to carry

out his threat. During the afternoon of the Octava, when

the procession of community members carried the statuette

of Saint Michael around the plaza, skyrockets were directed

at the property of the obstinate individual who refused to

share his good fortune. The fireworks fortuitously struck .

171 and set ablaze the saint's banner carried aloft by the processioners . Rather than counteract deviance through the informal, noninstitutionalized application of power, the incident demonstrated to the community that a "higher authority" condoned the rich man's refusal. Saint Michael himself was said to have intervened and to have taken action against the sponsor who was himself helpless in the face of supernatural power.

A second pattern of power relationships at the individual level derives from established, approved right of a person or group of persons "to determine policies, to pro- nounce judgement on relevant issues, and to settle contro- versies, or, more broadly, to act as leader or guide" to other persons (Maclver 1947: 87). Although authority ultimately rests upon control of access to valued resources, the power held by the individual or croup is "based

upon some form of . . . knowledgeable consent" of those subject to decisions and actions of those who wield the power

(Maclver 1947: 87). Thus, such relationships differ from

informal power confrontations in that authority is generally viewed as legitimate, proper and necessary. Further- more, where the informal exercise of power between actors may be analyzed primarily in terms of individual needs-

satisf actinn, legitimate authority is best examined as a

factor in the process of collective needs-satisf action

A revealing illustration of the exercise of author-

ity in Marian is an incident which occurred in the barrio 172 of San Isidro. The barrio has its own patron saint, Santa

Isabel (Saint Elizabeth) , and a festival is organized each year to celebrate the saint's feast day. While individuals volunteer to sponsor the fiesta of Saint Michael, the mayordomo of the fiesta of Saint Elizabeth is selected and can only accept or decline to serve.

Selection of the sponsor is the priviledge of a woman who once owned the hacienda (see Vazques 1961 for a dis-

cussion of this type of institution) upon which many per-

sons from San Isidro worked. Having controlled access to

a highly valued resource (productive land) , the landowner

previously possessed a great deal of power and therefore

commanded the respect if not the esteem of the barrio's

population. The woman lost most of her estate to the

agrarian reform, but she continued to occupy her well-

established position of authority despite the loss of much

of the material base of power. One of the rights associ-

ated with the status was selection of the mayordomo for

the festival of Santa Isabel.

The landowner generally chose from among persons who

could more easily carry the burden of the fiesta's expense,

but in 1975 she took advantage of her priviledged position

to quell criticism directed at her by one family in San

Isidro. The family, and one member of that family in par-

ticular, had publicly questioned the legitimacy of her

authority. In retaliation, the woman selected her most

vociferous critic to serve as mayordomo for the festival, .

173

knowing that the family could not afford to sponsor a festival of acceptable extravagance.

The mayordomo-to-be and his immediate family were among the poorest in the barrio. To make matters even worse, his fictive kin had been chosen, as is customary in

San Isidro, from among relatives and nonkin residing in the barrio, all of whom were almost as destitute as he. The sponsor-elect was therefore confronted with a major dilemma. He could accept the honor bestowed upon him by the landowner. To do so would bring economic ruin unless he and his family were willing to accept the humiliation which would surely come with a less than extravagant event.

Parsimony, moreover, might offend the patron saint who could retaliate in any number of ways to show her displeasure

The other horn of the dilemma was equally as pointed, for refusal to serve as mayordomo could bring public ridi- cule and censure and could, again, incur the disfavor of

Santa Isabel. The machinations of the owner of the large estate and the consequent predicament of her victim in this power play shed light upon the fiesta system and upon the process of systemic maintenance. Anthropologists have noted that religious festivals in Latin American peasant communities serve to reinforce social ties, to provide legitimate means to enhance personal prestige, and to reduce interpersonal conflicts. The fiesta is also frequently interpreted as an economic leveling process to 174 discourage accumulation of wealth and thereby reduce tensions arising from unequal distribution of resources.

In San Isidro, however, the fiesta system was manipulated to reduce deviant behavior and to maintain established authority patterns within the barrio. The critic of the landowner was disparaged so that the negative impact of his criticism was at least partially neutralized.

The incident also illustrates the manner by which community standards of proper behavior is weighted in favor of those persons or groups who possess social power.

Authority is not necessarily related directly to control of access to valued resources, although the power associated with authority must ultimately be traced to such control. In the community of Marian, for example, there

exists a formal structure whose ostensible function is to maintain the social order by inhibiting or controlling

deviance, to make decisions affecting the community, and

to insure that collective needs are met. The individuals

who occupy the established positions of authority in Marian

are not always the most powerful and influential, for such

positions are filled by means of election by the adult

members of the community.

One may consider the elected posts in Marian to be the

formal power component of the community, and many collec-

tive decisions are made by these officials. Even a per-

son with little access to resources can, upon entering

office, assume civil authority based upon the consent of .

175 those represented and, often more importantly, upon the potential intervention of district, provincial, departmental or national authorities.

Perhaps the key position in the formal authority structure in Marian is that of teniente gobernador ("lieutenant governor") who is directly responsible to the district governor and who represents the entire community.

The teniente is chosen by a general assembly of adult community members, and the selection is confirmed by the subprefect at the provincial level. The teniente in turn appoints representatives in each barrio of Marian to assist him in the completion of his duties. Primary among these responsibilities is the maintenance of interpersonal harmony. Minor disputes are brought before him for resolution, and the lieutenant governor has the right to take action against anyone who deviates significantly from rules and laws, with negative sanctions including public reprimand, fines, or both. More serious cases are referred to the governor who may request the intervention of the police

A second important figure in the formal authority structure is the agente municipal ("municipal agent") who also represents the entire community but who is directly responsible to the district mayor rather than to the governor. Like the teniente, the agente is officially appointed by the office of the prefect, but the appoint- ment generally amounts to confirmation of the choice made 176 by a community assembly. The agente is responsible for the physical plant of the community and is assisted in his duties by individuals selected from the barrios. Ideally, the municipal agent and his assistants mobilize and coordinate groups of individuals to maintain roads, canals, and public buildings. Repeated refusal by townspeople to help in these collective tasks results in informal negative sanctions and is not an offense referred to higher authorities. Deviants may become the targets of public criticism or may find that one of their precious animals has been confiscated to feed the individuals who did agree to help in the chores.

The third principal authority in Marian is the juez de_ aguas (literally, "water judge") whose primary duty is the resolution of conflicts arising from use of the irrigation system. Because most of the community has more than sufficient water for crops most of the year, the authority of the juez de aguas is generally exercised only during dry periods when demand increases and scheduling of water becomes an issue. Improper diversion of irrigation water is considered a serious offense and brings public reprimand, fines, or both.

The lieutentant governor, municipal agent and juez de aguas together form a decision-making triumvirate, and there is a good deal of informal overlapping of privileges and duties associated with the statuses. The agent, for example, is responsible for the community's physical plant. 177

including the network of irrigation canals; logically,

he works closely with the juez de aguas , although respec-

tive formal responsibilities are not identical. Decisions

affecting the community are discussed by all three author-

ities who either take direct action on the basis of their

joint decision or turn the problem over to the townspeople.

Such freedom of choice at the community level is not

insured by the Peruvian government, but physical and

social isolation of the farming community, indifference of

higher authorities, and lack of trained personnel in the

upper echelons of government serve to counteract the cen-

tralized nature of the Peruvian political system as

a whole.

Level Authority Positions

Department or Prefect Regional Director Region of the Ministry of Agriculture

i i Province or Provincial Subprefect Zonal Director Zone Mayor of the Ministry of Agriculture

District District Governor

Mayor >

Community Municipal — Lieutenant — Juez de Aguas Agent Governor

I I Barrio Assistants Assistants

FIGURE 11

The Formal Authority Structure in Marian, 1975 178

To summarize the discussion regarding systemic maintenance, there are in Marian -- as in other sociocultural systems in one form or another -- processes which inhibit change and serve to maintain existing patterns of interaction. Underlying the tendency for a sociocultural system to remain in a relatively steady state are individual needs which may either be inherent or inculcated. Continuity, therefore, is to a large degree dependent upon the nature of the human organism and upon transmission of culture from one generation to the next. The community system is also characterized by informal and formal processes which reward conformity to operative community standards and/or discourage deviance defined in terms of those standards.

As social scientists are coming to realize, however, sociocultural systems are dynamic entities which cannot be analyzed with reference to homeostasis alone. The forces of change are inexorable, and a viable community or society is one which has the capacity to make appropriate changes in its environment and in itself when the need arises.

Controlled change in the nature of the sociocultural system, then, represents the second broad category of primary collective needs. 179

Controlled and Uncontrolled Systemic C hange

The Basis of Systemic Change

The tendency for a sociocultural system to maintain continuity is strong, and yet every human population experiences continual modification in established patterns of interaction among members, with the physical environment, and with other groups. The causes of change are multiple and complex, but may, for the purpose of analysis, be categorized as external and internal. External factors include phenomena composing the system's physical and social environment, so that changes in weather, flora, fauna, or behavior of other groups serve as stimuli to which the system may respond. Internal factors subsume needs-deprivation of group members, conflicts arising from efforts to maximize needs satisfaction, imperfect socialization processes, misfit between individual and collective needs, and so forth.

As discussed earlier, a population may respond to external or internal stimuli by counteracting consequent deviance and rewarding conformity. At some point, however, the real or perceived costs of maintaining existing patterns may exceed the potentially negative effects of change in those patterns. Looking at the process in another way, pressures for modification in the system are likely to arise when perceived benefits of innovation outweigh the benefits of sustaining the status quo. 180

Whichever perspective is employed in analysis, an important assumption integral to the model used here is that change takes place initially at the individual level

and is a response to needs-deprivation . To derive generalizations valid at the collective level, one may observe that the group responds to deviance in a number of ways not discussed in the previous section. One set of respon-

ses may be categorized as purposive, in that the deviance

is perceived and somehow encouraged (or not discouraged) by

the informal or formal decision-making process. Deviant

behavior may simply, by design, be permitted; that is, no

morphostatic mechanisms are activated. Purposive response may involve activation of morphogenic processes which in-

clude deviance-amplification and conformity-reduction.

The former response rewards innovative behavior while the

latter serves to extinguish established patterns by coun-

teracting conformity to previously operative standards.

Controlled change, then, is the purposive movement

from one steady state to another involving modification in

the system itself as a means to cope with variations in the

environment. Although all goal-oriented entities share the

capacity for morphogenesis to some degree, the sociocul-

tural system represents the most flexible, readily trans-

formed, and therefore most adaptive of such entities.

That is not to imply, however, that communities and

societies always deal with change situations in ways which

are consistent with the goal parameters of the system. In 181 fact, ethnographic data seem to indicate that modification in strategies of adaptation most often comes about spon- taneously, without activation of collective decision- making processes. Uncontrolled change may come about either because deviation is ignored or not perceived, or because morphostatic mechanisms are not sufficient to counteract deviant behavior. Once such changes occur and affect a significant number of members in a group, other dimensions of the sociocultural system will tend towards congruence with the new patterns of behavior.

This brief discussion of the basis of systemic change will serve as introduction to some of the dynamic aspects of the community of Marian. Ignoring for the moment the impact of the 1970 earthquake, one discovers that the highland community has been and is being rapidly transformed because of significant changes in the physical and social environment. Perhaps the most apparent modification affecting Marian is the long term process of atomization threatening the integrity of the community system. It is

important to note here, before continuing the discussion, that historical data for this section were obtained through

interviews with older informants, and these individuals

seemed to recall the past with a fondness which undoubtedly distorted memory. There is, however, empirical evidence

available which at least partially compensates for the

"good-old-days" syndrome, and the researcher has taken his

best shot at minimizing subjectivity. 182

Declining Agricultural Per Capita Productivity

For many years, Marian has been undergoing rapid atomization, a process which entails a loss of community cohesion and a shift in focus from the group as a whole to

subgroups and individuals. The diminution of community oriented behavior is the result. of many interacting vari-

ables and in turn is a primary cause of fundamental modi-

fication in the nature of the community system. In the

broadest view, atomization is occurring because of changes

in the external environment, principally an increase in

population, a concommitant decline in agricultural pro-

ductivity, and the influence of Huaraz.

Although the rate of population growth in Marian can-

not be determined empirically, older informants are

unanimous in their opinion that population density is much

greater today than it was just a few decades ago. Exacer-

bating the growing pressure on agricultural resources in

the community is rapid soil depletion and consequent

yearly decrease in crop yields, especially of potatoes.

Most families interviewed in 1975 reported a serious

shortage of the staple tuber, and some farmers harvested

only enough to serve as seed for the next planting season.

Other crops have suffered a similar decline in yields at

a time when demand for them within the community is in-

creasing in proportion to population growth. It is

insufficient to say that the majority of people in Marian

are poor and becoming ever poorer. The process involves 183 the failure of established patterns of behavior to provide for the basic needs of individuals -- much less for lower priority collective needs -- and the various responses to the stress conditions have caused, reinforced, or been caused by atomization of the community system.

One solution to declining per capita output in an agricultural system is, simply, to increase production.

Theoretically, this may be accomplished by bringing more land under cultivation, by farming existing plots more intensively, or by substituting higher-yielding cultigens for those presently being grown. Although each of these techniques has been attempted in Marian, none has proven effective as a long term solution to the problem. Arable land is quite limited, and, given present technology, uncultivated areas are unsuitable for agricultural production because they are too wet and/or too rocky. The acquisition of additional farm units through exogamous marriages, moreover, may serve to diversify the crops grown by the household, but it does not increase the amount of land available to the community as a whole. Males may marry outside the community, but so may the females. The productive land made available by the former's marriage is therefore offset by the loss of lands resulting from the latter's marriage.

Farming existing plots more intensively is possible for the more well-to-do members of Marian, but the majority of households cannot afford the capital investment in 184 tools, animals, fertilizers and other necessities. Indeed, fertilizers especially have become increasingly expensive over the years and are often unavailable even to those who can and do use them. To make matters worse, few farmers who understand the benefits of replenishing the soil do not have the knowledge to apply fertilizers correctly. Too much or too little may be used so that crop yields do not increase enough to make the investment economical, and the farmer will subsequently decide to forego the expense during the next season.

Introducing new varieties of crops involves similar problems, for high-yield cultigens cannot be grown without special knowledge and an initial capital outlay. The innovation also entails no small risk for a subsistence farmer who must deal with the possibility of the loss of an entire harvest. Thus, the "simple" solution of increasing agricultural production in Marian is quite complex upon closer examination, and the pragmatic producer in the community has considered -- and rejected for many valid reasons -- many of the more obvious alternatives.

A second general solution to declining agricultural productivity is to seek compensating resources in exchange for labor, goods or services. In Marian, sharecropping was a common arrangement until recently, and poorer families would work for individuals who owned more land than they could manage alone. Other persons engage in nonagricultural, unskilled activities and receive in return either 185 money or foodstuffs. Still others in the community supplement their incomes by acquiring specialized knowledge.

There are shoemakers, hatters, masons, herbologists , and even a warlock.

The possibilities for occupational specialization in

Marian, however, are limited by competition in Huaraz and by other factors. In the past, the community was relatively self-sufficient in terms of such goods and services as shoemaking and repair, hat fabrication, etc., but the trend has been towards increasing dependence upon the departmental capital. Skilled labor and special services are generally cheaper in the larger population center, and economic considerations seem, to a large degree, to outweigh the social significance of nonagricultural transactions. There are carpenters, masons, hatters, shoemakers and other specialists in Marian, but they agree on three points. First, business in general is declining. Secondly, members of the community often prefer to obtain goods and services in Huaraz, even if these goods and services are available locally. Finally, skilled specialists in Marian are usually unable to expand their business into the urban center because of stiff competition in their respective domains of competency. Farmers of Marian who seek to supplement incomes through manual, unskilled labor also confront a labor market increasingly glutted as economic conditions for the region as a whole worsen with each passing year. 186

In short, attempts to deal with declining agricultural per capita output in Marian by increasing production or by seeking compensating economic activities have generally proven ineffective. The logical alternative is to treat the "per capita" variable of the formula, that is, to establish an acceptable resource-population ratio by maintaining or reducing the population level. Almost all societies studied by anthropologists have some sort of implicit or explicit "population policy" (Wagley 1969) such that the number of persons in a group are stabilized at or below carrying-capacity of the habitat. Instrumental means of population control are varied and include techniques which either prevent births or eliminate personnel. Al- though no empirical documentation is available, the researcher observed several incidents which suggest the emergence of a modified population policy in Marian. For example, while contraception is publicly denounced and discouraged by the state and the church, several men approached the researcher with enquiries regarding birth control. Of special interest to these individuals was la pildora ("the pill"), although most men simply wanted general information on how to prevent pregnancy.

Despite the lack of contraceptive devices in Marian, some method of birth control is indicated by statistics on the size of families. Figures from the 1975 field census indicate that most domestic units in Marian contained four persons, the parents and two children. For the 187 community as a whole, the mean number of family members per household was only 4.35 (including one-parent units), and nearly 60 per cent of the families interviewed had two children or less. Even more surprising is the fact that more than three-fourths of the sampled households had three

children or less in 1975, a pattern not contradicted by the

1970 census. To put such statistics into proper perspec-

tive one has merely to note that seven out of ten women in

the Department of Ancash had more than three children

(Peru 1974) , a fact which places the community of Marian in

the category of an anomaly. Unless some other undiscovered

factor emerges to explain the relatively small size of

conjugal units in Marian, the most adequate explanation is

that the birth rate has decreased, most likely in response

to the decline in agricultural production.

Migration is another means to adjust the resource-

population ratio, although it appears that the flow of

individuals and families into Marian from surrounding

settlements at least partially offsets movement away from

the community. A complicating factor, one whose implica-

tions cannot presently be analyzed, is that one group of

the population is more likely to migrate than others.

Young men between the ages of 20 and 39 years are leaving

Marian at an apparently increasing rate, a process re-

flected in the male-female ratio. For that cohort, there

are less than 65 males for 100 females according to the

1975 field census. 188

To summarize the situation as discussed so far, agricultural yields in Marian are steadily declining in absolute measure while population is steadily increasing. The resulting pressures on resources cannot be counteracted by

increasing production, while population control is difficult given the ignorance surrounding birth control, government and religious opposition to family planning through contraception, and migration into the community of persons

from surrounding areas. Learning to do with less may be

a viable alternative in more affluent societies, but one

can hardly lower expectations while operating on a subsis-

tence level. A sociocultural system which cannot provide

for basic nutritional needs must either change or disinte-

grate. The latter process seems to characterize Marian as

the community continues to atomize.

Systemic Disintegration of Marian

Disintegration of a sociocultural system refers to the

consequences of diminishing cohesion among the social and

cultural domains of a community or society. The loss of

functional unity may occur when individual needs, whether

basic or acquired, either assume immediate priority over

or counteract primary collective needs. Both processes

are operative in Marian.

As per capita agricultural productivity declines,

households are becoming increasingly concerned with the

welfare of respective family members, less concerned with 189

the welfare of others. The appearance of amoral familism

(see Banfield 1958) in the community is manifest in a number of ways, but most clearly in the system of reciprocity,

in ritual coparenthood, and in the fiesta system.

Reciprocity is not only a means to obtain labor during

the agricultural cycle. It also serves a credit function,

for a household may "store" produce within the framework

of mutual obligation and draw upon the credit at some

future date. For the system to operate, of course, some

households must produce a quantity of foodstuffs exceeding

their own nutritional requirements. When the temporary

surplus is lacking, the basic needs are satisfied at the

expense of collective needs represented by the reciprocity

network. Diminution of the exchange of foodstuffs serves

to diminish social bonds as well, and the weakening of

dyadic contracts facilitates the process of atomization.

Patterns of reciprocity in Marian almost always coin-

cide either with kinship or fictive kin ties. Descent and

affinity create relationships among individuals and groups,

and near kinsmen in particular recognize the obligation to

assist one another in times of need. Thus, generalized or

balanced reciprocity strengthen already existing bonds.

Fictive kin, however, are "related" in a more tenuous

manner. The relationship is based almost entirely upon

mutual need, usually without the underpinning of descent

and affinity, and reciprocal contracts are therefore more

easily dissolved. Degrees of relationships are, of course, 190 important, but a person in Marian generally feels a greater sense of obligation towards near relatives than towards

compadres . Faced with dwindling resources and with the necessity of sharing produce within the community, an individual is more likely to maintain reciprocal relationships with near kinsmen than with fictive kin.

To avoid the necessity of choosing between kinsmen and fictive kin when both are exercising the rights associated with the system of reciprocity, one may limit the number of compadres one has. Existing contracts may be ritually balanced, thereby cancelling future obligations, or the individual may refuse to enter into any new arrangements. Reneging is also an obvious means to dissolve a reciprocal relationship and is not an uncommon phenomenon in Marian. Most informants in the community continue to value compadrazgo as an institution but admit that they cannot afford the obligations characterizing the ritual kinship. A complaint often heard is that a particular

compadre is not cumplido , that is, does not reciprocate according to the norms governing the process.

The decreasing effectiveness of fictive kinship to provide a system of exchange is derived primarily from the decline in agricultural productivity. Since dyadic contracts among compadres reinforce social bonds, then the dissolution of the reciprocal arrangements represents a loss in community cohesion, leading to atomization. The process, moreover, affects not only those individuals bound 191

by (or potentially bound by) compadrazgo, but all individuals in the community, including relatives. As the

resource-population ratio continues to diminish, reciprocal

ties among related households begin to weaken. In many

cases in Marian, a family simply does not harvest beyond

their own needs and therefore cannot assist even the

closest of relatives outside the nuclear unit. The break-

down of the system of reciprocity, then, affects even the

kinship system; tensions and hostilities are emerging,

atomizing kin-based groups.

As with the system of reciprocity, the religious fes-

tivals in Marian serve to redistribute wealth and to rein-

force existing social patterns. The fiesta of San Miguel,

however, has undergone a number of changes over the years,

especially in terms of resource distribution. Sponsors of

the event were at one time the most affluent of community

members, and the festival was a means by which to trans-

late wealth into prestige. As per capita resources de-

creased, sponsors turned to family and fictive kin for

assistance in providing food, beverages and entertainment.

Eventually, even this arrangement failed to operate effec-

tively, for reciprocal partners could provide less each

year, and many were forced to renege on obligations to the

mayordomo . Several repercussions are documented in inter-

views with informants. For one thing, the system of reci-

procity (and hence interpersonal and intergroup relation-

ships) were strained as available resources declined. 192

Also, individuals became more hesitant to accept responsibility for sponsorship of the festival of Saint Michael because of the obligations they would cancel or incur through reciprocal transaction. Finally, the fiesta itself became less important to community members who, complaining that the event was not like it used to be, participated less if at all. The fiesta, therefore, continued to lose its integrative function and facilitated the on-going process of atomization.

Declining productivity, then, is a powerful force within the community and has far-reaching implications in terms of social organization and structure. Failure of the productive-distributive processes to provide the resources necessary for needs-satisf action creates more stress in any sociocultural system and requires that resources be increased, population decreased, and/or the goal parameters be adjusted. The priority of basic needs, however, cannot be changed. When per capita production diminishes within a system already near the subsistence level, sacrifice of "less important" needs entails deprivation of collective requirements, which leads to disintegration of the system as a functionally unified entity.

Despite the importance of productivity, however, the absolute decline of per capita food production in Marian is not the only variable standing in causal relationship to systemic disintegration. Analysis must also include the phenomenon of "relative deprivation," a label applied 193 by David Aberle (1970) to what is more commonly called rising expectations. Assuming isolation of a given population, then resources, population and goals (reflecting needs) tend towards stability. Change in the system results primarily from change in either or both of the first two factors. Relative deprivation, on the other hand, involves the introduction of new acquired needs at the individual level so that even a stable resource-population ratio may no longer prove adequeate to fulfill the needs now in the system. Introduction of new needs, like diffu- sion of any concept or artifact, requires contact with other systems. In the case of Marian, the most significant

"other" is the community of Huaraz and, indirectly through the departmental capital, the Western world as a whole.

Relative deprivation in Marian will be treated in more detail in Chapter VII, but a few remarks are appropriate at this point. The people of Marian are dependent upon Huaraz for many goods and services and therefore spend some time

> in the urban center each week. Wheat, for example, must be carried to town to be ground into flour, for there are no millers in Marian. Nor are there bakers in the community; all bread must be purchased in some way, usually by sharing flour with the bakers. Most people of Marian prefer to buy clothing, shoes, hats, ponchos and other hand- made items in Huaraz, although there are tailors, shoemakers, hatters and weavers in the farming community who serve a dwindling clientele. Members also prefer to attend 194 church services in the capital, for it offers an opportunity to visit with friends and relatives from other areas, to enjoy the hustle and bustle of the city, and to taste an ice cream or see a movie. Huaraz not only provides cheaper, and a greater variety of, goods and services, without the social entanglements of dealing with family, friends and fictive kin, the urban center is also divertido

("entertaining"), agradable ("pleasing"), and characterized by movimiento ("movement") -- in short, a welcome distrac- tion from the tranquil life of the farming environment.

While in Huaraz, the people of Marian observe lifestyles they may admire and goods they desire. Subsistence farming, unfortunately, does not provide the farmer with the wherewithal to achieve the lifestyle or to obtain the goods, but the needs acquired through invidious emulation

(Erasmus 1961), curiosity, or through whatever process are no less needs. Deprivation breeds discontent, and discontent is somehow expressed in behavior: unhappiness, resig- nation in the face of economic injustice, or action designed to achieve the new goals. Direct, goal oriented action may include accumulation of personal wealth despite community norms regarding hoarding. More commonly, the individual in Marian (especially males) acquires unskilled or semiskilled employment, retaining the farm and supple- menting harvests with wages earned in the departmental capital. The more ambitious may move from the farming 195 community altogether, migrating to Huaraz and later moving to the larger coastal cities in search of a new life.

But migration does not represent the only outcome of rising expectations. To acquire the desired goods and services in Huaraz, the family must first earn money, and traditional patterns of reciprocity usually do not involve an exchange of cash. Those who choose to remain in the community, therefore, have often forsaken the principles of balanced reciprocity in production and distribution and have turned to working for wages. The institution of

the minka , where payment for services takes the form of a large meal, has entirely disappeared from Marian. Rantin , the balanced exchange of labor, is rapidly disappearing except among the closest of relatives and fictive kin.

Increasingly, laborers are demanding a daily wage during planting and harvesting season, and the monetarization of economic arrangements in the community is facilitating the loss of cohesion among individuals, households and groups.

The trend is clearly away from community oriented behavior and towards satisfaction of individual needs, many of which have been acquired through contact with life under the

"bright lights" of Huaraz.

The people of Marian do not need to leave the community to come into contact with Huaraz and the larger world, for the outside world comes to them in ways too numerous to list. Benedictine monks visit the community frequently, and American representatives of the Marist congregation 196 have taken up residence on the central plaza of the Central

Barrio. Tourists, especially mountaineers, are often seen passing through Marian, and several community members have become accomplished guides for the many international expeditions scaling the peaks of the Cordillera Blanca.

Marian has an excellent soccer field, and teams from Huaraz and other towns are granted permission to play there. The games attract crowds from all over the southern end of the

Callejon de Huaylas, and the tournaments may bring in spectators from as far away as Trujillo and Lima. News- papers, radios, returned migrants, each represents additional links with the larger society and all that such contact entails in terms of perception of personal lifestyles, expectations and goals.

Government activities constitute a key factor in the process of rising expectation and, ultimately, in the disintegration of the community system of Marian. State programs after the earthquake of 1970 will be discussed in

Chapter VII, but the phenomenon of state intervention did not begin with the disaster; it merely increased. School- ing, for example, is directed by the Peruvian government, and teachers are not themselves members of the community.

The knowledge, values, rules and norms of behavior they bring with them are not always congruent with the patterns in Marian. In the process of formal education, teachers impart more than the elementary content of courses; they 197 also communicate a different set of expectations, and their audience consists of the most impressionable of the community members.

Military conscription takes away young men and returns them at least partially transformed, carrying with them now memories of their experiences in larger urban centers.

Various government programs bring state officials into the community to improve health conditions, to settle major disputes among community members, to introduce new crops or production techniques, or to attempt reorganization of subsistence patterns by creating new organizations such as cooperatives, buying clubs or credit unions. Foreign experts representing their own governments occasionally enter Marian to persuade the community to experiment with different technologies, cultigens, animals, or social forms, but directed change has, for the most part, proven ineffective. Government intervention, however, has had two major effects. First there has arisen resistence to any outside "interference," for experts of any kind are often perceived as self-interested and untrustworthy. The attitude is understandable in light of the exploitation of the highland peasant by outsiders. The second effect is the introduction of new values and goals. Although government intervention is largely resisted, contact with the larger system through government-directed programs does contribute to rising expectations and hence to individual and collective stresses. ,

198

Systemic Disintegration and Collective Needs

The existence of the community system of Marian presupposes problems of interaction which fall into two broad, overlapping categories. The first, derived collective needs, constitutes the instrumental means to meet individual requirements and to insure systemic integrity. The second category includes primary collective needs, namely, the goals of maintaining a steady state or controlling the change from one steady state to another. The shift away from. community oriented behavior in Marian affects derived needs and in turns threatens systemic integration. The process has been described in terms of individual behavior patterns but can also be described in terms of primary collective requirements. From either vantagepoint disintegration of the community system is evident.

Systemic persistence depends upon a number of factors, some of which were discussed in a previous section of this chapter. Socialization practices, for example, theoretically imbue the young with the proper knowledge, values and rules of behavior which ultimately program the individual to want to do the things which must be done if existing interaction patterns are to endure. The influence of outside variables, however, affect enculturation in such a way as to create incongruence between the personal operating culture and collective goals. An example in Marian is the necessity of communal work crews to repair various aspects of the community's physical plant. In the .

199 past, all able-bodied males were required to participate in

such projects as renovation of irrigation canals, roads,

or public buildings. Women and children would assist in

various ways, either by working alongside the men or by

providing food and beverages. In recent years, however,

individuals have become less willing to engage in these

communal efforts. An excuse of one sort or another may be

offered, or, increasingly, the male may simply refuse with

no reason given.

Such deviance formerly carried severe penalties rang-

ing from pejorative gossip or social ostracism to destruc-

tion or theft of the deviant's property. One common re-

taliation was that those who worked on communal tasks would

expropriate an animal belonging to the recalcitrant indivi-

dual and prepare it to feed the work crew. The practice

still occurs from time to time, but the deviance-reducing

process is not as effective for at least two reasons. For

one thing, the number of persons who refuse to assist in

public projects is growing. For another, the individual

who suffers a loss of property can now turn to the Peru-

vian authorities, reporting the theft. This alternative

was not available several years ago when Marian was poli-

tically more isolated and self-directing

Conformity-amplification, the other morphostatic

process, is also not as effective in the community as it

once was. The increasing dependence on Huaraz has led to

changes in expectations and norms of behavior, so that 200 individual variation has become more acceptable. The new expectations and norms, derived from another system, do not fit the traditional patterns in Marian and consequently conflict with derived and primary collective needs of the system.

Tensions among members are characteristic of all communities and societies, and intragroup harmony can be reinforced by means of various solidarity rituals. The decrease in the importance of the fiesta system, however, both reflects and exacerbates such tensions, and the maintenance function of the festival is diminished. Other types of institutionalized integrative processes have suffered the same fate in Marian as the community continues to atomize. Church services celebrated in the Central

Barrio, for example, are attended primarily by certain social subgroups such as extended families. The membership of religious associations has declined over the years, with participation in these organizations declining even more rapidly. In fact, some people in Marian have gone so far as to disassociate themselves with the dominant religion altogether and to join Protestant organizations operating in the departmental capital.

Collective Response and Controlled Change in the Steady State

An adaptive sociocultural unit is not defined solely in terms of its capacity to maintain indefinitely a steady state. Viability is also a function of the ability to . .

201 incorporate changes while minimizing repercussions within the system. Controlled change, then, reduces the initial stress and subsequently limits the secondary stresses brought about by internal adjustments. The process necessarily entails the selection of alternative responses which modify existing patterns of interaction while conforming, insofar as possible, to the operative value system. Selec- tion requires decision-making by the group or its representatives, and there must be instrumental means to enforce or encourage compliance with the alternative behaviors selected as appropriate.

A system which lacks an effective decision-making and decision-implementing process, or one in which the process is not geared to internal goal parameters, will be unable to control the deviance resulting from changes in the physical and social environment. The community of

Marian does possess a control component composed of elected officials, but these individuals are representatives of an external authority structure and are charged with the responsibility to enforce rules and laws of the larger society

Approximately half a century ago, Marian was largely self-directive and operated within a dual political framework. Officially, the community was under the mayor of

Huaraz, but effective authority was held by local officials who carried the vara (a silver-plated staff of office)

Each varayoc (one who carried the staff) had specific 202 duties corresponding to essential collective activities and was authorized by community consensus to choose work crews for communal tasks. No member of the community was exempt from the mita , which in effect was a labor tax, and non- compliance was severely punished by the community. There was relatively little dichotomy between the ideal and the real patterns of community oriented behavior, and collective needs of the system were reflected in the strong positive values assigned to cooperative activities.

The varayoc of Marian were also responsible for collective decisions and were therefore able to realize, with some degree of effectiveness, the primary collective needs of the system. Systemic persistence was accomplished through the processes of institutionalized deviance- reduction and conformity-amplification, and most innovations first required approval of the varayoc. The vara system also linked communities in the area, for the chief varayoc represented Marian in general assemblies of the unofficial authorities from surrounding settlements. These assemblies served a number of functions, including resolution of intercommunity conflicts, formation of multicommu- nity work crews, and so on.

The dual political system in Marian has all but disappeared, and authority is now held almost exclusively by individuals elected to government positions. Younger informants frequently did not know what the term "varayoc" meant, and there is only one vara acting independently in 203

Marian at the present time. He is the procurador , and his primary responsibilities are to maintain the church in the

Central Barrio and to insure that sponsors of the festival of Saint Michael fulfill their obligations in organizing the fiesta.

The legitimacy of the authority held by the teniente

gobernador , agente municipal , and juez de aguas does not derive primarily from consensus of community members but from imposition by the larger society. That is, the officials are "elected" in Marian, but they owe their allegiance to their respective superiors in Huaraz. Inter- personal conflicts in Marian which were once resolved by the varayoc with collective approbation must now often be taken through the court system. The community itself lacks internal, formal mechanisms for manipulation of deviance and conformity. Given the continuing atomization of the system, even the informal processes underlying systemic persistence and control of change are increasingly ineffective. If the situation can be summarized in one statement, individuals are less oriented towards the community of Marian and ever more oriented towards the larger sociocultural context. Traditional means to counteract this process have proven inadequate, and the changes occurring within the community have served to hasten the loss of cohesion within the system. CHAPTER VI THE DISASTER EVENT AND IMMEDIATE EMERGENCY PERIOD

Chapter VI briefly shifts the focus away from Marian to discuss the broader impact of and immediate response to the earthquake of May 31, 1970. The principal reason for the temporary change in perspective is that many small communities like Marian suffered comparatively little as a direct result of the disaster agent, while the most severely affected settlements were generally the large, densely populated urban centers. This is not imply that

Marian totally escaped the primary disaster (the physical and sociocultural effects directly attributable to the earthquake) , but a situation of intolerable collective stress in the community did not arise to the degree found, for example, in the departmental capital. There were eleven deaths in Marian, and most homes were rendered uninhabitable. Tragedy, however, was personal rather than collective, and most of the basic needs of the survivors were met during the initial emergency period. Sys- temic stresses in the community appeared somewhat later when deprivation occurred because of the breakdown of the sociocultural system of Huaraz upon which the residents of Marian depended so heavily for goods and services. To

204 205 understand the disaster process in Marian, therefore, one must also examine events in the departmental capital.

The Disaster Event: May 31, 1970

In Marian, as in other communities in the Callejon de

Huaylas, families awaken long before the first rays of the sun touch even the highest peaks of the Cordillera Blanca.

The last day of May in 1970 is a Sunday, a day when many people in outlying areas converge upon Huaraz to attend mass and to buy and sell a few items in the market. Mem- bers of the household dress by candlelight, quietly discussing their plans to mix business with the pleasure of visiting friends and relatives who would certainly be in the city. The month has been unusually rainy, but this day promises to be clear and warm once the sun dispells the chill of the early Andean morning.

The promise of beautiful weather is fulfilled, and the market teems with men, women and children who weave their way through the crowd or sit on the sidewalks calling to passersby to purchase their wares. Those who wish to

avoid the hectic hustle and bustle of the market seek the relative quiet of the plazas where they sit on the grass

in the cool shade. Shoeshine boys walk around the parks with their eyes downcast, carefully inspecting the foot- ware of the visitors and offering to shine even those shoes which have only recently been polished. Old men with older

cameras stand ready to capture for posterity the suddenly 206 somber countenances of their subjects, directing their lenses so that the ice-capped mountains or the steepled cathedral serve as magnificent backdrop. Occasionally the tranquility is broken by the boisterous voices of friends who sit in small restaurants sharing conversation and many liters of excellent Peruvian beer.

It is now midafternoon. Suddenly all conversation stops as the first ominous tremors rock the city. Empty beer bottles on the tables tremble together, and the tin- tinnabulation gives audible proof that the earth once again is moving. Individuals wait, fearful, hoping that this disruption of a beautiful afternoon will soon die away and leave no trace of its passing. But with each second the tremors grow stronger.

The deep, scarcely perceived rumble becomes a roar like a thousand invisible freight cars speeding by on invisible rails. Trees begin to sway. Heavy clay tiles slide downward towards the eaves, fall shattering on the pavement below. The earth moves ever more violently.

Many people inside their homes rush into the narrow streets. Some fall to their knees in prayer or fear, their cries lost in the now deafening roar. Others attempt to flee to open spaces, but the motion of the ground makes standing difficult, running impossible. Tiles pour from the rooftops like red-tinted avalanches, dumping their weight on immobilized victims below. Buildings are .

207 buffeted and pulverized. Adobe disintegrates under the stress of the earthquake and walls crumble, falling in all directions. Beams supporting the heavy roofs lose their own support and collapse. The tremor still grows stronger

Thousands are trapped in the debris of their own homes. The fortunate ones will extricate themselves or will be found and treated soon after the earthquake ceases.

Others less fortunate are not killed immediately but,

either injured or trapped, will linger until the air they

breathe becomes too foul. Still others who somehow escape

the devastation will be found later, their throat and

lungs clogged with dust. The earthquake continues, and

the destruction of the departmental capital and hundreds

of other coastal and highland communities is nearly com-

plete. In Huaraz, the spires of the cathedral sway, and

the bells in the towers ring out even as the church col-

lapses in a mound of rubble.

As if the bells were a signal, the movement of the

earth subsides and ceases. All becomes still. For a few

moments there is complete silence, and the only movement

in the valley is the cloud of dust slowly rising over the

ruins. A soft wail is heard and a thousand voices respond,

adding their note of despair to the wordless monotone dirge

which lifts, expands with the dust cloud of destruction.

All but a few buildings in Huaraz south of the Quilcay .

208

River have fallen, and the capital which but a few moments before was alive with the festive atmosphere of a Market

Sunday now lies devastated. The scene is repeated in virtually every other population center in the Department of

Ancash, and many communities have also been affected in the departments of La Libertad and Lima. North of Huaraz in the Callejon de Huaylas, the town of Yungay, called "the beautiful," lies under four to six meters of mud and rock which mixed with the descending ice from the peak of El

Huascaran

Physical Dimensions of the Disaster Event

The physical dimensions of disaster were incomprehensible and would never be accurately measured. In Huaraz alone nearly 20,000 persons lay dead, buried under rubble which in the months to come could be cleared only with bulldozers. For weeks after the earthquake, the stench of rotting flesh would replace the dust cloud suspended over the city, and more people would die because of the

lack of food, potable water, shelter, and medical care.

How many survived the disaster even only to die later was never known.

The earthquake occurred at 20.23 GMT and registered

7.8 on the Mercalli scale. The epicenter was located

25 kilometers off the coast of Chimbote, and its focus was

approximately 43 kilometers below sea level. All coastal 209

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The 211 settlements from Chancay northward to Puerto Chicama were affected to some degree, and many were totally destroyed.

Most highland communities had also been affected in the departments of La Libertad and Ancash as well as in the northern half of the Department of Lima. The surface area of the disaster zone exceeded 83,000 square kilometers.

More than 80 per cent of all houses in this area were rendered uninhabitable, and property destruction was estimated to be more than $500,000,000 (UNESCO 1972). The worst figures were those reflecting the impact on human lives: nearly 70,000 persons were killed and another

150,000 were injured. At least a half million individuals were left homeless.

Adding to the stress among survivors were the numerous aftershocks originating primarily along the fault south of the epicenter of the original disturbance. Between May 31 and June 8, thirty-seven tremors were recorded, some of which were strong enough to inflict even more damage on the impact zone.

TABLE 6

Major Aftershocks of the May 31, 1970, Earthquake

Date GMT Location Magnitude on Latitude S. Longitude W. Mercalli Scale

31 May 20.45 9.8° 78. 6° 6.0 1 Jun 01.36 9.3° 79.0° 5.7 2 Jun 01.37 9.8° 79. 0° 5.8 4 Jun 04. 09 9. 8° 78.6° 6.2

Source: UNESCO 1972: 37 212

The Callejon de Huaylas was by far the most severely

affected highland area in the three departments, but the valley remained isolated for four days because both major

roads were cut off by the numerous landslides triggered by

the earthquake and its aftershocks. Reconnaisance photo-

graphs failed to show the extent of destruction because of

the dust enveloping the major population centers, and ini-

tial reports transmitted via shortwave radio from Huaraz

were interpreted as exaggerations. The Peruvian government

initially placed the official death toll at 1,000, raising

the number to 5,000 once the first convoys to coastal

settlements in the impact zone had reported in. The worst

expectations were realized and then exceeded as rescue and

medical teams entered the earthquake area and attempted to

deal with the emergency.

Individual Response to Disaster

Marian

Only eleven individuals, primarily children, were

killed in Marian as a direct result of the earthquake,

although an unknown number of former community members

died while in Huaraz. Fortunately, most of those who had

walked to the departmental capital in the morning had re-

turned to their homes by midafternoon, thereby escaping

death in the narrow streets of the city. Many men were in

their fields when the earthquake occurred, and as soon as 213

the tremors subsided they rushed to assure themselves that their wives and children were safe. In relatively few cases did they find grief awaiting them. The adobe houses did not endure the seismic upheaval, and two-thirds of all

structures in the community were destroyed or uninhabitable; more than half of the seriously affected homes were in the poorest sector of Marian, San Isidro.

TABLE 7

Condition of Dwellings in Marian, by Sector

Condition of Dwellings Sector A B C D Totals

San Isidro 49 23 11 3 86

Bella Vista 2 11 13 7 33

Central 16 42 31 4 93

Anta Oco 17 14 10 2 43

Totals 84 90 65 16 255

Source: Unpublished Peruvian government census conducted in connection with "Operacion Techo," 1970. Key: A = Completely destroyed B = Standing but uninhabitable C = Damaged but habitable D = Slightly affected or not affected

The most urgent need in Marian for the moment was

shelter, for the night was quickly falling. Reunited fami-

lies either walked to the homes of relatives to spend the

night or constructed small huts from the limbs of eucalyp-

tus trees. Few wanted to leave their property unguarded, 214 for theft would undoubtedly occur before morning. The majority of households therefore preferred to build temporary shelters next to the ruins of their homes. Blankets and ponchos were salvaged, and small fires provided warmth once the sun had gone down into the cool winter evening.

Activities were generally family oriented during the first few hours of the emergency, and, although there were several personal losses and injuries, one could not conclude that disaster had occurred in Marian. Moreover, there was common hardship but no sense of shared hardship, according to informants. Some individuals lent a hand to neighbors, but for the most part the households attended

to their own needs without help from other family units.

The exception to this pattern was the commune formed on a hillside in Anta Oco, a phenomenon which will be discussed

later in this chapter.

Huaraz

The situation in Huaraz contrasted tragically with

that in Marian. Many persons sought the safety of empty

lots or open plazas, but the earthquake quickly became too

violent to permit walking or running. Streets of the city

were only four meters wide, and many adobe structures were

two or more stories high. As buildings began to disinte-

grate, people below were first struck by the clay tiles

and then buried by debris of the collapsing walls. 215

For a few seconds after the earthquake had subsided, survivors were stunned, uncomprehending. The first response of many in Huaraz, as in Marian, was to begin search- ing for family members, and the wailing was punctuated by the sound of names being shouted over and over again.

Men, women and children with dusty tear-streaked faces dug frantically in the rubble, hoping to find loved ones still alive. The digging went on far into the night, and the now- despairing survivors began to comprehend the magnitude of the misfortune which had befallen them.

Rare was the individual who was not seeking someone during the first evening and morning following the earthquake, and rarer still was the survivor who found all relatives and friends safe and unhurt. People descended upon the newly constructed hospital of the Benef icencia

Publica of Huaraz, bringing the injured to be cared for.

Within hours, the corridors were filled to overflowing, and those who awaited treatment bore an expressionless, glassy- eyed countenance, each alone with the memory of those few seconds which had destroyed so much.

The same expression could be seen on many faces of

those who walked aimlessly in the ruins of Huaraz, indica-

ting that the emotional victims of tragedy had retreated

into a private world of despair. Friends would sometimes

find them and lead them to food and shelter, but others would perish uncaring in the days to follow as their 216

bodies succumbed to hunger, thirst and exposure. The psychological impact of disaster was also manifest in the behavior of those individuals who became hyperactive during the first period of extreme emergency. They dug in the rubble for hours without rest, or worked on rescue teams or in the hospital until they literally dropped from exhaus- tion. Hyperactivity, like withdrawal, became a defense against a reality whose horror threatened to overwhelm.

Organized Response to Disaster

Social scientists have observed that disaster, no matter how encompassing, will not completely obliterate the social order (see Oliver-Smith 1974). Even under the

severest of circumstances, there is some degree of sociocultural continuity in the attempts of victims to deal with an emergency situation. Specific mechanisms may cease

to function, but this does not mean that the system becomes

entirely inoperative. Since the sociocultural system has

been defined in terms of patterned interaction of individuals in a group, natural catastrophe can affect a system

only to the degree that particular behavioral patterns

become impossible or maladaptive. Other mechanisms may

continue to function, even if at reduced levels of effi-

ciency, or previously existing but abeyant subsystems may

be activated to resolve the problems posed by the emergency

situation. Disaster may just as well lead to the creation 217

of new patterns of interaction -- new subsystems -- which may or may not become permanent features of the sociocultural system. These new mechanisms of social interaction do not arise sui generis but are grounded in rules of behavior characterizing the community or society. Such rules provide continuity of the system even when there has been a major adverse change in the environment. Marian and

Huaraz are illustrative of this point, for victims not only relied upon preexisting familial and friendship ties and established rules of reciprocity, but also upon newly created interactional patterns.

Marian

In many cases, residents of Marian assisted one another in the construction of crude huts and, later, in the reconstruction of adobe houses. Following the traditional rules of reciprocity discussed in Chapter IV, some of those whose homes had been destroyed called upon family, friends and fictive kin to lend a hand. Usually, the reciprocal debt incurred was repaid in kind, with the individual receiving assistance later joining the cooperative effort to rebuild the homes of those who had come to his or her aid. Conforming to the norms of etiquette in

Marian, the beneficiary of the reciprocal arrangement provided meals for the workers. Various beverages, especially

beer and chicha (corn beer) , were also distributed - to make

the task a little more enjoyable. .

218

Thus, preexisting formulae for mutual aid were often

applied during the worst part of the emergency, although

it should be noted again that reciprocity in Marian had become something less than the predominant pattern of

interaction. More frequently, individuals preferred to work alone or with the aid of immediate family members,

only occasionally calling upon people ouside the closest

circle of relatives. The situation in Marian, therefore,

seems to contradict the hvpothesis proferred by Marshall

Sahlins that the circle of reciprocity expands during

periods of crisis and contracts if deprivation becomes

chronic (1972: 214). In Marian the trend towards atomiza-

tion continued even during the worst of the emergency, and

there was no discernible general reversal of this trend

due to the effects of the earthquake. This aspect of the

disaster process will be discussed in more detail later

in the dissertation, for it bears directly upon one of the

central questions raised in the first chapter, that regard-

ing the existence of the post-impact utopia in the hiqhland

community

Immediately following the earthquake, many people in

Marian fled to a high hill in Anta Oco and remained there

for approximately a week. These individuals were moti-

vated by a very real threat. The seismic upheaval of

May 31st and the 37 after shocks occurring between

May 31st and June 8th could easily have destroved .

219 the natural dams holding batik lake waters in the Quebrada

Llaca overlooking the community, and lower portions of

Marian lay squarely in the path of any descending glacial waters

About 30 persons fled to the high ground and established a temporary commune. Rules in the compound were strict, and anyone who refused to contribute to the survival of the group would have been immediately expelled.

Division of labor followed traditional patterns. Women were expected to prepare meals, which they did in cooperative fashion over a communal fire, and children were given the task of watching grazing animals during the daylight hours. Men risked the danger of flood and spent most of the day in their fields, taking turns at night protecting animals from theft. A number of individuals would appear only at meal time, begging commune members to allow them to partake of what the women had prepared. Some were allowed to remain, but if they did not share the tasks of the group they were not welcomed back.

The hillside commune represented a new pattern of

interaction in Marian and therefore may be considered an additional mechanism created in response to a potential

threat. The fundamental structure of the community system was not significantly altered during the disaster period, but the 60 or 70 men, women and children who by the

end of the week constituted the population of the 220

commune represented a temporary change in community organization, demonstrating the morphogenic capability of the sociocultural system. In the short term, then, the community did not strive only to return to a status quo ante, the original steady state, but resorted to altered arrangements to cope with a threatening situation.

Reciprocal assistance in reconstructing destroyed homes as well as the behavior of the hillside commune may be interpreted as a manifestation of the post-impact utopia, but such an interpretation would be incorrect. The majority of the people of Marian did not engage in such activities. The population of the commune represented but a fraction of the total population of the community, and most of these individuals came from one area of Marian particularly vulnerable to possible flooding. Other community members attended their own immediate needs and did not, as a rule, ask the aid of persons outside the domestic unit. Families who had lost their homes in the earthquake for the most part preferred to build make-shift shelters near their dwelling to minimize theft. Except for the task of reconstruction of fallen structures, life went on in a fashion at least approximating normalcy.

The relatively steady state characterizing Marian during the first period of extreme emergency in the valley was possible mainly because the community was not severely affected by the earthquake and subsequent tremors. Many 221

houses remained habitable, the irrigation network was practically intact, and few persons had died as the result of the disaster event. To repeat an important point, tragedy was a personal matter affecting a relatively small number of people. There was little collective stress directly attributable to the earthquake because the community system continued to satisfy the expectation of the population at the same level as before May 31, 1970.

Huaraz

Ideally, the sociocultural system operates to maximize satisfaction of the basic and acquired needs of its members. A great disaster, no matter what the triggering event may be, affects the system in such a way as to increase collective deprivation and thereby to increase col-

lective stress. The magnitude of the disaster may be measured in terms of the kinds of needs unfulfilled, so

that the loss of the system's ability to distribute food must be seen as a more severe emergency than the loss of

the system's capacity to accomplish some less vital func-

tions. Just as satisfaction of basic needs is the sine

qua non of human survival, fulfillment of certain collec-

tive needs must be realized if the system as a whole is to

continue in a steady state. This point was discussed at

some length in the preceding chapter. In the event of a

disaster affecting fundamental social mechanisms, some

form of interaction becomes necessary to deal with the most 222

urgent individual and systemic requirements. In the case of Huaraz, the 1970 earthquake rendered the preexisting order all but nonfunctional, and most community mechanisms designed to satisfy individual and collective needs either ceased to exist or were overwhelmed by the demand placed upon them.

During the first few hours of the emergency, there-

fore, the community system atomized and failed to operate

properly. As in other, similar emergencies, the fundamen-

tal familial structure was emphasized as individuals sought

to reunite, account for, and attend to the needs of the

household members. All too often, the kinship support

system in the capital was disrupted, for many members of

the family were killed. As night approached, collective

problems were exacerbated and superceded some individual

needs, necessitating reactivation of systemic mechanisms.

During the first night, for example, many persons from

communities surrounding Huaraz descended upon the city

and stole anything unguarded which could be lifted and

carried away. It was not uncommon to see an individual

with an armload of clothes, a television set or other

appliances strapped on the back, or even with a porcelain

bathtub tied to the shoulders. Corpses were stripped of

jewelry, clothing, watches, shoes or any other valuable.

Looting became a major problem because normal social

controls had become inoperative. The population was quick, 223

therefore, to reestablish such controls and to mobilize the local police force. A curfew was imposed, and an announcement was made that looters would be shot, with surviving thieves to be prosecuted.

Although the reimposition of social controls proved somewhat effective and provided a degree of social continuity, the emergency was simply too encompassing to permit the police force to deal with all cases of criminal activity. There was, moreover, the problem of role conflict in that representatives of local institutions tended to deal with personal and familial needs before assuming official responsibilities. As was pointed out earlier, individual behavior during the initial period was primarily family oriented rather than community oriented, increasing collective stress because of the consequent breakdown or loss of efficiency of the larger social system.

Reactivation of preexisting social mechanisms coincided with the appearance of new interactional patterns arising from the unique circumstances. While a number of individuals continued digging in the rubble, oblivious to all else, many people joined organized teams which coordinated their activities. Some groups acted as vigilantes, aiding police in the control of widespread looting. Other groups assisted survivors or extricated those persons trapped in the ruins. Rescue teams, lacking proper medical

supplies and training, ministered to the wounds of victims 224

and carried away the more seriously wounded to the hospital which by then had resumed service. Like the police, however, rescue teams and members of the health delivery sys-

tem were overwhelmed by the emergency, and the need for

food, shelter and medical care increased the collective

stress characterizing the situation in the capital.

National Intervention

News of the effects of the earthquake reached Lima

almost immediately, but initial reports concerned only the

coastal settlements linked to the capital by the paved

Panamerican Highway. Government organizations such as the

Ministry of Health dispatched vehicles to the north to

assess the extent of destruction, and doctors with other

medical personnel were sent into Huacho, Huarmey, Casma

and Chimbote. The assessment was grim: all major coastal

towns from Chancay to Puerto Chicama were at least 80 per

cent destroyed -- and some were completely destroyed.

Victims were in urgent need of food, blankets, shelter,

and medical attention, and local institutions were unable

to cope with the demand or with the increasing incidents

of crime. To make matters worse, the first trickle of

outsiders would soon become a flood as worried relatives,

free lance volunteers (helpers not attached to disaster

relief organizations), and the curious poured into the 225 stricken area, placing even greater burdens on agencies engaged in rescue and relief operations.

Within three hours of the earthquake, the president of Peru called an emergency meeting of all ministers to discuss the situation in the north-central region of the

country. Because unofficial reports were often contra-

dictory and believed to be exaggerated, the council of ministers decided to gather more information before taking

any more than preliminary steps to meet the emergency. The

ministers created the Comite Nacional de Emergencia (CNE)

and ordered the Peruvian ship "Bolognesi" to carry govern-

ment representatives to the larger coastal ports. Further

action would depend upon the information gathered by these

representatives. Anticipating the need for medical ser-

vices, the ministers also sent word that the floating

school " Independencia" was to be converted and to operate

as a temporary hospital. There was still little word from

the Callejon de Huaylas, and attempts to enter the valley

failed because the all-weather roads were impassable.

Disaster aid continued to flow into coastal towns and

cities, and military personnel were assigned to help the

Ministry of Transportation and Communication with the

clearing of the roads into the Callejon. The government

divided north-central Peru into subzones, and military

officers were assigned to each to supervise relief activi-

ties as well as to stop the convergence of outsiders upon 226

the stricken area. Unable to transport emergency supplies into the highland regions, the Peruvian Air Force dropped medicines and blankets near the larger populations centers.

On June 2nd, a contingent of paratroopers were dropped into

Huaraz (they landed in the wide central sector of Marian) and into Caraz to the north. Their primary task was to begin construction of an emergency air strip near the community of Anta and to assess the feasibility of restoring

the landing strip in Caraz.

After four days the Callejon de Huaylas was at last

open to air traffic as the first helicopters succeeded in

crossing the Cordillera Negra. Relief teams of doctors

and nurses were among the first personnel to arrive, and

the devastation they observed in the valley far exceeded

their worst expectations. The smell of putrescent flesh

hung over the larger towns, and the hospital in the depart-

mental capital was overrun with seriously injured individ-

uals requiring immediate treatment. The more critical

cases were evacuated to the coast by an "air bridge" con-

sisting of Peruvian and United States helicopters, and

other victims had to wait long hours before being attended.

Throughout this period, rescue operations continued as

teams picked through the ruins with the diminishing hope

of finding trapped victims still alive.

Two very active organizations entered the Callejon de

Huaylas as soon as roads were cleared for land traffic. 227

One, headed by the wife of Peru's president, was the Junta de Asistencia Nacional (JAN) which collected private donations from all over the country to provide earthquake victims with emergency supplies. The second very active organization, the Peruvian Red Cross, was the first convoy to enter the valley by land, bringing medical supplies and medical personnel, blankets, clothing and food. Other private organizations in the country would soon become involved in disaster relief, but JAN and the Peruvian Red

Cross were the largest national nongovernment agencies operating in the stricken area.

The single largest project undertaken by the Peruvian government in the initial period of the emergency was

called Operacion Techo , Operation Shelter. The program was designed to distribute various kinds of roofing and corregated aluminum sheets for walls and roofs. The

Ministry of Housing, coordinating Operacion Techo, built some 1,349 wooden, multifamily dwellings which housed seven families each. In the Callejon de Huaylas, 780 four-family prefabricated modules were erected in urban areas, with enough materials distributed in rural areas to shelter

21,000 highland families.

Materials for the temporary shelters came from a number of sources besides the public treasury. The United

States government, for example, contributed almost two million dollars, channeling the funds through the Agency 228

for International Development (U.S.A.I.D.) or through other agencies such as the Organization of American States. Ger- many constructed 500 "igloos" which proved to be relatively simple to construct and comfortable to live in. Other agencies contributing to Operacion Techo included C.A.R.E.,

Friends of California, Caritas, Church World Service, and the International Red Cross. In all, the program provided shelter for more than 350,000 individuals in the area.

CRYRZA

The initial steps of rescue and emergency care taken by the Peruvian government were coordinated by the Comite

Nacional de Emergencia , the ad hoc committee composed of high government officials. In the continuing attempt to deal effectively with the Western Hemisphere's worst disaster, a ministry-level organization called the Comision de

Re cons true cion y Rehabilitacion de la Zona Afectada por el

Sismo del 31 de Mayo de 1,970 (CRYRZA) was created to supervise and coordinate all relief activities in north- central Peru, and the chief executive of the newly formed agency was to sit in on all ministerial sessions. Organ- ized on June 9, 1970, CRYRZA had its headquarters in the government palace in Lima, and its initial staff included

45 persons, most of whom were officers in the Peruvian

Armed Services.

The Lima office of CRYRZA served as a communication nexus, and personnel assigned there attempted to organize 229

data pouring in from the field and to plan the allocation

of human and material resources in the most efficient man-

ner. Coordinating with the Instituto Nacional de Planifi-

cacion , and with the advice of the Comision Economica para

America Latina , CRYRZA conducted detailed studies of all

aspects of the stricken area and published a three-volume

plan for the rehabilitation of the impact zone. One of

the most ambitious endeavors growing out of this study was

the plan to relocate entire towns in the highland regions

to minimize the danger of flooding. Such plans frequently met with stiff resistance on the part of the affected

populations who did not wish to move from where they had been born and raised. In most cases the government yielded

and discontinued relocation efforts.

The study completed by CRYRZA also included plans to

convert the disaster zone into a veritable showcase of

Peruvian modernity and efficiency. There is no record of

the amount of money spent on studies during the first year

following the earthquake, but the researcher estimates that

about half of the budget for that period went into plan-

ning. This conclusion is based upon personal impression

and as yet unsubstantiated opinion of some individuals who worked for CRYRZA. It is appropriate to point out, how-

ever, that CRYRZA (later to become the Organismo para el

Desarrollo de la Zona Afectada , ORDEZA) spent less than

10 per cent of its budget for studies between the years . .

230

1971 and 1976. Except for administrative costs, which fluctuated between 5 and 10 per cent over the five-year period, most funds went towards completion of a plethora of projects in the earthquake zone. Therefore, much of the criticism leveled against CRYRZA/ORDEZA, especially the frequently heard accusation that most of the organization's budget was spent on unnecesseary studies, was unfounded

The central office of CRYRZA in the national capital was supported by regional offices in the four original subzones: Recuay, Huaraz, Caraz and Chimbote. The number of subzones increased as regional offices were opened in

Trujillo, Casma, Huarmey and Barranca (all coastal towns)

General Augusto Freyre was named coordinator of relief activities in the affected area, and his office was located in the small community of Anta near the emergency air strip. Although the primary purpose of CRYRZA was to supervise disaster relief operations, the magnitude of the task was a formidable obstacle to effective, efficient programs. The situation was exacerbated greatly by the influx of foreign relief agencies and volunteers from other regions of Peru as well as from other nations. Thus, the

"convergence problem" often discussed in disaster litera-

ture (e.g.. Barton 1969; Fritz and Mathewson 1957) did not,

in Peru, refer only to curiosity seekers and concerned

relatives. The sheer number of personnel attached to 231 participating agencies plus the number of free lance volunteers posed a serious problem in the stricken area.

International Intervention

The occurrence of natural disaster in the more affluent nations usually does not prompt the world community to send large amounts of money and emergency supplies or large numbers of volunteers to assist in relief operations. The affected affluent nation most often can reassign priorities and redirect resources to the communities experiencing extreme emergency. In underdeveloped or developing countries, on the other hand, local human and material resources may be insufficient to deal with the effects of large scale natural disaster. In such instances the world community at large responds, giving rise to relief operations which are truly multinational in character. In the past, international humanitarian assistance has had both beneficial and detrimental effects on the efficiency of relief activities, a situation illustrated by the Peruvian case.

The response of the world community to the earthquake of May 31, 1970, corresponded in magnitude to the emergency in north-central Peru. Nearly 70 nations offered some kind of aid, cash donations, medical and other needed supplies, or technical assistance. In the United States alone, some

42 agencies became directly involved in relief efforts, and many other organizations or groups chanelled resources 232

through these active agencies or through Peruvian organizations. Direct involvement did not necessarily mean that representatives of each organization were sent into the impact area, but there were a great many "attached" individuals (persons working for a particular agency or alliance of agencies) in the departments of La Libertad, Ancash and Lima.

The largest groups of volunteers were from the United

States, Germany and Holland. The United States Peace Corps, for example, was able to recruit nurses who were flown into the earthquake zone within a week after the disaster event.

Other Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) were brought in from other Latin American countries or recruited in the United

States to serve abbreviated tours in Peru. Several months later, a group of approximately twenty PCVs W^a^e assigned to various Peruvian agencies on the coast and in the Calle- jon de Huaylas. A contingent of German and Dutch volunteers were also stationed in the affected area, working primarily with Promocion Comunal on construction of roads, canals, dams and other infrastructure projects.

International agencies also participated in disaster relief operations. Especially active were the Organization

of American States, the United Nations, and various worldwide church organizations. In addition to attached person-

nel, there were many unattached volunteers who had paid

their own fare to Peru and who converged upon the zone to 233

offer their services during the emergency period following

the earthquake.

There are no precise figures regarding the monetary value of all emergency goods and services sent into the

affected area during the first months, but a study com-

pleted by A.I.D. places reported donations at nearly

$50,000,000 before October of 1970 (U.S. A.I.D. 1970).

According to a CRYRZA report (1971), the Peruvian govern-

ment spent approximately $8,000,000 before May of 1971,

and most of these funds came from foreign donations and

international loans. Thus, in the first year following

the earthquake, at least $60,000,000 were poured into

disaster relief operations in the form of cash, food,

clothing, shelter, medicines and services.

In addition to goods and services donated by Peruvians

and foreigners, the Peruvian government also received a

number of loans from such agencies as the International

Development Bank ($35,000,000) and the International

Bank for Reconstruction and Development ($30,000,000).

Japan extended a loan of $17,000,000 for the installation

of electrical power lines from Lima to Chimbote, while

Germany lent another $180,000,000 for electrification

projects in Trujillo. 234

The Secondary Disaster

Peruvians in north-central Peru laconically, and quite correctly, observed that there was "first the earthquake, then the disaster," referring not to the distinction between the disaster event and the aftermath but to the many errors committed by organizations participating in relief operations. A certain amount of aid found its way into the hands of government officials rather than to victims, and emergency supplies were stored and went unused because of inefficient mechanisms for distribution. Projects were often duplicated because of the lack of inter- and intra-

agency communication, and other projects were begun and

abandoned because social variables had not been considered.

Organizations donated such items as wedding gowns, bikinis,

canned whale meat, thousands of shoes and boots too large

for Peruvian feet, or vitamin pills which sat in their

original containers until they were finally thrown away.

In short, victims of the earthquake soon found themselves

victimized by inefficiency, and those who had survived the

primary disaster triggered by the earthquake frequently

suffered the impact of the "secondary disaster," ineffec-

tive disaster assistance.

What factors contributed to decreased effectiveness of

humanitarian efforts in the earthquake zone? The situation

in north-central Peru was extremely complex, and the secon-

dary disaster in the region warrants a separate study to .

235

analyze the process of multinational relief operations. In

this dissertation, however, only the broadest picture will be presented, and the inclusion of the topic is justified

in light of the impact of disaster aid upon the community

of Marian and upon other settlements in the Callejon de

Huaylas

Perhaps the most important factor affecting disaster

relief in the valley was the magnitude of the calamity.

Total destruction of many communities, the breakdown of

fundamental social mechanisms, and the threats of epidemics,

floods and other destructive seismic disturbances were only

some of the many facets of collective stress in the

stricken area. Isolation of highland communities precluded

the immediate arrival of much-needed assistance by way of

the all-weather roads closed by landslides. The altitude

of mountain barriers and treacherous air currents associ-

ated with the rugged terrain made airlift operations far

more difficult than would otherwise have been the case. In

fact, five helicopters crashed in Ancash as pilots attempted

to push the machines beyond their capacity.

Aside from the more obvious factors such as the scale

of the destruction or the inaccessibility of many highland

towns, organizations in the disaster area for the most part

had themselves to blame for a relief effort falling short

of effective. There were, of course, those corrupt and/or

incompetent bureaucrats who seem to entrench themselves in 236

any organization anywhere, but incompetence seemed to be a particularly common characteristic of personnel attached to agencies operating in north-central Peru. Motivation or morality was not the question, however. The problem was that few people knew how to deal with the extreme emergency. Lack of prior planning in national, foreign and international agencies was clearly manifest in frequently bungled attempts to meet the needs of the victims, and the lack of knowledge regarding the disaster process at times compounded the stresses arising from the effects of the earthquake.

The earthquake of 1970, to put it frankly, caught the

Peruvian government quite unprepared, and efforts to cen-

tralize relief operations through the creation of the CNE

and CRYRZA were a commendable if somewhat belated step. The

role of CRYRZA was never made clear to other organizations,

however, and the authority of CRYRZA was rarely exercized

to bring a chaotic situation under control. Agencies of

foreign governments would normally work through established

diplomatic channels, but private organizations as a rule

wandered through the impact area at will, creating dupli-

cate projects or initiating programs which were not moni-

tored to assure success.

There was little if any communication among disaster

relief organizations, and therefore little coordination

among them. Even worse, there was evidence of an "aid 237

game" which pitted one agency against the others to win diplomatic points. Competition between the directors of two very important organizations became so intense that they refused to speak to one another even regarding official matters. Bitter feelings were generated because of inequalities in salaries. In other cases, relief agents insisted that projects be completed near main roads to make them more visible monuments to the contributors.

Needs of the victims at times seemed to be far less important than the need to maximize political benefits of disaster assistance.

Soon after the earthquake, people from all over Peru converged upon the stricken area. Some came in an official capacity, but many were seeking family members or were simply curious. The multinational relief effort brought thousands of national and foreign volunteers to north- central Peru, some of whom were representatives of organi-

zations, others of whom were free lance. Two problems

immediately arose. First, the influx of individuals con-

tributed to the convergence problem characterizing other reported disasters. Everyone in the impact zone, whether resident or outsider, required food, shelter and satisfac-

tion of other basic needs. Therefore, national and

foreign personnel represented a drain upon emergency supplies which had to be measured in terms of the contribu-

tions of these volunteers to the relief effort. .

238

A second problem arising from the flood of individuals into the earthquake zone was that many of the national and foreign volunteers themselves fell victim to the disaster.

There were the injuries and illnesses one might expect, but there were also emotional casualties which had not been anticipated. The victim population had experienced the disaster event and had lost family, friends and possesions.

Loss, however, was not the only variable defining the disaster situation, but it was the only major distinction between residents and outsiders. Once volunteers entered the impact area they experienced many of the same stresses (and additional ones) experienced by those who had survived the earthquake

Beyond the hardships caused by the shortages of food, housing and other necessities, by the threat of illness and injury, and by maddening working conditions, relief agents entering north-central Peru were affected by factors whose emotional consequences could not be measured. The misery of the populace, the overflowing clinics and hospitals, the debris of once-thriving communities, the all-pervading odor of decay, the knowledge that countless human bodies lay under the rubble -- all these things called to mind unwanted

thoughts of one's own mortality and inadequacies. A Peru-

vian writer who visited the Callejon de Huaylas in 1970

eloquently expressed the images which disturbed his sleep:

I think of the enormous emotional distance which now separates me from those who survived the earthquake. I think about the 239

the destruction and about the death of thousands of children, of countless individuals. I am convinced that most of them died resenting the rest of the world. I would have been furious and resentful had I died in the earthquake because I would have believed that I died alone, with my death unnoticed (Yauri M. 1971: 16. My translation).

In his study of a Texas tornado, Anthony Wallace introduced the term "disaster syndrome" to describe the behavior of some victims who seemed to lose contact with reality (1956). This concept needs to be expanded, however, for those individuals who experience the disaster event are not necessarily the only victims. Perhaps the best descriptor is "disaster shock." Associated behavior patterns are similar to those of the disaster syndrome but are not limited to survivors. The actions of some foreign volunteers in Peru in 1970 and 1971 illustrate the symptoms of disaster shock: sleeplessness, anxiety, hypersensitivity, withdrawal, excessive consumption of alcohol or other drugs, and so on. These are all signs of reactive depression, a not unlikely emotional disorder under disaster conditions.

Like the victims who became hyperactive, some volunteers displayed similar depressive behavior such as compulsive overworking, overeating, or increased sexual activity.

Volunteers suffering disaster shock negatively affected relief operations because they functioned under emotional burdens. Perhaps the psychological effects of extreme emergency could have been reduced had relief agents been 240

prepared to work in highly stressful situations. Prior training certainly would have been beneficial for those foreigners who were sent into the impact zone with no knowledge of local languages or customs and who suffered the "culture shock" of operating in an alien context.

Lack of knowledge regarding languages spoken in the earthquake zone posed a serious problem for relief operations. Almost all foreigners could not speak Quechua, and many could not even speak Spanish. If consequences had not been so critical, some situations would have been amus- ing. For example, medical personnel often required two interpreters to communicate with their patients -- one to translate the foreigners' language into Spanish, another to translate into Quechua.

A similar problem derived from foreign volunteers' ignorance of sociocultural factors, and failure to consider these factors reduced the benefit of disaster aid. Some projects, for example, required cooperation of rival communities, and programs frequently exacerbated the rivalries and ill feelings. In other cases, emergency housing programs did not provide adequate space for outdoor activities such as cooking, and little consideration was given to preferred settlement patterns. Large families were forced to live in close proximity in large compounds; consequently, many of the temporary shelters remained empty, or materials were carried away to be used in more private dwellings. Yet another frequently encountered problem in disaster relief operations was the suspicion and hostility of the recipients of aid. Four hundred years of exploitation and empty promises had given rise to a certain wariness in peasant communities, and foreign volunteers met with unan-

ticipated resistance to proposed projects. The working assumption of recipients in the rural areas was that human-

itarian programs would never be completed or would work to

the advantage of the government officials. Unfortunately,

suspicion was grounded in fact, for similar programs in

the past often benefitted everyone but those who were the ostensible beneficiaries of development schemes.

Concluding Observati ons Regarding the Initial Emergency Period

In the beginning chapter of this dissertation, the

researcher hypothesized that the occurrence of a natural

event which results in death, destruction and collective

stress will be followed by a period of increased community

oriented behavior. Social scientists have reported the

appearance of the post-impact utopia in Western, indus-

trialized nations, and one of the primary objectives of

the research project was to examine the possibility that

the utopian period is a universal feature of the major

natural disasters.

The characteristics of the post-impact utopia des-

cribed in published literature were taken as the test .

242

implications of the hypothesis and guided research in the field. That is, absence or negation of these characteristics in Marian would cast doubt upon the proposition.

Therefore, the researcher sought to record any community oriented behavior as well as antisocial or aberrant behavior reported to have occurred during the initial emergency period. "Community oriented behavior" was broadly defined as any incident of cooperative actions contributing to the well-being of the group. The researcher also sought evidence of "democratization" of the social order, a commonly reported feature of the utopian period (e.g., Fritz 1961:

685). Finally, information was collected regarding patterns of mutual aid, for it was assumed that community oriented behavior would lead to an expansion of the circle of generalized reciprocity within the community, a process which has been observed by at least one other anthropologist as having occurred after disaster in a nonindus trialized society (Firth 1959).

Field data from Marian do not support the hypothesis that the post-impact utopia is a feature of the disaster process

Two instances of cooperative action initially were interpreted as community oriented behavior, but further consideration eliminated them as support for the hypothesis. The first instance, the formation of the hillside commune, seemed to be an excellent example of the disaster 243 utopia. Members of the commune, however, were not responding to the disaster situation triggered by the earthquake but to the threat of flooding by the glacial lakes above Marian. In other disaster studies, the utopian period grew out of a sense of shared tragedy and mutual

sympathy, factors which were not present in the hillside commune, according to informants. Finally, the temporary community on the hill in Anta Oco represented a small

fraction of the total population of Marian (no more than

6 per cent) . Cooperation expressed in the formation of the

commune, therefore, was not a generalized response to the

disaster situation.

The second example of cooperative action in Marian

appeared once disaster relief had begun to enter the Ca-

llejon de Huaylas. Some 80 families from all sectors of

the community formed an ad hoc committee to acquire and

share emergency supplies being distributed by the Peruvian

Red Cross, JAN, and other agencies. Again, such coopera-

tion seemed to indicate the occurrence of the post-impact

utopia; again, such community oriented behavior does not

support the hypothesis. For one thing, the great majority

of members were not active in the committee, and only one

or two persons represented the entire membership when ap-

proaching the relief organizations with requests for aid.

For another thing, the comittee was formed at the request

of the government officials who refused to deal with each .

244

individual separately. Therefore, this example of cooperative action in Marian was a response to government regulation and not a direct response to a sense of shared tragedy

Cooperative action during the post-impact utopia is reportedly associated with a temporary leveling as status distinctions become blurred and as almost everyone participates as an equal in meeting the emergency. The situation may call forth "natural" leaders who are not necessarily the same individuals who are the community leaders or who hold positions of authority during periods of normalcy. Democratization of the social order was taken as a test implication during field research in Marian, and once again the data do not support the hypothesis that the post- impact utopia is characteristic of the disaster process.

In fact, the researcher found that the situation in the peasant community actually removed the veneer of democracy and revealed the underlying power structure.

To be more specific, the ad hoc committee formed to acquire and distribute emergency supplies was headed by the elected leader of the community, the teniente gobernador.

According to several informants, the young teniente had been elected in accordance with the wishes of individuals who possessed political power and material wealth. The objective of the political move seemed clear: they wanted a teniente who could be manipulated. Formation of the .

245

ad hoc committee under the elected official, however, was soon challenged by those who had put him in office, and a

second group was formed to accomplish the same goals as

the first group. The new committee drew members away from

the original one, and the teniente finally yielded his

authority to the real but unofficial leaders of the

community

Observers have noted yet another feature of the uto-

pian period, namely, an increase in mutual aid. Many

victims of disaster seem more ready to share what they

have with fellow victims, often without thought of recom-

pense. Such neighborliness and hospitality are not con-

fined to those who know one another but may extend to

unknown persons as well, and the basis of the bond among

victims is the sense of shared hardship and tragedy.

Charles Fritz observed that "the widespread sharing of

danger, loss, and deprivation produces an intimate, primary

group solidarity among the survivors, which overcomes

social isolation and provides a channel for intimate com-

munication and expression and a major source of physical

and emotional support and reassurance" (1961: 689). Stated

in other terms, the occurrence of disaster may lead to an

expansion of the circle of reciprocity, so that the process

of gift-giving and exchange binds together more individuals

than during more normal times. Raymond Firth reported in

1959 that this expansion of reciprocal relationships is 246 not limited to industrialized nations. After the hurricanes and famine of the early 1950s, the anthropologist noted that the people of Tikopia became even more generous than was characteristic of them, and hospitality was extended to persons who otherwise would be outside the circle of reciprocity.

Data collected in Marian, however, do not indicate that the general trend towards atomization in the community was even temporarily reversed by the disaster in the Calle- jon de Huaylas. There was some evidence that community members aided one another, but reciprocity seemed to be limited — as it was prior to the earthquake — to relatives, friends and fictive kin. Most informants stated that they rebuilt their own homes with the help of immediate family; there was little sharing of food during the emergency; few farmers called upon others to help in the fields. Despite repeated questioning, the researcher could not find a sufficient number of examples of generalized and balanced reciorocitv to support the conclusion that mutual aid and hospitality Increased during the initial emergency period.

Given the observations made above, the researcher concludes that the post-impact utopia did not arise in

Marian, but this does not necessarily invalidate the hypothesis as stated in Chapter I. The question no longer

involves the appearance of the utopian period. More to the 247

point is the question regarding the occurrence of disaster.

Was there a situation of extreme collective stress in the community of Marian following the earthquake of 1970? If the answer is yes, then the hypothesis as stated is invalid. If the response is negative, then the hypothesis is merely inappropriate.

Collective stress occurs when "many members of a social system fail to receive expected conditions of life from the system" (Barton 1969: 38). In terms of the model developed in Chapter II, "to receive the expected conditions of life" may be interpreted to mean the satisfaction of basic and acquired needs. To determine the existence of collective stress, two approaches are possible. The first is analysis of the sociocultural system to ascertain the effectiveness of subsystems vis-a-vis the purpose of each subsystem. If networks of food distribution do not function properly, for example, and if many people are deprived of adequate nourishment, collective stress can be assumed to exist unless the sociocultural system in some way compensates for deprivation. Of course, failure to satisfy basic biological and psychological needs can not for long be neglected, but there are feasible alternatives in some cases -- positive values assigned to fasting or reduction of food intake, change in dietary habits, increased productivity to offset inefficiency in distribution, and so on. 248

A second approach to determine the existence of col-

lective stress is based upon the assumption that systemic

stresses are ultimately manifest at the individual level.

Failure of the system to provide for minimal metabolic and

health needs would be evidenced in numerous physical ail- ments, for example, while failure to provide for minimal

emotional and psychological needs may be expressed in

aberrant behavior or mental illness. Loss of loved ones

and/or property in a natural disaster may lead to reactive

depression, as would the depressogenic environment in the

stricken area. Peruvians and foreigners known to the

author responded to the earthquake and its aftermath in

various ways, often with depressive symptoms. It was

logical to assume that similar symptoms would appear in

Marian if there had been a situation of collective stress

caused by disaster-related deprivation.

The researcher attempted to employ both approaches to

determine the level of collective stress affecting Marian

during the emergency period. After questioning many in-

formants from all sectors of the community, the researcher

concluded that vital subsystems were only slightly affected

or were not affected at all by the disaster situation.

There was no measurable increase in deprivation in terms

of food, water, protection from weather, and other basic

needs. Destruction of homes was something of a hardship,

but community members had often spent nights in crude huts 249

near fields to guard against theft of crops or animals.

The huts built after the earthquake were no less comfor-

table and provided a degree of shelter from cold and occa-

sional rain. Within three months, most adobe structures were rebuilt.

Food production and distribution were only slightly

affected by the disaster situation, and any loss in effi-

ciency of subsistence mechanisms was more than compensated

by emergency supplies distributed by relief organizations.

The marketplace in Huaraz virtually ceased to function,

thereby temporarily eliminating an outlet for produce, and

the problems of transportation meant that much of the pro-

duce could not be shipped to and sold in Lima or other

coastal markets. The majority of farmers in Marian, how-

ever, rarely sold more than a fraction of any harvest, so

that losses incurred due to the breakdown of the market

system were minimal for the community at large. Recipro-

cal arrangements involving food distribution, moreover,

still existed, and community members continued to exchange

foodstuffs harvested in Marian for other food items from nearby communities.

As noted in previous chapters, Marian was dependent upon Huaraz for many goods and services, and the almost complete breakdown of the sociocultural system of the departmental capital posed a number of problems. For the most part, however, loss of access to these goods and .

250

services constituted more of an inconvenience than a hardship and therefore did not significantly increase collective stress. Needs sacrificed during the emergency period were generally acquired rather than basic needs.

In short, the researcher failed to find evidence that the core features of the community -- those subsystems directly related to satisfaction of material basic needs -- were seriously affected by the disaster event and subsequent emergency conditions in the valley. Most data

indicate that preexisting collective stress due to declin-

ing agricultural production, differential distribution of

resources, and other factors was not measurably increased by the primary disaster.

Aberrant behavior deriving from collective stress was difficult to measure. The researcher had little background

in psychology, and no formal tests were conducted to determine the level of emotional stress of informants. Some data were collected, however, and in collecting this in-

formation the researcher made two assumptions. First, it was assumed that aberrant behavior would conform to the

symptoms of disaster shock. Secondly, it was assumed that

informants would be aware of any significant increase in

incidents of such behavior on the part of other community members. Of course, conclusions based upon such admittedly

subjective data are open to question and warrant further

study 251

With these qualifications in mind, data suggest that

individual behavior in Marian supports the conclusion that

collective stress did not measurably increase following

the 1970 earthquake. According to informants, there was

no apparent change in drinking habits or consumption of

other drugs. There was, moreover, no reported increase

in public expression of interpersonal hostilities and con-

flict. Informants questioned denied that they personally

suffered from anxiety, loss of sleep, hypersensitivity, or other major symptoms commonly associated with personal loss and depression. Finally, no informant reported having ob-

served any behavior characterizing the "disaster syndrome" which the researcher assumes to be a manifestation of collective stress at the individual level.

In conclusion, if there was no magnification of collective stress in the community of Marian, then the hypothesis that a post-disaster utopia would arise is inappropriate rather than invalid. If fact, no primary disaster occurred in the community. Rather than result in a sense of shared tragedy, mutual aid and cooperation, the primary disaster suffered in other communities had little observable effect on Marian during the period of extreme emergency lasting some weeks after the earthquake. On the other hand,

Marian was greatly affected by later programs of reconstruction and rehabilitation, a topic examined in the following chapter. CHAPTER VII THE PERIOD OF RECOVERY

Although Marian was not severely affected by the 1970 earthquake itself, it did not completely escape the repercussions of the disaster situation. As repeatedly emphasized throughout this dissertation, members of the highland community have become increasingly reliant on

the goods and servies available in the departmental capi-

tal. The near destruction of Huaraz inevitably affected all surrounding communities which were, in effect, satel-

lites of the urban center. Circumstances presented no great hardship for most people of Marian, however, for they operated at a subsistence level, did not participate in the market system to any significant degree, and could forego many of the goods and services which disappeared or became scarce during the emergency. Moreover, disaster relief programs provided food, shelter, medicines and other supplies, often in quantities exceeding what the community members could obtain under predisaster conditions. The long term effects of disaster upon Marian derived from a complex of other variables which characterized the relief and rehabilitation period, a period of recovery which is continuing even as these words are written. To understand the nature of the postdisaster changes in Marian, one must

252 .

253

examine this complex of variables affecting the departmen-

tal capital upon which the farming community is so dependent.

Differential Destruction and Loss in Huaraz

According to many studies of large scale catastrophes

in industrialized nations, extreme emergency brings about

a leveling of the social order because all segments of the

population are equally affected by disaster. Charles Fritz states that

culturally derived discriminations and social distinctions tend to be eliminated in disaster because all groups and statuses are indiscriminately affected; danger, loss, and suffering become public rather than private phenomena (1961: 685).

If Fritz' assertion is true, then democratization of

the social unit should have long term consequences. In

the period of immediate, extreme emergency, a post-impact

utopia would emerge as shared hardship and suffering give

rise to group solidarity. This "unstructured social situa-

tion" would logically permit the population "to perceive

the possibility of introducing desired innovations into

the social system" (1961: 685) Such an analysis of

the disaster process, however, is not universally appli-

cable, for the utopian period does not necessarily follow

large scale disaster. Even though the community oriented be- ^ havior may increase under some circumstances, as it did in

Huaraz but not in Marian, group solidarity does not entail 254

social leveling whereby all groups and statuses are

"indiscrimately affected." The situation in north-central

Peru demonstrates that major natural calamity may involve differential destruction and loss, and the consequences may lead to the reinforcement of existing status configurations rather than to democratization.

The first point to consider is that, in Peru, urban and rural areas were affected to different degrees. By and large, rural populations like that of Marian suffered relatively minor losses of life and property. Dispersed settlement patterns in particular prevented many deaths because individuals could and did flee to nearby fields when the temblor began. Densely populated areas, in contrast, had high death counts primarily because of the lack of open spaces. Countless persons who were not trapped in buildings in Huaraz were buried by the rubble filling the narrow streets.

Property damage in the Peruvian earthquake ostensibly affected all people. Although no systematic study was completed, however, there did seem to many observers that a pattern of destruction existed in Marian and in Huaraz.

The well-to-do often had constructed their homes in such a way as to offset, at least partially, the destructive impact of the earthquake. Notably, buildings constructed with fired brick rather than with the less expensive mud adobe were more likely to remain standing and sustain only 255

minor damage. Many other homes of the more affluent in

the communities had thicker walls, concrete foundations,

or even reinforced corners. Such structures frequently

withstood the force of the earthquake, while the homes of

the poorer individuals were more likely to be severely

damaged or utterly destroyed.

Damage to structures was a highly visible aspect of

the 1970 earthquake, and about 80 per cent of all buildings

in the impact zone were rendered uninhabitable. One can

not conclude, however, that destruction of housing elimi-

nated the material base of status distinctions and gave

birth to an egalitarian social order, even a temporary one.

In Marian, the loss of structures entailed a temporary

hardship and rather of an inconvenience, but the homes

could be rebuilt in a fairly short time using locally

available materials. The principal basis of wealth in the

farming community — land -- was unaffected by the earth-

quake so that the foundation of the predisaster power

structure remained largely intact.

The situation was somewhat more complex in Huaraz

because of state intervention. All land south of the

Quilcay River was declared public domain, and all titles

to property in this area called "La Restauracion" were

revoked by decree. This move by the Peruvian government

forestalled title disputes and facilitated reconstruction plans, but it did not greatly affect the division of wealth 256

in the city. The poorer segment of the population has been generally excluded from La Restauracion for several reasons, primarily because of the prohibitive cost of housing in the new projects, houses which must be purchased from the state. The affluent, on the other hand, did not concen-

trate their wealth in property or even in Huaraz . The family fortunes were instead usually invested in businesses and banks located in Lima and other larger urban centers, and the loss of property in the departmental capital of

Ancash was, if not negligible, certainly not devastating.

The rich remained rich.

Those in north-central Peru who suffered most from property loss included the small-business people. Re- tailers, wholesalers, restaurant owners and others lost not only the structures in which their businesses operated but also the merchandise and machinery which represented a significant portion of their capital. In short, the earthquake did result in differential destruction of property, and loss was not equally shared among the victims.

The situation in Peru seems to gainsay Fritz 1 contention,

then, that disaster leads to elimination of social dis-

tinctions as the result of indiscriminate impact of the

disaster agent and subsequent emergency. Given that pre-

disaster status patterns in Marian and Huaraz remained

relatively intact -- or quickly reemerged -- then the long 257 term possibility of innovation would not have appeared within the system itself had it not been for the intervention of the state. Those who controlled the authority structure would probably otherwise have attempted to reestablish a steady state resembling the previous status quo, i.e., one congruent with their own interests.

Disaster-Related Factors Contributing to Change

Although portions of three departments in north- central Peru were affected by the 1970 earthquake, the

Callejon de Huaylas received the brunt of the force. The

Peruvian government subsequently concentrated relief, reconstruction and rehabilitation efforts in the Huaylas

Valley, especially in Huaraz. The departmental capital as it once appeared no longer exists, for it has become a showplace, a symbol of national and international concern for the victims of disaster. Despite the tendency for the urban center to reassert predisaster social, economic and political arrangements, outside intervention

served to introduce fundamental changes which are apparent at all levels and in all domains of the system. The pro-

cess is a complex one, but several factors facilitated the

establishment of the "new" Huaraz.

One such factor was the death of many influential members of the community. Entire families were killed in

the earthquake, and a number of these families owned a

significant proportion of property, especially in the 258

region south of the Quilcay River. Nullification of property titles, therefore, did not give rise to the kind of power conflict which would probably have attended the expropriation process under nondisaster conditions. Per- haps more importantly, deaths of key personnel created a power vacuum in Huaraz which permitted the government to more easily impose an external power base by filling vacant authority positions and by establishing the central relief agency, CRYRZA/ORDEZA.

The power vacuum was also a consequence of the flight of the elite from the impact zone to the large coastal urban centers. Those who could afford to do so escaped the hardships of the disaster and resettled in Lima and other cities where they had property and family. The situation provided unprecedented opportunities for many individuals who subsequently enjoyed meteoric ascendency in the authority structure. A middle-aged lawyer, for one example, rose from a relatively insignificant position in the local court system to become President of the Supreme

Court of Ancash. The individual is extremely competent, but the achievement of his present status would have been unlikely had key personnel in the judicial system not died in the earthquake or fled the disaster zone.

Persons most frequently appointed to government offices were those who cooperated with the military who established the central relief agency. Individuals who 259

were critical of the policies of CRYRZA/ORDEZA or who attempted to circumvent procedural guidelines were often demoted, transferred, or fired, regardless of personal qualifications and accomplishments. In short, Huaraz lost what autonomy it had as a community and became a government project after May 31, 1970. Of course, the departmental capital was always economically and politically linked to the larger system, but the links were replaced by more direct national control of the authority structure. As was pointed out, intervention was facilitated by the disaster power vacuum.

A second major factor contributing to the fundamental changes in the Callejon de Huaylas in general and in

Huaraz in particular was the international relief effort.

Scores of nations contributed materiel, money and personnel as the world community responded. Even more numerous were the private organizations, large and small, and the number of unattached free lance volunteers who converged upon the impact zone cannot be estimated. The effects of the mas- sive relief effort are twofold. First, the very presence of foreigners led to many changes which will be discussed later in the chapter. Secondly, the capital which poured into north-central Peru gave rise to what can only be called a "disaster boom economy." As the label implies, the increase in wealth in the area was temporary, but its impact is likely to be far-reaching. .

260

The Disaster Boom Economy

Despite the personal and collective tragedy associated with the 1970 earthquake, survivors not infrequently ob-

served that disaster in some ways was a most fortunate

occurrence, especially for the Callejon de Huaylas. Until

1970 the Huaylas Valley was rather marginal to the Peruvian

society as a whole, lacking any significant amount of ma-

terial resources which could profitably be exploited to

lift the area to a position of economic parity with other

regions of the country. The mining of various minerals

brought in some wealth, and farm produce (especially po-

tatoes) found its way into the national market system. In

general terms, however, the valley was poor and seemingly

destined to remain so. Industry was not attracted even to

the larger urban center, Huaraz; the availability of

low-cost labor and power from the valley's hydroelectric plant were more than offset by the high cost of transpor-

tation over the rough terrain of the Cordillera Negra. A primary source of income, tourism, was not systematically exploited

The 1970 earthquake proved to be an economic catalyst.

National and international relief agencies entering the

impact zone brought with them approximately 50 million dollars in the first five months of the disaster, with most of that sum distributed in the form of food and emergency supplies (U.S.A.I.D. 1970). This initial influx 261

of wealth had an immediate impact on the area but probably little long term effect because donations were used to meet urgent needs. The international relief program, however, did not end abruptly, and even more millions of dollars poured into the stricken area over the next several years. Through various national and international agencies, at least 60 million dollars were distributed in the first year ( CRYRZA 1971), and the amounts contributed by small, private organizations cannot even be estimated. After

1970, most but not all donations were channelled through CRYRZA/ ORDEZA , and funds came from a number of sources including the International Development Bank, the Inter- national Bank for Reconstruction and Development, and several governments. Figures do not include all donations contributed by numerous small organizations. The total amount of wealth made available for relief and reconstruction of the affected zone cannot accurately be calculated, but the sum almost certainly reached nine figures in dollars for the period 1970 to 1976. Of the amount of relief aid spent in the disaster region, the CRYRZA/ORDEZA budget is the most significant, and records for the period are readily available in government archives. Because of the importance of the boom economy in the Callejon de

Huaylas, Table 8 contains a summary of the expenditures of the central relief agency. Data for specific projects for the year are not available and are not included. —1i1 1 1 1 i 1 11 1 1i 1

262

4->

0) CO CO rH 00 i— ol P 1— LD + tr> ld CO CO 00 CD 'tr p LD CO CD CD CO O 23 • • # o 2 p o *4* o O LD CD CO O CO rH PQ CN CN 1—

1— CN p CO rH p CD CO CO LD LO LO LD LD LO 00 CO 00 CO CD CD 00 1— -P • • O CO O rH rH in rt o LD rH o P LO E-t 1 — i— LO LD »— CN o CN

r- p rH CO LD CN 00 P CD i— P 00 • i LD i

p- LD i— i o O CO o rH o O CN CN CN p

1970 • p LO LO P CD CN CO CN LO

Budget, of 2 CN 0 p p CN 00 P CO LD -r LD CO •H

i LO CO CN CO CO r-' CO — o O LD l o CN u i i • • 1 rtf Millions ORDEZA CO CN LD CO i CN p o O o — O I 00 (D o cd 1— CN LO

• i 44 •H 2 in rtf o rH CRYRZA/ p CD C4 CD ,

i— p cu 23 2 2 2 2 0 tn 0 cn •H •H 2 •H 0) o +j •H -p a; •H— id P 2 rtf i -1 44 p 2 *H +J a 2 o +j P £ P Q-i 0 in cn h ttex o tn 2 •H .. •H a) 2 2 0] >1 0< 2 ,2 CO 4-1 tn 2 2 •H O -H • rH tn in •H 4-1 2 p rH O

"0 1 •H h P P 2 in 1 23 O (U rtf P 6 2 p m 2 (D 2 2 rtf 0 2 .2 4-1 2 r) -P tn-H o 2 P O CD o 23 4J 0 O >< CO < W Eh K tc (p W O Eh CO 263

The total budget of CRYRZA/ORDEZA gives a general

impression of the tremendous increase in resources avail-

able to the impact zone in north-central Peru. Of more

direct importance for this dissertation is the amount of

that budget slated for the departmental capital of Ancash.

Ninety-five per cent of Huaraz was destroyed in the earth-

quake, and most of the activities in the following years

involved reconstruction of public and private structures

in the region of La Restauracion. Efforts during the first

year focused upon the clearing of debris, a task which re-

quired skilled and semiskilled labor because heavy machinery was used. Later, however, actual reconstruction

began, and labor was drawn from Huaraz itself and from

surrounding communities. Between 1971 and 1976, 684 houses were built in La Restauracion, nearly 12 million dollars were spent in the construction industry in that city alone,

and the bulk of the funds went either towards salaries or materials manufactured locally. Thus, the wealth circu-

lated primarily within the region, raising the incomes of many persons theretofore dependent almost exclusively on agriculture for subsistence.

Funds spent for labor and construction materials con-

stituted a direct capital input, but they were only one dimension of the disaster boom economy in the Huaraz area.

Disaster relief and reconstruction brought into the affected zone many professionals from other regions and from ,

264

other nations. These administrators, planners, architects, engineers and other skilled personnel from the outside received salaries commensurate with those paid them under normal circumstances in the larger cities. Many, in fact, received "hazard pay" to compensate for living in such uncomfortable conditions, although they most often had houses and apartments much more luxurious than most of the residents in the disaster area.

TABLE 9

Funds Budgeted by CRYRZA/ORDEZA for - Construction Projects in Huaraz , 1971 1976, in Millions of U.S. Dollars

% of Regional Years Amount Budgeted Housing Budget

1971-72 0.62 2 . 8 1973-74 6.07 22.2

1975-76 4 . 56 38.4

Total 11.25 18.5

Source: Oficina de Planif ication ORDEZA. Huaraz.

The personnel of CRYRZA/ORDEZA and of other agencies operating in the earthquake zone spent a good portion of their salaries in the local economy, and the organizations themselves turned to local businesses for some materials, supplies, machinery repairs, and other goods and services.

Residents of the impact area hired directly by the central relief agency or indirectly by contractors saved an 265

undetermined amount of their incomes, but also spent part of their wages in the departmental capital. Then, too, tourism increased following the earthquake, bringing into the region even more wealth. The consequence of the disaster relief programs and increased tourism was a true economic boom which is readily apparent in the growth of private enterprises in Huaraz.

A sample of 34 privately-owned businesses in the departmental capital reveals a yearly mean increase in gross income of 40 per cent between 1970 and 1975. That six-year period includes the year of the earthquake, during which incomes dropped nearly 20 per cent compared to those of the preceding year. Even when the figures are adjusted to account for the rise in the cost of living, the yearly mean increase in gross income was 23 per cent, and the adjusted cumulative growth for the businesses sampled was over 200 per cent. Tables 10 and 11 clearly show the phenomenal growth in the economic domain of the community system if the 34 businesses are representative.

The data obtained in January of 1977 need some clarification before their significance can be examined. The cost of living index (Peru 1977) applies to Peru as a whole, not specifically to Huaraz, and the sharp increase in the index is probably due to inflation in the large coastal cities. In all likelihood, the cost of living in the departmental capital increased more slowly during the i 1 li1 ——

266

' LO 1 o in tn r- r— Oh r^ t'' C Oh • • • 00 CO •H UO

I Cl o m r'- O LT) o and iH -P i— Oh 00 in Oh— • • • - i r 0 l — co LO N U no h< id CM G 0) id X Income, P -P as G CO vo LO r- G O r- r- rH CM •G 4-1 Oh • • • »H o vo LO Gross in 'a CM Income,

i i rH G in 1 1 •H c O 01 -G 1969 tdrH

Gross G <*G id -G = -G £ CD U > G •r| C -G -p Year

Total rd — 1 0) id a) 1 1 U) — O e rH to i i tn £ id IS) 0 G c £ o\o P C G o\° -P 0 O id id rtf e d Id 0 H G 0) CD -G G P (DG G Base O H >1 £ O -G U £ U -G 1t i Ii1 1i 1

267

CD W td 0) ln rH >H r- CO Oh c U Oh • • H C rH in VO H ro o 0 OH tn tn C v £3 td m -H 1969. 43 t"- > U Oh •H h H i— h3 r- ro O £3 Oh • • =

l M-4 rH i— VO CD o o ro OH S H year -p rH 0 •H u -p - ro 00 to N CD r^ CM O Base r— to 43 Oh • • 0 M -P rH OH 6 f0 ro 0 O U u 33 0 M-t 1977. rs £3 c •H rs rd CD OH r- vo tn •4-1 o- — h i i CD CD to Oh • • — Peru w e CO 33 1 1 ro CO pi 0 to •r~i CH OH 03 o CD TO < c £3 < Eh H •rH to rs w 0 c index:

O ro JH i— ro to VO

c i— ro •H 0 living >4H o CD Q tn iO *rH

l— i— u '— 0 to > for 0) •H >r -p (3 >i Q) to ai

•H rH o\o 1 Dh —1 tjl 0\P ^ a c 33 £3 S3 Source fd rd rd £ £ t0 (0 £3 Q) (D rCj *H 3) CD 43 -H >H S U a s u 268

six-year period, meaning that economic growth in terms of purchasing power was greater than indicated by the adjus-

ted figures in Table 11, though not as great as that

indicated by the unadjusted figures.

A second clarification is that not all businesses prospered to the same degree. The most profitable estab-

lishments were shops which repaired machinery, and other particularly fortunate merchants were those who catered to the needs of outsiders. Thus, restaurants, hotels and appliance stores flourished. Several of the machine shops more than quadrupled their yearly gross income, and one such shop grew by more than 1,000 per cent (unadjusted

figure) .

The establishments which showed rather more modest growth than repair shops were those more readily affected by competition, a phenomenon especially applicable to restaurants and hotels. Before the earthquake, Huaraz had only three major restaurants, for example. By the end of

1976 there were at least 40 eating establishments in operation, according to municipal records. This estimate is a conservative one, for many smaller enterprises serving regular clientele did not report their existence, much less their income, in order to avoid possible taxation. Hotels and eating establishments , as noted, thrived on the markets created by personnel who did not permanently reside in the departmental capital. These persons )

269

US$ (in Millions

FIGURE 13

Total Gross Income of 34 Businesses in Huaraz, 1970 - 1975 generally brought with them urban values and lifestyles, and their demands for a more urban way of life led to some notable changes in the nature of the once relatively provincial population center. Discoteques were established in various locations, complete with blacklights, modern sound systems, mixed drinks, and dance floors. Several soda fountains appeared, serving pastries, ice cream, milk shakes and sundaes. Hamburgers, hot dogs, and ice cream floats found their way onto the menus of many restaurants in Huaraz, and even the more "traditional" meals were more carefully prepared. Several new appliance stores opened 270

for business and reported impressive incomes (unreported incomes were probably even more impressive) . A plethora of articles were displayed in shop windows, most prominently television sets, bicycles, blenders and stereophonic components. Huaraz gradually assumed the atmosphere of a bustling city, and the relatively slow pace of preearth- quake life was supplanted by the movimiento characteristic of Lima and other large urban settlements.

One other point warrants mention. The increase in wealth in Huaraz did not lead to a corresponding increase in savings accounts. Salaries, therefore, were probably invested in goods and services rather than placed in banks and credit unions. In the single credit union which willingly permitted examination of its records, savings in creased only 17.5 per cent between 1970 and 1975, despite the fact that membership was more or less constant. The reluctance of individuals to place their funds into savings is understandable in view of the double-digit inflation rate in Peru. In the credit union mentioned, the mean cumulative change in savings decreased by more than 27 per cent when adjusted for the cost of living. This loss in purchasing power undoubtedly contributed to what is commonly called the inflation mentality. To counter rising prices, one must purchase now, not later, for savings can represent a yearly capital loss if inflation exceeds interests paid on accounts. 271

The Recovery Period in Marian

Outwardly, little has changed in Marian as the result of the disaster following the 1970 earthquake. Government restrictions and housing codes did not affect the community directly, and houses are still constructed of adobe and are still roofed with the traditional clay tiles. The only signs of emergency supplies which poured into the

Huaylas Valley are the tin roof on the central church and the pressboard living quarters erected for the Marists.

Here and there are the walls of homes not rebuilt on the same site, and on a hill in the center of the community stands an incongruously modern tower which is a link in the new microwave communications network connecting the coast and the Callejon de Huaylas.

The changes in Marian are not readily apparent and are difficult to determine even with long term observation.

Interviews with informants in the community yield the pre- dictable yearnings for previous times when crops were better, children better behaved, people friendlier, festivals grander, and families closer. Despite the lack of empirical evidence to support the good-old-days syndrome, a pattern does emerge. The long term effects of the disaster seem to have accelerated the changes characterizing

Marian in the preimpact period, and two interrelated factors stand out among the most important change agents.

On the one hand is the disaster boom economy which brought .

272

both material wealth and foreign personnel into the region.

On the other hand, government intervention, especially in the realms of agrarian reform and education, has served to undermine community cohesion and — like the boom economy -- hastened the pace towards systemic disintegration

The enormous influx of capital into the Callejon de

Huaylas coincided with declining agricultural productivity

in Marian. Community members consequently sought employment in Huaraz, particularly in the disaster-stimulated construction industry which required many unskilled workers

for menial tasks. For many individuals, such jobs repre-

sented the first regular salary they had ever received, and the wages permitted increased participaton in the money economy. Not only were the new incomes made available to agriculturalists, but new goods and services appeared in the departmental capital to tempt the salaried worker.

By 1975, radios were prominently displayed in many homes,

and other luxury items were not uncommon.

The acquisition and accumulation of wealth directly conflicted with a fundamental premise long held to be true

in the community of Marian. As in other peasant communi-

ties, all things were seen to be limited in amount, and

should one person acquire more than his or her share, it could be assumed that other persons had received a smaller portion than was due them. The "image of limited good" 273

(Foster 1965) was still an operative viewpoint in Marian

and was most readily apparent in the pressures applied to

persuade the more affluent to sponsor religious festivals.

The increase in wealth which accompanied disaster relief,

however, further undermined the concept of limited good

and encouraged not only the acquisition but also the ac-

cumulation of capital for personal use. It should be noted

that, with the exception of radios, luxury items were not

ostentatiously displayed, and no one would admit to having

profited personally from disaster relief programs. Even

the most affluent of the community consistently bemoaned their poverty.

The situation in Marian can in part be explained by

the money made available in the disaster zone, but the presence of foreigners must also be considered a key factor of change. The technicians, architects, engineers and bureaucrats who entered the impact area to direct reconstruction and rehabilitation programs were themselves symbols of urban life and the conveniences that urban life offered. Many members of the Marian resented the costeno

(a person from the coastal cities) and particularly the gringo (a term usually applied to white foreigners) who were viewed collectively as unimaginably rich. The resentment did not hide the envy, however, and invidious emulation of the urbanite was reflected in ambition if not in words and action. The presence of outsiders, in short. .

274

stoked the rising expectations of the rural population.

The increased job opportunities in Huaraz brought the two

groups together more freqeuntly and, most importantly,

provided the means to satisfy some of the newly acquired needs

The desire to accumulate material wealth is not the

direct consequence of the disaster economy and rising expectations , but the two phenomena undoubtedly are contri—

butive. Increased reliance upon money as an exchange

medium was characteristic of Marian before the earthquake,

and it appears that reconstruction programs accelerated

the change. Effects on the community system may be viewed within the social as well as the cultural domains; inter-

actional patterns are being modified, especially in the economic sphere, and attitudes and values towards wealth accumulation for personal needs are being altered.

The established patterns of reciprocity in Marian,

for example, are giving way to new configurations as reciprocal work arrangements are replaced by cash transactions. Balanced labor exchange, rantin , remains the principle mode of production among close relatives and fictive kin, but many farmers who once participated in rantin or in sharecropping now insist on daily wages. The significance of the accelerating shift away from reciprocity can be measured indirectly by the amount of the wage itself.

That is, in 1975 the hired hands began receiving 80 soles 275

for a day's work instead of the previous pay of 50 soles.

That the hired hands could successfully demand a 60 per

cent increase in wages bespeaks clearly of the difficulty

of relying upon traditional reciprocal arrangements. More-

over, although rantin and sharecropping still exist, some

reciprocity patterns have disappeared entirely, notably

the minka . The last minka, where workers and their fami-

lies are given a sumptuous meal for their services, occurred

shortly after the earthquake, and informants in all barrios

reported that the minka was once much more common. No one

seems to mourn its passing.

The diminution in importance of rantin and other

dyadic contracts in the domain of agricultural production

and distribution has an effect on other areas within the

community system. Wage labor is not usually associated with close social bonds and does not serve to establish mutual obligations among individuals. In fact, hiring workers on a salaried basis is akin to negative recipro-

city, and the participants each attempt to maximize their personal gain in the transaction. Such an attitude under- mines the social ties and diminishes the credit an individual may have otherwise stored in the reciprocal system.

On occasions when credit is needed, therefore, one must rely more heavily upon close kinsmen and fictive kin or upon wealth represented by money. One such occasion is

the festival of Saint Michael. 276

The fiesta of the patron saint serves in part as an economic leveling mechanism, as was pointed out earlier in the dissertation. The sponsor generally cannot afford to pay for all activities and must turn to others for assistance. In this way, reciprocal debts are either cancelled or incurred; given the expense of the festival, the sponsor almost always finds his or her personal wealth diminished and reciprocal debts increased. As patterns of the reciprocity system become less the norm in agricultural production and distribution, however, potential sponsors find it more difficult to accumulate the social credit necessary for the fiesta. In other words, there are fewer dyadic contracts obligating other community members to assist.

Then, too, the potential sponsor is hesitant to incur heavy debts by asking for aid, even from kin and fictive kin, for this counteracts the accumulation of wealth available for satisfaction of other, personal needs.

The apparently accelerating trend is towards decreased importance of the fiesta system in Marian. Community members strongly resist the pressures to serve as sponsors, and the amount of capital spent on the festival has diminished, according to several older informants. It is note- worthy that the persons who volunteered in 1975 to organize the fiesta for the next year were teachers assigned to the school in Marian, teachers who were not themselves members 277

of the community but who nevertheless came under great pressures to assume the responsibility. All community members thus successfully avoided the honor.

Because the festival of Saint Michael serves an integrative function as well as an economic one, the decline in participation can be viewed as both cause and effect when discussing the atomization of the community system.

To judge from reports of many informants, the change has accelerated since the earthquake, demonstrating the consequences of the boom economy, the shift away from community oriented behavior, and disintegration of an important integrating process represented by reciprocity in economic and social exchange.

Government Intervention

Reconstruction and rehabilitation programs in north- central Peru created a disaster boom economy which has had a profound impact on the area. The earthquake also brought in its wake increased government intervention, especially in the most severely affected region, the Huaylas Valley.

The revolutionary military government was given an opportunity to turn the Callejon into a showcase for the Peru- vian revolution, for the disaster conditions had disrupted the social, economic and political patterns in the zone which theretofore had served as deferents to true reform.

The two most significant domains of government intervention were land tenure and rural education. It is not 278

the purpose of this dissertation to analyze in depth

either the agrarian or educational reform in Peru, but a

general overview of the imposition of national programs

does afford a clearer picture of the long term changes

occurring in the community of Marian. Had it not been for

the earthquake of 1970, it is doubtful that the government

would have devoted so much time and energy to the area or

that it would have found its policies so easily implemented.

The general goal of the Peruvian government with re-

gards to land reform was to avoid parcelization of former

large estates, keeping intact the larger farms instead of

apportioning small plots to individual families (Peru 1969;

Gitlitz 1971: 458; Niedergang 1971: 460). A similar ob-

jective was the basis for the attempt to consolidate small

parcels of land scattered about the countryside. An in-

dividual farmer frequently owned a fraction of a hectare here, another there, and still another in a different

location. The move towards consolidation of miniature

farm plots was viewed as a means to increase productivity

and to create farm units of sufficient size to provide for the needs of the household.

By Decree 17716, agrarian reform became an official reality in Peru in June of 1969, but progress of the program was hampered by a number of factors. Not the least of these factors were the complexity of the process, the power of the landowning elite, and political favoritism .

279

within the bureaucracy. In the Huaylas Valley, however,

the creation of a local agency under the control of CRYRZA/

ORDEZA tended to counteract the authority of the local

landowners, and the program of expropriation proceeded at

a pace exceeding that seen in most other regions of the country. As noted, the Peruvian government seemed determined to make the Callejon de Huaylas a symbol of the revolution, demonstrating the feasibility of its agricultural policies. Expropriated lands were often handed over to groups of farmers who were then expected to work within a cooperative framework. Government officials generally supervised the cooperative groups, attempting to instruct members in the intricacies of organizational management.

Agrarian reform was officially completed in the Ca- llejon de Huaylas in 1976, yet the program has met with a number of obstacles. In Marian, for example, many people depended upon the nearby estates for a significant portion of their food supply. In some cases, particularly in the barrio of San Isidro, households worked on large farms in return for usufruct rights to less productive lands belong-

ing to the largeholding . Such arrangements also usually involved a sharing of the harvests of the estate (sometimes unbeknownst to the owner; workers frequently pilferred)

Expropriation of the large farm units did not increase the absolute amount of land available, but it did decrease the amount of capital invested in production. The small farmer, 280

even as a member of a cooperative enterprise, could not afford the fertilizers and pesticides which had kept the latifundias productive, and soil depletion soon resulted in smaller crop yields.

Attempts to create cooperative groups in Marian have not proven successful, although one such group does officially exist. It does not function. The elected officials of the organization are not experienced in management, and members are more interested in working alone rather than cooperatively. Thus, lands set aside for the group are informally divided and farmed by individual households.

Consolidation of small parcels is resisted in Marian, and government officials who enter the community to inventory landholdings are either given false information or are threatened. This researcher was warned not to delve too deeply into the topic of property ownership. According to one informant, whose advice was deeply appreciated, such investigation could involve a risk to life. The resistance to reform, particularly consolidation of minif undias , derives in part from pragmatic considerations discussed in a previous chapter. As Galdo points out, "the [farmers] consider the dispersion of properties a means of defense against frost and hail which do not attach the land along continuous and uniform areas but, on the contrary, in discontinuous patches" (1962: 222. My translation). Be- sides protecting harvests against the vagaries of local 281

weather conditions, the scattering of parcels also provides

plots at different altitudes and with different soils. The

household therefore can plant a number of crops, each in

its respective microenvironment, and have a dietary variety

which could otherwise be realized only through more complex barter arrangements or cash purchases.

In summary, accelerated land reform in the Callejon de

Huaylas has been and is changing fundamental patterns in

agricultural production and distribution. The consequences

of the program have thus far been deleterious for Marian,

for productivity has continued to decline, exacerbating an

already serious shortage of per capita food resources. It

is no wonder that community members are wary of government

policies, and the deprivation to which agrarian reform has

contributed has in turn hastened the atomization of the community system.

The effects of the educational reform in Marian are

no less profound than the consequences of changes in

land-use patterns. The Peruvian government has stepped

up its attempts to modernize the school system in the

Huaylas Valley and to increase the level of education of

the rural population. In Marian, the only government-

sponsored structure (besides the microwave tower and the house of the Marists) is the school building located in

the Central Barrio. Classroom instruction is now largely

in Quechua as well as in Spanish, and the content of the 282

courses has been updated to incorporate advances made in

the field of education in other nations. There is a move,

for example, to replace traditional mathematics with the "new" math.

More importantly, however, the general level of edu-

cation in Marian has been increasing over the years, and

the pace is accelerating. Data from the 1975 field census

show that children of households have progressed farther

in school than their parents, as a rule, and more children

are completing high school. This is especially true of the males in the community, for females are still more likely

to quit in earlier grades. The census also shows that the rise in the level of education has affected all barrios of

Marian, although the households located in the lower areas are generally better educated than those located farther from Huaraz.

Not only has there been an improvement in the schooling system, but values regarding education have apparently changed significantly. Younger males especially speak of acquiring new skills in vocational schools, and there seems to be a widespread desire to leave Marian and obtain employment in Huaraz or in Lima. That males are indeed leaving the community is reflected in the skewed population pyramid (Figure 8) . As with many other processes affecting

Marian, no empirical evidence exists to confirm that out- migration has increased since 1970, but indications are 283

strong that such is the case. Young informants frequently expressed their plans to continue schooling and to leave the rural area for the city life. Parents often expressed hope that their children would acquire an education and thereby be able to better themselves by working in the urban centers. Everyone interviewed knew of many persons

from Marian who had done just that, and the motivating factors seems clear.

First, Marian has become poorer over the years, and farming is not a lucrative enterprise. This "push" is complemented by the "pull" of the city which seems to premise better incomes, better living standards, and a greater variety of activities. Coupled with the rising expectations stemming from the disaster boom economy, the increased availability of goods and services as well as the means to acquire them, and the influence of foreign personnel, the attraction of urban lifestyles had undoubtedly grown in the minds of the younger members of Marian. It is not difficult to understand, then, the impact of government intervention in the domain of education, for schooling not only reinforces values of the larger Peruvian society but also prepares the young, at least to a degree, to participate in that larger society. Atomization of the community is therefore both cause and effect: Marian is being inexorably drawn into the main current of the national system. .

• CHAPTER VIII CONCLUDING REMARKS

I did not conduct a field investigation in the highland

community of Marian merely because of a academic interest

in collective stress situations. I was, rather, deeply in-

volved in and affected bv the catastrophe, and the decision

to study the sociocultural dimensions of natural calamity

grew out of my involvement with the people of north-central

Peru. In this, the final chapter of the dissertation, I

abandon the stylistic anonymity of the third-person observer

to permit more directly personal and more frankly subjective

observations concerning the aftermath of the May 31, 1970, earthquake

I left the Callejon de Huaylas in 1971 with feelings of anger and frustration. I had spent several months acting as

coordinator for Peace Corps proqrams in the area and had

come to realize the depths of our ignorance regarding the needs of victims. I had the opportunity to observe the multinational relief operations and to participate in them, working with representatives of organizations from many countries. As I witnessed some of the negative repercussions of humanitarian assistance, I began to apply the label

"secondary disaster" to the impact of relief programs. I did not understand why the secondary disaster occurred, and

I was determined to study the phenomenon. I admit to not 285 understanding significantly more eight years later — the problem is a complex one — but I believe that my research in Marian and in other communities of north-central Peru has shed some light on small patches of the poorly mapped domain of natural disaster.

Disaster in Marian

In the second chapter I made the point that, although social scientists cannot as yet define disaster, they nevertheless could in most cases agree when it has occurred. My observation that no primary disaster situation appeared in

Marian, therefore, constitutes one of the most enigmatic of my conclusions. I have no doubt that anyone who walked into the highland community soon after the earthquake looked about at the destruction and was convinced that calamity had struck. Homes were everywhere destroyed, several people died, and several others were injured. Families huddled in crude, makeshift huts, cooking over small, open fires. I can imagine that fear was almost tangible. We tend to take for grated the stability of terra firma, and to have the earth move under one's feet is indeed frightening. There was in Marian, moreover, the danger that one of the aftershocks would break the natural dams over the community.

There was fear, but there was no primary disaster. I could find no indication of collective stress resulting from the breakdown of the community system attributable to the earthquake itself. People had food to eat, water to drink, clothes and fire to warm them, and huts to protect them. In 286 the days and weeks following the earthquake, life went on in a relatively normal fashion, and none of my informants talked of a common feeling of emergency or of shared tragedy. Farm- ers soon returned to their fields to begin the harvesting of corn. Part of the day had to be spent in making the adobe bricks to rebuild dwellings, and possessions had to be salvaged from the debris. There were many inconveniences, some hardship, and the knowledge that calamity had left its mark.

The people of Marian were not oblivious to the conditions which surrounded them, and it was impossible to ignore the frenetic activity of disaster relief organizations. Only three kilometers away, a city lay in ruin, with friends, acquaintances and relatives dead, injured or missing. The drone of airplanes and the chopping noises of helicopters filled the skies and echoed from the peaks of the Cordillera

Blanca. Widespread death and destruction in nearby communities and frantic attempts to cope with the extreme emergency in Huaraz undermined the sense of normalcy in Marian.

The situation which existed in Marian underscores the limited value of current definitions of disaster and our lack of understanding regarding the sociocultural system under extreme conditions. Given the dependence of the satellite community upon the primate city of the Callejon de

Huaylas, I anticipated higher levels of collective stress than were indicated by the data. Marian, after all, was not a closed, self-sufficient social unit, and the breakdown of the Huaraz system theoretically should have had a more 287 profound effect on the community. That it did not raises

some interesting theoretical questions and demands a new perspective on the disaster process itself.

I can suggest two possible explanations for the lack of a primary disaster. First, Marian may not have been as dependent upon Huaraz as my own initial analysis suggested. I do not contradict earlier conclusions, but I do propose that the needs fulfilled through interaction with the departmental capital were not essential. The core features of the satellite community were characterized by a lack of participation in the larger market network, so that the breakdown of distributive mechanisms in Huaraz did not immediately and directly affect the subsistence-oriented economy of Marian.

The earthquake did not destroy the material base of production, nor were sufficient numbers of community members killed or disabled to disrupt production and distribution strategies.

Thus, basic needs were met even during the emergency period.

Deprivation was limited to acquired needs and, even then, to the acquired needs of lesser importance. Inconvenience and hardship resulted, but no extreme collective stress.

A second possible explanation for the absence of a primary disaster in Marian is that relief operations provided a temporary substitute component for distribution of goods and services. Calamity tends to give rise to an "emergency social system" (Barton 1962), but multinational relief operations represent an externally imposed emergency system.

Resources channelled into the impact zone in Peru partially compensated for the loss of efficiency of the economic processes in the devastated urban centers, but the consequences were somewhat different in Marian. Since the core features of the community system remained relatively intact, humanitarian aid increased per capita resource availability rather than compensated for loss. If my model of needs- satisfaction is valid, then the influx of goods and services would have reduced collective stress below predisaster level in Marian. Because of emergency food supplies being doled out by relief organizations, for example, many persons in the community ate more and better food than they had before the earthquake.

The implications for relief planning are perplexing.

Emergency supplies, like any resource, are not inexhaustible and must be allocated in such a way as to maximize their utility . Since there was differential loss and suffering in the Callejon, goods and services should not have been distributed indiscriminately; priorities should have been established. I admit that the problem has no easy solution, for it requires a redefinition of the concept of "victim," and by what criteria are we to distinquish victims from nonvictims, especially when there are degrees of suffering?

The chaotic conditions associated with extreme emergency only add to the dilemma, but the effectiveness of relief depends upon the realization that not all survivors are necessarily in need as a result of the primary disaster. 289

Marian illustrated the misallocation of resources in north-central Peru, for many emergency supplies were given to community members despite the fact that these resources were more badly needed elsewhere. George Foster's "image of limited good" is operative in this case, for the persons who received more than their share deprived others. I do not deny that many people in Marian and other farming communities require more food, clothes, better shelter, more adequate health care, and so on, but the disaster of poverty must be distinguished from the more immediate disaster triggered by a major natural event. Unfortunately, relief personnel entering the impact zone often saw only the general deprivation and, erroneously correlating the physical dimensions of destruction (especially property damage) with long-standing conditions of need in the highlands, categorized almost all residents as "earthquake disaster victims." Resources were therefore diffused throughout the zone rather than concentrated where they were most urgently needed.

Urban centers tended to receive more aid than rural settlements, but distribution of supplies was still largely indiscriminate. Persons from satellite communities, for example, came into Huaraz to obtain food, tents, medicines and other items. In fact, offsetting the migration of the elite from the departmental capital was the migration into the city of many members of the rural population. One of the principal factors stimulating what amounted to a demographic shift was the ready availability of resources 290 disseminated gratis. Some controls were put into effect by the Peruvian government, but, since the assumption was that all residents were victims, the controls favored the less needy (see Worsley 1976). As I pointed out in another chapter, some influential members of the departmental capital secured a number of tents, blankets and boxes of foodstuffs; less influential (poorer) community members acquired little of the emergency supplies.

The Post-Impact Utopia

One of the most frequently reported phenomena alledgedly associated with collective stress situations is the dramatic increase in group oriented behavior, and students of disaster have applied a poor label to the intensified feelings of mutual aid, good will and cooperation (can a stress-free "utopia" ex-

ist in a disaster?) . The process is not unique to extreme emergencies, however, but reflects a human propensity to unite to satisfy personal needs, be they basic or acquired.

When people are subject to little frustration and stress, they have less need to be a part of a well- knit social group. On the other hand, the greater the stress they must sustain, the more important it is for their mental health that they operate as members of social groups with high esprit de corps (Goodenough 1963: 91).

The post-impact utopia, therefore, is a logical extension of the tendency to unite in the face of common need and purpose. If there is a difference, it appears to be more one of degree than of kind. The greater the collective stress, the . .

291

greater the need for esprit de corps. One of my primary

objectives was to test this proposition in the community of

Marian, but I found no indication of increased collective

stress in the research site deriving from the 1970 earth-

quake. If I conclude that there was no primary disaster,

then I cannot draw any conclusions regarding the correlation

between extreme emergency and the post-impact utopia. Never-

theless, the subject is important enough to warrant comment

because of the implications of victim solidarity for relief operations

In 1974 I was asked to conduct a study of a number of

projects funded by a private Peruvian-American agency called the Peru Earthquake Relief Committee (PERC) . The projects I

selected for evaluation were located in the Callejon de

Huaylas , and all had involved cooperative effort on the part

of members of the communities receiving aid. I found that,

in most cases, donations had less than the expected positive

results, and that the gifts of money or materials actually

had negative consequences for several communities. My ini-

tial analysis emphasized the lack of expertise in management

among community leaders, the absence of direction by the

donors, and other social factors which at the time seemed most directly related (Dudasik 1974)

Further consideration of the projects, however, led me

to the conclusion that there was a connection between the

post- impact utopia and the lack of success of some of the

PERC projects (Dudasik 1976). The individuals who first 292

visited the communities soon after the earthquake commented

upon the solidarity of the people, upon the enthusiasm for

cooperative action to overcome the tragedy of the diaster.

Donations were given to those communities which manifested

a high degree of unity, and recipients initially worked in

harmony to create cooperatives, to construct roads, to

repair and extend irrigation canals. After a time, many

such joint efforts were abandoned. Community members began

to bicker among themselves and to accuse leaders of mis-

management or worse. Projects which united several commu-

nities were often left unfinished, as was a road connecting

a number of settlements near Huaraz, or contributed to

antagonism among once-united groups.

The factor overlooked by the relief organization was

that the unity characterizing recipient communities was a

consequence of the extreme emergency. The post-impact

utopia, however, is temporary, and once the emergency situa-

tion is ameliorated, the ephemeral utopian period will wane

and disappear. If disaster-related deprivation becomes

chronic or increases, feelings of mutual aid and good will might even be reversed.

Everyone might see the time when cooperation is overwhelmed by the scale of disaster and chicanery becomes the order of the day .... People who helped each other in normal times and through the first stages of disaster display now indifference to each others' plight, if they do not exacer- bate a mutual downfall by guile, haggle, and theft (Sahlins 1972: 214). 293

The principal implications for disaster relief are

clear, and relief agents must be made aware of the temporary nature of the post- impact utopia and plan accordingly. To enter a stricken area and to initiate projects which require continuing cooperation of the recipient social group is to

invite failure. Humanitarian aid may actually contribute to

intra- or intergroup hostilities, and efforts to create programs to benefit disaster victims may have a detrimental

impact once the utopian period disappears.

The solution to the problem requires further general study, and in particular disaster situations each project requires specific study to determine the role of the post- impact utopia. To ignore this important factor may exacer- bate collective stress and compound the primary disaster.

The Secondary Disaster

The primary disaster is defined as the collective stress situation triggered by the impact of a disruptive event, while the secondary disaster is a function of ineffective or counterproductive relief operations. The problem is not limited to developing areas stricken by calamity but arises even in the most affluent of societies. In the

United States, for example, the Congressional Joint Commit- tee on Defense Production recently criticized the federal disaster preparedness system and recommended fundamental reorganization and centralization of the complex bureaucracies which are designed to deal with large scale emergencies

(United States 1977: 15). 294

The principal obstacle to efficient response in affluent nations, it seems, is generally that of coordination, and rarely do other countries become direcly involved in rescue, reconstruction and rehabilitation programs. In developing regions, in contrast, the primary problem attendant upon disaster is the lack of sufficient human and material resources, and the occurrence of natural disaster most often gives rise to multinational relief operations.

Between 1972 and 1976, 75 per cent of the 42 poorest nations of the world were affected by catastrophes great enough to require international assistance (United Nations Associa-

tion 1977) , and the phenomenon of the secondary disaster was even more evident because of the difficulties involved in coordinating the activities of local, national and international organizations in the stricken areas.

The secondary disaster will become ever more problematic in the future, for the number of natural calamities requiring global response seems to be increasing in direct proportion to the vulnerability of the world's population,

particularly in developing regions (Hussein 1976) . The subject of multinational relief and its impact on victim populations has received little attention, although there is growing concern regarding the effectiveness of the response of the world community to natural catastrophe. The

United Nations Association of the United States of America, for example, recently completed an investigation on the topic (1977), and the United Nations itself has created an 295 agency to provide consultation services for nations or regions interested in disaster planning. The problems remain, however, and the situation in north-central Peru is illustrative of the many facets of international humanitarian assistance.

Ignorance . The social sciences are still in their infancy, and the complex sociocultural processes are poorly understood. This is especially true of extreme situations, and lacunae in knowledge have serious implications for disaster relief and planning. Systematic research in this area is not keeping pace with the need for such research, and disaster victims are further victimized by ignorance. Given the increasing frequency and severity of calamity resulting from the growing vulnerability of populations, particularly in the Third World nations, it is of paramount importance that research priorities in all disciplines be realigned to place greater emphasis upon the study of extreme emergencies. Government and private foundations must encourage disaster research by making funds more readily available, a move which will require some alteration in existing funding procedures. The unpredictability of some disaster events and the time required for approval of research grants hinder quick response by many students. On the other hand, monies could be set aside to conduct field investigation in the high-risk areas where the potential for natural calamity is 296 greatest. This data base could provide a foundation for comparative studies and illuminate the disaster process.

A good deal of literature is already available regarding catastrophe, but research already conducted has not significantly reduced the consequences of ignorance. That is to say, what we have learned generally has appeared only in esoteric scholarly publications, and information is not easily available to the personnel who participate in relief activities. There is a trend to resolve this particular problem. Research units, like those at Ohio State University in the United States and at the University of Bradford in

England, have compiled extensive libraries dealing with natural and man-made disasters. Scholarly publications treating all aspects of extreme situations have appeared, and the United Nations Disaster Relief Organization (UNDRO) collects, stores and disseminates information on calamity in the world community.

Increased research and more easily available research results would help to resolve the problem of ignorance surrounding the disaster process, but the solution is not complete. Availability of data does not guarantee that they will be used, and the Peruvian situation illustrates this.

To put it quite bluntly, personnel of relief organizations operating in the impact area were not only very frequently unaware of social and cultural dimensions of disaster, but such variables were just as frequently viewed as irrelevant or, at best, of secondary importance. This can in part be .

297 explained by the fact that social scientists were not generally part of the rescue, reconstruction and rehabilitation efforts, and positions of authority were filled by administrators with little or no background in the social sciences

The Peruvian government did employ some sociologists and anthropologists, but their contributions were limited and their suggestions often not taken into account. Empha- sis during the recovery period was placed upon construction and upon economic development, and models for both were inspired by modern. Western notions of efficiency and cost-analysis. Planners were outsiders, largely unfamiliar with local sociocultural patterns, and the inclusion of social scientists in the bureaucracy seemed to me to be for little more than the sake of appearance. A good deal of research has been conducted in the Callejon de Huaylas by reputable anthropologists, but the anthropologists assigned to the agencies in the impact zone were most often unaware of this data resource. If the social scientists themselves did not know of available publications, I am not surprised that others were unaware of research results.

The troublesome thing in my mind is that no-one seemed to care very much. The ORDEZA library in Huaraz was filled to overflowing with highly technical volumes dealing with such subjects as soils, drainage patterns, plans for roads and other projects, but nowhere could I find copies of even the major works concerning the social and cultural aspects .

298 of life in the Huaylas Valley. My suggestions that these publications might be a valuable addition to ORDEZA or the Huaraz public library were met with courteous agreement, but, at last report, the books and articles were still not available to personnel responsible for development of the disaster-stricken area. Sociocultural phenomena were apparently believed to have little relevance to technical planning

Preparation . The Peruvian highlands are spectacular in their primordial ruggedness, and they are restless in their youth. Giant and still growing, the Andes stand threaten- ingly over the living things which cling to the steep mountainsides. Human populations are largely helpless in the face of tremors, landslides and floods which are either fatalistically accepted as part of routine existence or simply not thought about until lives and property are directly affected. Vulnerable population centers in the highlands are ever more vulnerable as urbanization accelerates.

There, space is at a premium, and the adobe structures are built close together and as high as is structurally feasible. Many streets are more like alleyways, for they are narrow and separate facing buildings by only a few meters.

In the densely populated urban centers, even low-energy disruptions have an impact on human lives greater than once was the case. Despite the inevitability of disaster in this high-risk area, preparation for catastrophe was not a 299

high government priority in the years preceding the 1970

earthquake. I can only surmise from the lack of prior

planning in Peru and in most other nations that natural

calamities were viewed as unique, isolated occurrences

which were unrelated to the more pressing problems of

socioeconomic development. Disasters were (and still are)

viewed as events rather than as processes , and the general

approach to the threat of sudden disruptions in the physi-

cal environment was to wait until such disruptions occurred.

Response to the 1970 earthquake, for example, was not to

the threat but to the actual emergency, and all planning,

preparation, coordination and resource allocation was

attempted after the fact, during the period of extreme

emergency when conditions were most confusing. Given the

resulting chaos, I cannot resist the play on words: the

approach to disaster can be termed a "post hoc fallacy."

Planning and preparation for calamity, however, must be

based upon the realization that disruptive natural phenomena

are not unique, isolated events. The physical environment

of all human populations is undergoing continual modification

to which sociocultural systems must respond appropriately.

In high-risk areas, extreme modifications in the environment

are frequent and will have ever greater social and cultural

consequences because of the increasing vulnerability of

human groups. General programs of development, therefore, must incorporate plans to deal with recurring natural events,

thereby reducing the threat of disaster before such events 300 occur. Allocating human and material resources to improve the standard of living in developing nations will have little benefit if the recipient communities are periodically affected by large scale disaster which disrupts the systems and victimizes the populations.

Because of the complexity of the variables involved, I can offer only the most general of suggestions to counter the "post hoc fallacy" of the secondary disaster. I also know that many of the ideas I present have already been put into effect by national and international organizations, but

I must include them here for the sake of clarity. Where similar plans are proceeding apace, I strongly suggest even greater priority be assigned to the programs.

Governments in high-risk areas must redirect energies and establish centralized organizations at the national level to study and prepare for natural disaster. These agencies must have a research component which would investigate all facets of the disaster process, including the nature of the triggering events, the potential physical impact, and the probable sociocultural consequences. The primary tasks of the centralized organization would be to reduce the threat of calamity either by controlling the triggering event and its physical impact, insofar as this is feasible, and by anticipating the needs of victims before they become victims.

The most effective means of mitigating natural disaster would be to control the environmental variables affecting .

301 populations. Techniques are being developed to release

tectonic pressures slowly before major tremors occur, and

attempts to modify climatic patterns may in the future re-

duce the threat of storms, droughts and other disruptive weather conditions. In flood-prone regions, there are steps which can often be taken to reinforce natural dams, lower water levels, or relocate settlements situated in the path of potential flood waters. The proposed central agency would accumulate data, analyze alternative actions, and

initiate programs designed at least to decrease the destruc-

tive energy of disaster- triggering events.

Calamity, however, is a sociocultural phenomenon and,

given our limited ability to control nature's forces, we must

place greater emphasis upon the social and cultural effects

of disaster. Again, planning must be anticipatory, not

after-the-fact. Development programs must integrate proce-

dures to make communities in high-risk areas less vulnerable

to disaster events and more self-sufficient in meeting

their own needs during extreme emergency. One aspect would

be to encourage modification in settlement patterns and

design of dwellings, particularly in densely populated urban

centers. Although Huaraz has lost its provincial charm, the

now wider streets and earthquake-resistant buildings will

decrease the death toll and property loss in future

earthquakes

Disaster involves more than loss of life and property,

and the central agency must conduct research into other 302 dimensions of the sociocultural system under stress condi-

tions. Given the probability of occurrence of a particular type of triggering event, the organization should determine

the degree of vulnerability of different kinds of community

systems. In the Andean region where major earthquakes occur periodically, what settlements will be most affected? As my own study indicates, rural areas generally suffered less

from the primary disaster while the large urban centers were

devastated. In attempting to anticipate needs, analysis of vulnerability must take into consideration the components most likely to be affected. In Marian, core features were

relatively intact, so that networks of food production and

distribution continued to function and to provide for basic

needs. The most immediate requirement was shelter, not food;

distribution of emergency food supplies therefore constituted

a misallocation of resources.

In Huaraz, on the other hand, the death of so many per-

sons had a profound impact on core components. Given the

interdependence characterizing relational patterns in the

urban system, the breakdown of essential mechanisms led at

once to severe deprivation of the basic requirements of

existence. Primary collective needs were also largely unmet

because of the disruption of the local decision-making

process and the procedures effecting social control. The

central coordinating agency must be aware of such variables,

anticipate them, and take steps to counteract systemic dis-

ruption before a disaster event occurs. 303

National disaster defense organizations must coordinate their activities at all levels within the government. Plan- ning for extreme emergencies must be integrated into the larger plan for socioeconomic development, and the many bureaucracies which would become involved in relief operations should have procedural guidelines for cooperative, comprehensive and holistic response. Once disaster strikes, the central agency must be given the authority to assign priorities within the impact zone and to direct the activities of all participating organizations. Despite its short- comings, CRYRZA/ORDEZA in Peru exemplifies the centralization needed for effective reaction by the larger system at the local level.

Effective response to an emergency situation is defined

in terms of needs-satisf action , and the reduction of collective stress attendant upon disaster-s timulated deprivation entails efficient allocation of human and material resources.

Probable needs can be determined beforehand, and appropriate resources can be identified, located and stored. The procedure would not require great storehouses of food items, tents, medicines, blankets and other goods. Developing countries normally lack surplus materiel which could set idle until disaster strikes. Like in Marian, wealth could be stored in the social network of reciprocity, and victim populations would draw upon resources of a regional or global community of nations when needed. .

304

International reciprocity, however, requires international cooperation, and the various national disaster organizations should join forces and coordinate their efforts. Cooperative action would most easily be accomplished on a regional basis where similar threats confront the individual nations. The countries of western South America, for example, share a common danger: the disruptive activity of the Andes. The entire region is affected by volcanic eruptions, erosion, landslides, avalanches and earthquakes.

Data collected by national organizations could be centralized, and the community of Andean nations could devise effective plans of response to potential calamity. Human and material resources available locally could be identified, located, and diverted to disas ter-striken areas. Initial steps in this direction have already been taken in some regions, but the task is far from complete.

The logical extension of my suggestion is to create a worldwide network of information exchange and resource sharing, with a nexus agency where data regarding disasters can be stored and made readily available. This is the task of UNDRO, and other agencies are involved in similar programs. Again, I recommend magnified efforts to conduct research at all levels, from the international to the local, and to establish a system by which disaster-related data can be stored, retrieved, and applied in the process of preparation 305

Training . Preparation for disaster requires a new per-

spective regarding collective stress situations, discarding

the notion that disruptive natural phenomena are unique and

infrequent. Planning also requires a new approach to de-

ployment of human resources during extreme emergencies.

Because relief operations are often multinational, relief

agents entering an impact zone are probably quite unfamiliar with the terrain and with the population. This is true even

of personnel who are from the same country but who reside

outside the stricken area. In Peru, many persons from Lima

and other metropolitan centers were just as much "foreign-

ers" in the Callejon de Huaylas as were people from other

nations. Urban Peruvians were generally unacquainted with

local sociocultural patterns and faced some of the same

problems of communication with the victim population.

Training of relief agents, therefore, entails more than

the teaching of basic rescue techniques, first aid, or

general characteristics of the impact zone and its people.

They must be well-informed of social and cultural variables which could affect relief operations, and such training can

only be accomplished when more detailed data are collected

in high-risk areas. Some of the processes in Marian des-

cribed in previous chapters have a direct bearing on rescue,

reconstruction and rehabilitation programs (systems of

production and distribution, attitudes towards government,

amoral familism, atomization, the post-impact utopia, and . .

306

so on) . Unless relief agents and planners are aware of such factors, efforts to aid the victims may have negative repercussions

Another facet of training is psychological. Many foreigners who entered north-central Peru had little trouble adjusting to the alien context, while others were disorien- ted by culture shock. Exacerbating the emotional problems of all relief agents were the urgency of the task during the intial emergency, the magnitude of suffering, the discommodious and unsanitary living conditions, and the fear of recurring earthquakes and floods. The depressogenic environment, then, affected not only those persons who lived through the disaster event. Outsiders also became victims of situational factors and suffered what I have termed

"disaster shock." Reactive depression can be manifest in behavior which is personally adaptive (Flach 1974) but which does not positively contribute to relief operations.

Training of agents, therefore, must prepare them for the possible emotional consequences of culture and disaster shock

Planning for potential emergency also requires that individuals within participating agencies be aware of the nature of the sociocultural systems and of specific social and cultural variables applicable to the stricken area.

This applies not only to those who execute programs in the field, but also to those who plan the programs. Persons in positions of authority in the government must be particularly 307 sensitive to the importance of sociocultural variation and to the potential impact of proposed projects to "rehabilitate" the victim population. When I speak of training, then, I do not limit the process of education to the individuals who come into direct contact with the people of a stricken area. I include all personnel at all levels of all organizations which become involved in disaster relief.

Finally, information regarding disasters and response to disasters must be disseminated among potential victims.

Prior knowledge of proper behavior can save lives and property, particularly if the disaster event can be predicted, giving time for preparation and/or evacuation. Widespread panic is not necessarily associated with calamity, and survivors demonstrate behavior which is contextually rational and adaptive. The efficacy of response at the individual level could be increased through general education programs.

The Disaster Boom Economy

I have spoken of the primary disaster and the secondary disaster, but there is yet another catastrophe threatening the Callejon de Huaylas. Anyone who visits the valley, especially if they knew Old Huaraz, will be impressed by the outward signs of prosperity in the departmental capital. I had a vague impression that business was good in 1974 and

1975, but during my trip in December of 1976 my vague impression turned to conviction. Several new stores were open, and on the sidewalks was an array of goods which were 308

rarely seen in predisaster days — and never displayed on

sidewalks. Television sets, stereophonic components, bi-

cycles, blenders, radios, and a hundred and one other

"luxury" items that once only the wealthy could afford were

being sold. Christmas was approaching, but the yuletide

season in Huaraz was not generally a time of gift-giving.

Apparently, the custom was diffusing to the provincial

capital. How else to explain the hectic buying and selling

I observed? I also wondered who would purchase such expen-

sive goods, and why the demand was so great that new stores

had appeared to share the market.

Television came to Huaraz in 1975, and for a time it was a novelty. Crowds would gather in the streets to stare

at sets displayed in windows, televising soccer games,

speeches by government officials, and United States programs

dubbed in Spanish. By the end of 1976 I was taken aback by

the number of television antennae adorning the houses and

even makeshift huts in Huaraz. The sight prompted me to

investigate the unusual business boom, and my conclusions

are not encouraging.

I first assumed that the market for expensive items I

saw on the sidewalks and in the shops comprised the "out-

siders" in the departmental capital. I discounted tourists,

primarily because I believed they would spend most of their wealth on more portable goods such as souvenirs or for

services in hotels and restaurants. I also discounted the

diminishing number of volunteers from other nations who .

309 would conceivably purchase stoves, stereos, and similar items but whose number seemed too small to constitute a profitable market. That left personnel attached to Peruvian agencies

My data are as yet incomplete, but the information I collected indicates that "outsiders" from Lima and other metropolitatn centers could not alone provide the base for an economic boom in the Huaylas Valley. ORDEZA, the largest government agency in the area, had only about 650 permanent or semipermanent employees, many of whom were secretaries and clerks receiving good but not high salaries. While the wages spent by outsiders on the local economy certainly had an impact, that particular source of capital does not seem to explain the impressive rise in the incomes of the businesses I sampled.

To obtain an approximate measure of the dimensions of the disaster boom economy, I examined the books of 34 business establishments of various types in the departmental capital. I summarized the results for the six-year period,

1970 to 1975, in Chapter VII. The sample was not random, and I can make no conclusive statement about the general economy. But the statistics are impressive and support the

informal, subjective analysis of the many shopkeepers with whom I spoke. To give an idea of the strength of correla-

tion for the variables in Figure 13, I transformed the

exponential growth curve to a linear regression model using 310 standard procedures. The Pearson correlation coefficient

(r) falls just short of unity at 0.99.

The statistics, however, do not explain the disaster boom economy, but one tentative explanation apears logical enough to warrant serious consideration. Disaster relief activities in the impact area brought millions of dollars into an area which theretofore had been economically sluggish. The CRYRZA/ORDEZA budget alone for the years 1970 through 1976 totaled more than 200 million dollars, and a good percentage of that total was spent in the Huaraz area.

If the budget of the central relief agency is taken as the independent variable, with mean gross income of the 34 sampled businesses as the dependent variable, the generated correlation coefficient is greater than 0.95. Again, no conclusive statement can be made about the economy as a whole, but the statistics do provide some propositions to be tested in another context to see if the disaster boom economy accompanies multinational relief programs. in developing nations.

It appears that capital brought into the impact zone in north-central Peru stimulated the local economy to a surprising degree. Moreover, wealth was not concentrated in the hands of a few individuals but was distributed among all segments of the population. Between 1971 and 1976, for example, ORDEZA spent about 11.3 million dollars for construction projects in the departmental capital, and much of the money went to pay the salaries of unskilled and 311 semiskilled laborers drawn from surrounding agricultural communities. This in part explains the existence of a market for the many goods displayed on the sidewalks shortly before

Christmas of 1976.

The process is not a simple one, and I must refer again to the model of the sociocultural system which provided me with a theoretical framework during all phases of the research project. Under ideal conditions, with a stable physical and social environment, all domains of a system tend towards congruence, or functional unity. What this means is that patterns of interaction complement one another, and components will function in such a way as to maximize the satisfaction of needs of the individuals who constitute the organic base. Furthermore, individual basic and acquired needs will tend to stabilize at a level which does not greatly exceed energy per capita available to fulfill those needs. The principle contradicts one of the axioms of modern economic theory but derives logically from the needs hypothesis proposed in the second chapter.

If acquired needs increase within a system characterized by a relatively steady state, several alternative solutions are available to reduce the resultant stresses.

These alternatives fall into two categories: decrease the needs, or increase the means to satisfy the needs. The first option is not as uncommon as one might initially believe.

During periods of collective stress, populations often realign priorities and place positive value on abstinence. 312 self-sacrifice, and so on. Many revitalization, millenarian and nativistic movements can be interpreted in such a way as to illustrate this particular solution to deprivation.

The second general solution is to increase energy per capita and thereby to satisfy the additional needs in the system. This requires a change in economic strategies which more than likely will lead to fundamental modifications in the core components of the system. According to Leslie

White's hypothesis, an increase in energy per capita is causally related to complexity of the social unit and its component parts (1949: 368).

The theoretical discussion bears directly upon the situation in the Callejon de Huaylas. Needs, like any other cultural phenomena, may be transmitted from one system to another. The influx of foreign personnel in north-central

Peru had an impact on local goal parameters because many

residents began to admire the lifestyles and possessions of

the urbanites.

The presence of affluent outsiders was not alone suf-

ficient to create a situation of relative deprivation or

rising expectations in the Huaraz area. Exposure does not

necessarily guarantee changes in acquired needs but may lead

to increased resentment of the rich, a more fatalistic atti-

tude, or other psychological defenses against needs which

cannot be fulfilled. Invidious emulation, in other words, may be offset by compensating attitudes and values. But

place exposure to attractive goals together with the means to 313 attain those goals, and acquired needs will probably increase as they did in the Callejon de Huaylas. Subsistence farmers took on construction jobs and earned salaries which they could and did spend on the local economy. Farmers increased their incomes, businesses flourished, and Old Huaraz was renovated, all the result of the sudden increase in capital circulating in the economic system. With such benefits, why do I label the process a disaster boom economy and predict unfavorable repercussions?

The boom economy is artificially stimulated and is based on external wealth which will eventually diminish significantly or disappear entirely. If per capita wealth declines but newly acquired needs do not, then there will be yet another collective stress situation in the area which has suffered almost eight years from the primary and secondary disasters beginning in May of 1970.

The data I collected during my last visit to Huaraz hint at things to come. I have already suggested the possible correlation between the ORDEZA budget and gross income of the businesses I sampled. I have yet to mention, however, that the ORDEZA budget was cut from $83.85 million for the biennium 1973 - 1974 to $62.38 million for 1975 - 1976, a

25 per cent decrease. Business incomes continued to climb in 1975, growing more than 82 per cent over the preceding year, but in 1976 gross incomes increased less than 19 per cent. The data are insufficient to confirm the trend, and I 314 cannot causally relate the decline in both the ORDEZA budget and the receipts of the sampled businesses in Huaraz. I can say that I am not surprised.

The long term impact of the disaster boom economy is difficult to determine at this point in time. The most obvious problem confronting planning agencies is the substitu- tion of external resources for local resources, for disaster funds are not inexhaustible. To maintain the present level of prosperity in the Huaylas Valley, however, seems to me to be an almost impossible task. I cannot comment on potential resources in the area but can surmise that, if they exist in sufficient quantities, profitable exploitation is a long term program. Research into this area is needed now to assist policy makers and to assure that an economic disaster will not add to the misery of the twice-victimized population.

Social scientists must play a more prominent role in the planning process. Transplanting Western theories of economic development may only reinforce existing power structures and patterns of wealth distribution, and the contributions of sociologists and anthropologists may help to counteract that process. Unfortunately, development programs in the past have not been spectacularly successful in the majority of cases, and the impending stress situation in the

Callejon de Huaylas, arising from the disappearance of the boom economy, will affect most severely the poorest segments of the population. 315

Subsistence farmers like the people of Marian will have little recourse. Rising expectations are difficult to quell, and individuals will probably be driven to seek the means to satisfy newly acquired needs. A fatalistic attitude and realignment of values is possible, but more probable is an acceleration of the already problematic process of urbanization. Population will continue to grow in the rural areas, and, in all likelihood, per capita production will continue to decline. Urban centers like Kuaraz, Chimbote, and Lima will unsuccessfully attempt to absorb the migrants. The disaster triggered by the earthquake of May 31, 1970, seems unending. There is catastrophe compounded by calamity: desastre sobre desastre. . .

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Stephen William Dudasik, Jr., was born January 16, 1944, in New Bern, North Carolina. A military dependent, he lived in a number of areas, graduating from Johnson Dependents High

School, Japan, in 1962. Four years later, Dudasik was awarded a B.A. in International Studies by the University of North

Carolina at Chapel Hill, after which he served as a Peace

Corps volunteer in Peru. In 1968, he entered the United

States Air Force but was discharged after two years at the request of the Peace Corps. He returned to Peru in 1971 to participate in disaster relief operations.

In 1972, Dudasik began the graduate program in anthropology at the University of Florida in Gainesville. His studies focused upon sociocultural persistence and change, Andean peasant society, applied anthropology, and disaster situations.

He conducted research in the earthquake zone of north-central

Peru in 1974 at the request of the Peru Earthquake Relief

Committee. Doctoral field research was carried out in 1975 and 1976.

328 I certify that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. n /

Paul L. Dou^h^y , (phairman Professor of Anthropology

I certify that I have read this study and that in my opinion it conforms to acceptable standards of scholarly presentation and is fully adequate, in scope and quality, as a dissertation for the degree of poctor of Philosophy.

Solon T. Kimbhll Graduate Research Professor of Anthropology

UcuJ&4&- Georgeeorg e//J (J Warheit Professor of Sociology and Psychiatry

c^l Maxine L. Margol:irgolis cJ Associate Professor of An thr opo logy

"Anthony flR. Oliver-Smith Associate Professor of Social Sciences and Anthropology This dissertation was submitted to the Graduate Faculty of the Department of Anthropology in the College of Arts and Sciences and to the Graduate Council, and was accepted as partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

June 1978

Harry H. Sisler Dean, Graduate School