Extractive Desires: The Moral Control of Female Sexuality at Colombia’s Gold Mining Frontier

By Roseann Cohen Community Agroecology Network

I had it tough, working in the mines. But when you get there to work and see that it brings money, cash, you cheer up —Amparo, an artisanal gold miner.1 During the 1990s, Amparo mined along the heavily dissected terraces and floodplains of the Nech´ı River basin in Northeastern Antioquia and in the foothills of the San Lucas mountain range along the departmental border with Bol´ıvar. In this essay, I rely on Amparo’s narrative to examine the relationship between extractive accumulation and the moral control of female sexuality at a Colombian gold-mining frontier. Her narrative offers a commentary about life and work at the frontier as experienced by a nonwhite single mother at male-dominated mining camps. Amparo describes how she negotiates access to mines and maintains control over the products of her labor, albeit with limited success. In particular, Amparo’s participation in the gold-mining economy demonstrates how familiar scripts of gendered virtue (i.e., “proper” wife, single mother) and the contrary figure of the sexual deviant (i.e., loose woman, sex worker) play a role in the subject formation of artisanal miners and the ongoing dispossession this labor force experiences.2 I argue that the state’s emphasis on moral deviance among artisanal miners displaces ex- tractive desires onto the bodies of laboring women, creating a resource-rich frontier where the moral control of female sexuality shapes pathways of dispossession and accumulation. Resource extraction is built on dangerous desires—gold fuels capitalist fantasies of lofty profits and economic development. Yet, the promised progress associated with resource rents is tainted by violence and destruction.3 Mercury poisons rivers,

The Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology, Vol. 19, No. 2, pp. 260–279. ISSN 1935-4932, online ISSN 1935-4940. C 2014 by the American Anthropological Association. All rights reserved. DOI: 10.1111/jlca.12098

260 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology excavation destroys topsoil, the state militarizes daily life, and small-time miners, such as Amparo, labor, removing gold from the earth, with regular disruptions to their livelihoods, property, and lives. A lucky strike continues to entice local miners, yet remains out of reach. Profits accrue elsewhere, far away from the grueling labor and violence of extraction, and even further, from dispossessed miners, such as Amparo, who have been cut out of the trade all together. When I met Amparo in 2004 she had been dispossessed of her occupation and belongings and forcibly displaced multiple times before settling in the city of Cartagena. When Amparo reflected on her condition of forced displacement and urban impoverishment, she explained:

in reality, that is why I don’t have money, because we have lost so many things. But who can I tell? For what? So they will pay me? Nobody. Nobody is going to say, Amparo, I will pay you this many thousands and millions of pesos because you lost all of that. It has always been like that. For example, at the Social Solidarity Network,4 I told them that I had been displaced, that I worked in the mines, that there were many massacres, many deaths so I left. That was it. I didn’t say anything else.But,indepth,ifweanalyzedallofthis,well.... Amparo and I became friends over the next two years as she struggled to retain the small plot of land she cultivated at the urban periphery. During this time, I recorded her life history, along with those of other victims of forced displacement, in order to comprehend the shifts in livelihood strategies practiced by peasants as they moved through multiple landscapes and experienced shrinking access to re- sources due to violent dispossession.5 Their memories of the countryside, narrated through their engagement with soil, stone, plants, and animals (nonhuman and human), illuminated their relationship to the landscape as both a site of subject formation and as a point of insertion into larger political economies of resource use. From Amparo’s life history emerged a frontier landscape where women’s sexual morality became entangled with a long history of resource extraction. Margarita Serje (2005) refers to the frontier in Colombia as “el rev´es de la nacion´ ,” that is, the tragedy of a nation invested in a modern project of civilization that falls short at the peripheries. The frontier, more than a place, is an imaginary project about the space inhabited by the Other—Afro-Colombians, indigenous people, mestizo settlers, urban poor (Serje 2005). At the frontier, the state confuses difference with deviance, labor unrest with guerilla warfare, and customary access with illegal activity (Serje 2007; Tsing 2005).6 Such productive confusions have served as an avenue to consolidate projects of state rule and dispossess artisanal miners of their access to land and productive mines since the 1500s. “Deviant” frontier women—nonwhite, mobile, working in a predominantly masculine domain, such

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 261 as Amparo, become part of an extractive infrastructure, their bodies enabling the circulation of money and gold. The Other female body disturbs sacred notions of sexuality and family life based on honor, obedience, monogamy, and hard work (Mosquera Rosero-Labbe´ 2007). As pointed out by Claudia Mosquera Rosero-Labbe´ (2007), women who engage in nonnormative practices of sexuality and family life exhibit a “cul- tural deficit” within the ideals of the white-mestizo nation. They create a need for civilization and become the objects of state reform. Conjugal partnership serves as a focal point for moral conversion, and in turn the socialization of capitalism. At the frontier, the figure of the proper wife—modest, faithful, obedient to her husband, and limited to the domestic sphere—is present, but difficult to attain. Here, “loose” women provide sexual calm and leisurely distraction to an unsettled (i.e., outside of family life and not attached to the land) and potentially violent workforce. For this reason, women are tolerated within male-dominated spheres of the gold-mining economy, but are also subject to elimination, blamed for inducing laziness, disease, jealousy, and insurrection among male workers. Women are punished for acquiescing to sexual pleasure and for not acquiescing to male authority.7 Caught between loose woman and proper wife, as single mothers that took to the mines without male companions, Amparo and her friends challenged and adhered to a repertoire of gendered scripts, in their efforts to access productive mines. Amparo’s narrative does not represent the varied experiences of women ar- tisanal miners throughout Colombia’s gold-mining regions.8 I did not inter- view additional dispossessed miners because my original intention and larger research project was to examine the cultural significance of crops and land to peasants engaged in peri-urban agriculture after forced displacement from the Colombian countryside. However, Amparo’s commentary on the gender- differentiated experiences of work and dispossession at the gold frontier seemed worthwhile to examine further, especially given brazen efforts to intensively expand mining throughout Colombia. In 2010, a newly elected President Santos announced that mining would be one of the primary locomotores (en- gines) of Colombia’s social and economic development. This came on the heels of a threefold increase in foreign investment in mining during the previous decade (Ronderos 2011). In what follows, I use Amparo’s narrative as a guide through history, landscape, and the social world she navigates. I place Amparo’s commentary in dialogue with historical accounts and contemporary examples to examine the historical construction of female sexuality and how it shaped Amparo’s access to mines and her control over the products of her labor.

262 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology The Gritty Allure of a Lucky Strike

Several of my female friends would go to the mines and come back with 800,000 pesos when that was a lot of money. I would see them with nice clothes and everything. Ay, what am I doing here planting cassava, planting plantains? Frustrated, Amparo asked her brother’s ex-wife, Juana, to take her into the mountains. Amparo had recently moved back into her mother’s house after she was severely beaten by her husband. Struggling to support six children on her own, she decided to mine for gold. Juana, a seasoned gold miner, warned her of the difficulties, but Amparo was thrilled at the opportunity. Amparo left her children with her mother. She said,

Mom, I’m leaving. I no longer live with the father of my children. I’m having a hard time supporting my kids. [You don’t know how to mine] I’ll learn, and I left with my female friends. Let’s go, let’s go, and we left. It was a three-day walk in the mountains to Guamoco.´ Amparo’s decision to become a gold miner drew her into the frontier. She traveled along a pathway worn into the mountains and river valleys by a long history of extraction. Guamoco´ was founded in 1611 by Spanish conquistadores and their soldiers, whom forced local indigenous communities, the Guamocoes and Yamacies, on to encomiendas (Arcila Estrada 1994; Uribe de Hincapie´ 2001).9 The earliest gold extraction during the colonial occupation relied on deep-vein tunnel mining carried out by slave labor. However, by the end of the 18th century, the payment of steep contributions to the Spanish Crown, combined with the costs of maintaining a sufficient slave labor force in a remote region, with significant losses due to disease, rebellion, and the payment of soldiers for protection, made deep-vein mining a losing business (Restrepo 1884; Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). Placer mining, or “panning for gold,” emerged as a more cost-effective strategy.10 It required a smaller and more mobile workforce that could easily move between productive mining sites and evade paying contributions (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). With the rise of placer mining, a class of migrants dedicated to gold mining emerged. They worked independently, dispersing the benefits of gold extraction more broadly. Furthermore, by the end of the colonial period the majority of workers were “free persons of color,” who produced more gold than that mined by slave labor. The particularities of placer mining at the frontier fostered unexpected alliances across racial castes and diversified the pathways to wealth reducing barriers in upward social mobility. The mercantile economy that developed through the trade in gold endowed a class of merchants with the power and respect generally reserved for large landowners of European descent (Parsons 1968; Twinam 1982;

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 263 Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998; West1952a). The antioqueno˜ elite that rose to power through gold mining wealth and the struggle for independence, developed a political project based on a strong regional identity that emphasized family, hard work, and domestic morality (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). Racial hierarchies established through the colonial caste system remained an important indicator of status, wealth, and good moral standing. However, the new elite reconfigured racial belonging through what historians Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ (1998) refer to as “la v´ıa incluyente del blanqueado,” or inclusion through whitening. Nonwhites could penetrate elite society through whitening, that is, the acceptance and reproduction of Spanish ideals of racial hierarchy, the accumulation of wealth, adoption of Spanish customs, and purchase of white identity cards and noble titles. Furthermore, whitening among the masses served to integrate independent artisanal miners into mercantile networks that concentrated gold- mining wealth in few hands. Artisanal miners that resisted Spanish norms of family and domestic morality became objects of reform (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). Amparo’s livelihood as a migrant gold miner emerges from this history. Despite the development of modern mining technologies in the late 1800s that enabled more productive deep-vein mining, placer mining has persisted as an alternate strategy, both for large-scale mining companies and independent artisanal miners, such as Amparo. Amparo called herself a barequero (independent artisanal miner) and commanded a repertoire of small-scale mining techniques—panning in waist deep water, diving with a stone tied to her back to gather gold-rich soil from the riverbed, washing excavated soil in a sluice box, and climbing into underground shafts to collect ore for crushing. She learned these techniques from her travel companions and from observing men at the camps where she washed and cooked before becoming a miner.11 Amparo explained the process of sluicing for gold in detail:

Overthereyouworkwithasimplesluicebox.Youtakeawovensack,openit,and fit it to the edges of the box. You buy a piece of light, thin wire mesh and trim it to the size of the sack and box, and lay it on top. Then, you place thin sticks over the mesh so that the weight of the dirt won’t swallow up the sack. Then, place two posts, one here, the other there, and here place a small stick so that the sluice box is slanted.

Then, you examine the land for gold. You make a hole, not too big, not too small, and wash the dirt and observe if that piece has gold. I say, ohh, this is gold, it’s yellow. At two meters, do the same thing again. Observe that it also has gold. Make holes all over the place and observe that all the land has gold. So then, you make a hole in the middle, about a meter deep. If you see that there is no gold beyond

264 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology that meter, you say, no, it’s at the surface. Then you come and take a shovel, and if there is vegetation, you clear it and then pile up the soil. You remove the big rocks by hand and place the soil in the box. Since here there is water, wash the soil, and the gold collects in the sack.

By the afternoon after having washed all that dirt, you carefully remove the sack and wash it very carefully. Then, you place mercury in a pan with the washed sack and you knead it. The mercury grabs the gold and forms it into a ball. The gold won’t get lost because mercury is heavy. It makes the gold white, white. Then, with care, wring the sack to get the mercury out, and then burn it with a flame in a metal spoon and it turns yellow again. Yellow, yellow, and it stays in a ball, and that ball is what you take to the goldsmith. When Juana first showed Amparo how to wash soil with a sluice box, she cried and cried. She had to continually gather water from the river and pour it over the soil with one hand, while the other hand removed the soil from the bottom of the box. It required a certain agility and speed that she could not achieve without resting. Her arm ached. When Amparo tried gathering soil with a shovel to be washed in the sluice box, she struggled with each little scoop. Eventually, with the help of her friends, Amparo conditioned her body for the demanding work of mining for gold. She developed skill and strength, “There wasn’t earth I couldn’t shovel.” In addition, Amparo became a migrant. She arranged care for her children by leaving them at home with her mother. She and her friends gathered supplies and traveled by car, boat and foot, arriving to camps where they set up lodging and claimed an area to mine. They purchased any provisions they needed from overpriced stores on credit, eventually settling their debts with gold. After working for about two or three months, they sold their surplus gold to the store owners or risked traveling with gold back to their hometown for a better price. Amparo would stay at home for about a month. Before leaving again, she made sure her children had everything they needed until her next visit. If the mining had been productive, Amparo would return to the same site. If not, she would go elsewhere. Amparo’s subject formation as migrant labor required her to leave the relative safety of her hometown, or more specifically, the domestic sphere of her mother’s house. She moved further from the idealized notion of the proper wife, becoming a nonwhite mobile body whose perceived morality shaped access to entitlements. Amparo self-identified as mestiza. The majority of inhabitants in her hometown descended from African slaves and mestizo settlers arriving in successive migrations linked to regional gold rushes. Rather than the upward mobility toward whiteness enjoyed by a very limited number of 19th century artisanal miners, Amparo’s story is one of ongoing dispossession. Regardless, gold beckoned and Amparo and her female friends left their hometown for the mountains.

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 265 Moral Checkpoints: Sexuality and Subversion at the Frontier

Amparo’s travels throughout the gold-mining frontier were challenging. The re- gion was militarized, and Amparo regularly encountered military and police check- points along the routes to the mining camps.

If we went over there to work and we behaved irresponsibly, the army wouldn’t let us through because they would hear rumors. There would be problems, fights [and] conflicts in the mines. They [male miners] would kill each other, fight each other with machetes, [and] drink due to jealousy. So when you went to get your permit to work the mines, they [the army] would ask you, “Where do you live? Who is your family? What do you do?” You would fill out all of the requirements. Then, they could keep track of you. When the guerrilla entered, they started killing women who didn’t come to work the mines, but were sex workers. Sex workers would come to the camps and today wake up with one, tomorrow they would wake up with another. Those women, even we wanted them out because they caused conflicts, even with us. Military and police checkpoints served to monitor miners and provide security for mining operations. Beyond proper documentation, Amparo’s description of clearing military checkpoints suggests the use of sexual morality as a criterion for controlling access to mining sites. If women miners were reported to have a dubious reputation in terms of sexual promiscuity, they were barred from the camps. Women, such as Amparo and her friends, were responsible for maintaining a level of civility and productivity among men at the mining camps, similar to the responsibility of the proper wife to her husband and sons. The military and police checkpoints that Amparo crossed reproduced moral frameworks around female sexuality that emerged through historical processes of racialization and church-based notions of familial morality and obligation. The state’s preoccupation with monitoring itinerant and independent miners began with the early spread of placer mining. Historical accounts demonstrate the threat, imagined or real, that migrants posed to the consolidation of state power. In addition to colonial anxieties about contraband and rebellion,12 dur- ing the 19th century migrants were perceived as an obstacle to the continuing development of Antioquia’s mercantile economy. The political elite connected their nation-building project to a moral regime that criminalized migrants and made them the object of reform (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). In 1836, the Concierto de Vagos targeted the newly free population of blacks and Indians, along with others lacking an occupation recognized by the state, in the inter- est of securing a workforce for resource extraction and service provision (Serje 2005). Migrants, especially those with seasonal work rhythms and nonnorma- tive domestic lives, could be classified as vagos, or vagrants, prone to immoral

266 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology activity, such as excessive drinking and sexual promiscuity. Policies to address va- grancy involved settling migrants on farmland. Single men were not eligible to receive title to a parcel of land. The state believed that settled, family life would instill the morality of law-abiding and productive citizens (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). The notion of family that became central to Antioqueno˜ regional identity during the early–19th century, served the interests of Antioquia’s powerful mer- cantile class. The power relations that upheld commercial networks relied on broad networks of family relations. The trade in women’s bodies through marriage, espe- cially those identified as Spanish-descended, sealed alliances between families and controlled the inheritance of wealth and status (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). Hence, a woman’s honor, derived from traditional church-based values re- garding women’s sexual behavior, became crucial to the preservation of the (male) elite’s economic and political project (Lavrin 1989; Meertens 2000). The importance of conjugal relations as a site for political and economic socialization placed a particular burden on women’s bodies. Women bore the responsibility of reproducing a “civilized” family life, serving as the moral compass that guided husbands and sons. While church-sanctioned marriages may have most directly interested the elite class, an investment in whitening, through adherence to patriarchal and heteronormative conjugal relations, shaped access to entitlements for all social classes. Hence, expressions of sexuality that deviated from the moral standard of settled, family life became associated with subversion, justifying violent intervention. For example, during La Violencia, a civil war between the dominant Conserva- tive and Liberal political parties (1946–66), tensions between mining companies, the state, and miners became exacerbated. The “pacification” of labor unrest be- came critical as Antioquia’s Conservative central government sought to regain control over the Northeast, where strong labor unions had deep allegiances to the Liberal party. In response to unrest by Liberal-aligned miners, the Conserva- tive governor sent an administrator to evaluate the potential for revolt. Historian Mary Roldan (2003) draws the following excerpt from a letter written by this administrator in 1949 after an official visit to Northeastern Antioquia.

They are a people accustomed to living without God and without law. Married couples can be counted on the fingers of one’s hand; the rest live in public and scandalous concubinage, since that is common over there [emphasis added]. Due to a lack of respect for the legal oath, crimes remain unpunished, and investigation is difficult because the population is cosmopolitan in many parts. (SGA 1949 in Roldan 2003:152) The administrator’s description of the region’s inhabitants differed sharply from the idealized hard-working, morally upright families that became

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 267 emblematic of the “civilized” (white) colonization of Antioquia’s highlands (Serje 2005). Drawing on the ethnic differences of the mining population, which largely descended from African slaves and mestizo settlers that had migrated from neigh- boring departments (i.e., “cosmopolitan”), the administrator sought to justify discriminatory policies toward the local inhabitants based on a moral regime that differentiated rights-bearing citizens from enemies of the state. The ad- ministrator classified the region’s inhabitants as lacking moral values and na- tional identity, and recommended cleansing the region with the importation of whites, tied to the land, and of Antioqueno˜ values. The National Police, tied to the Conservative party and as the executors of these policies, sought to con- trol Liberal subversives by increasing the repression of miners. They tightly pa- trolled mining camps, limiting the free mobility of miners and restricted oth- ers inhabitants living in the region to enter the camps and access mining sites (Roldan 2003). The administrator’s focus on the lack of households with a properly married couple linked immorality and subversion to uncontrolled sexuality. Amparo’s nar- rative demonstrates the continued focus on sexuality as a focal point of reform and social control. The state, paramilitary, and guerilla all sought to exert authority and maintain civil order by controlling the movements of independent miners in a contested frontier region. This placed Amparo in danger as she moved through the mountains. As a nonwhite migrant and a single woman, Amparo negotiated her subjectivity against the figure of the “loose” woman. Deviant sexuality pro- vided justification for repressive measures—either through elimination or denial of access to productive mines. Sex workers at the frontier experienced this most dramatically. Historically, the state, companies, armed groups, and other pow- erful actors that controlled the trade in gold both tolerated and persecuted sex workers (Laite 2009; Molano 1990; Serje 2005; Vega Cantor and Aguilera Pena˜ 1995). Mining companies and the state tolerated sex workers because with the lack of wives to keep men civilized, settled, and productive, sex workers pro- vided a service that kept miners productive and subdued. Sex workers reproduced the workforce through affective labor, satiating sexual desire without creating the social and financial obligations of family life, which could lead to demands for higher wages and better living conditions. Nevertheless, sex workers experienced persecution for the threats they presented to production and as symbols of moral degradation they were blamed for corrupting the workforce.13 In Amparo’s sto- ries, guerillas and paramilitary eliminated sex workers to maintain order at the camps under their control. Although independent placer miners, unlike wage laborers, largely operated beyond the control of company bosses or the state, po- lice and military checkpoints served to monitor their movements. When female miners crossed a checkpoint, sexual propriety served as a measure for granting passage.

268 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology In order to facilitate their access to mining sites, Amparo and her friends formed a miners’ cooperative that included a large group of single mothers or mujeres cabeza de familia (women head of households).

There were several men that belonged to the directive and worked with us, but there were more women head of households (i.e., single mothers). So, the mayor helped the women head of households more, by for example, letting them work. We would arrive to a place and say, ‘We’re miners’. [Oh, you don’t have the permission of the mayor]. Yes we do. Then, we would show them our permit. [Alright, enter]. They would let us enter to work, because sometimes there would be an army or police checkpoint, and they would say to us, [where are you going?] We’re going to Guamoco.´ [And why are you going to Guamoco?]´ We’re going to work the mine. [And with what permission?] Then, we would show it. It said there, Miners of Antioquia, independent artisanal gold miners (barequeras). Then they would let us work. In a context where women could lose their access to productive mines or even be killed due to sexual promiscuity, Amparo and her friends emphasized their subject position as single mothers in need of the state’s protection. In Amparo’s description, soldiers and police attending checkpoints assumed that she and her friends sought access to mines without permission. However, Amparo and her friends leveraged the familiar script of single mother, in this case with the mayor, to justify their nonnormative work.14 They migrated and worked among men to provide for their children, presumably due to male abandonment rather than personal choice. State actors facilitated access to mines based on this consideration. Their subjectivity as single mothers worked as a strategy to associate themselves with the domestic space that existed, but in town. This played into the efforts of soldiers and police to place Amparo within the more civilized terrain of family life to determine her moral standing. “Where do you live, who is your family, what do you do?” Amparo and her friends’ intention to fulfill a moral obligation to their children tempered their identification as potentially corrupted or subversive women. In the following example, Amparo saves a fellow miner, with whom she had entered into a steady romantic relationship, from paramilitary accusations of subversion. She sways paramilitary judgment by falsely claiming her companion as the father of her children, vouching both for the moral character of the accused (her companion) and his character witness (herself). Indeed, Amparo’s romantic engagement with this particular miner was not dangerous because it emulated a heteronormative conjugal union—it was long-term, they traveled and arrived to camps together. As she negotiated with the paramilitary, this relationship, especially with the added bluff of shared children, enabled Amparo to call upon motherhood and the figure of the proper wife, dependent on a male provider and focused on the

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 269 preservation of the nuclear family. She rushed to bring her children, and pleaded for his release.

I lived over there [established mining town] with a young man. After five months of living with him, when we were returning to our hometown, the paramilitary detained him. I fought and said, no, no! But they were going to keep him. All of the people from our neighborhood came, [this is a good young man, this young man doesn’t mess with anybody.] [The thing is he looks like a guerilla to me, he’s got a guerilla’s face, that’s why he’s going to stay with us.] And we started right then, no, no! But they wouldn’t give him back to me. He wasn’t the father of my children, but to save him from them [paramilitary], I said, he has six children with me and if you take him, who am I left with. I’m left with nothing. [And where are the six kids?] They are home. [Go get them.] All of the people stayed. I grabbed an express boat, and left for my hometown to look for all of my six kids. I put all my kids in a boat and I took them. I arrived and they were going to tie him up, here at his wrists. The kids were already fond of him. As soon as the kids saw him, they started crying. [Fine lady, get out of here, alright, get out of here.]

Establishing Respect: Life at the Mines and Camps

At first my body hurt. Mining for gold is tough. It is heavy work and in the sun all day, in the river and everything, but one becomes accustomed to it. We are animals of habit and our bodies get used to anything. Then, we became accustomed to being with all those men.

Where there are all those men, and there are two or three women, the men help the women a lot. They show concern for them and even help them with the heavier work. When the mine was deep, they would remove the ore for us. They would say, [stay there, we’ll remove the ore from the mine] when they were good-hearted men.

Sometimes there were men that wanted to mess with us, men from another town or department. The men from our hometown that knew us wouldn’t allow it. “Hey, what’s your problem? Don’t bother the women. They aren’t alone here. They are with all of us.” One day one of them said to me, “tell your husband to come after me.” I said to him, “I don’t have a husband, but that’s why I’m here, to defend myself. Mess with me and I will cut your head off.” Over there, they used to say, “those women are small but their anger isn’t.” When I asked Amparo about the challenges of working with “all those men,” she stressed the overall support and kindness she and her friends received from their male counterparts. Men shared information about good-mining sites, ac- companied women along the routes, and helped women carry supplies or raise

270 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology cambuches (temporary shelters). At times, a familial morality emerged among the loose organization of the camp, especially with men who knew Amparo and her friends from town assuming a protective role. These men retrieved ore for them from risky places, defended them against the abuses of others, or warned them to leave a camp unsafe for women, such as the time she and her friends were told not to stay at a camp where there were two rapists on the loose. Other times, men challenged women to climb into shafts and prove they were tough enough to work like men. Regularly traveling and working independent of male companions, Amparo and her friends were more exposed to flirtatious teasing and practical jokes as well as humiliations, destruction of property, and physical violence. When Amparo discussed the challenges of staying safe and ensuring her continued access to productive mines, her stories tended to revolve around male authority and the regulation of female sexuality. In male-dominated camps, establishing what Amparo refers to as “respect,” required the careful management of male–female relations. Amparo explained that women at the camps had to follow “appropriate” female behaviors (i.e., deference, sexual propriety) to elicit male protection rather than abuse. For instance, one young woman behaved “inappropriately” and narrowly escaped sexual assault. She responded rudely to flirtatious comments made by several men at the camp. When she was attacked by a group of men, Amparo and her friends begged another group of men for help. One of these men approached the other group and stopped the attack by falsely claiming her as his wife. Afterwards, Amparo and her friends scolded her for acting like a snob, and counseled her to take men’s flirtatious commentary more graciously. Another of Amparo’s friends was not so lucky.

They had their way with a friend of mine once. She didn’t make them respect her. From the time she got there, she paid attention to all of them. So they all messed with her, even the ones she didn’t like. She was with one, then another, then the other would hit her, and the other. Because if I am a woman, then I have to occupy my place as a woman. I can’t arrive where there are so many men and allow them to disrespect me. This night sleep with one, tomorrow with another. I myself am responsible for the conflict that will form between them, and against me.

In the first example a group of men attack Amparo’s young friend for rejecting their sexual advances in a manner deemed irreverent. She is rescued from the assault when identified by a man as his “wife.” As her “husband,” his authority to discipline and protect his wife is recognized. Meanwhile, in Amparo’s second example, her friend without an established male companion moved “freely” within the public sphere, and was therefore subject to the authority and discipline of men at the camp. Men at the camp treated her as a sexual deviant, subject to coercion and assault, because she indulged in sexual pleasure. She was a regular target of

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 271 violation demonstrating the danger of transgressing moral codes that dictate a woman’s honor. While Amparo and her friends strayed from idealized notions of honorable women, they utilized these oppressive notions to leverage male protection and sup- port, maintain their personal safety and ensure their access to productive mines. Amparo acknowledged women’s sexual desires, but emphasized the necessity of performing gendered virtue. Her approach rested uncomfortably between chal- lenging male authority and reifying notions of sexual deviance that expose women to violence.

We made them respect us. If someone tried to take liberties with us, we stopped him right away. “Tough luck buddy. If you don’t want to help us, then don’t, but don’t come around here anymore. Coming here to disrespect us!” And we were angry about it. We had to be brave because as women we are weak. I was young at that time. There were a lot of nice young men, but I figured, I may like him, but if I sleep with him, he will go and tell someone else, and that person will come and disrespect me. Then, no one will respect you. As a woman, you have to stand up for yourself. You can work with a thousand men, but you have to make them respect you so that none of them will grab you. It is with whom you choose and you make the decision. Not with one whom does as he pleases.

As a migrant, and especially a female migrant “freed” of the domestic sphere, Amparo, like sex workers at the camps, was under no obligation to acquiesce to male domestic or sexual desires. Rather, these were paid services. Amparo never engaged in sex work, but she did wash and cook for men at camps as part of her livelihood strategy, even after she became a miner. While Amparo played a role in reproducing the workforce through domestic tasks (men did as well, as women were in short supply), it was her decision to become a miner that drew her into the gold-mining frontier to explore the possibilities that gold promised. As a mother of six children, without a husband or her own land, she believed that mining offered her the opportunity to bring home real money in a way that farming crops on her mother’s land did not. She spoke of her work as a miner with great pride even while she clearly acknowledged the grueling labor and danger it entailed.

Gold mining was where I came to understand that women weren’t made for only washing dishes and cooking. I’m not a professional. I never had the opportunity to study, to become a professional. But I thought to myself, this is also a profession. I am working, sustaining my children, and why not? I do it with love, with joy. Everything that comes to this life, are challenges sent to us by God, and we have to take them on with joy. Forward is that way. I always said, you can’t hold yourself back. Because a woman has three, four, five kids, she can’t hold back and lock herself up in a house to die of hunger. A woman has to struggle for her kids.

272 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology The autonomy she experienced as a woman that did not abide to the moral confines of the idealized wife (she chose to leave this arrangement) reflects the gritty allure that gold represented for Amparo. In addition to providing for her children, gold mining allowed her to realize some of her potential outside of the domestic sphere. More than anything, she felt that it afforded her autonomy, however compromised, as a single mother in a male-dominated world. Amparo savored the autonomy reflected in her notion of respect. It explains part of her attraction to mining rather than farming at her mother’s house. If necessary, she challenged male authority to defend herself. Amparo pushed one man into a ditch when he tried to take liberties with her. In another story, she and her friends descended on a man with pots and pans who had gone through their belongings and then paraded around the camp drunk in their underwear. “Mess with me and I will cut your head off,” is what she used to tell them, obviously exaggerating the kinds of actions she was willing to take, but the threat was not completely idle. In part, what enabled Amparo and her friends to travel through the mountains and demand respect at the mines and camps was female companionship. Amparo was never alone in her stories, even if female companionship was rarely the focus. Amparo’s friends took her into the mountains, introducing her to a world of danger, adventure, and the potential of a lucky strike. They taught her how to mine and conditioned her body for hard labor. They traveled together and lived together, creating safety in numbers. Amparo and her friends even did business together— forming a miners’ cooperative of mostly single mothers, pooling resources to purchase a motor, and sharing productive tasks at the mines. However, the protection offered through female companionship had its lim- its. The following excerpt demonstrates the perils of challenging male authority. Amparo and her friends’ property were destroyed as punishment for this trans- gression.

It is difficult, but in this life, one has to assume the challenges. Once, they burned down our house with all of our clothes, our stuff. We were eight women living together. A man arrived to the camp that was in love with one of the women named Araceli. We told her, watch out Araceli, because if you get mixed up with him, then the others will want some too. Wait until you get out of here. Then, you can have your romance, but not here. This is our workplace and you need to respect it. Then, they were drinking, and Araceli told him that we were the ones that wouldn’t allow it. He got angry and said, [those witches! I’m going to burn their house] and they did, about four of them, and left. They left us with nothing. The only thing we found was the gold that we had hidden because gold doesn’t burn. They didn’t rob us, because if they had wanted to rob us, they would have taken the gold. It was to do something cruel to us. Oh! So many things happened to us over there.

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 273 The gender-based violence at the camps that Amparo describes challenged women’s ability to protect, not only their bodies, but also their belongings. In- timacy, explicit sexual advances, and flirtatious remarks were delicate matters. Amparo’s views on sexual desire were not so much moralistic as a matter of ma- terial survival. She and her friends tell Araceli, “Wait until you get out of here. Then, you can have your romance, but not here.” Araceli’s sexual desires and in- terests are not their concern. Rather, Araceli’s “uncontrolled” sexuality makes here a dangerous place for all of them. Amparo’s notion of respect captures the double-bind faced by women who work as migrant miners. They must defend their honor from male desire without challenging male authority. Gendered virtue remained associated with the ideal of a modest woman, deferent to male authority, and relegated to the domestic sphere. By these standards, Amparo and her friends’ honor was indefensible. However, at the frontier, Amparo and her friends picked and chose from gendered scripts that functioned in particular ways in the local culture of the mining camps. The kinship patterns operating at the camps created room to maneuver. Arriving to the camps without male companions, they leveraged male protection (when possible) reserved for wives, sisters, and daughters, yet formed households with female companions. In both scenarios sexual propriety remained the measure of a woman’s status.15 Without it, women became whores to both men and women. Amparo and her friends were responsible for controlling their own sexuality as well as that of their male counterparts. They held themselves accountable for any disturbances at the camps that might be related to their presence, as did their fellow miners and armed actors.

Gendered Dimensions of Dispossession

The gold extracted by artisanal miners in Colombia represents a significant amount of wealth, yet the trade in gold is difficult to monitor and tax. Artisanal miners work independently, 70 percent without a mining license (Vicente et al. 2011). Irregular armed groups increasingly tax artisanal miners, or set up their own illegal mining operations, to finance their activities. Gold buyers, responsible for paying taxes on gold to the state, have been linked to criminal organizations (i.e., money laundering schemes). But perhaps the most significant challenge to strengthening Colombia’s extractive economy, artisanal miners occupy land rich in gold. Northeastern Antioquia produces the majority of Colombia’s gold, and Guamoco´ is believed to house one of the largest gold deposits in the country, if not the world. Artisanal miners do not have the technological capacity to increase production. Large mining companies do, as long as the region is “secured” for operation (Ronderos 2011; Vicente et al. 2011).

274 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology If artisanal miners hinder the state’s extractive desires, left-wing guerilla op- position to the state’s extractive development model pose a threat to security that keeps foreign investors weary. The ELN (National Liberation Army) entered the region in the 1970s to support artisanal miners that organized to defend their access to productive mining sites. The ELN continues to target mining companies by kid- napping company personnel and destroying mining infrastructure (dredges, radio towers, etc.). However, in the late 1990s, the consolidation of paramilitary forces, often in collusion with the military and mining companies, signified an escalation in the struggle to control the trade in gold and the labor force that enabled it. While the state lent its military forces to secure mining operations, the paramilitary (the United Self-Defense Forces of Colombia [AUC]) focused on securing the mining population. Counterinsurgency efforts overlapped with economic interests and a reign of terror enveloped the civilian population (Uribe de Hincapie´ 2001). During this time, Amparo’s stories become clouded with arbitrary violence, unsettling encounters with armed actors of unknown affiliation, and acts of terror that led miners to flee.16 Armed groups blocked access to mines, friends disap- peared along the trails, and robbery became commonplace. Some of the violence specifically targeted women, such as threats of rape to silence women or Amparo’s gruesome memory of discovering a women’s body staked through her reproduc- tive organs along a mining trail. After a journey into the mountains, Amparo returned home empty-handed and scared. “Things got bad, bad, bad. We became scared to work just women alone. We wanted to be where there were men nearby so they would accompany us.” Amparo’s life as an artisanal miner ends with a series of permanent displacements from mining camps and established mining towns, until she was confined to her hometown. “So I began to suffer and suffer at home. Again, planting that bad crop, and I said, ‘ahhh, I’m leaving. This gets worse everyday.’” Amparo fled at the beginning of the paramilitary onslaught. From 1997 to 2009, 36,000 people were forcibly displaced from the region (Vicente et al. 2011). Her departure foreshadowed the coming gold rush in Guamoco´, stoked by an increase in global gold prices and improved security in the region. The state has instituted a more rigorous process for awarding concessions that has resulted in a record number of concessions for multinational companies while largely excluding small- scale artisanal miners from legalizing their customary operations (Lopez-Gamundi 2011). Multinational mining companies have obtained or requested concessions to 90 percent of Guamoco’s´ territory (Vicente et al. 2011). Furthermore, the state’s effort to persecute illegal operations taxed or financed by illegal armed groups disproportionately affects artisanal miners while ignoring evidence of potential collusions between multinationals and paramilitaries. The state’s preoccupation with normalizing the informal sector has left small-scale artisanal miners fearing the slippage between informality and illegality (Lopez-Gamundi 2011; Vicente et

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 275 al. 2011). Guamoco´ continues to exist as a frontier where the state functions through militarization, extraction is more akin to pillaging, and artisanal miners become the objects of reform and destruction. Amparo’s narrative provides a commentary on life, work, and dispossession under such conditions. Her stories reveal how female sexuality is a means of coercion for exerting control within a resource enclave, with sexual impropriety punishable by death. Control operates through the logic of social cleansing, or limpieza social,whereby armed actors eliminate “undesirable,” or morally wanting, elements of society. Moral judgment produces “others” with no right to live. In Amparo’s experi- ence, the state did not hold a monopoly on the right to kill. The guerilla and paramilitary, along with the state and its military, manipulate embedded pa- triarchal patterns of social relations to establish their authority (Estrada et al. 2003). Overlapping and opposing projects of rule compete, unleashing necropo- litical regimes (Mbembe 2003) where arbitrary and grotesque violence inscribes miners’ bodies, in gendered ways, with the overwhelming possibilities of death and displacement. The sexual deviant threatens projects of rule because she negates women’s historical responsibility to civilize, potentially subversive, men. Her presence, whether real or fiction, turns frontier populations into enemies whose elimination (or threatened elimination) enables control over resources and labor. Amparo’s survival within the gold economy required that she conform to famil- iar scripts of gendered virtue. For women miners, such as Amparo, the expression of their sexuality, or who they did or did not have sex with or how they did or did not show deference, determined their experience in the workforce. Sexual propri- ety served as the measure of a woman’s character. Amparo understood the delicate balance between demanding respect—crucial for her safety—and inciting violence for challenging male authority. Amparo creatively manipulated patriarchal social formations through the performance of motherhood and forged a compromised autonomy through female companionship based in relations of reciprocity and protection. Both facilitated her access to mines and offered some protection from violence. Furthermore, Amparo and other women miners, played a crucial role in the gold economy. They reproduced the labor force through domestic and affective labor, extracted gold from soil and stone, and made possible state intervention as suspect subjects at the frontier. Regardless, Amparo’s incorporation into the gold economy was short-lived and with little return. Terror destroyed established pathways to accumulation. Artisanal miners expe- rience violence and displacement,17 losing their access to the means of production and increasingly finding themselves as redundant labor. Female sexuality becomes a focal point of terror, mapping deviance onto miners’ bodies and opening new pathways for accumulation. This serves the state’s interest in increased extraction through the capture of (newly) unoccupied gold-rich land. David Harvey (2003)

276 J ournal of L atin A merican and C aribbean A nthropology proposes the notion of “accumulation by dispossession” to explain the neoliberal expansion of capitalism through the destruction of capitalist modes of production for the later reincorporation of freed resources and labor. However, reincorpora- tion remains an open question. I visited Amparo in 2011. She was no longer farming in Cartagena, displaced from the land she had cultivated a few years earlier. She managed to purchase a freezer with the help of a victims’ organization, and now sells popsicles and other frozen goods from her house, in one of Cartagena’s most marginalized neighborhoods. Meanwhile, the price of gold is higher than ever, and the industry is booming.

Notes

1Names have been changed. 2Patricia Zavella’s (2003) analysis of two women’s personal narratives demonstrate how women contest male dominance to develop their own sexual subjectivity despite the cultural figures of virgin and whore that shape “structures of gender, of sexuality and of racialized bodies in Mexican culture.” Likewise, Lara Putnam’s (2002) historical account of migrant workers in Costa Rica’s banana plantation enclave demonstrates that local notions of racial superiority, gendered virtue, and moral duty borrowed from familiar scripts, yet migrant workers imbued these categories with meaning beyond the control of the company, plantation owner, or the state. 3See report produced by Peace Brigades International (Vicente et al. 2011) about the public health risks, environmental destruction, and wartime violence associated with mining in Colombia. 4The Social Solidarity Network or Red de Solidaridad Social is the government office for reporting displacement. It is currently called the Department for Social Prosperity or Departamento para la Prosperidad Social. 5The excerpts included throughout this essay were taken from two oral history interviews with Amparo. They are supplemented by additional stories shared during regular conversation. 6The criminalization of miners in Colombia rests upon historical associations that link inhabitants of the periphery to subversion—first, in colonial anxieties about rebellion and contraband, and more recently, in the origins stories of the country’s guerilla groups, especially the FARC (Serje 2007). 7Both Donny Meertens and Janet Townsend (1993) have explored the gendered experience of frontier life in Colombia. Meertens found that settler women in the Guaviare had the opportunity to challenge narrow notions of womanhood due to the survival needs of frontier families, allowing women more autonomy and power within the household than in town life. Meanwhile, Townsend found that settler women in the Serran´ıa de San Lucas became more deeply isolated within the private sphere at the frontier. While neither of these studies focused on the kind of violence frontier women face, research regarding gendered violence and the armed conflict demonstrate how female sexuality becomes a focal point for grotesque mutilations, punishment, and social control (see Estrada et al. 2003; Meertens 2000). 8For a contemporary analysis of artisanal miners along Colombia’s Pacific Coast, see Michael Taussig (2004). 9Prior to the arrival of the Spanish, the Guamacoe () Indians excavated gold in their territory (Arcila Estrada 1994). 10Placer mining takes place at or near the surface of the earth in alluvial deposits. It takes advantage of the gold released from ore by the wearing action of a flowing river, bypassing the labor-intensive

Moral Control of Female Sexuality 277 steps of excavating tunnels, and crushing ore. Gold is either gathered directly from a flowing river, or mined slightly below the surface by digging shallow pits in the floodplains or gravel terraces rising up from the river valleys (West 1952b). 11Historically, women have worked as gold miners alongside men throughout northeastern An- tioqu´ıa, especially in established mining towns. Men tend to work in tunnels and shafts; women tend to focus on panning, sluicing, and processing ore extracted from tunnels and shafts (West 1952b). This gendered division of labor, established during the colonial period, persists today. In addition to mining, women work as washers, cooks, sex workers, farmers, and shopkeepers. It was Amparo’s work as a migrant gold miner that brought her to male-dominated mining camps, long distances from home in the company of other single mothers. 12The Spanish Crown referred to placer mining as miner´ıa invasora (invasion mining) because miners often panned for gold on private land without a concession, and could easily evade paying contributions (Uribe de Hincapieand´ Alvarez´ 1998). 13Decreases in worker productivity were associated with absenteeism after nights of fighting, drinking, and sex, and due to high incidences of venereal disease (Molano 1990; Vega Cantor and Aguilera Pena˜ 1995). For further discussion regarding the persecution of sex workers in resource enclaves, as well as their participation in radical politics, see Vega Cantor and Aguilera Pena˜ (1995). 14Diana Taylor (1997) analyzes motherhood as performed by the Madres de la Plaza de Mayo for making political claims. She calls motherhood a “bad script” that does not challenge patriarchy, but requires that the Madres play the role of passive and ignorant victims. Despite its limitations, the Madres find some protection from retribution in their subject position as mothers and empower themselves and other women in the Argentinean society. 15For an excellent account of the gender and kinship relations that emerge among migrant workers in a resource enclave, see Lara Putnam (2002). 16Ulrich Oslender (2008) uses the term “geographies of terror” to examine the spatial manifes- tation of terror on local populations experiencing wartime violence. He describes the destruction of territorialized social relations, restrictions on mobility and spatial practices, and the resignification of “homeplace” into a landscape of fear through traumatic experiences of terror. Amparo’s narra- tive suggests that she experienced a “geography of terror” as the armed conflict intensified. However, her narrative also illuminates the continuities in gender violence that she experienced in relation to resource extraction, regardless of the intensification of armed conflict. Survival in the midst of vio- lence, as discussed by Santiago Arboleda (2004) in the case of displaced Afro-Colombians, depended on reciprocity and solidarity. For additional research on the survival strategies of communities that are displaced and racialized through wartime violence in Colombia, see Arboleda (2007) and Arocha (1998). 17For research on the survival strategies of communities that are displaced and racialized through wartime violence in Colombia, see Arboleda (2004, 2007) and Arocha (1998).

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