THE HISTORICAL CREATION OF IDENTITIES IN PUERTO RICO
By
CARMEN ALONDRA LAGUER DÍAZ
A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA
2014
© 2014 Carmen Alondra Laguer Díaz
a todas las manos que hoy trabajan, porque ellas construyen y saldrá de ellas la nueva patria liberada
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I should start from the beginning. I thank my parents, Alma and Juan, for supporting me and cheering me on. To my sisters and brother, Yasmin, Juan and Alma, for letting me get away with most things. To my nieces and nephews: Juan, Edwin,
Amariliz, Araceliz, Sofía, and Miriam Isabel. They are the light of my eyes. To Paul: my anchor throughout this ordeal and the reminder that it is okay for shop talk to stay in the shop.
This work would not have been possible without the hard work and support of many colleagues. To start, my advisor, Bill Keegan has always been a sounding board for any crazy idea I come up with. He has been there when I need to rail it in, but also been there to remind me when I should put all of myself out there. To Susan deFrance, chair of the Department of Anthropology, she is a constant and stable source of calmness. To James Davidson who is always critical and always encouraging. To Efrain
Barradas who always knew what to say and reminded me that something personal is still something viable.
This project would have been next to impossible without the help of the archaeologist Juan Rivera and Laura del Olmo from the Instituto de Cultura
Puertorriqueña. I deeply appreciate all the help provided and admire all the work they do for Borinquen.
I would not be in this position, at all, if I had not received support from L. Antonio
Curet and Edwin Crespo. Edwin always had an ear for me during my undergraduate years. Antonio took the risk in accepting me as a volunteer and mentored me through my early career. I thank you both for your guidance and trust.
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Thanks to Will Pestle, Josh Torres, Geoff Duchemin and Reniel Rodríguez
Ramos. They were role models (good ones!) to me, showing me the fun side of research and the importance of cooperation (not competition!) in the field. I thank Lisa
Stringer for being so obsessed with making things right. It has rubbed off on me, and has made my life a lot easier. I greatly appreciate Lala Lisa and Angel’s willingness to follow me through the montes, going up roads we probably should have never gone through, and being by my side in our standoff with cattle. There are many others who I have had the opportunity to work with and I thank them all: Ricardo, Eduardo, Mayra,
Natalia, Lina, Omar, Ernie, Mariela, Joe, and so many others.
Special thanks to the office staff in the Anthropology office: Karen, Pat, Pam, and
Nita. These ladies have made graduate school easier to bear. My thanks also go to
Peter Collings and Allan Burns who treated me as one of their own. They always made sure I felt appreciated and challenged me to make sure I did my best. Many of my thanks go to the staff at the Florida Museum of Natural History, especially Gifford
Waters for putting up with my barrage of questions.
Many thanks go to Michael Dion, Sylvia Chappell, and Rhoda Bharath. They are wonderful women! Their hard work in and out of the field is something to emulate. I deeply appreciate my time spent with them and hope to work with them again soon.
These years in graduate school would have been a lot harder without those who reminded me to get out and have fun: I cannot thank them enough. Michael, someone I strive to imitate: his perseverance, constancy and humor are a thing to behold!
Meghann, who reminded me to take a breather and gave me two important gifts: my dog, Boston, and my cat, Chicago. Emily and Tatiana: two very strong, willful and
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independent women. We have parted ways but I hope to continue cultivating my friendship with them. I deeply thank Ellen for the wine, cookies, and ice cream!
Finally, I thank my cohort in the Department (and those associated): Gypsy,
Randy, Anna, Joost, Zack, Val, Noelle, Meredith, Jon Simon, Alison, Joe, Eric, Tatiana,
Ryan, Caitlin, Melissa, and so many others. I assure you, you are all in my thoughts.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
page
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS...... 4
LIST OF TABLES...... 9
LIST OF FIGURES ...... 10
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS ...... 12
ABSTRACT...... 13
CHAPTER
1 INTRODUCTION ...... 15
2 THEORETICAL CONSIDERATIONS...... 19
The Psychology of Social Identity ...... 20 Memories of a Frontierless Community ...... 24 Transculturation as a Process ...... 29 Politics of Archaeology and Identities ...... 32 Summary ...... 35
3 PUERTO RICO ...... 37
The Beginning ...... 37 The European Arrival ...... 38 San Juan Bautista ...... 40 First stage – Discovery of New Identities ...... 41 Second Stage – Insular and Peninsular ...... 44 Third stage – A 20th Century Colony ...... 49 Fourth Stage – Triad of Races: Taíno+Spanish+African = Puerto Rican?...... 50 United Confederation of Taíno Peoples (UCTP) ...... 56 Jatibonuco ...... 57 Taíno Turabo Aymaco Tribe of Borikén (Turabo Aymaco) ...... 57 Contemporary Issues: Racial Schizophrenia ...... 59 Discussion ...... 62
4 RESEARCH SITES ...... 63
Early Colonial Assemblage: Casa Blanca ...... 63 19th Century Assemblage: PARA ...... 68 Field 24 ...... 72 Field 48 ...... 73 Field 60 ...... 74
7
Field 61 ...... 75 19th Century Assemblage: TASP ...... 76 SU-1 ...... 80 SU-3 ...... 80 SU-4 ...... 82 SU-8 ...... 83 Summary ...... 85
5 RESEARCH METHODS ...... 86
Comparative Collections ...... 86 Ceramic Assemblages ...... 88 Dating ...... 88 Ceramic Classification ...... 89 Early Colonial Period ...... 94 19th Century Material ...... 97 Summary ...... 100
6 DATA AND ANALYSIS: FIRST STAGE OF IDENTITY ...... 101
Casa Blanca ...... 101 Ceramics ...... 103 Faunal Remains ...... 107 Discussion ...... 113
7 DATA AND ANALYSIS: SECOND STAGE OF IDENTITY ...... 117
TASP and PARA ...... 117 Discussion ...... 124
8 THE CREATION OF IDENTITIES ...... 127
Concluding Remarks ...... 127 Future Research ...... 136
BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 138
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ...... 156
8
LIST OF TABLES
Table page
6-1 Distribution of archaeological material in the Jardín Interior...... 102
6-2 Distribution of Ceramics and Fauna by FS associated with Phase A...... 102
6-3 Distribution of Ceramics and Fauna by FS associated with Phase B...... 102
6-4 Distribution of Ceramics and Fauna by FS associated with Phase C...... 103
6-5 Frequency of Majolicas during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca ...... 104
6-6 Frequency of European Tablewares during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca ...... 104
6-7 Frequency of Hispanic Tablewares during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca...... 105
6-8 Frequency of Utilitarian Wares during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca...... 105
6-9 NISP comparison between Puerto Real and En Bas Saline ...... 108
6-10 Frequency Variation by taxa of Fauna through Phase A, B and C ...... 109
6-11 Changes in the Use of Native versus Non-native Fauna in Casa Blanca...... 111
6-12 Changes in the Use of Native Versus Non-native Fauna in Puerto Real...... 111
6-13 Frequency of fauna by procurement through time in Casa Blanca...... 112
6-14 Frequency of fauna by procurement through time in Puerto Real...... 112
7-1 Mean Ceramic Dates (MCD) per 19th century area...... 117
7-2 Frequency of Tablewares in PARA and TASP...... 122
7-3 Frequency of Utilitarian Wares in PARA and TASP...... 122
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LIST OF FIGURES
Figure page
3-1 The official logo of the ICP...... 52
4-1 Map of Puerto Rico with general research areas marked. A) IACBE in Old San Juan; B) PARA in Añasco; C) TASP in Ponce...... 63
4-2 San Juan, 1575. By Juan Escalante de Mendoza ...... 64
4-3 Northern facade of Casa Blanca, 1971-74. A) During the remodel B) after it was finished ...... 65
4-4 Construction Phases Diagram of Casa Blanca ...... 67
4-5 Survey area boundaries of PARA ...... 71
4-6 Shovel test pit locations and boundaries of F24 focusing on the location of 19th century surface scatter ...... 72
4-7 Location of both components in F24. Left concentration is isolated 16th century material; to the right 9th century material...... 73
4-8 Location of STPs in F48. Map from Field Season 2014 ...... 74
4-9 Location of STPs in F60. Map from Field Season 2014 ...... 75
4-10 Location of STPs in F61 Map from Field Season 2014 ...... 76
4-11 TASP survey area ...... 79
4-12 Location of test units and sites in SU-1...... 81
4-13 Test unit location and site boundaries of SU-3 ...... 82
4-14 Test unit locations and site boundaries for SU-4 ...... 83
4-15 Aerial photo and test unit locations of SU-8 ...... 84
5-1 MCD Formula. Y = MCD; Xi = median date of manufacture of each ceramic type; fi = frequency of each ceramic type (in fragments); and n = number of fragments in the sample...... 89
5-2 Criolla type with red slip...... 91
5-3 Examples of Unglazed Coarse Earthenware with evidence of exposure to heat ...... 91
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5-4 Examples of Inlaid with majolica and quartz incrustations ...... 92
5-5 Ming Blue on White examples from Interior Garden ...... 92
5-6 Handle with crosses on dorsal portion of handle (left) and punctuated lines around the side and on the ventral portion of handle (right) from SU-3...... 93
5-7 Ceramic Bead from Field 60...... 94
5-8 Location of Puerto Real in Haiti ...... 95
5-9 Examples of Refined Earthenwares in PARA and TASP assemblages. A) From STP in F60. B) From STP in SU-8 ...... 99
6-1 Comparison of Utilitarian wares of local versus non-local manufacture...... 106
7-1 Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of a SU3 (MCD: 1777) in TASP. 118
7-2 Ceramic distribution by ceramic type in SU3 in TASP ...... 119
7-3 Ceramic distribution by paste type of 19th century areas in TASP and PARA (sans F24 Unit 1)...... 119
7-4 Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of 19th century areas in PARA. (sans Unit 1)...... 120
7-5 Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of 19th century areas in TASP. .. 121
7-6 Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of Field 24 Unit 1, Field 60 and Field 61...... 123
7-7 Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of Field 24 Unit 1, SU-1, SU-4 and SU-8...... 124
7-8 Porcelain examples from SU-8...... 126
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LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
Consejo Consejo Arqueológico de Arqueología Terrestre
IACBE Investigaciones Arqueológicas en Casa Blanca y sus Entornos
ICP Instituto de Cultura Puertorriqueña
MCD Mean Ceramic Dates
PARA Proyecto Arqueológico regional de Añasco
PR Puerto Rico
STP Shovel Test Pit
TASP Tibes Archaeological Survey Project
US United States
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Abstract of Dissertation Presented to the Graduate School of the University of Florida in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy
THE HISTORICAL CREATION OF IDENTITIES IN PUERTO RICO
By
Carmen Alondra Laguer Díaz
December 2014
Chair: William F. Keegan Major: Anthropology
Identity and its attached discourse in the Caribbean have been of great importance in the arts, especially literature and music, sociological research, and life in general. Unfortunately, anthropological perspectives on how these discourses originated, developed and circulated have been considerably ignored in the Hispanic
Caribbean. With theoretical tools such as identity theory and transculturation, this dissertation focuses on a collection-based research on sites that are characterized by the interaction of identities. In addition, this research will include sites in Puerto Rico that have not been analyzed through question-oriented research related to identity for the Spanish colonial period. Periods that are punctuated by interaction of identities, like those of culture contact, are of great importance because in these situations social groups are required to (re)create and (re)develop themselves. By interpreting the material assemblages, this research aims to understand how a self-perceived identity can articulate with its material representation and larger scale historical processes.
The research is broken down in to a main portion of study, focusing on the early colonial period, and followed by the contextualization of 19th century assemblages within the topic of transculturation. I compare the early colonial period assemblage from Casa
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Blanca, residence of the Ponce de León family, to what is seen in an elite area of
Puerto Real in Haiti. The different patterns observed between the two could be explained by understanding the different ways in which those in power (Spain) and those without (criollos) interacted.
Following this period, I look at the differences in the patterns found between the archaeological collections from the South of Puerto Rico and the assemblage from the
West of Puerto Rico. The differences in material were best explained by their region and economic activity, and not by powerful versus powerless.
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CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION
The island of Puerto Rico has a long history spanning multiple millennia. The rich history of the island has influenced self-perceived notions of what it means to belong to
Puerto Rico, and what it means to be an outsider.
The research presented here is collection-based, focusing on sites that are characterized by cultural contact and power structures, either archaeologically or in the historical documents. It includes sites in Puerto Rico that have not been analyzed using an identity framework for the Spanish colonial period, as well as sites, not from Puerto
Rico, that have been thoroughly studied using the theoretical frameworks of transculturation and ethnogenesis (Ewen 1987, 1991; Pestle 2014; Rivera Fontán et al.
2011; Rivera Groennou et al. 2011, 2014; Torres 2008) . Periods of culture contact and power struggle are of great importance because they require an organization in which social groups (re)create and (re)develop themselves. By interpreting cultural material such as ceramics and foodways, archaeologists can understand how a self-perceived identity articulates with its material representation following structured spatial and social organizations. Due to the comparative nature of this research and the varied research focus of the sites selected, the study of identity will be restricted to ceramics, although consideration will be given to foodways as allowed.
The research presented here uses the theoretical tools of transculturation and identity theory to compare sites that are embedded in the (trans)formation of identities.
The collections belong to periods that were punctuated by the interaction of identities because they provide the perfect setting for social groups to (re)create themselves. By interpreting the material assemblages, this research aims to understand how a self-
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perceived identity articulates with its material representation and larger scale historical processes.
To tackle these issues the research is divided into a main portion of study focusing on the early colonial period, represented by the assemblage from Casa
Blanca, and followed by the contextualization of the 19th century assemblages from archaeological surveys done in the municipalities of Añasco (PARA) and Ponce (TASP).
The early colonial period assemblage from Casa Blanca represents an elite class (the
Ponce de León family) and it is compared to the assemblage found in an elite area of
Puerto Real in Haiti. Different patterns were observed between the two, suggesting variable interactions between those in power (Spain) and those without
(criollos).Subsequently, the assemblages of PARA and TASP were compared to observe any patterns from the 19th century. The differences found are better explained in terms of geographical and economic differences, rather than changes through time.
Additional attention was paid to the available documentation of the 19th century period. The period is one that is known for the process of nation –building across Latin
America that resulted in the independence movements of said century (Graham 1972).
Although the movement did not result in an independent state in Puerto Rico, an influence of this process carried on to the 20th century with varying degrees of success.
In this period social memory serves an integral role in the formation and expression of the identities at play: from the nostalgic ideas of the Spanish colonial past, to the
(re)invention of Taínoness and blackness, to the (re)imagined communities of Puerto
Ricans in the US.
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Chapter 2 of this dissertation focuses on the theoretical approaches taken when studying the assemblage. A discussion of transculturation and social identity, as well as the consideration of social memory and nation-building, and archaeological politics, are presented here.
Chapter 3 provides the historical framework of the region of study, namely Puerto
Rico. Not only is the history presented, but a discussion of different stages of identity formation recognized in sociological research and literature is discussed. The first two stages of identity formation are the main focus of this study.
Chapter 4 gives a list of the sites that were studied alongside pertinent background information. The chapter is divided in three sections: early colonial assemblages, the PARA 19th century assemblage, and the TASP 19th century assemblage. Methods of recovery and other pertinent material (such as maps) are presented in this chapter.
Chapter 5 covers the methods used in this research to understand transculturation and identity formation. The chapter is divided into two sections: the first section covers the methods used for the early colonial period, and the second section covers the adaptations needed to understand the 19th century material.
Chapter 6 and Chapter 7 discuss the data found in the early colonial and 19th century period, respectively. For both chapters, a discussion of the patterns found is presented alongside appropriate tables and figures that better illustrate them. In each chapter, an additional section contextualizes the patterns and aims to better explain the patterns observed.
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Chapter 8 provides a quick summary of the information presented here and concluding remarks regarding the research. The research presented here demonstrates the usefulness of using tools like social identity theory within the framework of transculturation. There are regional and temporal changes in the use of ceramics in both periods covered, and changes in the consumption of fauna in the early period.
Such changes are explained by the required changes in cultural patterns as observed in other contact sites like Puerto Real. In addition, the nature of the changes can be explained by comparing the interaction between those in power (Spain) and those without (Puerto Rico). Finally, new lines of investigation are presented in this chapter to expand on the use of these tools.
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CHAPTER 2 THEORETICAL CONSIDERATIONS
Identity has been an integral topic of discussion in the Caribbean. There has been a variety of perspectives on the subject from the arts, especially literature and music, and sociological research (Belaval 1935; Blanco 1973; Borrero 2001; Duany
1998; González 1980; Pedreira 1946; Sued Badillo and López Cantos 1998; Torres
1995) To understand how discourses of identity originated, developed and circulated, archaeologists and anthropologists have used the approaches of practice, socioscapes, acculturation, ethnogenesis and transculturation in the Caribbean
(Deagan 1998; Ewen 1991; Martí Carvajal 1994; Ortiz 1973; Wilkie and Farnsworth
2005). For this research, in addition to these tools I will use social identity theory, used in psychology, as a complement to transculturation as proposed by Ortiz (1973).
A substantial number of investigators have demonstrated that archaeological research and the data it generates is absolutely crucial for understanding the development and creation of identities in the Caribbean, also described in terms of ethnogenesis and transculturation (e.g., Deagan 1998; Ewen 1987, 1991). Studies of cultural change and continuity have fueled the debate of identity and its articulation with
Caribbean cultures. The frequent use of this concept across various social sciences not only shows its importance but also hinders it conceptually. Conceptually, identity has been based on a social group or culture; the role or expectation tied to a social position and to a “self” proclaimed identity (Burke and Stets 2009).
This chapter fleshes out each theoretical approach used in this research, as well as other theoretical considerations, such as the politics of archaeology in a region such
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as the Caribbean. At the end of the chapter a summary will present how each theoretical approach will articulate with the others in the interpretation of this study.
The Psychology of Social Identity
To understand identity, at the microlevel and the macrolevel (potentially a national identity), we must define it. Social identity theory defines an identity as a notion of self. It assumes that there are several levels of “self” that will trigger an individual to behave as a member of a collective at the individual, family, communal and/or national levels (Ashforth and Mael 1989; Brown et al. 1986; Burke and Stets 2009; Cameron
2004; Kaplan 1999; Kaplan and Herb 1999; Stryker 1980; Tajfel and Turner 1979;
Turner 1989). The different levels of “self” for each individual correspond to an association with group membership, meaning a social identity. In accordance to the group association an individual is faced to, an identity is more salient than others. The salient identity is the first factor of Cameron’s model of identity referred to as “centrality”
(2004). Centrality acknowledges the multiple levels of identity and recognizes that in different moments one of those levels is more salient than the other levels, as previously mentioned. For example, the identity a person has regarding their gender might not be central to their notion of self when they are face-to-face with an ethnic identity different to their own, whereas it would become the focal point when they face a differing gender identity.
There are two strands of related research: one emphasizes external structures and intergroup relations; the other focuses on internal processes, such as the individual’s cognition ( Ashforth and Mael 1989; Becker and Tausch 2014; Brown et al.
1986; Burke and Stets 2009; Kaplan 1999; Kaplan and Herb 1999; Sheldon Stryker and
Burke 2000). Social structures that are in place will provide negative and positive
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feedback according to the position of the group in society. Individuals and groups that receive negative feedback must then act to get positive feedback. The feedback provided can be within or between groups, but it will always inform the “ingroup affect”
(Cameron 2004). The ingroup affect is the second factor in the model of identity. The quality of the emotional expression of the identity will have an impact on the salience of the identity causing it to be maintained or rejected. The occurrence of negative value to identities has been widely studied (Nemeth 1986; Tajfel and Turner 1979). Racial and ethnic identities that are minorities often face negative feedback, hence, they are negatively valued, which triggers multiple mechanisms: rejection of the identity, that might result in leaving the group; re-creation of the identity, recasting the negative with the positive; or challenging the values placed on the group (Becker and Tausch 2014;
Brown et al. 1986; Kaplan 1999; Kaplan and Herb 1999). For example, researchers in psychology have looked at the values placed in the relationship between minorities and majorities (Nemeth 1986; Tajfel and Turner 1979). Although the research has focused on the interaction at a very small scale (small groups of strangers) in which their nature as a minority or majority is based on opinions of fact (color names, judicial outcomes, etc.), the research has drawn clear cut conclusions with applicability to the macrolevel
(social group identities and national identities). Nemeth (1986) discusses the negative feedback that minorities will receive because the majority, as a consensus, is perceived as correct. Since the minority deviates from this majority, then they must be incorrect.
The minority can, then, conform or attempt to change the majority’s perception.
Conformity requires the behavior to approximate the majority’s behavior.
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Of interest, however, is how the minority will approach the situation without conforming. By doing this, they are provoking social change. As stated by Nemeth
(1986) the successful cases of minority influence are the cases in which the minority is able to express their dissidence with consistence and are perceived as confident.
Initially, those in the minority receive negative feedback because they are perceived as incorrect (as deviants). Through their consistency they start to be perceived by the majority as confident making the majority question their own perception of reality.
It is important to note that in the small-scale experiments conducted in the literature, individuals that formed part of the majority considered their stance as correct because it was the stance of the majority (Nemeth 1986; Tajfel and Turner 1979). The pressure of the imposition of the majority’s stance makes the minority reassess their situation and, if the negative feedback is successful, it will cause the minority to emulate
–conform to –the majority. If the minority is able to resist their imposition and be consistent in their position, they will be challenging the majority, which will either: a) cause conflict or b) cause the majority to consider alternatives, even if they do not conform to the minority’s perception of truth.
The notion of self, or identity, can only emerge within social interaction. In a differentiated social system, multiple selves emerge to respond to its complexity (Burke and Stets 2009). Since identity is an issue of union, rather than separation, one must understand that the emergence of multiple selves actually promotes union by promoting interest in the common good (Hobsbawm 1992). In other words, one of the many factors that can bring an identity together is the idea that there is something or someone in conflict that is not part of the us and the idea that there is a common good for which a
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group (or a nation) as a unit should strive (Chasteen and Castro-Klarén 2003;
Hobsbawm 1992). The contradiction and conflict of periods of cultural contact and colonization promotes the creation of an identity through the identification of “The
Other”.
The power structure that existed in the Caribbean during periods of culture contact, and the spatial organization required to maintain it, reinforced the relationship of a majority against a minority. The periods of culture contact are cross-roads of intensified social interaction. Different social and economic classes were continuously interacting, and so these agents were able to provide the negative and positive feedback, both within and between groups. The constant feedback promoted the negotiation of a shared truth or identity at larger regional scales (island-wide, and inter- island) while still maintaining a distinction at smaller scales (local and community level).
In the Caribbean, as it often happened elsewhere, the situations of culture contact were accompanied by the dissolution of kinship ties due to conquest, colonization, and slavery. The newly formed group is united by reciprocal relations and bound by itself (Murdock 1949). These relations result in kinship organizations that help to recreate or renegotiate another social group (Tajfel and Turner 1979). For example, the social group can associate itself with land, despite actual titular ownership or restriction of access to its resources. The personal relationships of group members extend beyond the local community by political unification, trade, and exogamous relations (Murdock 1949). Even though they might not have ties that antecede their current situation, they will be faced with an opposite group that would bring centrality to a specific sense of self: one that is defined in relation to the opposite group, e.g.,
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powerful versus powerless. The redefinition of the group that provides social cohesion refers to the third element of Cameron’s model of identity: ingroup ties (Cameron 2004).
Memories of a Frontierless Community
The history of the Caribbean has been defined by its constant migrations within and outside of the area (Tinker 2011). The frontierless natures of the political communities created have greatly influenced the insular national identities in the
Caribbean. To understand national identities, a nation must be defined. Benedict
Anderson defines nation as “an imagined political community” (Anderson 1983). As such, the political community will not have geographical boundaries, even though it will make references to them.
To strengthen the group beyond its geographical location, the group moves away from ideas of physical connection to other contexts in which kinship relations do not imply consanguine or territorial links. Despite the lack of blood connection, the fictive kinship accommodates the need for affines through outsiders, the “Other” (Helms 2010).
The bonds, or ingroup ties, created by the newly formed groups follow specific frameworks of ritualized memories, such as myths, which establish historical continuity to the created identities. The ritualized memories that reinforce historical continuity for these (re)created identities are understood through the theory of social memory and its relationship to the landscape (socioscape).
Social memory is used, at times unconsciously, by various groups to maintain an identity. This mechanism brings cohesion along with historical and cultural continuity. To do so, a society can remember or forget, with the latter more rightfully called unremembering. Certain memories are for some purposes better left forgotten or denied. It often happens that such memories are no longer useful when they are painful
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or threatening. Societies can also distort memories. This can be done by selectively repressing certain aspects of it, or by inventing situations that never happened
(Archibald 2002, Catell and Climo 2003, Küchler 1993; Said 2002). Social memory is also used to interpret practices, to distinguish and censure them, and, finally to express the image and social system of the group (Assmann 1995).
The different ways in which these processes and memories cohere to each other provide a way for memories to be (re)constructed while offering continuity between the remembered, the distorted and the unremembered and to give a sense of history to a specific identity (Archibald 2002, Catell & Climo 2002; Küchler 1993). For most, memories link an individual with generations, which ties individual identities with social identities and by doing so creates social cohesion (Lucas 1997).
Jan Assmann (1995) discussed how communicative and social (cultural) memory differ and relate to one another. Communicative memory is based on everyday communication which makes it closely linked to everyday life. Once shared memories enter the realm of objectified culture, the identity of a group becomes concrete by drawing upon them. However, these memories can only be reconstructed within a frame of reference (Assmann 1995). Social memory can then be criticized, appropriated or transformed in response to a contemporary situation.
Remembering may be done through communication and experience; the ritual and the habitual. Memorials, monuments and pictorial media are great tools for societies to remember a specific event, although it is remembering the event from a particular perspective, rather than a complete view. These processes objectify memories in an organized and institutionalized manner creating a space for ritual
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memory and a need for the specialization of transmitters of social memory (politicians, priests, activists, academics) (Assmann 1995). With this organization of social memory, the bearers of this knowledge have the obligation to create a framework or ideology that will supply an identity with the necessary symbols and rituals needed to perpetuate itself
(Assmann 1995; Connerton 1989).
It is in this way that the past and present are joined in a conversation in which they provide feedback from one to the other (Boyer and Lomnitz 2005). This connection is of particular interest to archaeology since we are not only studying the past in the present but we are letting the present influence it. In addition, the past influences present discourses but often through a historical and archaeological lens.
The space created for ritual and symbolic memories is often found in the landscape. Landscape has been defined as the product of the relation between humans and their environment, with spatial and temporal characteristics (Crumley 1994; Balée and Erickson 2006).Some have criticized that, like its origin in landscape art, the concept of landscape is often viewed as a snapshot in which what is in it remains unchanged (Thomas 1993). Others have considered landscape as something that happened across several millennia that we can now see and interpret. This definition implies that human activity can be inferred and read from it as cultural material. In other words, the landscape works as a palimpsest in giving us a glance of the past (Balée and
Erickson 2006). The biggest problem is that it seems to lump together all of the processes independent of cultures that caused them, as well as other influences or interactions that may not leave marks on the landscape, like abstract thinking. However, it raises important points like the defiance of the pristine myth. Some follow a similar
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critique and seek to change the landscape from a noun to a verb; from a text to be read to a process that forms identities (Mitchell 2002).
To move beyond the concerns of what landscape means, many critics have sought to contextualize landscape. Feinman and Fisher have discussed how landscape can be studied through recursivity and as a dynamic entity (2005). Seeing the landscape as a dynamic entity allows the researcher to see it as a heterogeneous mosaic of patches undergoing distinct successional regimes. This brings to debate the use of smaller or larger scales. The use of short-term temporal and spatial scales masks long-term trends but allow human action and environmental consequence to be elucidated. Larger scales allow broad patterns to be discerned but at some loss of precision to causal discrimination (Feinman and Fisher 2005).
Contextualizing the landscape would also imply recognizing that although everyone, everywhere, will engage with their environment; this interaction will depend upon time and historical conditions. Furthermore one can argue, as has Barbara Bender
(1993), that the interpretation of the landscape will depend upon social, political and economic status. At the same time landscape operates in varying temporal and spatial scales that must be taken into consideration.
The geographical landscape of the Caribbean affected the lives and sense of self of all of the groups involved. Although the indigenous groups in the Caribbean had time to adapt after they settled the islands, the Europeans attempted to recreate their native environments by bringing flora and fauna endemic to Europe. The effect impacted both positively and negatively the groups in question. On one hand, not all of the flora and fauna was able to adapt to the tropics, e.g., wheat and olives, staples of the Hispanic
27
diet (Martí Carvajal 1994). The situation caused a necessary change in the diets of the
European colonists in the Caribbean, especially when communication and trade with
Europe was intermittent. On the other hand, some crops and animals adapted to the environment, e.g., sugar cane, coffee, pigs, cattle, and other resources that became the main economic elements in the Caribbean. Although this was a positive for the
European colonists, it had a negative impact on the indigenous populations (Deagan and Cruxent 2002; Ewen 1987; Martí Carvajal 1994; Valcarcel Rojas 2012).
Landscape is not only geographical. It is also attached to meaning and symbolism making it a social fact for peoples’ lives (Bender 1993). For example, economic utility in a natural or geographic landscape helps foster the continuity and perpetuation from generation to generation of a socialized landscape (socioscape)– defined as an overlay of symbols, emotions, meanings and interpretations tied to a geographical place but varying in their interpretation according to class, gender and histories (Bender 1993; Crumley 2002; Mitchell 2002). Researchers have made it a point that manipulating the landscape will not imply power or hegemony since landscape serves as a link between individuals to family and regional history and ultimately to national identity (Bender 1993; Crumley 2002; Mitchell 2002). At the same time through this manipulation and transformation of the landscape, societies can legitimize themselves through historicized elements, topograms and sacred geography
(Tuan 1990; Santos-Granero 1998)
A frontierless nation objectifies its memories through the socioscape and provides an interesting frame of reference for social memory (Bender 1993; Crumley
2002; Mitchell 2002). Human beings perceive memories as a socioscape; a memory is
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filled with emotions and actions so we are reminded of what we did, who we were with, and how we felt. In the contemporary world the socioscape is not geographically bounded, but makes reference to the geography of the territory because a common territory implies a common place of origin for an identity (Helms 2010). We observe this with the different nationalist paraphernalia that makes reference to notable geographic features, like Jamaica’s Blue Mountains, or a symbol that in its stead references the place –a flag, an endemic animal, etc. (Anderson 1983).
Transculturation as a Process
Transculturation was first coined by sociologist Fernando Ortiz in Contrapunteo cubano del tabaco y el azúcar, originally published in 1940 (Ortiz 1973). With the blessing of Bronislaw Malinowski, Ortiz sought to challenge the research of acculturation and put a different twist to culture contact studies. The term acculturation, according to Ortiz, implied a one way relation: a culture, usually perceived as the powerless one, would shed part of its elements and adopt the elements of another culture, usually perceived as the dominant one (1973). The term transculturation has remained, for the most part, obscured in studies of acculturation and culture contact with the notable exception of Kathleen Deagan’s work (Deagan 1998). According to
Ortiz, the main difference between acculturation and transculturation is that the former is usually framed as a single event involving a one way relation between groups, whereas the latter is framed as an ongoing two way process in which both groups actively participate (1973).
When two or more cultures come in contact there are two processes of importance: deculturation and neoculturation (Ortiz 1973). Deculturation is not necessarily a complete stripping of all cultural aspects. What does occur is that certain
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elements are shed when the collective needs to adapt. An example of this was proposed by Martí Carvajal when he discussed the Iberian program in the Caribbean
(Martí Carvajal 2006). As part of their colonization program, the Spanish brought to the islands animals and plants endemic to the Iberian Peninsula and the rest of Europe in order to replicate their European ways of life. Although some of these imports were successful in their reproduction and prospered in the Caribbean, there were fundamental issues with the prosperity of the flora, like wheat and olive, and fauna, like the sheep. Dependence on these had to be replaced by other products (Martí Carvajal
2006). Some of these staples were native to the Caribbean; however, in the following centuries there was an influx of cultigens brought over from other places like Asia and
Africa, e.g. plantains, yams and rice.
The deculturation that occurs creates the opportunity for the process of neoculturation. New features are incorporated into the modes of behavior of a collective resulting in a culture that overlaps with the previous but is no longer the same. A variety of research has focused in this process as well as its result (Deagan and Cruxent 2002;
Deagan 1996, 1998; Sturtevant 1988; Singer 1962; Voss 2005). The focus in American archaeology shifted to this notion and dubbed it ethnogenesis. An early work in ethnogenesis was done in 1962 by L. Singer. This particular work focused on the potential of a new ethnicity, later to become known as African American. Although this work is a product of its time, and looks at African Americans in a slightly myopic manner, it brings to the forefront multiple points of interest. I will focus on those that are relevant to this research (Singer 1962):
1. Recognizes that the notion of an ethnicity is embedded in the notion of identity
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2. Recognizes that identities are created in response to other identities. It is the commonality of a group’s fate –hence their distinction from another group’s fate – that causes in-group solidarity, from here on referred to as “ingroup ties” (Cameron 2004).
3. Defines ethnogenesis as a process through which a group originates
4. Seeks to provide a historical background to ethnogenesis, further recognizing the need to look at the formation of identities as a process.
5. Recognizes that ethnogenesis is contextual and will vary across regions and among the different features of a cultural contact.
6. Considers that an ethnic identity implies: “long tradition” and a “tendency toward self- perpetuation”.
Points 1 and 2 will be discussed in the next section dealing with Social Identity
Theory. Points 3 through 6 are of special interest in this section.
The definition given to ethnogenesis overlaps with Ortíz’ notion of neoculturation
(Ortiz 1973). The main difference is that Singer focuses on the notion of the creation of a new ethnicity, whereas Ortiz focuses on a new culture as the result. For the purpose of this research I focus on ethnogenesis but acknowledge that it is not necessarily the creation of a new ethnicity, but it is the creation of a new community with a new set of ideas and behaviors. The reason for this is that, according to Point 6, Singer discusses ethnogenesis in terms of ethnicity but I, as others have done, will take the opportunity to use it as a frame of reference to other forms of identity, including national identity, as well as question the validity of the notion of the length of history, as well as the definition of self-perpetuation. I will define ethnogenesis as the creation and beginning of a group’s features and behavior. This particular definition is not my own and has its roots in research done in the past four decades (Ortiz 1973; Singer 1962; Sturtevant 1988;
Deagan 1996; Deagan 1998; Lightfoot 1995; Hill 1998; Martí Carvajal 1994; Martí
Carvajal 2006; Voss 2005).
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Although ethnogenesis is a pivotal aspect of identity in a region similar to the
Caribbean that has been defined in terms of culture contact, the notion of transculturation is its roots. As such, transculturation is defined here as the process in which a culture first loses (deculturation), but then gains and transforms its features by being in contact with another group physically or ideologically, and directly or indirectly, creating a new set of behaviors and ideas (neoculturation and ethnogenesis) that are malleable and will be subject to further changes. Transculturation is not an end result; it is ever occurring and contextual. Due to the fluidity of these processes, the crystallization of new identities is generally understood but not palpable; it is dynamic and artificially divided (Ewen 1991).
The definitions provided on ethnogenesis and transculturation will help to differentiate transculturation as a process (deculturation followed by ethnogenesis), and the interpretation of identities. However, it is important to recognize that the processes will share similar features but will be variable depending on the context in which they occur.
Politics of Archaeology and Identities
Archaeology, as a social science, provides a cogent analysis to social identities by providing a lens into the past that helps shed light on their formation, development and continuity (Jones 1997). It would be unwise not to take into consideration the role that academics and archaeologists play in social memory and self-perceived identities.
There is an innate authority awarded to knowledge, and as transmitters of such knowledge, archaeologists give the impression of having a better understanding of nationalist discourses (Boyer and Lomnitz 2005). Although a community could potentially agree with the findings of archaeological research, it is very possible that
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they will disagree with it. It is important to understand how different communities play with the idea of what is presented before them. As part of academic and archaeological research we should understand the agency a community has in creating, transforming, circulating and contesting national discourses (Boyer and Lomnitz 2005; Jones 1997).
Archaeology forms an integral part of national movements since it serves as a bearer of knowledge. Despite the fact that not all archaeologies are essentially nationalist, archaeology is a political/literary and scientific enterprise (Given 2004; Kohl
1998; Kohl and Fawcett 1995; Trigger 1995). Like many other social sciences, the questions that are asked in archaeological research are driven by the political ambience in which the archaeologist is embedded. It is in this way that the past and present are joined in a conversation in which they provide feedback for one another (Boyer and
Lomnitz 2005).
Some archaeologists are involved with the descendant communities of the groups they study. In this way archaeologists serve as collaborators to help enrich a community’s culture and history (Brumfiel 2003). Archaeology provides unity within a group by shedding light on the shared origins, while at the same time creating discord with other groups that are left out of this shared origin. There have been examples where dubious historical origins have resulted in territorial expansion and ethnic cleansing –such as the conflict between Palestinian and Israelites, and the holocaust
(Silberman 1995). In cases such as these, Silberman argues that archaeologists have a responsibility to unmask any irrational bias that is used as the basis of this historical origin or other erroneous interpretations (1995). Although the notion of responsibility requires that archaeologists get involved with the political ambiance and report more
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than the facts, it lies in the dependence on social groups to view archaeologists as bearers of knowledge and not in the actual rationale of our research.
At the same time that archaeologists collaborate with descendant communities they can be seen as “chronocops” (Brumfiel 2003). The notion of “chronocops” implies that archaeologists have access to special knowledge, and can engage in vigilantism.
Although Brumfiel focuses the term “chronocops” to extreme cases of pseudo- archaeology, it is often that archaeological data is ambiguous in a way that many narratives are constructed (2003). Archaeologists become “chronocops” when there is an obvious misuse and abuse of data. To avoid this, it is important for archaeologists to recognize that anything said in a scientific manner, is still subject to debate. There is always new data and new ways to interpret data becoming available and, as academics, we need to try to keep up with it –or anticipate the possibility of it. We also need to be able to criticize archaeological and historical narrative as both scientific hypotheses and literary texts because, even with scientific data, our interpretations are often colored by cultural biases and political ideologies (Silberman 1995; Trigger 1995).
We need to also be aware that the academic background of an archaeologist and his or her subsequent reputation grants cultural credibility. Leaders, shamans, priests, politicians and academics are other examples of this people in society with cultural credibility (Assmann 1995). The position is what Assmann refers to as the bearers of knowledge group that have the task to inform and reinforce a group’s collective memory
(1995). Therefore, Jones, and others, makes the point that archaeologists are able to, and should, provide fields of dialogue and negotiation (1997). The fields of dialogue and negotiation allow the archaeologist to maintain certain authority, like a referee of sorts,
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which is used to raise wider social issues. Many times, in and outside of the Caribbean, we become myopic after a seminal work is done by a researcher, and ignore any other possibilities that can stem from it. As social scientists, we need to be critical of our field since it not only affects the ethereal academic world, but it greatly affects the places we study. Ideally, the dialogue would also promote mutivocality and a move beyond the dusty halls of academia (Given 2004).
Summary
The research presented here depends on the use of a variety of theoretical approaches that are not new to anthropology or archaeology. However, they are often used independent from one another. Apart from providing a better understanding on the development of identities in Puerto Rico, I hope to be able to provide a new framework with the help of these theoretical tools. This new framework will hopefully provide the fuel needed to study and understand identities as an ongoing process and not an end result.
Social identity theory, as used in psychology, already recognizes identities as fluid and ongoing. With the help of transculturation and ethnogenesis, I elucidate these identities archaeologically. As previously discussed, social memory provides the stability required for the fluidity of these identities. Social memory becomes a repository from which identities draw to reinforce themselves in social groups. Understanding frontierless communities and nations will provide the link between the identity that we see archaeologically (at a micro level) and its representation at the regional and national level (at a macro level).
Finally, the research is intrinsically connected to the contemporary perceived identity in Puerto Rico. As such, it is important that I consider not only the influence that
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the politics of archaeology has on the contemporary population, but also to recognize that the contemporary population is an active agent in the influence of archaeological research. In addition, I am subject to this influence which will help me critically engage the subject.
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CHAPTER 3 PUERTO RICO
The Beginning
By the time of the Spanish arrival, the Caribbean had been populated by heterogeneous groups that had arrived to the islands from the South American continent. They had a complex web of interactions that crossed islands and helped them remain connected to the continent (Rodriguez Ramos 2010; Rouse 1993, Wilson
2002).
Not only were the culture groups different from one another, but the environment across the Caribbean varies widely between and even within islands. The size of the
Greater Antilles is wildly different from the island sizes in the Bahamas and the Lesser
Antilles. Cuba, the larger of the Antilles, is ten times the size of all the Lesser Antilles combined (Wilson 2007). Rainfall and vegetation also varies from island to island since different weather phenomena will affect each one in different ways (Rouse 1993; Wilson
2007:200). Within the islands we see varying ecosystems that have influenced and been influenced by the inhabitants from the beginning. A perfect example of this can be found in Puerto Rico. The island is of modest size, but its topography, along with weather conditions, has caused a tropical rainforest on the Northwest coast and a tropical dry forest on the Southeast coast.
It is important to consider that the communities present, just like what we see in the contemporary Caribbean, included multiple cultures and groups. These groups had already gone through processes of cultural contact in which materials, behaviors and their genetic material had mixed and resulted in new forms that had not been seen before. Of course, similar processes had already altered the Europeans.
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Although there is no denying that the precolonial portion of history influenced to a lesser or greater degree the interactions that occurred after Spanish contact, this research will concentrate on the interactions that occurred after the moment of Spanish arrival. As such, this general overview of Caribbean history and identity will be restricted to this time period (for further information on the pre-Spanish period see Armstrong and
Hauser 2011; Kelly 2008; Kepecs et al. 2010; Hofman et al. 2008; Keegan and Carlson
2008; Keegan et al. 2013; Rodriguez Ramos 2010; Siegel 2005; Wilson 2002; Wilson
2007).
The European Arrival
European peoples started to influence the Caribbean in 1492. The event began with the voyage of Christopher Columbus that arrived at the island of Guanahaní during the month of October (Higman 2010). The event led to a series of unprecedented processes in the region. In a succession of voyages the whole of the Caribbean was explored and the conquest and colonization program was established. It had its early start in La Española (Hispaniola, modern Haiti and Dominican Republic) where the
Spanish conquering endeavor was centered. From this island, their attention radiated to other parts of the Caribbean until reaching the Central, South and North America.
The interaction between the people already living on the islands and the
Europeans was unstable. Some engagements were peaceful in nature like Columbus’ initial treatment of Guacanagaríx, one of the caciques (chiefs) on the island of
Hispaniola, treating him as any other monarch and lavishing him in gifts (Guitar 2011).
Others were impacted by the bitter relationship of both cultures like the live burning of natives in honor of the Catholic religion (Las Casas 2006).The indigenous populations, as well as the environment, were suffering from major changes to their previous state.
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The successful introduction of new flora and fauna from the so-called Old World changed the regional landscape while introducing disease. The introduction of a new economy and the forced labor required by it decimated the population (Sued Badillo
1983; Anderson-Córdova 1990; Deagan 1996; Sued Badillo 2011).
Shortly after, the Spanish established the encomienda system alongside the mining industry. The encomienda1 distributed the indigenous population among the settlers. The natives would be removed from their community for the better part of the year while they worked on the mines. The result of this was the destabilization of the community and social relationships. Coupled with the intense labor and the introduction of disease, the population greatly diminished during the first four decades of the 16th century. Early on, the Spanish introduced ladinos who were slaves that had engaged and gone through their own process of transculturation within Iberian culture (Sued
Badillo 1983; Sued Badillo and López Cantos 1986). The Crown introduced non-local indigenous and African slaves to make up for the rapid loss of life. Not every enslaved individual remained in this situation; some escaped to the mountains, the continents, or to other islands. Regardless of their destination, each ethnic group engaged in a complex web of interaction including all of those involved. The mining industry diminished as metallic deposits dwindled, and the focus shifted to cattle herding and the sugar economy (Sued Badillo 2001).
It is important to consider that the Spanish sovereigns introduced the possibility for the indigenous population to become vassals of the Crown (Sued Badillo 2011). This possibility implied that the natives that decided to convert to Catholicism and adopted
1 The encomienda system was later changed into the repartimiento. The changes were in legal terms, but in practice things remained the same.
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Spanish ways could not be treated as slaves. Other groups, such as African slaves, did not have that possibility. However, even though the Crown required this practice to be respected and to allow the indigenous population to transition into Spanish lifeways, in practice the Spaniards manipulated the system and continued their enslavement (Las
Casas 2006; Higman 2010; Heuman 2005; Hauser 2011).
Spanish political and economic power extended from Europe to cover the
Americas from New Spain to Tierra del Fuego. The geographical extension and the variability of the communities in this space caused the application of decrees by the
Spanish Crown to be even more diluted in practice. The gap between the legality of the decrees and the actual practicality of the decrees became even wider in areas that were not the center of attention.
San Juan Bautista
The history of Puerto Rico, like the history of the Caribbean, begins long before the Spanish arrival. The indigenous population, henceforth referred to as Taínos, played an important role in the development of the contemporary Puerto Rican identity.
However, as I will argue throughout this research, it is the interaction of groups of people that formed this identity, and that this identity is still in flux. As such, our focus extends to just before the arrival of the Spanish to contemporary issues.
In Puerto Rico, constructed memories have been deeply influenced by “self” identity and nationality. To understand the processes of self-identification, one must understand Puerto Rican history and the paradigmatic view of Puerto Rican identity
(Borrero 2001; Cubano 1990; Cubano 1993; Duany 2005; Haslip-Viera 2001; Jimenez
Román 2001; Laguer Díaz 2013; Negrón-Muntaner and Flores 2007; Scarano 1981;
Torres 1995). Racial categories are part of the national identity discourse in the Spanish
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Caribbean. An example is the logo for the Instituto de Cultura Puertorriqueña (ICP), in which three races are characterized as the pillars of Puerto Rican culture. The recognition of three races did not occur in one fell swoop; but progressed in four stages in Puerto Rican history.
First stage – Discovery of New Identities
Boriké became known to the Spanish in 1493, but their hearts and pockets were first set on the neighboring island they called La Española (Hispaniola). It was not until
1508, that Juan Ponce de León started the Spanish process of colonizing on Boriké
(Puerto Rico). It is not known how populated the island was, but current estimates range from 16,000 to 1,000,000 inhabitants (Jimenez Román 2001). Regardless of the number, the power within the cacicazgos (chiefdoms) on the Island was great and they were able to move and exploit many indigenous individuals in a short amount of time.
Armed with his experience with the Taínos from Hispaniola, Ponce de León was able to enslave the population with the help of disease and genocide, despite their resistance. By the 1530s, a Spanish census estimated the Indian population on the
Island to be a total of 1,545 (Picó, 2006). Even taking into consideration error in calculations for both the population before and after Spanish contact, the graveness of the colonial deeds cannot easily be ignored. The dwindling indigenous numbers forced the Spanish to import additional slaves.
It became historically known that poor whites, surviving Taínos and freed or fugitive slaves went into hiding in different parts of the Island beginning in the 16th century. Certain areas, like Indiera Alta, Indiera Baja and other parts of central and western Puerto Rico, were used as havens for them. It is in this area that there is a large number of people with phenotypic characteristics and genetic data associated with
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Indians: straight dark hair; pronounced cheekbones; almond-shaped, dark eyes; and bronzed skin color (Martínez-Cruzado 2001). By 1777 a Spanish Census reported
70,210 inhabitants in Puerto Rico with 1,756 considered pure “Indians” (Martínez-
Cruzado et al. 2001).
Despite the lack of an actual national identity or movement, this period contains the first stage in the creation of a national identity. This stage is looked backed upon by historians, sociologists and anthropologists as the foundation of the ideas of races due to the encounters between the Spanish, Taíno and Africans (Anderson-Córdoba 1990;
Brau 1894; Dávila 1995; Pedreira 2010). The way race was perceived and interpreted was intimately linked to the economic system of encomiendas and the beginning of slavery on the island.
The Taíno were distinguished from another indigenous population that resided in the islands to the East of Puerto Rico, the Caribs. Their warlike cultural features deepened the hierarchical classification of indigenous communities, which was deepened by the Spanish (Fernandez de Oviedo y Valdés 1851). With themselves at the top of the social hierarchy, they also made a distinction between Taíno and African slaves, where the former had a higher position than the latter. Nonetheless, shortly after the arrival of the African slaves there was some intermixture between the three groups.
A very subtle race system was established where the lighter skinned a person and their ancestors were the higher the person was in status, and vice versa (Duany 2005,
Godreau 2000, Picó 2006). There was a general attitude to discriminate against the
Taíno and the African slaves, the system of encomiendas and slavery were often criticized and opposed by Spanish clerics (de las Casas 2006).
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Although there is a general perception of how things were established and mandated by the Spanish Crown, it is important to note that in practice this was rarely ever the case. From early on the attention in the Caribbean was not given to Puerto
Rico which allowed for some flexibility (Sued Badillo 1983; Martí Carvajal 2006). Most of the settlements were small in size and scattered. The environmental and geographical conditions caused many of these settlements to be dismantled or to be moved causing great instability. Some examples include, Caparra (moved to the islet of Puerto Rico) and Sotomayor (moved around the western and southern coast of the island). These factors influenced the creation of a loose peasantry, or jíbaros (mostly subsistence farmers), who had barely any connection with the Crown, and even in some instances between one another (Martí Carvajal 2006).
The slow population and economic growth on the island after the mining exploitation ceased made the government and the clergy take various measures. The clergy modified the expectation of the populations to engage in religious services because of the distances between places of worship and the scattered residences. In addition, in 1541, Charles I declared that all the land on the island was public, as in it belonged to the Crown, disallowed the private ownership of land (Martí Carvajal 2006).
The particular development of the island led to a transition to a cattle economy in the 16th century. However, there was no need to have a controlled system over the cattle. According to accounts from late in the century, the cattle was treated as wild animals and the animals were hunted down (Martí Carvajal 2006). Cattle were used as food but also its leather could be used for many functions including as contraband. Due to the lack of oversight from the Spanish Crown and the locals’ auto-sufficiency they
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were able to freely engage in illicit trade for items that they could not get through their crops by exchanging them for leather (Martí Carvajal 2006). In 1778, Charles III decreed that land could be owned, so the ranches that had been created 200 years had to be reorganized.
The patterns that allowed the development of the jíbaro were able to continue with the potential of private ownership through the last quarter of the 18th century and beyond. This particular issue will be discussed in the following sections.
Second Stage – Insular and Peninsular
The second stage begins around the 18th century with an attitude of belonging and of national identity in different colonies in the Americas. This attitude developed ideals of emancipation and independence for the criollos—people of Spanish descent but born and raised in the Americas. By the end of the 18th century, the Haitian
Revolution began with a culmination in 1804 with both independence and emancipation.
The rest of the French Caribbean and the British Caribbean, as well as most of the
Hispanic Caribbean achieved emancipation by the mid-19th century. Cuba and Puerto
Rico were the exception in the Hispanic Caribbean up until the late 19th century.
Although both islands were no longer Spanish colonies, they became US colonies (Pico
2006).
An influence of this emergent feeling of nationality in the Caribbean was the
Napoleonic Wars and the instability that it created in Europe toward the end of the 18th century. Those involved and influenced by the wars, the European powers and the colonies in the New World, dealt with the situation in different ways. For example,
Toribio de Montes, the governor in charge of the Capitanía General of Puerto Rico from
1804 to 1809, sought the support of the Puerto Rican populace in 1808. He appealed to
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Puerto Ricans, whom he refers to as loyal and valiant, by using not only the term
“Spanish” but also the demonym Puerto Rican (or the “Puerto-riqueños” used by de
Montes) (1808). It is interesting to see how a representative of the Spanish Crown used both names in this situation in a way that recognizes the differences between those born on the island and those born in Europe, but it also links them together appealing to a shared identity.
Shortly after, in 1809, we see the second historical appearance of the demonym used in a farewell mass in which the bishop Alejo de Arizmendi symbolically gives his bishop’s ring to Ramón Power y Giralt before he goes to form part of the Cortes de
Cádiz. It is in this event that we have the first instance of an insular native referring to himself as “Puerto Rican” (Gomez Canedo 1964).
Both events are important to consider since it is in this time period where we see an intellectual movement starting to develop and question its relationship with the
Spanish Crown. The sense of identity of each individual starts to develop as part of the collective as they encounter situations that are threatening, like it was with the Spanish
Cédula de Gracias.
With the establishment in 1815 of the Spanish Cédula de Gracias (Spanish Royal
Decree of Graces), Cuba and Puerto Rico were able to participate in commerce freely with other Spanish colonies and, under taxes, with foreign colonies. More importantly to this research, however, was the third stipulation of the decree in which immigration from different parts of Europe was encouraged by the Spanish crown. Their encouragement included currency and land rights in the Spanish colonies (Picó 2006). The dynamic between European immigrants and locals became even more complex after
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emancipation. The economy of the island was revitalized by the sugar industry and the number of European immigrants and slave labor increased.
In the following generations, the distinctions between groups on the island started to slowly blur, although not necessarily disappear. There was an acknowledgement of the differences between being from the island and being from the continents of Europe or Africa. Many practices and traditions remained in a similar current as they had been decades before. Most notably documented was the distinction made between the insular European (or criollo), and their marginalization from the peninsular European.
In terms of land rights, access to local government and having a voice in economic and political decisions, differences between peninsular and criollo worked in two ways. The criollo became part of the middle class working for the peninsular, or at least indirectly subordinate to them (Picó 2006, Pedreira 2010). This, in turn, made them more attuned to local desires and needs, like those of the black, jíbaro, and mixed heritage communities. Still, they maintained their position in better standing than the other groups. In this way, Spanish criollos were in a good social position, not necessarily economic, with other people from the island; they were also able to serve as a stepping stone –and potential ally –for the lower classes. This good position was relative to mixed and black groups that were in a lower stratum of social and economic power. The mixed race groups, however, were able to negotiate between lower and middle class power depending on their economic status and/or shade color of their skin.
Intermingling between these groups provided a fluid connection in the black to white
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scale that could be used for and against them (Ayala and Bernabe 2007, Pedreira
2010).
It is in the criollos that many in Puerto Rico saw the materialization of a Puerto
Rican nation throughout the 19th century. More specifically, it was in the rural criollo, the jíbaro, in whomany saw the reflection of Puerto Rican identity. The jíbaro became a romanticized idea of the mix of criollos and the Taíno people. The connection between both should not come as a surprise, since aspects of Taíno culture have survived to present times, particularly in the rural mountainous interior due to the scarcity discussed during the first stage. As portrayed in the 1863 novel La peregrinación de Bayoán, the criollo protagonist has a Taíno name and identifies with the jíbaro. The author, Eugenio
María de Hostos showed the relation between belonging to the island and being a native to the island in juxtaposition to being from the European continent (Ayala and
Bernabe 2007).
During the mid-19th century, Spain had already lost possession of many of its colonies but colonies like Cuba and Puerto Rico remained under its control. In previous decades there had already been a recognition of the differences of españoles cubanos
(Cuban-Spanish) and españoles puerto-riqueños (Puerto Rican-Spanish), however the gap between Europe and the Caribbean seemed only to grow. The “Spanish” was dropped from these denonyms and a focus was given to the insular identity: Cuban and
Puerto Rican. There are many historical examples that can be given to illustrate this break. One of potential interest is the creation of Cuban and Puerto Rican cookbooks.
During a period of heightened senses of nationalism, shortly before the first cry for independence in Puerto Rico in1868, a cookbook, under the name of El cocinero
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puertorriqueño, was published. The first edition, published in 1859, is almost identical to the Manual del concinero cubano published three years before (Barradas 2007, 2010).
The reason behind the similarities between them is subject to further study. The crux of the matter is on the intent of using a cookbook to reaffirm the notion of “Puerto Rican”.
Is the cookbook a reflection of the local and regional diet? Or did its effects reverberate in future practices in the kitchen? In other words, the cookbook might reflect the practice, impose it, or influence cooking behaviors in the decades following its publication. Further archaeological and anthropological analysis is needed to answer these questions.
Another change at this time occurred on the coast. Most notably, the revitalization of the sugar economy increased the black population on the island. The island’s landscape, thus, became racialized. This racialized landscape worked at the level of a mental template that was validated in national discourses during the next stage. The mountainous interior became synonymous with the jíbaro and Taíno; the smaller towns on the coast where sugar production was important were connected to notions of blackness, with small pockets of white society, shortly after emancipation; and, finally, the larger cities, specifically San Juan, were the places where the white elite resided. The idea of the separation between the coast and the mountains –and San
Juan and the rest –has a long history of being commonly used in everyday Puerto Rican speech. Calling someone a jíbaro and negro are easily used as an insult, no matter the person’s skin color (Dávila 1995, Godreau 2000, Gravlee 2005). Separation between the white elite and the rest of the island is repeatedly reminded to others when people talk about being from San Juan (also called la losa), or from la isla. Similarly, being
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called a person from la losa or from la isla is often used as an insult (Dávila 1995,
Godreau 2000).
Third stage – A 20th Century Colony
The invasion, or arrival, of the United States to Puerto Rico in 1898 was met with less resistance than it has often been assumed. The island’s inhabitants were unhappy with Spanish colonial rule and the arrival of the newest epitome of freedom was viewed as the promise of a better future (Ayala and Bernabe 2007, Malavet 2007). Puerto Rico at this time practiced agriculture in coffee and tobacco in the interior, and sugar on the coast. This geographical distinction was analogous with a distinct way of life and self- identification. The coast was most closely linked to an African and Spanish heritage, whereas the interior mountainous was most closely linked to Taíno and Spanish culture
(Duany 2002). Through the interior’s heritage, Puerto Ricans invented the image of the jíbaro, as portrayed in a variety of Puerto Rican art and literature.
The perception of the United States toward Puerto Rico, and the other newly acquired possessions, is portrayed in different textbooks and pamphlets from the period. The book “Our Islands and their People: as seen with camera and pencil”
(1899), introduced by Major General Joseph Wheeler and accompanied by the writings of José de Olivares, exemplifies the separation and the creation of an other in the islands of the Caribbean. The book is filled with images from around the islands that show how the people on the islands were darker and, by extent, inferior. Even census data from the time, specifically the one in 1899 in Puerto Rico, identify most of the population as black with only a small percentage of the island considered as white (Picó
2006).
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There was a strong reaction against this, because many in Puerto Rico considered themselves to be white. A group of authors, scholars and artists, popularly known as La generación del 30, dedicated a large amount of their works in the 1930s to critiquing the policies of the US toward the island and referred their writings to a nostalgic idea of the Spanish colonial past. Most notably, Antonio S. Pedreira’s essay,
“Insularismo” (originally written in 1934) portrayed the despair of the lack of cultural production despite the Spanish heritage the island has. For the most part, the presentation of Puerto Rican identity in this essay is of a mix of races (Ayala and
Bernabe 2007). However, it places Spanish heritage on a pedestal by reaffirming racist attitudes of the time. Other works published around the same time, follow a similar line of whitening Puerto Rican culture (Belaval 1935; Blanco 1973).
Not everything during this stage reaffirmed Spanish heritage. In spite of the overwhelming amount of literature that focused on mixed heritage or mainly Spanish origins, several writers were influenced by Garveyism in New York City and brought back an element of black consciousness, most notably in the poetry of Luis Palés Matos
(Ayala and Bernabe 2007). This wave of black consciousness remains prevalent in the black racialized areas –areas associated with black communities –of the island but it is not until decades later that it had a bigger impact in Puerto Rican culture through the book El país de los cuatro pisos by Jose Luis González (1980).
Fourth Stage – Triad of Races: Taíno+Spanish+African = Puerto Rican?
With the rapid industrialization of the island and the shift to a monoculture of sugar, the island’s unemployment rate increased. Coupled with the conferral of US citizenship in 1917, migration to the northeast of the United States became a feasible and sometimes necessary alternative. Puerto Ricans became one of the largest
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minorities in the United States in less than a century. By 1980 there was a reported
1,000,000 in New York City (Jimenez Román 2001).
The popular contemporary notions of national identity have had various forms in this last stage of racial discourse in national identity. It is in this stage where a
“socioracial continuum” is most tangible (Hoetink 1967). Individuals might have racial labels to identify someone and themselves, but in definition these labels are better used to describe socioeconomic status. In more recent times in places like Puerto Rico, race and national discourse have become synonymous and needed to explain one another
(Duany 1998, 2005).
Since the formation of the ICP, a tripartite view of Puerto Rico has pervaded with a focus on Spanish heritage. The logo of the ICP is a blatant reflection of this view, as espoused by the founder of the institution, the archaeologist Ricardo Alegría. The logo was commissioned by Alegría to Lorenzo Homar who gave it its own artistic twist. The logo consists of an indigenous individual holding a cemí (religious symbol) while standing in front of maize stalks and tobacco bush (native staples). In this part of the logo, it is important to note that the corn stalk was an addition by Homar, and although it is now known that maize was part of the indigenous diet, at the time of the inception of the logo it was not known. The addition of the maize stalk was a stylistic choice to provide symmetry for the sugar cane stalks (Barradas, personal communication,
October 28, 2014). In the center, there is a Spaniard holding a book with the name
Nebrija with a halo-like arrangement of three crosses representing the 3 ships (La Niña,
La Pinta, and La Santa María). The book represents the grammar written by Antonio de
Nebrija. The book is imperialistic in nature since it refers to the linguistic preponderace
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of Spanish on the island (Barradas, personal communication, October 28, 2014). The final individual is an African slave with a machete and a drum. He stands in front of sugar cane stalks and a vejigante mask; two aspects intrinsically connected to blackness in the island (Figure 3-1).
When seen as a whole three important aspects come to view: first, they are all male; second, only one figure has a shirt and shoes; and, third, the Hispanic individual is right in the middle, giving him greater importance over the flanking figures. So, although all three figures are of importance, one is definitely at the middle of it all: the
Spanish. The relationship of these three figures in the logo is represented in how they are perceived in the island’s culture and education. It is usually thought and taught, that
Taíno heritage died out in the 16th century. African heritage has been set aside, literally, to the southern coast and the northern coastal town of Loíza. African and Taíno culture, then, are part of Puerto Rican history but seen as somewhat unrelated to Puerto Rican culture.
Figure 3-1. The official logo of the ICP.
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The most recent and vocal trend has been to emphasize, and even separate, a
Taíno identity. There have been several “tribes” in the US and in Puerto Rico that trace their heritage to the Taínos in Boriké (Puerto Rico) (Haslip-Viera 2001; Borrero 2001).
The prevalence of these groups in different parts of the US is partially explained when it is considered how they try to understand their racial identity in terms of the US. Trying to negotiate their racial identity within their social context creates a state of indecision that, for example, second and third generation Puerto Ricans in New York (called
Nuyoricans) fight day by day with their identity (Haslip-Viera 2001; Negrón-Muntaner and Flores 2007; Oquendo 2001). They feel forced to choose a racial casing as per US regulations, and are presented with these four options: Spanish, Indian, African, and
Puerto Rican. They are not considered anglo or white; they are not African American or black; and, their deficiency in Spanish and loss of contact with the island has made them not Puerto Rican in the eyes of the people from the island.
Following the discourse of Puerto Rican identity, Nuyoricans might feel they cannot be part of the White Spanish, the Africans or the Puerto Ricans. Yet, there is the fourth group that not only is a silent (or, maybe, dead) spectator, it is also the one that represents the nostalgic idea of the rural Puerto Ricans in the mountains. This group also is thought to give little or no importance to skin color and as such will serve as a haven to those that seem unfit for the casings of the Western World (Haslip-Viera 2007;
Oquendo 2001). Nonetheless, there has been a commodification of the image of the
Taíno, not solely applicable to these revivalist movements, but spread through Puerto
Ricans. This image has become a beacon of light in identity struggle on the island: a native person to the island who is not white or black.
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In the past twenty years or so, there has been an increase in indigenous movements surrounding Puerto Rican national identity. In particular, Taíno Revival movements have been very vocal on their stance in national identity and their role in the discourse. The question is: how can identities be assigned to the remains of the past using political definitions of the present? Politically there are no Taínos, and as far as the island’s ethnicity goes, there are no Africans or Spanish either (excluding contemporary immigrants). Those considered to be natives to the island are the descendants of these nations that have mixed and assimilated to create what has become Puerto Rican.
The Indians in Boriké have been historically differentiated according to their subsistence techniques (the archaic hunter/gatherers and the agricultural pottery maker) and within the larger of the two they have been subdivided according to their pottery style. There is no reason to believe that one group supplanted the other or that they were not living contemporaneous to each other (Rodríguez Ramos 2010). As part of ongoing research there are debates of possible continuous migration between South
America, Central America and the Caribbean and that trade networks were established
(Rodríguez Ramos 2010). Nonetheless, the natives that were met by the Spanish were the people that came to be known as Taíno –arguably a Spanish misinterpretation; the
Indians were describing themselves as “good and noble”.
Throughout the Spanish chronicles, especially Fernandez de Oviedo’s Historia natural (1535), there is an understanding that every Indian community was distinct in language and tradition. Even archaeological findings in one island seem to be contradictory to what has come to be known as the rule on another island in the
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Caribbean. Different islands focused in different rites, and as such they, too, may have made a distinction in the past (Oliver 2009). The term Taíno came into common use in the 20th century when several scholars wished to refer to the entire native population of the western Caribbean (Haslip-Viera 2001).
Adding the fact that archaeology is a lens through which we see what could possibly be the past, it is hard to imagine that all archaeological reconstructions, some that have been adopted by Taíno Nation communities, are accurate. For example, the reconstruction of a Taíno village in the Centro Ceremonial Indígena de Tibes, in southern Puerto Rico, is used in contemporary Taíno celebrations. Members of the
Taíno Nation dress up in what has been construed as proper attire –mixed with Native
American attire from the continental US –and have realized rituals as described in the
Spanish Chronicles with help of archaeological interpretations. In a similar fashion the bateyes (ceremonial plazas) and village reconstruction used in these celebrations have been subject to archaeological and ethnohistorical interpretation (Alvarado Zayas and
Curet 2010). However, most Taíno groups seem to have subscribed to these reconstructions even when they are at odds with certain areas of academia. It is interesting to note how they appropriate their surroundings and use tourism as a way to both raise awareness and money to continue with their movement. More telling, however, is how these movements began in the early 1990s. They coincide with two important events: the quicentenary of the so-called discovery of the Americas and the creation of NAGPRA.
The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) was passed in 1990. After years of protest, Native Americans were able to safeguard their
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heritage through the protection of burials and repatriation of collections. With this law, federal agencies and institutions that receive federal funding need to return Native
American cultural items and human remains to their respective peoples. Several new guidelines are being developed to avoid some ambiguities and generalizations. Included in these new guidelines is the repatriation of unaffiliated collections to tribes that have a geographical stake in the collection.
Although this law is in full motion in the US, it does not apply to US territories or non-recognized tribes by the federal government, although case by case exceptions can be considered. Because of this, archaeologists in Puerto Rico have had the option not to take Taíno tribes into consideration. However members of the Taíno movements have made clear their repulsion for the desecration of their ancestors’ resting place.
There are five very well-known, and self-identified, tribes that trace their heritage to the Taínos in Boriké: United Confederation of Taíno Peoples, Yukayeke Baramaya,
Jatibonicu Taíno Tribe, Aymaco Turabo Tribe, Yukayeke Guajataka, and Proyecto
Indígena Comunitario. Of these, three of them will receive special attention in the next pages.
United Confederation of Taíno Peoples (UCTP)
The UCTP is a coalition of individuals that identify as part of a Caribbean indigenous community (UCTP 2007). They were founded in January 3, 1998, and hold a number of talks, research and outreach programs. They fight for the rights and recognition of the Taíno Nation as well for the repatriation of cultural artifacts (UCTP
2007).
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Jatibonuco
The Jatibonicu Taino Tribal Nation of Borikén’s general story follows the hardship encountered by a group of mestizo people that lived in the island. During the 1930s, over a decade after the conferral of US citizenship, members of the community migrated to New Jersey where they worked as agricultural laborers. However, it was not until the early 1990s that the Jatibonuco tribe of Southern New Jersey had their first council under the direction of their founding father Peter Guanikeyu Torres. It is accepted among the tribe that they originiated in the mountain yucayeke of Jatibonico – the village of Great Chief Orocobix (Pérez 2006). Peter Guanikeyu Torres, the chief of this tribe, is considered to be the hereditary blood chief and descendant of cacique (chief)
Orocobix. The tribe has similar goals as the UCTP, one of which is de-bunking the myth of the extinction of the Taínos.
Taíno Turabo Aymaco Tribe of Borikén (Turabo Aymaco)
The Turabo Aymaco Tribe is one of the few vocal and influential ones that is still located on the island. As their history shows, they acknowledge their mixed heritage and get a bit closer to showing their hereditary claims. Carmen Yuisa Baguanamey
Colon Delgado is the hereditary chief from the line of Chief Caguax, who is the brother of her (great-) grandfather Baguanamey; she is also the great-granddaughter of Jose
Dolores Delgado Rojas, the owner of the Delgado Royal Grant.
It is interesting to see that, despite the need for more research on the subject, there is a fundamental similarity and a fundamental difference. There is a need for the tribe leaders to justify their power. To do so, they all trace their lineage to a known important Taíno chief. At the same time, they differ in how “pure” they consider their lineage. UCTP and Jatibonuco, the ones in the US, consider themselves as rightful
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descendants of the aboriginal Taíno. Groups in the island, like Turabo Aymaco, are more adamant about their mixed heritage, and tend to be more open about the
“impurities” in their lineage.
Many archaeological sites on the island have served as a conjunction to these tribal identities and their socialization of the landscape. Two notable examples are an incursion into the Caguana Ceremonial Center and the controversy surrounding the archaeological excavation of a site in the town of Ponce, archaeologically known as
PO-29; locally called Jácanas (Laguer Díaz 2013).
The incursion into the Caguana Ceremonial Center occurred in 2005. A group of ten self-proclaimed Taínos entered and took control of this important Indian Ceremonial
Center. The protesters demanded that the Executive branch of the government officially recognized their rights as an Indian group and that their ancestors’ remains be returned.
Although it was not an event of extreme violence, their demands were considered as such. The government of Puerto Rico cannot officially recognize them because it is under US jurisdiction, and the remains could not be returned for the same reason.
There were angry comments exchanged from both sides (Laguer Díaz 2013).
Jácanas was surveyed as part of the Portugués River Dam Project. This project was first authorized by Section 201 of the Flood Control Act of 1970, Public Law 91-611.
The site became very famous and important to everyone on the island. Its historical relevance cannot be denied and the implication to Puerto Rican, Caribbean and
American archaeology is increasingly significant. New South Archaeology, Inc (NSA) is a cultural resource management firm that was contracted by the US Army Corps of
Engineers to conduct archaeological investigations on the site (Espenshade 2014).
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When the NSA received bad publicity, however true or misguided, for their excavation methods at the site, several ideas of nationalism and what it meant to be native resurfaced and became the focus of the media.
There are several aspects surrounding the discourse taken from Taíno movements. The Taíno Nation is doubly colonized: first and more directly, by Puerto
Ricans; and on top of that by the United States. It is only when both identities are threatened that they can face a common oppressor.
Parallel to this, imagery and cultural traits from the African past have permeated to specific sectors of Puerto Rican culture. As discussed before, it is most notable in the south coast of the island and the northern town of Loíza. These areas were important sugar producers and it is now here where most of the phenotypically darker colored people of the island reside (Dávila 1995). African rhythms that focus on the drums and voluptuous dances, like Taíno imagery, are commonplace in the touristic areas of the region where the image of blackness has become a product to be sold.
Contemporary Issues: Racial Schizophrenia
Despite the fragmented racial and national identities on the island, it is curious to see how US policy and Puerto Rican’s perceptions have been somewhat influenced and critiqued. In the 2000 census 80.5% of the population self-identified themselves as
White/Caucasian, with only 12.2% declaring themselves as having a mix of more than one race. There were mixed feelings about such a result. Many people saw this as an obvious truth, especially those who considered themselves as white because of factors that go beyond skin color; others saw this as blatantly false. Census data to search for people’s racial identity is troublesome. Nonetheless, assuming that race is not a biological truth, but a social construct, it is easy to see why people in Puerto Rico would
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see themselves as white. The problem here lies in the fact that the census was not made for Puerto Rico. It was made for an entirely different social context, in which
Puerto Rican’s answers would have a different meaning.
Whereas the US has only recently made efforts to have more than two discreet
(three if we count Native American) races, in Puerto Rico there has been a development of types of colors throughout its history. The racial situation on the island is similar to what was discussed by Harris and others in Brazil (Harris 1964, 1980; Harris et al.
1993).
The types of color produce a whole rainbow of color ranging from white to black and everything in between. Someone who is white but has African features (large rounded nose and curly hair) may be called jabao, someone with wheat colored skin is called trigueño(a), a person who is darker than a white person, but not quite black can be called moreno(a), mulato(a), or negrito(a). Usually a word will be invoked to describe a combination of hair, eyes, skin and even class description (Duany 2002). For example, someone who might be described moreno or trigueño would not be called such if they had straight black hair; in this case they would be called indio. When you take into consideration that the census was usually done by someone of relatively good standing visiting houses and then encasing the person within one of the triad races, then someone moreno with curly hair would be black, someone moreno with straight hair would be indio and someone moreno with green eyes could be white (this last one being from family experience).
To further understand this, Godreau (2000) called this a semántica fugitiva
(fugitive semantic) in which people were able to: use it to evade biological expectations;
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allow to vary their use of the “racial classifications” depending on the context; to be able to describe people while avoiding any incommodity they might have with these terms; and, to not trap themselves in a black and white dichotomy (Godreau 2000; Hiraldo and
Ortega-Brena 2006).
The socioracial continuum in the island has been a tool to understand that race, as part of one’s identity, is a social construction that is neither fixed nor invariable. Being able to use these different terms helps people understand that their identity is fluid and contextual (Godreau 2000). Still, it should be kept in mind that people might do this more out of custom than for trying to understand this phenomenon. Closely linked to this, to avoid being the victim, or the perpetrator of a possible insult, people will use different “racial classifications” depending on their listener. In any way that this might change on a case by case basis, there is a silent understanding between speaker and listener on which “racial classification” to which they are referred (Godreau 2000).
To avoid incommodity with the terms there is usually a link made between two people. The speaker will try to compare someone’s skin color to another’s. The person that is used as comparison will usually be someone of good standing in this situation so the listener does not assume the speaker is being insulting (Godreau 2000; Hiraldo and
Ortega-Brena 2006). Following a similar line, by avoiding the black and white dichotomy, many Puerto Ricans avoid these terms for other people from the island, but use it to describe the others. In this case, a Puerto Rican may be black, but those that are blacker or real black include migrants such as Dominicans, West Indians from the
Lesser Antilles, Haitians and African Americans. In this way, negritud is exoticized
(Godreau 2000; Hiraldo and Ortega-Brena 2006).
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Discussion
It is important to understand that all of these stages and the current representation of national discourses were not accepted by all individuals during these particular timeframes. Any reaction for or against the discourses depended mostly on accessibility to the literature and education. The stages are largely divided according to the literature of the time and other methods of expression that would have most likely been limited to a minority. Also, racist notions have always permeated these national discourses. Despite the theoretical unifying factor of nationalism, different values have always been situated in how people identify their “self” and with whom they identify.
Nonetheless, most of these notions of identity are thought to be a generalized rule that has permeated into contemporary ideas of nationality and race in Puerto Rico.
Research conducted in the Caribbean provides a basis of comparison for the research in various sites in Puerto Rico. Hence, the research conducted not only situates the historical period of Puerto Rico within the framework of current Caribbean historical archaeology, but it also sheds light on the similarities and differences in the region. Building on the previous, this research focuses on what we have, what has been overlooked and how to better inform the question of identity.
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CHAPTER 4 RESEARCH SITES
For this research, three assemblages were selected as the main focus (Figure 4-
1). They represent two different temporal stages of the colonial period across different portions of the island. This chapter will discuss the context of each site. The earliest archaeological assemblage (ca. 1521) is from the IACBE project at Casa Blanca on the northern portion of the island, in what is now known as Old San Juan. The PARA assemblage is from the West coast of the island, in the township of Añasco. Although one of the areas identified is from the 16th century (F48 Unit 2), the bulk of the collection is from the 19th century. Finally, the TASP assemblage comes from the southern portion of the island, in the township of Ponce. The majority of the assemblage is from the mid-
19th century although there is an area identified as later 18th century (designation PO-50 in SU-3). A
B
C
Figure 4-1. Map of Puerto Rico with general research areas marked. A) IACBE in Old San Juan; B) PARA in Añasco; C) TASP in Ponce.
Early Colonial Assemblage: Casa Blanca
The project, Archaeological Investigations in Casa Blanca and its surrounding areas (IACBE for its initials in Spanish), is coordinated by the Consejo de Arqueología
Terrestre de Puerto Rico (Consejo). Casa Blanca is located near the western coast of
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the islet of Old San Juan, near the walls of the Castillo San Felipe del Morro fortification
(Figure 4-2). It was originally built as the residence of the Ponce de León family who maintained the house for generations. It currently serves as a Museum and until recently was the host of the Consejo (Figure 4-3). In recent years, there has been a growing interest in the architectural processes of the homestead which has fueled excavations and laboratory research in the past four years. The materials used for this research were excavated during these recent excavations. Casa Blanca was witness to very important early colonial processes.
Figure 4-2. San Juan, 1575. By Juan Escalante de Mendoza from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas: Informe Final (page 17). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
The colonial program in Puerto Rico began officially in 1508 under the direction of Juan Ponce de León. His first settlement, Caparra, was on the northern portion of the
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island, two leagues away from the bay and from the coast (Sued Badillo 1995). The location was not ideal but was selected due to its proximity to the port. Due to issues with the geography of the area, by 1521 the settlement of Caparra was moved to a new settlement in an islet just off the northern coast of the island. The islet, then called
Puerto Rico, is now known as Old San Juan.
A B Figure 4-3. Northern facade of Casa Blanca, 1971-74. A) During the remodel B) after it was finished. Photos from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas: Informe Final (page 51). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
The site, Casa Blanca, is a complex that includes a residence, a domestic service area, and other areas that complement the residence as well as its other later uses. Recent archaeological and archival research suggests that the site has gone through four historic phases and these phases are broken into twelve constructive phases (Rivera Fontán et al. 2011; Rivera Groennou et al. 2011; Rivera Groennou et al.
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2014a). For this research, the material is part of the first historical phase, but it only covers the first three constructive phases (Figure 4-4).
The first historical phase is from ca. 1521-1773. During this time period the site served primarily as a residence. The residence originally was meant to be the home of
Juan Ponce de León and his family, but the conquistador never made it, dying in the same year the house was completed. However, the house remained within the family for generations to come. The daughter, Juana Ponce de León, and her husband Garci
Troche were the first to live in the house, alongside their offspring (Juan Ponce de León
II, Leonor and María) (Rivera Groennou et al. 2014a).
Garci Troche, son-in-law and legal executor of Ponce de León, was an important man (Rivera Groennou, Rodríguez López, and Rivera Fontán 2014). He was the owner of various haciendas and many slaves, as well as a government official (Rivera
Groennou et al. 2014a). He occupied the position of accountant and regidor (councilor) of Puerto Rico in 1525.
Their son, Ponce de León II, inherited the house. He resided there with his servants and family, including six offspring. He was a person of great importance in the politics of the island, just as his father and his grandfather. After his death, toward the end of the 16th century, the house changed hands but it was kept in the family (Rivera
Groennou et al. 2014a). The last person in the family to reside in Casa Blanca is Isabel de Novoa de Ponce de León around 1720. Shortly after her residence, around 1740, the owner of the house changes to someone who is unknown. There is no connection that has been made between this person and the Ponce De León Troche family. Finally, in
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1770 the house was given, or sold, to governor Dufresne who used it for the Spanish
Military.
Figure 4-4. Construction Phases Diagram of Casa Blanca adapted from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas: Informe Final (page 52). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
The second historical phase was its use under the Spanish military, ca. 1773-
1898. The exact date of the start of this phase varies between 1773, 1776 and 1779
(Hostos 1955; Abbad y Lasierra 1971; Rivera Groennou et al. 2014a). In any case, La
Real Maestranza de Ingenieros (the Royal Engineering Armory) is established within the property of Casa Blanca in 1780 (Rivera Groennou et al. 2014a). During this period,
Casa Blanca played an important role in the restructuring of the islet’s defenses (Rivera
Groennou et al. 2014). These defenses were restructured during this period and are the basis of what we see today in the walled structures of Old San Juan.
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The third historical phase was also military in nature, but this time under the
United States military (1898-1967). The complex maintained a similar purpose housing the Intendencia de Construcción (Quartermaster Corps) of the US military. This period was followed by the final, historical phase (1967 to present). It is a period of a civilian institution under the ICP. During this recent phase, the site was restored and converted into a museum. The first formal excavations for the area were done around this same time, 1971, by Dr. Ricardo E Alegría Gallardo (Rivera Groennou et al. 2014a).
For this research we are interested in the first historical phase. Recent excavations by the archaeologist Juan Rivera Fontán, Dr. Jorge Rodríguez López, and
Dr. Juan Rivera Groennou exposed a domestic service area in what is now the Interior
Garden. The domestic service area coincides with the period of interest. The excavated material is currently stored within the property of Casa Blanca where the Consejo has set up a laboratory. The collection is available for interdisciplinary research although the focus has been on architectural features.
The main area of interest for this research is the exposed domestic service space (referred to as the Interior Garden). Of this material, those that were part of impacted and refill contexts were not considered.
19th Century Assemblage: PARA
The Proyecto Arqueológico Regional de Añasco is an ongoing project on the western coast of Puerto Rico. Contrary to the previous regional survey that focused on three river valleys, this project only focused on the Río Grande de Añasco (Guaorabo).
The project is led by the archaeologists Dr. William J. Pestle, Dr. L. Antonio Curet, Dr.
Josh Torres and Dr. Reniel Rodríguez.
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The project aims to better understand human-environment interaction in the
Caribbean by focusing on an understudied region in Puerto Rico (Pestle et al. 2014).
The area of Añasco was chosen because of the known long occupation of human groups along the river valley from early hunter gatherers through late ceramic groups and early Spanish colonial to modern and contemporary settlements (Pestle et al.
2014).
Early during the conquest program, there are documented interactions between the Spanish and the indigenous population in the area (Fernandez de Oviedo y Valdés
1535). The area has been the host of multiple events including: the first indigenous rebellion in the island, the site of the first Spanish incursion into the island before the site of Caparra, and the seat of one of the two main partidos during the early colonial history of the island (Fernandez de Oviedo y Valdés 1535; Anderson-Córdova 1990;
Pestle et al. 2014).
The economy and the population of the island began to deteriorate as epidemics, and exploitation took its toll on the indigenous population. The promise of treasure in the continent only made the situation more troublesome as those who could leave the island fled to the newly established colonies (Abbad y Lasierra 1971; Anderson-
Córdova 1990; Martí Carvajal 1994; Martí Carvajal 2006; Pestle et al. 2014).
Unfortunately, the situation was exacerbated by corsair and Carib attacks which cause instability among the settlements (Lluch Mora 1971; Pestle et al. 2014; Vélez Dejardín
2003).
Abbad y Lasierra comments on the surviving indigenous population and their struggle during this period of instability (1971). It is important to note that they were not
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alone in their struggle. Although not in great quantities, there were African slaves that found themselves thrown in as complements to the indigenous labor (Sued Badillo and
López Cantos 1986). The first rebellion (1514) on the island is considered to be indigenous in nature, but according to historiographies there is evidence that the Crown was concerned about negros alzados (rebellious blacks) during this period as well
(Sued Badillo and López Cantos 1986).
The following centuries were of constant shift and instability. Some of the indigenous population moved to other islands, only to have some come back in a few years. The Hispanic settlements kept being moved around due to natural disasters, rebellions and pirate attacks, and the cattle economy that was loosely created started to suffer due to the lack of population (Abbad y Lasierra 1971; Lluch Mora 1971; Pestle et al. 2014). An overlapping example is the town of San Germán, originally settled in the area of Añasco.
The poblado of San Germán, the second oldest town in Puerto Rico, has been the object of research usually limited to historical documents and texts (e.g., (Brau
1894; Lluch Mora 1971). The town was originally founded, under the name of Higüey, on the banks of the river Guaorabo, now known as the Río Grande de Añasco. Shortly after it was founded, a group of natives, led by the cacique (chieftain) Guarionex, attacked, and the villa (town), was forced to move (Alegría 2009; Vélez Dejardín 2003).
Continuous attacks by natives were reduced throughout the years, only to be replaced by mosquito infestations and pirate attacks (Alegría 2009). The town of San Germán continued its move inland toward the island’s mountainous interior, and reached its current location in 1573 (Brau 1894; Lluch Mora 1971; Vélez Dejardín 2003). Over the
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years, many townships developed in the area and gained autonomy from San Germán.
Since Añasco served as the starting location for such important events, it seems obvious that it would be a great starting point to understand the constant transformation of an identity.
The collections are currently stored in the Centro Cultural de Añasco, under the care of Félix Rodríguez. The field survey focused on the northern portion of the river valley (within the township of Añasco) from the coast to the interior (Figure 4-5). The project followed a similar method of selecting fields of study to that of the TASP project
(Pestle et al. 2014; Torres 2008). The fields selected for this research were those that had a significant number of ceramics, metal, glass and brick, although the focus would be on the ceramics. These fields are: Field 24, Field 48, Field 60, and Field 61.
Figure 4-5. Survey area boundaries of PARA from Pestle, William J., L. Antonio Curet, Joshua Torres, and Joseph Stephenson. 2014. Proyecto Arqueológico Regional: Report on the 2013 Field Season (page 22, Figure 2). Archaeological Report.
.
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Field 24
Field 24 belongs to Juan Ruiz. The field is covered in tall grasses except for the areas that are prepared for hay cultivation. The shovel test pits done in July and August of 2013 revealed a site with two main components (Figure 4-6 and Figure 4-7). On the northern portion of the area, there are the scattered remains of a brick structure alongside late 18th and 19th century refuse. The area has been greatly disturbed by plowing causing modern material to intrude. A variety of material was found including: some cattle faunal elements, metal, ceramics (mostly refined earthenwares and tablewares), and brick.
Figure 4-6. Shovel test pit locations and boundaries of F24 focusing on the location of 19th century surface scatter from Pestle, William J., L. Antonio Curet, Joshua Torres, and Joseph Stephenson. 2014. Proyecto Arqueológico Regional: Report on the 2013 Field Season (page 45). Archaeological Report.
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Figure 4-7. Location of both components in F24. Left concentration is isolated 16th century material; to the right 9th century material from Pestle, William J., L. Antonio Curet, Joshua Torres, and Joseph Stephenson. 2014. Proyecto Arqueológico Regional: Report on the 2013 Field Season (page 46). Archaeological Report.
Field 48
Field 48, owned by José Nelson, is currently a plantain farm. It was surveyed in
March of 2014 with a combination of surface collection and STPs (Figure 4-8). This area is multicomponent. There is evidence of Late Ceramic Age activities in the central portion of the field, and a 19th century context located toward the northwest. The mean ceramic date for the colonial context in this field is of 1810 (95% confidence interval of
1786-1833).
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Figure 4-8. Location of STPs in F48. Map from Field Season 2014, courtesy of William J. Pestle and Joseph Stephenson.
Field 60
Field 60 is currently used as a large working plantain farm. The area is owned by
Juan Illas and it is located to the East of the bridge for road PR430 (opposite to Field
61). The field was the largest parcel surveyed for PARA through a combination of STP and surface recovery. A variety of artifacts were found including: ceramics, glass, brick, nails, roof tiles and stone stools. The roof tiles and brick artifacts suggest the remains of a 19th century brick-walled and ceramic tile-roofed structure (Pestle, personal communication, September 28, 2014). The mean ceramic date for this field is 1830
(95% confidence interval of 1823-1841).
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Figure 4-9. Location of STPs in F60. Map from Field Season 2014, courtesy of William J. Pestle and Joseph Stephenson.
Field 61
Field 61 is currently a large working plantain farm owned by various individuals. It is located on the opposite side of Field 60: on the Western side of the bridge for PR430.
Artifacts recovered include a variety of historical ceramics (mostly non-Hispanic refined earthenwares), brick, and some glass and roof tiles. Similar to Field 60 the findings suggest the remains of a 19th century brick-walled and ceramic tile-roofed structure
(Pestle, personal communication, September 28, 2014). The mean ceramic date for this field is 1839 (95% confidence interval 1832-17849).
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Figure 4-10. Location of STPs in F61 Map from Field Season 2014, courtesy of William J. Pestle and Joseph Stephenson.
19th Century Assemblage: TASP
The Tibes Archaeological Survey Project was done during the summers of 2007 and 2008 in the municipality of Ponce, Puerto Rico. The project was fueled by the desire to further explore the area that had already yielded the archaeological sites of
Tibes (PO-1) and Jácanas (PO-29).
During the first half of the 16th century the island had been divided into hatos or ranches. These hatos were subdivided into different ranches where cattle were free to roam. In the southern area where Ponce is located there was a large hato that was under the supervision of the Ponce de León and Troche family (Lluch Mora 2000). It is important to note that although they are the same family from Casa Blanca, the
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materials from TASP do not belong to the same Ponce de León and Troche family or belong to the same time period as those in the IACBE assemblage.
Although some areas around the Jacaguas River were settled by the Spanish in the first decades of the 16th century, the town of Ponce was not officially recognized until 1692.
During the 17th century the island started to have an important economic role in sugar, coffee, cattle, tobacco and timber production (with sugar and coffee as the most important), and in which Ponce exercised an important role. There is a notable trend of agricultural production between coffee and sugar production:
1. Between 1824 and 1834 there was an increase in land used for sugar by 250%. Coffee production increased between 1817 and 1827 by 150% (Solis, 1985)
2. Sugar production reached its peak in 1879, however coffee sales exceeded sugar. By the 1870s, Ponce was the leading producer and exporter comprising 35% of the island’s legal trade in 1885.
Immigrants (from Corsica, Mallorca, Spain and other countries in Latin America) contributed heavily in these economic endeavors. Many of the operators of small and medium sized farms in the Portugués river valley were immigrants. Typically by the late
19th century, it is thought that the landowners in the area would be second or third generation immigrants.
With the decline of slavery and its abolishment in 1879, the economic system needed to supply labor. A law in 1849 classified all landless and nonprofessional males as jornaleros who were required by law to secure employment on the estates of a landowner or be prosecuted. The romanticized jíbaros (similar to the yeomans) and the agregados were resident peons that may have had a chance of having their own subsistence plots within the landowner’s farm.
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Between 1886 and 1896, coffee production had a boom. Its exports doubled from
9.5 to 18 million pesos. Coffee represented 76.9% of gross exports by value in 1896.
However between 1898 and 1900, production suffered a collapse. Some of the causes attributed to this collapse are: 1) the international coffee market reduced the price by half between 1895 and 1898; 2) in the wake of the Spanish American War, the US acquired Puerto Rico and a shift in economic focus and conflict of cultures takes place; and, 3) hurricane San Ciriaco destroyed the 1899 crop and a large portion of the planted trees. In 1898 57.9 million pounds of coffee were exported versus 12.2 million pounds of coffee exported in 1901.
After 1900, haciendas gave way to Centrales Azucareras, moving sugar processing from inland to the coastal areas. The colono would grow his own sugar but would sell his product to the centrales to be processed. This is also the beginning of the capitalization in the island where there is an emergence of a sugar proletariat (salaried laborers).
By the time of the Great Depression, there was a focus on sugar production.
However, coffee production did not die out. From being an intensive small-scale operation it became a large-scale extensive one, surviving mostly because of inflated prices (Moscoso 1999).
The survey project was an ambitious task undertaken by Dr. Josh Torres and Dr.
Geoff DuChemin. TASP followed three historically important river valleys: Portugués,
Canas, and Chiquito (Figure 4-11). The river valleys were selected due to their previously known archaeological productivity. Two important pre-Columbian sites had been identified previously: PO-1 (Tibes) and PO-29 (Jácanas) in the Río Portugués.
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Both sites are ceremonial complexes of the indigenous population of the island. The survey’s quadrangle covered the portion north of Tibes and south of Jácanas and extended to rivers on either side of the Portugués: Río Canas is to the west and Río
Chiquito is to the east. Several pre-colonial and colonial sites were identified.
Figure 4-11. TASP survey area from Torres, Josh. 2008. The Tibes Archaeological Survey Project: Location, Documentation and Preliminary Evaluation of Pre- Colonial Resources (page 2, Figure 1). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador, San Juan.
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The collections are currently stored in the Centro Ceremonial Indígena de Tibes, a tourist center and museum that was built for the site of Tibes. The sample areas selected were Survey Unit -1 (SU-1), Survey Unit-3 (SU-3), Survey Unit-4 (SU-4), and
Survey Unit-8 (SU-8). All four of these sample areas had a significant amount of ceramics, metal, glass and brick, and were labeled according to the SHPO’s labeling system. The first three are in the river valley of the Portugués, whereas SU-8 is in the river valley of the Canas.
SU-1
SU-1 is South of Route 503 (Figure 4-12). The designations PO-55 and PO-58 were given to the historic trash scatters found in the Unit. PO-55 covers an area of around 80 x 40 m (Torres 2008). No standing structures were identified, although a
1936 photograph shows a structure in the area (Torres 2008). PO-58 has evidence of a historic structure and a sugar processing cauldron, both features appear to have been moved from their original location (Torres 2008). The mean ceramic date for SU-1 is
1841 (95% confidence interval of 1832-1853).
SU-3
SU-3 is west of Route 503 and PR-10 (Figure 4-13). The area belonged, for several generations, to the same family (Torres 2008). The designation PO-50 was given to a multi-component area located at the base of a steep hill that is currently being used as a horse pasture (Torres 2008). The historical assemblage suggests an occupation during late 16th or early 17th century. The mean ceramic date for SU-3 is
1777 (95% confidence interval of 1706-1849).
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Figure 4-12. Location of test units and sites in SU-1 from Torres, Josh. 2008. The Tibes Archaeological Survey Project: Location, Documentation and Preliminary Evaluation of Pre-Colonial Resources (page 56, Figure 23). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador, San Juan.
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Figure 4-13. Test unit location and site boundaries of SU-3 from Torres, Josh. 2008. The Tibes Archaeological Survey Project: Location, Documentation and Preliminary Evaluation of Pre-Colonial Resources (page 70, Figure 32). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador, San Juan.
SU-4
SU-4 totaled 30 hectares covering the west of the Portugués River north of the intersection of PR-10 and Route 503 (Figure 4-14). The sampling unit area was economically active. Locals in the area, residents, property owners and managers, mention the use of the land for sugar production as well as its use as a dairy farm.
Although most of these economic endeavors have been abandoned in the past
20 years (Torres 2008), there are remnants of these activities. The designation PO-52 was given to a site located north of a dairy farm. Within the site there is evidence of a
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house foundation which has been looted. The site has evidence of late 16th and early
17th century ceramics, like in PO-50. Unlike the former, there is material present that suggests a later occupation from the late 18th to 20th centuries. The mean ceramic date for SU-4 is 1845 (95% confidence interval of 1833-1862).
Figure 4-14. Test unit locations and site boundaries for SU-4 from Torres, Josh. 2008. The Tibes Archaeological Survey Project: Location, Documentation and Preliminary Evaluation of Pre-Colonial Resources (page 77, Figure 36). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador, San Juan.
SU-8
SU-8 is located to the west of Highway 123 and to the east of the Canas River
(Figure 4-15). The designation PO-46 was given to an area that contains the following features: an abandoned house (present in a 1936 aerial photo), and a scatter of historic trash throughout the property. The area has at least two historic components. The first one is evidenced by the structure and materials from the first half of the 20th century which includes: an abandoned house, glass manufactured by the Owens-Illinois Glass
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Company, and late historic and modern ceramics (Torres 2008). The second one is of an earlier occupation dating between the late 18th century and continuing through most of the 19th century (Torres 2008). The presence of high quantities of whiteware (1830- present) could suggest that the two historic components are actually one continuous phase. The mean ceramic date for SU-8 is 1852 (95% confidence interval of 1840-
1862).
Figure 4-15. Aerial photo and test unit locations of SU-8 from Torres, Josh. 2008. The Tibes Archaeological Survey Project: Location, Documentation and Preliminary Evaluation of Pre-Colonial Resources (page 35, Figure 10). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador, San Juan.
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Summary
The assemblages selected are from IACBE in the north, PARA in the west and
TASP in the south. The IACBE assemblage covers the early colonial period, which is the period where most transculturation studies have taken place. The TASP and PARA collection cover the end of the 18th century on toward the late 19th century. As discussed in Chapter 5, these assemblages serve as bridge from the early colonial period’s formation of identities and the contemporary notion of national identities.
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CHAPTER 5 RESEARCH METHODS
In this chapter I discuss the methods for this project. I, first, recognize the nature of this research as one embedded in comparative collections. Second, I discuss the overlapping nature of the study of the ceramic assemblages. Most of the basic inquiries follow the same protocol. However, the chapter divides the inquiries as we get into the specifics of the time periods of interest: Early colonial and 19th century. A general summary of the methods is provided at the end.
Comparative Collections
The research conducted here focused on collections that were already available that met specific criteria. The criteria used were based on the purpose of this project which attempts to cover a broad and malleable subject like identity. The collections selected were: Puerto Real (used as a baseline), Casa Blanca, materials from a regional survey in South Central Puerto Rico (TASP), and another regional survey in western Puerto Rico (PARA). These collections were chosen for multiple reasons, as explained below.
For the first part of the research, it was important to consider the usefulness of the theoretical approach of transculturation and culture contact and see how it overlapped with previous research already done using similar approaches. I needed to use a collection that had already been successfully used in similar research that could provide a baseline. Puerto Real was chosen because it was one of the first towns established in the New World by Spain. In addition it has been studied by Dr. Charles
Ewen and others using a cultural contact approach (Ewen 1987; Ewen 1991). Not only would previous research serve as a springboard for my own but the materials were
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readily accessible at the Florida Museum of Natural History. Second, I wanted a collection that exhibited similar in historical processes to the sites in Puerto Rico because as we get later in time I will be concentrating on issues of a communal
(national) identity. The type of focus required to expose the notion of national identity is narrow and, thus, requires us to concentrate in how identities reverberate through time.
To bring the theoretical approach of transculturation and social identity, the main focus of this first part of the research must be an early contact Puerto Rican site. Casa
Blanca was selected for a variety of reasons. It is an early colonial site with material readily available in the ICP and it is the focus of recent and innovative research.
Although it is not the earliest on the island (Caparra holds this title), it is the site that marks the beginning of the area in 1521 (thirteen years after Caparra’s founding) of
Puerto Rico, which came to be known as Old San Juan in the present day.
For the second part of research, there were two main considerations: (1) the notion of a national identity (or, at the least, a communal identity), in the Caribbean has historical roots in the early colonial period but does not crystallize until the late 18th and
19th centuries, and (2) transculturation and culture contact is understudied in later colonial contexts. Two collections were selected from two different regions of Puerto
Rico. Both collections are part of a larger regional survey in river valleys. The first is the collection from the TASP, representative of three river valleys in the south of Puerto
Rico. The second is the collection from the PARA representative of one river valley in the west of the island.
The material considered from each collection was, for the most part, ceramics, their temporal variation, as well as their function and pertinent attributes. Faunal
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remains were incorporated when possible, as is the case for the Casa Blanca assemblage. Although other materials (personal items, glasses, and metal) are important to incorporate, there was not enough data available to make a notable contribution.
Ceramic Assemblages
Regardless of the time period or region covered, this research focused on ceramic assemblages. Ceramics have often been a part of functional analysis that involves understanding the use, manufacture, and composition (Rice 1996a, 1996b).
Research has suggested that apart from understanding the functional aspect of ceramics, archaeologists should understand why a certain ceramic was preferred.
Although there is a consensus that vessel types and forms may serve a specific function, many of these functions can be served with a variety of types and/or forms. In other words, of the alternatives there is a pattern, conscious or unconscious, that is followed by a community and it becomes a part of their identity. Differences in obtaining, manufacturing, and using wares reflect different identities and their respective agency.
Dating
Mean ceramic dates (MCD) were calculated for Fields 24, 48, 60 and 61. The
MCD formula was first developed by Stanley South in an attempt to establish a pattern of temporal occupation of any given site (South 1977). The formula is based on the idea that ceramic sherds represent the use of said artifacts following a bell curve in which there is a beginning, a rise of use (that reaches a peak), and then decline in use until they are no longer found. The formula is expressed as follows (South 1978):
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Figure 5-1. MCD Formula. Y = MCD; Xi = median date of manufacture of each ceramic type; fi = frequency of each ceramic type (in fragments); and n = number of fragments in the sample.
It is important to recognize that the concept of MCD cannot account for certain variables, including sherds that have no known start or end of production date; trends in consumption that do not follow the unimodal bell curve patterns, reuse of materials and delay in their disposal, and others (Majewski and O’Brien 1987). However, the concept is useful in providing a frame of reference for the area. MCD should be used very carefully and alongside other forms of evidence.
For this project, MCDs were calculated using the R script from Matthew Peeples
(Peeples 2011) adapted to run 10,000 bootstrapped replicates, instead of 1,000, to further assess the sampling error often associated with the original MCD formula. Each
MCD was calculated with a 95% confidence interval. The calculation was done by using ceramic frequencies that had known production ranges (Goggin 1968; Noël Hume 1970;
Deagan 1987). The resulting MCDs were considered alongside any stratigraphic and documental evidence from each area.
Ceramic Classification
All ceramics in the assemblage were counted and weighted. They were separated by paste type (coarse earthenware, refined earthenware, stoneware, and porcelain). Forms were identified when possible, surface techniques (unglazed, lead
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glazed, salt glazed and tin enamel), as well as any other characteristics when possible like rim and design motif, decorative technique and rim diameter in cm (Florida Museum of Natural History n.d.). When possible the wares were classified by their type, as per the Digital Type Collections (Florida Museum of Natural History n.d.). The IACBE assemblage modified some of Deagan’s typology. The slight differences are as follow
(Rivera Groennou et al. 2014a):
Criolla sherds are unglazed coarse earthenwares that are not wheel thrown, sometimes with red slip (Figure 5-2). In the case of Casa Blanca, they are associated with the increase of slaves on the island.
Those classified as Unglazed Coarse Earthenware (generic) were wheel thrown. These were found in domestic contexts, particularly associated with cooking (Figure 5-3).
Inlaid wares have usually been associated with feldspar incrustations. However, the ones found in Casa Blanca have been incrusted with quartz as well as fragments of Sevilla Blue on White Majolica (Figure 5-4).
Olive jars and other storage vessels were classified as Botijas. For the purpose of chronology two general categories were created for this research: (A) unglazed and (B) lead glazed. In this work, I have maintained the general categories identifying the unglazed and lead glazed varieties with the letters A and B respectively. For IACBE the “Botija” A includes: red paste, grey paste and cream colored paste (associated with the Generic Olive Jars). The “Botija” B includes two variants: green lead glazed with cream to light brown-colored paste and open mouth; and a very light green (almost yellow) lead glazed vessel with light brown to gray paste.
Hispanic Lead Glaze type includes the varieties of sixteenth century lead glaze redware as well as lead glaze coarse earthenware. In Casa Blanca, this type was linked to domestic settings, in particular to the preparation of food.
“Orientales” vessels are those of Asian porcelain. Their presence is minimal with only 16 sherds in the Interior Garden. Their presence in Casa Blanca implies their use as a luxury item (Figure 5-5).
The Orange Micaceous wares were originally classified as Terracota in the IACBE assemblage.
A so-called Contenedor Blanco and Contenedor A/B (white container and blue on white container) were identified. In this research I classify it as “White Slip”
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because it is its main characteristic. These are found in bacin (pot) and lebrillo (bowl) form with white slip and cream-colored paste.
Figure 5-2. Criolla type with red slip from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas. Catálogo de Materiales Arqueológicos (page 20). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
Figure 5-3. Examples of Unglazed Coarse Earthenware with evidence of exposure to heat from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas. Catálogo de Materiales Arqueológicos (page 20). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
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Figure 5-4. Examples of Inlaid with majolica and quartz incrustations from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas. Catálogo de Materiales Arqueológicos (page 24). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
Figure 5-5. Ming Blue on White examples from Interior Garden from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas: Informe Final (page 170). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan.
For each assemblage ceramic distributions by type, paste type and origins of manufacture were recorded. Type and paste type distributions follow the classification established by the FLMNH database. For the origins of manufacture I used similar
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categories as Joseph and Byrne (1992). The categories are as follows: local, non-local
Hispanic, non-Hispanic, Asian and Unknown. The non-local Hispanic category merges those made from Hispanic territories in the Americas as well as those in the Iberian
Peninsula. The non-Hispanic categories are mostly of British and German origin, although some US stoneware also falls in this category. For Asian, we consider porcelain made in the Asian continent. Finally, the unknown category is used for ceramics that have no established place of manufactures (e.g., Rey Ware, UID wares,
Redware, etc.).
For the early period, non-local ceramics were imported by the dominated group.
The context of their import (acquiring the vessel itself, or acquiring the vessel as a byproduct) was also assessed. This former issue is an entry point of inquiry in the Casa
Blanca collection. A lot of the imported vessels were those used for storing products to be traded during transport. The reuse of these vessels after the main product was used would indicate a decrease in the import of vessels for the same purpose. No evidence of modification was observed except for a seemingly indigenous ceramic handle (from
SU-3) with a peculiar design (Figure 5-6), and a bead manufactured from refined earthenware (Field 60) (Figure 5-7).
Figure 5-6. Handle with crosses on dorsal portion of handle (left) and punctuated lines around the side and on the ventral portion of handle (right) from SU-3.
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Figure 5-7. Ceramic Bead from Field 60.
Temporal setting was the main variable, since we are looking at changes over time to understand transculturation as a process. As such, the distributions between
Puerto Real and Casa Blanca were compared, and the 19th century collections of TASP and PARA were compared with one another. This chronological distinction propelled two different approaches as discussed below
Early Colonial Period
The area of Puerto Real was known by the locals for some time, before it was
“discovered” in 1974 by Dr. Williams Hodges (Ewen 1987). Recognizing the significance of the site, he and M. Albert Mangones contacted Dr. Charles Fairbanks from UF to investigate the site further. In 1979 the first excavations were led by Raymond Willis,
Fairbanks’ student. The initial stage of the work done in Puerto Real focused on positively identifying the area, and understanding the extent of occupation (Ewen 1987).
Shortly after the first fieldwork ended, Dr. Kathleen Deagan took over as supervisor.
Puerto Real is located on the northern coast of Haiti (Figure 5-8). It was established in 1504 by Rodrigo de Mexia along with a group of settlers (Ewen 1987).
Although the original intent was for Puerto Real to be a mining colony, the lack of mineral resources made the area a source of labor instead (Ewen 1987). Puerto Real’s port served as a nexus for slave raids caused by the rapid depopulation of the
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indigenous population across other islands. The slaves that were brought in to Puerto
Real were first indigenous, but African slaves were later included (Ewen 1987). As previously seen, as mining operations became more profitable on the continent, the population in Puerto Real began to decrease (Ewen 1987).
Figure 5-8. Location of Puerto Real in Haiti from Florida Museum of Natural History. n.d. Puerto Real (https://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/histarch/puertoReal.htm), accessed September 13, 2014.
By 1532, as already stated in Chapter 3, the Caribbean islands resorted to a cattle economy, with particular focus on the production of leather (Abbad y Lasierra
1971; Ewen 1987; Higman 2010; Martí Carvajal 2006; Moscoso 1999). The constraints in trade imposed by the Spanish Crown caused the residents of Puerto Real to engage in contraband (Ewen 1987). In addition to these constraints, the residents had to deal with natural disasters (e.g., earthquakes and incidents with corsairs). By 1605, Spain depopulated the western portion of the island (modern Haiti).
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Designed after research done by Deagan in Saint Augustine, Ewen sought to understand ethnogenesis in Puerto Real. To do this, he developed five test implications were (Ewen 1987, 1991):
1. Food preparation activities will portray a significant combination of local and European wares. The mixture would be caused by the lack of trade with Europe as well as intermarriage. Indigenous wares would probably be the main source of wares to replace utilitarian ones, later replaced by African wares.
2. Status related artifacts would be represented by Spain, since they are the ones in power. Activities that are visible, i.e. public, will have a stronger Spanish and European representation.
3. Structures in the area would use local materials but maintain European architectural styles.
4. Diet would be comprised of a combination of the peninsular complex (cattle) and indigenous strategies.
5. The previous four reflect a pattern reminiscent of a Hispanic-American identity. As colonists adapt over time, a standard would be created.
The assemblage of Puerto Real was divided into two periods identified by using artifact dates and stratigraphy (Ewen 1987, 1991). The purpose of dividing into two recognizable periods is to point out what changes occurred: from an Iberian culture
(pre-1550) to a potential Creole (post-1550) (Ewen 1987).
For the Casa Blanca assemblage, I focused on points one and four, although some status related items were also recovered. The architecture of Casa Blanca is not in the scope of this research, but further study is currently being done, as it is the crux of the research by the IACBE (Rivera Groennou et al. 2011; Rivera Fontán et al. 2011;
Rivera Groennou et al. 2014a). I have the benefit that the assemblage was put into a palpable historical context (or phases). The ceramics identified as part of the first historical phase (1521-1771) are all part of a domestic setting and form the bulk of the assemblage. Within this phase there are four construction phases identified (as
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previously seen in Figure 4-3). Each constructive phase will be studied independently and compared.
Ewen recognized that his use of only two periods, spanning just under a century each, was not enough to fully understand the changes that occurred in the Hispanic
Caribbean, but that it was a starting point. The phases attributed to Casa Blanca are as follows:
Phase A: ca. 1521 -1591 Phase B: ca. 1592 -1624 Phase C: ca. 1625 - 1719
Shifts in the distribution of ceramic types and product origin are evaluated in
Chapter 6 to identify any patterns that emerge. The materials used for analysis in the chapter only cover the three first phases, temporal range of 1521 to the early 18th century.
In addition, a comparison of faunal remains from the same sample of the assemblage was assessed. I considered the presence of specific taxa in the assemblage. The use of native versus non-native fauna, and the differences in the procurement of resources also are compared and analyzed in Chapter 6. The domestic setting studied at Casa Blanca, although within a site that belongs to the elite of the island, might include non-elite refuse from its servants and slaves.
19th Century Material
The assemblages from TASP and PARA are of a different nature than the ones from Puerto Real and Casa Blanca. Not only were the majority of the fields subject to shovel test pits alone, but the material itself was mostly ceramics and brick. Some metal, glass and faunal remains are present. In addition, the anonymity of the 19th
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century material presents another limitation, but it provides a snippet of what we might expect to find in this context on the island. Because of this it is necessary to adapt
Ewen’s test implications (Ewen 1987, 1991). Following Social Identity Theory and research done in minority versus majority interactions, those that are expressing domination will have the potential to encourage social and domestic organization among the powerless (e.g., Wilkie and Farnsworth 2005). The encouragement provided does not need to be positive but can, in fact, restrict particular forms of organization (Nemeth
1986).
The sites covered by TASP and PARA are not only domestic, but were also areas that did not belong to the affluent peninsular. As mentioned in Chapter 3, there was a struggle during the 19th century regarding what it meant to be Puerto Rican.
Although what we know is mostly evident from the historical record and that is riddled with biases toward particular social groups, it is important to consider the role that the rest of society had in adopting, adapting and/or rejecting the norm.
To do this, I consider the following:
1. The incipient capitalism in the 19th century coupled with the focus on consumer choice.
2. How the availability of cheaper wares would impact, if at all, the choices made in consumption.
There are numerous misconceptions when dealing with ceramics from the 19th century (Majewski and O’Brien 1987). The typologies from previous centuries were deemed appropriate despite the obvious changes in not only consumer culture but also in the production of these wares (Arthur 2002; Klein 1991; Majewski and O’Brien 1987;
Henry 1991; Miller 1991). For example, the triad classification of refined earthenwares into creamware, pearlware, and whiteware at first glance seemed to be useful for
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temporal and typological classification. However, these “wares” are better understood as transitional and overlapping (Majewski and O’Brien 1987). Many have suggested to instead identify differences through decoration, function and possibly looking at the cost of these wares ( Henry 1991; Klein 1991; Majewski and O’Brien 1987; Miller 1991). For the TASP and PARA assemblages decoration is troublesome because of the size of the sherds (Figure 5-9). For example, a minimally decorated ware could easily be classified as an undecorated one. However, identifying the function that these wares have (i.e., tablewares) and their characteristic as non-local wares in these assemblages provides more information.
A B
Figure 5-9. Examples of Refined Earthenwares in PARA and TASP assemblages. A) From STP in F60. B) From STP in SU-8
In addition to this, I have to keep in mind that the only variable available for these assemblages is ceramics. Because of this, the data presented can only answer a portion of the question of identity or the patterns of behavior of such an identity for this
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time period. However, patterns will arise due to chronology or location that can help guide future research to better inform identity.
A similar approach is taken with the ceramics of this period as done with the ones from the early colonial assemblage. I examine the frequency of ceramics determined by paste type, function and location, as well as patterns in place of manufacture.
Summary
The bulk of this research focuses on the assemblage from the early colonial period in Casa Blanca of the IACBE project. I have placed it in context with materials from Puerto Real by using Ewen’s first and fourth test implication (Ewen 1987). The first test implication focuses on food preparation activities, for which ceramics are used as proxy. The fourth test implication focuses on the diet, for which faunal remains are used.
As time passes, we can see patterns indicative of particular behaviors.
In addition to the IACBE assemblage, I will be discussing materials from the 19th century from the PARA and TASP projects. Both of these assemblages lack materials required for Ewen’s test implications, except for ceramics (1987). As such, the focus on this time period will be on the first test implication and the discussion of any patterns that emerge.
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CHAPTER 6 DATA AND ANALYSIS: FIRST STAGE OF IDENTITY
In this chapter I present the data collected as well as provide an analysis of what was uncovered. First, I ldescribethe materials from Casa Blanca including ceramics and the zooarchaeological remains and present basic distributions within the three of the four phases previously established for the construction of the area.
Phase A: ca. 1521 -1591 Phase B: ca. 1592 -1624 Phase C: ca. 1625 - 1719
Following the basic ceramic distributions by phases, I discuss differences between local and nonlocal wares in their manufacture as well as their function. The chapter concludes with the comparison of the Puerto Real test implications number 1 and number 4 (Ewen 1987, 1991).
Casa Blanca
The assemblage studied from Casa Blanca comes from an area now known as the Jardín Interior (Interior Garden). The area was originally the domestic area where most of the cooking activities and domestic refuse was located (Table 6-1). The historical context of the site’s construction phases has caused areas to be impacted by constructive events like refills. Although a total of 23,764 artifacts were recovered from the area, only 13,388 (47%) of them were recovered from undisturbed contexts.
From the undisturbed contexts only those that could be positively identified to a phase were used for this analysis. To do so, stratigraphic sequence, previous archaeological and archival references, as well as MCD were used to identify the chronological pattern. The resulting areas are presented by phase (Table 6-2; Table 6-
3; and Table 6-4).
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Table 6-1. Distribution of archaeological material in the Jardín Interior from Rivera Groennou, Juan, Jorge Rodríguez López and Juan Rivera Fontán. 2014. Historia constructiva de Casa Blanca: Documentación de materiales arqueológicos y análisis de morteros de fábricas.Informe Final (pages 111-112, Table 1 to Table 3). Oficinal Estatal de Conservación Histórica de Puerto Rico, Oficina del Gobernador: San Juan Material Type Jardín Interior Jardín Interior Total Percentage of total disturbed by material by type construction undisturbed (%) Ceramics 7,892 4,973 12 Fauna 12,304 6,969 22 Other Artifacts 816 427 2 Construction Material 2,752 1,019 7 Total 23,764 13,388 47 In the case of the faunal remains, I focused on the native versus non-native fauna and procurement. Both of these aspects provide information about the adoption of new resources as well as the adaptation of the practices associated.
Table 6-2. Distribution of Ceramics and Fauna by FS associated with Phase A. Unit FS Material Type Count 9 12016,12017 Ceramics 11 Fauna 24 11 14021 Ceramics 8 Fauna 22 14 17011,17015,17018,17019 Ceramics 10 Fauna 8 15 18031,18047, 18050 18052 Ceramics 52 Fauna 54 TOTAL Ceramics 81 Fauna 108
Table 6-3. Distribution of Ceramics and Fauna by FS associated with Phase B. Unit FS Material Type Count 7 7023, 7029, 7044, 7045, 7048, Ceramics 39 7049 Fauna 6 14 17026, 17033 Ceramics 9 Fauna 2 15 18009, 18032, 18034 Ceramics 37 Fauna 22 18 21006, 21009 Ceramics 46 Fauna 4 TOTAL Ceramics 131 Fauna 34
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The bulk of the ceramic material was found in the areas associated with Phase
C, which yielded a total of 1594 sherds. Because of the disproportional number of artifacts between A, B and C, I decided to take a 10% sample (totaling 159 sherds) of C.
To verify that the 10% sample was significant, multiple 10% samples were taken and added. The frequencies for Phase C remained remarkably similar.
Table 6-4. Distribution of Ceramics and Fauna by FS associated with Phase C. Unit FS Material Type Count 7 7040 Ceramics 39 Fauna 2 9 12001 Ceramics 37 Fauna 20 14 17004 Ceramics 38 Fauna 2 16 19003 Ceramics 33 Fauna 3 18 21005 Ceramics 18 Fauna 4 19 22001 Ceramics 23 Fauna 28 TOTAL Ceramics 159 Fauna 59
Ceramics
To determine whether Ewen’s Test Implication 1 would hold with the Casa
Blanca assemblage (1987), I looked at the relative frequencies of the ceramics. The frequency of Hispanic and local wares would be indicative of two main aspects: a lack of trade with Europe and intermarriage (Ewen 1987). To observe this I followed a similar breakdown of ceramic functions to differentiate between utilitarian wares and tablewares. Tablewares were divided between those of Hispanic origin, and those of non -Hispanic origin. Finally, the utilitarian ware group consisted of local and non-local ceramics.
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Table 6-5. Frequency of Majolicas during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca
Majolicas A B C A sum B sum C sum A total B total C total A B C Total % % % % % % % % % Columbia 11 4 6 21 52.4 19.0 28.6 84.6 20.0 23.1 18.6 6.8 10.2 Sevilla 1 11 19 31 3.2 35.5 61.3 7.7 55.0 73.1 1.7 18.6 32.2 S. Domingo 0 1 0 1 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 5.0 0.0 0.0 1.7 0.0 Yayal 1 1 0 2 50.0 50.0 0.0 7.7 5.0 0.0 1.7 1.7 0.0 Triana 0 0 1 1 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 3.8 0.0 0.0 1.7 UID, Majolica 0 3 0 3 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 15.0 0.0 0.0 5.1 0.0 13 20 26 59 100.0 100.0 100.0 22.0 33.9 44.1 100.00
Table 6-6. Frequency of European Tablewares during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca European Tablewares A B C A sum B sum C sum A total B total C total A B C Total % % % % % % % % % Lead Glazed Stoneware 0 0 2 2 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 18.2 0.0 0.0 18.2 Pearlware 0 0 2 2 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 18.2 0.0 0.0 18.2 Whiteware 0 0 3 3 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 27.3 0.0 0.0 27.3 "Orientales” 0 0 4 4 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 36.4 0.0 0.0 36.4 0 0 11 11 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 100.0 100.00
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Table 6-7. Frequency of Hispanic Tablewares during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca. Hispanic A Tablewares su A B C m B sum C sum A total B total C total A B C Total % % % % % % % % % Orange Micaceous 0 2 0 2 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 66.7 0.0 0.0 25.0 0.0
Inlaid 0 0 2 2 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 25.0 Bizcocho 3 1 0 4 0.0 75.0 25.0 100.0 33.3 0.0 37.5 12.5 0.0 3 3 2 8 100.0 100.0 100.0 37.5 37.5 25.0 100.0
Table 6-8. Frequency of Utilitarian Wares during Phase A, Phase B, and Phase C in Casa Blanca.
Utilitarian Wares A B C A sum B sum C sum A total B total C total A B C Total % % % % % % % % % "Botija" A 1 17 26 44 2.3 38.6 59.1 1.5 15.7 21.8 0.3 5.8 8.9 "Botija" B 1 11 23 35 2.9 31.4 65.7 1.5 10.2 19.3 0.3 3.8 7.9 Green Lead Glazed 2 5 2 9 22.2 55.6 22.2 3.1 4.6 1.7 0.7 1.7 0.7 Criolla 8 23 15 46 17.4 50.0 32.6 12.3 21.3 12.6 2.7 7.9 5.1 White Slip 1 1 4 6 16.7 16.7 66.7 1.5 0.9 3.4 0.3 0.3 1.4 Unglazed Coarse 11 9 16 36 30.6 25.0 44.4 16.9 8.3 13.4 3.8 3.1 5.5 Hispanic Lead Glaze 26 16 9 51 51.0 31.4 17.6 40.0 14.8 7.6 8.9 5.5 3.1 Black Lead Glazed 0 0 1 1 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 0.8 0.0 0.0 0.3 Redware 15 24 22 61 24.6 39.3 36.1 23.1 22.2 18.5 5.1 8.2 7.5 UID (coarse) 0 2 1 3 0.0 66.7 33.3 0.0 1.9 0.8 0.0 0.7 0.3 65 108 119 292 100.0 100.0 100.0 22.3 37.0 40.8 100.00
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As seen in Table 6-5 and Table 6-6, majolicas and European tablewares increase. The majolicas become more varied and numerous over time, including the appearance of majolicas of American manufacture (not represented in this sample).
European tablewares are non-existent in the sample until Phase C. Their sudden appearance in Phase C coincides with rise of British wares like the so-called pearlware and whiteware, and the increase in trade (illegal or not) with other parts of the world like
Asia. In Table 6-7, I compare the frequencies of non-Majolica Hispanic Tableware.
However, there are not many examples for this particular category.
The Utilitarian wares’ frequencies were compared over time (Table 6-8). In addition, a comparison of local versus non-local Hispanic manufacture was used to see if there is admixture (Figure 6-1). The ceramics of unknown manufacture were not considered.
100.0%
90.0%
80.0%
70.0%
60.0%
50.0% Local
40.0% Non Local Hispanic 30.0%
20.0%
10.0%
0.0% Phase A Phase B Phase C
Figure 6-1. Comparison of Utilitarian wares of local versus non-local manufacture.
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As seen in Figure 6-1, the proportion of local and non-local Hispanic manufacture utilitarian wares remained roughly the same across all three phases, similar to what happened in Puerto Real. However, contrary to what is seen in Puerto Real, the non- local Hispanic vessels are in the majority. I posit that the reason why the opposite is true for Casa Blanca has to do with the interaction between the peninsular and the ever increasing criollo class. When comparing the decreasing solidarity of those in Puerto
Rico with those in Spain alongside a lack of constant feedback because Spain’s attention was focused on Hispaniola and later on the continent, the residents in Puerto
Rico may not have felt the need to adapt in the same way as the residents in Puerto
Real.
In addition, the literature available suggests that there is a decrease in the trade between Spain and Puerto Rico at this time (Abbad y Lasierra 1971; Martí Carvajal
2006). However, the proportion of non-local Hispanic wares would suggest the opposite.
The idea that vessels used for the storage of trade goods were reused in Casa
Blanca, as suggested by Juan Rivera Fontán, would support this result (personal communication, July 8, 2014). The reuse of these containers would imply that locally manufactured ceramics would be limited to other needs, decreasing the amount expected in the assemblage.
Faunal Remains
For the outcome of Test Implication 4, I compared the changes in frequencies over the three previously mentioned phases. To do so, I considered the proportion of native versus non-native fauna, the frequencies of taxa by period, and the proportion of procurement of resources.
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Puerto Real’s early and late period do not exhibit much change (Table 6-9).
However, Ewen noticed particular differences in practices at Puerto Real in comparison to the practices of the indigenous population in the site of En Bas Saline (Ewen 1987).
The differences reflect the addition of cattle and other mammals from the Iberian diet into pre-colonial Caribbean cuisine. In Casa Blanca we wanted to compare the faunal remains from each phase to understand if and how the cuisine developed beyond the early colonial temporal context represented in Puerto Real.
Table 6-9. NISP comparison between Puerto Real and En Bas Saline adapted from Ewen, Charles Robin. 1987. From Spaniard to Creole: The Archaeology of Hispanic American Cultural Formation at Puerto Real, Haiti (page 221, Figure 7-1). Doctoral Dissertation, University of Florida. Taxa P. Real Early P. Real Late NISP* % NISP % Cattle 165 6.7% 106 5.0% Pigs 307 12.4% 346 16.4% Aves 145 5.9% 103 4.9% Sea turtles 0 0.0% 2 0.1% Jicoteas 876 35.5% 1315 62.1% Fish 253 10.2% 208 9.8% Invertebrates 725 29.3% 36 1.7% Total 2471 100.0% 2116 100.0% *Ewen focused on biomass, but this particular table focused on NISP due to restrictions on both
the Puerto Real and the Casa Blanca data
It must be noted that, as discussed in Chapter 3, there was little change in the flora early on because the majority of the Iberian flora did not survive in the Caribbean climate. However, indigenous staples (e.g., maize and manioc), and African and Asian staples (e.g., plantain and rice), seem to have taken hold later in Puerto Rican history.
Since starch grain and stable isotope analysis are outside of the scope of this research, it is important to keep in mind that there are crucial aspects of diet and creolization that
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are missing. As such, further research about the issue in colonial contexts is strongly encouraged.
To determine whether the changes in frequencies correlated with changes in diet over the span of 1521 to 1719, the three periods already established were used (Table
6-10). I found that there was a slight increase in the use of cattle alongside a slight decrease of pigs. The use of birds increased proportionally, but not significantly.
Although sea turtles were observed in the complete set of the IACBE faunal assemblage, it was interesting that there were no remains identified in the areas that had been chronologically established. Another feature of note is that for Phase B (1592-
1624), no reptile, invertebrate or fish was identified. This could indicate a shift in diet for the period from what we see in Phase A. However, the numbers for Phase C indicate that there was a sampling error, either in recovery or in the sample chronologically established. It is important to also consider that it had been noted by IACBE that there were few mammal remains associated with the diet of servants and slaves. It is possible that the majority of information for Phase B happens to coincide with the areas associated with higher status consumption.
Table 6-10. Frequency Variation by taxa of Fauna through Phase A, B and C Taxa IACBE A IACBE B IACBE C NISP % NISP % NISP % Cattle 3 3.7% 5 38.5% 15 37.5% Pigs 52 64.2% 6 46.2% 3 7.5% Birds 2 2.5% 2 15.4% 4 10.0% Sea turtles 0 0.0% 0 0.0% 0 0.0% Jicoteas 4 4.9% 0 0.0% 6 15.0% Fish 4 4.9% 0 0.0% 1 2.5% Invertebrates 16 19.8% 0 0.0% 11 27.5% Total 81 100.0% 13 100.0% 40 100.0%
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There are also other notable differences between what was found at Puerto Real and what was found in Casa Blanca. During the early period there is a greater us of pigs at Casa Blanca than at Puerto Real. This frequency dramatically decreases in Casa
Blanca during Phase C. The opposite can be said for cattle, which increase from 3.7% during Phase A, to 38.5% in Phase B, and maintaining these frequencies during Phase
C with 37.5%. In Puerto Real the exact opposite occurs although to a lesser extent. The use of pigs increases slightly from 12.4% in the early period to 16.4% in the late period.
The use of cattle decreases slightly from 6.7% in the early period to 5.0% in the late period.
There is also a much greater use of fish and invertebrates in Puerto Real over
Casa Blanca when comparing the former’s early period with the latter’s phase A.
However as time goes by, these animals are not commonly used in Puerto Real, but in
Casa Blanca the use of invertebrates is increased. Finally, for both of them, the use of jicoteas (Trachemys sp.) increases.
To determine whether there were changes in the adoption of native and non- native fauna the proportions of each over the three phases were compared (Table 6-
11). As previously mentioned, the colonists brought along fauna and flora to help with the maintenance of the Spanish cuisine. Although not all these were able to survive on the island, most notably wheat and olives, others were able to not only survive but proliferate across the island. From the sample selected the non-native fauna identified were cattle and pigs. Although there were some birds that were also imported, we currently do not have a sufficient level of detail in the assemblage to differentiate
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between native and non-native taxa so they are not included in this portion of the comparison. The reptiles, invertebrates and fish from the assemblage are all native.
Table 6-11. Changes in the Use of Native versus Non-native Fauna in Casa Blanca. Origin IACBE A IACBE B IACBE C NISP % NISP % NISP % Non-native 55 69.6% 11 100.0% 18 50.0% Native 24 30.4% 0 0.0% 18 50.0% Total 79 100.0% 11 100.0% 36 100.0%
When compared to the findings at Puerto Real (Table 6-12), there are some important differences. At no point in time is there greater consumption of non-native fauna, using NISP. However, there is still a shift (similar to the one in Casa Blanca) where the use of non-native animal decreases slightly whereas the use of native animals increases.
Table 6-12. Changes in the Use of Native versus Non-native Fauna in Puerto Real. Adapted from Ewen, Charles Robin. 1987. From Spaniard to Creole: The Archaeology of Hispanic American Cultural Formation at Puerto Real, Haiti (page 200-205, Table 6-18 to Table 6-22). Doctoral Dissertation, University of Florida. ). Origin P. Real Early P. Real Late NISP % NISP % Non-native 472 20.3% 452 10.9% Native 1854 79.7% 3677 89.1% Total 2326 100.0% 4129 100.0%
Regardless of the issues encountered with Phase B, there seems to be a leveling of the use of non-native vs native fauna. During Phase A, a large proportion of the fauna used (69.6%) is non-native. During Phase C, there is an increase in use of native fauna and a decrease in the use of non-native fauna causing each of them to be at 50%.
Finally, I divided the faunal material into general categories of procurement:
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Hunting and Cattle – includes cattle, pigs, and birds1.
Shellfishing – includes gastropods and bivalves.
Fishing – includes (semi)aquatic turtles, crabs, and fish.
Parallel to the previous tables we see a decrease in dependence on hunting and cattle, as the use of some native resources through fishing and shellfishing increases
(Table 6-13).
Table 6-13. Frequency of fauna by procurement through time in Casa Blanca. Procurement IACBE A IACBE B IACBE C NISP % NISP % NISP % Hunting/Cattle 57 74.0% 13 100.0% 22 55.0% Shellfishing 14 18.2% 0 0.0% 10 25.0% Fishing 6 7.8% 0 0.0% 8 20.0% Total 77 100.0% 13 100.0% 40 100.0%
In Puerto Real, dependence on cattle and hunting remained the same but shellfishing decreased dramatically from 29.0% to 1.6% as fishing increased from
46.1% to 72.2% (Table 6-14).
Table 6-14. Frequency of fauna by procurement through time in Puerto Real. Procurement P. Real Early P.Real Late NISP % NISP % Hunting/Cattle 617 25.0% 555 26.2% Shellfishing 716 29.0% 33 1.6% Fishing 1138 46.1% 1528 72.2% Total 2471 100.0% 2116 100.0%
Similar to what was found in Puerto Real we see an inclusion of Hispanic fauna, cattle and pigs in particular. However, the struggle of some of the imported fauna to survive and the richness in the local habitat, promoted an integration of other non- mammal resources. During Phase A, pigs and invertebrates (gastropods, bivalves and
1 The original zooarchaeological analysis in Casa Blanca did not make a distinction between species of avian fauna.
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crabs), are an important aspect of their diet. As time goes by (Phase B and, later, Phase
C) there is a decrease of pigs and increase of cattle, overall resulting in a decrease of non-native staples. Jicoteas increases alongside invertebrates resulting in an increase in native staples. Contrary to what is seen at Puerto Real, the diet in Casa Blanca is proportionally equal between native and non-native fauna.
Discussion
The residents of Casa Blanca for this period were members of the upper social classes, although the context might include members of lower social classes. When considering this situation, it is important to keep in mind that the residents of Casa
Blanca are the ones with power on the island. It is only relative to those born in Europe and part of the Spanish government, that they would be considered a minority, but not a minority in number. So, when evaluating the materials excavated by the IACBE project, we must consider the relative position of power that they have and how it is represented in the assemblage. The results shed light on the test implications set out to be discussed in this project:
1. Food preparation activities will portray a significant combination of local and European wares. The mixture would be caused by the lack of trade with Europe as well as intermarriage. Indigenous wares would probably be the main source of wares to replace utilitarian ones, later replaced by African wares.
4. Diet would be comprised of a combination of the peninsular complex (cattle) and indigenous strategies.
The ceramic and faunal assemblages of IACBE show key differences to the ones at Puerto Real. The main reason for the differences between both has to do with the varying degree of attention given to the islands during Spanish colonization. Hispaniola was constantly overseen by the Spanish Crown since the island was the host of the
Royal Audience of Santo Domingo. On the other hand, the island of San Juan was left
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alone for some time and it was not until the 19th century, after the independence of multiple Spanish colonies that Spain’s attention shifted to Cuba and Puerto Rico (Martí
Carvajal 1994; 2006)
The lack of feedback from the majority group promoted a different form of adaptation to the island in Casa Blanca than what is observed in Puerto Real. In Puerto
Real the feedback received by the majority (read: those in power) required one of two reactions from the people in Puerto Real: conform to what is being promoted by the majority or adapt and modify their behavior.
Of course, these reactions do not occur in a void. Restrictions imposed and things that are allowed are framed within what is available in their surroundings. The success of their adaptation, if they were to adapt, greatly depends on these surrounding and the acceptance of the adaptation by the majority. The success is seen in the reverberation through time of the behavior.
As we saw, the utilitarian wares do not change in their proportion in the span of
198 years, covered in Phases A through C. Contrary to Puerto Real, the majority of the wares are non-local Hispanic. When we consider the relation between a majority and minority coupled with the reuse of the utilitarian wares, the emergence of this pattern makes sense. There would be no issue at Casa Blanca with conforming or resisting since there is no need for them to express or behave differently as long as their needs are met.
When considering the faunal remains, we see an increase in the use of Cattle that was accompanied by the increase in the use of pigs. Sea turtle, although minimally available in the overall assemblage, is not represented in the sample. The jicotea and
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invertebrates, both associated with aquatic forms of procurement, increase in the sample as time progresses. In contrast, the presence of fish decreases from its already limited use.
Overall when comparing the earlier with the later phases there is a shift in the use of native and non-native fauna. In Casa Blanca the native fauna is exploited more than what is seen at Puerto Real, even though non-native fauna still makes up 50% of the represented fauna.
Another characteristic of note is the large quantity of fish and maritime related consumption in Puerto Real. Ewen argues that the large quantity of fish could be due to religious preference among the Spanish Catholics (1987). However, in Casa Blanca, inarguably a Spanish Catholic household, fish peak at 4.9%. In comparison to Puerto
Real, the differences between the consumption of fish might be due to misrepresentation of fish data or differentiation in practices between both sites. If fish are misrepresenting it might be due to recovery issues during excavation. However, the argument can be made that the residents of Casa Blanca did not feel that they had to, in practice, strictly follow the traditions of Catholic Lent or of penitential Fridays, or that the practice did not make as strong an impact as Ewen states (1987).
The patterns seen in the utilitarian wares, as well as with the faunal assemblage can be understood with what was previously discussed in Chapter 3 as well as discussed in this chapter. Early on, the attention of the Catholic regents was not on
Puerto Rico, but first in Hispaniola, and later in New Spain and Perú. The imposition of the metropole was not directly on Puerto Rico allowing flexibility and adaptation to their
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particular reality. At the same time, the lack of a direct imposition would potentially mean that there was no need to resist, adapt or emulate European practices.
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CHAPTER 7 DATA AND ANALYSIS: SECOND STAGE OF IDENTITY
My attention for this chapter shifts toward the 19th century. The analysis of the data from the TASP and PARA assemblages serves as a continuation of the ceramic data. Attention to the place of manufacture as well as ceramic distributions and relative frequencies are considered. The nature of 19th century ceramics makes it a problematic variable, as discussed in Chapter 5 (Henry 1991; Majewski and O’Brien 1987; Miller
1991)
TASP and PARA
The data presented here comes from the TASP and PARA assemblages. Both assemblages were the result of surveys in river valleys in coastal townships in Puerto
Rico. All the materials recovered come from surface collections, STPs and Units. The
Units were done only in Field 24 (F24). Each unit is representative of a different time period. As show in Table 7-1, MCD was calculated for each field with 95 percent confidence intervals. The MCD divides the assemblages in four short time periods.
Table 7-1. Mean Ceramic Dates (MCD) per 19th century area. 95 percent low 95 percent high Site MCD confidence confidence interval interval F24 UNIT 2* 1559 1547 1564 SU-3* 1777 1706 1849 F48 1810 1786 1833 F60 1830 1823 1841 F61 1839 1832 1849 F24 UNIT 1* 1841 1832 1853 SU-1 1841 1832 1853 SU-4 1845 1833 1862 SU-8 1852 1840 1862 *F24 Unit 2 is not considered in the rest of this interpretation because of the lack of material. SU-3 and F24 Unit 1 will be considered briefly but independent of the rest of the assemblage
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The first is covered in F24 Unit 2 with a MCD of 1559. This 16th century context is a product of isolated finds. The second period covered is of the later 18th century in SU-
3 (MCD of 1777) from the municipality of Ponce. Materials from this area are also limited but very specific to a mid-to-late 18th century context. As seen in Figure 7-1, the majority of the material is of non-local Hispanic manufacture (Olive Jars make over 60% of the assemblage). There was little variety in the types of wares (Figure 7-2). The nature of this assemblage (storage and utilitarian vessels) gives the impression of a non-permanent context.
100.0% 90.0% 80.0% 70.0% Local 60.0% Non Hispanic 50.0% Non Local Hispanic 40.0% Asian 30.0% Unknown 20.0% 10.0% 0.0% SU3
Figure 7-1. Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of a SU3 (MCD: 1777) in TASP.
The third period is only present in the western coast municipality of Añasco. F48,
F60 and F61 cover an MCD range of 1810 to 1839. In Figure 7-3, alongside the materials from the third period, I have placed as comparison the materials from the fourth period.
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8.3% Olive Jar, Middle Style 25.0% Olive Jar, Late Style 25.0% Olive Jar, Generic
Unglazed Coarse Earthenware (generic) 8.3% 33.3% Stoneware
Figure 7-2. Ceramic distribution by ceramic type in SU3 in TASP
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160
140
120 Coarse Earthenware 100 Refined Earthenware 80 Stoneware 60 Porcelain
40
20
0 PARA TASP
Figure 7-3. Ceramic distribution by paste type of 19th century areas in TASP and PARA (sans F24 Unit 1).
The fourth period covers a MCD range of 1841-1852 and it is only present in the municipality of Ponce on the southern coast. When comparing the types of materials gathered we can see similarities in the proportion of ceramics of particular paste types
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(Figure 7-3). Although there is more refined earthenware in the second period, we also see a slight increase of stoneware and porcelain in the fourth period.
When comparing the place of manufacture for the wares in the third period an interesting pattern emerges (Figure 7-4). In particular, Field 60 and Field 61 have an extremely high frequency of non-Hispanic ceramics (over 90%). Although there is evidence of other places of manufactures, when compared to Field 48, it is clear that we have two very different patterns. In Field 48 the majority of the assemblage is of local manufacture. The reason behind this difference is currently unknown, but it is important to note that the main difference between Field 48 and the others is that the former is a multicomponent site.
100.0% 90.0% 80.0% 70.0% Local 60.0% Non Hispanic 50.0% Non Local Hispanic 40.0% Asian 30.0% Unknown 20.0% 10.0% 0.0% Field 48 Field 60 Field 61
Figure 7-4. Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of 19th century areas in PARA. (sans Unit 1).
The fourth period has three different patterns emerging when comparing the place of manufacture (Figure 7-5). Non-Hispanic wares (mostly refined earthenwares) still dominate the sample with over 60% in each of the areas. However, SU-1 has no
Asian wares or local wares, and it is the only one with an incidence of wares with an
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unknown place of origin. SU-4 and SU-8 are more similar. However, SU-4 has a higher incidence of non-local Hispanic wares, whereas SU-8 has the highest presence of porcelain.
To further understand the variation of the ceramic assemblage, I compared the function of the available wares between the third (PARA) and fourth (TASP) periods
(Table 7-2 and Table 7-3). The two main categories present were tablewares and utilitarian wares.
100.0% 90.0% 80.0% 70.0% Local 60.0% Non Hispanic 50.0% Non Local Hispanic 40.0% Asian 30.0% Unknown 20.0% 10.0% 0.0% SU1 SU4 SU8
Figure 7-5. Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of 19th century areas in TASP.
The tablewares category (Table 7-2) was dominated by non-Hispanic wares (only four pieces of Majolica present throughout). The presence of refined earthenware was
94.9% for PARA and 77% for TASP. However, when compared against one another, refined earthenware is the most common in PARA, while stoneware and porcelain are more common in TASP. As for the utilitarian wares (Table 7-3), PARA relies more on local wares (75.9%), whereas TASP relies on non-local Hispanic (66.7%).
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Table 7-2. Frequency of Tablewares in PARA and TASP.
PARA TASP PARA Tableware PARA TASP suml sum total TASP total PARA TASP Total % % % % % % Majolica 2 2 4 50.0 50.0 1.1 1.6% 0.7 0.7 Refined Earthenware 167 97 264 63.3 36.7 94.9 77.0% 55.3 32.1 Stoneware 7 14 21 33.3 66.7 4.0 11.1% 2.3 4.6 Porcelain 0 13 13 0.0 100.0 0.0 10.3% 0.0 4.3 176 126 302 100.0 100.0% 58.3 41.7 100.0
Table 7-3. Frequency of Utilitarian Wares in PARA and TASP.
PARA TASP PARA Utilitarian Ware PARA TASP sum sum total TASP total PARA TASP Total % % % % % % Olive Jar, Middle Style 0 1 1 0.0 100.0 0.0 3.7 0.0 1.8 Olive Jar, Late Style 0 5 5 0.0 100.0 0.0 18.5 0.0 8.9 Generic Coarse Earthenware 3 11 14 21.4 78.6 10.3 40.7 5.4 19.6 Rey Ware 4 2 6 66.7 33.3 13.8 7.4 7.1 3.6 Morro 0 1 1 0.0 100.0 0.0 3.7 0.0 1.8 Unglazed Coarse Earthenware 22 7 29 75.9 24.1 75.9 25.9 39.3 12.5 29 27 56 100.0 100.0 51.8 48.2 100.0
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The patterns observed between PARA and TASP can be explained by the differences in time periods or due to location. Although they seem to be grouped together in their own period of time, the temporal differences between them (1810-1839 and 1841-1852) do not seem significant enough to warrant these patterns.
Figure 7-6 shows the distribution by place of manufacture of wares. Field 24 Unit
1 follows a similar pattern to what is seen for Fields 60 and 61. However, Field 24 Unit 1 has a date range that would classify it alongside the TASP material (Figure 7-7). When comparing these four samples we see a similar high percentage of non-Hispanic wares, low percentages of local and non-local Hispanic wares, similar to SU-8, but no porcelain at all (from a total of 296 sherds).
100.0% 90.0% 80.0% 70.0% Local 60.0% Non Hispanic 50.0% Non Local Hispanic 40.0% Asian 30.0% Unknown 20.0% 10.0% 0.0% Field 24 (U1) Field 60 Field 61
Figure 7-6. Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of Field 24 Unit 1, Field 60 and Field 61.
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100.0% 90.0% 80.0% 70.0% 60.0% Local 50.0% Non Hispanic 40.0% Non Local Hispanic 30.0% Asian 20.0% Unknown 10.0% 0.0% Field 24 SU1 SU4 SU8 (U1)
Figure 7-7. Ceramic distribution by place of manufacture of Field 24 Unit 1, SU-1, SU-4 and SU-8.
When taking into consideration the location and the historical context of both, there are some interesting avenues of questioning. Both assemblages are part of coastal municipalities that were actively embedded in the sugar and coffee industry at the time. However, proximity and access to the nearby ports could provide opportunities for one over the other. In the case of PARA the nearest port is in the municipality to the south, Mayaguez. In the case of TASP, the Ponce port is nearby. In addition, the fields in question for both PARA and TASP might have differed slightly in contexts. For example, the fields in PARA have a closer link with the sugar industry as small homesteads, whereas the areas surveyed in TASP were associated with minor fruits and ranching homesteads.
Discussion
In the 19th century assemblage from PARA and TASP, it was easy to observe the result of the emergent world capitalism, with the inclusion of refined earthenwares from non-Hispanic, but European, sources. The idea is reinforced with the presence of Asian
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wares (mainly porcelain) in the TASP assemblage. The former were wares that were priced low and mass produced. Nonetheless, differences in the patterns between both assemblages were noted and attributed to historical particularities and not to changes through times.
The PARA and TASP assemblages were grouped together in accordance with their chronology. Two of the areas in the assemblage were not part of the study: Field
24 and SU-3. Field 24 was a multi-component area. The earliest area was further studied in excavation Unit 2 (from PARA assemblage). The area only had isolated finds with a MCD of 1559. The later area for Field 24 had an MCD of 1841. However, because of the method of recovery it was not used for direct comparison. SU-3 (from the TASP assemblage) had a MCD of 1777 with materials limited to the mid-to-late 18th century context. The rest of the materials belonged to the 19th century with two sub- groupings.
The rest of the materials from PARA (F48, F60, and F61) have an MCD of 1810-
1839. F60 and F61 have a high frequency of non-Hispanic ceramics. F48 is composed of mostly local ceramics. The main difference between these two patterns is that F48 is a multi-component site. However, in both cases there is a notable presence of refined earthenwares of non-local origin.
The rest of the materials from TASP (SU-1, SU-4, and SU-8) have an MCD of
1841-1852. During this period there are similar proportions of non-local ceramics. There are fewer local ceramics with an increase of non-local Hispanic and of Asian ceramics
(Figure 7-8).
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Figure 7-8. Porcelain examples from SU-8.
Overall, tablewares were mostly of non-Hispanic origin, all within the refined earthenware categories. The utilitarian wares are fewer in the TASP assemblage, which were probably replaced with non-ceramic wares.
The anonymity of the 19th century material and the adaptation of Ewen’s implications and Social Identity theory, certain questions had to be addressed and proposed. Are the differences present because of the differences between time periods? Field 24 Unit 1 follows the same pattern in non-local wares as Field 60 and
Field 61. Its MCD is 1841 which would classify it alongside the ceramics in the south
(TASP assemblage). Are the differences present because of the location: south versus west? The assemblages were recovered using similar strategies for locating sites. It is possible that the differences found are due to the access they had to their respective ports as well as differences in the economic activities for the sites: small farmsteads associated with sugar cane production in the west (PARA), and small farms associated with minor crops and cattle ranching in the south (TASP).
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CHAPTER 8 THE CREATION OF IDENTITIES
Concluding Remarks
The research presented here situates the historical period of Puerto Rico within the framework of current Caribbean historical archaeology. The purpose of this research was to understand the processes of transculturation and the way it articulates with patterns in archaeological assemblages. The articulation is a reflection of the identities present in the areas researched. To advance the theoretical development of identity the research project tackled several issues that have been overlooked regarding the creation and development of identities such as the processes of transculturation.
Although identity is a major topic in anthropology, it is often viewed as an end result in archaeological research and not as a cumulative process to which people are constantly acting and reacting.
I used diverse theoretical approaches that are not unknown to anthropology or archaeology but are usually used in isolation from one another. The main theoretical approaches are transculturation and social identity theory. Transculturation has been previously used in other parts of the Hispanic Caribbean to understand the first moments of Spanish conquest (as in the case of Cuba, Hispaniola and Saint
Augustine). Work on transculturation in a Puerto Rican archaeological context is limited to the historiographic work of Martí Carvajal (1994). However, the research had a gap between the early colonial period and the repercussions of this process in modern times. As defined by Ortiz, transculturation is a never-ending process in which two or more groups are in a constant give or take of cultural features (1973). Because of this process, I resorted to the study of social identities in psychology. Social identity theory
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readily recognizes that identity formation is an ongoing process. The resulting identities are not only nested, but they are malleable depending on the context in which they are embedded. Other processes like social memory and nation building provide the stability required for the preservation of forms of identities that are representative of a group.
In addition to providing a better framework to understand identity as a process and not an end result, it provided a better understanding of the development of identities in Puerto Rico. The research is intrinsically connected to the contemporary perceived identity in Puerto Rico. As such, it is important to bear in mind the influence that the politics of archaeology has on the modern population and how the population is an agent in the influences of archaeological research.
To understand the context in which identities were, and are currently, formed on the island, I presented four stages of identity formation and how they articulated in national discourses that engaged individuals at a communal level. These discourses were not accepted by all individuals but had an impact through literature, as well as education, not only at the time of their occurrence but also in modern times. They were separated into these four stages to correspond to previous works that have recognized historical and behavioral patterns on the issue (Ayala and Bernabe 2009, Blanco 1973;
Duany 1998, 2005; González 1980; Martí Carvajal 1994; Pedreira 1946).
To tackle different stages, three assemblages were selected: IACBE, PARA, and
TASP. The Casa Blanca assemblage covers the early colonial period: the first stage presented in Chapter 3. The TASP and PARA assemblages cover the second period presented in the same chapter, the end of the 18th century into the 19th century. As mentioned in Chapter 5, these assemblages serve as bridge from the early colonial
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period’s formation of identities and what is known of the contemporary notion of national identities.
The first stage is the most unstable but also a very influential one. When the
Spanish arrived to the island in 1493 there was an initial shock of two very distinct groupings of individuals: Iberians and islanders. The continuous interaction between those under the Spanish regime, including those that were imported as slaves, and the constraints imposed by the environment, promoted constant adaptation, as well as the transformation of identities. For starters, the Iberian colonial program originally intended to be a transplant of Iberian traditions and customs to the Caribbean. However, not all traditions and customs were fit for the Caribbean. Certain features, like food staples and social organization, needed to be adapted to fit with the reality of the islands.
The Casa Blanca (IACBE) assemblage is from the early colonial period which belongs to the first stage of Puerto Rican identity previously mentioned. I compared the patterns observed at Puerto Real by using the first and fourth test implications from
Ewen (1987). The first test implication focuses on food preparation as an activity in which ceramics are as proxy. The fourth test implication focuses on the diet, for which faunal remains were used. By examining patterns in the frequencies of each variable I was able to pinpoint and understand particular behaviors. A similar observation was done for the 19th century ceramics from both PARA and TASP. Unfortunately the observations for the 19th century assemblage had to be limited to ceramics because not enough faunal material was found.
The material of Casa Blanca that could be identified as belonging to the 1521 to
1719 period was associated with a domestic space. For this time period the residents of
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Casa Blanca belonged to the upper social classes. When considering the power structure, they had power within the island but relative to Spain they were at a disadvantage.
When compared to the ceramic and faunal material from Puerto Real, the material from IACBE showed a distinct pattern. The reason for this difference in patterns is attributed to the varying degree of attention given to the islands during Spanish colonization. The island of San Juan had been somewhat ignored, especially so when compares to Hispaniola and the new colonies in the continent. After the independence of most of the Spanish territories in the 19th centuries, the attention shifted back to the remaining colonies of Cuba and Puerto Rico (Martí Carvajal 1994; 2006).
As for the first test implication, there is a supporting argument for the differing patterns in social identity theory. Those in power are constantly providing feedback to those without, forcing them to either conform to the majority or adapt and modify their behavior, within the context of their situation. At Puerto Real they start to adapt their behavior to the island environment as well as a response to the perceived differences between Spain and them.
At Casa Blanca, however, we do not see the same response. Although this could have been because the residents chose to conform rather than to adapt, I considered the relation between a majority and minority coupled with the reuse of the utilitarian wares, originally used for storing goods during transport. There was no need at Casa
Blanca to conform or adapt and resist because they were not experiencing the same pressure as the individuals in Puerto Real.
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When considering the fourth test implication, diet and faunal remains, both areas decreased their use of native fauna, and increased their use of non-native fauna.
However, in Casa Blanca we see that there is a leveling effect, whereas in Puerto Real the non-native fauna is almost non-existent. The successful adaptation of cattle and pigs to the island was a key aspect in this shift in subsistence. Not only is it more efficient in terms of quantity, but it helped maintain stability between new forms of adaptation and what they were used to in the Iberian Peninsula.
In addition, Ewen noticed something peculiar in the Puerto Real assemblage.
Puerto Real had a large quantity of fish that he attributed to religious preference among the Spanish Catholics (Ewen 1987). However, in Casa Blanca, a Spanish Catholic household, fish peak at 4.9%. The fish might be misrepresented due to recovery issues.
However, following Ewen (1987), the argument can be made that the residents of Casa
Blanca did not feel that they had to, in practice, strictly follow Catholic tradition.
When considering both ceramic and faunal assemblages we can understand that the patterns differ from the ones in Puerto Real because of differing cultural pressures from the majority on the minority (those in Europe on those in the islands). The attention of the Spanish Crown was, very early on, on Hispaniola and later in New Spain and
Perú. The indirect imposition of the majority on Puerto Rico, hence Casa Blanca, allowed the residents to have flexibility in how they adapted to their reality. So, although they could have adapted without great imposition, the main point is that they felt no need to resist, adapt or emulate.
The second stage began over 200 years after the first. The attitude of the criollos on the island was embedded in nationalist movements that were occurring throughout
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the Americas. A feeling of otherness increased as those from the European continent created a wider divide between the two. However, as Spain and other European
Empires start to lose power, we observe an unsuccessful push to gain power over the remaining colonies, most notably Puerto Rico and Cuba in the case of Spain. New decrees and forms of interactions were put into effect to try to nourish this relationship.
The Royal Decree of Graces and the reiteration of the denonyms, Spanish-Puerto Rican and Spanish-Cuban, attempted to fill the gap that was widening between both parts of the world.
It is not until the Second Stage of Puerto Rican identity that there is a shift in the attention of Spain to Cuba and Puerto Rico, due to the independence movements that swept throughout the region. For this time period I analyzed materials from PARA and
TASP. In these assemblages it was obvious that they articulated with the emergent world capitalism. Two main pieces of evidence were the inclusion of refined earthenwares from non-Hispanic, but European, sources and the presence in the TASP assemblage of Asian wares (porcelain). The former were wares that were mass produced and low cost. Nonetheless, differences in the patterns between both assemblages were noted and attributed to historical particularities and not to changes across times. A more detailed cost analysis would elucidate the economic relations of the populace. To do this an increased sample size for the periphery and cost analysis of the wares from the metropolis is required.
I grouped the assemblages in accordance to their chronology. Two of the areas did not form a direct part of this research: Field 24 and SU-3. Field 24’s assemblage was a combination of STPs and excavation units. The field was multi-component with
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an early colonial area (Unit 2), and a 19th century area (Unit 1). Unit 2 and SU-3 had isolated finds, but all from within the 16th and 17th centuries respectively. Unit 1 was not used for direct comparison because of the method of recovery. The rest of the materials belonged to the 19th century with two sub-groupings.
The remaining areas of PARA (F48, F60, and F61) have an MCD of 1810-1839.
F60 and F61 have a high frequency of non-Hispanic ceramics. F48 is mostly composed of local ceramics. The main difference between these two patterns is that F48 is a multi- component site. Nonetheless in both cases there is still a high frequency of refined earthenwares of non-local origin.
The remaining areas from TASP (SU-1, SU-4, and SU-8) have an MCD of 1841-
1852. These areas have similar proportions of non-local ceramics. When compared to the previous sub-grouping there are less local ceramics and more non-local Hispanic and Asian ceramics (specifically Chinese and Japanese porcelain). For both sub- groupings most tablewares were of non-Hispanic origin. Utilitarian wares are less common in the TASP assemblage. They were probably replaced with other, non- ceramic, wares.
The question quickly became an issue of time versus region. Does the later date of occupation for the areas in TASP explain the differences in the wares? I turned to
Unit 1 for answers. The material from the 19th century in Field 24 (Unit 1) has a MCD of
1841. The pattern observed in Unit 1 is similar to the one seen in Field 60 and Field 61.
All assemblages were recovered using similar strategies for site location, except for the use of an excavation unit, as previously mentioned. This led me to believe that the differences are better explained by location, rather than time. It is possible that the
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differences in the patterns are due to either access to their respective ports and/or differences in how they engaged the economy. The fields on the west (PARA) were small farmsteads associated with sugar cane production. The areas in the south (TASP) were associated with farms associated with minor crops and cattle ranching.
The third stage occurs at the turn of the century when colonial power shifts from
Spain to the United States. Although this shift meant the long-awaited freedom from
Spain, the power was out of the hands of Puerto Ricans. The obvious differences between the US and Puerto Rico –language, racial distinction, histories, etc. –made the transition abrupt and problematic. A nostalgic period, represented by the Generación del 30, focused on these differences and harked back to an idealized Spanish colonial period. The population of the island found themselves attuned to the Spanish past and not to the US present.
The fourth, and final, stage is the direct result of the previous three stages within the economic context of the 20th century. The island went through a process of rapid industrialization that pushed the rural farmers into urban areas and, shortly thereafter, to the US. Since the founding of the Instituto de Cultura Puertorriqueña the idea of three pillars (indigenous, African and Spanish) has permeated as part of a Puerto Rican national identity.
In addition to the archaeological data, it is important to consider other aspects from the second stage that directly impact the third and fourth stage of identity formation. During this period, we know that across Latin America and the Caribbean there was a surge of nationalism that resulted in nation-building. The geographical distances between Europe and the Americas became even more apparent as the
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criollos began to identify themselves as different in the late 18th century. For some, the image of what it meant for them to be native began to be fused with the idea of another native entity, the indigenous Taíno. This fusion is better explained with the jíbaro image.
Taínos are a pillar of Puerto Rican identity, as expressed today began to take form during the second stage. In the mid-20th century, the first pillar is reinvented, once more, to be reminiscent of the Taíno, rather than the jíbaro, as presented in the ICP logo.
Decades after, indigenous revivalist movements in the northeast focus on this pillar and embrace it as their own.
Shortly after the US the idea of the peninsular and insular was (re)imagined. The peninsular, reminiscent of Spain, is no longer and a strange “other” appears: the US.
The second pillar represented in the third stage is embraced as a direct result of the shift of colonial powers. This pillar is representative of European past but it does not overlap with the image promoted by the majority (the US). It is in this way that the minority (PR) is able to adapt their ideas to reflect their behavior so that they are able to maintain them.
Finally, the third pillar, reminiscent of African slaves, is entrenched in discussions of race and racism that fall beyond the scope of this research. However, it is important to consider the changes that occurred in perception after the US invasion. These differences in the perception of skin colors began the schizophrenic outlook that we see in contemporary issues of identity on the island. The US classification of individuals into a darker-colored category than they individually perceived themselves contributed to the push to adopt a Spanish identity in favor of an US or even Latin American one.
However, notions of blackness and black consciousness formed an integral part of
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identity formation from the early 20th century until today. Although blackness is a tricky issue, often exoticized and commoditized, there is a strong callback to its past and the influence of African slaves on identity today.
Future Research
The research presented here opened new lines of questioning regarding the issue of identity in Puerto Rico. The first step to complement this research is the need to identify more early colonial sites and culture contact sites to see if the same pattern from Casa Blanca emerges. In addition, it would be of interest to identify sites of different socioeconomic classes to be able to articulate the issue of criollo identity in the island. It would also be of great interest to compare the patterns between Caparra and
Casa Blanca.
Although the material of PARA and TASP provided interesting patterns, the unavailability of multiple variables for these assemblages made it difficult to fully engage in a discussion of identity for the time period. It is important to encourage more zooarchaeological analysis for the time period as well as to open up the possibility of isotope analysis for the 19th century that could be intersected with current and future research being done with Caribbean cookbooks. In addition using ethnohistorical records, such as traveler accounts like Wheeler and de Olivares’ account in the late 19th century (1899), will better inform the interaction between cookbooks and the populace.
Another interesting aspect to consider for this time period is the interactions between those in power and those without power that are in constant contact on the island. Research done in a hacienda setting would be a petri dish of the relations between majority and minority. It is assumed that the hacienda owners either encouraged social and domestic organization among slaves and laborers, or they
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restricted domestic settings (e.g., Wilkie and Farnsworth 2005). Because the hacienda owners were involved in the processes of transculturation as the dominant group, we can view their archaeological remains as the control group. They had to opt to follow what was being forced upon them or create their own social groups. The social groups were varied but they are united in a communal, Puerto Rican identity.
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BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
Carmen Alondra Laguer Díaz is a Caribbean anthropologist with a specialization in archaeology. She received her Bachelor of Arts (2007) in Anthropology at the
University of Puerto Rico in Río Piedras. She also received her Master of Arts (2009) and Doctor of Philosophy (2014) in Anthropology with a certificate in Latin American
Studies at the University of Florida. Her academic interests include identity formation, transculturation and creolization, as well as issues of race, ethnicity and gender.
During her time at the University of Florida she received the Latin American
Studies Summer Field Research Grant and was nominated for an award due to her teaching excellence. She has also participated in the prestigious Preparing Future
Faculty Summer Institute at Howard University.
Carmen has collaborated in multiple projects throughout the circum-Caribbean including the Yucatán peninsula, Dominica and Puerto Rico. She published in the
Oxford Handbook of Caribbean Archaeology (2013) and collaborated in the preparation of archaeological resports. She has also been invited to multiple sessions of national and local conferences, as well as given talks at local organizations.
Carmen has served as editorial assistant for The Oxford Handbook of Caribbean
Archaeology (2014), and has been hired as a manuscript translator (Spanish to English) by the University Press of Florida. She currently serves as Book Review Editor as well as Peer Reviewer and the Journal of Caribbean Archaeology.
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