Deminán's Journey: Exploring the Indigenous Caribbean...one island at a time
Besides Columbus and his son, the only other sources are the standard cronista accounts of the pacification of the island after Ovando's destruction of Xaragua. Rodrigo Mexia Trillo was sent north of Xaragua where he presumably clashed with Hatuey and other caciques in northern Haiti, ultimately defeating them and establishing Lares de Guahaba. Hatuey fled to Cuba and later resisted that island's conquest when Diego Velazquez arrived in 1511. According to Las Casas, about 50 years earlier Haitians had migrated to Cuba. Oliver has suggested this connection between eastern Cuba and Haiti can be seen in Taino complexes at Pueblo Viejo, Bani, Maisi, and Bayamo (161). It is thus more likely that migrations and cultural influence between peoples of Cuba and Haiti extended much further back in time. This contact must have facilitated the ability of Hatuey to establish himself in Maisi with his followers from Haiti. But besides passing references to Guahaba or Guahava in the campaign of Rodrigo Mexia Trillo and mention of Hatuey's flight to Cuba, little else is known.
Of course, one could not end the tale of Guahaba without following up on Hatuey's political career in Cuba. Established in Maisi, the heroic struggle of Hatuey was repeated by Las Casas. Las Casas, who may have deviated from historical truth to assign to Hatuey a special areito in which the god of the Christians was condemned (gold) and his epic refusal to become a Christian before his execution, is the best known source on this. However, whether or not this areito occurred or if Hatuey truly refused to go to heaven because Christians would be there, is not the point. Hatuey's resistance, which only lasted about 3 months in a guerrilla-styled conflict according to Mira Caballos, failed. But in a letter possibly from 1509 (or closer to 1511), Hatuey was described as "señoreaba la media Cuba" (330). To what extent this was hyperbole is also unclear, but Hatuey may have risen to a position of much greater authority than Maisi, easternmost Cuba. Indeed, his authority may have been more than that of a war-chief as speculated by Loven (504). This could have been reinforced by longstanding ties between eastern Cuba and Haiti with earlier alliances between caciques of the two islands that are not recorded in the Spanish sources. This may have made Hatuey an attractive figure for Cubans to support, particularly if he was a higher-ranking cacique in Guahaba before his flight from Haiti.
Lamentably, his leadership did not coalesce into a larger anti-Spanish front. Yet despite his death by 1512, Hatuey's anti-Spanish movement was carried on by Caguax, who had served under him. Ultimately, the fate of Hatuey's followers is revealed only by 1514, in a letter by Velazquez. In his letter, he alluded to the Indians of "Yacahuey" or "Yahatuey" working for the Spaniards on estancias near the Toha river. Some were even "free Christians" tied to the church of San Salvador. Indians still living in the region in the second half of the 16th century possibly include descendants of Hatuey's people. Lopez de Velasco mentioned "indios" living in Baracoa, Santiago, and Baracoa in the 1570s. To what extent Hatuey was remembered or the links to Guahaba is unanswerable, though Hatuey later became a symbol of Cuban nationalism and anti-colonial struggle.
In conclusion, Guahaba remains yet important chiefdom in the indigenous past of Haiti. The early sources that describe northwestern Haiti are often vague or difficult to correlate with the limited archaeological evidence. It is possible that Hatuey, the legendary cacique from Guahaba, was a paramount chief of the area before fleeing to Cuba. One of the largest known settlements in Haiti was also likely in the territory of Guahaba, though it is impossible to say this was the capital of the province. Similarly hard to answer is the relationship of Guahaba to Marien, its eastern neighbor. If Spanish sources describing Guacanagari as a paramount chief are accurate, Guahaba may have fallen under Marien's sphere of influence. Nonetheless, a very large settlement within Guahaba, possibly a fishing settlement, suggests it was a densely populated area. Guahaba's location in northwestern Haiti also made it ideal for exchange with Cuba and the Bahamas. This factor likely explains why Hatuey was able to lead followers to Cuba and find support from indigenous people there. In the future, archaeologists should revisit the Manigat and Cadet sites studied by Barker. Additional surveys in northwestern Haiti may reveal other sizable settlements in this part of the island.
Bibliography
Arranz Márquez, Luis. Repartimientos y encomiendas en la isla Española: El Repartimiento de Albuquerque de 1514. Madrid: Ediciones Fundación García Arévalo, 1991.
Anacaona's Gift: Cotton and the woven arts of the 11th to 17th century Caribbean by Joanna Ostapkowicz is a must-read for anyone interested in the material culture and history of the indigenous peoples of the Caribbean. Despite the paucity of extant materials made of cotton, the archival sources, Spanish chronicles, ethnographic analogies with South American peoples, and close analysis of ceramics and indigenous sculpture reveal often neglected aspects of Taino textile production and weaving traditions. Ostapkowicz presents compelling evidence for cotton production and weaving as one of great importance for the indigenous peoples economically, socially and politically and religiously. Cotton, as a source of material for wrapping cemis or for making hats, caps, naguas, masks, crowns, belts, capes, arm and leg bands, hammocks, burial shrouds, was undoubtedly a specialist activity for the most elaborate and best products. This made it an extension of cacical power or authority, particularly if the caciques controlled the storehouses where cotton was stored before redistributing it through their families, communities or other caciques. It is possible that elite women may have been the ones responsible for producing the best quality cotton goods, such as those using gold, shell, stone, feathers, and other products to produce refined cemis, belts, or elite regalia. Indeed, their elite status likely freed them from some of the other daily domestic duties of women who likely wove most of the cloth used by the indigenous societies of the island.
Much of the book analyzes closely each example or type of item made with or using cloth in so-called Taino and Kalinago cultures. This close analysis includes basketry, too, for additional examples of weaving use fiber materials. But the bulk of the analysis focuses on types of clothing and the application of cotton materials for wrapping or constructing materials like belts or cemi materials. The artistic and labor skills required to have produced some of the best examples must have been astonishing, which suggests there were specialized textile workers. Similarly, the production of the most elaborate stools (duhos) and platters or wooden objects similarly required experienced workers. Their close association with caciques, especially in the production of items and goods that, at their most refined level, were for elites, attests to a degree of power and hierarchy in the indigenous Caribbean chiefdoms more complex than many realize. Perhaps interpreting too literally Columbus and other chroniclers who often emphasized the nudity of the Taino, scholars have truly missed another dimension of the complex material culture. Indeed, some of these elaborate works featured thousands of beads, different weaving patterns, complex geometric patterns, and skillful use of gold or feathers. The arm bands, caps, skirts, and hammocks, sadly, have not survived, but the level of skill required to produce them (and in quantity) are a testament to the relatively high level of production.
An area not fully explored however, and this is due to our limited sources in terms of surviving artifacts, is the extent to which the entire population of the cacicazgo had access to certain goods, like hammocks. Moscoso, for example, seemed to think hammocks were not universally used by all Taino. Similarly, the shortages of hammocks and the importation of cloth from Europe (not enough in the early colonial period, but a source for hammocks for settlers who took to the hammock) deserves further inquiry. To what extent were indigenous weavers in Jamaica learning to make European-styled clothes? Was there an increase in the scale of production for the "market" during European colonial rule, despite the lack of interest by Spaniards for cotton plantations in places like Hispaniola? What about Xaragua, when its tribute to Columbus was in cotton and included extra cotton treasures give by Anacaona? In other words, what were the mechanisms for the increase in textile production before colonialism? Was Xaragua, already noted for its cotton, producing a surplus for trade with other parts of Hispaniola, Cuba, and Jamaica? And to what extent were Taino products possibly exported south to the Lesser Antilles or the South American mainland for items like guanin?
One of the more miraculous stories of the wondrous fauna in the New World was reported by the early Spanish chroniclers. According to their telling, a cacique in what is today Haiti, named Caramatextius, had a pet manatee. Named Matu, meaning generous or noble, it was caught while young and raised in a lake called Guarabo. After 25 years, however, a hurricane caused the Artibonite to flood, eventually driving Matu into the sea. While this story has unrealistic elements (a manatee who allegedly carried 10 men on its back and hated Christians because one of them attacked him), it was apparently renowned across the island. It is also interesting since manatee meat was one of the highly desirous sources of protein for the Taino. Further confirmation of the location of Caramatexius's manatee can be seen in the map of the island by Morales.
Whilst revisiting various sources on the indigenous polities or societies of the island, we came across some inconsistencies in Bernardo Vega's otherwise great Los cacicazgos de la Hispaniola. At one point he tries to concoct a theory that the island of Cayemite may have been the site where, according to indigenous legend, their ancestors first appeared on the island. However, his reasoning here assumes that Peter Martry and Morales, the cartographer of one of the most detailed maps of the island, mistook the Bajabonico for another river possibly located in the Sud of modern-day Haiti. His reasoning here is not convincing, and in fact, by the book's conclusion, Vega seems to have returned to the original proposition on the site of the early origins of Haiti. Thus, by pages 69-70, Vega seems to place Caonao, the province where the caves of Cacibajagua and Amayauna were located, near the Bajabonico River in the Dominican Republic. As Martyr's account of Indian legends of origin was based on the relation of Ramón Pané, taking a second look at Arrom's translation and proposed etymologies for (mythic) places and landscapes is necessary. Arrom, who translated Caonao (the Cahonao of Martyr) as "place where there is gold," one should look to parts of Hispaniola where gold was found in abundance.
That would suggest somewhere in the Cibao or Vega Real is a good contender. In addition, Pané apparently collected most of his information in this part of the island subject to Guarionex, a powerful cacique whose sister married Diego Colon, the indigenous translator of the Admiral. Guarionex, according to Pané, was the son of a cacique named Cacibaquel. Arrom suggests this name could mean "shelter" or "refuge" and "descendant of" the "cave" (caciba). If this cacique was the father of Guarionex, and much of Pané's recorded traditions came from this cacicazgo or its environs, then the myth of Cacibajagua as a cave of origin near Caonao (or Cahonao) likely refers to this area near the Bajabonico. According to Peter Martyr, Guarionex's domains bordered the mountains of Cibao, Cahonao, and Cazacubana. It is thus very likely that the mythical site of Cacibajagua and Amayauna were located somewhere near Cahonao, which remains to this day the name of a river or affluent of the Bajabonico west of the pueblo of Imbert.
As for another important cave of indigenous myth, the cave from which emerged the Sun and the Moon, Pané is less clear. Supposedly, the cave was located in the land of a cacique named Mautiatihuel. Arrom has suggested a possible translation for this (mythical?) cacique's name: "Son-of-the-Dawn." If so, and the sun rises in the east, one might assume this (mythical) cave was located somewhere in the east. This contradicts Moreau de Saint-Mery's unverifiable theory that the cave site of Voûte-à-Minguet in the parish of Dondon was the site in question. A more eastern location would fit the possible sites for Cacibajagua and Amayauna, too, especially if this tradition is largely derived from the cacicazgo of Guarionex or its neighbors. It may also have been important for this cave, a site of pilgrimage, to be close to the cave of origin for the island's population. According to Martyr, the site of Camoteia, where humans first settled the island of Hispaniola at Cahonao, was also a revered site to which gifts were given. Martyr adds details here not explicit in Pané, perhaps drawing from Morales and other sources. Nonetheless, it is not unfeasible for the site of Cacibajagua to have been located in the same region as the cave of Iguanaboina.
This question of Cacibajagua and Cahonao may also have some bearing on the origins of Marien, a powerful cacicazgo in the northern part of Haiti. According to archaeological findings, the probable site for Guacanagaric's capital, En Bas Saline, was likely a Chicoid site in a region (northern Haiti) where Meillacoid ceramics were usually found. If En Bas Saline began as a Chicoid settlement in an area whose immediate vicinity was devoid of Meillacoid settlements, it is possible that the early people came from the east. They may have shared in this wider mythology of origin that traced the human presence on the island to Cacibajagua and the cave site in which the Sun and Moon emerged likely somewhere in the same region. We are assuming here that ceramic styles reflected some deeper cultural orientation or identification, but Guacanagaric's cacicazgo could have brought those traditions or legends of origin to the northern part of Haiti when a Chicoid settlement emerged at En Bas Saline by the 13th century. Of course, by the time of Columbus's arrival, the people of Marien may have developed a very distinct identity and new traditions of origin. But their cacicazgo wa said to have stretched as far east as Monte Cristi and parts of Vega Real, meaning some degree of contact with the indigenous centers there was feasible.
The Taino peoples, indigenous to the Greater Antilles, have long been described as extinct, a vanished people swept away by colonization, disease, and slavery in the early 1500s. Yet, as the blog Dream Variants emphasizes, the legacies of Taino life are deeply embedded in Caribbean culture. From farming practices to language, and from mythology to modern identity politics, the Taino remain central to understanding Caribbean history and culture.
One thing that requires further study is the indigenous division in the Dominican form of Vodou. Apparently absent in Haiti, the existence of an entire division of spirits associated with the indigenous past of Hispaniola (and water) is interesting for what it may suggest about indigenous Taino spirituality surviving today. The few writings we have found on it are the work of Carlos Esteban Deive on Dominican Vodou, Martha Ellen Davis's work, and an article by Geo. Ripley. Additional mentions of indigenous features in Dominican spirituality and religious practice can be found in Lundius and Lundahl's study of the Palma Sola movement as well as Jana Pesoutova's Indigenous Ancestors and Healing Landscapes. Undoubtedly, additional works exist, but of varying quality and often difficult to locate. As for the appearance of Indian spirits in Haitian Vodou, the only account we know of is a short article by Odette Roy Fombrun of questionable reliability.
From Deive's account, the Indian Division included spirits or luases like Agalla Dulce, India de Agua Azul, Caonabo, Cayacoa, Enriquillo, Guaroa, Hatuey, Mencia, Hacuai Danto, Guarionex, Carmela, Carmelina Dansoleil, Guacanagarix, Tamayo and a chief of the division, Gamao. Obviously, several of these were caciques of Hispaniola at the time of Spanish arrival or early resisters to the encomienda system and colonial oppression (Enriquillo, Tamayo). Intriguingly, at least one has a name of Haitian Creole origin and a few appear to be linked to water (Agua Azul) or perhaps places or springs. Agalla Dulce, intriguingly, brings to mind a possible etymology of the word cemi, linking it to the concept of sweetness. However, the vast majority of the spirits listed here are "deified" historical persons. A similar concept can be found in Haitian Vodou, which includes Dessalines as a lwa (not to mention the West African origins of some spirits, which can be traced to figures who were deified in the past (Chango, or Shango, anyone?).
What about Davis, the author of La Otra ciencia? According to Davis, the Indian Division emphasizes water and has an ecological aspect that may reflect animistic influences. She further specified that in the capital, Santo Domingo, historic caciques were worshipped, like Anacaona. In this case, the service to cacique/lwa was akin to the appearance of Indians in Espiritismo. In the Southwest of the Dominican, in areas like San Juan de la Maguana, more Indian spirits can be found, yet they are not, from what we can tell, caciques. Davis's view here finds further support from Pesoutova's work, which emphasizes traditions of Indian spirits in locales like Banica or in the San Juan de la Maguana region. It would seem that two distinct traditions of Indian spirits exist here, if Davis is correct.
What about the Indian Division according to Lundahl and Lundius? They mentioned the leader of the Indian Division in Dominican Vodou as a spirit called Tinyó, or Gamao. Interestingly, he also has a name of Creole origin, Le Gran Solei, and a chromolithograph of St. Nicolas of Bari is used for him. They additionally specify the importance of Indian spirits in the Dominican Southwest, particularly in the valley of San Juan de la Maguana. This includes practices associated with the large Corral de Los Indios as well as rites and rituals tied to the memory of Caonabo and Anacaona. One particular spot in this area of the country, La Agüita, was associated with St. John the Baptist and a number of Indian spirits. Again, there is an association with water (here believed to have healing properties) and Indian spirits, as well as syncretism with Catholic and African beliefs.
Although much more research remains to be done on the Indian Division, it does seem to reflect a mix of old, animistic properties and belief in spirits tied to Dominican folk belief (and pre-Columbian religion). The appearance of lwa named after historic caciques might be the result of a mixture of Vodou, Espiritismo, and Dominican folk belief, perhaps explaining why it was more evident in the area of the capital, according to Davis. Either way, if Ripley, who included a ceremonial song for the Indian Division in a short essay, is believed, "Indio soy, vivo en el monte huyendo porque los españoles me van siguiendo." The Indian as ancestor, symbol, and spirit is clearly relevant today in the Dominican Republic.
Although we have only read the first time of Claude Moise's Constitutions et luttes de pouvoir en Haiti, it is enough to understand to a greater extent the intermittent political crises that negatively impacted the country from 1804-1915. Viewing the endless battles and conflicts for political power between different branches, clans, and regional elites since the birth of Haitian independence until the US Occupation through the conflict over constitutions to legitimize various regimes illustrates more clearly the impasse the Haitian political system had reached by 1915. Since each constitution was instituted either to deny power to another branch of the elite and legitimize their own seizure of power, there was a constant danger of political intrigue, coups, and revolutions to unseat the incumbent president/Executive and restore governmental legitimacy. Of course, the source of real power in the country was the Executive, and his power came from the military who administered the provinces as commandants. Thus, regardless of any constitutional innovations to protect civil government and individual liberties, all were at risk of arbitrary and despotic presidents (or, in the case of Dessalines, Soulouque, and Christophe, emperors and kings) who had to rely on the military as the main source of authority (as well as preserving public security).
However, as Moise's masterful study reveals, there were a number of occasions in which branches of the political elite sought to institute a truly liberal, democratic state with more power to civil authorities. The first, the 1843 Constitution, was never truly implemented as Riviere Herard was unseated and the country's elite fell back on Guerrier and Riche to neutralize the threat of the Piquets. Here, unfortunately, Moise's analysis does not extend deeper into exploring how the Piquets themselves wanted to reconstitute the state, but he is certainly correct that most of the Haitian political elite banded together to prevent any real seizure of power from the lower classes. This included military repression, government appointments to Piquet leaders and the return to "presidentialism" to protect public security. After ending the Piquet threat, the political elites, both of the "mulatto" and "noir" branches, proceeded to implement other constitutions, such as that of 1846 and 1867. The Executive branch was severely weakened in the 1870s through the rise of the Liberals and Boyer-Bazelais, who favored a government dominated by the Legislative branch. Nonetheless, their favored constitution and governmental system, designed to weaken the Executive, was impractical as there was no real constitutional solution to conflict between the Executive and Legislative bodies.
Furthermore, the Liberals, according to Moise, lacked deeper alliances with the real source of power in the country, the military leaders, and were thus severely weakened once the inevitable return of conflict over power returned in 1879 and beyond. Intriguingly, their regime did work well under Saget and Boisrond-Canal, although the exceptional circumstances and character of those men favored the longevity of this inherently unworkable system. By the end of the era of Liberal hegemony, despotic, arbitrary regimes dominated by Presidents like Salomon (who in one letter, compared the demands of political power to African conditions), Hyppolite, and Nord Alexis became the norm. Even with the 1889 Constitution that survived until the US Occupation, each president relied on unconstitutional measures, arbitrary despotism, the military, and sometimes, outright terror, to remain in power or endeavor to control succession.
Throughout the entire period, the conflict over power and various attempts to legitimize new regimes with legality through new constitutions was usually able to counteract any serious attempts at opening the political system or debate to the lower classes. A few exceptions occurred, however. And it is these exceptions that warrant additional attention, particularly the Piquets (who still await their historian, to paraphrase Moise), cacos, and the urban masses who supported Salnave. La foule was especially relevant during the terror of Soulouque and presumably supported, initially, Soulouque's rise to effective power and self-elevation to Emperor. In addition, the urban masses, such as the women, who rallied behind Salnave, must be analyzed for revealing the political ideology of the lower classes. The cacos in the Nord similarly warrant closer attention, although Moise seems predisposed to discount the idea of any real political debate or ideology motivating their actions in the decades leading to US Occupation. That said, it seems hard to image the cacos of the Nord completely lacking ideas about reform, even if they were doomed to fail. The challenge now is to reconstruct, to whatever extent possible, how the peasants, urban poor, and embryonic working-class envisioned a different political regime in Haiti.
Whilst perusing Bachiller y Morales on indigenous Cuba and the Taino language, we came across references to aboriginal Jamaica. Apparently, back in 1607, Gregorio Garcia, who sought to uncover the origins of Amerindian peoples, wrote that the last three caciques of Jamaica were Beroica, Bemboroica, and Abemberoica. It would be fascinating to find Garcia's source for these names of Jamaican caciques. From the testament of Diego Mendez, we know of Ameyro and Huareo as caciques of Jamaica at the time Columbus was shipwrecked there. For caciques after or before, we are lost and would love to know more. Sadly, attempting to look this up only led us to Rafinesque, who tried to date these aforementioned Jamaican caciques to the 1400s. Rafinesque also attempted to historicize the traditions and myths of Ramon Pane on Hispaniola with linguistic and historical evidence to reconstruct the precolonial past of the West Indies (unconvincingly, we might add). More verifiable are the 8 or so caciques of Jamaica listed in The Jamaica Reader: History, Culture, Politics: Aguacadiba, Ameyao, Anaya, Guayguata, Huareo, Maynoa, Oristan, and Vaquabo. The first of these is mentioned as a place by Diego Mendez.
