Indian Division...

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. 

The Extirpation of Idolatry in Peru

Pablo Joseph de Arriaga's The Extirpation of Idolatry is a fascinating report on the widespread maintenance of precolonial religious traditions and spirituality among indigenous peoples in colonial Peru. A Jesuit priest who promoted "visits" by priests to identify huacas, "sorcerers" and practitioners or observers of the pre-Christian faith, in order to destroy relics, mummies, huacas, and force "sorcerers" and those who still consulted them to cease, Arriaga is an important source on the nature of Andean indigenous religion and spirituality. For instance, one chapter provides a wealth of detail about the sorcerers or witches who plagued a coastal community, gathering at night to kill their victims through supernatural means. Supposedly, this league of witches honored a "lion" deity. 

Much of the text also describes other aspects of Andean religion, particularly the veneration accorded to huacas, mummified ancestors, and household gods or clan-affiliated gods and myths of origin. This information was considered very important for the clergy operating in these areas so they could better refute the "errors" of the Indians in the communities they served. Of course, Arriaga also reserved criticism for the Spaniards and Church, which often failed to actually educate the Indians about the fundamentals of the Catholic faith and failing to provide a good example to inculcate proper Christian values and practice. Furthermore, far too few priests actually mastered indigenous languages like Quechua or Aymara to give effective sermons or provide a fuller education to Indians about the "true" religion that they had been exposed to since the Spanish Conquest. 

While modern readers today might find much to lament or be disgusted by in Arriaga's account, it nonetheless helps us identify some of the religious practices and traditions of precolonial Peru. Unfortunately, we do not have more texts like the Huarochiri Manuscript to shed fuller light on what must have been the very detailed and regionally specific traditions, legends, fables, and huacas of more areas in colonial Peru. Arriaga's account on how the visits should work and the state of Christianity among Indians in the early 1600s helps fill in the gaps. 

Cemí and Religion

It looks like Jose Oliver was probably correct about the etymology of the word cemí. Rendered as chemíjn, chemijn in Breton's dictionary as the equivalent of God, the Kalinago word is undoubtedly related to the Taino cemí. Intriguingly, the word for sweet in Arawak is seme. Sweetness is translated as semehi while to cure is semechihi. A shaman is called semeti, a name whose use has been attested since the mid-16th century in Rodrigo de Navarrete's account of the Aruacas. As noted by scholars like Oliver and Goeje, a possible link to the word for sweet is very plausible in this case. 

However, we had not found a similar word for "sweet" in Kalinago or Taino to match the seme of Arawak or Lokono. Looking to Garifuna provided a possible clue. In that language, the word for tasty or delicious is semeti. Sweet is actually bimeti, which can be found in Breton's 17th century dictionary. However, the concept of sweetness definitely overlaps with that of tasty or delicious. Thus, it is possible that the word for "God" or spirits associated with positive attributes may derive from a word linked to tasty or delicious. We cannot say for sure what the Taino word for sweet or tasty was, but it was likely similar.

Looking to Taino words or concepts related to spirits and gods in the context of other South American languages is also worthwhile. For instance, goeiz as the equivalent of soul of a living person, does not have a close cognate in the other Arawakan languages or neighboring languages we consulted dictionaries for. However, Rodrido de Navarrete's account uses the word Gaguche, for souls. Ga may have signified great, and guche, soul. Perhaps a sense of this can be seen in yawahu, an Arawak word for Spirit in Bennett's dictionary? Intriguingly, Taino's word for the spirits of the dead, or hupia, has a close match in Kalinago or Island Carib's oupoyem or opoyem. In Wayuu, Spirit is aa'in while a phantom of spirit could also be called ayolojo or ayaluju. A demon or devil is yolujaa, which might be related to hupia. Garifuna uses afurugu for Spirit and mafia for devil, or fiend. Soul is uwani and ghost is ufioun. 

Palikur, on the other hand, uses uhokri and giwohkiga for God. A demon is wavitye which isn't particularly close to hupia. Surprisingly, one of the Palikur terms for God may be etymologically related to one of the Taino terms for God, Guamiquina (Great Lord, or God). This is quite different from the Hubuiri for the Great Lord in the Sky recorded by Navarrete in the 1500s for the Arawak. Indeed, we also wonder if the Palikur uhokri is also related to a part in Yucahu's full name, Yúcahu Bagua Maórocoti. Is the Maórocoti perhaps similar to uhokri, with the ma negating the rest? In Arawak, one term for God is wa-malhita-koanathi. This refers to God in the sense of our collective Father or begetter, while in Palikur, nahawkrivwi, refers to our grandparents. Perhaps the last part of Yucahu's full name really does refer to him as lacking a creator, since Yocahu was the first principle or Creator.

Puerto Rican Espiritismo in New York

Jose Morales-Dorta's Puerto Rican Espiritismo: Religion and Psychotherapy is a study of Espiritismo's appeal among poor and working-class Puerto Ricans in New York City. Relying on surveys, observation of Espiritismo centros and statistics and studies of the low status, marginalization and impoverished conditions of Puerto Rican life in NYC, Morales-Dorta's sympathetic portrayal of Espiritismo stresses its positive relationship on mental and physical health. Unlike the institutions offering care to those in need of psychotherapy, which often were disconnected to Puerto Rican communities, alienating and lacking Spanish-speaking social workers, therapists or doctors, Espiritismo centros featured members of the community who drew from long-standing traditions of spirits as the cause of ailments, methods to invoke spirits through mediums, and healing practices from herbal remedies and spiritual intervention. The Puerto Rican seeking aid for ailments both physical or mental could find a supportive community which used action via mediums and spirit possessions as psychodrama that allowed the "patient" a space for the expression of emotions. This exteriorization of the patient's psychological woes in the environment of a centro reminds one of certain Haitian interpretations of Vodou, too. 

However, our main purpose in reading Morales-Dorta was for insights on the indigenous influences in Puerto Rican Espiritismo. According to him, statues of Indians are common at centros. In addition, Indian and African spirits were predominant among Cuban and Puerto Rican mediums. Indian spirits were associated with a high spiritual level, too. In addition, some of the healing practices do, vaguely, recall Taino or indigenous Caribbean shamanistic practices. However, since Espiritismo clearly owes at least some of its terminology to Kardec and has undeniably incorporated the Bible, Christianity and African influences, the Taino legacy is not always so clear. In order to truly elucidate the depth of Taino influence in Puerto Rican Espiritismo, one must dig deeper into the history of Taino religion, Puerto Rican folk healing, and the "Creolization" of Espiritismo in Puerto Rico. Nonetheless, this brief study, too brief for a proper analysis of this topic, does point strongly to some Taino influence. As of now, it seems less obvious than that of the ceremonia del cordon in Cuba. 

The Areito Today

Huellas vivas del indocubano by Jose Antonio Garcia Molina, Mercedes Garrido Mazorra and Daisy Fariñas Gutierrez presents a strong case for Taino retentions in the ceremonia del cordón in Cuban Espiritismo. Basing their theory on ethnographic observation, historical sources and the Cuban and Caribbean anthropological tradition, the authors argue that the specific type of Espiritisma ceremony described in the book, in Cuba's Oriente, is based on the Taino areito. Since historical sources attest to indigenous survival in that part of the island, and ethnographic analyses of campesino religion, spirituality, material culture, genetics, folklore, and popular healing demonstrate a palpable indigenous legacy, one can see how the Taino areito was adapted into a particularly Cuban form of Espiritismo. Since the worldview of Espiritismo overlaps with Taino or indigenous Caribbean beliefs, as well as those of Afro-Cubans, Taino ritual healing customs and the areito as a healing process were adaptable to the ceremonia del cordón that developed in eastern Cuba by the 20th century.

What is astonishing about this study is the wealth of details attesting to indigenous survival and retentions in Cuba's east. Perhaps something similar could be found for Indiera in Puerto Rico and, perhaps, the Dominican Southwest? Either way, it is remarkable the degree to which some indigenous customs and traditions persisted, besides the obvious ones related to material culture. For instance, the Cuban healing practice derived from the behiques, of sucking on the patient, was practiced in Cuba as recently as the 1930s. Matrilineal inheritance was also practiced by some families of probable Indian descent. In addition, veneration of the Sun, belief in the transformation into animals, and characteristics of mediums and guides in Cuban Espiritismo seem to owe something to the behiques of the Taino. While sometimes the authors may be wrong about the Amerindian origin or root of this or that Cuban custom or ritual practice, overall their case is strong for a significant legacy to Cuba's first, primordial, root. Indian survivals even surface in Cuban Espiritismo with a commission for Indians and commemoration of Guama. Cuban transculturation makes it sometimes difficult to distinguish all the components in the national stew, but the indigenous ingredients are very clear in Cuba's eastern provinces. 

While our understanding of the areito saw it as less of a healing practice than a community-wide ceremony for celebrating, remembering the past, and commemorating the accomplishments of caciques. However, the specific type of singing, dancing in a circle while holding hands, and absence of more typical African influences suggests that the Cuban Espiritista ritual might be the closest glimpse we have of what the areito looked like in the distant past. We know from Spanish sources that the areito was still practiced by Tainos in Hispaniola several decades after the Spanish conquest. In Cuba and Puerto Rico, where documented indigenous communities also survived, one can assume the areito was practiced there well into the colonial era. Agustin Stahl even suggested that elements of the areito may be found in the country dancing of the Puerto Rican peasant. However, nothing from the rural or ceremonial dances of today's Puerto Rico seems to bear such a clear or plausible indigenous origin. 

Inca Religion and Customs

Inca Religion and Customs continues Bernabe Cobo's work on the Inca Empire. Instead of history, however, the author emphasizes religion, customs, rites, superstitions, and everyday life among Peruvian Indians. Those who have read El Inca Garcilaso and other sources on life in the Inca Empire will be familiar with much of the information reported here. However, since Cobo relied heavily on a lost work by Polo de Ondegardo, plus his own observations and travels across Peru, one occasionally finds gems of information or additional references to further research. For instance, some idea of the role of constellations in Inca cosmology and understanding of the origins of humans and animals is apparent here. In addition, a detailed list of several guacas and the types of service or tribute and sacrifice they received helps one comprehend the tight relationship between the guacas and the Inca state. One can even find a functionalist and rational explanation for the practices of sorcery, divination and magic among the elderly in Inca society since, according to Cobo, elderly men had no other source of living except selling or exchanging their spiritual or magical services. Furthermore, Cobo mentions juntas or convitas among the farmers of the empire, the monopolization of the services of specialized artisans by the Inca and caciques, and the accomplishments of the pre-colonial Peruvians in architecture, weaving, agriculture, infrastructure, and metallurgy. 

Cuban Espiritismo and the Indigenous Caribbean

Who would have thought that there are videos of a Cuban Espiritismo ritual said to have Taino or indigenous influences online? This cordon ritual in which participants form a circle and chant, sing, etc. supposedly has strong indigenous influences in eastern Cuba. These indigenous traces are not immediately apparent yet it seems like that an indigenous and an African fusion of sorts occurred here. 

Account of the Fables and Rites of the Incas

The translation of Cristobal de Molina's Account of the Fables and Rites of the Incas provides more interesting information on Inca rites and religious practices. Based on the testimony of elders in Cuzco, who recalled the customs of the empire in its later years, were interviewed by de Molina, who was a priest in Cuzco and master of the Quechua language. Of course, an immediate problem arises with this work. While he may have been fluent in the Quechua language, the fact that he was a priest and his main informants only represented the elite, does suggest that some omissions and bias likely influenced this short account of Inca religion and rites. Nonetheless, de Molina's expertise in indigenous languages and the fact that his description of, for example, rites like the initiation of young adult males can be corroborated elsewhere make him a reliable source.

For our purposes, however, the main interest in de Molina's description of Inca religion is some of the connections we see with other parts of South America, including Amazonian areas. Like other accounts of origin myths, one sees parallels with other Amerindian peoples through archetypes, such as origins in a a cave (Tambotoco at Pacaritambo). Like the Taino origin myths recorded by Pane, some people were also turned into stone. In addition, during the puma skin dance, Incas inserted gold into the heads of dead pumas that were worn. This brings to mind our past fanciful notion of a possible South American connection with the gold encrusted mouths of duhos from pre-Hispanic Hispaniola. The author, de Molina, also refers to healing practices and ritual fasts, something we have already noticed may have connections with other South American shamanistic practices and medicinal practices. Furthermore, the Inca ritual calendar and its link to imperial expansion may be illustrative of similar spread of cemis in the precolonial Antilles, at least in areas where some caciques were able to dominate several others. Naturally, the Inca state, for more expansive and centralized, developed this to a much greater extent. Indeed, the Capacocha sacrifices, which took place across and empire and were recorded with quipus, undoubtedly reflected the greater centralization of power and ritual in the Andes. 

Last but certainly not least, de Molina's brief description of the Taqui Onqoy millenarian movement warrants attention. Although he erroneously connected it with the last bastion of Inca resistance at Vilcabamba, the movement appears to have arisen independently. Moreover, it represented a shift in the tradition of the huacas, who now possessed Indians and urged them to fight and eradicate the Spanish. While in some ways a restorationist movement that threatened the colonial system, this novelty of spirit possession by the huacas raises several interesting questions. Was it due to the radical shift and demographic collapse caused by colonialism? Or, perhaps, was the belief in spirit possession by the huacas also influenced by European and African beliefs? This seems unlikely, but something we would like to pursue.  

Gods of the Andes

Sabine Hyland's translation of an important text by Blas Valera is very interesting for those interested in the Inca past. Blas Valera, a mestizo Jesuit, was a fervent believer in the study and use of indigenous languages to effectively serve and convert indigenous communities in Peru. Unfortunately, he perhaps went too far in the eyes of the Jesuit leadership and other religious orders. According to Hyland's introductory essay, Blas Valera was comparable to missionaries like Roberto Mobili, endorsing inculturation as the best path for converting people from different cultures. While this is not immediately apparent in this text, which mostly translates Relación de las costumbres antiguas de los naturales del Pirú. Essentially, Valera's pro-Indian views and his sympathetic portrayal of aspects of indigenous religion and spirituality were too heretical and eventually led to his incarceration and later removal to Spain. Sadly, much of his great manuscript on the history of Peru was lost during an English attack against Cadiz. But our old friend El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, also a mestizo, found fragments of Valera's text and incorporated his data into the Los comentarios reales. 

The connection with El Inca Garcilaso is where Valera's influence seems especially profound. Although El Inca was from the old Cuzco elite via his mother's family, and could draw on oral history gathered through these relatives, Blas Valera had traveled across the colony and was able to gather information and observations from a variety of communities. Like El Inca, he was also a fluent speaker of Quechua but was able to use his linguistic skills to work among more indigenous communities. After reading the brief text translated here by Hyland, it becomes immediately apparent that much of the framework adopted by El Inca Garcilaso was based on Valera. Like Valera, he stressed the absence of human sacrifice in Inca religion and praised the strict laws and benevolent justice of the Inca imperial system. Moreover, Garcilaso also saw aspects of Christianity in Inca belief, almost portraying the indigenous religion as establishing the path for the true religion of Christianity brought by the conquest. This can be seen in the way Garcilaso stressed the sun cult as the main religion of the Inca, which was heavily supported and/or imposed across the Empire. One can see elements of a similar admiration of Andean religious beliefs in Blas Valera, who, despite the various superstitions and idolatries of the natives, also found admirable qualities such as the practice of making confessions and the various convents for nuns, or aclla. Of course, the two authors differed on the case of Atahuallpa, with Valera praising him and El Inca seeing him as an illegitimate, violent ruler who eradicated many elites in Cuzco.

The main importance of Blas Valera, besides his detailed account of Andean religious beliefs as he saw in the late 16th century, was his careful use of khipus and oral traditions to construct a history of the Inca. Indeed, unlike El Inca Garcilaso, Valera referenced various khipu and specialists in their interpretation for data on religious and political history. Naturally, this meant khipu could be used to record more than numerical data for censuses or supplies. Indeed, Valera references them for the history of religious practices as well as the history of political rulers. Khipu, to him, were as valid as other sources of information, like written accounts in European languages or oral traditions as reported to him by indigenous people. Why, for instance, El Inca Garcilaso only saw khipu as useful for recording numerical data and occasionally as mnemonic devices for speeches, may have been based on the different experiences of the two mestizos. Furthermore, Garcilaso left Peru while still relatively young and admitted to not inquiring into certain customs whereas Valera spent more time in Peru. This must also have been a source for Valera on some of the events that transpired during the Incan imperial period as well as pre-Inca rulers. These khipu were able to record, for example, the disputation of Amaro Toco, an amauta from the era of Inca rule. They were also references for information on the history of the convents for virgins. If only Valera's magnum opus was not lost, perhaps there could be even more information on how khipu were used to record historical and biographical data. 

Mitología y religion de los taínos

Mitología y religion de los taínos by Sebastian Robiou Lamarche is yet another study of Taino mythology and religion that analyzes Ramón Pané. Building off the pioneering scholarship of Arrom and Robiou Lamarche's past research, the author divides Taino mythology into 4 cycles while offering plausible interpretations of various episodes. The usual themes of the gemelos divinos, the origin of women, Guahayona as a cultural hero, and perhaps astronomical significance of Taino myths are expounded with South American parallels. Unfortunately, we found this essay to be a too similar to other studies of Ramón Pané and Taino mythology to be distinctive. The useful glossary and the distinct visuals and pictures designed by the author's daughter were certainly interesting, however. In short, Taino myth and religion, at least the fragments of it recorded by Ramón Pané and revealed by ethnohistoric and archaeological analysis, demonstrate that Taino religion and cosmovision was central to the established of a hierarchical cacicazgo that developed to its greatest degree in Hispaniola and Puerto Rico. The triad of cohoba, cacique, and cemi were the lynchpins of Taino religion and myth, and all can be said to justify a political order in which the "solarized" cacique emerged supreme. Perhaps one day new sources or studies of Taino material culture and iconography can tell us more about this cosmovision.

Mythology and Prehispanic Antillean Art

Arrom's Mitología y artes prehispánicas de las Antillas was less useful than we initially thought. Perhaps because we read it after absorbing Stevens-Arroyo (who, like Arrom, saw Deminan as our Taino Prometheus), Lopez-Baralt, Robiou-Lamarche and others, who were all clearly influenced by Arrom's important work, much of his seminal study is familiar territory. Nonetheless, Arrom was unquestionably important for expanding our knowledge of "Taino" culture and religion on the eve of Spanish conquest. His analysis of surviving art, together with linguistic data and the chronicles, helps us make sense of the larger Taino cosmovision and social structure. Unlike more recent scholars, Arrom did not benefit from newer anthropological theories on South American indigenous religions and worldviews. However, his detailed breakdown of Pané convincingly identifies some cemis in Taino art and the aesthetic accomplishments of precolonial Caribbean civilization. This clearly establishes the impressiveness of Taino cultures in the Greater Antilles as one of the worthy areas of pre-Columbian civilizations and part of our legacy in the region. Their skills in working with conch, stone, bone and wood reveal expert artisanry and the development of an elaborate society and worldview. Even after the disastrous encounter with Europe, several aspects of their accomplishments survive in modern Caribbean toponyms, spirituality, mythology, agriculture, and material culture.

El mito taino

Mercedes López-Baralt's El mito taíno: raíz y proyecciones en la amazonia continental does an interesting job outlining the various ways in which Taino mythology, as recorded by Ramón Pané, parallels those of the Amazonian region and the northern part of South America. Drawing on ethnographic data and collections of South American Indian myths, López-Baralt convincingly demonstrates how the Taino peoples of the Greater Antilles were deeply immersed in an older, continental civilization based on manioc. Where the Taino differ, however, is in their more developed ceremonialism, the greater social stratification and the role of the shaman as an intermediary between the people and the cemis. 

Despite those differences, perhaps the Taino really were still in that "intermediary" stage of tribal-tributary production, meaning they were in greater proximity to their less politically centralized continental cousins. Perhaps the similarities between the Taino and their mainland Arawak and other "cousins" can unveil some of the ideological, social, and economic features of Taino society? The notion of cyclical time, for example was probably shared by the Taino and South American indigenous populations. This could explain the idea of new generations of humans or rebirths of humanity represented through figures like Guahayona and Deminan. Furthermore, the ubiquity of the female turtle as a symbol of motherhood or the frog as a symbol of fertility in Taino and South American mythology very well could indicate something about the nature of Taino art and the position of women as mothers, objects of raids, and bodies of water. Whether or not some of the myths recorded by Pané could be deduced to explain the rise of patriarchal societies or not seems uncertain at this point. 

However, López-Baralt, like Stevens-Arroyo, is likely correct about some of the larger archetypes and social functions explained or rationalized by Taino myth. These fragments of a larger worldview, fortunately bequeathed to posterity by Pané reveal much about Taino culture of the late 15th century. If only more of the traditions were recorded or described, then we could be in a far better position to understand Taino society. Of course, one must also take into consideration that it was the elite of Taino society who provided information to Pané. What we know of the society thus reflects the ruling ideology and perhaps not the general beliefs of the "commoners" of Taino society. Perhaps the so-called naboria spirituality and religious practice was closer to that of the type encountered in the South American mainland and parts of the Lesser Antilles? 

An Account of the Antiquities of the Indians

While revisiting Griswold's translation of An Account of the Antiquities of the Indians, we were shocked to see mention of a prophecy of clothed foreigners who would overcome the locals, kill, and cause the indigenes to die of hunger. According to Ramón Pané, the indigenous population (presumably from the Cibao region of Hispaniola, where much of Pané's information was gathered?) came to believe the prophecy was a warning of Columbus. Amazingly, within a few decades of their encounter with the Admiral, their population did experience catastrophic suffering and decline. 

That eerily accurate prediction aside, Pané's brief account of the indigenous population's beliefs and practices is astonishing in other ways. Arrom, drawing on Las Casas, Oviedo, and ethnographic and linguistic data from related indigenous populations like the Arawak, shows how complex Taino mythology and religion actually was. For instance, a myth might allude to something like the origin of the sea or the creation of animals. Others, however, reflect their knowledge of astronomy and weather patterns, such that Anacacuya may have represented a mythic representation of the Pole Star. Their myths also have parallels with Arawak, Carib, and other indigenous societies of South America, suggestive of deep antiquity and possible etymologies of names for mythic places. Some of this remains speculative, naturally, but helps the reader understand some of the metaphors, symbols, and social practices misunderstood by Pané.

If, despite their limitations, sources such as An Account of the Antiquities of the Indians remain indispensable for reconstructing the history of the indigenous Caribbean, one must know how to "read" through the colonial and Christian biases. Arrom's careful footnotes do an excellent job in this regard, thereby showing how one can use colonial sources to reconstruct the history of the Taino of Hispaniola (and the Greater Antilles). One can also begin to see more clearly the numerous ways in which elements of the indigenous cultures survived the conquest and went on to play a major role in the development of the colonial-era peasantries in the Spanish Caribbean. They may have lost the behiques, zemis, caciques, and most of the religion, but inherited several other aspects of the indigenous legacy. 

Taino Myth of the Cursed Creator

 

This short video brings to life one of the Taino creation stories reported in an account of the Indians of Hispaniola written by Fray Ramón Pané. The written account, based on his experiences on the island in the 1490s, is obviously much closer to the source material. Yet, it has its problems, too. Pané's cultural bias, disdain for Taino religion and healers, language barriers, and passion for converting what he saw as heatens produces a plethora of problems. Still, anyone who wants to reconstruct the culture, beliefs, and practices of the indigenous population of Hispaniola must use these sources in some form. His account has undoubtedly influenced the above video segment retelling the origin of the sea with beautiful artwork.

Cave of the Jagua

Antonio Stevens-Arroyo's Cave of the Jagua: The Mythological World of the Taínos is an essential read for its creative approach to reconstructing the religion and mythology of the indigenous peoples of the Greater Antilles. Building on Arrom's reconstruction and analysis of the Relación acerca de las antigüedades de los indios, Stevens-Arroyo brings a new approach inspired by Lévi-Strauss's structuralism and comparative religious studies. This method, which can fill in the gaps of the Relación through identifying likely missing elements, may not always lead to a correct conclusion. Thus, we may disagree with him on the origin of the caney coming from the turtle that grew out of Deminan's back or the relationship between Guahayona and Guabonito. But, the possible advantages of this approach can outweigh the risks by filling in the lost or missing details of the Relación.

For example, a comparative approach with related South American indigenous peoples and even global mythology and religion reveals the ways in which Taino religion relied on analogical thinking, dualism of the Fruitful and Inversion spirits, and was part of a larger cosmovision reflecting their insular environment. Moreover, the possible identification of particular cemis in Taino art across Hispaniola and Puerto Rico serves as additional evidence that the Relación reflected the beliefs of more Taino groups than the ones Fray Ramón Pané lived amongst. Of course, one would have to follow more recent publications in Taino Studies to see to what extent the theoretical model proposed here has been supported by the evidence across the Greater Antilles. Perhaps, for example, Stevens-Arroyo is inaccurate in referring to the Taino chiefdoms as reaching a "harvesting economy" stage. Or the characterization of cacical authority may have been modified by later research on the nature of authority and the role of the cacique system and the cemi. Of course, it does seem clear that cacique and cemi were linked, the cacique probably did have something to do with the Sun, guanin, and the rise of greater social divisions with chiefly political leaders, behique shamans, an upper class and the laboring masses. Through the journey of the hero, Guahayona, one can see mythological explanations for the social order of cacical authority. 

We suspect that the denseness of the text and the references to Lévi-Strauss, Jungian psychoanalysis or complex religious and anthropological vocabulary may scare potential readers of this book. It is unfortunate, since it is likely that some elements of Taino religion have survived to this day in the Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic. Stevens-Arroyo has not presented the strongest evidence of this in terms of Haiti and Afro-Caribbean religions because Maya Deren seems to have been the main source on Vodou, but it is probable that some indigenous elements survive in Spanish Caribbean popular religion. A comparative approach with African and Afro-Caribbean religious traditions might be necessary, however, to ascertain the degree to which Taino elements have persisted. The so-called Black Caribs might represent an interesting group for comparison of the other two systems, as it fuses elements of Island Carib (and probably Taino) elements with African-derived traditions. If done well, an analysis of that nature might reveal more clearly the distinct indigenous traditions that have survived. It could also shed light on popular culture, the Trickster, and whether or not the cultural hero of popular Caribbean society is more of an extrovert, introvert (Deminan) or centrovert (Guahayona).