The Development of the Inca State

Brian Bauer's The Development of the Inca State pushes against the standard narrative of the rise of the Inca state. Instead of accepting the c.1438 date and the legendary exploits of Pachacuti against the Chancas and his role in forming the Inca state, Bauer suggests literal interpretations of narratives from the Spanish chronicles contain mytho-historical elements that require careful interpretation and, when possible, archaeological evidence. Thus, instead of viewing the rise of an Inca state and its dominion extending beyond Cuzco during the 15th century reign of Pachacuti, it is likely that the rise of an Inca state was a gradual one that likely developed over centuries. This incipient Inca state may be seen in the Cuzco region, including Paruro (an area whose ethnic groups were part of the Inca by  privilege status), through the widespread appearance of Killke ceramics, certain iconography shared across them, and the persistence of settlement patterns over a period from c.1000-1400 (and beyond) as revealed through ayllus and moiety structures verified by colonial-era administrative reports and ethnographic evidence. 

Indeed, the Incas of Cuzco may have already dominated the valley and nearby regions like Paruro long before Pachacuti and his father in the 1400s. The chapter on ceramic evidence points to the widespread finds of Killke pottery styles in Paruro and across the Cuzco valley to argue that this distribution across a vast region and some of the shared designs and patterns may point to Cuzco domination or rule possibly as early as the 1100s and 1200s. The radiocarbon dates are inconclusive but he also claims from settlement pattern analysis from the so-called Killke period sites to sites he labels as "Inca" (he means imperial Inca from the 1400s on) support the idea that the area of Paruro (including Pacariqtambo) was included within the Inca de Privilegio category. Furthermore, there are practically no Killke sites with fortifications, pushing against the idea that before Incas like Pachacuti or his father, Viracocha, the Cuzco region was torn apart by chronic warfare between different communities. This suggests that the Cuzco region may have already been under the control or influence of Cuzco's rulers in the Killke era, perhaps through nonmilitary means. This subordination of areas like Pacariqtambo's ethnic groups then used the myth of Manco Capac to justify the overlordship of the Incas by blood, who later constructed Maukallaqta to commemorate Manco Capac and the Pacariqtambo origin myth.

Bauer claims at least 8 Inca-period sites in Paruro (by Inca period he means after 1400) were the sites of ayllus relocated by the reducciones of Viceroy Toledo in 1571 or 1572. He further speculates that these are the ayllus of the Tambo group/ethnic group and that moieties and ayllu structures in this region appear to have been continued from the Killke sites/ceramic traditions. Unknown, but incipient state formation could have happened as early as 1000 CE. with a long-term continuity in settlement-subsistence patterns and village level organization. The only Inca period sites with stone monuments appear to have no administrative capacity, suggesting the area of Pacariqtamo and surrounding regions may have long been incorporated into the Inca state. With the imperial period, perhaps Incas by Privilege were then used in the administration of the Empire or resettled in conquered provinces. Yet, there is no evidence of Inca-period resettlements in Paruro, again suggestive of a region that had long been part of the Cuzco state before its imperial phase. 

Cholo Soy

A Peruvian musical gem by Luis Abanto Morales.

Astronomy and Empire in the Ancient Andes: The Cultural Origins of Inca Sky Watching

Reading Bauer and Dearborn on astronomy in the Inca Empire was somewhat disappointing. But, it sounds like Zuidema's theories about Inca astronomy, the Inca calendar, and astronomical significance of the ceque system of Cuzco is not supported by archaeological evidence...nor is it always backed by the written sources from the 1500s-1600s. But Bauer and the other author here have little to say otherwise given the limited nature of the sources and the difficult of confirming it through astronomical observations of sites in the Cuzco area. However, they think the Inca calendar was a solar and lunar one with an additional intercalated lunar one to align them. Unfortunately, the authors were unable to locate any evidence from sites in the Cuzco valley for observatories or markers for star observation, but the evidence for pillar markers for solar observations and the solstices is evident, although the pillars themselves have not survived the looting of Cuzco sites or time. The Pleiades were also very important in Inca and Andean sky watching but there's so much in the book that is just lightly suggested or said to be plausible yet impossible to be certain given the lack of ethnographic, textual, or archaeological sources. I guess they lean in favor of a 1528 death for Huayna Capac based on known comets and astronomical phenomena of the 1520s. It is unfortunate, although one must agree with the contention of the authors that astronomy and the ritual calendar must have been centralized and standardized by the Inca imperial administration with the aid of khipus. This would have strengthened the claims to power and legitimacy via descent from the Sun by the Inca ruling elites across the Andes. 

Haiti, Guyane, Amerindiens

We are not avid followers of Haiti Inter, but they occasionally produce fascinating interviews with different figures from Haiti or its Diaspora. This video, which is probably misleading since at least half of it is really about Haitians and people of Haitian descent in La Guyane, caught our attention for its alleged focus on the Amerindian heritage of Haiti. Unfortunately, the guest does not truly explore that intriguing question of Haiti's Indian legacy. Instead, we are given what has become repeated narratives offered without any evidence. Thus, the veve of Haitian Vodou is said to be of Amerindian origin (no evidence provided for this), while words of Taino origin used in Haitian Creole are given as further examples without nuance or explanation. It's a shame Haitians (and people of Haitian descent) have not yet truly explored this interesting question of Taino legacies in Haiti. Moreover, I am not sure I would assume any close connection between the word Jaragua or Xaragua in Indigenous Haiti and the use of the toponym Jaragua in Tupi-Guarani languages of Brazil. There might be a connection, but we once thought it more likely that Xaragua in Haiti might be connected to Aragua in Venezuela (based on the way Aragua was spelled in one source from the 16th century).

Quito Manuscript Thoughts

The following are my initial thoughts to reading Hyland's commentary and study of the Quito Manuscript, passed down to us through a copy made by Fernando de Montesinos in his own chronicle, Memorias antiguas, historiales y políticas del Perú. Upon reading more about Fernando de Montesinos himself and the intellectual and ideological context of his work and time (justifying Spanish conquest of Peru, linking Peru to Ophir, and praising the Spanish monarchy as the Kingdom of Israel), one can appreciate how radically different the Quito Manuscript is from this worldview. Instead, as argued by Hyland, the anonymous author (mestizo or indigenous, and apparently from Quito) was celebrating the Incas and the precolonial past of the Andes,albeit in a highly Christianized context. 

Hyland is pretty confident that the Quito Manuscript (as preserved by Fernando Montesinos) was written by an indigenous or mestizo man from Ecuador who did not speak Spanish or Quechua as a first language. She's also sure that the stories and legends of 93 kings of Peru cannot be correlated with the Tiwanaku or Wari kings. She thinks the indigenous or mestizo author of the chronicle copied by Montesinos was profoundly Christian/influenced by the Old Testament and wanted to adapt legends gathered from amautas in and Around Quito that could give the Andeans a deep antiquity and status as a civilized people who once worshiped the "True God" before the Spanish conquest. The Quito Manuscript is also pro-Inca, unlike Montesinos, although one wonders if the anonymous author of the chronicle was exaggerating the extent to which the Incas attempted to stamp out idolatry and sodomy because of the inculcation of Christian values by so many Indians by the 1600s.

Supposedly, there would still have been enough amautas or descendants of amautas around Quito in the late 1500s to consult, but due to the non-Quechua speakers and distance from Cuzco, a distinctly northern perspective and set of traditions were recorded and modified by our anonymous author (and then modified again by Fernando de Montesinos, the racist priest who believed Indians were inferior yet also viewed Peru as the land of Ophir once connected to the ancient kingdom of Israel. To make a long story short, I guess the list of 93 kings of ancient Peru must be mainly legendary, although it would be cool if some of them were based on Wari or Tiwanaku kings. We just dont have any evidence of that since places like Lake Titicaca or Ayacucho are not mentioned in the text.

The Incas

The 2nd edition of Terence D'Altroy's The Incas is a nice overview of scholarship on the Incas written ten years ago. Drawing on various disciplines and new (at the time) research by archaeologists, linguists, art historians, historians, and ethnographers, D'Altroy's study provides a nearly complete overview of this major Andean civilization. Indeed, the author even endeavored to include more Andean modes of thinking and perspectives in the work, too. For those of us who are still novices toiling in the beginning stages of Inca historical research, this is all fascinating and useful for the bibliographical references. It is also interesting to compare it with overviews of the Inca from past scholars. For instance, Malpass's far shorter introduction from the 1990s, emphasizes more of the negative impact of Inca labor tribute obligations imposed on subject peoples than D'Altroy. Intriguingly, the linguistic evidence used by the author recalls Peace Garcia's theory of an Aymara origin of the title, Inca. Moreover, drawing on Bauer's excavations and research in the Cuzco heartland does suggest an earlier period of Inca political expansion that is not reliably elucidated in the Spanish chronicles drawing on late, imperial Inca History. Indeed, even the standard story of Pachacuti's defeat of the Chankas does not appear justified based on archaeological evidence on this people. 

A History of the Khipu

Galen Brokaw's A History of the Khipu endeavors to outline the known history of the khipu through an interdisciplinary approach. Such an approach is necessary given the fact that there is so much to the khipu that is unknown or poorly understood. By drawing from various disciplines like anthropology, history, literacy studies, media studies, theories of Quechua ontology of numbers, and archaeology, one can surmise certain features of the khipu. Indeed, by viewing khipu as a medium with different genre conventions across time and place, Brokaw's review of the history of this particular non-alphabetic medium can emphasize its semiotic heterogeneity over the longue durée. This encompasses all that is known of pre-Hispanic Andean khipu as well as the survival and transformation of khipu in the colonial and independence eras. 

Perhaps most important for our interests is the emphasis on growing sophistication of khipu for recording different types of information in the Wari and Inca empires. Earlier forms of Andean semiosis through Wari architectural, Moche inscribed beans, yupana counting boards and textile patterns of the Wari civilization are all significant, but with the rise of larger, imperial political systems in the Andean region, the need for different types of khipu to record information necessary for the bureaucracy became paramount. While the Wari khipu are not the same as that of the Inca, who may have developed even more genre conventions such as imperial khipu historiographical "texts" and more refined census, tribute, and calendrical khipu, there does appear to be a correlation between more developed khipu literacies and state formation and administrative needs. This is not to deny the earlier forms of semiosis through features like inscribed beans analyzed by Brokaw in the early chapter on the Moche.

After the Spanish conquest, khipu use persisted. However, with the demise of the Inca political system, certain genres, like historiographical khipu used for recounting the past of the Inca rulers, gradually disappeared. Khipu genres used for census purposes or recording tribute, however, were used by the Spanish colonial system. These genres provided necessary information for the system of encomiendas and the visitas across various regions of the Andes. Of course, the khipu had to be adapted since the Spanish tribute system was not the same as that of the Inca one. Moreover, despite past scholarship's emphasis on the Third Lima Council's alleged "ban" on khipu, Brokaw cites numerous sources (Jesuit and other) on the use of confessional khipu or khipu use promoted by the Church to further evangelize the Indians. This suggests that khipu was never banned outright, despite some discomfort or hesitation about "idolatrous khipu" used for the worship of huacas or unease about the prominence of indigenous community leaders in carrying out Church functions. Nonetheless, it becomes quite clear that khipu use continued throughout the colonial period. 

After 1650, clear references to the khipu in the colonial archive become rare. Brokaw elucidates this pattern quite well, demonstrating that it was due to the colonial state relying less on the types of information supplied by the khipu, the growth of alphabetic literacy among indigenous communities, and the dissolution of indigenous community organizations based on indigenous principles. Brokaw additionally explains why the way pastoral khipu are used today in parts of the Andes may differ from the khipu of the Inca era. In short, many scholars ignore the diversity in genre of khipu, and the role of a large state system in codifying certain types of khipu genres for its purposes. Once the Inca state disappeared, these types of khipu records gradually dissolved with it, leaving behind local khipu records of the genre used by indigenous communities for keeping track of camelid herds or recording tribute obligations.

Finally, Brokaw seems less confident about the possibility of fully cracking the "code" of khipu. Given the diversity of genres and how perhaps the most complex narrative khipu seem to have disappeared by the 1600s, the "code" for cracking one genre of khipu may not be useful for "reading" other genres. Each genre followed its own conventions, and historians and archaeologists will have to uncover more khipu artifacts, colonial-era transcriptions, or other types of evidence to fully understand this highly complex medium. 

Peruvian Match

Although our shared DNA segments with Peruvians and South American Indians are usually rather small, one of the larger, more reliable ones with with a Peruvian (judging by the Quechua surname and their other matches, although Bolivian origin is also possible, perhaps). Moreover, this person's shared segment with us is actually along a segment identified as "Indigenous Puerto Rico" by Ancestry, not Indigenous Bolivia and Peru. Although only 6.8 cM, we suspect it is picking up on the deeper, shared ancestry between the indigenous people who populated the Caribbean and their South American mainland cousins found in parts of Andean and lowland tropical South America. Our other matches above 6 cM with South American indigenous people had lower SNP counts and densities, so we suspect this Peruvian match is somewhat more reliable. Checking the matched segment on Gedmatch's chromosome compare features and DNA painter also points to the shared segment falling along our "Indigenous Puerto Rico" segment on part of Chromosome 14.

Miscelánea Antártica in French

Although this is far from ideal, one can get the gist of Miguel Cabello de Balboa's chronicle of the Incas in a 19th century French translation. Completed by Ternaux Compans in the 1840s, the partial translation covers the chapters pertinent to the Incas, omitting most of the large chronicle's chapters on various other topics. Obviously, we would prefer to read the entire work. But, reading 16th century Spanish chronicles is harder than 19th century French translations. Despite this less than ideal context for reading Cabello de Balboa, one is struck by some of the differences in how this chronicler approached the past of the Incas.

First, Miguel Cabello de Balboa drew from a lost work by Cristobal de Molina and his own sources. Some of these sources seem to reflect greater familiarity with the coastal regions of Peru and Ecuador rather than Cuzco. This means that Miscelánea Antártica may be useful for reconstructing the general narrative of Inca history written by Molina. It also adds a little more knowledge of the Chimu, Lambayeque and other coastal or plain areas, including stories and traditions of the rotation of rulers in the Lambayeque valley and what happened to descendants of the ruling class there. Alas, we do not have anything akin to a detailed chronicle of Chimu or the coastal dynasties, but it shows how the power emanating from the coast was growing at the same time as that of the Incas in Cuzco. Migration to and fro between the coast and the highlands has also been an ongoing factor that must have impacted the relationship between yungas and highlanders in many ways not explored in this chronicle.

Even in his account of the rise of the Inca rulers at Cuzco, Cabello de Balboa differs from others. The early Inca rulers, as one might surmise, left Pacaritambo but it took generations before their power was felt beyond the Cuzco valley. With the rise of Pachacuti, the empire truly took shape. Hailed as a reformer, conqueror, able administrator, and the man who dethroned his father, our chronicler seems to mix him up with his son, Topa Inca. The familiar story of the rise of the Incas under these two into a formidable empire is here, but one gets a sense of just how unstable things could be with the rapid growth of empire. For instance, a plot against Topa Inca by his brother, Topa Capac, threatened the former's reign. Succession crises were also common, as Topa Inca was said to have preferred his bastard son, Capac Guari, to succeed. However, Huayna Capac and his mother resisted this move and went so far as to accuse the mother of the bastard heir of poisoning Topa Inca! Even regents could be a threat to young rulers, as Huayna Capac's regent, Apoc-Gualpaya, sought to seize the throne from him, too! Even during his campaigns against the Caranguis, the orejones warriors revolted due to their poor treatment by Huayna Capac after their shameful retreat. It required the miraculous story of the mother of Huayna Capac's speech and intervention (plus generous gifts and supplies of food from Huayna Capac) to restore the loyalty of orejon troops. One might add that these were troops from Cuzco, too, not warriors gathered from the provinces. In light of the fratricidal conflict between Atahualpa and Huascar on the eve of the Spanish conquest, it was perhaps very common for conflict over succession or the throne to occur in a context where the Empire grew so rapidly over a short century. 

The rest of Cabello Balboa's observations on the Incas are occasionally interesting. Thrusting a love story here or there, for example, might be an example of how his Inca informants combined engaging personal narratives with history. He also was very negative in his evaluation of Huascar. The latter is depicted as a brutal tyrant without any real military leadership ability. Atahualpa, on the other hand, gives a stirring speech in which he justifies his conflict over the throne as a defense of the rights of his supporters. Atahualpa's troops committed atrocities too, yet Cabello de Balboa's chronicle (or his sources) appear to have been pro-Atahualpa. Some of the other observations made in the chronicle are a reference to the use of khipu to "record" a will (the testament of Huayna Capac) and the maritime voyages of Topa Inca to two mysterious islands in the Pacific.

Reading Inca History

Catherine Julien's Reading Inca History is a work we rather struggled to complete. Due to our difficulties finding physical copies and the time to read, in full, Cabello Valboa and Murua (as well as a few of the hard to find Spanish chronicles), we were unsure how to tackle Julien's work. Her study of Inca historical consciousness and how it manifested in the sources used by the Spanish historical narratives or chronicles is fascinating, but does require a fuller familiarity with more of the Spanish sources. Nonetheless, Julien constructed an intriguing account of how Inca dynastic genealogy and life history of Inca rulers like Pachacuti were major sources of information used by the Spanish chroniclers. Tied to the panacas or descent groups of the Inca, mummies, songs, traditions, and even khipu were all part of the historical records of the Inca past. The use of paintings, ushered by Pachacuti, further establishes his central role in the development of Inca historical consciousness. 

Undoubtedly, an Inca historical consciousness existed. However, it was significantly changed or codified beginning with the reign of Pachacuti. Once Inca imperial expansion began, the need arose to establish descend from the patrilineage of Manco Capac and his sister (though sister marriage was not clearly established until much later) as the elite, power-holding group allegedly descended from the Sun. Using the Spanish chronicles and how they differ or share details about the early Inca past and the peoples of the Cuzco valley, Julien uncovers some hints at how the Incas were, at the beginning, just one of many groups in the Cuzco valley and their rulers engaged in marriage alliances with neighboring groups who even shared descent (or claimed it) from Pacaritambo and the Ayar brothers. But, with the expansion of Inca power and the need for a select group to consolidate its position, history and ritual were used to confer kingship to descendants from a more restricted kinship group that no longer had to rely so extensively on marriage alliances or acknowledge its shared origins with other groups in the valley. While much of the Inca source material that shaped the Spanish chronicles is still obscure, it is clear that historicist approaches to said Spanish chronicles can still be used to gain deeper glimpses of how the Inca constructed their own understanding of their past. The "mythic" elements and aspects that can perhaps be contextualized in the conflict between panacas or the growth of Christian influences on Andean belief may still reveal something of this historical consciousness that has been omitted or forgotten. 

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. 

The Incas and Pedro de Cieza de Leon

Completing The Incas, Harriet de Onis's translation of Pedro de Cieza de Leon was a time-consuming endeavor. Translating parts of different books of Cieza de Leon's history of Peru, the text is somewhat disjointed and a jarring. Nonetheless, it is a major source as one of the early chronicles on the Incas written by someone who traveled widely across South America. Moreover, he also had access to some of the early conquistadors and Spaniards who came to Peru with Pizarro or during the 1540s. This means that Cieza de Leon had access to some reliable informants, as well as indigenous informants or ruins he saw throughout his travels. Even more intriguing is the degree to which the author admired the achievements of Inca civilization in terms of its roads, architecture, administrative efficiency and economic organization. The Spaniards, particularly during the course of the civil wars after the conquest, were seen as the major ruin of the Indians, particularly in many coastal areas and valleys where the indigenous population was decimated by the Spaniards. 

As a major source on the Inca Empire, much of the text is spent describing the various provinces and regions under the control of Tawantinsuyu. The northernmost area of conquest, Pasto, was seen by the Incas sent there as a way of time. But Ecuador and much of the modern-day areas of Peru and Bolivia are described in great detail. Of course, some of Cieza de Leon's sources were muddled or confused, but he alluded to various provinces and under which Inca they were added to the empire. Some areas were remembered for the defeat of the Incas, such as Huayna Capac's failure to conquer the natives fo Bracamoros. According to Cieza de Leon, one Inca ruler, Yahuar Huacac Inca, was killed or assassinated by Cuntisuyu captains to prevent him from making further conquests. Inca Urco, the son of Viracocha Inca and thus a brother of Pachacuti, is described as a corrupt, ineffective ruler who was later replaced by Pachacuti. Strangely, however, the story of Pachacuti's victory against the Chancas did not feature stones turning into soldiers. Intriguingly, our chronicler also alluded to moments of revolts and coups by Cuzco elites, such as one crushed by Huayna Capac and another. One also finds a few more references to unrest in the provinces, such as a revolt by the Colla Indians against Pachacuti while the latter was in the East. 

Surprisingly, despite his detailed account of the regions of Ecuador under Inca rule, one does not find any reference to the Pacific Islands visited by Topa Inca. Instead, islanders bringing gold were said to have visited the southern coast of Peru at Acari. The Puna Islanders, however, were described as traders and pirate. As for the eastern lands, or Amazonian regions, Cieza de Leon makes an interesting reference to Orejones disguised as traders to the East. Paititi, the mysterious land somewhere in the East is also mentioned. One cannot escape reading this chronicle without noting Cieza de Leon's admiration for the Incas and even his respect for indigenous peoples (despite his constant lamentation of their demons and superstitions). 

Earth Beings and Trouillot Thoughts

Marisol de la Cadena's Earth Beings invokes Trouillot’s well-known Silencing of the Past multiple times throughout the book. Trouillot, who argued that the Haitian Revolution was unthinkable to European observers, is utilized by de la Cadena to argue why indigenous leaders such as Mariano Turpo were not recognized for their leadership. Like African-descended slaves in 18th century Saint Domingue, the runakuna of Peru were not seen as capable of rational political agency (61). Both liberalism and socialism perpetuate this refusal to recognize indigenous politics drawing on earth politics, which de la Cadena attributes to onto-epistemic practices of history which, beginning with Hegel and other Western thinkers, “canceled the world-making potential of practices that escaped the nature-humanity divide” (146). Similarly, the coloniality of politics and history, in which nature and humanity were divided, became the foundation of modern politics (92).

De la Cadena later connects epistemic disconcertment to Trouillot’s notion of the unthinkable, suggesting that instead of recognition, epistemic disconcertment has the potential to make one challenge what and how one knows (276). Building from her conclusions on the coloniality of modern politics and the importance of divergence or partial connections, de la Cadena seems to propose a politics underpinned by divergence (286). What this exactly looks like is not entirely clear, but she argues that the cosmo-politics of the runakuna, in which the in-ayllu includes earth-beings as well as humans, operates through divergence with modern politics and its possibility is not determined by contradiction (283). If my interpretation of de la Cadena’s argument is correct, she appears to be arguing for a coexistence of modern politics and earth politics in which neither one cancels the other. How would that work? Like Ari, she also noted the conflicts between Andean indigenous movements and their respective national governments regarding extractive mining or oil operations (284). The ontological disagreement on the rights of nature of Pachamama does not seem to be the grounds through which one can develop cosmovivir, either. 

Franklin Pease and the Incas

The Incas by Franklin Pease García Yrigoyen is a short overview on the civilization of the Incas worth perusal. Though meant as an introduction, we are trying to read more studies of the Incas written by Peruvian and South American historians and scholars. Pease's study is also worth reading for representing the state of historiography of the era on the Incas, drawing on both Latin American and European/North American historical and anthropological studies. In that regard, it is interesting to note that some of the themes Pease focused on were similar to those of Maria Rostworowski's study of the Inca Empire (Tawantinsuyu). Like her, he focuses on idea of reciprocity as the basis of Inca power, a feature which allowed the rulers of Cusco to receive tribute in labor services in exchange for the distribution of products and goods like cloth. While we personally disagree with some of the ideas here (such as a dualism in the Inca position) and are probably still more biased in terms of the "historic" rather than "mytho" elements of Inca History as recorded in the Spanish chronicles, The Incas is a useful reminder of the ongoing debate on so many elements of the Incas and pre-Hispanic Andean Civilization. For instance, the position of the Inca itself sometimes being assumed to be comparable to a European monarch or certain assumptions about, say, yanacona that hastily compare their position to servitude or bondage, are all subjects for debate and further inquiry. The notion of the term Inca being derived from the Aymara enqa is an intriguing one, too. This would connect with the idea of the Inca and "generative principles" that highlight the connection of the Incas to religion and ritual in Andean cosmovisions. The author has also inspired us to look more closely at Andean resistance to the Spanish from c.1535-1571 to make sense of what extent the Vilcabamba Inca rump state actually was linked to wider subversive events and revolts in the early colonial period. 

Incas of the Caribbean

Manco Capac, First of the Incas in a Cusco School painting part of a series at the Brooklyn Museum.

One of the most peculiar developments near the end of the Haitian Revolution was the adoption of the name Inca and children of the Sun by Jean-Jacques Dessalines. According to historian Thomas Madiou, Dessalines began using the name by the autumn of 1802, referring to those who submitted to him in opposition to the forces of Leclerc (Madiou 451). However, Dessalines dropped the Inca name after July 1803, when he began to refer to his forces as Armée Indigène, asserting indigeneity in opposition to the French (Geggus 52). Although a number of observers and historians have commented on this “Inca Episode” in the history of the Indigenous Army, contextualizing it within the broader context of nationalist struggles in the Americas demonstrates the power of Inca symbolism across much of the Americas, extending even into the Caribbean. Rebecca Earle’s The Return of the Native: Indians and Myth-Making in Spanish America, 1810–1930 provides a context for understanding the appeal of the Inca to the Haitian independence movement. Thus, this brief post will endeavor to elucidate the origins of Inca symbolism and its appeal to the people of Saint Domingue in the 18th century, and connect it to the independence movement that led to independence in 1804. By the conclusion, hopefully Antillean “Incas” will seem less aberrant or surprising.

First, one must determine to what extent people in Saint Domingue were aware of the history of the Incas. Residents of the colony likely encountered the Inca through encyclopedias, histories, and theater. The colonial newspaper, Affiches américaines, actually listed a history of the Incas for sale in the colony on the 31st of October 1780.^[1] On the 17th of May 1783, the same newspaper also listed a book entitled Les Incas as available at the Imprimerie Royale. While it is uncertain if this is a reference to Marmontel’s Les Incas or another work, these references in the colonial press establish the availability of books on the Inca.^[2] Those able to read French texts, undoubtedly mostly whites, but a small number of the population of African descent, too, could have accessed these books through purchase, borrowing texts, or through conversation with those who had read such works.^[3] Those interested in the island of Hispaniola’s indigenous past may have also been familiar with the Incas and Peru through encyclopedias, plays, and histories, which could have reached free people of color and slaves through a variety of avenues. For example, Charles Arthaud, a doctor and member of the Cercle des Philadelphes at Le Cap, authored a study of the island’s indigenous people, Recherches sur la constitution des naturels du pays, sur leurs arts, leur industrie, et les moyens de leur subsistance.^[4] Arthaud and similar philosophes were likely familiar with the Incas through their research. In addition, copies of Voltaire’s Alzire were also listed in the press as available for consumers in a notice on April 15, 1775 at Le Cap. This latter work, we shall see, was a popular choice for stage adaptation in the colony and likely a significant contributor to the appeal of the Incas to the Haitian revolutionaries.

The colonial press also covered the Tupac Amaru Rebellion in Peru during the 1780s. A major revolt led by a descendant of the Incas, Tupac Amaru was mentioned in Affiches américaines 5 times from 1781 to 1784 (Thomson 426). While the brief articles did not invariably provide the most detail, the reference to Tupac Amaru’s presentation of himself as an Inca and the references to his followers as children of the Sun likely stood out to readers. Those familiar with the Incas through encyclopedias, Voltaire’s Alzire, Marmontel’s Les Incas or other texts would have undoubtedly been at least somewhat aware of this historical background. The rebels may have even aroused sympathy from those in the colony who saw the Inca through the lens of the Black Legend of Spanish cruelty and tyranny. Nonetheless, coverage of the rebels in the 1 May 1782 article referred to the actions of Tupac Amaru’s band as “brigandages” whilst also referring to the event as “too interesting” to not cover. One can imagine that enslaved people and free people of color who heard the news may have been interested, too. After all, a subjugated, oppressed people had risen in revolt, perhaps recalling to some their own racialized subordination in the French colony. Those familiar with the Incas through books or Alzire may have even conceptualized the Incas as captives or slaves rising against their oppressors in a way similar to slave revolts and marronage in the colony.

Louis Rigaud's portraits of various heads of state in 19th century Haiti, currently at the Yale Peabody Museum. Composite by Dionne-Smith. Read "Decolonizing Time: Nineteenth-Century Haitian Portraiture

and the Critique of Anachronism in Caribbean Art" by Erica Moiah James for more context on portraiture.

The next area in which familiarity with the Incas developed was theater. Theater could reach more people than written texts in a colonial society with low literacy rates, and audiences likely discussed what they saw with friends, families and neighbors.^[5] Enslaved people were probably exposed to this, directly or indirectly, while free people of color were sometimes prominent actors themselves or audience members of stage productions. Indeed, according to Fischer, “Theater appears to have been one arena where blacks, whites, and mulattoes mixed with relative ease and where the laws governing theatrical performances in France were relaxed long before the “liberation of theaters” in the metropolis” (Fischer 208). Theater, therefore, was a sure way in which certain themes, messages, and ideas were bound to circulate among all of the 3 racial groups in the colony. This is precisely why Voltaire’s Peruvian-inspired play, Alzire, likely contributed to the appeal of the Inca to the Haitian revolutionaries in 1802. Between 1765 and 1783, the play was staged at least 7 times in the colony, including performances in Port-au-Prince, Le Cap and Saint-Marc. This suggests that the play’s plot was probably familiar to audiences, and certainly those familiar with the text of the work or Voltaire’s other likely  books knew of it by reputation. Since free people of color and perhaps some of the slave population would have seen the play or at least heard about its plot, setting, and characters, Alzire was possibly the most important source of information on the Inca Empire and Peru. Moreover, one staging of the play included an actor, Dainville, who allegedly wore authentic costumes for the role, suggesting audiences had a glimpse of what was believed to be Inca dress.^[6] As a result of the frequency of performances of Alzire plus the availability of the play in book form to consumers, Voltaire’s story was familiar and accessible..

The play itself, a story set in colonial Peru that pits a tyrannical governor, Guzman, against Zamor, a cacique of Potosi and lover of Alzire, critiques the Spanish conquest and, intriguingly, reverses the charge of barbarism against the Europeans. Zamor, believed to be dead, returns to see Alzire and later slays Guzman, described in the text as “Zamor, our country’s great avenger” (Voltaire 13). Despite Voltaire’s admiration for the Incas, however, the play ends with a message of the moral redemption of Guzman. This, in turn, demonstrates to Zamor that Christianity and the Europeans were not entirely iniquitous. In other words, Zamor, the Avenger of the Americas, is ready to enjoy the benefits of Spanish or European civilization through the benevolent, paternal figure of Alvarez, the father of Guzman. One can envision free people of color in a colony like Saint Domingue imagining themselves as Zamor, ready to lead the masses into a truly novel New World with the benefits of European civilization. The message is thus ambiguously critical of colonialism since the new generation of indigenous elites, represented by Alzire and Zamor, the latter presumed to convert to Christianity later, will likely seek the counsel of Alvarez (the positive side of European civilization). If one wishes to trace the origin of this ambiguity deeper in time, El Inca Garcilaso de la Vega, whose Royal Commentaries was well-known to French intellectuals, was the mestizo product of the Spanish conquest whose work served as one of the foundational sources for French historical and literary production related to Peru.^[7] El Inca Garcilaso, torn between the idealized version of his mother’s people and his Spanish background and experience, indirectly influenced Alzire and how audiences in Saint Domingue viewed the Incas.

Efigies de los incas o reyes del Perú, a Cusco School painting of the 18th century depicting the Incas and Spanish viceroys currently in Lima. Image credit: PI Prefix 1294B. Ojeda 2005-2025.

Besides theater, news and books, familiarity with the Inca may have reached Saint Domingue through contact with pro-independence Creoles from Spanish America in France. For example, Franciso de Miranda, who interacted with Brissot, was already interested in the Incas before the Haitian Revolution.^[8] Although Miranda did not go so far as to desire an actual Inca ruler at the head of government, his interest in reviving the name for an independent South American state was mirrored by other movements in South America. For instance, the Inca Plan of 1816, in which Rio de la Plata leaders at the Congress of Tucumán actively discussed the idea of reviving an Inca empire led by an Indian, reveals how some pro-independence leaders seriously considered a revival of the Inca state (Earle 44). Other pro-independence writers across South America drew on the Incas, Inca symbolism, or the idea of a hereditary monarchy led by a titular Inca. Undoubtedly, Haiti’s use of this symbolism predated much of the South American nationalist movements, though Francisco de Miranda may have been one of the early influences since 1790. Of course, as Earle’s work suggests, romanticized notions of the Incas or the pre-conquest societies as idealized groups wronged by Spanish colonialism became part of an invented past for a creole nationalism. However, Earle tracks how this changed over time as liberals and conservatives appropriated the past of pre-colonial societies while maintaining their own elite positions and access to power. Regardless of their lofty praise indigenous civilizations or the metaphorical use of the Indian as a foundational figure for the nation, the direct descendants of the indigenous peoples were usually marginalized. In Haiti, on the other hand, where there were no natives, Creoles of varying degrees of African descent participated in a similar discourse that privileged the elites and marginalized the bossales (or their descendants).^[9] 

In order to better understand how this process worked in the Haitian context, a closer examination of how free people of color and black Creoles related to indigeneity is necessary. According to Haitian historian Beauvais Lespinasse, free people of color sometimes sought patents to be recognized as having Indian rather than African origins. However, the French government in 1771 urged officials to not recognize these claims by free people of color (Lespinasse 237). Nonetheless, this demonstrates how some free people of color sought to identify with (fictitious?) indigenous ancestry rather than African to gain the same privileges of whites.^[10] Intriguingly, Hilliard d’Auberteuil in the 18th century also noted the pattern of rich free people of color claiming Amerindian origin through the Indians of Saint-Christophe in order to gain the rights of whites (d’Auberteuil 82). While it is certainly possible that some of these families did indeed have partial Amerindian ancestry, it is clear that the main reason these families suddenly discovered or proclaimed it had more to do with increasing discrimination in colonial society.^[11] But it may also explain why claiming indigeneity and the label of indigenous appealed to them in the later stages of the Haitian Revolution. Free people of color, and Creoles of African descent could easily envision themselves as the rightful heirs to the vanquished indigenous population devastated by the Spanish conquest. After all, some of them were already claiming Indian ancestry. It also provided an avenue to choose a common identity that united mixed-race and black Creoles while eventually including the African-born brought to the island against their will. For the latter, the use of indigeneity as the result of a forced relocation via the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade could serve the palingenesis of a new Haitian people.

Gérin in Histoire d'Haïti: 1807-1811 by Thomas Madiou.

Perhaps a clear example from the life of General Etienne Elie Gérin will establish this with greater clarity. According to the third volume of historian Joseph Saint-Rémy’s history Pétion, it was actually Gérin, the antiquaire, who first called the army in the Sud and Ouest the “Inca Army” (Saint-Rémy 75). This testimony is contradicted by the chronology of Thomas Madiou, who attributed the name to Dessalines and his circle. Nonetheless, descriptions of Gérin by Ardouin and Guy-Joseph Bonnet suggest he was quite interested in the island’s past. For instance, in the 6th volume of Beaubrun Ardouin’s monumental history, Ardouin repeats an anecdote he heard from Bonnet. Apparently, some time after the assassination of Dessalines, Gérin actually proposed remodeling Haiti as a caciquat, or cacicazgo, like the indigenous polities of the island in precolonial times (Ardouin 447). This political system would have established a supreme cacique with lesser caciques serving in the departments or provinces. Of course, the nobility would be created by the children of the signers of the Haitian Act of Independence. A similar story is likely recounted in Guy-Joseph Bonnet’s memoirs, in a critical discussion of Gérin. Again, he allegedly wanted to create a “superior cacique” in the constitution as the head of government (Bonnet 154). Saint-Rémy likewise reported a few more details on Gérin in the 5th tome of Pétion et Haïti: étude monographique et historique. While contrasting him and Pétion, he described the former as someone with a deep education and interest in the “Taino” indigenous population of the island. He was also said to have been inspired by Marmontel’s Les Incas when, in 1802, he began calling his army in the Sud and part of the Ouest the “Inca Army.” Last, but certainly not least, Gérin was interested in composing a Haitian Creole grammaire for use in education (Saint-Rémy 2).^[12] Though the idea of establishing a new state as a caciquat was rather different from the title of Incas Gérin also used during the Revolution, it illustrates how even after the assassination of Dessalines, some still looked to indigenous, precolonial societies as a model for a free state.^[13] Indeed, Gérin and some of the affranchis who had been to France may have even heard of Jean-Baptiste Picquenard’s novel that proposed a Peruvian origin of the “Taino” (Geggus 52). It is difficult to determine to what extent Picquenard’s novel would have influenced this discourse of indigeneity and the Incas in the last few years of the Haitian Revolution.^[14] But one can easily imagine someone like Gérin, seeing a link between Haiti’s indigenous population and Peru, championing the use of the name Inca for the Indigenous Army.

Furthermore, allusions to the Inca abound in subsequent literature of Haiti. Voyage dans le nord d'Hayti by Hérard Dumesle even compared Vincent Ogé to Manco-Capack, who brought light to the ancient peoples of the Americas (Dumesle 75). This comparison to the founder of the Inca dynasty is no coincidence. Though published in 1824, Dumesle’s work clearly demonstrated an ongoing appeal of the Incas to Haitian readers well into the 19th century. Privileging Ogé rather than, say, an enslaved person, was also significant. Centering affranchis who were initially only fighting for their rights rather than slaves, Dumesle nonetheless reveals an affiliation with the Incas as an elite group who brought civilization or enlightenment to the Andes. Dumesle wanted to depict Ogé and his class as the ones who paved the road for a great, future society in which, to no surprise, their own privileges and power were not to be questioned.^[15] In addition to Dumesle, other works by Haitian authors of the 19th century allude to the Incas. For example, a hymne haytienne entitled “Quoi? Tu te tais Peuple Indigène!” translated in Poetry of Haitian Independence, alludes to Haitians as children of the Sun while praising Dessalines (2).^[16] Undoubtedly, Dessalines continued to welcome comparisons to the Incas despite renaming his army in 1803. Another tract, Baron de Vastey’s Le système colonial dévoilé, cites El Inca Garcilaso on its first page as a reference for the Spanish conquest of Peru, followed by a brief overview of the indigenous cacicazgos of Haiti (de Vastey 1).^[17] Undeniably, Haitians aware of the history of the Americas were familiar with the Incas as a great civilization destroyed by Spanish avarice and cruelty, which they compared to French rapacity and inhumane exploitation of enslaved people and free people of color in Haiti.

Consequently, the salience of the Incas to the Haitian revolutionaries was an established and meaningful symbol of independence. Indeed, even outsiders were struck by its use in Haiti. A clear example can be seen in the work of Jean Abeille, the author of Essai sur nos colonies, et sur le rétablissement de Saint Domingue, ou considérations sur leur législation, administration, commerce et agriculture, published in 1805. Abeille, writing in favor of the French reconquest, actually referred to Haitians as “prétendus incas” (Abeille 17). In Abeille’s view, the leaders of independent Haiti were tyrants and a moral outrage, yet one notes how the Inca appellation of the Haitian leaders was still used. Another source, a report from 1804, even alluded to Dessalines as “jefe de la casa de los Incas” (AGI ESTADO, leg 68, exp 3).^[18] Haitian assertions of indigeneity and the Inca title were clearly understood by French and European observers, who would have shared this broader Atlantic World conceptualization of the Incas. For Abeille, a former planter in Saint Domingue, the idea of Dessalines as an Inca ruling an “empire of liberty” was anathema, hence his description of it as embodying the opposite of the virtues attributed to the Incas in the idealized French historical and literary production on Peru.

The continued reference to Dessalines and early Haiti as Incas, plus ongoing Haitian interest in the same affiliation, express a Haitian pattern in a general trend of Creole nationalism in the 19th century. While in the case of Haiti, there were few or no “Taino” left, the powerful and widespread appeal of the Inca Empire and its symbolism in the Atlantic World resonated in the Antilles.^[19] Thus, even in a land without a recognized, surviving indigenous people, the image of the “Indian” and its romanticized Inca incarnation, appealed to those desirous of independence. Unsurprisingly, free people of color may have been more influenced by the Inca trope, but the use of the Inca title by Dessalines even after 1803 attests to its broad appeal. Like their creole patriot counterparts in the South American republics, the future Haitian elite borrowed from a shared corpus of tropes, symbols and meaning to “avenge the Americas.”

Bibliography

Abeille, Jean. Essai sur nos colonies et sur le rétablissement de Saint Domingue, ou considérations sur leur législation, administration, commerce et agriculture. Chomel, imprimeur-libraire, 1805.

Affiches américaines. Port-au-Prince and Cap-Français, 1766-1790. https://dloc.com/AA00000449/00002/

Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla (AGI). Estado leg 68, no. 3. https://pares.mcu.es/ParesBusquedas20/catalogo/description/66193

Ardouin, Beaubrun. Études sur l'histoire d'Haïti: Suivies de la vie du Général J.-M. Borgella, Tome 6. Dezobry et E. Magdeleine, (Typographie de Prévôt et Drouard), 1856.

Bonnet, Guy-Joseph. Souvenirs historiques de Guy-Joseph Bonnet, général de division des armées de la République d'Haïti, ancien aide de camp de Rigaud. Documents relatifs à toutes les phases de la révolution de Saint-Domingue, recueillis et mis en ordre par Edmond Bonnet. Auguste Durand, 1864.

Daut, Marlene, and Kaiama L. Glover, editors. A History of Haitian Literature. Cambridge University Press, 2024.

Dumesle, Hérard. Voyage dans le nord d'Hayti, ou, Révélation des lieux et des monuments historiques. De l'Imprimerie du Gouvernement, 1824.

Earle, Rebecca. The Return of the Native: Indians and Myth-making in Spanish America, 1810-1930. Duke University Press, 2007.

Garrigus, John D. Before Haiti: Race and Citizenship in French Saint-Domingue. Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.

Geggus, David. "The Naming Of Haiti." NWIG: New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids 71, no. 1/2 (1997): 43-68. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41849817

Hilliard d'Auberteuil, Michel-René. Considérations sur l'état présent de la colonie française de Saint-Domingue: Ouvrage politique et législatif, présenté au Ministre De La Marine. Grangé, 1776.

Jenson, Deborah. Beyond the Slave Narrative: Politics, Sex, and Manuscripts in the Haitian Revolution. Liverpool University Press, 2011.

Kadish, Doris Y and Deborah Jenson. Poetry of Haitian Independence. Yale University Press, 2015.

Lespinasse, Beauvais. Histoire des affranchis de Saint-Domingue. Imprimerie Joseph Kugelmann, 1882.

Madiou, Thomas. Histoire d'Haïti, Tome II, 1799-1803. Editions Henri Deschamps, 1989.

McClellan, James E.. Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue in the Old Regime. Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992.

Ojeda, Almerindo. 2005-2025. Project for the Engraved Sources of Spanish Colonial Art (PESSCA). Website located at colonialart.org. Date Accessed: 01/01/2025.

Saint-Rémy, Joseph. Pétion et Haïti: étude monographique et historique. Auguste Durand, 1853-1857.

Thomson, Sinclair. “Sovereignty Disavowed: The Tupac Amaru Revolution in the Atlantic World.” Atlantic Studies, 13 no. 3 (2016), 407–431. https://doi.org/10.1080/14788810.2016.1181537

Vastey, Baron de. Le système colonial dévoilé. P. Roux, Imprimeur du Roi, 1814.

Voltaire. Seven Plays by Voltaire; Translated by William F. Fleming, Howard Fertig, 1988.

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[1] An additional possible source of information on the Incas and the Spanish Conquest may have been Abbé Raynal's Histoire philosophique et politique des établissements et du commerce des Européens dans les deux Indes.

[2] Jean-François Marmontel, a friend of Voltaire, wrote a historical romance on the conquest of Peru. His work was, as one might expect, similar to Voltaire’s on the subject of Peru, and known to some in Saint Domingue, including one of the generous of the Indigenous Army.

[3] On literacy in Saint Domingue’s people of color, see Jean Fouchard, Les marrons du syllabaire: quelques aspects du problème de l'instruction et de l'éducation des esclaves et affranchis de Saint-Domingue.

[4] An interest in the island of Hispaniola’s indigenous past was quite strong with the Cercle des Philadelphes. See Colonialism and Science: Saint Domingue and the Old Regime by James E. McClellan III.

[5] On theatre in Saint Domingue, see Jean Fouchard, Le théâtre à Saint-Domingue.

[6] “Authentic” Inca regal garb likely left quite an impression on viewers. Even if rather deviant from historically accurate clothing, special costumes probably fueled more discussion about the play.

[7] The child of a conquistador and a woman from the Inca nobility, El Inca Garcilaso wrote his history of the Incas as an elderly man in Spain, with the help of other written sources and the manuscript of a text by Blas Valera, a Jesuit mestizo from Peru. See The Jesuit and the Incas: The Extraordinary Life of Padre Blas Valera, S.J. by Sabine Hyland.

[8] See Hacía una historia de lo imposible by Juan Antonio Fernandez for intriguing details about Miranda’s time in Europe and the possible flow of ideas that reached free people of color from Saint Domingue.

[9] Possibly fruitful comparisons could be made with the Spanish Caribbean, too. A large corpus of poems, novels, histories and legends were connected to independence movements in Cuba, Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. For an introduction to the theme of the Indian in the Spanish Caribbean, consult Jalil Sued Badillo’s "The Theme of the Indigenous in the National Projects of the Hispanic Caribbean"in Making Alternative Histories: The Practice of Archaeology and History in Non-Western Settings.

[10] Note historian Thomas Madiou’s claim to have Amerindian ancestry through his mother’s family; see Madiou, Autobiographie. Some affranchis were probably accurately reporting their ancestry.

[11] The scholarship of John Garrigus is particularly strong on the contours of race and increasing hostility directed against free people of color after the Seven Years War. See Before Haiti: Race and Citizenship in French Saint-Domingue.

[12] Sadly, for posterity’s sake, Gérin’s interests in promoting Haitian Creole in education were not taken seriously by his contemporaries. Such a move, and so early in Haitian independence, could have led to higher literacy rates, assuming schools were actually established and funded.

[13] Early 19th century Haitian understandings of “Taino” chiefdoms of the precolonial era likely drew from references to it by Charlevoix, Moreau de Saint–Méry and encyclopedias. One wonders if Gérin’s plan for the nobility created from the families of the signers of the Act of Independence was designed to recreate the so-called nitaino status.

[14] Picquenard’s novel, Zoflora ou la bonne négresse, anecdote coloniale, may have had only a very limited circulation in Saint Domingue. Nonetheless, though a novel, the author posited a Peruvian origin of the “Taino” while noting similarities in color, moeurs, and religions.

[15] David Nicholls has aroused much debate about the so-called “mulatto legend” of Haitian history he attributed to Beaubrun Ardouin and other historians of 19th century Haiti. But this discourse of the Haitian people as not “ready” for republican governance or “civilization” and requiring elite tutelage has deeper roots in the Haitian Revolution. For views of 19th century Haitians about Africa and the “Guinean” customs seen as retrograde, Thomas Madiou’s Histoire d'Haiti is illustrative.

[16] Additional poems are worthy of mention here, but the symbolic references to the Sun in early Haitian poetry were not always drawing on Inca symbolism.

[17] More could be said about the problematic ways in which Baron de Vastey wrote about indigenous peoples of the Americas. Despite his familiarity with El Inca Garcilaso, in another work, Réflexions sur une lettre de Mazères, he incorrectly associated khipu with Mexico. In his desire to defend Africa and the black race as not entirely uncivilized, he boldly ranked Africans as more civilized than the Indians of the Americas.

[18] The same source also described Dessalines as “General of Mexico.” If so, then the hemispheric dimensions of Dessalines’ claim to be the Avenger of the Americas was rhetorically promoted by this.

[19] Although we respect Taino revivalist movements, the evidence for Saint Domingue indicates a very small presence of “Amerindian” peoples in the French colony. The percentage of that group that may have, to some degree, been descendants of the indigenous population of the island, was likely an even smaller number. Those looking for more evidence of Hispaniola’s indigenous people in this period (18th century) are more likely to find traces of it in the Spanish colony.