Identity, Development, and the Politics of the Past

An Ethnography of Continuity and Change in a Coastal Ecuadorian Community

Daniel Bauer

• Publisher: University Press of Colorado
• Year: 2018
• ISBN:
  9781607327608
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Sociology
• Index: Social Sciences

Combining personal narrative and ethnography, Identity, Development, and the Politics of the Past examines cultural change in a rural Ecuadorian fishing village where the community has worked to stake claim to an Indigenous identity in the face of economic, social, and political integration. By documenting how villagers have reconstructed their identity through the use of archaeology and political demarcation of territory, author Daniel Bauer shows that ethnicity is part of a complex social matrix that involves politics, economics, and history.Residents in the coastal community of Salango pushed for formal recognition of Indigenous identity while highlighting their pre-Hispanic roots in order to make claims about cultural continuity and ancestrality. Bauer considers the extent to which the politics of identity is embedded in the process of community-based development, paying close attention to how local conceptions of identity and residents' ideas about their own identity and the identities of others fit within the broader context of Ecuadorian and Latin American notions of mestizaje. He emphasizes ethnogenesis and the fluid nature of identity as residents reference prehistory and the archaeological record as anchor points for claims to an Indigenous ethnic identity. Identity, Development, and the Politics of the Past moves beyond existing studies that center on questions of authenticity and instead focuses on the ways people make claims to identity. This book makes a significant contribution to the growing body of literature on the Ecuadorian coast and directs scholars who focus on Ecuador to expand their focus beyond the highland and Amazonian regions. It will be of interest to students and scholars of Latin American studies, anthropology, ethnology, economic development, and ethnic identity.

1
Introduction

Into the Field

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The sun beat down with intensity as I walked down the dirt street toward the recently opened internet café. The café was housed in the living room, or sala, of a small cement house connected to several other homes and painted in a faded white paint. In the previous ten years the home had seen numerous residents, some of whom I came to know well and others I only recognized by face and not by name. I entered, passing under an awning covered in palm thatch, and made my way into the shade where the temperature felt twenty degrees cooler. Five small computer stations were lined neatly along the wall, separated by flimsy plywood dividers. Youth in their early teens, most of whom I had known since they were toddlers, smiled and joked with one another while they played on the computers—young boys, their dark black hair slicked back or spiked high with hair gel, and young girls sitting close and giggling while sharing the same computer. This sight would not have existed four years earlier, at least not in this community. As I stood there, with the hope of checking my e-mail, I reflected momentarily on the changes that had taken place in Salango since my initial introduction to the community ten years earlier.

This is a book about change and continuity, the past and the present. It is concerned with life in a rural Ecuadorian fishing village and about understanding processes of culture change that impact the daily lives of residents. This book is about the economies, identities, political struggles, development practices, and local-global interactions experienced by people living in a small ocean-side community. Based on my experiences with local residents, political activists, and agents of change, I argue that local conceptions of identity play a prominent role in shaping economic and political transitions in Salango. I endeavor to demonstrate how Salangueños, a group historically recognized as mestizo (of mixed European and Indigenous descent), make claims to an Indigenous identity by asserting a connection to the past through links to the archaeological record as well as processes of work that connect people to place. These intersecting themes provide Salangueños with a foundation on which claims to identity and a sense of belonging are constructed. Moreover, I suggest that ethnic identity in Salango is part of a complex matrix that includes economics, politics, history, and the archaeological record and that is influenced by forces that extend well beyond the boundaries of the community.

In the pages that follow, I detail my experiences living and conducting research in coastal Ecuador while focusing on the dynamic nature of ethnic identity. At a general level, I explore the relationship between identity and economic practice in coastal Ecuador while simultaneously looking at the ways ethnic identity, history, and economic practice influence development and how development practices can foster new understandings of ethnic identities. While the focus of this book is on the particular community of Salango, I make a concerted effort to illustrate how the community is linked to global processes that extend far beyond the boundaries of the village. I also recognize that no ethnography gives a complete picture of the cultural context, and all ethnographies are partial, both in the sense that they reflect the perspective of the ethnographer and also by providing an incomplete account of the culture under study (Clifford 1986). Thus, I do not claim that this ethnography is a comprehensive account of culture in Salango, but it does reflect, albeit in part, the experiences of Salangueños as well as my own experiences during a time of significant change in the community.

My interest in Latin America began with study abroad opportunities throughout high school and college and included trips to Costa Rica and Mexico that fostered my desire to expand my knowledge about culture in Latin America. I was drawn to contemporary culture as well as archaeology, and this interest expanded as I traveled to Mayan ruins and later spent time visiting villages in Amazonian Peru. My introduction to coastal Ecuador began under the auspices of a field program. Not unlike many early anthropologists, contemporary students are often introduced to the field by way of an adviser and mentor. My situation was no different, and I am extremely grateful for having had such an opportunity.

I first arrived in Ecuador in the summer of 2002. Despite my initial intention to conduct dissertation research in lowland Peru, I was quickly drawn to the Ecuadorian coast and its residents. Locals impressed me with their humility, work ethic, generosity, and sincerity. The initial six weeks I spent in the field proved valuable to introducing me to the local cultural context while affording me the opportunity to establish relationships that would influence my research in impactful and unanticipated ways. At the same time, my time spent in Ecuador would help shape me as an individual, an educator, and a scholar of Latin America.

It was late June 2002. While standing conspicuously in the middle of the street, I was greeted by a young man about my age. He waved me down from a distance as he stood inside what I was later told was his family’s open-air restaurant. The restaurant consisted of a white painted wall extending about 1 meter up from ground level and a vast opening above that stretched to the beginnings of a large conical thatched roof. I looked in from a distance as my eyes adjusted to the change in light from the sun-penetrated street to the shadowed interior. He motioned multiple times by waving his arm in a manner that clearly indicated that he wanted me to come closer. I hesitated a bit and then made my way toward him.

With a somewhat perplexed look yet an inviting demeanor, he asked what I was doing. I responded that I was making a map, and he asked me to come inside and share it with him. I walked around the outside of the restaurant and into the entrance. The restaurant was humble but hospitable. The floors were cement, and a number of chairs and tables made of caña (bamboo) or local wood were arranged throughout. I began speaking with my inquisitor, whose name I would learn was Diego. His build was stocky and his features were slightly weathered beyond his age of twenty-four. He inquired about my backpack and water bottle. Diego informed me that he had recently returned from Venezuela where he had spent the previous couple of years working in the bustling capital city, Carácas. I could see in his eyes and hear in his voice that he was attempting to reestablish himself and make the transition from an urban experience in a foreign country to a return to his native community, a village he would later refer to as a place that does not exist on the map because of its decidedly rural characteristics and perceived remoteness and isolation. I left after a short time, without giving much thought to the fact that the brief conversation Diego and I shared would lead to a long-term friendship and a deep understanding of and respect for one another.

I left Salango in August of that year with a promise made to Diego and other friends and acquaintances that I would return, and I did so on numerous occasions over subsequent years. Each time I returned, throughout the course of my dissertation research and succeeding postdoctoral trips, I paid attention to the changes that were taking place in Salango. There was a familiarity during each trip but also a sense of profound newness brought forth by visible changes, such as the paving of the main road that leads into town and the construction of new homes, as well as abstract changes related to community politics and a transitioning economy.

Fieldwork and Friendship

My initial foray into life in coastal Ecuador led to a longitudinal research project that included numerous trips back to the field on various occasions over more than a decade. In total, I spent approximately 30 months in the small community of Salango, with the majority of that time falling between the years 2006 and 2008. In my earliest research trips, I resided in the local archaeological museum known as CIMS (Centro de Investigaciones Museo Salango), and it was not until a set of unfortunate circumstances occurred that I was invited to reside with a local family. Through my experiences living with a family and the changes in my position from outsider to a known individual in the community, I was able to gain insights into life in an Ecuadorian fishing village. The fact that I traveled back and forth to Salango on no fewer than a dozen occasions also provided me with perspective throughout the duration of my research. Being at home for months at a time gave me the ability to pause and reflect on my research while also affording me the opportunity to formulate new research questions. This is something I do not feel I would have been able to accomplish if I had stayed in the field for a single period of time. However, being away from the field and then returning often left me with questions upon my return about things I had missed while I was away.

I arrived in Salango in May 2005 as part of my dissertation fieldwork, and I set up my room in one of the small wooden cabins in the museum compound near the beach. I unpacked some of my things as an evening breeze blew in from the nearby ocean. The smell of salt was thick in the air as the sun set to the west. Donald, an expat from the United States and a longtime administrator of the museum, invited me to meet with him and a fellow researcher for dinner at one of the two small restaurants in town. Donald was always happy to have someone to talk to and would often vent his frustrations about life in the village. He had spent nearly twenty years living in Salango, and his patience with local politics and life in the village often wore thin. We left the museum at about 6:00 p.m. and walked through the dimly lit streets.

We returned to the museum after a couple hours of conversation, and I walked through the darkness to my cabin at the edge of the museum compound. The compound extends along the riverbank on one side and is flanked by the main roadway that enters town on the other. There are a few homes nearby, but it is a solitary space that is covered in darkness at night because of large trees that block out much of the moonlight even on the brightest nights.

I had an uneasy feeling, as in the past I had experienced having items stolen when I had gone out in the evening. I walked slowly up the wooden steps and onto the front porch of the cabin. The air was dense, and the only sound was that of waves crashing against the shore. I faced the door and the window to the left that I had closed and locked from the inside before I went to dinner. Seeing that the door was closed, I reached up and pushed on the wooden shutters of the window. They opened. My heart sank, and my chest began pounding. Someone had managed to get into my cabin. I quickly unlocked the door and entered. At first inspection, everything appeared normal. Clothes were laid out tidily on the bed. Items were as I had left them when I had unpacked some things before going to dinner. I looked more closely and realized that my large duffle bag, which was only partially unpacked, was not tucked neatly below the bed where I had left it. It was gone. How did someone get in, I wondered. My eyes scanned the room. As I looked to the ceiling, I noticed that part of the bamboo wall had been broken away close to the point where it met the ceiling. I rushed outside and looked. My feet kicked up moist sand as I hustled around the side of the cabin. To my shock, there was a wooden ladder leading up to where the opening had been made. I realized then that the ladder, used for maintenance around the museum compound, had been previously under the elevated cabin. I ran to the office to notify Donald and told him I was going to head across town to tell Diego what had happened. My choice to tell Diego was based on our established friendship and the confidence I had built with him and his family.

I ran most of the 500 meters or so to the house of Diego’s family. Diego and his mother, one sister, and three brothers were outside, Diego relaxing in a hammock and the rest of his family seated on plastic chairs and a crude wooden bench. “They robbed me,” I said with a sense of urgency and desperation. Diego quickly asked “Who? What happened?” I tried my best to explain the situation in my state of distress. Diego and his brother Manuel, whom I had come to know quite well along with the rest of the family, agreed that we needed to call the police. Fortunately, the telephone was working. Service was and still is very unreliable, and at the time most houses in town did not have telephones. The police would have to come from the nearby town of Puerto López and would probably arrive in twenty minutes or so. Diego, Manuel, and their brother Gustavo (referred to from here on as los hermanos [the brothers]), and I hurried back to the museum to wait for the police. The police said the...