545
Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power, 9: 545?569, 2002
Copyright ? 2002 Taylor & Francis
1070-289X/02 $12.00 +.00
DOI: 10.1080/10702890290091651
BOUNDARIES ARE MADE TO BE CROSSED:
THE MAGIC AND POLITICS OF THE LONG-LASTING
AMAZON/ANDES DIVIDE
Fernando Santos-Granero
Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute
Panama, Panama
The construction of Amazonia as a distinct entity, opposed to the Andes, results from
processes associated with the expansion of Andean-centered state formations. Analysis
of five short texts on the Amazon region, written in colonial and postcolonial Peru by a
diversity of social actors, reveals a pervasive rhetoric of alterity whose content varies
according to the particular objectives the authors had in mind. In all cases, however,
the aim is the same, namely the imposition of boundaries of differentiation as justifica-
tion for state integration, expressed in the commodification and symbolic consumption
of the Amazonian Other.  If the politics of boundary making consist in ?peripheralizing?
and ?othering? the Amazon and its people, the magic of boundary making resides in the
discursive sleight of hand through which contemporary agents conceal the fact that the
Amazon has long ago been incorporated into the nation-state.
Key Words: Amazon, Andes, Peru, boundaries, borderlands, discourse, identity, alterity
The making of boundaries is a default feature of what has been called ?the produc-
tion of locality? (Appadurai 1998), or the phenomenology of ?place making? (Gupta
and Ferguson 1997). In this view, locality is a central property of social life, a sine
qua non of neighborhoods or situated communities. The reproduction of such com-
munities requires both the localization of times and spaces as well as the produc-
tion of local subjects with the knowledge to reproduce them. This is achieved
through a variety of social and cultural practices, including ceremonial naming of
places, imbuing the landscape with historical meaning, regionalizing domestic and
public spaces, and ritualizing seasonal changes. Founding a new settlement re-
quires the prior marking-out and appropriation of a given space. It is not until the
community thus situated is well settled, however, that the transformation of space
into place, and the differentiation of one?s own territory from that of others, is fully
accomplished. Such a process always involves the creation and reproduction of
emotional links between the people and their land; that is, the production of local-
ity ?as a structure of feeling? (Appadurai 1998: 181).
Structures of feeling are strengthened by contrast with other similar communi-
ties. Above all, they are reinforced through an opposition to what is perceived to
be, and constructed as, a non-social space, namely the forest, the desert, the cold
mountain regions, or any other environment thought of as the realm of other, dif-
ferent beings. Characterizing their inhabitants as non-human or barbarian through
processes of ?othering? reinforces the non-sociality of these spaces. Rituals of
place making, including the essentializing of ecological markers, are meant to
delimit the contours of what is considered to be a safe space for living, producing,
and reproducing, as opposed to the dangers inherent in neighboring, non-social-
ized settings. At least in its early phases, this process involves the occupation and
appropriation of what is perceived as wilderness. In other words, it entails coloni-
zation and, with it, a certain amount of violence, even if only symbolic. As Appadurai
(1998: 183) reminds us, ?the production of a neighborhood is inherently an exer-
cise of power over some sort of hostile or recalcitrant environment, which may
take the form of another neighborhood.?
The production of locality, entailing the delineation of spaces of moral solidar-
ity and security, is very much dependent on the need for cooperation in daily inter-
actions, and on common structures of feeling. However, as Gupta and Ferguson
(1997: 7) have argued, the affective power of locality and community is derived
not only from direct sensory experience and face-to-face relationships, but also
from a broader set of social and spatial relations. This is especially true in contexts
of centralized state social formations. In such settings, the interconnected pro-
cesses of community construction, identity building, and boundary-making take
place in opposition to, and are affected by, the state?s hegemonic notions of how
the imperial or national community must be constituted.
State formations face similar challenges to those of small-scale societies in gen-
erating a sense of situated community and local subjects. At this broader and more
complex level, however, the production of locality is not based in the contrast with
spaces that need to be socialized, but rather in opposition to territories that must be
nationalized or imperialized. This requires the construction of such territories as
?wild peripheries,? a process that I denote as ?peripheralization.?
I argue that the conceptualization of the Amazon and the Andes as distinct cul-
ture areas can only be understood as a product of the clash between lowland and
highland peoples resulting from processes of expansion of Andean-anchored state
formations. Without dismissing the importance of ecological differences, I sug-
gest that the ideological boundaries between the Andes and Amazonia originated
in pre-Columbian times with the emergence and expansion of the first centralized
Andean sociopolitical formations. Although these ideological boundaries did not
preclude the existence of numerous forms of exchange between highland and low-
land societies (Renard-Casevitz 1981, 2002; Renard-Casevitz et al. 1988; Saignes
1985), Andean representations of the Amazon and its inhabitants were highly am-
bivalent. The Amazon was conceived of as a land of fierce warriors, rich resources,
and powerful mystical forces, while at the same time as a land of darkness, unfit
F. Santos-Granero546
for human habitation, and inhabited by uncouth and treacherous peoples (Renard-
Casevitz 1988: 81?180; Santos-Granero 1992: 259?278). The negative aspects of
these ambivalent perceptions deepened in post-Columbian times with the break-
ing of the exchange networks that connected the Andean and Amazon regions in
pre-Columbian times, and the subsequent expansion of European and Criollo co-
lonial and postcolonial states (Santos-Granero 1985).
In this article, I analyze the processes of construction and reproduction of the
Amazon/Andes border in colonial and postcolonial Peru. Rather than examining
the embodied practices that have shaped this border, I concentrate on the ideologi-
cal and discursive means through which the Spanish Crown and, later on, the Pe-
ruvian state and its opponents have endeavored to peripheralize the Amazon in
order to incorporate it in contexts of unequal power relations. However, to avoid
an essentialized, homogeneous, and monolithic vision of the state (cf. Herzfeld
1997: 1), I focus on the discursive practices of a variety of state and nonstate
agents in colonial and postcolonial times. I do so with the understanding that states
are always constituted as non-systematic ensembles of institutions, ideologies, prac-
tices, and power relations; they cannot be understood without considering other,
nonstate agents that uphold or contest state strategies, policies, and actions. An
analysis of the discourses produced by these different agents reveals a multiplicity
of spatial metaphors, fantastic geographies, and imagined sociologies relating to
the Amazon and its inhabitants.
This rhetoric of alterity is conveyed through a diversity of tropes revolving
around major themes, such as sex, physical appearance, psychology, sociology,
religion, economy, ecology, language, and history. These tropes are utilized in the
classification and translation of the Other?the objectified, devalued people or
peoples?that serve as the main contrasting reference in the construction of a group?s
self-identity, in this case, the unconquered or unincorporated inhabitants of a re-
gion that is of interest to an expanding state. The common denominator of these
discourses, I argue, is the erection of boundaries of differentiation as a justification
for undertaking actions of integration and consumption, or both, of the Other. Hence,
the title of this article: ?boundaries are made to be crossed.? This leitmotif informs
the undertakings of a wide variety of social actors, as becomes apparent in the five
short documents?real and virtual?that I analyze in the following pages.
When I started writing this article I knew two of the five documents I analyze:
those of Father Francisco de Andrade (1750[1662]) and Captain Pedro Bohorquez
(Memorial 1986[1663]). I chose to include them, first, because in the mid-seven-
teenth century missionaries and military adventurers were the main agents through
which the Spanish Crown endeavored to subjugate the still unconquered regions
of its American possessions, and, second, because these documents were among
the first to be produced in this early stage of occupation of the Amazon portion of
the Viceroyalty of Peru. The other three documents I found during my research.
Given that Peru renewed its efforts to settle its Amazonian territories in the second
half of the nineteenth century, I decided that it was important to include a docu-
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 547
ment by a state functionary or politician of the time. As I had recently been doing
research on Joaqu?n Capelo, a prominent Civilista engineer and politician with
professional links to the Amazon, I decided to look more closely at his writings. I
found the text I analyze here as an appendix in the first book by him that I revised
(Capelo 1895[1892]). To have a broader range of documents, so as to be able to
test the persistence of the above-mentioned tropes, I decided to include a text by
social actors who contested the established state while at the same time advocating
alternative political visions. Given that the Shining Path has been the most influ-
ential revolutionary movement in twentieth-century Peru, I made a search of their
documents on the Internet. The only Shining Path document I found there that
referred extensively to the Amazon was the one I analyze here (Shining Path 1993).
Finally, I thought it would be interesting to analyze a text by someone neither
linked nor opposed to the state. Because of the great increase of new forms of
tourism in Peru during the past decade, I decided to search the Net for tourist
agencies. The webpage of El Tigre Journeys was the only one that advertised in
detail its tours to the Amazon (El Tigre Journeys 2000). I am sure, however, that
had I selected documents by other non-Amazonian state agents and social actors, I
would have found similar discourses and tropes.
Although this article focuses on the ways in which the Amazon/Andes divide
has been (and is) constructed in Peru, it should be stressed that similar imagery can
be found in neighboring countries, as exemplified by Taussig?s (1991: 287?335)
stimulating study on the ?moral topography? of the Colombian Andes. Moreover,
similar processes of peripheralization, othering, and consumption of the Other
should also be expected to be at work in other contexts of states expanding into
territories not under their control (e.g. representations of Northern England during
Roman times, of Patagonia in postcolonial Argentina, of Siberia in czarist Russia,
or of the Far West in the nineteenth-century United States). Thus, whereas the
imagery evoked in the texts cited might be specific to the representation of the
Amazon/Andes divide, the rhetoric of alterity on which it is based is much more
pervasive.
CRUSADERS OF THE FAITH
By the mid-seventeenth century, when the Franciscan document that I will analyze
was written, the Jesuits and Franciscans were competing among themselves, and
with freelance military adventurers, to obtain the Crown?s support to conquer the
Amazon and its inhabitants. The Jesuits had settled in the Upper Mara??n and
Lower Huallaga rivers and were expanding into the Amazon River. The Franciscans
had managed to subject the native peoples living in the Upper Huallaga and Upper
Ucayali rivers and were extending their activities into the Selva Central. In con-
trast with the Jesuits, the Franciscans, who belonged to a mendicant order, could
not own properties or engage in commercial enterprises. Thus, they were almost
totally dependent on the Crown for the financing of their evangelical operations.
F. Santos-Granero548
Franciscan missionaries working in the Amazon received from the King an annual
stipend to cover the expenses of their convents, run their missions, and undertake
new evangelical expeditions. In exchange, they were expected to support the inter-
ests of the Crown and keep the King constantly informed about their progress.
Thus, although not part of the State apparatus, Franciscan missionaries acted as
state agents in charge of subjecting the Spanish empire?s borderlands.
The document I analyze here was written in 1662. It is a four-page report writ-
ten by Father Francisco de Andrade (1750[1662]: 78?81), an inspector (visitador)
sent by the general commissar of the Franciscan Order in Peru to inform the King
on the progress made by the Franciscans in the Huallaga and Ucayali river basins.
Being a report by an interested party, this is not an impartial document. Andrade?s
main objective was to ensure the King?s continuing support to the existing
Franciscan missions and permission to evangelize new territories and peoples. To
achieve this, he sets out, first, to press the point that many benefits could be gained
from incorporating the Amazon into the viceroyalty and second, to make it clear
that only the Franciscans are capable of achieving this. The document was consid-
ered to be so representative of its kind that it was printed, almost a century later, in
a collection of Franciscan documents gathered to underscore the order?s achieve-
ments before being expelled from the Upper Amazon region in 1742 by an alliance
of Amazonian indigenous peoples led by Juan Santos Atahuallpa, a charismatic
highland mestizo (San Antonio 1750).
Father Andrade presents a view of the Amazon that, although personal, is also
the collective product of his fellow missionaries, who considered themselves to be
crusaders for the spread of the faith in a land inhabited by infidels. He begins his
report by making reference to an ecological imagery that, as we shall see, has
occupied, under different guises, a central position in various Andean-centric views
of the Amazon. He states that the highland city of Huanuco, where the Franciscans
had their headquarters, has ?good weather, clear sky, and abundant water (Andrade
1750[1662], translation mine).? In contrast, he describes the neighboring lowland
areas of the Huallaga basin as ?extremely uneven, rough and muddy,? with ?large
rivers running through impenetrable mountainous forests? (Andrade 1750[1662]:78,
translation mine). In the higher areas, temperature is fine, ?warm rather than cold,?
but in the lower areas, where ravines are narrow and enclosed, ?it is extremely
hot? (Andrade 1750[1662]:78, translation mine). Further to the east, the Ucayali
River flows along a broad alluvial plain, with fertile lands and abundant game and
fish, but the heat is so unbearable that the Spanish soldiers who accompany the
missionaries constantly desert them (Andrade 1750[1662]:81, translation mine).
This image reflects some factual ecological differences, in this case exacer-
bated by the fact that Father Andrade, as did his Franciscan brothers, came from
temperate climates. We shall see, however, that the multiple, and often contradic-
tory, ways in which ecological tropes are used to establish differences between the
Amazon and the Andes suggest that these images owe less to actual ecological
differences than to the demands of realpolitik. Facticity, or adherence to facts, has
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 549
little to do in this highly political text. What Father Andrade wants to underscore
by depicting the Amazonian environment as harsh are the sacrifices that he and his
fellow missionaries have undergone on behalf of the imperial project of the Span-
ish Crown, a project that, at the time, was intimately linked to the universalizing
evangelical objectives of the Catholic Church. To further press this point, and si-
multaneously discredit the military, he asserts that whereas Spanish soldiers desert
to escape from the unbearable conditions of the Amazon, Franciscan missionaries
persevere in their religious endeavors (Andrade 1750[1662]: 81).
To reinforce his argument about the inhospitable conditions existing in the
Amazon lowlands, Father Andrade switches to historical referents. Sixteen leagues
downriver from the city of Hu?nuco, he says, are the ruins of several forts and
bulwarks marking the maximum expansion of Inka conquests in the Huallaga val-
ley. Andrade asserts that, in spite of their power and wealth, Inka rulers were not
able to subjugate ?the infinite number of Indians, Provinces, and Nations? inhab-
iting the Amazon because the region was exceptionally harsh and its inhabitants
extremely hostile. Not daring to penetrate further into the jungle, the Inka ruler
?contented himself with establishing his frontier there, with Indians he brought
from different Provinces? (Andrade 1750[1662]: 78, translation mine). In assert-
ing this, Andrade implies that the Franciscans have ventured where not even the
powerful Inka did, that is, beyond the boundaries of civilization into the realm of
barbarity.
Father Andrade elaborates this latter argument by providing what could be called
a colonial social psychology of the ?wild man.? The rivers that flow into the left
bank of the Ucayali, he says, are peopled by different ?nations.? They speak differ-
ent languages and cannot communicate with each other. They are isolated and
have no dealings between them other than fighting and beheading each other, an
activity from which ?they derive their greatest happiness? (Andrade 1750[1662]:
78, translation mine). They are so ?cruel, barbarian and restless,? that they not
only enslave and cut the heads of neighboring peoples, but also of their own people
(Andrade 1750[1662]: 80). Those who display the most head trophies in their houses
become war leaders and are eagerly sought after by other men as husbands for
their daughters (Andrade 1750[1662]: 80). Indians go about naked; their only cloth-
ing consists of tattoos and paintings with which they cover their bodies, and the
strings of human teeth they wear as necklaces (Andrade 1750[1662]: 80). Indian
men are ?very prone to sensuality,? having three and even four women. They are
not idolaters, but neither do they believe in a higher divinity. Although they ac-
knowledge the existence of the devil, they seek to befriend him through sorcerers
and diviners to avoid being harmed by him (Andrade 1750[1662]: 80). Above all,
lowland Indians are ?treacherous,? an adjective that appears frequently in the
psychosociological vocabulary Father Andrade uses to describe them.
Many of the features he mentions are meant to contrast with perceptions of
what were the main cultural and sociological traits of Andean indigenous peoples.
Andean Indians wore clothing, were mainly monogamous, believed in higher di-
F. Santos-Granero550
vinities, lived in ordered communities, formed part of a centralized polity, and
lived in a kind of pax incaica. Andrade paid little attention to the fact that upland
and lowland peoples were engaged in dynamic networks of trade and exchange,
both prior to and after the Spanish conquest, and shared many cultural practices.
This omission had the purpose of constructing a vivid and powerful ?elementary
structure of alterity? (Mason 1990: 169) that could be evoked as a justification for
the evangelical activities of his brethren.
Father Andrade adds force to his arguments by referring to the large number of
Indians that the Franciscans had subjugated and baptized. In 1646, he says, the
missionaries baptized around 10,000 people in the Province of Payanzos. How-
ever, as a result of recurrent epidemics, 16 years later this population decreased to
1,300 (Andrade 1750[1662]: 79, translation mine). What is even more puzzling,
he goes on to say, is that in this same period no baby reached adulthood. Most died
before they were one year old, and the few that survived lived, at most, until they
were three years old. As a result, he concludes, ?nowadays there is not a single
Indian born in [this province] after its conversion (Andrade 1750[1662]: 79).?
Father Andrade is obviously unaware that Indian converts were dying because of
the epidemics brought by the Europeans. And he seems to be genuinely concerned
with the fate of the Indians. However, in the Franciscan political economy of con-
version what counted was not the number of Indians subjugated, but the number of
Indians saved through baptism from an afterlife of damnation and hell.
Given that saving souls measured missionary success, Father Andrade?s reli-
gious statistics intimate that Franciscans were being enormously successful. How-
ever, just in case the authorities were not convinced by his arguments of evangeli-
cal success, Andrade makes use of economic arguments, which Spanish authori-
ties were sure to understand. He reports that ?with the help of God, the alms of the
Faithful, and the aid of His Majesty? the Franciscans will discover many more
Indian nations, among them the Ingas, reported to live further to the east (Andrade
1750[1662]: 81). The Ingas, he says, wear multicolor tunics, woven headbands,
and sandals; they raise llamas and speak ?the general language of the Inka.? Father
Andrade speculates that these Ingas might be the descendants of the 10,000 fami-
lies that fled from the highland province of Vilcas into the Amazon to escape from
Inka subjection (Andrade 1750[1662]: 81). But the most important piece of infor-
mation he offers, and the one that was meant to whet the appetite of colonial au-
thorities, was that the land inhabited by the Ingas was ?very rich in gold and silver
(Andrade 1750[1662]: 81, translation mine).? In other words, these were not wild
Amazonian Indians but civilized and rich Indians of the Andean sort that could be
converted into good, hardworking subjects.
In brief, Father Andrade portrays the Amazon and its peoples as being inhospi-
table, unconquerable, wild, and intractable. At the same time, however, he insists
that there is much to be gained from facing up to these difficulties in order to
subject the region to the Spanish Crown: souls for the Lord in Heaven and riches
for His Majesty. And the only ones that could achieve this were the Franciscans.
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 551
SEEKERS OF EL DORADO
In the mid-seventeenth century, lowland Amazonia attracted the attention not only
of zealous missionaries of various orders, but also of a host of military men avid
for riches, fame, and glory who were looking for El Dorado. In 1649, at almost the
same time that the Franciscans were expanding from Huanuco to the Selva Cen-
tral, Captain Pedro Bohorquez wrote a petition requesting permission from the
Viceroy of Peru to make an expedition into this latter area. A copy of this short
document?two and a half folios?appears in a longer petition (memorial) printed
in 1663 as a short leaflet, and presented to the viceroy by Bohorquez? associate,
Captain Andr?s Salgado de Araujo. I found this latter document in the Archivo
General de Indias (Indiferente del Per? 631), in 1981, and had it republished in
1986 (Memorial 1986[1663]). Petitions to royal authorities were highly formal-
ized documents in which the petitioner presented him or herself under the best
possible light, and tried to persuade authorities that granting what was requested
was in their best interest. Bohorquez? petition does not stray from this pre-estab-
lished formula and, like Father Andrade?s report, also presents a partial point of
view.
Bohorquez explains that he has entered twice into the region: the first time,
leading an exploratory expedition without permission from the authorities; the
second time, with permission from the preceding viceroy (Memorial 1986[1663]:
137?138). After Bohorquez? return, the viceroy denied him permission to further
his explorations. Instead, he entrusted the spiritual conquest of the region to the
Franciscan order. The Franciscans, he claims, entered the region several times, but
without success, for the Indians they encountered asserted that they would only
pay obedience to Captain Bohorquez. Through his petition, Bohorquez aimed at
persuading the authorities, first that he had better chances than the Franciscans in
conquering the Selva Central; and, second, that this conquest would demand little
investment from the Crown while yielding incalculable riches for the King. To
achieve his first goal, he sets out to discredit the Franciscans and position himself
as the only one with the capacity and charisma to subjugate the Amazon Indians.
To achieve his second goal, he asserts that he will assume all the costs of the
expedition in exchange for future privileges from the Crown assuming he suc-
ceeds in his enterprise (Memorial 1986[1663]: 139?140). In the process, he offers
an image of the Amazon that differs profoundly from that of the Franciscans, while
at the same resonating with a few common themes and tropes.
Captain Bohorquez begins his description by referring to the natural surround-
ings. The image he conveys is not that of an inhospitable environment, like the one
provided by Father Andrade, but, rather, that of a welcoming land filled with abun-
dance, fertility, and diversity. Clearly, the ecological imagery often used by au-
thors to represent the Amazon/Andes divide was not based on actual ecological
differences, but was manipulated to suit their diverse?and sometimes divergent?
political objectives. In contrast with the Franciscans who depicted the Amazon as
F. Santos-Granero552
a harsh environment, Bohorquez represents the Amazon as a land of abundance
waiting for the Spanish to conquer it. In so doing, he followed indigenous myths
that evoked an earthly paradise, myths that, by then, were widely known among
the Spaniards and had given rise to the belief in El Dorado.
Bohorquez? ecological discourse follows standard contemporary European clas-
sifications of the natural world (Memorial 1986[1663]: 136). He begins by refer-
ring to the mineral kingdom, stressing the abundance of gold and silver, pearls,
and precious stones. He then describes the plant kingdom, enumerating the large
variety of grains, tubers, fruits, fibers, spices, aromatic, and medicinal plants ?of
great price and value? (Memorial 1986 [1663]: 136, translation mine). Next, he
refers to the animal kingdom, itemizing, firstly, the large number of birds, then the
terrestrial animals, and, finally, the fish and shellfish. Rivers are so large, Bohorquez
says, that they are navigable by the largest Spanish ships. Their banks are covered
with very large trees that could furnish enough timber for the construction of all
kinds of buildings and vessels. Absent from his description are the heat and the
insects, the wild animals and the impenetrable jungle, elements prominently dis-
played in Franciscan depictions of the Amazon.
Having illustrated profusely the natural riches of the lowlands, Bohorquez un-
dertakes the description of its inhabitants by means of a schematic
psychosociological discourse. He claims that the land is densely populated. Along
riverbanks and lakes are found large settlements, measuring two-leagues in length
and four or five blocks in width (Memorial 1986[1663]: 136). Indians embark on
long-lasting trading expeditions on board large rafts and canoes, and because trad-
ing relations result in intense social interaction they are ?peaceful and tame.? Low-
land Indians are clever and ingenious. They are good-looking, strong, and muscu-
lar. Their skin color is fairer than that of the average highland Indian, and many are
?very white and bearded, with long blonde hair? (Memorial 1986[1663]: 136, trans-
lation mine). They are ?energetic, noble and generous?; they ?very much abhor
theft, plundering, adultery and widowhood (Memorial 1986[1663]: 137).? The
majority wear color cotton tunics, but the most noble among them wear a variety
of cotton textiles covered with color feathers. They adorn themselves with a vari-
ety of gold jewelry, and on their arms and shields they display golden figures of
animals and birds inlaid with precious stones and a profusion of feathers.
According to Captain Bohorquez, lowland Indians are obedient and humble
towards their elders and lords, governing themselves by their laws and showing
?some manner of civility? (Memorial 1986[1663]: 137). He also reports the exist-
ence of powerful lords who rule over four and even five large provinces and have
numerous vassals. To put extra icing on the cake, Bohorquez asserts that these, and
other powerful lords, recognize a single sovereign, who lives further inland. The
author does not elaborate on the identity of this sovereign. In fact, he ends his
description abruptly, leaving the reader with a sense of mystery and expectation.
This is a dramatic rhetorical device; the motif of the Inka taking refuge in the
Amazon lowlands?already popular before the Spanish conquest (cf. Renard-
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 553
Casevitz et al. 1988, 1: 49?51)?had been firmly implanted in the minds of the
Spanish since Manco Inka rebelled against Hernando Pizarro and fled into the
?monta?a? in 1536 (Betanzos 1987: 301). Clearly, Bohorquez? intention here is to
suggest that the enigmatic lowland sovereign might be a descendant of the Inka,
and that his empire might be the famous El Dorado?also known as Gran Paititi or
Enim.
Bohorquez? representation of native Amazonian social psychology is in stark
contrast with that of the Franciscans. Gone are the depictions of the naked, sen-
sual, isolated, warlike, and cruel Indians. Gone, too, is the image of the barbarous
Indians having neither God, Law, or Order (?ni Dios, ni ley, ni polic?a? Memorial
1986 [1663]:137). Bohorquez? Amazonian Indians dress in tunic, reject adultery,
communicate profusely, make trade rather than war, and are benevolent and gener-
ous. Both imagined sociologies, nevertheless, share a common feature: they are
meant to contrast with that of Andean Indians. Whereas Father Andrade repre-
sented lowland Indians as being a perverted, lesser version of highland Indians,
Bohorquez presents them as a sort of improved, better version. Lowland Indians
are whiter and handsomer, more intelligent, generous, and moral; but above all
they are more peaceful and docile, and, as Bohorquez stresses repeatedly, they are
extremely eager to embrace the Catholic faith (Memorial 1986[1663]: 137).
Once he had established the clear advantages that the geography and sociology
of the tropical lowlands have over the Andean highlands, Bohorquez goes on to
complain that he was deprived of the right to conquer the lands he had discovered
by malicious accusations against him. He lists the various unsuccessful expedi-
tions that the Franciscans made after his, and attributes their failure to the fact that
local Indians would deal only with him (Memorial 1986[1663]: 138?139). He claims
that Indians trust and obey him because they have come to consider him as a rela-
tive, as a result of his having learnt their mother tongue and dressed like them.
Bohorquez concludes his petition by requesting permission to embark on a new
expedition. He argues, as the Franciscans had done before and would do after, that
his only aspiration is ?to bring to the faith and excellency of the Holy Scripture
innumerable souls, and to his King and Lord vast kingdoms and numerous vassals
and riches (Memorial 1986 [1663] 138?139).? The image he created of a super-
abundance in natural and human resources, his appeal to the King?s religious con-
science and worldly ambitions, and his self-positioning as the only person that
could subjugate the Indians did the trick. A year later Captain Bohorquez was
granted the permission he had asked for.
EMISSARIES OF PROGRESS
After its Independence from Spain in 1821, Peru entered a period of political and
economic chaos during which the government was mainly in the hands of military
dictators. Decades of ill government and military upheavals, together with Peru?s
defeat in the 1879 war against Chile, left the country devastated. Strong anti-mili-
F. Santos-Granero554
taristic feelings surged and civilian-led political parties were strengthened. Be-
tween 1879 and 1914, members of the Civil, Constitutional, and Democratic par-
ties?known collectively as Civilistas?governed Peru, alternating peacefully in
power. The Civilistas shared a liberal ideology that emphasized the advantages of
progress, democracy, and free trade, advocating minimum state intervention in
economic affairs. In addition, they called for the integration of rural areas and the
modernization of the country?which in their minds meant the Pacific Coast and
the Andes?by the construction of roads and railroads, the importation of Euro-
pean immigrants, the promotion of agriculture, and the ?civilization? of indig-
enous populations.
The author of the document I analyze below is Joaqu?n Capelo, a member of the
Democrat Party and a prominent Civilista. The document was first published in
1892, under the title ?The Wealth of the Forests,? as a short article in El Comercio,
one of Peru?s oldest and most important newspapers. Capelo was a civil engineer,
who worked in the Amazon on several occasions during his distinguished career in
public service. In 1891, the government entrusted him with the construction of the
Pichis Trail, a mule path connecting the highland city of Tarma with the Selva
Central. Capelo must have been very fond of the above-mentioned article and the
ideas he postulated in it, for he republished it as an appendix in a two-volume work
titled La V?a Central del Per?, where he presents a detailed report of the construc-
tion of this trail (Capelo 1895[1892]: 149?154).
In 1899, Capelo was appointed Prefect of Loreto, Peru?s largest Amazonian
department. In this role, he passed important measures in defense of Indian peons,
who provided much of the labor force utilized in rubber extraction, by then the
region?s most important economic activity. His indignation at the exploitation and
dreadful social conditions experienced by indigenous peoples throughout Peru led
him to join, together with other illustrious intellectuals, the Pro-Indian Associa-
tion. He was also an outstanding member of the Geographic Society of Lima,
which together with the Pro-Indian Association, were the most liberal, progres-
sive, and modernizing institutions of his time. In brief, although born in Lima and
a member of Peru?s elite, Capelo was not ignorant of things Amazonian or unsym-
pathetic to the plight of its native inhabitants.
In his short, six-page article, Capelo presents an image of the Amazon lowlands
that, making use of old and new tropes, expresses the hopes of a generation of
professionals and intellectuals who saw themselves as emissaries of progress. The
article belongs to the genre of political commentary. Although it is less biased than
Andrade?s report or Bohorquez? petition in that the personal interest of the author
is less apparent it also responds to a political agenda. As we shall see, Capelo?s
main objective was to garner support for governmental plans to colonize the Ama-
zon on the grounds that it should benefit Peruvian colonists rather than European
immigrants as the government intended.
Capelo (1895[1892]: 149) starts his article by stating that there is something
?attractive and fascinating? in the contrast between the ?grandiose and exuberant
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 555
vegetation? of the tropics, and the solitude and silence that reigns in the forest.
Then he launches into a description of the Amazonian environment in terms of an
ecological discourse that differs little from that used in the accounts of colonial
missionaries. ?Innumerable rivers? flow amidst ?mountain chains? that crisscross
the region, forming a ?broken topography? covered by ?gigantic vegetation? that
acts as an ?insurmountable barrier? for the ?daring traveler (Capelo 1895
[1892]:150, translation mine).? All in all, the author concludes, Amazonia is an
?inhospitable environment for man.?
Capelo goes on to say that, whereas the tourist can only feel ?a secret feeling of
admiration? in the face of the ?grandiosity and inhospitality? of tropical nature,
the man of science perceives ?a world beyond.? The high mountains are there to
induce the precipitation of ?fertilizing rain? (Capelo 1895[1892]: 150). The rush-
ing currents are ?endless reservoirs of live force? that science has learnt to trans-
form into heat, light, and electricity; that is, into ?useful work? that brings ?rich-
ness and welfare for man? and ?greatness and power for nations? (Capelo
1895[1892]: 150; author?s emphasis). The ?capricious distribution? of mountain
chains facilitated the formation of fertile valleys suitable for all kinds of planta-
tions. And, in between those steep mountains, there exist natural passes that would
allow the construction of railroads bringing ?movement and life? to those remote
regions. Tall trees act as natural lightning rods; they help the clouds discharge their
benefic waters over fertile lands ?that only require the sowing of seed to produce,
without further labor, many and abundant fruit.? Finally, the large rivers with their
serene currents are ?natural means of communication? that allow the transporta-
tion of ?valuable forest raw materials? to remote lands, where ?industry and capi-
tal will transform them into the most varied products.?
Capelo?s hyperbolic discourse is aimed at countering the prejudices against the
Amazon prevalent among his contemporaries, for whom the country stopped on
the eastern slopes of the Andes. The chaos and inauspiciousness of the tropical
forest, he argues, is only apparent. With the aid of science and technology, the
Amazon region can surrender its riches for the benefit of man and nation. Capelo?s
view of the Amazon, however, is very much an economic one. He sees the Ama-
zon as a vast and abundant reservoir of resources waiting to be tapped by men of
science, with the support of progressive governments. In contrast, his view of na-
tive Amazonians is rather bleak. He argues that nature may have done its part in
the Amazon, but man has not. His own social psychology of native Amazonians
shares many elements with those of Father Andrade and Bohorquez, only he takes
a more economic turn.
The Amazon lowlands, Capelo claims, are sparsely populated. One can find
only a ?few dispersed savages,? living far away from each other and engaged in
constant mutual raiding (Capelo 1895[1892]: 151). They live in ?rustic and mea-
ger? huts surrounded by small gardens planted with various products; ?everything
in such small proportion that it only satisfies the yearly needs of a family.? Their
only tools are machetes, knives and axes, all of them of European manufacture.
F. Santos-Granero556
Their only dress is a cotton tunic, which they wear day and night. Their bed is a
wooden platform, and their only source of warmth at night is a bonfire that they
light by striking a stone against blade from an old machete. A few earthen pots,
gourds, mats, and wooden trays and troughs are all the utensils they own. Bows
and arrows with which they hunt and fish, and a few trinkets they carry around in
a cotton bag, complete their material possessions.
Capelo?s negative image of Amazonian indigenous peoples?also constructed
in opposition to Andean peoples?differs little from that of Father Andrade. How-
ever, whereas Andrade rated lowland Indians lower than their highland counter-
parts, Capelo discerns in them moral resources that he considers are lacking among
native Andeans. Amazonian Indians, he says, are peaceful, welcoming, and re-
spectful of private property. But, above all, they ?love their liberty? and defend
with ?virile firmness? their rights (Capelo 1895 [1892]:153). In an unmistakable
reference to Andean Indians, whom he views as a crushed, exploited, and demor-
alized ?race,? Capelo asserts that the traits of Amazonian Indians could do much to
?raise the level of human dignity . . . in the diseased portion of our indigenous
population, among whom the abuses and injustice of three centuries have left deep
marks? (Capelo 1895[1892]: 153).
Having depicted the tropical forest as a region with immense natural potential,
and having stated that it is under-exploited by its native inhabitants who are igno-
rant and lack technology, Capelo goes on to advocate, using straightforward eco-
nomic arguments, the colonization of the Amazon by ?civilized man.? He starts by
claiming that the construction of a hut and the clearing and planting of a garden
cannot take more than one hundred man-days of work. Then he asks rhetorically
?If the unfortunate savage, who ignores and lacks so many things, can ensure his
subsistence, and that of his family, with only a few days of work, what could not
the civilized man do; for he owns from his cradle the countless benefits with which
civilization shows us the great law of universal solidarity?(sic) (Capelo 1895[1892]:
152; author?s emphasis). This leads him to contrast the psychosociological state of
native Amazonians with that of ?civilized man.?
Civilized man, he says, is heir to what mankind has accumulated for centuries
through ?morality, science and industry.? Amassing wealth requires a dose of ?vir-
tue? to stand the hardship of living in a tropical environment, a dose of ?will and
character? to work one hundred days a year, and a few tools, provisions, and seeds
(Capelo 1895[1892]: 152). But this can only be achieved when ?the higher spheres
of power? provide ?effective protection and intelligent direction to the social forces?
(Capelo 1895[1892]: 153). Making reference to bodily metaphors of society, Capelo
asserts that when this protection is lacking an ?anemia of virtue and work invades
the social body.? People become ?degraded;? they ?lose faith in their destiny,?
leaving the way open to foreign domination.
It is only then that Capelo?s political objective in writing this particular article
becomes apparent. In open criticism to Civilista proposals for importing European
immigrants to colonize the Amazon, Capelo concludes his article by reminding
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 557
the government that foreign immigration is not the only source of wealth. Govern-
ment should provide its own people with the necessary resources to settle in the
best regions, as did the Inkas in the past. Only then, he argues, will Peruvians be
able to say that the forest region belongs to them (Capelo 1895[1892]: 154). In a
strange twist of arguments and metaphors, Capelo refers to Inka state-sponsored
colonization programs?which Father Andrade used to emphasize past failures in
occupying the Amazon?as the model to follow by the Peruvian government.
Amazonia, he argues, is rich, under-populated and under-exploited and it should
be colonized; but its rich resources should be granted to Peruvians and not to for-
eign immigrants. Capelo?s arguments must have been persuasive. Four years after
writing his article, he was able to put his ideas into practice when he was appointed
Minister of Development (Ministro de Fomento) in charge, among other things, of
promoting colonization of the Amazon.
ADVOCATES OF REVOLUTION
Headed by President Gonzalo?nom de guerre of Abimael Guzm?n?the Com-
munist Party of Peru (CPP) launched what they branded the ?Maoist People?s War?
in 1980. Better known as Sendero Luminoso, or Shining Path, the CPP began its
operations in the Andean highlands, where they had strong popular support. Pressed
by the police and the Army, by 1983 the CPP took refuge in the Amazon lowlands,
which from then onwards became a strategic region for resting, training, and pro-
visioning. First, they entered into the Huallaga valley (where Father Andrade had
labored as a missionary), then, into the Selva Central (the scene of many of Cap-
tain Bohorquez? exploits and the area in which Capelo built the first modern trail
connecting the Andes to the Amazon). In this latter region, the Shining Path estab-
lished relations with the Ash?ninka, Peru?s largest Amazonian indigenous group.
At the beginning, many Ash?ninka from the Ene, Tambo, and Pangoa rivers
joined the guerrillas. They were attracted by a revolutionary discourse that called
for the destruction of the exploitative old order and announced the advent of a
more just new order in which the Ash?ninka were to become ?millionaires?
(Rodr?guez Vargas 1993: 53). However, with the passage of time, relations be-
tween the Ash?ninka and the Shining Path soured as a result of the insurgents?
authoritarian tactics (Benavides 1992). By 1989, the Shining Path escalated the
forced recruitment of Ash?ninka men and boys, and the suppression of those com-
munities that were reluctant to cooperate. This, plus the killing in 1990 of various
leaders of the local Ash?ninka organization, prompted a general uprising in the
Tambo River, followed by the subsequent organization of Self-defense Commit-
tees in many Ash?ninka communities within and without this area.
On August 21, 1993, the CPP?s People?s Liberation Army was accused of mas-
sacring 62 Ash?ninka in the area of Mazamari (Satipo) in the context of intense
confrontations with Ash?ninka self-defense forces. On September 26, the CPP
published an article in English in the weekly Revolutionary Worker, the voice of
F. Santos-Granero558
the Revolutionary Communist Party of the United States, rejecting this accusa-
tion. Later on they posted this article in one of their web pages (www.csrp.org/rw/
rwash.htm#famous, accessed October 2000). Entitled ?Anatomy of a Government
Lie. The True Story of the Shining Path and the Ashaninka Indians? (Shining Path
1993), this official party document clearly falls into the genre of partisan propa-
ganda. Its principal objective was to ensure the continuing support?moral, politi-
cal, and financial?of its international sympathizers. To achieve this, the CPP en-
deavored to discredit the accusation, and to reassure its international supporters
that the members of the Shining Path were not bloodthirsty terrorists as the Peru-
vian government claimed. Because international supporters of revolutionary groups
often sympathize with the cause of indigenous peoples, and to avoid the kind of
negative propaganda that the Miskito affair had on the Sandinista movement, the
document provides a positive image of the Ash?ninka, as well as a eulogy of the
Shining Path?s revolutionary actions in their favor (Shining Path 1993: 7?9). Their
image of the Amazon and its inhabitants appears to differ substantially from previ-
ous ones, but when analyzed at a closer range it does not seem so radically differ-
ent.
The anonymous author begins by establishing a contrast between the Andes
and the Amazon by referring to its ecological aspects. The Andean highlands, the
author says, ?run north and south through the middle of Peru.? To the east ?moun-
tains drop off sharply in steep cliffs and ravines that give way to the dense Amazon
jungle which stretches for thousands of miles to the Atlantic Ocean? (Shining Path
1993: 7). After this brief introduction, the author switches to a historical discourse.
The Amazon, he says, is a region inhabited by natives who were indomitable war-
riors, but are nevertheless exploited by foreign agents. Echoing Father Andrade?s
claim that the Inkas never succeeded in incorporating the Amazon into their em-
pire, the author states that even though the Spaniards conquered the Inka, they
were less successful in subjugating the peoples of the eastern jungles. This, he
adds, was particularly true of the Ash?ninka, who, with the help of ?runaway slaves,?
expelled the Franciscan missionaries and Spanish soldiers from the region in 1742
for a period of almost 100 years (Shining Path 1993: 7).
In the mid-nineteenth century, the author goes on to say, the ?feudal Peruvian
ruling classes? reasserted their rule over the jungle region, this time with the sup-
port of ?the new North American capitalist power? (Shining Path 1993: 7). By the
end of the nineteenth century ?the rising power of world capitalism? had pen-
etrated Peru?s Amazon region, as ?massive coffee plantations,? ?rubber planta-
tions,? and ?vast timbering operations? were established. The Peruvian state treated
native Amazonians ?like animals,? encouraging ?capitalists of all kinds to rob and
enslave them? (Shining Path 1993: 8). Amazonian Indians were engaged under a
debt-peonage system and put to work under coercive conditions (Shining Path
1993: 8). Traders and capitalists provided corrupt Indian leaders with firearms to
?kidnap Indian women and children and sell them into slavery.? They also bribed
them to sign papers ?giving Indian jungle lands to land speculators? (Shining Path
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 559
1993: 8).
Having depicted the history of oppression and resistance among Amazonian
indigenous peoples, the author examines their present situation. He does this by
constructing a contemporary Ash?ninka sociology that, in many respects, is as
imagined as that of Andrade, Bohorquez, or Capelo. The Ash?ninka, the author
states, are ?famous warriors.? Today, however, they live at ?the margins of a class
society,? suffering ?extreme poverty and exploitation,? ?forced labor,? and ?de-
spoiling of their lands? (Shining Path 1993: 8). This kind of discourse is character-
istic of the political rhetoric of all radical Left organizations, but here it is put at the
service of a particularly biased vision of Amazonian indigenous peoples. Thus, the
author of the CPP document explains that when not enslaved in plantations, the
Ash?ninka ?live a social life characterized by primitive communism?finding food
by hunting, gathering and some limited cultivation.? As a result of capitalist op-
pression and primitive living conditions, 70% of Ash?ninka children suffer from
malnutrition, and over 95% of Ash?ninka adults are illiterate. Absent from this
picture, however, are the more than 200 hundred Ash?ninka communities recog-
nized by the government since 1974, the thousands of hectares titled on behalf of
these communities, the thousands of Ash?ninka families involved in independent
cash crop production, and the hundreds of schools and health centers built in the
past 40 years. But the most significant omission is the absence of references to the
various Ash?ninka ethnopolitical organizations that have been struggling in de-
fense of their rights since at least the 1950s (Casanto Shingari 1984; Santos-Granero
and Barclay 1998: 280?295).
Ignoring these positive developments helps construct a single-minded image of
the Ash?ninka as oppressed, defenseless peoples in need of assistance. In order to
put forward the Shining Path as the only organization capable of providing the
required assistance, the author goes on to discredit other social actors working
with the Ash?ninka. Anthropologists, development agents, and missionaries who
?claim to be doing humanitarian work? are really ?pimping off the native peoples?
(Shining Path 1993: 8). All these agents, the author says, are ?tied to foreign impe-
rialist interests through a thousand threads? they aim to persuade the Indians to
accept their miseries with ?Christian fatalism,? or to ?seek progress by selling
themselves and their lands to capitalism? (Shining Path 1993: 8).
Having criticized other diverse social actors involved, the anonymous author
goes on to recount the Shining Path?s activities among the Ash?ninka. This narra-
tion echoes closely events narrated in the previous, stereotyped recount of the
1742 uprising. The author explains that the People?s War began in 1980 in the
Andean department of Ayacucho. In 1983, guerrilla fighters moved into the Ama-
zon, very much as the ?runaway slaves? had done in the eighteenth century. There,
the movement took ?root among the most impoverished classes and sectors of the
people.? These included poor Andean settlers and the 50,000-strong Ash?ninka,
who ?because of their isolation and level of social development, are even poorer
than the peasantry and other oppressed classes? (Shining Path 1993: 8). To ad-
F. Santos-Granero560
vance the People?s War, the CPP supported the historical demands of the Ash?ninka:
?defense of the land, the forests and the rivers,? and inclusion ?as part of the Peru-
vian state and nation,? a demand attended to by creating ?a New State that defends
the rights of the oppressed classes and nationalities of Peru? (Shining Path 1993:
8). These rights, the author stresses, ?are not confined to questions of culture and
language??which, from his point of view, seem to be secondary?but involve
issues of land, labor, education, health, and nutrition.
Joint armed struggle, and the building of a new society, the author goes on,
generated a deep unity between the CPP and the ?Ash?ninka masses.? The Shining
Path ?organized the Ash?ninka, linked them with the countrywide People?s War,
and trained them politically? (Shining Path 1993: 9). In addition to organizing ?the
people to defend themselves against the many abuses,? the Shining Path launched
?an intensive project of educational instruction, starting schools and establishing
new forms of production and food distribution? (Shining Path 1993: 9). As a result
of these activities, in 1986 the CPP established the first Open People?s Committee
among the Ash?ninka. By 1989, the anonymous author concludes, ?the revolution
had reached all of the Ash?ninka communities,? and arrangements were made ?to
elect civilian and military authorities for the New State? (Shining Path 1993: 9).
The appeal to, and evocation of, the accomplishments of the 1742 epic is implicit:
in alliance with poor Andean colonists, and under the guidance of the Shining
Path, the Ash?ninka expel the oppressors, liberating themselves and inaugurating
a period of autonomy and self-government.
Despite having very different political objectives, the Shining Path?s imagined
sociology of the Ash?ninka, and the role that it assigns itself in relation to them,
echoes the imagery found in previous documents. In Andrade?s report, Amazonian
Indians appear as barbarous infidels waiting to be redeemed by the Franciscans
through adoption of the Catholic faith. In Bohorquez? petition, the Ash?ninka are
represented as friendly Indians waiting for a charismatic leader that would gently
persuade them to convert to Catholicism and subject them to the Spanish Crown.
In Capelo?s article, they are portrayed as proud but ignorant and unskilled savages
waiting to be illuminated by Western science, morality, and technology. Replicat-
ing the old image of an all-knowing savior, the Shining Path represents the
Ash?ninka as a primitive, oppressed people waiting to be liberated by President
Gonzalo, the self-proclaimed ?Fifth Sword??after Marx, Lenin, Stalin, and Mao.
DEALERS IN MYSTICISM
Increased concern with environmental issues has led peoples from the rich
postindustrial countries, as well as affluent, educated peoples from developing
countries, to become interested in the Amazon and its native inhabitants. A host of
tourist agencies having a broad spectrum of orientations has bloomed, catering to
this growing market. Particularly important among them are a series of agencies
that can be characterized well as dealers in mysticism. El Tigre Journeys was
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 561
founded in 1997 by a U. S. ethnobotanist and a Peruvian partner?depicted as a
?veteran Amazon explorer??with the explicit aim of ?developing ecological and
cultural tourism in the Peruvian Amazon? (www.biopark.org/mission-statement).
Because its web page is written in English and Spanish, I assume that it is ad-
dressed to both an international and a Peruvian public. Under the motto ?Experi-
encing real Amazonia since 1997,? El Tigre Journeys offers a variety of tours within
their SpiritQuest program. When I visited its webpage, the most important of their
tours was ?2001, An Ayahuasca Odyssey.? Publicized as ?Ten days of shamanic
celebration, healing and renewal amidst the spiritual power of western Amazonia,?
the central event of this tour is the shamanic drinking of ayahuasca, a hallucino-
genic vine (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 1).
The multimedia text announcing the tour falls clearly into the category of ad-
vertisement. Insofar as it aims at selling a service, it is as partial as the texts dis-
cussed above. As in all ads, the advertisers strive to demonstrate that the services
they provide are the best and that their company is a serious one. To underscore
this, they assert that they have in-depth, first-hand knowledge of the Amazon and
its native inhabitants, that the people they work with are recognized native special-
ists, that the experiences they offer are authentic, and that they are respectful of
native cultures. They assert that the tour offered is aimed at the type of tourist who
wants to experience directly, and in a highly personal way, the spirituality of na-
tive Amazonian peoples, intimating that it is not meant for mass tourists.
The text begins with a brief, combined reference to the ecology and sociology
of Peruvian Amazonia: the tour, the advertisers say, is ?an educational, personal
growth experiential retreat which introduces you to the unique environment, di-
verse cultures and people of the Peruvian Amazon? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 1).
The emphasis, however, is not on the harshness of the Amazonian environment or
the wildness of its people, as in previous documents, but rather on the spiritual
richness of its nature and culture. Nature, culture, and spirit are the key words of
this text, the idea being that through the Ayahuasca Odyssey participants will ?ex-
perience the oneness of Humanity, Nature and Spirit? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 5).
The ecological and sociological tropes of previous texts are here transformed
and blended together with reference to the notion of ?culture? into a kind of cul-
tural ecology of the Amazon and its peoples. Seen through the prism of culture,
Amazonian ecology and sociology are not independent but interdependent factors.
The ?culturized? and ?amalgamated? tropes also differ from previous ones in that
they are encompassed by a mystical discourse; at least at first glance, it appears as
the first real innovation affecting the mode of conceiving Amazonia since colonial
times. From this point of view, the Amazonian environment is not valuable be-
cause of its rich resources or natural potential, as in previous texts, but because of
the spiritual secrets it hides. Native Amazonians are valuable, not as souls to be
saved, laborers to be put to work, or oppressed peoples to be won for the revolu-
tion, but as guardians of spiritual secrets they have learned from the forest. This
spiritual wealth, the advertisers state, has been created through centuries of mind-
F. Santos-Granero562
ful and harmonic interaction between the people and the forest they occupy. It is
this (intrinsically cultural) interaction that makes the Amazon ?one of the most
spiritually powerful places on Earth? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 2).
 The advertisers go on to affirm that participants will become ?fully immersed
in the authentic grassroots shamanic culture.? They will be guided by ?truly gifted
traditional Amazonian curanderos [healers].? This experience will enable partici-
pants to gain a deeper understanding ?of self, Spirit, and the unique plant healing
practices for which the upper Amazon is renowned? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 2).
Their ?perspectives on life, death, nature, plants, wildlife, people, culture, medi-
cine, healing, Spirit, the spirit world and their intrinsic interrelationship? will be
greatly enriched. The secrets of the forest will be revealed to them, and thus par-
ticipants will come to share the cosmovision of the native peoples.
Throughout the text, the advertisers of El Tigre Journeys place great emphasis
on the notion of authenticity (cf. Root 1996: 69?70, 78?81). They assert that par-
ticipants will experience ?real Amazonia,? taste ?authentic culture,? and get ac-
quainted with the ?time-honored traditions of the Peruvian Amazon.? They will
learn from ?true practitioners,? ?honest-to-goodness maestro curanderos,? and
?genuine master shamans,? who have an impressive knowledge of Amazonian
healing plants and are characterized by an ?uncorrupted integrity? (El Tigre Jour-
neys 2000: 5). Implicit in this overselling of their services are two interconnected
messages. First, the promise of a direct, pristine, wholesome, and unblemished
experience for people who live in a counterfeit, ?Xeroxed? world characterized by
simulation, simulacra, and multiple copies that cannot be distinguished from the
original (Baudrillard 1999). Second, the assurance that the agency is honest and
therefore different from other enterprises that deceive their customers by present-
ing spurious practices as if they were authentic. To reinforce the idea that their
agency is serious, the advertisers state that Ayahuasca Odyssey ?is not a tourist
entertainment experience. It is a shamanic workshop retreat? (El Tigre Journeys
2000: 4; author?s emphasis).
Because El Tigre Journeys undertakes its SpiritQuest program seriously, it de-
mands a similar commitment from its customers. Potential clients are warned that
Ayahuasca Odyssey is designed for ?the mature, sincere, and respectful seeker of
cultural knowledge, spiritual enlightenment, and personal healing? (El Tigre Jour-
neys 2000: 4). They are cautioned that, ?some sacrifice is required to produce the
most positive results possible;? ?serious advance preparation and diet? is required
because the ingestion of ayahuasca is often ?challenging and . . . briefly uncom-
fortable? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 5). For all these reasons, and to ensure the best
individual attention, ?enrollment is limited to twelve participants.? True to the
formulas of mystical discourses?modeled on the archetypical search for the Holy
Grail?many are called but few are chosen.
Repeating the same formulas, participants are told that Ayahuasca Odyssey is
not only a serious mission but also ?a joyous undertaking.? The advertisers claim
that the ayahuasca ceremony is ?a rite of holistic purification with lasting benefits,
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 563
outweighing the temporary discomforts.? The experience will lead to ?great per-
sonal discovery, healing, rejuvenation, new knowledge, and renewed vigor for
life? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 5). Participants will have the opportunity to dis-
cover their ?personal power and the wisdom to use it to its greatest positive poten-
tial? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 6). This leads the advertisers to conclude whole-
heartedly that the Ayahuasca Odyssey ?could well be the best investment in your-
self you?ve ever made? (El Tigre Journeys 2000: 6).
The final statement shows how pervasive are capitalist metaphors and perspec-
tives. The advertisers?like many practitioners of New Age spirituality (Brown
1997)?conceive of the SpiritQuest experience as an investment; that is, as some-
thing that will produce a profit. Evidently, for all its apparent novelty, the spiritual
discourse does not differ substantially from the economic and political discourses
found in previous documents. Andrade, Bohorquez, and Capelo attempted to per-
suade the governments of their day that investment in the conquest of the Amazon
(through financing of missionary activities, granting of privileges to successful
conquistadors, or the construction of roads and railways) would produce ample
riches for the empire or the nation. The Shining Path attempts to persuade their
supporters that investment in the People?s War (through donations, but also through
actions of political support) will lead to the liberation of exploited Amazonian
indigenous peoples and, thus, to a more just and better world. In a similar vein, the
organizers of the Ayahuasca Odyssey attempt to persuade potential patrons by
assuring them that investment in their Amazonian tour will enhance their spiritual
capital and personal power.
In what seems an odd inversion of the old political economy of conversion, in
the rhetoric of the advertisers of El Tigre Journeys, nonindigenous peoples are
invited to come to the Amazon, not with the aim of converting the natives, but to
give the natives the opportunity of converting them. Already in possession of ma-
terial riches, but devoid of soul, ecotourists and cultural tourists?the new adven-
turers of postmodern times?are attracted to the Amazon, not to search for El
Dorado but to search for Nirvana.
THE CONSUMPTION OF THE OTHER
The above texts have been produced over a period of 350 years. As we have seen,
the social and political contexts in which they were written differed substantially.
Their authors have very different social, political, and intellectual backgrounds.
Their relationship with the state is also diverse. The texts they wrote belong to
different literary genres and, thus, present important epistemological and rhetori-
cal differences. Moreover, the texts were written with very different personal, po-
litical, and economic objectives in mind. Despite these many differences, how-
ever, all share a common, tripartite schema (cf. Ortner 1990). The authors begin by
alluding to the uniqueness and alienness of Amazonia. They compare it implicitly
with the Andes by referring to ecological, psychosociological, and historical tropes
F. Santos-Granero564
whose content, however, varies markedly from author to author according to the
particular objectives each pursued.
The Amazonian environment is alternatively represented as wild, harsh, and
unfit for human habitation; as magnificent, generous, and abundant in valuable
resources, or mystical secrets; or as exuberant and chaotic, but with great eco-
nomic, or strategic potential. In all cases, however, it is presented as radically
different from the Andes. In turn, Amazonian peoples are alternatively represented
as primitive, treacherous, and hostile savages; as noble, docile, and welcoming
persons; as ignorant but virile and dignified peoples; as oppressed, disorganized,
but indomitable warriors; or as wise guardians of ancestral spiritual wisdom. To
further underscore their uniqueness with respect to Andean peoples, most authors
add force to their imagined sociologies by resorting to historical arguments. Some
say that Amazonian peoples are so hostile that the Inkas were never able to con-
quer them; others that they were so welcoming that they gave refuge to Inka groups
escaping from Spanish conquistadors; and still others that they are so indomitable
that they managed to shake off Spanish domination through heroic uprisings.
Once the otherness and peripherality of the Amazon and its peoples has been
well established, and a clear boundary has been traced between both regions, the
authors go on to provide the reasons and justifications for why this boundary must
be crossed. Saving souls, gaining riches, disseminating progress, liberating the
oppressed, or achieving spiritual fulfillment are among the powerful moral, politi-
cal, or personal reasons adduced. Finally, they establish in no unclear way that the
only ones who can cross this boundary are themselves, or the institutions, govern-
ments, political parties, and companies they represent.
The recurrence of this tripartite schema, I suggest, is due not only to the fact
that the authors of these texts share common cultural patterns, but also because,
without exception, they all appear as selling an idea (or ideal) that, in their dis-
course, acquires the characteristics of a commodity. Franciscan missionaries were
selling redemption and the assurance of salvation, not to the natives?who could
not read anyway?but to the King and those in power who could advance the
evangelical cause. Spanish swashbucklers, such as Bohorquez, endeavored to sell
to the Spanish Crown the certainty of El Dorado, and with it the possibility of
attaining more glory, riches, and a greater empire. Capelo, like his fellow Civilistas,
promoted the notions of progress and civilization. But, above all, he was selling to
the government the hope for national integration, greater prosperity for its citi-
zens, and a stronger nation-state. The Shining Path was marketing revolution and
the promise of liberation, not to the Ash?ninka?most of whom are literate, but do
not know English?but to its international supporters. Finally, El Tigre Journeys
sells (literally) its tours, but it also sells (metaphorically) the promise of spiritual
empowerment, rejuvenation, and a new sense of purpose in a world that, for many,
is devoid of meaning.
Reading these texts, as well as many other texts describing Peru and its regions
by a variety of non-Amazonian social actors, I found that, with the exception of
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 565
hard-core scientific papers, Amazonia is either ignored altogether, or advertised as
if it was a commodity. This indifference is also present among social scientists. In
the studies of many Peruvian and Peruvianist historians, sociologists, archaeolo-
gists, and anthropologists, the term Andes is frequently used metonymically to
stand for Peru. However, whereas connections with the Pacific coast are acknowl-
edged and examined, relations with the Amazon are generally ignored. As a result,
the task of highlighting the ancient social and cultural links that existed (and ex-
ists) between the Amazon and the Andes has fallen to social scientists working in
the Amazon, or in the Amazon/Andes borderlands (e.g., Gnecco 2001; Hill 1988;
Rappaport 1990; Renard-Casevitz et al. 1988; Taussig 1991; Whitten 1981). It has
also devolved on the hands of indigenous peoples from both regions. As they
struggle in defense of their rights they have realized that their cultural commonali-
ties are stronger than their differences.
Between the Scylla of indifference and the Charybdis of commodification there
seems to be no center ground for portraying Amazonia. I suggest that this is so
because the boundary between the Amazon and the Andes does not merely mark
the limit between two ecologically different regions; it also separates an expand-
ing state sphere from a sphere where the state was not (or is not) firmly implanted.
In contexts where the state expands into regions over which it has no, or very
little control, the production of locality requires the representation of these lands
as peripheral, and of their inhabitants as wild Others. Moreover, it requires that
these peripheral lands and wild Others be represented as commodities to be used
and consumed. Central to this process is what Root (1996) has called ?the
commodification of difference? (xi). As conceived of by Root, this process entails
the valorization of difference (whether expressed in material objects or immaterial
entities) in terms of money and its transformation into commodities to be sold and
purchased at the marketplace?as is the case of the esoteric knowledge offered by
SpiritQuest tours. But it could also be seen as entailing the valorization and sym-
bolic consumption of alien lands and peoples as a justification for what their au-
thors conceive of as higher moral and political objectives, to wit, the imperialization
(Andrade and Bohorquez), nationalization (Capelo), neonationalization (the Shin-
ing Path?s ?New State?), or globalization (El Tigre Journeys) of the Other through
conquest, integration, liberation, or adoption.
The incorporation of the Amazonian Other, whether into the empire, the nation,
the Maoist New State, or a New Age, Star Trek?like world order, requires elimi-
nating existing boundaries by domesticating difference, and symbolically consum-
ing the Other. This is why the authors of these texts underscore their contributions
to the taming of Amazonian lands and peoples, or call for some sort of disciplining
of land and people (cf. Root 1996: 151). Father Andrade (1750[1662]: 78) claims
that the Provinces of Panatahuas and Payanzos?by which he means both the land
and its inhabitants??have been subjected to Our Holy Faith, and Christianity is
well rooted.? Bohorquez (Memorial 1986[1663]: 137) reports that the natives have
manifested their desire to convert to Christianity, and have asked him to ?bring
F. Santos-Granero566
priests and preachers to teach them the law of God.? Capelo (1895[1892]: 150)
argues in favor of transforming the unruly Amazonian environment through the
building of dams, roads and railways. The Shining Path (1993: 9) informs with
militant pride that they have ?organized the Ash?ninka? and ?trained them politi-
cally.? Finally, the representatives of El Tigre Journeys (2000: 5) advertise that
they ?are richly experienced in the facilitation, assimilation and integration of these
[shamanic] experiences for visiting participants.? In brief, the dangers implicit in
difference have to be eliminated through the disciplining and sanitized consump-
tion of the Others, who are thus transformed into a safe?diminished or eulo-
gized?version of ourselves.
In areas where state and nonstate formations encounter each other, and where
social actors are engaged in asymmetrical power relations often involving domi-
nation, discrimination, and exploitation, non-Amazonian state agents, their asso-
ciates, and opponents seem to be able to produce only imagined geographies, so-
ciologies, and histories of the wild Other, or to produce no representation at all.
This seems certainly to be the case of the borderlands between the Amazon and the
Andes. At first sight, the imagery produced by non-Amazonian social actors  is all
about the Amazon and its native populations. At closer inspection, it becomes ap-
parent that these representations are not about the Amazon, but about the Andes
and, by extension, about Peru, insofar as these two entities are linked in a met-
onymical relation.
Rather than constructing the Amazon by contrast with the Andes, these images
construct the Andes by opposition to the Amazon. The Andes are what they are in
the Peruvian imaginary because it has an Amazon to consume and be compared
with. Paraphrasing Root (1996: 157), we could assert that Peru?the Andes?con-
structed itself as a state system and nation through its conflicts with native Amazo-
nian peoples. The process of othering and symbolic consumption of the Amazon
and its people by the Andes hit a high point in the late eighteenth century, when the
toponym Anti or Andes, which in Inka and early colonial times was used to denote
the tropical lowlands east of Cuzco?the Inka imperial capital?began to be used
systematically in official maps and texts to refer to the highlands. Another crucial
moment in this process was reached in the late 1960s, when, through their political
rhetoric, the reformist military government transformed the highland Quechua and
Aymara ?Indians? (indios) into ?peasants? (campesinos), leaving the Amazonian
?natives? (nativos) as the only indigenous peoples in Peru. Clearly, these two ex-
amples illustrate how state agents can institute otherness through discourse and
practice.
If the politics of boundary-making consists in peripheralizing and othering the
Amazon and its people?that is, in representing it over and over again in such a
way as to justify the need for its incorporation?the magic of boundary-making
resides in the discursive sleight of hand through which contemporary agents con-
ceal the fact that the Amazon has long ago been incorporated, at least into the state
symbolic system (cf. Coronil 1997: 5). In fact, when depicting Amazonia, state
The Long-lasting Amazon/Andes Divide 567
agents and state opponents?such as the Shining Path?tend to omit that this re-
gion harbors Peru?s third largest city, includes more than 30% of Peru?s cultivated
land, provides more than 50% of the country?s agricultural exports, had the largest
increase in Gross Domestic Product during the 1970?1995 period, contains some
of the country?s provinces ranking highest in standard and quality of life, has pro-
duced the country?s most important regionalist movement, and holds one of the
most powerful indigenous confederations within the Amazon basin (cf. Santos-
Granero and Barclay 2000). To counter what Taussig (1991: 328) has called ?the
magic of ruling-class authority??as well as, we could add, ?the magic of revolu-
tionary authority??we should always keep in mind the warning that appears in
some rear view mirrors: ?Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.?
NOTES
Received 30 July 2002; accepted 29 August 2002.
Address correspondence to Fernando Santos-Granero, Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, Unit
0948, APO AA 34002-0948.
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