Scribd Logo
Upload

Welcome to Scribd!

  • Arkush 2009

    Uploaded by

    Edgar Bracamonte Lévano
    3 views16 pages
    Arkush 2009

    Copyright

    © © All Rights Reserved

    Available Formats

    PDF or read online from Scribd

    Did you find this document useful?

    Is this content inappropriate?

    Report this Document
    Arkush 2009

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    3 views16 pages

    Arkush 2009

    Uploaded by

    Edgar Bracamonte Lévano
    Arkush 2009

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    of 16
    AMERIND STUDIES IN ARCHAEOLOGY SERIES EDITOR JOHN WARE Mi Vol ew ‘Trincheras Sites im Time, Space, and Society Edited by Suzanne K. Fish, Paul R. Fish, and M. Elisa Villalpando Volume 2 Collaborating at the Trowel’s Edge: Teaching and Learning in Indigenous Archaeology Ealced by Stephen W. Silliman Volume 3 ‘Warfare in Cultural Context: Practice, Agency, and the Archaeology of Violence Ealced by Axel E. Nielsen and William Hi. Walker en 2604 WARFARE IN CULTURAL CONTEXT PRACTICE, AGENCY, AND THE ARCHAEOLOGY OF VIOLENCE EDITED BY AXEL E. NIELSEN AND WILLIAM H. WALKER THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA PRESS Tucson he Univesity of Arinna Press © 2009 The Arizana Board of Regents Allrights reserved syveuapressarizonaed Library of Gongses: Cataloging in-Publication Data ‘Warfare in euleeal context = practice, agency and the afchaeology of violence [edited by Ave E, Nilsen and Wiliam H. Walker ‘perm. — (Amerind sudies in archaeology s¥.3) Includes bibliographical references and inde. ISBN g78-0-8165-2707-6 1. Jndians—Warfare. 2, Indiane—Rites and ceremonies. 3. Waefus, Pichistotic America. 4. Social rchacology—Americ. 5, Violence ‘Atvetias I Nilsen, Axel EIT, Walker, William 1, 1964 Bs9.W3W575 2009 303.60973—deaa 2009025766 Publication ofthis book is made posible in pare by the proceeds of a permanent endowment created with the asitance of ¢ Challenge Grant from che National Endowment for the Humanities, 2 Feral agency a ‘Manufaciced inthe United States of America on acidic, archival-qualiy papet containing s minim of o% post-consumer waste ahd processed chlorine fe. a CONTENTS Introduction: The Archaeology of War in Practice 1 ‘Axel E, Nielien and William H, Walker Part | ‘Variation in the Practice of Prehispanic Wasfare on the North Coast of Peru 17 Theresa Lange Topic and Jobn R. Topic (Culture and Practice of War in Maya Society 56 Takeshi Inomata and Danicla Triadan ‘War Is Shell: The Ideology and Embodiment of Mississippian Conflict 84 Charles R. Cobb and Bretton Giles “Warfare and the Practice of Supernatural Agents 109 Walliams Hi. Walker Part Il ‘Warfare in Precolonial Central Amazonia: ‘When Carneiro Meets Clastres 139, Eduardo Gées Neves ‘Warfare and Political Complexity in an Egalitarian Society: ‘An Ethnohistorical Example 165 Pally Wiessner “Warfare, Space, and Identity in the South-Central Andes: Constraints and Choices 190 Elieabeth Arkush “Ancestors at War: Meaningful Conflict and Social Process in the South Andes 218 Axel E. Nieken ee pee EEE EEE Oe Warfare, Space, and Identity in the South-Central Andes Constraints and Choices Elizabeth Arkush “The innovative focus ofthis volume offers the chance to look at warfare through the lens of practice theory in a cultural context in which the approach is perhaps counterintuitive. In many other contexts, includ ing those discussed by several other contributors—Maya, Mississip- pan, and Moche, co name a few—there is ample evidence that elabo- sae ideologies surrounded warfare, death in was, and warvior personae. Archaeologists can draw on a body of material culture frcighted with symbolic meaning about warfare: “sacra” (to use Vernon James Knight's [1986] term) proclaiming warrior prowess and valorizing elite etatus, human ezophies, prestige goods circulated in peacemaking or aliances, monuments intended to display the military might of & center or & leader, and iconogeaphies that are richly illustrative of warfare practice ‘and belief, Other material remains testify to riually charged activities linked to warfare, such as the construction of war temples or the pub- lic sacifce of war captives. These provide a fertile field for practice- ‘based analyse. Tn general, these kinds of evidence are lacking in the Titicaca basin of the south-central Andes in the era prior to the Inka conquest, the Late Intermediate Period (LI, ca. Ab 1000-1450). Contact-petiod doc- uments state there were powerfl warring leaders in the region who right be expected to have engaged in militaristic ideologies. Earlier in the archaeological sequence in this same region, rituals of violence and the iconography of violence are highly developed. In che LIP, evidence ‘of fortifications, weapons, and skeletal trauma suggests that warfare was ‘quite intense and probably affected many aspects of life at the time. “However, rituals and beliefs about warfare, while they surely existed, did not leave obvious traces. Warfare in the LIP in the Titicaca basin Warfare, Space, y we thus lacks the flamboyant, culeuclly distinctive quality of some other areas and periods, In consequence, this case highlights some of the most baste theo- retical isues raised by this volume. In particular, it poses the question of whether itis appropriate to restrict our ideas of practice in war to warfare behavior that is distinctively shaped by its cultural comtext— in other words, behavior that does not fit ou: notions of least-effort functionality or rationality. Such behavior is noe particularly evident in the LIP in the Titicaca basin; whar are detectable instead are expedient choices about tevitory and group identity, made in a context of intensi- fying warfare, [argue that chese choices, made within the constraints of severe competitive pressure, can usefully be seen as aspects of practice. This chapter frst discusses the way practice theory is applied to war fare and outlines the ways in which i can inform the differentiation of social groups and group territories in space during wartime. The next section briefty discusses the LIP in the Titicaca basin and the archaco- logical sequence leading up to i. Finally, I take a practice approach to the development of a sociopolitical landscape of group identities and group boundaries di iating ally from foe. Practice and Constraint in War Peactice theory bridges the realms of individual action and “structure,” allowing both cultural persistence and culture change to be seen as the cumulative result of many actions—often routinized or habitual —eaken by many individual agents In chese actions, individuals ceproduce and ‘embody fundamental, shared beliefs about the ordering of the world. As people face new challenges and changing situations, they actively refor- _mulace existing practices to further thei interests (social, economic, and politica) and to make sense of the world they inhabit. This conscious ‘and creative retooling of practice is what archaeologists usually mican by “agency.” Practice theory is thus a powerful tool for explaining how individuals’ actions both reproduce and alter larger-scale social patterns, for structure, It rests on the assumption that both individual actions and the latger patterns they create are not determined—that there is “wiggle toom” for individual improvisation as wel as for cultural vai ability between societies. Thus, implicit in practice theory, especially to Eliabess Arkuch in contrast to catliee anthropological theory, isthe idea of relaxed con- straints on action and outcome. Indeed, Pierre Bourdieu’s project, in ‘outlining a theory of practice, was partly to explain social reproduction ‘without recourse to “rules” oF other rigid, deterministic ordcring struc tures (Bourdieu 1978, 1980). Those examples with vhich he illscrates his theory are precisely behaviors and patterns that vary greatly from cone society to the next: language, festival, rituals, gift exchange, eti- quette, the spatial organization of houses. “Thus, when locating practice in the archaeological record, archae~ ‘ologists tend to look for those aspects of behavior that are not solely ‘explicable through practical reason, in the sense explored by William ‘Waller (2002)—-that are not universal or obviously utilitarian. Exam- ples of such behavior abound in warfare. Beliefs, sivuals, depictions, and displays about warfare are potentially unlimited in their vatibil- 1 and indeed, they can only be explained with reference to thelr par- ticular culeural contests. Signals—the mutilation of a war victit, che wweating of fearsome war paint or dress, the display of group strength through various means—form a centrally important clement of warfare 1n most soctedes and, like any ouler foun of eonnsunication, belong to a culturally specific lexicon. Another example might be conventionsl- ized practices that altered actual combat, such as counting coup among the Plains Indians (Mishkin 1940), Greek hoplice battles (Runciman, 1998; Lynn 2003), or places of asylum from violence in Hawaiian war- fare (Kolb and Dixon 2002). While these practices were often discarded. in confrontations with excernal groups, they could arise and be main tained (at lease for a time) among competing societies that shared a cultural framework. Finally, paerns of warfare that perpetuate them- selves without an obvious external cause could be seen as the result of repeated practices that reinforce ideas about war, validate vengeance, and instill a warrior identity in new generations. For instance, Clay- ton Robarchek and Carole Robarchek (1998) atcribute persistent war among the Waorani of Ecuador not external factors such as popala- tion pressure or protein scarcity, but to variety of cultutal notms that are themselves exacerbated by endemic warlare. These aspects of war- fare, because they allow room for cultural idfosyncrasy, ate a ist glance more attractive choices fora practice-based analysis than behaviors chat ae strongly constrained by external pressures. Particularly atractive are Warlie, Space and Wensy ws those behaviors that seem ro lessen (or at least not increase) the odds ‘of winning, For instance, Walker (2002) specifically identifies evidence of (to the Western observer) “impractical,” ratian” behas American Southwest However, if we focus exclusively on this cultural variability, we risk losing sight of th limits on warfare practice, We fall into the trap, not of pacifying the past (as Lawrence Keeley (1996) asserts), but of fil- ing, to reengnize the difficult decisions, the fea, and the sacrifices that must often have pervaded life in times of war. Indeed, most scholars consider warfare so hazardous and traumatic that ic must be explained as a response to acute needs and powerful incentives (e.g, Ferguson 1984, 1990). In addition, warfare itself creates an environment of song competitive pressures, wherein a group that does nor effectively defend itself risks physical or social extinction. As much as warfare practice is embedded in culture, ici also driven by the desire to avoid defeat. “This utilitarian need resus in many patterns that are nor culturally spe rational,” and “nonutl fas a window into the ritual aspects of warfare in the cifie—for instance, commonalities in the way fortifications and weap- ‘ous were desipued atuninl de globe. White walls aud weapons were indeed produced and reproduced through a framework of culturally transmicced practical knowledge, one can explain their form satis rily without recourse to practice theory. ‘An alternative approach, then, is to consider the practice of warfare 1s something that takes place within external constraints, and within the bounded realm of what is militarily effective in a given social, demographic, and environmental context. For instance, Brian Ferguson (0990) proposes a model of “a nested hierarchy of constraining factors, progressively limiting possibilities,” in which material and infrastruc- tural faetors are the “hard!” Firsts which there is play or leeway for social and ultimately ideological structure wo influence warfare prac- tice. This model may be too rigid in some ways (for instance, in insist- ing that warfare must always derive from material causes at root and failing to recognize the way practices themselves alter infrastructure), bur ie is a usefl stating poine for thinking about limits on warfare practice and their degree of flexibility. One could make the objection (as do Axel Nielsen and William Walker, this volume) that, from an emic perspective, such a model is 194 Eliaabet Arkh seaningless, Every choice is utilitarian within is cultural framework. Caleural norms and beliefs may constrain action just as much as exrer- nal factors; indeed, to an actor, the distinction between “internal” and *eiternal” factors may be irrelevant. Howeves, the distinction is eele- vant to us as observers whenever we take a comparative approach to wwarfare—as we do in this volume, Contexts of wat differ greatly and change greatly over time; we as anthropologists would aacurally like to know why (even if the question would not occur to an actor within such 2 context). One fundamental reason for such differences is dif ferent settings of demography, environment, and sociopolitical orga~ nization, and recognizing these fictors, as Ferguson suggests allows us to identify the realm of agency and culeural variability where practice becomes useful as « conceptual tool. Because there are rematkable co ‘rasts between the Titicaca basin and other areas covered in this volume, itis clear that the balance of infiastructural constraints and culturally specific practices changes feom one place to another ot ovet time in the same place. Here, | simply restate the obvious: that human choices, including those about warlare (especially those about warfare, We could yu), take place in a world of constraints and pressures. As warfare intensifies, the pressure increases on individuals and groups to do whatever is nec ices and practices essary to improve the chances of survival. "These ch made in an environment of incense competitive pressures cannot be said co violate “practical resson”—indeed, they are strongly utilitarian, In this sense, they may not strongly reflect a distinctive cultural context, Nevertheless, they can fruitfully be seen as “practice” in that they create hhiscorically specific situations chat further inform and constrain zetion One of the main ways they do so is in exeating and reproducing social identities in space. Conflict, Cultural Identity, and Space “The concept of socal identity, particularly ethnicity, isa dominant the- retical theme in anthropological archaeology. Since at leest the 19605, social scientists have viewed ethnic groups as defined by subjective afii- ation or ascription rather than by objective criteria such as genealogy, Janguage, o “race” (Fenton 2003). Ac the same time, most would agree Wa Space, and Identey bs that ethnic identity must be based on at least a perception of shared culture, history, and ancestry for it to be seen as “ethnic” co begin with, A primary question has been how much conscious awareness and con- trol human actors have in the construction of ethnicity: whether eth: nic affiliation oF ethnic ascription by oursiders is tied to deep, invol- uuntary loyalties to kin, place of origin, and “our way” of doing things (che “primordialse” view Shils 1957: Geerer 1963: Gil White 1999) or is, constructed and mobilized strategically ane expediently in pursuit of shared political interests, rendering it fluid and contingent (the “instru mentalist” view; Barth 1969; Glazer and Moynihan 1975). For archaeologists, this question has posed problems for the most basic task of identifying cultural groups—a task that has almost always been based on stylistic differences in material culture, Much archaco- logical and ethnoarchaeological lireracure has centered on whether sryle reflects ethnicity, as well as on finding a palatable explanation for why ic should do s0 (e.g, Wiessner 1983, 1990; Hodder 1982; Sackett 1986, 19905 Shennen 19895 Carr and Neitze 1995; Emberling 1997; Jones 19973, Dietler and Herbich 1998; Stark 1998). Several scholars have concluded that the problem is best resolved through a practice cheocy approach (Bentley 1987; Jones 1997; Diedler and Herbich 1998). In this view, the repeated practices of daly life make up a sense of cultural identity and ‘custom that is deeply felt, but that can also be consciously manipu- laced. Style may express identity and affiliation in both rourinized and. rentional ways, Indeed, the act of differentiating one’s group from others through material culture style is @ significant part of the “ethnic process.” Recently, archaeologists have also considered the ways culeueal identity may be expressed in house structure and other aspects of the use of space, in mortuary situal, craft production, food choices, bodily modification: however, they have not closely examined how arciculared in violence against outsiders. Nevertheless, there isan obvious relationship berween group affilia- ‘ion and acts of violence against those outside the group. ‘The modern ‘world is rife with tensions that are portrayed by outsiders and concep- ‘ualized by insiders as rooted in ethnic and religious identities, alehough scholars who study these conflicts vigorously reject the idea thac eth hic of sectarian difference ultimately cancer conflict (Allen and Eade 1996; Eller 1999). Rather, they consider other problems to lead to che 136 Blnabeth Arbus mobilization and militarization of ethnic groups (see Brubaker and Lai- tin 1998). For instance, David Turton (t997) stresses the role of “ethnic enuiepreneurs” in the former Yugoslavia, Revanda, and Eehiopis: pol ticians and intellectuals who consolidated their political power by gal vanizing ethnic sentiment and selectively recrafting ethnic histories of pride and grievance, Violence farther sharpens ethnic distinctions and plays into the hands of these factional leaders. Thus, warfare can play an active role in the ethnic process. “Meanwhile, anthropologists who study conflict and violence in tea- tional societies have proposed interesting ideas about how kinship- based social structures direct violence ourwards, towards peoples per- ceived as less genealogically related (e.g, Sahlins 1961; Oterbein 1968, 1970: see Solometo 2006). When violent conflict arises between com: smuunities that consider themselves to be related, it is typically more zestticted and less brutal chan wars with outsiders—for instance, muti- fation and crophy taking may be permissible in wars against outsid- «ers, but not in wars berween communities with strong social and kin- ship tics (Solometo 2006). Hence, while collective violence may have its roots in other phenomena—physlcal and econo insecity For instance—ideas of shared ancestry, patterns of socal interaction, and alliances built on perceived relatedness channel this violence to the boundaries ofthe larger social group. Inthe process, this structured vio- lence enforces an eres the group a8 meaning nity, Thus jonal histories of group identities, allegiances, and hostilities inform Eko of was even fhe ay normaly “xu Puke tat, this volume) Ethnic groups are often closely associated with specific tectitories in space, and the relationship of people to the space they use is also forced by warfare. Wars over land or over resources Bixed in space rein force the concept of exclusive tetivory. They may lead the group to sig- zal its tesicorial rights with visible, durable markers that become closely connected with the groups identity and history. A group dispossessed of ins land is also robbed of its culvural identity and its shated past. Bven when wars are not pursued specifically to gain territory, chronic warfare creates a hostile environment in which portions of the landscape are “enemy territory’—too dangerous to ventut into in the normal course coflife. Warfare results in che creation of no-man’-lands or buffer zones, ‘Warfare, Space, and Identiy 97 Farther demarcating friendly from hostile terrain; i causes dislocations, defensive nucleation, and che building of new communities geared for defense. Fortifications proclaim control of territory and vividly define sociopolitical groups at the level of the fort, as insiders versus outsid~ 118 (Adams 1966; Liu and Allen 1999). These effects, while familiar co archaeologists, ate not normally examined from a practice approach However, theft isa natural one, Since the inception of practice theory, «2 dominant concern has been the way people reproduce and embody the social and cosmological order inthe spatial arrangements oF houses dorsettlements, and the ways these physical structures, in turn, reinforce the social order through daily practice (Bourdieu 1978). Archaeologists hhave expanded the spatial analysis of practice 1o teat the social mean- ing embeded in landscapes (eg., Deev 9901 Tilley 1994). Archaeolo- gists who use insights from practice cheory treat landscape as a form of materialized and lasting “structure”—something that is shaped by ‘humans, and that in carn durably orders and influences human action. Landscapes of war certainly fic this description. ‘They not only reflece ‘group identities and group boundaries: they reproduce these elation ships through proximity with fends, distance from enemies, and buile defenses. ‘While landscapes of group identicies and group boundaries may have emerged in varied ways, violent conflict was probably often involved, and endemie warfare can be seen as a crucible for the creation or hard «ning of identities of Us and Other. For instance, Jonathan Haas (1990) traces the process of tribalizaion in the American Southwest dacing a time of environmental degradation Chaco collapse. Archaeologists and bi sian Wars were crucial in crystallizing the idea of a pan-Greck ethnic identity vis-d-vis the foreigner (Bovon 1963; Hall 1997). The emergence and persistence of ertitorally defined groups in conflict-ridden con- ‘exes illustrates Frederik Barths fundamental insight (1969) that eth- nic groups are created and maintained through the creation and active maintenance of ethnic boundarier. “The Andean region has all the ingredients discussed above: a com- plex mosaic of ethnic groups. very strong ties between these groups and the lands they inhabited, and a history of endemic warfare, At the time of the Spanish conquest, the Inka empire had only been in existence id intensified warfare after the jorians examine how the Per- 98 Hlzabth Arsh for about a century, and under a veneer of empite-wide institutions lay a patchwork of native groups whose identities were closely linked to specific places in che Andean geography. (Indeed, the importance of specific lands ¢o Andean groups is indicated by the Inka policy of the forced resertlement of recalcitrant subject populations, sometimes aver very long distances) I believe that these identities took theie specific forms prior co Inka conquest in the LIP. and that they did so in the con- text of frequent warfare, evidenced by widespread defensive setlement patterns. Here, [examine how warfare may have been related to space and group identity in one case, inthe northern Titicaca basin of Per ‘Warfare in the Titicaca Basin In the Titicaca basin, the Late Intermediate Period followed the col- lapse of the state of Tiwanaku in the southern basin ca, aD 4000 and swas succeeded by the Inka conquest of the area around aD 1430. This intecvening petiod was described by Inkas and other native informants as a general time of war in the Andes. The Titicaca basin was said to hhave been dominated by warlike regional ethnic groups: inthe norchern basin, the paramount lord of te Collas fad politically consolidated « large region chrough the conquest of many other Colla lords and bat- tled with the lords of the Lupacas and Cans, similarly sized groups to the south and north respectively (e.g, Betancos {1551-19571 1996:93: ‘Cobo (1653) 1979:139-1403 Cieza {t553] 1984:274, 279; [1553] 198535, 22, sno, 133; Sarmiento {t572] 1988:105-106). These accounts portray the Callas and their southern neighbors, the Lupacas, as some of the lrg «est and mose politically centralized ofthe Andes prior to Inka conquest, proco-states led by powerful hereditary warlords who vied for control of the region. ‘Archaeologically, one of the most noticeable trends of the LIP was a shift to dispersed hillside and hilltop settlements, often fortified. This dlfensive settlement pattern is evidence of much more intense wacfsre than at any other point in the prehispanic sequence. The ukimate cause of intensified watfire i not céviain, but the timing OF the construe tion and occupation of fortified sites suggests that long-term series of droughts was a significane factor (Ackush 2008), In the high-alsitude, frost-prone aliplano, agriculture is very sensitive to precipitation, and. proditetive agricultural lands ate limited. ‘Ware, Space, and Wenig 199 “The pressure of warfare in the LIP manifests itself mose strikingly to the archaeologist asa great proliferation of hilltop fortified sites known in the Andes as pukaras. From 2000 to 2002, 1 conducted a reseatch project specifically aimed ac clarifying pukara characteristics, use pat- terns, and regional distribution in the northern and northwestern Tit «aca basin, territory associated with the Collas (Arkush 2005; Arkush 22008). Pukaras are very numerous in the Colla are, and in most of the rest ofthe Titicaca basin as well (Barreda 1938; Bennett 1933, 1950; Frye 1997; Hyslop 1976; Neira 1967; Seanish et al, 1997: Scanish 2003; Tapia Pineda 1978a, b, 1985). Their use varied; some were lightly used outposts or refuges, while others were permanent sevtlements. ‘The builders of pukaras paid close attention to the strength and design of defenses. Pukaras follow a canon of one to seven concentric defensive walls, interrupted by cliffs. Walls are thickest and highest on the sides of the hill thac are most approachable, and sometimes they peter our on steep ground. Entrances usually consist of several small doorways that could be easily blocked from the inside, and they are ‘often (though not always) staggered from one wall to the next, creating an enclosed “billing alley” that autackers would have w pass duvuglh Walls vary greatly in size: at the largest pukaras, they are truly mas- up to about four meters thick and five meters high. They often have a parapet remaining, especially on the most vulnerable sides. Piles of tiver cobbles for use as slingstones or throwing stones can be found just inside the defensive walls in some cases. Many pulkaras ate con very high hills that are difficule to access and exposed to stormy ‘weather, and in more than four-fifths of the forty-four pukaras sur veyed in the project, we could locate no year-round water source on site, For thirteen pukaras, including at lease eight settlements with substantial domestic architecture or artifacts, water is a least half an hhour’s walk away, and this is true for at least eight settlements with substantial domestic architecture or artifacts. In other words, the dan- ger of attack was great enough that people made substantial sacrifices for safety: they were willing C live on high hills ineonventently Tar from water and to invest considerable labor in building defenses. Nev- ‘ertheless, their preparations were not always effective. At the funerary ‘eave of Molino-Chilaeachi the time of pukara use, 15 percent of the forty-four adult crania from the southwestern basin, which dates to Eliabeth Arba disarticulated skeletons (probable secondary burials) had frontal or parietal fractures, probably from maces or slingstones, including sev- cral healed injuries (de la Vega et al. 2002). In surveying the high, windy, inaccessible peaks where Colla peo- ple chose to build, che cumulacve subjective impression is of a human landscape shaped powerfully by fear. This setdlement pattetn suggests that intense warfare placed great constraints on the room for decision, including decisions about warfare itself: where and how to Live, how +0 expend collective labor, how to protect a setlement, how far it was acceptable to travel to fields and water sources. These decisions and the larger patcerns chey constirated were rigorously driven by neces Warfare and Cultural Context in the LIP Several con:ributors to this volume relate warfare to its cultural con text by specifically focusing on the rituals and ideologies that surround ‘warfare. But in the LIR in contrast to earlier periods, there are very few ‘ues in the Titicaca basin archaeological record about war-tlated ritual and belief. Weapons have been found in some LIP y.aves. Tounbs in the northern Titicaca basin neat Ayavic, excavated by David Bustina Men énder (i960), contained polished bola stones’, Among che grave goorls atthe funeraty cave of Molino-Chilacachi were macanas, swords made of hardwood from the lowlands east of the basin (de la Vega 2002). Because these like most LIP butials, were multiple burials, che weapons and other grave goods were not clearly associated with any particular individual (or gender), But che fac chat people were buried with weap- ‘ons suggests thatthe weapons were an iraportant element of ther social identity, and possibly thac individuals needed protection after death Supporting evidence comes from the later contact petiod. In Nicasio in the middle of Colla territory in the late 15408, the early Colonial observer Pedro Cieza de Leén witnessed mourning ceremonies for the funeral of a great lord, in which lamenting women went through the town carrying the lord's arms, headdress, clothing, and seat (i984:279 {L.)). Given that Cicza describes this as typical of Colla burial customs, the deceased was probably an important local ford rather than an Inka governor. Again, arms, as well as other symbols of status, were closely enough associated with a leader to be displayed in a procession on his death. Warlate, Space, and emsoy 2o Rituals or conventions may have applied during and after accual combat, if eatly Colonial descriptions of remembered pre-Inka wat- fare are reliable. Don Pedro Mercado de Peiialosa gives one of the few accounts of warfate practice, for the Pacajes of the southern Titicaca basin ((1586] 1885:59). He states that the Pacajes traditionally fought nude, protected by wooden shields, their limbs and face daubed with colors to appear fierce to their enemies. Cieza mentions war-related uals, stating that afer battle, Andean groups “wene eriumphantly back to the heights of the hills where they had their castles, and chere made sacrifices to the gods they worshipped, pouring before the rocks and idols much blood of humans and animals” (3985:6 (IL.iv}). However, this isa statement about the Andes in general, and there is no guarantee icapplies to the people of the Titicaca basin, Ie is also possible to make some loose speculations based on our knowledge of later Titicaca basin society. At the time of Spanish contact, the Titicaca basin (like much of the rest of the Andes) ws populated bya legion of powerful place spiits (associated with mountains, rivers, and springs), and ancestors were present and active in human affairs. Propitiating theve powerful epiria and seeking the help of ancestors was probably an important aspect of warfare. Harry ‘Tschopik (1946:563), in his ethnography of the Aymara, noted the importance of divination before any significant undertaking, and we might guess that several cen- tures before, divination was a prelude to violent action, Nevertheless, these rituals and beliefs are diffcule to verily atchaeologically and do not have any support at this point. Indeed, one of the most notable changes of che LIP from ealier peri- ods (along with intensified warfare) is the marked diminution of mate- rial expressions of ideology, including the disappearance of long-lived forms of ceremonial architecture such as platform mounds and sunken courts. Even the largest LIP centers had relatively litte in the way of

    You might also like