M´as All´a Encuentran Los Antiguos: Temporality, Distance and Instrumentality in Aymara Interactions with Archaeological Landscapes

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Más Allá Encuentran Los Antiguos: Temporality, Distance andInstrumentality in Aymara Interactions with Archaeological Landscapes

Benjamin Vining

Cambridge Archaeological Journal / Volume 25 / Issue 01 / February 2015, pp 239 - 259DOI: 10.1017/S0959774314001073, Published online: 04 March 2015

Link to this article: http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S0959774314001073

How to cite this article:Benjamin Vining (2015). Más Allá Encuentran Los Antiguos: Temporality, Distance and Instrumentality in Aymara Interactionswith Archaeological Landscapes. Cambridge Archaeological Journal, 25, pp 239-259 doi:10.1017/S0959774314001073

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Mas Alla Encuentran Los Antiguos: Temporality, Distanceand Instrumentality in Aymara Interactions with

Archaeological Landscapes

Benjamin Vining

Aymara herders in the highland regions of southern Peru and Bolivia express highly am-bivalent attitudes towards archaeological patrimony. In this post-colonial setting, theyfollow strong avoidance behaviours towards archaeological sites directly associated withgentiles — the mummified remains of prehistoric, pagan individuals. Conversely, certainarchaeological features are incorporated into modern discourses. This selective embrac-ing of archaeological landscapes inscribes socially relevant features within contemporaryidentities, while repudiating others. Aymara use perceived spatial and temporal distance,reinforced with linguistic and mytho-historic constructs, to map social difference onto ar-chaeological landscapes. Perceived distance separates Aymara from undesirable gentiles,whose threatening characteristics are embedded in historic experience. They relegate thesedangerous social others to the past and envelop them in notions of remoteness. Simulta-neously, Aymara use perceived proximity with favourable sites to draw inclusive socialand geographic boundaries around their communities and to establish strategic priority forthemselves, often in the context of conflicts. These divergent responses are highly sensitive toeconomic aspirations, political environments and resource-rights disputes, indicating thatinstrumental motivations factor significantly in Aymara attitudes towards archaeologicalheritage. Such opposing interactions underscore the contingency of attitudes towards thearchaeological past. Both, however, can be understood as part of a coherent worldview thatuses space, time and distance to construct social landscapes.

Introduction

Archaeological sites are ubiquitous in the Andeanhighlands. Combined with good preservation andhigh visibility in many instances, accumulated re-mains contribute to dense cultural landscapes. Theinteractions that local populations have with thesearchaeological sites are highly variable. In a post-colonial setting, notions of pride and heritage canbe intermixed with aversion. Archaeological pasts,viewed through lenses of racism and hegemoniccolonialism, have been used to construct essential-ized social otherness (e.g. Arkush 2012; Curtoni &

Politis 2006). Modern national politics, tourism andeconomic development can substantially shift at-titudes, creating competing attitudes that alter-nately downplay or emphasize archaeological her-itage within environments of conflict.

This paper discusses attitudes Aymara herdersin the Lake Suches basin of southern Peru have to-wards archaeological sites. The Aymara are an in-digenous ethno-linguistic group residing predom-inantly in highland central Andean regions, withmodern populations in Peru, Bolivia and north-ern Chile. The ideas Suches herders express to-wards archaeological sites can be categorized in two

Cambridge Archaeological Journal 25:1, 239–259 C© 2015 McDonald Institute for Archaeological Researchdoi:10.1017/S0959774314001073 Received 22 Jan 2014; Accepted 16 Nov 2014; Revised 24 Sep 2014

http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0959774314001073

Benjamin Vining

different ways. Both categories help reinforce contem-porary social boundaries, but in divergent manners.These opposed views derive in part from the per-ceived relevance each type of site has for contempo-rary issues.

Archaeological sites associated with prehispanicpopulations are compartmentalized from modernsocial lives. These sites are said to be the residencesof gentiles — the supernatural remains of prehispanic,pagan individuals characterized as dangerous andantisocial. Gentiles and the archaeological sites wherethey live (casas gentiles) are the subjects of aversionand repudiation. They help delimit modern Aymaracommunities largely by identifying what contempo-rary Aymara are not. The use of prehispanic sites andpopulations to differentiate modern Aymara fromthe past and to define otherness has been attributedto Colonial-era campaigns, which forced profoundruptures between indigenous populations and pre-hispanic cultures (Hardman 1984). Nielsen (2008)argues that similar ‘systematic forgetting campaigns’forced schisms even earlier in the prehispanic period.Social ruptures between highland communities andarchaeological ‘others’ may have great time-depthand are important events in the cultural developmentof the region.

In contrast to gentiles, other archaeological fea-tures are integrated into modern identities as markersthat substantiate socio-spatial boundaries. In Suches,competition between Aymara herders and non-localinterests over water resources lead to aggressive po-litical disputes where these boundaries are contested.Water from Suches is exploited for commercial agri-cultural and mining uses. Boundaries have becomeincreasingly contentious as the exploitation of waterintensifies. Certain archaeological features are used todelimit Aymara claims to water, and to substantiateclaims to financial compensation as required by na-tional laws.

Aymara in Suches alternately repudiate or em-brace archaeological sites to define social bound-aries. Contingent attitudes are sensitive to thesocio-political contexts surrounding the highlandcommunities. These environments influence attitudestowards archaeological materials and, in turn, howAymara communities construe archaeological her-itage. The concept of archaeological heritage conse-quently extends beyond physical materials to includethe social value of archaeological sites vis-a-vis theirideological, ethnic, political and economic import inboth traditionalist and contemporary contexts. In theparticular case of Suches, ambivalent ideas about ar-chaeological heritage are closely related to historic andcontemporary experiences of conflict. Comparisons

with other modern Aymara communities show sim-ilar ambivalence towards archaeological sites, whichvary on a community-by-community basis accordingto local identity constructions, interests in heritagetourism and other involvements with economic de-velopment (Aedo 2008; Gil Garcıa 2006; 2011; Nielsenet al. 2003).

Complex social landscapes emerge from suchcontingent interactions with archaeology. Aymaramap social difference onto archaeological landscapes,using notions of spatio-temporal distance embeddedin linguistic structures and mytho-historic narratives.Social difference is construed as temporal distance,and is translated into perceived spatial distance. So-cial others belong to another space and time. These‘vectors of difference’ (Haber 2007) create an intricatelandscape of perceived proximity/remoteness, wherenotions of space and time pertain to perceived so-cial relevance more than to absolute metrics. A spatialparadox results: many archaeological sites are adja-cent to or even coterminous with modern occupations.These sites are disclaimed — perceived as spatio-temporally remote and excluded from modern iden-tity — while more distant landscape features definesocio-geographic boundaries. These apparently con-tradictory attitudes promote social cohesion by dif-ferentiating Aymara communities from ancient paststhat are now alien, on the one hand, and from com-peting interests of contemporary non-Aymara, on theother. Both attitudes are expressions of a single world-view that measures spatial and temporal distance asa function of social relevance.

The ways archaeological sites are construed re-flect different ways of place making, or how a loca-tion is instilled with social meaning. Meaning canbe generated inadvertently, as activities reoccur ina location and communities repeatedly interact withthat space. Place making through sustained interac-tion is comparable to identity and similar constructsgenerated through habitual activity. This includesdwelling, practice, performance, or similar paradigmsthat emphasize routine acts. A ‘dwelling perspec-tive’ proposes that individuals act within a preex-isting world, which in turn informs their engage-ment with their surroundings (Ingold 2000). Meaningis generated as actions become embedded in land-scapes densely packed with human and non-humanactors and structuring features (Ingold 1993; Turner& Bruner 1986). Archaeological landscapes are con-stituted through the activities of dwellers; they takeon meaning through the experiences and perceptionsdwellers have of archaeological sites (Ingold 1993).

Actively perceiving relationships with entitiesthat evoke the past is an important element of the

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dwelling perspective: ‘To perceive the landscape istherefore to carry out an act of remembrance’ (Ingold1993, 152). How can acts of remembrance be recon-ciled with ‘systematic forgetting campaigns’? In par-ticular, how do Aymara perceptions of archaeologicallandscapes relate to remembrance, when the sites thatostensibly might inspire remembrance are explicitlydisavowed?

Place making occurs as well through the delib-erate construction of meaning and the articulation ofmental templates with certain locations. A ‘buildingperspective’ holds that ideal mental models are im-posed or overlain onto an external world (Cloke &Jones 2001). Social meanings projected onto a loca-tion may conform to instrumental criteria, and are of-ten explicit. While a constructionist perspective is of-ten contrasted with the dwelling perspective, the twoneed not be fundamentally exclusive. The dwellingand constructionist perspectives can intersect at thepoint where historic or social experiences and aspira-tions — beyond an individual’s direct lived involve-ment — are subsumed within individual perceptionand subsequent action.

The attitudes that Suches Aymara hold towardsarchaeological sites thus reflect interplay betweenlived experience, social memory and constructedperceptions of archaeological pasts. Aymara interactspatially with both embraced and repudiated sites.Divergent responses originate in how sites concep-tually relate to modern identity and social bound-aries, however. Mental and linguistic models con-struct sites as either isolated from or enveloped withincontemporary social life. Models become importantwhen attitudes and experiences reflect events be-yond the purview of individual, lived experience. Re-producing perceived historic experience in contem-porary attitudes, interacting with sites according tocollective objectives in the context of greater socio-political events, and reconciling new or non-localmeanings with lived experience all rely on imple-menting mental models. In this manner, place mak-ing and attitudes regarding archaeological heritagerequire constructionist and dwelling behaviours tointersect.

In the remainder of this paper, I introduce theSuches basin region and the apparent paradox arisingout of the divergent attitudes Aymara herders holdtowards archaeological sites. I argue these attitudesare best understood in two contexts: 1) historic expe-riences that encourage Aymara to disassociate them-selves from prehispanic pasts, on one hand, while 2)contemporary resource conflicts encourage them toselectively emphasize archaeological heritage to sub-stantiate claims, on the other. In the case of Suches,

divergent attitudes reflect the perceived social rele-vance of different categories of archaeological locus.Other highland communities express similarly contin-gent attitudes towards archaeological heritage. Com-parisons of these cases show the influence identityconstruction, economic aspirations, extra-group dis-putes and other pressures have on shifting attitudestowards sites. These cases show complex processesof place making. Aymara map social difference ontolandscapes using concepts of space and time, withimplications for how archaeological places are lever-aged in contemporary conflicts. Instrumental motiva-tions and dwelled experiences are combined to gener-ate contingent social landscapes, sensitive to externalpressures.

Archaeological background to the Suches region

Suches is a high-elevation lake basin, between 4400and 5200 m above sea level, in the western cordilleraof southern Peru (Fig. 1). The climate in Suches isvery cold and dry, with sub-arctic alpine conditions.Despite its environmental marginality, Suches is oneof the most productive high-elevation pastoral re-gions in the south-central Andes. It has hosted sig-nificant populations during prehistory. Suches wasutilized continuously by foraging groups from atleast 9800 years ago onwards. Middle–Late Archaicsites (8200–4000 bp) are densely scattered throughthe basin. By 4500 bp, hunting wild camelids hadshifted to reliance on domesticated animals and amode of sedentary pastoralism developed unique tothe high Andes. Pastoralism subsequently was theprevailing land use mode. Prehispanic villages andhamlets occupied by individual herding families areubiquitous in pasturing territories that continue tobe utilized. Suches also links urban populations inthe southern Lake Titicaca altiplano with their agri-cultural and ethnic enclaves in the Pacific lowlandsand sierra (Goldstein 2005; Julien 1985; Knudson et al.2004; Pease 1985; Van Buren 1995). Suches was a reg-ular interaction corridor as early as the Late For-mative Period (c. ad 200), with intensified use dur-ing the Tiwanaku, Inca and Colonial states (Stanishet al. 2010; Vining 2011). This corridor was heavilytrafficked during the late eighteenth century, whenalcohol and agricultural commodities from lowlandColonial Arequipa were transported to mining com-munities in Chucuito and Potosi (Rice 1997; Vining2011).

This long and varied history creates an importantarchaeological record. Through systematic survey, wehave documented about 170 archaeological loci in asample of approximately 2.8 per cent of the basin.1

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Figure 1. Location of archaeological sites in the Suches basin recorded by the Proyecto Arqueologico Lago Suches (PALS)and Proyecto Arqueologico Qawra Thaki (PAQT), compared with the locations of modern pastoral settlement mappedthrough remote sensing. In the areas where survey has been completed to date, there is a consistent pattern ofarchaeological and modern settlement being co-located.

Site types reflect a wide spectrum of activities. Unlikeadjacent regions, there were no occupational hia-tuses in Suches during the prehispanic period, untilColonial–Republican relocation policies interruptedhighland settlement.

Modern settlement, resources and conflict in SuchesTraditional camelid pastoral continues to be the cul-tural and economic mainstay of this region. Modernherders reside in estancias — individual hamlets thathouse one to two consanguineal nuclear families as an

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Figure 2. An archaeological structure in the Suches basin, referred to as casa gentile. Although no osteological remainswere found in this structure, its form and placement in an elevated ledge follows Late Intermediate–Late Horizonmortuary structures in other regions of the central Andes.

extended family unit, in a pattern typical of highlandAndean pastoral communities (Flannery et al. 1989;Flores Ochoa 1979; Gobel 2002). In the extreme envi-ronment of Suches, settlement is largely determinedby resource patchiness, particularly the availability ofwater and productive pastures. Herding relies over-whelmingly on alpacas for commercial wool produc-tion, and these animals’ requirements are a strongcontrol on where herders live. Relative to other pas-toral modes (Browman 1982; Fratkin et al. 1994; Galaty& Salzman 1981; Khazanov 1994), alpaca ecologyis highly circumscribed. They have narrow dietarypreferences, rely on vegetation particular to high-elevation wetlands (bofedales) and never range veryfar from these wetlands during their diurnal move-ments. Estancias consequently are spread throughoutthe basin, in close proximity to well-defined, family-controlled herding territories that provide the pas-turage and water necessary for their animals (Fig. 1).

Modern industrial water extraction for cop-per mining and nationalized agrarian developmentprojects is also important in Suches. Increasingly itis in conflict with traditional land use. Resident Ay-mara herders are deeply engaged in land-claim andresource-rights conflicts, particularly contesting whatthey see as the inequitable appropriation of water fornon-local usage. Protests centre on the detrimentalimpacts that over-exploiting water has on herdingand local environments. Aymara communities alsoprotest the compensation that mining and agriculturalcompanies dispense to them for the use of water un-

der Peruvian resource laws, which they feel is inade-quate. These conflicts are exacerbated by the increas-ing scarcity of water and the direct relationship waterhas to the viability of each pasturing territory. As morewater is extracted for non-local industrial usages, thetraditional pastoral cultural and economic base is un-dermined. Substantiating social and territorial bound-aries is important in these contexts of conflict.

Gentiles and hitos in SuchesThe archaeological record of Suches represents a va-riety of functionally differentiated sites. For this dis-cussion and largely according to local categories, thisspectrum can be reduced to two classes of site. Eachis the subject of divergent attitudes towards culturalheritage, which assumes different importance in thislandscape of property and resource conflicts. Sitesassociated with prehispanic populations are glossedas casas gentiles. Reactions to gentiles and other loca-tions associated with prehispanic occupations con-trast with attitudes towards a variety of landscapemarkers glossed as hitos.

‘Casa gentiles’ subsumes a range of site types,including villages, residential structures, caves androck shelters occupied archaeologically and mortuarystructures (Fig. 2). Broadly defined, gentiles (cf. theAymara orthography jintilis from the Spanish loan-word) are prehispanic, non-Christian populations.2

Gentiles are the remains of a population from a prior,different, world — a people and moonlit world thatwere destroyed when the sun emerged, bringing the

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Figure 3. (Colour online) Archaeological and modern hitos in the Suches basin. (Top left) Hito alongside a preservedsegment of road (bare ground). Archaeological materials associated with the road date from the Late Intermediate–Colonialperiod (c. ad 1100–1790). (Top right) Fragments of paired Inka aryballo and olla vessels, left as offerings at another hito.(Below left and right) modern hito alongside the Carretera Binacional crossing through Suches. Recent offerings at thishito include alcohol, tobacco, coca leaves, flowers and streamers with magical petitions printed on them.

current world. Most gentiles narratives refer to mum-mies encountered in prehispanic ruins and mortu-ary structures. Gentiles continue to live in ruins dur-ing the day and are turned into desiccated mum-mies when caught by sunlight; at night, gentiles roam,stealing children or livestock, engaging in cannibal-ism, or forcing or seducing women into sexual inter-course (Gil Garcıa 2006; Hardman 1984). In some ac-counts, they are unbaptized dwarves who can workmiracles while living in a moonlit world without thehallmarks of this one, such as the sun and saltedfood. Gentiles are fundamentally unlike modern peo-ple: they are formidable social others, patently an-tagonistic and dangerous towards Aymara. The siteswhere gentiles are found are repudiated and rejectedas alien in contemporary discourse. Casas gentiles areconstructed as spatially distant and socially removedfrom contemporary herders. They are objects of

aversion and strong avoidance behaviours, distancingAymara from this aspect of the archaeological past.

In contrast, hitos are incorporated into modernsocial and territorial discourse. Hitos are cairns, rockpiles and other markers associated with roadways,mountain passes (apachetas), ritual sites and propertyboundaries (Fig. 3). Rocks collected by travellers arepassed over their legs and bodies to alleviate tiredmuscles and are left behind along with offerings ofalcohol, cigarettes and coca leaves. Other cairns formthrough repeated visits during household herding rit-uals (Flannery et al. 1989; Flores Ochoa 1979). Hitosconsequently mark resting spots and ritual locationswhere prayers and petitions can be made and serveto delimit social territorial boundaries. Ceramics as-sociated with many hitos in Suches show they haveorigins in the Late Intermediate–Inca periods (c. 1200–1530 ad). Many have continued in use in recent eras,

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mainly as property markers and ritual locations. Ashitos grow through accretion, they can be construed astestimonials of continuity and persistence in a place.Herders in Suches are aware of archaeological andmodern hitos. Avoidance is not a significant attitude,as it is for gentiles. Rather, herders reference hitos toclaim their priority within the landscape and rights toland tenure. Such references may become more com-mon as resource conflicts increase.

Three perspectives of place making in Suches:persistent places, casas gentiles and hitos

The archaeological landscape of Suches is populatedwith very different perceptions of place. These placesare defined based on their pertinence to contemporaryconcerns and are hybrid products of traditional atti-tudes and historical and modern experiences. Aymarareinforce their senses of place with time and spacemetaphors. Time-space metaphors help define whatfalls within or beyond contemporary Aymara socialorder by demarcating categories of association anddisassociation with respect to prehispanic and to mod-ern identities. By extension, these notions of identityand belonging reinforce boundaries that are spatiallyanchored. Archaeological remains are embedded inthe substantiation of social boundaries and archaeo-logical heritage may be selectively invoked to bolsterclaims. The complex attitudes Suches Aymara expresstowards archaeological heritage are co-produced withtheir experiences of power dynamics during devel-opment activities and resulting land-claim conflicts(cf. Bebbington et al. 2008). New relationships witharchaeological places are generated, as herders inter-pret time and space constructs in response to socialand political exigencies.

Attitudes towards archaeological heritage arecontingent and form within greater historical andsocio-political contexts. Consequently, they are subjectto instrumentality and may be mobilized according tosituational criteria. The rejection of gentiles is embed-ded in Colonial experiences (Hardman 1984). Hitos,conversely, are leveraged to substantiate territorialclaims during resource disputes. Very different un-derstandings of social memory, space-time relationsand the production of place result. Attitudes aboutarchaeological sites vary even more when analytic-archaeological and local perspectives are contrasted.

Persistent placesFrom an anthropological perspective, archaeologicalsites in Suches can be characterized as ‘persistentplaces’. Such locations are focal points in the land-scape, interacted with repeatedly over extended peri-

ods of time and culture change (Schlanger 1992). Per-sistent places develop through 1) long-term processesof reoccupation structured by constant environmen-tal attractants and/or 2) the remains of prior occupa-tions that focus subsequent activities, either throughreuse or ideological behaviours. Persistent places canencourage relational identities embedded in mem-ory and perceived connectedness (such as ancestor–descendant relationships) in later groups who in-teract with them (Littleton & Allen 2007; Moore &Thompson 2012) . The reutilization of preferred lo-cations and interactions with material/archaeologicalvestiges superimpose overlays of historically consti-tuted meaning onto spatial locations. In this way, per-sistent places relate conceptually to Ingold’s dwellingperspective (Ingold 1993). For persistent places to besocially meaningful, archaeological remains must beactively perceived and incorporated into social repro-duction through remembrance.

The extreme environmental marginality of theSuches basin, its pronounced resource patchiness andthe long-term economic focus on camelids and theirwetland pastures contribute to the formation of per-sistent places. Dynamic social, economic and cul-tural systems are not reflected in site-selection crite-ria that remained constant over millennia. Occupa-tions from all time periods, archaeological and mod-ern, are highly correlated (Fig. 4). Geostatistical mea-sures of dispersal (Ripley’s K) indicate sites preferen-tially cluster within �900 m neighbourhoods. Nearest-neighbour distances between archaeological site cen-troids and modern estancias are 500–600 m (μ= 558 m).It is common to find Archaic Period lithics dating to9800–4200 bp and ceramics from later periods withinestancia dooryards. Many individual artefact scattersoverlap with each other, as well as with the outdooractivity areas of modern estancias. Herders reutilizeabandoned sites, where waste contributes to enrichedsoils and abandoned structures provide ready sup-plies of building materials (Delfino 2001). Despite cul-tural dynamics in Suches having changed dramati-cally, modern herders live within loci preferred byarchaeological occupations for the past 10 millennia.Features that do not conform to this pattern over-whelmingly are hitos, apachetas and ephemeral campsassociated with roadways.

Disassociation from archaeological placesGiven the spatial relationships between modern es-tancias and archaeological sites, standard survey prac-tice included interviewing Aymara herders about thelocation of sites as well as herding practices, toponymsand the residential histories of their estancias.3

Responses are summarized in Table 1. Despite the

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Table 1. Reactions from Aymara informants to interview questions about the location of archaeological sites.

Response Number

Had no knowledge of specific sites 6

Had no knowledge or denied knowledge of sites in immediate vicinity of their residences∗ 8

Knew generally of sites, and described them as elsewhere 5

Knew of specific sites located away from their residence 2

Knew of specific sites located adjacent to their residence 1

Made specific suggestions about how to find archaeological materials, on their residence 1

Expressed surprise when shown archaeological sites/materials located on/around their residences† 4∗ Four of the individuals lived in the hamlet of Huaytire, and not in individual herding households within thesurvey area.† One of these was a worker hired to help survey, who expressed surprise that herders would live ‘next to gentiles’.

Figure 4. (Colour online) Archaeological sites around the modern herding estancia at Ninanacaata. Environmentalconditions contribute to a long-term settlement pattern preferentially focused on a few locations at the edges of wetlands(foreground). Sites dating from all time periods c. 9200 years bp to present can be found overlapping or within a fewhundred metres of one another. Prior settlements structure subsequent resources and land use, contributing to persistentplaces.

pattern of coterminous archaeological and mod-ern settlement, Aymara herders strongly disassoci-ate themselves from archaeological sites attributed toprehispanic gentiles. Herders overwhelmingly down-played knowledge of archaeological sites, even whilethey were generally familiar with Inka and other ar-chaeological cultures. They consistently denied spe-cific knowledge of sites. This is true even when theinterviews took place on a site (i.e. artefacts and ar-chitecture were clearly visible) in the vicinity of door-yards or only a few hundred metres from estancias.

This discrepancy could be attributed to wantingto deflect questions or to not recognizing the archae-ological origins of certain objects. Herders describedarchaeological sites with abstract, remote spatial ref-

erents (e.g. ‘over there’, ‘on the other side’ or ‘furtherin’), however. Two comments are typical in how theydisavow archaeological sites in proximity to their resi-dences, while positioning them in more distant terms:

Aqui no hay . . . mas adentro . . . mas alla encuentranlos antiguos . . . a los cerros, los rincones de los cerros . . .por aca es puro pampa

[There is not any [archaeology] here . . . furtherin . . . over there you find the old ones . . . in thehills, the nooks of the hills . . . Around here, it’s justpampa].

Inka no debe ser, por aquı no hay Inka . . . siempre medice mi mama que Inka esta al otro lado . . . harto Inkaallı al otro lado

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[It cannot be Inka, there is no Inka here . . . Mymother always told me that Inka is on the otherside [indicating Lake Suches] . . . There’s lots of Inkathere on the other side].

Two informants knew of specific sites located awayfrom residences. Only one discussed a site within 150m of her residence; this same woman was the only in-dividual who made explicit recommendations aboutfinding archaeological materials, again on her prop-erty. Such explicit knowledge is in the minority of re-sponses. In most responses, archaeological sites wererelatively unknown entities and/or were located farfrom herders’ homes. Several herders expressed dis-belief about artefacts found in the immediate area oftheir estancias (Table 1).

Attitudes about gentiles, particularly avoidancerules, explain Aymara feelings that archaeologicalsites are remote. Herders disassociate themselves con-ceptually from dangerous gentiles and the ruins wherethey dwell. This remoteness conveys social removal.Gentiles are social others, who belong to different timesand places than those inhabited by contemporary Ay-mara. Vagaries and confusion surrounding gentilesreinforce this conceptual disassociation between themodern and ancient, and it persists even when themodern and ancient coexist within the same geo-graphic space — why would gentiles be present in thesame spaces herders occupy? Aymara use conceptualand linguistic models of space-time to reinforce thissocial distance, which I discuss in more detail below.

Hitos and resource disputesThe tone of interactions with archaeological materialschanges as sites are entangled in modern resource dis-putes, development aspirations and identity construc-tion. The incorporation of archaeological features inthese concerns creates different perceptions of socio-spatial proximity and social relevance. Sites move con-ceptually from the spatially and temporally distantpast into the domain of contemporary communities.

Significant conflicts have developed in Suchesduring recent decades over the disposition of water re-sources. Suches is the only catchment for rainfall thatdirectly supplies urban and industrial usage along thePacific coast. Competing water-usage creates territo-rial conflicts between three political states (the De-partamentos of Moquegua, Tacna and Puno), as wellas disputes between local communities, private min-ing industry and governmental agencies at regionaland national levels. Each of these competing interestscites various lines of evidence to support their claimsto water and territory in Suches. Along with histori-cal, property and tax records and traditional evidence,Aymara cite hitos to substantiate territorial claims. On-

the-ground hitos are particularly important physical-geographic markers and testimonials to the continuityand priority of tenure during these disputes.

Increasing amounts of water are extracted fromSuches for large-scale irrigation agriculture in thecoastal desert; mining companies use water fromSuches for ore-processing and operational needs; andurban demand is increasing. Projected scarcity due toclimatic trends heightens conflicts and anxieties. Con-flicts have escalated with the implementation of theCanon Minero, a Peruvian federal mandate requiringinternational mining corporations to reallocate por-tions of revenues to communities locally impacted bymining activities. Revenues to individual states havemore than doubled since the Canon’s implementation,while other revenues have remained flat or have de-creased (Vega 2009). The Canon decentralizes fiscalpolicies, contributing to increased local and state re-gionalization. State administration identifies affectedstakeholders and reallocates funds to those commu-nities, compounding the asymmetrical and decentral-izing impacts of Canon policies (Glave & Kuramoto2002; Sanguinetti 2010). Compensation is based on themarket values for extracted ores. Regions like Suches,however, may receive disproportionate or no com-pensation for exploited water resources, as water’svalue is less directly established. Such asymmetriesand ambiguities intensify territorial disputes, whereclaims to water are grounded in changing or unclearboundaries.

Aymara communities in Suches engage in theseconflicts. They try to safeguard traditional proper-ties or establish new claims for benefits under theCanon (Fig. 5). In the fall of 2006, Moquegua at-tempted annexing portions of Suches from Tacna, cit-ing nineteenth-century boundaries and Moqueguanmining grants from 1966. Aymara from rural com-munities in Puno occupied the Pasto Grande re-gion in October–November 2009, disputing Mo-queguan boundary definitions. Boundary disputesand protests over development activities continued inJune–August 2012 and into recent years (Anonymous2004; 2008a,b; 2009a,b; 2012a,b; Cari 2010; Fernandez2009; Motta 2009; Tito 2012; Zanabria 2008). Who con-trols water and mineral resources within the disputedterritories lies at the core of these conflicts.

While arguments by Departmental authoritiescite federal legislation and maps, Aymara communi-ties base claims on historical property and tax records,traditional and archaeological evidence. Specifically,Aymara communities seek to legally establish rightsto water and the financial compensation they canexpect from industrial and commercial users basedon their claims to traditional territories. Moqueguan

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Figure 5. General locations and timeframes for disputes in the Suches region centring on water-usage. Shown are theapproximate centres of civil protests originating in industrial–local usage rights conflicts and interdepartmental territorialdisputes. Map is for illustration purposes only, and does not present authoritative boundaries.

officials state Aymara ‘ . . . intrude into our terri-tory with the sole objective of appropriating natu-ral resources’ (Fernandez 2009). Traditional strategiesfor asserting tenure and rights are important. Ay-mara leaders describe territories that belong to them

‘ancestrally’, and took collective action as el Consejo deMallkus (following traditional communal leadership)in the 2009 dispute (Anonymous 2009a). Hitos becamepivotal in recent conflicts around Pasto Grande. Theywere used to underscore Aymara socio-territorial

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boundaries and to substantiate Puneno claims to wa-ter and Canon benefits. Moqueguan parties delegit-imized claims based on hitos, speculating that theirauthenticity is dubious and urging the removal of hi-tos that ‘perhaps only a few days before, had beenplaced on the site’ by Puneno protestors (Fernandez2009).

Hitos, as archaeological features with modernlives, are in play in contemporary discourse. They arerelevant to land tenure and resource conflicts and thestanding that Aymara communities can assert againstcompeting interests. Their relevance translates to per-ceived spatial proximity: they are incorporated intosocio-spatial definitions of Aymara communities andtheir territories. As such, hitos help demarcate inclu-sive social limits, in stark contrast to the exclusion thatavoidance behaviours towards casas gentiles embody.

Persistent places, casas gentiles and hitos repre-sent three perspectives on archaeological sites, differ-ing according to how they inform social reproductionand place making. As an etic concept, the first admit-tedly may have little bearing on how Aymara construearchaeological places. The notions of archaeologicalplaces represented by casas gentiles and hitos differwith respect to the degree that each accords with thedomains of contemporary life. Two factors clarify thedifferences in attitudes. First, hitos are socially relevantto modern socio-spatial boundary maintenance, re-source conflicts and community identities. Second, hi-tos are not associated with physical human remains ormythic gentiles. Avoidance behaviours consequentlydo not apply. Given these differences, attitudes to-wards hitos and casas gentiles represent opposite reac-tions to archaeological heritage stemming from a con-gruent conceptual space-time model, rather than con-tradictions. Attitudes diverge based on whether sitesdo (hitos) and do not (casas gentiles) fall within con-temporary Aymara social orders. Conceptual mod-els of time, space and social distance further explainthe different attitudes and why archaeological sites,coterminous with modern estancias, are perceived asremote and unknown.

Distance and social difference in Aymaraconceptual models

Time-space metaphors and the construction of distanceAymara conceptual models conflate time and locationand use spatial distance as a metaphor for temporalposition. Narratives and linguistic structures spatial-ize temporal events. A principal preoccupation is tosituate oneself and actions within defined spaces ac-cording to when events occurred. Aymara verb tensesexplicitly designate the place and timing of actions.

‘Where’ becomes inseparable from ‘when’. Linguisticmetaphors similarly map social categories onto space(Allen 1994). Perceived temporal separation translatesto spatial distance (Aedo 2008). More distant socialothers are perceived as spatio-temporally remote. Aplace or archaeological site that is removed tempo-rally from contemporary concerns accordingly is spa-tially distant, while a place active within contempo-rary social identity and memory is spatio-temporallyproximate.

The compartmentalization of differentplaces/times is important (Allen 1994). For ex-ample, the concept ‘Pacha’ (common to Aymara andQuechua languages) designates ‘earth’, or ‘world’,as well as ‘time’, and conveys a sense of sequentialspatio-temporal states. Each pacha has its own naturaland moral orders and forms of experience funda-mentally different from our own — elements of thesedifferent worlds (like gentiles) may spill over intoone another, creating disorder (Allen 1998).

Time-space metaphors are common devices.Figure 6 shows three versions of ‘passing time is mo-tion’ metaphors (Lakoff 1993), illustrating how the re-lationships between temporal events and their per-ceived spatial position change with each.

Western constructions largely rely on movingEgo reference-point models (i.e. where Ego is inmotion). ‘Passing time is motion over a landscape’sees Ego as mobile and moving over a fixed spatio-temporal domain as events transpire (Fig. 6A). Thetiming between events is static, while Ego moves to-ward each event, engaging with it as time passes.Past events (darker circles) are behind Ego as he/shemoves forward towards future events (lighter circles).An example might be ‘I will have time to get to it’.The second metaphor, ‘Passing time is motion of anevent’ depicts Ego as relatively static, while dynamicevents move towards Ego in space/time (Fig. 6B).An example of this latter metaphor might be ‘It (anevent) is coming up’. Both metaphors construct futureevents as in front of Ego, while past events are behind.This relationship is epitomized by the idioms ‘look-ing forward to it’ and ‘put the past behind you’. Suchmetaphors engender conceptual associations betweenforward/future and back/past (Nunez & Sweetser2006).

Traditional Aymara spatio-temporal concepts in-vert these relationships (Fig. 6C). Aymara time-spacevectors construct Ego as predominantly static, whiletemporal events are dynamic and move. This is similarto the ‘passing time is motion of an event’ metaphor(Fig. 6B). In contrast to the prior two metaphors, thepositions of future and past events are reversed rela-tive to a static Ego. Future events are behind Ego and

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Figure 6. Versions of time-space reference-pointmetaphors that use time-passing-as-motion constructs.(A) ‘Time passing is motion over a landscape’, where Egois perceived as in motion over a landscape of static eventsand places. (B) ‘Time passing is motion of an object’,where objects and events are seen as in motion, from frontto back, relative to a static Ego. (C) A variant of the ‘timepassing is motion of an object’ expressed in AymaraEgo-reference point metaphors, where objects and eventsare in motion from back to front relative to Ego. (Modifiedfrom Nunez & Sweetser 2006, fig. 1.)

moving towards him/her; current events are cotermi-nous with Ego and within the same time-space do-main; and past events are perceived as in front ofEgo and moving further away (Aedo 2008; Nunez &Sweetser 2006). As an occurrence becomes further in

the past, it is construed as being further out in frontof Ego. This creates conceptual associations betweenback/future and forward/past, antithetical to West-ern metaphors.

These associations are grounded in knowledge-as-seeing metaphors (Nunez & Sweetser 2006; Aedo2008). Future events are unknown and unknowable.Hence, they are ‘unseen’ and out of the individual’sfield of view (i.e., behind Ego). Past events, however,are theoretically knowable and can be ‘seen’. Pastevents consequently are conceptually in front of theindividual and within his/her field of view. Theseconceptual relationships and how they map temporaloccurrences onto space are summarized in Table 2.

Aymara co-produce directional hand ges-tures with temporal referents as they speak,reinforcing the Back/Behind/Unseen/Future andFront/Forward/Past/Seeable conceptual metaphors(Aedo 2008; Nunez & Sweetser 2006). Hand gesturesfurther elaborate on how removed events are relativeto the speaker. Contemporary referents (‘this year’,‘now’) coincide with hand gestures pointing straightdown, tying the event to the speaker’s current place.Past times (e.g. the times of the gentiles) are indi-cated by the speaker iteratively extending his/herhand and forefinger, pointing forward and outwardfrom the body. When speaking of a process/eventthat persisted from the past into more recent periods,the speaker extends his/her hand and forefinger andflexes it backwards towards his/her body, indicatingthe progression from more distant to more proximate.Speakers make ipsilateral or contralateral thumb orwhole-hand pointing gestures backwards over theirshoulders to indicate future events (Nunez & Sweetser2006).

An example is shown in Figure 7. An Aymaraherder from the estancia at Pabelluni is describingllama caravans that formerly (within his memory) car-ried commodities from the lowlands to Suches. At themoment of the photograph, he was describing cara-van routes he used with his father approximately 40years earlier. While speaking, he extended his righthand and index finger forward and then flexed thembackwards, co-producing an imaginary line from sev-eral metres to a few metres in front of him. In this in-stance, the time frame of the intermediate past (severaldecades before) is represented by a middle distance infront of/near the speaker. Despite the caravans havingbeen part of his direct past experience, the memory ofthis practice does not occupy the same space as thespeaker; nor is it very far in front of him, however.

Conceptual models of time, space and distancein part explain the reactions to archaeological loca-tions associated with gentiles. Gentiles derive from a

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Table 2. Aymara Ego-reference point metaphors (modified from Nunez & Sweetser 2006, table 2).

Time Knowledge as vision Horizontal one-dimensional space

Times/events = Objects

Chronological order of times/events = Order of objects over space (planar)

Past times Knowable/visible = Objects in front of observer

Present time Knowable/visible = Objects co-located with the observer

Future times Unknowable/invisible = Objects behind the observer

Figure 7. Hand-gestures co-produced by an Aymara herder (centre) while he describes caravanning activities to twoarchaeologists (left and right). Note his right hand and extended forefinger. He indicates his middle foreground in referenceto events that occurred in his own lifetime with a front-forward gesture. Compare to hand gestures documented by Nunezand Sweetser (2006, figs. 6–7).

different time — a different world — than contem-porary Aymara. As a consequence they are spatio-temporally distant, located in remote places far fromthe places that contemporary Aymara choose to livein. Aymara in Suches do not identify with gentiles.Conversely, hitos features are not perceived as re-mote from modern communities and are conceptu-ally proximate. They are more directly part of the cur-rent world. This view is reinforced when it becomesnecessary to cite hitos while defending contemporaryinterests against external affronts.

Gentiles, mythic threats, and socialcompartmentalization

Aymara time-space models explain why casas gentilesare perceived as remote. But why are they patentlydangerous, and avoided in Suches? Attitudes to-wards archaeological heritage influenced by historicand modern experience are subsumed into concep-tual spatio-temporal models. The social identities

consequently defined separate contemporary SuchesAymara from elements of the past with little modernimport. Gentiles are aberrations, formidable others inthe contemporary social world of Aymara.

Aymara ideological landscapes are populatedwith various supernatural beings. Ethnic and genderidentities, historical experience and socially negoti-ated difference characterize these personages. Tiyab-ulu (cf. Spanish diablo) are patently malevolent and arecharacterized in narratives by transgression, wantonwealth, lack of control, sexual hyperactivity and/orviolence. Attitudes towards these individuals arehighly ambivalent. They are hostile beings that temptAymara with excesses like avarice, greed and lust(Juarez 1998).

Several supernatural personages embody anxi-eties resulting from historical moments. Pishtaku, orsacasangre (cf. Quechua naqaq and Aymara kharisiri),is described as a foreigner: a tall, pale, oftenbearded man, invariably armed with knives. Pish-taku takes the guise of a Spanish colonial author-ity, horseman, soldier, monk, teacher or doctor, or

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anthropologist/archaeologist, according to the histor-ical moment. Pishtaku may have prehispanic originsin religious functionaries responsible for securing hu-man and animal sacrifices for effective cult rituals (Ce-lestino 1997). Pishtaku attacks natives at night to ex-tract vital substances from their bodies — particularlyfat, but sometimes organs where there are strong anx-ieties about western medicine and organ trafficking(Wibbelsman 2009). The fat is subsequently used inwestern industrial or ecclesiastical applications. It isused to alloy metals or cast church bells; to strengthenchurches, bridges, or roads; rendered into lubricantsfor trucks, industrial and mining machinery, weapons,or computers; or sold to relieve debts to the Interna-tional Monetary Fund (Celestino 1997).

The figure of pishtaku subsumes personal andhistoric anxiety into social and ethnic identity. Pish-taku’s personage transforms historically, as sacrificewas marginalized in Andean ideological practice andColonial industries violently exploited the wellbeingof native communities. Fat is a thinly veiled metaphorfor Andean populations’ loss of vitality and life un-der draconian Colonial policies. The tension betweenindigenous:victim and foreigner:perpetrator is signif-icant. Threats carry the connotation of foreignnessand difference — otherness reckoned according toboth ethnicity and geography. These ‘vectors of differ-ence’ map social categories onto social spaces, delim-iting group membership by behaviour and by origins(Haber 2007).

The construction of gentiles similarly invokesspatial and temporal criteria, with ethnicity, genderand morality, to define otherness. Like other supernat-urals, they are associated with liminal states, decep-tive enchantment, nighttime and violence towards theliving. They are attributed with cannibalism, kidnap-ping, sexual licentiousness and fathering unnaturalchildren (who in turn endanger their human parent).Gentiles narratives communicate social archetypes andmoral allegories. They are employed as strong socialsanctions against potentially dangerous behaviours,such as welcoming strangers into homes or womenwalking alone at night.

‘Gentiles’ represents a polysemic linguistic andbehavioural template. Characteristics ascribed togentiles reproduce Colonial and post-Colonial experi-ences with dangerous non-Aymara, even while theseexperiences are conflated with prehispanic archaeo-logical sites and human remains. Jaqi Aymara commu-nicate five consistent motifs in gentile stories, whichreinforce their otherness (Hardman 1984): 1) gentilesoccupy ruins and caves with evidence of archaeo-logical occupations; 2) gentile attacks occur in placesisolated from modern communities, particularly near

ruins and in remote roads, pastures, or houses; 3) evenwhile gentile refers to prehispanic remains, they aredescribed as paler-complexioned, Spanish-speakingand consistently male (as are their preternatural chil-dren); 4) the values and materials gentiles use to bribe,trick or seduce Aymara are seen as European in ori-gin. They do not use Jaqi ethos and materials of value;5) an exception is a desire for land, which both Jaqiand gentiles strongly desire and need (Hardman 1984).These narratives express strong caution and avoid-ance towards non-Aymara people, places and things.Paler young men, exotic European materials andtheir value systems may be attractive — even seduc-tive — but simultaneously they are threatening anddangerous.

Elements of prehispanic and Colonial pasts areintertwined in this construction of dangerous others.Hardman links the gentile concept to the sixteenth-century Extirpacion de Idolatrıas campaigns, whichvilified prehispanic Andean socio-religious practiceswhile supplanting them with imposed (but ultimatelysyncretic) Christian traditions (Hardman 1984). Acomplex hybridization of indigenous elements withColonial experiences manifests in gentiles stories as aform of ‘coping literature’. Perhaps because of Colo-nial campaigns, ancestral figures and archaeologicalruins ‘must be feared and rejected as . . . the workof evil demons’, even as the same demonization con-flates indigenous predecessors with Spanish-speakingwhites (Hardman 1984). Nielsen argues that similar‘systematic forgetting campaigns’ were enforced bythe earlier Incan empire, which truncated local politi-cal and territorial continuity and replaced them withforeign hierarchies (Nielsen 2008). Social distance be-tween modern Aymara and prehispanic gentiles maybe the result of stepwise separations during succes-sive schisms. Modern Aymara consequently compart-mentalize themselves from non-Aymara prehispanicprogenitors and Colonial and more recent antagonists— they identify with none of these.

Place and temporality help define gentile other-ness. Remote places and unknown, prior times areunderscored in gentiles stories. In a Jaqi narrative, agentile kidnaps a group of traveling musicians. Theclimactic moment when the gentile is identified refer-ences the temporal ambiguity of prehispanic mum-mies: ‘So, he had not been human, from what timemight he have come!, that gentile who deceived thosepeople by enchantment’ (Hardman 1984, emphasisadded). The rhetorical question constructs ambiguityand separates the storyteller and mytho-historic pro-tagonists from the most remote times embodied bythe gentile. Encounters between Aymara and gentilesfrequently occur in remote places like empty stretches

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of roads, mountain caves, abandoned ruins, or iso-lated houses, with terrifying effect. Among Quechua-speakers, Allen (1994) found that narratives were cat-egorized according to whether they were about eventsthat had occurred in our present time and were ‘true’(chiqaq), or were about prior times and events thatare (or should be) beyond the pale of human society(kwintu). As time is spatialized, this classification alsodifferentiates where events could occur (i.e. within aknowable geography or not). Narratives concerninggentiles are social referents. They emphasize dissimi-larity while describing events that unfold in a differenttime and abstracted space. ‘Their [gentile] distance anddifference is expressed in terms of a different world-age; they do not, or should not, pertain to the here-and-now’ (Allen 1994). When shown archaeologicalmaterials around his estancia, one Suches herder ex-pressed great surprise that anyone would live ‘next togentiles’ — i.e. within the same space and time. Gen-tiles consequently are relegated to distant pasts andplaces, indicated with vague hand gestures towardsthe mountains.

Within Aymara reference-point metaphors, aphenomenon that cannot be readily situated in space-time is difficult to conceptualize. Casas gentiles areavoided because they represent intrusions of othertimes and social orders into contemporary spaces.Gentiles particularly are agents of disorder: they areelements from ambiguous, ‘distant’ pasts that can in-vade modern communities and houses, subvertingnormative spatio-temporal order and creating horri-fying experiences.

Time and identity in Aymara and other AndeancommunitiesThe dissonant reactions to archaeological featuresin Suches can be understood as alternate expres-sions of a single coherent worldview, which seesspace and time as functions of relatedness. Dif-ferences are due to how communities self-identifywith the past. Archaeological and contemporary so-cial landscapes have the potential for simultaneity.Fernandez-Osco argues that modern Aymara com-munities and archaeological locations are intercon-nected through ‘pluriversal’ webs of identity, kin-ship and religiosity, based on non-linear views oftime and space (Fernandez-Osco 2011). Within thispluralistic cosmology, however, times and spacesare stretched or compressed to emphasize differ-ent relationships selectively within interlocked socio-archaeological landscapes. Temporal reference pointsare the fundamental, reflexive metric for constructingspatial and social differences (Martınez 2010). In theparticular case of Suches, social memory emphasizes

resource claims while de-emphasizing prehispanicothers. Comparisons with other central Andean com-munities (ethnic Aymara as well as Urus-Chipaya)show similar concerns. These communities variablyself-identify with or reject prehispanic precursors. As-pirational identities, development politics and exter-nal pressures factor strongly in how modern commu-nities construe their relationships with archaeologicalheritage.

Martınez (2010) describes three Aymara commu-nities in the Rio Salado region of northern Chile,who cite relatedness to mytho-historic progenitorsfrom different time periods as they construct theirrespective corporate identities.4 From archaeologicaland ethnohistoric perspectives, all three communitiesshared common prehispanic and Colonial pasts, un-til they fissioned in the nineteenth and twentieth cen-turies (Martınez 2010). Yet, each community aspires tomore traditional versus more modern identities. Thisis reflected in their selection of progenitor myths asspatio-temporal reference points. Toconce, the most‘recent’ community with modernizing aspirations, re-counts personalized histories about the founding oftheir community. These narratives cite direct familialexperience and disavow ties to local prehispanic sites.Origin narratives told by the community of Ayquinaare mythicized and make extensive reference to syn-cretic Colonial Period Christian and indigenous ele-ments, such as apparitions of the Virgin and doves onlocally-venerated hills.

Only Caspana, self-identifying as the oldestcommunity, constructs direct linkages with prehis-panic populations. Older community members inCaspana describe themselves as ‘restos de gentiles’(Martınez 2010). Caspanenos differentiate themselvesfrom ‘younger’ hispanicized and evangelized commu-nities, rejecting Colonial and post-Colonial identitieswhile establishing temporal priority for their com-munity. The rupture of Colonialism and baptism inparticular were critical sea-changes distinguishingCaspanenos from other communities: Caspaneno nar-ratives recount how gentiles fled far from Colonialinfluence and died as a consequence of not accept-ing baptism. Places and times separating the con-temporary community from its prehispanic progen-itors are compressed. Caspanenos knowingly reuti-lize archaeological sites adjacent to their communityand conflate referents to gentiles, abuelos and recentgenerations. Unlike in Toconce, Ayquina and Suches,where modern communities clearly demarcate them-selves from gentiles, Caspanenos embrace a gentilepast to identify themselves as the oldest commu-nity, holdouts against baptism, colonialism and othermodernizations.

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The use of gentiles to construct identitiesgrounded in temporal priority and resistance also isfound in ethnic Uros communities around Lake Titi-caca. Uros self-identify as distinct from other centralAndean ethnic groups. They reinforce their distinc-tiveness with oral traditions, clothing and a culturalmode emphasizing fishing, bird hunting and tourism(Saenz 2012). Greater genetic distances separate cer-tain Uros communities from Aymara and Quechuapopulations, while others show more admixture(Barbieri et al. 2011). Uros uniquely claim direct de-scent from chullpas [gentiles] ancestors. They describethemselves as ‘the most ancient people in the area’— the remains of people from the time/world of thechullpas who survived being burned by the sun byescaping to the lakes (Saenz 2012). Uros historicallyhave been regarded as socially apart from other eth-nic groups in the region, even regarded as pariahs or‘rejects’ from a pre-solar age (Wachtel 1994). This so-cial difference underwrites tensions between Uro andAymara communities. It also acts as legitimization inrecent and historic land litigations (dating back to theseventeenth century). Uros invoke their chullpas lin-eage to justify claims against Aymara and the Peru-vian state: ‘being the sole descendents of the primevalera, they automatically have land rights that go backmuch further than those of any other Altiplano group’(Saenz 2012, 224; cf. Wachtel 1994).

The Uros descent from chullpas contrasts withAymara concepts, who generally disavow any con-nection and state they are a post-chullpa people. Cas-pana, as an Aymara community, represents an excep-tion to this generalization. In both cases, claiming thisheritage has complex pragmatic implications. Whilereinforcing social difference, the use of these historicmoments in identity construction argues for each com-munity’s temporal priority and provides them witha perceived advantage during disputes with ‘recent’neighbours.

External pressures, such as resource disputes,create new socio-political contexts which compel com-munities to argue for ‘authentic’ and/or exclusiverights. These pressures can compel both Aymara andUro to formalize territories, worldviews and knowl-edge systems, or identities, so that claims carry moreapparent legitimacy (Kent 2008; Orlove 1991). The ad-vent of modern tourism represents another moment,when communities activate or invent roles for archae-ological sites that satisfy tourist expectations of es-sentialized, ‘authentic’ identities and consumable her-itage commodities (Gil Garcıa 2011). As the Aymaracommunities of Santiago and Chuvica (Lıpez, Bolivia)entered into the environmental and heritage tourismcircuit, psychosocial attitudes towards archaeological

sites changed, ‘ . . . from their conception as places ofmemory, experience, and fear to places onto whichthe ideal of progress is projected’ (Gil Garcıa 2011).Attitudes changed from within the communities, in acontext of competition to attract tourism revenues andeconomic development. In verbal and graphic repre-sentations, the current village was conflated with thearchaeological site and with aspirations for a futurevillage that included infrastructure to support antic-ipated tourism (a museum, interpretative paths andtourist lodging). Archaeological sites actively factoredinto the communities’ forward-looking developmentexpectations. Unlike Suches, past, present and futureplaces were not compartmentalized.

Conclusion

Interactions between Aymara worldviews, modernpressures and historical experience result in com-plex psychosocial landscapes in Suches. As I have de-scribed, perceived archaeological landscapes are con-tingent and are engaged with selectively. Concepts ofspace and time are manipulated to emphasize cate-gories of social inclusion and exclusion, helping con-temporary herders construct identities that differen-tiate themselves from objectionable pasts as well asfrom antagonistic contemporary others. Comparisonswith other Andean communities show similar usesof space and time to construct categories of differ-ence. Archaeological sites are conspicuous in theseprocesses, even as they are variably referenced orrepudiated.

Situational attitudes towards archaeological sitesreflect instrumental concerns, which often developout of historic and recent political contexts. Thus,the spatio-temporal dimensions of archaeologicallandscapes are socially constituted and co-producedalong with herders’ involvement in historic and re-cent moments. In Suches, the apparently contradic-tory reactions to gentiles versus hitos can be recon-ciled by considering the significance of archaeolog-ical things within historic ideologies and, most re-cently, socio-environmental disputes. Suches Aymaraemphasize landscapes populated with archaeologicalfeatures that reinforce land claims. Simultaneously,these landscapes help define dangerous others andcreate remoteness, dissociating herders from threaten-ing beings and their antisocial behaviour. Importantly,gentile avoidance behaviours continue to structureperceptions of place; the undesirable past is not for-gotten so much as it is ostracized to vague, remoteplaces. Each construal of archaeological places is ac-commodated by a single worldview where time andspace define degrees of social difference.

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In Suches, recent socio-political conflict andresource disputes appear to have shifted percep-tions of certain archaeological places. Comparisonswith other highland Andean communities showthat such instrumental concerns are frequently en-tangled in the production of archaeological land-scapes. Instrumental uses of archaeological heritagefigure prominently in politicized struggles. Thishas most often been described for the constructionof nationalist agendas (Dietler 1994; Glover 2006;Hamilakis 1996; Kohl 1998; Kohl & Fawcett 1995;Meskell 2002) including in the Andean region(Benavides 2008; Curtoni & Politis 2006; Kojan &Angelo 2005; Scarborough 2008).

The production of archaeological heritage is en-tangled with political issues on local levels as well.These conflicts can spill over onto disputes regard-ing the disposition of non-archaeological resources(Keitumetse 2011; Keitumetse et al. 2007; Waterton2005). There is little reason to think local communi-ties would not find political advantage in interpretingarchaeological sites according to their agency. Variousauthors note transformations in local ethos — tradi-tional roles or community identities — in responseto external development and political pressures(Conklin 2002; Gil Garcıa 2011; Kent 2008; Orlove1991). Conklin (2002) describes the reformulationof traditional leadership roles to leverage indige-nous pharmacological knowledge as political capi-tal in international resources conflicts. Kent (2008)proposes that it is precisely these pressures thatcompel indigenous communities to formalize cul-tural constructions in order to leverage themagainst external interests. In a similar manner, com-munities recast archaeological sites for heritagetourism:

For essentialist and romantic anthropology (or ar-chaeology), native peoples or local communitiesmust approach their pasts for reasons of traditionand ancestral identity . . . [but] communities areeager to hop onto the wagon of modernity andprogress; they think in economic terms, no mat-ter how politically incorrect the association betweenheritage, tourism, and profit may look. (Gil Garcıa2011)

Rather than seeming politically incorrect, instru-mental attitudes towards archaeological pasts shouldbe recognized as among the most fruitful arenaswithin which communities can assert agency. This in-cludes leveraging new interpretations of heritage incontemporary conflicts.

Archaeology, while attempting to understandhow contemporary communities interact with ar-chaeological pasts, has argued for place-making

paradigms based on superimposed physical re-minders of heritage and simultaneous experiencesof time. ‘Persistent places’ is one such model, whichproposes that social memory engages with and incor-porates archaeological sites through the reutilizationof preferred locations. The dwelling perspective pro-posed by Ingold (1993; 2000) is similar, with the im-portant difference that place making occurs throughthe recognition and experience of past materials andtheir incorporation into social memory. These per-spectives are based largely on notions of simultaneityand contrast with linear perspectives of time wherecommunities disengage from the remote past. Theyare important theoretical improvements. Simultane-ity is not the only alternative to linear models of time,however. The attitudes that Suches herders exhibitreveal more elastic and anisotropic notions of timeand space, which are intimately linked with socialrelatedness.

Ingold’s dwelling perspective emphasizes con-stitutive activities as generating meaning in a loca-tion — spatial meaning is constituted by tasks, expe-rience, engagement and embodiment. The dwellingperspective privileges lived experience above all asinfluencing how places are perceived, while givingless attention to aspirational notions. While Ingolddiscusses perception, it is secondary to constitutiveacts. He further argues that spatial meaning is gener-ated through processes of incorporation, not inscrip-tion (Ingold 1993).

Place making in Suches exhibits elements ofboth experience-based dwelling and constructed atti-tudes ascribed to locations. In contrast to the dwellingperspective, perception and inscription are demon-strably important for place making amongst Ay-mara communities, in Suches as elsewhere in thecentral Andean highlands. Aspirations are partic-ularly important for influencing the character ofmeanings ascribed to locations. Perceived related-ness is similarly crucial for how spaces and times areconstructed.

While ‘engagement’ and being ‘perceptually at-tuned’ to information in a landscape is importantwithin the dwelling perspective (Ingold 1993), placemaking in Suches balances engagement with re-pudiation. Engagement is selective. It reflects no-tions of social relatedness. Lived experience andsocial memory are important in shaping selectiv-ity. Equally important are instrumental attitudeswhich reflect perceived relatedness and desired out-comes in contemporary socio-political environments.Herders refuse engagement with social others, andperceive them as entities beyond knowable so-cial boundaries. Aspirations and involvement with

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contemporary concerns shift how archaeologicalheritage is construed in space and time. Distant,past archaeological sites can become proximate,present/future places. Temporality is thus linked toperception (cf. Bailey 2008). Divergent and appar-ently contradictory attitudes towards archaeologicaland social landscapes emerge from a coherent world-view that uses perceived spatio-temporal distance tomap categories onto places. As these locations developor are imbued with contemporary salience — they be-come central to a community’s self-identity, defence ofnatural or territorial resources, or hopes for economicdevelopment — their perceived position changes.While I have focused on these themes here, other is-sues (beyond the scope of this argument) doubtlessaffect interactions in a similar manner. These transi-tions show the importance of instrumentality as wellas experience as communities renegotiate the mean-ings of place in contemporary contexts.

Acknowledgements

Field work in Suches was supported by National Sci-ence Foundation grant BCS-0900904 and Boston UniversityGRAF funding. Southern Copper Corporation generouslysupported fieldwork logistics and provided access to theirconcession. Las Comunidades Autonomas of Huaytire andJapopunco and individual land owners also kindly grantedpermission to survey within their properties. I am grateful tothe landowners who were willing and comfortable enoughto talk with us, and share their insights into the archaeol-ogy, ecology, and history of the Suches region. Three anony-mous reviewers provided very thorough and constructivecomments.

Notes

1. The Proyecto Arqueologico Lago Suches uses a system-atic pedestrian survey method. Survey units were ran-domly sampled in 1 km2 blocks covering all environ-mental zones in the basin between 4400 and 4800 mabove sea level. This included areas currently beingused by herders, as well as areas not under modern use.A strategy of hierarchical random sampling was uti-lized to avoid introducing bias towards any particulartopographic, environmental or land-use zone. Surveycrews systematically covered 100 per cent of the surveyblocks with inter-transect spacing of 5–10 m. All ar-chaeological materials and features were recorded withstandardized forms, GPS and digital photography, anda systematic 10 per cent sample of the surface materialswas collected for laboratory analysis.

2. According to Saenz (2012), Chipaya-Uro groups aroundLake Titicaca refer to gentiles (the personages) as chull-pas, for the mortuary structures where mummies are

often found. The term chullpa is also used as a tempo-ral designator to refer to archaeological cultures priorto the Inca Empire (i.e. during the time when the useof chullpas for burial was prominent). The Aymara or-thography jintili is used by Hardman (1984). For con-sistency, I have glossed these various terms using themore prevalent spelling gentiles.

3. Archaeological research in the Suches basin was per-mitted by Instituto Nacional de Cultura de Peru, Res-olucion Directoral Nacional Nº 1275/INC. Under theResolucion, the Suches project had legal authority toenter property and inventory and/or remove archae-ological materials as the conditions of the permit stipu-lated. Due to preexisting tensions originating out of theresource conflicts described here, one of our principalobjectives was to meet with land owners to discuss thelegal provisions of the Resolucion Nacional and how theypertained to them. Most importantly, each crew soughtto discuss the motivations of the project and securepermission from the individual land owner or herdingcommunity to continue surveying across private andcollective holdings, and to begin establishing rapport.Extensive conversations/interviews with each house-hold or communidad resulted, some of which lasted sev-eral hours. We informally interviewed herders aboutpractices, household activities and their interactionswith archaeological sites. Conversations also focusedon the materials and data collected from archaeologicalsites, to demonstrate the interests of the projects. Con-versations about toponyms and herding locations usedtopographic and remote-sensing maps and herders ex-hibited varying degrees of literacy with these mod-els for representing spatial information. Interviewswere informally structured, yet followed a standardset of questions. Questions were inserted into the nat-ural course of the discussion as appropriate. Discus-sions/interviews were in Spanish. Spanish was the firstor second language for the mixed Peruvian/Americancrews and in many cases was the second language forthe Aymara herders.

4. Cf. Gil Garcıa (2006), where communities in Nor Lipez,Bolivia, recount a similar three-period history. This his-tory uses ‘the time of the chullpas’ (i.e. a time when dif-ferent people lived), a religious miracle experienced bynamed founders in the sixteenth century which refer-ences Catholic imagery, and a mytho-historic momentduring the nineteenth century when the communi-ties were involved in Republican-period mining indus-tries, as chronological landmarks for the communities’history.

Benjamin ViningDepartment of Anthropology

Wellesley CollegePendleton East 331, 106 Central Street

Wellesley, MA 02481USA

Email: [email protected]

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Author biography

Benjamin Vining is interested in how archaeological landuse histories cumulatively structure contemporary land use,and natural resources. His research focuses on how high-land Andean societies have responded to climatic changeand anthropogenic environmental effects. Currently, he isa visiting lecturer at Wellesley College and a postdoctoralresearch associate at Boston University.

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Documents

M´as All´a Encuentran Los Antiguos: Temporality, Distance and Instrumentality in Aymara Interactions with Archaeological Landscapes