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This article was published in Volume 13, Number 2 “In the Field” of Mind and Human Interaction. The full reference is: To cite particular passages or pages, please contact us for a hard copy of the original published version: E-mail: mind@virginia.edu; phone: 434-982-1045. Community, Identity, and Land in Huatulco, México Alicia María González, Ph.D., is a senior curator at the Smithsonian National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, DC. She has a Ph.D. in anthropology and folklore from the University of Texas at Austin and has taught at the University of Southern California. She has served as a consulting scholar for several Public Broadcasting Service television series, including Chicano: History of the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement and The Buried Mirror: Reflections on Spain and the New World. She is the author of The Edge of Enchantment: Sovereignty and Ceremony in Huatulco, México (National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution, Washington and New York, 2002, available from www.fulcrum-books.com). Lisa Aronson, Ph.D., is the Director of the Center for the Study of Mind and Human Interaction and Assistant Professor of Psychiatric Medicine, School of Medicine, University of Virginia (Charlottesville). Introduction by Lisa Aronson As a teenager I lived for two summers in Oaxaca, México and have had an abiding interest in México ever since. The immediacy of adolescence coupled with the enriched differences of México’s sights, sounds, smells, rich historical sediment, and rural foundations over-rode my Southern California teenage life. While in New York at the January 2003 meetings of the American Psychoanalytic Association, I veered off to a wondrous exhibit in the Old Customs House in Battery Park called “The Edge of Enchantment.” As in my youth, I was drawn away from the urban 21st century into my memories of Oaxaca, México. The photographs of women in flowered skirts and long black-gray hair, braided the length of their backs in bright yarns, preparing food together at a roughly constructed brick stove and the background of palms and jungle enabled this “time travel.” When I returned to Charlottesville, Virginia, I made contact with the curator of “The Edge of Enchantment” exhibit and author of its companion book The Edge of Enchantment: Sovereignty and Ceremony in Huatulco, México for a discussion and interview so that I could learn more about her research in Oaxaca, México. For over a decade, Dr. Alicia González visited the largely Native and mestizo communities of the Huatulco-Huamelula region of Oaxaca, México to learn about the powerful link there between family and place and history. Traveling along this road of inquiry, she studied the ways in which communities use ritual and performance to affirm their shared history and to pass their sense of community on to their children. She found that the retention of land has been a chronic and acute source of anxiety, struggle, and meaning: “While people in these towns still mourn the land they have lost, whether in the last twenty or 200 years, their attention has turned to retaining the land they have left. They are concerned less with boundary disputes than with supporting the communal activities in which they participate, creating a meaningful future in a place beginning to be dominated by large hotels and tourism, and sustaining their ties to their young people who migrate north to seek a better life” (González, p. 25). Dr. González’s entrée into the communities was eased because she understood the deep significance of place to them. Helping the municipality of Santa María, Huatulco recover the “primordial title” that delineated, by name and landmark, the boundaries of the region opened communities to Dr. González and gave impetus and structure to her research. This title had been transferred to the archives in Oaxaca City for conservation and forgotten. The contents of this document were described in the 1940s by the indexer as “a very ancient title which consists of the welcome that the Indians of this town of Huatulco gave to Hernán Cortés” (González, p. 18). Dated 1539, this title served as a disposition of the land when the Spaniards arrived: “the possession of the land is turned over to the caciques [Native chieftains in areas dominated primarily by Spanish overlords], on the condition that the two towns—renamed, after the Spanish Conquest, Santa María Guatulco and San Miguel de Guatulco—retrieve and sell salt from the marshes and lagoons of Coyula, Arenal, and Mascalco in order to present the church with the proper accoutrements. It says that the people are to have cattle for the sole purpose of assisting with the celebration of the festivities of the confraternity of the ‘Patroness of Our Pure Conception’” (González, p. 19). The region Dr. González researched lies between the town of Pochutla and the Isthmus of Tehuantepec along and inland from México’s Mar del Sur, the Southern Pacific coastal region of the state of Oaxaca, México. The Chontal and Zapotec speaking people of this region live around the bays, along the rivers, and in the mountains. These ancient communities long precede the arrival of Moctezuma’s warriors in the 15th century and the conquistador Pedro de Alvarado who claimed the region for Hernán Cortés in 1522 or 1523. Interview with Alicia M. González Lisa Aronson (LA): You recently told me that your visit to the Huatulco region of Oaxaca, México to bring the people the book you completed about their region, The Edge of Enchantment, was a “life-changing” experience. Could you tell me why? Alicia M. González (AMG): The region of Huatulco in the state of Oaxaca, México, is nestled between the Pacific Ocean and the Sierra Madre del Sur mountain range. While the new tourist development along the ocean is easily accessible via air, the topography of the region is mountainous and not easily visited. In keeping with my longstanding relationship of admiration and respect for the people with whom I have worked through the years, I felt it critical and ethical for me to present the book that I had completed to each of the individuals with whom I worked or to their families (in the case of the deceased or those who were unavailable). My work partner, the photographer Roberto Ysáis, and I visited over 20 communities and about 100 households—those with whom we have worked over the course of eight years—in a little under two weeks time. After so many years of visits and conversations about their life histories, the histories of the region or village, and life and philosophy in general, it was a wonderful gift to be able to present them with the book containing their contributions and the photographs we took of them. In some cases, an elder had died and the visit gave us an opportunity to mourn with the family and to celebrate the individual’s contribution to the community. Sometimes the visit was bittersweet. In other cases, young people from the family or village had left for the United States to find work. These young people have since called me from New Jersey or Atlanta, or wherever they are, to acknowledge that they had spoken to their families and that they were happy to know that the book was completed. We signed and dedicated the books to each individual and family and showed them the passage where they were mentioned. Many of the people come from an oral tradition and do not read. The majority read Spanish, of course, but the book was published in English first, because it was done in the US and our budget did not allow for more. Thus, we sat with each person and I translated what the book said. The content was not a surprise to them because as I worked on the passages about each area, I had returned to them to keep them apprised of what I was writing. As people leafed through the book, some saw their relations and friends from other parts of the region, some of whom they had lost track of, thinking that they were long deceased. Others recognized their godparents, uncles, and aunts. Of course, after a certain age of maturity, as in many Native groups in the United States, the elders become everyone’s uncle or aunt, grandmother or grandfather—Roberto and I are everyone’s uncle and aunt. Once they finished looking at the book, many of the people would give it back to us, and I would explain that it was for them. Many of them responded the same way with a surprised look on their faces, “but how much does it cost?” I would then clarify that it was a gift from the museum. I believe that we all felt tremendous gratitude, they for the book, and I (we) for their participation and trust in us. We were given the tortillas that they bake and take with them to the fields where they sow and harvest. We were given harvested coffee, chocolate for mixing, hibiscus flowers for our tea, and foods and fruits of the season. It was an overwhelmingly powerful feeling of mutual appreciation, especially from a people who have a great deal of warmth and love to give, and who want to give you as much as they can with their modest resources. Several people said that they had known others who had come, asked questions, and then gone away. They had never heard back from the visitors or known what they had done with the information. Many people are closed and very weary of anyone coming to them for something. As someone pointed out, in many cases, this was the only book a family had ever had in its possession. We all have heightened experiences in our lives, but I feel that this has been by far the most gratifying experience for me. I believe that it is like prayer and fits with studies that have been done about how mass prayer can have a positive effect on an individual and a group. As we went to see children in schools and presented the book in classrooms, in town squares, in homes, and to so many groups in the villages and towns, the mirror that they held up made them shine so brightly and reflected to all around. When we believe in something, choose to go against the currents and follow our hearts, the outcome is so much more reinforcing than if we do things passively or to conform. This was a particularly difficult course that I knowledgeably chose. There were several challenges involved in the project, and this is why the resulting experience was so very gratifying.
LA: I see from the introduction to your book that when you lived in Southern California, you organized cultural events in which many Oaxacans took part. Can you tell me what interested you about this particular cultural group? AMG: Oaxaca is one of the most complex states of México. It has over 16 indigenous ethnic groups and languages. Most Oaxacans who live in Southern California and in other parts of the United States still conserve much of their language, and, in fact, some go directly from speaking their Native language to speaking English. Oaxacans are very closely knit and maintain very strong ties to their communities, both in the United States and in México. LA: I noticed that while you were a professor at USC, you wrote about the role that wheat bread played in México. How did this come to interest you? AMG: Corn is one of the three most important grains in the world, and its source is located in Tehuacan, México. Most people associate México with corn. Corn is probably one of the most important symbols or icons of México. I studied the role wheat played in México, specifically as a counterpoint to corn. What fascinated me was that México has one of the most impressive repertoires of wheat bread in the world, specifically sweet breads. I looked at the impact that wheat had on the indigenous peoples and who and what it represented. In effect, I was writing a social history of wheat bread. LA: It seems that your curiosity and passion regarding the Huatulco region were stimulated by knowing the Oaxacans in Los Angeles and reading about the area through your research on wheat and then sugar. How did this curiosity and passion become an action? AMG: That’s an interesting question, and the answer combines both serendipity and intent. I had been to Oaxaca several times long before I actually decided to focus my research in that area. My brother and I drove through México and to Oaxaca over 30 years ago and it kept pulling me back. I was an art student before I studied anthropology and folklore, and I was fascinated by the fabulous artisanry and craft from México, and more specifically from Oaxaca. I took it upon myself to go to the many communities there and to meet artisans and their families. It was a perfect place to study the role artisans played in their communities. In fact, it was from this perspective that I also looked at bread making (from the role of the baker), although baking is an ephemeral art form. The Oaxacans in California were my tie to many of the things that interested me the most about community and about people from ancient, sophisticated civilizations. But my passion for understanding each thread that forms the tapestry of certain histories and ways of life led me first to the port of Huatulco, where sugar was exported. I had completed my research on wheat bread in México and was deeply puzzled by many of the similarities between the Iberian sugar processes and those in the early Viceregal period of México (c. 16th-18th century) because the Moors of Spain had fled the Inquisition in Spain and also came to México, just like the Jews, but they pretty much controlled sugar production in Spain. Thus, I was tracing sugar processes in the lands owned by Hernán Cortés to the region in Oaxaca that had large sugar production. After conquering México, Cortés became known as the Marquis of the Valley of Oaxaca. He owned great parcels of land and continued to extend his stronghold into what is now Oaxaca, especially around the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, located below the port of Huatulco, in the Mar del Sur, where he did grow sugar. He had his eye on old Guatulco as an advantageous location for a port, where boats could be repaired and other maritime trade activity could take place. In fact, that is where I noticed the similarities between the dress worn by Zapotec women from the Isthmus of Tehuantepec and the 16th century images of Iberian Moorish or Morisco women. I had also worked in Japan and China, and I had already studied the Manila Galleon trade that took place from the 16th to the 19th centuries between the Philippines and México, noting the influences brought in by that trade. Those influences are also visible in the dress worn by the women of the Isthmus. I knew that I had to go to Huatulco if I wanted to weave those threads together. LA: Once you purchased a jeep and determined that you would travel the region, how did you manage as a woman traveling alone over such difficult terrain? Did you have car trouble? Who helped you? AMG: I purchased my jeep long after I started the project. In fact, the first time and many times thereafter, I used a rental car. The first one was pretty dangerous, as I look back on it. The tires were quite worn and I did have to stop a couple of times. I wrote a photographer into one of my first proposals. Fortunately, a photographer whom I had never met, but whose photos revealed the type of sensitivity I was looking for in a work partner, contacted me for another reason. I asked if he would take a chance and work on this project on the basis of my finding the funding. We met at the airport on one of my field trips, and then we proceeded in rented cars and jeeps. In fact, I was very, very lucky because he had worked in over 28 countries and he knew how to trek and had a great deal of experience in the field. Our first vehicle together was a “Trecker,” hardly a 4-wheel drive, but we managed, and it was even during the rainy season, when the roads are washed out completely. We would drive to a certain point and then walk. After a couple of years of doing this, I managed to buy a 10-year-old jeep. I drove it myself across the US, identifying Oaxacans in almost every state I crossed and quite surprised by that fact. It was only in New Mexico that I had troubles and had to stay longer than I had planned. But there were wonderful and helpful individuals everywhere I went. I left the jeep in California with a mechanic who made several major repairs, including enlarging the radiator in order to make it more efficient in the hot climate. Then, the photographer and I went South to all of the places where I needed to interview individuals. The jeep has been fine throughout and has needed only minor repairs. Ironically, it gave out on the last day when we were delivering the books to the communities. But, it’s working again now. I have worked most of my career as a woman alone in the field, and even in the remotest places I have always been extremely fortunate. LA: It looks as if, in addition to your interest in wheat, sugar, and textiles, you were interested in the role that cyclical rituals and festivals play in pulling people back to their villages of origin. Please tell me about this interest. Was it connected to your own family’s history? Have you communicated with your family about your discoveries? Do they take an interest in your work? AMG: What interested me about the different ethnic groups in the United States was the strong ties that exist with their countries and communities of origin. Perhaps it is because I was raised in a traditional Mexican household where we were taught to appreciate family history and how and why we do certain things. Both of my parents are tremendous resources and storehouses of knowledge. My mother stayed in the home to nurture and raise us, but she is a painter, writer (who has kept journals and loves writing letters), singer, and voracious reader. My father, too, had been in the seminary three times before he met my mother in church in México. My parents always explained everything so carefully to us. As a child, I was almost alone between my elder siblings and my younger brother. I traveled with my parents and they explained many things to me—I always saw the ties to ritual and its reason for being. Ritual was one of my favorite areas of study as well. If we look at the integrity of our existence, each of us requires ritual to survive because it reinforces who we are. I see ritual in its broadest sense as a mode of efficient communication, reinforcing identity. I’m always amazed by how much my parents are in tune with what I’m doing. My siblings, their children, and their children’s children are similarly interested. In fact, they look forward to my visits because they want to hear about my latest activities and research. They are also deeply concerned about the communities and the people with whom I have worked over the years, and they ask about them individually. The people from the communities also ask about my family. Some were able to meet my family at the opening of the exhibition in New York City. I was able to bring about 15 people from the communities as guests. LA: Did your interest in the links between the people’s identity and their land and the ancestors arise through chance when a clerk gave you a copy of summaries of Huamelula’s town holding? Did the fact that you had located the “primordial title” to the region’s lands provide you an entrée and give impetus and structure to your research? I am interested in how these “chance” discoveries shaped your ongoing interests and research. AMG: The interest in identity is far from chance. In fact, it has been much of my focus, in the research on bread and many other things. Ultimately, all of this work has to do with identity. Therein is the “intent” part of my work. I did about two years worth of research about the region long before I arrived in the town of Huatulco. When I arrived, I did what I usually do when I go to communities that do not know me. I introduced myself to the local authorities, both formal and informal (governmental and community). I drove around to get oriented and talked to many people, but mostly I observed. Eventually, I also sought out the town registries, and this is where serendipity came in. Town registries are often sources of information regarding births, marriages, and deaths, as well as other aspects of civil law or litigation, and the notarized official documents they contain allow one to see certain trends of the town, land ownership, and other types of litigation. In Huatulco, I was shown a warehouse where documents were being stored during the renovation of the municipal building. I had to sort through many piles of moldy and mildewed things, as the documents had literally been thrown there and forgotten. Apparently it would have been a long while before anyone recovered them. The municipality made copies of many of them for me. In the town of Huamelula, the clerk allowed me to review some of their documents, although they did not have what they had in Huatulco. The documents I helped recover dated from the 16th to the 20th centuries. In some villages, there are actual documents that show land ownership prior to the Spanish Conquest, written by a Native scribe. It is often the case that leaders of the community are the repositories of knowledge and papers, as in ancient times and many of these ancient documents are in their safekeeping. What is important is that all of the documents helped give my work a structure. The area I covered is vast and perhaps disconcertingly so. But the documents allowed me to understand the relationship between one place and another, the ties and the boundaries that delimited one ethnic group from another. There were several things that I noticed immediately. One was that individuals from distant locations knew one another, were family, or had intermarried. This was almost the rule. When we gave individuals a ride from one point to another, they were most often related to someone we knew. At first it was surprising because of the distance, but after a while it was nice to know whose family they were from. This is how I was able to decipher the importance of the sacred spaces as well. Pilgrimage is very important throughout the region and tends to take place during the dry season, when it is easier to visit different locations, especially in the more tropically lush areas that become too overgrown with foliage at other times of year. The sacred sites are often natural springs, locations tied to fertility. Water is important all year round, but especially during the dry season. Since ancient times, people have also taken advantage of visits to pilgrimage sites to trade the goods that they produce for things that they need. I learned more through meeting pilgrims going from one location to another, by what the elders spoke of, and by what frightened the children and those unfamiliar with the sacred spaces. In addition, the linking of the names of contemporary people with those in the texts of the documents was a wonderful thing. It may seem an obvious connection, but sometimes scholars work in isolation from the community and individuals that they are studying. If I had based all of my work on the documents and on the research in the archives that I had done previously, without doing the fieldwork, I would have missed the most critical element: the voice of the people, their versions of history, the ethnohistory. The nature of research is such that one must be open to all opportunities for knowledge and understanding. Sometimes what appears to be the most trivial or unimportant element is the most profound link. LA: Focusing on San Pedro Huamelula: The Place of the Seeded Trees and the Feast of San Pedro Huamelula (“The Path of the Alligator”)—Could you describe the community and the celebration, how you became involved with this particular community, what kind of relationship you formed with the people? AMG: The Chontal peoples of the coast are scattered in several villages and hamlets to the southeast of Huatulco. San Pedro Huamelula is one of the oldest villages in the region, but it is also one of the most important. Huatulco was under its jurisdiction on and off for several hundred years, but Huatulco might have also been a Chontal stronghold before it was conquered by other early Mesoamerican groups (prior to the Spanish conquest). One of the ways in which I delimited the space in which I would work was by looking at the focal points of governance over a 500-year period. When I first went to the area I looked at natural boundaries and fortresses and then kept going beyond them to see what was on the other side. I had known that in ancient times Huamelula was a source of paper and that after the conquest it was also a source of sugar among other things. Ancient peoples kept records, both written and oral, of their histories, and these were often complementary. In fact, many of the codices, the ancient books of some of the nearby ethnic groups, are pre-contact (before the Spanish conquest). Several scholars have studied the fact that these books were often “performed”; that is, the ancient books were exhibited or opened while some aspect of them was retold in different contexts. When I was working in the Chontal region, one of the women from the sister village of Santiago Astata, Doña Celia, took us to the Good Friday procession, the passion play of the village of San Pedro Huamelula. The passion play is a traditional enactment of the events leading up to and including Christ’s crucifixion and it takes place on Good Friday of Lent in many Native villages throughout México and Guatemala. All the village men follow Christ’s effigy and all the women follow Mary, Christ’s mother, in a procession where they meet at a crossroad. The women wail and say they identify with Mary, the Mother of Christ, because as mothers they also feel what their children feel. At the ceremony, I met Doña Celia’s aunt and many other people. It was incredibly impressive. Later, one of the daughters told me that she wished to have one of the feasts documented and asked if I would help. My colleague suggested that she apply for a visiting fellowship to work with me. To prepare, I purchased my own video camera and film, and I raised the funds to document the ceremony. I had worked with video when I was a graduate student at the University of Texas at Austin, so I was comfortable with it. The first thing I wanted to do was become familiar with the ceremony. The photographer took many still photos and his son and I took video footage the first year that we documented the ceremony. For the ceremony the following year, I brought a professional film producer with whom I had worked in the past. I took him with us so that the community would know what we were doing. They were very comfortable with all of us. He also shot some footage and we edited a six-minute piece to use to raise the monies for a longer version of the ceremony. I am in the process of doing this, but it is a long process, because it takes a great deal of decoding and research to understand much of what transpires in the performance. In fact, it requires tremendous knowledge of historical detail and this is one of the things I have been researching all the way along. The community of San Pedro Huamelula is very closed. They scrutinize everyone who comes into town, and rightly so. They are well aware of those who come in to try to exploit them. Thus, Roberto and I have been very fortunate to have been taken into the bosom of the community. It is something that I do not take for granted, and for which I also feel a deep sense of responsibility. The community is very poor economically and has fallen on hard times, although it does preserve its nobility and traditional knowledge. Their performed history has been conserved all of this time, and it is passed on through an apprenticeship that begins at a very young age. My role with them is, as with the book, to facilitate and to document their history with them. LA: Did they express discomfort regarding your interest in them? AMG: One thing I have learned about working with communities, not just individuals, is that they are honest, and sometimes brutally so. If a community does not like you, you will know it. I have felt a deep level of comfort with the communities with which I have worked. If there is ever a question, I go directly to the source. One thing that I think has surprised some of my colleagues and others is how far I go to inform them about what I am doing and the purpose of my work. Although it often takes longer, the end result is shared in a manner that is meaningful to all involved. It may be exhausting sometimes, but it’s really well worth it. LA: How did you explain your interest to them? AMG: Many of the communities, community leaders, and elders with whom I have worked find the work I do intensely interesting. They want to conserve their knowledge and they have an appreciation for the kind of conversations that we have together. It’s a sharing. It’s not just about taking. This makes a world of difference. I have worked in many countries and many communities throughout the world. So has Roberto. Thus, we all want to know about each other. The people have as many questions, often more, than I have. This allows for a great interaction. LA: How did they react to the photography and filming of their ritual celebration? AMG: Since the community is involved, they often take the lead and tell us what they want documented and what they believe should be included in the film or photography. This makes a great difference. We have always left them with Polaroids and other photos that we have taken. When I first had some video footage, we figured out a way of showing it to them, and many of the people sat around and enjoyed the video and laughed, and also explained what was transpiring. LA: Was there a particular response to you because you are a woman? AMG: As a woman, I have been very fortunate. Although I work with Roberto, this is a project of my making and I have traveled there alone often enough. The women of these communities are very strong. Theirs is a merchant society and a matriarchy, so there is no surprise about what I am doing. In fact, the women are quite sophisticated in the questions they ask and what they want to share. They always have personal questions, both the men and the women. I have no problem with these questions. People in each community seem to ask me the same questions. LA: Did you have more access to the women than the men? AMG: I worked equally with men and women, although often it was the men to whom I had to introduce myself first because they tended to hold the administrative positions in each community. When we went to marketplaces and homes, the women were the ones with whom we first came into contact. It varied, but the interaction was with both men and women. LA: Did they want you to become a part of their lives? If so, in what way? AMG: We have become part of the lives of many of these people. I have become godmother to a couple of children, and we have made friendships with many of the families. I consider many of the people to be my friends. We have shared many aspects of life and death through the years. They all want to make space for me/us. There has been so much shared that there will always be much to talk about, and so much to learn. LA: How have you followed up with them and do they communicate with you when you are away? AMG: On September 11, 2001, I was flying over LaGuardia airport in New York, about to land, when the first hijacked plane hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center. Passengers sitting on the other side of the plane saw something. When we landed, everyone was quiet. We still had no idea about what had just happened. When I walked out of the airport and took a cab to lower Manhattan’s Battery Park for my meeting at the New York venue of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution to prepare for two exhibitions, the cab driver and I were still unaware there was a problem. We were listening to the news while we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. Everything stopped, and we witnessed the implosion of the towers in front of us. I went to the home of the taxi driver, and he and his wife kindly allowed me to spend the night in their spare bedroom. My workplace did not know I was missing, yet. When I finally returned home to Washington, DC, many friends from the Huatulco region called me from the one phone in their village. Others went to a central location to ask specifically about me, and whether anyone had heard how I was. I received letters from some of the villagers and their families in the States. One of the women who saw the news via satellite thought she saw me, and she cried and asked her son to try to reach me. When I returned to the villages about the 18th of September, many people came up to me, hugged me, and cried for the happiness they felt. This speaks volumes about our mutual care and respect. LA: I understand that a museum may be constructed in Huatulco to house the exhibition “The Edge of Enchantment” that is currently installed at the National Museum of the American Indian. How did this idea evolve? AMG: The idea of a community museum was independently conceived by many people. It was always a hope of mine, since Oaxaca has had very successful community museum projects. A husband and wife team who work in Oaxaca City have been instrumental in fomenting the concept of community museums and it has had a great impact among many Native peoples in the hemisphere who attempt to emulate the concept. In the case of Huatulco, it was the community that expressed this intent and made the arrangements, organized the community elders and advisors, and has been working on the purchase of the land and the design and development of their museum. It will be located on a main thoroughfare, close to town. There is a great deal to resolve still, but there is true willingness on the part of the majority, especially since they increasingly value their own knowledge of history and have witnessed how their history has been distorted or exploited for the sake of tourism. It is only natural for there to be differences of opinion about how things should be done. Politics enter into everything of course, but I do believe that there is a critical mass of people who want to make it happen. LA: How was your original research funded? How did you arrange for the time to pursue this interest? AMG: I have worked for the Smithsonian for nearly twenty years now. Throughout my history at this Institution, I have raised most of the funds necessary to make my projects a reality. I have applied for funding through internal Smithsonian funding sources, as well as from foundations outside. As with all funding processes, some proposals get funded and others do not. Although a large portion of the work was funded, I did pay for a great deal from my own pocket. It’s not uncommon for scholars and others to do this, if it is something they love. I have worked for the National Museum of the American Indian, part of the Smithsonian Institution, for about seven years. It is a museum in process. When one is committed to working with communities, things take time. Although community forms the very core of the concept of this new museum, the museum is young and is learning about long-term engagement with communities and what that really means. It requires doing things very differently from other museums. It calls for dedicated learning about the many indigenous communities in this hemisphere. This work can never be done with a 9-to-5 mentality, for time is unfamiliar and has no logic in this type of interaction. I originally established a long-term trajectory, a five-year plan of what I would like to see happen. I am thankful that almost everything on the list did get accomplished. LA: What will be your ongoing involvement with the communities in coastal Oaxaca? AMG: We can only learn about the world and this life through the immediate lens of our personal lives. The breadth of that lens is as far and wide as we allow ourselves to reach. The communities of coastal Oaxaca will always play a major role in the way in which I perceive the world. They have become the microcosm for what I believe I need to recognize and understand. I feel that all of what I did in the past was only in preparation for what has transpired with these communities and for what is still to come with them. I know we have a great deal of other “work” in the future. The exact shape of that work is yet to be defined. I wove many threads into the first book and exhibition, but the tapestry is so large that it will take a great deal more material, and perhaps even more weavers, to continue. I don’t think it can ever be completed. I have mentored a few young individuals who will continue, and as we go forward the community calls upon them or me. It’s a very familial process. That’s what counts. |
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