Fabriques du métissage au Mexique ou l’autre métissage
The issue of Blackness and Mestizaje in two distinct Mexican contexts:Veracruz and Costa Chica1Odile Hoffmann and Christian Rinaudo2The construction of new nations in Latin America has triggered debate on the definition of national identity with a view towards reconciling the reality of mestizaje with the attribution—inherited from Colonial times—of specific “characteristics” to groups and individuals (Spanish, Indian, Black, mulatto, etc). It was also confronted with racist connotations which, in the early 19th century, included the ideas of progress and modernity, hence the difficulty in legitimizing its own “brand of mestizaje.” We will address these issues through empirical examination of two contexts in Mexico: the State and City of Veracruz, and Costa Chica on the Pacific coast of the States of Oaxaca and Guerrero. Strongly associated with Mexican national identity, what these two case studies share is the issue of mestizaje from the standpoint of the African presence which, though considerable from the start of colonization, was not included in “classic” views of national mestizaje. This analysis helps reveal various ways in which populations of African origin were incorporated into the Nation. Thus, we can see how the local configuration articulates with the overall discourse to privilege one facet or dimension of (cultural, or social, or political) Afro identification over another.Keywords: racialization; ethnicization; indian identity; black identities; afro-latinos; hybridity; creolity The explicit racialization of colonial societies appeared in the eighteenth century and developed especially in the nineteenth century, as shown by Alan Knight (1990) in Latin America, and well developed by more recent authors in Mexico.3 Before that time, and with Atlantic modernization in the 16th century, differences in color, status, prestige, and social position intermingled in multiple combinations within which the “racial configuration” existed without eliminating other notions of difference (Velázquez 2011).It was finally in the course of the nineteenth century that the idea of race was refined and reinforced in Mexico. Political figures from different parties and intellectual circles, including scientists inspired by positivist theories, sought to construct a new mestiza nation in search of post-independence unity and a national identity that would address nearly a century of civil strife.4 In Mexico, political figures from different parties and intellectuals, including ‘scientists’ (a group inspired by positivist theories), built a young nation, assumed to be Mestiza, in search of its unity (after achieving independence in 1821) and identity after a century of civil strife. Combining opposites and seeking a new path, they then shaped such notions as “Mestizo race,” “Bronze race” and “New race,” all expressing the will to recognize the specificity of a very mixed population while fitting it into the prevailing universalizing scientism of the era. Following the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920), which further reinforced the need for cohesion, José Vasconcelos (1925) developed the concept of the “Cosmic Race,” echoing Manuel Gamio’s ([1916] ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Gamio</Author><Year>1992</Year><RecNum>5237</RecNum><record><rec-number>5237</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5237</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Gamio, Manuel</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Forjando Patria</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Race et ethnicité</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1992</year></dates><pub-location>Mexico</pub-location><publisher>editorial Porrùa</publisher><orig-pub>1916</orig-pub><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>1992) indigenismo, which laid the groundwork for an integrationist cultural nationalism. Thus, even when glorifying mestizaje and racial mixing, “race” continued to guide the vocabulary, reasoning, and discourse of the nation, as well as the political and social rationales of hierarchical organization.Instituted at the end of the 19th century, this paradigm waned a century later, giving way to other political concepts and a new societal model. The period of 1980-1990 was marked by the success of multiculturalism, the politics of recognition ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Taylor</Author><Year>1992</Year><RecNum>3992</RecNum><record><rec-number>3992</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3992</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Taylor, Charles</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Multiculturalism and 'The Politics of Recognition'</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Politique culturelle</keyword><keyword>Politique identitaire</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1992</year></dates><pub-location>Princeton</pub-location><publisher>Princeton University Press</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Taylor 1992), and political handling of differences ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Kymlicka</Author><Year>1996</Year><RecNum>3991</RecNum><record><rec-number>3991</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3991</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Kymlicka, Will</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Ciudadanía multicultural. Una teoría liberal de los derechos de las minorías</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Politique culturelle</keyword><keyword>Politique identitaire</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1996</year></dates><pub-location>Barcelona</pub-location><publisher>Paidos</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Kymlicka 1996). These models were viewed as new options to fight the marginalization and discrimination historically suffered by ethnic, racial, cultural, and national minorities. Since then, several Latin American countries inspired by multiculturalism––such as Brazil, Nicaragua, Colombia, Perú, Bolivia, Ecuador, and Venezuela––have responded to the claims of populations asserting their indigenous and African origins by launching a process of politico-institutional recognition through constitutional and legislative reformation From then on, several Latin American countries like Brazil, Nicaragua, Colombia, Perú, Bolivia, Ecuador and Venezuela launched a process of politico-institutional recognition of the claims of populations asserting their indigenous and African origins explicitly inspired by multiculturalism, and modified their constitutions and legislations accordingly. ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Gros</Author><Year>2000</Year><RecNum>3137</RecNum><record><rec-number>3137</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3137</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Gros, Christian</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Políticas de la etnicidad: identidad, estado y modernidad</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Politique identitaire</keyword><keyword>Colombie</keyword><keyword>Amérique Latine</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2000</year></dates><pub-location>Bogotá</pub-location><publisher>ICANH</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite><Cite><Author>Wade</Author><Year>2000</Year><RecNum>3623</RecNum><record><rec-number>3623</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3623</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Wade, Peter</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Raza y etnicidad en Latinoamérica</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Race et ethnicité</keyword><keyword>Théories</keyword><keyword>Amérique Latine</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2000</year></dates><pub-location>Quito-Ecuador</pub-location><publisher>Ediciones ABYA-Yala</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Gros 2000; Wade 1997, 2010). In Mexico, the indigenista discourse of integration changed during this period, evoking debates and programs that were defined around notions of respect for cultural diversity. Nonetheless, the constitutional change of 1992, which recognized the nation’s “multicultural composition,” did not give rise to legislative reforms on this theme.This political context largely contributed to “ways of seeing” and understanding the issue of mestizaje as it arose in Mexico. Here, as in many other Latin America countries, this question was discussed mainly from the standpoint of the “Indian,” starting from a process of “dis-Indianization” (or assimilation in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century) and followed by a (very) relative “re-Indianization,” which was conducted on the basis of indigenous recognition and accompanied by the rejection of the prevailing twentieth- century mestizaje ideology. At the end of the twentieth century, some observers and political players began interpreting this as the force that impelled the cultural homogenization central to the forging of an official national chronicle, which ignored the importance of other demographic phenomena ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Viqueira</Author><Year>2010</Year><RecNum>4404</RecNum><record><rec-number>4404</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">4404</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Viqueira, Juan Pedro</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Reflexiones contra la noción histórica de mestizaje</title><secondary-title>Nexos</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>Nexos</full-title></periodical><keywords><keyword>Race et ethnicité</keyword><keyword>Racisme et discriminations</keyword><keyword>Mexique</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2010</year><pub-dates><date>mayo</date></pub-dates></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Viqueira 2010). 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ADDIN EN.CITE.DATA Hoffmann 2005; Martínez Montiel 1994; Velázquez and Correa 2005). The invisibility of such populations can be explained in part by structural demographic processes: in Mexico, the largest number of slaves from Africa were brought in during the first part of the Colonial period, between 1580 and 1640 ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Aguirre Beltrán</Author><Year>1972</Year><RecNum>3607</RecNum><record><rec-number>3607</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3607</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Aguirre Beltrán, Gonzalo</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>La población negra de México: estudio ethnohistórico</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1972</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Fondo de Cultura Económica</publisher><orig-pub>1946</orig-pub><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Aguirre Beltrán [1946] 1972), unlike the Spanish Caribbean islands where the slave trade lasted much longer, well into the nineteenth century ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Benítez Rojo</Author><Year>1983</Year><RecNum>4185</RecNum><record><rec-number>4185</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">4185</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Benítez Rojo, Antonio</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>La isla que se repite</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Noirs</keyword><keyword>Cara?be</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1983</year></dates><pub-location>Barcelona</pub-location><publisher>Casiopea</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Benítez Rojo 1983). Consequently, there was no renewal of Black populations and few individuals in Mexico today associate with the generally recognized “Black” categories associated with other identifications––African, Cuban Black, North American Black. This low visibility of “Black populations” on a national level also corresponds to the fact that few individuals identify with a category that has officially disappeared (from census data, official texts, public policy) since Independence in 1821. Today in Mexico, only a tiny minority of people define themselves collectively as “Black.” An attempt to count the number of individuals in this category might easily reveal figures that range from a few thousand to several million, depending on the selected criteria (phenotypic traits and skin colour, self-definition, genealogical descent, cultural practices, etc).In this context, the matter of seeing how the link between the history of slavery and populations “of African origin” is activated or not, proclaimed or not, used for political purposes or not helps revitalize research on the “Black diaspora” or “Black Atlantic.” Taking into account how the issue of mestizaje is called into question or not, redefined or diversely interpreted, sometimes given a political bent, leads to examining the conditions in which boundaries based on presumably differentiated genealogies may produce ‘groupness’, meaning the crystallization of collective awareness of belonging to the same ‘group.’ In Brubaker’s terms, the notion of “groupness”—?unlike “groupism,” which is a tendency to consider ethnic groups, nations and races as substantial entities?— refers to an event, something which may or not occur in the social world, which may or not succeed in crystallizing despite players’ efforts to impose its existence ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Brubaker</Author><Year>2002</Year><RecNum>2794</RecNum><record><rec-number>2794</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">2794</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Brubaker, Rogers</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Ethnicity without Groups</title><secondary-title>Archives Européennes de Sociologie</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>Archives Européennes de Sociologie</full-title></periodical><pages>163-189</pages><volume>XLIII</volume><number>2</number><dates><year>2002</year></dates><label>Race
Ethnicité</label><urls><related-urls><url> 2002).To address these issues, we chose an empirical method that would enable us to sidestep such discursive approaches or ideological debates. This entailed describing two local contexts in Mexico that both approach the issue of mestizaje based on,?or including, an African presence: the coastal region and City of Veracruz on the Gulf of Mexico and Costa Chica on the Pacific coast between the States of Oaxaca and Guerrero. In both cases, we sought to understand how local configurations articulate with broader rationales to reveal or alter representations of mestizaje or, conversely, ignore them in favour of other models or representations.5Veracruz, Ethnic “Whitening,” and Folk CultureIn the State of Veracruz, the absence so far of political organizations connected to transnational networks defending the rights of ‘Black people’ or ‘Afro-descendants’ produced a regional configuration in which contemporary political interests bear less on recognizing, labelling and counting social groups established on an ethnic basis than on accounting, or not, for cultural traits assumed to be of African origin (music, dance, festivities, diet) fitting in with those assumed to hark back to Spanish and indigenous origins as part of a regional culture recognized as linked to ‘Jarocho identity’6 and perceived as Mestizo of political organizations connected to transnational networks that defend the rights of Black or Afro-descendant groups produced contemporary political interests that emphasized the importance of cultural traits assumed to be of African origin—such as music, dance , festivities, and diet linked to Jarcho6 identity and a regional mestizo regional culture—over the recognition, counting, and labelling of social groups based on ethnicity (Sue 2007). In these conditions, the issue of an African presence has been debated by different local players mainly at the level of cultural policy, formulated in terms of the “Third Root” and its contributions to regional heritage. In Veracruz, and throughout Mexico, the relatively early slowdown of the slave trade, combined with a renewed demographic growth of the indigenous population, resulted in the rapid inclusion of African populations into a largely rural “folk civilization,” which Antonio Garcia de León referred to as an “Afro-Andalusian Caribbean.”7 However, the development of cultural expressions such as Fandango and Son Jarocho, organized around livestock and herding in this Afro-Andalusian or (Indo)Afro-Andalusian Caribbean, was not cut off from the city ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Pérez Montfort</Author><Year>2007</Year><RecNum>3541</RecNum><record><rec-number>3541</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3541</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book Section">5</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Pérez Montfort, Ricardo</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>El "negro" y la negritud en la formación del estereotipo del jarocho durante los siglos XIX y XX</title><secondary-title>Expresiones populares y estereotipos culturales en México. Siglos XIX y XX. Diez ensayos</secondary-title></titles><pages>175-210</pages><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Culture populaire</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2007</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>CIESAS</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Pérez Montfort 2007, 183). Quite the contrary, continuous exchanges between ports and hinterland reinforced the relationship between the two regions. From the start of the Colonial period, the city of Veracruz was home to a large number of people of African origin, both slaves and freemen, who enjoyed a rather broad margin of tolerance compared to other regions of Mexico. This was because of the presence of few Spaniards and their descendants, who fled the city during the long hot season and other periods when boats arrived to find refuge in the cities of the Altiplano ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Alcántara López</Author><Year>2002</Year><RecNum>3401</RecNum><record><rec-number>3401</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3401</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book Section">5</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Alcántara López, ?lvaro</author></authors><secondary-authors><author>García Díaz, Bernardo</author><author>Guerra Vilaboy, Sergio</author></secondary-authors></contributors><titles><title>Negros y afromestizos del Puerto de Veracruz. Impresiones de lo popular durante los siglos XVII y XVIII</title><secondary-title>La Habana/Veracruz Veracruz/La Habana. Las dos orillas</secondary-title></titles><pages>175-191</pages><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Culture populaire</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2002</year></dates><pub-location>Veracruz</pub-location><publisher>Universidad Veracruzana - Universidad de la Habana</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Alcántara López 2002).In the nineteenth century, struggles for independence throughout the region created new waves of migration from Cuba, Puerto Rico, Haiti, Jamaica, Santo Domingo, Colombia and Venezuela that were unrelated to the Mexican system of slavery, also generating new forms of cultural exchange via the port of Veracruz (?vila et al. 2011). The presence of populations of African origin in the city made the demographic issue more complex, nurturing what local historiography has described as an “urban folk culture,” characterized by Cuban and more broadly Afro-Caribbean music. Examination of these elements underlines two distinct processes in the transformation representations of the local population, which are both linked to political interests in the issue of mestizaje: first, the “whitening” of the Jarocho stereotype in Mexico; and second, the development of a cultural policy centred around the “Third Root” of mestizaje—and its implementation—in the State and City of Veracruz.“Whitening” JarochosThroughout the nineteenth century, Veracruz, similar to many other main ports, saw the passage of many travellers and chroniclers visiting Latin America from abroad. There are many written descriptions of the region and its inhabitants, the most important of which are published in an anthology titled Cien viajeros in Veracruz, Crónicas y relatos ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Poblett Miranda</Author><Year>1992</Year><RecNum>3714</RecNum><record><rec-number>3714</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3714</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Edited Book">28</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Poblett Miranda, Martha</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Cien viajeros en Veracruz. Crónicas y relatos</title></titles><volume>11 tomos</volume><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Représentations sociales</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1992</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Gobierno del Estado de Veracruz</publisher><label>Crónicas</label><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Poblett Miranda 1992). These travel accounts helped shape an image of Veracruz that was viewed at the time as a dangerous, inhospitable, and unhealthy city; a gloomy place that was hard to reach, where the local population was often depicted as idle, “sleeping all day under the rays of a scorching sun” ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>García Díaz</Author><Year>2002</Year><RecNum>3712</RecNum><record><rec-number>3712</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3712</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book Section">5</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>García Díaz, Bernardo</author></authors><secondary-authors><author>García Díaz, Bernardo</author><author>Guerra Vilaboy, Sergio</author></secondary-authors></contributors><titles><title>Veracruz en la primera mitad del siglo XIX. Testimonios de viajeros</title><secondary-title>La Habana/Veracruz Veracruz/La Habana. Las dos orillas</secondary-title></titles><pages>215-238</pages><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Cara?be</keyword><keyword>Représentations sociales</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2002</year></dates><pub-location>Veracruz</pub-location><publisher>Universidad Veracruzana - Universidad de la Habana</publisher><label>Historia general</label><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>García Díaz 2002, 215-238) or “belonging to all American races with complexions ranging from ochre to ebony” ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>De Valois</Author><Year>1861</Year><RecNum>5251</RecNum><record><rec-number>5251</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5251</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>De Valois, Alfred</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Mexique, Havane et Guatemala. Notes de voyage</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Race et ethnicité</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1861</year></dates><pub-location>Paris</pub-location><publisher>Collection Hetzel</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>De Valois 1861, 40).In this context, Jarochos were most often viewed as the result of “crossbreeding” with Africans, evident in this excerpt from Ernest Vigneaux, a young Frenchman with liberal republican ideas. In 1848, he set out for the Americas, describing the “backward, exotic” regions where Modernist ideas should apply: The Jarocho is the peasant of the province of Veracruz; most often a product of the three known races and, under the fire of Cancer, from this unlikely mixture flows blood of molten lava in a body supported by muscles of steel. The Jarocho is a herdsman who also harvests whatever Mother Nature is willing to offer, without too much help, in the enclosure around his bamboo hut, since he is not much inclined to work, but such Creole idleness is paired in him with anenergy for pleasure so typical of Negro blood. Such furious enjoyment is for him the last word of life: his leisure is absorbed by play, drink, music, dance and love. ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Vigneaux</Author><Year>1863</Year><RecNum>5235</RecNum><record><rec-number>5235</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5235</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Vigneaux, Ernest</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Souvenirs d'un prisonnier de guerre au Mexique, 1854-1855</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1863</year></dates><pub-location>Paris</pub-location><publisher>L. Hachette et cie</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Vigneaux 1863, 541-542)Similarly, the Italian painter Claudio Linati, known for having introduced the art of lithography to Mexico where he stayed in 1825 and 1826, clearly depicted a connotation between poverty and rural life that was associated with Jarochos, as well as their historical relationship with ‘Blacks’ (see Illustration 1). Illustration 1: Negro de Alvarado recostado en su hamaca haciendo trabajar a su mujer (1828). Lithographs by the Italian artist Claudio LinatiAccording to Ricardo Pérez Montfort (2007), in the 1940s, an attempt to move away from this representation emerged, replaced by another Jarocho cliché that originated in the post-revolutionary political apparatus of the “Jarocho dancing La Bamba,” an image of the Jarocho dressed in white and that excluded the historical relationship of Blacks and negritude: The dress and accessories worn by those representing these Jarochos had nothing more to do with the rural world or lower classes of the coast. From then on, the term ‘Jarocho costume’ referred to the very elaborate costly immaculate-white clothing worn by the hispanophile elites of the Port, main towns and former haciendas of Veracruz…Such a depiction of the Jarocho Fandango found its definitive place in the repertoire of regional stereotypes in 1940 when a group from Veracruz chose the lyrics and music of La Bamba as the leitmotiv for political campaigning between 1945 and 1946. ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Pérez Montfort</Author><Year>2001</Year><RecNum>4220</RecNum><record><rec-number>4220</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">4220</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book Section">5</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Pérez Montfort, Ricardo</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>El jarocho y sus fandangos vistos por viajeros y cronistas extranjeros de los siglos XIX y XX. Apuntas para la historia de la formación de un estereotipo regional</title><secondary-title>Veracruz y sus viajeros</secondary-title></titles><pages>123-187</pages><keywords><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Tourisme</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2001</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Gobierno del Estado de Veracruz</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Pérez Montfort 2001,?156-157)Illustration 2: Typical illustration reasserting the image of Jarochos in the mid-20th century (in R. Pérez Montfort, 2001)From “Ethnic Whitening” to the “Third Root” of mestizaje in cultural policyThe post-revolutionary period and its homogenizing centralist cultural nationalism came to an end between 1970 and 1980 ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Jiménez</Author><Year>2006</Year><RecNum>3683</RecNum><record><rec-number>3683</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3683</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Jiménez, Lucina</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Políticas culturales en transición. Retos y escenarios de la gestión cultural en México</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Politique culturelle</keyword><keyword>Mexique</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2006</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>CONACULTA</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Jiménez 2006). Following this period, the Federal Administration and the creation of Secretariats, Institutes, and Councils of Culture throughout Mexico drove a process of cultural decentralization. In February 1987, the Instituto Veracruzano de la Cultura (IVEC) was created, followed in subsequent years by the definition of major orientations and the implementation of what was to become a decentralized cultural policy in the State of Veracruz ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>García Díaz</Author><Year>2004</Year><RecNum>3686</RecNum><record><rec-number>3686</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3686</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>García Díaz, Bernardo</author><author>Guadarrama Olivera, Horacio</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>15 A?os por la cultura en Veracuz, IVEC (1987-2002)</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Politique culturelle</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2004</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Gobierno del Estado de Veracruz-Llave / Instiuto Veracruzano de Cultura</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>García Díaz and Guadarrama Olivera 2012). In particular, this policy, which highlighted the Afro-Caribbean dimension of the region, privileged three main orientations: the revaluation of rural Son Jarocho and its African influence; an emphasis on Danzón and Son Montuno of Afro-Cuban origin as the urban culture of Veracruz (Malcomson, 2010); and the local promotion of a national program centered on the “Third Root” of mestizaje.In 1994, implementation of this policy led to the launching of the International Afro-Caribbean Festival, which has since contributed to the production of another stereotypic image of Veracruz, evident in the design of the Festival’s different posters that emphasized the phenotypic traits and body movements associated with stylized Africanity (see Illustration 3).Illustration 3: Posters from the Festival Internacional Afrocaribe?o (1997, 1998, 2001, 2004, 2008, 2009)Over time, the development of this cultural policy contributed to the emergence in both academic research and public action of different orientations, which were beginning to surface in the local public arena. The first is linked to the launch of the national program known as “Our Third Root” by the Dirección General de Culturas Populares. Aiming to recognize the Latin American world’s African cultural heritage, it originated from an academic and political focus on the history of slavery. From this perspective, the ‘Third Root of mestizaje,’ was based on the historic contribution of slaves and their descendants to national Mexican culture. In Veracruz, Luz María Martínez Montiel (1994), Cultural Heritage Director at the Institute of Culture when it was founded and in charge of renovating the Veracruz City Museum, founded much of this orientation. A second orientation for local cultural policy vis-à-vis the issue of mestizaje, which was also very influential in Veracruz, was associated with the historian Antonio García de León’s insistence on the diversity of cultural heritages in the Afro-Andalusian Caribbean. Defining mestizaje as central to the formation of the region’s folk culture, this perspective entailed recognizing the importance of the African heritage without giving it special primacy. Thus, García de León’s texts evoked this “folk civilization,” which generated mestizaje in Colonial times against the Spanish conquistadores and the city’s White elite. He refers to a “folk culture stoked by various influences: African, Caribbean, European” that developed on the fringe of the elitist culture of the dominant class, viewing Veracruz as the “tropical Babel of the Indies where all possible races and mixtures coexist” (PEVuZE5vdGU+PENpdGU+PEF1dGhvcj5HYXJjw61hIGRlIExlw7NuPC9BdXRob3I+PFllYXI+MTk5
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ADDIN EN.CITE.DATA Cruz Carretero 2005). In this case, emphasis is placed on assuming the cultural and somatic specificity linked to the African presence in Mexico, not only as a heritage common to everyone, but as a characteristic that can be reasserted today in the context of a multi-ethnic vision of Mexico, also considering “Afro-Mexicans” as one of the ethnic components of national society.These three orientations towards the issue of mestizaje and African heritage in local cultural policy produced different accounts of the history of African populations in Mexico. The first two are evident in renovations and changes in the museographic design of the Veracruz City Museum. In 1970, the museum was inaugurated to display the “Four Times Heroic” city against foreign invasions, but soon fell into disrepair. At the same time of the founding of the Veracruz Institute of Culture and the national “Third Root” program, for example, the state-ran Institute of Culture took over the museum, which opened a room dedicated to the history of slavery in the region alongside the existing collection. Following this episode, it returned to management by the municipality, which lost interest in the museum and ultimately dismantled the room dedicated to the history of slavery and Black populations. Inaugurated in 1970 to display the ‘Four Times Heroic’ city against foreign invasions, the Museum soon fell into disrepair. At the time the Veracruz Institute of Culture and the national ‘Third Root’ programme was founded, the Museum was taken over from the City by the Institute of Culture which opened a room dedicated to the history of slavery in the region alongside the existing collection. Following this episode, the City Museum was again managed by the Municipality, which lost interest and virtually abandoned it; the room dedicated to the history of slavery and Black populations was finally dismantledAt the end of the 1990s, the municipality of Veracruz renovated the museum, calling on several historians who had promoted García de León’s approach to cultural diversity. Relying on museographic instruments that emphasized the role of images—photographs, paintings, multimedia presentations—they sought to introduce the previous fifteen years of historical information on the city: they highlighted the working class, folk culture, and districts; urban expansion and its consequences; industrial development and changes in trade unions; and the location of Veracruz in the Caribbean. All of these elements, evoked marginally during the first renovation and with the notable exception of the room dedicated to slavery, were still very much within the historiographic trend of narrating “major events” and “great men.” Inaugurated again in December 2000, the museum has since found a major place in Jarocho folk culture. However, this time, rather than a socio-racial boundary that emphasized the distinction between famous Spanish historical figures of Veracruz and the ‘forgotten’ figures of history, such as slaves and their descendants, emphasis was placed on the African, Amerindian, and Spanish cultural universe that characterized the region, including both its rural (Fandango, Son Jarocho, etc.) and urban (Danzón, Son Montuno, Afro-Caribbean or Afro-Antillean music) facets. Expressions of the third orientation are evident in the foreword of an exhibition organized in 2006 by the Mexican Fine Arts Center Museum in Chicago, which travelled to different parts of Mexico: Being Afro-Mexican means descending from the African population which played anessential part in the history and culture of Mexico since the early 16th century. Despite the African participation in the formation of Mexico as a nation, few people are aware of the existence of Afro-Mexicans.This exhibition, titled The African Presence in Mexico: From Yanga to the Present, took a militant stance in tracing the historical continuity between the enslavement of African populations, the heroism of fugitive slaves, and the claim to an Afro-Mexican identity that countered the ideology of mestizaje. This third racializing orientation elicited little response in the region of Veracruz, whose inhabitants generally showed little interest in type of cultural policy and were more sensitive to accounts that highlighted a mestizaje specific to “folk civilization” (Rinaudo 2012). Despite the efforts deployed by certain militants to emphasize a regional identification of “Afro-Mexican,”8 they did not succeed in crystallizing a collective conscience that focused on African origin alone. However, as we will see in the second part of this paper, this perspective was developed more successfully in the Pacific coastal region. Costa Chica, Mestizaje through the Prism of EthnicizationIn this work, we focus on populations residing in the small region known as Costa Chica, on the Pacific coast of the States of Guerrero and Oaxaca. According to its residents, cultural and ethnic diversity are part of the landscape. These so-called Black, Moreno, or Coste?o inhabitants, sometimes also referred to as Afromestizo or Afro-Mexicans, live in villages relatively isolated from the main coastal road. Typically, Indian villages are located in the hinterland, while the main road which crosses and structures this small region is strewn with small towns controlled by Mestizos. This apparent spatial split—the real picture is obviously more complicated—functions as a geographic configuration that has long acted as a clear-cut naturalizing element of the “differences” (imagined to be radical) between the three “ethnic groups” inhabiting the region. In regional collective representations, each group is associated with a specific space (Indian villages, Black ranchos, Mestizo market towns). Indeed, there is nothing neutral about such associations with a space, which contain implicit values, functions, and hierarchies that lead historically in this particular case to the development of an image of Costa Chica as an “Indian region.” It is in this region that one of the first regional Instituto Nacional Indigenista (INI) centers was set up in the 1940s; cultural and linguistic diversity is greater here than elsewhere and, until very recently, the political and administrative approach to multiculturalism only concerned only groups qualified and officially listed as “Indian.” It is this context of poor legitimacy and visibility that certain well-organized Black groups sought to change in the late twentieth century. Yet the dynamics of mobilization remain weak, as attested by the persistent instability of the designations—Black, Afromestizo, Afro-Mexican or African origin—none of which actually refers to a very specific set of significations or even connotations. These people’s social and political mobilization, however long denied or ridiculed, can no longer be ignored. While there is not sufficient space to describe the specific motivations and obstacles to this mobilization in this paper, resources deployed by militants and their organizations help us to outline the root of its existence (see Hoffmann and Lara 2012). Despite their small numbers, militants are beginning to appear as interlocutors capable of joining national and international Afro-militancy networks. Their actions have shaped the emerging debate between local militants (the México Negro and Africa associations), non-governmental organizations (Ford Foundation), government institutions (Conapred, CDI), academics, and researchers in Mexico and abroad, international Afro activists, etc. The interactions of such “experts” contribute to legitimizing a field and a set of “Afro” spokespersons in Mexico. But on what ethnic and/or racial paradigm is this new social and political field built? What is the place of mestizaje as a concept? Two strong trends stand out, either in succession or interlaced.Ethnicization: the normalization of identity linked with mestizajeIn the 1970s and 1980s, the struggle of Black activists—denominated such by themselves and their interlocutors independently of their phenotype as they perceive it—emerged from the historical marginalization they suffered and the demand for better, fairer, and more equitable and dignified integration in the Nation. As such, their slogans and rationale for social claims are comparable to those of Indian mobilization, which intensified throughout the continent at the same time (Gros 2000). México Negro meetings, organized yearly for nearly fifteen years by the association of the same name in one of the villages in Costa Chica, underscore strong social and economic demands in terms of health, education, and housing, as well as access to land, political representation, and culture. The debate on Black identity places racism and discrimination at the heart of the explanation of regional inequalities, granting them a potential for mobilization. In the regional context discussed above, this debate logically places Black identity alongside (and with the same status as) the region’s ethnic groups (Amuzgos, Chatinos, Mixtecos, etc). Thus, in the past twenty years, we can see the rise of a political argument based on the dynamics of ethnicization, which claims equivalence between “Afro,” “Mexican,” “Indian,” and “Native” categories (although the terms are not yet stabilized), along with the corresponding ethnonyms commonly used in the region and country.Ethnicization is explicitly devised as an instrument to generate visibility and consciousness, as well as a political mechanism for the emancipation of the populations claiming it. It opposes the former racialization that emphasized the particularism of “Black” individuals and groups to make them feel inferior, stripped of all civic, political, or even cultural value. In contrast, ethnicization claims to replace racialization, and even surpass it, without ignoring it. The Afromestizo category, first used by Gonzalo Aguirre Beltrán ([1946] ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Aguirre Beltrán</Author><Year>1972</Year><RecNum>3607</RecNum><record><rec-number>3607</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3607</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Aguirre Beltrán, Gonzalo</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>La población negra de México: estudio ethnohistórico</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1972</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Fondo de Cultura Económica</publisher><orig-pub>1946</orig-pub><urls></urls></record></Cite><Cite><Author>Aguirre Beltrán</Author><Year>1989</Year><RecNum>3615</RecNum><record><rec-number>3615</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3615</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Aguirre Beltrán, Gonzalo</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Cuijla: esbozo etnográfico de un pueblo negro</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1989</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Fondo de Cultura Económica</publisher><orig-pub>1958</orig-pub><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>1972, [1958] 1989), corresponds well with this aspiration. It promoted “being different to be like others,” claiming that recognition as an ethnic group would bolster belonging in legitimate areas of negotiation, both regionally and nationally. This re-elaboration corresponds with interpretations proposed by historians and ethnologists that have been greatly influenced by official programs like the “Third Root” (see above, and ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Martínez Montiel</Author><Year>1994</Year><RecNum>3616</RecNum><record><rec-number>3616</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3616</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Edited Book">28</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Martínez Montiel, Luz María</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Presencia africana en México</title><secondary-title>Nuestra Tercera Raíz</secondary-title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1994</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes, Dirección General de Culturas Populares</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Martínez Montiel 1994). However, in this region, unlike Veracruz, it acquires a collective dimension which is clearly political. Cultural particularities such as music and dance are highlighted and staged to build and consolidate the notion of “group” identity. In this phase, as exemplified by the very term Afromestizo, ethnicization is logically accompanied by an inclusive representation of mestizaje. In fact, this reflects a constant in the history of Conquest and Colonization in Mexico and elsewhere in Latin America, for both Blacks and Indians: ethnogenesis based on mixing and subversion of initial categories. Some cases are more emblematic or better known than others, like that of the Métis in Canada, that were legally recognized as a specific group with the same rights as “Natives” on the basis of mestizaje or miscegenation. As Rivard explains, far from seeking a pure identity, the group is built up from the margins and constantly renewed by opening to others ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Rivard</Author><Year>2007</Year><RecNum>5259</RecNum><record><rec-number>5259</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5259</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Rivard, Etienne</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Au-delà de Powley, l’horizon territorial et identitaire des métis</title><secondary-title>Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec</full-title></periodical><pages>97-118</pages><volume>vol.XXXVII</volume><number>2-3</number><dates><year>2007</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Rivard 2007).9 In this case, mestizaje creates the conditions of ethnicization.Other, less well known cases illustrate possible articulations between the phenomena of ethnogenesis and mestizaje, evident in an article on pre-Colonial mestizaje among Indian groups in Bolivia ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Combés</Author><Year>2008</Year><RecNum>5254</RecNum><record><rec-number>5254</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5254</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Combés, Isabelle</author><author>Villar, Diego</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Les métis les plus purs. Représentations chririguano et chané du métissage</title><secondary-title>CLIO Histoire, femmes et sociétés</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>CLIO Histoire, femmes et sociétés</full-title></periodical><pages>32-56</pages><number>27</number><dates><year>2008</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Combés and Villar 2008). This case reveals processes that may oppose or nurture each other, with no predetermined harmony or conflict: Born of mestizaje, the Chané and Isose?o not only deny it; they also denigrate it, diluting it in a deceptive rhetoric of purity and using it as an argument for interethnic discrimination [between themselves]…There is no absolute dissolution of collective identity - nor has it ever existed - in the magma of mestizaje, nor has there been an absolute negation of the very fact of mixture as implied in ideology; adrift between these two extremes, we discover on the contrary selective hierarchical discrimination which opens and closes alliance networks (military, economic, matrimonial) according to context and circumstances, which never stray from the need to consolidate ethnic identity proper. ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Combés</Author><Year>2008</Year><RecNum>5254</RecNum><record><rec-number>5254</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5254</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Combés, Isabelle</author><author>Villar, Diego</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Les métis les plus purs. Représentations chririguano et chané du métissage</title><secondary-title>CLIO Histoire, femmes et sociétés</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>CLIO Histoire, femmes et sociétés</full-title></periodical><pages>32-56</pages><number>27</number><dates><year>2008</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Combés and Villar 2008, 6-9) Here, mestizaje is a practice, an ideology, and a scenography more or less activated and made coherent according to context. We can see that fluid, contrasting configurations of identity, extensively studied for trans-Atlantic Black diasporas (see ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Gilroy</Author><Year>1992</Year><RecNum>5256</RecNum><record><rec-number>5256</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5256</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Gilroy, Paul</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Doble Consciousness</title></titles><dates><year>1992</year></dates><pub-location>Cambridge</pub-location><publisher>Harvard UP</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Gilroy 1992), are not only the prerogative of these de-territorialized societies but also account for phenomena widely shared by local so-called “Indian” or “Native” societies, whether pre-Colonial, Colonial or contemporary. Mestizaje is thus historically coercive and politically constructed. Similarly, Black or Afro identification in Mexico—and likely elsewhere—has never been univocal. Ethnicization relates to criteria of belonging that may be racial (at times local or regional), combined according to a balance of power which may be violent and aggressive in contexts of short-term renegotiated alliances. At the end of the twentieth century, such interests shape a “Black” complex built no longer on mestizaje but on the “ideological suppression of hybridity” via racialization( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Combés</Author><Year>2008</Year><RecNum>5254</RecNum><record><rec-number>5254</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5254</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Combés, Isabelle</author><author>Villar, Diego</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Les métis les plus purs. Représentations chririguano et chané du métissage</title><secondary-title>CLIO Histoire, femmes et sociétés</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>CLIO Histoire, femmes et sociétés</full-title></periodical><pages>32-56</pages><number>27</number><dates><year>2008</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Combés and Villar 2008, 4).Racialization as a factor of exclusionIndeed, in the first years of the twenty-first century, several phenomena are challenging the viability of the process of civic integration through ethnicization and reintroducing openly racialized terminology. The issue of exhaustion of the ethnicizing/mestizaje paradigm far exceeds the scope of this article. Yet it is suffice to say that it satisfies a historic convergence between global factors (lacking a true democratic or economic opening despite ethnic recognition or the development of transnational Afro-descendants’ networks), national factors (Mexico’s participation in International Conventions and the necessary respect of certain ethnic-racial recognition measures), and even local factors (the emergence or consolidation of associations advocating mobilization), all of which now place their bets on the racialized option to fight inequalities and acquire areas of expression and power. This development implies a new discourse, in particular with standardization of the terms of the debate used in all arenas of international negotiation, polarizing and structuring the world in binary, racialized “Black-White” terms, leaving little room for “mixed” or “unusual” situations.This argumentation observes the failure of inclusive options in Black identification as they could have been built up fifteen years ago around the shared experience of subjection, the memory of slavery or the fight against exclusion.10 It moves away from political stances where “race” was a complex concept inherited from historical conceptions that combined color, prestige, social position, and kinship, for conditions which are always singular in determining the definition of “Blacks” in a given place and time, never out of context. Thus, the Black experience in Colombia differs from that of Mexico; that of plantations has little in common with urban Blacks’ living conditions, not to mention the different modalities and rhythms of gradual emancipation from slavery, which varied greatly from one country or region to another. This complexity is now limited to the field of specialists and historians, for the benefit of simpler visions to transmit to a broader public and more efficient in negotiating arenas. The diverse conceptions of identity, and even “race,” are substituted by a standard international vision that focuses mainly on color as the indicator of potentially inferior position.This trend towards simplification is logically accompanied by the polarization of identifiers between Black and White. Today, militants can often make claims based on binary criteria, which overlook the entire range of terms used to describe the infinite nuances of skin color, hair type, and other supposed physical markers of the “Afro difference.” To this end, some militant groups in Mexico already want to “switch from Afro to Black,”11 like some of their Brazilian correspondents ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Boyer</Author><Year>2010</Year><RecNum>5253</RecNum><record><rec-number>5253</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5253</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Boyer, Véronique</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Une forme d’africanisation au Brésil</title><secondary-title>Cahiers d'études africaines</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>Cahiers d'Etudes Africaines</full-title></periodical><number>198-199-200</number><keywords><keyword>Noirs</keyword><keyword>brésil</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2010</year><pub-dates><date>[En ligne],, mis en ligne le 8 décembre 2010, consulté le 3 janvier 2011</date></pub-dates></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Boyer 2010). Thus, they claim to avoid euphemisms that multiply designations, preferring instead only one: the color black. Such concepts completely exclude all references to mestizaje.It is legitimate to express a certain apprehension in the face of these racializing trends if we place them in a historical and regional context long known for violent antagonism between Indian and Black populations ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Flanet</Author><Year>1977</Year><RecNum>5255</RecNum><record><rec-number>5255</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5255</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Flanet, Véronique</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Viviré si Dios quiere. Un estudio de la violencia en la mixteca de la costa</title><secondary-title>INI, Antropología Social</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>INI, Antropología Social</full-title></periodical><number>55</number><dates><year>1977</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Flanet 1977). It cannot be forgotten that Costa Chica’s residents and activists have been routinely exposed to verbal remarks and figures of speech expressing exacerbated racism. In the case of two neighboring villages, El Pitahayo and La Colonia, for example, we have studied violent historic clashes through verbal expressions ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Hoffmann</Author><Year>2007</Year><RecNum>5257</RecNum><record><rec-number>5257</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5257</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book Section">5</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Hoffmann, Odile</author></authors><secondary-authors><author>Hoffmann, Odile</author><author>Rodríguez, María Teresa</author></secondary-authors></contributors><titles><title>Las narrativas de la diferencia étnico-racial en la Costa chica, México. Una perspectiva geográfica</title><secondary-title>Los retos de la diferencia, Actores de la multicuturalidad entre México y Colombia</secondary-title></titles><pages>363-397</pages><dates><year>2007</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>CEMCA-CIESAS-ICANH-IRD</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Hoffmann 2007). El Pitahayo is a little village founded and inhabited by the descendants of the neighbouring village of San Nicolás considered to be Black, while the inhabitants of the nearby village of La Colonia are, as expressed in the name, mestizo farmers and Colonists who arrived in the context of land distribution in the mid-twentieth century. The Colonists’ discourse is full of racist allusions, alluding to the “primitive uncivilized” state of their so-called “Black” neighbors in the mid-twentieth century:Here, the people were very primitive…They (the inhabitants of El Pitahayo today) were not hardworking; they were lazy; they sowed only one litre of maize; they formed gangs and spent their time killing people…They were very primitive people; they went about naked and lived amid pigs and dogs. They built their houses with bits of wood; the people slept in tapextles (wooden shelters on piles and covered with palm leaves) with the pigs sleeping underneath; they were poorly educated; they used teconte (a maize substitute in case of scarcity) to make tortillas…They lined up one behind the other, like onion skins, to pick each other’s lice and eat them. I kept hoping ‘they would not invite me for a meal.’ Now, they are sharper because they have begun migrating northward. Now, it seems the inhabitants of El Pitahayo are more refined (Reina Pita, daughter of the founder of La Colonia; personal communication 2005)12In the accounts, peaceful coexistence and daily exchanges—whether social, economic or matrimonial, for example—are systematically overlooked in favor of a radical representation of difference. The emphasis on alterity is linked to a socio-racial order commonly accepted on a national level, which presents Blacks as intruders and foreigners. In this context, ethnic-racial identification is taken up locally to create a “didactic image” that can be easily understood by interlocutors. Thus, there emerges a selection process for collective representation that excludes particular options, such as the union, day-to-day coexistence, or alliance between inhabitants of different villages and ethnic groups, while privileging racialization, racism, and antagonism. In their external relations, it is more advantageous for both communities to emphasize an established difference: for inhabitants of La Colonia, this means maintaining their position of superiority in social hierarchies and privileged ties with the spheres of power associated with them as White or Mestizo; for El Pitahayo, it means preserving their identity as Black descendants of the community of San Nicolás and, as such, the legitimate heirs of Black authenticity in the region, enabling them to channel certain cultural or economic assistance programme services. In the late 1980s, the Dirección General de Culturas Populares initiated the “Third Root” program in San Nicolás with the foundation of a Casa de la Cultura. The town has since become emblematic of the dynamics of Black identity in the region, indirectly creating an advantage for El Pitahayo The Dirección General de Culturas Populares’s ‘Third Root’ programme began in San Nicolás in the late 1980s with the foundation of a Casa de la Cultura and the town has since become emblematic of the dynamics of ‘Black’ identity in the region, to the advantage of El Pitahayo indirectly. It should be recalled that appropriation of Black identity at the community level does not preclude the existence of far more diverse and complex behaviors evident in daily interactions between individuals and social groups identified as “Black” or “Mestizo.” Thus, discourses targeting the outside and intended to express articulate collective representations of identities at regional and national levels give more than their due to ethnic normalization and racialized polarization, which forces people to define their identity from a univocal base and convert differences into more or less naturalized and therefore indisputable truths. As a rule, they have difficulty in handling the complex interactive situations that arise from the configurations of racial mixing that shape economic, political, and cultural arenas. Just as the “Mestizo model” invisibilized Blacks and marginalized Indians, the discourse on difference invisibilizes those who are in-between and organizes the understanding of the Nation on the basis of polarized figures. In such circumstances, how can the collective emancipation of the nation shift towards more justice and equality if it is built on the exclusion—even if only symbolic—of the majority?ConclusionIn a recent text provocatively titled The Return of the Native, J. L. Amselle asserts that it is possible to recognize the opposing dynamics between a dominant society that imposes ethnicization and the dominated groups that are subject to, and sometimes circumvent, its processes:In both Africa and Latin America, against the primitivism or ethnicization ascribed tofolk categories by international organizations, NGOS and local cultural and political elites, there exists, if not a reaction on the part of such categories to this attribution, at least forms of cultural expression going against such projections imposed from the top. In this sense, ethnicization phenomena may be properly analysed only if they are placed in their original context encompassing both national and global considerations and only if they are seen as an instrument of power in the service of dominant society in a process intended to trigger the fragmentation of society. ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Amselle</Author><Year>2010</Year><RecNum>4437</RecNum><record><rec-number>4437</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">4437</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Amselle, Jean-Loup</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Le retour de l'indigène</title><secondary-title>L'Homme</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>L'Homme</full-title></periodical><pages>131-138</pages><volume>94</volume><keywords><keyword>Amérique Latine</keyword><keyword>Race et ethnicité</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2010</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>2010, 137). We would like to give our full support to this assertion, but this is no easy task since things are not always in clear binaries such as Black versus White, elite versus folk, political versus social. Our case studies show the contrary: what is true in Veracruz does not apply in Costa Chica; there may be radical differences within a single country at a given time. It is clearly the strength of local societies to be able to develop their own specificities. Thus, as we could see from these two case studies in Mexico, a project implemented from the top (the official “Third Root of mestizaje” program) started in Costa Chica a process of awareness and emancipation among certain inhabitants claiming their African origin, and bolstered representatives of a “group,” which until then had been kept on the margin of the political mechanisms of national integration. This led first to people valuing cultural specificities, contributing to the forging of a collective awareness of belonging to a single group, then hardening this choice of identity in a shift from the notion of Afromestizaje to that of Negritud (Blackness) that rejected the national ideology of mestizaje. In other words, it encouraged a shift from defining the group as “Afromestizo” to defining it as “Black.” In Veracruz, the same “Third Root of mestizaje” program provided a chance to develop a cultural policy that emphasized the town’s place in the Caribbean region, while also valuing forms of cultural expression that were broadly identified with as mestizaje. In this case, the program has contributed to a notable shift: from a historical period, characterized by the accepted negation of an African heritage and attempts to “whiten” Jarocho stereotypes; to another identity, where the “African roots” of mestizaje are now included in the representations of local society; however, without resulting in “groupness.” This does not mean that everyone accepts this representation as such, but that it is now taken as a legitimate norm for defining and accounting for local identity. Subsequently, the role of players in concrete situations entails positioning themselves in relation to this norm—whether they accept it or not; whether they acquiesce or endure it—and in relation to a specific dimension of the representation of mestizaje located in its so-called “African roots.”As we have seen, there is no reason here to seek to define mestizaje with a new metaphor (rhizome, hybridity, creolity, mosaic...), or look into the renewal of issues involved.13 We do not claim to re-legitimize an obsolete paradigm, but rather reintroduce the questions it raises that remain uncertain when it comes to the mechanisms of the construction and negotiation of hegemonies, ideological disputes, and strategies that are anchored in daily life and are shaped by relations of domination. This enables us to eschew the spurious dilemma between the representation of an “ethnocidal mestizaje”14—a castrating mestizaje imposed from the top?down that was denounced by Rita Segato—to that of a liberating?mestizaje from the bottom?up that Anibal Quijano (2000) has called for. In both cases, the problem is the same: a mestizaje that is condemned as the original rape and conquest of the region or, conversely, praised for its potential for cultural creativity and subversion—even resistance.In the end, these two case studies clearly show that matters of racial identification and mestizaje are not mutually exclusive but, on the contrary, nurture each other in ways that may vary with the historical period, local context, and social situation. The configurations of mestizaje can be grasped only in their articulation with other conditions of organization and representations of the world that are informed by regional situations, class and gender relations, rationales of identification, and ethnic labelling.Notes1. We would like to thank the readers of this journal for their remarks, which enabled us to improve the previous version of this article.2. Odile Hoffmann is Geographer at the Institut de Recherche pour le Développement (IRD Fran Odile Hoffmann is Geographer at the Institut de Recherche pour le Développement (IRD-France), at the URMIS Laboratory. Her research deals with the social construction of ethnic and racial categories in the case of afro-descendant population in Colombia, Mexico, and Belize. Christian Rinaudo is Sociologist at the Université de Nice-Sophia Antipolis, Unité de recherche migrations et sociétés, URMIS. His research deals with ethnic and racial studies in France, Colombia, and Mexico.3. See the work edited by Yankelevich (2009)4. Because of the well-known difficulty in translating the terms mestizo and mestizaje in English, we preferred to leave them in Spanish.5. In both regions of this study, as in other parts of Mexico, the historic miscegenation of populations from different origins (indians, peasants from other regions, slave descendants, mullatoes, foreigners, hacendados, etc) is a fact we are trying neither to debate nor to measure here.6. As emphasized by Alfredo Delgado Calderón, the term Jarocho has become a symbol of regional identity, which was originally derogatory, associated in the dictionary of synonyms with “boor,” “lout,” “insolent,” and “rude,” and applied in the past to mulatto peasants and cowherds on the Sotavento Coast in the south-centre of the State of Veracruz. The word Jarocho later referred to all individuals with “Negroid features” and applies today to the inhabitants of the coast, who are proud to be called Jarochos ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Delgado Calderón</Author><Year>2004</Year><RecNum>3404</RecNum><record><rec-number>3404</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3404</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Book">6</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Delgado Calderón, Alfredo</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Historia, cultura e identidad en el Sotavento</title></titles><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Culture populaire</keyword><keyword>Localisme et Identité locale</keyword></keywords><dates><year>2004</year></dates><pub-location>México</pub-location><publisher>Conaculta</publisher><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Delgado Calderón 2004, 78).7. “The Caribbean I call Afro-Andalusian produced the Campesino, Jíbajo and Guajiro genres, all of which appeared in the rural hinterland of these port complexes open to international and Colonial trade. This is shared by their expressions along with many other traits: they include musical and poetic genres fostered by cow-herding peasants and Afromestizo fishermen, a blend of three ethnic origins: Spanish (mainly Andalusian), Black and Indian. They were generally associated with stockbreeding and formed strongly mixed cultural niches as early as the 17th century: Guajiros in Cuba, Jíbaros in Puerto Rico and Santo Domingo, Llaneros in Colombia and Venezuela, Creollos in Panama, Jarochos in Veracruz” ( ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>García de León</Author><Year>1992</Year><RecNum>3405</RecNum><record><rec-number>3405</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">3405</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>García de León, Antonio</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>El Caribe afroandaluz: permanencia de una civilización popular</title><secondary-title>La Jornada Semanal</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>La Jornada Semanal</full-title></periodical><pages>27-33</pages><number>135</number><keywords><keyword>Mexique</keyword><keyword>Veracruz</keyword><keyword>Noirs</keyword><keyword>Musique et danse</keyword><keyword>Culture populaire</keyword></keywords><dates><year>1992</year><pub-dates><date>12 de Enero</date></pub-dates></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>García de León 1992, 28).8. The position supported by Afro-Mexican militant movements has developed mainly in certain villages of the region, in particular in the region of Yanga, near Córdoba, where a Carnival called “Black Identity Festival” was founded in the 1980s with support from the Dirección General de Culturas Populares de Conaculta and is organized every year by the municipality and various associations9. What may seem obvious to theoreticians of Constructivism is that an “initial” policy does not exist without posing a whole series of very concrete issues, starting with the impossibility of certifying a person’s belonging to a group—thereby opening access to certain specific rights—according to criteria for belonging that happen to be changing and indeterminate.10. This argumentation was evident the 1990s, in particular around the Colombian experience of recognition of Black communities and the intense activity of developing and conceptual recomposition on the themes of race, social exclusion, and the Nation.11. See ADDIN EN.CITE <EndNote><Cite><Author>Lara</Author><Year>2011</Year><RecNum>5258</RecNum><record><rec-number>5258</rec-number><foreign-keys><key app="EN" db-id="f5vaxrse5tsza7e5wfw5d25h0xfr25xztt0z">5258</key></foreign-keys><ref-type name="Journal Article">17</ref-type><contributors><authors><author>Lara, Gloria</author></authors></contributors><titles><title>Les dimensions ethnique et raciale dans la construction politique d’un sujet? afro ? ou ? noir ? au Mexique</title><secondary-title>Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales</secondary-title></titles><periodical><full-title>Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales</full-title></periodical><pages>89-106</pages><volume>27</volume><number>1</number><dates><year>2011</year></dates><urls></urls></record></Cite></EndNote>Lara 2011. 12. “Aquí la gente era muy salvaje…Ellos (los pitahaye?os) no eran gente trabajadora, era floja, sólo sembraba un litro de maíz, una maquila de maíz, formaban gavillas y se dedicaban a matar…Estaba la gente muy salvaje, andaban desnudos revueltos (donde) vivían marranos, perros. Hacían su casita con palos, dormía la gente in un tapextle y los marranos abajo; estaban mal educados, usaban teconte para las tortillas…Luego se ponían una detrás de la otra, como jugando cebolla se espulgaban y se comían los piojos, yo pensaba ‘que ni me inviten un taco’…Ya se han despejado porque empezaron a irse al norte. Ahora parece que los del Pitahayo se están refinando" (Reina Pita, hija de colono fundador), published in Hoffmann (2007).13. On the concept of a national regime of alterity, or the analysis of relations between mestizaje and eugenics proposed by Marta Saade Granados (2009), see, Paula López Caballero (2011) 14. “Mestizaje etnocida, utilizado para suprimir memorias y cancelar genealogías originarias, cuyo valor estratégico para las elites se ve, a partir de ahora, progresivamente invertido para hallar en el rostro mestizo, no-blanco, indicios de la persistencia y la posibilidad de una reatadura con un pasado latente, subliminar y pulsante, que se intentó cancelar [Ethnocidal mestizaje, used to erase memory and delete the original genealogies, whose strategic value for elites is now gradually becoming reversed today by identifying in non-White - mestizo - features clues for the persistence and possibility of returning to a latent pulsating subliminal past whose eradication they once sought]” (Segato 2010,?20). ReferencesAguirre Beltrán, G. [1946] 1972. La población negra de México: estudio ethnohistórico. 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México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. ---------------------------------------------Odile Hoffmann is at Université Paris-Diderot, PRG, b?timent Olympe de Gouges,11 rue Antoine de Ba?f, 75013 Paris, France (Email: hoffmann.odile@).Christian Rinaudo is at Université Nice Sophia Antipolis, MSHS Sud-Est, 24, Avenue des Diables Bleus, F-06357 Nice Cedex 4, France (Email: christian.rinaudo@unice.fr).. ................
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