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The introduction provides the historical context behind the book. It also introduces conceptual terms that are central to the book – republic, vecino, ciudadano – and whose definitions have shifted since the early modern period. Subsequently, it examines Latin American historiography on race, political participation, and citizenship. Finally, it provides a chapter outline.
Chapter nine examines the lives and the characteristics of the first indios ladinos who broke bonds of servitude to establish themselves as vecinos in Santafé (de Bogotá) and Tunja, making use of evidence left behind by members of the urban native community in hundreds of notarial documents, including last wills and testaments, powers of attorney, and bills of sale. I document the process by which some native migrants could hope to become citizens (vecinos)– fully enfranchised members –of the Spanish city, while others were recorded as inhabitants (moradores) and temporary residents (estantes) with few(er) rights and privileges. In so doing, I reflect on the role that marriage, religion, property ownership, language, and dress played in conditioning membership in the urban fabric of the Spanish colonies. Mapping the social practice of citizenship (vecindad) against a web of royal law and legal jurisprudence serves to better understand how local practice in the New Kingdom of Granada fit within imperial frameworks.
Chapter six opens onto a tense confrontation that led the Spanish colonies in the New Kingdom the edge of civil war. As the colonial ideal of two ethnically-pure “republics” for Spaniards and for Indians had already begun to fracture, two indigenous communities identified the mestizo (mixed-ethnicity) sons of indigenous noblewomen as rightful successors to their outgoing caciques (indigenous chieftains). This decision inadvertently set off a chain of events that led to two decades of legal and political challenges. Through analysis of a cluster of legal cases involving aspiring caciques who were legitimate mestizo inheritors according to indigenous custom, this chapter explores the different bodies of law that informed Crown magistrates and administrators as they divided human communities and assigned their human subjects to categories and spaces. Here I also pay close attention to the legal implications of the rhetoric employed by different social factions as the legal cases in the colonies made their way to the Council of the Indies in Spain.
Chapter two examines how the foundations of Christian citizenship began to take shape in regional conciliar movements in Spain, coming into maturity with the Crown’s ratification of the Council of Trent in 1564. As the Christian republic of the Spanish Empire became more diverse, the Crown put its weight behind a legal revolution that would provide the Church with a more coherent set of policies. The Catholic Church conceived the Council of Trent (1545-63) as an answer to the Protestant Reformation and a device with which to effect a reform of the administration of the Church.The Spanish monarchy welcomed the Council’s reforms enthusiastically. However, the Spanish incarnation of Tridentine (adj., from Trent) reform was unique, in that it functioned as an instrument of political consolidation that provided the monarchy the tools necessary to create some semblance of uniformity within a growing empire.
Chapter five explores definitions of citizenship in jurisprudence, royal law, and municipal ordinance. Ecclesiastical statutes tended to shape policy for indios under the assumption that they were to be administered in their own “republic” (i.e. within their own pueblos, separate from Spanish settlements). This chapter highlights how the city of Santafé responded when numerous indios ladinos emigrated out of their pueblos and into the settlement of Santafé.
Chapter seven examines the political fallout that began in the 1570s, when the New Kingdom archbishop began to ordain dozens of mestizo priests in order to comply with the Crown’s mandate to place priests fluent in indigenous languages within native mission parishes (doctrinas), a change inspired by the Council of Trent’s encouragement for increased ministrations in the vernacular. Surprised to receive Crown instructions explicitly prohibiting the ordination of mestizos, in 1576 the archbishop emerged as a defender of the value and validity of the ordinations of individuals of mixed ethnicity. Yet the same archbishop resisted the promotion of a local mestizo to an elite position in the Santafé cathedral. This chapter examines how the complex motivations of the archbishop and elite ecclesiastics – as they sought to create a second-tier mestizo priesthood – were related to exclusivist discourses about “blood purity” (limpieza de sangre). The confrontation over the legal issue ultimately provoked the Crown into elaborating imperial law, which connected matters in the New Kingdom to concerns in Peru and elsewhere in the Indies.
The first chapter establishes the groundwork for thinking about social differences in society by reviewing the major political milestones that transformed multi-confessional medieval society. Reaching back to the first fourteenth century pogroms that drove Spanish Jews to convert en masse to Christianity, to be repeated again in the fifteenth century, the chapter explores how the terms “New Christian” and “Old Christian” emerged and later solidified as the primary divisions in sixteenth-century society.
This article explores how Francisco de Aguirre used the Copiapó Valley encomienda to negotiate political power during the transition from conquest to colonial rule in northern Chile. Simultaneously, we analyze the circumstances of how a native society was incorporated into the Spanish Empire after a decade of fighting and resistance on the fringes of the empire. The strategic use of the fear of native rebellions to close the road from Peru to Chile gave Aguirre enough power to negotiate an important political position, which in the future would clash with the colonial authorities. Copiapó Valley’s peripheral location in the southernmost Atacama Desert constituted a political gray zone for the colonial administration. This space contributed to consolidating power for Aguirre and enabled locals some negotiation power within the possibilities afforded by the colonial system.
Neoliberalism is often studied as a political ideology, a government program, and even as a pattern of cultural identities. However, less attention is paid to the specific institutional resources employed by neoliberal administrations, which have resulted in the configuration of a neoliberal state model. This accessible volume compiles original essays on the neoliberal era in Latin America and Spain, exploring subjects such as neoliberal public policies, power strategies, institutional resources, popular support, and social protest. The book focuses on neoliberalism as a state model: a configuration of public power designed to implement radical policy proposals. This is the third volume in the State and Nation Making in Latin America and Spain series, which aims to complete and advance research and knowledge about national states in Latin America and Spain.
Nicaragua is often held up as an exception within the Central American panorama of criminal violence, widely presented as the safest country in the region due to its particular revolutionary legacies, the (supposed) absence of transnational gangs and drug-trafficking organisations, and the National Police's representation as an efficient and professional force. This commentary proposes an alternative reading of Nicaragua's contemporary political economy of violence in order to reveal the profoundly misleading nature of this prevalent view. In particular, it highlights how Nicaragua is governed through a particular political ‘settlement’ underpinned by drug trafficking, police and judicial corruption, as well as ‘mafia state’ governance. These factors have coalesced to establish a highly efficient and engrained ‘narco-state’ whose undoing is unlikely in the short term.
In May 1954, the story broke internationally of Marta Olmos, recipient of the first widely known, male-to-female sex reassignment conducted in Mexico. Her doctor, Rafael Sandoval Camacho, claimed that homosexuality could be cured and that, through transitions, queer Mexicans could be made into ‘socially useful’ citizens. While initially celebrated as a scientific triumph placing Mexico among elite nations, and receiving support from individuals close to the Ruiz Cortines administration, opinions soured as critics – physicians, politicians, cartoonists and clerics – condemned Marta for renouncing manhood through a fraudulent cure that threatened the binary sex/gender order underpinning Mexican nationalism. Sex reassignment, understood through foreigners including Christine Jorgensen and associated with ‘anti-social’ queer Mexicans, thus exemplified misplaced priorities during a period in which the state sought to ‘modernise patriarchy’. While self-affirming for Marta and permitted unofficially through state indifference, sex reassignment became seen as anti-Mexican. Thus, Marta's case illuminated how the state reconciled development with policing its patriarchal order.