We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Close this message to accept cookies or find out how to manage your cookie settings.
To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure [email protected]
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
In 1776 the Spanish Crown enacted a Pragmática Sanción aimed at preventing unequal marriages resulting from the allegedly ill-understood freedom of marriage. Parental consent to marriage was made a formal requirement for those under twenty-five years of age and/or living under parental tutelage. Parental dissent was deemed justified when it was thought the proposed marriage would ‘gravely offend family honour and jeopardize the integrity of the State’.
In 1778 the Royal Pragmatic on marriage was extended to the overseas possessions in view of the ‘same or greater harm done there by such unequal marriages on account of their size and the diversity of classes and castes of their inhabitants’, and ‘the very severe damage done by the absolute and indisciplined freedom with which these passionate and incapable youngsters of both sexes betroth themselves’. The penalty for infraction of the law was disinheritance. Nevertheless, its enforcement in the colonies seems to have met with considerable difficulties. The clergy inquired repeatedly about cases where couples were willing to forfeit their inheritance and where ‘reasons of conscience’ were pleaded as a ground for marriage. In the colonies the threat of disinheritance was surely not a very effective one. Many who had migrated to America had done so because there was nothing to be had at home, and the property they had been able to acquire there was often rather meagre: ‘the number of poor parents … being large, their sons mind very little about losing the hope of inheriting from them’, commented one official.
Sentiment in nineteenth-century Cuba was in good part hostile to interracial marriage. Nevertheless, throughout the century some 250 whites were keen enough to marry across the colour bar to apply for government licence to do so. A factor relevant to the probability of interracial unions is the sex composition of the population. Table 2 gives the population figures by colour, status and sex from 1817 to 1862. It is possible to give age specific figures for three years, and to break them down by shade of the free coloured for two years (Tables 2a, 2b and 2c).
Throughout the century, there were 114 adult white men (1827), or 127 (1846), or 150 (1862) for every 100 adult white women. In the free coloured population, however, women outnumbered men. These two sectors, namely the white and the free coloured, generally furnished the partners to interracial unions. A considerable percentage of white males, unless they decided to remain celibate, had to resort to the coloured community for their women.
Some contemporaries also attribute the existence of interracial marriage to the white population's disparate sex ratio. As one official argues, ‘bearing in mind that [he] … is of humble status … it would be difficult if not impossible for him to contract marriage with a white person’.
The issue of slavery deeply divided opinion within the white community. For political and economic reasons some sectors favoured interracial marriage, but many abolitionists would probably have thought twice about marrying their daughters to a coloured person. Even the common man prided himself on his purity of blood, his sole mark of distinction. One should not think, however, that race obliterated any other criteria of status definition among whites themselves. Differential socio-economic status within their own ranks played a role with regard to marriage, and gave grounds for parental opposition. Opposition to marriage among whites was often motivated by such criteria as birth, wealth, occupation and religion. There was clearly nothing very specific to Cuba in all this as compared, for instance, with Spain and other European countries at the time, where possibly the opportunities for individual advancement were more limited than in Cuba. More characteristic of Cuba, however, was the preoccupation over race which reinforced the concern over ascription.
The stated aim of the 1776 Royal Pragmatic on marriage was to prevent any marriages that gravely offended the family's honour and threatened the State. No instructions were issued, however, neither with the Pragmatic nor in later legislation, on the terms on which an intraracial marriage could be deemed unequal and therefore objectionable. Canon law established a number of specific impediments to marriage such as consanguineous, affinal and ritual kinship. Social impediments were left to custom, and became explicit only when parents, making use of their legal rights, opposed a marriage by their minor children before the civil authorities.
The prohibition of interracial marriage and its moral implications had to be of direct concern to the Church. Marriage sanctioned by the Church was the secularly and religiously approved and prescribed form of conjugal union for equals in Spain. Unions between unequals, however, also occurred, or were at least attempted. The alternative in these cases could have been concubinage, as it was in fact in those instances where the social distance between the partners exceeded the accepted boundaries. This alternative was, however, unacceptable to the Church.
As far as the Church was concerned, absolute freedom of marriage existed among Catholics. From the ecclesiastical point of view the State should adhere to the same principle. There had been for some time jurisdictional disputes between the ecclesiastical and secular authorities with regard to marriage. Typical was the conflict that arose when Pope Benedict XIV in 1741, although accepting as licit the secret marriage commonly called ‘of conscience’ instituted by the secular authorities as an alternative in cases of social inequality between the partners, attempted to legislate on its temporal aspects. By proposing that the offspring of these second-class marriages be granted the same civil rights as those of equal marriages, and thus in secular eyes defeating their very aim, he was felt grossly to have exceeded ecclesiastical prerogatives, for ‘regulating inheritance and seeing to contracts is a right held by the civil republic and the authority of the sovereigns and not by the ecclesiastical authorities who should only attend to matters of conscience and the spiritual well-being of souls’.
This acute preoccupation with individual and family honour is by no means restricted to nineteenth-century Cuba. These are values which seem to have played a central role not only in Spain but also in other European countries before the nineteenth century. Contemporary literature gives evidence of this. Unfortunately, few attempts have so far been made at a systematic sociological study of these concepts. It is only recently that a few anthropologists working in the Mediterranean area have endeavoured to reach an understanding of the concepts of honour and shame in terms of the social order in which they prevailed. Before attempting to draw some parallels between nineteenth-century Cuba and these Mediterranean societies, and suggesting a more general explanation, a short review of these studies is necessary.
HONOUR IN THE MEDITERRANEAN
I shall concern myself mainly with Campbell's, Pitt-Rivers' and Lisón's studies, and in them specifically with the female aspect of honour. While being well aware of distinctions between these communities and nineteenth-century Cuba, there are nevertheless certain parallels which seem to make such an analytical comparison worthwhile.
J. K. Campbell, in his study of the Sarakatsani, a Greek shepherd community, aims at explaining the resolution of the conflict between their conceptualization and implementation of honour on the one hand, and their religious ideals on the other. Sarakatsani hold two systems of values: one social, which prescribes as a paramount duty of all men the defence of family prestige vis-à-vis all other families, the result being a permanent competition for honour; and one religious, which espouses the brotherhood of all men before God.
One of the most striking features of the study of colonial urbanism and urbanization in Spanish America is the extent to which emphasis has been placed upon the sixteenth-century phase of urban foundations. In many recent works authors have presented details of the formal and functional characteristics of these primary foundations, as well as of the several interrelated processes of Indian resettlement, population change, and the spread of European culture. Though it has been estimated that more than 300 towns were founded in Spanish America between 1492 and 1600, relatively little attention has yet been paid to the changing spatial system of urban centres during the 300 years or more of colonial rule.
During the past decade, agrarian reform emerged as a panacea for the problems of Latin America, with a popularity which transcended political and cultural divisions. This apparent accord vanished, however, in the many meanings given to the term and the divergent policies claiming to implement its principles. In Chile where the hacienda system, with its large estates (latijundios) and satellite dwarf holdings (minifundios) has defined for three centuries the rural economic, political and social structure, agrarian reform has been endorsed by successive governments of very different political persuasions and viewed as the key both to rural revolution and its prevention.
In August 1933 a bitter revolutionary struggle reached its climax in Havana. Pressure from the United States during mediations conducted by American Ambassador Sumner Welles, a general strike and a military coup combined to topple the government of Gerardo Machado. National tensions made acute during the machadato and contradictions generated in the anti-Machado struggle converged in the newly constituted administration of Carlos Manuel de Céspedes.
Colombia has long been described as dominated by an oligarchy or elite that tightly controls the principal means of political influence and the avenues of social mobility. For example, in his recent study of Colombian political development, Robert Dix observes that ‘… the posts of leadership, the key decisions, and the principal social, economic, cultural and political resources of the society remain in elite hands’. Harry Kantor argues even more intensely that while Colombia has greatly changed since World War II, the traditional oligarchy clings to its power, illiteracy remains a major problem, transportation is still poor, and the eastern two-thirds of the nation's territory remains undeveloped '. At the same time, the resolution of these development problems, an unavoidable responsibility of contemporary Colombian governments, has illuminated rather than obscured observation of elite dominance over Colombian society.
Lying at the heart of the problem in analyzing Colombian violence is the relative poverty of conceptual frameworks not only for dealing with violence but with the institutions and processes and traditions which form the social environment of the society. In the following pages I shall argue that a dialectic between violence and patron-client relations offers a useful analytical framework. The first part will deal with the historical dynamics of Colombian politics. In part two, patron-client politics will be looked at in a small town setting.