Defining Indigeneity

The following is an excerpt from On Our Own Terms: Development and Indigeneity in Cold War Guatemala by Sarah Foss, available wherever books are sold.

Defining Indigeneity

In 1945, the newly created IING sent surveys to the directors of national schools in sixteen of Guatemala’s twenty-two departments, selecting those with substantial Indigenous populations. Because a large majority of responders were ladino, the IING phrased questions to explore perceptions of what characteristics these responders used to define someone as Indigenous. Guiding all survey questions was a central preoccupation of the revolutionary government—who exactly was “an Indian”? Antonio Goubaud Carrera, the IING director, insisted that society needed clear definitions of ethnic groups in order to function efficiently and peacefully, citing the United States’ one-drop rule for determining African ancestry as an example of a clear-cut measure. At the same time, Goubaud did not understand race to be biological; as he wrote, the survey’s purpose was to “crystallize in the public opinion” what “sociological characteristics” identified a person as Indigenous.

This goal proved impossible. Of the 1,248 surveys that the IING disseminated, it received 881 to use in its analysis. Unfortunately, no original surveys exist, but the aggregate data does allow us to draw some conclusions about how midcentury Guatemalans defined Indigeneity. Instead of producing a simple definition of a “Guatemalan Indian,” the data stressed the fluidity and diversity within this category, emphasizing its contingency on place, socioeconomic status, and cultural practice. For example, while 86 percent of surveys identified cultural behaviors (costumbres) as a key determinant, the IING could not concisely define these because they differed widely by department. For example, 72 percent of survey replies from Suchitepéquez identified traje, or Indigenous dress, as a key indicator while only 48 percent of replies from Jalapa deemed it significant. Across all departments, physical appearance was the least important factor. Goubaud concluded that “there does not exist in the country a uniform and general criterion” for defining “the Indian.”

Given this predicament, the revolutionary state tasked the IING with creating more knowledge about Indigeneity in Guatemala. If it could not neatly categorize people, at least it could produce experts on Indigeneity, according to the state’s logic. Low human development indicators revealed numerous social “problems” that the state wished to solve; illiteracy levels were 72 percent, life expectancy was forty years, and the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development determined that Guatemalan children were malnourished and thus had stunted development. Both statistics and popular stereotypes positively correlated these indicators with rural Indigenous populations. But according to the state’s logic, without first understanding this diverse population, it could not possibly devise effective solutions to socioeconomic problems. Despite their progressive proclivities, revolutionary state builders still believed Indigenous “improvement” to be a prerequisite for an offer of full citizenship. With trepidation, the revolutionary government had abolished legislation that had served to render Indigenous people as secondary citizens, but it also called for increased state presence and activities in rural communities with the intention of “civilizing” and guiding Indigenous populations toward the “proper” expressions of citizenship.

Indigenista efforts via the IING shaped the revolutionary state’s efforts to understand the diverse group of people the state collectively defined as Indigenous. Anthropologist James Scott argues that legibility is a “central problem of statecraft,” or the process by which state builders take complex, local customs and behaviors and fit them into “a standard grid whereby it could be centrally recorded and monitored.” This process serves noble and ignoble purposes at the same time; it is “as vital to the maintenance of our welfare and freedom as [it is] to the designs of a would-be modern despot.” By standardizing Guatemala’s diverse cultures and conveniently, if not always accurately, fitting them within clear, defined categories, the state hoped that the population would gradually become more governable and socioeconomic problems easier to diagnose and solve.

With trepidation, the revolutionary government had abolished legislation that had served to render Indigenous people as secondary citizens, but it also called for increased state presence and activities in rural communities with the intention of “civilizing” and guiding Indigenous populations toward the “proper” expressions of citizenship.

When it became clear that rendering the diverse Indigenous population legible would be quite difficult, historical actors from Guatemala and abroad formed a new conceptualization of the “permitted Indian.” Imposing this idea of “permitted” and “prohibited” behaviors upon Indigenous bodies at once allowed for increased participation in the nation but also took measures to protect elite rule by expressly forbidding actions that could challenge existing power relations. The desire to be more racially inclusive while still maintaining the status quo became a key paradox of Guatemala’s Revolution, as the revolutionary leadership pursued a high modernist agenda of engineering its version of a modern Guatemala while simultaneously attempting to mitigate some degree of structural inequality.

Sarah Foss is assistant professor of history at Oklahoma State University.