PREFACE

IN 1975 WE FIRST VISITED THE SACRED VALLEY OF YUTSA TOHON, SANTIAGO Apoala, in the Mixteca Alta (state of Oaxaca, Mexico)—a small village surrounded by steep cliffs on two sides and a precipice on the third, offering an overwhelming view of the blue mountain ranges behind the Cuicatec Cañada. Our journey was motivated by statements in ancient pictorial manuscripts and in reports by Spanish monks that this had been the place of origin of the dynasties that ruled Ñuu Dzaui, the “Nation of the Rain God”—the Mixtec people, the Mixtec land—in the centuries before the Spanish invasion.

Soon, with the help and orientation of knowledgeable people like Don Raúl García, Don Prisciliano Alvarado, Doña Otilia Alvarado, Don Macario López, and many more, we started to see the connection: the representations in the manuscripts coincided with the landscape that surrounded us, and in that landscape the legends from ancient times fused with those of the present. To the east, overlooking the precipice, rises the peak of Kaua Kaandiui, the Mountain of Heaven, where in the time of darkness and mystery the primordial Ancestors had manifested themselves and built their home. From here their son and pupil, the Plumed Serpent, Lord 9 Wind, had come down to bring light and life to the world.

At the other end of the valley, where the two rock faces meet and leave only a narrow passage, is the Cave of the Serpent (Yaui Koo Maa), a dark and ancient place of ceremony. A huge stalagmite inside is called the “Bishop,” a venerated image: people go to him to ask a favor. Another story tells us that when the sun rose for the first time, a princess kept prisoner in this cave turned into stone in the center of the small subterranean pond. The waters that flow from her body feed the brook that gave its name to the town, the Yutsa Tohon, “River that pulls out and drags along” or the “Storytelling River”; it runs through the valley and forms a beautiful cascade where it plunges down. On its bank once stood the huge pochote tree that covered the entire valley with its shade and gave birth to the First Lords and Ladies, who, following the example of the Plumed Serpent and carrying his Sacred Bundle, became the founders of the Ñuu Dzaui kingdoms. It was the Plumed Serpent, then, who guided the rulers to be devout and just, who taught the people to work the land, to count the days, to express their thoughts and experiences in flowery songs and colorful paintings.

Yutsa Tohon, in many ways the chosen town of the Plumed Serpent, became for us the starting point of a quest to uncover Ñuu Dzaui history. A civilization is not a mere collection of archaeological artifacts but a living system of communication and interaction undergoing continuous development, with dramatic transformations over time. Searching for the connections between the past and the present, we became conscious of the multiple effects of colonialism rising around and between us. Indeed, the past is always the source of a specific present, and the present is always the product of a specific past. It is the problems of the present that determine our perspectives and the injustices of the past that haunt our relationships. In the colonial mind the peoples of the Western Hemisphere are being reduced to “indigenous ethnic groups” and “people without history,” locked in a vicious cycle of exploitation and discrimination. On one hand, they are fantasized about as mere symbols of national identity or romantic stereotypes; on the other their society falls victim to a rapid process of erosion, disintegration, and ethnocide. This inescapable context, rarely put forward explicitly in research designs, has unsettling, even traumatic consequences for both the investigators and the investigated peoples. The past decades have witnessed a rise in consciousness, however, and the development of international standards on these matters. This process has important implications for the direction of research. In a postcolonial perspective, the notion of a “people without history” has to be replaced by the vision of sovereign peoples with their own history and culture, with values and with projects for the future.

With this in mind, we present here a synthesis of an important part of the precolonial Ñuu Dzaui pictorial manuscripts. These screen-fold books with figurative paintings tell us about the polities of the so-called Postclassic period (± A.D. 900–1521), their royal families, rituals, wars, alliances, and ideology. Most manuscripts have been taken out of their original context and are now kept in distant libraries and museums, where they have been renamed after foreign collectors, scholars, or political figures whom the investigators sought to please. Different authors and institutions have followed their own preferences in naming the documents. This has resulted in a confusing situation. For example “Codex Bodley” is called with more precision “Codex Bodley 2858,” adding a catalog number, but it is actually designated “MS. Mex. d. 1” in the Bodleian Library. More as a matter of principle, we recognize that the use of alien names for the ancient Ñuu Dzaui books reflects the colonization process. This situation has been analyzed critically, and in some cases more appropriate names have been accepted. Thus we no longer speak of the “Lienzo Antonio de León” but of the “Lienzo of Tlapiltepec.” In a similar way it seems fitting to change “Codex Muro” back to “Codex of Ñuu Naha” and “Codex Porfirio Díaz” to “Codex of Tututepetongo” or rather “Codex Yada.” In all these cases we are now certain of the place from which the document came. More problematic is the renaming of other codices, which have become generally accepted by scholars and for which it is not easy to find a new designation. Some proposals do not constitute any progress in this respect, like that of “Codex Caso” for “Codex Colombino-Becker,” while others actually represent a step backward, like “Tonalamatl de los Pochtecas” for “Codex Fejérváry-Mayer” or “Tepexic Annals” for “Codex Vindobonensis.” In earlier publications we mostly continued to use the old names to avoid confusion. But by now the situation has become somewhat chaotic anyway, so we have decided to start using more appropriate names for the Ñuu Dzaui pictorial manuscripts. In all cases we have tried to find names directly and unequivocally related to the document. The main changes are summarized here.

The Codex Bodley and the Codex Selden, named after the first known European owners, could better be named for the first Ñuu Dzaui owners, Iya Qhcuaa (Lord 4 Deer) and Iya Sicuañe (Lord 10 Grass), respectively. As the interpretation of their contents has progressed, we can now identify them by the communities they are connected with. The Codex Selden comes from Añute (Magdalena Jaltepec). The obverse side of Codex Bodley deals with Ñuu Tnoo (Tilantongo) and the reverse reflects the historiography of Ndisi Nuu (Tlaxiaco). It therefore may be called “Codex Ñuu Tnoo–Ndisi Nuu” (or, if we take into account the local pronunciation of these toponyms, “Codex Ñuu Toon and Ndijin Nuu”).

The Codex Vindobonensis Mexicanus I actually consists of two different manuscripts: the obverse and the reverse. Instead of naming it after the European library where it is now kept, we propose to call it after the place to which the main part of the obverse refers, namely, Yuta Tnoho (or Yutsa Tohon, as the village is pronounced locally today). The reverse deals with the dynasty of Ñuu Tnoo, although it does not show the place sign. To avoid confusion with the Codex Ñuu Tnoo–Ndisi Nuu we prefer to call it simply “Codex Yuta Tnoho reverse.” If we must give this part of the document its own name, we could make use of the prominent presence of the Temple of Heaven (Huahi Andevui) of Ñuu Tnoo and call it “Codex Huahi Andevui.”

The Codex Colombino-Becker consists of two fragments, named after the fourth centennial commemoration of Columbus’s voyage and a German collector, respectively. We propose to call both fragments after the protagonist of the story, Iya Nacuaa (Lord 8 Deer), and to distinguish them with roman numerals (I = Colombino; II = Becker I).

Last but not least, the name of the Codex Zouche-Nuttall eternalizes one of its European owners and the scholar who published it, again without any relationship to the contents of the book. Because of its composite character we prefer to change it to “Codex Tonindeye,” after the term for “lineage history” in Dzaha Dzaui, the Mixtec language.

With this intent of partially renaming the most important sources, we situate our work in a process of transition from colonial and alienating terminologies, through which a culture is defined by others from outside, hegemonic, and objectifying perspectives, to an emancipatory description and analysis, in which a people can recognize itself and recover its heritage. Similarly, we prefer to use toponyms in the native language and to substitute certain anthropological etic (outsider’s) notions such as “myth” (“a story of special value to others in which the speaker does not believe”) with more emic (inside) ones, such as “sacred history.” This is not just a matter of terminology but part of the ongoing decolonization of perception and research practice. It also brings us closer to the original sphere of communication. Whereas the designation “Codex Vindobonensis” or “Vindo” evokes the image of a curious document placed outside its original context, a mere object of study and discussion by others, the conceptualization of it as Ñee Ñuhu Tnuhu Sanaha Yuta Tnoho, “the Sacred Deerskin of the Ancient History of Yuta Tnoho (Apoala)” recognizes some of its solemnity and protagonist voice.

We started out to write a commentary on one specific source, the so-called Codex Bodley 2858, as a logical sequel to our earlier work on related documents. The Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research (NWO) financed a sabbatical year (1997–1998), which enabled us to lay the foundation for this study. The resulting interpretation accompanies the photographic reproduction of this pictorial chronicle by the Bodleian Library (Jansen & Pérez Jiménez 2005). In the process, however, it became clear to us that the focus on its main narrative—the genealogical history of the royal families of two specific communities—does not do justice to the comprehensive view this manuscript offers on Ñuu Dzaui precolonial history. Another NWO grant permitted us to continue this work in the context of the research project “Mixtec city-states” (2001–2005), analyzing the social and political dynamics that underlay the early history as presented by the codices while simultaneously studying the ancient literary style of storytelling as evidenced in the Dzaha Dzaui translation of a Spanish treatise on the miracles of the Rosary. During this project we explored the many cross-references that link Codex Bodley with other pictorial manuscripts from the same region and were able to reorganize the data in a coherent chronological sequence. This, of course, is not what the ancient painters-historians did—they selected from a huge reservoir of oral and written data what they needed for a particular story for a specific occasion. Our procedure goes in the opposite direction: we try to combine the biased fragments and to (re)construct a general picture. This permits us to postulate relationships between the data in terms of causality and political purpose and even to discover dramatic structures that transformed the historical experience into literature. The resulting (re)construction is necessarily subjective and speculative, but it may serve as an explicit reference point for further study of the historical processes that affected Ñuu Dzaui and the ideological concepts that sustained the sovereignty of its communities and determined most of the rulers’ actions.

The present text deals with the early part of Ñuu Dzaui historiography. The first chapter provides a short introduction to the ancient Ñuu Dzaui world and pictography. Chapter 2 deals with the relations between this form of history writing and ritual. Chapter 3 synthesizes the account of how the sovereign communities and dynasties were created by Lord 9 Wind, the Plumed Serpent, and focuses on Codex Yuta Tnoho, while Chapter 4 connects this information with the primordial figures and struggles as related in Codex Tonindeye. The early political history, the first dynasty of Ñuu Tnoo (as presented in Codex Tonindeye, Codex Ñuu Tnoo–Ndisi Nuu, and Codex Yuta Tnoho reverse), is analyzed in Chapter 5, which sets the scene for a detailed reconstruction of the epic of Lord 8 Deer, Lady 6 Monkey, and Lord 4 Wind in Chapters 6 and 7 (based on Codex Iya Nacuaa, Codex Tonindeye, Codex Ñuu Tnoo–Ndisi Nuu, and Codex Añute). Our focus is the encounter between Lord 8 Deer and the ruler of the Toltecs, the so-called historical Quetzalcoatl. The reading of the codices presented here leads to new conclusions about the relationships between the different sources and about the Ñuu Dzaui conceptualization of power—these topics are discussed in Chapter 8. The analysis of later royal lineages, together with basic arguments and methodological considerations for the decipherment of ancient pictorial writing, will be included in another book. The epilogue in Chapter 9 traces a line from this ancient history to present concerns.

During our research we have received numerous helpful suggestions and stimulating comments from many people, first of all in the Ñuu Dzaui region itself. In Ñuu Ndeya (Chalcatongo) our family and friends received us with great hospitality, shared their knowledge of traditions, and helped in innumerable ways. We honor the memory of the late Doña Crescencia Jiménez Quiroz and the late curandera María Jiménez Quiroz, who were a direct link to the ancient Ñuu Dzaui world. We further owe special thanks to Esther Pérez Jiménez, Monica Pérez Jiménez, and many individuals from different villages throughout the region, who all contributed valuable insights and added pieces to the puzzle.

Two maestros taught us the art of reading and appreciating the codices and have guided us with their ideas and enthusiasm: Ferdinand Anders and Nancy Troike. Ferdinand always insisted on a holistic approach to Native America and involved us in the enterprise of writing commentaries for the series Códices Mexicanos. Nancy’s vision of the life of the great ruler Lord 8 Deer in terms of a Shakespearean tragedy has proved inspiring. Following the lead of Luis Reyes García and from discussing the scenes with Ñuu Dzaui participants in workshops organized by the Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios en Antropología Social in Oaxaca, we developed ways to read the codices in Ñuu Dzaui terms.

We have benefited from the cooperation of the regional center of the Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia and the opportunities offered by the Monte Albán Round Table conferences and the Mixtec Gateway meetings to exchange thoughts with many colleagues. Similarly, we found great inspiration in the encounters to which Antonella Cammarota invited us in Sicily and Rome.

Our daughter, Itandehui Jansen Pérez, who has directed video documentaries on the story of Lord 8 Deer and Lady 6 Monkey, on Sicilian puppet theater, and on life in La Mixteca, contributed significantly to our understanding of the literary, dramatic, and performative aspects of these narratives.

Fortunately, more and more Native American students and scholars are taking a lively interest in the study of their own history, language, and culture. It has been particularly rewarding to give lectures on the codices for Mixtec audiences at institutions in Oaxaca, Huajuapan, and Tlaxiaco, as well as in local villages such as San Agustín Tlacotepec and Chalcatongo. Ñuu Dzaui poet Carlos España, Ñuu Dzaui lawyer Hugo Aguilar Ortíz, Ngigua priest Serapio López Cruz, Ñuu Dzaui archaeologist Iván Rivera Guzmán, Chah Tnio archaeologist Ninfa Pacheco Rodríguez, and Ñuu Dzaui sociologist Gaspar Rivera Salgado, holder of the Prince Claus chair in Development and Equity (University of Utrecht), have especially enriched us with their profound and positive vision.

Leiden University has continually provided a positive working environment, both in the Faculty of Archaeology and in the Centre of Non-Western Studies Research School of Asian, African and Amerindian Studies. Discussions with participants in the international M.A. and Ph.D. programs made us aware of many iconographical details we otherwise would have missed. We thank the draftsmen who have contributed to our project over the years. Long ago, Jorge Pérez Morales traced Codex Yuta Tnoho. Later, Frans Schoonens drew Codex Tonindeye and the Map of Chiyo Cahnu, while Peter Deunhouwer traced large parts of Codex Ñuu Tnoo–Ndisi Nuu and Ferdinand Anders provided drawings of the Codex Añute. In the final phase Megan Hershey, Franci Taylor, and Arie Kattenberg helped with correcting, preparing, and illustrating the manuscript. Finally, we thank the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences for its significant support.

The narrative of the Ñuu Dzaui codices constitutes a special chapter in the history of the native peoples of the Americas, a history that from today’s global perspective is a tragic one, dominated as it is by the traumatic incision of military conquest, genocide, and colonial oppression. This is not something of the past but a burning actuality that is still affecting people’s identities, relationships, and possibilities today. The ongoing social injustice and violence are felt throughout the indigenous and poor regions of the Americas. We again became painfully aware of this in March 1999 when our dear friend and sister Ingrid Washinawatok, Menomenee, a true ambassador of the indigenous peoples and an active defender of their rights, was brutally murdered while on a humanitarian-cultural mission in Colombia. We dedicate this book to her memory.