Chapter Nine

The CROWN of MOTECUHZOMA

A concern for the archaeology of a region is a concern for the environment of that region, and not just a physical environment but a peopled environment, given cultural values and meanings. Peoples around the world use archaeology to help maintain their pasts in the face of the universalising and dominating processes of westernisation and western science. The physical archaeological remains help people to maintain, reform, or even form a new identity or culture in the face of multinational encroachment, outside powers, or centralised governments.

Ian Hodder 1995: 194

THE ICON OF THE TOLTEC RULER AS MANIFESTATION (IXIPTLA) OF THE PLUMED Serpent is the impressive feather headdress, the quetzalapanecayotl. It appears in the Ñuu Dzaui codices as a diagnostic attribute of Lord 4 Jaguar. Lord 8 Deer was considered worthy to wear it in death; his mummy bundle was adorned with it when laid to rest in the dark and sacred cave. At several occasions Mexica emperors, such as the triumphant Tizoc, distinguished themselves in this manner. Motecuhzoma sent one such headdress to Cortés upon his arrival, together with the turquoise serpent mask of Quetzalcoatl and other divine attributes. It has been speculated that this was the same headdress as the unique specimen now in the Museum für Völkerkunde in Vienna. Over time it became known as the “Crown of Montezuma,” and, consequently, it is now an emblematic object to which some attribute the symbolic importance a crown used to have for nationalist movements.¹

In front of the museum we see Mexican dancers in ancient Mexica outfits, performing rituals to demand the return of the crown to Mexico. Similar “Aztec” revival groups (concheros) are active close to the ancient Templo Mayor in Mexico City. A major attraction for visiting tourists, they are captured on camera as icons of native resistance.

Here we encounter an example of the contradictory consequences of colonialism. On one hand, the outfit of the concheros bears testimony to a process of romanticization and folklorization of the Native American past, with nostalgia for Mexica imperial glory. The reason people prefer folklore and symbolic objects, such as crowns, over painful actualities may be a consequence of internalized nationalism, illustrating the fact that, in general, “the revitalization movement is largely an elite or middle-class phenomenon” (Eriksen 1993: 110).

On the other hand, many people feel a strong need to reconnect to cultural values. In terms of the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), passed by the U.S. Congress in 1990, the crown is clearly part of Nahua “cultural patrimony, which shall mean an object having ongoing historical, traditional, or cultural importance central to the Native American group or culture itself, rather than property owned by an individual Native American, and which, therefore, cannot be alienated, appropriated, or conveyed by any individual.” Thus, regardless of scholarly debates over whether the object in question is really the “crown” of Motecuhzoma and whether it came to Vienna in an incorrect way, we support the principle that foreign and national institutions should repatriate to indigenous peoples the physical remains and important cultural items that have been taken away from them in the context of colonization or otherwise without their informed consent. Many crucial and sacred objects have become dislocated in the process of European expansion and are now part of outsiders’ collections. Under the disguise of archaeological interest, spoliation campaigns are still going on in indigenous lands. We feel strongly, for example, that the ancient manuscript that was stolen from the town of San Martín Huamelulpan and smuggled out of Mexico in the first half of the twentieth century and which is now in the library of Tulane University in New Orleans should return to Ñuu Dzaui. We also think, as postulated in NAGPRA, the UN draft Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (1994), and similar international guidelines, that Mesoamerican burials and sacred sites should be fully respected as such, the human remains should be repatriated, and the associated monuments and artifacts should be in the care and control of the inheriting indigenous communities.

The protection of this heritage is a common responsibility of all, but it is first and foremost the moral authority of the specific people who have been colonized and suffer the consequences of that history today. Too often all kinds of interest groups refer to or speak for the true inheritors, the contemporary indigenous peoples, to foster their own particular interests or political motives. A cultural heritage should be preserved and honored, not as propaganda or as a pretext to divert attention from burning problems such as discrimination, exploitation, hunger, and other violations of human rights but as an orientation point for living together in dignity.

A world history unites us; it is a common story of failures, pain, and injustice but also of challenges and creation and love, the story of a wonderful adventure: that of the human spirit. Far from having reached its end, it is just beginning. Within a global perspective we have the more particular histories of groups or peoples we belong to, places where we have lived or where our roots are. Descent, loyalty, love, and other forms of sharing and shifting identifications connect us to multiple histories, many of which we barely know. Our realities and relationships today, as well as our models for the future, are to some extent determined and haunted by those histories, with their many unfinished chapters and open files.

Therefore, taking into account this dimension of our common world, the interpretation of the ancient artifacts and texts involves not only the values of the past but also the problems of the present. The history and heritage of Ñuu Dzaui’s communities have been alienated and obscured, just as the people have been marginalized and made invisible. The burning of the ancient books and deities, the destruction of the collective memory of a people, was part of setting up a colonial society. The conquista was the beginning of a huge process of domination, exploitation, and discrimination that still defines the condition of “indigenous peoples.” The concept of “indigenous” reminds us that colonial structures and mentalities are still very much present among us. The encounter with that reality also generates a project of political reflection and emancipation.

In our study of the pictorial manuscripts, we have focused on elements that are important constituents and markers of what is often called the “identity” of a people or a nation. In connecting the ancient themes of the codices to the cultural tradition that is alive today, we seek to give the past a dignified place in the present and to contribute to a responsible and respectful treatment of that tradition and of the people who inherited it. Although many social and cultural changes have taken place during the past centuries, there is also a profound continuity, evident as much in the language and the landscape as in multiple details of worldview and habitus. The successive consultations of the Founder, Lord 9 Wind, with different Spirits, for example, reflect the important social role of the assembly, still the crucial mechanism of decision-making in Mesoamerican communities. Rain, Sun, and Earth remain pivotal in native thought, as well as the symbolism of the four directions and the conviction that true power is derived from Nature and connected to devotion and morality.

Underlying precolonial historiography is the articulation between autonomous polities (mats and thrones) and the pan-regional identity of the Ñuu Dzaui people, an issue that is still at the heart of belonging and loyalty. The vision of Iya Nacuaa ‘Teyusi Ñaña’ to unify the People of the Rain God in one realm, “the bond of blood and hearts,” rediscovered in our reading of the ancient texts, may today be a singular motivating force in our common quest for justice and dignity. However, it should not be reinterpreted in an essentialist manner and even less in a neo-nationalistic sense. Here we have to sail the troubled waters between the Scylla of hegemonic racism and the Charybdis of counterhegemonic ethno-fundamentalism. The focus on ethnic or cultural identity as the basis for rights may result in severe contradictions, especially when this identity is seen not as a dynamic process of relationships but as a static and monolithic “commodity” that can be owned and manipulated.

The predicament of internally colonized peoples is complex and involves all of society. The theoretical analysis in terms of a polarization between “class” and “ethnicity,” between economic and cultural development, is misleading. The sound point of departure is a full and sincere understanding of the dramatic reality of the people concerned and of the distorted, traumatic relationships among the peoples of our planet. The recognition of indigenous peoples as such, as peoples, the full realization of sovereignty and control over land and resources, should go hand in hand with the improvement of life conditions, full access to the benefits of technological progress, and positive participation in the world economy in accordance with their own aspirations. Truly contributing to the creation of a just society means deconstructing and demolishing the historical myths and structures of subjugation and at the same time fighting the problems of poverty and inequality. It means aiming at a general decolonization and democratization, at a fundamental economic, political, and mental change. It means working toward emancipatory, antiracist scholarship and education. It means reconciliation and healing.

A unique strength of indigenous communities is their strong collective bond and communal solidarity. Generally, the inhabitants of the ancestral lands, and also the migrants, feel committed to contribute to their community in a way that resembles the group spirit of a people at war or of a country under foreign occupation. This group identity is shaped by the feeling of a common threat, by the shared experience of being humiliated, harassed, and hurt. Those negative circumstances bring out a noble social ethos in people, stimulating self-sacrifice for collective survival.

In the process of social emancipation, starting from here, historical consciousness can be a crucial factor: not to go back to the past and remain stuck in it but to become aware of having a past and of having the right to create a future. In itself the past is just the past; however painful, it cannot be undone, and however glorious and impressive, it cannot be kept frozen as a norm for the present. Identity is not a fence around us but an inclusive, interactive, and expanding network of relationships and responsibilities. It is a dynamic process of—in the terms of Deleuze and Braidotti—“multiple becomings.” Seen this way, history, connected to a concrete landscape of experiences, may provide us with a sense of belonging and direction. This identity may remind us of our common human values and our bond with Nature, it may inspire a struggle for freedom, and, above all, it may develop into a moral power.

Ingrid Washinawatok, to whom we dedicate this book, has said:

I travel a lot, and in communities across the country, I see women in leadership roles. There’s a recognition that women are powerful, but it’s not authority in western terms. There is a balance between young and old, between men and women. There’s a recognition that power comes from within. It comes from having knowledge and vision. The sun has power. The wind has power. We have the power to bring forth and nurture new life. That’s the power Mother Earth has. There’s the power of love. If you raise your children to be good people, then the future is theirs. That’s more important than being president of a corporation. How can you not be fulfilled if you teach your children to be loving, honest, thinking people? (quoted in Katz 1995: 95–96)