FIVE

Introduction

Nine years after the famous Pueblo Revolt of 1680, a Zia war captain named Bartolomé de Ojeda gave his Spanish colonial captors a rare glimpse into the indigenous politics of New Mexico. “The Keres, Taos, and Pecos fought against the Tewas and Tanos,” reported Ojeda, while “the Keres and Jemez finished off the Piros and Tiwas.” The pueblo of Acoma had split into factions. The Zunis battled the Hopis. Apaches “inflicted all the damage they could” at the pueblos of their enemies. And the Utes “waged unceasing war upon the Jemez, Taos, and Picuris, and with even greater vigor upon the Tewas” (Liebmann 2012:169; Twitchell 1914, 2:276–77). In stark contrast with the unity that had characterized the 1680 uprising, the pan-Pueblo alliance had fallen into disarray by the end of the decade. The Pueblos were at war with one another as well as with their Ute and Athapaskan neighbors. The former colony of New Mexico was in chaos. Ojeda’s testimony emboldened the exiled Spaniards and set the stage for Don Diego de Vargas’s reconquest campaign of 1692.

More than three centuries later, Ojeda’s testament still raises intriguing questions regarding the events that occurred in New Mexico after the Pueblo Revolt. What happened to the pan-Pueblo alliance that facilitated the revolt? How did the independent Native communities interact in the absence of a foreign colonial government? Was Ojeda’s testimony accurate? And how did the Native political alliances, animosities, and factions forged during this period affect the outcome of the Spaniards’ reconquista?

Historical documents relating to the postrevolt period in New Mexico are murky at best. Texts produced by colonial officials (who were exiled in El Paso del Norte, 300 miles south of Santa Fe) provide only a few meager details regarding the events that occurred among the Pueblos during the dozen years between the Pueblo Revolt and the Spanish Reconquest. The testimonies of Pueblo captives suggest that the organizer of the 1680 Revolt, the charismatic prophet and holy man from Ohkay Owingeh (San Juan Pueblo) known as Po’pay, was deposed in 1681 because of his autocratic behavior (Hackett and Shelby 1942:2:274, 296; Sanchez 1983; Liebmann 2012:79). Following the Spaniards’ ouster, Po’pay had reportedly toured the pueblos in the manner of a Spanish governor and even exacted tribute from his followers (Twitchell 1914:2:272; Kessell 1979:238). An alliance of Keres, Taos, and Pecos Indians deposed Po’pay and installed Luis Tupatú of Picuris as leader. But by 1688, Tupatú was also overthrown. Po’pay regained power, only to die shortly thereafter and be replaced once again by Tupatú (Twitchell 1914:2:276). Apparently leadership of the Pueblos was contested and particularly volatile during the dozen years of Pueblo independence that followed the revolt.

Beyond these few scant details, however, historical texts are largely silent regarding the years between 1680 and 1692 in New Mexico. After the Spaniards’ retreat, the documentary record concerning events in the Pueblo world is frustratingly mute. And for the most part, Native oral traditions regarding this era have not been shared with outsiders (see Thomas E. Sheridan and Stewart B. Koyiyumptewa, chapter 9 in this volume). Fortunately, the events that occurred during this period left an indelible mark in the archaeological record. The things Pueblo people designed, made, lived in, broke, and threw away provide a window into the dozen years between 1680 and the reconquista of the 1690s in New Mexico, telling us what happened to the pan-Pueblo alliance that facilitated the Revolt of 1680. In what follows, we examine changing relations within and among six of the new, postrevolt Pueblo villages established in the wake of the 1680 uprising. We are particularly interested in the “social lives” of these communities. Who founded and lived at these villages? Who were their allies? Who were their enemies? And how did the residents of each village choose to negotiate the Spaniards’ return in the 1690s? We develop this archaeological history by combining information from Spanish colonial documents with the archaeological record—particularly data from ceramics and lithics—to discover concordances and reveal contradictions. In the process, we demonstrate the ways that material culture challenges and augments traditional historical accounts, ultimately providing a more detailed and nuanced understanding of the Pueblo Revolt period.

The Mesa Villages

Postrevolt Pueblo Indians’ settlement patterns consisted of an extended network of mission villages founded prior to 1680, mesatop redoubts and refugee communities (both newly constructed and reoccupations of older settlements), and appropriated former Spanish colonial settlements. In the northern Rio Grande, people constantly flowed back and forth between these different loci. Some eastern Pueblo individuals took refuge among the western villages of Acoma, Hopi, and Zuni. Still others joined with the Apache and Navajo. These dislocations mark an important moment in Pueblo Indian history, as they gave rise to new social formations that continue to structure Pueblo Indian communities as we know them today (Liebmann and Preucel 2007).

After taking ritual possession of Santa Fe in 1692, Vargas visited each of the Pueblo villages to secure their allegiance (Kessell and Hendricks 1992:509). He began with Cochiti Pueblo because it was the place where Antonio de Otermín’s 1681 abortive attempt at reconquest was turned back. Vargas relates: “It was an established opinion that the surrender of the pueblo [Cochiti] would be a victory of greater consequence and triumph than even that of the villa [of Santa Fe]” (Kessell and Hendricks 1992:382–83). For this reason, the general was disturbed to find many villages, including Cochiti, abandoned and their inhabitants living in new mesa-top communities overlooking the Rio Grande Valley.

Over the past decade, the Rio Grande mesa villages have become the subject of intensive archaeological investigations (Liebmann 2012; Liebmann et al. 2005; Preucel 2000, 2002). We are currently analyzing ceramic and lithic data from six of these villages, including Kotyiti (LA 295), Cerro Colorado (LA 2048), Patokwa (LA 96), Astialakwa (LA 1825), Boletsakwa (LA 136), and Tunyo (LA 23). Ceramic data is particularly important because it has the potential to reveal population movements as well as trade and exchange relationships. Similarly, the lithic data (primarily elemental signatures of obsidian attained through XRF analysis) can indicate movements across the landscape and changes in lithic procurement strategies. Here we provide results of our ceramic and lithic analyses from Kotyiti, Patokwa, Boletsakwa, Cerro Colorado, and Astialakwa.

Alliances Revealed through Ceramics

Our ceramic analyses seek to distinguish between pottery brought by the migrants joining these new communities, the production of new pottery by these migrants at these communities, and the trade of pottery between communities. Patricia Capone’s petrographic analysis of ceramics from Kotyiti identified five different tempering materials in the Kotyiti glazewares: devitrified tuff, crystalline basalt, igneous porphyritic felsite, vitric tuff, and latite (Capone and Preucel 2002). The largest group, at 59 percent, is devitrified tuff. This result is consistent with other studies (e.g., Warren 1976:B117, 1979:239) and almost certainly indexes ceramics that were locally produced at Kotyiti by Cochiti potters. The second largest group, at 17 percent, is crystalline basalt. This material has been called “Zia basalt” in the literature, and archaeologists generally assume this to have been produced in the Zia district (Warren 1979). Two other materials, igneous porphyritic felsite and vitric tuff, account for about 10 percent each of the Kotyiti glazeware assemblage. The latter may be locally produced. The smallest group, at 3 percent, is represented by latite temper, which is characteristic of San Marcos Pueblo in the Galisteo Basin (Warren 1976:B132). San Marcos people may have brought these ceramics to Kotyiti after the abandonment of their village. Helene Warren (1979:239) found similar results when she examined a sample from Kotyiti, which she interpreted as evidence for Galisteo refugees.

The ceramic assemblage at Kotyiti also contains significant information regarding the local production of pottery by Tewa refugees. Capone’s analysis of the Tewa wares identified only two kinds of temper: ash and devitrified tuff. The dominant temper, at 65 percent, is ash. This material is not available in the immediate vicinity of Kotyiti and likely derives from deposits in the Española Valley. It is the dominant tempering material of the Tewa wares from Tunyo (Black Mesa). However, a significant number of Tewa ware sherds from Kotyiti (35 percent) contained devitrified tuff. As noted above, this material is locally available and is widely distributed across the Pajarito Plateau. Given that this is the dominant tempering material for the Kotyiti glazewares, this raises the intriguing possibility that Tewa refugees lived at Kotyiti and made their own pottery using the local tempering materials. Vargas’s journals mention reports of Tewa warriors convening at Kotyiti in 1693 (Kessell et al. 1995:410). The presence of tuff-tempered Tewa wares suggests that their presence was not fleeting, but in fact that Tewa people lived alongside their Cochiti hosts at Kotyiti.

After 1680, trade among many of the Pueblos increased. Villages that formerly maintained a calculated social distance from one another now exchanged ceramics regularly. This shift in exchange networks is most clearly exemplified in the ceramic assemblages of the ancestral Jemez villages of Patokwa (founded in 1681) and Boletsakwa (founded in 1683), which document dramatic changes in trade with the neighboring Tewa-speaking Pueblos located to the northeast (Liebmann 2012:150–51).

Prior to the 1680s the Jemez appear to have been a fairly xenophobic lot, at least in terms of ceramic trade—and particularly in their relations with Tewa pueblos. Nonlocal ceramics appear in relatively meager amounts at prerevolt ancestral Jemez villages, with Tewa wares comprising just .1 percent of the ceramic assemblages from 1300 to 1680 (Elliott 1991:80; Liebmann 2012:156; Reiter 1938:189–92). Stylistic studies of Jemez and Tewa wares support the notion that the Jemez had remarkably little interaction with neighboring regions before 1680 (Graves and Eckert 1998:276; Morley 2002:237–39). The few interactions that did occur were probably bellicose. Relations between the Tewas and Jemez were reportedly so hostile prior to the Pueblo Revolt that in 1634, one Jemez leader proudly wore around his neck a string of human ears from the Tewa warriors he had killed (Hodge et al. 1945:70). After 1680, however, the icy relations among Jemez and Tewa peoples seems to have thawed. The number of Tewa wares increased dramatically in the assemblages of the Jemez pueblos (rising to 5.3 percent overall). In fact, Tewa wares outnumber Jemez Black-on-white at Patokwa and Boletsakwa (a result of the contemporaneous cessation of production of Jemez Black-on-white following the 1680 Revolt, see Liebmann 2012:129–33, 149).

These patterns suggest that Jemez and Tewa people forged new relationships in the wake of the revolt, presumably as a result of Po’pay’s unification of the Pueblos in 1680. The Tewa Pueblos were uncompromising in their resistance throughout the revolt and reconquest eras, maintaining stalwart ties with other likeminded tribes during the Spanish interregnum (including the Jemez and the Keres of Kotyiti). The Jemez people appear to have fostered an alliance with the Tewas that was stronger in the sixteen years following the revolt than it had been for three centuries prior to 1680. Thus the ceramic record calls into question the notion that the Jemez were at war with the Tewas during the Spanish interregnum, as suggested by historical accounts (Kessell and Hendricks 1992:26). In fact, in 1694 a coalition of Jemez and Tewa warriors attacked the Zias, demonstrating that the strength of the Jemez-Tewa partnership endured nearly fourteen years after Po’pay’s initial uprising (Kessell et al. 1998:320, 798).

The Jemez extended their alliances to other groups in addition to the Tewas during this period as well. Vargas’s journals clearly state that Boletsakwa was a multiethnic community, with the Jemez living there alongside allies from Kewa (Santo Domingo Pueblo) (Kessell et al. 1995:416, 445; 1998:403, 406, 586). “Apaches” (probably ancestral Navajo persons) were also lodged at Patokwa alongside their Jemez brethren in 1692–93 (Kessell and Hendricks 1992:521–22). And the population of Kotyiti comprised residents originally from Cochiti, San Felipe, San Marcos, and (as noted above) likely some Tewa allies as well (Capone and Preucel 2002).

Alliances Revealed through Lithics

Ceramic production and trade weren’t the only change that occurred among the Pueblos in the wake of 1680. X-ray fluorescence analyses of the obsidian artifacts from Astialakwa, Patokwa, Boletsakwa, and Cerro Colorado document concurrent shifts in patterns of lithic procurement during the era of Pueblo independence that allude to the enduring bonds formed during this period as well (Table 5.1). Most conspicuous is the lithic assemblage from Astialakwa, which differs substantially from that of thirty-four other sites in the Jemez region, including Patokwa, Boletsakwa, and Cerro Colorado. From the earliest pre-Hispanic times through the 1680s, Jemez peoples obtained nearly all of their obsidian from four local sources, with obsidian from the Cerro del Medio source being the most prevalent in the assemblages of Patokwa, Boletsakwa, and Cerro Colorado, and eighteen other ancestral Jemez sites.

However, after the return of the Spaniards in 1692 this pattern shifts. At Astialakwa (founded and occupied between November 1693 and July 1694, see Liebmann 2012:191), a substantial number of obsidian artifacts originated from an unknown source that may be located in the Bearhead Peak area to the east of the Jemez Province, a source not previously used by ancestral Jemez peoples (Shackley 2005, 2012). At Astialakwa, 46 percent of the obsidian artifacts (n = 18) were manufactured out of this previously unknown source. Bearhead Peak is an area sacred to the people of Cochiti, and this obsidian source is not only the closest to Kotyiti, but it is farther from Astialakwa than any of the four primary obsidian sources that the Jemez used prior to the 1690s (specifically, the Cerro del Medio, Cerro Toledo, Paliza Canyon, and Bear Springs Peak sources). The most parsimonious explanation for the appearance of this new obsidian at Astialakwa is that people migrating between Astialakwa and Kotyiti procured it as they traveled between these villages. The most likely scenarios involve Jemez warriors obtaining the this previously unused obsidian while traveling to aid in the defense of Kotyiti when it was attacked in April of 1694, Kotyiti warriors bringing it to Astialakwa as they aided in the defense of that village when it was attacked in July of that same year, or both. Either way, this conspicuous shift in obsidian procurement is a material index of the alliances forged between the Jemez of Astialakwa and the Keres of Kotyiti during the Pueblo Revolt era.

On Pueblo Factionalism

Bartolomé de Ojeda’s testimony suggests that the Pueblo world was not one of unvarying alliances during the Spanish interregnum, however. Numerous lines of evidence, from both documentary and archaeological data, suggest that factionalism was endemic to Pueblo communities between 1680 and 1694. Indeed, Tewa anthropologist Ed Dozier notes that factionalism is a persistent condition among contemporary Pueblo tribes. He links this phenomenon to the “authoritarian, totalitarian characteristics” of Pueblo societies, noting that “opposition to the compulsory dictates of the Pueblo authorities . . . [has] resulted in frequent factional disputes” from pre-Hispanic through modern times (Dozier 1966:175).

The study of Pueblo factionalism has a long history in Southwestern anthropology. Numerous scholars have reported on the prevalence of factionalism in different Pueblo communities (Dozier 1966; Fenton 1957; Fox 1961; French 1949; Pandey 1967; Whitman 1940, 1947). This research was part of a broader focus on the adaptive role of temporary political conflicts on the survival of cultural groups. Commenting on the increasing importance of factionalism as an anthropological concept in the late 1950s, Ted Lewellen (2003:104) noted, “It was evident that in certain circumstances factions could be more adaptive than could conventional politics in organizing and channeling political conflict, especially during periods of rapid social change.” In some ways, this work can be seen as a corrective to Ruth Benedict’s (1934) “culture and personality” thesis of Pueblo people as “Apollonian,” passive, and peaceful.

More recently, scholars have reconceptualized factionalism as a dynamic social process (Levy and Pepper 1992; Norcini 2005; Whiteley 1983, 1988). These studies hold that factions are contingent political groupings centered on specific social issues and based upon competition over new resources. Significantly, these scholars emphasize the agency of Pueblo people in assessing local political conditions and charting their own futures. For example, Peter Whiteley (1983:41–44) has shown that both of the factions associated with the famous Orayvi split sought to resist oppression and acculturation by Americans. Similarly, Marilyn Norcini (2005) has studied the political process resulting in the adoption of the 1935 Santa Clara Constitution. She suggests that indigenous strategies have been underrepresented in the literature because of the neglect of local significance and meanings.

Archaeological studies have documented the existence of Pueblo factionalism in pre-Hispanic and historical contexts alike (Herr and Clark 1997; Mills 2004). Van Dyke (2008:344) suggests that there were several decades of competition between ritual leaders in Chaco Canyon that resulted in some moving to Aztec to establish a new ritual center. Similarly, Wendy Ashmore (2007:194) speculates that the collapse of Chaco was instigated by factionalism within a corporate leadership organization. David Brugge (1969:191) links this pattern of factionalism to the historic period, arguing that “the effects of conquest, including forced conversion and subjugation to white rule, did not ameliorate the condition in any way, but supplied new issues around which the old factions could rally.”

From our perspective, the Pueblo Revolt period is a critical historical context, ripe for the study of factionalism. While there is no question that factionalism is endemic to many small-scale societies, we believe that there are important differences in the factionalism that emerged in precolonial and colonial situations. To put it more clearly, Spanish colonialism raised the ante. As a complex system that rapidly incorporated non-state actors into state-level societies, Spanish colonialism engendered new kinds of factions in its colonies in the Americas and beyond. In the Southwest, it produced a variety of crosscutting social and political networks linking Pueblo and non-Pueblo, and Native and non-Native peoples.

Historical sources make clear the fact that Po’pay behaved increasingly despotically in the year following the famed Pueblo uprising (Liebmann 2012:77–79). Such despotism is a factor specifically cited by Dozier in the fomenting of Pueblo factionalism. It is easy to imagine other Pueblo leaders following Po’pay’s lead during this period, as many of these leaders were likely part of his retinue before he was deposed. At Patokwa, for example, a rift seems to have formed in the community between 1681 and 1683. Ultimately the community split in two as a result of this factionalism, with one group leaving Patokwa. This splinter group traveled approximately ten kilometers to the east where its members founded the new village of Boletsakwa. Tree-ring dates collected from the roof beams of Boletsakwa confirm that the site was constructed in 1683 (Robinson et al. 1972:45).

The Jemez were not the only Pueblo group to split into factions in the wake of the 1680 uprising. Factionalism seems to have characterized Isleta and Kewa during this period as well (Hackett and Shelby 1942:2:357; Kessell et al. 1995:113, 416, 445). The divided nature of postrevolt Pueblos was most clearly evident at Pecos, where a pro-Spanish faction had opposed a group of anticolonialists since the time of Coronado in the 1540s. By the mid-seventeenth century the rift had cleaved the residents of Pecos into two distinct settlements, with the Christian contingent perching in the shadow of the mission church and the more conservative, “traditional” bloc remaining in the old north section of the village. During the revolt the Christian citizens of Pecos smuggled the resident friar out of harm’s way, while the “traditionalist” faction killed a second priest. Even with their colonizers gone after the Revolt of 1680, Pecos remained a pueblo divided (Kidder 1917, 1958:108; Kessell 1979:7, 26, 232–46).

The factionalized nature of the Pueblos during the Spanish interregnum was perhaps best summed up by a Tewa man from Tesuque Pueblo whom the Spaniards captured in late 1681. When asked about the Pueblo peoples’ attitudes regarding the possible return of their former colonizers, he confided that “they were of different minds regarding it, because some said that if the Spaniards should come [the Pueblos] would have to fight to the death, and others said that in the end [the Spaniards] must come and gain the kingdom because they were sons of the land and had grown up with the natives” (Hackett and Shelby 1942:2:235). Initially this incipient factionalism was based around pro- and anti-Spanish contingents. But as time passed, these communal rifts were exacerbated by the raids of Utes, Navajos, and Apaches (Liebmann 2012:95–98). As the testimony of another indio ladino (a Spanish-speaking Native who had been educated in a mission by Franciscan friars) indicated to the Spaniards in the early 1680s: “He said that it is true that there are various opinions among them, most of them believing that they would have to fight to the death with the said Spaniards, keeping them out. Others, who were not so guilty, said, ‘We are not to blame, and we must await [the Spaniards] in our pueblos.’ And he said that when the hostile Apaches came they denounced the leaders of the rebellion, saying that when the Spaniards were among them they lived in security and quiet, and afterwards with much uneasiness” (Hackett and Shelby 1942:2:240). Such seems to have been the case at the Jemez village of Patokwa, where tensions came to a head in 1683. Ultimately the community of Patokwa cleaved in two, with one group leaving to form the new settlement of Boletsakwa. The process of one village splitting into two (termed “schismatic factionalism”) appears to have been a particularly common response to intra-Pueblo dissent in pre-Hispanic times, when migration and settlement were unencumbered by the shackles of colonialism (Dozier 1966:172; Siegel and Beals 1960:394). Still, schismatic factionalism has persisted among the Pueblos into modern times, exemplified in the famous Orayvi split of 1906 at Hopi (Cameron 1999; Whiteley 1988, 2008). This pattern was reestablished in the 1680s, when the dissident group from Patokwa split off to found Boletsakwa.

Animosities

The factionalism that was so prevalent within Pueblo communities in the wake of the revolt was detrimental to the maintenance of the pan-Pueblo alliance forged by Po’pay in 1680. Yet it paled in comparison with the disruptions caused by the outright hostilities that developed between some of the Pueblos at this time. Maybe the biggest rift formed between the Keres-speaking Zias and Santa Anas with their Tewa neighbors to the north. Again, ceramics provide insight into the relations among these groups both before and after 1680. The Zias seem to have maintained steady if not voluminous trade relations with the Tewas prior the revolt, with Tewa wares comprising between 2 and 4 percent of prerevolt Zia ceramic assemblages (Ellis 1966:807–10). After 1680, however, this trade ceased. While Tewa wares increased dramatically in the assemblages of the nearby Jemez pueblos, at the Zia-Santa Ana refuge of Cerro Colorado, Tewa ceramics are virtually nonexistent, composing just .1 percent (one sherd) of the total ceramic assemblage.

Ceramic and documentary evidence suggests that the Zias and Santa Anas became alienated from the Tewas by the late 1680s. Although we do not have ceramic data to assess the relationship between these groups during the early years of the revolt period (from 1680 to 1689), it appears that by the time the Zias and Santa Anas were living at Cerro Colorado (1689–94) they were no longer in regular contact with the Tewas, as evidenced by the nearly complete lack of Tewa pottery found there. The cause of this rift is unknown, though it is tempting to speculate that the Zias’ lackluster participation in the 1680 uprising and subsequent reluctance to follow Po’pay’s commands in the wake of the revolt (leaving their church intact and not killing the priest) may have earned their reprobation from the Tewas (Liebmann 2011:206–11). In fact, the Zias reportedly offered their prospective obedience to the Spaniards just a year after the revolt, in the event that the Spaniards would have been successful in reconquering the region in 1681 (Hackett and Shelby 1942:2:387). This course of action would have earned Po’pay’s reproach and was likely the origin of the rift between the Tewas and the Zia and Santa Ana residents of Cerro Colorado.

Conclusions

Spanish historical documents indicate that factionalism and hostilities erupted among the Pueblos during the postrevolt period. However, our results reveal that an enduring alliance existed among the Tewa, Jemez, and Keres of Kotyiti. Much of the Tewa pottery at Kotyiti was likely made by Tewa refugees, some of whom may have come with Juan Griego, a leader from Ohkay Owingeh. The increase in Tewa pottery at the Jemez sites of Astialakwa, Patokwa, and Boletsakwa indicates more frequent interactions between Jemez and Tewa people, if not the presence of actual Tewa people at those villages. Vargas learned of this alliance during his siege at Tunyo. This coalition-of-the-unwilling also included people from Kewa, and several accounts refer to Kewa people living with the Jemez on the mesas (at Boletsakwa). These findings seem to contradict Ojeda’s statements that “the Keres” were at war with “the Tewas” during the late seventeenth century. Ojeda’s homogenization of linguistic-ethnic groups as unitary federations glosses over the subtleties and nuances of these disputes. It is true that friction, if not outright conflict, existed between the Tewas and some Keres people—notably the Zias and Santa Anas. But the Keres of Kotyiti, as well as those living in the Jemez Province, were allies of the Tewas during this period. While this superficial glossing could have resulted from Ojeda’s limited purview, more likely it reflects the less-nuanced ear of a Spanish scribe who recorded the gist of his testimony but omitted important caveats.

Other pueblos appear to have joined and left this coalition at various times throughout the 1680s–90s. The Tano pueblos of San Lázaro and San Cristóbal left the Ohkay (San Juan) people at Embudo to join the main Tewa force at Tunyo. However, the San Felipe people at Kotyiti fell out with the Cochiti leadership and left the community to build their own mesa village. Strong ties persisted among many of the other Keres groups. Vargas was particularly worried that the Keres of Cochiti would succeed in enlisting the support of the Keres of Zia, San Felipe, and Santa Ana (Kessell et al. 1998:138). Thus although there was some inter-Pueblo conflict during the revolt era, the core of resistance—the Tewa/Jemez/Kotyiti alliance—appears to have persisted throughout the Spanish interregnum.

To return to our original question, why did the pan-Pueblo alliance break down after the Pueblo Revolt? In truth, the alliance didn’t so much break down after 1680 as it was continually renegotiated by Pueblo leaders in response to changing needs within each postrevolt community. The instability of centralized leadership is understandable since there was no Pueblo tradition of a single supreme leader (Beninato 1990). The characterization of Po’pay as the primary instigator served the Spaniards’ purpose of identifying a scapegoat, but it also neglects the agency of other important leaders, such as Alonso Catiti, El Zepe, Luis Cunixu, and Antonio Malacate. These individuals played key roles in the planning and execution of the revolt. Significantly, these leaders made their own decisions to ally with or oppose the Spanish colonizers during the reconquest. Ultimately, those decisions shaped the course of the Spanish-Pueblo relations for the next century and beyond.