Iberian Worlds

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Iberian Worlds Iberian Worlds offers a concise but open-ended vision of evolving issues of globalization through an examination of flows of people, goods and culture in and through the Iberian Peninsula since Roman days. For millennia, peoples, cultures and cities of modern Spain and Portugal, historical peoples and nations like the Basques or Catalans, and enclaves such as Gibraltar and Andorra have developed complex linkages by trade, conquest, communication, ideologies and human movements to the rest of Europe, as well as to changing Islamic worlds and to far-flung colonial and postcolonial interactions across Africa, Asia and the Americas and their diverse peoples, goods and ideas. Author Gary W. McDonogh explores these ties in human, spatial, political economic and cultural terms to illuminate globalizations of creation, memory and power as well as to understand important new flows that continue to change European and Iberian worlds in the twenty-first century. Gary W. McDonogh has devoted more than three decades to anthropological studies of Iberian cities and peoples in Europe, Asia and the Americas. He is currently Professor and Director of the Program in Growth and Structure of Cities at Bryn Mawr College and coordinator of the concentration in Latino, Latin American and Iberian Peoples and Cultures.

Global Realities: A Routledge Series Edited by Charles C. Lemert, Wesleyan University The Series Global Realities offers concise accounts of how the nations and regions of the world are experiencing the effects of globalization. Richly descriptive yet theoretically informed, each volume shows how individual places are navigating the tension between age-old traditions and the new forces generated by globalization. Books in the Series Available Australia by Anthony Moran Global Ireland by Tom Inglis Global Hong Kong by Cindy Wong and Gary McDonogh The Koreas by Charles K. Armstrong The Netherlands by Frank J. Lechner The Globalization of Israel by Uri Ram Morocco by Shana Cohen and Larabi Jaidi On Argentina and the Southern Cone by Alejandro Grimson and Gabriel Kessler The Philippines by James Tyner China and Globalization, Revised Edition by Doug Guthrie Forthcoming Military Legacies by James Tyner

Iberian Worlds


First published 2009 by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016

Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2008. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.”

© 2009 Taylor & Francis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data McDonogh, Gary W.– Iberian worlds / Gary W. McDonogh p. cm.—(Global realities) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Iberian Peninsula–Civilization. 2. Spain–Foreign relations. 3. Portugal–Foreign relations. I. Title. DP53.I2M33 2008 946–dc22 2008023898 ISBN 0-203-88641-0 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0–415–94771–5 (hbk) ISBN10: 0–415–94772–3 (pbk) ISBN10: 0–203–88641–0 (ebk) ISBN13: 978–0–415–94771–8 (hbk) ISBN13: 978–0–415–94772–5 (pbk) ISBN13: 978–0–203–88641–0 (ebk)


List of Figures




Foreword xv What Are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?



Mapping the Iberian Peninsula: Peoples, Places, Culture and History



Iberia and the Creation of Europe



Across Gibraltar: Iberian, African and Atlantic Worlds



Empires in Collision: Iberian and Asian Worlds



Descubrimiento and Pachakuti: Latin American Connections and Creations



Other Worlds, Other Histories: Iberians and Exile









To my high school Spanish teacher, Susan Dunlap Miles, who opened the doors to Spanish language and literature for so many of us, muchas gracias. And to Cindy, Larissa and Graciela, siempre.

List of Figures

0.1 Politics and People on the Rambles of Barcelona. 0.2 Iberian Worlds: Spanish and Portuguese Extensions in the Modern World. 0.3 Globalization in San Gabriel. Los Angeles Chinese-Dominated Mall Using “Spanish” Architecture. 1.1 The Iberian Peninsula. 1.2 Northern Spain: Rivers and Landscapes of Cantabria, near Angustina-Limpias. 1.3 Toledo: A Castilian Capital. 1.4 Lisbon Street Scene. 1.5 Barcelona Architecture Evoking the Catalan Mediterranean: Columns in Antoni Gaudí’s Park Güell. 1.6 Landscape of Andorra. 2.1 Roman Aqueduct in Segovia. 2.2 The Goal of Pilgrims: Santiago de Compostela. 2.3 The Monastery-Palace of the Escorial: Heart of an Empire. 3.1 The Great Mosque (Mezquita) of Córdoba, now a Roman Catholic Cathedral. 4.1 Iberian Connections in Asia. 4.2 Goa: Sé Cathedral of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, completed 1619.

2 6

23 31 50 55 58

65 76 86 90 101 129 162 169

x List of Figures

4.3 Largo de Senado Macau: a Space of Portuguese Colonial Memory. 4.4 Roman Catholic Procession in Manila. 5.1 Spaniards occupy the center of the Aztec Empire: Mexico City Cathedral and the Zócalo (main plaza and former Aztec ceremonial space). 5.2 Claiming Space for the Nation-State: The Mexican Flag in the Zócalo. 5.3 Layers of History in Buenos Aires seen from the Plaza de Mayo: the Cabildo, European Style Modernity and Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. 5.4 Global Brazil: The Japanese Section of São Paulo. 6.1 Sephardic Synagogue in Sofia, Bulgaria, 1980s.

178 185

207 218

223 238 254


This project has taken many years from conception to execution, a road through many Iberian worlds across continents, in which I have acquired debts to readers, interlocutors, encouragers, students, colleagues and friends who will answer random questions at odd moments or contribute from their expertise and friendship as needed. As the dedication notes, that road began in many ways with Susan Dunlap Miles, who taught me Spanish language, literature and culture in seventh, eighth, tenth, eleventh and twelfth grades, laying a foundation in language and culture that I—and many others from that unique Kentucky classroom—continue to rely on and share decades later. Her teaching led me on to the Spanish department at Yale, work in Catalan medieval studies at the University of Toronto, and Anthropology at the Johns Hopkins University. Through this education, professors like Sidney Mintz, Richard Price, Richard Kagan, Ed Hansen and Oriol Pi-Sunyer have continued to open my eyes to the complexities of Iberian worlds, their peoples and changes. And I began to work with colleagues whose work continues to illuminate my thought today, including Jim Amelang, Carles Carreras, Josefina Roma, Susan DiGiacomo, Kit Woolard, Gaspar Maza and others. Support also has come in many ways from friends and colleagues in Barcelona and other parts of the peninsula— Gaspar Maza and his family, Carles Carreras, Mercedes Marín

xii Acknowledgements

and family, Josefina Roma and family, Florentino and Tina de Retana and their families, Josep Maria Gallart and Angels Surriols and once again, their families. From lengthy discussions of society, culture, language and history to quick emails and specific questions, I have relied on their friendship in the field and in writing. And certainly, they have shared food, wine and family with me and my family over decades. Others have provided support in my learning of Iberian worlds abroad, including Marla Tseng, who opened up Lima for me and Imelda McLeod, who provided insights into Macau. These ideas have been shaped as well by my classes at New College, Bryn Mawr and Hong Kong University as well as colleagues at these institutions. My compadre Tony Andrews has always guided me in Meso-American worlds and also added his knowledge in other areas, including connections in Peru. Nihal Perera, who was in Hong Kong as a Fulbright Scholar in 2006–7, took time from his busy schedule to read my manuscript and comment on Asian sections, while Wing Shing Tang of Hong Kong Baptist and Tammy Wong generously helped with maps. At Bryn Mawr, Alice Donohue has always provided a sounding board and corrected me on the classical world and beyond and Barbara and Jonathan Lane have always been there as colleagues and friends. Even as I completed the manuscript, students continued to raise new questions for me while my colleagues in the revitalization of the concentration in Latin American, Iberian and Latino Peoples and Cultures continued to show me how exciting this discussion can be—so, more thanks are due to Juan Manuel Arbona, Enrique Sacerio-Garí, Maria Cristina Quintero, Gridley McKim-Smith, Ignacio Gallup-Diaz and Lázaro Lima. In Hong Kong and Bryn Mawr, I also owe my special gratitude to librarians who provided resources for the vast fields of studies I have wandered through.

xiii Acknowledgements

As this project has taken more concrete form, I need to acknowledge those who have read and improved upon large swathes of the manuscript at various stages. This includes the invaluable criticism of my former student and now colleague, Trecia Pottinger, who read and commented on the entire manuscript while completing her dissertation. My longtime friend, colleague and comare Susan DiGiacomo provided her special expertise on both gypsies and the Pi-Sunyer family. My brother, Allen McDonogh, provided a last-minute layman’s reading to smooth out academic prose. At Bryn Mawr, Peter Brampton Koelle cast a sharp eye on my writings on Sephardim, Juan Manuel Arbona reviewed both my early proposal and my Latin American chapter and Kalala Ngalamulme reviewed an early version of the introduction. Jim Amelang, whose work on Catalan and European social history has guided me for decades, as always kept me from too many errors as I ventured into European historiography. And Michael Nylan, who taught me so much about China, also put me back in touch with Susan Dunlap Miles. Among others who have read for tone, especially in the introductory sections, I include an array of colleagues and friends including Nadia Barclay, Aley Thompson, David Langlieb and Daniela Sandler. And my invaluable secretarial staff at Bryn Mawr has helped me in many ways throughout the process—Pam Cohen, Selene Platt and Margaret Kelly—while Del Ramer of Visual Resources once again came through in photography. In a project that has in some ways emerged from most of my research life over three decades, I am also indebted economically to many who have supported my studies. Certainly, I should acknowledge the institutional support of my graduate school, the Johns Hopkins University, as well as the Council for European Studies and Social Science Research Council. My two primary teaching institutions, New College USF and Bryn

xiv Acknowledgements

Mawr College have been generous in summer funding and other support. Additional funding has come from the National Endowment for the Humanities Summer Fellowship Programs, and through programs administered through Bryn Mawr, funded by the Ford Foundation and the Hewlett Foundation. My exposure to the Asian worlds of Iberia has also come through two Fulbright Fellowships in Hong Kong—one that I held at Hong Kong University in 1996–7 and a second held by my wife at City University of Hong Kong in 2006–7. My editors at Routledge have shown great patience with the slow evolution of this work. I want to thank Dominic MacBride and Steve Rutter, who knew how to criticize and cajole the project. Beatrice Shraa and Leah Babb-Rosenfeld also provided support in the final stages. And my thanks as well to the original anonymous reviewers who pointed out the ambitiousness of the project and sent me into years of catch-up work in Lusophone studies that have enriched my knowledge and teaching. Finally, my dedication recognizes the other people who are always central to my work and life. My wife, Cindy Wong, and my daughters Larissa and Graciela McDonogh-Wong have lived patiently with this project for a very long time—indeed, almost all of Graciela’s life so far, whether in discussion, travel or work that takes me away from their concerns. We have shared Barcelona, Lisboa, Lima, Buenos Aires, Manila, Malacca and Macau, among other places, with more to come.


Gary W. McDonogh begins his marvellously powerful Iberian Worlds with a statement as perplexing as it is true: “Globalization, in popular usage today, seems to encompass almost any widespread phenomena or connections, a definition so diffuse that it easily loses analytic utility.” The perplexing truth of it all is, indeed, that it is hard to know what to make of the new global realities that, like them or not, haunt us all. One thing we can say for certain is that whatever it is, globalization may well have begun, in the modern sense, early in the long sixteenth century when the first Iberian explorers came upon the new world and from there the world as a geographic whole. Columbus, Magellan, Vespucci, and da Gama were all either Iberian or sponsored by the Iberian throne. This is why the then new world of the misnamed Americas was, as it still is, largely settled, colonized, and now energized by Iberian language and culture. Some go so far as to say that the modern world began in earnest when Portugal and Spain became the core states of the second half of the previous millennium. It would be, I think, improbable if not downright impossible to assess the current state of global changes without a sure grasp of the Iberian origins of the modern worlds. However pitifully vague some uses of the word, globalization may be hard to define precisely because the world first organized

xvi Foreword

and directed by Iberian powers in the sixteenth century might be fading away. Thus, it is certain that to measure the worlds as they are in our time one could do no better than to begin with Iberia— once at the boundary of the Mediterranean world, then at the core of the modern world, and now, as McDonogh so brilliantly demonstrates, at the very heart of the new global realities. By probing deeply into one of its historically and culturally most important regions, this book invites us to think about the world as it is becoming. In the analysis of the region McDonogh allows us to begin to make sense of the changes we encounter in terms of the Americas and other outposts of early Iberia, from the past of the mighty Spanish and Portuguese imperia, to the present, where we find a kind of global change very different from that begun on this most crucial peninsula of the old world. Charles C. Lemert Wesleyan University Series Editor, Global Realities

What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?


Today, the tree-shaded Rambles (Castilian Ramblas), Barcelona’s historical central promenade, have become a boulevard for the world. Honeymooners from Britain eat in sidewalk cafés; tourist groups from Japan explore the architecture of Antoni Gaudí, students and scholars from Europe and the Americas haunt nearby museums, libraries and bars. For generations, this promenade has witnessed the varied crowds of this historic Catalan metropolis: upper classes on their way to the Opera, rioting protestors, Republican citizens giving George Orwell a glimpse of a classless society (1952), old men debating Barça soccer, and families strolling toward the now-gentrified Boqueria market or the harbor. Old and new kiosks sell birds, flowers and newspapers from around the world (as well as postcards, guidebooks and pornography), while the Rambles attracts vendors from Africa, musicians from the postcolonial Andes and other people who earn a living by imitating statues. Flanking the boulevard are historic palaces and churches, government offices, souvenir stores run by Gujarati immigrants, lodgings ranging from immigrant rooming houses and global student hostels to five-star accommodation, international banks and fast food outlets whose staff may include North Africans, Latin Americans and others seeking the promise of a vibrant international city, a new Spain and a changing Europe. Meanwhile, some Barcelonians complain that they have lost control of this heart of their city to foreigners.

2 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

Figure 0.1 Politics and People on the Rambles of Barcelona. Photograph by the author, 1991.

This heady everyday encounter of people, goods, languages and ideas embodies many facets of contemporary globalization. Yet, such globalization is scarcely new to Barcelona; like many other cities of the Iberian Peninsula, Barcelona exemplifies not only contemporary trends, but also millennia of flows that have transformed the world. Iberian areas have been global centers and edges, comprised of colonizers and conquered peoples, warriors, creators and peacemakers. As such, Iberian peoples and places like Barcelona offer valuable perspectives in exploring globalization through time and space. Studies of globalization often pose an Archimedean problem: where do we stand to study a world in motion that has shaped our own visions and lives? How do we even label places and people so as not to trap our vision within constructions of culture and power? This book takes “Iberia” as a vantage point for such wider studies. Iberia, today,

3 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

generally refers to a peninsula at Europe’s far Western extreme. Beyond geography, the designation can encompass flora and fauna, inhabitants, cultures and nations. The Iberian region is large (581,000 square kilometers) and varied in climate and topography; the mountains and oceans that gird it suggest relatively clear boundaries although they have rarely promoted complete isolation. One historian has called it “not only a peninsula but a virtual subcontinent” (Curchin 1991: 12), while Nobel prize-winning Portuguese novelist José Saramago transformed it into a “stone raft,” severed at the Pyrenees and floating toward Latin America (1995). Still, such images of unity and presence may betray ambivalence. The nineteenthcentury French novelist Alexandre Dumas claimed that Africa began at the Pyrenees, but the Catalan humorist Jaume Perich, obliquely attacking Spain’s conservative Francoist dictatorship, later twisted this dictum to say that: “Europe ends at the Pyrenees; Africa begins at Gibraltar” (1970: 18). Iberia now comprises three European nation-states (Spain, Portugal and Andorra) and a British Overseas Territory (Gibraltar). These territories also incorporate multiple distinctive nationalities and cultures that are not states, while many immigrants, postcolonial and global, have contributed to a population of more than 51 million people. For most of these, in fact, “Iberian” would scarcely be a primary identity among madrileños (citizens of Madrid), Gypsies, Catalans, Andalusian Muslims or Europeans. Yet, the term’s very “neutrality” allows us to use it to look at history, culture and power in new and important ways. Beyond these diversities, Iberia is central to studies of globalization because of flows from it, into it and through it over thousands of years. Iberian states and peoples have sprawled across modern borders into France (Catalonia, the Basque Country) and have extended their economic and

4 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

political interests across Western Europe. Beyond Europe, contemporary Spain incorporates the Canary Islands and enclaves in North Africa, while Portugal includes the Atlantic islands of the Azores and Madeira. Moreover, through myriad flows, especially expansive Iberian colonization from the fourteenth to the twentieth centuries, peoples in Africa, Asia and the Americas have come to share, to reinterpret and sometimes to reject Iberian political and economic systems, hegemonic religion (Roman Catholicism), cityscapes, foodways, languages, family and other sociocultural forms. For millennia, the history of globalization has been written on and through the Iberian Peninsula, in Greek, Phoenician, Latin, Arabic, Castilian, Portuguese, Catalan, Basque, Aymara, Tagalog, French, English and Chinese. Thus, varied “Iberian Worlds” encapsulate fundamental processes of globalization that have shaped the modern world, while clarifying implications of these global processes for peoples grappling today with competing wealth, shifting power, and human dreams. As an urban anthropologist interested in issues of culture and conflict over time in many parts of this world, I have explored wide Iberian worlds through decades of study, work and teaching. My primary research concentration on Barcelona as a city and Catalonia as a nation within Spain has provided me with an initial perspective outside the statecraft of Spain and Portugal from which to examine global power. In my fieldwork in Barcelona, I have analyzed a fascinating city divided by class, gender and space as well as its changes on an international stage and the movements of new people into the region from Mediterranean and postcolonial worlds (McDonogh 1986, 1993, 1999, 2008; McDonogh, Maza and Pujadas 2002). In addition, I have lived and worked in places of Iberian heritage in other parts of Europe and across Latin America, East Asia and the United States (with its

5 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

changing discussions of “Latino” and “Hispanic” identities). The “family resemblances” and bitter divisions within Iberian worlds have imbued my fieldwork, interviews, archival and cultural studies, teaching and friendships. Nonetheless, even mapping flows and histories raises complex questions if we try to map Iberian worlds (see Figure 0.2). While former colonies in Latin America, Africa and Asia retain language, religion, urbanism and many other traits of Iberian conquest, how should we map Catalan expansion into Italy or Habsburg domination of the Low Countries from a throne in Castile? How do we map the United States, which has claimed and incorporated territories previously ruled by Spain and Mexico, and has changed with waves of migrations from Latin America and other areas of Iberian influence? And what of global exiles, mixed families, or Iberian influences in art, culture and architecture? In responding to such issues, this book does not offer a synthetic history of Iberian world power or an essentialization of Iberian society and culture, but rather attempts a localization, interpretation and appreciation of global transformations of society and culture through the prism of Iberian experiences. What have the effects of globalization been on the peoples, structures and cultures of the Iberian Peninsula over time? What Iberian themes do diverse global peoples share and how are these heritages interpreted or rejected locally and re-imagined in the peninsula itself? How have power relations and asymmetries shifted over time? What are the roles of culture, imagery and memory? Through these questions, we not only understand Iberian global connections in new ways, but also appreciate globalization as a long-term historical process with multiple meanings for peoples and places. These peoples include those who have been victims or critics of Iberian history and those who worry about the global struggles today.

Figure 0.2 Iberian Worlds: Spanish and Portuguese Extensions in the Modern World. Map prepared by Tammy Wong.


“Globalization,” in popular usage today, seems to encompass almost any widespread phenomena or connections, a definition so diffuse that it easily loses analytic utility. A valuable 2005 reader on globalization, for example, includes the information revolution, multinational enterprises, migrations, consumerism, environment, human rights, NGOs, disease, terrorism and culture among facets of global impositions and reactions (Mazlish and Iriye 2005). Foodways, religion, mass media, communication, and virtual connections and other themes receive equal primacy in other texts. Globalization can be treated as a global opportunity, an ideological threat (Saul 2005), a mechanism of contemporary development (Friedman 2005) and a source of continuing cultural change (Inda and Rosaldo 2005). Such broad discussions force us to ask is there anything that is not global or globalized? To make sense of global processes, then, demands a cogent framework of definitions with which to work. In this book, I treat globalization as multilayered and multidirectional flows (i.e. movement, exchanges and

7 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

To frame these broad questions, this introduction presents key theoretical and methodological dimensions of globalization that underpin the entire text, drawing on anthropology, history, political economics, the arts and cultural studies. With this foundation, the introduction ends with the interplay of the local in the global in a contemporary city—Los Angeles (U.S.)—where Iberian worlds and their meanings continue to grow and change. Together, these models and examples lay the foundation for subsequent chapters that explore the implications of Iberian globalization in the peninsula, in the creation of Europe and in the shaping of worlds in Africa, Asia and the Americas as well as in alternative readings of these processes.

8 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

communications) of capital, people, goods and ideas shaped by relations of power and local responses (see Appadurai 1996, 2000; Castells 1996, 2004, etc). Globalization is multilayered because people, goods and ideas may move together, but they also move through different “routes” and with diverse impacts. It is multidirectional because flows evoke reactions and open channels for other movements—even colonial conquest created mutual and often hostile exchanges of goods, ideas and refugees. Globalization means neither homogenization nor cultural imposition (i.e. “McDonaldization”), despite the brutal power relations underpinning colonialism, missionary zeal and transnational investment. Iberian explorers reaching Angola, India, Hispaniola and Peru encountered different peoples, systems and resources; subsequent developments in each area through multiple agents provide comparative laboratories rather than a single narrative of power. Moreover, mestizos/mestiços (mixed-blood families), New Christians (converted Jews), slaves and refugees throughout these worlds held different globalizing positions as did those who have reshaped Iberia itself at home and in exile. Indeed, centuries of Iberian global processes show how constraining it is to reduce globalization to “Disneyfication,” “McDonaldization” or other current labels. Within this framework, global connections entail multiple processes and movements—with distinct direction, agents and impact. This text illustrates key flows, agents and events while references and the final bibliography guide readers to more extensive studies. These processes, however, demand initial definition of global flows, the roles of culture in globalization, and critical frameworks of space and time that shape the chapters that follow.

From an economic perspective, flows of goods provide a visible methodological and historical framework to discuss globalization. Ancient globalization, for example, often “stretched” the frontiers of known worlds in a quest for luxury goods. From the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries onward, Portugal and Spain expanded their empires into Africa, Asia and Latin America in search of spices, gold and silver (while incorporating silks, coffee, chocolate, dyes and sugar into their trade and societies). As exchanges expanded in regularity and intensity, unintended flows of disease and parasites spread with them, too. An especially critical aspect of Iberian exchanges emerged when people became chattel, defining a grim Atlantic World built on slavery and polarizing cultural categories of race and human rights. These flows embody the painful asymmetries of colonialism, imperialism and neo-liberal interventions. Globalization today often implies the distant manufacture of goods for mass consumption and the movement of capital at a scale and speed that seems to eclipse even local elites. Global goods, in addition, have included monumental architecture (and star architects), elite arts and sciences and popular traditions. This makes a critical examination of place, agency and asymmetry central to understanding domination, extraction and consumption. By looking at concrete goods and exchanges over time, this text shows how past processes and power relations influence present movements and provide new perspectives on them. Those who bemoan McDonald’s as a global behemoth, for example, might consider the globalization of salt, wine, olives or cod—or later Iberian appropriations of sugar, tomatoes, chocolate, tobacco, and potatoes—among precedents for global foodways with different outcomes. The movement of goods, of course, demands people who buy, sell, trade, produce, use and covet them in changing

9 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?


10 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

global webs, people who participate in world systems as producers, consumers, or owners. Any examination of global development must be agent-oriented as well as structural and abstract (Smith and Bender 2001). Merchants and conquistadors, slaves and indigenous peoples, courtesans and holy women have been global agents since Iberia’s incorporation into Mediterranean commerce and exchange thousands of years ago, just as international capitalists, tourists, workers and academics are today. At the same time, understanding agency demands awareness of changing meanings of race, gender, class, social group and even humanity through these centuries and the relations of power that determine these categories. Iberian expansion, for example, participated in the “Western” construction and use of racial categories in an expanding world—not only divisions among peoples, but also the economic, social and political meanings attached to such labels. These divisions had different meanings for those who held power and those who found themselves in weaker positions: worlds and flows did not look the same to Romans and Goths, to Aztecs and conquistadors, to African slaves and slave traders (black, Arab, Portuguese and others), to Chinese scholars and Jesuits, or to boat people and European tourists. Moreover, while male soldiers, merchants and clergy seem to typify many processes of expansion, we must pay attention to other sexualized and gendered agencies in globalization as well. Women throughout the Iberian world hybridized the lives and families of Iberian soldiers, merchants and missionaries willingly or by force, while creating homes, workplaces and families. Relations of race and gender, moreover, are deeply interwoven with divisions of class and caste (Perry 1999, 2005; Grosfoguel and Cervantes-Rodríguez 2002; Beneria and Bisnath 2004).

Global movements involve cultural exchange and development as well as social, political and economic exchange. From Rome and Islam to colonial contact, cultures have been intimately connected to Iberian political economic relations. Globalized cultures have provided both local languages and strategies for identity and resistance, within the Iberian Peninsula and across its worlds. I start with a basic anthropological definition of culture as humanly-created and transmitted ways of making meaning, of seeing, of explaining and of acting on the world, including ideas, institutions and material and expressive production. Categorizations of agency, flow and power within contemporary globalization by sociologist Peter Berger (2002) resonate well with older processes. Berger, for example, insists on the global impact of multiple elite cultures. One, which he calls “Davos culture,” while dominated of late by U.S. power, represents a global managerial culture of decision-makers and those who emulate them. Throughout history, those who own and manage the globalization of capital and its resources must be read as agents of change and biased interpreters in the records we use to read the past. Intertwined with this globalization is that of intellectuals and their paradigms. Managerial and intellectual cultures disagree over issues ranging from human rights to the environment, but often share fundamental (albeit changeable) premises of “rationality.” In contemporary society, when Euro-Americans dominate both realms, shared rational premises include the value of individuals, rights and choice, justice, science and freedom (amid sometimes passionate disagreements, see Berger and Huntington 2002). Rationality, science and discovery shaped Iberian stories as well, in making sense of new worlds or trying to change them. Nonetheless, scientific rationality today may

11 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?


12 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

omit values of empire, salvation, family or other themes widely shared by European intelligentsia—and those who challenged them—throughout Iberian expansion. Another, related form of elite culture is high or aesthetic culture—works of literature, art, music, film or language that are widely recognized (a weighted term) as world patrimony. Aesthetic value judgments, of course, reflect stratified relations of conquest and control (Bourdieu 1984) while providing texts to explore those societies. Rather than defending or attacking canons of Iberian cultures, in this text I try to place creators and works into a wider discussion, using “high” cultural products to provide insights into global place, people and process. Culture also includes popular and mass culture. Popular cultures are generally linked with local and less powerful people, in opposition to mass products of global cultural industries that may be used by the same people (see Lash and Lury 2007). Analysts of globalization often value these quite differently. Today, the “Disneyfication” of the world has stimulated angry responses and preserved cherished difference around the world. Contemporary Iberia offers nothing that competes with Disney on this global scale, but over time, its languages, among other features, have imbued the lives of people worldwide, recreated in local variants. Often, elite, popular and mass interpretations of the world and its goods are deeply intertwined. Iberian figures as diverse as Seneca, Maimonides, Miguel Cervantes, Teresa of Avila, Francisco Goya, Joaquim Machado de Assis, Antoni Gaudí, Pablo Picasso, Amália Rodrigues and Joachim Gilberto are recognized among creators of “World Culture” and resonate in intellectual histories as well as more popular museums, movies, music and souvenirs. Global interpretations of carnival, food, music, sports and sainthood illustrate the


Globalization entails an awareness of space and place. Often, these processes entail the redefinition of boundaries through contacts and exchanges that reconstitute worlds: the Mediterranean, the Atlantic, the Indian Ocean or contemporary “universal” flows. In the chapters that follow, I have used these spatial patterns to arrange different perspectives on Iberian globalization. At the same time, these processes challenge reductionist ideas of “Europe,” “Africa,” “Asia” or even “the Americas.” Within such webs of connection, cities merit special attention as crucibles of globalization (Marcuse and Van Kempen 2000; Taylor, Derudder, Saey and Witlox 2007). Throughout this text, cities and urban enclaves serve as vital points of encounter for people, goods, culture and ideas and provide

13 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

flexibility of popular culture in reworking Iberian cultural themes. Berger himself illustrates the role of popular movements in global culture through contemporary evangelical Protestantism, whose impact in American politics has spread abroad through missionaries and exportation of dominant narratives (2002). For Iberia, as succeeding chapters show, the many roles and agents of Roman Catholicism in Spanish and Portuguese globalization prefigure and comment on this process. So do reactions from Muslims, Jews, indigenous peoples and others for whom Iberian globalization and resistance have been sacred as well as rational. Throughout this text, then, we look at different meanings of culture in contact, worldviews, products and interpretive voices. Situating culture at the heart of globalization links cultural products and issues to political economic processes as well.

14 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

continuities across changing structures of economic and political power. Peninsular cities like Barcelona, Lisbon, Córdoba and Toledo, infused with global contacts since Roman times, resonate with the form and experiences of other metropolitan centers, including ports that connected worlds, such as Los Angeles, Luanda, Manila and Buenos Aires. Such cities also become points of diffusion through migration, media and other relations with those living around them. This focus does not mean neglecting rural areas where significant changes of population, ecology, production and belief have taken place. Urbane centers are points of reference for past and contemporary audiences themselves, sites of cultural exchange, creation and conflict. Thus, critic Angel Rama read Latin American cities as mass media: from the time of their foundation the imperial cities of Latin America had to lead double lives: on the one hand, a material life inescapably subject to the flux of conservation and destruction, the contrary impulses of restoration and renovation, and the circumstantial intervention of human agency; on the other hand, a symbolic life, subject only to the rules governing the order of signs, which enjoy a stability impervious to the accidents of the physical world (1996: 8–9).

Established by multiple intersections of people, place, power and culture, cities today remain sites of critical action beyond the state in the postmodern age, a vantage that makes their continuing populations and culture of interest in understanding globalization. It is equally important to see space and culture in relation to the rise of nationalities and states as imagined communities (Anderson 1983, 2005; Guibernau 1996). Debates over sovereignty and identities have divided Iberia for centuries,

often with global reverberations. Meanwhile, states that have emerged from Iberian colonization and contact face questions about the relation of global, indigenous and hybrid cultural identities from Angola to East Timor to East Los Angeles.

In exploring these dimensions of flows and culture, the final powerful lesson of Iberian globalization is the significance of continuity and change over time. Global processes build upon or challenge earlier processes and exchanges. People change position within these flows, as do goods and ideas—changes that incorporate many contests of power. But how do we understand globalization over time? Some historians, like Dennis Flynn and Arturo Giráldez, provoke us by stating “Globalization begins in 1571” (2006, this date highlights Iberian protagonism in Latin-American and Asian world connections). Other historians and social scientists have suggested models to structure the changing meanings of interaction over much longer periods (Wallerstein 1974; Wolf 1982; Held and McGrew 2000; Hopkins 2002; Gills and Thompson 2006). These and others also warn about the problems of imputing primacy to any single scheme that may embody particular power relations (e.g. Mudimbe 1994; Grosfoguel and Cervantes-Rodríguez 2002; Mignolo 2005). Bearing in mind these debates, I have used four general stages in this text, drawing especially on the work of A.G. Hopkins (2002), in order to frame the discussion of Iberian globalization over millennia. Early or archaic globalization (Hopkins 2002; Bayly 2002; Gunder Frank and Thompson 2006), as used here, encompasses places and processes generally prior to the fourteenth century that, however widespread, were limited in geographic scope and in flows. Distinctive worlds of trade, war and

15 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?


16 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

communication evolved in early China, South Asia, the Middle-East/Mediterranean, Mesoamerica and the Andes with only minimal communication between global regions. Within the Roman Empire, or even the extensive religious and economic networks of the Muslim world, communication and movement could be slow and contacts with others limited. Barbarians (perhaps with goods of value, nonetheless) or monsters lived beyond the edges of the “known” world. In each area, archaeologists and historians have traced consolidations of villages, larger units, markets and empires that dominated circumscribed worlds through shared cultural values and powerful figures. Their long-distance exchanges included luxury goods as well as innovations and ideas. Iberia took shape across changing archaic worlds—the early Mediterranean, Rome and the Muslim worlds. Iberians would later change some of these “worlds,” especially for those in the Western hemisphere. Following Hopkins, I designate the social-temporal formations around Iberian states and world empires in the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as an era of proto-globalization (this time of contact and change is equally central to the world system formulations of Immanuel Wallerstein 1974). These were centuries of expanding contact and movement, reshaping boundaries and flows of goods and knowledge. The observations of Flynn and Giráldez about the Acapulco-Manila galleon connection are useful here: Global trade emerged when (1) all heavily populated land masses began to exchange products continuously—both directly with each other and indirectly via other land masses—and (2) they did so in values sufficient to generate lasting impact on all trading partners. It is true that important intercontinental links existed prior to the sixteenth century, but there was no direct link

between America and Asia before the founding of Manila as a Spanish entrepôt in 1571. Prior to that year, the world market was not yet fully coherent or complete; after that year it was

Proto-global developments included the expansion of Atlantic slavery and plantation commodities and the growth of institutions like the state (Drayton 2002). Readings of this era of global extension, however, must incorporate non-European perspectives and respect the agency of indigenous and migrant peoples of Africa, the Americas and Asia. Many historians and social scientists feel comfortable identifying a period of modern globalization in the nineteenth and twentieth century characterized by the nation-state, modern coloniality and industrialization (Bayly 2002, 2004). In this period, a few key states in Europe, North America and Asia took on especially powerful roles. Spain and Portugal, in fact, provide a counterpoint to both these Great Powers and to other people incorporated into the world system as suppliers, resources or markets (a semi-peripheral role as in Wallerstein 1974). While both states retained colonies into the twentieth century, the days of their richest exchanges vanished with the independence of Latin American states in the nineteenth century, a century before the decolonization of most territories held by Great Britain, the Netherlands and France. In fact, Spain and Portugal were seen by European powers and emerging nation-states like the U.S. as fading empires to raid for colonies and as sources of economic emigration. Still, some Iberian regional development centers competed on a global stage in the nineteenth century, while exacerbating differences within these states. Changing conditions of labor and capital pervaded Iberian worlds while memories of imperial visions shaped Iberian politics and identities.

17 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

(2006: 235).

18 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

Contemporary or postcolonial globalization, finally, speaks to processes that scholars from many disciplines categorize by global corporate capital, communication and human movements and reactions to these that drive policies and protests worldwide. Postcolonialism actually emerged early in the Iberian world, in nineteenth century Latin America, although Spain and Portugal have been involved in some of the final colonial loci of recent decades—Macau, Ceuta and Melilla, Gibraltar, the former Spanish Sahara and, according to some, the Canaries. Today, the states and corporations of the Iberian Peninsula reappear as global agents investing in resources of Latin America and Africa, negotiating treaties concerning Mediterranean ecology, or participating in, and withdrawing from, American involvement in Iraq. At the same time, global flows into peninsular cities—through tourists, legal and illegal immigrants, returning emigrants, postcolonial populations and culture, media and imagery—have reshaped peninsular lives in new ways not totally controlled by state laws and culture. The flexibility and diversity of power makes globalization more complex and more intriguing in terms of flows, agents and impacts (Brenner 2004; Beck 2005). These analytic categorizations do not imply experiential ruptures. All these historical eras have been unified by reflection and memories, another vital cultural feature of globalization that emerges clearly through this long-term review of Iberian worlds. People inhabiting the territories now known as Spain and Portugal shared in wide systems of contact, colonialism and control through the Phoenician, Greek, Roman, Gothic and Islamic Mediterranean before becoming emperors themselves. Many “saw” the world through prisms inherited from these experiences. Still, Iberian states “lost” that global position, but not all their legacies of art, culture and wealth. Struggle with loss, in turn, divided many groups

19 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

within these societies, contesting pasts and futures. This sentiment is exemplified in the Portuguese saudade (roughly, “nostalgia”) that “embodies a melancholy longing for an idealized past, whether in one’s own home place or in the Portugal of some vanished age. It also implies frustration and bitter disappointment with the present and, perhaps, some glimmer of hope for a better future” (Ortiz-Griffin and Griffin 2003: 177; Lourenço 1982). Memories of Empire congealed social and cultural change and isolated modern Spanish and Portuguese governments before dramatic changes in the 1970s. Memory and myth are significant for the comparative understanding of other world empires, whether in the distant past or in the American century (Khalidi 2005). Iberian ideologies have conveyed messages of civilization and even equality belied by practice. Iberians and others have used these messages to create new visions of community, from indigenous liberators to anarchist visionaries (see Anderson 2005). This recognition forces us to pay attention to Iberia’s own creative and critical children as well, in the artistic visions of Francisco Goya, Luis Buñuel, José Saramago and Jaume Perich and in criticisms by exiles from Iberia who imagine different homelands. Globalization, then, entails relations of flow, agency, and understanding, mediated by relations of power, place and position that we will explore throughout this book. Iberian worlds constantly remind us that globalization is held together by people in diverse places and through culture and memory. To bring these analytic themes to life, I end this introduction with a brief examination of the metropolis of Los Angeles, where contemporary North American Latino and other Iberian identities are being debated.

20 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?


In 2005, controversy erupted in Los Angeles over a billboard for a local television news station whose advertisement spoke to “tu ciudad” (your city) against a skyline where the California in “Los Angeles, California,” had been replaced by “Mexico.” The controversy raised tensions over illegal immigration and the culture and rights of nearly seven million Angelenos whose families include some Iberian heritage, generally in Spain, Mexico, Central America or Latin America. While an Austrian immigrant governor talked about closing the border, Democrat Antonio Villaraigosa, son of a Mexican-American secretary and a Mexican immigrant, became the city’s first Latino mayor since 1872. All these events raise the question of how (whether?) Los Angeles is “a Latino Metropolis” (Valle and Torres 2000). Have proto-global Iberian extensions ceded before the hegemony of the United States or can people and places within the United States claim new Iberian heritages near Hollywood’s dream factory? Spanish adventurers and their African-American slaves founded Nuestra Señora de la Reyna de los Angeles de Porciúncula near the Pacific coast in 1781. The Catalan Gaspar de Portolà had explored the area more than a decade earlier and Friar Junípero Serra (from the Balearics) had established a mission at nearby San Gabriel in 1771, although native Americans had inhabited the area for millennia prior to “discovery.” For decades, Los Angeles grew slowly on the margins of Spanish colonialism. It became Mexican in 1822 with the independence of that country. In 1848, the growing United States annexed California, which became a state in 1850. While the 1849 Gold Rush brought global attention to San Francisco, Los Angeles remained small. Ranching dominated its economy, while Yankees joined the heirs of polyglot Hispanic

21 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

colonization, Native Americans, and Chinese and Japanese immigrants. Transcontinental rail connections arrived in 1876 (via San Francisco). Within a coalescing American market, connections spurred new interest in the area’s agricultural possibilities and the city’s population boomed from 2,300 in 1860 to 100,000 in 1900. LA’s boom days transformed Iberian place and history, as images of an American Mediterranean linked the California landscape to myths of classical Greece and Rome as well as Spain. Pseudo-Spanish Mediterranean architecture (with Hollywood touches) shaped both urban monuments and housing for Mid-Western migrants (Starr 1973). Los Angeles grew further on the basis of oil, Hollywood, immigration, port traffic and industrialization—reaching 1 million people by 1920 and doubling again in the next decade. This growth merged the descendants of Iberian, Creole and Mestizo populations uneasily into multiracial “California dreams.” The historic Iberian center of Olvera Street, for example, became a romantic representation of the early pueblo, although radicals and labor organizers still claimed it occasionally as their plaza mayor (central square, Estrada 1999). The Los Angeles dream attracted new transnational migrants from Mexico as well. By the 1940s, 250,000 MexicanAmericans lived in the area. Categories were confusing: authorities sometimes identified descendants of pre-annexation citizens as wartime outsiders. The 1943 Zoot-Suit Riots, in fact, pitted varied Mexican-American youths against both servicemen and police. Postwar Los Angeles sprawled further afield via suburbs and highways, straining its environment with the mass promise of the California dream. While the U.S. census did not keep separate tallies for “Hispanics” until 1980, the Hispanic population of the metro area had by then reached 2,754,212, or 24

22 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

percent of the total population. By 2000, it rose to 6.6 million, or 40 percent of the total population. At the same time, foreign born people in the city, 386,093 or 12.4 percent in 1940 rose to 2,124,027 (18.5 percent) in 1980 and 5,067,615 in 2000–35.7 percent of the population (Beveridge and Weber 2003). Here, terminologies of globalization are important: “foreign born” includes Asians, Africans and Europeans. This category includes some but not all of those who think of themselves as Latinos. Latinos are in fact diverse in origin, class and culture despite potential shared languages, cultural traits and intermittent political agendas. Hispanic/Latino, in fact, has become a broad problematic category that can include diverse peninsular immigrants, descendants of pre-statehood Californians, Mexicans, Central American indigenes, Sino-Peruvians and Afro-Brazilian immigrants, children of relationships among descendants of these groups and those who unite these heritages with others in the United States. Identities become intertwined with issues of class, education, language and cultural integration. Yet, hybridity also transcends people, as shown in Figure 0.3, where Asian immigrants have adopted a “Spanish-Mediterranean architectural style” in a suburban Los Angeles Chinatown mall. History, memory and design that evoke any “Spanish heritage” thus meet modern populations for whom the Spanish and their institutions were oppressors. The 3.2 million Hispanic Roman Catholics of Los Angeles, for example, make up two-thirds of all Catholics in the area; “Hispanics” represent one of the fastest growing ethnic populations of American Catholicism. Historically, mainline Protestant denominations and evangelistic, even spiritualist fervor have dominated modern Los Angeles. These same Evangelicals have changed American politics and spread their message to Latino and mixed communities not only in California, but also through-

out the Americas, in counterpart to an elite Catholic church and indigenous as well as Africanist practices. Moreover, these groups coexist within religious dialogues that may be among the most diverse in the world, encompassing Hindus, Muslims, Jews, Buddhists, Mormons, Chinese traditions, atheists and more. Together, these groups create new diversities in global Latino families and neighborhoods. This complexity has made Los Angeles a creative capital for new avatars of Iberian expression as well. Its Latino films have been as diverse as the immigrant horrors of El Norte (1983), the humor of Born in East LA (1987), the Americanist self-help message of Stand and Deliver (1988), the female perspectives of Luminarias (2000) or Real Women Have Curves (2002) and myriad community and documentary videos tackling sweatshops, discrimination and urban culture. In music, art, murals and cuisine, Los Angeles recreates cultures with roots in Iberia,

23 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

Figure 0.3 Globalization in San Gabriel. Los Angeles Chinese-Dominated Mall Using “Spanish” Architecture. Photograph by the author, 1994.

24 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

Africa and the Americas. Meanwhile, the Latino International Film Festival, founded in 1996, competes with Hollywood to present Iberian films to diverse audiences. Los Angeles raises issues that cross shifting national boundaries, but the city exists in a wider North American context of Iberian globalization. New York City has seen its Hispanic population (primarily Puerto Rican and Dominican) nearly double between 1980 and 2000 to 3.85 million or 18.5 percent of the metro population (Beveridge and Weber 2003). Miami has become a capital for the economics and culture of the Hispanic Caribbean. Latin American immigrants work in the mills of Georgia, Midwestern slaughterhouses and the Chinese restaurants of Philadelphia. Hispanics/Latinos in the United States have reached 37.4 million people or nearly 14 percent of the total population, nearly as large as the population of contemporary Spain, while the Hispanic/Latino populations of Los Angeles and New York outstrip Iberian capitals like Madrid, Lisbon, Havana and Quito. Latinos also have interacted with populations from Europe, Africa and Asia as well as indigenous peoples in new hybridities, protests and creative events. Meanwhile, scions of Iberian worlds have demanded and gained recognition within North American fora. Hence, presidential candidates grapple with issues of labor, language, Latino ethnic/racial questions, cultural heritage and—above all—immigration policy (Bender 2008). New connections and participation build on centuries of memories, divisions, or conflicts. Los Angeles, for example, hosts the largest Latino Muslim community in the United States. While this community’s website recalls medieval Islamic Andalusia, its participants generally descend from Arab migrants to Latin American in the nineteenth century. In the United States, they feel dually suspect as Latinos and Muslims. (www2.islamicity.com / LatinoMuslims / articles / spanishum-


This text does not propose a single narrative of Spanish and Portuguese expansion, nor does it recapitulate studies of places, people and events that many other scholars have already completed. Instead, it uses “Iberian worlds” to explore multiple globalizations as temporal and spatial human processes. For centuries, the Iberian Peninsula and its extensions have constituted a crucible of global flows; Iberian peoples and places thus offer unique vantages on globalization in all its complexity, ugliness and creativity. To frame these examples, the next chapter introduces the Iberian Peninsula itself and its peoples. In addition to examining ecological and sociocultural features of Mediterranean and Atlantic worlds, it discusses themes of nation-state, nationality and city/enclave that will figure in Iberian impacts beyond the peninsula. This discussion ends with the case of Andorra, a

25 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

mah.html). Sephardic Jews arrived in Los Angeles by 1853, Spain’s King Juan Carlos and Queen Sofia visited the Sephardic Temple Tiferith Israel there in 1987. Black Latinos and Latino Asians further underscore the sociocultural mixture and questions of identity in the past and the present. Where California has long been a symbol of the “American dream,” in the twenty-first century, it represents emergent and conflictive Iberian dreams as well. Bernadete Beserra, for example, cites a Brazilian woman in Los Angeles who avers that “When I say ‘Latinos’ I do not mean only Mexicans as people in the United States do. I mean, instead, people from Portugal, Spain, France, Italy and people from American countries colonized by them. In this sense I am a Latina, but I don’t feel being comfortable being a Latina in Los Angeles” (2005: 185). Uncertainties and changes are essential elements of ongoing, creative Iberian globalization and agency as well.

26 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

microstate that has been an Iberian center of global negotiation. Chapter 2 explores the cultural production and division of Iberia as part of Europe since its colonization in classical Greek and Roman times. Here, rather than summarizing entire libraries of scholarship, “snapshots” highlight different patterns of connection and “European-ness” as a changing, problematic term. This is especially important, since many readings of globalization presume Europe to be a unified center and identity for the modern world—a vision that Iberian states and peoples have complicated over centuries. Chapter 3 explores the Peninsula’s intense and changing relation to Africa, its peoples and cultures. Iberia was long a crossroads for people from the North and South, an edge of the world that for centuries participated in the Mediterranean and African world of Islam as much as northerly Europe. The medieval Reconquest identified Iberian peoples with Europe, while Early Modern movements from north to south created a new Atlantic world system. Iberian colonization across the Atlantic took over places associated with African trade, slaves and plantation production. It also participated in a Eurocentric cultural redefinition of peoples outside of Europe as racially and culturally inferior. Today, some postcolonial descendants of these Atlantic worlds return to the metropolis. Others see Spain and Portugal as both past problems and bridges to future European investment amid other global possibilities. Global processes were refracted in Asia through Portuguese proto-global maritime movement around Africa and the Indian Ocean to the East, as far as Japan, and Spanish extension to the West across the Pacific as far as Manila. Mercantile and maritime globalization brought encounters with populous and organized systems of trade and governance, the meeting of empires. In Chapter 4, the Roman Catholic teaching order

27 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

of the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) exemplifies religious and ideological dialogues of globalization, while Macau and Manila provide spatial and social grounding. This discussion again ends with variegated modern Asian connections with the Americas and the Iberian Peninsula. The most “visible” Iberian globalization beyond the peninsula has taken shape in the Americas. This complicated saga, discussed in Chapter 5, involves “discovery” (or catastrophic interruption, depending on one’s perspective), immigration, control of indigenous populations, importation of new laborers (slaves, coolies) and their culture from Africa and Asia onto plantations that reshape ecology and society, and generations of struggle for separation and identities. The example of a single commodity—sugar—first illuminates processes of human and ecological change on a global scale. We then review initial clashes of empires and the ongoing construction of colonial societies, before looking briefly at more than a century of independence and search for national identities exemplified by Mexico, Argentina and Puerto Rico. In these, Iberian language, culture and political economics remain strong, but changeable elements, extending into North America and Europe. In this chapter, finally, the intimacy of Portugal and Brazil allows us to read contrasts with the shifting relations of other states with Spain as colonizer and “motherland.” The book ends with “alternative Iberias,” recognizing people who have moved away, created other domains or challenged hegemonic Iberian worlds (see Anderson 2005; Kamen 2007). Sephardic Jews, for example, expelled from Spain in 1492 and somewhat later from Portugal, have reconstituted a diverse global community that has maintained elements of the past and changed in new circumstances. As Chapter 6 shows, this external exile intersects in interesting

28 What are Iberian Worlds, Anyway?

ways with the “internal exiles” of Gypsies/Rom, who have often been taken by outsiders as quintessential symbols of Iberia through vivid gendered stereotypes of flamenco, folklore or the opera Carmen. The chapter ends on a more personal level, with exiles who reconstituted homes abroad and reimagined Iberia. Here, a single family provides a human perspective on the flows, agents and meanings of Iberian globalization and their implications for modern movements, mixtures and multiple heritages. These different visions of Iberian expansion, challenge, contraction and debate, in sum, tell us more than a history of peoples and nations worldwide. They speak to the historical processes of globalization itself that have recreated the world for millennia, as well as the intimate choices and sufferings of men, women and children for whom globalization has been both a cataclysmic encounter and an opportunity for hybridity, change and creativity. As such, Iberian worlds offer insights, lessons—and warnings—for many reading of global pasts and the shaping of global futures.

Mapping the Iberian Peninsula: Peoples, Places, Culture and History

One To map Iberian globalization worldwide demands knowledge of the land, peoples and history of the peninsula itself. Geographically, the strong, but not impermeable boundaries of the Pyrenees have cut Iberia off from Europe while oceans— again, both borders and highways—surround it. Yet, the peninsula itself is diverse in ecology, peoples and changes. Four decades ago, for example, Fernand Braudel’s classic overview of the Mediterranean highlighted geographical features central to Iberian cultural ecology: coasts, mountains, and plains/ plateaus (Braudel 1966; Horden and Purcell 2000). This landscape, in turn, contrasts with the rough, cold Atlantic shores that have shaped Portugal and Northern Spain. Thus, the first section of this chapter sketches the features of the broad Mediterranean and Atlantic coastal lands and of the central Iberian plateau (Meseta) as ecologies of history. Nonetheless, as we will see again in Africa, Asia and the Americas, Iberian physical environments have become part of human ecologies through millennia of interactions with social, political and cultural features. Portugal, for example, has maintained roughly consistent borders since the thirteenth century. As two modern scholars write, “Portugal has been called an arbitrary, or even accidental country . . . Yet Portugal has survived within what are essentially its present political boundaries for so long a time that its physical geography seems to ratify the decisions of bygone soldiers and kings” (Ortiz Griffin

30 Mapping the Iberian Peninsula

and Griffin 2003: 172). Spain, on the other hand, still comprises “pieces” whose geographies, boundaries and relations have evolved amid violent disputes over the constitution of empires and states (Roseman and Parkhurst 2008). In the second section, I show how terms such as nation, state and nationality have been forged within Iberian history, including the autonomous communities of contemporary Spain. These Iberian cultures and peoples, in turn, have extended into wider worlds as conquerors, immigrants and refugees, while absorbing global influences. As noted in the introduction, cities and related enclaves have held vital positions in Iberian globalization. Hence, this chapter introduces primary Iberian global cities in relation to their physical, sociocultural, nation-state and global environment. The chapter ends with an enclave, Andorra, which forms a micro-state on the peninsula, embodying these characteristics—and changes—of ecology, history and nationhood. IBERIAN ECOSYSTEMS

We begin with boundaries. The Pyrenees run 440 kilometers (275 miles) along the North, and have come to separate Spain and France after centuries of negotiation of state boundaries (Sahlins 1989).1 Elsewhere, the broad “oxhide” shape of Iberia—an image from classical times—is bounded by oceans, as shown in Figure 1.1. Yet these seas have connected Iberians to vastly different worlds. To the East, the Mediterranean warms Spanish shores from the Pyrenees to Gibraltar. For thousands of years, this inland sea has been a source of food and wealth, a place of danger and a highway for the circulation of goods, peoples and information (Braudel 1966; Roque 1989; Horden and Purcell 2000; King 2001; Abulafia 2004; Tabak 2008). Peoples along its sunny, dry, but productive coasts have developed

agriculture and industry through cosmopolitan connections with Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs and wider worlds. The inner sea or “Mare Nostrum” at the heart of the Roman Empire, it conditioned the physical and social climate of eastern and southern Spain and Portugal even if some of these areas actually did not reach the coast. According to a recent historian, Faruk Tabak, even as late as the sixteenth century, “the Mediterranean was a world unto itself, a worldeconomy” (2008: 1). The rest of Portugal and northern Spain border the cold Atlantic and the Bay of Biscay (Mar Cantábrico/Cantabrian Sea). For centuries, Basque, Cantabrian and Portuguese fisherman have tackled rough seas that churn over an extended continental shelf. The colonial monuments of Lisbon celebrate

31 Mapping the Iberian Peninsula

Figure 1.1 The Iberian Peninsula. Map prepared by Tammy Wong.

imperial triumphs over this ocean, but the temptations and rewards of Atlantic worlds are equally visible in: countless little towns and villages that dot the green hills and valleys of Spain’s northern coastal regions, [where] two buildings often compete for the visitor’s attention: the once stately mansion of the local noble family and the ostentatious palacio of the successful indiano, the local youth who emigrated, accumulated wealth in the New World and returned to his native village . . . Late nineteenth-century critics of emigration might even

32 Mapping the Iberian Peninsula

compare the indiano’s palace to some kind of malevolent lighthouse that steers local youth away from their home shores and toward the fickle land of promise, las Indias. (Fernández 1996: 34)

While the Balearic islands embodied the crossroads of the Mediterranean, Portuguese Madeira, the Azores and São Tomé and the Spanish Canary Islands (discussed in more detail in later chapters) became Atlantic bridges to Africa and the New World. In the center of the peninsula rises the Meseta, a broad elevated plateau of 81,000 square kilometers (31,200 square miles) that covers two-fifths of Spanish territory at an average height of 700 meters (2,300 feet). This plateau corresponds in large part to the territories of Castile, León and Extremadura. The Sierra de Guadarrama, whose name betrays Arab influence, bisects the Meseta from northeast to southwest; Madrid is the second highest capital in Europe, after Andorra la Vella. Mountains feature prominently across Iberian geography. Spain itself is the highest country in Europe after Switzerland. Mountains have divided peoples and protected villages: towns like Arenys de Mar and Arenys de Munt, on the Catalan Costa Brava, remind us that villagers fled pirates and storms (mar/

33 Mapping the Iberian Peninsula

sea) for safety in the hills (munt). The 420 kilometer (262 mile)-long Sierra Morena, meanwhile, divides the Meseta from Mediterranean Andalusia/Andalucía. Further south, the Sierra Nevada, which boasted glaciers until the early twentieth century, provided a last refuge for Muslim peoples even after the Spanish Reconquest; it later became a haven for smugglers and bandits. Across the north, mountains in Galicia, Asturias and Cantabria divide other coastal lands from the Meseta and shape intense local human geographies. The Leonese range, for example, separates Galicia from the peninsula, demarcating the former kingdom that has maintained its language and customs into the twenty-first century (Roseman 2002, 2008). In Cantabria, deep social divisions differentiate valley from valley. Social systems change radically as we rise a few kilometers from historic cities of the maritime coast (Laredo, Santander) through green lands and dairy farms along meandering rivers. The mountains pastoralists, pasiegos, constitute another distinctive mobile group within Castilian society (Freeman 1967). Mountains have been places of disorder for hermits, smugglers and political activists, but they also have formed a sacred Iberian landscape, enshrined in the patronal Catalan Abbey of Montserrat and providing myriad other sanctuaries for pilgrimages and fiestas (Christian 1972). Because of this mountainous topography, Iberian river systems rarely offer routes that unify the peninsula (see Figure 1.1). Some, like the Minho between Portugal and Galicia, form boundaries. The two longest rivers of the Meseta, the Tajo and the Duero, provide irrigation, but serve no important transport functions before coming down from the plateau into Portugal. The Tajo (Tagus, Portuguese Tejo) begins in Aragon’s Albarracín mountains, winds past the Visigothic capital of Toledo and enters the Atlantic at Lisbon, having watered the

34 Mapping the Iberian Peninsula

productive Ribatejo plain. After flowing past cities of the Castilian heartland, the Duero/Duoro crashes through a gorge in the borderlands to drop 500 meters in 200 kilometers and becomes the lifeblood of Portugal’s wine-producing Duoro valley before reaching Porto and the Atlantic. The Ebro river, whose name derives from the Basque ibar/ valley and echoes that of the peninsula, runs along the flank of the Meseta from Cantabria through Aragon, where it, too, irrigates rich farmlands. It enters the Mediterranean through a fertile, growing Catalan delta. Again, this river, which links Aragon and Catalonia, has been more significant as a source of water, a boundary and a site of battles than for navigation. The Guadiana and Guadalquivir irrigate Andalusia and have offered changing connections to the world. While navigation on the latter as far as the Roman and Islamic capital of Córdoba became impossible by the Middle Ages, the Guadalquivir made Seville the primary port for New World shipping until 1717. At that point, silt forced much port traffic to land at the coastal port of Cádiz. The Guadalquivir also waters extensive wetlands including the nearby Doñana National Park with its unique diversity. Small northern rivers in the Basque provinces, Cantabria and Galicia are meandering and slow. Those in Catalonia are often short and powerful, crashing down from the mountains. Catalonia’s Llobregat and Ter, for example, provided water power for the industrial revolution, but today many rivers are nearly dry by the time they reach the coast. Finally, humans have managed Valencia’s rivers intensively. With a six-kilometer (3.75 mile) wide lake, the Albufera, they anchor wetlands and extensive irrigation that has made rice (e.g. paella) a mainstay of Valencian cuisine and water planning a long-term issue (Glick 1970). The absence of water has proved equally important in

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Iberian human geography. While Muslim invaders reveled in the fountains of the Alhambra and the richly irrigated lands of Valencia, parts of Extremadura, Castile and Aragon have become emblematic of a “dusty, yellow Spain” for peasants and foreigners (Stanislawski 1958). Divisions of climate cut across the peninsula as well. In the Atlantic north, temperatures vary between 9° Celsius in winter and 18° Celsius in summer (48–65° F) with copious rainfall (800–1,500 mm (2–5 feet)). Sun and warmth allow rich agriculture and grazing below forests of pine, deciduous woods and eucalyptus (an invasive species). In addition to Duoro wines (port), the North produces the green wines (vinho verde) of more humid Galicia and the world-famous Rioja. Geographer Dan Stanislawski contrasted Atlantic and Mediterranean Portugal by noting that “Whereas in the Minho the summer drought represents a brief respite in a rainy year, for the extreme south the rainy period represents an interlude in a relatively dry year” (1951: 36). A Mediterranean climate is warmer than that of the Atlantic (temperatures generally range between 11° and 25° C (51–77° F)), but these areas have perhaps half the rainfall of Atlantic zones, mainly in winter. Sunny, dry summers have favored agriculture and viticulture as well as tourism in the modern era. Drought and fire, nevertheless have been constant threats to Mediterranean lands (Pyne 1997) and water remains the key to wealth and safety. This landscape has become particularly identified with Iberian expansion through global settlement and the cultural identification of similar climate zones, including the imposition of Mediterranean styles in California and Chile. The climate of the Meseta is more extreme than either surrounding area. Temperatures range from frozen winters, with ice and snow as temperatures drop below 0° C, to boiling summers when days rise into the 30s (86–102° F). Rain is

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scant and unreliable. This landscape is encapsulated in the proverbial formula “nueve meses de invierno y tres meses de infierno” (nine months of winter and three months of hell). While these geographical features map out broad possibilities of agriculture, settlement and development, human action has further differentiated them. Galicia and the north have lush landscapes, for example, but repeated divisions of property have impoverished families and forced many sons of these areas to migrate (Miguez 1967; Moya 2003; Roseman 2002). The politics of herding in Spain’s central plateau, by contrast, were dominated by the medieval organization known as the Mesta, whose flocks of merino sheep provided important exports to Castile. These same flocks, though, scourged land from northern Castile down to summer pastures in Extremadura and Andalusia (Klein 1920; Salazar Rincón 1986). This pastoral ecosystem, too, was exported to Latin America (Dusenberry 1962; Melville 1994). Human ecology extends beyond the land as well: cod fisherman of the Basque provinces and Portugal explored the Atlantic and reached Newfoundland, reshaping global diets (Kurlansky 1997). Mediterranean coastal fishermen remained closer to home but now many have exhausted coastal stocks. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, coastal populations have faced competing claims of transnational shipping, industry and transformation of coasts from sites of production to sites of recreation. Meanwhile, debates over damming in the Basque provinces (Gerlin 2002), threats to Andalusia’s Doñana preserve from nearby mines and farms and the impact of automotive air pollution across Iberian cities all underscore the ongoing human transformation of landscapes linked to cultural identity and development.

The epithet “Iberians” is rarely applied today to inhabitants of the peninsula who have state and national identities. Instead, Iberian (Sp. and Port. Ibérico) often evokes the past, whether the actual people who probably migrated into the peninsula in the third millennium BCE from the Eastern Mediterranean and developed strong and sometimes conflictive cultures over the following centuries, or the past seen through some image of primal identities.2 Dwellers by the River Ibero included various city-centered peoples who were joined by Celtic migrations from Northern Europe (seventh and ninth century BCE). Contact with Mediterranean Empires—Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians—followed before Iberia was absorbed into the Roman Empire. Despite this assimilation, Basque nationalists have defended their position as an autochthonous group, preIberians in Spain. Catalans, by contrast, have looked to emphasize federal Iberianism over any pan-Iberian archaeology of the peninsula. Others, like the Gallegos, boast of their Celtic heritage and ties to a larger Celtic world (www.ujaen.es/centros/caai/articAntiquity.htm). Iberia evolved for centuries into diverse politicaleconomic and cultural systems. With the decline of the Roman Empire, Visigoths and others invaded and assimilated, but their kingdoms fell to Muslim invaders in the eighth century. Over seven centuries, as we will see, Catholic kingdoms evolved in the North in battle with changing Arab states and their diverse populations to the South. Medieval Portugal became a nation-state within its own expanding maritime empire, while other kingdoms coalesced into a Spanish state through marriages, alliances, rebellions and conquests in the early modern period Portugal itself was forced into an Iberian union from 1580 until 1641. Rather than resolving processes of national/cultural differentiation or concomitant divisions

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38 Mapping the Iberian Peninsula

of class, gender, political orientation, and other features, peninsula politics have often monumentalized unity in architecture, language and arts. Nonetheless, nationalist movements have remained strong across Spain, divisions that have changed the state in the last four decades. The Iberian Peninsula today includes three nation-states— Spain, Portugal, and Andorra—and the United Kingdom Dependent Territory (formerly Crown Colony) of Gibraltar (see Chapter 4). “State” here, refers to a bounded territory with the ability to exercise legitimate authority, including assembling revenues, controlling borders and making war. This is not the same as a “nation,” which has an emotive and symbolic commitment from its citizens, a sense of belonging mediated through language, symbols and rituals (Anderson 1983; Guibernau 1996, 2004). States may survive with little unity or consent; nations endure without the protection of a state. National ideologies may also hold together contradictory ideas in a symbolic web: Susan DiGiacomo, for example, has underscored how urban Catalan nationalism glorified the caseta and l’hortet (small rural house and garden) of small scale peasant farmers in a “complex amalgam of mutual attraction, contempt, envy, resentment and idealization . .” (1986: 160). A nation-state combines these characteristics, although achieving this transformation has been arduous for many polities. France and Great Britain forged ahead in the eighteenth century; while in a lagging Spain, absolutist and bureaucratic regimes became machines of culture, changing relations of race, gender, sexuality and family as well as language and education (Perry 1999, Kirkpatrick 1999). Iberian colonialism, in turn, made the construction of coherent and enduring nationstates a turbulent issue for many in postcolonial Latin America, Africa and Asia. Here, Portugal provides a important conceptual and historical contrast.

As noted above, the Portuguese had consolidated territory and government by the thirteenth century and developed a shared national language and culture before the state’s imperial turn to the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. Portugal is not homogeneous: the Atlantic climate and viticulture of the Duoro is distinct from large holdings and Mediterranean influences in the Alentejo and Algarve. The lives of lowland peasants and those in mountains have differed from cosmopolitan Atlantic cities. Although issues of class and politics have torn the country apart, unlike Spain, territorially-based divisions have not led to wars. Language, myths, monuments and mass media have reinforced unity in the nation and state into the twentyfirst century. For this nation-state, in addition, the sea has been much more important than the peninsula on which it often turns its back: “As far as Portuguese foreign policy is concerned, to be Atlanticist has greater value within Europe, just as to be European has great value in the Atlantic” (Teixeira 2003: 117). The Atlantic world shaped the great cities of the British trade and global colonialism as well as small fishing villages like Vila Cha, north of Porto, which anthropologist Sally Cole studied in the 1990s: The rock outcrops catch several varieties of seaweeds that, since at least the sixteenth century, have been harvested and dried for use as fertilizers to grow corn, wheat and rye and later potatoes, carrots onions and cabbages. From the sea, Vila Chã appears as a continuous row of small masonry houses strung out just above the high tide mark of the beach. Colorful fishing boats are pulled up on the beach and clustered together above the harbor entrance. Women wearing fluttering aprons and kerchiefs and bareheaded children are seen climbing on the rocks at low tide,

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Portugal as Nation-State

collecting seaweed or perhaps mussels and other mollusks. Paper and plastic garbage bags litter the beach. Rows and rows of laundry wave in strong sea breezes from the clotheslines strung out between poles planted in the beach sand . . . in the distance, one can see the white steeple of the parish church that

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serves as a navigation point for fishermen (1991: 3).

These maritime people depended as well on part-time labor, small-scale agriculture and male emigration, while women stayed to labor and mind the home (Brettell 1986). The growth of Spain has also unified Portugal, especially when Spaniards have ignored or denigrated Portugal at the expense of Spanish protagonism in Iberia and the world. In The Spaniards, for example, Américo Castro wrote that “the historical awareness of the early Portuguese produced an interpretation of the past which became a fruitful part of the authentic history of the Portuguese people: to exist as a Portuguese, consists, among other things, in not feeling oneself to be an appendage of Spain—from Spain, as a Portuguese proverb says, there comes neither a good wind nor a good marriage” (1971: 437). A recent Portuguese maritime historian adds “It is an old custom of the Portuguese to blame the Spaniards for every misfortune that befalls them, so, naturally, they are accustomed to seeing the decline of their sea power and the loss of India as a natural result of the political union with Spain” (Saturnino Monteiro 2001: 10; see Saez-Arance 2003). Nevertheless, the 1,000-kilometer Spanish-Portuguese frontier is the longest single internal frontier in Europe, running through a long-depopulated zone that has led to its characterization as a “cork curtain” where Spain turns its back on Portugal (Sidaway 2000). Along this frontier, one municipality, Olivenza (Sp.) or Olivença (Port.), ruled by Spain since

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1801, exemplifies the tensions that divide Iberian neighbors and create antagonistic global-peninsular relations. Sovereignty and borders are scarcely the stuff of daily battle among neighbors who now all participate in a unifying Europe, yet they embody a long history. Oliven()a emerged around a Reconquest fortress on the border of the emergent Kingdom of Portugal in the twelfth century, opposite a Spanish fortress at Badajoz (Black 1979: 528). In 1580, Oliven()a followed the Portuguese crown into union with Spain. It separated from Spain in 1640 when Portugal regained independence. In the nineteenth century, however, Portugal and Spain became divided battlegrounds in the pan-European Napoleonic Wars. The Spanish monarch initially allied with Napoleon against Portugal and its constant ally, Great Britain. Spain invaded Portugal on May 20, 1801 and retained Oliven()a after a peace treaty was signed that June. In 1807, France and Spain agreed to partition Portugal and forced the Lisbon court to flee to colonial Brazil. Later, however, the Spanish switched sides, appearing at the Congress of Vienna alongside Portugal as victors over Napoleon. While the Treaty of Vienna asked participants to “engage to use their utmost endeavors, by amicable means, to procure the retrocession of the said territories to Portugal,” Spain refused to sign until it was agreed that this provision would never be enforced (Black 1979: 533–4). It never was. As a recent review notes, Oliven()a embodies “the more general ambivalence that accompanies these relationships: notably the Portuguese wariness of Castilian power and dominance and the Spanish unfamiliarity with and/or disregard for Portuguese subjectivities and sensibilities” (Sidaway 2002: 187; see Saez-Arance 2003). This nineteenth century border decision, though, had global repercussions. The Portuguese in Brazil retaliated by invading Spanish territory above the Rio de

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la Plata and offering to exchange Montevideo for Oliven()a. Portuguese control of this “Banda Oriental” was not resolved until the 1825 independence of Uruguay (Black 1979: 534–6). Today, the multilingual website of the Grupo dos Amigos de Olivença (www.olivenca.org/litigio_uk.htm; see www.portugal-livre.00freehost.com) touts the slogan “Crer e Querer Para Vencer”—“Believe and Want to Win.” Its English language text argues that “Olivenza is a Portuguese territory illegaly [sic] occupied by Spain” and insists that there are 21 independent countries smaller than this 750-square kilometer enclave (290 sq. mi.) with 10,000 inhabitants. By contrast, the “official” Spanish website records shifts of sovereignty up to 1801, but boasts that Olivenza today is a “symbol of convivencia [living together] and dialogue across cultures, a city open to the future that does not renounce its singular past” (comarcadeolivenza.com/contenidos). Thus, divisions continue, in new media and new spaces, building on ancient histories. Multiple Spain(s)

National identity lagged far behind state consolidation and even empire in Spain. Historical territorial identities have evolved into the modern period through distinct rights and laws (fueros), language, cultures, foodways and repeated wars. While a growing central government won many wars, diverse Iberian peoples have retained cultural, linguistic and territorial unities and strong national identities. These have been reasserted with increasing success—and violence—in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. While vilified under the authoritarian centralism of Generalísimo Francisco Franco, Caudillo of Spain (1939–1975), complex nationalist movements have underpinned a new federated consciousness since the 1980s. This diversity, in turn, has made Spain a vanguard for European recognition of units beyond the state. Moreover,

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social and cultural differences have gone beyond Iberia among the Galicians of Argentina (where this term may embrace all Spaniards), Basque shepherds in the Western United States, Argentina and Australia (Totoricagueña 2004), Andalusian transnational ties to Muslims, gypsies and Jews and centers for emigrants and exiles from the Centro Asturiano of Tampa’s Ybor City to the Catalan Centers of Cuba and Mexico. This is not to deny the impact of the state, which controls an army, polices borders, and controls systems of communication from postage to transportation and media. While trains connected Barcelona to France early on, the development of a state rail system made Madrid a central point for most Spanish travelers; similarly, Madrid’s Barajas airport remains one of the busiest in the world despite the global connections of major hubs in Barcelona, Seville and Málaga’s Pablo Picasso International Airport. Mass media and languages, similarly, define complex worlds. Newspapers have often voiced the differences of peoples and parties across Spain (especially its major cities). Even today, though, El País, founded in transitional Madrid in 1976, is Spain’s most widely-read newspaper, with satellite editions in major Spanish cities competing with major dailies like Barcelona’s La Vanguardia and the Catalan language daily Avui. Corporación Radiotelevisión Española (RTVE), which emerged from Francoist radio, is also a state-owned public corporation. It, too, faces more localized nationalist competition from stations such as Euskal Telebista (with Basque and Castilian programming) and Catalonia’s TV3 (Televisió de Catalunya), which broadcasts in Catalan to Catalonia, Valencia, the Balearics and France. I use nationalities in this text to recognize the central role of Iberian nations without states within the contemporary Spanish state. This term avoids the historical distinctions of

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kingdoms or the provincial units that were introduced in the eighteenth century to rationalize the state (and to punish rebellious polities like Catalonia and Aragon). It also escapes the bias of centralists who have denigrated Basque and Catalan ethnic groups and dialect speakers during the Franco regime and the vague, safe geography of “regions” which imbues European negotiations of federal identities. Finally, it avoids emic constructions of race as a social construction of biology and nation, used by both Basques and Catalans in the nineteenth century. While nationality fits especially well with some peoples within modern Spain, the claims of post-Franco Catalonia, the Basque Provinces, Galicia and Asturias highlight relations of center, periphery and border zones across the peninsula. In addition, these processes question the unmarked presence and history of Castile, including the state capital, Madrid (see Epps and Fernández 2005). This denomination does not deny the ecological, economic, political, cultural and linguistic diversity that separates peoples and territories or their evolution over time. Galicia, Asturias, León, Castilla, Navarre, Catalonia and Aragón were all polities before the coalescence of the Spanish state; Andalusia, Valencia and other areas also can recall the kingdoms and statecraft of Muslim Iberia. In the nineteenth century, Navarre, the Basque provinces and rural Catalonia became centers for the counter revolutionary Carlists who reacted to fearful visions of global modernity and revolution (Coverdale 1984); in the twentieth century, these nationalities and their cities became points of fracture in Republican and Civil War Spain. History—and memories and legends—constitutes an important element in many contemporary nationalities as well. With these caveats in mind, Spanish political geography can thus be read through the eighteen autonomous communities constituted within Spain since the 1980s. Some embody

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national histories and cultures and geographical boundaries while others have taken shape at fracture points of history. The Canary Islands and the Balearics, for example, provide the most obvious geographically-bounded units. The Canary archipelago, off the coast of Africa, was known by Europeans for centuries before being conquered by Iberians in the fifteenth century, when these islands became stepping-stones to the New World (see Chapter 5). As of 2006, the islands have nearly 2 million inhabitants and are a major destination for European tourists and African refugees. Two other tiny Spanish North African city-enclaves, Ceuta and Melilla, and their Muslim populations, are discussed in Chapter 3. The Balearics, roughly 250–300 kilometers (150–200 miles) from the Catalan coast, have been incorporated into peninsular life since prehistoric times (Pericot García 1972) These five islands, with a combined population of one million, have distinctive histories, ecologies, customs and dialects. Greeks, Phoenicians and Romans linked their harbors and fertile fields to Mediterranean commerce. Conquered by Muslims in the tenth century, Catalans took them in the thirteenth century. Mountainous Majorca/Mallorca is the largest (3,639 square kilometers, 1,405 square miles) and has the primary urban center and capital in Palma de Mallorca, founded in 1276. The British occupied the smaller Menorca in the eighteenth century, while Ibiza is known for both its severe landscapes and its global nightlife. Divided during the Spanish Civil War, the islands became centers for European mass tourism under Franco, development which has damaged their environment and challenged local life. In the 1980s, citizens of the Balearics negotiated their nationality vis-à-vis their heritage and cultural links with other constituents of the former kingdom of Aragon-Catalonia. Catalans, Aragonese, Valencians and Balearic citizens had forged

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a medieval Mediterranean empire through military reconquests and trade before the 1469 dynastic marriage that unified Spain. Within this empire, the Principality of Catalonia has strong traditions and institutions centered in Barcelona that have underpinned recurrent national movements that have set the bar for others in the peninsula. Nonetheless, the historical state of Aragon-Catalonia is now remembered in four separate autonomous regions—the Balearics, Catalonia, Comunitat Valenciana and Aragon—despite shared cultural traits and intertwined histories. Of these, Catalonia/Catalunya (32,144 sq. km., 12,410 sq. mi.) is Spain’s second largest autonomous community today in population (7.1 million). Its language has been recognized within the EU, while its leaders have promoted a Europe of rich regions across the continent. Running from the Pyrenees to the Mediterranean, Catalonia has been a rich agricultural center, a mercantile nexus and the heartland of Spanish industrial development since the nineteenth century. Although the principality of Catalonia came to power in the Middle Ages, this modern wealth has refueled assertions of language, culture, media and political rights for two centuries, in symbiosis with the growth of Barcelona as both a regional capital and world city (McDonogh 1986a, b, 1999; see more detail below). People in Valencia, as in the Balearics, have discussed panCatalanism over time, including proposals after the death of Franco. In the 1980s, however, both areas eventually established separate governments. Valencians boast a stronger Islamic heritage that has shaped their continual agricultural wealth. The Valencian language is also a distinctive form of Catalan, although Castilian predominates in many areas. This polity’s coasts, wetlands and mountains are known for cuisine, festivals and other traditions. The Comunitat/Comunidad

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Valenciana (23,255 sq. km/ 8,979 sq. mi.) has five million residents. The city of Valencia, sometimes treated as a backwater in the past despite its industry and wealth, has become a center for innovative European architecture and planning, with new developments by architect Santiago Calatrava. It has also gained global attention through sporting events like the 2007 America’s Cup yacht race and seems poised to become a wider global tourist destination like the better-branded Barcelona. Finally, Aragon (47,669 sq. km./19,177 sq. mi.) is larger that Catalonia, occupying ten percent of the land of the Spanish state. With a population of 1.3 million, however, it is much less dense than Catalonia. Catalonia “joined” the kingdom of Aragon through the dynastic marriage of Count Ramon Berenguer IV to the heiress Petronilla of Aragon in 1137. Although the Aragonese revolted with the Catalans against the state in 1704, the area differs in its agricultural and industrial formation. Many Aragonese, in fact, emigrated to industrial Barcelona in the nineteenth century. Aragon became a bloody battleground during the Spanish Civil War. Its population, closely linked to the Meseta as well as the coast, faced a complex decision vis-à-vis post-Franco autonomy and development. An unsuccessful Winter Olympics bid for Jaca and the world’s fair in its capital, ExpoZaragoza 2008, focused on water and sustainability, highlight Aragon’s claims to global recognition. Along the Atlantic coast, the Basques are concentrated in a tiny autonomous community in and across the Pyrenees. Euzkadi or País Vasco/Comunidad Autonoma Vasca (Basque Country) occupies 7,324 square kilometers (2,828 sq. mi.) of green land with a population slightly over two million. Like Catalonia, Euzkadi constitutes a strong, “model” nationality against which other autonomous communities have defined themselves. The Kingdom of Navarra (Nafarroa) controlled

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extensive trans-Pyrenean territories by the eleventh century, including these areas, but faced continual partitions among the competing thrones of Castile, Aragon and France. Still, the distinctive citizenship of the Basques was recognized by the Spanish state in the Foruak (civil laws) and privilege of nobility unique to the region. Land, language, and the family form an especially strong synthesis here, but Basques are among the most global of all Spaniards, in fishing and labor migrations (Douglass 1975; Bard 1982; Totoricagueña 2004). Nineteenth-century Basque elites and cities claimed global attention by their modern industrialization in shipbuilding and other heavy industry. San Sebastián/Donostia, near the French border, became the summer capital for Spanish royalty after 1839. Linked to Madrid, Basques also dominated Spanish finance; one of Spain’s two largest multinational banks is the Banco Bilbao Vizcaya, which combines the names and resources of older Basque institutions and cities.3 Since the 1990s, post-industrial Bilbao has transformed itself from a decaying factory and port city into new global showplace/ brand through dynamic architecture and urbanism, including Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim Museum and Sir Norman Foster’s subway design (Zulaika 1997; del Cerro 2006). Modern Basque identity and national unity, however, have evolved amid violence within Basque territories and in relation to Spain (and France) as states. Modern nationalism took shape in the nineteenth century under the aegis of Sabino Arana (Arana ta Goui’tas Sabina, 1865–1903) who synthesized an ideology of Basque national identity out of local myths, language, racial identities and Roman Catholicism. This sparked many debates, but posed problems of exclusivity and identity. As in Catalonia, subsequent Basque nationalist politics have diverged between conservative industrialists (and traditionalists) and more radical groups demanding independence, with

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the Catholic church playing a strong role (Urla 1988; PérezAgote 2006). In opposition to Franco, some radicals formed ETA (Euskadi Ta Astakasuna) in 1959, a group that has been involved in kidnappings and murders across Spain and France, polarizing discussions of nationalism for many. Amid centralist prosecution, truces and negotiations, such tensions divide the Basque community and Spain today; ETA assassinated a socialist politician in Mondragon only days before the 2008 Spanish parliamentary elections and garnered headlines across the nation through bombings and arrests that summer. Tensions have spilled over into other contiguous areas with sizeable Basque populations that became separate autonomous communities. These include Navarra/Nafarroa, whose predominantly agricultural lands around Pamplona fell behind Basque industrial development (Bard 1982). Many conservative Catholic Navarrese also disagreed with Basques over religion, nationalism and the state. Despite past differences, Navarra (10,391 sq. km/4,012 sq. mi, pop. 601,000) now coordinates with Euzkadi. La Rioja, another small autonomous community (5,045 sq. km/1948 sq. mi, pop. 277,000) is divided between Basques and Castilians. Here, differences are economic and ecological as well: this is one of Spain’s richest viticultural regions, whose trademark wine, refined in the nineteenth century, has become a European prestige denomination. Neighboring Cantabria (5,321 sq. km/2,055 sq. mi., pop. 572,503), between industrial Asturias and the Basques, rises from cold coasts to meandering rivers and fertile grazing lands to steep mountains (see Figure 1.2). A heartland of the old kingdom of Castile, Cantabria represents an agricultural and pastoral province with a capital in Santander as well as strongly traditional rural areas (Freeman 1967). Cantabrians, however, have been sensitive to Basques whose industries provided

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Figure 1.2 Northern Spain: Rivers and Landscapes of Cantabria, near AngustinaLimpias. Photograph by the author, 1997.

work and whose roads and railroads offered connections, but who now claim the coast for second homes and vacations. Moving westward along the North Atlantic coast, the very name of the Principado de Asturias (Principality of Asturias, 10,565 sq. km/4,079 sq.mi., pop. 1,076,896) recalls this area’s historical association with the Reconquest. The first major Christian victory over Islam came at Covadonga, in the Asturian mountains, in 722; today, the crown prince of Spain is designated as the Prince of Asturias. Asturians share many characteristics of national unity with Catalonia and Euzkadi. For example, a distinctive language/ dialect of Castilian, asturiano/asturianu/bable, is spoken by people there in addition to Castilian; Asturias also has its own fueros. The Principado has a strong economy as well, associated with industry, trade and mining which have given many citizens a leftist orientation expressed through unions and anarchism

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(see Radcliffe 2002) in counterpoint to bourgeois centers in Oviedo and Gijón and to its rural mountains. At the Atlantic extreme of the Iberian Peninsula, Galicia was another center of the Christian Reconquest which has retained strong social, cultural and symbolic characteristics. Nearly three times the size of Asturias (29,574 sq. km./11,419 sq. mi.), it offers rich green farmlands, active harbors on the Atlantic and the pilgrimage center of Santiago de Compostela. Its population of 2.8 million has been winnowed by decades of migration to other parts of Spain and abroad. Despite strong nationalist traditions of culture, religion and distinctive language (which it shares with contiguous Portugal), this is a conservative region. From 1990 to 2005, it consistently reelected Manuel Fraga Iribarne, who had served as a minister under Franco, to head its Xunta (Miguez 1967; Roseman 2002, 2008). This reminds us that despite the claims nationalities make against government centralization and Castilianization, their activists may embrace divergent visions of what a nation was and might become. At the same time, Galicia has moved to the forefront of global fashion through the trendy clothing store Zara, whose flagship store opened in A Coruña in 1975, and became the ancestor to thousands of stores worldwide today. The rapid reestablishment of some areas as nationalities and autonomous communities after Franco posed problems for others, exemplified by contemporary Andalucía/Andalusia, which encompasses eight former provinces and over 87,166 square kilometers (33,655 sq. mi.) of mountains, plains and coasts. With a population of nearly eight million, it is Spain’s most populous autonomous community. Its name proudly recalls its long, rich Islamic past before the area was slowly conquered and colonized by Castilians from the North. Thus, it is a Castilian-speaking region (with an accent sometimes

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satirized by other Spaniards) whose post-conquest peasant culture, large estates (latifundias) and global cities—Seville, Córdoba, Granada and Cádiz—have been integrated and subordinated to the empire and nation-state (Pike 1972). Dominated by large estates and the pastoral economy of the Mesta, Andalusia also has been a center for peasant and anarchist action (Mintz 1982). As anthropologist Stanley Brandes has observed: “Throughout Spain, Andalusia is famous both for what it is and what it is not. It is said to be backward and yet it contains some of the richest agricultural land in the Iberian Peninsula and has one of the most flourishing tourist industries in Europe. It is said to be poor and misery-ridden and yet it boasts an enormous concentration of wealth” (1980:3). Identified with global Rome, Islam, Gypsies and Castile, but divided by class, gender roles and opportunity, Andalusians needed to find political identities after Franco (Gilmore 1980, 1998). The Andalusian Socialist party challenged those who had treated Andalusia as inferior and contributed important post-Franco leaders to Spain, such as Felipe González (Prime Minister 1982–1996). Seville also hosted the 1992 World’s Fair, embellishing the early modern city with postmodern global claims (Harvey 1996; Suárez-Navaz 1994). As in the Basque and Catalan cases, as Andalusia established its political identity in a new Spain, other provinces and people were caught among shifting centers. Murcia, along the Mediterranean coast between Valencia and Andalusia, became an autonomous community of 11,314 square kilometers (4,368 sq. mi.) with a population in 2006 of nearly 1.4 million. Reconquered from Muslims by the Catalans, Murcia was then turned over to Castile. It is primarily Castilian in culture and connections, but Mediterranean in climate and production. Extremadura (Badajoz and Cáceres), another relatively poor area on the Portuguese border was rejected by the Andalusian

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provinces and became an independent community (41,634 sq. km./16,075 sq.mi, pop. 1,088,728). Its capital, Mérida was once capital of Roman Lusitania. Later incorporation into the pastoralism of the Mesta, however, limited regional development. Extremadura is famous as being the home of conquistadors like Hernando Cortés, and Francisco Pizarro who escaped its poverty to claim New World empires. This recognition of established federal constituent units in the Spanish state is still debated in terms of rights, governance and finance. The process left Castile as a problem in so far as it held historical claims to the center and to unifying features of Spain in which its own distinctiveness had been submerged despite serious resistance to the demands of the empire (Thompson 1995). Castile’s land mass and population dominate the state—nearly 40 percent of all Spanish territory lies on the Meseta (165, 402 sq. km/63,862 sq. mi)—and contains one-quarter of Spain’s population (10.5 million). For centuries the area had been drained by wars and colonization as well as agricultural exploitation; except for Madrid, the noble buildings and ecclesiastical monuments of its countryside have not competed with modern coastal development. Nonetheless, under Franco and preceding regimes, Castile “was” Spain and Castilian the language of the state and empire. Post-Franco Castile divided, with some outcry, into three autonomous regions in the 1980s. Northern Castilla-León (Old Castile) encompasses nine former provinces and 86,173 square kilometers (33,272 sq. mi), and has a population of 2.5 million. It is the largest region of the European Union, although scarred by ecological devastation: by the eighteenth century, this area already “showed the ecological ravages of hard use by the Mesta. Erosion and the destruction of timberlands were accompanied by a decline of grain farming and created a class of serranos (hill farmers) who were forced to

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practice subsistence farming.” (Kern and Smith 1995: 81). Later, Castile lost its rich wool trade to England and the Netherlands. Nevertheless, the University of Salamanca, founded in 1220 is one of the great universities of Spain and Europe, while the cathedrals of Burgos, Léon, and Valladolid (the capital) embody Reconquest Catholicism. To the south, Castilla-La Mancha (New Castile) is slightly smaller (79,229 sq. km/30,591 sq.mi./1,894,667 people) with its capital at Toledo, Visigothic capital, center of the Reconquest and seat of the Cardinal Primate of Spanish Catholicism (see Figure 1.3). Despite its historical glory, this area also has suffered from depopulation and ecological exhaustion evident in the landscapes traveled by its most famous fictional citizen, Don Quijote. By the eighteenth century, economists lamented that “in many places, not even the memory of its population remains, the ruins without people and fields empty of livestock.” (Le Flem1975: 44, originally published 1732.) A high-speed rail link to Madrid has been seen as a way to promote new development. Greater Madrid itself was denser, more powerful, more leftist and more urbane than these surrounding rural areas. In 1983, the Socialist Party (PSOE) championed a vote that constituted Madrid as its own autonomous community of 8,000 square kilometers (3,089 sq. mi) with over six million inhabitants. This community also includes symbols of state power like Philip II’s Escorial Monastery and Franco’s behemoth tomb at the Valle de los Caídos (Valley of the Fallen). As this overview suggests, these units of a new Spain embody many negotiations of ecology, history, culture, and context. Since the 1980s, new identities have taken shape in regions that lacked them in the past. More historically coherent nationalities have built institutions of education and citizenship and revitalized language, symbols, holidays, and monu-

ments. Polities and people have participated in a changing state and a Europe that has looked to Spanish decentralization for lessons. Yet, to understand globalization through evolving identities and flows we should also read the peninsula through the dense clusters of people, goods and ideas that constitute its cities, urban societies and urbane cultures as centers of globalization. CITIES AND GLOBALIZATION

Over centuries of Iberian expansion, the planning apparatus of global colonization communicated a strong architectural

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Figure 1.3 Toledo: A Castilian Capital. Photograph by the author, 1987.

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message of state and church in the central plazas built across the world (Rama 1996; LeJeune 2005). Cities in the Americas, Africa and Asia, however, were not the simply copies of peninsular cities, many of which traced their complicated forms to Greeks, Phoenicians, Romans and Muslims in the peninsula. Instead, colonial cities imagined Iberian cities anew while enshrining institutions and values, sometimes remaining enclaves with only limited power over surrounding domains. Moreover, all these cities have been reinterpreted through changing notions of state and citizenship and the diversification of social and economic growth, as the example of Los Angeles showed. Yet, in both the peninsula and its extensions, architecture, urban institutions of culture and control and mobile citizens themselves emphasize Iberian cities as foci of globalization. From Soria and Coimbra to Luanda, Macau, and Lima, the cathedral, the plaza, the university, and the houses of government remain after the transformations of government and peoples. While the explanation of nationalities and regions has already highlighted broader differences in environment, culture, subsistence and society, Iberian cities underscore complexity of global flows, including networks of transnational connections of people and capital that will be discussed at length in future chapters. Rural Portugal has been dominated by two rival cities: Porto (English Oporto), to the north and Lisboa/Lisbon, the capital. Porto, at the mouth of the Duoro, was reconquered from the Muslims in 868, forming a polity with Galicia and Coimbra (a city that would later become the capital and seat of the university). It has maintained strong Atlantic links to England: Britons established settlements there that endure to the present. In the eighteenth century, Portugal offered Great Britain a source of wine independent of the global alliances of Spain and France. Britons introduced brandy into wine that

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stopped fermentation and stabilized vintages over long voyages, creating the “port” that fostered the growth of the city.4 Today Porto is a modern financial center, although its population (288,000, metro population 1.6 million) remains smaller than that of the capital. Portuguese nobles from the north conquered Lisbon after a multinational siege in 1147. On the Atlantic estuary of the Tejo, Phoenician traders had used the area before the Romans, under whom it became a municipium. Arabs occupied and enhanced it, as the Alfama district attests today. Alfonso Henriques captured the city in 1147. It became a capital in 1255, holding religious and political centrality while sharing a university with Coimbra. While central to the agriculture of the Ribateijo basin, Lisbon’s glories came from the transmutation of the wealth of Asia, Africa and Brazil into a rich and splendid capital that spread over the nearby hills, with convents and palaces in the elaborate Manueline style: “By the mid sixteenth century, the central artery, Rua Nova dos Mercaders, became one of the most elegant streets of all Europe, where all kinds of porcelain, jewels, gold and silver, exotic woods and textiles from the East were sold” (Perera 1999: 23). This urbane wealth was undercut by European attacks on the colonies, dispersion of the important Jewish and converted populations, and the end of the royal line, leading to union with Spain in 1581. Lisbon nonetheless became the major Atlantic port of the empire. Rebellion against Spain in 1640 was followed by plague, but new wealth from Brazil and ties with Great Britain sustained the city. As Maria Baganha and Maria Marques write, “With 113,000 inhabitants in the early seventeenth century, Lisbon was one of the great European cities, with a rapid, intense demographic growth which continued right up to the earthquake in 1755, when the population stood at about 250,000” (1996:83). Ironically, Lisbon became

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Figure 1.4 Lisbon Street Scene. Photograph obtained from Shutterstock.com. Copyright © by Jorge Pedro Barradas de Casais.

well-known for this Earthquake of November 1, 1755—All Saint’s Day—when perhaps 40,000 people died, many at mass. The event became a challenge for Voltaire, Leibniz and other European and American thinkers trying to understand the actions of God (Chauncey 1756). Lisbon, however, was rebuilt with new gridded streets and plazas. Again a cosmopolitan center, it became a hub of growth and knowledge even in a weakening nation. In the twentieth century, Lisbon has been a center for neoimperial development under an authoritarian regime, a port

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for transshipment for Spain as well as connections by rail, a center for revolution and a city chronicled by authors like Fernão Pessoa and José Saramago. Lisbon has also claimed European centrality as a capital of culture and the host of a world’s fair, Expo ’98 (Sieber 2003; Holston 2004). Lisbon became the site for the signing of a treaty unifying the new European Union in 2007. Thus, it combines the historical palimpsest of a capital (Figure 1.4) with new European and global roles: it is also a home for large postcolonial migrant populations. While the tight limits of the municipality include only 560,000 people, the metropolitan area includes 2.8 million inhabitants. Greater Lisbon and Porto thus hold roughly half the population of contemporary Portugal (10,642,836). Spain has many more cities than Portugal. The largest— Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia, Seville, Málaga and Bilbao— number over 1,000,000 inhabitants and have connections beyond autonomous regions and the state. Smaller cities are known for their historical and artistic heritages. Roman Córdoba became one of the great cities of the medieval world as an Islamic capital (Chapter 4) while Santiago de Compostela became a global center for Roman Catholic pilgrimage (Chapter 2). Other cities are known for iconic celebrations like Holy Week in Granada, the Running of the Bulls (San Fermines) in Pamplona, Feria in Seville and the Fallas of Valencia. Many cities have become global through tourism— Marbella, Torremolinos, Las Palmas and Tenerife in the Canaries and Palma de Mallorca. As in Portugal, however, two rival capitals, Madrid and Barcelona, have dominated the life of the nation, despite imbalances in economic and political power and cultural presence. Madrid, in fact, was a relatively late capital for the Spanish state. Earlier kings and courts had controlled smaller kingdoms; later, the unified court had wandered, often seeking

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favors from parliaments and notables. Phillip II established the capital in Madrid in 1561 not only for centrality, but also because it offered “a suitable blank page for the writing of the king’s narrative of imperial monarchy” (Parsons 2003: 13). Nonetheless, he governed primarily from the nearby Escorial. Originally a Roman settlement, Mayrit/Matrit had expanded under the Muslims before Alfonso VI of Castile reconquered it in 1085. Later, under the Habsburgs, it grew from a few thousand to 80,000 by the end of the sixteenth century, its fortunes rising and falling with the Court and its expenditures while draining Castile (Thompson 1995). A less elite urban society took shape among servants and tradesmen; this “popular” element has been central to the life and image of the city. In the nineteenth century, Spaniards became more conscious of Madrid as a European metropolis (Ringrose 1983). The city centered the politics of the liberal order and rationalized space through rails and politics. The form of the city reflected these new social and political centralities, as critic Deborah Parsons notes: The tree-lined paseos and gardens, for example, originating from the health-conscious ideals of urban planners yet used by an aspiring elite as spaces for social display, provided the bourgeoisie with the means to consolidate their status and identity through a visual culture of seeing and being seen. Market-place, taverns and street fairs, the traditional public spaces of the populace, were joined by the cafés, shopping arcades, theatres, exhibition halls and railway stations that were beginning to characterize the metropolitan geography of a modern Madrid, fashioning a new culture of middle-class urbanity (2006: 35).

The life of the court and political bourgeoisie chronicled by

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the great nineteenth century novelist Benito Pérez Galdós meshed with the castizo culture of southern neighborhoods that was seen as authentically Spanish, celebrated in the lighter paintings of Francisco Goya and the flair and humor of the zarzuela, the Castilian-language operetta that became popular nationwide. Nineteenth-century Madrid jumbled the debates of an oligarchical Parliament and the uncertainties of aristocracy and bourgeoisie with the cutting humor of stage, songs and the figure of the witty and devilish majo/a (Ugarte 1996). In his 1889 novel Misericordia, for example, Galdós describes a typical group of buildings in the city as having a “smiling ugliness, of the purist Madrid in which architectural and moral character blend marvelously, a group that is witty, sharp, majo” (1961 V: 1877). In the twentieth century, proletarian Madrid played a heroic part in the Spanish Civil War (Kurzman 1980). After Franco reconquered the city in 1939, he rebaptized it as the capital of his vision of an authoritarian and imperial Spain while channeling global recognition and industrial investment through the capital and its suburbs. After Franco’s death, Madrid nonetheless became a center of social and cultural renewal under Mayor Enrique Tierno Galván (1918–1986), a former professor and socialist known for his love of the city. With its major universities, mass media and middle class, Madrid became a center for the movida—competitive postmodernity, evident in the films of Pedro Almodóvar (Umbral 2000). In the twenty-first century, Madrid has become the third largest urban center in Europe, as well as a capital for finance, industry, culture and governance, home of the Prado museum and one of the most successful soccer teams in the world, Real Madrid, often pitted against its rival, Barcelona. And it has also become a center for global immigration, with North Africans, Latin Americans, Asian families, laborers,

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investors and refugees creating new class patterns and multiculturalism. The suburbs of Madrid, for example, shelter one of the largest Chinese wholesale complexes in modern Europe, as globalization takes on new meanings in the twenty-first century. Those who have visited Barcelona in the past decade, especially since the 1992 Olympics, have experienced an unabashedly postmodern European city whose government, designers and citizens have embraced a dynamic Mediterranean identity. Kilometers of urban beaches, malls filled with stores, restaurants and entertainment, streets of shops and bars, cutting-edge architecture, urbanism and design and insistent exhibits discussing diversity, sustainability and globalism all speak to the renewed claims of the city and its citizens to become a capital beyond the state. Barcelona is also cap i casal (head and hearth) of Catalonia, a role that has changed over centuries. Barcelona is an older city than Madrid and roughly equal in population. Like a “phoenix” (an historic Catalan image, Amelang 1986; McDonogh 1986), Barcelona has reemerged from many crises since it was founded two millennia ago: war, plague, economic shifts and class conflict. A Roman provincial city eclipsed by nearby Tarragona, it was conquered by Muslims and recaptured by Franks in 801. As a maritime center in the Middle Ages, though, Barcelona became a medieval world metropolis, expanding Catalan lands from the Balearics to Murcia, allying with the Kingdom of Aragon and establishing trade outposts across the Mediterranean. Its dynamic literature, monumental architecture and arts flourished while the fifteenth century Llibre del Consulat de Mar became a global handbook for maritime law and customs. In 1469, the marriage of Ferdinand of Aragon-Catalonia with Isabel of Castile-Leon proved a turning point for the city and its polity, as it would for so many in the peninsula and

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across the world. Catalonia’s Mediterranean orientation led to problems as the “Spanish” court and Europe shifted production, finance and armies northward. Catalonia and its associated kingdoms rebelled against their increasingly subordinate role in the Spanish state and Empire in 1640 (with French assistance) and from 1704 to 1714. The city fell in September, 1714 to Bourbon Spanish-French forces after a lengthy siege. Barcelona and Catalonia lost many privileges and became incorporated into the Castilian-dominated state (Elliott 1963). September 11 remains a national holiday in Catalonia, while street names and monuments in Barcelona recall the victims. From a defeated capital in the early modern period, Barcelona reemerged as a trading center and the industrial heartland for modernizing Spain. In 1717, Barcelona housed 34,000 people in the wake of war, in a polity of perhaps 400,000. By 1787, the city’s population had tripled to 111,410 (Catalonia had doubled). By 1860, Barcelona was a city of 190,000 in a polity of 1,673,842. By 1930, it passed one million in a Catalonia of three million. Today, Barcelona’s 1.75 million people form part of the densely urbanized Catalan Autonomous Community of over seven million inhabitants, mostly in and around Greater Barcelona. Global connections again proved vital to a society that had been scarred by segregation from the Atlantic-facing Castilian Spanish Empire. As Pierre Vilar (1962) and others have shown, in the aftermath of this eighteenth-century defeat, Barcelona became a center for exports to new markets, including Castile’s New World colonies, a trade that fortified its viticulture and textile industries. Within the next century, these opportunities become almost legendary for the indianos (émigrés) and their families who would recreate industrial Barcelona in the nineteenth century and patronize its arts and architecture.

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Miquel Biada Bunyol, for example, son of an artisan in Mataró, not only made money in Cuba, but brought home the idea of the railroad he had seen there, constructing Spain’s first railway line that ran from his native city to Barcelona in 1848. Men, goods and ideas flowed into modernizing Barcelona (Vicens Vives 1963; McDonogh 1986). Antonio López y López, meanwhile, had left behind the cold shores of Santander for Cuba in 1831, establishing himself in Barcelona in 1853 with his Catalan wife to build an empire based on banking, shipping and trade. Barcelona had already seen the first maritime steamship in Spain, the Balear, in 1834, which linked the city to Palma de Mallorca. Through his companies, López promoted connections to Cuba, supplied troops in Morocco, developed trade in the Philippines and provided a sinecure to Jacint Verdaguer, a major figure of the Catalan literary and linguistic revival (Renaixença). He localized industrial modernity and finance, using the older institutions of the Mediterranean patriarchal family to create a network across Catalan and Spanish elites (McDonogh 1986). Among López’ relatives were members of the Güell family, indianos from the Catalan coast whose name is even more deeply associated with the renowned architect Antoni Gaudí and modernisme. This Europeanist aesthetic movement embellished a growing Barcelona and constitutes part of its extraordinary architectural legacy today. In addition to business investments and monarchist Catalanism, the Güell family inscribed their lineage into the cityscape through their patronage of works by Gaudí in their palace in the center of the city, in their experiment with a garden city retreat at the Park Güell (Figure 1.5) and in their milltown, the Colònia Güell. All of these men had studied modernity taking shape in Europe and the New World and brought and improved these technologies in the city. As active agents of globalization, they held to

long-established local institutions and forms like the family as a primary economic unit, transmuted into family corporations. New technologies allowed Barcelonans to articulate the markets of Spain’s remaining colonies. Yet, transport technologies also undercut Spanish prices for grain and damage peasant budgets. Global contact meant as well that the phylloxera aphid, introduced into Europe from North America in 1860, crossed the Pyrenees into Catalonia from France in 1879. Within a few years, it devastated hundreds of thousands

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Figure 1.5 Barcelona Architecture Evoking the Catalan Mediterranean: Columns in Antoni Gaudí’s Park Güell. Photograph by the author, 2005.

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of hectares, wrecking markets and homesteads. Together, these disjunctions, coupled with stock market speculation and struggles in Cuba pushed people into open class conflict. Yellow fever and cholera also scourged the city, as well as diseases associated with damp factories and tenement housing. Modern planned reform of the city by engineer Ildefons Cerdà began with a careful examination of mortality street-bystreet throughout the city (1867). To counteract these problems, Cerdà proposed a city of open blocks and rapid connections. The destruction of walls and a new city expansion thus offered visions of health and beauty, alongside trains and trams, energy, factories, and slums. As nineteenth-century Catalan industrialization expanded, workers came from ever-widening geographical orbits. Aragonese who sought work in the International Exposition of 1888 were followed by others from impoverished Murcia, Galicia and Andalusia who lived in the portside district and industrial suburbs. Mass migrations of the postwar period (1939–) are echoed in African, Maghrebi and Latin Americans who search for work and refuge there today despite tensions between generations of immigrants. As in the Basque countries, the new bourgeoisie argued for the historical rights and economic privileges of Catalonia within Spain, increasing their cultural presence and gaining some institutional control in the twentieth century. In the shadow of the 1888 International Exposition, workers formed organizations and sponsored actions that responded, sometimes violently, to local conditions and linked them to international debates about socialism, anarchism and utopian societies. In 1893, a bomb in Barcelona’s elite opera house, the Liceu, became a vivid symbol of the bloody violence dividing bourgeoisie and workers, an event followed by decades of struggle over issues of class and loyalty against a background

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of heady production in arts, architecture, literature and music (Kaplan 1992; Falgues et al. 2006). In the 1930s, leftist Barcelona and nationalist Catalonia became bulwarks of the Second Spanish Republic. The autonomous regimes of the Generalitat created a place of production, debate and, above all, a center of resistance during the Civil War, when conflicts between anarchists and communists tore the city apart (Orwell 1952). Despite fierce resistance, Franco’s forces crossed the Ebro in 1938 and took Barcelona in January 1939, with the assistance of the Italian military and Moroccan troops. Thousands of Catalans fled to exile; others, like Lluis Companys, President of the Generalitat, were executed or imprisoned in the Castle of Montjüic (see Chapter 6). Catalonia and Barcelona became targets of cultural and political repression under the postwar centralizing Franco regime, denigrated as rebel regions (or ethnically suspect “Judaeo-Catalans”) while uncontrolled development and environmental degradation sprawled across Barcelona’s immigrant-filled satellite cities. Catalan resistance continued even as the Catalan language was suppressed in schools, media and public fora. Catalonia’s proximity to France, cosmopolitan traditions and Mediterranean beaches made it a center of European contact in the 1950s and 1960s. By the 1970s, Catalan culture and political resistance became more public, Catalan churches and the universities became places of discussion and organization. The city’s primary soccer team, Futbol Club Barcelona (Barça) became a rallying point for local fans and national politics, the blaugrana (blue-red stripes) team with its multinational players continues to be an icon for Barcelona and Catalonia in the twenty-first century. The year after Franco’s death, more than a million people took to the streets to celebrate September 11. The city began to

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rebuild itself. Under activist socialist mayors, especially the dynamic Pascual Maragall (Mauri and Uria 1998) in dialogue with the more conservative government of the Generalitat, the city and its citizens have refurbished public spaces, redeveloped institutions and revitalized citizenship. This civic renewal has made Barcelona and Catalonia models for European and global urbanism (McDonogh 1999; Hargreaves 2000; McNeil 2001; Guibernau 2004; Rossler 2004; Marshall 2005). Events like the 1992 Summer Olympics and the 2004 Forum de les Cultures—a sort of dialogic world’s fair centered on peace, diversity and sustainability—have increased Barcelona’s identity as an urban brandscape, albeit with some local skepticism (Klingmann 2007; see Assemblea de Resistència al Fòrum, 2004; Trallero 2004). As noted in the introduction, this renewal has also made the city attractive for European students, world tourists and labor immigrants from the South (Roque 1989; McDonogh 1992) but has also brought problems that arise from global success. Cities embody the variety of peoples, cultures and histories of the peninsula, but are never merely local. In fact, cities have often provided points from which governance and diverse ideas spread across Iberian worlds. To complete our mappings of Iberia, it is important to understand the diversity of cultural visions of the world and connections to it that have emerged from Iberian urban and national differences. GLOBALIZING THE LOCAL: DIVERSE VISIONS OF IBERIAN WORLDS

Europe, (as discussed in Chapter 2), is only one of the unities beyond the state that have played a role in Iberian history and place. As we will see, Spain and Portugal became European as part of the Roman Empire and its archaic globalization, only to be incorporated into an alternative world through their conquest by Muslims in the eighth century. From the fourteenth

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to the sixteenth centuries, they established early modern proto-global empires worldwide. Portugal governed its global territories through its unified bureaucracy (with the strong presence of the universalizing Catholic Church) even though this strained communication and control within an extended oceanic network. Spain’s equally sprawling and diverse empire preceded unification of the state, allowing competing administrations and agendas to challenge and confuse its Golden Age expansion and state cohesion (Elliott 1963; Kamen 2003). Beyond the political and economic structures of empire, nations and states, scholars and statesmen also have sought historically transcendent cultural unities to explain Spain, Portugal and areas of their legacy beyond unities of Europe or the West, especially as political empires began to fracture in the modern period. Hispanidad, Latinidad, and Lusotropicalism have embraced this global vision from different vantage points in competition with the global statecraft of Great Britain, France and the United States. Francoist educational materials (1939– 1976), for example extolled postcolonial Hispanidad (Hispanicness) with millenarian fervor: “we highlight the continuity of our providential destiny, the mission of Spain in the world, the soul of our land, the virtues that constitute the marvel of Spain and how Spain has succeeded and has enjoyed unity, liberty and greatness whenever it has followed the route of its catholic and universal mission, the route of its patriotism” (Muntadas Bach 1941: 17–18). The state, religion and conquest merged in a vision that eclipsed resistance and dissent.5 In both Brazil and Portugal, meanwhile, Luso-tropicalism evolved as an alternative global ideology. These ideas, found in the works of the Brazilian sociologist Gilberto Freyre, stressed the value of the mixture of peoples under Portuguese expansion as a unique multicultural crucible (1943, 1961). This formulation also served agendas of Portuguese national unity

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and glorification of imperial ties into the twentieth century, especially under the Estado Novo. Nationalist movements have created different ideologies. The Catalan architect politician Nicolau Maria Rubió Tudurí, by contrast, saw a mystical pan-Mediterranean culture in his vision of Llatinitat flowing from the Garden of Eden through Rome. In a work published in 1946 when Rubió, like so many others, lived in exile, he looked back to the older Mediterranean to foresee a brighter future when someone “would have the courage to take the crown of Latinness for 300 million souls spread around the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, across America, Africa and Europe . . . A task not of a day, but of centuries” (2006: 185, see Costa Ruibal 2002). Sabino Arana, meanwhile, offered Basques an ideology of unity through race and blood that also potentially underpinned local and diasporic identities. Race has surfaced as a tense theme in Catalan nationalism, Francoist discourse and the contemporary reality of Iberia’s multiracial cities and countryside. Such intellectually complex projects must also be balanced by everyday Iberian unities and divisions beyond the peninsula through food or speech. Food and wine, for example, seem to celebrate shared Iberian cultures transmitted through family structures and reinforced by gender and household. Within the peninsula, Iberian foods embody strong cultural and ecological traditions: the rice of the Mediterranean, cod dishes of the Atlantic or strong stews, pork dishes, and preserved meats of the Meseta. Everyday elements of contemporary Castilian, Portuguese, Catalan and Basque cooking— potatoes, tomatoes and chocolate—have crossed the Atlantic eastward since 1492. Wine, olives and oranges moved west (having come to Iberia in earlier times through the Phoenician, Roman and Islamic Mediterranean). These elements are recombined in distinctive foodways within a global palette

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and customs—a stew like the fabada of Asturias is a “cousin” to ropa vieja in Cuba and Florida or feixoada in São Paulo, while lechón (roast pig) is found from Segovia to Manila. Arroz Chau Chau in East Timor and African Chicken in Macau fill out a family buffet with spicy Goan dishes and Malaccan curries (Hamilton 2001). These foods convey history and aesthetics of the table and family as basic processes, shaped by feast and famine, ritual and division. Iberian languages, central issues in peninsular unity and diversity, became global as well. Today, 400 million people identify Spanish (Castilian) as their first language worldwide, including 100 million in Mexico, more than the 40 million residents of Spain itself. Over 25 million Spanish speakers live in the most populous American nations of Colombia, Argentina, Peru and the United States. This distribution reflects the concentration of Spain’s empires and the role of Castile within that empire in exploration, colonization and administration. It also shows contemporary growth in Latin America and movement out of those burgeoning modern states to the north, creating global Latino populations. Smaller numbers of Castilian speakers remain in Africa and the Philippines. Portuguese numbers 190 million speakers worldwide. The disproportion between a former colony (Brazil) with 175 million Portuguese speakers and Portugal, with ten million, is important in understanding “the peculiar relationship between a weak (former) colonial power on the edge of Europe and the enormous potential of a (formerly) colonized giant in the New World” (Arenas 2003: x). Galicia adds 2.5 million speakers of Galego; perhaps 10,000 Spaniards speak Fala, another related language. Other Portuguese speakers reside in Africa, South and East Asia and Oceania while immigrants have formed Lusophone enclaves in France and the United States (Holston and Klimt 2007).

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Other Iberian languages include the more geographicallycircumscribed Catalan languages, with seven million speakers, and Basque (Euskera) with 1.5 million; these citizens are also bilingual with regard to official Castilian (or French across the Pyrenees). Speakers of each are generally, but not exclusively, found in the Iberian Peninsula and France. Basque, Catalan and Gallego immigrants and exiles live around the world, but most emigrated in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and did not spread their languages as building blocks of Empire. There are, however, surviving post-imperial Catalan-speaking Mediterranean enclaves in Sardinia. Those who speak Spanish and Portuguese, however, do so in different ways, even within the Iberian Peninsula. Languages have evolved over time, diverging among each other, while adding Arabic and other influences to their Latin base. Accents and articulation mark origins, class status and history, as Lipski showed in his study of Afro-Hispanic texts and development (2005). Moreover, speakers have different repertoires and are able to switch codes and use language with irony and criticism: the perdurance of Catalan and Basque under a Francoist regime that sought to eliminate them from public fora like mass media, schools and the streets has entailed situational knowledge and reflection on bilingualism as one chooses to speak Catalan, Basque or Castilian, with whom and with what accommodation for other speakers (DiGiacomo 1986; Woolard 1989). And Latin also followed missionaries as a language of the Catholic Church, but that church became a conduit for vernacular languages and cultures after the 1970s, a development important to many Iberian nationalities. Iberian languages worldwide, have coexisted for centuries with indigenous languages of dominated peoples—Guaraní in Paraguay or Quechua/Quichua across the Andes—and with dominant languages of larger states, whether Chinese


At 468 square kilometers (188 sq. mi.), the sovereign Principality of Andorra is similar in size to New York City or Madrid. Unlike these dense central nodes, however, Andorra survived thanks to its isolated mountainous setting, with an average altitude of 1,996 meters (6,549 feet) above sea level and a low point of 840 meters (2,756 feet). Ensconced between modern Spain and France, only 30 percent of its land is arable. Lakes, waterfalls and snow-covered mountains enhance its

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and Portuguese in Macau or English in the U.S. Iberian Creoles emerged at the intersection of languages and peoples, including Papiamento in Aruba (Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, Arawak and West African languages), Portuguese-based Kristang in Malacca, Macanese in Macau, or criolus in Cape Verde and São Tome. The “creolization” of Iberian languages through the role of Portuguese as the base of a contact language in the Atlantic slave trade continues to shape the speech of many who would not identify themselves as Iberian, but who were forced into the imperial expansion of Africa and the New World.6 In many ways, then, Iberian diversity based in ecology, history, society and culture of the peninsula has been the foundation of Iberian globalization, but has constantly been reformulated. As critics have noted, however, such global extensions often betray a problematic search for exclusive identities that have shaped the lives of older Iberian populations—Jews, Muslims and Gypsies—as well as new arrivals. Having looked outward from the peninsula through its citizens’ visions and practices of globalization, this chapter closes with another Iberian peninsular enclave. Global themes of land, people and identities come together in Andorra, the third, sometimes forgotten state of this peninsula that has also experienced a rich development as a point of global change.

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Mediterranean mountain climate, creating verdant valleys that have become contemporary recreational attractions The micro-state’s twenty-first century population has reached 76,875 people, concentrated in the sprawling conurbations of Andorra la Vella and Escaldes-Engordany. Only one-third of these residents are Andorrans; slightly more come from Spain and roughly ten percent come from both France and non-contiguous Portugal. (see www.govern.ad or www.andorramania.com; Comas D’Argemir and Pujadas 1997). Over centuries, however, Andorran global strategies have created and maintained local independence. The name Andorra, like that of Iberia, may derive from ancient Basque roots (Degage and Duro 1998). According to national legend, Charlemagne’s forces recaptured this set of valleys from Muslim conquerors in the ninth century. Andorra’s national anthem begins “El gran Carlemany, mon pare, dels alarbs em deslliurà” (“Great Charlemagne, my father, freed us from the Arabs”); this hymn asserts European primacy in praising Andorra as the only remaining daughter of the Carolingian empire. In 819, Charlemagne’s grandson, Louis I, granted Andorra to the Count of Urgell, whose domain lies in what is now Catalonia in Spain. This nobleman later exchanged his rights with the local bishop, who remains a coprince of Andorra. This diocese, in turn, granted feudal rights to the French. This chain of foreign sovereignty ended with the Count of Foix claiming power. A compromise in crossPyrenean rule (1278–1288) established Andorra’s dual overlordship, shared by the Bishop of Urgell and the head of the French State. These rulers have continuously interfered with and disputed local policies (Viader 2003). Economically, Andorra and its citizens have depended for centuries on cultivation, pasturage, mining, charcoal making, forges and textiles. Nevertheless, this globalized autarky has

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incorporated New World imports like potatoes, corn and tobacco among traditional crops. With regard to trade, Degage and Duro note tactfully that “Historically, the Andorran economy was founded on exchange with neighboring countries, offering products and merchandise at times difficult to find in France and Spain, but always at prices without competition” (1998: 111). Products flowed legally and illegally according to the changing political geometry of Europe. Scarce goods flowed from neutral, but war-damaged Spain, to even more devastated France after World War II; in the 1960s, this flow gave way to “European” goods for a Spain isolated by the Franco regime. As historian Peter Sahlins reminds us in his study of the nearby trans-Pyrenean area of La Cerdanya, now divided between Spain and France, “For most of those who did the smuggling, participation in the illegal trade was less a way to make a fortune than a way to survive. Poorer peasants, agricultural workers and lesser craftsmen employed by the merchants as packeteers, earned much of their livelihood from smuggling. When caught, their most common defense was that ‘they had to do it, in order to live, and preferred to be smugglers than ordinary bandits’ ” (1989: 140). Covert flows included political exiles escaping the Spanish Civil War and World War II, as well as contemporary capital flows into secret bank accounts (Tagliabue 2008). With a population still under 10,000 in the 1950s, Andorra has “modernized” in the twentieth century through increased connections via roads, travel and telecommunication. A new constitution, adopted in 1993, firmly established the power of local/state institutions. Andorra joined the United Nations in 1993 and maintains treaty relations with the EU, although control of its international relations has sparked controversy between Spain and France (Duursma 1996). The state regularly fields Olympic teams, although its athletes took the bus to

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Barcelona airport to fly to Nagano and Salt Lake City. Teams from Andorra compete in FIFA soccer tournaments and the country hosted the Games of the Small States of Europe in 1991 and 2005. Another global flow, cosmopolitan tourism, now dominates the Andorran economy. Every time I have visited, Andorra la Vella and Escaldes seethe with ecotourists, resort crowds, retirees and day shoppers patronizing stores and hotels. Eleven million visitors—more than 100 times the local citizenry— passed through this “mile-high mall” as a New York Times report labels it (Taglibue 2008). This cosmopolitan lifestyle permeates

Figure 1.6 Landscape of Andorra. Photograph by the author, 1990.

There were moments in the history of Cerdanya when inhabitants of the two Cerdanyas felt themselves to be distinct, just as there were times when they felt a common identity against the imposition of political authority from above. Today, the Cerdans maintain a certain continuity of social relations across the boundary, developing a shared myth about the “artificiality” of the division, in which the Cerdans deny the role of the state in differentiating them. Yet the national boundary remains accepted and uncontested, and the Cerdans deny their own role in the making of France and Spain (1989: 298).

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other aspects of the nation as well. Catalan, for example, the language of the Catalonia polity next door, remains the nation’s official language, but Castilian/Spanish is widely used, and French and English resound in commercial establishments. European staples and global fast food have joined Andorran/Catalan mountain cuisine. Portuguese and Galicians, who arrived as economic immigrants in the 1950s, reversing a century of Andorran outmigration, have become active in commerce and have their own ethnic bars. Meanwhile British and other Europeans live as retirees and tourists; Andorra la Vella even boasts a small Hindu community. Geographer Joan Becat argues that this demographic shift has demanded a new politics of identity, the “andorannisation de l’Andorre” (1997: 149).7 Others have questioned ecological and cultural costs. Andorra suggests the complexities of defining what is Iberian even in “traditional” European enclaves—and the importance of understanding how Europe itself must be scrutinized within changing models of globalization. As Sahlins notes with regard to the nearby valleys of la Cerdanya, geographical boundaries, despite their apparent inevitability, have been created and contested by states and citizens alike:

Sahlin’s conclusion underscores citizen action, statecraft and nations as imagined communities (Anderson 1983, 2005) and how all of these and their agents that must be kept in mind throughout this study of Iberian globalization.

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This chapter has mapped the spaces and peoples of Iberia as a foundation for the book and has introduced histories and connections that will recur in later chapters. Yet it is important not to separate the peninsula from global flows. While rocks, seas and rivers seem eternally local, they have changed their meaning through human action, local and global. In Barcelona, for example, while the Mediterranean seems to be an ancient, even primal foundation, changing valuations of the sea, the ecosystem and the people of the Mediterranean have been fundamental to the renovation of modern global Barcelona and the postmodern city of the twenty-first century celebrated in Forum 2004 and new urban postcolonial diversity. Other processes of state-formation, nation and nationality and other divisions of territory, class, gender and group within the peninsula have taken shape within global flows for millennia. This perspective on the local is thus fundamental to examining connections with Europe, Africa, Asia and the Americas, which the following chapters examine.

Iberia and the Creation of Europe


Spain and Portugal are obviously “European” to most observers, regardless of their location or perspective. Yet, what has this label, this association, meant over time? Iberian places and peoples have shared political, economic, social and cultural history with peoples and places to the North and East although these have almost always been conditioned by the wider (“non-European”) Mediterranean. Iberian societies have been central stages for the history of nations “based” in Western Europe since Roman times and bulwarks defending Europeans against “Others,” even when the peninsula itself was divided between Christendom and Islam. Being European has involved sharing politics, trade, kinship and family patterns, culture, and faith as well as centuries of wars, invasion, embargos and exile. Iberian peoples and nations have recreated Europe itself in war and peace and have participated for thousands of years in the creation of European intellectual traditions in the arts, literature, religion and philosophy. Hence, Spain and Portugal figure in numerous works on European history, politics, economics and culture—although sometimes in a secondary or separate section. Since Spain and Portugal joined the European Union in 1986, moreover, both states have repeatedly presided over this united Europe. Iberians have moved to the forefront in debates on gay marriage, relations with the Global South and the environment. Manoel de Oliveira, Pedro Almodóvar, Julio

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Medem, Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz contribute to European (and global) culture onscreen; de Oliveira, indeed, born under the Portuguese monarchy and surviving its dictatorship, was celebrated at Cannes as a global treasure in 2008 as he approached 100. José Saramago, Bernardo Atxaga, Arturo Pérez Reverte and Teresa Pàmies, among many others, have added multilingual voices to peninsular and European literature (amid other global Spanish and Portuguese voices). Any contemporary European cultural catalogue also includes Iberian arts (Antoni Tapiès, Eduardo Chillida), architecture (Santiago Calatrava, Alvaro Siza, Rafael Moneo) and music, classical, folk and popular. Meanwhile, tourism, study exchanges and economic opportunities have integrated Spain and Portugal into the everyday lives of Europeans—and have allowed younger citizens and people from newly-integrated EU nations to explore the Auberge Espagnole (2002) vision of a united Europe. Adult Spaniards and Portuguese, however, can still recall their isolation from countries to the North after World War II. “European” rejection of the authoritarian regimes of the peninsula (and peninsular mistrust) overlaid discrimination against Iberian worker-migrants in Northern Europe. Earlier stereotypes, embodied in Alexandre Dumas’ nineteenthcentury judgment, “Europe ends at the Pyrenees” had also made Iberia a distant object for modern European observers (Santos 2002). Spain’s 1960s tourist slogan “Spain is different” evoked both attraction and inequality: Spain and Portugal were exotic, cheaper, less modern, for residents and visitors alike. The iconic image of blonde Scandinavian tourists in bikinis on the Algarve, the Costa del Sol or Canary Island beaches evoked both scandal and temptation. While physically and culturally part of Europe, Iberia has been separated from Europe by politics and the power of those who define what

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Europe is at any point. Hence, before examining Iberian social and cultural flows in Africa, Asia and the Americas, we must review what “belonging to” Europe has meant as a global relation over time. To read Iberia and Europe within the model of global processes underpinning this book, in fact, demands that we go beyond worldviews that treat Europe as an implicit, unquestioned central place from which globalization radiates (Sylvan 2002). Such an image is deeply ingrained: students worldwide learn that Europe is a continent like Australia, Africa and Asia, even though this is not geographically accurate. Europe lacks a defining body of water to the East that would make it more than a peninsular extension of Eurasia, similar to the Indian subcontinent. The idea of Europe as a continent, instead, is a human geographic construct in which space, culture and power have converged as features of global identity (Verlinden 1970; Bartlett 1993; Jordan-Bychkov and Jordan 2000; Holden and Purcell 2000: 10–20; Berger and Huntington 2002). Similar questions arise if we try to delineate Europe clearly on the basis of history, culture, “race,” political ties, markets or modernity or take European norms as “rational” foundations for global ideas. The fuzzy boundaries of Europe continue to pose questions for peripheral nation-states such as Russia, Turkey and Israel while the evolution of the EU raises questions about the role of Europe within a changing world (Bornemann and Fowler 1997; Shore 2000; Sylvan 2002; Sheehan 2008, etc). To situate Iberian worlds within this model of Europe as changing process, this chapter presents five eras of Iberian “Europeanization” that illuminate different intermeshings and eras of globalization itself: (1) Roman Iberia, (2) Medieval ties of kinship and pilgrimage, (3) Early Modern Spanish continental domination, (4) Modern decline and (5) Post-modern

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reunion. This examination begins with the archaic integration of Iberians into the Roman Empire and its Mediterranean World, where shared language, religion, markets and connections created important substrata of European identity over centuries. This unity, fragmented by barbarian invasions, was shattered by the eighth-century conquest of the Iberian Peninsula by Muslims (see Chapter 3). The second section delineates medieval “reconnections” of this embattled peninsula to Europe through both elite and popular ties in counterpoint to Islamic Iberia. Here, the geopolitics of royal marriage and more popular Roman Catholic pilgrimage across northern Spain to Santiago de Compostela, in Galicia, illustrate the multiple processes that made Iberian “European” once again. Between the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries, Spain and Portugal became centers of proto-global empires. Portugal’s oceanic empire expanded across the seas into Africa, Asia, and Brazil. Portugal neither claimed other territories on the European subcontinent nor fought land wars there; its expansion will become more evident in succeeding chapters. The Golden Age of the Spanish Habsburg monarchy, however, became entangled in widespread European dynastic territorial claims and the defense of the Catholic Church against the Protestant Reformation. Portugal, too, was embroiled in these attacks around the world during its forced union with the Spanish Crown (1580–1640). Spain’s European engagement in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries spent the riches from the New World colonies on European wars through European bankers, producing severe repercussions throughout the Spanish Empire. In the nineteenth century, Spain and Portugal were surpassed worldwide by the modern industrial/colonial empires of other European nation-states. Despite the continuing wealth


Prehistoric settlements of the Iberian Peninsula included migrations from Eurasia and Africa before the peninsula’s inhabitants became incorporated into Mediterranean civilizations. Phoenicians built coastal enclaves and Greeks introduced wine and olive oil into Iberian lands, while both peoples exploited the peninsula’s agricultural and mineral wealth. Cádiz (Phoenician gadir, “fortress”) was established by the ninth century BCE to control silver from nearby mines. Empúries (from the Greek emporos, “trader, merchant”), on the

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of the New World and financial-industrial development in Catalonia and the Basque provinces, Iberia from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries became the battleground for other European powers and an apparent peripheral area in modern globalization. This decline, neither as uniform nor as complete as European critics have claimed, climaxed in authoritarian regimes that isolated Spain and Portugal from Europe from the 1930s to the 1970s. Finally, after 1975, Iberian citizens vaulted into European postmodernity in a few tumultuous decades. The final section thus traces shifting relations of power, culture and identity in this still-changing “Europeanness.” Understanding how Iberian peoples and cultures have “become European” complements and explains flows between Iberia and other peoples and places that will be examined in future chapters. As in other global movements, flows incorporate divisions of region, class, gender and knowledge: Catalans in Europe have not been the same as Andalusians, Galicians, Portuguese Jews, Castilians or Rom/Gypsies. And, while these processes may be separated for analysis, relations with Africa, Asia and the Americas are essential elements in the European identities of Iberian peoples as well.

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Catalan coast (Costa Brava), was a seventh century BCE trading center. By the fifth century BCE, when the Greek historian Herodotus used the name Iberia for the peninsula, its places and peoples had become integrated into Mediterranean connections and cultures. Roman contacts initially followed earlier Mediterranean intermediaries. In fact, Hispania initially interested Rome because Carthaginians, who had spread from the North African Mediterranean coast, used it as a base. In 218 BCE, Hannibal secured the peninsula and left from Carthago Novo (the modern Cartagena) with a massive army, including his famous elephants, to cross the Pyrenees and Alps and attack Rome. As war dragged on, Roman forces attacked the divided peninsular Carthaginians, disrupting alliances among indigenous soldiers and rulers. Publius Cornelius Scipio finally defeated them at Cádiz in 205 BCE. The Roman conquest of Iberian tribesmen climaxed at Numantia (133–4 BCE), whose defenders committed suicide rather than surrender, although Roman-tribal battles continued for centuries. Roman military conquest promoted economic and cultural influence along the Mediterranean coast and on fertile southern plains.1 While the geographer Strabo (first century CE) complained that Hispania was “incapable of supporting civilized life” (Richardson 1996: 150), former soldiers settled in colonias (privileged Roman towns) across newly-conquered Iberian lands. Iberian citizens and indigenous/hybrid allies gained privileges within the empire and these provinces exported grain, wine, salt and oil throughout the Roman world. As new roads connected cities and ports, they became centers for architecture, learning and worship and Latin as a global language. Hence, Roman-Iberians created “city after city which was filthy, noisy and overcrowded, cities whose apartment blocks were face to face with slums, markets, baths,

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palaces and temples, cities that were extraordinary melting pots where administrators and merchants from all over the world mingled with slaves, intellectuals, and soldiers as well as the native population” (Laeuchli 1972: 109). Still, this urbanism affirmed the presence of elite and intellectual globalization : “Patronage, priesthoods, office-holding, and embassies all played a part in the coded ritual of membership in a governing elite that was recognizably the same across the Roman world, whether in Britain or Syria or Spain” (Kulikowski 2004: 57). Urbane, Romanized Iberians enriched the life of the empire. The poet Lucan (Marcus Anneaus Lucanus, 39–64 CE) was born in Córdoba as was his relative, Seneca the Younger (Lucius Anneaus Seneca, 4BCE–65 CE), philosopher and tutor to the Emperor Nero. In the second century, Hispania produced a series of strong emperors: Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius. In turn, Italica (near modern Seville), the home of Trajan and Hadrian, became a global showplace through imperial favor, “with well laid-out streets, fine drainage, and large public buildings, including a new forum, a magnificent set of baths, and a big amphitheatre” (Richardson 1996: 223). Other monuments, like the magnificent aqueduct of Segovia, continue to dominate modern landscapes (see Figure 2.1). Rural development proved equally central to Roman prosperity, supplying food and exports. The countryside was often organized in latifundia—large estates whose villas were production centers with stables, presses, cellars and workshops and housing for free and slave labor: “the rural villa, built on the common Mediterranean peristyle plan, decked out in marble and mosaics, and loaded with statues and tapestries, had by the third century ceased to be the preserve of the super rich and instead become a very widespread comfort of the

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Figure 2.1 Roman Aqueduct in Segovia. Photograph by the author.

Hispano-Roman elite”(Kulikowsi 2004: 133 ff; Alarçao 1998). While many Iberians publicly adhered to the cult of the emperor, diverse beliefs filled the peninsula’s cosmopolitan cities. Jews and Christians also became active as these Mediterranean Romans achieved a “transprovincial consciousness” (Laeuchli 1972: 110). Christianity as an organized global institution expanded in counterpoint to imperial institutions. In Iberian cities, Christians moved from extramural sanctuaries


The emergence of Islam divided the post-Roman Western world between Christendom (primarily Europe) and a Muslimdominated world that extended southward into Africa and eastward to the Indian subcontinent. Muslims read this separation as the division between Dar-al-Islam, the house of submission/peace and Dar-al-Harb, the house of war. For Christians, the Reconquest claimed to retake historical territories from Islam (these critical events of Iberian global history and identity are examined in the next chapter from the perspective of Muslim/African globalization). Here, instead, I explore how small post-Visigothic kingdoms and their peoples, isolated by invasion, connected with a changing Europe through goods, faith and kinship.

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and cemeteries into urban centers and assimilated new peoples as the empire faded. At the Council of Elvira in the early fourth century CE, no less than eighty-one Iberian Christian bishops met near Granada to debate issues; such debates over orthodoxy continued after the fall of Rome. As Rome’s global authority and military power declined, assimilated Iberia became vulnerable to “outside” attacks. Mauri tribesman from Africa attacked the southern peninsula in 170 CE. In the third century, Rome gradually lost control of Iberia to Goths and other “barbarian” tribes and Visigoth kings established their capital at Toledo, where they began to assimilate local Ibero-Latin culture. In 624, Isidore of Seville (ca. 560–636) still exclaimed that “of all the lands from the West to the Indies, you, Spain, O Sacred and always fortunate mother of princes and peoples, are the most beautiful” (in Constable 1997: 30). In 711, however, Muslim invaders overran the peninsula, challenging its relations to European worlds.

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Despite the Muslim conquest of the peninsula, connections between Iberia and trans-Pyrenean peoples were never completely severed. Iberians, Christian and Muslim, exported goods to the north—wine, salt, and wool—that fed centuries of commercial relations with the Low Countries and the British Isles. Knowledge traveled as well: the peninsula’s polyglot cultures allowed medieval European intellectuals access to new knowledge and classical texts preserved by the Arabs who ruled Damascus and Alexandria while innovations in agriculture, science and medicine also spread northward. Despite the riches of Islam, though, as Olivia Constable has shown in her detailed study of Muslim Spanish trade, trajectories shifted from their East–West Mediterranean orientation toward a new arrangement in the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries in which “the markets of Christian Spain and Muslim Granada served an important—albeit peripheral—role within European commerce. The peninsula was now incorporated within the northern trading sphere” (1994: 255). People also crossed borders, within the peninsula and beyond it. Within these flows, elite marital geopolitics formalized political and economic strategies central to state consolidation throughout the Reconquest and linkages to Northern European bases of power. The wives and mistresses of Alfonso VI of Leon-Castile (1040–1109), for example, included a daughter of the Duke of Aquitaine, a sister of the Duke of Burgundy, and relations of major Muslim rulers. Such ties involved women as well as men in statecraft, while lands, armies and trade followed marital alliances. In Portugal, dynastic marriages forged European bonds that set that nation apart from what would become the Spanish state. Henry of Burgundy (1066–1112) gained the initial county of Portugal as a dowry. His heir, Afonso Henriques, declared himself King of Portugal in 1139, defending his

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realm against both Castilians and Muslims. He even enlisted Northern Europeans seeking the Second Crusade in his 1147 conquest of Lisbon. Later, Afonso III conquered the Algarve and denied direct southern access to the Atlantic to the Kingdom of Castile, creating Portugal’s modern boundaries, as noted in Chapter 1. Portuguese-English treaties were signed in the thirteenth century. John of Gaunt cemented ties between the two kingdoms through the Treaty of Windsor in 1386 and the marriage of his daughter, Philippa of Lancaster, with King João/ John I of Portugal. Philippa, in turn, became the mother of the Ínclita Geração (Illustrious Generation) of Portuguese expansion including King Duarte and his brother, Prince Henry the Navigator, who fostered Portuguese expansion worldwide. Philippa promoted Anglo-Portuguese trade and brought Catholic liturgical innovations to Portugal (Russell 2000), while Atlantic cod and Portuguese wine followed princely routes. Both nations would invoke this alliance in future European wars—Portugal against Napoleon and Great Britain, centuries later, against Hitler. While elites built kinship, states and territorial ties across Europe, pilgrimage and the flows of religious belief, architectural styles and ideas established popular connections for Iberian Christians defending their land against Muslims. In this struggle, reports of miraculous appearances of the Virgin Mary or the recovery of holy statues created sites of fervent identity and pilgrimage. Mountains and springs that had been sacred in pre-Christian times took on new meanings in a contested landscape (Christian 1996; Aviva 2001). Even today, Catholics might map Iberia in terms of Catalan identification with Our Lady of Montserrat, Aragonese reverence for Nuestra Señora del Pilar, Extremaduran connections to Our Lady of Guadalupe or devotions to La Candelaria that incorporated

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Canarians into Spain’s empire (Stevens-Arroyo 1993).2 Iberians carried these cults across the world while twentiethcentury apparitions in Fátima (Portugal, 1917), Limpias (Spain 1919–1925) and Garabanchel (Spain, 1961–1965), helped some Iberians to negotiate (or to resist) modernities (Christian 1994, 1996).3 No cult or story imbued the Reconquest more than that of Jesus’ apostle, Saint James the Major (Santiago). According to medieval legend, James traveled to Spain to preach the Gospel before his martyrdom in Judaea. After death, his corpse was said to have miraculously returned to Galicia, where it was “rediscovered” around 830 and a church built over the site. This eventually became the Cathedral-Basilica of Santiago de Compostela, most of which dates from the twelfth century (see Figure 2.2). As battles against Islam took shape, Christian soldiers reported visions of James appearing to lead them; he became Santiago Matamoros, or “Moor Slayer.” For Alfonso II of Asturias (760–842), whose dynasty had united the

Figure 2.2 The Goal of Pilgrims: Santiago de Compostela. Photograph obtained from Shutterstock.com. Copyright © by ZTS.

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Christian north, Santiago became a “powerful patron for his fledgling kingdom and a new base of power in the west of that stubborn territory” (Reilly 1993: 76). Muslims also read James’ symbolic power: Al Mansu¯ r of Córdoba sacked Santiago in 997 and carried the bells home to that city’s renowned mosque (see Figure 3.1). As Santiago’s fame spread, pilgrimage brought new peoples from the northern European Christian world into Iberia. Christians from Scandinavia, the British Isles, Italy and Central Europe, armed with staffs and the scallop shells that symbolized the saint, assembled in France to walk towards the shrine for his feast day, July 25. Pilgrims slept in newly-rebaptized cities like Pamplona and León, among peasants and in monasteries and hermitages. They read the journey’s cosmological significance in the stars, identifying the Milky Way (Via Lactea) with their Camino de Santiago (Road to Santiago). Meanwhile, along this way, “there developed the business of ministering to this constant and predictable stream with rooms, food, drink, clothing, draught animals, and cars, all of the necessities of travel over great distance in a strange land. Such humble opportunity on a growing scale redoubled the existing market characteristics of the towns along the route” (Reilly 1993: 119). By the eleventh century, the powerful Benedictine monastic order had taken an interest in the pilgrimage. Benedictines established patronage with Iberian nobility, provided spiritual support and introduced architectural, artistic and liturgical novelties. Pilgrimage to Santiago inspired travel to Jerusalem as well as Christian crusades. Knowledge of peoples along the route spread through Europe, too. A twelfth-century pilgrim’s guide, for example, extolled the church and Galicia’s richness while warning that the Basques were a “barbarous race” (Shaver-Crandell et al. 1995). In 1670, the Bolognese pilgrim Domenico Laffi still praised cities en route and observed

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Santiago’s global centrality in “the great crowds who were gathered here from all parts of the world” (1997: 176). As Spain and Portugal became empires, Santiago became a global imperial symbol. The name of the saint was given to cities in the New World while statues there showed him crushing indigenes underfoot (one can still be seen in the Cathedral of Cusco, in Peru). The sixteenth-century King Alfonso I of Kongo also made him a special patron; July 25, the feast of Santiago, became a celebration throughout his realm (Thornton 1998b: 31–35). For many modern Spaniards, however, the identification of Santiago with conservative religious domination of the state has made the pilgrimage a symbol of distance from a modern Europe. Exiled director Luis Buñuel’s La Voie Lactée (Milky Way, 1969), for example, used the pilgrimage to frame a critical dialogue on Spanish and Catholic beliefs and heresies. When anthropologist Elyn Aviva first made the pilgrimage in 1982, she saw it as a disappearing ritual in a secular Spain and Europe. Nonetheless, her 2001 text celebrated its renaissance, with thousands of pilgrims drawn by history, faith and global mysticism. Pope John Paul II, the best-selling Brazilian mystic author Paolo Coehlo (1987), and actress Shirley MacLaine (2001) have called diverse flocks to the Camino, while local Galicians began to reexamine its meanings (Roseman 2004).4 UNESCO also recognized the Old City of Santiago as a World Heritage Site in 1985, later extending this recognition to the entire Spanish route in 1993 and the French route in 1998; the Camino became the first official European Cultural Route in 1987.5 In 2001, 60,000 people made the journey (Fainberg 2003); by 2008, this number had doubled. While dynastic marriages have faded, then, popular flows have evolved into a new Euro-global symbol.

Portugal’s Golden Ages, whether in its late medieval expansion or its eighteenth-century revival, have relied on Lisbon’s control of empires beyond Europe and the resources extracted from these colonies for the homeland. Although Portugal acted as a European state with regard to these others, as I have noted, its early modern global developments are more appropriately discussed in later chapters. By contrast, Spain’s apogee in the early modern period, while relying on goods and policies of empire, entailed a unique opportunity to “unify” Europe in governance and belief. Sixteenth-century Spain dominated the continent with its money, its mercenary armies, its diplomacy and its cultural florescence. Nevertheless, wars of territory and religion ultimately would divide the state, drain its treasuries and manpower and weaken Spain’s status within the emergence of modern Europe. While dynastic marriages had consolidated Portugal’s throne and European alliances early on, within the Trastámara dynasty of Castile, kinship with multiple ruling families became the stuff of potential alliances amid bitter struggles for succession. Isabel of Castile (1451–1504) emerged victorious and in 1469, she wed Ferdinand II of Aragon-Catalonia (1452–1516), using his support to counter Portuguese claims to the Castilian throne. With the death of Ferdinand’s father in 1479, these Catholic Kings achieved a dual personal authority that laid the foundations of modern Spain. By the end of the fifteenth century, these monarchs had completed the Christian Reconquest (Reconquista) of Iberia, opened bridges to the New World and began to “purify” the state through the expulsion of the Jews and new controls over Muslims, converts and heretics (see Chapter 6).

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The 1479 marriage of their children, Juan and Juana, to the siblings Margaret and Philip, children of the Habsburg Archduke Maximilian I of Austria, encircled France through dynastic alliance. After Juan died childless, Castile’s crown passed to Juana in 1504, who ruled with Philip of Burgundy until his death in 1506. Her father contested her mental abilities and became regent for her son, Charles. Ferdinand kept the crown of Aragon until his death in 1516, during which time he regained Roussillon and the Cerdanya from France, annexed Navarre and became embroiled in Italy. Charles I finally assumed the thrones of these Spanish kingdoms in 1516 as a Habsburg. A native speaker of French and Flemish (but not of Castilian), he inherited a tangled web of rights: King of Castile-León (and its New World empire), King of Aragon-Catalonia (including possessions in Italy), ruler of Burgundy and Archduke of Austria. While in Barcelona in 1519, he was elected Holy Roman Emperor (Charles V). In fact, until the end of his life, Charles rarely lived in Spain, which remained one part (or set of parts) within his European dominions. Only under his son, Phillip II, did Spain clearly become the center of a still loosely-articulated world empire, widely known as the “Spanish Monarchy.” While such ties potentially might have articulated a new European unity, Charles (1500–1558), his son Philip II (1527–1598) and their heirs instead found themselves defending these complicated entanglements militarily and diplomatically even as their empire expanded westward. Under these Habsburgs, Spain became the center of an empire whose global reach had never been known before. Yet, this globalization was strained by political, economic and religious conflict, especially in its European lands. Size, complexity, and financial need all created difficulties. The peninsular kingdoms that constituted Spain, like other

The emperor and some of his advisers might proclaim the ideal of a great Christian empire extending over two hemispheres with its base in Spain . . . The struggle against Protestantism and the Turk might appear as the supreme mission of Spain and her empire. But whenever popular sentiment could make itself heard, either in some collective impulse like the comuneros or in the writings of chroniclers, or in the protests of Cortes or in the advice of his Spanish administrators, or in the latent opposition to Charles’ son and heir in the 1550s, then it was obvious that the urgent preoccupations of Spaniards were nearer home, more national in their objectives and more economical in their cost. (Lynch 1991: 82)6

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parts of the empire, provided their own revenues through taxes augmented by bonds and special levies when necessary. In the early days of American expansion, the monarchy relied on private capital to cover expenses; by the time of Philip II, the crown took more direct control over the colonies. Nevertheless, much of this wealth flowed towards mercenary armies used to suppress revolts, draining Iberian homelands and the Low Countries and fomenting local discontent across the extended empire (Thompson 1995; Pagden 1995; Kamen 2003). By the mid-sixteenth century, Spanish revenues often were mortgaged in advance to bankers in Italy and Northern Europe, a globalization of capital that challenged political power. Revenues from the state and empire provided cash for troops in wars across Europe and eventually, were used to pay off the onerous accumulation of interest on loans. As Spain took shape as a state and empire amongst European rivals, divisions in administration, language, economies and culture influenced its costly global aspirations:

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In some areas, Spanish goals intersected with complicated local divisions. The Italian peninsula, for example, had long been fragmented by different polities and competing allegiances. Through his maternal grandfather, Charles claimed Sicily, Sardinia and the Kingdom of Naples. Charles’ attempts to extend these domains brought conflict with Italian citystates, the French and the Papacy. Castilian troops proved effective, but conquests were sometimes ephemeral. While the maritime Genoese were faithful bankers and allies, other relations shifted rapidly: Charles’ tutor, Adrian of Utrecht, became Pope in 1522, but Charles’s soldiers sacked Rome in 1527. Nonetheless, three years later, a new Pope Clement VII would crown Charles emperor. The Holy Roman Empire was another area of intense fragmentation despite symbolic claims to unity dating back to Charlemagne. Over centuries, its political units had agreed to an elected leader, a position that the Habsburgs had dominated since the thirteenth century. Its lands also hosted religious dissent, as people and princes embraced the reforms of Martin Luther and other Protestants opposing Roman Catholics, including Spain and the Habsburgs. While Charles divided the realm with his brother, Ferdinand, entangling family alliances and involvement with political and religious issues in central Europe continued until the end of Habsburg rule in Spain in the 1700s. Most problematic for Charles and Philip was the North Sea coastal region known as the Low Countries, now comprising the Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg. This was Charles’ birthplace and paternal inheritance. Its cities had long had important economic ties with Spain, whether the wool trade of the Mesta or banking. Yet, the civic demands of its entrepreneurial citizens and their religious divisions fueled the bloody Eighty Years’ War (1568–1648) that drained the

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wealth of Spain. Moreover, the independent Dutch attacked outposts of the Iberian Empire worldwide. Despite such warfare, as historian Henry Kamen notes, “Down to the 1550s, there was no discernible anti-Spanish feeling in Europe, outside Italy. Europeans looked on Spaniards with interest and curiosity rather than fear. They distrusted them only because Spaniards appeared to be tools in the scheming hands of the emperor” (2003: 81). Later, as Philip II waged further, continual wars, other European states and citizens became more active enemies. France, for example, contested Spanish claims to French, Italian, and eventually Spanish territories. At times, treaties and marriages still allowed respites: in 1559, Philip II wed Elizabeth of Valois, daughter of Henri II of France. England also juggled ties to Portugal, rivalries with France and strategic interests in the Netherlands and the New World against challenges from Spain. Again, royal women became tokens and agents of alliance. Charles, for example, contemplated marriage to his cousin Mary Tudor, the daughter of Henry VIII of England, before he married Isabella of Portugal. Both women, like Charles, were grandchildren of Ferdinand of Aragon. Henry VIII offered Mary to both Francis I of France and Francis’ son. Later, his own marital difficulties led him to renounce his Spanish wife, Catherine of Aragon, de-legitimize his daughter and separate the English church from Rome. When Mary became Queen of England as a Catholic, however, she wed Charles’ Spanish son, Philip, in 1554. This highly political marriage and dual crown had no offspring (despite repeated false pregnancies), but unnerved many Britons. After Mary’s death in 1558, King Philip tried to court her younger sister, Elizabeth. Enmity between the two countries increased with Spanish losses to British privateers and the 1588 destruction of the Spanish Armada, as Philip turned from courtship to force.

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European involvement resonated in the peninsula, too. Portugal, not surprisingly, had complicated relations with Spain. The 1494 Treaty of Tordesillas divided these states’ newly-discovered lands overseas, but relations within the peninsula were not so clear. Again, marital and family claims legitimized political maneuvers. Through his mother, Philip II was the grandson of King Manuel I of Portugal; his first wife was both the daughter of the King of Portugal and his cousin. Portugal faced a crisis in succession in the late sixteenth century: Prince Sebastian, born after his father’s death, became a three-year-old king on the death of his grandfather in 1554. This messianic princeling died at 24 in an ill-conceived attempt to conquer Morocco. His uncle, Cardinal Henriques assumed the throne without being released from priestly celibacy. On Henriques’ death Philip thus claimed the throne by descent, uniting Spain and Portugal. While Philip had the support of many aristocrats, merchants and clergy, including the powerful Jesuits, the Portuguese people were less enthused. His army enforced his claim and the union survived for sixty years. Philip’s trusted advisor, Cardinal Granvelle, argued in favor or reorienting the newly united empire towards its maritime expanse by moving the capital to Lisbon. Still, Philip kept his massive bureaucracies and correspondence in Castile. In 1640, Portuguese nobles revolted against Spanish neglect and subordination. With English support, they gained liberty from a Spain much weakened by its involvement elsewhere in the Thirty Years’ War. Divisions within “Spain” took on global ramifications. Castile led the exploration of the New World and provided men for European wars, both of which drained the kingdom of manpower. Philip II Castilianized the monarchy, drawing on Castile’s men and language to run the empire. While these choices underpinned the universalization of Castilian Spanish

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(see Chapter 1), the “Hispanization” of Castile met with local resistance (Lynch 1991; Thompson 1995). Aragon and Catalonia, meanwhile, maintained separate administrations, rights, language and laws. Their parliaments often managed to frustrate royal attempts to raise taxes or foster their participation in imperial projects. Thus, “the Catalans had a large contingent at the battle of Lepanto, but were poorly represented in the Spanish Armada” (Lynch 1991: 293). As in Portugal, their resistance to Habsburg imperial designs erupted in rebellion, with French aid, in 1640. By 1652, the crowns were reunited, with few serious alterations in their relations (Elliott 1963), although trans-Pyrenean Catalonia was ceded to France in 1659. Under the Habsburgs, Spain’s European battles were not merely political and economic. Spanish globalization remained deeply infused by the religious visions forged by centuries of Reconquest as its armies defended Catholicism across the bloody battlefields of Europe. The Habsburgs also fought Islam in the Mediterranean. In 1571, Juan of Austria, the illegitimate half-brother of Philip II, commanded a “Holy League” of European Mediterranean states, financed by Italian bankers. These allies decisively defeated more than 200 Turkish ships at the battle of Lepanto, off the coast of modern Greece, limiting Ottoman expansion and defining Eastern boundaries for Europe. Even as Iberian missionaries preached Catholicism throughout the world (see Chapters 3–6), gains from endless religious conflicts in Europe and the Mediterranean proved less clear. Meanwhile, religious purification in Spain meant increasing controls on the descendants of Jews and Muslims already restricted by Ferdinand and Isabel. The Inquisition, introduced by Ferdinand of Aragon in 1480, haunted Iberian globalization. Many Jewish exiles and even converts took their skills and connections to Spain’s European and Mediterranean

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competitors (see Chapter 6). Moriscos—converts from Islam— rebelled in 1500 and 1568 against decrees that constrained their language and culture, revolts that were repressed with great bloodshed. By the sixteenth century, suspicion of new ideas from the rest of Europe divided Spanish thought from a continental flow of ideas. The Inquisition, acting as a Church-state tribunal, policed humanist discussions among Catholic reformers, social and sexual deviations, and the conduct of forced converts from Judaism and Islam (Kamen 1999; Kagan and Dyer 2004). Other decrees of Philip II denied Spaniards foreign universities and curtailed foreign books, creating a climate of intolerance and isolation beyond the Inquisition. Again, as historian Henry Kamen observes, “While Castilians enjoyed almost unlimited political horizons, they contracted their cultural perspectives by defining in a wholly exclusive sense what it meant to be a ‘Spaniard’ ” (2003: 342). Despite these widespread dark images of Inquisitorial Spain, the sixteenth century also witnessed a Golden Age of learning and culture in Spain. Philip II actively supported the Council of Trent, for example, which clarified doctrines and reforms of the Catholic Church. Spain contributed to the Catholic Counter-Reformation through the Basque Ignatius of Loyola (1491–1556), founder of the Jesuits and the Carmelite mystics and reformers Teresa of Avila (1515–1582) and John of the Cross (1542–1591). Imperial power and religious patronage resounded in the arts, architecture, literature and music. Philip planned and built the gigantic, austere monastery-palace of El Escorial (see Figure 2.3) as his monastic seat of government. Palaces and cities were adorned with the paintings of El Greco (1540–1614), Diego Velázquez (1599– 1660) and Francisco de Zurbarán (1598–1664). Audiences flocked to the plays of Lope de Vega (1562–1635), Tirso de

Molina (1583–1648) and Calderón de la Barca (1600–1681). The poetry of Luis de Góngora (1561–1627) and Francisco Quevedo (1581–1645) also pushed Castilian literature to new heights. The Castilian language served as the lingua franca of the Empire. Literary works continued to appear in Catalan, but Castilian language texts, written in the language of Empire were read and published worldwide. Habsburg Spain soon faced declining returns from its overseas colonies, along with depopulation and inflation within the peninsula. Even as Spain lagged behind the development of capitalist strongholds of Europe, its citizens continued to produce works that both embodied and questioned Spanish identities, while coming to be regarded as “universal.” Perhaps none does so more than Don Quixote de la Mancha (1605– 1615), the work of Miguel de Cervantes (1547–1616), a disabled veteran of the battle of Lepanto. Don Quixote laid the

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Figure 2.3 The Monastery-Palace of the Escorial: Heart of an Empire. Photograph obtained from Shutterstock.com. Copyright © by Serge Lamere.

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foundations for the Western novel and Western images of Spain in the figures of a deluded impoverished nobleman, his earthy peasant squire, his imagined lady love and his travels across Iberian landscapes and societies in pursuit of his quests (Ortega y Gasset 1961; Salazar Rincón 1986). Although they had achieved global power and had united and codified Spanish rule, Charles I and Philip II bequeathed problems of finance, religion and power to their weaker successors. J.H. Elliott (1989) has shown that Spain’s decline was more complex and long term than is commonly believed, especially when seen in the context of economic and social crises in the rest of Europe and the world. Still, one cannot deny Spain’s loss of military power, and it seems all too appropriate that the Spanish Habsburg line ended with the death of Charles II “the Bewitched” in 1700. The rival claims of the French-backed Bourbons and the Austrian Habsburgs (with British and Dutch support) turned Spain itself into a European battleground in the War of Spanish Succession (1701–1714). Gibraltar, the rock that controls the crossroads of the Mediterranean and Atlantic, passed into British possession (as would Menorca, Buenos Aires, Havana and Manila, at least temporarily, later in the eighteenth century). Catalonia, Aragon and Valencia declared in favor of the Habsburg pretender against the (French) Bourbon Philip V. Britain abandoned these allies, however, and this conflict ended, as we have seen, in Catalan defeat. The peace treaties of 1714, thus, “opened a new era in Spanish history, leaving the peninsular monarchy alone in Europe and subordinated to the dictates of two emergent world powers, France and Britain” (Kamen 2003: 448). The complex Spanish expansion outlined here illustrates general themes of globalization as well. Habsburg monarchs ruled an empire of dimensions never seen before and drew on its varied peoples as peasants, workers, soldiers, missionaries,


“We Spaniards are the Indians of the rest of Europe” lamented Benito Jerónimo Feijoo, an eighteenth-century Spanish thinker (cited in Fernández 1996: 32), evoking both extreme difference and weakness within a global frame that Spain had created. Images of decline, whether created in the peninsula or

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merchants and artists to overcome cultural and spatial divisions in Europe and the world. Charles’ decentered empire gave way to Phillip’s control from Castile, which reinforced the image of a strong monarch and a single belief system. Such a topdown project of unitary globalization, however, spurred resistance from local and national groups within Iberia, in other European societies, and around the world. The global empire faced difficulties of organization and identity that would challenge Spain and its colonies for centuries. Meanwhile, European and global contexts evolved. Other European states fought Spain on the continent and across wider Iberian worlds, testing new forms of government, military organization, economic globalization and colonialism. Spain’s lessons would hardly deter later attempts to unify Europe under a single ruler—the wars of Napoleon and Hitler would ensnare Spain and Portugal again in such projects. Golden Age Spain foreshadowed many problems of imperial globalization and highlighted complex relations among colonies, homelands and “internal” divisions. Nevertheless, the elite cultural production of Golden Age Iberia fundamentally shaped European/Western traditions of aesthetic expression, spirituality and even elegance as the empire’s economic underpinnings collapsed. Flows of people, culture and ideas are not simply reproductions of shifting global wealth and power: they also articulate doubts, dreams and critical reflections on globalization.

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abroad, were profoundly shaped by memories of the world power that both Spain and Portugal had held as proto-global empires. Both states continued to maintain extensive overseas possessions into the nineteenth century, for example, although most Latin American states had declared their independence by mid-century. Still, they seemed to be secondary players in European expansion in Africa and Asia. The Napoleonic invasions, described in the last chapter through the history of Oliven()a, were an important watershed in the sense that global wars previously fought across Europe and new worlds now scarred the Iberian peninsula. Despite political, economic and social problems that led to recurrent civil wars and national coups in the nineteenth century, some areas, notably Catalonia, the Basque provinces and Asturias began to develop new strengths, thanks to modern industrialization, finance and global trade. This negotiation of past and present, empire and homeland took different courses in Portugal and Spain. In both states, weakened, divided regimes into the twentieth century were followed by authoritarian dictatorships that endured for decades. New “European” currents were already influential in eighteenth century Iberia. Despite losses in its Asian empire, Portugal used newly discovered wealth from Brazil to create Lisbon’s second Golden Age, epitomized by Sebastião de Melo, First Marquis of Pombal (1699–1782; Maxwell 1995). Pombal, an ambitious rural aristocrat, married into wealth and had served as ambassador to London and Vienna before assuming broad powers in Portugal. After the 1755 earthquake, he took charge of reconstructing Lisbon (and took credit for it). In addition, he battled entrenched interests including the nobility and the Jesuits, restructured the colonial economy through monopoly companies responsible to the king, widened education, ended discrimination against

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descendants of Jewish converts and freed African slaves in Portugal (but not in Brazil). Still, these reforms, linked to the European Enlightenment, were tainted by his dictatorial style and corruption. After his downfall, a closed, conservative Catholic church retained power and Britain dominated overseas affairs, while Portugal’s peasants lived “in almost feudal conditions of dependency” (Birmingham 1993: 65). In Spain, meanwhile, eighteenth-century Bourbon monarchs centralized administration and introduced some reforms in education and economic policy that filtered the Enlightenment through their despotism. In the early nineteenth century, Napoleon’s invasion raised new issues in the peninsula and abroad. The Portuguese court fled to Brazil, creating a bilocal royal family even as English access to Brazilian ports and Brazilian autonomy cut Portugal off from its treasure house. While the monarchy eventually returned to Lisbon, Brazil became independent in 1825. For the first time in centuries, Portugal needed to depend primarily on its own agriculture, fishing and industry, which lagged far behind the rest of Europe. Modernization of agriculture proved slow as did the growth of industry and infrastructure for a nation lacking coal and iron, leading to rural unrest and crises. As its balance of trade sank into deficit, Portuguese dependence on Great Britain grew.7 Intellectuals trained at the historical University of Coimbra emerged as a reformist Generation of 1870, seeking causes of national decline (including Britain’s role in the nation’s life) and grappling with its effects. Nostalgic for past glory, others looked to Africa for the wealth of Asia or Brazil. Weak monarchs, stagnation and despair drained Portugal, while ordinary citizens migrated elsewhere; by 1910, their remittances constituted one-tenth of state revenues (Oliveira Marques 1972 II: 373). Spaniards also fought a War of Independence against

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Napoleon, and its liberal movements and Constitution of 1812 became vanguards of European reform before a more repressive regime reasserted itself (Bayly 2002). As its colonies declared independence, Spain faced serious economic and political problems within an oligarchical society during a century torn by political upheavals and civil wars, including conservative Carlists in Catalonia and the Basque countries. As noted in Chapter 1, nineteenth-century industrialization and trade took off along the Mediterranean and Atlantic coasts, sometimes building on remaining imperial ties to Cuba, Puerto Rico or the Philippines. In other regions, agriculture expanded and peasant income increased. Agricultural revenues, however, never caught up with levels in other modern European states, which meant weak markets for Spain’s industry. Industrialization also had difficulty gaining footholds in markets outside the colonial sphere (Prados de la Escosura 2000). The stronger industrialization and colonial expansion of long-time rivals Britain and France exacerbated Spain’s problems, as did Spain’s powerful regional caciques (bosses), who continued to dominate state politics at the expense of working masses. These forces led to the collapse of Spain’s first attempt at a Republic in 1873–74. Meanwhile, anarchists, workers and their nascent associations emerged as strident voices and significant political forces in centers like Barcelona and Asturias (Benet Marti 1976). As diverse nationalist discussions surged throughout Iberia by the end of the nineteenth century, they shared in Europewide reasseartions of nationalism. Leaders might look across state boundaries, as Galicians did in learning from Portugal as well as Catalonia (Harrington 2005), Catalans did in examining the experiences of the Irish and other European nationalities (McDonogh 1989) or anarchists did in their contacts with other European workers and colonial subjects (Anderson

Authoritarian Regimes in the Twentieth Century

Twentieth-century Spain and Portugal stood in weak positions vis-à-vis other nations of Europe, whether at home or in their remaining colonies. Such weakness led to further fragmentation and changes of government before strong centralizing and authoritarian regimes came to power in each. In Portugal, the monarchy fell in 1911, and was replaced by a fragile republic that proved unable to deal with social and economic crises. A 1926 military dictatorship permitted the rise of the professor-politician António de Oliveira Salazar. Salazar became Finance Minister in 1928 and Prime Minister in 1932; under the new constitution of 1933, he would rule Portugal for three decades.8 His conservative, Catholic and militaristic Estado Novo (New State) regime recalled imperial glory in a man who: considered himself the guide of the nation, believed that there were things that only he could do . . . and convinced more and more of his countrymen of that too. His all-pervasive interference in every field of administration even extended to programs of celebrations and festivities. In 1938, for instance, he drafted a

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2005). The resurgence of those who would identify themselves with nationalities within the Spanish state could not remedy the problems of the whole, faced with backward agriculture, corrupt and self-serving landowner-politicians and a calcified bureaucracy. In 1898, Spain faced an upstart United States in a new global war and lost within six months. As in Portugal, Spanish voices of criticism gave rise to the Generation of 1898, including figures like Miguel de Unamuno and Azorín (José Martínez Ruiz). Their somber visions would bring the century to a close with calls for state reform and spiritual renewal.

full program of the 1939 and 1940 commemorations of Portugal’s eight hundred years of autonomy and three hundred years of restoration of independence, down to the details of the kinds of books to be officially published and the pageantry to be organized. He became more and more of a dictator, more and more inclined to deify himself and to trust others less.

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(Oliveira Marques 1976 II: 215)

For decades, Salazar maintained tight national control. He balanced complicated European ties to other fascist regimes, including Madrid, with longstanding ties to Portugal’s traditional ally, Great Britain. In addition, he dealt with the United States, which sought World War II bases in the Azores in 1943. While Salazar’s Portugal joined NATO in 1949, the USSR blackballed it from the UN until 1955, the same year that Spain was permitted to join. Salazar sought to revive the splendors of Empire in Portugal’s remaining colonies as well, especially in Africa. The military costs of this reinterpretation of global imperialism drained the already-impoverished nation economically, politically and socially prior to the revolution of 1974 (see Chapter 4). Meanwhile Salazar’s regime isolated its citizens from the evolution of post-World War II Europe. Chasms of class, nationality and politics also tore Spain apart in the early twentieth century. The near-end of empire in 1898 was followed by continuing losses of conscripts in wars in Morocco and protests at home. In Barcelona, conflicts between workers and owners erupted in violence in the streets; anarchists became vocal among peasants in the South and leftists linked to international movements worked among workers in cities (Balfour 1997, 2002). Spain boomed as a neutral nation in World War I (a function of weakness as well as royal kinship), but violence returned thereafter. Finally, in

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1923, military officers replaced the oligarchic parliamentary rule installed with the constitutional monarchy in the 1870s with a dictatorship under General Miguel Primo de Rivera. He promised stability at the cost of repression of class and nationalist divisions. King Alfonso XIII, many industrialists and landowning elites were willing to work under these conditions, and a wider public accepted stability. Primo de Rivera’s seven-year rule included “pacification” of Morocco and the erratic development of a modern economic infrastructure. Yet, the regime did not survive long-term economic strains or its failure to resolve nationalist or class issues. Growing political opposition forced Primo de Rivera to leave Spain in January 1930. Alfonso XIII followed him a year later, as Spain’s Second Republic was declared in April 1931. In the Republican period (1931–1939), many debates surfaced that incorporated local issues within wider European currents and parties amid the global pressures of an economic depression. Parties from the left and nationalist groups sought rapid reform of land inequalities, education, centralized political rule, women’s suffrage and other issues that had divided the state. Conservatives resisted, including landowners, business elites and Catholic leaders. From 1931 to 1936, governments swung between left and right, so that sweeping initiatives were often truncated. Agendas conflicted among reformers, too. Just as the Republic was proclaimed in 1931, for example, Francesc Macià proclaimed the Catalan Republic within an Iberian federation—a position he renegotiated quickly with state leftists, centrists and republicans into the foundation of the autonomous Generalitat (an elected government for Catalonia, whose name recalls medieval glory). In 1934, facing a right wing government, Catalan President Lluís Companys took the same step. This time, however, his action meant imprisonment and the suspension of Catalan autonomy.

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Divisions opened across Spanish society. Many military leaders who had withdrawn support from Primo de Rivera and the monarchy supported the Republic, but junior officers and the Foreign Legion looked for new regimes to resolve what they saw as social and political chaos. Universal suffrage and educational opportunities for women came with the Republic, but many women supported conservative Catholic positions. Leftist, populist and nationalist parties disagreed within governments even as their ambitious reform efforts sought to bring Spain into line with leftist governments elsewhere in Europe, particularly in France. Spain’s artists, filmmakers, architects, authors, reformers and intellectuals raised diverse voices on a European and global stage. Poet-dramatist Federico García Lorca evoked the gypsy traditions of the South amid other creators of the Generation of ’27. World-renowned artists Salvador Dalí, Pablo Picasso and Joan Miró connected the avant-gardes of Barcelona and Paris (Falgués et al. 2006). Luis Buñuel explored film, finding surreal non-fiction worlds of poverty and malnutrition he depicted in a benighted Extremaduran village of Las Hurdes (Land Without Bread, 1933), before he too, left the country. Spanish political and social issues also played out in a Europe divided amongst changing states. Bitter divisions of class, nation and rights were smothered by fascist regimes in Germany and Italy and Stalin’s dictatorship in the Soviet Union, while governments of appeasement in Great Britain and France sought to avoid any continental war. These forces set the stage for tragic Spanish events to follow. In July 1936, Spanish General Francisco Franco launched a military rebellion in Africa that became a bloody Civil War throughout the Spanish state. The divisions, participants and victims of this war were overwhelmingly Iberian, pitting

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peoples and regions against each other, exacerbating divisions of class and politics, and raising issues of religion, rights and vision for the future across cities and countryside. Spain’s position in Europe also had a clear impact on the war even though Europeans varied in their support and intervention. While Britain expressed concern and the French Popular Front provided erratic support for the embattled Republic, only the Soviet Union provided effective military aid, while challenging democratic discussion within a divided Republican leadership. Volunteer soldiers primarily organized by the Communist International—the International Brigades— brought individual Europeans and Americans to fight alongside Republican troops in what many perceived as a global leftist crusade. On Franco’s side, Hitler and Mussolini provided state-organized military support. Hitler used the town of Gernika, the seat of the Basque parliament, as a laboratory for testing the aircraft and strategies of bombing civilians that he would later use in World War II (Wheatley 1989; Kirshbaum and Sideroff 2003). Picasso’s famous painting of the bombing was displayed in the Spanish Pavilion at the 1937 Paris World’s Fair, capturing the agony of Spain’s citizens during an especially cruel war (Robinson et al. 2006). Perhaps five percent of Spain’s population died in the war and its aftermath (1936–1940) through warfare, executions and civilian casualties. Franco’s troops took Valencia, Barcelona, and finally Madrid in 1939, bringing the war to a close and imposing a centralist regime with Catholic and military trappings. By this time, European interests had turned to Germany’s intervention in Czechoslovakia. Thus the postwar reprisals of the victorious rebel fascists in Spain and the plight of hundreds of thousands of politicians, artists, soldiers and ordinary citizens who fled the country were overshadowed by a European war.

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Seventy years later, the human cost of the Spanish Civil War still haunts the nation and the world (as the 2007 film Pan’s Labyrinth suggests). By framing the war within its European context, where Spanish conflicts were taken up and then abandoned by powerful European players, I do not want to denigrate local issues or suffering. A voluminous literature, in fact, continues to explore many dimensions of this conflict and its implications (see Preston 1996; Thomas 2001; Payne 2004; Alpert 2004; Romero Salvadó 2005 among recent works). These works confirm the distance between Spain’s Early Modern protagonism and its weak European position in the 1930s. Peace distanced Spain from Europe, especially after the Franco regime survived the fall of Hitler and Mussolini. It was scorned as a fascist survivor in a Europe recovering from Nazi ravages. Internally, however, Franco cloaked his regime in traditions of the Reconquest and Empire and the support of Catholic conservatives who controlled schools and enforced public morality. He found an ally as well in his conservative Portuguese neighbor. Nevertheless, resistance to the Franco and Salazar regimes never disappeared in homes, in the streets or in positions of exile further away. Over time, these states gradually regained a subordinate, but participatory, position in “the West.” Generalísimo Franco, as head of state, proffered Spain as an enemy of communism (Wigg 2005), a stance that promoted European interests and North American investments. By the 1960s, Franco’s technocratic ministers (often associated with the conservative Catholic organization Opus Dei) and outside investment improved living standards. Films and some intellectuals tested the limits of political and cultural freedoms of this era of apparent openness (Faulkner 2006). Meanwhile, new sites of globalization connected Iberian peoples and

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Europe beyond the Pyrenees even before the end of state dictatorships in the 1970s. Despite official objections to Iberian regimes, Europeans rediscovered Iberia in the 1960s on the beaches of the Algarve, on the Costa Brava of Catalonia and Costa del Sol of Andalusia, in the Balearics and Canary Islands. This meant an infusion of capital and ideas to previously poor rural and coastal areas. Villagers isolated from postwar global development were exposed to dreams (sometimes highly gendered) and new modernities. Spanish filmmaker Luis García Berlanga captured early inklings of this transformation in his masterful Bienvenido Mr. Marshall (Welcome Mr. Marshall, 1953) in which Spanish villagers transform their town into an Andalusian attraction in order to attract North American visitors and the Marshall plan, while dreaming of what “America” might mean for them. European encounters with a quaint touristic Iberia were balanced by Iberian emigration from villages to metropoles like Barcelona, Madrid, Lisbon and Bilbao, surrounded with hastily-built industrial suburbs. Hundreds of thousands of Iberians also sought low-paying work in the rest of Europe. For example, by the 1920s, a Spanish community had emerged in Seine Saint Denis, on the northern edge of Paris. This was a family-oriented “village” with churches and schools, labeled by the French as “petit espagne” (Little Spain). Refugees from the Civil War later linked this “village” to collaboration with the Resistance. A final wave of Spaniards arrived in the 1950s, alongside Portuguese and Maghrebis, and spread through Paris. These economic migrants might return home each year, but their children become European bi-nationals (Taboada 1987; Lillo 2004). The Portuguese population in France, meanwhile, soared from 50,000 in 1962 to 750,000 in 1972 (M. Antunes da

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Cunha 2002).9 French documentaries from the 1960s to the 1980s stressed the dilemmas of Portuguese immigrants in squatter settlements (Mills-Affif 2004), before the Portuguese “problem” was eclipsed by concern with “non-European” immigrants. In 1982, in the notorious Quatre Mille housing project of La Courneuve, outside Paris, 15 percent of residents were Portuguese and an equal number were Spanish or Italian, complementing the 60 percent Algerian/North African majority in a diverse, but non-French milieu (Avery 1987: 75).10 FROM DICTATORSHIP TO POSTMODERNITY

Iberian Europeanization changed radically with the end of dictatorships in the 1970s. In Portugal, the dream of a colonial empire in Africa exhausted the regime at home, and led to a military coup on April 25, 1974. Soldiers marched on strongholds of the regime and civilians put red carnations in their guns as a nearly bloodless revolt toppled the Estado Novo. Although headed by a scion of the Salazar regime, this “Revolution of Carnations” widened involvement in social and political change: 1.5 million people publicly celebrated May Day that year. Within two tumultuous years, Portugal had granted independence to its African colonies, elected a socialist government and begun a lengthy, albeit successful, modernization and integration into the politics, economy and culture of modern Europe (Maxwell 1995; MacQueen 1998; Royo 2004). Spain made a surprisingly smooth transition from Francoism to electoral rule as well. Public opposition to Franco and more cosmopolitan preferences strengthened in the 1970s, and gained support in some sectors of the Catholic Church and among Europeanized elites. The 1973 assassination of Franco’s Prime Minister, Luis Carrero Blanco by the Basque nationalist group ETA eliminated an expected successor for the

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aging dictator. The key transitional figure became Juan Carlos de Borbón y Borbón, grandson of Alfonso XIII. Born in Rome in 1938, he had been brought back to Spain for his education in 1948. Franco had named him Prince of Spain and heir apparent in 1969. As king, Juan Carlos, despite decades of public alliance with the regime, proved swift and capable in enacting changes after Franco’s death in 1975. He brought many elements of the Spanish state into dialogue and fostered elections in 1977, followed by a new constitution promoting diversity and democracy (1978). Spanish voters moved from an initially-appointed conservative regime led by Adolfo Suárez (1976–1981) to a more dynamic Socialist government under the Andalusian Felipe González (1982–1996). Juan Carlos himself became an heroic figure to many as he appeared on television in 1981 to oppose a coup led by disaffected police and military officers. For the last three decades, under elected Socialist and conservative regimes, Spain has worked to be both Spanish and European. Its stability and commitment to democracy have promoted ties to NATO and the EU, as well as investment from and in Europe (Guillén 2005; Casilda Bejar 2002). Affiliation with the EU stabilized and promoted democratization and development in Spain and Portugal (Royo 2004). Still, Prime Minister José M. Aznar’s active alliance with the U.S. in Iraq proved politically divisive and devastating at home. Madrid suffered an Islamist terrorist bombing in 2004 that his conservative government initially tried to blame on ETA. Aznar lost power to a groundswell electoral reaction in favor of the Socialists. Under José Luis Zapatero, they again triumphed over the conservative Partido Popular in national elections in 2008. Again, Spain can claim to be progressive within a European framework since it has the first cabinet with a female majority as well as Europe’s—or the world’s—first pregnant

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Minister of Defense, the Catalan Socialist Carme Chacón Piqueras. The years since the 1970s have been a heady time of social and cultural change, as Spain and Portugal vaulted from artificially encapsulated conservative Catholic modernity to postmodern explorations in which political, sexual, cultural and artistic freedom converged with economic expansion. The films of Pedro Almodóvar, in many ways, capture the surreal juxtapositions of past and present, local and global that shaped everyday Spanish life in flux. Even within Almodóvar, the female working class family of ¿Qué he hecho yo para merecer esto? (What Have I Done to Deserve This? 1984) seems eons away from the postmodern and sexually heterogenous urban middle class Madrid of Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, 1988) or the pansexual Barcelona of Todo sobre mi madre (All about my Mother, 1999). For many observers, the Iberian transition from dictatorship to democracy has been the forerunner of global political changes. Samuel Huntington proclaimed “The third wave of democratization in the modern world began, implausibly and unwittingly, at twenty-five minutes after midnight, Thursday, April 25, 1974, in Lisbon, Portugal” (1991: 3). Changes of class, nationality, gender and citizenship are still debated across Iberia, but local voices now engage in dialogues with European parties, academies and media. The European Union brought Europe to Spain and Portugal through investments, bureaucracies and regulations, and freer flows of people and goods. European dairy products, pasta and fashion have appeared in Iberian stores, while Spanish producers have struggled to identify local treasures such as Rioja wines, cheeses, sausages that can compete in wider European markets. While Galician-based Zara has spread worldwide, H & M, Dolce & Gabbana and Prada have entered Iberian

Britons in Spain argue for their rights to be European citizens; to move freely within Europe without the need for residence and work permits; to live in a European country and claim reciprocal health and social security benefits. On the other hand, they consider themselves to be “guests” in Spain and are grateful for being accepted and welcomed as foreigners into the host community. They spend their time in ethnic niches yet consider themselves to be absorbing some elements of Spanish culture. They joke about Spanish backwardness and slowness while celebrating the relaxed way of life. They construct discrete communities and call them international ones. (O’Reilly 2000: 165; See Waldren 1996)

As a character in Salman Rushdie’s Moor’s Last Sigh observes, encountering an Andalusian village replete with Prada, Gucci and Chicago Ribs for the consumption of local polyglot expatriates, “Perhaps these expatriates are the new Moors” (1995: 390).

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markets. Banks, capital and investments also cross national and international boundaries. People have moved too: in addition to Spanish and Portuguese emigrants and those arriving from Africa, Asia and the Americas, in 1990, European resident aliens in Spain numbered 270,022, 66 percent of all official immigrants there (nearly 20 percent from Great Britain and 8 percent from Portugal (Bodega et al. 1995: 802)). Images of Iberia as an “escape” have turned the peninsula into a haven for retirement enclaves, like those of Britons on the Costa del Sol. Arriving as tourists, part-time residents, property owners and eventually retirees, thousands of Britons have settled there, creating associations, establishing services and becoming residential tourists, a paradoxical, liminal state:

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Iberians, meanwhile, act as Europeans outside the EU, often linking areas of historical Iberian interest, especially in Latin America and Africa, with European connections. Reacting to this tension 500 years after Columbus, the Mexican intellectual Carlos Fuentes worried “that as it joins the European community, Spain might become too prosperous, too comfortable, too consumerist, insufficiently self-critical—and forgetful of its other face, its Spanish American profile. Spain is in Europe, legitimately so. But it should also not forget that it is also in the nations of Spanish America, ‘the cubs of the Spanish lion,’ as the Nicaraguan poet Rubén Darío called us . . . Can we be without Spain? Can Spain be without us?” (1992: 339). Continuing restrictions on immigration and residency in the twenty-first century mean that these ties are also everyday questions for workers in Spanish cities and businesses. Still, it is important not to make Spain and Portugal “more European” than they have become, but to look at beliefs, experiences and actions of their citizens. Anthropologist Carrie Douglass, for example, has studied Spain’s dramatic decline in fertility, often linked to modernization across Europe and suggests a rejection of Franco’s patriarchal Catholicism. Douglass suggests that in Spain, the very strength of family and marriage has reinforced low birthrates: young people relish their time in large homes with numerous relatives, which they leave, late, for marriage, career and home (2005). The implications of this shift are only becoming apparent with a rapidly aging population with fewer supports in succeeding generations. Similarly, Antonio Barreto argues that every measure of Portuguese social progress since the 1960s— literacy, longevity, income, etc—are now within Western European parameters. Nonetheless, while “some essential traits of the Portugal of 1960 have disappeared . . . It is one of the mysteries of nationality and cultural identity . . . that


These brief outlines of critical periods have suggested global processes embodied by Iberian historical relations with the “rest” of Europe as states, people, producers and consumers, as well as evoking longer memories and traditions. Iberia has not been a simple center for global extension nor Europeanization. Instead, two millennia of Iberian life within Europe underscore constant changes among flows of people, goods, power and culture. Despite the early and fundamental integration of Iberia into Roman and Mediterranean Europe, periods of divergence and reintegration are equally striking in this overview of the meanings of Europe. In fact, the relation of position vis-à-vis “Europe” and historical changes will become clearer through other ramifications of Iberian politics and culture.

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despite rifts and profound change, citizens still feel they belong to the same country as they ever did” (2003: 159). Thus, Spain and Portugal today are European, but governments and citizens still grapple with the intersections of multiple perceptions of Iberia throughout Europe. Cheap European airfares feed the beaches of the Algarve and fill the streets of Barcelona with British bachelor parties (even as London’s Portobello becomes a mall for Iberians). Borrowed game shows infest television stations while polyglot cable makes Europe part of many households. Spain and Portugal have resisted the bankers’ hours of the North, but pizza, Irish pubs and Italian gelati have become part of urban life. Still, however global and integrated, Spain and Portugal are not merely European. This becomes more evident when we reconsider the pivotal position of these states as global centers, where relations to Africa, Asia and the Americas intersect with Europe in special ways.

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Separation intersects with unification and expansion as well—the foodways of bread, olive oil and wine, the Latinderived languages or the varied impacts of Catholicism—that entered Iberia by global routes and have endured and changed, through centuries that follow, providing foundations of Iberian worlds elsewhere. Thus, Europeanization in Iberia not only entails contemporary debates of the European Union, fashion pages or architectural trends, but also embodies processes so old that they have become established as local and European identities, e.g. Spanish, Portuguese, Basque, Catalan, Gypsy, etc. This deconstruction of “Europeanness” as a global identity thus allows us to envision multiple and cross-cutting perspectives on globalization in the wider geographies that follow.

Across Gibraltar: Iberian, African and Atlantic Worlds


At the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula, the narrow Strait of Gibraltar has connected Iberia, North Africa and their diverse peoples for millennia. This relic of an ancient geological land bridge, traversed by conquerors, refugees and tourists, epitomizes the relations of people, goods, and power negotiated between “North” and “South” in Iberian history. One thousand years ago, Islamic and Arab peoples from northern Africa had conquered much of the Iberian Peninsula, drawing its citizens into trade with Africa and the Middle East, and creating polyglot urbane cultures. Five centuries ago, this convivencia (living together) was destroyed and Iberians (especially the Portuguese) expanded into mercantile and colonial ventures in Africa. New connections and divisions of the world would mean that Europeans racialized Africans as inferiors, to be enslaved and sold across the Atlantic, creating long-term Atlantic worlds. One hundred years ago, Spain and Portugal were relegated to the margins of modern European colonial exploitation of the human and natural resources of Africa. They sought traces of their imperial glory in vestigial colonies. Today, postcolonial imbalances have made Gibraltar more than a symbol: it is again a point in a flow of peoples northward into Spain/Portugal/Europe that raises international questions. This political, economic, cultural and social dynamism thus illustrates different forms of globalization discussed in the introduction and shows how

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multidirectional movements and memories mesh over centuries as well. This chapter begins with Gibraltar and the intensely global enclaves created around it before exploring North African/ Muslim Iberia during seven hundred years of Islamic rule, 711–1492. While the previous chapter looked at European ties in this era of division, this chapter examines the meeting of global religion, culture, state formation and exchange that evolved across this period of wars and evanescent peace linked to the Eastern Mediterranean and the South. This movement from “Africa” provides an important alternative reading of Iberia’s European global orientation. Spain’s Catholic Kings expelled the last Islamic ruler from Granada in 1492. By that time, Spanish and Portuguese explorers were already extending empires through trade and conquest among both North and sub-Saharan Africans. Iberians incorporated unwilling peoples and places into a new Atlantic world system. This reorientation included the transformation of humans into chattel in new ways that would deeply influence both Africa and the Americas (see Chapter 5). Here, the Portuguese trading and administrative city of Luanda provides an historical perspective on developments that continued into the nineteenth and twentieth centuries with late colonialism and decolonization. This perspective allows a more complex reading of Iberian globalization that incorporates divergent experiences in the now-independent former colonies of Spain and Portugal and the metropolis itself. The chapter ends with the contemporary postcolonial movements of people, ideas and goods in Lisbon, Barcelona and other Iberian settings. Here, the historical flows of conquest and colonial exploitation have given way to “everyday” globalization, with negotiations of inequality spread among people, institutions and states.

The contemporary name Gibraltar, from the Arabic jibl Taariq (Rock of Taariq), commemorates the Berber conqueror who crossed into Spain in 711. Nearly 2,000 years earlier, the Phoenicians included this rock in the Pillars of Melkart; Greeks renamed these formations the Pillars of Hercules. Such names emphasize the links between the northern rock and another less certain counterpart in North Africa, as well as the waterway that they guard. In addition, they convey the heroic, mythic dimensions of a place that is at once a gateway between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic and a passage between Europe and Africa. The strait itself is a narrow, deep channel, roughly 36 miles (58 km) long. It is 27 miles (43 km) across at its widest and only eight miles (13 km) wide at its narrowest. The channel is 164 fathoms (300 meters) deep, but the Mediterranean outflow and internal waves from the narrow passage between oceans make navigation treacherous. Nonetheless, the gap between Spain and Morocco, with land nearly always in sight, seems to create an inviting passage. Engineers and entrepreneurs have imagined a bridge or tunnel between the pillars, but this dream is still unrealized. Meanwhile, merchants, armies and immigrants have crossed the channel for millennia, changing peoples and cultures on both shores. To the North, the United Kingdom Territory of Gibraltar, less than seven square kilometers, occupies the massive rock, El Peñón. It is connected to the (Spanish) mainland by a narrow isthmus. Muslims fortified the strategic rock soon after their 711 invasion, although Moroccans only founded a city there in 1160. After intermittent Christian control, Gibraltar passed from Muslim to Castilian hands in 1464. During the eighteenth century War of Spanish Succession, Gibraltar surrendered to

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the Archduke Carlos and was ceded to Great Britain in 1713. Despite later Spanish attacks, including a grueling four-year siege from 1779 to 1783, Gibraltar remained British and became a Crown Colony in 1830. It has remained British ever since. Nelson sailed from Gibraltar to defeat Napoleon’s admiral, Villeneuve, at Trafalgar; Gibraltar would later supply Spaniards in their struggle with Napoleon (Jackson 1987; Archer 2006). A vital Allied strategic site in the World Wars (when Spain remained neutral), its civilians were evacuated to Jamaica, Madeira and Great Britain during World War II. Gibraltar’s diverse inhabitants today comprise people from Britain, the Mediterranean (including Genoese and Sephardic Jews), Spain and Portugal. Most are Roman Catholic, although their diocese has separated from Spanish control. English is the official language but Yanto, a dialect of Spanish, is widespread and Arabic may be heard in the streets (Archer 2006). Despite border closures in the past, its fewer than 30,000 inhabitants depend on Spain for everyday supplies, but they remain loyal Britons even in a United Europe. In repeated referenda, almost all have preferred British sovereignty to that of Spain. However, as a Spanish commentator wrote some decades ago, “Gibraltar le duele a España y Gran Bretaña conoce muy bien la intensidad de su dolor” (“Gibraltar wounds Spain and Great Britain knows very well the intensity of her pain” Armengue Rius 1964: 25). To the South of the strait stand Spanish Ceuta and Melilla.1 Ceuta (from Gr. and Latin Hepta Adelphoi/Septem Frates (seven brothers)) was urban by Phoenician times; its Mount Hacha may be the southern Pillar of Hercules.2 An important Carthaginian city and Roman provincial capital, it was destroyed by the Vandals. The Byzantines then reconquered and rebuilt it in the sixth century before its exarch, Don Julian, ceded it to the

It would be more accurate, even if aesthetically less pleasing, to liken Ceuta to a valve. To be more explicit, it permitted free and forceful movement in one direction only. In other words, as long as it remained in Moorish hands, it was the source of outward

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Muslim warrior Musa in 709. If Gibraltar commemorates the landing of Muslims in Spain, Ceuta, for many, recalls their departure from Africa. Later, Spanish Muslims reconquered Ceuta to gain their own footholds in less-developed Morocco, beginning centuries of shifting identities: the Portuguese conquered the city in 1415, but it passed to Spain in 1580 (a transfer only recognized a century later). Today, it is a small autonomous city (28 sq. km/ll.4 sq. mi) within the Spanish state, with roughly 75,000 people, many of Berber heritage. In its modernist architecture interspersed with fortifications and monuments to a history of war, it resembles cities of both Morocco and Andalusia. Melilla, a city of similar size and history (70,000 people, 20 sq. km/8 sq. mi.) rises on a peninsular rock further east. Spain conquered it in 1497; its population today includes Christians, Muslims, Jews and Hindus. Unlike Ceuta, its name is of Berber origin, recalling sometimes tense diversity within Morocco itself. Both cities were bases for Spanish wars in Morocco and Franco’s entry into the Spanish Civil War. Since Spain entered the European Union, they have become havens for global divisions of labor: more than 30,000 Moroccans cross daily through gates in the ten-foot-high barbed wire fences surrounding the cities. However, official Moroccan protests greeted a visit by Spain’s King Juan Carlos to both cities in 2007. These enclaves thus represent more than an historical bridge:

thrusts posing a serious threat to Spain and her achievement of the Reconquista. Its eventual occupation by the Christians, on the other hand, opened no gate to the heartlands of the Maghrib. On the contrary, the human and physical geography of the hinterland interposed a more effective check on the pressure of inrushing forces.

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(Latham 1986: 194)

Today, while the military meaning of Gibraltar and Spain’s Moroccan possessions are most evident in ceremonies, reenactments and diplomatic debates, the strait acts as a vital human connector. Each August, Spanish ports like Algeciras, near Gibraltar, fill with thousands of transnational labor immigrants and their families from the South who have scattered throughout Europe. They return home for a holiday, driving cars crowded with people and possessions. On their return in September, some will be challenged about their right to reentry, leading to an accusation some years ago that Spain wanted to “reconstruct the Berlin Wall” at Gibraltar. Such conflicts among Arabs, Africans and Spaniards/Europeans underscore the constantly-evolving global dimensions of a flow of humanity that has defined Ibero-African worlds for thousands of years. AFRICA CREATES IBERIA: 700–1500

Although routes along the Mediterranean Coast have been traversed for millennia, this circum-Mediterranean flow changed with the rapid expansion of Islam in the seventh and eighth centuries CE. Revelations preached by the prophet Muhammed (570–632 CE) brought new order to Arabian tribes. Under succeeding leaders, Islam became a religious political confederacy spreading through Central Asia and eventually to South Asia while moving westward into Africa and

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Mediterranean Europe. This globalization was fueled by belief and united by language, culture and politics. It reached Egypt under Caliph Umar (632–644) and in succeeding decades, armies imbued with religious fervor swept across North Africa despite internal struggles and indigenous resistance. Converts augmented the expedition that crossed the Strait of Gibraltar in 711. Within seven years, this army had defeated the divided Visigoths, themselves a minority among Iberian peoples. Arabs controlled all of Iberia, ceding only Northern mountains to Asturian warriors. Crossing the Pyrenees, Muslims advanced into Europe until they were stopped by Charles Martel and the death of Emir ‘Abd ar-Rahman at the Battle of Tours in 732. Such sweeping human movement brought more than a religion that converted some and tolerated others (Jews and Christians were “People of the Book”). Islamic rule integrated vast territories into a global political system, albeit one that fragmented repeatedly. Religious peace also fostered economic networks that would link circum-Mediterranean lands, Central and South Asia and Africa in trades of luxury goods and emergent staples of everyday life. Here, Islam changed existing orientations in so far as Iberian Muslim traders favored Muslim lands in North Africa and the Middle East, and did not show up in French and Italian ports until the twelfth century (Constable 1994). Islam also fostered global communication through the spread of Arabic and flows of knowledge through libraries, schools and writing. Arabic, codified into a writing system on the basis of the Quran and the poetry of the Arabian Peninsula, soon eclipsed many regional languages in Dar-al-Islam. This lingua franca, at its apogee, facilitated global communication from South Asia through North Africa and Europe. Other shared cultural features included architecture, agriculture and

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foodways, science and medicine and the position of women, all of which have had continuing impact on Iberian culture and society. If Tours saved Christendom, however, it meant that much of Iberia and its peoples became different from that of Europe, although connections endured and reconnections were swift (see Chapter 2). Iberia became a frontier for Islam as well: “situated at the western edge of the Mediterranean and the southern edge of Christian Europe, it was part of both—and yet not fully part of either” (Constable 1994: 1). Indeed, “Arab geographers in the ninth and tenth centuries provided descriptions and maps that portrayed the Iberian Peninsula hovering at the western edge of the earth” (Ibid: 6). In this setting, local and global relations were constantly evolving. The first phase of the conquest was dominated by an Islamic regime which had its capital in Roman Córdoba, but owed allegiance to the Umayyad Caliphs of Damascus. After 743, instability in the caliphate destroyed their communication with and control of Iberia. By 756, ‘Abd ar-Rahman ibn Mu a¯ wiya fled to the Iberian peninsula and created a new Umayyad emirate in Córdoba. This regime lasted for nearly two centuries until ‘Abd ar-Rahman III transformed it into the Caliphate of Córdoba (929–1031), which defined the Golden Age of “Al-Andalu¯ s”(recalled in the name of contemporary Andalusia).3 Andalusian Córdoba became one of the greatest cities of both Islam and Europe by the tenth century. Geographer Abu Abd Alla Muhammed Al-Idrisi, who visited it in the twelfth century, praised the Mezquita, the great mosque which had been completed in 987 and stood on the site of an earlier Roman temple. One thousand columns support its giant arches4 (see Figure 3.1). Andalusian trading networks shared wealth throughout the Muslim Mediterranean, but Al-Idrisi

also lauded the piety, character and manners of its citizens: “never has Córdoba lacked for illustrious wise men or notable persons. Among merchants, they have considerable wealth, sumptuously appointed rooms and are moved only by a noble ambition” (1952: 202–3). Nevertheless, he lamented that city had been “destroyed by discord; the rigors of fortune have changed its situation and its inhabitants have experienced great misfortunes” (1952: 204). The Caliphate’s convivencia included the literary, scientific and philosophical culture of Muslims, Jews and Christians as well as lively urban mercantile traders and rural communities. Robert Burns and Thomas Glick, for example, have scrutinized the archaeological record to show how agricultural labor was organized around innovations in irrigation as well as social transformations (Burns 1975, 1984, 1988; Glick 1970, 1985, 2005; Boone and Benco 1999).5 New territories also

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Figure 3.1 The Great Mosque (Mezquita) of Córdoba, now a Roman Catholic Cathedral. Photograph obtained from Shutterstock.com. Copyright © by Brandus Dan Lucian.

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reproduced old ecological and cultural divisions. Arabs settled in family and tribal groupings across the plains of the South and Aragon while some Berbers found themselves pushed into the mountains and less-favored terrains. These settlements, in turn, differed from those formed by the incremental conversion of hundreds of thousands of Christians who retained some vestiges of their former religion and those who had remained Christian (Mozarab) in belief and identity. Urbane Al-Andalu¯ s diverged from the growing, primarily Christian North, where both elites and serfs tended to live in rural areas, with cities acting as ecclesiastical centers or regional markets. Nonetheless, the North slowly adopted agricultural innovations from the Muslim South (e.g. the geared waterwheel). Foods such as rice, oranges, apricots and other fruits spread through the peninsula under Muslim aegis (their Castilian names—arroz (rice), naranja (orange), albaricoque (apricot), azúcar (sugar), show the impact of these changes as do other everyday words like algodón, cotton or alfombra, rug). Northern Christian realms lacked these fruits and rice, but offered dairy products and meat, including pork—a distinctive staple food for Christians within an Iberia that included Muslims and Jews (see Chapter 6). In the tenth century, Abd ar-Rahman III built his new capital, Madinat al-Zahra, outside Córdoba. This site, in Maria Rosa Menocal’s evocative imagery, “like the Andalusian caliphate itself, looked out proudly onto its surrounding world from its stepped levels, proclaiming its command over the then lush valley of Córdoba and beyond. Even more so, it looked inward, in toward every courtyard and cunning garden, to revel in its own self-contained beauty” (2002: 93). Yet, internal and external struggles beset the realm. Berber mercenaries destroyed the palace in 1009. The Caliphate itself collapsed in 1031, despite victories by its final rulers over

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their Christian peninsular enemies. Smaller Muslim kingdoms (taifas) survived, but due to their disunity, they could not threaten consolidating Christian realms and their armies of Reconquest. After Christians took Toledo in 1085, Muslim rulers called for help from the Mura¯ bits (Almoravids), strict Muslim Berbers from North Africa. Almoravids arrived as mercenaries and then returned as conquerors. These fundamentalists rapidly subordinated the remaining Iberian Muslim kingdoms into their trans-Gibraltarian empire. They brought with them both military discipline and a more rigorous vision of Islam that disturbed Jews, Christians and even some Muslims, who fled to nearby Christian realms. During this time, Christian kingdoms forged new links to the rest of Europe, sometimes using the very global goods and knowledge that Muslims had facilitated (Chapter 2). Thus, when Alfonso VI of Léon-Castile recaptured Toledo in 1085, the cosmopolitan city became a center for the translation of Arabic and Greek texts into Latin for dissemination throughout Europe. By the end of the twelfth century, “although they might have been hard-pressed to formulate it so, all must have been aware that the new Christian society of northern Iberia was destined to take shape within a European matrix rather than a Mediterranean one” (Reilly 1992: 262). Meanwhile, Europeans, including Iberians, competed along Mediterranean routes of trade that Muslims and Jews had previously dominated. By the twelfth century, these Europeans became more active in Andalusian trade itself (Constable 1994: 42ff ). Nevertheless, Christians and Muslims in this period still negotiated cross-cutting Iberian alliances, exiles and exchanges. Alfonso VI, for example, spent time in exile in the court of Muslim Toledo. Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar (1044– 1099)—El Cid—created his own space as protector,

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blackmailer and ally of taifas before repelling the Mura¯ bit and conquering Valencia, which he and his family ruled from 1094 to 1102. Jews also moved across borders and courts, although they faced suspicion in each realm (see Catlos 2004). Slavery, which had once relied on the sale of Christians to the south, experienced a newly portentous movement in Muslims for sale in Christian cities and southern Europe (Constable 1994: 243ff). Muslim and Christian realms diverged again as Muslim Iberia grew weaker and more dependent on Berbers from the South. Nevertheless, this waning of cosmopolitan Andalusia was distinguished by intellectual contributions of the Córdoban Muslim philosopher-scientist Averroes (Abul Walid Ibn Rushd, 1126–1198) and the Córdoban Jewish physician and philosopher Moses Maimonides (1136–1204), who eventually left Iberia for other havens in Dar-al-Islam (Anidjar 2002). Meanwhile, the Almoravids lost their claims to piety as they, too, came to depend on new taxes and Christian mercenaries, opening another period of fragmentation and expansion of Christian Castile, Aragon, Catalonia and Portugal. In the later twelfth century, a final global influx of fundamentalist North Africans, the Muwa¯ hhid (Almohads), reestablished unity in Al-Andalus and raided Christian territories before the Muslim’s crushing defeat at Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212. Thereafter, weakened Muslims faced onslaughts from ever-stronger Christian kingdoms that incorporated thousands of Muslim subjects. These Mudéjars faced not convivencia but proselytization through new Catholic mendicant orders, the Franciscans and Dominicans which would eventually lead to large populations of Moriscos (Lit. “moor-like,” a term for converts). By the mid-thirteenth century, Granada, Murcia and Niebla were the only Muslim states remaining in Spain, and the last two owed allegiance to Christian kings. While “in one sense the

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Reconquest had ended, it would take several more centuries to defend these conquests against new attacks from Africa, to eliminate the remains of Muslim political power in the vassal kingdoms and to carry the war across the straits” (Lomax 1978: 59). At the same time, Christian forces also moved beyond the peninsula, joining rebels in Morocco at Salé (Morocco) in 1260, eyeing the Canaries and coastal settlements. Portugal, for example, which had established its national separation so early in the Reconquest, took Tangiers, while Portugal’s Prince Henry the Navigator participated in an attack on Ceuta in 1415. By the end of the fifteenth century, only Granada remained as an autonomous Muslim Iberian enclave, playing on its diplomacy, wealth and terrain while trading with Genoa and Northern Europe more than Islamic North Africa (Kennedy 1996: 276–87). As the city swelled with refugees, the Alhambra, its unique architectural crown, achieved its final architectural glory. With the dynastic union of Aragon and Castile in 1469, however, a Christian Spain emerged as a tangible goal. Christian armies conquered strongholds such as Málaga, Baza, Almería and Guadix before the Catholic Kings entered Granada in 1492. The final Iberian Muslim ruler, Boabdil (Abu Abd Allah Mohammed (1452–1528)) left for exile in Morocco. The year 1492 opened with global transitions in the guise of Castilian expeditions to the New World. Yet, it also closed off global convivencia through the Spanish expulsion/conversion of the Jews and the repressive treatment of Muslims and converts, especially the elches who had converted from Christianity to Islam (Harvey 1990: 329–33; see Chapter 6). A revolt in 1499 by Muslims in the nearby Alpujarras spread to Almería before it was controlled by Spanish soldiers. Those who agreed to become Christians (Moriscos) were pardoned, and mosques became churches. While restrictions would grow through the sixteenth century, 1499 was “the effective end of Islam in

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Granada, at least of Islam as a public religion” (Harvey 1990: 335). Many Muslims left, but, like Jews, some still clung to their religion, language, food and culture in secret, despite the suspicions of the Inquisition and increasing restrictions that ended a unique global era (Núñez Muley 1567/2007; see Chapter 6). Some exiles would even meet in new phases of Iberian expansion, just as Christian Iberians carried their beliefs and experiences abroad. When the Portuguese bombarded Hormuz on the Persian Gulf in the sixteenth century, for example “one of the emissaries who came to sue for peace was a Spanish Muslim, ‘a native of Granada by the name of Abadala who spoke good Castilian’ ” (in Scott 2001: 116). Meanwhile, in Cervantes’ Don Quijote (1605–1615), the Morisco Ricote laments that “Wherever we are we weep for Spain” (Book 2, chapter 54, López Baralt 2000: 483). Nostalgia for Andalusia remains a trope in Islamic literature, although the new migrations into the peninsula, as we will see, respond more to global economics than to memories of exile. RACIALIZING THE SOUTH: SLAVERY AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE ATLANTIC WORLD

Even as the Reconquest ended, emergent Iberian nation states looked outward. Aragon-Catalonia had sought to find mercantile footholds and to establish missions in North Africa since the sometimes frenzied missionary efforts of Ramon Llull (1232–1315). Castile’s early incursions into Africa were limited: it took control of the Canary Islands and developed interests in Morocco that endured into the twentieth century.6 Portugal became the primary Iberian agent in the colonization of Africa, creating an Atlantic world through trade and slavery that also established significant flows between Africa and North and South America, via Portuguese, Spanish, French, British and Dutch intermediaries.

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The movement of Portuguese sailors down the coast used new naval technology (the caravels, recalling the Arabic qarib) and global knowledge. Rewards were often material and occasionally spiritual (Pearson 1987). By the mid-fifteenth century, Portuguese traders had moved south to Cape Verde and had made land contact on the coast of Guinea-Bissau, on the West African coast. Explorers and ships soon moved southwards to Angola, seeking gold and trade. In 1488, Bartolomé Dias “discovered” the Cape of Good Hope; in 1497, Vasco da Gama rounded it and, after various stops in Africa, reached the Indian subcontinent and its riches. The profits from Portuguese domination of the spice trade and suppliers there, at the cost of Arab, Venetian and other merchants, temporarily eclipsed Iberian interests in Africa. While gold, spices and other goods tempted the Portuguese onwards, between 1441 and 1447, Captain Antão Gonçalves conducted slave raids on the African continent; “by 1448, the Portuguese had shipped a minimum of 1,000 slaves from Africa” (Lobban 1995: 14–15). Given its small population and chronic shortage of food, Portugal needed laborers to replace men lost to colonial expansion and to farm its empire. Slavery was familiar to both Iberians and Africans. It had been part of Iberian life since Roman times. Enslavement and ransom were continuing byproducts of clashes along the Christian-Muslim frontier (in which both Muslims and Christians became prisoners, see Saunders 1982; Cortés López 1989; Constable 1994; Phillips 1990). Some Sub-Saharan African societies also had been drawn into this slave marketing through the traders of the Maghreb, but other African social groups had incorporated various forms of slavery by capture, conquest, or other arrangements. African participation in the trade had enriched great empires controlling armies and river transport, but the conversion of this trade into traffic across

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the Atlantic world fundamentally altered social and cultural meanings of slavery. Even those Africans who profited from the trade probably did not understand slavery in the same way as Europeans would. In Africa, slaves were wealth rather than goods or means to gain wealth from land ownership (Thornton 1998a). In the New World, far from their homelands, African slaves were interpreted through prisms of race and culture that distinguished their very humanity from that of their European and Euro-American masters. And for centuries, there was no possibility of reincorporation into African societies near their homelands. Portuguese colonizers took/created two key enclaves on the African continent as centers for this new trade. Portugal’s incorporation of Cape Verde into a larger slave system fed by West African Empires made this previously uninhabited archipelago a critical port for moving Senegambians to the New World. In Angola, the Kanze River and links to the Kongo kingdom extended the Portuguese Atlantic inland through trade in slaves, textiles and luxury goods valued by both groups for their exoticness, whether beads for Africa or “Afro-Portuguese ivories” for Europe (Thornton 1998a: 53). There, after initial contacts of the fifteenth century, four Portuguese stayed in the court of King Manikongo and four Bakongo went as royal hostages to Lisbon. This amicable exchange fostered the conversion of the Manikongo, his family and many elite Bakongo to Roman Catholicism in 1491. While the king later relinquished this new faith, his son trained for a decade in Lisbon before returning to Angola as King Afonso I. His son, in turn, would become the first African Bishop of Luanda. Angola proved to be a complex outpost of empire. Despite elite spiritual and intellectual ties, cultural exchange clashed with the lucrative global slave trade that increasingly

The success of the Lisbon merchants in getting a slice (albeit a marginal one) of the Brazil trade owed much to their ingenuity in devising a “slave bridge” across the South Atlantic on which they personally avoided bearing the highest risks. . Above all, they concentrated on buying goods in Africa, and not on buying slaves which they themselves would own. Instead of being paid in the most perishable of all commodities, humans, they arranged to be paid in credit notes (1999: 84).

In fact, surreptitious slave trading between Portuguese Africa and Brazil continued well into the nineteenth century. The continuity of slavery and African arrivals has also made Brazil

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dehumanized Africans in European eyes. By 1569, conflicts forced both Portuguese and Catholic Kongo elites from the Kongo capital to the safer coast, where the Portuguese established the port of São Paulo de Luanda in 1575. A cathedral followed in 1583 and Luanda officially became a city in 1605. Its harbor became a global center for the slave trade and the creation of a trans-Atlantic world; 1.2 million men, women and children passed through Luanda between 1730 and 1830, when the trade was ended (despite illicit commerce for the next decade, Curto 1999: 394). The influence of this trade spread much further inland through wars, commerce and knowledge. Slavery also tied Luanda to Portugal’s primary colonial source of wealth, Brazil (Amaral 1968: 13), where African slaves worked the mines, and raised the sugar, coffee and cotton that created colonial riches and metropolitan power. Ironically, by the time gold was discovered in 1730 near Rio de Janeiro, Northern Europeans had eclipsed Portugal in the slave trade. Nonetheless, as David Birmingham notes (drawing on Miller 1988).

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a crucible of Afro-Lusophone music and dance and hybrid religious, family, food and cultural traditions. Meanwhile, the repercussions of the slave trade rippled through African societies as well. John Thornton, in The Kongolese Saint Anthony (1998b), shows the wars and ecological turmoil that spread far beyond Portuguese territorial claims in the eighteenth century. He also illustrates how elements of Catholic missionary teaching and Portuguese diplomacy were continually woven into local politics and belief systems. The slave trade attracted attention from others in Europe. In the seventeenth century, the Dutch challenged Iberian monopolies worldwide. They captured Recife in Brazil in 1630 and held Luanda from 1641 to 1648. This disrupted the slave trade and plantations and ruined Portugal’s sugar monopoly. This upheaval also allowed slaves to flee plantations and construct maroon societies like the Kingdom of Palmares, a quilombo proto-state created by thousands of escaped slaves that withstood Portuguese attacks for decades before it was destroyed in 1694 (Kent 1996). Brazilian troops recaptured Luanda in 1648. At this time, Portugal augmented the enclave’s racially mixed colonial population with suspect exiled residents including gypsies and New Christians (Pantoja 2004). International pressure built against slavery and the slave trade by the late eighteenth century; the abolition of slavery was debated by the newly formed United States and was argued in Revolutionary France and in its Caribbean possessions. More forceful action came in the nineteenth century with the British and American repression of the Atlantic slave trade; by the 1840s, Cape Verde had shifted from being a center of the slave trade to acting as a port of observation and control for its elimination, enforced by a U.S. naval squadron stationed there from 1843 to 1859 (Lobban


Portuguese expansion in Africa had slowed as other nations had taken control of the slave trade in the nineteenth century; the Portuguese even feared that they might lose their colonies to other rising European powers. With the independence of Brazil and the end of the slave trade, Portugal sought other activities to make African colonies profitable to the metropolis. Portuguese regimes dreamed of a “New Brazil” in Africa, although the government did not exploit Angola as effectively as Britain and France did their modern and expanding African colonies (Wheeler 1968; Amaral 1968). Luanda, meanwhile, attracted free blacks and mulattos from surrounding areas to a newly urbane center no longer dominated by white

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1995: 33–40). The legal end of slavery was affirmed with the independence of Haiti and abolition in some newlyindependent Latin American countries, followed by Great Britain (1833), France (1848), Portugal and its colonies (1858), the U.S. (1865) and eventually, Cuba and Brazil. While the end of the slave trade in the Americas in the nineteenth century interrupted the westward flow of people across the Atlantic, this rupture did not end an IberianAfrican-indigenous Atlantic world (see Chapter 5 on Latin America). Colonization and control, meanwhile, took new forms in Africa while around the Atlantic hybrid peoples— indigenous, colonial and “ïmported”—have reproduced themselves, mixed and explored new local, national and international identities imbued with race. To understand these processes, we look first at the evolution of modern Iberian colonialism in Portuguese Africa (particularly through Angola and, more briefly, through Spain’s involvement in Morocco and the Sahara.

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settlers (ten percent of the 1850 population of 12,565; Curto 1999). Luanda’s varied African residents questioned their global status, too. Prince Nicolas of Kongo, scion although perhaps not heir to the historical Kongo kingdom, for example, was educated in Portugal, but criticized Portuguese intervention in Makongo. At one point he imagined himself as the head of a revitalized Kongo allied to Brazil (Wheeler 1968: 51). Some Africans and Angolan mestiços also invited foreigners and exiles to join them as allies against their colonizers, saying that “they will be received with open arms for it has been proved that we have nothing to expect from Portugal except the swindles and shackles of slavery!” (O Arauto Africano 1890, in Wheeler 1969: 16). Other mestiços occupied key positions in the local government, church and the army. Even as Portugal asserted increasing control, other voices became more republican and nationalist. Meanwhile, white settlers sought more autonomy and exiles from the motherland-envisioned distant reform. Portuguese hopes for Angola rose in the late nineteenth century with the discovery of gold in central Southern Africa. Yet, the British Ultimatum of 1890 quashed Portuguese attempts to unite Angola to its eastern colony of Mozambique (and to control the rich central lands now known as Zimbabwe and Zambia). Facing concern about others—African or European—who might criticize its failure to “civilize” imperial territories it had dominated for centuries, Portugal initiated reforms from the 1920s onwards to control the abuse of indigenous labor, to delineate the power of foreign concessions and missionary orders, and to encourage Portuguese colonization in these territories. Salazar’s Estado Novo combined this exploitation with appeals to the glory of the Portuguese Empire and Portuguese integration (Lusotropicalism); the

. . was beginning, in many ways, to live up to the state media’s portrayal of it as a white man’s town. The newspapers, business, and tourist journals of the time picture public events at city hall, the city’s many theaters, and cafés, all populated almost exclusively by whites. In tourist season white visitors came by the thousands from South Africa and Rhodesia, thus enhancing a sense of the city and its fashionable beaches as predominantly white. Looking only at the city’s public relations brochures and glossy magazines from the 1950s and 1960s, one could actually believe the slogan “Aqui é Portugal” and imagine oneself actually in Portugal. (Penvenne 2005: 91)

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1930 Colonial Act stated bluntly that “It is part of the organic essence of the Portuguese nation that its historic function is to possess and colonize its overseas domains and to civilize the native populations therein” (cited in Aleixandre 2003: 72). Expositions in Portugal celebrated this globalism and President Antonio Salazar visited these African colonies in 1938. Yet, actual growth and integration were limited. In fact, the largest non-African groups to settle in Angola before World War II were Boers and Germans, most of whom returned southward to Namibia in the 1920s (Bender 1978: 25). Overseas trade boomed after World War II; European settlement tripled between 1940 and 1960 in Angola and Mozambique (Aleixandre 2003: 75–6). By the 1950s, the Portuguese government had poured millions of escudos into agriculture in Angola and Mozambique, but these plans favored white settlers among restless African populations. Historian Jeanne Marie Penvenne depicts another Portuguese African capital in this period, Mozambique’s Lourenço Marques, which:

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Nevertheless, the heritage of racism and colonial exploitation that had shaped Portuguese incursions into Africa meant that reform ultimately challenged the rights of Portuguese to control these colonies at all. From the 1960s onwards, the struggles of colonized peoples meant that the Portuguese government only controlled its colonies if the metropolis itself hemorrhaged men, goods and money into Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde. These struggles eventually contributed to a revolution in Portugal, exacerbated by the return of 400,000 colonists and 100,000 troops to a nation facing recession (Baganha 2003: 154). Wars devastated Portuguese Africans as well. Angolan proto-military groups, for example, coalesced in opposition to Portuguese rule in 1961, beginning a thirteen-year struggle for independence. Portugal held on at the cost of thousands of African and European lives, expanding its occupying army from 8,000 to 50,000 by conscripting Angolans to fight other Angolans. Guerilla groups included the MPLA (Movimento Popular de Liberação de Angola/Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) of José Eduardo Dos Santos, Jonas Savimbi’s UNITA (União Nacional para a Independencia Total de Angola/National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) and the FNLA (Frente Nacional de Liberação de Angola/National Front for the Liberation of Angola) of Holden Roberto. In 1974, a revolutionary government in Lisbon finally recognized independence in Angola amid crises in Portugal, where national identity, reinforced by the Estado Novo, had become strongly interwoven with the memory of Portugal’s Golden Age and colonial empire. A three-way independent Angolan coalition government built across ethnic and political lines became complicated as foreign powers intervened. Even before independence, foreign interests in Angola had intensified as the wealth of a “New

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Brazil” actually seemed possible. Offshore oil was discovered in 1955; larger discoveries followed in 1966. With independence, a state company handled reserves of up to 20 million barrels. In 2005, oil accounted for 92 percent of Angola’s exports, nearly $10 billion in annual state revenues. War and corruption have limited the value of this wealth for most people there, however. In the 1970s, Cuban troops and Soviet weapons aided the MPLA, while Zairians joined the FNLA and South African Defense forces supported Savimbi. The MPLA dominated when Portuguese troops finally left, but Savimbi’s UNITA remained strong for decades, tearing the country apart despite eras of limited progress. Angola became an icon of the dislocation and destruction of postcolonial wars; civilian life became a situação: “a word symbolic of the radical understatement with which Angolans describe the incomprehensible catastrophes that have blighted their country since independence . . . a catch-all word that can mean anything from minor tension to a formal declaration of war or mass starvation” (Maier 1996: 55). Only as distant foreign presence diminished did other African nations manage to negotiate an Angolan ceasefire that paved the way for elections after Savimbi and Dos Santos signed the Bicesse Peace Accords in Portugal in 1991. In September 1992, 91 percent of registered voters waited patiently to vote, but Savimbi rejected “suspicious” results, opening Luanda to massacres of UNITA supporters through the squares and shantytowns of the city (Maier 1996). Through the 1990s, the MPLA and UNITA continued to oscillate between peace proposals and unified governments and renewed warfare throughout the countryside. Conflicts involved not only arms and battles, but appeals to race, ideology and memory. UNITA propaganda, for example, excoriated

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the “whites and mestiços of the MPLA” although Savimbi accepted South African aid (Maier 1996: 132). The MPLA, meanwhile, devoted millions to an unfinished mausoleum for Angola’s first president, poet and independence fighter Agostinho Neto, even if it would be surrounded by the squatter towns of poor refugees (Maier 1996). Only Savimbi’s death in 2002 seemed to allow a more lasting ceasefire, with UNITA remaining an active political party. Unfortunately, Portuguese colonial exploitation and the devastations of prolonged wars yielded new nations that have been ravaged by civil wars (often with outside interests involved), agricultural, ecological and economic problems and disease, including AIDS. Post-Salazarian Portugal has sought to reconstruct its presence in Africa and other postcolonial settings through bonds of history and culture (the Lusophone Games) and special development programs within the European Union. These have allowed Portugal to begin to reinvent global relations of business and politics, as we will see after a brief look at the end of Spanish Morocco. Spain and North Africa

The major dissolution of the Spanish Empire had taken place early in the nineteenth century with the independence of its Latin American colonies and losses in 1898. Thus, Spain’s meager North African holdings came to dominate Spanish colonial consciousness and the state’s awareness of its position vis-à-vis other modern world powers. When it could, Spain sought international diplomatic roles such as the Entente Cordial where it joined with France and Britain to maintain a balance of power against Germany in the Mediterranean. For the Spanish military, however, Africa remained a field of glory. Consider an 1860 evaluation of war in Morocco: “In the midst of a godless Europe . . . Spain, a nation reputed to be of third

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rank, is undertaking a chivalresque war of honour, of civilization, of religious enthusiasm” (El Pensamiento Español 8/2/1860, cited in Balfour 1997: 2). Nonetheless, in the twentieth century, massacres of Spanish soldiers in Morocco forced troop call-ups and sparked urban riots in the peninsula. Abd-el-Krim’s slaughter of 20,000 Spanish soldiers at Annual in 1921 also undercut the Spanish elected government and paved the way for Primo de Rivera’s dictatorship. This indigenous leader was only defeated by combined French and Spanish troops and became a hero for later anti-colonial movements worldwide.7 For Spain’s international prestige and imperial imagination, it was important to be involved in this global sphere and to triumph, but as a later historian has observed, Morocco “turned out to be not only troublesome and costly, as some had predicted, but a veritable national cancer” (Seoane 1999: 48). Africa, nonetheless, played a significant part in the Spanish Civil War and its aftermath. “Nationalists” sought Moroccan support through promises of independence. Later, Hitler’s Axis tempted Franco in 1940 with a newly Spanish Gibraltar posed as a gateway to “a great empire in northwestern Africa, to include Western Algeria with its ‘persecuted’ Spanish minority, French Morocco and large slice of Mauretania” as well as other pieces of colonial Africa (Clarence-Smith 1985: 310). During World War II, in fact, “neutral” Iberian colonies in Africa faced Allied blockades until these nations needed African production to replace Southeast Asian plantations lost to Japan (Ibid, 312–14; Thomas 1999). After the war, though, Spain cooperated with France in the decolonization of Morocco, which became independent in 1956 and then claimed the Spanish protectorate of Tangiers. While Spain negotiated its departure from Africa, the Franco government sought to establish diplomatic and economic ties with Arab

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states in order to avoid the stranglehold caused by Allied disapproval of its links to Hitler. Providing a glimpse of an alternative Spanish vision of Hispanic enemies and globalization, he used their distrust of Western colonial powers and historical ambiguities with regard to Israel and Jews to create ties with several Arab states of the Middle East. Along with the renewal of Spain’s historical ties to Latin America, this allowed the once-shunned nation to regain global recognition (Clarence-Smith 1986: 325, Rein 1999). Recalling Al-Andalus in state visits and public relations, this policy even received the evocative name mozarabidad (Rein 1999: 20l). By contrast, Spain did not establish full relations with Israel until 1986, nor did it repeal the edict of the expulsion of the Jews until 1992 (see Chapter 6). Spanish colonial control lingered in an area south of Morocco that it had consolidated in the 1880s, now known as the Western Sahara. By the 1970s, local Polisario fighters against Spain as well as Morocco and Mauretania claimed the territory. Despite indigenous claims to historical autonomy and independence, the Madrid Accords divided this colony between Morocco and Mauretania a few days before Franco’s death on November 20, 1975. This area subsequently has faced decades of bloody struggle and uneasy ceasefires amid involvements by Morocco, Mauretania, Algeria and global institutions as well as Polisario guerillas and their allies. As Balfour notes for Spain, with resonance for Portugal, the “loss” of Africa not only became part of imperial identity for those threatened by modernity, but also became important in subsequent local changes. Hence, “the end of the Spanish Empire as an organizing myth can be said to have occurred only when the dictatorship abandoned the bankrupt policy of autarky and Spain completed her long cycle of modernization in an accelerated burst of development in the 1960s and early


In his 1997 film Rostov-Luanda, Mauritanian film maker Abderrahmane Sissako travels to Russia and Angola in search of a friend, Afonso Baribanga, whom he had met as a student in Rostov in 1980. At the beginning of the film, Sissako declares that the independence of Angola from a collapsing Portuguese dictatorship in 1975 “was the beginning of new hope for my continent.” Here, Iberian globalization appears as a constraint rather than a creative exchange. In Angola, Sissako wanders through Luanda and other cities with a yellowed photo, looking for a friend who may never have returned, who may have died in civil wars that raged there over decades, or who may have emigrated. Amid war-scarred colonial cityscapes and modernist housing, he interviews Portuguese immigrants who could not bring themselves to return to their homeland (although their children had left), mestiço (mixed) children of painfully divided families and destinies, retired fighters and orphans of war. Many lost friends and family in the war, to exile, or in their own movements: Angola has become a place of absences as well as attachment. In this film, postcolonial Angolans of variegated phenotypes and languages sort out their global relationships to places and peoples: homes, bars, cities, nations, or empires. In a surprising reflection, for example, a former anti-colonial fighter says that she thinks that the Portuguese identified with

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1970s. The death of imperial nostalgia was concomitant with the almost universal spread of democratic and secular values that accompanied this modernization” (Balfour 1997: 2). The end of colonial globalization became a prelude to new globalizations, including new peninsular ties with African peoples, which we must see from the perspectives of both Africans and Iberian peoples and states.

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Africans because they, too, were poor. Others cling to family homesteads when empires have disappeared. In the end, Sissako finds his own vision of “the Africa Baribanga told me about, where hope prevails in all circumstances.” On his last day, another Angolan helps him locate Baribanga in Berlin, where he is contemplating his return to Angola. Sissako’s documentary thus underscores the painful heritage of centuries of Iberian globalization in a potentially rich state. Others have taken Angolan wealth—people and mineral resources— leaving a weak and divided postcolonial state, with Luanda as its crowded and conflictive capital. Luanda reached 1.2 million inhabitants in 1980, but its central core was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of squatters and refugees jammed into mousseques (shanty towns) (Amaral 1968; Van Der Winden 2003). Journalistic/academic snapshots vividly evoke this changing global city. In 1987, for example, historian David Birmingham attended Luanda’s Carnival, recreated as an MPLA political event by leaders linked to Methodism rather than Catholicism, but aimed at wider popular urban support. The party hierarchy on the central stand, he observed, “belonged to the historic Creole families that survived the social Darwinism of the twentieth century, survived the mass influx of settlers at mid-century, survived the wilderness at the ends of the earth during the guerilla war” (2006: 126). Near them stood the “ ‘haute bourgeoisie’ of middle-class Luanda. In contrast to the old black Creole elite, many among the twentieth-century upper class were of recently mixed ancestry. Marrying light had commonly been the racial ambition of social climbers in Luanda” (Ibid: 126). In the streets, an Afro-Cuban troupe joined dancers from unions and neighborhoods, putting military-diplomatic strategies amid centuries of Carnival as Atlantic connections (Benítez-Rojo 1995).

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Five years later, before the 1992 elections, journalist Karl Maier read Luanda as a spectacular city whose ominous tensions would erupt shortly thereafter. While billboards and speeches filled the city, “Anybody who is anybody has to make an appearance at the open-air Bar Aberto, where wealthy Angolans returned from Lisbon, diplomats, UN observers, well-heeled prostitutes, MPLA party officials, and Luanda’s novos ricos, mix easily in a cocktail of good-natured rowdiness (1996: 56–7). In the last decade, as peace has slowly and intermittently returned, Luandans and Angolans have renewed and extended global networks. Postcolonial Portugal intervened in the peace process and continues to emphasize links of language and culture in the Lusophone world, a claim that fortifies its own presence in a united Europe. David Birmingham wrote after a 2003 visit that “self-respecting Angolans do business only with the best—the Portuguese, the former grandmasters, the imperialists whom the nationalists have tamed, the devils whom everyone knows and trusts. Any foreigner who is not Portuguese is mildly despised in Angola’s profoundly neocolonial political culture” (2006: 164). Nonetheless, Portuguese claims of primacy for the metropolis betray legacies of colonialism and racism, which can cast metropolitan culture as more pure or authentic (Klimt and Lubkemann 2002; Sieber 2002). Brazil, so closely linked to Luanda in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, also has reactivated ties in an era of decolonization, promoting cultural links, development and investment. Brazilians, for example, have worked with Luanda’s provincial government to create EDURB (Empresa de Desivolvimento Urbano) to construct housing for refugees who have swelled the city to over four million inhabitants, trapped in endless squatter towns.

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Peacetime and oil have opened wider global possibilities for the city as well. The travel section of a 2005 Washington Post revived the “Paris of Africa” epithet for Luanda before proffering paradoxical stereotypes of third world social tourism in a city introduced as deeply divided, “ramshackle and charmingly chaotic” (www.washingtonpost.com/wp-adv/specialsales/spotlight/angola/article8.html). Meanwhile, writing from a leftist, independent standpoint, The Nation warns that “this once-thriving ‘Paris of Africa,’ now a mix of brokendown colonial villas, 1960s-style apartment blocks and sprawling shantytowns, has essentially been abandoned by the government” (Eviatar 2004). New strategic global opportunities also go beyond historical colonial or Atlantic connections. China’s business and aid activities in African states within the framework of global competition for oil grew from a $2 billion line of credit (Donnelly 2005) to its current status as a major investor and builder throughout Angola. New skyscrapers and gated communities now serve Chinese businessmen (LaFraniere 2007). Such postmodern features and images of global Luanda embody many of the cultural, political and economic flows dividing and uniting Iberia, Africa and peoples of the American and Atlantic worlds. POST-MODERNITY AND “COSMOPOLITANNESS” IN THE IBERIAN METROPOLIS

While the presence of Spain and Portugal in Africa diminished notably after the 1970s, these changes stimulated important changes in the metropolis. Creolized populations, political exiles and economic refugees sought post-independence opportunities in Portugal. Recent immigration statistics show 30,000 citizens from Cape Verde and 60,000 from Angola in the capital (see the Portugal Immigration office website).

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Some retornados were also Portuguese who had emigrated to Africa under the auspices of the Novo Estado. They faced rejection in Portugal, not only because of the failure of empire, but also because they were sometimes perceived as having been disloyal to kin left behind whom they should have supported. According to some, “the retornados did not want to work in Portugal with their families after a life of ease (vida a larga) in Africa where blacks did everything for them. Even in France they must work long hours” (Lubkemann 2005: 263). Another emigrant, speaking in the 1980s, contrasted the life of the colonizer and retornado: “Life here is not as it was in Mozambique. There we had a flat, but here we have only a barraca on the beach with no modern conveniences and no space . . . In Mozambique, we have a flat. Here we had nothing” (Cole 1991: 113). Those returning citizens or postcolonial immigrants who appeared to be black, including mestiços, faced other issues of race and discrimination within a previously more homogeneous society. Portuguese filmmaker Pedro Costa has chronicled the lives of these old/new Portuguese for more than a decade in films such as Casa de Lava (Lava House, 1995); Ossos (Bones 1997), No Quarto da Vanda (In Vanda’s Room, 2000) and Juventude en Marxa (Colossal Youth, 2006). Combining documentary and fiction, he has shown connections of Cape Verde and the metropolis as well as the spatial and social movements of generations of émigrés in the city, from the aging Fountainhas district to housing projects outside the city, echoing the spatial marginalization of African immigrants across Europe. While Portugal passed new laws to clarify citizenship and immigration, many Cape Verdians, Angolans and Mozambicans who constitute the primary populations of AfroPortuguese immigrants hold citizenship and jobs, despite the challenges they face (Mendoza 2000).8

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In Spain, new Arab and African populations in the late twentieth century followed the global discovery of Spain’s tourism potential and the nation’s increasing integration in European success (Inongo-vi-Makome 1990) as much as postcolonial connections. Until 1956, Moroccans from the Spanish protectorates could immigrate relatively freely to the peninsula. For many Spaniards in the 1970s, however, their image of Arabs was that of oil-rich Gulf potentates in Marbella, visible on the pages of pictorial weeklies. By the 1980s, nevertheless, new immigrants from North Africa challenged these images as they formed urban and rural enclaves, including male laborers and their families (who entered the labor market when possible, especially in agricultural settings). Later immigrants from sub-Saharan Africa—Senegal, Nigeria, Ghana and other nations—who may have no historical/ colonial ties to Spain at all—participate in flows of information, goods and people shaped by wider European colonial ties and global opportunities. Senegalese traders, for example, wander streets from Barcelona to Paris to Athens. By the end of the 1980s, Catalonia’s population included 100,000 Arabs, 50,000 Latin Americans, 40,000 Filipinos and other Asians and 25,000 Africans. Many were illegal immigrants trapped in menial labor in the city and countryside. Mosques sprang up in immigrant areas of Barcelona like its portside barrio chino and industrial suburbs.9 Positive images of Afro-Catalans sometimes appeared in press reports supporting immigration, but tensions seethed in visible rejections of new immigrants by their neighbors and constant stories about violence, overcrowding and other “immigrant” problems. In Barcelona’s barrio chino, where I have worked since the 1970s, both police and vecinos (neighbors) expressed concerns in these early decades of immigration with crime, drugs and prostitution among new Arab and African residents. Ironically, many

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of them had themselves suffered discrimination and racism as immigrants to Barcelona from Andalusia and Murcia. Bars that had been neighborhood centers shifted racial demographics from year to year (although dominated by males), while women appeared in headscarves in the markets and waited for their children at schools. Despite local pride in a Catalan identity that was more cosmopolitan than other parts of Spain, older images of “moros,” associated with the Civil War and new prejudices arising from unfamiliarity faced these immigrants (McDonogh 1993, 1999). While activists, schools, cinema (Cartas d’Alou 1990) and literature have grappled with this new multiculturalism, the disjunction between the cosmopolitan worlds of Al-Andalus and the new immigration of European/global Spain remained evident. As EU states since 1986, Spain and Portugal also have participated in wider legal structures developed to control continental economic and political migrants as well as more intellectual debates over the nature of global difference and connections with regard to religion, ethnicity and race (MorénAlegret 2002). After a century of outmigration to Europe and the Americas, Spain passed new immigration laws in 1985 (those of generalized Iberian descent, including Latin Americans, Filipinos, Portuguese, Gibraltarians, Maghrebis and Sephardic Jews did not require a visa). Visa requirements were imposed on Maghrebis, Peruvians and Dominicans in 1991 when Spain joined the Schengen Agreement eliminating internal boundaries in Europe. These laws focused on control of entry and legal residency that have been variably enforced thereafter, including amnesties in the 1990s. The law also marginalized certain groups (as immigrants became identified with third world populations) but did not keep them out. This has permitted a surplus labor pool for Spain’s booming, but aging, economy (Calavita 1998; see Morén-Alegret 2002).

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Recent laws have focused on limits to family unification and have encouraged repatriation. Economic, social and cultural patterns of immigration and response differ across Spain as well. In Andalusia, in addition to laws and racism, immigrant Maghrebis and Africans have faced low wages and poor living conditions that have long characterized agricultural work there. While some Andalusians have reemphasized Islam as a central feature of regionalnational identity to the point of converting to Islam (SuarezNava 2004) and Barcelona’s Forum 2004 celebrated the connections of the Mediterranean, even in the Mediterranean South, tensions of production and rights have boiled over. In the province of Almería between 1998 and 2000, for example, repeated violent encounters between immigrants and local agriculturalists erupted in days of mob violence against immigrants. As one assessment from the European Civic Forum observed, the encounter between Maghrebis and Andalusians masked other global conflicts: “If the economic wealth of this area had originated with the activities of thousands of small farmers organized through autonomous family properties, it has expanded through the activities of thousands of immigrant peons working in conditions that could be qualified as modern slavery.” (Foro cívico 2001: 121–2.) Other evolving sensitivities of local and global perceptions of Iberia, Africa and race became apparent in the 1990s in the case of the Negre de Banyoles, the cadaver of a Bushman purchased after Barcelona’s 1888 World’s Fair and added to a private museum in a provincial city. When city leaders of Banyoles attempted to change its image as an Olympic venue (rowing), this led to new attention to this display in its admittedly antiquated museum. In October 1991, a Haitian physician resident in Catalonia wrote to the national newspaper El País to complain that no place that still exhibited African

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human beings as natural curiosities was fit to receive contemporary African athletes (Solana 2001: 17–18). This incident sparked years of global controversy before the remains were finally returned to Botswana. Joan Solana, professor of literature and mayor of Banyoles from 1991 to 1999, compiled the questions from this debate, underscoring its cross-cultural complexities of memory, class and nation (2001). Early on, he asked local African immigrants, primarily from Senegambia, what to do. Their response, according to Solana, was “that man has no problems with papers, or sanitary conditions, or work, or education of his children, or housing or burial. They asked me once again to deal with the problems of the living” (2001: 21–2). Although the polemic reached the New York Times (February 5, 1992), nothing was resolved before the Olympics. Other global agencies became involved over the years, including UNESCO, the United Nations (under Kofi Annan), the Organization for African Unity, the governments of Senegal and Botswana and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Spanish state. Finally, in 1997, a decision was made to return the remains to Botswana, putative home of the Bushmen, where the remaining bones were buried in 2000 with a military funeral (Solana 2001). Reading the mayor’s reminiscence, however, one cannot avoid the sense of worlds divided as well as converging, as he explains how history and locality meant to some that an exhibit was not racist while others, local and far away, tried to appeal to globally accepted standards of heritage and respect. Spain, in the twenty-first century, also found itself involved in a non-African Islamic world as its conservative leader committed troops to an American-led war in Iraq. Ten explosions in and around Madrid’s Atocha train station on March 11, 2004, killed 191 and injured more than 2,000.

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Responsibility was later traced to Moroccan, Algerian and Syrian Muslims inspired by Al-Qaeda. Millions of people marched in the streets across Spain and the Aznar government was defeated by Socialists in a scheduled election three days later. Under José Luis Zapatero, Spain withdrew its troops from Iraq. Atocha remains a symbol of the new faces of Islamic fanaticism as well as the many linkages of Iberian worlds. Today, the complexities facing Africans, Portuguese and Spaniards as global citizens continue to grow. As investments flow southward, refugees attempting to reach Iberian soil, whether across the Strait of Gibraltar or through the treacherous waters to the Canary Islands, raise continual debates about global responsibility. More than 30,000 Africans sought refuge in Spain in 2006 (Bilefsky 2007); Yvonne Ndege chronicled their words and hopes: I cannot speak for all of Africa, I can only speak about Senegal, said Aloom, a Senegalese woman who shares a block of flats with about 40 compatriots in El Fraile, in the south of Tenerife. The government of Senegal are trying to put the country on the right track—but it will take a long time, I cannot wait. Here in Spain I can earn 600 euros per month [$763], which I can send to Dakar, to my family, that is almost 40,000 in the local currency, it goes a long way. (July 7, 2006)10

Meanwhile, second and third generation hybrid Iberian Arabs, Africans and mixed families continue to seek their place within post-imperial metropolitan culture and history. Schools, sports, neighborhoods and businesses across Spain and Portugal have become increasingly varied, with new peoples, languages and opportunities woven into postmodern cities, industrial suburbs and rural towns. Halal butchers,


It is easy to speak of globalization through patterns of conquest, colonization and enslavement that have shaped flows and have bound peoples, nations and states of Iberia to other peoples, nations and states further south. Nevertheless, relations and geographies have evolved over time and continue to change today across diverse spaces. Once, “Africa” reached as far North as France. Islam, as a revolutionary religious and political unit, easily swept away Visigothic rule, but some “indigenous peoples” resisted this invasion and were able to form nations and states that eventually forced Islam and its convivencia from the peninsula. Seven hundred years after Muslims crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, Portuguese caravels sailed the African coast, rounded the Cape of Good Hope and extended “Europe” into new worlds. Imbued with their own political religious ideologies, Iberians expanded southward (and to the Atlantic West as well

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mothers wearing veils or bubas and specialized ethnic hair salons are all part of newly global streetscapes. Yet, for many older citizens, these new populations may evoke fears about crime, social problems, cultural identity and the balance between limited immigration and population reproduction.11 We must also be careful not to impose ideologies or behaviors on immigrants, but to listen to their perceptions as well. While Africans in Catalonia cited in the 2008 book Estan Bojos, Aquests Catalans (These Catalans are Mad, Arriaga and Nicol’s 2008) understand issues of nation, language and the Futbol Club Barcelona, they also express concern with the small size of family and kin networks (63ff ) and the lack of religious belief (147ff ) as well as their experiences of racism. Yet, it still seems difficult to move beyond immigrants as problem or solution to see them as analysts and co-citizens.

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as the Indian Ocean and Pacific). Their new proto-global control showed that they were more interested in commodities than territory, even if Iberians brought a missionary fervor along with mercantile connections and military conquest. In this expansion, Iberians participated in the racialization of the peoples of many African regions, turning them into commodities and “others.” These people, nevertheless, would also constitute new hybrid cultures and populations in the Americas while the statecraft of Africa took shape in opposition to European incursions. Transatlantic Africans, Europeans and indigenous peoples of the Americas thus created new worlds through the Atlantic passage and a living heritage that continues to unite and divide peoples beyond any continental boundaries. In the nineteenth century, Iberian states shared modern goals if not successes with other European nations and those caught up in modern colonization. This legacy has also been part of the nations that have emerged from their shadow, as we will see in Asia and Latin America. In the twenty-first century, African and Arab populations in Lisbon, Madrid, Barcelona, the Canaries, Andalusia and other areas live with memories of empire—their own and those of Iberian host populations— and visions of postcolonial worlds that extend beyond temporary stays in Spain or Portugal. And their questions of culture and citizenship resonate with the experience of American worlds, shaped through Atlantic slavery and immigration, with questions of global resources such as oil and with debates over Islam and the West. This broad political and economic globalization, however, is only part of the story of these complex Iberian worlds. Movements of people, whether Umayyads into Córdoba, Portuguese merchants and soldiers into Luanda, slaves to the Americas or postcolonial immigrants to Iberian cities changed

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culture, society, foodways and everyday lives. Global divisions of labor, migrations, hopes and terror today put pressure on African and Arab states and peoples as well as Iberian mainlands. Finally, in grappling with globalization over such vast periods and spaces, we must also recognize the power of culture and values that allow people to become agents who create forms as well as practices that make the global intimate, evolving and enduring: multiple meanings in Ibero-Africa that immigrants, artists, musicians and intellectuals continue to explore. Thus they recreate Iberian worlds and comment on the meanings and experiences of globalization elsewhere. These visions, in turn, complement the experiences of Iberian intersections with Asia, the Americas and their peoples and the different meanings of those globalizations over time.

Empires in Collision: Iberian and Asian Worlds


Portuguese caravels reached India in 1498. Seeking to circumvent Venetian and Arab control of the lucrative world trade in spices and silks, Portuguese explorers rounded the southern tip of Africa, established Indian Ocean bases in Mozambique and conquered/created a diadem of Asian colonial enclaves. By the early 1500s, these settlements stretched from Mombasa (modern Kenya) to Hormuz (Iran) to Goa and other outposts on the Indian subcontinent and a foothold was created in Sri Lanka. The Portuguese eventually reached Malacca (in contemporary Malaysia), Timor, Macau (China) and their trading post at Nagasaki, in Japan. Meanwhile, Spanish circumnavigation of the globe, captained by the Portuguese mariner Fernão de Magalhães (Ferdinand Magellan) extended the Habsburg empire westward across the Pacific from Peru to Manila and Taiwan. As Flynn and Giráldez argue (2002), a new globalization—in the sense of a complete, ongoing connection of world trade routes—began in the sixteenth century, when the AcapulcoManila galleon began to ferry silver regularly from the New World to meet the demands of traders from East Asia. Under the united crowns of Spain and Portugal (1580–1640), these connections combined trade, conquest and preaching in an extended maritime empire that encircled the Pacific and Indian Oceans as well as connecting Atlantic worlds. While local resistance challenged these holdings and other

Figure 4.1 Iberian Connections in Asia. Map prepared by Tammy Wong.

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Europeans eventually disrupted this maritime highway, the Iberian-Asian world explored in this chapter remains a remarkable example of proto-global domination and centuries of multidirectional globalization. After this intense period of expansion and exchange, Iberian power and connections were overshadowed by Britain, France and the Netherlands as “modern” colonizers of vast Asian territories. Nonetheless, the Iberian presence in Asia continued and evolved. With the loss of its American colonies, Spain expanded and modernized its colonial interests in the Philippines in the nineteenth century, inspiring global/local opposition (Anderson 2005). The United States stripped away Spain’s Pacific possessions in 1898. Portugal held Goa, Daman and Diu until Indian armies overran these enclaves in 1961; Portugal remained in East Timor until a similar invasion by Indonesia in 1975 began decades of brutal war there. Macau returned peacefully to China in 1999. Citizens of all these enclaves, nevertheless, have maintained selective aspects of an Iberian colonial heritage in their language, food and religion. However they interpret such ties, they also have established a new global presence in Iberian worlds in the late twentieth century, as refugees, migrants and postcolonial citizens. Two themes distinguish Iberian globalization in Asian contexts from other global relations in this book: (1) the highly focused extractive enclave economies created across continents; and (2) the complex and populous empires Iberians encountered. Apart from the last years of the Spanish Philippines, Iberian-Asian colonies generally remained urban enclaves rooted in commerce: ports of trade (feitorias), linked by maritime connections. The Portuguese and Spaniards christened these cities with churches, forts and institutions of governance and revenue, but these multicultural places included indigenous peoples, mixed offspring of colonizers

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and colonized, military garrisons and diverse global travelers and merchants. As historian Henry Kamen reminds us, the Iberian presence in Asia was always small (and generally male): “It has been estimated that in any one year between 1600 and 1740 there were not more than fifty thousand Europeans to be found in the whole of Asia . . . A census of the year 1584 reported there were only 329 ‘Spaniards’ in Manila available for military service, and no more than 713 in all the Philippines, the terms ‘Spaniard’ being one that also included those of mixed race” (2003: 222–3). Surrounding peoples, themselves evolving in response to new global contexts, also constrained these enclaves and their impacts. Such an extended network proved vulnerable to competition and attacks. The Dutch who fought against Spain in Europe disrupted Portugal’s global network by their conquest of Sri Lanka, Malacca and other ports (as they did with forays in Portuguese Africa and Brazil). Sidi pirates from Abyssinia found new targets among European shipping. Chinese merchants in Manila were so successful that the Spanish colonizers attacked them in 1603— although the Chinese returned and remained active in the Philippines after Spain left and the United States took control. Local peoples and regimes also successfully opposed Iberian incursions. Japan expelled the Portuguese in 1639, closing its door to the Christian West. China “tolerated” Macau, but did not approach recognizing the legitimacy of Portuguese rule until the nineteenth century. Hindus and Muslims limited Christian Goa, while Malays were active on the Malacca coast. The second major distinction lay in the context of Iberian expansion into Asia. Spain and Portugal found themselves in long-established and densely-populated worlds whose governance, trade networks, knowledge and artistic skills sometimes dwarfed those of Europe. Beyond the great empires of China, Japan and Mughal India, cities like Melaka (Malacca) had

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200,000 people when the Portuguese and their allies conquered it. Larger than Istanbul or Kyoto, “its fame as an international emporium was so great that the traveler Tomé Pires wrote in 1512 that ‘Whoever is lord of Malacca has his hand on the throat of Venice’ ” (Sarkissian 2000: 22). Asian worlds already had developed extensive millennial connections of knowledge, power and tribute. Shortly before the Portuguese and Spaniards reached Asian waters, for example, the Chinese Admiral Zheng He had captained a fleet to India and Africa, making multiple voyages between 1403 and 1433 (Levathes 1984; Ptak 2005; Suyadinata 2005). His mission was one of archaic globalization: displaying the glory of the Ming Emperor and collecting appropriate treasures from tributary states. For internal reasons, China later withdrew from overseas contacts as Europe expanded in this realm; its tributary ties gave way to European colonization, conversion and exploitation (Levathes 1994: 180; See Arrighi, Hamashita and Selden 2003). Other local and global relations of empire and city-state in Mughal South Asia, Southeast Asia and Japan shaped Iberian globalization as well. In these encounters, Iberian expansion embodied Iberian cultures, peoples, demands, prejudices and suspicions—especially with regard to Muslims against whom the knights of the Reconquest had struggled for centuries. Hence, Iberian attempts to conquer and convert disrupted the networks of exchange on which this Indian Ocean system had been built and meant that “the Portuguese have the dubious distinction of being the people who introduced politics into the ocean” (Pearson 1988: 29; see Perera 1998). Iberians also brought their religious mission into new worlds: Roman Catholicism accompanied colonization and trade. Still, religious encounters reflected differences in the peoples and cultures that missionaries encountered in Asia. While missionaries in Africa

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destroyed “idols” and those in the Americas replaced temples and burned local writings, the Vatican would eventually chastise the Society of Jesus for being too accommodating to Chinese practices. Christianity brought its intolerance to the often overlapping belief systems of Asia as well: Portugal established the Inquisition in Goa, while Jesuits became embroiled in the competition for souls, gold and power. This chapter thus explores the processes that formed an early modern Iberian-Asian maritime empire, where Portugal was the primary protagonist. It then explores the ideological elaboration of proto-global connections embodied in the career of the Iberian-dominated Jesuits across Asia. To place these in a longer context, two enclaves, Portuguese Macau and Spanish Manila, are used to illustrate ongoing changes into the present. The chapter ends with newly global Asians in the Iberian Peninsula today, echoing the continuing globalization we see among Latin Americans and Africans. PORTUGUESE ASIA AND SPANISH CONNECTIONS

As Portuguese explorers moved eastward around South Africa, they claimed coastal footholds around the Indian Ocean, often clashing with indigenous rulers over established ports. In the early sixteenth century, for example, the Portuguese attacked the Muslim trading center of Mombasa, which Vasco da Gama had visited in 1498. Despite recurrent conflicts with Omani Arabs and local Africans, the Portuguese finally conquered the city in 1593.1 They also captured Muscat (held 1507–1609) and brutally took Hormuz (held 1515–1622), which controlled the Persian Gulf. In these conquests, Portuguese naval technology, despite relatively weak fire power, allowed them to defeat small trading states and the fading power of Egypt’s Mamluk sultanate. In these battles, Portuguese political claims disrupted the cooperative relations of Indian Ocean trading,

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yet these posts never yielded a permanent military or commercial base (Pearson 1987). Portugal sought such a center in South Asia. In 1498, Vasco da Gama reached Calicut (today, Kozhikode in Kerala state). A more permanent colony came with the conquest of Goa and its environs by Viceroy Alfonso de Albuquerque in 1510. By this time, Lourenço de Almeida, son of the previous Viceroy, had established Portuguese trading rights in Colombo in the Kotte kingdom of contemporary Sri Lanka (Perera 1998). Albuquerque himself conquered the thriving Malayan sultanate of Malacca in 1511, augmenting sparse Portuguese troops with South Asian allies. In Malacca, Albuquerque and other Portuguese overlords attempted to build up a loyal population using Portuguese soldiers and orphan girls shipped out from Lisbon. Instead, as in other Portuguese enclaves, intermarriages with local women and acceptance of Christian converts produced a Eurasian society, with only a few hundred resident Portuguese before the Dutch took the city in the seventeenth century. Vestiges of language, religion, architecture and culture still survive there amidst a polyglot heritage.2 Global expansion continued. The Portuguese reached the Spice Islands (Moluccas) in 1511 and claimed Timor in 1520. They established missions in Vietnam and on the Chinese coast at Macau (see below). Portuguese explorers may also have touched on the Australian continent without finding any trading interests there. Finally, they reached Japan in 1543. Here they did not establish a colony, but a foothold for trade as well as a missionary post in Hirado (Kyushu). From there, mercantile activities eventually moved to Nagasaki. Portuguese merchants traded silk from China, tobacco from the New World and other goods for Japanese silver that sustained the Indian trade before the arrival of New World bullion. Again, the Portuguese took advantages of interstices among warring

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leaders; control of Nagasaki even passed briefly to the Jesuits. Nonetheless, as Japanese leadership reconsolidated under the Tokugawa shogunate, the government became concerned about Christian and foreign power. This led to repression of converts and control of the Portuguese. Amid increasing tensions between Japanese and Europeans, including an unsuccessful rebellion by Japanese Christians in 1637, the Portuguese were expelled. Control of the limited trade the Japanese permitted passed to the Dutch (Boxer 1951). In many of these areas, Portuguese control proved brief and their impact was limited to military control, commerce and missions of coastal ports: an extended empire vulnerable to local actions, disruptions in communication and governance and global interventions. The original islands on which Bombay/Mumbai arose, for example, were given to Great Britain as dowry for the marriage of Catharine of Braganza and Charles II in 1661. The spice trade was a Crown monopoly, but it was occasionally leased out to others and subverted by adventurers who could not be controlled by the state. Meanwhile, local trading, licit and illicit, sought to master regional exchanges in goods such as textiles and horses (Pearson 1988). Many Portuguese commanders in Asia also proved quite lax in distinguishing between public and private funds. Portugal’s urbane maritime network often concentrated on the fort, the factory, the church and the port, building walls against local controls. In Malacca, Macau and the Estado da India, however, the Portuguese made efforts to form new communities, negotiating social and cultural traits, but building powerful statements through edifices like the Jesuit Basilica of Bom Jesus or the Cathedral of Saint Catherine in Goa (see Figure 4.2). Conversions were forced as well as preached; Goa’s Hindu temples were destroyed and adherents fled with their deities to the safer contiguous “lands of the Moors,”

as Portuguese documents spoke of them (Axelrod and Feurch 1996). Meanwhile, male European settlers married local women and created a highly stratified hybrid society, divided by race, caste and religion: The first criterion was the familiar Iberian gradation, starting with those born in Portugal (reinoes) and descending through those born in Asia of Portuguese parents (castiços or Indiaticos) to those born in Asia of Portuguese and Indian, or Portuguese and African, parentage (respectively mestiços and mulattoes). Outside this ranking, and beneath it, were native Christians, but even the castiços and mestiços were regarded with considerable suspicion by the elite . . . (Pearson 1998: 94–5; Pearson notes how this refutes Freyre’s Lusotropicalism (p.101)).

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Figure 4.2 Goa: Sé Cathedral of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, completed 1619. Photograph obtained from Shutterstock.com. Copyright © by Holger Mette.

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In examining Portuguese efforts to achieve regional domination in India, Pearson has argued for the origins of a complex global society: “Portuguese assimilated to Asian trade regimes, incorporated aspects of other religions into their own, married local women and ended up, once the Dutch had defeated the official Portuguese presence, as one among many strands in a very rich and heterogeneous Indian Ocean maritime society” (1998: 154). Nevertheless, the early modern explorer Fernão Mendes Pinto criticized the colonial regime more obliquely through Rajah Benão, purported advisor to the Tartar king, who worried that “when men, by dint of industry and ingenuity, fly over all the waters in order to acquire possessions that God did not give them, it means either that there is a great poverty among them that it makes them completely forget their homeland, or that the vanity and blindness engendered in them by their greed are so great as to cause them to deny God and their fathers” (1989: 254). Paul Axelrod and Michelle Feurch also have illuminated Goan understandings of the Portuguese and local Hindu resistance to religious and secular domination that have been overlooked by Lusocentric histories, arguing that “the battle over control of symbols became a way of life, a cultural process, rather than an armed struggle. The process of resistance, in this case, lasted the entire 450-year period of Portuguese rule, and lives today in the ritual structure and collective memory of Goa” (1996: 420, 1998). Thus, the meaning of globalization has varied according to position, power and development. By the end of the seventeenth century, the cohesion of Portugal’s Asian connections was broken, but did not disappear. The colonies of Portuguese India, once surrounded by small states, became stranded and weak in the British-dominated subcontinent. When India became independent in 1949, the Portuguese did not relinquish control, but a later Indian

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invasion met little resistance. Over the years, the Portuguese language has faded in favor of English and Konkani; the primary newspaper switched from Portuguese to English in 1983. Heritage tourism and imagery remain strong; roughly 30 percent of Goans remain Catholic amid a divided population. Other traces of Portugal are found in food and festivals— including those that embodied resistance—as well as legacies in other Portuguese settlements in Asia: curries and chilies are found in Macanese dishes like Portuguese Chicken, Curried Crab and African Chicken. While Portugal built a maritime empire around the Indian Ocean, Spanish explorers came from a different direction, with a shared motivation in trade with China. Magellan, who had participated in Portuguese battles in Morocco and Malacca, proposed to King Charles V that he should find the alternate route to the spice riches of Asia that had eluded Columbus. In 1519 he set out from Sevilla, skirting the Canaries, Cape Verde, Brazil and the Rio de la Plata in 1520 before sailing south until he found a passage to a “new” ocean he named the Pacific. In his voyage across that ocean, twice the size of the Atlantic, Magellan located and claimed Guam and the Marianas. He also became the first European in the Philippines, where he died in 1521 in a clash with indigenous peoples. A few members of his crew made it home to Spain under Juan Sebastián Elcano in 1522. Their discoveries raised global disputes over sovereignty, as the Treaty of Tordesillas, which had divided the world between Spain and Portugal, really only covered the Atlantic. The voyage proved difficult to repeat at first, but the “discovery” of the Philippines eventually linked New World silver, East Asian silks and Euro-American consumers to routes sailed by 110 Acapulco-Manila galleons in the next two-and-a-half centuries. To understand this evolution in comparison to the initial Portuguese empire I have described, I will turn later to

a closer reading of two Asian-Iberian enclaves, Manila and Macau. Before that, we examine another key institution of global contact and communication in Iberian-Asia, built with the participation of Basques, Valencians, Portuguese, Frenchmen and other European peoples: the missions of the Jesuits.

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Throughout Iberian worlds, Roman Catholic missionaries accompanied the soldiers and merchants of Iberian expansion to evangelize new peoples. This religion inspired missionaries (and some soldiers) who fought to save Europe from heresy and others who sought to hasten the millennium by converting lost tribes in the New World. Within a few decades of Portuguese establishment in Goa, for example, that enclave hosted Franciscans, Dominicans, Jesuits, Augustinians, Carmelites and Theatines. These religious groups, generally male, ran parishes, schools and a university, but also engaged in multiple business and trading ventures. The Jesuits, from their foundation in 1537 to their suppression in the eighteenth century, proved emblematic of ties of religion, economics, statecraft and knowledge in Iberian proto-globalization. The Jesuits emerged from the battlefields of the European Counterreformation. Basque soldier Iñigo Yañez de Oñez y Saenz de Lieona (Ignatius Loyola) founded the order. He assembled men from all over Europe, but relied on his fellow Iberians such as Simon Rodriguez, who would become a conflictive provincial (leader) in Portugal and Francis Xavier, from Navarra. At the request of King João III of Portugal, the newly founded order extended Christian evangelization to China and India, arriving in Goa in 1542. Jesuits preached and taught in Portuguese enclaves in India, Ceylon and the Malacca and founded new missions in China and Japan. Macau’s Jesuit college, which lasted from 1554 to 1835, became a mission-

. . we told him, without realizing that he had already heard about it, that we had two Japanese back on the nao and that one of them seemed to be a person of some consequence who was very intelligent and well informed about all the religious doctrines and sects of Japan, about which His Reverence would be pleased to hear. He could hardly contain his excitement and in order to please him, we went down to the nao to get the Japanese and brought him to the hospital where he was residing. He took charge of him and from there took him to India, where we was then preparing to go and after he arrived in Goa he converted him and gave him the name of Paul of the Holy Faith. Within a short time he knew how to read and write and had learned all of the Christian doctrine, in keeping with the plans of this blessed father, who had decided, come the April monsoon, to go and preach to the barbarians of the Japanese islands (1989: 454–5).

Francis Xavier died in 1552 at Sancian Island, off China. His body was carried to Malacca and Goa, where his relics remain today. Meanwhile, as Dauril Alden has shown, Jesuits judiciously cultivated the political and economic support of the Portuguese crown and attracted donations from nobles and landowners in Portugal and the colonies. With financial success came demands for military levies, empty promises and delayed

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ary and intellectual center for East Asia. The Jesuit Alexander of Rhodes (descendant of converted Jews; see Chapter 6) devised the Romanization of the Vietnamese language that challenged Chinese influence there. Rapid Jesuit expansion relied on strong personalities. Mendes Pinto provided a vivid contemporary portrait of the order’s Navarese/Basque co-founder, Francis Xavier (1506– 1552) as an indefatigable preacher and teacher:

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payments. Nonetheless, within decades, the Jesuits had become large property owners across Iberian worlds. This wealth pitted these preachers against those from whom lands had been taken as well as governors, merchants and other secular elites who resented their power. The Jesuits were also pawns amid shifting sovereignties: when Portugal gave Bombay to Great Britain, Jesuit landholdings there were confiscated and only were returned with the promise of steep rents (Alden 1996: 430–460). Jesuits also became involved in the global trades of East Asia from their houses in Japan, Macau and Goa. In the seventeenth century, “the warehouses of the Jesuit College in Macao and those of merchants who provided the fathers with storage facilities contained quantities of silk, cotton, and woolen cloth; assortments of mirrors and brass bells; lace towels and fine handkerchiefs, soaps, silver platters, wine cups and candle holders” (Alden 1996: 538). This wealth, even if dedicated to preaching and teaching, drew attacks from fellow Catholic orders who had taken vows of poverty, although excessive riches may have challenged the reputation of the society less than their involvement in slavery in Africa and the Americas. Jesuits faced other challenges in adapting their religious enthusiasm to new philosophies and social settings. In Goa, for example, they recruited elite Brahmins for the priesthood, pitting them against other castes while Catholics razed local temples. Nevertheless, they denigrated all South Asians when local Catholics challenged European Jesuits for control, spurring continual resistance (Borges and Feldman 1997). Francis Xavier also insisted that the Inquisition be brought to Goa in 1560. While initially concerned with New Christians (Jewish converts), this body eventually began to police Hindu and Muslim converts and citizens in ways that alienated many others (Alden 1996: 670–3; Axelrod and Feurch 1996).

Perhaps in part it was the extraordinary realism with which the beauty of her image had been caught—a realism that led Zhaoqing residents to kowtow before her and the prefect Wang Pan to request a copy of her image to send to his aged father in Shaoxing—but the Chinese slowly came to believe that the Christian God was a woman. Her image fused with other visions of benevolent deities from China’s own past, and the very realism with which her long robes were painted made it hard for some Chinese scholars to recognize the humanness of her form. (Spence 1984: 244)

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Finally, Jesuit involvement in Asia was intellectual, participating in an elite cosmopolitan culture through which they built bridges between worlds. Jonathan Spence’s masterful analysis of Matteo Ricci (1552–1610; Spence 1984; Brockey 2007) underscores the lifelong global commitments underpinning Jesuit culture in Asia. After attending a Jesuit school in his Italian home, Ricci entered the order in 1571, studying in Florence and Rome before leaving for Coimbra, where he learned Portuguese and prepared for his posting to Goa in 1578. He moved to China in 1583, where his intensive study of the language allowed him to begin translations from Chinese within a decade, publishing Chinese texts on friendship, memory and geometry as well as Christianity before his death in Beijing. Ricci’s engagement with Chinese scholars and elites, reminiscent of the debates of medieval Iberian convivencia (Muslims, Jews and Christians living together), demanded Jesuit consideration of Chinese values. For example, he noted that the Chinese found the crucifix to be a disturbing image. Jesuit devotions to the Virgin Mary, by contrast, provided a different bridge, despite potentially serious misunderstandings:

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The scholar Li Zhi, before whom Ricci debated theological issues of Buddhism that he had begun to study in India, depicted him as an intellectual as well as religious ambassador: “Now he can speak our language fluently, write our script, and act according to our rules of conduct. He is an extremely impressive man—a person of inner refinement, outwardly most straightforward . . . Amongst the people of my acquaintance, no one is comparable to him” (Spence 1984: 255). Like Francis Xavier, Ricci sought to create a stable, reproducing Asian Catholic culture. Jonathan Porter, however, reminds us of many borders between worlds, which these religions sought to cross with words and rituals as well as telescopes, sundials and scientific books: “The Jesuits saw their science and technology as a kind of tantalizing lure, an accessory to their true purposes of evangelization. But the Chinese saw that science and technology as a far more important and indivisible whole, a way of looking at the world that was consistent with their own ethical assumptions, at least until the mid-eighteenth century. But who was converting whom?” (Porter 1996: 116; Brockey 2007). Jesuit engagement with Chinese intellectuals in theology as well as sciences also brought them into debate with the rival Dominicans in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries over whether Confucian veneration of the ancestors could be compatible with Catholicism. In 1715, Pope Clement XI forbade these venerations, which included the Emperor, to Chinese Catholics; the Chinese emperor then banned Christian missions. Spain and Portugal suppressed the order in the eighteenth century; the Jesuit church of St. Paul (São Paulo) in Macau was expropriated in 1762 and almost completely destroyed by fire in 1843. Nevertheless, its façade, with its multicultural carvings showing Japanese, Chinese and European influences, has become a symbol for that colony and its global Iberian heritage (see Front Cover).


The Portuguese claimed coastal trading spots from Ming China in the early sixteenth century. Their first caravels arrived from Malacca in 1513 and by the 1550s, permanent fortifications arose on a peninsula at the mouth of the Pearl River. This would become Macau, constructed by Portuguese and Chinese who were both wary of each other. Chinese immigrated to this new dual settlement, extending their connections with longstanding commercial traditions in Guangdong and its capital, Guangzhou (Canton). However, China never actually recognized Macau as a colony as it would British Hong Kong. Colonial Macau reached its global apogee by the seventeenth century, under the Spanish-Portuguese union. Wealth from trade embellished houses, churches and civic institutions such as the governing Leal Senado and Casa de Misericordia. The lives of Portuguese settlers, Chinese merchants and some

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After the order was restored in 1814, the Jesuits returned to Spain, Portugal, the New World and Asia. Today, Jesuits control thirty-eight universities in India, five universities and the Manila Observatory in the Philippines, two in Japan, and one each in Korea and Indonesia as well as myriad high schools and other outreach institutions. There are more Jesuits in South Asia, in fact, than in any other assistancy in the world—3,851 out of more than 21,000 worldwide (www.jesuit.org; http//www.goethals.org/jesuits.htm). They have trained rebels in Manila and freedom fighters in East Timor as well as conservative leaders across the region. While Catholics do not constitute a majority in any nation outside the Philippines, the legacy of early missionaries continues in new forms, promoting scholarship, critical understanding and action.

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culturally mixed families became cultured and opulent, creating a Mediterranean cityscape that sets the city apart today (see Figure 4.3). This nodal position collapsed with the closing off of Japan and growing competition from other European traders (Boxer 1981; Pearson 1987, 1998; Porter 1997). Macau’s European relations revived at the end of the eighteenth century, when a new global power, the British East India Company, pioneered the global trade in opium through nearby Guangzhou (McDonogh and Wong 2005). For many decades, Macau offered a home for those only tolerated as visitors in China, as Europeans and Americans sought to drain China of the wealth it had amassed from the Manila galleons. In 1809, in fact, Britain considered occupying Macau as part of its involvement with Portugal in the Napoleonic Wars (Piña-Cabral 2002: 10– 11). Soon, the booming opium trade led to the Sino-British

Figure 4.3 Largo de Senado Macau: a Space of Portuguese Colonial Memory. Photograph by the author, 2006.

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Opium Wars (1839–1842, 1856–1860) in which the British took the Pearl River Delta island of Hong Kong and changed Macau inexorably. As Hong Kong became a richer and more powerful trading center, Macau, increasingly a backwater, maintained interests in opium and expanded into trading human labor, especially after the British imposed controls on the coolie trade in Hong Kong in 1855 (McDonogh and Wong 2005). These exchanges connected Macau with diasporic Chinese populations in Southeast Asia and the Americas. Chinese coolies in Cuba, testifying to a special board, recalled their harsh treatment in the port: “we were decoyed to the Macao barracoons and though not inspected by any Portuguese officials, were, after the evening meal . . . our queues having been tied together, and guarded by foreign soldiers armed with firearms . . . forced to embark” (Tsung Li Ya Men 1970: 7). In the twentieth century, Macau became known as a regional center for gambling and illegal activities, an image that still crops up in novels and movies. Portuguese neutrality in World War II also meant that it became a refuge when the Japanese controlled South China. After 1949, Macau, like Hong Kong, was a place of uneasy contact between the West and the communist regime of Mainland China, with a somewhat permeable border (for the Chinese). However, when riots broke out against colonial rule in Hong Kong and Macau in the 1960s, spurred by China’s Cultural Revolution, Portugal was willing to relinquish its authority there. China chose to wait, and Portugal endured the traumatic loss of its African colonies in the 1970s before it could negotiate a peaceful “return” for Macau. Macau became a Special Administrative Region of China on December 20, 1999. By this time, China had also changed—the Cultural Revolution had long since given way to capitalistic development in the

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south, where the Special Economic Zone of Zhuhai now dwarfs Macau’s 470,000 inhabitants, 95 percent of whom are Chinese. Macau has continued to seek an economic niche through heritage and resort tourism: in 2007, its casino economy passed that of Las Vegas in gaming tables and activity. The Lisboa Casino, which opened in 2007, is shaped like a giant golden lotus, and towers over the historic city core as a symbol of this hybrid past and future, while the Venetian—larger than its namesake in Las Vegas—has become a new global entrepôt of gambling, luxury goods and celebrities. While controlled by Iberian states for centuries, Macau provided a different vision for the Chinese who migrated there. The Macanese minority that resulted from intermarriage and conversion integrated Portuguese elements more closely into their own identities, defined by family and food, language and religion. As in Goa and Malacca, family ties were complicated by concubinage and the mixing of Portuguese male settlers, traders and military men with women from China, Goa and other parts of Asia. This mixture also pervaded the distinctive cuisine of Macau, with elements drawn from Portugal, Africa, India, Southeast Asia and China. Many Macanese, however, left for other areas (Canada, Australia, and the United States) during difficult times around the Cultural Revolution. Iberian culture grew in Macau as well. Luis Vaz de Camões (1524–1580), author of Portugal’s global epic Os Lusiadas, spent a few years of his career in Macau. Language defined another area of flexible cultural competence (Cooper and Stoler 1997). Macanese often learned Chinese, Portuguese, English and the local Creole (patúa or Macanese). This belonged to a larger family of Portuguese coastal creoles that emerged from and reflected changing commercial relations, dominating Southeast Asian global commerce until they gave way to

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English pidgins in the nineteenth century (Piña-Cabral 2002: 40–1). Because of their intercultural skills, Macanese were in demand in colonial Hong Kong as clerks and translators although English and Mandarin subsequently have made Portuguese less important in the region. Since its return to China, Macau seems to represent a minor enclave in the contemporary Iberian world. Yet, over nearly five centuries of contact and exchange, Portuguese and Chinese have explored elements central to the definition of Iberian worlds. These include not only political economics, but also language, religion, home, cuisine, family and memory (Welker 2005; Porter 1997). As China and other Asian states seek new global relations, this heritage provides lessons about the possibilities of communication and exchange, as well as the risks of power and assertion of boundaries. Like Macau, Manila was not the first point of Asian contact or settlement for Spaniards; like Malacca or other Portuguese conquests, it was already the center for small sultanates linking the island to the rest of the Muslim Malay world (Brunei, Sulu, etc). Spanish troops based in Cebu conquered the Manila area in 1570–1571 and it became the capital of the Philippines by the end of the century, although officially subordinated to the Viceroyalty of New Spain. The walls and buildings of the Spanish colonial foundation south of the Pasig River have been damaged by subsequent earthquakes and World War II battles and are now submerged in an urban sea of skyscrapers, highways and shantytowns. Nonetheless, as in Latin America, these buildings evoke the urban vocabulary of Iberian colonialism worldwide in their churches and fortifications (Reed 1978). Fort Santiago, built over the ruins of indigenous defenses, became a bastion against indigenous populations. The Church of San Agustín, completed between 1571 and 1606, and the adjoining

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Augustinian monastery embody the religious components of conquest and conversion that were not limited to the Jesuits (who arrived in 1581). Fray Andrés de Urdaneta of the Augustinians, indeed, accompanied conquistador Migeul López de Legazpi as navigator in 1564, fomenting Catholicism and colonization in the Philippines and providing information on the islands to Europe.3 For centuries, Spanish colonizers saw Manila as a port and point of transit, subordinate to the interests of Latin America en route to Asian markets, mediated through the Manila galleons (1565–1815). As David Steinberg writes, however, “the impact of this galleon trade on Philippine development was stultifying. Since the colony was totally dependent on it and since the galleon siphoned off almost all available capital, there was little interest in developing the country internally or ability to do so” (2000: 55). Exclusion, corruption and underdevelopment became the hallmarks of colonial rule. Spanish influence did not extend far beyond the fortified cities nor challenge regional powers. Henry Kamen adds, “Manila was a highly vulnerable and isolated outpost, wholly outnumbered by native populations, subsisting not only because of its own tenaciousness, but even more because of the tolerance of the two major powers in Asia, the Chinese and the Japanese. Rather than being, as it pretended to be, the capital of a colonial territory, it was little more than a small trading outpost, similar to the Portuguese outposts of Goa and Macao” (2004: 206). Native peoples and coastal Chinese who had traded with the inhabitants of the Philippine archipelago for hundreds of years challenged the arrival of Spanish power. By the seventeenth century, the Chinese in the city numbered 20,000— twenty times the number of Spaniards—and controlled the Manila-China trade that completed the galleon’s silver route. Edgar Wickberg claims that Spaniards drew on Reconquista

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models to categorize the non-Catholic Chinese, based on their experience with Jews and Muslims. Perhaps 20 percent of the Chinese population did become Catholic, allowing them to trade in the provinces, but their loyalties were divided in times of crisis. Certainly, the term sangley took on discriminatory ethnic overtones and fear of the Chinese (local or the Empire) recurred as a policy motivation over centuries (Wickberg 2000: 9; Andrews 2004). Wary of the intentions of the nearby Chinese empire as well, Spaniards massacred the Chinese in Manila in 1603 and later confined the Chinese into a Chinatown beyond the city walls. Still, the Chinese population rebounded in urban, regional and global trade in the seventeenth and eighteenth century city. From 1762 to 1764, British, South Asian and French troops occupied Manila as part of the global Seven Years’ War. In the aftermath of this occupation, the Bourbon monarchy sought to develop more local goods and trade directly with Spain. Manila took on further significance as Latin American states declared independence, although Spaniards fleeing these former colonies added uncomfortable layers to the existing hierarchies of Manila. The nineteenth century saw the development of a Philippine plantation economy devoted to tobacco, sugar, coffee, hemp and copra. Spaniards like Antonio López’s Barcelonabased Trasatlánticos had profitable visions for the colony (McDonogh 1986). Sugar, a crop that had driven Atlantic Iberia, also became a global commodity for the Philippines; after 1836, “sugar society became firmly linked to the world market economy and responsive to its fluctuations. As never before, sugar developed into a separate, wealthy sector of the native economy, unique in the high degree of foreign participation” (Larkin 1993: 46). Nonetheless, despite Spanish rule, other foreigners and Creole/Mestizos challenged

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colonial rulers. By the late nineteenth century, the Philippines had become, for one observer, “an Anglo-Chinese colony flying the Spanish flag” (Steinberg 2000: 61). Spaniards soon found themselves in a war with Filipinos demanding control of their own national territory. As Benedict Anderson has shown in a recent study, opposition was global in its own regard, linking intellectuals and activists in the Philippines, Spain and the New World (2005). An uprising in 1872 at the military arsenal at Cavite, near Manila, drew the support of Creole and Mestizo Filipinos, but was brutally suppressed. Later, after skirmishes in the 1890s, Spain was ejected from the Philippines in 1898 by a new world power, the United States, who continued patterns of neo-colonial development in areas like sugar production. At the same time, the U.S “nationalized” a global society, setting “the final rejection upon full participation of the Chinese in Philippine society by encouraging both Filipino nationalism and Chinese cultural exclusivism” (Wickberg 2000: 236; Andrews 2004). While direct Spanish control disappeared, Manila retained a Spanish heritage evident in physical structures, language, culture and religion. Tagalog/Filipino, the Philippines national language, has a vocabulary deeply imbued with Spanish; some have seen it as a transition toward reestablishing Spanish as an official language of the state in opposition to American influence. While Muslims have fought for autonomy in islands of the nation-state, Catholicism deeply imbues the lives of many people and urban festivals like the Manila celebration depicted in Figure 4.4. Other resemblances between Manila and Latin American metropoles speak both to shared Iberian heritage and to the global subordination of these cities as postcolonial third-world capitals flooded with immigrants from the countryside, relying on sweatshops, tourism and exporting

human (female) labor to survive. This, too, is a heritage that has “come home” to Iberia. ASIANS ENTERING IBERIAN WORLDS IN THE AMERICAS AND EUROPE

As African examples showed, globalization has always been multidirectional. In Iberian-Asia, flows of goods and knowledge were more marked than the human flows of Africa or the biological/ecological ravages facing Latin America. The enclave nature of most Iberian settlements in Asia, the strength of local traditions and governance, and the decay of control, interest and profit that Spain and Portugal had maintained in these colonies in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries all have limited postcolonial flows into the peninsula. Although Macanese traders and Spanish Jesuits had brought Chinese with them to Spain and Portugal as servants in the early modern period, neither significant migrations nor Iberian Asian

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Figure 4.4 Roman Catholic Procession in Manila. Photograph by the author, 1996.

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communities followed from these contacts. Portugal offered citizenship to many Chinese and Macanese who could prove they had been born in Macau before negotiations for the 1999 handover; even so, Mainland Chinese outnumber Macanese in contemporary Lisbon. While Filipinos constitute a large immigrant population in contemporary Spain, their presence, too, owes more to massive labor migration—especially women in domestic service—that has become a mainstay of the Philippine economy worldwide. Nonetheless, Asians in contemporary Iberia illuminate different ways that changing global flows shape Iberian worlds. In fact, Asian movements into Iberian worlds started in Latin America. In the nineteenth century, wars and overpopulation forced many men from South China to seek opportunities abroad, in the gold fields of California, Canada and Australia or as coolies (indentured agricultural laborers) in Latin America. Those who survived the voyage and harsh labor and did not return to China often drifted to cities where they formed a nucleus for varied Chinatowns, soon expanded by Chinese merchants from South China and the United States. In Cuba, for example, their story became intertwined with the struggle for independence and the hybridization of culture until the 1959 Revolution, when many capitalist Chinese Cubans chose to leave for the United States. In Peru, Lima’s extensive Chinese and mixed population, fortified by intermarriage and subsequent migrations, has grown to some 400,000 people in a central Chinatown and widely dispersed families and businesses. The city boasts thousands of Chinese restaurants in the central Chinese district, elite suburbs and squatter settlements. While the Chinese have at times been viewed as foreigners, they have also been seen as modernizers and now offer global trade and investments from a strong Chinese state.4 (McDonogh and Wong 2005.)

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These migrations were generated by conditions in Asia causing individuals and governments to seek opportunities in Iberian postcolonial states. Cultural adaptations have facilitated Asian movements, ties and communication from one Latin American nation to another, but they do not seem to have promoted any subsequent Asian trajectories towards the Peninsula like those found among postcolonial Africans or Latin Americans. Instead, many Latino Asians, along with many other Latinos, have veered towards the United States. Other global visions, however, have encouraged Asians to look for opportunities in contemporary and “European” Spain and Portugal. Only scattered Chinese arrived in Spain in the early twentieth century, including seamen in ports like Barcelona, peddlers and circus artists. Franco’s Spain offered neither colonial ties nor economic incentives for Chinese; perhaps 100 lived there in the 1950s and there were less than 1,000 three decades later (Beltrán Antolín 1998; Beltrán and Sáiz 2001). Barcelona, for example, saw its first Chinese restaurant in the 1950s, but had only a few Asians when I arrived there in the 1970s. Chinese restaurants accommodated local tastes with bread and wine replacing rice and tea on midday specials. While the portside area was called the barrio chino (Chinatown), the name suggested the aura of San Francisco’s Chinatown rather than any actual Asian community. Chinese migration grew with Spain’s wealth and integration into the European Union in 1986. By 1993, the Ministry of the Interior listed nearly 9,000 Chinese legally in Spain but others estimate that there were as many as 20 to 30,000 people, from Zhejiang, Taiwan and Hong Kong (Beltrán Antolín 1998). Many, however, had arrived in Spain as part of wider global migration through European centers in Great Britain and France, leading some to consider Spain as a

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“suburb” of European Chinese migration (Ma 2000). Only in the twenty-first century have Catalans seen a new “Chinatown” on the urban periphery of Barcelona as well as countless small stores selling shoes and household goods scattered throughout the city. Chinese children are already becoming “Iberianized” in language, education and soccer on the plazas, although researchers have noted a preference for Castilian as a state language (like Mandarin) over Catalan (Beltrán and Sáiz 2001). In Spain, the Chinese have now passed the Filipinos as the largest Asian immigrant population, with a stronger profile through their public interactions, businesses and the global stature of China. As with other immigrants, local reactions to Asians have varied. While Chinese restaurants symbolize Spain’s cosmopolitan character, some residents complain that cheap Chinese goods and bazaars undercut local commerce under the control of shadowy Chinese family-mafias (a global perception). In Barcelona, Chinese capital buying into older textile wholesale firms near the central business district has led to complaints of economic monoculture—in a neighborhood, as a Catalan colleague pointed out, that has been characterized by exactly these business practices for two centuries! (Carreras, personal communication 2006.) While Barcelona’s Universal Forum of World Cultures in 2004 exalted Chinese culture with a display of terracotta warriors, others view Chinese migrants as illegals and potentially disloyal citizens and competitors, although Spaniards and global immigrants alike patronize their stores, restaurants and bars. Chinese tourists and wholesale investors constructing commercial centers in cities like Madrid and Barcelona complicate this panorama. The Japanese, by contrast, tend to be viewed primarily as elite investors, managerial sojourners and tourists. Restaurants, schools for overseas children and other institutions tend to

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characterize them as foreigners, rather than potential participants in peninsular societies (Furriol 1990). With Filipinos, Spaniards may evoke colonial history, shared Catholicism and the overlap of Spanish and Tagalog to reduce perceived cultural difference. State perception of these historical ties had concrete implications for labor migration: Filipinos were able to enter Spain without a visa prior to Spain’s entry into the EU and could easily obtain a work visa. They are also allowed to apply for citizenship after only two year’s residence (Pe-Pua 2004). Still, for Filipinos themselves, Spain is one global destination among many: nearly one million Filipinos work around the world; their annual remittances of $7.6 billion constitute ten percent of the nation’s GDP. While various sources estimate that Filipinos in Spain may number 50,000 or more (two-thirds of which are female), this is less than one-third of the population of Filipinos in Hong Kong and only one-quarter of the Filipino population settled in Italy (Commission for Filipino Migrant Workers/Kaibigan 1995). Here, globalization and memories remain profoundly unequal. As Rogelio Pe-Pua observes, “The Filipinos’ familiarity with Spain is entrenched in their psyche as a result of more than 300 years of Spanish colonization of the Philippines. But while the Filipino language and culture have traces of Spanish culture, the country of Spain itself is alien to Filipinos—what it looks like, the way of living, and so on” (2004). Chinese in Portugal embody still other ties and trajectories. The return of Macau to China in 1999 left roughly 100,000 residents of Macau who had Portuguese passports—a strong potential transnational element for a nation of ten million. Indeed, reports prior to the handover raised the specter of Triad involvement in Portuguese cities (Feretke 1996). Those few who came to Lisbon found that “since the city did not want a Chinatown, the families were dispersed in many areas”

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(Couto 2000: 319). Although a Chinese nucleus eventually emerged around the older neighborhood of the Mouraria, Macanese form only one highly assimilated segment of an estimated Chinese population of roughly 10,000. Ana Maria Amaro argues that the majority of Chinese came overland from other parts of Europe, augmented by students from a revitalized global China. Still others have followed a wider Lusophone diaspora, from Mozambique in the 1970s to Brazil and then Lisbon (Amaro 2003: 161). Postcolonial Chinese identities in Portugal are thus open to debate. The Casa de Macau in Lisbon, for example, has hosted international conferences among Diasporic Macanese to promote global awareness and protection of a heritage perceived as endangered in a changing Macau (Guterres 2000). Nevertheless, some Chinese complain that this institution is actually dominated by Portuguese colonizers linked to Macau rather than the hybrid population who embody Portuguese history in Asia. Goans have followed a similar pattern, according to a 200l report in the Indian newspaper, the Hindu. The article found 80,000 Portuguese linked to Goa, Daman and Diu, including elites who left after India’s takeover of these enclaves: For the most part, the Goans have managed to maintain a high standard of living, and belong to the upper middle class in Portuguese society. There have always been MPs of Goan origin in the Portuguese parliament since the 19th Century. One Prime Minister, Alfredo Nobre da Costa (1978) was the grandson of a Margao-born doctor by the same name. The Minister of Justice in the ruling socialist government is also a “grandson of Goans”. The present president of Casa de Goa, Mr. Alfredo Bruto da Costa, is a professor at the Catholic University of Lisbon. There are now Portugese-Goan educators, economists, journalists,

engineers, doctors and managers in government or in the private sector. They refused to be officially classified as a minority-group in order to avoid the inevitable ghettoisation, and have never regretted it. (The Hindu April 22, 200l) (http://www.hinduonnet.com/2001/04/22/stories/

The Casa de Goa represents and fosters the cultural traditions of this group in Lisbon. South Asians in Portugal also comprise Gujaratis who have been traders in Mozambique and other African colonies before their independence. Finally, Punjabis arrived in the late 1990s, seeking economic opportunities without prior colonial ties. This latter migration is echoed by the Gujaratis and Pakistanis who have established stores, restaurants and other businesses across Spain—not all migrations are specifically postcolonial. East Timor and its immigrant peoples, finally, represent an especially tragic postcolonial history. Timorese who were able to flee the 1975 Indonesian invasion constituted a nucleus for action in Portugal, including Nobel Peace Prize Winner José Ramos Horta, whose ancestors had been exiled from Portugal because of their political activities (Ramos-Horta 1987). Perhaps 2,000 East Timorese arrived in Portugal at various times where the government helped to support them, including teaching Portuguese. Even among the many issues of the rapid collapse of Portugal’s overseas empire, East Timor became a haunting postcolonial nightmare (Roberts 1999). Since East Timor regained its independence, though, Portugal has provided peacekeepers and economic aid while incorporating the island republic into its economic and cultural Lusophone networks. Colonial governance has been supported by investors and NGOs. In 2002, in fact, the constitution

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reinstated Portuguese as the official language of government, although UN estimates concluded that only five per cent of inhabitants spoke it. This language policy represents decolonization from Indonesia in favor of earlier domination, a strategic choice in continuing debates of globalization, communication and identity (Ramos-Horta 1987). 192 Empires in Collision: Iberian and Asian Worlds


The variety of Asian flows evident in contemporary Iberia underscores the intricate multidirectional flows and choices of contemporary globalization as well as the weight of history and memory. Proto-global connections of trade, governance and ideology changed many parts of Asia as they did Lisbon, Madrid and Barcelona yet this was only a chapter in global ties of each node. For many Asians, cities and nations took shape through centuries of coexistance and conflict with colonial powers and competing states. Within these processes, Portuguese Malacca, Goa and Macau and Spanish Manila have become sites of global memory within modern multicultural states. Spain and Portugal have made some special provision (within European limits) for those coming from former colonies, especially with regard to Portugal’s late departure from Macau, Goa and East Timor. Other strategies of globalization generated by the still growing economic power of Japan, China and India and the active movement of their citizens also reshape Iberian worlds in flows and directions that could not have been predicted from postcolonial involvements. While Iberian trade routes, goods and agents have been central to the histories of Europe, Africa, the Americas and Asia, these have not been isolated processes of integration so much as threads in an ever denser fabric of connections and checks. This becomes evident as we turn to the complexity of Iberian peoples and flows across the Atlantic.

Descubrimiento and Pachakuti: Latin American Connections and Creations

Five Iberian cities today show the impact of American colonization in the riches of their historic temples and palaces, their monuments and memories of heroes and battles, their adaptations of food, language, music, art and film, and the enclaves of new immigrants with trans-Atlantic accents who now work in many businesses. In Latin America today, by contrast, for many people any Iberian heritage evokes memories of colonial power and violence and neo-liberal strategies against which national identities have struggled. Between these opposing visions of globalization lie shared and divided features of space, language, culture and society that constitute the peculiarly intimate globalization of Iberia and America, whether read in commodity flows, human quests, movements of ideas or everyday values of food, home and space. In exploring such convergences, we must be careful to value differences of position, seeking multiple perspectives on historical process and agency rather than simply reading or unifying “the Americas” from an Iberian vantage: Before 1492, the Americas were not on anybody’s map, not even on the map of the people inhabiting Anáhuac (the territory of the Aztecs) and Tawantinsuyu (the territory of the Incas). The Spanish and Portuguese, as the sole and diverse European occupants in the sixteenth century, named the entire continent that was under their control and possession. It may be hard to

understand today that the Incas and the Aztecs did not live in America, or even less, Latin America . . . The mass of land and the

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people were there, but they had named their own places Tawantinsuyu in the Andes, Anahuac in what is today the valley of Mexico, and Abya-Yala in what is today Panama. The extension of what became “America” was unknown to them. . What is really confusing in this story is that once America was named as such in the sixteenth century and Latin America named as such in the nineteenth, it appeared as if they had been there forever.” (Mignolo 2005: 2)

For Argentine intellectual Walter Mignolo, what Iberians read as discovery could also be read as “Pachakuti,” part of a cycle of destruction and renewal (see Hylton and Thomson 2007). Either reading entails the creation of new worlds, yet their meanings diverge. Mignolo’s reflections form part of a wider debate among intellectuals who have grappled with identities and divisions across continents. Uruguayan Angel Rama, for example, in The Lettered City, his path-breaking interpretation of Latin American urban elites, argued that New World cities emerged as creations of the Western (Iberian) mind even before they became real assemblies of peoples, goods and interests: “The ideal of the city as the embodiment of social order corresponded to a moment in the development of Western civilization as a whole, but only the lands of the new continue afforded a propitious place for the dream of the ‘ordered city’ to become a reality” (1996: 1). These imagined cities, over centuries, became crucibles and media for new divisions of nation, class and revolutionary change. The Mexican Nobel-prize winning novelist and philosopher Octavio Paz, in turn, translated descubrimiento/pachakuti into a global merging of wills:

Thus, whether the Conquest is viewed from the indigenous perspective or the Spanish, this event is the expression of a Conquest is an historic fact destined to create a unity out of preColumbian cultural and political pluralism. Against the variety of races, languages, tendencies and States of the pre-Hispanic world, the Spaniards posed a single language, a single faith, a single Lord. If Mexico was born in the 16th century, we must admit that it is the child of double imperial and unifying violence: that of the Aztecs and that of the Spanish (1950/1993: 240).

His vision of union acts as a creative prelude to a distinctive Mexican quest for past and future, albeit one shaped by the specter of violence. With these complex positions and readings in mind, this chapter explores central features of Iberian globalization in the Western Hemisphere since the Early Modern period. It examines the connections that Mignolo, Rama, Paz and others underscore—language, cosmology, political economics, order and culture—as well as the divergent goals and actions of indigenous peoples, European and African immigrants, and hybrid and Creole citizens.1 It also recognizes that peoples, cultures and goods from contact or post-contact hybridity have altered Iberia. American treasure flowed through the coffers of Castile into wars and statecraft across Early Modern Europe, while Brazil’s riches later rebuilt Portugal. Fabled opportunities have motivated Iberian dreamers to look to the New Worlds for centuries, while both Franco and Salazar touted shared Iberian heritages as political strategies. Cultural goods—music, literature, academic research, architecture and film—creators and consumers flow back and forth across the Atlantic. Yet, as postcolonial refugees in Iberia have found, whether African, Asian

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unitary will. Despite the contradictions that constitute it, the

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or American, hybridity does not imply equal opportunity or warm reception. Within such broad flows, this chapter selects key events, places and processes to illuminate globalization. It begins with a single commodity—sugar—that shaped ecology, experiences and human exploitations from Iberia through the Atlantic islands to the Caribbean islands, Brazil and other mainland sites. Sugar plantations also built the deep connections of African slavery and new Iberian worlds that we glimpsed in Chapter 3. From this, I turn to the cataclysmic encounters of Spaniards with isolated empires in Mexico and the Andes—so different from Iberian entry into Asia—and the construction of new colonial societies that spread across Iberian America. Imperial unities of the Americas were challenged by independence and divisions into individual states in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. These states, however, have incorporated ongoing struggles among indigenous peoples, peninsular descendants, African-Americans, AsianAmericans, recent European immigrants and hybrid populations in changing global contexts. Brief sketches of Mexico, Argentina and Puerto Rico vis-à-vis Spain illustrate some of these different paths to national identity. Citizens of these and other states also participate in new global relations negotiated by both corporate treaties and transnational populations in the cities of Spain. Brazil, finally, offers a distinct imagery for Latin America and a source of change for Portugal. ISLANDS OF SUGAR, SLAVERY AND POWER

Iberians reached the Caribbean laden with cultural baggage before they realized that Queen Isabel’s funding of Christopher Columbus’ search for a route to the Indies had turned up something new. The Reconquest had honed mentalities that

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allowed Iberians to see new lands as potential sites of riches and conquest and also as places for conversion of the world. As Ileana Rodriguez notes in her reading of Columbus and those who followed him “. . In Columbus’ disorientation, fabula and imagination prevail and lend their mediating services to the new prose of the world” (2004: 6). Yet, as Anthony StevensArroyo notes in his study of the inter-American bridge created by exploration and control of the Canary Islands, imagination involved slower adaptation and learning, shaped by climate, resources and, above all, by the diverse peoples who inhabited these new worlds. While gold and silver dazzled conquistadors, historians have shown how peoples and places of Latin America have been integrated for centuries into global markets and culture through multiple evolving commodity chains (Topik, Marichal and Frank 2006). Connections have been forged through dyestuffs (indigo, cochineal, Brazil wood), foodstuffs (sugar, bananas, cacao), modern industrial goods (rubber, henequen, guano fertilizers, oil) and a remarkable range of drugs (coffee, tobacco, rum, cocaine). Production of these goods changed the places and peoples of the Americas and lives in Europe, Africa and Asia; while these connections brought wealth to some, they also led to the destruction of indigenous societies, ecological damage, and Atlantic slavery that would turn newfound “paradises” into human infernos. As many scholars have observed since the seminal work of Eric Williams (Williams 1944; Mintz 1985; Schwartz 2004), sugar production was a central feature of global economic, ecological and sociocultural connections across the Atlantic, especially as it became intertwined with the commoditization of human beings as chattel slavery (Wallerstein 1974). Sugar had arrived in the Iberian Peninsula before the tenth century CE, travelling by both Christian and Muslim routes from the

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Eastern Mediterranean (Phillips 2004). Sweetness already came with “global” history; Muslims had brought it from Asia and developed many uses in the Middle East before they began cultivation in Andalusia (Mintz 1985). King Jaume of Aragon brought sugar to newly-reconquered Valencia through indirect contact with Muslims and his own connections with Cyprus and Sicily; sugar became an Iberian spice and drug. Still, despite Muslim and Christian European trade in sugar, it remained a global commodity of variable production with potential for a larger market. Historian William Phillips also concludes that while slavery was present in Christian and Muslim Iberian societies, sugar and slavery were probably not yet intertwined as they would become in later Iberian expansion (2004: 28; see Klein and Vinson 2007). Complex associations of slavery, sugar and expansion took shape as Portugal expanded into Cape Verde, São Tomé, the Azores and Madeira and Spain took the Canaries. In nearAfrican islands like São Tomé, sugar plantations enslaved captured Africans—a pattern that would spread throughout the Atlantic world (Schwartz 1985). Other islands were spaces of experimentation. For example, Portugal first claimed the nine islands of the Açores (English Azores), 1,500 kilometers from Lisbon in 1427. Here, despite attempts at sugar cultivation in the fifteenth century, the climate proved too cool. Instead, the Azores became important points of supply and contact in Atlantic shipping.2 Madeira, 1,000 kilometers from Lisbon in the Atlantic, was discovered in 1419 and populated with farmers from the Algarve. Sugar and global investment transformed its physical and social environment before production reached a crisis in the 1530s, due to soil exhaustion and competition from other producers. Meanwhile, Madeira became a global node where “the lack of laborers for new cultivation, the need for workers

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in sugar cane agriculture, the active role of Madeirans in the opening of the Atlantic world and the proximity of Africa all played a role in shaping slavery” (Vieira 2004: 56). Madeiran slaves included Moroccans and Guanches from the Canary Islands, while the prosperous island attracted merchants from Genoa and Flanders. The Canary Islands, by contrast, roughly 85 kilometers from Africa at their nearest point, were already known in classical times.3 Only after the end of the Middle Ages did they become central to an emergent Atlantic world, rather than points beyond the edge of the Mediterranean. Spain, Portugal and others then disputed sovereignty there. The Castilian empire absorbed the islands in the fifteenth century, under various forms of conquest and control, but Italians and Portuguese from Madeira took on critical roles in financing and extending sugar production, joined by Catalans, Moriscos and New Christians. Opportunities and success varied according to sovereignty, ecology (especially local water supply) and local inhabitants (Fernández-Armesto 1982: 13, Stevens-Arroyo 1993). The Canary Islands were inhabited by indigenous peoples, the Guanches, who themselves moved around: the conquered natives of one island might become the conquistadores of the next, creating intersections and assimilations between peoples and cultures. Indeed, Stevens-Arroyo notes that Guanches not only reshaped Spanish patterns of conquest and settlement honed by the Reconquest, but also raised questions of human rights in Europe that would be retested by New World contacts: the Guanches and hybrid populations eventually were recognized as human and Roman Catholic. Meanwhile, the differences among indigenous peoples confounded colonizers: another “effect of stateless society upon Guanches and Taínos [in the Caribbean] was that they did not know when

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they had been conquered” (Stevens-Arroyo 1993: 526). Ultimately, growing European demands for sugar embroiled Guanches, Spaniards, colonists and traders in the destruction of forests and the enslavement of peoples. As in Madeira, any bounty eventually was destroyed by soil exhaustion and the discoveries that shifted flows of people to the New World in the 1500s.4 Moving across the Atlantic to the Caribbean, in Española/ Hispaniola where Columbus had landed, a similar cycle emerged. Castilian colonizers first exploited the island for its scant gold; starving settlers actually ate the first sugar cane introduced into the island from Madeira in the 1490s. The indigenous Taino peoples proved hostile. Sugar was soon cultivated anew and indigenous peoples were distributed as labor to settlers who could amass land and cattle. However, the smallpox epidemic of 1518 wiped out many indigenes, forcing sugar producers and refiners to seek slaves either from nearby islands or from Africa. The cost of slaves and subsistence, in turn, bedeviled sugar production even as opportunities on the mainland diverted settlers (Morel 2004). Ironically, France took the eastern part of this island in the seventeenth century and its colonial elites would eventually become global sugar barons through production on their extensive slave plantations in Saint-Domingue. This production, however, plummeted during the slave rebellions that gave birth to Haiti in 1804. Sugar had an equally erratic career in Cuba, where Spain took firm control in the sixteenth century under Governor Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar and his coterie, despite indigenous opposition led by the chieftain Hatuey, who had escaped Hispaniola. Spaniards sought wealth in gold and then sugar, but once again, demographic collapse among indigenous populations due to disease made Cuba a backwater to gold-driven

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expansion in Mexico and Peru; European heads of households dropped from 1,000 in 1519 to fewer than 200 in 1539 (De la Fuente 2007: 117). Sugar only became reestablished as a cash crop after Havana gained a central position in the Spanish fleets conveying mainland wealth to the Iberian Peninsula (Ibid: 117–24; Gott 2004). Production continued to depend on external factors including decline of the fleet, taxes, competition for African slaves and the world price of sugar. Problems with these led to a serious decline in the seventeenth century, although this century also saw the development of rum as a Caribbean distillation that bound polyglot Caribbean islands with merchants and slave traders of New England (Williams 2005; Smith 2005). Cuban sugar triumphed once again in the nineteenth century with the collapse of production in Saint-Domingue and the independence of many of Spain’s new world colonies. Cuba and Puerto Rico, as final remnants of the Spanish Empire, became sites for the Atlantic World’s “second slavery” (Schmidt-Nowarra 1999). These societies responded to modern European demand for staple goods through the mobilization of mass African slave labor; Cuba imported 780,000 slaves between 1790 and 1867 (and some, illegally, thereafter)—more than all of Spanish American in the previous 250 years. Cuba’s share of world sugar production, meanwhile, rose from 14 percent in 1820 to 43 percent in 1870 (Ibid 4). Industrial slavery, in turn, forced Spain to refashion its centuries-old colonial regime, in effect constructing a “second empire” (Schmidt-Nowarra 1999: 3). By the end of the century, production declined again with shifts in labor (imported Chinese replacing rebellious slaves), wars of independence and global competition. The island of Puerto Rico also produced 15 percent of the world’s sugar supply in the fifteenth century, using primarily

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indigenous labor. Epidemiological devastation and competition for slaves again slowed development before the island became a colonial center for industrial plantation production in the nineteenth century. As elsewhere in the Atlantic world of sugar, Hispanic Caribbean production involved the transformation of both populations and environments. Manuel Moreno Fraginals, for example, in his classic study of the “socioeconomic complex of sugar” in Cuba, describes the destruction of the forests that once had blanketed the island (1976: 73–7). As explorers sought riches further afield and colonies expanded, sugar production moved to the mainland. In Mexico and Peru, for example, Spaniards dedicated plantations to the production of sugar for regional networks (these latter plantations would later bring in Chinese to replace freed AfroPeruvian slaves). But in the seventeenth century, the new epicenter of global production became northern Brazil, around Bahia and Pernambuco. Colonists first worked with indigenous forced labor and then, as elsewhere, began to rely on imported African slaves. Here new sugar cultivation eclipsed production in earlier, soil-depleted realms. Brazilian sugar came to dominate world markets—as it still does today. Yet, development entailed local and global challenges. The Dutch targeted both Brazilian plantations and on the slave port in Luanda in the mid-seventeenth century—globalization and greed turned into trans-Atlantic war. Slaves took advantage of this chaos to escape plantations and establish maroon societies, while negotiating their own relations with indigenous peoples. While sugar remained the largest single export of Brazil, that area’s share of the world market declined precipitously (Schwartz 1985, 2004) only to rise again with the collapse of Saint-Domingue. Sugar cane production also spread southward to the region of Rio de

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Janeiro, competing with the lure of gold and jewels in new settlements. As the global importance of French Saint-Domingue suggests, the expansion, adaptation and contraction of plantation sugar society was not limited to Iberian worlds. Caribbean islands taken from nominal Spanish dominion by the British, French and Dutch also became sites of slavery and sugar. The Dutch, repelled from Brazil, would foment sugar production in Barbados, which Iberians generally had overlooked since the fifteenth century. Later, British Barbados would become the major world supplier of sugar in the 1650s. Britain also took Jamaica in 1655, promoting slave plantation sugar production for centuries.5 Plantation sugar was also cultivated in the former Spanish and French possessions of Louisiana and Florida and spread through colonial networks to other areas, including its ancestral home in Southeast Asia. Looking at world sugar today, the complexities and contexts of evolving Iberian globalization remain striking. Sugar production (beets as well as cane) is now global, although twothirds of world sugar is produced and used in its country of origin. Brazil remains the largest global producer, exporter and per capita consumer of sugar. Other largest exporters include India, Thailand, Australia and Southern African Development Communities, although the largest producers, after Brazil, are the European Union, China and the U.S. (www.illovo.co.za/ worldofsugar/internationalSugarStats.htm). Recently, in fact, Brazil has looked to sugarcane for ethanol/energy independence in a petroleum-driven world, sacrificing yet more jungles to sugar production.6 Thus sugar, domesticated in Southeast Asia and carried through Islamic worlds to Europe, was reproduced by slave labor under Iberian expansion. It destroyed people, land and flora in new lands as it became a basic staple in the diet of Iberia, industrial Europe and the world.

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In the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, as we have seen through the prism of sugar, Spaniards established themselves and spread from island to island in the Caribbean, disrupting societies and ecologies. By 1517, however, Cuba’s Governor Diego Velázquez, hearing rumors about the area now known as Yucatán, had launched expeditions that brought back gold. A larger expedition attracted many Spaniards under the governor’s secretary, Hernán Cortés, and reached the mainland Mexican coast with 500 men in 1519. From this point onward, Spain came into contact with empires that had been building their own dynamic but unstable worlds for centuries. New global contacts became catalysts for change in both worlds (Clendinnen 1991; Conrad and Demerast 1994; Smith 1996; Patterson 1997; Yupangui 2005; Matthew and Oudijk 2007). While perhaps not as imposing as the Mughals of India or the Chinese Empire, Iberians read the Aztec Empire through familiar prisms of civilization and conquest. Cortés’ letters on Mexico to the Spanish Emperor Charles V (1519–1526) compared it favorably to the Spain he had left behind. In describing the lake city of Tenochtitlán, for example, he observed that: The city has many open squares in which markets are continuously held and the general business of buying and selling proceeds. One square in particular is twice as big as that of Salamanca and completely surrounded by arcades where there are daily more than sixty thousand folk buying and selling. Every kind of merchandise such as may be met with in every land is for sale there, whether of food and victuals, or ornaments of gold and silver, or lead, brass, copper, tin, precious stones, bones, shells, snails and feathers . . . All kinds of cotton thread in various

colours may be bought in skeins, very much in the same way as in the great silk exchange of Granada, except the quantities are Spain and of as pure shades as may be found anywhere . . . There are a very large number of mosques or dwelling places for their idols throughout the various districts of this great city (1969: 87–9).

These comments show how Islamic Spain continued to shape views of new worlds. Indeed, Cortés observed of these new territories that “the foremost city of Africa cannot rival them” (Ibid 50, 51). He also rechristened indigenous cities as Seville and Almería, again recalling Andalusia (Ibid 32, 75). Religious faith and destiny forged in the Reconquest, with the added motivations of money and power, carried Spaniards onwards. Cortés’ wonder at a capital of perhaps one million inhabitants met indigenous questions about who these strange new people were. Peoples of Mexico, including the Aztecs, had sought explanations in myth and history since making contact with these new people in the 1510s. Aztecs initially interpreted these Spaniards as returning gods; Cortés recorded Moctezuma’s greeting that “Now seeing the regions from which you say you come, which is where the sun rises, and the news you tell of this great king and ruler who sent you hither, we believe and hold it certain that he is our natural lord” (1969: 71; see Koch 2006). Other indigenous peoples saw Spaniards as useful allies, breaking apart Aztec domination even within the politically-charged cities of the war-torn valley of Mexico (Matthew and Oudijk 2007). By the time Aztecs and tens of thousands of allied indigenous soldiers realized the implications of a new domination and fought the human invader, they were weakened by a devastating smallpox epidemic. Spaniards, in their three-month long siege of

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far less. They have colours for paining of as good quality as any in

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Tenochtitlán, also transmitted the microbial harbinger of a devastating biological globalization. The city fell, but its gold was not discovered, so Cortés burned its palaces, houses and the infidel temples his accompanying missionaries demonized. Arguments followed about rebuilding the capital elsewhere, on the mainland or even at a coastal port like Veracruz that would facilitate contact with the metropolis. Tenochtitlán, however, held profound meanings within Mesoamerican globalism and by 1523, Cortés described a new city arising that “will be the noblest and most populous city in the world and also the best built” (1969: 273). Mexico City became a symbol of continuity as well as the end of worlds although indigenous populations were subjugated to Spanish rule and the cathedral and government buildings replaced temples around its famous Zócalo, or central plaza (see Figure 5.1). Here, the observations of Angel Rama about the meaning of Latin American cities become important for understanding the reshaping of these Iberian worlds. Excavating the imaginaries of proto-global Spanish conquerors, he concluded:

. . This ordering impulse could do relatively little to transform the old cities of Europe, where the stubbornly material sediments of the past encumbered the flight of a designer’s fancy, but it found a unique opportunity in the virgin territory of an enormous continent. There, native urbanistic values were blindly erased by the Iberian conquerors to create a supposedly “blank slate” though the outright denial of impressive indigenous cultures would not prevent them from surviving quietly to infiltrate the conquering culture later. Having cleared the ground, the city builders erected an edifice that, even when imagined as a mere transposition of European antecedents, in fact represented the dream of a new age. The cities of Spanish America were the first

material realizations of that dream, giving them a central role in the advent of world capitalism.

As Rama elaborates in this provocative text, these cities not only held the peoples and institutions of Iberian projection, but also embodied an ideal vision of culture and society, making architecture and urbanism a transnational medium of communication as well as a place to live. The city of the literate

Figure 5.1 Spaniards Occupy the Center of the Aztec Empire: Mexico City Cathedral and the Zócalo (main plaza and former Aztec ceremonial space). Photograph by the author, 1999.

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(Rama 1996: 1–2)

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elites (and their evolution) was a product of Ibero-American thought about the nature of cities and civilization debated within new worlds and a place of hybridization and resistance for centuries. Still, the selection of Tenochtitlán as a site and the elaboration of Spanish life in other important indigenous cities such as Puebla or Cusco in Peru remind us that neither people nor memory disappeared in the conquest. The conquest of Mexico echoed in Spanish expansion into another negotiated world in the Andes, where the Inca had built on foundations of many earlier civilizations and battles to construct a polity that stretched from today’s Peru and Ecuador into Bolivia, Chile and Colombia, sustained by potatoes, llamas and other millennial ecological adaptations. Here, smallpox had arrived before the Spaniards, killing off the empire’s dynamic leader and fomenting a struggle for succession. One son, Atalhualpa, allied with the army of empire while another, Huascar, held the ceremonial and bureaucratic capital of Cusco. Francisco Pizarro, with only a few hundred Spaniards, exploited the vacillation of these leaders and the weakness of their command strategies in battles where indigenous numbers dwarfed Spanish forces. Pizarro also had learned from Cortés the value of holding the ostensible ruler, which he did even as Atalhualpa schemed to execute his own rivals and sought to buy freedom with gold. After Atalhualpa’s execution, other claimants would continue to rally armies for decades, only to be defeated by the Spaniards, themselves locked in conflict. Despite the clash of worlds going on in the Andes, the flows were familiar: The disruption created by the civil wars and revolts had begun before the Spaniards arrived and continued after they inserted themselves as both spectators and performers in the destabilization and dismantling of the imperial state and the

decentralization of political power these processes entailed. They did not, however, rise phoenix-like from the ashes to assert frequency of rebellions, civil wars, acts of sedition, and banditry during the period of the plunder economy suggests something quite different. Political power was usually weak, often transitory, and occasionally absent altogether; it was shared and contested, rather than the Spaniard’s exclusive possession. (Patterson 1997: 145)

Like Tenochtitlán, Spaniards baptized Inka Cusco (Quechua Qusqu) with a cathedral and central plaza, constructing a monastery on top of the massive indigenous Temple of the Sun. Nonetheless, the victorious Castilians established their capital in the multicultural coastal port of Lima/Callao, with its maritime links to the metropolis and the empire (Lejeune 2003). The evolving idea of the city as both a place of domination and a medium of Iberian globalization became embedded in the later ordenanzas (ordinances) of 1573 by which Philip II shaped the cities of his empire. Hybrid urban models combining Roman and Muslim traditions of the peninsula with encounters in the New World (Lejeune 2003; Low 2003) shaped the reification of the ideal city in imperial statutes. These regulations prescribed the location, values and arches of central plazas, the positioning of government and religious buildings, and the arrangement and meanings of attendant civic spaces, as well as details that still resonate in cities across Latin America. Rule 115, for example, modeled the city center, “Around the plaza as well as along the four principal streets which begin there, there shall be portals, for these are of considerable convenience to the merchants who generally gather there . . .” (Ordinances 2003: 21–2).

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immediate hegemony over the Andean peoples. In fact, the

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These ordinances reproduced small cities and great capitals as legible representations of Iberian power, culture and “modernity” more aggressively than Iberians had done in urban places of encounter in Asia or even Africa. Urban centers, in fact, evolved from their historic roles in European Iberia as well, building on millennia of social and cultural formation. In the Americas, “the conquest triumphantly imposed its cities on a vast and unknown hinterland . . . rather than stemming from agrarian growth that gradually created an urban market and trade center, rural development here followed the creation of the city . .” (Rama 1996: 11). While capital cities as centers of power, trade, industry and knowledge defined centers for regions as well as global connections with Seville, Lisbon, Havana and Manila, they also formed regional webs. Global-local settlements arose around trading centers, mining settlements like Potosí or administrative posts, while Creole populations of Spanish descent, but without direct peninsular connections, established smaller communities and inhabited rural estates as well. Patterns of urban and rural life also varied across Spain’s vast domains. In later colonial Puerto Rico, for example, “while urban life in San Juan was carried on within the official framework of relations between La Fortaleza, the cabildo, the fortifications, the port, the bishop’s palace and the cathedral, the rest of the island organized itself according to its own occupations. Almost nobody lived in towns”(Picó 2007: 110). Local colonial production, whether agricultural, mining or textiles, was nonetheless articulated with markets of the region and empire. Conflicts among the administrators, clergy and elites of towns and other populations, whether indigenous, Creole/hybrid, African-American or Asian-American continue to resonate throughout these Iberian settings in culture, politics and the seething shanty towns where the rural

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now intimately confronts the urban, sometimes sparking fears in the center that continue to divide modern metropoles. Meanwhile, at the fringes of colonialism, indigenous peoples (especially women), and new arrivals, both slave and free men, created small and creative hybrid communities. Beyond Tenochtitlán and Cusco, exploration and conquest would continue for centuries, although resistance was undercut by the epidemics that destroyed many populations. Spaniards sought more gold and fabled empires while making contacts with myriad forms of indigenous culture and rule. Missions, meanwhile, spread through areas now known as Texas, New Mexico and California into the late eighteenth century when friars established footholds in Los Angeles, again creating enclaves of hybrid architecture and culture. Indigenous peoples also began to reinterpret Spanish languages and cultures. Mexico’s Virgen de Guadalupe and apparitions of Mary in the Andes blended religions and cultures, embodying Iberian traditions and sustaining visions of indigenous identity and protest (Harding 2001; Damian 2003). As areas were “settled” the very organization of the land, its crops and animals and its peoples Iberianized the Western hemisphere, from the horses of the Northern plains to the herds and crops of the Argentine pampas, an ecological imperialism of men, plants, animals and microbes (Crosby 2004). Encomiendas allocated power over indigenous peoples, their lands and their labor to Spanish conquerors even if slaves, mestizos and newly-baptized indigenous peoples complicated racial categories and human rights far beyond the Guanches and Tainos. Ecologies of conquest also included microbes who outran Spanish and Portuguese colonizers, spreading smallpox, typhus, influenza and measles. Microbial globalization, of course, was a two way flow. Syphilis, at least, which seems to

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have originated in the new world according to pre-Columbian skeletal remains, began to move rapidly across Europe in the 1500s. Other transformations came through animals and plants. In early contact with New World peoples, the horse had an almost mythic stature for Spaniards, although indigenous peoples eventually learned to separate horse and rider and to adapt cultures to this new beast before other Europeans might establish contact—a far-flung ecological shift Bernard Mishkin studied in the Plains Indians (1940). Sheep and cattle were also important. Elinor Melville has chronicled in detail the repercussions of the transposition of systems and ecologies in the Valley of Mezquital, Mexico where overgrazing by newly introduced sheep destroyed the balance of plants and water in a once productive valley (1994, 2004). On a larger scale, the Mexican Mesta (referring to the herding organization in Spain) reproduced some of the vision of Castilian grazing in a new and different landscape, altering thousands of acres without swords or crosses (Dusenberry 1963). Bernardo Fulcrand, however, in Las Ovejas de San Juan (2004), reminds us that the Andes had been transformed by human action for millennia before the arrival of sheep and the creation of their wool economy in Peru and that sheep had to fit into this ongoing process, rather than simply imposing a new globalized ecosystem over indigenous ways of life. Nor should the rapid collapse of two empires and the spread of Spanish influence suggest that global penetration or the formation of dominant cities and ecologies was easy in all areas. Buenos Aires, founded in 1530, was abandoned for fifty years because of indigenous resistance. While Pedro Valdivia founded Santiago de Chile in 1541, Indians to the south continued to resist for centuries. Others could also use the tools of the conquered and the conquerors in resistance: in 1613, the

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indigenous author Guaman Poma de Ayala used Castilian and Quechua to retell the history of the world and criticize Spanish greed and colonial rule (Poma de Ayala 1980; Adorno 1986). Despite the devastation of disease and subjugation, native populations had begun to grow once again by the seventeenth century. By mid-century, indigenous craftsmen not only envisioned burning Lima but also envisioned the English as potential global allies (Spalding 1984). A century later, the Andean Aymara reinterpreted Inka traditions in bids for indigenous power, sometimes drawing in Mestizo and Creole populations (Thomson 2002; Hylton and Thomson 2007). As colonial societies developed over three centuries in different cultural and physical contexts, the very success of their hybrid worlds came to underpin resistance beyond indigenous peoples. From Mexico City to Buenos Aires, creoles began to talk and write about their opportunities as Bourbon reforms in the late eighteenth century introduced a new order into the empire. Fresh ideas arrived with the European Enlightenment and new global economic models. As an historian observes from Portuguese Brazil in this era: “the colonial system, organized according to the logic of commercial capital and the interests of the Crown, was threatened when the expansion of the market, the development of industrial capitalism, the growth of the European bourgeoisie, and the crisis of the absolutist state made such restrictions on trade and production inoperative and undermined the assumptions of mercantilist theory” (Da Costa 2000: 2). Thus, global changes erupted in new local identities foreshadowing the coming of independence. Different models of global understanding and action among varied indigenous populations, enslaved African-Americans, mixed populations and Creoles, complemented and changed Iberian globalization.

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Such ruptures became more pronounced as colonies separated from their Iberian homelands and sought to establish their own identities. SPANISH AMERICAS, SPAIN AND MODERNITIES: SEPARATION AND UNITY

In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, peoples of Latin America sought to develop new national institutions, economies, cultures and identities that distinguished themselves from each other, as well as their former metropoles. Movements towards Hispanic American independence, in most cases, were led by urbanized Creole elites who shared a heritage (including class, language, values and power) with the peninsular leadership they displaced. In the establishment of national institutions disrupting any continental unity, these states drew on the United States and Europe as models as much as the early nineteenth century debates over parliaments and constitutions that they shared with Iberian intellectuals and politicians. Still, many key players and political arenas had been established under Iberian colonial rule—not only the Catholic church, but also the universities and intellectuals, the landowners, the military—even if refracted in different ways across national settings. Despite symbolic manipulation of indigenous heritage, local peoples could be excluded from state identities. Mexican intellectual Carlos Fuentes observes critically that “Culturally, independent Spanish America turned its back on both its Indian and black heritages, judging them to be barbarous, and was dramatically divided about its Spanish tradition” (1992: 277). Indigenous and mestizo peoples nonetheless have continued to be forceful in the definition of many Latin American nations for centuries, using evolving traditions and hybrid forms. In Yucatan, for example, Mayas would revolt in

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the nineteenth century around talking crosses (Reed 2001), while other indigenous movements in twentieth century Chiapas and twenty-first century Bolivia have gained global attention. (See Hylton and Thomson 2007; Arbona 2005, 2008.) At the same time, new nation-states have sought to reconstruct and use this “Indian” heritage or AfricanAmerican and Asian-American legacies in different ways, from myths of identity to lavish museums of distanced pasts (Earle 2007). Meanwhile, the European-ness/modernity of nineteenthcentury Spain itself, already challenged by northern European power, was questioned across Latin America by intellectuals like Francisco Bilbao of Chile who “called for the deHispanicizing and de-Catholicizing of Chile” (Larrain 2000: 24–78). Instead, France and Great Britain became models for modernity, and postcolonial Spanish immigrants to Latin America faced prejudice. Spain, like the rest of Europe, provided a counterweight to the increasing power of the United States and the power and industrial scientific modernity it embodied in the Western Hemisphere. Despite these currents, Latin American intellectuals and politicians found it difficult either to forge larger regional unions or to overcome divisions of race, class and culture within their states. Despite the survival of indigenous languages, the Spanish and Portuguese have maintained their role as global languages; new national elites devoted themselves to development of proper language, institutions and literature (although widespread education often followed more slowly, Rama 1996). Roman Catholicism also maintained a strong position, although the power and corruption of the church has led to criticism from intellectuals, leftists and reformers. Indigenous beliefs, Afro-hybrid traditions, Evangelical and Pentecostal groups and secularization of society have all since

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challenged the dominant position of national churches, while Catholic leaders have also emerged as opponents of governments, from Central America to Brazil. Meanwhile, Latin American nations in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries found themselves to be centers of global interest because of their natural resources as well as investment opportunities for local oligarchies and international elites. The beef and wheat of Argentina, guano from Peru, and coffee, sugar and bananas became the stuff of global linkages, even if uneven flows of goods, capital and liberal ideas were not matched by increased modernization and political participation in the state (echoing problems in Iberia itself, Larrain 2000). Immigrants arrived from Asia and Europe. However, neither Spain nor Portugal were primary customers, investors or influences. Britons built Argentine railroads, bought their beef and became the primary market for Peruvian guano from the 1840s to the 1870s (Matthew 1970). Coffee went to Europe and the United States. Bananas became a key symbol of northern exploitation: “Europe and North America produced their own meat and potatoes. We supplied the desserts: chocolate, coffee, sugar, fruit, tobacco” (Fuentes 1992: 282; see Topik et al. 2006). Within this broad panorama, Mexico, Argentina and Puerto Rico exemplify the diverse processes of national development. These, in turn, provide a context for Latin American globalization in present-day Iberia. MEXICO

The Viceroyalty of New Spain was a vast territory whose very name expresses its recreation of Spain, a mini-empire of more than 4 million square kilometers (slightly larger than the continental United States). Mexico City administered not only contemporary Mexico and Central America, but much of the

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contemporary western United States, the Caribbean and the Philippines, areas of global prosperity due to agriculture, mining, production and trade. Indeed, Mexican gold and silver subsidized a declining Spanish state through the late eighteenth century, although Mexicans received little in return (Hamnett 2006: 114–20).7 Nevertheless, as questions arose about Bourbon reforms and expenses, Mexico City elites proved uncertain leaders, torn between supporting Spanish claims (with increased autonomy) and creating a new state. Debates continued through the tumultuous struggles of Napoleon, the Spanish Cortes and the restoration of Ferdinand VII. Thus, “between 1795 and 1808, the colonial regime in Mexico City found itself economically weaker and increasingly politically isolated. Tensions within the ruling groups in key cities across the centernorth—Valladolid, San Luis Potisí, Zacatecas and Guadalajara —during the years 1805–1810 aggravated the impact of social dislocation” (Hamnett 2006: 131). Meanwhile, parish priests and villagers attacked poor government under the banner of the Virgin of Guadalupe (and Ferdinand VII). The Grito de Dolores (a speech made by Father Miguel Hidalgo in the town of Dolores on September 16, 1810) crystallized what would become a decade of popular rebellion under Father Hidalgo and Father José Maria Morelos. They provided potent symbols for later popular movements in Mexico. While elites negotiated, the lower classes took on a distinctive protagonism before independence was achieved in 1821 (in Figure 5.2, the immense flag in the Zócalo brands the center of the nationstate with the origin story of Tenochtitlán). Independence brought other problems. A short-lived Empire, under Agustin Iturbide, gave way to a republic under the military general Santa Anna, but this new state faced prolonged struggles, not with Spain but with the growth of the

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Figure 5.2 Claiming Space for the Nation-State: The Mexican Flag in the Zócalo. Photograph by the author, 1999.

United States as a regional and world power. In the eighteenth century, Spain had acquired 2.1 million square kilometers of Louisiana from France, extending its New World from New Orleans to the present day Dakotas. Napoleon took it back in 1800 and sold it to U.S. President Thomas Jefferson. Even afterwards, New Spain and Mexico controlled northern territories that would become Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, Wyoming and California in the burgeoning republic to the north. Across these territories, Mexico fought with indigenous peoples and with those who sought independence (often interlopers from the U.S.). Eventually it lost wars, territory and citizens to the expanding United States. Conflicts across the border continued into the twentieth century, while treaties have sought to fix a border ignored by those who have investments, interests or families to the North or South. Human movement northwards, however, has less clear boundaries.

Attempts to encourage an Hispanic ideology were a failure in Mexico despite the success of hispanismo in other Latin American countries. As the Spanish became wealthier and more isolated, they patronized famous Spanish actors, poets and theatrical works in Mexico City and other urban areas. The typical Spaniard often despised Mexico’s popular culture and folklore.

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Latinos, as we saw in Los Angeles, may include indigenous populations who preceded U.S. colonizations and immigrants from Mexico, Central America, South America and even Asia crossing and recrossing a porous, albeit contested, border. While retaining its Castilian Spanish language, Roman Catholicism and other aspects of Iberian culture, the Mexican state expelled all Spaniards in 1829. In this period, “moral and political catechisms (of which at least forty were published between 1808 and 1861) instructed children on the merits of republican government, and on why the break with Spain was necessary (often using the analogy of the grown up child having to leave the parental home)” (Richmond 2002:192). As another commentator writes, “after achieving independence from Spain in 1821, the concept of modernity arrived in Mexico as an idea from France” (Burian 2003: 211). So did European intervention: in 1864, Napoleon III tried to put Maximilian of Habsburg-Lorraine, a great-great grandson of Charles III of Spain, onto the “throne” of Mexico. This effort collapsed due to popular opposition and interference from the U.S. By the end of the nineteenth century, Spaniards reappeared in Mexico, especially in retail niches. President Porfirio Diaz encouraged Spanish immigration tied to investment, which linked some 50,000 Spaniards to the elites of his regime. Nonetheless, neo-colonial Spaniards emphasized their own cultural differences:

Many Spanish immigrants refused to acquire Mexican citizenship and proudly maintained their Spanish passports as a

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symbol of superiority. To countless Mexicans, the average Spaniard seemed obsessed with material possessions and were determined to return to the Iberian peninsula with as much money as possible. (Richmond 1984: 216)

The triangulation of global enemies also shifted sympathies. Despite Mexican neutrality in 1898, during the SpanishAmerican war, popular sympathy lay with Spain, whose Mexican colony actively supported Spaniards in Cuba. Popular images met state needs during the formation of the revolutionary Mexican state in the twentieth century. The Spanish government and the influence of Spain on the Catholic Church became important symbols with President Vitoriano Huerta, who came to power with U.S. assistance. Yet, after Venustiano Carranza expelled Huerta, he also promoted reconciliation with Spain, returning land to expropriated Spaniards and encouraging trade (Richmond 1984). In the twentieth century, individuals like Mexican diplomat and writer Alfonso Reyes, who lived in Spain for 20 years, forged further cultural connections: “As well as awakening Spain to a more realistic view of Latin America, he was also an eager disseminator of the authentic values of Hispanic culture in America” (Apontes 1972: 187). Multiple visions of Spain appeared in Mexico; alongside state diplomacy and capitalist investment, socialist and anarchist ideals reached Mexico from discussions and organizations in Barcelona. Ties and visions expanded in the 1930s and 1940s by Spanish Civil War refugees who fled to Latin America, enriching academic and cultural life while forming new political or ethnic enclaves. After the Spanish Civil War, in fact, Mexico held fast


Argentina emerged as a late, less cohesive and peripheral region within the Iberian Atlantic world (Socolow 1978; Daniels and Kennedy 2002). Buenos Aires only became the capital of the Viceroyalty of La Plata (whose lands extended to Bolivia and Chile) in 1770. Argentines asserted autonomy in 1810, while Spain dealt with Napoleon. It declared independence in the Congress of Tucumán on July 6, 1816. Its leader, General José de San Martín, had been educated in Spain and had fought Napoleon. He later crossed the Andes to fight for independence in Chile before trying to liberate Peru. Nonetheless, it took decades for a coherent Argentine

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to the Republican government in exile, not reestablishing formal diplomatic ties with Spain until 1977. Since the 1970s, symbolic and political economic ties between Spain and Mexico have grown, epitomized by seven visits by the Spanish royal family as well as constant exchanges among heads of state and of Spanish autonomous regions as well. By 2007, the webpage of the Mexican Secretary of Foreign Relations boasts productive ties “reflected in the everyday life of all Mexicans, whether in the products we consume, the telephone services we use, the banks in which we carry on our daily operations and the newspapers we read. For their part, Spaniards have a special affection for Mexico and are becoming ever more familiar with our culture and traditions” (www.sre.gob.mx/csocial/contenido/disc/ 2007/oct/disc_039.html). In this rewriting of a tumultuous history, then, the political, economic, social and religious issues of globalization became powerful symbols and tokens of exchange. Flows of people, culture and media meet flows of capital and goods and apparently relegate violent inequality to the mythic past.

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nation to emerge. Conflicts between porteños of Buenos Aires and Spanish elites were replicated in divisions between the port-capital and inhabitants of rural areas and other cities. Efforts to create a large political unit that would encompass the contemporary states of Uruguay, Paraguay and Bolivia also failed, creating a nexus of destruction in later wars. Despite belief in the government shaped by the eighteenth century Spanish Enlightenment, Buenos Aires refused to join the new state until 1862, after twenty years of dictatorship and internecine conflict. San Martin himself spent his final decades in exile in France. Deep divisions of class and culture separated porteños looking to Europe from the equally iconic gauchos (cowboys) of the grasslands (pampas), linked to Argentina’s cattle economy. Argentina eventually moved to an oligarchical republic drawing on political models from both the U.S. and France. Its global history, architecture and culture looked to “Europe” rather than Spain: “the traditional stories about fin-de-siècle Buenos Aires show a ‘European city’ modernized with British loans and infrastructure, French architecture and urban criteria, Italian constructors and builders and inhabitants from everywhere” (Gorelik 2003: 147). Despite bloodless independence, Spaniards became unpopular after 1810; sanctions ranged from confiscation of property to prohibition of marriage between Spaniards and Argentine females (Moya 1998: 335). Domingo Sarmiento, President of Argentina, educational reformer and visionary who encouraged immigration, denigrated Spain as backward. Some Spaniards, as a counterstrategy, manipulated flexible Iberian identities to fit in: “Thus, Spanish Basques attempted to pass for French ones, Andalusians, for British subjects (from Gibraltar), and Gallegos for Portuguese (an ironic twist, for in colonial times Portuguese immigrants tried to pass for Gallegos to avoid expulsion)”

Figure 5.3 Layers of History in Buenos Aires seen from the Plaza de Mayo: the Cabildo, European Style Modernity and Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. Photograph by the author, 2000.

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(Moya 1998: 337). European disdain for Spain reinforced local opinions as Buenos Aires, like Luanda, sought to become the “Paris of the South”. Immigrants from Europe further diversified the city and nation, while indigenous populations were destroyed and African-Americans—who had constituted a sizeable population in colonial times—were eclipsed. Still, in 1905 a foreign observer would write that the upper class was “essentially of Spanish descent and employed in the legal profession” (Rock 2002: 188). Over two million Spaniards arrived between independence and the Civil War, constituting one of the important streams by which Argentina reinvented and strengthened itself as a producer nation that could compete with North American powers like Canada and the U.S. (Adelman 1994). As detailed studies by José Moya have shown, these were

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diverse in their origins—while Gallegos gained particular fame in Argentine folklore, others brought industrial skills from Catalonia. Nevertheless, “Spanish immigration in Argentina, much like the Portuguese in Brazil, the French in Quebec or the British in Australia, had a dual personality. They were children of the Mother Country and foreigners, relatives and outsiders, bestowers of the original culture and uncultured immigrants, cousins and strangers” (Moya 1998: 332). Relations subsequently shifted when the Spanish were viewed as the counterbalance to others in stability, race and culture: “By the second decade of the twentieth century, a majority of Argentine intellectuals had come to embrace this ‘unassailable faith’ in the existence of a transatlantic Hispanic family, community or ‘raza’ ” (Ibid 1998: 350). Again, Uruguayan Angel Rama’s more general comments on the position of the lettered city in a time of modernization appear appropriate in terms of elite domination of the countryside and new immigrants: “The concentration of population in the peripheral neighborhoods of Buenos Aires paralleled the concentration of political power in the city center, creating a tense and unruly agglomeration of social forces that seemed constantly to threaten the kind of eruption that would surely subvert the hierarchical structures of urban life. .” (1996: 68–9). These changes also meant rapid, fundamental urban changes amid ongoing class struggles in the city and the state as a whole. In the 1930s and 1940s, while Republican Spaniards fled to Argentina after losing the Civil War, Franco’s Spain also reached out to right wing factions there. After World War II, when other states in Europe isolated Spain because of its ties to fascism and its ongoing fascist regime, such pan-Iberian ties constituted a foundation for the renewal of Spain’s international presence. One of the opportunistic moments of this

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reinvention of tradition and relations came with the visit of Eva Perón to Spain, by official invitation, in 1946. This recognition followed the French closure of the Spanish border, condemnation by other allies and censure of the Franco regime by Mexico in the OAS (Organization of American States, Balagué 2003: 31–2). The wife of the Argentine dictator had risen from poverty to a charismatic relation with the Argentine people, especially the impoverished masses whose shanty town presence challenged Buenos Aires elites. In Spain, Evita received the Gran Cruz de Isabel la Católica in a ritual of mutual recognition linking Argentina and Spain. After a parting salute to Franco and the nation—“¡Adiós, España mía! ¡Viva la España immortal!” (“Goodbye my Spain! Long Live Immortal Spain!” Balagué 2003), she traveled to Rome to receive a papal blessing, celebrating and cementing yet another aspect of Hispanic unity. Decades later, Argentine dictator Juan Perón lived his exile in Madrid, relying on continued tolerance from Franco until he returned to power in Argentina in 1973. By contrast, during the era of military dictators in the Southern cone of Latin America in the 1970s, which included the Argentine regime that followed Perón, middle-class professionals, intellectuals, dissidents and artists from these states sought refuge in Spain. The Casa de Uruguay, for example, founded in Barcelona in 1978, remained active as a social/ relief center throughout Uruguay’s dictatorship (1974–1984) before turning to cultural activities. By 1996, it had only 200 paying members and twenty active ones, relying on support from the Barcelona government (Morén-Alegret 2002: 128–31). Immigration and refugee status has not been the only form of reciprocal inequality within Iberian globalization. Another is manifest today in corporate ties in banking, telephones and

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the large Spanish-Catalan multinational, Aigues de Barcelona (www.Agbar.es). Agbar’s customers worldwide “number nearly 25 million across Argentina, Brazil, Colombia, Cuba, Chile, Uruguay, Portugal, Morocco and the United States. Agbar generates almost half its revenues and more than 60 percent of its profits from abroad.” (Guillén 2005: 91.) While not as powerful as other water multinationals such as Bechtel, whose intervention sparked riots in Bolivia, Agbar still controls the environmental necessities of life. Hence, in the Argentine Crisis of 2000, the Spanish CNT could accuse Spanish multinationals of “having plundered the wealth of Argentina and other peoples. We accuse them of being undemocratic, of lobbying and bribing governments so that they make decisions against the will of the people” (cited in Guillén 2005: 219). These capital investments foment the image of Spanish businessmen and others as “new conquistadores” (Guillén 2005: 173, 177–81). Meanwhile, contemporary Buenos Aires, part of a state reviving after years of crisis, offers layers of Spanish colonial heritage, nineteenth century European influence, and new globalization around its historical Plaza de Mayo, (see Figure 5.3). These layers attract myriad tourists from Spain and other areas worldwide to a city known for tango, soccer and its cosmopolitan life. Puerto Rico

Puerto Rico remained a Spanish colony until 1898. Although it had been an area of early Castilian colonization and wealth from sugar, it became overshadowed by the mainland, in a century marked by “recurring epidemics, natural disasters, and loss of population, in addition to the apathy of the metropolitan government” (Picó 2007: 95). By 1700, the island had only 6,000 inhabitants, making it an easy target for pirates and the British navy.

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In the next century, despite local awareness of hemispheric revolutions and involvement with the constitutional shifts following the Napoleonic invasion of Spain, Puerto Ricans did not seek independence. The island was rewarded with concessions (the Cédula de Gracias) that favored immigration, importation of machinery and trade with other nations like the U.S. Spanish refugees from independent parts of Latin America moved to colonial Puerto Rico and Cuba as did Spaniards seeking their fortune in the remaining empire, finding new wealth in coffee and sugar slave plantations. African-American slavery continued in Puerto Rico until the 1840s. Unlike Cuba, where the mobilization for independence became visible in the nineteenth century, Puerto Rican elites more often sought some local control and equality of rights and support within the Spanish state (Anderson 2005). Seeking to escape a mid-century crisis, they promoted free labor and government support as a way to achieve economic and racial harmony (Schmidt-Nowara 1999). Hence, “Although Liberal and Conservative governments succeeded each other violently or otherwise in the peninsula, governors with wide-ranging powers ruled the island for most of the century in an effort to prevent a slave rebellion, as had been the case with Haiti, or independence, as had occurred with the rest of the hemisphere . . . These measures promoted the project of modernity and supported the economic and social structure of Puerto Rico as part of the Spanish empire” (Martínez-Verge 1999: 4–5). Still, others have found that local planters saw metropolitan efforts as contradictory at the same time as the industrialization of plantations created foundations for a new, multi-ethnic rural proletariat (Figueroa 2005). In 1898, the U.S took over Puerto Rico, creating an uneasy pseudo-colonialism that has shaped the island’s development

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to the present. Integration in and dependence on the U.S. grew over the first decades of the twentieth century, although after World War II, government intervention in housing, infrastructure and investment, coupled with islanders’ migration to the mainland produced a richer hybrid and Americanized society. Cities like San Juan thus have built new, modern districts that mimic U.S. edifices, highways and malls alongside their old neighborhoods and monuments. Still, one chronicler muses “If this New World city, as much Spanish as Puerto Rican, had one ambition it would be to stroll . . . The city often yearned for Europe as its model, particularly in its visions of the Madrid Boulevards” (Rodríguez Juliá 2007: 68). Indeed, through Puerto Rico’s relations with the U.S., Spain became a point of cultural reference, whether embodied by exchanges through the university or claims to status among descendants of migrant entrepreneurs. At the same time, Puerto Rico offered a familiar Iberian ambience for exiled opponents of the Franco regime like the Catalan cellist Pau Casals. Today, Puerto Rico remains connected to the U.S. through its status as a commonwealth and the citizenship of myriad Puertorriqeuños who live on the mainland. It also shares traditions of religion and language with Spain. In 1991, the prestigious Peninsular Principe de Asturias award was given to the Pueblo (people) de Puerto Rico because of their defense of the Spanish language (after the commonwealth government had proclaimed Spanish as its only official language). Spain continues to send cultural embassies as well as tourists; its major exports to the island, in fact, are almost folkloric: azulejos (tiles) and wine. Puerto Rico, meanwhile, uses Spain as another market for the pharmaceutical and chemical industries developed on the island after World War II through mainland intervention. As a Caribbean polity, though, Puerto Rican leaders have

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negotiated cultural and economic ties with other Latin American nations, including Venezuela under Hugo Chávez, perceived as an antagonist to the U.S. The relationship between Puerto Rico and Cuba is especially telling. Since the Castro Revolution, the U.S. has castigated Cuba and showcased Puerto Rico as an example of capitalist development for Latin America, while severing contacts between the islands that share history and culture. Meanwhile, Cuba sought to encourage Puerto Rican independence from U.S. influence around the Caribbean. Puerto Rican intellectuals and businessmen have established ties where possible with Cuba, while the island has the second largest Cuban émigré community in the world, after Miami. With changes looming in Cuba, the islands can be seen as potential associates in projects, but also as rivals for investment and tourism (Sagebien 2000). At the same time, Puerto Ricans as citizens of the U.S. with a long historical presence in many East Coast cities must negotiate “Latino” identities vis-à-vis other historical Spanishspeaking populations (Mexicans in Los Angeles) and newer migrants (Cubans, Dominicans, Peruvians, etc). Half the population of Puerto Rican origin in the U.S. lives on the mainland, although Jorge Duany characterizes this intimate relationship as el vaivén—coming and going—that exemplifies the ways in which “the Puerto Rican exodus entails a restless movement between multiple places of origin and destination” (2007: 55). Within this movement, however, Duany finds foundations for a unique sense of nationhood despite statehood, noting that “Among recent Latino immigrants to the United States (including Mexicans, Cubans and Dominicans), only Puerto Ricans insist on calling themselves simply Puerto Ricans, rather than Puerto Rican-Americans, which speaks volumes about their persistent stress on national origins” (Ibid 58). While sharing imposed identities (Latino, Hispanic,

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foreigner) within the U.S., then, Puerto Ricans may also differentiate themselves by space, media and political status/ involvement. Hence, Iberian globalization continues to create and explore tools of culture, statecraft and flows. SPAIN AND LATIN AMERICA TODAY

These portraits of Mexico, Argentina and Puerto Rico and their emergence from Spanish rule into different contexts of national identity and participation in Global Iberias reiterate the processes that have determined shared regional patterns and local challenges across the Atlantic. These relations were celebrated ritually, if ambivalently in 1992, as Seville, which had hosted an Iberian-American exposition in 1929, hosted a World’s Fair that reaffirmed connections to the Latin American World (P. Harvey 1996) along with the Barcelona Olympics.8 Some Latin Americans also savagely satirized these pretensions of fraternal unity (Gómez-Peña, Chgoya and Rice 2000). Nor are modern flows merely symbolic, as debates over global water show. Since the 1990s, Latin American economic migrants also have became more visible across Spain as Colombians, Ecuadorians, Peruvians, Dominicans, Cubans and others have taken jobs throughout the burgeoning cities of the European state—as maids, in bars and small family stores, in factories and in McDonalds (Delgado and Lozano 2007). Large Spanish cities now have Latin American-oriented magazines and restaurants, while “national” bars and recreation centers have boomed. Catholic devotions like Lima’s Our Lady of the Miracle have sought their place in Spanish parishes, and transnational soccer teams compete for recreational space. In Latin American cities like Cuenca in Ecuador, there are whole neighborhoods of empty mansions built on the basis of money sent home from Spain, while information

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on migration is readily available. And Latin Americans bring with them their own divisions of class, color and prejudice as well as those they find—and express—in Iberian settings. Immigrants from the Dominican Republic, who also have strong transnational connections to the U.S. (HoffnungGarskof 2008), illustrate these flows. The Associació Dominicana of Barcelona, founded in 1992 differs from the Uruguayan club mentioned above in that established elite immigrants help out uneducated and vulnerable new migrants, often women hired as maids (Moren-Alegret 2002: 150–1). In the Barcelona neighborhood of Poble Sec, where I lived with my family in summer 2008, Dominicans of varied racial characteristics ran restaurants, hair salons and bars in the barrio among immigrants from Bolivia, South Asia, the Maghreb and China (with innumerable stores for cheap household goods). Banks touted their ability to send money and storefronts offered telephone and internet connection, making the idea of a transnational home ubiquitous as well. The hymns of Latino Evangelical churches rang out on Sunday and Dominicans contributed food and merengue music to the neighborhood festival. Yet, their celebration centered on a different street slightly removed from the main events, even as neighbors and visitors strolled back and forth. This spatial sense of place and division resonates with Spanish images of Dominicans as dangerous or problematic immigrants in a time of crisis (see Pimental 2001; Lozano and Delgado 2007; SOS Racismo 2008). Latin Americans represent 22 percent of all immigrants in Spain and Portugal today (Morén-Alegret 2002: 65), building on shared languages and relations beyond those that bind Iberia with Africa or Asian postcolonial populations. Yet, political scientist Omar Encarnación warns about the dilemmas of modern Iberian globalization where interests of peoples

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and nation-states, European and Latin American, elites and workers, come into conflict: To the extent to which any cultural identity has been promoted in Spain in the post-transition era, it is that of an Iberian-American community of nations. Designed to give Spain a higher profile in international organizations and to enhance commercial opportunities for Spaniards abroad, government officials in the post-transition period have devoted considerable resources to cultivating relations with the former Spanish colonies in Latin America. This has added ‘an internal contradiction to Spanish immigration policy.’ The attempt to restrict the flow of Latin American immigrants, a significant source of both legal and illegal immigration, has collided with the building of a broad Latin American community of nations . . .” (2004: 107).

Here, finally, Brazil and Portugal provide an important counterpoint for Spanish American globalization and its meanings, in commodities, populations, ideas or power. BRAZIL: A DIFFERENT IBERIAN AMERICAN WORLD

A Portuguese Minister celebrated the nation’s eighth centennial in 1940, under the Estado Novo, by cataloguing Portugal’s long list of “discoveries”: In forty-two years, between 1500 and 1542, the list of new lands discovered, visited, explored or occupied is almost incredible: Brazil, St. Helena, Madagascar, Ceylon, Malacca and the Spice Islands of Sumatra, Java, Moluques, Borneo, and Timor and even the coast of China and Japan. It includes the first voyage of circumnavigation of the globe by the Portuguese pilot Magellan and other Portuguese sailors. These enterprises led to the substitution of Lisbon for Venice as the trading center of Europe,

to the colonization of Brazil, and to the creation of the First Indian Empire under Portuguese rule. They meant fighting repeatedly tribes; and they meant facing unknown perils and devastating diseases. (De Bianchi 1940: 338)

This florid rhetoric scarcely addresses the difficulties of such expansion for a nation of one million inhabitants at the time; hence, the preeminence of trading cities and sailors under many flags. Nor does it evaluate costs and participation by those whom the Portuguese met on their travels. Brazil seems almost anomalous in the chain of outposts and flows of goods that became Portuguese Asia and Africa. Brazil, nonetheless, became central to Portuguese global life and consciousness and remains closely connected to the peninsula today, as cultural ally, human community and economic and political competitor. Pope Alexander VI (born Rodrigo de Borja in Spain) demarcated world boundaries of East and West for Spain and Portugal in 1493. Columbus, in fact, had landed in Portugal on returning from his first voyage, leading King Jõao II to claim these new lands by treaty (Alcovavas, 1492) and Papal Bulls. Alerted to the situation, Isabel and Ferdinand of Spain intervened with the Spanish-born Pope, who awarded the lands to Spain in a series of Papal decrees that set the dividing line 100 leagues west of Cape Verde. The 1494 Treaty of Tordesillas finally divided Spanish and Portuguese claims along a line 350 leagues west of Cape Verde, confirming Portuguese claims on Brazil. This treaty remained in force until 1750 (the Treaty of Madrid), despite many border disputes. The initial voyage that allowed Portugal to claim part of Latin America, in fact, was treated with less ceremony or interest

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the Moors of Mecca, the Turks, the Levantines and many savage

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than Lusophone acquisitions in Asia. A feitoria lease similar to the model used in Africa went to a group headed by the New Christian Fernão de Noronha in 1503, but lapsed a few years later (Fausto 1999: 10). Despite Spain’s Aztec and Inca gold, Portuguese explorers found no easy wealth nor imperial cultures in Brazil. Indeed, the primary initial export of the area was wood (generally Caesalpinia echinata), which the Portuguese identified with a similar Asian tree known as a dyestuff. A settlement was finally established in 1532, but well into the twentieth century, major Brazilian cities centered on ports and the coasts, rather than being attracted by inland wealth such as that in Cusco or Tenochtitlán. This orientation toward the ocean and the metropolis would only change with discoveries of mineral wealth inland. Portugal did not even send a governor to Brazil until 1549, forced to do so by French incursions and envy of Spanish wealth. Even after the governor’s arrival (along with Jesuits and a more structured Catholic church), trade with Asia contributed ten times as much to the Portuguese crown as revenues from Brazil (Fausto 1999: 14). Eventually, Brazil became a source of greater wealth as Atlantic sugar techniques altered its northeast region. This development entailed ecological shifts in the Northeast and the use of Indian slaves, whose demise led to the importation of African slaves to replace indigenous peoples killed by war and disease. Four million Africans arrived in the colony between 1550 and the end of slave trading in 1855, with slaves from Guinea in the Northeast and those from Angola passing through Rio de Janeiro in the South. (Fausto 1999: 18.) Tobacco, Brazil’s second crop, helped smaller freeholders and gave new opportunities for free mulattos as well. At the end of the colonial period, Africans and their descendants, including mulattos, accounted for two-thirds or more of the

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population in Brazil’s largest provinces amid diminishing and endangered indigenous populations and environments (Fausto 1999: 26). Brazil thus became the crucible for the creation of the Atlantic world, linking (and dividing) peoples, goods, society and culture from Africa with the Americas. While taken in forced migration, Africans in Brazil maintained and shared cultural values that continue to be present in Brazilian society today, whether in food, expressive arts or religion. Their relations with both Europeans and indigenous peoples also produced a range of ethnic complexity for the country, now interwoven with class and later migration. As Skidmore observes: “the combination of European, Indian and African produced a culture very different from the austere Portuguese original” (1999: 24). Jesuits in Brazil, for example, faced crucial decisions over the admission of New Christians, mixed blood members and even native Brazilians to their order, while they became ensnared in sugar and slavery (Alden 1996). Africans, meanwhile, not only resisted, but also escaped slavery and built Palmares. Thousands of soldiers served its warrior king as they played off Portuguese and Dutch invaders for much of the seventeenth century. Here, they glimpsed a freedom that would not come to Portuguese Africa for centuries. The wealth of Northern Brazil gave way in 1690 to the South with the discovery of gold by itinerant mixed-race adventurers in Minas Gerais. Population shifted southward, while Portuguese arrived from the motherland and more slaves were imported, again at tremendous costs to indigenous worlds. This flow, along with an eighteenth-century discovery of diamonds, funded palaces and cathedrals in São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro as well as Lisbon and Oporto. Urban and rural Brazil became a more economically diverse society, although slavery “permeated the whole of Brazilian society

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and conditioned Brazilians’ ways of acting and thinking. The desire to be a slave owner and the effort to obtain slaves ran from the ruling class all the way down to humble urban artisans” (Fausto 1999: 28). Visions of this mixture later became part of the ideology of Lusotropicalism created by Brazilian intellectual Gilberto Freyre (1943, 1961), while mining towns and great country estates eclipsed coastal cities dependent on Lisbon. In these areas, discussions of independence foreshadowed the end of Portuguese rule. In 1807, however, the Portuguese court fled Napoleon for Rio de Janeiro rather than London or the Azores: 10,000– 15,000 people crossed the Atlantic under the protection of the British fleet—which profited from the opening of Brazil’s trade to the world in 1808. In Rio, the cosmopolitan splendor of a “tropical Versailles” took shape—theaters, libraries, newspapers and global visitors in a city whose population doubled to 100,000 (Maxwell 1973 (2004), 2003; Schultz 2001). After Napoleon’s defeat, King João VI remained in Brazil for another six years before returning to Lisbon. He raised Brazil to the status of a kingdom in 1815 (with Portugal and the Algarve). Parliamentary demands in Portugal and other issues in Brazil forced João to return to Portugal in 1820. His five-year-old son Pedro remained behind and declared Brazilian independence in 1822. After a short war and negotiations through Great Britain, as usual, Pedro became Emperor of Brazil. He also remained heir to the Portuguese throne, which he received in 1826, only to abdicate in favor of his daughter Maria. In 1831, in turn, he abdicated the Brazilian throne for his son, Pedro II, and returned to Portugal. This imperial line only collapsed after the abolition of slavery in 1888. Historian A. H. de Oliveira Marques elegantly summarizes Portuguese-Brazilian relations in these colonial centuries:

From the late 1600s to 1822 Brazil was the essence of the Portuguese Empire. With some exaggeration one might even say partly caused secession from Spain in 1640. It was Brazil that gave Portugal the means to remain independent afterward and justified the other powers’ support of the Portuguese separation. It was Brazil that brought about a new wave of prosperity during the eighteenth century and that made Portugal respected once again among the civilized countries of Europe (1972: 430).

Brazilian independence did not entail any substitution of religion, landholding, language, culture or royal family. Yet, it did sever the flow of wealth from Brazil to Portugal, making the latter an impoverished relative whose citizens would arrive in Brazil not as conquerors, but as immigrants scrabbling for a new life. Author Norman Lewis, for example, traveling through Portugal in 1934, encountered “a compartment full of Portuguese girls who were going into service in Lisbon. Several of them, as they told us with no evidence of sorrow, had said goodbye to their families for the last time, and were being taken by their employer straight out to Brazil” (2003: 101). They were escaping the poverty that Lewis viewed over and over throughout Spain and Portugal, a route that continued through the 1940s and 1950s. Meanwhile, São Paulo became a cosmopolitan metropolis, with diverse racial groups and new immigrants from Europe and Asia, including a large Japanese quarter that became a factor in saving Portuguese Macau from Japanese invasion in World War II (see Figure 5.4). Brazil also had discovered coffee as yet another global commodity that would continue its economic growth well into the twentieth century. By the middle of the twentieth century, the nation-state made new claims for its own identity

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that Brazil was the essence of Portugal itself. It was Brazil that

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Figure 5.4 Global Brazil: The Japanese Section of São Paulo. Photograph by the author, 1994.

in its new (and geographically central) capital, Brasilia. Although Brazilian modernism has been criticized in the U.S., this city embodies an important statement of Brazilian globalization: “the uniqueness of Brazilian modernism resided in the concomitant and dialectical action of intellectuals in their desire for the utopian construction of a past, and of a future for art and the country itself. To achieve these goals, it was necessary to ‘re-discover Brazil’ at a time where local traditions and democrats were either unknown or scorned in favor of fantasy-based and superficial interpretations of styles imported from Europe and North America” (Cavalcanti 2003: 161, see Holston 1989). Today, relations between the Portuguese and the Brazilians remain fluid but intense. Brazil is a giant among world nations, with a territory of 8,514,876.599 square kilometers and a population of over 180 million, including one of the

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world’s largest cities, São Paulo.9 Brazil dwarfs Portugal at 91,391 square kilometers (slightly over one per cent) and 10,084,245 people. Portugal’s entry into the EU has made it rich, with a GDP of $174 billion USD, although Brazil’s is still $1,430 billion USD—a sizeable gap. Portugal nonetheless claims to anchor a Lusitanian world which is potentially valuable to Europe, including Brazilians, Angolans, Timorese and Macanese. Among many postcolonial immigrants, Portugal experienced an influx of Brazilian professionals (including former Portuguese migrants) in the 1980s. Brazilian soap operas, renowned through the Hispanic world, also appeared on Portuguese television (see Morén-Alegret 2002).10 Other recent accounts cite diverse Brazilian populations, some 160,000 (2006) acting as a pressure group in asking Portugal to consider legalization beyond EU norms (De Queiros 2005). For some non-elite Brazilians, Portugal has become a new America. In fact, some say that this new wave of migrants towards the terrinha, as Brazilians like to call Portugal, is connected to barriers against Brazilians imposed by the U.S. government (see www.brazil.com/2004/html/articles/ mar04/p113mar04.htm). Portugal also has gained fame as a center for the trafficking of Brazilian women for European prostitution, involving as many as 100 gangs and over 75,000 women. Apart from people, transnational borrowings like Brazilian Carnivals in Portugal or the movement of musicians, soccer players and cinema across national and linguistic boundaries unite Portugal and Brazil, although the issue of language standardization often proves a point of division between them. At the same time, the Portuguese, like the Spaniards, have actively promoted shared investment ties with former colonies. Lisbon’s Banco Espirito Santo, nationalized in 1975, has acquired stakes in Brazil’s Banco Boavista and other

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institutions, with $1.9 billion in acquisitions in 2003 (Platt 2003: 48). Joint projects by Brazil and Portugal in Angola, or friendly sports competition in the Lusophone games of Macau, continue to complicate postcolonial transnational ties. CONCLUSIONS

Strategic modern reinterpretations of an historical template of conquest and commerce remind us that globalization involves constant and changing flows and agents. We might consider, for example, the expansion of Latin American populations into new worlds. Japan has seen return migration from earlier emigrations to Peru and Brazil, as well as the less salutary flight of former Peruvian president Alberto Fujimori to haven in Japan. Migrations northwards to the United States have encompassed Mestizos, Indios, descendants of European ethnics, Asians and those who would be identified as Spanish or African-American in the constructed categories of North American society, as seen in the description of Los Angeles in the Introduction to this book. Any “Hispanic/Latino” ethnic category, expected to reach 100 million people within decades, includes legal and illegal immigrants in rural labor, construction and lower level service sector jobs, middle class families and others in professional, artistic and leadership roles. All these flows resonate with the ties we have explored in Spain and Portugal, further complicating transnational categories and ties. Having begun this chapter with Octavio Paz, it seems appropriate to conclude with his compatriot Carlos Fuentes, reflecting on the Columbus quincentenary: It was through Spain that the Americas first received the full sweep of the Mediterranean tradition, for Spain is not only Christian but Arab and Jewish, she is also Greek, Carthaginian,

Roman, and both Gothic and Gypsy. We might have a more powerful Indian tradition in Mexico, Guatemala, Ecuador, Peru Chile; or a stronger black tradition in the Caribbean, Venezuela and Colombia than in Mexico or Paraguay. But Spain embraces all of us: she is, in a way, our commonplace, our common ground, La Madre Patria, the Mother Fatherland. Spain is a double-gendered proposition, mother and father rolled into one, warmly hugging us, suffocatingly familiar, the cradle through which we have come into the inheritance of the Mediterranean world, the Spanish language, the Catholic religion, the authoritarian political tradition -- but also the possibility of identifying a democratic tradition that can be genuinely ours and not simply a derivation of Anglo-American or French models. (Fuentes 1992: 15)

Language, religion, food, culture, economics, belief and human movement continue to reconstruct webs of connections within this extended Iberian-Latin American world including its extension into North America as well as varied meanings in Spain. Yet, this globalization also has created resistance, reaction and alternative global visions among indigenes, mestizos, African-Americans and others who recreate Iberian worlds. With this in mind, I conclude this book by revisiting themes of resistance, alternatives and exile in and out of the Iberian Peninsula itself.

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and Bolivia; or a stronger European presence in Argentina or

Other Worlds, Other Histories: Iberians and Exile


Images of globalization, grounded in flows of people, goods, capital and ideas, often focus our attention on the collisions among worlds and peoples. Yet, globalization also entails separations—those who leave, voluntarily or by force, “outsiders” denied full participation in society and history, and those who dream of alternatives to “the way things are.” Explorers left their homelands behind to find spices or gold and to claim lands that would constitute Spanish and Portuguese empires. Their missionary fellow travelers sought to save souls in these worlds. Later, other Iberians sought hope for their families in the Western Hemisphere, African colonies or other parts of Europe. African slaves, Chinese coolies and indigenous populations were swept up in the worlds Iberians created, longing for the worlds they had lost even as they forged new hybrid identities. And descendants of these peoples, too, have changed the Iberian Peninsula today through new global flows. Throughout this text, in addition, the words of Iberian and global intellectuals, critics and politicians have signaled alternative readings of empires, states and globalization, new visions of problems or images of a “better world,” even when these reflections emerge from a position outside the peninsula (see Anderson 2005; Kamen 2007). These examples underscore the need to read dynamic Iberian worlds through divergent imaginations as well as dominant narratives. Hence, this concluding chapter begins with the

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Jews of the Iberian Peninsula, who in the last five centuries of exile have created a wider Sephardic world of life, mourning and memory that evokes the promise of Islamic Al-Andalu¯ s and the limitations of Christian Iberia from positions worldwide. This exile resonates with people and groups who have been denied full participation in Iberian histories on the basis of religion, nationality, class, gender, sexuality and political beliefs. For some, this has entailed an “internal exile”: living within Spain and Portugal, but separated from these imagined communities. Here, the histories and cultures of the Roma (Gypsies) who came into Iberia as a global people and have stayed there for centuries as separate citizens prove especially relevant. These alternative Iberian worlds were not carried abroad, but negotiated in cities and villages across the peninsula. Their embodiment of insiders/outsiders has anticipated the experiences of recent Latin Americans, Africans and Asians in the postcolonial peninsula. At the same time, gitanos/ciganos have also become powerful symbols of Iberia outside Spain and Portugal. Finally, this chapter closes on a more intimate human note, with the narrative of a single family, the Pi Sunyers, whose beliefs and actions forced them into exile in France, Great Britain and the Americas at the end of the Spanish Civil War. Exile was a long sojourn from which only some returned after the death of Franco. The words of this family evoke political and cultural exiles, economic refugees, and the hopes of many who have wanted Spain and Portugal to change, even at the cost of their own lives. While these stories span different places, flows and forms of globalization, from the Jews in Roman Iberia through early modern empires and post-colonial relations, they are all significant for contemporary globalization worldwide as well. Jews, Roma and exiles have lived with multiple and fluid

identities amid conflicting demands of citizenship, memory and diaspora that characterize post-colonial globalization. To see these processes unfold and to understand their human implications and political economic impacts underscores insights Iberian worlds hold for postmodern dilemmas.

Jews probably arrived in the Iberian Peninsula during the Roman Empire. The term Sepharad appears in the Book of the prophet Obadiah, designating a place or state of exile after the destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem (586 BCE). Some scholars have associated the name with Sardis, in Turkey; others have treated it as a mere metaphor. By the early Christian era, Sepharad had become a common although not unique term of reference for Spain.1 Scattered remains in tombstones and inscriptions, however, limit any reconstruction of early peninsular Jewish life in Iberia. Instead, early testimonies about Iberian Judaism often come from disputes among Christians in the Roman peninsula. The Council of Elvira in the early fourth century CE, for example, imposed multiple sanctions on those who married or even ate with Jews (Richardson 1996: 282–3). Later, King Sisebut (612–621) gave Jews the choice of conversion or exile—a pattern that would recur across centuries of Iberian history. So, despite longstanding Jewish participation in peninsular life, Jews “appear” in Spanish history already cast as outsiders. The Arab invasion of 711 interrupted Visigothic repression of Jews. Sephardic history celebrates a golden age in Islamic Spain, especially during the Caliphate of Córdoba, discussed in Chapter 3. This convivencia (living together) fostered the development of cultivated Jewish urban communities: elaborated rabbinical and legal writings, flourishing Hebrew poetry and important public roles for Jews as advisors, translators and

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commentators. Jews built bridges to the classical past and to Arab worlds of science and medicine. Above all, convivencia implied that Muslims, Jews and Christians formed parts of a complex society in which differences were more or less accepted—a model subverted in the early modern period by “pure” models of Iberian and European identities. Even under Islam, however, Jewish life was complicated. The puritanical Almoravids, who arrived in the eleventh century, were more negative toward Judaism than their predecessors. This forced many Jews to flee to Christian courts, where some found favor as royal bankers (Assis 1997). Jews participated actively as well in the Translator’s School in Christian Toledo, founded in the twelfth century. This institution provided a globalizing conduit for the transmission of classical texts into the rest of Europe via translations of Greek works through Arabic to Latin and reinforced the Castilian vernacular (DíazMas 1992: 4). Yet, the royal protection that set Jews apart foreshadowed further problems: “As long as the Crown was powerful and in control, the Jews were relatively safe . . . However, if popular resentment of the king developed, the Jews would be viewed as guilty by association and would suffer accordingly. At the same time, there was no guarantee that the king might not decide to dispense with Jews at any given moment . .” (Melammed 2004: 5–6). As Iberian Christian societies forged stronger national identities, suspicion and hostility toward Jews increased. Riots that erupted in recently-reconquered Seville in 1391 swept the peninsula and destroyed many well-established Jewish communities. Both popular and official persecution intensified over the next century, even before the King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel created the Spanish Inquisition under royal authority in 1478. While these monarchs regarded Jews as royal property, their reunification of Iberian principalities against Islam paved

Sephardim in the Early Modern World

After the 1492 edict, some Spanish Jews merely crossed the border to Portugal, where Jews had constituted a notable minority for centuries and had held elite positions in royal households. One scholar calculates 30,000 Jews in Portugal at this time, or three percent of the population, but notes estimates as high as 75,000; she estimates a population of 60,000–

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the way for construction of a more exclusive national identity in which Jews also would lose their places. On March 31, 1492, a royal edict gave all Jews four months either to convert or to leave a newly unified Spain. Many conversos or New Christians would remain but face suspicions and difficulties to which we will return. Perhaps 100,000 chose the latter option, departing for Portugal or destinations around the Mediterranean. This mass exile marks the origin of the Sephardim and their families and descendants who carried memories of Iberia into new displacements worldwide. Paloma Díaz-Mas divides this exile into three phases. The first, until the late seventeenth century, involving a search for place. The second, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, involved community growth. The third phase, a new Diaspora caused by European events in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, exiled Sephardim to Israel, the Americas and even Spain (DíazMas 1992). The first two periods established exiles in areas already connected with Iberian Christianity in Europe and in Mediterranean Islam. Contemporary Sephardim, in turn, illuminate a wider globalization that has forged new links with populations left behind and changing Spanish and Portuguese states. Sephardic trajectories through Christian Europe and Islamic worlds also inform the dual consciousness of conversos—“New Christians”—who stayed in Spain and adapted their lives.

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120,000 by 1496 as a consequence of Spanish expulsions (Melammed 2004: 51–3). Numbers and privilege, however, erased neither difference nor potential actions that could single out the Jews. In 1493, for example, King João II separated 700 Jewish children from their families to colonize the African enclave of São Tomé. In 1497, Portugal finally agreed to a general expulsion of Jews as a pre-condition for the dynastic marriage between King Manuel I of Portugal and Princess Isabel of Spain. In practice, many Portuguese Jews preferred enforced public conversion to the economic dislocation of expulsion, creating a large hybrid group of New Christians. Others who left Spain and Portugal found homes in European cities near Iberia or cities that had been shaped by Iberian exchanges. Jews settled in Basque and Catalan cities in France such as St. Jean de Luz and Perpignan. They also found a haven in Naples, despite its dependence on Aragon, until that crown forced a northward migration to more tolerant Rome and Venice. In these areas, Jews and Jewish converts were also able to meet, increasing suspicions among authorities about the latter. In the Netherlands, Jewish religious freedom became possible because Catholic and Protestant Dutch cities had united to fight against Spanish rule in the sixteenth century. Their tolerance allowed Sephardic communities to prosper, while Iberian immigrants enriched Dutch global expansion with their experience, connections, capital and learning. Sephardim became invaluable go-betweens after Spain and the Netherlands signed a truce in 1609. Amsterdam probably hosted 1,000 Sephardim by 1630; once again, some Jews presented themselves as converts rather than Jews in public (Bodian 1997). These areas, too, became stepping stones to a wider Sephardic diaspora in Great Britain, New Amsterdam (New York) and Dutch Brazil.

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The society of the Low Countries facilitated a “reIberianization” of Jewry through the consolidation of Portuguese and Spanish families, even as these Sephardim distinguished themselves from Eastern (Ashkenazi) Jews and local Dutch residents. As Miriam Bodian notes, “Portuguese Jews,” as they identified themselves in Amsterdam, “were more conspicuously Iberian than ever before. This was a source of pride and an important component of their developing sense of collective self . . . Both in the habits they had assimilated from Spanish and Portuguese society and in their practice of Jewish law, they suddenly became what they had never been before, a well-defined group” (1997: 18; see Benbassa and Rodrigue 1995; Carvalho 1999; Antunes 2004: 122–20). Henry Méchoulan concurs in his study of seventeenth-century Jewish doctrinal disputes: “The Jew of Amsterdam, whether affirming his faith or rebelling, was above all a Spaniard” (1998: 370). Exile and intolerance affirmed a sense of shared heritage, while peninsular Jews distinguished themselves from other European Jews. Other exiled Iberian Jews, meanwhile, traveled southward and westward into Muslim countries, reversing the flows from Africa highlighted in Chapter 4 and converging with other Iberian exiles. Many Muslims had gone to North Africa after the defeat of their Iberian kingdoms. Those who had stayed eventually were forced to convert to Catholicism and faced increasing restrictions on language, culture and dress as well as concerns about their loyalties in a world threatened by the Ottoman Empire. As in the case of Jews, Muslims who chose conversion remained suspect, living in an internal exile. Literary historian Luce López-Baralt, for example, recounts the tortured memories of the elite sharif Ibn Abd al-Rafı¯  al-Andalusı¯ who:

. . describes how his father taught him the Arabic alphabet and the first notions of Islam when he was six years old . . . The father starts to write the “letters of the Christians” on the slate and goes over them with his son. “Ours are like this,” he whispers in the startled child’s ear . . . Al-Rafı¯ ends up having to memorize a double alphabet neatly inscribed in a

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double column. He learns immediately that he is in the midst of a dangerous academic task: he must keep his father’s teachings strictly to himself. Not even his mother should have access to the delicately curving Arabic signs on his wooden slate (2000: 474).

Mary Elizabeth Perry has underscored how Spanish perceptions of danger became gendered in this period around the image of the Morisco woman and domesticity, in which crypto-Islamic practices might be shielded from public view (1999: 2005). This suspicion, projected from an adamantly homogenizing Spain, echoed questions raised against New Christians converted from Judaism. Restrictions on Muslim life led to a Morisco revolt in Granada in 1568. After this revolt failed, the defeated Moriscos were dispersed across Spain. Despite their powerful role in agriculture in Mediterranean areas, Spanish authorities expelled 300,000–500,000 Moriscos between 1609 and 1614, worrying about global collaboration between these suspect Christians and the Protestant threat from Northern Europe (Cheyne 1983: 9). Loss of this population decimated regions such as Valencia and Aragon, damaging artisanal industry and the production of crops such as rice and sugar, which would become mainstays of colonial plantation slavery in the Canaries and the New World.4 The Iberian Morisco-Muslim population sent in exile, however, had become more cosmopolitan than most Muslims of

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North Africa. They had developed a hybrid literature, known as Aljamiado, written in romance (Spanish) and transcribed in Arabic, echoing Christian Mozarabs and Sephardic Jews. Some exiles thus reconstituted strong communities in North Africa, rebuilding the city of Tetuan, for example, as a sixteenth and seventeenth century citadel against Spanish incursions in Morocco (Latham 1986). North African Sephardim, in turn, reconstructed their own Iberian niches within the cities of the Maghreb where they encountered Muslim memories of Al-Andalu¯ s. Some specialized as artisans and traders. Some took up niches prohibited to Muslims, such as goldsmithing. Still others were required to gather the heads of executed criminals and hang them on city gates (Sachar 1995: 196). Through both northern and southern Mediterranean routes, many Sephardim ended up in the realms of the Ottoman Empire, stretching from the Balkans to the Maghreb. Under the Ottomans, Jews gained monopolies in printing, firearms and commerce. In cosmopolitan cities such as Istanbul and Salonika (Thessaloniki), wealthy Sephardim again met conversos who had reconverted to Judaism, sometimes with striking fluidity. The family of Dona Beatriz da Mendes, for example, fled Spain only to face forced conversion in Portugal. As a young New Christian widow, she moved to Antwerp where she expanded the Mendes trading empire before departing for Italy in 1544. Emperor Charles V tried to seize her estate, but she already had transferred much of it to Venice. Accused of Jewish beliefs, she fled to Ferrara, where she resumed her Jewish name, Gracia Nasi. She then moved to Istanbul, where she and her family became patrons to Jews throughout the Eastern Mediterranean (Sachar 1995: 83–7). Her nephew and son-in-law, Joseph, became the Duke of Naxos. Others made different choices. Luis de Ysa left Castile for

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Italy with his Jewish family, but there he decided to become Christian. After wandering the Mediterranean and changing his identity several times, he reappeared before the Inquisition in Toledo in 1514 to proclaim again his true Christian faith amid the temptations Judaizing acquaintances and settings had offered him (Kagan and Dyer 2004). Over time, Sephardim became fragmented by trajectories and class: Diaz-Mas notes forty-four synagogues in Istanbul alone, reflecting regional differences and economic specializations. Within this polyglot Islamic world, however, many Jews maintained their own creole Judeo-Iberian language, which combined Spanish and Portuguese with Hebrew writing. Over time, they added elements from local languages or widened their repertoire, while holding onto language as sign of memory and identity. The Ottoman Empire also witnessed one of the most trying moments of proto-global Sephardic history—the rise of Shabbatai Zvi, who proclaimed himself messiah in the late seventeenth century and attracted followers from across the Jewish world who had suffered under various persecutions. Those who had lost the richness of Iberia so passionately envisioned the coming of the Messiah and a better world. Eventually, the Sultanate intervened to restore order within the Jewish community and the Empire, forcing Zvi to convert publicly to Islam with many followers.2 Following this disaster, Jews in the Ottoman Empire rebuilt their communities, amid new difficulties. Sephardim in the Modern World: The Continuing Diaspora

By the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, both Sephardim and some conversos from Iberian-influenced and Mediterranean settings had established more assimilated identities in France, Great Britain and the Americas. British Prime Minister

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and statesman Benjamin Disraeli, for example, descended from Sephardic families who had passed through Italy, although he was raised as an Anglican and only later used this Jewish background strategically to create his identity. In the United States, Sephardim founded many early synagogues, including Jews had who traveled under the unifying flag of Dutch colonialism. Meanwhile, in Eastern Europe, as the Ottoman Empire weakened, the place and participation of Jews within emergent Balkan nation-states became problematic. As in Iberia, nation-building and anti-Semitism easily converged against synagogues like that built by Sephardim in Sofia, Bulgaria (see Figure 6.1). In North Africa, meanwhile, as the French established colonial regimes, Jews became middlemen and even French citizens. Others formed intermediary Hispanic-Jewish associations in Spanish Ceuta and Melilla (Guershon 1998; Cohen and Eleb 2002). A Sephardic colony even took shape on peninsular soil, in British Gibraltar (Archer 2006). In the twentieth century, however, after centuries of adaptation, many European Sephardim succumbed to the Holocaust. Hundreds of thousands of Sephardim and their descendants from France, Italy and the Netherlands died with other Jews in Nazi extermination camps. More than 90 percent of the Jews in Greece were killed, desolating Thessaloniki, which had once been called “Little Jerusalem.” In Yugoslavia, 40,000 Sephardim died. Some fled to the Americas; others found their way to Shanghai, where Sephardim and other Middle Eastern Jews had established trading communities (Lévy 1989; Meyer 2003). After the war, survivors also created a new Sephardic migration to Israel and the United States. With decolonization, many Sephardic Jews in North Africa also moved to France or to Israel (Bahloul 2003). Even within a Zionist homeland, however, other Jews treated them differently because of their heritage and culture (Shohat 1988).

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Figure 6.1 Sephardic Synagogue in Sofia, Bulgaria, 1980s. Photograph courtesy of Peter Brampton Koelle.

The complexities facing Sephardim in the Mediterranean world are epitomized by the fate of the Judeo-Iberian language. In the nineteenth century, this language, also known as Judezmo, Espanolit, Espanyol, Ladino or El Kasteyano Muestro (i.e. “our Castilian”, Harris 1994; Zucker 2001), spurred debate among Jews and Gentiles since it was perceived to reinforce social boundaries. While language could become one element of Iberian heritage within a global repertoire that might include other languages and registers, the emergence of

Another Story: Jews and Conversos in Internal Exile in Iberia

As noted above, not all Jews left Spain or Portugal with the expulsion orders, whenever their conversion occurred. Those who publicly changed faiths and stayed in Iberia often remained suspect even if their conversion was sincere. The Inquisition devoted constant efforts to rooting out insincere conversions and crypto-Jewish practices for centuries (Netanyahu 1997; Kamen 1998; Kagan and Dyer 2005; Rawlings 2006). Purity of blood (limpieza de sangre), which had emerged with the Statutes of Toledo in 1449 after mass forced conversions in the fourteenth century, also set apart those who had been officially Roman Catholic for generations but had Jewish ancestors (Martz 1998). Even the globalizing Jesuits, who initially accepted conversos, excluded descendants of converts from Judaism or Islam between 1593 and World War II. New Christians nonetheless took on important roles in the colonies, bribing passages to Iberian worlds made safer by distance and hybridity. Portuguese New Christians became

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new nations within the declining Ottoman empire suggested to some Jewish modernizers that Judezmo should be abandoned in favor of state languages or an international lingua franca such as English or French (Bunis 1996). Later immigrants in the United States and Israel also found that Ashkenazi Jews rejected their Hispanic language. As an immigrant from Turkey to the U.S. complained: “There, to be a Jew, one must speak Yiddish and have a German surname. . We could have told them we were from Neptune! We finally told them people that we were Spaniards (although from the Levant)” (Zucker 2001: 6). Nonetheless, despite erosion in the face of official state languages, including Hebrew, Judeo-Spanish continues to survive as a marker of global Sephardic identity (Harris 1994; Lévy 1989).

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important in the sixteenth century Cape Verde and Senegambian trade, despite the eventual impact of the Inquisition there (Brooks 1993:159–60). More fled in the seventeenth century when Phillip III permitted citizens of the united Spanish and Portuguese crown to emigrate to the colonies (Ibid: 187). Such globalism remained flexible and ambiguous: Senegambian New Christians supported Dutch trade through their “commercial and family ties” with “Iberian Jews living in exile in Holland” (Brooks 1993: 5). Indeed, the identities and practices of New Christians have been complex. Some became Christians and have maintained that identity despite its consequences. When conversos like Gracia Nasi reconverted to Judaism in new settings, however, official suspicions about conversions and their sincerity seemed to be confirmed. In fact, some conversos maintained Jewish practices in secret for centuries, even when these ideas became detached from a clear sense of religion or group membership. These “anusim” (a Hebrew term for “forcibly converted”) include the xuetas of Mallorca, descendants of conversos who maintained private “Jewish” customs while becoming stigmatized but staunch Roman Catholics (Moore 1976). Other Hispanic Catholics in New Mexico avoided pork and lit candles on Friday night (Alexy 1993; Hordes 2005). Those labelled “marranos” (a derogatory term associated with pork) in Portugal also survived in secret, even after the Portuguese state legalized Judaism once again and invited Jews to return in the nineteenth century. In a global reversal of earlier exile, Lisbon’s first new synagogue was established with donations from the Sephardic Kadoorie family, based in India and Hong Kong, and the Rothschilds of Great Britain and France. Yet, by this time, some Portuguese crypto-Jewish families had become so isolated that they thought they were the only remaining Jews in the world. Portugal’s Jewish population,

Sánchez-Albornoz failed to grasp the essentials of the Jewish question in Spain. He deals with it not as a modern scholar, who seeks to discern the social cross-currents and assess the effects of their mergings and clashes, but from the standpoint of a medieval Spaniard who judged all social and political phenomena by dogmatic criteria—by his faith and the views he inherited from his predecessors and upheld by his mentors. His failure to rise to a more objective view and see the two sides of the

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today, including Marranos, reconverts, Sephardim and Ashkenazim scarcely reaches 1,000. Jews returned to Spain after the promulgation of religious tolerance by the First Republic (1870). Their numbers grew in the twentieth century as refugees fled unstable Islamic areas: Jews welcomed a 1919 Spanish expedition that captured the Moroccan city of Chouen with the key to their homes and synagogue from Granada (and fled with Spanish troops in 1924; Balfour 2002: 61, 103–6). Other Sephardim fled Hitler’s rise to power in Germany or came as economic refugees from Latin America. Ironically, neutral Portugal and Spain offered havens for at least some Jewish refugees during World War II, as did Spanish Morocco, where thousands have lived. Spanish Jews now number roughly 20,000 in a dozen congregations in large cities like Barcelona and Madrid. In 1992, the order of expulsion was officially repealed, although governments already had argued it was no longer valid (Avni 1982). Still, Benzion Netanyahu reminds us that major scholars of Spain and Spanish identity, including Américo Castro and Claudio Sánchez Albornoz, used the Jews (referring to both convivencia and to persecution of the Jews) to reaffirm a unique Spanish identity without necessarily thinking outside an inherited framework:

picture stems from his insensitivity to the fact that the persecution of a minority such as the Jews was not determined only by its behavior, but also—and primarily—by the very fact that it was an alien group, which the majority tended to dislike in all conditions and hated and considered harmful when

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conditions became adverse (1997: 149–150).

Under Franco, even the defeated Catalans were occasionally smeared as “Judeo-Catalans” to impugn their rights and loyalty within the state. Hence, a complex dialectic has continued to unite and divide Jews and Iberian identities. Today Sephardim worldwide remember and recreate Iberian worlds in religion, language, family and memory. The Sephardic liturgy in synagogues remains a marker of community and difference. For others, especially those who have fled Europe or North Africa, identity has evolved in hybridized forms. Many Sephardic foods, for example, rely on both traditional Iberian ingredients—olive oil instead of fat from poultry—and accretions from Muslims in Spain and exile, such as honey, almonds and dried fruits, saffron, rice, etc. Family and tradition, memory and exile from place also have become part of a rich internet culture exemplified at sites such as www.sephardim.com that help Sephardim trace history and ancestry. Having worked with North African Jews after this second migration to France, anthropologist Joëlle Bahloul reminds us that “contemporary religious practices among Sephardi Jews in the West does not represent a form of preservation of ancient and immobile traditions. It shows how Judeo-Maghrebi culture has blended into a multiethnic landscape by utilizing the semantic means of modern communication. Sephardi modernity is the constant rewriting of memory and history according to contingent cultural systems” (1996: 322).3


Another history of internal exile, movement and displacement is embodied by people who have continued to participate in Iberian life, but have also been separated from the mainstream development of Spain and Portugal: the Roma (Gypsies, Sp/ Cat gitanos, Port. ciganos, Basque buhame). Perhaps 12 million Roma live and travel around the world, although some hide their identity and many have assimilated partly to strong national traditions. For example, Gypsies in Hungary are not the same as those of Great Britain, nor, in Spain, would the rumba of Catalan Gypsies be confused with the flamenco music of Andalusia. Within this larger group, more than 250,000 Roma now live in Spain, and an additional 40,000, in Portugal. To many outside the peninsula, in fact, Gypsies have become a quintessential symbol of Iberia: music, flamenco dance and mystery swirling around Carmen, the cigarette factory girl created by France’s Prospere Mérimée and Georges Bizet. Yet such global stereotypes oversimplify the complexity

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A final indication of how many paths Jews may have followed from Spain and Portugal becomes apparent in the twenty-first century revitalization of an Eastern European synagogue in Yonkers, NY, served by an Orthodox Sephardic Rabbi from Cuba, Rigoberto Emanuel Viñas. A New York Times article noted that new members included: “children of Holocaust survivors who settled in Buenos Aires. Some are New York City-bred Puerto Ricans who married Jewish sweethearts. Others, like Ms. Rodriguez, believe their ancestors were among the Jews who were forced to convert to Catholicism during the Spanish Inquisition” (April 22, 2003: B5). Here, far from Spain and Portugal, children and memories have gathered anew to recreate postmodern Iberian worlds.

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of the Roma as travelers and minimize the consequences of Iberian prejudice against them, including the repression and forced assimilation that have created their internal exile. In Spain and Portugal, Roma history has included wholesale, racialized plans for their elimination, options only slightly less draconian than those facing Jews and Muslims. Later decrees tried to eliminate “false” Gypsies, to destroy language and customs and to disperse families. Only in recent decades have Iberian Gypsies become examples and leaders for Europe, while facing decreasing racism in their homelands. These travelers arrived in the Iberian Peninsula later than the Jews, in the late Middle Ages, as part of a Westward protoglobal migration that originated in India. Europeans imposed the label “Egyptian” upon them, although Gypsies themselves may have identified their homeland as “Little Egypt” in the Peloponnese (Leblon 1994: 14; Charnon-Deutsch 2002). The first references to Gypsies in Iberia come in safe conducts given to them as Catholic pilgrims in the fifteenth century. Small bands settled in the peninsula, but in 1499, as part of the wave of national purification decimating Jews and Muslims, the Catholic Kings decreed that all Gypsies must either settle with masters or leave the country in sixty days (Fraser 1992: 100; Leblon 2003). In Portugal, Gypsies are not cited until the sixteenth century, but there, too, they almost immediately faced laws to control them or to banish them to Africa (Fraser 1992: 101). In this wariness, however, Iberia shared more general European attitudes and policies regarding the Roma. Across Iberia thereafter, state repression of gypsies alternated with periods of lax enforcement. Edicts in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries sought to settle Gypsies under the watchful eye of the state, to the extent of breaking up families and banning Gypsy attire or any Gypsy language.

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Violators were sent to Mediterranean galleys or colonial garrisons. In 1695, Charles II inventoried gitanos and their possessions and established rules governing activities and residence. Under the succeeding Bourbon dynasty, Gypsies were restricted to specific towns. In 1749, 9,000–12,000 Gypsies were captured in nationwide raids and set to work in various areas including Andalusia’s mercury mines, where many died. While some were later freed, the Spanish government continued to insist on the elimination of any distinctive traits or population, including the name “Gitano” (Fraser 1992: 161–9; Mayall 2004). Nevertheless, like New Christians, Roma spread into other Iberian worlds. They arrived in Brazil as early as the sixteenth century, deported from their Peninsular homeland; the Portuguese government also sent Gypsies along with political exiles to its African colonies (Pantoja 2004). Today, Roma live in the United States, Mexico, Chile and Argentina (www2.udec.cl/ ~gitano/) and populate the novels of Gabriel García Márquez in Colombia and the Amazonia of Bye Bye Brazil (1979). In the nineteenth century, Spain replaced the idea of a distinct ethnic group with assimilationist policies to create “new Castilians.” Many Gypsies were settled in Andalusia, where they found more acceptance in multi-class societies. Meanwhile, outsiders began to imbue them with romantic notions of Gypsy identity (Borrow 1841) and with emergent proto-anthropological categories of race that spoke to Gypsy endurance while separating them from other Europeans. In Spain and Portugal, Roma thus became part of weakened nation-states, but remained different. Their contributions to flamenco culture has enriched Spain’s global image and inspired artistic expression including the twentieth-century poetry of Federico García Lorca and later, the intense dancebased films of Carlos Saura. Yet, if they provided vivid elements

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in national arts and folklores, they often inhabited mobile, marginal spaces across the countryside with economic niches of similar fragility—repairs, entertainment and general odd jobs—encumbered with a reputation for poverty and illicit activity. Nevertheless, Gypsies themselves could maintain their distinctive identity, in part, by adopting an attitude of superiority to surrounding payos (non-Gypsies). The economic modernization of Spanish society under Franco drew Gypsies into cities alongside other rural inhabitants, but also imposed new restrictions. As Paloma Gay Blasco notes in her work with Roma in Madrid, “They have been subjected to growing controls from local authorities, to forced resettlements, and to the demise of the most lucrative and flexible of their ways of earning a living. When the ‘benefits’ of the welfare state were extended to Gitanos, the perpetuation of their distinctiveness came under greatest threat” (1999: 22). This trend continues with the institutionalization of the Rrom and social services under post-Franco regimes, while the Roma found themselves creating competition with other new migrants in changing cities. As in the case of twentieth-century Jews, Iberia also became a refuge within a changing Europe. Germany’s Nazi regime persecuted European Gypsies alongside Jews in the Holocaust: as many as 250,000 Gypsies were killed. In the wake of this devastation, Roma themselves have emerged as more vocal activists in European cultural and political spheres, usually seeking to define themselves ethnically and culturally rather than racially. From this position, global Roma have gained new legal and political recourses within European states and the European Union and have constituted global organizations that reach beyond Europe to encompass Roma in the Americas and elsewhere. To do so, Roma have used their knowledge, position and global trends, including “the growth of a wider

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movement for human rights among other linguistic and ethnic minorities, in particular the USA civil rights movement” (Mayall 2004: 204, see 188–211). Within this global redefinition of a post-colonial identity, post-Franco Spain has become a significant platform for rethinking Roma in a new Europe. Juan de Dios RamírezHeredia became the first Roma delegate to the European Parliament from 1986 to 1999, after serving as the first Gypsy member of the Spanish Parliament from 1977 to 1986. Scholars have underscored the European values of Spanish programs like the National Program for the Development of Roma and projects in autonomous regions such as Andalusia. Here, Roma and non-Roma cooperate in labor, housing, health, and education, suggesting plans for a growing European Union that includes Eastern European states and their large Roma population (Ringold, Orenstein and Wilkins 2005). This does not mean that all peninsular programs succeed or that Iberian prejudice against Gypsies has disappeared. In the late twentieth century, the arrival of new immigrants from Asia and Africa recalled the ongoing racism that many Iberians feel towards the Roma. Tomás Calvo Bueza, for example, in a study of racial prejudice among Spaniards in the 1980s, found that more people thought Gypsies should be expelled from Spain than wanted to expel Arabs or Africans (1990). As one bar owner in the Catalan provincial city of Lleida (Lérida) said when challenged on his refusal to serve Africans, “Would they let a Gypsy enter the Hotel Ritz?” [an elegant older hotel in Barcelona] (McDonogh 1992). Prejudices continue to surface in schools and neighborhood encounters: in Portugal, the mayor of the village of Vila Verde demolished homes of Gypsies suspected of drug trafficking in 1996. This event soon became a rallying point for NGOs such as SOS Racismo.

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Iberian Gypsies also divide on the basis of place, national communities, states and other associations. Catalan Gypsies, musicians and entrepreneurs distinguish themselves from Andalusians. Some Gypsies identify themselves as Roman Catholic; others have joined evangelical churches to become better Roma (Gay Blasco 1999; Llera Blanes 2005). Their positions vis-à-vis Spanish history thus do not simply imply homogeneity but allow for creative change (Santalolla 2002). For many, however, Eastern European Gypsies can be seen as problematic interlopers. Iberian Roma as well as the places and people with whom they live face problems for future that often illuminate issues challenging Iberian peoples as a whole. How are Gypsies or any population tied to class positions based in “traditional” (and mobile) crafts to be incorporated into changing information society? How do identities of place and nation mesh with pan-European identities of the Roma, where Spanish, British and Hungarian gypsy citizens must find shared interests and voices? Can Gypsies who are citizens of Spain or Portugal (despite generations of prejudice) rooted in Catalonia or Andalusia and united throughout Europe become harbingers of new multiple global identities? At the same time, the continuing presence of the Roma obliges us to ask how identities shaped by marginality function in new contexts without destroying ties of family, memory and culture that allowed Gypsies to survive repression in the first place. Gypsies themselves have explored these questions in writings, community action and rich, polyglot dimensions of Iberian expressive arts. The sounds of rumba catalana from Barcelona, Ciganos D’Ouro from Portugal, and the Gypsy Kings, whose base in Southern France also stretches across the Pyrenees, have opened up Iberian versions of Roma music to global audiences.The film Exils (2004) by the Algerian-Roma


The possibility of alternative Iberian worlds, finally, has also been the focus of visions, memories and strategies for intellectuals, political reformers or nationalists (I have already cited these voices among the builders of nations and states as well as colonial critics, economic refugees, artists and reformers across many chapters of this text). While some people have contested definitions of citizenship, justice, rights of gender, ethnicity or class within the nation-states of the peninsula, others were forced abroad. Vicente Llorens begins his historical introduction to a post-Franco study on Spanish Republican exiles with the expulsion of the Jews in 1492, before chronicling centuries of political exiles who preceded the most recent exiles from Iberian fascism (Llorens 1976). Such movements have involved broader migrations like that of the Galicians to Argentina (Moya 1998) and a global Basque diaspora (Douglass 1975a,b) as well as individual choices and forced movement. Political and cultural exiles, like economic refugees, constitute a complex saga of those who have been Iberian in different ways and ultimately have rethought Iberian societies and culture. These visions resonate with the

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director Tony Gatlif (creator of Gadjo Dilo (1997) and Vengo (2000)) evokes many of the themes of this book through two young French-Algerians traveling through stunning landscapes of rural Spain in search of their roots in North Africa. Their polyphonic encounters in Spanish, French, Romany and Arabic against a pulsing Mediterranean and Flamenco soundtrack evokes images of an inclusive Mediterranean in which many peoples and cultures can find their home after exile. These questions, in turn, guide us towards more intimate glimpses of exile and longing in the words of a family of recent political exiles from Catalonia and Spain.

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webs of connections against colonialism among prisoners, anarchists and exiles whom Benedict Anderson connects across continents from the Philippines to the New World to Barcelona (2005). José Ramos Horta, who has championed the rights of East Timorese, descended from both a grandfather and father exiled to this frontier from the metropolis because of their political activities (1987: 7–8). Spain’s varied exile streams in 1939 included artists and intellectuals who left for foreign universities and others who stumbled across the border only to be trapped in refugee camps in France and face more serious incarceration after Nazi victories. Perhaps 400,000 people fled the war-torn country, although some were soon convinced to go back. Emigrant colonies took shape in southern France and around Paris. Many were caught in the uncertainties of a changing Europe: children were shipped to the USSR during the Civil War, Francoists who fought with the Nazis or laborers were recruited for the French army and then abandoned to German camps. Spanish Republicans, meanwhile, fought in the maquis and enlisted in the British Army (Llorens 1976). Other Spaniards escaped to Latin America. In Mexico, Chile, Argentina and Venezuela thousands of refugees who brought their training in university careers, medicine and the arts (Kenny 1961; Kamen 2007). Even those immersed in the dissection of Spanish identity found homes outside Spain, including Claudio Sánchez-Albornoz and Américo Castro. Critical filmmaker Luis Buñuel continued to read Spain from Mexico and Europe for decades. At the seventieth anniversary of the Spanish Civil War, Hispano-Mexican anthropologist Miguel Léon-Portilla commemorated his dual heritage in El País, speaking for transnationals for whom “what began as a painful exile with time became a passage from one land to another, near and sister” (2006).

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Many of these exiles or their descendants could only return publicly to participate in a rebuilding of Spain after the death of Franco in the 1970s, just as exiles from Salazar’s Estado Novo returned to a changing Portugal. In the tumult of the transition, the press offered vivid images of Republican and Civil War Communist leaders Santiago Carrillo or Dolores Ibárruri Gómez (La Pasionaria) who returned from the USSR to gain election to the new Spanish Parliament and to participate in a recuperation of history and democracy. Others came back more slowly and quietly, reestablishing language, family ties and a sense of place for generations raised outside of Spain. The Pi Sunyer family epitomized the intellectual and political growth of nineteenth century Barcelona as well as its later exiles. Jaume Pi i Sunyer was a doctor and professor who moved from the coastal fishing village of Roses to Barcelona. His son, Carles (1888–1971), an industrial engineer and economist, became deeply committed to Catalan politics, serving as mayor of Barcelona and minister in the Catalan and Spanish governments. This career forced him into exile with his family in 1939—first to France and London, where he headed the Consell Nacional de Catalunya. Eventually, they went to Caracas, Venezuela, where he became a professor. In addition to his extensive writings on Catalonia and other topics, Carles Pi Sunyer’s wartime diary provides glimpses of the global made personal. In London, for example, an encounter in September 1939 with a social service worker took on new dimensions when that worker reveals that he fought in Barcelona during the Civil War. When Pi i Sunyer asks the man why he fought in Spain, he is told “We were defending then the same thing we are fighting for in the war now” (C. Pi Sunyer 2006: 64). Later, on September

11, the date of the fall of Barcelona in the War of Spanish Succession that has become the Catalan national holiday, Pi i Sunyer mused about Barcelona’s history and London under German bombardment, uniting them as modern struggles for freedom:

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Two hundred and twenty-six years ago today, Barcelona was also a victim of force. The extreme courage, the heroic sacrifice of its defenders could not plug the breaches opened in the walls by enemy cannons. Then Barcelona fell, abandoned by the English who had promised to help her, alone as she is today. And with Barcelona fell one of the first hearths of European democracy, always a good friend of the British nation. But on this day of mourning, we do not remember these events with anger but with sadness, because we are afraid that England today might find itself in the same state of abandonment as Catalonia did then. (C. Pi i Sunyer 2006: 206–7)

Pi Sunyer’s children add other dimensions of exile and alienation in their memories of Britain. In a poignant recent reflection, for example, anthropologist Oriol Pi Sunyer shares his family recognitions of fluid states and stable home: My sisters Carolina and Núria (Pi-Sunyer and Pi-Sunyer 1995:20) have written that “[b]it by bit, in England we learned to live in another way and become accustomed to what we were, for example that we fell into the category of aliens” . . . Essentially, this is a recognition of the powerful authority of a wartime state, even a democratic one, to “normalize” its various components, including different types of foreigners. As a case in point, our mobility was restricted and initially only our father had the necessary permission to be out at night, and then only while on

duty as an air raid warden. My sisters also take note of the importance of a psychologically open and secure home environment. It was within this “counterspace” that we most comfortably managed our contrapuntal lives (2008:

In London, then, a younger generation dealt not only with displacement, but with new languages, schools and marginality. Despite Britain’s victory in World War II, Barcelona did not become free thereafter, as Franco played off the victorious Western allies against the threat of communism. This endurance of Francoist Spain forced what Carles Pi i Sunyer’s daughter, Núria, refers to as the “second exile” in Latin America—“longer and for many, more agreeable and placid” (N. Pi i Sunyer 2006: 309). Her youth and that of her siblings was shaped by political and economic exile trajectories before she settled amid a web of family, fellow Catalans and republican exiles in Caracas, Venezuela. Her uncle had founded the Catalan Center in Caracas, which “brought together everyone, of all political options and had many sections and activities: the choir . . . a good enthusiastic drama group, a football team that then as now is called Catalonia . . . But in addition to all the sport, there was a journal called Senyera [the Catalan flag], as in London and on the radio we could listen to the Catalan hour” (N. Pi i Sunyer 2006: 352). Here, in displacement, children and grandchildren married and established new lives that reached Mexico and the United States, while still barred from return to Spain. When Carles Pi i Sunyer died in 1971, he received honors in the Catalan Center of Caracas, but the family was unable to accede to his wish to bury him in Catalonia. Only in 1980, when the Spanish regime had changed was Carles Pi i Sunyer given final honors in Barcelona and Roses. As Nuria Pi i Sunyer

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closes her memoirs, “He, years before, had led us into exile, which we had borrowed. Now we brought him home” (2006: 302). A personal global odyssey ended, once again, in an Iberian world that had changed as well.

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Sephardim, Roma and modern Catalan exiles remind us that Iberia’s global extension and contraction has entailed different roles for its states and the varied peoples of the peninsula and its larger worlds. While this text has explored globalization in terms of politics and economics, it insists that Gypsies and Jews, like women, workers, children and slaves, were never “bit players” in globalization, but actors and agents in their own right. Thus while the encounters of kings, popes and empires and the movement of silver or sugar loom large in our discussions of globalization, this book has sought to show that enclaves, cities, groups, families and individuals transform our understanding of the meanings of globalization over time and across the wide canvas of Iberian worlds. The histories, people and possibilities of Lisbon, Madrid and Barcelona—like the people and institutions of Los Angeles, Luanda, Lima and Macau—have been shaped by and participated in flows from conflicting positions and desires. These processes continue to converge in the recreation of Iberian worlds in the twenty-first century. As Spaniards and Portuguese, Castilians and Catalans become more European (and yet hold on to Mediterranean and Atlantic connections), Sephardim, Muslims, Chinese and Angolans also are involved in these identities. Moreover, in Africa, Asia and the Americas diverse peoples, memories and flows of capital, goods and ideas continue to reshape other global localities and Iberian heritages of language, religion, politics, place and people. Hence, our understanding of Iberian worlds insists that

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they are not Saramago’s stone raft, but offer a vivid microcosm for a changing world. As arenas of meeting and exchange, laboratories of new social and political forms, battlegrounds and crucibles of creative expression for millennia, the experience of these peoples and their globalizations continue to offer important lessons for all of us in the present and future.


ONE 1. While Catalan and Navarrese territories crossed the Pyrenees, almost all these domains became French in the seventeenth century, despite strong cultural and family ties. 2. Some more popular texts still defend a North African origin (e.g. http://mundo-taurino.org/horses2.html). 3. The other, Banco Santander Central Hispano, bears the name of the capital of the contiguous Cantabrian community. 4. Britons have played a similar role in the development and management of sherry production around Jerez in Southern Spain. 5. The Francoist regime also developed the concept of Mozarabidad, referring to Christians who had lived under Iberian Islam, in its statecraft in the Middle East. See Chapter 3. 6. Basque pidgins also developed in the 1600s between fishermen and Icelanders and native North Americans (Deen et al. 1991). 7. He also credits Portuguese migrants for their commitment to Catalan schooling, asking provocatively in an article “Will the Portuguese be the best Andorrans?” (Ibid.)

TWO 1. Augustus divided Iberia into three provinces that foreshadowed later divisions: Tarraco, in the northeast with its capital at Tarragona; Baetica in the south, with its capital in Córdoba; and Lusitania, an Atlantic domain ruled from Emerita Augusta (today’s Mérida). 2. The shrine associated with Mexico’s patroness may have originally been dedicated to this image, leading to a confusion of names.

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3. Across the Iberian world, similar cults have grown up around apparitions, images and saints. The image of Nuestra Señora de la Merced from Lima, for example, has been transferred back to Spain by Peruvian immigrants, while the Virgen de la Caridad de Cobre, (Our Lady of Charity of Cobre) became a symbol in the struggle for independence and an “exile” in Miami for Cubans fleeing Castro. In Brazil, the shrine of Our Lady of Aparecida holds nearly 50,000 people and is a site of pilgrimage across the continent. 4. In 1999, plans for a new City of Culture sought to revitalize and globalize the town anew through the vision of American architect Peter Eisenman. 5. Additional later European cultural routes highlight both Islamic Spain and Jewish exile. 6. This critical era of globalization and early modern Europe has been studied by hundreds of scholars in Spain, Portugal and elsewhere whose works are accessible to students (see Elliott 1963, 1989; Lynch 1991; Kamen 2003, etc). 7. Portuguese also feared the power of Spain. Portuguese rulers were offered the Spanish throne during revolutionary reforms there, but refused, eschewing any possibility that might lead to a “re-unified” state. 8. Salazar suffered a stroke in 1968, after which power passed to the bureaucrat Marcelo Caetano and the shadowy President, Admiral Américo Thomaz, for six more years. 9. These groups founded cultural associations and have profited from Lusophone creative media like satellite television networks set up in 1992 to broadcast to the former empire. This network supplies not only daily programming, but also coverage of identity reinforcing events (Antunes da Cunha 2002). 10. The cultures of mosque, synagogue and church came together in mutual emigration, recalling the past and prefiguring future connections of African Muslims in Iberia (see Chapter 4).

THREE 1. Spain also controls some smaller islands defined as plazas de soberanía (places of sovereignty); these are generally uninhabited, although Moroccan occupations of Isla Perejil (Parsley Island) led to warlike rumblings in 2002 between Spain and Morocco. 2. The other possibility is the Moroccan Jebel Musa, which bears the name of the leader of the invasion of Spain in 711.

FOUR 1. They held it as a fortified post until the eighteenth century by which time Oman, Zanzibar and Great Britain all disputed control. 2. Britain began to establish claims in the area in the late nine-

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3. Surprisingly, the origins of the name Andalusia remain vague, perhaps referring to the Vandals whom the Arabs conquered. 4. After Reconquest, the Mezquita was turned into a Christian temple; Muslim women reclaiming sacred space there have been thrown out in recent years as globalization and contestation becomes encapsulated in the memory of a single building. 5. A 1999 review of Islamic archaeology in the peninsula, remind us of the complex modern agendas shaping readings of the past. Under the Franco regime, for example, archaeology substantiating Islamic influence was discouraged; others countered with a vision of a more radically separated Islamic society (Boone and Becno 1999). 6. Spain also received Fernando Po as a colony from Portugal as well in 1778, although its claims to the mainland (Rio Muni) were not clear until the twentieth century. Equatorial Guinea, independent since 1968, is the only Spanish-speaking state in Africa. 7. He was captured and exiled to the French Indian Ocean colony of Réunion in 1926, where he died in 1962, shortly after he announced plans to return to an independent Morocco. 8. Automatically citizens since 1991; this provision of jus solis does not apply in Spain, see Morén-Alegret (2002). 9. This area’s nickname, Chinatown, refers to mysteries and crime rather than any Chinese population, defining a geography of vice and immorality that became grafted onto the image of new Arabs and African immigrants and their families settling there in the 1980s (McDonogh 1987, 1992). 10. This flow of immigration has also caused new problems for Morocco, which has been accused of dumping immigrants seeking a bridge to Europe in Western Sahara (Smith 2005). 11. Debates also have emerged concerning the treatment of Spanish Muslim soldiers serving in Ceuta and Melilla, once again echoing global issues in North America and Europe about culture, citizenship and the state (Cambero and Abad 2007).

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teenth century, finally claiming sovereignty over all the pieces of the Straits Settlement by the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824. Today, 5,000 Creole speakers remain in Malacca and Southeast Asia (Santa Maria 1982: 211–12). This community took on new spatial dimension in the twentieth century with a government-sponsored “Portuguese Settlement,” an anchor for social ties and an active performance of identity encouraged by missionaries and emissaries of the Novo Estado after World War II. These descendants have sought to act as a more unified political group within an independent Malaysia (Santa Maria 1982; Sarkissian 2000). 3. Three centuries later, in 1885, Filipino Augustinians took charge of Castile’s historic Escorial. 4. Japanese migrated to Latin America in somewhat smaller numbers in the twentieth century, sometimes, as in Peru, as replacements for Chinese (Masterson and Funada-Classen 2004). Here, historical connections with Iberian Asia are vague, even if the Japanese presence in Brazil was considered strong enough to limit Japanese actions towards neutral Macau in World War II (nor did the Japanese suffer in Brazil as they did in Peru). Nevertheless, the Australians and Japanese occupied Portuguese Timor during this struggle, Oliveira Marques 1976 II: 234; (see Snow 2004).

FIVE 1. While Spanish and Portuguese languages, for example, gained hundreds of millions of speakers in the New World, these tongues developed distinctive accents and expressions. Moreover, Iberian linguistic hegemony allowed the spread of other languages in the Americas (e.g. Andean Quechua) and the creation of Creole registers, including Afro-Iberian Creoles and Spanglish in modern North America. Modern citizens, then, may need and use complex multilingual repertoires. 2. It was also a site of global change: New Christian converts banished there were joined between 1818 and 1820 by Moroccan Sephardic Jews (some with English passports), who modernized the economic life of the archipelago (Dias 1999). 3. The name Canaries comes not from birds (actually named for islands) but from the Latin reference to wild dogs. 4. It is interesting that the tiny Islas Salvajes, between Madeira and the Canaries, have become points of contention once again


7. 8. 9. 10.

SIX 1. The mythological pedigree of Spanish Jews goes back even further. Some later historians, for example, even claimed that Jews escaped to Spain in the time of Nebuchadnezzar or Solomon, but these claims were often strategies of ongoing debates about whether Jews “belonged” in Spain or Portugal at all. 2. In a further twist of globalization and identities, some of these remain identified as Du´´mnes or Maaminim, descendants of Jews within Islam (Sholem 1973; Diaz Mas 1992). 3. Meanwhile, in Israel, the term Sephardim has often been extended to encompass Jews of Middle Eastern origins and practices without links to Spain or Portugal.

277 Endnotes


between Spain and Portugal, who both want to control the ocean resources around them. Tobago, meanwhile changed hands many times, including colonization by the Duchy of Courland (part of contemporary Latvia) before the British gained sovereignty in 1822. The Dutch took Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao and other islands in the seventeenth century as well; even Denmark entered the Caribbean, taking over part of the much-owned Virgin Islands in the nineteenth century until they sold them in 1917 to a United States worried about German submarine bases. In Europe, however, any initial Iberian heritage has been eclipsed by the importance of subsidized sugar beets—Spain ranked behind France, Germany, Poland and the United Kingdom as a producer in 2004–5, while Portugal ranked nineteenth out of twenty-one producers, behind Finland and Lithuania. At that point, European producers also faced WTO questions about subsidized relations and delicate ties to post-colonial producers that continue to globalize this commodity. Spain continued to hold sway in both Pacific and Caribbean areas of the viceroyalty until 1898. Barcelona encouraged similar ties through the 2004 Forum of World Cultures. All statistics come from the website of the Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estadistica. The High Commission for Immigration and Ethnic Minorities cited 77,000 legal Brazilian residents in Portugal, followed by 66,000 Ukrainians and the large post-colonial population of Cape-Verdeans (64,000) and Angolans (35,000).

278 Endnotes

4. Within this same framework of shifting boundaries and Iberian worlds, Mozarabs (Christians who adopted Arabic under Moorish rule) also continued as distinctive communities after the Reconquest. They are associated with the translation of Iberian cultures in the Middle Ages and are credited with the figurative sculpture of Granada’s Alhambra. After centuries of reassimilation into Christian Spain, their differences are now marked chiefly by a distinctive liturgy that survives for small congregations and only a few thousand descendants (Miller and Kassis 2000).


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A ‘Abd ar Rahman III 128 ‘Abd ar-Rahman ibn Muáwiya 128 ‘Abd el Krim 145, 275 n.7 ‘Abd el-Rafi al-Andalusi 249 ‘Abd er-Rahman 127 Acapulco-Manila galleon 15–16, 161, 171, 181 Adrian of Utrecht, Pope Adrian VI 96 Afonso I, King of Kongo 92 Afonso Henriques, King of Portugal 57, 88 Africa 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 13, 17, 25, 80, 81, 105, 110, 114, 180, 192; colonization 114–45, connections with Iberia 121–59; immigration to Iberia 150–7; as new Brazil 139ff; Portuguese in 134–44, 147–50; Spain in 134, 144–7. See also African Americans; Atlantic World; Angola; Islam and Muslims; North Africa; Slavery African Americans and African heritage in New World 19–20, 22, 210, 215, 223, 235, 241; Afro-Brazilians 235ff Agriculture 20, 32–3, 34, 35, 39–40, 46–7, 55–4, 74, 85–6,

105, 106, 127, 129–30, 141, 152, 153–4, 210, 211, 217 Aigües de Barcelona (AGBAR) 226 Al-Andalus 121–34. See also Andalusia Albarracín (Aragon, Spain) 34 Albufera (Valencia) 34 Albuquerque, Viceroy Alonso de 161 Alentejo (Portugal) 39 Alexander VI, Pope (Rodrigo Borja) 233 Alfonso II King of Asturias 90 Alfonso VI, King of Léon-Castile 88, 131 Alfonso XIII, King of Spain 109, 110, 114 Algarve (Portugal) 39, 80, 89, 119 Algeciras (Andalusia, Spain) 126 Alhambra (Granada) 35, 133, 278 n.4 Al Idrisi (Abu Abd All Mohammed Al-Idrisi) 128–9 Aljaimado 251 Al Mansur 91 Almeida, Lourenço de 167 Almería (Andalusia, Spain) 133, 205 Almodóvar, Pedro 61–2, 79 Almoravids (Mu¯ rabit) 131, 245 Americas See Latin America, United States

318 Index

Amsterdam (Netherlands) 248–9 Anáhuac 193, 200 Anarchism and anarchists 18, 52, 66, 106, 220, 266 Andalusia, (Spain) 3, 33, 34, 43, 51–2, 66, 121, 125, 126–34, 152, 153, 158, 198, 205, 222, 254, 275 n.3; Muslim rule 126–34, 152, 153, 158 Andes 1, 15, 211, 212 Andorra 3, 30, 38, 73–8 Angola 7, 14, 26, 135–44, 147–9, 150, 234, 239, 240, 270; colonization and slave trade 135–44; independence 147–9. See also Luanda Arabs and Arabic culture 34, 37, 51, 57, 121–34, 151–6, 244–6; Arab immigrants in modern Spain 151–6; Arabic language 4, 127. Aragon (Spain) 33, 34, 35, 44, 45–6, 47, 62, 66, 89, 133, 250; Aragon-Catalonia (united kingdom) 62, 93–4, 97, 122, 134, 246 Arana, Sabino 48–9 Architecture, urbanism and planning 1, 5, 9, 20, 22, 47, 55–7, 60, 62, 63, 64–5, 84–5, 91, 100, 110, 127, 167, 176, 206, 209–11, 222, 238. See also Cities; Modernisme; Monuments Arenys del Mar/Arenys del Munt (Catalonia, Spain) 32–3 Argentina 43, 71, 196, 221–8, 241, 261; Spanish in 43, 71, 225–8

Arts and Artists 5, 9, 11, 18, 23, 43, 67, 100, 102, 110, 159, 193 Aruba 73 Ashkenazim 255. See also Jews Asia and Asians 4, 5, 6, 13, 56, 61, 80, 81, 161–92, 253; Asian Migrants to Iberia 186–91; Asians in Latin America 240; Portugal in 161–2, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167–74, 176, 177–81; Spain in 161, 163, 170–3, 181–5 Asturias (Principado, Spain) 33, 43, 44, 50, 51, 71, 104, 127 Atahualpa 208 Atlantic and Atlantic World 4, 8, 16, 25, 27, 31, 39, 56, 70, 106, 121, 123, 134–44, 158, 195, 232–40 Atocha bombing (Madrid, Spain) 155 Atxaga, Bernardo 80 L’Auberge Espagnole (the Spanish Inn) 80 Augustinians (Order of St. Augustine) 172, 182; at El Escorial 273 n.4 Australia 43, 81, 167, 180, 203 Austria 94, 96, 219 Authoritarian regimes 58, 83, 104, 110–13. See also Franco; Salazar Autonomous Communities (Spain) 44ff, 63–8 Averroes 132 Aymara language and people 4, 213 Aznar, José Maria (Prime Minister of Spain) 115, 155 Azores (Açores, Portugal) 4, 32, 198

B Bable (Asturianu) 43–4 Badajoz (Extremadura, Spain) 41 Bahía (Brazil) 202 Balearics (Spain) 21, 44–5, 62, 256 Bananas 196, 216 Banks and finance 1, 48, 95, 99, 111, 119, 221, 231, 239, 270 n.2 Banyoles, Negre de (Black man of Banyoles, Catalonia) 154–5 Barbados 203 Barcelona (Catalonia, Spain) 1, 2, 4, 12, 46, 47, 59, 62–8, 106, 108, 110, 111, 113, 116, 119, 151, 154–5, 158, 187–8, 255–7, 270; as Capital 46; history and form 1, 62–8; immigration in 151, 154–5, 158, 187–8, 255–7; model for Europe 62, 68 Barrio chino (“Chinatown” or Raval, Barcelona) 152, 273 n.9 Bars and bar life 1, 77, 147, 230, 231 Basques and Basque Provinces (Euzkadi, País Vasco, Spain) 3, 4, 31, 36, 37, 43, 47–8, 78, 83, 91, 104, 106, 114, 120, 122, 172, 222, 248, 273 n.6 ; Basque language (Euskera) 3, 43, 72, 74; emigration 203 Bay of Biscay 31 Beaches 39, 68, 80, 113, 141

Benedictines, (Order of St. Benedict) 91 Berbers 123, 124, 130, 131, 132 Berger, Peter 10–12 Berlin (Germany) 147 Biada Bunyol, Miguel 64 Bicesse Peace Accords 143 Bienvenido, Mr. Marshall (Welcome, Mr. Marshall, 1953) 113 Bilbao (Euzkadi, Spain) 48, 113 Bilbao, Francisco 215 Bilingualism/multilingualism 42, 70ff, 121, 180 Bizet, Georges 259 Boabdil (Abu ‘abd Allah Muhammed), King of Granada 133 Bolivia 208, 222, 231 Bombay See Mumbai Bourbon Monarchy (Spain) 102–3, 104, 183, 213 Bourgeoisie/Middle Class 48ff, 60, 62–8, 116. see also Class Borders/frontiers 20–1, 24, 29–30, 32, 33, 43, 74–8 124–5, 128, 153, 215; U.S. 20–1, 24, 29–30 Born in East LA (1987) 23 Botswana 155, 156 Brasilia (Brazil) 238 Braudel, Fernand 29 Brazil 22, 24, 24, 41, 57, 104, 105, 137–8, 149, 164, 190, 192, 194, 196, 202–3, 213, 232–40, 261; connections to Africa and slavery 137–8, 149, 164, 190, 192; independence and relations to Portugal 232–40; as sugar producer 202–3.

319 Index

Azorín (José Augusto Martínez Ruíz) 107 Aztecs 10, 193, 205–7

Brazil-wood 197, 234 British Ultimatum of 1890 140 Buenos Aires (Argentina) 12, 102, 212, 222, 225, 259 Buñuel, Luis 19, 91, 110, 266 Burgos (Castile-Léon) 54

320 Index

C Caciques (literally “chieftains,” used for political bosses) 106 Cádiz (Andalusia) 34, 52 Calatrava, Santiago 47, 80 Calderón de la Barca, Pedro 101 Calicut (Kozhikode Kerala, India) 167 California (USA) 19–24, 35, 218 Camino de Santiago (Way of Santiago) See Santiago de Compostela Camoes, Luis Vaz de 180 Canada 180 Canary Islands (Islas Canarias Spain) 4, 17, 32, 45, 80, 90, 113, 135, 156, 171, 197, 199, 200; conquest and colonization 197–200 Candelaria, Nuestra Señora de la (Our Lady of the Candelaria) 89–90 Cantabria (Spain), Cantabrian Sea 31, 33, 34, 49–50, Fig. 1.2 50 Cape of Good Hope 135, 157 Cape Verde 73, 135, 136, 137, 148, 150, 151, 171, 233, 256 Capital (City) 46, 57–9, 61–8, 137–8, 141, 210–11, 238 Caracas (Venezuela) 268

Caravels, Portuguese 135, 159, 161. See also Maritime trade Cardinal Primate of Spain 57 Caribbean 196, 203, 217 Carillo, Santiago 266 Carlists 44, 106 Carmelites (Order of Our Lady of Mount Carmel) 100 Carmen (opera, character) 3, 259 Carnival 12, 148–9, 239; in Luanda 148–9 Carranza, Venustiano 220 Cartagena (Andalusia) 84 Carthage and Carthaginians 37, 84–5, 124 Casals, Pau 228 Castile (Spain) 5, 32, 34, 35, 52–5, 78, 102–3, 195; Castilian language 4, 101, 102–3; hegemony 102–3 Castro, Américo 257, 266 Castro, Fidel 274 n.3 Catalan language 4, 45, 67, 70–5, 151, 188, 266–8 Catalonia, (Catalunya, Cataluña, Spain) and Catalans 1, 3, 4, 5, 20, 34, 38, 43, 44, 45, 46, 62–8, 78, 104, 109–11, 152–5, 224, 248, 258, 267–9; nationalism 43–6, 62–8; Republic and Civil War 109–11; revolt 99. See also Barcelona Catherine of Aragon 97 Catherine of Braganza, dowry with Charles II of England 168 Celts 37 Central America 19, 22 Central Asia 126, 127 Cerdà, Ildefons 66

239, 251, 225; Iberian in Asia 163, 166, 167, 168, 177–85; Iberian ideals and meaning 13, 193, 198; Mesoamerican 205–7; Muslim in Spain 127–34; Roman 84–5 Civil War, Angola 142–4 Civil War, Spanish 44, 110–12, 125, 214, 223, 224, 226, 227 Class 4, 9, 56–8, 65–6, 108–9, 110–12, 113, 116, 193, 198 Clement VII, Pope 96 Clement XI, Pope 176 Climate 3, 35–6 Cod 9, 36, 89 Coffee 8, 137, 212, 227, 257–8 Coimbra (Portugal) 56, 57, 105, 175 Colombia 208, 230 Colombo (Sri Lanka) 167 Colònia Güell 64 Colonialism and coloniality 1, 4, 7, 8, 10, 17, 25, 38, 84–6, 101, 121, 134–59, 161–85, 198–214, 214–16, 221; Iberian in Africa 134–59; Iberian in Americas 198–214; Iberian in Asia 161–85; Independence and Decolonization 17, 147–9, 214–16, 221; Roman 84–6 Columbus, Christopher 196 Commodity and commdity trade See bananas; chocolate; coffee; sugar; etc. Communists 109, 266 Companys, Lluís, President of the Generalitat de Catalunya 109 Comuneros 95 Congress of Tucumán 221 Congress of Vienna 41

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Cerdanya (Catalonia) 75, 77 Cervantes, Miguel de 12, 101–2, 124 Ceuta (Spain) 17, 45, 124, 125, 126, 133, 233 Chacón, Piqueras, Carmen 115 Charlemagne 72 Charles II (King of England) 168 Charles II (King of Spain) 102 Charles V (King Charles I of Spain, Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire) 94ff, 204 Charles Martel, King of France 127 Chávez, Hugo 229 Chile 35, 208, 212, 215, 221, 241, 253, 261 China and Chinese 4, 10, 15, 22, 61–2, 150, 172–2, 177, 179, 185, 186–7, 201, 204, 232, 270; in Africa 150, in Latin America 185–6, in Philippines 180–2, in Portugal 188–90; in Spain 186–8 Chocolate 8, 9, 70, 216 Christianity See Roman Catholicism; Protestants; etc. Churches and cathedrals 54, 56, 90, 137, 167–8, 193, 198, 209 Cid, El (Ruy Diaz de Vivar) 131 Cities 1, 4, 6, 13, 19–24, 30, 33, 55–68, 71, 84–5, 111, 113–14, 118, 147–9, 163, 167, 168 177–85, 193, 198, 206, 207, 208, 209, 234, 248–9, 251, 262; Dutch 248–9; governance 209, 210; Iberian in Africa; 135, 147–9; Iberian in Americas 193, 198, 206, 207, 208, 209, 214, 222, 225,

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Conquistadors 205–14 Constitution of 1812 (Spain) 105 Conversions 8, 132, 174; Conversos/ New Christians (Converted Jews) 174, 247–8, 255–7; Hindu 174; of Muslims 132–4 Convivencia (living together) 121, 129–30, 244–5 Coolie Trade 26, 178–9 Córdoba (Andalusia) 13, 13, 128–30, 158; Caliphate 128–30; Mezquita/mosque of Fig. 3.1 129 Cortes (Spanish Parliament) 217, 263 Cortés, Hernán 53, 204, 206–7 Coruña, A (Galicia) 51 Costa, Pedro 151 Costa Brava (Catalonia) 32, 84, 113 Costa del Sol (Andalusia) 80, 113 Cotton (Algodón) 137, 203 Council of Elvira 89, 245 Council of Trent 100 Counter Reformation, Roman Catholic 100 Covadonga (Asturias) 51 Creole and creolization 73, 148, 180, 195, 210. See also Language Crime 152, 179, 189, 239 Cuba 23, 43, 64, 66, 71, 106, 148, 179, 200, 227, 229, 259 Cuenca (Ecuador) 230 Culture passim; definitions 10–12 Cultural Revolution China 179–80 Cusco (Peru) 92, 208, 209, 234

D Dalí, Salvador 110

Daman (India) See Goa Dar-al-Harb (House of War/ Christendom)/Dar-al-Islam (House of Peace/Islamic War) 87 Dias, Bartolomé 135 Diaz, Porfirio 219 “Discovery” as Imperial trope 29, 193, 232 Disease/epidemics 7, 8, 66, 205, 226 Disney and Disneyfication 8, 12, 211–12 Disraeli, Benjamín 252–3 Diu (India) See Goa Dominican Republic and people 229, 230, 231. See also Española Dominicans (Order of Preachers) 132, 172 Don Quijote de la Mancha 55, 101–2, 124 Doñana Natural Park (Andalusia) 34, 36 Dos Santos, José Eduardo 142 Duarte, King of Portugal 89 Duero/Duoro River 33–4, 35, 39. 56 Dumas, Alexandre 3, 80 Dutch See Netherlands Dyes and dyestuffs 8, 197, 234

E Earthquake (Lisbon ) 56–7, 104, 192 East Timor 14, 71, 191, 266. See also Timor Ebro River 34, 57 Ecology and Environmental Issues 3, 7, 13, 17, 20, 25, 29–36,

Dominican Republic; Haiti; Saint-Domingue Estado Novo (Portugal) 59, 69–70, 107, 114, 140–1, 232 ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna, Basque Homeland and Freedom) 49–115 Europe 1, 4, 15–19, 41, 42, 61, 76, 79–121, 124, 131, 222; concept 12, 25, 39 European Union 42, 54, 59, 75, 111, 239 Euskadi See Basques and Basque Provinces Evangelical Protestant Churches 32, 215, 231, 264 Exile 5, 27, 64, 72, 91, 112, 134, 140, 244, 265–8. See also Gypsies; Jews Explorers 53, 134ff, 141, 166, 205–14 Expo ’98 (Lisbon) 59 ExpoZaragoza (Zaragoza) 47 Extremadura 32, 35, 52, 89, 110

F Fala (dialect of Galego-Portuguese) 71 Fallas (Valencia) 59 Family and kinship 1, 4, 5, 7, 10, 11, 61, 63, 64, 64, 70, 79, 81, 116, 138, 150–1, 157, 178–9, 247–50, 259–64, 267–70; as metaphor 5, 211, 219; Royal 88–9, 93–4, 235 Fascism See Authoritarian regimes; Franco Fátima (Portugal) 90 Feijóo, Benito Jerónimo 103

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49–50, 54–5, 71, 129–30, 138, 197, 202, 211–12, 234; colonialism and 129–30, 211–12, 234; Iberian Peninsula 29–36; threats 36, 54–5, 71 Ecuador and Ecuadorians 23, 230, 241 Edict of Expulsion 133, 247 Education 69, 84, 105, 172, 174, 214, 215, 249–50, 263, 268 Eighty Years War (1568–1648) 96, 248 Elcano, Juan Sebastián de 171 El Greco (Doménicos Theotokópoulos) 100 Elites 9, 10–11, 208, 217, 230, 231. See also Class; Nobility Elizabeth I of England 97 El Norte (The North, 1983) 23 Emigration from Iberia 80, 105, 219–32, 237 Empires 11, 15, 18, 26, 69–70, 82, 94–104, 124–34, 142–7, 153–5, 171, 177–84, 204–9; American 204–9; Portuguese 124–34, 142–7, 153–5, 177–81; Spanish 94–103; 171, 181–4. See also China Empúries (Catalonia) 83 Encomienda (System to allocate indigenous labor in New World) 211 England See Great Britain Enlightenment 57, 104, 213 Escorial El (Real Monastero del San Lorenzo del Escorial, Madrid) 55, 60, 100, 101, Fig. 2.3 101 Española/Hispaniola 7, 200. See also

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Feitorias (trading factories/slave stations) 163, 168, 234 Ferdinand II, King of Aragon and Catalonia 97; and Isabel, Queen of Castile and Léon, the Catholic Kings 62, 93–4, 122, 246 Ferdinand VII, King of Spain 217 Filipinos 11, 152, 157, 188–9 Film 11, 12, 23, 79, 80, 110, 111, 113; festivals 23, 80 Fishing 31, 36, 39–40, 48, 105 Flamenco 27 Flanders See Low Countries Florida (USA) 43, 233 FNLA (Frente Nacional de Liberação de Angola /Angolan National Liberation Front) 142–3 Folklore 27, 261–2. See also Popular culture Food and foodways 1, 4, 7, 9, 23, 36, 42, 46, 70, 77, 117, 128, 138, 171, 180, 186, 193, 197–202, 241, 258 Forts and fortifications 163, 210 Fòrum 2004 (Barcelona) See Universal Forum of World Cultures 2004 Foster, Sir Norman 48 Fraga Ibarne, Manuel 51 France and French people 3, 4, 17, 24, 38, 71, 73–4, 89, 94, 97, 102, 103, 113–14, 116, 117, 124, 128, 138, 170, 180, 186, 200, 215, 218, 219, 248 Francis I, King of France 97 Francis Xavier (Saint) 172–3, 174 Franciscans (Order of St. Francis) 134, 172

Franco, Francisco, Caudillo of Spain 3, 24, 42, 47, 55, 61, 67, 69, 110–13, 145–6, 224–5, 262, 266 Freyre, Gilberto 69–70, 236 Fuentes, Carlos 118, 240–1 Fueros (regional laws) 42, 48, 50 Futbol Club Barcelona (Barça) 1, 61, 67, 157

G Galicia (Spain) 33, 35, 36, 43, 44, 51, 77, 90–3, 106; emigrants 43, 77, 224, 265 Gama, Vasco da 136, 166 Garabanchel 79 García Berlanga, Luis 113 García Lorca, Federico 110, 261 García Márquez, Gabriel 261 Gatlif, Tony 254–5 Gauchos 222 Gaudí, Antoni 1, 12, 65–6 Gehry, Frank 48 Gender and sexuality 4, 9, 10, 23, 39–40, 88–9, 94, 100, 109–10, 115–16, 166, 169, 175, 179–80, 239, 250 Generation of 1870 (Portugal) 105 Generation of 1898 (Spain) 106 Generation of 1927 (Spain) 110 Generalitat (Catalonia) 67, 68, 109, 267 Genoa and Genoese 96, 199 Geography and topography 3, 29ff Gernika (Euzkadi) 101 Germany 110, 111, 141, 257, 266 Gibraltar 3, 17, 30, 102, 123–6, 145, 259; Strait of 121, 123, 127, 156

Guadalquivir River (Spain) 34 Guadalupe, Nuestra Señora de (Our Lady of Guadalupe) 89, 211, 217, 273 n2.2 Guadiana River (Spain) 34 Guam 171 Guanches 199, 200, 211 Guangzhou/Guangdong 177 Guano 197, 216 Guaraní Language 72 Güell family 64–5, Fig. 1.5 65 Guggenheim Museum (Bilbao) 48 Guinea-Bissau 135 Gypsies (Rom, Rroma) 3, 27, 43, 73, 83, 241, 259–65

H Habsburgs (Spanish monarchs) 3, 27, 43, 73, 83; in Austria 94, 96, 219 Hadrian, Emperor of Rome 85 Haiti 139, 154, 200, 227 Hannibal (Barca) 84 Hatuey, Taino chief 200 Havana (Cuba) 23, 102, 210 Henri II, King of France 97 Henriques, Cardinal and King of Portugal 98 Henry of Bugundy 88 Henry the Navigator, Prince of Portugal 89, 133 Henry VIII, King of England 97 Hidalgo, Miguel 217 Hindus 22, 77, 125, 164, 169–70 Hispanic as census category, population See Latino Hispanidad 69 Hispaniola See Española. Hitler, Adolf 89, 103, 111, 145, 257

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Gijón (Asturias) 51 Gilberto, Joachim 12 Globalization passim; defined 6–18; definitions of archaic, modern, postmodern, protoglobal 14–18 Goa (India) 70, 161, 166, 167–71, 172, 173, 174, 182, 190–1, 192 Gold 8, 57, 135, 137, 197, 203, 204, 205, 206, 208, 217, 235, 243 Golden Ages: Portugal 58, 93, 167–71, 235–6; Spain 82, 91–101 Gonçalves, Antão 135 González, Felipe, Prime Minister of Spain 52, 115 Government, politics and elections 18, 42–3, 49, 52, 56, 60, 69, 109, 110–11, 114–16, 227; Leftist and Socialist parties (Spain) 49, 53, 104–6, 115, 144, 155; Partido Popular (Conservative, Spain) 115, 155; Portuguese, 116. See also Authoritarian regimes Goya, Fransisco 12, 12, 61 Granada (Andalusia) 59, 132–4, 205, 250, 257, 278 n.4 Granvelle, Cardinal 98 Great Britain 1, 3, 17, 38, 56, 57, 69, 77, 91, 110, 114, 117, 121, 123–6, 140, 138–9, 144, 177, 203, 215, 216, 222; relations with Portugal 89, 236. See also Gibraltar Greece and Greek language 4, 18, 20, 31, 37, 57, 83 “Grito de Dolores” (Cry of Dolores) 217

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Hollywood 19, 20, 23 Holocaust 253, 262 Holy Roman Empire 94, 96 Hong Kong 177–9, 187 Hormuz (Iran) 134, 161, 166 Horses 168, 212 Housing 113, 149, 150; public 149, 263 Huascar, Emperor of the Inkas 208 Huerta, Vitoriano 220 Humanity, definitions of and Human Rights 7, 8, 9, 11, 135–6, 154–5, 197–200, 263 Hurdes (Las, Land Without Bread) 110 Hybridity 14, 22, 23, 158, 164, 166, 176, 177–81, 195, 210, 250ff

I Ibárriu Gómez, Dolores (La Pasionaria) 267 Iberians (early people) 37 Ibiza (Eivissa, Balearics) 45 Identity 3, 4, 13–14, 49–55, 68, 267–8, 264 Ignatius of Loyola (Iñigo Yañez de Oñz y Saenz de Liena, Saint) 100, 172 Immigrants and immigration in Iberia 17, 24, 30, 64–6, 72, 113–14, 117, 118, 147–9; Africans in Iberia 150–7; Asians in Iberia 187–91; “Europeans” in Iberia 80, 116–17; Latin Americans in Iberia 230–2, 239–40; in U.S, 20–4. See also Chinese

India 3, 7, 135, 163, 164–5, 167–71, 204 Indian Ocean 135, 161, 165, 166 Indianos (Spanish returned immigrants to Americas) 32 Indigenous Peoples passim, 9, 12, 14, 20, 22, 135, 204, 205–9, 211, 215, 234 Industry and industrialization 22, 23, 47, 48, 58–9, 63–2, 82, 105, 228; bourgeoisie 58–9, 64, 82, 228. See also Labor Inkas 193, 208–9 Inquisition 99, 100, 166, 174, 241, 252, 259 Intellectuals and intellectual culture 11, 69–71, 85, 100–1, 105, 112, 114, 118, 153, 214, 224 International Brigades (Spanish Civil War) 111 International Exposition of 1888 (Barcelona) 66, 154 Isabel of Castile-Léon See Ferdinand and Isabel Isidore of Seville 127 Islam and Muslims 10, 12, 15, 18, 22, 24, 32, 45, 56, 62, 73, 79, 87–8, 91, 93, 124–34, 145, 157, 164, 166, 174, 198, 205, 270; rule in Spain 124–34. See also Moriscos; Mudéjars Islands 4, 32, 45, 196, 198–9, 204 n.6 Israel 81, 253 Istanbul (Turkey) 251 Itálica (Andalusia, Spain) 85 Italy 5, 24, 91, 95, 96, 97, 110, 113, 127, 250 Iturbide, Agustín, Emperor of Mexico 217



Japan 20, 26, 145, 161, 164, 167, 174, 188, 192, 232, 237, 240, 276 n.4; in Brazil Fig. 5.4 238, 276 n.4; Portuguese expulsion from 192; Spain 188 Jaume of Aragon 198 Jesuits (Society of Jesus) 10, 26, 104, 166, 168, 171–7, 234, 235, 255 Jews 8, 12, 22, 24, 27, 43 67, 73, 83, 93, 99, 100 104, 124, 125, 129–30, 131, 146, 235, 237, 241, 244–59; Anusim 256; Ashkenazim 255, 258; Convivencia in Al-Andalus 129–30, 244–5; “Marranos” 265; New Christians 100, 165, 174, 244–59; Sephardim 27, 244–59; and Spanish identity 256–7. See also Conversos/New Christians João I (Portugal) 89 João II (Portugal) 233, 249 João III (Portugal) 172 João VI (Portugal) 236 John of the Cross (San Juan de la Cruz) 100 John Paul II, Pope 92 Juan Carlos, King of Spain 11, 24, 114–15, 125 Juan of Austria 99 Juana of Spain, Queen of CastileLéon 94 Judaeo-Iberian Language (Judezmo, El Mostre Kastelan, Espanyolit, Ladino) 252, 253–4 Juventude en Marcha (Youth Moving, 2006) 151

Kamen, Henry 97, 100, 164, 182 Kongo Kingdom 92, 136–7 Kristang (creole) 73

Labor 17, 20, 23, 48, 51, 61, 68, 80, 112, 125, 140, 152–4, 198, 199, 230. See also Agriculture; Fishing; Industry; Slavery; Unions Land and land ownership 50, 52, 73, 74, 84–6, 109 Language 4, 10, 11, 12, 27, 39, 42, 46, 50, 79, 71, 121, 124, 157, 175, 179, 180, 191, 194, 215, 220, 240, 252, 260, 276 n.5 Las Vegas (Nevada USA)179 Latifundia See Land and land ownership Latin (language) 4, 72, 84 Latin America and Latin Americans 3, 4, 5, 6, 13, 17, 71, 116, 120, 139, 193–241, 251; cities 193, 198, 206, 207, 208, 209, 214, 222, 225, 239, 251, 225; migrants in Spain 230–2 Latinidad/Llatinitat (Latinness) 70 Latino,-a (U.S. ethnic category) 5, 19–24, 153, 187, 229, 240 Laws 17, 23, 42, 62. See also Fueros Leal Senado (Macau) 177–8 Léon (Spain) 32, 34, 91 Lepanto, Battle of 99 Liceu (Opera House) 1, 65 Lima (Peru) 56, 186, 213, 270 Limpieza de sangre (Purity of Blood) 255

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Lisbon (Portugal) 13, 23, 31, 33, 56–9, Fig. 1.4 58, 113, 122, 150–1, 158, 166; postcolonial migrants in 188–9, 210, 220, 232, 235, 256 Literature 66–8, 100–1, 127, 180, 195, 244–5 Llobregat River (Catalonia, Spain) London (Great Britain) 268 Lope de Vega Carpio, Félix 100 López de Legazpi, Miguel 182 López y López, Antonio 64, 183 Los Angeles (California, USA) 6, 13, 19–24, 56, 219, 270 Louisiana (France/USA) 203; Purchase 218 Lourenço Marques (Mozambique) 141 Low Countries See Netherlands Luanda (S. Paulo de Luanda, Angola) 13, 22, 56, 137–8, 139–44, 147–9, 158, 203, 270 Lucan (Marcus Anneaus Lucanus) 65 Lusitania 53 Lusotropicalism 69–70, 114, 140–1, 169, 235

M Machado de Assis, Joaquim Maria 12 Macià, Francesc, President of the Generalitat of Catalonia 109 Macau (China Special Administrative Region) and Maccanese Language and Culture 17, 26, 12, 163, 164,

168, 172, 174, 177–81, 192, 239, 270 Madeira (Portugal) 4, 32, 198–9 Madrid and Madrileños 3, 23, 32, 43, 54, 55, 59–62, 72, 111, 113, 116, 158, 261, 270; as capital 59–62; as region 55, 72 Magellan, Ferdinand (Fernão de Magalhãnes) 61, 162, 170–1, 232 Maghreb, Maghrebis See Morocco; North Africa Malacca (Melaka) Malaysia 71, 73, 161, 164, 167, 168, 173, 189, 232, 275–6 n.2 Málaga (Andalusia) 40 Malays 164, 166–7, 181 Mallorca (Balearics) 45 Manikongo, King of the Kongo 136 Manila (Philippines) 13, 16, 23, 71, 161, 164, 181–5, 192, 219 Manuel 1, King of Portugal 98; marriage to Princess Isabel of Spain 248 Maragall, Pascual, Mayor of Barcelona and President of the Generalitat de Catalunya 68 Marbella (Andalusia) 59 Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome 85 Maritime trade 62, 83, 134–44, 159, 161–70; Consulat del Mar 63. See also Atlantic; Mediterranean Marrano (derogatory term for converted Jews) 256 Martin Luther 96 Mary Tudor 97

216–22; Valley of Mexico 194 Mexico City (See Tenochtitlán) 213, 217, Fig. 5.2 218 Mezquital, Valley of 212 Military and Soldiers 10, 84, 85, 96, 102, 110–12, 140, 142–4, 144–5, 158, 164, 167, 214; as colonial settlers 84, 85, 165, 167 Milky Way (Via Lactea) 89; movie (La Voie Lactée 1969) 92 Minho River (Spain/Portugal) 33 Mining 74, 210, 217, 261 Miracles, Our Lady of (Nuestra Señora de Milagros) 90, 230 Miró, Joan 110 Missionaries 7, 10, 21, 136–8, 140, 157, 172–9, 205–9. See also Dominicans; Franciscans; Jesuits Moctezuma, Emperor of the Aztecs 205 Modernisme (architecture) 64–5 Modernity and modernization 47, 64–5, 79, 81, 90, 137–44, 147–9, 219, 238 Moluccas (Spice Islands) 167 Mombasa (Kenya) 161, 166 Montevideo (Uruguay) 42 Montserrat (Catalonia): Mare de Déu de (Our Lady of ) 89 Monuments 31, 54, 39, 62, 65; See also Churches; Plazas; Synagogues Morelos, José M 217 Moriscos 99–100, 108, 199, 250; revolt of 99–100, 250 Morocco 64, 105, 123ff, 133, 134, 145–7, 151, 257

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Mary, Virgin, Apparitions of 89, 90; in China 175 Mass culture/Mass media 1, 7, 9, 11–12, 17, 39, 43, 194 Mauretania 145, 146 Maximilian. Archduke of Austria 94 Maximilian of Habsburg-Lorraine, erstwhile Emperor of Mexico 219 McDonald’s and McDonaldization 7, 9, 230 Mediterranean 4, 9, 15, 17, 18, 20, 25, 35, 36, 70, 83, 99, 123–5, 131, 134–40, 265; climate 30–1, 36; trade 123–5, 131 Melilla, (Spain) 17, 45, 123, 125, 253 Memory 6, 13–14, 17, 18, 44, 170, 179, 189 Mendes, Beatrz de (Gracia Nasi) 250 Mendes Pinto, Fernão 170 Menorca (Balearics) 45 Merchants and trade 8, 9, 10, 14–18, 34, 39, 62, 76, 83, 84, 85, 86, 88, 127, 128, 135, 139, 164, 177–84 Mérida (Badajoz) 53, 273 n.2.1 Merino sheep 36 Meseta 32, 33, 34, 35–6, 47, 70 Mesoamerica 15, 204–5 Mesta 36, 52, 53, 96; in Mexico 212 Mestizos (Mestiços) 7, 140, 143, 147 Mexican-American (as identity in USA) 20–4 Mexico 5, 19, 20, 26, 43, 118, 196, 200, 202, 204–5, 212, 213,

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Moses Maimonides 11, 133 Mountains 3, 29, 32–3, 45, 73ff Mozambique 141–2, 151, 161, 190 Mozarab 130, 278 n.4; Mozarabidad 146 MPLA (Movimento Popular de Liberacao de Angola/Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) 143–3, 149 Mudéjars 132, 249 Mujeres al borde de un Ataque de Nervios (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, 1988) 116 Mulattoes 132, 140 Mumbai (India) 168, 174 Murcia (Spain) 52, 62 Music and dance 1, 11, 12, 27, 138, 159, 195, 226, 231, 259 Muslims See Islam Mussolini, Benito 111, 113 Muwahhid (Almohades) 132

Netherlands and the Dutch 19, 96–7, 138, 164–5, 168, 170, 202, 248–9 Neto, Augustinho 143–4 New Amsterdam 249 New Christians See Jews New Mexico (USA) 218 New Spain, Viceroyalty 216–17 New World See Americas New York City (New York, USA) 23 Nicolas, Prince of Kongo 143 Nobility 74, 91, 98, 104, 173; Basque 48 No Quarto de Vanda (Vanda’s Room 2000) 151 Noronha, Christian (Christão) 234 North Africa 1, 61, 64, 105, 121–34, 145–7, 151, 250–1, 257 North/South divide and Global South 25, 121, 122, 154 Numantia (Castile) 34

N Nagasaki (Japan) 161, 167 Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of France and Napoleonic Wars 41, 89, 103, 124, 170 Napoleon III, Emperor of France 219 Nation and State 3, 35, 48ff, 192, 214–16 Nationality and nationalism 14, 29, 37, 38–9, 77, 108, 115 Navarra (Navarre, Nafarroa, Spain/ France) 44, 47–8, 49–50 Navas de Tolosa, Battle of 132 Nazis 111–12

O Oceans 29, 30–1, 39–40. See also Atlantic; Indian; Pacific Oil 20, 142–3, 150, 159, 197 Oliveira, Manuel de 79–80 Oliven()a (Spain/Portugal) 40–2 Olives 9; olive oil 74, 258 Olympics 47, 75; Barcelona (1992) 62, 154 Opium 178 Opus Dei 112 Ossos (Bones, 1997) 131 Ottoman Empire 99, 250–2 Oviedo (Asturias) 51

“Pachakuti” (destruction) 193–4 Pacific Ocean 161–2, 171 Palma de Mallorca (Balearics) 45, 59, 64 Palmares (Brazil) 138–9, 235 Palmas, Las (Canary Islands) 59 Pamiès, Teresa 80 Pamplona (Navarre) 54, 91 Pan’s Labyrunth (El Laberinto del Fauno 2006) 112 Papacy 92, 96, 176, 233; Papal Bulls 233 Papamento 73 Paraguay 232, 223 Paris (France) 110, 111, 113, 144, 150, 266; as metaphor 150, 225; Spanish and Portuguese immigrants in 113–14 Park Güell (Barcelona) 64–5, Fig. 1.5 65 Pasiegos 33 Pastoralists 33, 36, 43, 52, 53, 96, 212 Paz, Octavio 194, 195, 241 Pearl River (China) 177, 179 Peasants 39, 52, 72–5, 102, 104, 108, 197–202 Pedro, Emperor of Brazil 236; Pedro II 236 Pérez Galdós, Benito 60 Perich, Jaume 3, 19 Perón, Eva and Juan 225 Peru and Peruvians 7, 22, 71, 161, 186, 202, 208, 221, 229, 274 n.3 Pessoa, Fernão 57 Philip of Burgundy 94 Philip II, King of Spain 55, 70,

94–100, 209; ordinances in Latin America 209 Philippines 13, 16, 23, 64, 71, 100, 161, 164, 181–5, 192, 219 Phoenicians 4, 18, 31, 37, 45, 56, 57, 83, 124 Phylloxera 65–6 Picasso, Pablo 12, 110, 111 Pilar, Nuestra Señora de (Our Lady of Pilar) 89 Pilgrimage 51, 59, 89–92 Pillars of Hercules/Pillars of Melkart 123 Pirates 32, 164, 226 Pires, Tomé 165 Pi Sunyer family (Catalonia and exile) 244, 267–70; Carles 267–70; Carolina 268; Jaume 267; Núria 268, 269–70; Oriol 268–9 Pizarro, Francisco 53, 208 Plantation economy/slavery 26, 198–202, 250; See also Slavery; Sugar Plazas (Mayores) 20–1, 56, 58, 194–5, 206, Fig. 5.1 207, Fig. 5.2 218, Fig. 5.3 223, 226 Polisario guerillas 146–7 Poma de Ayala, Guaman 213 Pombal, Marques de 104–5 Popular culture 9, 11–12, 27, 60–1, 70–1, 259–60, 264–5 Pork 70, 256 Port wine 56–7 Porto (Oporto, Portugal) 56–7 Portolà, Gaspar de 20 Ports and port cities 20, 45, 58, 126, 137, 186, 205, 234

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Portugal Passim, 3, 4, 10, 15–17, 18, 24, 26, 31, 36, 56–7, 75, 79–80, 98, 134–44, 146–9, 161–70, 174–81, 232–40, 248–9, 276 nn.4.4, 5.1, 5.4, 277 nn.5.6, 5.10, 6.3; in Africa 134–44, 146–8; in Asia 56, 161–70, 174, 175, 176, 177–81; borders and geography 29–36, 40–1; Brazil and 27, 56, 57, 74, 232–40; emigrants 74, 113–14; and Great Britain 89, 97, 236; Gypsies 263–4, 260; immigrants to 189–91; Jews and 248–9, 256–7; language 71; and Spain 39–42, 79–81, 98. See also Empires; Lisbon Postcolonial and postcolonial situations 4, 17–18, 26, 59, 72, 78, 148–57, 189–92, 230–40 Postmodernity 14, 81–2 Potatoes 9, 20, 75 Potosí 210 Primo de Rivera, Miguel 109, 145 Protestants 20, 95. See also Evangelicals Puerto Rico 26, 196, 201, 202, 226–30, 259 Purity of Blood (Limpieza de Sangre) 255 Pyrenees 3, 29, 30, 45, 65, 88, 112, 127, 275 n.1

Q ¿Qué he Hecho Yo para Merecer Esto? (What Have I Done to Deserve This? 1984) 116

Quechua/Quichua 3 Quevedo, Francisco 181 Quito (Ecuador) 23

R Race and racialization 8, 9, 44, 121, 134–44, 148, 157, 170, 174, 181; in Africa 121, 134–44, 215, 260, 261–3; racism in Iberia 150–7, 187–90, 231, 261–4; in South Asia 170, 174, 181 Rama, Angel 13–14, 194, 195 Rambles (Cast. Ramblas, Barcelona) 1, 2 Ramírez-Heredia, J. de Dios 263 Ramos Horta, José 191, 269 Rationality and order 11, 12, 13–14, 194, 195 Real Madrid (Soccer) 61 Recife (Brazil) 138 Reconquest (Reconquista) 32, 87, 93, 131–4, 190, 205; as metaphor/mentality 112, 165 Refugees 7, 30, 121, 123, 149, 156, 267 Religion 4, 5, 7, 12, 22, 26, 33, 84, 85, 86–7, 94ff, 110, 126–34, 137–8, 157, 169–70, 195, 205–7, 215–16, 244–60, 264; See also Evangelicals; Hindus; Islam; Jews; Protestants; Roman Catholics Renaixença (19th c. Renaissance, Catalonia) 64 Republic, First Spanish 106, 257 Republic, Second Spanish 1, 644, 109 Retornados (Portuguese colonials returning to Portugal) 32

S Saint-Domingue (Haiti) 200, 201, 202 Saint Paul, Church of (São Paulo Macau) 176

Salamanca (Castile-Léon) 54 Salazar, Antonio 107–8, 112, 114, 190, 205, 274 n.8. See also Estado Novo Salt 9, 84, 88 Sánchez-Albornoz, Claudio 257, 266 San Francisco (California, USA) 187 San Gabriel (California USA) 20, 21, mall Fig. 0.3 23 Sangley (Chinese in Philippines) 182–3 San Juan (Puerto Rico) 210, 228 San Martin, José de 221 San Sebastián/Donostia (Euzkadi) 48 Santa Anna, General Antonio López de 217 Santander (Cantabria) 64 Santiago (Saint James, also Santiago Matamoros) 90 ff Santiago de Compostela (Galicia) 51, 59, 89–92; pilgrimage 89–92 São Paulo (Brazil) 235, 239 São Tomé 32, 73, 198, 244 Saramago, José 3, 19, 59, 80, 270 Sarmiento, Domingo 222 Saudade (nostalgia) 18 Savimbi, Jonas 142–3 Schengen Agreement 153 Science, Technology 9, 11, 128, 130, 132, 134, 166, 176, 244–5 Scipio, Publius Cornelius 84 Sebastian, Prince of Portugal 98 Segovia (Castile-Léon) 75, 85, 86, aqueduct Fig. 2.1 86 Seneca the Younger (Lucius Anneaus Seneca) 12

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Revolt and Riots 10, 12, 100, 133–4, 145–6, 213, 217 Reyes, Alfonso 220 Ribatejo (Portugal) 34 Ricci, Matteo 174–5 Rice (Cast. arroz) 34, 70, 130, 256 Rio de Janeiro (Brazil) 202–3, 234, 235, 236 Río de la Plata (Argentina/ Paraguay/Uruguay) 41–2, 221; Viceroyalty of 221 Rioja, La (Spain) 35, 49; wine 116 Roberto, Holden 142 Rodríguez, Simon 172 Roma See Gypsies Roman Catholicism passim, 4, 12, 22, 48, 68, 69, 82, 107, 109, 110, 112, 114, 120, 124, 136, 165, 177–83, 214, 215, 219, 234, 241. See also Inquisition; Jesuits; Missionaries Roman Empire and Romans 10, 13, 15, 18, 30, 31. 34, 37, 45, 56, 60, 62, 119, 120, 135, 186 Rome (city, Italy) 62, 96, 244, 245, 248; sacking of 96 Rostov-Luanda 147–8 Rrom See Gypsies Rubió Tudurí, Nicolau Maria 70 Rum 197, 201 Rushdie, Salman, The Moor´s Last Sigh 117 Russia 81. See also USSR

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Senegal/ Senegambia 155, 156, 255 Senyera (Catalan flag) 269 September 11 (Catalan national holiday) 267 Serra, Junípero 20 Seven Year´s War 182–3 Seville (Andalusia) 34, 205, 229 Shanghai (China) 253 Shantytowns and squatters 148, 181, 210 Sicily (Italy) 198 Silk 8, 167 Silver 8, 161, 167, 174, 217, 270 Sissako, Abderrahmane 147–8 Slaves and slavery 8, 9, 10, 16, 19–20, 25–6, 85–6, 104, 121, 122, 132, 135–42, 159, 196–210, 226, 234–6, 243; abolition of 138–9, 226, 236; “Second” slavery 201 Smallpox 196, 200, 205 Smuggling 33, 75 Soccer 1, 61, 188, 226, 230 Socialists (Spain) 49, 52, 55, 114, 115 Sofia (Bulgaria) Fig. 6.1 254 Soria (Castile-Léon) 56 SOS Racism(o) 264 South Africa 141 South America See Latin America South Asia and South Asians 1, 126, 127. See also India Southeast Asia 165, 203 Space and spatiality defined 12. See also Cities; Enclaves; Geography; Plazas; Villages; etc. Spain passim, Map 31; in Africa 121–6, 144–7; in Asia 161,

163, 170–3, 181–5; authoritarian 111–13, 114–15, autonomous regions 44–55; cities 55, 59–68; civil war 110–12, 266; democratic 115–16; ecology 26–35; exiles 266–70; Golden Age 93–101; Gypsies and 243, 259–65; immigrants in 150–7, 187–9, 230–2; Jews and 24, 243, 244, 245–8, 257; in Latin America 203–9, 214–32; models of world 68–70, 193; Muslim rule 126–34; and Portugal 39–49, 79–81, 98. See also Aragon; Basque Provinces; Castile; Catalonia; etc. Spanish-American War (1898) 184, 227 Spanish Armada 97 Spanish languages See Basque; Castilian; Catalan; etc. Spanish Sahara 17, 146–7 Spice Islands See Moluccas Spices and spice trade 135, 168, 192, 243 Sports 1, 12, 61, 74, 75, 76, 144, 144, 188, 226 Sri Lanka 161, 164, 167 Statutes of Toledo 255 Suárez, Adolfo, Prime Minister of Spain 115 Suburbs 20, 62, 113, 152, 188. See also Shantytowns Sugar (Cast. Azúcar) 8, 130, 137, 183, 196, 197–202, 216, 224, 226, 234, 250 Symbolism and myth 13–14, 38, 48, 90–1, 194, 195, 197, 205

T Tagalog 3, 184 Taifas 130ff Tainos 190, 200, 211 Tajo (Tagus, Tejo) River 33, 34 Tapiès, Antoni 80 Tarragona(Catalonia) 62 Tawantinsuyu 193 Televisión 43, 274 Temple of the Sun (Cusco, Peru) 208 Tenerife (Canaries) 59 Tenochtitlán 204–5, 208, 209 Teresa of Avila, Saint 12, 100 Terrorism 7, 49, 115, 155, 158 Texas (Mexico/USA) 211, 218 Textiles 8, 32, 63, 68, 74, 167, 188, 245 Theatines (Order of Clerks Regular of the Divine Providence) 172 Thessaloniki (Salonika, Greece) 251, 253 Thirty Years War (1618–1648) 96, 98 Tierno Galván, Enrique 61 Timor 161, 167, 179, 191. See also East Timor Tirso de Molina (Gabriel Téllez) 100–1 Tobacco 9, 167, 212 Todo sobre mi Madre (All About my Mother, 1999) 116 Toledo (Castile-La Mancha) 33; translators school 131, 245 Tomatoes 9 Tourism 1, 9, 12, 17, 35, 52, 54–5,

67, 76, 80, 90–3, 113, 117, 121, 141 Tours, Battle of 127 Trafalgar, Battle of 124 Trajan, Emperor of Rome 85 Transportation 16, 20, 43, 161, 216; airports 43; railroads 20, 43, 49, 60, 64, 216 Trastámara, dynasty of Castile 93 Treaty of Madrid 233 Treaty of Tordesillas 171, 233 Turkey 233. See also Ottoman Empire

U Ummayad Caliphate 128, 158 Unamuno, Miguel de 107 UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) 92, 155 Unions 51, 106 UNITA (União Naciãol Para a Independcia Total de Angola/ National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) 142–3 United Nations (UN) 75, 108, 149, 155 United States (U.S.) 5, 19–24, 43, 69, 71, 107, 114, 114, 138, 184, 214, 215, 218–19, 227–9, 253, 261; immigration 19–24; intervention in Philippines 184; intervention in Puerto Rico 227–8; war with Mexico 20, 228–9; war with Spain 183 Universal Forum of World Cultures 2004 (Barcelona) 154, 277 n.8

335 Index

Synagogues 253, 254, 257

Universities 105, 173, 175, 214 Urdaneta, Andrés de 182 Uruguay 222, 225 USSR 110

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V Valdivia, Pedro de 212 Valencia (Valencia) 34, 44, 45–6, 59, 132, 172, 250 Valle de los Caídos (Valley of the Fallen, Madrid) 35 Velázquez, Diego de 100 Velázquez de Cuéllar, Diego de, Governor of Cuba 200, 204 Venezuela 223, 268–9 Venice (Italy) 135, 165, 232, 248, 251 Veracruz (Mexico ) 206 Vietnam 167, 173 Village and village life 8, 31, 39–40, 113, 129–30, 217, 244 Villaraigosa, Antonio, Mayor of Los Angeles 19 Violence 2, 42, 49, 63, 66, 67, 75, 79, 80, 90, 102, 108, 110–14. 123, 124, 141, 145, 184, 205–9, 227 Visigoths/Goths 10, 18, 37, 127, 157

W War of Spanish Succession (1700–1714) 102, 123, 267–8 Wars 2, 63, 75, 79, 80, 90, 102, 100–14, 123, 124, 141, 145, 183, 227, 267–8

Water 30, 33, 34–5, 46 Western Sahara 146–7 Wine and viticultura 9, 34, 35, 39, 49 Women 9, 23, 88–9, 94, 109–10, 115, 167, 175, 238, 239, 250. See also Family; Gender Wool 36, 52, 53, 54, 88, 96 Worlds’ Fairs 52, 59, 111, 154, 229 World War I 124 World War II 75, 80, 111–12, 124, 141, 145

X Xuetas (descendants of converted Jews, Mallorca) 256 Xunta (Galicia) 51

Y Yanto 124 Ybor City (Tampa, Florida USA) 43 Yiddish Language 255 Yucatán (Mexico) 204

Z Zanzíbar 47 Zapatero, José Luis (Prime Minister of Spain) 115, 155 Zara 51, 110 Zaragoza (Aragon) 47 Zarzuela (operetta) 57 Zheng He, Admiral (China) 165 Zócalo (Mexico City) Fig. 5.1 207, Fig. 5.2 218 Zoot Suit Riots 21 Zurburán, Francisco de 100 Zvi, Sabbatai 252