Cumandá Part II
Having finished Cumandá I thought: this novel was centered around the complicated situation of inter-racial relationships (both amorous and societal) – what message did Mera hope to impart? The main point seems to be that reconciliation is possible – that the past can be overcome and that the two peoples can coexist. However, this reconciliation reveals itself as imperfect on a number of occasions. Firstly, when I began reading Cumandá, I thought that it would be about the relationship between an indigenous woman and a criollo man, about their love breaking racial boundaries. I soon realized that this wasn’t the case – Cumandá was white (and as such frequently touted as the most beautiful of the indigenous women), which meant that Carlos was attracted to her on the basis of similarity rather than difference. Beyond this, his feelings toward her were fraternal love and deep admiration, not sexual desire. So this was not the relationship I had expected, one that would have shown that strong attraction and sincere admiration occurs between races.
Secondly, the good indigenous/criollo relations in the novel seemed only skin-deep, and when the going got tough, the resentment felt by both races quickly arose. One example is when the jíbaro messenger arrives at Andoas to demand that Padre Domingo hand over Cumandá (pg. 254). At first they speak with the customary courteous language. However, as Domingo stalls for time, and it becomes clear that he is standing in the way of indigenous traditions, the messenger becomes blunt, accusatory, and threatening. Another example is when Carlos says his final farewell to Cumandá (pg. 268). He is extremely distressed by the sacrifice of Cumandá and he curses “¡Crueles, crueles salvajes!... ¡indios atroces!” It could be that he refers specifically to the jíbaros, but I get the impression that he is speaking generally.
Lastly, in one of the novel’s most significant scenes, a supposed familial and racial reconciliation occurs wherein Padre Domingo appeals to the dying Tubón for mutual forgiveness. Despite the fact that Tubón’s last words are “Ya no puedo alzarme para despedazarte, ¡quitate de mi presencia!”(pg.282), Domingo keeps cajoling him. Domingo pours promises and pleas over Tubón, so weak that he is unable to speak, and as two tears roll down Tubón’s cheek in his dying moments, Domingo joyously interprets these as agreement. A criollo kneeling over a mute indigenous person and telling him what he ought to do is hardly a symbolically appropriate scene to deliver the message that reconciliation is possible. There is no equality between races or respect for the cultural integrity of the indigenous people. Indeed, it is clear throughout the novel that the indigenous people are not perceived as equals, with romantic language presenting them as objects for aesthetic appreciation as well as condescending anthropological remarks on their nature and customs, forever subtly positing Europeans and their descendants as superior.
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Secondly, the good indigenous/criollo relations in the novel seemed only skin-deep, and when the going got tough, the resentment felt by both races quickly arose. One example is when the jíbaro messenger arrives at Andoas to demand that Padre Domingo hand over Cumandá (pg. 254). At first they speak with the customary courteous language. However, as Domingo stalls for time, and it becomes clear that he is standing in the way of indigenous traditions, the messenger becomes blunt, accusatory, and threatening. Another example is when Carlos says his final farewell to Cumandá (pg. 268). He is extremely distressed by the sacrifice of Cumandá and he curses “¡Crueles, crueles salvajes!... ¡indios atroces!” It could be that he refers specifically to the jíbaros, but I get the impression that he is speaking generally.
Lastly, in one of the novel’s most significant scenes, a supposed familial and racial reconciliation occurs wherein Padre Domingo appeals to the dying Tubón for mutual forgiveness. Despite the fact that Tubón’s last words are “Ya no puedo alzarme para despedazarte, ¡quitate de mi presencia!”(pg.282), Domingo keeps cajoling him. Domingo pours promises and pleas over Tubón, so weak that he is unable to speak, and as two tears roll down Tubón’s cheek in his dying moments, Domingo joyously interprets these as agreement. A criollo kneeling over a mute indigenous person and telling him what he ought to do is hardly a symbolically appropriate scene to deliver the message that reconciliation is possible. There is no equality between races or respect for the cultural integrity of the indigenous people. Indeed, it is clear throughout the novel that the indigenous people are not perceived as equals, with romantic language presenting them as objects for aesthetic appreciation as well as condescending anthropological remarks on their nature and customs, forever subtly positing Europeans and their descendants as superior.
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posted by Serena at 6:54 PM
1 Comments:
I thought that you had a really interesting point about Cumandá being white and thus “frequently touted as the most beautiful of the indigenous women.” I noticed that bias in the novel and noticed that some other people mentioned this on their blogs as well. I have certainly heard that this Eurocentric bias still exists in Latin America, as it surely does in North America. I thought of an episode of Oprah’s show that examined why so many African-American female celebrities are fair-skinned and lighter-featured like Beyonce or Halle Berry.
I also liked your mention of the “romantic language presenting [the natives] as objects for aesthetic appreciation as well as condescending anthropological remarks on their nature and customs,” because it seems that the indigenous tribes are not described as real people and cultures that the Spanish encounter, but merely another pretty and exotic feature of the tropical landscape that complement the flowers, volcanos, rivers, trees and wildlife.
-Dan Fumano
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