Ácoma, the sky city

By reason of their geographic position, the pueblos were the natural channel through which passed the culture from the south to more northern areas. This culture, of whatever sort, they transmuted by their own endowment into something distinctive and characteristic of themselves. Kroeber puts it happily:

If we must feel that the Southwest learned from Mexico “how to grow and weave cotton, to irrigate, to build in stone, to obey priests,” we are at the same time impressed by an intrinsic difference in its development and practice from that of Mexico, as we see it in the Pueblo civilization.

Each pueblo is a tribal unit formed of few or many clans, as the case may be, always matrilinear in descent. Each is wholly independent of every other and all have had a republican form of government from the earliest times. Under very great stress of emergency, tribes have been known to combine for a brief period, but ordinarily they crossed one another’s path in peaceful times only for purposes of trade, or as Bandelier puts it, “It may be said that no two tribes were ever so hostile as never to trade, or so intimate as never to fight each other.” The designation of titles and of official duties in these self-governing villages varies more or less from tribe to tribe, but in essentials the recent investigations of scholars incline them to believe in a fundamental similarity.

There has been much discussion as to the priority of clan or of kinship in the up-building of the economic fabric of pueblo society. The position of Kroeber seems the most simple and natural. He contends that clan functions are too vague and remote to allow them precedence over the normal and inherent relations of every created being. Quoting him: “To blood ties they are blindly loyal and instinctively affectionate. Outside all are but associates.” If further intercourse cements esteem, any one, of whatever race, “even a Navajo,” may be held more dear and less hostile than one of their own tribe. Again Kroeber says,

One remarkable and characteristic feature that prevails in the clan system is the grouping of clans in pairs. It is very prominent in Hopi, and though not directly established for Keresan Pueblos, it appears probable because the same pairs frequently occur in that nation.

Kroeber differentiates the family and clan as follows. The clan is a ceremonial institution, whereas the family is the foundation of society and is centred in the house as a basic concept. The house belongs to the women of the family, not merely as they are living to-day, but from the long past in successive generations. “There they have come into the world, pass their lives, and within its walls they die.” True, the clan is maternal and totemically named, and also the same terms of relationship are applied to its members as to those of blood kindred. While this is an undoubted source of confusion to strangers and to the student of its culture, there never is the slightest ambiguity in the native mind between the two.

from which he concludes that European contact had no important influence upon Zuñi kinship, or, by inference, upon any other Pueblo community.

The children belong to the mother’s clan, and marriage within that clan is forbidden. Though permitted within the clan of the father, it is disapproved. A reason for this as given to Dr. Parsons was that the children born of such union are never as strong as when diverse clans are mingled. The family organization among all Pueblos tends toward a compound type, consisting of as many as three generations. The young children are much in the care of the old people, especially of grandparents, by which division of labor the parents are released for their active toil in the fields or at their crafts. One sees in such a village as Ácoma quite little girls carrying far too heavy babies in a blanket on their backs, but one is told that there the men frequently carry the little children, which is not a usual pueblo custom.

There are no terms in Keresan for son or daughter, the words child, boy, girl, being used instead. Ácoma distinguishes according to sex but not according to age in expressing relationships between brother and sister. There is no specific terminology for relatives by marriage, but such exists for “cross-cousins,” that is, the children of a blood brother and sister. Dr. Parsons says that “Ácoma kinship terms correspond closely to Laguna,” but that brother-and-sister terms are applied in Ácoma to all cousins, which is not the common usage, though it is done at Zuñi. She has compiled elaborate tables for kin- and clanship at Laguna, in which Ácoma is frequently alluded to, and has included one long table of Ácoma terms.[144] Kroeber likewise gives a table of Ácoma-Laguna kinship-terms, compiled by himself, some of which he considers “not only not European, but far more extreme than Zuñi,” although the “generic resemblance of Keres to Hano and Zuñi is preserved.”

The next important question is the relation of the clan to the fraternities. Kroeber says that the one is social, and the other religious. Certain fraternities are widely distributed, and he has established for Zuñi, as Mrs. Stevenson did for Sía, that membership is voluntary, not clan-controlled, but follows blood or marriage connection. It is apparently true that in “certain cases succession to office in fraternities does depend on clanship.”[145] This is rather different from the situation in the Hopi pueblos, where the fraternities are at least definitely associated in the native mind with the clans of the same name. The function of the fraternities consists mainly in medicine-giving and in jugglery; though they take part in some of the communal ceremonies, they have no masked representations of deities, nor do they exercise their powers primarily for the bringing of rain. They have no right to the kivas, their meeting-place being in the front rooms of houses; they have official heads, but no priests.

At Sía and presumably at Ácoma, the Koshare and the Cuiranná form one fraternity whose duty it is to guide and attend the K’at’sina in their masked dances. At Zuñi the clan is then a body of

Certain other complexities of strain have arisen through the coming in to the pueblo of women from other nations. One Zuñi governor married a woman from the Cherokee Wolf clan, and as a matter of course she was received into their Coyote clan. In two or three generations it will be forgotten that her descendants were ever anything but Zuñi. Our author admits that the social fabric of Zuñi may be more closely knit than some others, but is of the opinion that all Southwestern tribes are so intimate that what is true of one may be predicated of the rest.

At bottom, all Pueblo government is theocratic. Civil officers are chosen and may be deposed by certain priesthoods which are clan-associated. However great the divergence of opinion during the choice of candidates, no decision may be announced until a complete unanimity is agreed upon. The civil government is chiefly concerned with property, and equities in material things, individual or communal. The governor and lieutenant-governor must be of different clans, and, theoretically at any rate, so also are their aids. Certain officials serve only one year at a time, and as there is a general disposition to give equal representation in public affairs to each clan, such diffusion of power tends toward a community thoroughly welded together.

According to Kroeber,

The fetishes are preserved in certain houses and are normally kept in jars of special design, fed at appointed times, but handled and exposed only on occasions of extreme ritualistic importance. The true understanding of Zuñi life other than its purely practical operations can be had only as we centre it about the ettowe.

When a family abandons a house, the room where the ettowe usually lies is kept in repair, and its priests continue to go in watto (to pray) there.[147] Each clan possesses its ettowe, and probably each set of priests is more or less clan-associated.

The visitor to any particular pueblo, if forearmed with some such general ideas of its policy, will assuredly gain a little better understanding of even the superficial occupations that he may chance to observe. We were consequently keen to learn how many of the old customs survive in this conservative community of Ácoma. It was not difficult to realize the deeply intimate family relationship of three generations of women of the Eagle clan with whom we associated. We also visited a more modern house of the Sun clan and we got some confirmatory impressions of many of the civil functions of its male population. In Ácoma, then, as in most Pueblo settlements, the family life is a mutually supporting partnership. Everything within the house belongs to the woman, even if brought there by her husband. Although the man goes forth to the hunt, once he has laid within the threshold a rabbit or a deer, he may not thereafter touch it if his wife objects, and all domestic animals, like sheep and chickens, belong to her and may not be sold without her permission. However, the man has his own prerogatives. To the man belong his blankets and his weapons, his horses and burros, his farm implements and all other tools. The right to hold office in the pueblo, to attain to priesthood in the fraternities, and to frequent the kivas (ceremonial chambers) are alone open to the men. From this fact it is evident that in spite of this semblance of a matriarchate the women have no voice in government. Further, it is true that so long as a man is a legitimate member of a household he is ruler of its affairs. The curious anomaly is seen (at Zuñi) in the contrasting fact that if a man divorces his wife even for the most flagrant immorality, it is he who leaves the house to her use, though, as sometimes happens, he has rebuilt it, and he does this without the faintest feeling of any injustice done to himself.

The Ácomas use the Catholic form of sponsorship at marriage, and no divorce is permitted. The parents of either one of the bridal pair choose a man and his wife to be the “best man” and “best woman,” and these two take the couple directly home from the ceremony to their house, wash their heads, and give them advice. The man speaks first and gives a present to the groom; then his wife does likewise with the bride. The bridegroom also gives his bride a present, perhaps a dress.

Although at Ácoma divorce is said to be unknown, it is very likely that here, as in most pueblos, the simple device of putting beyond the doorway all the man’s personal belongings is all the information he needs that his wife no longer wishes him to live with her. Similarly, if a man throws his blanket over his shoulder in a certain way and departs, his wife is notified of his intention to separate from her.

A definite idea was certainly given us at Ácoma in 1922 that the government there is fundamentally theocratic. I am, however, indebted to Dr. Parsons for the details of its organization as she understood it in 1918.

The officials of Ácoma are a cacique (ti-á-moni, arch-ruler), a governor with purely administrative functions, two lieutenant-governors (tenientes), three war chiefs (tsatichucha), and their two cooks (cocineros). There are besides, ten principales, who, like the cacique, are chosen for life, whereas all other officials serve but one year at a time.

A chief duty of the cacique[149] is to act as penitent for the sins of his tribe; and when he goes out into the wilderness by untrodden paths to fast for an uncertain length of days, the whole pueblo is in solemn mood, and the chance visitor is not made welcome.[150] Contrary to the custom in most pueblos, at Ácoma the cacique has no subordinates; neither does he have to be a cheani (medicine man) himself, although he is always appointed by the cheani. The true character of the cacique’s position has never been clearly defined for us, since he will not reveal the secrets of his office to anyone, unless to the man he looks upon as his successor. Although his title is that of “Arch-ruler,” he is evidently not all-powerful, for the war captain (hócheni)[151] is his warden, with power to punish him if he becomes arrogant or remiss in his duties.

Upon every important occasion the cacique must fast, either having only one meagre meal in a day, or sometimes none for four days; consequently the office is not a very popular honor. It demands a long, severe tutelage in physical endurance as well as in the deeper mysteries of the esoteric orders. During all fasts and ceremonies, unbroken continence is exacted, for the cacique is Watcher of the Sun. Moreover, he has to help the war captains to look after the Katsina, or masked impersonators of the gods which “function for rain, crops, animals, and the sick.” In times of war he is both surgeon and nurse for the wounded. Nevertheless the cacique has certain perquisites; for, although the people do not plant for him they do bring in to him his harvests. Also, each year they hold four rabbit hunts for him, one in each of the cardinal directions. This hunt comes “after the war chiefs say they have been fasting for four days and it is time to have a hunt.” A little later comes a general hunt in which women may join.[152]

The ten principales, who are always of the Antelope clan, and who enjoy a life tenure, seem to act as a higher court. They may be quite young, and they instruct the cacique if he is old, as to what is going on, and what he must do. The principales control the land distributions, agricultural land being allotted to individuals and grazing fields being held in common.

“The war chiefs[153] have undoubtedly sacerdotal as well as military functions. They are said to pray morning and night and at ceremonials for the people, for their animals, for crops and for rain.” But of these rites Dr. Parsons[154] learned nothing definite. The present writer saw three of the war chiefs going forth about six in the morning, gorgeously blanketed and bedecked with many and various pendant ornaments, but too far away to be distinguished.

Bandelier[155] says that the war captain occupies among the Keres a position of peculiar distinction. He is the military leader and sheriff. His supremacy over both governor and cacique arises from an old belief that he is representative of Ma-se-ua, one of the two sons of the Sun Father and Moon Mother. The other son, Oyo-ya-ya, is represented by the war captain’s lieutenant, who bears his name.

These two brothers, equivalent no doubt to the Twins in Zuñi myths, are held in almost greater reverence than the sun and moon, and one of the chief public dances of the Keres is given in their honor, whereas formerly it was addressed to the sun.

Although different informants gave Dr. Parsons no clear statement as to whether or not there is definite ranking of the clans, she concluded that it is the Antelope clan (Kuüts Hanoch) that governs, and that it has undoubtedly ceremonial prerogatives.[156] Its members choose the Kasik, who is the spiritual, and nominally the temporal, head of the pueblo, and is almost invariably a man distinguished for uprightness and wisdom.

On the first of the two brief visits made to Ácoma in the summer of 1922, I was told by a man who spoke English readily that the cacique is “always Antelope,” and that, though his duties are chiefly sacerdotal, it is he who names the officers for the ensuing year at the election in December. On the second visit the same informant referred for the first time to the cacique as his “uncle,” adding, “He is very old and nearly blind.” There was no question that the man with most authority in 1922 was the hócheni or war captain, a situation due very possibly to the physical disability of the cacique.

The annual election of officers forms an important part of the winter solstice ceremonies. After a week of commingled pagan and Christian festivities, the installation takes place either on December 30 or January 1, which is known as “King Day.” To inform the pueblo when and where this function will take place, the town crier (kahera) makes the circuit of the several roadways (as is the custom at Ácoma) calling out his instructions. When the men have assembled in the long-house (Komanira) near the church, the nominations made by the cacique are announced by the outgoing war chiefs; after this a general vote is taken, though a pure formality, for even if a nominee demurs he cannot help himself. We are told of cases when men ran away to avoid office, but were forced to return and serve as chosen. In installing officers, says Dr. Parsons, those going out “kneel on both knees, make the sign of the Cross, say the prayer beginning, ‘Padre santo-spirito. Amen,’ and pass the cane of office to their successors. All present kneel, of course removing their hats. Bandas are not removed.”[157] The election festivities continue through January 10, dances being performed in different houses in honor of the newly elected officers. The governor told Dr. Parsons that the people would stay on for ten days or so: “They have to, we have not given them the rules yet,” he said.[158]

One writer[159] describes a ceremony at Ácoma that I have found mentioned nowhere else. He witnessed it on a spring morning in 1864. He describes the “single steep, narrow, winding path” from the plain to the top of the mesa, which “near the top narrows and is flanked on each side by a tall much-worn pillar of the sandstone-rock formation of the mesa, requiring no very vivid imagination to portray them as sentinels keeping watch over the approaches to this citadel.” A dance of purification for a recent victory over the Navajos was to be celebrated that day. The visitors noticed that one of these two stone pillars “appeared to be an object of especial regard; ribbons were hung on it; heads of corn and pieces of cake were flung up with an effort to lodge them on its flattened or concave summit.” The Alcalde of the pueblo joined the Americans and told the story of the pillar, in substance as follows:

Many long years ago the peace of the Indian country was threatened by a great force of Spaniards coming from Mexico. Warning was given by runners from pueblo to pueblo in order that a concerted resistance might be made to stop the “ruin and desolation that marked the Spaniard’s path in this cruel warfare. Soon these warnings ceased.” But because there was plenty of evidence that the invaders were still despoiling the land, the young men of Ácoma agreed among themselves to keep a vigilant watch from the summits of one of these stone pillars. Many days passed and all was quiet. The pillar top was well stocked with provisions for the watcher. And then one night, after rain and wind had made the darkness unwontedly thick, he was startled as the dawn came, to see the Spaniards actually scaling the steep. They were, in fact, so close that he could not leave his post to give the alarm. All he could do was to blow his “loud-sounding horn-note of imminent danger to his friends” and try as best he could to keep the enemy at bay for the few precious moments before help could reach him. He was well equipped “with bow and arrows, shield and spear. Without descending from his post, the narrow path, whose width only admitted of one person passing at a time, was soon blocked with the disabled foe.” Wounded, the sentinel hero fell back on his lofty perch, but not till the village men had hurried to his aid, and these, fresh and strong, were more than a match for those Spaniards who gained the top of the cliff. A short, impetuous fight brought victory to the Ácomas, and the long dread was vanquished, but the hero of the pillar was dead at his post. “And for this,” said the Alcalde, “we every year have our rejoicings near the foot of the pillar and by our joy and praises thank the spirit of the hero who so bravely sacrificed himself to save his people.”

This story was confirmed during my second visit to the mesa. Although we saw no such weather-worn pillars on the summit of Ácoma, I hazard the guess that they may have stood at the top of the so-called “Runners,” or “Deadman’s trail,” which our informant told me had been out of use for many years but which once had served to preserve the pueblo from the Spaniards. At that time I thought he was trying to persuade me that the Ácomas won the famous fight of Zaldívar, but he probably knew the tradition of this other invasion by the Spaniards, for he was very positive in his statement that the white men were all killed or driven off in a fierce encounter at that point, and that the second name was given to that particular trail because of this event.

Another noteworthy remark of Gwyther’s is that the Ácomas were somewhat surly until they found that the visitors were all Americans; it was only toward Mexicans that they cherished any ill-will, and thereafter the visitors were treated with entire cordiality.

Who will go to Ácoma and become by slow degrees a familiar and trusted dweller among the people, even as Cushing did at Zuñi? That person alone, I am convinced, talking their language, eating their food, observing quietly their customs, will avail to penetrate the heart of the Ácoma secret.