Bauer. Rural Workers in Spanish America

Rural Workers in Spanish America: Problems of Peonage and Oppression
Author(s): Arnold J. Bauer

Source: The Hispanic American Historical Review, Vol. 59, No. 1 (Feb., 1979), pp. 34-63
Published by: Duke University Press
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Hispanic American Historical Review
59(1), 1979, 34-63
Copyright i 1979 by Duke University Press
Rural Workers in Spanish America:

Problems of Peonage and Oppression
ARNOLD J. BAUER
URING the past few years students from three continents

have undertaken a great deal of new research on the
rural history of Spanish America. Some of this re-
search grows out of the current interest in social history which has in-
spired researchers to ask new questions of conventional sources, but
much of the new work rests on the papers and accounting records of
haciendas and plantations, some of which have been recently con-
fiscated by agrarian reform agencies. Thus a cycle comes to a close as
the Spanish American landed estate is given its death blow and then
split open so that we may examine its historical entrails. With the beast
laid out, the examining doctors have become more charitable about its
long past life and there is no doubt that their work, which is just now
appearing in print, will fundamentally change our understanding of
rural society.'
Within this general subject the story of rural working people has
been particularly obscure. Lacking direct evidence, what little is
known about peasants and peons has been necessarily inferred from
the merest scraps in colonial archives and, for the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries, our notions have come until fairly recently from
the accounts of travelers and general texts. The voice of the historical
actors itself is rarely heard. Nowhere is this sort of historical impres-
sionism more apparent than in the discussion of debt, or debt peon-
age, and its role in agricultural labor. Unlike slavery or the systems of
* The author is Associate Professor of History at the University of California,

Davis. He wishes to thank warmly John Coatsworth, Tulio Halperin Donghi,
Ann Hagerman Johnson, Peter Klar6n, Benjamin Orlove, Magnus M4orner, David
Sweet, William Taylor, Eric Van Young and Karl Yambert for their strong ob-
jections to an earlier draft of this paper. Whatever muddle or infelicity survives
is not their responsibility.
1. All students of rural history owe much to Magnus M6mer. "The Spanish
American Hacienda: A Survey of Recent Research and Debate," HAHR, 53 (May
1973), 183-216, and the earlier articles on tenant labor are excellent guides to
to research.
BURAL WORKERS IN SPANISH AMERICA 35
encomienda and repartimiento which were formal institutions with

their own legislation and critics, peonage-the term is English and does
not appear until the mid-nineteenth century-was usually an informal
device of labor coercion. So informal, in fact, that although few would
doubt that peonage ever existed, there is now a lively debate over just
when and why it did.
I have two aims in this paper. The first is to examine some of the
new research on Spanish American rural history. I try to do that in a
comparative, or perhaps really in an allusive, way while at the same
time placing the question of peonage within the gradual, patchy, and
sporadic progression to freer forms of labor over the past two cen-
turies. There are several elements in this problem and I shall try to
indicate what the new research does not illuminate as well as those
things it does. The second purpose is to suggest a partial explanation
for changes in labor use. The context offered for this is the transition
from noncapitalist to capitalist forms of agriculture which occurred-
and continues to occur-at very different rates under widely varied
circumstance. The history of working people involves exploitation and
oppression, but it is also a record of give and take, choice and accom-
modation. My intention, then, is not to indict one group of men but
rather to explain a system. By reducing villains to human dimensions,
the stark reality of rural structure itself can be seen more clearly.
Questions of Peonage and Oppression
The academic work on which the general notions of peonage are

based really begins with the 1935 essay by Silvio Zavala although jour-
nalistic and travel reports on the subject appeared much earlier. Wood-
row Borah carried the discussion of Mexican peonage further based on
his own work and on speculative interpretation of Zavala's data.2 At
about the same time (1952), Franiois Chevalier cautiously presented
his own findings in La formation des grands domains au Mexique-
which, incidently, became much bolder and unqualified in the English
version of the book.3 All of this work which dealt with the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries saw the origin of peonage in labor shortage
and as part of an evolution from indirect exploitation (encomienda
and repartimiento) which paralleled the "second serfdom" of Eastern
2. "Origenes coloniales del peonaje," reprinted in Trimestre Econ'mnico, 10

(1943-1944), 711-748; Woodrow Borah, New Spain's Century of Depression
(Berkeley, 1951), pp. 37-43; George McBride, "Peonage" in Encyclopaedia of
the Social Sciences (New York, 1934), XII, 69-72.
3. See pp. 364-366, 219-220, and 278-280 in the French, Spanish and En-
glish editions.
36 HAHR I FEBRUARY I ARNOLD J. BAUER
Europe. All of the authors emphasized the extremely tentative and
even speculative nature of their views and the ambiguity of scanty
evidence.
A picture of generalized peonage nevertheless became standard in
textbooks. A generation of students and the general public were taught
by the forceful prose of L. B. Simpson's enormously popular Many
A'exicos that peonage was universally employed "to secure a cheap
and constant supply of labor" throughout Mexico in the nineteenth
century. Charles Cumberland also found debt peonage all pervasive,
but he believed that the practice reached a peak in the eighteenth cen-
tury.4 Enrique Semo's recent book repeats the earlier view that peon-
age became a general practice in nineteenth century Mexico. In the
absence of research most studies agree that the Mexican example is ap-
plicable to South America. Rodolfo Stavenhagen finds that peonage
grew with the development of capitalist agriculture everywhere in
Latin America.5
But have we been given a correct picture of debt bondage? We
must be very careful, first of all, to distinguish between the two terms,
for there can be bondage without debt and more commonly, debt with-
out bondage. In places where landowners wield effective police con-
trol themselves or through local political leaders, no excuse, not even
the legal fiction of debt is needed to bind workers. But where land-
owners do not have such power, what has been called debt may also
been seen as credit; that is, as advances of cash or goods against the
promise of future work. It is not enough merely to find cash, or more
commonly rations from the hacienda store, marked against the work-
er's account to assume that the advance carried coercive power. To
establish the presence of a functioning peonage, there must be evi-
dence of the landowner's ability to restrict workers' mobility.
About Yucata'n and the southeast Mexican lowlands there is no dis-
agreement: labor conditions were harsh; workers were imported by
force; debt was systematically used to provide a legal basis for coer-
cion; and plantation owners, aided by local police or the army were
able to restrict workers' movement and tie them to the estates. There
4. Lesley B. Simpson, Many Mexicos (Berkeley, 1966), p. 126; Charles Cum-

berland, Mexico: The Struggle for Modernity (New York, 1968), pp. 82-83,
203. Frank Tannenbaum, The Mexican Agrarian Revolution (Washington, 1930),
p. 110, believed that "the greater part [of all hacienda workers] were kept on the
hacienda by a system of debt."
5. Rodolfo Stavenhagen, Social Classes in Agrarian Societies (New York,
1975), pp. 100-101; Enrique Semo, Historia del capitalismo en Mexico (Mexico,
1973), p. 228; Andrew Pearse, The Latin American Peasant (London, 1975), pp.
27-38.
RURAL WORKERS IN SPANISH AMERICA 37
is overwhelming evidence on these points although, it should be noted,

mainly from literary sources. The combination of strong markets for
tropical exports (sisal, rubber, sugar), a labor shortage, geographical
isolation, and a progressive state willing to support the planters with
force explains the virtual enslavement of masses of Mayas and Yaquis.
In the Putumayo region of the Amazon headwaters, similar conditions
led to notorious treatment of rubber gatherers at about the same time.6
But apart from these extreme cases, the ability of landowners to
restrict their workers' mobility is much less clear. Peru provides a good
example of this, not only because the history of labor here is especially
well developed, but also because of the way new sources have brought
new interpretation. The older reports on working conditions tended
toward the muckraking variety of expose in which writers, outraged
by the direction Peruvian society was developing in the early twentieth
century, chose the worst and most abusive examples to make a general
case. Peter Klaren's earlier work on the origin of APRA, which pro-
vides in chapter 3 a summary of contemporary memoirs and reportage,
reflects the conventional view of those sources that the new sugar
plantations on the north coast imposed a harsh and cruel system of debt
bondage through the enganche system of labor recruitment.
There is no doubt that workers were recruited from among the vil-
lage and smallholder population of the sierra through the use of cash
advances. Agents for the coastal plantations set up recruiting tables
in the sierra during village fiestas or the Sunday market and offered
from 30 to 100 soles in cash advances which at the going rate in the
1920s paid for 60 to 200 days of future labor. Those who received the
cash advance signed a work agreement and the agents usually required
a cosigner as well. The workers then went down to the coast to perform
such unskilled and arduous work as canecutting or weeding. Their
room and board were provided by the plantation and their wages were
docked until the advance was paid off. In the early decades (1870s
and 1880s) workers usually returned to their sierra homes for at least
a few months of the year to tend their own land and renew family
relations.7
Such, in bare outline, was the enganche system of labor recruitment.
6. Friedrich Katz, "Labor Conditions on Haciendas in Porfirian Mexico: Some

Trends and Tendencies," HAHR, 54 (Feb. 1974), 15-23; Richard Collier, The
River That God Forgot (New York, 1968).
7. Peter Klaren, La formation de las haciendas azucareras y los origenes del
APRA (Lima, 1970), pp. 42-73; C. D. Scott, "Peasants, Proletarianization and the
Articulation of Modes of Production: The Case of Sugar Cane Cutters in North-
ern Peru, 1940-1969," Journal of Peasant Studies, 3 (Apr. 1976), 328.
38 HAM I FEBRUARY I ARNOLD J. BAUER
The older reports insist that it was harsh and tyrannical. The pre-
dominately urban observers found a six A.M. to six P.M. work day
"bleak" and "oppressive;" the wage advanced in the sierra was de-
scribed as a "lure" to entrap the innocent. Most writers who reported
on the enganche system assumed that workers could be held for their
debt and that once "hooked" into the system they were bent to their
task and mercilessly and effectively hunted down if they tried to
sC ,,"8
escape.
It is true that the onset of capitalist agriculture attracted a score
of outraged critics and also produced outbursts of labor troubles
around Trujillo, especially in the years 1910-1920, but a clear under-
standing of the system itself has been distorted by more than the or-
dinary volume of ideological fervor and charged language. Recent re-
search carried out in the Archivo del Fuero Agrario is beginning to
change the older picture and raise a series of new questions. Where
most of the prior studies implied that workers drawn from the families
of smallholders and villagers were incapable of learning and each year
seemed to stumble drunkenly into the recruiter's grasp, it now seems
likely that they freely and knowingly chose to work on the coast, took
advantage of competition for labor, and knew how to drive up the
amount of wages that plantation agents had to advance. Solomon Vil-
ler found another motive in sierra to coast migration: several men left
"expressly for the purpose of changing wives." The point here is that
the closer the new sources enable us to get to social reality, the more
there emerges a world of mutual adjustment and accommodation.
Labor recruiters, for example, undoubtedly had to deal fairly with po-
tential workers in order to establish a reputation which insured con-
tinuing success over the years. Klaren's new research shows that re-
cruiters got repeat business as their peons signed up year after year and
then often asked for additional wage advances to be paid to families
left behind in the sierra. Instead of being passive victims, it seems
more likely that workers saw their chance and took it's
8. Klaren, pp. 27, 30, of English version of La formaci7.n published as Mod-

ernization, Dislocation, and Aprismo (Austin, 1973).
9. Solomon Miller, "Proletarianization of Indian Peasants in Northern Peru" in
Dwight B. Heath, ed., Contemporary Cultures and Societies of Latin America, 2d
ed. (New York, 1974), p. 139; Peter Klaren has kindly given me a preview of his
present research in a personal communication. Peter Blanchard, "The Peruvian
Working Class Movement, 1883-1919" (Ph.D. Diss., University of London, 1975)
ch. 7, quotes inineowners to the effect that the Indian "was a calculating individual
who considered all the economic factors -when selling his labour" in describing the
competition among employers for workers. Pablo Macera, Cayaltz 1875-1920: Or-
ganizacion del trabajo en una plantation azucarera del Peru (Lima, 1975), pp.
Just how effective plantations were in holding workers to their

obligations once they were on the job is still an open question. Unlike
the policy adopted toward docile modern workers (we usually receive
wages only after work is done), plantations had to tie up a great deal
of cash in prepayment for labor. Certainly once a cash advance was
made the plantation did not want the workers to default, and it is clear
that attempts were made to keep workers on the job and seek their
return if they left owing labor. All of this one might expect in Peru
(or Pittsburgh), but it is also likely that because landowners had in-
fluence in local politics and courts, they would attempt to push en-
forcement beyond the limits of the law. Labor contractors in Peru
around 1900 in fact were paid approximately twenty percent of the
total wage bill to do just that along with their initial duties of recruit-
ment and transportation to the coast. Obviously, the landowner would
have preferred to offer the going rate of, say, 80 centavos a day and
have the worker appear at the plantation gate and then stick to the job
rather than have to pay 100 centavos through the enganchador. The
twenty percent paid to the contractor might also be understood as
extramural management costs or as the measure of friction or drag in
an imperfect labor market. Once population grew and industrial work
habits were accepted by the 1940s, the contractor's role was no longer
needed.
Other questions arise in the problem of enganche labor. How im-
portant, for example, were ethnic or cultural differences in resistance
to or acceptance of wage labor; that is, were less hispanized Indians
from the center and south highlands more vulnerable and more easily
drawn into oppressive conditions than were the mestizo peasants of the
north? Henri Favre's recent study would certainly not support this,
finding that for a variety of reasons the Indians in the Huancavelica
region responded readily to the cash advances of labor recruiters.
Favre sees the enganche system not as coercive or oppressive but rather
as a means of orientation, regulation, and canalization of workers to-
ward the cotton plantations on the south coast. In this case (he is talk-
ing about the period between 1880 and 1910), the Huancavelica peas-
ants took advantage of the opportunity offered by recruiters and went
down to the coast to work for wages. Many then returned to their
communities where the outside earnings helped them preserve and
199-200, shows that the Cayalti administrators scolded a contratista for ill-treat-
ment of peons since such a reputation "does the hacienda much harm." Mr. Mi-
chael Gonzalez is now finishing a dissertation on Peruvian labor systems at the Uni-
versity of California, Berkeley.
reinforce their original way of life. Favre argues that these particular
peasants were responsive because a breakdown in their system of in-
terdependent, vertical agricultural niches forced them to seek work
on the coast; consequently their experience may not be applicable to
other zones.10
The degree of competition for workers among plantations, ha-
ciendas, mines, and cities is another serious omission in most studies
of labor systems. The older reports drew a picture of sierra haciendas
in which workers were immobilized by debt. At the same time, we are
asked to believe that plantation agents recruited masses of these same
people with no apparent objection from the hacendados. Is it reason-
able to assume that haciendas and plantations would collude and not
compete for scarce labor? Or, if workers were not scarce in the sierra,
why would debt peonage have been necessary to hold them? There are
local, national, and even international political questions involved here
which with few exceptions are ignored. In the case of the Mexican
north, Friedrich Katz shows that because of competition from Mex-
ican mines and U.S. industry, hacendados were forced to increase peon
wages and offer more generous sharecropping arrangements. In a re-
cent study of another sugar economy in northern Argentina in the
1930s, Ian Rutledge argues that plantation owners bought or rented
haciendas in the Jujuy highlands solely in order to extract labor ser-
vices from the service tenantry or subrenters whom they then forced
"with brutal methods" into plantation labor during the zafra.'1 Apart
from the fact that this seems like an exceedingly expensive way of find-
ing workers-one highland hacienda cost 41,000 pesos-Mr. Rutledge
acknowledges that the Indian tenants were in fact free to leave the
hacienda had they wanted to avoid plantation labor. A possible alter-
native to the Draconian interpretation of debt and violence presented
by Mr. Rutledge is that given their possibilities, Indian tenants chose
to work for wages on plantations and that the parcels of land guaran-
teed them by the hacienda were actually an incentive offered by the
landowners to keep them from migrating out of the region during the
dead season.'2
10. Henri Favre, "La crise de la society paysanne et la migration vers les
plantations cotiers dans le Perou Central," translated and reprinted in Kenneth
Duncan and Ian Rutledge, eds., Land and Labour in Latin America (Cambridge,
1977), pp. 253-267.
11. Katz, "Labor Conditions," p. 34; Rutledge, "Plantations and Peasants in
Northern Argentina: The Sugar Cane Industry of Salta and Jujuy, 1930-1943" in
David Rock, ed., Argentina in the Twentieth Century (London, 1975), p. 99.
12. A recent article by Donna Guy, "The Rural Working Class in Nineteenth-
Century Argentina: Forced Plantation Labor in Tucuman," Latin American Re-
RURAL WORKERS IN SPANISH AM1E.RICA 41
Settlement patterns, tenure arrangements, the access rural people

had to resources, and their own perception of the possibilities before
them, are important elements in questions of peonage and oppression.
The new research shows that people are able to make choices and bar-
gain for advantage. Obviously the entire system was weighted heavily
against ordinary peons and villagers. But men always work within
limits. When considering the plight of our distant workers, it is not
entirely inappropriate to ask if we ourselves are not bound by House-
hold Finance Corporation or by the stock-sharing or retirement plans
of the companies and universities we work for, which recruit us (bind
us) through contributions and then threaten to withdraw their share
if we try to "escape."> Given the nature of our society, we willingly
choose such forms of peonage. The point is, of course, that we really
do not know how much oppression or choice existed in rural Mexico
or Peru and, unless the proper questions are asked, we will never find
out. It is also fair to say that we may never learn even with the right
questions.
Juan Martinez-Alier, one of the pioneer workers in the new archival
material certainly asks the right questions. Expecting to find that
tenants on the huge Cerro de Pasco and Fernandini livestock haciendas
in Peru were bound by debt, he found instead that these haciendas
were unable to dislodge tenants and, in fact, had little control over the
amount of land or the number of sheep the tenants possessed. Debt
was not needed to bind workers to the estate; the problem wvas quite
the opposite, to expel them. In only one estate in the south highlands-
the records deal mainly with the years between 1920 and 1960-did
Martinez-Alier find evidence of debt, and then its use in labor coercion
ras not apparent.'3 On these Peruvian haciendas, as on those of high-
land Ecuador, tenants had higher incomes and a more secure life than
did day laborers and, consequently, they would have been foolish to
leave the estate. Indeed, as several recent studies have shown, the
search Review, 13:1(1978), 135-145, shows how Tucuman plantation owners,

backed by local police, attempted to form disciplined workers out of groups of
unskilled peons who sought work in the rapidly expanding sugar industry (1875-
1900). New laws and their vigorous enforcement against vagrancy and disorder
were part of this strategy. I do not believe this standard liberal fare should
be called a "forced" labor system.
13. Juan Martinez-Alier, "Relations of Production in Andean Haciendas:
Peru," in Duncan and Rutledge, eds., Land and Labour in Latin America, p. 147;
Martinez-Alier, Los huacchilleros del Per6 (Paris, 1973), pp. 7-9; see also his
recent book which incorporates and extends the earlier essays, Haciendas, Planta-
tions, and Collective Farms (London, 1977).
42 HAHR j FEBRUARY j ARNOLD J. BAUER
ultimate threat against unsatisfactory tenants was often dismissal from

the hacienda.14
Laura Maltby's study of the records of similar haciendas shows that
in the 1920s and 1930s, tenants were not exploited at the company store,
but rather were sold items imported from Cuzco "at the purchase price
or below it." Missing hacienda livestock were charged against the
responsible tenant's account, but the estate was usually quickly reim-
bursed by the tenant with sheep or cash. There is no record here of
debt nor were there legal or practical obstacles to mobility. Tenants
could and did move from one estate to another, taking their flocks and
seeking out the most advantageous conditions.15
The rural world Malcolm Deas describes (Cundinamarca, Colom-
bia, for the years 1870-1910) is one of competition among haciendas
for workers. Wages are bid up during the harvest; workers have un-
restricted mobility and move easily to higher wages. Money is some-
times advanced in order to attract labor, but debt is not used as a de-
vice to hold men to the job. On one particular finca described by Deas,
a dozen or so arrendatarios work for the estate and recruit extra work-
ers from other regions to help out. It is a far cry from a smoothly work-
ing labor market, however. Day laborers and arrendatarios themselves
must be hounded and cajoled to work, and there are many complaints
of unreliability and inconstancy. "Even though the wage is high," the
mnayordomo says of his workers, "one still must drag them to work and
insist that they fulfill their obligations as if one were asking for [un-
paid] labor."'16
Moving to the far south of Spanish America, the reality of land-
owner-worker relations is perfectly caught in the rustic language of
one Rafael Herrera, an hacienda administrator in 1895 in central Chile.
An administrator, Herrera tells us, must often be "strong and just;" the
job requires much tact and one must "loosen the reins to tranquilize the
people and make them understand with good and prudent declarations
14. Martinez-Alier, "Relations of Production," p. 146; see also Brian Loveman,

Struggle in the Countryside: Politics and Rural Labor in Chile, 1919-1971
(Bloomington, Ind., 1976), pp. 102-106. Much work on rural Spanish America
derives from the ideas and inspiration provided by Rafael Baraona, formally of
the University of Chile and author of "Una tipologia de haciendas en la sierra
ecuatoriana" in Oscar Delgado, ed., Las reforms agrarias en la America Latina
(Mexico, 1965).
15. Laura Maltby, "The Position of the Colonos on a Livestock Hacienda:
A Study of the Hacienda Picotani" in Benjamin Orlove and Glynn Custred, eds.,
The Hacienda and the Community Reconsidered: Agrarian Economies and Social
Process in the Andes (forthcoming, 1979).
16. Malcolm Deas, "A Colombian Coffee Estate: Santa Barbara, Cundina-
marca, 1870-1912" in Duncan and Rutledge, eds., Land and Labotur, p. 280.
the way things must be done." There are many times, Herrera con-
tinues, when one must "tolerate any number of demands [from the ser-
vice tenantry] because on this hacienda there are so many places where
a worker can go to live ... one fires an inquilino and he says 'Well, I'm
not going' and when he sees there is no hope of staying, what he does
is move to another place or some settlement or along the road and
there he mocks the sentence. One complains again to the owner [of
the neighboring estate] on whose land he now lives and the man moves
again and now besides mocking, he declares himself an enemy ... this
is why one must put up with impertinences of the workers and before
firing one, try to arrange things with prudence."'7
Finally, let us return to Mexico where the study of peonage began
and where the debate over its function is most developed. The tropical
lowlands were notorious for harsh working conditions, but the center
and north of Mexico were very different and one must be careful not
to confuse these regions with the special circumstances found in Yuca-
tan or Chiapas. There is no better guide to the Mexican material than
Friedrich Katz whose recent work provides an overview and pre-
liminary analysis. As he is careful to point out, however, few studies
of the nineteenth century are based on hacienda records.'8 Since Katz'
1974 article, several new works have appeared. Two of these deal with
years preceding the 1870-1930 period emphasized in this paper, but
since they both present useful correctives to conventional views, I brief-
ly note them here.
David Brading's study of the Bajlo (1700-1850), which is based on
estate and notarial records, shows how population increase enabled
landowners to diminish tenant perquisites in the eighteenth century
and move gradually to a system of money rents and wage payments.
But Brading inverts the older notions of debt to show that in fact the
estates were more indebted to the workers than the other way around.
Those workers who did have debts apparently left work with im-
punity.19 John Tutino's research in the Riva Palacio papers deals with
the mixed grain and livestock haciendas in the heart of dense Indian
settlement near Chalco, where in the early nineteenth century perhaps
seventy percent of the population lived in communities. A small num-
17. Rafael Herrera, "Memoria sobre la hacienda 'Las Condes' en 1895," ed.
by Gonzalo Izquierdo, Boletin de la Academia Chilena de la Historia, no. 79
(1968), pp. 202-203.
18. Katz, "Labor Conditions," pp. 1-47; see also his Servidumbres agrarias en
Mexico del porfiriato (Mexico, 1977).
19. David Brading, "Estructura de la production agricola en el Bajio, 1700-
1850," in Enrique Florescano, ed., Haciendas, latifundias y plantaciones en America
Latina (Mexico, 1975), pp. 112, 114.
44 HIAAR I FEBRUARY I ARNOLD J. BAUER
ber of specialized workers-shepherds, gardeners, stable keepers-were
attracted to the haciendas through wage advances and by the "um-
brella of security" which the haciendas provided in the form of ra-
tions and rudimentary medical care during famine and epidemics. The
hacienda books record credit extended, but there is no evidence of debt
bondage. Ordinary fieldworkers were recruited by the day or week
in nearby villages with the help of local priests and through payment
to labor bosses or contractors. These peons were organized into work
teams andl paid a cash wage which varied with age and experience.
These workers, however, often chose to attend the numerous village
fiestas or market days instead of working on the hacienda, and in any
case they always gave their first priority to their own village plots. The
haciendas' harvesting was consequently delayed, but even though the
owners or managers handed out cash advances, paid for and had ra-
tions prepared for the workers, cajoled and complained, there was little
the hacendados were able to do.20
Ward Barrett's study of the Atlacomnulco sugar plantation in More-
los at about the same time gives a similar picture of the problems in
labor recruitment. In the early nineteenth century, hacendados had
either to beseech in a "smooth and persuasive tone" to attract Indian
workers or else hand out fairly large cash advances. In one case, 2,000
pesos were distributed, but most of the expected workers simply took
the advance and never showed up for work.2' The research of both
Tutino and Barrett undoubtedly reflects the immediate post-indepen-
dence reversal of a trend toward greater landowner control of produc-
tion which began in the later eighteenth century and then picked up
again in the 1870s.
Some of the most elaborate and richly detailed research on ha-
ciendas was published in 1975 by Jan Bazant who had access to a
number of private archives in the San Luis Potosi region. His study
covers precisely the years-the last half of the nineteenth century-
20. John Tutino, "Hacienda Social Relations in Mexico: The Chalco Region
in the Era of Independence," HAHR, 55 (Aug. 1975), 496-528. See also his more
recent, "Life and Labor on North Mexican Haciendas: The Queretaro-San Luis
Potosi Region, 1775-1810" (Paper presented at the Fifth Reunion of Mexican and
North American Historians, Patzcuaro, 1977), in which resident workers are
advanced money and goods not as a pretext for debt bondage but as the only
way to keep them from seeking employment elsewhere.
21. Ward Barrett, The Sugar Hacienda of the Marqueses del Valle (Minne-
apolis, 1970), p. 88. Jan Bazant, "El trabajo y los trabajadores en la hacienda de
Atlacomulco" (Paper presented at the Fifth Reunion of Mexican and North Amer-
ican Historians in Patzcuaro, 1977), shows that many workers left owing money
and the hacienda simply wrote them off as bed debts.
when peonage and landlord oppression were once believed to have

reached an infamous peak. Bazant's work reveals the familiar pro-
gression from service tenantry to wage labor. With population in-
crease, the tenants' positions deteriorated here just as they did a cen-
tury before in the Bajio. Their real income was reduced through
abolition of the special low price of maize sold to them and attempts
were made to reduce the number of service tenants. The lack of al-
ternatives toward the end of the century, which was made especially
acute by the encroachment on village lands, meant that many tenants
accepted reduced perquisites and stayed on.
Nevertheless, Bazant's sources reveal a very human and varied
picture of potosino rural society. Some peons owed money on ac-
count to the haciendas, others did not. The haciendas appear to have
been unable or unwilling to restrict mobility, workers commonly left
the estate owing money, and no effort was made to bring charges or
return them. In the 1870s, far from being in debt to the hacienda, the
tenants were owed back wages. As the century wore on, the hacienda
work force seems to have been economically leveled out and further
impoverished.22 The instrument of this was not overt coercion or debt
bondage, but the inexorable grind of the market in a society where the
less powerful were stripped of independent sources of income and had
either to migrate or accept the fact of a reduced life.
In the Mexican north as well as in the south, economic growth in the
nineteenth century created labor shortage, but the evolution of work-
ing conditions in these two regions seems to have followed quite dif-
ferent paths. In an early article Frangois Chevalier argued that peon-
hacendado interdependence, necessary in the face of Indian raids, gave
hacienda workers in the north bargaining power and considerable free-
dom of action. Friedrich Katz points out that the United States pro-
vided a refuge for indebted workers and that mines and industry bid
up the price of labor.23 Haciendas in the north offered workers incen-
tives for more output and introduced a number of paternalistic ap-
proaches such as medical care, schools, and better dwellings. Thus,
where labor shortage in the tropical lowlands led to violence and peon-
22. Bazant, Cinco haciendas mexicanas: Tres siglos de vida rural en San Luis
Potosi (Mexico, 1975), pp. 163-167; and two articles: "Peones, arrendatarios y
aparceros en Mexico: 1851-1853," Historia Mexicana, 23 (Apr.-June 1973), 330-
355; and "Peones, arrendatarios y aparceros: 1868-1904," Historia Mexicana, 24
(Jan.-Mar. 1974), 94-121. In San Luis Potosi as elsewhere, the best land usually
was in the demesne, the less fertile or unirrigated, let to sharecroppers.
23. Chevalier, "The North Mexican Hacienda: Eighteenth and Nineteenth
Centuries" in A. R. Lewis and Thomas McGann, eds., The New World Looks at
its History (Austin, 1963), pp. 95-107; Katz, "Labor Conditions," pp. 32-35.
age, in the north because of different circumstances it led to free labor
and higher wages. Harry Cross' recent dissertation based on hacienda
account books and letter files from Zacatecas brings into question the
conventional notions about peonage in this region. The main variables
in the north seem to have been competition, differences in workers'
mentalities, and the absence of control sufficient to restrict mobility.24
To this merging picture, however, there is a recent exception.
Charles Harris' 1975 book is the most detailed examination ever
made of a single latifundium. In contrast to most of the new work,
Harris makes a strong case for an extremely oppressive debt peonage in
Coahuila throughout the century of his investigation from 1765-1867.
Working in the iich Sanchez-Navarro papers, Harris leaves no doubt
that permanent workers often owed money to the hacienda as a re-
sult of salary advances, charges against their account in the hacienda
store, charges for lost animals, fees for clerical services performed by
the resident priest, and so on. He is equally detailed and emphatic in
his contention that the Sanchez-Navarros were able to bring force
against defaulting debtors and make them return to the hacienda to
work off their obligations. The lack of quantitative control over the
vivid stories of ill-treatment and the clear sympathies of the author
make the argument on this point less convincing. As David Brading
recently pointed out, one does have the impression that when it comes
to peonage and oppression, Mr. Harris "may have encountered what
he set out to find."25
If debt is one thing and bondage often another, how can we under-
stand the common practice of advancing cash or goods to workers,
especially when the amount advanced often far exceeds that needed to
provide a pretext for coercion? In the case of enganche labor in Peru
and Argentina, I have tried to show that plantations were forced to
advance as much as six months' salary in order to attract workers to
field labor. The fact that workers could insist on so large an advance
24. Harry Cross, "The Mining Economy of Zacatecas in the Nineteenth Cen-
tury" (Ph.D. Diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1976), and his more recent
work based on hacienda records in Zacatecas and San Luis Potosi.
25: Charles Harris III, A Mexican Family Empire: The Latifundio of the
Sanchez-Navarros, 1765-1867 (Austin, 1975), pp. 58, 59, 216-217, 222. When,
for example, one hacienda continues to provide food and supplies from its store
even when the workers are idle-often for as long as ten months of the year-
Harris indicts the hacienda for hooking workers into debt. He complains that
workers' pay is docked for days not worked and believes it unjust when a shep-
herd is charged for having "lost" a mule when, in the case at hand, he had traded
the mule, an animal belonging to the hacienda, to a passing American for a
double-barreled shotgun. The Brading review is in Journal of Latin American
Studies, 9 (May 1977), 158.
suggests that there was competition for their labor and that they
had certain cards to play in bargaining with plantations. In place of
force and coercion, wage advances more likely testify to the landown-
ers' lack of extraeconomnic power and their need to play by the rules of
a new and as yet imperfectly functioning labor market.26 The same
thing can be said of the coffee and cacao planters discussed by Deas
and Kaerger or of Herrera, the frustrated Chilean mnayordomo.27
In the case of tenant or permanent workers' debt in the more tradi-
tional haciendas, Herbert Nickel presents a closely reasoned and cau-
tiously interpreted analysis of hacienda and notarial records in the
Tlaxcala-Puebla region during the Porfiriato. Mr. Nickel finds that
calpaneros (permanent residents) were given wage advances or credit
at the hacienda store. At the same time, semaneros (seasonal workers)
were given short-term salary advances as incentive for an agreed upon
task (not to hold them). Toward the end of the Porfiriato there was
a tendency toward standard work contracts, that is, payment for work
done, for all workers. Nickel shows that salary advances or credit to
the service tenantry was only one element in a concerted strategy
which aimed at the systematic blocking of alternatives in order to ob-
tain a constant and reliable work force. The strategy took into ac-
count population size, political strength of the Indian community,
capital investment on the estate, and tenure patterns and ran the gamut
from usurpation of village lands through religious intimidation to ma-
nipulation of bookkeeping. The strategy also included the sale of maize
to permanent workers at rates well below the going market price, im-
proved workers' quarters, and occasional medical care in order to en-
courage the service tenantry to stay on the hacienda.
Mr. Nickel interprets the extension of credit beyond a certain
amount, that is, an amount too great to be assumed by a neighboring
hacendado who might wish to hire the worker, as an "indirect wage
increase." In Tlaxcala-Puebla, the daily wage had been kept constant
at around two reales since the seventeenth century; but in the later
nineteenth, with prices rising, hacendados advanced more credit to
loyal workers. This advance could be withdrawn at any time and pay-
ment in such a form protected landowners because it did not generate
26. Cristobal Kay makes these points in the Bulletin of the Society for Latin
American Studies (Glasgow), no. 25 (Nov. 1976), 81-88. Several writers point
out that debt does not necessarily mean bondage, including Katz in "Labor Condi-
tions," p. 7. William Taylor raises many questions about the conventional view
of peonage in "Haciendas coloniales en el Valle de Oaxaca," in Florescano, ed.,
Haciendas, latifundios, plantaciones, pp. 91-93.
27. Karl Kaerger, Landwirtschaft und Kolonisation im Spanischen Arnerika,
2 vols. (Leipzig, 1901), II, 448-449.
a claim for general wage increases. Workers did want more credit
(that is, debt) and in fact, high debt was equated with high status and
conferred prestige. Nickel's research shows that debts were rarely in-
herited; they were often waived upon the worker's death, and many
tenants were reluctant to leave an hacienda for fear of losing their
source of credit in lean times. Service tenants frequently left an ha-
cienda for all the normal reasons: disagreements with foremen, man-
agers, or other workers, or simply for a better opportunity. Although
landowners talked about not hiring a tenant who had left another
estate, in practice they often did. If the worker who left had a debt
against him, the competing hacendado usually reimbursed the previous
employer.28
Arturo Warman's brilliant new book on Morelos fills out the picture
of the privileged position of resident workers, the hijos de la hacienda,
in convincing detail. Usurpation of village lands by the hacienda to-
gether with population growth in the late nineteenth century meant
that men lined up to obtain permanent work on the estates. They were
then eligible for tiny salary advances which were always presented as
a favor, an act of kindness and generosity, on the part of the land-
owner in order to cement ties of authority and dependence. Along with
favors came the implicitly and sometimes brusquely demonstrated
threat of expulsion for sloth or disobedience. The resident workers
were in any case a small minority of the total work force. Most labor
was carried out by village peons hired by the week or task. Here the
landowner did not need to advance credit nor bother with an hacienda
store. The landless peon stood in line and took what he could get in
the form of a money wage: "he was a free worker in the liberal sense
of the word."29
Market Economy and Mentality
How can the new archival findings be reconciled with the older,
still widely accepted picture of peonage? The role of debt can probably
best be understood by placing it within the larger pattern of labor use
and, especially, by considering the interplay between the landowners'
attempts to gain better control over production on one hand and the
changing values and attitudes of rural people on the other. In figure 1,
28. Herbert J. Nickel, "Zur Immobilitit und Schuldknechtschaft mexikani-

scher Landarbeiter vor 1915," Saeculbm, 27:3 (1976), 289-328. I am grateful to
Mrs. Friedl Baumann for her translation of the Nickel and Kaerger material.
29. Arturo Warman, Y venimos a contracdecir: Los campesinos de Morelos y
el estado nsacional (Mexico, 1976), pp. 67-70, 72-73.
Tribute collection Rentals Reduced perquisites Wage

Encomienda Sharecropping Enganche, Labor
Corvee labor Contract labor
Landowners' direct control over population -

(Decreasing) (Increasing)
FIGURE 1: Forms of Labor Use in Spanish American Agriculture from the

Sixteenth through the Twentieth Centuries.
the various types of labor are arranged along a continuum according t

the degree of direct control which landowners exercised over produc-
tion. This scheme will serve as the point of departure for the examina-
tion of the landowners' or the demand side of labor systems.30
The first conquistadors and settlers were limited to indirect use
of Indian labor since they only specified requirements and then were
dependent upon native chiefs or the colonial bureaucracy to provide
the labor. As land and its products became more valuable and the set-
tlers were able to control the land, they also had more interest in reg-
ulating the labor aspect of production. This was done in a variety and
combination of ways in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries;
evolution was neither unidirectional nor did it necessarily proceed in
the sequence outlined here. There was overlap and regression of forms;
but in general it is apparent that laborers were first attracted to estates
through the offer of land or shares of produce.31 Under conditions of
increasing profit, more labor service was demanded or renters were
30. A number of contributions to a theory of hacienda-worker relations has

recently appeared. Daniel Chirot, "The Growth of the Market and Service Labor
Systems in Agriculture," Journal of Social History, 8 (Winter 1975), 67-81, dis-
cusses the way a landlord class, labor shortage and low technology combine with
new market forces to produce servile labor systems; Shane J. Hunt's valuable "The
Economics of Haciendas and Plantations in Latin America" is still unpublished
and formally off limits to discussion although the Hunt model and other aspects
of landlord-tenant relations are interestingly dissected in I. C. Bertram, "New
Thinking on the Peruvian Highland Peasantry," Pacific Viewpoint, 15 (Sept.
1974), 89-110. Kay, "Comparative Development of the European Manorial Sys-
tem and the Latin American Hacienda System: An Approach to a Theory of
Agrarian Change for Chile" (Ph.D. Diss., University of Sussex, 1971) is more
than the title claims and has applicability for all Spanish America. See also his
"Desarrollo comparative del sistema sefiorial europeo y del sistema de haciendas
latinoamericano," Anuario de Estudios Americanos, 31 (1976), 681-723. I am
also indebted to Mr. Karl Yambert for references and discussion of these points.
31. Mario Gongora, El origen de los "inquilinos" de Chile central (Santiago,
1960); Macera, "Feudalismo colonial americano: El caso de las haciendas peru-
anas," Acta Hist6rica [Szeged] 35 (1971), 24-28. Charles Gibson, The Aztecs
Under Spanish Rule (Stanford, 1964), p. 247; Florescano, Estructuras y problems
agrarias de Mexico, 1500-1821 (Mexico, 1971), pp. 155-162.
50 HAHR I FEBRUARY ARNOLD J. BAUER
asked to pay more and in money; often, however, on account and not
in cash. Finally, where markets were strongest in their influence,
where profitability and calculability were greatest, and where capital
was most easily available, landowners usually attempted, not always
successfully, to transform labor types toward the wage labor pole of the
continuum. Often although not necessarily, a phase was undergone in
which intermediaries such as renters or labor contractors and recruiters
were needed. This latter phase is especially apparent in the years after
1870 and the still incomplete transition to wage labor has come only in
the past few decades.
From approximately 1870 on, a much stronger market was the main
force for change in the internal organization of the hacienda system. As
demand rises for commodities and then for land and labor, the estates
become economically unstable and evolve into different forms, usually
through some sort of family-size rental scheme (including sharecrop-
ping) and toward wage labor.32 In a broad global survey of rural class
relations, Arthur Stinchcombe concluded that family-size rentals and
sharecropping are most likely where: (a) land productivity and market
prices are high; (b) the crop is highly labor intensive and little mech-
anized; (c) labor is cheap; (d) no economies of scale other than in
labor exist; and (e) the period of crop production is less than one
year.33 To these economic features social and historical explanation
may be added. Landowners, for several reasons, may resist the hard
work involved in demesne management or in cases of especially un-
certain crops or weather, they may prefer to let subentrepreneurs share
the risk of farming. And, as mentioned above, landowners may under-
stand that rentals or sharecropping are profitable and consequently see
no point in moving to wage labor.
The effect of market penetration can be seen in the new research on
Spanish America. Malcolm Deas' study of the correspondence files of a
coffee finca shows that this estate let its land to a dozen renters who
put out the coffee trees, weeded and pruned them, grew their own food
on estate land, and then were expected to work for the estate itself for
two weeks of each month for cash. These renters in turn hired dav
32. It is important to notice that this trend is not necessarily sequential, in-
exorable, or the most rational. Recent work suggests the economic efficiency of
self-employed over hired labor under certain conditions. Steven N. S. Cheung,
The Theory of Share Tenancy (Chicago, 1969); see also Martmiez-Alier, Ha-
ciendas, Plantations, pp. 9-10, and Bertram, "New Thinking," pp. 96-102.
33. Arthur Stinchcombe, "Agricultural Enterprises and Rural Class Relations,"
The American Journal of Sociology, 67 (Sept. 1961), 165-176.
laborers in periods of heavy labor need.34 As the market for cotton in

the Chancay Valley (central coast of Peru) rose after 1900, the most
industrious peons were encouraged to sharecrop cotton in the system
known as yanaconaje. They were lent money by the estate to buy seed
and fertilizers and to hire day laborers from the sierra. In return, the
yanaconas serviced the loan and paid their share of obligations in
cotton. Erasmo, the yanaco'n whose biography has been put together
by students from the Institute of Peruvian Studies, is typical of the
petty entrepreneur who stood between the Peruvian coastal plantation
and the precapitalist society of the sierra.35 A similar system is de-
scribed in great detail by Karl Kaerger's invaluable two-volume work
which, although published over seventy years ago, is included here be-
cause he asked the same questions that the new research does. In the
coastal cacao plantations in Ecuador around 1900, owners provided
capital and incentive to small planters (sembradores) who cleared land
and planted new trees and did not receive payment until the trees were
mature. These small planters employed day laborers and paid them
with credit advanced by the landowners. The informality of the sys-
tem offended Kaerger's Prussian sense of order: he believed that in
the end no one knew exactly who owed what to whom. The planters
stayed around, even after the crop was in, and did odd jobs and oc-
casional tasks for the owner.36
In the Peruvian sierra during the later nineteenth and twentieth cen-
tury a similar response was made to the rising wool market. Laura
Maltby's work on Picotani, a 54,000-hectare livestock hacienda near
Puno, shows that some eighty colons kept large numbers of their own
animals (one owned over 2,000) which they sold independently of
the hacienda. In return for grazing rights the estate received forty days
of labor. Martinez-Alier describes tenants who were successful and
relatively prosperous petty entrepreneurs on the huge Cerro de Pasco
and Fernandini haciendas in the 1920s and even up to the 1960s.37
34. Deas, "Cundinamarca," pp. 274-279.

35. Favre, Claude Colin Delavaud, and Jose Matos Mar, La hacienda en el
Peru' (Lima, 1967), pp. 336-341, 361; Matos Mar and Jorge A. Carbajal H.,
Erasmo: Yanac6n del valle de Chancay (Lima, 1974), pp. 12-13.
36. Kaerger, Landwirtschaft und Kolonisation, II, 448-449.
37. Maltby, "Picotani;" Martinez-Alier, Plantations, Haciendas, pp. 67-92.
The Archivo del Fuero Agrario has an inherent bias. Only the best organized
plantations and haciendas kept good records, especially before 1930, and these
are the estates students are naturally drawn to. The best managed estates were
the cotton or sugar plantations on the coast or the large, often corporate-owned
cattle ranches in the highlands. Consequently, the smaller, more common, ill-
managed, perhaps more oppressive estate of the highlands is less susceptible to
research.
A strong market for agricultural commodities in the Guanajuato
mining region and Peruvian demand for Chilean wheat in the eigh-
teenth century also led to systems of rentals and sharecropping similar
to those produced by international demand after 1870. Renters farmed
three-quarters of the fertile Bajlo, and about the same time arrenda-
tario was still the proper term in Chile for fairly well-off tenants who
had not yet been reduced to mere service tenantry or inquilinaje.
What we have in all of these cases is an early stage of response to
modern markets. The turn to sharecroppers and rental tenants makes
sense when we recall that most of the rural people still lived in com-
munities of smallholders, on the move seeking occasional daily work,
or in loose squatter settlements in the interstices of various kinds of
private property. Most of the rural people could not yet be brought
easily into the orbit of the large estate. In the mid-nineteenth century
less than one-third of all Bolivian peasants were attached to the haci-
endas; some seventy percent in Chalco (Valley of Mexico) still lived in
communities in the early nineteenth century; and for all of central
Mexico the figure is probably roughly the same at this time.38 In Peru,
coastal plantation owners must have believed it easier to reach 7,000
miles across the Pacific for laborers rather than attempt to pry them
loose from their own sierra communities.3"
As demand for more labor began to grow, everyone complained of
escasez de brazos (shortage of hands) and not without reason, for both
the villagers and the marginal squatter were disinclined to work for
the remuneration offered especially if, as in the case of villagers, ac-
cess to their own land provided an acceptable way of life. If rental
tenants and sharecroppers provided the haciendas with more income
than before, it was not enough given the enormous possibilities now
apparent as world demand grew, rail and steam lowered freight rates,
and capital became more easily available. The next step taken by
landowners was to apply pressure on the tenants by reducing their
perquisites and pressing for greater labor service while at the same time
negotiating for a larger part of sharecropping arrangements. Follow-
ing this, landowners attempted to gain more direct control over pro-
duction by moving toward wage labor systems.
38. Pearse, "Peasants and Revolution: The Case of Bolivia," part one,
Economy and Society, 1 (Aug. 1972), 257; Tutino, "Hacienda Social Relations,"
pp. 497, 499-500.
39. Jonathan Levin, The Export Economies (Cambridge, Mass., 1960), pp.
85-90. Macera, Las plantaciones azucareras en el Per', 1821-1875 (Lima, 1974),
pp. xc-xcii, examines the choice of Chinese versus peon labor in some detail and
concludes that formally coerced Chinese could be held more closely to the task
than could the hard but irregularly working peon.
The problem now presented, from the landowner's point of view,

was that the ordinary rural inhabitant was inclined to sloth, unreliable,
lacked ambition, or at least was not yet adequately responsive to wage
incentives. For their part, the tenants were reluctant to work more
for less, the smallholder had his own and acceptable way of life, and
the day laborer-who might himself be drawn from the families of
either tenants or villagers-was unwilling to work at the pace and in-
tensity now demanded. Under these circumstances the landowners,
usually supported by the national government in which they had much
influence, devised an entire range of strategies to bring people with
precapitalist mentality into the labor market. These strategies were ap-
plied until mechanization and the massive demographic growth of
recent decades shifted the labor-to-land ratio to the landowners' ad-
vantage and made possible the full development of capitalist agri-
culture.
An underlying feature of the transition to wage labor was that the
large landowners and their agents, and for that matter, the petty entre-
preneurs, believed that without hunger or the need to cover expenses,
the ordinary rural inhabitant simply would not work for another per-
son. These attitudes are often cited as examples of troglodytic men-
tality or racist attitudes held by a colonial or neocolonial elite; but in
fact, they are very similar to seventeenth and eighteenth-century at-
titudes in Britain and Western Europe. "Every one but an idiot knows
that the lower classes must be kept poor or they will never be in-
dustrious," was Arthur Young's informed view of the east of England
as late as 1771. And as D. C. Coleman points out in the same article,
John Law's hypothetically typical economy in 1705 assumed the ex-
istence of 1,000 people idle half the time and another 300 "poor and
idle who live by charity."40
We should not forget that until at least 1750 in England and in
many places until much later, the industrial entrepreneur considered
his labor force largely impervious to monetary incentives, reluctant to
work in the way which suited the boss or indeed to enter his employ
at all. Eric Hobsbawm quotes Townsend in 1780: "The poor know
little of the motives which stimulate the higher ranks to action-pride,
honour and ambition. In general it is only hunger which can spur and
goad them on to labor." Even in the advanced economy of eighteenth-
century England, wages for the unskilled working class were set only
40. D. C. Coleman, "Labour in the English Economy of the Seventeenth Cen-

tury" in E. M. Carus-Wilson, ed., Essays in Economic History, 3 vols. (London,
1956-1962), II, 291, 301.
54 HAHR FEBRUARY I ARNOLD J. BATER
in the crudest way by the market.41 The purpose of wage-fixing policy
was to fix the maximum, not minimum, rates, and Hobsbawm writes
that not until the last half of the nineteenth century were the laissez
faire rules of the game thoroughly learned.42 Before then, wages were
fixed by customary standard; skilled workers got roughly double that
of unskilled, for example. Employers aimed to hire at the lowest
wage-to pay the lowest total wage bill for a given mass of workers-
on the assumption that more pay would not lead to incentive for greater
output. J. H. Plumb makes the point that it was among the Quaker
industrialists in mid-eighteenth century that this attitude first began
to change, and it is this growing notion that "free" workers, if treated
well, if given incentives and needs, would produce more, that underlies
the innovations of such men as Josiah Wedgwood and Robert Owen
and the abolition of black slavery.43
Given this understanding of the most advanced capitalist economy
in the world, we should not be surprised to find similar ideas expressed
among the eighteenth and nineteenth-century peninsular and creole
elite. The Bishop of Quito was entirely representative of current opin-
ion when he argued in 1797 that the best way "to get esa gente [that
is, the common Ecuadorian peasants] to work, to eliminate their sloth,
reduce their drunkenness and erase the memory of their Yncas," was
to insist on taxation.44 Innumerable examples of this outlook can be
found into the nineteenth century, and although there is no systematic
study of either worker or entrepreneurial mentality, it seems to me
that it is not until the last third of the nineteenth century-that is, a
century after a similar shift had occurred in Western Europe-that
there emerges gradually a new attitude toward the common worker.
Given the prevailing notion that men would work only out of nec-
essity, it naturally followed that needs should be created; and this, in
the later eighteenth and in the nineteenth century, takes two general
forms. In the first place, the colonial devices of tax, clerical fees, and
forced distribution of merchandise were increasingly employed in the
later eighteenth century. The tribute was the most convenient form
of creating obligations and the standard practice was for the entre-
41. Eric J. Hobsbawm, "Customs, Wages, and Work-Load in Nineteenth Cen-

tury-Industry" in Hobsbawn, ed., Labouring Men (Garden City, N.Y., 1967),
p. 414.
42. Coleman, "Labour in the English Economy," p. 292; Hobsbawm, "Cus-
toms, Wages, Work-load," pp. 406-407.
43. J. H. Plumb, "Slavery, Race and the Poor," In the Light of History (Lon-
don, 1972), pp. 111-112.
44. Archivo General de Indias (Seville), Audiencia de Quito, 403.
preneur, hacendado or obrajero, to pay the cash tribute for his workers
while extracting labor service from those liable for the tax.45 All of
these expedients-tribute, fees, forced purchase of merchandise-were
designed to bring the ordinary person into the economy at a time when
the subtle hard-sell consumerism of modern capitalism was unknown,
the wares of city life had not yet penetrated into the hinterland, and
the modern lust for possession had not yet become general. Everyone
complained that workers had exceedingly minimal needs and con-
sequently would not work beyond the point where their bare neces-
sities were satisfied.
The other principal element in the precapitalist strategy was to
deprive potential workers of alternatives to estate labor, or, to put it
another way, to remove restraints in the formation of a free labor mar-
ket. An early feature of the new strategy was the Bourbon assault on
charity or on the kind of welfare which was believed to encourage idle-
ness and sloth. Thus we see in the later eighteenth century an effort
to confine the incorrigible, sweep the streets of mendicant indigents,
put them into workhouses, and limit welfare and alms to the truly de-
serving poor. Some pressure was brought to bear on both the Church
and individuals to reduce the indiscriminate handing out of alms. This
is all standard eighteenth-century fare and its application in America
would make an interesting study, but as yet there is no good recent
work on Spanish America comparable to Callahan's on Spain.46 It
would be easy to overstate the effect of these reforms but we may al-
ready detect here some pressure, whatever the magnitude, directed at
undercutting the floor of self-sufficiency by blocking the alternatives
of workers in order to encourage them to enter the labor market. A
much more effective measure was the nineteenth-century liberal chal-
lenge to the Church which inadvertently weakened charitable and wel-
45. An excellent recent study is the unpublished dissertation by Robson Tyrer,

"The Demographic and Economic History of the Audiencia of Quito: Indian
Population and the Textile Industry, 1600-1800" (Ph.D. Diss., University of
California, Berkeley, 1976), pp. 102-106, 319-328, 417-424.
46. William J. Callahan, "The Problem of Confinement: An Aspect of Poor
Relief in Eighteenth-Century Spain," HAHR, 51 (Feb. 1971), 1-24, and "Cor-
porate Charity in Spain: The Hermandad del Refugio of Madrid, 1618-1814,"
Histoire Sociale (Universite d'Ottawa), 9 (May 1976), 159-186. No one has
moved beyond Woodrow W. Borah's suggestive article, "Social Welfare and Social
Obligation: A Tentative Assessment," International Congress of Americanists, Vol.
XXXVI (Seville, 1966), 45-57. There is a brief account with case studies of
beneficencia in Julia Herraez S. de Escariche, Beneficencia de Espaia en Indias
(Seville, 1947). The efforts to eliminate the 1975 Speenhamland Law in England
in order to create a completely "free" labor market are discussed in Karl Polyani,
The Great Transformation (Boston, 1957), ch. 7.
fare functions in addition to diminishing its economic and political
role. The impact of the liberal reform on welfare has not been mea-
s-ured, but both liberals and Marxists coincide in seeing the reform as
progressive. However the social cost, especially its impact on the
lower classes who had depended on the Church and on the widespread
practice of almsgiving, may have been important. Paradoxically
enough, the hacienda itself may have provided a certain measure of
social welfare by its tolerance of underemployed residents and their
often unproductive dependents.
Much more important in the process of threatening the foundations
of independent peasant existence was the absorption of village lands
by private haciendas. In Mexico beginning in the 1870s, in Guatemala
where the reduction of Indian lands was accompanied by anti-vagrancy
laws, in Bolivia where two-thirds of the rural population became de-
pendent upon haciendas, and in fact throughout the Andean spine, the
resources and means of independent livelihood of a great many rural
people were reduced.47 All of this is a familiar story. The process of
separating peasants from their independent livelihood, which included
access to hacienda land, village lands, or artisanal production, was
rarely carried to the point of complete destitution. Peasant resistance
was a factor in some cases and, where the state was unable or unwill-
ing to put itself squarely on the landowner's side, the costs of expul-
sion or appropriation were too high for individual landowners. Again,
there is also a question of social welfare. The pre-1870 hacienda had
undoubtedly sheltered, fed, and underemployed far more people than
required for production, and because the patron-client relationship
"implied the obligation of the patron to assist his dependents . . . the
hacienda probably had a beneficent r6le."48 The more cost-conscious
landowners understood that village communities and their extended
family networks provided important services for the wage-earning poor
Day laborers on the estates could return to the subsistence sector which
fulfilled functions of social security which the hacienda was less and.
less willing to undertake.49
47. For recent research on Mexico, see Katz, "Labor Conditions," p. 1; John
Coatsworth, "Railroads, Landholding, and Agrarian Protest in the Early Porfiriato,"
HAHR, 54 (Feb. 1974), 55 and passim; David J. McCreery, "Coffee and Class:
The Structure of Development in Liberal Guatemala," HAHR, 56 (Aug. 1976),
456-457; Jean Piel, "The Place of the Peasantry in the National Life of Peru in the
Nineteenth Century," Past and Present, 46 (Feb. 1970), 117-118. Pearse, "Peas-
ants and Revolution," p. 260.
48. Borah, "Social Welfare," p. 51.
49. Claude Meillassoux, "From Reproduction to Production," Economy and
Society, 1 (Feb. 1972), 102, makes this point about South African society, and
In any case, the more common practice in Spanish America was not
the complete destruction of communities-they still survive every-
where-but the reduction of them to the point where diminished re-
sources forced villagers or their dependents into the labor market.
And of course it was not just the reduction of village lands, but this
combined with population growth which propelled rural people into
the labor market. After the 1940s, the scramble for any kind of job
by millions of landless rural people eliminated labor shortage and
made the previous forms of compulsion unnecessary.
The other side of the question, that is, the change in condition and
attitude of rural people, is more difficult to gauge, and the new
research on individual estates does not help very much. What people
thought or felt about working for others or even for themselves is not
recorded, and so far the scholar with an interest in this kind of men-
tality has not come forward. Workers' attitudes and emotions still must
be inferred either from a careful reading of their employers' opinions
of them or from their own actions.
The change from the natural or seasonal rhythms of ordinary agri-
culture to the more disciplined and timed labor required in industry or
in industrial agriculture has been noticed by students of other societies,
and we may begin, to obtain a frame of reference, with the work of
E. P. Thompson and others around the journal Past and Present.
Thompson describes the natural rhythms of "task oriented" work in
agriculture. Nature demands that the grain be harvested before the
thunderstorms set in, seafaring people must "integrate their lives with
the tides," sheep must be attended to at lambing time and so on.
Thompson then makes three observations: first, that task orientation is
more "humanly comprehensible than timed labor" because the "peas-
ant or laborer appears to attend upon what is an observed necessity."
Second, he notes that "social intercourse and labor are intermingled"
and consequently there is no great sense of conflict between labor and
"passing the time of day." Third, "to men accustomed to labor timed
by the clock, this attitude to labour appears to be wasteful and lack-
ing in energy."50 The innumerable Spanish American travel accounts,
Martinez-Alier points out its relevance for Peru: Haciendas, Plantations, p. 13.
Both the California grower and the state benefit in this sense from migratory labor
across a national frontier: Michoacan peasants work for rock-bottom wages in
California fields and then return to Mexico for whatever social services that country
might supply.
50. E. P. Thompson, "Time, Work-Discipline and Industrial Capitalism," Past
and Present, 38 (Dec. 1967), 56-97, reprinted in M. W. Flinn and T. C. Smout,
eds., Essays in Social History (Oxford, 1974). See also A. W. Coats, "Changing
58 HAHR I FEBRUARY I ARNOLD j. BAUER
written in large part by Anglo-Americans with little rural experience
scornfully decrying sloth, are familiar to us all; and in more recent
times, other features of this impression appear as a new post-industrial
urban generation of young scholars is shocked by the ordinary scene
in any farming society of dawn-to-dusk labor. The distortion and mis-
understanding work both ways: the peasants are "incurably lazy"
when seen in the off-season or on rainy days; and "crushingly ex-
ploited" while only working an ordinary farming day.
Thompson's ideas are not, of course, based on Spanish American
experience but much of what he says is applicable to rural or village
life everywhere. Robson Tyrer's study of the Quito farming and obraje
economy in the seventeenth century, long considered to be one of the
most exploitative and harsh systems in Spanish America, shows that
people probably worked no more than half the days of each year in the
obrajes and during the rest of the time tended their flocks and farmed.5'
Charles Harris writes that many workers in eighteenth-century Coa-
huila worked only two months of the year (although the hacienda fed
them over a full twelve months) .52
Actually, little attention has been paid to the length of the work-
ing day, week or year, either by contemporaries or modern academics.
But as labor demands were stepped up in the 1870s, reproaches against
'St. Monday' (the common practice of taking Monday off) became
more frequent; there were more complaints about absenteeism. In
the 1880s in Chile, a time of strong market demand, workers even dur-
ing the harvest season rarely worked more than twenty days of the
month. In Malcolm Deas' 1900 coffee finca, where the modern de-
vices of fines for tardiness and prizes for production were clearly pres-
ent, the administrator still lamented the lack of discipline or the de-
sire for gain. "I don't understand these people," he confessed, "they're
really 'Indios'; even with a good wage one has to drag them to work."53
Karl Kaerger, with experience in the agriculture of Prussia and Ger-
many, was scornful of the casual and indefinite modes of labor (Un-
Attitudes to Labour in the Mid-Eighteenth Century," Economic History Review,

2d series, 11 (1958), 35-51; and Sidney Pollard, The Genesis of Modern Manage-
ment (Cambridge, Mass., 1965), pp. 160-208. The U.S. variant of this general
problem is treated in Herbert G. Gutnan, "Work, Culture, and Society in In-
dustrializing America, 1815-1919," American Historical Review, 78 (June 1973),
531-588.
51. Tyrer, "Demographic and Economic History," pp. 417-424.
52. Harris, Mexican Family Empire, pp. 58, 222.
53. Deas, "Cundinamarca," p. 280; the account books for the Hacienda
&uble (Chile). One may also find complaints about San Lunes in earlier times
when labor demand was high.
bestimmtheit) which he thought, "so totally suits the South American

character."54
These attitudes should not be dismissed out of hand as mere racism
or insensitivity of the exploiter. Rather, we are seeing in all of these
cases, at a time when markets and the prospect for gain were strong, a
clash between the values of entrepreneurs culturally akin to the time-
oriented employers of the industrial world who, especially by 1870,
were beginning to insist on reliability, discipline and constancy in their
workers.55 Opposed to this were those very different values of rural
people, villagers, peons, and seasonal workers. The growing number of
complaints and the tone of intensity and frustration indicates the
mounting problem in this clash of values. I believe that it is the period
after 1870, down to the 1930s, where the transition from "preindustrial"
to modem attitudes takes place-the analogous shift in Britain is a
century earlier-and it is in this context that the role of debt may
fruitfully be examined.
A Possible Framework for Understanding Peonage
Let us now bring the various elements of our problem into sharper
focus. The scheme below arranges the two principal features in the
argument along vertical and horizontal continua.56 Along the left side
is the range of workers' attitudes, the varying degree of their incentive
toward gain. Implicit here is their changing perception of need and
the acceptance and internalization of discipline. Along the top, rang-
ing from much to little, is the degree of direct control over production
on the part of the large landowners or rural entrepreneurs. Implicit
here are change in capital investment with consequent division and
specialization of labor, the landowners' power to limit or block alterna-
tive ways of life for other rural inhabitants, and the landowners' in-
creasingly rational or profit-maximizing attitude. At one extreme pole
in this scheme, where there is little incentive for gain on the part of
the workers and little control over production by a rural elite, the
historical record generally shows a subsistence economy with little
linkage to the market; the rhythm of work turns around seasonal de-
mand. At the other pole where workers are keen to earn ever more
and landowners have control (the case say, of California agribusiness,
54. Kaerger, Landwirtschaft und Kolonisation, II, 449.

55. Deas, "Cundinamarca;" Manuel Jose Balmaceda, Manual del hacendado
chileno (Santiago, 1975), especially pp. 117-121, is instructive on this point.
56. Population size which affects both dimensions of the 2 X 2 matrix is not
included here.
Much Little
. . . t~iLargandowners'd ir control over production,
Much
[ Yeoman farmers, PSialiolders

Wage labor Land rentals
Winentv Sharecropping arrangements
toward Contract labor
gain Use of onganche and cotraitista Subsistence farming
Some service tenancy
Little
FIGURE 2: Labor Use in Agriculture with no Formal Coercion.
Tucuman sugar, and the Peruvian coast in the 1950s and 1960s), one
finds a nearly pure wage labor system with overtime pay and bonus
for extra output.
Between these poles are areas of ambiguity and conflict. Where
workers emerge with strong incentive toward gain while landowners
have but little control, smallholders or villagers may hold on to their
land and there are usually varieties of rentals for cash or crop or
sharecropping on the estate. The system of yanaconaje which came
into existence on the Peruvian coast in the late nineteenth century and
endured until heavy capital investment in the late 1940s; the coffee
workers described by Deas; Brading's late eighteenth-century Bajio;
and Bazant's nineteenth century acasillados are all illustrative ex-
amples. As landowners increase their control through expropriation
of village lands or when they benefit from a shift in the labor-to-land
ratio, there is a tendency to reduce renters' perquisites, increase labor
requirements, and eventually move to a wage labor system. Obviously,
local or national political support is important in this process; without
either, the transition to wage labor remains only a goal. Martinez-
Alier's studies show how unsuccessful the attempt was in a number
of highland Peruvian haciendas where neither the Cerro de Pasco
corporation nor the Fernandini corporation had sufficient control to
expel tenants.
The greatest conflict in our scheme comes when the market rather
quickly opens enormous opportunities for landowners-through, for
example, overseas demand, new domestic markets, the introduction of
rail or new roads, or new sources of capital-while there is still a gen-
eral resistance to wage labor and where precapitalist attitudes are still
the rule. As landowners' control increases, they first, as we have seen,
put the screws to the service tenantry and sharecroppers. Increasing-
ly however, others, including villagers and the rootless or casual work-
er. must also be brought into the production process. How is the land-
owner to make the wage mechanism work? Advertisements al-e put
in papers, but the word is slowly and imperfectly spread and only a
few workers appear at the gates of the new sugar central or sisal
plantation. Or, if they do appear, they work only to cover their own
needs (defined by them very modestly) and then disappear, or they
return for village fiestas or to work their own fields. One measure
of how unresponsive or inconstant rural people were to wage offers
can be seen in the price paid for Chinese laborers. In Cuba and Peru
between 1847-1874, over a quarter of a million Chinese were employed
at a cost of $340 to $500 each. 57 It is at this point-in the interstices be-
tween subsistence and rental arrangements at one pole and wage labor
at the other-where other devices and mechanisms are employed by the
landowners to obtain a work force. The power of landowners to block
alternatives and their reluctant but eventual willingness to pay suf-
ficiently high wages for higher quality labor (the United Fruit Com-
pany early initiated this practice) did bring workers into the wage
labor market.58 But where the demand for labor was especially strong
and potential workers dragged their heels, more direct measures were
used. Landowners hired labor contractors or enganchadores whom
they paid as much as twenty percent of the wage bill for recruitment,
transportation, and labor management. The contractors often found it
necessary to give part of the total salary in advance to potential work-
ers; in other cases landowners extended credit during slack times or
charged corn rations, merchandise or even clerical services against
a tenant's or worker's account.
Until recent years, most students and observers have assumed that
debt meant bondage. Because of this assumption and because the
sources then available did not reveal the inner workings of rural
estates, we have by and large an unreal and one-dimensional picture
of rural society. New research based on sources closer to social reality
now provides a basis for reevaluation. An explanatory context of course
is still fundamental. To help with this, I have suggested the possibility
of examining the change in values which occurred in the transition from
noncapitalist to capitalist forms of agriculture.
From about 1870 onward, because of capital investment and tech-
57. Arnold J. Meagher, "The Introduction of Chinese Laborers to Latin

America: The 'Coolie Trade' 1847-1874" (Ph.D. Diss., University of California,
Davis, 1975), pp. 214a, 223, 255.
58. Ciro Flamarion Santana Cardoso, "La formation de la hacienda cafetalera
costarricense en el siglo XIX" in Florescano, ed., Haciendas, latifundios y plan-
taciones, pp. 651-652.
nological change there was in many regions of Spanish America a
fundamental change in the way men made their living. Alongside
the quickening pace of economic life, the majority of rural people still
lived a quiet existence, their attitudes toward work shaped by the
rhythms of ordinary agriculture and the limited economic horizons of
village life. The consequent disjunction between the demand and sup-
ply of labor brought about conflict and accommodation. A great many
rural people were wrenched out of one social and mental world and
ended up in another.
The years 1870-1930 represented a transition which in many ways
is analogous to the period a century earlier in Great Britain and West-
ern Europe. During these sixty years, landowners and rural entre-
preneurs managed, gradually and incompletely, to tighten their con-
trol over production. This was done only rarely with the kind of
Draconian measures described in Barbarous Mexico, or by the Ameri-
can envoy in Veracruz, or the novels of Ciro Alegria or Jorge Icaza.59
More commonly labor contractors, enganchadores, paternalistic mea-
sures, wage increases, wage advances, and in rare cases debt bondage
were used to obtain the kind of labor needed by new types of planta-
tions and haciendas.6? Reliable and productive workers were de-
manded at a time when rural people were not yet fully responsive to
wage incentive; when, in other words, a free labor market did not yet
exist. All of the landowners' devices were accompanied by only par-
tially successful efforts to block alternatives to wage labor. Most of
the new research is consistent in its rejection of debt as a controlling
feature of labor. The closer we get to social reality, to the everyday
workings of society, the better we understand that rural people are
not merely passive victims; rather, they make choices, work out of self-
interest. They and landowners alike make compromises and strike
accommodations which are often mutually beneficial. To be sure,
the world within which the relatively powerless make choices is nar-
rowly limited and, in some cases, the indirect limitation of choice
comes dangerously close to direct coercion.
By the 1940s, new labor habits were formed, men were alienated
from their work, and the values appropriate to a smoothly working
wage labor system became more common. This process is not yet
59. John Kenneth Turner, Barbarous Mexico (Austin, 1969); John Lind's re-
port of virtual slavery is quoted in Katz, "Labor Conditions," p. 16.
60. The strategy of pressure and persuasion undertaken by Tucumaln planta-
tions is discussed by Jorge Balan in a valuable article, "Migraciones, mano de obra
y formacion de un proletariado rural en Tucuman, Argentina, 1870-1914," Demo-
grafla y Economia, 10:2 (1976), 201-235, especially 217-228.
complete. In those areas where labor was not needed, where markets
were weak, where capital was not attracted, pockets of rural people
were by-passed. But everywhere else we can see the breakdown of
community, the creation of a rootless and alienated mass, and the
triumph of the consumer society. For having accelerated this integra-
tion of rural people into modern economic life, we may thank the mod-
ernizing landowner, the effective contratista, and the rural workers'
own capacity for spiritual self-destruction.

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Rural Workers in Spanish America: Problems of Peonage and Oppression

Author(s): Arnold J. Bauer

Rural Workers in Spanish America:

URING the past few years students from three continents

* The author is Associate Professor of History at the University of California,

encomienda and repartimiento which were formal institutions with

Questions of Peonage and Oppression

The academic work on which the general notions of peonage are

2. "Origenes coloniales del peonaje," reprinted in Trimestre Econ'mnico, 10

4. Lesley B. Simpson, Many Mexicos (Berkeley, 1966), p. 126; Charles Cum-

is overwhelming evidence on these points although, it should be noted,

6. Friedrich Katz, "Labor Conditions on Haciendas in Porfirian Mexico: Some

8. Klaren, pp. 27, 30, of English version of La formaci7.n published as Mod-

Just how effective plantations were in holding workers to their

Settlement patterns, tenure arrangements, the access rural people

search Review, 13:1(1978), 135-145, shows how Tucuman plantation owners,

ultimate threat against unsatisfactory tenants was often dismissal from

14. Martinez-Alier, "Relations of Production," p. 146; see also Brian Loveman,

when peonage and landlord oppression were once believed to have

Market Economy and Mentality

28. Herbert J. Nickel, "Zur Immobilitit und Schuldknechtschaft mexikani-

Tribute collection Rentals Reduced perquisites Wage

Landowners' direct control over population -

FIGURE 1: Forms of Labor Use in Spanish American Agriculture from the

the various types of labor are arranged along a continuum according t

30. A number of contributions to a theory of hacienda-worker relations has

laborers in periods of heavy labor need.34 As the market for cotton in

34. Deas, "Cundinamarca," pp. 274-279.

The problem now presented, from the landowner's point of view,

40. D. C. Coleman, "Labour in the English Economy of the Seventeenth Cen-

41. Eric J. Hobsbawm, "Customs, Wages, and Work-Load in Nineteenth Cen-

45. An excellent recent study is the unpublished dissertation by Robson Tyrer,

Attitudes to Labour in the Mid-Eighteenth Century," Economic History Review,

bestimmtheit) which he thought, "so totally suits the South American

A Possible Framework for Understanding Peonage

54. Kaerger, Landwirtschaft und Kolonisation, II, 449.

[ Yeoman farmers, PSialiolders

FIGURE 2: Labor Use in Agriculture with no Formal Coercion.

57. Arnold J. Meagher, "The Introduction of Chinese Laborers to Latin

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