Afro-Peruvian diva Susana Baca, left, speaks with Natalia Maturana, a… (Giancarlo Aponte, For The…)
Reporting from Santa Barbara, Peru — In this village that still bears the name of the old Santa Barbara sugar plantation, Susana Baca is trudging through a field of sweet potatoes. Not 48 hours earlier, the internationally acclaimed diva of Afro-Peruvian music returned from Paris, the last stop in her latest world tour.
But on this day, she is visiting her mother's tumbledown hometown, a neglected part of Peru that is the cradle of its multiethnic history, where the descendants of black slaves and Chinese and Japanese field hands have lived together for generations, intermarried and even now continue to work the land.
"We are all equal here," says one of Baca's old friends, Carlos Franco Aguilar, a caramel-colored man with almond eyes whose Chinese grandfathers felt compelled to change their last names (Lao became Franco, Lin Aguilar), and whose mother is part-black.
"All equal," he says with a laugh. "Equally poor."
Baca, 67, comes to Santa Barbara as often as she can. The Grammy winner is building a cultural center here dedicated to the African heritage of Peru's people, as well as the conglomeration of ethnicities that for centuries influenced this nation's music, food, art and economy but were routinely marginalized by a class-stratified society.
"I want these people to feel they belong to something … to feel vindicated," Baca says, seated on a patio among the small buildings that will form her center, with its pictures of Martin Luther King Jr. and jazz musicians. The roar of the sea a couple of miles away was interrupted only by the braying of a nearby donkey.
"Official history is white," adds her husband, Ricardo Pereira, a sociologist who helps promote Baca's work. "The idea is to make visible a hidden history."
Two years ago, Peru became the first country in Latin America to formally apologize to its citizens of African descent for years of discrimination. And just the other day, the government bestowed recognition on several black Peruvian luminaries. But Baca and others say it's largely lip service, and racism remains common.
That much was evident in the presidential election last month, in which ethnic epithets were commonly used to insult the two candidates, one of Asian ancestry and the other a mestizo with an Indian name.
Statistically, black Peruvians are generally at the lowest ends of the economic and education scales.
"There are Afro-Peruvians who have gotten ahead," says Rafael Santa Cruz, a member of the legendary musical family credited with reviving the Afro-Peruvian movement. "But many of us are treated as second-class citizens."
As an abundant source of silver, gold and, later, guano, colonial Peru was one of the wealthiest countries in the Americas after its conquest by Spanish explorers and the center of the new empire. The Spanish brought slaves who immediately found themselves at odds with the local indigenous population in addition to their white European masters. The equally repressed indigenous regarded the blacks as part of the foreign colonization, and many hated them for it.
Peruvian slaves were forced to abandon (or conceal) their languages, music and religions. Over the centuries, their relatively smaller numbers in effect obliged them to marry Andean Indians, whites and mestizos, the offspring of Indians who paired with the Spanish. The culture faded.
Only in the last 50 years or so, roughly parallel to the U.S. civil rights movement, a small group of Afro-Peruvians has worked to rescue the simple, percussion-heavy music, poetry, dance and, ultimately, the singularity of the culture.
"It's about more than singing a pretty song or choreographing a dance: It's the search for identity," Santa Cruz says.
Blacks in Peru were never a monolithic group. The slaves of the coastal sugar and cotton plantations lived very different lives from the urban slaves, who attained a relative prosperity and liberty. They were artisans — tailors, glazers, cobblers, blacksmiths, carpenters — who were allowed to keep some of the money they earned; many eventually bought their freedom.
Lima, the regal colonial capital of palaces, plazas and lattice-work balconies, was nearly half black in the 16th and 17th centuries. Today, largely because of intermarriage and the difficulty of sustaining their culture, blacks account for less than 2% of the national population.
After slavery was finally abolished in the mid-19th century, the plantation slaves were largely relegated to destinies as sharecroppers, recalls Natalia Maturana, who has lived here in Santa Barbara for all of her 87 years. She is black, married to an 88-year-old mestizo man, and they have 11 children, most of whom work the fields of sweet potato and yucca that cover this land.