Abstract
In the introduction to her 2019 book, Sonya Lipsett-Rivera points out that the standard stereotype of the “explosively violent, virile man who dominates women and other men” continues to define historians’ understandings of colonial Mexican masculinity (1). The reality, as she reveals, was much more nuanced and complicated. The Origins of Macho is a well-supported and accessible book that goes a long way toward remedying this gap in scholars’ understandings of gender in colonial Mexico.
The Origins of Macho argues that masculinity in colonial Mexico involved a complex balancing act between the aggression expected in defense of self and family and the obedience and emotional composure required of Spanish imperial subjects. From an early age, boys learned how to position themselves within the social hierarchies around them, largely based on a combination of age and social class. Many men took immense pride in their work, even when they worked at manual labor, and society at large often looked down on men whose employment habits led them to be labeled as vagrants. With one's social equals, there was a great deal of space for fun, camaraderie, and diversion; social inequality required a performance of either domination or submission. Despite these constraints, colonial Mexican men found ways to let off steam in small acts of rebellion. Some of these rebellions came in the form of leisure activities—plays, dancing, drinking, gambling, cockfights, and horse racing. Others involved ignoring rules or standards that did not fit their own lived experiences, like Church proscriptions against concubinage, adultery, or same-sex couplings; or laws prohibiting men from carrying knives in the street. By the end of the colonial period, however, Bourbon emphasis on creating productive and disciplined subjects constrained many traditional male outlets, making violent rebellion more likely and paving the way for the aggressive stereotype of the Mexican macho that emerged in the independence period.
This book is organized thematically, rather than chronologically, with each substantive chapter highlighting a different facet of men's lives. Chapter 2 focuses on the process of becoming a man: the effects of socialization and the cultural context in which boys grew up. As children, boys learned how to navigate the dangers of the streets and how to perform labor and obedience to social superiors. The ages at which their communities considered them to be men often differed substantially from the age at which the law did so; Lipsett-Rivera points out that, while the age of majority was technically 25, most young men had livelihoods and families well before that date (43–44). Chapter 3 emphasizes another area where prescription and reality often differed: sexuality. Despite the Church's many rules around sex as a purely procreative act, many men had a range of consensual unions and extramarital affairs, even occasionally with other men. In Chapter 4, the focus shifts to labor, which often defined men’s identities throughout the colonial period. Not only did many men take pride in their labor but also their ability to perform that labor became increasingly connected with the Bourbon monarchy's interest in creating “disciplined and efficient” subjects. Chapter 5 demonstrates that men were mobile, their worlds simultaneously restricted and open. Because they worked hard and faced many restrictions in their public and family duties, diversions such as horseracing, dances, cockfights, drinking, and gambling were important releases of tension that helped prevent widespread social unrest. And finally, Chapter 6 reveals that men related to other men in ways that depended on their social context. Interactions between men of disparate rank often required quick decisions to demonstrate emotional composure and external performance of social hierarchy. Among equals, many of these pressures relaxed, although by the end of the colonial period, men had begun to issue challenges and insults in ways that had hitherto been uttered privately, creating a new, more violent masculine identity.
Like many social and cultural historians of colonial Latin America, Lipsett-Rivera has to contend with the relative lack of sources written by plebeian subjects; however, court cases involved many poor members of society, which means their behaviors and attitudes can appear in these records. This book draws on a sample of 570 criminal cases from the Ramo Criminal and Tribunal Superior de Justicia del Distrito Federal, focusing on cases from Mexico City and its immediate environs. The types of cases selected were those that overwhelmingly involved men: homicides, insults/challenges, mistreatment, beatings, and vagrancy, among others. These cases demonstrate what happened when men moved beyond the boundaries of what other men, the community, and/or the law deemed appropriate, as well as the reactions of those in power to such transgressions.
The primary strengths of this work are its nuance and its accessibility. Throughout The Origins of Macho, Lipsett-Rivera makes the importance of social rank to gendered norms clear (poor indigenous men, for instance, had different expectations placed upon them than wealthy Spaniards), while still drawing conclusions about a more universal masculine experience. Allowing for differences between technical rules and men's actions further adds nuance to her arguments about masculinity. At the same time, the content is accessible to a wide readership. Although professionals and graduate students will appreciate the intricacies of gender analysis, the ideas are presented clearly enough for undergraduate students to interact with them successfully. Because this book is, by its own admission, among the first to explicitly define and examine colonial Mexican men, this accessibility and nuance make it all the more valuable.
The Origins of Macho also suggests several new avenues for research on which other scholars may wish to build. First, the connection between aggression and changing masculinities puts a new spin on the social and political pressures that led to the wars of independence in Spanish America in the early nineteenth century. If restricting acceptable avenues for men to release tension helped create a revolution in Mexico, then can similar trends be identified in other countries and at other points in the history of the region? Additionally, the assertion that there were multiple Mexican masculinities complicates the existing research on patriarchy in colonial Spanish America, where more attention has (traditionally) been paid to women's navigation of patriarchal power. What might we learn about power in colonial Spanish America by studying men's interactions with each other? Do changing definitions of masculinity affect other moments of social change as profoundly as they seemed to affect Mexican independence?
In short, Sonya Lipsett-Rivera's The Origins of Macho is an important addition to the field of colonial Latin American gender. In this work, she argues that colonial Mexican masculinity involved a balancing act between emotional control and aggression in defense of self and family. Men learned their place in society from a young age and defined themselves through work and social rank relative to those around them. This nuanced approach to manhood in Mexico is detailed and well-supported; yet it remains accessible to a broad academic audience. Its strengths are such that it could easily become standard reading in undergraduate and graduate classes and is a must-read for all scholars of colonial Latin American gender.