The Great Pueblo Revolt, or Pueblo Revolt (1680–1696), was a 16-year period in the history of the American southwest when the Pueblo people overthrew the Spanish conquistadors and began to rebuild their communities. The events of that period have been viewed over the years as a failed attempt to permanently expel Europeans from the pueblos, a temporary setback to Spanish colonization, a glorious moment of independence for the Pueblo people of the American southwest, or part of a larger movement to purge the Pueblo world of foreign influence and return to traditional ways of life. It was no doubt a bit of all four.

The Spanish first entered the northern Rio Grande region in 1539 and its control was cemented in place by the 1599 siege of Acoma pueblo by Don Vicente de Zaldivar and a few score of soldier colonists from the expedition of Don Juan de Oñate. At Acoma's Sky City, Oñate's forces killed 800 people and captured 500 women and children and 80 men. After a "trial," everyone over the age of 12 was enslaved; all men over 25 had a foot amputated. Roughly 80 years later, a combination of religious persecution and economic oppression led to a violent uprising in Santa Fe and other communities of what is today northern New Mexico. It was one of the few successful—if temporary—forceful stoppages of the Spanish colonial juggernaut in the New World.

Life Under the Spanish

As they had done in other parts of the Americas, the Spanish installed a combination of military and ecclesiastical leadership in New Mexico. The Spanish established missions of Franciscan friars in several pueblos to specifically break up the Indigenous religious and secular communities, stamp out religious practices and replace them with Christianity. Active efforts to convert the Pueblo people to Christianity involved destroying kivas and other structures, burning ceremonial paraphernalia in public plazas, and using accusations of witchcraft to imprison and execute traditional ceremonial leaders.

The government also established an encomienda system, allowing up to 35 leading Spanish colonists to collect tribute from the households of a particular pueblo. Hopi oral histories report that the reality of the Spanish rule included forced labor, the seduction of Hopi women, raiding of kivas and sacred ceremonies, harsh punishment for failing to attend mass, and several rounds of drought and famine.

Growing Unrest

While the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 was the event that (temporarily) removed the Spanish from the southwest, it was not the first attempt. The Pueblo people had offered resistance throughout the 80-year period following the conquest. Public conversions didn't (always) lead to people giving up their traditions but rather drove the ceremonies underground. The Jemez (1623), Zuni (1639) and Taos (1639) communities each separately (and unsuccessfully) revolted. There also were multi-village revolts that took place in the 1650s and 1660s, but in each case, the planned revolts were discovered and the leaders executed.

The Pueblos were independent societies before Spanish rule, and fiercely so. What led to the successful revolt was the ability to overcome that independence and coalesce. Some scholars think it was a millenarian movement, and have pointed to a population collapse in the 1670s resulting from a devastating epidemic that killed off an estimated 80% of the Indigenous population, and it became clear that the Spanish were unable to explain or prevent epidemic diseases or calamitous droughts. In some respects, the battle was one of whose god was on whose side: both Pueblo and Spanish sides identified the mythical character of certain events, and both sides believed the events involved supernatural intervention.

Nonetheless, the suppression of Indigenous practices became particularly intense between 1660 and 1680, and one of the main reasons for the successful revolt appears to have occurred in 1675 when then-governor Juan Francisco de Trevino arrested 47 "sorcerers," one of whom was Po'pay of San Juan Pueblo.

Leadership

Po'Pay (or Popé) was a Tewa religious leader, and he was to become a key leader and perhaps primary organizer of the rebellion. Po'Pay may have been key, but there were plenty of other leaders in the rebellion. Domingo Naranjo, a man of African and Indigeneous heritage, is often cited, and so are El Saca and El Chato of Taos, El Taque of San Juan, Francisco Tanjete of San Ildefonso, and Alonzo Catiti of Santo Domingo.

Under the rule of colonial New Mexico, the Spanish deployed ethnic categories ascribing "Pueblo" to lump linguistically and culturally diverse people into a single group, establishing dual and asymmetric social and economic relationships between the Spanish and Pueblo people. Po'pay and the other leaders appropriated this to mobilize the disparate and decimated villages against their colonizers.

August 10–19, 1680

After eight decades of living under foreign rule, Pueblo leaders fashioned a military alliance that transcended longstanding rivalries. For nine days, together they besieged the capital of Santa Fe and other pueblos. In this initial battle, over 400 Spanish military personnel and colonists and 21 Franciscan missionaries lost their lives: the number of Pueblo people who died is unknown. Governor Antonio de Otermin and his remaining colonists retreated in ignominy to El Paso del Norte (what is today Cuidad Juarez in Mexico).

Witnesses said that during the revolt and afterward, Po'Pay toured the pueblos, preaching a message of nativism and revivalism. He ordered the Pueblo people to break up and burn the images of Christ, the Virgin Mary, and other saints, to burn the temples, smash the bells, and separate from the wives the Christian church had given them.

Revitalization and Reconstruction

Between 1680 and 1692, despite the efforts of the Spanish to recapture the region, the Pueblo people rebuilt their kivas, revived their ceremonies and reconsecrated their shrines. People left their mission pueblos at Cochiti, Santo Domingo and Jemez and built new villages, such as Patokwa (established in 1860 and made up of Jemez, Apache/Navajos and Santo Domingo pueblo people), Kotyiti (1681, Cochiti, San Felipe and San Marcos pueblos), Boletsakwa (1680–1683, Jemez and Santo Domingo), Cerro Colorado (1689, Zia, Santa Ana, Santo Domingo) There were many others.

The architecture and settlement planning at these new villages was a new compact, dual-plaza form, a departure from the scattered layouts of mission villages. Liebmann and Pruecel have argued that this new format is what the builders considered a "traditional" village, based on clan moieties. Some potters worked on reviving traditional motifs on their glaze-ware ceramics, such as the doubled-headed key motif, which originated fro, 1400–1450.

New social identities were created, blurring the traditional linguistic-ethnic boundaries that defined Pueblo villages during the first eight decades of colonization. Inter-Pueblo trade and other ties between Pueblo people were established, such as new trade relationships between Jemez and Tewa people which became stronger during the revolt era than they had been in the 300 years before 1680.

Reconquest Attempts by the Spanish to reconquer the Rio Grande region began as early as 1681 when the former governor Otermin attempted to take back Santa Fe. Others included Pedro Romeros de Posada in 1688 and Domingo Jironza Petris de Cruzate in 1689—Cruzate's reconquest was particularly bloody, his group destroyed Zia pueblo, killing hundreds of residents. But the uneasy coalition of independent pueblos wasn't perfect: without a common enemy, the confederation broke into two factions: the Keres, Jemez, Taos and Pecos against the Tewa, Tanos, and Picuris.

The Spanish capitalized on the discord to make several reconquest attempts, and in August of 1692, the new governor of New Mexico Diego de Vargas, initiated his own reconquest, and this time was able to reach Santa Fe and on August 14 proclaimed the "Bloodless Reconquest of New Mexico." A second abortive revolt occurred in 1696, but after it failed, the Spanish remained in power until 1821 when Mexico declared independence from Spain.

Ysleta del Sur Pueblo

The Tribal community known as "Tigua" established Ysleta del Sur in 1682. After leaving the homelands of Quarai Pueblo due to drought, the Tigua sought refuge at Isleta Pueblo and were later captured by the Spanish during the 1680 Pueblo Revolt and forced to walk south for over 400 miles. The Tigua settled and built the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo and, soon after, the acequia (canal) system that sustained a thriving agricultural-based community.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE PUEBLO REVOLT

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  • LanyrdSkynrd [comrade/them, any]
    ·
    3 months ago

    I can't stop thinking about this story I read on a hiking blog:

    spoiler CW: brief mention of suicide

    A feeling of peace washed over me as soon as my boots hit the dirt. At the base of Mt. Washington’s Jewell Trail, the October sun felt warm on my bare arms. But having grown up exploring New Hampshire’s White Mountains, I knew the conditions up high would be nothing like in the valley. In preparation for a late-season ascent of the 6,288-foot peak known as “home of the world’s worst weather,” I’d loaded my pack with extra layers and a pair of snow goggles.

    I’d been volunteering with the Pemigewasset Valley Search and Rescue Team for five years, and these mountains were both my playground and my office. I was heading out to train with a heavy pack, and to enjoy a few hours in my favorite area.

    Mt. Washington, with its unpredictable climate, has claimed over 150 lives over the past 150 years, making it one of the deadliest mountains in the country. I felt strong that day, but could see thick clouds shrouding the top half of the peak. At 5,000 feet, about 3 miles in, the wind began to pick up around me. I stopped to add a layer.

    Snow was blowing in my face as I continued upward, but I could follow this trail with my eyes closed. Above treeline, gusts raged and the temperature dropped. I told myself if the weather worsened further I’d turn back; returning to my car was more important than making the summit.

    Around 5,500 feet, I reached the junction with the Gulfside Trail. That’s when I noticed fresh footprints in the snow that sent shivers up my spine.

    It was clear that these tracks hadn’t been made by sturdy hiking boots, but by sneakers. Street shoes in this weather? I knew someone was in trouble.

    I turned to follow the prints. A few steps later I saw him—a man slumped on the ground with his back against a boulder. A layer of snow covered his clothing. I called out and was answered only by silence.

    Crouching beside the man, I looked at his thin jacket, T-shirt, and soaked pants. How could someone hike up here so unprepared? He was breathing, but his skin looked like porcelain and he wore a vacant expression. This was bad.

    I grabbed my extra layers and changed the man out of his wet clothes. Then, I tucked hand warmers inside his shirt and fed him from my thermos of hot chocolate. He sat passive and slack, hardly acknowledging my presence. It felt strange to treat a patient without knowing his name, so I decided to call him John.

    The wind was picking up, creating a swirl of blowing snow behind the boulder where we’d taken shelter. We needed to get moving. John had revived somewhat and could walk behind me on the hardpack. My tracks from the way up had disappeared, but I could just make out the depressions from my trekking poles, and I followed them like breadcrumbs.

    We descended slowly. The footing was slippery and laden with precarious boulders; I worried about John’s flat sneakers. I sang ‘60s hits to remind him that I was there and to keep my own morale up. Periodically I’d ask a question, but at most John would only grunt. I couldn’t understand why he’d ventured up high on a day like today, dressed as he was. Once, he sat down in the snow, appearing to give up. “We’re in this together,” I scolded him.

    After six hours of descending we reached the parking lot. It was dark, and later than I’d planned to be home. I warmed John’s clothes on my car’s heater, traded them for the layers I’d lent him and then, with hardly a word, he drove off. Bewildered, I stood in the parking lot, glancing back at the howling mountains. What had just happened?

    At home, I wrote an email to my SAR teammates recounting the rescue. We debriefed, examining our protocols and speculating about the events that could have led John into such distress, but there were still so many questions. Answers wouldn’t come for a few days when a letter arrived at the SAR headquarters.

    “I hope this reaches the right group of rescuers,” it read. “I was called John. On Sunday, October 17th I went up my favorite trail, Jewell, to end my life. Weather was to be bad.” I paused and started again. It took a few tries to get through the whole letter.

    “Next thing I knew this lady was talking to me,” he wrote. “I said to leave me and get going but she wouldn’t.” He had considered running off but thought I might follow and didn’t want to harm anyone else.

    “With all that has been going wrong in my life, I didn’t matter to me. But I did to Pam.” Inside he had tucked a small donation. “If she’s an example of your organization and professionalism, you must be the best group around . . . I have a new direction thanks to wonderful people like yourselves.” The letter was signed “John.”

    I never found out exactly who I helped that day. But I like to think he is out there somewhere, enjoying his second chance.