The traditional understanding of how the city of Matanzas got its name is often attributed to a historical event in which Spaniards were supposedly massacred by indigenous people while attempting to cross the Bay of Matanzas. This account is widely accepted, but the document "Matanza de Yucayo: Historia y Mito" by Johanset Orihuela León and Ricardo A. Viera Muñoz (2020) offers a critical analysis of this narrative and presents alternative explanations, suggesting that the name "Matanzas" may not be linked to a simple act of violence, as traditionally thought.
The term "Matanzas," which literally translates to "massacres" in Spanish, has long been believed to have originated from an event in which indigenous people drowned Spanish survivors of a shipwreck by overturning their canoes as they crossed the bay, with the remaining survivors later being hanged. This story is derived from a combination of historical accounts, primarily from Bartolomé de las Casas and Bernal Díaz del Castillo, both of whom chronicled, augmented, and elaborated on these events decades after they supposedly occurred, leading to questions about the reliability of their reports. These accounts, written from different perspectives, have propagated the idea that the city's name commemorates this violent incident.
However, Orihuela and Viera argue that the name "Matanzas" might not originate from such a massacre. Their work provides a comprehensive reexamination of Diego Velázquez’s Carta de Relación, an original primary source from 1514, which paints a different picture of these events. The Velázquez document describes the rescue of three Spanish survivors (García Mexía and two women) held by indigenous leaders, and notably the mention of an unrelated massacre is in another part of the island, and known in Cuban history as the "massacre of Caonao", which took place in central Cuba (not northwestern) as part of the conquest of the island after 1511. This critical mix up raises doubts about the veracity of the traditional narrative.
Velázquez’s letter details how the Spanish survivors were cared for by local indigenous leaders and were not subjected to the acts of violence that other historical accounts suggest. The focus of Velázquez’s narrative is on the peaceful recovery of these survivors rather than an indigenous rebellion. Furthermore, the rescue of these survivors, who were shipwrecked near the present-day region of Pinar del Rio, suggests a more complex relationship between the indigenous people and the Spaniards than one based on outright violence and hostility. This raises important questions about whether the massacre purported in Matanzas ever occurred or whether the story was later embellished by chroniclers like Las Casas and Díaz del Castillo, whose works were written long after the events transpired.
Another key point raised by Orihuela and Viera is the etymology of the word "Matanzas." In historical documents and maps, Matanzas is sometimes referenced not as a place of mass killing but rather as a location associated with "mataderos" or slaughterhouses, referring to the processing of animals. This indicates that the name might have been linked to economic activities such as cattle slaughter rather than a human massacre. The authors further explore how this interpretation of the name aligns with the early colonial economy in Cuba, which was heavily based on livestock, and who had personal interests in embellishing their chronicles.
Additionally, the historical toponymy of the area surrounding Matanzas, including references to "Yucayo" and "Guanima," complicates the narrative. These names, associated with indigenous villages, have been inaccurately linked to the city of Matanzas over time. The authors suggest that historical conflation between different indigenous sites and events contributed to the creation of a myth that merged various historical occurrences into a single, oversimplified story of violence. This myth-making was reinforced by 19th-century historians and has persisted into the present day.
The author's careful examination of historical and archaeological evidence challenges the accepted story of Matanzas’ naming. Their work points out inconsistencies in the accounts of Las Casas and Díaz del Castillo, and other chronicles, whose later writings likely reflected the biases of their time, especially in portraying the indigenous populations as either noble victims or brutal savages in need of evangelization. By contrast, Velázquez's original letter offers a more balanced and less sensationalized view of indigenous-Spanish interactions, which undermines the idea that the city's name is solely derived from a massacre.
In conclusion, the name Matanzas may not, as commonly believed, stem from a singular violent event involving the deaths of Spaniards at the hands of indigenous people. Instead, the name might be tied to the region’s role in colonial livestock processing or other economic activities, and the perpetuation of a myth over nautical charts. The conflation of different historical events and places over time, compounded by unreliable historical sources, likely played a significant role in the creation of the massacre myth. This revisionist perspective urges readers to reconsider the origins of Matanzas’ name and reflects a broader need to critically evaluate the sources that shape our understanding of history.
But why should we care? Why believe the primary sources of Velazquez?
It’s a valid and important question to ask whether Diego Velázquez, like any historical figure, might also have been biased in his recounting of events. Velázquez's Carta de Relación was, after all, a report to the Spanish crown, designed to showcase his success in pacifying and colonizing Cuba, which inherently could reflect his interests. Here’s why Orihuela's and Viera's interpretation, while based on Velázquez’s account, offers a strong argument:
Velázquez as a Primary Source: Velázquez’s Carta de Relación is a primary source, written in 1514, relatively soon after the events. This makes it chronologically closer to the actual occurrences compared to the accounts of Bartolomé de las Casas and Bernal Díaz del Castillo, who wrote much later, many decades after the fact, and whose faulty memory -as they themselves say in their chronicles- may have influenced their storytelling. The proximity of Velázquez's letter to the events gives it more immediate historical value, even if potentially biased.
Contradictions in Other Accounts: Las Casas and Díaz del Castillo’s versions (among other chronicles of the time), though popularized, contain notable contradictions and were written much later, influenced by their own agendas. Las Casas, for example, was deeply motivated by moral concerns about the treatment of indigenous peoples, which may have led to his emphasis on violence and mistreatment, sometimes to the point of exaggeration. Therefore, contrasting these later sources against a closer primary source like Velázquez’s account helps question their reliability.
Historical Revisionism: Orihuela and Viera’s work embodies the practice of historical revisionism—reexamining accepted narratives based on critical analysis of existing evidence. They explore not only Velázquez’s account but also archaeological and toponymic data from other original sources, bringing a multidisciplinary approach that challenges traditional legends such as the "matanza" and the origins of Matanzas' name. This revisionist approach is crucial in the field of history, as new interpretations often arise from reanalyzing sources long taken at face value.
Velázquez’s Motivation: While Velázquez certainly had reasons to present himself in a positive light, his Carta de Relación aimed to demonstrate effective governance and pacification, rather than an outright denial of conflict. If the massacre had been as significant as described by later chroniclers, it is plausible that he would have had to mention it (in fact mentions that of Caonao), even if to frame it in his favor. His omission of such a violent event suggests it may not have occurred as described by Las Casas and others.
Additional Evidence: Orihuela and Viera do not rely solely on Velázquez’s account. They supplement it with archaeological evidence and documentation analysis of toponyms like "Guanima" and "Yucayo," which reveal inconsistencies in the locations and events described by other chroniclers. Their argument is not just about trusting Velázquez but also about showing that other versions of the story do not align with available evidence.
In summary, while Velázquez may have been biased, Orihuela and Viera offer a thorough, evidence-based argument that scrutinizes multiple sources. By reassessing the historical context and cross-referencing documents, they present a reasoned case that challenges the traditional legend. As always, historical interpretation requires a critical eye, and Orihuela and Viera's work invites readers to question long-held beliefs based on careful analysis rather than myth.
Source:
Orihuela, J & R. A. Viera (2020). Matanzas de Yucayo: Historia y Mito. Aspha Ediciones, Buenos Aires.
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