Luis Guillermo Lumbreras passed away: here is the last interview he gave to El Comercio

Luis Guillermo Lumbreras’ library is half finished. In his cozy house in Magdalena, what stands out are several empty shelves: a good part of the 17,000 books in his collection have already been transferred to the National Museum of Peru (MUNA)an institution to which the archaeologist and anthropologist has decided to donate this very important collection.

While showing some of the titles that his family has chosen to keep, Lumbreras tells us that, by receiving us on the first floor of his home, he has made an exception to his daily life, since he rarely comes down from the second floor. The 86 years that he will turn this Friday, July 29, are already weighing on him, like is logic. What he has not lost at all is his lucidity, which he walks lightly, without canes.

A lucidity with which he has been able to complete his most recent publication, “Brief general history of Peru” (Criticism, 2022). Ambitious and risky work, which synthesizes 7,000 years of history in just under 300 pages, and manages to succeed. Profusion of data, ability to discern between the most relevant episodes of a nation that is always in turmoil, and a great narrative capacity that engages the reader from beginning to end.

“It is a book that I have written little by little, over the years –explains Lumbreras about the publication–. They are essays that I wrote for a group of students with whom I discussed different topics. And in the end, when they proposed to me to edit a book that covers the entire history of Peru, I began to put together all those texts”.

—The book begins with a reflection on how this fracture between “us” and “others” arises in Peru. Would you say that such ancient separation can still explain Peru today, so divided?

Those who invented racism were not the Spaniards who came here. They of course saw themselves clearly differentiated, Spaniards and Indians, a separation that they considered natural. Culturally, the difference in language, customs, religion, etc. was very strong. But when independence arrived, that division became classist from the moment in which “we” (the criollos, the children of Spaniards born in this land) began to expel the “others”, the indigenous people, from the condition national. Since 1823, with the first Constitution, the Creoles took power, and the entire repressive relationship later deepened with Leguía and civilismo, which was anti-indigenous. For me, that division between “us” and “others” is what still exists today. This is what we currently have in our policy. The “us” against the “others” who are represented by an “almost-us” that is Mr. Castillo. Because he is not an indigenous person as such.

—Having seen the complete panorama of Peru’s history, would you say that there are any constants? Any trait that defines us?

I think that in Peru we follow a path of strong adherence to what is not ours. To what is not us. Many people are still ashamed to consider themselves Peruvian. They would prefer to be anything else: Spanish, French, German, what do I know. We have a strong attachment to what is not ours, perhaps now a little less than before, but we owe that to football, one of the few things with which we can identify. What I would say is that we do not have open shame. To the point that, when we are outside the country, that is when we feel most Peruvian.

—Does that condition have a starting point?

Don’t know. It is a contradiction that we have. We are what we are not. We are what we want to be, but without really being it. I discovered this in primary school, when I studied in La Recoleta. On one occasion, the priest who gave us French classes – who was also a former boxer – once asked what languages ​​we spoke. And there was the son of the Peruvian ambassador in France, who spoke French, and another boy who spoke English. Everyone applauded them when they said what other languages ​​they spoke. But I was just Ayacucho. And when I said “I speak Quechua,” everyone started laughing. There I discovered what they meant when they called me serrucho (serrano). “Lucho, the saw of Ayacucho”, they told me. It was a shame to be a saw. And those things began to generate a very particular condition for me regarding social relationships.

—And in the book you regret that there is currently no capacity for serious reasoning to overcome these divisions.

I think it’s a way to hide our dramas. We are currently experiencing a dramatic stage in our history. It seems to me that it is one of the most complex and difficult stages we have had. The only thing that reminds me of this time, the most similar thing, is what happened when San Martín and Bolívar arrived. A period in which we did not feel like we were from here, and we wanted to be from anywhere but here. It starts a little before they actually arrive. And at the same time, a journalistic literature emerges, mainly in the graphic sector, which begins to make fun of everything. The country becomes something of a harsh joke, one that no one wanted to be a part of. That’s what happened, a terrible confusion. Confusion similar to what is happening now. We don’t know exactly what is happening, but it is happening. A very strange Peru is passing before our eyes, in which it seems normal to everyone that the State provides food. We are cracking poverty, cracking reality, and it seems normal to us. It seems natural to us that the mayor, the congressman or the president are the ones who stand up to this.

—And how should that be resolved?

There are 10 different ways out of this, but no one dares to enter through any of them. It scares us all. I myself am afraid. And not a fear regarding the distant future, but rather regarding the immediate future. What is going to happen? When is this going to end? It does not surprise us that, for example, there is no government right now. The Executive, the Legislative and the Judiciary are in an impressive tug-of-war to see which of them is the one who defines things in the country. There is no clarity regarding what a congressman or a minister has to do. That is scary. Because it means that order has been noticeably broken. And this cracking is not just the mirror of a crisis. It is something harder because it is not only happening in Peru. It is much more dramatic when we see that the same or something similar is happening in Colombia, in Ecuador, in France, in Spain. So it’s scary. It is as if one cycle of world history is ending and another is beginning. But what? Don’t know.

—Despite everything, do you consider yourself an optimist?

[Duda] What can I tell you… I’m not a pessimist. That I can assure you. I never was. But I am afraid of how things are going to be resolved. When I look at the ruling sector, for some reason I don’t see things in the most positive way. Furthermore, everyone believes they are the owners of the truth, and that is terrible because there are millions of different truths in this country. Last night I was talking to a colleague and he told me “Hey, what do you think is going to happen right away?”. And I told him that the worst that can happen is that nothing happens. Because what happens now is fatal. There is an exhaustion of the economic and political system. Peru is tired. But, I repeat, it’s not just here. So it means that we are ending with a system.

—In a few days he will be 86 years old. This Friday…

I think so [risas].

—And just as you have synthesized 7,000 years of Peruvian history in 300 pages, could you synthesize your life in a few minutes? For example, would you say you have been happy?

Look, happiness is a story. A long story. I could tell you that I have not been unhappy, but I have been permanently critical. I have been a permanent discontent. And not those who complain, but those who put their spoon where they can. To me, Peru seems like a wonderful country, because of its people… who are eternally ungrateful for everything. We are all ungrateful with our lives, even those who had a lot of money and many living facilities. That seems fine to me. Because that is the way we should walk. We walk screaming, raising our arms. One of the first divinities that was born here in Peru was a guy with a very ugly face, with very big teeth, who had two rods in his hands. His name is Wiracocha. And that’s a bit of what we are: that guy who walks with his face forward and with two things clutched in his hands, ready to throw them at someone if necessary.. I have stated this since he was very young. Very Peruvian, always complaining about everything. But at the same time happy with what is not done. And there we go. It’s our idiosyncrasy, it’s what we are.