Society of the Dead: Quita Manaquita and Palo Praise in Cuba by Todd Ramón Ochoa (review)

This is an interesting book in a number of ways. Most importantly, it is truly a work of participant observation. As a work of ethnographic folklore, Ochoa’s book details the spiritual practices he studies from informants’ perspectives while reflectively challenging ways that his own worldview could potentially color the narrative. In this manner, he strives to avoid making value judgments regarding the practices of Palo. Instead, he writes about the cultural practice from the position of his subjects’ own beliefs. In a move that is liable to make serious scholars of Palo uncomfortable, his method was to ascertain insiders’ views by becoming an initiate, moving from the level of novice to the equivalent of journeyman practitioner. He did this with complete openness, as his teachers and subjects were fully aware that he was involved in a scholarly study. He created a fair and well-reasoned academic work despite this immersion. Because of his honesty with both informants and readers, I do not have a problem with his methods, but it is important to note that his account is at least partially from a practitioner’s perspective, rather than wholly the viewpoint of a disinterested observer.

Ochoa’s process actually addresses one of the vital questions of doing religious ethnography. How does the scholar get the best information about spiritual practices, especially ones like Palo, which are part and parcel of an underground religious movement? This issue is especially relevant to the practice of Palo in Cuba because the tradition is incorporated into a physical and spiritual black market within a tightly controlled country. Does one complete a wide-open—yet experientially distant—study that keeps the student neutral but results in limited information? Or, should one become fully involved in the beliefs and actions without revealing motives and then publish what could amount to an exposé? Ochoa chose to go in openly and follow the road where it led. Consequently, this openness could make his findings and processes subject to scholarly critique about his methods. Because he has been honest with all parties concerned, my belief is that Ochoa made an excellent choice in his fieldwork. His writing is detailed, but far from sensationalist, and his approach allowed for a very intense study of Palo.

As a result, this book is a personal narrative as well as a scholarly study. The introduction begins as a Hegelian discussion of his perspective, going into the ethnography of studying belief systems as well as how those preconceptions were turned upside down as he went further into the study. There are some moments where it seems as if Ochoa is protesting too much to defend his work, but this is understandable, given his approach. While not strictly folkloric, this is a solid scholarly document and meets high ethnographic standards.

The spiritual practice of Palo has been powerful in Cuba since the era of slavery. Like many belief systems that arose among the diverse peoples who were taken as slaves and dumped amid unfamiliar cultures in horrific circumstances, it is an amalgam. Palo mixes Kongo beliefs—incorporating Ogun, among other deities—Christianity, Santeria, and others. Rituals almost inevitably include both the human agency of the person doing the “work” and the activities the person enacts—through workings done using blood, drumming, aspiration, and purification rites that are often performed on animals.

Palo is a system that teaches “an aggressive and creative engagement with the dead” (p. 41). Its workings can be used to both help and harm. It does this using Prendas-Ngansa-Enquisos—essentially household altars—and the ambient and responsive dead. The former include the dead who are around us all the time, and the responsive incorporates those who play a role in the actual workings. While there is some necessary similarity to voodoo, Palo is distinct. The direct engagement is with the human dead rather than any other type...