This blog was written by gap fellow Maya Resnick.
November and December 2024
Huaraz, Peru
Turns out, mountain discrimination exists everywhere. I was raised in Asheville, in the Appalachian mountains. My summers were spent chasing swimming holes deep in the hollers and valleys of the beautiful blue ridges of the mountains. But these mountains don’t just keep crystal clear water and stunning vistas. They also house an entire community of Appalachians: people who have lived, worked, and breathed the culture of Appalachia for generations. In the South, there’s so much stigma surrounding Appalachian people. Outsiders judge their linguistics and dialect, the way they raise their children, their clothing and house styles, and their education system and general lifestyle.
Peruvian culture is no different. There are Quechua people, indigenous to the Andes Mountains of Peru. I worked with many Quechuan kids at my afterschool program in Huaraz. They speak Spanish with a distinct, recognizable accent; one that is heavily influenced by their native Quechua language. Through these kids and their families, I had the privilege of learning about their traditions and lifestyles. They dye the wool of llamas, alpacas, and sheep in bright colors, and weave it into clothing and blankets. Each community, over generations, passes down distinct patterns that include important symbols and myths that tell stories. These patterns can be used to identify and differentiate between communities. I saw mothers wrap their children on their backs with the blankets most commonly, and I often saw older women wearing exquisite dresses made out of the same material. Often, when kids’ grandmothers would come to pick them up they would wear the very traditional dress and hat known to Quechuan women.
One night, I was walking with a coworker home from a restaurant. It was very dark, and we passed a man physically pushing a woman, yelling slurred, incoherent Spanish. We slowed to give them space, and I turned to ask my coworker if he could understand what they were arguing about.
He replied, “No, but I can tell he’s poor. From the mountains.”
“How? It’s pitch dark. I can’t see anything.”
“I don’t need to see anything. I can hear it in his voice.”
This simple conversation made me realize just how universal the stigma surrounding mountain people is. My coworker, despite not knowing the man’s background, associated his accent with poverty and rural life. This bias is not unique to the Appalachian region; instead, it stretches beyond international borders. Some of the kids in my afterschool program would mock the accents of the Quechua children, just as some used to mock the heavy Appalachian accents back when I was in middle school. It was as if their accents, their voices, were a mark of inferiority, something to be ridiculed. Quechua people, like Appalachians, often live in extreme poverty, facing similar struggles. The prejudice against them seems to be entrenched, not just within one region but across cultures and continents.
What’s particularly fascinating to me is how this stigma has become commodified. In the same breath that some mock the accents or lifestyles, many Peruvians capitalize on Quechua culture for commercial gain. In the markets of Huaraz, I found souvenir shops that proudly display traditional Quechua fabrics. These items are symbols of deep cultural identity and are now marketed as “authentic” souvenirs for tourists. In addition to the textiles, vendors sell pottery, bowls, and plates with Quechua-inspired designs.
What’s even more interesting is that many of these same vendors also sell paintings and artwork portraying Quechua women and children. These images are often romanticized and stripped of their cultural context. These depictions, though beautiful, are sometimes reduced to mere curiosities for foreign (our) consumption. The irony is stark: the very culture that faces ridicule and discrimination is simultaneously packaged and sold as a commodity, its authenticity both admired and exploited. It’s a complex dynamic that mirrors how mountain communities, whether in the Peruvian Andes or the Appalachian Mountains, can be revered for their aesthetics or traditions while still being dehumanized or judged in other contexts.