(Un)conventional monuments and transformist identities in the global south: the case of the ice cream and the tuna monuments in Ecuador

ABSTRACT

This article explores the construction of local monuments in Ecuador and their role in transforming space and identity narratives in order to enter into the global economy. My analysis of two structures, The Ice Cream and The Tuna, which I conceptualise as (un)conventional monuments, focuses on three aspects: the planning and construction process, their relation to the space in which they are situated, and their role in processes of identity narrative construction. As a result of a multidisciplinary analysis that includes field observation, in-depth interviews, and the analysis of documents pertaining to the design and implementation of the structures, I argue that the monuments’ transformation of urban space is not so much a reflection of the local community features as of the authorities’ desire for legitimacy in the eyes of foreign and local visitors in an economic globalised context.

KEYWORDS:

• Monuments
• globalisation
• space
• urban imaginaries
• identity
• identities
• Global South
• unconventional monuments
• ice cream
• tuna

Introduction

Geographers and cultural analysts have long studied memorials and monuments, as well as the intersection of collective memory, identity, and urban space (Johnson 2002, 2007; Foote and Azaryahu 2007; Rose-Redwood, Alderman, and Azaryahu 2008; Dwyer and Alderman 2008; Sheehan and Speights-Binet 2019; Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020). In those studies, monuments are regarded not solely as objects of aesthetic value, but rather as cultural artifacts, with underlying symbolic dimension and significance in shaping identity. Furthermore, the spatial aspect of public monuments has also emerged as a noteworthy domain of interest since the spaces themselves assume the role of both physical location and sight-line of interpretation (Johnson 2002; Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020). Much attention has been given to the geographies of public memory and commemoration, with a focus on representations of major historical events, mostly in Europe and United Sates (Foote and Azaryahu 2007).

The main objectives of this paper are twofold: (a) to describe the planning process of monuments in two Ecuadorian cities from the perspective of the authorities in charge, and (b) to analyze the relation of these monuments with spatial transformations and with the construction of identity narratives. Both objectives aim to comprehend from a local standpoint how these dimensions are interconnected and to enrich the geographical and cultural analysis of monuments constructed in the Global South.

My analysis is principally qualitative and is based on the cultural analysis approach (Bal 2016). The cultural analysis approach is defined as an interdisciplinary practice that, focusing on a detailed analysis of cultural objects, artifacts, rituals, and events, possesses five main characteristics: it is interdisciplinary, theoretically grounded, has social relevance, focuses on the object through close reading, and puts the emphasis on the present (Bal 2016).

Specifically, the study examines the construction of two monuments – The Ice Cream and The Tuna – as well as the reasons why these monuments were produced and their significance in urban space. Both monuments are located in Ecuador, each one in a different city: Salcedo and Manta. As I will describe in detail throughout the paper, these structures possess characteristics that make them different from “traditional” monuments, and for that reason I define them as “(un)conventional” monuments.

The methodology of analysis is based on literature review, examination of newspapers and websites, field observation and semi-structured interviews of authorities and intellectual authors in charge of the monuments’ construction. The fieldwork comprised visits to the monuments during the period 2016–2022 to observe in-situ their placement, and interviews of eleven authorities including: a former mayor, a vice-mayor, architects, urbanists, municipal councillors and municipal directors who were in charge of and/or participated in the origin, construction, and management of the monuments.

The monuments analysed are highly context-dependent, therefore, this study does not intend to generate final and generalisable conclusions, but to promote discussion among urbanists and professionals in the cultural area and to understand in which extent spatial transformations in the Global South are crossed by authorities’ urban imaginaries.

It is important to highlight the idea that the focus of this study is not the common citizens’ perspective or the people’s acceptance of these monuments. Undoubtedly, the role of monuments depends on their impacts on the public’s perception of space (Cudny and Appelblad 2019) and the people’s viewpoint is crucial in discerning how individuals engage with these monuments. However, the people’s response to monuments does not constitute the primary objective of this analysis. This study works to reinforce the argument of the “arena” metaphor, which focuses on the capacity of memorials and monuments “to serve as sites for social groups to debate actively the meaning of history and compete for control over the commemorative process as part of larger struggles over identity” (Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020, 39), and to recognize that monuments are designed not only to facilitate remembering and forgetting of the past but to create a variety of future visions and new identity anchors.

As I will explain throughout the text, the Ecuadorian monuments selected uncover different intentions and imaginaries of the authorities in relation to local identity, specifically in terms of whether such an identity should be linked to the city’s past (by referencing history or folklore), present (by referencing current-day industries), or future (by expecting that monuments will help to expand markets and to attract tourists). These authorities can be called “memorial entrepreneurs”, a term used in memory studies to designate those individuals who influence the meaning of social issues and debates about the past (Rhodes 2021).

The first part of the text is an approach to the conceptual distinction between traditional and non-traditional monuments. The second section explores the relationship between monuments and identity construction. The third section defines what I call “(un)conventional” monuments. The following sections describe and analyse in detail the Ice Cream and the Tuna monuments. The paper concludes with some reflections and conclusions about the significance of these monuments located in the Global South and the blending between economic icons, spatial transformations, and identity narratives, which can be useful for other scholars to compare monuments and commemorative places in other regions of the world.

Fixing truths or multiple meanings? The distinction between traditional and non-traditional monuments

Traditionally, monuments have been defined primarily as structures that aim to prevent the past from being lost. The Austrian art historian Alois Riegl notes that: “A monument in its oldest and most original sense is a human creation, erected for the specific purpose of keeping single human deeds or events (or a combination thereof) alive in the minds of future generations”(Riegl 1982, 21). Various authors (Riegl 1982; Hui 2009; Porter 2011; Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020) emphasise the importance of permanence and temporal continuity, the way in which monuments aim to keep the past alive in the present and to preserve it and take it into the future.

According to Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley (2012, 2018), more concretely, traditional monuments are structures that glorify an event or a person, or celebrate an ideology. Typically, argue the authors, they are constructed from solid materials, light tones, and elevated and vertical figures. They are often placed in highly visible places and set apart from everyday space. They demand solemnity and deference from the spectator, imparting clear and “unified messages through figural representation, explicit textual or graphic reference to people, places or events, allegorical figures, and archetypal symbolic forms” (961). For Young (1992), traditional monuments incorporate dimensions of time and identity: they are mainly representations of past time, supported by the State to reinforce an established identity through the glorification of national values and national memory (Young 1992). Brandon Vickerd (2021) accurately synthetises these perspectives arguing that “Historically, the role of the monument has been to perpetuate a monoculture, where the repetition of a story through monumental depiction fixes it as a truth” (Vickerd 2021, 95).

Regarding non-traditional monuments, Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley (2012, 2018) Young (1992) and Krzyzanowska (2015) offer some definitions. Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley (2012) referred to non-traditional monuments, anti-monuments, and dialogic monuments. Anti-monuments are defined as works that recognise “darker” events such as the Holocaust or a war that in other times might have been glorified. In terms of form, the figures are mainly abstract and made with less solid materials, with dark tones emphasising the horizontal and sunken forms; “rather than being obvious destination sites, some anti-monuments are to be encountered by chance during everyday travels through the city” (Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley 2012, 960). Anti-monuments invite close and bodily interaction, sensory engagement, and personal contemplation. In terms of meaning, Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley (2012, 2018) argued that “[t]hey remain ambiguous and resist any unified interpretation; their meanings are often dependent on visitors’ historical knowledge, or supplementary information made available through signs, brochures, guides or interpretive centers” (961).

From a similar perspective, after analysing Holocaust monuments, Young (1992) proposed the definition of counter-monuments. For the author, counter-monuments are understood as “memorial spaces conceived to challenge the very premise of their being” (1992, 271); they are placed to provoke the passers-by and demand interaction. Following Young ideas, Isto (2020) argues that counter-monuments aim to invert the signs associated with traditional monuments, having characteristics like ephemerality and horizontality. Natalia Krzyzanowska (2015), describes counter-monuments, following Umberto Eco’s definition, as “open works”, in which different potential meanings coexist, leaving it up to the public to decide. Although all kind of monuments are open to different interpretations, what distinguishes anti-monuments from traditional ones is that they are intentionally designed with the purpose of opening up a constructivist process, where the public have the possibility of interaction and creation of multiple meanings when observing the structure. Counter-monuments contest the use of monuments as a means to reinforce power; Krzyzanowska argues that “[c]ounter-monuments hence re-enact discourses of memory that were rejected, omitted or outright silenced by the (urban/local/national) collectivity and make virtue of what would otherwise be deemed difficult or inconvenient past” (2015, 7).

The previous definitions of the counter- and anti-monumental have in common the idea of going against the traditional monument’s presentation of a uniform, glorifying, and often State-supported memory of past events that serves to reaffirm a certain ideology. Instead, intentionally, they open up the possibility for monumental structures to provoke and communicate multiple meanings.

With regard to the monuments analysed in this article, I will argue that they amalgamate elements of both traditional and non-traditional monuments, exhibiting distinct characteristics that differentiate them from the previous examples. The scholarly contribution, therefore, lies in presenting an alternative perspective on monuments grounded in the Global South. As I will explain in the following section, historical narratives, local memories, and identities are embodied by monuments. The monuments dedicated to the ice cream and to the tuna, which I call (un)conventional monuments, express a particular political discourse about identity through their material form and placement and this discourse locates the meaning and foundations of local identity in the present and future rather than the past.

Monuments and the processes of identity construction

Monuments are material objects that not only reflect ideas about the past, but are also mediators of public opinion about the past and sociopolitical conflicts in the present (Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020). They contribute to a “sense of place”, since with their presence, they provide emotive attachments to a particular location and environment (Foote and Azaryahu 2009). This attachment becomes important to identity formation and, as Foote and Azaryahu (2009) affirm “Place-specific shared experiences and common notions about the past and the future of place are important to a sense of community” (p.97). Osborne also pointed out the importance of monuments as part of a “geography of identity”, understood as the relation between the “representation of national narratives in symbolic places, monumental forms and performance” (Osborne 2001, 40) and the construction of collective memory and social cohesion. In this understanding, monuments reinforce a sense of mutual historical experience, collective memory, and belonging. This perspective on monuments, in the same way as Marschall’s (2010), alludes to the capacity of monuments to generate new meanings and relations between people and places.

The relation between monuments, temporality, and the intentional creation of a collective identity is further analysed by Abousnnouga and Machin (2013). According to these authors, monuments are erected “to those our societies wish us to mark as somehow outstanding” (Abousnnouga and Machin 2013, as quoted in Krzyzanowska 2015, 4). For the authors, the relevance of monuments is determined by their proximity to the ideas and values that embody who we are at best, referring to the past as when we were best; what we should ourselves strive towards, meaning who we want to be in the future; and whom we most owe, which refers to what/whom we should remember from the past (Abousnnouga and Machin 2013, as quoted in Krzyzanowska 2015, 4). Unlike Marschall's and Osborne’s approaches, this suggests that monuments (and the performances around them) aim mainly to promote a particular version of identity rooted in the past instead of creating new versions of identity grounded in the present and future. Another aspect that appears in Abousnnouga and Machin’s statement is that monuments are erected through official processes, implying that (mainly) authorities make choices about what ideas and values are represented. Krzyzanowska (2015) goes further and makes a link between counter-monuments and identity, arguing that counter-monuments allow for the identity-forging element to become more open, since they not only commemorate or remind of people/places past (7). More recently, Burgos and Mora (2022) create a new typology for heritage and monuments adding “social value” as one of their functions, and it is described as “Nurturing the development, identity, or sense of belonging of a community with contemporary meanings” (Burgos and Mora 2022, 10).

The relation between monuments and identity construction is not exempt from conflicts and tensions. One of the conceptual lenses that geographers have used to analyse memorial landscapes and monuments is the “arena metaphor”, which “focuses on the capacity of memorials to serve as sites for social groups to actively debate the meaning of history and compete for control over the commemorative process as part of larger struggles over identity” (Dwyer and Alderman 2008, 1). To see monuments as cultural arenas implies giving attention to the political struggles around the representation of the past through the landscape and to examine the politicized nature of public commemoration (Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020). As Alderman, Brasher and Dwyer explain “The arena metaphor, with its emphasis on contest and spectacle, prompts us to consider more closely how people present or display their connections with the past to the larger public.” (Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020).

The construction of monuments relates to power as it opens the door to the possibility of an intentional production of identity by the authorities in charge. As Otero-Pailos and Windrich explained:

[M]onuments are signs of the power to make a mark in public space and a way of making public and foregrounding a particular construction of history. They do not stand for this history as such, but rather for complicated negotiations and power struggles in public space, which is always contested. (Otero-Pailos and Widrich 2018, iv)

I will come back to the tensions between the kind of identities and temporalities incarnated in monuments when analysing the discourses used by the authorities in relation to the construction of The Ice Cream and The Tuna.

(Un)conventional monuments

In the past, monuments were used in Ecuador in traditional ways that mobilised them to support a national identity rooted in history. Seeking to consolidate the country as a modern nation-state, during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the Ecuadorian State, the Catholic Church, and the Army put specific efforts into the construction of meanings related to national identity (Andrade and Bravo 2011). In this period, monuments were mainly iconographic elements with a patriotic spirit, representing, above all, national heroes and the forces of order.

In the last decades, a completely different kind of monument, which does not follow the pattern of the traditional one, has appeared mainly in smaller Ecuadorian cities. Unlike traditional monuments like busts of national heroes or representations of battles, these monuments, using striking colours and showing aesthetics mostly defined as “folkloric” or “popular”, represent objects that have a special significance to the city where they are placed, and are located in strategic places such as main plazas or city main entrances. These monuments take the form of quotidian objects, such as a pitcher, an airplane, or a hat, and of animals or ordinary citizens. Everyday objects or animals undergo a process of transformation, emerging as novel entities: their initial dimensions are magnified to colossal proportions, rendering them as giant figures typically constructed from robust materials such as cement, and embellished with vibrant colours (Figure 1).

Figure 1. Traditional Pitcher (2021). Cotundo, Ecuador. Photo by the author.

Giant construction of a pitcher made of cement in the middle of a public square.

The cases I analyse in this article belong to this group of monuments, which fit neither the traditional nor the non-traditional definition. For this reason, I have decided to call them “(un)conventional monuments”. In contrast to Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley’s definition (2012, 2018) of anti-monuments, these Ecuadorian monuments do not refer to dark events such as a war or a traumatic incident. In terms of form, they are very concrete rather than abstract, while the tone of colours used is far from being obscure. These monuments are also not secretly but openly placed. However, akin to anti-monuments, what these monuments have in common is that, in terms of visitor experience, they elicit a close engagement from the public, and regarding their meaning, they do not impose one single interpretation.

When following Krzyzanowska’s (2015) definition of counter-monuments, it is also possible to find some similarities: the Ecuadorian monuments are a sort of “open works” that potentially have different meanings, resulting in a more open identification of the public with them and, consequently, a more open process of identity construction.

Another fundamental aspect for understanding (un)conventional monuments is to recognise them as part of a particular location. The space in which the monuments are located inscribes the represented images with meaning (Johnson 1995; Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020). Historical sites tell stories through space and visitors become a kind of readers of the text expressed by the marker arrangement, the signs of the place and other discourses (Ryan, Foote, and Azaryahu 2016); this way historical stories are arranged and organized to be told in space are named by Azaryahu and Foote “spatial narratives” (Azaryahu and Foote 2008; Ryan, Foote, and Azaryahu 2016). This perspective pays attention to how text, media, and discourse have spatial characteristics that influence their meaning (Smith and Foote 2017), and how it affects the way public groups engage and interpret the commemorated past (Alderman, Brasher, and Dwyer 2020).

In the next sections, I show that the monuments selected play a commercial role. Conceived and placed by the authorities to impact local identity construction and to fulfil a commercial intention by functioning as a sort of city branding instrument, they occupy an ambiguous position.

The use, in city branding, of an aggrandized, prominent local product to attract visitors and as a business card is not new and can be seen in other places, such as, for example, in Clanton, Alabama (US), where a water tower is combined with a big peach, the area’s major agricultural product, or in Detroit, where a giant tire decorates the entryway to the city formerly known as the automobile capital of the world. There is even another monument to ice cream in Tocumbo, Michoacán, in México, which is also known for the production of this sweet. Other cities have taken prominent people as symbols representing their identity; for example, the city of Amsterdam has been promoted as the city of Rembrandt and Barcelona as the city of Gaudi.

In a time where cultural landscapes are more frequently being homogenized and standardized, what I call (un)conventional monuments offer an “in-between” perspective, combining local traditions, embedded in the local population history, with a sense of commodification of these same experiences. They create a tension between the monument as a marker of cultural identity and its commercial/branding function.

With the intention of exploring the role the chosen monuments play in the Ecuadorian context and the purpose with which they are imagined and conceived by their sponsors in more detail, in the next section I analyse The Ice Cream, its location, and its relation to the national and globalised context.

The ice cream

The Ice Cream monument (Figure 2) is a seven-meter-high structure located at the entrance to the city of San Miguel de Salcedo (commonly known as Salcedo), which is a small central Ecuadorian city of around 65,000 inhabitants (Salcedo Gobierno Autónomo Descentralizado 2021). The Ice Cream is made of reinforced concrete and covered with ceramic tiles. The five colours of the ceramic tiles represent the typical flavours of the local-made ice cream. Following the distinctions between traditional and non-traditional monuments, the Ice Cream can be defined as (un)conventional, since it has characteristics of both categories. It is traditional in terms of form and site: it is a singular presence, vertical and constructed with solid materials. It is also very explicit in what it reflects; there is no doubt that it represents ice cream and the history of its production in Salcedo. It is placed at the entrance to the city and highly visible, but also partially hidden by the monument of Archangel San Miguel (Figure 3), which occupies the centre of the roundabout. The image of Archangel San Miguel assumes a significant role in the complex local process of identity formation since it incarnates the Catholic faith and its fundamental values. Later on, I will discuss in detail the monument of San Miguel, and its connection with the Ice Cream.

Figure 2. Monument of the Ice Cream in Salcedo (November 2021). Photo by the author.

Seven-meter-high structure representing an ice cream, installed in a green area surrounded by a fence.

Figure 3. Entrance to Salcedo- The Prince (November, 2021). Photo by the author.

Monument of the archangel San Miguel, which is represented with a crown in his head and holding a spear with his right hand and a shield with his left hand. The archangel is fighting a dragon which is beneath his feet.

The Ice Cream is also unconventional in terms of subject and meaning: it does not glorify an event or a person, celebrate an ideology, or represent past time and national values. Due to its size and placement, it invites to the close, bodily interaction characteristic of non-traditional monuments (Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley 2012, 2018). In short, the Ice Cream transforms the urban landscape by exhibiting a non-traditional aesthetic.

The relation between the city of Salcedo and the production of ice cream started in the 1950s, when the local Franciscan nuns decided to prepare home-made ice cream due to the difficult economic situation their order was experiencing. Later on, some families continued the elaboration on and commercialisation of the product (Asociación de Productores 2016). The following years, the number of shops and families selling ice cream increased, as did the fame of Salcedo, which started to be called the city of ice cream. When walking in the city, the image of The Ice Cream permeates the public space, and it is reproduced in different sizes and with different materials (Figure 4).

Figure 4. Salcedo Central Park (January 2016). Photo by the author.

A two-meter-high sculpture made of paper, representing an ice cream. The sculpture is installed in the middle of a green area.

The construction of the monument was initiated in 1998 by the municipality of Salcedo, specifically by then-Mayor Guillermo Pacheco. With regard to the reasons for installing an aggradised ice cream, Mr. Pacheco noted:

I did it – the monument – because Salcedo is the land of ice cream so (…) [it] was made to make the city more attractive so people can identify Salcedo as the land of ice cream. That was the objective, the aspiration, [to make it] for all the people that work in this industry. (G. Pacheco, personal communication, 5 January 2016)

Pacheco’s testimony reflects two main intentions behind the construction of the monument: on the one hand, the monument was meant to transform the urban space to attract tourists, while, on the other, it was supposed to honor those working in the ice cream industry. The architect who was in charge of the monument’s design, refers to similar motivations: according to him, ice cream production is a tradition in Salcedo, so the municipality wanted to take advantage of this tradition to give an identity to the city by representing the daily life of a Salcedense (MS5, personal communication, 5 January 2016).

The interesting fact is that the ice cream industry is not the biggest one in Salcedo. According to the Central Bank of Ecuador (2020), the most relevant economic sector in Salcedo is agriculture and livestock, representing 39% of the GVA (Gross Value Added). This sector is followed by manufacturing (14%), construction (12%) and commerce (8%) (Banco Central 2020). Additionally, 78.5% of the canton population lives in rural areas (Senplades 2014), whereas ice cream is a product produced and sold mainly in the urban area.

Following Marschall (2010) and Osborne (2001), then, the authorities in charge of the monument were well-aware of the public structure’s potential to reinforce and/ or construct a new collective identity. As was previously mentioned, the production of ice cream was already a tradition in Salcedo and what the Mayor did is to take a step forward and utilise this symbol with the intention of reinforcing the connection between Salcedo and ice cream production. The purpose behind this was to give the citizens a sense of attachment to the ice cream production, and on the other hand, to give the city an identity -partially real and partially fictional- that could help Salcedo enter in the global economy.

The construction of the monument was a part of a bigger plan of becoming the “city of ice cream” to attract tourists and to be competitive in the national and global market. The promotion of the image of the ice cream had a strategic purpose: even if the ice cream industry was not the most important when comparing with other economic sectors, it served as an anchor to construct a marketable and saleable image of the city.

The implementation of the monument of the Ice Cream prompted diverse interpretations and triggered discussions among the authorities of that time. The main point of the debate was related to the perceived disconnection between The Ice Cream and Salcedo’s cultural past. For example, an historian and former General Secretary of the municipality, when referring to The Ice Cream, asked: “How is it possible that we simplify all our traditions and our historical and cultural richness by erecting the figure of an ice cream?” (MS6, personal communication, 5 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish). As an example, the General Secretary refers to the festivity of Inti Raymi, in honor of the sun god, which was forbidden (as were any other indigenous manifestations) during colonial times. Even though this festivity takes place in all Ecuadorian (and Latin American) regions with an indigenous population, in Salcedo it has been adopted as an important symbol of the canton, as a step to recuperate ancient traditions and, according to the Secretary, as “a feature of our identity” (Personal communication, 5 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish). From the Secretary’s words, it is possible to infer that the Ice Cream monument was seen to put the identity of the city in question (simplifying it) mainly because the activity it aggrandizes contrasts with other activities considered more traditional, principally those undertaken by indigenous people before the conquest. From this perspective, the monument is perceived in a more traditional sense, as a structure that should preserve established identities from the past and represent whom we most owe (Abousnnouga and Machin, 2013), in this case specifically pre-Columbian traditions and heroes.

Another former General Secretary and councillor of the municipality expressed a similar viewpoint. For him, too, the discussion and polemic around the Ice Cream monument was originated because “other cultural values exist”. He did not specify what these “other values” were, but indicated that it is necessary to construct monuments more relevant and consistent with Salcedo history. According to him, important people were responsible for Salcedo’s development as a city and would deserve a monument, for example “an obelisk similar to the one in Buenos Aires, Argentina” (MS3 Personal communication, 5 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish), which was constructed in 1936 to commemorate the fourth centenary of the foundation of the city. He argued that an obelisk commemorating the people who founded the canton or important events in its history would be more suitable. For him, The Ice Cream monument “is an attempt against history, against everything! […] we are falling into folklorism” (MS3 Personal communication, 5 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish). A specific relation between monuments and identity is made in this testimony: a clear opposition between history and folklore is affirmed, with folklore acquiring a negative connotation. For him, a folkloric tradition should not be represented by a monument, which should instead commemorate historical events.

In the discussions about the appropriateness of the Ice Cream monument as a marker of the city’s identity, the vision of commercial city branding came up against arguments supporting the commemoration of a past defined either historically or folklorically. At one side, the promotors of The Ice Cream (mainly the Mayor) consciously intended to transform the identity of the canton reinforcing a specific feature and tradition of the region. Implicitly, they assumed an idea of a transformist/movable identity, which could be utilised to confront present and future economic challenges. On the other side, the critiques see a monument as conveying a fixed identity based mainly on the past rather than on the present and future. As Vickerd (2019) found in a different context, it is possible to say that the positions regarding the pertinence of The Ice Cream as identity marker “fail to acknowledge that history is constantly rewritten, edited, and recontextualized. Shared histories are a means of constructing identity, a process that is in constant flux: facts are forgotten, edited, omitted and (re)discovered in an ongoing process of constructing history” (85). Both sides of the debate see a monument as conveying a singular identity, either based on the present and future or based on the past.

Nevertheless, when analysing the spatial context of The Ice Cream and its relation to the other monuments occupying the space in which it is situated, the relation between the monument and identity construction trespasses the binary conception of identity (past vs. commercial future). At the entrance of Salcedo, The Ice Cream shares the space with the Prince San Miguel and with another monument, a bust of General Gonzalo Jiménez Rivas, a figure barely known in the region (Figure 5). The bust of the General fits into the traditional view of the monument as commemorating someone considered important and expresses local identity by referring to the influence of the military on the city.

Figure 5. The Ice Cream, The Prince and The General (2016). Photos by the author.

The Ice Cream monument, the Prince monument and the General monument together.

About the Prince San Miguel, his incorporation in the canton’s narrative is very different. Maybe as a response to the critiques against The Ice Cream, in 2004, the same Mayor decided to construct a roundabout next to The Ice Cream and to install in the middle of it a large statue of the archangel San Miguel (The Prince, as he is called and known in Salcedo) “as the first image of Salcedo, its identity” (MS5, personal communication, 5 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish). Beside this statue, The Ice Cream looks small (Figure 3). As one of the main directors of the municipality during the period 2014–2017 mentioned: “The prince … that one is 100% Salcedo … the prince San Miguel is our patron, that is our religious faith … ” (MS7, Personal communication, 5 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish).

According to former Mayor Guillermo Pacheco, responsible for installing The Prince, when the monument was placed, the act was more “emotional” and more “striking” than the one of The Ice Cream. He mentioned that people were happier because in their imagination, The Prince would take care of them and would multiply the Catholic faith (Personal communication, 5 January 2016).

The archangel San Miguel is one of the emblematic symbols of Salcedo: according to local legend, in the seventeenth century a figure of San Miguel was being carried to the capital, Quito. During the trip, the people in charge of the effigy stopped on the land where Salcedo is now located. The next day, without any explanation, the figure of the archangel became so heavy that was impossible to continue the journey. Ever since, the canton was named San Miguel de Salcedo in his honour. During the main festival of the canton, called San Miguel, the figure of the archangel is paraded around the streets of the city in a procession. It is not surprising, then, that the interviewed officials of the period 2014–2017 perceived the monument of The Prince as a reaffirmation of a local identity embedded in the Catholic faith and its values, and that the placement of The Ice Cream was so controversial, since it opposes a more traditional view of monuments as commemorating historical/religious events or local/national heroes.

Twenty-four years have passed since The Ice Cream was built. The new generation of authorities (period 2019–2023) also raise their critiques against the monument while reaffirming their connection with San Miguel. One of the main directors of the municipality expressed: “Salcedo has a history since the prince San Miguel de Salcedo. So that’s the history we should take. […] I think we shouldn’t have constructed [a monument] only for the Ice Cream, but one for the work and value of our people, culture, something else, to do not be seen only because of the ice cream” (MS2, personal communication, 13 April 2022, author’s translation from Spanish). When asked about the meaning of “something else” and culture, the director emphasises the importance of the Inti Raymi festivity (already mentioned in previous pages) and other special days related to pre-Columbian traditions still present in the region (MS2, personal communication, 13 April 2022, author’s translation from Spanish). An authority in charge of the Cultural Department shares the same idea, that for him, the identity of the canton is mainly based on the past and veneration of Prince San Miguel (MS1, Personal communication, 13 April 2022). The reverence and significance attributed to San Miguel come as no astonishment, for Ecuador is a nation where most of its population identifies with the Catholic faith. Moreover, numerous provinces and cities across Ecuador hold in high esteem a distinct virgin or saint, bestowing them with special honours and festivities.

The spatial context of The Ice Cream monument and its relation to the other monuments reflect a multi-temporal identity living in harmony, contrary to the discourses of the authorities who mentored the monuments. The three monuments together offer visitors different images considered representative of the city. The Ice Cream, the Prince, and the General share the same space, welcoming visitors and passers-by, and asking them to contemplate the city in its different facets – past, present and future – rather than as having a unitary identity.

The Tuna monument

Much like the Ice Cream, the Tuna monument in Manta city was conceived and constructed with the aim of marking a local identity by referring to a commercial industry. At the same time, however, this monument differs from The Ice Cream because, instead of being juxtaposed with separate, more traditional monuments asserting a competing local identity grounded in the past, the Tuna evokes an identity that joins the precolonial/colonial past, the commercial present, and the tourism-oriented future.

The monument to the Tuna, a 9.2-metre-long fibreglass structure, was inaugurated by authorities and Mantense personalities with a big ceremony in May 2007 (Figure 6). Present were Marcia Chávez, representing Manta’s Mayor, Bernardo Buehs Bowen, who, apart from being the monument’s mentor, is the owner of the enterprise Fresh Fish (among other companies); Freddy Platón, then-President of the Ecuadorian-American Chamber of Commerce, who motivated the sector enterprises to finance the project; and Tamara Campo, the Cuban artist responsible for the monument’s design.

Figure 6. Tuna Monument (January 2016). Photo by the author.

A nine-meter-long fibreglass structure representing a tuna fish and a can, installed in a middle of a roundabout with several cars in the background.

As in the case of The Ice Cream, The Tuna is an (un)conventional monument in the sense that it unites characteristics of traditional and non-traditional monuments. Using the categories suggested by Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley (2012, 2018), in terms of its site, it resembles a traditional monument since it occupied (until January 2020) a highly visible spot in the middle of a roundabout close to Manta’s harbour. In terms of its form, the fact that the fish was placed on a pedestal twelve metres from the ground is traditional, but what is portrayed is more unconventional. Below the pedestal upon which the fish sits, there was a tuna can with the words Manta Capital of The Tuna written on it. In terms of visiting experience (Stevens, Franck, and Fazakerley 2012, 2018) the Tuna did not demand solemnity and deference like a traditional monument. Nor did it invite the public to engage with it in a close and bodily interaction. Nevertheless, when standing in front of it, there was a kind of sensorial engagement. Visually, it was an imposing, rather strange structure, but at the same time seeing a fish right next to the beach felt common and familiar. It was this double aspect that made the monument so striking and that turned it into a fantastic animal, difficult to tear your eyes away from.

The Tuna’s (un)conventional aspect was due to the fact that it was a representation of a not usually monumentalised animal (unlike, for example, the lion) and, at first sight, did not represent important events or people of the past. The scale also made it (un)conventional; it is not usual to find a 9-metre-high statue in Ecuadorian cities, and even less common to find one representing a tuna and its can. The fact that, despite its unconventionality, the monument was inaugurated in a highly official and public manner reflects its sponsors’ intention to celebrate and make visible The Tuna as something outstanding (Abousnnouga and Machin 2013) and suggests that it played a role that transcended the decorative and ornamental aspect.

The Tuna monument came about as a result of an initiative of the Ecuadorian-American Chamber of Commerce in Manta. According to the former President of the Chamber of Commerce at the time, the idea came from a simple conversation between two [Ecuadorian] businessmen in the fishing industry in China, who, after seeing a monument of a coloured fish, decided to make something similar in Manta (MM2, personal communication, 14 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish). He started to lobby, encouraging fisheries to donate money to construct the monument and contacting the municipality to obtain the construction permit. The construction was coordinated with the municipality, who was in charge of the bidding process, and the Cuban artist Tamara Campo won the contract to design the monument. A plaque next to the monument features the names of the twenty-six companies and people that financed the construction of the monument, almost all of them related to the tuna trade.

When analysing the statements about the monument made by the entrepreneurs and the municipality officials in charge of its construction and the history of the region, it becomes clear that The Tuna monument plays two roles in Manta: to reinforce an already established identity for the city related to commerce in general and fisheries in particular; and to promote this identity to tourists in order to stimulate future economic development, based not only on commerce but also on tourism.

The city of Manta has its origins in the Manteña Culture, which flourished during the period 1000-1526/1535 A.C. (Hidrovo 2005). It was the main centre of the Manteña Confederation, which was composed of different “señoríos” [jurisdictions] that, together, had around 500,000 inhabitants. Known as the first society of sailors, the Manteña Confederation was a society based on the trade in products such as spondylus shells, fish (which was also the main source of food), fabrics, emeralds, ceramics, and objects made of gold and silver (Salazar 2008). The name of the main lordship was Cancebí and its centre (nowadays Manta) was called Jocay, which means house or entrance of the fish; it was also called golden door because small fish made of gold were used as a currency (Palma 2012). Jocay (with approximately 20,000 inhabitants) was the place from which the merchandise was delivered to diverse regions within and beyond Ecuador, including Baja California and Chile. Fishery, commerce and the seaport were the three main elements of the Confederation (Hidrovo 2005). Due to various epidemics, battles with the Inca Empire and the Spanish conquest, the Confederation and its trade system were dismantled and Jocay and the other villages declined (Salazar 2008, Palma 2012). In 1533, the name Jocay was changed to San Pablo de Manta by the Spanish conqueror Pedro de Alvarado.

Fishing has been the most continuous commercial activity in the economic history of Manta; small fish were always caught by artisan fishermen and entrepreneurs. In 1950, the large-scale export of fish started, with the export of tuna dating back to 1965 (Hidrovo 2005). Given this history and present reality of commercial fishery, it is not a surprise that the promoters of the Tuna Monument were a group of entrepreneurs. According to Elizabeth Medranda, who was executive director of the Chamber of Commerce at the time of the inauguration, “the purpose [of the Tuna] is to give an identity to Manta, which is characterised by fishery” (El Diario, 4 May 2007, author’s translation from Spanish). According to both, the former president of the Ecuadorian-American Chamber of Commerce and Medranda, therefore, The Tuna derives its relevance from embodying, with regard to the inhabitants of Manta, who they are at best, what they should strive towards, and whom they most owe (Abousnnouga and Machin 2013). In this case, the people whom they most owe are identified not only as the past traders and fisherman, but also as present artisan fishermen and fishery businessmen, expressing an identity grounded in the past and the present. The Tuna thus appeared as an open work (Krzyżanowska 2015) that invoked proud memories of the indigenous Manteña Confederation, while at the same time incorporating a reference to contemporary industrial business practices through the placement of the can.

Apart from mirroring this “fishery” identity of Manta, the image of The Tuna is also meant to function as a magnet for tourists. One of the highest authorities of the city (period 2014-2017), argued: “It is important to highlight elements that are striking for the tourists, such as for example the figure of the fisherman or the tuna […] to create an impact not only at the local level but also internationally […]” (MM3, 12 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish). The argument sustaining this affirmation is that, due to the increasing competition in the fishing industry, the future of the city needs to include the development of tourism. Tourism is promoted not only by linking the city to fishing through The Tuna and other monuments, but also by emphasising its cultural heritage, through the maintenance of patrimonial houses (MM3, personal communication, 12 January 2016, author’s translation from Spanish).

The Tuna, thus, assumes a significant role within a broader commercial narrative strategically devised to allure tourists to the city. It is difficult to measure (and beyond the scope of this study) whether tourism has improved as a result of the tuna’s image reinforcement. Nonetheless, in recent years, the governing bodies of Manta have dedicated resources to enhance the city’s aesthetics, with the tuna fish prominently featured as one of their primary symbols.

As described before, Manta as a city-port has a historical relation of trade and exchange with other countries. Consequently, the idea of positioning the city as part of the global market is, in this case, an achievable goal supported by a history of trade that started with the Manteña Confederation and continues today. Nowadays, “The most powerful tuna fleet in the Eastern Pacific is in Ecuador with 116 vessels […] the fleet’s carrying capacity becomes the “greatest power” in the region and the second in the world, after Thailand. […] Most of the fleet is in Manta” (GAD 2020, 181, author’s translation from Spanish). In this context, and summarising, The Tuna appears as an (un)conventional monument, representing a non-traditional monumental form (a tuna and its can), which was conceived by its sponsors to reinforce a past and present identity for the city linked to fishing and trade, as well as to promote this identity to the outside world, specifically tourists, in order to diversify the local economy.

In January 2020, after a study carried by a Mexican company, the municipal authorities decided to remove the monument (Televisión Manabita 2020) together with the roundabout, to improve the area’s mobility. The municipality implemented an “intelligent” red light and changed the directions of two main streets (El Telégrafo 2020, 3 January 2020). After its removal, the monument was stored in a wasteland property of the municipality.

In 2022, the Municipality of Manta announced (GAD 2022) that the monument would be reinstalled next to the Manta Yacht Club and that the place would be “more beautiful”, incorporating lights and green zones to make the sculpture “more visible”. With the planned changes, looks like the authorities, following the “Global trend” exigencies, decided to make the monument more visible to embellish the city, maybe for touristic purposes. The renovated monument was installed in December 2022 without any special ceremony. The structure remains almost identical to the original one; the only noticeable difference is the revitalized colour scheme. The renovated monument no longer includes the can that was part of the original design. The decision to install the monument without any special ceremony, along with the removal of the can, might reflect a shift in interest, on the part of the authorities in relation with the Tuna's importance in the local context. The new interpretations of the renovated monument remain open for future studies.

Conclusion

In the cases analysed, a monument is mainly perceived by its creators as a structure that has to have one “real” meaning and to reflect “one identity” instead of diverse interpretations. The monuments uncover different feelings and imaginaries of the authorities in relation to the sense of belonging and its origins, and at the end, what these imaginaries reflect is an idea of identity as a fixed essence of a unified individual with a unique center. In that sense, the critics and source of conflicts about the monuments are based on different and monistic ideas of identity that each of the actors claim as “the one”.

Consciously placed, The Ice Cream and The Tuna provide a storyline in which, in the case of The Ice Cream monument, a traditional element is arbitrarily chosen to become an icon at the entrance of the city welcoming the visitors; and in the case of The Tuna monument, the Tuna as an historical element is reconfigured and resignified with modern elements (the can). The incorporation of the can as a contemporary element is regarded by the authorities as a means to symbolize the tuna industry and enhance the appeal of the monument to visitors.

In both cases (The Ice Cream and The Tuna), the placement of the monuments become a sort of “narrative positioned at a single place”, a “declamatory strategy” (Azaryahu and Foote 2008). A story is told from a single point and place, the authorities spatially configure and use the monuments to tell a story about the city functional to their ideology and interests.

However, when examining the positioning of the monuments within the city, it is possible to observe that they serve as objects that shape and reinforce a multifaceted identity, intertwining with various temporal dimensions. In other words, the pluralization of identities becomes apparent when analysing these structures not only as individual entities but also in relation to their specific locations and their coexistence with other monuments.

The Ice Cream monument exemplifies the authorities’ objective of strengthening the city’s identity in connection with its ice cream production, while simultaneously functioning as a branding icon projecting its purpose towards the present and future. On the other hand, the Archangel monument embodies the Catholic faith deeply rooted in the colonial past. Both monuments occupy a significant space, notably the entrance of the city, thereby reflecting the diverse identity of Salcedo. As for The Tuna monument, it represents a historical and traditional product. However, its image is contemporized through the incorporation of the can and further renovation (in terms of materials and colours) when placed at the entrance of Manta’s Yacht Club.

What has become clear from the two cases is that the responsible authorities became memorial entrepreneurs and intended mainly to reinforce and redefine the city’s identity for external audiences. The authorities’ intention reflects their perception that identity can be something moveable that could be transformed according to their necessities. In this case, the necessity is the economic advancement of the region through integration into the tourism industry. Consequently, the monuments operate within a dynamic interplay of the past, present, and future, evoking historical elements while also embodying the aspirations and anxieties associated with constructing a city attractive to external observers, namely tourists. All these features create what I call (un)conventional monuments, which include the following characteristics: (a) they do not represent exclusively past events nor national heroes, they embody concrete and colourful objects and animals that have a local significance; and (b) they are consciously placed to play a commercial/branding function; therefore, the intention of their construction is placed in the present and future rather than the past.

The blurred line between the monuments as representation/reinforcement of a local identity and the monuments as branding strategy raise some questions. Local or city branding is originated by a necessity and desire of legitimacy in an economic globalised context represented by the tourism sector and since monuments are mainly managed by local authorities, they have the power to create the frame of identity according to (or what is perceived as) the economic necessity of the region. The main concern is that monuments are designed to convey not so much who the inhabitants feel they are as what the municipal authorities or local businessmen feel is the most marketable aspect of the city for global trade or tourism.

The focus of this paper has been to provide an analysis of the production of these (un)conventional monuments; there is still research to do concerning how these monuments are consumed by the public or incorporated into their daily life. The meanings of monuments are always “mutable and fluid” (Hay, Hughes, and Tutton 2004), among others, this depends on what the public knows about what the monument represents, how the public values this knowledge, and on the emotions monuments elicit in them (Bellentani and Panico 2016). In the future, I hope to bring some insights to these matters.

The (un)conventional monuments analysed are part of a large landscape trend where the line between economic icons and identity narratives is blurred. This relationship open questions such as: what kind of emotive attachment and sense of place do these monuments create? What kind of memories and meanings do they construct? The monuments analised in the presented study are embedded within political and economic interests, aspirations and desires of the responsible authorities. In this context, it is worth considering whether these structures, as they were conceived by the authorities, could play a role in the construction of a diverse and plural identity, full of a sense of social belonging, or whether, on the contrary, they can only affirm an identity in accordance with restrictive discourses of economic growth.

It would be interesting for geographers and cultural analysts to identify (un)conventional monuments in other parts of the globe, to study its production and consumption in other countries and urban environments, which would be helpful to understand contemporary landscapes and spatial narratives.

Geolocation information

https://goo.gl/maps/ykzpvF2FhGLv7LDD9.

https://goo.gl/maps/FPzHdgdR17CYg2Td9.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Alejandra Espinosa Andrade

Alejandra Espinosa Andrade holds a PhD in Cultural Analysis from the University of Amsterdam. She studied psychology in the Diego Portales University (Chile) and obtained a Master’s Degree in Political Science in the Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences in Ecuador. She has worked in topics related with human rights, participative methodologies, social movements, project management and territorial planning in national and international organisations. Currently she is working at the Universidad de las Américas (Ecuador) as a lecturer and researcher, she teaches the multidisciplinary course “Citizenship, culture and history”. As a researcher, her approach is multidisciplinary and integrates cultural studies, social studies, urban studies, and politics.