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 Material Information
Title: Caribbean Review
Physical Description: Serial
Language: English
Creator: Latin American and Caribbean Center, Florida International University
Publisher: Latin American and Caribbean Center, Florida International University
Place of Publication: Miami, FL
Publication Date: 1979
Copyright Date: 1980
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Genre: serial   ( sobekcm )
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Source Institution: FIU: Special Collections
Holding Location: FIU: Special Collections
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 1553369
System ID: UF00095576:00018

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 1
    Front Matter
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Main
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
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        Page 15
        Page 16
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        Page 19
        Page 20
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        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
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        Page 40
        Page 41
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        Page 43
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        Page 48
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        Page 50
        Page 51
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        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




cABBAN
Fall 1979
Vol. VIII, No. 4
C AIEW Two Dollars


The Thirty Years War Between Figueres and the Somozas, Venezuela and the Caribbean,
The Future of the Rastafarian Movement,
Religion and Politics in Bermuda, A Trinidadian Short Story





















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,CFsc of i- i and .. -:
:.. i o j I ;" I :
* Over 55 C- 1--._ 1-7 and Latin
American related courses offered
from ten departments in the College
of Arts and Sciences.
* Certificate requirements include:
successful completion of five
Caribbean and/or Latin American
related courses and one ir-.: e :..:-,: .-'
study/research :- -. i. k.' from at least
three departments; demonstration
of related language proficiency in


Spanish, Por --uese, or French.
* Certificate ,. --am is open to both
degree and non-:' ._-- s : ;
students.
* Expanded University :-.!p.-". -',:.!-~',
spec'e.I "Program of Distinction"
status awarded to Caribbean-Latin
American- -. -i :
* Expanded i' ;:. holdings in
Caribbean-Latin American materials.
* Pern --, r: e- :, visits from
dir." --uished scholars in Caribbean
and Latin .: -erican studies.


S..... u, ,,...--Latin .: .,-. ,.. ,, Studies .-:. I,
Ricardo Arias, Philosophy and Ji i James A. Mau, Sociology
Ken 1. Boodhoo, International Relations Florentin Maurrasse, Physical Sciences
Judson M. DeCew, Political Science Ramon G. Mendoza, Modern Languages
Luis Escovar, Psychology Raul Moncarz, Economics
Robert Farrell, Education Pedro J. Montiel, Economics
Robert Grosse, International Business Mark B. Rc.-, i '- Political Science
John Jensen, Modern Languages Reinaldo Sanchez, Modern L .... -
Barry B. Levine, Sociology Mark D. Szuchman, History
Anthony P Maingot, Sociology Maida Watson-Breslin, Modern Languages


For further
information,
contact:


Mark Ro t ne, i r -
Caribbean-Latin American Studies Council
Florida International University
Tamiami Trail. Miami, Florida 33199


* . -. .,









CARBBEANa


FALL 1979 Vol. VIII, No. 4 Two Dollars
Editor
Barry B. Levine


Associate Editor
PedroJ. Montiel
Contributing Editors
Carlos M. Alvarez
Ricardo Arias
Ken I. Boodhoo
Jerry Brown
Judson M. DeCew
Robert E. Grosse
Herbert L. Hiller
Antonio Jorge
Gordon K. Lewis
Anthony R Maingot
James A. Mau
Florentin Maurrasse
RaulMoncarz
Mark B. Rosenberg
Luis R Salas
Mark D. Szuchman
William T Vickers
Gregory B. Wolfe

Bibliographer
Marian Goslinga


Art Director
Juan Urquiola
Contributing Artists
Eleanor Porter Bonner
Ellen Marcus
Assistant to the Editor
Lucy Gonzalez
Managing Editor
Karen Katz

Editorial Managers
Lourdes A. Chediak
Yvon St. Albin
Advertising Manager
Walter Winch
Sales and Marketing
Walter H. Hill
Publishing Consultants
Andrew R. Banks
Eileen Marcus


Caribbean Review, a quarterly journal dedicated
to the Caribbean, Latin America, and their emig-
rant groups, is published by Caribbean Review,
Inc., a corporation not for profit organized under
the laws of the State of Florida. Caribbean Review
receives supporting funds from the Office of
Academic Affairs of Florida International Univer-
sity and the State of Florida. This public docu-
ment was promulgated at a quarterly cost of
$5,098 or $1.27 per copy to promote interna-
tional education with a primary emphasis on
creating greater mutual understanding among
the Americas, by articulating the culture and
ideals of the Caribbean and Latin America, and
emigrating groups originating therefrom.
Mailing address: Caribbean Review, Florida
International University, Tamiami Trail, Miami,
Florida 33199. Telephone (305) 552-2246.
Unsolicited manuscripts (articles, essays, re-
prints, excerpts, translations, book reviews,
poetry, etc.) are welcome but should be accom-
panied by a self-addressed stamped envelope.
Copyright 1979 by Caribbean Review, Inc. All
rights reserved.
Subscription rates: 1 year: $8.00; 2 years:
$15.00; 3 years: $20.00. 25% less in the Carib-
bean and Latin America. Air Mail: add 50% per
year. Payment in Canadian currency or with
checks drawn from banks outside the U.S. add
10%. Invoicing charge: $2.00. Subscription
agencies please take 15%.
Syndication: Caribbean Review articles appear
in other media in English, Spanish and Por-
tuguese, Editors, please write for details.
Index: Articles appearing in this journal are an-
notated and indexed in Historical Abstracts and
America: History and Life
Back Issues: Vol. 1, No. 1, Vol. II, No. 2; Vol. Ill, No.
1, No. 3, No. 4; Vol. V, No. 3; Vol. VI, No. 1; Vol VIII
No. 2 are out of print. All other back numbers:
$3.00 each. Microfilm and microfiche copies of
Caribbean Review are available from University
Microfilms, A Xerox Company, 300 North Zeeb
Road, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106.
International Standard Serial Number:
ISSN US0008-6525; Library of Congress Number:
AP6, C27; Dewey Decimal Number: 079.7295.


In this issue


page 26









page 38
f- -







page 38


The Thirty Years War Between
Figures and the Somozas
International intrigue in Costa Rica and
Nicaragua
By Charles D. Ameringer

Venezuela and the Caribbean
The South American nation's active role in
the area
By Demetrio Boersner

Storm Over Cape Horn
War and diplomacy where the oceans meet
By Farrokh Jhabvala

Religion and Politics in Bermuda
Revivalist politics and the language of power
By Frank E. Manning

The Future of the
Rastafarian Movement
Politics and religion in Jamaica
By Klaus de Albuquerque

Shango
A Trinidadian short story
By Brenda Flanagan

Drama Writing in Papiamentu
National theatre in the Netherlands Antilles
By Johannes Baptist de Caluw6

Catching Mullet and
Chasing Shadows
The early novels of Edgar Mittelholzer
Reviewed by John Thieme

Paradise Is In The Mind
Austin Clarke's The Prime Minister
Reviewed by Harry T Antrim

Recent Books
An informative listing of books about the
Caribbean, Latin America, and their
emigrant groups
By Marian Goslinga








Selected by CHOICE as one of the
"Outstanding Academic Books for 1978"





The Complete Caribbeana 1900-1975
A Bibliographic Guide To
The Scholarly Literature


"The most comprehensive and complete bibliography of the
non-hispanic Caribbean ever published.... Comitas offers a
'Guide to the published knowledge of the Caribbean in the
twentieth century.' Essential for research libraries and any
library with Afro-American or Latin American interests. "
-Choice, December 1978
"...highly recommended."
-Library Journal, October 1978
"This remarkable research instrument will prove to be of
very great value to research scholars of and in the Caribbean
area....Altogether, this is a fundamental contribution to the
integration of an important world area. "
-Revista/Review Interamericana, Summer 1978
"...the most definitive bibliography on the Caribbean....
Comitas' work is destined to become a major and permanent
fixture in all libraries. "
-Cuban ReviewfEstudios Cubanos, January 1979

The Complete Caribbeana is a four-volume bibliography
containing citations of over 17,000 books, monographs,
journal articles, conference proceedings, masters' and doc-
toral theses, reports, and pamphlets published in the twen-
tieth century. The geographical areas covered include
Surinam, French Guiana, Guyana, Belize, Bermuda, The
Bahamas and the islands of the Antillean archipelago, with
the exception of Haiti and the Spanish-speaking territories.
The organization of the bibliography is topical; titles appear
in more than one subject category when appropriate. In ad-
dition to complete bibliographic information, each entry
contains a geographic designation and a code indicating the
library in which the cited material can be found. Citations of
material in foreign languages include an English translation
of the title. Two indices are provided-an author index and
a geographical index. This bibliography supersedes Pro-
fessor Comitas' one volume Caribbeana 1900-1965: A
Topical Bibliography.

Comitas, Lambros.
The Complete Caribbeana 1900-1975: A Bibliographical
Guide to the Scholarly Literature.
4 vols. Millwood, N.Y., 1977.
LC 76-56709
ISBN 0-527-18820-4 clothbound $170.00
Available on 30-day approval

Please direct orders and inquiries to:


kt. press

A U.S. Division of Kraus-Thomson Organization Ltd.
Route 100, Millwood, New York 10546 (914) 762-2200


from FlUs International Affairs Center

Florida International University (FIU) has
signed a letter of cooperation with the Univer-
sidad Simon Bolivar (USB) of Caracas, Ven-
ezuela. As the first activity to be niri ated under
the terms of this bilateral agreement, FlU will
offer six courses in construction management
for the Coordinacion de Educacion Continua at
USB. Professors Julio Otazo, Jaime Canaves,
and Hedvika Meszaros will provide this first
series of courses.
Vice-President Steven Altman and Dean K.
William Leffland attended the ceremonies for
the installation of RTM. Sprockel as President
of the University of the Netherlands Antilles
(UNA) in Curacao. At a major press gathering
which included representation by university
presidents from the Caribbean and Holland, a
letter of cooperation between FlU and UNA
was signed. This bilateral agreement will
prim.nr ii, involve faculty from the FIU schools of
Business and Public Affairs.
The FlU Caribbean Latin American Studies
Council (CLASC) has been awarded funding
from the US Office of Health, Education and
Welfare to establish an undergraduate center
for Caribbean and Latin American Studies. As
a result, CLASC, in cooperation with Miami-
Dade Community College and the University of
Florida, will expand its academic offerings to
the Uni.erzii; and to the community.
CLASC has also been awarded a Fulbright
scholarship with which to invite to the Univer-
sity Professor Guido Pennano of the Centro de
Investigaciones of the Universidad del Pacifico
in Lima, Peru. While at FlU, Professor Pennano
will teach a course on "South American Political
Economy" and a course on Peruvian po'lic .
The FlU proposal for a Global Awareness
Program has been recommended for funding
by the US Office of Health, Education and Wel-
fare. This program will be implemented in
cooperation with the Dade County Public
Schools and the Florida Department of Educa-
tion. Under the Direction of Dr. Jan Tucker
(School of Education) and with the participa-
tion of Drs. Mark Rosenberg, Robert Farrell,
Farrokh Jhabvala, Ralph Clem, and Ken
Boodhoo, the program will infuse global con-
tent and perspectives into the Social Studies
activities of elementary, junior and senior high
schools in Florida.

International Affairs Center/
Florida International University
Tamlaml Trail, Mami, Florda 83199,
ph: (305) 552-2846


2/CAI?BBEAN PEVIeW








Letters from Readers


Hands Off
Dear Colleagues:
Thomas Walker in his article "The US and Central
America" in the Summer 1979 issue of Caribbean
Review displays the naive prejudices of well-intentioned
North Americans who often do more harm than the
outright reactionaries.
Take for instance his recommendations for US policy:
1) Pressure Latin governments to make certain reforms
by 'using the resources at the US command." Previously
he informs us that three of the five Central American
governments are hopelessly corrupt and beyond reform.
To what avail then any US pressure or is this a new facade
for intervention and replacement of regimes? Is a
reformist regime beholden for US resources for its support
what we want? Are we not capable of selecting our own
leaders while the Americans leave us alone? Once US
"pressure" has been legitimized what is to prevent the
fundamentally conservative US society from "pressuring"
us on behalf of its more basic interests?
2)Reduce or terminate US military aid. Arms are
available on a willing buyer, willing seller basis. As long as
Central American governments and rebels have foreign
exchange or friends they can obtain weapons. The key is
training and here theSandinistas have shown that
foreign training is not necessary. Yes, stop the US
military aid: it won't stop the oppressed and may slow
down the oppressors.
3) More "realistic and flexible US attitude towards
insurgency." Since their independence from Spain, the
five Central American states have averaged an insurgency
per year for the last 160 years. What we ask from the US is
not a "realistic and flexible attitude," whatever that means,
but to leave us be with our own insurgencies.
4) The US should normalize its relations with Cuba.
This is a US-Cuban issue and peripheral to Central
America. Break bread if you will with the Cubans but
not for our sake.
Thomas Walker believes that US power and wealth can
be harnessed to good causes in Latin America. History has
taught us to be skeptical. Let Walker campaign for
pressure for reforms in the US and let us be to set our
own houses in order.
Esteban L6pez S.
Guatemala City

Thomas W Walker Replies
I sympathize with the underlying spirit of Sr. L6pez's
letter. It must be infuriating to many Latinos to hear
North Americans discuss the problems of their region,
especially since the US has often played a prominent
role in creating and perpetuating these problems.
However, L6pez missed the basic intent of my article.
This essay was originally presented as a paper before an
audience of foreign policy planners at the State
Department. The intent was to convince that
tradition-bound and conservative gathering to adopt an
approach which would be less manipulative and
pernicious than the one being pursued at that time.


I whole heartedly agree that Central America would
be much better off if the US would treat the peoples of
that region with the respect they deserve and refrain
entirely from attempting to manipulate their destiny. But,
because this is not an ideal world, the need remains for
North American academicians to attempt whenever
possible to blunt through persuasion the most harmful
and ill-advised aspects of US policy.


Dominica Relief Fund
Dear Colleagues:
On August 30,1979, Hurricane David struck the island of
Dominica with 150 mile-per-hour winds; it left the vast
majority of its inhabitants homeless and the agriculturally
based economy severely crippled. Most of Roseau,
where the largest concentration of people live, was leveled.
There is presently an urgent call for food and other
emergency supplies, and the island will have a continuing
need for assistance in reconstructing vital water, electric,
and communication systems.
Elmira College has launched a fund-raising campaign
to aid Dominica's recovery from this storm, and
many student volunteers, some of whom have spent a
term in Dominica as participants in an anthropological
cross-cultural experience, are working on this project.
Dominica desperately needs and deserves our help
at this time. Please send a contribution. Inquiries may
be addressed to me at the College.
Dr. Anthony Layng
Dominica Relief Fund
Elmira College
Elmira, New york 14901


Lost Cut-line
The photographs illustrating Alan Eyre's article,
"Quasi-Urban Melange Settlements," in Vol. VII, No. 2,
of Caribbean Review were reproduced from Colin G.
Clarke'sKingston, Jamaica: Urban development
and social change 1692-1962, University of
California Press, 1975.


On The Cover
"Old Time String Band," by Stanley Greaves. An oil on
cotton, mounted on hard board, this 36" x 48" painting
was completed in 1978. It remains in the artist's private
collection.
The painting portrays an old time band of ordinary
people who would get together on weekends to make
music. Sweetie Greaves, in the center, was a waterfront
worker and father of the artist. Joe Rowe, the drummer,
was the only full time musician in the group; Taylor, a
guitarist, was a saw mill worker; Glen, on the mandolin,
was a cabinet maker; and Campbell, the flutist, was an
odd job man.
Greaves was born in Guyana in 1934. His paintings
have been exhibited in Guyana, Jamaica, Brazil,
Colombia, Nigeria, England, Canada, and the U.S. He is
presently a visiting artist at Howard University,
Washington.


CAIBBEAN IEVIEW/3










IWWWWWu~WWWWWWWW UWEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW


By C D AE ES & T


By Charles D. Ameringer


Serious students of Central American affairs were not sur-
prised that the recent troubles in Nicaragua led to troubles
between Nicaragua and its neighbors, particularly Costa
Rica. The history of Central America provides numerous
examples wherein internal strife has led to international
confrontation. In fact, it seems characteristic of Central
American countries that they get involved in one another's
affairs. Exiles from one state find refuge in another, where
they continue their political activities and even prepare revo-
lutionary expeditions. Filibustering, arms trafficking, al-
liances between political factions of one state with those of
another have kept the region in turmoil for over a century.
The Central American states have never really separated
when it comes to political intrigue and revolutionary activity.
These periods of political conspiracy are particularly acute
when specific countries are governed by strong-willed and
ambitious leaders who envision themselves as the agents of
a new Central American union. Witness the activities of Justo
Rufino Barrios in the nineteenth century and those of Jos6
Santos Zelaya in this. The situation becomes especially
explosive when such leaders are contemporaries and when,
moreover, they are guided by sharply differing political views.
Such a situation existed in the post-World War II era when
Jos6 Figueres dominated Costa Rican affairs and Anastasio
Somoza Garcia ruled Nicaragua.
These two men were very different in nature and ideology
and looked upon each other as a threat to survival. In fact,
Figures had come to power with the aid of Somoza's rivals
and had pledged himself, in return, to the overthrow of
Somoza. In his book By Whom W WMre Betrayed ... and
How Rosendo Argiello, Jr., a Nicaraguan exile tells of meet-
ing Figueres during his exile in Mexico in 1942, and of the two
concluding that dictatorship was a common malady in the
isthmus for which a common remedy ought to be sought.
Figures persuaded Argiello to assist him against the "dic-
tator" Rafael Angel Calder6n Guardia in return for which he
would help him get rid of the dictator Somoza. Although most
4/CAffBBEAN IFEViE


Costa Ricans believed that a peaceful political solution was
possible and looked to the elections of 1948 as the means by
which the opposition might overcome Calder6n, Figueres
believed otherwise and made preparations for an armed
struggle.
In December 1947, only two months before the Costa
Rican elections, Figueres entered into the "Caribbean Pact"
wherein he joined forces with exile elements of Nicaragua,
Honduras, and the Dominican Republic under the sponsor-
ship of Guatemalan President Juan Jos6 Ar6valo. Figures
had persuaded these exiles that Costa Rica was the "weakest
link" in the dictatorial chain and that once it was broken Costa
Rica might be the staging area for revolutionary movements
against the other dictators of the region. Somoza was to be
the first target.
As Figures had predicted, the election of 1948 did not
resolve Costa Rica's political crisis. Opposition candidate
Otilio Ulate won the election, but Calder6n charged fraud,
and the calderonista-controlled Congress nullified the presi-
dential election on March 1. Figures, feeling his militancy
vindicated, took to the hills and called upon his Caribbean
allies to fulfill the pledges of the Caribbean Pact. In the 6-week
civil war which followed, Figueres emerged triumphant and
began the 18-month Founding Junta of the Second Repub-
lic. Calder6n, President Teodoro Picado, and many of their
followers fled to Nicaragua.
Once in power, however, Figueres did not seem as anxious
as before to carry out his end of the Caribbean Pact. The
Caribbean Legion had been born, and Figueres provided
Arguello with a training camp and funds for the preparation
of a Nicaraguan Army of Liberation, but nothing serious
happened. Whether the responsibilities of office sobered
Don Pepe, as Figueres was known, or whether he betrayed
his allies-as Arguello later charged-is a matter of specula-
tion, but Figueres vacillated between highs of visiting Ar-
giiello's camp, where he exhorted, "On to Managua!", and
lows where he exhibited indifference. In a February 1972







UWUUUAR BETWEEN


interview, Figueres told me that Arguello failed to develop his
plans, and that he "drank too much," and that he, Figueres,
decided to simply let things "drift."
Somoza, however, was concerned. During the Costa Rican
civil war, he had intervened on the side of Calder6n and
Picado, but withdrew under sharp protests by the US De-
partment of State, which warned both Nicaragua and
Guatemala against becoming involved. Subsequently,
Somoza kept a close watch on Don Pepe's Founding Junta
and was not pleased over its reported collaboration with
Nicaraguan exile elements. He allegedly placed spies in
krgiello's training camp and gathered intelligence from
Father sources, which convinced him that an invasion of
Nicaragua was being prepared. As a result, he gave assis-
tance to Calder6n to prepare an invasion of his own.
On December 10,1948, a small force ofcalderonista exiles
based in Nicaragua crossed the frontier and penetrated a few
miles into Costa Rica. Figures reacted quickly and sent
volunteers to the front to contain the invaders, but relied
principally upon the neophyte Organization of American
States to bring hostilities to an end. The OAS, indeed, re-
sponded to Figueres's call, by requesting both parties to
observe their treaty commitments with reference to hemis-
pheric solidarity and by dispatching an observer group to
make an on-site investigation. The action of the OAS pre-
vented further action by Somoza, but at the cost to Figueres
of pledges to disband the Caribbean Legion and expel
prominent Nicaraguan exiles. For a polite slap on the wrist,
Somoza had managed to remove a potential threat from his
doorstep.

The U.S. Role
The role of the United States in this affair is an important
consideration. The Cold War had begun, and the US had
demonstrated to its tiny neighbors that it wanted no disrup-
tions in the Caribbean area. This policy was reinforced in


June 1949, when the Caribbean Legion undertook yet
another action, this time using Guatemala, with the support
of Cuba, as a spring-board for an attack against Rafael Trujillo
of the Dominican Republic. The United States, acting
through the OAS, admonished the governments of
Guatemala, Cuba, and Costa Rica against abetting exile
revolutionary movements and encouraged the normalization
of relations with the governments of Nicaragua, Honduras,
the Dominican Republic, and Venezuela. A premium had
been placed upon stability in the Caribbean. Specifically,
relations between Nicaragua and Costa Rica improved, par-
ticularly after Figueres and the Founding Junta turned over
the reins of government to Constitutional President Otilio
Late in November 1949. Nevertheless, the enmity between
Don Pepe and Tacho (Somoza) had been established, and
the future was predictable.
When Jose Figueres became Constitutional President on
November 8, 1953, one could sense trouble ahead for Costa
Rica and Nicaragua. By this time, Figueres had become a
recognized leader of the non-Communist or Democratic Left
in the Caribbean, and the political refugees of the region
flocked to his protection. Venezuela's R6mulo Betancourt led
a virtual parade of Venezuelan, Cuban, Honduran, Nicara-
guan, and Dominican exiles to San Jose. The situation was
complicated by events in Guatemala, where Jacobo Arbenz
had established an allegedly pro-Communist regime, which
made the United States even less sympathetic toward
Figures' antidictatorial policy. It did not take long for trouble
to arise.
In early April 1954, a small band of Nicaraguan exiles
under Pablo Leal entered Nicaragua clandestinely from
Costa Rica and attempted to assassinate Anastasio Somoza
Garcia and his two sons, Luis and Anastasio (Tachito).
Somoza was furious and immediately accused Figueres of
aiding Leal. He claimed that Leal and his men were
transported to the frontier in trucks from Figueres's finca at
La Lucha and under escort by principal officers of the Costa
CAfIBBEAN EVIEW/5


_


S











The United States, acting through the OAS,
admonished the governments of Guatemala, Cuba, and Costa Rica
against abetting exile revolutionary movements and encouraged
the normalization of relations with the governments
of Nicaragua, Honduras, the Dominican Republic and Venezuela.
A premium had been placed upon stability in the Caribbean.


Rican Civil Guard. Figures denied the charges and called for
an OAS investigation, but Somoza would accept nothing less
than a personal apology from Figueres, the expulsion of
Betancourt (whom Somoza labeled the new chief of the
Caribbean Legion), and the dismissal of the "guilty" Civil
Guard officers. Although Betancourt did, in fact, leave Costa
Rica, Figueres refused to meet any of the other demands,
Sand for the remainder of 1954 tension between Costa Rica
and Nicaragua mounted.
Somoza began to enlarge his air force, and rumors circu-
lated that he was again helping Calder6n to prepare another

Jimenez also joined the plot, reportedly because of his irrita-
* ^1[in" invasion of Costa Rica. The Venezuelan dictator Marcos Pnez

tion over the sanctuary provided Venezuelan exiles in Costa
Pica and because he resented Figueres's boycott of the Tenth
Inter-American Conference in Caracas in March 1954.
Somoza aided Calder6n because he supposedly believed
0 Figures was involved in a vast Communist plot to take over
Central America. He linked the April plot to assassinate him
with two additional events which occurred in May: a banana
| ~ -- workers' strike on the north coast of Honduras (allegedly with
0 Guatemalan support) and the shipment of arms to
Guatemala from behind the Iron Curtain. Somoza reasoned
that since Leal had come to Costa Rica from Guatemala in
December 1953, before proceeding to Nicaragua, all these
events were connected and, in fact, were supposed to occur
simultaneously, in order to plunge the region into turmoil and
facilitate a communist takeover. For this reason, Somoza
aided Carlos Castillo Armas and the US Central Intelligence
Agency in the overthrow of Arbenz in Guatemala and then
prepared to seek his revenge against Figueres.
On January 11, 1955, a group of calderonista exiles calling
itself the Authentic Anti-Communist Army and led by Teod-
oro Picado, Jr., the ex-president's son and West Point class-
mate of Tachito Somoza, invaded Costa Rica from
Nicaragua. Although the force was larger than that of 1948, it
was not any more successful. After crossing the frontier,
Picado seemed reluctant to push farther into Costa Rican
territory, relying instead upon propaganda broadcasts, which
exhorted the people to rebel against the "Communist"
Figures, and upon strafing attacks by his "air force," includ-
-3 ing an F-47 Thunderbolt fighter plane, which he hoped
o Revolutionist Jose Figueres (right), leader of the Costa Rican Uninon
National Party, confers with Otilio Ulate (left), at Figueres' hideout in the
I Cerro de la Muerte Mountains, southwest of Cartago, 1948.
o Pres. Anastasio Somoza Garcia of Nicaragua, who challenged Pres.
S -.- Figueres of neighboring Costa Rica to a pistol dual, 1955, he explained
g~ at a press conference his belief that the Nicaraguan weapon was not the
type of gun used in the assassination of Panama's President Remon.
6/CArtBBEAN REVIEW












"If he (Figueres) has so much personal hate for me,
let's put it on a man-to-man basis.
There is no reason for bloodshed between our two countries.
If he hates me, as was evident when he tried to assassinate me,
then why not settle it this way?" Anastasio Somoza Garcia


might frighten Figueres into submission. Figures im-
mediately called upon the OAS for aid, claiming that his
country had been the victim of aggression by Nicaragua. The
OAS responded quickly, and the United States, with the
authorization of the OAS, put an end to the hostilities by
selling four F-51 Mustang fighters to the Costa Rican gov-
ernment for a dollar each.
During the few days that the fighting lasted, Somoza an-
grily denied Figueres's charges that Nicaragua was involved
and even challenged Don Pepe to a duel. As reported in the
New York Times of January 13,1955, Somoza declared, "If he
[Figueres] has so much personal hate for me, let's put it on a
man-to-man basis. There is no reason for bloodshed be-
tween our two countries. If he hates me, as was evident when
he tried to assassinate me, then why not settle it this way?"
Even Carlos Davila, the OAS Secretary-General, felt that this
was not such a bad idea. However, Figueres denied that the
affair was simply a personal feud and insisted that it was a
serious matter of democracy versus dictatorship. Figures
has claimed that his ability to convince a number of leading
North American liberals, among them Adolf Berle and Illinois
Senator Paul Douglas, that the dictators of the region were
ganging up on one of the few remaining democracies in
Latin America swung popular opinion to his side and in-
duced the US State Department to take decisive action.
However, although Figueres was grateful to the United
States for his rescue, he had "mixed feelings," because he did
not feel that the United States fully sympathized with his
cause. He was upset over a remark by Assistant Secretary of
State Henry E Holland which described him as a "trou-
blemaker" and he was disappointed that the United States
refused to impose sanctions upon Nicaragua as an aggres-
sor. Moreover, Figueres believed that the United States was
partially responsible for the attack in the first place.
In a confidential memorandum, Figueres accused the US
Ambassador in Managua, Thomas Whelan, of being impli-
cated in the affair. He related that on three occasions prior to
the invasion he had furnished evidence of the plot to CIA
agent Thomas Flores and that Flores, after traveling to Man-
agua, assured him that no such plot existed. Figures also
appealed directly to the Department of State to investigate his
charges and received similar assurances that no invasion
was being prepared."One may assume," Figueres wrote,
"that these investigations were entrusted to Whelan."
Figures charged that Whelan and Somoza were intimate
"buddies," and that Whelan was an apologist for the regime
and an agent for its lies.
Specifically, Figueres accused Whelan of spreading the
false story that the Pablo Leal affair was a simple assassina-


tion plot and that he, Figueres, was implicated. Figures
asserted that Leal's movement was a legitimate revolutionary
action involving Nicaragua's most respectable opposition
leaders. The assassination story, he stated, was extracted by
torture, in which Tachito personally took part, from one of
Leal's men, Jorge Rivas Montes, a long-time Caribbean
legionnaire. According to Figueres, Rivas Montes sub-
sequently smuggled a letter of apology to him from his jail
cell, in which he described the circumstances of his "confes-
sion." This could not be corroborated, Figueres affirmed,
because Rivas Montes was later shot, "attempting to escape,"
in order to prevent him from telling the truth. Figures
claimed that, because of Whelan, he had been discredited in
the State Department looked upon as a troublemaker -
and his appeals went unheeded. This, despite the fact,
Figures added, that Whelan once boasted, "perhaps under
the influence of alcohol," that he had personally reviewed
"the mercenary troops which invaded Costa Rica in 1955."

CIA Involvement with Somoza
As serious as these charges were, Figueres added another
more sinister. He accused the CIA of aiding Somoza in the
attack upon Costa Rica in repayment for his support of the
CIA-sponsored invasion of Guatemala. "The same North
American mercenary aviators who took part in the attack
upon Guatemala," Figueres asserted, "later came from
Nicaragua and machine-gunned 11 defenseless towns in our
territory. Figures was referring especially to Jerry DeLarm, a
North American adventurer, who flew for Castillo Armas and
the CIA and who was related to Calder6n by marriage. This
charge presents a paradox of US policy, with its covert side
trying to topple Figueres, and its overt side rescuing him.
Whatever may be the truth of these charges, one cannot
deny the critical role of the United States in this affair. The
United States was still able to maintain the peace in Central
America. Although it appeared to respect its pledges of
nonintervention and operated within the OAS structure, its
sale of warplanes to Figueres was the principal signal to all
concerned. At the same time, the exigencies of the Cold War
were giving rise to a "new interventionism" characterized by
covert action. The CIA had already enjoyed success in Iran
and Guatemala, although its fumbling and bumbling in this
episode foretold some of its later disasters, such as the Bay of
Pigs, the Castro Assassination plots, and Watergate. for the
time-being, however, peace prevailed in Central America.
The invasion of 1955 was the last incident between
Figures and Tacho Somoza, because the dictator was gun-
ned down at a Saturday night dance in Le6n in September
Continued on page 40
CArBBEAN PeVIE/7























By Demetrio Boersner

The Spanish-speaking continental
countries bordering the Caribbean Sea
share a common history of col-
onialism, slavery or serfdom, and
plantation economies with the West
Indies. They share, moreover, the
problems of underdevelopment, yet
their economies are sufficiently diverse
and complementary to enable them to
form a future economic community.
Furthermore, both the continental and
island countries share a desire for the
internal democratization of their
societies and for external alliances with
the rest of the Third World in common
search for greater autonomy vis-a-vis
the dominant centers.
Colombia, Panama and the Central
American states (except Belize) are not
exclusively "Caribbean," since they
also possess coastlines on the Pacific,
while Mexico has only a relatively small
part of its coastlines namely the
Yucatsn peninsula on the Carib-
bean. Nevertheless, it would be un-
realistic to ignore that great nation's
interest in the Caribbean, and its po-
tential for constructive cooperation in a
future subregional integration scheme.
Venezuela, however, has its main con-
centration of population and economic
and cultural development along the
Caribbean coastline, and nearly 90
percent of its trade goes across the Mar
de las Antillas.
Most Venezuelan historians consider
the year 1936 as the true beginning of
the "contemporary" period in the
country's development. It was the year
following the death, in December 1935,
of dictator Juan Vicente G6mez, who
during 27 years had upheld and de-
fended the oppressive and authorita-
rian structures of traditional society.
Our analysis of Venezuelan-Caribbean
international relations in this article
starts with that period.


ILLUIHAI IUN BY JUAN U UHUUIULA


8/CAY?BBEAN VIEWW

























The Contemporary Period
(1936-1957)
In 1941, Venezuelan President Eleazar
L6pez Contreras negotiated a definitive
frontier settlement with Colombia.
What that instrument overlooked,
however, was the need to reach a set-
tlement in regard to the delimitation of
the waters and continental shelf be-
tween the two countries, and that issue
- aggravated by the probable exis-
tence of oil in the shelf is still pend-
ing today.
During World War II links were tight-
ened between Venezuela and the Dutch
Antilles where Venezuelan oil had been
refined for decades. At the same time,
taking advantage of Britain's need for
Venezuelan oil, the Venezuelan gov-
ernment obtained the transfer from
British to Venezuelan sovereignty of the
small island of Patos, located between
Venezuela and Trinidad, as well as the
signature of a treaty providing for the
delimitation of the Gulf of Paria.
In the post-war years of 1945-48,
Venezuela gave its Caribbean policy an
ideological tint Relations were broken
off with the right-wing dictatorship of
Trujillo in the Dominican Republic and,
eventually, with the regime of the elder
Somoza in Nicaragua. Venezuela gave
active support to democratic exiles and
rebels fighting against oppressive
oligarchic governments in the Carib-
bean area, while relations were cordial
with liberal Cuba, Haiti, then governed
by Estimb, with Mexico, and with the
success of the social-democratic re-
bellion of Figueres in 1948 with
Costa Rica. Venezuelan leaders had
similarly good relations with Governor
Luis Mufioz Marin of Puerto Rico, as
well as with United States liberals.
During that time the mysterious
"Caribbean Legion" was formed to har-


rass rightist dictators, as well as com-
munists, for the Venezuelan social-
democratic leaders were strongly hos-
tile to the Third International and its
successors.
In connection with the aim to render
Latin America more autonomous vis-
a-vis United States capital, the Ven-
ezuelan government promoted and
created the Flota Mercante Gran-
colombiana, an independent mer-
chant fleet owned jointly by the gov-
ernments of Colombia, Ecuador and
Venezuela.
In November 1948 a coup was
staged which resulted in a rightist mili-
tary dictatorship. The dictator, Marcos
Perez-Jimenez, pulled Venezuela out of
the Flota Mercante Grancolombiana,
and reversed earlier policies by rees-
tablishing friendly relations with Trujillo
and Somoza as well as Batista, while
breaking with democratic govern-
ments. He did, however, defend Ven-
ezuelan national interests in disputes
with neighboring countries. In 1953 he
restated the country's claim to the
Esequiban province of British Guiana,
which had been assigned to Britain by
the arbitral award of 1899, which Ven-
ezuela later rejected, and in 1954 he
obtained Colombia's recognition of
Venezuelan sovereignty over the small
Los Monjes islands in the Gulf of
Venezuela.


The Democratic Period:
First Phase (1958-1968)
P&rez-Jimenez was overthrown in Jan-
uary 1958 by civil and military rebellion.
After a year of provisional government,
elections were held, and R6mulo
Betancourt became constitutional
president from 1959 to 1964. Unwilling
to repeat their bitter experience of 10
years earlier, the men of the new gov-


ernment acted cautiously to consoli-
date political democracy without an-
tagonizing the beneficiaries of the
existing economic and social system.
In practice, they ceased to be social
democrats and became mildly refor-
mist liberals. Only in the most vital do-
main that of oil policy did they
keep up the pressure to make Ven-
ezuela gradually more sovereign. With
that purpose in mind, Venezuela be-
came one of the founders of the Or-
ganization of Petroleum Exporting
Countries (OPEC) in 1960.
During this administration, Ven-
ezuela's policy toward the Caribbean
was dominated by two successive con-
flicts. In the years 1959-61, the Ven-
ezuelan struggle was against the
Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo, who
supported reactionary conspiracies
against Betancourt, and organized an
attempt to assassinate him in 1960. As
a consequence of that crime, the Or-
ganization of American States, in the
sixth meeting of foreign ministers in
San Jose, Costa Rica, imposed sanc-
tions on the Dominican regime.
In a second phase beginning near
the end of 1961, the Betancourt gov-
ernment entered into increasing con-
flict with the Cuban revolutionary
regime of Fidel Castro. When the left
wing of the Venezuelan governing party,
in alliance with the communists, left in
protest against Betancourt's conserva-
tive policies and embarked on a line of
violent opposition soon leading to
guerrilla warfare supported by Castro,
diplomatic relations were broken off
between Venezuela and Cuba in 1961.
The Cuban leaders had mistakenly be-
lieved that conditions in Venezuela
were ripe for the establishment of a
revolutionary regime oriented toward
socialism. In 1963 a shipment of
Cuban arms was discovered in Ven-
CArfBBEAN NVIEW1/9








ezuela destined for the leftist guerrilla
forces. As a consequence of this,
inter-American sanctions were im-
posed on Cuba in 1964.
The situation of near-war existing
first with Trujillo and then with Castro
prevented Betancourt from devoting
his attention to other Caribbean prob-
lems, such as the development of a
strategy to win the confidence and
friendship of the new island nations
beginning to emerge from colonial de-
pendence. Relations with newly-
independent Trinidad and Tobago were


neglected. Furthermore, the Betan-
court regime decided somewhat tar-
dily, to activate the claim of the
Esequibo territory. If the Venezuelan
claim justified in terms of past
sovereignty over what was now the
western two-thirds of British Guiana -
had been actively promoted 20 years
earlier, the world might have seen the
Caracas regime as brave little David
facing the imperial Goliath. But by
1961, with the new nation of Guyana
already formed and ready for indepen-
dence, the roles seemed reversed.


President Romulo Betancourt (left) of Venezuela and Governor Luis Mufoz Marin of Puerto
Rico at the governor's mansion, 1963.


Venezuelan President Carlos Andres Perez (left), General Omar Torrijos, and Jamaican Prime
Minister Michael Manley at Panama City International Airport, Panama, 1978.


Much as Venezuela emphasized that its
conflict was, in principle, not with the
Guyanese but with the British Empire,
the black and brown peoples of the
English-speaking Caribbean and of the
Afro-Asian world nevertheless saw the
Venezuelans as bullies threatening a
smaller and weaker neighbor. Thus the
Venezuelan claim, regardless of its
historic justification, became a serious
obstacle to the establishment of good
relations with the new, emerging, black
Caribbean.
The Betancourt administration was
succeeded by that of Rail Leoni, of the
same political party. Leoni inherited the
anti-Castro struggle from his prede-
cessor and, even though his personal
intentions were conciliatory, he did not
see his way out of the conflict. Under
his government the promotion of the
Esequibo claim absorbed more and
more of the attention of the foreign
ministry, at least until 1966 when, in the
month of February, the Geneva
agreement was signed, by which a
mixed commission was created to try
to settle the problem by peaceful
means after the independence of
' Guyana. Relations with the newly inde-
5 pendent states of the Caribbean -
Trinidad, Jamaica and Barbados -
, remained somewhat formal and
o lukewarm, for lack of a clearly defined
Venezuelan policy, as well as these new
| nations' distrust of what they consid-
ered to be an "aggressive" attitude to-
ward their sister country, Guyana.


The Democratic Period: En-
tering the Third World Phase
(1969-1979)
An important change took place in
Venezuelan foreign policy after 1968.
Leoni had prior to this, under the influ-
ence of some of his advisors, estab-
lished some contacts with the non-
aligned countries and those of the
communist camp, but only timidly and
hesitatingly. Until the end of the Leoni
administration, Venezuela was basically
Sa willing part of the western bloc. Only
in the domain of petroleum OPEC
S- and in economic international or-
ganizations, did Venezuela, like other
' Latin American countries, agree with
the Third World and support its
initiatives.
But in December 1968, the Ven-
ezuelan people elected the Christian
Democratic Party and its leader, Rafael


10/CAIBBEAN rvIEw








Caldera, to govern the country for the
next five years. In foreign policy, the
new Caldera government broke with
the established East-West pattern and
began to look at the North-South con-
tradiction as the dominant one. Ven-
ezuela adopted an attitude of greater
independence in regard to the United
States and took some initiatives to reo-
rient its economic and technological
exchange toward Europe, Japan, the
Third World and especially Latin
America. It began to work actively
under the ideological definition of
"International Social Justice" for the
greater unity of the Third World, orga-
nized to defend its joint interests and
gradually to bring about, through per-
sistent pressures, a redistribution of
wealth and power among the nations.
In the western hemisphere, this new
policy meant abandoning the Betan-
court Doctrine nonrecognition of
regimes resulting from coups d'etat
against formal democracies and
proclaiming instead the doctrine of
"ideological pluralism": strict noninter-
vention and recognition of the coexis-
tence within the Americas of different
types of social and political systems.
Just as Caldera put an end to anti-
guerrilla warfare and negotiated inter-
nal peace, he initiated a new policy of
reconciliation and friendship with
Cuba. At the same time, he annulled
the reciprocal trade treaty between
Venezuela and the United States, and
brought Venezuela into the Cartagena
Agreement or Andean Pact Within that
subregional integration scheme, Ven-
ezuela, jointly with Chile and Peru,
played an important role in the promo-
tion of Decision 24 on regulation of
foreign capital by the member states.
In the Caribbean area technical
cooperation with the Dominican Re-
public continued, where Venezuela
had furnished assistance ever since the
downfall of Trujillo in 1960. With the
Republic of Haiti, the Caldera govern-
ment reestablished the relations that
had been broken off in the name of the
Betancourt Doctrine in 1963, when Dr.
Francois Duvalier made himself
lifelong president. Under the personal
leadership of Dr. Aristides Calvani, the
Venezuelan foreign minister, close rela-
tions were started with the newly inde-
pendent or still half-dependent ("asso-
ciated") states of the Caribbean. Cal-
vani traveled among the islands and
personally negotiated schemes of
friendship and cooperation. In 1969 an


economic agreement was signed with
Barbados; in 1970, economic, cultural
and political cooperation was
negotiated with Trinidad and with
Jamaica. The Trinidadian prime
minister visited Venezuela, as did the
prime ministers of the Dutch Antilles
and of several of the British associated
states. Relations were established with
the newly independent Bahamas. The
30 percent surtax on imports, a dis-
criminatory duty directed against the
use of European colonies in the Carib-
bean as springboards for economic
penetration into Venezuela, was elimi-
nated in regard to the Netherlands
Antilles.
In 1969, Caldera and Calvani recog-
nized the difficulty of establishing
friendly ties with the islands while the
conflict with Guyana over the Esequibo
went on, at a high degree of intensity. To
win the confidence of the Common-
wealth Caribbean, detente with Guyana
was necessary. Moreover, fear of Ven-
ezuela was inducing the Georgetown
government to a steadily closer rap-
prochement with the Brazilian colos-
sus, which was already active in
Guyana, giving economic and military
assistance and thus extending its influ-
ence, through Venezuela's eastern
neighbor, toward the Caribbean sea
and the Caribbean-Atlantic sea routes.
Dr. Eric Williams, the Trinidad prime
minister, previously suspicious and
critical of Venezuela, became that
country's steady friend as long as Dr.
Calvani was foreign minister, and
agreed to act as intermediary between
Caracas and Georgetown. Largely by
his efforts the Protocol of Port-of-Spain
was signed by the representatives of
Venezuela and Guyana on June 18,
1970, which largely "freezes" the dis-
cussion of the Venezuelan claim for 12
years. At the same time, the Caldera
government began earnest and inten-
sive negotiations with the government
of Colombia over the delimitation of
the waters and continental shelf in the
Gulf of Venezuela.

Latin American Unity
The Caldera government believed that
within the overall priority of achieving
the aim of "international social justice,"
Latin America must be integrated and
united in the pursuit of common pur-
poses, on the basis of "pluralist union,"
and that Venezuela's effort in this sense
must be directed toward the Andean
region and toward the Caribbean, its


two geopolitical axes. South American
unity and common action required a
healthy balance between the dynamic
and potentially expansionist Brazil, and
the Spanish American countries of the
subcontinent. That balance could exist
if the Andean bloc reached an under-
standing with Argentina as well. In a
fairly consistent manner, Venezuelan
diplomacy worked in the direction of
growing union among the Spanish-
speaking South American nations in
order to counter-balance Brazilian
power.
In the Caribbean, on the other hand,
the strategic aim was to be instrumen-
tal in linking that area more closely to
continental Latin America in a com-
mon solidarity front. This could be
achieved by widening the sphere of
Venezuelan "presence," not "hegem-
ony," throughout the chain of islands
that spans the Caribbean sea a
chain that could strangle Venezuela if
held by hostile hands but that with
adequate friendly "presence" might
become Venezuela's and Latin
America's first line of defense against
any penetrating power from the north
or the east, as well as an ethnic and
cultural link between Latin America
and the Afro-Asian world.
Binding the Caribbean closer to
Latin America and the Third World
necessarily implied acting inde-
pendently from the United States and
seeking to lessen that country's domi-
nating influence over the area. There-
fore, the government of Caldera in-
sisted that the Caribbean conference
on the Law of the Sea that met in Santo
Domingo in May 1972 should have
only the developing countries of the
area as active participants.
Carlos Andr6s Perez of the Acci6n
Democratica party won the national
elections in December 1973. Even
though his campaign had been con-
servative, accusing Copei of "exagger-
ated nationalism," "radicalism," etc.,
once elected president P6rez began to
speak a radical "Third World" lan-
guage. In his speeches he consistently
called for Third World solidarity in the
struggle for a new international eco-
nomic order, and offered Venezuelan
"leadership" in furthering that cause.
His critics pointed out that the mention
of "leadership" might be offensive to
other nations, especially since Ven-
ezuela had become so rich in pet-
rodollars since the energy crisis of
Continued on page 51
CAI?BBEAN FIeIEW/11





















By Farrokh Jhabvala
The sabers have been sheathed for
the time being and the parties in-
volved have requested the Pope to
mediate their dispute. The ostensible
issue dividing Argentina and Chile
concerns the sovereignty over three
tiny islands, Picton, Nueva and Len-
nox (the PNL group), and other still
smaller islets and rocks which lie at
the eastern end of the Beagle Chan-
nel, a narrow little known body of
water. The minuscule areas of the is-
lands and their location virtually at the
end of the Earth factors which
may at first glance appear to provide
the setting for an easy solution -
nonetheless, are the least significant
factors in the dispute that has defied
successive attempts at resolution for
more than 60 years and has recently
brought the parties to the brink of
war. Indeed, it could be argued that
the passage of time, contrary to the
well-known aphorism, has made a
solution more distant as relatively re-
cent developments have raised the
stakes for the two states involved,
making a compromise of their inter-
ests more difficult to attain.

The End of the Earth

The Beagle Channel is a strait
separating Isla Grande de Tierra del
Fuego from other islands and islets to
the south, primarily Isla Navarino. The
channel is about 120-150 miles long,
depending upon the choice of start-
ing point. It averages 3.5 miles in
width. The three islands, Picton,
Nueva and Lennox, and several
smaller islets mark the southeastern
opening of the channel to the ocean.
The PNL group ranges from about 25
to 45 square miles in area, is under
the control of Chile, and supports a
handful of familiesonsheep grazing.
The PNL group divides the eastern
entrance to the channel essentially
12/cAr BBEAN REVIEW


into two arms: one, considered by
Chile to constitute the "real" prolon-
gation of the channel to the sea, con-
tinues in an easterly direction, passing
between Isla Grande and Isla Picton;
the second, considered by Argentina
to be the "real" eastern course of the
channel, departs from the general
east-west direction of the main body
of the channel and makes almost a
right-angled swing, passing between
Isla Navarino on one bank and Islas
Picton and Lennox on the other in a
generally north-south direction. Ac-


ceptance of the Chilean thesis would
yield to Chile sovereignty over the is-
lands and associated maritime assets.
Correspondingly, acceptance of the
Argentine view would yield the same
to Argentina.
The boundary between Chile and
Argentina is approximately 2600
miles long and was established by the
Tratado de Limites (Boundary Treaty)
of 23 July, 1881. in Tierra del Fuego
the boundary runs along the meridian
marking 680 34' west of Greenwich.
The islands to the west of this line are









Storm Over



Cape Horn


Chilean and those to the east are
Argentine. Article III of the Treaty di-
vided the numerous islands south,
west and east of Tierra del Fuego in
the following manner: "As for the is-
lands, to the Argentine Republic shall
belong Staten Island, the small is-
lands next to it, and the other islands
there may be on the Atlantic to the
east of Tierra del Fuego and off the
eastern coast of Patagonia; and to
Chile shall belong all the islands to
the south of the Beagle Channel up
to Cape Horn, and those there may
be to the west of Tierra del Fuego."
(From the report and decision of the
court on the Beagle Channel arbitra-
tion, International Legal Materials,
vol. 17, 634(1978).)
This division of the territory beyond
Isla Grande constitutes the core of the
current dispute between Chile and
Argentina. As may be seen, the divi-
sion depends primarily upon whether
the Beagle Channel continues in an
easterly direction, as Chile claims, or
whether it bends and skirts Isla
Navarino in a generally southerly di-
rection, as Argentina claims.
The Boundary Treaty was founded
largely upon three "Bases of Negotia-
tions," formulated in 1876 after in-
termittent exchanges between the
parties in the years 1872-1875. The
third Basis of 1876 and Article III of
the 1881 Treaty both expressed the
so-called "Oceanic" or "Atlantic-
Pacific" principle. The "Oceanic"
principle received express affirmation
in a Protocol of 1893 between Argen-
tina and Chile. According to the prin-
ciple, each party has an a prior right
to the whole of, and to anything
situated on; in the case of Argentina,
the Atlantic coast and seaboard of the
continent, and in the case of Chile,
the Pacific coast and seaboard. The
"Oceanic" principle, in conjunction
with the notion that the meridian


passing through Cape Horn (670W)
marks the division between the Atlan-
tic and the Pacific Oceans, has been
a major premise of Argentina's case.
Acceptance of this idea would place
the PNL group squarely on the Atlan-
tic side, that is, on the Argentine
ocean.

Competing Interests and
Claims
The interests at stake include territo-
rial claims, claims on the living and
nonliving resources of the surround-
ing oceans, claims upon Antarctic ter-
ritory and the security and defense of
the above-mentioned interests and of
maritime routes.
The interest of longest standing,
perhaps, is that flowing from the natu-
ral quest of states for territory. The
past century has seen the emergence
of the principles of respect for territo-
rial sovereignty, and its corollary, that
of the relinquishment of the use of
armed force as an instrument of
foreign policy. The true impetus for
the acceptance of these principles is
of even more recent vintage, stem-
ming from the experiences of the two
World Wars. Nonetheless, enough in-
stances of the use of force in pursuit
of territorial aggrandizement continue
to occur to remind us that aggression
for territory continues to be a
characteristic of the modern state.
This behavioral trait has also had a
conservative aspect, in that no part of
national territory is alienable, even if it
be uninhabited and of little tangible
value.
In the western hemisphere, political
realities made it impossible for the
newly independent South American
republics of the early nineteenth
century to satisfy any need they may
have felt for territorial aggrandizement
by undertaking adventures outside


their continent. Within the continent,
the operation of the principle of uti
possidetis juris virtually divided up
every piece of the former Spanish ter-
ritories. These two factors made the
traditional struggle for territory all the
more intense, the former allowing no
escape valve in the form of foreign
adventures and the latter ensuring
that all claims within the continent
would be bitterly contested.
The interest in real estate as a fac-
tor in the dispute is borne out by the
parties' attempts, at least since 1915,
long before they staked out claims in
Antarctica or acquired interests in on-
and off-shore energy and other re-
sources, to find a solution to the
question. The importance of this
factor is amply evident in the attitudes
of sections of the Argentine military
which would rather go to war than
"yield" any territory to Chile.
Further, the fact that Argentina has
rested its claim to the PNL group in
part upon the "Oceanic" principle has
caused its claims to other islands to
depend upon the acceptance or re-
jection of this notion. Argentina and
Chile are also at odds over islands
such as Terhalten, Sesambre, Evout
and Barnevelt, all south of the PNL
group. The territorial question is thus
seen as having a larger dimension
than merely the islands involved in
the Beagle Channel.
The living and nonliving resources
of the waters surrounding the islands
in question constitute another, and
perhaps more tangible interest of the
two states. Under currently acceptable
international practice, each island can
possess as its territorial waters a belt
of the ocean not more than 12 nauti-
cal miles wide, within which the state
will be sovereign and have exclusive
rights to all living and nonliving re-
sources. In addition, each island can
also claim a further zone up to 188
CArfBBEAN evIEW8/13








nautical miles beyond the outer limits
of the territorial sea as its economic
zone, within which the state can pos-
sess exclusive rights over nonliving
resources and preferential rights over
living resources. Finally, the islands
will also be able to claim exclusive
rights in the resources of the conti-
nental shelf simply, the undersea
prolongation of the land territory -
up to the edge of the continental
margin, or up to a distance of 200
nautical miles from shore, whichever
is greater. In situations where adjoin-
ing or opposite states exist making
such extensive claims impossible to
satisfy, equitable sharing is the rule.
It is thus clear that with the posses-
sion of the islands will go resource
rights in much larger areas of the sur-
rounding oceans. The importance of
these resources must be seen in light
of the current exploitation of Isla
Grande for oil and natural gas by
both Chile and Argentina and their
view that the Beagle Channel and its
environs are the logical extension of
these operations.
Related to the question of the ex-
ploration and exploitation of re-
sources in and around the Beagle
Channel is that of conducting the
same operations in the much larger
territory of Antarctica at some future
date. Both Argentina and Chile have
claims upon Antarctic territory dating
back to the early 1940s. The present
status of Antarctica has been deter-
mined by the Antarctic Treaty of 1959
which has been in force since 23
June 1961. The treaty stipulates that
Antarctica may be used only for
peaceful purposes, including scien-
tific research. All claims upon Antarc-
tic territory are considered as being
currently held in suspension.
Nonetheless, improvements in tech-
nology and the declining availability
of resources are combining to gener-
ate forces that hungrily anticipate the
future exploitation of the forbidding
continent. If, or rather when, such ex-
pectations begin to be realized, the
Chilean and Argentine claims will
have to be reckoned with and ac-
commodated by the exploiting inter-
ests. The possibility of participating, if
only vicariously, in any future material
gains in Antarctica demands of both
states that they keep alive their claims
there.
Both the Chilean and Argentine
claims draw sustenance from the so-
14/CAIBBEAN rNIIEW


called "sector theory" and the notion
of contiguity. By the sector theory
each of the two states has claimed
that portion of Antarctica which is in-
cluded within lines of longitude drawn
from the extreme points of a "na-
tional" coastal strip in Antarctica to
the South Pole. The respective coastal
strips have been claimed essentially
on the basis of "contiguity" to islands
claimed or possessed by them.
Coming much later than European
powers to Antarctica, they were forced



The possibility of
participating, if only
vicariously, in any future
material gains in Antarctica
demands of both states
that they keep alive their
claims there.



to rely upon such bases, unlike the
Europeans who relied upon discovery
rather than on contiguity.
Chile claims the sector included
within the meridians 53"W and 90W,
while Argentina claims that between
25W and 74"W, both sectors ex-
tending outwards from the South Pole
to the sixtieth parallel of latitude. The
two states have been able in the past
to still the conflict stemming from
mutually overlapping claims when
they have presented a joint claim to a
"South American Antarctic Territory"
internationally and in the face of
counterclaims by Britain. (The British
claim extends from 20"W to 800W,
thus completely overlapping the
Argentine claim and overlapping by
more than two-thirds the Chilean.)
Despite this modest agreement be-
tween Chile and Argentina in their
mutual confrontation with Britain, it is
clear that in the absence of an
agreement to the contrary, the solu-
tion of the Beagle Channel islands
dispute will affect their current claims
to Antarctic territory.
On the other hand, if the two par-
ties conclude a settlement of the is-
lands issue with the caveat that the
settlement leaves unaffected their re-
spective claims upon Antarctica, such
an agreement may be impossible to


implement against other interested
states. For nothing that the parties
agree upon can be binding upon a
third party such as Britain, which
could persuasively argue, first, that
that party which had lost the islands
had correspondingly lost its claim to a
sector of Antarctica; and second, that
the agreement between the parties to
continue their respective claims upon
Antarctic sectors, when such an ap-
proach was insupportable for the
party which had lost the islands, was
tantamount to an abandoning of the
"sector theory" and an undermining
of their claims. The best that the par-
ties could hope for in such a situation
would be the tacit acquiescence of
other claimants hardly a situation
upon which one may construct a rea-
sonable settlement of the Beagle
Channel dispute.
Finally, the interests at stake in-
clude access to maritime lanes of
communication and the security of
the territory and the resource exploi-
tation operations. Whichever state
holds the islands will control access
to and from the Channel itself an
important consideration for Argentina
which has a naval base at Ushuaia in
the Channel. Further, the defensibility
of Isla Grande is linked to that of the
islands; the same is true of the
extractive operations. In these issues,
however, there is less of a parity be-
tween the two states than in the
others, for were the islands to go to
Chile, Argentina's ability to defend its
portion of Isla Grande would be seri-
ously impaired and its access to
Ushaia would be jeopardized.

Previous Attempts at
Resolution
The 1881 Boundary Treaty had in-
tended to resolve definitively all
boundary questions outstanding be-
tween Chile and Argentina. Nonethe-
less, the Treaty let ambiguity creep
into the division of the islands beyond
Isla Grande. The first effort to resolve
the dispute was made in 1915 when
the parties concluded a Protocol to
submit the controversy concerning
the "sovereignty of the Islands Picton,
Nueva, Lennox and adjacent islets
and islands lying in the Beagle Chan-
nel..." to arbitration by the British
government. This Protocol was not
ratified by the two states and re-
mained a dead letter.

























A map of disputed area.


The parties negotiated two other
protocols, one in 1938 and the other
in 1960, seeking arbitration of their
dispute. Both these instruments went
unratified and were thus worthless as
legally binding agreements.
Nonetheless, the latter of these efforts
is of some interest as it proceeded on
a premise quite different from that of
its predecessors. It did not treat the
PNL group as an indivisible whole,
but declared that Lennox and its ad-
jacent islets belonged to Chile, while
the two Becasses Islands belonged to
Argentina. Arbitration was to be re-
stricted to the questions of
sovereignty over Picton and Nueva
islands and the islets of Snipe, Sol-
itario, Hermanos, Gardiner, Reparo,
Packsaddle, Jorge, Augustus, and
"the rocky islet to the south of the two
Becasses islands."
This string of aborted attempts was
finally broken in July 1971, when the
two parties overcame their differences
and concluded an arbitration agree-
ment with Britain. The 1971 agree-
ment instituted an arbitration panel of
five judges drawn from the Interna-
tional Court of Justice. The panel was
to examine the question of the boun-
dary in the Beagle Channel and de-
termine the sovereignty of the PNL
group and adjacent islands and islets.
The panel's decision would not con-
stitute a valid and binding award until
it had been ratified by Her Majesty's
government. The tribunal gave its
unanimous decision on 18 April 1977.
For the purposes of interpreting the
definitive 1881 Boundary Treaty as
distinct from other purposes such as
those of geography or nomenclature
- the tribunal accepted the Chilean
thesis as to the direction of the east-


ern arm of the Channel. This ap-
proach of the tribunal was consistent
with its expressly circumscribed task
of resolving the dispute in terms of
the 1881 Treaty. The PNL group and
the other adjacent islands and islets
were thus determined as falling under
the sovereignty of Chile. In weighing
the arguments of the parties, the
Court found that the "Oceanic" and
"Cape Horn Meridian" principles es-
poused by Argentina had no validity.
The award gave the parties nine
months to implement its terms. On
25 January 1978, a week before the
expiration of the time allowed for the
execution of the award, Argentina is-
sued a "Declaration of Nullity,"
claiming that the award was "null and
void." The claim of nullity was based,
inter alia, upon the following argu-
ments: that the Court had shown a
systematic bias in favor of Chile; that
Argentina's arguments had been dis-
torted; that the Court had spoken
upon questions which had not been
submitted to it for adjudication; that
the Court's reasoning was self-
contradictory; and that the Court had
made errors in historical and geo-
graphical facts.
International law recognizes the
possibility of error by international tri-
bunals and the violence that may be
done to the rights of a sovereign state
should such an award be allowed to
stand. Consequently, it recognizes the
right of parties in arbitration cases to
review the awards for serious errors.
On the other hand, such a right of
necessity must be closely cir-
cumscribed, so that the process of
arbitration is not reduced to an exer-
cise in futility and that the rights of
the opposing party are not violated by


the state rejecting the award. Most
importantly, the decisions of interna-
tional tribunals do not lose validity or
binding force merely because one of
the parties, usually the losing party,
makes a claim of nullity. If, for in-
stance, the Court has stepped beyond
its allotted jurisdiction itself a
question to be decided by a tribunal
and not unilaterally by one of the par-
ties it needs to be shown that such
a transgression forms an inseparable
basis of the judgement. If, on the
other hand, the offending interpreta-
tions or statements are separable
from the judgement without altering
or weakening its conclusions, they
cannot form a basis for a claim of
nullity. Further, the onus of proof rests
upon the party claiming nullity since it
is challenging what would otherwise
be a binding decision.
A similar consideration governs al-
legations of errors in fact and/or rea-
soning. These must necessarily be
shown to be so vital to the decision
that without them the decision would
be insupportable. Regrettably, Argen-
tina's "Declaration of Nullity" made
no effort to argue the inseparability
and the "manifest" nature of the al-
leged transgressions of jurisdiction
and the errors of fact and reasoning.

The Clouds of War

The arbitral award, which has been
unfairly criticized for being "legal"
rather than "political," resulted in ac-
cess to the Argentine naval base of
Ushuaia vesting in Chilean hands. It
gave to Chile the rights to the territo-
rial and maritime resources of the
area and strengthened Chile's claim
to its sector in Antarctica while weak-
ening Argentina's competing claim.
Further, by awarding Isla Nueva in
particular to Chile, it provided that
state with Atlantic frontage, converting
it into a South Atlantic power a
consequence that could be obtained
only by rejecting the "Oceanic" prin-
ciple that Argentina had so assidu-
ously argued. The tribunal's decision
gave nothing to Argentina, which re-
sponded with a repudiation of the
award and a calculated escalation of
tensions in the region. Trade between
and through the two states was inter-
rupted; nationals, particularly Chileans
in Argentina, were harassed; troop
and naval movements were under-
taken; and the Chilean presence on
CAfBBEAN PEVIW/15








some of the disputed islands was en-
hanced. In addition, Chilean insis-
tence on the sanctity of the arbitral
award coupled with Argentina's in-
transigent opposition to that award -
stemming in part from rivalries within
the Argentinian military produced
a Gordian Knot which, it seemed, only
a resort to arms could unravel.
By late 1978 then, the clouds of
war hung menacingly over the
Southern Cone. It was into such a
setting that the Vatican injected itself,
managing through the consummate
diplomatic skills of Cardinal Antonio
Samore to obtain on 8 January 1979
agreements between the parties on
vital issues: that the two states would
not resort to force; that there would
be a gradual return to the military
situation existing "at the beginning of
1977"; that the parties would refrain
from measures that might "impair
harmony in any sector"; and, finally,


that they requested the Pope "to act
as mediator for the purpose of guid-
ing them in the negotiations and as-
sisting them in the search for a
settlement of the dispute..."
Having achieved the immediate
goals of reducing tensions and of
getting the parties to commit them-
selves to a renewed effort at peaceful
resolution of the conflict, the Vatican
now faces the difficult task of con-
structing an acceptable compromise.
Some movement in this direction has
already occurred. In agreeing to a
mediation by the Pope, Chile has au-
tomatically accepted the possibility of
a final settlement different from the
award of the arbitral tribunal. In re-
verting to the military situation of
early 1977, the Chilean reinforce-
ments introduced into the PNL group
immediately after the arbitration
award will have to be withdrawn. In
return, Chile receives the benefits of


normal trade and human relations
and a temporary removal of the pos-
sibility of an imminent war.
The broad framework of an
acceptable compromise may be
outlined as follows: a division of the
islands between the two states; rec-
ognition of the "Oceanic" principle in
some form; a sharing of the associa-
ted maritime resources; and, either a
sharing of the Antarctica claims or a
continuation of the status quo in that
continent. Particular elements of a
possible compromise solution are
also visible. Argentina will most likely
obtain satisfaction of its demand for a
"sovereign corridor" to Ushuaia so
that it has maritime access to that
base without passing through Chilean
waters. Argentina is also likely to get
some of the smaller islets south of
the PNL group; for instance, the Bar-
nevelt and the Becasses groups. In
addition, the "Oceanic" principle is


Books by

Colin G. Clarke



Jamaica in Maps,
1974, 104 pp. 2.50 from
Hodder and Stoughton, EO.
Box 792, Dunton Green,
Sevenoaks, Kent TN13 2YD,
England.

Kingston, Jamaica:
urban development and
social change, 1692-1962,
1975, 270 pp. $25.75 from
University of Califomia Press,
405 Hilgard Avenue, Los
Angeles, California 90024,
U.S.A.

Caribbean social relations
(editor), Monograph Series
Number 8, 1978, 95 pp. 3.00
from Centre for Latin American
Studies, University of Liverpool,
P.O. Box 147, Liverpool, L69
3BX, England.



16/CArtBBEAN PVI


Development &

Inequality in

Latin America

Gainesville, Florida
October 1-4,1979

The 29th Annual Latin American Conference will include such
topics as:

The State and Inequality in Latin America

Education and Inequality in Latin America

Urbanization, Internal Migration and Urban Poverty

Agrarian Structure and Inequality in Latin America

Multinational Corporations and Inequality in Latin America

The History of Inequality in Latin America

Inequality Among Nations

Speakers from Peru, Chile, Mexico, Brazil, and the United States.
The conference is supported by the Organization of American
States and the US Office of Education. Presented by The Center for
Latin American Studies at the University of Florida.








likely to receive recognition either
through a division of Isla Nueva or
through the outright allocation of that
island to Argentina. In conjunction
with such a disposition, it may be
necessary for both parties to declare
their adherence to long-standing
maritime boundaries in the southern
Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Such an
approach would restrict the dispute to
the islands themselves and their im-
mediate vicinities and prevent it from
spreading to adjacent areas and thus
becoming unmanageable.
Chile is likely to receive unchal-
lenged sovereignty over Picton and
Lennox islands and most of the other
islets in dispute. It will also be spared
the unpleasant prospect of fighting a
war with what is probably a superior
military power. In addition, Chile may
gain the benefits of entering into con-
sortia with Argentina for the explora-
tion and exploitation of the maritime


resources of the region, a factor
which may sweeten the pill of dashed
Atlantic aspirations. The consortium
idea could be extended, in principle,
to Antarctica in preparation for a time
when exploitation of that continent
becomes feasible. Finally, the fulfill-
ment of the terms of the compromise
could be spread over a period of
years.
Whether a compromise along the
above lines will be implemented will
depend upon the alignment of
domestic forces within the two states
at the time the final details are ham-
mered out an event that appears to
be at least several months away. The
"doves" in the two capitals seem to
have prevailed and dictated policy in
the past several months, but their
prestige, and power depends upon a
reasonable pace of accommodation
being maintained through the negoti-
ations and upon a successful conclu-


sion of the mediation effort. Such
success, however, will spell the eclipse
- if only temporarily of the
"hawks" in the two juntas and tilt the
domestic balance in Argentina
against the generals. The prospect of
a compromise agreement may thus
trigger attempts by factions within the
two ruling elites to raise tensions in
the Southern Cone and sabotage the
negotiations. The price for such nar-
rowly self-interested actions will be
the same as that for a failure of the
Papal mediation: a grave likelihood of
a wider conflagration. For when the
sheathed sabers are drawn again in
an Andean conflict, neighboring
states such as Bolivia and Peru may
find themselves hard put to stave off
the temptation of satisfying
longstanding territorial claims they
have had on Chile.
Farrokh Jhabvala teaches International Rela-
tions at Florida International University.


CAMIBBEAN FEIEW/17


CA?,BBAN







We are pleased to announce the establishment of The
Caribbean Review Award, an annual award to honor an
individual who has contributed to the advancement of Caribbean
intellectual life.
The award recognizes individual effort irrespective of field,
ideology, national origin, or place of residence.
An Award Committee of five scholars will be appointed.
Nominations are to be sent to The Editor, Caribbean Review,
Florida International University, Miami, Florida 33199. Nominations
must be received by February 29, 1980.
The First Annual Award will be announced at the Fifth Annual
Meeting of the Caribbean Studies Association, May 7-10,1980,
Curacao.























II


















r4
Fr
























ir






































-L_









Religion and Politics



in Bermuda

Revivalist politics and the

language of power

By Frank E. Manning


The performance style of talk among Afro-West Indians has
long impressed sensitive observers. Formal verbal presenta-
tions are deliberately histrionic, and even ordinary conversa-
tions are often raised to a high level of showmanship. Cultural
heroism is attained by the ablest masters of the spoken word:
a social cross section ranging from the "good talkers" who
hold sway in the local rum shop to entertainment per-
sonalities with international reputations.
The value attached to oral communication is magnified in
societies heavily influenced by evangelical Protestantism, a
bloc including most of the English-speaking Caribbean.
Rejecting liturgical ritual in favor of preaching, evangelism
made its major social production, the revival meeting, a
popular speech event. The preacher entered the pantheon of
culture heroes, representing not only religious ideals but the
persuasive ability to get people to act against their material
self-interest by parting with money and forswearing the
pleasures of the flesh. Local cults that have merged with
revivalism have altered Christian teaching, while maintaining
and even intensifing the emphasis on verbal performance.
These cultural influences have significant political impli-
cations. Rhetoric is a vital instrument in the political process
and religion is a major source of rhetorical symbolism. Man-
ley, Duvalier, Gairy, and Burnham to name an ideological
diversity of Caribbean "big men" have successfully tapped
religious imagery to enhance their personal charisma and
to mystify their power. However they appear to the
outside world, Caribbean political figures are seen by many
in their own societies as preachers, prophets,
sometimes Obeahmen.
Why is revivalist language so effective in the service of
politics? What transfers of meaning occur to make Carib-
bean religion profoundly escapist and "otherworldly" in its
Christian as well as syncretic variations relevant to the
political imagination of Afro-West Indians? The politics of
Bermuda yield specific answers as well as a basis for com-
parative generalization.
A circum-Caribbean tourist resort and tax haven, Bermuda
is a deeply divided society. The three-fifths of the population
From left to right, Lois Browne, the PLP's fiery leader, is generally
regarded as Bermuda's most effective speaker (Photo courtesy Bermuda
Sun); Ottiwell Simmons, union leader and Member of Parliament,
exemplifies the PLP's revivalist style. (Photo courtesy Bermuda Sun);
Dale Butler of the Bermuda PLP tries to draw an audience at a family
"cultural festival." (Photo courtesy Bermuda Sun). A large and attentive
crowd elicits hell-fire preaching at a political meeting. (Photo courtesy
Royal Gazette); Bottom photo, Religious rhetoric articulated the PLP's
crusade to stop the hanging of two blacks convicted of assassinating
Bermuda's Governor. An outdoor rally is addressed by Austin Thomas,
Member of Parliament and son of a Pentecostal minister. (Photo courtesy
Royal Gazette).


who are black and the remainder who are white were legally
segregated until the 1960s and remain discrete social en-
tities, demonstrating at best a semblance of polite mutual
tolerance and at worst as happened a half dozen times in
the past two decades when race riots erupted a state of
open belligerence.
The political system is a modified version of the social
structure. The United Bermuda Party (UBP), which has been
in power without interruption since its formation in 1964, is a
coalition of the old white merchant oligarchy, Portuguese and
expatriate whites, and a segment of conservative blacks. The
Progressive Labour Party (PLP), which introduced party
politics to Bermuda when it competed in the 1963 election, is
almost entirely black in membership and voting support.
The battle lines were clearly drawn by the mid-1960s: the
UBP supported colonial status and free enterprise capitalism,
while the PLP advocated independence from Britain and a
rather vague philosophy of socialism. The most embittered
controversy, however, was racial. Inheriting the oligarchy's
patronage system, the UBP gained the visible support of
enough blacks to project itself as a "partnership" of the races.
The PLP's reaction was voiced through a militant and moral-
istic rhetoric of Black Power, enlarging its image of radicalism
and unwittingly bolstering the UBP's appeal to conservative
and moderate blacks. In the first two elections under full and
equal adult suffrage those of 1968 and 1972 the UBP
won three-fifths of the popular vote and three-quarters of the
seats in Parliament.

Evangelical Campaigning
In 1976, the most recent election, the PLP changed its
rhetorical strategy. Political and economic issues were
downplayed, and the vocabulary of Black Power was re-
placed by one of evangelical religion. The campaign was
likened to a crusade against evil, waged by a people whom
God had chosen to remake and inherit Bermuda. Party
leader Lois Browne, a veteran of the radical period, struck the
theme repeatedly in the campaign:
"God doesn't mean for oppression to win. So ultimately
we will win. We must rededicate ourselves to the task.
"We have faith, strength. Even if we don't win, we're going
to go on. It's inevitable. We know we're going up and the
others are coming down. We will claim the victory in 1980,
or 1984, or whenever It is God's work to so take us there...
"The party wants to build idealism and restore it to our
lives and politics. Our members are quality people. They are
made in the image of God, and will represent you."
Biblical imagery, especially Old Testament, was extensively


CARtBBEAN EVeVP/19















Cultural heroism is attained by the ablest masters of the
spoken word: a social cross section ranging from the "good
talkers" who hold sway in the local rum shop to
entertainment personalities with international reputations.


tapped. One candidate told an audience that the campaign
reminded him of "Climbing Jacob's Ladder," a familiar hymn
about the mystic ladder linking heaven and earth and repre-
senting the promise of redemption. "Like the people in the
song," he said, "we are going higher, higher, higher." Another
candidate used the Biblical dream archetype, relating his
"vision" of the marginal parishes falling successively to the
PLP: "I see Sandys. I see Warwick. I see Hamilton. And I see St.
George. And the ugly head of the UBP is put down forever." As
he called the names of the parishes there was a gathering
crescendo of excitement and interpolation in the crowd.
When he reached St. George, the parish needed for a major-
ity, one supporter yelled: "Go down, Moses. He's leading
us to victory."
Campaign rallies were opened with prayer, punctuated
with hymn singing, financed by "offerings," and closed with
benediction. As in black revivalism where entertainment and
evangelism are frequently brought together, there was an
element of comedy occasioned by the awareness of playing
with performance tropes. Announcing the collection at one
rally, Browne extended the analogy with church services: "It's
part of our heritage our culture, to pass the bucket. At the
Church of God (Bermuda's largest Pentecostal assembly)
they say that one-tenth of whatyou have belongs to God. So
give it to us now. We are his agents." (laughter).
Besides the regular collections there were calls for pledges
at the first two campaign rallies, raising about $3,000.00 on
each occasion. Browne deftly compared the pledging deci-
sion to the salvation experience: "You know, you wriggle
around in your seat and you hope that you have another
hoot before you get saved. And you sit there and you don't
go up for prayer I have a feeling that there's someone out
there tonight who's going through that feeling. You want to
make the pledge. Butyoujust can't get the courage Yes now
The woman out there has finally got the courage. Stand up."
While the decision to pledge was likened to conversion, the
form of pledging resembled "testimony," the recitation in
church services of personal religious experience. The
layman's opportunity to preach, testimony is often an enter-
taining and somewhat competitive exchange with the pastor.
The political counterpart had similar characteristics:
PLEDGE DONOR: (after making his own pledge and
praising the PLP). "I'm going to pledge $10.00 from my
father And if you don't get it from him, I'll get it from him."
(laughter)
BROWNE: (speaking to recording secretary). "Ten dollars
from from his son. I'm going to leave itjust
like that, so I'll know what it is. And if I don't get it from him,
20/CArfBBEAN revIEW


I'm going to come looking for you" (laughter)
"Anybody else want to pledge for their fathers? You can
pledge for your mothers, too." (laughter)
The climax of the campaign was the final rally on election
ever, held outdoors before an estimated 2,000 people. The
adult choirs of the largest African Methodist, Episcopal and
Pentecostal assemblies appeared in their robes and mortar-
boards, introducing the program with a medley of gospel
music. The starring role, however, was given to two black
pastors who were known as PLP sympathizers but previously
inactive politically. After leading prayer, each went on to
attack the UBP with the flamboyance and drama of hell-fire
preaching. One of them, a Pentecostal who had recently had
the mortgage on his church revoked by a white bank, set the
tone: "I have been praying and fasting that God will have his
way in this election, and not a certain group of people. It's
time God uses men to do his work. It seems God is unsatis-
fied with the job that some folk have been doing. Tomorrow
he might be satisfied to have the results a little different."
Later he debunked the UBP's "partnership:" "Me've been
hearing a lot lately about some kind of partnership. For so
many years we never had this partnership. It's true we can
look at our TV screens and see blacks shaking hands with
whites. I'm not against it God knows I'm not against it But I
like the real thing."
The PLP's symbolic alternative to the UBP's partnership
was the family. Without turning from the issues it had
traditionally pressed, the PLP related these issues to a central
theme: the strengthening of the family. Consider the follow-
ing platform planks, often quoted or paraphrased in candi-
dates' speeches:
"We view the steady deterioration of family life with alarm,
and undertake to institute social and economic measures
designed to strengthen the family unit, and particularly as it
is affected by unemployment.
"Every form of encouragement and support will be given
to persons engaged in various forms of agricultural produc-
tion ... Home gardening encourages the strengthening of
family units.
"A restructured, comprehensive social insurance program
will be instituted. Additional resources will be directed
towards the strengthening of family life
"Regulations will be instituted to ensure that TVand other
forms of mass media are used to build and strengthen rather
than destroy family life.
"In order to cater to the full development of family life, there
must be available a proper layout of roads and houses along
with adequate provisions for cultural and recreational facili-
















The campaign was likened to a crusade against evil, waged
by a people whom God had chosen to remake and inherit
Bermuda.


ties to occupy leisure hours."
While upholding the type of family prescribed by the
churches the nuclear, monogamous unit based on formal
marriage the PLP also spoke to the victim and the sinner.
The popularity at rallies of the hymn "Sometimes I feel like a
Motherless Child," attests to the chronic instability of the
black family and the resulting sense of loneliness. In a speech
entitled "Restoring Humanity that has been Robbed," a
physician recruited as a candidate addressed the subject of
illegitimacy, the most stigmatized deviation from the ideal
family and the status of about two-fifths of black births. "I
don't accept the designation that some children are illegiti-
mate All children are legitimate because they are conceived
in love They must be loved the way only a mother can."
He continued by relating the child's need for maternal care to
the chief problem of single mothers: the necessity to work
and therefore be away from their children: "One-fifth of a
child's education occurs between the ages of four and six.
Parents should read and sing to their children, and play with
them. Mothers should be with their children, instead of
working outside The PLP will make this possible because it
is dedicated to the restoration of the family unit."
Interestingly, the physician was billed as a "family doctor,"
emphasizing his difference from the incumbent, a white
neurosurgeon. Although making his first bid for office, he
topped the poll over both the neurosurgeon and another
long-term UBP incumbent.
In the election eve rally, Browne posed and answered the
question of what she considered the campaign's "vital issue":
"It's the question of family life, the quality of life, and what's
going to happen to Bermuda. WM have taken on this issue as
a means of saving Bermuda from degradation and corrup-
tion. MW have tried to impart the true social meaning and
truth of life.
"There are big gaps between the PLP and the UBP. It's not
just money. It's a question of values, dignity, love, and
brotherhood."
The PLP lost again the following day, but gained four seats
in Parliament and six percentage points in the popular vote -
the major electoral shift in Bermuda's brief history of party
politics. The PLP became for the first time a viable opposition
and a serious threat for the next election, now slated for 1981.
To grasp the role of revivalist rhetoric and campaign style in
that process, let us begin with the PLP's conception of how
symbolism serves political strategy.

Religion and Race
"Politics in Bermuda used to be a patronage game," ob-


served a PLP strategist. "But now it's a 'head' game. The UBP
are still using the old rules. We can beat them by using
our heads."
From the PLP's standpoint, the decision to wage a revivalist
campaign marked a turning point in the rules of political
gamesmanship. Pressing for decolonization and democratic
social reforms in previous campaigns, the PLP realized it had
given the UBP an opportunity to coopt such issues into their
patronage system and then bestow them in modified form as
either general concessions (representative government,
welfare benefits) or specific rewards (club memberships,
company directorships, investment opportunities). The PLP
sensed they would need to move political debate from issues
to symbols, but knew that they must avoid the symbols of
explicit racial militancy that had earlier divided the black
electorate and been easily undermined by the UBP Recalling
the effort to win Hamilton Parish, a predominately black area
where the UBP held all four seats by narrow margins, a PLP
insider told how a new symbolic strategy was devised. "w
asked ourselves, 'Man, how we gonna win those niggers
down in Hamilton Parish?' Then the idea came put on a
revival!And everyone agreed. 'Yeah, that's what we need a
revival. We'll take them to church!' M knew the UBP could
never follow that act." Later he mused, "Revivalism, black-
ness, PLP it's all together."
Besides being the site of a major rally in which the principal
speech dealt with the moral integrity of the family, Hamilton
Parish was also selected for the final rally on election eve.
Aside from welcoming remarks by the party chairman and a
short speech by Browne, the final rally was deliberately turned
over to the pastors and their choirs. A party member con-
fessed that the churches were enticed to participate on
election eve by the moral orientation of the campaign and by
the promise that the event would be essentially a religious
service, not a political meeting. In turn, it was anticipated that
the pastors would unwittingly politicize their own role: "If you
can get a minister up before a few thousand people, he's got
to preach. He can't resist. He's got a captive audience. So
they came out swinging, and we stayed behind them like
nice respectable niggers."
While perhaps gilded slightly by the PLP's exuberance at
winning three of the four seats in Hamilton Parish (as well as
the other election gains), these candid remarks point to two
cultural sensitivities that were successfully tapped through
revivalist symbolism. The most obvious and direct is
evangelical Christianity, evoked by the correspondence of
rallies to church services, the likening of political combat to a
Continued on page 42


CAkBBEAN CVIEW/21


I









The Future of the



Rastafarian Movement





By Klaus de Albuquerque
The Rastafari movement has had a profound impact on
Jamaican society, but has not escaped unscathed, for many
of its doctrines have undergone a metamorphosis in the
interplay between the movement and society. In fact, it is
arguable that today the movement bears little resemblance
to what it was in the 1950s with the exception of a small group
of religious Rastas who continue their uncompromising
stance vis-h-vis participation in the wider society. The in-
teraction between the Rastafari movement and Jamaican
society has brought about the Rastafarianization of Jamaica
(in some way synonymous with the Africanization of
Jamaica) and the Jamaicanization of the movement.
In its current form, Rastafarianism is as Jamaican as ackee
and salt fish, the national dish of Jamaica. Rastafarian argot,
inclusive of apocalyptic proclamations, is Jamaican argot,
and the converse is fast becoming true as well; likewise, Rasta
art and music. The much vaunted polarization between the
movement and society has shown some signs of turning into
a marriage of convenience. This viewpoint though, is not
without contradiction. Rastafarians have manifested traits
(cooperative brotherhood) and expressed sentiments (peace
and love) not commonly found in the wider society. In other
words, there is in the movement both an anti-Jamaicanness,
which expresses itself in terms of its denial of Jamaican
nationality, its strong patriarchal tendencies, its refusal (in
principle) to work for Babylon (a collective expression for the
Western imperialist world), its sobriety, and its espousal of the
doctrine of peace and love, as well as a strong Jamaicanness
which expresses itself in the movement's changing attitudes
toward women, young people and education, ganja, and in
their strong sense of religiosity.


The Rastafari Movement and Repatriation
The denial of Jamaica by many Rastas who claim Ethiopian
nationality insulted the sensibilities of the proprietary mem-
bers of society and of middleclass Jamaica. Both these
groups were and are committed to a selfconscious nation-
alism and an ideological commitment to multi-racialism -
"out of many, one people." The Rastafarian insistence that
the only true Jamaican was the Arawak, and perhaps the
brown man whose African heritage had been diluted, was
viewed as being profoundly unpatriotic, with the wider soci-
ety's reaction being typically defensive and the Jamaican
Government embarking on a program to bring the Rastas to
their senses regarding Africa and repatriation.
The Majority Report of the 1961 Mission to Africa pre-
sented a realistic appraisal of the problems of extensive
Jamaican migration to Africa. Most African heads of State,
22/CARBBEAN F eIEW


while flattered by Jamaica's interest in Africa, and in particu-
lar, the Rastafarian claim to African nationality, cautiously
advised that their countries would only accept a small
number of skilled and professional people. But the
Rastas were undaunted, for they believed that even if most
African States did not recognize their claim to citizenship,
Ethiopia would.
No single issue has caused so much division among the
Rastafarians, or has promoted as much discussion between
the Rastas and the wider society, as has the issue of repatria-
tion. For many Rastas, repatriation is not an issue to be
discussed between governments, for they are convinced that
the Emperor will send for them when he is ready, having been



























































foretold in the Bible (Isaiah 43:3-6). However, those Rastafa-
rians with a more activist orientation reject this position and
insist that the movement has to involve itself directly with the
question of repatriation. It is these Rastafarians, labeled
"Political Rastas" by the movement, who have been thrust
into positions of leadership in the last 20 years, and who have
petitioned the Jamaican Government, demonstrated at the
UN, and embarked on the various Back-to-Africa missions.
The history of the movement for repatriation is an in-
teresting one, with the first serious attempt to explore pos-
sibilities for migration to Africa following the 1960 UWI
Report on the Rastafari movement. The stated purpose of the
Mission, which was to explore the possibility of emigration to


Africa, provoked some discussion in Jamaica, the consensus
among the Rastafari brethren being that a true Rastafarian
should only be concerned with repatriation not migration.
The Rastafari brethren were not to accept the attempt on the
part of the Jamaican Government to define repatriation
within the broader context of migration, thus rendering the
Mission to Africa more acceptable to the wider society.
Although the Ethiopian Government agreed in principle to
accept immigration, the Mission did not return to Jamaica
with any specific guarantees. However, the three Rastafarians
on the Mission reported favorably on their visit to Ethiopia,
saying that the Emperor knew of the existence of the Ras-
tafari brethren, that land was available for settlement, and the
Emperor had stated that only the right people should come.
In the mind of the Jamaican Government the issue had been
resolved. Since no African Government had offered to open
its doors to a large number of immigrants from Jamaica, the
task before the Government was to rehabilitate the brethren.
The polite speeches of visiting African dignitaries urging
the Rastas to reassess their role in Jamaica were met with
intransigence and rejection by the brethren. When Francis
Cann, Third Secretary of the Ghanian Mission to the U.N.,
advised the movement in a public lecture that it would be
unfair for people without skills and money to migrate to
Africa and further contribute to that continent's problems,
and that the Rastas should stay and help build Jamaica -
"Africa is everywhere, Jamaica is Africa" he was greeted
with shouts of "imperialist stooge." While the Rastas
denounced Mr. Cann and claimed that he had been influ-
enced by local persons, the Jamaican Press made
much of Mr. Cann's speech. The Radio Education Unit of the
University of the West Indies in an interview with several
cultists claimed the Cann lecture should have brought the
Rastas to their senses.
Although Rex Nettleford contends that the visit of the
Emperor in 1966 "contributed to the waning ardor of the
desire for physical return,"the movement never lost sight of
the goal of repatriation. The wider society considered this
goal a dead issue, and they interpreted all Rastafarian partici-
pation in art, theater and community projects, as indicators of
successful rehabilitation. Despite the wider society's claims
to the contrary and its various and sundry attempts to
Africanize Jamaica in terms of dress styles and other
accoutrements defined as projecting an African
identity, Ethiopia was still looked to as a homeland
for many Jamaicans.
The issue of repatriation was given a new infusion by the
formation of the Rastafari Movement Association. Through
its organ the Rasta Voice the RMA has developed a fairly
CAMBBEAN P eIW/23






ILLUSTRATIONS BY URSULA DE ALBUQUERQUE


His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Haile Selassie
of Ethiopia-Jah Rastafari.


Marcus Mosiah Garvey-Spiritual father
of Rastafari movement.


Bob Marley-Rasta reggae superstar.
24/CAIBBEAN PCEVeW


consistent line on repatriation. According to the RMA, repatri-
ation is a government to government affair, but the Jamaican
Government will never aid in repatriating Rastafarians (... "do
you believe that the people who benefits from your labor is
going to send you away and lose those free labor?" -Rasta
Voice, August 15, 1973.Rasta Vbice claimed a solution should
be to bring together all progressive organizations into one
United Front under the banner of the Ethiopian World Feder-
ation, and then to vote in a Rasta Government. The Govern-
ment would then negotiate for repatriation and presumably
would pick up and leave Jamaica with part of the population.
One of the editors of theRasta Voice, Ras Historian, has gone
even further in suggesting that repatriation might not be
necessary because Jamaica is an African state and it only
needs a people's government (i.e., Rasta Government) to
make it a member of the Organization of African Unity. How-
ever, in delivering a message from the RMA to the planning
conference of the Sixth Pan African Congress in Kingston, he
omitted the above suggestion. His message is an important
insight into the contribution of Rasta: "Over the years the
Rastafari Movement Association in this country have been
and will continue to be the vanguard of our people and that is
why I and I are proud to say that Rasta have paved the way for
true liberation and repatriation. One may ask why Rasta and
Rastafari are the only people who project a true African
identity. When one looks on the principle of our movement
and compare it with the liberation struggle of our people
especially our brothers in Southern Africa and Australia
where our people are mercilessly oppressed by the illegal
Apartheid System: We find that over the years that this
movement have been giving solidarity to the African all over
the world." (Rasta Voice March 1973).


The Rastafari Critique of Society
In 1962, the transfer of power from Britain to a brown and
near-white elite had been carefully engineered, and Jamaica
was a fledgling independent nation sensitive to anything
approaching criticism. The Rastas'claim to Ethiopian citizen-
ship was coupled with the insistence that the majority of
Jamaicans blacks would not be the beneficiaries of
independence and that control of Jamaica would continue in
the hands of a privileged brown and white minority. So while
the wider society chastized the movement over its irreverence
to Jamaican nationalism and independence, the movement
countered that Jamaica had never been a black man's coun-
try, either historically or otherwise and that independence was
a farce. But the movement was merely expressing a widely
shared sentiment among the Jamaican poor concerning












While the wider society chastized the movement over its
irreverence to Jamaican nationalism and independence, the
movement countered that Jamaica had never been a black
man's country, either historically or otherwise and that
independence was a farce.


their future and the state of Jamaican politics.
It took academics and socialist politicians several years to
officially recognize the existence of this sentiment and to
raise the relevant questions concerning who really controls
Jamaican society. The answers to these questions, largely
disseminated by the Rastafarians continuing critique of
Jamaican society, were to have a radicalizing effect on the
younger segments of the Jamaican population and were to
provide the PNP with carte blanche in their move to the left.
Michael Manley's championing of the common man and his
erudition concerning the neocolonial status of most Third
World countries are all in response to the prevailing radical
sentiments nurtured by the Rasta movement in Jamaica.
Ironically then, the movement's earlier rejection of Jamaican
nationalism in terms of a commitment to multi-racialism
prompted the emergence of a new political and economic
nationalism linked to the recognition that better than
90 percent of Jamaica's population is poor and of
African extraction.
While some Rastas are in agreement in theory with Man-
ley's politics and have demonstrated a desire to participate
more fully in the creation of a socialist Jamaica along the
lines of Cuba, the majority of the Rastafarians still share
a basic distrust for politics and consider themselves
Ethiopians. Yet despite their claims to the contrary, the
Rastas still project sometimes unconsciously a strong
Jamaican identity.
The wider society has, over the years, attempted to perpe-
trate a theory of indolence regarding the Rastafarian move-
ment. Though many Rastas refuse to accept employment,
the average employed Rasta, is a hard and conscientious
worker. Those who reject wage employment (it compromises
them with Babylonian society) seek the common and pre-
ferred practice of working for and among themselves, many
Rastas are in fact skilled craftsmen (furniture makers, pain-
ters, mechanics, wood carvers, artists and musicians), sub-
sistence farmers, or fishermen. Both the Rastas who are
self-employed, and those who work for wages, help support
brethren who have no skills and cannot find work. In many
ways the Rastafari movement is, and always has been, as the
University of the West Indies Report suggested, rooted in
unemployment and underemployment. This non-worker
element, together with the independent craftsmen, might
prove problematic to the working class struggle currently
being waged in Jamaica.
The sobriety existing within the movement and the com-
mitment to the doctrine of peace and love sets the Rastas
apart from the wider society. Disavowing alcohol and the
patterns of performance that are the essential ingredients for


building a reputation in the rum shop, the Rasta man appears
by contrast rather subdued, except of course when discus-
sing his religious convictions. Likewise, he seems to have
escaped the fascination for, and preoccupation with the
violence that dominates the life of most ghetto youth. In fact,
in an attempt to disassociate their movement from accusa-
tions concerning its proclivity to violence, Rastafarians have
adopted the counterpart principle of peace and love, which
are the guiding forces in the life of a true Rastafarian. Rastafari
brethren greet each other with such salutations as "peace
and love brother" and when they part company they usually
say "love brother" or "perfect love." Rastafarian communities
are models of peaceful coexistence and the Rasta brethren
residing there demonstrate a sense of gentleness and mild
manneredness not commonly found among Jamaican
males in the wider society. In many ways Rasta communities
offer refuge to ghetto youth weary of the violence of West
Kingston.


The Jamaicanness of the Rastafari
Movement
Jamaican nationalism emerges frequently in discussions
concerning Caribbean politics and Jamaica's participation in
international sport, and many Rastas share the same sense of
superiority manifest in the wider society's attitudes toward
other Commonwealth Caribbean nations. Sports, particu-
larly Test Cricket, is an area where this nationalism emerges.
Shell Shield Cricket between Jamaica, Trinidad, Guyana,
Barbados and the Combined Islands reactivates old rivalries
and dreadlocks Rasta are just as likely as any other
Jamaicans to heap insults on the visitors at Sabina Park, the
cricket oval. The choosing of cricket players to represent the
West Indies is also a subject of much controversy. Question-
ing why there are so few Jamaicans on the side and why
a Jamaican hasn't been chosen as Captain of the West
Indies team in a long time reflect a simple fact that most
Rastafarians share many of the values and interests of
the wider society.
Vera Rubin and Lambros Comitas, in their article, "Effects
of Chronic Smoking of Cannabis in Jamaica," have identified
a ganja-complex (belief in ganja as a stimulant, sedative,
energizer, assuager, and source of wisdom) in Jamaica,
structurally linked to the lower class and rural life. Rastafarian
secular attitudes toward ganja are largely derived from the
complex of beliefs underlying the use of ganja among lower
class Jamaicans. However, the widespread use of ganja in
Jamaica is often attributed to the influence of the Rastafari
Continued on page 44
CABBEAN DIEW/25
























It was a rough night, the kind of night
when all good people stayed inside
their homes and children hid under
coverlets, afraid of thunder and light-
ning. Rain fell like pellets from a BB
gun, hard and fast to the already
soaked earth, and the wind blasted
through the trees.
On Pa Azunde's house a broken
shutter banged loudly against the tapia
walls. Inside the one room house the
candle on the nightstand flickered out
and its wick drooped into the teacup of
soft wax. The old man on the bed rolled
over and reached for the box of
matches he kept under his pillow. He
sat up drowsily and struck a match. It
blazed for a second but went out before
his trembling hand could reach the
wick. He tried three times but each time
a gust of wind would sweep through the
room and take the flame away.
"Satan," said the old man, "you up to
your old tricks again."
In the darkness Pa Azunde reached
up and pulled in the shutter. He
grasped a long piece of string which
was attached to the window ledge and
looped it around a knob on the shutter.
Then he struck another match. That
time he was able to light the candle. He
saved the rest of the flame to light his
pipe.
"Might as well smoke," he muttered.
"I could see I ain't going to have much
sleep tonight"
It was almost dawn. He could hear
the cock crowing in Tante Farzie's
backyard. Pa Azunde smoked and
waited as patiently as he had waited
many times before. He listened to the
rain and wind duet on the galvanized
roof. The two chickens he kept in a
wooden box in a corner of the room
rustled their feathers and pecked at
each other.
"Satan," called the old man,


26/CAIrBBEAN revIEW











By Brenda Flanagan
By Brenda Flanagan


"speak your piece."
Instantly, a bolt of lightening cracked
in the room and the blaze of light sent
the chickens jumping and clucking in
their box. Like a thousand cannons the
thunder broke and the small house
quivered.
Pa Azunde puffed on his pipe and
listened to the thunder roll away. Then it
was quiet; the rain had stopped, the
chickens were still, and the wind had
died. The candle in the teacup went out
again.
"It is a woman," the old man said to
the darkness. "A woman with a belly full
of trouble, bringing more botheration
for my soul."
Tante Farzie's cock crowed four
times as Pa Azunde got out of bed to
make ready for his visitor.

Elaine sat in the back of the bus hold-
ing a handkerchief to her neck. She
wondered if the driver had seen the
scaly gray spots around her neck when
she handed him the fare. The
ringworm itched and burned her and
she kept pressing the handkerchief
against it. It was seven in the morning
and Elaine was tired. Her buttocks
ached from sitting on the wooded seat
for hours on the bus. It would take that
long for them to get to Naparima if the
bus didn't break down. The driver had
had to stop once already to check
under the bonnet. He had hissed and
cussed the Public Transport Company
as the rain beat down on his head and
shoulders.
Elaine was the only passenger. The
driver had looked at her oddly when
she had boarded and gone straight to
the back. Elaine knew that the normal
thing to do would be to sit up front and
chat with the driver but she wanted to
be alone. She wanted to think She was
still not sure that she was doing


the right thing.
She leaned against the metal rear of
the bus and whispered some prayers to
Saint Francis, her patron saint. The
prayers were part of a novena she was
making. As she prayed she caressed
the blue beads of her rosary, the special
one that the Archbishop had blessed
the last time he had come to her parish.
It was Father Otega, her priest, who
had suggested the novena after Elaine
had gone to him in tears. She had tried
for weeks to pretend that nothing was
wrong, not wanting the priest to know
her shame, but soon it became too
much for her to bear alone. She broke
down.
"I can't take it any more, Fader. I just
have to tell yuh what Harold doin to me
and de children "
"Be calm, my child," Father Otega
patted her shoulders. "God is our
comfort in times of need and sorrow."
"It look like God tum his back on me,
Fader," Elaine sobbed and talked and
her shoulders shook with the pain of
telling her shame.
Harold, her husband, was practically
living with Buelah, the biggest whore in
the village. At first, Elaine told the priest,
Harold was really sly about it He stayed
out a couple of nights every now and
then and she thought he was playing
draughts with Mister Critchlow, his
friend. But Critchlow had come by the
house one evening when Harold was
out and told her that he had not seen
Harold in weeks. When Harold came in
that night she mentioned Critchlow's
visit. She asked Harold, "Who you
playing draughts wid now?"
Harold replied, "What make you tink I
playing draughts wid anybody else?"
Elaine had not known what to reply
so that was the end of the conversation.
But talk was floating about the village
that Harold was spending time with


Buelah. The children heard it and told
Elaine. Elaine couldn't, wouldn't be-
lieve it at first but she worried.
Harold was always so quiet; he was
the last man anyone would suspect of
doing something like that. She asked
him one night if he knew the lies people
were saying about him and Buelah.
"People so jealous dey will say anything
to break up a good marriage." she said,
watching him closely.
"Is true, Elaine," Harold told her.
"Buelah is meh woman now." He
pushed aside the plate of rice and peas
she had placed before him and left the
house.
"Oh Gawd, Fader Otega, I can't hold
meh head up in public no more,"
Elaine cried. "De man making me
shame shame in de whole village."
"You must pray, my child," said
Father Otega. "You must make
novenas and ask the saints and the Vir-
gin Mary to intercede on your behalf.
Come, let us light some candles and
pray.
For weeks Elaine lit candles; at the
church, in the grotto of the Virgin Mary,
and at home. On Sundays she went to
High Mass and put ten-dollar notes into
the collection plate. On Wednesdays
she went back to church for early
morning service. On Saturdays she
went up to Mount Saint Benedict to
pray with the monks.
Harold moved all his clothes to
Buelah's house.
Elaine's Indian friend, Pourie, told
her one day, "Girl, yuh look like yuh
have marasme. Yuh looking tin tin and
yuh hair falling out."
Elaine smiled weakly and continued
to hang clothes on the line.
Pourie came over and sat on the
back steps of Elaine's house. She
folded her hands across her breasts
and said, "Elaine, yuh is ah big fool. Yuh
CAIfBBEAN IEVIEW/27








mean dat you goin to jus sit down and
and let dat brazen hussy take yuh hus-
band away?"
Elaine hung the last shirt on the line
and sat down besides Pourie on the
steps.
"I doe know what else to do, Pouri.
Father Otega tell me to make novenas.
I do all dat I light candles, I pray, and still
the man livin wid Buelah. Is true he still
does come by on Friday and leave
some money for the children, but dat
all."
"Look, why yuh doe go and see
somebody about dis ting?"
Elaine pretended not to understand
her friend.
"Who somebody you talking 'bout?"
Doe play de fool wid me, Elaine,"
Pourie said. "Yuh know full well dere's
people who could fix a ting like dis. How
you tink Buelah manage to get she
hooks in a good good man like Harold
in the fust place? Is obeah dat woman
working left and right. Yuh can't fight
obeah like dat wid no candle."
Elaine cupped her lips. "My Gawd
Pourie, doe talk so loud 'bout dat kind
of ting around here. I is a good Catholic.
I in church two, three times a week. I
can't be going to no obeah man."
"Okay," said Pourie. She got up and
straightened her skirt. "If you want
Buelah to keep Harold, dat's all right
wid me. Jus yesterday I see she wid two
big new gold bangles on she han'. Dey
mus be wurt over 200 dollars. Harold
sure spenin a bundle on dat woman."
And she went back to her house.
For days Elaine pondered her
friend's advice. When she went to High
Mass on Sunday she asked God to for-
give her for thinking about obeah. She
didn't take holy communion that day
because she had not gone to confes-
sion on Saturday. She didn't want
Father Otega to know what she was
thinking.
The next morning, Monday, Elaine
woke up to find that the ringworm
which she had felt developing on her
scalp had broken out on her neck. She
took one look at it in the bureau mirror
and dashed over to Pourie's house.
"Oh meh Gawd," she cried, "de
woman put cocoa-bay on me! Look at
mah neck! Oh Gawd, I go dead!"
"Ah hah," Pourie said, "what I did tell
you? Dat Buelah ain't making' no joke,
nuh. Yuh know how divorce hard to get
in Trinidad. She doe want to wait no
seven years for Harold. Dat's why she
trying to get you. Yuh have to do some-
28/CAJfBBEAN PFVIEW


ting, girl. Stop playing' stupid."
"But obeah, Pourie, I never do any-
ting like dat in meh life."
"Is a fust time for everything, girl. If yuh
doe do something quick quick yuh ain't
goin to have no life to do anything wid."
Pourie put some flour and water into
a pan and began to knead the dough
for breakfast rhoti. She spoke softly.
"Leh meh tell you something. I can't talk
too loud because Ramjohn might hear
meh." Ramjohn was Pourie's husband.
"Yuh remember las year when me
and Ram was fighting' a lot? Every day









,






was blows in dis house. De man used
to come home drunk drunk wid no
money at all. Every cent he make uses
to go in Doolam rumshop. Me and de
kiddies almost starve to death in dem
months.
Well papayo, I decide I wasn't goin
take tings lyin down. I went to see de
Pundit and put meh last 10 dollars in he
dhoti ... A, a, weeks later noting ain't
happen. Ramjohn still coming home
empty pocket and stinkin drunk. I say
to mehself, enough ah dis stupidness. I
went to see meh moder in de market.
Yuh know she have a fish stall dere.
Well, I was feeling' so down ah had to cry
on she shoulder. An you know what? I
had de shock of meh life. Meh moder
turn to me as she say; 'Pourie, stop dat
damn cryin. Here, take dis 20 and stop
by de shop and buy a live chicken. Den
get on de Naparima bus. I want yuh to
go up dere and see a man named Pa
Azunde.'
She tell me, everybody up dere know
bout him so jus ask anybody in de
street to show you whey he livin. Give
him de chicken and de money. I bet
Ramjohn stop he arsness.'
Well girl, I was never so shock in meh
life. Meh moder is a good good Hindu, I
never thought she would be believin in
no obeah man. I mean, dat's nigger
people business, meaning no insult. But


I guess times changing in Trinidad and
people changing too. Indian marryin
Negro, making Dougla children. I tell yuh,
de whole world turning topsy-turvy."
"Never mind dat, "Elaine said. "What
happen wid Ram?"
"What you mean, what happen wid
Ram? Yuh does see Ramjohn drunk
anymore? Yuh does hear we fighting
anymore? I tell yuh whatever dat old
man do, he do it well." And she patted
out the flour into little balls.
Elaine was still uncomfortable about
the whole idea.
"Supose somebody find out an tell
Father Otega? Yuh know how I always
tell yuh he does preach against dat
kinda ting. Suppose he find out? Tings
like dat doe hide, yuh know."
Pourie said, "Ain't it Fader Otega
who always sayin dat de Lord helps
dem who help theyself? But is up to
you. If I was you dough, I would be on
dat Naparima bus bright and early to-
morrow morning "

"Naparima, lady," the driver called back
to Elaine. He swung the bus behind the
small wooden building that served as
the bus depot. The engine moaned
tiredly after he had turned off the igni-
tion.
Elaine gathered up the two brown
paper bags she had stuffed under the
seat, hoping that the chicken had not
suffocated. Pourie had insisted that she
bring the chicken and two bottles of
sweet oil.
"Is de ting to do," Pourie had assured
her.
As Elaine passed the driver he said,
"De last bus to Port-of-Spain is tree
o'clock."
Elaine said "Yes," and almost slipped
on the step in her haste to avoid his
eyes. The driver grabbed her arm.
"Take it easy," he said. "I does bring
ah lot of town people up here. I hear dat
man really good. Yuh see dat Indian
woman over dare? She could tell you
how to get to he house."
"Oh meh Gawd," Elaine moaned si-
lently. "He know where I goin."
She hurried over to the old Indian
seller as the driver crossed the mud
puddles and went into the depot. The
woman did not look up as Elaine ap-
proached. She kept her eyes on the tray
of peanuts, cigarettes, matches and
oranges.
"How much is de salt nuts?" Elaine
rested her bags between her legs and
reached into her purse.








"Is only fresh nuts I does sell, yuh
know," the woman said as she con-
tinued to peel an orange, her eyes low.
Elaine said, "I never say yuh selling
stale nuts. How much is ah bag?"
"Is turty cents ah bag."
"Turty cents! In town yuh could
get..."
"Den why yuh doe go back in town
an' get what yuh want? I ain't beginn"
She began to suck the orange, still
looking away from Elaine.
"Is alright, gimme two bags," Elaine
told her.
The vendor smiled a little and put
down her orange.
"Dey real fresh," she told Elaine. "I
does roast dem every night mehself."
Elaine cracked open a nut. "Is true.
Dey real fresh." She munched. "You
could tell me whey a man name Pa
Azunde livin'?"
"I doe know no obeah man." The
woman bent her head again.
"Dat is jus ole talk," Elaine said. "He's
meh uncle, meh moder only brother. Is
ah long time I ain't see him, oui. I livin in
Tobago an I doe get over here much."
The woman was silent. Elaine
cracked another nut between her fin-
gers.
"I tell yuh what," Elaine said. "Let me
have two packs of Anchor. I bet he go
like dat." She took two packs of
cigarettes from the tray and put down a
dollar.
The woman handed her a box of
matches. "It free wid two packs." She
pointed north. "It ain't far. Is jus dey. It
have a galvanize roof."
"What is de house color?" Elaine
asked.
"Is whitewash."
Elaine tucked the nuts and cigarettes
into her bag and went into the street
She walked for a long while, passing
several whitewashed houses, all of
them with thatched roofs. Naked chil-
dren played under the street pipes, and
cows grazed atthe side of the road. The
smell of manure was strong. The paved
portion of the road ended and she
rested for a few minutes.
She muttered, "When dese country
people tell you something jus dey you
better get ready for a long long walk" A
little boy in a torn white shirt, his penis
dangling between his thighs, came up
to her.
"Yuh want some help, lady?"
"I looking for Pa Azunde house. Yuh
could show me where it is?"
"Yuh mean de obeah man? Sure. I


does make message for him all de
time. I does always buy sweet drink for
him at Miss Doroty shop." He reached
for one of the paper bags. "Lewee go."
He trotted ahead of her.
"Careful," Elaine shouted, "Doe
break de sweet oil!"
They walked for a while. Elaine stop-
ped again to rub her palm. The string
handle of the paper bag had made red
marks in her hand.
"What I doin in dis place?" she asked
herself. "I should never let Pourie talk
me into dis." They had left the houses


behind. Elaine followed the boy past
gardens of lettuce and tomatoes and
across a two-by-four that spanned a dry
ravine.
"Is over dere." The boy pointed to a
house which stood back from the road,
almost hidden by two huge zabocca
trees. Elaine took the bag from the
child and gave him a shilling and a bag
of nuts. He ran back down the road.
She took out the rosary from her skirt
pocket, wrapped it in her handkerchief,
and pushed it far down into her purse.
"Holy Mary," she whispered, "moder of
God, pray for us sinners, now and at de
hour of our death, amen."
She raised her hand to knock on Pa
Azunde's door, but before she could
knock, a voice called. "The door ain't
closed. Come in."

It was the Friday following Elaine's visit
to Pa Azunde. She had done exactly as
he has ordered: rubbed the sulphur on
her neck twice a day, taken a hot bath
with the leaves he had given her, and
gone to the sea for a swim on Wednes-
day morning.
She had missed mass on Wednes-
day and Father Otega had ridden his
bicycle up to her house. "I felt some-
thing must have happened. You have
never missed the Wednesday a.m.
mass. How do you do, my child?"


Elaine turned to get him a glass of
water from the fridge. "I doin okay oui,
Fader. I jus had to do something dis
morning, dat's all."
"It must have been very important to
have made you miss mass.."
"Yes," Elaine agreed. "Is something ah
had to do for Harold."
"Oh, he is back then! But that's won-
derful! God be praised," said Father
Otega.
Elaine said, "How de collection goin
for de parish hall, Fader?"
"Not too bad," he answered. "Things
are hard all around but people are try-
ing. The bazaar this weekend should
help considerably. We'll see you there, I
hope."
"Oh yes," Elaine said. "I go be at High
Mass too."
Father Otega drank the glass of
water and said goodbye.
Elaine felt bad the rest of that day.
She thought of going to confession but
Pourie came by the house and said:
"Girl, yuh looking better already. Yuh
see what I did tell yuh. Dat man is
Obeah Fader!" So Elaine forced all
thoughts of confession out of her
mind.
She felt better on Friday. The
ringworm was drying up and her hair
didn't fall out in lumps when she
combed it. She cooked a big pot of
pelau that afternoon. She had sea-
soned the chicken the night before and
the smell of curry filled the house.
Harold liked curry pelau. Elaine
added a piece of chive and turned the
boiling rice. She checked her watch. It
was almost six. Harold always came by
about that time on Fridays.
"One ting yuh could say bout dat
man," Pourie had told her, "He does
never forget to bring dat money on ah
Friday."
Elaine had agreed. "No matter what
happen between man and wife, a man
should always mine he children "
She lowered the flame under the pot
and went into the bedroom. She wasn't
sure Harold would eat any of the food.
She had asked Pa Azunde "But sup-
pose he doe want to eat de pelau? He
doesn't eat home anymore, yuh know. I
sure dat woman tell him not to eat any-
ting from me."
"Doe worry yuh head bout dat," the
old man has assured her. "He go eat"
In the bedroom, Elaine checked her-
self in the bureau mirror. As she raised
her hand to her hair she knocked over
the small statue of the Virgin Mary
CAfBBEAN PEVIEW/29








which she had kept on her bureau for
years. The head rolled under the bed.
Elaine stared down at the piece of white
marble. "Oh Gawd," she cried. "Is ah
sign, ah bad sign!" She pushed the
body under the bed and hurried out of
the room.
She wanted to tell Pourie about the
statue but remembered seeing her go
up to the spring with a basket of
clothes.
Elaine sat at the kitchen table and
talked to herself.
"Is not bad I doin. God doe punish
people for helping deyself. I jus can't sit
down an let dat bad woman get
everything I work so hard for. She doe
even know what de inside of ah church
look like. I can't jus let she take Harold
away. De poor man doe even know
what he doin. She have him so
basodie."
Smoke was coming from the pot on
the stove. Quickly, Elaine turned off the
burner and moved the pot
"If I ain't careful, I ain't go have no
pelau, only bun-bun." She stirred the
food and hummed a Catholic hymn.
"Oh queen of the Holy Rosary, oh
bless us as we pray, and offer these our
roses, of garlands day by day."
Harold pushed open the back door
and came into the kitchen.
"Whey de children he asked Elaine.
"Dey playing cricket down in de
savannah."
Harold sat down at the kitchen table.
Elaine said, "Yuh want some ginger
beer?"
"Ginger beer does give me too much
gas," Harold said. "Yuh have any pelau
left? I could smell dat curry from way
down de road."
Elaine said, "Is jus a lil chicken and
rice. It ain't have no peas in it. Dem
Indians want ah dollar ah poun for dry
peas in de market." She dished out a
plateful for him. Harold said, "Man,
everything goin up. I jus hope Eric Wil-
liams know what he doin. Even building
materials gone sky high."
"Well, is all yuh who vote for him,"
Elaine said. "All yuh want indepen-
dence. All yuh wasn't happy wid de
white people rulin yuh. Nigger people
always want something because it
stylish. Jus because Jamaica get inde-
pendence, all yuh want it too. Wait an
see how much hell we go ketch."
Harold said, "Tings boun to get bet-
ter. Is black people in power now."
Elaine took a zabocca from the top
of the fridge. She asked Harold, "Yuh
30/CAJfBBEAN NviE


want ah piece ah zabocca?"
"Yes, leh me have a lil piece dey,"
Harold said. "Is ah long time I ain't have
ah nice piece ah zabocca. Put some hot
pepper on it for meh."
Elaine took the bottle of pepper
sauce from the back of the cupboard
where she had hidden it that morning.
She shook the bottle and then poured a
spoonful of sauce on to a slice of
zabocca. She sat down at the table and
watched Harold as he ate.
She felt proud. He had never dis-
cussed politics with her before.
AU
"Il


Elaine asked him, "You want some
more pelau? You know de children doe
like it much."
Harold scooped up the remaining
grains of rice and pushed the plate to-
ward her.
"Yes, leh me have a lil bit more. Is a
long time I ain't eat a good curry pelau."
While he ate, Elaine went into the
living room and brought back two de-
tective novels.
"Velma send dese for you," she told
Harold. "She remember how you like to
read detective novels.
Harold smiled as he flicked the
pages of the books. "Is de furst time
any of yuh family give me anything. Dat
moder of yours doe even like meh
head."
Elaine said nothing. She knew he
was right The first time her mother had
seen Harold she had told Elaine, "Dat
man looking sly sly. You can't trust dem
kinda men at all. You ain't even know de
man well and you talking about love."
Elaine had replied, "But Mamma, he
ain't too long come from Barbados and
already he establish as a contractor. He
does draw plans and tings and build
house all over Trinidad. Besides, is Sid-
ney who introduce me to him and you
like Sidney."
Her mother had exclaimed, "Sidney!
Sidney was de biggest fowl tief in


Sangre Grande! He was in jail twice for
dat. I bet dat's whey he meet Harold. I
just don't trust dem quiet sly people.
You never know what dey go do."
Mama was right, Elaine thought.
Harold was always so quiet you never
knew what was going on in his mind.
The only things he liked to do was play
draughts and read novels. No one
would ever have expected him to go
and live with a woman like Buelah.
Harold got up from the table and
pulled out his wallet Elaine watched as
he counted out some money and
placed it on the empty plate.
She said, "But you ain't see de chil-
ren so long. Why yuh doe wait an see
dem. Dat cricket match mus be almost
over."
Harold thought for a minute. Then
he said, "Is true." He picked up the two
novels and went toward the gallery.
Elaine smiled. Everything was going
just as Pa Azunde had said it would.
Pourie was right, she thought. That
man is obeah fader! Quickly, she rinsed
the plate and covered the bottle of pep-
per sauce. She put the zabocca skin in
the rubbish pail, tucked the money in
her bra, and went up to the front of the
house.
Harold was sitting in his chair in a
corner of the gallery, reading a novel.
As he read he rubbed the corns on his
toes. Elaine watched him. She felt
good all over. She had not seen him in
that way for a long time. She told him, "I
have to see Pourie about something. I
goin' be right back."
Harold didn't respond, but Elaine did
not mind. She knew that when Harold
found a book he liked he forgot about
everything around him. She ran over to
Pourie's house.
Pourie said. "I see de man dey dey in
he gallery reading book jus like noting
ain't happen. You mus be put something
in de man food, girl." She laughed
loudly.
Elaine said, "Doe say tings like dat
loud. Bush have ears you know." But
she laughed too. "Girl, I never see any-
ting like this. Everything dat ole man tell
me come true. Is ah miracle," she said.
Pourie told her, "It ain't no miracle. Is
just dat Pa Azunde obeah stronger dan
Buelah obeah. Talkin 'bout Buelah,
what you tink she go do when she pass
and see Harold sitting in de gallery like
dat"
Elaine said, "I doe know, girl. De
woman so rotten she could do anything.
I know is wrong, but I wish dat man she








was livin wid last year had killed she
instead of jus givin she a stab."
Pourie said, "Dem kinda barracuda
does live forever. Is good good people
like you and me who does dead fust. I
hear she went to a shango de other
day."
Elaine was immediately frightened.
"Shango! Oh Gawd, whey you hear dat
from?"
Pourie told her, "Tallboy was dere.
You know how he like dat kinda ting. He
tell me Buelah ketch power for so. She
was tremblin and rollin all over de
groun in dat blood an dirt."
Elaine said, "Yuh tink I better run up
to Naparima again?"
"Nah," Pourie assured her. "Pa
Azunde could beat back shango any
day. Look how the ting working already."
"Is true," Elaine agreed. I go wait and
see. I better get back home. Dem chil-
ren coming home soon wid all dat mud
from de savannah." She hurried out.
Buelah was trying hard to get a taxi. The
Friday afternoon crowd swarmed over
the taxi stand, shoving and shouting
destinations to the drivers. Few cars
were making the run to Diego Martin
because heavy rains had flooded the
main road. Buelah spotted a familiar
yellow Rambler coming down Federick
Street She pushed through the throng,
and waved at the driver. The car pulled
up alongside the curb. Buelah put her
hand on the door handle.
The driver said, "Sorry baby, I ain't
goin to Diego today. It takin too long to
make dat run. I goin to San Juan."
A man pushed Buelah aside and got
into the taxi and it drove off. Buelah
shook her fist at the car and shouted,
"Is so all you does make style some-
time! Tomorrow you go be begin for
meh fare. I go spit on your ass."
It was after six by the time she got a
taxi. She was so tired and irritated by
then that she slumped down into the
back seat and told the driver to take her
straight to her door instead of dropping
her at the bottom of the street with
everyone else.
The driver grumbled that it would
take him too long to get back to town
but Buelah offered to pay him two dol-
lars extra and he agreed. She
squinched down between the other
passengers and dozed off.
About half an hour later the driver
braked sharply and the car stopped in
front of her house. Buelah jerked up.
"We here already?"
"Come on, lady," the driver said. "It


go take me another hour to fight dat
traffic and dat water."
Buelah paid him and went into her
yard. She heard her dog barking loudly
in the back and wondered why Harold
had not untied him as he usually did.
She put her bags down on the front
steps and went around to the back of
the house. The dog's water bowl was
dry and he was straining against the
chain. Buelah filled the bowl with rain-
water from a barrel and untied the
chain.
She went back to the front and car-


ried her bags into the house. She re-
membered that Harold had told her
that morning that the electrical in-
spector was coming to check the wir-
ing in the house he was building.
Maybe they went out for a drink after-
wards, Buelah thought. "Dem inspec-
tors doe do nothing unless yuh bribe
dem."
She started to clean the fish she had
brought from the market
About nine-thirty that evening
Buelah's sister, Joan, came by the
house. She told Buelah, "I had to come
and see for mehself. I thought yuh say
dat yuh had Harold tie up like a gym
boot It ain't Harold I seejus now sitting in
he gallery reading "
Buelah laughed, "You ain't know
what yuh talking bout, Joanie. Harold
never going back to dat miserable
woman. Mus be somebody else yuh
see."
Joan said, "How much people yuh
know does sit up and scratch dey toes
and read detective novels?"
Buelah was quiet. She knew Joan
was right. She said, "Is true. He ain't
come home today at all. De poor dog
nearly die from thirst and he cock-up
down dere reading novel. I bet dat
Elaine put something on him."
Joan said, "Nah, Elaine would never
do dat. She too church. She only be-


lieve in God."
Buelah said, "Dem kind is de biggest
hypocrites. I thought everything was goin
so nice. I did show yuh de two nice gold
bracelets he buy for me? An last week
he open a bank account in meh name
an put tree hundred dollar in it
"He say dat money is a present be-
cause I get him a big contractor job.
Meh bossman in de club want a big
time bungalow in St. Claire so I tell him
bout Harold. He give Harold de job. Yuh
could bet Harold goin made good
money from dat."
"De way it look, de money ain't go
come to dis house," Joan said. "Seems
to me yuh butterin somebody else
bread."
"Girl, doe tell me dat nuh," Buelah
said. "It only goin make me damn mad.
When I start frienin wid Harold he was
like blight was on him. He wasn't getting
any big jobs to build house or anything.
So I tell him not to worry, I go fix up tings
for him. Dat Elaine better say praise
God I get dat job for him oderwise she
would be back cleaning de white people
children bamsee."
Joan said, "Doe get yuhself so hot
up, girl. Money ain't everything. Besides,
yuh young an pretty. Dere's plenty more
fish in de sea. Harold ain't de only one."
Buelah said, "Is not de money so
much. Is de principle of de ting. Who I
look like? Some dog shit for Harold to
walk on? Not me, eh,eh! I tired of helping
dese men on dey feet and den havin
dem walk out on me. Who dey take
meh for now, some bobole? I ain't lettin
no man take advantage of meh again
an get away wid it."
"But Harold ain't take advantage of
yuh," Joan said. "If I did know yuh
would get so hot up I would never tell
yuh I see him sitting in her gallery. Maybe
de man jus visiting he children "
"Dem children is jus like dey moder.
Dey doe have no respect for Harold. All
dey want is he money. Harold tell me
dey not nice at all," Buelah said.
"But dey still he children Joan said.
"I know dat," Buelah snapped at her
sister. "All de bad Elaine tellin people I
bad, I never tell Harold to stop givin she
money for dem nasty boys. Yuh know,
de more I tink about dis ting de madder
I getting She slammed a cover on the
pot of fish she was cooking and stalked
into the bedroom. Joan followed her.
"Doe do notin foolish," Joan
cautioned.
"Sittin here not doin anything is
foolish," Buelah said. "Tonight dey
CAIfBBEAN PKIEW/31








havin a big shango down in de village. I
goin down dere. Yuh go see baccanal in
dis place. Harold playing wid me? He doe
know who I is!
She pushed her hair up under a red
scarf and patted her face with white
powder.
"But what about de fish on de
stove?" Joan asked.
"Yuh could eat de damn fish,"
Buelah told her. "Doe let no bone stick
in yuh throat."
Buelah changed her dress. She slip-
ped on a white one with big red flowers
around the hemline. She took her
purse and hurried out of the house.
When she came to Elaine's house
Harold was still sitting in the gallery
reading. Buelah shouted at him from
the street, "You bajam sucker! You tink
you go take advantage of me? A poor
woman like me? Not so sucker! We go
see bout dat! We go see!"
Harold looked up at the sound of
Buelah's voice. He stared at her, then
shook his head and went back to his
novel. Buelah hurried down the road,
her big hips swaying in anger.
Elaine, who had heard the noise and
come to the front of the house, went
over to tell Pourie about Buelah's
threat
At twelve o'clock Elaine left her bed
and went to check on Harold in the
gallery. She asked him, "You ain't
coming to bed?" Harold waved her away
and continued to read. Elaine put a
glass of ginger beer down on the table
in front of him and went back to bed.
Outside an owl began to hoot and
soon another one answered, then a


third. Elaine thought, "Dem jumbie-
birds really calling tonight"
The hooting continued and Elaine
put a pillow over her head to drown out
the chilling sound. She fell asleep.
Elaine woke up at six the following
morning. Harold had not gotten into
the bed so she thought he must have
fallen asleep in the gallery. She went up
front. Harold was still sitting in the chair
but the book had slipped to the floor
and his glasses had dropped to his lips.
Elaine said, "Harold, is six o'clock.
Yuh ain't playyuh like to read, nuh." She
shook his shoulder and his glasses fell
to the tiled floor and broke.
Elaine bent to pick up the pieces of
glass. As she raised back up, her face
came close to Harold's and she realized
that his eyes were half open. She
touched his cheek, then she screamed.
Pourie heard the scream and stop-
ped milking her cow. She ran to
Elaine's house.
"He dead! He dead! Meh husband
dead! Oh Gawd, I kill de man!" Elaine
was screaming.
Pourie pulled her into the kitchen
and said, "Yuh better control yuhself,
girl. Yuh ain't kill nobody."
One of Elaine's sons appeared and
Pourie told him, "Run and tell Ramjohn
to jump in he taxi and get de constable.
Something happen to yuh fader."
The police and an ambulance came
and took Harold's body away. "It look
like a heart attack," the doctor said, and
signed the death certificate.
Pourie warned Elaine not to talk any
foolishness about how she had killed
Harold, then she went to find some


flowers to make a wreath.
Father Otega came. Elaine broke
down again and told him about Pa
Azunde. She and Father Otega knelt
and prayed together for the forgiveness
of her soul.
Buelah took 60 dollars out of the
bank account Harold had opened for
her. She bought a black dress and a
new hat with a silver pin on top. She
attended the funeral, walking alone, her
head held high.
Later that year Lord Moranda, the
calypso king, composed a tune about
the affair. It went like this:
Elaine and Harry always in misery
Elaine say Harold movin away from she
So she went to Naparima to see an
obeah man
And she tell him to whatever he can
To make Harry come home
And see he doesn't roam
Into a next woman's arms.
But what Elaine didn't know
Wis that the woman work shango
And Shango stronger dan obeah
any day
So the upshot was
Harry is dead today.
Chorus:
Now Harry dead, he dead, he dead
Is Shango what kill
the poor man dead.
On Carnival day everyone sang the
song and Lord Moranda won the prize
for the best road march tune.


Brenda Flanagan teaches journalism at Tus-
kegee Institute, Alabama. She received the
University of Michigan's Hopwood Award in
1978 for writing "Shango."


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32/CAlfBBEAN EVIEW










Drama Writing in



Papiamentu





By Johannes Baptist de Caluw6


Papiamentu, the creole idiom of the
Netherlands Antilles, is a well studied,
though not well known, language. In A
Bibliography of Pidgin and Creole
Languages, which lists thousands
of items taken from approximately
100 pidgins and creoles, Papiamentu
has the largest listing-about 1200
publications.
Historically, there have been
similarities in the use of Sranan in
Surinam and Papiamentu in the
Netherlands Antilles for drama, al-
though the position of Papiamentu
seems to be stronger. In most of the
Netherlands Antilles-excluding the
English-speaking Windward Islands
-85 percent of the population speaks
Papiamentu in spite of the geographic
separation by the sea of Curacao,
Aruba and Bonaire. There exists a kind
of Papiamentu-Dutch diglossia in the
Netherlands Antilles. Therefore, the
situation there may be better com-
pared to that in Paraguay than to that in
Surinam. There the native Indian lan-
guage, Guarani, not a creole, holds a
respected position in public life in rela-
tion to the colonial and school lan-
guage, Spanish.
However, at educational institutions
where teaching is mainly in Dutch,
Papiamentu has yet to acquire its own
position. An experiment was begun in
1971 to make the schools Papia-
mentu-Dutch. As a result of various
circumstances this proved to be most
difficult. Among other things there are
no established spelling rules for
Papiamentu, due to the unsettled
political situation. The autonomy of
each island makes universal spelling
rules impossible. The near future will
thus surely bring Papiamentu to a more
esteemed position. This contrasts with
other creoles, such as Sranan Tongo
(also known as Surinaams, Negro-
English, Nengre or Taki-Taki) which
has some 450 items in the Bibliogra-


phy. A comparison of these creoles is
interesting, for both are flourishing in
Dutch-speaking areas. The creole lan-
guage of Surinam is an English-based
creole, while that of the Netherlands
Antilles, Papiamentu, is based primarily
on Spanish and Portuguese.
Sranan faces greater obstacles than
Papiamentu does in becoming a truly
national language, since the popula-
tion of Surinam is historically divided
into at least five ethnic segments, most
of which have their own influential lan-
guage tradition: Dutch, still the official
language; Hindi, the language of the
numerous Indian immigrants; Javan-
ese, the language of the immigrants
from Java; and Sranan, the language
of the negroes and people of mixed
color, which serves as a kind of
"lingua franca" for Surinam. Due to
this "mix," it is uncertain whether a
strongly creolized Dutch or Sranan
will attain hegemony.
While the political independence of
Surinam, attained in 1975, may give
Sranan a better chance in the future,
circumstances, in the past, were not
ideal for writing literature in Sranan.
Authors have simply preferred to write
in Dutch, due to its wider use.
Nevertheless, a growing number of
authors now use Sranan, primarily for
poetry, folk tales and folk plays. Dra-
matic literature in Sranan exists only on
a limited scale, but theater and cabaret
artists, especially since about 1950,
often use Sranan in their perform-
ances. No doubt this will increase,
eventually leading to a greater utiliza-
tion of Sranan in written form.
Literature in Papiamentu began
quite early. After a period of folk litera-
ture handed down by word-of-mouth,
including the well known negro stories
of Nansi (or Anasi) the Spider, both
newspapers and poems appeared in
print during the nineteenth century. At
first this literature was strongly influ-


Poster advertising "Tula", a play in Papiamentu
with a photograph of the playwright, Pacheco
Domacass6.


CA ffBBAN MVIEW/33








enced by its Spanish counterpart, but
Papiamentu gradually came to lead its
own life.
It first became internationally
known in 1928 when the linguist
Rodolfo Lenze published his study El
Papiamento, la lengua criolla de Cur-
azao, edited in Santiago, Chile. Fur-
thermore, numerous and lengthy
works of prose, such as novels, have
been written in Papiamentu. Poetry,
however, seems to be the highly devel-
oped genre. It has been partially influ-
enced by works of prose, since realism,
anecdotal as well as humorous, is
practiced in both. This realism remains
close to the folk literature which lies at
its root. Thus, from these roots, won-
derful lyric poetry has also been written
in Papiamentu. Though it is difficult to
translate properly, Cola Debrot has at-
tempted a few translations in English in
Literature of the Netherlands Antilles,
Curacao, 1964.
While prosewriters such as Cola De-
brot, Tipp Marugg, Boelie van Leeuwen
and Frank Martinus Arion have a wide
range and recognition both in Dutch
and in translation from Dutch into
other languages, this is not the case for
the most important poets writing in
Papiamentu, such as Pierre Lauffer,
Elis Juliana and Federico Oduber.


Drama and Nationhood
Dramatic art has always played a
prominent role in the rise and consoli-
dation of civilizations. Classic examples
are the drama originating from the
Dionysian cult at the cradle of the
Grecian-classic civilization and the
medieval dramatic art arising simulta-
neously with the urban centers of the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in
France and the Netherlands. The ulti-
mate shaping of the Spanish and En-
glish civilizations in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries was accom-
panied by splendid achievements in
the dramatic art of both countries. Ad-
ditionally, dramatic art has been a vital
element in crucial epochs of the
Chinese, Japanese and Indian civiliza-
tions. There are now signs that dra-
matic art in Papiamentu is about to play
a part in the development of nation-
hood in the Netherlands Antilles com-
parable to the role that drama has
played elsewhere.
Until recently, dramatic art in En-
glish, Spanish and especially Dutch
predominated in the Netherlands
34/CAIBBEAN PVIEW


Antilles. A turning point was created
with the opening of a new theater, Cen-
tro pro Arte, in Curacao in 1968. This
meant the termination of dependence
on the theater of the Royal Dutch
Shell Oil Company with its European
atmosphere.
Previously, plays in Papiamentu were
performed outside of the Shell theater
under much less favorable conditions.
Musical productions as well as per-
formances by local humorists, such as
Sjon Benchi and Frenkie in Curacao
and Wois Wois in Aruba, had been



Dramatic art in Papiamentu
today mainly serves the role
of providing a critical view of
the present state of affairs
and abuses in society while
analyzing the past.



popular a long time. Their humoristic
repertory often acquired a satiric ac-
cent in harmony with original folk liter-
ature as well as more recent realistic
prose and poetry. The appearance of
the new theater should encourage the
presentation of this type of drama.
Many authors have tried to raise the
level of dramatic art in Papiamentu to a
higher level. However, feeling that they
lacked technique, they chose to adapt
plays from Dutch, French, Spanish and
English literature, rather than write in
Papiamentu. A "drama original" written
by W. Kroon in 1925, Lucha pa Dere-
cho (Struggle for Justice), remains the
one exception. Furthermore, in some
cases the adaptations drifted away
from the original plays altogether, and
started their own lives. This is clearly
the case withJuancho Picaflor by Ren6
de Rooy, in which Cyrano de Bergerac
by Edmond Rostand can be recog-
nized. Other more-or-less free adapta-
tions are Sjon Pichiri (LAuare by Moli-
ere), Laiza Fbrco Sushi (Pygmalion by
George Bernard Shaw), both by May
Henriquez; Illushion diAnochi (A Mid-
summer Night's Dream by William
Shakespeare), by Jules de Palm; and
Gai bieuw ta traha sopi sterki (Cosas
de Papa y Mama by Alonso Paso), by
Nydia Ecury.
Preference was thus still shown for


the humoristic and satiric. However,
interest also developed in adapting re-
ligious plays. In Aruba Maria de Ser'i
Noka by Nena Vrolijk and in Curacao
Marl de Malpais by Ra6l Romer be-
came known. Each play, in its own way,
is an adaptation of the miracle play
from medieval Dutch literature, Mari-
ken van Nieumeghen. Comparable to
these is Bo felicidad ta sekami by Er-
nest Rosenstand, after the famous
legend Beatrijs, also from medieval
Dutch literature. Finally, Golgotha by
Hubert Booi can be considered an
original version of the well known bibli-
cal motif. Only Negeman by Rolando
Sill, an adaptation of Les Nggres by
Jean Genet, does not fit the trend of
comic and religious plays.
Unfortunately, these plays are not
easily available. Many have not ap-
peared in print. An exception, Tres Piesa
di Teatro, consisting of Golgotha by
Hubert Booi, Mari di Malpais by Radl
R6mer and Sjon Pichiri by May Hen-
riquez was published by Antilliaanse
Cahiers in 1967.
A new period of dramatic writing
dawned around 1970. Signs of the on-
coming change could be seen a few
years earlier in the theatrical com-
panies. The actors offered resistance to
the "hilarity cult" on the stage; they
wanted more significant dramatic art.
Similarly, the riots in Curacao on May
30, 1969-riots with a social-political
background-were also indicative of
this concern.
Dramatic art in Papiamentu today
mainly serves the role of providing a
critical view of the present state of af-
fairs and abuses in society while
analyzing the past. Significant, then, is
the Nos Causa (Our Case), a theater
company which has been concerned
with these activities for several years.
Equally significant are the titles of
some plays performed on stage during
the last few years, such asMi kol6 ta mi
destino? (Is my color my fate?) by
Stanley Bonifacio, who in earlier days
worked in the style of the entertaining
theater with the original playAmor na
Jan Kok. A title such as Konsenshi di
un pueblo with the subtitle Un
Komedia do Terser Mundu (The Con-
science of a Nation, a play of the Third
Vorld) written by Pacheco
Domacass6, tells its own story.
Not infrequently, the criticism in
these plays expresses itself in satire,
often using comic effects as in Berbe-
rin den Fblitika by Eligio Melfor. Thus,


I I III
--








there is continuity of expression in re-
gard to the comical-satirical trend of
the past The more recent productions,
however, essentially represent a search
for identity. Now that the Antillean soci-
ety has become a source of inspiration
for the conscious, involved dramatic
art, Papiamentu novelists, such as
Guillermo Rosario have turned to writ-
ing for the stage as well.Esta un Jaja (a
jaja is a nursemaid) is an example.
Parallel to this development, plays in
Papiamentu for children are springing
up. This first began in 1971 with dra-
matic versions of the well known
folktales Kuentanan di Nansi about
Nansi the Spider. Later in 1973 it took
the form of a play which was avant
garde in style and tenor. Titled Buchi
14Vn Pia Fini it was about a working
class boy, Buchi Wan, who attacks the
problems of Antillean society. This
play was written by Diana Lebacs,
a successful author of children's
books in Dutch as well as very read-
able, simple Papiamentu.
Still, one tendency that occurs in
poetry but which has not clearly pene-
trated original drama in Papiamentu is
the romantic trend, dominated by un-
fulfilled desires and passions. Perhaps
the play Tula by Pacheco Domacasse
foreshadows this type of dramatic art in
the Netherlands Antilles. In this play, a
greater pathos is displayed than in
other plays written in Papiamentu. It
deals with the abortive revolt in 1795 of
the slaves in Curacao against the colo-
nial authorities; Tula being one of the
leaders of this revolt. The play not only
attempts to depict and interpret
something of the past, but its compo-
sition also appeals to folklore, becom-
ing an attempt to find one's own style of
acting, based on the strongly devel-
oped rhythmic spirit of the Caribbean
personality. It is to be expected that
when this style has been found, future
dramatic scripts will reflect it. Until re-
cently, the dramatic techniques of the
scripts were strongly reminiscent
of European drama writing. In this re-
spect liberation is far from complete.
However, recent developments of
dramatic writing in Papiamentu have
opened remarkable perspectives in
this direction.
Some of these works have been
published in Curacao. (Konsenshi di
un pueblo in 1973; Tula in 1975). The
greater simplicity and directness of the
language in this written form-unlike
the subjective, extremely subtle lin-


guistic use in poetry-makes the dra-
matic scripts easily intelligible, even for
those whose mastery of Papiamentu is
limited. This should result in the publi-
cation of translations. In view of the
setting of the theme, and the familiarity
of the problems dealt with in the Carib-
bean area, it seems likely that English


and Spanish, and to a lesser extent
French and Dutch, will be the lan-
guages into which translation will ini-
tially be undertaken.

Johannes Baptist de Caluw6 teaches lan-
guages in a teacher's college in Arnhem, Hol-
land.


Caribbean Studies

Association
V Annual Meeting
Curacao, Netherlands Antilles
May 7-10,1980



Conference Theme:
"Foundations of Sovereignty and National Identity in the
Caribbean"
Panels on:
Literature, Plantation Economies, Caribbean- E.E.C. Relations,
International Relations in the Caribbean, Finance and National
Development, Banking and Development, Energy and
Development, Ideology and University Life, Tourism and
Development, Role of the Mass Media, Psychological Dimensions
of Migration, Return Migration, International Labor Migration,
Historiography, Crime and Social Change, Puerto Rican Political
Options, Virgin Island Political Options, Architecture and
Development, Comparative Law, Alternate Sources of Energy,
Comparative Political Systems, Religion and Cultural Identity.
Plenary Guest Speaker:
Dr. Aristides Calvani, ex-Canciller of Venezuela and presently
Secretary General of O.D.C.A.
Presidential Address:
Dr. Wendell Bell (Professor of Sociology, Yale University).
Special Panel on the Role of the Opposition in the Caribbean:
Errol Barrow (Barbados), Edward Seaga (Jamaica), Basdeo
Panday (Trinidad), David Morales Bellow (Venezuela), others to be
announced. Commentary by Selwyn Ryan (U.W.I., Trinidad) and
Gordon K. Lewis (U.RR., Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico). Folkloric
Evening with the Pacheco Domacass6 Group (Curacao, N.A.); art
exhibits and other social activities.
Site:
Curacao Plaza Hotel (double: $34.00, triple: $42.50) For further
information write the Program Chairman:


Dr. Anthony P Maingot
Department of Sociology/Anthropology
Florida International University
Tamiami Trail
Miami, Florida 33199


CArBBEAN P V EW/35









Catching Mullet and



Chasing Shadows

The early novels of Edgar Mittelholzer


By John Thieme


/f1P~N 7"1 A -A/


Y;1I4
Ai *.2-\ 1


Corentyne Thunder. Edgar Mit-
telholzer. 229 pp. Caribbean Writers
Series, Heinemann, London, 1977.
(Originally published by Eyre and
Spottiswoode, London, 1941.)

A Morning at the Office. Edgar Mit-
telholzer. Heinemann, London,1974.
(Originally published by Hogath Press,
London, 1950.)

Shadows Move Among Them. Edgar
Mittelholzer. Four-Square Books, Lon-
don, 1963. (Originally published in
1951.)

A number of years ago, when I was
teaching at the University of Guyana, A.
J. Seymour, doyen of Guyanese writers,
came to talk to a group of students
about Corentyne Thunder, the 1938
novel of the late Edgar Mittelholzer.
Seymour placed Mittelholzer in the
vanguard of those West Indian writers
36/CATfBBEAN iPIew


From Corentyne Thunder, Heinemann BooKs.
who had pioneered a local literature
during the colonial period. He spe-
cifically praised Corentyne Thunder for
its realistic portrayal of the life of the
East Indian peasantry living on the
Corentyne coast of Berbice, the east-
ernmost county of Guyana, then British
Guiana.
In the middle of his talk Seymour
was interrupted by a student from the
Corentyne who complained: "You can't
catch mullet wid hook." Slightly baf-
fled, Seymour asked him to repeat the
remark and he was told again, "You
can't catch mullet wid hook." Mullet, it
transpired, is the one fish on the
Corentyne which can only be caught
with a net, but on a number of occa-
sions in the novel, Mittelholzer portrays
his characters as catching the fish with
hook and line. And this, Seymour was
told, by several voices now, was typical
of the novel's factual inaccuracy.
Further evidence was cited to confirm


the point the sexual uninhibitedness
of Kattree, Mittelholzer's East Indian
heroine, was regarded as particularly
implausible and the session quickly
turned into an attack on the middle-
class writer's alienation from the grass
roots experience.
I relate this anecdote not to debunk
Mittelholzer, and certainly not to dis-
credit A. J. Seymour, who in viewing
Corentyne Thunder in this light was
very much in accord with other critics
of the novel, myself included, who have
praised it for its peasant feel. It seems to
me that a socially-oriented criticism of
Mittelholzer does him a disservice by
obscuring the true nature of his talent.
Like several other early West Indian
writers, he has suffered the fate of being
judged according to the extent to which
the radical sociology of recent years
has been able to find "right" attitudes in
his work. As a result Corentyne Thun-
der and his second novel,A Morning at
the Office, published in 1950, have
been more or less accepted while the
later novels, where apparent social re-
ality is replaced by psychological
themes explored through less natu-
ralistic modes, are out of favor.
There is, however, a very real con-
tinuity running through all of Mit-
telholzer's work from the moment in
Corentyne Thunder when his racially
mixed hero, Geoffry Weldon, says that
one day he will commit suicide, to the
moment in the final chapter of his 1965
novel, The Jilkington Drama, when, in
a carefully planned prefigurement of
Mittelholzer's own suicide by fire, the
protagonist, Garvin Jilkington, actually
does kill himself. Throughout there is
the same obsessive absorption with
schizophrenic states of mind, with a
sub-Nietzschean philosophy of the
strong, and with Gothic haunting often
associated with the Guyanese past,
as Mittelholzer repeatedly creates
highly private mental topographies























in his fiction.

Corentyne Thunder
Corentyne Thunder andA Morning at
the Office are novels which tend to
obscure the true nature of Mit-
telholzer's talent, because of the en-
deavor to achieve social realism; while
Shadows Move Among Them, pub-
lished in 1951, unmistakably manifests
his penchant for Gothic psychology,
perhaps as a result of removing his ac-
tion from the confines of conventional
society to a remote Utopian settlement
in the Guyanese hinterland.
To return to the mullet. Not only does
Mittelholzer allow his characters to
catch them with a hook, but toward the
end of the novel he makes this more
than just an incidental detail, as his
middleclass hero Geoffry (the charac-
ter with whom he most strongly iden-
tifies) refers to mullet-catching as the
way in which he and his Indian second
cousin, Kattree, with whom he is having
an affair, will spend another idyllic day.
By this time it has become an index of
the authentic peasant experience and
Mittelholzer's factual error is disastrous
if one is reading the novel as a realistic
social document. On another level it is,
however, extremely interesting, for
Mittelholzer as a novelist is engaged in
an activity which is analogous to Geof-
fry's flirtation with his poor Indian rela-
tives. Both are fascinated by a tourist's
eyeview of peasant life, as the narrative
alternates between would-be naturalis-
tic passages and pastoral idealization.
This stylistic ambiguity almost exactly
parallels Geoffry's reaction to peasant
life. The cynical side of his nature
makes him argue against his school
friend Stymphy's sentimentalization of
poverty, but, schizophrenic in this re-
spect as in many others, he too is ca-
pable of taking a pastoral view: "There
was something detached about them,
yet serene and yearning, like the


shepherd's song of thanksgiving after
the storm in the Pastoral Symphony.
They soothed his soul."
Since Mittelholzer's angle of vision is
very much the same as Geoffry's, even
in scenes when he is not present, the
novel comes to be primarily about the
middleclass encounter with the peas-
ant world and as such Corentyne
Thunder is the Guyanese equivalent to
Jamaican Claude McKay's Banana
Bottom, or to novels by the Trinidadian
Beacon Group writers: Alfred Mendes's
Pitch Lake and C.L.R. James's Minty
Alley, all written in the 1930s. In fact this
theme is very much the theme of the
West Indian novels which were written
then. (Corentyne Thunder was written
in 1938, while Mittelholzer was living in
New Amsterdam). The rural peasantry
and urban proletariat are the main ob-
jects of concern, but they are viewed,
with varying degrees of success, from
the outside. As a novel concerned with
this theme Corentyne Thunder is only
a partial success; Mittelholzer's obvious
attraction to the Corentyne landscape
and its inhabitants carries conviction,
but his unfamiliarity with the peasantry
compromises his picture of East
Indian life.
The novel is, however, at its best in its
portrayal of Geoffry's intensely private
psychology. In fact, readers of the now
extremely rare first edition were in one
sense better equipped than readers of
the Heinemann Caribbean Writers
Series reprint, for whereas Louis
James's fine introduction to the latter
puts the stress on the exploration of
peasant life, the former was prefaced
by a publisher's foreword which erred
in the opposite direction: "Edgar Mit-
telholzer, the author of this novel, is a
half-caste of mixed English, French,
German and Negro blood. All his prin-
cipal characters are half-castes, and
they are therefore presented with that
intimacy of view which comes of


self revelation."
Factually this is wrong since several
of the main characters are pure-
blooded East Indians. In a more fun-
damental sense, however, it gives the
right impression, for the characters
who psychologically interest Mit-
telholzer are racially mixed and the
curiously hybrid nature of the fiction
comes about from his essentially
European literary preconceptions get-
ting the better of any attempt at a direct
response to the landscape and its
peasant inhabitants.
These preconceptions manifest
themselves in various ways and, if they
are acceptable enough in the context of
his portrayal of the primarily European
ambience of the colonial middle class,
they lead to a completely inadequate
mode of presenting the Indian peasan-
try. One can see this especially clearly
by examining Mittelholzer's use of allu-
sions to place his characters. Charac-
terizing Geoffry's father, Big Man Wel-
don, in the following manner: "Had he
lived years and years ago in England he
might have been a great general like
the Duke of Wellington or Lord Clive of
India, or a great sea-adventurer sailing
to foreign lands and capturing much
booty, like Drake or Frobisher or
Raleigh ... One could see him hacking
with a big sword from right to left and
trampling down whatever came in his
path" is illuminating, because it serves
to identify his single-mindedness with
archetypal imperialist figures. Similarly
the comparison of Geoffry to Hamlet is
a satisfactory, if rather obvious, analogy
and relating his cyclone-like nature to
the work of the novelist who has written
the definitive fictional studies of Euro-
peans discovering their own inner na-
turein the 'heart of darkness' of the
tropics: "He had power, a deep, tight-
locked power that, one felt, might
make a terrible whirl of damage, like a
Continued on page 47
CATBBEAN TE16W/37






































Paradise Is In The Mind
By Harry T. Antrim


The Prime Minister. Austin C. Clarke.
191 pp. General Publishing Company,
Ontario, 1977; Routledge and Kegan
Paul, London, 1978.

A West Indian poet who has lived in
Toronto for almost two decades is
asked by the prime minister of this na-
tive, Caribbean island to return and
take the post of Minister of National
Culture. The poet, John Moore by
name, accepts the offer only to dis-
cover that his island home is in the
throes of modern development and
political unrest. Innocently, he be-
comes involved in a conspiracy which
is well-known to the prime minister and
which, in time, produces a situation so
violent that Moore can only resist by
fleeing, aided by a "black, blessed and
beautiful woman" who has been his
sole protection during his brief time on
the island.
That, roughly, is the gist of the narra-
tive in Austin Clarke's most recent
novel, The Prime Minister That too, as
anyone familiar with Clarke's own life
will immediately recognize, is pretty
38/CAffBBEAN VeIEW


close to relatively recent events in his
life. Clarke has lived in Toronto for ex-
tended periods, has spent many years
away from his native Barbados, and
did, briefly, serve as a cultural minister
under prime minister Earl Barrow.
But to remark these parallels is to do
nothing more than might be done in
the case of a great many fictions. The
autobiographical aspect is here only a
suggestion, a framework of personal
experience within which Clarke devel-
ops a simple cautionary tale which, as I
take it, attempts to comment on the
human condition as it appears at that
difficult juncture between innocence
and experience, or between the primi-
tive simple and the civilized complex.
Clearly, this is not merely a fiction about
developing nations and their struggle
to find a suitable identity in an ad-
vanced technological society. No, this
is a book which bids to take its place in
a long tradition of narratives treating
one of the dominant themes in Western
literature, the nature of evil and its role
in man's fate. And it is that place in the
Western tradition which poses the


book's central difficulty.
The land which John Moore flies
back to after twenty years absence is
"beautiful," a dot of green on the ocean
which, from a plane, "looks like a fairy-
land." It is advertised in brochures as
"paradise" and tourists say it really is
paradise." John Moore is a poet and he
recalls that "when he was at... college,
his favorite poem had been Paradise
Lost." He had, he remembers, "liked
Paradise Regained, too; but the En-
glish master, who was an Englishman,
never spent much time on Paradise
Regained." What, we might ask, has
Milton to do with a small Caribbean
island nation caught up in the political
and economic difficulties of the mid-
twentieth century?
Milton, we recall, tells his reader that
his task is "to justify the ways of God to
man" and thus associates his narrative
with those classical epics which also
spoke to the same end. The narrative
parallels between Milton's poem and,
say, Virgil's are, of course, anything but
exact or even close. After all, Milton
is dealing with a Christian myth, one









which understands the world as prov-
identially designed and sustained and,
though fallen through man's own willful
pride, nonetheless offers signs of ulti-
mate redemption to those who have
the faith to comprehend them. There is
in the epic tradition which connects
Milton with Homer and Virgil common
metaphors of human experience and
they underlie both the classical and the
Christian. Certainly one of the most
persistent of such metaphors is that of
the garden and it is not stretching a
point to say that Clarke's island
"paradise" is a lineal descendant of
those innumerable literary pastoral lo-
cations of innocence and clarity
perhaps best exemplified by the Eden
of Genesis.
For Virgil, as for Theocritus and
others, the pastoral garden, or Arcady,
had substance and reality. It could, if
need be, be located on a map and one
could, with little effort, find replicas of it
in most any bucolic grove. For the
Christian writers who followed, the
edenic place was, if anything, even
more real than it had been for the an-
cients and certainly more accessible
since it was nothing less than the whole
of the natural world. But it was ever
threatened by the figure who had
brought about the enclosure of the first,
mythic Eden man himself.
In time, the pressures of seculariza-
tion and urbanization codified this
mythic material into a simple
dichotomy which identified man with
the city and nature with the country.
Since it had been man who had intro-
duced evil to the prototypical garden, it
became a commonplace that where
men gathered civilly, evil was endemic,
this view stood over against that locus
of innocence and possibility, the coun-
try. At least as early as the late sixteenth
century it was possible for Western
thinkers to connect the pastoral,
edenic garden with the frontiers, ever
lying Westward, which early European
explorers were seeking and, bit by bit,
finding. That these new lands were also
human habitations proved no obstacle
to the continual extension of the un-
derlying edenic myth, for it seemed
logical to assume that the people who
lived in these pastoral places were
themselves pastoral innocent, un-
touched by the debilitating evil associ-
ated with man and his advancing urban
civilization.
We might take 1762 as a critical date,
for it was then that Rousseau published


his contract social and the first version
of Emile, in both of which he elabo-
rated his conviction that the Christian
notion of original sin was a falsity and
that modern man ws unhappy and en-
feebled because his increasingly com-
plex societal environment was simply
not congenial to his basic nature, which
was essentially good. It hardly matters
that the popularizations of Rousseau's
ideas often confused their original
clarity. The fact is that by the end of the
century in which his major work ap-
peared the image of the noble savage
was firmly established in the lore of


Clarke's island "paradise" is
a lineal descendant of
those innumerable literary
pastoral locations of
innocence and clarity
perhaps best exemplified
by the Eden of Genesis.


Western thought and that image was
clearly, and easily, associated with
those edenic, pastoral places more and
more of which were beckoning on the
Western horizon to Europeans restless
for new opportunities, new possibilities,
and most significantly new lands.
Without question, that restlessness was
in part fueled by the prospect of oc-
cupying some pastoral, edenic grove,
of finding a "paradise" on earth and
sustaining its innocence while, at the
same time, civilizing it
Civilizing means, among other
things, acting and John Moore re-
members that "this was a land where
people acted." But actions sometimes
disregard thinking and Moore also re-
calls having read in Toronto that in
some cases the people of the island
had acted badly and he makes an
equation. "These acts were surrounded
by a lack of wisdom, by indecency and
corruption. That was politics. Every-
body said politics was like that. But he
was not a politician. He was a poet Still,
the problem bothered him. Had the
people who had to live in this paradise
really stopped thinking, simply be-
cause the land was a paradise?"
Here, in the very terms Moore uses to
make this association between politics
and evil ("indecency and corruption")
and in his isolation as a poet Clarke


goes to the heart of the matter, and to
the heart of his novel. Moore's problem
is, after all, not unlike Clarke's. It may in
fact be the gravest problem confront-
ing those Commonwealth writers who,
after having been schooled in what is
largely an Anglo-European tradition
and after having absorbed the literary
metaphors which permeate that tradi-
tion, discover that their native lands are
changing directions, looking less and
less to the West and more and more to
the East and to Africa.
We might say that the problem is that
of having learned a language which no
longer serves to treat the reality at hand
and even less the future ahead. Indeed,
John Moore finds his most distressing
failure upon arriving home is his inabil-
ity to talk right "His time away from the
language was causing him great dis-
comfort in following the speech, and
there were nuances in the speech
which he could not grasp." In point of
fact, there are nuances in the novel's
central metaphor which Moore cannot
grasp, or at least cannot relate to the
turbulent reality of the island.
In the pastoral tradition, the poet is
not isolated from civil life; he only re-
treats from it temporarily, so as to view it
more objectively. The poet/shepherd
of the Georgics will not remain out of
thepolis indefinitely nor will Christ the
pastor fail to act in the political life of
the people. Indeed, much of the rich-
ness of the interchange between the
pastoral and the epic traditions lies in
the knowledge that poetry is itself an
act and that politics are utlimately
metaphysical. But the problem re-
mains and it is not possible for John
Moore to adjust his language (the
Anglo-European metaphor) to the is-
land's reality ("the beauty of his black
blessed woman"). This failure of
speech is mirrored in all of John
Moore's actions, or better, his inactions.
In the end there is nothing left for him
to do but to leave, to return to the life of
self-imposed exile in a place where he
also does not wholly belong, but whose
abiding metaphors he learned as a boy.
It is, after all, only there that Milton's
understanding of the nature of good
and evil can be fully appreciated.
"Paradise is in the mind, and when the
mind is contented, a country such as
this does look like paradise." How po-
etic and how Western.

Harry T Antrim teaches English at Florida
International University.


CAIrBBEAN OPVIEW/39









The 30Years War between Figueres & the Somozas
Continued from page 7


1956. There is no evidence that Figueres was involved. He
was in Italy at the time and, although he showed little re-
morse, he expressed surprise. He told representatives of the
Associated Press in Florence that he hoped the Nicaraguan
people might now be able to establish "honest and repre-
sentative government." However, the continuation of the
Somoza dynasty under Tacho's sons Luis and Anastasio
(Tachito) frustrated such hopes, and the relations between
them and Figueres remained strained. Tachito, especially, did
not forgive the troubles between his father and Figueres and
he probably suspected that Figueres had something to do
with his father's death. It did not take him long to show his
feelings.
In May 1957, three Cuban gunmen were arrested in San
Jose and charged with plotting against the life of President
Figures. According to the investigation by Costa Rican
authorities, the three had been promised $200,000 for the
job. Although they had apparently been hired by Dominican
agents the notorious Johnny Abbes Garcia and the sinister
Felix Bernardino they had come from Managua, where
Anastasio Somoza Debayle (Tachito) had allegedly agreed to
facilitate their action.
Just a few months later, in August, Figueres alleged that he
had uncovered a new plot by calderonistas to launch an
attack upon Costa Rica from Nicaragua and charged that
Tachito, now chief of the Nicaraguan National Guard, was
supporting the plan. Although nothing came of this episode,
Figures remarked that Ambassador Whelan was up to his
old tricks and that "he was continuing to encourage the
subversive activities of Tachito Somoza against Costa Rica."
Figures complained that the US Department of State re-
strained Whelan in Managua despite its "custom" of with-
drawing ambassadors "who have intervened in a crisis
between two countries." He pointed out that the US Ambas-
sador to Costa Rica, Robert C. Hill, had been transferred on
such grounds.
The relations between Figueres and the Somozas entered
an acute stage in 1959 in the context of Fidel Castro's
takeover in Cuba. Even though Figueres was no longer
president, he felt obliged to assist moderate Nicaraguan exile
elements in a plot against President Luis Somoza in order to
preempt similar plans by radical groups based in Cuba.
Figures aided moderate leaders Enrique Lacayo Farfan and
Pedro Joaquin Chamorro, who undertook an airborne inva-
sion of Nicaragua at the end of May 1959 from Punta Llorona,
a base in the south of Costa Rica. In a lengthy communica-
tion to Figueres after the failure of the invasion, Chamorro
described what went wrong and left no doubt that Figueres
and elements of his National Liberation party had supported
every phase of the operation, including planning, the provid-
ing of the base, and the acquisition of arms and aircraft.
Figures himself had traveled to Washington and Caracas in
the hope of securing support for the movement; the United
States demonstrated its sympathy (within the OAS) by de-
laying a response to Nicaragua's invoking of the Rio Treaty
until the movement had a chance to fail or succeed on its
own; Venezuela (now governed by R6mulo Betancourt)
stood ready to airlift arms to the insurgents in the event the
movement gained momentum. The failure of this invasion,
40/CAffBBEAN REVIEW


plus a number of others which occurred in the turbulent
summer of 1959, coupled with the fear of additional Castro-
style revolutionary movements in the Caribbean and Central
America, led to a new, nonviolent phase of Figueres's efforts
to unseat the Somozas.
Figures became the recipient of covert funding bythe CIA
as part of a policy in support of the non-Communist Left in
Latin America. Figures and his allies were no longer trou-
blemakers; instead, they were a possible alternative to Cas-
troism in the face of growing economic, political, and social
unrest. CIA official Cord Meyer came to Costa Rica and col-
laborated with Figueres in financing democratically-oriented,
progressive organizations. He and Figueres channeled funds
to political parties, newspapers, and individuals. In late 1959,
in collaboration with the Democratic Left parties of the re-
gion, Figueres established the Inter-American Institute of
Political Education in San Jose, which was designed to train
young leaders in democratic political organization and tac-
tics and to provide a point of contact for parties of the Demo-
cratic Left. Nicaraguan exiles affiliated with the Independent
Liberal party and the Nicaraguan Revolutionary Movement,
among others, took part, and the CIA provided financial
backing through the Kaplan Fund and the Institute of Inter-
national Labor Research, both of New York. The CIA, how-
ever, was working both sides of the street, as demonstrated
by its close collaboration with Tachito Somoza in the Bay of
Pigs affair. As a result, Don Pepe's antidictatorial efforts
(with CIA backing) gave greater priority to cooperation with
Juan Bosch and other Dominican exiles for the ouster of
RafaelTrujillo.


Close Ties with Kennedy
On the overt side, Don Pepe became a favorite of the Ken-
nedy administration. His policy of economic and social
change within the framework of representative democracy fit
in very well with the Alliance for Progress scheme of acceler-
ated evolution, and Figueres established close ties with such
New Frontiersmen as Chester Bowles and Arthur
Schlesinger, Jr. In March 1962, Adolf Berle, a top advisor on
Latin American affairs under Kennedy and an intimate friend
of Figures, tried to persuade Figueres to help him arrange a
peaceful political solution in Nicaragua. He asked Figueres to
serve as a mediator between Luis Manuel Debayle, repre-
senting the Somozas, and Fernando Aguero, a Conservative
party leader, with a view to establishing the ground rules for
free elections in Nicaragua in 1963. Figures was willing to
help, but after several fruitless months lost heart "Things do
not seem to move," he told Berle in August of that year, "I am
of the impression that Somoza will want to impose a succes-
sor regardless of what happens."
This remark revealed a sense of resignation on the part of
Don Pepe and a general decline in his rivalry with the
Somozas. The efforts by the Democratic Left to promote
peaceful revolution had not been effective and, with some
exceptions, it suffered an eclipse in the decade of the sixties.
Nicaraguan exiles continued to live in Costa Rica, and
Figures remained their friend and ally. For example, when a
meeting of Central American presidents was held in San Jose








in March 1963, which President Kennedy also attended,
Pedro Joaquin Chamorro wrote to Figueres to protest the
presence in Costa Rica of Nicaraguan President Ren6 Schick
and Luis Somoza. Figures could not do anything about their
visit, but he stated publicly that he would not speak to either
Schick or Luis while they were in San Jose and he further
showed his scorn by holding a reception in his home for the
members of the Nicaraguan exile community. However, no
group was actively conspiring.
United States support of Figueres's activities also di-
minished. Cord Meyer left Costa Rica in mid-1962, and CIA
funds dried up shortly afterwards, although small amounts
continued until 1967, when Ramparts magazine exposed
such CIA funding activities. As the US perceived Castro less a
threat, its interest in Central America and the Caribbean
declined. Moreover, Figueres was not in office during the
sixties, and the Costa Rican presidents of the decade, in-
cluding Francisco Orlich of his own party, maintained proper
relations with Nicaragua. For his part, Anastasio Somoza
Debayle consolidated his position in Nicaragua, and, par-
ticularly after the death of Luis in 1967, Tachito became the
new Tacho. He attempted to improve his image internation-
ally and the regime was probably less repressive, at least until
the reaction against his unsavory handling of Managua
earthquake relief funds and supplies in 1972.
During Figueres's second presidency (1970-1974), rela-
tions between Costa Rica and Nicaragua remained peaceful.
Figures displayed no hostility toward the new leader of the
Somoza clan. In fact, early in his administration he declared,
"We are not conspiring. We are not going to hold the son
responsible for what his father did or did not do." Figueres's
attitude toward Latin American military dictatorships, in
general, had changed. He observed that the present ones
were different from those of the past, remarking that they had
experienced "a favorable evolution" and had "tempered a
bit." Figueres even met with Somoza several times in this
period, and the two leaders, as if they were old friends, dis-
cussed such matters as the Central American Common
Market and tried to promote a reconciliation between Hon-
duras and El Salvador in the aftermath of the Soccer War.
One may only speculate about the reasons for this
changed attitude, but new international conditions and
political styles and the conservatism associated with age may
offer some explanation. Figures was not sympathetic to-
ward the political activism of the sixties and he deplored the
tactics of terrorism and skyjacking employed by radical
groups. In one of the most sensational events of his presi-
dency, Figueres not only stopped an airplane hijacking by a
group of Sandinista guerrillas at the international airport
outside of San Jose, but he extradited the surviving members
to Nicaragua, in total disregard of the Constitution.
Because of Don Pepe's conduct during his presidency, one
might assume that he played little or no role in the overthrow
of Anastasio Somoza Debayle in July. This is not the case.
Although specific information is lacking at this time, it may be
asserted generally that he contributed substantially to
Somoza's fall. Despite Figueres's improved relations with
Somoza during his presidency, he did not abandon his
friends in the Nicaraguan opposition.
When the situation began to deteriorate in Nicaragua,
following the ugly disclosures of the corrupt handling of
Managua earthquake relief and the eventual murder of Pedro
Joaquin Chamorro, many of the Nicaraguan moderates


turned to Figueres for aid. If Somoza were to fall, Figueres
preferred their success to that of the Sandinistas, or at least
the installation of a regime that would embody his commit-
ment to social democracy. According to one of the members
of "Los Doce," Figueres was "a formidable friend." Nicara-
guan exiles operated openly and freely on Costa Rican soil,
leading to a rupture in relations between the two countries. It
is unlikely that they would have had so free a hand without
Figures' support. Figures even patched-up his quarrel
with President Rodrigo Carazo, in order to facilitate these
activities. It may be noted that the Sandinista group which
fought in the south, advancing on Rivas from Costa Rica, was
the most moderate of the guerrilla factions. Moreover, Don
Pepe's own 17-year-old son, Mauricio, volunteered for service
with the rebels in the civil war. Finally, Figueres apparently
helped break the impasse between the Nicaragua Junta of
National Reconstruction and the US special envoy in Costa
Rica. Instead of appearing to yield to US pressure for
guarantees against extremism, Figueres suggested that the
Junta request the OAS to establish a commission for moni-
toring the actions of the post-Somoza government.
The events of the recent struggle are dramatic enough, but
one can only imagine what they would have been like if the
old Tacho were still alive and Don Pepe were in his prime.
Nonetheless, it appears that the Thirty Years War between
Figures and the Somozas is over.

Charles D. Ameringer teaches history at the Pennsylvania State Univer-
sity. His book, Don Pepe: A Political Biography of Jose Figueres of Costa
Rica, has recently been published by The University of New Mexico
Press.


V


Latin American Literature and Art
I Jorge Luis Borges


F


Fiction Gabriel Garcia Mdrquez
Manuel Puig Octavio Paz
Art Elena Poniatowska
Ernesto Cardenal
Poetry Pablo Antonio Cuadra
N61lida Pir 6n Severo Sarduy
Reviews Mario Vargas Llosa
Rubem Fonseca


Film Enrique Lihn Isabel Fraire
Eduardo Gudiho Kieffer
News Carlos Fuentes
Alejo Carpentier
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CAfBBEAN FEVIW/41


i









Religion and Politics in Bermuda
Continued from page 21


moral crusade, and the emphasis on family well-being. Reli-
gion sanctified political participation, making it not only
permissible but virtually requisite. Ironically but suitably,
evangelism was used to counteract one of its own folk
traditions: the notion that politics is "wordly" and therefore
sinful. The PLP reversed that definition by associating im-
morality with the political status quo and identifying itself as
the agent of spiritual reform and millenarian hope. The
religious mandate for political activity seems likely to have
influenced the substantial support given the PLP by blacks
who had previously neglected to vote.
The second cultural sensitivity stirred by the PLP's cam-
paign was racial identity. Although revivalism denotes reli-
gion, it is also an idiom of expression that is distinctively
black. The call and response exchange between speaker and
spectators, a generally high level of oral, kinetic, and emo-
tional audience participation, the exaggeration of histrionics
as a means of emphasis and self-mockery, the interplay of
entertainment and proselytization, a preference for dramatic
hyperbole rather than factual precision-all are modes of
performance that blacks recognize as symbols of their cul-
tural style. Moreover, while this recognition was articulated
both in the reflexive jokes that punctuated campaign
speeches and in the comments on strategy given by party
workers, it is largely a bond of solidarity based on moral and
aesthetic traditions rather than ideological formulations.
Unlike the earlier rhetoric of racial militancy, the vocabulary of
revivalism neither polarized blacks nor gave whites a ground
for decrying racial chauvinism.
The family symbol fused the religious and racial sen-
sitivities. As an explicit theme, the family summarized the
moral purpose of the campaign. Implicitly, the family stood in
opposition to the partnership of the races the UBP's chief
symbol and slogan. While the partnership has an idealistic
dimension, its principal rationale even in UBP rhetoric -
is economic; harmonious integration is proclaimed essential
for the stability needed to attract tourists and international
companies. By contrast, the family represents a social unit
that is 'natural' rather than contrived, diffuse rather than
specific, moral rather than instrumental. Above all, the family
is monoracial and therefore an analogue of the PLR


Reputation and Respectability
In Bermuda the conflict between the races is literal and
localized; in most of the West Indies it is more figurative and
international. Political battles are typically between two black
parties, each struggling to project an Afro-Caribbean identity
and to associate its opponent with Euro-American interests.
In left wing vocabularies now the 'official' vocabularies in
Jamaica, Guyana, and Grenada ideological systems are
defined in racial terms. International socialism is synonym-
ous with black liberation, while international capitalism rep-
resents white exploitation.
A striking example of the politics of racial symbolism
emerges from Grenada, where the regime of Eric Gairy was
toppled early in 1979 by the Commonwealth Caribbean's first
coup d'etat. Gairy, phenotypically "black," came to power in
1951 as a champion of the black masses and an opponent of
42/CAfIBBEAN FPvieW


the mulatto elite. His rule, notwithstanding its abuses and
brutality, was sustained by its affinity to the cultural idioms of
the agro-proletariat. He spoke with what Grenadians call
"style," the colorful creole dialect of the masses. He was
fabled for his skill at Obeah, a divinatory and manipulative
magic corresponding to African witchcraft. Traveling the
countryside in flowing white robes, he was viewed as a semi-
divine potentate akin to the African archetype of a god-king.
In recent years he cultivated a well-publicized friendship with
the Reverand Jim Jones, whose mystical appeal to blacks
was strong enough to lead several hundreds of them to
commit suicide at his command.
The revolution that toppled Gairy was led by his chief
political opposition, a group whose ideological bent was
shaped by the Caribbean Black Power movement but whose
ancestry is largely mulatto. Their immediate task has been to
identify with the black majority the "people" and to
define "Gairyism" as a form of repression that served external
white interests. The task has proceeded on several fronts. An
army of Rastamen has replaced police and gestapo units of
Obeahmen as the chief agency of social control, substituting
an Afro-Caribbean religion with revolutionary implications for
one locally associated with Gairy. Calypsonians (including
Sparrow, born in Grenada) who have written songs support-
ing the overthrow of Gairy have been coopted to give "sol-
idarity concerts," and a genre of music and dance known as
"Revolution Rock" has been encouraged. Easter festivities
linked with the Gairy tradition and seen as a potential incite-
ment were canceled, but the calendar has been punctuated
with "African Liberation Days," occasions for the ritual exhibit
of revolutionary symbols and the rhetorical depiction of a
global struggle between the forces of white oppression and
those of black freedom.
Illustrating the expediency of a black image, the Grenada
case also brings to light deeper level cultural phenomena
that mold the distinctive character of West Indian politics.
Gairy exemplified what Peter Wilson calls "reputation" the
Caribbean's indigenous value system. The symbolism of
reputation is in part religious, but drawn from a special sphere
of religion supported chiefly by the lower class: the fun-
damentalist sects and syncretic cults that emphasize the
mystical, usually millenial, accrual of power. Reputation is
also built on secular norms idealized in the lower class male
role model: competitive and performance abilities, verbal
fluency, sexual prowess and potency, swagger and "badness"
(toughness, hedonism, ostentation). Even Gairy's worst
opponents were forced to concede that he was a man of
reputation. An organ of the Peoples Revolutionary Govern-
ment described him as "UFO expert, the greatest sexman, a
mystic, a millionaire."
The antithesis of reputation is what Wilson terms "respec-
tability," the value system in which most of Gairy's opponents,
erstwhile and present, were socialized. Ultimately a product of
colonial tutelage, respectability is predicated partly on
socioeconomic prestige symbols typically associated with
middle class status: standards of education, occupation,
residence, material possession, and so on. Respectability
also derives from moral conventions exalted by the
mainstream Christian churches: legal, monogamous mar-








riage, a stable nuclear family, restrained (or at least discrete)
sexual conduct, and the virtues of sobriety, responsibility,
self-improvement, and thrift. The norms of respectability are
generally idealized, but in practice beyond the reach of all but
the privileged classes.
What has happened throughout the Caribbean corres-
ponding to the rise of political nationalism is that the
socioeconomic status designations and sense of moral
righteousness connoted by respectability have taken on a
black, rather than a white, cultural awareness. This process is
documented in the longitudinal sampling of Jamaican elites
done by Wendell Bell and his colleagues. In 1962, the year of
Jamaica's independence, the leadership stratum articulated
a conscious preference for symbolic items food, music,
entertainment, literature, educational curriculum associ-
ated with the Euro-American tradition over those associated
with the Afro-Caribbean tradition. By the mid-1970s, how-
ever, the pattern had reversed; elites were extolling their West
Indian identity and affirming African ancestry. The social
consequence is the emergence of a black bourgeoisie, not in
the traditional sense of a black middle-upper class who
think and act white, but in the sense of blacks who have
wedded the designations of respectability to a newly-
discovered color consciousness.
Appealing diffusely to religious and racial sentiments,
revivalist politics is a potent symbol of both reputation and
respectability. In the Bermuda case, the fundamentalist zeal,
evangelistic imagery, and promise of millenial power stir the
religious sensibilities of reputation, while the family theme



Language & Area

Studies Centers
The Office of Education of the Department of
Health, Education and Welfare has awarded the
following universities a Title VI National Defense
Education Act Language and Area Studies
Center grant:

Comprehensive Centers:
Tulane University
University of California at Los Angeles
University of Florida
University of Illinois-University of Chicago
University of New Mexico-New Mexico State
University
University of Pittsburgh
University of Texas
University of Wisconsin System
Yale University and the University of
Connecticut

Undergraduate Centers
Florida International University
San Diego State University
Western Kentucky University


and the general sense of moral righteousness signify the
religious values of respectability. Alternately, the dramatic,
humorous, and flamboyant performance orientation of ral-
lies exemplifies the racial-cultural style of reputation, while
the association with symbols of the black heritage, notably
the church, conveys the type of racial-cultural identity that
bourgeois respectability has consciously embraced.
Moreover, the richness and diversity of the revivalist mode
allows all of these meanings to be communicated in the
same presentational format. In the election eve rally, for
instance, the preachers' hell-fire attack on a "wicked gov-
ernment" represented both the religious and racial-cultural
side of reputation, while the pose struck by the restrained,
sedate candidates emitted respectability. Recall the words of
my cynical but perceptive informant: "They (the preachers)
came out swinging, but we (the candidates) stayed behind
them like nice respectable niggers."
It is this resonance with complex sentiments and value
systems that makes revivalism the political language of the
Caribbean. The symbols of religion, race, reputation, and
respectability reveal far more about the dynamics and direc-
tion of West Indian politics than do models of decolonization
and "development" generated in the metropolis. Politicians
recognize this reality, and the more skillful of them have
fashioned from it a rhetoric of power.

Frank E. Manning is head of Anthropology at Memorial University of
Newfoundland. His new book, Bermudian Politics in Transition has
recently been published by Island Press, Hamilton.


CAPfBBEAN PFVIW/43


NO MAN'S
LAND
Combat and Identity
in World War I
ERIC J. LEED '



Based on firsthand accounts of American,
French, British, and German front-line soldiers,
this book examines how the First World War trans-
formed the character of its participants. Leed
looks at the traumatic experience of combat itself,
as well as the shattering of the conventions and
ethical codes of normal social life, which turned
ordinary civilians into "liminal men"-men living
beyond the realms of the accepted and the
expected.
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I --









The Future of the Rastafarian Movement
Continued from page 25


movement, because while ganja has a wide variety of uses
among lower class rural Jamaicans, its successful
transcendence of class lines is coincident with the wider
acceptance of the movement by Jamaican society. Although
ganja is still illegal, most members of the Jamaican public
show a blatant disregard for the law, often smoking spliffs in
public places and at public gatherings. While one of the
recent hits by Rasta reggae artist, Peter Tosh, entitled "Legal-
ize It" was banned by Jamaica's two radio stations, Prime
Minister Michael Manley was prompted to write Peter Tosh to
say that he saw no reason why the song had been banned.
Irrespective of the movement's eventual impact on the legal-
ization debate, their use and espousal of ganja must be
recognized as being very Jamaican.
Rastafarian males, unlike their counterparts in the wider
society, manifest strong patriarchal tendencies and they
make kind, gentle and responsible fathers. Because Rastafari
brethren insist that children complement their lives, children
are an everpresent feature in Rasta camps, even where
women are absent. Generally, Rastas bring their male chil-
dren to live with them as there is great concern that any
"youth" they father be raised with a proper understanding of
his African heritage and of the movement.
Because of this love of children, a widely shared
phenomenon in the wider society, Rastafari brethren make
frequent adoptions. Like most Jamaicans, Rastafarians will
make great sacrifices to keep their own and/or adopted
children fed, clothed and in school. The brethren are painfully
aware of the problems of youth in Jamaica, and the move-
ment itself has made a positive contribution toward pointing
some youth away from crime and toward a trade or formal
education. As with most Jamaicans, Rastafarians lay great
store on formal education. The brethren exhort young people
to attend school, despite Rasta sentiments that the educa-
tional system serves to "whitewash" (deAfricanize) black
children. Many young Rastas studying at the University of the
West Indies are being urged to come and teach adults in
West, East and Central Kingston. The emphasis has been on
a radical individualized pedagogy "each one teach one."
While the Rastafari brethren have defined what they believe
a true African identity is, the movement has nonetheless
made an important contribution to setting Jamaica on the
path of self discovery. It was the Rasta man who drew atten-
tion to himself (and in circumspect to most other Jamaicans)
by claiming he was an African that there are no Jamaicans
from Africa, only Africans from Africa. It was the Rasta man
who insisted that Africa had a history and a rich cultural
heritage and who besieged visiting Africans, African histo-
rians and other scholars, to tell him about Africa. It was the
Rasta man who urged his fellow Jamaicans to express sol-
idarity for the struggles of black people everywhere. It was the
Rasta man that unequivocally defined his God as black thus
paving the way for a more liberative and satisfying Christianity
in Jamaica.
In the slums of West Kingston in the 1950s and early 1960s
the Rasta man discovered and celebrated his blackness, in a
society where the prevailing sentiment was nothingg black
evah good." England, at this time, was the spiritual homeland
of the middle and upper class Jamaicans and their values
44/CA,?BBEAN REVIEW


tended to permeate down into the lower classes. Clear skin
and good hair was at a premium. Aspirants to middle class
respectability listened to western classical music, cultivated
the correct accent, and conducted themselves in "civilized"
manners. The Rasta man somehow upset this decorum, with
his long knotted hair, beard, and unkempt appearance. He
represented the epitomy of the "bongo man" (the Jamaican
equivalent of "nigger" now an honorific term). He was
treated as a social outcast at first and was abused on the
streets with Jamaicans declining to sit next to him on buses.
But slowly the brethren gained respect at first, among the
urban and rural poor. Who were these men who projected an
African identity, spoke movingly of a black God in Africa, and
declared themselves at war with the entire society? Were they
deranged or simply criminals, or were they prophets of a
kind? Whatever the early debate, the movement was to leave
an indelible mark on the wider society.


Rastafarians and the Arts
Rastafarian artists (poets, sculptors and painters) with little or
no formal training explored new themes (blackness, African
redemption, etc.) and created the atmosphere that enabled
many Jamaican artists to escape from the restrictions in
style, color, etc. they had labored under because of their
European training and orientation. One of the most radical
and perhaps most celebrated of Jamaican artists, Karl Par-
boosingh, acquired a fascination for the breathren that was
to dominate his work for several years. Parboosingh's
Rasta period captured the dynamism of the movement and
singled it out as a rich source of artistic stimulation. This
stimulation was to extend to all areas of artistic endeavor
- especially music.
Calypso was a down island import that had been con-
sumed voraciously by tourists enthralled with the Belafonte
"island in the sun" syndrome. But in Rasta camps, akete
drums were keeping tune to liturgical chants and laments for
the Ethiopian homeland. It was this musically charged envi-
ronment that spawned Count Ossie and Don Drummond
and gave rise to the earlier ska compositions. Ska was to
emerge as the music of the dispossessed urban masses -
and suddenly Rasta themes had wider implications for they
seemed to reflect the hopes and the despair of the black
masses. Rex Nettleford writes, "The ska like its successors
had the force of pop music everywhere, what with the promo-
tion by radio stations and the ubiquitous sound system
creating common, if unprecedented, bonds between the
youths of town and country, between the lower and the mid-
dle classes, and at times even narrowing the gap between
generations. In the wake of such universal appeal the contri-
butions of the Rastafarians was almost forgotten."
Ghetto music became rudie music (rock steady) with its
"heart of brokenness" and its protest, but gave way in the late
1960s to reggae which "went back to Rastafarian themes
while maintaining the rudie social comment on poverty and
general distress." (Nettleford) Reggae has totally dominated
Jamaican music and has become widely known as the black
music of "sufferation." Although Rasta music of the early
genre can still be found in the compositions of the Mystical









Revelations and the Sons of Negus, the music itself is now
widely identified with such reggae artists as Bob Marley and
the Wailers, Big Youth, and Burning Spear. These artists,
especially Bob Marley, have done much to raise the con-
sciousness of the Jamaican masses, and although reggae
has been successfully exported to the US and Britain, its
lyrics are largely meaningless outside of the context of
Jamaican society. These lyrics and the titles of the songs
themselves, dramatize the powerful interplay between the
Rastafarian movement and Jamaican youth in general
and between the dispossessed in society and those at the
helm of affairs. Even the Prime Minister was moved to
comment that reggae was the articulation by the disin-
herited of Jamaica of their demand for change and their
need for a new ordering of society.
Rastafarian themes have also inspired some of Rex
Nettleford's dance creations and have been dramatized on
stage for public consumption. The wider society has now
become so infused with these themes that many Jamaicans
do not consciously remind themselves of their implications.
In the area of politics, the movement has pushed Jamaican
academics and politicians into taking unequivocal positions
on certain issues. Jamaica's dialogue with African nations
and other Third World countries began at the prodding of the
Rastafarian brethren. In naming an Ambassador to Ethiopia
as one of Jamaica's first ambassadors to an African nation,
the Jamaican Government recognized, albeit tacitly,
Jamaica's special affection for Ethiopia. The Emperor's visit
and those of other African dignitaries (e.g. Julius Nyerere)
reflected the ongoing discourse between the movement,
Jamaican youth, and the political elite. Even the creation
of Paul Bogle and Marcus Garvey spiritual fathers
of the Rastafarian movement as national heroes must be
seen in this light.
Clearly the movement's contributions to Jamaican society
were and are remarkable. The net effect has been the Ras-
tafarianization of Jamaica. There is a complex imagery con-
nected with the use of Rastafarian derived argot that of
conscious black man sufferer and it serves to create
strong bonds of kinship. Even the dietary habits of the
movement have found many adherents in the wider society.
For example, most young Jamaicans are revolted at the
thought of consuming pork or pork products and many insist
on eating "1-tal" food (health food of a sort) with no salt or
condiments used in its preparations. Tams and beards, once
the marks of a Rasta man, are evident everywhere in society.
Even some prominent politicians have taken to wearing tams
- but as one Daily Gleaner correspondent notes, rhetoric
and Rastafarian tams do not make a revolution.


Religion and Politics in Jamaica
While there has been some talk of a Rastafarian Government
and/or "sufferers' party," there is little possibility that Rastafari
ideas and ideals will translate themselves into a separate
political movement. What is perhaps more likely, and there
are already signs to indicate that this is occurring, is that the
PNP will be transformed into the envisioned "sufferers' party."
Such a transformation must be carried out at the expense of
the movement. In many ways the Rastafarian movement
preceded what is now decidedly a secular revolt,
spearheaded by the radical wing of the PNP in Jamaica.
In some circles the movement is now viewed as an im-


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CAIMBBEAN I'yIEW/45


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A new
perspective







October 5-14, 1979
In its seventh year in Dade County
Hispanic Heritage Week 1979 presents
new features among its 15 major events
and spectacular activities.

The festivities will begin on October 5 with the
traditional ribbon-cutting ceremony. The National
Festival of Hispanic Songs will be held at the
Miami Jai-Alai Fronton on October 6 from 7:00
to 10:00 p.m.
The Permanent Art Collection of the Organiza-
tion of American States will be displayed at the
Lowe Museum with the unveiling ceremony taking
place on October 10 from 8:00 to 10:00 p.m.
There will be a new event called "Festival West"
which will be held on the grounds at Tropical
Racetrack and will include folkloric groups, bands,
boat races, Spanish-style picnics, an equestrian
show, a classical music contest, a tennis tourna-
ment, art exhibitions, and booths with food from
various countries.
The "Eight Street Festival" which has become a
traditional event of Hispanic Heritage Week will be
the crowning point of the festivities, whose
principal aim is to advance the union of the
two cultures through the universal language
of friendship.



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pediment to the construction of a socialist Jamaica for
there is a large nonworker element in the movement. While a
redefinition of the movement as unprogressive is still a long
way off, there are some signs to indicate that once the PNP
effectively deals with the opposition, it will seek to discredit
the religious aspects of the Rastafari movement. This task will
most likely be entrusted to the PNP Young Wing in a fashion
somewhat reminiscent of Banda's use of Malawi Pioneers in
his campaign against the Jehovah's Witnesses (Watch Tow-
erites). These changes in Jamaica will inevitably undermine
the popularity of Rasta elsewhere in the Caribbean.
Among young Jamaicans, interest in Rasta religious or-
thodoxy is on the decline. This can be attributed to the crisis
of belief that has been generated among the youth due to the
failure of prophecy. Many young Rastas have turned towards
orthodox Christianity and the fundamentalist churches, while
others have simply made the transition from a religious
ideology to a political one (the Rastafarian dialectic is easily
translated into orthodox Marxism). It is the latter who have
substituted Cuba for Ethiopia and Castro for Emperor Haile
Selassie. They have joined the ranks of the Jamaican Left
(mostly PNP leaning academics and students) who are cur-
rently engaged in the celebration of the Jamaican worker and
the selling of socialism Cuban style. As the Jamaican
working class becomes more politicized the nonworker
Rasta will be further isolated from society. This continued
isolation will ensure a more or less steady propensity among
hardcore Rastas to indulge in utopian-messianic beliefs -
but on the fringes of society and with less notable effect
and influence.
But the Left is treading on shaky ground because the
Rastafari movement is enormously popular in Jamaica and
still continues to have a powerful coercive effect on leftist
academics and politicians. They dare not denounce the
movement for fear of being shouted down and labeled reac-
tionaries and imperialist stooges showing their true colors.
Their strategy is therefore to publicly identify with the Ras-
tafari movement, while privately condemning it as a barrier to
the construction of a socialist Jamaica.
The future of the movement is bound to be an interesting
one. I foresee the continued existence of several groups -
one group associated with the Ethiopian Orthodox Church
and behaving for all intents and purposes like conventional
church-going Jamaicans; a group of uncompromising reli-
gious Rastas living in small communes on the fringes of
society; a sprinkling of "tourist" Rastas on the North Coast;
and a large group of working class Rastas less committed to
Rasta religious ideology and more concerned with cultural
and political aspects of the movement. But as the seculariza-
tion of the movement continues this latter group is bound to
adopt a new socialist identity. It is this group that should act as
a buffer to prevent hardcore movement followers, especially
the nonworker "religious" Rasta, from being entirely discred-
ited by leftist politicians and academicians.


Klaus de Albuquerque teaches sociology at the College of Charleston,
South Carolina.


46/CAIBBEAN reVeEW









The early novels of Edgar Mittelholzer
Continued from page 37


cyclone, if unlocked without warning.
Seeing him, one thought of a coppery
sky and a dead-smooth sea the
China Sea of Conrad and a falling
barometer" is, with its suggestion of a
tormented journey to be undertaken
through an internal and external storm,
such as one finds in Joseph Conrad's
"Typhoon," "Youth" and Lord Jim,
highly appropriate.
When, however, Mittelholzer treats
his Indian characters with the same
range of allusion, the inadequacy of the
method seems only too apparent For a
literary allusion to amplify the miserli-
ness of Kattree's father, Ramgolall, he
turns to the European stereotype of
Moliere's Harpagon. And Ramgolall's
character as a whole suffers from this
same kind of stereotyping in the Com-
edy of Humors tradition. Nowhere is
there any suggestion of the positive
value accorded to thrift in Hindu cul-
ture. A timely reference to Lakshmi,
goddess of prosperity, could have
served to establish the extent to which
money making and religion are inex-
tricably entwined in Hindu thought, but
all Mittelholzer affords us is the allusion
to L'Auare, which serves to disparage
Ramgolall. In fact, throughout Coren-
tyne Thunder there is very little evi-
dence of any attempt on the author's
part at a serious portrayal of East Indian
life other than in his dramatization of


the Indians' Creolization their
gradual absorption into the colonial
society. That such dilution of their
original culture has been a marked
facet of the East Indian experience in
the new world is, of course, indisputa-
ble and might be cited as a justification
of Mittelholzer's presentation, but still
the sense of the spiritual impoverish-
ment of his Indians which pervades
Corentyne Thunder represents a gross
distortion.

A Morning at the Office
So, however else it may succeed,
Corentyne Thunder is far from being a
success as a realistic portrayal of the
peasantry. Mittelholzer was not prima-
rily a naturalistic novelist, though his
next work to be published,A Morning
at the Office, displays a much keener
eye for social detail. A. J. Seymour has
argued that Mittelholzer himself viewed
this novel as "really a grand tract nicely
dressed up... a mere social document
(very necessary, however) in the guise
of a novel," its purpose being "to de-
bunk certain fallacies held by people in
northern regions about the people in
the West Indies, especially the fallacy
that makes us out to be a backward
half-civilized people."
The means to which he turned to
realize this propagandist purpose was a
closely observed account of events in a


Port-of-Spain office during the course
of a single morning. Actions, charac-
ters and objects are investigated in
great detail, as Mittelholzer uses the
staff of the office as a microcosm of
southern Caribbean society in the
period just after World War II.
Like Corentyne Thunder, A Morning
at the Office has been widely praised
for its social realism. Louis James re-
fers to it as "Edgar Mittelholzer's most
sharply observed social appraisal" and
"probably his best novel." Wilfred Car-
tey praises its "many fine shadings and
subtle delineations of the social posi-
tions occupied by the characters."
Joyce Sparer-Adler, who finds Mit-
telholzer everywhere guilty of at least
implicit racism, sees it as his "most
conscientious attempt to overcome his
prejudices," while Patrick Guckian re-
fers to the novel in order to rebut Miss
Sparer's charge and points out that the
allegedly racist remarks belong in fact
not to Mittelholzer himself but to
characters whose views he is ironically
exposing as part of his "analysis of the
social residue of colonialism."
So, while attitudes towardA Morning
at the Office can be seen to vary, it has
always been among the most highly
regarded of Mittelholzer's novels,
largely because of the naturalistic skill
with which the "mere social document"
has been fleshed out. Certainly the
novel stands unequalled as an account
of the everyday workings of race and
color prejudice in the southern Carib-
bean in the colonial period. The staff of


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the office provides a broad cross-
section of the ethnic groups which
make up Trinidadian and Guyanese
society and, if there is a preponderance
of the group to which Mittelholzer him-
self belonged the "coloreds" as he
calls them this is not unreasonable
in view of the choice of the office as the
setting. Each character is shown to be
acutely aware of his or her place within
the hierarchical structure of the office,
sensitive as to exactly who are his
superiors and his inferiors. Even the
black office boy, Horace, is able to take
pride in being a bona fide member of
the office staff and, hence, superior to
the sweeper.
Gradually and relentlessly, Mit-
telholzer's coldly analytical style en-
compasses every aspect of the lives of
his characters to provide a veritable
comedie humaine of West Indian life.
His concern is not only to dramatize the
main class and race conflicts of the
period, but also to realize on the printed
page the full range of the minutiae of
social stratification and as the novel
unfolds, more and more fine discrimi-
nations are made. He makes a distinc-
tion between different types of East In-
dians: "She would only snub him. She
was an East Indian like himself, but she
was educated and moved with well-
to-do Indians Indians educated like
herself and even with good-class
colored people ... to her, too, thought
Mr. Jagabir, he was only a dirty coolie.";
shows how someone who is primarily
black can separate himself off from
pure blacks: "Himself three-parts negro
- he had close-cut kinky hair and un-
mistakably negroid features and of
lower middle-class stock, he disliked
negroes."; and, in making a similar
point, explicitly contrasts the compli-
cated color hierarchy of the West Indies
with the American situation: "... when
you came to think of it, there certainly
was a vast difference in appearance
between a pure-blooded negro and a
person like herself. In America she
would be called a negro outright. They
never made distinctions in America
between negro and colored as in the
West Indies."
Mittelholzer recites the usual West
Indian attitude toward Portuguese:
"Portuguese, in the West Indies, are not
looked upon as white. Like Jews and
Spaniards, Portuguese are just Por-
tuguese"; discriminates between two
kinds of Chinese: "In the West Indies,
Chinese are of two main divisions -
48/CAffBBEAN rEVIEW


those who are the descendants of the
immigrants from Hong Kong, Canton
or Peking who arrived in the latter half
of the nineteenth century, descendants
completely creolized, even to the extent
of knowing not a word of Chinese ...,
and those who have arrived within the
past ten or fifteen years, as imported
cheap labor, for the chains of provision
shops owned by their wealthy creole
compatriots, and who can speak very
little English because of their
cramped, clannish mode of life:'and
illustrates how racial consciousness
varies in degree from one Caribbean
territory to another: "He was the least
racially conscious colored member of
the staff. This was because he had
been born and had spent the first
twenty-two years of his life in Grenada,
an island where the colored people
reign as aristocrats."
Showing the situation as it prevailed
in the colonial period, such comments
would not be debated and both the
praise which the novel has received for
its acute observation and Patrick
Guckian's defense of Mittelholzer
against the charge of racism seem rea-
sonable enough. The problem is that
these comments do not exist in isola-
tion and, taken collectively, add up to a
workwhich is characterized by a finicky,
almost obsessive absorption with
questions of race and color and al-
though then, as now, these were
doubtless questions which loomed
large in West Indian minds, the result is
an arid critique of society which denies
the individuals presented any real or-
ganic life of their own apart from the
class-race hierarchies they have been
chosen to represent. It is as if Mit-
telholzer is writing within a straitjacket,
for the most part consciously repres-
sing anything which might detract from
the "telescopic objectivity" to which,
like his fictional alter ego in the novel,
the writer Mortimer Barnett, he has
consigned himself. Events, characters
and even objects are all by and large
subordinated to portraying an atmos-
phere "perfervid with the complicated
polemics of class-race hierarchies."
Nowhere else in his fiction does Mit-
telholzer exhibit quite the same obses-
sive concern with close analytical ob-
servation, which exists even to the ex-
tent of allowing Mortimer Barnett to
expound his beliefs about the art of
writing fiction.
The ultimate effect of A Morning at
the Office is less of objectivity than of


an intensely personal private docu-
ment. As Michael Gilkes has observed,
the novel is finally more than a social
treatise. One particular motif which is
out of keeping with the realistic mode
of "telescopic objectivity" is the depic-
tion of the private nightmares which
beset many of the characters: Mr. Mur-
rain, the English chief accountant, is
haunted by his memories of Dunkirk;
Mr. Reynolds, the salesman, is in the
grip of a death fantasy which at one
point is explicitly likened to Mr. Mur-
rain's complex; Miss Henery, the ac-
counts typist, has the feeling during the
course of the morning that an unseen
hand has touched her thigh, an appar-
ent psychic phenomenon which is
again at variance with the novel's natu-
ralistic surface. Most significantly of all,
Miss Bisnauth, the assistant steno-
typist, suffers from attacks of a "Night-
mare Moment" which seems to be the
quintessence of all the other charac-
ters' neuroses and this is related to a
fairy tale entitled The Jen which her
boyfriend Arthur Lamby has written.
In the tale, a little girl called Mooney
who lives by the Canje Creek in Berbice
(according to Michael Gilkes, "symbol,
for Mittelholzer, of the mysterious, for-
bidden interior") encounters the Jen, a
strange and indestructible creature,
which appears to be an embodiment of
evil, but proves to be quite inoffensive.
The initial relation of the story, which
concludes Part One of the novel, has
the effect of questioning the social
surfaces on which the book is based,
while leaving the meaning of what is
fairly obviously an allegory unclear.
However, when Mittelholzer returns to it
toward the end of the novel, the mys-
tery appears to be dispelled as we are
told that "what Arthur was really trying
to do in The Jen was to debunk the old
West Indian anancy-story." As such it
becomes part of the attack which Mit-
telholzer mounts on the notion that
West Indian culture is primarily black.
Anancy stories are dismissed, along
with cumfa, shango, calypsoes and
steel bands, as nationalist fads, which,
as Mittelholzer sees it, are unrepre-
sentative of the true nature of Carib-
bean culture. Elsewhere in the novel his
stance seems to involve special plead-
ing for his own ethnic group, especially
in his idealization of Mortimer Barnett,
but when he addresses himself spe -
cifically to the problem of culture, he is
so hostile to African-influenced forms
that he argues not for a melange, which








would be the correlative of his champ-
ioning of the mulatto, but for a spe-
cifically European orientation.
The story of the Jen, however, in-
volves more than criticism on Mit-
telholzer's part of what he saw as an
artificial attempt to manufacture a local
culture. Its association with Miss Bis-
nauth's "Nightmare Moment" she
specifically identifies with the Jen -
and by extension the inner neuroses of
all the characters, makes it a symbol of
the unconscious, all those forces of
personality which are at odds with the
social orthodoxy demanded by the of-
fice. So Mittelholzer's probing below
the surface makes A Morning at the
Office more complicated work than
might initially appear to be the case.
The observation of social mores is
counterpointed by an interest in a
diametrically opposed aspect of be-
havior. Mittelholzer's view of the novel
as a "mere social document ... in the
guise of a novel" begins to seem seri-
ously inadequate and to the reader of
his later fiction the nightmare motif is
an unmistakable prefigurement of the
Gothic concerns of so much of his best
work, even if it is not fully integrated
into the texture of the novel in this case.


Shadows Move Among
Them
If Mittelholzer had reservations aboutA
Morning at the Office because of its
propagandist purpose, he had no such
doubts over his third published novel,
Shadows Move Among Them, about
which he wrote to Arthur Seymour; "I
am prepared to be judged onShadows
... It is a novel as I like, and want to write,
a novel. I wrote it to please myself en-
tirely, without a thought to publishers or
public." Significantly, the result of this
following of his own predilections is a
novel uniformly written in a romantic,
often Gothic, mode, appropriate to his
exploration of inner states, and not a
hybrid production likeA Morning at the
Office In Shadows and My Bones and
My Flute, published in 1955, Mit-
telholzer finds his most successful fic-
tional voice, for the Gothic and roman-
tic are independent of sensationalism,
which exists in many works such as the
Kaywana trilogy.
The Gothic ambience is established
at the very outset in Shadows. The
Corentyne coastlands and the Port-
of-Spain office are replaced by the
Berbice interior, setting for the story of


the Jen in the previous novel and a
landscape which allows Mittelholzer
freedom to explore the human psyche,
unhindered by the constraint of having
to make his characters behave in ac-
cordance with societal norms. In fact,
the novel also has an important social
dimension. The mission in the interior,
where the Tempest-like action is played
out, is intended as a Utopian commu-
nity by Mittelholzer, but the brave new
world over which Mr. Harmston, the
novel's Prospero, presides, is finally less
the center of interest than the psycho-
logical condition of Gregory Hawke, the
"Mittelholzer" character in the novel.
The English Gregory, a veteran of the
Spanish Civil War, journeys upriver to
his relatives at the mission of Ber-
kelhoost in an attempt to salvage
something from the wreckage of his
personal life and to integrate the con-
flicting strands of his schizophrenic
makeup. Hisjourney into the Guyanese
heartland is thus an archetypal journey
into self and as surely allegorical as
Marlow's joumey into the African jungle
in Heart of Darkness, or the similar
journey into the Guyanese interior of
Donne and the crew of Wilson Harris's
Palace of the Peacock. Indeed, the
journey into the interior has become a
prominent theme in the Common-
wealth novel and other versions in-
clude the Australian Patrick White's
Vbss, the Canadian Margaret Atwood's
Surfacing, and the encounter with the
Sudanic desert to which another
Guyanese, Denis Wllliams, subjects his
protagonist Froad at the end of his
novel, Other Leopards. In each case,
coming face to face with a more fun-
damental human condition leads to
discoveries about the self, though
these are variously destructive and
regenerative.
Gregory Hawke's initial reaction to
the brooding interior is similar to Con-
rad's Marlow's feeling that he is jour-
neying through an essentially evil and
hostile landscape: "... the water had
ceased to be chopy and had taken on a
pond-like smoothness, had ceased,
too, to be amber and muddy in look
and become black and evil. As the
stream narrowed and the jungle reared
silently higher and higher and denser
on either bank the blacker and more
evil a smile the water appeared to brew.
The shadowed spaces made by the
low-hanging foliage momently see-
med to gather a deeper gloom and to
glower with the sullen menace of many


watching eyes: eyes concealed amid
poison-berries and slow-drifting blos-
soms." Mittelholzer leaves the reader in
little doubt that this landscape acts as
an index of Gregory's disordered men-
tal state and the fact that occasional
small clearings amid the otherwise
dense bush provide him with tempo-
rary relief suggests the possibility that
the "shadows" of his past may be exor-
cised amid the more benevolent
"shadows" of Berkelhoost.
Mittelholzer's immersion in Greg-
ory's point of view in the above example
is typical of Shadows. The change in
narrative mode from the earlier novels
is largely achieved through his deser-
tion of any pretense of authorial objec-
tivity in favor of presenting events
through the consciousnesses of his
main characters, who by and large take
the supernatural for granted and
emerge as a decidedly bizarre collec-
tion of types. Quite apart from the
paranoid schizophrenic Gregory, there
are several characters that would strain
believability in a realistic novel: Mr.
Harmston, who in his attempt to build a
Utopia which is half-Sparta, half-
Bloomsbury exhibits distinct fascist
tendencies; his servant Logan, who
plays Caliban to his Prospero and de-
rives pleasure from the flagellation he
receives at his master's hands; Ellen,
another servant, who is similarly ex-
cited by the mistreatment of Logan and
whose sadomasochism is com-
pounded with sexual arousal; and
Olivia, Mr. Harmston's 12-year-old
daughter, who, among her other ab-
normalities, suffers from vampire
fantasies.
Yes, Shadows succeeds because it is
all of a piece; a romance in which
Gothic comedy looms large. Both here
and in My Bones and My Flute Mit-
telholzer demonstrates a fairly obvious
debt to M.R. James and Edgar Allan
Poe, but whereas in the latter novel the
ghost story format is employed seri-
ously to achieve effects of horror while
relating the ghostly haunting to the
Dutch colonial past, in Shadows the
Gothic is used in a light vein, at times
almost playfully, and the result is comic
rather than horrific. The opening of the
novel affords a good illustration of this.
At first appearance it might seem
that the reader is being initiated into a
macabre Gothic world: "Up in the
darkness of the rafters, every now and
then, the bats wriggled and squeaked,
and Olivia, who lay on her back in the
CAIBBEAN FEVIEW/49








Buckmasters' pew, saw them in her
fancy, squinting at her with a sleepy
slyness. In her fancy, too, they grinned
and nodded at each other, plotting
midnight murders. Sour berries and
insects that saw in the dark would be
their victims. But night had not yet
come, and now in the twilit church it
was she they had chosen." However, as
one reads on and realizes that this is the
fantasizing of a 12-year-old girl with
whose malapropisms, such as "lym-
phomaniac" and "shittsophrenia" her
creator is clearly amusing himself, the
hint of irony present in the reference to
the "sleepy slyness" of the vampire bats
is confirmed. Mittelholzer is at pains to
establish the generic nature of the fic-
tion as Gothic romance, but he is em-
ploying the mode to allow himself free-
dom to explore the "abnormal" psyche
and he is not interested in the potential
for horror afforded by the Gothic.
Hence the rather playful use of its
conventions.
Clearly there is much more to be said
aboutShadows. The process by which
Gregory achieves regeneration, the ar-
guably totalitarian nature of Mit-
telholzer's Utopia and the sadomaso-
chistic element in his treatment of sex-
uality are all issues which deserve
careful examination. Most readers of
the novel will probably have reserva-
tions for these and other reasons.
Nevertheless it is a work of undoubted
integrity in which the novelist has fully
committed himself to his highly per-
sonal view of the world and, more im-
portant in my opinion, found a fictional
form which enables him to express this
view without compromise. The Gothic
examination of mental states, kept on a
fairly tight rein in his first two novels, is
here allowed free play, and this results
in a work which is more satisfactory
because putative social documentary
has given way to something much
closer to Mittelholzer's heart investi-
gation of the abnormal and paranor-
mal.
In an interesting article on Mit-
telholzer, Frank Birbalsingh has com-
pared him with the early American
novelist, Charles Brockden Brown,
viewing both writers as pioneers,
"moulding, out of their fresh New
World experience and Old World ideas,
appropriate artistic forms." The com-
parison is illuminating, because
Brockden Brown, along with his more
famous successors, Poe, Hawthorne
and Melville, appears to be a rather
50/CABBEAN PVIEW


paradoxical figure in that, instead of
essaying a purely vernacular response
to his New World experience, he is
heavily dependent, among other
things, on European Gothic. In reality,
of course, no paradox is involved, for
such dependence is the almost inevi-
table reaction of a writer in a society
which is culturally still colonial. Cut off
from the literary metropolis, he is al-
most bound to be torn between the
indigenous and the foreign and in this
context the choice of the Gothic is par-
ticularly interesting as an index of the
extent to which he is haunted by Euro-
pean forms.
In Mittelholzer's case, the move to-
ward the Gothic as a means of explor-
ing the relationship between the psy-
chic fragmentation of his characters
and their Dutch colonial past in
Shadows andMy Bones and My Flute
(and, less adequately, in the Kaywana
trilogy), represents something analo -
gous to Nathaniel Hawthorne's Gothic
investigation of the relationship be-
tween his Puritan past and the New
England present in The Scarlet Letter
and, particularly, The House of the
Seven Gables. The New World, far from
being a continent of Adamic inno-
cence, appears to be irrevocably
haunted by its European colonization.
Later writers, of course, see beyond
this. In the United States a vernacular
tradition begins with Mark Twain's great
dialect novel of boyhood, Huckleberry
Finn, while in the West Indies the colo-
nial yoke is first partly thrown off by Vic
Reid in his dialect novel, New Day,
published in 1949 and more fully in the
1950s, in the dialect novels of Samuel
Selvon and inln the Castle of My Skin,
George Lamming's classic study of a
boy discovering himself and his soci-
ety. Though the main corpus of Mit-
telholzer's fiction is contemporary with
the work of these writers, he belongs to
an earlier phase of West Indian litera-
ture, a phase in which the novelist finds
himself inextricably absorbed with the
psychological consequences of colo-
nialism and it is when, as inShadows
Move Among Them, he finds the ap-
propriate fictional form to accommo-
date these concerns, that his work
is a success.




John Thieme teaches language and literature
at the Polytechnic of North London.


Venezuela

& the

Caribbean
Continued from page 11

1973-74. Nonetheless, the doctrine
announced by the new Venezuelan
president was certainly in accord with
the principles proclaimed by the
nonaligned countries and other defen-
ders of the redistribution of interna-
tional wealth and power.
In the United Nations Commission
on Trade and Development and other
international bodies, the Venezuelan
proposals were generally both radical
and constructive, and the country's
minister of international economic re-
lations, Manuel Perez-Guerrero, played
an important role in launching the at-
tempted north-south dialogue and
clarifying a great many issues. Also,
President Perez put a good deal of
surplus oil money at the disposal of the
poorer nations in the form of grants
and easy loans.
In the Caribbean, Perez continued
the policies begun by Rafael Caldera.
Technical assistance was given to
Caribbean islands especially British
associated states in a variety of
planning and engineering projects.
Visits of heads of Caribbean govern-
ments were frequent. Loans were
granted at favorable conditions and
state oil was sold officially at OPEC
prices, but accompanied by financial
grants that amounted to discounts on
the oil price. Cultural missions were
established. Mixed commissions and
working groups studied projects for
joint investment and venture.
In this domain, particularly impor-
tant was a tripartite agreement between
Venezuela, Jamaica and Guyana for the
joint development of these countries'
aluminum industry. All this was done in
a somewhat noisy style, with occa-
sional mentions of Venezuelan "leader-
ship," which deeply annoyed at least
one leader of the English-speaking
Caribbean, namely prime minister Wil-
liams of Trinidad and Tobago. His an-
noyance was deepened by the fact that
the Perez government annulled an








agreement which had been reached
with Trinidad during the Caldera ad-
ministration about fishing rights in the
Gulf of Paria. Claiming that the agree-
ment violated the principles of
sovereignty, the P6rez government left
matters in suspense during several
years until a new agreement was
worked out. Moreover, Williams con-
sidered the Venezuelan-Jamaican-
Guyanese aluminum agreement to be
in violation of the principles of the
Caribbean Common Market. In vehe-
ment anger, the Trinidadian leader in
1975 attacked Venezuela, accusing it of
seeking to recolonizee" the Caribbean.
The basic reason of his anger seems to
have been that President Perez's claim
to the status of a "Caribbean leader"
conflicted with Williams's own ambi-
tion to be the de facto leader of the
Commonwealth Caribbean.


Central American Policy
In regard to the Panamanian and Cen-
tral American rim of the Caribbean
area, the policy of Carlos Andres Perez
had several different aspects. In the first
years of his administration, the Ven-
ezuelan president concentrated on the
task of forging greater unity and coop-
eration in the economic field by means
of loans, aid and investment by Ven-
ezuela in Central America. At the same
time, Venezuela very strongly sup-
ported Panama and its chief of gov-
ernment, Omar Torrijos, in the negotia-
tions with the United States over a new
Panama Canal treaty.
In the last year of the Perez adminis-
tration, the problem of Nicaragua
moved to the forefront. Somoza's re-
pressive measures against the Nicara-
guan people in the civil strife that fol-
lowed the assassination of Chamorro
provoked indignation in Latin America,
and Carlos Andres Perez, making him-
self the spokesman of that indignation,
led the attacks on Somoza in the Or-
ganization of American States and the
United Nations and called for multilat-
eral action to stop the strife and impose
a democratic solution. The Venezuelan
opposition, while sharing the rejection
of Somoza nevertheless felt that the
actions of the president were some-
what erratic. Two years earlier he had
embraced Somoza in Caracas and
showered grants and loans on him,
while the Nicaraguan ruler had be-
come the object of his rage. Two years
earlier, the first priority of Venezuela's


Caribbean policy had been that of inte-
gration and cooperation for joint "Third
World" aims of independent develop-
ment and a struggle for a new interna-
tional economic order. Now suddenly,
human rights had become the first
priority and multilateral inter-American
intervention was called for, somewhat
in the spirit of the old, nearly forgotten
Bentancourt Doctrine.
If the top priority was to be the new
international order and the solidarity of
the Third World, the Venezuelan policy
might have maintained the principle of
ideological pluralism and avoided calls
for multilateral action that would in-
clude the United States against one of
the Central American states, reprehen-
sible as that state's regime might be. In
this case, aid to the Nicaraguan people
in their just fight against Somoza might
have been given in every open and se-
cret manner imaginable, as effectively
as possible, but without calling on the
OAS and the United States.
If, on the other hand, the defense of
human rights and of representative
democracy, without regard for
ideological pluralism, was to be taken
as top priority, obviously the struggle
for Third World unity and the new inter-
national economic order had to be
relegated to a second place, and the
police role of the United States had to
be accepted to a certain degree.
In December 1978, Luis Herrera-
Campins was elected president. He has
announced that his foreign policy, like
that of Caldera, will be based on the
concept of "international social jus-
tice," with emphasis on the "pluralist
solidarity" of Latin America, with top
priority assigned to Latin American and
Third World solidarity and to the strug-
gle for a new international order.
Human rights will certainly be de-
fended as well, at the international level,
but without opening the way to an
eventual erosion of the principle of
nonintervention. There is likely to be
less talk about the Third World and the
north-south dialogue, but there will be
more practical reorientation of eco-
nomic and technological relations to-
ward a variety of industrialized centers
and toward south-south exchange.
Andean integration and cooperation
with Argentina will probably be
stressed, and the relationship with
Brazil will be clarified. The P&rez ad-
ministration, in its Brazilian policy, went
from the extreme of an almost hostile
coolness to that of exuberant cordiality


in the end; Luis Herrera is likely to set
the needle in the middle between these
extremes, looking for constructive
cooperation with Brazil where it serves
Venezuela's best interests, while avoid-
ing commitments that might give ex-
cessive influence to the powerful
neighbor.
As far as the Caribbean is con-
cerned, the Herrera government will
certainly continue the quest for a Ven-
ezuelan "presence" based not on
hegemony but on cooperation with the
smaller nations of the area. Negotia-
tions will be resumed with Colombia for
a settlement of the delimitation prob-
lem in the Gulf. The freezing of the
Esequiban claim will come to an end in
1982, and Luis Herrera will have to de-
cide between prolonging the validity of
the Protocol of Port-of-Spain, or trying
even now, by discreet negotiation to
reach a final settlement with Guyana.
While keeping up Venezuela's particu-
larly cordial friendship with Jamaica,
attempts will probably be made to im-
prove relations with Trinidad, by
achieving a better personalrapport with
Eric Williams.
An aspect of Venezuela's relations
with the Caribbean that has not been
touched upon, but which must be con-
sidered, is that of the role of private
business. A good deal of Venezuelan
money is invested in real estate on the
Caribbean islands. Venezuelan private
banks and investment companies have
granted loans in West Indian public and
private sectors. The Venezuelan Asso-
ciation of Exporters (AVEX) is studying
the possibility of increasing private in-
vestment in the Caribbean islands and
of channeling nontraditional exports
toward the area. It must be pointed out,
however, that up to now the Venezuelan
businessman has not been export-
conscious, although government has
tried to interest the private sector in
projects on the Caribbean islands.
Venezuela did not have a coherent
Caribbean policy before 1969, but
since that date it has attempted to play
an active and rational role in the area.
As for now, some sort of Venezuelan
"presence" in the Caribbean is an ir-
reversible long-range factor that must
be taken into account.

Demetrio Boersner teaches the History of
International Relations at the Escuela de Es-
tudios Internacionales, Universidad Central de
Venezuela, Caracas. His book, Venezuela y El
Caribe: Presencia Cambiante was recently
published by Monte Avila, Caracas.
CAIBBEAN CEVIEW/51


I -










Recent Books

An informative listing of books about the Caribbean,
Latin America, and their emigrant groups







by Marian Goslinga


Anthropology and Sociology
ALL THE THINGS YOU HEAR ABOUT OTHERS
AIN'T NECESSARILY TRUE. Reginal Rippon.
Vantage Press, 1979. $5.95.
Concerns Guadeloupe.

ALMA DE HAITI. Dario Espina-P&rrez. Editorial
Cat6lica Espafiola (Sevilla, Spain), 1979.
206 p. $6.75.

EL ANALFABETISMO EN AMERICA LATINA
Jorge Padua. El Colegio de M6xico, 1979.
192 p. $3.65.

LOS ARAUCANOS EN EL MISTERIO DE LOS
ANDES. Aida Kurteff. Plus Ultra (Buenos
Aires, Argentina), 1979. 157 p. $6.00.

BELASTINGSWETGEVING EN SOCIAL
WETGEVING VAN DE NEDERLANDSE
ANTILLEN. A.G. Kichler. De Wit (Aruba),
1979. Nafl.4.90.

A BOOK ON LATIN AMERICAN FOOD.
Elisabeth L. Ortiz. Knopf, 1979. $15.00.

BRACEROS: LA VERDADERA HISTORIC DE
LOS "POLLOS" INDOCUMENTADOS Y
"ESPALDASMOJADAS." Ettore Pieri. 2d ed.
Editores Mexicanos Unidos, 1979. 194 p.
$2.30.

BRAZIL: ANTHROPOLOGICAL
PERSPECTIVES. Maxine L. Margolis, William
E. Carter, eds. Columbia University Press,
1979. $20.00.

THE CARIBBEAN: HISTORY, DEPENDENCE
AND DEVELOPMENT Arnaud E Marks,
Theo Oltheten, eds. Dept. of Caribbean
Studies, Royal Institute of Linguistics and
Anthropology(Leiden, Netherlands), 1979.
300 p.

THE CARIBBEAN COOKBOOK. Juliette
Hamelecourt and the Staff of the Culinary
Arts Institute. Consolidated Book, 1979.
$3.95; $2.95 paper.

CARIBBEAN EDGE: THE COMING OF
MODERN TIMES TO ISOLATED PEOPLE
AND WILDLIFE. Bernard Nietschmann.
Bobbs-Merrill, 1979. $12.95.

THE CHANGING SHAPE OF LATIN AMERICAN
ARCHITECTURE: CONVERSATIONS WITH
TEN LEADING ARCHITECTS. Damian
Bayon, Paolo Gasparini. Wiley-lnterscience,
1979.

52/CARBBEAN IPEIEW


CHICANOS IN A CHANGING SOCIETY. Albert
Camarillo. Harvard University Press, 1979.
$17.50.

COLOMBIA Y SUS MARES. Carlos Cuervo
Escobar. Universidad Pedag6gica y
Tecnol6gica de Colombia, 1979. 140 p.
$6.00.

LA COLOMBIE A LA CROISEE DES CHEMINS.
J. Soto-Godoy. University Libre de Bruxelles,
1979.

COMUNIDADES DE BASE NO BRASIL. Almir
Ribeiro Guimaries. Vozes (Petr6polis, Brazil),
1979.266 p. $9.60.

CONTRIBUICAO BANTU NA MUSIC
POPULAR BRASILEIRA. Kazadi wa Mukana.
Global (Sao Paulo, Brazil), 1979.230 p.
$9.10.

CONTRIBUTION INDIGENA EN BOLIVIA,
1829-1911. Honorio Pinto. Biblioteca Andina
(Lima, Peru), 1979. 125 p. $5.50.

CRISIS ECOLOGICA, CRISIS SOCIAL:
ALGUNAS ALTERNATIVES PARA MEXICO.
Alfonso Gonz&lez Martinez. Concepto
(Mexico), 1979. 193 p. $7.00.

THE CUBEO INDIANS OF THE NORTHWEST
AMAZON. Irving Goldman. University of
Illinois Press, 1979.

CULTURAL POLICY IN THE REPUBLIC OF
PANAMA. United Nations Educational,
Scientific and Cultural Organization.
UNIPUB, 1979. $3.50.

LOS CURANDEROS: MIS COLEGAS. Samuel
Tarnopolsky. Macondo (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1979. 196 p. $8.20.

EL DERECHO DE FAMILIAEN VENEZUELA
Enrique Diza de Guijarro. Embajada de
Venezuela (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
135 p. $5.00.

LA EDUCATION SUPERIOR EN MEXICO.
Alfonso Rangel Guerra. El Colegio de Mexico,
1979.146 p. $3.65.

EDUCATION FOR WHAT? A SOCIOLOGICAL
ANALYSIS OF PRIMARY EDUCATION IN
ARUBAAND CURACAO, NETHERLANDS
ANTILLES. Tineke Meiner, Theo Oltheten.
Dept of Caribbean Studies, Royal Institute of
Linguistics and Anthropology (Leiden,
Netherlands). 1979. 120 p.


THE EFFECTS OF RURAL-URBAN MIGRATION
ON WOMEN'S ROLE AND STATUS IN
LATIN AMERICA. United Nations
Educational, Scientific and Cultural
Organization. UNIPUB, 1979. $2.75.

ELITES, MASSES AND MODERNIZATION IN
LATIN AMERICA, 1850-1930. Virginia
Bernhard. University of Texas Press, 1979.
$9.95.

ETNOHISTORIA Y ANTROPOLOGIAANDINA.
Marcia Koth Paredes, Amalia Castelli, eds.
Museo Nacional de Historia (Lima, Peru),
1979.298 p. $5.00.

/ EVERYDAY LIFE IN BARBADOS: A
SOCIOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE. Graham M.
S. Dann, ed. Dept of Caribbean Studies,
Royal Institute of Linguistics and
Anthropology (Leiden, Netherlands), 1979.
190 p.

OS EXLIADOS: 5 MIL BRASILEIROS A ESPERA
DA ANISTIA. Cristina Pinheiro Machado.
Alfa-Omega (Sio Paulo, Brazil), 1979. 129 p.
$6.30.

FEMALE AND MALE IN LATIN AMERICA:
ESSAYS. Ann Pescatello, ed. University of
Pittsburgh Press, 1979. $6.95.

FIESTAS Y COSTUMBRES AZTECAS. Gregorio
Torres Quintero. Editorial Porrua (Mexico),
1979.149 p. $2.30.

FORMACAO DA COMUNIDADE CIENTIFICA
NO BRASIL. Simon Schwartzman. Nacional
(Sio Paulo, Brazil), 1979.480 p. $10.50.

FROM THE MILK RIVER. Christine Huhg-Jones.
Cambridge University Press, 1979.

HOMEBOYS, GANGS, DRUGS, AND PRISON IN
THE BARRIOS OF LOS ANGELES. Joan W.
Moore. Temple University Press, 1979.
$15.00.

INDIANIDAD Y DESCOLONIZACION EN
AMERICA LATINA. Proceedings of the 2d
Reuni6n de Barbados. Editorial Nueva
Imagen (Mexico), 1979.403 p. $14.50.

EL INDIO Y LA REVOLUTION. Guillermo
Carnero Hoke. Editora Prensa Peruana
(Lima), 1979. 160 p. $5.00.

MEDELLIN, MEDELLIN MI CIUDAD, POR QUE
ME HAS ABANDONADO? Jorge Acevedo










Londofio. Ediciones Graficas (Medellin,
Colombia), 1979. 144 p. $6.00.

EL MOVIMIENTO ESTUDIANTIL MEXICANO
EN LA PRENSA FRANCESA. Carlos Arriola,
ed. El Colegio de M6xico, 1979.191 p. $4.65.

NINOS DEL ALTIPLANO: RELATOS ETNICOS.
Jose Portugal Catacora. Editora Lima (Peru),
1979.118 p. $1.50.

LA OLGARQUIA TERRATENIENTE: AYERY
HOY. Mariano Valderrama, Patricia Ludmann
Depto. de Ciencias Sociales, Pontificia
Universidad Cat6lica del Peru, 1979.411 p.
$5.00.

ON THE CORNER: MALE SOCIAL LIFE IN A
PARAMARIBO CREOLE NEIGHBORHOOD.
Gary Brana-Shute. Van Gorcum (Assen,
Netherlands), 1979. 123 p.

LA OPERA EN COLOMBIA, 1889-1979. Jose
Ignacio Perdomo Escobar. Litografia ARCO
(Bogota, Colombia), 1979. 123 p. $30.00.

PARAGUAY: EDUCATION Y DEPENDENCIA.
Martin Almada. Buenos Aires, 1979.

PEASANTS, PLANTATIONS AND RURAL
COMMUNITIES IN THE CARIBBEAN.
Malcolm Cross, Arnaud Marks, eds. Dept of
Caribbean Studies, Royal Institute of
Linguistics and Anthropology (Leiden,
Netherlands), 1979.304 p.

LOS POBRES DE VENEZUELA. Norbert S.
Elenberg et al. El Cid (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1979. 173 p. $7.00.

THE PUERTO RICAN WOMEN. Edna
Acosta-Bel6n, Eli H. Christensen. Praeger,
1979. $17.95.

RELIGIOSIDAD POPULAR Y FE. Gerardo T
Farrel, Juan Lumerman. Patria Grande
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979. 157 p.
$7.90. About Argentina.

SEARCH FOR JUSTICE: NEIGHBORHOOD
COURTS IN ALLENDE'S CHILE. Jack
Spence. Westview Press, 1979.206 p.
$16.50.

SISTEMA URBANO E CIDADES MEDIAS NO
BRASIL. Thompson Almeida Andrade.
Institute de Planejamento Econbmico e
Social (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1979. 146 p.
$9.10.

TUGURIZACION EN UMA METROPOUTANA.
Abelardo S&mchez Le6n etal. Centro de
Estudios y Promoci6n del Desarrollo (Lima,
Per6), 1979.190p. $4.50.

LA VIDA EN MEXICO BAJO MIGUEL ALEMAN.
Alfonso Taracena. Editorial Jus (Mexico),
1979.355 p. $10.00.

VIVA CHICANO! THE STORY OF THE
MEXICANS IN AMERICA. Orlando Martinez.
Gordon-Cremonesi, 1979. $14.95.

VOLWASSENEDUCATIE OP ARUBA. Frank E.
Zaandam. Aruba, 1979. Adult education
programs on Aruba.


THE WEST INDIES: DEVELOPMENT,
CULTURE AND ENVIRONMENTAL
CHANGE IN THE WEST INDIES. David
Watts. Shoe String Press, 1979. $15.00.

Biography
ARGENTINOS DE ORIGEN AFRICANO: 34
BIOGRAFIAS. Marcos Estrada. Editorial
Universitaria de Buenos Aires, 1979.203 p.
$15.00.

JUAN BAUTISTA DE AMERICA: EL REY INCA
DE BELGRANO. Eduardo Astesano.
Castafieda (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
$8.70.

























JUUO E. PAYRO, CRITIC E HISTORIADOR DE
ARTE. Tombs Negri. Ediciones Culturales
Argentinas (Buenos Aires), 1979.189 p.
$4.60.

MI MISSION EN CHILE EN 1879. Jose Antonio de
Lavalle. Felix Denegri Luna, ed. Institute de
Estudios Hist6rico-Maritimos del Peru, 1979.
344 p. $11.00. Includes important data for
the study of the Pacific War.

MI PASO POR LA VIDA. Salvador Kibrick. Acervo
Cultural (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
223 p. $8.80. Autobiography of a Russian
Jew who became a leading figure in
Argentina.

SARMIENTO, EL PENSADOR. Cesar H.
Guerrero. Depalma (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1979.296 p. $23.00.

EL SIGLO XIX-GALERIA DE SOMBRAS:
NARINO, BOLIVAR, SANTANDER,
OBANDO, MOSQUERA, NUNEZ. Abelardo
Forero Benavides. Fundaci6n Centenario
Banco de Colombia, 1979.141 p. $9.00.

LOS SOMOZA: UNA ESTIRPE SANGRIENTA.
Pedro Joaquin Chamorro. El Cid (Buenos
Aires, Argentina), 1979.254 p. $6.90.

VIDA, PASSION YMUERTE DE EMILIANO
ZAPATA. Ettore Pierri. Editores Mexicanos
Unidos, 1979.274 p. $4.65.

VIDA Y OBRA DE LUIS PERLOTTI. Sara M.
Spinelli. Plus Ultra (Buenos Aires, Argentina),


1979. 110 p. $5.00. About a well-known
Argentine sculptor.


Description and Travel
THE AMAZON FOREST AND RIVER. Ghillean T
Prance, Anne E. Prance. Barron's
Educational Series, 1979. $14.95.

AMAZON JOURNEY: FROM THE SOURCE TO
THE SEA. John Ridgeway. Doubleday, 1979.
$8.95.

BRAZIL Alain Draeger. Overlook Press, 1979.
$40.00.

EXPLORING CUZCO. Peter Frost. Empresa
Editorial Litografica "La Confianza" (Lima,
Peru), 1979. 136 p. $5.20.

LAS MARAVILLAS DE COLOMBIA. Enrique
Congrains Martin, ed. Forja & Feniz (Bogota,
Colombia), 1979.3vols. $90.00.

THE OLD PATAGONIAN EXPRESS: BY TRAIN
THROUGH THEAMERICAS. Paul Theroux.
Houghton Miflin, 1979. $11.95.

ST EUSTATIUS: HISTORICAL GEM OF THE
CARIBBEAN. Ypie Attema. Sint Eustatius
Historical Foundation, 1979.

Economics
AMAZONIA DESENVOLVIMENTO E
OCUPACAO. Josh Marcelino Monteiro da
Costa, ed. Institute de Planejamento
EconBmico e Social (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil),
1979.243 p. $12.60.

O CAPITAL ESTRANGEIRO NO SISTEMA
JURIDICO BRASILEIRO. Attila de Souza
Leao Andrade. Forense (Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil), 1979.399 p. $24.50.

CONCENTRACAO DE RENDA,
DESEMPREGO E POBREZA NO BRAZIL.
Milton da Mata. Institute de Planejamento
Econ6mico e Social (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil),
1979.161 p. $11.90.

LA CRISIS ECONOMIC DEL PERU:
INFLATION Y RECESSION. Carlos Capufay
Mimbela. Corporaci6n Editora Continental
(Lima, Peru), 1979. 101 p. $2.00.

DEPENDENCY AND DEVELOPMENT IN LATIN
AMERICA. Femando Henrique Cardoso,
Enzo Faletto. Trans. by Marjory Mattingly
Urquidi. University of California Press, 1979.
227 p. Translation of Dependencia y
desarrollo en America Latina.

O DILEMA DAAMAZONIA. ManuelJos6 de
Miranda. Vozes (Petr6polis, Brazil), 1979.230
p. $9.10.

O ESTADO E A BUROCRATIZACAO DO
SINDICATO NO BRASIL. Heloisa Helena
Teixeira de Souza Martins. Hucitec (Sio
Paulo, Brazil), 1979. 190 p. $10.50.

FACTORS DE INFLATION EN LA ECONOMIC
COLOMBIANA, 1971-1977. Hugo E. V6lez
Melguizo. La Carreta In6ditos (Bogota,
Colombia), 1979.204 p. $5.00.

CAIBBEAN PVIEW/53










FLUCTUACIONES ECONOMICS EN
OAXACA DURANTE EL SIGLO XVIII. Elias
Tabulse, Rodolfo Pastor, LeifAdleson. El
Colegio de Mexico, 1979. 112 p. $5.60.

FUERZA DE TRABAJO Y MOVIMIENTOS
LABORALES EN AMERICA LATINA. Ruben
Katzman, Jose Luis Reyna, eds. El Colegio de
Mexico, 1979.337 p. $10.00.

EL GRUPOANDINO: OBJETOS, ESTRATEGIA,
MECANISMOS YAVANCES. Luis J. Garay.
Editorial Pluma (Bogota, Colombia), 1979.
280 p. $20.00.

THE IMPACT OF PRICE UNCERTAINTY: A
STUDY OF BRAZILIAN EXCHANGE RATE
POLICY. Donanld V. Coes. Garland
Publishing, 1979. $24.00.

INFLATION YDEMOCRACIA: EL CASO DE
MEXICO. David Barkin, Gustavo Esteva.
Siglo XXI Editores, 1979. 167 p. $4.00.

INFLATION AND STABILIZATION IN LATIN
AMERICA. Rosemary Rhorp, Lawrence
Whitehead, eds. Holmes & Meier, 1979.
$33.00.

EL MAR DE PUERTO RICO: UNA
INTRODUCTION ALAS PESQUERIAS DE
LA ISLA. Jos6 A. Suarez-Caabro. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1979.

MONEDA Y BANCA: SU EVOLUCION EN
AMERICA LATINA. Mario Rietti Matheu.
Federaci6n Latinoamericana de Bancos
(Bogota, Colombia), 1979.280 p.

MULTINACIONALS ETRABALHADORES NO
BRASIL. Paulo Freire. Brasiliense (Sao Paulo,
Brazil), 1979.226 p. $11.90.

O NORDESTE BRASILEIRO: UMA
EXPERIENCIA DE DESENVOLVIMENTO
REGIONAL. Joao Goncalves de Souza.
Banco do Nordeste do Brazil (Fortaleza),
1979.309 p. $14.00.

LA PEQUENA Y MEDIAN INDUSTRIAL EN EL
DESARROLLO COLOMBIANO. Hernando


G6mez Buendia, Ricardo Villaveces Pardo. La
Carreta (Bogota, Colombia), 1979. 116 p.
$4.50.

LA POLITICAL ECONOMIC EN MEXICO,
1970-1976. Carlos Tello. SigloVeintiuno
Editores, 1979.209 p. $5.00.

POLITICAL ECONOMIC Y DISTRIBUTION DEL
INGRESO EN EL URUGUAY 1970-1976.
Alberto Bension, Jorge Caumont. Acali
(Montevideo, Uruguay), 1979.213 p. $12.00.

THE POLITICAL, ECONOMIC AND LABOR
CLIMATE IN VENEZUELA. Cecilia M. Valente.
Wharton School, University of Pennsylvania,
1979.280 p.

POPULATION AND ECONOMIC
DEVELOPMENT IN BRAZIL, 1800 TO THE
PRESENT Thomas W Merrick, Douglas H.
Graham. Johns Hopkins University Press,
1979. $22.50.

O PROBLEMA DO CAFE NO BRASIL. Ant6nio
Delfim. Fundagao Gettlio Vargas (Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil), 1979.259 p. $19.60.

A QUESTAO AGRARIA NO BRASIL. Caio Prado,
Jr. Brasiliense (Sao Paulo, Brazil), 1979.
$7.70.

SINTESIS DE LA HISTORIC CRITICAL DE LA
ECONOMIAARGENTINA. Rogelio Frigerio.
Hachette (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
116 p. $8.70.

VENEZUELA HACIA EL DESARROLLO. Alberto
Silva. Legislaci6n Econ6mica (Bogota,
Colombia), 1979.165 p. $9.00.

WE EAT THE MINES AND THE MINES EAT US:
DEPENDENCY AND EXPLOITATION IN
BOLIVIAN TIN MINES. June Nash. Columbia
University Press, 1979. $20.00.

History and Archaeology

EL ALTO AMAZONAS: ARQUEOLOGIA DE
JAEN YSAN IGNACIO, PERU. Jaime Miasta
Guti6rrez. Universidad Nacional Mayor de


San Marcos (Lima Peru), 1979.2 vols.
$12.00.

THE BASIN OF MEXICO: ECOLOGICAL
PROCESSES IN THE EVOLUTION OF A
CMLIZATION. William T Sanders, et al.
Academic Press, 1979.

BERMUDA: A NEW STUDY GilbertJ. Butland.
Vantage Press, 1979. $7.95.

BEYOND ALL THIS. Mildred Anderson. Baker
Book House, 1979. $4.95. Concerns Haiti.

BREVE HISTORIC DE LA REVOLUTION
CUBANA. Saveria Tuttino. Ediciones Era
(Mexico), 1979.233 p. $4.00.

CERAMIC PRECOLOMBINA. Jesus Arango
Cano. Plaza &Janes (Bogota, Colombia),
1979.208 p. $45.00.

A CUBAN STORY Marcia A. Del Mar. Blair, 1979.

CULTURAL POLICY IN THE REPUBLIC OF
PANAMA. United Nations Educational,
Scientific and Cultural Organization. Unipub,
1979. $3.50.

DE LA EPOPEYA EMANCIPADORA A LA
PEQUENA ARGENTINA. Julio Irazusta.
Dictio (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
355 p. $13.50.

EL FIN DEL NUEVO MUNDO: ENSAYO SOBRE
LA INDEPENDENCIA DE LOS PUEBLOS
AMERICANOS. Maximo Etchecopar.
Corregidon (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
288 p. $17.30.

LA GUERRA CON CHILE EN SUS
DOCUMENTOS. Fernando Lecaros, ed.
Editora Ital Pern (Lima), 1979.156 p. $5.00.

HISTORIAPOUTICO-ADMINISTRATIVA,
SOCIAL E ECONOMIC DO BRASIL. Alvaro
Brito. Interciencia (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil),
1979.284 p. $16.10.

HISTORIC Y FANTASIA DEL CARIBE Y SUS
ANTILLAS. Juvenal Romero. Embajada de


t_ -. Florida International University
Tamiami Trail, Miami, Florida 33199


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Venezuela (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.
108 p. $8.00.

NEW SPAIN'S FAR NORTHERN FRONTIER:
ESSAYS ON SPAIN IN THE AMERICAN
WEST 1540-1821. David J. Weber. University
of New Mexico Press, 1979. $14.95; $7.95
paper.

THE PANAMA CANAL. Maloney P Markun. Rev.
ed. Watts, Franklin, 1979. $5.90.

PARTIDO COMUNISTA PERUANO:
DOCUMENTS PARASU HISTORIC,
1931-1934. Wilfredo Kapsoli Escudero.
Ediciones Documentos (Lima, Peru), 1979.
122 p. $2.50.

EL PROCESS DEL CONSTITUCIONAUSMO
ARGENTINO. Juan R. Aguirre Lanari.
Abeledo-Perrot (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1979. 110p. $9.50.

EL PROCESS HISTORIC
LATINOAMERICANO. Antonio Garcia.
Editorial Nuestro Tiempo (Mexico), 1979.
405 p. $10.00.

LAS REDUCCIONES GUARANITICAS. Ana M.
Galileano. Ediciones Culturales Argentinas
(Buenos Aires), 1979. 100 p. $6.90.

RELACION DEL DESCUBRIMIENTO Y
CONQUISTA DE LOS REINOS DEL PERU.
Pedro Pizarro. Guillermo Lohmann Villena,
ed. Pontificia Universidad Cat6lica del Peru,
1979.277 p. $14.00. A first issue of the
manuscript in the Henry E. Huntington
Library (San Marino, California).

THE SEARCH FOR LOST AMERICA: THE
MYSTERY OF THE STONE RUINS. Salvatore
M. Trento. Penguin, 1979. $3.95.

LOS SINODOS DEL ANTIGUO TUCUMAN
CELEBRADOS POR FRAY FERNANDO
TREJO Y SANABRIA, 1597,1606,1607.
Jose M. Arancibia, Nelson C. Dellaferrera.
Teologia-Patria Grande (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1979.334 p. $17.50.

A SOCIOECONOMIC HISTORY OF
ARGENTINA, 1776-1860. J.A. Brown.
Cambridge University Press, 1979.

THE SOUTHEAST FRONTIER OF NEW SPAIN.
Peter Gerhard. Princeton University Press,
1979.196 p. $15.00.

TRES STUDIOS SOBRE LAS PROVINCIAL
INTERNAL DE NUEVA ESPANA. Maria del
Carmen Velbsquez. El Colegio de M6xico,
1979. 170 p. $4.65.

TUPACAMARU EN LA INDEPENDENCIA DE
AMERICA. Boleslao Lewin. Plus Ultra
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.239 p.
$9.20.

VOICES IN THE STREET Olga Mavrogordato.
Imprint Caribbean (Port of Spain, Trinidad),
1979. A collection of historical writings about
Trinidad and Tobago.

THE WINDS OF DECEMBER. John Dorschner,
Robert Fabricio. Coward, McCann and
Geoghegan, 1979. $14.95. About Cuba.


Language and Literature
AN ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF AND
ABOUT ERNESTO CARDENAL. Janeth
Smith. Center for Latin American Studies,
Arizona State University, 1979. $3.50.

AN ANTHOLOGY OF SPANISH POETRY FROM
THE BEGINNINGS TO THE PRESENT DAY,
INCLUDING BOTH SPAIN AND SPANISH
AMERICA. John A. Crow, ed. Louisiana State
University Press, 1979. $25.00; $7.95 paper.

BETWEEN SEAAND SKY Enid E D'Oyley.
Wacacro Productions (Toronto, Canada),
1979. $12.95; $5.95 paper. A story about
Jamaica.


BRASI! CONTEMPORARY BRAZILIAN
WRITING. Sasha Newborn, ed. Mudborn
Press, 1979. $10.00; $3.00 paper.

O DEUS BRASILEIRO. Dadeus Grings. Escola
Superior de Teologia Sao Lourenco de
Brindes (PortoAlegre, Brazil), 1979. 159 p.
$8.50. Concerns God in Brazilian literature.

THE IDENTIFICATION AND ANALYSIS OF
CHICANO LITERATURE. Francisco Jimenez,
ed. Bilingual Press, 1979. $17.95; $8.95
paper.

INDICE INFORMATIVE DE LA NOVEL
HISPANOAMERICANA. Vol. 4: Colombia.
Edna Coll. University of Puerto Rico Press,
1979. $9.35.

JULIO PERRENAL: DICHTERS VAN HET
PAPIAMENTSE UED. Jules de Palm, Julian
Coco. De Bezige Bij (Netherlands), 1979.
Nfl. 16.50. A collection of songs in
Papiamentu.

LABIRINTO DO ESPACO ROMANESCO:
TRADICAO E RENOVACAO DA
UTERATURA BRASILEIRA, 1880-1920.
Sonia Brayner. Civilizacao (Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil), 1979.323 p. $5.25.

LA LANGUE DES ANDOKE (AMAZONAS,
COLOMBIE) Jon Landaburu. Soci6t6
d'Etudes Linguistiques et Anthropologiques
de France (SELAF), 1979.300 p. $17.00.


UTERATUUR-OVERZICHT VAN DE
NEDERLANDSEANTILLEN, 1970-1979:
LTERATUUR AANWEZIG IN DE
BIBLIOTHEEK VAN HET KONINKLIJK
INSTITUUT VOOR TAAL-, LAND-EN
VOLKENKUNDE TE LEIDEN. G.A.
Nagelkerke. Dept of Caribbean Studies,
Institute of Linguistics and Anthropology
(Leiden, Netherlands), 1979. Alist of
materials on the literature of the Netherlands
Antilles present in the library of the Institute.

UTERATUUR-OVERZICHT VAN SURINAME,
1970-1979: UTERATUURAANWEZIG IN DE
BIBLIOTHEEK VAN HET KONINKUJK
INSTITUUT VOOR TAAL-, LAND- EN
VOLKENKUNDE TE LEIDEN. GA.
Nagelkerke. Dept. of Caribbean Studies,
Institute of Linguistics and Anthropology
(Leiden, Netherlands), 1979. A list of
materials on Surinam literature present in the
library of the Institute.

MOTHER GOOSE ON THE RIO GRANDE:
MEXICAN FOLKLORE. Frances Alexander,
et al, eds. Granger Book Co., 1979. $14.50.
Reprint of the 1944 ed.

OPEN TO THE SUN: A BILNGUAL
ANTHOLOGY OF LATIN AMERICAN
WOMEN'S POETRY. Nora J. Wieser, ed.
Perivale Press, 1979.

LA ORTOGRAFIA EN AMERICA Y OTROS,
STUDIOS GRAMATICALES. Felix Restrepo.
Institute Caro y Cuervo (Bogota, Colombia),
1979.272 p. $6.00.

PIA-PIA- METHOD PAPIAMENTU. Antonio F
Maria. Kabinetvan de Gevolmachtigde
Minister van de Nederlandse Antillen, (The
Hague, Netherlands) 1979.2 vols. Fl. 15.00.
A Papiamentu grammar for beginners.

POESIACONTEMPORANEA
IBEROAMERICANA. Ram6n Xirau. Editorial
Diana (Mexico), 1979. 182 p. $2.30.

SCHRIJVERS PRENTENBOEK VAN
SURINAME. Gerrit Borgers et al., eds.
Stichting voor Culturele Samenwerking
(STICUSA) (Amsterdam, Netherlands),
1979. A collection of essays about Surinam
literature.

SONGS OF CIFAR AND THE SWEET SEA.
Pablo Antonio Cuadra. Columbia University
Press, 1979. 120 p. $5.95. Selections from
"Songs of Cifar, 1967-1977," trans. and
edited by G. Schulman and A. McCarthy de
Zavala.

WAITING FOR PERGASUS: STUDIES OF THE
PRESENCE OF SYMBOLISM AND
DECADENCE IN HISPANIC LETTERS.
Roland Grass, William R. Risley. Western
Illinois University, 1979. $5.00.

WEST INDIAN LITERATURE. Bruce King. Shoe
String Press, 1979. $5.95.

Politics and Government

ARGENTINA Y LATINOAMERICA ENTIRE DOS
ERAS. Arist6bulo E Barrionuevo. A. Pefia
Lillo (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1979.414 p.
$21.75.

CAIBBEAN V IEW/55










ARGENTINA Y AUSTRALIA. John Fogarty etal.
Institute Torcuato di Tella (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1979. 246 p. $7.50. Papers
presented at a conference held atthe Institute
in December of 1977.

ARGENTINE SUGAR POLITICS: TUCUMAN
AND THE GENERATION OF EIGHTY.
Donna Guy. Center for Latin American
Studies, Arizona State University, 1979.

AZUELAAND THE MEXICAN UNDERDOGS.
Stanley R. Robe. University of California
Press, 1979. $14.95.

BAJO EL OPROBIO. Manuel Gonzalez Prada.
Empresa Editora Tipo-Offset (Lima, Peru),
1979. 107 p. $1.80. Aboutthe 1914-15
military dictatorship in Peru.

BREVE ANTOLOGIA DOCUMENTAL PARA EL
STUDIO DEL ASUNTO PRADO EN 1879.
Jorge Hugo Gir6n Flores, ed. Miranda (Lima,
Peru), 1979. 126 p. $2.20. Concerns Peru.

THE CENTRALIST TRADITION OF LATIN
AMERICA. Claudio Veliz. Princeton University
Press, 1979. $16.50.

CHILEAT THE TURNING POINT LESSONS OF
THE SOCIALIST YEARS, 1970-1973.
Federico Gil etal., eds. Institute for the Study
of Human Issues, 1979. $24.50.

CUBA: THE SECOND DECADE. John and Peter
Griffiths, eds. Writers and Readers Publishing
Cooperative, 1979.271 p.

DEMANDS Y CONFLICT: EL PODER
POLITICO EN UN PUEBLO DE MORELOS.
Patricia Arias, Lucia Bazhn. Editorial Nueva
Imagen (Mexico), 1979. 180 p. $8.40.

DOY FE. Heriberto Kahn. Losada (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1979.116 p. $5.30. Argentine
politics in the period between the death of
Per6n and the overthrow of his wife.

FEDERALISM Y CENTRALISMO. Abel Cruz
Santos. Banco de la Republica (Bogota,
Colombia), 1979.233 p. $2.50.

FSLN: 50 ANOS DE LUCHA SANDINISTA.
Roberto Ortega Saavedra. Editorial Leal6n
(Medellin, Colombia), 1979.140 p. $3.50.

FRENTE SANDINISTA, DICIEMBRE
VICTORIOSO. Juan Jos6 Quezada
Comando. Editorial Di6genes (Mexico),
1979.112p. $2.65.

EL FUSILAMIENTO DE LINERS. ORTIZ
OCAMPO Y SU CONTROVERSIAL TRAGIC
CON MARIANO MORENO. Mario A. Serrano.
El Corregidor (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1979.256p. $7.80.

THE FUTURE OF THE INTER-AMERICAN
SYSTEM. Tom J. Farer. Praeger, 1979.
$20.95.

GUATEMALAN CAUDILLO: THE REGIME OF
JORGE UBICO, GUATEMALA, 1931-1944.
Kenneth J. Grieb. Ohio University Press,
1979. $16.00.

56/CAI?BBEAN P vIW


IDEA DE REVOLUCAO NO BRASIL,
1789-1801. Carlos Guilherme Mota. Vozes
(Petr6polis, Brazil), 1979.145 p. $6.40.

KEEPING THE FLAME: MEDIA AND
GOVERNMENT IN LATIN AMERICA. Robert
N. Pierce. Hastings House, 1979. $14.50;
$7.95 paper.

LUCHAS DEL MAGISTERIO: DEMARIATEGUI
AL SUTER Oswaldo Reynoso et al. Ediciones
Narraci6n (Lima, Peru), 1979. 194 p. $4.00.
About Peruvian politics during 1920-1973.

NACIONAUSMO Y EDUCATION EN MEXICO.
Josefina Zoraida V6zquez. El Colegio de
Mexico, 1979.331 p. $12.00.

THE NEW AUTHORITARIANISM IN LATIN
AMERICA. David Collier, ed. Princeton
University Press, 1979.424 p. $25.00; $5.95
paper.

O PENSAMENTO POLITICO NO BRASIL.
Nelson Saldanha. Forense (Rio de Janeiro,
Brazil), 1979. 159 p. $11.90.

POLITICAL DOMINICANA CONTEMPORANEA.
Eduardo Latorre. Institute Tecnol6gico de
Santo Domingo, 1979.407 p.

LA POLITICAL INTERIOR Y EXTERIOR DE
CARRANZA. Isidro Fabela. Editorial Jus
(Mexico), 1979.269 p. $10.00.

A POLITICAL NO BRASIL: GETULIO VARGAS E
SEUS SUCESSORES, 1930-1964. JoAo
Fernando de Almeida Prado. Edart (Sio
Paulo, Brazil), 1979.112 p. $10.50.

POLITICAL IDEOLOGY AND EDUCATIONAL
REFORM IN CHILE, 1964-1976. Kathleen B.
Fischer. Latin American Center, University of
California (Los Angeles), 1979.

POLITICS OF COMPROMISE: COALITION
GOVERNMENT IN COLOMBIA. R. Albert
Berry et al., eds. Transaction Books, 1979.
$29.95; $7.95 paper.

PETROLEO YSOBERANIA: MEXICO FRENTE
A LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS. Carlos Rico et al.
Editorial Posada/Proceso (Mexico), 1979.
491 p. $10.50.

THE PROCESS OF POLITICAL DOMINATION
IN ECUADOR. Agustin Cueva. Transaction
Books, 1979. $14.95.

THE REAL LATIN AMERICA: ISMS AND ISSUES.
Williard L. Beaulac. Hoover Institution Press,
1979.

REALIDADES E ILUSOES NO BRASIL:
PARLAMENTARISMO E
PRESIDENCIALISMO E OUTROS
ENSAIOS. Silvio Romero. Vozes (Petr6polis,
Brazil), 1979.324 p. $9.10.

LA REFORM POLITICAL LOS PARTIDOS EN
MEXICO. Octavio Rodriguez Araujo. Siglo
XXI Editores (Mexico), 1979.267 p. $6.00.

THE ROOSEVELT FOREIGN POLICY
ESTABLISHMENT AND THE GOOD
NEIGHBOR: THE UNITED STATES AND


ARGENTINA, 1941-1945. Randall B. Woods.
Regents Press of Kansas, 1979. $18.50.

ROSAS Y LA FORMACION CONSTITUTIONAL
ARGENTINA. H&ctor CorvalAn Lima.
Idearium (Mendoza, Argentina), 1979. 150 p.

LOS SANDINISTAS: DOCUMENTS,
REPORTAJES. Gabriel Garcia MArquez. La
Oveja Negra (Bogot6, Colombia), 1979.
$9.00.

A SEGUNDA GUERRA: SUCESSAO DE
GEISEL. Andre Gustavo Stumpf, Merval
Sores Pereira. Brasiliense (Sao Paulo, Brazil),
1979.138 p. $6.65.

SUPERMADRE: WOMEN IN POLITICS IN LATIN
AMERICA. Elsa M. Chaney. University of
Texas Press, 1979. $14.95.

Reference
BIBLIOGRAFIA AFRO-BRASILEIRA. Henrique
Losinskas Alves. 2nd rev. ed. Institute
Nacional do Livro. (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil),
1979. 181 p. $3.85.

BIBLIOGRAFIA AGROINDUSTRIAL
COLOMBIANA: UN CATALOG
COLECTIVO. Angela HernAndez de Caldas.
Fundaci6n Mariano Ospina P&rez, (Bogoth,
Colombia), 1979.224 p. $22.50.

BIBLIOGRAFIA GENERAL DE HISTORIC DE
MEXICO. Edna Maria Orozco. Alma Rosa
Platas. Institute Nacional de Antropologia e
Historia. (Mexico) 1979.141 p. $8.00.

BILINGUAL EDUCATION IN AMERICAN
SCHOOLS: A GUIDE TO INFORMATION
SOURCES. Francisco Cordasco, ed. Gale,
1979. $22.00.
CARIBBEAN WRITERS: A
BIO-BIBLIOGRAPHICAL-CRITICAL
ENCYCLOPEDIA. Donald E. Herdeck, ed,
Three Continents Press, 1979.943 p. $45.00.

FUERZA DE TRABAJO INMIGRANTE
JAPONESA Y SU DESARROLLO EN EL
PERU: UNA EXPLORACION
BIBLIOGRAFICA. Amelia Morimoto.
Universidad Nacional Agraria (La Molina,
Perd). 1979.85 p. $15.00.

INVENTORY OF CARIBBEAN STUDIES: AN
OVERVIEW OF SOCIAL SCIENTIFIC
PUBLICATIONS ON THE CARIBBEAN BY
ANTILLEAN, DUTCH AND SURINAMESE
AUTHORS. Theo Oltheten. Dept of
Caribbean Studies, Institute of Linguistics
and Anthropology (Leiden, Netherlands),
1979.250 p.

LIVROS E BIBLIOTECAS NO BRASIL
COLONIAL. Rubens Borba de Moraes. Livros
Tecnicos e Cientificos (Rio de Janeiro,
Brasil), 1979.234 p. $14.70.

/WOMEN IN THE CARIBBEAN: AN
ANNOTATED BIBLIOGRAPHY B.A. Cohen
Stuart. Dept. of Caribbean Studies, Royal
Institute of Linguistics and Anthropology
(Leiden, Netherlands), 1979.170 p.

Marian Goslinga is the International Environ-
mental and Urban Affairs Librarian at Florida
International University.
















































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