Front Cover
 Table of Contents
 Front Matter
 Back Cover


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Caribbean Review
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00095576/00029
 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
Genre: serial   ( sobekcm )
 Record Information
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: UF00095576:00029


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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 1
    Front Matter
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        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
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



Vol. VIII, No. 1
January/ February/ March 1979

Two Dollars

20 Years after the Cuban
The Originality of the
Haitian Novel
Focus on Emigration:
Puerto Ricans in New
York; Cubans in Miami;
Haitians in Santo



Latin American


College of Arts and Sciences
Florida International University
* Over 55 Caribbean 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 independent
study/research project, from at least
three departments; demonstration
of related language proficiency in

Spanish, Portuguese, or French.
* Certificate program is open to both
degree and non-degree seeking
* Expanded University support through
special "Program of Distinction"
status awarded to Caribbean-Latin
American Studies.
* Expanded Library holdings in
Caribbean-Latin American materials.
* Periodic campus visits from
distinguished scholars in Caribbean
and Latin American studies.

Caribbean-Latin American Studies Faculty
Ricardo Arias, Philosophy and Religion Ramon G. Mendoza, Modern Languages
Ken I. Boodhoo, International Relations Raul Moncarz, Economics
Judson M. DeCew, Political Science Pedro J. Montiel, Economics
Barry B. Levine, Sociology Mark B. Rosenberg, Political Science
Anthony P. Maingot, Sociology Reinaldo Sanchez, Modern Languages
James A. Mau, Sociology Mark D. Szuchman, History
Florentin Maurrasse, Physical Sciences Maida Watson-Breslin, Modern Languages
For further information, Mark Rosenberg
contact: Caribbean-Latin American Studies Council
Florida International University
Tamiami Trail
Miami, Florida 33199

, ~i
" .~~



January/ February/March 1979
Vol. VIII, No. 1 Two Dollars

Barry B. Levine
Associate Editor
Pedro J. Montiel
Contributing Editors
Ricardo Arias
Ken I. Boodhoo
Jerry Brown
Judson M. DeCew
Robert E. Grosse
Herbert L. Hiller
Antonio Jorge
Gordon K. Lewis
Anthony P. Maingot
James A. Mau
Florentin Maurrasse
Raul Moncarz
Mark B. Rosenberg
Mark D. Szuchman
William T. Vickers

Art Director
Assistant Editor
Susan Alvarez
Assistant Art Director
Juan (rquiola
Marian Goslinga
Editorial Managers
Geri Berkowitz
Angela Diaz-Clark
Walter H. Hill
Jeanne M. O'Neill
Publishing Consultants
Andrew R. Banks
Eileen Marcus
Advertising Consultants
Joe Guzm6n
Rosa Santiago

Office Manager
Violeta Jim6nez

Caribbean Review, a quarterly journal dedicated to
the Caribbean, Latin America, and their emigrant
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 grants from the Student Government
Association and the Office of Academic Affairs of
Florida International University and the State of
Florida. This public document was promulgated
at a quarterly cost of $3,434 or $1.72 per copy to
promote international 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 Inter-
national University, Tamiami Trail, Miami, Florida
33199. Telephone: (305) 552-2246. Unsolicited
manuscripts (articles, essays, reprints, excerpts,
translations, book reviews, poetry, etc.) are welcome
but should be accompanied by a self-addressed
stamped envelope. Copyright 1978 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 Caribbeanand 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%.
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 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.

I, I


Letters from Readers
Eldridge, Collinwood

20 Years After the
Cuban Revolution
Carlos Alberto Montaner
Translated by Eduardo Zayas-Bazdn

A Primer for US Policy on
Caribbean Emigration
Terry L. McCoy

Vito Marcantonio
An Italian-American's Defense of
Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans
Adalberto L6pez

On the Other Side of the Ocean
The Work Experiences of Early
Puerto Rican Migrant Women
Virginia Sanchez Korrol

Sources of Ethnic Identity
for Latin Florida
Cubans in Miami
Barry B. Levine

A Dominican Harvest of Shame
Haitian Cane Cutters in
Santo Domingo
Marcy Fink

Prelude to Lares
The Events Leading to
Puerto Rico's Grito de Lares
Olga Jimenez de Wagenheim

The Originality of the
Haitian Novel
Surveyed by Le6n-Frangois Hoffman

The US and Cuba, 1880-1934
The Political Economy of Hegemony
Reviewed by Pedro J. Montiel

Lewis's Novela
A movie review of "Children
of Sanchez"
Eugene L. Komrad

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


Strictly an off-beat establishment operated
by a unique proprietor for other non-
conformists, the Oloffson has become the
darling of the world's intelligentsia over the
The Oloffson attracts most of its guests
through recommendations of those who
have stayed before. Less than 10% of its
business comes from travel agents. An
average stay is about ten days.
The Grand Hotel Oloffson was described by
a noted travel writer as, "the darling of the
theater people and the literary set."

Port-Au-Prince, Haiti

The setting lends itself to the atmosphere.
The Oloffson seems strictly a figment of
Charles Addams (a frequent guest)
imagination. A nightmare of 19th century
design, the huge mahogany house is festooned
from the zigzag entrance staircase to the
spires, cupolas and towers on the hundred-
sided roof with every filigree, scroll, dado
and fretwork known to Victorian builders.

P.O. Box 675,
Haiti I


(Pronounced Lay-lay)

Elevation, 1575 feet-located 10 minutes from
Port-au-Prince and International Airporl-accom-
modation for a limited number of guests in 50
rooms and 18 deluxe suites-all rooms with
private bath and terrace-dining room accom-
modates 300 guests-exotic Shango Nightclub.
private banquet and convention hall for 70
guests-electric plant to ensure tight and hot
water in case of local power failure. Exchange
plan with our Ibo Beach. Cacique Island.
Temperatures- Maximum recorded August.
noon. 870F. minimum: February. 5am. 65F.

30 minutes from Port-au-Prince or International
Airport-accommodation for 200 guests in 70
private, detached cottages-all rooms with private
bath and shower and patios-beach dining room
and "barefoot" bar-three swimming pools, one
for children, one with waterfall-all water sports
including sailing, scuba, snorkeling, rowing.
skin diving, water skiing, powerboating-Olym-
pic size tennis court. all weather tennis court-
shuffleboard, ping pong. volleyball. etc. Ex
change plan with our Ibo LBle Hotel.



P.O. Box 1214
Port-Au-Prince, Haiti
Splendid...Haiti's oldest and
finest...the ancestor of
Haitian hospitality.

.A delightfully transformed
ransrion. The perfect
combination or Lictorian and
Mleditteranean architecture,
blen'dirg comfort and ihe rich
tradirlons of antquity. Built
ar the turn of the century h)
a Danish entrepeneur, Splendid
ti7s" c.; Insumnr S&Ccei.i.
People from around the world
came to the hotel vtth its
lush tropical gardens and its
relaxed Haitian atmosphere. The
aura ot Splendid's romantic
history) capriLates even more
people today than ir did in
) ears gone-by.
Represented by
Agents East of
Mississippi Call. (800) 223-5438
Agents West of
Mississippi Call: (8001 421-0652


A Top Selection of Haitan Art



Bo 1266
Pcilon -illk

Gold Mine
Dear Colleagues:
Just a note to congratulate you on your fine
publication. It is a veritable gold mine of pertinent
Joseph T. Eldridge, Director
Washington Office on Latin America

Higher Learning
Dear Colleagues:
Congratulations to the faculty group mentioned by
Anthony P. Maingot in "The Future of the
University of the West Indies," (VII No. 3) who,
despite external pressure, "rejected any suggestion
of lowering standards" for admission to CUWI.
Far better to create ten superb engineers or other
scientists than to mass produce one hundred partly
trained (i.e., partly inept) ones. The few can sustain
the meaning of "higher" learning, bolster the
international reputation of UWI and contribute to
national improvement. The mass, however, can
only damage higher education generally, UWI
specifically, and take a back seat to better trained
expatriates or, when given leadership responsibil-
ities, become obstacles to national betterment.

The response of these faculty to the "clear
needs and expectations of the wider society" is
commendable in that it recognizes that true
national development, in contrast to mere
materialistic expansion, requires national patience
and pride, not just pride.
Dean Walter Collinwood
CIWI/College of the Bahamas
Nassau, Bahamas

On The Cover
The cover is an oil on masonite painting entitled
Mambo by the Haitian artist Andre Pierre.
Pierre was born in 1921. His work was not
discovered until 1957, when Odette Menesson-
Rigaud, an anthropologist researching voodoo
ceremonies, saw his temple decorations in the
village of Croix-des-Missions near Port-au-Prince.
Pierre claims to paint only those spiritual
instructions of the voodoo cult. His work is imbued
with a mystical semblance to the visual arts of
Southeast Asia, while always incorporating the
signs and symbols of voodoo divinities.
The painting is from the collection of Claude
Auguste Douyon. Courtesy of the Metropolitan
Museum and Art Centers, Miami, Florida, and the
Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition

Symposium on

Latin American 1

Florida International Universil
April, 19, 20 and 21, 1979
Sessions will be devoted to such topics as:
"Current Trends in Latin -merican Theater,"
"Women in Latin American Theater." Brazilian
and Caribbean Theater, and "Hispanic Theater in
the United States." In addition. a number of
Latin American plays will be presented during the
For further information conlacit
Professor Maida Watson -
Department of Modern Languaue%
Florida International Uni\ersil. Miami. FL 33199 '
or call (305) 552-2851 "f
The Symposium is sponsored h Ihe ( .,nirihhbe.in
Latin American Studies Council ol HF I I



MEqm~ ioi_

20 Years After the

aCuban Revolution



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By Carlos Alberto Montaner
Translated by Eduardo Zayas-BazAn

Recently the 20th anniversary of that
unforgettable January of 1959 was
commemorated. As the Roman cus-
tom of counting by decades persists
among us, the date will serve as an
excuse to share a few reflections per-
taining to the destiny of the Cuban
revolution. Specifically, I propose to
make some predictions about the fu-
ture of the Cuban revolution. I will
not state, as I do not know, what is
going to take place, but rather what
could happen in the next few years.
These predictions I declare it with
a certain melancholic conviction -
are subject to a few decisive vari-
ables, such as Castro's death; or the
permanent increase of the price of
sugar to more than 30 cents per
pound; or the breaking away of a So-
viet satellite in Eastern Europe; or a
Cuban defeat in Africa at the hands,
let us say, of South Africa; or, of
course, the start of a Third World
War. These variables, and many
others, could noticeably affect the
turn of Cuban events. Thus this pre-
carious guessing exercise should be
undertaken with a certain reserve.
Political prediction is neither a
science nor an art; it is only a shaky
agreement between common sense,
the information available, and the
deep understanding of the principal
figures in the plot. To me and I am
very distant from any lackluster in-
terpretation of history the first fac-
tor to take into account is, precisely,
the last one which I have mentioned:
the principal figures in the plot. And
among them, of course, is the key
figure in all this business: Fidel Cas-
I am going to relate to you a vulgar
anecdote of Castro which is not well
known. In 1959 Fidel visited the
United States accompanied by a
large retinue, in which there were
several of the most prominent Cuban
exiles of today. As it was strictly re-
quired, the Maximum Leader a
kind of ridiculous name in English -
paid a visit to the Department of

State. There, the complex adminis-
trative structure is divided into re-
gional bureaus with a person in
charge of the affairs of each country
on the planet. Fidel, distractedly, was
hardly paying attention to what he
was hearing. Finally they reached the
Cuban desk, and the guide intro-
duced him to the "person in charge
of Cuban affairs."
"What did he say?" Castro
asked the interpreter.
"He said that that man and
he pointed out a timid American
wearing glasses is the one in
charge of Cuban Affairs."
And Fidel answered in an angry tone:
"Tell that shit-ass that I am the
only person in charge of Cuban af-
It is a true story, (related by Victor
de Yurre, who accompanied Castro
on that trip) but in any case, it serves
to formulate the first working hypo-
thesis: the only person in charge of
Cuban affairs is Fidel Castro. The rest
of the characters act through Castro's
delegation, where and when he wants
them to. Fidel is Cuba's factotum.
He is the leader in power, the leader
of the opposition when he turns
into the critic of his system -, and
soon, if he skillfully rations nostal-
gia's spigot, soon I repeat he
might be able to be the leader of part
of the emigration. Nostalgia, when it
is well administered, is able to per-
form miracles. But let us not get too
far ahead. Let us continue with the
working hypothesis.

An Inventory of Beliefs
If Fidel Castro is the one who changes
the turn of Cuban events as he
pleases, in order to understand what
has taken place in Cuba it is neces-
sary to know what Fidel Castro
thought in 1959 and what he believes
twenty years later. Without a mini-
mum inventory of the beliefs, fetish-
isms, and superstitions which are im-
planted in the head of the Cuban
President, it is useless to try to
understand our recent history. One
supposes that his behavior, in some

manner, reflects the theoretical frame
of his convictions.
Let us begin, for the time being, by
enumerating two popular beliefs of
the decade of the fifties shared by
Fidel with respect to Cuban soci-
ety and economy: First: Castro and
half the country thought that Cuba
was a country potentially rich. Sec-
ond: Fidel and a substantial part of
the politicians thought that the coun-
try was kept in poverty due to the pol-
iticians' pillage and exploitation by
foreign companies.
This can be verified by examining
the manifestos and political pro-
grams of the Autentico and Orto-
doxo parties, of the ABC- which
had a different philosophy and in the
documents of the Revolution before
it came to power. The Moncada at-
tack manifesto as well as Manifesto-
Program of the 26 of July give ample
proof of this type of analysis.
The legend of the potential rich-
ness of Cuba was based on the fertili-
ty of the land and in some mythical
deposits of uranium, oil, and gold,
which, together with the nickel and
iron in Oriente Province, could
change Cuba into a rich state. The
decade of the fifties was particularly
fruitful in this type of false informa-
tion. The other causes of poverty-
supposedly were also easy to era-
dicate: by sweeping away administra-
tive corruption and by nationalizing
certain foreign companies an enor-
mous quantity of monetary resources
would be made available to the coun-
try. Castro, in this sense, inherited
beliefs from the time of Chibas and
Guiteras, political opinions which he
shared since his restless youth.
Let us take a look at other popular
superstitions pertaining to the sugar
industry which were subscribed to by
Fidel: First: Sugar the cane was
responsible for the sad state of
Cuban agriculture. This inveterate
single crop closed the door to a
healthy diversification of agriculture,
leaving the island's economy at the
mercy of the international market's
fluctuations. Second: The sugar
quota with which the United States

favored Cuba in reality was a trap, as
it gave impetus to the single crop,
served to enrich the American sugar
companies in Cuba and to maintain
the high prices of the beet sugar in-
dustry in the United States. The sup-
pression of the quota, in the short
run, would favor Cuba, but in any
case, it was the United States who
needed Cuba and not the reverse, for
if Cuba did not sell, the United States
would have to ration its sugar. Third:
(And here is the origin of the 1970
sugar harvest). If Cuba were to pro-
duce ten million tons, it could pro-
voke a lowering in the price and con-
sequently ruin other producing coun-
tries in order to later maintain a
larger share of the world sugar mar-
ket and set the price. It was the
dumping theory.
This extraordinary stupidity was a
part of the sugar strategy which
Cuban revolutionaries had outlined
in all of the island's barber-shops
since the fall of the Machado dicta-
torship. The ten-million-ton sugar
harvest had been a naive obsession
for the past thirty years. Fidel picked
it up and thus caused considerable
damage to the island's economy be-
cause it destabilized the rest of the
production process.
In matters of finance and of foreign
commerce, key elements in theecon-
omy of a country, Fidel fancies an
obviously unjust picture which was
dictated by imperialism's cruel hand.
Symptom: A chronic deficit in the
balance of payment: Cuba imported
more than it exported. Bad Remedy:
In order to fight this evil, Cuba be-
came indebted with foreign loans,
which were paid at usurious prices
and thus contributed to sinking the
economy even more. Diagnosis: The
one responsible for the deficit, the
loans and the ruin was the United
States, who sold at high prices, mo-
nopolizing in addition eighty per cent
of Cuban exports and imports. We
depended on one market and a sin-
gle supplier.
Castro's recipes to end Cuban evils
were no different we are talking
about 1959 than what is frequently
found in the political programs in all
of Latin America: a) Agrarian reform
and liquidation of large land owner-
ship; b) Nationalization of foreign
monopolies, the banking, insurance
and transport industries; c) Diversifi-
cation of the economy in order to
eradicate the single-crop economy;

The ethical basis of the
revolution, during many
years, was the search for
the material well-being of
the Cuban people and the
general development of
the island. The
authoritarian excesses
were justified by these
lofty goals.

d) Industrialization in order to replace
imports; e) Opening of new markets
in order to end dependency on the
United States.

Beliefs Crumble
Broadly that was an important part of
the ideological equipment of Senor
Castro,the day twenty years ago-
in which he entered Havana sur-
rounded by cheers, applause and par-
tisan doves. With those ideas en-
crusted in his brain, Fidel Castro re-
solved to change the Cuban situa-
tion. Upon initiating his magic re-
forms, for different reasons, Castro
opted for making them a reality
through communism. Communism
was going to be the theoretical (and
political) frame from which the revo-
lution towards expansion would start.
That is to say: The communist revo-
lution was being undertaken for the
development of Cuba, a country
which had always been exploited by
foreign empires, corrupt politicians
and local gamblers. This communist-
expansionist revolution was going to
turn Cuba into the ideological-bea-
con-of-the-Third-World and serve as a
new model for economic develop-
ment. That is and this is important
- the ethical basis of the revolution,
during many years, was the search
for the material well-being of the
Cuban people and the general devel-
opment of the island. The authoritar-
ian excesses were justified by these
lofty goals. What has really changed
in the economic picture of the island
in the twenty years which have taken
place since Castro's glorious en-
trance into Havana?
Twenty years later Cuba is still an
underdeveloped country with one

crop pending on the Soviets' sugar
quota and depending on the Rus-
sians' subsidies, munificence and
conditioned generosity. Twenty years
later Cuba is still without industries,
indebted on all financial fronts -in
the West and East and on top of
that Cuba has developed less in these
two decades than its Caribbean neigh-
bors. For example: in these twenty
years, in terms of increase of the
Gross National Product, Cuba grew
at a rate of 2.5%, and the Dominican
Republic in the middle of civilwars,
coup d'etats and of the worst unrest
- averaged a 6% rate of growth.
In other words, after twenty years,
after paying a very high price, Fidel
Castro has learned a very important
lesson: what he identified as causes
of Cuban poverty, what he thought
were the origin and the reason for
our underdevelopment, at the end
turned out to be only partially true.
Even worse: The easy solutions which
he had learned while conversing in
the porticos of the Paseo del Prado,
or in the tertulias in the Plaza Cade-
nas, or in the talks held in the side-
walks at the gatherings in the inter-
section of 12 and 23 streets, ended
up being totally ineffective in over-
coming the everlasting underdevel.
opment of the country. When Castro
thought that he was making a pro-
found analysis, he was in fact repeat-
ing naive beliefs which history would
later take care to discredit.

The New Beliefs
And the revolution was accomplished.
After having modified the whole pro-
duction plan, received the financial
and technical support of the Eastern
countries, and the assistance when
it was necessary of the Western
European countries, Cuba continues
to be an impoverished Third World
country. There are no longer large
landed states, nor multi-national cor-
porations, nor exploitive capitalists.
Nor is there any plausible excuse for
the present situation, yet the objec-
tive picture remains the same: a sin-
gle-crop country, dependency, under-
development and poverty. Why? The
answer which Fidel Castro gives him-
self is very serious: because there
are no economic solutions for third
world countries which lack abundant
raw materials, as, for example, oil.
And there are no solutions -I am
following his thinking because the

norms of international commerce are
dictated by the great capitalist pow-
ers, and these norms have been con-
ceived in order to perpetuate the de-
pendency and servility of the Third
World. While industrial products
prices sky rocket, the raw materials
or the crops of the Third World each
year are worth relatively less. That is:
Fidel Castro, nowadays, is not a pro-
development revolutionary. The 20
years which Castro has spent exercis-
ing intense power have tired his wil-
lingness to change Cuba into a rich
country. He does not believe in that
anymore. He does not think it is pos-
sible to achieve it, unless and this
is an important reflection unless
the definitive collapse of capitalism
takes place. Only -Castro believes
- only when the international com-
merce norms are dictated within a
worldwide communist order, only
then, will the redemption of the Third
World come, since sugar in this an-
gelic gathering of nations will not be
priced according to supply and de-
mand, but according to the effort it
took to produce it. Oil, sugar, gold,
machinery or fruits will not be in
this just world valued according
to capitalistic laws, but according to
socialist justice.
Twenty years later, Fidel Castro
has substituted one Utopia for an-
other. He has changed a few naive
beliefs for others equally naive, which
would not be especially risky if this
new system did not entail, necessar-
ily, an adventurous and aggressive
attitude. However, Fidel Castro has
not patiently sat to wait for the revo-
lutionary universal Armagedeon, but
has given military aid to countries
going through a revolutionary pro-
cess in order to harass the weak
flanks of imperialism.
Castro has obsequiously placed
his troops at the service of commu-
nism in Africa. He is not there forced
by the Soviet Union, but to justify
himself to the Cubans and to the rest
of the socialist world. His military
"internationalism" is an ethical ex-
cuse. What else did he have left if it
were not for these adventures? To
resign himself to being the leader of
a poor satellite until capitalism were
to disappear?
The function the one that Cas-
tro has imposed on the Cuban peo-
ple is that of the catalyst of the re-
volution in those countries and terri-
tories in which the hand of the United

Moscow's deliberate
march, the march of an
old imperial power, with
remote and negotiable
objectives, will come into
conflict with Castro's
hurry and improvisation,
a precipitate man if
there is one.

States and Western Europe is not
capable of avoiding the advent of
communism. That is, revolutionary
Cuba, due to its obvious failure at be-
coming a developed country, has
changed its reason for being: it is no
longer a showcase. It is now an armed
arm. An international knight-errant,
socialist spearhead of the Third
World, etc., etc. This is the Cuban ra-
tionalization for getting involved in
Angola, Ethiopia and South Africa.
Shielded behind this scheme of rea-
soning, Fidel Castro will send his le-
gions every time that the situation is
favorable; paradoxically, the situation
is favorable in the south cone of Africa,
thousands of miles away, and unfa-
vorable in close-by Nicaragua. Ironies
of geopolitics.
But, as it is obvious, the new sys-
tem of beliefs at some moment will
begin to weaken. That logical edifice
sustains itself on two blurry and com-
plementary premises. First, commu-
nism will inevitably impose itself on a
world-wide scale. Second, until the
communist countries dictate a just
commercial law, the Third World
countries will not be able to develop.
Some time in the future that manner
of thinking will begin to crack.

Cuba Versus the USSR
It will be reasonable to then expect
serious conflicts between Cuba and
the Soviet Union. The conflicts will
probably not start due to the master's
tight leash, but to its free rein. There
is a fundamental difference between
Moscow's and Havana's perspectives:
Moscow follows its national hegemo-
nic designs-which I do not call
"eternal" through fear of rhetoric -
while Havana sets forth to the con-
quest of the planet according to Fidel
Castro's personal and urgent scale.

Brezhnev does not even dream about
seeing the planet become commu-
nist, while Fidel Castro has no other
vital objective than to be a witness to
that shaking event. Moscow's delib-
erate march, the march of an old im-
perial power, with remote and negotia-
ble objectives, will come into con-
flict with Castro's hurry and improvi-
sation, a precipitate man if there is
one. It is possible, for example, that
the armament race between the So-
viet Union and the United States, or
the SALT talks, or the grain needs of
the Eastern countries might lead,
through agreements, to a reduction
of the Soviets' involvement in Africa.
That would contribute to alienating
Cuba from the Soviet Union.
In the next few years, another anti-
Soviet uprising is expected in Po-
land, Czechoslovakia or East Germa-
ny. In order to quench it as it hap-
pened during Prague's assassinated
Spring the Soviet Union will ask
the United States to ratify the borders
established after the end of the Sec-
ond World War, and it is possible
that Washington will then demand
some type of compensation in the
south flank of its territory. That
would contribute to the poisoning of
relations between Havana and Mos-
cow. Because Havana, as during the
Missile Crisis, is incapable of under-
standing that the great powers an-
swer to different interests than hers.
These hypothetical examples
could be multiplied by a hundred, a
thousand, ten thousand. There will
always be reasons for friction. Firm
also was the eternal love which Alba-
nia and China would swear to each
other hardly a few months ago, and
today relations between Peking and
that remote European satellite are
about to freeze. Enver Hoxa, a na-
tional hero as Castro -, a David,
as Castro, but battling another Go-
liath, a few miles away, of a hostile
power, a fervent believer in Maoism's
planetary triumph, in a few months,
in the face of events which he could
not control- Mao's death and the
deradicalizations of his succes-
sors -, Enver Hoxa today believes in
things which are different from the
ones he believed in only a few months
ago, and consequently he tries out
other solutions. Who can be sure
that Brezhnev's successor will not af-
fect the relation with the satellites?
Cuba is situated thousands of kilo-
meters from the Soviet Union, and

falls, due to geographical fatality, in
the Americans' area of influence.
Cuban communism is not the prod-
uct of the death of twenty million
Russians who immolated themselves
during the Second World War. It has
cost the Soviet Union thousands of
millions of irrecuperable dollars to
give economic support to Cuban
communism. That pertinacious ble-
eding will continue through costly
subsidies. That remote island is not
defensible in case of an armed con-
frontation, and its conversion into an
offensive military base is explicitly
prohibited by the secret pacts which
followed the Missile Crisis.
Why believe that the allegiance be-
tween Moscow and Cuba will be eter-
nal? In that relationship the balance
is not favorable to the Soviets, but
neither is it to the Cubans. Cuba is
very expensive to the Soviet Union -
until now some nine billion dollars -
but that help has not been able to de-
velop the island, only to keep it
breathing. Through the years there
have been eloquent symptoms of fa-

tigue. The Escalante affair, the mi-
crofaction, or the "Marquitos" affair
are not episodes which have been
completely forgotten.
In a few years, and who knows
whether it will be at the end of other
imperialistic adventures, Havana will
discover that Africa's battles do not
necessarily lead to the eradication of
capitalism, and will thus learn that it
is very difficult to justify, from an
ethical point of view even Marxist
ethics the support to the bloody
group of pro-communist dictators of
the Macias, Amin or Mengistu type.
Moscow and Havana, in spite of any
cynic consideration of real politik,
will some day have to explain to their
citizens the support which they offer
to certain despicable dictatorships.
Or at least they should, in some auto-
critical gathering, reevaluate the sa-
crifices and the allegiance made
taking into account the real and ob-
jective course of events and the vali-
dity of the reasoning which origin-
ated the Cuban acts. Because one of
the tasks of the counter guerrilla in-

The Sociology/Anthropology Department of Florida International
University announces a foreign study credit course in Guatemala and
Honduras: Two Sections -
March 17-24, 1979 or March 31-April 8, 1979.
Registration is now open for RESEARCH IN MAYA CIVILIZATION (ANT
4329), an 8-day adventure in learning at the classic sites of Tikal, and Quirigua
in Guatemala and Copan in Honduras. Tour conductor is Charles LaCombe,
adjunct professor of Maya Civilization at FIU.
Syllabus includes lectures on art, architecture and hieroglyphic inscrip-
tions as well as student projects at the three major sites.
Itinerary includes two and a half days in awesome Tikal, the greatest of
the Maya Centers, with towering pyramids, majestic palaces and plazas shar-
ing a history that spans more than 1000 years.
Students will study Copan for two and a half days. This fascinating intel-
lectual capital of the Maya is noted for its beautiful architecture and unsurpas-
sed stelae with intricate inscriptions carved in high relief and elaborately dres-
sed rules carved almost in the round.
A day will be spent in Quirigua, about thirty miles north of Copan, to
study the huge monolithic stelae that are up to 35 feet high, and while in
Guatemala City, students will visit the pre-classic site of Kaminaljuyu and
On the return trip to Miami, there will be a tour of the museum in
Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and a guest lecture by a university professor.
Cost, based on a minimum group of 20, is approximately $499, including
all air and land transportation, guide services, accommodations, and food (ex-
cept in Guatemala City and Tegucigalpa).

To register or for further
information, contact:
Off Campus Credit Department
Room PC 226
Florida International University
Tamiami Trail
Miami, Florida 33199
Phone: (305) 552-2284.

For information about the travel
aspects of the course, contact:
Nina Meyer
Visa Caribbean
2114 Ponce de Leon Blvd.
Coral Gables, Florida 33134
Phone: (305) 444-8484


tervention of Castro in Angola is to
guard the oil installations of the capi-
talist countries. Of course, Havana
and Luanda consider the paradoxical
situation as an unavoidable pheno-
menon in the transition towards so-
cialism, but when that concrete phe-
nomenon disappears, another twenty
contradictions will come out which
will end up by undermining the logi-
cal base of the beliefs of Castro and
his group, no matter how obstinate
and dogmatic they might try to be.
When the Soviet Union, the second
power in the world, ends up by doing
business with FIAT, Pepsi Cola, or
Japanese companies engaged in ob-
taining Siberian gas, what contradic-
tions cannot occur in Africa, whether
it be governed by the right, the left,
or simple military autocrats?
I am convinced that in the next few
years the conditions for the de-So-
vietization of Cuba will exist. I am not
talking about the decommuniza-
tion that might or might not hap-
pen in the future but of Cuba's dis-
tancing from the Soviet orbit. Castro
and his generation, overwhelmed by
the contradictions, exhausted by the
tense revolutionary effort, defeated
by old age, will lose faith in the inevi-
tability of world socialism, and who
knows if they will become disen-
chanted with a system as ineffective
as communist collectivism. If in 1959
someone had written or said that
Castro and his groups of addicts
would lose faith in the possibilities of
developing Cuba, we all would have
made fun of the prediction. If in the
Sino-Guevara stage of the revolu-
tion that fateful decade of the six-
ties someone had repudiated the
Utopian fabrication of the new man,
he would have been scratched out as
a fool. That impetuous young man
and those raving guerrilla fighters ap-
peared to be cockeyed optimists.
Well, I dare to bet that that disillusion
might take place. Even more: It
seems to me that it is the natural out-
come of this renewed euphoric ex-

Washington's Strategy
But perhaps and we are arriving at
the sensitive part of these reflec-
tions perhaps it might be advanta-
geous to propitiate this attitude in
the Cuban leadership. To those ends
a defined strategy by the State De-
partment and the responsible Cuban

emigrants would be needed. In ex-
change for the de-Sovietization of
Cuba, it would be prudent to guaran-
tee Havana the total non-belligerence
of Washington, the suspension of the
economic blockade, and perhaps, in
exchange for the elimination of the
Soviet's economic aid, to give Cuba a
kind of subsidy which would permit
its economic subsistence, at least at
the level of the present Russian aid.
Thus, the unconditional elimina-
tion of the economic blockade or the
renovation of the sugar quota, or any
type of loan or aid from the United
States to Cuba is not presently advis-
able. Those and other friendly ges-
tures are only prescribed if Cuba
were to distance itself from the So-
viet Union. That should be the reward
if Cuba were to abandon its condition
of Soviet satellite. It is politically cor-
rect to offer Castro an alternative, but
it would be foolish to do it gratis. This
rough plan, of course, cannot be
stated publicly, as Castro has a very
developed sense of propriety a
result more of his temperament than
of his ethical convictions and is
thus incapable of negotiating face to
face the issues which he believes are
fundamental. That negotiation should
be secret, discrete, full of circumlo-
cutions, and always respecting Cas-
tro's image, allowing him "to save
face," as the Soviet Union did with
him after the 1970 meetings. Pri-
vately, without witnesses, Castro
then accepted the humiliating satelli-
zation of Cuba. The offer which in the
future might be presented to him will
have to be surrounded by the utmost
secrecy. Remember that we are in
the presence of a heroic Latin Amer-
ican macho, with all the deplorable
consequences that this entails.
A short while ago September of
1978- we witnessed the unbeliev-
able act of a friendly Fidel Castro try-
ing to establish bridges between
Havana and the Cuban exiles. To me
that is an oblique symptom of a soft-
ening position, a strange sign of a
search for new avenues. It would be
very stupid if we did not explore that
opening, but even more if we did not
do it with the deliberate purpose of
serving democratic interests. How?
First: by not adopting extreme pos-
tures. Castro is not going to accept
the establishment of political parties,
he is not going to have elections, and
he is not going to voluntarily place
himself in prison. Fidel Castro, even

The present adventure
began when a group of
hallucinated dilettantes
embarked on a
precipitous and forced
development of the
economy of the country.
Those wrathful young
men are now old dogs,
tired of Utopias. The road
is open to start a slow
and cautious recovery.

today, is a communist convinced of
Marxist virtuosity, although he is still
waiting for its international hegem-
ony in order to verify its promised ef-
ficacy. It is possible that tomorrow he
might become disenchanted with
Marxism, but in no way will he by
motu propio resign from or share
power, because we are dealing with
an uncontrollable autocrat.
Thus, the primary objective of dem-
ocratic-minded persons should be,
for the time being, to disengage
Cuba from the Soviet orbit. In virtue
of this vital objective, it is advisable
that Senor Castro knows, that as a
minor evil to the Cubans, his com-
munist dictatorship could survive,
even when it were to break away
from the Soviets' economic and mili-
tary protection. And what would the
democratic Cubans win with that hy-
pothetical de-Sovietization of Cuba,
if in the end the country continues
submerged in a communist dictator-
ship? Well, the Cubans who do not
believe in the dictatorship of or for
the proletariat, in communism as a
system of government or a theore-
tical formula, will have won an open-
ing for the possibility of change when
Castroism exhausts its vital cycle,
when the Moncada generation sur-
renders, due to old age or death.
Then, there will be a possibility of the
evolution of the system, evolution
which today is impeded by the pres-
ence of the Soviets.
It is true that until now commu-
nism has not evolved anywhere to-
wards democratic forms of govern-
ment, but it is also true that no one
could have predicted Hungary's fu-

ture if the 1956 revolution had tri-
umphed, or the one in Czechoslova-
kia if the Soviet Union had not inter-
fered during that sad spring of 1968.
There are clear symptoms of division
and struggle among the communist
parties. Those symptoms cannot
sprout in the present Cuban situa-
tion, but they will be unstoppable as
the Moncada generation grows old,
deteriorates, and the Soviet dike
ceases to exist. Neither communism,
nor capitalism, or any other govern-
mental system can permanently
avoid contradictory evolutions in
their core. Although there are great
differences in its background and
form, the Spanish case can be elo-
quent: Franco, without resolving it,
or trying to do the contrary, set the
basis for the liberal and multi-party
democracy which today is being
tested in the Iberian peninsula.
Exactly twenty years after Gottwald
and the Czech Stalinists destroyed
Benes' Republic, Dubchek, Otta Sik,
Arthur London and the hierarchy of
the Czech communist party tried to
restore to the country the human
face erased by the dictatorship. Nei-
ther are there eternal systems nor
can the luck of political theories be
prejudged. The Third Reich was go-
ing to last a thousand years. Musso-
lini planned no less than the resur-
gence of an empire. A few years later
all the fascist fantasies had disap-
The recent history of Cuba, these
last and tiresome twenty years nei-
ther are nor can be definitive. Neither
the geography, nor the history, not
the economy, nor the social and poli-
tical Cuban tradition indicate that the
communist dictatorship is an irrever-
sible fact. It might be a long-term
phenomenon, as the Franco dictator-
ship ended up being, but there are
signs that permit us to believe in its
disappearance. The present adven-
ture began when a group of hallucin-
ated dilettantes embarked on a preci-
pitous and forced development of the
economy of the country. Those wrath-
ful young men are now old dogs,
tired of Utopias. The road is open to
start a slow and cautious recovery.

Carlos Alberto Montaner's books include
P6ker de Brujas; Instantaneas al borde del
abismo, Informe Revoluci6n Cubana, 200
Aios de Gringos and Perromundo. Eduar-
do Zayas-Bazin chairs the Department of
Languages at East Tennessee State Uni-

A Primer For

US Police

On aribbCean


By Terry L. McCoy
There is currently raging within the US a public contro-
versy about the recently discovered phenomenon of il-
legal migration. The presence of large numbers of "illegal
aliens," a designation used with both foreigners who have
entered without valid immigration documents and those
who have violated or overstayed their US visas is increas-
ingly viewed with alarm. Even though no one knows for
certain how many illegal aliens there are in the US, esti-
mates vary from two to 12 million. They are blamed for
everything from unemployment to excessive population.
Public concern generates pressure for government action.
For many the preoccupation is with more than just jobs.
They feel migrants threaten the very nature of US society.
In a column entitled "What Kind of America?" James
Reston wrote, "The main fact about the movement of
people into the continental United States is that it is out
of control. Each year, more illegal aliens come into the
United States, and remain here, than legal aliens. Even
the official figures and estimates are staggering."

The Caribbean Role
Mexico is the major source of illegal migration into the
United States. This fact unquestionably looms large in US
policy-making. Less well known is the fact that the next
five sources of illegal aliens are Caribbean countries (the
Dominican Republic, Haiti, Jamaica, Guatemala, and Co-
lombia, in that order). In contrast to the Mexican migrant
who illegally crosses a land border in the Southwest, Carib-
bean migrants enter legally through Miami or New York
and then violate their non-resident visas by over-staying
and working. Significant communities of Caribbean mi-
grants, legal and illegal, have grown up in large Eastern
metropolitan areas.

,-/ //_. *.-- / Y

1978 The Miami Herald. Reprinted by permission.
If US policy on Caribbean immigration is important
to the US, it is even more significant to the nations and
territories of the Caribbean. If several hundred thousand
Dominican or Haitian or Jamaican migrants cause con-
cern in a country of 220 million inhabitants, imagine the
impact of their emigration on the Dominican Republic or
Haiti or Jamaica, countries with populations of 4.8, 4.6,
and 2.1 million people respectively. The fact that a signi-
ficant proportion of the population of these and other Ca-
ribbean islands lives and works abroad cannot be ignored
by either the sending or receiving countries.
External migration has deep historical roots in the
Caribbean. The indigenous population having been deci-
mated soon after its contact with the colonial powers, the
area was peopled successively by Europeans, Africans,
East Indians, and a smattering of other ethnic groups
from around the world. Within the last several decades,
however, the flow of humanity has dramatically reversed.
Emigration is part of contemporary Caribbean culture,
touching virtually every family. First the emigrants went
to Europe in search of jobs and education, but when Great
Britain closed her doors in the 1960's, the United States,
and to lesser extent Canada, became the principal reci-
pient. Of the European nations only France, with overseas
departments in the Caribbean, continues to welcome mi-
Because emigration is so important to Caribbean
societies, some local governments have a de facto policy
none attempt to discourage it. By the same token Carib-
bean governments are quite concerned about stopping
the departure of skilled migrants. For societies with high
rates of population density and natural growth, emigration
serves as a demographic escape valve. A study of fertility
trends in Barbados found that emigration not only re-

moved people from the islands, but it lowered the local
birth rate by removing people in the reproductive years.
This effect undoubtedly exists throughout the region since
the emigrants are overwhelmingly young adults. They
leave societies with high unemployment in search of work.
Once employed abroad, they remit a significant portion
of their earnings, thus helping the country of origin cope
with its balance of payments.
Whether we consider the individual migrants to be
victims of large, irreversible forces which drive them to
move from one country to another or as rational actors
consciously seeking to improve their own situation, we
are considering the fate of hundreds of thousands, if not
millions, of human beings. For them migration is a fact
of life and the US an extension of their local community.
The dilemma of US immigration policy is that it must
balance the domestic and foreign policy interests of the
United States with those of the migrants and their coun-
tries of origin.
US immigration policy is complicated. Evolving in
the Anglo-American system of jurisprudence, it is shaped
by court cases and administrative decisions as well as leg-
islation. For example, a group of Haitians are currently
petitioning the Fifth Circuit Court for the right to remain
in the US, having entered without visas, on the basis of
being political refugees. A favorable decision would sub-
stantially alter US immigration policy. Consequently, in
characterizing policy one must allow for nuances and
contradictions. Moreover, the Western Hemisphere (and
thereby the Caribbean) has traditionally received special
treatment so it is possible to speak of a Caribbean policy,
although recent amendments in the law are aimed at uni-
versalizing policy.

The Law
For the first century of her existence the United States
threw open her borders to anyone who wished to enter;
then in the late nineteenth century Congress began to
enact measures designed to control immigration. At first
these controls were qualitative in nature, excluding crim-
inals, mental incompetents, the seriously ill, and Asians.
Then after World War I, in the face of a flood of immi-
grants from war-devastated Europe, quantitative controls
were added to the qualitative ones. The Immigration Act
of 1924 promulgated a national quota system which li-
mited immigrants from any one country to a yearly quota
based on the number of persons of that nationality already
in the US in 1920. A total ceiling of approximately 150,000
quota immigrants per year was also established. Natives
of the Western Hemisphere were excluded from the quota
and therefore permitted to enter in unlimited numbers.
This special treatment was the result of "political consi-
The next major change in immigration law occurred
in 1952 with the passage of the Immigration and Nation-
ality Act. Although considerably amended, it is still the
basis of immigration policy. While maintaining a national
quota system, which once again excluded the Western
Hemisphere, the law codified three principles of current
policy: family reunification, protection of domestic work-
ers from immigrant competition, and control of alien vis-
In 1965 Congress amended the Immigration and Na-

tionality Act. A major force for change was opposition to
the national quota system, but growing preoccupation
with unlimited immigration from Latin America also
played a role. Under the 1965 revision the national quota
system was abolished in favor of annual ceilings-
170,000 for the Eastern Hemisphere and 120,000 for the
Western. For the first time, the Western Hemisphere was
subjected to quantitative limitations, but it was to be
treated differently than the Eastern Hemisphere in two
significant ways. First, there were no country limitations
as opposed to an annual quota of 20,000 immigrants per
Eastern Hemisphere country. Second, Eastern Hemis-
phere immigrants were issued visas through a preference
system which reward family reunification and special vo-
cational skills and talents, while immigrants from the
Western Hemisphere were given visas on a first come, first
served basis. Labor certification was required of all immi-
grants, except Western Hemisphere parents, spouses and
children of US citizens and resident aliens. But, in con-
trast to those from the Eastern Hemisphere, non-immi-
grant visa holders can not adjust status in the United
Provisions affecting the Western Hemisphere clearly
represented a compromise between the traditional policy
of no limitations and the preference system applied to the
Eastern Hemisphere. Overall the 1965 legislation has
worked to favor family reunification over other qualifica-
tions for resident visas. The total number of migrants in-
creased after 1965 and their place of origin shifted away
from Europe toward Latin America and Asia. There has
been a dramatic increase in the incidence of foreigners
entering the country illegally from Latin America.
The 1965 legislation allowed for a three-year transi-
tion period before it took full effect. Almost immediately
in 1968 certain provisions of the legislation came under
criticism. Representative Peter Rodino, an interested and
influential member of Congress, complained that the
Western Hemisphere ceiling of 120,000 was hurting US-
Latin American relations. An even more fundamental
weakness was the lack of a preference system for select-
ing immigrants from the Western Hemisphere. Not only
was this unfair in comparison with selection procedures
applying to the Eastern Hemisphere, but it was slow,
cumbersome, and the cause of an immediate backlog of
visa applicants. Pressure for 120,000 Western Hemisphere
visa numbers was particularly intense because of the flood
of Cuban exiles to the United States. Faced with the delay
in/or impossibility of obtaining immigrant visas, Latin
Americans determined to migrate to the United States
increasingly resorted to fraud and illegal entry. For those
from the Caribbean this meant entering on a tourist, or
non-immigrant visa, and then overstaying to work.
Confronted with an unworkable system for the West-
ern Hemisphere and the growing influx of illegal aliens,
Congress, or at least individual Congressmen, began in
the early 1970's to introduce corrective legislation. In the
House there were hearings by Representative Rodino's
Judiciary Sub-Committee on Immigration and Naturali-
zation. Senator Edward Kennedy joined the fight for revi-
sion, but no Senate hearings were held until 1976. Both
Rodino and Kennedy introduced bills in 1970 that would
have created worldwide ceilings, a new preference system
applying to both hemispheres, and more flexible refugee
provisions. Nothing came of either initiative, for as Sena-

Natives of the Western Hemisphere
were excluded from the 1924 promulgated quota
and were therefore permitted to enter
in unlimited numbers.

tor Kennedy pointed out, "In all candor... it must be stated
that it remains difficult at this time in our Nation's life
when we are faced with convulsive problems at home
and abroad to concentrate effort and concern on the
currently less dramatic aspects of our country's progress
and pursuit of justice."
Rodino and Kennedy introduced revised versions of
their bills in 1971. The new Rodino bill included a provi-
sion for 25,000 unskilled or "new seed" immigrants a
year. A third bill introduced on behalf of the Nixon ad-
ministration featured a modified preference system, a
ceiling of 80,000 immigrant visas per year for the West-
ern Hemisphere plus 35,000 for both Canada and Mexico,
adjustment of status in the US provisions for Western He-
mispheric immigrants, except those from Canada and
Mexico, and sanctions for employers hiring aliens who
are not entitled to work.
By 1972 the illegal alien issue was beginning to as-
sume paramount importance. Rodino's initiative for that
year, which passed the House but not the Senate, included
employer sanctions and other provisions aimed at curbing
illegal migration, while an amendment calling for em-
ployer sanctions for the Fair Labor Standards Act passed
the Senate. Congress was unusually active on immigration
matters, inevitably pointing toward major revisions. On
assuming the chairmanship of the Immigration and Na-
turalization Sub-Committee from Rodino, who moved up
to chair the House Judiciary Committee, Congressman
Eilberg listed the immigration-related targets of the 93rd
Congress as illegal aliens, inequities in the treatment of
the Western Hemisphere, clarification of laws governing
parole, and low morale and inefficiency in the Immigra-
tion and Naturalization Service.
At hearings held on these issues, all witnesses sup-
ported changes to remove differential treatment of the
two hemispheres. State Department officials testified that
visa delays and special efforts taken to screen out poten-
tial abusers were generating foreign relations problems
in Latin America. Once again the House approved a com-
prehensive immigration bill with employer sanctions,
while the Kennedy bill languished in the Senate. In early
1975 President Ford established a Domestic Council
Committee on illegal aliens. In the Senate, Senator East-
land's subcommittee finally held hearings on immigration
with the Senator seeking approval for a bill that included
a provision for importing temporary foreign workers for
permanent (rather than temporary) jobs. In late 1976, the
Congress passed and President Ford signed further
amendments to the Immigration and Nationality Act.
These currently govern US policy on Caribbean migration.
The principal objective of the Immigration and Na-
tionality Act Amendments of 1976 was to eliminate the
differences between the treatment of the Eastern and

Western Hemispheres. Among other things, this means
that Congress was once again unable to reach agreement
over how to deal directly with the illegal alien problem. In
pursuit of the goal of eliminating differences between the
hemispheres, however, the legislation established the
same preference system for both hemispheres and a
20,000 per year per country ceiling on Western Hemis-
phere nations, while maintaining the 120,000 total for the
hemisphere. It allows Western Hemisphere non-resident
visa holders to adjust status in the United States, as long
as they are not holding unauthorized employment, but
eliminates the exemption of the parents of US citizen and
permanent resident alien children from labor certification.
This last change is potentially of great importance
since between 25 and 30% of all Western Hemisphere
immigrants were parents exempted from labor certifica-
tion. This exemption had been long opposed by the State
Department. The opposition of consular officials to the
exemption grew out of their belief that it encouraged
aliens to go to the US on non-immigrant visas and have a
child which then qualified them for an immigrant visa
without being labor certified. Most violated the original
visa by working while waiting for their US-born child.
The precise impact of deleting the certification ex-
emption for parents remains to be seen. It could decrease
the flow of aliens by removing a well known, relatively
easy way to adjust from non-immigrant to immigrant
status, or it could increase it by fostering non-immigrant
visa abuse. Except for Mexico, other provisions of the leg-
islation should ease some of the pressures fostering il-
legal migration by making more immigrant visas available
and speeding up their issuance. Because the demand is
virtually unlimited and the applicants largely unqualified,
continued illegal migration from Mexico seems a cer-

Administration of the Law
Two government agencies are charged with primary re-
sponsibility for controlling the entry of aliens into the
United States. The Visa Office of the Bureau of Security
and Consular Affairs of the Department of State issues
foreigners the documents, or visas, necessary to enter
and remain in the US. For this purpose and related func-
tions, the Department of State maintains consular posts
throughout the world. It is their function not only to issue
visas but to determine if the applicant is qualified. The
second agency with primary responsibility is the Immi-
gration and Naturalization Service (INS) of the Depart-
ment of Justice. It screens all persons entering the coun-
try at the point of entry and is otherwise responsible for
policing migrant affairs within the United States. Beyond
the social control functions of these two agencies, the


US law and its interpretation
by the courts encourage
and legitimate fraud.

Department of Labor has labor certification responsibili-
ties and the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare
provides INS with selected social security information on
migrants. Three other agencies, the Customs Bureau, the
Department of Agriculture, and the Drug Enforcement
Agency, manage the entry of goods and substances into
the country. Naturally, the participation of so many agen-
cies with differing but overlapping jurisdiction affords
ample opportunity for confusion and outright conflict in
the administration of policy.
Outside of Mexico, the US consular posts in Colom-
bia, the Dominican Republic, Haiti, and Jamaica are per-
haps under the most pressure to stem the flow of illegal
migration. They are, in the words of one officer, "pressure
posts," with each of the host countries contributing an
estimated several hundred thousand illegal residents to
the US.
The typical consular post is organized into four sec-
tions: an Executive Office, Visa Unit, a Citizenship/Spe-
cial Consular Services Unit, and an Investigations Unit.
The consular post in Santo Domingo, a model operation
which handles all of the Dominican Republic, has approx-
imately 12 consular officers and a large support staff. The
Visa Unit is divided into an Immigrant Visa Sub-Unit and
a Non-Immigrant Visa Sub-Unit. In Santo Domingo, each
has a Chief, while there are five immigrant visa interview-
ing officers and only two non-immigrant. The Investiga-
tions Unit, with four local investigators, does investigative
work for the Visa Unit.
The pressure and officer discretion in the visa grant-
ing process fall largely on the non-immigrant side. By the
time an applicant has made it to the point of applying for
an immigrant visa, the consular officer can do little more
than see that the law is fulfilled. A degree of individual
discretion comes in checking for fraud and in determining
if the applicant is likely to become a public charge, but
fraud is hard to detect with such a small investigative
staff. Furthermore, US law and its interpretation by the
courts encourage and legitimate fraud. Since the only
way to get an immigrant visa is by having a job prospect
or close family ties in the US, it is quite common for
would-be migrants to come to the US on a non-immigrant
visa, get a job in violation of the visa and/or have a child,
and then return to their country of origin to request an
immigrant visa on the grounds of having a job offer and/
or child. The 1976 amendments to the Immigration and
Naturalization Act may alleviate some of the duplicity by
eliminating the labor exemption for parents; however, it
is now possible for Caribbean immigrants to regularize
their status in the US. The frustration of consular officers,
who are forced to grant immigrant visas to people who,
they are convinced, violated their non-immigrant visas,
is often intensified by the intervention of lawyers and US

Congressmen to expedite the application.
Because the vast majority of illegal aliens from the
Caribbean originally enter the US on non-immigrant visas,
the effort to stop illegal migration from the area is con-
centrated in the non-immigrant sub-unit. The basic objec-
tive is to screen out potential visa abusers. In pursuit of
this objective the interviewing officer has a great deal of
discretion. The officer has the authority to deny applica-
tion for a visa on the subjective grounds that he or she
believes the applicant would violate the terms of the visa.
The means used to determine if the applicant is likely
to remain in violation of the visa are a brief written ap-
plication, certain documents, and a three-to-five minute
personal interview. All are designated to determine
whether the applicant's stake in his native country is
sufficient to cause him to return home. Although each
post designs its own screening procedure, the routine is
similar throughout the Caribbean. To illustrate, Colom-
bian applicants for a tourist visa must present at the per-
sonal interview a completed application and the following
items: 1. A valid passport; 2. Information about employ-
ment, friends and relatives in the US, and financing of the
proposed trip; 3. A photograph; 4. Proof of personal in-
come over the past two years; 5. Record of banking trans-
actions for the past six months; and 6. Proof of employ-
ment or school enrollment.
The extensive documentation required of each ap-
plicant is balanced out by the haste with which the inter-
viewing officer must evaluate it. It is not uncommon for
two or three officers to interview and process several hun-
dred applicants per day. It is neither an easy nor reward-
ing job. The officer is under implied orders from his gov-
ernment to screen out all potential abusers, while his col-
leagues in the rest of the embassy are constantly request-
ing visas for politically influential applicants. Some con-
sular posts even offer special treatment for VIP applicants.
In general, consular officers are sensitive to the foreign
policy implications of their work and realize that many
local people form opinions about the US on the basis of
how their application for a visa is handled. On the other
hand, they feel constantly besieged by unqualified and
undeserving applicants desperate to get into the US.
Under these cross-pressures the tendency is to deny most
first time applicants, up to 90% at some posts, but offer
them the hope of a subsequent re-application.
The US government has not taken up the question
of illegal migration on a systematic basis with officials in
the Caribbean. On the one hand, it is politically sensitive
for local governments, since emigration represents a
failure of the society to meet the needs of its citizens. But,
on the other hand at a more pragmatic level, Caribbean
governments have taken the position that it is our pro-
blem and not theirs. Furthermore, they are quick to point

The challenge facing US immigration policy
vis-a-vis the Caribbean
lies in balancing out US domestic needs
with US foreign policy goals,
the domestic interests of the sending societies,
and the welfare of migrants and potential migrants.

out the duplicity of US immigration policy welcoming
the skilled, educated immigrant while trying to exclude
the unskilled and uneducated.

Carter Proposal
The challenge facing US immigration policy vis-a-vis the
Caribbean lies in balancing out US domestic needs with
US foreign policy goals, the domestic interests of the
sending societies, and the welfare of migrants and poten-
tial migrants. Until relatively recently US policy has been
rather lenient, if not enlightened, toward migration from
the Caribbean. Until 1952 there were no quantitative con-
trols, and since then those that were adopted have been
rather ineffective. But over the last decade pressure has
been gradually building to effectively control immigra-
tion in the name of US domestic interests. And there is
an unmistakable trend in policy toward additional con-
trols on immigration. It is too soon to determine if the le-
gislation passed in 1976 will diminish the flow of illegal
Western Hemisphere migrants, which was clearly in-
tended, but the Carter administration's proposal on "un-
documented aliens" guarantees that we have not seen the
last major policy initiative designed to affect Caribbean
On August 4, 1977, in personally introducing his
plan for dealing with undocumented aliens, President
Carter delineated the reasons he felt additional action
was necessitated: "I am proposing actions that would
meet four major needs: First of all, to regain greater con-
trol over our own borders. Secondly, to limit employment
opportunities of those who are illegally in our country and
who are competing with American workers for scarce
jobs. Third, the registration and regulation of the millions
of undocumented workers who are already here. And
fourth, improving cooperation with countries from which
these undocumented workers are coming into our Nation."
A White House "Fact Sheet" on the President's proposal
listed the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Jamaica, Guatemala,
and Colombia as the major source countries, after Mexico,
of undocumented aliens.
The proposal, sent by Carter to Congress where it is
co-sponsored by Eastland and Kennedy in the Senate and
Rodino and Eilberg in the House, includes six separate
measures. The first, and perhaps most controversial, is
employer sanctions. Employers who engage in a "pattern
or practice" of hiring undocumented aliens would be sub-
ject to civil fines up to $1,000 per alien and possible court
injunction. Since Social Security cards would be accepted
for identification, the Department of Health, Education,
and Welfare is instructed to make it a more reliable indi-
cator of lawful residence (but not a "national identification
card"). Second, the President's proposal would strengthen

enforcement resources by adding 2,000 new officers on
the Mexican border, and the State Department would
tighten-up visa issuance procedures. Third, undocu-
mented aliens who have been in the US since before Jan-
uary 1, 1970, would be eligible to adjust status to become
permanent alien residents, and those who have been in
the US between 1970 and January 1, 1977, could be
granted a five-year temporary alien status with the right
to work but not to vote, run for office, serve on a jury or
bring family members from abroad. Furthermore, aliens
in this latter category, which does not currently exist,
would not be eligible for public welfare assistance, unless
state and local governments choose to provide it. Fourth,
the US will enter into negotiations with Mexico and other
countries regarding their roles in restricting the flow of
undocumented aliens, will offer assistance for labor in-
tensive development projects and "population education
programs," and increase trade with sending countries.
United Nations Ambassador Andrew Young embarked
on an official mission to the Caribbean and Mexico shortly
after the proposal was announced to explain it to officials
in sending countries. Fifth, the Secretary of Labor is di-
rected to review the current temporary worker program
(but not with a view toward reviving the bracero program,
which Carter "unequivocally" opposes). Sixth, there will
be a comprehensive inter-agency study of immigration

Political Dynamics
The Carter proposal was drafted in April, 1977, by an in-
ter-agency task force that included representatives from
all relevant departments. It was directed by the White
House Domestic Council. In conducting its work, the
group took into account not only the views of those within
government but also consulted with a wide spectrum of
groups outside of government. The original impetus for
action, however, came from President Carter himself. At
his first cabinet meeting, held before taking office, he
raised the illegal alien issue as one of the first his admi-
nistration would tackle. The origins of Mr. Carter's inter-
est in the issue are unclear. The Domestic Council on il-
legal Aliens, appointed by President Ford, issued its re-
port in December, 1976. Although the report undoubtedly
influenced and reinforced Carter's position, it came out
after he had already ordered action on the issue. Many
credit his Secretary of Labor, Ray Marshall, with influenc-
ing Carter. As a Professor of Law at the University of
Texas, Marshall had done research on illegal aliens and
spoken out on the issue. Other observes discount Mar-
shall's influence, stressing that Carter's concern went back
to his experience as Governor of Georgia. In any case the
President's personal leadership has been important in

...the presence of a large number
of people existing outside of the law
is an incongruity in
a society of laws,
regardless of the causes
for their migration to the US.

provoking quick, high level action on revising US immi-
gration policy. Nevertheless, the fact remains that pres-
sures for more restrictive immigration policy, especially
regarding the Western Hemisphere, were present before
Mr. Carter became a national political figure.
Two generalizations can be safely advanced about
the politics of US immigration policy. The first is that the
problem, and therefore the suggested policy responses,
is defined predominantly in terms of a Mexican border
problem. According to one observer, illegal migration
became a major problem in about 1970 and it was origi-
nally "discovered" in a study done on the Mexican border
by the Transcentury Corporation in the later 1960's. By
1972 it was seen as a national problem. This means that
the existence of large numbers of Caribbean natives il-
legally residing in the US, over-whelmingly on the East
Coast, was somewhat accidentally discovered. Once dis-
covered, however, consistency required that they be dealt
with by the authorities. Increasingly they are singled out
as part of the problem policy must address.
The second characteristic of the politics of immigra-
tion policy is that the most persistent, effective advocacy
of tighter policy has come from within the government.
INS and its former Commissioner, Leonard F. Chapman,
are generally credited with playing the leading role in
moving illegal migration onto the national and govern-
mental policy agendas. To be sure, there are non-govern-
mental groups that have lobbied in favor of more restric-
tive immigration policy. The most important is the AFL-
CIO. But the most outspoken lobbyist has been govern-
ment itself, which is perhaps understandable since the
stake of society in the issue is hard to define. On balance
does the US lose more than it gains from illegal migra-
tion? Because we do not know the numbers or where they
are or what they do, the net impact is impossible to mea-
sure, or even estimate.
Even in the absence of hard data, it is obvious that a
number of interests in our society, and perhaps the society
as a whole, are served by the comparatively cheap labor
of the undocumented alien. Furthermore, the supporters
of liberalized immigration laws are not without representa-
tion. Voluntary private organizations are organized into
the American Immigration and Citizenship Conference
for the purpose of seeking more "humanitarian and non-
discriminatory" immigration policies. Businessmen are
adamantly opposed to employer sanctions. Ethnic groups,
particularly those representing Mexican-Americans, op-
pose sanctions and generally attack recent proposals as
discriminating against Hispanics. They are supported by
the Catholic Church. Over 40 organizations have joined
to form a coalition to stop Carter's Immigration Program.
Needless to say, no Latin governments have come for-
ward to endorse a more restrictive policy.

Given the lack of a clear mandate for policy revision,
or even a reliable description of the dimensions of the
alleged problem, how can we explain the inexorable
movement in this direction over the last decade? To begin
with, we have the active, well placed lobbying effort of
INS under Commissioner Chapman. Charged with protect-
ing US borders from illegal entry, Chapman chose to
educate Congress and the public in the enormity of the
task, in part as a tactic for winning more resources for his
agency. INS may not know how many illegal aliens there
are in the US, though it does have data on apprehensions,
but it does know that there are too many for it to handle.
There were 900,000 undocumented aliens apprehended
and deported in 1976.
In addition to INS and certain key legislators, several
other factors are at work to build at least passive support
among the public. First, the presence of a large number
of people existing outside of the law is an incongruity in
a society of laws, regardless of the causes for their migra-
tion to the US. There is a viewpoint which holds we must
either legalize the practice or put a stop to it. Second,
concern with population growth naturally calls into ques-
tion the impact of immigration. Even though the report
of the Commission on Population Growth and the Amer-
ican Future made no major immigration policy sugges-
tions, it did call attention to the reproductive potential of
the entering immigrants. Anti-natalist lobbies, such as
Zero Population Growth, have picked up on the apparent
contradiction between the national commitment to lower
population growth and immigration policies which con-
tinue to be liberal in their view. Third, the economic re-
cession of the 1970's and the high unemployment asso-
ciated with it strongly contribute to the feeling that the
jobs of American workers should be protected against
foreign competitors. Restrictive immigration policies are
closely associated with periods of economic downturn.
Fourth, the struggle of state and local governments to
meet rising welfare and public service costs predisposes
the public against the immigrant, even though there is no
evidence to support the contention that he adds to the
welfare burden.
In view of the above forces, it would seem almost a
foregone conclusion that the US will modify its policy to
further limit migration from the Caribbean. Although not
without flaws, the Carter proposal offers the hope of an
enlightened policy. Whether it retains the semblance of
balance through the rigors of the legislative process re-
mains to be seen. Most problematic are employer sanc-
tions and a truly effective aid and trade package to help
offset new limits on emigration to the US.

Terry L. McCoy is with the Center for Latin American Studies at the
University of Florida.

From the time he was elected to Con-
gress in 1934 until his death in 1954,
Vito Marcantonio was one of the more
visible radicals in the American poli-
tical scene. Although Marcantonio is
familiar to historians of US labor, US
radical movements, and US party po-
litics in the 20th century, relatively lit-
tle is known either about his relations
with the Puerto Rican community of
New York City in the 1930's and 40's
or about his position on Puerto Rico's
status during those decades. No one
outside Puerto Rico condemned US
colonialism as passionately as he did;
no one was as active on behalf of
Puerto Ricans on the US mainland as
he was. Yet, today few Puerto Ricans
know of Marcantonio.

Entry into Politics
The son of an Italian immigrant
woman and an American-born car-
penter of Italian descent, Marcantonio
was born in 1902 in a five-story tene-
ment on 112 Street and First Avenue
in Manhattan's East Harlem. A classic
slum since before the turn of the cen-
tury, East Harlem stretched roughly
from Fifth Avenue on the west to the
East River on the east, and from the
Harlem River in the north to 98th
Street on the south. Generally re-
puted to be one of the most densely
populated areas in the nation, it was
also one of the most poverty-stricken.
Although along the East River there
were some warehouses, utility works,

Marcantonio was familiar
with the situation in
Puerto Rico and in the
years following his
election to Congress he
condemned that situation
with a fervor equaled only
by Albizu Campos and
with a sophistication and
perceptiveness which
often surpassed that of
the Nationalist leader.

and light manufacturing plants, at the
time of Marcantonio's birth most of
the area consisted of ugly, dark, and
filthy look-alike tenements housing
tens of thousands of people. In the
1890's, when Jews were moving into
the area in large numbers and Italians
were beginning to trickle in, East
Harlem was predominantly German
and Irish. In the early 1900's Jews be-
came the majority; by the 1920's Ital-
ians were fast becoming numerically
dominant. In 1930 there were about
150,000 Italo-Americans there, mak-
ing East Harlem the center of the
largest Italo-American community in
the nation.

Marcantonio studied first at P.S.
85, then at predominantly Jewish
De Witt Clinton High School outside
East Harlem. An activist since his
high school days, he went on to study
at New York University where he re-
ceived his law degree in 1926, one
year after his marriage to Miriam
Sanders, a New England-born social
worker. It was during his student days
at NYU that Marcantonio met Fiorello
La Guardia, a fellow Italo-American
and East Harlemite. Out of this meet-
ing there gradually developed a close
political and personal relationship
which, although at times shaken by
ideological differences, lasted until
La Guardia's death in 1947.
Realizing Marcantonio's political
talents, La Guardia named him his
campaign manager in 1924 when he
ran successfully as the Republican
candidate for Congress in the 20th
Congressional District (East Harlem).
Upon his graduation from NYU, Mar-
cantonio joined La Guardia's law firm
and soon thereafter was entrusted by
his political mentor with whipping
into shape the Fiorello La Guardia
Political Club, an organization which
quickly became one of the most ef-
fective political machines in the city.
In 1932 Marcantonio helped organize
the Fusion ticket which won for La
Guardia the mayoralty election of
1933. The following year, at the age
of 32, he successfully ran (as a Re-
publican) for La Guardia's old con-
gressional seat. During the elections



By Adalberto L6pez

An Italian-American's Defense of
Puerto Rico and Puerto Ricans


of 1936 Marcantonio was unseated
by James Lanzetta. He was able to
regain his seat in 1938 and hold it
through five successive elections,
until his final defeat in 1950.
Upon his election to Congress, Mar-
cantonio quickly became a spokes-
man for those groups bearing the
brunt of the 1930's depression. He
spoke for greater aid to the unem-
ployed, supported rent control legis-
lation, argued for higher minimum
wage levels, exposed unfair labor
practices, and advocated higher tax
rates. He opposed the Taft-Hartley
Law which he saw as a violation of
labor's right to collective bargaining;
he sought to improve working con-
ditions in the coal mines; and he
pleaded passionately for agricultural
workers, introducing legislation to
include them under the provisions of
the Wagner Act. In the 1940's he de-
fended communists against increas-
ing government harassment and bit-
terly condemned the House Commit-
tee on Un-American Activities as
subverting the basic principles of
American democracy.
During that period he was also one
of the spokesmen in Congress for the
civil rights of US Blacks. He became
a friend and political associate of
W.E.B. DuBois, the brilliant black
Marxist historian and educator who
once referred to Marcantonio as the
only member of Congress who acted
"with courage, intelligence and stead-
fast integrity in the face of ridicule,

mud-slinging and cheating." When in
1951 DuBois was indicted by the fed-
eral government for alleged com-
munist activities, Marcantonio be-
came his chief defense counsel at no
charge, and when Marcantonio was
buried in 1954 it was DuBois who
delivered the eulogy. In sum, during
the years he served in Congress, Mar-
cantonio became identified with the
political outcasts of the nation, arti-
culating the aspirations of the poor,
and advocating progressive social
and economic legislation.

The Status Issue
At the time that Marcantonio took
his seat in Congress in 1935, Puerto
Rico had been under US colonial rule
for more than three decades. Al-
though in 1917 Congress had im-
posed US citizenship on Puerto
Ricans, the island remained consti-
tutionally an "unincorporated" ter-
ritory, "belonging to but not form-
ing part of the United States." In 1898,
the US government had established
a colonial regime in Puerto Rico pre-
sided over, first by army generals, and
then by North American civilian gov-
ernors appointed by the President of
the United States. In the years follow-
ing the occupation the island's econ-
omy came to be dominated by US
corporate interests. By the 1930's
Puerto Rico was dependent on the
metropolitan economy for both im-
ports and exports.

Puerto Ricans actively involved in
insular politics between 1898 and the
1930's did not accept this situation.
The Republican Party (the party of the
well-to-do) condemned the island's
colonial status as unacceptable and
saw in statehood the road to political
and economic salvation. The Social-
ist Party of Santiago Iglesias gave up
its initial radical momentum and
joined the Republicans in support of
statehood for the island. The Social-
ist leader, under the influence of US
trade unionism, saw in statehood the
solution to the problems plaguing the
island's population. Opposing the
Republicans and the Socialists were
the Unionists and the Nationalists.
For years the Union Party had wa-
vered between support for indepen-
dence and support for a status some-
where between independence and
statehood as the solution to Puerto
Rico's plight. The Nationalists, on the
other hand, remained committed to
independence as the only alternative
to the island's colonial situation.
In the first decades of the century
these parties debated, bickered, mo-
bilized their followers, campaigned,
and sent representatives to the met-
ropolitan capital. But as the decade
of the 1930's got underway, the status
situation remained unchanged while
the economic situation rapidly dete-
riorated. The depression had devas-
tating effects on Puerto Rico. By 1933
about 65% of the working force was
unemployed; there was hunger and


disease, unprecedented human suf-
fering. The political situation became
increasingly tense and political con-
flicts more marked. Republicans and
Socialists stepped up their campaign
on behalf of statehood, seeing in
total incorporation into the US the
solution to the crisis, impervious to
the fact that the US itself was in the
midst of crisis.
The Unionists, on the other hand,
concluded, as had the Nationalists
before them, that only through inde-
pendence could Puerto Rico hope to
cope with the crisis. In 1932 the party
changed its name to the Liberal Party
and under Antonio Barcel6 entered
into an uneasy alliance on behalf of
independence with the Nationalist
Party, then under Pedro Albizu Cam-
pos. In the insular elections of 1932
(characterized by vote-buying and
fraud) a seemingly paradoxical alli-
ance of Republicans and Socialists
won a solid majority in the impotent
insular legislature and elected an
equally impotent Resident Commis-
sioner, a man who by virtue of the so-
called Organic Acts of 1900 and 1917
could participate in debates in the US
House of Representatives but could
not vote.
Marcantonio was familiar with the
situation in Puerto Rico and in the
years following his election to Con-
gress he condemned that situation
with a fervor equalled only by Albizu
Campos and with a sophistication
and perceptiveness which often sur-
passed that of the Nationalist leader.
He described the Puerto Rican peo-
ple as "the most exploited victims of
a most devasting imperialism" and
condemned the exploitation of the is-
land's people and resources by US
corporations. He attacked a colonial
system which placed Puerto Ricans
in the status of second-class citizens
in their own land, objected vehe-
mently to attempts by the colonial
authorities to make English the offi-
cial language of the island, and again
and again emphasized the devasta-
ting effects which the depression was
having on Puerto Rico. While advo-
cating the introduction of federal
minimum wage laws into the island,
greater aid to the unemployed, and
other means of relieving some of the
suffering the Puerto Ricans were ex-
periencing, Marcantonio was always
careful to point out that these were
mere relief efforts, that the only real
solution to the problems faced by the

Marcantonio labeled
Commonwealth a smoke
screen, that merely added
"an embellishing facade
on an ugly and rotten
colonial structure."

island was immediate and uncondi-
tional independence.
"There can never be," he declared,
"a solution to the economic difficult-
ies of Puerto Rico until independence
is granted to them. So long as Puerto
Rico remains a colonial appendage
of the United States, an exploited,
one-crop sugar economy, it will con-
tinue to wallow in disease and pov-
erty." "I am not so naive," he stated
in another occasion, "as to think
that independence would overnight
end all the problems of the Puerto
Rican people. But I do know that in-
dependence would release the energy
and creativeness of these fine people
to meet their problems and to solve
them by their own efforts. Without in-
dependence I see no solution." Sev-
eral years later, when the issue of
Commonwealth status was being dis-
cussed, he declared on the floor of
the House: "The people of Puerto Rico
can solve their economic problems
only when they have the power to
make their own tariff laws, to negoti-
ate reciprocal trade agreements, to
make their own coast-wide shipping
laws, and to have complete jurisdic-
tion over their territory and land,
their waters, their air, and their peo-
ple. They cannot have these powers
under the proposed Commonwealth

status. They cannot have these
powers under statehood. They can
only have these powers under their
own sovereignty in a free and inde-
pendent nation."
In the course of his advocacy of
Puerto Rican independence, Marcan-
tonio became a chief supporter of the
Puerto Rican Nationalist Party and of
Albizu Campos. When in 1936 the
Nationalist leader was arrested and
tried on a charge of conspiracy to
overthrow the government, Marcan-
tonio flew to the island in an unsuc-
cessful attempt to defend him. The
congressman from East Harlem des-
cribed the court proceedings as a
mockery of American judicial princi-
ples, accused the prosecution of chi-
canery, and called for another trial.
Having failed, he returned to New
York to organize demonstrations in
support of Albizu Campos who had
been sentenced to ten years in fed-
eral prison.
As a result of his outspoken pro-in-
dependence position on the Puerto
Rican status issue, in the 1940's Mar-
cantonio clashed with Luis Munoz
Marfn who in 1948 became the first
elected governor of Puerto Rico and
who ten years earlier had founded
the Partido Popular Democratico
(PPD), the dominant political force in
the island until 1976. Although in his
youth Muhoz Marfn had been an ad-
vocate of independence and had
worked with Antonio Barcel6 in the
Liberal Party, in the 1940's he con-
cluded that the only viable solution
to the problems of Puerto Rico was
neither independence nor statehood,
but rather, an in-between status, what
later became known as the Com-
monwealth solution. Marcantonio la-
beled Commonwealth a smoke
screen, that merely added "an embel-
lishing facade on an ugly and rotten
colonial structure." He ridiculed Op-
eration Bootstrap, the developmental
program of the PPD regime, as "Op-
eration Booby Trap," and saw little
significance in the law of 1947 giving
Puerto Ricans the right to elect their
own governor. As he declared, "it
merely transfers from the Presidentof
the United States to the people of
Puerto Rico the questionable privi-
lege of selecting one more servant of
the empire."
To Marcantonio, Muhoz Marin and
his cohorts in the PPD were little
more than the stooges and servants
of Wall Street interests, the puppets

of colonialism. He was particularly
incensed by the drive of the PPD re-
gime in the 1940's to suppress pro-
independence activities in the island,
labeling the "Law of the Muzzle" of
1947 and the "gag laws" of 1948 as
"legislative monstrosities." At one
point Marcantonio referred to Mufoz
Marin as "the Nero of the Fortaleza"
and described the drive against pro-
independence forces as the manifes-
tation "of fear and hysteria on the
part of the present political leaders
on the island....acts of little men who
are bent on establishing a paradise
for private enterprise by ruthlessly
suppressing every progressive force
in Puerto Rico."
Throughout the 1930's and 1940's
Marcantonio's advocacy of uncondi-
tional independence of Puerto Rico
was the position of a minority of one
in the US Congress. Again and again,
his bills providing for independence
were voted down. As the years passed,
it became abundantly clear that Wash-
ington would never grant Puerto Rico
independence. The Puerto Rican
people, he declared, should hold no
illusions; to wait for the US govern-
ment to grant them independence
would be a great mistake. "Only their
own united strength," he went on,
"the formation of an anti-imperialist
front of the whole people against the
foreign dominators and their own na-
tional traitors is the best guarantee of
achieving independence."

Puerto Ricans
in New York
While maintaining an unwavering
position on behalf of Puerto Rican in-
dependence, Marcantonio also
worked hard for the growing Puerto
Rican community in New York City.
Puerto Ricans had been trickling into
the city since the turn of the century,
but it was not until the 1930's and
1940's (particularly after the end of
World War II) that the migration from
the island to the mainland reached
massive proportions. What drove
tens of thousands of Puerto Ricans
from their home island was a combi-
nation of growing unemployment
and human suffering in Puerto Rico
and the vision of greener pastures on
the mainland. As US citizens, Puerto
Ricans could migrate to the main-
land at will, a process encouraged by
the PPD government of Munioz Marin
and facilitated by relatively inexpen-

Vito Marcantonio arrives in Puerto Rico to defend Don Pedro Albizu Campos.

sive means of transportation. By
1950 there were over 300,000 Puerto
Ricans in the US mainland, the vast
majority of them in New York City.
Within New York City, most Puerto
Ricans were settling in Lower Harlem,
part of the 20th Congressional Dis-
trict represented by Marcantonio. In
1921 there were some 15,000 Puerto
Ricans in this part of Harlem. About
fifteen years later, there were well
over 150,000 Puerto Ricans there,
most of them living in the area from
111th Street to 106th Street, between
Fifth and Third Avenues, a section of
the city already known as El Barrio.
Given the large numbers of Puerto
Ricans in his district, it is not surpris-
ing that Marcantonio took an interest

in them and did all he could to allevi-
ate their plight. During that period
Puerto Ricans were among the poor-
est of the city's population, holding
the most menial jobs. They were floor
"boys" and "girls" in the garment in-
dustry, dishwashers, laundry workers,
porters, elevator operators, janitors,
cleaners, etc. As Marcantonio com-
mented, Puerto Rico had become
"the source of labor for the jobs which
employers cannot convince mainland
workers to fill, the lowest paid, the
drudgery jobs."
Throughout the 1930's and 1940's,
Marcantonio addressed himself to
the problems afflicting the Puerto
Rican community, not only in his own
district but in other parts of the city

Puerto Rico had become
"the source of labor for
the jobs which employers
cannot convince mainland
workers to fill, the lowest
paid, the drudgery jobs."

as well. He learned Spanish and es-
tablished close contacts with Puerto
Rican community leaders. He always
managed to have on his staff Spanish-
speaking secretaries and lawyers who
gave Puerto Ricans free legal aid and
advice on how to deal with slum lords
or the city's bureaucracy, who helped
them find jobs and who, when neces-
sary, got them on the city's relief rolls.
Marcantonio also took a strong posi-
tion against giving Puerto Rican chil-
dren I.Q. tests designed primarily for
middle-class children. He maintained
that the New York City Board of Edu-
cation, in administering these tests,
placed Puerto Rican children in an
unfavorable position because of ina-
dequate allowances in the tests for
linguistic, social, economic and en-
vironmental factors.

Why Puerto Rico?
In dealing with Marcantonio's support
of independence for Puerto Rico and
his relations with Puerto Ricans in
New York City, the question arises
of what motivated him. Was it, as
many of his critics claimed, simply
an opportunistic drive on Marcanto-
nio's part to get the Puerto Rican vote
in his district? In 1950, for example,
the New York Daily Mirror declared
that Marcantonio's strength came
chiefly from the "hordes of Puerto
Ricans enticed here from their home
island for the value of their votes."
Although this was journalistic mud-
slinging designed to discredit Mar-
cantonio, there is no doubt that in the
1940's and for many years afterwards
many New Yorkers believed that the
interest of the congressman from
East Harlem in Puerto Ricans was
nothing more than opportunist poli-
It is quite true that Marcantonio
was a thorough-going politician. He
talked politics, thought politics, and
spent a lifetime among politicians.

But Marcantonio was also a man of
principles and steadfast in his com-
mitment to what he believed was
right. He was a leading spokesman
for the rights of agricultural workers
and worked hard to improve working
conditions in the coal mines; yet,
there were few agricultural workers
and fewer coal miners among his
constituents. In these matters, as in
others, it was his radicalism that dic-
tated his stand, the same radicalism
that dictated his position on Puerto
Rico and fostered his efforts on behalf
of Puerto Ricans in New York City. It
may even be argued that his support
of the Puerto Ricans cost Marcanto-
nio political support among his older
Italo-American constituency which
resented the intrusion into Harlem of
the poverty-stricken newcomers.
But, if just for the sake of argu-
ment, one assumes that Marcanto-
nio's position on Puerto Rico and his
relations with Puerto Ricans are to be
explained primarily in terms of poli-
tical concerns, this raises some criti-
cal questions about the nature of the
Puerto Rican community in NewYork
City. Were Puerto Ricans in the city
in the 1930's and 1940's sympathetic
to Marcantonio's advocacy of Puerto
Rican independence? Did they con-
stitute a voting strength of any con-
sequence in New York City politics?
Because so little has been done in
terms of studying the political atti-
tudes and the degree of political par-
ticipation of New York Puerto Ricans
in the 1930's and 1940's, the answers

to these questions can only be of a
preliminary sort. Nevertheless, from
some of the evidence available it must
be concluded that during those two
decades the Puerto Rican community
in New York City was far more politi-
cized than has been assumed by many
and that among New York Puerto
Ricans there existed strong support
for independence. In the mid-1930's,
for example, Lawrence Chanault (The
Puerto Rican Migrant in New York
City) wrote that sentiment for inde-
pendence was strong among Puerto
Ricans in the city and that "organiza-
tions for independence have been
formed and small contributions are
sent back to the island for the cause."
In the summer of 1936, after the con-
viction and sentencing of Albizu Cam-
pos, the New York Times reported
that "ten thousand Puerto Ricans, re-
presenting a score of political and
social clubs, paraded for three hours
through the streets of Lower Harlem...
to protest the attitudes and actions of
'Imperialist America' in Puerto Rico."
When George Charney worked in
Lower Harlem in the late 1930's he
was impressed by the radicalism and
pro-independence views of many
Puerto Ricans in the area. He also
pointed out (in A Long Journey) that
Puerto Ricans were not just interested
in what was happening in their own
community or in their home island;
he wrote that he had never seen a
community "so passionately involved
in the Spanish Civil War," openly sup-
porting the Spanish Republic.

As for the electoral strength of the
New York Puerto Rican community,
it could not have been great in the
1930's and 1940's since most Puerto
Ricans were disqualified from voting
by literacy and other requirements.
Yet, at least in the 20th Congression-
al District, the Puerto Rican vote
might have been significant enough
to decide the outcome of some elec-
tions. Already in the 1920's La Guar-
dia had realized the potential of the
Puerto Rican vote and had taken
steps to woo it. Marcantonio did the
same, and it is likely that a careful
study of the election of 1938 in the
20th Congressional District will re-
veal that without Puerto Rican sup-
port he could not have defeated his
opponent, James Lanzetta.
Because the Puerto Rican vote
seems to have been, or was seen as
being, important to Marcantonio dur-
ing his campaigns for re-election to
Congress and during his campaign
for the New York City mayoralty in
1949, Puerto Rican politicians from
the island became increasingly in-
volved in the politics of the 20th Con-
gressional District. In the 1930's An-
tonio Barcel6 campaigned for Mar-
cantonio in East Harlem. In the 1940's
Gilberto Concepci6n de Gracia,
founder of the Puerto Rican Indepen-
dence Party, did the same. Conver-
sely, those Puerto Rican politicians
who opposed Puerto Rican indepen-
dence did their best to undermine
Puerto Rican support of Marcantonio
in his district and other parts of New
York City. Santiago Iglesias was one
of these. So were Muinoz Marin and
other important figures in the PPD.
During the mayoralty election of
1949, for example, Mufioz Marin sent
letters to 25,000 Puerto Ricans in the
city urging them to vote for William
O'Dwyer, the incumbent. Felisa Rin-
c6n de Gautier, a political associate
of Mufnoz Marin and mayoress of the
city of San Juan, flew to New York
and toured Puerto Rican districts
urging Puerto Ricans not to vote for
Marcantonio failed in his bid for
New York's mayoralty in 1949 and in
the following year failed in his bid for
re-election to Congress. During both
campaigns, powerful forces were
mobilized against him the press,
corporate interests, and almost all of
the established parties. It was the
period of the Cold War, the dawn of
the McCarthy era. To many, even in

his own district, Marcantonio's stead-
fast commitment to radical social and
economic reforms, Puerto Rican in-
dependence, and his defense of com-
munists and alleged communists was
not only "un-American" but even
treasonous. His defeat in 1950 and
his death in 1954 (when he was pre-
paring for a political comeback) was
applauded by conservatives, red-
baiters, and the followers of McCarthy.
No doubt Luis Muioz Marin and his

associates in Puerto Rico were re-
lieved by Marcantonio's demise. Yet,
for the great majority of the Puerto
Ricans in the United States, Marcan-
tonio's death was a major loss. When
he died this country lost one of its
most honest radicals and Puerto
Ricans one of their most outspoken

Adalberto L6pez teaches History at the
State University of New York, Binghamton.

The Planning

hal Series

Universidad de Puerto Rico
Apartado X, U.P.R., Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico 00931
Telefono: (809) 765-1924 Cable: UPRED

The Duke of Buen Conse o
Leopold Kohr
$4.35 pbk.
This book offers a unique approach to slum rehabilitation and other urban
planning problems. Dr. Kohr believes, with Schumacher, that the "Small is
Beautiful" concept is a valid one and writes with uncommon wit and sense
about reducing our solutions to present urban problems to a manageable size.
The author is a writer and professor of economics and political science. He has
taught at Rutgers, the University of Puerto Rico, the University of Swansea
(Wales), the University of Aberystwyth (Wales), and has written many books
and contributed articles to reviews and journals.

Everett Reimer, ed.
$3.50 pbk.
Dr. Reimer's major concerns are the evolving of a truly just and equal society
for all citizens and a rational system of education. He is keenly aware of the
precariousness of any long-range planning in a rapidly changing society but
hopes to both anticipate and possibly even influence the future with his alter-
nate models for social planning on a national level. The author has been a con-
sultant to the US Atomic Energy Commission, the Director of Persornel of the
US Office of Price Administration, the Director of the Washington Office of the
University of Syracuse, Secretary of the Committee on Human Resources of the
Commonwealth of Puerto Rico and an adviser on Social Development for the
Alliance for Progress. At present he is a consultant to the Department of Educa-
tion of the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico.

Charles A. Frankenhoff et al.
$4.00 pbk.
All aspects of environmental planning in the Caribbean are examined in this
book which is the result of a workshop held under the auspices of the Graduate
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mental planning as an essential component of development planning and policy
in the region. The authors are all professors or visiting professors at the Univer-
sity of Puerto Rico's Graduate School of Planning.


On the

Other Side

of the Ocean;

The work experiences
of early
Puerto Rican
Migrant Women

By Virginia Sanchez Korrol

The first Puerto Rican settlements of consequence in
New York did not materialize until the 1920's. Along
with other Hispanic immigrants, Puerto Ricans lived in
Manhattan's Chelsea section from 26th to 15th Street,
with another concentration around 116th Street. Other
communities flourished around the Navy Yard and Bor-
ough Hall sections of Brooklyn.
Women held a special place in these early settle-
ments, often providing links between the island and the
New York enclaves. Pivotal factors in retaining ethnicity
through the transmission of language, culture, customs
and traditions within familial settings, women also
functioned as part of an informal informational network.
The network acclimated incoming migrants to the intri-
cacies of the receiving society. Over the factory sewing
machines or on apartment house stoops, in the bodegas,
or in the privacy of their own homes, women exchanged
information on housing, jobs, folk remedies, the best
places to shop, their churches and their children's
schools. What has usually been classified as idle female
chatter provided the tools for handling the unfamiliar.
The role of the Puerto Rican woman was not the
stereo-typical Latin image, which relegated women to
second class status bound by children, church and home;
not male extensions seldom granted importance for
their own individuality; but active vibrant women deter-
mined to keep family life intact while shouldering their
share of financial burdens.
An analysis of the 1925 New York State Census
data for the 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th Assembly Dis-
tricts reveals much about Hispanic community life at
that time. Of 7,322 Hispanics, 48% were female. The
bulk of the female population was composed of house-
wives and children. 42% of the females living in that
area listed their occupation as housewife, 29% were
female children or students, the remaining 29% were
engaged in the labor force.
45% of the women and children had been in the
United States less than three years, 23% from four to
six years; 11% between seven and ten years and about
six percent indicated 11 or more years residency. The

majority of the female population, 79%, in the four sam-
ple districts were under 35. This picture of the woman
migrant of the 20's and 30's is of women who did not
work outside the home in significant numbers, who were
relatively young and had not been in New York for any
length of time.
The role of the Puerto Rican women in New York
communities during the 20's and 30's was still an exten-
sion of their role in their island society. Women were
expected to stay at home caring for husband and chil-
dren. While some participated in careers or outside acti-
vities, this was not the norm. Further analysis of the
census data suggests the term "housewife" was open to
interpretation when applied to Puerto Rican women. For
while they thought of themselves as women of the home,
mujeres de la casa, many engaged in activities designed
to supplement family incomes. Various home-centered
economic ventures emerged in response to their econ-
omic needs.

Piece Work
One of the major forms of home enterprises for women
was piece work which included making lampshades,
hats, artificial flowers and jewelry, embroidering, crochet-
ing and garment sewing. The homeworker secured work
from a local contractor for which she received payment
per completed piece. This process was the same as in
Puerto Rico, where women constituted close to 25% of
the work force by the 20's. There they had become es-
sential to this type of industry as early as 1910.
Nurtured in a tradition of quality needlecrafts for
generations, Puerto Rican women almost always posses-
sed skills in sewing and crocheting. These skills were
taught in Puerto Rican schools as early as the second
and third grades. One person I interviewed recalls at-
tending a sewing school operated by two women in the
neighborhood where she learned embroidery and lace
working before her tenth birthday. Another told me of
her experiences in the factories of Maria Luisa Arcelay,
a well-known factory owner and industrialist in Maya-

guez, emphasizing this episode in her life as the one
most responsible for her learning the trade and skills
she brought with her to the factories of New York:
"I worked with Maria Luisa Arcelay for ten years
before coming to New York. I was always a great help
to her since I could work in the factories or in the home,
doing piecework. This great and bountiful lady had such
confidence in me that I often made bank deposits for
her, walked her children to and from school, and would
oversee the premises if she was busy somewhere else.
"Our family was poor and my father was blind so
financial responsibilities rested on my shoulders, on my
mother's, sisters and brothers. Dona Maria Luisa Arcelay
always had work for me and she understood the impor-
tance of it for our family's survival. In the beginning
when I was still under age, do you know what she did?
She would hide me in the bathroom when the investiga-
tors came. My earnings would be listed as my mother's.
"When 1 was older, a married woman and a mother
myself, I never wanted for work because no sooner was
my child born then there was a bundle of piece work for
me to do. Do you know sometimes I made as much as
forty dollars a week? That was a lot of money for those
times. Everything I learned from this great lady made it
easier for me to work when we moved to New York."
Many Puerto Rican women did piece work because
there were young children who needed a mother's care:
others combined it with factory work especially during
the Depression. Others turned to it when faced with de-
pendent families, language barriers or simply the notion
that women belonged in the home. Pura Belpre, writer
and folklorist, recalls that Puerto Rican women sold their
needlework from door to door during the 30's. One
woman, Doia Maria, ran a household in el Barrio which
included four children, elderly grandparents and a hus-
band. Her major responsibilities, while the children were
little and her husband worked in the cigar industry, lay
in the home. There she made lampshades and other
piece work items for several years but as her children
matured, she began working in a local factory and even-
tually became a plant forelady.
Similarly, several years later, Dona Clara, a new-
comer from Cabo Rojo, believed her most important
function as a young mother was to raise her children,
remaining at home with them and being at home when
they returned from school. This decision motivated an
interest in piece work. She declared:
"I had four children to care for so I only worked at
home. In that instance, they gave out work to do in the
house so I hemmed handkerchiefs or sewed blouse col-
lars. I would get twenty dozen handkerchiefs a day for
me and my sister-in-law, who also had young children
at that time. They paid little- about thirteen cents a
dozen but the cost of living was also less than now. A
subway ride to pick up more piece work was only five
cents. Later on, when my girls were young, I made
blouse collars which was very easy to do on my machine
at home. The children would all help me by counting
the collars or turning them inside out. This type of work
paid more about twenty-five cents a dozen. You'd be
surprised how that extra money helped us to buy little
extras or helped to stretch my husband's earnings."
While salaries in general averaged about $21 a week

or less for Spanish surnamed individuals before the De-
pression, salaries for piece work remained very low
throughout the interwar years. During the thirties, fur-
thermore, most Puerto Ricans who were employed
earned wages below WPA and Home Relief Bureau levels
and women were usually paid less. Piece work was con-
sidered among the lowest paying occupations since the
contractors and subcontractors received a fairly large
share of the total proceeds leaving a relatively low income
for the home worker. Moreover, increasing restrictions
placed on piece work by the New York State Department
of Labor and the minimum wage laws of the period failed
to control the growing numbers of bootleg illegal business
ventures. Employers paid little heed to minimum wage
requirements especially since few Puerto Ricans knew or
complained about their rights.
Few women complained about either the work or
their low wages as home workers. Perhaps because they
failed to view their skills as valuable or because home
work offered many advantages not readily available for
those who worked outside the home, Puerto Rican piece
workers seldom saw themselves as victims of exploitation.
One interviewee emphasized the degree of independence
possible when one was able to work at one's own pace.
Dofa Julia remembers: "At that time (1937) 1 started to
hem handkerchiefs in the house while I awaited the birth
of my first baby, to earn extra money. My husband worked
for the WPA three weeks out of every month earning fif-
teen dollars a week. A Mexican lady had a small factory
on Eighth Avenue and either me or my husband would
go there to pick up packages of handkerchiefs once a
week. I would work a little in the morning and at night.
The rest of the time was devoted to housework, cooking
and cleaning and that sort of thing. Later on, my time
went to the baby."
Although believed to have declined considerably by
the 30's, home work continued well into the 50's accord-
ing to the women I interviewed. Piece work in Puerto
Rican households provided a setting for social interaction
similar to the North American custom of holding quilting
bees or sewing circles. Young and old, grandmothers,
aunts, mothers and children all participated in this work
process, transmitting needlecraft traditions from one
generation to the next in an almost exclusively feminine
world. Moreover, working together in the home stimulated
information exchanges among adults while allowing chil-
dren a glimpse into the adult work world. In spite of the
tediousness and continued low pay, piece work continued
to enjoy popularity among Puerto Rican women because
it enabled them to work in the home, supplement family
incomes, and train those who would eventually work out-

As Puerto Ricans entrenched themselves in the various
colonies throughout the city, other income-producing
opportunities emerged. Minding children and taking in
lodgers represented two such opportunities. Although
some women in New York could rely on the ready avail-
ability of grandmothers, aunts or co-madres to look after
their families while they worked, others were forced to
leave their children behind with relatives in Puerto Rico.
Childcare responsibilities in the early communities re-

mained whenever possible within familial configurations;
with the care of the young often delegated to unemploy-
ed household members. But the average Puerto Rican
household in New York City prior to WWII consisted of a
nuclear family unit, father, mother and children, plus
lodgers often males.
If as the census of 1925 suggests the bulk of the
Puerto Rican residences in South Central Harlem fell into
the categories of simple or nuclear family households
then the extended family which had traditionally allowed
women the freedom to work outside the home in Puerto
Rico had become less significant in New York. The 1925
census reveals that nuclear or simple families and simple
families with lodgers outnumbered extended families,
those with lodgers and multi-family dwellings during the
20's and 30's. Of the 7,332 Hispanics residing in the four
Assembly Districts cited, 31% lived in households classi-
fied as "simple families with lodgers;" 26% were classified
as residents in nuclear family households; 15% fit into
the "extended families with lodgers" category; and 14%
resided in "extended family households."
In the relative absence of an extended or multi-family
situation coupled with limited bilingual-bicultural daycare
institutions another system for reliable childcare became
essential for Puerto Ricans. Childcare tasks previously
undertaken by relatives defaulted to friends and acquaint-
ances who provided the services in exchange for a fee. A
grass-roots system of daycare was born from the merger
of working mothers who could ill afford to lose job se-
curity or union benefits and women who remained at
home. The arrangement basically consisted of bring-
ing the child, food and additional clothing to the mother-
substitute and collecting the child after work. Women
who opened their home to care for children increased
their family earnings.
Although these arrangements fulfilled neither legal
nor licensing regulations, the system boasted several ad-
vantages not found in established childcare institutions.
In the first place, children were often cared for in familiar
neighborhood surroundings which especially benefitted
the school-age youngster who could attend class with his
neighborhood companions. Secondly, childcare operated
on mutual trust and agreement between the adults in-
volved. Very often this situation allowed for more flexibil-
ity than could be found in an institutionalized setting. If,
for example, the parents) worked overtime or on the
weekends, suitable arrangements beneficial to both par-
ties were easily negotiated. Finally, and perhaps most im-
portant, the youngster was cared for within a natural fam-
ily setting with children of different ages. This not only
encouraged the child to interact in a setting where his
language, customs, traditions and parental family values
were reinforced but, also fostered learning from one an-
other among the children.
By 1948, a report issued by the Welfare Council of
New York City deplored the situation where Puerto Rican
children were being placed in unlicensed homes for care
but they neglected to suggest alternative measures other
then requesting more daycare centers with bilingual per-
sonnel. The report claimed that multitudes of working
Puerto Rican mothers meant young children were often
denied adequate care. While many youngsters received
care in nursery schools, day nurseries and settlement
houses, these centers, often viewed as impersonal alien

institutions by Puerto Ricans, could not accommodate all
the children in need of such services. The lack of adequate
bilingual, bicultural institutions which could deliver serv-
ices without appearing intimidating further motivatedthe
placement of Spanish-speaking children in neighborhood
During the early periods of the 20's and 30's women
paid two or three dollars weekly per child for daycare but
by 1948, the Welfare Council speculated fees paid in pri-
vate homes ranged between ten and 12 dollars a week,
adding additional costs to an already cumbersome finan-
cial burden. Almost all of the women I interviewed had
placed their children in either the homes of friends or rel-
atives at some time throughout their working lives, and
this system continued to offer more advantages than es-
tablished institutions. One woman who did use a public
nursery for her child found the institution offered little
flexibility. She combined the services with taking the child
to her sister's home for part of the day.
Several women shared the experience of being on
both sides of the system. Dona Julia's daughter was cared
for by her aunt but after Julia's other child was born, she
sometimes took care of other women's children. Dofia
Celina came to New York on the eve of WWII with her in-
fant daughter whom she left in her sister's care while she
worked in a local factory. Five years later, the births of a
son and daughter curtailed outside employment but per-
mitted Dofa Celina the opportunity to mind neighbor-
hood children. This practice continued for 35 years. With-
out a husband and on public assistance during hard times,
the woman nevertheless managed to raise her own three
children on the unpredictable earnings from piece work,
selling her own handicrafts and caring for other people's
children. Throughout the years the family prospered mo-
derately and the income for her various enterprises made
possible a long-awaited move to a more stable neighbor-
hood with better schools. Today, at 65, Dofa Celina cares
for her grandchildren, devotes vast energies to Hispanic
community projects and the familiar sign "se cuidan
nifios" ("children cared for"), still adorns her front window
from time to time.

A grass-roots system of daycare was
born from the merger of working
mothers who could ill afford to lose job
security or union benefits and women
who remained at home.

Among the cultural institutions brought by Puerto
Ricans to the New York settlements were those of ritual
kinship ("compadrazgo") and informal adoption the
rearing of hijos de crianza. Within these significant insti-
tutions in the family system, members of a nuclear fam-
ily developed close bonds with non-kin individuals and
children were easily and frequently transferred from one
family to another, often in attempts to relieve financial
burdens. These customs, perhaps as essential in the in-
fant New York communities as in Puerto Rico, influenced
or were influenced by the practice of childcare as it existed
in the early settlements. Dona Eliza, for example, com-

mented to me about the close relationships she developed
from minding children. She arrived in New York in 1930,
and spent most of her 30 year residency caring for chil-
dren. Genuinely fond of them, her home was almost al-
ways equipped with the paraphernalia of her trade which
included extra cribs, highchairs or playpens. As a result
of her experiences close to 20 youngsters were placed in
her home, six of whom became her godchildren. Doina
Eliza remembers her home as a haven for unfortunate
children and in two extreme cases, she became the adop-
tive parent of hijos de crianza.
She recalls one incident which perhaps sums up the
degree of responsibility inherent in the business of child-
care as it developed among the New York Puerto Ricans:
"Jos6 Luis was only two years old when he came to
live with us I remember because my own children were
seven and two at the time. We lived in a four room apart-
ment in the South Bronx; my husband had a good job
and he never objected to my bringing in extra children to
mind during the week. From the beginning Joselito was
different. He and my little girl, Titi made fast friends right
away. At first, I took care of him and his brother on a
weekly basis from nine until about six in the evening. His
mother, Maria, was forced to work as she was their only
support. As time went by life became harder for Maria.
She was in and out of jobs and very depressed about her
life. I found myself keeping the boys longer and longer
without pay. The older boy did not like to be left with me
when his mother went to work but the little one, Joselito
thought that I was his mother and he soon started to call
me Mami just like my two girls did.
"Once, on a snowy winter night, my brother-in-law
who worked the night shift found the boys scantily dressed
hanging around the Jackson Avenue El station at 2 A.M.
He recognized them and brought them to my house. That
night they stayed with us and the next morning I told
Maria a thing or two for leaving the children alone. She
pleaded with me to keep the little one while she and her
other son went away for a while. I agreed. I don't know

where she went but from time to time I'd get a letter and
some money for Joselito. I raised him as my own for more
than a year. When she returned for him, my heart broke.
Of all the children I've taken care of, he was my first and
very favorite and I vowed never to get so attached again."

As childcare provided supplementary incomes and
strengthened bonds among New York Puerto Ricans
so did taking in lodgers. Census enumerations often
designated Puerto Rican women as heads of households
composed primarily of lodgers. Within the lodger group
many migrants sought accommodations in the homes of
friends, relatives or hometown acquaintances, but married
couples or family units also boarded with one another.
Lodgers often came from the same hometown as the head
of the household. Through friends and relatives migrants
quickly discovered where they could obtain lodgings,
often before coming to New York. The informational net-
work along with the Latin tradition of hospitality ex-
pressed in the saying, mi casa es su casa ("my home is
your home"), contributed to many migrants' successful
quests for housing. In some cases multi-family or ex-
tended family dwellings were classified as households
with lodgers since the census takers listed but one house-
hold head. In reality, several families shared living space
and expenses equally. Dona Julia, for instance, recalls
sharing an apartment with her husband, baby and her
brother and his family during the Depression:

"We never knew when we left for school
in the morning if our bedrooms would
still be ours in the evening. Sleeping
arrangements were in constant flux
depending on how many people lived
with us at any given time."

Almost without exception the women I interviewed
who migrated from Puerto Rico lived in New York resi-
dences as lodgers while those who were born in New York
related tales of woe regarding the not infrequent unan-
nounced arrival of some relative or hometown acquain-
tance. One woman stated, "We never knew when we left
for school in the morning if our bedrooms would still be
ours in the evening. Sleeping arrangements were in con-
stant flux depending on how many people lived with us
at any given time." Dona Celia evoked a scene of child-
hood memories worth noting:
"I remember as if it were yesterday. We lived on the
first floor of a small apartment in the Bronx. We shared
five rooms among the four of us -my parents and my
younger sister, and myself because a boarder, who was
my father's cousin, Don Antonio, had just moved out after
living with us for a number of years. That summer I was
ten years old, starting to feel quite the young lady. My
mother had recently decorated Don Antonio's old room
for me in shades of pale blue. It was the tiniest room in
the apartment but it was perfect for me.

"I was the one to answer the bell that September af-
ternoon. From our apartment's front door you could see
directly into the downstairs vestibule with its double row
of bright metal mailboxes on both sides. The sun shone
brightly into the area but did not obscure the couple stand-
ing there and the baby held in its mother's arms. They
were an uncle I had never met, his wife, little more than a
child herself, and their infant son. They had arrived with-
out warning from Puerto Rico on the assumption that if
there was room for one, there was always room for one
more. My heart sank as I remembered my father's favorite
value you never turn away relatives, no matter how lit-
tle you have for yourself. I knew instinctively they would
be well received and my room with the matching blue
bedspread and curtains would be given to them for as
long as they needed it."
Many women recalled meeting their future husbands
as lodgers. Others became extremely attached to the
friends they made in shared households continuing these
relationships into the present, often through ritual kinship
systems. As early as 1925, 24% of Spanish surnamed in-
habitants of South Central Harlem were classified as
lodgers. Of these, males outnumbered females almost
two to one. The majority of this population (about 34%)
were in the 15 to 25 age group with a significant percent-
age, 26% grouped into the 26 through 35 age bracket.
The lodger group, therefore, was in its most productive
work years, often single, and represented the future house-
hold heads of the Puerto Rican communities. One inter-
viewee, Dofa Rosa, was perhaps typical of most of the
women lodgers of the period. She commented:
"I came to live in my step-sister's house in 1926,
when I was about 20 years old. Quite a few of my cousins
were already there with wives and children all living in
my step-sister's house on 116th Street and Park Avenue.
The household consisted of about fifteen people and each
suitable bedroom was assigned to several of us. Most of
us worked except for my step-sister who had youngsters
and her sister who did all the cooking and cleaning for all
of us. I started to work right away but never got use to the
winter darkness of the city. I earned about fifteen dollars
weekly and paid six or seven dollars for my room out of
that even though I hardly ever ate at the house. On my
days off, I'd go visit other relatives in the city and usually
ate with them. I suppose now that I look back, that was an
awful lot of money to pay for just a room but I was young
with little responsibility, and didn't know the value of

"From this house I moved in with friends on 114th
Street. At that time there were few Hispanics in this area
(1930's). There was only one store which sold Hispanic
articles. It was called Sefia and located on 113th Street
and Fifth Avenue. As I recall there were few of us but we
all lived in shared households until we married and set up
our own homes. Then it was our turn to take in lodgers."
It was not unusual for women migrants to make the
ocean crossing alone since they were met, for the most
part, by relatives who had either invited them to come or
were prepared to assume responsibility for them once they
Dona Perfecta, an early settler whose home was con-
sidered a New York stepping stone by her brothers and sis-
ters, believed the functions of lodgers was very important
to the survival of the early communities. In her opinion,
they were valuable to the continuity of various commu-
nities because they kept open the networks of communi-
cation between the island and the New York enclaves.
They also contributed to the support of the household en-
abling women in particular, who carried the burden of pro-
viding room and board, to add to the family's income.
Through ritual kinship, lodgers expanded the familial sys-
tem at a time when the Puerto Rican communities were at
their most vulnerable both in size and in perpetuating their
values and traditions.
Along with a growing family, lodgers constituted an
important aspect of Dofa Perfecta's home structure in
New York City. Sometimes they were friends from her
hometown but more often they were siblings intent on
carving a niche for themselves in the unfamiliar city. As
soon as they were able, they contributed to the household
finances, eventually leaving to form households of their

Through ritual kinship, lodgers expanded
the familial system at a time when the
Puerto Rican communities were at their
most vulnerable both in size and in per-
petuating their values and traditions.

The census records for East and South Central Har-
lem households convey a sense of community and mutual
support among the many ethnic groups inhabiting these
areas since Puerto Ricans were found living as lodgers in
European or South American Homes, while the latter held
similar positions in Puerto Rican homes. However, after
the 30's when large numbers of Puerto Ricans resided in
the city, ethnic mixtures within households appear to di-

Although most Puerto Rican women wage earners worked
in their homes, close to 25% of the New York City popula-
tion participated in the labor force as cigarmakers and do-
mestics; typists and stenographers; in the needletrades in-
dustries as operators and unskilled workers; in the laun-
dries or restaurants and in the fields as migrant workers.

The first reports of female factory or field workers ap-
peared in newspapers or government documents around
the turn of the century. Puerto Rican women were part and
parcel of the migrant labor force contracted to work in
various parts of the hemisphere, establishing in the pro-
cess, communities in, which cultural traditions and institu-
tions resembled closely those in their native land.

"If you looked Irish or German it didn't
matter how limited your English was.
Most jobs were on assembly lines and it
didn't take much talking to learn the

The decade of the 20's witnessed an increase in the
numbers of Puerto Rican women working in New York fac-
tories. Skilled labor predominated in at least two indus-
tries traditionally associated with Puerto Ricans the
needletrades and the cigar makers. Women were well rep-
resented in the cigar making industry, not only among
skilled and unskilled workers but as readers in many of the
New York factories.
About the same period Spanish language journals
and newspapers vigorously advertised for both skilled and
unskilled garment workers in their classified sections.
Want ads frequently called for sewing machine operators,
workers in embroidery, in crocheting and lace, as piece
workers in the home or in the factory. Advertising at-
tracted the attention of job seeking women. The following,
e.g., appeared in 1923: "se necesitan mujeres que sepan
manejar miquinas de coser; 44 horas a la semana;
$20.00; bordaderas, operarias en casa, crochet y abalo-
By mid-decade more women were employed in the
production end of private industry than in any other sec-
tor. In the four Assembly Districts of South Central Har-
lem, 17% were involved in factory work of some sort, as
operatives, dressmakers or seamstresses. 4.5% labored in
services including laundries or restaurants while 3.4%
worked in jobs requiring an exchange of money such as
bookkeeping, sales or as cashiers. Less than 1% super-
vised or owned their own businesses and a mere handful
were involved in government work such as the post office
or city agencies.
Participation in the labor force presented difficulties
for many Puerto Rican women workers. Even if one were a
highly skilled seamstress an ability to manipulate city
travel and a command of the English language were es-
sential. Some women relied on friends or relatives to se-
cure their first employment but others developed a know-
ledge of English as spoken in New York, based on English
language skills taught in Puerto Rican schools. This back-
ground served as the first step towards successful job op-
portunities. Dofia Petra, recalled how language played an
important part in her early experiences in New York City:
"At first, I enrolled in high school to learn English but
before graduating, I was forced to get a job. School was
not difficult for me because as you know in Puerto Rico we
had been taught in English and in Spanish, so I could un-
derstand a great deal when I came here. The greatest dif-

ference was in pronunciation because Americans usually
slur their words. When I arrived there were pathetically few
Hispanics living in New York City. An Italian womanwhom
I had met in Puerto Rico but who was now in New York got
me my first job. I became a packer in a candy factory and I
soon realized I was the only Puerto Rican employee there.
Can you imagine what a lonely feeling; to have people
speak to you and not to understand and not be able to
communicate in everyday situations? From that time I
purposely set out to dominate the language. Within a
short time I was able to defend myself in English and then
it was I who took the newcomers all over the city in search
of jobs, houses or whatever."
Some women minimized language difficulties em-
phasizing appearance as the greatest detriment to gainful
employment. "If you looked Irish or German," exclaimed
one respondent, "it didn't matter how limited your English
was. Most jobs were on assembly lines and it didn't take
much talking to learn the procedure." Dofa Rosa derived
much of her New York work experience from the factories.
Her account furthermore, suggested the pattern followed
in seeking employment usually consisted of being taken
to the job by a fellow lodger or relative. Some migrants re-
vealed there were jobs awaiting them when they disem-
barked at Brooklyn or Manhattan piers. Others conceded
they waited at least a week before working.
"My first job in 1926, was at a candy factory. Luis, a
young man who lodged in my step-sister's house took me
to the factory. It was located on Eleventh Street and Ninth



from FIU's International Affairs Center

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The School of Education continues its pro-
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The School of Technology continues its coop-
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Florida International University
Tamiami Trail
Miami, Florida 33199
(305) 552-2846



Avenue. I remember I had to ride two trolleys to get there
from where I lived. This is the kind of work I did. Do you
know what Seven-Elevens were? Have you ever heard
them mentioned before? This was a confection made out
of peanuts with a caramel or sugar center and I would take
this piece of candy, mold it in my hand, soak it in syrup
then roll it in nuts again. Then we would weigh the pieces
by hand. If it felt about right we would package it; if not,
we'd take a little off the end. I don't think that candy exists

Migration and work did not produce
major changes in their roles within
Puerto Rican society, for the image of
dutiful wives, loving mothers and
respectful sisters and daughters
remained paramount to their way of

"After that I went to work in Washington not Wash-
ington, D.C. but Washington Street in Brooklyn. What I
did there was make parts for luggage or suitcases. It was
difficult in the beginning to find jobs you really liked. We
worked in that place for the money. Forty-four hours a
week to earn six, seven or eight dollars. There were no
unions to protect us and no taxes. And sometimes, we
worked forty-eight hours a week for the same pay. After I
became more skilled, I earned about thirteen dollars a
week. Eventually I went to work in costura, needle-
trades, but that was after I married in the thirties."
Some interviewees, however, felt the period of the
30's and especially the 40's offered greater diversity in the
kind of work available to women, although mainly within
the blue-collar occupations. In 1936, Dona Mary worked
as a seamstress and later in a drapery factory for $10 a
week. After her marriage and the births of her children,
Doha Mary worked the evening shift in a defense plant,
then at home caring for foster children and finally, before
retirement, as a seamstress again.
In 1930, the Department of Labor of Puerto Rico es-
tablished an employment service in response to the grow-
ing numbers of migrants living in New York City. This
agency functioned as laison between the migrant commu-
nities and the larger non-Hispanic society. Located in the
midst of the Hispanic community on 116th Street in Man-
hattan, about 3,600 women obtained job placements
through this agency over a six year period. 42% were em-
ployed as domestics while needle workers, hand sewers
and factory workers comprised an almost equal percent-
age. Of all the Puerto Rican women workers who applied
to this agency, roughly 80% found work as operatives or
in domestic services.
As the Puerto Rican communities increased in num-
bers and spread throughout the New York boroughs dur-
ing the 30's and 40's most women continued to work in
factory blue-collar jobs and in their homes. Many had to
quit school to work during difficult times. Doha Adela, for
example, came to New York when she was only five years
of age, received her education in the city, but quit school

at 16 to work in a sausage factory. Only a small group
wrested a foothold in white collar occupations. Clerical
work, teaching, social work and small businesses offered
alternatives to the few women trained in New York or
Puerto Rican schools.
While working in factories constituted the most com-
mon work experience among the women of the early mi-
grations, some managed to secure positions as secretaries
or stenographers capitalizing on their bilingual abilities
and previous clerical experiences. One migrant, Doha Ho-
norina came to live in the comfortable home of herbrother
and sister in Brooklyn during the 20's. Confident in her
clerical skills acquired through several years of office work
in Puerto Rico, Doha Honorina set out within a few days of
her arrival to find work as a bilingual secretary. This deci-
sion presented difficulties for Doha Honorina's middle-
class family. They considered career women somewhat
unnecessary; especially career women who worked be-
cause they wanted to rather than because of necessity.
"One day I saw an ad in the newspaper for a bilingual
secretary/stenographer. I applied for the position but with-
held this information from my sister and brother. The of-
fice was located across from City Hall. The trolley cars
used to pass City Hall from Brooklyn so I had no trouble
finding the office building and the company which had
placed the ad. When I arrived, they gave me an interview
and dictation in both Spanish and English and asked me
to translate them. 1 got the position without any difficulty
and that's how I started my work career in New York. My
sister, however, was frantic not knowing where I was. She
thought I had gone for a walk and was lost roaming the
streets of Brooklyn. In the afternoon during my lunch
break (I started to work that very day), I telephoned her
and told her I was working. Well, they were really dis-
pleased because they didn't want me to work. But I stayed
there two and a half years until I got married. What was in-
teresting about this place was that although it was a bilin-
gual concern, we always spoke in English."
Doha Honorina was extraordinary. She studied at
Erasmus Hall High School at night while she continued to
work during the day, could speak five languages fluently
and eventually earned a degree in liberal arts.
Regardless of the type of occupation in which Puerto
Rican women participated the family remained uppermost
in their minds and work was often a necessity in order to
maintain family unity. Women accepted the world of work
as a natural extension of their home and family life. Migra-
tion and work did not produce major changes in their roles
within Puerto Rican society, for the image of dutiful wives,
loving mothers and respectful sisters and daughters re-
mained paramount to their way of thinking. Neither did
changes occur in the work world to which they were com-
mitted since they neither demanded nor were given the
opportunity to control strategic resources or educational
facilities. Only a handful became factory foreladies or
union representatives and fewer owned their own estab-
lishments or factories. In most fields of endeavor decision-
making remained male-dominated and organizations re-
mained male-oriented. Yet subtle messages were filtering
down to younger generations. Women worked; women
were mothers and wives; women were involved.

Virginia Sanchez Korrol studies Latin American History at the
State University of New York, Stony Brook.

Que poco a poco se le ha ido arruinando. Es la inevitable influencia del
ingles. Las conversaciones en ingles, la prensa en singles, la television
en ingles. Es natural que su espafiol se empobrezca.


es un m6todo organizado en
5 vollmenes de
autoaprendizaje, que lo
conduce de una manera
eficaz al dominio practice
del espafol.

* La comunicaci6n escrita
* Ortografia modern
* La comunicaci6n oral
* Vocabulario culto
* Vocabulario superior


RO. Box 343721
Coral Gables
Florida 33134

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DIREC, INC. Il Incluyo cneque o giro postal
P.O Box 343721 CR
Coral Gables -i Carguese la caniidad a mi larjeta:
T Florida 33134
Llene s6lo una de las dos.
Cia. No Ca. No. -

Direccion Apt. Ciudad
Estado -Zip Code
L_. ---- -----






-0 -
By Barry B. Levine
The United States is today clearly multi-ethnic, that is, it
is composed of groups of people who have claims to cer-
tain distinctions and origins over against other groups.
This is so despite the fact that the US bases its legal, polit-
ical and economic institutions on a principle of ethnic
neutrality. By ethnic neutrality we mean those phenomena
that are supposedly not to be affected by one's ethnic af-
filiation. The legal system supposedly operates under a
principle of individual equality before the law; political
representation theoretically operates on the basis of one
man, one vote; and the economic commonwealth seem-
ingly is the result of a series of discrete decisions of indi-
vidual buyers and sellers.
However, within modern multi-ethnic states, certain

Michael Upright photography

institutions lend themselves to ethnic diversity, hypothe-
tically without violating the principle of ethnic neutrality.
These exceptions are allowed under the assumption that
they are not or are no longer pan-societal, that they
no longer affect everybody, that they are now private
matters. Thus, certain religious practices, family styles,
forms of sociability, etc., are allowed to be ethnicallycon-
ditioned, i.e., to be affected by virtue of one's ethnic af-
I do not want to give the impression that the principle
of ethnic neutrality rules supreme. Indeed, even in those
institutions in which the procedures and functions are
taken to be ethnically neutral the so called public insti-
tutions we find systematically and frequently, covertly

and overtly, ethnically conditioned deviations from that
principle. Examples of such deviations include ethnically
biased treatment before the law, ethnic monopolization
of certain economic functions, and ethnic political patron-
age in exchange for ethnic political support.
No Offense
This principle of ethnic neutrality in large part is a legacy
of the English emphasis on individualism. But it is also a
product of pluralism and represents a kind of prearranged
though fragile peace-accord between competing groups
that would otherwise be threatening to each other. In a
book just published by John Murray Cuddihy (No Offense:
Civil Religion And Protestant Taste), the author argues
that in a religiously pluralistic society, a respect had to
develop within each religion for the presence of the other
religions: they "were to be respected, not merely tolerated
until they disappeared or could be converted." What de-
veloped was "a religion of civility," an awareness "of our
religious appearances to others," a "social choreography
of tolerance."
Cuddihy makes a similar argument with respect to
competing political ideologies: "The ethos of American
civil politics tames European political ideologies in the
same way as civil religion tames the European religious
ideologies." His book is aptly titled, therefore, No Offense.
In America there is great pressure not to be offensive.
What this means is not simply self-control, but self-cen-
sorship, a tempering of one's ways.
This "fragile contract to be civil to one another"
works because modern individuals feel it within them-
selves. This shared external contract governs behavior
because the individual "somehow reconciles traditional
truth claims with the modernist etiquette of civility." A
deal is made and "with the advent of civility, everything
becomes surface. As in decorum, as in art, the appearance
is the reality."
In a previous book, The Ordeal of Civility; Freud,
Marx, Levi Strauss and The Jewish Struggle with Mo-
dernity, Cuddihy traces the idea of civility to the ancient
idea of charity, the feudal idea of chivalry, the 17th/18th
century idea of courtesy, and the contemporary idea of
civility. Civility essentially means suppressing what so-
ciologists call "communal" feelings in favor of "societal"
Cuddihy considers traditional Jewry, for example, to
be passionate, vulgar and coarse, embodying an heroic
will in an otherwise emotionally denuded modernity. Ac-
cording to Cuddihy, modernization puts a tremendous
strain on "ethnics." As they become modern they must
learn new ways and suppress old ones: they must give up
their coarseness for a new civility, their love for a new
politeness. The Jews who had come from an Eastern Eu-
ropean heimishe vulgarity had to learn to pass in the re-
fined and mannered post-Protestant ethicsecular society
of the West. They were pressured to give up their shtetl
warmth, in favor of "citizenship, decourous public behav-
ior, and the general split between private beliefs and the
public presentation of self." Those who sought to "pass
into and in modern society felt impelled to cover up their
irradicable Yiddishkeit."
Ethnic neutrality and ethnic muffling are the practices
that greet all new immigrant groups to the United States.
To the extent that they view themselves as temporary

visitors they do not have to be concerned with the long
term effects of these practices. However, to the extent that
they become permanent additions to the society the con-
sequences of these pressures alter their cultural constitu-
tion. As Antonio Jorge has put it, if you stay you are ex-
pected to de-collectivize yourself, become individualized,
get secularized, and make your cultural characteristics a
private matter.
Settlement in the US necessarily means being sub-
jected to the forces of Americanization. But this practice
is not a minting process in which everybody comes out
the same. Americanization does not produce Americans.
Americanization is not so much a process as it is a pres-
sure a pressure against which one has many possibili-
ties to react. Americanization at its best produces
hyphenated Americans: Italian-Americans, Chinese-Amer-
icans, etc.; and even then, it does so erratically.
f AW EMM g, -.

M. Upright
Latin Florida
For the past twenty years, South Florida has been ex-
periencing an in-migration of massive proportions. In
1950, Dade County had slightly less than 500,000 people,
4% were Latin; in 1960, Dade County had 935,000 peo-
ple, 5-1/2% were Latin; in 1970, Dade had 1,300,000
people, 24% were Latin and the estimate today(by Richard
Tobin) is that of the 1,600,000 Dade Countians, 35% are
Latin. Moreover, in several areas of the county, such as
the cities of Miami and Hialeah, the percentages of Latins
are much higher (56% and 65%, respectively). The num-
ber of Latins in Dade County can be expected to continue
to rise, though not at the previous rate of acceleration.
Questions asked of previous migrations are naturally
raised in this instance too. In terms of Latin ethnicity, for
example, the question is often asked as to the future of

Latin Florida after the practice of Americanization takes
hold? What will happen when Miami's Cubans start to look
at themselves through Anglo eyes? How will Latins take
into account complaints such as the one by the woman
who recently wrote a letter-to-the-editor of the Miami
Herald in which she asserted: "I tried to feel welcome, but
all around me was the loud, ear-piercing Spanish tongue
that grates on the Anglo-ear and threatens rudeness as it
violates the acceptable pitch of conversation?" Will Latins
worry about any such real or imagined claims of offensive-
This migration which originally owes its impetus to
the political exodus from Castro's Cuba, and which for
many was a temporary, if prolonged, migration has chang-
ed in character. On the one hand, the estimated propor-
tion by Tobin of non-Cubans has increased from 12% in
1970 to 20% in 1978. On the other hand, the percentage

M. Upright
of Cuban heads of household who have become citizens
has gone from 25% in 1970, to 57% in 1978. These fig-
ures are more pronounced when age is taken into account:
the younger the respondent, the greater the possibility he
is, or intends to become, a citizen. Moreover, the younger
the respondent, the less willing he is to indicate that he
would return to Cuba should Castro be overthrown. Simi-
larly, the longer he has lived in the US, the less willing he
is to return. Thus, there is overwhelming evidence that
Dade's Latins are here indefinitely.
If you examine the cultural life of Latin Florida you
find a rich world in Spanish: radio, television, newspapers,
magazines, theatre, movies; in schools, churches, busi-
nesses and other institutions, the Spanish language flows
freely and with vigor. Spanish Florida reminds one of Yid-
dish New York. But Yiddish New York has all but disap-

The new culture, "incorporates some of
the most attractive elements of the
Cuban experiences, such as unrestricted
emotionality, feelings of active
community involvement, and easy and
unabashed friendship. It is a culture
which refuses to lose its Hispanic identity
but feels comfortable dealing with
American problems."

peared. Is the same thing to happen to Latin Florida also?
Indeed, there are some (both Anglos and Cubans)
who would not be upset if Latin Florida were to disappear.
As the migration built up and became permanent it has
passed what Jan Luytjes has called a tolerance level. Anglo
Miamians became apprehensive. A small but steady
exodus north to Broward County began and hostility to-
ward Latins was articulated. All this happened at precisely
the moment when Miami's Cubans began changing their
self-image from that of guests in a friend's house to mem-
bers of the household, a change which meant relinquish-
ing plans to return to a "liberated" Cuba. All previous mi-
grations have produced a number of "100% Americans"
- to adopt such a role is to reduce the consequences of
giving up so much while being received so negatively.
What would such totally converted Latins want with a
Spanish Florida anyway?
Similarly, among many younger Latins who suffer no
language-barrier to successful competition in English-
speaking institutions, there is frequently the feeling that
maybe the world of their fathers might strike the Anglos
as "offensive." Since they do not need a world in Spanish
to succeed, and since to uphold a Latin world might re-
flect negatively on them in the eyes of their American
friends, will they willingly inherit and develop Latin Florida?
A recent survey by The Miami Herald demonstrated
dramatic differences in attitudes between younger and
older Cubans in Dade County. According to the survey,
younger Cubans (ages 16-29) did not feel that the schools
should make everyone bi-lingual (57% to 42%); whereas
every other age group felt it should (by at least 2.5 to 1).
In other words, the younger Cubans didn't need to have
bi-lingual Anglos in order to be able to get along with
them. Younger Cubans (ages 16-29) felt that non-Latins
were as concerned about what their teenage children are
doing outside the home as Cuban parents were (51% to
35%); whereas older age groups felt the reverse. In other
words, younger Cubans didn't see their families as that
different from Anglo families. Younger Cubans (ages 16-
29) preferred English-language to Spanish-language radio
by 3 to 1; whereas older groups preferred Spanish-lan-
guage radio by 2 to 1 (ages 30-44), 3 to 1 (ages 45-59),
and 8 to 1 (ages 60 plus). Political attitudes favoring dip-
lomatic and trade relations with Cuba also differed be-
tween the younger and older respondents. Do these and
other surveys suggest that younger Cubans are on a one
way road to becoming deracinated?
Psychologist Fernando Gonzalez Regiosa has arti-

culated three characterological types that he sees emerg-
ing out of the bi-cultural condition Dade's Latins find
themselves in: those of the "frozen culture;" those of the
"no culture;" and those of the "new culture." The "frozen
culture" is one of rigid non-adaptation, an inability to
accept, or total rejection of all things not Cuban. This
style, Gonzalez Regiosa asserts, is predominantly found
among older Cubans and is unrealistic but functional to
the larger community as it represents the community's
cultural past.
The "no culture" is composed of what has above been
referred to as "100% Americans" the total converts -
in combination with those who have accepted the etiquette
of civility in an Anglo world they believe will only accept
them so long as they prevent their potentially offensive
ethnic background from rearing its threatening head.
The new culture, that of Cuban-Americans, is an
amalgam and a creative adaptation that results from the
conflict between the world of the frozen culture and the
world of the Anglos. Long hair for males and chaperoning
for females are obvious issues of conflict. These people,
asserts Gonzalez, "are beginning to seek a self definition
of their culture and politics on the basis of an ethnic iden-
tity. Among them a new culture is beginning to develop.
It is a culture that does not owe allegiance to the past
which they did not know. It incorporates some of the most
attractive elements of the Cuban experiences, such as un-
restricted emotionality, feelings of active community in-
volvement, and easy and unabashed friendship. It is a cul-
ture which refuses to lose its Hispanic identity but feels
comfortable dealing with American problems." Note that
the Cuban Americans he refers to have not simply con-
verted but have been willing to risk adoption of values
that to others would be to court danger. After all, as An-
tonio Jorge argues, Americans prefer restraint to sponta-
neity, and view emotionalism as a sign of primitivity. Yet,
Cuban Americans remain both spontaneous and emo-
tionally articulate.
There is evidence to suggest that these young adults
of the new culture who appear more "Cuban" than those
of a younger age group are not so simply as a result of
their residual training but rather because of a return to
basics. Julio Avello has suggested that "at about age 25-
26, there is a return to Latin values as expressed in lan-
guage and culture. Latins at this age find their peer group
changes; they return to their family and to friends who are
now married." (The significance of marriage is that it in-
troduces the concern of what one is going to teach one's
children- ethnicity, like religion, has as much of an effect
on the one doing the teaching as on the one being taught.)

Resisting Americanization
This new culture is but the latest to be articulated in the
US. The United States, as argued above, is multi-ethnic, a
corporation of hyphenated Americans. The pressure to
Americanize has never been efficient not before, not
now. The Cuban case is no different.
Classically, the way to resist the pressure to Amer-
icanize has been to use one's private life to maintain links
to one's past; one expressed one's ethnicity in one's reli-
gion, with one's family and friends. These areas of life are
open for ethnic development for Miami's Latins. More
important, however, there are areas of public life in which
ethnic development will take place. While it seems remote

that a Cuban or Latin political party might develop in the
United States, quasi-political pressure groups supporting
such things as affirmative action have developed. But
though these groups may challenge the etiquette of civil-
ity, they are not the main public institutions for Latin in-
volvement in Miami those areas are mostly economic.
Clearly, Miami is becoming the important business
center for US-Latin American trade, commerce, banking,
and so on. Spanish language and Latin styles thus function
in these areas not as stigmas but as skills that are re-
warded and translatable into pride. The practice of public
life in the language and style of one's homeland is a real
possibility for Latin Dade County, a possibility previous
migrations enjoyed typically only within parochial ethnic
economies. Spanish makes sense not only for the working
class construction worker in Dade County, but for the
upper middle class importer/exporter as well.

The practice of public life in the language
and style of one's homeland is a real
possibility for Latin Dade County, a
possibility previous migrations enjoyed
typically only within parochial ethnic

There are additional characteristics of the Latin mi-
gration that facilitate and promote Hispanic identifica-
tions. Among them are the following:
1) The Latin migration to South Florida is a late migra-
tion whose actors have the advantage of being able
to take into account previous migrations they can
worry about the melting pot.
2) The Latin migration was to an area free from com-
petition from other immigrants, as compared with,
e.g., the diverse groups that went to New York City.
3) Future waves of Latins can be expected to migrate
to Miami and thus reinforce and "replenish" Spanish
4) While Latins may migrate to the US, they still have
ready access to their mother countries Puerto
Rico, South and Central America, and now Cuba,
will become progressively less difficult to make pil-
grimages to for Dade's Latins than for previous ethnic
5) Miami is increasingly becoming South America's
social plaza, the place to pasear, the place to be
seen. Its cosmopolitan social life (clubs, restaurants,
media, entertainment) attracts visitors, while pur-
chases of its luxury condominiums or on a lesser
scale, visits to its hotels confer social status back
home, a point those here in Miami are well aware of.
The net result of these pressures and counter-pressures is
that Dade County's Latin residents are undergoing chang-
es in their cultural makeup. But the changes are a result
not simply of pressures to assimilate but also of counter-
pressures to differentiate. No longer like their fathers,
Dade's Latins will not be quite like their neighbors either.
Barry B. Levine edits Caribbean Review and teaches Sociology at
Florida International University. His book, Benjy Lopez: The System
is Upstairs, will be published by Basic Books in the fall.

A Dominican

Harvest of Shame
By Marcy Fink

Sugar was introduced in the
Dominican Republic by colonists in the
1600's. Ever since, most of the sugar
cane production in the Dominican
Republic has been harvested by
foreigners. Initially, Africans were
brought as slaves to cut cane. Begin-
ning in the 1890's, when huge planta-
tions were consolidated, cane cutters
came from the British West Indies, the
Canary Islands, Puerto Rico and the
Virgin Islands to do the harvesting.
Around 1920 these braceros were
replaced by Haitians, who soon
became the primary labor force. Today
Haitians provide 90% of the sugar
cane cutting labor. Since sugar com-
prises 55% of the gross national pro-
duct of the Dominican Republic, the
Haitians are crucial to its economic life.
Yet anti-Haitian sentiment pervades
the Dominican Republic, historically
based on old conflicts and perpetuated
through the press, educational institu-
tions, and the church. Anti-Haitian
racism is reinforced by linking the
Haitians to voodoo. The blackest and
poorest Haitians do field work and are
looked down upon. Dominicans work
in the sugar mills but not in the fields.
The estimated 300,000 Haitians now
living in the Dominican Republic have
little recourse to complain about the
labor conditions. They are too
desperate for work, and many are in
the country illegally.

Historical Animosity
Historically, there has been strong
animosity between Haiti and the
Dominican Republic, stemming from
the early 1800's. Half a million Haitian
slaves successfully revolted against
white French colonists in the first suc-

cessful slave uprising in the New
World. In 1822, the Haitians conquered
the Spanish colony of Santo Domingo
with the aim of unifying the island. Led
by Jean-Pierre Boyer, the Haitians oc-
cupied the Dominican Republic until
1844. Boyer attempted to increase
Haiti's national income and pay off its
debt to France by increasing
Dominican agricultural production. He
passed a law obliging Dominican
workers to labor for large landowners.
He also closed the University of Santo
Domingo. Even the freed Dominican
slaves, who had had great expectations
of the new Haitian leadership, became
disillusioned. Resentment and prej-
udice against the Haitians remained
strong even after 1844 when the
Dominican Republic regained
In 1937, Rafael Trujillo ordered the
massacre of Haitians living on
Dominican soil. The result was the
death of at least 12,000 Haitians. The
three-day slaughter articulated
Dominican resentment and racism
following the Haitian occupation and
the growing migration of poor Haitians
seeking alternatives in the Dominican
Republic to limited land and labor
opportunities in their own country. The
Dominican reaction to the Haitians was
also a class issue: light-skinned
Dominican landowners feared they
could not control rising masses of
unemployed black foreigners squatting
on their largely empty hacienda lands.
Although the border between the
countries has been officially closed
since 1959, border crossings are unof-
ficially sanctioned. In 1966 a secret
contract was established between then
Dominican President Joaqufn
Balaguer and then Haitian Premier
Francois Duvalier, calling for the

Haitian government to supply the
Dominican Republic with 12,000 sugar
workers annually. The Dominican
government normally pays 60 pesos
(approximately $72) per worker to the
Haitian government in exchange for
the workers' services during the six-
month harvest season. In addition, 5%
of each workers' salary goes to the
Haitian government and an undeter-
minable percentage is deducted for
"safekeeping," allegedly to insure that
the money will be spent and recir-
culated within Haiti-an "incentive" for
Haitians to return home.
In January 1978 the inter-
governmental contract was not
renewed. The Haitian government had
asked for a raise from 60 to 70 pesos
per worker, and Balaguer did not
agree. Instead he called on the
Dominican people to help in a time of
crisis before the sugar crop would be
lost. However, Dominicans were
unlikely to respond. They have tradi-
tionally shunned sugar cane cutting,
both out of historic disdain for what
they consider "Haitian work" and
because pay and labor conditions are
Aside from the contracted labor
force, about 280,000 Haitians residing
in the Dominican Republic are in-
volved in the harvesting without any
contracts. Most of these Haitians have
lived in the Dominican Republic for
years. Some returned after the 1937
massacre with the hope of making
money by working for a season and
then returning to Haiti. Most were
never able to save enough to afford the
trip back.
Many Haitians crossed the border
after World War II, fleeing unemploy-
ment, poverty, and repression in Haiti,
only to find a slightly better work en-

vironment in the Dominican Republic.
Their entry was clandestine-and ex-
pensive. Haitians crossing the border il-
legally must bribe the military on both
sides of the border. They must obtain
two photographs, medical certificates,
identification, and travel documents.
The cost amounts to almost $150;
beyond the reach of most Haitians.
Those who make the trip usually have
to sell land or animals.
The clandestine route to the
Dominican Republic often begins in
the town of Jacmel on the southern
coast of Haiti, or other key recruiting
towns. It entails an exchange of
Haitians at the border between Haitian
and Dominican military at a cost of ten
pesos per person. They are then
trucked to the southwest sugar region
near Barahona. There, in a large open
area with only a roof over their heads,
the Haitians wait to be purchased by
colonos (private Dominican land-
owners who are contracted to raise
cane) or representatives from the coun-
try's three main sugar producers: the
government's (Consejo Estatal de
Azicar-State Sugar Council), the
Vicini family in the San Pedro de
Macoris region, or Gulf and Western,
which operates the largest single mill
in the western region of the country, La
At this point the Haitians are sold for
three pesos a piece and trucked to the
purchaser's region. After the six-month
zafra, the rest of the year is "tiempo
muerto" (dead season). Haitians who
stay on have limited alternatives. Work
possibilities include cleaning up the
countryside for the growers, or being
temporarily "rented" out by the mill to
local farmers, possibly for picking cof-
fee beans. Some of the women and
wives of the cutters turn to prostitution

The Dominican reaction
to the Haitians was also
a class issue: light-
skinned Dominican
landowners feared they
could not control rising
masses of unemployed
black foreigners squatting
on their largely empty
hacienda lands.

for income. A few escape to the city,
perhaps to sell lottery tickets.
Rather than be sent back to the
poverty and repression in Haiti, many
end up on the "slave market" being
sold for about 50 pesos each. This
slave industry was exposed by colum-
nist Ram6n Antonio Veras in an article
in El Nacional de Ahora, May 1976:
"....the person who buys a Haitian has
the right to take him to his farm and
put him to work without pay; he need
only furnish the slave with basic needs,
that is, take care of him so that he can
cut sugar cane.... The master has the
right to kick him and even kill him if
the subject refused to cut cane.... It's
unbelievable that in the twentieth cen-
tury human beings are still being
sold.... The Haitians suffer in their
country and in ours." Although the
border transactions are supposedly
clandestine, the Dominican military
has in fact been actively involved in the
transactions, transportation and prof-
iteering from this labor racket.

Living Conditions
Haitians and other cane cutters live in
bateyes-camps surrounded by acres
of cane under conditions of extreme
deprivation. Workers commonly live in
housing blocks called barancones
where a family of five shares a 12' by
12' room, consisting of a large bed, a
small charcoal stove for cooking food
on the floor, and a small couch or
table. There is usually no electricity or
running water; a single outdoor latrine
serves about forty people.
According to a March issue of
Santo Domingo's La Noticia, two
bateyes of the Quisqueya mill have a
serious water shortage. Inhabitants
must travel more than two kilometers

to use water from the Casui River,
which is contaminated with refuse, gar-
bage, and the bodies of dead animals.
There is fear of an epidemic.
The government may offer a
schoolroom for the bateyes, but
assistance ends there. No books,
notebooks or pencils are supplied.
These items must come from the
parents' meager salaries. In a typical
school, in Gulf and Western's batey, La
Romana, the two-room schoolhouse
goes half-used because there is only
one instructor, who is responsible for
grades one through five. The teacher is
paid 40 pesos a month.
Wages are $1.30 per ton of cane
cut. A strong worker can cut about
three tons in a day. But this does not
guarantee that he will get the earned
wage. The cane loses its sap while the
cane cutter travels the long distance to
the weighing station; the lost sap
means less weight and less pay. The
weigher may also exploit the cutter by
reading a false weight. The cutter may
be unable to make out the weight
himself and even if he could, he would
have no recourse.
Many workers say that they are paid
with a vale, or a receipt designating
how much they are owed. They can
only collect this pay at the end of a 15
day cycle. In the meantime, if money is
needed for food or family purchases,
the cutter may sell the receipt at a loss
of about ten percent of its total. In
some bateyes, the mill and the vale
buyer (the lender) may agree to delay
payday beyond the 15 day period,
which forces the cane cutter to borrow
even more.
There is no opportunity to save
money, and even earned pensions are
hard to collect. Jos6 Juan, who has
worked as a cane cutter in La Romana
since 1914 when he entered the
Dominican Republic from Haiti, is now
too feeble to work. After 48 years of
work, he is ineligible for the $6 a
month pension because records have
been poorly kept and he cannot prove
the length of his employment at La
Romana. And he cannot be admitted
to the Gulf and Western company
hospital because he has not worked in
over a year.
Cane cutters are without recourse in
terms of wage complaints, living condi-
tions, and even violence against them.
As illegal workers in the country, they
have no legal rights and can get no
assistance from the military or govern-
ment officials who reap the benefits of

their labor. Other work alternatives are
hard to come by, and many of those
who attempt to escape are pursued by
the local military, who bring them back
and administer punishment, some
have allegedly been killed.

Depressed Sugar Market
There is a contradiction between the
25% unemployment rate in the
Dominican Republic and the use of a
Haitian labor force. It is popular to
blame the Haitians for taking work
from Dominicans, or the Dominicans
for refusing to cut cane. The contradic-
tion actually exists because it is more
profitable for the growers-Gulf and
Western, the Vicinis, and the govern-
ment-to employ cheap Haitian labor.

The sugar interests also perpetuate
divisions among Dominicans and
Haitians along race and class lines for
their own benefit. If workers were
united they could more effectively
organize to challenge the growers.
The Haitians vulnerability is fur-
ther exacerbated by the recent decline
in the world sugar market-the col-
lapse of the world sugar price and the
tripling of the US sugar import tax.
Deportations of needed Haitian
workers are taking place; 4,000 resi-
dent Haitians were deported in 1976.
Haitians are identified by a pronuncia-
tion test in which they have to say
"perejil" (parsley) because the Spanish
r" is difficult to pronounce by those
who speak Haitian Creole. Haitians


Dominicans have
traditionally shunned
sugar cane cutting, both
out of historic disdain for
what they consider
"Haitian work" and
because pay and labor
conditions are

thus identified are rounded up,
transported and dumped on the Haitian
side of the border by the Dominican
In early August of 1977, 10,000
contracted Haitians waited 12 days for
their return transportation by the State

w^ --- -i&~-'8

Sugar Council. They were herded into
the street in the town of Haina; given
no food, housing facilities, fresh water,
or bedding. Men, women, and children
were guarded by the military. Most
subsisted off donations from local
townspeople or spent their small sav-
ings on food (El Sol, August 4, 1977).
After twelve days, they took to the
streets angrily demanding repatriation.
Only then did the buses arrive to
transport them to the border.
In October of 1977, hundreds of
Haitian men living on bateyes in the
Haina region were surrounded by the
military police and arrested, no ex-
planation given. Most of these workers
were not contract laborers, but they
had lived in the Dominican Republic
for years and had wives and children
who were born and grew up on the
bateyes. They were subjected to
several days of imprisonment, then

loaded onto trucks, driven to the
border, and let off. The majority slowly
made their way back on foot to the
batey where they had been living and
working. Their families and employ-
ment were in the Dominican Republic;
they had no prospects in Haiti.
These recent occurrences indicate
the extent to which Haitians are faced
with continuous exploitation and hard-
ship. Arbitrary harassment is effective
at reinforcing their insecurity.
But just as farmworkers in the US
are beginning to gain recognition
through unions and other organizing
methods, Haitians in the Dominican
Republic are becoming more vocal and
less passive. Inspiration can be drawn
from the increasing level of protest and
criticism aimed at the Dominican
government and foreign companies. In
recent months, the mistreatment of
workers has been exposed in the press
as a result of public denunciations and
strikes in the fields by several hundred
cane cutters.
Even the Haitian embassy in Santo
Domingo has voiced its criticism of the
harsh injustices suffered by the Haitian
workers, while cane cutters themselves
refer to the mills as La Bestia (The
Beast) because of the feudal mistreat-
ment of the workers. In spite of the at-
tempted cover-ups and the repression
of such vocal critics, the struggle of
Haitian workers for survival and decent
living conditions goes on.

Marcy Fink is with the Ecumenical Program
for Interamerican Communication and
Action in Washington.
Photographs Laurence Simon, 1973.


crude to Lares
-i,- r __ttr-tWj r cIw 66 The Events

--.^ -. Leading to
. -.=--. .- Puerto Rico's
-. -Grito de Lares

S.. ,

Rubini Antiques Maps, Miami, Florida.

This map was entered according to an Act of Congress in the year 1855 by J.H. Colton & Co. in the Clerks
Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Courtesy of
Rubini Antiques Maps, Miami, Florida,

By Olga Jimenez de Wagenheim

The following is an excerpt from a larger work
about El Grito de Lares, an uprising which
took place in Puerto Rico in September 1868.
The Lares uprising, like those of Latin
America a half century earlier, was led by the
creole hacendado class, and had as its goal
the independence of Puerto Rico from Spain.
But unlike the Latin American hacendados,
the Puerto Ricans failed to achieve their goal.
After only two days of fighting they were
forced to retreat to the hills, where the
Spanish military captured them in less than
three months.
The larger work studies the Lares revolt
from the point of view of the men involved,
the leaders as well as the followers to
demonstrate, where possible, that the main
reason why they failed was the hacendados'
inability to attract the creole merchants and
professions; and/or to coerce the masses (of
slaves and free laborers) to follow them. This
section analyzes the events leading up to the
Exactly when in the 1860's the Puerto
Rican separatists decided it was time to
take the path of revolution to bring
reforms to the island has not been
clearly established. Island writers agree
that by 1864 Ram6n Emeterio
Betances and Segundo Ruiz Belvis,
leaders of the separatist movement in
Mayag0ez, were taking advantage of
the war between Spain and the
Dominican Republic to promote a

revolution in Puerto Rico. Puerto Rican
historian, Loida Figueroa, sets the date
for the beginning of the revolutionary
activities at fourteen months prior to
the September 23, 1868 Lares revolt.
Figueroa's date is based on the cor-
respondence between the governors of
Puerto Rico (1867-70) and the Spanish
government in Madrid. Recently
discovered evidence indicates the
revolutionary route was probably not
chosen until the summer of 1867,
when several suspected separatists
were forced into exile by Governor
Jos6 Maria Marchesi.
While it is true that Betances and
Ruiz Belvis were displeased with the
absolutist Spanish regime on the
island, and participated in a secret
abolitionist society, it cannot be said
that they had already given up on
Spain. For in 1865 we find Betances
and Ruiz Belvis busy working to get
their candidates elected to the Spanish
Cortes in Madrid. Since 1836, when
Queen Isabel 11 suspended the Con-
stitution in the colonies, Puerto Rico
had not been represented in Spain. For
twenty-nine years Puerto Rico had
been ruled by despotic governors while
at the same time being promised
"special laws" to correct injustices.
Representation came in 1865, as Spain

instituted the first of its many "revolu-
tionary" regimes of that decade. Puerto
Rico was asked to hold elections and
choose commissioners to the Cortes of
Madrid. The men elected were to be in-
structed to report on the island's prob-
lems and recommend reforms.
One of the men elected that year
was Segundo Ruiz Belvis, representing
the district of MayagUez. Ruiz Belvis, a
lawyer from a wealthy Creole family,
took part in the election with the sup-
port and consent of his friend Ram6n
Emeterio Betances, a doctor of
medicine and fervent abolitionist. In his
instructions to Ruiz Belvis, January 3,
1866, Betances advised him to push
for "complete and immediate abolition
of slavery."
At least for the time being the
separatists appeared to work within the
system. It was after the commissioners
returned home from Spain, defeated
and disillusioned, that the path of
revolution was chosen. While in Spain
the commissioners sought to obtain
reforms similar to the ones the island
had enjoyed under the CUdula de
Gracias (1815-1836). They asked for
equality with the provinces of Spain,
unrestricted commerce, improved
education, and political reforms. At no
time did they ask for separation from

Ram6n Emeterio Betances
Spain. The only difference between
commissions of previous years and
that of 1867 was the new demand to
abolish slavery.
But the Cortes closed their doors on
April 27, 1867 without granting Puerto
Rico any of its cherished reforms.
Spain had called on Cuba and Puerto
Rico only to re-assess her position in
those colonies following defeat in the
Dominican Republic and her involve-
ment in Chile. Apparently, the Spanish
were not overly concerned about the
repercussions of the United States'
liberation of its slaves. The only law
that was passed in the presence of the
commissioners threatened to strangle
the already impoverished Puerto Rican
economy. It was decided by the Cortes
that, beginning in 1867, the Puerto
Ricans would pay an additional direct
tax of 6% on net income from
agriculture, commerce and the profes-
sions. There was no longer any hope.
Spain, under the liberals or conser-
vatives, would always act the same way
toward her colonies. As Betances put
it: "Spain could not be trusted to give
what she did not have."
Upon returning home, the commis-
sioners found themselves blacklisted
and watched very closely by the
authorities and the conservative
elements in their districts. Among the
most harassed were Betances and Ruiz
Belvis. Their practice of liberating in-
fant slaves by purchasing their freedom
at the baptismal font was interpreted as
an act of defiance by the civilian and
military authorities of Mayaguez. The
rumor that they had founded an aboli-
tionist society disturbed the
slaveholders. An obvious case of
harassment was perpetrated against

Ruiz Belvis by Antonio de Balboa, the
Military Commander of Mayaguez.
One day, after Ruiz Belvis returned
from Spain, Balboa, yelling insults,
tried to run him over with his horse.
Ruiz Belvis could not tolerate this
humiliation. He dragged Balboa from
the horse and beat him with his own
horse whip. The incident was never
forgotten by Balboa, who looked for
any excuse to have Ruiz Belvis expelled
from the island.

Spanish Military
Balboa did not have to wait long. In
June 1867, the Spanish artillerymen
stationed in San Juan revolted, and
Governor Marchesi used the event as
an excuse to exile Ruiz Belvis,
Betances, and ten other suspected
liberals, including: Calixto Romero
Togores (a wealthy merchant from San
Juan of liberal political tendencies);
Pedro Ger6nimo Goico (a doctor of
medicine and recognized leader of the
liberal sector in San Juan); Julian
Blanco Sosa (a wealthy businessman in
San Juan, and Vice-Consul for
Portugal); Jose Celis de Aguilera (a
merchant of liberal tendencies); Rufino
Goenaga; Vicente Maria Quihones
(who was mistaken for his cousin
Francisco Mariano Quihones); Carlos
Elio Lacroix (a merchant from Ponce
and a member of the separatists); Luis
Leiras (a Cuban doctor living in Puerto
Rico); and Felix del Monte (a
Betances and Ruiz Belvis, both of
whom had many friends in MayagQez,
were warned of their impending arrests
and helped to escape. According to
Betances, he and Ruiz Belvis arrived in
Santo Domingo on July 9, 1867, near-
ly a month after they were ordered into
exile. Betances did not lose his sense of
humor. In his letter to Eladio Ayala,
from Santo Domingo, he narrates how
they had to avoid falling prey to the
Spanish Coast Guard and other of-
ficials searching for them. Interpreting
the Spanish motives, he said: "as soon
as it was known that 'Dottoir Betano'
(sic) had left the island in a poor boat
[they] sent good canoes along the coast
and the best horses to those places
where [he] was most likely to disem-
bark, to bring him to the capital com-
fortably." He described how the feigned
stupidity of a peasant, guiding them

through the southern ports of Puerto
Rico, keeping their identities con-
cealed, finally allowed them to leave
the island safely. "Even in Guayama we
were recognized, despite the care of
the jibaro accompanying us. He had
taken charge of answering all ques-
tions, and when the curious asked,
'Where are you from?' he would
answer, 'Who, we?' 'Yes.' 'We came
from up there; have gone down there
and are now going up there again.' he
would answer with a serious face."
La Montalva in Santo Domingo,
where they landed, was described by
Betances as "the most barren land
there ever was; a sandy, rocky surface
covered with scrub bushes and Caribe
mosquitos." The mosquitos, he
reminded his brother, were "the same
that had chased the Spanish con-
querors from Gusnica during the time
of the conquest." He remembered the
sun "was unbearable, the drinking
water was warm, the crackers were
moldy, the cheese was rancid, and I
was delirious with fever." Having spent
the previous night hallucinating,
crouched down in a boat, wet,
Betances needed to rest. "I put down a
blanket and laid on it, but the
mosquitos made me get up, to eat
moldy crackers and cheese and drink
some coffee." The coffee, he told Ruiz
Belvis reminded him of "the absent

"Where are you from?"
"Who, we?"
"We came from up there;
have gone down there
and are now going up
there again."

The punitive measures taken by
Marchesi seem unjustified since there
was no evidence that the military revolt
of June 1867 had anything to do with
the men exiled. The soldiers' protest
was a purely internal affair spurred by
the lack of pay and the unequal treat-
ment they received from Spain. In par-
ticular, they were protesting not being
covered by a decree for the armed

forces in Spain, which reduced the
term of service by two years.
In a colony where the governor had
absolute powers, exiling, jailing, and
even sentencing people to death, were
not uncommon. Thus most of these
same men were later accused and
jailed, as they were suspected of taking

Betances argued,
"Romero, like most of
our compatriots, has
never, I think, considered
the question of rights
and has settled for
saving his own person."

part in the uprising of Lares in
September 1868. They became
suspects because of their previous ex-
ile. Ironically, about half of them
wanted nothing to do with armed
revolts; at most, they wanted reforms
within the Spanish system. For
example, one of the men feared by the
governor was Calixto Romero Togores,
a liberal merchant who had much to
lose if a revolution took place. To
prove his loyalty to Spain, Romero
Togores not only refused to get
involved with the separatist leaders
when they contacted him in 1867, but
betrayed them by telling the new
governor, Julian Juan Pavia of their
Perhaps Governor Marchesi was
overreacting because of the news he
had received during the summer
months of 1867. He had been warned
by the merchants of Lares and
Aguadilla that the creoles of the area
seemed restless. The merchants of
Lares went so far as to suggest that a
military garrison be stationed in their
town at their own expense. With the
separatist leaders away from the island,
Marchesi reasoned, he could relax for a
while. But neither Betances nor Ruiz
Belvis were idle in exile. In August,
both men left Santo Domingo and ar-
rived in New York, where they learned
of the specific charges made against
them by Governor Marchesi. They
answered the governor in an open let-
ter published in the New York

Herald, August 5, 1867. They stated
"to appear before the Overseas
Minister (in Madrid) was a waste of
time, work and money."

Latin American Exiles
In New York, the two leaders came in
contact with other Latin American ex-
iles, particularly Cubans, working
toward the liberation of their countries.
Through a friend and compatriot from
Mayagiez, Jose Francisco Basora, co-
founder of the Republican Society of
Cuba and Puerto Rico, Betances and
Ruiz Belvis met the Cuban Manuel
Maria Macias and the Chilean
Benjamin Vicuia Mackenna. Macias
was to become a long-time friend and
revolutionary supporter of Betances.
Vicuha Mackenna had come from
Chile in 1865 on a secret mission to
the United States. As soon as he met
with the revolutionary junta in New
York, he made it clear that he needed
support for his government in its war
against Spain. He met with both the
Cubans and the Puerto Rican exiles in
the hope that one of the groups could
start a war and divert Spain's attention
from Chile. In exchange, he seemed
willing to assist with weapons, funds
and ideological support.
Apparently Puerto Rico chose to be
first, since by September 1867
Betances and Ruiz Belvis were back in
Santo Domingo making plans and
contacting other Puerto Rican exiles in
Saint Thomas, New York and Madrid.
They traveled often between Santo
Domingo and Saint Thomas during the
months of September and October to
confer with other Puerto Rican exiles
living or passing through that port. In
particular, they went to see Carlos Elio
Lacroix, Julian Blanco Sosa, Rufino
Goenaga, Jose Celis de Aguilera,
among others.
The meetings with the other exiles
were not always fruitful, for although
most of them agreed with the idea of a
revolution in principle, they were not
always willing to initiate anything.
Betances complained about many of
them repeatedly. In a letter to his friend
Basora, Betances offered his evalua-
tions of some of the men he and Ruiz
Belvis had contacted for the revolu-
tionary plan. About Calixto Romero-
Togores, he said, "Romero, like most
of our compatriots, has never, I think,
considered the question of rights and
has settled for saving his own person."
But Romero was not the only one to

cause him anguish. Julian Blanco Sosa
also disillusioned him. "Blanco, after
offering to work for our cause, and not
to set foot in Spain, has lied to us, and
ever since he saw the way open by
Romero, has run to kneel at the feet of
the Queen." He defined Jose Julian
Acosta as "frightened," and Roman
Baldorioty de Castro as "too comfort-
able." He praised Jos6 Celis de
Aguilera, Carlos Elio Lacroix, Mariano
Ruiz Quihones and Father Fernando
Meriho. These, together with Betances,
Ruiz Belvis, and Jos6 Francisco Basora
were the men responsible for founding
the Revolutionary Committee of Puer-
to Rico in Santo Domingo between
September and October 1867.

Gamir's plan, put in
operation after the
outbreak of violence in
Lares, September 23,
1868, allowed the
Spaniards to capture all
but twenty-seven of the
hundreds of men

From Santo Domingo, Ruiz Belvis,
the president of the Committee, sailed
to Chile, to campaign for Puerto Rico's
independence, as arranged with Vicuia
Mackenna. He arrived at Valparaiso,
Chile, on October 27th and was found
dead in his hotel room at the Aubry, on
November 3rd. According to a death
notice found in El Mercurio, one of
Valparaiso's newspapers, Ruiz Belvis
had reached that port already sick. But
the cause of death, according to the
death certificate, was listed as "internal
contusion." The tragic circumstances
surrounding Ruiz Belvis' death have
never been uncovered. It is only known
that he died alone in his hotel room
and that he was buried in a temporary
public grave, for which some unknown
person paid two pesos for one year's
rent. Betances, however, suspected
that Ruiz Belvis had been murdered.
Thus, he tried to send his good friend,
Father Meriho, to investigate the mat-
ter, but could not secure the necessary
funds for the trip and the expenses of
the priest.
With Ruiz Belvis dead and Father
Merino unable to replace him, the sup-

port that was to come from Chile ap-
peared to be lost. Travelling con-
tinuously between Santo Domingo and
Saint Thomas, between October and
April of the following year (1868),
Betances tried hard to gather enough
support to liberate Puerto Rico. From
Saint Thomas, Betances issued in
November 1867 the well-known pro-
clamation "The Ten Commandments
of Free Men," listing the conditions
under which the Puerto Ricans would
remain under the Spanish rule. They
1. the abolition of slavery;
2. the right to fix taxes;
3. freedom of worship;
4. freedom of speech;
5. freedom of the press;
6. freedom of trade;
7. freedom of assembly;
8. the right to carry arms;
9. the inviolability of the citizen;
10. the right to elect public officials.

A Declaration of War
Betances reasoned that if "Spain is will-
ing to grant us these rights and these
liberties we will remain loyal to her."
But knowing in advance that Spain
would never change her ways,
Betances added: "if Spain (grants) us
these rights...she can (also) send us a
governor made of straw who we will

hang and burn on Easter Week, in
commemoration of all the Judases
that until today have sold us out." This
proclamation, demanding the most
basic of human rights, was viewed as a
declaration of war by the Spanish
authorities in Puerto Rico.
Betances' activities in Santo
Domingo and in Saint Thomas were
becoming noticeable to the local
authorities, which, in cooperation with
the Spanish government in San Juan,
hounded him. From Santo Domingo,
he wrote about this problem to his
friend Pedro Lovera in Venezuela. He
said: "I will remain here because the
doors have been closed to me in Saint
Thomas. I have received word from
some friends that I should not go there,
because the Danish police are looking
for me, ever since the Danish govern-
ment entered into agreements with
In Santo Domingo his problems
were more serious because he was
known to share the ideas of Jose Maria
Cabral and Gregorio Luper6n, leaders
of the opposition to the regime of
Buenaventura Baez. The fact that
Betances' house served as residence
and meeting place for many suspected
separatists unsettled Baez. He was
viewed as a potential enemy of the
B6ez regime and watched closely.
Despite the harrassments and


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Betances' suspicions that he would be
deserted by many of his followers, he
gathered a group of the Revolutionary
Committee and drafted a temporary
constitution to allow them to organize
and supervise the revolutionary activity
that was to be promoted by men like
Carlos Elio Lacroix, Juan Chavarri, and
many others. The constitution, drafted
in Santo Domingo on January 6,
1868, adopted Sim6n Bolivar's slogan:
"Unite, Unite, or Anarchy will devour
The Constitutional Committee was
founded by Betances, Lacroix, Mariano
Ruiz Quihones and the Dominican,
Ram6n Mell. The constitution they
drafted gave them the power to
organize and supervise revolutionary
cells in Puerto Rico, to appoint
delegates and agents as their
representatives, who would travel and
distribute propaganda; form Juntas
and Legaciones (Chapters); collect
funds and make the necessary contacts
with prospective insurgents to promote
the cause of revolution. The secret
organizations that were formed as a
result of the Committee's actions were
hierarchical in structure. The first and
most important revolutionary cell was
the one established in the Dominican
Republic headed by Betances and the
other three directors. This was followed
in importance by the Juntas that were
established in the urban centers of
Puerto Rico. The Juntas were formed
with the understanding that they would
branch out into Chapters, which would
operate in the rural areas of Puerto
The agents and delegates appointed
by the central Committee were most
useful in keeping the island informed
about conditions in Spain, Cuba, New
York and Santo Domingo. It was
through these agents that the societies
in Puerto Rico learned about the
planned revolution in Spain and in
Cuba for 1868. Based on this informa-
tion, the leaders in Puerto Rico felt that
if the Liberals in Spain were successful,
they would not send troops against the
rebel forces on the island. They also
felt that, even if Spain wanted to send
troops, she would find it difficult, for
Cuba would be fighting as well.
While the separatists in exile and at
home were actively making their plan
to revolt, Governor Marchesi made his
own plans. What the separatists did not
know was that the island authorities
had been preparing for such an upris-
ing since 1866 when the governor

suspected that a revolution "was in the
making." From Marchesi's reply to the
governor of Cuba on December 13,
1866, we learn that Cuba had been
warned by the Spanish Minister in
Washington that "a vast conspiracy is
ready to proclaim the independence of
the two islands." Marchesi did not
seem alarmed and added: "this cor-
roborates my own suspicions that the
conspirators are being organized under
the leadership of the revolutionary jun-
ta in New York." He went on to say: "for
a while now I have been watching very
closely some persons, among which
are some from that island (Cuba), such
as Dr. Luis Leiras." He asked the Cuban
governor to send him reports on Dr.
Leiras, for "his sudden and frequent
trips from one island town to another
make me suspect him."

For twenty-nine years
Puerto Rico had been
ruled by despotic
governors while at the
same time being
promised "special laws"
to correct injustices.

Puerto Rico, Marchesi speculated,
may be the place where the rebels
want to strike first to distract Spain
from Cuba." He sensed that "much
covert activity was taking place on the
island since 1865." He confided to the
Cuban governor that the "revolutionary
elements of Puerto Rico were busy
making plans, since 1865, under the
pretext of gathering support in favor of
Benito Juarez of Mexico." He claimed
having "discovered as many as 3,000
men ready to revolt that year, but that
lack of funds had detained them." He
closed his letter with the warning that
the times for a revolt in Cuba "were
propitious since they (the rebels) have
the support of the many disbanded
United States soldiers, who
accustomed to military life, are eager
to return to the job they can do best,
especially when they are being offered
good rewards."

Military Defense Plan
These and other types of similar infor-
mation gathered by Spanish officials in

the United States and the Caribbean
led the governors of Cuba and Puerto
Rico to strengthen their defenses in
case of attack. Governor Marchesi,
although concerned about his "meager
resources" to fight a war felt he could
handle "any attempt by the rebels,"
provided they had no outside support.
Perhaps his confidence was, in part,
restored by the military defense plan
presented to him on August 9, 1866
by the Lieutenant Colonel of San Juan,
Sabino Gamir y Malad6in. Gamir's plan
justified the need for defensive
measures: "The covert propaganda for
the abolition (of slavery) is working
successfully among the masses of free
people," which together with the
"abolitionists could stir the slaves" and
both groups "probably protected by
the United States" could give the
government cause for concern.
The Gamir Plan was very detailed in
predicting which sectors of the society
were most likely to revolt. Its military
tactics were thus designed to end such
a revolt. The first sector, according to
Colonel Gamir, could be the Spanish
troops stationed in San Juan. He
reasoned that they could be lured into
revolting if they were led to believe
"that things had taken a turn for the
worse in Spain." Another reason why
the Spanish troops on the island were
suspected was the knowledge that they
had not been paid for several months
because of lack of funds. In his letter to
the Governor of Cuba, Marchesi had
also voiced this concern when he
stated: "I lack even the necessary funds
to pay the salaries of the soldiers and
other public officials. There appears to
be some grumbling, and although I do
not yet have reason to doubt their
loyalty, I am concerned that our
enemies may take advantage of our
troubles to stir the masses."
The second sector feared by Gamir,
was a localized creole revolt in the
western part of the island. He foresaw
the possibility that such a revolt could
have support from the outside, and
suggested ways of combating the in-
truders and keeping the creoles from
escaping if the revolt failed. If the revolt
was localized, he speculated, the areas
"most likely to take up arms first would
be those closest to the largest slave
population centers, but farthest from
the military bases." Thus, he
eliminated Ponce, MayagUez, Arecibo,
Aguadilla and Caguas from the list of
firsts since all these towns were "fairly
well connected to San Juan by good

roads, making the movement of troops
a relatively easy task."
In a similar fashion, Colonel Gamir
rejected other areas of the island, nar-
rowing his attention to the most likely
sector that could start a revolt. He con-
cluded that it would be the towns in the
extreme western area of the island. He
proceeded to divide this sector into
three possible groups. The first group,
which included the towns of Guanica,
Cabo Rojo, Sabana Grande, Utuado,
Lares, and El Pepino (San Sebastian),
he felt could be the initiators because
of "the great distance that separate
them from San Juan, their proximity to
Santo Domingo, access to the great
port of Gu6nica, political influence,
greater wealth, and the bad nature of
their inhabitants. Time was to prove
Gamir right. It was in this area that the
Lares uprising erupted just two years
after Gamir devised his plan of defense.
To combat a revolt by the Spanish
troops in the capital, he suggested us-
ing the creole militias in and around
San Juan. Should the creole masses
revolt, he knew he could count on the
loyalty of the Spanish troops on the
island to put down the uprising. The
troops in San Juan, he stated, "would
be the loyal quarter from which the
rebel masses would be punished." Hav-
ing underlined the reasons for suspect-
ing the western region most of all,
Gamir suggested that as soon as news
of revolt in this area reached the
capital, troops should be dispatched to
the ports of Guanica and Mayagiez
first, and then to Arecibo, Ponce,
Humacao and Aguadilla, to block the
insurgents' exits to the sea. His plan,
put in operation after the outbreak of
violence in Lares, September 23,
1868, allowed the Spaniards to cap-
ture all but twenty-seven of the hun-
dreds of men involved.
Given all these suspicions and plans,
it is no wonder that Governor Marchesi
reacted so strongly when the artillery
troops of San Crist6bal revolted in
June 1867. Marchesi not only exiled
those civilians he considered
dangerous, but put to death the leader
of the military revolt. At least one of
these tactics proved ill-advised in the
long run. By exiling the civilians, he
forced them to take a stand, which as
we have seen led to the outburst of
violence he was trying to prevent.

Olga Jimenez de Wagenheim teaches History
at Rutgers University, Newark.

The Orignaliof the aitian Novel

Un Marriage a Quartier-Morrin, by Guy Joachim, from the collection of Claude Auguste Douyon. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum &
Art Centers, Miami, Florida, and the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Services.

By Leon-Frangois Hoffmann

The political, social and economic realities of Haiti are
markedly different from those of all other societies, Carib-
bean societies included. Her novelists are, and have always
been, quite conscious of their country's profound (and not
uniformly attractive) originality. Indeed, they are obsessed
with defining, understanding and reforming their national
milieu. The image that the Haitian novelist gives of his
country and of his compatriots is thus informed both by
the peculiarities of Haitian society and by his position
within that society.
If Haitian society is unique and somewhat puzzling to
the foreigner, so is its literary reflection: the "Haitianness"
of a Haitian novel is almost always evident. And Haitian

fiction, like the Haitian reality, requires an open mind and
some degree of patience to be understood and appre-
The Haitian Novelist and his Public
In the absence of reliable statistics, it is estimated that
90% of all Haitians are illiterate. French is the official lan-
guage and is used with different degrees of facility by
the literate population. All Haitians speak and understand
Creole, but those who do not know the official language
are effectively barred from political or economic power.
Two classes, or castes, which form the elite, have been vy-
ing for power since Independence: the mostly mulatto
"bourgeoisie" and the mostly Black "classes moyennes."
By the very fact of being literate, the Haitian novelist be-

longs to the elite, which has always exploited and ne-
glected the rural and proletarian masse.
The novelist's Haitian public is of necessity limited to
the elite. The elite has traditionally shown great respect
and appreciation of belles lettres; but the Haitian school
curriculum is copied with only minor variations from the
one used in France. Although Haitian children read and
memorize French classics, they are practically never ex-
posed to their own national literature. As a result, there
has always been a tendency in Haiti to disdain "native"
writers and to consider them inferior to French writers.
For all intents and purposes, Haitian publishing
houses are little better than printing establishments. There
are no book stores in most provincial cities and, after bear-
ing the entire cost of manufacturing the book, the author
must organize its distribution as best he can. Printings sel-
dom reach five hundred copies, and a writer is fortunate if
he manages to recover a significant fraction of the sum he
has invested. Consequently, a novelist who aspires to
more than a purely local reputation (and to a possible fi-
nancial reward) is forced to publish abroad, that is to say in
France, or, increasingly of late, in French Canada. Indeed,
most Haitian novels which have achieved some measure
of international reputation, and all of those which have
been translated, were first published outside of Haiti.
The Haitian novelist, then, aims at two very different
readerships: the Haitian elite and the French-reading pub-
lic. If he writes historical novels, as Demesvar Delorme did
with Francesca (Paris, 1873), set in Renaissance Italy, or
futuristic science fiction as Ren6 Philoctete's Le Huitieme
jour (Port-au-Prince, 1971), this dual readership poses no
problem. But Francesca and Le Huitieme jour are excep-
tions; Haitian novelists describe and analyze Haitian reali-
ties; their characters, be they peasants or merchants or
politicians or for that matter foreigners living in the
country, are shaped by the material and spiritual milieu
which is the stuff of this reality.
Since foreign readers, including of course French-
speaking foreign readers, are liable to be totally ignorant
of what Haiti is like, they require constant guidance in or-
der to understand a Haitian novel. The novelist is thus
forced to provide historical and sociological data, a run-
ning commentary on local customs, and even descriptions
of topography and monuments, of fauna and flora, of
typical head-dresses and culinary specialties. Otherwise,
his manuscript may be rejected by the French publisher,
who either does not understand it himself or judges that
it will be incomprehensible to his readership, or both.

The political, social and economic
realities of Haiti are markedly different
from those of all other societies.

The novelist is therefore confronted with a double
challenge. First, the Haitian reader does not need such
background information and is likely to find it not only
obtrusive and irritating but a sign that the novel was writ-
ten primarily as as exotic entertainment for the delight of
a foreign audience. And second, even for the French
reader, this information must be provided in such a way
as not to constantly interrupt the flow of the narrative.

The novelists deal with the necessity of providing in-
formation, and of doing so in as unobtrusive a manner as
possible, through techniques too varied and complex to
be analyzed here. Suffice it to say that there are invariably
two readings of any Haitian novel: that of the foreigner
and that of the Haitian. The foreigner will be interested in
what he learns of an exotic and fascinating country as
much as in the unfolding of the plot and the spiritual ad-
ventures of the characters. The Haitian, on the other
hand, will invariably recognize a series of allusions and
focus his attention on a series of situations whose signi-
ficance eludes the foreign reader. The Haitian novel is
consequently and characteristically a text produced to
speak simultaneously to two very different audiences.
And this is so even for those works which bear Port-au-
Prince imprints. The writer's talents obviously determine
in large measure whether it does so, and how well.

There has always been a tendency in
Haiti to "disdain" native writers and to
consider them inferior to French writers.

That it is written for a dual public is a determining
element in the choice of themes and of linguistic codes
characteristic of the Haitian novel.

The most striking general characteristic of the Haitian
novel is that complexity of plot and subtle psychological
analysis of characters are subordinated to an overriding
concern with "the problem of Haiti." From the first pub-
lished Haitian novel (Emeric Bergeaud's Stella, Paris,
1859) to the most recent, the basic theme is the country
itself: its history, its economic and social problems, its
social structure, its very viability. This characteristic in it-
self gives it originality within the Western novelistic tra-
dition. Rather than being primarily fiction where the
reader can, if he so desires, trace the implicit analysis of
socio-political conditions, the Haitian novel tends to be
an explicit discourse on the state of the nation. Its fictional
elements appear as concessions to the novelistic genre,
adopted to make the lesson proposed more palatable for
the reader. Thus the author, either through a character he
adopts as spokesman or by direct intervention in the text,
never hesitates to engage the reader, exhorting him to re-
form the abuses of Haitian society or to resist the tempta-
tion of despair. For example, in Fernand Hibbert's Les
Simulacres (1923), published during the dark years of
American occupation (1915-1934), the author's spokes-
man, Monsieur Brion, advises his compatriots: "The pre-
sent regime imposed upon us to our shame will be succe-
eded by a regime which will safeguard our national dignity.
We must not despair. We must persevere."
Nadine Magloire's Le Mal de vivre (Port-au-Prince,
1968) is the interior monologue of an upper-class woman
who has dared to seek intellectual and erotic freedom
despite the elite's straight-laced puritanism. The novel is
peppered with such bitter denunciations of Haiti and Hai-
tians as: "Haiti is a pretty unlucky little island. A speck of

a country no one, not even its inhabitants, gives a damn
about.... Most of my compatriots are bloated with preten-
tions, self-centered to the point of stupidity and morbidly
susceptible and suspicious. They lie on principle; no one
tells the truth here."
Such overt and often strident interventions are liable
to baffle or irritate the non-Haitian reader, whose novel-
istic tradition has come to demand authorial discretion.
Even that poetic masterpiece, Jacques Roumain's Mas-
ters of the Dew (tr. by Mercer Cook and Langston Hughes,
N.Y., 1947), was severely judged by Edmund Wilson, who
found it "a Marxist fantasy." It is therefore no wonder that,
in order to achieve international reputation, Haitian novel-
ists find it prudent to temper their Haitian directness with
Western restraint.
The American occupation (1915-1934), a crucial and
traumatic event in Haitian history, profoundly influenced
all aspects of intellectual activity. In surveying the prin-
cipal themes treated in Haitian novels one should there-
fore distinguish between those written before and after
the occupation.
The twenty-five novels published before 1915 fall into
two main categories. First, we find historical novels, re-

Now in a second, revised edition ....

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where distinctive local traditions encounter the cultural
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Hamilton, Bermuda; Island Press.
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Frank E. Manning is Associate Professor and Head of
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counting the heroic times of the struggle for indepen-
dence. The chief concern here is to exalt the valor of the
"ancestors" and to exort their descendants to prove worthy
of them. In most cases, a tenuous fictional love story is
interwoven with the evocation of historical events. The
second type of novel that was popular at the time is the
sentimental drawing-room novel. Like its French counter-
part it fortifies the story of adultery in high society with
a dash of elementary psychology. In this type of novel,
the setting may indeed be Port-au-Prince, or Cape Haitian
or some provincial town. There may be the odd reference
to tropical fruit or to the beauty of the Haitian sunset. But
the novelists are so concerned with being understood and
accepted by French readers that such notations are timid
and few.
Three pre-1915 novelists, Fr&edric Marcelin (who
died in 1917), Fernand Hibbert (t 1928) and Justin Lheris-
son (t 1907), stand head and shoulders above the rest and
herald the "Indigenist" writers of the next generation. The
plot of Fr6edric Marcelin's Thdmistocle-Epaminondas
Labasterre (Paris, 1901) is rather simple. The eponymous
hero is born into the Haitian lower-middle class. His hard-
working parents make the necessary sacrifices to send
him to school. He eventually becomes a follower of an
ambitious, unscrupulous journalist, T616maque, who or-
ganizes a coup-d'etat, overthrows the president and is re-
warded with a cabinet post in the next government. Th&-
mistocle becomes disillusioned with his corrupt hero,
mounts a press campaign against him and having re-
fused a bribe in exchange for his silence is killed by the
police on Tl66maque's orders.

The American occupation of Haiti was a
brutal and deeply humiliating
experience. In their worse times Haitians
could still cling to their pride in being
independent, could still see themselves
as the descendants of the heroes who
had defeated Napoleon's army. Now they
were no longer masters in their own

To be sure, one finds in this novel references to Hai-
tian products, customs, landscapes, etc. But Marcelin is
careful to place them in context in such a way that no
French reader would be puzzled by them. Marcelin writes
in the purest academic French and his characters (be they
intellectuals, petit-bourgeois or even peasants) all speak
pure Parisian. Yet Marcelin is the first Haitian novelist to
criticize and satirize his countrymen's love of rhetoric and
their idolatry of "le francais de France." "What anxieties
we suffer because of this devilish French language! The
concentration it demands makes us sweat where we al-
ready sweat enough because of the climate. In Haiti we
worry much more about form than about content. We fear
our verbal arrows will not pierce their target unless they
are shot most grammatically."
The Haitian novelists of the next generation will be


Le CaTmitier, by J.B. Bottex, from the collection of Claude Auguste Douyon. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum & Art Centers,
Miami, Florida, and the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service.

very concerned with the problem of language. This ap-
pears first as social criticism; they will mock and reproach
their elite compatriots for trying to ape the French, for
making fluency in Parisian speech into one more barrier
against social mobility, for downgrading everything Hai-
tian, including linguistic peculiarities. Secondly, it ap-
pears an internal problem of the Haitian novel itself. On
the one hand, authenticity and self-respect demand that
the novelist let his characters speak in their own idiom,
pure Creole if they are uneducated, Haitian French if they
belong to the elite, or a mixture of both, which is what is
heard on city streets. But the more authentic a character's
speech, the more difficult it will be for a French reader to
understand. Every Haitian novelist has had to struggle
with this problem, and each attempted to solve it through
some sort of compromise.
Another typical trait of Th6mistocle-Epaminondas
Labasterre is the Haitian penchant for ferocious self-criti-
cism. Political mores in particular are eloquently de-
nounced. Marcelin is quite explicit: anyone who meddles
in politics in Haiti is self-serving, corrupt, criminal. Revo-
lutions are futile: they invariably replace one tyrant with
another. Political life is the business of despicable cliques,
which pay lip service to the common good, but care not a
whit for the welfare of the country.
When Marcelin has his characters spend the day in
the country, his totally idealized descriptions of peasants
show typical elite ignorance of the forgotten majority.
Further, we find in the novel the description of what pur-
ports to be a rural vodoo ceremony; but Marcelin's cere-

mony is so far removed from anything resembling a true
ceremony that it is doubtful that he ever attended one.
Fernand Hibbert's Sena (Port-au-Prince, 1905) tells
the story of another unscrupulous politician, who leaves
his wife and children and follows his mistress to France.
While in Paris, he sheds some of his ignorance, vanity and
egoism. He returns to Haiti determined to mend his ways
and use his political position for the common good. The
government has only one way to deal with such trouble
makers: he is thrown in jail and murdered in his cell.
Again we find a denunciation of Haitian political
mores. Again we are dealing with an urban novel: the
peasantry is not represented. Sena is particularly interest-
ing in that it comes to grips with a fundamental preoccu-
pation of the Haitian psyche: the problem of color. In
Th6mistocle-Epaminondas Labasterre not once do we
find mentioned that Haitians are Black or Mulatto. The
physical descriptions of Marcelin's characters are mute
on this point. But in Sena, we learn that the hero is "nei-
ther noir nor mulatre, nor griffe. He was alezan. This neu-
trality of pigmentation allowed him to belong to all the
parties, or rather to all the factions, at the same time."
What S6na most admires in his mistress is that she
is light-colored enough to pass for white (at least in Paris).
It is only poetic justice that she eventually cuckholds him
with a blond, blue-eyed French count. Sena brings back
from France a husband for his daughter, who has always,
with her father's full approval, refused to marry anything
but a full-blooded Caucasian.
The antagonisms between the mostly black masse

and the mostly mulatto elite, and further, the exquisitely
subtle gradations in percentage of desirable white blood
which obsess the elite, will be bitterly satirized by engage
novelists. Hibbert was the first to mention this unfortunate
fixation of his countrymen; and he did it through comedy;
knowing that sense of humor, love of satire and delight
in slapstick are fundamental traits of the Haitian person-
Marcelin, publishing in Paris and addressing a purely
francophonic readership, has his characters speak in aca-
demic French. Hibbert, on the other hand, published in
Port-au-Prince and addressed a purely Haitian public. Thus
he does not hesitate to use a pungent Creole expression
when it serves his purpose, just as elite Haitians have al-
ways done in everyday speech. Further, some of his cha-
racters speak only Creole: the servant M6nelas, for exam-
ple, or Sena's wife Melpomene, who "had some difficulty
in speaking French, for she seldom went about in high


ISSN 0360-7917

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Sena's constant shifts from high-sounding bombastic
French in public discourse to flavorful Creole in domestic
situations make for sure-fire comic effects. This linguistic
device was later perfected by Justin Lh6risson and widely
imitated. It is interesting, to notice that all Creole words
are printed in italics, as were slang or dialectical expres-
sions in French novels of the time. Later novelists usually
drop this typographical distinction, as an assertion that
they are not writing in two languages, French and Creole,
but in Haitian, of which French, regional variations of
French and pure Creole are equal components.
Justin Lherisson's La Famille de Pitite-Caille (Port-
au-Prince, 1905) is a classic of Haitian prose which all li-
terate Haitians have read. It is so characteristically Haitian,
in form as in content, as to be not only untranslatable
but just about inaccessible to all but Haitian readers. The
plot is as simple as that of Themistocle-Epaminondas
Labasterre and of Sena. A modest Port-au-Prince jack-
of-all-trades named Eli6zer Pitite-Caille becomes rich
thanks to his wife's hard work and shrewd business sense.
He sends his son and daughter to be educated in France,
as the Haitian aristocracy always did. Trouble starts when
he is persuaded to run for the Senate. A professional vote-
broker cheats him, the police beat him, he is falsely ac-
cused of subversive activities, thrown in jail, tortured and
harassed to death. His daughter marries a ne'er-do-well
who beats her, his foppish son turns into a drunken dere-
lict and his widow becomes one of fifty concubines in the
harem of General Pheuil Lamboy, the ruling strong man.
Once again we are dealing with an urban novel. Once
again a lower-middle class hero comes to grief because
he develops political ambitions. Once again the contem-
porary history of Haiti is shown to be, in Fernand Hibbert's
words, "a gory operetta."

Jean Price-Mars accused his countrymen
of living in a world of unreality by
pretending to be dark- skinned, New
World Frenchmen.

Lherisson shares the pessimism of his friends Mar-
celin and Hibbert. La Famille is more original in form than
in content or philosophy. Two of its characteristics are
particularly instrumental in stamping the novel with the
seal of authenticity. The first is that La Famille is pre-
sented in the form of an "audience." An "audience" is
hard to define. It could be compared to a French "salon,"
to a Spanish "tertulia" or to an American cocktail party,
in that it consists of a group of friends who meet more or
less regularly to chat of this and that. Topics at an "audi-
ence" include town gossip, discussions about politics,
philosophy, the general state of the nation and the uni-
verse and, above all, stories and anecdotes. The idea is to
make these stories and anecdotes as entertaining as pos-
sible, through mimicry, gesticulation, and above all, the
choice of picturesque, pungent language.
And this choice of language is the second character-
istic which gives La Famille its authenticity. Lherisson
has a perfect ear for Haitian speech and exploits it more
skillfully and systematically than Hibbert. He unerringly

knows how and when a given Haitian would use French
or Creole, the lexical and syntactical peculiarities of Hai-
tian French, the subtleties of the Haitian accent in French.
His transcription of this accent is all the more remarkable
in that it is individualized: he carefully varies form and in-
tonation according to the social class, the degree of edu-
cation and the psychological makeup of each character.
The contemporary Haitian novel was born of the
American occupation of Haiti, which Marcelin had feared
and predicted, and which had profound effects on Haitian
society. Materially, the occupation gave the country an
embryonic infrastructure of light industry and public
works and services: roads, sewers, telephones, hospitals
and rural schools. It suspended the chronic instability and
arbitrariness of Haitian government; it put commerce and
finances into some semblance of order. But, at the same
time, it was a brutal and deeply humiliating experience.
In their worse times of disaggregation and anarchy, Hai-
tians could still cling to their pride in being independent,
could still see themselves as the descendants of the he-
roes who had defeated Napoleon's army. Now they were
no longer masters in their own house. Every decision af-
fecting the life of the country had to be cleared with the
American authorities and had to conform to American
economic interests. The Marines didn't much bother to
hide their contempt for both the ignorant Negro masse
and the effete, gallicised mulatto lite. For the first time
since the days of slavery, Haitians experienced white color
prejudice in their own land.
Haitian intellectuals embarked upon a systematic
critical reappraisal of the values which had brought Hai-
tian society to such sorry straits. Their conclusions were
formulated by Dr. Jean Price-Mars, in an important book
entitled Ainsi parla l'oncle (Port-au-Prince, 1928). Price-
Mars accused his countrymen of "collective Bovarysm,"
that is, of living in a world of unreality by pretending to
be dark-skinned, New World Frenchmen. He pointed out
the absurdity of aping French customs, French legal,
social, and political structures, in brief the whole French
Weltanschauung in a country profoundly different from
France. He argued for a reassessment and acceptance of
the Haitian personality, reminding his elite countrymen
that 90% of Haitians were of pure African descent, were
exploited peasants, were illiterate and destitute, were
practitioners of voodoo and speakers of Creole. He ex-
horted the elite to discover, avow, and sympathetically
examine the values of this forgotten majority. Only then
could an integrated, liberated Haitian personality emerge,
and develop in dignity and pride.
The Haitian novelists writing during and after the oc-
cupation express two basic reactions: first, shame and
discouragement, then interest in and valorization of the
peasant masses. To the first reaction we owe a number of
more or less autobiographical novels, such as Jean Brier-
re's Province (part of an unfinished trilogy significantly
entitled Les Horizons sans ciel, Magloire Saint-Aude's
Parias and Jacques Roumains' early Preface a la vie d'un
bureaucrate. Their heroes suffer from frustration, from a
feeling of hopelessness, inadequacy and impotence.
They seek escape in drink, in visits to cheap dance-halls
and whorehouses, in endless, bitter, self-deprecating talk.
They are obsessed with self-hatred and fascinated by
death. Gone is the lusty gusto, the healthy laughter we
find in Themistocle-Epaminondas Labasterre, in Sena

and of course in La Famille de Pitite-Caille. We are now
dealing with writers who despair of themselves, of their
class and of their country.
The second reaction of Haitian novelists to the occu-
pation was interest in and valorization of the peasant
masse. Most of these novels were published between
1930 and 1960, during the end of the American protecto-
rate, the uninspired presidencies of Stenio Vincent and
Elie Lescot, then the progressive rule of Dumarsais Esti-
m6, followed by the less enlightened presidency of Paul
Magloire. In 1957, when Magloire attempted to illegally
extend his term of office, anarchy resulted. Francois
Duvalier assumed the presidency and enthroned himself
for life.

Haitian novelists writing during and after
the occupation express two basic
reactions: first, shame and
discouragement, then interest in and
valorization of the peasant masses.

Under Estime's rule and part of Magloire's, hopes
were rekindled for a peaceful revolution in Haitian life,
for a reconciliation between the various power groups, for
a modicum of national unity and progress. Rodolphe
Charmant put it quite forcefully in La Vie incroyable
d'Alcius (Port-au-Prince, 1946):
"Our ruling class has always made a mockery of its
duty to lead, direct and organize. It has consistently used
the country, it has considered itself a superior race, it has
isolated itself from the common people, it has claimed the
privileges of an oligarchy, it has shamefully exploited
public goods and revenues.
"The time has come to reform our slave-owner men-
tality, to fashion ourselves a new soul, dedicated to the
public good, to feel the common bond of blood, land,
flag, racial solidarity and national pride. We must come
to form one united family."

Committed Novelists
For the first time the novelists who participated in the so-
called "Indigenist" movement had the feeling that they
were perhaps not clamoring in the desert, but actually en-
lightening the 6lite, and therefore influencing the destinies
of the country. This feeling of commitment is quite noti-
ceable in their work. As Jean-Baptiste Cin6as wrote in
the preface to his Le Choc en retour (Port-au-Prince,
1948): "With a firm hand, we want to raise the curtain on
a gloomy stage; we want to scream out with indignation,
what everyone thinks and deplores secretly, what the least
cowardly only whisper in each other's ear."
And the poet Carl Brouard wrote in a manifesto en-
titled "L'Art au service du people" (in Les Griots, 2, Oc-
tober 1938): "Not one of us practices art for the sake of art.
It could even be said that we practice preaching." "Pre-
aching" is not a very felicitous term, perhaps, but Sartre
hadn't yet coined the expression "litt&rature engagee"
However that may be, and insofar as it is possible to
generalize about novelists as different from each other as




August 10th 17th, 1979
The International Congress of Americanists
provides a forum for the review of research on the
evolution and interrelationships of cultures in the
Americas. It is broadly interdisciplinary; the main
contributions have usually come out of the
Humanities and Social Sciences. The Congress first
met in France over 100 years ago. It initially
represented a very European fascination with the
origin and cultural evolution of manhin the
Americas, but has long since incorporated other
perspectives. The Vancouver Congress program will
accommodate comparative studies in the Americas
as well as presentation on socio-economic
developmental issues.
The following symposia are planned:
* Andean rural development
* Applied linguistics (Quechua)
* New archaeological evidence from the eastern
Andean slopes
Highland-lowland Andean interaction spheres
The indigenous novel
Amazonian colonization and development
Early prehistoric contacts between
northeastern Asia and North America
New directions in Meso-American archaeology
Mexican history
Afro-american History
Colonial latifundia
West Indies ethnohistory
Marketplace exchange-systems
Mexican agricultural systems
Northwest coast cultures
Indian land and political life World Council
of Indigenous Peoples
Sponsoring Organizations:
* Canadian Association of Latin American Studies
* Canadian Ethnology Association
* Canadian Archaeological Association
* Canadian Anthropological and Sociological
Canadian Association of Hispanists
The University of British Columbia
Simon Fraser University
Dr. Alfred H. Siemens, Geography, U.B.C.
Dr. Marilyn Gates, Sociology and
Anthropology, S.F.U.
All correspondence including abstracts and papers
should be directed to:
Dr. Alfred H. Siemens
XLIII International Congress of Americanists
Department of Geography
The University of British Columbia
Vancouver, B.C., Canada V6T 1W5
Telephone (604) 228-3441

Jacques Romain is from Marie Chauvet, or the brothers
Marcelin from Jacques-Stephen Alexis, or Jean-Baptiste
CinEas from Maurice Cass6us the main points of the
novelists' program are:
1) Description of peasant life, and illustration of pea-
sant mentality- not of the idealized, bucolic, happy
farmers of Marcelin, but peasant life as it really is in Haiti:
precarious, marginal and brutalizing.
2) Investigation and valorization of peasant customs
and beliefs (family and village solidarity, voodoo, co-
operative work in the fields, called "coumbites" etc.).
And this valorization is by no means uncritical: Haitian
novelists' feelings about voodoo, for instance, are quite
mixed. What they do show is how peasant customs and
beliefs are integrated into an overall life pattern of sur-
vival. They rightly point out that a peasant custom or be-
lief can be at the same time a support in his present situa-
tion and a barrier to improving that situation.
3) Denunciation of the peasants' exploitation by the
elite, represented by the "chef de section," i.e. the rural
police chief, who wields immense and practically un-
checked judicial power, the merchants, usurers, and pro-
duce-brokers, who control his economic life, the land-
surveyor, who tries to dispossess him in favor of a rich
city-dweller, etc.
4) Building bridges between mentalities. Novelists
try to show that a peasant is not necessarily incapable of
functioning within an elite structure, that he may be
adaptable to city ways, may indeed triumph through pea-
sant shrewdness and common sense. Conversely, mem-
bers of the elite may not be as different from their rural
compatriots as they would like to think. City folks can,
for instance, feel the same love of the land, or awe towards
voodoo spirits, or love for Creole. The point, obviously, is
to encourage the 6ite reader to recognize the downtrod-
den as fellow Haitians.

Perhaps the two adjectives, "funny" and
"bitter," indicate the basic characteris-
tics which mark the Haitian novel.

The "Indigenist" writers put the Haitian novel on the
map. Jacques Roumain and the brothers Marcelin were
translated into English. Edmund Wilson wrote a long es-
say on them in Red, Black, Blond and Olive (New York,
1956) and prefaced the translation of the Marcelins' All
Men Are Mad (New York, 1970). Gallimard published
Jacques-Stephen Alexis (who has since been translated
into Spanish) and Marie Chauvet. Scholars began to de-
vote articles and monographs to their works.
Just before he died in Paris in 1961, Francis-Joachim
Roy published a magnificent novel, which he entitled Les
Chiens. It is the story of one day in the life of Port-au-
Prince: that day in 1957, to be precise, when Magloire at-
tempted his coup d'etat. Francis-Joachim Roy returns to
the Lherisson "audience" format, and Les Chiens is at
the same time hilariously funny and profoundly bitter.
And perhaps these two adjectives, "funny" and "bitter,"
indicate the basic characteristics which mark Haitian
novels, from La Famille de Pitite-Caille to Les Chiens.

Leon-Franqois Hoffmann teaches in the Department of Romance
Languages and Literatures at Princeton University.



i ---,1
S --." -. r'.- ^ ..... -



The United States and Cuba:
Hegemony and Dependent
Development, 1880-1934.

Jules Robert Benjamin.
University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977.
266 pp. $14.95.

Large population movements, what-
ever their causes, have seldom been
unaccompanied by overtones of in-
dividual and collective tragedy. The
history of migrations has been one
of human suffering, and the societies
around the Caribbean basin have
been part of this history. These so-
cieties owe their origins to large-
scale migrations, and many of their
present ills from poverty to racial
enmity to an unfulfilled desire for
identity are traceable to the pe-
culiar role of the Caribbean as both
destination and way-station for large
and diverse movements of popula-
tion. The present century has seen
this role reversed as the Caribbean
has become a source of migrants.
This has not diminished the pathos
associated with the migrant's role.
Much of 20th century Caribbean
emigration can be traced to econ-
omic causes; however, political in-
stability is also a frequent culprit.
But it may be fatuous to consider
these as independent forces. Politi-
cal instability often results either
from economic backwardness and
the urge to develop, or from ten-
sions generated during the process
of development itself. In turn, poli-
tical instability often causes econ-
omic dislocations and retards the
process of development. Both fac-
tors remain all-too-familiar charac-
teristics of the Caribbean scene;
jointly they do much to explain the

large numbers of Caribbean emi-
grants in Amsterdam, Paris, London,
New York, Miami, and elsewhere.
Cuba fits this Caribbean pattern
only too well. Since at least the se-
cond half of the 19th century, econ-
omic backwardness and political in-
stability have given birth to large
colonies of Cuban emigrants in New
York, Tampa, Key West, and later
in Miami, New Jersey, and San Juan.
Much of Cuba's tragic post-indepen-
dence history can be read from Mia-
mi's Flagler Cemetery, where adher-
ents and opponents of various politi-
cal regimes have found a common
resting place after playing their part
in the Caribbean drama.
What accounts for the joint inci-
dence of economic backwardness
and political instability, factors which
have extracted such enormous so-
cial costs from post-independence
Cuba and its emigrant communities,
and which are not unknown in the
rest of the Caribbean? Jules Benja-
min's book, The United States and
Cuba, can be interpreted as an at-
tempt to answer this question. His
answer is summarized in the phrase
"the political economy of hegemony."
Cuba's economic and political prob-
lems were intimately related to the
hegemonic presence of the United
States and the latter country's pursuit
of its economic and security interests.
Accordingly, his book is subtitled
Hegemony and Dependent Develop-
ment 1880-1934.
Benjamin's method is to study the
forces and events which led to the
revolution of 1933 and which de-
termined its resolution or more
appropriately, its lack of resolution.
He contends that the presence of a
hegemonic power in Cuba was linked
to instability. It created deep tensions

leading to the necessity for profound
change in the political-economic
sphere while simultaneously prevent-
ing any fundamental change from
taking place. The book could have
been titled The Revolution of 1933,
since the events of that year are the
author's primary concern.
It is a common fault in works on
colonialism and imperialism that
words like "hegemony" and "depen-
dence" are imprecisely defined, parti-
cularly in their economic sense. Ben-
jamin avoids this fault. For him, "de-
pendence" obviously means a close
economic relationship as measured,
for example, by the proportion of
Cuba's imports originating in the
United States, the fraction of her ex-
ports sold there, and the fraction of
Cuba's total savings provided by the
United States.
Dependence does not in itself pre-
clude mutual dependence on equal
terms. However, as Benjamin points
out, the relationship was unequal.
Whereas a very large fraction of
Cuba's economic well-being derived
from its dependent relationship with
its northern neighbor, a very small
fraction of the United States' econ-
omic welfare was derived from its re-
lationship with Cuba. This unequal
bargaining position enabled the
United States to act unilaterally.
Through its tariff and quota policies,
the US could affect the terms of
trade with Cuba and thus the total
flow of economic benefits accruing
to Cuba. The monopolistic and mo-
nopsonistic position of American in-
terests on the island enabled them to
determine how the total flow was di-
vided between foreign factors of pro-
duction on the island and Cuban na-
tionals. The United States could act
in pursuit of its perceived national in-
terests without fear of Cuban retalia-
tion because its stake in Cuba was
proportionately much smaller than
Cuba's stake in the United States.
This, for Benjamin, is the economic
dimension of American hegemony.
Benjamin documents Cuban de-
pendence and American hegemony
by exploring the nature and extent of
the American presence: the extent of
Cuban specialization in sugar; the
importance of the American market
for Cuban sugar producers; the mag-
nitude of American investments in
sugar, transportation, communica-
tions, and finance; and the extent of
Cuban indebtedness to American fi-

nancial institutions. American capital
combined with Cuban land and labor
in an economy highly specialized in
sugar. The Cuban middle class
worked in the "interstices within the
new Cuban economy not filled by US
firms...as middlemen between US ca-
pital and Cuban factors of produc-
Benjamin argues that in the first
instance, even in prosperous times
(such as the first two decades of the
20th century) when Cuban factors of
production could gain high incomes
from the sugar monoculture, the un-
equal relation with the US forced low
tariffs on Cuba (through the Recipro-
city Treaty of 1903) precluding the
protection of infant industries. Thus,
for Cuba, the price of high sugar in-
comes through specialization in the
present was the forgone future in-
come derivable from diversification
into other efficient industries. These
industries would have become com-
petitive with time, but they would
have required tariff protection
through a gestation period.
In the second instance, although
this system of specialization/depend-
ence/American hegemony have
been compatible with high income
and political stability in prosperous
times, such a system made periodic
nation-wide economic disruption in
Cuba more likely and more severe
for Cuban factors of production. This
was so in part because specialization
made Cuba highly vulnerable to fluc-
tuations in the price of sugar, making
Cuban prosperity a precarious mat-
ter. In addition, dependence on the
United States combined with Ameri-
can hegemony made Cuba vulner-
able to US policy changes (often de-
termined in Congressional battles
between US beet-sugar interests and
US refineries). Furthermore, when
economic depression brought about
by either (or both) of these forces did
occur, American factors of produc-
tion in Cuba had the market power to
shift the costs disproportionately to
Cuban factors. Thus, the system
made depression both more likely
and more serious.
The set of assertions concerning
infant industries is not a centerpiece
of Benjamin's argument and receives
only occasional mention. The argu-
ment is weak, however, in that it does
not identify the other directions in
which Cuba's economy could have
developed. More importantly, it does

not explain why infant industries
could not have been fostered by other
means. In fact, from an economic
point of view, subsidies are to be pre-
ferred as an instrument to foster in-
fant industries even when tariff pro-
tection is available.

The Revolution of 1933
We are left with the second part of
the argument, which is the focus of
Benjamin's attention, and which pro-
vides the link to the Revolution of
The roots of this political event lay
in the collapse of the sugar market in
1920-21, the consequences of which
were exacerbated by the Fordney-
McCumber Act in 1922. The situa-
tion became worse due to the se-

Welles' role in Cuba,
Roosevelt's domestic
political situation, and
the State Department's
Latin American policy
demonstrate how the
independent actions of
capable, well-intentioned
individuals operating
under constraints result
in outcomes none of
them intended.

verely depressed state of the sugar
market in the second half of the
twenties and the Hawley-Smoot Tariff
of 1930.
Political activity concerns the dis-
tribution of economic benefits and
the avoidance of economic costs. In
Cuba, the sugar depression of the
20's led to conflict concerning who
was to bear the costs of adjustment.
Conflicts erupted between the larger,
more efficient American-owned mills
and the Cuban mills over the issue of
production controls; between the
mills and the Cuban colonos over re-
ductions in cane production; be-
tween mills and Cuban workers over
employment and wages; and between
American banks and all producers
over the issue of disposal of existing
stocks. The situation was made ex-

plosive by the merging of the issue of
economic interests with the issue of
Cuban nationalism and by the mag-
nitude of Cuban losses. Through the
crisis, American policy sought to
protect US economic interests in
Cuba as well as the broader US secu-
rity interest in the island. The US
sought to simultaneously pursue
these objectives by promoting stabi-
Having set the stage and intro-
duced the actors, Benjamin devotes
the bulk of his book to a description
of the events immediately surround-
ing the Revolution of 1933. His dis-
cussion of the American side of the
events, particularly the nature of
American Ambassador Sumner Wel-
les' mediation efforts and his overrid-
ing concern with constitutional pro-
cedure is excellent. He provides a
convincing account of personalities
and relationships between indivi-
duals, particularly between Roosevelt
and Welles, and between the latter
and Cuban President Machado. The
tensions between Welles' role in
Cuba, Roosevelt's domestic political
situation, and the State Department's
Latin American policy are skillfully
delineated. There is a strong sense of
realism in Benjamin's description of
how the independent actions of cap-
able, well-intentioned individuals
operating under constraints result in
outcomes none of them may have in-
According to Benjamin, these un-
intended consequences came about
because events respond to the funda-
mental underlying realities of the si-
tuation rather than to the actions of
individuals who disregard those reali-
ties. Unfortunately, it is in connection
with these underlying realities that
some gaps appear in Benjamin's anal-
The nature of the relationship be-
tween the US and Cuba led to pro-
found pressures for change in the
face of the crisis of the sugar industry
in the 20's. Cuban factors of produc-
tion, particularly labor, resisted the
substantial reductions in real income
that they were faced with in the crisis.
Benjamin sees the Communist Party
and the Unions as articulating the
highly radicalized views of labor. This
is an important point, for it identifies
the locii of real power as Machado,
supported by the army; Welles, sup-
ported by the American economic
and military hegemonic position; and

In short, the source of
political instability during
and after the Revolution
of 1933 appears to be
not the exclusion of a
powerful political group
but rather the failure of
the society to solve a
fundamental economic

the Left, supported by labor. By ex-
cluding the radicals in his search for
stability, and by dealing only with
Machado and the powerless moder-
ates, Welles wielded American power
to maximize instability, since any
possibility of change which spoke to
the real economic crisis was pre-
cluded by the denial of a voice to the
nationalist Left. Thus, the American
presence became an overwhelming
conservative force which prevented a
resolution of the very issues created
by the relation between the United
States and Cuba. The holding of the
Left in check and the failure to deal
with the underlying economic issues
resulted in a stalemated Cuba with

permanent political instability in
effect, the Revolution of 1933 was
thus continued until 1959.
Benjamin seems to imply a certain
continuity between 1933 and 1959
through a radicalized working class.
Yet, though he documents a substan-
tial amount of activity by the political
Left in the early 30's, he presents lit-
tle evidence that a large part of the
working class was in fact ideologi-
cally radical. Hindsight may be mis-
leading in this respect. Thus the po-
litical Left may in fact have wielded
little power. That this may have been
so is indicated by the two major
events of the revolution the gen-
eral strike which brought down Ma-
chado, and the Sergeant's Revolt
which eventually brought Batista to
power. These turning points dem-
onstrate the gaps in Benjamin's nar-
rative, and they undermine his per-
ception of the organized Left as an
effective power. For if such power
existed, certainly a general strike
would be its most logical form of
expression. Yet Benjamin treats the
strike as a spontaneous, essentially
random event. The Left was hard-
pressed to fall in step with it. The
Sergeant's movement also seems to
be an independent event. In both
cases, the power of the organized
Left is conspicuous by its absence.
The origins of both events (as dis-

tinguished from their implications)
deserve much closer scrutiny than
they are accorded by Benjamin.
In short, the source of political
instability during and after the Rev-
olution of 1933 appears to be not
the exclusion of a powerful political
group but rather the failure of the
society to solve a fundamental econ-
omic problem. This led to the exis-
tence of permanently disaffected,
but badly organized groups with no
single political voice or well-articu-
lated ideology throughout the exis-
tence of the Republic. Endemicpolit-
ical instability was the result.
On the whole, Benjamin's book is
an excellent study of a pivotal period
in Cuban history. Benjamin tells us
that the presence of a foreign-power
hegemony in the context of depend-
ent development tends to weld to-
gether the powerful forces of nation-
alism and material interest during
economic crises and that, as long
as the underlying economic question
is not addressed, recurrent political
instability and the associated social
dislocations can be expected. Put in
these terms, the pattern is a familiar
one, and The United States and
Cuba is a well-done case study in
the political economy of hegemony.
Pedro Montiel teaches Economics at Flor-
ida International University and is the As-
sociate Editor of Caribbean Review.

N IOUna revista mensual destinada a llenar el vacio
de interpretaci6n y andlisis de la actualidad hemisferica.
(D M N OE uPublicada por ALA, Agencia Latinoamericana,
LINiAOAMERZIANAS fundada en 1948.

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Lewis's Novela

By Eugene L. Komrad

The Children of Sanchez
Directed and Produced by Hal
Bartlett. Featuring: Anthony Quinn,
Dolores del Rio, Lupita Ferrer.
Screenplay: Cesare Zavattini, Hal
Bartlett. Adapted from the book by
Oscar Lewis.

Hal Bartlett's movie version of Oscar
Lewis's The Children of Sanchez
dwells upon the interrelationships
between Jesis Sanchez and his chil-
dren. It is the story of the inability of
a father to express his love for his
children, an inability which tears
apart the very family he is so anxious
to preserve.
Jesus Sanchez, ably played by An-
thony Quinn, is a poor Mexican with
limited horizons and goals. To his
children he could never say "I love
you" but only "I'll take care of you."
He never lost an opportunity to berate
them, to belittle them, to point out
their inadequacies, and to exercise
his machismo by beating them.
Even in their poverty stricken sit-
uation they owned a television and
their horizons were extended beyond
the vecindad allowing them to see
what was available to others. Their
lives were filled by a restlessness that
emanated from their personal dis-
satisfaction with their lot in life. Each
of the children of Sanchez tries to fill
this void in his own way. The threads
that bind them together are both
their love for their father and their
mutual sense that this love is not
Manuel, the eldest son, heir to his
father's role yet too inadequate to
fulfill it, moves from one failure to
another. A change in his lifestyle is
always just out of his grasp, and he
tries to solve his problems by running
away. His father understands neither
him nor his motivations and never
loses an opportunity to put him down.
Although his saga, because of his
position in the family, plays an im-
portant role in the book, he is only
peripheral to the movie.

Roberto, who is tough and lives
close to the fringe of the law, is actu-
ally a very sensitive individual. He
alters his circumstances by stealing,
heroism, and absence of physical
fear. He idolizes his father as a "real
man," but his father cannot acknow-
ledge this affection. In the book this
breach is related to the fact that Ro-
berto has dark skin and JesCs is un-
certain that he is the father. This
point unfortunately is not clarified in
the film.
Marta, the youngest S6nchez, has
been raised as the father's favorite.
She is thoroughly feminine and very
romantic, but deprived of a clear
expression of her father's love, she
collects children and unhappiness
from which she is regularly rescued
by the ever present Jesis Sanchez.
Marta's character does not develop
in the film, but is used as a vehicle to
demonstrate that JesGs does care
for his children.
Lupita Ferrer, convincingly plays
the role of Consuelo, on whom the
film mainly focuses. Consuelo is dif-
ferent from the other children. She is
the only child who can articulate the
struggle between the children and
the father. She alone forces from
him the painful confession about his
inability to love: "I don't know how."
She is ambitious and has the intel-
ligence to rise above the world into
which she was born. It is here that the
movie makes an important departure
from the book. Consuelo of the book,
despite her aptitudes and ambitions,
eventually makes a shambles of
everything she tries. On the contrary,
Consuelo of the film demonstrates
that true ambition brings its rewards.
She even manages to become an air-
line stewardess and presumably es-
Jesis S6nchez not only supports a
rather large household from his first
wife, but another mistress and daugh-
ter in a distant vecindad. Antonia is
the beautiful and illegitimate daugh-
ter who uses her body to gain the love
from which she has been deprived by
her absentee father. Eventually, she
is brought into the Sanchez house-

From the film The Children of Sanchez.
hold. This sets up new conflicts of
sibling rivalry. Undisguised incestual
overtones radiate in which Jesus ex-
presses his love in the only way he
knows how: by providing tangible
items rather than words of affection.
Jestis feels that in winning the lot-
tery and being able to purchase land
and build a house on the hillside with
his own hands, he has solved all of
his problems. He believes he has now
risen out of the poverty to which he
has been born and against which he
has struggled all of his life. However,
Consuelo is leaving for good. Manuel
is only tangentially involved with the
family through a series of personal
failures. Antonia is inexplicably gone.

Marta is living with Balc6zar in Aca-
pulco with her children and various
other grandchildren. Only the faithful
Roberto with his new former-prosti-
tute bride remains.
But most of all, the children of Sn-
chez remain as they have always
been, filled with anger, hostility, des-
pair and resignation, always yearning
for an expression of love, tenderness
and warmth from their father who
"doesn't know how." Each is involved
with his individual conflicts and only
peripherally involved with each other.
This is poignantly portrayed in the
final confrontation between Consuelo
and her father in which she vengefully
attacks him by viciously attempting

to destroy his greatest strength, his
machismo, by suggesting that none
of his children are his own and he is
the grand cuckold. What is the re-
sponse to this horrendous accusa-
tion? After a token protest, each of
the children of Sanchez, who love him
dearly, walks off in his own direction.
The photography of the film is well
done especially the close-up charac-
ter shots. The minimal scenery shifts
add a quality of monotony that sets
a background mood for the lives de-
picted. The dynamic, emotional beat
of the sound track hauntingly com-
posed and played by Chuck Man-
gione subliminally keeps one's pulse
at an appropriate level to heighten

the visual images. Were it not for the
spectacular music which ties this film
into a cohesive unit, the many sub-
plots which do not seem to fit to-
gether in a story line would tend to
detract from its continuity. But, nei-
ther the book, the sound track, nor
the movie help us witness the emo-
tional chaos of the Sanchez family as
something special to families of the
poor. That idea, as important as it
was to Oscar Lewis with his concept
of the "culture of poverty," remains
inadequately articulated by either the
arts or the sciences.

Eugene L. Komrad is a Miami surgeon.

By Marian Goslinga

Anthropology & Sociology

WORKING CLASS, 1860-1931. John
M. Hart. University of Texas Press,
1978.259 pp. $14.95

Carmen A. Rivero de Figueroa.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.

Carlos Ayala Jimenez, et al. Sociedad
de Integraci6n Liberal (Colombia),
1978. 227 pp. $6.00 An essay on

SINCE 1848. Oscar J. Martinez.
University of Texas Press, 1978.
280 pp. $12.95.

Daniel Vidart. CINEP (Colombia), 1977.
190 pp. 70 pesos.

COLOMBIA. Jose Francisco Socarrds.
Tercer Mundo (Colombia), 1978.
107 pp. $3.50.

Davila, ed. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1977. An account of policies in
Puerto Rico.

UNIDOS. Marfa Cristina Herrera, et al.
Ediciones Universal (Miami), 1978.

LOS CURANDEROS. Oscar Gonz6lez
Quevedo. Ediciones Universal (Miami),
1977. 365 pp. $14.95.

HAITI. UNICA/OEA/Haiti. Association
of Caribbean Universities and Research
Institutes, 1977. 86 pp.

Leonard E. Barrett. Heinemann Educ.,
1977. 257 pp. 7.50; 2.90 paper.

DEL BUEN VIAJE. Lydia Cabrera.
Ediciones Universal (Miami), 1977.
85 pp. $6.95.

Sanchez. Ediciones Universal (Miami),
1978. 149 pp. $10.00.

COLOMBIANO. Umberto Valverde.
Editorial Toronuevo (Colombia), 1978.
353 pp.

AgOn Efund4. Ediciones Cubam6rica,
1978. 124 pp. $6.95. Account by a

Warren. University of Texas Press,
1978. 216 pp. $11.95. Study of San
Andr6s, a small community inhabited
by Cakchiquel Indians.

Aretz. Monte Avila, (Venezuela), 1977.
287 pp. $17.50.

1840-1858. Robert Paul Matthews.
Monte Avila, (Venezuela), 1977.
210 pp. $10.00.


Luis GonzBlez Vales. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1978. Biography of
a 19th century economist.

GOBIERNO. Hernando G6mez
Buendia. Ediciones Tercer Mundo
(Colombia), 1978. 367 pp. $3.00.

Caldera Rodriguez. Translated by
John Street. Allen and Unwin, 1977.
165 pp. 8.50.

DESTINY. Jos6 Luis Salcedo-Bastardo.
Annella McDermott, ed. Richmond
Publishing Co. (England), 1977.
191 pp. 6.25; 2.95 paper.

GUERRILLERO. Walter J. Broderick.
Grijalbo (Spain), 1977. 390 pp. $15.00.

Benjamin Martinez L6pez. University
of Puerto Rico Press, 1977. 163 pp.
$6.25; $5.00 paper. Biography of a
Chilean writer.

RICO. G. C6rdova. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1978.

McCutchan. Joseph Milton Nance, ed.
University of Texas Press, 1978. 304
pp. $15.00. An autobiographical
account of one of the more interesting
episodes in Texas history.

Jaime Bonilla Plata. Canal Ramirez-
Antares (Colombia), 1978. 495 pp.

Julio Ortiz Marquez. Carlos Valencia
Editores (Colombia), 1978. 263 pp.
$2.00. A discussion of Colombian
history from 1942 to 1949 and the role
played by Jorge Eliecer Gaitan during
this turbulent period.

OBRA. Gilberto Cancela. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1977. 150 pp.
$5.95. Biography of a Cuban historian
and literary critic.

Description and Travel

Juan Ernesto Montenegro. Consejo
Municipal del Distrito Federal
(Venezuela), 1977. 333 pp. $30.00.

CARACAS ALIVE. Harriet Greenberg and
Arnold L. Greenberg. 2nd Edition.
Alive Publications, 1978. 143 pp.

THE CARIBBEAN. Stephen Birnbaum.
Houghton Miflin, 1978. $15.00; $9.95

CARIBBEAN. Dick Amann and
Barbara Amann. Programmed Studies
Inc., 1978. $19.95.

A. Hyatt Verrill. Gordon Press, 1978.


Morales Carri6n. University of Puerto
Rico Press, 1977.

RICO. Gerardo Navas D6vila, ed.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.
An account of economic policies in
Puerto Rico.

Pena. Tercer Mundo (Colombia), 1978.
90 pp. $4.00.

Ricardo Mosquera M. CINEP
(Colombia), 1977. 70 pp. $40.00.

EN COLOMBIA. Salom6n Kalmanovitz.
Editorial La Carreta (Colombia), 1978.
360 pp. $12.00.

RICO. Gerardo Navas D6vila, ed.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.

Ernesto Parra, et al. CINEP (Colombia),
1977. 136 pp. 100 pesos.

Grunwald, ed. Sage Publications, 1978.
323 pp. $17.50.

P. Irish, ed. Center for International
Studies, Ohio University, 1978. 121 pp.

CAFETERA. Ernesto Samper Pizano.
Tercer Mundo (Colombia), 1978.
67 pp. $2.50.


Pereira, et al. Siglo Veintiuno Editores
(Colombia), 1978. 253 pp.

LABORAL 1977. Universidad
Externado de Colombia, Depto. de
Derecho Laboral, 1978. 320 pp.

Alberto Blanco. University of Puerto
Rico Press, 1978.

VENEZUELA'S OIL. R6mulo Betancourt.
Donald Peck, Trans. Allen and Unwin,
1978. 275 pp. $20.75.

History and Archaeology

XV-XVIII. Aida Caro Costas. University
of Puerto Rico Press, 1977. 713 pp.
$9.00. A reprint.

DE TUNJA. Pr6spero Pereira Gamba.
Univ. Pedag6gica y Tecnol6gica de
Colombia, 1977. 267 pp. $15.00.

AMERICA, 1808-1826. Mario
Rodriguez. University of California
Press, 1978. $18.75. An account of a
critical period in Central American

Ronald K. Wetherington, ed.
Pennsylvania State University Press,
1978. $12.95.


CUBA IN THE WORLD. Cole Blasier,
Carmelo Mesa-Largo, eds. University
of Pittsburgh Press, 1978.

Rubio. Ediciones Universal (Miami),
1977. 175 pp. $5.95. An account of
conditions during the Batista regime
written by the dictator's private

VENEZUELA. Guillermo Mor6n.
Consejo Municipal del Distrito Federal
(Venezuela), 1977. 390 pp. $15.00.

INDEPENDENCE. Russell Bartley.
University of Texas Press, 1978.

is Available in


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VIRGIN ISLANDS. Aimery Caron and
Arnold R. Highfield. Bureau of
Libraries, Museums and
Archaeological Services, Dept. of
Conservation and Cultural Affairs
(Virgin Islands), 1978. 79 pp.

LA LEY FORAKER. Maria Dolores
Luque de Sanchez. University of Puerto
Rico Press, 1977.

Richard E. W. Adams, ed. University
of New Mexico Press, 1978. 465 pp.

Herminio Portell-Vils. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1978. A study of
the Latin American contribution to
the independence of the United States.

EL SALVADOR. Robert J. Sharer, ed.
University of Pennsylvania Press,
1978, 3 volumes. $45.00.

POLITICA. Reece B. Bothwell, ed.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.
A set of four volumes containing
historical documents.

Joseph W. Michels, ed. Pennsylvania
State University Press, 1978. $12.95.

BRAZIL. Jan Knippers Black. University
of Pennsylvania Press, 1977. 313 pp.

Language and Literature

Perricone, ed. Ediciones Universal
(Miami), 1977. 199 pp. $4.50.

Arroyo. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1977.

PROSE. I.R. Warner and A.G. de
Souda, eds. Harrap Books (England),
1978. 176 pp. 2.50'

Resell. Ediciones Universal (Miami),
1977. 158 pp. $5.00. Essays, stories,
etc. by one of Cuba's foremost

Ferdinandy. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1977. 380 pp. $6.25; $5.00

HISPANICO. Humberto L6pez Morales,
ed. University of Puerto Rico Press,

LITERATURE, 1923-1973. Jose R. de
Armas and Charles W. Steele.
Ediciones Universal (Miami), 1978.
248 pp. $10.95. A critical anthology.

Alberto Baeza Flores. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1977. $6.95.
Literary criticism.

EDEN. Waldo R. Mesa. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1978. 120 pp.
$3.50. Poems.

ECUE YAMBA O. Alejo Carpentier.
Ediciones Universal (Miami), 1977.
186 pp. $5.95. A novel.

Morales. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1977. 177 pp. $6.25; $5.00
paper. A distinguished Puerto Rican
critic examines the work of well-known
literary figures.

Aponte. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1977. 274 pp. $7.25.

Gonzdlez. Ediciones Universal (Miami),

FRANCISCO. Robert Maiorano. Macmillan,
1978. $7.95. A novel about the
Dominican Repu'*...

Jimenez. Ediciones Universal (Miami),
1977. 131 pp. $5.95.

Sanchez-Priede. Ediciones Universal
(Miami), 1977. 75 pp. $3.00. Cuban
folklore and traditions written up in
poetic form.

Martha Cobb. Three Continents Press,
1978. 250 pp. $15.00; $9.00 paper.

Reinaldo S6nchez, et al. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1978. 300 pp.
$9.95. Papers presented at a
conference held at Florida International
University, Nov. 1976, in honor of the
celebrated Cuban author.

LA NOVELA. Jose Juan Beauchamp.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.
184 pp. $6.25; $5.00 paper.

STORIES. Gabriel Garcia M6rquez.
Harper and Row, 1978. $8.95.

MANACH. Jorge L. Marti. University
of Puerto Rico Press, 1977. 333 pp.
$6.95; $5.00 paper.

Jos6 Sanchez-Boudy. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1977. 271 pp.

Ezequiel Martinez. Estrada (Argentina),
1977. 150 pp. $5.95. Study of the
Cuban poet.

Jim6nez. Ediciones Universal (Miami),
1977. A book of Cuban folklore.

Ribeiro. Houghton Miflin, 1978.
146 pp. $7.95. A novel set in the
backlands of Northeastern Brazil.

SONAR Y HACER. Rafael Arrillaga
Torrens. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1977. 176 pp. $6.00; $5.00

De Graff, 1978. 167 pp. $12.50.

OSCURA. Armando Couto. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1978. A humorous
account which takes the reader from
La Habana to 8th Street in Miami.

Fernandez Marcane, ed. Ediciones
Universal (Miami), 1978. $4.50.

Politics and Government

H. LA GUARDIA. Rexford Guy
Tugwell. Greenwood Press, 1977.
295 pp. Reprint of 1958 edition.

1978-1982: LOS TEMAS EN
CONTROVERSIA. Hernando Agudelo
Villa, et al. Tercer Mundo (Colombia),
1978. 331 pp. 220 pesos. Discusses
the political outlook for Colombia.

VENEZUELA. Bill Stewart. University
of North Carolina Press, 1978. $10.00.

NACIONAL. Fern6n E. Gonzalez.
Centro de Investigaci6n y Educaci6n
Popular (Colombia), 1977. 148 pp.
Colombian politics under L6pez

Juan Montes Hern6ndez. Los
Comuneros (Colombia), 1977. 101 pp.
Political development in Colombia.

UNA PROPUESTA. Jaime Betancur
Cuartas. Tercer Mundo (Colombia),
1978. 500 pp. $30.00.

Jorge 1. Dominguez. The Belknap
Press of Harvard University Press,
1978. 683 pp.

COLOMBIA. Roberto Gerlein
Echeverria. Tercer Mundo (Colombia),
1978. 170 pp. $7.50.

DEPENDENCE. Neil R. Richardson.
University of Texas Press, 1978.
$12.95. An analysis of the foreign
policy behavior of a number of poor
Latin American and Caribbean

MONOPOLISTA. Fernando Rojas H.
CINEP (Colombia), 1978. 169 pp.
Politics in Colombia under L6pez

Liverpool. Institute of Social and
Economic Research, University of the
West Indies, 1977.

Santa-Pinter. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1978.

Alejandro Reyes Posada. CINEP
(Colombia), 1978. 183 pp.

POPULAR. Gilberto Vieira. Ediciones
Suramerica (Colombia), 1977. 181 pp.
A collection of essays by the Secretary
General of the Colombian Communist

IN NEW YORK CITY. Rosa Estades.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.

1919-1931. Wesley Phillips Newton.
University of Texas Press, 1978.
441 pp. $20.00.

Loveman and Thomas M. Davies, Jr.,
eds. University of Nebraska Press,
1978. 309 pp. $19.95; $5.95 paper.

Buenaventura. Ediciones Suramerica
(Colombia), 1978. 193 pp.

RICO. Jose Trias Monge. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1977.

Jacques L&vesque. Praeger, 1978.
$13.95. Translated from the French.


Lee H. Williams, Jr. G.K. Hall, 1977.
339 pp. $24.00.

American Center. California State
University, Los Angeles, 1977. 51 pp.

Victor D. Anderson, ed. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1978.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. Latin American
Center. California State University,
Los Angeles, 1977. 74 pp. $4.50.


Oppenheimer. Latin American Studies
Center. California State University,
Los Angeles, 1977. 91 pp. $4.00.

York City Public Library, 1978. $20.00.
RICO. Centro de Investigaciones
Hist6ricas, Facultad de Humanidades.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.
Vol. 1, 1818-1868.

USUALES. Jos6 Sanchez-Boudy.
Ediciones Universal (Miami), 1977.
400 pp.

Franklin Parker and Betty Parker,
eds. Inter-American University Press
Ram6n Cernuda, ed. Editorial Martiana
(Miami), 1978. 11 Volumes. $329.81.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. Margaret E. Beesoa,
et al. Society of Spanish and American
Studies, Nebraska, 1978.

University of Puerto Rico Press, 1977.
3 volumes. $28.00. Vol. 1 Las
Antillas; Vol. 2 Centroamerica;
Vol. 3 Venezuela.

AMERICA. Edward Glab, ed. University
of Texas Press, 1977. $6.00.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. Herbert Gooch. Latin
American Studies Center, California
State University, Los Angeles, 1977.
74 pp. $3.75.

QUIEN ES QUIEN. Lubeck and Lubeck.
(Costa Rica), 1978.
STUDIES. Mary Gormly. Latin
American Studies Center, California
State University, Los Angeles, 1977.
284 pp. $5.00.
CARIBBEAN, 1950-1975. Claire M.
Lambert, ed. Mansell Infor. Publishing,
1978. 319 pp.

TIMES. Meri Knaster. G.K. Hall, 1977.
696 pp. $38.00.
Suzanne Smith Saulniers and Cathy
Anne Rakowski. University of Texas
Press, 1977. $6.95.

Marian Goslinga is International,
Environmental and Urban Affairs
Librarian at Florida International


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