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Caribbean Review
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00095576/00035
 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: 1981
Copyright Date: 1980
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Genre: serial   ( sobekcm )
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Source Institution: FIU: Special Collections
Holding Location: FIU: Special Collections
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 1553369
System ID: UF00095576:00035

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 1
    Front Matter
        Page 2
        Page 3
    Main
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        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
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



CAIBB AN

Three Dollars


Did Human Rights Kill Anastasio Somoza? Mexico's Modern Military, Jamaican Politics,
Economics, and Culture, The Mighty Shadow, The Jombee Dance, Remembrances
of New York, Could Cuba Have Been Different?








Certificate

In Latin

American-

Caribbean

Studies


* Over 55 Latin American and
Caribbean related courses in
the University.
* Certificate requirements include:
successful completion of five Latin
American and/or Caribbean
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 students.
* Expanded University support as a
Title VI Undergraduate Language
and Area Center.
* Expanded Library holdings in
Latin American-Caribbean
materials.
* Special seminar series offered by
distinguished visiting scholars in
Latin American and Caribbean
Studies.



For further information contact:
Latin American-Caribbean Center
Florida International University
'Tamiami Trail
Miami, Florida 33199


Latin American-Caribbean
Studies Faculty
Irma Alonso, Economics
Ewart Archer, International
Relations
Ken I. Boodhoo, International
Relations
Manuel Carvajal, Economics
John Corbett, Public Administration
Grenville Draper, Physical Sciences
Luis Escovar, Psychology
Robert Farrell, Education
Gordon Finley, Psychology
John Jensen, Moder Languages
David Jeuda, Modem Languages
Charles Lacombe, Anthropology
Barry B. Levine, Sociology
Anthony P Maingot, Sociology
James A. Mau, Sociology
Floretin Maurrasse, Physical
Sciences
Ramon Mendoza, Modern
Languages
Raul Moncarz, Economics
Marta Ortiz, Marketing
Mark B. Rosenberg, Political
Science
Reinaldo Sanchez, Modern
Languages
Luis P Salas, Criminal Justice
Jorge Salazar, Economics
Alex Stepick, Anthropology
Mark D. Szuchman, History
William T. Vickers, Anthropology
Maida Watson Breslin, Moder
Languages


Miami Speaker's
Bureau
On Latin America
and the Caribbean
The Latin American and Caribbean
Center of Florida International
University hosts a Speaker's Bureau
for scholars traveling through
Miami. The Bureau serves as a
means for area specialists to share
their experiences and research
during colloquia. A modest
honorarium and per diem expenses
will be provided. Scholars
anticipating travel through Miami
and interested in participating in
the colloquia should contact
Mark B. Rosenberg, Director, Latin
American and Caribbean Center,
FIU, Miami, FL 33199 at least
30 days prior to the anticipated
departure from their home cities.

Occasional Papers

The Center also publishes both an
Occasional Papers Series as well as
a series of Dialogues given by guest
speakers on the campus of FIU.
Please write for details.













CAPBBEAN




FALL 1981 Vol. X, No. 4 Three Dollars

Editor
Barry B, Levine


Associate Editors
Anthony P Maingot
William T Osborne
Mark B. Rosenberg
Contributing Editors
Carlos M. Alvarez
Ricardo Arias
Ken I. Boodhoo
Jerry Brown
Herbert L. Hiller
Antonio Jorge
Gordon K. Lewis
James A. Mau
Raul Moncarz
Luis F Salas
Mark D. Szuchman
William T Vickers
Gregory B. Wolfe
Editorial Manager
Beatriz Parga de Bay6n


Art Director
Danine Carey
Design Consultant
Juan C. Urquiola
Bibliographer
Marian Goslinga
Assistant to the Editor
Brenda Hart
Circulation Manager
James F Droste
Marketing and Sales Manager
Robert A. Geary
Production Assistant
Stephanie Schneiderman
Contributing Artist
Eleanor Bonner


Caribbean Review, a quarterly journal dedicated to the Carib-
bean, 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 funds from the Office of Academic Affairs
of Florida International University and the State of Florida. This
public document was promulgated at a quarterly cost of
$6,659 or $1.21 per copy to promote international education
with a primary emphasis on creating greater mutual under-
standing among the Americas, by articulating the culture and
ideals of the Caribbean and Latin America, and emigrating
groups originating therefrom.
Editorial policy: Caribbean Review does not accept responsibil-
ity for any of the views expressed in its pages. Rather, we accept
responsibility for giving such views the opportunity to be
expressed herein. Our articles do not represent a consensus of
opinion some articles are in open disagreement with others
and no reader should be able to agree with all of them.
Mailing address: Caribbean Review, Florida International
University, Tamiami Trail, Miami, Florida 33199. Telephone
(305) 554-2246. Unsolicited manuscripts (articles, essays,
reprints, excerpts, translations, book reviews, poetry, etc.) are
welcome but should be accompanied by a self-addressed
stamped envelope.
Copyright: Contents Copyright @ 1981 by Caribbean Review,
Inc. The reproduction of any artwork, editorial or other material
is expressly prohibited without written permission from the
publisher.
Photocopying: Permission to photocopy for internal or per-
sonal use or the internal or personal use of specific clients is
granted by Caribbean Review. Inc. for libraries and other users
registered with the Copyright Clearance Center (CCC), pro-
vided that the stated fee of $1.00 per copy is paid directly to
CCC, 21 Congress Street, Salem, MA 01970. Special requests
should be addressed to Caribbean Review, Inc.
Syndication: Caribbean Review articles have appeared in other
media in English, Spanish, Portuguese and German. Editors,
please write for details.
Index: Articles appearing in this journal are annotated and
indexed in Development and Welfare Index; Hispanic American
Periodicals Index; Historical Abstracts; America: History and
Life; United States Political Science Documents; and Universal
Reference System. An index to the first six volumes appeared in
Vol. VII, No. 2 of CR; an index to volumes seven and eight, in Vol.
IX, No. 2.
Subscription rates: For the US, PR, and the USVI I year:
$12.00; 2 years: $20.00; 3 years: $25.00. For the Caribbean,
Latin America, and Canada 1 year: $18.00; 2 years: $32.00; 3
years: $43.00. For all other foreign destinations 1 year:
$24.00: 2 years: $44.00, 3 years: $61.00. Subscriptions to the
Caribbean, Latin America, Canada, and other foreign destina-
tions will automatically be shipped by AO Air Mail. Invoicing
Charge: $3.00. Subscription agencies, please take 15%. Back
Issues: Back numbers still in print are purchasable at $5.00
each. A list of those still available appears elsewhere in this
issue. 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 0008-6525;
Library of Congress Classification Number: AP6, C27; Library
of Congress Card Number: 71-16267; Dewey Decimal
Number: 079.7295.


In this issue


page t


page 32


On the Cover:
Colombian Artist Fernando
Botero's Virgen de Fatima
(oil on canvas). Collection
of the Museum of Modern
Art, Bogota, Colombia.


Did Human Rights Kill Anastasio
Somoza?
An Excerpt From A Recent Biography
By Bernard Diederich

The Sandinistas and the Costefios
Reconciliation and Integration?
By Margaret D. Wilde

Mexico's Modern Military
Implications for the Region
By Edward J. Williams

Jamaican Politics, Economics
and Culture
An Interview With Edward Seaga
By Stephen Davis

The Caribbean in the 1980s
What We Should Study
By Gordon K. Lewis

The Mighty Shadow
On the Pointlessness of Human Existence
By Linden Lewis

A Day in Babylon
Street Life in Guyana
By David J. Dodd

The Jombee Dance
Friendship and Ritual in Montserrat
By Jay D. Dobbin

What Did He Say?
What Did He Mean?
An Ethnography of Discourse in Puerto Rico
Reviewed by Gerald Guinness

Remembrances of New York
The Puerto Rican Community From
the Civil War to 1947
Reviewed by Eugene V. Mohr

Could Cuba Have Been Different?
The Winds of December
Reviewed by Justo Carrillo

Recent Books
An Informative Listing of Books
about the Caribbean, Latin America
and Their Emigrant Groups
By Marian Goslinga








Las Luchas Por El Seguro Social
En Costa Rica

Mark B. Rosenberg

Este libro es uno de los es-
tudios, sino el unico, mas
amplio y riguroso sobre la
historic de la reform social en
Costa Rica, centrado de pre-
ferencia en el Seguro Social y
el papel de la Caja Costa-
rricense de Seguro Social. El
ensayo, es complete, en el sen-
tido que abarca la reform so-
cial durante casi toda la vida
independiente de Costa Rica.
Su vastisima informacibn
proviene de las mas variadas
fuentes: entrevistas, libros,
documents, actas de juntas
directives y toda clase de
peri6dicos.

Editorial Costa Rica
San Jose, Costa Rica
1980


Sex, Contraception, and
Motherhood in Jamaica
Eugene B. Brody
Brody's combined social science and psycho-
analytic perspective on reproductive behavior
and population policy illuminates the complex
factors that influence the Jamaicans' use or non-
use of contraceptive methods. His suggestions
for reconciling the private needs of individuals
and the public goals of Jamaican population pol-
icy are applicable to other developing countries.
Commonwealth Fund $20.00
Modernism and Negritude
The Poetry and Poetics of Aimn Ccsaire
A. James Arnold
"Arnold illuminates questions which have not
been raised properly concerning Afro-American
writing. His book is cogently argued and
expressed with clarity and elegance."
-Michel Fabre
Arnold presents in its political and cultural
context the work of the greatest visionary poet
writing in French since the Romantic period.
$25.00
Harvard University Press
79 Garden Street
Cambridge, Massachusetts 02138

2/CAIBBEAN VIEWW


Mobility

and Integration

in Urban Argentina

CORDOBA IN THE LIBERAL ERA


By Mark D. Szuchman

Between the 1870s, when the great influx
of European immigrants began, and the
start of World War I, Argentina underwent a
radical alteration of its social composition
and patterns of economic productivity.
Mark Szuchman, in this groundbreaking
study, examines the occupational, resi-
dential, educational, and economic patterns
of mobility of some four thousand men,
women, and children who resided in
Cordoba, Argentina's most important
interior city, during this changeful era.
The use of record linkage as the essential
research method makes this work the first
book on Argentina to follow this very
successful research methodology employed
by modern historians.

290 pages, $19.95







University of Texas Press 083
POST OFFICE BOX 7819 AUSTIN, TEXAS 78712
Please send copies of Mobility and Integration in
Urban Argentina at 19.95 ca. Texas residents add 5% sales
tax.
D Check Enclosed E VISA D MasterCharge
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CRIME AND
PUNISHMENT IN
THE CARIBBEAN


00




3
g




a0


w
C


he rapid growth of crime and violence in the Caribbean
Spouses dramatic challenges to the citizens and govern-
ments in the region, who increasingly seek and even demand
immediate solutions. This first collection of articles on the
subject presents the results of investigations in the Dutch-,
French-, English-, and Spanish-speaking Caribbean, under-
taken by both scholars and civil servants currently at work in
the area.
Contents
The Role of the Sentencer in Dealing with Criminal Offenders
in the Commonwealth Caribbean-Delroy Chuck; Urban
Crime and Violence in Jamaica-Dudley Allen; Crime and
Treatment in Jamaica-Dudley Allen; Rape and Socio-Eco-
nomic Conditions in Trinidad and Tobago-Kenneth Pryce
and Daurius Figueira; Reflections on the Problem of Urban
Crime and Violence in Puerto Rico-Rafael Santos del Valle;
A Profile of the State of Criminology in Haiti-Max Carre;
Urban Crime and Violence in Guyana-Michael Parris; A Sur-
vey of the Guyanese Prison Population A Research Note
-Michael Parris; Planned Research into the Criminological
Consequences of the Mass Transmigration of the Bush
Negroes in Suriname-A. Leerschool-Liong A Jin; Women
and Violent Crime in Suriname-J. M. M. Binda
x, 146 pages. Maps, charts, tables, index. ISBN: 0-8130-0685-6,
LC 80-21078. Paper, $6.00 U.S.
A publication of the Center for Latin American Studies,
University of Florida
with assistance from the Association of Caribbean
Universities and Research Institutes (UN/CA)
Orders from individuals must be prepaid and include 85 cents shipping
and handling charge Florida orders add 4 percent state sales tax
Availablefrom UNIVERSITY PRESSES OF FLORIDA
famu /fau /fiu /fsu /ucf/uf/unf/usf/uwf
15 NW 15 Street /Gainesville FL 32603


Barry B. Levine shatters
the myth of the victimized
immigrant.




BENJY


LOPEZ

A Picaresque Tale
of Emigration and Return
"Benjy Lopez's story is not one of despair and
resignation; it is a picaresque adventure in which
the hero works his way through and around the
labyrinth of race, ethnicity, class, and bu-
reaucracy in the cosmopolitan world of New York
City... Lopez rejects conformity, but his deviance
is strategic rather than decadent decadence is
often a surprise to him. As far as I can gather, this
book is for him an attempt to convince the reader
of the value and ingenuity of the way he has done
things: perhaps differently, maybe even better,
the result of a man who rejects foregone conclu-
sions."
Using the first-person technique pioneered by
Oscar Lewis, noted sociologist Barry B. Levine
records and analyzes the life story of a Puerto
Rican emigrant, "one of the most colorful charac-
ters to make an appearance in sociological litera-
ture.... Barry Levine has that increasingly rare
gift, the sociological ear. In this book, we have the
result of his listening."
-Peter Berger
"A labor of love for Puerto Rico and its plight, and
a fine piece of scholarship."
-Ed Vega,
Nuestro
"Levine has rescued Third World man from in-
dignity....I believe that few works will better
demonstrate the circumstances of the Puerto
Rican in New York than this one."
-Miguel Barnet,
Caribbean Review
$12.95 at bookstores, or direct from the publisher


BASIC BOOKS, INC
10 East 53rd Street, New York 10022


CAr?BBEAN Fr'EEWv/3












Did Human Rights Kill




Anastasio Somoza?


An Excerpt From A Recent Biography
By Bernard Diederich


he United States began taking
measures to demonstrate its
worldwide commitment to human
rights. The United States Congress's ban on
military and development aid during
1973-74 to those countries that were
notorious violators of human rights was a
promising step. But an escape clause was
introduced that made exceptions in special
cases where American assistance was "jus-
tified." This rendered the policy toothless.
The pre-Carter Ninety-fourth Congress put
the bite back into it in 1976. Seeking to
return "moral purpose and traditional val-
ues" to America's foreign policy, it not only
ruled that gross violators of human rights
throughout the world should be punished
for their acts, but that the United States
would seek to disassociate itself from re-
pressive regimes, no matter what the price.
To monitor human rights violators, Con-
gress called upon the secretary of state to
name a coordinator for human rights and
humanitarian affairs who would submit to
Congress an annual report on the status of
human rights in all nations that were recip-
ients of United States aid.
Somoza was beginning to feel a slight
chill in his close relations with the State
Department in 1975, and he found himself
brushing away icicles when he met with an
old family foe, President Carlos Andres
Perez of Venezuela. The reason the
Somozas had hated Andres Perez was the
fact that he had been President R6mulo
Betancourt's private secretary and later
interior minister. Betancourt was far too
democratic and reformist for the old Carib-
bean dictators, who labeled him a com-
munist and tried to kill him. He had been a
threat to their old dictatorial rule.
When Andres Perez invited the five Cen-
tral American presidents and General
Omar Torrijos of Panama to Venezuela to
discuss and sign a loan which would help
them in the oil price squeeze, Tacho had
arrived in a Sabre-60 on loan from the
Rockwell aircraft builders. The trip only
served to confirm Andres Perez's low opin-
ion of Somoza. Somoza returned to Man-
agua and fired off a confidential memo to
the United States State Department, as was
his habit, detailing what he believed were
4/CAIBBEAN FPVIEW


dangerous weaknesses of the Venezuelan
president, who saw no reason for not having
close diplomatic relations with Communist
Cuba. Tacho also felt Andres Perez was
exploiting his position as the major petro-
leum supplier to the area and "not doing us
any favors." To an aide Tacho later ex-
plained, "The son-of-a-bitch wasted my
time talking about Pedro Joaquin
Chamorro, his good friend whom he was in
exile with in Costa Rica. He was worried
about Chamorro's health. I told him he
[Chamorrol was the healthiest man in
Nicaragua because I needed him to give us
a clean slate for freedom of the press."
Somoza at first believed that his creden-
tials as the most pro-American leader in the
hemisphere, with influential friends in the
United States Congress, would enable him
to weather what he perceived as a backlash
in the wake of Watergate and Vietnam and a
policy originally aimed at Soviet treatment
of political dissidents such as Solzhenitsyn,
Ginzburg and others. But toward the end of
1975 Somoza was worrying aloud to his
friends about "leftists in the State Depart-
ment ganging up on me." At times he won-
dered whether he had been singled out by
anti-Nixon forces in Washington because of
his closeness to the President. The arrival of
Ambassador James Theberge, he noted,
had signaled a real change in years of close,
accommodating relations with the State
Department. Theberge had told him that
his instructions were to "keep his distance
from me." And Theberge was mixing with
the opposition, which came as a shock after
Shelton [a previous US ambassador], who
drew the line and enjoyed only the com-
pany of loyal Somoza people.

The 1976 US Election
The 1976 election campaign in the United
States between Gerald R. Ford and James
Earl Carter became a burning issue in the
Somoza household in Managua. Carter's
victory was both a surprise and a shock to
Tacho, who soon realized that his unswerv-
ing loyaltyto the United States and all things
American would be put to the test. "Pro-
communist Jesuit priests," he said, were
out to undermine that long and firm re-
lationship. And the clergy took the cue.


It was the clergy who brought world at-
tention to violations of human rights in
Nicaragua. They were appalled by the re-
pression in the countryside, where the Na-
tional Guard systematically went about
stamping out the opposition and any sus-
pected guerrilla sympathizers. The priests,
nuns and lay people were often the only
witnesses to guard brutality in far-off
isolated regions.
One of the first Nicaraguans to testify
before the United States Congress was Rev.
Father Fernando Cardenal, a radical
Trappist priest and philosophy professor at
the National University who was incensed at
the abuses of the Somoza regime. Father
Cardenal's brother, Ernesto, a Jesuit and a
poet also opposed to the dictatorship, be-
came well known for his Gospel in
Solentiname (named after the Solen-
tiname archipelago in Lake Nicaragua
where he organized a peasant com-
munity). Father Cardenal appeared on
June 8, 1976, before the House subcom-
mittee on foreign affairs, where he outlined
a series of atrocities ranging from assassi-
nations, torture, rape and arbitrary arrest to
the complete lack of freedom and the gen-
eral climate of repression. He also charged
that the guard had set up concentration
camps in rural areas, where peasants were
held illegally. Father Cardenal explained
that many of the charges were already doc-
umented by the Inter-American Commis-
sion on Human Rights of the Organization
of American States, the International Fed-
eration of Human Rights and the Interna-
tional Catholic Jurists Federation.
Among the priest's demands were the
immediate withdrawal of all United States
military personnel and the suspension of all
aid and military assistance; also the denial
of financial credits or donations, along with
pressure for the OAS Human Rights Com-
mission's right to demand jail visits and take
prisoners' testimony.
Cardenal said he went to Washington
representing "the peasants and poor labor-
ers of Nicaragua, 'to be the voice of those
who have no voice,' and to bring the abuses
to Congress' attention." He said he was not
afraid to return to Nicaragua after testifying
because "I have the assurance that Somoza










































Car in which Somoza and two companions were killed, Asuncion, Paraguay, September 1981. Wide World Photos.


will not do anything to me, because, on the
contrary, it would be like endorsing the
document I presented in Washington. To
Congressman [Donald] Fraser I then said
that one thing was sure, that the govern-
ment newspaper [Novedades] was going
to immediately call me a communist. And
that has occurred." Novedades called him,
among other things, a pervert, and mentally
unbalanced. Nicaragua's congressional
president Cornelio Hueck labeled him a
traitor and demanded he be tried for
treason. That Cardenal survived is credited
to Donald Fraser, chairman of the House
subcommittee on foreign affairs, who sent
word through the State Department
warning Somoza that the United States
Congress would hold him personally re-
sponsible for Father Cardenal's well-being.
Somoza also received a hint from his
friends in Congress to limit attacks on
Cardenal to name-calling.
Cardenal's visit was followed on June 13
by devastating testimony. Thirty-five
American Capuchin priests in the diocese
of Esteli and the apostolic vicarate of
Bluefields wrote a letter to Somoza com-
plaining of human rights violations and
listing cases of torture by National Guard
patrols. Their letter, made public,
dramatized the oppression. "The American
Capuchins serving the local church of
Nicaragua in the diocese of Esteli and in the
Apostolic vicarate of Bluefields cannot
under any circumstances remain passive"
to the tense situation all over Nicaragua and


particularly in the mountain region of Siuna
and Matagalpa. The priests granted that
Somoza's position was difficult: "We know
that the threat of communism exists as well
as that of increasing militarism." The
Capuchins said they "unite their voice to
that of the poor people of the mountain
regions who are looking for their relatives
who were found missing after the National
Guard operations against subversive ele-
ments." The letter listed cases of torture by
patrols and included beating, extraction of
teeth, electrical shock, rape of women, cut-
ting faces with knives and making a person
swallow a button with a string on it while the
accuser violently tugged at it. The guard
was also accused of dressing as guerrillas
and going to the homes of farmers and
burning them. They said repeated protests
to the guard achieved nothing.
The priests traveled from village to village
on foot and by donkey. Their journeys into
the countryside and mountains sometimes
took as long as two to three months before
return to Bluefields on the Atlantic coast.
Therefore there was sometimes a long
delay before reports of murders, kidnap-
pings and torture could be made public.
One priest said that "the repression and
reprisals continued unabated in the
mountains. They [the guard] are preparing
the terrain for the next guerrilla movement,
although there will probably be few peas-
ants left there to have a choice in the future."
The new wave of criticism in 1976 in-
furiated Somoza. The attacks from the


church mounted. Reports of new,
stepped-up atrocities by the National
Guardsmen against the peasants were re-
leased. While the guard was told on the one
hand to clean up their act, in hopes of ap-
peasing the United States Congress, one
National Guard source candidly explained
to me that in reality they had been ordered
to "clean up the hills": "This time we want to
be sure no new guerrilla focal point will rise
in those hills with the aid of peasants. We
intend to eliminate the contaminated
peasants," he said.
Almost three weeks before the inaugura-
tion of Jimmy Carter, the bishops of
Nicaragua for the first time spoke out un-
equivocally on human rights in Nicaragua
and the state of terror in which much of the
rural population was living. The message of
the Nicaraguan Episcopal Conference,
signed by seven bishops and delivered on
New Year's Day 1977, was a challenge to the
new Carter administration. The pastoral
letter, read from the pulpits of churches
throughout Nicaragua and distributed in a
mimeographed form because of the cen-
sorship of the Nicaraguan press, was de-
signed to awaken the consciousness of all
Nicaraguans. Specifically it called for: (1)
The right to live and work and a return of
civil rights. (2) Due process of law for crimi-
nal and political offenders. (3) Freedom,
justice and equality. "All this cannot be
achieved without freedom of expression
and without religious freedom," declared
the bishops.
CAlBBMAN VIVEWl/5










This and other church documents drew
Washington's attention to the situation in
Nicaragua. In response to them, both
United States Ambassador Theberge and
the State Department were forced to con-
cede that human rights were being violated
in Nicaragua, although the American offi-
cials hid behind legalisms by speculating
whether there was sufficient evidence of "a
consistent pattern of systematic violation of
human rights," the key condition for the
suspension of economic aid.

Sons and Daughters
While the peasants died, so did the sons
and daughters of some of Nicaragua's
more prominent citizens. Claudia
Chamorro was killed on January 9, 1977,
and the announcement sent shock waves
through Managua society. The tall, beautiful
Claudia, a guerrilla, was eight months
pregnant when she was stopped by the Na-
tional Guard en route to a safe place to give
birth to her child. Claudia was the daughter
of a well-known Nicaraguan family. Another
of the sandinista martyrs was Carlos
Aguero Echavarria, a nephew of Dr.
Fernando Aguero Rocha, president of the
opposition Conservative party and a
member of the ill-fated triumvirate. Besides
the deaths of Carlos Fonesca Amador and
Eduardo Contreras Escobar a year earlier,
the toll on the sandinista leadership grew,
with the detention of some thirty to forty
suspected guerrillas in Managua. Among
those awaiting trial was Tomas Borge
Martinez, whose fate received widespread
attention.
Borge was held incommunicado for
seven months and his attorney, Dr. Rafael
Cordova Rivas, complained that the
charges, ranging from homicide to assault,
kidnapping and robbery were trumped up.
He also alleged that Borge had been tor-
tured all during the time he was awaiting
trial. In one document detailing the abuses,
Cordova Rivas alleged that "for the first
fifteen days of detention [Borgej was
beaten twenty-four hours a day, except for
the times when he passed out, but the min-
ute he regained consciousness the inhu-
man beating continued." The document
also alleged that Borge went through two
months on his feet with guard henchmen at
his sides to keep him from changing posi-
tion. Borge calculated that during another
two-month period he was fed only every
four days and could not remember what
kind of food it was because he ate it "like
an animal."
University groups rallied behind Borge's
cause as well as that of the other san-
dinista prisoners. One communique
signed by seven university groups called for
the authorities to: (1) End the isolation and
confinement of Borge and Marcio Jaen
Serrano. (2) Transfer women prisoners
from the central police station to the Mod-
6/CAI?BBEAN IVIEW


elo prison. (3) Allow the prisoners to read
newspapers and listen to the radio and tele-
vision news, establish ample visiting rights
and decree daily freedom to exercise in the
sun in the Modelo prison yards. The com-
munique also drew attention to a forty-
three-day hunger strike the sandinista
prisoners were staging. It complained that
the National Guard was taking up combat
positions around the university to intimi-
date students, and this violated the school's
autonomy. The protest went on to de-
nounce the dismissal and deportation, in
some cases, of various professors.



Carter's victory was both a
surprise and a shock to
Tacho, who soon realized
that his unswerving loyalty
to the United States and all
things American would be
put to the test.



Imprisoned sandinista inmates them-
selves released a communique from the
Modelo prison complaining they were jailed
without due process of law, waiting months
before being taken before a judge; that they
suffered beatings after capture; were left
nude in dark cells, only seeing daylight
months later when taken to court; and were
victims of psychological and physical tor-
ture and lack of legal representation when
finally brought to trial. They protested the
solitary confinement of Tomas Borge as
well as an alleged massacre and disappear-
ance of peasants throughout the country -
a list of names was added at the end of the
document. Although demands for better
treatment had been delivered to the warden,
the sandinistas claimed that the lack of
a response was to be expected from the
dictatorship.
Other citizens filed petitions directly with
the Supreme Court asking for investiga-
tions into human rights violations. A peti-
tion filed on January 16, 1977, asked the
court to explain the numerous disappear-
ances during 1976 of peasants in Zelaya,
Matagalpa and Esteli. (Names were taken
from lists supplied by the Capuchin priests.)
The petition asked the government to ex-
plain how the National Guard operated in
various departments and why martial law
was still in force, with the consequent sus-
pension of constitutional rights and habeas
corpus. Two-thirds of the six-page docu-
ment carried names, hometowns and,
when possible, the age and number of chil-
dren of the missing persons. Allegations at
the end of the document charged that in


Waslala the guard had forced men to build
an airport. In Cubali, the document said, the
Guard entered the town, -took over the
church and used religious books for toilet
paper. In Zapote the villagers were forced to
leave their small farming plots and move
nearer to the chapel where they felt safer.
The town of Bilwas, it charged, was
bombed by planes.
On Friday, February 25, 1977, a military
court in Campo de Marte convicted 110
Nicaraguans of crimes ranging from plot-
ting against the Somoza dictatorship to
killing four sheriffs, kidnapping and robbing
banks. Tomas Borge was among the de-
fendants. Attempts by attorneys to keep the
trials from being "kangaroo courts" went
unheeded. Among the motions denied was
that, under a 1911 law, the military did not
have the right to try civilians. Private contact
between defense attorney and client was
restricted, as well as defense access to wit-
ness lists. Limited press coverage was per-
mitted and show trials began in small,
cramped quarters called "the justice
chamber." "What a laugh, we have not had
justice in this country for four decades," a
tall, distinguished-looking Nicaraguan
lawyer said with bitterness in his voice.
The 111 Nicaraguan defendants one
person, living in Switzerland, was found not
guilty because of a lack of evidence were
tried in different groups until the trials
ended in September. More than half of the
defendants were tried in absentia. Among
the thirty-six accused who were present in
the National Guard courtroom and the
last one to receive his sentence was
Tomas Borge. He had denied murder
charges but not crimes committed as a
guerrilla during his life's devotion to fighting
Somoza. He was sentenced to a total of 129
years and eight months in prison and fined
approximately $4,200.
The day after the trial ended the newspa-
pers, under strict censorship, published the
military communique covering the sen-
tences of the guilty 110. For most Nicara-
guans whose sons and daughters were not
guerrillas or university students, the sen-
tencing of the 110 was of little interest. A
sample of opinion at the time showed that
many of the Nicaraguan middle class be-
lieved that those under arrest "are probably
communists ... and we don't like com-
munism or the idea of living under a com-
munist regime." There was a feeling that,
having lived with the status quo for forty-two
years, "Why rock the boat? It can only bring
repression." Many Nicaraguans knew about
the guerrilla war that had been going on in
the hills eighty and a hundred miles north of
Managua, and they had also heard about
the atrocities committed by the guard, but
they preferred to ignore it.

Somoza's Cronies
Though worried about how far the Carter










administration would go in its human rights
campaign to limit assistance to Nicaragua,
Somoza had friends in the United States
Congress he could count on. In fact, he
appeared to have more congressional
muscle than the president of the United
States. Somoza's cronies came to the fore
during the debate on his $3.1 million in
military assistance. The aid package had
been defeated initially in the House appro-
priations committee, with Representative
Edward Koch, the New York Democrat,
heading the Somoza opposition. Another
New York Democrat came to the rescue
however. Representative John Murphy's
friendship with Somoza had begun when
they were classmates at La Salle Military
Academy in Oakdale, Long Island. Murphy
had kept in close touch with Tacho over the
years and, according to Tacho's press sec-
retary, General Bermudez, ."ug-rh, has
been to Nicaragua at least 100 times and
stays at Somoza's house. So what's wrong
with friends helping him?" Bermudez
asked.
Somoza did not really need the aid for his
army, called one of the best in Latin
America but never really tested. Neverthe-
less he launched a costly campaign to
overturn the Koch vote. Murphy led
Somoza's fight in Washington and at the
same time Somoza hired ex-Florida con-
gressman William Cramer, a Republican
and at the time the legal counsel of the
Republican party. Cramer received $50,000
from the Nicaraguan government as a
six-month retainer his law firm had pre-
viously received $57,000. On June 10
Cramer registered as a foreign agent (enti-
tled to lobby for a foreign government).
Before that, on June 3, the American
Nicaraguan Council had registered as a
lobby with the House of Representatives,
citing Cramer as its legal counsel. This led
the Justice Department to launch an inves-
tigation into Cramer's dual registration. In
Cramer's registration statement he indica-
ted that, among other things, his services to
the Nicaraguan government would relate to
earthquake reconstruction, and that he
would be lobbying for "economic and mili-
tary assistance." One Justice Department
official commented: "It is peculiar they
would need military assistance to help in
earthquake reconstruction."
Ambassador Theberge had already as-
sured some United States congressmen
that human rights violations were not part
of Nicaragua's domestic policies. Murphy,
leading a floor debate on the matter, went
even further. In what Koch described as "a
vitriolic attack upon the opponents of the
Somoza regime," Murphy testified in Con-
gress that priests, missionaries and Ameri-
can academics had lied about the political
arrests, torture and suppression of political
expression in Nicaragua. He managed to
save the military assistance program for


Nicaragua by a vote of 225-180 that went
against the wishes of the appropriations
committee and the White House. Playing an
important role was another Somoza crony,
Texas Democratic Congressman Charles
Wilson, a member of Koch's subcommit-
tee, who drafted what was known as the
Wilson amendment to restore the aid in the
House. Assisting him free of charge was
Fred Korth, a close friend from the Texas
law firm Korth and Korth and onetime sec-
retary of the navy under the Kennedy ad-
ministration. Korth had been registered as a
lobbyist with the Justice Department but



Somoza appeared to have
more congressional
muscle than the president
of the United States.


not with Congress. Senator Edward Ken-
nedy had to watch in dismay as his attempt
to lead a Senate fight over the money was
shot down in flames by the powerful
Nicaraguan lobby.
Novedades hailed the aid approval as a
great victory for Somoza's diplomacy. How-
ever, an American State Department
spokesman said later that despite the
House approval "no specific agreement will


be signed ... unless the situation of human
rights in Nicaragua improves." Aides to
Somoza called the statement, which was
distributed locally by the United States em-
bassy in Managua, "an affront to the
traditional friendship between the two
countries." It was a typical Murphy act to
help out an old friend. According to New
York lawyer Francis J. Purcell, "Mr. Murphy
has long been one of the Somoza family's
most vigorous defenders in Congress and,
in the last two years, in particular, he has
fought for continued American military and
economic assistance to the country. Such
aid has come under attack on the grounds
that it reinforces an arbitrary and corrupt
regime that has persistently violated human
rights.... He has also acted in other fields on
behalf of the Nicaraguan head of state."
The congressman became implicated by
reports surfacing in 1977 linking him to an
oil refinery proposal for Nicaragua during
the 1973-74 Arab oil embargo. Controversy
arose after documents were released
showing Murphy had attempted to arrange
financing and crude oil shipments from
Iran to a proposed refinery on Nicaragua's
Atlantic coast on a site named Monkey
Point. While the refinery was never built, the
local partner in Nicaragua was to be a com-
pany 98 percent owned by Somoza.
Among Murphy's attempts to win the
250,000-barrel-a-day refinery for Somoza
was the arrangement of a meeting between
Continued on page 41


Two girls burying their mother after an attack by the National Guard in Masaya, Nicaragua,
June 1979. Photo Bernard Diederich.
CAIBBEAN rtEiEW/7











The Sandinistas and the



Costenios

Reconciliation and Integration?
By Margaret D. Wilde


Sumu Indian woman, Awastingni, Nicaragua. Photo by Margaret D. Wilde.
8/CAIBBEAN PEV1EW


here probably isn't a country in
Sthe world that has dealt honestly
Sand successfully with its aborigi-
nal populations," an official of the CIS sec-
tion of Amnesty International told me
recently. "Certainly none in the Western
Hemisphere." In July 1979 when san-
dinista guerrillas marched triumphantly
into Managua, Nicaragua, many people
hoped that their new government would
break that precedent although the record
of Marxist governments is no better than
"Western" ones on this point. Now, caught
between their own ignorance of the Atlantic
coast population and new geopolitical
pressures on the area, the sandinistas are
finding their good faith challenged and
hopes for successful integration slowly re-
ceding. Misinformation and willful misin-
terpretation have played a part, but the
problem derives much more from mutual
ignorance and cultural isolation. Setting the
historical and cultural record straight is a
necessary, though not sufficient, condition
for reconciliation and integration between
what are now two separate and unequal
Nicaraguas.

Costerios and "Spaniards"
The east coast department (province) of
Zelaya, comprising 56% of Nicaragua's ter-
ritory and a sparsely distributed 10% of its
population, was part of the British de-
pendency of La Mosquitia until 1894,
when England ceded it to Nicaragua by
treaty. Western Nicaraguans call the
transfer reincorporationn," although Spain
had never effectively controlled the east
coast. The native population of the region is
estimated at about 170,000 Miskito, Sumu
and Rama Indians (the large majority Mis-
kito), and 20,000 English-speaking, Afro-
Caribbean "Creoles." Although the latter are
not technically indigenous, having come
from Jamaica and other islands in the 18th
and 19th centuries, they were officially
treated as such by successive Nicaraguan
dictatorships. They are all costerios, or
coastal natives; generations of isolation,
intermarriage and a shared religion in the
Moravian Church have made them in many
ways a single people.
Among the costeiios there is a clear



























ethnic hierarchy, ranging upward from
Sumu and Rama to Miskito Indians and the
more prosperous Creoles. Within it, mem-
bers of each group move freely by marriage
or cultural choice, adopting one another's
language and values. A small, exclusive
minority of Chinese merchants are largely
set apart from the ladder, but increasingly
also identify themselves as costenios.
Spanish-speaking western Nicaraguans
control the military, political, and economic
life of the east coast. In the frontier pattern
they share the region's hardship, and some
live in greater poverty and isolation than
most costerios, but to the native popula-
tion they are all "Spaniards." In the cultural
stereotype prevailing among the coastal
natives, "Spaniard" means privileged, ar-
rogant and exploitive.
Thus colonialism did not end in 1894, but
simply changed hands; the costerios
quickly learned to seek protection or favors
from Managua as they had in the past from
London. This was as true of the Indians, out
of their greater dependency, as of the more
privileged Creoles. Even in the 1970s, when
growing Indian militance led to the forma-
tion of APROMISU (Alliance for the
Promotion of Miskito, Sumu and Rama),
protection and favor from distant Managua
was greatly preferred to confrontation with
their closer ethnic rivals, the local
"Spaniards." This relationship would soon
bring the Indian leaders grief, as it was in-
terpreted by the sandinistas in terms of
political and personal loyalty. The majority
of Miskito and Sumu Indians live in north-
ern Zelaya, most Creoles and Rama Indians
in the south. For several reasons the san-
dinista guerrillas sought and found more
support among the latter: the friendly
southern border with Costa Rica was a
keystone in their military strategy, and
young, well educated Creoles tended to
sympathize with their cause. The northern
Miskito were more skeptical and fearful of
the guerrillas: "They are 'Spaniards' too,"
said the Miskito.
The new government moved quickly to-
ward a degree of national integration that its
predecessors had never contemplated.
Moravian and Catholic mission schools and
hospitals, the only social services available


in many towns, were nationalized. Most of
them ... llir,.l,; many church leaders,
deeply pacifist, had not identified with the
revolution but saw it as a good thing, and
welcomed the sudden interest in their
problems and programs. Health, education,
welfare, agriculture, and distributive ser-
vices never before offered on the east coast
were also warily but cheerfully embraced.
Many of the new government officials were
young and highly committed; also inex-
perienced, ideologically dogmatic, and
unfamiliar with the coastal languages and
cultures. They treated the costefios with
more respect than Somoza officials had
shown, but mutual trust was harder to es-
tablish. Soldiers and civilians alike were
often former guerrillas, and a young soldier
spoke for many of them when I heard him
tell his commander of the Miskito: "They
never smelled the gunpowder with us."
That was not the only experience that
divided the sandinistas from the natives.
The revolution was based on resistance to
the latifundio system in the west. in which
a few large landholders profited mightily
from rich farmland or left it in disuse, while
thousands of peasant laborers subsisted on
borrowed garden plots. There is little rich
farmland on the east coast. There the
problem was the ravaging of forest and
mineral resources by outsiders, with the
"Spaniards" visibly present among them,
and with little respect for native land rights.
While sandinista ideology pitted cam-
pesinos (peasants) against agricultores
(landowners), the Indians had never
doubted that the land was theirs. "You
might like to know." a Miskito woman said
defiantly to a Spanish-speaking peasant
organizer last year, "that the Miskito don't
think of themselves as campesinos but as
agricultores."
Four months after the change of gov-
ernment, Commander Daniel Ortega tried
briefly to dismantle APROMISU: the Indian
organization was no longer needed, he said.
because the problems to which it re-
sponded had been eliminated. A week later
he and Minister of Culture Ernesto Cardenal
attended a massive assembly of village
representatives, and Ortega relented:
APROMISU was permitted to continue


under the new name of MISURASATA
(Miskito, Sumu, Rama, sandinista Unity),
as one of the popular organizations as-
signed to mobilize participation in the rev-
olutionary process. But tensions continued
with the Managua-based popular organiza-
tions. Linguistic and cultural differences,
and a growing sandinista sensitivity to
possible separatist or counterrevolutionary
tendencies, made it hard for each side to
acknowledge and act on their common
concerns.
The sandinistas were principally con-
cerned with class struggle. For the cos-
terios, ethnic rivalries and class struggle
were essentially coterminous: each ethnic
group dominated and exploited the ones
below it, but one could always opt into the
higher group. Within each group, on the
other hand, social customs rarely permitted
the exploitation of one member by another.
The sandinistas were worried by ethnic
distinctions, which were potentially
separatist and in any case clearly excluded
the western Nicaraguans, while including
some Creoles and Indians of undetermined
political loyalties. MISURASATA replied to
that concern in a policy statement pub-
lished in June 1980: "A certain dogmatic
Marxism is determined to deny the ethnic
question, despite empirical proofs. The
complexity of the interethnic friction is
compressed into the narrow molds of the
class struggle. What this Marxism fails to
see is that the indigenous people can act
with political awareness, based on ethnic
awareness." Costerios were further an-
noyed by a slogan that appeared in the
literacy campaign, and on small posters
around the country in 1980: "The Atlantic
Coast is waking up." A MISURASATA or-
ganizer put the differing perceptions this
way: "Integration? Reintegration? We're
willing and ready to be integrated into na-
tional life, but there are some points at
which you could benefit from being inte-
grated with us. We were practicing
socialism before Karl Marx was born!"

Toward the Breaking Point
"Just watch." a man said at the Puerto
Cabezas airport as a plane touched down
on its daily run from Managua. "They'll un-

CAIBBEAN rEVIEw/9


I -










load all the cartons of Flor de Caria rum.
and then we'll see if they had space left over
for sugar and powdered milk." Shortages
are nothing new on the east coast. What is
new is that the government since 1979 has
made a public priority of the east coast, and
although many costerios are skeptical of
the priority, they are more aware and more
critical than before of failures in the distri-
bution system.
Food distribution is not the only system
that hasn't worked well under the new gov-
ernment. The national literacy campaign.
heralded as a solution to poverty and igno-
rance. stumbled seriously on the language
barrier: in August 1980. as the campaign in
Spanish was closing, curriculum materials
were still being prepared for the English and
Indian language crusades to begin in Octo-
ber. "As if it were an afterthought." a Creole
teacher said indignantly. "They know that
literacy can only be taught in the student's
native language." Campaign organizers
conceded that it was a mistake to start in
Spanish only: a high early dropout rate
suggested that many costeros had joined
the Spanish program because they
doubted that native language programs
would soon follow, or feared that refusal to
do so would reflect badly on their intelli-
gence or loyalty. To make things worse.
student literacy crusaders who had already
lost a year of school for the Spanish
crusade would lose another half year for the
east coast program. "It probably wasn't an
intentional discrimination." said the
teacher. "It was a mistake, and nothing was
lost except time -time which was impor-
tant when they were starting the campaign.
but not when it comes to reopening our
native schools. They could have waited."
Other costeros objected to the dog-
matic tone of sandinistas and Cubans
assigned to their areas. A particular griev-
ance was the scorn of some newcomers
toward the Moravian and Catholic
churches, despite official policies which
encourage an active role for the church. In
most east coast villages the church is the
principal grass roots organization, and at-
tacks on its viability and relevance were
deeply resented.
Among the northern Miskito and Sumu,
resentment of the high military profile ran
strong from the beginning. Lester Athas, a
village Indian who died in custody after
being falsely denounced as a Somoza col-
laborator, was pronounced a martyr: the
government accepted responsibility and
temporarily replaced the officials involved,
but refused to return the body in order to
avoid a public demonstration at the funeral.
Other confrontations regularly occurred
with border patrols along the Rio Coco,
which separates eastern Nicaragua from
Honduras and divides the traditional
Miskito lands.
The first general eruption occurred in

IO/CAfBBEAN rEviEW


Bluefields on September 28, 1980, when
some 30 Cubans raised a Cuban flag in
front of their house. The ensuing demon-
strations, involving about a thousand
people, turned violent on the second day;
troops brought in from Managua arrested
about 65 costehos. Days later, Com-
mander Jaime Wheelock met with local
leaders to initiate a grievance mechanism;
the October bulletin of the Washington-
based National Network in Solidarity with
the Nicaraguan People reported: "The
dialogue was open and frank, with both
those who had participated in the disturb-


"You might like to know
that the Miskito don't think
of themselves as
campesinos, but as
agricultores."


ances and the government representatives
admitting that both sides had made serious
mistakes.... Both sides have begun the
long and arduous process of reconciliation
and working through the mistrust that
has developed."
A more prolonged and serious confron-
tation with the northern Indians began in
Puerto Cabezas on February 13. 1981, when
a soldier shot and killed a Miskito fisherman
who reportedly tried to enter a public dance
without paying admission. A public dem-
onstration led to several arrests, including
the Creole director of a local radio station.
MISURASATA leaders Stedman Fagoth,
Hazel Lau and Brooklin Rivera flew to Man-
agua, expecting an interview with govern-
ment officials. The appointment was not
kept. and all three were arrested between
February 18 and 20. On February 20, the
homes and offices of MISURASATA lead-
ers were raided; the offices were placed
under military control, files confiscated and
burned, but there were no reports of per-
sonal brutality. That Sunday, February 22,
literacy workers and community leaders
celebrated the close of the literacy cam-
paign in east coast languages with a service
in the Moravian Church at Prinzapolka,
midway between Bluefields and the north-
ern border, to be followed by secular fes-
tivities. One of the participants was Elmer
Prado, director of the MISURASATA office
in the mining village of Rosita, who was on
his way to Prinzapolka when the Friday
raids occurred.
According to other participants in the
service, the sermon was interrupted by four
soldiers who demanded that Elmer Prado
leave with them. Prado, supported by the
indignant worshippers, insisted on waiting
until the end of the service. The soldiers


opened fire, killing four Miskitos; other par-
ticipants disarmed and killed the soldiers
and fled the scene with Prado (who was
later hospitalized and placed under police
guard). In Managua the next day, Com-
mander Sergio Ramirez told the press that
four soldiers and four rebel separatists had
died in an armed clash at Prinzapolka. A
mediating commission formed by
MISURASATA, church and government
representatives negotiated the return of the
fleeing Indians to their homes, and the pur-
suing soldiers to their barracks. Eventually
the MISURASATA leaders arrested in
Managua and the east coast towns were
also released, with at least three exceptions:
Stedman Fagoth, Elmer Prado, and Ariel
Zufiiga who was also arrested after the Prin-
zapolka incident. In Fagoth's case the gov-
ernment published documents allegedly
proving that he had fomented a separatist
movement through MISURASATA, and
had been an agent of Somoza intelligence
before and since the revolution; Fagoth
made a detailed confession on national
television while still in custody, and Hazel
Lau partially confirmed it on her release, but
on the east coast few Indian leaders be-
lieved a word of it. A two-week hunger strike
in Puerto Cabezas and Waspam churches,
protesting the imprisonments and accusa-
tions, ended with the strikers' removal by
military force in early March; no casualties
were reported.
In a letter about the crisis several weeks
later, a costerios leader speculated that
several factors had led the local military to
provoke a confrontation. MISURASATA
had pressured for and organized the literacy
campaign in the native languages, and had
not given the sandinistas as much honor
in the closing celebration as they felt they
deserved; the event dramatized the cultural
and linguistic obstacles to integration.
MISURASATA had also pressed Indian
claims more forcefully than APROMISU
had ever done under the Somozas. An
agreement on Indian land rights was due
for signing at the end of February, and
MISIRASATA was demanding other steps
toward regional autonomy: bilingual edu-
cation, the placement of more costerios in
positions of local and national authority,
and the investment of at least 80% of east
coast resources in east coast development.
It has also been reliably reported that
Cuban military advisors participated in the
Prinzapolka action; one report, later denied
but never fully discredited, said that a
Cuban had given the order to open fire.
Miskito leaders reported weeks later from
Honduras that a briefcase recovered from a
Cuban soldier during the Prinzapolka inci-
dent contained plans to assassinate 83 lit-
eracy campaign workers (Miami Herald,
August 3, 1981). Whether or not Cubans
intentionally provoked the confrontation,
their resentment of Indian hostility toward


I I










them was certainly a leading factor.
In a round table discussion published in
April among MISURASATA, sandinista,
and national church and political leaders,
several participants stressed that a call for
regional autonomy was not separatism.
"The term of 'separatist' applied to the
coast should be eliminated, as it only tends
to worsen the problem," said a spokesman
for the Social Christian Party. The Nicara-
guan Democratic Movement representative
was more explicitly critical: "The charge of
separatism leveled against the Atlantic
Coast is a result of the frustration felt by
some sectors when they realize that not
all the people agree with their plans"
(La Prensa, April 7 and 8, 1981).
Soon afterward, however, Stedman
Fagoth proceeded to confuse the issue.
The government, responding to wide-
spread protests against his arrest, first
released him under house arrest at
MISURASATA's Managua office and then,
on May 6, allowed him to return to Puerto
Cabezas under strict surveillance. Fagoth
immediately fled to Honduras and began
denouncing the sandinista betrayal of
Indian aspirations. On Radio 15 de
Septiembre, a clandestine station beamed
toward Nicaragua, he said: "Compatriots,
Nicaraguan Indians, don't forget that when
they needed us, they painted a beautiful
picture, a great and wonderful panorama
for us. Today.... they are once again paint-
ing a beautiful picture. They are saying that
our lands will be legalized. They are saying
that we will have more seats in the State
Council. They are saying that we will even
have a seat in the governmentjunta....
Brother leaders who are still in the father-
land, we ask you not to let Sandino-
communism use you and deceive the rank
and file of the people from which we were
born.... Nicaraguans, if you have a piece of
bread, don't ever give it to a communist. It is
better that you give it to your dog, because
your dog is noble." (From a May 21 broad-
cast, translated by the Foreign Broadcast
Information Service [FBIS] of the US Gov-
ernment.) Three weeks later Fagoth was in
Miami, denouncing the sandinistas and
soliciting funds with the help of other
Nicaraguan exiles. "[The sandinistas]
spoke of democracy, of respect for free-
dom, of collective and individual liberties,"
he said bitterly. "We believed them" (The
Miami Herald, June 10, 1981).
Meanwhile an estimated two to four
thousand village Indians were also crossing
the Rio Coco into eastern Honduras, some
at least for very different reasons. With both
countries apparently gearing up for war,
both governments put a political interpre-
tation on the emigration. A Honduran offi-
cial explained, "they said communism is
being established in Nicaragua and they
don't like it" (Radio America, April 30, FBIS
translation). It was rumored that Nicara-


guan soldiers had branded some of them
like cattle, to mark them as traitors; doctors
and church workers on both sides were
alerted, but reported no evidence of this or
any other serious mistreatment.
Nicaraguan Commander Daniel Ortega,
speaking to students at the Central Ameri-
can University on May 12, was only slightly
more philosophical. He said the flight to
Honduras "has to do with the lack of devel-
opment in that region, with the ignorance of
the population and with a somocista radio
station that is broadcasting from Honduran
territory.... It says that there are thousands
coming to invade and to do away with the
revolutionary government and with san-
dinismo.... Others have acted in solidarity
with Stedman Fagoth, who was a security
agent and who takes advantage of the
backwardness to confuse the people even


more" (Sandinista Television Network,
May 19, FBIS translation).

Toward Reconciliation
The traditional Miskito lands stretch north
across Honduras; south, long ago, as far as
Panama. By Indian custom throughout the
hemisphere, families and communities
may seek aid in other Indian communities
in hard times. The migration sometimes
occurs with staggering speed and finality;
sometimes it is gradual and reversible. In
this case, Moravian leaders initiated the
formation of a commission to persuade the
village Indians not to leave, and the emi-
grants to return. Bishop John Wilson, a
Creole, explained that "for the Indians the
Mosquitia comprises a territory along the
Atlantic coast, on which Honduras had
Continued on page 44

CAI?BBEAN rtVIE./11












Mexico's Modern



Military


Implications for the Region
By Edward J. Williams


After decades of lagging behind the
nation's rush toward modernization,
Mexico's military has launched a
program to increase its capabilities. As
planes are purchased, tanks manufactured,
and military education upgraded, the facts
of the matter are increasingly evident, but
their motivations and implications are
rather less obvious. Some civilian politicos
in Mexico shudder at the thought of in-
creased military might as they conjure up
images of their persecuted brethren in the
Southern Cone nations, but Mexico's civil-
ian political elites support the moderniza-
tion program with glowing words and
growing financial resources. Some com-
mentators explain the program as nothing
more than remedial action for a military
establishment long ignored as time and
money were spent subsidizing busi-
nessmen, middle-class bureaucrats, and
university students. Others depict the
program as going beyond updating to en-
compass an essential transformation of the
military's role in the nation's socio-
economic and political system. The official
policy line unequivocally denies any con-
nection between the military's moderniza-
tion program and Central America's tur-
moil, but unofficial commentary and
analysis frequently disagree in implying a
relationship between the two.
The Mexican military is assuming a more
vigorous posture than it has for more than a
generation. In a rare and now famous inter-
view granted to Proceso in late 1980, the
nation's defense minister, General Felix
Galvan L6pez, spoke enthusiastically about
the military's modernization. He argued that
it "will guarantee the sovereignty and integ-
rity of our territory and of all interior mis-
sions which we [the military] have to com-
plete" and that it will make Mexico more
respected! "The strong are more respected
than the weak." In another context, General
Galvan ruffled the feathers of many in
Mexico when he allowed that it would be
perfectly reasonable for a military man to be
the next president of the Republic. He
backed off that bold declaration in a sub-
sequent clarification, but the damage had
already been done.
Buttressing the rhetoric, Mexico's military
12/CAIBBCAN P1viEW


is being encouraged by increasing financial
support. Budgetary allocations for the mil-
itary during 1980 and 1981 suggest the
military's success in pushing its claims.
From 1980 to 1981, overall governmental
spending increased 38.6 percent, but pro-
jected allocations for the military ministries
far surpassed that figure. The Ministry of
National Defense, encompassing the army
and the air force, was scheduled for an
increase of 86.3 percent. The Navy Minis-
try's budget grew by 59.2 percent. That
combination of rhetoric and resources had
crystallized in added presence and addi-
tional potential. The presence was
exemplified during the celebrations for
Mexico's Independence Day in September
1980 as the military surprised many when it
demonstrated its new posture. ANew York
Times report captured the drama of the
event. "Dressed in new combat uniforms
and wearing green, red, and blue berets,
about 8,000 soldiers ran the four-mile
length of the parade to prove their fitness.
And behind them came hundreds of newly
painted military vehicles, including some
carrying small rockets, never before seen
in Mexico."
New combat uniforms, flashy berets, and
fresh paint reflect only part of the modern-
ization program. The nation's cavalry regi-
ments are in the process of trading in their
horses for motorized vehicles. Mexico ac-
quired from Germany the rights to man-
ufacture, and is now mass producing, G3
automatic rifles. The state-owned Dina
Nacional is manufacturing a Mexican-
designed tank praised by General Galvan as
better than any that he has seen. The rock-
ets paraded at the Independence Day fes-
tivities are still in the developmental stage.
According to General Galvan, they imply a
"very modest" program, but they have been
successfully tested, they are to come in four
varieties, and they will be mobile. The navy
and air force are also being improved. The
naval minister has announced that he is
planning to renew fully half of the present
fleet. Six patrol boats have already been
purchased from Spain with more to come.
Spain has received an order for "an unde-
termined number" of transport planes.
After having decided against Israeli Kfir


fighters the Mexican Air Force convinced
the United States in mid-1981 to deliver "at
least a dozen" supersonic F5jet fighters. As
part of the sales arrangement, US advisors
consulted with the Mexican armed forces
about necessary revision to its airfields to
handle the F5s.
As those nuts and bolts of increased
military might are assembled, the military
establishment in Mexico has turned its at-
tention to the formulation of sophisticated
strategy. In the form of the Colegio de
Defense, an additional tier of advanced
military education has been introduced,
designed to prepare Mexico's military elite
for general office. At the highest level of
strategic -hirnirg. moreover, the Mexican
elites have for the first time in modern his-
tory begun to think through the formulation
of an overarching national security policy.
Afforded wide diffusion by Defense Minister
Galvan's interview, the incipient policy de-
bate is concerned with the implications of
Mexico's emerging role as petroleum power
and with the nation's responsibilities and
opportunities in Central America and the
Caribbean.
It is crucial to emphasize that the Mexican
military is still relatively small. Mexico's ex-
penditures for the military are amongst the
lowest in the world. Looking to the three
"regional powers" in the Caribbean Basin
(Cuba, Mexico, Venezuela), Mexico ranks
lowest across the board in all relative indices
of martial might and in only one area
measuring absolute quantities does it sur-
pass Venezuela. Mexico is roughly six times
more populous than Cuba and five times
more than Venezuela. Yet data for 1979 is-
sued by the authoritative London-based
International Institute for Strategic Studies
show Mexico spending less than half for its
military than Cuba ($519 million versus
$1,168 million) and considerably less than
Venezuela ($706 million). In per capital
terms, Mexico spent $7.00 per head on its
military, dramatically below Cuba's $118,
and Venezuela's $52. As a percentage of
governmental spending, Mexico's expend-
itures were far below Cuba and Venezuela
with the three nations respectively spending
1.1 percent, 8.9 percent, and 6.5 percent.
Only in absolute numbers in the armed


III












































US General David C. Jones salutes General Felix Galvan L6pez of Mexico at the Pentagon, 1978. Wide World Photos.


forces did Mexico surpass Venezuela, al-
though it was still far below Cuba. In 1980,
Venezuela counted 40,500 men in arms,
Mexico, 107,000; and Cuba, 206,000. Even
with the increased spending recorded for
the 1981 budget, Mexico's military still
claimed only 1.4 percent of all state ex-
penditures or 2.3 percent of the general
governmental budget, which does not in-
clude allocations for Mexico's decentralized
organizations and state-owned enterprises
like Petroloes Mexicanos or the national
electric company. Mexico's military has
suffered from comparatively limited re-
sources and is in need of repair. Horses,
after all, are from another epoch. World War
II vintage rifles do not serve well for the
1980s. One foreign analyst, for example,
had it that Mexico's military relies on pre-
World War II tanks, airplanes, and artillery
pieces "only seen in front of veteran's halls"
in the United States. Mexico's petroleum
boom, furthermore, has provided addi-
tional resources and triggered competition
amongst claimants in Mexico anxious to
get their fair share of the financial pie.

Caribbean Implications
But the deeper meaning of the moderniza-
tion program goes beyond that explanation
to involve the fundamental directions of
Mexican foreign policy and the crucial im-
peratives of defending the nation and its


resources. The military's modernization
program, in one sense, is concomitant to
the larger evolution of Mexican foreign pol-
icy. Both relate to Mexico's ambitions in the
Caribbean Basin, now described in Mexico
as the nation's "natural area of influence."
Mexico's present interest in Central America
and the Caribbean evolves from the conflu-
ence of two larger and interacting trends in
its foreign policy, both initiated in the 1960s.
The first featured a concerted campaign by
Mexican decision-makers to cultivate new
trading partners and to increase export
earnings by courting Central America and,
later, the Caribbean. The second foreign
policy initiative was more broadly con-
ceived. It was sparked by President Adolfo
L6pez Mateos (1958-1964) and was de-
signed to propel Mexico into the global
arena. Amid zigs, zags, and backsliding, the
policy evolved through several administra-
tions. BOttressed by Mexico's emergence as
a petroleum power, the policy eventually
brought Mexico to its present position of
prestige on the global scene, especially
among the Third World nations. By the time
the Caribbean Basin began to heat up in the
late 1970s, Mexico was in a good position to
exercise influence in the area.
In an indirect way, those two reinforcing
evolutionary trends must have also influ-
enced military thinking in Mexico. As the
nation's policymakers forsook exclusively


internal concerns to concentrate on foreign
affairs, the military elites followed suit. In the
process, they became sensitive to the their
relative inferiority and increasingly anxious
to upgrade their capabilities and potential.
Moreover, about the time that the foreign
policy campaign was beginning to crest in
the mid-1970s, enormous petroleum re-
serves were discovered. The petroleum
permitted Mexico to join Venezuela in a
program of indirect economic aid to the
nations of the Caribbean Basin. The two
nations now offer financial assistance to the
area in the form of cut-rate petroleum
prices combined with low interest loans.
The new petroleum bonanza catalyzed
further economic growth and created novel
strategic imperatives. General Galvan
struck the point in hisProceso interview. He
emphasized that the situation had created
new "necessities for protection and
vigilance," making particular reference to
the "vital installations" of Petr6leos
Mexicanos and the Compaiia Federal de
Electricidad. "We have to give them secu-
rity," he continued and "for that reason we
need more equipment, more means, and
more soldiers."
The modernization of the Mexican mili-
tary has intimidated some civilianpoliticos
in Mexico who fear for the continuation of
civilian supremacy. That fear seems unwar-
Continued on page 45

CA],BBEAN rEViEW/13












Jamaican Politics,




Economics and Culture


An Interview With Edward Seaga

By Stephen Davis


he foreign businessmen are back in
Kingston these days, making in-
vestment deals in the wickered lobby
of the Pegasus Hotel. Rusted car hulks and
barricades, the detritus of urban warfare,
are gone from the streets. Once empty
supermarket shelves are amply stocked
with food, national finance now occupies
the Daily Gleaner, with murder stories
running below the fold. Clearly, there's a
new order in old Jamaica. More than a year
has passed since Jamaicans chose the
free-market economics of Edward PG.
Seaga over the 8-year-old socialist experi-
ment of his predecessor, Michael Manley.
Leaning heavily on help from Jamaica's
neighbors and appealing to US and Euro-
pean private enterprise, Seaga has begun
to revive the island's dormant economy, but
the "deliverance" promised by his cam-
paign for the mass of Jamaicans still seems
years away.
This interview was conducted last spring
at Jamaica House, Mr. Seaga's official resi-
dence in Kingston. Since then, his op-
timism concerning his ability to attract
foreign exchange has been supported by a
$698 million loan from the International
Monetary Fund, $71 million in new credits
from Jamaica's commercial bank creditors,
and foreign aid totalling $100 million from
the US and $62 million from Venezuela.
Currently, the Jamaican Prime Minister is
advocating his "mini-Marshall Plan," which
would pump billions of dollars into the is-
land to aid both its economy and its stan-
dard of living. But some analysts predict
Seaga's hardest task will be to encourage
American firms to take advantage of a
once-poisoned and newly-hospitable busi-
ness climate. Seaga's critics, including op-
position leader Manley, charge that Seaga's
"new" Jamaica is really just the old, neo-
colonial Jamaica, with its laissez-faire
economy and a vast gulf between the rich
few and the poor masses. But if Seaga suc-
ceeds, he could with luck transform
Jamaica into the Hong Kong of the Western
Hemisphere. Should he fail, critics fear that
Jamaica could become another Haiti. Ob-
viously, for Jamaica, the stakes are very
high. So far Seaga is still riding the crest of
national pride and hope that bore him into
14/CATFBBEAN REVIEW


Jamaican Prime Minister Edward Seaga, 1980.
Wide World Photos.

office, one of the Caribbean's most capable
men in one of its toughest jobs. Most of
Jamaica's friends are hoping that the island
nation's streak of ill fortune, which began
with the Arab oil price hike in 1973 and
culminated in the untimely death of reggae
star and national hero Bob Marley last May,
may be finished running its course.
Stephen Davis: When you took office
last year, did you find yourself trying to rein-
vent government in Jamaica?
Edward Seaga: No, we've always had
what we have today, with the exception of
the deterioration that took place during the
past five years. Because the first three years
(of the Manley government) weren't quite
so bad. We've always had a good function-
ing government apparatus with normal bu-
reaucratic problems, but we also had good
spirit in the people, who were motivated by
initiative and by enterprise and hope for the
future. We had a track record of good per-
formance and a forward-looking country
that was always ahead of its peers in our
category of Third World developing coun-
tries, or on a par with the best. All of that
deteriorated in the last five years: during


that time standards of living dropped in
Jamaica by 57 percent. The country's fi-
nances were virtually wiped out. The foreign
exchange was wiped out and our budgets
couldn't be financed. And people lost hope
generally. There was no confidence in the
future. We were treated to regulation after
regulation, restriction after restriction, and it
was a government of what you could not do
rather than a government of what you could
do.
S.D.: Why do you think Michael Manley's
experiment with socialism was unable to
succeed in Jamaica?
E.S.: What experiment? There was no
experiment. There was an attempt to
transform Jamaica into a model socialist
state. There's nothing experimental about
that. There's a copybook formula for that,
and we saw all the steps being taken, from
1974 on. That's when we began to warn of
the extent to which the society was being
geared for a transformation into the
Cuban-type model. Some people accepted
what we said, but between 1976 and 1980
Jamaicans really woke up. And one of the
things that made them wake up was when
the Cuban ambassador to Jamaica (Ulys-
ses Estrada) virtually insulted the people of
Jamaica, and the Manley government was
not able or did not take any steps to declare
him persona non grata. Since Manley had
just declared the American ambassador
persona non grata, people began to think
the Manley government was a mere pawn
of the Cuban government.
But what really alarmed us was the
party-to-party relationship we saw formed
between Manley's Peoples National Party
and the Cuban Communist Party. The
Cuban delegation to the 1974 PNP confer-
ence was headed by the notorious Manuel
Pinera Lasado, alias "Baba Roja," who was
head of the Americas Department of the
Cuban Communist Party, which is their
bureau charged with subversion in the
Americas. Prior to that he was head of the
DGI, the Cuban intelligence service. That
sort of close linkage, where that kind of man
becomes your chief delegate to a party
convention, was the signal for us to realize
that there was a linkage between the two
parties.



























And we've been proven right on that.
That linkage has gone well beyond the
Cuban Communist party to involve the
CPSU, the Communist Party of the Soviet
Union. You may have noticed that the
chairman of the PNP (D.K. Duncan) at-
tended the meeting of the Supreme Soviet
in Moscow and made very complimentary
remarks about the whole Communist
movement, and about fraternal relations
with Jamaica and the Peoples National
Party.
S.D.: Jamaica has narrowly survived a
socialist revolution, with its democratic
system intact. How close did Jamaica come
to civil war. Or is "civil war" too strong a term
to describe what was happening in Jamaica
during last year's election?
E.S.: No, it wasn't a civil war. What really
happened was the fact that we had a nine-
month period of notice of an election, in-
stead of the normal time of five or six weeks.
Manley could not have continued to hold
the country together unless he was able to
indicate the date of an election, and an early
date. Manley had two more years to run. His
term of office would not have been up for
another two years after the election. But he
was not able to hold the country together
because it had reached rock bottom. On
that basis, he had to give an election date,
and it took nine months because a new
voters' list was being prepared. Nobody
would have accepted an election based
upon the old, fraudulent voters' list. With a
nine month period to run, and with so much
at stake because we were not just voting
on a different team of men with the same
ideas, we were voting on a totally different
ideological system, a totally different devel-
opment strategy, a totally different perspec-
tive of the future because there was so
much at stake, men took intense positions
that they had never taken before. And
people who were never involved in the
political life of the country became involved.
So, we didn't come to civil war, but be-
cause of the prolonged pre-election period
there was a mounting toll of the results of
political violence, which when added up,
looked like a large number, and was a large
number (more than 700 dead). If you had
put that within the framework of a six or


eight week period it would not have been
anything near the proportions of what we
had.
S.D.: Do you see a turn-around in the
disastrous fortunes of the Jamaican econ-
omy within your present term?
E.S.: Most dfir,,-el, To put it another
way, it can't get worse. We expect, in a
period of three years, to restore the
Jamaican economy to a path of growth.
We've had eight consecutive years of nega-
tive growth, the only nation in the world that
has had that. During this three year period,
we expect to restore investment, which is
the dynamic of growth. And we've already
been able to see signs of that since taking
over last October. Since then, we've had
nearly 200 investment proposals put to our
government. Prior to that, it was a rare day
that an investment proposal came before
the past government, and mostly those
never materialized. So we've seen private
investment turn around. We've seen the
functioning apparatus of government put
back in shape. We're completing our
negotiations with the International
Monetary Fund and the commercial bank-
ing system for refinancing our debts and for
new financing. We're in the process of di-
vesting industries like hotels and factories
that were nationalized and are now losing
money.
S.D.: Are you trying to link Jamaica's
economy even more directly with the
new economic policies of the Reagan
administration in Washington?
E.S.: I don't think we are wedded to a
particular brand of economics. We are
wedded to investment. And what we are
doing with the United States, the initiative
that came out of the meeting between my-
self and President Reagan, is also being set
up with Canada and the United Kingdom,
and has already been set up in a certain
fashion with Norway. And we're working on
economic relations with West Germany and
Venezuela. We've set up joint committees of
business interests in these countries to op-
erate on a bi-lateral basis to identify invest-
ment opportunities, and to determine the
feasibility of such opportunities, and to get
the investments flowing. The previous gov-
ernment had set up these relationships with


Norway and Venezuela, but they didn't really
function because of lack of confidence in
the previous government. And this is what
we're working the hardest to change.
S.D.: As a young man, you were deeply
involved in researching rural Jamaican folk
culture. Could you describe some of your
work in this area?
E.S.: After I graduated from Harvard, I
was engaged in a study on the development
of the child, partly sponsored by the Univer-
sity of the West Indies. I was interested in the
period from pre-birth up to the age of about
15 years. In the course of doing that, I came
upon a number of interesting things con-
cerning the spiritual cults in the country.
which led me to want to study the cult
groups as well, and I was able to obtain
additional financing from the Para-
Psychology Foundation. These cult groups
are collectively known as Revival Cults.
which consist of two types, the Pocomania
group and the Zion group. And then there is
the Cumina cult group, which is different
from the Revival groups in that the latter is
Christian-based in its theology, whereas the
former is African-based. I studied all three
of these cult groups and recorded their
music, and have written on all of them to a
certain extent. When I was through with
these studies, instead of going on to do my
post-graduate work, I became involved in
politics, and I was involved with the record-
ing business in Jamaica as well.
S.D.: It seems a logical connection in
Jamaica, going from the recording busi-
ness to politics. Both involve knowing the
peoples' taste.
E.S.: Both of these things happened to
me by accident. I had no intentions of be-
coming involved in the record business, but
having academically recorded folk music in
Jamaica, I was constantly being asked
about the sources of the music, and the
availability of recordings, and on that basis I
decided to make these recordings avail-
able, which sort of eased me into the re-
cording business. It was not a plan.
I didn't plan on becoming involved in
politics either, but because I had a deep and
introspective experience with the folk cul-
ture of the country, I found that I was able to
see things quite differently from most of the
CAI?BBEAN rlVIEW/15













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16/CAI?BBEAN 1FVIEW


people who were decision-makers in public
life, and by being able to shine new light on
some of the old problems I came to the
attention of the political leadership. And
eventually, by consultations and discus-
sions and involvement at that level, I found
myself becoming involved with the political
life of the country. The base for both (music
and politics) is common; the period of time
that I lived in rural and urban communities
studying the folk life of the country was a
three-and-a-half year period. It was an in-
valuable opportunityto both learn about the
folk life of the nation, which very few people
at decision-making levels have the oppor-
tunity of seeing first-hand. It gave the most
intimate possible relationship with the
people of Jamaica.
S.D.: Now that Jamaican culture in the
form of reggae music has achieved almost
mainstream cultural proportions in places
like northern Europe, West Africa, and to a
lesser extent the US, I find it odd that reggae
has yet to achieve mainstream cultural
proportions in Jamaica itself. Why is this?
E.S.: In the early Sixties, when Jamaica
developed its first musical idiom ska
music at that time we had a small market
here, and the limited opportunities that go
with a small market. So Jamaican musi-
cians began to record in the United King-
dom, selling to Jamaicans living in the
United Kingdom. The music was given the
name Bluebeat. That music, which was
developed in my own constituency (Tivoli
Gardens, Kingston's worst slum area), was
never known or heard in the middle-income
or higher-income areas of Jamaica. It was
purely folk music played at what you now
call today 'discos,' but which in those days
were called sound systems. It was played in
those low-income areas and it was very
popular. But it wasn't until the music be-
came popular in London that, eventually, it
was accepted by the musicians who played
the other circuits in Jamaica. Then it be-
came nationally popular. At that time I tried
to promote the music I was the minister
of development and I had a couple of
teams sent to the United States to work on
this. It gained some small acceptance, and
if we had had a pocketful of money to work
with, we could have put the music over
then, almost 20 years ago. But I think we
were able to get enough attention paid to
our music and the ska dance-form to start
the ball rolling.
When reggae came along five years later,
it was able to pick up where the ska promo-
tions had left off, and from where the ska
music itself had left off as a music form. It
developed an attractive beat, but most of all
it developed a superstar (Bob Marley) along
with it. There were earlier people who began
to break international ground Jimmy
Cliff, Desmond Dekker, Peter Tosh, the
Maytels, and so on but when Bob Marley
came along he was a terrific hit as a per-


former, and his music happened to coin-
cide with the sort of protest music that was
popular in the United.States at the time.
Hence, the Jamaican musical form be-
came identified not only as a rhythmic
idiom, but also was important for its lyrics.
Before that, most people had discounted
the lyrics because they didn't understand
them, but now the lyrics became important
through Bob Marley. It was message music
as well as an attractive beat. And Bob in his
touring across the world has helped to put
Jamaican reggae on the map as a new
form, something that musicians who are
looking for a new musical adventure can
get themselves involved in. I'm not a musi-
cian, so I can't explain it in musical terms,
but it sort of combines the requirements for
popularity in popular music with the re-
quirements for Roots music, something
that is really meaningful to people.
S.D.: Why are Jamaicans largely una-
ware of the impact their culture has had on
a world-wide basis?
E.S.: You must understand that for the
last few years we have been closed away
from the outside world to a large extent.
Prior to that, reggae was just coming on the
scene. In the days when we were promoting
ska music, Jamaican people knew what
Jamaican records were in the popular
music listings, the charts of Europe and
North America. In the dark years of the
Manley government, it was little value to
know these things, for the simple reason
that people were so consumed with the
problems of survival. Music didn't register
as something of primary importance. Sec-
ondly, Jamaican artists had to seek their
own avenues of advancement outside of
Jamaica, and most of the artists left
Jamaica and set themselves up in bases
abroad. Such information about their
success that came back to us from abroad
was only a fraction of what was really
happening.
S.D.: You were the first head of govern-
ment to see Ronald Reagan after he as-
sumed the presidency of the US, and in that
period you made several statements con-
cerning the role of the ganja (marijuana)
trade in the present economy of Jamaica.
Could you elaborate?
E.S.: Yes. That came about through a
misquotation by AP or UPI, one of the wire
services, of a statement I had made in
Florida in reply to a similar question in early
December. What I indicated was both sides
of the story. We have an effective machinery
(to control ganja), but it's rather limited.
Last year alone, 88 light aircraft were seized,
five vessels, 200 million dollars worth of
ganja was seized, some 200 people were
detained. For acountrythat does not have a
large security force, because it is not in our
tradition, it's a very effective operation. On
the other hand, the scale of operations is
much bigger than that. And it became











much bigger during those dark years, be-
cause the economy was depressed to such
an extent that during that period of time,
what people wouldn't do before, they
started to do then, and that was to become
more and more involved in the growth and
export of marijuana. While the great bulk of
these earnings are never seen in Jamaica
- they are lodged in foreign bank accounts
by the big dealers such rub-off as came
to the Jamaican economy served to pur-
chase scarce raw materials and other
goods and services that the Bank of
Jamaica had no dollars to purchase. To that
extent it was of some importance to the
Jamaican economy. As we move back to
buoyancy, it will become of less and less
importance. So what I was trying to indicate
was that there were two sides of it. Some
people would tell you that half the factories
in Jamaica have been able to stay open
because of ganja during the dark years, and
I don't know if I could dispute this. But that
still does not deter us from our own posi-
tion, and that it is an illegal activity, and we
treat it as an illegal activity. We indeed treat it
more so as an illegal activity than the United
States does, because we haven't legalized
the use of it, not even in small quantities.
S.D.: Trinidad's Eric Williams recently
died after 25 years in office. How does that
change the Caribbean?
E.S.: He was one of the last of the major
national figures, and the Caribbean is now
in the hands of younger men, and fortu-
nately younger men have been able to re-
store the Caribbean to its vitality and have
been able to pick up the dynamism that was
evident at the beginning of the movement
of Caribbean independence, and have been
able to overcome the threat to the
traditional Caribbean method of develop-
ment and the Caribbean way of life that was
evident in the '70s. It's a tribute to this group
of 32 countries, all of which, except for four,
are democratically governed and have
proven themselves to be democracies time
and time again through changes of gov-
ernment ... that have made this region
not just a centerpiece of popular music
- because in the same way you have
reggae here, Trinidad has its calypso
which is equally exciting has made
this area a centerpiece of democracy
which is unequaled in the world. What is
remarkable is that they have done this as
small countries. This is not supposed to
be so. Every textbook will tell you that
democracy is one thin.i, but that de-
mocracy in a small country is extremely
difficult. Because the checks and balances
that are supposed to prevail in a democratic
system on the basis of independence of
views and opinions do not prevail in a small
country where everybody knows each other
and it's very difficult to segregate opinions
and people from each other. This has been
proven to be false, because we have coun-


tries as small as 6000 persons- Turks and
Caicos Islands which are functioning
democracies. And to a large extent, this is a
product of the metropolitan powers that
were the colonial governments, the En-
glish, the Dutch and the French in particu-
lar. This democracy has been the product of
their years in government, whatever may
have been the many evil things that they
were guilty of, this has been a positive in-
heritance. It is also a testimony of the
people who reside in the Caribbean, that
they have adapted themselves to the sys-
tem, and have made it work so brilliantly. So
the Caribbean is now in the hands of young
men who have not lost the lesson of the last
five decades of Jamaican history, and in
fact are determined to protect that heritage,
and have succeeded by no less than six
elections in 1980, demonstrating the extent
to which the modern leadership of the
Caribbean has prevailed over those who
were adventurers and who were seeking to
deviate from its traditions.

Writer Stephen Davis has reported on Jamaica
for the New York Times and the Boston
Globe. He is the authorof Reggae Bloodlines
- In Search of the Music and Culture of
Jamaica (Doubleday 1977). This interview is
from his forthcoming book Reggae Interna-
tional, to be published by Stonehill/Verlag
Rogner & Bernhard. He is currently working on
a biography of the late Bob Marley for Double-
day. c 1981, Stephen Davis.


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305 ALCAZAR
CORAL GABLES
FLORIDA 33134
(305) 442-9430


Outstanding selection
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(305) 444-4493


CAIBBEAN lEVIEW/17


I













The Caribbean



in the 1980s


What We Should Study

By Gordon K. Lewis


During the last twenty years or so
Caribbean Studies have been
shaped by three major theoretical
schemes: the Plural Society thesis, the
Black Power thesis, and the dependency
model thesis. All three of these theoretical
statements possess both positive and
negative aspects; and the continuing work
of Caribbean scholars during this decade
will involve enquiry into how those aspects
will fit into the changing realities of the gen-
eral regional situation.
To begin with, the pluralist theory has
done immense damage to intellectual en-
quiry on three grounds. (1) In dogmatically
asserting that West Indian society is struc-
turally divided into different ethnic seg-
ments it enunciates a theory of social
statics, rather than social dynamics, for it
fails to admit how much segmental feeling
can be altered and attenuated by other
factors: economic conditions, employment
or unemployment, upward mobility for all
groups by means of educational opportu-
nity, political participation, and the rest. It
leaves us with the pessimistic conclusion
that the various groups forever will "mix but
not combine." (2) It overlooks the variable
factor of social class. Each ethnic group is
itself class stratified, and many affiliations of
income, social status, and education in-
creasingly make class identification rather
than ethnic loyalty the real touchstone of
identity. (3) It is a hermetically sealed theory.
It assumes a sort of cocoon Caribbean so-
ciety effectively insulated from the outside.
It makes no room for anti-pluralist forces
coming in from the outside.
However, much of our research in sociol-
ogy will still have to work on the positive
features of the pluralist model. The class
struggle has not yet replaced ethnic rivalry
in many of the regional societies. The
Marxist scholar may want that; but life is not
that simplistic. The pluralist thesis still helps
us to understand why to take examples
only post-independent Suriname re-
mains a society divided by racial tensions
between Hindustani, Creole, and Javanese
minority groups; why, as Jose Luis Gonzalez
has suggested in his recent book, Puerto
Rico: El Pais de Cuatro Pisos, Puerto
Rico, for all its deceptive modernization,

18/CAI?BBEAN REVIEW


can still be interpreted as a Meztizo-Negro
society and why, too, many Puerto Ricans,
including radical and Marxist intellectuals,
will fiercely dispute that interpretation be-
cause their own psychological race preju-
dice will not permit them to admit it; and
why, finally, one of the continuing psycho-
logical supports of Santo Domingo nation-
alism is the race-based spirit of anti-
Haitianism. Clearly enough, we live in a
doctrinaire cloud-cuckooland if we assume
that class has superseded race in much of
the Caribbean communal psychology. Will
the 1980s see continuing class war in the
region, or will it see the growth of a new race
war? The answer is, quite simply, that we
don't know.
Let me put this in another way. As a pro-
fessional historian, I perceive a very real
comparison between the growth of racial
tolerance the very essence of the
pluralist model and the growth of reli-
gious tolerance earlier on in the Europe of
the 16th and 17th centuries. The final vic-
tory of religious tolerance was due to the
fact that both sides in that fratricidal strug-
gle, Protestant and Catholic, came finally to
realize that their own liberty of conscience
could only be made possible by accepting a
concordat of peaceful co-existence the one
with the other; so that, in J.N. Figgis' phrase,
political liberty was the residuary legatee of
ecclesiastical animosities. Can we proph-
esy, today, that political liberty in the seg-
mentalized societies of the region -
Suriname, Guyana, Trinidad, etc will be
the residuary legatee of ethnic animosities?
We can only offer a tentative answer to the
degree that we find out how ethnic group
opinion works in this area, that is, the sort of
rigorous questionnaire sociology first
undertaken by Wendell Bell in his earlier
Jamaica elite research work. And even then
we have to remember that what people say
is one thing; how they actually behave is
another.

Black Power
The Black Power ideology ran its course in
the 1960s and the 1970s. Its positive fea-
tures, still an ongoing thing in the region,
are well-known: a new sense of black pride,
a rediscovery of ancestral Afro-American


roots, an apocalyptic denial of everything
white and therefore colonial. Yet its defects
are also by now apparent. It was at times
virulently anti-Marxist, because, like
Pluralism, curiously enough, it saw through
the prism of Race and not of Class. In
eulogizing black achievement it failed to
see that blackness was also class-
orientated, and that it could result in simply
replacing the white bourgeosie with the
black bourgeosie. It failed, also, to see that
the anti-colonial nationalist victory in the
post-1945 period in the Caribbean has only
resulted in the old European white admin-
istrative masters being replaced by a new
elite of black-mulatto creole masters who,
because they understand their own people
psychologically in ways denied to the Euro-
peans, can make the turn of the screw, in
terms of internal class exploitation, even
more nasty and brutal. And yet Black Power
will not go away in the 1980s. It receives new
formulations, as in the expanding role, for
example, of the Rastafarian cult in the re-
gion. The rise of lower-class groupings
combining the old Rasta cosmic vision with
new methods of underground insurrec-
tionary activity, needs study. New research
should be undertaken on the historical an-
tecedents of Black Power and its French
Antillean counterpart, negritude. The an-
tecedents, of course, are there in Gar-
veyism. But they are also of earlier origin;
and in my own new forthcoming book,
Main Currents in Caribbean Thought
1492-1900, I have devoted an entire sec-
tion to a descriptive account of the various
Secretaries of State in the Haitian court after
1804 who wrote a remarkable pamphlet
literature in the defense of the St.
Domingue-Haiti revolution against its Pari-
sian detractors, and in which pamphlet lit-
erature many of the later themes of neg-
ritude and Black Power are anticipated.
There is one further point. It requires little
imagination to see that the Caribbean of the
1980s will witness a massive escalation of
violence, both social and political. We shall
have to address ourselves to new analyses
on the roots and the psycopathology of that
violence. Professor Lacey's recently pub-
lished book on political violence in Jamaica
- where the two major parties are more


























deeply ingrained into their respective mass
public constituencies, a working class truly
divided against itself, more than in any
other West Indian territorial political system
- points in the proper direction. In part, it is
organized gang violence, in part an expres-
sion of the Fanonesque dream of violence
as therapy, in part guerilla warfare. But un-
fortunately we have little systematic and
scholarly work on it all. What we have, to
take a sad example, is the fantasy of the
fiction writer, as in Vidia Naipaul's novel
Guerillas. For in that novel the author
shows no interest in any idea or ideology
that might motivate young middle class
Trinidadian youngsters taking to the hills to
beat the system; he writes, rather, as if he is
describing yet another West Indian variant
of the James Brothers. And that is to be
expected, for Naipaul, for all of his real gifts,
is not interested in the central mass of the
West Indian masses and classes, but only in
its marginal types and, even more, only in its
failed marginal type. Every Naipaul novel,
indeed, is a treatment of failure in the colo-
nial and post-colonial society. He is the East
Indian snob enjoying the Western Euro-
pean high-life style, with all of his real gifts
devoted to the asinine proposition that the
West Indies have created nothing. In sum,
Black Power and its new offshoots deserve
more than a Naipaulian sneer.

Economic Dependency
The economic dependency school's cen-
tral theme is that the Caribbean economies,


irrespective of political status whether
formally independent like Santo Domingo,
or semi-autonomous colonies, like Puerto
Rico are entrapped within the global
system of international corporate
capitalism, in all terms whether they are
terms of trade, commerce, international
public debt, credit marketing, global com-
modity prices, technology, and the rest.
Political independence what Louis
Lindsay has called the myth of indepen-
dence is destroyed by continuing eco-
nomic and technological dependency. The
Puerto Rican case is the most well-known of
all; for, there, we have a case-study in which
there is a ruling class that does not rule and
a working class that does not work. The
ruling class does not rule because the is-
land economy is really governed by the
multi-national corporations; and the work-
ing class does not work because the work
ethic has been destroyed by a federal US
food-stamps program that destroys the
incentive to work.
All this is true. Yet there are some serious
liabilities involved when we look at the de-
pendency model, including its latest for-
mulation in the Lloyd Best model of the
plantation economy. Its bias is structuralist.
It carries technological determinism so far
that we wonder, if the grip of the global
capitalist power-structure is so complete,
how is it ever possible to escape from it?
There is, here, an in-built pessimism as real
as the in-built pessimism of the pluralist
thesis; with the only difference, of course,


that the dependency economics model
acknowledges the global character of the
problem. The answer, for the dependency
model theorists, is localization or nation-
alization. Yet is that a real answer? Is it not
feasible to assume that as nationalization
and/or localization take place that they will
merely replace the global capitalist state
with the local capitalist state? Is it not possi-
ble that as those processes take place they
will give rise to a new public sector econ-
omy which, through resource mobilization,
technological innovation, and taste crea-
tion, will only have the end-result of ac-
celerating its reliance upon the outside
capitalist forces? And will not that produce a
new alliance between the local business
forces and the external business forces?

An Agenda for Research
Where then do we stand today? What ought
to be the agenda for scholastic research for
the new decade? The three schools of
thought that I have briefly mentioned still
remain valuable tools of enquiry, whatever
their shortcomings. We must respect con-
tinuity even as we embrace innovation.
We already possess an impressive litera-
ture, in the field of sociology and anthropol-
ogy, on the lower-class segments of the
society; as well as on the upper-class levels,
as evident in the collected work of scholars
like Beaudoux-Kovats, Karner, Stanley
Reid, Camejo, and others. What we now
badly need are systematic studies on the
Continued on page 46


CAIBBEAN KEVIEW/19













The Mighty Shadow


On the Pointlessness of Human Existence

By Linden Lewis


ne of the Caribbean's most
outstanding art forms is the
Trinidadian calypso. More than a
"spontaneous topical West Indian song,"
the calypso has long since metamor-
phosed from earthly spontaneous out-
pourings to a sophisticated and profound
socio-political and cultural medium of ex-
pression. Not only has the calypso matured
in terms of its lyrical content, but also in
terms of its ability to incorporate other mu-
sical sounds into its own, e.g., the creativity
demonstrated in the attempt to combine
North American Soul and Disco music with
the calypso. These attempts are evident in
Lord Beckette's (Alston Cyrus Beckette)
Disco-calypsoes and the popular Soca
(soul and calypso) music originated by
Lord Shortie (Garfield Blackman). In addi-
tion. there has been, some years ago, an
attempt to marry Gospel music and
the calypso in what was described as
Gospelypso.
The calypso has its genesis in the par-
ticular sub-culture of a lower-class group in
Trinidad which was known as the "jamette"
group. "Jamette" is a French patois word
used to refer to people at the lowest rung of
the social ladder, the so-called "dreg" of the
society. J.D. Elder has described this group
as: "The matadors, the bad-johns,
stickmen, prostitutes, drummers and the
singers and the dancers.... The members
of this group rejected the norms of the soci-
ety in their own way of life. They were the
reverse of the upper-class elite and the
ethos of this jamette sub-culture reflected
the social conditions under which they
lived." When this group met and interacted
with one another, not only was stick-fighting
among their activities but they also played a
particular type of music identified with that
activity. This music, called Kalinda music,
was produced by the crudest of instru-
ments, bamboo-joints and bottles, to
provide a congenial atmosphere within
which the stick-fighting was to take place.
Out of the Kalinda music emerged the
chantuelle or lead singer whose voice in the
general scheme of things, was an important
one. The chantuelle represent therefore the
genesis of the calypso and the calypsonian.


The Stage Personality of the
Mighty Shadow
Popular Trinidadian calypsonian, the Mighty
Shadow was born Winston Bailey in To-
bago. Though, as he claimed, he was
always possessed by a desire to sing
calypsoes, he did not think that he would
eventually pursue a career in entertain-
ment. As is the case with many young
working class men in the Caribbean, life
was a struggle for survival and obtaining a
job difficult. His love for music took roots
and he found himself drawn to the calypso
- the dominant indigenous art form of the
region. The calypso provided the Mighty
Shadow with a medium of expression
similar in function to that which the Kalinda
music provided for the jamette group:
Shadow was able to channel his frustra-
tions, proclaim his aspirations and herald
the need for relief from gripping alienating
situations. He began singing calypsoes
professionally from 1971. His debut was
made at the Victory Calypso Tent, led by
Lord Blakie (Carlton Joseph). Today the
Mighty Shadow is among the most popular
calypsonians in the Caribbean.
But the Mighty Shadow is no ordinary
calypsonian. There is something strikingly
different about this artist. Shadow demon-
strates a certain propensity for the eccen-
tric. Indeed, had he not possessed this
particular idiosyncracy, it is doubtful
whether he would have received such
overwhelming success, for there are many
other calypsonians in the region with much
better voices and lyrics. It is really a touch of
eeriness that makes the Shadow stand out
from among his contemporaries.
Winston Bailey's stage name "Shadow"
can hardly have been arbitrarily selected.
On the contrary Bailey's choice was delib-
erate and has a lot of significance. A
shadow conjures up a lot in the minds of
many West Indians. It is not uncommon for
a mother or an adult to reproach a young
child for playing with his or her shadow at
night. The folk belief behind this injunction
is that to play with one's shadow is to attract
evil spirits which haunt you at night while
you sleep, through frightening nightmares.


The celebrated West Indian poet and play-
wright Derek Walcott elevates the folk belief
of the shadow to another level in the play
"Pantomine." Through the character
"Jackson," he points not merely to the
nightmarish fears of the child towards his
shadow, but to the apprehension oc-
casioned by the unswerving fidelity of the
shadow. Jackson: "But after a while, the
child does get frighten of the shadow he
make. He say to himself 'that is too much
obedience, I better hads stop.' But the
shadow don't stop, no matter if the child
stop playing that patomine...." Owing to
the peculiar faithfulness of the shadow
Jackson concluded that, "...that is the
power and black magic of the shadow....
And that is the victory of the shadow..."
Another belief steeped within the Caribbean
folk tradition is that some persons possess
the ability to "pin down" the shadow of their
enemies. When once your shadow has
been "pinned down" by another person,
you become the object of the other's over-
powering influence. There is also a widely
held view in the region that it is unwise to
walk under the shadow of a tree at night.
For by so doing one courts the peril of the
spirit world, since "jumbies" (ghosts) are
supposed to be assembled at such places.
In essence, the shadow as interpreted by
the Caribbean person elicits superstitious
beliefs, a sense of fear and also a tendency
to invoke images of evil, wickedness and
mystery. The Mighty Shadow is obviously
cognizant of this realm of the superstitious
and in an almost mystagogical way, suc-
ceeds in manipulating and reifying the folk
interpretation of a shadow as part of his
stage performance. Put differently the
Mighty Shadow has for years now, re-
mained consistent, both lyrically and in his
stage performance to the Caribbean defini-
tion of a shadow.
With respect to his stage performance,
Shadow hardly appears before his audience
in bright lights at the outset. All the lights in
the auditorium are dimmed or extin-
guished. Shadow then makes his entry,
dressed in dark clothing, a broad-rimmed
hat and regal cape. The shadow of the
calypsonian now cast, he opens his per-


20/CAIBBEAN CfVIEW



























formance with calypsoes which reinforce
the image already created on stage. Almost
invariably his calypsoes tell of some bizarre
and violent event, in an unmistakably raspy
voice, interspersed by some tremulous
humming, which has become a charac-
teristic feature of his presentation. This
therefore is the Shadow's lyrical consis-
tency with the folk tradition.
Though there may be some deep-rooted
psychological reasons for Shadow's adher-
ence to this unusual paradigm, there is a
wealth of historical precedence for what he
is doing. There is a certain tradition of de-
fiance in the calypso. First there was the
cruel boasting of the stick-fighter among
the jamette group, then there was the sadis-
tic speeches of the Midnight Robbers (car-
nival revellers of the early '20s, who used to
disguise themselves in masks and terrify
many of the spectators with their speech)
and also the terrifying outpouring of the
earlier calypsonians, which have all im-
pacted on the contemporary calypsonians,
especially the Mighty Shadow.
Themes of violence, cruelty and boasting
in the vocabulary of the stick-fighter and
carnival masker were repeated in the sans
humanity (without mercy) calypsoes of the
early calypsonians:
Before the tribunal bar you stand
Before the Lord Chief Justice of
Ireland.
For your treasonous and
treacherous threat (wretch)
On the cross of crucifixion
you'll outstretch
The jurors gave your verdict
unanimously
"Guilty" Take your stand in
eternity
And die ignominiously for your
low propensity.
(Chinee Patrick-Patrick Jones).
Another such early calypsonian was
Young Lion, whose lyrical style, in this re-
spect, was similar to that of the Mighty
Shadow:
I am a Monarch from heart
and soul,
Wherever I go I bound to control.
I am guided by the three stars


The Mighty Shadow


Jupiter Mercury and Mars;
And if tonight Ishall lose my name,
Blood is going to flow from
every vein.
They call me the King and the Terror,
The brutal Conqueror,
Sans Humanite.

The Mighty Shadow is only one of several
contemporary calypsonians to sing from a
violent and/or cruel perspective. The fol-
lowing excerpts bear testimony to this fact:
Brip, Brip, Briply go
Bribidip, dem school children
run below.
But when they meet,
They hold they head and bawl,
For when they think is mangoes
Meh branches fall.
(Lord Kitchener-Alwyn Roberts).
Barbadian calypsonian Sir Don (Don Mar-
shall) comments on the infidelity of what he
describes as "20th Century Husbands," in a
most brutal suggestion for affecting justice:
They want they fingers pulling
out,
And all de peggers in they mouth.
They want burrying alive,
And waking up with the Devil.
Right foot and left hand cutting off,
And given slug in chicken broth.
And I sure dat you will agree
They'll be on de level. (Sir Don).
This spirit of belligerence has not by-
passed the attention of the undisputed King
of Calypso the Mighty Sparrow (Slinger
Francisco). In one of his earlier calypsoes,


Sparrow sang of a particular methodology
for dealing with women.
Every now and then cuff
dem down,
They'll love you long and they'll
love you strong.
Black-up deh eye
Bruise-up deh knee
Then they'll love you eternally.
(Sparrow).
This calypso did not go down well with
progressive people in the region. Merle
Hodge commenting on this calypso said:
"Of course, calypsonians are mainly men,
and men are largely responsible for per-
petuating the myth of women thriving on
violence from their men." But while other
contemporary calypsonians have written
and sung calypsoes using the vio-
lent/bizarre paradigm, none has been as
consistent to this theme as the Mighty
Shadow.

Shadow's Perspective
on Violence
In one of his earlier compositions Shadow
vividly described his childhood frustrations
and alienation in the lyrics of the calypso
Winston. Winston demonstrates the
deep-rooted psycho-social pressure which
the Shadow may have experienced in
childhood and which in turn may be cur-
rently manifesting itself in these strange
lyrics of the calypsonian:
Maybe I was not wanted
Boy I don't know


CAI?BBEAN tr18EW/21










Why meh boyhood days
Was terrible so.
From the time I have sense
They pushing me around.
I though from experience
They want me to grow up a clown.
These negative self-images were com-
pounded by a comment made about the
Shadow by no less a person than his
grandfather in the same calypso:
Please go from me, you so ugly,
You looking like a blight
Get-a-way from my sight.
It would appear as though the Shadow had
internalized this rejection which sub-
sequently preoccupied his consciousness
in a calypso sometime later, The Alien (to
be discussed below).
The childhood of the Mighty Shadow
seemed to have been one which empha-
sized strict discipline in the form of corporal
punishment. It is perhaps the socialization
of the youthful Shadow into an "accept-
able" code of conduct which nurtured in
him the belligerence evident in the lyrics of
his calypsoes. For example, in Winston he
gave us some insight into the form of
punishment he was subject to as a child.
Sometimes they beat me,
Boy ah afraidd to cry.
Meh bumcee burning me
But ah afraidd they dig out me eye.
Being subject to this punitive childhood
socialization, the net effect seems to have
been, the emergence of a certain pugnacity
of spirit in the life of the adult Shadow. Con-
sequently, violence of some sort appears to
be interwoven into many of the calypsoes of
this artist. This kind of up-bringing coupled
with his feeling of being "pushed around,"
let the Shadow in Winston to conclude: "/
wish I was never bom." The above com-
ment is perhaps indicative of the extent to
which the calypsonian had been frustrated
in his youth. The comment also records not
only the nature of his problem but the his-
tory of this problem. It is indeed significant
to note that the Mighty Shadow expressed
the desire to remain unborn, on three occa-
sions in the same calypso Winston. This
wish must surely point to the trauma of his
early human experience.
Shadow in a moment of soul-searching
reflection, queried his presence in the polity
in the calypso Ah come.
I ask myself what I come here for
I can't build no shelf
I can t fight no warl
Ah was wondering about all kind
of things.
When some music blast.
And I knew at last.
In answer to his own teleological concern
above, Shadow offered an explanation in
the chorus of the calypso which was hardly
intellectually adequate, or satisfying to the
soul:
Ah come here to jump and
22 / CABBEAN IVIW


be merry,
And a don't want nobody to
harass me.
Ah come here to enjoy me body,
And ah don't want nobody to
stop me.
The simplicity of purpose of human exis-
tence advanced in the chorus of this
calypso, left the Mighty Shadow with still
many unanswered questions. This be-
comes apparent if one follows his con-
tinued search for an explanation for living,
as can be gleaned from, What is life.
Why all this torture and strife?


The Mighty Shadow is no
ordinary calypsonian. There
is something strikingly
different about this artist.



Well ah sit down and asked myself
What is life?
Why all the struggling to survive?
What is the sense of being alive?
What is life is a calypso which highlights
Mighty Shadow's poverty of spirit. It points
to his existential experience in the world in
which he lives. The calypso also articulates
his pessimism and fatalism. It is this
philosophy of despair which causes him to
view the world from the perspective of the
cynic. Shadow sees little hope for those
who seek to free themselves of oppressive
situations in this incarnation.
Shadow strongly supports a philosophy
of life which emphasizes the pointlessness
of human existence. This can be gleaned
from the calypso, You have Nothing:
Relax let me tell you something,
You never have nothing.
Keep on counting your shillings,
You never have nothing,
Even though you own a million,
You never have nothing.
All you brought with you
Was just your life span
So you ain't got nothing.
The Shadow does not make any sugges-
tion for a solution to this poverty of spirit. He
points to the acute alienation at the level of
society in Pressure:
The cry in town is, pressure!
Some bawling, some crying
Some lying, some people really
suffering.
Some don't want to help, so
they bawling
Pressure! Pressure!
The cry in town is pressure.
Nowhere in these calypsoes, What is life.
You have Nothing, or Pressure, does the
calypsonian recommend the transforma-
tion of the system which may be the very


source of his oppression.
This omission appears to be deliberate,
for the Shadow seems more possessed by
the idea of reincarnation and the power of
the reincarnate, than with seeking to
change or challenge the status quo. For
him:
All that you possess,
Is six feet deep.
Being skeptical about man's ability to
transform the material situation under
which he lives, the Shadow seeks a
metaphysical solution to the perils of con-
crete reality. Even though on one occasion
he claimed, "I know that when yuh dead,
yuh done," the Shadow does not appear to
view death with finality, but rather, as a
peculiar source of strength and power. It
appears as though this calypsonian speaks
with greatest power and authority from the
valley of the shadow of death. It is also at this
level that the content of his lyrics is most
explicitly violent in orientation.

Explicit Violence
In King from Hell, Mighty Shadow demon-
strates his total confidence in the mysteri-
ous world of the dead. He anticipates
taking-up a position of absolute power
when he returns to his substantive post in
hell:
When I go back to hell
And pick up my post,
I am going to be a terrible ghost.
People on earth who does do me
wrong things,
Don't know down in hell Shadow
is a King.
Hell clearly offers Shadow a privileged
status. It is here, in the abode of the dead
that Shadow becomes preoccupied with
the exercise of power. In the chorus of King
from Hell Shadow warned of his ven-
geance against those on earth who have
wronged him in some way:
Yuh getting yuh head burst,
And if yuh start to cry,
Yuh getting yuh eye burst.
And if yuh grumble,
Is now yuh in trouble
So if you know yuh does
Do me wrong things
You better start praying.
And do not forget,
Ah want meh revenge
In the land of death.
Here the Mighty Shadow does not seek an
alliance with the forces of good in the uni-
verse, on the contrary he aligns himself with
the forces of evil in hell, the habitat of con-
demned spirits. Moreover in the same
calypso he made the claim that:
Way down in hell.
Ah was Satan right hand man.
This boast is significant in that it combines
in a sinister sort of way Shadow's propensity
for the grotesque and his awesome cruelty.
The violence of the chorus is symptomatic


I










of a deep-rooted aggression and inner tur-
moil locked within the psyche of the artist,
tied not just to his past but to his present
experiences.
Others in the region find myriad ways of
dealing with their aggression by attack-
ing the political leadership of their respec-
tive territories or by being generally
objectionable. Some take pleasure in vil-
ifying others, while still others sublimate
their aggression into sport. The Mighty
Shadow externalizes his aggression more
blatantly, he uses the one sure vehicle of
expression available to him, the calypso.
When I asked him. Why would someone
articulate such cruelty?, he responded.
"Well, that is in me somewhere, so it just
come out."
The concept of hell as used by Shadow is
much more than mere lyrical imagery.
Shadow romanticizes and fantasizes the
notion of hell for his own personal satisfac-
tion. Shadow seemingly manipulates his
own fantasy about hell, in such a way that it
functions as a psychic mechanism for
dealing with his enemies real or imagined.
This point is not only evident in King from
Hell, but is expressed more pungently in
Jump,judges,jump. Having unsuccess-
fully contested the Calypso Monarch Con-
test, the Shadow came to the conclusion
that the judges of these contests were not
competent. "they have degrees in stupidity."
He also felt that they had conspired to deny
him the crown. In the light of all this,
Shadow made his grievance known
publicly in Jump,judges,jump and
suggested the punishment he would
administer to the judges as compensation
for his loss.
Ah want to catch dem judges
in hell.
To have dem jumping.
Judge.jumping, no stopping.
Ah want to work dem up wid some
blows
And have dem jumping.
Judge jumping, no fooling,
And when ah tell you jump.
Yuh got to jump,
And when ah tell yuh stop
Keep jumping up,
And if ah catch you jumping
up slow.
Ah burst yuh toe.
The last two lines of the chorus seek to
identify the punishment for tardiness in
response to Shadow's direct order "ah
burst yuh toe." Few things are more pain-
fully excruciating than extensive damage to
one's toe, but this act of vengeance is typi-
cal of the extent of naked aggression in the
lyrics of Shadow's calypsoes.
A careful observer would notice that
Shadow has a sharp eye for recording and
commenting on gruesome details, in this
regard, Modern Housewives is a good
example. In Modern Housewives Shadow


tells of his purchase of two golf-balls for the
purpose of playing a game of golf. He how-
ever went home unexpectedly and found
his girlfriend with another lover "kissing
up Rudolph." Characteristically Shadow's
response to this situation was a violent one
- "ah turn and hit the woman a cuff." It is
the consequences of his action which is of
concern to us here:
Now ah let she go,
She run for a blade
Ah went to sleep
But the Shadow afraid .
Whole night I ain 't close



There are many other
calypsonians in the region
with much better voices
and lyrics. It is really a
touch of eeriness that
makes the Shadow stand
out from among his
contemporaries.



Meh eyes at all.
Ah afraidd if ah sleep
She cut off me balls.
Sometime later he lost all his money
gambling "playing whe whe," and had to
return home to face a belligerent girlfriend,
in a state of embarrassing poverty. Shadow
recounted his second confrontation with
this girlfriend in Modern Housewives:
Ah went and drop asleep
On a sofa,
She paint up me golf balls
With butter
You wouldn't guess the reason
at all,
She want cock-roach
To bite off meh balls.
Modern Housewives is somewhat of a
change of direction of the violence which is
evident in King from Hell and Jump,
judges,jump. For in the latter two calyp-
soes the violence is directed at others, while
in the former, the aggression is directed
towards himself via his girlfriend who tried
to hurt Shadow with pretty much the same
level of intensity as he seeks recompense
from others. One should also note too, that
in this calypso Shadow's unfaithful
girlfriend endeavored to hurt him in that
part of his anatomy where he is most vul-
nerable, his use of the pun notwithstanding.
One notices increasing intensity of vio-
lence in each new song from this particular
paradigm. At the same time, one may ob-
serve that the bizarre reaches more and
more frightening proportions. In Dat Soca


Boat, Shadow tells of an encounter which
he had with another calypsonian who, not
only challenged his reputation but
threatened him with physical violence:
A man come in my house
To beat me.
He come in my house
To fight me.
In the fracas which followed, Shadow's
temper and aggression rose to an almost
uncontrollable level.
That was confusion.
I was transformed to a demon
Ah got mad and my eyes got red.
Only wickedness in my head,
Meh blood hot 'till it boiling
Ah vex now ah feeling to fight him.
Here again the Mighty Shadow finds him-
self on the side of evil "I was transformed
to a demon" and juxtaposes this ele-
ment of the supernatural with his usual
malevolence "only wickedness in my
head." When one combines the notion of
infinite wickedness with the vehemence
expressed by "meh blood hot till it boil-
ing" -one's fear of the prognosis of such a
situation is perhaps the emotion which the
Shadow intended to elicit. For having
stimulated the listener's imagination with
such eeriness it is only reasonable to con-
clude that one would become afraid of the
result of such an encounter.
The explicit mood of aggression which is
a consistent theme running through the
lyrics of the calypsoes of the Mighty
Shadow has to be understood within the
context of a country and region which are
fast becoming sadly violent. Trinidad and
Tobago alone have begun to shed their
inhibitions crime is rife in the country,
there are numerous cases of rape, there is
growing political tribalism evident in the
bombing of certain government minister's
homes and there are threats about "bloody
seizure of power" by radical opposition
Continued on page 49



Metas
Aspira of America publishes
(METAS), a national journal that
serves as a forum for research and
policy analysis discussion on issues
concerning education and other
social issues as they affect Puerto
Ricans and other Hispanics.
Metas (the Spanish word for
"goals" or "objectives") is pub-
lished three times a year.
For a free sample copy, and in-
formation on how to subscribe,
write to:
METAS
ASPIRA of America
205 Lexington Ave.
New York. N.Y 10016

CAfRBBEAN PEVIEW/23


I












A Day in




Babylon


Street Life in Guyana

By David J. Dodd


The following article is excerpted from a
larger work in progress, based upon a
study, part ethnographic and part histori-
cal. of the culture and social structure of
the black proto-proletariat in Georgetown,
Guyana. Fieldwork for this study was car-
ried out by the author and others between
1975 and 1978. The focus is on the various
forms of innovative adaptation to prevail-
ing socio-economic circumstances dur-
ing and since slavery that have been
labelled 'criminal' by the political au-
thorities of the day. It is from this aspect of
the study that a working book title -
Choke and Rob: The Politics of Crime in the
Caribbean is derived.

Babylon is the word used by Rastafa-

rians in Jamaica to speak of the
white man's world Britain,
Canada, the United States, Jamaica itself -
in contrast to Ethiopia, his own. It also
means the police. But in Guyana Babylon
means "lower class" and refers to the vari-
eties of behavior noise, quarrelling, vio-
lence, lewdness, promiscuity and "igno-
rance" commonly associated with it by
"respectable" members of society. It would
be difficultto locate it on a map because it is
also a state of mind, a frame of reference, a
consciousness derived from the world the
slaves had made: the norms of the subsist-
ence economies they set up having drifted
into the towns from the plantations and
coastal villages upon emancipation. It re-
fers to their survival culture somewhere on
the margin of the social order.
Traditionally, most of those considered
Babylon people could be found in the envi-
rons of Georgetown, the capital: living along
the waterfront in Tiger Bay, downtown in a
24/CAJBBEAN rEVIEW


network of ramshackle "nigger-yards" or in
the neighborhoods which make up South
Georgetown La Penitence (a former
sugar estate), Albouystown (an old run-
down residential area) or the housing
schemes of East and West Ruimveldt (built
during the 1950s to house families moved
from the city center by the demolition of
the yards).
James Street is the main passage
through the crowded, densely-packed
tenement yards of Albouystown. It is a nar-
row paved road, with rubbish-filled trenches
and an uneven footpath on either side. Of
the streets running crosswise, some are
paved and some are not. The yards which
spill onto them are in various stages of dis-
repair. Most of the buildings are of wood,
white paint peeling, grimy with neglect,
highlighted occasionally by the presence of
a newly constructed house, usually in con-
crete. In some places a whole block looks
relatively new, in others the yards seem to
run on and together into a retreating
image of the past. A few yards are well
fenced, providing the semblance of protec-
tion from the streets, but the majority are
open to the world outside. Innumerable
alleyways lead nowhere, escape routes for
the fugitive and the haunts of furtive sex.
Everything is in close proximity, giving the
impression of a stage on which too many
props and performers have been first de-
posited and then abandoned.
James Street itself has a number of small
grocery stores, "pubs" and rumshops,
perhaps more than any other not predomi-
nantly concerned with business enterprise.
At each intersection there are three or four
of these drinking places, often with a juke
("dime" or "punch") box and skittle or pool
tables for the entertainment of customers.


Teenagers and young adults prefer to drink
beer in the "pubs," older men, to drink rum
in the "shops." Nor do the latter frequent the
streetcorners. In Albouystown, as else-
where, the generations do not have much
to do with each other.
It is ten o'clock in the morning and al-
ready the shops are doing a brisk trade. In
one grocery, people are breakfasting on
fresh milk and hot, fried cassava balls. Boys
drift in for "tea" usually milk and a slice of
bread then drift back outside to look for
their friends or just "lime" on the street. (To
"lime" means to hang out, to stand around
on the street or corner with no ostensible
purpose other than the one apparent. One
appears to have nothing to do and to be
doing nothing, although in fact one may be
doing a great deal.)
In a corner of the shop a number of rag-
ged and barefoot children are seriously
studying one another's form at the pool
tables under a sign that reads "Anybody
playing for beers or anything goes first." As
it is still early for beers the next generation
has time to practice: not only their pool
skills, one notes, but also the demeanor of
the older boys. So, while playing, they are
locked totally into a dramatic approxima-
tion of the adult role, verging often on
parody. A few of their mentors watch with
approval, laughing from time to time at
their awkwardness with the long cue and
high table.

On the Streets
Outside, the streets are alive with people,
mostly African although there is a sizable
minority of East Indians living in the area.
The Indians own most of the businesses,
some of the property (although the majority
of housing is owned by absentee landlords)





































Illustration by Eleanor Porter Bonner


and function as middlemen to much of the
local industry, legitimate and illegitimate.
They also, paradoxically, work at many of
the most menial tasks which Africans dis-
dain. (Certain sweeping and cleaning jobs,
for instance, have traditionally fallen to the
lowest caste of Hindu and one still finds that
kind of work carried out by East Indians.
Even in prison Indians get the "shitwork" to
do.) Yet unlike some other parts of the city,
Albouystown Africans and Indians still live
as neighbors, socially as well as physically.
To a considerable degree they share a
common culture although their functions
tend to differ. East Indians, for example, are
the fences and Africans the robbers.
One of the former is standing now in the
door of the shop, drinking a soda. He is the
proprietor. "Yo bring you friends fo rob me."
he says to a black man coming in, "an I
gwine poison you black scunt."
"If ah stap buyin hey," the other replies,
laughing, "yo gat fo shut down." He goes
inside for a beer.
Two African girls, aged between ten and
twelve years old, are the next to pass in front
of the shop. The black man, now also
standing in the doorway,makes a grab at
the one nearest to him. "Ah wan drop a iron
in you lil cunt," he says.
The girl suggests that he drop it in his
grandmother's instead. He moves towards
her, hand raised in mock anger. The two
girls laugh and run out of reach. The man
turns to the people in the shop. "Lil girls in
dis place does fuck, yo know," he says. "Dey
scunt ain even gat bubby but dey parts big
bad."
"Wha yo say?" says a man from the back
of the shop. "Dey ain gat lil girls nor lil boys
in dis place. Like dem two dey? Dem scunt
is lil hustlers."


Across the street stands an unpainted
wooden house, weathered with age, with
broken windows and a yard overflowing
with heaps of refuse. In the drains rubbish is
piled high. The house is divided into rented
rooms, some occupied by African families,
some by Indian ones. Sitting on the rotten,
collapsing front steps are three Indian girls
between the ages of fourteen and sev-
enteen and two older women. All five are
shabbily dressed, their hair is uncombed
and they look stale and hungry. A group of
small boys, African and Indian, equally di-
shevelled, play marbles in front of the yard.
Just inside the neighboring yard squats a
group of older boys, also mixed, rolling dice
and laying bets. One keeps a lookout for the
police who make periodic tours of the area
in their white Lancers. At a shout of "the
Dragon coming" the group gets up, pock-
eting dice and money, and disperses, its
members sauntering off down the street in
twos and threes.
Inside the Lancer sits a woman with two
policemen, one in uniform and one in
plainclothes. "Look." says the man with the
beer, "one a dem boys snatch de lady purse,
so she bring back de police fo look fo he."
The woman is peering hopefully at the
faces on the corner. They return her stare as
if challenged. A woman standing on the
sidewalk calls out to the police: "Why de
rass yo din come lil earlier? A boy just
snatch something from me an run up de
street." They ignore her, and pull away from
the curb.
Further down the street the car stops with
a screech of brakes. The plainclothes
policeman leaps out, gun in hand, and runs
into a yard. The car makes the corner to cut
off whoever is escaping. It happens every-
day, almost like a game.


Within five minutes the dice are rolling
once more. Concentration seems intense
but the attention of the players is suddenly
diverted by three teenage African girls
coming from the back of the yard. In sharp
contrast to the group by the steps these
young ladies are in high gear, swaying
exaggeratedly in tight-fitting miniskirts and
halter tops and pausing only to bend for-
ward and clap hands in appreciation of
each other's witticisms. All three have their
hair in plaits. One is eating something from
a paper bag.
An African boy, about eighteen, goes up
to her as she reaches the street and takes
the bag away. Together they share its con-
tents. The two other girls proceed slowly
down the street. The boy asks the girl what
she will be doing that night.
"Nuttin," she says. "Me gwine sleep
early."
"Me wan fuck tonight," the boy says.
"Yo gat money fo pay?" she asks him. "Yo
scunt don gie me money fo min me chile."
The boy says nothing and moves on.
Another James Street "limer" with time on
his hands and nothing to do but drink
beers, go to the cinema, pursue girls and
think about how to afford his pleasures.
They are, after all, the only meaningful ac-
tivities in his life. He is dressed like most
boys his age in South Georgetown, in a
skintight sportshirt worn outside a pair of
washed-out denims, with a long belt
dangling in front of him and a colored
handkerchief hanging out of a back pocket.
Instead of shoes, or "kickers," which are
usually reserved more properly for those
occasions, like fetes, where display is ex-
pected and the likelihood of having to run
seems reasonably small, he sports a pair of
"yachtings" (yachting shoes). As he walks
CARBBEAN rEMVlW/25










he does the "twirl," throwing one half of his
body forward while the other arm loops
backwards in a gesture of balance, then
with a "normal" step on the other side
bringing his body back into alignment.
There are all kinds of walks on James
Street, each one a message about who the
walker takes himself to be and how he
wishes to be regarded. There is a "sweet
man" walk, a "bad man" walk, a "tief man"
walk. Together with your clothes they serve
to announce your front. A walk is a state-
ment of what you would like others to think
you have going for yourself.
A few of these boys may have something
going for themselves but most have very
little. Some do not even have a place to stay.
("Nuff a all yo pon de street dey ain gat
house fo go home an sleep," one boy is
overheard to say. "Nuff a all yo ain gat bed fo
sleep pon.") Indeed, it is a matter of fre-
quent dispute as to who sleeps where.
Those who sleep on a bed hold themselves
the superiors of those who sleep on the
floor and those on the floor look conde-
scendingly at others who sleep under
"bottom" houses "whey water does wet all
yo like crapaud." The clothes on their back,
the girls on their corner, and the money in
their pockets represent the sum total of
their lives' capital. Others, a small and for-
tunate elite, have Honda P50s with which to
cruise the streets invariably with a part-
ner on the passenger seat. Boys on bicy-
cles, in contrast, carry their partners on the
crossbar a technically illegal practice
known as "towing." These combinations
pass endlessly through James Street,
prowling the neighborhood in search of
action.
The most readily identifiable action down
these streets has to do with the availability of
the women encountered on them. Most of
those present will, of course, be known to
the boys, at least by reputation. It is a small
community and public knowledge of one's
sexual skills and proclivities seems to pre-
cede everyone into the street. And the tone
for these encounters is enhanced by many
of the women in the area who share a tend-
ency to dress as scantily as possible even
for the tropics with considerable, and
self-conscious, emphasis directed to
breasts, legs and thighs in a manner delib-
erately calculated to catch the eye and
summon heat. These are capital assets.
Boys speak to them as they pass, either
on errands or on stage, murmuring
obscenities and boasting of their virility, and
then attack, tugging and pulling at them in a
semblance of play. Women usually accept
this for what it is a semi-serious invitation
to sex and respond with either a show of
reluctant acquiescence, a rough and snap-
pish outburst to "put he in he place" or
even, on occasion, blows. ("Bripping," or
taking girls by force, is a regular feature of
streetcorner life; it is, however, mainly a

26/CA1?BBEAN PeVI'V


nocturnal phenomenon.)
Blows are a constant of street life in Al-
bouystown. In most instances they are dealt
to children, although street fights between
adults are not uncommon and draw large
crowds. Presently, two of the marbles
players are getting into a heated argument.
Suddenly a fight erupts with startling
ferocity. They punch, butt, bite and scratch
one another to roars of encouragement
from the rest. Then a girl of about twelve
appears from the back of the yard. She is
armed with a large stick with which she
starts to belabor one of the combatants. He


Everything is in close
proximity, giving the
impression of a stage on
which too many props and
performers have been first
deposited and then
abandoned.



jumps up and makes a run for it, his assail-
ant and the crowd in hot pursuit. Although a
group of adults has been looking on, no-
body has moved to intervene for fear of
"getting involved" in a "story" with any adult
relatives of the children concerned. "Is bes,"
says one old lady, "fo lef dem leh dey kill
mattee."
Children are the source of much that
goes on in the adult world as well as being a
determined collective presence in their own
right. Many of them grow up almost entirely
on the streets. Going to school is compul-
sory to the age of sixteen but many seldom
attend and the truant officers make little
effort to find them. They prefer the corner,
which is where they see their future careers
embodied in the men limingg" there, men
who ride motor bikes and wear gold jewelry,
fancy shirts and kickers. To the children in
South Georgetown the streets are their
classrooms and their school playgrounds.
And while learning and at play, they are a
continuous irritation to other people.
Passing the corner at this moment is a tall
well-dressed man, about twenty five, wear-
ing a cap, followed by his eight year old son.
He appears to be looking for somebody. He
goes up to a boy about his son's age and
stops. "Hey, yo lil scunt, come," he says
sharply. "Ah will box all yo rass, scunt, an
trow yo all out a dat fuckin house, yo hear?
Why yo hit dis fuckin boy? Don get me mad,
befo ah fuck up all a yo all. Me scunt bad,
right? Don leh me see yo again, right?"
The little boy to whom he has been
speaking appears unimpressed. Defiantly
he backs away from the man, who now


addresses his son. "Whey de udda one who
pelt de house? Show me he."
They disappear around the corner. An old
woman who has been watching emerges
from the entrance to her yard. "Well," she
mutters, "is wha dis worl come to? Look
how he talk to a lil chile. If de boy fadda bin
dey, was big story."
Meanwhile across the street an older
man, probably in his late forties, has come
out of his yard and is busy harnessing his
horse to a cart before setting out for a day's
work. The gold on his hands and in his teeth
indicate that like many of the "old hands" in
the neighborhood he regards himself as a
man of style as well as of substance. At this
particular moment, though, he is dis-
pleased. "Hey gal," he shouts to an upstairs
window, "bring de bag fo me.
"Whey yo lef it ah ain finding it," screams a
voice from within. "Look, come an search fo
you bag. Me ain gat time fo dat."
"Yo betta fin it fore ah come up dey," the
man replies. "Yo all very lazy, yo even cun
wake up dis morning fo cook. Ah don know
whey yo went las night. Look, bring dat
bag."
After a moment the woman emerges
with the bag. The man takes it without
comment and climbs on the cart where a
dozen or so small children are already sit-
ting in anticipation of a ride. Still vexed, he
turns to yell at them. "Hey, all yo jump off dis
fuckin dray befo me lash you arse wid dis
whip ah gat. Jump off, ah say."
They scatter and he thwacks the horse
angrily on its bony hindquarters. Meanwhile
another man has collared one of the fleeing
children. "Hey, bring you lil arse to me," he
says. "Din ah tell yo not fo go pon de road?"
He pushes the back of the boy's head,
sending him lurching forward. "Whey yo
modda?"
"She gone out since morning. Ah don
know whey she dey."
"She always gone out. Ah fed up wid dis.
Ah lef dis morning wid nuttin. She din wake
up. Ah come home, she din cook an ain dey
home."
He stumps into the yard, pausing briefly
to embrace one of the Indian girls standing
by the steps. By now the morning is over
and people are going home for lunch or
else coming in the shop for milk, beer and
cakes. Control of the pool tables has been
assumed by the older boys who are playing
for beers or small amounts of change -
"flicks" money.
"Me fuckin bob on de table now," one boy
about seventeen years old is saying. "Ah will
play now. Who bettin me fo play put you
blood pon de table."
Another boy jumps up and throws down
some change. "Ah gon play yo now," he
says. "Look, me blood pon de table too."
The first boy pulls the lock and the balls
roll out. The game starts. The shop gets
quiet and everybody looks on as the two











players, neither one particularly skilled,
concentrate on sinking their shots. When
only the black ball remains a shout goes up
from all corners of the table and suddenly
bets are increased to five dollars by four of
the onlookers.

Afternoon Waiting
The games will go on all afternoon. The
pool table is a central focus of daily life in
South Georgetown, an existential metaphor
for the outcome of every situation. But af-
ternoons are still the quietest part of the day.
Boys drift home to sleep ("tek a cool down")
or visit a cinema downtown. There is a
cinema in Albouystown the Rio which
used to feature mostly "action" doubles but
nowadays, with the Government ban on
Kung-Fu movies, the choice often boils
down to old Westerns or East Indian films
from Bombay. These are not to everyone's
liking.
Two African boys are standing in front of
the Rio, studying the advertisements of
coming attractions. One is short, in dirty
white rubber-soled shoes with his shirt front
open to his waist. The other is tall and
dressed modishly, with what appear to be
brand new Dunlops. It is about 2:30 p.m.
"Man, me ain know wha dem showing dese
las few deys in de cinema," the short one
says. "Me wan fo see broads fuckin pon de
screen."
"Boy," his partner says, "is Burnham stop
dem films. He bringing wha he feel like now-
adays."
"But dem bringing plenty coolie films now
to de cinema. Me ain like dem at all. If ah de
own dis place, ah would bring only dem
films wid robbin, jailbreakin an fuck."
His partner meanwhile has been studying
his plans for the rest of the day. "Boy," he


says, "ah goin now fo see if me gal gat a bob
or so to mek up fo a show downtown dis
afternoon."
As they start to leave a man and a woman
are coming down the street. "Hey," says
Short Boy to the man, "ah cant see you
scunt at all as long as dat gal in de area,
right?" The man smiles and shrugs
helplessly.
"Yeah, yo vex," the woman says, putting
her arm round the man's waist. "Dis a me
man.
The afternoon drags slowly on. It is that
time of day when the best hope of enter-


In Albouystown, as
elsewhere, the generations
do not have much to do
with each other.



tainment comes from the chance meeting
or the unexpected discovery. In a small road
crossing on James Street about twenty
children are clustered around the street
entrance to an alleyway, jeering and shout-
ing. A man comes out hastily, wiping his
mouth. He swats at the children, now yelling
"suck man" and "suck pokey joe" and
jumping up and down. Behind him a young
woman adjusts her clothing and sucks her
teeth as she puts two dollar bills in the front
of her dress.
From windows in their houses the old
women keep watch on the street. Their hair
uncombed, their faces slack, they too are
waiting. Some of them may be waiting for
Paul, a well-known connection for local


thieves, who often passes in the afternoon
with a sample of recently stolen merchan-
dise. Others are just waiting for someone to
talk to.
"Hey Doris," somebody is shouting at
another woman on the street. "Is whey yo
going, gal? Wait fo me. Ah want fo see dat
bitch up de road. Hold on, ah coming just
now.
Doris waits. A man in his thirties ap-
proaches her. "Is whey yo going, John?"
Doris says. "Ah waiting fo you frien. she wan
fo see yo."
John is in a hurry, though. "Look," he
says, "tell you frien fo me, me ain gat time
now. Ah trying fo get something fo meself. Ah
goin an bust a lime by de cinema right now
fo see if ah get something. Ah gone, right?"
He continues rapidly down the street. Doris
goes inside to see what's keeping her friend.

Into the Night
John's problem is one that faces a lot of
men in the neighborhood around late af-
ternoon and early evening: no money. By
this time a tension may be felt on the corner.
For the streets have started to come alive
again; jukeboxes are blasting; those with
jobs have come home, changed, eaten and
are out for a drink; those without jobs have
woken up or returned from the cinema and
are looking for something to do. In a
panyard in James Street a steel band is
rehearsing, its soft singing tones floating
through gaps in the sound of working men
unwinding. Yet all is not as it might appear.
"Is days now ah ain get money," a man is
saying to his friend on the corner. "Ah wan
something. Tonight ah goin all out fo get
something because dis weekend ah gat fo
carry out me gal an ah gat fo get money."
Continued on page 50


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The Jombee Dance


Friendship and Ritual in Montserrat

By Jay D. Dobbin


Tiny Montserrat has been so often
overrun, denuded and recolonized
that one wonders how anything of
her past remains. In 1493 Columbus
sighted the mountainous profile of the is-
land, thought the outline on the horizon
reminded him of the serrated mountains at
the Spanish shrine of the madonna of
Montserrat, and named the island accord-
ingly. He did not land, however, for Indians
aboard told him that the Caribs still living
there had cannibalized the Arawak popula-
tion. Not until 1629 did colonists arrive,
under d'Esnambuc with a party of French
followers from nearby St. Kitts; they stayed
but three months. A second attempt under
Sir Thomas Warner with Irish Roman Cath-
olics in 1632 was more successful; they
stayed and began the Anglo-Irish imprint
which still marks "the Emerald Isle of the
Caribbean." Three times the French
stormed the island, routed the British and
took control, thanks to backing from local
Irish settlers. But Montserrat was always
ceded or restored to Britain, and so the
Union Jack with a center piece of harp and
Irish maiden still flies from Government
House.
An original settlement pattern of small,
white holdings was quickly replaced by
large plantations with imported black
slaves. A century after settlement of the
island, able-bodied white males outnum-
bered slaves two to one; but by 1756 there
were six times as many blacks as whites.
Today, well over 90% of the population is
Afro-American; but the predominance of
surnames such as Farrell, Sweeney, Allen,
Cassel, Daley and Dublin attest to a
"Black-Irish" heritage. Montserratians are
now predominantly Christian, and the
churches are often packed on Sundays.
Certainly the casual observer would hardly
see parallels with Haitian vodun, Trinida-
dian Shangoism or Cuban santeria. On
the surface little of the African appears ex-
cept for the obvious pigmentation and an
occasional place name like Cudjoe Head.
What most see are cultural elements of
European or general West Indian
provenience. During the Christmas folk
festival, for example, tourists and locals
gather at Sturge Park to watch masquerade

28/CArBBCAN r OIEW


dancers, costumed presumably as Gren-
adier Guards, perform English and French
19th century quadrilles to the music of a
band composed of fife or concertina, two
flat drums and a triangle. When the local
folk singers appear, they perform in West
African-like costume, imported in the late
1960s. Occasionally this same troupe sings
a tune which speaks of jombees, jombee
dances or obeah; but belief in such beings
and rituals, many a Montserratian will tell
you, is but the relic of a bygone past.
Beneath the relics and the Westerniza-
tion, there is a folk religion which parallels
Afro-American cults in Haiti, Trinidad, Cuba
and Brazil. This Montserratian universe is
populated by a variety of beings found in
other Afro-American cults of the Caribbean,
beings which defy distinctions between
natural and supernatural, human and di-
vine. God the Father and Jesus are recog-
nized, but except for strict Christians and
Pentecostals they are remote from
everyday dealings. Closer to everyday life
are the evil beings, such as the jabless,
sucubus and jack-o-lantern; they are not
propitiated but only "watched out for." Even
the devil appears, but less as the personifi-
cation of evil and more as a trickster; the
devil is more like Bo Ananci (Brother Spider
of local folklore and of African origin).
But by far the most important beings,
because of their close communication with
the living, are the jombees. Obeahmen may
import jombees from other islands, but by
and large the jombees are identified with
the dead of this island. Sometimes jombees
are clearly identified as well-known figures
of the recent past; sometimes they are but
part of the anonymous mass of departed
Montserratians known simply as "dee
dead." Jombees assume a variety of per-
ceptible forms. Sometimes they can be
seen walking and even talking with the liv-
ing; repeatedly I was told that the key to
identification is either "feet not touching
ground" or something strange about the
shadow cast (if cast) by the jombee. They
may appear as shades in a dream or even
as spirits who can take control of the entire
person of a living human; or they may get
inside only the head or stomach. If they are
helpful, they are spoken of as the "loving


dead"; more often than not the loving dead
are distinctly remembered ancestors no
more than two or three generations from
the living. When they do harm, there is no
particular term for them; their activity is
described as "mashing up" the mind, the
insides or the body of the afflicted person.
Jombees are human, but they are dead
humans and not bound bythe limitations of
the body. But then they are not ghosts
either. They are in death as in life: they enjoy
good music and can be enticed by a fete
with dancing and drink.
In their better moments, the jombees
appear almost as guidance counselors who
offer advice and direction through their
appearance in dreams and in trance danc-
ers. Something of their impish nature
shows as they pester both friend and kin in
dreams; they can be quite jealous if they are
not remembered through continued con-
ferring of their names. Manyjombee stories
tell of a mother bothered by dreams or of a
baby afflicted until the name of a deceased
ancestor was given to the newborn child.
But the jombees are not the personification
of evil; only the Pentecostals would identify
them with "the devil." The malicious jom-
bee is more impish than evil. They may pelt
your corrigated steel roof with stones at
night; they may be responsible for "mash-
ing up" a dancer during the trance-dancing.
The jombees must be propitiated or
tricked to prevent mischief, or enticed to
gain favors. Thus the first shot from a new
bottle of booze is rather unceremoniously
poured on the floor or out the window of a
rum shoppe "for the jombees." Black
sand may be put in a coffin to keep the
jombees down there occupied counting
each grain of sand; or sand may be put
around the house which is presumably
afflicted by jombees, again to keep the
jombees busy counting. On Christmas Eve
a lavish table of food and drink is set for the
jombees, especially for the particular an-
cestors of each house; the living family
attends midnight services while the jom-
bees are given the opportunity to partake of
the offering. I once observed plates of food
neatly set out beside a road. A child was lost
in the mountains and the jombees were
being enticed to bring him back.


i





















































Illustration by Eleanor Porter Bonner.

The now disappearing obeahman,
specializes in control of the jombees; an
obeahman who loses his touch is spoken of
as one who has lost control of his own jom-
bees (his familiars). Curiously this magical
specialist, the obeahman, is not necessary
for the major ritual of Montserratian folk
religion, the jombee dance. In fact, there is
distinct hostility on the part of some
obeahman towards the dance. Motives are
difficult to ascertain; but I suspect that the
semi-public dance ritual cuts into their pri-
vate practice. The occasion for a jombee
dance is peculiar. The secular drum dances
are for a "spree," purely for entertainment.
But though entertainment is also part of the
jombee dance it is not its occasion: jombee
dances are called for divining, whether on
the occasion of an illness, a christening,
marriage or departure on a voyage. When a
dancer "turns" or succumbs to trance and
the jombees take possession of both voice
and limbs to communicate with the as-
sembled group, that is the heart of the jom-
bee dance. That trance state and posses-
sion interpretation may occur suddenly and
last only for a few moments; or it may occur


again and again and for long periods.
Turning (possession by the jombees) is
essential to the jombee dance. Turning is
but the climax of a dance which generally
lasts for over twelve hours and may even go
on for days. Turning is also the climax of a
social process which begins before the
dance proper and continues after musi-
cians and dancers have left for home.

Penny's Jombee Dance
The occasion which I am about to describe
focused on the problems of Penny (the
names are obviously changed). She was 59
and had a long-standing eye ailment which
caused her to tear often and to exude large
quantities of "sand" from her eyes. Her eyes
were notably glassy and one eyelid sagged
heavily over the pupil. I knew her to be a
practicing Anglican. In her house, prints of
Jesus and the Last Supper were on the wall;
an old and much used King James Version
was prominently placed on the coffee table,
with the Book of Common Prayer, and
next to it, copies of recent bulletins from the
local Anglican Church.
Penny sought professional help for her


eyes Irom the ,linr:. but prre :ribed
medi':ines and .. ashes ...ere noi successful.
She ', ant.-d t: k. ;no.. ho:..i and ...h, she got
this e,e tir:'uble and perhaps h:',.. tind a
cure. Had the pr.o.blem been .:rdinarr she
told rne then ihe rh nu-rie .ad d.:.t.:.or at the
C-'lin: ".c.uld h3. I.;uriu d a cure She sus-
,pe.:red that the marn she Ii.ed .rith jor many
',ears had put .:be- h I m.,gi-_ i,. ,ri her. Friends
and kin told P-nr l, tr.at i. h man still .:.m-
plajri d in th ruin sh.:p:.Fe ab.ut her
treatment t ht hi ho:, .. she ...--.uld n.:.t let him
nmarnj-I the pro..pert, rhe had inherited.
She jlI.:. i'ne i-e hjd :.;.rinsulited an
be.-ahrnarn this .'.:ried her t:be:.aus she
remer mbered le.ma.in a iuiicase ..:.I her old
: othe s a his sha, l ...hen ihe .ere Ih. ing
t-..g other These :l.: hes .:.:uld ha. been
used t,. rnak.e ,:beah t,: harm her She
thought .j i.:,nbee d.r,:e n-ighI gi,.e her
ans .ers th-,'ese Fpro'bl r-m
Penn, decided ito call o.r s~..:p s'or a dance
precisely when her brother was there on
vacation from the States. The reason to do it
then had to do with the belief in the impor-
tance of close blood kin being present for
moral support. Word immediately went out
to relatives and close friends across the
island inviting them to come and partici-
pate. Penny chose a lead musician from
across the island; he had a good reputation
as musiker (player) and didn't drink too
much during dances. He in turn chose his
band: Tom on the small goatskin reel
(bobla), Henry on the large reel (woowoo)
and Abraham on the triangle. All were over
fifty years old.
Penny had saved a goat for the occasion;
her brother bought a suckling pig. On
Monday before the Friday dance date, I took
Penny's niece to Plymouth to buy great
quantities of baking provisions and every
conceivable sort of alcoholic beverage, in-
cluding five gallons of Plastic (a strong,
clear, 162 proof rum). By Thursday Penny's
house was a beehive of activity as the boxes
of flour, eggs, sugar and molasses were
transformed into mounds of cakes, pastries
and bread. The unusual intensity of activity
about the house, the aroma of freshly baked
goods created a mood of excitement not
only at Penny's but also in the near-by rum
shoppers of the village. On Friday, the suck-
CArtBBEAN PrVIEW/29


I











ling pig with a dozen chickens was put in-
side the stone, outdoor oven; the pungent
spices in the bubbling goat stew (called
goatwater) brought strong smells through-
out the village, smells of a feast.
At noon on Friday the jombee table was
set in the ten by twelve foot living room; all
other furniture was gone, only the kitchen
table remained in the center, bedecked with
a magnificent display of cakes, breads,
pastries, sample dishes of pork, chicken
and goatwater, and bottles of hard and soft
drinks. A bouquet of wild lilies was in the
center of the display. By five in the evening,
the table had been removed, four chairs
were placed against the wall for the musik-
ers. At six after a meal in a nearby house, the
musikers moved into place and began the
first tune; as is customary they began with a
waltz, in this case one from 19th century
England titled "Jane and Louisa." Three
couples waltzed to the tune; to all appear-
ances the dance was just a party, hardly a
religious ritual. The waltz was followed by
the quadrilles, four different dances, each of
which increased in speed and intensity.
Montserratians call the third and fourth
quadrilles "course" dances because of the
speed. A heel and toe polka followed and
after a minute's pause, the series of quad-
rilles were repeated. There is no fixed point
at which the repetition of the quadrille series
ends and someone or a group begins to
dance in the idiosyncratic and highly indi-
vidualized movements which initiate "the


CARIBBEAN STUDIES ASSOCIATION
SEVENTH ANNUAL CONFERENCE
JAMAICA
MAY 26-29, 1982
OPTIONS FOR THE CARIBBEAN
Call for Participation

The Seventh Annual Conference has
chosen as its theme Options for the
Caribbean Proposals for panels and for
papers which encompass this theme, are
being solicited Panels and papers which
do not directly address the conference
theme but which reflect the multidisci-
plinary interests of the CSA are welcome.
Proposals for constituting panels
should include a proposed panel title, a list
of tentative participants and proposed
paper topics and a one page integrative
summary stating the purpose of the panel
Proposals for papers should be accom-
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sals will be refereed by the Program
Committee to select those panels and
papers to be included in the Seventh An-
nual Conference
Deadline for submission of all proposals
is November15 1981 Allcorrespondence
including proposals and papers should be
directed to
Klaus de Albuquerque
Seventh Annual CSA Conference
Department of Sociology
The College of Charleston
Charleston, South Carolina
U.S.A. 29424

30/CArBBEAN F IEW


dance" or "turning" (when the jombees
enter and take control of the dancers).
That evening it was Veronica, a lady of 74
and kinswoman of Penny, who first began
moving erratically and alone, breaking up
the quadrille dancing after only a hour of
formal dancing. One of the musikers saw
her and shouted "do dee dance, do dee
dance!" She darted back and forth across
the room first looking out the window, then
going out on the porch. Bent at the waist,
her hands planted firmly thereon, her bent
arms twisting the torso, her visage had
changed: her jaw jutted forward, her facial



Jombees are human, but

they are dead humans

and not bound by the

limitations of the body.



expression serious, her neck muscles taut.
Her eyes glared forward in the direction of
the window towards which she darted. Her
voice screamed in a high pitched, frenzied
cry that is far from her normal soft tone. She
called for white rum, Lucy handed her a
glassful; Agnes shuffle danced next to Ver-
onica, listening for whatever the jombees
were saying to or through Veronica. Ver-
onica poured rum over Penny's head and
rubbed some over her face and neck.
Agnes threw glass after glass of rum and
brandy first on the floor then out the window
and finally on the rafters, all to attract the
jombees. Parched corn was sprinkled at
every window and doorway as well as
around the edges of the floor. Fanny shuffle
danced into the room waving the bouquet
of wild lilies from the table, waving them first
out the windows then out the doors. The
room was filled with a confusion of powerful
smells. The beat of the musikers grew
louder, faster with the piercing timbre of the
triangle and the low beat of the hand-held
goatskin reels drowning out the accordion.
The musikers stomped out the beat with
their feet on the wooden floor. Veronica kept
up her feverish dance tempo; screamed at
Penny: "Why fo' you try to kill her?" She
repeated this again and again. "You not go
to die, not to die." Sometimes she would
hold Penny and twist her, shouting within
inches of her face.
Between seven and eleven, three other
dancers engaged in the same ecstatic
dancing. A young bearded man joined the
dancers but apparently failed to do the
trance dancing. Musikers taunted him as he
jump-danced from one foot to the other,
circling Penny saying "Me data, me data"
(My daughter, my daughter), dragging one
oot, pulling up a pair of imaginary pant


suspenders. The crippled foot and tugging
on suspenders was the behavior of Penny's
father who had died when she was very
small. But several kinswomen of Penny
doubted the validity of his turning because
the bearded youth had been consuming
too much booze.
Suddenly the music stopped and the
musikers, who had been playing straight
through since seven, took a break. The
bearded boy continued to shuffle about and
Fanny, who had also been doing the dance,
continued to stomp out the beat, swaying
and reeling about as though the music were
still going. She looked drunk but had been
drinking only the non-alcoholic malt. After a
minute the music resumed to the tune of
"Tell Tony Red Ants Nebber Mind," a tune
which told the story of obeah that backfired.
One or two lines were repeated over and
over again. Abraham on the triangle droned
out the words of a completely different tune
"Rum done" but the fact that two of
the musikers were singing different sets of
words bothered no one. The musikers
stomped out the melody on the wooden
floor, and Veronica's stomping was so pro-
nounced that the entire shack was shaking;
floor boards moving up and down at least
an inch. As the intensity of music and
dancing crescendoed, Lucy brought a
metal porcelain bowl of goatwater to Tom;
who then stopped the band. At ten past
midnight, time for the midnight fete, Agnes
and Lucy brought in goatwater, huge
chunks of bread and cups of coffee for
musikers, dancers and guests. By this time
over thirty people had danced, though cer-
tainly not all doing the ecstatic trance
dancing.
The music had been going again for al-
most an hour. A young woman, Jennie, was
stretched out on the floor, her skirt tied up
for modesty's sake, her head twitching as
though hit by invisible blows, and her arms
beating the floor. Fanny had rushed over to
her and spinkled coffee on her face. Jennie
tried to stand up, staggered to the door and
wandered out of the house. After a lull in the
dancing and music tempo, she returned
and began dancing in wild abandon. She
danced quickly but without the staccato
and darting movements of Veronica or
Fanny. Her bodily contortions were sensual.
Again she was sprinkled with coffee. The
band changed the tune, quite appropriately,
to "Cool Down, Mary Dublin." They did not
want her to dance. Fanny stopped the
music, but Jennie continued to twist about
the room. She fell to the floor and rolled
back and forth across the length of the floor.
Her face and garments were drenched with
sweat and coffee. She sat up, reeled around,
put her hands and arms back to support
herself and glared at the wall. Finally she got
up on all fours, wandered to the door and
hung out in the fresh air shaking her head,
still giving every bit the impression of being










dazed. Mary took her and led her out into
the darkness, presumably home.
Dancing and music resumed after a few
minutes; the music slow, the musikers tired.
Veronica and four other dancers were
joined by Paul, Jennie's father. He repeated
the phrase "Dolly Hill go'na burn, boy"
again and again. (Later I asked him and
others if that was the name of a song; no
one could identify it as such nor could any-
one identify any location on the island by
that name. Quite by accident, I found in the
notes of local historian Delores Sommer-
ville a listing for an estate on the island
known as Dolly's, recorded in 1848.) In any
case, not only was Paul's litany strange, so
was his dancing. Most dancers move
gradually from slow movements to the wild
and ecstatic abandon of "do'en dee dance."
Paul did not. He shuffle danced about the
room ever so slowly, repeating his litany;
then suddenly fell to the floor violently
stomping out the music while on his back.
He got on all fours and crawled to the door
and peered out. Agnes and Lucy told him to
get out. Later, Paul and Jennie were ac-
cused of setting obeah down by the banana
grove; someone had discovered plaited
grass, a traditional sign of obeah, right next
to the path between house and the road to
the village. After Paul left, the tempo slowed.
Agnes told me that Paul tried to "humbug"
(ruin) the dance because he was not hired
as lead musiker.
Suddenly Lucy whirled into the room and
danced about in those movements of
abandon which are identified with turning.
She called for that bouquet of wild lilies and
danced about them; she called for a lantern
and started a dancing, single file procession
of Veronica. Penny, musikers and myself to
the banana grove about a hundred yards
away. The night muffled the sound of the
band except for the triangle; the sound,
eerie. The bearded young man came out
from nowhere, holding tufts of plaited
grass. Lucy set down the lantern, danced
about it and called for the tune "Hiz dee bad
man, hiz John Fargus" (the words are about
obeah put on a thief). Lucy spread out her
arms, saying "clear dee way," leading us to a
small cave in the banana grove. She dug
about in the cave, and Penny placed some
leaves and rum in small flasks. The porce-
lain dish which contained a concoction
used as counter-obeah, magic set to work
against that magic causing Penny harm.
Finally Lucy led the band back and around
the house three times and into every room.
They lifted up curtains, opened windows as
Lucy danced from room to room crying
"Peace and love, peace and love." The
band, thoroughly exhausted, collapsed into
the living room chairs. Lucy took Penny into
the bathroom to give her a "bush bath" of
the rum and leaves concoction used at the
banana grove.
Well after nine in the morning people


were drifting off down the road and the
musikers were served breakfast of coffee
and bread. Tom went into the corridor to
haggle with Penny over the price of the
band; they agreed on $EC 130.00. The
dance was winding down, but not before an
unexpected event. Tom, the bobla player,
began talking with Penny in a loud and
rather harsh tone; dancers and musikers
gathered around to listen. He told her that
her eyes will not get better but not get
worse. He asked her what comes on the first
of August, alluding to a famous Montserra-
tian tune about one Nincon Riley who read



Black sand may be put in a
coffin to keep the jombees
down there occupied
counting each grain.



the first of August Emancipation Act. Penny
and others answered "Nincon Riley." One of
the ladies cried out "Thank you Lord
Jesus." Tom then told Penny that by next
August (one year later) she would know
more about who and what was causing her
trouble. He assured her that other people
have harmed her; the fault was not hers.
Several chimed in "He speak from de heart,
he speak from de heart." Tom was not in
trance, nor was he speaking as a jombee
(as did Veronica and Fanny); he was
speaking as "a sensible man," that is, one
adept in obeah. Tom is well known on the
island not as an obeahman but as one who
knows much about obeah. about the jom-
bees and folk medicine. Tom finished; he
shook his head up and down, wrapped his
bobla in a dishtowel and asked for a ride
back to Plymouth.
On reflection, Agnes said the dance was
much more successful than the one last
year and would have been better had not
that "bastard Paul" humbugged the dance.
Some thought that Penny's former man
had been responsible for some of the
obeah, hence the necessity of counter-
obeah. In fact, not only was Penny given that
magical bush bath but within the next seven
days her goats and sheep were also
"washed" with the special concoction.
Agnes further said that they can "under-
stand the jombees only in parts." (I had
thought that the participants might make a
distinction similar to that found in the
Christian glossolalia wherein incom-
prehensible utterances of one person are
interpreted by another person; I found no
evidence of this. Either the jombee's words
are understood or they are not.) Several
participants explained how they recognized
genuine turning: Negatively, the dancer


should not induce ecstatic behavior by use
of alcohol. Positively, the jombees should
tell a secret through the dancer. This secret
may be a prediction which comes true; it
may be gestures and behavior of an an-
cestor which the dancer could not possibly
have known. The bearded man's dancing
was a case in point. On the one hand, he
had been drinking too much; on the other
hand, he acted out gestures and charac-
teristics of Penny's father which he was too
young to see or know about (or so it was
presumed). Those who turned said they
could not remember anything. Jennie said
she remembered what took place until she
fell to the floor; the young bearded man
spoke only of something compelling him to
dance and continue dancing. Another
young man spoke of being unable to stop
dancing. They did tell about the identity of
the jombees who had turned them: most
were kin from Penny's family. Dancers and
participants spontaneously told me of their
relationship to Penny. (This and other
post-dance discussions which confirmed
my suspicions that the dance was in fact
both an ancestral ritual and a ritual of social
support from living kin and close friends. In
short, both past and present kin of Penny
had been mustered out on this occasion for
support and solution to her problems.)

The Social Drama of the
Jombee Dance
The insights of Victor Turner shed light on
the proper category for the dance. Turner
sees the basic form of ritual as drama, so-
cial drama. Now at first glance, the jombee
dance's emphasis on obeah, with its per-
sonal magic and private charms, would
seem to be too personal to classify as social
drama. On the contrary, it is precisely the
obeah which is the weapon in the process
of contestation. Although the dance fo-
cuses on the afflictions and illnesses of one
individual, these crises were not seen as
purely personal and private. The personal
afflictions of Penny, for example, were but
the focal point for an intricate web of social
relationships and histories. The plot of re-
lationships expressed in the dance goes
back through time, bringing forth now de-
ceased kin and friends: but it also seeks
solutions to here and now problems. That
the dance acts out these relationships as
drama is also clear. The action of the plot
both solidifies and clarifies opposing social
forces which were in existence both before
and after the dance itself. Precisely who
sides with Penny against her former man
becomes quite clear in the course of the
dance; less clear are those siding with the
opposition. The drama of the dance has not
so much revealed answers to the affliction
as much as it makes explicit what was
sensed but not said, or what is said in the
whispers between close friends.
Continued on page 51

CA]TBBEAN FEVIEW/31


I













What Did He Say?




What Did He Mean?


An Ethnography of Discourse in Puerto Rico

Reviewed by Gerald Guinness


Saying & Meaning in Puerto Rico:
Some Problems in the
Ethnography Of Discourse,
Marshall Morris. 152 pp.
Pergamon, New York. 1981. $19.50.


typical telephone conversation in
Puerto Rico might run as follows:
"Quisiera hablar con X." ("I would
like to speak with X.")
'El esta ocupado. Me puede decir lo
que sea a mi." ("He is busy. You can
tell me whatever it is.")
The purpose of the call is explained.
"Lo siento. Tendra que hablar con X
personalmente." ("I'm sorry. You will have
to speak to X personally.")
Now what is interesting about this ex-
change is that Puerto Ricans and North
Americans are likely to react to it in very
different ways. For the Puerto Rican, noth-
ing here is out of the ordinary; this is the
habitual route by which one discovers that a
boss is busy and that his (or her) recep-
tionist is unable to help. But for the North
American, that giving of unnecessary in-
formation, instigated by "me puede decir
lo que sea a mi," seems time-consuming
and pointless. Why didn't the receptionist
just announce her name and status and
then begin to narrow down the field in
which she could have been of assistance?
Does every telephone conversation have to
get bogged down in confession and anec-
dote? Why isn't information channelled
more efficiently?
Saying & Meaning in Puerto Rico is an
attempt to find answers for these and
kindred questions. It is a book not so much
about the forms of speech (syntactic
structures, vocabulary, dialect peculiarities,
etc.) as about the attitudes to experience
that underlie those forms. In this respect
Morris joins an increasing number of lin-
guists and ethnographers who see lan-
guage as worth study for what it does as well
as for what it says. It is no doubt this implicit
or "hidden" meaning of language that
Berkeley referred to when. almost three
hundred years ago. he wrote: "The com-
munication of ideas marked by words is not
32/CA1?BBEAN rEVIEW


the chief and only end of language, as it is
commonly supposed."
But to return to our telephone recep-
tionist. Morris sees her way of handling
information as manifesting an inability,
characteristic of Puerto Rican language-
use as a whole, to divide problems into
aspects or parts and thereby expedite solu-
tions. In Puerto Rico, "whole problems must
be dealt with by whole individuals." The
result is a request for unlimited information
leading to over-specification and so to the
exchange of personally interesting, but
professionally irrelevant, information. As a
result the problem remains undefined, and
even though the receptionist has had a
good time, nothing has been accom-
plished. As for the caller, he or she "is re-
duced to the status of a petitioner before a
judge...and feels literally drained, having
given a fair amount of information without
receiving anything in return."
What in fact underlies such an approach
to problem-solving? Morris theorizes that it
is "a deep sense of the interrelatedness of
all things, the separateness of nothing" and
that as a result "one is a victim of the com-
plexity, the intractability of the matter itself."
It is a sensation familiar to outsiders when
they find themselves in the toils of one of
those situations (water cut off even though
the bill has been paid, an income tax refund
which never arrives) where no one knows
the answers and where even the problem
itself soon becomes unfocussed and hazy.
In such a climate it often seems simpler to
pay the bill a second time, or forego the
refund, than submit to the endless hassle of
seeing justice done.
Saying & Meaning consists of a series
of case-histories, or what Morris calls
"episodes." which make comparable points
about language-use in Puerto Rico. Many of
these problems pose problems of in-
terpretation, but some are so immediately
convincing that the reader's reaction is a
smile or, if it was a recent experience,
scowl of recognition. For example: "A
number of apartments in the building have
been given over to housing students....
When individual residents of the building
called the attention of the owner of the stu-
dent hostel to the noise, and asked that it be


stopped or quieted down, the woman re-
plied that it was her house, and she could
do with it what she pleased, that nobody
was going to tell her how to run her own
house." How hard it is to issue complaints
against noise in a culture where it is as-
sumed someone has the absolute right to
do what he wishes in the area of his own
home, and where "area" is defined as ev-
erything within earshot! The noise a man
makes is his business and the outsider's
complaint (Morris concludes) is put down
to that offensive verbal "directness"
characteristic of Americans, Cubans,
Argentinians, etc., indicating una falta de
respeto, or failure to respect another per-
son's dignity.
Morris's episodes and his comments on
them are always interesting and his conclu-
sions that Puerto Rican language-use is
marked by imprecision, a habitual indirect-
ness, and an unwillingness to make clear
and therefore potentially hostile distinc-
tions, so as not to lay the user open to
charges of mala fe (bad faith) raise is-
sues central to our understanding of Puerto
Rican life. Unfortunately, in the context of
the present political (and therefore cultural)
impasse, many readers are likely to feel
resentful at hearing about their daily lan-
guage habits, and often in not very com-
plimentary terms, from a "gringo." But even
for those less directly involved, there are
flaws in Morris's method which detract from
the book's value as a scientific instrument.

Flaws
The first flaw is a matter of bias. For the
anthropologist writing as scientist, it is ob-
viously necessary to observe a strict neu-
trality as between (say) efficiency and
human warmth in answering the telephone,
or between the virtues of silence and of a
cheerful and ear-splitting din. But in fact for
much of the book Morris fails to observe
such a neutrality. Instead, he appears to
accept implicitly North American cultural
norms as the yardstick against which
Puerto Rican aberrations from "saying what
one means" should be measured. In the
case of the receptionist, it is not that he fails
to recognize the positive aspects of an-
swering the telephone that way, as that he


























does not concede that they are positive, not
even when he has himself supplied the evi-
dence to prove that such methods do in fact
work in solving problems and facilitating
communication. As a result, the book for all
its pretense of strict cbj- .ii. ,,strikes one
as querulous and aggrieved in tone, as
though the author were saying, "Now how
can they be so unreasonable?"
A second flaw is that the book fails to
distinguish clearly between aspects of
language-use which are specifically Puerto
Rican, and those which are to be found
elsewhere for example, in the Caribbean
area, or in Latin America, or in Latin cultures
generally (or even wherever the sun shines
fiercely for two-thirds of the year!). A minor
example is the use ofo sea ("that is to say")
among Puerto Rican students. Is this in fact
any more indicative of habits of imprecision
than the pervasive "sort of," among young
(and not so young) people in England?
Morris's treatment of the o sea syndrome
fails to take into account the pervasive ver-
bal slackness of our times, so that even a
US senator, recently accused of fraud, can
defend himself by saying: "I am going to
advance every opportunity that is before me
to show clearly my innocence. That is a
significant step in furtherance of my
opportunity."
Many of Morris's examples of Puerto
Rican usage are equivocal in just this way.
What, for example is "Puerto Rican" about
the habit of giving wrong directions be-
cause one doesn't wish to appear not to
know? Any Irish ploughman would do as
much. Similarly Morris's comment about
people's responsibility for litter spotless
within doors, filthy without is equally true
of India. Italian jay-walkers make their
Puerto Rican counterparts look like sedate
Munich burghers. And the misnaming of
objects (e.g. counter for "table") is surely
characteristic of any place where a powerful
foreign idiom has been imperfectly assimi-
lated (how about the French smoking for
"tuxedo"?). The cumulative effect of these
examples suggests the viewpoint of a North
American, brought up as an article of his
Protestant faith to believe that people must
say what they mean and mean what they
say. For better or worse, the rest of the world


Photo by Nelson Garcia. Center of Orientation and Services, Playa de Ponce.


is just not like that.
The third flaw of methodology is that of
not taking enough account of social class in
assessing the evidence. The majority of
persons who supplied Morris with evidence
for his "episodes" seem to have been
academics and one wonders if many of the
episodes don't merely describe an edu-
cated person's response to the language-
habits of those who are uneducated, or


perhaps just young and inexperienced. For
example, when a woman walks into a tax
office and, without specifying the sort of tax
she has to pay, asks, "cD6nde se paga?"
("where do 1 pay?"), a class-based analysis
might merely have concluded that she is
nervous and inarticulate. Morris's explicit
refusal to delimit his field ("for I was finding
the usages wherever I went") just doesn't
Continued on page 52
CA1?BBEAN PIEEW/33










Remembrances



of New York

The Puerto Rican Community

From the American Civil War to 1947


Reviewed by Eugene V. Mohr


Coney Island, New York. Photo by Carlos Saba.

Memorias de Bernardo Vega,
Bernardo Vega. Edited by Cesar
Andreu Iglesias, with an
introduction by Jose Luis Gonzalez.
286 pp. Ediciones Huracan, San
Juan, 1977. $6.50.
Memories de Bernardo Vega tells
the story of the Puerto Rican
community in New York City from
the years just preceding the American Civil
War to 1947. Writing about a period before
the full migratory flood had swept over the
city, Vega describes a Puerto Rican popula-
tion unknown to most Americans: idealistic,
hard-working people with a highly devel-
oped political consciousness and a deep
commitmentto freedom and social justice.
Bernardo Vega was a cigarmaker and
34/CAiBBCAN rEvie


active trade unionist, friend and companion
of labor leader Santiago Iglesias and repre-
sentative at the constituent assembly of the
Socialist Party held in Cayey, Puerto Rico, in
1915. His life-long association with socialist
and community movements reflected his
passion for improving the lot of the working
man. This and his belief in independence
for Puerto Rico were the two guiding princi-
ples of his thought and action. In 1916, at
the age of 30, Vega migrated to New York,
where for more than 30 years he partici-
pated in the life of his compatriots as la-
borer, journalist, businessman and political
activist. After he returned to Puerto Rico he
remained politically active until his death in
1965.
The contents and basic design of the
book are Vega's. Information on the years
from 1916 to 1947 is given in the first per-
son; for the period before 1916 the author


makes use of a fictional informant named
Tio Antonio, who supposedly arrived in
New York in 1847 and who conveniently
dies in 1918, when Vega has been around
long enough to be his own observer. The
information given through Tio Antonio is
derived from contact with older residents
and from what must have been exhausting
research in New York libraries and in Vega's
own large collection of books. The use of
Tio Antonio as informant is particularly
effective for the years between the Ameri-
can Civil War and the Spanish American
War, when New York was the center of the
Antillean Independence Movement in-
spired by resistance to economic and social
oppression and by the hemispheric quest
for self-government. The events of those
years negotiations between Spain and
the colonies, alliances formed and broken,
attempts to invade Cuba repeatedly frus-



























treated and the great figures directing
those events Segundo Ruiz Belvis,
Ram6n Emeterio Betances, Eugenio Maria
de Hostos, Maximo G6mez, Jose Marti -
appear in Vega's pages with the immediacy
and credibility of an eyewitness description,
an eyewitness who is convincing and never
intrusive.
Although written in the form of memoirs,
Vega's book is closer in aim and content to
a prose epic. It is the story of a people -
New York's Puerto Ricans in their historic
struggles toward social and political bet-
terment. The communal fabric is woven, as
it is in the classic epics, from continual
listings of organizations, meetings,
names, figures: "Around that time the
Craftsmen's Association was founded for
civic and cultural ends. Antonio Molina,
Juan de Dios Nufiez, Flor Baerga, Jesus
Pic6n and Sotero Figueroa were active in
this group. Another, similar group was also
established, this one made up of women,
under the name of the Antillean Associa-
tion. It was for Cuban and Puerto Rican
women who belonged to the working class
and included, among others, Gertrudis E.
de Serra, Josefa Gonzalez, Dominga Muriel,
Ramona Gomero and Pilar Pivalot." Con-
stantly updated statistics are given on the
number of Puerto Ricans and other His-
panics in the city, the neighborhoods they
occupy, their jobs, businesses, clubs, and
so forth.
Despite the long stretch of time covered
and the long lists of specifics, Memorias de
Bernardo Vega is a very homogeneous
work. When Vega goes to a Christmas party
with old friends in 1939, he sums up, in
describing their conversation, their con-
cerns of the previous 50 years: "The con-
versation centered on the same themes as
half a century before. We spoke about the
struggle of the unions, the housing prob-
lem, racial prejudices, socialism, anar-
chism, the colonial regime in Puerto
Rico...."
This book deals, then, essentially with
ideas, and Vega manages to build a lot of
drama into ideological conflicts and in-
compatibilities. The most pervasive con-


flict, that on Puerto Rican status, is an issue
with an unexpectedly long past. As early as
1869 the movement to throw off the yoke of
Spain was split between annexation and
independence: "Hostos became aware of
the silent division between those who fa-
vored independence and those who hoped
the islands would be annexed to the United
States." When the Maine was sunk and
Cuba on the threshold of independence, it
was, ironically, Julio J. Henna, head of the
Puerto Rican section of the Cuban Revolu-
tionary Party, who urged the United States
occupation of Puerto Rico: "Henna, who
had always sheltered annexationist tenden-
cies, immediately traveled to Washington
and offered Theodore Roosevelt and Henry
Cabot Lodge the support of the Puerto
Rican emigrants in plans for the invasion of
Puerto Rico. On March 21 he had a personal
interview with President McKinley. Days
later he had a conversation with General
Miles, who was to direct the landing of
troops at Guanica on July 25, 1898." But
when Henna, in 1902, persuaded a con-
gressman to introduce a bill granting
United States citizenship to Puerto Ricans,
the bill was never even discussed in
committee.
The granting of citizenship by the Jones
Act of 1917 did not change the minds of
independence advocates. In fact, about 300
persons, known as "men without a coun-
try," rejected the preferred citizenship. But
most Puerto Ricans agreed with Santiago
Iglesias that citizenship was a useful base
from which to support either statehood,
independence, or the "free associated
state" defended by Antonio R. Barcel6 in
1922. Iglesias opposed Barcel6's formula
as being "neither state, nor free nor associ-
ated" a phrase repopularized when Luis
Mufioz Marin had a similar status im-
plemented 30 years later.

A Cigar Maker and Union Man
Vega's commitment to Puerto Rican inde-
pendence is matched by his dedication to
the improvement of the working class and
his pride in being a cigarmaker and a union
man. The cigarmakers, during the epoch of


hand-rolled cigars, considered themselves
the intellectuals of the working class be-
cause of the practice of having individuals
read to them while they worked. The
readings included some of the most ad-
vanced social and economic thought of the
day and made the listeners keenly aware of
their rights and expectations. This aware-
ness, with the consequent demands for
better salaries and working conditions, may
have hastened the practical disappearance
of this class of workers with the advent of
machinery-made cigars. Vega's inside de-
scription of the cigar industry, from its hey-
day through its demise, is a small but in-
teresting contribution to the history of
American labor. Not the least interesting
aspect of it is the role Hispanics once played
in that history.
Patriotism and class consciousness play
at tug-of-war throughout the Memorias.
Vega would have been a happier man if he
had found all Puerto Ricans, in New York
and on the island, espousers of indepen-
dence and champions of the working class.
Indeed, one senses in his writing a sort of
pained bafflement when he has to deal with
seemingly good people who fail in one or
the other of his ideals. He draws a very clear
distinction between the working class on
the one hand and the professional, intel-
lectual, and monied classes on the other,
with patriotism and social justice clearly the
prerogatives of the workers: "Up until that
moment, Puerto Rican monied groups,
professionals and intellectuals, with the
exception of Betances and Hostos, had not
contributed, to the Antillean revolution.
There is not the slightest evidence that they
gave financial aid to the revolutionary
groups, the Cuban Revolutionary Party or
its newspaper Patria." "[The Puerto Rican
intellectuals in New York] ignored or simply
turned their backs on the working class.
Generally speaking, they repudiated
socialist ideas and didn't see eye to eye with
the struggle of labor." "I read in the San
Juan papers that well-to-do Puerto Ricans
are investing in Florida... Every day I am
more convinced that the capitalist class of
Puerto Rico is not rooted in its native soil."

CARIBBCAN ?EVIE /35



























Coney Island, New York. Photo by Carlos Saba.

Vega's dissociating himself from intellectu-
als a group defined, one must assume,
more by income and living standards than
by interests or activities exemplifies the
centrality of class loyalties in his world view.
Class struggle also drove a wedge be-
tween communists and members of the
Puerto Rican Nationalist Party, both ardent
supporters of independence, over the Na-
tionalists' belief that "involvement in social
struggles was deflecting Puerto Ricans
from their primordial patriotic duty." Ten-
sion between the two groups often erupted
in street fights, and in one of these a young
Nationalist was killed. Nevertheless, when
the leaders of the Nationalist Party were
jailed in 1936 for "open conflict with the
colonial regime," the Communist Party and
other workers' associations united to de-
mand "immediate release of the political
prisoners."
The same bipolarity of idealism compli-
cates Vega's attitudes toward insular politi-
cians, who are judged by the double
yardstick of social liberalism and indepen-
dence. Not everyone can measure up
exactly the same by both standards. Mufioz
Marin, for all his greatness, is treated like
anyone else: praised for his support of labor
and for his idealistic leadership of the
common man; he is strongly criticized for
not supporting the Tydings Bill for Puerto
Rican independence in 1943.
North Americans and North American
institutions are judged mostly for their so-
cial philosophy, and the judgments are
often favorable. Vega acknowledges and
applauds the benefits United States'
hegemony brought to the Puerto Rican
labor movement. These became evident in
1902, when Santiago Iglesias and other
labor leaders were sentenced to prison by a
Puerto Rican court for "conspiring" to raise
workers' salaries, a crime under Spanish
rule. American labor, led by Samuel Gom-
pers, demanded federal intervention. The
case was brought before, a United States
appeals court which reversed the lower
court's decision and clearly established the
36/CAIBBEAN T VIEW


right of Puerto Rican workers to organize
and strike.
Gompers appears many times in this
book as a champion of Puerto Rican work-
ers. Largely through his efforts the labor
movement in Puerto Rico was drawn into
the orbit of United States trade unionism,
where it received help and encouragement.
In sad contrast, and despite the enlightened
attitudes of Gompers and others, some
mainland unions barred Puerto Ricans
from membership: "On the other hand,
carpenters, masons, tailors and barbers
were not accepted as members of AFL
unions." This and other forms of discrimi-
nation, especially in housing, were due in
part to the racial mixture of so many Puerto
Ricans and to the refusal of White Puerto
Ricans to play the race game by avoiding
their darker skinned fellows. Vega is obvi-
ously proud of the example of racial toler-
ance Puerto Ricans and Cubans introduced
to the United States, a point he makes re-
peatedly: "No separation on the basis of
color was noticeable in the Puerto Rican
population centers. There were quite a few
Black Puerto Ricans, especially in the sec-
tion between 99 and 106 Streets... In the
Puerto Rican neighborhoods, as a general
rule, people lived harmoniously, without
taking racial differences into account." "It
should be pointed out that this [the Antil-
lean Association] was an interracial group,
naturally, in which White, Black and Mulatto
women shared activities." One of the most
respected names in the book is that of Ar-
turo Alfonso Shomburgh, who was born
near San Juan, emigrated to New York, and
became one of the outstanding intellectual
leaders of the American Black Community
of his day. "He arrived here an emigrant and
bequeathed a rich achievement to our
countrymen and to Black Americans: a
magnificent example of the oneness of op-
pressed people!"

Hostility Toward Puerto Ricans
More common than acts of specifically ra-
cial discrimination in Vega's account are


expressions of negative, hostile attitudes
toward Puerto Ricans as a cultural group.
These attitudes developed soon after the
turn of the century, increased with every
expansion of the Hispanic population, and
have remained, despite Puerto Rico Day
parades, part of the texture of New York
living. Vega's approach to anti-Puerto Rican
sentiment is not angry or simplistic. He
recognizes different causes of this senti-
ment, one of which is the lazy ignorance
that feeds on easy generalities: "For the
average Yankee [in 1902] Puerto Ricans
were expendable stuff, individuals without
culture, ignorant and immature... Many still
judge us that way!" Not all "prejudice is so
arbitrary, however; some comes from as-
cribing to all Puerto Ricans the faults of
individuals who just happen to be Puerto
Rican and who are easily recognized as
such by language and physical charac-
teristics."
Vega is quick to point out that "Nothing of
that sort went on in the homes of the cigar-
makers," but the cigarmakers had to bear
the community image along with everyone
else. Puerto Ricans fared very badly under
community images because of the wide-
spread use of counterfeit Puerto Rican birth
certificates by criminals and other undesir-
ables from South and Central America.
Most of these illegal immigrants settle in
New York and blend imperceptibly into the
"Puerto Rican" community.
For Vega the most pernicious source of
negative attitudes toward Puerto Ricans
seems to have been journalistic exploitation
of popular prejudices, a problem existing
since the earliest years of annexation. In
1902 the New York Morning Sun, reflect-
ing a typical attitude of the time, described
Puerto Ricans as "aborigines whose bows
and arrows have been replaced by knives
and revolvers" (p. 134). In 1904 the Globe
pontificated that Puerto Ricans were not
capable of self government because they
had not, as a people, reached maturity.
As the city's Hispanic population grew,
attention shifted from the island to the im-









migrants, a closer target. In 1940
Scribner's Commentator carried an arti-
cle titled "Welcome Paupers and Crime:
Puerto Rico's shocking gift to U.S.," pictur-
ing the Puerto Rican community in the
United States as a morass of welfare de-
pendence, tuberculosis, syphilis, malaria,
prostitution, and moral degradation. In
1947 the World Telegram published a
series of articles so defamatory Vega
quotes from them on pp. 278-79 that
they caused consternation in Puerto Rico
no less than in El Barrio.
A third public relations problem for
Puerto Rican immigrants has been inap-
propriate or damaging responses to situa-
tions calling for help rather than rejection.
For example, Eleanor Roosevelt visited
Puerto Rico in 1934 and returned to report,
with the most humanitarian of intentions,
on the high incidence of poverty and tuber-
culosis among the island's population. As a
result, thousands of Puerto Ricans were
fired from their jobs in New York food estab-
lishments, and about 6000 Puerto Rican
children were denied admission to summer
camps run by churches and private foun-
dations.
Community reactions to these varied
types of discrimination have been mixed.
Among White Puerto Ricans some chose,
suicidally, to dissociate themselves from
their own history and culture: "So it hap-
pened that some, particularly the wealth-
iest, passed themselves off as 'Spaniards' to
lessen the discrimination, and there were
those who went to the extreme of not
speaking in public. They didn't read
Spanish newspapers on the subway or
teach their children Spanish." Among the
working classes, however, the major reac-
tion to discrimination was increasingly ef-
fective organized protest. More than a
thousand people picketed the World-
Telegram on November 1, 1947, to de-
nounce the slanderous articles mentioned
above. "The morning of the day set for the
picketing was cold and rainy, but despite
the bad weather the militancy of our people
didn't falter for a single instant. Hundreds of
signs and posters expressed traditional
Puerto Rican dignity and accused the
newspaper editors of abusing freedom of
the press to revile decent, hard-working
people." Public manifestations of this sort
have helped greatly to moderate anti-
minority campaigns in the media and to
lessen discrimination on the part of gov-
ernment agencies and private institutions.
No other book tells so much so inti-
mately about the Puerto Rican experience
in New York. Memorias de Bernardo Vega
does not treat the Puerto Rican community
as a ghetto, isolated from the surrounding
city and nation. For Vega, committed
socialist, political liberals like Smith,
LaGuardia, Marcantonio, and Roosevelt are
heroes that transcend ethnic definition. The


depression suffered by Hispanics al-
leviated a bit by bathtub rum, la bolita,
flowerpot marihuana, spiritism, and neigh-
borhood beauty contests is the same
depression millions of other New Yorkers
are facing in similar ways at the same time.
And World War II makes all Americans, for
the time being, a great majority in faith and
determination. In his stories about Cuban
revolutionaries and European socialists
and Puerto Rican cigarmakers, Bernardo
Vega is telling us about the nation of immi-
grants of which they form part.
But the most lyrical, most memorable
passages in the Memoriasare those re-
vealing a man's love for New York: his first
sight of the city from a pier in Staten Island;
his first ride on a double-decker Fifth Ave-
nue bus; the old open market, mostly
Jewish then, on Park Avenue; free lunch
counters in what used to be called saloons;
Yorkville with its fine restaurants and lovely
women; the luxurious speakeasies of pro-
hibition days. No one who has ever lived
there can fail to respond to the wonder and
delight still fresh in these remembrances of
the city. Some people have a notion that
Hispanics are a foreign, disturbing pres-
ence in New York: Bernardo Vega shows
that the city is theirs as much as anyone's.



Eugene V Mohr teaches Caribbean literature
at the University of Puerto Rico in Rio Piedras.


from FlU's International Affairs Center

Preparations continue for the convocation
of a hemispheric conference of university
rectors and educational leaders in
Washington, D.C., March 1-3, 1982. With
support from the Organization of American
States and the Victoria and Albert Gildred
Foundation for Latin American Health and
Education, the University is functioning as
the secretariate of the embryonic
Interuniversity Council for Economic and
Social Development. From the Washington
meeting will emerge the charter, constitution
and bylaws of the new organization that is
designed to inaugurate a more intense effort
by the hemisphere's universities to resolve
contemporary economic and social
problems. Drs. Leo Suslow and Lisa Lekis
are managing the program for the Center.
The University signed a cooperative
agreement with the Institut de Technologie
Electronique D'Haiti.
With support from the private sector, the
School of Business conducted a series of
short seminars for small business men
in Honduras.

International Affairs Center
Florida International University
Tamiami Trail, Miami, Florida 33199,
Ph: (305) 554-2846


Volume 10
January & July 1980 C


SST11UDIES







SPECIAL VOLUME

CUII IN IFRICA
Cuban-Soviet Relations and
Cuban Policy in Africa
Cuba's Involvement in the
Horn of Africa
Limitations and Consequences

Economic Aspects of
Cuban Involvement in
Africa

Published by the Center for Latin American Studies. University Center for
International Studies, University of Pittsburgh. Annual subscription rates are $8 for
individuals and $16 for institutions. Address inquiries to: Center for Latin American
Studies, University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15260, USA.
11


CAFBBEAN r VIeW/37


Mfte ((R&


HOU0(i





















Top: Justo Carrillo and Fidel
Castro in Merida, September
1955 meeting to coordinate
activities against Batista.
Photo Carrillo. Middle:
Batista's candidate for the
President of Cuba, AndrBs The Winds of December,
Rivero Agiero, 1958. Wide John Dorschner and Roberto
World Photos. Bottom: Batista Fabricio. 552 pp. Coward, McCann
promising to step down fromand Goeghean, Inc New York
the presidency, 1958. Wide and Goeghegan, Inc. New York,
World Photos. 1980. $15.95.

he Winds of December is a dramatic

behind the scenes history of the last
months of the Castro Revolution in
Cuba. The story begins in November 1958
and ends with Castro's victory speech on
January 8, 1959; selected background
events are also covered to put the presented
happenings in perspective. The book is a
fast-moving collection of events intensely
described in the present tense. These de-
scriptions are quite different from mere
news reports as they are replete with infor-
mation about the different actors and give
the reader a much more comprehensive
view of the events than one might get in,
say, a newspaper. It is an exciting and in
many ways an absorbing volume. In spite of
the fullness of the book, however, there are
several aspects of it that are worth criti-
cizing. For example, there is little critical
judgment about the sources of information,
much of the information gathered in inter-
views is accepted without investigation.
To illustrate: Major General Eulogio Can-
tillo when a colonel and chief of the air force
was somehow involved in Batista's 1952
attempt to take over Camp Columbia.
Dorschner and Fabricio state that Cantillo
"hovered cautiously for several hours be-
tween the Batista group and the democrati-
cally elected Prio government. Only when
he had no doubt about the outcome did he
agree to support Batista." But what actually
happened was exactly the opposite. As
chief of the air force, the correct thing for
Cantillo to have done when Batista arrived
would have been to arrest him. Not only did
he not do this but he immediately became
Batista's collaborator and helped Batista
take over the government. Colonel
Eduardo Martin Elena, now an exile iri
Miami, turned down Cantillo's offer of an
alliance with Batista, resigning his commis-


38/CAIBBEAN rEVIEW












Could Cuba Have Been



Different?

The Winds of December

Reviewed by Justo Carrillo
Translated by Elena A. Parrado


sion. This is what Cantillo should have done
when he failed to carry out Batista's arrest.

Batista's Downfall
Yet the events that the book describes, the
triumph of Fidel Castro and his band of
revolutionaries, is of critical importance to
an understanding of contemporary Latin
America. What weight shall we give to their
respective role's? First of all, the determin-
ing factor in Castro's triumph was the
Cuban population's general rejection of the
Batista regime. Castro simply took advan-
tage of the circumstances, the historic
moment, and the impending disaster to the
Batista regime. The authors rightly under-
stand this point when they show, for exam-
ple, the intense participation of private or-
ganizations (even the Rotaries and the
Lions) who collaborated with the popular
effort.
To ask the perennial question of whether
or not Castro was a communist is to dem-
onstrate that one is unaware of this situa-
tion. For from the beginning, the guerrilla
leader aspired to absolute and permanent
control over the island. The only medium
that offered him this total control was
communism. His ambition was amiably in
agreement with the opportunism histori-
cally maintained by the Cuban Com-
munists who had already shared power with
Batista. It is not that Castro converted to
communism but that Castro appropriated
communism to his own purposes.
It was the context more than anything
else that led to the victory of the rebels. One
understands this when one realizes the size
of Castro's army in the Sierra Maestra. The
authors acknowledge that "the exact size of
the rebel army remains a matter of consid-
erable debate. In the interview for this book
Castro said he had 3,000 well-armed men
in all his columns by 1958." Castro's state-
ment to the authors is inaccurate. In Febru-
ary 1959, 1 was present when Castro disem-
barked from the Marta III (which formerly
had been the property of Marta Fernandez
de Batista) and turned to then-commander
of the Camaguey regiment and said, "And
to think Huber, we did all this with only 808


irregularly armed men." The fact that the
rebel army was augmented in the final days
of the revolution by a few thousand men in
no way alters the fact that there were so few
in Castro's army during the 25 months of
hostilities.
The general strike of April 9, 1958, further
demonstrates that Castro understood the
context within which he was operating, and
its overriding importance. The author's
miss this point and offer an explanation of
the failure of that strike with which I do not
agree. They argue that: "On April 9, the
movement suffered a stunning setback: the
failure of a general strike which was sup-
posed to paralyze business throughout the
island until Batista was forced to leave. It
was a bold idea, badly organized. Friction
developed between the urban and moun-
tain leaders, and a certain indifference
existed in the nation's economic heart,
Havana. Starting in the early morning, the
strike sputtered as sympathetic workers
kept waiting for people to lead them. The
police, aided by a private army of thugs.
began vicious retaliations. In Santiago
alone, thirty demonstrators were killed. By
mid-afternoon, the strike was crushed."
The idea to wage a general strike was the
result of the search for effective means to
pull Batista from power. Until that time,
neither the groups that opposed Batista
from the plains nor the revolutionaries in
the mountains possessed such a mecha-
nism. Although between 1952 and 1957,
Batista's regime suffered a great deal of
wear and tear, the situation remained at a
standstill with Batista on one side and the
Cuban revolution, or better stated, the
Cuban insurrection, on the other. For this
reason during almost nine months in 1957
plans were made to form a clandestine
Confederation of Cuban Workers, whose
purpose was to assume control of the offi-
cial CTC controlled by Batista. This clan-
destine organization was fundamental for
the success of the general strike. There
were a great many groups who were willing
to cooperate with the 26th of July move-
ment in this effort as long as they were able
to keep their identity and not be absorbed


by the movement. These groups formed
the Frente Obrero Nacional and plans
were made to sabotage certain institutions
to gain control of the banks, the transporta-
tion system, commerce and graphic arts.
After months of sustained work there was a
clear idea of what was needed to move the
masses, and the strike was well planned
and organized. Why then was the strike a
failure?
The critical element of what occurred on
April 9, 1958, after months of clandestine
operations, was a dichotomy: On one side,
were theFON leaders, and on the other, the
leaders of the 26th of July Movement. A
complete agreement between the FON
(which represented the labor force) and the
National 26th of July Movement as to who
would control the strike was never articu-
lated. It came as a surprise to the FON
leaders when the National 26th of July
Movement changed the slant of the strike
from a general revolutionary strike to one
controlled by a select group, namely them-
selves. They then decided that violence was
to be used to achieve what the general
strike would have done. Why was this deci-
sion taken? My own interpretation is that the
26th of July Movement did not want the
strike to succeed since that would have
given too much power to the urban leaders.
Furthermore, the 26th of July Movement
would have had to come down from the
hills to face a Batista overcome by the
political power of the cities and not the hills.
It was for these reasons, and not because of
a lack of organization and planning, that the
general strike was a failure.

A Third Force
The book does a fine job describing the
efforts of the US State Department to back
a "third force" other than either Batista or
Castro and to thereby find a democratic
solution to the conflict. However, I wish to
take this a bit further and examine the ac-
tual possibilities of such a third force. Only a
"revolutionary" third force could have
turned the tide and changed the future of
Cuba. The concept of a "third force" in the
interpretations made by the State Depart-
CAIBBEAN rEVIEW/39










ment, the US Ambassador in Havana, Earl
T Smith, and Batista's proposed successor,
Dr. Andres Rivero Aguero, needs clarifica-
tion. First, in December 1958 that is,
exactly one year before the final crisis Mr.
Smith stated that the only way to save the
final situation was for Batista to resign the
Presidency and designate a government to
replace him without Castro and without
representatives of the terrorists but includ-
ing the best elements of the opposition.
Later on, he stated this government should
include members of the political opposi-
tion, representatives of the revolutionaries
and members of the Cuban government.
In the first "solution," Castro and the rep-
resentatives of the terrorists would have
been excluded but the second "solution"
includes representatives of the revolution-
aries. This leads us to ask if Smith then
considered Castro and the terrorists to be
revolutionaries. In the first plan, Smith
leaves Castro who, after spending a year
in the Sierra Maestra was already a national
factor in the conflict- out. Therefore, the


concept of "revolutionaries" referred to by
Smith in the second formula must apply
only to groups which did not form part of
the political opposition, such as the Revolu-
tionary Directory.
Evidently, the US Ambassador did not
understand the Cuban problem, even after
spending over a year in Cuba. As a partici-
pant in the entire process which lasted
more than seven years, I can affirm that at
that stage of the fight against Batista it
would have been politically impossible to
apply either formula. There would have
been no national solution possible without


A third force must be just
that, a force.



taking into account all the revolutionary
forces simply because the Cuban people
would have refused to accept any govern-
ment which did not include them, espe-
cially if it was to be a government controlled
by Batista.
It would have been impossible to con-
ceive of a national government with Batista
as president excluding the Castro revolu-
tionaries. None of the other opposing
forces (such as the Orthodox Cuban Party,
the Cuban Revolutionary Party, etc.) would
have participated in such a government
since to participate would have meant
legitimating the 1952 Batista takeover of
the Cuban government. I should make
clear that what the Cuban people spe-
cifically rejected was the March 10th coup.
Moreover, the Cuban people equally re-
jected the return to the government Batista
had overpowered. What the Cuban people
wanted was to change and renovate public
life in Cuba.
On the other hand, political sectors in-
corporated into the fight for liberty, such as
professional groups. would also have been
unwilling to participate in a government of
national unity with Batista as president. To
have imagined.a representative of Cuba's
School of Medicine or Law participating in
such an arrangement is to never have un-
derstood profoundly the fight against
Batista. This is apparent in the opposition to
Smith's solutions by Dr. Jose Miro Cardona
who was the dean of the School of Law in
Havana.
Later, Smith said the following: "The
State Department would have been willing
and this would have been an opportune
time to approach Batista and ask him to
leave Cuba and then form a government of
national unity with a wide foundation, in-
cluding Castro." It took awhile but Smith
finally reached the same conclusion many
of us did: there would be no national solu-
tion without Batista's physical absence. But


even if Batista had left, would it have been
possible for "representatives of the Church,
civic organizations and the press" to de-
velop a new formula for national unity
which would exclude not only the 26th of
July Movement but the other revolutionary
organizations, such as the Revolutionary
Directory which for months had been
fighting in La Sierra del Escambray? Was it
even possible to imagine that the univer-
sities and civic organizations would sym-
pathize with such a "compromise"?
Perhaps a stranger to the conflict such as
Ambassador Smith could have imagined it,
but all of us who participated in the revolu-
tionary process know that such a formula
would have been impossible to carry out.
I am grateful for the honor granted me in
being considered an integral part of the
supposed "third force" by the leaders of the
Montecristi Movement and our democratic
antecedents. But I must affirm that the con-
cept of a "third force" as presented by the
American chancellery had no chance of
success. A third force must be just that, a
force. To ignore the violence and guerrilla
warfare, the sabotage and terrorism, the
revolutionary effort in general, and the vio-
lence and illegality generated by Batista's
March 10th takeover of the island, is to ig-
nore the essence of the problem. Only
equally violent action (such as the assault
on the Presidential Palace in March 1957;
and our frustrated assault of the Isle of Pines
Modelo jail to free prisoners who we were
ready to fly to regiments in Las Villas and
Camaguey to subsequently advance to-
ward Havana to overthrow Batista) would
have been sufficiently strong to counter the
26th of July Movement.
To have instituted a peaceful third force
that could control these circumstances
would have been impossible. It would have
meant a continuing of the situation. It would
have strengthened Castro's position within
the national picture since the Cuban people
desired a permanent solution, not transitory
formulas that fell short of their purpose. On
the other hand, to assume that a candidate
of Batista, fraudulently elected, could later
produce elections to unite all the political
elements, utilizing the same armed forces,
and indirectly controlled by Batista, would
have been the same as to accept the for-
mulas of Ambassador Smith and the State
Department. It would simply have con-
tinued the rejected political regime.
Moreover, why consider such a formula
when Andres Rivero Aguero never even
took possession of power?

Justo Carrillo was one of the founders of the
original Directorio Estudiantil del '30 and a
central figure in the Revolution of 1933. In one
way or another he was involved in most of the
activities directed against the Batista regime.
Today he lives in Miami.
Translator Elena A. Parrado studies English
at Florida International University.


40/CARPBBEAN t VIEW


Occasional Papers Series
Latin American
and
Caribbean Center

The Latin American and Carib-
bean Center at Florida Interna-
tional University is pleased to
announce the creation of an Oc-
casional Papers Series on Latin
America and the Caribbean.
Research that addresses indi-
vidual countries or the whole of
Latin America and/or the Carib-
bean from the perspectives of
the humanities and social sci-
ences is welcome. Themes with
interdisciplinary approaches are
e .i ;, encouraged.
Manuscripts should be no
longer than 45 -- ri.-rn pages
in .: -'jri, and should be sent in
duplicate to: The Editor, Occa-
sional Papers Series, Latin Amer-
ican and Caribbean Center.
Florida International University,
Miami. FL 33199.










Somoza...
Continued from page 7




Somoza and the late shah of Iran (which
failed to materialize) and agreements be-
tween American oil companies and the
shah's Pahlevi Foundation to commit $40
million backing. The Iranians backed out of
the deal because of more lucrative offers
and the American oil companies eventually
lost interest. Representative Murphy was
finally indicted June 18, 1980, on conspi-
racy and bribery charges resulting from the
FBI's ABSCAM investigation.
Some guard officers were beginning to
feel that Somoza was running the nation
too much like the chairman of a family
corporation. They also wanted him to shift
his dependence for military aid away from
the United States, which was now de-
pendent on the human rights policy of the
former "peanut farmer" they used the
title disparagingly. They wanted Tacho to
open up new avenues for arms purchases,
but Somoza held on, not believing that the
United States policy or his congressional
clout would desert him.

The Somoza's Wealth
Tacho was upset by the loss of projected
profits from the abortive Howard Hughes
deal, from which he said he had reaped only
unwanted publicity, and the abortive oil
refinery deal at Monkey Point. But at home
the family fortune was spread ever more
diversely. By 1977 Somozas were in every-
thing from sugar and coffee to rice and
cement, alcohol and Lanica Airlines and the
Mamenic steamship line. Tacho owned the
Caribe Motors Company, representatives of
Mercedes Benz. The police and traffic cops
used Mercedes, as did most Somoza politi-
cians and the National Guard brass. Even
the citys garbage disposal trucks were Mer-
cedes Benz. Somoza coffee interests in-
cluded plantations in the departments of
Managua. Jinotega, Matagalpa, Nueva
Segovia. Madriz, Esteli. Carazo and Masaya.
The amount of choice real estate they
owned was vast. They were the proprietors
of the Carnica slaughterhouse, and the na-
tional cement company. Canal, was
founded in 1945 as the family cement
monopoly for Nicaragua. All paving blocks
were made by a Somoza company. The
Somoza farms raised pigs and cattle which
went to the export market. On at least one
occasion the United States rejected
Somoza beef because it did not meet im-
port health restrictions but Tacho, ever the
businessman, reportedly took it back and
put it on sale in his own country. The family
held controlling stock in the local cigarette
and cigar business, the latter established
with the assistance of Cuban exiles. [His


wife] Hope's family owned the construction
firm Panelfab, established in 1973 to take
advantage of the postearthquake building
boom. Hope was also president of the
Junta Nacional de Asistencia y Previ-
si6n Social (JNAPS) and IMSS, the na-
tional social security institute.
Despite the mounting criticism, Tacho
felt sure he could weather the storm. He
even had time to advise others. The military
regimes of Guatemala and El Salvador,
which had owed their very existence in part
to past United States military aid, learned in
1977 that future aid would be conditional



"It is peculiar they would
need military assistance to
help in earthquake
reconstruction."



on their human rights performance. They
haughtily declared this to constitute inter-
ference in their internal affairs and rejected
further United States aid despite advice
from Somoza that they make no such hasty
decision. The Carter administration, he rea-
soned, would find it difficult to sever a
special relationship with Nicaragua that had
lasted more than sixty years. He insisted
that Nicaragua was the United States' most
dependable Central American ally, and
bragged that during the Nixon years he had
acted as proconsul in the area, serving
United States interest as much as his own.
No country had received on a per capital
basis as much United States develop-
ment and military aid as had Nicaragua
over so long a period. The American-
trained National Guard was the bulwark
against communism in the region, Somoza
claimed. In the first sixyears of the 1970s his
praetorian guard had received more than
$32 million in United States military assist-
ance. The cutting of the umbilical cord that
had tied the United States to Somoza for so
long was not swift. Rather, it was a long and
painful process that was to continue up to
the bitter end.
During the summer of 1977 Tacho's
American friends, especially Congressman
John Murphy, were concerned about his
eroding image in the United States. At
home Tacho surrounded himself with dot-
ing admirers. The friends he relaxed with
had to be the kind of people who would
laugh at his jokes and never forget who was
eljefe. Almost without exception they were
court jesters who squabbled among them-
selves to be the first to concur with or to
applaud his ideas or utterances. A rare ex-
ception in this clutch of sycophants was
Raymond Molina, who seldom was kept
waiting for anything. Molina was no crony.


Somoza didn't like him but he respected
him. He was one of the few voices Somoza
heeded. Molina was among the few men
Somoza never had to fear. Tall and lanky,
Ray Molina was a Georgia-born Cuban who
had fought in the Bay of Pigs and, returning
to Nicaragua, battered his way into
Somoza's confidence through sheer brass.
A vice-president of Peterson Enterprises, he
had once gotten a $2.5 million contract
from the Somoza government. Somoza
took Molina seriously. It was on his advice
that he hired former Florida congressman
William Cramer to lobby the Somoza cause
in the halls of Congress.

A Public Relations Campaign
Somoza's influential American friends sug-
gested a public relations campaign to
counter what they considered the Carter
administration's efforts to turn Nicaragua
into a human rights cause. To help groom
Somoza's image with the American media
they also called in the New York public rela-
tions firm Norman, Lawrence, Patterson
and Farrell. Norman Wolfson, the firm's
chairman, made his first visit to Managua in
July 1977 to review Tacho's problems with
the media at the request of Jack Calkins,
former White House aide to President
Gerald Ford, and Bill Cramer, Somoza's
lobbyist, who went along on the trip.
"Somoza cut me off before I was finished,"
Wolfson recalled. "He told me I had walked
into his office 'with shit on my feet,' that I
had 'a hell of a nerve' trying to tell him how
to handle his relations with the press. 'Who
are you to tell me I have to kiss Sulzberger's
ass?' (I didn't tell him that. I explained that
he had to explain his side of the story to the
Sulzbergers of this world if he ever expected
to be understood.) 'You Americans sure
give me a pain in the ass,' were the last
words I heard as I left. The man acted like a
spoiled brat who had evolved into middle
age, a know-it-all who asked for advice and
couldn't take it, a boor, a rude, overbearing
bully. I left impressed with his height, all
six-feet-plus of him, the more than 250
pounds of heft, and the booming voice that
pounded me as I sat in his presence. Yet, as I
crossed the street to return to the Intercon-
tinental Hotel, headquarters for most
foreign visitors to dirty, paper-strewn Man-
agua, I wished there had been a different
outcome. He did fascinate me."
Somoza had reason to be displeased
with the flamboyant Wolfson. Tacho, like his
father before him, believed the regime's
finest public relations representative was
Tacho Somoza. During brother Luis's reign
in the late 1950s, a reporter wrote, "Somoza
confronted some of those North American
liberals in their own lair by visiting The New
York Times, which had attacked the
Somozas editorially. He wanted to make
perfectly clear that neither Luis nor himself
was a carbon copy of their father. 'I showed

CAIBBCAN PCVIEW/41


I










them that I had a different attitude,
philosophy, education and decade than my
father. They were surprised that I was so
articulate,' Somoza recalled." But Tacho
had a strange manner of keeping abreast of
changing trends even in public relations. He
was an addict of fad books about health,
wealth and sex. For years he used to swear
by Gayelord Hauser's Treasury of Secrets
which rewarded the reader with tips on how
to "protect yourself against poor skin ...
falling hair ... sexual apathy ... failing po-
tency ... and depression."
"I had mixed emotions a few weeks later
when the telephone rang at home and I was
told, 'El Jefe wants to see you, there's plenty
of work to be done so get to Managua fast
say tomorrow,' Wolfson reported. He
began a series of vain attempts to line up
reporters and top media management per-
sons to meet personally with Somoza, hear
and print his side of the story. Maybe, just
maybe, Tacho's personality would win them
over. Though Wolfson later wrote about
Tacho's meetings with the press and was
just as biased in his reports as he alleged
the press was concerning Somoza, his ef-
forts to sell Tacho the man and the Somoza
personality were most interesting. When
Wolfson began trying to sell Somoza in
Washington, D.C., he ran into immediate
difficulty.
Wolfson has noted: "Desperate to get
some facts about Somoza in the Oval Of-
fice, I phoned long-time friend Theodore C.
Sorensen [former aide to John F Kennedy].
After I told Ted why I wanted to see him, he
refused the luncheon invitation. I baited him
about being open minded and said that he
should hear Somoza's side of the story from
me. Finally, and only after stressing that he
was joining me as a friend, he agreed to the
lunch.
"As a rule, any time spent with Sorensen
- who has to be one of the brightest, most
attractive men I know is a pleasure for
me. This lunch wasn't enjoyable; Ted was
skeptical about everything I said. He ad-
vised me to drop Somoza. He claimed that
Somoza was ruining my reputation. And,
obviously, he flatly refused to have anything
to do with Nicaragua at any price. At one
point I said, 'Look, I don't believe half of
what is printed about Somoza.' Sorensen
snapped back, 'If 10 percent of what is said
about him is true, I want no part of the
man.'
"Somoza still wanted to get his side of the
story into the White House, so he called on
an old retainer, Clark Clifford. Unlike Soren-
sen, Clifford had been a Somoza lawyer for
many years and earned plenty for his ser-
vice. The Somoza-Clifford meeting took
place at the Waldorf Towers in New York.
Now, however, Clifford viewed Somoza as a
hot potato and he, not too gracefully as I
saw it, bowed out. He explained in about ten
thousand words that 'regretfully' he would
42/CAIBBEAN r IEW


'not really be able to make a contribution at
this time.' Somoza has to be a bit naive. He
accepted the excuse and said to me, 'What
an impressive man!' "


Somoza in Paraguay
Somoza was in high spirits on Wednesday
morning, September 17, 1979. Having
overcome a bout of influenza, he had re-
sumed his physical fitness routine and was
planning to visit his 19,200-acre cotton
plantation in the Chaco region of western




Even the city's garbage
disposal trucks were
Mercedes Benz.




Paraguay. During his thirteen months in the
indolent country wedged in the heart of
South America he had scandalized his host,
General Alfredo Stroessner, with his
outlandish behavior, providing Asunci6n
society with more gossip than it had known
during Stroessner's entire twenty-six-year
reign.
Stroessner the last of the old-style
caudillos and his Colorado party kept a
tight hold over Paraguay's 2.9 million in-
habitants. Everyone's name was in the
party's computer files. The son of German
immigrants, Stroessner shared Somoza's
thirst for power, wealth and women but their
personalities were very different. The old
general was a dour individual who lived
unobtrusively, enjoying the solitude of river
fishing. He frowned on Tacho's bawdy bar-
rackslike brawling with his friends. He
shared prudish Paraguayan society's rejec-
tion of Tacho's profanity in public. The
stories of Somoza antics, including food
fights and drunkenness, together with gos-
sip about the rude manner in which he
treated his Paraguayan bodyguards, soon
made Tacho an outcast.
Somoza slimming breakfasted on
fruit and a boiled egg. During the night an
associate, Joseph Baittiner, an Italian-born
American who lived in Colombia, had ar-
rived for a daylong business visit. He and
Somoza were going downtown to see
Somoza's banker. Kissing [his mistress]
Dinorah good-bye and promising to return
for lunch, Tacho climbed into the back seat
of his white Mercedes Benz, the car that he
had instructed Cesar Gallardo, the family
chauffeur for thirty-five years, to bring
around. In the garage of Somoza's rented
mansion, number 436 on treelined Avenida
General Genes, sat the specially armored
yellow Mercedes Benz which he had or-


dered from Germany to ensure maximum
security. But in this quiet, anticommunist
nation, where even former Nazis had found
safe haven, Tacho felt secure.
At 10:05 the white Mercedes left the se-
cure high walls of the mansion and headed
toward the city's center, followed by a red
sedan with four Paraguayan plainclothes-
men who served as his bodyguard. At the
same time, a hit team was alerted by
walkie-talkie four blocks away. The team of
four to six gunmen waited. As Somoza pro-
ceeded down Avenida Espafia, a blue
Chevrolet pickup pulled into the avenue. It
obstructed the Mercedes as it approached
the intersection with Calle America. Sud-
denly the mild early-spring morning was
rent with the deafening sound of automatic
rifle fire from the pickup and from a two-
story house near the corner of the street.
Seconds later there was a swooshing sound
followed by an earsplitting explosion.
Two blocks away, three members of the
hit team held up a motorist, architect Julio
Eduardo Carbone, an Argentine, at gun-
point. They shouted, "Get out, get out
quick." Later he told reporters that the
gunmen had the lilting, accented Spanish
of'the River Plate, characteristics of Argen-
tines or Uruguayans. The house from which
the hit team had launched two Chinese
Communist-type, small B-50 rockets was
empty when the police moved in. In one
room a walkie-talkie crackled with what
sounded like a female voice. Barely audible,
it was giving instructions, the police be-
lieved, to the fleeing gunmen. A loaf of
black bread and three packs of cigarettes
were on a kitchen counter. Weapons and
camouflage clothing were spread about the
house. The hit team had prepared their
work well. They had carried out the attack
with meticulous precision and speed,
making good their escape. The greatest
manhunt in Paraguay's history was soon
under way, but it only succeeded in com-
pounding the mystery of the identities of the
assassins and their motive.
As far as the Paraguayan government
was concerned, the sandinistas in far-off
Nicaragua were responsible for the killing.
Government spokesmen said the weapons
had come from Nicaragua and had possi-
bly been smuggled into the country in the
diplomatic pouch. But this theory collapsed
when it was learned that the two-member
sandinista mission was not permitted a
diplomatic pouch. The envoys, a woman
and a man, had arrived by bus from Brazil,
and in the formal starchy diplomatic circles
of Paraguay were as much misfits as bois-
terous Somoza. On August 20, the
Paraguayan government had ordered the
closing of the Nicaraguan embassy and
asked the two shirt-sleeve diplomats to
leave the country. No reason was given for
the closing of the mission, but at the time it
was believed to be in line with a general










crackdown after the right-wing coup d-etat
in Bolivia. Whether the sandinistas had
more to gain with Somoza dead is open to
speculation. While Somoza lived, the san-
dinistas always had a bogeyman. They
probably could have assassinated him in
Managua but for political reasons they
elected against it.
There was no shortage of motives and
terrorists to commit the deed. Even dictator
Stroessner was not above suspicion. The
theory was that Stroessner had become
embarrassed by the presence of Somoza,
who attracted undue attention to his little
fiefdom. Somoza had not invested his huge
fortune in Paraguay, as was expected of
him. His land purchase there had drawn
sharp criticism from various quarters who
held that Somoza was trying to re-create his
little Nicaragua in Paraguay. A crime
passionnel could not be ruled out.
Somoza's licentious ways always made him
a target for a jealous lover. In fact the first
major Somoza scandal in Paraguay in-
volved his flirtation with the former Miss
Paraguay, Maria Angela Martinez, who was
also connected romantically with Hum-
berto Dominguez Dibb, editor of Hoy and
onetime son-in-law of Stroessner. Amid the
titters provoked by the affair, the editor be-
came so angry that he began publishing
anti-Somoza diatribes in his paper and at
one point sent a bulldozer against Tacho's
Mercedes. Miss Paraguay soon returned
Somoza to Dinorah and the sparring with
Dominguez Dibb ended.
When the news of Somoza's death
reached his homeland on Wednesday
morning, people at first did not believe it
had finally happened. They crowded
around radios waiting for confirmation. As it
finally came, spontaneous celebrations
broke out in Managua and cities around the
country. Bars were soon crowded and the
depth of hatred many Nicaraguans felt for
Somoza was apparent as they saluted
his demise with Flor de Caria rum.
Thousands spent the afternoon and eve-
ning atJuly Nineteenth Plaza, christened for
the day the war ended. Next to the old ca-
thedral and near the place were the remains
of FSLN leader Carlos Fonseca are now
buried, Somoza was once again burned in
effigy, as during the first anniversary cele-
brations of the revolution. It was a true
catharsis. When Tomas Borge, interior
minister and the last remaining founding
member of the FSLN, was asked who
might have killed Somoza, he quoted the
Spanish Renaissance poet Lope de Vega:
"Everyone killed him."
"I'm full of energy and courage to fight. I
will return and conquer Nicaragua," was the
last boast Somoza made, to the German
magazine Quick. Just hours before he
died, television news program and news-
papers were quoting Somoza's statement
in Quick that President Carter was a "bas-


tard" who had betrayed Nicaragua.
Somoza's burial in Miami's Woodlawn
Cemetery turned into a political rally for
Republican presidential candidate Ronald
Reagan, with Nicaraguan and Cuban exiles
shouting, "Down with Carter," whom they
accused of "betraying Nicaragua." All their
"oioas" were for Reagan, upon whom they
placed their hopes for a better future. Some


Reagan supporters distributed leaflets at
the funeral service.
Bernard Diederich reports on the Caribbean
and Central America for Time Magazine. This
article is excerpted from his recentlypublished
biography, Somoza and the Legacy of US
Involvement in Central America (E.P Dut-
ton, New York, 1981). Reprinted by permission.
Copyright 1981 by Bernard Diederich.


The prestigious scholarly journal of the
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ISSN 0008-6533

Caribbean Studies is entering its third decade of uninterrupted publication. It is
written and edited by and for Caribbeanists and other persons keenly interested
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and research reports scheduled for publication in Volume 20 (1980).
Equality and Justice: Foundations of Nationalism in the
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Esclavitud y Diplomacia: Los Limites de un Paradigma
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Piri Thomas: Author and Persona / Eugene V. Mohr
Exploration and Exploitation of Manganese Nodules in the
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I











The Sandinistas...
Continued from page 11




made a claim, and therefore it is normal for
the Miskitos to go across the river to visit
their brothers in Honduras where they feel
just as at home. Nevertheless, Reverend
Wilson added, because some of them are
somewhat confused, it is necessary to con-
vince them that they must return to their
country and help in its reconstruction"
(MISURASATA statement broadcast on
Radio Sandino, May 16, FBIS translation).
The Rev. Fernando Colomer, Miskito
superintendent of the Moravian Church,
was asked why the Indians were leaving. He
replied: "Well, the causes could be some
unilateral actions taken by our government.
I remember that when there was a rebellion
in Puerto Cabezas and Waspam, military
groups came from Managua to attempt to
resolve the situation. They took military
measures. They evicted the people, some-
times courteously, but this generated dis-
content among the people and I think this is
one of the causes. Another is that they feel
persecuted. There is a lack of confidence
and there is fear in view of the rumors of war.
That is why some of them have left their
country. There are others. For example,
there are some LHonduran Miskito] stu-
dents involved who left their classes to go
home to their communities. I understand
that after the appeal that we broadcast on
Saturday over Radio Hogar...some of the
students who were in their communities
returned to school" (Radio Sandino, May
13, FBIS translation).
The early returns from this mediation
effort have been mixed. Among the Miskito
leaders known for their social awareness
and activism in the 1970s, some have
joined the effort to stem the tide of emigra-
tion, while others left with the emigrants and
are now actively proclaiming the impossi-
bility of reconciliation. New tensions are


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international studies with an
Emphasis on socio-economic
development The program seeks to train
individuals for employment with
governments, private enterprise and
international organizations. Courses in the
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Science, History, Economics, International
Affairs, Sociology and Anthropology. For
further information contact;
Dr. Farrokh Jhabvala
Florida International University
aTmiami Trail.
Miami. Florida 33199
(305) 554-2555.


44/CAIBBEAN REVIEW


arising among the advocates and oppo-
nents of mediation, with suspicions or open
accusations of desertion and co-optation
flying in both directions.
A recent head count in the hastily
established refugee camps showed a
population of under 1,500, with possibly
several hundred more staying in nearby
Miskito villages.
Two clearly definable stages are involved
in the task now facing the costeios and the
revolutionary government. The first, more
forbidding task is reconciliation and the
establishment of procedures for resolving


"They took military
measures. They evicted the
people, sometimes
courteously, but this
generated discontent
among the people."



grievances. If this occurs, the second by
comparison will be a piece of cake: to
achieve a balance of autonomy and inte-
gration between the two regions.
The reconciliation process is the more
difficult of the two because, in addition
to'historical differences, contemporary
geopolitical pressures are directly involved.
Northern Zelaya lies along a border hostile
to Nicaragua; on the other side is the
Honduran government, encouraged if not
actively prodded toward ideological con-
frontation by resurgent anticommunism in
the United States. On the other side, too, are
the exiled somocistas, urging resistance
and emigration on the costerios and
launching sporadic armed incursions into
Nicaraguan territory. Furthermore, the At-
lantic ports of Bluefields and Puerto
Cabezas are crucial to supply strategy at a
time of dependence on food, medicine and
equipment from outside, and they are po-
tential gauges of military shipments. Thus
along the coast as along the Rio Coco, gov-
ernment nervousness about possible
separatism and disloyalty is at least under-
standable, despite obvious and highly
counterproductive exaggerations.
Where reconciliation is concerned, a
wider social and cultural gap separates
western Nicaraguans from the Indians than
from the English-speaking, more prosper-
ous and formally educated Creoles. This
partially explains the mutual avoidance
between sandinistas and Indians in the
guerrilla phase, and the willingness of some
Creoles to join that struggle. It also largely
explains the Miskito emigration: the Miskito
are far away from the "Spaniards" and con-
veniently near their fellow Miskito in Hon-


duras. Thus in general, confrontations
between sandinistas and Miskito have
been sharper and less easily resolved than
the continuing resentment of the Creoles.
Yet in the long range, the Indians and san-
dinistas have important common ground
on which to build toward integration. The
Indians were a majority underclass in
Somoza's Nicaragua, they have retained
the social structure of primitive com-
munism that characterizes Indian com-
munities, and they have lived in the
Mosquitia since prehistoric times. They
are from time immemorial socialists and
nationalists, the Indians say and anthro-
pologists agree. Their problem with the
sandinistas is one of definitions, and that
stands a good chance of being resolved if
the immediate pressures are relieved.
Like the costerios, the western Nicara-
guans are a diversified ethnic group in
transition. Rapid social changes and deli-
cate adjustments are occurring both in the
general population and in the new govern-
ment, which has tried unsuccessfully to
respond at once to a strongly Christian,
relatively conservative, generally poor
majority constituency and to secular, dog-
matically capitalist and Marxist pressures
inside and outside the country. They too
have a problem of definitions: Sandinism as
a doctrine is not fully understood or ac-
cepted, either within the government or at
the popular level. The western Nicaraguans
too must work out their philosophical and
political options, before integration can
possibly take place.
The prospects of both reconciliation and
integration have been impaired by a ten-
dency on both sides to play the high cards
too quickly. The government recurs almost
reflexively to charges of separatism and
disloyalty, and to the use of political and
military authority; the costerios to an-
ticommunism and charges of human
rights abuse. Yet with the Prinzapolka inci-
dent as an important exception, once the
confrontations start both sides have shown
an impressive reserve of reason and
moderation. The government seems
determined to maintain its standing in the
international community, and the cos-
terios have remained faithful to the pacifist
principles in which the Moravian Church is
grounded. It is not clear how long this will
last: whether the ideological and geopoliti-
cal pressures from the United States, the
communist bloc and the most radical sec-
tors of the Nicaraguan right and left will
hold off long enough to permit reconcilia-
tion. The hope is fading, but has not yet
been entirely abandoned.

Margaret D. Wilde is a Washington-based
church worker and free lance writer who has
worked in several Latin American and Carib-
bean countries, including N,.-:aragua before
and since the revolution.











Modern Military...
Continued from page 13



ranted. The civilian elites are in firm control
and no evidence exists to suggest that the
military establishment entertains any ambi-
tion to challenge them. General Galvan has
emphasized that the modernization pro-
gram will contribute to the government's
capability in responding to disasters such
as floods and famines. General Galvan did
not, of course, mention that the military has
also been traditionally responsible for con-
tributing to the maintenance of Mexico's
authoritarian political system. The 1968
slaughter of protesting students in
Tlatelolco is the most salient case in point,
the most dramatic evidence of a larger
scenario. Over the years, the government
has used the military to intervene against
recalcitrant sindicatos, to squelch rebel-
lious peasants, and to discipline dissident
members of the middle class. The military's
modernization program will expand its abil-
ities to carry out those duties within the
domestic polity.
But the implications for foreign policy are
equally intriguing. The official stance is
unequivocal in denying any connection
between Mexico's increasing military po-
tential and the conflagrations ravaging the
Central American nations. The military has
paid particular attention to Mexico's south-
ern region (bordering upon Central
America) for several reasons. Most obvi-
ously, the nation's productive petroleum
fields are located in the southern states of
Chiapas and Tabasco and the adjacent Gulf
of Campeche. Both states border upon
Guatemala and some of the fields are less
than 100 miles from the frontier. The pro-
tection of those oil fields is heralded as the
first explanation of the military's modern-
ization program. As a reflection of that
charge, the most important maneuvers
conducted by the nation's military in the last
50 years were held in the oil fields in 1980.
They involved about 50,000 troops, fully
half of the nation's entire military force. An
additional strategic consideration in the
South is the security of the transisthmian
rail line, recently upgraded and destined to
become a lucrative economic asset for
Mexico as the 1980s unfold.
Traditionally, the nation's southern states
have been Mexico's poorest and least de-
veloped region. The area also counts the
nation's largest concentration of indigen-
ous peoples, many of the same ethnic
tradition as their brethren living in northern
Guatemala. The developmental retardation
of the region implies the continuing exis-
tence of large haciendas, socio-economic
exploitation, and political authoritarianism.
Over the years, it has triggered peasant
challenges to governmental authority and,


in response, repression of the local peasant
sindicatos.
The oil boom in the area during the
1970s sparked additional complexities as
hundreds of thousands flooded the area in
search of jobs and other opportunities.
Better prepared than the native peoples,
those interlopers imposed stresses and
strains on the socio-political fabric of the
region. To make matters worse, the exploi-
tation of the area's petroleum riches also
brought land condemnations, soaring in-
flation, increases in crime, environmental
damage, water pollution, and unmanage-


The official policy line
unequivocally denies any
connection between the
military's modernization
program and Central
America's turmoil.



able demands upon the local infrastructure.
All of that, in turn, catalyzed an angry re-
sponse on the part of the southerners, in-
cluding petitions, protest marches, road
blocks, and the occupation of drilling rigs
and construction sites. It is a familiar story:
an economic boom leading to social dislo-
cation leading to political protest.
But the dismal tale did not end there.
Migrants from the Central American na-
tions have added their destabilizing influ-
ences to the traditional poverty of the area,
the nefarious consequences of domestic
migration, and the opposition of the local
peoples. As the Salvadoran civil war rages
and as the Guatemalan guerrilla activities
heat up, thousands have fled across the
Mexican border to seek refuge and/or to
find better economic opportunity. The en-
tire southern region, in short, is experi-
encing unparalleled change and, in the
process, creating novel problems for
Mexican policy-makers.
In response, the Mexican decision-
makers have launched a series of programs
combining carrots and sticks. The carrots
encompass a host of developmental pro-
grams including road construction, medi-
cal clinics, new governmental stores, and
agricultural extension programs involving
the distribution of new seeds and the provi-
sion of tractors at token fees. While the
government's agricultural experts and so-
cial workers ply their trade, the military
presence has also grown. The Mexican
Army has assigned one of its most presti-
gious generals to the Chiapas zone and
reinforced its garrison in the state. A
Washington Post report quotes a "well-
placed official" as estimating that the mill-


tary post at Comitan grew from 3,000 to
8,000 men in early 1981. Remembering
that the entire military establishment in
Mexico numbers only a trifle more than
100,000, an increase of 5,000 men in one
provincial post is obviously significant.
In truth, however, it is difficult to posit the
exact degree of significance that pertains to
Mexican policy about Central America and
the Caribbean. In response to a query on
the Central American connection in the
Proceso interview, General Galvan ingenu-
ously noted that it was "a very interesting
question" demanding too much time to
explain. He then backed off, declaring it a
matter of foreign policy better addressed to
Jorge Castaneda, the Foreign Minister. Un-
official commentary in Mexico claims a
relationship between Central American
turmoil and the military's new posture. The
recent armaments purchases, furthermore,
clearly encompass more equipment than
necessary for maintaining internal order,
the traditional role of the Mexican military
establishment.
Mexicans now describe the Caribbean
Basin as Mexico's natural area of influence.
Growing military strength is a measurable
contribution to Mexico's more active role in
the affairs of the region. Although the mod-
ernization of the Mexican military is moti-
vated by more than the fear of revolutionary
contagion spreading north from Central
America, and although it is probably not
consciously connected to Mexico's ambi-
tions in the Caribbean, it has special signifi-
cance for both. As the Mexican military
pushes forward and evolves additional
strength and competence and as the
Caribbean Basin drama unfolds, the con-
nection between the two may become in-
creasingly crystallized.

University of Arizona political scientist, Ed-
ward J. Williams is a visiting researcher at the
Strategic Studies Institute of the US Army War
College. The views in this article are his own
and not necessarily those of the Department of
the Army




CArlBBCAN




is available in microform.

University Microfilms International
300 North Zeeb Road 30-32 Mortimer Street
Dept. PR. Dept P.R.
Ann Arbor, Mi 48106 London WIN 7RA
US.A. England


CAPIBBEAN r'VIEW/45











The Caribbean...
Continued from page 19



new urban poor and the new working class
and the new spreading urbanized middle
class groups: both of them the result of the
growing embourgeoisement of Caribbean
society. There is. of course, the earlier work
like Oscar Lewis' La Vida; but that work is
marred by its author's temptation to mis-
take pornography for anthropology and by
its tendency to look at the marginal ele-
ments instead of at the central core of the
worker-peasant classes. We need much
more work on the daily work experience in
factory, farm, co-operative, school, and
business office; what I have in mind as a
model are the illuri.ir .Jnrn books of the
American writer Studs Terkel on work in
America. When you look at the new task
force of blue-collar workers in the new
massive condominium business offices
that are springing up in the Golden Miles of
every leading Caribbean city it is also clear
that we need to bring Mittelholzer's Morn-
ing at the Office up to date. This is part of
the new middle class, what one Puerto
Rican sociologist has called una clase
televisada, a whole new generation
shaped, for the first time in the society, by
the US-oriented mass media.
The Caribbean has increasingly become
a new economic fiefdom controlled by the
multinationals, the offshore tax havens, the
wealthy insurance companies, the lucrative
tourist-hotel syndicates. We need to know a
lot more about them. Who are the new
managers? How do they get appointed?
What is their relationship with the local
host-governments? What is the nature of
the profit flow? The work already done on
the Caribbean upper groups is on the old
creole groups who are in many ways dis-
placed elites with their increasingly obso-
lete inbreeding rites and symbols: the Port
of Spain Portuguese and Syrian merchants,
the 21 families of Jamaican Jewry, the Cur-
acao burgher families, etc. But they are
traditional family capitalism. Our new
masters, by contrast, are the new global
finance capitalism; it is the High Life in
Executive Suite.
We will see the further expansion in the
1980s of the burgeoning new state system
in the Caribbean, that is, a new corporate
capitalism based on an alliance between
big business and big government. Scholars
like Archie Singham have already written on
it. That new state system itself requires
more research. What are its decision-
making processes? What are the develop-
ing relationships between its enlarged
public sector and the Chambers of Com-
merce and the business associations?
What about the new group of the new man-

46/CAiBBEAN rPlIEW


agerial elites? How does the 'revolving door'
syndrome operate between business and
government? How do they wheel and deal?
Harold Lutchman has already researched
the character of patronage in the old colo-
nial system in British Guiana. But what is
the character of the new patronage that the
new public state wields, certainly far more
pervasive and corrupting? But the growth of
this new state system requires research also
from another angle. I refer to the relation-
ship between state power and individual
freedom. I draw your attention to the 1980
annual report of Amnesty International, the


We may well be
entering a new decade
in which the habit of
authoritarianism will
extend its domain.



London-based human rights group. That
report tells us in its Americas section that
of a total of 21 governments deemed guilty
of human rights violations some five are in
the Caribbean proper, and if we think in
terms of the so-called Caribbean Basin it
rises to a total of twelve. The report is omi-
nous. It suggests that in the rest of the dec-
ade we are likely to see much more not only
of the Caribbean "boat people" but also of
the figure of the political prisoner.
All this is related to another emerging
phenomenon: the growth of ideological
pluralism within the region. We are in-
creasingly a pluralist society in ways never
imagined by the M.G. Smith school of
ethnic pluralism. The dramatic personae
of the region proliferate more than ever: the
professional revolutionary, the Rasta man,
the religious cultist, the Christian Socialist,
the liberal nationalist, the young business
types who believe still in the folklore of
free-enterprise capitalism, the nattily
dressed managerial type educated at MIT
or Cal Tech. In one way, that is admirable.
For it enriches the fascinating melange of
Caribbean society. In another way, it is dis-
turbing. For it goes hand in hand with the
ideological polarization of the region, be-
tween the authoritarian Right and the au-
thoritarian Left. I myself believe, as I look at
it all, that we may well be entering a new
decade in which the habit of au-
thoritarianism will extend its domain. I also
believe speaking of course individually
as a radical coming out of the European
democratic-socialist tradition that the
cause of Caribbean freedom requires that
we accept neither polarized extreme, that
we insist upon what H.G. Wells once aptly
termed the "doctrine of the suppressed


alternative." But I am not so naive as to
believe that that will happen easily. In any
case, the political scientists among us are
going to have their hands full studying the
new forms of government that are emerg-
ing in the region.
What is a plausible theory of the state in
the new and emerging Caribbean condi-
tions? The debate in the English-speaking
Caribbean about the so-called Westminster
model is a beginning. Is it true, as its more
radical critics assert, that it is an alien im-
port, to be discarded? Or can we say as
did Dr. Eric Williams in his 1980 PNM con-
vention address, that we must distinguish
between the accidents of the model and its
essences, its essences being rule of law,
freedom of speech, separation of church
and state, regular elections, etc. Which
thesis is more valid? And most importantly,
what will be the nature between Democracy
and Socialism in the region in the 1980's.
Are they mutually exclusive? What are the
ideal conditions which would make a mar-
riage between them feasible? We don't
know as yet. But I draw your attention to the
intriguing fact that even the Marxist school
in the region disagrees on this point: its new
Grenada ideologues insist that elections are
irrelevant, while its Guyana ideologues -
like Dr. Cheddi Jagan and Professor Clive
Thomas give them paramount impor-
tance. The disagreement, at least, pos-
sesses one virtue: it tells us that there is no
immaculate conception of Socialism.
We still await a single first-class study as
to how any one Caribbean government
actually works and operates, day to day.
Where there are for good or bad reasons
- officially closed societies, like Cuba and
Guyana, this becomes difficult, because the
academician is hindered by official secrecy.
So, Cuban studies, like Soviet and China
studies, are areas in which we see through a
glass darkly. But even in more open
societies there are problems. In the Trinidad
case, for example, we have seen a recent
rash of political memoirs by ex-govern-
mental ministers: Robinson, Solomon,
Mahabir. But they do not tell us much, if
only because the authors, anxious to
expose Dr. Williams' inward hunger, reveal
only too unwittingly their own inward
hungers.
A sub-section of ideological pluralism
concerns itself with the continuing relation-
ship between politics and religion. The
Caribbean folk-peoples still remain deeply
religious, with their syncretic cults and
groups. We shall need to continue the fas-
cinating work of the cultural psychiatrists,
both French and Haitian, into Haitian voo-
doo. We shall need to follow the Rasta
groups, as they move from anti-political
peace and love, through new political al-
liances as with the Jamaican PNP on to,
finally, guerilla groups fighting in the hills.
We srh.ll have to look, again, at the creoliza-










tion of the invading North American reli-
gious followings: and Raymond Mass&'s
study, Les Adventistes du septiemejour
aux Antilles Francaises, is a fascinating
account of how that creolizing process
takes place. Indeed, I myself would not put it
beyond the impossible that soon we might
witness another Great Revival or Great
Awakening in the region: the elements of
that possibility are all there. How many of us
are prepared to understand such an explo-
sion? For most of us come from pagan
societies more interested in the god of love
than in the love of God.

Caribbean Nationalism
What is the future of Caribbean nationalism
in the 1980s? Obviously, it will be the prob-
lem. of course, of completing the nation-
alist revolution that started in 1945. That
means that we shall have to keep an eye on
the continuing process, in Puerto Rico and
the US Virgin Islands. of what has become
known as the 'transfer of powers.' We shall
also have to keep an eye on the continuing
discontent in the French Antilles with the
departmentalization policy of the French
government.
The Caribbean, as a whole, is in its post-
nationalist period, quite a different
ballgame. We shall have to recognize, in the
1980s, the truth of the obsolescence of
sovereignty. You no sooner obtain it than
you have to consider relinquishing it to
higher forms of regional power and organi-
zation. In a world where the only viable unit
of planning is the world itself, it makes little
sense to be proliferating new, additional
little slices of sovereignties with all of their
inborn jealousies about national pride. It
seems to be eminently clear that the only
way forward is towards some system of
regional cooperation. The economists and
statisticians and planners among us will
have to address themselves to that issue. It
is already clear that common defense
policies, for example, are inescapable; no
one single Caribbean country can insure
itself fully against invasion. In whole areas of
regional economic life -tourism, industry,
agriculture we can no longer afford the
dog-eat-dog attitude, so that in tourism for
example we compete murderously against
each other, with, at any moment, too many
unoccupied hotel rooms in San Juan and
too few available rooms in St. Maarten.
Guyana could become the rice bowl of the
region: instead, obsolete colonial connec-
tions require that Puerto Rico imports its
rice, at inflated prices, from the California
Rice Producers Association. We need a re-
gional planning system which will organize
patterns of intra-regional migration so that
the idle hands of Barbados can be enabled
to develop the idle lands of Dominica. Or,
again, a truly astronomical food bill for the
region as a whole is due to the fact that
consumer tastes have been dictated by the


outside American and European food
chains; we shall never be able to feed our-
selves, as we could, until we break that
stranglehold of metropolitan gastronomi-
cal fashion. After all, it makes little eco-
nomic sense that some 90 percent of all
fish foods consumed in Puerto Rico are
imported, while Puerto Rican planners are
still unable to organize a functioning local
fisheries industry.
We have to re-examine our basic
assumptions about development. Devel-
opment, so far, has meant national devel-
opment. That is important, if only because
the nationalist sentiment is important; it is
no accident that the great hero-figure of the
Cuban Revolution is Jose Marti, who was no
Marxist, but a great Cuban nationalist. Yet I
myself would like to think that, from now on,
the nation-states of the region, whether old
like Santo Domingo or new like Antigua, will
come to realize that they should evolve, for
economic and technological purposes, as
parts of a new functional regional order,
planned consciously in each of its elements
for greater production and greater wealth.


This means, I think, that the idea of island
nationalism will seek its fulfillment more
and more on the cultural plane, less and
less on the economic and the political. We
will compete, healthily, in the Central
American and Caribbean Games; but we
will not compete, unhealthily, in each one of
us trying to get our favored slice of the
North American or Western European
sugar quota.
Or, to put this in a different way, we can
manage to limit the sovereignty of the indi-
vidual island nation-state by means of
some sort of functional federalism that is
to say, common cooperation along com-
mon concrete interests, whether it is re-
gional airlines, or regional maritime traffic,
or regional power supplies. Such regional
cooperation already exists in the form of
bodies like the Caribbean Health Associa-
tion, the Caribbean Nurses Association, not
to speak of the University of the West Indies
as the last surviving federal institution in the
field of higher education. I think, too, that
there is room for joint planning in the pro-
duction of particular commodities, or plans
CAIBBeAN PEVIEW/47


THE



CABBCAN


SSB~ AWARD



We are pleased to accept nominations for the third annual Caribbean
Review Award, an annual presentation to honor an individual who has
contributed to the advancement of Caribbean intellectual life.
The award recognizes individual effort irrespective of field, ideology,
national origin, or place of residence.
The Award Committee consists of: Lambros Comitas (Chairman),
Columbia University, New York; Fuat Andic, Universidad de Puerto Rico,
San Juan, Puerto Rico; Wendell Bell, Yale University, New Haven,
Connecticut; Locksley Edmondson, University of the West Indies,
Mona, Jamaica; Anthony P. Maingot, Florida International University,
Miami, Florida.
Nominations are to be sent to the Editor, Caribbean Review, Florida
International University, Miami, Florida 33199. Nominations must be
received by March 19, 1982.
The Third Annual Award will be announced at the Seventh Annual
Meeting of the Caribbean Studies Association, May 27-30,1982, Jamaica.
In addition to a plaque the recipient receives an honorarium of
$250, donated by the International Affairs Center of Florida International
University.










so made that there is specialized produc-
tion of one commodity in one country
which is related to specialized production of
some other commodity in another; and this
conceptual bilaterialism may become mul-
tilateral in character.
We have heard much inflated rhetoric
concerning the idea of Caribbean Man. A
typical expression is Robert Moore's ad-
dress sometime ago to the UNICA organi-
zation. According to Dr. Moore there exists
some sort of Caribbean person-prototype
possessed of certain grandiloquent virtues.
"The ontological concern of Caribbean
man," he tells us, "is really at bottom the
conflict between the desire for a universal
and the lust for the particular: the hunger to
be a part of that which has a transcending
validity, as well as the scion of the cud.Jir.n
security of that which has a local and
cradle-like comfort" (whatever all that
might mean). An implied critical answer is
contained in the article 'Does there exist a
Caribbean consciousness' published re-
cently by Frank Moya-Pons in the OAS
journal Las Americas. Without directly
addressing himself to Dr. Moore, Dr. Moya-
Pons effectively demolished the grand
theorizing about Caribbean man and
Caribbean consciousness. There is, he ar-
gues, no really valid collective regional
identity or conciencia, except, perhaps, in
certain groups like the university intelli-
gentsia and the managerial nomads of the
business companies. It is virtually impossi-
ble to think of any really effective coopera-
tion, political or economic, between
societies so different to each other like
socialist Cuba and capitalist Puerto Rico.
That is why I have already suggested that
any real regional cooperation must take the


form of limited functional cooperation in
concrete areas where concrete common
interests exist whether it is hurricane
defense, or food production or collective
bargaining on things like sugar quotas. All
those who rely upon dubious psychological
assumptions about Caribbean human na-
ture, or dream of a Common Economic
Community or even a revival of some sort
of political federalism like that of the old


There is no immaculate
conception of Socialism.



West Indies Federation, are engaged, it
seems to me, in Utopia-mongering. Con-
tinuing research must start off from this
recognition of the myth of Caribbean
homogeneity.

The Principle of Obligation
In Caribbean studies we need to admit the
principle of obligation. Professor Edward
Brathwaite has reminded his fellow-
historians that they must try to search for
the face within the archives, to seek to tell
the experience of the Caribbean slave and
ex-slave person within the historical pro-
cess. There is a type of Caribbean schol-
arship that sees slavery but not the slave;
imperialism but not the imperialist;
emancipation but not the emancipated;
immigration and emigration but not the
immigrant or the emigrant. In all of our
separate disciplines we need to hear more
of the reports of the victims themselves of
the general system. And we need to hear


more of it in their own rich street idiom and
less of it as we filter it through the social-
sciences academic jargon, in which fre-
quently obscurity is mistaken for profundity.
We need a lot more oral history, oral sociol-
ogy, oral anthropology.
Most of us study the Caribbean or at
least ought to because we are affection-
ately attached to the Caribbean and believe
deeply in the cause of its vital and hand-
some folk-peoples. For in the long run
without them we are nothing (for who
would we study?), and in the long run with
them we can be everything. Caribbean
studies go back to the tremendous schol-
arly work of the older generation -
Fernando Ortiz, Jean Price-Mars, Melville
Herskovits and if there is one single les-
son that those giants of our collective disci-
pline taught it is that it has been, and still
continues to be, the common people of the
Caribbean, the hoi-polloi, who have been
throughout the custodians of the creole
cultural tradition. As much today as yester-
day, they are the beginning and the end. It is
the historic and moral obligation of every
intellectual to give to them, the last full
measure of our love and devotion and trust
and loyalty.




Gordon Lewis teaches social science at the
University of Puerto Rico, Rio Piedras. His
book, Main Currents in Caribbean Thought
1492-1900, is forthcoming from Johns Hopkins
University Press. This article is adapted from
the keynote address to the Sixth Annual
Meeting of the Caribbean Studies Association,
held in St. Thomas, May 1981.


NTILLEN



VIEWW


ANTILLEN REVIEW intends
to satisfy the need for regular
and expert review on devel-
opments in and concerning
the Netherlands Antilles. By
means of responsible analyses
the political, financial-eco-
nomical, social and cultural
processes in the Netherlands
Antilles as a whole and
each island ,Jii.lujuIl, will
be spotlighted.


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48/CARBBEAN FPCIEW


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Mighty Shadow
Continued from page 23




groups. The Mighty Shadow is a product of
this society. He is merely reflecting the
violence which has become part of his
everyday environment.
The list of calypsoes in which the Mighty
Shadow demonstrated a violent and/or
aggressive tendency in his lyrics, is very
long indeed. If however we were to look
closely at one final example, it would be
noticed that Shadow ascends to yet another
dimension of the macabre. In Cook Curry
and Crow, the Mighty Shadow attributes a
certain cognitive ability to a "fowl cock" on
the "farmer's farm" who "spoke" out
against the exploitation of the farmer, in a
predictably violent manner.
The cock start to cuss,
I wish the egg burst.
The cock having regard to the treatment by
the farmer of one of his hen companions
"spoke" vengefully about the state of affairs,
Yuh know she now lay the egg,
Yuh want it to eat.
Yuh nose like a peg
It should mash up yuh teeth.
Here is a good example of Shadow raising
the violent content of his lyrics to new and
frightening levels. He seems so guided by
the perspective of physical aggressiveness
that he appears to conceive of violence in
the mind of the farmer's livestock. It is as
though the Mighty Shadow is convinced
that interaction among men and animals
cannot take place in the absence of violent
conflict.

A Politics of
Confrontation
Based on the content of the lyrics of some
of his calypsoes, one can reasonably con-
clude that the Shadow is convinced that
people are involved in some way or the
other, in a conspiracy against him. He also
seems aggrieved by some of the things
which people have done him in the past.
One senses this feeling of being wronged in
King from Hell, where Shadow indicated
the sort of punishment he was prepared to
administer to persons who offended him.
As stated earlier, when the Mighty Shadow
failed to win the calypso monarch crown, he
launched an attack on the standard of
judging of the competition. Shadow's re-
sponse was to conceive of some systematic
contrivance on the part of the judges to
deny him the crown. Shadow construed the
situation as a "them against me" situation
calypso judges versus the Mighty
Shadow, in essence a situation of confron-
tation. Following on from Jump,judges,
jump in 1977, Mighty Shadow returned in
1980 to tell of what he considered the lack


of recognition in Trinidad and Tobago of his
worth and contribution to calypso.
Shadow's feeling of rejection is expressed in
the calypso, Doh mess with meh head.
711 came to town
To run up some super vibrations.
My music was superbad,
I had peoplejumping like they mad.
People in authority, trying to
confuse me,
When they handing out trophy,
Like they does forget me.
I know why they acting so.
I come from the ghetto.


The Mighty Shadow has for
years now, remained
consistent, both lyrically
and in his stage
performance to the
Caribbean definition of
a shadow.



But since I get some food to eat
I keep on singing sweet,
Doh mess with meh head.
The fact that Shadow returned to this
topic of the evaluation of his work is an
indication of his disaffection with the treat-
ment he receives in the calypso environ-
ment. Doh mess with meh head goes
beyond the conspiracy of judges to include
the collusion of "those in authority."
Shadow feels that his stated humble begin-
ning has unalterably determined his future,
life would have been qualitatively better for
him had he not "come from the ghetto."
This attitude is one which is born of an
individual who behaves as though his per-
sonality is trapped by powerful opponents
or objects; hence the occasion for con-
frontation. But there are times when the
process of interaction simply breaks down
and Shadow seems to opt for solitude. He
appears weary of people who instead of
minding their own affairs, encroach on his
private spiritual and physical word.
They tell me don't walk with Jacob
Because Jacob does walk and
shake up,
They tell me don't talk to Bothram
Because the man foot stink like
toejam,
They telling me what to do,
And they telling where to go,
The knowledge I want to get
Is how to escape mister death.
The tolerance level in Toe Jam is evidently
quite low.
The dihl: ulr, h.: h Shadow experiences
in interacting with others, which has a tend-


ency to engender confrontation; also man-
ifests itself in the form of cynicism in the
extreme. A good example of this cynical
approach to life can be seen in his 1980
tune, ironically entitled Friendship:
Don't call me friend
I just don't like that name
MV can be friends,
If you can play the game.
Treat me right,
I treat you right,
And when we fail to play it straight,
That means time to quit.
Shadow employs this cynical attitude to
insulate himself against further hurt. To
become so secure against such negative
feelings he goes to the extreme:
The best friend a man could have
now-a-days,
Is a dead one.
One gets a good look at the way Shadow
sees himself in The Alien. The title itself
should signal the kind of self-image he has
developed. In The Alien Shadow moves
away from confronting others and seeks to
approach himself. Interestingly enough, he
approaches himself in the same way that he
interacts with others, and the result is simi-
lar serious confrontation. The first verse
of The Alien is a total reie.:ri-:.r of self.
Shadow looked into a mirror and con-
cluded that the reflection which he saw was
not his own.
It is not me,
Just couldn't be.
I infront de mirror
De man inside,
Like he want to take my brain
for a ride.
Ah said it's not me
Just couldn't be.
De dummy in the mirror is an alien
A beast from another dimension.
There seems to exist some discrepancy
between the image which Shadow conjures
about himself and that which is generally
attributed to him. Caught in this personality
vortex, Shadow becomes understandably
"confused." It can hardly be a coincidence
that the word "confuse" appears regularly in
the lyrics of his calypsoes: in I come out to
Play, Soca Boat, Toe Jam, Doh mess
with meh head, and The Alien. This
"confusion" is in part responsible for
Shadow's rejection of himself. As astound-
ing as Shadow's personality crisis may ap-
pear, his consequent actions are indeed
typically horrifying. The second verse of
The Alien dramatizes this point:
De man in the mirror
Was confusing
Ah draw up a plan to get rid of him.
Ah pass a razor close to me throat,
Ah want him to kill himself like
a goat.
I made a slash,
Then I stumble down.
If he ain't dead now, well

CAIBBEAN rt~,IV/49


I










something wrong.
When I rose up to my great surprise,
Ah mister was watching me in
meh eyes.
Even though the violence is here directed
inwardly, the force of aggression is not miti-
gated. In The Alien, the Mighty Shadow
confronts himself, renounces the self and
then proceeds to attempt to destroy this
negative/rejected self "ah draw up a
plan to get rid of him (self) ." The resolve of
The Alien represents a personality disorder.
There is no respite from such a malady, as is
evident in the third verse:
I call on de neighbor
To come and see,


Babylon...
Continued from page 27



"Look man," his partner says, producing
a folded dollar bill, "tek dis, but pay me back
when yo get right. Why yo don go push you
hand in somebody fuckin pocket or go an
snatch some bangle or something "
The first man takes the dollar and im-
mediately orders a pineapple tart and a
bottle of milk. Then he leaves. It is getting
dark outside. The brief tropical twilight is
swallowing up the street. On the corner a
group of ten or twelve boys in their late
teens and early twenties, armed with cutlas-
ses, knives and large palings, are playfight-
ing in the style of Wang Yu and Bruce Lee.
Two of them are having a serious argument.
"Ah gon fuck yo up," one says.
"Fo wha yo gon fuck me up?" the other
demands.
"Yo playing yo ain know. Yo rob me de
odder night when we went in dem people
house."
"Wha ah rob yo wid? Ah share everything
between me and yo."
"Yo tink ah stupid like dem puss yo does
climb pon? De people loss two hundred
dollars an yo tell me is only a hundred. Yo
better gie me fifty dollars mo or else is like
de police gon come fo me an de ambu-
lance fo yo. Me an yo is partners long now.
Yo know me don press when ah go on a wuk
an yo shunt rob me. So if yo don wan ah
fuck yo up, gie me wha is me own. Me an
you partnership finish from today. Ah gon
shark me alone from now on."
His partner continues to protest his inno-
cence. For a moment it looks as though a
real fight will start and there is some talk
among the people in the shop of betting on
the outcome. Then a man sitting astride a
bicycle interrupts. "Time fo vigilante wuk,"
he says.
The members of the group drift away into
the night in twos and threes or, like the two
50/CAITBBEAN rEvIEW


De man in de mirror acting like me.
He mocking my actions and
wouldn't stop,
And speaking de truth I getting
fed up,
She turn and she said,
'Stop you stupidness,
You better refer to a psychiatrist,'
You think I mad but neighbor
you lie,
If he is me tell me who am I?
Shadow rather judiciously affirmed his san-
ity in this third verse, to ally the formulation
of any psychiatric speculation about his
mental stability. What he did at the same
time, was to signal that the problem to


who were arguing, by themselves. "Vigilante
work" is a euphemism for the anticipated
robberies or burglaries of the evening
ahead. Robbery, known locally as "choke 'n'
rob" or just "choke," is a phenomenon of
comparatively recent origin, beginning not
as an outgrowth of the everyday activities of
delinquent gangs in the urban slums but of
the ethno-political rivalry between Africans
and East Indians which exploded into race
war in the 1960s. At that time lower class



The clothes on their back,
the girls on their corner,
and the money in their
pockets represent the sum
total of their lives' capital.




African teenagers and young adults living in
Georgetown were recruited to attack East
Indians in the streets of the city as part of a
general campaign to oust Cheddi Jagan's
People's Progressive Party from office.
During the course of administering these
beatings the boys discovered that their vic-
tims, many of whom were from the rural
areas, were in the habit of carrying large
sums of money and wearing gold jewelry.
Very soon the beatings became incidental,
robbery was the motive and anyone could
be a victim.
In the shop two teenagers, about eigh-
teen, are drinking beers and talking. They
are both dressed the same way tight
shirts, cut-off denims, loose-laced basket-
ball shoes and heavy gold chains. One is
explaining to the other why he is not shark-
ing this evening. Yesterday, on the road, he
made some money. "Man, yo know me
mudda ain lef tea fo me," he says, "ah din
have no money, so ah decide fo go to town
fo see what ah could get. Ah walk all about


which he alluded was even more profound
than it appeared to be on the surface. "If he
is me, tell me who am 7?" This question
when viewed in the context of the calypso
- The Alien is one which not merely
identifies a personality crisis but points to a
man who is perhaps earnestly in search of
his soul. Put differently Shadow is here
again raising a fundamentally philosophical
question about human existence "who
am I?"

Linden Lewis studies sociology at the Ameri-
can University, Washington, D.C. He has pre-
viously taught sociology at the University of the
West Indies, Cave Hill Campus.


town an ah see a lady buyin at a store, so ah
stop an watch at she. When she finish buyin
she put she purse in she pocket and walk
down de pavement. Ah walk up quickly and
pick she purse, it had forty dollars, she din
know. Ah den went in a yard, den ah went at
a shop an buy a lunch. When ah finish ah
went to a store and bought a pants an a
shirt. An den catch de bus an went home.
About nine forty ah went on de road. Ah saw
a frien, he say 'ah wan a [partner] to mek a
spin an see ah get a raise,' so ah say 'leh we
go.' Ah den pick up a cycle dat was leanin by
a post, we wen down de street an ah saw a
man wid a gold band an he had about four
rings. Ah ran quickly an choke him, me spar
ran up an tek off de band, he den bite off de
rings from de man's finger, we ran away an
left de cycle because we was bein chased by
some people but we get away.borh De nex
day bout eight in de morning we sol de gold.
We got two hundred an thirty dollars an split
de money an ah went an bank fifty."
The other man asks him if every time he
gets money he goes and banks piece. "Yeah
man," he says, "because when yo tiefing yo
mus expect something to happen. Like if yo
get lock up and yo have been put on bail, yo
can bail yourself. An yo have fo have money
for hire a lawyer."
Choke 'n' rob is a way of life for hundreds
of young streetcorner men and teenage
boys in Georgetown. Jail, of course, is al-
ways a risk and a reality. (In Guyana violent
crime is often punished with "strokes" of a
cane or whip.) To many it is also a home. Yet
the alternative may be worse: to be nobody
and to suffer the continued violation of
autonomy that being nobody and having
nothing demands.



David J. Dodd teaches sociology at Fairleigh
Dickinson University in New Jersey. Between
1974 and 1978 he was a member of the De-
partment of Sociology, University of Guyana. A
different version of this article will appear in
New Society, London.











Jombee Dance
Continued from page 31




The dance is also social drama in the
sense that its symbolic processes express a
plot which leads to climaxes. The dancers
are actors who slowly during the night show
the dramatic personae of the opposing
forces. The dancers and acts of obeah are a
mini-recapitulation of a social plot which
extends beyond the frame of the dance
itself. Acts of obeah, which outside the con-
fines of the dance tend to be personal
magic, are here an aid in the development
of social processes. The spontaneity of the
dance leaves many loose ends, mini-plots
which sprout up and never develop. But
one would expect this in a drama where the
unprogrammed is programmed. The
dominant symbol of the drama is clearly the
jombees; they preside over the flow pattern
of the ritual. Their presence or absence
makes or breaks the dance. In Penny's
dance, for example, the jombees are both
the ancestors of Penny, the loving dead, as
well as the forces opposing Penny, the spirit
forces who "mashed up" Jennie and Paul.
On the one hand, they are tokens of kinship
and friendship ties; on the other, they are
destructive and mischievous.
Clustered about the dominant jombee
symbol are a host of ordinary items, smaller
symbols which point to the reality of the
dominant symbol. The jombees, after all,
are general invisible and manifest only
through possession. Their presence must
be made real through physical symbols
such as enticements of food, the aroma of
the lilies, parched corn and rum poured on
the floor and rafters. Some observers think
that the dance is simply a wild night of en-
tertainment, boozing and feasting. The
items of food, drink and entertainment
make sense as ritual only when seen as
symbols supporting the dominant jombee
symbol. In short, it is the focal symbol of the
jombees which transforms the ordinary
items of food and drink into religious ritual.
Anyone observing the jombee dance can-
not but be impressed by the ordinariness of
the ritual items. Not a single item surfaces
during the dance which cannot be found in
a Montserratian home, marketplace or
small store. Only when one understands
the transforming power of the jombee
symbol does one come to realize how ex-
traordinary the ordinary had become. In
fact, the ordinary items are ideally suited to
the expression of a social drama. The fact
that the dancing, feasting and drinking can
and are part of a dance just for a "spree"
shows that something brings the ordinary
onto a different plane of efficacy. Kin and
friends may also be present at the secular
drum dance, but they are present in differ-


ent roles, not as supporting kin and friends
but as neighbors enjoying a good time. At
the secular drum dance, there is no turning,
only kicking up the heels (no possession by
the jombees, only some wild and frenzied
dancing). A student of altered states of con-
sciousness might identify the behavior as
identical in both cases; but at the inter-
pretative level of Montserratian culture, it is
the presence of the jombee symbol which
gives the dance the power to transform the
ordinary. Little wonder, then, that the very
jombees are symbolized by a visible
transformation, that change in the dancer


I know of no modern

agency or institution on the
island which replaces the
jombee dance emphasis
on kinship and friendship.


known as turning.
In the jombee dance, the turning dancers
break through the control of ordinary, vil-
lage social structure and, by means of the
possession symbol, express a communion
and comradeship with the sponsor (in the
above case, Penny). Once a dancer enters
the ring and begins to turn, his or her status
outside the dance vanishes; all the dancers,
regardless of sex, age or religion, are either
in support or in opposition to the sponsor's
cause. More particularly, the liminal phase
of trance dancing liberates the dancer from
general norms which mark life before and
after the dance; it is truely betwixt and be-
tween. The very freedom of movement and
general abandon in the ecstatic turning is
beyond the cultural limits of day-to-day life.
Within the jombee dance, turning is de-
sired; outside the dance, even at a rum
shoppe drum dance, such ecstatic aban-
don is rare and certainly undesirable be-
havior.
Thejombee dance is dying. The fact of its
demise is clear; the reasons are not so ap-
parent. If the dance developed and survived
years of colonial opposition and suppres-
sion, why should it disappear now, precisely
at a time of'greater freedom? It is happening
now because the forces competing with the
dance are either different than in the past or
their competition more intense. Because
the worldview expressed in the dance was
so holistic the dance could perform many
functions; but now these same functions
are being filled by other institutions. The
transistor radio puts every Montserratian in
contact with steele band, reggae and other
modern music. It is not surprising, there-
fore, that the musikers of the bands are all
over fifty and complain that the young
people are no longer interested in the jom-


bee dance music. The curing function of
the ritual can now be fulfilled by the knowl-
edge and extension of modern medicine
brought by the rural clinics. Moreover, the
modern drug stores, now within easy ac-
cess of anyone on the island, are competi-
tion for the obeah of the dance. Pentecostal
and evangelical sects are bombarding the
countryside with a campaign of very active
preaching against obeah and the jombees;
they do so with an intensity which appar-
ently characterized none of the traditional
denominations. In the past, the larger de-
nominations have tolerated the folk reli-
gion, perhaps by necessity because of few
ministers or priests. The modernizing pol-
icy of the largely self-governing colonial
government and the media stress a spec-
ialized and compartmentalized way of life.
To get ahead in this highly competitive
world, Montserratians know they have to be
specialized and trained. Two decades ago,
thousands of Montserratians were leaving
the island to find jobs in Canada and En-
gland; now they leave the island to take
special courses which will qualify them for
technical specialties. The holistic worldview
of the folk religion which brings together
in one totality aspects of devotion,
medicine, social relationships and predic-
tions about the future is less and less
seen as a viable philosophy.
Yet, I know of no modern agency or in-
stitution on the island which replaces the
jombee dance emphasis on kinship and
friendship bonds. No other single event on
the Island of Montserrat brings together at
one point so much of the islands traditional
folklore, such symbolic statements of kin-
ship and friendship bonds, expressing the
art forms of the dance and music, and
capturing the wisdom of a holistic
worldview as does the jombee dance.
The plastic arts apparently died out as a
cultural expression on Montserrat; but
music and dance continue in the jombee
dance ritual. The words of the dance music
encapsulate Montserratian history and at-
titudes towards life.
But the jombees themselves will also
quickly become only amusing historical
relics. People will continue to nervouslyjoke
about them; jombee tunes will occasionally
be played in a concert at the University
Center or in a rum shoppe. Dutcher's Art
Studio will perhaps continue to make those
cute little glass figurines of the jombees for
tourists. But apart from these relics, the
ancestors will no longer be called forth in
ritual. And so the dance is dying. But with its
death a reservoir of Montserratian cultural
heritage will be lost.




Jay D. Dobbin teaches anthropology at the
University of Maryland Far Eastern Division.

CAIBBEAN PCVIEW/51


I











What Did He

Say...
Continued from page 33

make sense in a society where class-
induced differences are as pervasive as
anywhere else.

Thought Promoting
The scientific value of Saying & Meaning
in Puerto Rico is impaired by its author's
disregard for basic definitions and plottings
of the terrain. However science isn't every-
thing and some scientifically-flawed books
may do more to promote thought and sug-
gest avenues for exploration than their
methodologically more impeccable, but
basically pedestrian, academic counter-
parts. Saying & Meaning is just such a
book. Time and again this reviewer was
struck by insights that lit up dark corners of
his Puerto Rican experience; one knew the
facts, but it was the pattern that related and
made sense of them that had escaped one.
As an example, here is a beautiful "episode"
taken from the author's own experience: "I
was returning to my apartment by the only
staircase when a dog that had almost never
taken notice of me before attacked me. I
began to shout for the owner, a neighbor in
the same building, and she and a second
neighbor rushed out. The dog was re-
trieved. Then the second neighbor said to
the owner of the dog: 'Don't worry about it.
He is really a very nice fellow...' She was
apologizing to the owner of the dog for me,
the one who was attacked!" Morris's offense
was to have lost his temper; better a dog-
bite than the failure "to keep an even tone."
Here is a nice illustration of the quietism


which puts peace between neighbors be-
fore all else, a symptom of that basic de-
cency, involving a debilitating tendency to
tolerate wrongs, which characterizes Puerto
Rican society.
I like too Morris's description of selling
clerks who know nothing about what they
sell, although they occasionally volunteer
an opinion which is "more like a guess be-
cause it is expected of them to have an
opinion;" and his reference to customers
who fail to get attention when they visit
government offices. In the latter case, after
noting the brisk socializing that goes on
(groups gathered round a desk inspecting
photos of the latest baby, etc.), he con-
cludes that "service to the public is.an
interference to the internal life of the institu-
tion." No doubt a show of temper will get
the job done but at the cost of raised
eyebrows and a loss of face on the part of
the protestor.
As for Morris's more general conclusions
about the indirectness and imprecision of
Puerto Rican language-use, the issues
raised are too far-reaching and problematic
to be disposed of briefly. This is particularly
true of an issue which is crucial for the


whole insular future; namely, the disjunc-
tion Morris claims to find between "the gen-
eral level of indirectness" characterizing
Puerto Rican language-use and the ever-
intensifying dependence on a technology
for which education and training "valuing a
considerable degree of precision" are
needed. Morris rather assumes that Puerto
Ricans will have to talk (and therefore think)
better if they are to make a success of
forming part of the modern world, but on
the whole I believe that they in fact talk and
think sufficiently well for their own pur-
poses and their own happiness.
No doubt these purposes and happiness
do not include an unqualified acceptance
of "progress" or a quite unqualified assimi-
lation to modernism. However, is that al-
together a bad thing? The warmth and hu-
manity of the island may indeed be the only
"progress" we should be striving towards, in
which case a certain degree of linguistic
imprecision and redundancy may be a
small price to have to pay to achieve it.

San Juan-born Englishman Gerald Guinness
teaches English literature at The University of
Puerto Rico in Rio Piedras.


52/CA_?BBcAN REVIEW













Recent Books


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

By Marian Goslinga


Anthropology and Sociology

LA BATALLA EN EL MEXICO RURAL. Gustavo
Esteva. Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico), 1980.
243 p. $8.75.

BILINGUAL EDUCATION FOR HISPANIC
STUDENTS IN THE UNITED STATES.
Joshua A. Fishman, Gary D. Keller, eds.
Teachers College, Columbia University, 1981.

LOS CAMPESINOS COLOMBIANOS.
Francisco Zuluaga Jimenez. Pontificia
Universidad Javeriana (Bogota, Colombia),
1981. 222 p. $10.00.

LOS CHICANOS: SEGREGACION Y
EDUCACION. Elena Bilbao, Maria Antonieta
Gallart. Editorial Nueva Imagen (Mexico),
1981. 258 p. $14.55.

CHRONICLE OF THE GUAYAKI INDIANS: THE
ACHE, NOMADIC HUNTERS OF PARAGUAY.
Pierre Clastres. P Auster and L. Davis, trans.
Mole Pub. Co. (Bonners Ferry, Idaho), 1981.
451 p. $35.00. Translation of Chronique des
indiens guayaki.

THE COSMIC ZYGOTE: COSMOLOGY IN THE
AMAZON BASIN. Peter G. Roe. Rutgers
University Press, 1981. 451 p. $35.00.

THE DOMINICAN PEOPLE, 1850-1900:
NOTES FOR A HISTORICAL SOCIOLOGY
H. Hoetink. Stephen K. Ault, trans. Johns
Hopkins University Press. 1981. 272 p.
$22.50. Translation of El pueblo dominicano.

EAST INDIANS IN THE CARIBBEAN:
COLONIALISM AND THE STRUGGLE
FOR IDENTITY. Bridget Brereton, Winston
Dookeran. eds. Kraus International.
1981. $30.00.

ENSAYOS SOBRE LA DOMINACION Y LA
DESIGUALDAD: ANTOLOGIA DEL
PENSAMIENTO ECONOMIC Y SOCIAL
DE AMERICA LATINA. Domingo Felipe Maza
Zavala. Espasa Calpe Colombiana (Bogota.
Colombia), 1981. 294 p. $18.00.

HOMICIDE AND REBELLION IN COLONIAL
MEXICAN VILLAGES. William B. Taylor.
Stanford University Press. 1981.
242 p. $5.95.

ILLEGAL ALIENS IN THE WESTERN
HEMISPHERE: POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC
FACTORS. Kenneth E Johnson, Miles W.


Williams. Praeger, 1981. 222 p. $25.95.


KAISO: THE STORY OF TRINIDAD CALYPSO.
Keith Q. Warner. Three Continents Press,
1981. 135 p. $17.00; $8.00 paper.

LATIN AMERICAN PHILOSOPHY OF LAW IN
THE TWENTIETH CENTURY Josef L. Kunz.
Rothman (Littleton. Conn.), 1981. 120 p.
$20.00. Reprint of the 1950 ed.

LATIN AMERICAN WOMEN: THE MEEK
SPEAK OUT June H. Turner, ed. International
Educational Development (Silver Spring,
Maryland), 1981. $6.95.

THE LONG ROAD NORTH. John Davidson.
Texas Monthly Press (Austin. Tex.).
1981. $5.95. Mexican migration to the
United States.

MANUEL. Hugh Steven. Editorial Caribe
(Miami. Fla.). 1981. 132 p. $3.25. About
Mexico's Indians.

MEXICO: LA DISPUTE POR LA NACION Y
PERSPECTIVES Y OPCIONES DEL
DESARROL LO. Rolando Cordera, Carlos
Tello. Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico). 1981.
149 p. $6.00.

MUJER. PODER Y DESARROLLO EN EL
PERU. Judith Prieto de Zegarra. Dorhca
(Lima. Peru), 1981. 2 vols. $30.00.

PATTERNS OF DRINKING IN BARBADOS.
Graham M.S. Dann. Cedar Press (Barbados),
1980. 157 p. $7.50.

THE POLITICS OF LANGUAGE: THE
DILEMNA OF BILINGUAL EDUCATION FOR
PUERTO RICANS. Pastora San Juan Cafferty,
Carmen Rivera-Martinez. Westview Press,
1981. 200 p. $20.00.


c QUE ES LA FILOSOFIA
LATINOAMERICANA? INTRODUCTION AL
FILOSOFAR. German Marquinez Agote.
Editorial El Buho (Bogota, Colombia),
1981. 148 p.

SLAVES WHO ABOLISHED SLAVERY Richard
Hart. Institute of Social and Economic
Research, University of the West Indies
(Jamaica), 1980. 248 p. $10.00.
About slavery and the slave-trade in
the Caribbean.

SMALL GARDEN-BITTER WEED. George
.Beckford, Michael Witter. Maroon Publishing
(Morant Bay, Jamaica), 1980. 180 p. $7.00. A
social and economic history of Jamaica.

UTOPIA Y REVOLUTION: EL PENSAMIENTO
POLITICO CONTEMPORANEO DE LOS
INDIOS EN AMERICA LATINA. Guillermo
Bonfil Batalla, ed. Editorial Nueva Imagen
(Mexico), 1981. 439 p. $22.45.

WOMEN OF THE ANDES. Susan C. Bourque.
University of Michigan Press. 1981. 320 p.
$18.50; $9.50 paper.

WORKING MEN AND GANJA: MARIHUANA
USE IN RURAL JAMAICA. Melanie Dreher.
Institute for the Study of Human Issues, 1981.
256 p. $18.50.



Biography

ANDRES BELLO: BREVE ENSAYO SOBRE
SU VIDA Y OBRA. Alamiro de Avila Martel.
Editorial Universitaria (Santiago, Chile), 1981.
99 p.

ASI ERA BOLIVAR. Rosa Restrepo de Martinez.
Editorial Cosmos (Bogota, Colombia), 1981.
249 p. $15.00.

BOLIVAR EN EL TIEMPO. Francisco Cuevas
Cancino. Tall. Graf, del Banco Popular
(Bogota, Colombia), 1981. 398 p. $40.00.

GUYANA GOLD: THE STORY OF WESLEY
BAIRD, GUYANA'S GREATEST MINER.
Wesley Baird. Three Continents Press, 1981.
210 p. $16.00.

THE LAST PATRON. Jose Ortiz y Pino.
Sunstone Press (Santa Fe, New Mexico),
1981. 160 p. $12.95; $8.95 paper. Biography
of Mexicans.
CAIBBEAN IEVIEW/53


I _










LOS PRIMEROS CIEN ANOS DE PANCHO
VILLA. Arturo Langle Ramirez. Costa-Amic
(Mexico), 1980. 165 p. $9.00.

SOLOMON: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY Patrick
Solomon. Imprint Caribbean (Trinidad and
Tobago), 1981. 253 p. $9.75. An insider's
view of the political process in Trinidad and
Tobago with emphasis on 1943-1956.

Description and Travel

AY AY: AN ISLAND ALMANAC. George
Seaman. Antilles Graphics (St. Croix, US
Virgin Islands), 1980. 120 p. $7.25.

BON VOYAGE: THE CRUISE GUIDE TO THE
CARIBBEAN. James W Morrison. Arco, 1981.
320 p. $12.95; $8.95 paper.

FIELDING'S CARIBBEAN 1982. Margaret
Zellers. Rev. ed. Fielding, 1981.
875 p. $10.95.

LA PAZ: UNA CIUDAD INDOMITA. Mariano
Baptista Gumucio. Biblioteca Popular
Boliviana de 'Ultima Hora' (La Paz, Bolivia),
1981. 107 p. $4.95.

MEDELLIN: SU ORIGEN, PROGRESS Y
DESARROLLO. Jorge Restrepo Uribe, Luz
Posada de Greiff. Servigraficas (Medellin,
Colombia), 1981. 658 p. $100.00.

SOUTH AMERICAN LAND BIRDS: A
PHOTOGRAPHIC AID TO IDENTIFICATION.
John S. Dunning. Harrowood Books
(Newton Square, Penn.), 1981.
400 p. $32.50.

STREET'S CRUISING GUIDE TO THE
EASTERN CARIBBEAN. Donald M. Street,
Jr. Norton, 1981. $27.95. Vol. 1 in a series.


Economics

ACUMULACION DE CAPITAL Y EMPRESAS
TRASNACIONALES EN CENTRO-
AMERICA. Donald Castillo Rivas. Siglo XXI
Editores (Mexico), 1980. 277 p. $9.25.

APRISMO Y SINDICALISMO EN EL PERU:
DOCUMENT HISTORIC SOBRE LA
ORGANIZATION Y LUCHAS DE LOS
MOVIMIENTOS OBREROS PERUANOS,
1943-1948. Piedad Pareja. Studium (Lima,
Peru), 1981. 199 p. $7.00.

APUNTES SOBRE EL DESARROLLO
PARAGUAYO, 1940-1973. Anibal Miranda.
Comuneros (Asunci6n, Paraguay), 1980.
287 p. $17.00.

AUTHORITARIAN CAPITALISM: BRAZIL'S
CONTEMPORARY ECONOMIC AND
POLITICAL DEVELOPMENT Thomas
Bruneau, Philippe Faucher. Westview Press,
1981. 225 p. $26.00: $12.50 paper.

LA CONCESSION BARCO: SINTESIS
HISTORIC DE LA EXPLOTACION
PETROLERA EN COLOMBIA. Alvaro
Concha. El Ancora Editores (Bogota,
Colombia), 1981. 145 p. $6.00.

54/CArIBBEAN I~EVIEW


THE COPPER INDUSTRY IN THE CHILEAN
ECONOMY: AN ECONOMETRIC ANALYSIS.
Manuel Lasaga. Lexington Books, 1981.
198 p. $22.95.

HET CURACAOSE PLANTAGEBEDRIJF IN DE
NEGENTIENDE EEUW WE. Renkema. De
Walburg Pers (Zutphen, Netherlands), 1981.
Nfl.49.50. Plantations on Curacao in the 19th
century.

LA DECADE DE LOS OCHENTA: OPCIONES
PARA EL DESARROLLO DE MEXICO.
Octavio Rodriguez Araujo, et al. El Caballito
(Mexico), 1981. 157 p. $8.75.


ENSAYOS SOBRE LA ECONOMIC PERUANA.
Jorge Gonzales lzquierdo, ed. Universidad del
Pacifico (Lima, Peru), 1980.
168 p. $9.00.

EXCHANGE RATE RULES: THE THEORY,
PERFORMANCE AND PROSPECTS OF
THE CRAWLING PEG. John Williamson, ed.
St. Martin's Press, 1981. 410 p. $33.75.
Proceedings of a conference held in Oct. '79
in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil with many
references to Latin America.

FINANCIAL INTERMEDIARIES AND
INTEREST LINKAGES BETWEEN NORTH
ATLANTIC AND CARIBBEAN ECONOMIES.
TRINIDAD BUSWAY: A USER SURVEY W
Joefield-Napier, J.R. Underwood, L.G. Cadan.
Institute of Social and Economic Research,
University of the West Indies (Trinidad and
Tobago), 1980. 82 p. $7.00. Two essays.

A HISTORY OF THE GUYANESE WORKING
PEOPLE, 1881-1905. Walter Rodney. Johns
Hopkins University Press, 1981.
304 p. $6.95.

MADE IN JAMAICA: THE DEVELOPMENT OF
THE MANUFACTURING SECTOR IN
JAMAICA. Mahood Ali Ayub. Johns Hopkins
University Press, 1981. 120 p. $6.50.

MEXICO'S AGRICULTURAL DILEMMA. P
Lamartine Yates. University of Arizona Press,
1981. 291 p. $19.95.

LA NATURALEZA DEL CICLO ECONOMIC
EN EL PERU. Maria Cruz Saco, Bruno
Seminario. Universidad del Pacifico (Lima,
Peru), 1980. 222 p. $9.50.


NICARAGUA'S REVOLUTIONARY ECONOMY
Harold Sims. Institute for the Study of
Human Issues, 1981. $2.95.

LOS NUEVOS RICOS EN MEXICO. Ricardo
Diaz Conty. Castillo (Monterey, Mexico), 1980.
107 p. $9.75.

POLITICAL DE MIGRACIONES LABORALES
EN COLOMBIA. Ministerio del Trabajo y
Seguridad Social (Colombia), Servico
Nacional de Empleo (Colombia). SENALDE
(Bogota, Colombia), 1980. 20 vols. $150.00.

LOS PROBLEMS ECONOMICS DEL
DESARROLLO EN COSTA RICA. Oscar
Barahona Streber, et al. Editorial Universidad
Estatal a Distancia (San Jose, Costa Rica),
1980. 210 p.

PROYECTOS DE DESARROLLO EN BOLIVIA.
Rene Gonzales Moscoso. Editorial Los
Amigos del Libro (Cochabamba, Bolivia),
1981. 164 p. $11.95.

RECENT PERFORMANCE AND TRENDS IN
THE CARIBBEAN ECONOMY:
IMPERIALISM, A CONTEMPORARY STUDY.
Kempe Hope, R.M. Walters. Institute of Social
and Economic Research, University of the
West Indies (Trinidad and Tobago), 1980.
118 p. $7.00.

RELACIONES ECONOMICS DE COLOMBIA
CON LOS PAISES DEL CARIBE INSULAR.
Juan Jose Echavarria S., Alfredo L. Fuentes
H. Tall. Graf. del Banco de la Repiblica
(Bogota, Colombia), 1981. 224 p. $10.00.

REVOLUTION AND ECONOMIC
DEVELOPMENT IN CUBA. Arthur MacEwan.
St. Martin's Press, 1981. 265 p. $22.50.

THE STRUGGLE FOR LAND: A POLITICAL
ECONOMY OF THE PIONEER FRONTIER
IN BRAZIL FROM 1930 TO THE PRESENT
DAY Joe Foweraker. Cambridge University
Press, 1981. 260 p. $35.55.

TRADING IN LATIN AMERICA: THE IMPACT
OF CHANGING POLICIES. Business
International Corp. BI, 1981. 237 p.

WORKERS FROM THE NORTH:
PLANTATIONS, BOLIVIAN LABOR AND THE
CITY IN NORTHWEST ARGENTINA. Scott
Whiteford. University of Texas Press, 1981.
201 p.


History and Archaeology

AZTECS, MAYAS AND THEIR
PREDECESSORS: ARCHAEOLOGY OF
MESOAMERICA. Muriel R Weaver. 2d eu.
Academic Press, 1981. 624 p. $19.50.

BRITISH HONDURAS: A HISTORICAL AND
CONTEMPORARY SURVEY David A.
Waddell. Greenwood Press, 1981. 151 p.
$19.75. Reprint of the 1961 ed.

THE CENTRAL AMERICAN REPUBLICS.
Franklin D. Parker. Greenwood Press, 1981.
348 p. $32.50. Reprint of the 1964 ed.











CODEX EN CRUZ. Charles E. Dibble.
University of Utah Press, 1981.
2 vols. $45.00.

COLOMBIA: INFRENTAMIENTO
IGLESLA-ESTADO, 1819-1887. Jorge
Villegas. La Carreta Ineditos (Medellin,
Colombia), 1981. 184 p. $5.00.

LOS COMUNEROS, 1781-1981. Antonia
Garcia. Plaza & Janes (Bogota, Colombia),
1981. 237 p.

CRONOLOGIA HISTORIC ARGENTINA.
Armando Alonso Pifieiro. Depalma (Buenos
Aires, Argentina), 1981. 531 p. $50.00.

FACING THE CHALLENGE OF
EMANCIPATION. Sehon Goodridge. Cedar
Press (Barbados), 1981. 112 p. $5.75. The
role of the Anglican Church in 19th
century Barbados.

THE FISH IS RED: THE STORY OF THE
SECRET WAR AGAINST CASTRO. Warren
Hinckle, William Turner. Harper & Row, 1981.
384 p. $12.95.

THE FLORENTINE CODEX, A GENERAL
HISTORY OF THE THINGS OF NEW SPAIN:
BOOK 2, THE CEREMONIES. Bemardino
de Sahagun. 2d rev. ed. University of Utah
Press, 1981.
247 p. $40.00.

FRANCISCO DE URDINOLA Y EL NORTE DE
LA NUEVA ESPANA. Vito Alessio Robles.
Editorial Porrua (Mexico), 1981.
333 p. $35.00.

HISTORIC ARCHITECTURE OF THE
CARIBBEAN. David Buisseret Heinemann
(London, Eng.), 1980. 112 p. $15.95.

HITLER'S SECRET WAR IN SOUTH AMERICA,
1939-1945. Stanley E. Hilton. Louisiana State
University Press, 1981. 353 p. $20.00.

HUMAN CARGOES: THE BRITISH SLAVE
TRADE TO SPANISH AMERICA, 1700-1739.
Colin Palmer. University of Illinois Press,
1981. 212 p. $12.95.

EL IMPERIO DE LOS CUATRO SUYOS:
BREVE EXPOSICION POLITICA-SOCIAL
DEL INCARIO. Luis Fernando Guachalla.
Biblioteca Popular Boliviana de 'Ultima hora'
(La Paz, Bolivia), 1981. 189 p. $4.95.

THE INHERITORS. William Claypole, John
Robottom. Longman, 1981. 224 p. $5.95. A
history of the Caribbean area.

LATIN AMERICA: A CONCISE INTERPRETIVE
HISTORY. E. Bradford Burns. 3d ed.
Prentice-Hall, 1981. 352 p. $12.95.

LATIN AMERICA: AN INTRODUCTORY
SURVEY. Brian Blouet, Olwyn M. Blouet
Wiley, 1981. 350 p. $14.95.

THE LIFE AND POEMS OF A CUBAN SLAVE:
JUAN FRANCISCO MANZANO, 1797 TO
1854. Edward J. Mullen, ed. Shoe String
Press (Hamden, Conn.), 1981. $25.00.


MEXICO: REVOLUTION TO EVOLUTION,
1940 TO 1960. Howard E Cline. Greenwood
Press, 1981. 375 p. $29.75. Reprint of
the 1971 ed.

MEXICO: UN PUEBLO EN LA HISTORIC.
*Enrique Semo, ed. Universidad Aut6noma
de Puebla (Mexico), 1981. 365 p. $15.00.

OF GOD AND MEN: THE HERITAGE OF
ANCIENT MEXICO. Anna B. Gyles, Chloe
Sayer. Harper & Row, 1981. 240 p. $15.95.

PROCESS DE NARINO POR LA
PUBUCACION CLANDESTINE DE LOS


DERECHOS DEL HOMBRE Y DEL
CIUDADANO. Guillermo Hernandez de Alba,
ed, Presidencia de la Republica (Bogota,
Colombia), 1981. 570 p. $25.00.

EL RETO DEL ESPACIO ANDINO:
INTERPRETATION ECOLOGICA DE LOS
ANDES A TRAVES DE SU HISTORIC. Oliver
Dollfus. Institute de Estudios Peruanos, 1981.
141 p. $7.00.

ST EUSTATIUS: A SHORT HISTORY OF THE
ISLAND AND ITS MONUMENTS. Ypie
Attema. 2d ed. De Walburg Pers (Zutphen,
Netherlands), 1981. Nfl.17.50.

SANTO DOMINGO: TIERRA DE FRONTERA,
1750-1800. Maria Rosario Sevilla Soler.
Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos
(Seville, Spain), 1980. 502 p. 1,800 ptas.

THE STATE, EDUCATION AND SOCIAL
CLASS IN MEXICO, 1880-1928. Mary K.
Vaughan. Northern Illinois University Press,
1981. 380 p. $22.50.

STUDIES IN SPANISH-AMERICAN
POPULATION HISTORY. David J. Robinson,
ed. Westview Press, 1981. 276 p. $20.00.


Language and Literature

CHILEAN WRITERS IN EXILE. Femando
Alegria, et al. Crossing Press (Trumansburg,
N.Y.), 1981. 224 p. $13.95; $7.95 paper.

COMPARATIVE AFRO-AMERICAN: AN
HISTORICAL COMPARATIVE STUDY OF
ENGLISH-BASED AFRO-AMERICAN
DIALECTS OF THE NEW WORLD. Mervyn


Alleyne. Karoma (Ann Arbor, Mich.),
1980. 253 p. $8.50. Includes Jamaica
and Surinam.

DEPENDENCY THEORY AND LITERARY
ANALYSIS: REFLECTIONS ON VARGAS
LLOSA'S "THE GREEN HOUSE." M.J.
Fenwick. Institute for the Study of Ideologies
and Literature (Minneapolis, Minn.), 1981.

DEREK WALCOTT Robert D. Hamner. Twayne,
1981. $13.95.

JAMAICAN WOMAN: AN ANTHOLOGY OF
POEMS. Pamela Mordecai, Mervyn Morris,
eds. Heinemann Educational Books
(Jamaica), 1980. 110 p. $5.25 Fifteen female
poets from Jamaica.

LANGUAGE OF THE PUERTO RICAN
STREET A SLANG DICTIONARY WITH
ENGLISH CROSS-REFERENCES. Cristino
Gallo. Book Service of Puerto Rico, 1980.

NARRATIVA HISPANOAMERICANA, 1816-1981:
HISTORIC Y ANTOLOGIA. Angel Flores.
Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico), 1981.
2 vols. $14.35.

LA NOCHE DE TRUJILLO: RELATO DE UN
MAGNICIDIO. Emilio de la Cruz Hermosilla.
Planeta (Barcelona, Spain), 1980. 239 p.
A novel.

THE SPANISH AMERICAN SHORT STORY: A
CRITICAL ANTHOLOGY Seymour Menton.
University of Califomia Press, 1980. 496 p.

SUCESION PRESIDENTIAL. Jose Perez
Chowell. Editorial Universo (Mexico), 1981.
147 p. $4.65. A novel.

THE WEST INDIAN NOVEL. Michael Gilkes.
Twayne, 1981. $12.95.

Politics and Government

AMERICA LATINA 80: DEMOCRACIA Y
MOVIMIENTO POPULAR. Henry Pease, et al.
Centro de Estudios y Promoci6n del
Desarrollo, DESCO (Lima, Peru), 1981.
508 p. $40.00. Papers presented at a
conference held Nov. 1980 in Lima, Peru.

ARMS AND POLITICS IN THE DOMINICAN
REPUBLIC. G. Pope Atkins. Westview Press,
1981. 158 p. $20.00.

LA BATALLA DE EL SALVADOR. Ignacio
Gonzalez Janzen. Editorial Prolibro (Mexico),
1981. 143 p. $9.90.

BRAZIL IN THE INTERNATIONAL SYSTEM
THE RISE OF A MIDDLE POWER. Wayne A.
Selcher, ed. Westview Press, 1981.
251 p. $28.50.

CONSTRAINT OF EMPIRE: THE UNITED
STATES AND CARIBBEAN
INTERVENTIONS. Whitney T Perkins.
Greenwood Press, 1981. 320 p. $35.00.

DEMOCRACIA E INTEGRACION NATIONAL
EN EL PERU. Julio Cotler. Institute de
Estudios Peruanos, 1980. 100 p. $3.00.

CARfBBEAN PFVIEW/55











- DEMOCRACIA SIN PARTICIPATION?
TENDENCIES Y CARACTERISTICAS EN
COLOMBIA. Maria Eugenia Alvarez de O., et
al. Ediciones Grupo Social (Bogota,
Colombia), 1981. 168 p. $16.00.

DIEZ ANOS DE LUCHA: HISTORIC Y
DOCUMENTOS. Centro de Investigacion y
Educacibn Popular. CINEP (Bogota,
Colombia), 1981. 265 p. $16.00.

THE DIPLOMATIC HISTORY OF BRITISH
HONDURAS, 1638 TO 1901. Robert A.
Humphreys. Greenwood Press, 1981. 196 p.
$29.75. Reprint of the 1961 ed.

ELITE INTELLECTUAL E DEBATE POLITICO
NOS ANOS 30. Lucia Lippi Oliveira,
Eduardo Rodrigues Gomes, Maria Celina
Whateley. Institute Nacional do Livro (Rio de
Janeiro, Brazil), 1981. 355 p. $11.00. About
20th century Brazil.

EN EL SANTO NOMBRE DEL PRI. Juan
Miguel de Mora. Editores Asociados
Mexicanos, 1981. 167 p. $8.00.

EL EQUILIBRIO DIFICIL: POLITICAL EXTERIOR
DEL BATLLISMO. Dante Turcatti. Arca
(Montevideo, Uruguay), 1981. 124 p. $14.50.

THE GOOD NEIGHBOR POLICY AND
AUTHORITARIANISM IN PARAGUAY:
UNITED STATES ECONOMIC EXPANSION
AND GREAT POWER RIVALRY IN LATIN
AMERICA DURING WORLD WAR II. Michael
Grow. Regents Press of Kansas, 1981. 176 p.
$20.00.

THE GREAT REBELLION: MEXICO 1905 TO
1924. Ram6n-Eduardo Ruiz. Norton, 1981.
530 p. $9.95.

GRENADA: THE ROUTE TO REVOLUTION. W.
Richard Jacobs, lan Jacobs. Casa de las
Americas (Havana, Cuba), 1980. 157 p.
$7.75. A Marxist analysis of political events in
Grenada leading to the 1979 revolution.

HISTORIC E INSTITUCIONES EN
ARGENTINA. Hello Juan Zarini. Astrea
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1981.
381 p. $59.00.

LATIN AMERICA: DIPLOMACY AND REALITY.
Adolf A. Berle. Greenwood Press, 1981.
144 p. $19.75. Reprint of the 1962 ed.

LATIN AMERICAN FOREIGN POLICIES:
GLOBAL AND REGIONAL DIMENSIONS.
Elizabeth G. Ferris, Jennie I. Lincoln, eds.
Westview Press, 1981. 350 p. $26.50;
$14.00 paper.

MEXICO-UNITED STATES RELATIONS. Susan
Purcell. Praeger, 1981. 224 p. $24.95.

EL MOVIMIENTO SOCIALIST EN
ARGENTINA. Jose Ratzer. Agora (Buenos
Aires, Argentina), 1981.
190 p. $17.70.

NICARAGUA IN REVOLUTION. Thomas W.
Walker, ed. Praeger, 1981. 432 p. $21.95;
$9.95 paper.

56/CAPBBEAN PrEVEW


EL OCASO DEL PODER OLIGARQUICO:
LUCHA POLITICAL EN LA ESCENA OFFICIAL,
1968-1975. Henry Pease. Centro de Estudios
y Promoci6n del Desarrollo, DESCO (Lima,
Peru), 1980. 313 p. $5.50. About Peru.

PARLAMENTO Y LUCHA POLITICAL: PERU
1932. Laura Madalengoitia Balbi. Centro de
Estudios y Promoci6n del Desarrollo,
DESCO (Lima, Peru), 1980. 199 p. $5.00.

PEASANT COOPERATIVES AND POLITICAL
CHANGE IN PERU. Cynthia McClintock.
Princeton University Press, 1981. 418 p.
$27.50; $6.95 paper.


EL PERONISMO, 1943-1955. Peter Waldham.
Sudamericana (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1981. 260 p. $16.40. Trans. from the German
by Nelida M. de Machain.

POLITICAL AGRARIAS Y URBANAS EN
AMERICA LATINA. Ximena Andrade, et al.
Sociedad Interamericana de Planificaci6n,
SIAP (Bogota, Colombia), 1981. 391 p.
$30.00.

LOS PROBLEMS SOCIO-POLITICOS DEL
DESARROLLO EN COSTA RICA. Daniel
Oduber Quir6s, et al. Editorial Universidad
Estatal a Distancia (San Jose, Costa Rica),
1981. 279 p.

RACE AND POLITICS IN THE BAHAMAS.
Colin A. Hughes. St. Martin's Press,
1981. $25.00.

REFORM AGRARIA Y PODER POLITICO: EL
CASO DE COSTA RICA. Editorial
Universitaria de Costa Rica, 1980.
472 p. $15.00.

RELACIONES INTERNACIONALES DE LA
AMERICA LATINA. Luciano Tomassini, ed.
Fondo de Cultura Econ6mica (Mexico),
1981. 518 p. $16.50.

RELIGION AND POLITICS IN LATIN AMERICA:
THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN VENEZUELA
AND COLOMBIA. Daniel H. Levine.
Princeton University Press, 1981. 342 p.
$22.50; $6.95 paper.

LA REVOLUTION INSOSPECHADA: ORIGEN
Y DESARROLLO DEL CASTRISMO. Mario
Llerena. Editorial Universitaria de Buenos
Aires, EUDEBA (Argentina),
1981. 237 p. $14.70.


THE SECRET WAR IN MEXICO: EUROPE,
THE UNITED STATES AND THE MEXICAN
REVOLUTION. Friedrich Katz. University of
Chicago Press, 1981.

SOMOZA AND THE LEGACY OF U.S.
INVOLVEMENT IN CENTRAL AMERICA.
Bernard Diederich. Dutton, 1981.
352 p. $19.75.

TRIUMPH OF THE PEOPLE: THE
SANDINISTA REVOLUTION IN NICARAGUA.
George Black. Lawrence Hill, 1981. 320 p.
$18.95; $7.95 paper.

EL ULTIMO ANO DE PERON. Julio Godio.
Ediciones Tercer Mundo (Bogota, Colombia),
1981. 272 p. $25.00.

THE UNITED STATES AND BRAZIL: LIMITS
OF INFLUENCE. Robert Wesson. Praeger,
1981. 186 p. $21.95; $9.95 paper.

THE WAR OF THE DISPOSSESSED:
HONDURAS AND EL SALVADOR, 1969.
Thomas R Anderson. University of Nebraska
Press, 1981. 203 p. $14.36.

WOMEN OF CUBA. Inger Holt Seeland.
Lawrence Hill, 1981. $14.95; $7.95 paper.
Interviews with women since the Revolution.

Reference

BIOBIBLIOGRAFIA DE LOS ESCRITORES DE
JALISCO. Gabriel A. Garcia de Alba.
Universidad Nacional Aut6noma de Mexico,
1980. 622 p. $33.00.

CUBAN PERIODICALS IN THE UNIVERSITY
OF PITTSBURGH LIBRARIES. Eduardo
Lozano. 3d ed. University of Pittsburgh Press,
1981. 91 p. $4.00.

DICCIONARIO DE ESCRITORES
ANTIOQUENOS. Luis M. Sanchez L6pez.
Imp. San Martin (Medellin, Colombia), 1981.
132 p. $7.00.

DICTIONARY OF MEXICAN AMERICAN
HISTORY. Matt S. Meier, Feliciano Rivera, eds.
Greenwood Press, 1981. 472 p. $35.00.

GUIA ECLESIASTICA LATINOAMERICANA,
1981. Consejo Episcopal Latinoamericano.
CELAM (Bogota, Colombia), 1981.

HISTORIOGRAPHY IN THE REVOLUTION: A
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF CUBAN SCHOLARSHIP
1959-1979. Louis A. Perez, Jr. Garland, 1981.
$25.00.

MIGRACIONES INTERNAL EN EL PERU: UNA
BIBLIOGRAFIA COMENTADA. Hector
Martinez, Instituto de Estudios Peruanos,
1980. 280 p. $7.00.

THEORETICAL AND ANALYTICAL
APPROACHES TO SOUTH AMERICAN
INDIAN NARRATIVE: AN ANNOTATED
BIBLIOGRAPHY. Susan A. Niles. Garland,
1981. $25.00.

Marian Goslinga is the International Affairs
Librarian at Florida International University.


I





Ships' Registry: Norway


IM


"We hada gfeat time.The S/S Norway

is a beautiful ship. And the entertainment

is byfar the best.MrMrs.John Noterman,Sarasota, FL.


"This was our first cruise and I thought it was
really great.
"To start with, aboard the S/S Norway you don't
have to worry about reservations anywhere. For the
price of your room, you have your meals and practi-
cally everything else included.
"The entertainment aboard the ship during the
whole cruise was excellent. We had a really profes-
sional performance of the Broadway show 'Hello
Dolly.' One night Al Martino, the famous singer, gave
us all a great show. And it's really hard to believe
but even the television shows on the TV set in our
stateroom were good.
"A lot of times we had food that I didn't think
they were able to serve aboard a ship. One night we
had prime rib and another night it was a delicious
roast duck. It was really very, very good.
"All the different sports you were able to play
aboard the S/S Norway were really surprising. I
mean we were actually able to play volleyball and
basketball. Imagine volleyball and basketball aboard
a ship. I was really impressed!"


For more information about one-week cruises
departing from Miami aboard the magnificent
S/S Norway- our $100 million resort-and her visits
to St. Thomas and the unforgettable beach party
you can enjoy on NCL's private Out Island, see your
travel agent or use the attached coupon.
We'll be glad to send you a free booklet about
the S/S Norway that's full of hints and tips on how to
get the most out of your cruise vacation.
r* m ------------
I Norwegian Caribbean Lines
I First Fleet of the Caribbean
I Norwegian Caribbean Lines
P.O. Box 1111
Addison, Illinois 60101
I Please send me your FREE S/S Norway cruising
l booklet (#102).
NAME
ADDRESS
CITY/STATE/ZIP
I CITY/STATE/ZIP





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