Caribbean Review

ilATi 1P lANL AND
CARIBBEAN COLLECTION

rIEvIE

Vol. XII, N@. 1
Three IDoilars

The Signature of Terror in Suriname; Mexico's Financial Crisis, Honduran Update; Freedom of the Press in
Nicaragua; The Drama of Lares; West Indian Architecture; Movement and Memory in the Caribbean.

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LATIN AMERICAN AND
CARIBBEAN COLLECTION

In this issue....

Crossing Swords
A Time for Straight Talk
By Anthony P Maingot

Suriname Tar Baby
The Signature of Terror
By Edward Dew

Chronicle of a Financial Crisis
Mexico, 1976-1982
By Timothy Heyman

Honduran Scorecard
Military and Democrats in Central America
By Mark B. Rosenberg

Sanctuary for Central Americans
A Threat to INS Policy?
By Kathy Barber Hersh

Freedom of the Press in Nicaragua
Sergio Ramirez and
Pedro Joaquin Chamorro
Interviewed By Beatriz Parga de Baydn

The Drama of Lares
The New Intellectual Debate
By Olga Jim6nez de Wagenheim

Pan Am in the Caribbean
The Rise and Fall of an Empire
By Alfred L. Padula

Florida Bound
A Jamaican Complaint
By Geoffry Philp

Homecoming
A Dominican Reverie
By Julia Alvarez

Caribbean Architecture
The Great and Small Houses of the West Indies
Reviewed By Aaron Segal

Recent Books
An Informative Listing on the Caribbean,
Latin America and their Emigrant Groups
By Marian Goslinga

Page 4

"The bold, carefree Sur-
inamer who trusted in
God, Holland, and the
courts, was now ducking
for cover, keeping his
mouth closed, sleeping
at friends."

Page 22

"The forces that shaped
the uprising were very
complex and cannot be
understood from either
the ideological or mate-
rialist perspectives
alone."

Page 24

"Pan Am was, for good
or ill, an agent of the
communications revolu-
tion that would shake
Latin America's tradi-
tional societies to their
very foundations."

On the cover

Esperando la barca by
Venezuelan artist, Ra-
m6n Orrit (oil on canvas,
50 by 40 cm.). The paint-
ing is in the collection of
John De Souza and Art
Associates.

SCA iBB CAN

REVIEW

The New

Cuban

Presence

in the

Caribbean

edited by Barry B. Levine

June 1983, ca. 250 pages
$25 (cloth), $10.95 (paper)

The New Cuban Presence explores in detail
the history and nature of Cuba's presence in
the Commonwealth Caribbean, Mexico, and
Central and South America, as well as Its re-
lations with revolutionary movements and
communist parties throughout Latin America,
placing Cuba's Western hemisphere contacts
within the wider frame of the Island's Involve-
ment with the Third World (especially Africa)
and the Soviet Union. The meaning of the
new Cuban presence becomes clear in the
authors' analyses of the limits to that pres-
ence and the way the U.S. should respond
to it.

The issue of Caribbean Review on which this
book Is based was described as "a round-
up not only of Cuban involvement, but U.S.
Involvement as well . (that) articulate(s) a
political card game of scary proportions
being played In what was once known as an
American lake." The New Cuban Presence In
the Caribbean provides a much expanded,
completely revised study of the dynamics of
Caribbean international politics, using
Cuba's activities in the region as a focal
point.
Write for our complete catalog.

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WINTER 1983

Editor
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Vol. XII, No. 1

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2/CAiFBBEAN rVIEe

Crossing Swords

A Time For

Straight Talk

By Anthony P. Maingot

here is a terrible obfuscation of lan-
guage in the Caribbean today. Terms
don't seem to mean anymore what
they once did, people seem always to be
cautiously rephrasing or backtracking in
private from what they boldly asserted in
public. It is a cloudy milieu in which certain
words appear to have taken on a certain
axiomatic character.
One such word is "revolution" and every-
thing that can be subordinated to it: revolu-
tionary justice, revolutionary democracy,
revolutionary contingencies and exigen-
cies. The axiomatic adjective "revolution-
ary" seems to place whatever verbs and
nouns that follow beyond the pale of objec-
tive enquiry. The late 1982 events in Sur-
iname described in this issue by Edward
Dew are a case in point.
To the Cuban press the "executions" of
December 1982 were justified on the
grounds of keeping the "revolution" going.
Soon Marxist voices throughout the Carib-
bean were either totally silent on the matter
or spoke similarly of a lamentable but nec-
essary revolutionary exigency. Even those
who argued with the necessity of the act
accept the "revolutionary" nature of the re-
gime. The Latin American Regional Re-
port-Caribbean out of London for
instance regrets that the massacre had
caused a "temporary" vanishment of sup-
port for "the revolution." [1/21/83]
The question, of course, is not to chal-
lenge the motives, acts, outcomes of the
Surinamese rulers but to challenge first the
very premise that they lead a revolution and
secondly to ask, even if they do, does that
put acts such as those of December 1982 in
a special category? Have we reverted to a
medieval-like age of blind faith or have we
summersaulted into the Orwellian age of
group-think? Why this apparent accep-
tance without scrutiny of such terms as "lib-

Crossing Swords is a regular feature of Carib-
bean Review. The views expressed herein are
the sole opinion of the authors. Associate Edi-
tor Anthony P Maingot is professor of sociol-
ogy of Florida International University and
president of the Caribbean Studies
Association.

eration," "progressivism," and their op-
posites "dependency," "reactionary"? It is
clear that these are more than words, they
are at once descriptions and theories about
something.
Why is it that the scrupulous enquiries
into the claims of dogmatic truth and divine
authority with which we approach pros-
elytizing religion seem so absent in our
dealings with this new Heavenly City of revo-
lution? Why do we label as imperialist the
Spanish missionary who came to preach
blind faith in Christ and Mary but fail to
challenge his functional and ideational
equivalent in the American Maryknoll or
Jesuit who comes to preach blind faith in
Christ and Marx?
One looks on in silent horror as the
harmless religious and ideological divisions
of Europe and the United States play out a
deadly game for bodies and minds in the
Caribbean. In virtually every town there is
the American fundamentalist church
packed with souls once the exclusive pos-
session of "the" Church while not too far
away in the city or the hills an equally alien
priest condemns this City of Man and re-
defines the City of God.
Even as truly oppressed peoples in Po-
land struggle to demystify their school and
university curriculums we seem bent on re-
asserting the veracities of gods that have
long since failed. And, as the case of Sur-
iname illustrates, we very often turn to our
ex-imperial masters not only for the theo-
ries but indeed for the gurus who will light
our path to revolution.
What accounts then for this state of af-
fairs? One explanation lies in the recent his-
tory of Caribbean nationhood. We came of
age after the revolutions of the 18th and
19th Century and after the post World War II
Declaration of Universal Human Rights
and...we believe in them. It could not be
otherwise: generalized acquaintance with
slavery-as a system and an idea-has led
Caribbean scholars to incorporate a moral
dimension into their work as both a con-
demnation and a reminder that a similar
version is still very much alive even today as
in, for instance, South Africa.
Given this sincere ethical stance, Carib-

bean scholars react with indignation at any
association, in action or thought, with the
right-wing defenders of any form of racism
or exploitation. Since this stance is a world
of categorical positions allowing no areas of
gray, a center position is regarded as little
more than appeasement or at best, an im-
moral concession to evil. And so, the term
"Third World" becomes a concept, it de-
scribes a group of nations but also assumes
a syndrome of attitudes and orientations.
The problem is that the world of politics
and politicians is full of gray areas and it is
time that we introduce some healthy doses
of skepticism about their words and, even
more, their actions.
The recent behavior of Argentine ex-for-
eign Minister Costa Mendez is further evi-
dence that it is time for some straight talk.
Visiting Brasilia days before the Falkland-
Malvinas War, he was adamant in rejecting
any "Third World" label for his country; ties
with South Africa were justified, he said,
because both were "Atlantic" countries.
Three weeks later he was in Havana, guest
of Fidel Castro, calling on his Third World
"brothers" to confront the imperialists.
Throughout the Caribbean radicals and
Marxists repeated without so much as a
query the explanation that their support was
for the Argentine people, not the military
dictatorship. It has become the standard
obfuscation. To read Grenada's explana-
tions of their support for the USSR in
Afghanistan is to further understand the
true essence of double-talk.
In the final analysis, however, Costa Men-
dez had done little different from what many
others in the Caribbean who had become
adept at "playing the Cuban Card" have
been doing: say one thing in Kingston, say
another in Havana and, if necessary, a third
in New York.
Perhaps the key lies in Caribbean leaders'
understanding of their area's past: those
who, even in words challenged the estab-
lished order tended notto last long in power,
as Cheddi Jagan discovered in Guyana.
To understand the lack of straight talk,
then, is to say something about the poten-
tial perils of straight talk and, Caribbean
Continued on page 34

CAIBBeAN PEVIIW/3

Suriname Tar Baby

The Signature of Terror

By Edward Dew

By late 1982 there had been a series of
confrontations in Suriname that had
observers convinced that a return to
democracy was only months away. A
crackdown was always possible, it was
speculated, but mass murder of the Papa
Doc or General Pinochet variety was an al-
ternative beyond anyone's imagination.
By the time of its second anniversary in
power, February 25, 1982, Suriname's mili-
tary had acquired an awesome power and
a reputation for political agility. It had
disposed of two civilian presidents, Johan
Ferrier and Henk Chin A Sen, and had re-
peatedly shuffled and purged civilian cabi-
nets, as well as its own National Military
Council (NMR). But after an initial euphoria
about "the boys" giving Suriname a gov-
ernment free of corruption and elitism, po-
litical in-fighting and drift soon surfaced.
There was no ideological "signature" either
to the military or to its successive civilian
governments, and this, of course, was one
reason for the in-fighting.

The Fall of Chin A Sen
As 1981 came to an end, it was evident that
another political showdown was at hand, as
a group of lawyers and other specialists pre-
sented their draft constitution for consid-
eration. Chin A Sen, who had commis-
sioned the work, announced in favor of it,
while Desi Bouterse, Supreme Com-
mander of the Army, rejected it because
of its reduction of the military's political
role. "Ours must be a controlling function,"
he insisted.
For several months Chin A Sen and Bou-
terse sparred in public and in private. It is
said that the two radical parties closest to
the military (the Revolutionary People's
Party, RVP, and Progressive Workers and
Farmers Union, PALU) were pressing Chin
A Sen to make more political appointments
of their followers, which he refused. In his
1982 New Year's Day address, the president

Edward Dew chairs the Politics Department at
Fairfield University. He is the author of The
Difficult Flowering of Surinam: Ethnicity and
Politics in a Plural Society and presently is a
Fulbright Fellow in Venezuela.

denounced "our continual chopping away
at one another." Suriname, he went on, "has
no need for doctrinaire ideologies which
presume to possess the whole truth." His
sudden resignation a month later was ac-
companied by frightening rumors about a
communist takeover. Bouterse, swearing in
the chief judge of the Supreme Court as
acting-president, promised to install a new
civilian cabinet, but gave no indication of its
composition.
Public opinion finally began to find its
voice, after two years of acquiescent hope-
fulness and fear. Over 2,000 supporters of
the old political parties gathered on Febru-
ary 13th for the funeral of Jacques Lemmer,
a popular leader of the Suriname National
Party (NPS). For the first time in two years,
such "discredited" stalwarts as former
Prime Minister Henck Arron (NPS), and
Jaggernath Lachmon, leader of the Pro-
gressive Reform Party (VHP) spoke to the
faithful. Even Chin A Sen attended, lending
implicit support to the speakers' calls for
democracy's restoration. From another
quarter, the Committee of Christian
Churches, under the leadership of Bishop
Aloysius Zichem, expressed its concern
over the fall of the Chin A Sen government
and steady rise of unrepresentative ex-
tremist groups "to privilege and influence
without any opportunity for public
accountability."
Violence replaced persuasion early in the
morning of March 11, 1982, as a group of
officers, led by Surendre Rambocus, seized
the Memre Boekoe Barracks in Para-
maribo, announced the liberation of Su-
riname, and promised democratic elec-
tions within three months. The rebels had
not, however, captured Bouterse and his
high command. Holed up across town in
the 17th century Fort Zeelandia, Bouterse
tried to rally troops to his side, even as the
coup's celebrants shattered windows at the
neighborhood headquarters of the NMR's
unpopular "people's committees." Attacks
on Fort Zeelandit unaccountably failed,
and one rebel officer turned his tank and
weapons over to the besieged commander.
The next night, Bouterse broke free from
the fort, counterattacked, and, after a pro-

longed battle, recaptured the main bar-
racks. In one of his first assaults on Memre
Boekoe, his troops captured and wounded
another of the coup's leaders, Wilfred
Hawker. Lying on his stretcher, Hawker was
televised appealing to his comrades to sur-
render. Bouterse is then said to have per-
sonally executed him as a warning to any
other comrades-in-arms considering such
a betrayal.
Despite Bouterse's miraculous come-
back from sure defeat, the public outcry at
this summary execution brought down new
protests at home and in The Netherlands,
where threats to cut off the $1.5 billion
Dutch aid program were heard. Moreover,
since Rambocus and many of his collab-
orators were Hindustanis, the whole Hin-
dustani community fell under suspicion.
Military police rounded up over 100 people,
including top Hindustani and Indonesian
business and professional leaders. In par-
ticular, the military identified a young Hin-
dustani professor of bio-chemistry at the
University of Suriname, Baal Oemraw-
singh, as "the brains" behind the coup.
Within days, the military "found" his body
near the Corantijn River on the border with
Guyana. He had taken or been given weed
poison. An outcry over Oemrawsingh's
"murder" and the arrests in the Hindustani
and Indonesian communities combined
with Dutch pressures to save Rambocus's
life-at least for the moment. Bouterse an-
nounced that a krigsraad, or court-mar-
tial, would be provided for him and about
60 others in due time. Fortunately, the chief
judge of the Supreme Court at the time of
Chin A Sen's ouster was a Hindustani, L.F
Ramdat Misier. Though admittedly having
"no political experience of- any kind," the
new acting-president may have offered
symbolic and other assurances to the Asian
groups that communal violence was not
in the works.
A kind of uneasy calm settled over Su-
riname in the following months. Bouterse
announced a new civilian government in
mid-March. Headed by a former Minister of
Finance Henry Neijhorst, the cabinet fea-
tured a number of moderates, including
several holdovers from the Chin A Sen gov-

4/CAi?BBEAN REVIEW

I

ernment. Two PALU ministers were
dropped, and, although several RVPers
were appointed in their stead, the Dutch
press as well as the Latin American Re-
gional Report-Caribbean judged the Neij-
horst cabinet to represent a turn to the
right-one that would restore international
confidence in the regime.
New confrontations followed, however. In
July, the NMR began to set up and train an
armed "people's militia," drawn basically
from the ranks of the RVP. Cyriel Daal, the
leader of the nation's largest union federa-
tion, the Moederbond, denounced this de-
velopment as highly dangerous, especially
since the RVP was "noted for its intol-
erance." Then, in August, the "military audi-
tor" of the krijgsraad released two
Hindustani officers suspected of having
had prior knowledge of the March coup.
Bouterse promptly ordered their rearrest,
bringing down a new hail of criticism on
himself. Later that month, a group of Hin-
dustani rice farmers in Nieuw Nickerie
blockaded the town's airstrip with their trac-
tors to protest the government's low price
supports. Military units broke up the dem-
onstration with what local papers called
"unnecessary brutality," arresting ten of the
protesters.
At the end of August, when Minister of
Education Harold Rusland tried to radically
reorganize the University of Suriname, its
staff went out on strike, closing the univer-
sity for the entire semester. Throughout this
period, thousands of students (including
high school students) demonstrated at the
Education Ministry and elsewhere to show
their disapproval of the government's ac-
tions. By all indications, the NMR and its
friends were not faring too well in the strug-
gle for the country's youth.
In this atmosphere of widespread chal-
lenge, the press and radio regained their
nerve and began to openly criticize the re-
gime on every front, giving wide circulation
to protest declarations by the Council of
Christian Churches, the Bar Association,
the Association of Businessmen, the union
federations, academic leaders, and others.
If the military gave no response to these
protests, they certainly took careful note of

CARBBEAN leoV1W/5

_NN

them (according to the arrest list, number-
ing around 200, allegedly used in the De-
cember 8th round-up).
On October 13, Surendre Rambocus
and six other defendants went on trial amid
tight military security. His "last words,"
widely circulated in Holland, the Antilles,
and Suriname itself, constituted a stirring
defense of the failed coup and its "holy
cause of restoring freedom and democ-
racy." Despite the efforts of intimidation,
crowds gathered at the court to cheer and
spray confetti on the defendants when they
appeared. Rambocus's sentence of twelve
years in prison was deemed unusually light
by most observers.

Papa Doc Bouterse
The final spiral of tension began in late Oc-
tober with the arrival of Grenada's
strongman, Maurice Bishop, on a state visit.
On the eve of this event, Cyriel Daal gave a
fiery press conference at the Moederbond
headquarters, denouncing both Bishop
and Bouterse. All efforts to broadcast tapes
or even report the speech were blocked by
the military, and Daal was arrested. Now the
affair really began to escalate. A wave of
strikes by Moederbond workers crippled
the docks, public utilities, several factories,
and even the airfield. Thousands gathered
in "Revolutionary Square" (in front of the
Presidential Palace) to demand Daal's re-
lease. With Bishop still in town and things
getting out of control, Bouterse quickly
complied. But Daal promptly summoned
an even larger mass meeting (an estimated
10 to 15,000) and announced that the
strikes would go on until the government
agreed to hold elections.
Counter attacking as best they could,
Prime Minister Neijhorst and Foreign Minis-
ter Harvey Naarendorp accused members
of the United States and Dutch embassies
of being behind these events. (Two Ameri-
can diplomats were expelled in January of
this year.) Andre Haakmat, a deputy prime-
minister under Chin A Sen, was even more
vehemently attacked for his alleged role in
these events. Since his ouster in 1981,
Haakmat had scrambled back onto the mil-
itary payroll as a legal advisor to Roy Horb,
Bouterse's right-hand man. Among Horb's
duties was keeping the unions in line, and
Haakmat had been his go-between be-
tween the military and the Moederbond.
Now suspected of orchestrating the whole
chain of events from August on, Haakmat
was subjected to a stream of vituperation by
both Horb and Bouterse. This was followed
by a 4 AM attack on his home, reportedly by
a squad of People's Militia members. (Wast-
ing no time, Haakmat escaped to French
Guiana with the help of Daal and Bouterse's
former press aide, Josef Slagveer. Both
men turned back to Paramaribo, according
to Haakmat's later account, still confident

that things would ultimately work out. "This
is still Suriname, isn't it?" Slagveer had
insisted.)
A few days later, Bouterse announced his
terms by which a "plan for democracy"
would be carried out. All labor unions and
other "functional groups" would be allowed
to make their input. However, he excluded
the associations of businessmen, lawyers,
churchmen, and others "of that sort" as
undemocratic and not sufficiently national-
minded. Their participation, he said, would
only lead to "boundless debate and even
chaotic babble."

The NMR and its friends
were not faring too well in
the struggle for the
country's youth.

If the other union federations had been
hesitant to join the Moederbond's strike ac-
tions at the start of the month, their experi-
ence in these talks soon brought them
closely together. Fred Derby, leader of the
country's bauxite workers, had especially
been identified as an early supporter of the
military. Now, he joined in a collective decla-
ration that rejected the military's plans as
fraudulent and called upon the population
"to prepare to struggle until real socio-politi-
cal renewal can be won." The military, the
statement concluded, "doesn't understand
anything of what the Surinamese people
feel." On November 25 a "Bond voor
Democratic" was set up by all important
religious groups (Hindu, Moslem, as well as
Christian) together with the national asso-
ciations of businessmen, manufacturers,
lawyers, doctors, editors and publishers,
farmers, and women.
Things finally came to a head during the
first week in December, when students re-
sumed their demonstrations in defiance of
a public ban. After a meeting in the head-
quarters of the Catholic Workers Organiza-
tion on December 7th, students marched to
Revolutionary Square where they encoun-
tered a combined military and police force.
After some stone-throwing and an attempt
to set a tank on fire, the square was cleared.
But the stage was now set for a very unex-
pected denouement.
Within hours of the student disturbance,
armoured cars pulled up in front of the
headquarters of the Moederbond, the ABC
and Radika radio stations, and De Vrije
Stem, one of Suriname's most aggressive
newspapers. Using bazookas and fire gre-
nades, they thoroughly destroyed each of
the four buildings. At the same time, using

an "enemies list" of 200 prominent oppo-
nents, Bouterse's men fanned out across
the city carrying out pre-dawn arrests. As
Surinamese journalist Sig Wolf recon-
structed the events from accounts of those
able to escape the almost totally sealed-off
country, "Whoever resisted was roughly
forced into submission. That was the fate of
ex-minister [Andre] Kamperveen, for ex-
ample....His arms and legs were broken.
Some victims collapsed in terror. A woman
who managed to get the first flight out of
Suriname told of the arrest of her neighbor:
'I was awakened by a motor's roar. Spanish-
speaking military with weapons at the ready
first shot my neighbor's four dogs, then
they broke a louvred window and fired into
the house. Doors were broken in and I saw
my neighbor hit on the head by a rifle butt.
He was pulled outside by his hair, and when
he didn't move fast enough, he was kicked
in the crotch'."
Other sources report that at Fort Zeelan-
dia a number of the most important de-
tainees were tortured. Fred Derby, one of
the lucky ones to survive the ordeal (and
later be flown out to The Netherlands), was
forced to witness the atrocities. At one point,
Suriname radio and television broadcast
the "confessions" of Slagveer and Kamper-
veen, implicating the whole group in a coup
planned for Christmas Day, 1982. It is not
clear if Slagveer and Kamperveen were
even alive when their "confessions" were
aired. Their bodies were among the fifteen
bodies identified the next day in the morgue
of the Academic Hospital. Others of their
executed "co-conspirators" included
Surendre Rambocus and several others in-
volved in the earlier coup attempt; their law-
yers, including former Minister of Justice
Eddy Hoost and Kenneth Gonsalves, head
of the Bar Association; Gerard Leckie, chair-
man of the University of Suriname; Cyriel
Daal; and three other journalists besides
Slagveer and Kamperveen (ironically in-
cluding the leaders of the Albanian-line
Communist Party of Suriname).
Bouterse cynically announced "with re-
grets" that "a number of the suspects were
killed in an escape attempt during their
transfer from Fort Zeelandia to Memre
Boekoe." A number of eyewitnesses have
been quoted to the contrary, however. The
bodies on display in the morgue revealed
that almost all had been shot from the
front-some a number of times, and the
others had apparently succumbed to tor-
ture. Besides the fifteen victims identified in
the morgue, as many as twenty other Su-
rinamers reportedly disappeared on that
fateful night.
Prime Minister Neijhorst immediately
tendered his resignation, as did President
Ramdat Misier, the Surinamese Ambas-
sador to the United Nations, and other dip-
lomatic personnel overseas. Stunned, but

6/CAIBBEAN rPEvlI

I

still courageously defiant, thousands of
mourners showed up December 13 at the
four cemeteries where the victims were laid
to rest. Then, led by the National Women's
Council, thousands of women dressed in
black gathered in Revolutionary Square to
sing the national anthem, "We Shall Over-
come" and other protest songs. Filing past
the Dutch Embassy (which faces the
square), they chanted "help us, help us." If
cutting off its immense aid program can
be called "help," the Dutch promptly ob-
liged, denouncing the military's actions
as barbaric.*

Sifting Through the Wreckage
Two theories have been offered to explain
these events. The first sees Bouterse's com-
mandos as fundamentally pragmatic
power-seekers succumbing to the paranoia
that all illegitimate leaders are heir to. The
second doesn't see "the boys" falling into
sin so much as into some form of commu-
nism (University of Amsterdam-style). In the
world of Cold War II, such a distinction may
not amount to much. But Lenin's grim
question "Who whom?" is worth exploring,
if only to familiarize us with the revolution's
inner circles and to gauge their capacity for
further acts of wanton brutality.
The pragmatic /paranoia theory in-
cludes in its evidence the shrewd maneu-
vering by which Bouterse blocked radical
leftists in his own ranks from dictating pol-
icy. The same was true with regards to the
radical civilian advisors that quickly
gathered on the periphery of power. Al-
though Chin A Sen may have been the lead-
ing force here, Bouterse can at least be
given some credit for backing him up and
permitting a variety of supporters to serve in
high posts, even at the expense of program-
matic conflict and incoherence. The com-
munist plot theory counters with the
argument that the ascent to power for the
radical parties has been steady, if not always
smooth, and that Bouterse's faltering public
appeal has forced him (virtually at the point
of his own gun) into their hands. These are
not really theories, of course, but simply

'Major Roy Horb, the second in command of
the military-camp commander-was arrested
on Sunday night, January 30, 1983, for al-
legedly conspiring to lead a counter-coup. Itis
believed that in addition to Horb, 12 to 15
others were arrested including the minister
of agriculture, Jan Sariman, and Sgt. John
Hardjoprajitno, the minister of culture, youth
sports and people's mobilization, and one of
the original revolutionaries of 1980.
According to the military government, dur-
ing the first week of February, Horb hung him-
self in his prison cell using his shoe laces. This
story is widely disbelieved in and out of Sur-
iname as the concrete cell had neither wooden
beams nor pipes.
Rumor has it that most of those picked up in
addition to Horb were also military men.-CR

hunches about the future. Nevertheless,
each has plenty of supportive evidence.
For example, in terms of diplomatic rela-
tions, Bouterse and company have lurched
to and fro with regards to ideology. Diplo-
matic relations with Cuba, established un-
der the previous Arron regime, were kept at
a minimum with no local embassy or resi-
dent ambassador until well into 1981, and
the Russians didn't formally arrive until
1982. At one point, late in 1980, Bouterse
even expelled a Cuban delegation because
of its contacts with the radical officers and
the RVP group. Meanwhile, he has been
careful to cultivate the best possible rela-
tions with Venezuela, Brazil, Argentina, and
the CARICOM states, as well as the Com-
mon Market.
Nevertheless, several witnesses to the
December 8th violence reported "Spanish-
speaking" soldiers taking part in the arson
parties and arrests. Rumors abound of any-
where from 40 to 400 Cuban troops in the
country, but these charges have been de-
nied by Bouterse and discounted by both
the Dutch and US authorities. More certain
was Suriname's increasing show of soli-
darity during 1982 with Nicaragua, Gre-
nada, Cuba, and the rebels in El Salvador.
And now, in the wake of the executions,
Bouterse has begun to speak of nationaliz-
ing all foreign property in the country. Can
he do it? Is he now on an irreversible
course? And will it get any substantial sup-
port from international communism?
I think the answer is "no" to all these
questions. Nationalization of the elaborate
Dutch and American aluminum and al-
umina smelters and refinery plants would
be disastrous in terms of operations, main-
tenance, and marketing. There is little need
in the communist world for bauxite or its
products, and the alternative markets at

home and abroad are nil. The other "multi-
nationals" in Suriname are in agriculture,
forestry, or fisheries. But the consequences
would be about the same. Suriname's best
communist model might be the total self-
sufficiency of Albania-but Bouterse killed
the leading exponents of that approach.
Surinamese ethnocentrism, moreover, is
highly dependent, well-informed and well-
attuned to the outside world. Thus, it seems
only natural to them that the world's eyes
are on them now and that "outside libera-
tion," of one kind or another, is at hand. To
follow the Cuban model, however, requires
enormous subsidization, and the Russians
are not about to keep a minor nation at a
standard of living above Russia's for only
marginal geopolitical gains. Dutch, Ameri-
can, or Brazilian intervention seems equally
unlikely. Thus, Bouterse may find himself
stuck in an utterly shattered economy
whose most noteworthy revolutionary
achievement is depopulation. Seeing this-
as he must-Bouterse is likelyto reconsider
going all-out towards state-takeover of the
economy. But neither the communist nor
the pragmatic approach to the economics
and the outside world would necessarily as-
sure the restoration of respect for civil
rights. The careful and symbolic use of po-
litical violence can easily go on indefinitely.

Fathers and Sons and
Sibling Rivalry
A more cynical version of the "pragmatic"
argument views the revolution as a genera-
tional conflict and the in-fighting as a con-
tinuation of the partly idealistic, partly
opportunistic rivalry that characterizes am-
bitious young people everywhere.
In her 1971 book Surinamese Stu-
Continued on page 34

CAdBBCAN t~VIEW/7

I

P

41

/'

-I
^*^,..*

Mexican money changers.

AV"

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-"$ply; i-?
*-
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Chronicle of A

Financial Crisis

Mexico, 1976-1982

By Timothy Heyman

Little over six years ago, Mexico found
itself in a political and economic mo-
rass, because of the economic mis-
management of its then president, Luis
Echeverria. When he was succeeded by an
apparently more technocraticc" politician,
Jose L6pez Portillo, in December 1976, it
appeared that Mexico's crisis would be only
temporary, and that with cautious admin-
istrators in charge, recovery would be
achieved within two years. Owing to a turn-
around in the world economy, and increas-
ing discoveries of oil in Mexico, recovery
was more rapid than predicted. By 1978,
Mexico had resumed growth at eight per-
cent per annum. Then in the following three
years, Mexico suffered a case of "oil binge:"
an apparently endless spiral of oil price
rises, increasing oil income, an abundance
of cheap and plentiful credits based on the
infusion of petrodollars into the world mon-
etary system.
But in June 1981-when forth firsttime
in ten years oil prices actually fell-Mexico
was forced to borrow to cover what it hoped
would be a temporary income shortfall. The
result was a crisis of confidence at the end
of 1981 resulting in a devaluation in Febru-
ary 1982. In 1982, the hoped for oil recov-
ery did not occur, and credit markets
continued to contract. Mexico's foreign ex-
change and credit position continued to
deteriorate. The result was a further de-
valuation in August, and recourse to the
International Monetary Fund (IMF).
Faced with an economic failure even
worse than that of his predecessor, L6pez
Portillo chose a political solution. In his last
State of the Union message on September
1,1982, in a complete reversal of economic
policy of the previous six years, he na-
tionalized the Mexican banking system, in-
troduced a complete system of exchange
controls, and changed key members of his
economic administration. During his final
three months there was the very real danger
of further "populist" measures that would

Timothy Heyman is Director of Economic and
Financial Analysis of the Mexican brokerage
house Estrategia Bursatil, S.A., and Professor
of Finance at the Instituto Tecnoldgico Aut6n-
omo de Mexico (ITAM).

cause irreversible damage to a political and
economic system, to then the most stable
in Latin America.
The smooth transition to President Mi-
guel de la Madrid in December 1982 meant
that the worst fears were notto be fulfilled. In
his inaugural address, de la Madrid prom-
ised an immediate emergency recovery
plan, along with structural changes in the
Mexican political and economic system de-
signed to restore the country's previous sta-
bility. De la Madrid faces 100% inflation,
growing unemployment, probable negative
growth rate for 1983-the first since the
Mexican revolution-amid still rising ex-
pectations from the previous period of dy-
namic growth.
President L6pez Portillo had appeared to
be well equipped for the post-Echevarria
task of reconstruction. While the previous
president's experience had been eminently
political with an apprenticeship at all levels
of the party and government political bu-
reaucracy, L6pez Portillo had more experi-
ence with economics. A lawyer by training,
he had served as head of the state electricity
company (Comisidn Federal de Elec-
tricidad), and, just before his nomination
as official PRI (Partido Reuolucionario
Institutional) party candidate for presi-
dent in 1975, he was minister of finance.
L6pez Portillo's inaugural address ful-
filled the most optimistic expectations.
Concise and eloquent, it combined an ap-
preciation of what was administratively nec-
essary, with what was politically desirable.
An administrative reorganization was an-
nounced, which implied not only the reas-
signation of functions between the different
ministries, but also the creation of a new
one, the Ministry of Programming and Bud-
geting. Its creation was thought to reflect an
understanding by the new government of
the major failure of the previous administra-
tion, a failure of planning. A new law, the Law
of Public Debt, appeared to recognize the
growing importance of the debt within Mex-
ico's economy, and provided a mechanism
for controlling it. The emphasis on control
also appeared to imply a crackdown on cor-
ruption, thought to be increasingly preva-
lent during the previous administration and
of which the then president was rumored to

be one of the principal practitioners.
To a private sector totally alienated by his
predecessor's rhetoric and policies, L6pez
Portillo offered an "Alliance for Production."
The private sector, in return for government
support (reflected by pro-business fiscal
and trade policies), agreed to invest a total
of US$8 billion, and to create 300,000 jobs
a year. The labor sector also cooperated,
restricting wage increases to 10% in 1977,
in an effort to assist the president to comply
with the IMF austerity program. The imme-
diate results of the program were that, while
as expected Gross Domestic Product
(GDP) growth fell from 4.2% in 1976 to 3.4%
in 1977, inflation also declined from 27.2%
to 20.7%. The public sector deficit as per-
cent of GDR which then (as now) had been
a main IMF preoccupation, fell from
9.5% to 7.1%.

The Takeoff
By 1978, GDP growth had already risen to
8.2%; inflation was 16.2%; public sector def-
icit was 6.9% of GDP This emboldened
L6pez Portillo. He had spoken of "two years
of recovery, two years of consolidation, and
two years of accelerated growth." Given the
remarkable performance of the economy
of 1978, he apparently decided to jump the
middle two years.
External events helped. After the initial oil
crisis of 1973-4, world oil demand (and
prices) had been stagnant in real terms until
1977. By 1978, economic recovery in the
US was under way, and in 1979 the oil crisis
began. L6pez Portillo had appointed as
head ofPetroleos Mexicanos (Pemex), the
state oil monopoly, an old friend, Jorge Diaz
Serrano. Diaz Serrano came to Pemex hav-
ing had ample experience as a drilling con-
tractor. More than anyone, Diaz Serrano saw
the role of oil in Mexico's economic recov-
ery and future development: accelerated
production as a basis for more immediate
export income; accelerated exploration as a
basis for increased proven oil reserves; all of
which in turn would serve as collateral for
credits to further increase Mexico's oil pro-
duction. The result of this strategy over the
sexenio was a dramatic increase in produc-
tion, exports and oil reserves. Production
increased from 1,080,000 BPD (Barrels Per

CAIBBEAN lVIEW/9

Jose L6pez Portillo, former president of
Mexico.

Day) in 1977 to 2.1 million in 1980 and 2.7
million in 1982; exports from 207,000 BPD
to 842,000 BPD to 1.4 million BPD over the
same period; and proven reserves from 6.4
billion barrels in 1976 to 72 billion in 1982.
From being a net importer of oil in 1974,
Mexico became the country with the fifth
highest production, and fourth highest re-
serves in the world. Meanwhile, to finance
this expansion, a total of US$22 billion were
borrowed on the international capital mar-
kets over the six-year period.
But oil was intended only as a pivot for a
more generalized economic development.
As the world oil crisis unfolded in 1979 and
1980, the petrodollar glut, and Mexico's
soaring oil income, made Mexico a prime
target for ever more plentiful, and cheaper,
international credit. The Mexican govern-
ment's debt rose from US$19.6 billion at
end 1976 to US$33.8 billion at the end of
1980. The debt of Mexico's private sector,
which had responded to the stimulus of
public sector spending and investment,
rose from US$4.9 billion in 1976 to
US$14.2 billion in 1980.
The danger was not immediately appar-
ent. Inflation rose only to 20% in 1979, while
GDP growth rose to 9.2% for the same year.
Meanwhile, due to an increasingly distorted
exchange rate, total foreign debt as percent
of GDP (a traditional measure) remained
low at 22.5%-as increasingly inflated
pesos were being compared to increasingly

undervalued foreign debt. Thus, by the end
of 1980, it still appeared that Ldpez Portillo's
growth strategy was continuing to work-
GDP grew over 8% per annum for the third
successive year. The concept of oil as a
"detonator" for other sectors also seemed
to be valid. While the oil sector had grown
23.5% in that year, construction had grown
12.3% manufacturing 7%, and electricity
6.5%. Agriculture, a traditional problem in
Mexico's economy, had grown at 7.1% (in
part due to an aggressive subsidy strategy
initiated by L6pez Portillo in 1979). Foreign
debt, owing to a continuation of the distor-
tion of the previous year, stayed at 23.2% of
GDP by the end of 1980.
The only black spot was inflation, which
rose an additional 10% during 1980 to the
dangerous level of 29.8%, historically high
for Mexico. L6pez Portillo demonstrated his
awareness of the danger. In his State of the
Union message on September 1 of that
year, he said that between the two choices,
"inflation or destruction"-by destruction
he meant unemployment-he preferred
the former.

Portents
The first indication that the boom was not
eternal came from the Mexican stock mar-
ket (the bolsa). After the August 1976 de-
valuation, it had risen, in spite of the
increased foreign debt of major listed com-
panies-and consequent exchange
losses-because of a belief by investors
that the increased debt had been effectively
balanced by the increased value of revalued
assets, much of it represented by imported
machinery. While profits were negligible in
1977, a year of recession, they showed a
sharp recovery in 1978, and the index of the
bolsa more than doubled during the year
(from an already historic high of 388 at the
end of 1977 to 889 in 1978). The boom
occurred in the first five months of 1979
when the share index rose from 889 to a
high of 1798 on May 7,1979. All the charac-
teristics traditionally associated with such
phenomena accompanied the high: a flood
of new issues, gains of up to 20% in a single
day, an influx of new and inexperienced in-
vestors. While the fall was not as sudden as
other historic crashes (the index at the end
of 1979 was 1193), it had an important
psychological effect. In response to artificial
stimuli by the authorities the market re-
covered to a level of 1488 at the end of
1980. But from that moment on, its decline
was inexorable-to a low of 476 in 1982.
A second, and more obvious, harbinger
was the fall of oil prices in June 1981. In that
month DiazSerrano, in response to interna-
tional market conditions, lowered the price
of Isthmus (premium) quality oil from
US$38 per barrel to US$34, with an equiv-
alent reduction in the price of the inferior
Maya grade. Diaz Serrano was immediately

dismissed, and replaced by a former minis-
ter of finance, Julio RodolfoMoctezuma Cid
(who had resigned in December 1977 be-
cause of policy differences with the then
minister of programming and budgeting,
Carlos Tello). The oil price was immediately
raised, but only to US$35. Meanwhile, in
August, as sales volume also fell, the federal
budget was slashed by 4% of its annual
amount (which meant 12% of the amounts
to be disbursed during the remaining four
months of the year).
In October 1981, it was announced that
Mexico's largest industrial group, the
Grupo Industrial Alfa, had serious liquid-

Oil was intended only as a
pivot for a more
generalized economic
development.

ity problems. Alfa had become a symbol of
Mexico's "dynamic" growth. Founded as a
separate group only in 1974, when mem-
bers of the most important family of the
northern industrial city of Monterrey de-
cided to split their holdings, Alfa's base was
the most advanced steel company in Mex-
ico, Hojalata y Lamina, S.A. (HYLSA).
HYLSA was not only an efficient producer,
but also possessor of its own technology
(the HYL process) for sponge iron which it
sold to other countries. With the profits gen-
erated from HYLSA, Alfa embarked on an
expansion designed to make it Mexico's
major private company. From 1976 to
1980 it either purchased or created with
international joint venture partners over 50
companies in a bewildering variety of in-
dustries: petrochemicals, cellulose, tour-
ism, real estate, capital goods, motor
industry, consumer goods, and food. This
growth, while initially fueled by internal
funds, was increasingly financed by foreign
borrowing. Foreign banks, dazzled by Alfa's
public relations (and its battalions of US
trained MBAs), fell over themselves to lend.
The growth was unplanned, and uncon-
trolled. By mid-1981, Alfa was forced to
borrow from one bank to repay another. The
crisis surfaced in October, when a rescue
package of MN 12 billion was put together
by a government bank. In December, Alfa
had what was to be the first of many meet-
ings with its 130 international bank credi-
tors, and requested a moratorium on
principal payments on its US$2.4 billion
debt: after the devaluation of February
1982, this was converted into a suspension
of interest payments on many of its compo-
nent companies.
At the end of November. Mexican treas-

1O/CAIBBEAN REVIEW

ury secretary David Ibarra appeared before
the Mexican Congress, and revealed that
total foreign borrowing had reached
US$48.7 billion (the figure generally being
managed among bankers and economists
was around US$40 billion!). This repre-
sented the first public revelation of the full
effect of the oil price shock. It showed an
increase of US$14 billion over the figure at
the end of 1980 (the amount officially au-
thorized by Congress for net new public
sector borrowings was but US$4.2 billion).
The increase in actual over projected bor-
rowing was made up by a program of short
term borrowing undertaken by state agen-
cies (principally Pemex) soon after the oil
price shock in June. As these borrowings
were made on a bank to borrower basis
without publicity, they had appeared neither
in official press releases, nor on the unoffi-
cial grapevine.
Further attempts were made to reduce
the balance of payments deficit through the
introduction of import permits for a great
number of products. While the apparent
effect of this was to delay or stop imports, as
the permits themselves were either delayed
or refused by the Mexican Commerce De-
partment, the real effect was to encourage
contraband and corruption. The net eco-
nomic effect could be gauged by the dif-
ference between the balance of payments
deficit for 1981 (US$13 billion), and the
final figure for net new borrowing (US$19.2
billion), a total of more than US$6 billion.

The First Devaluation
In December 1981, and January 1982, a
further series of events reduced confidence
in a peso parity that had been "sliding"
since the end of 1979 (but at a rate of only
10% a year): In December 1981 the gas-
oline price was more than doubled from
MN2.80 to MN6.00 (for the cheaper Nova
brand), the first such rise since 1974. In
early January the inflation figure for 1981
was announced at 28.7% (higher than the
official prediction). In early February an in-
flation figure for January 1982 of 5.2% (the
highest monthly figure recorded) was an-
nounced. Dollar interest rates stayed high
on the international capital markets. The
price of oil continued to fall in the Rotter-
dam spot markets fueling rumors that the
price of oil on long term contracts (both
OPEC and non OPEC) would fall further.
The result of all these factors was pres-
sure on the peso. Matters came to a head
February 5,1982, when L6pez Portillo, at an
important political convention in Guadala-
jara, made an impassioned plea in support
of the peso, saying (in a now famous
phrase) that he would "defend it like a dog."
His speech proved counterproductive, and
at 6:30 PM on February 17th the Bank of
Mexico announced its "official withdrawal"
from the exchange markets. Within a

month, the peso reached a level of MN45 to
the dollar (from MN27), and began a "de-
sliz" (mini-devaluation) at a rate of approx-
imately 8 centavos daily, or 50% annually.
The main economic policy errors by
L6pez Portillo can be summarized as fol-
lows: [1 ] A preference given to inflation over
unemployment at any cost. (New members
were entering the work force at an annual
rate of 4%; but growth targets of 8% were
postulated.) [2] The domestic gasoline
price in Mexico remained unchanged from
1974 until December 1981, during a period
when the international oil price tripled. By
subsidizing domestic consumption, Pemex
encouraged fuel waste, had less oil to ex-
port, and lower revenues, and therefore had
to seek external financing, thus increasing
foreign debt and foreign debt servicing re-
quirements. [3J Even while the international
oil market forced Pemex to lower its oil
prices in June 1981, the changing situation
in the oil market was not taken into consid-
eration by Mexico's budget planners. Ap-
parently no contingency plans were made
for lower government expenditure should
oil revenues decline. The result was the dra-
matic increase in foreign borrowing in the
second half of 1981. [4] The peso never
"floated." It maintained a relatively fixed par-
ity until the end of 1979, and subsequently
was allowed to "mini-devalue" in percent-
ages not sufficiently high to offset the differ-
ential inflation rates with Mexico's principal
trade partner, the US. The result was an
accumulated overvaluation which resulted
in the rational perception by Mexicans that it
was to their advantage to buy, invest and
travel outside Mexico.

Post-Devaluation Measures
Two days after the devaluation, on February
19th, a "program of economic adjustment"
was announced, implying, among other
measures, a 3% cut in the 1982 public sec-
tor budget. On February 24th, price con-
trols were announced on 47 groups of
products. However these attempts at aus-
terity were almost entirely vitiated on March
19th by the concession of wage increases
of up to 30% to the main union representa-
tives and the provision of tax subsidies for
industry to help it to provide for the wage
increases. The salary increases, allied to in-
creases of 33% already offered in January,
would lead to inflation of over 60% for the
year, according to calculation. If serious
austerity measures were not taken, the
peso "desliz" of 50% annually would not
be sufficient.
At the end of March, the president, ob-
viously feeling that post-devaluation eco-
nomic policy had neither been well planned
nor well executed, replaced two top eco-
nomic officials. Jesus Silva Herzog, treasury
undersecretary, became treasury secretary
in place of David Ibarra; Miguel Mancera,

Luis Echeveria, former president of Mexico.

subdirector of Banco de Mexico, became its
director general in place of Gustavo
Romero Kolbeck. Both men were closely
identified with the career and ideas of the
official PRI party candidate, Miguel de la
Madrid (whose position previous to that of
programming minister had been treasury
undersecretary).
On April 20, a major "austerity program"
was announced that bore all the hallmarks
of prior informal discussions with the IME A
decrease in the public sector deficit as per-
cent of GDP of 3% was announced (from 13
to 10%). An absolute reduction of 8% was
imposed on public sector spending. Quan-
titative limits of US$6 billion for the balance
of payments deficit, and US$11 billion for
net new external borrowing were imposed.
The whole program was expressed through
a presidential decree, published in the Di-
ario Oficial de la Federacidn, the first time
such serious evidence of intent had been
displayed in Mexican economic policy.
On the same day, a document was pub-
lished by Miguel Mancera on the "Inconve-
nience of Exchange Controls," a closely
argued piece that indicated why Mexico
could not sustain either partial (two rate) or
total exchange controls. The publication of
this document appeared designed to quell
growing rumors that such controls would
be implemented. Its publication was part of
a continuing bureaucratic war between fac-
Continued on page 35

CAI?BBEAN I IE W /11

I

Honduran Scorecard

Military and Democrats in Central America

By Mark B. Rosenberg

US Ambassador to Honduras John D. Negroponte.

Honduran historian once wrote that
the history of his country could be
"written in a tear." It is difficult to find
evidence to refute his assertion. Despite
Honduras's return to democracy through
competitive elections in November 1981,
the country's politicians find themselves
spectators to a serious internal political
struggle which involves regional and inter-
national intrigue. Moreover, the credibility of
Honduras's traditional ally, the United
States, is increasingly questioned by many
of the country's opinion makers. To make
matters worse, the usual rumors of an im-
pending militarygolpe are now superceded
by rumors of a debilitating border war with
Nicaragua and the fear of unprecedented
internal repression. Democracy in Hon-
duras has been accompanied by a climate
of uncertainty which pulls at the underpin-
nings of the society.
The poorest and least developed of Cen-
tral America's five countries, Honduras di-
vides Central America between Guatemala
and El Salvador and Nicaragua and Costa
Rica. Two of the countries bordering it are
experiencing political turmoil and a third,
Nicaragua, has recently emerged from a
bloody revolution which has not yet been

Mark B. Rosenberg teaches political science
and directs the Latin American-Caribbean
Center at Florida International University. He is
presently doing research in Honduras on a
Fulbright Fellowship.

consolidated. Honduran territory has been
the staging area for the continuous feuding
which has characterized Central American
relations since the region's independence
from Spain in September 1821. Honduras
has never been able to articulate foreign
policies designed to offend no neighbor. It
has bumped along from one regional con-
flict to another, supporting one group or
party now, supporting another later. This
inconsistency has been exacerbated by un-
defined borders with Nicaragua and El Sal-
vador as well as by the country's willingness
to be a trampoline for the efforts of more
powerful allies, like the US, to dislodge un-
friendly governments. Historian Thomas
Anderson has argued that Honduras's posi-
tion is akin to being caught in the "jaws of a
giant nutcracker."

Elections and Stabilization
Despite democratic elections which pro-
vided an overwhelming victory to Liberal
Party candidate Robert Suazo C6rdova, the
military still dominates Honduran political
life. Simple-minded views of democracy
might find this situation intolerable: the mil-
itary did much to discredit itself during an
almost uninterrupted 19 year open domi-
nance of the government However, in com-
parison with that of its neighbors, the
Honduran military has been less draconian
in its treatment of the popular sectors. In
fact, a military-labor alliance during the
early 1970s accounts for a number of sig-

nificant reforms which had a populist basis.
Given the growing regional turbulence, a
looming economic crisis, the Carter ad-
ministration's preference for civilian re-
gimes, and the incipient local popular
mobilization, it made good sense to turn the
formal reins of power over to the civilians.
Thus a gradual political opening was spon-
sored by the military, the traditional political
parties, and a melange of emerging popular
interests in the country, ranging from the
influential National University to a number
of small but progressive political parties.
By the late 1970s the military had be-
come the strongest political institution in
the country. Unlike other Central American
military establishments, however, it had
successfully experimented with the multiple
instruments of power at its disposal during
its 19 year odyssey: from repression of both
labor and business in the late 1960s, to
patriotic reconciliation during the 1969
border war with El Salvador, to popular mo-
bilization utilizing both rural and urban la-
bor as explicit coalition partners (1972-75),
then repressing these groups and rejoining
again with its more traditional rural landed
interests and the National Party in the late
1970s. Thus by late 1979, the military had
come full circle in policies, allies and styles
of coalition building. Most importantly
throughout this period it used repression
when and where necessary and against
those who stood in the way, regardless of
their class, status or political affiliation.

12/CAIBBEAN mCVIEW

The sandinista victory in Nicaragua and
the resulting disintegration of Somoza's
National Guard proved to be important les-
sons for the Honduran military. As they
looked around the region, they realized that
they too could find themselves locked in
internecine civil war, as had the
Guatemalan and Salvadoran military estab-
lishments. In a sense, the Honduran military
had a "free ride" during the 1970s, free to
intrigue, reform, repress and engage in cor-
ruption, taking advantage of the "oasis of
peace" myth which most Hondurans want
to believe.
Nor was the United States unaware of the
growing turmoil in the region. Two months
after the Nicaraguan revolution, the Depart-
ment of State's Assistant Secretary of Inter-
American Affairs, Viron Vaky, recognized the
geo-political centrality of Honduras,
prompting columnist Jack Anderson's pre-
scient quip that the country would be our
new Nicaragua." Indeed, a clear line of
thought began to develop in Washington
about Honduras's new regional role; it can
be traced from Vaky through his successor
William Bowdler to the present administra-
tion. In testimony before the House Sub-
committtee on Inter-American Affairs of the
Committee on Foreign Affairs, Bowdler
stated: "Honduras's location between Nic-
aragua and El Salvador gives it a key geo-
political position in the bridge building pro-
cess we hope will emerge in Central Amer-

ica." Ironically perhaps, he also warned that
"it is important that Honduras not be ex-
ploited as a conduit for the infiltration of
men and arms to feed conflicts in neighbor-
ing El Salvador and Nicaragua." The State
Department was still soft-peddling Cuba's
role, for Bowdler directly stated that "Cuba
is clearly not the cause of Central America's
problems... [although] it could become a
major beneficiary of turmoil."
By mid 1980, the logic of the Carter ad-
ministration thinking on Honduras was
clear: nurture the return to democracy, for-
tify the Honduran military and cauterize the
kind of conflict which was so troublesome
in both Nicaragua and El Salvador. Hon-
duras would thus play a key role in regional
stabilization.
The Carter administration carefully
brought along the Honduran military utiliz-
ing a two fold strategy: nurturing strong-
man Policarpo Paz Garcia with a series of
meetings with high level US officials both in
and outside of Honduras and by signifi-
cantly increasing both military and eco-
nomic aid. Paz Garcia made good on his
commitments to guarantee the Constitu-
tional Assembly elections, and was duly re-
warded by being named the country's
provisional president, overseeing both the
writing of the new constitution and the sec-
ond round of elections, elections which
would provide the country's civilian presi-
dent. Many Honduran political observers

Illustration by Terry Cwikla
were appalled that the Constitutional As-
sembly would willingly designate Paz as
provisional president. Yet the naming of Paz
was pragmatic testimony to the civilian fear
of the military as well as their distrust of their
own ability to manage the political arena.
Infatuated with his new role as the benefac-
tor of Honduran democracy, Paz promptly
published El pensamiento vivo de Pol-
icarpo Paz Garcia, a document which will
be remembered by few.
A critical element in the logic of regional
stabilization concerned the lingering border
conflict between El Salvador and Honduras,
yet unresolved since the brief but bloody
1969 war. In the October 1980 treaty Hon-
duras ceded far more than necessary given
its stronger bargaining position in light of
the Salvadoran internal conflict. The treaty
(which still involves delicate negotiations
over final territorial demarcations) did pro-
vide a modus operandi for joint Sal-
vadoran-Honduran operations against the
Salvadoran FMLN guerrillas in the disputed
border areas and led to the notorious Rio
Sumpul and Rio Lempa joint military oper-
ations in 1980 and 1981, where hundreds
of fleeing Salvadorans (guerrillas as well as
non-combatants) were caught in a pincer
maneuver and, according to survivors, mer-
cilessly butchered.
Immediately following the Honduran
Constitutional Assembly elections in April
1980, a prolonged period of civilian and

CAI?BBEAN elvIEW/13

military jockeying took place. The high
command (lieutenant colonel, colonels)
became increasingly preoccupied with the
implications of an independent civilian gov-
ernment. If, indeed, the new National Con-
gress wanted, it could investigate military
corruption and embarrass, if not further dis-
credit, the institution. Leaders of the domi-
nant political parties also understood that
some kind of an entendimiento with the
military would be necessary. When it be-
came apparent that Army Colonel Gustavo
Alvarez, a hardline anti-communist, would
emerge as head of the Armed Forces, civil-
ian political and business leaders alike be-
gan to "court" him. Apparently, the National
Party leader and presidential candidate,
Ricardo ZfiTiga Augustinas suggested at
one point the desirability of a golpe prior to
the November elections. Upon consulting
other high level military officers, Alvarez re-
jected the idea and in the process made it
clear that there would be no componendas
with Zifiiga. The Colonel did extract a fun-
damental commitment from the rival party
officials that no major investigations would
be carried out and that the military would
have veto power on Cabinet appointments.
This agreement was one of a series of
decisions which would guarantee post elec-
tion military domination of political life. A
related decision was being made in Wash-
ington. On December 14, 1981, the Rea-
gan administration's Assistant Secretary of
Inter-American Affairs, Thomas Enders, an-
nounced that Cuba had successfully unified
in Honduras a national directorate commit-
ted to armed struggle against the estab-
lished government. This new administra-
tion position is significant, for just six
months earlier, Enders made no mention of
Honduras when he stated before the Coun-
cil of the Americas on June 3, 1981, that
"One by one, first Nicaragua, then El Sal-
vador, then Guatemala, now Colombia,
Cuba brought the leaders of the different
[guerrilla] factions together...In each of
these countries, Cuba has been systemat-
ically creating a machine for the destruc-
tion of established institutions and
governments."
However, what is even more significant is
that a meeting of Honduran leftists appar-
ently did take place sometime around the
elections, but the result was not a unified
front. Rather, the left splintered into the pre-
dictable divisions over the proper ideology
and tactics for armed struggle. What has
always been an historically small and weak
radical movement was no different by late
1981, and, contrary to Enders's testimony,
was not capable of threatening the regime,
much less mounting an on-going revolu-
tionary campaign. It was at this time that the
US National Security Council reviewed
plans for a clandestine operation in Central
America, premised on the idea of harassing

the sandinistas and interdicting their lo-
gistical and military support for the Sal-
vadoran guerrillas. Honduras became the
operational center.
Thus, even as Honduras prepared for its
first democratically elected president since
the 1970s, the US was bracing for greater
conflict and tension in the region. Nic-
aragua was now perceived as a firm ally of
Cuba, both hellbent on stimulating revolu-
tion in the region. US Secretary of State
Alexander Haig did not even bother talking
about regional peace and conciliation. His
militancy on Central America, outstripping

A Honduran historian once
wrote that the history of his
country could be "written
in a tear."

that of US Secretary of Defense Caspar
Weinberger, was taken seriously by both
Nicaragua and Honduras. In each case, this
militancy clearly has resulted in a tightening
of the screws. And like the proverbial stone
dropped in a still pool of water, the con-
centric reverberations of the water will con-
tinue long after the stone has settled to
the bottom.

The New Government
Roberto Suazo C6rdova has followed in the
traditional pattern of Honduran caudillos.
Second in command to Modesto Rodas
Alvarado, Liberal Party kingpin since the
mid-1960s, Suazo C6rdova emerged as the
Liberal Party's leader following the untimely
death of Rodas in mid-1979. Descriptions
of the rural born Suazo usually are deriva-
tive of those of Rodas. For instance, in May
1981 El Tiempo columnist Victor Meza
unkindly caricatured both: "Modesto
Rodas,...rural pre-capitalist and simple. A
style which based its relative success on his
ability to appeal to the most elementary and
primary peasant sentiments...At times
rodista speeches gave the impression of
being improvised and lyrical lessons on na-
tional geography. Ifrodismo at least was a
political style, suazo cordovismo was
barely that, just a bad copy of the former. Or,
in the best of cases, it was just a coarse and
clerical way of making religious appeals."
Suazo's inauguration speech was filled with
platitudes, but was warmly conciliatory to all
Hondurans. The genial president called for
a "revolution in honesty and work," and a
new attention to "liberty and order." He
promised "love for all, without hate
for anyone."
Despite the appearance of peace and

tranquility at his January 1982 inaugura-
tion, Suazo's path to power had been in fact,
a labyrinth. Two years of careful negotia-
tions had taken place between the Liberal
Party, the National Party, the Armed Forces,
and the US government. At least two coup
attempts had been thwarted and several
new political actors were given admission to
the political arena. Perhaps the most impor-
tant coalition formed during this period
however was that between Suazo C6rdova
and Colonel Alvarez, commander of the
country's 3,000 man public security force,
(FUSEP), who would become the new
president's Chief of the Armed Forces, a
critical position in the delicate post inaugu-
ration civil military relationship.
Suazo's choice of Alvarez is the most im-
portant decision made by the civilian leader.
It apparently was the product of a laborious
and carefully articulated series of meetings
beginning in San Pedro Sula even before
the April 1980 Constitutional Assembly
elections.
By 1979, Gustavo Alvarez had estab-
lished himself in the Honduran military as a
consummate professional. Trained in Peru,
Argentina and the US, Alvarez had worked
his way through the officer ranks in a fash-
ion clearly differentiating himself from oth-
ers: his spit and polish demeanor, his firm
anti-communism, his relative freedom from
the congenital corruption which afflicted his
peers. Most importantly, he could never be
accused of the veleidades sandinistas
(sandinista coquetishness) which charac-
terized his predecessor Policarpo Paz and
his two competitors for the top military
position under Suazo, Colonels Humberto
Bodden and Leonidas Torres Arias. The
Reagan electoral victory in November 1980
practically ensured Alvarez's preeminence.
However, just as his uniqueness within
the army high command distinguished
him, so it put him at a certain disadvantage
in his fraternal military order. His foreign
training was counted against him by some
peers including the three mentioned above
and his hard line, unyielding veneer in sharp
contrast to Policarpo Paz, was also grating
within the fraternity. Such was the concern
within the military about his ascendancy
that Paz, a number of his cohorts, and
members of the National Party apparently
lobbied US Ambassador Jack Binns to
postpone the November 1981 presidential
elections. When Binns held firm, the Supe-
rior Council of the Armed Forces only
agreed to Alvarez's post-election designa-
tion asjefe under the condition that "Tavo"
as he was known, maintain close commun-
ication with, among others, Torres Arias
and Bodden.
Alvarez's ascendancy coincided with the
arrival in Tegucigalpa of Jack Binn's re-
placement, John D. Negroponte. Negro-
ponte's reputation as a conservative, no-

14/CAl?BBEAN REVIEW

nonsense diplomat coincided with both the
US administration's hard line Central Amer-
ican policy and Alvarez's own view of the
Central American situation. Like Suazo C6r-
dova, Alvarez had his own agenda upon
assuming his position in January 1982. He
readily cemented his relations with the
powerful San Pedro Sula businessmen's
association, but not before its moderate
leader Rafael Pastor Zelaya stepped aside in
favor of the more conservative Mario Bellot.
The leadership of the vociferous National
University was changed, putting in the rec-
toria an energetic hard line anti-commu-
nist lawyer who was a Nationalist. And it is
reported that Alvarez began to support, be-
hind the scenes, an anti-Zufilga movement
within the National Party.
Alvarez was also apparently ready to co-
operate with the congeries of anti-sand-
inista forces now congregating in Hon-
duras. Somocistas, anti-somocista con-
tras, rebellious indigenous groups from the
misquitia, CIA agents and hard line Hon-
duran officers began a more systematic
effort to build firm anti-sandinista strike
bases along the otherwise desolate Hon-
duran border. Alvarez and the US admin-
istration cooperated in a symbiotic

relationship akin to the glory days of US
support for the Somoza dynasty. Alvarez
spoke of national unity and patriotism in
face of the impending external threat; Haig's
hand wringing Central American rhetoric
and the US ambassador's insistent public
concerns for Honduran sovereignty and
self-defense completed the triangle of
power which became the Suazo C6rdova-
Alvarez-Negroponte relationship. The US
further backed up its alarmist rhetoric with
significant new injections of economic and
military aid, doubling the former from $47
million in 1981 to $87 million in 1982 and
tripling the latter in 1982 to a total of $31
million. On May 7, 1982, Honduras agreed
to a US sponsored modification of the May
20, 1954 use agreement for access to and
the upgrading of Honduran airfields (Pal-
merola, Golos6n and La Mesa) and a US-
sponsored $13 million runway extension
fund was approved for 1983.
The general climate of uncertainty sur-
rounding the electoral campaign was exac-
erbated by a series of kidnapping and
assassinations, aimed at members of Hon-
duras's leading families. Previously un-
known in the country, these acts of terror
were complemented by a wave of bank rob-

beries and the discovery of a string of guer-
rilla "safe-houses" and "people's jails" in
late 1981 and early 1982.
Suazo C6rdova capitalized on the popu-
lar consensus he brought to power to turn
the National Congress into a rubber stamp
for intermittent efforts at legislation. The tra-
ditional honeymoon given to any chief ex-
ecutive by his legislature, coupled with the
perceived growing bellicosity of Nicaragua
gave both Suazo and Alvarez much room to
maneuver politically. Eager to please Wash-
ington and fearful of their own military,
many of Honduras's leading politicians be-
came spectators in their own political game
during this period. Indeed, it was this grow-
ing lack of accountability, achieved by the
former through omission and by the latter
through commission which led to a series
of events in 1982 which threatened to polar-
ize the country and diminish seriously the
survivability of the country's fledgling
democracy.

Opposition
Just three months into his four year presi-
dential term, Suazo C6rdova further ce-
mented his relationship to Col. Alvarez by
Continued on page 39

CAiBBEAN FvIEW/ 15

4Ak '

Sanctuary for

Central Americans

A Threat to INS Policy?

By Kathy Barber Hersh

On Sunday December 12, 1982, the
members of the St. Luke Presby-
terian Church in Wayzata, Minne-
sota knowingly and defiantly broke US
federal law by welcoming into their midst a
24-year-old Salvadoran ex-soldier who had
fled his country after a fellow soldier warned
him that the military planned to kill him. He
had been smuggled across the US-Mexican
border and eventually arrived in Minnesota
by means of a modern-day "underground
railroad" engineered by otherwise law-
abiding church-goers who feel compelled
by religious and moral convictions
to help refugees escape the violence in
Central America.
The Reverend Richard Lundy's message
that Sunday was meant to be heard all the
way to Washington: "Families fleeing from a
bloodbath in Central America and coming
to our country for safety are not being al-
lowed to remain here until it is safe for them
to return home; but instead are being
hunted and arrested and deported back to
the terror. We are here today to say 'no' to
that policy of our government by saying
'yes' to what the Gospel asks of us, that we
stand with the powerless and that we wel-
come the homeless."
The young Salvadoran, using the
pseudonymn Rene Hurtado and masking
his face to conceal his identity to protect
relatives still living in El Salvador, was
seated among the members of the con-
gregation. That night Hurtado slept in a
converted classroom, "where he will be wel-
come to stay until it is safe for him to return
home," said Lundy.
By declaring its church a sanctuary for
Central American refugees, St. Luke Pres-
byterian joined a network of 21 other US
churches nationwide, backed by 250 sup-
port churches, in an open act of defiance of
US immigration policy-a policy which
does not recognize Salvadorans as refu-
gees requiring asylum. The sanctuary
movement has gained momentum in re-

Kathy Barber Hersh is a free lance journalist.
She was ABC News correspondent in Mexico,
1976-1981, during which time she covered the
wars in Nicaragua and El Salvador.

cent months, representing a cross-section
of US denominations-Baptists, Catholics,
Presbyterians, Methodists, Quakers, the
United Church of Christ-in cities not
known as hotbeds of social activism-Tuc-
son, Seattle, Racine, Wisconsin.
So farthe Immigration and Naturalization
Service (INS) has kept a polite distance,
prefering not to make a moral issue out of a
legal one. But participants in the sanctuary
movement and the underground railroad
believe that if enough churches join their
ranks, with the ensuant publicity that inev-
itably occurs when a local church declares
itself in violation of federal law, they will be
able to exert enough pressure on Congress
to change existing US immigration policy.
The law and the penalties are clearly
spelled out in Section 274(a) of the Immi-
gration and Nationality Act: "Any person
who willfully or knowingly conceals, har-
bors, or shields from detection, or attempts
to conceal, harbor or shield from detection,
in any place, including any building or any
means of transportation...an alien...not
duly admitted by an immigration officer or
not lawfully entitled to enter or reside within
the United States...shall be guilty of a felony,
and upon conviction thereof shall be
punished by a fine not exceeding $2,000 or
by imprisonment for a term not exceeding
five years, or both, for each alien." Addi-
tional charges can be brought for "conspir-
acy to harbor an undocumented alien,"
falsifying or concealing material facts,
or making fraudulent statements to an
INS officer.
In spite of the risks, there are people will-
ing to take them. One such is Jim Corbett, a
retired rancher who lives in Tucson. Corbett
has smuggled in so many refugees he has
lost count. When pressed he estimates the
number at around 300. But there are always
more waiting, in the Mexican-Guatemalan
border town of Tapachula, in Mexico City, in
Guadalajara. They wait to be reunited with
family members who have already made
the journey northward and wait for them in
"safe houses" in the US. For Corbett in-
volvement was mandated by a conscience
that would not permit him to "just sit by." He
is a Quaker. His name and face decorate the

bulletin boards of INS offices in the south-
west US, one reason he has had to be-
come less directly involved in the smug-
gling activity.
But he still makes trips to Mexico and
Central America to make local arrange-
ments and talk to refugees planning to
make the trip. Each refugee has a tragic
story to tell of lost or slain sons and daugh-
ters, of threats and torture, of living on the
run. When called on to speak before a
group of over 100 people interested in the
sanctuary movement last fall in Austin, Cor-
bett stated: "Maybe I should take this oppor-
tunity to personalize a few atrocities for you.
But I won't. As a matter of fact, I can't. When
I'm with the refugees I can maintain my
emotional balance. But when I try to talk to
others in specific, personal terms about
what's happening, the grief forces itself to
the surface and disables me."

The Beginning
Corbett first became aware of the problem
when a friend picked up a hitchhiker one
afternoon in early May 1981. The hitchhiker
turned out to be a Salvadoran fleeing his
country. Corbett's friend was stopped by the
Border Patrol and the hitchhiker was ar-
rested. That night Corbett and his friend
speculated about the man's possible fate.
They realized how little they knew about
their own country's laws concerning refu-
gees. "The next morning I called the INS to
see what could be done for him, if any-
thing," recalls Corbett. "I was so naive...
I thought they would tell me what the neces-
sary procedures were." In retrospect, Cor-
bett believes that the only reason he even
found out the man's whereabouts was be-
cause the INS official mistook him for a
former mayor of Tucson with the same
name. Not only did Corbett find the Sal-
vadoran, but he discovered fifty more being
detained in various jails and holding cen-
ters in the Tucson area. Overwhelmed by
the situation, he wrote letters to friends and
Quaker groups around the country. He also
discovered a group of people in Tucson
who were aware of the refugees' situation
and were trying to do something about it.
The Manzo Area Council had existed for

CAI?BBEAN revW/ 17

over ten years as a neighborhood civic
group in a Spanish barrio in Tucson. Since
many of the Manzo residents were undocu-
mented illegals, the Council began to spe-
cialize in legal aid to aliens. It was not long
before the group became involved with
Central American refugees. Soon after Cor-
bett started working with the Council, it
joined forces with the Tucson Ecumenical
Council, an organization representing 65
area churches, who were interested in
providing refugee resettlement services.
They became convinced that legal aid was
the most urgent need to prevent deporta-
tion back to possible persecution or death.
A local lawyer, Tim Nonn, managed to
raise over $100,000 for a mass bail-out at El
Centro, the main INS holding facility for the
southwest US. On July 10, 1981 thirty vol-
unteers, Corbett among them, armed with
pencils, paper and typewriters, arrived en
masse at El Centro to depose Salvadorans
wanting asylum. After two weeks of sixteen-
hour days, the Council managed to free
over one hundred detainees. "It was just like
the days of the civil rights movement in the
60s," said Corbett.
The group began to uncover discrepan-
cies in INS procedures. Outright violations
of due process began to turn up regularly.
Refugees who had been helped by volun-
teers to fill out asylum forms simply disap-
peared, suddenly transferred or deported.
In one flagrant violation of the law, an INS
officer in El Centro tore up asylum applica-

tion forms in the faces of Manzo Council
volunteers Lupe Castillo and Margo Cowan.
In a study sponsored by the Oxford Com-
mittee for Famine Relief (OXFAM) in 1982,
authors Gary MacEoin and Nivita Riley doc-
umented repeated violations by INS offi-
cials of legal procedure involving political
asylum applications. In affidavits given by
lawyers representing the refugees, numer-
ous cases are cited of their being denied
access to clients, and of INS agents coerc-
ing individuals into signing voluntary de-
parture forms, thus automatically forfeiting
the right to apply for asylum.
Lisa S. Brodyaga, a lawyer working with
Salvadoran refugees detained in the Port
Isabel Detention Center near Harlingen,
Texas gave the following sworn statement in
November 1981: "There have also been an
alarming number of instances where cli-
ents have been yanked from under my
nose, including one who was deported after
a timely appeal had been filed. Another
such improper deportation was narrowly
averted when I happened to hear the client's
name being called over the loudspeaker the
day after I had filed a timely appeal, and
learned he was to be deported that night.
One woman was involuntarily returned after
I had spent three days trying to have bond
set for her, being told she was a Marshal's
prisoner [held by a federal marshal as a
material witness] (which she was not) so
that bond would not be set."
Attorney Linton Joaquin, in a letter to

Left: Central American refugee in Colorado.
Center: Masked to protect their identities, a
refugee family is given sanctuary in an Illinois
church. Right: Map of the Mexican route to

MacEoin and Riley dated March 10, 1982,
cited evidence of violations. After an inter-
view with one of his clients, Joaquin gave
him some material outlining his legal
rights. "At this point," said Joaquin, "one of
the immigration agents called out, 'Let me
see that,' and took the packet from my cli-
ent. An agent named J.L. Hammer looked
over the packet, and stated, 'This is political
propaganda.' Mr. Hammer stated that only
religious materials could be given de-
tainees. My client was not allowed to have
the packet. The packet consisted simply of
a description of rights under the immigra-
tion laws, and procedures for exercising
these rights."
In September 1982 the Manzo Council
filed a $30 million lawsuit against the
federal government over the issue of unlaw-
ful deportations. Convinced that they were
not the only ones breaking the law, that the
INS itself was violating established legal
procedures, Corbett and others stepped up
what they called the "evasion services" part
of their operation. Since asylum application
was no guarantee against illegal deporta-
tion, refugees were "assisted in evading
capture" and were smuggled across the
border and hidden in "safe houses" until
they could be transferred clandestinely to
relatives waiting in the large Salvadoran
community in Los Angeles. The new under-
ground railroad was born.
But the Salvadoran community in L.A.
could absorb only so many jobless, home-

18/CAiBBEAN rFVOie

I

convey Central American refugees to the US.
Map by Joel Roleshawn, reprinted by permis-
sion of the Tucson Citizen.

less people. The pastor of Tucson's South-
side United Presbyterian Church, the
Reverend John Fife, who had been an active
member of the group, started talking about
Southside's becoming a refuge for Sal-
vadorans. Fife's congregation of 130 peo-
ple, a typical blend of Southwest racial and
cultural types, voted to take the illegal step.
Other churches in other parts of the country
heard about their plans and wanted to par-
ticipate. On March 24, 1982, the second
anniversary of the assassination of El Sal-
vador's Archbishop Oscar Romero, John
Fife hung two banners outside the church.
One banner said: "This is a sanctuary for
the oppressed of Central America." The
other banner had a message for the INS:
"Immigration: Do not profane the sanctuary
of God." The church sanctuary movement
had begun.

US Policy Criticized
According to estimates compiled from the
United Nations High Commissioner for Ref-
ugees, more than 500,000 Salvadorans
have left their country since the war inten-
sified in early 1980. Another 200,000 are
homeless, yet still living inside the country.
The Roman Catholic Bishops Conference
of Guatemala has estimated that as many
as one million Guatemalans have been
made homeless by the war there, 200,000
of whom have fled into exile, mainly
to Mexico.
Salvadorans and Guatemalans are rec-

ognized by the UN as "de facto refugees,"
deserving asylum, a position not taken by
the US government. In the last two years
only 76 Salvadorans have been grated po-
litical asylum out of 22,314 pending ap-
plications. Last year 10,500 Salvadorans
were deported. According to a survey done
by the Church World Services, current
monthly deportations of Salvadorans are
estimated at 1,000.
US policy regarding refugees from Cen-
tral America has been criticized by both the
UN High Commissioner and Amnesty Inter-
national, who cited the US as "being in vio-
lation in spirit and perhaps letter" of US
commitments under the UN Convention
Relating to the Status of Refugees, for-
malized in 1951: "No contracting party shall
expel or forcibly return a refugee in any
manner whatsoever to the frontiers of ter-
ritories where his life or freedom would be
threatened on account of his race, religion,
nationality, membership of a particular so-
cial group, or political opinion."
In 1980 Congress passed the Refugee
Act of 1980 to bring US law into full confor-
mity with the UN Convention. An accom-
panying Senate memorandum said the Act
gave "statutory meaning to our national
commitment to human rights and human-
itarian concerns." The law states: "The term
'refugee' means...any person who is out-
side any country of such person's na-
tionality or, in the case of a person having
no nationality, is outside any country in

which such person last habitually resided,
and who is unable or unwilling to return to,
and is unable and unwilling to avail himself
or herself of the protection of that country
because of persecution or a well-founded
fear of persecution on account of race, re-
ligion, nationality, membership in a particu-
lar social group, or political opinion."
The US position has been that aliens
coming from El Salvador and Guatemala
are "economic" migrants seeking to
better their economic circumstances
rather than persons avoiding life-threat-
ening circumstances.
The fate of deported refugees is uncer-
tain. The US government provides the Sal-
vadoran government with a list of all
Salvadoran deportees on a given airline
flight. In the OXFAM report MacEoin and
Riley cite statements by refugees, one of
them an ex-soldier who had been stationed
at the San Salvador airport, who indicated
that deportation at the very least increases
one's chances of persecution and/or death.
In a sworn statement made on 16 Sep-
tember 1981, Jose Rosales declared: "Iwas
stationed at the San Salvador airport in the
latter part of 1979. 1 recall one particular
incident in November 1979 when an air-
plane arrived carrying...nine Salvadorans
being deported from Mexico. The nine de-
portees were detained at the airport, 'inves-
tigated,' that is, tortured and killed. Pictures
of their bodies appeared in the newspaper.
Continued on page 43

CAIBBEAN PeVIE/19

Freedom of the Press

in Nicaragua

Sergio Ramirez Mercado and

Pedro Joaquin Chamorro Barrios

Interviews by Beatriz Parga de Bay6n Translated by Judith C. Faerron

Three years after the fall of dictator
Anastasio Somoza, the issue of free-
dom of the press in Nicaragua re-
mains unclarified. During the Somoza
regime press restriction was such that it
ultimately cost the life of Pedro Joaquin
Chamorro, then-director of La Prensa, the
country's largest daily. Four years have
passed since his murder, and his son, Pedro
Joaquin Chamorro Barrios, 30, who today
runs La Prensa, claims that current censor-
ship is even worse than under Somoza.
The sandinista government, on the
other hand, argues that there is freedom of
expression today in Nicaragua. It maintains
that all newspaper, radio and TV news is
submitted to the Media Department for
censorship solely because the government
needs to "defend the Nicaraguan revolution
from Yankee imperialist aggression."
Two key people involved in the matter:
Sergio Ramirez Mercado of the Junta de
Reconstruccion Nacional and Pedro Joa-
quin Chamorro Barrios of La Prensa are
here interviewed. Ramirez was interviewed
while he was in the Dominican Republic
attending inauguration ceremonies of Pres-
ident Salvador Jorge Blanco in August
1982, and Chamorro while in Miami cover-
ing the championship fight of Nicaraguan
boxer Alexis Arguello in November 1982.
For the most part neither knew the other's
reaction to the questions. Some of the
questions to Ramirez, however, were asked
at a press conference and reported over the
international news wires, subsequently
seen by Chamorro.
Beatriz Parga de Bayon: Let's talk
about freedom of the press in Nicaragua.
Before the sandinista revolution there
were 39 radio stations in Managua. Now, 37
have been nationalized and the remaining
two, Radio Cat6lica and Radio Mundial,
are subject to government censorship.
There were three newspapers. Now, one is
an official publication, one is obviously
sandinista-leaning, and the third, La Pren-

Beatriz Parga de Bay6n is a Colombian jour-
nalist living in Miami. Judith C. Faerron is as-
sistant editor of CR.

sa, published by the Chamorro family, is
subject to censorship. There were two TV
channels: one independent and the other
belonging to Somoza. Now both broadcast
only Frente programs. The press has com-
plained of a lack of freedom long since the
Somoza years. Will Nicaragua ever have
freedom of the press?
Sergio Ramirez Mercado: To start with,
let me say that not only do we hope to have
freedom of the press, we believe that we do
have freedom of the press. Freedom of the
press must be viewed from different angles.
The two Nicaraguan TV channels pre-
viously belonged to the Somoza family: one
directly to Somoza Debayle, the other to his
cousins and were [automatically] taken
over by the revolution. There has been no
process to take over national TV Further-
more, it is not true that Nicaragua has only
two independent radio stations, nor are
there 37. There are 60 radio stations: you
must also count those in the departments,
which are many; 65% of these are privately
owned.
I believe these things are better observed
and proved first hand in Nicaragua.
Chances are you won't believe what I'm tell-
ing you, so it is best to see the facts for
yourself.
Now, of course there is censorship in Nic-
aragua at this time. But it is not because we
are totalitarian, but because the country is
under aggression and Nicaragua is at war.
We have lost men in battle with counter-
revolutionary troops of 100 to 120, armed
with the most modern weapons you can
imagine, including automatic rifles and
rocket launchers possessed only by the US
government.
We are facing a war situation, that is why
there is censorship of the news which deals
with national security. Ever since the tri-
umph of the revolution, the people in power
in Washington have been arming the Hon-
duran army and counterrevolutionary
bands, and so this has to have an effect on
freedom of the press.
You ask if we are going to lift censorship
of the news. Of course we are. When the US
stops attacking us, when there are no coun-

terrevolutionary groups at the Honduran
border, then we will return to the situation
you mention.
Pedro Joaquin Chamorro Barrios:
Unfortunately we have not obtained the
freedom we fought for during so many
years of the Somoza dictatorship. Very strict
press laws have been promulgated since
the revolution, and I dare say there is no
parallel with those existing under the
Somoza dictatorship. These laws have led
to the indefinite closure of several radio
news stations. La Prensa was temporarily
shut down five times in five months. Exist-
ing laws allow the Media Department to
indefinitely shut down any means of com-
munication which it believes is violating
these ambiguous laws which cannot be
appealed.
The two TV channels are being used for
party propaganda and the only employees
allowed are those friendly to the regime.
During the Somoza dictatorship, Manuel
Espinoza and others, now members of the
current government, could work in TV de-
spite their not being somocistas. As for
radio, many stations have been closed and
there are now only seven independent sta-
tions, but these are not permitted to broad-
cast news information. After the State of
Emergency was decreed on March 15,
1982, all news programs were cancelled
and the Cadena de la Voz de la Defensa de
la Patria was established instead. It broad-
cast four or five times a day, and joined two
other networks known as Puio en Alto,
dedicated to broadcasting political propa-
ganda and to attacking opposition leaders.
Pwio en Alto was established to continue
the literacy campaign but, arguing national
defense, it only aired propaganda. Recently
it finally tired of politics and decided to feign
a liberalization of the communications me-
dia by removing Cadena de la Voz de la
Defense de la Patria from the air and al-
lowing a few obviously official-leaning sta-
tions to broadcast. The only station with
enough wattage to broadcast to the entire
nation is Radio Corporacidn, and it is not
allowed to broadcast news programs. Ra-
dio Amor and Radio Mi Preferida, which

20/CAlBBEAN tPEVIE

Created from photos of Pedro Joaquin Chamorro (Wide World Photos) and Sergio Ramirez Mercado (Photo: Jean Bernard Diederich).

belong to radio businessman Manuel
Gir6n, were closed. These two stations were
also closed at the end of the Somoza
dictatorship.
There are three newspapers: Barricada,
thesandinista government's official paper;
El Nuevo Diario which theoretically re-
flects the official Frente Sandinista opin-
ion, and La Prensa, the only independent
newspaper, and which is now subject to
what is probably the strictest censorship in
its history, including that of the Somoza
dictatorship. Even news of interest to the
consumer is censored. For example, once
Bulgaria exported canned goods to Nic-
aragua and they arrived near their expira-
tion date. The censors forbade publication
of the fact that they had to take the cans off
the shelves. They censor news which would
be published in any other country in the
world, which has nothing to do with national
security, and which is actually a public
service.
Another time the government promoted,
through vast publicity, a concert of Cuban
music. Nicaragua composer Frutos
Montes decided to stage his own show of
Nicaraguan folk music to counter the exag-
gerated influence of Cuban folklore. In an
interview slated for publication on the in-
side pages, the censors took out a para-
graph reading: "The Nicaraguan author of
'Nicaragua y su mtisica' was pleased with
the support received from those who firmly
agree that national matters must come
first." Meaning that in Nicaragua one can-
not place national values over certain for-
eign ones.
The censors even review classified ads.
Nothing escapes them. They examine line
by line. What they call the "text revision pro-
cess" is very lengthy and meticulous, and
affects working hours and the distribution
schedule of the newspaper. Then comes
the "resolution" which is a written order in-
dicating the changes that must be made.
This could mean anything from a simple
headline change to an extensive list which

could start with: "Paragraph 15: omit from
word this to word that. Paragraph 16: omit
this part. Paragraph 17: omit entirely."
Sometimes the word "antisandinista" is
changed to "counterrevolutionary." The
same happens to the international wire sto-
ries which bring news of Eden Pastora, Al-
fonso Robelo or other Nicaraguans in exile.
Our only means of protest is to take out the
entire story, instead of giving in to their
changes. The censorship office is a depart-
ment of the Ministry of the Interior, and
Nelba Cecilia Land6n, Director of Com-
munications, has the power to censor any-
thing that she or those who work for her,
consider a threat to national security. Such
as the news about the canned goods. Those
who practice censorship never practiced
journalism.
BPB: The charge of "aggression" is
wielded by totalitarian countries such as
Haiti and Cuba as a means to limit freedom
of the press. But given the fact that there
could be corruption or abuses within the
national directorate, freedom is still very
functional. If Christ had 12 disciples and
one was corrupt, could this not also be the
case with members of thejunta?
SRM: Well, the three that could have
been corrupt are out because we are nine
instead of 12. Frankly I want to tell you that it
is very hard for me...I have been trained to
answer journalists' questions, but answer-
ing political questions is hard for me. There-
fore my answers reflect my difficulty in
responding to your personal political crite-
ria, not journalistic questions. There is no
danger of totalitarianism in Nicaragua as
long as the people support power as we
exercise it. Do not forget one very important
thing: The Nicaraguan revolution is not tak-
ing place in an historic vacuum, nor on an
island. It is taking place confronting the
government of the United States. an admin-
istration that has refused to accept the fact
that a small and poor nation can stage a
revolution. If we were able to peacefully re-
construct our country, to create riches, with-

out daily military expenses to carry out our
daily defense, the result would be different.
But at this time Nicaragua is a country at
war and countries at war are subjectto com-
pletely different circumstances.
PJCB: If the question is whether censor-
ship as I have described it isjustified in view
of the risk of foreign aggression, I will say no.
Most of the things censored have nothing to
do with aggression, nor with destabilization
of the government. Things which have
nothing to do with politics are censored,
such as the letter from the pope to the
bishops of Nicaragua [June 29, 1982]. This
letter, which gained continental recognition
because it was censored, would not have
made such an impact had it not been cen-
sored. What did the pope's letter contain?
Two fundamental messages to the people
of Nicaragua. First, it invited the faithful to
join with their pastors, the bishops, at a time
when the Episcopal Conference was under
attack by the Frente Sandinista, which
charged that the ecclesiastic hierarchy was
not truly representing fundamental Catholic
principles. The second message warned of
the dangers of the so-called Iglesia Popu-
lar, promoted by the Frente Sandinista.
The pope clearly stated that this church is
very political, and warned of its dangers.
The censors said the letter was a fake. In
order to allow them to authenticate the
message we decided to send them a pho-
tocopy of the letter, signed byJohn Paul 11. In
response they indicated in their resolution
that the "pope's letter to the bishops cannot
be published." At that point the bishops
decided to distribute it to their churches,
and the international news wires carried re-
ports of its repercussion on the faithful of
Nicaragua. The letter was a natural news
item for any journalist: not only was it the
first letter in history ever sent to the Nic-
araguan bishops by a pope, but it was also
broadcast in its entirety by the wire services,
a gesture previously limited to transcenden-
tal ecclesiastic documents, such as the pa-
Continued on page 44

CA ?BBCAN IFVIEW/21

The Drama of Lares

The New Intellectual Debate

By Olga Jim6nez de Wagenheim raAb .

On the night of September 23, 1868
between 600 and 1000 men, the
majority of them creoles from the
western region of Puerto Rico, rose in the
town of Lares to demand the independence
of the island from Spain. That evening the
rebels captured the seat of the local govern-
ment, deposed and arrested the Spanish
officials and put them in prison, along with
several Spanish merchants. They then im-
planted a republican form of government,
which proclaimed the immediate abolition
of those slaves willing to join the rebel
forces and declared an end to the coercive
labor system, which since 1849 had been
endured by the free laboring classes.
The Spanish reaction to the news of the
rebels' attack was swift but relatively mild
when compared with their past actions.
Warned a few days before of the impending
uprising, the colonial authorities ordered
the regular and militia troops on the island
to close in on the insurgents from various
points and the loyal municipaljuntas to
patrol the ports, to avoid outside help from
reaching the rebels and to cut their escape.
By the afternoon of the 24th of September
the rebels had been routed at San
Sebastian.
After a brief consultation, the rebel lead-
ers decided to take refuge in the nearby hills
where they would await news of other revo-
lutionary cries on the island and the arrival
of the movement's leader, Dr. Ram6n Emet-
erio Betances. According to the insurrec-
tionary plan they had been following,

Olga Jim6nez de Wagenheim teaches history
at Rutgers University, Newark, New Jersey.
This article is based on research on El Grito de
Lares to be published in Spanish by Editorial
Huracdn, Rib Piedras, Puerto Rico.

Betances was due to arrive five days later
with a ship, weapons, and more than 1000
recruits from the port of St. Thomas.
At the time, the rebels were not aware that
the Spanish authorities had already made
arrangements with the Danish colonial gov-
ernment in St. Thomas to confiscate the
rebel ship as well as their weapons and to
turn over Betances to them. Unaided from
the outside, and blocked at every exit port,
the rebels found themselves trapped in the
mountains of the western interior, where
they were nearly all captured within the fol-
lowing two months by troops activated for
the occasion. After several months of civil-
ian and military trials, the majority of those
jailed, except for the 71 who perished in
prison from yellow fever, were freed by an
amnesty decree, issued bythe revolutionary
junta that had just taken over the reigns of
government in Madrid.

Puerto Rican Historiography
These, in summary, are the major events of
what is known in Puerto Rican historiogra-
phy as the Grito de Lares. This historical
event, so important to Puerto Ricans today,
was practically forgotten until the 1930s,
when Don Pedro Albizu Campos, leader of
the Nationalist Party of Puerto Rico, re-
discovered it and invested it with political
significance for the anti-colonial struggle
that was being waged against the United
States by a sector of the Puerto Rican peo-
ple. The Nationalists not only placed the
Grito de Lares in historical perspective, but
defined it as a symbol of Puerto Rican-ness.
Since the 1930s hundreds of articles and
essays have been written on the Grito de
Lares. But until recently most of these con-
tinued to interpret that uprising from an
ideological perspective, attributed the mo-

tives for the event to political forces, and
defined the movement that unleashed it as
national in scope, directed at achieving lib-
eration for all. A few of the authors also
claimed that besides the nationalist goal,
the conspiracy leading to the uprising was
merely the beginning of a revolutionary
movement that sought to reform the soci-
ety by abolishing slavery and ending
the oppressive conditions of the free la-
boring classes.
During the last five years there has been a
renewed interest in the Grito de Lares and
some attempts to reinterpret it from a mate-
rialist perspective. In the relatively few stud-
ies that have appeared from that vantage
point the emphasis has been on the social
and economic conditions, rather than on
the political motives, and on the regional,
rather than on the national scope.
Ricardo Caamufias, e.g., has argued
("Lares a mediados del Siglo 19: Antece-
dentes econdmicos a la reuoluci6n de
1868") that at the time of the uprising many
of the insurgent leaders from Lares were
heavily in debt with the Spanish merchants.
Thus, he concluded that the rebels' de-
pressed economic conditions motivated
the Lares uprising.
A similar view of the uprising and its mo-
tives was adopted by Laird Bergad ("To-
wards Puerto Rico's Grito de Lares: Coffee,
Social Stratification and Class Conflicts,
1828-1868"). Bergad demonstrated how
the social and economic conditions of the
creoles in Lares deteriorated, over time,
and concluded that it was the tension gen-
erated by those conditions that forced the
Lareios to an armed confrontation with
their oppressors. Bergad, however, sug-
gests in his conclusion that the political
forces and the political rebel leaders were of

22/CAlmBBEAN eVIEW

little or no importance in shaping the upris-
ing. He takes issue with the theory ad-
vanced by some Puerto Rican authors that
the uprising was part of an insular social
movement to reform the society and end
the oppression of the laboring classes.
In presenting these views of the Grito de
Lares it is not my intention to merely
engage in academic arguments about the
relative value of one versus another inter-
pretation. But rather to demonstrate that the
forces that shaped the uprising of Lares
were very complex and cannot be under-
stood from either the ideological or mate-
rialist perspectives alone.
In reviewing the documentary evidence,
as well as the secondary literature, related to
the Lares uprising, the political, social and
economic conditions, of the island as a
whole, and the municipalities involved in
the conspiracy, in particular, I have found
that there were more than one set of mo-
tives for the Grito de Lares. Thus, it is my
intention to demonstrate that while the op-
pressive economic conditions of the coffee
region were necessary to rally some men
and women to the revolutionary cause it
was the ideological promise made by the
political leaders that gave them hope.
Hence, it is my position that while the mate- P
rial conditions predisposed the men and
women to the revolutionary rhetoric being
circulated in Puerto Rico at the end of the
1860s, it was the political leaders who com-
prehended the total reality, shaped it into a
national crusade, and pointed the way out
of the colonial embrace.

Puerto Rico in the 1860s
According to the documentary evidence we
have examined, by the end of the 1 860s the
Continued on page 45

CAT BBEAN FEVIEW/23

I I II

Pan Am in the Caribbean

The Rise and Fall of an Empire

A By Alfred L. Padula

S eptember 20,1929. A Fokker Trimo-
tor was rising steadily above central
Cuba, a speck against the clouds
that crowned the Sierra de Escambray
mountains. At the controls was the "Lone
Eagle," Charles Lindbergh, and in the cabin
behind, his wife Anne Morrow, navigator,
observer, writer: "It was breathtaking, the
rugged green tropical mountains dropping
into that deep blue violet" of the sea she
wrote. She was elated. They were America's
most famous couple. They were on a mis-
sion of romance, adventure...and bold cap-
italist enterprise. They were making the first
aerial circumnavigation of the Caribbean,
blazing a trail for their sponsors, Pan Ameri-
can Airways.
The Lindbergh flight was but one facet in
the early years of an aerial empire which
grew with stunning speed and success. Pan
Am was the western hemisphere's first inter-
national airline and for decades its largest
and most important one, a pre-eminent
force in bringing the air age to Latin Amer-
ica. It was, for good or ill, an agent of the
communications revolution that would

Alfred L. Padula teaches history at the Univer-
sity of Southern Maine. This article is ex-
cerpted from a larger work on US multi-
national corporations in Latin America.

shake Latin America's traditional societies
to their very foundations.
It began in Florida, the bridge between
continents, cultures, between the temper-
ate North and the tropical Caribbean. Oth-
ers had been there before. Aeromarine
Airways of New York had organized a "High
Ball Express" between Manhattan and
Havana in the early 1920s, flying New York-
ers away from the Protestant north of prohi-
bition and ferocious winters. But Aero-
marine's leisurely Curtiss flying boats took
two days to make Havana. It was a service
for the rich only. It was noisy and tiresome. It
did not last.
Juan Trippe, financier, dreamer, ex-mem-
ber of the Yale flying club, watched the pop-
ularity of flying skyrocket after Lindbergh's
solo across the Atlantic in 1926. Airlines
were being set up everywhere in America
and Europe, but there were none linking
America with its southern neighbors. Ven-
ture capital was available; it was the midst of
the great bull market of the 1920s. But capi-
tal wanted steadiness, guarantees. The do-
mestic airlines were being underwritten by
the Federal government through airmail
contracts and federal construction of air-
ports and navigational aids. In 1928 the
Foreign Air Mail Act offered equal incentives
to an airline route linking North and South
America. Behind the Foreign Air Mail Act

were very old strategic and commercial ob-
jectives: a desire to head off European influ-
ence, to defend the Panama Canal-which
had opened only a decade before-and to
assure an "open door" for American com-
merce and investment in the south.
Trippe was ready. In 1926 he flew to Cuba
in a Fokker Trimotor, took President Ma-
chado up for a spin and won exclusive air-
mail rights to Havana. On October 28,
1927, Pan Am's Fokker began air mail ser-
vice to Cuba. It was the first regular interna-
tional air route in the Americas. Meanwhile,
Trippe and his agents were circling the Car-
ibbean, persuading other governments to
sign airmail contracts. Some were reluctant,
there were acrimonious moments, pressure
from the US government and the multina-
tionals. Eventually they all signed, and in
1928, 1929, and 1930 Trippe won a series
of US airmail contracts which taken to-
gether, amounted to a ten year $50 million
revenue guarantee. On this solid base,
Trippe could raise additional funds in the
stock markets and from the banks. The fu-
ture of Pan Am was assured.

Building the Network
Trippe was both a creator and an assembler.
He was building Pan Am, by buying out his
competitors, some of which would become
Pan Am subsidiaries in their respective na-

24/CAIBBEAN VIEW

Fairchild 71 NC9726, used in Central America.

tions. He bought West Indian Air Express in
August, 1928, Mexicana in January, 1929,
the Colombian SCADTA in December,
1931, Cubana de Aviacion in 1932. There
would be others. As late as the 1950s, Pan
Am owned shares in airlines all around the
Caribbean littoral: Cuba (Cubana), Venezu-
ela (AVENSA), Colombia (AVIANCA), Pan-
ama (COPA), Nicaragua (LANICA), Costa
Rica (LACSA), Honduras (SAHSA),
Guatemala (Aerovias de Guatemala) and
Mexico (Mexicana).
Trippe bought lines like Mexicana be-
cause he had no choice. Nationalist legisla-
tion in Mexico forbade foreigners to carry
Mexican mails within the Aztec nation. The
local subsidiaries served as feeder lines, as-
sembling passengers and mails in central
cities to link up with Pan Am's international
flights. And as new generations of planes
appeared, the subsidiaries provided a ready
market for Pan Am's used aircraft.
While the brains of Pan Am's far flung
network were in the Chrysler building in
New York, the heart of its Caribbean opera-
tions was in Miami. At Dinner Key on
Miami's Biscayne Bay, Pan Am opened
America's first international air terminal. It
was a seaplane terminal with piers and
ramps and a very nautical air. The twin en-
gined Sikorsky S-38 seaplanes inbound
from the Caribbean landed in Biscayne Bay

Juan Trippe and Charles Lindbergh.

and taxied up to the dockside to disgorge
their twelve passengers. Ground crews in
bathing trunks attached a dolly to the
Sikorsky's hull and the planes were towed
ashore to have their bottoms scrubbed and
their engines serviced. There was also a
rudimentary airport in an old orange grove
at 36th Street that would in time grow into
Miami International, one of the world's busi-
est airports.
Pan Am's planes were safe, timely, and
enormously popular. Pan Am's fleet grew
apace; 11 planes in 1928, 60 in 1929, 111
in 1930. To support this operation by 1934
Pan Am had 69 weather stations, 103 land
airports and 56 seaplane bases in Latin
America. This was growth at full throttle.
From the very beginning Pan Am was
intimately associated with the development
of US multinational corporations in Latin
America. The multinationals, sugar com-
panies in Cuba and Puerto Rico oil com-
panies in Venezuela and Mexico, and the big
banks, had encouraged the formation of
Pan Am, bought much of its stock, and were
its premier users.
Pan Am's links were especially intimate
with the United Fruit Company which in the
1920s was the world's greatest agricultural
company. In 1922 Trippe struck a deal with
the Fruit Company, arranging for them to
charter two Aeromarine planes to fly im-

port-export documents up from the seaport
at Tela, Honduras, to the capital at
Tegucigalpa. It was a trip of 100 miles, two
hours by air; three days by mule. United
Fruit saw the advantages of a larger net that
would link it to the US and in the late 1920s
the "frutera" used its legendary influence
in the Caribbean to help Pan Am get the
landing and airmail rights it needed.
A survey undertaken in 1936 shows that
Pan Am's most important clients were Stan-
dard Oil, Electric Bond and Share, General
Electric, General Motors and Ford. Pan Am
worked to stimulate aerial commerce by
providing interested parties with commer-
cial intelligence on prices, competitors, pol-
itics and regulations.
In the 1930s Pan Am enjoyed un-
paralleled power and success. In Wash-
ington where it was widely regarded as
America's "chosen instrument," Pan Am
was forgiven its role as privileged monop-
oly. To the public Pan Am was a success
story in the midst of the depression, a testi-
mony to American genius. In April, 1931
Fortune declared Pan Am to be the "Co-
lossus of the Caribbean." Pan Am's offices
abroad were, on occasion, more influential
than the State Department's embassies.
They were Trippe's embassies!
By the late 1930s, Pan Am was employ-
ing the profits, equipment and experience it

CATfBBCAN IrPu[v/25

aQ

- ,- _:-- -_ ; -

A Lincoln Standard biplane operated by Com-
pania Mexicana de Aviacion which became a
Pan American subsidiary in January 1929.

Photos reprinted from R.E.G. Davies, Air-
lines of the United States Since 1914,
(Washington D.C.: Smithsonian Institu-
tion Press, 1982). Reprinted by permis-
sion of the author and the publisher.

had developed in the Caribbean and Latin
America to underwrite its expansion across
the Atlantic and Pacific. As World War II
began, the US War Department feared that
the Germans, having defeated Europe,
would conquer West Africa and then jump
across the Atlantic to the hump of Brazil and
thence up the coast across the Antillean
archipelago towards the US. To help block
this possibility, in 1940 President Roosevelt
asked Trippe to create a series of airbases
linking Florida with the hump of Brazil. Pan
Am would have to do the job because Latin
America's nationalist sensitivities were too
prickly to permit the US Army to do it. Be-
cause the range of military aircraft was short
there would have to be many bases.
Trippe went ahead because he needed
the good will of the presidency. And he
needed more land bases. By 1939 the sea-
plane era was drawing to a close. Vulnerable
to rough seas and harbor flotsam, the sea-
planes simply were not dependable
enough. Now the opportunity for building
more land-based facilities, with concrete
runways, towers, and hangars was offering
itself. Trippe could hardly refuse.
Pan Am soon found itself managing
25,000 Latin workers, building airports in
Cuba, Antigua, Trinidad and points south.
Eventually Pan Am built thirty-five land
bases in 13 Latin American countries. In the
1950s these airports would serve as the

springboard for a vast increase in aer-
ial tourism.

The Battle for San Juan
After the war, surplus planes and pilots
meshed with the desire of Caribeios to
participate in the booming North American
economy. Tramp lines sprang up; old
DC-3's with wooden bench seats offered
Puerto Ricans "charter" flights to New York
for as little as $25 to $30. The tramp lines
were sometimes deficient in maintenance,
and after a number of crashes they were
driven out of business by the US Civil Aero-
nautics Board. Trippe responded to this op-
portunity, cutting Pan Am's New York to San
Juan fares to $75 in 1948. It was the first cut
rate fare on an overseas route. In 1953 the
cheapest fare was $64. In 1956 one could
fly in the late evening, San Juan-New York,
for $52.50. It was a revolutionary develop-
ment. Puerto Ricans increasingly took to
the skies. By 1969 Pan Am was flying 70
flights-roughly 10,000 seats-a week on
the San Juan-New York run. The competi-
tion was fierce; Eastern was flying 81, Trans-
Caribbean 42.
Airspeeds increased, flight times short-
ened. New York and San Juan were becom-
ing increasingly close. San Juan was
becoming Americanized; New York His-
panicised. In 1947 there were a quarter of a
million Puerto Ricans in NY; by 1955 half a
million, by 1970 a million and a half, or
approximately one third of the total Puerto
Rican population. By 1973, one quarter of
all New York City school children were
Puerto Ricans. "West Side Story" was, in
part, Pan Am's story. The migrants that filled
Pan Am's clippers were travelers of a new
sort. As the NY Times has observed, His-
panics of the airborne diaspora no longer

Pan American's Caribbean Network, 1928-1930.

found it so necessary to integrate, as pre-
vious generations of shipborne immigrants
had, into American society. One could re-
fresh one's roots via Pan Am. One could go
home again...and be there in a matter of
hours.
Cariberos elsewhere-in Jamaica, Bar-
bados, the Dominican Republic-were also
taking to the air. The airlines called them
"ethnic flights;" they were becoming as im-
portant a source of airline revenue as busi-
nessmen and tourists. If the speed and
economy of airlines like Pan Am were open-
ing Manhattan to the Caribbean, they were
also opening the Caribbean to New Yorkers
and to the middle class American tourist.
Cuba had long been a tourist destination
for wealthy Americans. Herbert Shipman
Payson was among the first passengers on
Pan Am's service to Havana. The gangster
Al Capone was another. Pan Am's ticket
agents sold tickets to Havana on the train
from New York to Miami, and in Havana they
even badgered would be travelers in the
men's room of the island's only first class
hotel, the Nacional. Later, in the 1940s, the
favored hotel for rich and famous Ameri-
cans-Erroll Flynn and Hemingway could
be seen there-would be the quietly perfect
Hotel Kawama at Varadero Beach.
But in many of Pan Am's destinations,
there were no adequate hotels. This was an
especially tricky problem in the 1930s when
planes did not fly at night and stops were
frequent. Pan Am was thus obliged to begin
building its own hotels, sometimes flying in
everything, even the beds. In 1944, Franklin
Roosevelt urged Trippe to build more hotels
in Latin America, arguing that it would help
the Latins ear dollars to import US goods.
In 1946, Trippe organized the International
Hotel Corporation (IHC) as a branch of

26/CAl?BBEAN I fIEW

.*~~-~-

I~b c

Han Am s runner itey airport in Miami; tne first international air terminal in the Americas.

Pan Am. IHC's hotels would be financed by
varying combinations of local govern-
ments, private interests, and the US Export-
Import Bank.
By the end of 1948, 11 IHC hotel projects
were planned or underway in Latin Amer-
ica. Among the first to be completed were
the Hotel Reforma in Mexico City, the Te-
quendama in Bogota, the Tamanaco in Car-
acas. The "intercontis," as they would be
called, were a powerful cultural influence
bringing to bear for the first time in some of
the smaller and more remote Latin Ameri-
can cities a taste of middle class Americana.
Pan Am went into hotels in Latin America
because its business there had not been
growing as fast in the 1940s and 1950s as it
had hoped. Pan Am had been putting its
best equipment on the Trans-Atlantic and
Trans-Pacific routes. And then, in the post
war era, there was an entirely new phe-
nomena: the rise of competitive Latin
American airlines, often backed by their re-
spective governments. One of the most in-
teresting lines in this respect is Mexicana.
Pan Am purchased Mexicana in 1929 in
order to win an air mail contract and evade
the nationalist strictures of the Mexican con-
stitution. But as the years passed such eva-
sion became more difficult. In 1935
Mexico's President Lazaro Cardenas, an-
noyed that Mexicana had only seven Mex-
ican pilots vs. 13 foreign ones, threatened to
ground it. Pan Am was able to avoid a shut
down by recruiting Mexican Air Force pilots
and through the polite fiction of designating
its gringo crews as "technicians." Even-
tually the company was able to meet C6r-
denas's demands without subterfuge.
In 1940 Mexicana was ostensibly Latin
America's largest airline. This was of course
an illusion since it was owned 100% by Pan

Am, but in 1945 this began to change. In
response to nationalist pressures and an
ever growing need for cash to finance new
aircraft purchases, Pan Am began a gradual
process of selling off stock in Mexicana and
its other subsidiaries. In 1968 Pan Am sold
the remainder of its interest to a Mexican
industrialist. With the aid of government
loan guarantees, and the stimulus of the oil
boom, Mexicana was by 1982 a major air-
line, flying 8.2 million passengers a year in
the world's second largest fleet of Boeing
727s. Mexicana, like Pan Am a half century
before, could get money. When Mexicana
wanted some new 727's in 1979, they were
financed, in part, by National City Bank of
New York, the bank which had once been
the "lead bank" for Pan Am.

Challenge from the Left
During its early years, Pan Am was not infre-
quently discomfited by revolution. Its planes
offered a hastily departing politician an ideal
means of swift retreat. Thus it was a Pan Am
S-38 that saved the skin of President Ma-
chado of Cuba and various of his cabinet
during the revolution of 1932. In Central
America Pan Am station managers waved
red flags to warn off their planes in time of
revolution. A pilot of the 1930s recalls a
plethora of red flags in El Salvador where
"there was a revolution every few months."
In the 1950s, Pan Am's labor problems
multiplied. There were serious strikes in
Guatemala, battles with Peronist unions in
Argentina, and, most dramatically, there
was the Cuban revolution. The troubles in
Havana came on cat's feet. Cuba was, after
all, one of the principal benefactors of the
Caribbean tourist boom of the 1950s. Hotel
capacity was growing rapidly. Tourism was

becoming a real industry, one that supplied
a significant part of Cuba's GNP
Pan Am's Cuban subsidiary, Cubana Air-
lines, had grown apace. In 1946 it had been
modernized with six twin engine DC-3's
and was flying daily service between Miami
and Havana. In 1948 it began to fly to
Madrid, and in the early 1950s to New York.
Pan Am sold 48% of its Cubana stock to
locals in 1945. Nine years later Pan Am sold
its last shares, a good portion of which went
to Fulgencio Batista, president and dicta-
tor of Cuba.
By 1955 Cubana was making four trips
daily to Miami in its Lockheed Constella-
tions. The pace quickened when Cubana
purchased faster Vickers Viscounts and
Bristol Britannia turbo props from England.
Air fares to Miami in the late 1950s were $36
round trip; $137 to New York. For the
Cuban middle class which comprised per-
haps a third of the island's population, the
Florida Straits were disappearing. It was no
longer unusual for a member of Cuba's
"gilded" proletariat, a telephone company
worker for example, to make an annual pil-
grimage to the shops of Miami.
In August 1956, Fidel Castro's guerrillas
burned down Pan Am's former cargo facility
at Rancho Boyeros Airport. Thirty months
later Castro had triumphed, and Batista had
fled. Things began to change very quickly.
As Castro's revolution swung to the left, Pan
Am's Cuban operations became more and
more a one way operation, ferrying the
Cuban bourgeoisie to Miami. Havana's air-
port was renamed after the Cuban hero
Jos6 Marti and it became, for many, a place
not of hope but of heartbreak.
By the end of 1960 Pan Am had cut back
its Havana-Miami service from seven flights
Continued on page 49

CAIBBEAN P V0IE/27

illk

I IIIt

SI31 I tell you it was the same way
Is the same old story of the island
losing the young, never growing old to stay.
But then we had men who would take a stand
not like these cutting up electoral seat
as if they own the people, until gun-man
like bed-bug crawl over the land and bite
them in the arse, they scream and run
to set up Gun Court, only to take
away we rights again; all who talking
about we that did have to shake
the island, when them was wallowing
in democracy. And those that did stay
they lash with scorn, hotter than Orange Lane
drown them in silence, deeper than Green Bay,
lives poured into the earth in vain.
But everytime the sea-wind crawl up my spine
I remember the marl white roads at Struie
when I first followed the river to the shoreline,
"Iam.. and feel like a fist grapple around a cotton tree
*II root; I know a couldn't win, for my name
U *grow with something deeper than blood in the earth,
as the struggle of father and son is the same,
SYet no-one left to tell this simple truth.

But I can't go back to the island
I see too many dead, even Justice
sprawl out on Duke Street with him hand
fanning away lawyers like lice
gathering around, and him bawling
that him don't want to dead

111111

28/CAI BBEAN IVIEW

Florida Bound

A Jamaican Complaint

By Geoffry Philp

while dubwise playing, john crow circling
and him a bleed from him head.
So they carry him go Kingston Public
and him still bawling, but the nurse
just kiss her teeth and say "You have colic
Stop the noise. You think this is a circus."
But all Justice want is a chance to make sure
that things set right, that we who live
between poor-house and work-house and endure,
might know is not him fault, it was those who gave
their mandate to a parliament of S. 90's,
like raging bats out of the box of Angola, Tivoli
and from Government bonds extended their charities
to build empires of dust, their salt-sown legacy.
Yet the mute belfries never made a sound,
but kept their tolled anger for a fruitful bough
who planted vibrant seeds in clefts of stony ground
away from these old sows that eat their fallow.

No, 1 can't go back there again
Because I know they can't love from the heart,
All their oaths have become empty tokens.
This island falling from the start,
long before the youth make Selassie god;
for they have sown only the whirlwind.
And when the children suffer they feed
them words, like words can ease the blind
pain in your belly. But to hell with words.
Words is like a crab on a empty beach
that don't even see the foot moving towards
it back; inching towards truth it can't reach.

Until it end up in a barrel full of those
who teach our history as the clawing antics
of a people not recovered from the throes
of slavery, not able to understand the politics
of capture and conquest. And we cane bitter
for no one not going to plant a root.
While America giving we gun and computer
to track circling planes ready to loot
and sell we ganja as "Colombian gold," willing
to chance the Caribbean and Florida waters
with coast guards, like morays patrolling
the hidden coves, with eyes set for slaughter.

And the running laughter in my children's breath
awakens tears, the futile effort of these hands
that have endured partings worse than death
to hold them, for they grow like rock bound
heroes without names, without memory
to guide them to tenements of hope.
And our exile will never end until we're free
of those who teach only the whip and rope.
For blackman still can't live free in him own
black land without facing the drawn bayonets
of those who exact lives as payment, who disown
with a kiss our martyrs, our prophets.
So we end in the hot and homeless cities
of the South, to be finally free of them
the last dry months, like bitter molasses.
Tired of dreams, New Jerusalems.

Geoffry Philp, a native of Jamaica, now resides in Miami.

CAI?BBEAN r vIEW/29

"A Homecoming

A Dominican Reverie
cBW By Julia Alvarez

h-:r i.her 3finca tiok he ,ua: rs bAr.ac- le t
p ll*

,e .at,, .r.ed Jdin.r iir43n,. anr.d pur th-err n rin i arrn..re. trur-.k
V 1J" "'r II.^ t:, -,ate. ree i:,i hile healthh', darT. -kinned rriei
V ari,. th-,r Fplump '..hil .*.,Ier anrd heri sp.:lecl. hildrer,
W ill Vw -V

v bihed in a 4n1er v. h, Oe b: .rr : .irn had been cleian-ed
S,:,W 'r r the c:-slior, "he ..a. Uncle r o l. daughter.
N and he ..art Dom inican,,,, her hu-Re..a erd. arnill,,
.Vj, V ,,,I er,- -- h i.r:ldr ud r.:.up :unt i urrnt f r-1 i.nn-e 't. arn-
[t-,3hat hhe .. 3" '.alued. h .1 r. i me ,at Th.ir table
t... ,h,., rrI Englnsh. a, .her hr e dan.:ed ...[h meA
S4. *ndliry rr,, ,h.:.ulder blade bn er ath r,, L'ri.de maid' q: ... r
,. a-: I Th lue, .'-e lre .:te th un.r d ne :ilr in,
/^ r "' h_,but prer-, aT s e lnteen. an.j ,Ie -r.
lip *- :Co.rnre backd : tr:.rn thait .. d pi.la.:e, \ errnont he .,ad,
,,V all this is ,our.' C'.c hi -.houhld r

^IV V 1r' .- lah,:e at ihe %,.eddini caie a d,: llh':.u- e dupliaTr e
.:. t, he harlI, rancho lhe jhutter-., rniarz ip n.
.ll*s :.* '"' Ctthe _-.,bble- alfm.iifd. n-aden, aunT h:u.-elk.ept
A "i -u't lj'hir..i u. .. -: .re unrri n,. I...th a .,rin i ejr
Pr 9 ,tat :i .-'.,.hite, v. .ei:uric rhe .-:,c., rr ..hen the heal
i. melter d hi *hc.:olate h:e:. int hi. t,:,:tir

S% Jn ,:r'ile: --e.1 rh..-,e iri iui3a b ,, ..r., r Tul.hT
;*!, .-, *V.,, l .,th re ,q r c: "'. .' r p o ,:,r i, l a i l:. ,i . ii d ,: ri t rm in nj
V w 'rA h, lll ,': head '* h u.'eles, t[hiil CLon-e_ h:iI T- .
' ^ aIT- ours IT .. aS aS.1i.a. pirir-:e.:
IWV,^ .iW&l -'.,e .l: ,1 N ah :,i uiU,,,,e bu.heh le..eled
J "vwV' .E t *'h blcsc* n 5bri -hiT a b r- .i-- ha a
)',W urdi.J The butt.:ns :i rni, rbl:, us-e jn r. a i.:iiie;- d hir,-,ell.
II. 'i:, iaIr I rTall.ri(, p3r ie r,, rn,,o,2 _d sT,.:ip rine,
I. 3rir,,:,r hel[,p irniel.--tI e t acho *., ii,.li.- riauT.
s ... ,(r i l. ,. ,s ih b le t.:. r ,n :. a ni d :CB' iT r a 1a '- r
V W ... rh ,.:.mt fltongue ri n h ,i r. heW .. .lI a 1dd 1
Tri fhi d uI hrer ih uoTi I',,,1 a-m ,i
I -1.,h.- r' r r, :. h, e .*aiT. in Ir.i h r I....--uj t'a .-.-.n
S V S r ,ed her T i d ,, t.. r-i e.,.T- i I hlaV_ r a ee.
Sii r r .TJh j'a Jr ,le leid a. h.- e J.anr,, .:-. rI ,
S jt I t .h T aT. urn ac- aril ,, iT
...'
.iTk .. ,t r, l i h:r _, ,l.h,,._ r iell

V9 V
C 5

WtV. Ip

of babies underfoot. He twirled me often,
excited by my pleads of dizziness, teasing me *
that my merengue had lost its Caribbean. .
Above us, Chinese lanterns strung between posts
came on, and one snapped off and rose *"- j\4 -
into a purple postcard sky *J 44
to shine nostalgically above the palms. A grandmother cried: the children growing up too fast, T'
white hairs on girlfriends' heads. The Minnesotans finally W
broke loose and danced a Charleston and were pronounced
good gringos with latino hearts. The little sister, freckled
with a week of beach, her hair as blonde as movie stars, S
was asked by maids if they could touch her hair g- '
OW,* V1V v,

or skin, and she backed off, until it was explained to her
they meant no harm. Yours, Uncle whispered t
in my ear, pressing himself into my dress. V
The workmen costumed in their workclothes danced
a workman's jig and spared my having to excuse myself
from Uncle's drunken grasp. The maids went by with trays
of plastic swans and matchbooks monogrammed A.. *
with Dick's and Carmen's names, a slipper with a cube
VW W

of good luck wedding cake. It would be years
before I took the courses that would change my mind
in schools paid for by sugar from the fields around us,
years before I wrote term papers in English
for ex-peace corps poli-sci professors i'
who gave me As but could not comprehend V.,
how one does not see the maids when they pass by V?.
The campesinos dance in cowboy hats and kerchiefs I
tied in sporty knots and stamp their feet and clap, s
and one forgets to ask how much they're being paid
to be a native act. And as for politics,
that word I've never liked that ruins literature p^ *
and makes the open-minded shrill, fanatical,
I did not know yet that we all comply if we ?7Vv
do not protest. It was too late and early
to be wise, the sun was coming up beyond the amber waves
of cane, the roosters crowed, the band struck up ?
Las Mahanitas, a morning serenade. I had a double vision ,W
that blamed on the champagne, the books I had not read,
the angled sunlight: the fields around us burning...
At last a yawning bride and groom cut the wedding cake,
but everyone was overfull of drink and eggs, roast pig,
and rice and beans and passed it up for now-
except the white-mouthed maids and laborers, '. $V
sitting on stoops behind the sugar house, x d t her
ate with their fingers from their open palms O V.
confectionary pillars made from sugar cane
they had cut in the fields. |
Ju Alvarez teaches creative writing at the University of Vermont

Historic Architecture of the
Caribbean, David Buisseret. 93 pp.
Heinemann, London, 1980.

Caribbean Georgian, The Great
and Small Houses of The West
Indies, Pamela Gosner. 296 pp.
Three Continents Press,
Washington, D.C., 1982.
he Caribbean islands are not known
as a part of the world with outstand-
ing architecture. The relentless tropi-
cal sun, persistent hurricanes and periodic
earthquakes, a shortage of local building
materials except coral and sand, and the
prolific organic growth all combine to pro-
vide an unfavorable physical environment
for great architecture. Social history has not
helped with economic surpluses being si-
phoned off abroad, slave societies stifling
talent and entrepreneurship, and the sense
of living at a cultural and intellectual periph-
ery resulting in a lagged import of stale
metropolitan cultural products. There is
still no major school of architecture in

Nor were the origins helpful.
The pre-European peoples
of the Caribbean built a
few modest ball-
courts which have

vj

survived in Puerto Rico and elsewhere but
which are very minor compared to their
Central American and Mexican counter-
parts. Pyramids, temples and other rem-
nants of "high culture" are non-existent,
although much excellent recent archae-
ological work in the Dominican Republic,
Martinique, and Trinidad, has excavated the
humble earth dwellings of the indigenous
peoples.
Throughout the colonial period,
1500-1960, and continuing in some is-
lands, local architecture was based on im-
ported metropolitan styles except for the
homes of the slaves and the poor. Architects
and craftsmen were scarce, style and de-
sign books were relied on heavily, and little
site adaptation took place. The oppressive
heat dictated the use of patios, balconies,
porches, double and grilled windows and
other devices but no creole style architec-
ture emerged; only bits and pieces add-
ed on to 18th century English Georgian
manor houses, and 19th century Gothic re-
vival churches.
Ironically it is only at the easing out of the
20th century that Caribbean architecture
has found its place in history. And this place
is literally in history. Nearly every island has
its own historical conservation society and
diligent efforts have preserved many fine
and charming buildings, especially in Ja-
maica, Curacao, Barbados, St. Croix, and
elsewhere. The Dominican Republic and
Puerto Rico have attacked architectural
conservation on a major scale transforming
Old San Juan and the historic Cathedral
area of Santo Domingo.
Architectural
conservation in-
cluding restoration
is seen as a means
of both promoting
tourism, and en-
couraging local
pride and cultural
development, in-
Reproduced from Pamela
Gosner, Caribbean
Georgian, by permission
of Three Continents Press.
Other drawings from the
same book appear on
pages 52-55 of this issue.

Guard Room (Savannah Club), Bridgetown, Barbados.

I

Caribbean Architecture

The Great and Small Houses of the West Indies

Reviewed by Aaron Segal

cluding the revival of crafts. The Island Re-
sources Foundation based in St. Thomas
has done an excellent job of inventorying
historic architectural sites and providing
technical assistance for local conservation
groups.
Although there is no great architecture in
the Caribbean there is much that is attrac-
tive to the eye, informative about the society,
and conducive to the kind of tourism that
goes beyond "sun, sea, and sand." Best of
all are the striking 18th century military for-
tresses, dominating the harbor mouths of
Havana and San Juan, and the heights of St.
Kitts. Functional and typical of 18th century
military and naval architecture, these forts
speak volumes of garrison societies fearing
pirate attack and waiting weary months and
years to be relieved.
Totally different is La Citadelle, the tour de
force of Caribbean military architecture.
Built at enormous human cost by Emperor
Henri Christophe (1806-1820) who feared
a second French invasion attempt of newly
independent Haiti, it crowns a verdant
mountainside twenty miles inland from Cap
Haitien. The Citadelle borrowed almost en-
tirely from contemporary European archi-
tectural techniques but in its setting and
haunting megalomaniac presence
(Christophe never spent a night in his
mountain fortress), it is the single most
stunning architectural sight in the region.
These two volumes by a University of the
West Indies historian and an American ar-
chitectural historian are each in different
ways attractive introductions to Caribbean
architecture. Buisseret is learned and lively
while discussing West Indian domestic,
commercial, industrial, military, naval,
church and public architecture. The photos,
plates, and drawings are excellent and the
text keeps step. There is no hype and the
attractive but modest restored plantations,
windmills, and churches of Barbados and
Jamaica are honestly described. The scar-
city of folk architecture and the apparent

Aaron Segal is professor of Political Science
and Communications at the University of Texas
at El Paso.

lack of African influences are also noted.
The proliferation of churches, public build-
ings; ex-sugar mills, and commercial build-
ings is also carefully and judiciously
considered.
Pamela Gosner is an architectural histo-
rian who has provided an island by island,
sketch by sketch, account. The sketches
are attractive and well-chosen and the ma-
terial on the smaller islands such as Gre-
nada, Antigua, Martinique, Guadeloupe,
Bermuda, and the Bahamas is particular-
ly valuable.

Yet To Be Written
Neither of these books deals with the His-
panic Caribbean although it is here that the
foremost achievements of military and re-
ligious architecture are to be found. The
definitive study of Caribbean architecture
remains to be written. Nor is there much
about urban planning, mostly absent dur-
ing the colonial period except in the Dutch
islands. Landscape architecture is also not
treated since this is mostly a late 20th cen-
tury phenomenon witnessed in a few Carib-
bean luxury hotels and their grounds.
As respect for the Caribbean architectural
past grows and conservation becomes both
more profitable and more culturally and po-
litically legitimate, grave doubts arise con-
cerning the future of Caribbean architec-
ture. While respect for what is left of an 18th
century manor or warehouse is becoming
institutionalized, respect for fragile and
densely populated island environments is
not. High-rise commercial and residential
buildings dot the San Juan landscape and
make their presence felt elsewhere al-
though glass and steel are expensive and
inappropriate Caribbean materials.
The automobile and asphalt have had a
disastrous effect on a number of islands.
Only Bermuda has banned the private auto-
mobile entirely and public transport else-
where is mostly deficient. The asphalting of
the environment resulting in traffic conges-
tion, air pollution, and sheer aesthetic loss,
can be readily seen in Puerto Rico and Trin-
idad where the private automobile reigns.
Thus the Caribbean prepares to enter the
21st century with a conserved and valued

architectural past but little or no architec-
tural present or future. There is no Carib-
bean modern style as there is the conserved
Caribbean Georgian style of the past. There
are few ideas about urban planning and
architecture for small crowded islands. The
past offers neither mistakes nor clues un-
less conservation is to take over completely.
But can Barbados become architecturally a
21st century version of an 18th century
West Indian island plus airport? The em-
phasis on conservation is valuable and
needs to be continued but its limitations
are clear.
Two modern buildings, not shown in
these books, may perhaps point the way
towards a 21st century Caribbean architec-
ture. These are the Rockefeller family in-
spired and funded Dorado Beach Hotel in
Puerto Rico, and Caneel Bay Resort in St.
John. Each was designed to respect the
lush tropical setting including the dazzling
beaches. Each hotel is horizontal rather
than vertical, decentralized, built of local
materials which blend with the setting, and
most important of all, unobtrusive. Instead
of Miami style concrete towers along the
ocean, these hotels respect the Caribbean
and represent some of the most advanced
ideas in architecture and environmental
planning. They are also expensive to build
and operate and contradict much of what is
considered "sound thinking" in Caribbean
tourism and economics.
Throughout the Caribbean the task of
architectural conservation needs to go on.
Local initiative is the critical ingredient.
Where people care about their past they act
to conserve the best of it as in St. Croix, St.
Kitts, Jamaica, Barbados, Puerto Rico, the
Dominican Republic, and elsewhere.
Splendid sights such as the Iron Market in
Port-au-Prince, La Citadelle itself, and the
Carenage in Grenada, one of the most
beautiful matching of harbor, wharfings,
and sea in the region, may need some out-
side help to be saved. Books like these two
volumes can enable islanders and the rest
of the world to appreciate the value of what
remains. At some point though the task of
conservation and the task of construction
too must enter into dialog. CP

CAIrBBEAN rjIc(W/33

Straight Talk...

Continued from page 3

leaders, like leaders anywhere, understand
that survival is the first commandment
of politics.
This holds true for Maurice Bishop as
well as for Tom Adams. Language and per-
sonal diplomacy therefore are inherently
part of the Caribbean style and approach
because they are central to survival in Carib-
bean politics.
This explains why a Fidel Castro would
personally handle all negotiations sur-
rounding the Mariel boatlift of 1980 even as
the United States depended on private cit-
izens-in violation of US law prohibiting cit-
izens from negotiation officially-and on
fourth level functionaries. At a time when
Cuba was forcing people to take one-way
trips out in total violation of their human
rights and US sovereignty, the United States
refused to talk straight, refused to meet the
challenge head on so as not to give the
appearance of negotiating. In other words, it
continued the stance of the past 22 years
which has been nothing short of a mockery
of established international relations theory

Suriname...

Continued from page 7

denten in Nederland, Betty Sedoc-
Dahlberg, former rector of the University,
explored the attitude-formation of hun-
dreds of Surinamese students in The
Netherlands in the late 1960s. Many were
children of an elite that had been alienated
by the ethnic politics of the old order, and
many of the clubs and "movements" that
they set up took on a radical socialist orien-
tation, following the example of Vietnam-
era radicalism at all the large universities
there. But rather than having a unifying ef-
fect on those who studied abroad, this radi-
calization experience was accompanied by
a personalistic and even "old school tie"
rivalry which fragmented the groups in The
Netherlands as well as in Suriname after
their return. No fewer than seven leftist
groups were preparing to contend in the
March 1980 elections, ranging from two
factions of the older Party of the Nationalist
Republic on the right to the ill-fated "Alba-
nians" on the left. Not one of these groups
had enough popular support to win a single
seat in Parliament.
Equally important to their fragmentation
was their dependence on the Dutch pro-
fessors who egged them on. One of these,
sociologist G.J. Kruijer of the University of
Amsterdam, was a recognized expert on

and existing Caribbean diplomatic practise.
It is clear today that Mariel stands as
much a testimony to the cold efficiency of
totalitarian systems as it does to the futility
of US policy towards Cuba. And this United
States-Cuba stand-off is a significant fac-
tor in the continued lack of ideational can-
dor and behavioral consistency in Carib-
bean international relations.
It is time to change that and the funda-
mental first step in that change has to be the
opening of talks, the lifting of the bamboo
curtain. This means of course taking Cuban
sovereignty seriously. It makes no sense for
the United States to continually rally against
acts which are proper to any sovereign
country (such as acquiring new weapons)
only because they involve the Soviets yet
stand by helplessly when Cuba commits a
veritable Act of War (Mariel) only because
this does not involve the Russians or East-
West strategic considerations.
In calling for straight talk we understand
therefore that respect for sovereignty has
as its obverse accountability for sover-
eign actions.
And, it is precisely-and perhaps only-
in this area of accountability that Caribbean
scholars can make their contributions...by
talking straight.

Suriname. However, after government in-
terference with a research project that he
tried to carry out in the late 1960s, he be-
came more and more a strident advocate of
the Cuban model of development. Using
data from fifteen or more years earlier, his
writings in the 1970s were classic examples
of exaggeration in the service of agitation.
At the University of Suriname in July 1979,
he told a student gathering that "The study
of liberation should support that struggle
and make its own contribution...a contribu-
tion that consists of consciousness-raising,
organization, unarmed and armed struggle.
That struggle-you should realize-must
be carried outto the bitter end, as a rule; and
that means with armed violence." (During
the University strike of 1982, it was reported
that Education Minister Rusland's reorga-
nization attempt was partly undertaken to
facilitate the appointment of Kruijer and
other radical social scientists to the faculty.)
Paranoia is easily the best explanation for
the behavior of Bouterse and his support-
ers, whether one believes that he or the
Communists are now in the driver's seat.
First, both theories must admit that an un-
constitutional change of government
opens a pandora's box of fear, distrust, and
self-righteousness. Few observers la-
mented the fall of the constitutionally-
elected government of Henck Arron. But
fewer still-in Suriname or The Nether-
lands-lamented the simultaneous de-
struction of the Surinamese Constitution.

Let us stop calling opportunistic power
grabs "revolutions" just because they are
sanctioned by Cuba. Arrests in the middle
of the night followed by torture and shots to
the head are murder not "revolutionary jus-
tice"-and broken promises to respect plu-
ralism and elections are indecent decep-
tion not "revolutionary contingencies"-in
the same way that support of right-wing
death squads makes one an accessory be-
fore the facts and abandonment of much-
touted plans for assistance is a callous form
of deceit.
If this straight talk requires planting
oneself with both feet in that much-ma-
ligned center, to stand as one of those de-
spised liberals, so be it. But, not even this is
necessary.
What is necessary is that academics from
center, left or right call things by their
name, that we leave the double-talk to politi-
cians and the quasi-sacred frames of refer-
ence to the ideological proselytizers both
religious and secular. There is no other way
to clear the tragically clouded Caribbean
air, only the first step in truly addressing
our problems.

And yet the latter act was the floodgate that
released all of the military's subsequent ex-
cesses, no matter what civilian disguise was
put on it. Unexplained but isolated killings,
none of them investigated, took place in
May 1980 (a captured soldier-of-fortune)
and June 1981 (the leader of another com-
munist party). Then came the Hawker and
Oemrawsingh killings in March 1982. Scat-
tered in between were frequent visits by Uzi-
toting soldiers to editorial offices, sum-
mons to appear at Memre Boekoe for ques-
tioning, and callous interference with the
judicial process.
At first timidly, but then more boldly, the
Surinamers made it painfully clear what
they felt about these actions. Thus, Bou-
terse, too, had to face a pandora's box of
unconstitutional surprises, with no defini-
tions left as to what means were and were
no longer illegitimate. The bold, carefree
Surinamer who trusted in God, Holland,
and the courts, was now ducking for cover,
keeping his mouth closed, sleeping at his
friends. And Bouterse, too, was following
the dictator's time-honored path of fear to a
different bed each night. After December
8th, Surinamers began to echo poet Edgar
Cairo's characterization of their police state
as "a new slavery." For, if socialist reforms
are indeed carried out in Suriname, they will
still not give as telling or reliable a signature
to the regime as the atmosphere of terror
into which rulers and ruled alike have
been plunged. CP

34/CAIBBEAN VIEW

Financial Crisis...

Continued from page 11

tions for and against the introduction of
exchange controls.
On May 18th, Silva Herzog, introducing a
welcome touch of openness to the tradi-
tionally hermetic relationship between Mex-
ican economic authorities and the public,
admitted in a conference with foreign press
correspondents that Mexico could expect
zero growth" from April 1982 to April
1983-the lowest growth rate registered
since the 1930s.
Meanwhile, conditions in the interna-
tional capital markets, in response to a fur-
ther decrease in petrodollars of the oil
exporting countries, worsened. Mexico's
overall credit program demanded the rais-
ing of US$11 billion of new money, and a
further approximate US$11 billion for the
renewal of existing debt. By June, it had
raised approximately US$9 billion, of which
five represented renewals, and four new
debt. In the same month, syndication of a
"jumbo" new credit of US$2.5 billion be-
gan. This was completed within a month,
but required utilization of the most extreme
forms of political pressure (i.e. the personal
intervention of Silva Herzog, with some 30
major international banks to underwrite the
issue). Even so, the "sell down" (on syn-
dication to other, smaller banks) repre-
sented a very small percentage of the total,
thereby indicating that the credit had not
been a success, and that further syndica-
tions would be extremely difficult for Mex-
ico. There is evidence, too, that around this
time banks began not to renew loans which
Mexico had assumed they would renew, in
the light of the failure of the jumbo syndica-
tion. At this time, some bankers and other
informed observers considered it unlikely
that Mexico would be able to obtain all the
"new" money it needed from the contract-
ing capital markets. Some orderly recourse
to the IMF would be necessary. Since an
IMF-type austerity program was already in
place, the conditionalityy" aspect of such
recourse would not be traumatic. Nobody
expected the series of half-measures, zig-
zags, and mistakes that was to make
the process so much more agonizing
and uncertain.

August
On August 1st, as part of the policy an-
nounced April 20th of increasing the price
of public sector goods and services, further
increases were announced in the prices of
gasoline (MN6 to MNIO per liter). Major
increases were also announced in the
prices of bread, tortilla, and electrical en-
ergy. These generated a belief that inflation
could not be contained under 60%, and that

One million Mexicans demonstrating in favor
September 1982.

peso parity at its then level (approximately
MN49) was unsustainable. The rate of capi-
tal flight (which had abated somewhat since
the February devaluation) increased dra-
matically, and, on August 5th, Silva Herzog
announced the introduction of a dual parity,
i.e., partial exchange controls. One "prefer-
ential" parity was to be reserved for debt
service payments and preferential imports;
another "free" parity would be used for all
other foreign exchange requirements.
While the preferential parity opened at the
pre-August 5th level (MN49.49), the free
parity opened around MN100, but fell
quickly during the six days trading to Au-
gust 12th to a level of 68.71. That night
other bombshells were announced: ac-
counts denominated in dollars held in Mex-
ican banks would only be payable in pesos
at a rate of MN69.5 to the dollar, and ex-
change markets would be closed until fur-
ther notice.
These "Mexdollar" accounts had been
permitted by Mexican authorities to dis-
courage capital flight. If Mexicans could
hold dollars within Mexico, there would be
no need for them to hold them outside. At
the time this measure was announced, total
Mexdollar deposits were approximately
US$12 billion. Should the holders of these
deposits choose to redeem them in dollars,
the Banco de Mexico simply would not have
the dollars to support them. The reason for
this apparently anomalous situation was
that while some holders of Mexdollars actu-
ally deposited "physical" dollars (dollar bills
or dollar denominated documents), the
great majority of Mexicans who chose Mex-
dollars as a savings device delivered pesos,
which were then converted into dollar de-
nominated instruments, without corres-
ponding dollar backing.
Silva Herzog spent the following week-

of Lopez Portillo's nationalization of the banks,

end in Washington negotiating a rescue
package with US authorities and the IME On
the night of Tuesday, August 17, he was able
to announce a total rescue package con-
sisting of: US$1 billion from the US Com-
modity Credit Corporation for the purchase
of grain; US$1 billion from the US Treasury
as advance payment for the purchase of oil
for the US strategic reserve; US$1.85 billion
from the Bank for International Settlements
backed by seven major central banks, and a
total of US$3.9 billion from the IMF over a
period of three years. In the same speech,
Silva Herzog also provided an explanation
to the nation for the economic crisis; basi-
cally adverse movements in oil prices and
interest rates which resulted in a total loss of
income in 1981 of US$10 billion, and the
ensuing necessity for short term debt. Fi-
nally, he announced the reopening of a free
exchange market on August 19th. On Au-
gust 23, a three-month moratorium on all
public sector principal payments was
agreed on with lending banks, so that a
rescheduling of short term debt due in
1983 (estimated at a total of US$20 billion)
could be worked out.
When the exchange market opened,
rates were immediately quoted around
MN120-130, reflecting the continued lack
of confidence in the nation's economic
position. However, by August 31st, they had
fallen to levels of around MN100 in the
banks where official trading took place.
Meanwhile an unofficial (although not ille-
gal) market arose between private indi-
viduals and intermediaries whereby large
sums were traded at lower prices, on the
basis of payment in Mexico in pesos,
against deposits in US banks in dollars, at
rates of around MN95. Throughout all this
period, there was considerable speculation
about what President L6pez Portillo might

CAtfBBEAN PfVl E/35

I -

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say in his last informed (State of the Union
message) on September 1st. After the ex-
traordinary events of August, it was as-
sumed that he would attempt to draw
people's attention to the real achievements
of his administration before the financial
crisis of February, and offer expressions of
support and encouragement to the eco-
nomic policy outlined by Silva Herzog on
August 19th.
Expectations could not have been more
confounded.

The First of September
In his speech on September 1st, after a
lengthy diatribe against the bankers--that
they had "betrayed" and "plundered" the
country, the president decreed the expropri-
ation of the banks from their owners "in the
national interest"-under broad discretion-
ary powers conferred on the executive by
the Constitution. He also introduced total
exchange controls.
After the chaotic exchange market of Au-
gust, the escalation from partial to total ex-
change controls appeared logical to most
observers: indeed, the Mancera document
of April 20th had eloquently predicted that
once partial exchange controls were intro-
duced, the introduction of a total system
was inevitable.
No one could predict the bank national-
ization. It was illogical. The president criti-
cized the banks for having "propitiated"
capital flight. But, clearly, savers would take
their money out of the country only in re-
sponse to economic uncertainty-uncer-
tainty created by his very own economic
policies. Besides, it was not in the banks'
interest to encourage capital flight for it
would reduce their own possibility of at-
tracting savings. The president also
claimed that a total exchange control could
"only be operated" through a nationalized
banking system: but nothing would have
prevented a state nominee supervising the
exchange control system within designated
branches of each bank. Finally, the presi-
dent claimed that through nationalizing the
banks he could exercise greater control
over the provision of credit. But the banking
system already operated under the strin-
gent control of the Central Bank and the
National Banking Commission, which reg-
ulated not only the proportion of credit that
could go to each economic sector, but also
reserve requirements, and, as a conse-
quence bank profits (which the president
had also claimed were "excessive").
The bank nationalization could not then
be justified on economic grounds. L6pez
Portillo had successfully steered Mexico out
of the economic crisis that he had inherited
from his predecessor. He resolved the prob-
lem (as he called it) of "managing abun-
dance" by engineering an unprecedented
four years of economic growth at an annual

average of over 8%. He won recognition at
an international level through the organiza-
tion of the North-South conference at Can-
cun on October 24-25, 1981, which 22 of
the world's major statesmen had attended.
But with the February devaluation, he
proved himself no better than his predeces-
sor. Indeed, he looked even worse, as Eche-
verria had not enjoyed the benefit of an oil
boom. L6pez Portillo not only failed to fulfil
the promise of prosperity, he had actually
ensured that Mexicans would be worse off
in 1983 than they had been in 1982. It
would have been better notto raise expecta-
tions, than to confound them.
The pressures on the individual responsi-
ble for a catastrophe of this magnitude
must have been intolerable. L6pez Portillo
searched for some action that would save
his presidency in the eyes of history. An-
swers seemed to be provided by the "op-
position" group of economists within his
own advisers, led by Jose Andrds de Oteyza,
who had been minister of patrimony and
industrial development throughout the
whole sexenio, and Carlos Tello. Tello had
been a member of L6pez Portillo's prepresi-
dential team, and his first minister of pro-
gramming and budgeting. After his open
disagreement with the more orthodox
treasury minister, Moctezuma Cid, which
had resulted in the resignation of both of
them in December, 1977, he had been
given a consolation post as director of the
Sugar Development Bank. Meanwhile, he
had never lost influence as one of L6pez
Portillo's close economic advisers. His eco-
nomic ideas, influenced by the Cambridge
school, had been applied to Mexico in a
book called The Dispute for the Nation,
published in 1981, and coauthored with
Rolando Cordera, leading deputy for the far
left opposition party thePSUM (Unified So-
cialist Party of Mexico-whose party sym-
bol is the hammer and sickle). One of Tello's
economic theses was the "closing" of the
economy through strict import and ex-
change controls. The other was increasing
state control over industry, the culmination
of which would be a takeover of the banks.
The September 1st measures offered a
neat marriage of the president's psycholog-
ical needs, and Tello's ideological objec-
tives-in a way in which not even Tello must
have believed possible three months earlier.
Furthermore, Tello was nominated director
of the Bank of Mexico on the same day, and
entrusted with the implementation of the
new exchange controls.

The Uneasy Months
Reactions to the bank nationalization were
predictable. The far left was jubilant. The
official party propaganda machine was im-
mediately enrolled to organize mass dem-
onstrations in favor of the measures, while
the press compared the president to Lazaro

36/CAI?BBEAN PTVIEW

I

Cardenas, who in 1938 had nationalized the
foreign oil companies. Thinking members
of the center and right pointed out, however,
that the 1938 expropriation had been of
foreign companies, while what had hap-
pened here was the expropriation of Mex-
ican companies. They also realized that
apparent virtues in their president, were, in
reality, faults; his "economic" background,
on further analysis, was only superficial.
The president himself, exultant at the ap-
parent political success of his measures,
proclaimed that he had "polarized" the
country between "traitors" and "saca-
dolares" (people who had sent money
abroad) on the one hand, and the rest on
the other. The remaining months of his ad-
ministration were spent touring the coun-
try, justifying his measures, and "taking
leave" of his people.
The key question was whether the bank
nationalization would be sufficient to satisfy
the president and Tello or whether they
would wish to go further, with other na-
tionalizations: a prime candidate was con-
sidered to be Televisa, the private television
monopoly which had long been a target of
thePSUM. However, no further nationaliza-
tions took place. But meanwhile Mexicans
had to digest the full practical conse-
quences of the bank nationalization and the
introduction of exchange controls. The
banks were left to function with the existing
management (only bank presidents were
replaced by government nominees), and
little change (except a Mexican flag in every
branch) could be perceived.
Exchange controls presented a bigger
problem. By August, dollars at the "priority"
rates had been unobtainable. On Septem-
ber 4th, Tello announced a new exchange
control system, which imposed permits for
all transactions. Certain transactions would
receive priority treatment at a rate of MN50
to the dollar, while the rest would be con-
ducted at an "ordinary" rate of MN70. The
sheer drafting of the controls took time, and
even then there is no record of anyone hav-
ing received dollars at the MN50 rate. The
only dollars the government received were
those generated by its own companies
(principally Pemex). The rest went to a by
now burgeoning black market, the direct
descendant of the August "free market,"
which operated both within Mexico, and on
the US border.
In Mexico City, major transactions could
be realized, as before, through the delivery
of a peso check in Mexico against dollar
deposits in the US, at a rate beginning
around MN95 in early September that
would rise to MN 135 by the end of Novem-
ber. On the US side of the border (prin-
cipally near Tijuana), "exchange houses"
mushroomed offering similar rates to Mex-
icans crossing the border. There were even
cases where pesos became acceptable cur-

"I'VE ALREADY NATIONALIZE
YOUR TUI

rency within the US, in places as far from the
border as Los Angeles, and Las Vegas (a
favorite vacation spot for Mexican
gamblers). By the end of October, the Mex-
ican government was forced to recognize
the dollar trade on the border with the estab-
lishment of exchange houses on the Mex-
ican side authorized to deal at competitive
rates. Subject to government bureaucracy,
they proved to be totally unsuccessful.
Another victim of the September 1st
measures, were the IMF negotiations. They
had reached a reasonably advanced stage
by the end of August, but with the several
shocks of exchange controls, the bank na-
tionalization and an important change of
personnel (Tello for Mancera), they stalled,
as IMF directors in Washington attempted
to assimilate the implications of the new
policies. When it was announced that L6pez
Portillo had chosen to speak personally at
the UN General Assembly on October 1st,
there were fears of the formation of a "debt-
ors' OPEC," a Third World/ "South" re-
pudiation of First World/ "North" debt,
spearheaded by the Mexican President him-

D THESE TWO AND NOW IT'S
RN." '

self. These fears did not materialize and, on
November 9th, Silva Herzog (who had kept
his post as finance minister) was able to
announce the signing of a letter of intent
with the IME
The bankers who had lent to Mexico had
been in constant contact with Treasury offi-
cials during the moratorium announced on
August 23rd. However, as the termination
date for the moratorium approached
(November 23rd), it became increasingly
clear that private bankers, buffeted as much
as anyone by Mexico's economic, financial,
and, ultimately, political, turbulence did not
wish to lend any more to Mexico. But the
finance minister's projections were show-
ing that Mexico would need at least US$8
billion new money to see itthrough 1983, as
well as a massive rescheduling of the
US$20 billion amortizations due in 1983.
Faced with the reluctance of the bankers,
Jacques de Larosiere, managing director of
the IMF, took an unprecedented step in late
November, when he called Mexico's main
bankers to Washington and explained that
IMF support would not be forthcoming if

CAIBBEAN P VIEW/37

I

Mexico: Recent Trends in
Basic Economic Indicators
% Growth Rates As % of GDP
Public Current Gross
Real Prices' Sector Account Capital
GDP Dec-Dec Average Investment Deficit Deficit Formation
1976 4.2 27.2 15.8 0.5 9.5 4.1 20.9
1977 3.4 20.7 28.9 6.7 7.1 2.0 18.9
1978 8.2 16.2 17.5 15.4 6.9 2.6 20.1
1979 9.2 20.0 18.2 20.2 7.3 3.6 22.1
1980 8.3 29.8 26.3 14.9 7.8 3.6 23.4
1981 8.1 28.7 28.0 15.1 14.5 5.4 25.0
1982 0.02 98.8 60.0 -20.03 16.52 3.03 22.23

'Consumer Price Index 2Author's Estimate 3Official Estimate
SOURCES: Ministry of Finance and Public Credit; Ministry of
Programming and Budget; Banco de Mexico

the package of new money and debt re-
scheduling were not accepted bythe banks.
The historic importance of this was that it
represented the first time that the IMF had
made its support conditional on the banks,
and not vice versa. When de Larosiere's
terms (implicitly backed by the govern-
ments of principal lending banks) were ac-
cepted by the banks, a telex was sent
December 1st to all 1400 of Mexico's bank
creditors, explaining the details of the Mex-
ico rescue operation: US$1.3 billion from
the IMF (as part of an overall US$3.9 billion
over 3 years), US$2 billion from official
(government) sources, and US$5 billion
from the private banks which represented a
7% increase in existing exposure, along with
a rescheduling over an eight year period (4

years grace, 4 years amortization) of the
debt of US$20 billion falling due in 1983.
The IMF support was approved by the
IMF board on December 23. Meanwhile it
looked as if practically all the new money,
and the renegotiation of the debt would be
complete by the end of January. The inter-
national financial rescue operation had
succeeded.

De la Madrid Takes Office
Of equal importance to many was the pos-
sibility of domestic rescue represented by
de la Madrid's accession to the presidency
on December 1, 1982. In his inaugural ad-
dress, he set the tone. In an oblique refer-
ence to the previous 12 years of economic
mismanagement, de la Madrid explained

that Mexico's economic crisis had not only
been caused by high international interest
rates and lower oil prices, but by structural
problems in its own economy. These could
be summed up in one sentence. The state
was not a net saver: it spent more than it
earned. To restore an equilibrium between
state income and expenditure, income
would have to be increased, and spending
reduced. Income would be increased
through higher indirect (value-added) and
direct (income) taxes, and through the
elimination of subsidized prices for public
goods and services (gasoline, electricity,
transport etc.). Expenditure would be re-
duced through controls on corruption and
extravagance, and the government spend-
ing that would be lower in real terms than
the previous year's level. The whole strategy
was spelled out in a ten point economic
recovery program and incorporated in the
budget for 1983, passed by Congress in
December.
Also in December, and in a direct re-
sponse to the events of the previous three
months, de la Madrid modified the Con-
stitution. Elections for the next president
would be held on September 1st, and the
outgoing president would give his last State
of the Union message on November 1st:
this would permit no time for major legisla-
tive initiatives such as those suffered during
the previous three months. A constitutional
amendment was introduced officially rec-
ognizing three sectors within a "mixed"
economy, state, "social" (i.e. cooperatives
and unions), and private sector, and ex-
plicitly excluding from state takeover those
activities not specified in the Constitution.
He also introduced a law regulating the new

38/CA1?BBEAN FEVIEW

I

nationalized banking system, providing that
a maximum of 34% of the banks' capital
could be sold by the government to outside
shareholders. While this did not represent a
total reversal of his predecessor's actions-
a measure that would be impossible given
Mexico's political realities-it at least per-
mitted an opening of the banks to outside
scrutiny, and therefore a certain degree of
outside control.
An obvious repudiation of his predeces-
sor's policies was the reinstatement of Mi-
guel Mancera in place of Carlos Tello as
director of the Bank of Mexico, on Decem-
ber 1st, de la Madrid's first day of office and
just three months after Mancera's removal.
This was succeeded on December 10th by
the announcement that total exchange
controls would be removed, and that a par-
tial system similar to that in force after Au-
gust 19th would be reestablished. The
markets reopened on December 20th with
a "special" rate for Mexdollars starting at
MN70, and with a daily mini-devaluation of
14 centavos, a "controlled" rate for foreign
debt and essential imports, beginning at
MN95 and with a daily mini-devaluation of

Honduran...

Continued from page 15

promoting him to Brigade General, a rare
prize in Honduran military tradition. Be-
cause Alvarez did not fulfill all the require-
ments as stated in the military promotion
codebook, Suazo C6rdova modified the lat-
ter, and pushed through unanimous Na-
tional Congress approval of the measure.
Aghast at this effront to their own ambitions
and at this wanton and unjustified civilian
intervention into purely military matters,
Torres Arias, Bodden and three other mem-
bers of the high command personally con-
fronted Suazo C6rdova, reportedly placing
troops on alert. Having now entered a select
circle where only four others before him had
been, Alvarez, promoted to General, moved
fast to silence his most zealous guardians,
ignominiously banishing Torres Arias to Ar-
gentina and Bodden to Taiwan. While
Buenos Aires offers many amenities attrac-
tive to those in exile, it was precisely in that
far-off capital where Alvarez had some of his
closest allies. Torres Arias would find him-
self in oblivion, totally surrounded by self-
righteous martinets whose presence in
Honduras, under Alvarez's tutelage, he
had found profoundly disturbing. Alvarez
explained his decision to exile his
most serious challengers: "O mando o
no mando" ("I'm either in charge or not
in charge").
Torres Arias apparently put his Honduran
affairs in order. He packed away important

13centavos, and a "free" rate of MN150 for
all other transactions. The free rate implied
a peso devaluation over the year (from
MN27 at the beginning of 1982) of almost
600%, totally unprecedented by Mexican

It was the first time that
the IMF had made its
support conditional on the
banks, and not vice versa.

standards, unusual even by Latin Ame-
rican ones.
The final important presidential initiative
was against corruption. Given the enor-
mous cash flow of the previous administra-
tion, opportunities for illegal enrichment
had increased astronomically, and many
government officials (including the presi-
dent) were rumored to have taken advan-

files accumulated during his six year tenure
as G-2 Chief of Intelligencce and promptly
released from exile in Mexico a vitriolic de-
nunciation of Alvarez, his efforts to militarize
Honduras, and to provoke a war with Nic-
aragua (Excelsior, August 31, 1982). The
dissident colonel further accused his col-
league of suffering from an "extremist psy-
chosis" and then rebuked Suazo C6rdova
for violating military procedure by promot-
ing Alvarez when he clearly had not fulfilled
all the proper requirements.
The government was quick to react to
Torres Arias's allegations by accusing him
of corruption and disloyalty to the Armed
Forces, which labeled him a "traitor" and
stripped him of his commission. Despite
the fact that he volunteered to return to
Honduras to testify before the National
Congress, this clearly would be too risky for
a pliant congress more accustomed to in-
tra-party scheming than serious inquiry. It
would also pose a grave threat to Suazo and
to the US government, as both were deeply
committed to the maligned general.
Torres Arias's denunciation did for Hon-
duran democracy what Honduran democ-
racy had not done for itself in nine months
of existence: it provided the first real opposi-
tion and critical dissent to the government's
policies. His argument coincided with Nic-
araguan government claims made since
early 1980 that Honduras was sponsoring
contra subversion and preparing for a mili-
tary invasion of the country. While it is gen-
erally conceded that the dissident colonel
"is not a saint," a reference to his involve-
ment in corruption, most eagerly agree that

tage of them. In a coordinated legislative
thrust, the president tightened the defini-
tions of official corruption, and created a
new ministry (the Controller Generalship)
to police it.
Every one of the new president's mea-
sures has its enemies: the political classes,
because their opportunities for enrichment
have been substantially diminished; the
workers and peasants, because, with the
economic contraction, their employment
possibilities (and the possibility of a rise in
real wages) have been reduced; the busi-
ness classes because they will no longer be
featherbedded with fiscal subsidies and
protectionist policies.
The president's response has been to try
to spread the burden equally. With a fore-
seeable lowering of the standard of living of
all classes during 1983 and 1984, he will be
subject to strains and pressures from all
sides. In his efforts to resist them, he has
only two consolations: first, that, given
Mexico's current situation, there is no other
way; second, that, given the performance
of his predecessor, he does not have a hard
act to follow. CP

if anyone would know about Alvarez, it
would be Torres Arias.
Even before the entire sordid Torres Arias
affair began, another more subtle form of
opposition developed to the country's mili-
tarization. In March 1982, the Honduran
Minister of Foreign Relations delivered be-
fore the OAS Permanent Council in Wash-
ington a plan to "internationalize peace" in
Central America, calling for, among other
things, regional disarmament, the reduc-
tion of foreign advisers, and border supervi-
sion. At first, this and other subsequent
ministry peace initiatives were ridiculed as,
at best, ingenuous government propa-
ganda. However upon closer examination,
these efforts were not primarily directed at
other belligerent Central American coun-
tries, but rather to its own armed forces.
While Ministry officials clearly understood
the implications of Alvarez's new power and
independence, it had to weave a careful
argument so as not to force Suazo C6r-
dova's weak hand to choose between the
two institutions. Just as importantly, the
Honduran foreign ministry perceived that
the US firmly supported the militarization
path. Thus, its opposition had to be care-
fully plotted to maintain the delicate artifice
of a democratic regime where opposition
through legitimate channels of dissent was
slowly being muted in the name of nation-
al security.
The Torres Arias affair, closely followed by
Suazo C6rdova's successful negotiation for
the release of 100 business leaders held
hostage in San Pedro by FMLN sym-
pathizers, and by a series of international

CAR?BBEAN rEVIEW/39

I -

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press stories on the growing militarization
of the country (The Wall Street Journal,
The Miami Herald, Newsweek), seriously
shook the foundations of Alvarez's he-
gemony. Particularly important was the per-
sistent press probing coupled with well
placed and well timed leaks which appar-
ently emanated from Washington. News-
week's November 1, 1982 cover story
focused on Honduras's role in the US clan-
destine efforts to destabilize Nicaragua. Not
much was new in the story, which actually
scored the US ambassador for his personal
direction of and involvement with the con-
tra efforts, however, Newsweek quoted
high level administration sources, who were
apparently miffed that Negroponte had
taken matters into his own hands and who
believed that perhaps Honduran militancy
and belligerency had exceeded prudent
limits. A New York Times article on
November 2, 1982 quoted a high level CIA
official who confirmed US support for the
contra efforts. These two revelations broke
the line of policy consistency traceable to
the Vaky days at State. The contradictions
inherent in the "democracy with militariza-
tion" option were now clearly evident. The
high level leaks, attributable to the Depart-
ments of State, Defense and the CIA, how-
ever, were not only intended to rein in the
US Ambassador in Honduras, they were
also indirectly pointed at Alvarez, whose in-
dependence and coziness with Argentine
advisers were reaching alarming levels. The
full text publication of US Ambassador to El
Salvador Deane R. Hinton's human rights
speech in two Honduran newspapers was
not merely coincidental. And this was
shortly followed by the first public criticism
of the military by a leading member of the
Liberal Party in mid November 1982.
Thus, by late 1982, the triumvirate of
power in Honduras: Alvarez, Suazo C6rdova
and Negroponte, was dissolving. Suazo
C6rdova would have to distance himself
from both the General and the Ambassador
in order to survive politically. Alvarez, whose
power was now in decline pursued an inter-
nal shakeup of the high command, al-
though winners and losers are still difficult
to identify. While Negroponte's credibility
was damaged this was not fatal. Generally
regarded in Tegucigalpa as mucho em-
bajador," he can play an important role in
moderating the military, particularly if Al-
varez survives the festering internal military
dissatisfaction with his leadership.

Other Crises
The task of economic recovery in Hon-
duras, as throughout Central America, is
formidable. Wracked by low commodity
prices, high import costs, negligible inves-
tor confidence coupled with high interest
rates, overambitious public investment,

rampant corruption (Honduran popular
culture has it that "el que no roba en el
gobierno es un popo"), non-stop capital
flight since 1979, and an overvalued ex-
change rate, the crippled Honduran econ-
omy is barely susceptible to resuscitation.
The real growth rate during 1981 was just
.3% while the population continues to ex-
pand at an annual 3.5%. An optimistic sce-
nario for 1982 shows a no growth economy.
A negative growth rate is more likely. A de-
clining standard of living now confronts the
majority of Hondurans, and one recent ana-
lyst estimates that 24% of the economically
active population (about 250,000) are un-
employed with another 58% of those with
jobs, underemployed.
The president promised that the econ-
omy would be his first priority upon assum-
ing office. Even before the November 1981
election, the Liberal Party had solicited as-
sistance from the US Embassy in the for-
mulation of a coherent economic revitaliza-
tion plan. Components of this plan, which
came to be known as "Reagonomics for
Honduras," were later adopted by Suazo's
economic transition team. Suazo C6rdova's
Minister of Economy released the govern-
ment's economic program in March 1982.
The government's seven point program in-
cluded production incentives, export pro-
motion and diversification, a reactivation of
the Central American Common Market,
price control, the reduction of state sub-
sidies and severe fiscal belt-tightening in-
cluding a reduction of public credit. The
country also immediately sought to refi-
nance part of its burgeoning public debt,
estimated at over one and one half billion
dollars. Key to the reactivation of the econ-
omy was the attraction of private invest-
ment generated both locally and interna-
tionally. This hope coincided with the
expected bonanza to be reaped from the
investment and trade incentives an-
nounced by President Reagan in his much
celebrated but yet to be enacted Caribbean
Basin Initiative.
Suazo's economic program was hardly
ambitious, particularly given the militant
anti-Cuba and anti-Nicaragua rhetoric em-
anating from both his military and the US
Department of State. The impact of this
militancy is insidious-affecting the moves
of cabinet ministers who desire to reopen
old commercial and business relations with
Nicaragua and causing businessmen in the
private sector to think twice before they be-
gin systematic communication with busi-
ness associates or government officials in
Nicaragua. Moreover, overall regional mili-
tancy does not help promote investment as
it frightens the same investor whose coop-
eration it is trying to solicit. In this sense,
there is an obvious contradiction between
economic recovery and nationalistic bellig-
erency. This contradiction will loom larger

40/CAlBBEAN PVIEW

Col. Gustavo Alvarez passes the baton to Col. Leonidas Torres Arias, January 1982.

as the Honduran economy continues to
languish.
On October 28, 1982 all the Honduran
newspapers carried a document which
stated: "There is a general sentiment of
greater fear and less liberty, especially in the
border areas, in some parts of the coun-
tryside and at times even in the big cities.
Some dynamite attacks, the discovery of
centers of subversion, kidnapping and the
subsequent sharp response by public se-
curity agencies, promote that growing un-
certainty which if it continues growing,
could end our democracy." This document
was not the product of a clandestine group
but rather of the Catholic Church. Other-
wise in low profile and much more modest
and austere in its social role than its sister
institutions in Nicaragua and El Salvador,
the Honduran Catholic Church was also
critical of the government's efforts to estab-
lish civil defense committees and the gen-
eral tendency to greater violence in
Honduras. The document carefully stated
that while in large part violence was a
consequence of the violence of neigh-
boring countries, "without a doubt it had its
support, its bases and its causes in
our country."
In fact, 1982 was indeed a year of transi-
tion in human rights terms. While relatively
speaking an "oasis of peace" compared to
the present rights violation in El Salvador
and Guatemala and the closing of the politi-
cal circle in Nicaragua, events and alle-
gations suggested that Honduras was
threatening to become a "cesspool of hos-
tility." Even though the country was begin-
ning its first democratic venture, the
formidable pressures of a dying economy,
unprecedented refugee flow from three
neighboring countries, the continued pres-

ence of militant anti-sandinista groups,
the willingness of Salvadoran guerrilla and
guerrilla sympathizers to carry out acts of
sabotage and kidnapping on Honduran soil
and the new, hardline Honduran military
approach, along Argentine lines, of dealing
with guerrilla subversion, were new dy-
namic ingredients in a broth which had
rarely been stirred in the past.
If quantitative measures existed, they
would probably show a significant increase
in fear and uncertainty among all sectors of
the populace during 1982. The country's
fuerzas vivas (business elite) are genu-
inely preoccupied by the spate of kidnap-
pings and the assassination of a San Pedro
businessman in late 1981 and early 1982.
The kidnapping and ransoming of his 16
year old daughter is unprecedented and the
cause of much consternation.
Within the middle and working classes,

Competition, Cooperation,
Efficiency and
Social Organization

Introduction to a Political
Economy
by Antonio Jorge

$9.50
ISNB 0-8386-2026-4

L.C. 76-20272

FAIRLEIGH DICKINSON UNIVERSITY PRESS
P.O. Box 421, Cranbury, New Jersey 08512

dissent has been muted. While several stu-
dent organizations existed and operated
openly during 1981 and until mid-1982 in
solidarity with the Salvadoran revolutionary
cause and Salvadoran refugees, both
groups had ceased to exist by mid-July
1982. In this regard, intimidation efforts by
the investigations unit of FUSEP allegedly
accounted for this muting. Additionally, the
FMLN-associated Honduran electrical sta-
tion bombing on July 4, 1982 hurt the
cause of pluralism by giving the govern-
ment a further rationale for intimidation. A
Nicaraguan solidarity organization, the
Consejo Honduretio de Solidaridad con
el Pueblo de Nicaragua (COHPAN) was
active in mid-1981 but also disappeared
from the political scene.
Quantitatively, between January and
mid-October 1982, the Honduran Com-
mission for the Defense of Human Rights

Professor Jorge's innovative study advo-
cates a new and different perspective on the
joined disciplines of history, economic
theory, and the social sciences, and calls for a
wider scope and a more flexible, if initially
more complex, approach in the perception of
socioeconomic reality.
The book deals with competition and
cooperation as antithetical approaches to
human interaction in the social field. Com-
petition and cooperation mix in an infinite
variety of combinations, giving rise to a wide
spectrum of different types of organizations.
They also reflect, particularly in the long run,
the nature of the motivational composite
behind them.
The essence of Jorge's message is that
productivity and efficiency can be incorpo-
rated into a variety of social arrangements,
and that no particular model needs to be a
maximum maximorum.

CAFBBEAN rEVIe/41

reported the disappearance of 16 Hon-
durans and about 60 foreigners (La Tri-
buna, October 21, 1982). While many of
these disappeared may have subsequently
reappeared, the situation had become
alarming enough by mid-August 1982 to
provoke ALIPO, the progressive faction of
the Liberal Party, to write a letter to President
Suazo C6rdova asking for his attention to
the matter. Two months later, the Christian
Democratic Deputy Efrain Diaz Arrivillaga
requested that the national Congress estab-
lish a commission to investigate reported
violations. True to form, the matter was not
pursued further.
While government security forces only
occasionally admit culpability, invariably
they proved by deeds what many know they
are capable of. For instance: on October 21,
1982 a union demonstration in support of a
National Congress legislative package was
intervened by FUSEP and DNI agents. Al-
most all 200 of the demonstrators were ar-
rested and only released early the next

morning. Four days later, the union was still
clamoring for the release of at least two of
the demonstration's leaders and charged
that they were being held without due atten-
tion to habeus corpus provisions of the
constitution. What made this action all the
more puzzling was the relative passivity of
the demonstrators and the fact that they
were demonstrations in support of the
government.
Perhaps as disturbing to many Honduran
observers however is the philosophy under-
lying both Alvarez's hard line attitude and
the evidence that he is quite serious about
the "order" aspect mentioned in Suazo C6r-
dova's inauguration speech. Echoes of this
concern can be found in Torres Arias's Au-
gust 31, 1982 revelation, where he repeat-
edly infers that the general is leading the
military away from its traditional concilia-
tory approach to one characterized by "po-
litical repression and extermination." The
military's efficient but brutal demolition of
guerrilla safe houses in Tegucigalpa and

San Pedro Sula during 1982 certainly indi-
cated that the institution was responding in
unprecedented fashion to the perceived in-
ternal security threat.
Lurking behind all of this is the fear ex-
pressed by many, but difficult to prove, that
the "Argentine model" has firmly taken hold
in Honduras. Alvarez's Southern Cone con-
nections, the pre and post Malvinas reports
of Argentine advisers in Honduras, and Al-
varez's known distrust of the US, are sug-
gestive. Thus, while there is great concern
about the external security threat, there is
also ample concern about the internal se-
curity threat posed by both government and
anti-government forces.
President Reagan's early December
1982 visit, the subsequent US-Honduran
military maneuvers in February 1983, fol-
lowed by the pope's Central American pil-
grimage, all suggest that Honduras will
continue as a critical element of regional
and international geopolitics for the fore-
seeable future. CP

42/CABBeAN IP YIE

Central

Americans...

Continued from page 19

During my duties at the San Salvador air-
port, I learned from conversations with the
superior officers that young men who are
returned to El Salvador...must be pre-
sumed to have left the country...to avoid
military service. This is considered a form of
subversion or communism...a young man
who resists entering the army must be in
opposition to the government."

The Churches and the INS
The refugees continue to come. More
churches join the sanctuary movement
each month. The Chicago Religious Task
Force, publishers of a how-to booklet on
becoming a sanctuary, receives an average
of ten phone calls a day from interested
churches. "The sanctuary movement is
growing faster than we ever imagined," says
Rev. John Fife. "Twenty-one in the first year
is quite remarkable given the process in-
volved-that the entire congregation has to
vote to break the law."
So far the sanctuary movement and the
underground railroad have had little tangi-
ble impact on the INS, the State Depart-
ment and Congress. In terms of the
hundreds of thousands of refugees up-
rooted by wars in El Salvador and
Guatemala, the number smuggled into the
US on the underground railroad and shel-
tered in church sanctuaries is not signifi-
cant. The INS has thus far avoided any

confrontation with church leaders over the
issue.
However, last November in Milwaukee,
Archbishop Rembert G. Weakland publicly
endorsed the sanctuary movement as two
churches in the area, supported by 59 oth-
ers, declared themselves. A top local INS
official, Ronald Swan, was quoted in the
local press as saying that the local church
sanctuary action "amounts to nothing
more than a smuggling ring." Swan added,
"If it reaches the point of arrest, we would
present for possible prosecution any indi-
vidual involved in the case. It doesn't really
make a difference if the person is a priest."
The day after his statement appeared in The
Milwaukee Journal the INS in Wash-
ington quashed Swan's position and reite-
rated their long-standing policy of hands-
off churches and private homes.
"I can't say there won't be enforcement
efforts [in the future]," says INS spokesman
Duke Austin. "We are concerned. We say
what they're doing is illegal. ...There is not
immunity from the law for churches.
...But you have to put [the sanctuary move-
ment] in perspective. Last year we caught
over 12,000 smugglers involving 74,000
aliens. We apprehend on average over
one million aliens a year... If the number
of people being brought in [by the un-
derground railroad] becomes significant,
then we will have a problem." Last month
INS Commissioner Alan C. Nelson met with
the Ecumenical Council of Churches of the
State of Arizona to discuss the growing vio-
lations. Officials in Washington said the
meeting was arranged to try to diffuse the
situation, to try to convince the church to
work within the system and not outside it.
With the federal government so far refus-

ing to make a test case out of the issue,
does this loosely organized network of
churches and individuals really expect to
force a change in US immigration policy?
"By violating the government's laws, the
government's capacity to rule is challenged.
For any government, that's a greater threat
than losing territory," says Jim Corbett. "I
don't have a crystal ball," says Rev. Fife. "But
one thing is certain-more and more
churches are going to be involved in this....
We're going to continue to help refugees
with as much force, effort, energy and imag-
ination as we possibly can. The government
is going to have to make its own choice."

Tapia Fire
An early morning fire, January
24, 1982, destroyed the main
building of the Tapia Centre in
Port-of-Spain, Trinidad. Among
other items, the fire destroyed
the extensive library and back
file on Caribbean life that Lloyd
Best and his colleagues had been
tirelessly collecting for many,
many years. Contributions of
books, journals, maps, manu-
scripts, etc., are now necessary
to bring the library back to a
functioning level. To forward
materials contact:
Lloyd Best, Trinidad and
Tobago Institute,
22-24 Cipriani Boulevard,
Port-of-Spain, Trinidad and
Tobago, West Indies.

CARBBAN PEVIeW/43

Freedom of

the Press...

Continued from page 21

pal encyclical. We then tried to publish it in
an eight-column spread on page one, but it
was again censored. We shut down for one
day in protest and when we reopened we
not so much as mentioned the letter. To our
surprise, we then received a resolution from
the Media Department, ordering us to print
the letter, along with an official communi-
que stating that it had not been published
sooner in order to avoid a mass reaction to
the fact that the pope had not mentioned
anything in the letter about the recent kill-
ings by a group of counterrevolutionaries in
San Francisco del Norte. Unfortunately for
the Media Department, they failed to notice
that the pope's letter was dated June 29,
while the San Francisco del Norte killings
took place on July 24. How could the pope
have made a statement on something that
had not yet happened?
La Prensa then decided to publish the
letter, placing the date in bold letters. Once
more the publication was censored, and the
paper was ordered to first publish the official
communique. We objected because, while
they can tell us what we can't publish, they
can't force us to publish what they want. The

Florida International University now
offers a Master of Arts program in
Economics with an emphasis in
International economic develop-
ment. The program, consisting of 30
semester hours with the option of a
thesis or a research paper, is
designed to be completed in one
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Dr. Jorge Salazar
Department of Economics
Florida International University
Miami, Florida 33199
(305) 554-2316

pope's letter was censored three times, and
for three days La Prensa did not publish.
It was during this time that the Padre
Bismark Carballo "affair" happened. Car-
ballo is a Catholic priest, spokesman for the
Curia and director of Radio Cat6lica. On
that day all of the newspaper and TV sta-
tions of the sandinista press "just hap-
pened" to have reporters at La Colina [a
neighborhood], where they witnessed a row
allegedly between Padre Carballo and a
woman. The excuse given by the press for
being there en masse was that they had all
gone to the Oficina de Proteccidn de Em-

"You ask if we are going to
lift censorship of the news.
Of course we are." Sergio
Ramirez M.

bajadas to petition that asylum no longer
be granted to former Somoza guardsmen.
This was very odd since several years had
already passed since Somoza's guards
sought asylum--they are either in jail in
Nicaragua, or had already left Nicaragua.
The office is located in La Colina, one block
from Padre Carballo's house. They say a
shot rang out and when the group of cam-
eramen (including those from Barricada
and El Nuevo Diario) arrived they wit-
nessed the whole thing. They later forbade
the news to be published, but they did want
us to print a communique stating that what
had happened in La Colina was so horrible
that the news would not be divulged in order
to protect Christian morals and faith in Nic-
aragua. We said: "All right, if you say we
can't publish anything about Padre Car-
ballo, that's one thing. You are saying that
his sin is so horrible that nothing at all may
be published about it. But you are not even
Christians! And we are not going to spread
your slander." So, they decided to autho-
rized publication of the entire Carballo affair,
including our editorial defending the priest
and his version of what happened. They
also showed the TV newsreel of the naked
padre being dragged by police and forced
into an army jeep. Everyone in Nicaragua
saw that. Some days later Padre Carballo
said mass and thousands came. We wanted
to publish a piece on the mass, but it was
also censored.
Once, the State Council censored Dora
Maria T6llez when she said that at sometime
in the future Nicaragua will have pluralism,
but not of the right and left, only of the left.
Since they don't even believe in pluralism of
the left, they censored her. If they censor
even themselves, we are not surprised when

they censor 30% to 40% of the news in La
Prensa. At times they have censored up to
80%, and we have had to work twice as hard
to put out the paper.
BPB: Is it true that certain names can't
even be mentioned in Nicaragua? For ex-
ample, is it forbidden to talk about Eden
Pastora, Comandante Cero, who was a
hero of the Nicaraguan revolution and is
now in exile?
SRM: Thejunta has not forbidden men-
tion of Eden Pastora. What happened was
that the Union of Nicaraguan Journalists
decided on its own to not mention Pastora's
name and to instead identify him as "the
traitor." This was a voluntary decision made
by the newsmen.
Pastora is not a true counterrevolutionary
but only a victim of his own weaknesses and
ideological lapses. He distinguished him-
self by being brave, reckless and nothing
more. His political formation was always
weak, and his outlook on the revolution was
also very weak. That is why he is where he is,
and the ideological precipice he has fallen
into is pitiful.
PJCB: Yes, it is forbidden to mention
Pastora. Once in a speech Comandante
Borge called him "the traitor." Later, during
the celebration of the anniversary of the
taking of the National Palace, all mention of
Pastora was taken out of the newspapers,
which I think is the greatest distortion of
history which could ever be made in Nic-
aragua. You can't talk about the taking of
the palace without mentioning Pastora.
Whether they like it or not, he was there. He
led the operation, and he was the hero of the
palace. Now, they may tell him that they
don't want him, but Pastora made history at
the palace. He made it! Now the junta has
decided to rewrite history without Pastora.
The word "cero" [zero] is also forbidden
because it is always assumed that we are
making some kind of subliminal compari-
son. When the Malvinas war was at its ap-
ogee, when it was obvious that a British
landing was approaching, we wrote a head-
line saying: "Zero Hour Arrives in the Mal-
vinas." This was censored!
Look, we don't have to prove that there is
no freedom of the press because they prove
it every day...When the story containing
Sergio Ramirez's answers to your questions
came over the wires from the Dominican
Republic they censored it. The story con-
taining assurances from Ramirez that free-
dom of the press does exist in Nicaragua
was censored! Once they censored a state-
ment by Comandante Nufiez where he said:
"it is not censorship, it is a review of the text."
We headlined that story with: "Nufiez says
there is no censorship, just press review."
And they censored it! No one escapes cen-
sorship in Nicaragua! And as long as this
censorship exists, there is no such thing as
freedom of the press in Nicaragua. C P

44/CAl?BBEAN REVIEW

Drama of Lares...
Continued from page 23

creoles of Puerto Rico were relatively worse
off politically, socially, and economically
than they had been at the beginning of the
century. That this should be the case after
nearly five decades of Spanish reforms will
not come as a surprise to any scholar famil-
iar with the history of imperial colonialism.
Essentially, the reforms implanted by
Spain in the colony of Puerto Rico, follow-
ing her loss of Spanish America, were
geared to make the island a productive, de-
veloped economy, tied to the metropolis by
a common ruling class and a dependent
relationship based on the allures of free
trade. For this end, the island was allowed to
populate itself between 1815 and the 1860s
with foreigners and Spanish subjects, who
in their eagerness to enjoy colonial priv-
ileges swore their loyalty to the Crown and
Church of Spain. For this loyalty and for
their willingness to be productive the new-
comers were rewarded with land grants, tax
exemptions, social privileges, and the right
to monopolize the island's trade and the
better jobs in the colonial administration.
By the beginning of the 1860s the econ-
omy of Puerto Rico had been transformed
from one based on subsistence farms into
one based on commercial plantations of
coffee and sugar, for export. Consequently,
the acreage devoted to sugar cultivation
more than tripled, from 14,803 acres in
1828 to 55,941 in 1862, while the coffee
acreage nearly doubled, from 17,247 to
33,965 in the same time period. Sugar pro-
duction greatly increased from 43,857,450
pounds in 1835 to 128,802,537 in 1862.
Coffee also made relatively large gains, al-
though its increases were less spectacular
than those of sugar until the 1860s. By the
1890s, however, coffee exports surpassed
those of sugar. Between 1835 and 1862 the
pounds of coffee produced on the island
increased from 7,262,350 to 16,874,231.
The restructuring of the economy be-
tween the 1820s and the 1850s resulted in
many of the well-known ills generally asso-
ciated with imperial colonialism. For exam-
ple, the need for concentrating the best
lands in the hands of the commercial
growers gradually deprived the smaller
farmers of choice plots for their food crops.
By 1862, it was estimated that 84% of the
cultivated land (a total of 68,000 acres) was
devoted to the commercial crops while only
14% was devoted to food production.
Land concentration in the hands of the
commercial growers at a time when the
colonial population was growing rapidly,
from 358,836 inhabitants in 1834 to
600,233 in 1869, forced the colonial ad-
ministration to turn to imports to satisfy the

needs of the population. According to the
trade statistics for the period 1862-1872,
Puerto Rico spent during those years twice
as much for her imports as she received for
her exports. Besides the obvious deficit in
the trade balance that is apparent, the statis-
tics also reveal that more than 40% of what
Puerto Rico spent on imports went to pay
for agricultural products which just decades
before had been produced on the island.
By the combined process of commercial
agriculture and trade dependency between
the 1820s and 1860s the island was not
only rendered dependent upon the outside

While the trade business
and the cultivation of coffee
were basically good
economic ventures for the
few with capital, land or
commercial connections,
they were extremely risky
ventures for the marginal
or impoverished investors.

market for its exports, but came to depend
on outside sources for its staples. The in-
creased trade volume that resulted from
this relationship benefitted an emerging
colonial class of Spanish merchants

and tied the island more firmly to the
Spanish fold.
The prosperity generated by the sugar
industry was short-lived. By the early 1850s
the sugar industry of Puerto Rico was al-
ready experiencing many of the ills that
were to plague it for the rest of the century.
Foreign competition in the world market,
particularly after beet sugar was introduced
in Europe in 1848, fluctuating sugar prices,
a decreasing slave labor force, as the trade
was ended by Spain at England's insis-
tence, a chronic shortage of capital, since
there were no banks on the island until the
1870s, the inability to mechanize produc-
tion, and the growing competition for the
limited number of arable acres with the cof-
fee growers and the farmers, were the major
obstacles to the continuous growth of the
sugar industry. By the 1870s the sugar in-
dustry had entered a stagnant phase
from which it did not recover until the
20th century.
The stagnation of the sugar industry
seemed to have been paralleled by a steady,
albeit slow, growth in the coffee industry.
The gradual rise of coffee prices and the
growing demand for this product abroad
created some advantageous conditions for
those devoted to its cultivation. But despite
these obvious incentives the coffee growers
of the interior of the island were also experi-
encing problems at the end of the 1860s.
For example, in the case of the coffee
growers of Lares, a predominantly coffee-
growing municipality in the interior of the
island, they were not only suffering from the
restriction of available choice land, but by
the lack of investment capital, and a stran-
gling dependence they had developed on

CAIBBEAN PvIEW/45

Review
Latin American Literature and Arts

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the newly arrived Spanish merchants. The
rise of the coffee industry, which developed
on marginal lands left unclaimed by the
sugar growers, coincided with a new immi-
gration wave, generally from Spain and
Corsica, which penetrated the interior be-
tween the late 1840s and early 1860s. The
competition that ensued between the new-
comers and the creoles for the best land
and the trade outlets generated a series of

ANNALES
DES PAYS
D'AMERIQUE

CENTRAL ET DES

CARAIBES

tensions as well as propelled the downward
climb for the creoles of the area.
According to the municipal records of
Lares, land concentration for the majority of
the creoles was not only limited by the re-
duced amount of arable land available but
the rising cost of the land and their chronic
shortage of funds. The fact that land had
become an important commodity is re-
flected by the number of farms that were
registered between 1848 and 1854. Dur-
ing those six years the number of registered
farms increased from 390 in 1848, to 652
in 1854. That most of the acquired land was
devoted to the cultivation of coffee is re-
flected by the fact that coffee production
increased by about 30% in that time period.
In 1854, however, more than a third of all the
registered farms in Lares consisted of plots
of less than 20 acres.
For those, who like Manuel Rojas, Manuel
Ramirez, Andr6s and Bernab6 Pol, tried to
purchase larger plots the result was gener-
ally a staggering debt and eventual fore-
closure. Manuel Rojas, who in 1868 not
only presided over the revolutionary cell
Centro Bravo, but who commanded the
rebel troops in the uprising of Lares, be-
came entangled in the web of dependency
and foreclosure. According to the notarial
records of Lares and San Sebastian, Rojas's
economic problems began typically
enough in 1862 when he borrowed 23,000
escudos from the Spanish commercial es-
tablishment of Francisco Ferret y Hnos. to
pay for an estancia of 32 acres offered to
him by another Spanish commercial firm,
Amell, Juliy y Co. By 1866 Rojas's debt with

Ferret y Hnos. had grown to 28,500 es-
cudos despite his regular payments in cof-
fee, cotton and cash. In 1868, Rojas
declared to the notary Evaristo Velez that he
owned 566 acres and owed a total of
51,378escudos to Ferrety Hnos. The story
of Rojas, the landowner, ends abruptly in
April 1869 when his creditor, Ferret y Hnos.
took over the land. Many other stories like
that of Rojas took place in Camuy, Hatillo,
San Sebastian and elsewhere.
In essence what the notarial records of
that time indicate is that while the trade
business and the cultivation of coffee were
basically good economic ventures for the
few with capital, land or commercial con-
nections, they were extremely risky ventures
for the marginal or impoverished investors.

Politics and Economics
The fact that these economic problems
were not only understood, but used by the
political leaders on the island to rally sup-
porters against the colonial administration
becomes evident by the arguments pre-
sented by the revolutionary literature dis-
tributed to the rebel cells between 1867 and
1868. In one of the proclamations the lead-
ers of the conspiracy stated: "Puerto Ricans!
Look out! We are hitting bottom....the fore-
closures and public auctions that [daily] de-
prive the unfortunate of his last posses-
sion...are no longer enough to satisfy
Spain's insatiable greed. [Our] hacen-
dados, our merchants, and our farmers are
bankrupt, or on the verge of bankruptcy."
Yet, the economic problems of the creole
farmers and merchants were only part of

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(FRANCAIS-ESPAGNOL)

CENTRE DE RECHERCHES
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PRIX 45,OOF-FRAIS DE PORT
ISBN 2-7314-0004-8

46/CAIBBEAN FIvIEW

_The Center for Latin American Studies
University of Florida announces a new research and training program on Caribbean
migration, with the support of grants from the Tinker and Ford Foundations. The Center welcomes
applications for the 1983-84 academic year from predoctoral fellows and visiting scholars from the Caribbean
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Predoctoral fellows will receive a basic stipend of $5,000 and assistance in travel to Gainesville from the
Caribbean. Preference will be given to students from the Caribbean area. Applications are invited from candidates
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Applications for admission to the graduate school and fellowships will be sent upon receipt of a curriculum vitae and
brief statement of research interests, to be sent to: Dr. Helen I. Safa, Director, Center for Latin American Studies,
University of Florida, 319 Grinter Hall, Gainesville, Florida 32611. Completed applications should be submitted no later
than May 1, 1983.
Scholars interested in a visiting appointment with the Caribbean Migration Program should write to Dr. Safa with a
copy of their vitae and a brief research proposal. They will be asked to teach a course related to migration for one semester or
to give a series of lectures in their special field. Compensation will depend upon the scholars qualifications and the length
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.. The Center for Latin American Studies offers an M.A. and graduate certificates in Latin American
Studies. Over 70 faculty members in 18 departments are associate with the Center. The library
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J JII

the reasons that moved the leaders of the
rebel movement to choose the road of
armed struggle. In 1867, in the proclama-
tions that the leaders circulated throughout
the island, they complained of social dis-
crimination, racial tensions, lack of political
representation, unfair taxes, forced loans,
and general metropolitan exploitation.
With the arrival of a growing number of
Spaniards from the peninsula, the importa-
tion of African slaves, and the development
of commercial plantations there evolved a
socio-racial structure in the colony that dis-
criminated equally against the poor classes
as against those of African ancestry. By the
mid-1860s the agricultural work of the
colony was done by nearly 40,000 slaves
and 60,000jornaleros, or day laborers,
who were coerced by the authorities by the
libreta, or passbook system.
The educated creoles, generally those
fortunate enough to secure a secondary
education outside the island, were deprived
of the better jobs in the colonial affairs by
the peninsulares, who by their birth-right
alone occupied the top of the socio-racial
hierarchy. The fact that this was a source of
irritation to the creoles is exemplified by the
following proclamation: "[We must con-
spire], because lacking any participation in
the affairs of [the colony] we find ourselves
crushed under the weight of taxes we do not
vote on, and which we [later] see misspent
on a small number of inept Spaniards...
While the native sons of this land, more
capable [than they], hold only posts of
secondary importance, or jobs not
remunerated...."
Besides the tensions generated by the
problems already stated, the leaders com-
plained repeatedly about the unfair taxes
and forced loans the colonial government
demanded from the creoles in the name of
"voluntary contributions." They com-
plained, for example, that in addition to the
three million pesos they contributed to the
1865 budget, which was already twice as
large as the one for 1850, they had been
asked to contribute "voluntarily" another
600,000 pesos, while the free laborers had
been forced to contribute by their services
on the public works the equivalent of
300,000 pesos. What apparently angered
the rebel leaders was the fact that very little
of their taxes were used to benefitthe island.
In a proclamation issued in 1867 they con-
cluded: "We must conspire, because of the
five million pesos we pay annually in taxes,
more than half finds its way to Spain, to
never retum....The other half is squandered
in a ravenous public treasury, in an immoral
administration, in faulty public works, and
in a secret police [that spreads terror
everywhere]."
The constant forced loans by the gover-
nor and the war subsidies demanded by
Spain simply added to the unbearable con-

editions in the rebels' view. Between August
1864 and January 1865, the governor of
Puerto Rico was forced, by the empty cof-
fers, to borrow from the various municipal
corporations between 12,000 and 50,000
pesos every month to cover expenses in
the administration. In July 1865 the gover-
nor forced the ayuntamiento, or town
council, of San Juan to give him the
103,000 pesos it was saving for the con-
struction of the aqueduct of the city. During
the years 1861-64 Puerto Rico was com-
pelled by Spain to contribute over half a
million pesos in cash and in supplies to the

Spanish troops fighting against Santo
Domingo. In October 1865, Spain must
have given the Puerto Ricans much cause
for concern when she announced to her
creditors that beginning in January 1866
Cuba and Puerto Rico would be responsible
for paying the interest on her debt.
While in the rebels' views these were cer-
tainly valid causes to demand a separation
from Spain, what seemed to have pushed
them to the decision of toppling the colo-
nial government by armed struggle was the
conviction they reached by 1867 that the
Spanish government would never change

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CAlBBEAN FEVIEW/47

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or end its exploitative relationship with
Puerto Rico, regardless of whether those
who ruled in Madrid were liberals or
conservatives.
As proof of this argument they presented
an account of the events following the take-
over of the Spanish government by the lib-
erals in 1865. While the liberal regime had
immediately asked the colony to send rep-
resentatives, it had not granted the island
any of the reforms it requested, as had been
the case with the two constitutional govern-
ments of the first quarter of the century.
Besides the fact that the colony had not
been represented in the Cortes of Madrid
since 1837, it had been subjected to in-
creasingly despotic rule of governor gener-
als.. The "little Caesars" governed at will,.
arresting, jailing, and exiling anyone who
dared to protest their rule, move about with-
out written permission, congregate for any
purpose not cleared beforehand with the
officials, or for any real or imaginary threat.
The Cortes' session ended in 1867 with-
out offering any relief to the colony in either
the economic or the political spheres. On
the contrary, by June 1867, all the Puerto
Rican delegates upon arriving on the island
from Spain were exiled, along with several
well-known dissenters, for their supposed
participation in promoting a mutiny among
the artillery troops in San Juan. Although
the mutiny proved to be motivated by purely

48/CARIBBEAN REVIEW

internal problems, the governor used it as a
pretext to rid the island of his critics. In exil-
ing them, however, he accelerated the pro-
cess of revolutionary activity that culmi-
nated in the Lares uprising a year later.
The revolutionary movement that culmi-
nated in the Grito de Lares was organized
months later by the men exiled, particularly
by Dr. Betances and Segundo Ruiz Belvis,
with the help and encouragement of Dr.
Francisco Basora, a Puerto Rican exiled
years before, who had co-founded the revo-
lutionary organization, The Republican
Society of Cuba and Puerto Rico, then
operating in New York City. From New York
City, where Betances and Ruiz Belvis had
gone in August 1867, they went to Santo
Domingo sometime in September or Octo-
ber 1867 to found The Revolutionary
Committee of Puerto Rico, which imme-
diately set up the organizational structure to
allow the Committee and its agents to re-
cruit and organize followers on the island.
Within nine months from the time the Com-
mittee drafted its Revolutionary Constitu-
tion, calling for the independence of Puerto
Rico, several secret societies were orga-
nized throughout the island. These so-
cieties, in turn, recruited new members,
collected money for the purchase of weap-
ons by Betances, distributed the revolution-
ary propaganda sent to them by the
Committee and/or its agents and agreed to
launch the attack on Spain on 29 Septem-
ber 1868. The indiscretion of one of its
members, however, alerted the Spanish
military authorities in Arecibo a few days
before they were to strike, forcing the rebel
leader of the western region of Puerto Rico
to take action before it was time.
This precipitated action not only deprived
the rebels of Lares of valuable support from
other secret societies that could not be
reached in time, but cut them off from the
Revolutionary Committee and from Be-
tances who was then in St. Thomas trying,
albeit unsuccessfully, to reach them with
men, weapons and a ship.
The rebels' failure to liberate the island
does not negate the reasons for the uprising
or limit the scope of the event itself. The fact
that Lares only gave the cry for indepen-
dence at a time when the Larerios were
suffering a decline in socio-economic sta-
tus does not necessarily mean that the eco-
nomic conditions were the most important
reasons for the rebels' decision to revolt.
For, a review of the literature of the period
indicates that in Puerto Rico in the 1860s
there were many groups that had other rea-
sons to revolt.
The forces that shaped the Lares uprising
were as much political as economic and
social. Yet, the actual decision to revolt was
not made until 1867, when the rebel leaders
became convinced that there was nothing
they could expect from Spain. CP

NIEUWE WEST-INDISCHE GIDS
NEW WEST INDIAN GUIDE
Edited by
H. Hoetink, Richard Price, Sally Price (Book Reviews), H.U.E. Thoden van
Velzen, J. Voorhoeve, P. Wagenaar Hummelinck (Man. Ed.), L.J. Wester-
mann-van der Steen
Now an exclusively English-language journal, the NWIG continues its long
tradition of quality scholarship on Caribbean issues.
The first volume produced by the new editorial board includes contributions
by, among others, Gabriel Debien, Antonio T. Diaz-Royo, Angelina Pollak-
Eltz, Nina S. de Friedemann, Jerome S. Handler, Leon-Frangois Hoffmann,
Franklin W. Knight, Anthony P. Maingot, Frank Manning, Ransford W. Palmer,
and Raymond T. Smith.
The greatly expanded Book Review section, intended to cover all significant
social science and humanities publications on the Caribbean, includes re-
views of Brereton's A history of modern Trinidad, Mintz's Esclave = facteur
de production, Rodney's A history of the Guyanese working people, Price's
Sociedades cimarronas, Fouchard's The Haitian Maroons, Dash's Literature
and ideology in Haiti, Barthold's Black time, Levine's Benjy Lopez, John-
son's Puerto Rico, Hoetink's The Dominican people, Dekker's Curacao
zonderlmet Shell, Warner's Kaiso! the Trinidad calypso, Bickerton's Roots of
language, Alleyne's Comparative Afro-Afro-American, and many others.
The "new" NWIG is a must for any committed Caribbeanist. Try it at the
special introductory subscription rate (US$10 for a whole year). Simply send
your check or money order for $10, made out to "Treasurer, NWIG" to:
Biltseweg 17, 3735 MA Bosch en Duin, Netherlands. (For payment in Dutch
guilders, send f.25 to acct. no. 37.52.44.239, RABO-bank, Zeist)
Published continuously since 1919

Pan Am...

Continued from page 27

a day to four. Flights were cancelled in April
1961 by the "Bay of Pigs" landing, then
renewed. In early 1962 Castro was demand-
ing more service by Pan Am in order to
remove the great backlog of refugees from
the island. The refugees paid $25 Cuban
pesos each to fly to Miami; Pan Am com-
plained that it was losing money. Flights
were again suspended in the fall of 1962,
this time for the October missile crisis. In
1965 Pan Am began its "freedom flights,"
two every day paid for by the US
government.
The flights became a famous ritual; the
tearful welcomes by fellow refugees at
Miami International, then the bus ride to
Freedom Tower in downtown Miami where
the process of integration into American
society began. As the years passed it was
not only the refugees who would be
changed, but the culture and ethnic
makeup of Florida also. The state, jokingly
referred to in the 1950s as Cuba's eighth
province, was becoming so in fact.
Simultaneously another transforming
moment in the aerial history of the Carib-
bean came to pass; a moment that the Pen-
tagon had long dreaded. The delicate
aluminum proboscises of Aeroflot's
Tupolev 114's were observed testing the
tropical air. Soviet airline flights to the Carib-
bean were soon a matter of routine. By the
1980s, Cuba would only be a midway point
for Aeroflot liners continuing on to Mexico
City, Managua and Lima.
Meanwhile Cubana's aging Britannias
had become prime actors in a daring ma-
neuver: "Operation Carlotta," the Cuban
move into Africa. Packed with extra fuel
tanks, in 1975 and 1976 the Britannias fer-
ried troops and weapons to Angola, and
later to Ethiopia. "Flying the skies of the
world" became Cubana's motto, and its
planes would touch down in Madrid and
Prague, Luanda and Managua and many
places in between. In January, 1981
Cubana made its inaugural flight to Gre-
nada, Cuba's new Caribbean partner.

Cancel the Antilles
Technological developments had led Pan
Am to the Caribbean in the 1920s. Now, half
a century later, they were leading it away. In
the wake of the oil embargo of 1973 Pan
Am radically restructured its routes around
the company's most fuel efficient aircraft,
the Boeing 747 jumbo. Since the 747 oper-
ated best on long flights, Pan Am began to
abandon or trade off its shorter Caribbean
routes, especially those to seasonal tourist
destinations: Bermuda, St. Thomas, St.
Croix, Point-a-Pitre, Fort-de-France, Bar-

IJfi.'

The Fairchild FC-2 La Nifa, used by Pan American to carry its first mail from Key West to Havana.
The Fairchild FC-2 La Nira, used by Pan American to carry its first mail from Key West to Havana.

bados and Freeport were eliminated, and
flights to Jamaica, Santo Domingo, and
San Juan reduced. By mid-1982 San Juan
was Pan Am's only destination in the Antil-
les. Then, late in the year, in a gesture of
profound nostalgia, Pan Am reversed
course and renewed flights to the Bahamas,
Barbados and Trinidad. But even so, the
Antilles were now dominated by British
West Indian, American and Eastern and
other latecomers.
In the hopes of developing a more eco-
nomical stable of aircraft, Pan Am indulged
in a new three engine jumbo, the Lock-
heed 1011 Tri-Star whose size (about a third
smaller than the 747), more modern en-
gines, airfoils and electronics were thought
ideal for the important and highly profitable
Caribbean routes to Mexico and Venezuela.
The first flight of Pan Am's Tri-Star was to
Caracas in May, 1980, then booming
thanks to the world oil crisis. On the New
York to Caracas route the Tri-Star burned
69,000 pounds of fuel, but at least on the
return run it had the advantage of buying
cheaper gasoline in an OPEC nation. The
oil boom had so expanded personal in-
comes in Venezuela that Pan Am found it
expedient to run a 747 flight to the center of
Venezuela's oil operations at Lake Mar-
acaibo. In 1981 more than a quarter of a
million Venezuelans visited Miami, most of
them arriving by air. And there would be a
substantial increase in Pan Am's cargo
flights to Caracas's Maiquetia airport and
to Maracaibo in 747 cargo liners with 90
ton payloads. But many airlines other than
Pan Am had responded to the Venezuelan
bonanza. In 1982, on a given day, of the
34 international flights leaving Caracas's

Maiquetia airport, only three belonged
to Pan Am.
It was the same story elsewhere. By the
spring of 1982 Mexicana was flying 183
flights a week to US destinations from Mex-
ico City. Pan Am had only 42 flights a week

from FIU's International Affairs Center

The University was recently honored
by a visit of officials from the College
of the Bahamas. Dr. Keva Bethel,
Principal of the College, and Ms. Joan
Vanderpool, Assistant Director of
Continuing Education, met with
University faculty and administrators
concerning the cooperative development
of educational programs. In addition,
Dr. Bethel and University President
Gregory B. Wolfe signed an articulation
agreement whereby graduates of the
two-year College might earn a
Bachelor's degree at the University.

In response to a request from the
Aruba Hospitality Trades Training
Center, the University has agreed to
provide consultant services for the
development of an English Language
Curriculum. The Intensive English
Program under the direction of Dr. John
Staczek will provide the consultants to
the AHTTC.

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

CAftBBEAN EVIEW/49

| Florida International
S University now offers
an interdisciplinary Master of
Arts program in 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
program are offered by
faculty in Political Science,
History, Economics,
International Affairs,
Sociology and Anthropology.

For further information
contact:
Dr. Farrokh Jhabvala
Florida International
University
Tamiami Trail
Miami, Florida 33199
(305) 554-2555.

CUBAN

STUDIES

Cuban Studies/Estudios Cubanos is published twice a year by the University of
Pittsburgh's Center for Latin American Studies. Each issue includes articles
relevant to contemporary themes, with summaries in Spanish and English, plus
book reviews, a classified bibliography of recent publications, an inventory of
current research, and an author index. The most recent issues feature:
Literature In Revolutionary Cuba (January 1981)
The Cuban Exodus: A Symposium (July 1981/ january 1982)
Prerevolutionary Cuban Society (July 1982)
Annual subscriptions: $8 for individuals and $16 for institutions
Back issues: $4.50 for individuals and $8.50 for institutions

University of Pittsburgh Prepayment requested;
Center for Latin American Studies please make checks payable to:
4E04 Forbes Quadrangle University of Pittsburgh.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15260

over the same route. Many of Pan Am's jets
were jumbos (DC-10's and 747s) with two
or three times the carrying capacity of Mex-
icana's smaller 727s. Even so it was clear
that the balance of aerial power was shifting.
By the 1980s, Pan Am's seaplane base at
Miami's Dinner Key had long since been
converted into a yacht basin, but the airport
which Pan Am had built on 116 acres of
orange groves in North Miami in 1928 had
become one of the world's great airports,
the second busiest international gateway-
after New York-in the US. Statistics devel-
oped by Miami International show that, on
average in 1981, 19 different airlines were
making 471 departures a week from Miami
for the islands of the Caribbean. Of these
only eight were Pan Am flights, all to San
Juan. Sixteen different lines made 135 de-
partures aweekto Central America, of these
14 flights were Pan Ams, seven each a week
to Panama and Guatemala. And four lines
were making 54 flights a week to Mexico; of
these 21 were Pan Ams. Thus of 600 depar-
tures a week for the greater Caribbean
basin, the area which Pan Am had pi-
oneered, only 43 or less than 10 percent
were Pan Am flights. Pan Am was merely
'one of many' in the Caribbean skies of
the 1980s.
Pan Am's abandonment of the Carib-
bean was foreshadowed by the selling off of
its Caribbean subsidiaries. The remaining
shares of Honduras's SAHSA went in Janu-
ary 1970, Costa Rica's LACSA in Septem-
ber of that year, Panama's COPA in 1971,
Colombia's AVIANCA in 1978.
By 1981, Pan Am, once the "Colossus of

the Caribbean" and an extraordinary Ameri-
can success story was on the verge of bank-
ruptcy. It was of course not all owed to the
growth of Latin American competition.
Problems endemic to the airline industry
were destroying Pan Am: inflation, high in-
terest rates, recession, over-capacity, de-
regulation, fare wars. It was losing a million
dollars a day, and to stanch these losses, it
began a series of violent changes in strat-
egy and staff. Nearly everything the com-
pany owned was for sale. In 1981 the
company sold the very symbol of its former
grandeur, the Pan Am tower in New York. As
Pan Am was selling its headquarters in
Manhattan, thousands of miles to the south
in Bogota, AVIANCA, once a tiny Pan Am
subsidiary, was enjoying its own brand new
bronze and glass skyscraper, and Mex-
icana's 35 story tower was under construc-
tion in Mexico City.
In Central America the future of Pan Am
seemed increasingly in doubt. In 1981 Pan
Am gave up its run to San Jose: un-
economical. The Guatemalan run which
Pan Am had begun flying with Lockheed
Tri-Stars in 1980 was in trouble because
guerrilla warfare was discouraging the tour-
ist trade. Pan Am's offices in Guatemala City
and San Salvador were bombed. In 1929,
when Lindbergh circumnavigated the Car-
ibbean for Pan Am, he had to modify his
flight plan for Nicaragua so as to avoid the
ground fire of the sandinistas. Fifty-two
years later the sandinistas were in power
in Managua, and Pan Am was no longer
flying there. Off the coast, a US Navy de-
stroyer was electronically monitoring these
astonishing developments. In the spring of
1982 it was, in curious symbolism, the
U.S.S. Trippe, named after a hero of the wars
against the barbary pirates who was a dis-
tant relative of Pan Am's founder.
In 1980 Pan Am merged with National
Airlines to get the US domestic routes
which it had long argued it needed to feed
passengers into its overseas network. But
the merger went badly, there was friction
between National and Pan Am personnel,
and as the recession of 1981 deepened Pan
Am found it did not need many of Nation-
al's planes.
In 1981 when Edward Acker, the former
chief executive of Air Florida, one of those
new regional lines which had benefitted so
much from the US airline deregulation act
of 1978 became president of Pan Am, he
commented sardonically that he felt like the
chief of the Titanic. In August, 1981 under
heavy pressure from the National City Bank
and other creditors, Pan Am sold its IHC
hotel chain for a reputed $500 million to
Grand Metropolitan Ltd., a London based
conglomerate. Pan Am's staffs were re-
duced; its unions and management suf-
fered pay cuts, it changed advertisers, and
pondered a complete withdrawal from New

Scholarly
multidisciplinary
journal
devoted entirely
to Cuba

50/CAIBBEAN ImIEW

York and a return to Florida where it had
all begun.
Behind this consideration was an enor-
mous irony. By 1981 Pan Am's Latin Ameri-
can routes, albeit shrunken, were its only
profitable overseas operations. In 1981 it
lost $117 million on its Trans-Atlantic oper-
ations, $58 million in the Pacific, and made
a profit of $33 million in Latin America.
Perhaps that is why, when Braniff airlines
went bankrupt in the summer of 1982, Pan
Am strove desperately to acquire Braniff's
Latin American routes. But the US Civil
Aeronautics Board, leery of recreating Pan
Am's much criticized Latin American mo-
nopoly of the 1930s, refused, and gave the
routes to Eastern.
Pan Am's half century of Caribbean oper-
ations seemed to trace a great arc, rising
with explosive speed and energy in the late
1920s to an apogee during World War II
when it was virtually without competition;
truly Fortune's "Colossus of the Carib-
bean." But after the war, it was assailed by
growing competition from US lines, by the
increasingly powerful Latin Americans, and
the resurgent Europeans. Added to these
difficulties was the rise of strict regulation in
Latin America, as well as the impact of the
energy crisis, and Pan Am's own manage-
rial miscues.
In a way Pan Am's decline was a meta-

phor for the decline of American power in
the Caribbean. Aeroflot and Cubana and
obscure East European lines were now reg-
ularly present in what was once "America's
Mediterranean." United Fruit, which had
fostered Pan Am's penetration of the Carib-
bean in the 1920s, was in the 1980s, after
decades of pounding by nationalism, revo-
lution, and US anti-trust actions, a very re-
duced presence, a far cry from the days
when its founder, Andrew Preston, was re-

Florida, jokingly referred to
in the 1950s as Cuba's
eighth province, was
becoming so in fact.

ferred to as the "uncrowned King of the
Caribbean."
Yet despite this decline one could not
gainsay the enormous impact Pan Am had
made. More than any other agency, Pan Am
was, for good or ill, the instrument of the
great migration which had made North
America home for a large share of the Car-
ibbean population. By 1982, 40% of all

Puerto Ricans lived in the US: one out of
seven Cubans.
Perhaps even more dramatically, the
aerial revolution which Pan Am led was an
instrument for the dissemination of the cul-
ture and style and ambitions of the North, a
holding up of Northern prosperity to the
South. Pan Am was in this sense a mar-
velous instrument for propagating the era
of rising expectations-expectations that
would not be fulfilled, expectations which
would be rejected with revolutionary force
in Cuba as 'trashy consumerism' and gain-
sayed by many Latin American intellec-
tuals, and yet sought after by many ordinary
Latins. Pan Am and the air age were, in this
sense, enormously destabilizing forces.
In 1928 President-elect Herbert Hoover
had expressed that old nostrum that pro-
pinquity would lead to sympathy when he
urged that airline links be developed with
Latin America. It may have led to sympathy,
but also surely to fears of economic depen-
dency and cultural suffocation. It was a
world of contradictions; a Marquesian world
in which, by winning, one lost. Pan Am had
been a symbol of what Henry Luce had
called-in 1941--the dawning American
century. But as the century passed, it ap-
peared more and more that airlines, like
nations and empires, might have their mo-
ment, but it was only that. C P

CAIBBEAN FEVIeW/51

moneda y banca en

america central

Raul Moncarz
El libro esta escrito en un lenguaje claro y
comprensible teniendo en consideracion que el
mercado potential para el cual esta proyectado
esta representado por una amplia variedad de
posibles lectores.
El material esta dividido en tres areas. La
primera explore concepts basicos del dinero y
la banca, tales como el lugar del dinero en la
economic, la importancia de la banca y otros
intermediaries financieros.
La segunda parte hace un analysis detallado de
la banca en Centroamerica, la expansion y
contracci6n monetaria y los aspects
economicos del sistema bahcario
centroamericano en los iltimos cinco aiios, y
finalmente, se estudia con detalle la banca
central en Centroamerica y sus principles
funciones.
La tercera part trata en una forma general y
especifica la teoria y la political monetaria
incluyendo aspects internacionales del dinero
y la banca de Centroamerica.
Escuela Bancaria Superior
Centroamericana
Tegucigalpa, D.C., Honduras, CA.

Avances en

psicologia

contemporanea

Gordon E. Finley
Gerardo Marin
Las mas significativas y recientes
aportaciones al pensamiento psicologico
del continent americano, expuestas por
sus propios autores, se han logrado
conjuntar en este valioso texto que
permitira tanto a profesionales como a
estudiantes de psicologia actualizar
sus conocimientos.
B.F. Skinner, Edwin I. Megargee, Rogelio
Diaz-Guerrero, Ruben Ardila y otros
reconocidos psicologos desarrollan en esta
obra diversos temas cuyo studio result
imprescindible, por igual, para aquellos
que se desempenan en el cmbito de la
ciencia de la conduct, y para quienes se
aprestan a hacerlo.
Editorial Trillas, S.A.
Av. 5 de Mayo 43-105
Mexico 1, D.F

LATIN E A13
PR~nHliftRMf fai I CflTMfl&

FlU LIBRARY

Recent Books

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

Anthropology and Sociology
ASSIM VIVEM OS ITALIANOS: VIDA, HISTORIC,
CANTOS, COMIDAS E ESTORIAS. Arlindo
Itacir Battistel, Rovilio Costa. Universidade
de Caxias do Sul (Porto Alegre, Brazil),
1982. 592 p. Italians in Brazil.
CHICANO: THE EVOLUTION OF A PEOPLE.
Renato Rosaldo, Robert A. Calvert, Gustav
L. Seligman, Jr. 2d ed. Krieger (Melbourne,
Fla.), 1982. 428 p. $17.50.
EAST LOS ANGELES: HISTORY OF A
BARRIO. Ricardo Romo. University of Texas
Press, 1983. 224 p. $22.50; $8.95 paper.
Story of the largest Mexican American
community in the U.S.

LA EDUCATION DE LOS MARGINADOS
DURANTE LA EPOCA COLONIAL:
ESCUELAS Y COLEGIOS PARA INDIOS Y
MESTIZOS EN LA NUEVA ESPANA. Lino
G6mez Canedo. Editorial Porria (Mexico),
1982, 425 p.

THE GOSPEL IN SOLENTINAME. Ernesto
Cardenal. Tr. by Donald D. Walsh. Orbis
Books, 1976-1982. 4 vols. $29.95.
Dialogues on the Gospels between the
author and community members
in Solentiname.
THE HOLY WAR IN LOS ALTOS: A REGIONAL
ANALYSIS OF MEXICO'S CRISTERO
REBELLION. Jim Tuck. University of
Arizona Press, 1982. 240 p. $15.95.

LOS HUICHOLES: UNA TRIBU DE ARTISTS.
Robert M. Zingg. Institute Nacional
Indigenista (Mexico), 1982. 2 vols.

IMPRESSIONS OF A WHITE TOURIST IN THE
CARIBBEAN. B. Campbell. Revisionist
Press (Brooklyn, N.Y), 1982. $59.95.

LAGO CHAPALA: TURISMO RESIDENTIAL Y
CAMPESINADO. Francisco Talavera
Salgado. Institute de Arqueologia e Historia
(Mexico), 1982. 163 p.

THE LAST INDIANS: SOUTH AMERICA'S
CULTURAL HERITAGE. Fritz Trupp.
Christopher Marsh, tr. Perlinger (W6rgel,
Austria), 1981. 263 p. Translation of Die
letzten Indianer-Kulturen Sidamerikas.

LIBERATION THEOLOGY James V Schall.
Ignatius Press (San Francisco, Calif.), 1982.
400 p. $9.95.

A MODERNIZACAO DOLOROSA:
ESTRUTURA AGRARIA, FRONTEIRA
AGRICOLA E TRABALHADORES RURAIS
NO BRASIL. Jose Graziano da Silva. Zahar
(Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1982. 192 p.

MUTUAL AID FOR SURVIVAL: THE CASE OF
THE MEXICAN AMERICAN. Jose Amaro
Hern6ndez. 2d ed. Krieger (Melbourne,
Fla.), 1983.

A NOVA OPULENCIA DAS GERAES. Sergio
Dayrell Porto. Cortez (Sao Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 142 p. About Minas Gerais.

A PUERTO RICAN IN NEW YORK AND
OTHER SKETCHES. Jesus Col6n. 2d ed.
International Publishers (New York), 1982.
202 p. $3.75.

QUETZALCOATL AND THE IRONY OF
EMPIRE: MYTH AND PROPHECIES IN THE
AZTEC TRADITION. David Carrasco.
University of Chicago Press, 1982.
224 p. $20.00.

R.S. [i.e. RIO GRANDE DO SUL]:
ESCRAVISMO E ABOLICAO. Margaret
Marchiori Bakros. Mercado Aberto (Porto
Alegre, Brazil), 1982. 165 p.

RASTAFARI: STATIONS OF JAMAICA AND I.
Millard Faristzaddi. Grove Press,
1982. $9.95.

RELIGION AND SOCIAL CONFLICTS. Otto
Maduro. Robert R. Barr, tr. Orbis Books,
1982. 192 p. $8.95. Translation of Religi6n
y lucha de classes.

SALDOS DE LA REVOLUTION: CULTURAL Y
POLITICAL DE MEXICO, 1910-1980.
H6ctor Aguilar Camin. Nueva Imagen
(Mexico), 1982. 275 p.

TRYING' TO MAKE IT: ADAPTING TO THE
BAHAMAS. John Bregenzer. University
Press of the Americas, 1982. 96 p. $16.75;
$6.75 paper.
LA VIVIENDA INDIGENA DE MEXICO Y DEL
MUNDO. Victor Jos6 Moya Rubio.
Universidad Nacional Aut6noma de M6xico,
1982. 241 p.

Biography
J.K. [i.e. JUSCELINO KUBITSCHEK]:
MEMORIAL DO EXILIO. Carlos Heitor
Cony. Bloch (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1982.
188 p.
JUAN DAVIS BRADBURN: A REAPPRAISAL OF
THE MEXICAN COMMANDER OF
ANAHUAC. Margaret S. Henson. Texas A&M
University Press, 1982. 96 p. $9.50.
Includes material on the Mexican American
War of 1845-48.
SON ASI: REPORTAJE A NUEVE
ESCRITORES LATINOAMERICANOS.
Eligio Garcia Mirquez. Editorial La Oveja
Negra (Bogota, Colombia), 1982.
232 p. $12.00.
VIDA Y PASSION DE UNA IDEOLOGIA.
Natalicio Gonzalez. Ediciones Napa
(Asunci6n, Paraguay), 1982. 230 p.
Autobiography of a Paraguayan
politician/novelist.
THE WORD REMAINS: A LIFE OF OSCAR
ROMERO. James R. Brockman. Orbis
Books, 1982. 149 p. $12.95.

Description and Travel
AMAZONIA: NATUREZA, HOME E TEMPO.
Leandro Tocantins. 2d, rev., ed. Civilizaqco
(Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1982. 177 p.
BIRDS OF TROPICAL AMERICA. Alexander F
Skutch, Dana Gardner. University of Texas
Press, 1983. 320 p. $29.95.

DESCRIPTION OF THE SPANISH ISLANDS
AND SETTLEMENTS ON THE COAST OF
THE WEST INDIES. Thomas Jefferys.
AMS Press, 1982. $19.50. Reprint of the
1762 ed.

PLANEJAMENTO URBANO E IDEOLOGIA:
QUATRO PLANS PARA A CIDADE DO
RIO DE JANEIRO. Vera Rezende.
Civilizacio (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1982.
126 p.

52/CAI?BBEAN PVIEW

HU LiBRARY

SABER LA GEOGRAFIA DE VENEZUELA.
Ernesto Ballesteros Arranz. Ortells Ferriz
(Madrid, Spain), 1982. 130 p. 1,500 ptas.

VIAJE A LA PATAGONIA AUSTRAL, 1876-
1877. Francisco P Moreno. Solar (Buenos
Aires, Argentina), 1982. 407 p.

VIAJE POR COLOMBIA, 1825 Y 1826. Carl
August Gosselman. Ann C. Pereira, tr. Tall
Graf. del Banco de la Reptiblica (Bogota,
Colombia), 1982. 366 p. Translation of an
original Swedish manuscript.

Economics
AMERICAN LABOR IN THE SOUTHWEST
THE FIRST ONE HUNDRED YEARS.
James C. Foster, ed. University of Arizona
Press, 1982. 236 p. $18.50; $9.85 paper.
Includes material on the impact of Mexican
labor on the development of the West.

EL ANALYSIS STRUCTURAL EN ECONOMIC:
ENSAYOS DE AMERICA LATINA Y
ESPAIA. Jose Molero, ed. Fondo de
Cultura Econ6mica (Mexico), 1982. 338 p.

O CAPITALISM TARDIO: CONTRIBUCAO A
REVISAO CRITICAL DA FORMACAO E DO
DESENVOLVIMENTO DA ECONOMIC
BRASILEIRA. Jo0o Manuel Cardoso de
Mello. Brasiliense (Sao Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 182 p.

CURACAO ZONDER/MET SHELL: EEN
BIJDRAGE TOT BESTUDERING VAN
DEMOGRAFISCHE, ECONOMISCHE EN
SOCIAL PROCESSED IN DE PERIOD
1900-1929. J. J. H. Dekker. De Walburg
Pers (Zutphen, Netherlands), 1982. 240 p.
A study of the demographic, economic,
and social movements on Curacao,
1900-1929.

DESARROLLO DE COLON Y CREACION DE
EMPLEO: DIAGNOSTIC, PERSPECTIVES
Y POLITICAS. International Labour Office.
Program Regional del Empleo para
America Latina y el Caribe, PREALC
(Santiago, Chile), 1982. 175 p.

DEVALUACION 82: EL PRINCIPO1 DEL FIN.
Jose Angel Conchello. Editorial Grijalbo
(Mexico), 1982. 190 p. About Mexico.

ECONOMIC BRASILEIRA: UMA INTRODUCAO
CRITICA. Luiz C. Bresser Pereira.
Brasiliense (Sio Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 170 p.

EMPLEO Y PLANES DE DESARROLLO
1970-1980. International Labour Office.
Program Regional del Empleo para
America Latina y el Caribe, PREALC
(Santiago, Chile), 1982. 121 p.

ENERGY AND DEVELOPMENT IN LATIN
AMERICA: PERSPECTIVES FOR PUBLIC
POLICY Nazli Choucri. Lexington Books,
1982. 225 p. $23.95.

A EPOCA POMBALINA: POLITICAL
ECONOMIC E MONARQUIA ILUSTRADA.
Francisco Jose Calazans Falcon. Atica (Sao
Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 532 p.

ES MEXICO UN PAIS AGRICOLA? UN
ANALYSIS GEOGRAFICO. AtlAntida Coil
Hurtado. Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico), 1982.
214 p.
EL FINANCIAMIENTO EXTRAORDINARIO DE
LA REAL HACIENDA EN EL VIRREINATO
PERUANO: CUZCO, 1575-1650. Sonia
Pinto Vallejos. Centro de Estudios
Humanisticos, Universidad de Chile,
1982. 183 p.
HISTORIC DO PROLETARIADO BRASILEIRO,
1857-1967. Boris 1. Koval. Clarice Lima
Avierina, tr. Alfa Omega (Sio Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 568 p. Translation of Istoria
brazil'skogo proletariata, 1857-1967.

MEXICO: DEVELOPMENT STRATEGIES FOR
THE FUTURE. Denis Goulet. University of
Notre Dame Press, 1983. 208 p. $16.95;
$8.95 paper.

EL MOVIMENTO ANARQUISTA EM SAO
PAULO, 1906-1917. Silvia Ingrid Lang
Magnani. Brasiliense (Sao Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 189 p.

OIL, MONEY AND THE MEXICAN ECONOMY:
A MACROECONOMETRIC ANALYSIS.
Francisco Carrada-Bravo. Westview Press,
1982. 146 p. $17.00.

OLEOCRACIA O PATRIA. Marcelo Quiroga
Santa Cruz. Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico),
1982. 238 p. An analysis of Bolivia's
economic policies by a former
cabinet member.

LOS PUERTORRIQUENOS EN NUEVA YORK:
UN ANALYSIS DE SU PARTICIPATION
LABORAL Y EXPERIENCIA MIGRATORIA,
1970. Mary G. Powers, John J. Macisco, Jr.
University of Puerto Rico, 1982.

LOS PUERTORRIQUENOS QUE
REGRESARON: UN ANALYSIS DE SU
PARTICIPATION LABORAL. Luz M.
Torruelas, Jose L. VAzquez. Nancy L6pez, tr.
University of Puerto Rico, 1982.

REINVIDICACOES POPULARES URBANAS:
UM ESTUDO SOBRE AS ASSOCIACOES
DE MORADORES EM SAO PAULO. Maria
da Gl6ria Marcondes Cohn. Cortez (Sio
Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 171 p.

STRIKE THE IRON: A COLONY AT WAR,
JAMAICA 1939-1945. Ken Post. Institute
of Social Studies (The Hague, Netherlands),
1981. 2 vols. About the labor movement
in Jamaica.

USO DE LA TIERRA EN ARGENTINA. Andres
Ringuelet. Ferro (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1982. 152 p.

Language and Literature
ASPECTS DA LITERATURE CEARENSE.
Sanzio de Azevedo. Universidade Federal
do Ceara (Fortaleza, Brazil), 1982. 359 p.

AXE: ANTOLOGIA CONTEMPORANEA DA
POESIA NEGRA BRASILEIRA. Paulo
Colina, ed. Global (Sio Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 103 p.

AZTEC PLACE NAMES: THEIR MEANING
AND MODE OF COMPOSITION. Frederick
Starr. Irvington Publishers, 1982. $24.50.
Reprint of the 1920 ed.

A BIRD OF PAPER: POEMS OF VICENTE
ALEIXANDRE. Willis Barnstone, David
Garrison, trs. Ohio University Press, 1982.
88 p. $16.95; $10.95 paper.

LA QUESTION DEL ORIGEN Y DE LA
FORMATION DEL PAPIAMENTO. Orlando
Ferrol. Dept. of Caribbean Studies, Royal
Institute of Linguistics and Anthropology
(Leiden, Netherlands), 1982. 91 p.

ELES VOLTARAM PARA FICAR. Olindo de
Luca. Escritor (Sio Paulo, Brazil), 1982.
188 p. A novel about an Italian immigrant
family in Brazil.

ENTRE LAS NIEVES. Liborio Brieva. Editorial
Andr6s Bello (Santiago, Chile), 1982. 170
p. An historical novel about Chile.

AN EPOCH OF MIRACLES: ORAL
LITERATURE OF THE YUCATEC MAYA.
Allan E Burns, ed. and tr. University of Texas
Press, 1983. 288 p. $24.50.

ESSAYS ON HAITIAN LITERATURE. Leon-
Franqois Hoffman. Three Continents Press,
1983. 269 p. $17.00; $8.00 paper.

FLOWERS FROM THE VOLCANO. Claribel
Alegria. Carolyn Forch6, tr. University of
Pittsburgh Press, 1982. 104 p. $11.95;
$5.95 paper. Poems by a Nicaraguan.

HISPANICS IN THE UNITED STATES: AN
ANTHOLOGY OF CREATIVE LITERATURE.
Francisco Jim6nez, Gary D. Keller. Bilingual
Review/Press (Ypsilanti, Mich.), 1982. 165
p. $10.00.

HUELLAS/FOOTPRINTS. Emilio Bejel, Marie
J. Panico. Hispamerica (Gaithersburg, Md.),
1982.

LEGACIES: SELECTED POEMS. Herberto
Padilla. Alaistair Reid, Andrew Hurley, trs.
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1982.
179 p. $9.25.

LETRAS HISPANOAMERICANAS EN LA
EPOCA DE LA INDEPENDENCIA UNA
ANTOLOGIA GENERAL Jaime Erasto, ed.
Universidad Aut6noma de M6xico,
1982. 274 p.

LITERATURE E IDEOLOGIA: EL MARIANO
AZUELA, 1896-1918. Jorge Ruffinelli.
Premia Editora (Mexico), 1982. 116 p.

CARIBBEAN PVIEW/53

I

LITERATURE HISPANOAMERICANA
CONTEMPORANEA. Fernando Arce
Vargas. Editorial Universidad Estatal a
Distancia (San Jose, Costa Rica),
1982. 450 p.

MACHADO DE ASSIS. Alfredo Bosi, et al. Atica
(Sao Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 525 p.

EL OLOR DE LA GUAYABA.
CONVERSACIONES CON PLINIO
APULEYO MENDOZA. Gabriel Garcia
M6rquez. Editorial La Oveja Negra (Bogota,
Colombia), 1982. 133 p.

ON ART AND LITERATURE: CRITICAL
WRITINGS BY JOSE MARTI. Philip S.
Foner, ed. Monthly Review Press, 1982. 348
p. $18.00.

A PERSONAGEM NEGRA NO TEATRO
BRASILEIRO ENTIRE 1838-1888. Miriam
Garcia Mendes. Atica (Sao Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 205 p.

POR LA ACERA DE LA SOMBRA: CUENTOS
CUBANOS. Pancho Vives. Ediciones
Universal (Miami, Fla.), 1982.

PRIMEROS ENCUENTROS/FIRST
ENCOUNTERS. Sabine R. Ulibarri.
Bilingual Review/Press (Ypsilanti, Mich.),
1982. Short stories by a Chicano author.

QUANDO FUI MORTO EM CUBA: CONTOS.
Roberto Drummond. Atica (SEo Paulo,
Brazil), 1982. 156 p.

A REVOLUCAO DE MUGIQUI: RETALHOS DE
MEMORIAL SERTANEJA. Paulo Conserva.
Codecri (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1982. 228
p. A novel.

LA TEATRALIZACION DE LA OBRA
DRAMATIC: DE FLORENCIO SANCHEZ
A ROBERTO ARLT Enrique Giordano.
Premia Editora (Mexico), 1982. 255 p.

O TRABALHO E A FALA: ESTUDO
ANTROPOLOGICO SOBRE OS
FOLHETOS DE CORDEL. Antonio
Augusto Arantes. Kair6s (Sio Paulo, Brazil),
1982. 191 p.

Archaeology and History
BANDEIRANTISMO: VERSO E REVERSO.
Carlos Henrique Davidoff. Brasiliense (Sio
Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 198 p. About Brazil.

BUDRAGEN TOT DE KENNIS VAN DE
KOLONIE SURINAME: TUDVAK 1816 TOT
1822. A. E Lammens. Vrije Universiteit
(Amsterdam, Netherlands), 1982. 198 p.
Dfl. 17.00. A history of Surinam.

BREVE HISTORIC DE LATINOAMERICA.
Ricardo R. Sardifia. South-Western
(Cincinnati, Ohio), 1982. 407 p.

A CAPITAO DA SERRA NEGRA: RELATOS DE
GONCALO MOREIRA LIMA. Ant6nio
Augusto Pires de Oliveira. Martins (Sio
Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 248 p.

CHILE 1891: LA GRAN CRISIS Y SU
HISTORIOGRAFIA. Marcos Garcia de la
Huerta lzquierdo. Universidad de Chile,
1982. 224 p. $22.00.

COBA: A CLASSIC MAYA METROPOLIS.
William Folan, Ellen R. Kintz, Laraine A.
Fletcher, Academic Press, 1982. 224 p.

CON EL CURA HIDALGO EN LA GUERRA DE
INDEPENDENCIA. Pedro Garcia. Fondo de
Cultural Econ6mica (Mexico), 1982.

DA SENZALA A COLONIA. Emilia Viotti da
Costa. Editorial Ciencias Humanas (Sio
Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 494 p. About Brazil.

LAS EPOCAS HISTORICAL DEL PARAGUAY.
Margarita Britos de Villafarie. Makrografic
(Asunci6n, Paraguay), 1982. 289 p.

FROM ORAL TO WRITTEN EXPRESSION:
NATIVE ANDEAN CHRONICLES OF THE
EARLY COLONIAL PERIOD. Rolena
Adorno, et al. Maxwell School, Syracuse
University, 1982. 181 p. $8.50.

FUSIL AL HOMBRO. Amancio Pampliega.
Ediciones Napa (Asunci6n, Paraguay),
1982. 200 p. Personal narrative of 20th
century Paraguay.

HISTORIC DE LA EDUCATION PUBLIC EN
MEXICO. Fernando Solana, Radl Cardiel
Reyes, Radl Bolarios Martinez. Fondo de
Cultural Econ6mica (Mexico), 1982. 2 vols.

THE INCA AND AZTEC STATES, 1400-1800:
ANTHROPOLOGY AND HISTORY. George
Collier, Renato 1. Rosaldo, John D. Wirth.
Academic Press, 1982. 438 p.

JUAN PERON AND THE RESHAPING OF
ARGENTINA. Frederick C. Turner, Jose
Enrique Miguens, eds. University of
Pittsburgh Press, 1982. 360 p. $24.95.

THE MAYA BOOK OF THE DEAD: THE
CERAMIC CODES. Francis Robicsek,
Donald Hales. University of Oklahoma
Press, 1982. 288 p. $35.00.

MAYA GLYPHS: THE VERBS. Linda Schele.
University of Texas Press, 1982.
384 p. $35.00.

NORDESTE, NACAO ESPOLIADA. H61io
Ramos. Civilizaqao (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil),
1982. 212 p. About Brazil.

ON THE EDGE OF THE SEA: MURAL
PAINTING AT TANCAH-TULUM, QUINTANA
ROO, MEXICO. Arthur G. Miller. Harvard
University Press, 1982. 161 p. $35.00.

PANORAMA DE ARQUEOLOGIA ANDINA.
Rogger Ravines. Institute de Estudios
Peruanos, 1982. $15.00.

PORFIRIO DIAZ, LOS INTELECTUALES Y LA
REVOLUCION. Juan G6mez Quifiones. El
Caballito (Mexico), 1982. 231 p.

PRIMICIA DE SANGRE. Arturo Bray. Ediciones
Napa (Asunci6n, Paraguay), 1982. 180 p.
History of the Chaco War.

PROSA POLEMICA. Juan O'Leary. Ediciones
Napa (Asunci6n, Paraguay), 1982. 226 p. A
collection of articles on Paraguayan history
and literature.

RANCHERO REVOLT THE MEXICAN
REVOLUTION IN GUERRERO. lan Jacobs.
University of Texas Press, 1982.
248 p. $25.00.

THE ROYAL TREASURIES OF THE SPANISH
EMPIRE IN AMERICA. John J. TePaske,
Herbert S. Klein. Duke University Press,
1982. 3 vols. $100.00.

LAS RUINAS DE PALENQUE, XUPA Y FINCA
ENCANTO. Franz Blom. Institute de
Arqueologia e Historia (Mexico),
1982. 191 p.

SALAMANCA: RECUERDOS DE MI TIERRA
GUANAJUATENSE. Jose Rojas
Garciduefias. Porrda (Mexico), 1982. 237 p.
Local Mexican history.

SALDOS DE LA REVOLUTION: CULTURAL Y
POLITICAL DE MEXICO, 1910-1980. H6ctor
Aguilar Camin. Editorial Nueva Imagen
(Mexico), 1982. 275 p.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY MAIOLICA POTTERY
IN THE VALLEY OF MEXICO. Florence C.
Lister, Robert H. Lister. University of Arizona
Press, 1982. 110 p. $11.50.

Politics and Government
ALTA POLITICA. Sadl Alvarez. Rodrigo
(Mexico), 1982. 188 p. An analysis of
Mexico's political system.

ARGENTINA HOY. Alan Rouquie, ed. Siglo XXI
Editores (Mexico), 1982. 279 p.

BRAZIL: EMERGING WORLD POWER. Jordan
M. Young. Krieger Pub. Co. (Melbourne,
Fla.), 1982. 242 p. $5.95.

CHALATENANGO, LA GUERRA DESCALZA:
REPORTAJE SOBRE EL SALVADOR.
Nicolas Doljanin. Editorial El Dia (Mexico),
1982. 109 p.

CONVERSACIONES DE CABALLEROS: LA
QUIEBRA DE LA DEMOCRACIA EN
COLOMBIA. Alexander Wilde. Ediciones
Tercer Mundo (Bogota, Colombia),
1982. 132 p.

54/CABBEAN rFEVeW

I

HUl Li: :~ij\y

,DEMOCRACIA EN LA DEPENDENCIA?
Ricardo Alegria Pons. Editora Corripio
(Santo Domingo), 1982. 171 p. About the
Dominican Republic.

DEMOCRACY IN COSTA RICA. Charles D.
Ameringer. Praeger, 1982. $19.95.

EL DIALOGO NORTE-SUR: UNA
PERSPECTIVE LATINOAMERICANA
Luciano Tomassini, ed. Editorial Belgrano
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1982. 354 p.

THE EUROPEAN CHALLENGE: EUROPE'S
NEW ROLE IN LATIN AMERICA. Jenny
Pearce, ed. Latin American Bureau
(London, Eng.), 1982. 3.95.

FALKLANDS/MALVINAS: WHOSE CRISIS?
Martin Honeywell, Jenny Pearce. Latin
American Bureau (London, Eng.),
1982. 142 p.

FIDEL CASTRO ON CHILE. National
Education Dept., Socialist Workers Party.
Pathfinder Press, 1982. 160 p. $5.00.

HORA CRUCIAL EN LA ARGENTINA. Carlos
Arturo Juirez. Pefia Lillo (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1982. 400 p.

IGLESIA Y ESTADO EN EL PARAGUAY
DURANTE EL GOBIERNO DE CARLOS
ANTONIO LOPEZ, 1841-1862. Carlos
Antonio Heyn Schupp. Biblioteca de
Estudios Paraguayos, 1982. 331. p.

IMPORTANCIA GEOPOLITICA DE LA
INTEGRACION LATINOAMERICANA. Fay
D. Calvet de Montes. Adrogue (Buenos
Aires, Argentina), 1982. 176 p.

AN INTRODUCTION TO LATIN AMERICAN
POLITICS: THE STRUCTURE OF
CONFLICT Martin C. Needler. 2d ed.
Prentice-Hall, 1983.

EL JUICIO DE AMPARO. Carlos Arellano
Garcia. Porrma (Mexico), 1982. 1037 p. A
legal treatise on the constitutional appeals
system in Mexico.

MEXICO: PARADOXES OF STABILITY AND
CHANGE. Daniel Levy, Gabriel Sz6kely.
Westview Press, 1983. 250 p. $27.50;
$12.95 paper.
MEXICO IN THE NINETEEN EIGHTIES.
Lawrence H. Berlow. Library Research
Associates (Monroe, N.Y), 1983.
128 p. $9.95.

EL MINIMATO PRESIDENTIAL: HISTORIC
POLITICAL DEL MAXIMATO, 1928-1935.
Tzvi Medin. Ediciones Era (Mexico), 1982.
170 p. An analysis of the reign of Plutarco
Elias Calles in Mexico.

MOVEMENT OF THE PEOPLE: ESSAYS ON
INDEPENDENCE. Selwyn R. Cudjoe.
Cataloux Publications (Ithaca, N.Y), 1982.
$18.95; $9.95 paper. With emphasis on
Trinidad and Tobago.

NICARAGUA: A PROFILE. Thomas W Walker.
Westview Press, 1982. 128 p. $20.00;
$10.95 paper.

PAN AMERICANISM. John Edwin Fagg.
Krieger Pub. Co. (Melbourne, Fla.), 1982.
218 p. $4.95.

O PARLAMENTO BRASILEIRO E AS
RELACOES EXTERIORES, 1826-1889.
Amado Luiz Cervo. Universidade de
Brasilia, 1982. 253 p.

EL PARTIDO DE LA REVOLUTION
INSTITUCIONALIZADA: LA FORMACION
DEL NUEVO ESTADO, 1928-1945. Luis
Javier Garrido. Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico),
1982. 380 p. A study of the creation and
evolution of Mexico's official party.

POLITICAL OPPOSITION IN A MEXICAN
BORDER STATE: THE PARTIDO ACCION
NATIONAL IN BAJA CALIFORNIA NORTH.
Haskell Simonowitz. Documentary
Publications, 1982. $19.95. Based on
thesis, University of California (Riverside).

POWER AND PROTEST IN THE
COUNTRYSIDE: STUDIES OF RURAL
UNREST IN ASIA, EUROPE, AND LATIN
AMERICA. Robert R Weller, Scott E.
Guggenheim, eds. Duke University Press,
1982. 270 p. $27.00.

EL PROCESS IDEOLOGICO DE LA
EMANCIPACION EN COLOMBIA. Javier
Ocampo L6pez. Institute Colombiano de
Cultura, 1982. 566 p.
QUIEN ES QUIEN EN LA SOCIEDAD
ARGENTINA. Elite (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1982. 751.p. $100.00.

REFLEXIONES SOBRE LA NACION
ARGENTINA. Centro de Estudios
Comunitarios y Planificaci6n (Argentina).
TemAtica (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1982. 551 p.

REPUBLICAN GUARANI. Silvio Back. Paz e Terra
(Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1982. 116 p.

REVOLUCAO DE 30: TEXTOS E
DOCUMENTOS. Manoel Luiz Lima Salgado
Guimaries, et al. Universidade de Brasilia,
1982. 2 vols.

REVOLUTION AND INTERVENTION IN
CENTRAL AMERICA. Marlene Dixon,
Susanne Jonas, eds. Synthesis Publications
(San Francisco, Calif.), 1982. 150 p. $6.50.
Includes documents from leading
resistance organizations.

EL SALVADOR IN TRANSITION. Enrique A.
Baloyra. University of North Carolina Press,
1982. 256 p. $19.95; $8.95 paper.

SOVIET VIEWS ON THE CUBAN MISSILE
CRISIS: MYTH AND REALITY IN FOREIGN
POLICY ANALYSIS. Ronald R. Pope, ed.
University Press of America, 1982. 298 p.
$20.75; $11.25 paper.

Reference
A BIBLIOGRAPHY OF LATIN AMERICAN
BIBLIOGRAPHIES, 1975-1979: SOCIAL
SCIENCES AND HUMANITIES. Haydee
Piedracueva, ed. Scarecrow Press, 1982.
313 p. $25.00. Supplements Arthur E.
Gropp's A bibliography of Latin
American bibliographies.

DICIONARIO BRASILEIRO DE POLITICAL. E.
Orsi Pimenta. Le (Belo Horizonte, Brazil),
1982. 192 p. $26.00.

ENCYCLOPEDIA DE LA IGLESIA CATOLICA
EN MEXICO. Jose Rogelio Alvarez, ed.
Enciclopedia de Mexico, 1982. 608 p.
$208.00 (pesos). The first of
seven volumes.
MEXICAN IMMIGRANTS AND SOUTHERN
CALIFORNIA: A SUMMARY OF CURRENT
KNOWLEDGE. Wayne A. Cornelius, Leo R.
ChAvez, Jorge G. Castro. Center for US.-
Mexican Studies, University of California
(San Diego), 1982. $3.00.
MEXICAN POLITICAL BIOGRAPHIES,
1935-1981. Roderic A. Camp. 2d ed., rev.
and expanded. University of Arizona Press,
1982. 470 p. $35.00.
THE MEXICAN REVOLUTION: AN
ANNOTATED GUIDE TO RECENT
SCHOLARSHIP W Dirk Raat. G. K. Hall,
1982. 264 p. $39.95.

NOVO DICIONARIO DE TERMS E
EXPRESSOES POPULARES. Tome Cabral.
Universidade Federal do Ceari (Fortaleza,
Brazil), 1982. 786 p. A Brazilian dictionary.

PUERTO RICAN LITERATURE: A
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF SECONDARY
SOURCES. David W Foster. Greenwood
Press, 1982. 256 p. $35.00.
QUIEN ES QUIEN EN AMERICA DEL SUR:
DICCIONARIO BIOGRAFICO ARGENTINO,
1982-1983. Pablo Radl Vitaver, ed.
Publicaciones Referenciales
Latinoamericanas (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1982. 805 p. $98.00.

EL SALVADOR BIBLIOGRAPHY AND
RESEARCH GUIDE. David Samuel Krus6,
Richard Swedberg. Central American
Information Office, CAMINO (Cambridge,
Mass.), 1982. 230 p. $16.00.

VOCABULARIO TUPI-GUARANI-PORTUGUES.
Francisco da Silveira Bueno. GrAf. Nagy
(Sio Paulo, Brazil), 1982. 581 p. $33.00.

Marian Goslinga is the Latin American and
Caribbean Librarian at Florida International
University.

CAPBBEAN PVIEEW/55

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

BENJY

LOPEZ

A Picaresque Tale
of Emigration and Return

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 characters to make an appearance in
sociological literature...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 indignity...I believe
that few works will better demonstrate the circumstances
of the Puerto Rican in New York than this one."-Miguel
Barnet, Caribbean Review "Highly recommended"-
Joanna Walsh, Library Journal "Excellent..."-Frank
Fernandez, Revista Interamericana "Valuable research,
excellent writing"-Raymond E. Crist, Latin America in
Books "Estupendo..."-Carlos Alberto Montaner,
Spanish International Network "A rare work about the
Puerto Rican diaspora..."--Gerald Guinness, Americas
"Interesting and refreshing..."-Aaron Segal, Times of
the Americas.
"Opens the reader's eyes to the problems and
challenges, the pain and frustration of life as a Puerto
Rican in the big metropolis."--Joseph P. Fitzpatrick,
S.J., Contemporary Sociology "A good read...but above
and beyond its literary attributes, it stands on its own as a
well-conceived, thoroughly researched, and solid
study...A significant contribution to the scientific analysis
of the causes and consequences of Puerto Rican
emigration and return."-Angel Calderon Cruz,
Caribbean Studies "A stupendous book that only a
sociologist/anthropologist willing and unafraid to let a
little humanism and common sense creep into his study
could write. A very human document about a very human
being."-Gary Brana-Shute, The New West Indies
Guide.
$12.95 at bookstores, or direct from the publisher
TOLL-FREE (800) 638-3030 Major credit cards accepted

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

CARIBBEAN STUDIES ASSOCIATION
IX ANNUAL MEETING
Santo Domingo Sheraton
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
May 25, 26, 27, 1983
Theme: "Caribbean Studies: International
Dimensions."
Panels on Caribbean Studies in France,
Britain, Holland, the U.S.A., Venezuela, Central
America, the Eastern Caribbean, Trinidad,
Jamaica, Cuba as well as panels on the state
of the arts in migration studies, literature,
history, architecture, archeology and other
areas.
A Call for Papers
Send Proposals to Conference Chair:
Lic. Jos6 del Castillo
Director, Museo del Hombre Dominicano
Calle Pedro Henriquez Urena
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
Copy to the President of C.S.A.:
Dr. Anthony P Maingot
Department of Sociology
Florida International University
Miami, Fla. 33199

Mobility
and Integration
in Urban Argentina
CORDOBA IN THE LIBERAL ERA

By Mark D. Szuchman
Between the 1870s, when the great influx of Euro-
pean immigrants began, and the start of World War
I, Argentina underwent a radical alteration of its
social composition and patterns of economic pro-
ductivity. Mark Szuchman, in this groundbreaking
study, examines the occupational, residential, edu-
cational, and economic patterns of mobility of
some four thousand men, women, and children
who resided in Cordoba, Argentina's most impor-
tant 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 fol-
low 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

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	Front Cover
	Table of Contents
	Front Matter
	Main
	Back Cover

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