Front Cover
 Table of Contents
 Front Matter
 Back Cover


Caribbean Review
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00095576/00045
 Material Information
Title: Caribbean Review
Physical Description: Serial
Language: English
Creator: Latin American and Caribbean Center, Florida International University
Publisher: Latin American and Caribbean Center, Florida International University
Place of Publication: Miami, FL
Publication Date: 1984
Copyright Date: 1980
Genre: serial   ( sobekcm )
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Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 1553369
System ID: UF00095576:00045

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 1
    Front Matter
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
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        Page 29
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    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


V IEWV Vol. XIII, No. 2
Ew ^Three Dollars

N- -

ZM99L 0

Can the Caribbean Learn from East Asia?; Mitterrand's Antillean Headache,
The Hidden Politics of Explanation; Assessing Castro's International Activities;
Recycling French Guiana; Arming the Police-the End of West Indian Innocence;
A History of Anti-Americanism in Cuba; The Art of Architectural Imagery.

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In this issue....

Crossing Swords
The Dead Are All Ours
By Daniel Oduber
Responses and Replies
Laguerre and Hoffmann
Can the Caribbean Learn from East Asia?
The Case of Jamaica
By Peter L. Berger
The End of West Indian Innocence
Arming the Police
By Bernard Diederich
The Roots of Anti-Americanism in Cuba
Sovereignty in an Age of World Cultural
By Carlos Alberto Montaner
Mitterrand's Headache
The French Antilles in the 1980s
By Scott B. MacDonald and Albert L. Gastmann
Recycling a Forgotten Colony
From Green Hell to Outer Space in French Guiana
By Frank Schwarzbeck

On the Edge of Civilization
Paris in the Jungle
By Gerhard Drekonja-Kornat
Collecting the Caribbean
The Not-So-Hidden Politics of Explanation
Reviewed by Aaron Segal
Virology of Revolution
Assessing Castros International Activities
Reviewed by Edward Gonzalez
Calzada's Architecture of Memory
Reconstruction of an Envisioned Past
By Ricardo Pau-Llosa
First Impressions
Critics Look at the New Literature
Compiled by Forrest D. Colburn
Recent Books
On the Caribbean, Latin America and their
Emigrant Groups
Compiled by Marian Goslinga

Page 6

"What are Jamaica's
chances of becoming a
Caribbean version of

Page 10

"The need for a regional
defense force is incon-

Page 32
"Cuba is a .rr.il country
with a big country's for-
eign policy"

On the cover:

The Yearning II by Cuban
artist Humberto Cal-
zada, 1982 (a.: r,iic on
canvas, 48 x 36 inches).
See story on page 38.

The New

Cuban Presence

in the


edited by Barry B. Levine

July 1983, 274 pages
$26.50 (cloth), $11.50 (paper)

"An extremely valuable and most welcome
addition to the literature on Cuba's Interna-
tional relations .... The chapters are well
written, carefully documented and offer Vital
Insights into the International rivalries which
have transformed the Caribbean Basin Into
an arena of International conflict."
-Richard Mlllett,
The Air War College

"Indispensable for those wishing to gain in-
sight Into the basin's complex political
forces and dynamics." -Edward Gonzalez,
Caribbean Review

"A very thorough piece of work, highly Infor-
mative and analytical." -Frank VIrden,
The Times of the Americas

Also of interest

Latin America, Its Problems and
Its Promise
A Multidisciplinary Introduction
edited by Jan Knippers Black
September 1984 ca. 450 pages
$30 (cloth) $14.50 (paper)

Revolution and Counterrevolution in
Central America and the Caribbean
edited by Donald E. Schulz and
Douglas H. Graham
July 1984 ca. 425 pages
$35 (cloth) $14.95 (paper)

For examination copies, write to M. Gilbert, Dept. CMG-5,
Westvlew Press, giving course title, enrollment, and present
text. Please Include $3.50 per book for processing and
Write for our complete catalog.

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Barry B. Levine
Associate Editors
Anthony R Maingot
Mark B. Rosenberg
Managing Editor
June S. Belkin
Assistant Editor
Judith C. Faerron
Book Review Editor
Forrest D. Colburn
Marian Goslinga
Contributing Editors
Henry S. Gill
Eneid Routte G6mez
Aaron L. Segal
Andr6s Serbin
Olga J. Wagenheim

Vol. XIII, No. 2

Three Dollars

Art Director Board of Editors
Danine L. Carey Reinaldo Arenas
Ricardo Arias Calder6n
Design Consultant Errol Barrow
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Caribbean Review, a quarterly journal dedicated to the Caribbean, Latin America, and
their emigrant groups, is published by Caribbean Review, Inc., a corporation not for profit
organized under the laws of the State of Florida (Barry B. Levine, President; Andrew R.
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Mailing address: Caribbean Review. Florida International University. Tamlami lTasl' Miami,
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The Dead Are All Ours

By Daniel Oduber

A s the days go by, hopes conform
more closely to reality. Analyses of
the Jackson, or Kissinger, Report
(Report of the National Bipartisan Com-
mission on Central America, January
1984) are becoming more accurate. There
is a possibility of $8 billion being approved
by the US Congress, but as election day
nears, this possibility diminishes. There is
also a possibility of the initiation of democ-
racy in the Central American countries of El
Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras and Nic-
aragua (Costa Rica is already democratic);
but as long as military solutions are con-
tinually sought, democracy will be
postponed. Rifles are not forgers of democ-
racy; rather they tend to strengthen total-
itarianism. The old proverb of the carrot and
the stick does not seem to be the most
applicable for Central America.
There are many perspectives to consider
in an appraisal of Central America: The Rea-
gan administration has one, the intel-
ligentsia in the United States may have
another; Latin Americans in general may
have one, and we Central Americans an-
other. Among these diverse viewpoints, the
only one that I consider valid is the last-the
Central American appraisal-and from that
position, I must contradict many of the su-
perficial solutions that are being recom-
mended as permanent ones.
The dead are our dead, and that is why we
feel that we can handle our problems better
if left alone, or if aid is provided according to
our views and not according to those of
other countries. If you are a citizen of the
United States, you may agree or disagree
with the administration; but seldom do you
ask yourself what our families are thinking
after having gone through decades of suf-
fering, jail, torture, displacement and be-
reavement. Twenty million Central Ameri-
cans want help in achieving better living
conditions, and in this struggle everybody
can help; but I believe that they do not want
to continue with wars or despotism. In this
aspect, we entirely disagree with the mili-
tary recommendations of the report.
Elections do not make democracy; de-
mocracy makes elections. Elections have
always been understood (in most Central

American countries) as the will of the ar-
mies and, in most cases, have been syn-
onymous with brutality. In order to achieve
free elections in Nicaragua, El Salvador or
Guatemala, we must first create a demo-
cratic society which respects human rights,
as Portugal and Spain succeeded in doing
in the few months during their transition
from dictatorship to democracy.
The Reagan administration has publicly
endorsed the Contadora effort, and As-
sistant Secretary Langhorne Motley, of the
Bureau of Interamerican Affairs, repeated
this before the Foreign Policy Association in
New York on 19 January 1984. The Central
American governments had already agreed
in Panama, on 8 January, on the following:
permitting military inventories, achieving
arms control, ending support to subversive
groups, gradual withdrawal of foreign mili-
tary and security advisers, and manysimilar
compromises necessary for the organiza-
tion of a truly democratic society-and
hence for the electoral process. The five
Central American governments and the
four Contadora countries have already in-
stalled commissions to implement these
programs. Why then continue with military
operations? Is it not time to look on all Latin
American countries as sovereign states hav-
ing the right to choose their own orienta-
tions without foreign interference? Is it
possible to end internal wars by military

thinking? Don't we need more political
The Kissinger Commission was based on
an excellent idea: to develop a strong, per-
manent bipartisan US policy for Central
America, with the aim of creating a perma-
nent Latin American policy. I feel that it is the
beginning of an important debate in the
United States. But we hope that while our
people are being killed and our cities de-
stroyed, this program does not become
purely an election-year proposition never to
be implemented.
The weapons are all foreign; the dead are
all ours. Why not concentrate on the eco-
nomic and social recommendations of the
commission and on the political ideas ex-
pressed by the Contadora group? If these
can be achieved, it will indicate that Latin
America and the United States can work
together on the basis of a better under-
standing of one another. [

Crossing Swords is a
regular feature of Carib-
bean Review. The views
expressed herein are
the sole opinion of the
authors. Editorial board I
member Daniel Odu-
ber, a prominent mem-
ber of the Partido Liber-
acidn Nacional, was '
president of Costa Rica from 1974-1978.


Responses and Replies
Laguerre and Hoffmann

To Jerusaleml

Dear Colleagues:
After reading Leon-Francois Hoffmann's
uninformed attack (Caribbean Review,
Spring 1983) on my latest book, The
Complete Haitiana (2 vols., 1982), I
must regretfully conclude that he is totally
unfamiliar with the classic work in the
field: Lambros Comitas' The Complete
Caribbeana (4 vols., 1977). Comitas'
landmark publication did not include
Haiti, and both my title and my preface
make clear that mine is a complement to
this work. So I have followed his format,
grouping my entries under 11 thematic
headings (Introduction, Ecology, History,
Population Studies, Culture, Society,
Health and Medicine, Education, Political
and Legal Processes, Socio-Economic
System, Rural and Urban Development),
which are further subdivided into 65
specific chapters.
Note well that both Comitas and I ex-
clude literature and literary criticism per
se from our categories. Unfortunately,
these are the only categories of Haitiana in
which Hoffmann specializes. So he
devotes most of his review to attacking
this nonexistent category of my work! As
he says repeatedly: "I will only deal with
literature and literary criticism" ... "No
heading is provided for literary criticism"
... "To the literary scholar, The Complete
Haitiana will prove next to useless."
Worse still, in matters of fact, Hoffmann
is both injudicious and careless. Thus, he
charges me with "spotty coverage as re-
gards religion and especially vodun"-a
topic on which my bibliography contains
745 entries-citing three supposed
omissions: (1) Der Schlangenkult in
Oberguinea und auf Haiti by Axel
Danneskjold-Samsoe (1907), a sensa-
tionalist, journalistic and superficial book
about Upper Guinea and Haiti; (2)As
Culturas Negras No Novo Mundo by
Brazilianist Arthur Ramos, which is not
about Haiti specifically, but rather about
Brazil in particular and Afro-Arierica in
general; and (3) Vodu y Magia en Santo
Domingo (1974), a book about Voodoo
in the Dominican Republic, with a few
references to Haitian Voodoo.

I cite yet another example of Hoffmann's
inaccuracy; he faults me for not including
"Maks Dominik's Vodou ak Literati
Ayisyin" (Sel, 1978). But I was actually a
coeditor with William Smarth of this
special issue of Sel, where Dominik's
article appears; and of course this article
is cited in The Complete Haitiana:
p. 687, entry 25.0181.
Hoffmann even implies that I did not
take the trouble to look at my material. In
fact, I was given the use of an office in the
U.C. Berkeley main library, so that I might
personally examine all books on Haiti; and
I spent a month in 1979 similarly consult-
ing all the volumes on Haiti at Harvard
University, and in the Schomburg Center
for Research in Black Culture at the New
York Public Library.
Hoffmann evidently takes delight in
citing obvious occasional typos and slips
(made by my undergraduate research
assistants) as evidence of careless editing
and proofreading. Actually, due to logistic
problems associated with production
schedules, Kraus was unable to make
proofs available to me. But I am tempted
to return the compliments: on p. 31 of
Hoffmann's review, I find "Le po6sie
haitienne" (grammatically it should be
"la," of course) and G6rard Etienne. (In
French, we normally omit accents on
capital letters and the circumflex would be
incorrect anyway.) In his short review (21/2
pages), Hoffmann makes more than half a
dozen such sophomoric mistakes!
To sum up, Hoffmann has neglected to
mention (let alone evaluate) the real
purpose, scope and contribution of my
work, while merely attacking me for not
focusing on his specialty. For my part, I
am quite content with the evaluation of
historian Jean Fouchard, intellectual heir
of Jean Price-Mars and dean of Haitian
letters, who has qualified The Complete
Haitiana as a "colossal enterprise" and an
"exhaustive and monumental" piece of
scholarship (Revue de la Societe
Haitienne d'Histoire et de Geographie,
September 1983) and the praise of other
reviewers who find it "an impressive
combination of scholarship and biblio-
graphic control" (College and Research
Libraries, July 1983) and "unquestion-

ably one of the best Latin American ref-
erence sources published in 1982" (Latin
America in Books, January 1983). And
of course, they all recognize it as a worthy
continuation of Comitas' classic work.
As I was pondering my thoughts in
preparing this reply, I could but think of
the image of small dogs barking at a long
caravan as it winds its way, undisturbed, to
University of California, Berkeley

Leon-Franqois Hoffmann
I neither reviewed nor criticized Lambros
Comitas' Complete Caribbeana, which I
That Michel Laguerre makes Comitas
responsible for the numerous mis-
classifications of items in Complete
Haitiana, and his publisher and
undergraduate research assistants for its
hundreds of mistakes, mistranslations and
misprints, will be small consolation for
frustrated users. Even though Complete
Haitiana claims to cover "all the materials
published between 1900 and 1980,"
Laguerre dismisses as unimportant three
of the 25 works that, after a cursory check
of a few rubrics, I selected from a long list
of missing items. We disagree on this
point; I take it we at least agree that the
other missing items should have been
What other reviewers think of Com-
plete Haitiana is not my responsibility. I
stand behind my review, with one
exception: Max Dominik's "Vodou ak
literati ayisyin" does indeed appear in the
bibliography. For this inexcusable error,
and for nothing else, I apologize.
I am indebted to Jean Fouchard for
pointing out to me that Granville
Bonaparte Auguste's four articles on
"L'hydre europ6enne a Saint-Domingue"
(which deal with European imperialism)
are listed by Laguerre under "Plant and
Animal Life." Speaking of animals, I sug-
gest that the caravan's stately progress to
Jerusalem is imperiled by the failings of its
leading camel driver, not by the barking of
small dogs like me. O


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4 I

.. '-1

Can the Caribbean Learn

from East Asia?

The Case of Jamaica

By Peter L. Berger

he English-speaking countries of the
Caribbean region are political suc-
cess stories in that, by and large, Brit-
ish-style parliamentary democracy has
been maintained in the postindependence
period. Their economic development, how-
ever, has been much less successful.
For politically conscious Americans, es-
pecially those toward the right of the ideo-
logical spectrum, Jamaica has become an
interesting case since the 1980 election that
brought Edward Seaga to leadership. His
torrent of rhetoric about the superiority of
free enterprise sounded like vintage Rea-
ganomics. Not surprisingly, Seaga's Ja-
maica became a favored country in the
global perspective of the Reagan admin-
istration, indeed a test case for the viability
of a free-enterprise model of development
in the Western Hemisphere. Since 1980 it
has been the focus of benevolent attention
from Washington, expressed in greatly
heightened levels of aid, in US government
efforts to interest the American business
community in Jamaican investments, and
in the enactment of the Caribbean Basin
Initiative (which became operational follow-
ing Congressional approval in January
Present-day Jamaican politics has its
roots in the 1930s, when the two major
parties, the Jamaica Labour Party (JLP)
and the People's National Party (PNP),
emerged while the island was still under
British colonial rule. Both parties have close
ties to the labor movement; the JLP is
closely linked to the larger of the two princi-
pal labor unions, the Bustamante Industrial
Trade Union (BITU), while the PNP is allied
to the National Workers Union (NWU). Thus
neither party can be identified too closely
with specific class interests; both of them
cut across class and racial lines, represent-
ing frequently shifting group interests and
having to appeal to a large floating vote of
independents. To this extent, the Jamaican
party system resembles traditional British-
American patterns; there, however, the re-
semblance ends.

Peter L. Berger is University Professor of
Sociology at Boston University.

Jamaica is a small country (its current
population is about 2/2 million), and its
elites are closely-knit groups. The founders
of the two parties, Alexander Bustamante
(JLP) and Norman Manley (PNP), were
cousins, and three of Jamaica's first five
prime ministers were related. This may be
quaint, but it is not necessarily detrimental
to democracy. Equally quaint, but less con-
ducive to rational politics is what is often
referred to as the "tribal" character of Ja-
maican party allegiance. Each party has an
inner core of fierce loyalists, based on family
ties and neighborhood, with a passionate,
and frequently violent, antagonism to the
other party. Especially in the slum areas of
West Kingston, where most of the urban
poor are congregated, crossing from a PNP
to a JLP neighborhood is reminiscent of the
warlike boundaries between Catholics and
Protestants in Northern Ireland; so are the
gunmen on both sides.

The Manley Era
The present political situation in Jamaica
must be viewed against the background of
the PNP government of Michael Manley
(son of Norman Manley), who was prime
minister from 1972 to 1980. During this
period, the government and the governing
party veered sharply to the left (at least rhe-
torically); the economy declined pre-
cipitously, and violence escalated to the
point where the country seemed to be on
the brink of civil war. Observers of Jamaica
differ somewhat, and not necessarily along
ideological lines, as to the interrelation of
these developments.
In terms of domestic economic and so-
cial policy, the Manley government was far
less radical than its rhetoric would lead one
to believe. However, as prime minister, Man-
ley increasingly appeared abroad as a Third
World spokesman, apparently struck up a
close personal friendship with Fidel Castro,
and could be counted on to support the
radical Third World line in the United Na-
tions. What upset Jamaicans was the prom-
ise that the country was on the road to
socialism, a promise made plausible by the
arrival of considerable numbers of Cubans.
After winning another election in 1976,

Manley proclaimed the socialist direction of
Jamaica, adding (possibly ad lib) that there
were five daily flightsto Miami for those who
did not like this. Many took him up on the
suggestion, and Jamaica suffered the
largest exodus of middle-class business
and professional people in its history. For-
eign capital dried up rapidly; violence in-
creased at an alarming rate, and the tourists
stayed away. The last years of the Manley
regime were an economic disaster, al-
though as has been pointed out, Manley
could not be blamed for the world reces-
sion, to which Jamaica was very vulnerable.
It has also been pointed out that his govern-
ment respected both democracy and the
private sector, and that there was a psycho-
logical overreaction to Manley's rhetoric.
Nevertheless, the government was blamed
for all the economic woes of the country as
well as for the breakdown in public order,
and in the 1980 election, the JLP under
Seaga won in a landslide.

Seaga to the Rescue
In the words of a Jamaican businessman, it
was "like a breath of fresh air." It seemed, for
a while, as if Seaga had everything going for
him. The personal contrast with Manley was
helpful to Seaga, at least initially. As op-
posed to Manley's flamboyant style, Seaga
(nicknamed "Steady Eddie") projected an
image of soberness and reliability. Trained
at Harvard and a former finance minister,
Seaga especially encouraged hopes of gov-
ernment control over economic events.
Through 1982 these hopes appeared to
materialize quite rapidly. The flight of the
middle class stopped. Foreign capital be-
gan to return, as did the tourists. Goods that
had become scarce reappeared in the
stores. As the Cubans left, American aid
arrived. Political and criminal violence de-
clined sharply. It appeared at first as if the
Seaga model of development was working.
In retrospect, it might have been better
for Seaga if he had come into power with
less fanfare. Given the calamitous Manley
years and the exuberant embrace of Ronald
Reagan, however, it is hard to see how he
could have avoided the expectations in-
vested in his government. In any case, given


the structural facts of the Jamaican econ-
omy and the lingering world recession,
there was no way in which these expecta-
tions could have been quickly fulfilled.
The present difficulties of Jamaica can be
traced to the unfortunate interface of eco-
nomic realities and political hopes. However,
with strong help from US and international
financial institutions, the Seaga govern-
ment could point to remarkable economic
successes in its first period. Hefty new loans
were negotiated with the International Mon-
etary Fund. In 1981 Jamaica registered an
increase of 2 percent in its growth rate-
better than a number of developed coun-
tries. Inflation declined dramatically, from
29 percent in 1980 to 6 percent in 1981.
Unemployment, which had been shooting
up, leveled off and even declined slightly.
The government began to gradually divest
itself of some of the enterprises nationalized
under Manley. With new confidence in the
political direction of the country, some for-
eign capital began to return. Help came not
only from USAID and other Western aid
programs, but from private-sector institu-
tions interested in a country that now openly
espoused a capitalist path of development.
To encourage investment in the island's
economy, David Rockefeller led the estab-
lishment of the US Business Committee on
Jamaica, which consisted of a powerful and
prestigious group of heads of American cor-
porations. Needless to say, the Jamaican
public credited Seaga with these

The Bubble Bursts
By 1982 it was clear that this momentum
could not be kept up: In one year bauxite
exports decreased by almost 30 percent;
net foreign exchange reserves declined by
over 20 percent; the gross external debt in-
creased by over 30 percent; unemployment
began to creep up again. None of the indi-
cators improved in 1983, the brightest eco-
nomic news that year being continued
recovery of the tourist industry. GDR which
had grown by 12 percent in 1981-82,
slowed to 2 percent in 1982-83. Inflation
began to rise again and the trade deficit
worsened. The social effects of continuing
unemployment, now at about 27 percent
overall, could be seen in increased crime
(the largest numbers of unemployed, as ex-
pected, are among the young). Although
there has been continuing foreign invest-
ment, critics-by no means only people
hostile to the Seaga government-com-
plain that much of this investment is geared
to the Caribbean Common Market (CAR-
ICOM) or even the Jamaican domestic mar-
ket, providing "export platforms" for foreign
business rather than opening up First World
markets for Jamaican products.
These tensions obviously created politi-
cal problems for the Seaga government. By
fall 1982, Carl Stone, a political scientist

who conducts the only public opinion polls
in Jamaica, found a weakening of support
for Seaga, and predicted that he might have
difficulty winning the next constitutionally
mandated election in 1985. The same con-
clusion was evidently reached by Seaga. In
fall 1983, the government radically de-
valued the Jamaican dollar (from 1.77 to
3.25 to the US dollar). The PNP opposition
responded by demanding Seaga's resigna-
tion from his portfolio as finance minister.
Seaga choose to interpret this as a question
of confidence and called for elections in
December, leaving almost no time for a
campaign. Because of controversy over the

It appeared at first as if
the Seaga model of
development was working.

voters' lists, the PNP decided to boycott the
election. As a result, most JLP candidates
faced no opposition in their constituencies
and, for the first time in Jamaican history,
the lower (and most important) house of
Parliament came to consist of only one
party. Seaga's reasoning is fairly clear: he felt
that he needed more time than the two
years left under his 1980 mandate before
his economic policies would bear fruit. It is
also likely that the Grenada invasion, which
was popular in Jamaica, played a part in his
decision for a snap election.
To call the December 1983 election a
constitutional crisis, as some have done, is
probably an exaggeration. There was no
violation of the constitution; the democratic
institutions of the country are intact. What is
potentially serious, though, is that having
boycotted the election, the PNP now ques-
tions the legitimacy (if notthe legality) of the
resulting parliament. A visitor moving
through the country in January 1984 found
scrawled on walls and billboards every-
where. The PNP has organized itself as an
"extra-parliamentary opposition" (its own
phrase). Once again there has been spo-
radic violence though, as is often the case, it
is not clear how much of this is politically
inspired. In January 1984, just before the
new parliament was sworn in, the govern-
ment announced steep rises in gasoline
and cooking-oil prices. The PNP organized
demonstrations to protest both the price
increases and the one-party parliament.
There was considerable anxiety in Kingston
that these demonstrations would erupt into
violence. The government mobilized heavy
security forces (both police and army), and
at a big PNP rally outside the parliament
building, Manley called on his supporters to
remain peaceful. Nothing much happened
beyond a few scuffles, but there was a sense

of foreboding which Jamaicans had not ex-
perienced since the calamitous late 1970s.

Future Prospects
In economic terms, a case can be made that
the long-term prospects for Jamaica are
good, certainly in comparison with other
countries in the region. A case can also be
made that the economic strategy of the
Seaga government-emphatically geared
to free enterprise, welcoming of foreign
capital, trying to gear up the Jamaican
economy for export-is the best bet for suc-
cess, at least when compared with the so-
cialist fantasies of the PNP (described by
one Jamaican intellectual, a former Manley
supporter now backing Seaga, as "the luna-
tic vision of a tropical Scandinavia"). How-
ever, even the most optimistic economic
scenarios presuppose that success will take
time; no one can tell how much time, but
certainly more than the next couple of years.
From that viewpoint, of course, Seaga's
effort to gain time by calling the recent elec-
tion was rational. The short-term question is
whether he can avoid another election be-
fore 1988.
It is not going to be easy. The recent price
increases, linked to the devaluation of the
Jamaican dollar, are yet to percolate
through the economy. There will be hard-
ships; and in the lower strata of the society,
where people live close to the subsistence
level, such hardships can trigger violence,
with unpredictable and possibly uncon-
trollable political consequences. The PNP
and its allied labor unions will, of course, try
to turn the hardships and the resulting un-
rest to their political advantage. Even the
BITU, which is friendly to the government,
will have to take a more militant line in labor
disputes if it is to retain the allegiance of its
members. The late 1970s showed the vul-
nerability of the Jamaican economy (begin-
ning with frightened tourists deciding to go
elsewhere) to the image of instability.
It is conceivable that Seaga will ride out
the difficult period ahead. In that case, as-
suming that the First World recovery and
benevolence on the part of US government
and business continue, and also assuming
that there are no systematic attempts from
abroad (notably Cuba) to destabilize the Ja-
maican situation by terrorism, it is possible
that by 1985 Seaga's economic strategy will
result in high growth rates plus a marked
and visible improvement in the standards of
living of the lower strata. If these assump-
tions do not hold, however, Seaga will come
under increasing pressure to call for an-
other election (based on new voter rolls now
in the course of preparation). In that event it
is very possible, indeed likely, that he will
lose. These considerations imply that, how-
ever sympathetic one may be to the Seaga
government, one must entertain the ques-
tion of what a new PNP government would
be like. It is virtually certain that it would


again be headed by Michael Manley; there is
no leader in the party to replace him.
A reasonable prognosis of the policies ot
a new PNP government might run some-
thing like this: Such a government, at least
initially, would make strong efforts to ap-
pear moderate, especially in its economic
policies. It would try to reassure the middle
class, the private sector and foreign busi-
ness; it might make friendly noises to the
United States. There would almost certainly
be a tug-of-war between the moderate and
radical wings within the PNR It is likely that,
however moderate domestic policies may
be, a new PNP government led by Manley
would once again (in the words of a Jamai-
can analyst) "climb back into bed with
Fidel" in foreign policy. It is not difficult to
imagine how foreign capital and the United
States would react. The economic conse-
quences are equally predictable. In other
words, the dismal scenario of the late 1970s
could be rerun.
If Jamaica manages to stay on top of its
political and social tensions for the next few
years, and if it follows rational economic
policies either under the Seaga government
or under a PNP government that eschews
radical adventurism, the long-term pros-
pects are favorable.
Compared with other countries in the
same development stage, Jamaica has a
number of important assets: good agri-
cultural and mineral resources, a reasona-
bly sophisticated infrastructure, a sizable
professional and business middle class, the
English language and geographical prox-
imity to the North American market. The
latter, at least in principle, is now open for
Jamaican exports under the Caribbean
Basin Initiative, as the European market
was opened some years ago under the
Lome Convention, to which Jamaica also
pertains. What are the chances of Jamaica's
profiting from these openings?

The East Asian Model
To put this question more dramatically:
What are Jamaica's chances of becoming a
Caribbean version of Taiwan? Taiwan and
the other newly industrialized countries
(NICs) of East Asia are frequently men-
tioned by Jamaican government and busi-
ness people as examples to be emulated.
The basic economic strategy of the Seaga
regime can be described as following the
"East Asian model" of newly industrialized
countries. Economists differ in their assess-
ments of its chances for success. honically,
the very existence of the East Asian NICs
may be an obstacle to any emulation: it is
difficult to see how, in the foreseeable fu-
ture, Jamaica could compete in First World
markets with the manufactured products of
East Asia. A somewhat more plausible
course for Jamaica would be to try to be-
come an offshore financial and administra-
tive center (thus emulating Singapore

Producing Cabbage Patch Kid dolls in Hong Kong.
rather than Taiwan). Most analysts, however,
appear to agree that Jamaica's best chances
in First World markets will continue to lie in
its mineral and agricultural products-in
other words, in a more sophisticated utiliza-
tion of its traditional export assets-plus
Inevitably, social and cultural factors
must be taken into account. Both Jamaican
and foreign analysts cite a number of such
factors as obstacles to economic success:
low productivity; lackadaisical attitudes to-
ward work (a favorite Jamaican reply to the
question of when something is going to be
done is "soon come," roughly analogous to
the Latin American maiana); a tradition of
militant and frequently obstructive labor
unions; the scarcity of risk-taking en-
trepreneurship in the business community
(in the words of a Jamaican, "We don't really
have capitalists here, we have bazaar mer-
chants"); a pervasive statism in the political
culture (despite its deregulatory rhetoric,
the Seaga government has yet to make
much progress in freeing foreign and do-
mestic business from a welter of inhibitory
government regulations). By contrast, the
social and cultural patterns of the East
Asian NICs, not to mention those of Japan,
appear more conducive to economic
To be sure, no amount of institutional
policy changes will transform Jamaicans
into Chinese or Koreans; and, one may add,
there would be fierce resistance against
such efforts in a highly individualistic and
enjoyment-affirming culture. However,
there is one massive fact that tends to con-
tradict the hypothesis that Jamaican culture
is not conducive to modern economic suc-
cess: the economic achievements of Jamai-
can immigrants to the United States. The
evidence for this has been summarized in
Thomas Sowell's recent book The Eco-
nomics and Politics ofRace: An Interna-
tional Perspective (William Morrow & Co.,

New York, 1983). Jamaican immigrants to
the US have very successfully moved into
middle-income and even upper-income
positions-more successfully than a num-
ber of European immigrant groups.
To be sure, one can always argue that it is
the most active and ambitious people who
choose to migrate. That argument, though,
is not very persuasive in the case of Ja-
maica, where migration to the mainland
has involved large numbers of people from
virtually all strata of society. If there really
were deeply rooted anti-economic patterns
in Jamaican culture, the success of Jamai-
cans in America would be inexplicable. It is
more reasonable to hypothesize that such
patterns have much to do with the existing
opportunity structures in Jamaica (it is not
rational for an individual to exert himself if
the prospects for success are very slim),
and that they are likely to change quite
rapidly in a more auspicious opportunity
structure. If such a change is possible in
New York, it should also be possible in
Indeed, there seems to be some evidence
for this. The productivity of Jamaican work-
ers, and their work attitudes, appear to im-
prove visibly when there are economic
incentives. Labor unions seem much more
cooperative when management gives up
the old "plantation style" (as one American
observer put it, "when managers are on the
line instead of standing around in white
suits telling workers what to do"). And, with
training and better opportunities, Jamaican
small businessmen appear to be perfectly
capable of making the transition from so-
called "penny capitalism" to more sophisti-
cated entrepreneurship. As to the statism of
Jamaican government, the successful
economies of Eastern Asia (with the excep-
tion of Hong Kong) are not exactly exam-
ples of laissez-faire liberalism; the decisive
question seems to be not how much, but
Continued on page 40


The End of West Indian


Arming the Police

By Bernard Diederich

united States policy toward the Carib-
bean has never been very consistent.
In fact, it has rotated from one ex-
treme to the other. After a period of benign
neglect, we appear to be witnessing a re-
vival of the "'big stick" policy which this time
around has its genesis in events that took
place in the Eastern Caribbean in 1979.
In March 1979, Maurice Bishop and the
New Jewel Movement toppled the Gairy
government in Grenada. The US held
Bishop at arm's length. By November, Cuba,
which had embraced Bishop, had increased
its aid to Grenada, including material for the
construction of the new international jet
In St. Vincent, on 7 December 1979, two
days after Prime Minister Milton Cato won
reelection, a group of young people led by a
local Rastafarian, Lennox "Bumper"
Charles, rose up on tiny Union Island in the
Grenadine chain. Bumper and his boys sei-
zed the airport and the sole police station.
St. Vincent sent police to restore order. One
civilian was killed. Bumper and several of
his leaders escaped to Grenada, only to be
handed over to St. Vincent authorities by
Bishop. (Bumper continues serving an
eight-year sentence.) The rebels claimed
their action was to highlight the St. Vincent
government's neglect of Union Island.
Barbados quickly responded to a call for
help from the Cato government and dis-
patched troops to St. Vincent to help guard
the Amos Vale airport, radio station and
other vital installations, while the St. Vincent
police were busy subduing the rebels. Bar-
badian prime minister Tom Adams de-
fended the action, stating that the
Barbadian soldiers went to St. Vincent at the
request of Cato. He warned that develop-
ments in the Caribbean dictated that
friendly neighbors help each other. He also
argued that the military assistance should
be regarded as a watershed in the region in
Bernard Diederich, Time magazine's Carib-
bean correspondent, has covered the region
for over a decade. He is the author of Somoza
and the Legacy of U.S. Involvement in Central
America (E.P. Dutton, 1981), Trujillo, the Death
of the Goat (Little Brown, 1978) and Papa Doc
(McGraw Hill, 1968).

that, for the first time, such assistance was
sought from within the region rather than
from outside.
In true Caribbean style, Adam's action
brought forth a satiric calypso calledBoots:
"Is it necessary to have so much soldiers
in this small country? / [Chorus:] No, no,
no, no. / Is it necessary to shine soldiers
boots with taxpayers money? / [Chorus:]
No, no, no, no. / Well don't tell Tommy, he
put them in St. Lucy [former US naval base
which is now used by the Barbadian de-
fense force]. / Unemployment high, and
the treasury low /And he buying boots to
cover soldiers toe / [Chorus:] I see them
boots, boots, boots, and more boots. / On
the feet ofthe young trigger-happy recruits
/ Marching, threatening army troops / Tell
Tom Isay, that wouldn't do / He got to see,
about me and you /And most of all the
children / And stop them soldiers from
marching / ... Can we afford to feed an
army / When so many children naked
and hungry / [Chorus:] No, No, No, No." It
was banned in Barbados.
The events of 1979 were followed by the
military's seizure of power in Suriname in
early 1980 and the October 1983 coup in
Grenada, which led to the first US military
intervention in an English-speaking island,
and the first in the region since 1965. Ac-
cording to Caribbean political scientist Gor-
don Lewis, "Grenada means the end of West
Indian innocence. The long-term lesson of
Grenada is that we can no longer hold to the
traditional definition of the Caribbean; it's
inexorably linked to Central America. We'll
have to look at the area as a monolithic
whole." Lewis talks about the Americaniza-
tion of the Caribbean, again pointing to
Grenada as an example.. He says that to
think of the English-speaking Caribbean as
not being vulnerable to the Latin American
habit of soldiers grabbing power is just a
"charming conceit."

Call for Regional Security
There is no doubt that the bloody events of
October in Grenada altered, or perhaps
sped up, the course of history in the Carib-
bean. Whatever happens, it will be impossi-
ble for things to be as they were before, and

only the unfolding of events will tell whether
they will improve or grow worse. Grenada
served as the beachhead. Almost overnight,
the small somniferous spice islands that
had provided an escape from the stressful
world of geopolitical saber rattling found
that the world of superpower gyrations had
invaded their tranquil latitudes.
Governments in the region defend the
arms buildup as an antidote to what Rea-
gan termed in 1982, the "virus" that was
Grenada. Opposition parties, on the other
hand, claim that "militarization" could, in
fact, lead to "new Grenadas" in an area that
has known two coups so far, both in Gre-
nada. Governments in the region continue
to point to the 1983 coup to justify arming
and training their respective police forces to
protect them from a similar fate. Opposi-
tion parties stress that if Bishop had not
created an army, he might still be alive.
As Lewis points out, "These are English
ex-colonial societies. They have been
shaped by English traditions of civilian rule
and antimilitarism." However, the Reagan
administration and its conservative allies in
the Eastern Caribbean have decided that
only with armed and well-trained soldiers
will these small island-nations be able to
ward off leftwing subversion and coups.
One of the people most responsible for
the buildup is Tom Adams, who in a speech
on 21 January 1984 to the 45th annual
conference of his ruling Labor Party, an-
nounced that "an element of land forces
should be included in the two-year-old re-
gional security pact." He added that "a
study is now underway to determine
whether we can establish a full regional de-
fense force, thus extending the protection
available against mercenary adventures,
other external aggression, domestic revolu-
tion or other violent episodes. My feeling is
that one regional army rather than a num-
ber of national armies would give us an
additional safeguard, namely the protection
of small governments against their own
armed forces."
When he heard of the plan, former Barba-
dian prime minister Errol Barrow retorted
that a regional defense force is undesirable
if it is for the purpose of suppressing the


local population, and "useless" if it is for the
purpose of suppressing foreign interven-
tion. "I don't think the islands-are ready for
it," says Barrow. "If we had a federal govern-
ment, it would make sense. Individually, we
can't afford it." He also feels it would mean
falling back on the US "for weapons and
training, and that throws us more under the
US military establishment."
Gordon Lewis suggests that "a collective
defense force is as necessary as every other
regional organization. In the long run we
have to recognize the obsolescence of sov-
ereignty." He notes that this is particularly
true for the tiny Caribbean island-nations
whose claim to independence he describes
as "an absurd anomaly"; as soon as they
become independent, they "have to sur-
render slices of that independence to re-
gional institutions."
Adams considers a regional defense
force a necessary extension of the security
pact signed in 1982 by Barbados, St. Lucia,
Antigua, St. Vincent and Dominica. "We
have taken a decision in principle to extend
the regional security system to include St.
Kitts-Nevis now that it is independent (as of
September 1983), and to invite Grenada
after it has an elected government," says
Adams. "Montserrat is already de facto as-
sociated with us, and I have no doubt that a
favorable response would be given to An-
guilla and the British Virgin Islands should
they seek association," he added. (These
three islands are still colonies and therefore
look to Great Britain for their defense.)
The regional security pact emphasizes
national security. Headquarters for a coordi-
nator and small staff was set up in Bar-
bados, with Barbados assuming 49 percent
of the cost, about $240,000, while the other
islands assumed 51 percent, amounting to
$35,000 each, a sizable amount for them.
With no standing force, the security
arrangement called on each island to pro-
vide troop contingents on a voluntary basis
when needed. However, St. Lucia, St. Vin-
cent and the Grenadines, and Dominica
have only police forces, accustomed to
dealing with local disturbances. Grenada
was a victory for Tom Adams and the se-
curity pact, and became the reason for tak-

US training Caribbean forces on Barbados.

ing it a step further.

The Opposition View
The smell of cordite hardly had time to dis-
sipate in Grenada when special forces
training teams from Fort Bragg, North Car-
olina, began landing on neighboring is-
lands with new weaponry. Although
unnoticed by the outside world, the Green
Berets did not go unnoticed by opposition
political parties on the islands, the first to
reveal their presence. The New Times, the
organ of the New Democratic Party on St.
Vincent and the Grenadines, made the guns
a paramount political issue as did other op-
position groups throughout the islands:
"We want roads and an international airport
for St. Vincent. We want university scholar-
ships abroad. We want food, technology
and cash, not guns please."

James Mitchell, former prime minister
and now leader of the opposition in St. Vin-
cent and the Grenadines, declared: "I was
the first political leader in the Caribbean to
call for intervention in Grenada. I did so
because I was horrified at the idea of having
a brutal military rule established right be-
side the islands I represent in Parliament. I
am just as appalled at having my country
militarized. The Americans arming these
islands are making the same historical mis-
take the Grenada revolutionaries made. The
armies you set up to deter others always end
up pointing their guns at the government
and the people. That's the unfortunate
stage now being set in the Caribbean. What
we need is technology and jobs, not guns."
On St. Lucia, the opposition to Prime
Minister George Compton, who along with
Adams is considered one of the chief archi-


tects of the military action in Grenada, ac-
cused Compton in The Crusader of
"turning his hand at helping the US to vir-
tually subjugate these islands," adding: "He
is busy reducing the area to US satellite
status and this necessitates a firm military
presence in all the islands of the Eastern
Caribbean. The whole thrust and attitude of
the police force has changed overnight. The
skills of criminal investigative work and
good police methods have all been
swamped by the new militaristic thrust.
Now our special service units strut and
swagger around Castries with automatic
weapons in their hands. ... This cannot be
good for the state especially as a number of
raw recruits have come in to the force at the
deep end and have plunged into the tech-
niques of killing before they have learned
the responsibility of policemen and the
sanctity of life."
Prime Minister Compton defended his
views, pointing out that the Caribbean had
lost the image of the "sleepy islands" and
was now very vulnerable and exposed to
outside intrusion which sought to "disturb
our peace." He said that a security force was
needed to warn outside intruders who
wanted to "use, subvert and invade our is-
lands through internal elements, to destroy
us and place us in the middle of the ideolog-
ical conflict of the East and West." He added
that the small islands could not afford an
army, which would detract from their devel-
opment efforts, and had to be protected by
local policemen who would be trained to
serve on a Caribbean peacekeeping force.

Dominica's Experience
Almost three months ago, the Green Berets
landed on Dominica, an island that has had
problems with its own soldiers in the past. In
April 1981, the government of Eugenia
Charles was forced to disband the 100-
strong Dominica defense force, which had
been set up by legislation almost a decade
earlier, after key members of the force were
implicated in attempts to unseat the govern-
ment. To put down the coup attempt, Do-
minica sought and received military
assistance from the nearby French depart-
ments of Martinique and Guadeloupe,
which rushed arms, ammunition and police
to aid Dominica after its soldiers had taken
over part of the island's small armory. Given
the past performance of Dominica's army, it
is understandable that Prime Minister
Charles wants to stick to just a police force:
"The intention is that all policemen should
have that training [by the Green Berets] but
they should all remain policemen and carry
out the normal police duties, no matter what
type of training they have."
The secrecy surrounding the training,
which is done without prior announcement
in off-limits areas, has produced some
spectacular rumors. Former prime minister
Oliver Seraphin, at a news conference in

Roseau, charged that the US was providing
the island with "sophisticated weaponry in-
cluding surface-to-air missiles." Charles
dismissed this charge as a "tissue of lies."
The training of Dominican police officers at
the island's police training school, located
in a remote area a few miles from the capi-
tal, is, according to the government, not to
be seen as preparing "any secret army," but
to ensure that "persons cannot come in
here to surprise us as they have done in the
past." However, opposition parliamentarian
and former finance minister Michael Doug-
las sees it as "a total militarization of this
beautiful island of ours. During the last few

To think of the English-
speaking Caribbean as not
being vulnerable to the
Latin American habit of
soldiers grabbing power is
just a "charming conceit."

months we have seen a lot of military ac-
tivity akin to countries like El Salvador,
Guatemala and Honduras."
Hudson Tannis, deputy prime minister
and minister of national security for St. Vin-
cent, said "Dominica taught us a lesson that
we are highly vulnerable to the wiles of am-
bitious men and the problem of mercen-
aries. ..." Tannis points out that as a result
of Dominica's experience, "a long time be-
fore the Grenada intervention we were ask-
ing friendly governments for assistance. We
are asking them for assistance to ensure
that we can train some of our policemen to
counter the type of threat that was posed in
Dominica. As a government, we do not be-
lieve in having a standing army in addition
to our police force, but we are prepared to
train about 80 men as a special unit within
the police force."
Tannis denies, as do leaders on the other
islands, that the new training could be the
basis for change. "We can't afford to build on
to what we have gotten," he says, and notes
that "the US military equipment St. Vincent
received is part of the $15 million the US
allotted. To expand it from beyond there, we
couldn't afford it." Tannis notes that they
were strapped for cash in the past and
couldn't afford ammunition to train their po-
licemen. He said in a recent interview, "We
have gotten a lot of rounds of ammunition.
For the first time we can now train our po-
licemen. Before we couldn't train them.
That is the danger we had. We couldn't af-
ford what it costs, live ammunition."

US Training
Training is conducted by eight-men US spe-

cial forces teams on each island (except for
St. Vincent with a nine-man team and Ja-
maica with a 12-man special forces mobile
training unit). A headquarters staff of 25
works at the control center and performs
various duties. The six-week training in-
cludes becoming familiar with the new
weapons, learning to shoot straight with live
ammunition, map reading, and basic mili-
tary field operations and procedures.
The first course ended 30 January 1984
with the graduation of classes of nearly 40
men on the islands of Antigua and Barbuda,
Barbados, Dominica, St. Lucia, St. Vincent
and the Grenadines, and ten from St. Kitts-
Nevis (who were trained on Barbados).
Most of the graduates went to Grenada in
early February as members of the Carib-
bean peacekeeping force; many of the po-
licemen they relieved joined the second
training cycle which began at the end of
February. The newly trained men are being
rotated into the Caribbean force which will
eventually replace the 300 Americans left
on Grenada, and, as hoped by some lead-
ers, will be integrated into a regional se-
curity force next year. Such a security unit
would operate under one command and
would move into any island which showed
signs of invasion resulting from internal
subversion or outside intruders.
The law governing US foreign assistance
bars American assistance for police forces.
However an exception has been made in the
Eastern Caribbean, where each police force
has what it calls the SSU-special service
unit comparable to American SWAT
teams-that function as paramilitary units.
Of the seven islands currently involved, only
Antigua, Barbados and Jamaica have de-
fense forces; the rest have police forces,
some still bearing the title "royal."

What Lies Ahead
Gordon Lewis predicts that "we are going to
witness an escalation of violence both do-
mestic and regional." He points out that
"the militarization goes back to the World
War II period with the installation of bases in
the area as a result of the Churchill-Roose-
velt agreement in 1940 [destroyers for Eng-
land and bases in British Caribbean
territories for the US] which was a secret
agreement." While Lewis says the need for a
regional defense force is "incontestable,"
he, like many others in the region, has "ap-
prehensions for the potential for serious
abuse of such force. What would be its po-
tential in boundary disputes, in internal af-
fairs?" He gives as examples the cases of
Belize and Guyana, although neither is ex-
pected to join the defense force for the mo-
ment. "Here you have two theoretical
members of CARICOM who have serious
boundary disputes that can lead to war at
any moment. Would that lead to a regional
invasion? The defense force raises that kind
of question." 0


The Roots of Anti-

Americanism in Cuba

Sovereignty in an Age of World Cultural Homogeneity

By Carlos Alberto Montaner
Translated by Nelson Duran

Among the manifold problems that
beset Cuban consciousness, none
has proved more vexing and endur-
ing than that posed by the island's relations
with the United States. For more than two
centuries, from the very moment the United
States proclaimed its independence, it has
been a constant source of inspiration for
Cubans; it has also been at the root of more
than a few of their frustrations. This am-
bivalence has continued into the present
and, to some degree, has helped shape the
island's destiny.
Castro is the direct heir of the anti-Yankee
school of thought, always discernible in
Cuba. Initially in colonial days, anti-Yankee
feelings were the patrimony of the right, an
expression of the bitterest and most ultra-
montane notions of Catholic Spanish bigot-
ry. These feelings evolved with time and
became the rallying flag for some groups of
nationalist veterans of the wars of indepen-
dence. Finally, with Julio Antonio Mella,
anti-Yankee passions became the core ide-
ology, already infused with Marxist interpre-
tations, of all Cuban leftist radical
This anti-Yankee feeling has coexisted
with a pro-Yankee attitude. Also shaped
during colonial days, pro-American senti-
ment was born of the admiration elicited by
the US revolutionary war. This sympathy
lasted throughout the 19th century, initially
fostering the idea of Cuba's outright annex-
ation to the United States, eventually help-
ing to bring about the Spanish-American
War as a means of securing independence,
and more recently, during the republican
period, praising the close trade ties between
the two countries and the presence of a
tutelary power that kept Cubans from solv-

Carlos Alberto Montaner, a native of Cuba, is
an author, columnist and playwright who lives
in Madrid. This article is excerpted from his
book, Cuba: Claves para una conciencia en
crisis (Madrid: Editorial Playor, 1982). The En-
glish version of that work, translated by Nelson
Durdn, will be published under the title: Cuba,
Castro and the Caribbean (Rutgers, N.J.:
Transaction Press). Nelson Durdn, a full-time
translator who lives in Miami, has written ex-
tensively on the history of Spain.

Tomas Estrada Palma
ing their political problems through revolu-
tionary bloodshed.

Nationalism and the US Foe
The first significant point to be made about
Cuban nationalism is the fact that it
emerged as a reaction against Spanish na-
tionalism, from which it sought to differenti-
ate itself. However, once that goal was
accomplished, Cuban nationalism, like a
bow being readied for combat, became
menacingly taut at the sight of only one
target: the United States. Searching for their
own identity, Cubans had but to survey
some distances, clarify one aspect and
point at some differences: what are we vis-a-
vis the United States?
More than a position, nationalism invari-
ably entails an opposition, an adversary
stance in the face of entities perceived as
foreign or alien to the nation. Cuban na-
tionalism could not be anti-Mexican, anti-
French or anti-British. It could not even re-
main anti-Spanish, for after 1898 there was
virtually no possibility of conflict with Spain.
On the horizon of probable confrontations
of the kind needed to remind a people of its
own national profile, there remained only
one country: the United States.
But the irony was that, to a considerable
degree, Cuba owed her political indepen-
dence and relative economic prosperity to
that same country. Hence the weakness and

ambivalence of Cuban nationalism: it had
but one possible adversary and, throughout
its history, that adversary had been highly
beneficial to Cuba's interests. The national-
ism that emerged in Cuba was not, there-
fore, of the kind born in the battlefields after
a bloody struggle against the secular en-
emy. It was, rather, a nationalism weakened
by the contradiction inherent in its opposi-
tion to the wartime ally, the partner in pros-
perity. Thus it was an essentially affected,
false nationalism, without any substantive
popular following. Until Castroism turned it
into its mistaken raison d'etre, Cuban na-
tionalism was a paradox, a rhetorical exer-
cise limited to some elitist political circles.
The first manifestation of articulate anti-
Yankee feeling was hatched in the ranks of
the patriot army. It was a natural develop-
ment. For most Cubans, the American ex-
peditionary army was the final guarantee of
national redemption and they welcomed it
with open arms. For the Cuban army, how-
ever, the Yankees were not only domineer-
ing allies; they were also the indirect
usurpers of that glory for which the patriot
soldiers had fought so hard for almost 30
Every soldier, regardless of the political,
ideological or economic rationalizations of
which he may avail himself, basically fights
so that he can march beneath a triumphal
arch. This is the century-old leitmotiv of
every warrior, and Cuban warriors were de-
prived of the enormous spiritual reward of
the symbols of victory. It was true that, with-
out the entry of the United States, the war
might have lasted several more years or
even been lost; American intervention se-
cured in a few short months the basic goal
of the war, namely to pry Spain away from
Cuba. However, the patriot army paid for
this aid with the frustration of never having
tasted final victory.
This original frustration eventually
reached other facets of Cuban life. For in-
stance, it has been repeated ad nauseam
that Cuba's absence from the Treaty of Paris
had a serious impact upon the island's fu-
ture. Treaty provisions-hammered out
with no regard for Cuban opinion-left in-
tact the country's economic structure and


consolidated the grip Spaniards tradi-
tionally had upon trade. Nevertheless, look-
ing back at the treaty from the vantage point
of several decades, these circumstances ap-
pear rather fortunate. After 1898, Cuba had
to tackle the reorganization of the state and
its finances, the rebuilding of sugar mills
and the replanting of cane fields; in short, it
had to launch its economy-laid waste by
the war---all over again. If this enormous
effort were to have been coupled with the
disbanding of the Spanish managerial
class, the flight of the bureaucracy and, suc-
cinctly put, the Cubanization of the coun-
try's business structures, it is quite probable
that the task of reconstruction would have
been far more difficult and exacting.
Yet, one of the most fruitful aspects of
American intervention was that it laid a
bridge between the colonial and republican
periods. As a result, the institutional transi-
tion took place without being hobbled by
vendettas and without frightening away the
large numbers of Spaniards that breathed
life into the economy. The price paid for this
orderly transition was denying the patriot
army any war booty or financial rewards. If a
strong and steady stream of Spanish immi-
grants flowed into Cuba during the first
quarter of the 20th century, the largest such
influx in the entire history of the nation, it
was because the provisions of the Treaty of
Paris guaranteed the life and property of the
thousands of hard-working Spaniards who
lived in Cuba. These same provisions were
subsequently written into the Cuban Con-
stitution by way of the Platt Amendment.
Drawing a hard and fast line between
Creoles and Peninsulars, between those
born in Cuba and those born in Spain, was
always a risky affair. More often than not, the
many nuances of the issue were simply ig-
nored. It seems more appropriate to speak
of Creole-Cubans and Spanish-Cubans
than of different and mutually hostile ethnic
groups. This rich miscegenation of Creoles
and Europeans, the basis perhaps for the
relative economic take-off of the island dur-
ing the first quarter of the century, was de-
cisively fostered by the buffer of American

The US as Buffer
The role played bythe United States in Cuba
during the first third of the 20th century was
essentially that of a buffer, a restraint on
political passions. This did not arise out of
"the blind nature of things," as the British
would say. It was not an unconscious as-
sumption of responsibilities on the part of
the United States. It was, rather, the result of
McKinley's political thoughts. According to
the president, it was the duty of the United
States to see to it that a free Cuba was a
reality, not a name: a perfect entity and not a
rash experiment that carried within itself the
seeds of failure. Thus enforcing the spirit of
the Monroe Doctrine and eliminating the

Spanish presence from Cuban soil were
only a part of the task the United States saw
awaiting it in Cuba. There was another, far
more delicate part, that entailed endowing
the country with a reasonably solid econ-
omy and a political system in which
strength and energies would not be wasted
in internal rivalries. This meant that the
United States was to become the guarantor
of peace in the island and the perennial
obstacle to any revolutionary insurgence.
This American tutelage was subse-
quently imposed upon Cubans by Article
Three of the Platt Amendment, whereby the
government of Cuba agreed that the United

Spain bequeathed to Cuba
the only form of
government it knew:

States could intervene to preserve Cuban
independence, maintain a government
suitable for the protection of life, property
and individual freedom, and comply with
the obligations originally imposed upon the
United States by the Treaty of Paris and as-
sumed by Cuba upon becoming indepen-
dent. It was these obligations, in danger of
not being observed, that President Tomas
Estrada Palma invoked in 1906 when he
requested the second American interven-
tion following the outbreak of the first revolt
in republican history. Although the letter of
the Platt Amendment did not include ideo-
logical but rather legal considerations au-
thorizing American intervention in the face
of an internal revolt, both the spirit of the
amendment and the Treaty of Paris en-
visaged an actively counterrevolutionary
role for the United States, vitally interested
in avoiding anarchy and chaos at all costs.
It could be argued-as, in fact, it has
been repeatedly-that such a limitation
upon Cuban sovereignty was an outrage
against the independent status that Cuba
claimed after 1902. However, the manifest
inability of Cubans to negotiate their dif-
ferences peacefully spoke loudly for those
who praised the existence of a tutelary
power that held passions in check. At the
time of the Spanish-American War, Presi-
dent McKinley had already warned that
those same Cubans, so skilled in the craft of
guerrilla warfare, lacked similar skills in the
craft of self-government because Spain had
never trained them for it. This thought could
be buttressed by another, still more conclu-
sive fact; even if Spain had been willing to
help the Cubans leam the ropes of efficient
management and tolerant and democratic
institutions, she would have been incapable
of doing so, for neither efficient manage-
ment nor tolerant and democratic institu-

tions were anywhere to be found in the
political map of Spain. Spain bequeathed to
Cuba the only form of government it knew:
despotism. It was, to boot, a peculiarly con-
vulsive and intransigent brand of despo-
tism. Thus, the groups that favored some
sort of limitation upon Cuban sovereignty
were not entirely wrong.
The Platt Amendment may be seen as a
humiliating amputation of Cuba's sov-
ereignty. It was, all the same, a most efficient
control mechanism for the political convul-
sions that threatened the very life of the
republic. This is precisely what Estrada
Palma ruefully acknowledged in a pathetic
letter: "...it is one hundred times better for
our beloved Cuba to endure a political de-
pendency that ensures freedom's bounties
than an independent and sovereign re-
public, discredited and ruined by the
nefarious effects of periodic civil wars....

An Impossible Sovereignty
Early in the century and reviving the old
autonomist rationale that he now applied to
the new arbiter of Cuba's destinies, Estrada
Palma discovered the classic and paradoxi-
cal antinomy: independence vs. freedom.
One negated the other; both were incom-
patible. Unlimited independence, its strings
pulled by violent and intransigent men who
were the blind heirs of Spanish social men-
tality, would entail the loss of freedom and
the economic ruin of the country.
Sovereignty, even under a fully indepen-
dent regime, was but a vague fallacy, for
Cuba was entering into an era marked by
the thorough "Americanization" of its social
model. By Americanization I do not mean
the economic penetration of the island-a
more or less superficial development in the
final analysis-but rather the total and vol-
untary spiritual submission of the country
to the United States.
It could not have been otherwise, for
Cuba lacked autonomous cultural drives. Its
whole civilized baggage, from the making
of shoes to the irrigation of fields, from the
management of the postal service to the
installation of prosthetic devices, had been
borrowed first from Spain and then, with
dazzling speed, from the United States. All
the ideas and abstractions that dwelled in
Cuban minds-the sensualism Varela
learned from Condillac or the positivism
Varona drank at the twin fountains of
Spencer and Comte-had sprung in for-
eign lands.
Homo cubensis came into being by
borrowing from abroad all of his knowl-
edge, all of his skills. He defined himself not
as an original, creative creature, modifying
his own environment to suit his needs,
transforming his very nature, but rather as a
culturally rickety and helpless being that re-
ceived from foreign donors both his life-
blood and the lodestar he followed.
This unfortunate circumstance-shared


with 90 percent of the earth's population-
had nothing to do with the formal legal
provisions that governed the relations be-
tween Cuba and the United States and not
even the alleged radicalism of the Cuban
revolution has succeeded in altering it. Even
today, and perhaps more than ever, the sci-
entific mutations brought about by Yankee
ingenuity--the computer era, for in-
stance-set the pace and determine the
sign of certain aspects of Cuban life, regard-
less of how hard Fidel Castro may cling to
the superstition that he is lord and master of
an independent country. Cuba's alleged in-
dependence has not been able to free it
from polyester fabrics, contact lenses or
pesticides capable of controlling blue rust.
That much-vaunted independence has
been unable to do away with the profound
impact of the pill or of antibiotics upon the
country's demographic trends. When a
zealous Castro defends Cuba's sovereignty
against certain meddlesome foreigners, he
is in essence toying with obsolete and ut-
terly meaningless legal abstractions. Cuba
was not-is not-anything if not an inert
entity, shaped at will by the world's creative
centers, led of course by the United States.
Noisy protestations of sovereignty can
only be explained bythe intellectual laziness
of the protester and the fatigue of old politi-
cal terms. Sovereignty, to the degree that it
stands for a nation's right to determine its
own destinies, lost all reasonable meaning
following the sudden shrinking of the world
induced by the handful of civilizing cen-
ters-the exporters of basic skills and
knowledge-that mold life in the family of
nations. How can a country be sovereign
that has to accent foreign impositions in
such basic matters as its population's mean
age, its means of communications or the
ways to heal its sick? What manner of politi-
cal autonomy can be invoked when even the
last vestiges of spiritual autonomy, the very
pace and direction of the most far-reaching
changes, have been surrendered into the
hands of the leading countries of the world?
In 1906 Estrada Palma lacked the painful
but clear perspectives that Cubans have in
the eighties. Back then, the aged patriot was
reduced to wielding arcane moral suspi-
cions to justify his preference for a limited
independence if it meant the preservation of
freedom and economic security. His rea-
soning was valid, but there are other equally
persuasive arguments, forged from the
overwhelming mass of evidence gathered
throughout the 20th century. Sovereignty is
but a myth, a figure of speech, a semantic
remnant. Independence is but a cherished
chimera. A country with Cuba's social and
cultural circumstances is doomed to ape
the great creative centers of the world. The
Cuban nation is wet and pliable clay in the
hands of the leaders of world civilization
who, unbeknownst to them, pound and
knead it until it comes to bear a grotesque

resemblance to their own national models.
This is so even though it may contradict the
sovereign will of Cubans and fly in the face
of their pride as an independent nation. This
is so because the stubborness of the facts is
far more powerful than ideological whims
and dreams.
This perspective affords some immedi-
ate conclusions. Today, a few years away
from the 21st century, the intelligent way of
serving one's country requires that all primi-
tive forms of nationalism be forsaken. Actu-
ally, there is only one kind of coherent
nationalism, and it is both suicidal and im-
possible. I am referring to that variety that

Noisy protestations of
sovereignty can only be
explained by the intellec-
tual laziness of the pro-
tester and the fatigue of
old political terms.

seals off the borders, encapsulates society
and keeps it airtight. Tibet was a sovereign
state before the Chinese invasion. So was
the slumbering Japan, as yet unsuspecting
of the visit by Commodore Perry's warships.
These were nations that shaped their own
knowledge, their own skills; these were sov-
ereign peoples that made their own history
with their own ingredients.
Obviously, such sovereignty can no
longer exist today. Modern media have cre-
ated a world cultural environment that
evolves towards an ever greater homogene-
ity along the lines established by the leading
cultural centers. No society may go astray.
Cuba is a prisoner of this reality; it is useless
to try to ignore it. The logical thing to do,
therefore, is to take it into account in draw-
ing up a wise political program.
Generally speaking, Cubans must banish
adversary nationalism from their ideologi-
cal lexicon; specifically, they must do away
with all forms of anti-Yankee feelings. In a
way, being anti-Yankee is being anti-Cuban,
for in a fundamental sense-antibiotics,
computers or supersonic travel come to
mind-we are all Yankees. The only na-
tionalism possible in the closing decades of
the 20th century, the only one Cubans can
embrace without damaging their own inter-
ests is partisan, not adversary nationalism.
Partisan nationalism is a feeling that identi-
fies and underscores the traits common to
Cuba and the United States to the degree
that the latter is the core of world civilization,
and the former is one of its closest cultural
lam not proposing for Cuba some covert
or overt form of annexation or common-

wealth a la Puerto Rico. Annexationism is a
mere formula for legal and political associa-
tion, the result of a specific political juncture
wholly unthinkable in today's Cuban-Amer-
ican reality. The Puerto Rican case, on the
other hand, is clearly a unique situation. I
am referring, rather, to another kind of rela-
tionship, perhaps more serious and pro-
found. This new relationship between the
United States and Cuba would have to be
built anew and take into account the leading
and adjunct roles respectively played by
both countries.
Cubans must cease biting the hand that
feeds them their civilized fare, and under-
take instead to find imaginative means of
cooperation. The ability of Cubans to help
shape their own destinies-to be national-
ists in the proper sense of the word-is
predicated upon their capacity to become
involved in the creative work being done in
the United States which determines the un-
derlying nature of Cuban society. The battle
should not be joined against the creative
centers, seeking to vanquish them and in
the process destroying our brains and jam-
ming the engine of our civilization. Rather,
we must fight to contribute our efforts in
those areas where cooperation is possible.
It would be healthy for Cuba and the
Cuban intelligentsia to exorcise the false be-
lief that, to be a proud and free country,
Cuba must be culturally autonomous, polit-
ically independent and economically self-
sufficient. In fact, all the great nations of the
West have abandoned these absurd roman-
tic notions. They are desirable but impossi-
ble, and it is good to distinguish between
wishful thinking and probability. Cuba's re-
ality is made of dependency, cultural parasi-
tism and an ignorant lack of foreign
knowhow. The gloom that hangs over the
Cuban landscape can be dispelled only if
Cubans will turn American proximity into a
plus for the island.

Cubans, Americans and
For two centuries, the United States has
been part and parcel of Cuba's national en-
vironment. The admirable example of
American independence; the strong com-
mercial ties between both countries--more
important throughout the entire 19th cen-
tury than those that bound Cuba and Spain;
the weak but steady migratory flow of
Cubans into the United States, multiplied
one thousandfold over the past 20 years; the
links between Southern and Cuban
slaveholders; the Spanish-Cuban-Ameri-
can War; the American interventions in
Cuba; US investments in sugar, light indus-
tries and services; the Yankee training and
education of the Cuban grande bour-
geoisie; the enormous influence of Ameri-
can social patterns on Cuba; the profile of
the Cubans' political and ideological de-


Journal of
A bilingual quarterly journal of
social history and current affairs
in France and the United States.
Published by the Tocqueville
Society since 1979.
Subscription rates:
Individuals $20
Institutions $24
Single issues $6
Membership in the Society is by
nomination. Please address
correspondence (from the U.S.)
Professor Franklin Mendels,
Associate Secretary, U.S.
706 Administration Building
University of Maryland,
Baltimore Country
Catonsville, Maryland 21228
(from Europe)
Professor Henri Mendras,
Associate Secretary, France
69 quai D'Orsay
75007 Paris, France
Manuscripts should be forwarded
to: Jesse R. Pitts, Editor
Dept. of Sociology and
Oakland University
Rochester, Mi 48063
Some papers from recent issues:
Lawrence Wylie and Sarella
Henriquez, French Images
of American Life
Herbert Landier, La situation
syndicate en France
John Shy, Yorktown 1781,
Personalities and Documents
Jer6me Jaffr6, La Politique
Etrangere et L'Opinion Frangaise
Theodore Caplow, The Sociologi
cal Myth of Family Decline
Raymond Aron, Tocqueville
William Schonfeld, Scenes de
la vie politique frangaise
Stanley Hoffmann, Some Notes
on Democratic Theory and
Jean-Marcel Jeanneney,
Continuity et changement dans
le gouvernement de la France
Henri Mendras, An Optimistic
View of France
Sylvain Wickham, La tentation
post-industrielle en France
Seymour Lipset, Whither the
First new Nation?
Frangois Bourricaud, Cotradition
et Traditions chez Tocqueville

bate; their movies and sports myths; the
very deportment of the middle class; prac-
tically all the key elements that comprised
the habitat of Cuba's national being were in
one way or another related to the geo-
graphic accident of the island's close prox-
imity to a huge, powerful, trade-oriented
and creative nation, then in the midst of a
period of expansion. A small, poor, back-
ward island, mostly inhabited by poorly ed-
ucated pepole, could not possibly escape
from what Cubans could also call their man-
ifest destiny to be swept along in the wake
of the giant that was beginning to lead the
There used to exist among Cubans-and
I fear this is still the case-an inordinately
high estimation of the island's potential and
its destiny in the family of nations. For
Spain, Cuba had been a military strong-
hold, the key to the defense of the Gulf of
Mexico against other covetous European
powers. Marti, in some ways the heir of this
Spanish perception, sensed danger from a
different quarter and saw in the West Indies
the front line where Yankee expansion into
Latin America could be halted. Castro has
undertaken to transform Cuba into the
mailed fist of the Leninist insurgence any-
where in the world his troops may be
needed. Somehow, Castroism is the ulti-
mate manifestation of historical messia-
nism, the most advanced stage of that
chronic protagonistic mania which has so
often proven disastrous to Cuban national
It is probable that the end of Castroism
will bring about the collapse of this dispro-
portionate opinion of Cuba's potential. That
minute of collective humility, that instant of
rational stock-taking of actual assets, may
perhaps allow the reexamination of the in-
escapable fact of Cuba's almost promis-
cuous vicinity to the United States, the
inevitable obligations and the advantages
that flow from it, and the international role
that Cuba may play on the basis of its popu-
lation, wealth, size, insularity and paltry cul-
tural, scientific and technological contribu-
tions to Western culture. A strong dose of
humble realism would be most appropriate
after the delirious Castro adventure. It would
be the sine qua non for any national enter-
prise that is not to end-again-in frustra-
tion, bitterness and failure.

The Essential Paradox of
For more than a century, Cuban weakness
in the face of American power seems to
have counseled some Cubans into adopt-
ing puerile anti-Yankee attitudes, seeking to
strengthen thereby a supposedly threatened
national entity. Castro is the most recent
and notorious anti-Yankee Cuban. Yet, quite
unwillingly, he is the man who has done the
most to link Cuba's fate to that of the United
States. Before the Castro dictatorship and

despite the statements of a handful of anti-
Yankee groups, the consensus was that the
island's economic future was dependent
upon its relations with the United States.
After two decades of Castro, that consensus
has become an axiomatic truth.
Before Castro mounted power, the mi-
gratory ties between both countries num-
bered a few thousand Cubans. Twenty-one
years later, more than a million Cubans have
either sought refuge in the United States or
been born there. Miami is the second
largest Cuban city, and its huge and pros-
perous Spanish ghetto seems to have en-
tered into a period of expansion rather than
assimilation. (Little Havana's quasi-eco-
nomic self-sufficiency and Mariel- and Ca-
marioca-type adventures certainly do not
bode well for the legendary American melt-
ing pot.)
Those million Cubans, or Cuban-Ameri-
cans as they are already known, are and will
continue to be a most important factor in
the history of Cuba over the next few years. If
the leaders of this Cuban community set
their minds to it, it is very likely that this
conglomerate will have a decisive impact
upon the course of events in Cuba; there is
little doubt that it will be the most important
economic and social element in the post-
Castro period.
Hasty and timorous visits by a few thou-
sand exiles created a tense public opinion in
Cuba that perhaps was instrumental in trig-
gering the episode atthe Peruvian Embassy
in Havana and the complete discredit of the
Castro regime both in and out of Cuba. This
is but the first example of the enormous
influence that Cuban-Americans will have
upon the history of Cuba for many years to
While for over two centuries Cuba re-
ceived large doses of American influence
with no prodding other than that of com-
mercial interests, Castro has now set in mo-
tion an enormous belt drive, made up of
one million people, that will significantly in-
crease American influence in the island and
extend it to all important aspects of the
country's social, economic and political life.
In the kingdom of Serendip, as the tale
goes, every action of its confused prince
produced results exactly opposite to those
he intended. Fidel Castro suffers from the
Serendip effect; he is endowed with that
ironical gift of achieving the opposite of
what he sets out to do. When the history of
these hectic years is finally written some-
time in the 21st century, it is quite likely that
the biography of this controverted figure will
begin with a pathetic statement: Castro,
more than any other Cuban, accelerated his
country's process of cultural American-
Annexationism and
Of course, it goes without saying that these
Continued on page 42


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nation's fastest growing metropolitan areas and centers for
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sizes broad interdisciplinary education for strengthening
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membership in our modern interrelated world.
The International Affairs Center promotes international
education, training, research and cooperative exchange by
encouraging a wide variety of faculty and student activities
and helping to develop the university's international
programs. Contact: International Affairs Center, (305)
The Latin American and Caribbean Center, one of 12 US
Department of Education National Resource Centers, coordi-
nates teaching and research on the region, administers an
academic certificate program, and supports research. Contact:
Latin American and Caribbean Center, (305) 554-2894.
The International Banking Center cooperates with banks
and businesses in Miami to support research and sponsor
seminars on international banking topics. Contact: Interna-
tional Banking Center, (305) 554-2771.
15,000 students come from 74 nations and 41 states. They
may select from undergraduate and graduate studies in the
humanities, social sciences, mathematical and physical
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providing instruction in reading, conversation, grammar.
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Florida International University's faculty members are
renowned for their commitment to teaching, research and
service from an international perspective. Individual and
group research projects run the gamut of possible topics and
geographic regions. Faculty exchanges take FIU researchers
abroad and bring leading international scholars to the campus.
The university is also the base for several international
organizations. The Inter-American University Council for
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dent, nonprofit association of representatives from post-
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assisting nations of the Americas with economic and social
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Mitterrand's Headache

The French Antilles in the 1980s

By Scott B. MacDonald and Albert L. Gastmann

Elected in May 1981 in an atmosphere
of euphoria, French president Fran-
cois Mitterrand, upon the advice of
the radical and more ideologically-minded
wing of the Socialist Party, embarked on a
policy of "liberation" for the overseas de-
partments (Departement d'Outre-Mer or
DOM). This was implemented by the freeing
of all political prisoners and by a push to
reduce the trappings of imperialism by
moving the islands of Guadeloupe and Mar-
tinique first to autonomy, and eventually to
independence. At the same time French riot
police, brought into the Antillean depart-
ments by the previous Giscard administra-
tion to halt anti-French bombings, were
withdrawn as a demonstration of the new
government's faith in the socialist creed that
all colonial peoples strongly desired inde-
pendence and resented exploitation by met-
ropolitan governments.
The good intentions of the Mitterrand re-
gime, however, have failed; the islands are
now gripped by one of the worst bombing
campaigns ever, and the French military
presence is probably at a 20th-century all-
time high. Furthermore, the socialist-in-
spired governmental push to give the is-
lands more autonomy and eventual
independence has been scrapped in the
face of strong local opposition. The earlier
euphoria characterized by Henri Em-
manuelli, Mitterrand's first secretary of state
for overseas departments and territories,
has gone and Georges Lemoine, with a pol-
icy of status quo, is in. What went wrong for
the socialists in the French Antilles?

The Metropole-DOM
First settled in the early seventeenth cen-
tury, Martinique and Guadeloupe have
been under French rule ever since, except
for short periods of British occupation. With
the promulgation of the law of 19 March
1946, the islands, along with French Guiana
in South America and Reunion in the Indian
Scott B. MacDonald studies political science
at the University of Connecticut. Albert L. Gast-
mann teaches political science at Trinity Col-
lege in Hartford.

Ocean, became overseas departments.
This arrangement has meant that the iri-
habitants of the DOM, as legal and admin-
istrative parts of the French nation, are
entitled to the same political rights and so-
cial and economic benefits as their Euro-
pean counterparts. It is important to
emphasize that the Antilles as departments
are regarded as integral parts of the nation-
state of France, in the same manner that
Hawaii is part of the United States.
Constitutionally they are not colonies,
and in that sense, liberation was officially
achieved in 1946 with departmentalization,
the much desired end product of centuries
of assimilating French cultural mores. Ac-
cordingly, the impact of integration has
meant an artificially high standard of living
in the Antilles; and despite the decoloniza-
tion of the surrounding islands and territo-
ries, the majority in the French Caribbean
enclaves, through the ballot box, have re-
peatedly confirmed their desire to remain
French. This desire, however, has not meant
total satisfaction with the status quo among
the citizens of Martinique and Guadeloupe,
and the degree of support for this situation
has eroded.
Nowhere has the growing discontent with
the DOM-metropole relationship been
more evident and tension filled than in the
economic realm. The traditional mainstay
of the French Antillean economy has been
the monocultural production of sugar for
export to metropolitan markets. But sugar
production has undergone a steady decline,
which has become more pronounced in re-
cent decades. Competition from other
sugar growers in the developing world, such
as Brazil, India, and the Dominican Re-
public, and from European beet sugar
farmers, has made the industry in Marti-
nique and, to a lesser extent, in Guadeloupe
almost untenable even with protected
The Lomb accords, begun in 1974 and
signed by the European Economic Com-
munity (EEC) and the African, Caribbean
and Pacific group of nations, have leveled
further pressures against Antillean produc-
tion of sugar, especially in 1983 when Mar-
tiniquais and Guadeloupeen rum quotas

within the EEC were challenged in the Eu-
ropean Court of Justice as unfair competi-
tion. Outside of the export of rum and
bananas, a number of canning plants and
tourism, nothing has emerged to replace
the profitability of "King Sugar" in its hey-
day as a source of employment and impor-
tance to the financial structure of
Martinique. In Guadeloupe, sugar cultiva-
tion, although in decline, continues to play
an important role in the economy, es-
pecially since cane occupies around 50 per-
cent of arable land and usually amounts to
25 percent of total value of exports (behind
bananas, 55 percent).
The absence of strategic materials such
as steel, bauxite or oil for industrial develop-
ment, and constant negative trade deficits,
have meant that the Antillean economy has
shifted to a dependency on financial infu-
sions from the metropole. The Antilles have
remained a part of a satellite economic sys-
tem which included French Guiana, with
France as the industrial and financial core
to which raw materials are sent and from
which manufactured goods and funds
Insofar as the metropole has been able to
provide the populations of Martinique and
Guadeloupe with a standard of living com-
parable to that of France, the social cost has
been high. Political and legal integration
have not translated into socioeconomic in-
tegration; the economic realities are geo-
graphically and culturally different. The
societies of Martinique and Guadeloupe
emerged from the sugar plantation system,
which was dependent on the importation of
African labor. Thus the populations which
evolved were largely of African or mixed
African-European descent, with but a small
percentage of European and Asian
Governmental and private sector efforts
to move away from sugar monoculture to a
more diversified economy have not suc-
ceeded, and the consequences have been.
high unemployment (20-30 percent) and
underemployment. The situation has also
been aggravated by the penetration and
dominance of metropolitan capital over lo-
cal capital. Small businesses have been un-


able to compete with French companies
which have considerably larger resources
and national, if not international, marketing
systems. Furthermore, the arrival of Euro-
pean Frenchmen, attracted to the islands by
the climate, has caused discontent among
the black population, especially as metro-
politans already fill the upper echelons of
the business elite and the top ranks of the
civil service.
In Martinique and Guadeloupe the Euro-
pean influence is exceedingly evident. The
shopping districts of Fort-de-France and
Pointe-a-Pitre are crowded with French
boutiques, audio and video shops, while
Peugeots and Mercedes clog the streets.
Beyond the hub of the towns, along the
coast, large modern tourist resorts cater to
vacationing Europeans. Due to the massive
infusions of metropole funds, national in-
come per person in Martinique has been
estimated at US $4,000, and in Guadeloupe
at US $3,300-higher than in most of the
surrounding independent island-nations
such as Trinidad and Tobago, the Domin-
ican Republic or St. Lucia, and higher than
in the Soviet Union, Yugoslavia or Hungary.
In addition, French per capital welfare-type
payments amount to $658 per year
(1976-78 average) in Martinique compared
to $17 in Haiti, $19 in Honduras, $88 in
Belize and $234 in Suriname.
The lopsided developmental process is
highly observable in Martinique's balance of
trade, which is mostly with France (60 per-
cent) and, to a lesser extent, Guadeloupe
(20-25 percent). In 1979 Martinique's ex-
ports, now led by bananas (55-60 percent
of total value), petroleum products, rum,
sugar and pineapple, earned $133 million.
Imports, valued at $675 million, included
food, machinery and transport equipment,
crude oil and consumer goods. The nega-
tive balance of trade in 1979 was US $542
million, a substantial sum which was met by
the plethora of aid agencies operating from
the metropole. Guadeloupe's balance of
trade is even more dominated bythe metro-
pole: over 70 percent of imports comes
from France, and 85-90 percent of the total
value of exports goes there. These figures
have not changed in the 1980s, indicating
that economic dependency remains a con-
stant as Antillean society continues to live
on unemployment compensation.
Despite French programs to generate
employment, greater aid packages, an ex-
tensive social welfare net and a govern-
ment-sponsored family-planning cam-
paign, Antillean social stability stands on
weak foundations. Beneath the facade of a
modern Caribbean society, potentially ex-
plosive tensions exist, as exemplified by the
riots of the 1960s and one in 1974 which
resulted in the death of two workers and
wounding of four after a violent confronta-
tion with police forces. Throughout the rest
of the seventies discontent simmered, but

no major mass movement emerged ad-
vocating immediate independence. Two
major factors served to brake the so-called
decolonization process: the artificial mod-
ernization of the French Antilles which cre-
ated an attitudinal framework emphasizing
security-mindedness and materialism, and
the lack of a visible and charismatic pro-
independence leader capable of stirring
popular-sector support for such a cause.
There are charismatic leaders in the French
Antilles, but they support greater autonomy
or the status quo. They are likely to favor the
system which benefits them, and that sys-
tem is French, from the language spoken
and taught in the schools to the structure of
Election results confirm this pattern. The
majority has consistently voted in favor of
moderate and conservative figures such as
de Gaulle and Giscard d'Estaing, who had
no intentions of granting independence to
the American departments. In the 1981
general elections, the incumbent right was
able to portray the socialists as the bearers
of forced independence. The apprehension
about being "cast from the French fold,"
meaning the loss of metropole social pro-
grams, prevented Mitterrand from receiving
more than 25 percent of the vote in the
Caribbean departments against a national
figure of 52 percent.

The Socialists of the 1980s
In the summer of 1981, the Mitterrand gov-
ernment, represented by Henri Em-
manuelli, secretary of state for overseas
departments and territories, presented a
new policy for the French Caribbean
founded upon decentralization and eco-
nomic reforms, not to mention liberation of
the politically oppressed. The socialist ad-
ministration regarded the departmental
structure as too restrictive for local initiative
to develop and sought to move the libera-
tion process into an active stage. In Febru-
ary 1983 the first elections were held for
regional councils, which were expected to
create greater local autonomy. Em-
manuelli's reforms, however, encountered
strong resistance in the Caribbean depart-
ments, and the policies of decolonization
were shunted aside as was Emmanuelli in
the aftermath of the French municipal elec-
tions of March 1983.
Something which became apparent at
the time was the division within the Socialist
Party between the ideologues and the more
moderate pragmatists. The former group
included Regis Debray, Mitterrand's adviser
on Latin American affairs, Jack Land, the
Minister of Culture, and Emmanuelli. Under
the influence of the ideologues, closer rela-
tions were developed with Cuba; diplomatic
support was given to revolutionary forces in
Central America; economic aid was given to
Maurice Bishop's Grenada; and the push to
independence was often hinted at for

France's Caribbean enclaves. To this group,
the struggle against imperialism was a pri-
ority and formed the core of thinking which
ranged from pro-Arab sentimentto the pos-
sible toppling of the government of Haiti.
Working within a belief that all colonial peo-
ples are oppressed and desire liberation, the
policies of the ideologues lacked the flexibil-
ity needed in the French Antilles, especially
in the face of strong and widespread
Opposition came not only from the right,
but also from the local left. Such leaders as
Aime Cesaire, head of the Parti Pro-
gressiste Martiniquais (PPM), believe in
greater autonomy within the French system,
feeling that gradualism is much preferred to
immediate independence. The latter alter-
native, it is feared, would bring economic
collapse and possibly lead to the establish-
ment of militaristic dictatorships as in Sur-
iname, or of revolutionary regimes, as, until
recently, in Grenada, which would pose the
problem of relations with the United States.
Along these lines, local communists fear
independence would mean leaving the
French orbit for a much more conservative
and less tolerant American one. The com-
munist parties of Martinique and
Guadeloupe follow a somewhat conserva-
tive approach to the independence issue.
To further complicate matters, the local
socialists have been lukewarm to the idea of
independence, favoring instead the more
vote-getting standard of autonomy. While
the socialists and communists were not en-
tirely enthralled by Paris's liberation policy,
the far left was dissatisfied that it did not go
far enough.
Under Mitterrand, a policy of reconcilia-
tion vis-h-vis the extraparliamentary forces
was adopted as a part of the liberation pol-
icy. Eleven Guianese and Guadeloupeen
pro-independence militants, jailed in
France where they were standing trial for
terrorist attacks, were released, while 320
riot police in Martinique, flown in in March
1980 due to bombings and assassinations,
were withdrawn. After his release from jail,
Luc Reinette, a Guadeloupeen terrorist
leader, founded a new pro-independence
group, the Mouvement Populaire pour la
Guadeloupe Independante, which was to
"break down and short-circuit French ad-
ministration everywhere." After a lull of sev-
eral months, terrorist activities began again
in Guadeloupe in 1982: a police annex in
Pointe-b-Pitre airport was fired on and a
number of bombings were conducted
against military targets by people linked to
the Mouvement Populaire.
To a considerable extent pro-indepen-
dence groups in Martinique and
Guadeloupe have been heavily influenced
by the intellectual tradition of Frantz Fanon,
a Martiniquais-born psychiatrist who had
been assigned to a French hospital in Al-
geria during that nation's war of liberation


from France. In Black Skin, White Masks
and The Wretched of the Earth, he fol-
lowed the negritude rejection of European
values as they kept the black West Indian
(and African) in a position of subjugation. In
Fanon's viewpoint, and for those he has
influenced since his death in 1961, the
bourgeoisie must be destroyed as their val-
ues impede the emergence of an egalitarian
society. The idea gradually became rooted
that liberation could come only with the de-
struction of Western imperialism, as out-
lined by Fanon, by erasing the values that
imperialism, through assimilation, has im-
bued in the people. For these reasons, lead-
ers like Fidel Castro and Maurice Bishop
became examples of David-like figures
standing up against the Goliath of imperial-
ism. Castro, in this view, has created the
proper society by destroying the Cuban
middle class and ousting American influ-
ence. Radical groups on the periphery of the
formal political system thus look to Cuba
and follow a strategy of terrorism.
In May 1983, after a lull of several months,
18 explosions rocked Martinique,
Guadeloupe, French Guiana, and Paris, kill-
ing one person and doing considerable
damage to public buildings. A new organ-
nization, the Alliance Revolutionaire Car-
aibienne (ARC) claimed responsibility. The
bombings were allegedly to show the public
that the struggle for independence was still
on. The fact that they occurred on 29 May
was significant: 27 May was the anniversary
of the abolition of slavery in the islands, and
28 May was the anniversary of the death of a
black officer who committed suicide after
an unsuccessful black rebellion on
Guadeloupe in 1802. The bombings con-
tinued into October and November when
Mitterrand finally sent riot police to
Guadeloupe. The situation grew even worse
on 26 April 1984, when the ARC exploded
14 bombs throughout Guadeloupe. In re-
sponse, the French government officially
outlawed the ARC at a cabinet meeting on
May 3. The banning order effectively placed
the Caribbean group in the same illegal sta-
tus as the National Liberation Front of Cor-
sica, indicating that it had, indeed, become
a problem.
Thus by mid-1984, it appears that the
socialist government has gone full circle
and done exactly what it has criticized the
previous administration for doing. While
the pro-independence groups are not pop-
ular due to their disruption of everyday life
and the public's general disinterest in leav-
ing the French fold, the Antilles are caught
in a situation of static politics. The ide-
ologues have lost a degree of influence to
the pragmatists, who are more concerned
with political order and getting votes in the
next elections.
For Frangois Mitterrand, Martinique and
Guadeloupe remain a headache. Unlike the
socialist governments in the Netherlands,

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which jettisoned Suriname into indepen-
dence in 1975 and have sought to disen-
gage in the Netherlands Antilles, the French
socialists are trapped by the long historical
process of cultural and economic assimila-
tion which their party, in its earlier stages,
had helped foster. In a sense, Mitterrand and
the current French administration are be-
twixt and between. The ideologues cannot
bring independence, the local indepen-
dence groups have small followings, and
the pragmatists cannot resolve the Antilles'
socioeconomic problems. In the euphoria

of their 1981 victory, the socialists felt that
they had the solution to the Antillean ques-
tion: greater autonomy leading to indepen-
dence. The initial approach of Emmanuelli
and the ideologues, however, proved overly
simplistic for what is an exceedingly compli-
cated situation. The result is that little has
been resolved and Mitterrand, like his pred-
ecessors, is at a loss as to what policies to
follow. The French Antilles remain, after
more than two years, little changed by the
socialists and locked into status quo poli-
tics. E



i -

It 51

Devil's Island Watch Tower.


rench Guiana is the only remaining
sizable continental country in Latin
America, Africa or Asia that is still
completely dependent upon a European
state. Legally, French territory exists in
South America, as in other regions, through
its overseas departments (DOM) and over-
seas territories (TOM).
Guiana presents an interesting case in
more than one respect. First, there is the
question of viability. Does formal indepen-
dence, which is generally expressed by
membership in the United Nations, provide
an adequate solution for such mini-states?
Is it a better way to tackle development
problems than continued attachment to a
metropole? Many cases of mini-states seem
to belie this, their situations having wors-
ened since attainment of national sov-
ereignty. It is within this context that the
attitude of France appears to have legit-
imacy: independence does not constitute
the only possible method of decolonization.
In some situations, the opposite solution
seems more sensible. Departmentalization
may be the "French solution" to decoloniza-
tion. A bias toward integration in general,
and departmentalization in particular, has
been characteristic throughout French
colonial history and ideology, and has not
developed specifically for small countries.
For the French empire in general, however,
this approach proved untenable, moving
too much against the stream of history, and
being diametrically opposed to the desire
for emancipation of the elites and popula-
tions of the dominated countries.
For this reason, Paris has finally aban-
doned its rigid attitude. In order to enter into
a more flexible relationship with its former
colonies, it has recognized their right to for-
mal sovereignty, thus preserving its own
interest in a more acceptable fashion. But
can the integration of colonies-a method
generally doomed to failure by history-
claim to be legitimate in particular cases?

Frank Schwarzbeck, a political scientist from
the University of Hamburg, Germany, is the
author of French Guiana-The Last Continen-
tal Overseas Possession in Latin America. He
is currently on assignment with the UN Devel-
opment Program in Rwanda.

Recycling a Forgotten


From Green Hell to Outer Space in French Guiana

By Frank Schwarzbeck

Can it create a channel for resolving the
development and viability problems of
small countries?

A Unique History?
Decolonization by incorporation was the
postulate advanced by successive French
governments until 1981. This process was
put forward more rigorously during the sev-
enties, when the political status of the TOM,
and especiallythe DOM, made them excep-
tions. Paris was willing to go against the
trends of Third World countries moving
progressively toward independence, con-
sidering it of little benefit to small countries,
a judgment apparently correct in many
cases. For French Guiana in particular, de-
partmentalization was even more firmly de-
fined. Was it not an aberration that this long-
forgotten colony-underpopulated, under-
exploited, nonproductive and sponging en-
tirely off the metropole-should demand
severance of ties with the mother-country,
emancipation in the form of a sovereign
The historical legacy left by 300 years of
colonization underlined the need for special
treatment in the case of Guiana, dis-
tinguishing it from other cases and confer-
ring upon it a seemingly unique character.
Guiana: a forgotten colony which remained
always occupied and never abandoned; rich
in potential wealth but never exploited. How
can such contradictions be explained? Do
they provide the key to understanding not
only the country's history, but also its pres-
ent and future prospects? Do they justify a
metropolitan policy incomprehensible in
the light of measures normally adopted to
tackle Third World problems of develop-
ment and underdevelopment?

French Imperial History
According to official historiography, Guiana
was annexed by France in 1604. The coun-
try had long been a part of the first French
colonial empire, which was characterized by
a contrast between the size of its largest
possessions (particularly in North America)
and their sparse population and meager
economic return for the metropole. On the

other hand the islands, the numerous
French Antilles of thattime, played a consid-
erable role for Parisian mercantilism.
Guiana served increasingly as an outlying
station for protection of the southern flank
of lucrative commerce with the Caribbean.
Its own exploitation seemed hardly neces-
sary, a factor clearly distinguishing it from
its neighboring Dutch colonies (particularly
Suriname), which for Holland were as im-
portant as the Antilles were for France. This
explains the beginning of unequal develop-
ment among the Guianas.
In 1763 a radical change occurred.
France lost nearly all of its first colonial em-
pire, and Guiana became the largest colony
still attached to the metropole. During the
same year it was the object of a major colo-
nial emigration, the catastrophic result of
which marked the first great caesura in the
history of the country, bearing heavy conse-
quences for its future.
Chronologically, the second French colo-
nial empire began with the taking of Algiers
in 1830, and the occupation and subse-
quent pacification of Algeria, which became
a colony of settlement and exploitation, and
consequently reduced Guiana's impor-
tance. Did this change play a role in the
second crucial caesura in the country's his-
tory? Perhaps it was not by chance that the
decision to install a prison in French Guiana
occurred shortly after the completion of ter-
ritorial occupation of Algeria-a new large
colony, full of potential and in the process of
settlement and exploitation. Henceforth, the
largest colony of what remained of the for-
mer empire was economically even less in-
teresting than before. During the second
empire, and particularly from the 1880s on,
Guiana became one among many tropical
French colonies, most of which were in West
and Equatorial Africa and were also difficult
to develop in the colonial power's interest. In
view of this, the colony in South America
was hardly distinguishable from several
others on the African continent-scarcely
exploited and of minor economic impor-
tance for the metropole until the interwar
Within this general setting, Guiana was
not a special case of French colonialism.

During the first empire it was part of
France's larger possessions, although of lit-
tle economic significance; France's inter-
ests lay above all in the islands. During the
second empire it was part of France's
smaller possessions, once more of little
economic significance. In short, French
colonization at the end of the 19th and be-
ginning of the 20th centuries, the period of
its largest territorial expansion, was far more
political than economic. In this respect, the
case of Guiana is in no way exceptional.
However, there are three main events which
have given Guiana a quite singular destiny,
if one takes into consideration its more con-
crete history rather than regarding it only
within the framework of France's colonial
history. These events are the caesuras of
1763, 1848-52 and 1946.
The caesura of 1763, the "disaster of
Kourou," was an attempt at massive and
overhasty colonial settlement to compen-
sate for the loss of the first empire and es-
tablish for France a stronghold in South
America. The attempt turned into a catas-
trophe, resulting in thousands of deaths
within a few months, and giving Guiana its
thenceforth chronic reputation as the
"Green Hell" and the "European's
This reputation played a role in the first
deportations during the French revolution
and was further strengthened with the in-
stallation of a prison in the colony in
1851-52. With the abolition of slavery in
1848, the neighboring Guyanas and some
of the Antilles witnessed the importation of
Asian workers (particularly from India) to
meet the demand for manpower in the
plantation economies. But in the case of
French Guiana, Paris had decided to import
prisoners. Intentions to develop the colony
by penal labor and thus rehabilitate the con-
victs-such is the official reason that was
put forward-were perhaps sincere on the
part of some well-meaning politicians. In
fact, they came quickly to be seen as cruel
hypocrisy. France increasingly saw a
chance to get rid of its "human garbage" (an
intentionally shameless expression) and to
empty its congested prisons. For about a
century, the prison was French Guiana's


announces the publication of its


The purpose of the OCCA-
provide a forum for discussion of
research carried out by Caribbean
and International Scholars on
various aspects of the interna-
tional relations of the Caribbean
and Latin America.

Occasional Paper 1: Financial
Constraints and Economic Develop-
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bean: the Recent Experience, by
Ramesh Ramsaran, (February 1983).

Occasional Papers 2 & 3: The Car-
ibbean Basin and Recent Develop-
ments in the Law of the Sea; and
Human Rights in the Commonwealth
Caribbean: an International Rela-
tions Perspective, by Anselm Francis
(April 1983).

Occasional Paper 4: The Theory of
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Current Status, by Eric St. Cyr (Oc-
tober 1983).

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principal and longest-running role-a per-
version of colonization.
The third caesura in Guiana's history oc-
curred with departmentalization in 1946.
The country was anemic before this turning
point as a consequence of its penal past and
the officially tolerated chaos of the "age of
gold," which made of the colony for several
decades not only a prison and graveyard,
but also a French "California."
After the second world war, however, ev-
erything changed. The "Green Hell" was
wholly incorporated into the metropole,
making it an overseas department. This in-
corporation was not enforced by Paris, as
had been the case with Algeria 100 years
earlier. It was desired by the representatives
of the four old colonies which now became
overseas departments (DOM), and it had
been demanded, above all, by the local left-
wing parties who wanted to put an end to
colonial injustice and the domination of the
white plantocracies. Reunion, Guadeloupe,
Martinique and Guiana could well have be-
come overseas territories (TOM), as did
most of the French colonies; the complete
integration of the three islands and the
mainland country was a concession by the
Paris government and the National

Even the most determined adversaries of
Guiana's present political status cannot
deny the considerable progress that has
been made since incorporation into the
metropole, particularly in the domains of
health, education and general living stan-
dards. As far as these factors are concerned,
French Guiana is probably ahead of all
countries in South America. On the other
hand, it must not be forgotten that only a
very small population is concerned, no
more than 75,000. The cost for France to
maintain Guiana has never been and is still
not very high. During the second half of the
1970s, the expenses of the DOM repre-
sented only 0.1 to 0.2 percent of the French
budget. In addition, about 90 percent of
public money transferred to Guiana returns
to the metropole in the form of private reve-
nue. This is due to the character of the
Guianese economy, which is essentially
composed of administration and commer-
cial importation, the one depending on the
other. Such a structure makes difficult at-
tempts to develop productive activities. It is
not only the heritage of the country's penal
past, but also the consequence of sche-
matic departmentalization that has made
Guiana a department like any other DOM,
while hardly taking into account its special
socioeconomic nature. Thus, the Guianese
standard of living rests on artificial founda-
tions. It is not a product of its own develop-
ment, depending almost entirely on the
umbilical cord which links it to France.
The hypothesis that Paris has always

maintained domination of Guiana by keep-
ing it underdeveloped can be brushed
aside; departmentalization, which was de-
sired by Guiana, presented the best alterna-
tive in 1946 and remained unchallenged for
some time. Nevertheless, the product of
Guiana's early and recent history is a local
society which is largely parasitic. Respon-
siblity for this falls on France. For the
Guianese, the situation complicates every
attempt to break free from metropolitan tu-
telage. In the event of a rupture with Paris,
many Guianese would be among the losers.
Any cessation or reduction of French finan-
cial transfers would be accutely felt. An alter-
native to this dilemma would be the
development of a productive economy,
which does seem to have been initiated
some years ago, but which still remains in
an embryonic state. Will left-leaning
Guianese and nationalists be prepared for
an end of the "Office Guiana," a radical re-
duction of the tertiary sector, a proletaria-
nization of the Guianese during a transitory
period, in order to allow them to claim their
own destiny independent of France? Of
course, the question of the development of a
productive economy in Guiana also con-
cerns the Paris government. Can France
allow itself a "botanical garden" in South
America? Of what use is Guiana today?
What interests does the metropole have in
its largest DOM?

French Interests
Forestry resources are by far the country's
principal raw material, the exploitation of
which remains of steadfast interest to
France. Although the installation of a pulp-
ing industry was prevented by the oscilla-
tion of world market prices and differences
between Paris and American companies
considering the financing, future renewed
interest in this investment cannot be ruled
out. (The last Giscardian government had
announced it for the end of the 1980s.) The
conventional exploitation of Guianese tim-
ber has increased at an accelerating pace
for some time. It is to be hoped that this will
be maintained within reasonable limits. A
repetition of the manner in which forests are
presently being exploited-and de-
stroyed-in other equatorial regions would
soon lead to the same irreversible devasta-
tion in Guiana that it has already produced
over far larger areas.
Guiana does not appear to be overen-
dowed with mineral resources. To judge
from information so far made public, Baux-
ite reserves remain limited, and other indi-
cations are not too promising, with the
possible exception of kaolin. The exploita-
tion of maritime resources is characterized
above all by the shrimping industry; in the
hands of foreign shipping suppliers (mostly
American and Japanese) for a long time, it
is experiencing the beginning of greater
French participation, although it is not of


prime concern for the metropole, since it is
not a resource which France lacks. Indus-
trial fishing is important for the develop-
ment of Guiana itself. By contrast, the 200-
mile zone of the Guianese coast is of interest
to France, although it has not yet been fully
explored nor its economic value proven.
The European space center at Kourou, in
its present form, represents a foreign body
and appears as a "white town" in a Carib-
bean country. [See article on page 26.] Its
structure is such that social and racial dif-
ferences are reflected with almost caricatur-
ist exaggeration. The economic importance
of the space center for Guiana remains rela-
tively limited. In spite of the declarations
made since its emplacement, such a base
could not by itself replace the productive
economy which the country lacks. This
statement is not contradicted by the fact
that the space center and the "New Kourou"
have undoubtedly brought some infrastruc-
tural improvements to the country.
The base's economic and technological
importance for France and Western Europe
is unquestionable. But is it also of military
importance? In a 1979 interview, former
president Giscard d'Estaing gave the im-
pression that his government did not feel
obliged to rule out a potential military func-
tion for Guiana in spite of France's ad-
herence to the Tlatelolco Treaty, which aims
at prohibiting nuclear arms in Latin Amer-
ica. Putting this aside, it is difficult to see
France's nuclear and strategic interests in
Guiana. On what eventual targetwould it fire
from Kourou, considering that its deterrent
force consists only of medium-range rock-
ets? Another question concerns the trans-
port of nuclear materials from France to the
South Pacific via the Caribbean overseas
departments, the shortest route to the test
center in Polynesia. Finally, there remains
for French Guiana the possible military
function of serving as a launching base for
observation satellites. But even taking these
factors into account, at present the eco-
nomic significance of the Kourou space
center seems to largely outweigh its strate-
gic value. Thus, it appears that the space
center and the commercial Ariane program
are today the foremost metropolitan inter-
ests in Guiana, followed by forest
Do the different DOM and TOM have
complementary functions which can be
grasped only within their joint context?
Such an analysis would raise the question of
whether Guiana is a potential market for the
sale of metropolitan products. Because of
the country's small population, such a hy-
pothesis is immediately invalidated. The
small French enterprises for whom the
DOM and TOM could be important do not
have sufficient power to influence metro-
politan overseas policy; for the larger com-
panies, Guiana and the other DOM and
TOM are not sufficiently important. The

same observation applies to the question of
capital investment. In the Third World,
French capital is mainly concentrated in the
former colonies of black Africa. Because of
the relatively high price of local labor, Paris
has difficulty encouraging businessmen to
invest in the DOM and TOM. Nor has the
scattered empire played an important role
as a supplier of raw materials, with the ex-
ception of New Caledonian nickel. But this
situation is changing as French govern-
ments begin to realize the potential of the
overseas departments and territories, par-
ticularly since the energy crisis.
Still another question concerns the possi-
ble function of the DOM and TOM as re-
serves of labor. Would it be useful for France

not to industrialize them and to use the
resulting emigrant workers (due to lack of
employment locally) in the metropole? The
influx of inhabitants from the DOM to
France has increased since the beginning
of the sixties. In 1980, about 400,000 immi-
grants arrived through the state immigra-
tion service, and even more by spon-
taneous and nonorganized immigration.
The number of foreigners today exceeds
four million; and with the recession from
1973 on, France has been confronted with
the twin difficulties of unemployment and
the presence of numerous immigrants from
the Third World.
Would it, on the other hand, be lucrative
Continued on page 47


On the Edge of Civilization

Paris in the Jungle

By Gerhard Drekonja-Kornat

Ariane Rocket lifts off from Kourou Space Center.
Ariane, Europe's beautiful and power-
ful space rocket, was launched for
the first time in December 1979. The
Kourou space center in French Guiana thus
became the stage where Western Euro-
peans began to challenge the US monopoly
on space transportation. It remains to be
seen what all this will mean for the country.
Although Guiana is part of South Amer-
ica, what meets the eye is French and
French alone: police officers with kepis, an
array of delicacies from Paris in the super-
markets, well-groomed dogs on cleanly
swept streets, chic and elegant ladies non-
chalantly going braless, yesterday's edition
of Le Monde. An overseas department
Gerhard Drekonja-Kornat, a specialist on Latin
America and the Caribbean, is currently work-
ing in Vienna. He is the author of Colombia:
political exterior (1982), Retos de la polltica ex-
terior colombiana (1983), and coeditor of
Teorla y practice de la political exterior lati-
noamericana (1983).

Second launch site under construction at Space Center.

since 1946, Guiana is a bridgehead in
South America for France and the rest of the
European Community.
Guiana is an economic appendage of
France as well. The so-called Green Plan
(Plan Vert) of 1975 failed to spur much
progress. The promising lumber industry
which was to have been promoted within
this context remains stagnant. Tourists shy
away from the apparent desolation of this
jungle-covered region; not even the Club
M6diterran6e has ventured into French
Guiana. Consequently, administrative posts
and payments form the department's eco-
nomic base. It imports 700 million francs
worth of goods per year, while exports bring
in a mere 40 million francs annually.
This far-off enclave is not even capable of
feeding its people. Energy, food, clothing,
shoes, magazines, cycles, language, cul-
ture-most everything is imported from
France; a few thousand backwoodsmen
cultivate sweet potatoes, bananas, green

peppers, rice and sugar. Shrimp, French
Guiana's most important export product,
brings in a little foreign revenue, and the
first tentative steps have just been taken
towards exploiting the country's real
wealth-the vast jungle with its rare woods.
Today, the majority of Guiana's inhabi-
tants remain loyal to France, while several
independence groups continue to operate.
In Cayenne, one repeatedly sees traffic
signs sprayed with the initials FNLG, repre-
senting a separatist movement known in
patois as the Fou Nou Libere la Guyane.
"Such tokens of protest are not likely to ever
stand a chance, because France wants to
keep its European space center," young lan
Hamel tells us as we sit in his tiny sweltering
printing office. Hamel has written an angry
but nonetheless useful text entitled "Les
Guyanais: Franqais en Sursis?" "As sep-
aratists," he notes in a resigned tone, "we
are all totally superfluous. If we were really
ever to gain ground, Paris would in no time


shove a hundred thousand white settlers
into the country so that every plebiscite
could be passed irreproachably!" Paris has
its immigration plans lying ready as a pre-
planned reaction to hesitant initiatives on
the part of small local independence
groups, whose leaders end up in French
prisons time and again. Upon assuming
office, Mitterrand pardoned several of these
activists in a gesture of generosity, despite
the fact that the country is Gaullist to the
The capital city, Cayenne, has carved out
a seedy existence for more than 300 years.
Although loyal to France, it did not experi-
ence economic growth after World War II. As
a result, loosely-constructed residential
buildings, dating from the turn of the cen-
tury, still line the city's quiet boulevards.
These are generally wooden structures with
tiled or rust colored corrugated iron roofs.
Wrought iron work reminiscent of the Eiffel
Tower usually adorns the awning above the
front doors. It is only now that a few scat-
tered concrete blocks are beginning to alter
this idyllic small-town atmosphere.
Not a particle of smog mars the skies
over Cayenne because nothing is produced
or assembled here. It is an administrative
city and lives exclusively on transfers from
Paris, which amply nourish arrogant bu-
reaucrats while the other inhabitants must
improvise. Here, even milk and fresh vege-
tables come from Paris. Combined unem-
ployment and underemployment amount
to 35 percent. Nevertheless, alongside the
yellow rivers which empty into a drowsy sea,
the city leisurely goes about its business,
lulled by the humid heat of the tropics. The
Montabo, Cayenne's only good hotel, keeps
its distance on a hill above the city. As the
town below sulks in a tropical haze, one can
savor a portion of shrimp garnished with
green pepper and enjoy a bottle of rose in
the garden restaurant, while watching the
Air France stewardesses on their flight
layover splash around topless in the hotel's
swimming pool.
People of many races live in Cayennne in
self-chosen segregation. As far as Paris is
concerned, they are all les creoles, loyal
citizens of France with little interest in the

Caribbean Third World. The Africans domi-
nate; Indians, Chinese, Malaysians, Hait-
ians, Brazilians and Guadeloupeens have all
found their ethnic niche, thus making
Cayenne as colored as Kourou is white. This
is a racial mixture with a carefully con-
structed sense of equilibrium, which is why
the entire city protested when France ar-
bitrarily decided in the 1970s to declare
French Guiana a homeland for Indochinese
refugees. That decision, per se, was not
completely devoid of logic. A mere 80,000
people inhabit 91,000 square kilometers of
territory, with almost half the population
concentrated in Cayenne. Yet Paris was
forced to concede. At present, there are only
two pilot settlements of Hmong tribesmen
from Laos. The larger of these accommo-
dates 800 refugees and is located in the
jungle village of Cacao.

The Space Center
Cayenne must now compete with the new
space center at Kourou, 60 kilometers away,
where an elegant white residential district
has sprung up almost overnight. The dif-
ferences are already evident in restaurants,
for example: In Cayenne, one can enjoy
French, Creole, Vietnamese, Chinese or In-
dian cuisine, complete with crocodile steak
and roast armadillo; butthe best cuisine has
moved to Kourou, where European space
engineers are prepared to pay prices above
Paris standards. In the wake of space tech-
nology, the population of Kourou has
soared to 7,000 within a ten-year period.
Meanwhile, the population of Cayenne is
stagnant at 35,000 inhabitants.
Attempts to modernize infrastructure
have been carried out solely in conjunction
with the French-European space center at
Kourou. This new, ultramodern enclave was
built out of a forgotten fishing village when,
in 1964, France was forced to abandon its
rocket base in Hammaguir, Algeria. The po-
litical reliability of the people, the unin-
habited countryside, and the thrust-
increasing proximity of the equator were
factors favoring development of this site.
Between 1968 and 1976, the French
fired over 350 shots from Kourou, con-
centrating their efforts on the modest Dia-

mant carrier. There followed an interval
which ended when the French national
space agency, CNES, persuaded the Euro-
pean Space Agency (ESA) to utilize the
Kourou facilities on a joint basis. In 1977
preparations were begun for launching
Ariane. Today 1,200 highly qualified en-
gineers and technicians are engaged in this
project. Each launching involves some 200
to 300 additional experts brought from
Paris. The entire operation is based on tech-
nical and electronic components produced
in Western Europe.
The neglected road between Cayenne
and Kourou was straightened, paved and
equipped with bridges. The first real port,
Desgrad de Cannes, was constructed to the
east of Cayenne. Meanwhile, Cayenne's air-
port has developed into a thriving storage
area for space technology.
While the old fishing village of Kourou,
with its wooden shacks, continues to
drowse in the rain-soaked tropical heat, the
bustle of a think tank prevails in new
Kourou. French rules as the working and
leisure language. At a bar in the ESA hotel
space engineers sip their planter's punch.
The sea gently laps against the sand beach
which, after a few meters, abruptly gives way
to deep green jungle. A batallion of melan-
cholic foreign legionnaires is in charge of
security. But up to now there has been no
need for action. The white enclave at
Kourou is as isolated as a station in outer
space, light-years away from neglected
Cayenne where youths sullenly hang
around the cafes and dream of owning
French Guiana is a case which runs com-
pletely contrary to Third World develop-
ment. The area is so much a part of France
that, in an emergency, Paris would not hesi-
tate to stockpile atomic elements there,
even though it signed two protocols an-
nexed to the Tlatelolco Treaty specifically
forbidding atomic weapons in Latin Amer-
ica. Even socialist President Mitterrand will
not allow this overseas department to adopt
a Third World position. Geopolitics and the
considerable French-European investment
in space technology at Kourou exclude self-
determination for French Guiana. O





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Collecting the Caribbean

The Not-So-Hidden Politics of Explanation

A Review Essay by Aaron Segal

V-Y r.

Cargo Cutl

Contemporary Caribbean: A Sociological
Reader, Susan Craig, ed. Vol. 1, 404 pp.,
Vol. II, 463 pp. College Press, Trinidad and
Tobago, 1981.

Crisis in the Caribbean, Fitzroy
Ambursley and Robin Cohen, eds. 271 pp.
Monthly Review Press, New York, and
Heinemann, London, 1983. $10
Latin America and Caribbean
Contemporary Record, Vol. 1: 1981-82,
Jack Hopkins, ed. 892 pp. Holmes &
Meier Publishers, Inc., New York, 1983.

The Newer Caribbean: Decolonization,
Democracy, and Development, Paget
Henry and Carl Stone, eds. 348 pp. ISHI,
Philadelphia, 1983.

Readings in Caribbean History and
Economics: An Introduction to the
Region, Roberta Marx Delson, ed. 336 pp.
Gordon and Breach, Inc., New York, 1981.
$66 ($20 textbook price).

The Restless Caribbean: Changing
Patterns of International Relations,
Richard Millett and W. Marvin Wills, eds.
295 pp. Praeger Publishers, New York,
Explaining the Caribbean through ed-
ited collections of original and re-
printed articles has become a minor
Aaron Segal is professor of political science at
the University of Texas, El Paso, and coauthor
of Haiti, Political Failures, Cultural Successes
(Praeger, 1984).

growth industry. No doubt the invasion of
Grenada will accelerate the flow of survey
books that seek to collect the Caribbean
under one cover. So far ambition is well
ahead of results. Each of these six books
has a major and several minor flaws. None
succeeds in capturing the complex, multi-
ple and changing realities of the Caribbean.

A Flawed Collection
The first weakness of authors and editors
alike is the failure to provide a consistent
and defensible geographic definition of the
Caribbean. Ambursley seeks to cover the
Caribbean basin, including Central Amer-
ica, Panama, Mexico, Colombia and Vene-
zuela, but excluding the US. This definition
leads to over 30 countries and 150 million
people with nothing in common except a
Caribbean shoreline. Hopkins limits himself
to the islands of the Caribbean Sea, or 22
countries and about 28 million people at
present. The other four volumes use a Car-
ibbean archipelago, or culture-area con-
cept, that includes the islands, Belize,
Guyana, Suriname and French Guiana, or
26 countries and 30 million people. Several
other authors present a "core Caribbean"
consisting of the 13 Commonwealth Carib-
bean countries and 5 million people.
Sadly, there is nowhere a logical and sus-
tained defense of any of these definitions. In
a preface to the Millett and Wills book, econ-
omist William Demas comes closest when
he argues that the countries of the Carib-
bean archipelago share "many common
features" such as histories of slavery and
African migration, sugar economies and

colonialism. These common features, how-
ever, can also be found in non-Caribbean
societies-as distant as Mauritius and Re-
union in the Indian Ocean.
Whether to rely on geography, culture,
history, language, shared problems, interac-
tions or other criteria to define a region is
difficult in a part of the world as fragmented
as the Caribbean. The failure to provide
criteria, though, leads to confusion, misun-
derstanding and distortion. My own prefer-
ence is for a definition that includes the
islands and four culturally related mainland
societies (Belize, Guyana, Suriname and
French Guiana), but not Central America,
Panama or other Caribbean shore states. It
is a geography, history and culture-area ar-
gument which recognizes that the regional
ties of some societies such as Belize or
French Guiana are weak. The problem is
that most of these books make no attempt
to defend their definitions.
A second common flaw is that of one-
sidedness. Editors have chosen authors
who share their ideological views rather
than attempting to present balanced argu-
ments. The result is lopsided, unfair books.
Susan Craig, who teaches sociology in Trin-
idad, explains that "virtually all of the writers
here, while recognizing the importance of
ethnicity in the Caribbean, stress the essen-
tial class basis of social formation." (And
anyone who does not believe that class is
more important than ethnicity had better
find another book to publish in!) Editors
Ambursley and Cohen limit their book to
dedicated Marxists who are also "demo-
cratic socialists." Editors Henry and Stone



are after dependency theorists and editors
Hopkins, Delson, and Millett and Wills also
stack the deck. Nowhere in these six vol-
umes is there a conservative viewpoint, a
defense of the Reagan administration pol-
icies, or a sample of the cultural pluralism
work ofM. G. Smith and other fine scholars.
Karl Marx died over one hundred years ago
and never got near the Caribbean. M. G.
Smith did his Caribbean fieldwork two to
three decades ago; yet the editors of these
books find space for Marxist views of the
Caribbean but not for those of cultural
The one-sidedness results in seeing
these societies in terms of class, interna-
tional migration, foreign private investment,
dependency, imperialism, neocolonialism
and related labels. Utterly missing are re-
ligion, popular culture, gender, fertility, sci-
ence and technology, language, and other
variables consigned by Marxists to the "su-
perstructure" and derived from economic
determinism. Can we be so sure that re-
ligion and sex do not matter in understand-
ing the Caribbean? Leaving them and other
factors out of these survey books is a sin of
commission, as is packing the volumes
with authors who share an ideological
A third and related flaw is methodologi-
cal. Except for the Millett book, all consist
mostly of single-country and often ahistori-
cal case studies. Few authors compare and
contrast countries or problems within the
region. For instance no one compares the
economic relations between the US and
Puerto Rico with those between Cuba and
the Soviet Union, although there are many
points of comparison and plenty of data.
Single-country case studies have inherent
limitations, especially when they focus on a
short historical period. Also lacking are
cross-cutting studies which look at issues or
problems across the Caribbean. Granted
that small societies have problems with for-
eign investors, why not compare the experi-
ences of Jamaica, Trinidad, and the
Dominican Republic? Rare is the author
willing to go beyond one country and one
language in spite of the Pan-Caribbean
rhetoric that ripples through most of these
The fourth and most pernicious flaw is
the lack of original empirical research in
most of these volumes. Rather than talking
to people about their perceptions of class
and race, author after author prefers to pon -
tificate about the "comprador bourgeoisie,"
the "agroproletariat," "lumpens" and other
artificial and untested stereotypes. The
hard work of research based on data gener-
ation has been replaced by armchair the-
orizing in which facts may be irrelevant.
Both so-called moderates and radicals, with
a few exceptions like Carl Stone and Wendell
Bell in Jamaica who actually interview peo-
ple, shun empirical research in favor of in-

venting or borrowing labels. This kind of
intellectual laziness is the most pathetic ex-
ample of dependency. A shortage of funds
is no excuse for not doing original research
which generates publically accessible data.
These books are full of stale, second-hand
theories without supportive original data.
The minor flaws of these books lie in
presentation. None has graphics, and each
has only one poorly drawn map. Craig has
unpardonably edited two volumes-887
pages containing contributions from 35 au-
thors-without an index. Editors Millett and
Wills find space for their by-lines but not for
any of the other 19 contributors to their

The hard work of research
based on data generation
has been replaced by
armchair theorizing in
which facts may be

book. In general, these books show signs of
having been hastily assembled, poorly ed-
ited, and sloppily presented.

Individual Attributes
Taken one by one, the volumes display a
wide range. Latin America and Carib-
bean Contemporary Record, Volume I:
1981-82 is the first, and certainly a wel-
come and needed effort, to provide a com-
prehensive annual survey of events and
trends. It is based on similar publications by
the same publisher that are widely known
and used for Africa and the Middle East.
Editor Hopkins has put together 60 authors
contributing 21 essays, chapters on 43
countries, and 130 useful pages of docu-
ments and data. It is a good job, but unfortu-
nately the materials on the Caribbean (3
essays and 17 country chapters) are not
nearly as satisfactory as those on Latin
America. The essays are dull and redundant
and focus on US policy at the expense of all
else. The chapters on the smaller islands
lack a first-hand discussion of local politics
and personalities which is so essential to
understanding these countries. Only the
chapters by Baloyra on Cuba and by Wiarda
and Kryzanek on the Dominican Republic
are solid efforts. The $149.50 price for this
892-page book is affordable only by librar-
ies and other institutions, although its refer-
ence utility for individuals is considerable.
Volume II: 1982-83 is underway, and this
series promises to be a valuable source.
Editor Hopkins needs to beef up the Carib-
bean sections by insisting on more first-
hand information and analysis.
Roberta Marx Delson is a historian who

has collected 52 brief excerpts from impor-
tant works on the Caribbean covering the
period from 1500 to the present. It is a good
idea but poorly realized. The book is ex-
plicitly intended as a reader for introductory
courses, but there is no textbook history of
the Caribbean which it can supplement.
Moreover, the brief editorial introductions to
each excerpt fail to fill the many chronologi-
cal and historical gaps, or even to tell us
about the authors and the context of the
excerpts. The book thus has a fragmentary
and abrupt quality which is made worse by
the lack of illustrations and the inclusion of
only one rough map. The editor strongly
urges the Pan-Caribbean theme in her in-
troduction and choice of selections, but the
20th-century material is arbitrarily fitted
into themes and periods. This book gets an
"A" for effort but a "C" for execution.
Richard Millett and W Marvin Wills are
American followers of the Caribbean. Their
collection, published in 1979, has 21 au-
thors writing about the international rela-
tions of the Caribbean under such headings
as international organizations; the roles of
Mexico, Venezuela and Colombia; multi-
national corporations; and the foreign pol-
icies of individual countries such as
Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, and Cuba.
The half-life of this book is short due to its
pursuit of instant topicality and academic
journalism. Six years after writing and five
years after publication, only two of the 21
chapters are still worth reading.These are
Hiller, with his elegant contrast of industrial
Hilton-style and indigenous tourism in the
Caribbean, and Marshall's discussion of
Caribbean emigration which shows respect
for history. Other contributions are out-
dated, incorrect, ahistorical, and no longer
relevant. This book is a washout and a good
example of what to avoid in surveying the
Caribbean; namely, trying to compete with
magazines and journals in book form.
Ambursley is a Jamaican Marxist and
Cohen his British mentor. They are self-
professed "democratic socialists," as are
the other 10 Caribbean and European au-
thors of essays on El Salvador, Nicaragua,
Jamaica, Cuba, St. Vincent, Guyana, Gre-
nada, Suriname, and the French Antilles.
Like Trotsky they want workplace democ-
racy, the right to dissent, socialism, anti-
imperialism, and permanent revolution.
Much of their jargon tells us little about the
capitalist societies in the Caribbean, which
they verbally rip apart, but a great deal about
Cuba, Nicaragua and El Salvador. Not fans
of either Cuban or Soviet ways, some of
these writers carefully delineate between
the Sandinista hard-liners, who have no use
for trade unions, elections or dissent, and
other Nicaraguan socialists. Similarly they
dissect the popular front of the Salvadoran
guerrillas and note very different attitudes
towards political power. One essay reminds
us that Cuba's persistent problem of low







Copyright L. Morston, 1984

labor productivity has much to do with the
absence of dissent or effective participation
at the shop-floor level. Ironically the preinva-
sion chapter on Grenada completely misses
the split there between the hard-liners and
Unfortunately there are few examples in
the Caribbean of workplace democracy,
whether in the form of producer coopera-
tives, worker management, or even profit-
sharing. The democratic socialists fail to-
tally to make the case that complete public
control of the economy of a small country is
compatible with the tolerance of dissent.
Radical economist Clive Thomas critiques
his own Guyana's "state capitalism" and
how it is used to stifle dissent, but has no
suggestions on how political freedom can
be maintained if the private citizen has no
independent resources. Altogether this is a
bad, dogmatic, and simplistic book which
reminds us that not all Marxists are
Paget Henry and Carl Stone are West In-
dian social scientists who have collected 16
essays-12 by Caribbean scholars-
mostly on politics in individual countries
such as Antigua, Jamaica, Guyana, Haiti,
Trinidad and Tobago, and Puerto Rico.

There is abundant rhetoric about depen-
dency, cultural neocolonialism and the evils
of foreign investment, and very little sober,
empirical analysis of life in small, newly in-
dependent societies. There is almost no
effort to compare and contrast between
Caribbean societies in spite of the obvious
need to do so. All the authors espouse de-
pendency theory, but none asks how Cuba's
dependency compares with that of the Do-
minican Republic or Haiti's with that of
What saves this volume from being a
total loss are two excellent, empirically-
based chapters on Jamaica by Carl Stone,
who generates his own regular public opin-
ion poll data. The other contributors talk
about "the masses" but never seem to get
around to talking to them, and certainly not
to listening. Stone carefully traces public
disenchantment between 1972 and 1979
with a radical Jamaican government which
kept pushing measures for which there was
little popular support. He explains the elec-
toral victory of the opposition in 1979 in
terms of swings in public attitudes and
helps us understand the importance of
popular religion and folk values in Jamai-
can society. If we could only clone Carl

Stone and plant him and his polls on every
Caribbean island, or else convince other
theorists to listen as well as preach.
Susan Craig's two volumes of essays by
Caribbean and foreign authors were pub-
lished in Trinidad and are meant to be used
as readers by students at the University of
the West Indies. Pity the poor students, for
the essays are hopelessly one-sided in favor
of a muddled neo-Marxism, badly written
and edited, bereft of an index, and stuffed
with jargon like a meatless turkey. Demog-
rapher Jack Harewood has rescued the sec-
tion on population and migration by
judicious selections of well-researched es-
says on emigration from Suriname, the
Netherlands Antilles and elsewhere. The
other sections-on class and race, agrarian
structures and peasant movements, the
working class (never defined), theory and
ideology, and societies in crisis-run from
bad to awful, with most of the chapters de-
void of empirical analysis, suffused with jar-
gon, and related to categories that live only
in the contributors' brains. It is sad to think
that West Indian university students may
have this reader assigned to them with little
Continued on page 50



2-' '' .LEEWARD


0 200 400 600 M
0 2o0 400 600 00KM

vi of Reou i

Assessn C I Activ

Reviewed by Edward onzalez

The Cuban Threat, Carla Anne Robbins.
351 pp. McGraw-Hill Book Company, New
York, 1983. $17.95. Paperback: 378 pp.
ISHI, Philadelphia, 1984. $9.95.
The New Cuban Presence in the
Caribbean, Barry B. Levine, ed. 274 pp.
Westview Press, Boulder, Colorado, 1983.
$26.60 (cloth), $11.50 (paper).
quarter of a century has transpired
since Fidel Castro triumphed in
1959, thereafter defying seven US
administrations as he radicalized his revolu-
tion, embraced the Soviet Union, pro-
claimed himself a Marxist-Leninist, actively
supported guerrilla movements in Latin
America, and embarked upon large-scale
military operations in Africa starting in the
mid-1970s. Two timely but different books
on Cuba have now been published that ap-
praise Cuba's role in hemispheric and inter-
national affairs.
In The Cuban Threat, Carla Anne Rob-
bins provides us with a sweeping and-
contrary to the book's title-sympathetic
treatment of Cuba in its relations with the
United States, the Soviet Union, Latin Amer-
ica and Africa, starting in 1959. By contrast,
the edited volume by Barry B. Levine, The
New Cuban Presence in the Caribbean,
explores the many facets of Cuba's involve-
ment with individual countries in the Carib-
bean basin, largely from the perspectives of
the countries themselves, while also assess-
ing Havana's policies towards Africa and the
Soviet Union. Despite points of similarities
between some of its individual authors and
Edward Gonzalez is professor of political sci-
ence at UCLA and a resident consultant at The
Rand Corporation, where he recently headed
a project on Caribbean basin security and
published the report, A Strategy for Dealing
with Cuba in the 1980s (September 1982). He
is the author of Cuba Under Castro: The Limits
of Charisma (1974).

Robbins, the Levine volume overall offers a
less benign view of Cuba's regional and in-
ternational roles.

Permissive Compliance
In The Cuban Threat, Robbins analyzes the
many controversies surrounding Cuba's
foreign relations and global activities from
1959 through the early 1980s. As a conse-
quence, the book offers general audiences a
useful, highly readable survey of Cuba's in-
volvement in world politics. More knowl-
edgeable readers may also find it a handy,
although not authoritative reference in re-
viewing Cuban activities. Most assuredly,
however, critics of US policy should be
pleased by the Robbins book.
In his forward, Wayne S. Smith, the for-
mer chief of the US Interest Section in
Havana, writes that US policy towards Cuba
has often "exaggerated the magnitude of
the so-called Cuban problem" by its preoc-
cupation with "shadows rather than sub-
stance." Indeed, it becomes clear that
Robbins' underlying thesis is that the Cuban
problem has always been and remains over-
blown. Save for the 1962 missile crisis, she
thus concludes that "... Cuba does not now
and has never posed an objective threat to
American power or security in the
From all appearances, the Robbins book
is a serious study. Yet the apparent thor-
oughness and balance of the analysis is
often suspect because of her evident pre-
disposition to make a case for Cuba, ulti-
matelyjustifying Fidel Castro's international
behavior, minimizing its consequences, or
singling out US policy as the root cause of
the Cuban controversy. The problem with
this kind of approach does not lie with seek-
ing to exonerate or even understand Cuban
policy, nor does it have to do with criticizing
or defending US policy. Instead, the prob-

lem lies with the emphasis that Robbins
places on the reactive dimensions of Cuban
behavior, rather than on the Castro regime's
own interests, motivations and objectives
underlying its domestic and foreign pol-
icies. Worse still, in trying to make her case,
she sometimes skews or omits evidence
that would refute her assertions.
A case in point is Robbins' analysis of US-
Cuban relations during the fateful 1959-60
period. To her credit, she does not fully sub-
scribe to the simplistic notion-now a myth-
ology in some circles-that Washington
forced Havana into a communist revolution
aligned with the Soviet Union. However, by
minimizing the strong anti-American and
pro-communist tendencies within the Cas-
tro inner circle, and Fidel's need to impose a
popular dictatorship in order to maintain his
power and carry out revolutionary change,
Robbins implies that perhaps something
like a social democratic regime might have
emerged in Cuba had US policy been more
responsive in 1959-60. To our astonish-
ment, for example, we learn that, as a lawyer
by training, Fidel was "sensitive to the tradi-
tions of due process"-notwithstanding the
fact that in March 1959, Cuba's enraged
lidermiximo forced the retrial of members
of Batista's air force who had been acquitted
by a three-man revolutionary court (com-
posed of former rebel officers); or that a
parody of justice characterized many of the
revolutionary tribunals and the trial of Major
Huber Matos and others.
Robbins also asserts-without support-
ing evidence-that during 1959 "Castro
was apparently still quite interested in some
accommodation with the United States."
She then maintains that even with the na-
tionalization of US properties in 1959-60,
Washington could still have averted a crisis:
"Washington might have extended Havana
a loan to help Cuba pay off American busi-


ness interests or increased the sugar quota
to ensure that American business interests
would be treated fairly.... With generosity
and patience, Washington might well have
demonstrated to Castro the many benefits
of continued trade with the United States."
However, Robbins omits the fact that during
Castros visit to the United States in April
1959, US government officials were eager
to discuss loans with his economic ad-
visors, as attested by Felipe Pazos, Rufo
Lopez-Fresquet and others, and that Castro
precluded them from doing so. While there
is much to criticize in US policy, it is unlikely
that the US-Cuban confrontation could
have been headed off by US economic in-
centives. For Castro and his entourage, the
United States was and is Cuba's historic en-
emy; hence, traditional US-Cuban eco-
nomic linkages had to be reduced rather
than increased in order to minimize US lev-
erage over the new revolutionary regime. To
subscribe to a prescription of generosity
and patience, or what might be called the
Dr. Spocktreatment for the Cuban problem,
is thus to misread the fidelista agenda,
then and now.
In essence, the US-Cuban conflict
emerged and persists because contradic-
tory interests-as opposed to conflictive
ones-provide a structural basis for perma-
nent antagonism. These interests lock the
two actors into adversarial relationships be-
cause, in pursuing their respective core in-
terests, each of the actors invariably harms
the fundamental interests of the other. Nei-
ther party can compromise because to do
so would mean abandoning fundamental
interests and objectives that each deems
essential to its domestic and international
For example, the Castro regime's power
as well as security is tied to the USSR. Ever
since 1960, therefore, Fidel has sought to

exploit that relationship in order to not only
obtain critically needed Soviet economic
and security assistance, but also to satisfy
his ambitions as an international actor.
Thus, his collaborative military ties with the
Soviets, his large-scale military operations
in Angola and Ethiopia, and his renewed
support for revolutionary movements in the
Caribbean basin, have helped him secure
$25 billion in Soviet economic assistance
since 1960, with roughly 70 percent of that
aid pouring in since 1975, in addition to
massive infusions of Soviet arms and mili-
tary equipment. Cuba's military, political
and technical assistance programs over-
seas-subsidized by the USSR-have also
propelled Cuba onto the world stage. Yet, it
is precisely many of these activities, so es-
sential to Cuba's domestic and international
position, that the United States finds inju-
rious to its own interests in the Caribbean,
Latin America and Africa. If this structural
antagonism is to be overcome, therefore,
either Washington or Havana must aban-
don their respective contradictory global in-
terests and roles.
In effect, Robbins does ask the United
States to abandon its role and respon-
sibilities as a great power in calling for a
"new" and more "realistic" policy towards
Havana that would strive for mutual accom-
modation between the two parties. But the
accommodation is one-sided because the
United States should not, as in the past, ask
"for too much" from the Cubans: "Specifi-
cally, that the Cubans forswear any and all
future overseas involvements. Each time
the Cubans refused. Beyond the issue of
national sovereignty, the Cubans are not
going to let anyone, not even the Soviets, tell
them what they can and cannot do in their
foreign policy." That such involvements are
a matter of national sovereignty, which has
always been the Cuban position, is not only

sheer nonsense, but is also a rationale per-
mitting interventionism by any party. Surely
Robbins would not be equally permissive
towards US overt and covert interventionist
practices. Her way out of this apparent dou-
ble standard is thus to diminish the Cuban
threat past and present as seen by the sub-
stance and tone of her account of Cuban
activities and capabilities.
For example, she passes off early efforts
to "export revolution" because there were
"only three offensives" launched from Cuba
in 1959, against Panama, Haiti and the Do-
minican Republic; each was "small and
poorly armed, and all failed." (Presumably,
therefore, it would be proper for Cuba to
keep trying to overthrow regimes as long as
its efforts failed.) Later, she downplays the
significance of Cuban support for armed
rebellion against the democratic Betan-
court government that begar in 1960 by
noting only that Havana's "alleged subver-
sive activities" led to Caracas' breaking dip-
lomatic ties in 1961.Also, by the mid-1960s
many moderate Latin American leaders
had been simply "alienated" by Fidel's "few
ill-conceived attempts to export revolution."
Having acknowledged intelligence reports
of large-scale Cuban arms shipments to the
Sandinistas during the FSLN final offensive
in spring 1979, she nevertheless maintains
that the Cubans have become a stabilizing
force for "moderation and caution" in Nic-
aragua, and that "Havana learned a long
time ago that revolutions cannot be ex-
ported." Such a conclusion not only accepts
the Cuban line uncritically, but also is con-
tradicted by the evidence-some of it men-
tioned by Robbins herself-that Havana
actively supplies the Salvadoran guerrillas
with politico-military advice, training and
logistical support.
Cuba's overseas military operations are
also cast in the best possible light. To be


sure, Robbins is probably right on two
counts regarding the Angolan operation:
that Havana initiated the action on its "own
free will," but that Cuba would not have
made such a large-scale troop commit-
ment had Moscow opposed it. But then she
repeatedly underrepresents the magnitude
of that commitmentby citing initial Western
estimates that had the Cuban build-up
peaking at only 18,000 to 19,000 combat
troops. In his 27 December 1979, speech to
the National Assembly of People's Power,
however, Castro revealed that Cuban com-
bat troops reached 36,000 in 1976-a fact
which Robbins buried in a single footnote.
With respect to Ethiopia, she argues that
Cuba's decision to stay out of the Eritrean
conflict should constitute "objective proof"
of the independence of Cuban policy in the
Ethiopian operation. Yet, some 20 pages
later she notes in passing that the Soviets
were "calling the shots" in Ethiopia, which
would seem to contradict her assessment of
Cuba's independent rather than surrogate
role in the Ethiopian operation. Indeed, she
attaches no military or strategic signifi-
cance to the high degree of Cuban-Soviet
coordination and collaboration whereby the
Soviets not only transported and armed
Cuban combat forces, but also assumed
command of the 12,000-man Cuban Expe-
ditionary Force, which is incorrectly num-
bered at 17,000.
Hence in the final analysis, Robbins' as-
sertion that Cuba does not pose an "objec-
tive threat" to US power and security in the
hemisphere becomes an arguable proposi-
tion given Cuba's active support for guerrilla
wars in Central America, its demonstrated
capacity for military intervention abroad,
and its close military collaboration with the
Soviets in Africa and the Caribbean. Indeed,
Cuba's threat potential is greater still if one
assesses its present and future military ca-
pacity for the interdiction of strategic sea
lanes of communication (SLOC) and the
projection of Cuban (and Soviet) power in
the Caribbean-an assessment that, curi-
ously, Robbins does not offer the reader in
her concluding chapter, "Debunking the
Cuban Myth."

Cuban Power
Such an assessment would show a more
than doubling of Cuba's total armed forces
to some 227,000 personnel since the early
1970s, a buildup which started prior to An-
gola, continued through the more accom-
modative line of the Carter administration,
and which thus preceded the hard-line
stance of the Reagan administration. It
would further show a developing offensive
capability that now presents US defense
planners with potential problems in assur-
ing the security of the SLOCs and other
targets in the Caribbean, in the event of a
major international crisis that could lead to a

military conflict with the Soviet Union. For
the United States, the Florida Straits and
other SLOCs near Cuba are critical arteries
through which crude and refined petroleum
imports are obtained; more importantly,
they are the arteries through which US mili-
tary supplies and troop reinforcements
must pass in the event of military engage-
ments in Europe and the Middle East.
Today, Cuba's growing offensive ca-
pability consists of more than 200 MiG air-
craft, including several squadrons of
MiG-21s and three squadrons of MiG-23s,
which are likely to increase in the years
ahead, with both aircraft having combat
radii over 500 n.mi. Although still small in
number, the Cuban navy's surface vessels
and submarines could also pose an inter-
diction threat, particular if mines are
placed at a few strategic "choke points" in
the Caribbean. The presence in Cuba of the
largest Soviet electronic intelligence facility
outside the USSR greatly strengthens
Cuba's interdiction potential, while the is-
land is used by Soviet naval vessels and
reconnaissance and anti-submarine air-
craft in their frequent forays into the Carib-
bean. To neutralize these and other
capabilities would require a large-scale de-
ployment of US naval and air power be-
cause of the island's heavy air defenses.
The point of the above assessment is not
that Havana intends to use its growing ca-
pabilities-which cannot be determined
beforehand-nor is there any doubt con-
cerning US ability to destroy Cuba in a one-
on-one confrontation. Rather, the issue is
that the United States may not be able to
ensure the security of the SLOCs if a con-
ventional war situation develops with the
USSR (or its proxies) in Europe or the Mid-
dle East; were that conflict prolonged, and
US forces drawn down, then the United
States might be left with insufficient air and
naval units to deter Cuba from acting as a
supportive ally of the Soviet Union. In such
an eventuality, the United States might have
to rely on a preemptive strike or nuclear
deterrent against Cuba.
Robbins' assertions to the contrary, US
security concerns and those of other Carib-
bean basin states would be further height-
ened were other states in the basin to
become military and revolutionary allies of
Cuba. In this respect, Grenada no longer
poses a problem as a potential basing facil-
ity that could have formed an integral part of
a "hostile triangle" astride the basin. But a
"hostile axis" may still be developing be-
tween Cuba and Nicaragua, and potentially
could be augmented by El Salvador; such a
military alignment could see Nicaragua be-
come a staging base for Cuban and Soviet
power projection, while acquiring a heavy
weapons capability of its own and continu-
ing to actively support a "revolution without
borders" in Central America. Were such a
future to materialize, the region could be-

34/CAifBBEAN I~viE

come increasingly balkanized and the
basin's security endangered because of
growing military and guerrilla threats.
Robbins and others sharing her perspec-
tive posit a more comforting view that holds
that Cuban activities do not pose a serious
threat at all. With some qualifications, this
reviewer could have agreed with that as-
sessment 10 or 20 years ago. However, the
challenges that the United States faces in
the 1980s bear only partial resemblance to
those of the 1960s or early 70s. As I have
suggested, both Cuba and the USSR have
developed greatly strengthened conven-
tional military and revolutionary capabilities
in the intervening years, while a new Marx-
ist-Leninist regime now exists in Nicaragua
and, coordinating with Havana, actively
supports guerrilla struggles in Central
America. Moreover, as indicated by many of
the contributions in Barry B. Levine (ed.),
The New Cuban Presence in the Carib-
bean, both the regional and international
environments have changed dramatically
in the 1970s and 1980s, as have Cuba's
roles and activities in those environments.

World-Class Actor
In The New Cuban Presence in the Car-
ibbean, Levine has assembled articles that
first appeared in a special issue of Carib-
bean Review in 1980. Those original arti-
cles have now been considerably enlarged,
revised, and updated; and they have been
augmented by several new contributions.
The result is an expanded book in which 14
individual contributions by different authors
explore the political dynamics between
Cuba and the rest of the Caribbean basin,
and Cuba's relationship with Africa, the
Third World and the two superpowers. In
turn, many of the authors disagree as to the
significance of Cuba's global activities, and
thus their diverse viewpoints reflect the cur-
rent character of the US and Latin American
debate on the Cuban issue. Nonetheless, for
better or worse, all agree that Cuba has
emerged as a world-class actor both in the
Caribbean basin and elsewhere in the
Levine's introductory article on the geo-
political and cultural significance of the Car-
ibbean for US-Cuban rivalry succinctly and
insightfully sums up the region's dominant
dimensions. It deftly sketches the historical
and contemporary importance of the seven
sea lanes that pass through the Caribbean,
and the growing political-ideological
schisms that now overlay the traditional
colonial, ethnic, linguistic and cultural divi-
sions of the larger basin. In this respect,
Levine notes that Fidel Castro and the
Cuban revolution marked a historical turn-
ing point for the region, bringing with it the
"autumn of the patriarch," infusing the
East-West struggle into the region, and in-
tensifying right-left ideological polarization

within and between Caribbean societies. In-
deed, Cuba itself was split. The Cubans of
the exile became the "Phoenicians of the
Caribbean." The Cubans of the island-a
society of "ideological plentifulness and
economic meagerness"-engaged in dip-
lomatic and military forays, becoming the
"Spartans of the Caribbean."
The significance of Havana's Spartan for-
ays in the Caribbean basin and Africa is
evaluated differently by several authors. In
his account, William M. LeoGrande briefly
traces Cuban involvement in the Nic-
araguan revolution, and then concentrates
on the deterioration of Nicaraguan-US rela-
tions after the Reagan administration came
into office. LeoGrande seems to suggest
that the Cuban presence and influence in
Nicaragua was essentially benign through
1981, as emphasis is placed on Cuba's eco-
nomic and technical assistance programs
to that war-torn country, and on the new
FSLN regime's pursuing a non-Cuban
model in its economic and political policies.
In his assessment of Cuba's Third World
strategy, H. Michael Erisman also finds that
Cuba embarked upon a "mature globalism"
in the period after 1975, with the Angolan
operation transforming Cuba into a "signifi-
cant actor in international politics." Even
after 1980, when Cuba reordered its Third
World priorities to concentrate on the Carib-
bean basin, Erisman believes that the Cas-
tro government adopted a low-risk policy
that counseled caution to revolutionary
movements and regimes in the region, re-
frained from systematically exporting revo-
lution, and accepted a diversity of
revolutionary outcomes in Nicaragua and
Grenada. In still another article that chroni-
cles the renewed tension between Cuba and
the United States, Max Azicri believes it un-
likely that Cuba would forego its proletarian
internationalism as part of a quid pro quo
with the United States, but proposes that
there is "enough room for each country's
international commitments and interests"
for a viable rapprochement.
Other authors, however, argue that
Cuba's strategic line remains committed to
a high degree of global activism and expan-
sionism, with essentially only tactical shifts
occurring in response to external develop-
ments. In reviewing the relations between
Havana and the Latin American communist
parties, Luis E. Aguilar notes the close rela-
tionship that developed between Havana
and the FSLN leadership following the
Sandinista victory, with Cuba "guiding the
new government along a cautious but
steady Marxist course." Moreover, it signals
a critical change separating the post-1979
period from the 1960s; in contrast to the
latter, the 1980s have seen Moscow and the
orthodox communist parties supporting
Havana's strategy of armed struggle as a
result of the lessons learned from the Nic-
araguan revolutionary experience.

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In Africa, Aaron Segal observes that ide-
ology is not enough to explain Cuba's forays
because as it sought visible successes, "it
often paid little attention to the nature of its
new allies." He goes on to conclude that
Havana's military operations in Angola and
Ethiopia have kept two governments in
power, now clients of Cuba and the USSR;
both operations returned Fidel to center
stage internationally, and these and other
African activities were undertaken at the ex-
pense of the sick Cuban economy. Yet, de-
spite the increasing costs of its Angolan and
Ethiopian involvements, Segal believes that

"Cuba needs them as political triumphs in
an austere economy and society."
Robert A. Pastor, the Carter administra-
tion's Latin American specialist in the Na-
tional Security Council, explores the
symbiotic relationship between Havana and
Moscow. Analyzing the close economic, po-
litical, military and attitudinal bonds that tie
Cuba to the Soviet Union, he argues that
Moscow will retain considerable power "to
compel Cuban foreign policy to remain
within proscribed boundaries." In geo-
graphic and issue areas of high priority to
Moscow, the boundaries appear tighter and


Lowell Gudmundson Kristjanson
"a good example of the growing literature on Latin American
social history and demography.... a welcome addition to a small
but important historiography on the more peripheral areas of the
Spanish colonial world." Susan Socolow,
Journal of Economic History
"the study is a good analysis, showing conclusively that colonial
society was not a rural democracy, as traditionally believed."
J. Ignacio Mendez,
The American Historical Review
"The author has given us a very realistic appraisal of certain
aspects of early Costa Rican life,..." James L. Busey,
Hispanic American Historical Review
"Censuses and hacienda reports form the basis of the data
used... and the trends are convincingly demonstrated".
Elizabeth Thomas-Hope,
Journal of Latin American Studies
"Costa Rican historians continue to lead, as the most
sophisticated in Central America. Several combine careful
archival research with imaginative statistical manipulation of
large quantities of data. Gudmundson's works exemplify this
social science approach". Murdo McLeod,
Handbook of Latin American Studies

Jacobo Schifter Sikora, Lowell Gudmundson,
and Mario Solera Castro
The first comprehensive study of the characteristics and history
of the Jewish community in Costa Rica, highlighting the Polish
immigration of the 1930s, the migrant experience, and the
establishment of community institutional life since then.
Both volumes available from:

Editorial Universidad Estatal a Distancia
San Jose, Costa Rica

Cuban compliance or coincidence of inter-
ests tighter. Thus, Pastor notes that al-
though Cuba was pursuing its own
interests, its Angolan operation would not
have been possible without Soviet acquies-
cence and large-scale logistical support,
while Cuban forces in Ethiopia were fully
under Soviet command and totally depen-
dent upon Soviet transport and supplies.
Pastor notes that Cuba enjoys greater
freedom of maneuver in Central America
and the Caribbean. However, there may
arise differences in Cuban-Soviet priorities
owing to Moscow's reluctance to commit
Soviet power and resources to a distant re-
gion where it is unlikely to gain more bene-
fits than already provided by Cuba. Yet
Cuba's relative capacity to act autono-
mously in the region may also result in
fewer constraints on the Castro govern-
ment. Pastor thus notes that Fidel, em-
boldened by the Sandinista victory in 1979,
sought to accelerate the revolutionary proc-
ess in El Salvador and Guatemala, even
while he cautioned the FSLN to slow the
revolutionary process in Nicaragua. As a
consequence, there is a constancy in the
Castro regime's behavior: "Cuban foreign
policy has been singular in its pursuit of
consolidating revolution at home and pro-
moting it abroad, but tactics have changed
as Cuban needs have developed, as targets
of opportunity have appeared, and as de-
pendence on the Soviet Union has
How, then, does Pastor answer his ques-
tion, "Does Cuba act alone?" He believes
that the Cubans do make "tactical foreign
policy decisions," but that the Soviets make
the "strategic decisions" which involve the
deployment of Cuban combat forces. He
sums up Cuba's role in the world thusly:
".. Cuba is a small country with a big
country's foreign policy. No other develop-
ing nation maintains more diplomatic mis-
sions, intelligence operatives, and military
advisors and troops abroad than does
Cuba.... The gap between its internal re-
sources and its external capabilities is filled
by the Soviet Union, not because of altru-
ism, but because the Soviets are assured
that what the Cubans do abroad will serve
their purposes."
Examining the exportability of the Cuban
revolutionary model, Antonio Jorge traces
the increases in Cuba's direct involvement
in the Central American struggles, begin-
ning with the Nicaraguan revolution. The
roots of Cuban expansion are systemic, and
they are found in Cuba's unique combina-
tion of a "totalitarian state of Stalinist filia-
tion" that has been grafted upon the
"caudillo sociohistorical ancestry" of
fidelismo. According to Jorge, the signifi-
cance of the Cuban model in the interna-
tional arena lies not with its developmental
function. Rather it lies with Cuba as an actor
that appears "... as a ready and willing


abettor and supporter of assorted discon-
tent and disgruntlements throughout the
Third World, always on the lookout for po-
tential rewards for its moves."

The Cuban Card
The presence of Castros Cuba, however,
also enables "the Cuban card" to be played
by various basin governments for purposes
of both domestic and regional politics. In a
fascinating article, Anthony P. Maingot
shows how the card has been played differ-
ently by leftist, radical Marxist, and more
conservative players alike in the British
Commonwealth countries of the Caribbean.
For example, Michael Manley used the card
to strengthen his leftist legitimacy within his
party's ranks through close ties with Cuba,
while using those ties to oust communists
from membership within the party. In Gre-
nada, the Bishop government's ties to
Havana initially shored it up in the political,
economic and security areas, while also
providing it with a "mantle of revolutionary
urgency" that helped legitimize the sup-
pression of dissent and opposition by the
government. Even Trinidad, under Eric
Williams, played the Cuban card by adopt-
ing a strong anti-Castro line in the 1960s,
and then reversing that line by the 1970s,
partly as a function of domestic sub-
versive and external (Venezuelan) threat
Additional articles by Steve C. Ropp on

Panama, Henry S. Gill on Mexico, and De-
metrio Boersner on Venezuela, skillfully de-
pict similar exploitations of the Cuban card
by these countries in their domestic and
foreign affairs, although less so by Venezu-
ela owing to the Cuban-backed guerrilla in-
surgency of the 1960s. Concluding articles
by Gordon K. Lewis and Franklin W Knight
point up the complexities of Caribbean poli-
tics and the need for greater understanding
of the region's dynamics. Lewis is particu-
larly concerned that much of the Caribbean
left is "set within the mold of hardline Stali-
nism" and, following Cuba's example, could
cut the region off from the West. Both he
and Knight urge that the region thus be
insulated from the East-West conflict.
In this respect, the Cuban presence in the
Caribbean basin provides a conduit for the
intensification of ideological conflict and
the further introduction of a Soviet pres-
ence, direct and indirect. But as Lewis and
others note, the growth of Marxist-Leninist
groups in much of the basin over the past
decade or so also attracts and is nourished
by Cuba's heightened activities in the politi-
cal, technical, intelligence and military
arenas. Thus, who is playing the Cuban card
is likely to determine how it shall be played
and with what consequences for individual
basin societies.
For example, the strength and indepen-
dence of Mexico's or Trinidad's ideological
and institutional moorings may well enable


is available in Microform.

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(name of publication)

300 North Zeeb Road 30-32 Mortimer Street Street
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their political leaders to play the Cuban card
without repercussions to their respective
societies and polities. In contrast, with its
fraction-ridden minority Marxist-Leninist
party, Grenada's Cuban connection led to
quite different and tragic results for Maurice
Bishop and his people. At the end of four-
and-a-half years, the Soviet presence on the
island was growing; the Bishop government
was increasingly hewing to Soviet and
Cuban policy advice, and Havana evidently
lost control of some of its Grenadian clients,
such as Bernard Coard and Gen. Hudson
Austin, as they sought Soviet backing in
their power struggles within the party's Cen-
tral Committee. Although Nicaragua may
end differently, the very closeness and multi-
dimensionality of Managua's ties with
Havana suggest that Nicaragua, too, may
be on the "same clock" as Cuba was some
20 years ago, even if that clock is moving
In any event, The New Cuban Presence
in the Caribbean is indispensable reading
for those wishing to gain insight into the
basin's complex political forces and dynam-
ics. Unlike The Cuban Threat, it provides a
basis upon which the United States can pur-
sue its role as a great power by adopting a
policy that takes the form neither of ineffec-
tual bellicosity nor of permissive com-
pliance towards Cuba, while still accepting
the ideological and political diversity of
basin states. E

Competition, Cooperation,
Efficiency and
Social Organization
Introduction to a Political
by Antonio Jorge
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.
ISNB 0-8386-2026-4 L.C. 76-20272
RO. Box 421, Cranbury, New Jersey 08512


Calzada's Architecture of


Reconstruction of an Envisioned Past

By Ricardo Pau-Llosa

In Cuba, architectural imagery is one of
the most powerful subjects of the is-
land's art, perhaps second only to the
human figure itself, and easily on a par with
that of flora and of the landscape. The cen-
tral figure of Cuba's modern art, Amelia
Pelaez, concentrated on the metaphor of the
colonial stained-glass window, or vitral, as
a device by which to juxtapose colonial and
modern sensibilities. The vitral, a motif
which finds strong echoes in the works of
Cundo Bermlidez, Ren6 Portocarrero,
Mario Carrefo and Jose Mijares, among
others, establishes the tradition connecting
an architectural image with a conception of
the painting's function in aesthetic and so-
cial terms. In Pelaez, a connection is estab-
lished between the window and the
painting. Through the work of art, the
viewer can see the elementary brilliance of
the tropical landscape, the juxtaposition of
colonial and modern identities, and the
powerful link between what is remembered
and the structure of images which actually
comprises a memory, that is, the architec-
ture of memory itself.
Since he began to exhibit his work se-
riously, 40-year-old Cuban-born Humberto
Calzada has focused on the architecture of
colonial times which flourished throughout
the Caribbean, and which is often associ-
ated with rosy visions of a vanished, aristo-
cratic, maternal past. Calzada's recent
paintings present a new formulation of the
connection between memory and architec-
ture. They demonstrate that it is possible to
go from sincere nostalgia to hard-nosed
analysis of how visual imagery can be made
to structure, and not just to invoke memory.
The paintings have retained the friendly,
powerful, deceptively naive colors of inno-
cent or primitive paintings. But there is a
strong element of terror in these works. Ve-
randas have been removed, walls rise like
tombstones, stairs wind and cross through
scenes which betray no function, no human
use, not even a human absence. These are
houses of memory, of consciousness.
Emilio Sanchez is another artist who has
explored Cuba's colonial architecture as a
Ricardo Pau-Uosa teaches Latin American art
at Florida International University. He is senior
editor (for Latin America) of Art International

constant motif. In his work, the theme of
human absence is very strong. His houses
often seem isolated in a stark landscape. His
are images of houses purified of all anec-
dote, resting on the horizon like an object in
a still life. But Sanchez's purity aims at
something very different from the aspira-
tions of Calzada's houses. Sanchez is in-
tensely preoccupied with the identity of the
house as an object. He owes much to a
device coined by the surrealists and later
exploited successfully by the pop artists:
isolation-the strict focus of the artist's
(and viewer's) gaze on the thing at hand.
The device functions best when targeting
everyday objects which are consequently
made to appear unfamiliar, mysterious. In
many ways, this device is one of surrealism's
best assimilated borrowings from
But Calzada's approach, which can also
be traced to romanticism and surrealism, is
markedly different from Sanchez's: the
house or the doorway is not a unit, a com-
plex of geometric patterns which assemble
themselves into a pure, recognizable image
much as meanings cluster, often irra-
tionally, around a word. Calzada is less con-
cerned with the nature of objects than with
the nature of atmospheres, or with struc-
tures which, composed of geometric abso-
lutes, can serve as the scenario of an act of
consciousness, particularly an act which
transcends time. Calzada is aware of a mille-
nial tradition that binds architectural spaces
with memory, a tradition which starts with
Simonides of Ceos in ancient Greece, con-
tinues into the Augustan age with the theo-
rist and architect Vitruvius, and surfaces
once more among cabalists and humanists
of the Renaissance like Alberti, Bruno, and
Camillo. In our age Bachelard, and before
him the great symbolist poets of France,
have studied carefully the relationship be-
tween architecture and the framework of
consciousness by which not only the pres-
ent and the past, but also the future can be

Calzada's Perspective
Often Calzada uses an exaggerated sense of
perspective to increase the visual move-
ment and the sense of anxiety which a paint-

ing conveys. This is evident in "The Wish," a
work which uses the minimum of imagery
to create an overpowering sense of absorp-
tion in the viewer. A similar play on perspec-
tive is seen in "The Yearning, II." Archetypal
symbols like window, stair, wall, shadow,
and door are arranged by Calzada to form
what is the equivalent of an abstract sense, a
line of poetry filled with internal rhyme and
subtle yet clear rhythm.
Calzada also plays on the fact that build-
ings and rooms are unconsciously con-
ceived as extensions of the human body.
"The Colossus" plays on the personification
of architecture with tremendous subtlety.
"Living in a Calendar" likewise establishes
links between the ancient practice of mea-
suring time with a sundial and the fact that
human life is totally enclosed in a culture's
sense of time and history. The house in
"Living in a Calendar" is very much like a
cage, as it also invokes labyrinths and tem-
ples. Similar interests are dramatized in
"Shelter as Emphasis," in which the pure
house of consciousness is depicted in
terms of hard-edged, geometric absolutes,
and in "The Truce," one of the best-handled
paintings of this group. In "The Truce,"
complex visual problems associated with
perspective and the breakup of spatial ex-
tension into layers is achieved in spite of the
fact that the painting's center is dominated
by the imposing white rectangle of a frontal
wall. The half-open door and the marginal
spaces on the sides give the painting a com-
pressed, soaring openness which is bal-
anced by elevating and descending steps,
the wall and the tiled floor.
It is with paintings like "The Truce" that
Calzada's intentions become clear. The
painting, and not just the images repre-
sented in it, is architectural. That is, the
painting comes to be thought of as a space
which is divided, organized and, indeed, in-
habited by architectural images. The paint-
ing is a space in which something lives, and
that something is the concept of space
turned into dwelling. Architectural images
in Calzada become the fundamental blocks
from which the edifice of the painting is
For this reason, Calzada's transcendence
of folklore represents an important phase in


his work and in the trajectory of the architec-
tural motif in Latin American art. In con-
structing an architecture whose images
refer to things in the world (buildings, hori-
zon, sea, door, etc.) but whose composition
is imaginary (referring to a poetic, or in-
vented life-space in the mind), he has laid
the foundations of an imagery which ad-
dresses a culture's sense of its own identity
in history while seeking the clues to this
identity in a personal, yet unconscious
world. Calzada has not abandoned a sense
of region, only regionalism. He has not dis-
carded the Caribbean or its colonial archi-
tecture; he has transcended the limitations
imposed by nostalgia on thinking or feeling
genuinely about the place of one's origins
and childhood.
Finally, Calzada has entered into a realm
of which he perhaps is not fully aware him-
self. This is a metaphysical realm in which
space, matter, identity and time come to-
gether through the human act of remem-
bering. By remembering we do more than
merely recall things, people or events; we
give the past a life in the present, the con-
stant present which is consciousness. We
also change the past; that is, by remember-
ing we change the contents of the past, its
make-up, its events. Calzada's work reflects
this overlapping of present and past in-
volved in memory by juxtaposing colonial
themes with a modern, oneiric sense of
space and composition.
Calzada does more than juxtapose im-
ages of the past and present; he shows that
there is no real boundary between the two
realms, that there is no sense of the past if it
is not remembered in living consciousness,
and that there can be no sense of identity for
living individuals if it is not derived from a
sense of the past and of the future. By re-
stricting himself to architectural imagery,
he has hit upon the archetypal image of the
mind itself as the storehouse of memory
and the generator of consciousness and
identity. He has found the compact but pre-
cise body of images by which a sense of
time can be fused with a sense of matter
and place, and these with the adventure
of finding one's identity in the flux and
accidents of history, geography and
civilization. O

Top: Shelter as Emphasis." Center: "The Truce BottomLiving in a Calendar."

Top:"Shelter as Emphasis." Center: "The Truce." Bottom:"Living in a Calendar."


East Asia
Continued from page 9

what kind of state action intervenes in the
economy. State policies that are pro-busi-
ness and pro-competition can be promot-
ers of, rather than obstacles to, economic
success. To this may be added the cultural
fact that, in Jamaica, government has been
a major vehicle of social mobility for blacks,
while business has very largely been domi-
nated by mulattos and whites. To the extent
that business opens up opportunities for
the black majority of Jamaicans, govern-
ment may lose some of its attractiveness,
and its contraction may become more pal-
atable politically.
Can Jamaica eventually become a Carib-
bean Taiwan? Not exactly. To be sure, no
model is ever repeated in every detail. Both
the economic and the sociocultural con-
stellations are different. All the same, given
time and reasonable stability, there are
good grounds for optimism for Jamaica's
economic future.

Jamaica's Importance
What is the American stake in Jamaica's
future? Without entering into the current
debate over United States policies in Central
America and the Caribbean, suffice it to say
that, as far as the Caribbean is concerned, a
further expansion of Cuban and Soviet
domination in that region would be inimical
to vital US interests. Stated positively, it is a
vital US interest that the Caribbean coun-
tries attain reasonable political stability and
economic success, and that these achieve-
ments be under the auspices of govern-
ments friendly to the United States. This is
not a proposition based on ideological doc-
trine, but an expression of the most elemen-
tary political rationality (the fact that there
are people in this country who do not un-
derstand this reflects a political pathology
that cannot be pursued here). Granted this
proposition, the importance of Jamaica is
obvious. It is the largest and most populated
of the English-speaking Caribbean coun-
tries. Its location within the basin is strate-
gic. Its future course is likely to have a strong
influence on what happens in the other
English-speaking islands and very possibly
in the region as a whole. American support
for Jamaica, economically as well as politi-
cally, is thus much more than a matter of
disinterested benevolence; rather, it should
be perceived as a direct expression of na-
tional interest.
The case of Jamaica is also important in
a global development perspective, es-
pecially for those who have come to under-
stand the linkage between political
democracy, human rights (including the
much-vaunted "economic rights" of Third
World rhetoric) and capitalism. Success in
development may be defined in terms of

the following ingredients: sustained and
self-generating economic growth, sus-
tained movement of substantial numbers of
people (and especially of the very poor) into
a decent material standard of living, and the
achievement of these economic and social
goals without gross violations of human
rights. (Political democracy as such is not
included in these criteria; it can be argued,
though, that success in the aforementioned
terms minimally opens up the realistic pos-
sibility of democratic development.)
If successful development is defined in
these terms, there are some things that we
know now, or at least should know by now:
1. There is not a single successful case of

A new PNP government
led by Manley would "climb
back into bed with Fidel"
in foreign policy.

socialist development (the one possible ex-
ception is Yugoslavia; but very probably its
successes, such as they are, are largely due
to its close relations with the economies of
Western Europe). 2. The reasons for this are
not mysterious or arbitrary (such as the ma-
lign character of this or that socialist re-
gime), but lie in the seemingly inevitable
structures of a socialist economy (the case
of Tanzania, with a regime that at least
started out with the most humane inten-
tions, which has not been under Soviet
domination, and which has received vast
amounts of foreign aid, is particularly in-
structive on this point). 3. What "success
stories" there are in the Third World are,
without exception, capitalist. So far, so
good; but, of course, there is a long list of
capitalist examples that, at least to date,
have to be described as failures. And this is
the most important thing about develop-
ment that we don't know: Why does capital-
ism lead to success in some places and not
in others?
In this connection there is one uncom-
fortable fact already alluded to in this paper;
the successful experiences tend to cluster in
one region of the world: Eastern Asia. Inev-
itably, this fact has led to the hypothesis
(popular, for example, in writings emanat-
ing from the Hudson Institute and in the
pages of The Economist) that there are
cultural factors underlying these successes,
such as the alleged influence of the Confu-
cianist work ethic. The present state of our
knowledge does not conclusively affirm or
repudiate this hypothesis. It is clear, though,
that the hypothesis is depressing in terms of
development strategy. It makes sense, log-
ically, to suggest that Jamaica pursue eco-
nomic policies similar to those of Taiwan or
South Korea; it makes no sense to suggest

that Jamaicans should become Confucia-
nist. Therefore, anyone who is concerned
about development in other parts of the
world has a strong interest in proving this
cultural hypothesis false.
It follows that those cases of capitalist
development which are located outside the
East Asian region, and which can be argua-
bly credited with some chances of success,
are of particular interest. Jamaica is one of
those cases. Of special interest, theor-
etically as well as practically, are those coun-
tries that changed from a socialist to a
capitalist direction. Chile is one, Sri Lanka
another. The Chilean case (which does not
look very successful right now even in eco-
nomic terms) is marred by the massive
human-rights' violations of the Pinochet re-
gime. Sri Lanka has been set back, possibly
for a long time, by the murderous conflict
between its two ethnic groups (a tragedy
that holds no lessons for development
models). Jamaica remains a case of great
interest in precisely these terms. The suc-
cess of the capitalist development policies
initiated by the Seaga government is, there-
fore, of concern far beyond its obvious im-
portance for the country itself. Jamaica is, if
you will, a strategic experiment in develop-
ment policy, and the success of the experi-
ment would likely hold highly useful lessons
for other countries, both in terms of practi-
cal policy thinking and in terms of our the-
oretical understanding of the development

The US Role
What should the United States government
and American business do? As far as gov-
ernment actions are concerned, it is difficult
to find much to criticize at this point. The
present administration appears to have a
clear perception of US interests in the re-
gion, and it has been acting rationally within
the limits of its situation. The Grenada inter-
vention, popular in Jamaica as well as in the
other English-speaking countries, was a
very useful demonstration of US readiness
to resort to military means to defend vital
interests in the region. The Caribbean Basin
Initiative is an imaginative and generous
move; the extent to which Jamaica will be
able to take advantage of it is beyond the
control of the US government. The opera-
tions of USAID in Jamaica appear, at leastto
an outside and nonexpert observer, to be
intelligently conceived and sensitively ex-
ecuted. Between one-third and one-half of
the funds allocated to Jamaica for fiscal
year 1984 ($50 million out of $113.5 mil-
lion) is earmarked for balance-of-payments
assistance-an obviously much-needed
holding operation. USAID projects are
strongly geared to what would appear to be
promising development objectives: as-
sistance to the private sector, especially to
small business, and training on all levels of
economically useful skills. It is possible that


more detailed scrutiny might disclose faults
in some of these programs, but the outside
observer is inclined to recommend more of
the same. Possibly more might be done in
channeling aid directly into the private sec-
tor, especially to very small "penny capital-
ism"-type businesses, bypassing Jamaican
government agencies; but such programs
are politically sensitive even in the friendly
climate of the Seaga regime.
One of the major irritants in US-Jamai-
can relations is in the area of immigration.
Large numbers of Jamaicans are denied
entry into the US under existing immigra-
tion law; obviously, many of these people
feel that they have been unjustly denied.
However, given the overall problems of im-
migration into the US, it is difficult to see
how any substantial liberalization in this
area is possible. One is impressed by the
goodwill and the sensitivity of at least some
consular officials engaged in visa work.
There remains the question of the degree
to which the US is identified with support for
the Seaga government and JLP It would be
useful if this stance, which is understand-
able and probably unavoidable, were bal-
anced, if possible, by ongoing dialogue
between US officials and moderate ele-
ments within the PNR
Finally, a possible US policy that has
been suggested by Jamaicans is tax incen-
tives for US firms investing in productive
enterprises geared for export to First World
markets (as opposed to investments in "ex-
port platforms" for the Jamaican and CAR-
ICOM markets). There is no doubt that this
would be helpful to Jamaica, but it may be
politically difficult to get such legislation
through Congress so soon after passage of
the CBI.
As to actions by American business, the
response so far to the efforts by the Rocke-
feller Committee and others has been dis-
appointing. The response may improve as
the US economic recovery continues. It is, in
all likelihood, futile to expect any business
enterprise to make decisions that are not
based on hard economic considerations:
American business will invest in Jamaica to
the extent that such investment is profitable.
One may suggest, though, that American
business could well afford more of a long-
term perspective--not for political or hu-
manitarian reasons, but precisely out of
hardheaded commercial considerations; in
this respect, much remains to be learned
from Japanese business. Given time, Ja-
maica has prospects for very profitable in-
vestment, and it is economically rational to
invest in its future.
But American corporations also com-
mand large budgets devoted to phil-
anthropic and public affairs projects. Here a
higher level of "Jamaica consciousness"
would seem indicated. American business
can give a large amount of help directly to
the Jamaican private sector. When asked

what sort of help should be envisaged here,
a Jamaican businessman replied emphat-
ically with one word: "training!" In this re-
Sspect, it is important notto focus exclusively
on large enterprises. The underlying "en-
gine" of development is at the grass roots
level, including very small businesses.
Training people on this level in the basic
skills of entrepreneurship and accounting,
as well as in technical skills, can vastly im-
prove productivity in the not-too-long term.
At higher levels of economic activity, there is
ample room for managerial training. One
project that has been discussed, both at

USAID and in Jamaican business circles, is
the establishment of a non-university-affili-
ated business school for the English-speak-
ing Caribbean. Such a project would merit
enthusiastic support by American business.
No one can confidently predict the future,
but the next few years will almost certainly
be difficult ones for Jamaica. The basic fact
remains, however, that Jamaica is now, and
will continue to be, one of America's very
important neighbors. It deserves strong
support from both the government and the
business community of the United States.

Penetre en

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Continued from page 16

thoughts and ideas do not support annexa-
tionist formulas or organic political ties with
the United States; these belong in a past that
is long dead and buried.
In the eighties, as though in a film flash-
back, some Cuban exiles dream of the an-
nexation of Cuba to the United States. It
should be underscored at the outset that
this is a group of respectable Cubans, with
such illustrious forerunners as Narciso
L6pez, Cirilo Villaverde, Domingo Goicuria,
Gaspar Betancourt Cisneros, Domingo del
Monte and Rafael Maria Mendive. In a way,
the Ten Years' War that broke out in 1868
was a reflection of the inability to secure
annexation to the United States over the
previous two decades. The war was fought
with the help of the annexationists, turned
into separatists by the discouraging attitude
adopted by the United States. It is not possi-
ble, therefore, to dismiss annexationism
with a broadside of coarse patriotic epi-
thets. Anyone doing so ignores the most
basic aspects of Cuban history. Anyone be-
lieving that patriotism is tantamount to na-
tionalism does not have the faintest idea of
what the Caribbean is and has been
throughout the centuries.
Dispassionate analysis and not empty
rhetoric is the proper way to deal with the
issue of neo-annexationism. First of all,
neo-annexationism must be rejected be-
cause of the existence today of a clearly
defined type, not yet fully shaped in 1840:

Scholarly MEW
multidisciplinary BA
journal tES
devoted entirely eT E
to Cuba OTI,,"

the Cuban. In 1840, the white, black and
mulatto inhabitants of Cuba were not ex-
actly Cubans. They were Spaniards, Cre-
oles, blacks (both slaves and freedmen) and
mulattoes, Spanish subjects all and resi-
dents of the Ever True Island of Cuba. A
Cuban national identity clearly shared by all
the inhabitants of the island barely existed; it
was particularly feeble in the western
provinces where there were large numbers
of Spaniards and black slaves.
Almost a century and a half ago, any
awareness of Cuban national identity was
limited to a small group of enlightened and
economically powerful white Creoles and to
an even smaller group of intellectuals who
rallied around Jose de la Luz y Caballero
and Jose Antonio Saco. Twenty years after
the collapse of the conspiracies of the
1820s, Cuban identity, such as it was, did
not demand independence from Spain but
rather public freedoms, representation in
the Spanish Cortes, a decrease in arbitrary
taxation, access to local government for the
Creoles, free international trade, and an end
to the illegal slave trade (although not of
slavery itself). The founding fathers, with
virtually no exception, did not desire the
radical abolition of the institution but its
gradual extinction, with due compensation
to slaveholders and an increase in white
immigration that would forestall "the disas-
ter of the country's Africanization."
As a matter of fact, one of the most attrac-
tive features of annexationism at that time
was the answer it provided to the Spanish
threat of abolishing slavery with one stroke
of the pen, a threat the Madrid government
liberally used each time Cuban landowners
took up the cry of self-government. How-

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ever difficult it may be to accept this notion
today, the liberal and progressive
Weltanschauung that prevailed in the days
of Saco and the Count of Pozos Dulces was
fully compatible with the holding of black
It is in that context and in that group-
Saco and a few other liberals excepted-
that the idea of annexationism was born.
White Creoles did not exactly wish to found
a new nation; they would be satisfied to live
in a social model that neither Spain nor the
Spaniards living in Cuba were prepared to
This social model was to be found in the
United States. In the US South, black slavery
and white self-government coexisted with
no apparent incongruencies. The United
States stood for democracy, free suffrage,
progress, free trade with all nations, free-
dom of the press, wealth ... and slavery,
which was the basis upon which the pros-
perity of the plantations was built. Seen
from the perspective of an 1840 liberal Cre-
ole plantation owner, who almost certainly
was also a slaveholder, the Southern social
model was ideally suited to his interests and
For what could a white liberal Creole ex-
pect from Spain? Spain had been devas-
tated during the War of Independence
against Napoleon; it had lost its mainland
American colonies, was struggling through
the aftermath of the First Carlist War, and
had sunk to the level of a third-rate power.
The huge income Spain siphoned from
Cuba, mostly from the profits of the Cre-
oles, was used to finance the wars of an
impoverished and virtually bankrupt
mother country, ruled by miracle-monger-
ing nuns, rebellious generals and reaction-
ary priests. It was useless to hope for
government changes in Madrid that would
improve the relations between Cuba and
Spain. Liberal Creoles could expect very
little from the absolutists who supported
Ferdinand VII and his heirs; they could not
expect much more from Spanish liberals-
as they ascertained as early as the Cortes of
Cadiz in 1812-for all through the 19th cen-
tury, Spanish absolutists and liberals
agreed that, to avoid the loss of Cuba, the
island had to be ruled with an iron fist.
On the other hand, independence-an
idea entertained 20 years earlier-did not
seem a viable solution in the 1840s. The
Latin American republics that had so re-
cently shaken off the Spanish yoke were
sunk in chaos and civil war. There prevailed
a certain pessimism, plaintively articulated
by Luz y Caballero, as to the capacity of
Cubans to act responsibly and with soli-
darity. Moreover, how could Cuba's whites
prevent a slave uprising similar to the one
that had taken place in Haiti at the turn of the
century and perhaps foretold by the island's
own slave turmoil in 1844? This fear of
blacks was possibly what most effectively


cooled Creole separatist enthusiasm. Thus,
from the "Cuban" perspective--the stand-
point of the enlightened white Creoles-
annexation to the United States seemed the
only possible alternative.

The American Framework
In the 19th century, and more specifically at
the time when annexationism picked up
steam in Cuba, the United States went
through a period of imperial expansion that
in a few decades increased its territory
fivefold. The old thirteen colonies moved
relentlessly towards the west, the northwest
and the south of the continent at the ex-
pense of Mexico, Spain, France, England,
Russia and the native peoples. Most often
new lands were bought outright. On other
occasions they were settled by waves of im-
migrants who then applied for admission
into the Union. There were instances when
the new territories were invaded militarily.
The United States was no longer a commu-
nity of humble pilgrims bound together by a
common religion; it was, rather, a proud
nation that had defeated England-at the
time the most powerful nation in the
world-invented the modern republic, and
claimed the manifest destiny of having its
flag and its institutions prevail at home and
President Monroe made this goal quite
clear in 1823: Europe's hour in the Amer-
icas had passed and the United States
would not allow Spain, aided by France, to
attemptto recover its lost colonies; or Russia
to take over the Pacific Northwest; or En-
gland to replace Spain as the master of the

Spanish-speaking West Indies. The United
States was the paramount power in the New
World, and it was not prepared to brook any
challenges to its supremacy.
Naturally, this dizzying imperial expan-
sion met with the fervent approval of all
contemporary liberal and progressive
groups. That kind of imperialism did not
then have the bad press it has today. From
France, Marx enthusiastically applauded the
American conquest of northern Mexico. De-
spite the continued existence of slavery,
which very few observers condemned, the
United States was at the forefront of demo-
cratic and progressive government, in sharp
contrast to the decadent monarchies of Eu-
rope or the clumsy and ineffective Spanish
American republics. Every square foot of
land occupied-whether lawfully or not-
by the United States eventually received the
blessings of the plough, the judge, the rail-
road and the school.
Each successful expansionist adventure
whetted new imperial appetites and en-
larged the host of power-hungry and glory-
seeking soldiers of fortune. The fact that the
officers of Narciso L6pez's annexationist
band were Hungarian immigrants came as
no surprise. Nobody objected to the annex-
ationist plan for putting an end to Spanish
rule in Cuba, even though it called for the
hiring of a mercenary army, basically made
up of veterans of the Mexican War and led by
General Quitman.
Such was the vantage point of Cuban
annexationists and of progressive elements
in Europe and Spanish America. Not only
was the growth of the American nation seen
as a positive development; many liberals, in

different parts of the world, also hoped to
become members of the Yankee homeland.
There were annexationists in the Yucatan
Peninsula, in Nicaragua, in Santo Domingo
and even in the Spanish Mediterranean port
of Cartagena, whose rebel cantonal leaders
asked to be annexed into the Union in 1873.
Even as many European liberals at the turn
of the century had seen in the Napoleonic
invasions a welcome expansion of revolu-
tionary ideals, so too did many Spanish
Americans believe that American expan-
sion was a way of spreading the benefits of
progress and the ideals of the democratic
revolution of 1776. Back then, ideology car-
ried more weight than geographic
Cuba, on the other hand, was a coveted
prize for American expansionists. Strategic
and economic reasons dictated this inter-
est. By the middle of the 19th century, and
by the standards of the times, Cuba was not
only enormously wealthy but also one of the
main foreign markets of the United States. It
was also poised along a flank critical for the
defense of the American Southeast which,
after the purchase of Florida and Louisiana,
stretched around the Gulf of Mexico. Not
that Spain posed any great danger for the
United States, but Washington strategists
feared that the British might take over the
island and use it to mount a hypothetical
attack against the poorly garrisoned South.
Thus, at mid-century, the incorporation of
Cuba into the Union seemed to be in full
accordance with the foreign policy, eco-
nomic interests and expansionist trends of
American society, especially its Southern
slaveholding variety.

CAifBBEAN I eeW/43

Several factors, however, precluded the
consummation of annexation. Chief among
them were Spain's refusal to sell the island
despite the intense pressure from Wash-
ington (as determined as ever to see
through its favorite expansionist project)
and the American fear that any attempt to
take Cuba by force would elicit a violent
reaction by England and France, both
Caribbean powers. The American Civil War
broke out in 1861, and in 1863 President
Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proc-
These developments thwarted American
designs on Cuba and dampened the enthu-
siasm of Cuban annexationists. The defeat
of the Confederacy spelled the end of a soci-
ety that combined white liberal democracy
with black servitude. In the aftermath of the
Yankee victory, annexation became mean-
ingless for the Cuban slaveholders. Ap-
pomatox, however, did open their eyes to
the inevitability of abolition in the island.
By 1868 when the Cubans took to the
hills, annexationism was already dead.
Thirty years later, when the United States
did finally intervene in Cuba, neither
Cubans nor Americans were really inter-
ested in the idea. During those years, the
imperial dynamism of the Union had visibly
declined, while Cuba's economic impor-
tance had been dwarfed by the enormous
development of the American economy.
Thus, when present-day exiles seek to re-
vive the annexationist dream while ignoring
the peculiar historical circumstances that
explain it, they are guilty of historical
There is, however, another type of Ameri-
canization, totally unrelated to politics, that
is both possible and desirable. It could be
persuasively argued that Cuba's greatest
potential resource lies in her geographic
location next door to the world's richest and
most creative society. In a Cuba free from
the Castro nightmare, the most urgent and
patriotic task has to be the expediting of the
economic, scientific and technological pen-
etration of the United States. There is no
other alternative for the economic develop-
ment of the island and its association to the
scientific forefront of civilization.
It has been proven time and again that
economic nationalism is a euphemism for
the romantic path that leads to impoverish-
ment and backwardness. Cuba-with the
barest of domestic markets (ten million in-
digent inhabitants), no capital, no know-
how, no research centers of its own, lacking
a scientific tradition, as dependent today as
it was a century ago on the whims of sugar
prices-cannot, must not, hope for eco-
nomic self-sufficiency. All such a fragile so-
ciety can do is enter a powerful economic
and cultural sphere and seek to profit from
it. The questions Cuban economists should
be asking themselves in all earnest are not
to what extent foreign capital has pervaded

the country, but rather how many Cubans
are jobless, how are they dressed, what sort
of housing do they have, what freedoms do
they enjoy, how peacefully and freely do
they elect their rulers, what is their daily
caloric intake, how many books do they
read, what is their technological level, what
leisure activities do they practice, how
strongly do they feel about their society.
These are the real questions; the degree of
foreign penetration belongs in the realm of
abstraction, not in real life.

Impossible Sovietization
By turning Cuba into a satellite of the Soviet

Sovereignty is but a myth,
a figure of speech, a
semantic remnant.
Independence is but a
cherished chimera.

Union, Castro has soughtthe protection of a
formidable power and has attempted to as-
sociate the island with one of the ostensibly
great creative centers of the world. Actually,
though, this is a false inference. Of Castro's
many errors, none seems to me more griev-
ous for Cuba than his deliberate attempt to
wrest the island from its Western cultural
moorings and hitch it to Soviet culture.
Cubans will continue to expiate this mistake
long after the disappearance of the Castro
The revolution has undertaken to build
Cuba after the image of the USSR. It is at-
tempting to do so not only by reproducing
the administrative patterns of state bureau-
cracy and the political and military organ-
ization-which, in the final analysis, would
have mere cosmetic significance-but by
slavishly aping all the social and cultural
traits of the great Eastern power. Bent on
"de-Americanizing" its people, the Castro
government has gradually opted for trying
to "Russify" them. Castroism has assigned
itself the task of erasing from Cuban mem-
ory the Western influences that have nur-
tured Cuban identity since its inception.
The most exasperating facet of the
Cuban revolution is the absence of any will
to think logically. For over 20 years the
country has been governed bythe intuitions
of its charismatic leader, subsequently car-
ried out to the tune of sheepish rhymes:
"Fidel, seguro I a los yanquis dales
duro" that replaced all intelligent inquiry.
Such an attitude has led the country to the
longest and most dangerous crisis in its
history. While the regime remains blissfully
unaware of it, the opposition, almost ex-
clusively visceral in quality, has yet to
fathom its true depths.

After two years of doing his utmost to
bring about such a rupture, Castro finally
succeeded in breaking with the United
States in 1961. The rejection of the United
States appeared to the maximum leader as
the most significant revolutionary feat
within the scope of possibilities of any Latin
American political leader. For Castro and for
many Cubans in that rickety political sce-
nario, the United States was synonymous
with greedy and exploitative companies,
political hegemony and proconsular ar-
rogance. That break, eulogized by the irre-
sponsible left, was described as liberation.
During those hectic years, Castro did not
realize that the United States was the way to
make and enjoy films and TV programs, to
perform cornea transplants or eradicate
cataracts. The United States was the design
of expressways, the automobiles that drove
on them, and the power lines that ran along-
side them. The United States was business
management, building and demolition
techniques, waste disposal, water desali-
nization, antibiotic therapy, fashion and de-
sign. The United States was the way of
extracting a bad tooth or correcting myo-
pia. In summary, the United States gave
shape, content and direction to the fragile
and dependent society that dwelled in a
small island 90 miles from its shores. There
were other influences, to be sure, but by and
large, Cuba's everyday life was the ex-
pression of Spanish culture, deeply, con-
stantly and radically remodeled by Ameri-
can influence. The least important facets of
Cuban-American relations were the inso-
lence of US ambassadors or the degree of
Yankee penetration of the economy. And
yet, these were the only ones the myopic
eyes of the Castro regime could see.
The crux of these relations was the fact
that Cuba, like half the world, was a total
social and cultural parasite of the US. This
was not so because the United States
intended to subjugate the island, but be-
cause Cubans had always lived in a feeble
and dependent social model that kept
abreast of contemporary advances through
the creativity and drive of others. Cuba was
but a Western backwater, spawned and
molded by Spain, but culturally tied to the
apron strings of the United States since the
mid-19th century, when the American na-
tion began to move towards world
Considering the poverty, ignorance, his-
tory and cultural features of Cuban society, it
could not have been otherwise. Cuba was a
country geared for imitation, not for spon-
taneous creation. Cuba's merits were not to
be found in the development of creative
innovations but in the spongy, absorbent
consistency of its society. Cuba would have
been unable to develop the railroad in the
19th century, but was able to inaugurate its
first line years ahead of Spain. In the 20th
century, Cuba would have been unable to


develop television by itself, but was able to
broadcast its first signals a few months after
American TV went on the air. That power of
assimilation made it possible for the coun-
try to lag only a short distance behind the
United States in science and technology,
thus keeping its society reasonably
Along with antibiotics and electronics,
the country imported many of the ills of
American society. I suppose that is the price
dependent cultures must pay. Since their
spongy tissues cannot distinguish nuances,
everything-or virtually everything-both
good and bad, is absorbed. When Castro
severed the ties between Cuba and the
United States, he deprived Cuban society of
its lifeblood. This explains the urgency of his
missions to Eastern countries in search of a
new donor.

Replacing the Americans
For Castro and his followers the road was
clear. Russia and Eastern Europe were to
replace the United States and the West.
Where it used to be Washington it would
now be Moscow; Sofia would replace New
York. It would be that simple. All one had to
do was to send thousands of young men to
be trained in the East and in a couple of
generations Cuba would be completely de-
Americanized, even though the price paid
was sovietization.

Thus, thousands of Cuban youths
trekked to Prague, Sofia, East Berlin and
particularly Moscow, ready to absorb the
knowledge and the technology developed
in the fraternal socialist world. This trans-
culturation project envisaged that, in a few
years' time, actors would act, surgeons
would operate, welders would weld, psy-
chologists would diagnose, and econo-
mists would plan in the Russian fashion.
Castro was under the impression that there
existed a clear-cut communist method that
Cubans could assimilate easily. He chose to
ignore, however, some of the most salient
aspects of the issue.
Foremost among them was the fact that
the communist universe, beginning with
the Soviet Union itself, was not at all an
original and creative social model, but
rather a huge and cumbersome Western
appendix, thinly veiled under lofty rhetoric
and singular successes in space exploration
and military-related industries. None of the
technical and scientific revolutions that
have occurred in the world during the last
quarter century began in the communist
world. Neither cybernetics nor the new ge-
netics, nor the breathtaking development of
electronics nor the enormous strides in the
field of medicine; not one single discovery
of this prodigious era of science and tech-
nology has been engendered within the So-
viet bloc. All these developments were

generated in the West, almost invariably in
the United States.
So, the first finding by every Cuban expe-
dition sent to drink at the fountain of com-
munist wisdom was the discouraging
realization that the Soviet Union is not only a
third-rate cultural and scientific power-be-
hind France and Japan, for instance-but is
also a dependent world, dragged along in
the wake of Western creativity, but in a direc-
tion different from that of Cuba. While a
humble Cuba used to buy Chevrolets, the
Soviets duplicated them. They botched the
job, to be sure, but still they duplicated them.
They gave the car a Soviet name, slightly
Slavicized it and then showed it to the
bemused Cubans. There was indeed a So-
viet way of building houses, of performing
tonsillectomies and installing telephone
lines. But this Soviet way, this a la russe
style, was nothing more than a bastardized
and clumsy imitation of the Western way ot
doing things, since the original innovation,
the primary model, was inevitably made in
the West. It is the West that picks the court
and sets the rules for the game of develop-
ment, whether by designing the production
line, discovering antibiotics, or launching
the cybernetics age. The Soviets are re-
duced to repeating, as a misshapen echo,
what was first said in the West.
Possibly the most harrowing paradox of
the Cuban revolution is that it has been

CAn'BBEAN "E~.W/45

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struggling for almost a quarter of a century
to reach the technical and scientific levels
Cuba enjoyed when this sorry process
started. Even more disturbing is the realiza-
tion that for as long as the country persists
in nourishing itself from the Soviet Union, it
will grow increasingly removed from the
leading edge of Western science and tech-
nology. By accepting Soviet overlordship,
Castro was not able to evade the cultural
leadership of the West. He merely adulter-
ated this leadership by putting it through a
thick and totally useless sieve. Castro is not
wresting Cuba from the West, but simply
delaying and deforming an inevitable pro-
cess. For 20 years Cuba has been lagging
more and more behind the West. It will not
be able to regain that lost ground because
its source of nourishment is utterly inade-
quate. The same inefficiency typical of cen-
tral planning also plagues scientific and
technological transfer mechanisms and
dooms Cuba to backwardness.
Before 1959, the whole society-stu-
dents, professionals, businessman-par-
ticipated naturally and spontaneously in the
process of assimilation of the knowledge
and technical knowhow developed in the
leading nations of the West. This was ac-
complished by a method developed and
perfected through the centuries that linked
Cuba to the sources of its intellectual, tech-
nical and scientific nutrients by way of a
thick network of intercommunicating chan-
nels. Since then, this huge organic effort of
the entire Cuban nation has been replaced
by the regimented shipping abroad of a few
thousand students, picked on the basis of
their political loyalties, and by the welcome
accorded Eastern technicians, who see in
Cuba a tropical paradise rather than a soci-
ety in dire need of not fully losing its con-
temporary features. Naturally, these agents
of scientific and technological transfer are
wholly inadequate for the task of maintain-
ing a country such as Cuba in a reasonable
state of modernity and development.
From the scientific and technological
standpoint, the sovietization of Cuban cul-
ture obviously entails the radical im-
poverishment of the country vis-a-vis the
West. However the depauperated condition
of the island also affects (and renders ster-
ile) humanistic abstractions and theo-
retical thinking. Sterility is one of the most
baneful consequences of Marxism. Since
1917, the Soviet Union has been more or
less effectively closed to the rich and tense
cultural intercourse of the West. Freud and
anti-psychoanalysis, phenomenology and
existentialism, cubism and abstract impres-
sionism, the theater of the absurd and the
rediscovery of orientalism, the death and
resurrection of God, Ortega, Heidegger,
Watts, the Beatles, Arrabal, the new educa-
tion, the new psychology, the new philoso-
phy, the new economics ... any "new"
discipline, any "new" thing, they all have

been excluded or subjected to heavy inter-
ferences. The very nature of Western
thought, i.e., of thought unfettered by dog-
matism, lies in the constant revision and
negation of its own theoretical corpus.
Change, rapid mutation (whether moving
in circles or in the opposite direction) is the
dialectical essence of Western thought.
Marxism, on the other hand, closes its doors
to the adventure of intellect, for anything
that denies its tenets, however true and self-
evident it may be, is heretical and therefore
By having Cuba toe the Soviet line, Cas-
tro rejects Western influences and limits in-
tellectual intercourse to the monotonous
litany of Marxism, itself more circumscribed
in Cuba than elsewhere. For Castro has also
banished the debate that boils within con-
temporary Marxism: Eurocommunism's
liberalizing trends, the Yugoslav self-man-
agement experiment, the free Israel kib-
butzim, the Frankfurt School, the Polish
labor movement, or the original Marxist
thoughts of the theoreticians of Prague's
Spring of 1968. The Castro regime dis-
misses them all with the contemptuous la-
bel of "bourgeois revisionism." Castro does
not want to think or let Cubans think. For as
long as Cuba can send students to Moscow,
its youth will not go to Warsaw. There exists
in Havana a real, if unacknowledged, scale
of preferred communist capitals; the lower
their degree of spiritual freedom, the higher
their relative rank. Thus Moscow is first, fol-
lowed by Sofia; then East Berlin, Budapest
and Prague; and finally-almost never-
Warsaw. Castroism fears contamination.
For-as in every dogmatic system-con-
tamination is anything that draws man
away from the most abject servility.
This forced and forcible sovietization of
Cuba has produced diverse consequences.
The first thing to hit us is the awareness of
its failure. Cubans are forced to bow to the
Soviet union, to imitate it, but they do so
without the slightest degree of conviction
and always comparing it to the way things
were under the ancien rgirne, the days of
Yankee influence. Far from disappearing
from collective memory, the prosperity of
those days is increasingly brought to mind
as the stagnation of the country becomes
more and more patent. The complaint most
frequently heard in Cuba today is that the
country has stood still from the very mo-
ment that Castro seized power. Despite their
isolation, despite the suffocating blockade
Castro has thrown up around the island-
far more exacting than the American em-
bargo-Cubans know that the world
around them is alive and creating. They
know that only for them has time stood still,
frozen in the early morning of 1 January
1959, when only a handful of people would
have been ableto predict the absurd destiny
earmarked for Cuba by a few ragged guer-
rillas led by Fidel Castro. [


Green Hell
Continued from page 25

to carry out big investment projects in a
country with a large potential such as
Guiana? At first glance the idea seems
tempting, and such plans were announced
shortly after the launching of the "Green
Plan." However none of these projects have
materialized so far; the French economic
crisis of the 1970s prevented large-scale
exploitation of the department's raw
To understand France's interest in the
DOM and TOM, one must ask if the remain-
ing overseas possessions serve French for-
eign and defense policy. The role of the
space center in Guiana has already been
discussed. A coral island in Polynesia serves
as a nuclear test field. Reunion has a strate-
gic position important for surveillance of
the "crude oil route" used by tankers com-
ing from the Persian Gulf and passing
around the Cape of Good Hope. Have
France's overseas possessions thus pre-
vented its decline in international status?
Do they justify its intervention in world
Apart from the few episodic protests
from the Caribbean Community and the
Organization of African Unity, the French
presence has as yet hardly caused any prob-
lems to Paris on the international scene.
The continued adherence of the DOM and
TOM to the metropole does not seem to be
seriously questioned; but in fact the issue no
longer makes for unanimity among the
people of the countries concerned. In-
creasingly growing minorities claim their
own destiny-a national destiny for Marti-
nique, Guadeloupe, Reunion and Guiana.
Can Guiana envisage a move in this direc-
tion, given the consent of France? Can it
become a Caribbean/South American state
as a feasible alternative to permanent de-
pendence on the mother-country?

The assertion is widely held among the
metropolitan French in Guiana that should
Guiana become independent from France,
it risks annexation by Brazil. One even hears
about maps of Guiana in Brazil, showing a
dividing up of the country and clearly out-
lining the pretentions of the "giant neigh-
bor." Such maps do not exist; there is no
threat of annexation by Brazil. Brasilia would
have little to gain but much to lose in the
international sphere if it attempted to take
Guiana in this way. But even if the possibility
seems remote, a deliberately-maintained
nightmare, it is not possible to brush it aside
completely, given the dynamism of expan-
sion and conquest of Amazonia by Brazil.
French Guiana and the neighboring
Guyanas risk becoming economic satel-

Former oenal colony headquarters in Cayenne, French Guiana.

lites, undergoing the same fate already fa-
miliar to Uruguay and Bolivia. At present
this risk is not imminent, as Brazil is cur-
rently facing enormous difficulties which
are slowing down its pace of development
in the Amazon basin. But this will not con-
tinue forever; the "mobile border" (ex-
pression currently used at the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs in Brasilia) will draw nearer
to the Guyanas.
To avoid eventually becoming a satellite
to its southern neighbor, it would be in the
interest of French Guiana to explore the
premises of integration into the Caribbean,
of closer cooperation with the other small
countries of the region with which it has
much in common and which are in a way its
sister countries. Not everyone agrees with
this idea-not even those favoring indepen-
dence and autonomy. The reason is that the

colony suffered from historical isolation,
which still persists and which is the result of
French politics.
On the political-psychological level, this
isolation has consequences which are diffi-
cult to overcome. Guiana has a small popu-
lation which is obsessed by the fear of losing
its identity if it has too much contact with
surrounding peoples. They even fear con-
tact with the other French DOM in the Car-
ibbean: Martinique and Guadeloupe. In
fact, the ignorance of many Guianese of
their neighbors is striking. Without exag-
geration, it could be said that most of them
know Paris, yet almost nobody has been to
Georgetown or Port-of-Spain. This attach-
ment to the metropole is incompatible with
demands for independence and autonomy.
French Guiana is a small creole country,
and so are most of the former British colo-


~ .L~
o,"-'ic-'_._- . i -.. -~.ei


nies in the region which form the Caribbean
Community. The Guianese should be famil-
iar with their development problems and
their common market, CARICOM, because
having once acquired formal indepen-
dence and become a sovereign state, they
could be confronted with the same prob-
lems and alternatives.
Regional cooperation has until now
brought modest improvement only to CAR-
ICOM members, and has favored the four
largest (Guyana, Trinidad and Tobago, Bar-
bados, Jamaica), a group which French
Guiana could join because of its widespread
territory and resources.
The obstacles to self-reliant development
by Caribbean countries are not only eco-
nomic, however. Their choice of a develop-
ment strategy is also facing international
political obstacles, in particular the current
trend of the US to perceive every attempt to
break free from the social-economic struc-
tures inherited from the colonial past as "a
second Cuba." Thus in spite of all its eco-
nomic shortcomings, CARICOM remains
indispensable for the mini-states of the re-
gion. As a larger entity, it gives some politi-
cal protection to the small countries, thus
increasing their international influence
vis-a-vis the large neighboring states. Even
assuming a future reduction of East-West
antagonism in the hemisphere, CARICOM

will remain necessary. And an independent
Guiana would have to cooperate with its
members in one way or another.
What does the future hold for French
Guiana? For the moment, the country can
dispense neither with the economic sup-
port nor with the international protection of
France. Paris should do its best to help the
DOM and TOM prepare their own destinies.
The metropole owes this in particular to
Guiana, its former forgotten colony, Green
Hell and European's graveyard-a country
which in all of its roles has had to pay the
price for the whims of the colonial power.
Paris should not impose independence and
drop French Guiana, so long as the majority
of its population does not consent to such a
move. But it should do everything possible to
avoid a botched decolonization in the fu-
ture, such as has already been produced
In 1960, General de Gaulle declared at
Cayenne that "it is natural that a country like
Guiana, which is in a way set apart and
which has its own characteristics, should
enjoy a certain autonomy, adapted to the
conditions in which it must live." Before the
1981 elections, Frangois Mitterrand's presi-
dential program promised to the popula-
tions of the DOM "the administration of
local affairs in the perspective of an openly
debatable future." After the elections, Gas-

ton Defferre, minister of the interior and
decentralization (and minister of the French
overseas possessions in 1956, at the time of
the beginning of decolonization of the Af-
rican TOM) declared: "The overseas depart-
ments are still subject to colonial
exploitation, their autochtonous popula-
tions are in misery. They need help from
France. If we would propose for them a spe-
cial statute, they might think that France
wants to abandon them, which is not the
The socialist government in Paris does
not seem to be disposed to conceiving a
special statute for the DOM as it did for
Corsica. But after including the overseas
departments in the reform of the local col-
lectivities of 1982, it should take into ac-
count their special character. The institu-
tional changes that have taken place in
1983 constitute a step in this direction. Here
the question is not one of a regional French
problem. The, people of R6union,
Guadeloupe, Martinique and Guiana are
neither Bretons nor Corsicans. They are not
Europeans; they live in a different environ-
ment. Guiana is a Third World country. It is
French-speaking, impregnated with French
culture and history, and in the future will
certainly be on friendly terms with France;
but it is a country which will have to decide
its own future. ]


H Forthcoming Conference

THE 21ST CENTURY. The Research
Institute for the Study of Man in cooperation with The
City University of New York is holding an international,
multidisciplinary conference at Hunter College, New York
City, August 28-September 1,1984. Prominent Caribbea-
nist scholars and policymakers from Caribbean Basin
countries and North America will participate in the fol-
lowing sessions: Plantation Society and the Contempo-
rary Caribbean; Stratification, Pluralism and Sociopoliti-
cal Dynamics; Theoretical and Applied Issues in Social
Organization; Nationalism, Independence and Creative
Florescence; Political Economy and Sociopolitical
Change; Public Health Indices of Development; Agricul-
ture, Industry and New Technologies; Political Economy
of Caribbean Basin Integration; Caribbean Basin: Crisis,
Reaction and Response.
For further information, contact Research Institute for
the Study of Man, 162 East 78th Street, New York, NY



The Caribbean Review Award is given annually to honor an indi-
vidual who has contributed to the advancement of Caribbean intel-
lectual life. The winner of the fifth annual award is C.L.R. James. He
joins previous recipients Gordon K. Lewis, Philip M. Sherlock, AimB
Cesaire and Sidney W. Mintz.
C.L.R. James, born in Trinidad in 1901, has had a remarkable and
diversified career as a historian, novelist, playwright, journalist, liter-
ary critic, political and social analyst, and political activist. He is a
pioneer in the search for Caribbean political independence and
regional unity, and has influenced a generation of Caribbean thinkers
and activists over the better part of three decades.
James's classic book on cricket, Beyond a Boundary, published in
England in 1963, has recently been republished in the US by Pan-
theon Books. His first political book, The Life of Captain Cipriani,
published in 1932, argued the case for West Indian self-government.
He is also the author of World Revolution (1937), The Black Jacobins
(1938), Notes on Dialectics (1948), State Capitalism and World
Revolution (1950), and Facing Reality (1958) among other books,
and has contributed to a large number of journals spanning three
The award committee consisted of Lambros Comitas (chairman),
Columbia University; Fuat Andic, University of Puerto Rico; Wendell
Bell, Yale University; Locksley Edmundson, Cornell University; and
Anthony P Maingot, Florida International University.
The Caribbean Review Award recognizes individual effort irre-
spective of field, ideology, national origin, or place of residence. In
addition to a plaque, the recipient receives an honorarium of $250,
donated by the International Affairs Center of Florida International




Confrontation in the




Alan Adelman
Reid Reading
International Perspectives on
Security, Sovereignty and Survival

This volume presents an alternative to the majority of essay collections on social change in Central America and
the Caribbean which tend to polarize discussion around solidarity versus national security perspectives. The con-
tributions included expose readers to a diversity of substance and interpretations concerning the major social,
economic, and political forces influencing intraregional and interregional relationships in the Caribbean Basin.

Alan Adelman, Introduction
Margaret Daly Hayes, Political Change in El Salvador and Guatemala; Richard Millett, Comment
Harold D. Sims, Revolutionary Nicaragua; Mauricio Sola6n, Comment
Vaughan A. Lewis, Political Change and Crisis in the English-Speaking Caribbean;
Anthony P. Maingot, Comment
Rene Herrera and Mario Ojeda G6mez, The Policy of Mexico in the Caribbean Basin;
Susan Kaufman Purcell, Comment
Carlos Antonio Romero MCndez, The Role of Venezuela in the Caribbean since 1958;
John D. Martz, Comment
Jorge I. Dominguez, Cuba's Relations with Caribbean and Central American Countries;
Hernan Yanes Quintero, Comment
Howard J. Wiarda, The United States and Latin America: Change and Continuity;
James M. Malloy, Comment
Jiri Valenta and Virginia Valenta, Soviet Strategy in the Caribbean Basin; Cole Blasier, Comment
Wolf Grabendorff, The Role of Western Europe in the Caribbean Basin;
Gerhard Drekonja-Kornat, Comment
Reid R. Reading, Conclusion

University of Pittsburgh Prepayment requested: $9.50
Center for Latin American Studies Plus postage and handling: 1.00
4E04 Forbes Quadrangle TOTAL $10.50
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 15260 Please make checks payable to:
University of Pittsburgh.

Hidden Politics
Continued from page 31

Missing Elements
If these surveys fail to explain, what is the
remedy? Should the effort to collect such a
complex part of the world in one volume be
left to Fodor's Guide and similar undertak-
ings? How can one write meaningfully
about the most fragmented area in the
world-more fragmented than Eastern Eu-
rope, the South Pacific, Sub-Saharan Af-
rica, and even its nearest rival, the Indian
An explanation of the Caribbean must
begin with the generation of hypotheses,
methodologies and testable propositions. It
needs to renounce the one-sided, single-
school, deterministic analyses that cur-
rently predominate. Instead of breast-beat-
ing about external dependency, researchers
should systematically examine available
options. Cyprus, Denmark, Malta and Sing-
apore are all economically dependent small
states, but each has created leverage and
options not found in the Caribbean. Depen-
dency is neither constant nor static, and a
wide range of options is available for its
management and reduction. Small Carib-
bean states are neither passive victims nor
dangling puppets; witness experiences as
different as those of Barbados and Cuba.
Rhetoric must surrender to comparative re-
search if dependency is to acquire mean-
ingful quantifiable and qualitative dimen-
sions and not merely be used as a favorite
whipping boy.
External dependency or penetration
does not determine a society's internal so-
cial structure. The available empirical evi-
dence contradicts the simple-minded
assertion that local elites are put there as the
allies of external powers, whether American
imperialists or Soviet bureaucrats. The Du-
valier family dynasty in Haiti, with its 25
years of rule without significant American
support, and the electoral victories in the
Dominican Republic of individuals who
were on the losing side in the 1965 US
intervention, are only two of many examples
of how unconnected external dependency
and internal social structure may be. The
point is that this is an empirically testable
proposition, subject to comparative and
historical evidence; yet it is often treated as
dogmatic truth.
Nowhere in these six books is there any
discussion of indigenous science and tech-
nology capabilities, which would tell us as
much or more about dependency than do
the familiar shibboleths about aid, trade
and tourism. If Singapore is less dependent
than Jamaica, it is primarily because that
island-state has created a competitive ap-
plied research capability which Jamaica
lacks. The few sparse efforts to improve

science and technology capabilities
throughout the region have involved inap-
propriate foreign models. The most glaring
example is the Cuban organization of re-
search along the lines of the highly cen-
tralized Soviet academies, thus divorcing
basic from applied research. Students of the
Caribbean must compare and contrast
available technologies and research ca-
pabilities. The ability to choose wisely from
available technologies is essential to any
serious effort to reduce dependence. Re-
search is urgently needed on technologies
for domestic food production, food storage,
commercial fishing, production of compo-

Concepts of social class do
not explain gender

nents for assembly industries, and other
If science and technology are important
to understanding the Caribbean, so is ecol-
ogy. These survey books are laced with ref-
erences to limited natural resources but
exhibit no real understanding of what con-
stitutes a natural resource. The Caribbean
consists of societies living within fragile
ecologies requiring extensive care and
maintenance. The problems of coral reefs,
oil pollution, use of tropical soils, beach ero-
sion, solar energy and waste recycling are
not esoteric rich-society concerns. They are
basic to the maintenance of a viable popu-
lation-resource equilibrium in small island
societies; yet they receive no attention in
these six fat books. Ecological choices can
dramatically expand societal alternatives, if
properly made, or they can act as time
bombs destroying land and resources. Iron-
ically, the various essays on relations be-
tween Caribbean states fail to discuss the
important initial steps that have been taken
to share ecological information-perhaps
the most promising area for regional
Population issues are also central to un-
derstanding the Caribbean and not pe-
ripheral, as these books argue. A difference
in annual net population growth between
one and two percent means the difference
between a little and no economic growth in
most Caribbean societies; it is, for example,
the difference between malnutrition and
starvation in Haiti. Efforts to reduce fertility
are succeeding in much of the Caribbean,
especially in Cuba, and are making a dif-
ference for individual and societal choices.
Yet fertility does not rate a discussion in
these six volumes. The need to further re-
duce fertility continues in societies where
overly young age distribution places a
heavy burden on inadequate social ser-

vices. Capitalist Barbados and socialist
Cuba understand this need if unemploy-
ment and underemployment are ever to be
substantially reduced.
Understanding common demographic
problems involves understanding the role
of the Caribbean diaspora. Nearly ten per-
cent of the entire population of the region-
the highest proportion of net emigration for
any region in the world-has permanently
emigrated since 1950; forthe smaller coun-
tries the proportion is even higher. What
needs most attention is the impact that the
diaspora is having on Caribbean econo-
mies, cultural values and social struc-
tures-the effect on those who stay behind.
Case studies indicate that a few islands such
as St. Kitts and Saba live off remittances,
and that island societies consist of the el-
derly retired and the very young. The di-
aspora has become a real force in the day-
to-day workings of many Caribbean so-
cieties; witness the 125,000 Cubans who
left in 1979 on a moment's notice, after only
a brief relaxation permitted visits to Cuba by
The Marxists, neo-Marxists, and depen-
dency theorists do an injustice to the Carib-
bean because they leave out so much in
their search for simple causation and eco-
nomic determinism. While they downplay
the role of ethnicity and race, and have no
place for the significant ethnic minorities in
the region such as the Chinese, Lebanese,
and Jews, their gravest injustice is to
women. Concepts of social class do not ex-
plain gender relationships, particularly in
the Caribbean, where women outnumber
men in many societies and households are
often female-headed. Gender relationships
are influenced by the economy and social
class, but they are also independent vari-
ables, as demonstrated by the extraordinary
role of the Haitian "Madam Saras," the Hait-
ian rural coffee brokers, or the Jamaican
women market higglers, as well as the pre-
dominance of women in the export assem-
bly plants throughout the region, or the
mobilization of women in the Cuban labor
force. It is astonishing that six survey books
on the region do not inlcude a single essay
on gender relations or the role of women.
This is a subject crying out for further re-
search building on the fine work of an-
thropologists and sociologists such as
Comitas and Horowitz.
If sex matters in the Caribbean so do
religion, popular and folk culture, language
and other cultural variables. These are not
merely "artifacts," to use Marxist terminol-
ogy, or derived from dependency. There are
significant cultural Africanisms, especially
in language and oral history, that have sur-
vived and been transformed in the New
World. Religion is the foremost. Television,
radio, videotape recorders, tourism and
other forms of penetration from outside are
not destroying or eroding these forms of


cultural expression. Culturally the Carib-
bean is not a Lockeian tabula rasa suscepti-
ble to inundation by the latest Hollywood
film or TV craze. Creole languages and di-
alects are not dying out in spite of the mass
media, and Abrahams and other re-
searchers have found folk cultures to be
alive and well. These are the roots of na-
tional identities--the ultimate barriers to
total dependency-and they merit intense,
systematic, and comparative study. To ne-
glect them is to neglect the essence of the
peoples of the Caribbean.
Any understanding of the Caribbean
must savor its complexities rather than seek
to simplify them. It must note that all multi-
national corporations are not equal and that
what one company does in Guyana does
not determine what another does in Ja-
maica. Similarly foreign powers in the Ca-
ribbean are not monolithic, as many au-
thors in these books assume. Venezuelans
are divided over what their role should be in
the islands, as are Mexicans. American for-
eign policy in the Caribbean is subject to the
pulls of many actors, whether bureaucratic
or political, as exemplified in Lowenthal's
fine study of US intervention in the Domin-
ican Republic in 1965.
Form is another important factor in the
Caribbean. Some countries are constitu-
tional democracies and others are not. Had
the late Maurice Bishop been willing to es-
tablish a formal constitutional democracy
in Grenada after seizing power in a coup, he
might be alive today. Instead he dismissed
elections as "five second democracy," as do
Castro and some of the authors in these

books. While elections can be manipulated
and fraudulent, without provision for formal
elections the right to dissent is not recog-
nized. Instead of dismissing elections, par-
liaments and political parties as "bourgeois
shams," we need empirical research to de-
termine who votes and why, who is elected
and who is defeated, and the roles of parties.
The Caribbean cries out for studies of com-
parative politics, but we still do not have a
single such study of the region, and none of
these six books comes close to doing the
job. If researchers are not allowed to use
public opinion polls in Cuba or Haiti, they
should use these and other useful meth-
odological instruments elsewhere.

Rhetoric or Research
The Caribbean air is filled with cries about
"democratic socialism," "state capitalism"
and other empty labels. In small societies, it
should in principle be easier for employees
to share in the management and profits and
losses of enterprises, and there is a wealth of
relevant experience from Israel, Yugoslavia
and other countries which have experi-
mented with decentralized management
and ownership. There have been few expe-
riences with workplace democracy any-
where in the Caribbean, and these have
seldom lasted long. Those who favor
"power to the people" should begin by look-
ing at what has happened elsewhere.
Worker-management is generally a sophis-
ticated and complex administrative form
not well suited to ethnically mixed or poorly
educated communities. We urgently need
comparative research and experiments with

different forms of worker self-management
in the Caribbean.
The need for research rather than rhetoric
is probably the most important lesson to be
learned from these six books. Multinational
corporations, joint ventures, technology
transfers and local private capital are now
the order of the day throughout the Carib-
bean, including heavily indebted Cuba.
What we need to know are the ranges of
available options and the consequences of
each. How can a small country maximize its
nonrenewable bauxite resources or its
beaches or its brainpower? These are moral
questions, but they have significant techni-
cal dimensions which should be respected
by researchers.
The Caribbean is complex, full of sub-
tleties and paradoxes, and particularly re-
sistant to labels and stereotypes. Person-
alities are important. Could anyone have
predicted Trujillo, the Duvaliers, Eric
Williams, Castro, Maurice Bishop or many
others? There is an acute tension through-
out the region between the demands for
higher standards of living and the demands
for a redistribution of what there is. Is it
better for everyone to be poor or for a few to
be rich and the rest poor? This tension be-
tween growth and equity is reflected in the
lyrics of some of the reggae singers and
Calypsonians. It is reflected in the remit-
tances and parcels sent by the diaspora and
by the desires for national identity in the
face of external dependency. Any effort to
explain the Caribbean must be faithful to
these changing realities and not succumb
to mythmaking. O


First Impressions

Critics Look at the New Literature

Compiled by Forrest D. Colburn

Yankee Boo-Boos
Anti-Yankee Feelings in Latin Amer-
ica, F Toscano and James Hiester. 297
pp. University Press of America, Wash-
ington D.C., 1982.

Historically, Western hemispheric relations
have been polluted. Anglo-American eth-
nocentricity has angered the predomi-
nantly mestizo, Indian, and black Latin
Americans (I use the term Latin Americans
in the interest of brevity without intent to
suggest that all Latin Americans can be
neatly fitted into a single mold). Absolutist,
hierarchical, and structurally closed Latin
America contrasts with the relatively open,
egalitarian, democratic United States that
Jose Rod6 insisted nurtured mediocrity.
The heirs of his famous Ariel/Caliban syn-
drome have tended to fancy themselves
men of logic, reason and profound feeling,
contrasted with the dull, materialistic philis-
tines of the North, a view that has hardly
endeared them to northern chauvinists.
The fact is that Latin America remains,
and will remain, economically dependent
on the United States as long as it strives to
acquire the material trappings it claims to
find abhorrent in United States culture.
Then, too, there is no gainsaying that anti-
Yankeeism has its political uses, especially
in mustering short-range support. Accord-
ing to stratification theory, every people has
to have scapegoats, and the United States,
because of its propinquity and at times
clumsy application of its overwhelming ma-
terial and military might, has been a highly
visible scapegoat ever since Latin Amer-
ica's independence era. Finally, and without
wishing to point a finger at one side or the
other, it is possible, in fact probable, that
United States-Latin American relations will
worsen before they improve.
All the above has been said by others
better than by the authors of Anti-Yankee
Feelings in Latin America, who disclaim
a "single pretension of historical erudi-
tion. ..." They indeed have good reason to
disavow historical pretensions. What they
have done is to bring together excerpts
from the writings of a dozen and a half Latin
Americans or individuals of Hispanic back-

ground (no Brazilians or Haitians are in-
cluded) who at different times over the past
century and a quarter wrote unfavorably of
the United States.
The excerpts are strung together with
"historical" and biobibliographical snippets.
The "historical" sketches are without merit.
Beginning students of Hispanic American
literature may find the sketches to have ref-
erence value. There are several appendixes
dealing with major issues in United States-
Latin American relations.
Still, this volume may catch on. I know of
no other single study better to illustrate to
novice scholars the many kinds of errors-
historical inaccuracies, lack of objectivity,
failure to define terms, lack of analysis, ten-
tativeness, use and misuse of quotation
marks, clumsy exposition, misspellings (in-
cluding the names of authors), and typos-
that entrap the careless craftsperson. And
what of an entire volume on Latin America
nearly devoid of accent marks? As the say-
ing goes, "One could make a very large
omelette out of the eggs these authors have
To be kind, I. would speculate that the
authors may have, by mistake, submitted to
the publishers a first, rather than later draft,
of their opus and that the publishers were so
rushed that they did not take time to read,
much less copy-edit the manuscript. It is
commonplace in this country to end book
reviews with such statements as "Despite
its faults, this book should be on the shelves
of every scholar interested in Latin Amer-
ica." Such cannot be said of this
Stanford University
Stanford, California

When They Worked in Guyana
A History of the Guyanese Working
People, 1881-1905, Walter Rodney.
282 pp. Johns Hopkins University
Press, Baltimore, 1981. Cloth $26.50,
paper $6.95.

Walter Rodney's splendid assessment of
Guyanese working people between 1881
and the disturbances of 1905 contends that

there was nothing inevitable about
Guyana's ethnic strife of recent years. He
argues persuasively that the 25 years under
scrutiny were decisive in determining the
contours of modern Guyanese history. The
sugar planters no longer monopolized the
political life of the country; a small but artic-
ulate middle class had emerged; noninden-
tured East Indians were now the largest
group of plantation workers; rice farming
was solidly established; and hesitant at-
tempts were undertaken to develop indus-
tries in the interior of the colony.
The pivotal fact of Guyanese history was
the unwillingness of the sugar barons to
bargain fairly with the freed slaves after
emancipation in the 1830s. Rodney dem-
onstrates that most of the blacks were pre-
pared to work on the sugar estates. It was the
hostility of the plantocracy which eventually
turned them to small farming, urban work,
or a mix of the proletarian and the peasant.
The planters preferred a supply of indent-
ured laborers from India over whom they
would have almost complete control.
It was to be expected that the blacks
would resent the arrival of indentured East
Indians who took their jobs and depressed
their wages. But Rodney establishes that the
harsh work experiences of both racial
groups could create a form of class soli-
darity before the enormity of capitalist ex-
ploitation. Blacks and East Indians com-
plained in unison against deplorable
housing, health, and sanitary conditions.
By the 1880s a small middle class of
Portuguese, Chinese, blacks and East Indi-
ans denounced the short-sighted policies of
the British government and the sugar in-
dustry. A sense of Guyanese nationhood
was beginning to appear as the middle
class collaborated with working people to
prepare a comprehensive reform program:
abolish state-aided immigration, improve
medical services, expand educational op-
portunities, government assistance for
small industries and village projects, devel-
opment of the interior, and the introduction
of more local people into the civil service.
Although the limited constitutional re-
forms of 1891 did not come close to meet-
ing these demands, they did bring
members of the black and brown profes-


sional groups into the political life of the
nation. This common struggle of the mid-
dle strata and the masses against the plan-
ters convinces Rodney that the evidence
"does not sustain the picture of acute and
absolute cultural differences coincident with
race." He concedes that blacks and East
Indians did come into conflict as they pur-
sued their goals, but he stresses the sym-
pathetic bond that was forged by "their
common deprivation." The strikes and riots
of November-December 1905 "marked a
high point in sustained popular agitation"
and set the stage for later industrial and
trade union activity.
Fortunately, Walter Rodney had com-
pleted the manuscript for this book prior to
his death; Franklin W. Knight of Johns
Hopkins University attended to the details
required for publication. In a provocative
foreword, George Lamming notes that this
publication is Walter Rodney's last written
contribution "to our understanding of the
history of labor in the transformation of his
country and to our perception of the role of
class in the continuing struggle for social
University of Vermont
Burlington, Vermont

Gallego, Miguel Barnet. 224 pp. Edi-
ciones Alfaguara, Madrid, 1981.

Miguel Barnet, in his novel El Clmarr6n,
(Autobiography of a Runaway Slave)
paid homage to the black contribution to
Cuban heritage. Now with Gallego he is
doing the same for the Spaniards. Both
books are in the vein of Oscar Lewis's social
ethnographies and are based on texts at-
tributed to a former slave and a Galician
immigrant. Esteban Montejo, the maroon,
is a real person-un persona4e de came y
hueso, as Unamuno would have called
him-while Manuel Ruiz, el gallego, is
purely fictional.
Barnet narrates the life and works of a
Galician villager (un aldeano) who came to
Cuba after World War I (more precisely dur-
ing the administration of President Mario G.
Menocal) to escape the difficult economic
situation of his native Galicia and to "make
good" in his adopted country. His deeds
and misdeeds, fortunes and misfortunes
are clearly portrayed. The novel is a parade
of characters typical of prerevolutionary
Cuba. They are drawn by Barnet with a few
deft strokes, making them quite different
from the oldperson4jes tipicos of conven-
tional novels. The history of Cuba after inde-
pendence is the background of the literary
work. Here, the author discreetly empha-
sizes the deplorable human conditions in
which poor people lived then, and stresses
how the 1959 Cuban revolution has at-

tempted to improve such conditions. In an
oblique way, the book is also an indictment
of the conditions of social life in Spain dur-
ing the same period.
The characterization of Manuel Ruiz, el
gallego, as a man with two patrias, half
Galician and half Cuban, his peculiar dialect
full of galleguismos and cubanismos, is
an asset to the book. Less convincing is
Manuel's returning to Spain to fight against
Franco's forces, since up to that moment el
gallego had shown very little interest in
politics. Breaking the internal unity of the
novel, this chapter gives excessive attention
to the sociopolitical interests Barnet wants
to promote. Gallego, in fact, brings to mind
another of Barnet's novels, La canci6n de
Rachel, in which, after the revolution, a re-
tired courtesan relates her life, and through
it outlines Cuban sociocultural history. Both
novels are good examples of the testimonial
novel which has recently flourished in Latin
American circles, and whose origins can be
traced to the middle of the 19th century with
Domingo Faustino Sarmientos Facundo.
Gallego is a perfect example of that kind of
literature where the author, with great abil-
ity, combines literary craft with political
Despite its shortcomings, Gallego ful-
fills its avowed goal of paying tribute to the
Spanish immigration in Cuba, and it is an-
other success in Miguel Barnet's literary
Florida International University

Requiem for a Pen Name
Requiem for a Village/Apartheid Love,
Sharlowe. 148 pp. Imprint Caribbean,
Trinidad, 1982.

The best that can be said about the author
of these two novella-length creations is that
he had sense enough to use a pen name. It's
a bit scary to imagine what muse inspired
"Sharlowe," but he appears to have begun
by casting about for ready-made plots
through which he could work his stultifying
effects. Apartheid Love details an interra-
cial marriage which ends in the boy's
murder and the girl's suicide, events which
provoke an implausible reconciliation of the
island's warring factions. It is, in short, a
lame attempt to transferRomeo and Juliet
to Trinidad. For Requiem for a Village, in
which an idyllic village is undermined by a
fundamentalist preacher, the author ap-
pears to take the Jamestown story as his
Sharlowe professes to write morality
tales. Each work ends with a homily about
the human experience; Requiem, for in-
stance, closes with the tired Santayana line
that "Those who forget the past are con-
demned to repeat it." But the author's real
interest is in pornographic scenes featuring

the seduction of virtuous youths. In Requi-
em, we are treated to Mary's voyeur-eye
view of her sister with Reverend Bob, a stu-
pid, "frog faced" man: "What greeted Mary's
eyes made her recoil in horror, in disgust.
Angela's magnificent, nude body glistened
under the fluorescent light. She was
perched in a most awkward position and the
grotesque and obese pastor was doing un-
speakable things to her." Angela subse-
quently joins Sharlowe's stable of supple,
melon-breasted enchantresses and, in turn,
seduces the upright hero John. And so it
The only interesting question provoked
by these works concerns the intended au-
dience. The language has none of the verve,
the moral tone, none of the authenticity
which make Nigeria's Onitsha Market litera-
ture so appealing. It's hard to imagine Trin-
idadian readers identifying with characters
named Tom, John, and Susan (the major
figures inRequiem) as readers of American
Harlequin Romances evidently do. Even the
pornography fails to rouse. The volume
gives only the publisher's name, no ad-
dress. But if you want a copy, I'll gladly give
you mine.
University of New Orleans
New Orleans, Louisiana

The Tidy Tico Way
Democracy in Costa Rica, Charles D.
Ameringer. 138 pp. Praeger, New York,
Ameringer believes that "the Tico way" of
resolving disputes "with civility and without
rancor" (although he says that revenge was
the motivation of Figueres in the 1948 revo-
lution), together with the deep commitment
to electoral democracy of an essentially ho-
mogeneous population which has no army,
will provide political stability and avoid vio-
lent change.
Ameringer argues that the economy is
endangered by the high cost of the welfare
state and government bureaucracy. He
chronicles the efforts to limit the power of
the executive. The social welfare programs
begun by Calder6n Guardia after 1940 and
expanded by all administrations since then
have resulted in an excess of autonomous
agencies-182 by 1978! The extent to
which the large and expanding body of em-
ployees of state agencies are not responsi-
ble to the executive is presented as a
dangerous limitation on the authority of the
For Ameringer, the continuation of Costa
Rica's electoral democracy, which he pres-
ents in affectionate terms, depends on the
capacity of "the system" to reform itself. His
analysis is persuasive.
Gig Harbor Washington


Who Got the Oil?
U.S.-Mexico Relations: Economic and
Social Aspects, Clark W Reynolds and
Carlos Tello, eds. Stanford University
Press, Stanford, 1982.

The Mexican writers in this collection are
more critical of the United States than are
the American writers of Mexico. Moreover,
Mexican critiques of Mexico have more bite
than do the American. The Americans tend
to be more technically analytic, and to call
attention to economic priorities that push
Mexico toward policies attuned to produc-
tive efficiency. But the Mexicans are more
prescriptive, especially when they consider
either national or international structural
constraints which make it difficult to ground
Mexican sovereignty on a more equal shar-
ing of Mexican public welfare.
Keynesian or neo-Ricardian economists
in American administrations keep suggest-
ing remedies for Mexico's economic ills, but
always in terms of complementing rather
than slighting American economic inter-
ests. Meanwhile, transnational corpora-
tions, which can move resources faster and
more flexibly than either American or Mex-
ican government hosts can keep up with,
continue to shift resources out of primary
and lagging secondary activities into areas
of more advanced technology and more
sophisticated services.
Mexican politics depends on satisfying
informed, organized, and consumption-ori-
ented sectors of the middle and working
classes rather than the food-crop-raising-
but-largely-subsistence peasantry most in
need of government help. One conse-
quence is that the higher US wages for un-
skilled labor (labor which is in surplus in
Mexico partly because growth industries
simply are not labor intensive) keep on ex-
erting their migratory pull. Mexico con-
tinues having to strike balances between
foreign-pegged industrial growth and na-
tional industrial control, itself a subject of
bitter infighting between Mexican statists
and Mexican private capitalists.
Economic difficulties and political disen-
chantment occurred under Echeverria,
gave way briefly to buoyancy in the oil
boom under L6pez Portillo, then returned
as the greatest challenge for de la Madrid. To
borrow from this volume to rephrase one of
its theses: conjunctural phenomena come
and go, but structural conditions grind on,
changing to be sure, but at a glacial pace in
comparison to surface events. A partial
translation, for those who need it, comes
from a recent comment of a Mexican busi-
nessman to an American friend. "It turns
out," he said, "that you bastards got the oil
after all."
Dartmouth College
Hanouer, New Hampshire

Who's Who?
The Carib Reserve: Identity and Se-
curity in the West Indies, Anthony
Layng. 177 pp. University Press of
America, Washington D.C., 1983.

The focus of Layng's book is the remnant,
highly acculturated 2,000 Caribs residing in
a reservation on the Windward shore of the
Eastern Caribbean island of Dominica.
They are in Layng's words ". .. the last rem-
nant of those warlike American indians who
once occupied most of the islands of the
Eastern Caribbean." Highly creolized, as is
the rest of the population, they lack a lan-
guage, religion, kinship system, distinctive
physiological appearance, or style of behav-
ior that they can distinctively call their own.
How then do the contemporary Caribs,
creolized as everyone else, differ from the
Dominicans? They differ precisely because
they claim to be Caribs-descendents not
of Africans or Europeans, but of Caribs.
This claim cannot be authenticated as
Layng's data clearly show. Layng supports
the notion that ethnicity is instrumental in-
sofar as it is something manipulable, vari-
able, and situationally expressed. Thus,
those persons who allege to be Carib, and
whose claim is acknowledged as valid, can
lay claim to residence and exploitation of a
portion of the 3,700-acre reserve. Claimed
ethnicity then becomes a strategy to main-
tain resource monopoly as this book clearly
The College of Charleston
Charleston, South Carolina

Our House in the Last World. Oscar
Hijuelos, Persea Books, New York,

If we place Oscar Hijuelos' novel, Our
House in the Last World, in a purely for-
malistic context, we discover that we are
dealing with a relatively old-fashioned nar-
rative. The novel is narrated in a straight-
forward manner by a third person, omnis-
cient voice that reveals all the important in-
formation to the reader. Until the last
chapter no secrets are kept from us; no
magical realism blurs our perception; no
tricks are played. Further analysis of Hi-
juelos' narrative techniques confirms that
we are dealing with a novice author who has
not yet fully mastered his art. As a narrative
structure, Our House in the Last World
seems at times naive, for the world it pre-
sents is essentially dichotomous: "Mer-
cedes was thin and dainty with a mermaid's
amazed face; she liked to laugh, easily felt
the pain of others, and had a delicate soul.
But Buita was harsh and liked to give orders;

she was physically huge, good-looking but
not pretty." Fortunately, by the end of the
novel, especially in its final chapter where
three of the main characters take away the
narrative voice from the narrator and speak
for themselves, the process of characteriza-
tion becomes a bit more complex and some
gray tonalities begin to shade with nuances
this novel that tends to divide the world into
antagonistic parties.
But if Hijuelos' novel is placed in other
literary contexts, those of its subgenre or its
possible national tradition, the work ac-
quires a new and problematic character
which makes it more than a half successful
first novel. Seen in the context of the litera-
ture of the Hispanic migration to the United
States, along with works like Down These
Mean Street by Piri Thomas, Hunger of
Memory by Richard Rodriguez or, es-
pecially, Family Installments by Edward
Rivera, Our House in the Last World takes
on another character. It represents a new
piece in the complex puzzle of works that try
to explain what it is to grow up in the United
States as the child of Hispanic immigrants,
in this case a Cuban family that arrived in
this country in the 1940s. Like other works
that deal with this topic, Hijuelos' novel ex-
plores themes that are common to the sub-
genre: the idealization of the mother
country, the problem of language, the reten-
tion of the original culture. Although it is
possible to view Hijuelos' work as a Cuban
version of this subgenre, the author himself
does not have this in mind; this is evident in
the novel's plot: the main issue of the sub-
genre-when and how does the main char-
acter abandon his or her native culture and
become an American-is essentially
absent. In Hijuelos' novel Cuba and
cubanidad are private psychological bur-
dens that weigh down on individual charac-
ters as a personal issue or a mythical dream
but not as the expression of a social or col-
lective problem.
Perhaps by refusing to write a novel that
fits into the canon of this subgenre, Hijuelos
has made a contribution to the kind of novel
that he eschews. Regardless of what he
intended-only Hijuelos can testify to his
intentions-he has created a work of fiction
that, seen by itself, is less meritorious than
seen in the broad context of the literature of
Hispanics in the United States.
University of Massachusetts
Boston, Massachusetts

Coffee Table Aztecs
Art of the Aztecs, Henri Stierlin. Trans-
lated by Betty & Peter Ross. 228 pp.
Rizzoli International Publications, New
York, 1982.

Henri Stierlin here presents a survey of the


pre-Columbian art of Mexico focusing on
the Aztecs and their predecessors. This
book follows hisArt of the Mayas and thus
continues his comprehensive survey of the
art of Mesoamerica. He covers the period
from c. 1500 B.C. to the early 16th century
when the Spanish conquistadors arrived
and destroyed the Aztec civilization.
Stierlin's attempt to cover such a large time
span leads him into a discussion of many
different civilizations, not only the Aztecs but
also the Huastecs, Mixtecs, Toltecs,
Totanacs and Zoltecs. Although a study of
the art of these peoples could bring up fas-
cinating questions, Stierlin's discussion
tends to be kept to a rather superficial level.
He is convinced of the inaccessible nature of
pre-Columbian art and assumes that his
readers are completely unfamiliar with the
Art of the Aztecs is organized both
chronologically and geographically, and al-
though this does cause some repetition, in
general each section focuses on a specific
cultural center important to the develop-
ment of the pre-Columbian world. Stierlin
begins with the origins of pre-Classic art.
He then turns to Teotihuachn, the "place of
the gods." This city was a major center
which reached its height c. 100 A.D. It is
regarded as the "parent civilization of the
high plateau." Stierlin then examines the
development of those civilizations which
preceded the Aztecs and which the Aztecs
eventually conquered in their rapid ter-
ritorial gains at the end of the 15th century. It
is not until the final chapter that Stierlin
focuses his attention on the Aztecs and their
art. In each chapter he refers not only to the
painting, sculpture and pottery that are
characteristic of a given region but also to
the architecture and the town planning.
The most successful aspects of Art of
the Aztecs are the extensive illustrations
which accompany the text. Stierlin himself
took excellent photographs from the princi-
pal museums of Mexico: Jalapa, Mexico
City and Oaxaca. The architectural monu-
ments are described with reference to pho-
tographs as well as plans and elevations in
diagram form. Because Stierlin only
reaches his discussion of the Aztecs in the
final chapter, his work is not successful as
an analysis of Aztec art; however, as a pho-
tographic survey of one strain of pre-Co-
lumbian art, Art of the Aztecs is a valuable
Columbia University
New York, New York

What About my Tip?
El "Entre" Policiaco, Arturo Rios. 111
pp. Edamex, Mexico, 1983. 340 Mex-
ican Pesos.

In this book, Mexican police are portrayed
as organized racketeers. Mordidas or en-
tres are not only accepted but actively
sought. Citizens are stopped for the sole
purpose of subtle extortion. The issuance of
vehicle operating permits, license plates,
and other permits is turned into a "gold
mine." Petty criminals are allowed to run
free if they make payments. Recovered
stolen property disappears. Privileges are
sold to the incarcerated. Police chiefs re-
quire those under them to buy overpriced
uniforms at stores where the chiefs receive
kickbacks. Superiors at all levels exact pay-
ment by setting "quotas." Promotion within
the system necessitates a requisite pay-
ment. El "Entre"Policiaco helps us under-
stand the Mexican who said that he no
longer cared about fighting for a govern-
ment on the left or on the right: he would
settle for any one that was honest.


Latin Talkies
The New Latin American Cinema: An
Annotated Bibliography of Sources in
English, Spanish and Portuguese:
1960-1980, Julianne Burton. 80 pp.
Smyna Press, New York, 1983.

This annotated bibliography on Latin Amer-
ican cinema (and Hispanic cinema in the
US) lists and evaluates approximately 150
articles in English as well as books in Span-
ish, Portuguese, and English. Most of the
publications evaluated are works of film crit-
icism, history or theory; the compiler gives
special emphasis to publications on the so-
cially and politically committed cinema of
the 1960s and 1970s. The bibliography
also describes and lists addresses for the
most important Latin American film
The New Latin American Cinema is a
timely and useful research guide whose
strengths are insightful and well-balanced
evaluations; a clear country-by-country
organization; and broad coverage extend-
ing to Latin American publications of quite
limited circulation. Future editions of the
bibliography can correct its principal weak-
ness-omissions of important publica-
tions. For instance, more published scripts
of significant films (e.g., Tudo Bern) should
be listed. Furthermore, the compiler's un-
fortunate policy of generally excluding re-
views has meant that certain major films in
US distribution (e.g., Chlrcales) receive no
individual coverage even though informa-
tive, in-depth reviews of these films have
appeared in American journals.
University of Idaho
Moscow Idaho

Ballots Amidst Bullets
Voter Participation in Central Amer-
ica, 1954-1981: An Exploration,
George A. Bowdler and Patrick Cotter.
262 pp. University Press of America,
Washington D.C., 1982. $21.75 Library
Binding, $11.00 paper.

This rather curious volume contains five
introductory chapters (one on each Central
American state) to a 24-page concluding
chapter on the topic of its title. The work is
primarily based on available election statis-
tics and on a 1101-case questionnaire,
completed mainly by university-related in-
dividuals in the five Central American
The five country chapters describe the
conditions affecting elections in each state.
Much of the data in these chapters is drawn
from interviews and from the question-
naire, but the authors seem to have over-
looked a number of better sources for the
subjects under discussion. For example, the
account El Salvador's recent political his-
tory draws heavily from "unidentified uni-
versity students" but ignores Stephen
Weber's excellent study on Jose Napole6n
Duarte. There appears to have been a delay
in publication, for there is little in this work of
events after 1978. We are told, for example,
that "it now seems that this 1978 election
may be the last election in El Salvador, farci-
cal or otherwise, for some time to come."
Similarly, the chapter on Nicaragua con-
tains an overview of the Somoza years, but
virtually nothing on the Sandinistas.
The concluding chapter, which could well
stand on its own as a scholarly article, offers
"insights from empirical explorations," and
is drawn principally from the questionnaire
and other statistics. It analyzes voter turnout
in terms of urban or rural residence and
attitudes of Central Americans toward elec-
tions. It also compares the electorate with
such other available statistical data as ele-
mentary school enrollment, library circula-
tion, road mileage, and numbers of
vehicles, telephones, telegrams, pieces of
mail, etc. While this reviewer is not con-
vinced of the relevance of these compari-
sons either to the book's conclusions or in
any other way, they may be of interest to
some social scientists.
The work concludes that "prospects are
still good for democratic elections in Costa
Rica and Honduras" but that they are "in
doubt in Nicaragua until 1985" and that "in
El Salvador and Guatemala the outlook is
bleak for any real electoral expression by the
Tulane University
New Orleans, Louisiana

Forrest Colburn teaches political science at
Florida International University.


Recent Books

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Anthropology and Sociology

Hirshon, Judy Butler. L. Hill (Westport,
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History of the 1980 literacy campaign in

Kenneth N. Medhurst. Manchester
University Press (Dover, N.H.), 1983. 333 p.

THEATRE. Molly Ahye. Heritage Cultures
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dance in the Caribbean.

CUBA Y SUS SONES. Natalio Galan Sariol.
Ediciones Universal (Miami, Fla.), 1983.
358 p. $20.00. History of Cuban music.

Josefina Pla. Napa (Asunci6n, Paraguay),
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RICA. B. Tomic. Program Regional de
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EL URUGUAY. Juan Pablo Terra. Centro
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GETULIO A GEISEL, 1951-1978. Evaldo
Amaro Vieira. Cortez (Sio Paulo, Brazil),
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INDIANS. Johannes Wilbert, Karin
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1982. Clarita Miller-Plantenberg. Vervuert
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Richard W. Slatta. Nebraska University
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EXILIO CUBANO. Rodolfo Rodriguez
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Departamento Ecum6nico de
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1983. 171 p. About Victor Sanabria and the
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Spalding. Stanford University Press, 1984.
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AND SOUTH AFRICA. Daniel J. Elazar.
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Robert Thomas, Scott Whiteford, eds.
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AMERICA. James Jennings, Monte Rivera,
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Johnson, Jim Pines. Proteus Pub. Co. (New
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RELIGION LUCUMI. Julio Garcia Cortez.
3rd ed. Ediciones Universal (Miami, Fla.),
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Fondo de Cultura Econ6mica (Mexico),
1983. 398 p. Account of female domestic
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Kalmar. Schenkman Pub. Co., 1983. 113 p.
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Maz6n. University of Texas Press, 1984. 160
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Portales, ed. Fondo de Cultura Econ6mica
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ANTILLEN. M. F. Hasham, ed. Universiteit
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1983. A collection of essays on labor
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Jorge Leiva Lavalle. Program de
Economia del Trabajo, Academia de
Humanismo Cristiano (Santiaao. Chile),
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ZUELAN ANDES. William Roseberry.
University of Texas Press, 1983. 271 p.


PUERTO RICO. Laird W. Bergad. Princeton
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1954-1960. Hector Dada Hirezi. Editorial
Universitaria Centroamericana, EDUCA
(Ciudad Universitaria Rodrigo Facio, Costa
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COLOMBIA. Albert Berry, ed. Center for
Latin American Studies, Arizona State
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Orrego Vicufia, ed. Westview Press, 1984.
220 p. $18.00.

Aspe Armella, Rudiger Dornbusch, Maurice
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293 p. $36.00.

Jonas, E. McCaughan, eds. Synthesis
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$15.95; $7.95 paper.

OF THE LITERATURE. Carlos Luzuriaga C.,
Clarence Zuvekas, Jr. Center for Latin
American Studies, Arizona State University,
1983. 240 p. $37.95. First published in

Alberto Soto, Carlos Alberto Sevilla, Charles
R. Frank, Jr. Editorial Universitaria
Centroamericana, EDUCA (Ciudad
Universitaria Rodrigo Facio, Costa Rica),

ALAC A LA ALADI. Juan Mario Vacchino.
Depalma (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1983.
251 p.

Roberto Cortes-Conde, Shane J. Hunt, eds.
Holmes & Meier, 1984. 300 p. $45.00.

GUATEMALA, 1983. Institute for the Study
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Publications (San Francisco, Calif.), 1984.
250 p. $7.95.

1975-1978. Jorge L. Daly. Westview Press,
1983. 127 p. $16.00

Richard Kronish, Kenneth S. Mericle. MIT
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Piieiro, Eduardo J. Trigo. Westview Press,
1983. 266 p. $33.00.

Wolfgang. Institute fir Iberoamerikakunde
(Hamburg, Germany), 1983. 245 p.

Kevin Healy, Carol Michaels O'Laughlin.
Inter-American Foundation, 1983. 272 p.


Three Continents Press, 1983. 277 p.
$25.00. Biography of a writer from
Martinique originally published in French
under title: Rene Maran, 6crivain n6gro-

MORELOS. Agustin Churraca Pelaez.
Porrua (Mexico), 1983. 241 p.

Alsina. Napa (Asunci6n, Paraguay), 1983.
210 p.

Romero. R. Cerdefio (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1983. 213 p. Collected letters
and speeches of the murdered archbishop.

Salvador Abascal. Editorial Tradici6n
(Mexico), 1983.

Enrique Pav6n Pereyra. Mares del Sud
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1983. 156 p.
About Isabel Per6n.

Saignes. Siglo XXI Editores (Mexico), 1983.
225 p.

Laino. Cerro Cora (Asunci6n, Paraguay),
1983. 199 p. About Anastasio Somoza.

Hernan Uribe. Ediciones El Caballito
(Mexico), 1983. 156 p.

Etchepareborda. Centro Editor de America
Latina (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1983. 2
vols. About Argentina's Hip6lito Yrigoyen.

Description and Travel

BAHAMAS 1984. Dianne N. Lawes. New
American Library, 1983. $11.95.

BERMUDA 1984. Ben F Carruthers. New
American Library, 1983. $9.95.

New American Library, 1983. $11.95.

Karel Hendrick Voous. 2d ed. De Walburg
Pers (Zutphen, Netherlands), 1983. 327 p.
Nfl.39.50. Revision of the original Dutch ed.
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van de Nederlandse Antillen.

AYRES, 1865. Carlos Moncaut. Lia Elena
Castelli de Olivero, tr. El Aljibe (City Bell,
Argentina), 1983. 116 p. Reprint of the
1868 ed.

MEXICO 1984. Florence Lemkowitz. New
American Library, 1983. $12.95.

History and Archaeology

Tropic Isle Publications (North Miami, Fla.),
1983. 172 p. $12.95. History of an island in
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Vervuert (Frankfurt, Germany), 1983.
312 p. DM.28.00.

AMERICAN EMPIRE, 1900-1934. Lester D.
Langley. University of Kentucky Press, 1983.
264 p. $26.00.

Clayton. Forum Press (Arlington Heights,
11.), 1984. 100 p. $6.75.

Blanco Villalta. E. Rueda (Buenos Aires,
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NAHUATL. Adela FernBndez. Panorama
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Ferol Egan. University of Nebraska Press,
1984. 313 p.


BRAZIL. James Lockhart, Stuart B.
Schwartz. Cambridge University Press,
1983. 480 p. $29.95; $14.95 paper.

XVII. Martha de Jarmy Chapa. Universidad
Aut6noma de M6xico, 1983. 291 p.

LATINOAMERICANA. Norberto Galasso.
Pensamiento Nacional (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1983. 124 p.

Cervantes. Premia Editores (Mexico), 1983.
222 p.

TRIPLE ALIANZA. Juan Carlos Herken
Krauer, Maria Isabel Gim6nez de Herken.
Arte Nuevo (Asunci6n, Paragua),
1983. 167 p.

REVOLUTION. George Black. Zed Press
(London, Eng.), 1984. 176 p.

J. Mamalikis. Greenwood Press, 1983.
500 p. $95.00.

Douglas R. Shane. Institute for the Study of
Human Issues, 1984. 160 p. $17.50.

MEXICANA. Jorge Ruffinelli. Editorial
Nueva Imagen (Mexico), 1983. 214 p.

AND DONIPHAN, 1846-47. George R.
Gibson. Porcupine Press (Philadelphia,
Penn.), 1984. 371 p. $25.00. Personal
narrative of the Mexican American War first
published in 1935.

INTRODUCTION. Jan Knippers Black, ed.
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$14.50 paper.

ATLAS. Cathryn Lombardi, et al. University
of Wisconsin Press, 1984. 160 p. $22.50;
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MASCOTA, JALISCO, 1867-1972. Carlos B.
Gil. Latin American Center, University of
California at Los Angeles, 1983. 220 p.

Robertson. Princeton University Press,
1984. 305 p. $125.00.

Language and Literature

Enrique Molina, et al. Daniel Freidemberg,
ed. Centro Editor de America Latina
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1983. 136 p.

LIMA. Ruben Rios-Avila. University of
Missouri Press, 1984. 128 p. $22.00.

POETRY. Linda Scheer, Miguel Ramirez,
eds. Translation Press (Ann Arbor, Mich.),
170 p. $20.00; $7.50 paper.

NOIRS ANTILLAIS. Jean-Claude Bajeux.
Editions Carib~ennes (Paris, France), 1983.
432 p. 90.00F.

Bahamas, ed. Macmillan Caribbean, 1983.
172 p. 3.50.

Riverend, ed. Ediciones Universal (Miami,
Fla.), 1983. 76 p. $6.00. Anthology of
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GABRIELA MISTRAL. Onilda A. Jimenez.
Ediciones Universal (Miami, Fla.), 1983.
303 p. $19.95.

Solar (Miami, Fla.), 1983. 86 p. $5.95.

Emmerich, ed. Editorial Andr4s Bello
(Santiago, Chile), 1983. 200 p.

CUNHA. Umberto Peregrino. Tempo
Brasileiro (Rio de Janeiro, Brazil), 1983.
110 p.

Mervyn Morris, ed. Caribbean Authors Pub.
Co. (Kingston, Jamaica), 1983. 294 p.

PLATA, 1837-1880. Alejandro Losada
Guido. Vervuert (Frankfurt, Germany),
1983. 243 p. DM25,00.

FRANCES. Karl Kohut, ed. Vervuert
(Frankfurt, Germany), 1983. 200 p.
DM25,00. Interviews with Julio Cortizar,
Juan Goytisolo, and others.

Sefchovich, ed. Folios (Mexico), 1983.
223 p.

Somoza. Editorial Di6genes (Mexico), 1983.
103 p.

ed. Outrigger Publishers (Hamilton, New
Zealand), 1983. 144 p. $12.00. Special
issue of Pacific quarterly moana.

POSSIBILITIES. Nelly Prins-Winkel, et al.
De Walburg Pers (Zutphen, Netherlands),
1983. Nf25.00. Papers presented at a
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Politics and Government

DEMOCRACIA? Manuel Urriza. Centro de
Information. Documentaci6n y An6lisis
Latinoamericano (Caracas, Venezuela),
1983. 280 p.

Martin's Press, 1983. 256 p. $25.00.

Augusto C6rdova. El Cid (Buenos Aires,
Argentina), 1983. 178 p. About Argentina's
former military rulers.

Emilio Maza y Rodriguez. Alfa y Omega
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Francis Alexis. Antilles Publications
(Bridgetown, Barbados), 1983. 281 p.
Covers the Commonwealth nations only.

American Bureau. LAB, 1983. 118 p.

TRANSITION, 1860-1940. Florencia E.
Mallon. Princeton University Press, 1983.
$32.50; $14.50 paper.

CARIBBEAN. William Krehm, et al.
Lawrence Hill, 1984. 352 p. $19.95;
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JAMAICA. Carl Stone. Transaction Books,
1983. 262 p. $10.95.


ST VINCENT. Douglas Midgett. Institute of
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Carlos Alberto Montaner. Editorial Playor
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EL GRAN DESAFIO. Jaime Wheelock Roman.
Editorial Nueva Nicaragua (Managua,
Nicaragua), 1983. 133 p. About the political
situation in Central America.

DESTABILIZATION. Chris Searle. Writers
and Readers Publishers Corp. (London,
Eng.), 1983. 164 p.

SUCCESSES. Brian Weinstein and Aaron
Segal. Praeger Publishers, 1984. 175 p.
A volume in the Hoover Institution Series,
"Politics in Latin America."

Westview Press, 1984. 135 p. $17.00.

OCCUPATION OF 1916-1924. Bruce J.
Calder. University of Texas Press, 1984.
352 p. $22.50.

POLICY Margaret Daly Hayes. Westview
Press, 1984. 240 p. $23.50; $10.95 paper.

etano Carpio. Center for the Study of the
Americas (Berkeley, Calif.), 1983.
111 p. $4.25.

CONVERGENCE. Carlos Vasquez, Manuel
Garcia y Griego, eds. Latin American
Center and Chicanos Research Center,
University of Califomia at Los Angeles,
1983. 504 p. $29.95.

UNITED STATES. Bruce W Watson, Peter
M. Dunn, eds. Westview Press, 1983. 190 p.

Hartog. De Walburg Pers (Zutphen,
Netherlands), 1983. Nfl.15.00. A treatise on
the relations between the Netherlands
Antilles and the U.S.

LATINOAMERICANA. Bernardo Serwianski
Universidad de la Republica (Montevideo,
Uruguay), 1983. 2 v. (411 p.)

SALVADOR Mario Flores Macal. Editorial
Universitaria Centroamericana, EDUCA
(Ciudad Universitaria Rodrigo Facio, Costa
Rica), 1983.

ERED. Cynthia McClintock, Abraham
F. Lowenthal. Princeton University Press,
1983. 442 p. $45.00.

Ronaldo Munck. Zed Press, 1983. 352 p.
$29.95; $11.00 paper.

OGISCHE STUDIED. A. Klomp. Instituut
voor Culturele Antropologie, Rijksuniversiteit
te Utrecht (Nethlerlands), 1983. 279 p.
About politics on Bonaire, Netherlands

LIST ERA. Lars Schoultz. University of
North Carolina Press, 1983. 160 p. $9.95.

Drekonja-Kornat, Juan G. Tokatlian, eds.
Fundaci6n Friedrich Ebert de Colombia,

NICARAGUA. Equipo Interdisciplinario
Latinoamericano. Ediciones Contempo-
raneos (Managua, Nicaragua), 1983. 480 p.

AND PUERTO RICO. Jorge Heine, ed.
North-South Pub. Co. (Lanham, Md.), 1983.
302 p.

Probyn Innis. Antigua Printery & Pub. Co.,
1983. 99 p. By a former Governor-General
of the islands.

POLITICS IN GUYANA. Reynold A. Burrows.
Schenkman Pub. Co., 1983. 256 p. $18.95;
$11.95 paper.

1948-1981. Neville Duncan, Kenneth
O'Brien. Institute of Social and Economic
Research, University of the West Indies
(Cave Hill, Barbados), 1983.


VENEZOLANA. Angelina Pollak-Eltz.
Institute de Languas Indigenas, Universidad
Cat6lica AndrOs Bello (Caracas, Venezuela),
1983. 71 p.

1900-1975. Celia Ana Lertora Mendoza.
Fundaci6n para la Educaci6n, la Ciencia y
la Cultura (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1983.
359 p.

AREA. Jacques S. Zaneveld. E. J. Brill
(Leiden, Netherlands), 1983. Nf56.00.

EN EL URUGUAY Osvaldo A. Fraire. Fraire.
(Montevideo, Uruguay), 1983. 168 p.

1580-1900. Francisco Avella Chafer.
Institute Salesiano de Artes GrAficos
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1983. 349 p.

Clodomir Morais. 2d ed. Editorial
Universitaria Centroamericana, EDUCA
(Ciudad Universitaria Rodrigo Facio, Costa
Rica), 1983. $6.00.

General de Bibliotecas, Universidad de
Guanajuato. La Universidad, 1983. $9.00.

Galvan de Terrazas, Manola Sepulveda,
Guillermo de la Pefia. Ediciones de la Casa
Chata (Mexico), 1983. 66 p.

Nauman. Blaine Ethridge-Books, 1984.
127 p. $9.50.

CHILENAS. Enrigue Skinner Z., et al.
Editorial Nascimento (Santiago, Chile),

Inter-Documentation Co. (Zug, Switzerland),
1983. 412 p. Sfr68

Marian Goslinga is the Latin American and
Caribbean Librarian at Florida International
University. Paintings by Francis Lagrange
from Francis Lagrange and William Murray,
Flag on Devil's Island (Garden City: Doubleday
& Co., 1961).




edited by Fitzroy Ambursley

and Robin Cohen

The revolutionary overturns which took place in
Grenada and Nicaragua in 1979 and their
significance for revolutionary struggle in all of Central
America as well as for escalating U.S. aggression
place the Caribbean Basin at the very center of
world politics. This anthology, the first major attempt
to integrate the political experiences of the Central
American/Caribbean region as a whole, provides
analyses of the most critical events of the last four
years. Both theoretically and against historical
experience, the contributors pose the fundamental
questions of what political strategy and institutional
forms are necessary to effect a lasting transition to
socialism in this explosive region.

"One of the best efforts to deal with some of the
most important problems of making-and
sustaining-revolution in Central America and the
Caribbean." -Robert Armstrong, NACLA
co-author, El Salvador: The Face of Revolution

Paper: $10.00/6-00 PB6313
Cloth: $26.00/1575 CL6305


The Politics of Intervention: The United
States and Central America
edited by Roger Burbach and Patricia Flynn
Paper: $10.00/6-00 PB6356
Cloth: $25.00/15-15 CL6348
The Rise of the Authoritarian State
in Peripheral Societies
by Clive Y Thomas
Paper: $11.00/6-65 PB6585
Cloth: $2700/16-35 CL6577
Please add $1.50 for the first book, 250 for each additional book, when
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At your bookstore or directly from
Monthly Review Press
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Adaptive Responses
of Native Amazonians
Edited by
This volume comprises an introductory re-
view followed by fourteen substantive stud-
ies of the environmental adaptations and
human ecology of the Indians of Amazonia.
In all, seventeen indigenous societies in six
modern nations are discussed in detail.
Each chapter is problem oriented and uses
original quantitative data to test specific
hypotheses concerning human adaptations
to a Neotropical ecosystem. The chapters
focus on settlement patterns, nutrition,
and the subsistence strategies of hunting,
fishing, foraging, and cultivation. The au-
thors represent a broad range of theoreti-
cal approaches to ecological anthropology:
ethnoecology, cultural ecology, cultural
materialism, and evolutionary ecology.
April/May 1983, 536 pp., $49.00
ISBN: 0-12-321250-2
Send payment with order and save postage and handling. Prices are in U.S.
dollars and are subject to change without notice.
A Subsidiary of Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers
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Latin American and Caribbean Center
Occasional Paper Series
OPS 1 de Goes Monteiro, Pedro Aurelio. "The Brazilian
Army in 1925: A Contemporary Opinion."
OPS 2 Haber, Alicia. "Vernacular Culture in Uruguayan Art:
An Analysis of the Work of Pedro Figary, Carlos
Gonzalez and Luis Solarl."
OPS 3 Drekonja Kornat, Gerhard. "Colombia: En busqueda
de una political exterior."
OPS 4 Geggus, David. "Slave Resistance Studies and the
Saint Domingue Slave Revolt: Some Preliminary'
OPS 5 Santamaria, Daniel. "Iglesia y economic campesina
en el Alto Peru, siglo XVIII."
OPS 6 P6rez-L6pez, Jorge F. "Central America's External
Debt in the 1970s and Prospects for the 1980s."
OPS 7 Vilas, Carlos M. "Nicaragua: Una transici6n
OPS 8 Rama, Ruth. "Las relaciones econ6micas M6xico-
Estados Unidos: El comercio alimentario,
$4.00 each
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