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 Table of Contents
 Front Matter
 Back Matter
 Back Cover


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Caribbean Review
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00095576/00048
 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: 1985
Copyright Date: 1980
Genre: serial   ( sobekcm )
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Source Institution: FIU: Special Collections
Holding Location: FIU: Special Collections
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 1553369
System ID: UF00095576:00048

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 1
    Front Matter
        Page 2
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    Back Matter
        Page 56
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


F~V IE m^ Vol. XIV, No. 4
AVIE Three Dollars

The US and Santo Domingo; Jewish Settlement in Sosua; Haitian Workers in the Dominican
Cane Fields; Excerpts from a new Brazilian Novel; Central American Agricultural
Economics; The Art of Rosado del Valle.

L199L 0

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I want to share the love affair. Tell me how.


Self-portrait 1, by Puerto Rican artist Julio
Rosado del Valle (oil on Masonite,
281/2 X 221/2 inches). The painting is in a
private collection.

Crossing Swords
Puerto Rico, 936 and the Caribbean
By Rafael Hernmndez-Coldn

Responses and Replies
Puerto Ricds Decision to Trade
Emilio Pantojas-Garcia and
Suphan Andic

What Hath Intervention
Reflections on the Dominican Republic
By James W Nash

Dominican Update
Can Politics Contain the Economic
By Richard C. Kearney

Baseball in their Blood
By Bernard Diederich

Strangers in Paradise
The Jewish Enclave at Sosua
By Frances Henry

An Extraordinary Migration
Jews in the Dominican Republic
By Kai Schoenhals

Neoslavery in the Cane Fields
Haitians in the Dominican Republic
By Paul R. Latortue

Prejudice and Paranoia
By Pierre L. Hudicourt

Pieces of Mule
Excerpts From a Novel
By Darcy Ribeiro
Translated by Elizabeth Lowe

An Eastern Caribbean Centrist
Interviewing James F "Son" Mitchell
By Gary Brana-Shute

Campesinos Versus Landlords
Central American Agricultural Economies
By William C. Thiesenhusen

Hemispheric Debate
How to Handle Latin America
A Review Essay by
Lynn-Darrell Bender

Abstraction and Representation
Rosado del Valle's Visual Innocence
By Ricardo Pau-Llosa

First Impressions

Recent Books


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 Amerlcas

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,
Westview 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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FALL 1985
Barry B. Levine
Associate Editors
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Vol. XIV, No. 4

Three Dollars

Art Director Board of Editors
Danine L. Carey Reinaldo Arenas
Ricardo Arias Calderdri
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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Crossing Swords

Puerto Rico, 936 and the Caribbean

By Rafael Hernandez Col6n

Through the inalienable right of each of our
people to individual liberty, and the irre-
placeable capacity of companies to inno-
vate and create wealth and opportunity,
Puerto Rico has achieved much for all of our
people. The resulting prosperity and politi-
cal stability has confirmed our faith in the
power of private enterprise to effect mira-
cles in a developing economy.
We want to share this good news and
success with our neighbors in the Carib-
bean. To this end we have placed important
resources in the service of President Rea-
gan's historic Caribbean Basin Initiative.
But our effort has been seriously jeopar-
dized by US Treasury Department tax re-
form proposals recently submitted to
Our economy is an improbable one. We
are 3.2 million living on a small island bereft
of natural resources other than the indus-
triousness and skill of our people. We must
innovate to survive. Section 936 of the Inter-
nal Revenue Code has afforded us that
This tool of economic development-the
only one available to Puerto Rico-has
been part of United States tax law in one
form or another since 1921. It has permit-
ted Puerto Rico to forego taxes in an effec-
tive way in the interest of achieving
economic development and self-sufficiency
through increased investment and the re-
sulting creation of new jobs.
United States companies have re-
sponded to the matched incentives of relief
from federal taxes on their earnings in
Puerto Rico and complementary holidays,
granted by the Government of Puerto Rico
under its own incentives law, from most of
the burden of local Puerto Rican taxes. Sec-
tion 936 companies now account for 60
percent of manufacturing employment in
Puerto Rico, 73 percent of gross domestic
product in manufacturing, and 25 percent
of total salaries paid in all sectors of the
Puerto Rican economy. Taking into account
both increases in productivity and employ-
ment over the period 1977-84, section 936
companies have achieved faster growth
than any other sector of our economy.
The earnings of these companies have
created a $7 billion pool of capital in Puerto
Rico. Some $700 million of these earnings
are redeposited by local banks in the gov-

ernment Development Bank of Puerto Rico.
A decision to use these funds to finance on
favorable terms new investments in Puerto
Rico for corporations willing to make com-
plementary investments of their own funds
in Central America or the Caribbean has
been made.

Helping the Caribbean
In April, I brought to Grenada Congressman
Bob Garcia and representatives of four ma-
jor United States corporations that, collec-
tively, employ 175,000 people. We secured
commitments from all four companies to
invest in new job-creating ventures in Gre-
nada-if section 936 is preserved in its
present form.
The tax reform proposal submitted to
Congress in late May would repeal section
936, grandfather existing investments for
five years, and substitute a wage credit for-
mula of dubious value for the time-proven
incentive in the current law. Although even by
Treasury's own reckoning this change
would produce no revenue for the United
States in the initial years-indeed, Treasury
concedes that it would even add to the defi-
cit burden in the first two years-it would
undercut the ability of our poorer Caribbean
neighbors to attractjobs with their competi-
tive advantage-the lower cost of their
At the same time, it would halt new invest-
ment in Puerto Rico and deprive Puerto
Rico of the high technology, high profit in-
dustries that have saved our economy in the
face of ever higher imposed costs. It would
doom Puerto Rico to a labor-intensive
economy that is no longer possible because
of the imposition of the United States en-
vironmental standards, and other costs be-
yond Puerto Rico's control that are not
borne by its neighbors.
On 14 May 1985, I traveled to Dominica
to share with Prime Minister Charles our
commitment to go forward with two proj-
ects of tremendous importance to her peo-
ple. Section 936 funds will finance the ex-
pansion of fruit processing in Puerto Rico
so that we can provide final processing and
marketing for fruit harvested by farmers in
As Prime Minister Charles expressed it so
well: "936 is the way for us to strengthen the
Caribbean Basin Initiative in the way the

Administration always wanted it ... 936
must remain exactly as it is, without
changes or compromise."
We have now secured commitments
from 21 major corporations to make new
investments in Puerto Rico and comple-
mentary new investments elsewhere in
Central America or the Caribbean Basin if
section 936 remains unchanged. We
are determined to expand upon these
In his message to Congress, President
Reagan said that no tax preference would be
repealed "where there is a clear national
security interest that argues to the contrary."
The proposal to repeal section 936 was ex-
pressed in tentative terms; it acknowledged
"a special interest in the economic health of
the Caribbean region" and took specific
note of our CBI twin plant concept. Indeed,
the portion of the tax package dealing with
section 936 was the only one that was so
qualified and that solicited additional
On 3 June 1985, Prime Minister Blaize
wrote to President Reagan: "We have an
urgent need for new investment and new
jobs. This proposal of the Governor's and
the US corporations is the most concrete
and significant opportunity available to
Grenada to make progress on this critical
priority." He went on to request that the
President "reconsider the tremendous con-
tribution to national security the preserva-
tion of the current section 936 would make"
and that the President "leave this important
provision unchanged."
I urge President Reagan to reconsider the
proposal to repeal 936. This provision can
serve the same energizing role for our entire
region that the President has originally
sought to achieve in the Caribbean Basin
Initiative legislation through tax incentives
that never were enacted. O

Crossing Swords is a
regular feature of Carib-
bean Review. The
views expressed herein
are the sole opinion of
the author. Rafael Her-
nindez Col6n is gover-
nor of Puerto Rico.


Responses and Replies

Puerto Rico's Decision to Trade

By Emilio Pantojas-Garcia and Suphan Andic

A Distorted View
Dear Colleagues:
I read with interest-and amazement-the
article by Professor Suphan Andic, "The De-
cision to Trade; Puerto Rico's Export Strat-
egy" (Caribbean Review, Spring 1985).
For someone who has lived for a long time
in Puerto Rico, Professor Andic seemed to
ignore the most basic fact about Puerto
Ricds export-led development strategy: its
present crisis. Since 1973 the Puerto Rican
economy has been in its worst crisis since
the Great Depression, and no scholars of
the left or the right, nor even the island
politicians, dispute this fact. What bothered
me however, was not just that she chose to
ignore the crisis but that she went further to
present a distorted view of reality by arguing
that the island's economic performance un-
der the export-led strategy had been
Her arguments were dutifully framed in a
typical neoclassical economist's attack
against Raul Prebisch and the import-sub-
stitution school and their heirs of the depen-
dency school. Once the enemy had been
disposed of, she went on to elaborate on the
virtues of export promotion as the key to
Puerto Rico's development.
I would like to set the record straight by
showing the flaws in Andic's arguments
and presenting some facts that call into
question the alleged success of the Puerto
Rican export-led development strategy and
the wisdom of using the island as an exam-
ple for its neighbors.
According to Andic, between 1960 and
1981 GNP per capital in Puerto Rico grew at
the rate of 7.9 percent annually in current
dollars. She argues that this figure puts
Puerto Rico side by side with the cream of
the crop of developing nations, the Asian
gang of four" (Taiwan, Hong Kong, Sing-
apore and South Korea). There are, how-
ever, two grave flaws in this measure of
success. First, Professor Andic, an econo-
mist, chooses to use current dollars in her
calculation and not the standard economic
measure of real growth, constant dollars.
Thus, the 7.9 percent figure does not reflect
real growth but the high inflation rate preva-
lent in Puerto Rico during the 1970s. When
calculated in constant (1954) dollars, this
amazing growth rate is reduced to a more
realistic 3.5 percent, less than half of the
current dollars figure and certainly not as
impressive. But there is yet another flaw in
this argument. It lumps together part of the

"golden age" of Puerto Rico's export-led de-
velopment strategy (1960-1973) with the
period of its collapse (1973 to present). The
conflation of these two periods, coupled
with the use of the inflated GNP per capital
growth rate, gives the false impression of a
smooth upward trend on the island's econ-
omy, when the reality is quite different. If we
stick to using current dollars, we would find
that between 1960 and 1973 GNP per cap-
ita grew at an annual rate of 9 percent. Be-
tween 1973 and 1981, however, this rate
dropped to 6.6 percent; a clearly slower, if
still good, rate of growth. But when we ac-
count for inflation, the picture is a radically
different one from that presented in the arti-
cle. Between 1960 and 1973, GNP per cap-
ita in constant dollars grew at an annual rate
of 5.1 percent, while between 1973 and
1981 it grew at an annual rate of 0.9 per-
cent. And this trend has only worsened over
the past years (1981-84) when GNP per
capital in constant dollars decreased at a
rate of 0.33 percent annually (calculated
from data of the Puerto Rico Planning
Board.) Clearly growth has not charac-
terized the Puerto Rican economy for the
past decade, and everyone, except perhaps
Professor Andic, agrees that recovery is not
in sight.
Professor Andic also argues that one of
,the key reasons for the pattern of stable
growth that differentiates Puerto Rico from
other countries in the region is export diver-
sification. Here again the argument is mis-
leading. The stagnation of the Puerto Rican
economy is due, to a very large extent, pre-
cisely to a highly concentrated export struc-
ture. Granted, during the first stages of the
industrialization process exports became
diversified, but by the mid-sixties, when
wages became too high to attract more tex-
tile industries and President Johnson
granted the island higher oil import quotas,
the export-processing sector shifted dras-
tically to oil processing. By 1972, seven
years after Johnson's concession, 30 per-
cent of Puerto Rico's exports were made up
by organic chemicals and other petrochem-
ical products. By 1976 the figure had in-
creased to 55 percent of all exports. (US
Dept. of Commerce, Economic Study of
Puerto Rico, Vol. II, 1979). This high com-
modity concentration rate is only compara-
ble to that of sugar exports at their peak, just
before the Great Depression (65 percent in
1921), and belies the claims of substantial

What this argument ignores is that, as
had been the case with sugar before, it was
this skewed export structure that caused the
debacle of the Puerto Rican economy. The
high prices of non-US oil after the 1973
OPEC embargo, and the lifting of the oil
import quotas by President Nixon in 1973,
priced Puerto Rico out of the US and inter-
national petrochemical markets. Had
Puerto Rico had a truly diversified export
structure, the blow to the island's economy
would not have been as hard as the ex-
tremely low real GNP per capital growth rate
from 1973 onwards indicates. Once more,
Andic not only stubbornly disregards the
facts but twists them to fit her statements
of faith in the virtues of export-led
The third key argument to illustrate the
success of Puerto Rico's outward-oriented
development is that there has been an im-
provement in the employee's share of per-
sonal income vis-a-vis that of profits. The
Puerto Rican experience is presented as a
refutation of Kuznets' proposition that in the
early stages of industrial development there
is a tendency for greater income concentra-
tion. In this view Professor Andic follows the
lead of her husband, economist Fuat M.
Andic, who argued in 1964 that income
distribution had improved in Puerto Rico
during the early stages of industrial devel-
opment. This argument, however, was re-
futed in subsequent studies conducted by
economists Jose A. Herrero and Rolando
Castafieda, Richard Weiskoff and by the
Puerto Rico Planning Board.
Here again a particular set of statistics are
selected, while others are ignored, in order
to present a grossly distorted view of reality.
Through statistical manipulation the reader
is led to believe that the main beneficiaries
of Puerto Rico's development have been the
wage earners. Using personal income fig-
ures, excluding transfers, Professor Andic
points out that the employee share of per-
sonal income "increased from 65.1 percent
in 1950 to 78.4 percent in 1980, while that
of profits fell from 27.4 percent to 12.1 per-
cent." The catch here is in the phrase "ex-
cluding transfers"; this phrase hides the fact
that the $3,487.2 million in profits and divi-
dends taken out of the island in 1980 by
foreign (mainly US) corporations are not
included in this calculation. What should be
said, but isn't, is that of all the income pro-
duced on the island (GDP) in 1980, one-
fourth (24.1 percent) went to foreign corpo-


rations as profits. In 1983, the figure went
up to $4,460.6 million, 26.3 percent of the
GDP A more realistic and objective assess-
ment of income distribution between work-
ers and capital would have to take this into
account and not simply ignore the share of
profits taken out of the island. If the profits of
foreign corporations are included in the cal-
culation of income distribution, one can get
a more accurate and radically different pic-
ture. When expatriated profits are included,
the employee compensation share of na-
tional income drops from 61.8 percent in
1950 to 56.8 percent in 1980 and 53.3 per-
cent in 1983. Conversely the share of profits
increases from 31.3 percent in 1950 to 38.5
percent in 1980 and 41.7 percent in 1983.
Professor Andic's argument about im-
proved income distribution is thus mislead-
ing, and it is based on the selection of
inappropriate and biased statistics. One
does not have to be an economist to recog-
nize the fallacy of this argument. Anyone
who lives in Puerto Rico and who knows
that nearly 50 percent of the population de-
pends on government aid (foodstamps or,
now, foodchecks) to make ends meet
knows how distorted the argument is.
There are many other facts that Professor
Andic chooses to ignore in making her case
for the benefits of Puerto Rico's export-led
development strategy. One of them is the
fact that between 1947 and 1984 unem-
ployment never fell below the 10 percent
mark. Furthermore, since 1976 the unem-
ployment rate has fluctuated between 17
and 24 percent, remaining over 21 percent
from 1982 onwards.
While Professor Andic can speak glow-
ingly of the positive effects of export-led
development on income distribution and
GNP per capital by tailoring the statistics to
her arguments, she cannot do the same
with the effects of export promotion on em-
ployment. Not even the old argument about
unchecked population growth will do here,
since high unemployment persists in the
face of significant emigration to the United
States and declining population growth
rates. During the late 1960s and early
1970s there was a brief period of "return
migration," when the flow shifted towards
the island with more people coming from
the US than leaving. This was immediately
blamed for the increases in unemployment
experienced in the early 1970s, when un-
employment rose from 10.3 percent in
1970 to 19.6 percent in 1976. However this
migration pattern reversed again, with an
average 19,323 more Puerto Ricans an-
nually leaving the island than returning be-
tween 1977 and 1983. This was coupled
with a decline in the natural rate of popula-
tion growth from 1.9 percent in 1970 to 1.5
percent in 1983, well below most Third
World countries. Yet unemployment kept
If anything, the Puerto Rican experience

shows that export promotion does not nec-
essarily have a positive impact on job crea-
tion. The annual growth rate of total
employment in Puerto Rico between 1950
and 1982 was 0.6 percent. The average
number of jobs created annually during this
same period was only 3,200. During the
crisis period between 1973 and 1982, the
annual growth rate of total employment was
-5.3 percent. Not able to manipulate the
statistics on employment to fit her distorted
view, Professor Andic did not even mention
this key indicator of economic per-
If there are any lessons to be learned from
the Puerto Rican experience, they are not
positive ones. The debacle of the Puerto
Rican model of development is such that
even the Reagan administration painstak-
ingly avoided drawing the obvious parallels
between this model and the development
model proposed by the CBI. Further, neo-
classical developmentalism has long ex-
cluded Puerto Rico from its list of "open
economies miracles" and has moved east,
where the "gang of four" is providing a new
wave of "miracles." By any standards, eco-
nomic or social, the Puerto Rican develop-
ment model is a failure. It is difficult to
imagine how it could be an example to any
of our Caribbean or Latin American
University of Illinois
at Chicago

Suphan Andic Replies:
There is an old Middle Eastern anecdote
which relates the brief conversation be-
tween two men. One asks: "Who was the
king whose daughter fell into the river and
drowned?" The other responds: "Which one
of your errors am I supposed to correct? It
was not a king, but a prophet. It was not his
daughter, but his son. The son did not fall
into the river, but was thrown into a well. He
did not drown, but was rescued."
Professor Pantojas's response to my short
piece on Puerto Rico's export and growth
performance is so full of misconceptions,
misinterpretations, out-of-context quota-
tions (and some statistical errors) that I am
afraid a reply cannot be as succinct as that
of the anecdote's, but rather would require a
lengthy essay, if not a historical pamphlet. I
refrain from such an endeavor. Let me,
however, dwell briefly on four points to set
the record straight at least partially.
1. Obviously Professor Pantojas is not fa-
miliar with the recent writings of Raul Pre-
bisch where he faults the import substitu-
tion development strategy he himself
fathered for causing many of the serious
economic difficulties Latin and Central
American countries have been going
through. He also appears to be unaware of
the policy measures some of them have
been introducing for some time in order to

redress the past policy errors, promote their
exports, and get out of the development
impasse in which they find themselves. The
literature by private scholars as well as inter-
national organizations (World Bank,
UN/ECLA, 1DB/ INTAL) is abundant, and
Professor Pantojas might do himself-and
his students-service if he were to familiar-
ize himself thoroughly with it before point-
ing an accusing finger at others.
2. Whether measured in current prices or
after adjusting for inflation, the growth per-
formance of the Puerto Rican economy has
been considerably slow indeed. For this
there are several reasons, including the oil-
price-hike-triggered world recessionary de-
velopments. However, I fail to see how this
discrepancy in the growth rates for one dec-
ade to the next constitutes an argument that
discredits the export-led growth develop-
ment policy and supports that of substitut-
ing imports. Could one find two or three
economies heavily engaged in import sub-
stitution which show a similar or higher per-
formance of growth? Again it would do well
if Professor Pantojas were to familiarize him-
self with the more than abundant literature,
especially with the works of Balassa et al. at
the World Bank, Jhagwati et al. at the Na-
tional Bureau of Economic Research and of
several other scholars.
3. With respect to Professor Pantojas's
contention that Puerto Rico's export struc-
ture is even today highly concentrated, I
should like to point out that he is comparing
a homogenous product of the past-sugar
(commodity code 1552045)-with a het-
erogenous global category of chemical and
related products where the commodity
code ranges from 4010110 to 4962000.
Had he not ignored the commodity com-
position of the category, he would have
come across a great variety of manufac-
tured products ranging from pharmaceuti-
cal products, plastics, rubber, perfumery,
cosmetics, and paints to petroleum prod-
ucts and would have found that phar-
maceutical products alone make up more
than one-third of this category. He then, I am
sure, would have refrained from stating cat-
egorically that Puerto Rico's export struc-
ture is highly concentrated.
Moreover, Professor Pantojas has not
done his home reading well and has not
taken care in interpreting the sources he
himself cites; for in the very same US De-
partment of Commerce study which he
uses as ammunition he will find that "...pet-
rochemicals, mainly organic chemicals...
[were] 12.9 percent of all island products
shipped that year [1967]," a far cry-al-
most one-fifth-from the 55 percent Pro-
fessor Pantojas cites. I wonder who distorts
and disregards the facts!
More amazing, however, is Professor Pan-
tojas's contention that "the stagnation of the
Puerto Rican economy is due... to a highly
Continued on page 38

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What Hath Intervention Wrought

Reflections on the Dominican Republic

By James W. Nash

Twenty years after the Dominican civil
war of 1965 and the massive Ameri-
can military intervention which fol-
lowed, the US action is still controversial. It
is condemned by adversaries and some-
times by friends. Disagreements still exist
about what happened in 1965, and it is
unclear whether subsequent events in the
Dominican Republic have ratified the US
action. Nevertheless, an event like the Do-
minican intervention cries out for appraisal
as time and experience strengthen our ana-
lytical hindsight. The 1983-84 events in
Grenada indicate that the United States will
be repeatedly faced with the intervention
question. Although we do not know what
would have happened in Santo Domingo
had no Marines and paratroopers invaded
the city in April 1965, some certainties exist.
For one, that action prevented not only the
extreme left, but also the extreme right from
winning the civil war. In the process the
killing in Santo Domingo was halted, and
US troops placed a security envelope
around the international diplomatic com-
munity. Open to debate is the question of
whether positive developments in the Do-
minican Republic since 1965 are owing to
the US intervention. Was this particular ex-
ercise of US power a success? Nothing
about the question, or the answer, is simple.
Today Dominicans have converted what
used to be called laguerra or la guerra civil
to la revoluci6n, a term used even by the
establishment right. This transformation of
terminology demonstrates that 1965 is re-
garded as the great 20th century watershed,
a break with the past more important than
the killing of Trujillo-indeed it was la revo-
luci6n that ratified the assassination and
made it permanent. The widespread use of
this term indicates that the curse of bitter-
ness has been somewhat removed, and that
the event has been raised to the level of
community myth. Although the constitu-
tionalist forces were defeated militarily by a

James W. Nash is a Houston attorney who
travels in and writes about Latin America. He
was a member of the US expeditionary force
which entered the Dominican Republic in
April-May 1965.

US-supported junta, the events set in mo-
tion by the coup of April 1965, generated a
series of open elections, democratically
elected governments and the modern era of
growth. That growth now may be halted
temporarily, but the legacy of American
power remains.

The 1965 Intervention
On Saturday, 24 April 1965, a group of Do-
minican army officers were called to the
Twenty-seventh of February Camp across
the Rio Ozama from Santo Domingo. They
had been summoned by Chief of Staff, Gen-
eral Marcos Rivera Cuesta, because they
were suspected of plotting against the non-
elected government headed by Donald Reid
Cabral. The Reid Cabral government was
successor to the junta which had over-
thrown the democratically elected Juan
Bosch in 1963. On arrival the officers
turned the tables on Rivera Cuesta and put
him under arrest, then started telephoning
other plotters. The revolt spread when many
of the army commanders around Santo
Domingo joined in. The avowed purpose of
these officers was the reinstatement of
Bosch under the 1963 constitution. Accord-
ingly, this group became known as the
Because of the temporary seizure of Ra-
dio Santo Domingo by supporters of the
coup, and because of general dissatisfac-
tion in the population, thousands of people
poured into the streets. On Sunday Reid
Cabral resigned, and a Constitutionalist
government took over at the National Pal-
ace. The same day the US Navy's Caribbean
Amphibious Task Force was ordered to
steam from Puerto Rico to the vicinity of the
Dominican Republic. This task force con-
sisted of six ships and an expeditionary bri-
gade of about 1,700 Marines. In Santo
Domingo fighting broke out between the
Constitutionalists and the anti-Bosch mili-
tary, led by a general named Elias Wessin y
Wessin. Wessin was the leader of the 1963
coup which ousted Bosch. It is generally
accepted that at an early stage Wessin and
his military colleagues asked for US inter-
vention. On Tuesday, 27 April, serious fight-
ing with considerable bloodshed was

occurring in the city. For one thing Wessin
had ordered aircraft from San Isidro, where
his headquarters was located, to bomb the
city. Americans and other foreign nationals
were gathering at the Hotel Embajador in
the western part of the city for evacuation. At
one point armed rebels broke into the Em-
bajador and terrorized the evacuees for sev-
eral hours. Marine guards at the US
Embassy were under fire. Unarmed Ma-
rines were put ashore to coordinate evacua-
tion efforts, but on the next day, 28 April, a
Marine rifle platoon was landed by helicop-
ter on the grounds of the American Em-
bassy in response to continued shooting
into the Embassy compound, apparently by
pro-Bosch rebels. The situation in the city
had become especially explosive since
large quantities of arms had been dis-
pensed to the general population by the
The Dominican operation occurred after
a gradual slide towards intervention. Presi-
dent Johnson and his advisors were caught
up in highly dramatic events. They were
concerned about the safety of Americans in
Santo Domingo because of the apparent
total breakdown in public order. More im-
portantly, they were being advised by the
American Embassy that leadership of the
revolt had been taken over by pro-Cuban
Marxists. They were concerned about the
preeminence in the movement of Colonel
Francisco Caamaho Defio, who was be-
lieved to possess potent left-wing connec-
tions. They were especially concerned
about the true orientation of Caamaio's
deputy, Hector Aristy. On the other hand,
retrospect and a cool reexamination of the
situation has indicated that the American
Embassy either overestimated or overstated
the communist threat. Nevertheless the
motto "No Second Cuba" and memories of
the Bay of Pigs and Cuban missile crisis
were fresh in the minds of an administration
in which the foreign policy staffs were al-
most intact from the preceding Kennedy
administration. Psychologically Cuba was
to Santo Domingo what Iran was to Gre-
nada. The risk-return continuum, as under-
stood by Washington, required precipitous


American troops in Santo Domingo, 1965.
Consequently, from the standpoint of
Washington, intervention became irresist-
ible. On the evening of 28 April, the day the
first Marine rifle platoon was deployed to the
Embassy, President Johnson authorized the
landing of about 500 additional armed Ma-
rines to protect American lives. These Ma-
rines were used to bring civilians from the
Embajador to an embarkation point at
nearby Port Haina, west of Santo Domingo.
By the next day the Johnson administration
had decided to mount a major armed expe-
dition, not only to prevent bloodshed but
also to stop the Constitutionalist rebels. The
fighting was going badly for the Wessin
forces, mainly along the line of the Rio
Ozama, and the city itself was under the
control of the rebels. Furthermore, military
commanders at other points within a few
hours march of the city were trying to pick
the winning side before entering the battle.
Consequently the decision was made to
land the remainder of the Marine expedi-
tionary force, another 1,000 men, and to
support the Wessin forces directly with an
airborne assault. Late in the afternoon the
rest of the Marines came ashore at Haina,
together with their armored vehicles, while
in North Carolina elements of the 82nd Air-
borne Division were departing after the
marshalling of the divisional transport base
from various points in the eastern United
States. The paratroopers began to arrive at
about 2:30 am on Friday, 30 April, landing

at San Isidro without the necessity of
In the military operations that followed,
Marines and paratroopers moved to estab-
lish, eventually, a corridor through the city,
thus isolating and ultimately breaking the
back of the Constitutionalist military ca-
pability. Marines and paratroopers, coming
from opposite ends of Santo Domingo,
linked up at about midday on Saturday, 1
May. Meanwhile, additional Marines and
paratroopers were arriving at San Isidro,
and eventually the American force stood at
about 22,000 men. Serious fighting con-
tinued during May, as the American force
neutralized rebel positions or acted as a
blocking force for newly aggressive junta
troops under Antonio Imbert. Although
fighting mixed with negotiation continued
for several more months, by the end of June
the Constitutionalist movement was mili-
tarily broken.
On 25 May, the Organization of American
States, having somewhat reluctantly ratified
the action retroactively and having created
an "Inter-American Peace Force," started
landing contingents of troops from five na-
tions. By 6 June, the Marines had departed,
leaving units of the 82nd. Once US troops
and OAS allies were in place, and once the
situation was under control, the American
presence also served to put a damper on
both right-wing and left-wing military de-
signs. The United States also used its mili-

tary presence to organize a provisional
government, which did in fact oversee suc-
cessful democratic elections in 1966.
During most of this critical time, the role
of arbiter and expeditor of democracy was
carried out by special ambassador and
chief negotiator Ellsworth Bunker. Not only
did Bunker negotiate the establishment of a
provisional government headed by Hector
Garcia-Godoy, he also kept the right-wing
military under control. Garcia-Godoy was a
centrist figure with ties to the old-line
oligarchy; he also had served in the pre-
vious Bosch government. Garcia-Godoy
did an admirable job of getting contending
factions to agree on the institutional frame-
work for elections to be held in 1966 and
another try at democratic government.
However there were times when Bunker,
backed up by the US command, apparently
found it necessary to threaten the use of US
troops camped in and around Santo
Domingo if the military attempted to over-
throw or thwart Garcia-Godoy. Since the
United States had already invested consid-
erable blood and international prestige on
restoring order in Santo Domingo, it is un-
likely that Bunker was bluffing. Further-
more, it seems unlikely that Garcia-Godoy
could have succeeded and that free elec-
tions could have occurred in June of 1966
without the presence of Bunker, backed up
by American paratroopers in place and
ready to snuff out any coup attempts. Thus
backed by an American army sent to stamp
out a left-wing takeover attempt, a provi-
sional government was able to hold off the
right long enough to hold free elections,
and turn over power to Joaquin Balaguer,
the ex-Trujillist politician who unexpectedly
defeated Bosch at the polls.

Institutional Stability
The last American troops were withdrawn
from Santo Domingo in September 1966.
Two American soldiers were killed by terror-
ists a few days before the US command
folded its colors. Departing troops rode out
of town on trucks with weapons ready. As
they left Dominicans told them an even big-
ger bloodbath would soon follow. No one
had very high expectations for the future of
the country. The Americans were able to
leave only because Balaguer was closely
tied to the Dominican military, and could
therefore, in theory, keep order. Further-
more American military manpower needs
were at a critical point, and a continued
Dominican occupation was a luxury the US
could not afford.
There were bitter and deep divisions in
every element of Dominican society. The
government possessed no expertise in op-
erating a democratic system. An institu-
tional base for democracy was sadly
lacking. The civil war had left the country in
a state of radical polarization. The economy
still depended on sugar as the basis for pos-


; -

sible economic security; because of the re-
cent bloodshed and disorder, there was
utterly no tourist business. The state and all
its machinery, the nation itself and all the
national infrastructure, cried out for mod-
ernization. The only coherent group other
than the semi-intact old-line oligarchy was
the military, which was as much a threat to
democracy as a protector. Most of the popu-
lation was desperately poor and suffering
from continued frustration of its expecta-
tions. The Dominican Republic seemed to
lack almost all of the fundamental criteria
for a stable political system.
Yet somehow Joaquin Balaguer survived
as elected president, and the nation made
significant strides towards institutional sta-
bility. This diminutive professorial man,
who had served as Trujillds puppet presi-
dent, held the country together. The military
continued to be hated and oppressive, and
observers continued to predict that at any
time the country would erupt into another
violent revolution. There were regular accu-
sations of repression and continuing politi-
cal violence. Although some progress was
being made, it was still difficult to regard the
country as a true democracy. Nevertheless
Balaguer, proving to be consummate politi-
cian and a master of public relations, was
reelected in 1970. This was a milestone be-
cause it was the first time a Dominican pres-
ident had gained back-to-back victories in
democratic (or quasi-democratic) elec-
tions. He was reelected again in 1974, but in
1978 was defeated by Antonio Guzman, the
candidate of the PRD, Bosch's old party of
the democratic left. Despite the fact that the
military interrupted the counting of ballots
when it became clear that Guzman would
win, under strong pressure from the United
States the vote-counting was completed.
Guzman took office and another first had
occurred in Dominican politics: a peaceful
transition from one ruling group to another.
Even after the installation of Guzman as
president, there were still doubters. Guz-
man, after all, was a representative of the
oligarchy, a gentleman farmer with humane
political views. He was a centrist not a leftist.
Another test came in 1982 when Salvador
Jorge Blanco, also of the PRD, was elected.
The new president took office in a calm
climate, even though his inauguration was
preceded by a somewhat bizarre event: Guz-
man committed suicide between the elec-
tion and inauguration and the vice
president, Jacabo Majluta, was sworn in as
president. The political system could hardly
have digested these events four years be-
fore, but in 1982 there was barely a ripple.
Finally the country appeared to have com-
pleted its journey into the ranks of solid
democracies. These events amounted to a
clear victory for the concept of democracy,
and possibly also for American policy in
the region.
Dominican democracy has solidified

since 1966 because of a delicate set of inter-
nal balances. For one thing the Dominican
military has been kept out of direct interven-
tion. The Dominican military is not un-
usually political, and positions taken in
1965 were not necessarily politically moti-
vated. Also, the persistent presence and in-
fluence of US military attaches has had a
moderating influence. Since 1978 centrist
presidents have been able to push the most
right-wing elements out of the military, and
a more professional attitude has taken hold.
A coup could always occur in Santo Domin-
go, but such an event is less likely now
than ever.

gimes of recent years have not gone
through the stress resulting from battles
over whether to expropriate large industries.
This situation has certainly helped relations
with the United States. No doubt it sim-
plified the work of Joaquin Balaguer.
The difficult recent history of the Domin-
ican Republic demonstrates that the demo-
cratic machinery is building up. During the
past two years the Dominicans have cer-
tainly had their share of problems, and their
new democratic traditions have been se-
verely tested. After the relatively prosperous
60s and 70s, they were caught in the classic
Third World trap of the 80s: collapsed world

Tanks patrolling the city's street.

Furthermore the old-line oligarchy, which
causes trouble in some Latin American
countries, had already lost its power by
1965. Trujillo had substituted a new elite of
raw force for the old propertied elite of the
Cibao. Likewise members of the Dominican
elite do not encourage their sons to enter
the military, a fact which has further weak-
ened the clout of both. In addition to taking
power from the oligarchy, Trujillo also con-
centrated ownership of properties in his
family and friends. These properties were
for the most part confiscated by the state in
1962, and are operated as state-owned in-
dustries today. In fact, too much state
ownership is a major structural economic
problem of the country. But from a political
standoint, expropriation and nationalization
on a large scale had already occurred by
1965. It had been carried out by Trujillo and
ratified by his successors. Accordingly, re-

commodities markets, rising energy costs,
worldwide recession and high interest rates.
President Jorge Blanco announced at his
inauguration in 1982 that the country was
essentially "bankrupt." Although its exter-
nal debt-to-population ratio is not nearly as
high as that of many Latin American na-
tions, the Dominican Republic had to go to
the International Monetary Fund for an ad-
ditional $435 million with which to pay
lenders. Negotiations with the IMF went for-
ward with excruciating slowness. In order to
please the IMF the Dominicans have gradu-
ally eliminated all foreign exchange sub-
sidies and have allowed the peso to float
against the dollar. This has resulted in se-
vere internal economic problems. The elim-
ination of food subsidies in April of 1984
triggered extensive food riots in which as
many as 100 people were killed. Jorge
Blanco, realizing that the Dominicans must


get their economic house in order if they are
to resume development as a modern coun-
try, has desperately struggled to obtain
some kind of internal consensus. Failing to
do so, he has gone forward nevertheless
with a program of austerity, and in February
1985 was ready to sign the long sought
agreement with the IMF. In the process he
has been savaged from every side, includ-
ing from within his own party, and has seen
his political career ruined. He has put the
army on the streets a number of times and
has repeatedly detained opposition leaders
of both the left and right, in apparent vio-
lation of existing constitutional rights. Al-
though Dominicans tell visitors that if Jorge
Blanco ran for office again "he would not
get a vote," his adherence to the course of
austerity may secure a brighter future for
his nation. The fact that Jorge Blanco, a
centrist president elected from a political
party which belongs to the Socialist Interna-
tional (the PRD), has had the complete co-
operation of the rightist armed forces in this
process, and without a serious hint of coup,
bodes well in the long run. As Dominicans
mark the 20th anniversary of la revoluci6n,
the fact that their democracy has survived
the excruciating economic crises of recent
years indicates that a true transformation in
the political complex has occurred.

Reflection and Analysis
Those who have objectively analyzed events
in Santo Domingo during the week begin-
ning 24 April 1965, have discovered several
certainties. For one there was, in fact, a se-
rious threat to the lives of Americans and
other foreign nationals. This threat was no
doubt adequate to justify the initial landings
of Marines to aid in the evacuation process.
However secondary and tertiary levels of
intervention followed, under a procedure
eventually blessed by the OAS. These addi-
tional landings had the purpose of halting
the violence in Santo Domingo and saving
the city and population from destruction.
They also had the avowed purpose of pre-
venting a communist takeover. In regard to
the latter, no one now denies that there were
communists in the Constitutionalist camp.
However it is generally conceded that they
were not as important or influential as was
thought. It is true that Caamafio eventually
went to Cuba and was killed trying to reenter
his country with a guerilla band. However it
is felt that neither he, nor such advisors as
Aristy, were at the time committed to a
Marxist seizure. (Aristy is still on the Domin-
ican political scene and has shown little
sign of being a dedicated Marxist.) It is im-
possible to know whether a prerevolution-
ary, pre-Leninist situation existed in Santo

Searching packages for hidden explosives.

Domingo during those violent days. A num-
ber of different scenarios seemed possible
and could have actually developed.
From a legal viewpoint, the Johnson ad-
ministration claimed to be acting under in-
ternational law in taking those actions
necessaryto protect its own citizens and the
international diplomatic community. The
same claim was available to cover the Gre-
nadian expedition of 1983. Precipitous mili-
tary interventions are in some cases
justifiable. Nevertheless, some limits must
be placed on how far a foreign power can go
in protecting its nationals. The United
States, if intending to rely on such a claim,
should theoretically have evacuated all for-
eign nationals who wanted to leave Santo
Domingo and then withdrawn at the end of
the first week of May 1965, rather than in-
jecting additional troops.
Morally there is always a question about
whether a large powerful country should
ever invade a small weak country to change
the course of its history. Notwithstanding
the United Nations Charter, it is unrealistic
to say this should never happen. Many re-
gard the intervention of April 1965 as
heavy-handed, imperialistic and haughty.
But we cannot realistically conclude on
moral grounds that no intervention should
ever occur. The people of Grenada seem to
have been more than happy to see Ameri-
can troops in October 1983. However, in
regard to a highly complex and ambiguous
situation like that of Santo Domingo, the
moral aspect often breaks down as a means
of analysis. That is because such analysis
requires a welter of subjective determina-
tions about events. For example, opponents
of the United States' action claim that US
intervention only prolonged the fighting
and bloodshed. On the other hand, many
Dominicans believe today that Wessin was
ready to torch Santo Domingo rather than
see it taken over by Caamafo. It is prac-
tically impossible to calculate which sce-
nario, if either, would have actually
unfolded. Who knows what would have
happened in Santo Domingo? Did a pre-
Leninist flux exist in Ciudad Nueva, the rebel
stronghold in old Santo Domingo? Would
Wessin have burned the city? Would Imbert,
the junta leader, have turned into another
Trujillo? The advocates of these various
positions are unable to offer evidence con-
vincing enough to halt the argument.
Accordingly the best answers are to be
found by looking at longer term processes,
and a 20-year perspective is now available.
From the standpoint of historical overview,
from the viewpoint of the passage of time,
the 1965 US actions become more defensi-
ble. In the context of 20 years, it appears that
the United States may have helped effect a
structural transformation in the Dominican
Republic which could not have happened
without something like the 1965 interven-
tion occurring. Whatever difficulties the Do-


minicans have experienced, they are further
along toward democracy than most other
Latin American countries. Because of the
chain of events generated by the American
action of 1965, all those factors tending to
buttress Dominican democratic institutions
have operated on the grid of American eco-
nomic, political and military interest and
support. Also, the 1965 action reinforced an
established pattern of intervention. We have
announced repeatedly that we regard the
Dominican Republic as part of our vital in-
terests. The most recent American "inter-
vention" was the 1978 political tempest
resulting from military interference with the
presidential elections, and this intervention
had a very positive outcome.
Early returns in the May 1978 elections
showed that Antonio Guzman was winning
over Balaguer by a big margin. As a result,
probably with the tacit approval of Balaguer,
early on 17 May the military staged a raid
on election headquarters and seized
the ballot boxes from Santo Domingo
and vicinity. Although it is true that a
number of other nations appealed to Bal-
aguer concerning resumption of the count-
ing of votes, the role of the United States was
of course critical. President Carter himself
made a strong statement and made it clear
that US economic and military aid would be
cut off unless the electoral process went
forward unimpeded. Balaguer ordered the
reopening of the ballot count as a result of
this pressure. Guzman was elected, as the
early returns indicated. Although a foreign
policy liberal like Carter might have dis-
agreed with the need for the 1965 interven-
tion, it is likely that, had it never happened,
the Dominican generals would not have lis-
tened to him in 1978. Thus in 1978 we were
able to see 1965 operating in the context of
years, and in an affirmative manner.
It is important thatwe intelligently charac-
terize this Dominican-American process, of
which 1978 is a crucial example, since the
Dominican experience helps define the
reach of the United States in Latin America.
The 20-year view reveals certain trends.
One theory might be that the US has, in
effect, imposed democracy on the Domin-
ican Republic. That is, Dominican democ-
racy resulted when the US decided during
the 1960s to bring it directly into its system
through a mixture of economic and military
intervention. Another way of saying this is
that the Dominican Republic is a quasi-pro-
tectorate of the US. This, of course, is also
known as "neocolonialism."
However, a better way of describing what
actually has happened is that, after Castro,
the United States was in the process of mak-
ing a permanent shift in its thinking away
from the encouragement of nearby dictator-
ships, This shift helped generate the Do-
minican intervention, and the events of
1965 became inevitable when placed
against this background. As Jerome Slater,


US troops firing into Constitutional Zone.

in his study of the 1965 intervention and its
diplomatic aftermath points out, the single
best defined objective of the US was the
establishment of an elected democratic
government in Santo Domingo. Thus the
United States insisted on democracy in the
Dominican Republic when it had the oppor-
tunity. The aftermath of the intervention,
during which we sponsored democratic
elections, has turned out to be more impor-
tant in the long run than the intervention
itself. The Dominican Republic was re-
vealed to be a fertile ground for democracy
despite widely-held beliefs to the contrary.
In structuralist terms, an underlying shift
had occurred in the manner in which we
perceived the opposing forces in the region,
and in 1965 we acted accordingly. Previous
American policy in the area may have been
generated by the need to maintain anti-
communist governments at whatever cost.
However the advent of communist Cuba
created a sort of psychic imbalance in the
Caribbean, which could be restored only by
the establishment of a nearby showcase de-
mocracy. Thus the intervention became ab-
solutely necessary. Conscious US policy
shifted towards being willing to pay higher
costs to obtain democratic governments in
the region. Unless one understands this
shift, President Johnson's risk-return con-
tinuum in April 1965 may still seem in-
coherent after 10 years.
Since the assassination of Rafael Trujillo
in 1961, the Dominican Republic has been
regarded as somewhat of a laboratory state.
At that time the Kennedy administration
squeezed out the remnants of the old re-
gime and promoted the country as a "show-
case of democracy." Elections were held in
1962, but the Bosch regime did not hold up.
Bosch was deposed after only seven
months and the seeds of 1965 were
planted. Through the Balaguer years the

nation grew in stature and stability. Its cur-
rent ordeals are not unusual in the Third
World, and the Dominican government has
faced the important economic issues head
on. Experts on the Caribbean believe the
Dominican Republic is important out of
proportion to its size because of its location
and the timing of its development. Wash-
ington realized this in 1965. The Dominican
expedition was mounted because the col-
lective leadership in Washington perceived,
on some essential level of analysis, the un-
usual importance of the country. President
Johnson could not take even a small risk
that Santo Domingo would fall to a Cas-
troite revolution, so he was not especially
interested in stopping to think in detail
about whether there really was a communist
threat. Yet having made the irreversible de-
cision to intervene, the Johnson admin-
istration, and those following, poured aid
and support into the country. In enforcing a
ceasefire and a compromise settlement
which led to the establishment of bona fide
elective processes, the US emphasized its
insistence on the need for democratic in-
stitutions in all of Latin America. We are
following the same strategy in El Salvador
with the centrist Duarte. We have exerted
constant pressure on Uruguay, Bolivia, Bra-
zil, Chile, Argentina, Peru, Honduras and
Nicaragua to move from semi-permanent
military oligarchy to democracy. Conse-
quently, our strategy in Latin America ap-
pears to have undergone a long-term
transformation. Cuba taught us that it is dan-
gerous to tolerate nondemocratic regimes,
that Batistas are followed by Castros. This
lesson, relearned since in places like Iran
and the Philippines, was a chief factor in
forming the policy resulting in the 1965
Dominican intervention and its aftermath.
Against this background, the intervention
appears a legitimate exercise of power. El


Dominican Update

Can Politics Contain the Economic Crisis?

By Richard C. Kearney

In a recent book by political scientists
Howard J. Wiarda and Michael J.
Kryzanek titled The Dominican Re-
public: A Caribbean Crucible, the authors
expound the thesis that the Dominican Re-
public is a crucible of social and political
change in Latin America and the Caribbean
because of its strategic importance as a
democratic and economic pacesetter. My
dictionary defines "crucible" as "a container
used to hold a substance being treated un-
der great heat" and as "a severe, searching
test." Although the authors probably had
the latter definition in mind when they titled
the book, the former would seem to be
equally appropriate. In the Dominican Re-
public today, economic and political pres-
sures are increasing rapidly and severely
testing the capabilities of the government.
Metaphorically speaking, the danger of a
blowout through the weakest portion of the
Dominican crucible-its administrative
substructure-is building noticeably.
To a considerable degree the history of the
Dominican Republic is one of hard times and
bad breaks: cruel and exploitative coloniza-
tion by the Spanish; Haitian invasion and rule
for 22 years (1822-1844); the numbing to-
talitarian dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo
(1930-1961); the bloody civil war of 1965
and the resulting US invasion; the devastat-
ing twin blows of Hurricanes David and
Frederick in 1979 that killed 1000 people,
left 400,000 homeless, and set the economy
back an estimated 3 years. Most recently, the
bad breaks have taken the form of high pe-
troleum costs and low world commodity
prices for the country's major exports.

The Economy
The Dominican Republic has confronted se-
vere economic dislocations during the past
several years. World prices of the "traditional"
Dominican exports of gold, silver, fer-

Richard C. Kearney is associate professor in
the department of government and interna-
tional studies at the University of South Car-
olina. During 1984-1985 he was visiting
professor of public administration at the Uni-
versidad Catdlica Madre y Maestra in Santo
Domingo, Dominican Republic.

ronickel, cocoa, coffee, and sugar have de-
clined dramatically. Projected 1985 exports
of these products are expected to drop about
8 percent from 1984 levels. The sugar situa-
tion is particularly troublesome. Historically
the most important Dominican export,
sugar, tumbled from its record high price of
76 cents per pound in 1975 to a recent low of
around three cents in June 1985, well below
production costs of 14 cents per pound. Al-
though Dominican sugar earnings in-
creased temporarily in 1984 because of an
expansion in the US sugar quota and the
elimination of duties under the Caribbean
Basin Initiative (CBI), cuts in the US quota for
1985 and the continuing weakness in world
sugar prices make the future earnings pros-
pects much less favorable. Indeed, prelimi-
nary statistics for the first six months of 1985
indicated a reduction of more than 26 per-
cent in sugar exports.
While traditional exports remain weak,
exports of "non-traditional" products such
as fruits and vegetables have shown some
growth recently, and higher earnings from
industry are also likely, especially those situ-
ated within the five duty free zones that host
some 130 firms (mostly US) and employ
more than 31,000 workers. The most prom-
ising source of economic development,
however, is tourism. In 1985 tourism was
expected to surpass sugar as the country's
leading foreign exchange earner. A tremen-
dous amount of new construction is just
completed, underway, or planned on the
North Coast around Puerto Plata, the
Southeast Coast at Punta Cana, and just
east of the capital of Santo Domingo. All
three sites are served by international air-
ports. The felicitous combination of low
prices, enchanting scenery, friendly people
and a low violent crime rate makes tourism
an increasingly important factor in the Do-
minican Republic's economic future.
Despite such encouraging prospects as
tourism, the overall condition of the Domin-
ican economy remains unstable and the
prognosis grim. Inflation has been esti-
mated at rates varying from 24 to 40 per-
cent. Unemployment and underemploy-
ment plague one-half of the work force. The
Central Bank has had recurring liquidity

problems. And in early 1985 the external
debt of the Dominican Republic was esti-
mated at US $2.93 billion, about 17 percent
of that in arrearages. The most optimistic
projections of economic growth for 1985
were around 1 percent, presenting quite a
contrast to the 11 percent annual average
growth rate of the 1968-74 Dominican
"economic miracle."
The leading topic of national economic
policy-making and popular discussion for
the past two years, and a key to the country's
economic future, may be represented by
three letters: IME In January 1983, a three-
year agreement was signed with the Interna-
tional Monetary Fund which required the Do-
minican government to implement a variety
of austerity measures including tight credit,
reduced deficit spending, and a gradual dis-
placement of imports from the undervalued
official exchange rate (1:1) to the market-
driven parallel rate (currently 3:1). The aus-
terity measures led to a round of substantial
price increases for food and other basics,
culminating in April 1984 with widespread
public demonstrations and riots. The IMF
demand that the price of gasoline be dou-
bled immediately, reducing heavy govern-
ment subsidizations, became a major issue
when President Salvador Jorge Blanco broke
off negotiations on IMF targets for the sec-
ond year of the agreement.
The government resumed negotiations
with the IMF in July, and as a gesture of
good faith increased petroleum prices by
around 70 percent. In January 1985, as ne-
gotiations continued and the Central Bank's
liquidity problems worsened (virtually all
sources of foreign funds had been frozen
while lending agencies and commercial
banks awaited the outcomes of the talks),
the President devalued the peso by floating
it at the free market rate and announced
further sharp increases in petroleum and
electricity prices. With these steps taken, the
IMF and the Dominican Republic signed a
standby agreement and, on 28 June 1985,
a final agreement. The dammed-up inter-
national dollars were released and the gov-
ernment took a deep breath. Although the
final accord continues to be the subject of
much popular and partisan criticism, most


Dominicans seemed to recognize its inev-
itability given the dearth of alternative
courses of action.
Meanwhile, government officials are faced
with the question of how to pay off the grow-
ing debt. In 1984, 90 percent of all export
revenues, about $484 per Dominican, were
spent on petroleum imports and on servic-
ing the debt. The austerity measures and
higher revenues from new taxes (34 percent
in 1984), including a value added tax, per-
mitted a balanced budget in 1984 and 1985.
Furthermore, indirect assistance was ex-
pected from the nearly 1 million Dominicans
living in the United States legally or other-
wise, mainly in "Nueva York," who contribute
some US $500 million annually to the
Dominican economy.
In spite of the IMF accord and the in-
crease in US financial assistance in the
form of grants, loans, and the Caribbean
Basin Initiative from 459.8 million in 1983
to $152.4 million in 1985, the overall eco-
nomic outlook is grim. The wrenching ad-

justments to the Dominican economy have
led to increased unemployment, painful
levels of inflation, reduced private and pub-
lic sector investment, a reduction in some
government services, a sustained decline in
the standard of living, and a severe test of
character for the Dominican people.

Political Problems
Not surprisingly, civil unrest has festered
during these economic disruptions. Al-
though nothing has approached the vio-
lence of April 1984, both leaders have called
and carried out general stikes on several
occasions. The most recent was in July
1985 over the issue of raising the minimum
wage from US $58 to $83. Two more lim-
ited job actions also took place in June and
July. The Dominican Medical Association
called the doctors out on strike for 15 days,
demanding higher salaries and physical
plant improvements in the public hospitals.

The judges walked out of the country's 264
courtrooms in July and August, also seek-
ing higher pay and improved facilities.
Other occupational groups in both the pub-
lic and private sectors were threatening to
take job actions.
After 31 years of severe repression under
the Trujillo dictatorship, Dominicans have
been making up for lost time by ag-
gressively challenging their government.
Widespread interest and participation in
politics has been characteristic of the coun-
try since Trujillo's assassination in 1961.
The free-wheeling Dominican democracy
is encouraged by an open society and a
vigorous free press composed of some nine
daily newspapers representing a broad
spectrum of political opinion. Under most
conditions, the phenomenon of mass par-
ticipation in a democratic policy would ap-
pear to be healthy and desirable. However
the aspirations and expectations of the
Dominican people are beginning to out-
strip the institutional capacity of the govern-


Campaigning for Balaguer in a small town.

ment to respond. Levels of institutional-
ization are alarmingly low in all three
branches of government.
The bilateral Dominican Congress has
progressed remarkably as a policy partici-
pant since the 12-year administration of
President Joaquin Balaguer (1966-1978),
evolving from an obsequious rubber stamp
into an independent-minded and some-
times obstreperous adversary of the execu-
tive branch. Although the President remains
the preeminent actor within the political
system, the Congress has attained a signifi-
cant voice in policy-making. However, that
voice is typically negative and obstructive,
since the Congress lacks the institutional
resources to become a true partner, or ini-
tiator, in the policy-making process.
The representatives in the legislature
have extremely limited staff support and
clerical aid. Few have any prior experience
in government, and many are remarkably
uninformed as to just what a legislature is
supposed to do. Moreover, few representa-
tives attempt to continue service beyond a
first term. Turnover has been astonishingly
high in both houses since the 1966 elec-
tions, averaging 80.5 percent in the Senate
and 89 percent in the Chamber of Deputies.
The limpid judicial branch has similar in-
stitutional problems, as illustrated by the
judges' strike in July 1985. Judicial pay is
very low, averaging US $335 per month; Su-
preme Court justices earn around $670. The
judges must share chambers, have little or
no clerical or staff assistance, and no air con-
ditioning in the tropical courtrooms. Gener-

ally speaking, the judicial branch is a weak
political actor that receives very little respect
from government officials, the private sector,
or the citizenry. The judges did not help their
image during the strike: they left thousands
of accused in prison without bail, hearing, or
trial, in direct violation of the Constitution
and any sense of judicial decency.
Institutional weaknesses in the legislative
and judicial branches might be of less con-
cern if the executive branch were strong
enough to govern and administer effec-
tively. Presidents Balaguer, Antonio Guz-
man (1978-82) and Salvador Jorge Blanco
(1982-86) have been chief executives that
have maintained public order in the rapidly
changing Dominican political system and,
as noted, have witnessed considerable eco-
nomic growth and development. The root
of the executive branch problem lies not in
the presidency; instead, it is firmly embed-
ded in the government bureaucracy.
A serious problem now confronting the
Dominican Republic is that private sector
growth and development and the needs of
the people are not being met by a public
sector lagging in its ability to provide a po-
litical and administrative environment con-
ducive to further economic growth. The
prospect is one of recurring political, eco-
nomic, and administrative crises and con-
tinuing reliance on external financial
assistance to solve internal problems. The
solution, at least in part, is increased politi-
cal and administrative institutionalization. A
useful first step would be enactment and
implementation of a career civil service for

government employees.
Public administration in the Dominican
Republic is distinctive in the Caribbean in
that the Dominican Republic (along with
Haiti) did not experience contemporary
governance by a colonial power. It has been
argued convincingly by Jean-Claude
Garcia Zamor and other scholars that the
British colonial legacy is irrelevant to the
Caribbean countries today. That may well
be true, but the pre-independence colonial
bureaucracies did instill the ideals of neutral
competence and professional public ad-
ministration and provide an institutional
framework for the maintenance of a post-
colonial career civil service. Although the
Dominican Republic has flirted with a ca-
reer civil service on several occasions, and
even had one "on the books" for several
years during the early part of this century,
the concept has never been implemented
practically. In that regard, also, the country
stands alone in the Caribbean with its intra-
island neighbor, Haiti.
It cannot be emphasized enough that
economic growth and development and a
better standard of living for Dominicans re-
quires improved government capacity. Yet,
despite weak political and administrative in-
stitutions, the central government is clearly
the primary agent for economic growth. In
1983, the far-flung government owned en-
terprises in agriculture and industry, na-
tionalized from Trujillo family holdings in
1961, represented almost one-third of the
total gross domestic product and con-
sumed over 50 percent of the internal credit
allocated by the central bank. The govern-
ment bureaucracy has ballooned from
120,014 workers in 1977 to an estimated
229,247 in 1983, reflecting the govern-
ment's role as employer of last resort, and
the "layering on" of government jobs
awarded to party supporters and friends
after each election. This empleomania has
resulted in disrespect for useless govern-
ment employees, as reflected in the Domin-
icans' popular name for a huge government
office building in Santo Domingo-el hua-
cal (a box for collecting empty bottles). Not
surprisingly, those ensconced there are
known as las botellas (the bottles).
There is a growing core of skilled and
dedicated technical and administrative em-
ployees, primarily at the middle levels of the
bureaucracy. Further professionalization is
hindered by low pay, little or no fringe bene-
fits, and the absence of even a modicum of
job protection or rights. The result is self-
seeking behavior, a lack of motivation to
perform well, and a pronounced tendency
to concentrate on second jobs held in the
private sector. Higher-placed appointive of-
ficials tend to be most concerned with how
they can best spend their four years in office
to further their personal well-being. With
every public employee in the country, from
continued on page 38


Baseball In Their Blood: The San Pedro Syndrome

.San Pedro de IMacons once 'was the most
important city in the Dominican Re-
public. The first air link to the island uwas
by flying boats which landed at this riler
port in the Southeast of the country. It uas
the cultural and sports center of the na-
tion. a polyglot, multi-racial sugar me-
tropolis that faded under the 31-year
dictatorship of Generalsimo Ralael Tru-
iillo. houw. this city of 100.000 produces
more ball players per thousand than any
other toun has at any time in history.
The lollou/ing is an anecdotal account
of a typical day in this atypical town
which exports sugar and baseball players
to the United States.

On a Tuesday in April 1985. young Do-
minicans munched freshly harvested sugar
cane hauled from the fields by lumbering
oxen to a rail siding near the Consuelo
Sugar mill. One youth selected a particu-
larly thick stalk of cane and wielded it as a
baseball bat. striking at an imaginary ball.
before he peeled and ate it. Strike, yelled a
young black seated atop the sugar cane
wagon, spraying a mouthful of cane pulp
down on his friends. For this poor. grinning
barefoot Dominican boy and his friends, the
American dream seems within reach. if they
choose to take the game seriously. and the
game is baseball.
Across the road Jaime Dais. 35. who
once played for a Class A Houston club. was
assembling team players for a training ses-
sion. It was 2 p.m. and scorching hot. but
these young peloteros ignored the wilting
sun. "They have baseball in their blood as
well as sugar." laughed Da\ is. whose immi-
grant ancestors came from the British West
Indian island of Anguilla to work in the sugar
mills that surround San Pedro de Macoris
In the 1920s and during the US marine
occupation of the Dominican Republic. the
door was thrown open to immigrants from
the rest of the Caribbean-mostly from the
English-speaking islands. They were
quickly nicknamed ocolos which they
claim is a Spanish bastardization of Tortola.
the British Virgin Island from w here many of
the immigrants came. The word also
means 'kinky hair" in Haitian creole, and
traditionally Haitians have cut sugar cane.
One player at the Consuelo ballpark wears a
T-shirt which advertises. soy Cocolo."
Rico Carty formerly ot the Atlanta Bra es.
Alfredo Griffin (Toronto BlueJays andJulio
Franco iCleveland Indiansi came from the
sugar mill a few kilometers from San Pedro.
Nelson Norman. a Pittsburgh Pirate farm-
hand. grew up here. In total, more than 60
professional ballplayers. who played in the
US. began their careers batting balls in the
dirt alleys between the wooden shacks of
the Consuelo Sugar Mill. Rico Carty. who

won the (S National League batting title in
1970 (.366 average recalls. "In those days
we made our own gloves out of old cement
bags. our bats trom branches ol the gas-
uma tree and for balls we just picked up a
stone or a golf ball."
From the outskirts of San Pedro de Ma-
cons, the tall smokestacks of three large
sugar mills are visible amid the miles of
waving green cane. Both took root and
blossomed The harvest ol ball players
grow s larger every year Not only did the mill
o-. ners set aside plenty of land near the mill
for ball parks, but they also created their
ow n clubs and the competition between the
six mills in the region became fierce
Currently there are some 300 Domin-
icans in the major and minor leagues in the
US. and of those nearly half are from San
Pedro de Macoris. When the Winter Season
I October-January I is oer. the summer sea-
son begins, and in the US major league
teams are all in San Pedro organizing train-
ing camps and direc tl harvesting the crop
of \oung Dominican players who show,
baseball potential.
Everyone has their theory about why
young Macoristas make such good ball-
players. The nature of the work around the
mills: wielding machetes produces strong
arms: the sugar cane energizes and so does
the sun: the men grow up lean. tall and
hungry. and with all the wide open spaces
they learn to run fast. Some say these peo-
ple have a lot ol competitive spirit in their
bloodlines and the sugar centrales hae
helped stimulate that spirit They strive to
realize the American dream, and what
dream is more American than making the
major leagues.
Yet is this an impossible dream. Those
\ ho are successful suddenly are faced % ith
split loyalties to two homes. two countries
Antonio Tomas Jorge. a popular restauran-
teur who draws nightly crowds to his Enri-
quillo restaurant, admits that Dominicans
are jealous about their players and don't like
to think of them becoming Americans. "It's
the way with all sportsmen in any country.
you want to hold on to them when the,
become good' Rico Carty, a member of the
older generation of San Pedro ballplayers
says. the majority of the big league players
come back." Although lobs are uncertain at
home. some return because hero worship
and camaraderie are sweeter on the island.
others because they can't stand the cold
weather. Yet the green card is the lucky
charm that shields them from the uncer-
tainly I have my green card." says Rico. so
I have to be in the States every year." He
adds. "Most ballplayers in the Big Leagues
have the green card If the\ don't. they're
lrtami. Florida


Strangers in Paradise

The Jewish Enclave at Sosua

By Frances Henry

Imagine a group of doctors, lawyers, en-
gineers, journalists, artists and other
professionals from the major urban cen-
ters of Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia,
and a few from Hungary and Poland-cos-
mopolitan sophisticates from Berlin,
Munich, Frankfurt, Vienna and Prague sud-
denly transported from European refugee
settlements to the almost uninhabited
North Coast of the Dominican Republic.
There on the shores of a beautiful Carib-
bean island, surrounded by palm trees and
within a five-minute walk from a sandy
beach, a group of several hundred refugees
try to reorganize their lives. It is 1940 and
these people are Jews-victims of the Nazi
regime, victims of one of the most massive
attempts at genocide in human history. It is
an irony of history to place them in the
Caribbean, itself an earlier recipient of the
enforced migration of several million torn
from Africa and sold into slavery.
The circumstances leading to the devel-
opment of a Jewish settlement at Sosua,
Dominican Republic, were extraordinary
[see article on page 17]. Despite consider-
able assistance upon their arrival, the set-
tlers had to build a community in Sosua
while at the same time trying to rebuild their
shattered ethnicity. The Sosuan community
never did integrate into the mainstream so-
ciety of the Dominican Republic, so that
today Sosua contains a handful of the origi-
nal settlers and is on its way to becoming a
footnote to history.

Building a Community
The first challenge to the settlers was to
become economically self-sufficient. They
were supported at first by DORSA, the Do-
minican Republic Settlement Association,
but they soon became virtually indepen-
dent by first turning their considerable ener-
gies to agriculture and later, in the mid-
forties, to the building of a dairy and cattle
industry. They established a cooperative

Frances Henry is professor of anthropology at
York University in Toronto. She has worked
extensively in the area of race and ethnic rela-
tions in Trinidad, Guyana, the Dominican Re-
public and Canada.

and soon began to produce surplus meat. A
cheese-making factory was added later. Dr.
Rieger, one of the early settlers, had had
some training in chemistry, and by also re-
calling his grandmother's cheese-making
ability, began experimenting with recipes in
his own kitchen. When he hit upon the right
formula, Sosua began manufacturing
cheese which was sold all over the island.
The initial cheese cooperative still exists to-
day, manned by a handful of remaining set-
tlers aided by local Dominicans. By 1944
three cooperatives were active in Sosua:
one for dairy and milk products; one for
beef, ham and sausages, and a super-
market which sold these products and dis-
tributed them into the Dominican economy.
Based on a cooperative model, shares
could be bought by both settlers and local
Dominicans. Thus between the years of
1941 and 1948, when large numbers of
Sosuan settlers began emigrating to the
United States, the migrants were preoc-
cupied with their efforts to adjust to a rural
environment and to become economically
The few remaining settlers today speak
with nostalgia of that early period. They re-
call that their primary feeling was one of
gratitude at having been rescued, and at the
same time their intense need to "make
good"-to demonstrate to DORSA and the
Dominicans that their rescue was worth the
effort. They even speak well of the dictator,
Trujillo, to them "our rescuer" although they
are well aware of his reign of terror. They
worked hard at the land, but many had no
desire or ability to become homesteaders,
preferring to develop artisan and craft skills
instead. They developed building and man-
ufacturing skills, plus the ability to repair
whatever went wrong; in short they became
totally self-sufficient. They were aided in
their efforts by the professional talents of
many settlers. Among them were two doc-
tors, several dentists, a nurse, school teach-
ers, a tailor, a shoemaker and a grocer
among others. A clinic, staffed by the two
doctors and the nurse, was one of the first
buildings put up. The clinic staff owned the
only car in the young settlement. Mr. Wig-
gin, who had been a druggist in Berlin, be-

gan making ointments, salves and other
medications for use in the medical clinic.
(Names of the settlers have been changed
to protect their anonymity.) The tailor made
clothes for the entire community and the
services of the shoemaker were much in
demand, as few people had come with
more than the clothes on their backs.
A number of the married couples brought
young children with them and many more
children were born in Sosua during those
early years. A schoolhouse was quickly built
and several settlers who had been teachers
began working there. Mr. Helm, a former
teacher, became the principal of the
school-a job he held for 35 years. He had
spent several years in Spain and was already
fluent in Spanish, so he organized language
classes for adults. He also acted as inter-
preter between settlers and the govern-
ment. The school was organized for the
children of the Jews, and at one point its
students numbered 35. A few Dominicans
were also admitted.
Part of the settlement's success came
about as a result of the hiring of local Do-
minicans. A small community close to
Sousa supplied labor, and as the Jews of
Sosua prospered and their labor needs ex-
panded, so did the small community of
Cheramico, today a thriving community of
about 3,000 who make their living from the
Sosuan enterprises. A few of the early set-
tlers became very wealthy through dint of
hard work. They made their money in the
Continued on page 39


An Extraordinary Migration

SJews in the Dominican Republic

By Kai Schoenhals

he earliest Jewish settlers in the Do-
minican Republic were Sephardic
Jews who had migrated to Hispanola
during the first quarter of the 19th century.
Later, in 1882, the Dominican leader, Gen-
eral Gregorio Luperon, informed the Al-
liance Israelite Universelle at Paris that the
Dominican Republic would be glad to re-
ceive Jewish emigrants from Europe, who
were being subjected to persecution in
Czarist Russia. There was, however, no re-
sponse to Luperon's offer.
In the early 20th century, some Russian
and Cuban Jews emigrated to the Domin-
ican Republic; and after Hitler seized power
in Germany during March of 1933, some
individual German Jews sought refuge in
Santo Domingo. But a large-scale, organ-
ized Jewish settlement in the Dominican
Republic was not formed until 1940, when
the first Jewish refugees from Nazi Ger-
many arrived in Sosua, a town situated on
the North Coast, east of Puerto Plata.
The story of the Jewish settlement at
Sosua actually begins in 1938 when, on the
French shore of Lake Geneva at Evian-Les-
Bains, a special refugee conference met at
the suggestion of the US president, Franklin
D. Roosevelt. The representatives of 32 na-

Kai Schoenhals, who teaches history at Ken-
yon College, does extensive research in the
Caribbean. He is the author of Revolution and
Intervention in Grenada: The New Jewel Move-
ment, the United States and the Caribbean

tions who met at Evian gave many fine
speeches deploring the fate of Germany's
Jews, but none of the nations were willing to
open their borders to an influx of Jewish
immigrants. These were the years of the
world depression when millions of people
were without jobs, hardly an auspicious
time to invite refugees to one's own dis-
tressed country. The result of the con-
ference was particularly embarrassing to
President Roosevelt, whose own congress
was unwilling to envisage the immigration
of large numbers of German Jews to the
United States.
There was one notable exception at
Evian-les-Bains: the Dominican Republic, a
tiny underdeveloped country in the Carib-
bean, whose representative declared his
government's willingness to accept large
numbers of Jewish immigrants. Shortly
after the conference, the Dominican head of
state, Rafael Leonidas Trujillo Molina, de-
clared specifically that 100,000 German
and Austrian Jews would be invited to settle
in the Dominican Republic. (Many of the
Jewish settlers told me during interviews
between 1980 and 1985 that Trujillo later
declared: "After I have settled 100,000 Jews
in the Dominican Republic, I will invite an-
other 100,000." I have not been able to find
any concrete evidence of this alleged decla-
ration, but the fact that Sosua's Jews cite it
shows the admiration which they still feel for
the Dominican dictator who saved them
from certain perdition in Europe.)
In December 1939 American Jews
formed DORSA (The Dominican Republic
Settlement Association), an organization
which was to provide the material suste-
nance for the expected Jewish colonizers in
the Dominican Republic. One month later
DORSA signed a contract with the Domin-
ican government which promised to the fu-
ture Jewish settlers and their descendants
full religious freedom, as well as equal legal
and economic rights, and the opportunity
to acquire Dominican citizenship. Most of
the Jewish immigrants did so, but a handful
retained their original citizenship. (I met two
Jewish settlers at Sousa, Erich Hauser and
Felix Koch who retained their Austrian na-
tionality. After the war they received $500

from the Austrian government as "compen-
sation" for the indignities to which they were
exposed by the Nazis. Felix Koch bought a
cow with his money and baptized it, sar-
castically, "Austria.") Shortly after the sign-
ing of the contract between DORSA and the
Dominican government, Trujillo informed
DORSA's president that he would sell the
prospective settlers 25,000 acres of his own
land at Sosua for a very reasonable price.
Trujillo had previously purchased this land
from the United Fruit Company for

Trujillo's Motives
The question arises why the dictator Trujillo,
who ruled his country with an iron fist for 31
years, who was the perpetrator of many
cruel acts, and who counted among his
closest friends the Spanish fascist dictator
Franco, would make such a generous ges-
ture toward Europe's persecuted Jews. Tru-
jillo was propelled toward his magnanimous
immigration policy by a variety of motives.
His main motive must be perceived within
the context of Dominican history. The Hait-
ian people who inhabit the country west of
the Dominican Republic have always been
viewed by most Dominicans as their arch
enemies, a feeling which still persists. In
1822 Haitians overran the entire island and
established their control over the Domin-
icans lasting 22 years (the Dominican na-
tional holiday, the 27th of February,
commemorates the end of Haitian rule in
1844). During the 20th century, horrendous
economic conditions and brutal govern-
ments in Haiti have annually driven thou-
sands of Haitians across the frontier into the
Dominican Republic-a process going on
even today. The Haitian migrants work as
sugarcane cutters, a job that Dominicans
regard as beneath their dignity. Each year
many of these Haitians decide to remain in
the Dominican Republic, leading many Do-
minicans to fear eventually another take-
over by the black Haitians.
Trujillo, although a mulatto himself (his
maternal grandmother was a Haitian), be-
lieved firmly in the superiority of the white
race and decided upon a "final solution" to
Continued on page 41


Neoslavery in the Cane Fields

Haitians in the Dominican Republic

By Paul R. Latortue

Although the migration of Haitian boat
people to South Florida has received
much publicity, Haitian migration to
the Caribbean islands is less talked about.
Yet these flows are large, and their impact
on the host society may well be more im-
portant in relative terms. For example, the
presence of 40,000 Haitians in the Baha-
mas is an important demographic and eco-
nomic fact in a country of 200,000 inhab-
itants. On the island of Saint Martin, there
are 3,000 Haitians in a total population of
10,000. These figures are even more dra-
matic if we count adult migrants as a per-
centage of the workforce on these islands.
The island of Hispaniola is shared by Haiti
and the Dominican Republic, the two oldest
republics in the region. Estimates of the
number of Haitians in the Dominican Re-
public have ranged from 120,000 to more
than half a million. Despite the lack of offi-
cial statistics and the difficulty of measuring
migration when it involves illegal and unoffi-
cial population movements, the Haitian
presence is believed to be very large, per-
haps larger than that in the United States.

A History of Migration
Haitian migration to the Dominican Re-
public represents the oldest and most
uninterrupted flow of Haitians to any foreign
destination. It started after 1915 and con-
tinues until now, after slowing down in the
late 30s and 40s. 1915 is a very important
date in Haitian history. It marks the fall of
Vilbrum Guillaume Sam, the last of four
ephemeral presidents unable to stay in
power. The fall was a violent one, occasion-
ing the landing of American marines in
Haiti and the beginning of US attempts to
administer the country, an experience that
lasted two decades.
The start of heavy migration to the
Dominican Republic (as well as Cuba) is
directly related to both events that took
place in 1915. The fall of President Sam
underlined the failure of the economic sys-

Paul R. Latortue, a native of Haiti, teaches
economics at the University of Puerto Rico,
where he is director of the Center for Business

tem put in place in Haiti after independence
in 1804. Indeed, in more than a century,
little growth had taken place. The agri-
cultural sector had been allowed to deterio-
rate because the ex-slaves were unwilling to
work on the sugar estates, while the govern-
ing elite conceptualized economic growth
only in terms of a sugar-exporting econ-
omy. The ex-slaves preferred access to land
(land reform) and food production
for home consumption and for sale on
the local market. To retain power the elite
initiated land reform, and to keep its income
base it decided to tax the peasants and
use government for its own benefits.
Very little was spent on agricultural in-
frastructure development. Falling rural per
capital income was the logical consequence
of such arrangements and evidently set the
stage for Haitian migration to the Domin-
ican Republic and elsewhere.
The American administration of Haiti also
caused Haitian migration to the Dominican
Republic by proposing agricultural develop-
ment schemes that stressed large landhold-
ings and agricultural exports in a peasant
economy. In so doing the United States was
following policies it had implanted in Puerto
Rico (sugar), in Central America (bananas),
as well as in Cuba and the Dominican Re-
public (sugar). Indeed, one of the first de-
mands of the American officials in 1915 was
to abolish the 5th article of the Haitian con-
stitution that prohibited foreigners from
owning land in Haiti. With the 1917 Haitian
constitution written by Franklin Delano
Roosevelt, the way was left open for Ameri-
can companies to acquire land. Several
thousands of people became displaced in
the consolidation of properties in the hands
of American companies. Many of the dis-
placed persons went to the Dominican Re-
public and Cuba, where large landholdings
were already in the hands of American sugar
companies that had moved into the
Spanish-speaking Caribbean after the
Spanish-American War. Those companies
were begging for additional laborers, es-
pecially during World War 1 (1915-1918),
which witnessed a substantial decrease in
European beet sugar production.
The American presence in the Caribbean

had sought and obtained in the first part of
the 20th century a greater allocation of Ca-
ribbean land and labor to the production of
sugarcane, particularly in the Spanish Ca-
ribbean (Cuba, the Dominican Republic
and Puerto Rico). In Haiti, the practical re-
sults of the earlier land reform created diffi-
culties for such a policy. It was easier to use
Haitian labor outside of Haiti. The American
administration encouraged migration also
because Haiti was seen as overpopulated.
Furthermore, proceeds from the existing
emigration tax were used to pay the Haitian
foreign debt, recently consolidated in the
hands of US banks.
Even a short history of Haitian migration
would not be complete without mentioning
the impact of the Great Depression of the
1930s. Depressions affect commodity and
raw materials prices more than the prices
for many consumer and industrial prod-
ucts, and when countries depend heavily on
one commmodity-as was the case with
sugar in the Dominican Republic-state
revenues, GNP employment and foreign ex-
change earnings take deep plunges that af-
fect the entire macroeconomic picture.
Unfortunately, when unemployment in-
creases foreigners become highly visible.
This, along with historical antagonism pre-
vailing between Haitians and Dominicans,
and the strong anti-Haitian feelings present
in the ideology of Dominican elites, led to
the massacre of 1937, when 30,000 Haitian
migrants are believed to have been killed by
Dominican police under orders from Gen-
eral Trujillo. Haitians were known to have
difficulty in pronouncing the word perejil
(parsley); that was the criterion used to iden-
tify and knife them.
The 1981-83 recession also severely af-
fected the Dominican Republic and its
sugar economy. The price of sugar fell from
40 cents per pound in 1980 to 6 cents in
1982. Several migrants were picked up on
the way from work and deported without the
possibility of taking their belongings. Again
in 1983 Joaguin Balaguer intellectually led
the anti-Haitian movement, claiming that
the Haitian presence must be seen as a
danger to the survival of the Dominican
Republic as a nation of Hispanic culture and


Incantation, by Haitian artist Lyonel Laurenceau.

Catholic devotion. Yet, when official surveys
show that 80 percent of the workers in the
sugar fields are Haitians, it seems hardly
possible to have a sugarcane industry in the
Dominican Republic without Haitian labor.
There is increasing evidence of Haitian par-
ticipation in the cultivation of other crops
such as coffee and rice. Their participation
in the nonsugar economy, however, can
only be described as "unwelcome"; they
must be kept only in the kind of work "Do-
minicans will not do or do not wish to do."

Working and Living Conditions
There is no doubt that we have a neoslavery
situation in the case of Haitian cane cutters
in the Dominican Republic. This is painful

to acknowledge when one considers that
slavery was abolished in the eastern part of
Hispaniola when Haiti became independent
almost two centuries ago. (The Dominican
Republic received its independence from
Haiti in 1844.) In January 1983 the Interna-
tional Labor Office sent an international
commission of inquiry to investigate the
working conditions of Haitian migrants at
the request of the Anti-Slavery Society of
London and the workers' delegates to the
ILO from Surinam and several African
countries. The ILO report (June 1983), writ-
ten after intensive investigations and on-site
visits, confirms the existence of neoslavery
practices with Haitian migrant workers in
the Dominican Republic.

Dominican Republic law fixes the agri-
cultural minimum wage at 3.50 pesos a day.
The migrants do not make this bare mini-
mum, the wages of cane cutters not exceed-
ing 2 pesos a day for at least 12 hours' work.
The government of the Dominican Re-
public claims that cane cutters are paid ac-
cording to output and thus are not subject
to the minimum wage laws. One of the
widely mentioned abuses is the weighing
system. Most workers complain that the
weight of cane cut and loaded is under-
stated by officials at the mills. The trade
unions state that their representatives are
not permitted to oversee the weighing pro-
cess. They believe that the weighers make
deductions, at times to benefit the planta-


C- ~C ~



tion and at times for their own benefit.
The sugar mill cashes the workers' tickets
every two weeks. Since most cane cutters
can't wait that long, wage tickets become
negotiable instruments that can be cashed
at discount at the food store. The discount
rate is usually 10 percent. If we assume that
the store owner receives tickets every day
and has to wait for one week, on the aver-
age, to cash them, we must conclude that
he is lending money to the migrants at a
rate of interest equal to 520 percent a year.
The cane cutters do not receive daily a
wage ticket for the full rate of 1.83 peso per
metric ton of cane cut and loaded. This
amount is divided in two parts: a wage ticket
for $1.35 p. and a voucher of 0.50 p. payable
upon departure to Haiti at the end of the
harvest time. Curiously this 50c voucher is
called an "incentive." Unlike the wage tick-
ets, the voucher is nonnegotiable. Migrants
complained that the vouchers were value-
less and they could not be cashed upon
departure to Haiti. The Commission con-
cluded that the allegation of nonreceipt was
well founded. The government of the Do-
minican Republic showed proof of pay-
ments made to the Haitian Embassy in
Santo Domingo to cover the "incentive"
costs. However these payments were made
well after the end of the harvest and the

departure of the migrants. There appeared
to be corruption on both sides.
The migrants work at least 12 hours a day
without stopping for a meal. They had rest
days not according to any regular schedule,
but only when the management stopped
them from working because of operational
needs. These long work hours are related to
the very low wage received: an increase in
wages could induce workers to put in fewer
hours. The mills probably know this and do
their utmost to avoid measures that are both
costly and diminish their labor supply. Ob-
viously this is a no-win situation for the mi-
grants unless the entire system is put down.
One could hardly imagine longer hours of
work under slavery.
The Dominican sugar state council every
year concludes a recruiting contract with
the government of Haiti to obtain 15,000 to
19,000 temporary workers for the sugar
harvest. These are the only workers covered
by a contract. The long-time "residents" in
the Dominican Republic have no contract,
nor do those who have crossed the border
on their own (ambafil).
It is worth noting that the individual
worker at no time is asked to sign his con-
tract. The individual contracts are cosigned
by the Dominican and the Haitian govern-
ments. Wage rates are not specified. The
migrants receive no copy. Indeed the sugar
mills retain not only the contract but also
the migrant's passport. The contract makes
no reference to the incentive and bonus pay.
By and large, new workers recruited in this
way are uninformed about the conditions of
employment. The government of Haiti
makes no effort to publicize these condi-
tions. It receives a very large fee to facilitate
the annual recruitment in Haiti (the fee for
1982-83 was US $2,225,000 for the recruit-
ment of 19,000 workers). This money does
not enter any official account at the Haitian
In addition to the workers under contract,
a number of Haitian migrants cross the
border illegally in search of work. This
movement seems to be equivalent in size to
the contract migration, according to the Na-
tional Planning Office of the Dominican Re-
public. In 1977-78, a year in which there was
no official contract between the two govern-
ments, the need for this illegal migration
was even more acute. Migrants state they
were detained for several days at military
posts before they ended up on a sugar plan-
tation. Also at various times in 1979, 1980
and 1981, Haitian residents elsewhere in
the Dominican Republic had been rounded
up by the police and armed forces and
made to work in the sugar harvest, accord-
ing to evidence from the ILO Commission.
There exists a rigid system of surveillance
desigend to keep the migrants in the labor
camps (bateys). Armed patrols control
freedom of movement. In the northern re-
gion, the Commission reports an organized

atmosphere of repression on the part of the
military, in concert with the local employers,
to keep the Haitians on the plantations and
to force them to work there under the threat
of deportation. Workers have also reported
being locked up at night and unable to leave
where they sleep. Haitian workers on coffee
plantations are considered "fugitives" from
tasks on sugar plantations.
The ILO Commission complained of a
lack of chairs, tables and eating rooms in
the living compound. Running water is a
very scarce commodity, and electricity is
virtually nonexistent. Even the latrines were
defective or at times did not exist. Medical
care was found to be dispensed capricously
and arbitrarily. Radio programs in Creole
sponsored by the Catholic Archbishop were
taken off the air by the government of the
Dominican Republic in December 1982. In
January 1983 President Jorge Blanco re-
sponded to the Archbishop's demand for
reinstatement, but with the clear under-
standing that the radio program keep to
culture and religion.
This review of the situation of Haitian mi-
gration to the sugar fields in Santo Domin-
go urges us to reflect on some of the
particularities of poverty in the Caribbean,
and on the institutional forces that keep this
poverty alive. The key to whether laborers
accept work in the sugar fields under pres-
ent conditions is the amount of food avail-
able to them. Consequently, where the
quantity of food available to the working
population is relatively high, sugar produc-
tion declines (Puerto Rico); foreign labor is
imported if sugar is an important source of
foreign exchange (Santo Domingo,
Guadalupe, Barbados). Arthur Lewis's ar-
gument (1978) that the terms of trade for
developing countries would be better if they
focused on boosting the food sector seems
pertinent to the Haitian case, and is sup-
ported by the historical decision of ex-slaves
to insist on food production rather than on
sugar production.
It is a pity that Haitian political leadership
chose not to facilitate the ex-slave's vision of
economic development in Haiti. By neglect
they let die what could have been a pros-
perous food economy. After 1915, when
Haitian labor was willing to cut sugar cane
in a neighboring country while a century
ago it had rejected it at home, it was re-
sponding to a deteriorating economic sit-
uation. This is also why the informal
financial market would rather lend money
to finance migration than to boost farm
production. In our mind, it is the failure of
the agricultural system of Haiti to produce
enough food that perpetuates migration to
the Dominican sugar plantations. This is a
potentially explosive situation, one of the
most serious labor problems in the Carib-
bean today. Many of us believe that there will
be no peace in the Caribbean until Haiti is
on its way to progress. [


Caribbean Review

Receives Award

We are pleased to
announce that
Caribbean Review
received the
following awards in
the 1985 Florida
Magazine Association

First Place in the Category of
General Excellence

Second Place for the cover of
Vol. XIII, No. 2

Prejudice and Paranoia

By Pierre L. Hudicourt

La isla al reves: Haiti y el destiny domin-
icano. Joaquin Balaguer. 2nd ed. 257 p.
Libreria Dominicana. S.A., Santo Domingo,
D.R.. 1984

This book. which ironically is dedicated to
Dr. Jean Price-Mars. points out the consid-
erable advances made by the Dominican
Republic in contrast to Haiti. After more
than 200 pages of insults to the dignity ol
the Haitian people. Dr. Balaguer concludes
on an incongruous note: the preposterous
proposition to unite the two nations in a
Haitian-Dominican conlederation that
would function within a joint spiritual, cul-
tural and economic order, but would main-
tain the national sovereignty of each
country. Price-Mars had already settled the
Haitian position on these questions in his
book. La Republique d'Haiti et la Republi-
que Dominicaine 1.1954). in which he
considered as utopian the idea of a confed-
eration. It would appear superfluous to
continue debating that question.
Before resuming discussion of the book.
one must try-as Haitian historians and so-
ciologists have done-to define precisely
how each of the parties sees itself and the
other from a racial point of view. According
to the Haitian. Haiti is a nation of blacks.
descendants of slaves imported from Al-
rica. among w hom live a minority of colored
people (5-10 percent) and a very small mi-
nority ot whites 10.1 percent). Their com-
mon means of expression is the Creole
language, and their habits and customs are
influenced by African and French contribu-
tions. To his eye. the Dominican is a
hybrid-mixture of white and Negro
blood-whose skin color goes from the
light blanco de la sierra i to the brow n
(moreno I. He is a cattle herder. a larcenist.
is devoted to dances and the cockfight
arena, and someone with whom it is impos-
sible to agree because ot his complex of
racial superiority toward the Haitian.
To the Dominican. the Dominican Re-
public is a nation of whites, among whom
live some mixed, and a very small propor-
tion of blacks. To his eye the Haitian is a
barbarous primitive, a sick. superstitious.
libidinous being, adept at voodoo. with
A hom contact contaminates the Hispanism
of the Dominican nation. Both opinions re-

Pierre Hudicourt a Haitian, has held diplo-
matic posts in the Dominican Republic. Chile.
Panama and Venezuela and has been a dele-
gate and economics consultant to the United

flect truths and falsehoods. they have per-
petuated misunderstanding for over a
century and place the Haitian Negro against
the Dominican mulatto.
Former President Balaguer rehashes
most of the cliches published by Dominican
historians and statesmen. Even though he
recognizes that the two nations have gone
through several stages of progress and that
a reappraisal of their relations is imperative.
he keeps insisting on the barbarism of Hait-
lans. guilty. because they are black, of all
sorts of crimes. Convinced of the inferiority
ol the black race. Dominican governments
have on many occasions tried to settle w while
groups along the frontier zone. Even though
such attempts at 'whitewashing were un-
successful. that policy was maintained until
the American military occupation. It is
undeniable. says Dr Balaguer. that the
centuries ot coexistence with Haiti have
diminished the ethnic characteristics of the
Dominican population To fight against
Haitian racial influence, measures must be
taken that will offend Haitian sensitivity but
will protect the ethnic characteristics, cul-
ture and customs of the Dominican nation
One of those measures is the prohibition of
Haitian immigration.
Dr. Balaguer believes himself to be white.
thinks that almost all Dominicans are v hite.
and believes that the white race is superior
to all others-an opinion that is downright
dangerous when it is shared by heads of
state such as Balaguer and Trujillo. The lat-
ter. con inced that the most drastic mea-
sures should be undertaken to stop the
Atricanization ofthe Dominican people. un-
dertook the physical elimination ot those
who create the problem. This resulted in
barbarous. savage massacres of thousands
ot men, women. old people and defenseless
children 012.000 to 18.0001 who w..ere il-
legally established along the frontier of the
Dominican Republic. Dr Balaguer qualifies
this horrible genocide as aberrations of a
government due to circumstances proper
to an epoch." In a footnote he admits the
horror of the massacres but deplores the
reopening of the Haitian-Dominican
According to the book the social com-
position of the two countries is totally difler-
ent. In the Dominican Republic the society
is di% ided into two classes a white minority
which is o'.ner and a mulatto majority
which does not own. About 20 years ago a
middle class emerged and deLeloped quite
rapidly. The classes have no difficulty in
their interaction concerning the color of
their skins. The mores, customs and culture

as well as the language are Spanish. In Haiti.
however. the society is divided among
whites. mulattoes and blacks, the latter
being the overwhelming maioritv. The mid-
dle class does not exist. and the history of
the country since independence has been a
series of civil wars and pronouncements
pitting blacks and mulattoes against each
other. It is the enormous black mass that
has always preoccupied the Dominican Re-
public, even though it no longer has the
economic resources and military means for
Dr. Balaguer writes that the more
cultured nation-his \c n-must not deem
itself superior to the other-the Haitian. He
seems of good faith, but his book pleads
only to the contrary The contrast between
the two cultures, according to Balaguer. can
be summarized thus: The Dominican peo-
ple hale maintained intact all the cultural
contributions inherited from the Spanish.
and consider themselves the most Spanish
and traditional of all the Hispanic countries
of America. Its Christian morality is of the
highest level The Spanish traditions and
language have been their line ot defense
against the Haitian invasion African influ-
ence on Dominican culture is almost nil
Haiti is closed to all cultural penetration by
c i ilized nations. It conserves and cultiates
only the Airican contributions to its litera-
ture, mores, customs and religious prac-
tices. Those contributions constitute the
Loodoo, practiced by all members of Hait-
ian society be they the elite or the masses.
No matter that since 1804 over 5.000 titles
in French have been published in Haiti, that
Haitian paintings have been praised world-
wide, that Afro-Haitian music is being
played throughout the Caribbean No mat-
ter! All that remains is ,oodoo-and what is
more, a misunderstood voodoo-de-
lormed, cannibalistic, and used to demean
Haiti and the black race.
Living on the same island and contront-
ing the same obstacles Iwars. epidemics.
hurricanes), the Haitian and Dominican
peoples have followed a similar demo-
graphic evolution In 1984 the two popula-
tions were at parity The conflicts between
them hale simmered down and it v.ould
seem logical to foresee a long period of
peace But such is not the case. The Domin-
ican supposes the Haitian to have a hatred
that no longer exists La isla al reeves ex-
poses with candor the opinion that Domin-
ican statesmen hale ol Haiti and its
people-an opinion 'which makes difficult.
if not impossible. anr evolution toward a
common destiny lor the two nations ii


,., *

,,"K-' -,. L I*- '"- '--- --'---

Nude Woman with Bulldog, by Brazilian Artist Aldemar Martins.



*S- "J


Pieces of Mule

Excerpts from 0 Mulo

A Novel by Darcy Ribeiro
Translated by Elizabeth Lowe

Mule (0 Mulo) is a 500-page confessional
novel which recounts the life and agony
of Philog6nio de Castro Maya, a retired
muleteer and wealthy rancher of the inte-
rior of the State of GoiAs in Brazil's vast
Northeast The book has been acclaimed
as the most important Brazilian novel-
length work of fiction to emerge in recent
years, and in the opinion of many critics,
it is successor to Jodo Guimar&es Rosa's
classic Grande Sertao: Veredas.
The firstperson narrative is a rich tapes-
try of memory, reflection and imaginative
storytelling woven from flashbacks, flash-
forwards andpresent-tense narration. The
novel's powerful imagery evokes the
primitive strength of both the protagonist
and his environment
Darcy Ribeiro, born in Brazil in 1922, is
well known for his work on the an-
thropology of the Brazilian Indian, and
also for his involvement in the politics of
the post-military dictatorship era in Bra-
zil. He is vice-governor of the State of Rio
de Janeiro. Ribeiro's novel Maira was
published in English translation byAven-
tura, a division of Random House, in
When I woke up today my lungs were
on fire. Not just my chest was con-
gested, but my soul as well. I spent
the night reliving the past. I'm a sensible
man, you know, but my common sense is
not strong enough to free me from the crazy
things I have done and still do.
Usually what happens is what I went
through last night: I suffer pangs of jealousy
of my dead wife. I keep falling into that state
of mind because of the pleasure that suffer-
ing gives me. What other explanation could
there be for such nonsensical behavior?
I don't sleep, I don't even want to sleep, as I

Elizabeth Lowe is the author of The City in
Brazilian Literature (1982) and the translator
of South of Nowhere by Antonio Lobo An-
tunes (1984). Dr. Lowe is the new Managing
Editor of Caribbean Review. Mule will be pub-
lished by Aventura, a division of Random
House Inc. Printed with permission of the

churn over bad memories of Miss Mia.
I think, you be my judge, that these are sinful
obsessions, and for all that they harm me,
I cling to them. And isn't it in pleasure that
we find the stain of sin?
My guilty attacks of jealousy are fantasies
that I get tangled up in for hours during the
empty afternoons and nights here in Laran-
jos while I wait for death. The principal one,
which comes and goes countless times, as
it did yesterday, is the story of dead Miss
Mia's baths when she was a girl. Of this I
know only for certain that they are less
memories than inventions of mine, impos-
sible to prove, with roots in the scanty reve-
lations that my departed wife may have
made to me.
Being the way she was, a woman of few
words who rarely confided in me, the most
she could have said is that old D6ia, then a
young woman, bathed her son Godo in
Mia's used bath water. From this brief revela-
tion, if there was one, because I can't re-
member, I weave a story in which I slowly
become enmeshed and then from which I
gradually unravel myself for hours and
hours, with pleasure, suffering, seeing again
what I never saw, wanting to relive every-
thing, aimlessly, on the screen of my mem-
ory. Memory? Hardly that, it could seriously
be called a memory if I had been a witness,
or if the story I so carefully compose had
actually been told to me by my wife. None of
that! My crazy head is the only place from
which I pull out this yarn, like a spider shit-
ting out its web.
The scene I see over and over again is
composed of Miss D6ia, the snake, still a
young woman, lovely then, bathing Miss
Mia in the inner courtyard of the Brejo
house. She stands the girl on the black
bench where so many times I sat naked,
waiting for the scalding water of my bath to
cool. There she slowly takes the girl's
clothing off, piece by piece. First, the em-
broidered dress, which she lifts over Mia's
head. Then she pulls her slip down. Finally,
she slides Mia's frayed panties down her leg,
which the girl steps out of, one foot at a time.
Then D6ia, younger than I ever knew her,
takes little Miss Mia and lowers her into the
tub of warm water, scented with some herb.

Then, 1 picture it in so many different
ways, D6ia splashes water over the girl,
soaping her shiny black hair and rinsing it
with water from the gourd. Then she zeal-
ously washes every fold of her nose and
ears, scrubbing the back of her neck with a
sponge. And finally, discreetly, she washes
the girl Mia's secret parts.
In my fantasy, who knows if it's just to
draw out the plot, D6ia rinses the girl with
fresh water from the bucket. And finally,
gripping the girl under the arms, she lifts
her up and shakes her a few times in the air
so the water will run off her body, and then
she sets her back on the bench on the
bleached embroidered towels.
I see once again how D6ia now dresses
the girl, with clean, starched clothing. First
the panties, then the slip, finally the dress. At
that point I already hear D6ia shouting for
Godo to come for his bath and I see the boy
enter the courtyard taking off his clothes, in
front of Miss Mia, who is still only half
dressed, and climb naked into the water, the
warm water that bathed Miss Mia's body,
to soap up while his mother combs the
girl's hair.
I think and see all of this, with painful
pleasure, distressed, asking myself why a
little brat like Godo didn't take his bath in the
river. But I start over again, for the hun-
dredth thousandth time, unable to stop my-
self, to see everything again, angry at the
dead girl, thinking she had seen Godo's
genitals and felt her own sex warming.
Bitch! God forgive me!
Then 1 start to imagine the two of them,
kids brought up under the same roof,
touching each other. Sometimes I think of
them as brother and sister of the same fa-
ther, knowing very well they weren't, just to
blame them for incestuous sins that at least
they certainly thought of committing. One
thing, without doubt, they did, as I did with
Aninha, he must have put his finger and
perhaps even pebbles into her little girl's
cleft. At that point, desperate now, I force
myself to accept the probably more accu-
rate image of sweet children, brother and
sister hand in hand, playing in full sight of
the rest of the household.
But then I start to go crazy again, imagin-

CAl?BBEAN reVIw/23

ing uncounted embraces made easy by liv-
ing in such close quarters, urgent caresses,
and even more, who knows. There is no
such thing as an innocent child, all of them
are armed with a certain malice. They are
animals, capable of doing anything once
they are out of sight. Who was watching
those two? Mia's father, glum, D6ia, content,
happy to see the two of them together and
even imagining them married, her own son
and the little girl she had nursed.
I relive these fantasies one by one, the two
of them wandering through the many
rooms of that huge house, in the two dark
mills, the one with the water wheel and the
one with the grindstone in the wheat bins,
the corn silos; in the flour mill, the coffee
mill, the orchard and the vegetable garden.
And why not, once they were older, playing
around outside the compound, at the river
in the banana grove, in the cowboys' shit-
house and who knows what other places for
perverse fornication?
I suffer, Father, I suffer, but I can't let go of
the thread of this story, pulling it, stretching
it, inventing, suffering, reinventing the rela-



We are pleased to accept nominations
for the seventh annual Caribbean Review
Award, an annual presentation to honor an
individual who has contributed to the ad-
vancement of Caribbean intellectual life.
Previous winners were Gordon K.
Lewis, Philip M. Sherlock, Aime C6saire,
Sidney W Mintz, C.L.R. James, and Arturo
Morales Carri6n.
Nominations are to be sent to the Editor,
Caribbean Review, Florida International
University, Miami, Florida 33199. Nomina-
tions must be received by 15 February
1986. The seventh annual Caribbean Re-
view Award will be announced at the 11th
annual conference of the Caribbean Stud-
ies Association in Caracas, Venezuela,
May 28-31, 1986.
The Award Committee consists of:
Lambros Comitas (chairman), Columbia
University, New York; Fuat Andic, Univer-
sidad de Puerto Rico, San Juan; Locksley
Edmonson, Cornell University, Ithaca,
New York; Anthony P. Maingot, Florida In-
ternational University, Miami; and Andres
Serbin, Universidad Central de Venezu-
ela, Caracas.
The award recognizes individual effort
irrespective of field, ideology, national ori-
gin, or place of residence. The recipient
receives a plaque and an honorarium of
$250, donated by the International Affairs
Center of Florida International University.

tionship of those children in infinite nasty
I end up poisoned by the snake of doubt. I
even have to go over in my mind, minute by
minute, our first night, to reassure myself
again, with certainty, that I received Miss Mia
intact, a virgin, completely closed, with her
maiden's blood that I spilled and saw in the
morning in a constellation of stains on the
white sheet.
I have suffered other bouts of jealousy,
especially of that little bitch Inha, a few of
Emilinha and even of Maria. These, how-
ever, were the zealous feelings of a man who
knows what might happen if he doesn't take
care of his woman, or that of the miserable
cuckold who consoles himself mournfully
of what he can do nothing about.
That type of jealousy is good. Even the
kind of raw suffering I went through with
Inha, that padre's whore, pardon me, Father,
for the offense, is acceptable. That was a
strong pain that had nothing to do with this
intricate, self-imposed suffering caused by
Miss Mia's playful baths, that torture me
because I wasn't there to take part in them.
And what's more, because they went on in
the presence of the person who should
never have been there in the first place, that
little bastard Godo.
May their souls rest in peace, especially
Miss Mia's, innocent of those imagined sins,
with which I sully her memory, in these
crazed attacks of jealousy. God forgive me,
and you too, Father, relieve me, if there is a
sin in this as there probably is, since such
strong feelings of guilt come with it.
I certainly must have committed a few
sins while I was at Cagaitas, but I don't think
there were that many. I've forgotten most of
them except for one that I must confess to
one day, when I get up the courage. During
those years I did cleanse myself of my de-
praved lust for the little mule at Lajedo.
The habit I couldn't shake was that of
beating off. I didn't do it every day, the way I
used to, but maybe once, twice, three times
a week, more deliberately and with more
pleasure than before. Sometimes I think
that I've loved my own hand more than any
woman. It had to be a sin, because it felt
good, and because it also made me feel
guilty, even humiliated. But what is a man to
do if he spends most of his life without a
steady woman? The risk I ran was always to
beat off too much, losing my interest in
women. I was capable of withdrawing into
myself, becoming autonomous. That was
dangerous. Many times I looked for women
more to stop myself from masturbating
than because I was attracted by their equip-
ment. I believe I've confessed this particular
sin so thoroughly, I don't think I have to
mention it anymore. I do ask, however, that
when you pardon my boyhood excesses,
you also include a pardon for my weak-
nesses as a grown man and even those of
my old age, since even now, with my chest

rotting from this cough, I whack off if I get
the chance.
Let's turn now to those other peccadillos
at Cagaitas. I can hardly think of any others
except the one I've just told you about. I
didn't harbor hate, or envy, or jealousy. I did
feel a kind of perverted lust for the little girls,
more than for the women. I mostly had my
eye on Me Le's daughters, they really got me
hot and bothered.
The first grown women I knew I met there.
Zeca screwed me many times. She really
was the one who fucked me, it wasn't the
other way around. She'd put me inside her,
not against my will, but still because she
insisted. She was ugly and sloppy, but
everyone liked her because she was hard-
working and she had a big heart. She
washed and mended my clothes, and since
she worked in the kitchen, she'd always hide
a piece of meat under the rice and beans
she gave me every day. Sometimes there'd
even be a chicken thigh.
At that time I lived in the shed where they
kept the saddles, the salt and the dried beef.
At night she'd push the door open and ap-
proach me. She'd never just lie down with
me, it always started standing up. She'd be-
gin to chase me around the hitching post,
then we'd start to slap at each other. At a
certain point, I'm not sure when, we'd end
up on the floor. There she'd back up to me,
hitching up her skirt, and she'd thrust her
ass on to me. We'd always do it that way,
backwards. I could never face her, it was
always from the back, but in the right spot.
I think the reason Zeca would spend all
that time chasing me around the hitching
post was to get excited, because she knew
that once I got inside her I'd come right
away. That was my biggest problem at that
time, I was randy as a rooster. Only much
later, with a woman practiced in the arts of
the prostitute, did I learn to hold back and
enjoy slower fucking.
What sin do you find in all of this, Father
Confessor? It might just be the fact that 1
enjoy telling you about my shameless be-
havior. I know there are people who think
that both men and women should safe-
guard their chastity and their virginity until
marriage. That's an idea that can only fit
into the head of a believer. I could never
have stayed a virgin, even if 1 had wanted to. I
opened my eyes in the middle of the inno-
cent coupling of animals and the sinful for-
nication of men and women. From an early
age I felt lustful urges. When all I could pro-
duce was a thin spurt of water, I already put
my cock to work. With myself, or with fowl or
beast. Are there men who have never ever
gotten off? Are you a virgin?
I know very well, Father, that this is not an
appropriate subject to bring up now, with-
out the opportunity to benefit from your
enlightened comments. All I can do is ask
your indulgence and pardon for my sins.
Here I am preparing for my death, trying to


cleanse myself of the many sins that I can-
not clearly judge, but I sense they could
damn my soul if I do not obtain the pardon
of the Holy Apostolic, Roman Catholic
Mother Church.

Hitched a ride to the war on a truck headed
for Montes Claros. This was Corporal Vito's
suggestion. He didn't want to enlist me in
the State Police, saying: join the Army, son,
they're recruiting. I answered, fearfully: you
think I'm crazy, Corporal? The Army, in war
time? Big deal. Living is the Christian's war.
In the Army, the grub's better, promotions
are easier. I thought, who knows, I might
make Corporal.
I have a clear memory of that trip, sitting
on the rough planking of the truck, the wind
whipping against my face. I strained to see
even one house in that wilderness. There
was nothing, just dust and dirty underbrush.
I twinged as I saw an enormous snake flat-
tened by the wheels of the truck. The driver
didn't stop. The ground sped by; on one
side of the truck a flock of rheas ran beside
us, swinging their dust mop tails.
In Montes Claros I presented myself to the
recruiting sergeant with the papers Corpo-
ral Vito had prepared for me.
Name: Terencio Bogea Filho.
Father: Terencio Bogea.
Mother: Tereza R (I never knew if that ass-
hole put in the P to mean Puta or something
else) Bogea.
Born: September 7, 1920 in Graomogol.
The recruiter looked at me, looked at the
paper, looked at me again, and asked what I
had been doing in Graomogol.
Cop louse, sergeant, sir. The man
laughed, looked down at his desk and
started writing. After about half an hour, he
handed me the enlistment papers, typed
and stamped. On the form he had filled in
all the information that the corporal had
invented. Along with the form he gave me a
train pass and two mil-reis to eat on the way.
He explained that I and the other two re-
cruits that were going along would change
trains for Sao Joao del Rey in Belo
In Montes Claros I found out what a noth-
ing town Graomogol was; we embarked
that same night. In Belo Horizonte, I only
saw the train station and the park in front of
it, with its macrocephalic statue in the mid-
dle and the canal behind it. In Sao Joao del
Rey they rounded us up as we got off the
train in such a rough manner that Ithought I
was being taken to jail. And that's how I
began to follow my destiny as a soldier.
I had barely arrived when I headed to the
recruits' mess hall. I ate like an animal. I ate,
in fact, Father, as I had never before eaten in
my life. Tired from the trip, I lay down nearby
and dozed until a bugle blast and the shouts
of the officers aroused me.

Cowboy, by Aldemar Martins.

I went along with all the other recruits to
an enormous barracks. It was the biggest
house I had ever seen, even bigger than the
train station in Belo Horizonte.
Suddenly feeling insecure, not knowing
anyone in that crowd of people, I began to
search out my traveling companions. I
couldn't find them. It was a long tunnel of a
room with rows and rows of beds. I stood
there like an oaf with my pack in my hand
until a corporal pointed to a cot shouting,
bunk down you dumb shit.
I lay down and slept until reveille the next
morning. All of us got up and made our way
to the bathroom which was tiled and gleam-
ing white. It was beautifully clean, despite
the stench. There were more than 40 privies
in a row, stalls without doors, each one with
its can fastened to the floor. I stared, without
the courage to urinate, at that crowd of men
shitting, pissing, each one talking with the
guy in the stall facing him, with total uncon-
cern for modesty.
In the other room were the sinks and a
whole wall of showers. All of them, too, with-
out doors. Water was still running through
the drains when we were summoned to the
mess hall, I had coffee with milk, and en-
joyed a big roll with butter. Just as I was
thinking of going back to the barracks to
take a shit, they told us to fall in line.
That human herd was rounded up into
another room, which was also enormous. A

sergeant bawled: recruits, strip; medical
exam. Next to me everyone started pulling
down their civilian pants, putting them in
little piles on the floor.
I gathered up courage and started to strip
too. I kept my hands in front of my genitals,
like an idiot, until a corporal shouted at a
boy in front of me who also had his hand
over his cock: Are you ashamed of being a
man, you cunt? I removed my hand and
kept staring, embarrassed, at that string of
naked men, some fat, some thin, some
hairy, others smooth, all of them naked,
seeming more naked still in the presence of
the uniformed officers.
When I had moved up in line nearer to
one who seemed to have a kindly face I
asked for help. Sergeant, sir, I said, I can't
hold it anymore. He asked me what 1
wanted, and with a grimace I told him: I have
to shit. He: what? Shit? Go through that
door. Hurry up. It's not for the soldiers, but
go ahead. I went. The privy was the same
kind as they had on the train, only the one
on the train was made of iron, this one
seemed to be made of porcelain. And I sud-
denly panicked that I might break the white
seat. I didn't have the courage to sit; I
couldn't climb up and squat on it, there was
no way, I'd surely break that fancy equip-
ment. I tried to shit standing and straddling
the bowl, but it didn't work. I was taking a
long time and I had already wet everything,



peeing like a woman. I went back to my
place in line, under the stern gaze of the
The line moved slowly. Ahead I saw the
doctors and medics, one on each side of the
line, looking intently at every man, the way
one calculates the value of a horse. They
took the enlistment form, asked questions,
and told the men to move on. I looked at my
companions, trying to guess what was in
store for me. I hoped they wouldn't study my
papers too carefully or try to trip me up with
From what I could see, they just looked
each guy over, took notes, stamped the pa-
pers, and let them go on. I got a better look
at the examination when it was the turn of
the fellow in front of me. He was a fat, oily
guy, covered with a light down that looked
like dirty cotton.
When my turn came, the doctor looked
me up and down, read the enlistment form
and wrote my name on his list. He weighed
me, checked my height with his measuring
tape and asked: recruit Bogea, what ill-
nesses have you had? None, sergeant, sir!
Sergeant? Captain Doctor, to you, you ass!
Squeeze your pecker, I want to see if there's
any pus. There wasn't. The trip to the bath-
room had saved me.
I moved ahead with a blue stamp on the
paper and my clothes under my arm to get
dressed, At the door, the sergeant separated
the men with blue stamps, like me, from the
ones with the red stamps, rejected. Then I
was sent to get my uniform. For free, I got
the best set of clothes I'd ever had: Uni-
forms, boots, belt with military baldric, and
then shirts, undershirts, shorts, and even
socks. With that load of stuff they told me I
was a cavalry soldier and showed me where
to report...
The worst difficulties I experienced dur-
ing that period of my life were caused by a
Major Maio, who after I had been in the army
for a year, enrolled me in the corporal's
course and enlisted me in the cavalry to take
advantage of my experience and talents. To
make a long story short, I'll tell you right
now, Father, that I soon found out from Ser-
geant Crespo that the Major was a known
homosexual. He even advised me to watch
my ass, saying I was just the type the Major
I scoffed at him, but my friend Fi con-
firmed the rumor without malicious intent.
The guy really is a pervert, he said. He
doesn't just fuck the guys, he gets them
hooked on it. I learned then and there that
more corporals had earned stripes from the
Major's buggering cock than in the course.
I let my annoyance get the better of me,
and throwing caution to the winds, I cracked
at one of the men: Sergeant sir, did you get
your promotion with your butt? The answer
was sulphuric: you're under arrest, you little
bastard. I was in jail for days. When I got out I
was even more terrified because I ended up

under the orders of the same sergeant, in
the same line of command that led to the
assfucking major.
There was no way I would submit to such
humiliation. I'd kill sergeants, lieutenants,
captains or majors, but I wouldn't let him get
away with it, I thought. But I did, Father. I
gave in without feeling a thing, trapped by
the major's clever line and the tight noose of
his command. I can't even remember ex-
actly how it happened. It was around the
tenth day after I got out of jail, I think, when I
had to go to the Major's house to deliver
some meat. Before I knew it I was kneeling
on a cot, getting humped from the rear, my

It had to be a sin because
it felt good, and because it
also made me feel guilty,
even humiliated.

hard cock coming in the major's hand.
I didn't get hooked on it because I reject
homosexual practices. I spent a hellish
night full of self-hatred feeling the major's
come seep out of my asshole. I decided; he's
not going to get me again. The next day
came the worst. I saw malice in the major's
eye and then I searched the sergeant's face
for signs of complicity. I found it: they were
in cahoots. I saw I would soon become fod-
der for both of them. I'd end up soft like a
castrated mule all over again. Resist, how?
Complain to whom?
My manly pride, however offended, had
to save me. And it did. I devised hundreds of
schemes to kill the major and the sergeant.
But how? The only good plan, that would
work, was to go back to his house. But I
wouldn't set foot in there. I saw myself get-
ting taking by his smooth talk once again
and having to kneel for him. I trembled with
disgust at the thought of getting my ass
buggered under orders. Several times I re-
fused to make deliveries to the major's
house and each time I was put in jail.
Well, as you can see, Father, there was no
other way out. I had to desert. Between the
sergeant's wisecracks on the one hand, say-
ing they were already having my sergeant's
stripes embroidered, and the major's
threats on the other, I made up my mind. 1
saw that I had to hit the road again.
My only choice was to desert, to leave my
new post as corporal, give up my plans for
making sergeant and everything else I
might have been able to achieve. I'd lose my
monthly pay, I'd even lose the name that
was on all my papers: Ter&ncio P Bogea.
I'd lose everything except my dignity.
There's no sin up till now, Father. No? Or
was it that I allowed the Major to do to me
what I had done to the duck. There must be
some fault here because the weight in my

chest tells me there is. So much that from it
issues an anger I can't control that throws
me violently against any kind of weakness,
mine or anyone else's.
That situation changed my character. If I
had stayed in the army I would have be-
come a pimp like the sergeant, depraved
like the major. I didn't stay, but what re-
mained was my lust for power, my need to
control other people. So that's where I'll
leave it, Father, not to excuse my harshness
with others. You'll know best, Father you
have good judgment, God be praised.

A little while after I got settled at Aguas
Claras, when the war was over, the news
headlines began to break out like a rash.
The best of them were brought by the man
who was to become my compare, and the
very man who was later to betray me, the
late Expedito Catalao. A mean guy, Father, a
bad apple. For years he made me keep tight
hold on the reins to stay in the saddle while
he bucked. He ended up throwing me, Fa-
ther. He nearly finished me off. If I weren't
such a good rider, he'd be the one making
his confession here now.
In the early days everything went just fine.
The news he brought me filled my head
with bright ideas. The biggest item was that
the government had fallen, another had
taken over, but it wouldn't last. A third ad-
ministration was going to come into power,
because the people would choose who
would be the boss. That, he said, was for all
of Brazil, including Goias and even us, too. I
learned then that my Aguas Claras be-
longed to the municipality of Cristalina,
which was one hundred leagues away.
That's where they decided what was going
to happen to us. But now, with the elections,
we could influence things a little.
Besides voting for the president, gover-
nor, prefect, congressman and senator, we
would help elect Catalao for councilman. He
was there to turn us into voters. He talked
about the constitution, communism,
udenismo, getulismo, queremismo; point-
ing out who were the friends and who were
the enemies of the people. I didn't under-
stand much of it. Juca, Militho and Nheco
understood even less. They didn't even want
to listen.
Catalao, my future compare, praised me
obsequiously: I thought you'd be an old
man, Mr. Fil6, and here you are, a strong
young fellow in your prime, with all this land
and a fine reputation. I've heard your name
mentioned all over the State. The people
around here only talk about Captain Fil6,
Major Fil6. I answered modestly, I'm not a
Captain, not a Major either. I have no gov-
ernment title. I live here modestly, minding
my own business. But I won't let anyone tell
me what to do.
Continued on page44


An Eastern Caribbean Centrist

Interviewing Prime Minister James F "Son" Mitchell

By Gary Brana-Shute

On 25 July 1984, James E "Son"
Mitchell, leader of the opposition
and head of the New Democratic
Party, was swept into the prime minister-
ship ofSt. Vincent and the Grenadines by a
large and totally unexpected margin. He
won 9 seats in the 13-seat House of As-
sembly withan 88.8percent turnout at the
polls, the highest in Caribbean history.
Mitchell's victory has had several inter-
esting consequences. Milton Cato's St.
Vincent Labour Party is out of office after
some 15 years of rule. Cato resigned from
the party after its defeat and left behind a
bitter struggle for the SVLP's leadership.
The party is now split between the "old
guard" led by Hudson Tannis and a
youngerfaction, still members of the party
but disenchanted, led by former Agricul-
ture Minister Vincent Beache. The "left" in
St. Vincent, personified best by Ralph
Gonsalves' Movement for National Unity
and Renwick Rose's United Peoples'
Movement, performed badly in the elec-
tion; in some districts they did not get a
single vote. Talks of coalitions and al-
liances abound, with shrewd observers
speculating that a marriage between
Gonsalves' MNU and the youthful wing
of the SVLP is in the works. Finally,
Mitchell's victory established the political
center as a new force in the Caribbean,
complementing the established govern-
ments of Compton of St. Lucia (1982),
Charles of Dominica (1980), and Seaga
of Jamaica (1980). His election in
mid-1984 paved the way for the unity of
moderates in Grenada.
St. Vincent and the Grenadines is a
small island group consisting of 133
square miles, with a population of about
110,000. The country, tiny as it is, has
embellished the multipolitical party tradi-
tion of the English-speaking Eastern Ca-
ribbean by containing more political
parties than any other country of the for-

Anthropologist Gary Brana-Shute has written
widely on the Eastern Caribbean and Sur-
iname. He currently resides in Charleston,
South Carolina. Dr. Brana-Shute interviewed
Mr. Mitchell earlier this year.

James "Son" Mltcnell.

merBritish West Indies. The consolidation
of power by Mitchell is, in this light, an
interesting departure from the traditional
fragmented and powerless opposition.

Gary Brana-Shute: When last I inter-
viewed you, you were leader of opposition.
Your election as prime minister caught a lot
of people by surprise. How do you explain
your victory?
James E Mitchell: The election did not
take me by surprise. 1 did not forecast the
results because 1 did not want to alert any-
one, inside or outside St. Vincent, to how
strong we were. Some panicked at the re-
sults, because it told them that their infor-
mation apparatus was shoddy. The Carib-
bean will always be unpredictable to those
incapable of understanding our mood. St.
Vincent and the Grenadines had had
enough of incompetence, arrogance and
corruption; and in my lonely years, often as
the only member of the opposition, I had
impressed on the people that choice must
always be possible. Our strategy was right,
our candidates were good, our organization
was efficient, and we captured the country
with a beautiful tide of response.
GBS: You have been in office for seven
months now; are things going as expected?
JFM: The situation we inherited turned
out to be worse than expected. Fortunately,
in the first week I set up a committee to
examine the public finances and debt, and

this showed the debt, at EC$190 million, to
be twice what was expected. The statutory
corporations were spending as they liked;
the departments of government had few
standards of performance and hardly any
policy guidelines. In the first budget I set up
the procedures for management, to
strengthen the Ministry of Finance to direct
management overall. We set about fulfilling
our promises; abolishing the 3 percent
gross tax [on the business community] and
raising the threshold of income tax to
EC$5,000 (we had promised EC$10,000).
We also did what we did not promise, and
changed the entire tax structure. But with a
debt of EC$190 million, a budget of less
than EC$150 million, and few of the public
sector investments capable of servicing
their debts, we have a problem.
GBS: Can you realistically solve the
dilemma posed by having over one-half
of your population under 16 years of age,
coupled with staggering unemployment, in
a ministate?
JFM: It is indeed a very serious problem,
and we have got to really face it head on. In
my view, we have got to look at the projects
that will produce employment oppor-
tunities as soon as possible. We also must
have immediate and long-term plans for
dealing with the problem. The way I look at it
is this: we do not have here in St. Vincent a
proper airport for jet transport. I think that
such a project is the highest priority for our
opportunities in development. If we can im-
prove our air transport, it will mean that we
will be improving our visitor arrivals, our
foreign exchange earnings. It will mean we
will be able to market our agricultural pro-
duce and vegetables. It will mean also we
can get into more meaningful industrializa-
tion, in getting certain things assembled
here for export and so on. So that is one
direction in which we should go. Secondly,
we need to deal with land reform. I feel that if
we can get more people to own more land,
there will be more intensive agricultural de-
velopment and we will be able to deal with
unemployment in the rural areas. Thirdly, of
course, we have got to really work seriously
at family planning and population control.
GBS: And the Caribbean Basin Initiative,


is the private sector up to the job?
JFM: The private sector in our country
needs a lot of help. Their confidence col-
lapsed under the last administration. We
have streamlined areas of their concern and
removed impediments to investment and
progress. We are waiting to see how they
take up these opportunities. But the private
sector here really needs assistance from the
private sector in other countries in joint ven-
tures, and I would say that this would be a
possibility that may develop in fulfilling the
expectations of the CBI. So far the CBI has
not produced any results in our country. We
have not gone beyond the seminars and
GBS: What happened in Grenada? Gairy,
Bishop, Coard, Austin, the US-led invasion:
where did it all go wrong?
JFM: It all went wrong in that combina-
tion of the players on the stage and the stage
with which they were provided. Gairy's per-
sonality matched well with the British desire
to get rid of the poor islands in the Carib-
bean. He was guile and style; Bishop was
rhetoric and guns. The tragedy was that no
one outside Grenada really cared about the
sufferings of the Grenadian people. It was
only when the direction in which Grenada
was going threatened the security interests
of others external to Grenada that action
was taken. What worries me now is what I
call the "Grenada veil" over the Caribbean.
International imagery conceives now that
Grenada is settled, the Caribbean is safe. As
long as military security is assured, external
interests feel they can return to their histor-
ical tokenism in the region and leave us to
languish in peace.
GBS: I understand that you and several
other Caribbean leaders lent your efforts to
influence the formation of a centrist coali-
tion in Grenada [before the December 1984
elections]. Why was this necessary?
JFM: First of all let me say that I have
nothing personal against Gairy. When I was
not prime minister and visited Grenada and
he heard I was there, he went out of his way
to make me comfortable. "Once a premier"
he said, "always a premier." Certain aspects
of his style of government worried me, but
my main concern was that this reinstate-
ment would provide a rallying point for
communists in the region, including those
close to Bishop in St. Vincent. Blaize was an
old friend; his constituency in Carriacou ad-
joins mine in Union Island. After I won the
election here I think that the Americans
were very worried about the electoral pro-
cess in the Caribbean. They had been com-
pletely surprised by my victory. It made
them think that there might be another sur-
prise in store in Grenada. There was the
worry, too, that with the example of my vic-
tory the three centrist parties in Grenada
night be influenced to "go it alone" as I had,
forgetting my long history in the opposition,
and the years I spent getting my party

started. In fact if the center parties in Gre-
nada were to fight against one another, the
chances of a victory for Mr. Gairy were very
real. As a matter of facthe didwin 36 percent
of the vote, even without much of a cam-
paign and without any momentum develop-
ing in his direction.
I had two meetings with Herbert Blaize
and other politicians in Grenada. First, John
Compton [prime minister of St. Lucia] and I
met with Mr. Blaize and some others in Car-
riaco, but without much success in bringing
them together. John asked me if we should
not try again with the leaders of all the cen-
trist parties, so I organized and hosted the

"The Caribbean will always
be unpredictable to those
incapable of understanding
our mood."

Union Island meeting. We invited Prime
Minister Adams of Barbados to join us, and
we were able, in the course of some five
hours, to get the coalition together and form
the New National Party. It is interesting that if
I had not won the St. Vincent election, the
Grenada election might have gone a differ-
ent way. I doubt there was anyone else who
could have coordinated the Grenada par-
ties, Compton and Adams, as I did.
GBS: Now that Grenada is stabilized how
does one assess the Caribbean situation,
and what is the condition of the political left
and its future?
JFM: I think the left has been badly
bruised and probably traumatized by the
experiences in Grenada. I imagine there
must be some consternation in their ranks,
that things should have gone so wrong so
quickly without their being able to antici-
pate it or avoid it. I feel that following Gre-
nada we now have some breathing space in
the Caribbean. But basically time is not on
our side in the Caribbean. I feel that if we do
not press on with meaningful development,
come the turn of the decade the left will be
ready to strike again.
I feel that the requirements for develop-
ment in these small islands of the Eastern
Caribbean are not great. When you speak of
it in fiscal terms, we are not an international
basket case like Bangladesh. What the US
government spends on another bridge or
highway, among the thousands you have,
could transform the economy of one of these
islands in the Caribbean. I feel that following
Grenada the US needs to rethink its position
in the Caribbean. We ought to plan to help
the US in this regard and a program of
cooperation must be worked out. Remem-
ber, a little goes a longway down here. On the
other hand vast sums can vanish without

effect if you don't understand the nature of
the problem, as Jamaica illustrates.
GBS: You do not support the US-spon-
sored militarization of the Eastern Carib-
bean constabulary. Why is that?
JFM: Fundamentally, in my view, the
sores of poverty in our region cannot be
cured by military therapy. I lead a popular
government and I need to deliver the goods.
Opportunities for subversion will emerge
when the people are frustrated again. It is
the collapse of social institutions that cre-
ates avenues for international intrigue. If the
people's expectations are not fulfilled
through the channels that people like me
create, we will, in due course, be inviting the
colonels or the commissars. And the more
arms we have available in the country, the
greater will be the temptation to solve our
problems with a coup.
As for the possibility of a mercenary inva-
sion, how long could such people really en-
slave a community? And as for assassina-
tions, Mrs. Ghandhi's nuclear might did not
save her. Don't think I am insensitive to the
insecurity of small states. This is a very diffi-
cult problem. But I do think we must be
concerned about what kind of place we
want these islands to be.
GBS: The Organization of Eastern Carib-
bean States (OECS), CARICOM, and the
integration movement; what roles do
they play?
JFM: If I were to speak the truth and ap-
portion blame as I see it, I might make
matters worse. Let me simply suggest that
when the strongest links in the chain are
weak there can be no hope for the weakest.
The countries with the purchasing power-
Trinidad, Jamaica, Guyana-all need re-
structuring. We in St. Vincent, St. Lucia and
Dominica are suffering more from the
strength of the dollar and the weakness of
the pound, in which we sell our bananas,
than any other problem.
GBS: What are your relations with
the other leaders of the Eastern Carribean
like Compton, Charles, and [the late
Tom] Adams?
JFM: Prime Minister Adams was very
friendly with the former administration, and
he even sent troops into my constituency
[Union Island, 1979]. But nevertheless it
was not long before he made overtures to
me, and as a result of that I was able to invite
him to Union Island to participate in the
creation of the New National Party for Gre-
nada. My relations with Prime Minister
Compton have always been cordial and
friendly over the years; as a matter of fact we
are distantly related and share a common
love of the sea. I have only become ac-
quainted with Prime Minister Charles since I
was elected. She is a lady with a crystal clear
mind; we get along splendidly.
GBS: What kind of foreign policy does St.
Vincent have?
JFM: Ours is a very simple foreign policy.


We belong as a party to the political center,
and that is the guiding principle of our phi-
losophy. We are straightforward in our deal-
ings with other countries, and we do not
propose to posture on the world stage,
going and making speeches in the United
Nations which have absolutely no clout. We
are trying to carve out a position for our-
selves. We will always help where we can. We
do have special concerns.
For example, we have a special relation-
ship with Canada. There is an intangible
chemistry in the Canada/Caribbean con-
nection that must be cultivated, and we've
got to keep the elements of that chemistry in
place. Relationships with the United States
are new, since independence [1979], and
critically sensitive. We have to learn how to
deploy our scarce human resources in deal-
ing with the complexity of the American
political system. Across the Atlantic, even
though British interests here are on the de-
cline, we have to come to new working
arrangements with the Europeans. The
French, I know, are watching us because of
Martinique and Guadaloupe. Then around
us we have Latin America, yet we scarcely
speak their language. I foresee that Latin
America could become increasingly impor-
tant by the turn of the century. In foreign
policy I am not looking for adventures that
we cannot handle. It will take a long time to

establish a tradition for ourselves, but we
must let friends know that we are reliable.
GBS: Is the Caribbean an American lake?
JFM: America is a very powerful country,
geographically close to us. We know that
American might can either make or break
governments in the Caribbean. I think that
the United States clearly understands the
importance of the role of democratic leader-
ship in the Caribbean. But we have to help
the US understand that this leadership
knows where it is going. When you review
the Grenada situation, after the interven-
tion, the US found itself in a humpty-
dumpty position where all the king's horses
and all the king's men did not know how to
put democracy together again. But those of
us close to the problem, John, Tom, and I
were able to do it. 1 have had 19 years of
political experience in the Caribbean. I think
we can give guidance to the US. I have said
before that the parties of the center in the
Caribbean, looking for a change, are the
natural allies of a self-confident America. It
is also important that the United States
know that we know how they perceive us in
respectto their security interests. We are not
going to exploit any position, but we would
certainly hope that we are given the status
that we deserve. All we require of that status
is that we are helped to develop our coun-
tries and make our people happy, and that

we have an opportunity to assume a mean-
ingful role for ourselves in the Western
Hemisphere. If the US wants to assure there
is peace in the Caribbean so that its global
interests can be more readily attended to,
the easy thing is to ensure that we have
peace of mind. This way the lake will be
less turbulent. The Americans, for all their
progress, are still searching for their place
in the sun. I'm only looking for our place in
the shade.

GBS: Since we last spoke, Barbados's
prime minister, Tom Adams, has died. Have
you any comments on the effect of his death
on the Caribbean scene?
JFM: His early death was really tragic.
Barbados and the Caribbean have lost one
of the most beautiful intellects among our
leadership. Adams and I did not see eye
to eye on all issues, such as security for
example, but in the short time since I
became prime minister, I had grown to re-
spect his fine mind. The Caribbean is
poorer for his passing.
Those of us who studied in Europe and
North America, knocked about in other
lands, other cultures, at other times, have
brought a special understanding to bear on
the kind of leadership we give this region.
We are a vanishing breed. ]

Who speaks for the Caribbean
Peesedasbrpinfrheer io__d_


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Campesinos Versus Landlords

Central American Agricultural Economies

By William C. Thiesenhusen

If Central America were still an idyllic agri-
cultural place, or if those who make US
foreign policy were truly conscious of
what happened there over the past half cen-
tury, the United States would probably not
be having such a difficult time there now.
Agricultural countries in which the popula-
tion is dispersed and unschooled, can be
controlled. But as agriculture modernizes,
all of this changes. One of the inevitable
concomitants of development is that more
people move to the city and adapt to its
ways. Even in the countryside people orga-
nize, become more price conscious, expect
more from their governments, want some
basic health care, desire literacy, read more,
and think of themselves not only as farm
folk but as Salvadorans, Hondurans and
Those who travel to Central America now
sometimes come away with the notion that
it was always thus. But our picture is too
static. The change which is imperceptible
within our perspective is dramatic when the
same scene 50 or 100 years ago is exam-
ined against the backdrop of history. Even
when Farabundo Marti and Agusto San-
dino were organizing peasants in the
1930s, countries could be controlled by re-
pression of these movements, by dictators,
by armies, by weapons. But, as Afghanistan
must be teaching the Russians and Vietnam
should have taught the United States, even
the most remote corners of the earth are not
controllable in the 1980s as they were in the
1930s. Peasants have changed and middle
classes have emerged; an educated group
with social consciousness has been born
and has taken its place to counter the edu-
cated groups without social consciousness.
At the same time that a middle class has
found its voice, there has been no end to
bipolarism. Differences between rich and
poor are accentuated at the same time that
the legitimacy of patron-client relationships
has broken down or is on the verge of break-
ing. Concomitantly, more immigration is
taking place-to the lowlands in search of

William C. Thiesenhusen is professor of agri-
cultural economics at the Land Tenure Center,
University of Wisconsin-Madison.

work, to neighboring countries, to the
United States-in a fashion undreamed of
even in the heyday of Salvadoran migration
to Honduras in the 1960s. There are also
waves of return migration, for some move-
ment is only seasonal, in search of work or
for other economic reasons. When tempo-
rary migrants return home, they introduce
new ideas which may well engender dissat-
isfaction with the status quo. In addition,
there is the displacement that new technol-
ogy is introducing into the countryside as
more labor-saving implements come from
the United States to harvest cotton, cultivate
coffee, permit new varieties to be planted.
One result has been a dramatic change in
agriculture in the last several decades.
There are now very few people who live
on the landlord's land at his sufferance so
that they can provide a ready and year-
round source of labor. This group has
largely been cut loose and now is hired at a
cash wage and on a when-needed basis.
The resources at the disposition of the peas-
antry are thus reduced in that he can no
longer count on use-plots. At the same that
the tiny plots of other peasants are being
divided with each generation.
Rapid change is occurring within agricul-
ture and in the relationships which link the
peasantry to the cities. This is opening the
way for a plethora of new ideas and "West-
ern" aspirations. It is making repression a
less viable alternative for controlling these
populations. Today it is not uncommon to
find a number of peasant leaders in many
communities who are probably as articulate
as were Sandino and Marti, and who are at
least as able to enunciate peasant griev-
ances against the system. Whether or not
they are correct, we should not be sur-
prised, or even alarmed, when they view
Sandino or Marti as mentors, and identify
as their enemies the United States, the
oligarchy, and the export economy. We
know how brutally the peasant movements
and their leaders have been repressed and
what has happened in their economies over
the past 50 years.

Dependence on Agriculture
The taproot of the problems currently be-

setting Central American economies is
deep within the agricultural sector. Histor-
ically, and even today, whether or not these
economies are successful depends on
Farming is directly responsible for about
one-third of the gross domestic product of
Honduras and about one-fifth the product
of Nicaragua. The other three countries fall
somewhere in between. The number of
people employed in agriculture ranges
from about one-third of the work force in
Costa Rica to almost two-thirds in Hon-
duras. Agriculture provides about three-
fourths of total exports in El Salvador, Nic-
aragua and Honduras, and close to 60 per-
cent in Costa Rica and Guatemala. The
share of total imports financed by agri-
cultural exports is again about three-quar-
ters in Honduras and El Salvador, 60
percent in Guatemala, and 40 percent in
Costa Rica and Nicaragua.
These data indicate that the shift usually
taking place in the process of development
from agriculture to industry and services is
occurring very slowly indeed in Central
America. And if anything, the figures proba-
bly understate the dependence of these
countries on agriculture in that what sec-
ondary and terciary sector dynamism there
is can be quickly slowed down, or even
stopped, if the farming sector of the econ-
omy doesn't perform well. After all, if rural
people loom large in an economy and do
not have money to spend in the other sec-
tors, economies flounder.
Agriculture harbors many of the social
problems which plague these countries. In
farming, much if not most of the population
falls below the poverty line. Rural poverty, as
estimated by the United Nations, ranges
from 25 percent of the rural population in
Costa Rica to 75 percent in Honduras.
Paradoxically, the rate at which value
added grew in agriculture was very respect-
able in nearly all Central American coun-
tries in the 1960s. That growth began to
flag except in Guatemala and El Salvador
during the first half of the 1970s. Respect-
able rates of GEP per capital were registered
for Nicaragua, Guatemala and El Salvador
between 1971 and 1975. Using a longer


Members of a cooperative farm in Cartago, Costa Rica.

time frame, per capital income in Central
America doubled from 1959 to 1978, and
would have quintupled had there been no
population growth. Trade increased by 18
times in the 30 years ending in 1979; edu-
cation and health conditions improved. The
problem wasn't lack of growth or lack of
some social progress. The key issue was
that the income generated by growth went
to a small minority of the people. Agrarian
reform, it was thought, might redress the
situation, but the elites would have none of it
until the chips were really down.

Reform Efforts
Broader access to land and water and,
hence, more equitable income distribution

is the ostensible primary goal of most con-
temporary land reform. It is usually carried
out by measures which redistribute land
from owners of large properties to peasants
who work the land. Distribution is only one
fact of reform, however. Attention must be
paid also to production. Reform benefici-
aries must also gain access to credit, techni-
cal assistance, marketing services, orga-
nization and education.
This corresponds to a distinction be-
tween two terms which are often used syn-
onymously in these discussions; land
reform, which is a shift toward more equita-
ble access to land and water, and agrarian
reform, which is land reform accompanied
or followed by institutional innovations de-

signed to make the reformed sector more
There are, of course, methods other than
agrarian reform by which the rural poor can
gain access to resources. They include reg-
ulation of rural wages and conditions of ten-
ancy, regulation of customary land tenure,
settlement of unoccupied public lands, and
redressing interregional and intercom-
munity inequities by entitlements or in-
come transfers. These measures tend to be
less inclusive and less controversial than
agrarian reform. All of this is part of the
larger issue, generically called rural
Land reform was thought to be one way
of getting support for the new groups in



___ .---- .= _

-November 14-16,1985. Symposium
----on the Historical Novel in Latin
America: Tulane University. Con-
--tact Daniel Balderston, Department
-of 'S an.ish-and Portuguese, Tulane.
----- University,-New Orleans, LA 70118.

Novemrber-19-22, 1985. Ninth An-
-ul-iialConference on Trade, In-
vestinwiit-and Development in
-theCaribbean Basin, with Third
-' nnudl-IInvestmeit Exposition.
--HyattRegency- Hotel. Miami, FL.
Contact: -Miami Conference on the
-- -Caribean Department 7265.
-Miami, FL. 33195-7265.
_ - _- - -._

Decemffber2-7, 1985. 11. Congress
I- -beroami-ericano-de Antropo-
-Iogia. -Las Palmas de Gran
---Can-aria, Spain. Theme: Anthro-
--pology: Study and Development of
t -----e Co~mm unity.- Contact: ICEF,
---Reyes Cat6licos 30, 35001 Las Pal-
----masde Gran Canaria, Islas Ca-

Ap ri L3-5 1986. Southeastern Coun-
-Ci --f Latfin- American- Studies
(-S OLAS) Meeting. Clemson
-- iversity. Theme: City and Country
i--n lainiAmerica.-The Implications of
C-ane--_ -_onitacts- paper
---panel- proposals,- George. A.
-;-Bowdi-er, -Political Science Depart-
-menit --University of South Carolina
-at-Aiken.- Aike -SC 29801 and
S-Gharles-Kargieder, Department of
L-N-nguages. -Spring _Hill;College,
-l:Mobile-AL- 3660I8; local arrange-
I -mentsi- Jseph Arbena, Department
-o. Hf-History-. C-lemson- University,
-Clemson, SC 29631. -
-- -T- -- -
A-pri-=O-12.1-986. Conference on
Cadtin Americafn PopularCulture.
S-NewI- Orleans. Contacts:-Harold E.
:-H nds;-Division- ofSocial -Science,
S---.-ni-er-sityof rinihesota. Morris, MN
S 6267, t- Charle M. Tatu, .-De-
: -pa tmient- off.Ereign-- Languages,
-"IEparlfent New-Mexico State
University La- ruces, NM 88003.
i-_- -- --
1 ------ -; ~ - ~

power in Nicaragua and El Salvador. In both
Guatemala and Costa Rica, reliance was
placed on piecemeal and expensive land
colonization programs which fall short of
any definition of either land reform or agrar-
ian reform. In Honduras, emphasis is being
placed on a titling program, since fully 75
percent of all farms are occupied and culti-
vated by small farmers whose title is inse-
cure. The goal is to issue an estimated
100,000 new titles over a four-year period.
Beginning in 1969, the production coop-
erative was the major postreform institution
in Honduras, with 98 percent of current
groups established after that date. Much of
what has been done in that country is in
response to some campesino labor orga-
nizations pressuring for reform. There was a
very high rate of desertion in the reform
sector, however, about 75 percent accord-
ing to one recent estimate.
The current elected in 1982 distributed
land to 11,300 families out of the estimated
150,000 that petitioned for it. According to
the Latin American Weekly Report (June
29, 1984), "The program is handicapped
by lack of funds and political will, refusal to
touch the influential and powerful, and by
incompetence and corruption." The in-
creased number of invasions by peasants of
privately-owned property over the last year
is an indication that agrarian reform in Hon-
duras is hardly a settled issue.
In El Salvador the 1980 reform was to be
carried out in three phases. Under Phase I all
landholdings in excess of 500 hectares
were made subject to expropriation. This
category represented 15 percent of the agri-
cultural land in the country, but all of that
was not included in the reform because
owners had the right to retain as much as
150 hectares. Compensation to landlords
was to be based on property tax appraisals
and payable in bonds over a 20 to 30-year
period. Phase II was to have dealt with the
expropriation and distribution of holdings
between 100 hectares or 150 hectares (de-
pending on soil classification) and 500 hec-
tares. The total area in this sector repre-
sented 24 percent of agricultural land, most
of it in highly productive coffee or cotton-
growing areas. Because of political pres-
sure, Phase II was not carried out. The 1983
constitution increased the exempted area
from 100 hectares to 245 hectares and
gave owners three years to adjust to this
limit. It is unlikely that this phase will result in
any redistribution. Phase 111, the "land-to-
the-tiller" program, made all small tenants
and sharecroppers eligible to obtain title to
the land they worked, up to a maximum of 7
hectares. The beneficiaries would obtain a
formal title after a 30-year period.
Phase 1, involving some 317 large farms,
resulted in production cooperatives. In
Phase III about 60,000 campesinos of
117,000 that are eligible have requested
titles. There are about 32,000 members of

production cooperatives. If we figure six
family members per household, this means
that about a half million people were af-
fected. From 15 to 20 percent of the agri-
cultural land of the country is now included
in the reform.
In Nicaragua, all rural property owned by
the ex-dictator and his cronies had been
expropriated within six months of the San-
dinista victory in 1979. This involved about
20 percent of the cultivable land in the
country, with an area of about 800,000 hec-
tares. These properties represented some of
the richest farms, most of them having a
relatively large infrastructural investment.
The majority produced crops or livestock
for export. This expropriation generated no
backlash, making it almost unique among
agrarian reforms. It had virtually no fiscal
and political costs. No multinational firms
were involved. Most commercial farmers
disliked the Somoza dominance in the sec-
tor and provided no resistance. And most of
the owners had already left the country.
In July 1981 an agrarian reform law was
promulgated to deal with the large ineffi-
ciently-operated estates that remained.
There had been a good bit of land invasion
then to which the Sandinistas had to re-
spond in a sort of ad hoc fashion. The law
was moderate. The first article proclaimed
that "the present law guarantees the rights
to private property over the land to all of
those who employ it productively and effi-
ciently." Its second and third articles made
subject to expropriation only those portions
of properties in excess of 530 hectares
in the Pacific, and 700 in the rest of the
country, which lay idle, were underused
or were being rented out. In expropriating
properties, a specific administrative
policy was set up providing for review by
agrarian tribunals.
Up through 1983, 436 Nicaraguan
farms, with an area of 295,000 hectares,
had been expropriated under the new law.
Of these 18 percent were expropriated be-
cause the farms were abandoned, 63 per-
cent due to inefficient exploitation, and 18
percent for illegal rental or sharecropping
arrangements. From this area, 1,418 titles
covering 267,000 hectares have been dis-
tributed, benefiting 26,000 families. Pro-
duction cooperatives received titles to 79
percent of the land; campesinos received
individual title to the remaining 21 percent.
Currently about 30 percent of the farm
land in the country is in either state farms or
production, or in service and marketing co-
operatives: 23 percent in state farms and 7
percent in cooperatives; 70 percent is in
private ownership. The amount of land pri-
vately held in large units of over 350 hec-
tares was 41 percent in 1978 and is about
12 percent today.
In Panama there are currently 216 pro-
duction cooperatives, called asentamien-
tos, which were founded in the 1970s; these


comprise the Panamanian reform. They en-
compass about 3 percent of the farm land in
the country. The rates of desertion have
been around 50 percent.
In the Dominican Republic, emphasis
was put on the production cooperative be-
ginning in 1973, and no land was dis-
tributed in individual tenure after 1979. The
reform sector now includes about 14 per-
cent of agricultural land, and current efforts
are involved in transforming the production
cooperative into what will be called "the
asociativa" model, a retreat from the pro-
duction cooperative to something resem-
bling the service and marketing coopera-
tive. In neither Panama nor the Dominican
Republic is land currently being added to
the reform sector.

Reform Difficulties
When land is leased from its owner in small
parcels by peasants who work it and make
most of the managerial decisions, land re-
form does not involve much actual change
in production structure. In overly simplistic
terms, ties of ownership are cut-thus elim-
inating high rents and lack of security for
the tenant-and technical and marketing
services are offered as before. The peasants
continue to farm small plots after reform
much as they did before. A major argument
for this type of reform is that as owners,
former tenants will have more incentive to
produce. They will be able to take home the
income that formerly went to the landlord or
was split between him and an intermediary
or moneylender. The authors of Phase III of
the Salvadoran reform had hoped for that
result. The problem was that no service
structure was in place because the country
was dominated by the latifundia and the
institutions that served it. Also the land oc-
cupied by renters tended to be in very small
plots of poor quality, often only episodically
farmed. The best land in the country was in
"latifundist" agriculture.
Were most of Latin American latifundist
farming to be reformed, the change for the
peasant would be dramatic. In a typical ha-
cienda situation, peasants work under the
close scrutiny and supervision of foremen
and managers. They are expected to show
neither initiative nor an innovative spirit.
Some live on the farm and have the use of a
house, small plot and some other per-
quisites, as well as a small cash wage. This
traditional system is replete with paternal-
ism. As these farms become more com-
mercialized, labor becomes a factor to be
bought and sold. As it modernizes, the ha-
cienda seeks its labor force from landless or
nearly landless peasants. They are hired
only "as needed."
The transformation from the traditional
hacienda has been hastened in some cases
because resident farm workers have orga-
nized themselves into effective pressure
groups to promote reforms. To reduce their

own risks, landlords have simply expelled
them in favor of temporary workers and ma-
chines. As subsistence crops are more and
more grown on small plots and export
crops on large farms, it has also become
less economical for landlords to keep work-
ers year-round. Much of the work is seasonal
or can be done with machines, especially if
the price structure makes those machines
artificially cheap.
Once the crucial decision to reform has
been made, the process involves expropria-
tion, compensation, exemption and dis-
tribution. From the standpoint of reform
itself, distribution is the most important
step, and there are at least two key issues:
who gets the land and what the postreform
tenure pattern should be. The usual situa-
tion is that peasants with the most secure
access to expropriable land before the re-
form (resident workers on large farms, long-
term tenants on rented land) obtain land on
better terms through the reform process.
Landless laborers tend to be excluded un-
less they have only recently been expelled
from haciendas. The other generalization
which may be made about who has ob-
tained land in Latin America over the past
several decades is that there has been a
decided tendency for itto go to able-bodied,
male heads of households, particularly
those who have had some formal educa-
tion. Those who have not been helped in
this process are solitary women, the very old
or the very young, the least educated, the
least able, the infirm and persons who have
never had access to land on any basis-in
other words, the poorest of the rural poor.
Land assignments may be to individuals
or groups organized into some form of co-
operative or collective. Often there is a mix
of the two. Early Latin American reforms
assigned properties as family farms, but
lately this model is seldom applied. Most
expropriated farms in Latin America have
had to accommodate a number of families
because they are so large; so the question
becomes, does it make sense to divide
them? If it does, the agrarian reform agency
must face the fact that the costs of subdivi-
sion are very high. The infrastructure that
serves a hacienda has to be thoroughly
transformed. For example, roads have to be
rerouted, irrigation ditches diverted to indi-
vidual properties, houses and other struc-
tures built in different places and electrical
services revamped. Furthermore it costs
more to service a number of individual
farms with extension help and credit than
one large cooperative farm. Some believe
that large farms enjoy economies of scale-
at least in a few export crops such as cane
and cotton.
There are ideological arguments on both
sides. Some argue that marketing is easier
and surplus can be more efficiently cap-
tured with group farming. The controversy
Continued on page 46


April, 1986. First international Con-
ference on the Dominrican Re-
public. Rutgers:University. Con-
tact: Asela Rodriguez de Laguna,
Department ol Modern and Classi-
cal Languages and Literatures,
Rutgers Univ., Conklin Hall, New-
ark, NJ 07102. .

June 24-28, 1986. Third Annual
Meeting, Association of North
American Colombianists.
Bogota, Pontificta Universidad Jav-
erlana. Send paper proposals by
November 1, 1985 to Jonathan Tit-
ller, Department-of Romance Stud-_
ies, Cornell-Uni~rllesity, Ithaca,-
NY 14853.-

June-July, 1986. XV Central Ameri-
can and Caribbean Games. Do-
minican Republic. Special events:
World Cockfighting ~Championship
and Festival of -Ppula -Theate~.
Contact: Luis Midence, Secretary of:
the Organizing-Cof mittee, XV Jue-
gos Centroamericanos y del Canbe; -
Direcci6n de Arte-y Cultura, Santo.
Domingo, Dominican. Republic.

October 23-2689861 -XI Internae
tiona -Congress-of the Latin-
American -Stui die Association
(LASA). BostonkMass.-First cal-for
Organized Session Proposals,-Spe-
cial Events and Papers. Four cate-
gories of sessions will include:
Panels, Workshops, Roundtables
and Meetings. Book and film exhib-.
its, public forums, receptions-and
other special-events willbe included_
in the program. -Mail proposals to
.Merilee S. Grindle, HIlD, 1737
Cambridge-Str-eet. Cambridge,
MA 02138.


Hemispheric Debate

How to Handle Latin America

A Review Essay by Lynn-Darrell Bender

US Influence in Latin America in the
1980s, Robert Wesson, ed. 242 p. Praeger
Publishers, New York, and Hoover
Institution Press, Stanford, 1982. $23.95

From Gunboats to Diplomacy: New US
Policies for Latin America, Richard
Newfarmer, ed. 254 p. The Johns Hopkins
University Press, Baltimore, 1984. $25,
hardcover; $11.95, paper.

Governance in the Western Hemisphere,
Viron P Vaky, ed. 532 p. Praeger
Publishers, New York, 1983.

Crisis and Opportunity: US Policy in
Central America and the Caribbean, Mark
Falcoff and Robert Royal, eds. 491 p.
Ethics and Public Policy Center,
Washington, D.C., 1984. $19.00,
hardcover; $12.00, paper.

Confrontation in the Caribbean Basin,
Alan Adelman and Reid Reading, eds.
307 p. Center for Latin American Studies,
University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, 1984.
$9.50 (paper).

Recent troublesome developments in the
Caribbean basin have drawn interest to that
region beyond anything experienced since
the 1960s, when Latin America was a focal
point of US foreign policy concerns. A ver-
itable army of scholars (mostly North Amer-
ican) are eager to make their contribution to
understanding the region's problems. The
books under examination here are collec-
tions of essays edited under topical or coun-
try themes, but with little in common except
a tendencyto view US activities, actions and
policies as major influences on events in the
region. Some contributions endeavor to fill
previously existing lacunae with basically
descriptive analyses of sociopolitical devel-
opments in the Caribbean basin. While
generally informative, most of these suffer

Lynn-Darrell Bender teaches political science
at Inter-American University of Puerto Rico in
San Juan. He is the author of U.S. vs. Cuba:
The Politics of Hostility and Perspectivas

from what one academic reviewer labels an
"unnecessarily narrow, uncomparable, and
theoretical perspective." Other contribu-
tions, similarly bereft of broad theoretical
concerns, do not pretend to be more than
frameworks of analysis for exploring politi-
cal patterns in the hemisphere.
As would be expected, the approach and
perceptions of the authors differ consider-
ably. In fact, the editors themselves make no
bones about their own ideological inclina-
tions or policy preferences, and by and large
the contributors to their books tend to re-
flect similar viewpoints. Most of the authors
are highly critical; others hue more closely
to the "official line." They all attempt to
make sense of US policy in the hemi-
sphere-which often makes no sense at all
and, at times, even approaches nonsense.
The fundamental problem affecting US-
Latin American relations can be boiled
down to one word: intervention. Faced with
the preponderance of US power, hemi-
spheric governments have long brandished
the principle of nonintervention in an abso-
lute sense. Thus, for them, intervention in
the affairs of a sovereign state, whether in
pursuit of national interest, international
solidarity, or the protection of human rights,
is simply unacceptable. Latin American na-
tions remain dependent upon a reciprocally
enveloping web of financial, economic, mili-
tary and trade relationships with the United
States. They now recognize that effective
growth must be accompanied by increased
political independence. Yet this produces a
further dilemma: If Latin America cannot
successfully grow under the permanent tu-
telage of the United States, neither can it
achieve socioeconomic and developmental
needs in isolation from the United States.
The consensus emerging from these books
suggests a clearly discernible trend of Latin
American countries moving toward a modi-
fied status in their individual and collective
relationships with the United States.

Power Relations
Two volumes deal directly with the key
question of power relations in the hemi-
sphere: Robert Wesson's U.S. Influence in
Latin America in the 1980s and Richard

Newfarmer's From Gunboats to Diplo-
macy: New U.S. Policies for Latin America.
Each uses a similar conventional format,
beginning with a broad overview of US-
Latin American relations, followed by indi-
vidual examinations of key countries
and/or issues written mainly by US aca-
demic specialists.
Wesson's book largely reflects the Hoover
Institution at Stanford University (with
which he is associated), whose orientation
tends to be supportive of conservative es-
tablishment views. Its purpose is to demon-
strate the extent to which US influence has
waned in contemporary Latin America-
with influence vaguely defined as "closely
akin to that of power, but... carrying less
implication of force and coercion and more
of persuasion." The individual studies pur-
portedly detail how US influence has af-
fected ten key countries. Overall, however,
they merely provide short case studies of
these nations' foreign policy postures, with
particular reference to the United States.
The contributors note various reasons for
the putative decline in US influence today,
including neglect, shrinkage of its world
stature and Latin American nationalism.
Even so, its capacity is still considerable;
they believe the United States still possesses
enough assets to defend its interests in the
hemisphere, and that they "may potentially
be used if there should be a political will to
do so." One can only speculate on whether
Wesson believes the Reagan administration
is now meeting this test.
In contrast, almost without exception, the
analysts in the Newfarmer collection are
highly critical of US policy toward the hemi-
sphere for its emphasis on immediate prob-
lems, lack of an overall plan, and preoc-
cupation with security and stability for
hemispheric defense and the promotion of
private interests. But nothing really ties to-
gether these essays on specific countries
and issue areas except vague exhortations
calling for a less conflictive, more accom-
modating US approach in its dealings with
hemispheric nations. As such, they hardly
qualify as the "new US policies for Latin
America" which the reader is led to expect
from the book's subtitle.


Perhaps the most extreme critique of US
policy appears in Lars Schoultz's essay on
Nicaragua, which constitutes practically an
apologia for the revolutionary government.
He dismisses the Reagan administration's
accusation that the Sandinistas engage in
systematic repression of internal dissent as
true only "if judged by the best standards of
North Atlantic constitutional systems" with-
out taking into account a political culture
heretofore incapable of creating impartial
electoral institutions to mediate disputes.
Therefore, says Schoultz, as in any revolu-
tionary setting, power must be vested in
"charismatic leaders" until the conditions
supporting a truly responsive democracy
can be created. While probably true, it also
provides a convenient justification for pro-
longed government repression.
The situation may not really be so differ-
ent in El Salvador, but there government
repression is strongly condemned. For Mor-
ris Blachman and Kenneth Sharpe, the
"legacy of violence, electoral fraud, and in-
equity" will also take considerable time to
overcome. But they-along with most other
contributors to this volume-believe condi-
tions for responsive democracy in El Sal-
vador can only come about via a national
consensus based on dialog and negotia-
tions in which all groups can confidently
express their will. Can it be, then, that the
"best" process for creating democracy de-
pends entirely upon what group one prefers
in power?
A third book, Governance in the Western
Hemisphere, edited by former Ambassador
Viron R Vaky, also examines power relations
in the region, but within the context of a
much more comprehensive review of spe-
cific issues, problems and requirements
which these nations face in the 1980s. It
represents, in essence, the report that re-
sulted from a two-year study conducted by
the Aspen Institute on the ability of Latin
America to cope with the key questions of
(1) the preservation of peace, (2) economic
growth, and (3) the development of human
potential. The book consists mostly of
dreadfully dull expositions that strongly re-
semble government position papers in
both tone and content, on such topics as

Calle El Conde, Santo Domingo, 1966.

Latin America's debt, unemployment, mi-
gration, education, industrialization, nuclear
power, arms acquisition, conflict resolution
and political relations.
In my view, this work tends to place far too
much faith in the presumed potential of the
institutional processes and mechanisms
comprising the formal inter-American sys-
tem to provide effective solutions to com-
mon problems. It is also contrary to the
assessment provided by Jorge Dominguez
who, in his background paper on "Political
Relations in the Western Hemisphere," aptly
notes "a relative decline in the importance

of inter-American institutions to member
countries," as well as their reluctance to use
such fora to advance their central foreign
policy concerns. There may be a willing-
ness on the part of hemispheric nations to
experiment in designing new organizational
structures more in consonance with their
own foreign and national policy objectives.
In fact, however, while all paylip service to the
desirability of multilateral mechanisms,
each still deals with the United States on a
fundamentally bilateral basis, directly
through economic/military assistance pro-
Continued on page 47


Abstraction and Representation

Rosado del Valle's Visual Innocence

By Ricardo Pau-Llosa

Self-portrait IV, oil on Masonite, 48" x 48".

Great adventure in contemporary
Latin American art, for that matter in
international art, is taking place in
Cataifo, on San Juan Bay in Puerto Rico. It is
a village still uneasy with modernity's
stridencies, yet it is located on the rim of one
of the Caribbean's most vibrant modern
metropolises. It is here that Julio Rosado
del Valle was born in 1922, and lives and
works today.
Rosado del Valle is seeking a form which
will coalesce the aspirations of modern art's
two most important schools-surrealism
and expressionism. He has an astonishing
ability to synthesize, and has achieved this
awesome task with directness and imagina-
tion-two qualities of innocence, which is

Ricardo Pau-Uosa teaches Latin American art
at Florida International University. He is senior
editor of Latin America of Art International.

Landscape VII, oil on paper, 38" x 29".

the soul of creativity. I use these words not
poetically, but precisely. Innocence is the
force that guides Rosado del Valle's creative
endeavor. He has appropriated expression-
ism's lexicon of erratic, often turbulent
brushwork, but has freed these textures and
lines from their traditional significance of
torment and angst. In effect, Rosado del
Valle has placed in abeyance the usual rela-
tionship between spontaneous gesture and
its referent. His aim has been to put at the
service of representational designs the tex-
tures and spatula-applied smears of art's
"confessionalist" modes.
In particular, the texture and brushwork
of Rosado del Valle's paintings obtain a
symbolic quality; that is, they present them-
selves as images, and in so doing, they ac-
quire a fluidity of signification which is new
in art. What these strokes and smears evoke
is not a wounded or despairing condition of
the soul, but rather an attitude which the

creative consciousness assumes vis-a-vis
the world. This attitude is one of direct, vivid
experience, articulated in the terms of those
explicit physical qualities of light and color
by which we see and apprehend the world.
Freed from their confessionalist semantic,
Rosado del Valle's textures and brush-
strokes can present themselves as images
and can evoke that innocence of vision
which the surrealists had hoped to achieve
through dream-like imagery.
Rosado del Valle's series, Self-Portraits,
provides a fine example of how his aesthet-
ics operate. The usual emphasis of the por-
trait genre has been on psychological
speculation, on revealing the inner work-
ings of the self as these surface in subtle
ways on the text of a face. When the artist
paints himself, it is assumed that the usual
emphasis of portraiture acquires a greater
urgency, that the view is really confronting
both a psychic portrait and a poetics of


Flowers I, oil on Masonite, 50" x 46".

sorts, since the artist is revealing himself as
both individual and creative being. But
Rosado del Valles self-portraits reveal an
altogether different mechanics. The artist's
physical identity is a pretext for speculation
on visual representation, the presentation of
an image that is pure and complex yet en-
tirely visual. There is no desire to reveal
psychic perspectives. Rather, these paint-
ings must be seen as meditations on the
very concept of identity as it is conceived in
physical terms. The face is the artist's, and
there is no doubting it, but it undergoes
extensive distortion and chromatic liberties.
The paintings address themselves to the
question of how free visual representation
can be without losing both its sense of objec-
tive reference and its ability to project funda-
mentals of painting, such as texture,
brushstroke and color, as images in their
own right. The result is a tension which is
unique-a tension largely absent from the

paintings of trendy neophyte expressionists.
Another of Rosado del Valle's great series
is hisFlores paintings.Flores 1, for example,
approaches this same tension between
vibrant abstraction of color and texture and
reference to a familiar object. The flowers
seem to explode and contract, and in this
sense they acquire an almost microcosmic
identity. Flores I also delves into emotive
dimensions. Although flowers are not as
closely linked to the great modern issue of
identity as the human image, Rosado del
Valle can imbue them with ambiguities of
an emotive nature. His flores are at once
ecstatic and fiery, self-consuming images.
They are emblems of yearning, fulfillment,
the muted rages of everyday life. They are
images filled with connotations of decay (he
paints the flowers cut and in vases on ta-
bles); yet they are prophecies of the eternal
life which any image can enjoy once it has
been apprehended and painted in a direct,

uncompromising way.
If identity and decay are major preoc-
cupations in the work of Rosado del Valle, it
can be said that his search for a gesturally
evoked innocence in art is closely linked to a
profound preoccupation with temporality
itself. The themes of identity and death and
the spontaneity of gesture-as-image both
project concerns with time-at the existen-
tial level in the former and at the level of
direct action in the latter. It is in seizing the
instant and recreating directness toward
things, ideas and time that Rosado del Valle
has discovered the fundamental character
of innocence in visual thinking. The child-
like freedom of his drawings and paintings
highlights a more profound aesthetic atti-
tude in which direct representation of
the fundamentals of his art, coexisting
with representation of things, engages
levels of thought which deal with tem-
poral consciousness. O


Figure (Portrait), oil on paper, 48" x 47"

Continued from page 5

concentrated export structure." A simple
calculation based on the Planning Board's
official statistics will indicate that between
1976 and 1983 total merchandise exports
increased at the annual compounded rate of
14.2 percent when drug shipments ex-
panded by 21.4 percent, nonelectrical ma-
chinery by 42.6 percent, scientific and
precision instruments by 24.8 percent and
electrical machinery by 16.1 percent. It was
in these industries that employment and
output expanded the highest in the same
period, while in sugar manufacturing em-
ployment fell at an annual rate of 5.4 percent
and its output by 15.4 annually. Many of the
traditional industries faced reduced em-
ployment during this period; and although
output of most of them increased, expan-
sion did not match that of the industries
mentioned above which, to a large extent,
determined the aggregate rate of GNP
growth in the period (8.0 percent in current
prices, 1.7 percent adjusted for inflation).
Granted, the growth in the Puerto Rican
economy slowed down compared to the
decade 1967-1977 for reasons that slowed
down growth in the entire industrialized
world. But to state that a highly concen-

Continued from page 14

president to congressman to janitor, work-
ing within the temporal framework of the
electoral cycle, no individual, or organiza-
tion can be relied upon to look to the long
term. For that matter, few public organiza-
tions have the institutional memory to effec-
tively plan for the future.
Two basic necessities will suffice as ex-
amples: water and electric power. In July
1985 the nation suffered from drought con-
ditions that provided a preview of the future,
as large sections of Santo Domingo and
other cities were without running water.
Water shortages are expected to be com-
mon by 1990, since the government has
been unable or unwilling to provide suffici-
ent water supplies to the people and indus-
try, in spite of growing awareness of
the problem.
Electric power has posed serious prob-
lems for a decade. The Corporaci6n Domin-
icana de Electricidad (CDE) operates old,
poorly maintained generator and transmis-
sion facilities. The system is plagued by daily
outages and theft of as much as 30 percent
of output by individuals who illegally tap into
lines. The situation became critical in Janu-
ary 1985 when two failed generating units
meant CDE could output only half of its nor-

treated export structure was the cause of the
stagnation is a flagrant and purposeful dis-
tortion and misinterpretation of the facts.
Without these exports there would have
been no growth at all. Professor Pantojas
seems to be confused with respect to
growth as such and its determinants, and
the fluctuations in growth that arise from
circumstances that affect the behavior of
these determinants.
4. But that is not his only confusion.
When he comments on the state of income
distribution he commits two distortions.
The first is his failure to distinguish growth
with domestic capital from growth with "for-
eign" capital. No doubt in the latter case
profits will be "repatriated" and in the for-
mer remain in the country (unless as in
many LDCs they take flight into DCs). This
does not weaken or refute the export-led
development argument; nor does it refute
the fact that even after profit repatriations
what remains on the island is "better" dis-
tributed than before, using merely the func-
tional distribution of income as criterion.
Professor Pantojas's second confusion is
his jump from changes in the functional
distribution of incomes to overall income
distribution in the economy. Whether truly
one-half of the island's population is poor is
a moot point when irregularities are re-
ported in the food stamp program and un-

mal load of about 600,000 kw hours of en-
ergy. The costs of industrial production and
tourism rose markedly as firms and hotels
were forced to leave their expensive oil-con-
suming private generators on-line for hours
and days at a time.
Life in Santo Domingo sometimes took
on ludicrous proportions as waves of out-
ages swept across the city. One business-
man seeking to photocopy an important,
lengthy document drove around madly for
hours, trying to keep just ahead of outages
and broken copying machines until he fi-
nally completed the job. As continuing elec-
tricity and water shortages in late summer
were accompanied by shortages and dis-
ruptions in the supply of two of the ever
popular components of the Dominican na-
tional dish, red beans and rice (the third
component is chicken), and an astonishing
shortfall in, of all things, sugar. Former pres-
ident and now full-time government critic
Juan Bosch was moved to exclaim that the
country was "going like a boat without cap-
tain, without rudder, without motor, and tak-
ing on water."
Jorge Blanco took office, as did his pred-
ecessor Antonio Guzman, amid promises of
administrative reform. During the last years
of Guzman's term (1981-82) a civil service
bill passed both houses of the Congress
only to die in conference committee as the
session expired. Jorge Blanco introduced a
nearly identical bill three consecutive years

employment statistics, and the size of the
underground economy is not known, al-
though some estimates put it as high as 20
percent of the GNP I shall not enter into the
polemic of where the underground econ-
omy lies most (poor, middle or upper in-
comes), what the size andsitu of tax evasion
are, what the true magnitide of the unem-
ployed is etc. Secondly, however, what Her-
rero, Castafieda and Weisskoff have
maintained in the sixties is still incorrect.
Professor Pantojas is once again totally out-
dated in his familiarity with the literature. He
should check into recent writings by Arthur
J. Mann, and, yes, also by my husband Fuat
I cannot refer to all of Professor Pantojas's
remarks in this space. May I merely suggest
humbly that he delve without bias into the
economic field of exports and growth. He
can do this in two ways: he can either recre-
ate the world by doing his own analysis; or
he can scrutinize the vast literature, theoreti-
cal and empirical, to hopefully come to an
unbiased conclusion. (The article on Costa
Rica by Edmunds and Renforth in the same
Caribbean Review issue is a good begin-
ning). But most important, he should heed
the as-yet unwritten eleventh command-
ment: Thou shalt not accuse others of thine
own errors. For many times the distortion is
in the mind of the reader.

without coming close to victory, despite os-
tensibly strong support from legislators.
For reformers however, hope springs
eternal. With the possible exception of leftist
Juan Bosch of the Partido Liberaci6n Do-
minicana, who has remained silent on the
matter, all major presidential candidates
claim to favor administrative reforms to im-
prove the capability of the bureaucracy, in-
cluding a merit system. Their true commit-
ment to reform remains problematic. For
example, former president and once again
candidate for the conservative Partido Re-
formista Social Cristiano, Joaquin Bal-
aguer, could have pushed a civil service bill
or any other administrative reform through
his pliable congress at virtually any time he
wished, yet he did not. The two candidates
representing factions of the currently gov-
erning Partido Revolucionario Dominicano,
Senator Jacobo Majluta and Santo Domin-
go Mayor Jose Francisco Pefia G6mez,
would be more likely to commit themselves
to reform. As for the new congress that is to
be elected in 1986, turnover again of 80-90
percent would mean that a merit system
educational campaign would have to begin
from the basics.
Meanwhile, economic and political pres-
sures continue to build in the Caribbean
crucible. The test of the next Dominican
government is to improve the conditions
causing that buildup before the container
explodes. E


Continued from page 16

buying and selling of farms, land and cattle.
The money received as part of the repara-
tions the German government paid to Jews
after the war increased land and cattle in-
vestments and added to the growing wealth
of some settlers. A few made money by
organizing the transportation and distribu-
tion of agricultural and dairy products
throughout the country.
In addition to trying to build a life based
on cattle herding, operating a school and a
medical clinic, the settlers in Sosua tried to
recreate their former cultural life in Europe.
Several had been artists, actors and musi-
cians. They formed a cultural organization
and began to put on performances which
included theater, musicals, recitations and
even light operettas. These cultural ac-
tivities, enjoyable as they were, can be un-
derstood as a rather desperate attempt on
the part of those exiled people to recreate a
lost life. Some of the performances were in
German and some primarily performed by
the East European Jews, in Yiddish.

Social Adjustment
Viewed from another aspect, the early life of
settlers in Sosua was fraught with social,
cultural and psychological problems of ad-
justment. Some settlers who still had rela-
tives in Europe asked that they be brought
to Sosua before it was too late. DORSA
stuck to its original policy and made no
effort to unite families. Dissatisfactions also
came from other sources. Conflicts arose
because settlers came from different ori-
gins. The main split was between those of
German and Austrian backgrounds as op-
posed to those of East European back-
ground. In addition all of them had been
forced to leave their countries of origin and
were, by the time of their settlement, living
in refugee camps in other countries. Set-
tlers were recruited from camps in Switzer-
land, Belgium and Luxembourg, for
example, and people who had known each
other in the camps tended to cling together
once in Sosua. Thus they were socially and
ethnically identified as being part of the
"Luxembourg" or "Swiss" group.
At the social level, the main problems
emerged as a result of the overwhelming
imbalance in the sex ratio. Among those
recruited were at least 100 unmarried men.
They lived in a communal barracks where
several women cleaned, cooked and laun-
dered for them. About half of the settlers
were already married at the time of their
arrival but only a handful of unmarried
women had been initially recruited. As a
result some of the bachelors began liaisons

The original DORSA Administration Building. Now it is used as a warehouse for

construction materials.

with Dominican women or with married
women in the Jewish settlement. Both ar-
rangements led to conflict. In the first in-
stance, many members of the community
frowned upon relationships with Domin-
ican women, particularly when they turned
into marriages. In part, people feared the
loss of Jewish identity through intermar-
riage and some, it is alleged, were preju-
diced against the locals. At least 20
marriages took place in the early years and
the majority have been extremely success-
ful. Affairs with married women led in some
cases to divorce and the remarriage of the
woman to her lover. People today remem-
ber divorce as a significant problem. Mrs.
Berson noted that "perhaps it didn't take
place more often than in other places, but in
our small community, divorce was always
noticed." One of the physicians, now dead,
apparently believed that when European
women were exposed to tropical climates
and waters containing iodine, their sexual
drive increased. This was apparently used
by some as a justification for having affairs
with unmarried and usually younger bach-
elors. In any event, sexual liaisons increased
tensions in the young community.
Problems of adjustment were reflected by
the desire of most settlers to emigrate to the
United States as soon as possible after the
war. For the still unmarried men, the desire
to marry a Jewish woman was of prime
importance. For others, their inability to ad-
just to a life of agricultural pursuits, al-
though necessary in the interim period,
increased their motivation to migrate.
Those who had had a professional career
were eager to go back to it and felt that their
opportunities would be better in the United

States. For these persons Sosua was a step-
ping stone, and they did not want to invest
the rest of their lives in building a permanent
community there. For them the years in
Sosua, perhaps only eight or nine years, was
a "rest time" until they could really begin
their lives again. The desire to leave was
strong and the movement out of Sosua be-
gan soon after the end of the war and con-
tinued throughout the fifties. From the
original 500 or so, only 155 were left in
1961. Today, a bit more migration as well as
death from natural causes has reduced the
Sosua community to 28 original settlers, 12
children of settlers and 10 Dominican
wives-four married to original settlers and
six to children of settlers.

Lack of Integration
With so much out-migration Sosua could
not become a lasting community, since
most settlers were there for too short a time
to establish traditional roots. What did hap-
pen in the 10 years or so of active settle-
ment was the creation of a viable financial
base in agriculture and a recreation of Euro-
pean cultural life insofar as that was possi-
ble. At no time did the people of Sosua
attempt to integrate or assimilate into Do-
minican society. Their isolated location on
the North Coast, as well as the fact that they
were placed there as a group, meant that
they remained physically isolated from the
rest of the country. When their school was
opened, it was decided to admit Dominican
children so that the Jewish ones were ex-
posed to another influence, but only a few
Dominicans were admitted at any one time.
Intermarriage might have provided a
more effective avenue of integration, but the


The synagogue built by the settlers has been maintained in its original state.

Seated at the Seder table, a family that includes four generations of settlers
Seated at the Seder table, a family that includes four generations of settlers.

Dominican women moved into Sosua with
their husbands; and while they remained in
touch with their relatives, integration did not
take place even for those couples. For the
young children growing up in Sosua, ethnic
identity problems were very evident. Dr.
Schwartz, a product of a mixed couple, said:
"Growing up in Sosua was a strange experi-
ence. Here we were in Sosua, but our first
language at home was German. We heard
operas on the record player, not the music
played in the Dominican Republic. We
learned Spanish and Jewish studies at
school, and our fathers told us about the

cafes and music halls of Vienna. Nothing
had to do with the Dominican Republic."
Therein lay the problem. Sosua remained
a marginalized community, without any real
identification with the country of which it
was part. Children were taught to be Jews
and, if anything, Jewish identity became
enhanced under the conditions of settle-
ment. Many of the original settlers came
from assimilated Jewish families in Europe,
and about half came from the less inte-
grated East European communities. In the
early days of settlement, the greater sense of
Jewishness belonging to those of East Eu-

ropean origins influenced the others so that
all became more Jewish. The community
did not have a Rabbi, but they kept up most
religious observances and maintained ser-
vices on Friday nights and Saturday morn-
ings. Some of the cultural performances
were conducted in Yiddish. Jewishness as
an ethnic marker became more pro-
nounced in the community and for children
growing up there. As Dr. Schwartz notes,
"We were half-Jewish and half-Sousuan,
part European but never Dominican." This
sense of confusion in their early days led
many of the young people, most of whom
attended universities or professional
schools in the United States, to remain
abroad. Returning to Sosua would have led
them back into a life of ethnic confusion. Dr.
Schwartz returned after years in Mexico but
only to stay with his mother. He says he does
not know how long he will remain in Sosua,
but "not too long." The original settlers who
stayed were generally those who had mar-
ried Dominican women while at the same
time establishing a sound economic basis
in the country. Two of the them had spent
time in the United States with theirwives but
decided to come back because they didn't
like the fast pace of life in the US having
become accustomed to the slower pace of
Sosua. Both maintain vacation homes in
Miami as do a number of other remaining
The history of the Jewish settlement in
Sosua can thus be divided into several
phases. In phase one the newly arrived set-
tlers worked to establish their financial inde-
pendence while trying to recreate the
culture and values of European society in
Sosua. In phase two, many settlers decided
to migrate to the United States, and it be-
came clear that a permanent settlement
was not their intention. In phase three chil-
dren who had grown up with a degree of
ethnic confusion in terms of their identity
and values also left Sosua after their studies
abroad had been completed. Affecting all
these phases was the sense of enclosure or
marginality experienced by this small en-
clave of people, different in their ethnicity
and religion, unable and unwilling to be-
come part of the strange country in which
they unwittingly found themselves.
Today, in what might be called phase four,
Sosua is a dying community where a few
original settlers and very few of their chil-
dren hang on. As soon as the original set-
tlers have passed on, the 10 or so children
will also probably leave. While land cur-
rently held by Jewish settlers will probably
remain in the hands of their absentee chil-
dren, the Jewish settlement as such will
have passed into history. The history of
Sosua might have been different had
100,000 Jews settled there, but as it hap-
pened it merely became a way station for a
handful, while the other 99,000 were annihi-
lated in the Holocaust. O


Continued from page 17

the Haitian problem. Between 2 and 4 Oc-
tober 1937, Trujillds hirelings fell upon Hait-
ians throughout the Dominican Republc,
killing approximately 20,000 with clubs,
machetes and bayonets. The Dominican
dictator made every effort to cover up
this bloodbath, but his efforts proved
Articles in the US press referred to the
slaughter of the Haitians as one of the most
horrible crimes in history and compared
Trujillo to Hitler. Something had to be done
quickly to save Trujillds image in the United
States, and his role as benefactor and sav-
iour of Central Europe's persecuted Jews
one year later certainly went a long way to-
ward polishing his tarnished image. Trujillo
also intended to settle the northern and
western parts of his country with white set-
tlers in order to "whiten" (blanquear) his
population and to stem the tide of black
Haitians. This desire even influenced him
during 1940 to invite loyalist refugees (in-
cluding communists) from the Spanish
Civil War in spite of his sympathies for the

fascist cause in Spain. According to Pro-
fessor C. Harvey Gardiner, Trujillo was also
motivated by his desire to maintain the best
possible relationship with the United States,
which has exercised a profound influence
on the Dominican Republic throughout the
20th century. Trujillo realized that Franklin
D. Roosevelt, who had been the progenitor
of the Evian refugee conference, would be
deeply grateful that at least one country
would open its doors to the Jewish refugees
from Central Europe. Indeed Trujillds ges-
ture at Evian was soon to pay handsome
dividends. The US government, which had
been administering the customs and tariffs
of his country since 1924, turned over the
control of these important sources of in-
come to the Dominican Republic in 1940.
Shortly before Christmas of that year, the
United States Export-Import Bank gave
Trujillds government a credit of $3,000,000.
In the future, whenever critical voices would
be raised in the United States about the
ruthless character of Trujillds reign, the Do-
minican ruler would silence his critics by
pointing to the Jewish settlement at Sosua.
It was only at the very end of his rule (1961),
when he overplayed his hand in mega-
lomaniac challenges to the United States
and Latin America, that not even the Jewish
settlement at Sosua could save him from
political isolation and perdition.

The Settlers
Trujillo's government and DORSA jointly
worked out the criteria that were to be ap-
plied in the selection of the Jewish settlers
for Sosua. These pioneers were expected to
be agricultural workers (or at least people
accustomed to hard physical labor) be-
tween the ages of 20 and 35; 90 percent
were to be bachelors. Trujillo wanted to
make sure that the majority of them would
marry Dominican women to help whiten his
population. It is ironic that few intermar-
riages occurred.
When the US engineer Solomon Throne,
on behalf of DORSA, scoured Europe's Jew-
ish refugee camps for suitable settlers, he
found it hard to apply these criteria because
most of Central Europe's Jews had been
barred from owning any land and, there-
fore, had no agricultural experience. As a
matter of fact most of the 600-700 Jews
who were to move eventually to Sosua, orig-
inated from the cosmopolitan urban cen-
ters of Berlin and Vienna and represented
such diverse professions as textile mer-
chants, artists, cobblers, carpenters, tailors,
lawyers, import-export traders, printers,
construction workers and engineers. They
included an accomplished pianist, Felix
Bauer, a student of Alban Berg's, and the
child prodigy violinist Yudith Kibel (the
daughter of Leon Boker, Minister of Social

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Welfare in Bela Kun's ephemeral Soviet
Hungarian Republic), who was put to work
peeling potatoes in the communal kitchen
of Sosua.
Throne selected most of the future set-
tlers from refugee camps in Switzerland
and France, where thousands of Jewish ref-
ugees were kept in an internment camp at
Bayonne in the Lower Pyrenees. From there
they were eventually dispatched to Nazi
death camps by the Vichy government. At
Bayonne alone over 1,000 refugees volun-
teered for agricultural work in the Domin-
ican Republic, from which Throne finally
selected 50. These people became known
at Sosua as "the Luxemburg Group" be-
cause after their exodus from Austria, they
had labored as agricultural workers in Lux-
emburg until Hitler's invasion on 10 May
1940 had forced them to flee to France,
where they were interned by Petain's
When the various groups of Jewish set-
tlers arrived at the northern harbor of Puerto
Plata, they were given an enthusiastic wel-
come by both the Dominican government
officials and the local population. This
warm initial reception was an overpowering
event for these Jews who were used to being
treated as outcasts in their countries of ori-
gin. As a matter of fact, in the Dominican
Republic they were to occupy a privileged
position. By way of illustration, when on 14
June 1959 anti-Trujillo forces, trained in
Cuba, landed at Luperon on the north coast
of the Dominican Republic, the Dominican
police set up roadblocks to hunt down any
survivors of the landing. Native Dominicans
were thoroughly searched, but any Jews
from Sosua were simply waved through the
check points. For these Jews, used to being
the eternal scapegoats of Europe, this expe-
rience too proved unforgettable. Some of
Sosua's Jews feared that because of their
close ties to the Dominican dictator, their
position would change with Trujillo's death;
however all subsequent Dominican govern-
ments, including the present government of
Salvador Jorge Blanco, have maintained
the most cordial relationship with Sosua's
Jewish colony. The celebration of the 40th
anniversary of the founding of the Jewish
settlement at Sosua took place on 9 and 11
May 1980, in the presence of the late Presi-
dent Antonio Guzman and his wife Renee
Klang de Guzmsn.
The Dominican government's esteem for
its Jewish citizens is also reflected in its
unwavering support for the State of Israel.
The Dominican Republic was one of only
four countries in the United Nations that
voted against inviting the PLO leader Yasir
Arafat to address the UN General Assembly
in 1974. In 1980 the Dominican Republic
moved its embassy in Israel to the eastern
sector of Jerusalem, an action which re-
sulted in protests by the Dominican Re-
public's sizable Lebanese Arab minority.

The Oasis Restaurant, where the Passover Seder is held. A Dominican family owns it now.
.. .- __ _- - -

The Oasis Restaurant, where the Passover Seder is held. A Dominican family owns it now.

Preparing the Passover Seder in the kitchen of the Oasis Restaurant. The two women on the
left are part of the original settlers.

But whereas most nations that transferred
their embassies from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem
almost immediately returned their diplo-
matic missions to Tel Aviv because of Arab
threats, the Dominican embassy remained
for years in Jerusalem.
At the present time the Israeli government
is offering over 70 stipends to Dominican
students for study in Israel, and Israeli agri-
cultural experts are developing melon pro-
duction in the south of the island at Azua
and cotton in the north at Monte Cristi.

A New Life
Friendly receptions notwithstanding, the
first Jewish settlers at Sosua, who were ac-
customed to the cosmopolitan world of
Berlin and Vienna, faced forbidding condi-
tions. There was nothing but bush; there
was no electricity, no running water, few
cars (most of the settlers were to use horses

and carts for public transportation), and the
only road between Puerto Plata and Sosua
turned into impassable mud after each rain-
fall. Refrigeration was nonexistent and meat
had to be preserved in cloth soaked in
It was during this initial phase that
DORSA lent a most helpful hand by supply-
ing everything from tractors and trucks to
lumber, farm implements and food.
DORSA granted all new immigrants an ini-
tial vacation during which, as the settler
Josef David Eichen has written: "they could
walk under a blue sky, inhale a different and
quiet air, watch a sunset containing colors of
which they had never even dreamed, and
feel the joy of being secure and be able to
start life anew."
Every settler received for one year free of
charge: food, lodging, work clothes, medi-
cal care, agricultural training and instruc-


One of the farmhouses built by the settlers. Today, it serves as home and studio to an artist.

One of the original barracks that housed Jewish settlers. It is now the tourist Information

tions in the Spanish language. DORSA paid
each Jewish immigrant the sum of nine
pesos a month. Children of 10 years of age
and under were given six pesos. The Jewish
pioneers lived for six months in barracks
(three of them are still standing, one former
barrack having been turned into "Nin's
Hotel") constructed for them by DORSA.
After that they were expected to move into
their own dwellngs which were given to
them by DORSA along with two hectares of
land, furniture, gardening tools, one horse,
one mule, a saddle and bridle, two cows and
credit for each family to the amount of 500
pesos. By August 1941 Sosua consisted of
60 houses for individual pioneers, nine dor-
mitories, 20 dwellings for native workers, 12
workshops and warehouses, a small hospi-
tal, a school and a stable. Seventy heads of
Holstein and Guernsey cattle, which had
been crossed with some of the native Do-

minican breed, were a gift from Trujillo.
Besides constructing roads, building
houses, fencing off pastures, growing tropi-
cal fruits and plants and taking care of their
cattle, the Jews of Sosua founded in 1941
one of their most successful enterprises
(with a paid-in capital of RD $707,900 and
an authorized capital of RD $750,000)
called CILCA (Compahi a Industrial Lechera
C Por A) which in 1980 had 40 white-collar
employees and 30 workers. CILCA pro-
duces a sizable share of the cheese, milk,
yogurt, orange and grape juice consumed
in the Dominican Republic. An equally suc-
cessful venture has been Sosua Products
(Compaflia Industria Ganadera Sosua C
Por A) which was founded in 1943 with a
paid-in capital of RD $217,800 and an au-
thorized capital of RD $300,000. This com-
pany, which in 1980 employed 25 white-
collar employees and 12 workers, produces

1B .1 .;i

CAm BBEAN lrve/43

some of the finest meat and sausage in the
Dominican Republic.
The original Jewish settlers at Sosua lived
in a community patterned on the kibbutz
system of Israel, but David Stern, a promi-
nent Jewish agricultural expert who had
been hired by DORSA in Palestine to study
the Sosua colony, recommended in 1944
that this collective life should be replaced by
the individual ownership of land. His recom-
mendation was accepted, and DORSA de-
cided to split up the communal land into
private holdings of 30 hectares (75 acres)
each. Most settlers feel that Stern's recom-
mendation was excellent and that it greatly
stimulated the Sosuan economy. Stern
brought along his daughter who, due to the
paucity of Jewish women at Sosua, had the
pick of the field and married whom she
considered the most handsome and eligible
bachelor among Sosua's immigrants. Many
of the other Jewish pioneers married Do-
minican women from Puerto Plata and its
In the spring of 1947 the final group of
about 90 Jewish refugees arrived at Sosua.
Most of these were German Jews who had
escaped to Shanghai, China. They had left
China for the Dominican Republic to es-
cape from the advancing communist ar-
mies of mainland China. Most of these
refugees from Shanghai were married, and
they found it very easy to become integrated
into the Sosua community. However,
this small group of new immigrants could
hardly make up for the large exodus of
young people that took place in the post-
war era.
Almost all of the sons and daughters of
the Jewish pioneers of Sosua have left the
Dominican Republic because of greater ed-
ucational and professional opportunities
abroad. The majority have settled in the
United States. Only three decided to take up
residence in Israel. Some of the lonely el-
derly couples at Sosua blame themselves
for having caused this phenomenon by
sending their children to American and
European schools instead of Dominican
institutions of learning.
There are about 35 Jewish families left at
Sosua, and most of the settlers there are
now in their early seventies. It is only a ques-
tion of time before the Jewish presence at
Sosua will have vanished. Before his death
one of the old-timers, the late Manfred Neu-
mann, appealed to the former Jewish So-
suans who now live abroad to establish a
"Beneficent Fund for Sosua's Patrimony"
($36 annually to be deposited in a bank and
not to be touched for 10 years) which would
at least preserve the synagogue and the
cemetery at Sosua to remind future genera-
tions of a group of homeless Jewish refu-
gees who were received with open arms in
the Dominican Republic and in return
made major contributions to their adopted
country. D

Continued from page 26

Our conversation went on for several
days. I ended up a member of the govern-
ment party, a fanatic Dutrista, but I also got
what I wanted. Catalao paid my price, with-
out even knowing what it was; he gave me
my voter's registration title, signed by the
district judge, with my own name on it.
Philog6nio with an "h", Mr. Fil6? Maia, with
"i" or "y" Mr. Fil6? Those were the properly
joined names of the father and mother I
never had. Born in the State of Minas Gerais
on 26 October, 1922, rancher by profes-
sion. I became the man I am now, Phi-
log6nio de Castro Maya, son of Cipriano da
Rocha Maya and Roselina Afonso de Castro
Besides my title, Catalao gave me sixteen
more for my people. I only didn't take more
because, stupidly, I didn't want more. Fear-
fully I said: look here man, I'm a serious
fellow, I don't fool around with the govern-
ment. Militao, Juca and Nheco, my most
intelligent blacks, don't even know how to
sign their names. The blacks out there in the
huts are evn more ignorant. I noticed only
later that Militao could read and write well,
that Juca was good at doing accounts, and
that Quintero, Deba, Pio, Paco-Paco, Ataide
and Nheco could write their names. All told,
my own voters and those that Catalao
signed up in the neighborhood of that Goias
desert came to almost 30. I should have
asked for 50 titles. I learned.
1 also never wanted a ballot box at Aguas
Claras. I promised to take my people to
Nam to vote and I did. On election day, all
the people who turned out added up to 50,
and wouldn't you know that 217 voted?
Twenty-seven for the UDN and the others
for the PSD. Those were the tricks of my
Compadre Catalao, who was elected
Our friendship prospered and both of us
profited from it. He did more than I, but he
died for it. Besides making my name legal,
Catalao also legalized my title to Aguas
Claras and later to other adjoining proper-
ties like Sanhar6, and the Fanado Grottoes
that I later sold. That's how I became the
rightful owner of all the lands here and be-
yond the hills, turning Aguas Claras into a
real ranch. It was all registered and surveyed
by a clerk on the appropriate forms, and I
paid taxes on it in Cristalina, complying with
the law. So how can I not like my Compadre,
the late Catalao? I don't.

Sdo Paran. I ache with longing for

Vao do Parana. I ache with longing for

those happy days. Vao do Parana. Then I
had the strength and innocence of a man in
his thirties, and I owned the biggest hard-
wood forest in the world, a virginal swath of
green fresh out of God's hands. There was
so much green, an immense world made of
acres of forest, the tallest and thickest forest
in the world, black and imposing.
I made those woods tremble, below and
burn under my fire, the biggest bonfire
you've ever seen. The whole world lit up.
The earth gasped for breath, smouldering
in the terrible heat. It sounded like machine
gun fire, sparks flew, fireworks soared, a
cannon artillery sounded. Bombs exploded

The ground on the other
side of the river began to
writhe and coil in a tangle
of snakes, slithering
desperately amid a mass of
disoriented armadillos,
anteaters and squirrels.

when the burned tree trunks split and fell
That fertile green world, those powerful
and deeply rooted tall trees, were split open
and charred under my fire. The forest
turned yellow, red, then blue and then lost
color completely to become only the black
residue of burned trunks over a mantle of
Once the circle of fire had been ignited,
my workers joined up with me. We swam to
the other side of the Parana River to a clear-
ing where once I had burned some brush.
From there we watched the huge fire burn,
destroying the green plant world and with it
the thousand types of wild life that lived
Suddenly the air turned thick and the
heavy cloud of smoke trembled as if it had
been given life. It was a maelstrom of bees,
wasps, locusts and beetles, whirling around
in the air in confused flight. Then we heard
the thunderous exit of birds that, crazed with
panic, arose from every corner of the forest,
beating their wings desperately, to search
for another home, far away from their
burned nests.
What I saw next I'll never forget. The
ground on the other side of the river began
to writhe and coil in a tangle of snakes,
slithering desperately amid a mass of dis-
oriented armadillos, anteaters and squirrels.
Wildcats of every stripe jumped out with
their coats aflame into the water. Behind
them came a stampede of even more ani-
mals. I felt pity when 1 saw a fallen deer,
wanting to escape but unable to do so be-
cause his feet were burned. A herd of white-

lipped peccaries plunged into the water,
howling desperately as only a wild boar can
do. The frightened beasts emerged from
the water right in front of us, without any
notice of our presence, so great was their
fear of the fire.
The fire kept burning for days and days,
weeks and weeks. The sky took an entire
month to clear. Black bordered clouds,
heavy with ash, moved slowly through the
smoky fog. The sun rose and set, enor-
mous, like a ball of red meat, red as an
ember, but so devoid of warmth and
strength that it hardly pierced the fog to light
the world.
The ashes of my burned forest must have
reached the furthest ocean, the mother of
the sea, where no one has ever seen me and
will never know of Goias or of me. A gram of
those ashes must be dissolving in waters
thick with virgin salt, giving an even more
bitter taste to those bitterly salted seas.
Once the woods were burned, the em-
bers stayed alive for a very long time. For
me, when the bonfire stopped and the world
died. There was the earth, as exposed as an
open wound under the scalding, dry sky.
Only then did the dirty rains begin to fall,
washing the sky and then the parched earth.
Rivulets frothy with lime ran in all direc-
tions. The natural lye spread, killing fresh
water fish, mosquitoes, game and hungry
A lot of that water ran into the old Chico,
searching for more water in which to dis-
solve and become purified. Some of those
soiled waters of mine descended the Tocan-
tins to boil at the mouth of the Amazon river,
near Bel6m do Para. Only there would they
come to rest in the greatest waterway of the
world. More of my flood waters ran swiftly to
the Parana and the Paraguay in Argentina,
polluting their clean waters to poison cows,
capybaras and alligators.
Once the forest I had burned was dis-
solved into water, it became a purifying lax-
ative that I dispensed to the world.
I enjoy thinking about that long summer
during which I patiently explored my woods,
walking their entire circumference and their
center in all directions, until I became famil-
iar with each province of that world of forest
and jungle. That was so I could carefully
calculate and plan the big fire.
Then came the military operation of at-
tack on front and flank, with the firebrands
placed according to the winds, which we
monitored by the hour. Without the help of
the wind we could have never ignited
enough to burn that immense territory.
I spent long and impatient days waiting
for the rains to end and totally smother the
embers, so the air would finally be pure and
the calcified earth prepared to redirect the
rivers and streams and for the planting of
huge fields of grassland. Oh, the joy I felt
when my hands were full of fine seeds that I
threw generously into the air, at the exact


hour, on the appointed day, at the correct
phase of the moon.
Tasks of that magnitude require men of
my calibre. I remember myself at that time
as if I were another person. Proud, it's true,
of his accomplishments, my accomplish-
ments. But knowing, sadly, that he is him-
self and I, now, am just myself. We are not
and never again will be one.
That world of VWo, so much my own, the
fields I opened by apocalyptic fire, are mine
no longer. By God, the man who made Vao
was me. But it's not mine and never will be
again, ever.
It's true I finished off that bum, Amaral,
emissary of the people who stole Vio from
me. That's a small consolation! What's the
use in killing an Amaral? He was a university
educated man but he was an employee, not
even a manager in his own person. He was
less important than these thugs of mine,
Izupero, Antho, or D6ia's men. They are kill-
ers by profession, assassins invested and
incarnate in their work. They wouldn't take
any other job. They only deal in death.
But not bureaucrats: they are lackeys of
other men's thievery, crooks by proxy. They
are ghosts of their bosses, even worse than
the ghosts of the true dead. They, at least
lived once and committed with gusto their
own sins, which they later purged. Bureau-
crats are sad, living corpses. It's not even
fun to kill them. You knock one off and a
thousand more show up, fighting over the
job, the prostituted position of favorite. Ass-
licker to the boss, with rights to a house,
clothes, a salary: who wouldn't want it? A
manager is a whore, a kept woman. Not
even that. He doesn't even fuck the boss, he
gets screwed and he doesn't even come.
Many men must have succeeded that
Amaral I killed. All of them deserving the
same fate, and yet not. That death, to be
effective, should have fallen on the head of
the real boss or all of the bosses, who
banded together, associates and accom-
plices, to rob what was and still is mine, by
rights. But they're unreachable. Who can
kill a corporation?
I met a lot of people who were robbed,
hurt and humiliated by those companies
and who could do nothing but stand there
stupidly shaking their heads like a lizard.
What can be done? Nothing? But at least 1
finished off the son of a bitch.
Father, you'll be wanting me to repent for
that death too, won't you? Be reasonable,
man. You can't make me stoop so low. I have
a mighty fear of the heavy hand of the Lord.
But He himself made me as I am and he
gave me the pride not to cower at the threats
of any boss who comes around. I won't say
I'm sorry. It only hurts that I wasn't able to
ride a death machine from Vho that would
have killed all those wretched managers un-
til the corporation failed. Unlikely? I would
be the one to be ruined, imprisoned and
humiliated, as I am humiliated. I am safe,

but belittled, diminished in stature. After I
learned that lesson, all I could do was put my
tail between my legs like a whipped dog and
leave whimpering and ashamed.
Could this sickness in my chest have
started in those days of bile, shame and
humiliation? After the glory of opening Vao,
betrayal is enough to kill a man. Since I
didn't die, I got sick to be able to live with my
frustration. They say all disease is the art of
microbes that rot you out. Could it be some
sort of microbe that is drying me out, turn-
ing my lungs to parchment with this emphy-
sema? But those little bugs work even better
on me because they found in me a beaten

Bureaucrats: they are
lackeys of other men's
thievery, crooks by proxy.

and depressed old wretch to prey on. I'm
still that way.
Beware of the man who feels sorry for
himself! Not me! I feel resentment, bitter-
ness. I'm not one to feel unhappy. I'm in the
world ready to face whatever comes: to kill
or to die. I've tried a little bit of everything, so
I know how to live. I'll eat from the side of the
bowl if the soup is hot, I'll sip my scalding
coffee so I don't burn my tongue. But I'll eat
and drink as befits a master and a land-
owner. It's not so bad. Father: even if you've
been humiliated, you can stand it.
I lost Vao, but I have the glory, which is no
small thing, of being owner of Laranjos.
That is consolation, mere words. If you were
a miracle worker, I'd ask you for the miracle
of returning Vao to me.
* * *

This is no confession, both of us know
I write to escape from myself.
I write to forget who I am.
I write to recover my past.
I write to be your master.
I write to inhabit your spirit, as you read
I write to tell my truths, which are twisted,
but they are mine.
I write to be, to remain, myself.
I write so I won't die. If I die, I'll stop. If I
stop, I'll die.
Whoever just talks, no matter what he
says, will be forgotten when he stops talk-
ing. Not the person who writes. The words
stay fixed to the closed pages, deriving their
meaning from each other. As long as the
paper and the eye of the reader are there,
they will remain, palpitating, waiting, speak-
ing and understanding.
I live in each page of this confession. In
these words I become more complete than

when I am alone. I will exist here forever, my
words will live beyond me. That is why 1
My happiness today in being alive is in
sitting here, wrapped in my blanket, writing.
It's true that this is not enough for me, but it
does relieve and console me. I am still alive
because 1 write.
I live to write this confession, which is
woven from a long string of memories. No
one will read it except you.
Before, in the beginning, I wanted my life
to last long enough to be able to complete
my confession. Now I ask that the confes-
sion last and expand to fill the void of my
vanishing life. I write to have a mirror in
which to see myself.
I write to talk to you, my reader.
Who else could I talk to? Nobody, not
even Paulo. It might be worthwhile to talk to
him. If he came here, if he stopped by one
day to spend some time with me on the
porch, in the mood for a chat, we'd talk. I'd
tell him stories, playing up my own role in
them. I would also listen to the endless sto-
ries he tells me. Then I'd sit down next to the
radio, listening for any reference to our con-
versation on his show. If his visit were an-
nounced I would spend entire nights awake,
thinking, inventing, remembering anec-
dotes of the sertao, stories from Goias,
Minas and Bahia, to share with him so that
later 1 might hear them dramatized on the
radio. But what am I talking about? Paulo
will never show up at my ranch. It's not
worth it to go out looking for him.
Do I write because I have nobody to talk
to? There are plenty of people around, it's
just not worth my time to talk to them.
I write, because as I write I question my-
self. Sometimes I doubt, and I even frighten
myself. I get shook up with the ideas that go
through my head after they leave the point
of my pen. Today I think with my pen.
I write to save the words of this silent
confession from oblivion. Sailing in this
river of words with a clear head, I wander
here and there, through all the situations I
have lived. 1 even plunge into what will
come, trying to guess what that will be.
I fantasize about the impossibilities of the
Beyond, galloping out alone on the endless
plains of Eternity.
There I'll go, without pause, on my ghost
horse that doesn't eat, or get tired, or trip or
neigh. I will be well mounted on the saddle,
the reins in my hands, wearing the same
jacket I wear now, riding without direction,
to noplace.
Between the horseman and me, the dif-
ference is that I am sitting here panting, my
lungs burning from lack of air. He doesn't
breathe. He just rides my black horse, which
shakes its head and mane, waves its braided
tail, rears and stomps its iron shod hooves
and gallops out to open a path through the
dense mist, creating the ground it treads on.


Continued from page 33

about group farming versus individual fam-
ily farms has not been settled and probably
cannot be. Research over the last several
decades seems to show that group farming
works well in some contexts, and that family
farms are more appropriate in others.
A persuasive argument is made by those
who hold that governments should not take
inflexible stands for either alternative, and
that they should allow the peasants to par-
ticipate in the choice. One compromise so-
lution has been relatively successful in
some countries: some reforms have fos-
tered production of marketable or export
crops on collective enterprises and the sub-
sistence crops on family plots. One advan-
tage of individual holding is that incentives
are clear: farmers' output depends on
how hard they work and the other inputs
they use.

Remaining Problems
Agrarian reform in Central America has not

developed to the point where peasant sec-
tors are able to exert an invigorative influ-
ence on the economies of the region. The
reform sectors have a much blemished rec-
ord for not producing enough marketable
surplus and for not providing a stimulus,
through income effects, to other sectors of
these economies. In some cases it is too
early; in some the reform sector is not
large enough to do so; in others it lacks
economic vitality.
Rather, in most of the region the power
structure remains challenged but un-
broken. The situation today is somewhat of
a standoff between the campesinos whose
needs are still unsatisfied, and those who
have dominated the economies for so many
years, treating the country as a sort of
fiefdom. In such a state, either enmeshed in
civil war or at the brink of it, it is difficult to
imagine how the legitimate needs of the
majority of the poor are to be met, and
whether the peasant sector will be able to
both contribute to and participate in the
growth of the economy.
In addition to the question of whether
there ever can be meaningful reform is the
question of its viability.
I believe a final step must be added to the
reform process: administration. And this
leads to various questions about the eco-
nomics of the production cooperative or

state farm, such as: (1) How do you treat the
free rider issue? (2) How can accounts be
kept so that members can judge the ra-
tionality of decisions made on their behalf?
(3) How can technical assistance be effi-
ciently provided and how can enough man-
agerial help be offered? (4) Who makes the
savings, investment and joint enterprise de-
cisions on the production cooperative and
how? (5) How and when can credit be pro-
vided? (6) How can service institutions be
reformed so that they are able to help the
campesino sector?
These are homely issues, not very inter-
esting to groups who talk about agrarian
reform in rhetorical and revolutionary
terms, but it is issues like these which can
break the back of any reform. One report
written earlier this year on the Salvadoran
reform claimed that the cooperatives cre-
ated under the first phase of the program
were "not financially viable." The report
continues, "Many of them suffered from
massive capital debt, no working capital,
large tracts of land that were nonproductive,
substantially larger labor forces than were
needed to operate the units, and weak man-
agement." It is quite probable that charges
like these might also be leveled at reforms
in the other Central American countries
as well.
One last but important point involves
campesino organization. A reform cannot
simply substitute the paternalism of the
state for the paternalism of the landlord.
There must be some inner drive concen-
trated at the local level, and it is difficult to
see how that can come about if the benefici-
aries are not organized in some de-
centralized fashion. The savings and
investment process must somehow be in-
ternalized by a group and must drive the
organization forward so that the group does
not become a permanent ward of the state.
Realistically, in the initial stages there is
need for a net inflow of resources to the
peasant sector. But that must not be re-
garded as a permanent feature of agrarian
reform. Indeed the reformed agricultural
sector must, after a decent interval, resume
its more traditional role as a supporter of
overall economic development. In some
Central American countries, this will be dif-
ficult to achieve. In El Salvador and
Guatemala, for example, campesino orga-
nization has been discouraged with all the
power the governments have at their dis-
posal. In Nicaragua peasant organization
has been encouraged only lately, and in
Honduras the campesino organization has
been a major feature of the social fabric for
several decades.
In the post reform, organized campesinos
must be looked to for the major source of
initiative, innovation, drive and self-suffi-
ciency of the sector. Only in that manner will
they feel like participants in the process of
which they are a part. O


A Study of Master-Slave Relations
in Antigua, with Implications for
Colonial British America
David Barry Gaspar

The outward appearance of peace and stability in
colonial Antigua's master-slave relations was shat-
tered by the exposure in 1736 of an island-wide slave
conspiracy. Using this event as a window into the
slave society of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen-
turies, BONDMEN AND REBELS provides a revealing
analysis of the intertwining patterns of social control
and slave resistance.
"Just as it is not possible to understand the mas-
ter class apart from its relationship to the slaves," ar-
gues Gaspar, "so too are slave resistance and control
best studied together because of their dynamic
From the Johns Hopkins Studies in Atlantic
History and Culture, Richard Price, series


701 West 40th Street, Suite 275, Baltimore, Maryland 21211

Continued from page 35

Crisis and Confrontation
US power and influence are nowhere more
evident than in the Caribbean, where coun-
tries are too small and weak to escape the
indomitable shadow cast by the US pres-
ence. The United States has traditionally
treated the Caribbean as vital to its national
security and an area from which all hostile
powers are to be excluded. In addition to the
anxiety about Cuba, there is now Nicaragua
and perhaps El Salvador, or other places
where the emergence of revolution might
jeopardize US security and economic inter-
ests. The Caribbean and Central America
have thus, once again, become a problem
area for the United States, requiring govern-
ment attention and the commitment of re-
sources, and generating renewed academic
Strictly in terms of format, Crisis and
Opportunity: U.S. Policy in Central Amer-
ica and the Caribbean provides a good ve-
hicle for becoming acquainted with the
basic concerns and issues involving the
United States in the area. The book consists
of thirty essays by a variety of politicians,
scholars, religious leaders and journalists,
grouped into three parts: Regional and
Global Perspectives; The Struggle in El Sal-
vador; and Nicaragua-What Kind of Revo-
lution? Each part is preceded by a pertinent
chronology and maps, and the authors have
included some official documents as ap-
pendices, plus a bibliography and index of
names. Useful, but perhaps misleading,
are the authors' brief introductions to
each essay.
The book itself is a publication of the Eth-
ics and Public Policy Center, where one of
the editors, Robert Royal, is a research asso-
ciate. The other editor, Mark Falcoff, is resi-
dent fellow at the American Enterprise
Institute. The editors attribute opposition to
US policy toward Nicaragua to "a small but
highly influential group of Americans in
universities, the prestige media, and
churches [who regard] the Nicaragua
experiment not merely as the inevitable
outcome of more than three decades of
'right-wing tyranny' but as a model to be
emulated." Similar bias emerges in the in-
troductory comments to each essay. Sup-
posedly provided as a guide for objective
balance, they more often serve as a way to
debunk anything other than what is com-
monly accepted as an official interpretation
of events, policies or facts. For instance,

referring to an article on El Salvador by
Guillermo M. Ungo (president of the Demo-
cratic Revolutionary Front), Falcoff and
Royal state categorically that "Ungo's char-
acterization of the guerrilla forces as a 'peo-
ple's army' is simplistic and self-serving"
and that "he glosses over the fact that the
guerrillas began proposing negotiations
only after their military and popular failure
in the 1981 'final offensive.'" The choice of
essays is good, particularly for the neophyte
desiring useful background information.
The only caveat: be wary of the editors' in-
ferences and explanations.
Confrontation in the Caribbean Basin
materialized from an international con-
ference on "Stability/Instability in the Carib-
bean Basin" held at the University of
Pittsburgh in 1982. It is by far the best of the
books reviewed, largely accomplishing the
editors' promise to "expose readers to a
diversity of substance and interpretation
concerning the major social forces as well
as the intraregional and interregional rela-
tionships in the Caribbean Basin." No one
interpretative perspective prevails in this
collection of nine articles, each followed by
expert commentary. They are divided into
three groups, covering the so-called "em-
battled countries," as well as major regional
and global powers. What cohesion and
common strands emerge from such an as-
sortment are noted by editors Alan Adel-
man and Reid Reading in an introduction
devoted to a summary of basic findings,
and an insightful conclusion that delineates
the contours of the key questions debated.
Clearly, the United.States-its policies,
interests and influence--commands the at-
tention of almost all these Caribbean ob-
servers. Whatever their particular view-
points, all see the US role as central to both
the Caribbean's problems and to its solu-
tions. One extreme example comes from
Hernhn Yanes Quintero, a professor at the
University of Havana, who expectedly
blames "dependent capitalism imposed
upon the rest of our countries by imperial-
ism," which therefore "calls into question all
the bourgeois and reformist models for in-
terpreting the realities of Latin America."
Conversely, former US Ambassador to Nic-
aragua Mauricio Solain concludes that "le-
gitimate peaceful solutions are not easily
forthcoming," but since forceful interven-
tion is likewise precluded by the "prevailing
political climate," the United States is left
with the "traditional principles of forming
alliances, shoring up friends, and castigat-
ing opponents." Such extracts, however,
only scratch the surface and do little justice
to the wealth of information and insight to be
gleaned from this excellent collection
of essays.
While these interpretations of the Carib-
bean oscillate widely, there is a point of con-
vergence: that basic problems in the region
are highly impervious to change, whatever

direction US policy might take. Howard
Wiarda addresses this point by underscor-
ing the remarkable historical consistency of
US policy toward the hemisphere. What
seem to many as periodic fluctuations be-
tween liberal and conservative positions are
only a question of emphasis, says Wiarda.
Recent American administrations have ac-
tually sought a middle course between the
two extremes: "The Carter administration
no more abandoned American security
doctrine in Latin America than the Reagan
administration abandoned a concern for
human rights." Too many constraints exist
to allow a president to sustain an extremist
foreign, or domestic, policy. For Wiarda,
then, pragmatism requires any US presi-
dent to seek some balance between "our
desire for democracy and representative
government in Latin America and our need
to maintain decent relations even with re-
gimes of which we disapprove."
Whatever US policy might be, it must be
understood that most structural and social
ills vitiating these societies will most likely
remain intractable. Outsiders may cooper-
ate and assist, but success or failure will
depend essentially upon the nations them-
selves. The international experiences of the
past generation have illustrated only too
well the futility of imposing basic change
from the outside. O

C- ... N-...n r. -12

While Fidel Castro urges Latin
American governments to default on
their foreign debt, his national bank
promises full payment to Havana's
creditors. The secret report, prepared
in February 1985 for Cuba's Western
creditors as part of its efforts to
reschedule its foreign debt, describes
the benefits of Cuba's trade with the
Soviets and the deterioration
of the island's economy.
Copies $3.00 each from:
1000 Thomas Jefferson Street N.W.. Suite 601
Washington, D.C. 20007





First Impressions

Critics Look at the New Literature

Compiled by Forrest D. Colburn

The Political Use of Rasta
Race, Class, and Political Symbols. Anita
M. Waters. 343 p. Transaction Books, New
Brunswick, New Jersey, 1984.

Anita Waters opens up a new area of re-
search on Rastafari with her book Race,
Class, and Political Symbols. Previously
most studies of the Rastafarian phe-
nomenon in Jamaica have focused on ideo-
logical, cultural or sociological factors. This
is the first that begins to explore the impact
of Rasta on Jamaican political culture and
political parties.
For each of the five general elections
since 1967 (1967, 1972, 1976,1980,1983)
Waters describes the context and use of
Rastafarian symbols and music by the two
main political parties. She also attempts to
relate these to issues of race and class as
these were manifest in each election cam-
paign. Her data come primarily from a se-
ries of open-ended interviews with thirty-
eight unidentified Jamaicans and a review
of selected issues of the major newspapers
during each election year.
While this book is most valuable as an
ethnographic chronicle of Jamaican elec-
toral history since 1967, especially the sym-
bolic and cultural elements in Jamaican
politics, it contains broader significance. In
her conclusion, Waters suggests that the
electoral success of the PNP in 1972 and the
JLP in 1980 was associated with each
party's ability to appropriate Rastafarian
symbols and music, and to relate them to
lower class protest. It is Rasta as the symbol
of mass protest, as the "conscience of soci-
ety" (Bob Marley), that appears most ger-
mane to its political role.
This book's strength is, perhaps, also its
weakness. While we have here a rich ac-
count of how Rastafarianism was assimi-
lated into Jamaican politics in the 1970s,
there is also a tendency to overemphasize
the Rasta influence. Michael Manley's at-
tacks on inequality did not represent "the
gradual acceptance of Rastafarian ideas by
others" so much as the deepening contra-
dictions of dependent capitalism in Ja-
maica. The importance of these so-
cioeconomic realities on Jamaican political
culture in the 1970s is accorded too little
emphasis in this book. Then again, we tend
to lose sight of the fact that non-Rasta sym-
bolism was pervasive in these electoral con-

tests; that much of Jamaica, particularly
rural Jamaica, was not as affected by
Rastafarianism as was Kingston; and that
many, perhaps most, Rastas did not partici-
pate in political life. Rasta was far from mo-
nopolizing the politics of protest during this
Race, Class, and Political Symbols con-
tains much that is relevant for those who
want to explore the political meaning of
Rastafari and reggae music, as well as for
those who want to dig deeper into Jamaican
electoral history.
State University of New York
Ithaca, New York

Trade Tactics
The Anglo-Argentine Connection,
1900-1939, Roger Gravil. 267 p. Westview
Press, Boulder and London, 1985.

This book examines Argentine-British
trade and economic relations for the period
between 1900-1939. The study traces fluc-
tuations in the domination of Argentine for-
eign trade by the British, who were not
always able to hold a strong trade position
despite their special relationship with Ar-
gentina. During certain periods, the aggres-
sive trade tactics of North America and
Europe, Germany in particular, weakened
the British position.
Britain's best performance in Argentine
foreign trade coincided with times of crisis:
1900-1904, 1909-1913, 1914-1918 and the
decade of the 1930's. The grain trade, the
meat trade and British export trade are the
main areas explored. The author maintains
that the factors responsible for the periodic
reverses in Britain's overall decline vis-a-vis
its North American and European competi-
tors in Argentine foreign trade were due to a
combination of factors, including an in-
crease in the general level of world trade, the
change from multilaterialism to bilateralism
and Britain's abandonment during crisis
periods of its laissez-faire policy for that of
Gravil clearly indicates that Britain ex-
ploited crisis to advance her commercial
interests. However, the author refuses to ac-
cept the conclusion of many Argentine na-
tionalists that Britain was responsible for

the country's development problems. He
contends that British supremacy was estab-
lished for only parts of the period under
review. The argument of the Argentine na-
tionalists cannot be refuted simply by cal-
culating the number of years of British
supremacy for the period under considera-
tion. Any answer to their charge requires a
critical evaluation of the consequences of
British manipulation of the Argentine
This will be useful reading for teachers
and students interested in private foreign
investment, Anglo-Argentine relations and
the conduct of relations between large and
small states.
Institute of International Relations
University of the West Indies

Saving Slaves
Doctors and Slaves. Richard B. Sheridan,
420 p. Cambridge University Press,
Cambridge, 1985.

Doctors and Slaves is a medical and demo-
graphic history of slavery in the British West
Indies from 1680-1834. In the preface, the
author states, "In writing this book, I have
investigated facets of slave life that affected
their health and well-being, such as culture
shock, diet, work loads, punishment, hous-
ing, clothing, sanitation, and occupational
hazards." There is no question that Sher-
idan's approach to slave medicine and de-
mography is influenced by environmental
and ecology movements of recent decades.
Very little had been written about this topic
before 1970, atwhich time the author began
to cull the archives and review materials
from a wide range of medical, demographic
and economic sources in the United States,
the United Kingdom and Jamaica. The
book took 15 years to research and write. It
is really a labor of love.
The practice of medicine during the
Colonial years seems barbaric, if not unbe-
lievable, from a modern perspective. There
were no specifics on how to cure disease;
surgery was primitive; and most medicine,
even that practiced by bonafide physicians,
was little more than faith healing according
to modern standards. The chapters on "The
Medical Profession" and "African and Afro-

48/CAIBBEAN Irview

West Indian Medicine" are especially re-
warding. The influence of the ecology and
the environment on the health of the slaves
is meticulously analyzed throughout the
book. A healthy slave was an asset, and the
economy of the colonies depended on their
This book is Caribbean history told from
the point-of-view of the health of African
slaves in the British West Indies. Each of the
twelve chapters is a well-documented,
beautifully-written, easily-read, and self-
contained essay. These are followed by 70
pages of notes and bibliography and a com-
plete index. This book is recommended to
everyone who needs a reference on the his-
tory of medicine, as well as plantation life in
general, in the British West Indies during
Colonial times.
San Juan, Puerto Rico

Sacrificial Equality
Cuba: Dilemmas of A Revolution, Juan M.
del Aguila, 193 p. Westview Press, Boulder,

Del Aguila sets for himself the task of "strip-
ping away the romanticism and hackneyed
commentary that passes for analysis of
those dilemmas that Cuba faced and con-
tinues to confront." But like so many other
authors of works on Cuban politics, Del
Aguila somehow manages to equate the
"stripping away of romanticism" with a bal-
anced approach or, more specifically, with
adopting a "framework of critical inquiry."
This framework, which Del Aguila feels will
allow him to "fathom the complexities of the
revolutionary experience," will also, unfor-
tunately, yield some very uncomplicated
conclusions. Accordingly, the revolutionary
Cuban government will be treated as an
"image-conscious regime whose social
achievements hide its politically repressive
nature." This is hardly a formulation which
gives evidence of having "fathomed the
complexity" of one of the revolution's most
agonizing dilemmas. Neither is it one which
handles the problem of bias well. If Del
Aguila acknowledges that the regime has
been successful in having nearly eliminated
illiteracy, improved infant mortality rates,
created more opportunities for women and
for blacks, improved education and other
social services but informs us that these
achievements are nevertheless to be impor-
tantly interpreted as covers for what is more
essential about the regime, its authoritarian
nature, then perhaps he is guilty of doing
precisely what he warns us against-
"frivolously downgrading the efforts of a
(whole) generation."
The work is divided into three parts. The
first part covers the period from roughly the
Ten Years War to the breakdown of Batista's

authoritarian government in 1985-59. The
following two parts of the book address,
broadly speaking, the consolidation of the
Castro regime and its performance.
The dilemmas which provide the organiz-
ing themes of this work-whether to "sacri-
fice freedom in order to improve equality,"
to "seek order over political pluralism," or to
pursue "statization over a mixed economy
and ideological secularization rather than
openness and diversity"-turn out on close
inspection to be rather more like di-
chotomies than genuine historical dilem-
mas. What can we realistically expect to
gain by defining these dilemmas or choices
in terms which were mostly alien to the
Cuban government's own perception of the
options they were carrying out? Del Aguila's
failure to be more insightful in this regard
means that at least two of his objectives will
remain unfulfilled. He is unable to contrib-
ute in a novel way to our understanding of
Cuba's uniqueness within Latin America or
to faithfully explore the tragedy of Cuba's
lost opportunities to transform herself into a
genuinely progressive country and model
for the developing Third World. Nonethe-
less, many will find that Del Aguila's book
may be used profitably as an introductory
survey of Cuban politics for an undergradu-
ate course on Latin American politics. Del
Aguila's book provides basic demographic
information, includes a useful description
and discussion of political organization in
Cuba (especially since 1976), covers all the
major events of Cuban history, including the
recent Mariel migrations, and in a very eco-
nomical 180 pages, can acquaint students
with some important problems and issues
about political economy in the Third World.
Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey

Bird Bath
Miskitu Bila Aisanka: Gramatica Miskita,
223 p. Centro de Investigaciones y
Documentaci6n de la Costa Atlantica,
Managua, 1985.

Miskitu Kisi Nani: Cuentos Miskitos, 47
p. Centro de Investigaciones y
Documentaci6n de la Costa Atlantica,
Managua, 1985.

The Miskitos are the most numerous indig-
enous group in Nicaragua, with an
estimated population of 66,000. (An addi-
tional 17,000 Miskitos reside in neighboring
Honduras.) Together with Afro-Americans,
Sumos and Ramas, the Miskitos inhabit the
sparsely-populated eastern coast of Nic-
aragua, where Nicaragua is not Latin but
Caribbean. The independence of the Mis-
kitos has kept them and their language
alive. However, Miskito is principally a spo-

ken language; precious little has been writ-
ten in the language.
The recently established Centro de Inves-
tigaciones y Documentaci6n de la Costa
Atlantica (ironically centered in Managua)
has arduously complied a thorough guide
to Miskito grammar. Miskito-English and
Miskito-Spanish dictionaries have been
published, but Miskitu Bila Aisanka is the
first attempt at explaining the grammar of
the language. The book is written as a text,
complete with exercises, for those with the
interest and patience to study Miskito.
Complementing the text is a delightful
collection of Miskito fables, which are pre-
sented simultaneously in Miskito and Span-
ish. One story explains what happened to
the frog who tricked an unsuspecting bird
into flying him up to the clouds where the
crows were throwing a bird party. The col-
lection gives a rich and warm insight into
the consciousness of a people presently be-
set by trabil nani-many troubles.
Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey

Why the Black Man is Black
Folklore from Contemporary Jamaicans,
Daryl C. Dance, 229 p. The University of
Tennessee Press, Knoxville, 1985.

Folklore from Contemporary Jamaicans is a
delightful book that all Jamaicans, those at
home and abroad, will love to own. While not
making any claim to be definitive, it is nev-
ertheless a veritable storehouse of some of
the favorite folk tales, riddles, children's
songs, myths, legends and rhymes that sev-
eral generations of Jamaicans have cher-
ished and no doubt will continue to celebrate
for a long time to come. This excellent book
will certainly contribute to the continuity of
the folklore tradition. Dance's aim was not so
much to study or even interpret the folklore,
but to "collect, present and preserve the pri-
mary materials that will provide the ground-
work for scholars to pursue more extensive
analytical and interpretive studies."
The book contains ten Etiological tales,
those intriguing stories that tackle the eter-
nal questions "why" (e.g., why the Black
man is Black); sixteen Anansi stories, in-
cluding such gems as "Why Dawg Hate
Puss," "Bredda Anansi and Bredda John
Crow," and the inevitable run-ins between
Anansi and Bredda Tacuma. Jamaicans,
young and old, are always interested in the
shenanigans of these legendary characters.
Additionally, there are twenty-one Duppy
tales; twenty-three Big Boy tales, Big Boy
being one of Jamaica's most popular folk
heroes; nineteen tales about religion and ten
tales about Rastafarians. The biggest cate-
gory, labeled by the author as "Mis-


cellaneous" contains seventy-two tales.
These "deal with a variety of physical and
mental defects that one frequently finds
jokes about: the insane behavior of mad-
men who sometimes outsmart the so-
called sane; the ridiculous antics of
numbskulls; the farcical problems and
antics of stutterers, of the blind, and of the
deaf; and the hysterical behavior of the cow-
ard." Many of the tales have several versions,
which are recorded by the author.
Each category of folklore is preceded by a
very brief introduction in which the author
situates it as a living, dynamic form of cul-
tural expression. This, in turn, allows him to
attempt some grounded interpretations,
thereby adding exegetical value to the work.
There is, however, far too little said about
the forces responsible for the synthetic cul-
tural synthesis which culminated in Ja-
maica's rich folk tradition.
Researched with standard anthropologi-
cal methodology, it took the author six
months of field-work in Jamaica to collect
the material for this book. The author re-
cords the date and place of collection of
each item, a strategy which gives the reader
a clear idea of the geographical distribution
and popularity of the folk tales. Also, all the
items are in Jamaican Creole, as 'raw' un-
edited transcriptions from tape recorded
field-notes. Dance wisely avoided the temp-
tation to standardize the recorded dialect or
slang, not replacing Jamaican expressions
with more familiar ones, nor translating the
ribald or the crude beyond recognition. Fi-
nally, there are some excellent line sketches
throughout and a good collection of photo-
graphs of the common folk of Jamaica.
This is a publication that will serve to keep
alive and perhaps encourage a necessary
reappraisal of the rich heritage of Jamaican
folklore. It is a substantial contribution to the
renaissance of Jamaican folk culture, aes-
thetics and history.
University of Prince Edward Island

Future Fiction
"Digging Up The Mountains", Neil
Bissoondath, Viking Press of New York,
forthcoming 1986.

Book critics in Canada are already growing
excited about the talents of a new author
about to make his entrance on the literary
stage. He is 30 year old Neil Bissoondath, a
native of Trinidad, who has lived in Canada
since 1973.
"Digging Up the Mountains", to be pub-
lished in April 1986 by Macmillan of Can-
ada, is Bissoondath's first work of fiction. It
is a collection of 14 short stories, some set
in Europe and Latin America, the majority,
however, in Canada and Trinidad.

Advance copies of the book have gar-
nered praise from writers and editors alike.
Robert Weaver, editor of the Canadian
Broadcasting Company's Anthology se-
ries, a weekly program of short stories, said,
"What good fortune that we Canadians are
able to share with the West Indies in the
discovery of a young writer with the talent
and maturity of Neil Bissoondath."
Glowing comments have also come
from Bissoondath's uncle, VS. Naipaul. Bis-
soondath admits he was somewhat ap-
prehensive about attempting to join the
ranks of his mother's two famous brothers.
"You're in a family with two writers, one of
whom is basically considered a genius, and
trying to break into the same field," he said.
"The worry was there, but I've always seen
myself as an individual. Not having the
same last name may help, I don't know if
that's been a problem for Shiva, the younger
of the two. I'm not too concerned about it."
VS. Naipaul was sent a galley proof of his
nephew's book and called Macmillan in
Canada after he read it. "I welcome this
book by my nephew," he said. "I'm stag-
gered by the talent which is already so
As a teenager, Bissoondath wanted to
study French, and it was Naipaul who sug-
gested he come to Canada. While the emi-
grant experience has provided him with
some material for stories, Bissoondath feels
that it has not been all that influential. "A lot
of the attitudes I try to explore are things I
grew up with," he said. "I think if I'd stayed in
Trinidad, or gone to the United States, or
whatever, I'd be writing about the same
things, because they come from inside."
Bissoondath displays a mature, am-
bitious, and highly readable style in "Dig-
ging Up the Mountains". In a story called
"Dancing", for example, he relates the story
of a young black woman who moves to
Toronto after weeks of thought. Written in
dialect, the reader sees the fears and hopes
that mark her first days in a wintry, bustling
city, sharing the experience entirely from
the young woman's point of view.
In other stories, comparisons between
Bissoondath and Naipaul are bound to
arise. Both writers left Trinidad at the age of
18, and tend to examine their homeland,
beyond the confines of the Hindu-Trinida-
dian community, with a critical yet essen-
tially tragic eye. Bissoondath himself
describes his uncle as someone "who says
the things people there don't want to hear",
referring especially to A Middle Passage
and The Mimic Men. Bissoondath too is
often unforgiving, situations are prone to
bleak failure, yet in the best of his stories he
achieves a compelling portrait of the people
caught up in the grip of those situations. His
political view is one of deep distrust of the
ideologies that can imprison people. "What
I'm concerned about in the stories," he said,
"is the effect on people of politics. I don't

care who is doing the killing. The fact is
people are being killed."
Canada's literary community is often in
the unique position of searching for exam-
ples of "world class" Canadian fiction while
dealing with vibrant new voices from other
lands, their experiences often at odds with
the accepted vision of this tranquil, safe,
cold nation. With his first book, Bissoon-
dath seems to have neatly encompassed
both issues. Canadians are understandably
proud to have him here.
Toronto, Canada

La Migraci6n Espaiola de 1939 y los
Inicios del Marxismo-Leninismo en la
Republica Dominicana, Bernardo Vega,
208 p. Fundaci6n Cultural Dominicana,
Santo Domingo, 1984.

This book constitutes an attempt to verify
the role played by the Communists among
the 4,000 to 5,000 Spanish exiles who en-
tered the Dominican Republic following the
Spanish Civil War. The author could not
determine the number of Communists
among the exiles but several hundred may
have existed. He attempts to follow the ca-
reers of dozens of individuals while keeping
track of the many political factions, at least
26, into which the group was splintered.
Initially the Spaniards were favored by the
Trujillo government, exempted, for example
for the $500 tax required of Jewish exiles.
But eventually the dictatorship took note of
such things as the Spaniards' political ac-
tivities, periodicals, front organizations and
the fact that they were urban types who
could rarely be coaxed into becoming
campesinos along the frontier. Their per-
secution was inevitable. As the war in Eu-
rope climaxed, the Trujillo regime began to
arrange their re-exiling to Mexico, Cuba or
Costa Rica. Miraculously, none met death at
the hands of the dictator.
The Spanish Communists had surpris-
ingly little success in stimulating the forma-
tion of a Communist Party in the Dominican
Republic. Only in late 1945, when there were
some 24 Spanish Communists left, did they
begin to form a party with an obvious Do-
minican presence. The Spaniards had more
success in stimulating the Dominicans to
go on strike, at least during hard times. The
Trujillo regime was particularly alert to this
sort of threat and took quick action to end it.
The legacy of these men within the Domin-
ican Republic, then, is but slight, consider-
ing their numbers and their militancy.
Historian Vega has utilized US intel-
ligence reporting to reconstruct much of his
data, along with personal interviews with
survivors. His knowledge of regional Com-
munist history is adequate to the task and


he is alert to the role ofpantallas (fronts).
The book is a catalog of biographical detail
which stifles creative prose. The result is that
the study provides a source of considerable
raw material for a future monograph on the
history of Dominican Communism.
University of Pittsburgh
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Nice Show!
Asf fue el fraude: Las elecciones
presidenciales de Panama, 1984, Raul
Arias de Para, 259 p. Panama, 1984.
Anatomy of a Fraud: the 1984
Presidential Election in Panama. Raful
Arias de Para. Translated by the author,
192 p., Panama. 1985.

The election of May 1984 could have been
an event of transcendent importance in the
political life of Panama, being the first direct
election for president since 1968. However,
as the author of this volume points out, the
election served no such purpose. Rather, it
was marred by fraud and extended the rule
of the followers of Omar Torrijos who had
been in power since the military coup
of 1968.
Arias offers extensive documentation to
suggest that the Democratic Revolutionary
Party (PRD) and the Defense Forces who
supported the official candidacy of Nicolas
Ardito Barletta knew through pre-election
polling that they were going to lose and
made anticipatory "adjustments" in the
electoral machinery. When the early elec-
tion results indicated that even these adjust-
ments would not be sufficient to prevent the
opposition from winning, further measures
were taken. In all, five types of fraud were
practiced: tampering with voter lists; dis-
tribution of additional voter cards; challeng-
ing the votes of the opposition in key
precincts; theft and forgery of precinct tally
sheets and manipulation of results through
the Electoral Tribunal.
The author, a member of the opposition
Christian Democratic Party, attributes this
massive fraud to the military regime estab-
lished by General Torrijos in 1968 and the
attempt to extend and legitimize it after his
death in 1981. However, from a broader per-"
spective, the failure to practice true democ-
racy in 1984 is a reflection of the chronic
inability to do so since the foundation of the
Republic. Whether it be the corrupt and cir-
cumscribed oligarchical democracy that
preceded Torrijos or the populist variant that
he himself initiated, neither system has
proved supportive of electoral probity.
Although the 1984 elections thus re-
flected a considerable degree of historical
continuity with regard to the use of fraudu-
lent procedures, there are also some unique

characteristics worth noting. The moderni-
zation of the electoral process since 1968
was reflected in the extensive use of "cyber-
netic fraud." And there seemed to be more
attention than in the past to giving the ap-
pearance of electoral probity. This can be
partially explained (as in the case of other
Central American countries such as El Sal-
vador and Guatemala) by the increasing
"internationalization" of domestic elections
with the accompanying attention of outside
Arias's analysis of the 1984 elections
raises an interesting question as to why the
United States government paid so little at-
tention to the fraud practiced in Panama,
particularly in light of the considerable at-
tention it focused on the Nicaraguan presi-
dential elections later that year. It is hard to
avoid the conclusion that the Reagan ad-
ministration felt it had reached a reasonable
accommodation with the inheritors of the
Panamanian "revolution", an accommoda-
tion that would not only protect US security
interests within the region but also the inter-
ests of the US business and financial com-
munity operating in Panama.
University of Wyoming
Laramie, V Moming

The Chronic Caribbean
Love and Death in a Hot Country, Shiva
Naipaul, 192 p. The Viking Press, New
York, 1984.

Lurking somewhere in the background of
Shiva Naipaul's last novel before his death in
August of 1985, is his brother VS. Naipaul's
The Mimic Men (1968). Readers of that
novel will remember the austere diagnosis
of the cultural and political predicament of
the Caribbean: "To be born on an island like
Isabella, an obscure New World transplanta-
tion, second-hand and barbarous, was to be
born to disorder." Like The Mimic Men,
Love and Death in a Hot Country describes
the chronic disorder that has arisen in the
wake of imperial rule. The Caribbean is un-
able to stand on the weak knees of indepen-
dence because, to quote VS. Naipaul again,
"the order to which the colonial politician
succeeds is not his order. It is something he
is compelled to destroy."
This fallen condition is a cultural limbo
that haunts Caribbean inhabitants from
birth and damns them. In Love and Death
in a Hot Country (the country is "Cuyama"),
the colonials are exiled and culturally dis-
possessed. They attempt to escape their
predicament by modernizing, but they
"merely exchange one kind of defeat
for another."
The inevitable result vis-h-vis the Third
World is that "creation is not possible" be-
cause there is no native tradition of institu-

tions and practices undiluted by imperial
imposition. There is nothing to buttress sta-
bility or order; ignorance and rage allow this
"New World" Caribbean country only the
capacity to destroy. Progress here is merely
a kind of exoticism, with no cultural tradi-
tion to substantiate its claims. The Third
World, for Naipaul, lacks the cultural robes
necessary to assume the crown of order,
and while decay and destruction are not
entirely its fault, neither is it quite able to
find any use for beauty or possibility.
If this leads to contemptible politics, it
doesn't necessarily make for bad diagnosis.
The novelist's job can then be one of fitting
the political and cultural matrixto individual
lives, something The Mimic Men does quite
well. Love and Death in a Hot Country,
however, is simply a Third World morality
play without a useful moral: its aesthetic is
awfully thin. The book is rather trans-
parently constructed as an "argument" in-
volving the desperate and hopeless Dina (a
mouthpiece for the author) and the senti-
mentally liberal, formerly landed Aubrey;
husband and wife. Aubrey writes con-
science-stricken letters of protest to the lo-
cal papers against the upcoming "People's
Plebiscite;" Dina, who has all the aridity of
Cuyama in her bones, derides Aubrey's fee-
ble attempts at playing politics, and believes
that his failure to understand the country is
somehow coequal to his inability to under-
stand her. Naipaul seems to take tough-
minded delight in leaving his country's fate
to the corrupt and ineffectual, with a "clear-
eyed and unsentimental" Dina languishing
in between.
For therein lies the tale: everyone remains a
mystery to each other in Cuyama. But it is
here where the novelist falls short on his task.
Naipaul has so little faith in human connec-
tion that Dina and Aubrey experience their
despair less in human terms than in fairly
unconvincing world-historical ones ("Civi-
lization passed me by," she said). His charac-
ters are gloomy puppets who debate issues
which might have formed the heart of an
interesting essay. These characters, who are
more ideas than people, suffer from the
same sense of alienation from place as
their author.
If moral penetration isn't the answer to
"Cuyama's" problems, neither are polemi-
cal novels minus the polemic and with little
human interest. Naipaul dives into the
wreck after a certain diagnostic truth, but
emerges contemptuous of most humans
and their petty political solutions. His all
too-familiar "give 'em enough rope" theory
of the Third World tries so hard to be unsen-
timental that it lapses into tawdry despair.
Love and Death in a Hot Country is another
knot in the noose.

Columbia University
New York, New York


Recent Books

On the Region and Its Peoples

Compiled by Marian Goslinga

Anthropology and Sociology

Camba and Kolla: Migration and Development
in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. Allyn MacLean
Stearman. University of Central Florida Press,
1985. 228 p. $18.00.

Caribbean Contours. Sidney W. Mintz, Sally
Price, eds. Johns Hopkins University Press,
1985. 260 p. $25.00; $9.95 paper.

Caribbean Ethnicity Revisited. Stephen Glazier.
Gordon and Breach (New York, N.Y.), 1985.
164 p. $25.00.

Caribbean Style. Suzanne Slesin, et al. C. N.
Potter (New York, N.Y) $35.00. [About
Caribbean architecture]

Compaheras: Women, Art and Social Change
in Latin America. Betty La Duke. City Lights
Books (San Francisco, Calif.), 1985. 256 p.

The Contemporary Peasantry in Mexico: A
Class Analysis. Ann E. Lucas De Rouffignac.
Praeger, 1985. 224 p. $30.95.

Cultural Adaptation and Resistance on St.
John: Three Centuries of Afro-Caribbean Life.
Karen Fog Olwig. University Presses of Florida,
1985. 272 p. $15.00.

Dance Jamaica: Cultural Definition and
Artistic Discovery: The National Dance
Theatre Company of Jamaica, 1962-1983.
Rex Nettleford. Grove Press, 1985. 317 p.

The Expectation of the Poor: Latin American
Base Ecclesial Communities in Protestant
Perspective. Guillermo Cook. Orbis Books,
1985. 256 p. $13.95.

Feminismo. Marifran Carlson. Academy
Chicago, 1985. $16.95; $8.96 paper. [About
women in Argentina]

The Folklore of Spain in the American
Southwest: Traditional Spanish Folk Literature
in Northern New Mexico and Southern
Colorado. Aurelio M. Espinosa; J. Manuel
Espinosa, ed. University of Oklahoma Press,
1985. 336 p. $24.95.

Green Turtle Cay: An Island in the Bahamas.
Alan G. LaFlamme. Waveland Press (Prospect
Heights, Ill.), 1985. 110 p.

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

Human Carrying Capacity of the Brazilian
Rainforest. Philip M. Fearnside. Columbia
University Press, 1985. 352 p. $35.00.
El humanismo y la education en la Nueva
Espaha. Pilar Gonzalbo Aizpuru. Ediciones El
Caballito (Mexico), 1985. 159 p.

Images actuelles de l'enfance et de colee en
Guadaloupe. Antoine Abou, Marie-Josephe
Giletti Abou, eds. Ecole Normale (Pointe-a-
Pitre, Guadeloupe), 1985. 370 p. 60E

Latin America. Eduardo P Archetti, Paul
Cammack, Bryan Roberts, eds. Monthly Review
Press, 1985. 320 p. $26.00; $11.00 paper.

Mejor sola que mal acompaiada: para la mujer
golpeada; for the Latina in an Abusive
Relationship. Myrna M. Zambrano. Seal Press
(Seattle, Wash.), 1985. [English and Spanish]

The Mexican American Experience: An
Interdisciplinary Anthology. Rodolfo O. de la
Garza, et al., eds. University of Texas Press,
1985. 432 p. $25.00; $14.95 paper.

Mexican American Fertility Patterns. Frank D.
Bean, C. Gray Swicegood. University of Texas
Press, 1985. 176 p. $20.00.

Migraci6n caribefa y un capitulo haitiano.
Ram6n Antonio Veras. Editora Taller (Santo
Domingo), 1985. 286 p.

More than Drumming: Essays on African and
Afro-Latin Music and Musicians. Irene V
Jackson, ed. Greenwood Press, 1985. 207 p.

La mujer y la lucha por el reconocimiento de
sus derechos. Aura E. Guerra de Villalez.
Universidad de Panama, 1985. 125 p. $10.95
[About Panama]

Native Lords of Quito in the Age of the Incas:
The Political Economy of North-Andean
Chiefdoms. Frank Salomon Cambridge
University Press, 1985. 288 p. $39.50.

Presencia alemana y austriaca en la Argentina:
Deutsche und Osterreichische Prasenz in
Argentinien. Peter Alemann, et al.; Manrique
Zago, ed. M. Zago (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1985. 222 p.

Protestantism and Repression: A Brazilian
Case Study. Rubem Alves; John Drury, trans.
Orbis Books, 1985. 256 p. $11.95. [Translation
of Protestantismo e repressoo]

Puerto Rican Families in New York City:
Intergenerational Processes. Lloyd Henry
Rogler, Rosemary S. Cooney. Waterfront Press
(Maplewood, N.J.), 1985. 216 p. $18.95; $9.95

Steadfastness of the Saints: A Journey of
Peace and War In Central and North America.
Daniel Berrigan. Orbis Books, 1985. 144 p.

Vital Souls: Bororo Cosmology, Natural
Symbolism and Shamanism. Jon Christopher
Crocker. University of Arizona Press, 1985.
380 p. $29.95.

A War of Words: Chicano Protest in the 1960's
and 1970's. John C. Hammerback, Richard J.
Jensen, Jose Angel Guti&rrez. Greenwood
Press, 1985.

Women's Voices from Latin America:
Interviews with Six Contemporary Authors.
Evelyn Pic6n Garfield. Wayne State University
Press, 1985. 172 p. $18.95.


Antonio Haro y Tamariz y sus aventuras
political, 1811-1869. Jan Bazant. Centro de
Estudios Hist6ricos, El Colegio de Mexico,
1985. 200 p. [About the 19th century Mexican

Christopher Columbus. Gianni Granzotto;
Stephen Sartarelli, trans. Doubleday, 1985.
336 p. $18.95.

Cuauhtemoc. Jaime Castafeda Iturbide.
Departamento del Distrito Federal (Mexico),
1985. 226 p.

Fire From the Mountain: The Making of a
Sandinista. Omar Cabezas; Kathleen Weaver,
trans. Crown, 1985. 233 p. $13.95. [Translation
of La Montaia es algo mas que una inmensa
estepa verde]

Manuel Galvez: sesenta ahos de pensamiento
nacinalista. M6nica Quijada. Centro Editor de
America Latina (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1985. 139 p. [About the Argentine novelist,


Los presidents. Harold H. Bonilla. 3d ed.
Editorial Texto (San Jose, Costa Rica), 1985.
749 p. $32.50. [Biographies of Costa Rican

Ricardo Flores Magbn. Eduardo Blanquel.
Editorial Terra Nova (Mexico), 1985. 174 p.
[About the Mexican politician/journalist,

Vicente Huidobro: The Careers of a Poet. Rene
de Costa. Oxford University Press, 1984. 186 p.

The Witch's Dream. Florinda Donner. Simon &
Schuster, 1985. $16.95. [Field diary of a
Venezuelan folk healer]

Description and Travel

Adventures in Mexico and the Rocky
Mountains. George F. Ruxton. Rio Grande
Press (Glorieta, N.M.), 1985. [Reprint of the
1848 ed.]

The Caribbean Bed & Breakfast Book. Kathy
Strong. East Woods Press (Charlotte, N.C.),
1985. 192 p. $9.95.

Carnaval en Barranquilla. Nina S. de
Friedmann. Editorial La Rosa (Bogota,
Colombia), 1985. 119 p. $2450 ($19.60 OS)

Choose Mexico: Retirement Living on $400 A
Month. John Howells, Don Merwin. Gateway
Books (San Francisco, Calif.), 1985. $8.95.

The 1806 Expedition to the Rio de la Plata
Through the Unpublished Diary of Lt. John
Bent. Gabriela Sonntag, ed. Libros de
Hispanoamerica (Buenos Aires, Argentina),
1985. 300 p. $18.00.

Michael's Guide to South America. Michael
Shichor. Hippocrene Books, 1985. 3 vols.

Orchids of Guatemala and Belize. Oakes
Ames, Donovan Stewart Correll. Dover, 1985.
779 p. $14.95. [Reprint of the 1952-1953 ed.]

Romantic Inns of Mexico: A Selective Guide to
Charming Accommodations South of the
Border. Toby Smith. Chronicle Books (San
Francisco, Calif.), 1985. 116 p. $7.95.

So Far From God: A Journey to Central
America. Patrick Marnham. Cape (London,
Eng.), 1985. 256 p. 8.95.

Views of Trinidad, 1851. Michel J. Cabazon.
Aquarela Galleries (Port-of-Spain, Trinidad),
1984. $85.00.


Argentina, Australia and Canada: Studies in
Comparative Development, 1870-1965. D. C.
M. Platt, Guido di Tella. St. Martin's Press, 1985.
237 p. $29.95.

Argentina: Economic Memorandum. World
Bank. The Bank, 1985. 548 p. $20.00.

Automotores norteamericanos, caminos y
modernizacion en la Argentina, 1918-1939.
Rabl Garcia Heras. Libros de Hispanoamerica
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1985. 144 p.

The Bad Yankee-El peligro yanki: American
Entrepreneurs and Financiers in Mexico. Gene
Z. Hanrahan. Documentary Publications, 1985.
2 vols. (644 p.) $44.95.

Bitter Sugar: Slaves Today in the Caribbean.
Maurice Lemoine; Andrea Johnston, trans.
Banner Press (Chicago, I11.), 1985. 352 p.
$9.95. [Translation of Sucre amer, an eye-
witness account of the life of Haitian sugar
cane cutters in the Dominican Republic]

Caribbean Economic Handbook. Peter D.
Fraser, Paul Hackett. Euromonitor Publications
(London, Eng.), 1985. 250 p. 45.00.

Coffee and Peasants: The Origins of the
Modern Plantation Economy in Guatemala,
1853-1897. Julio Castellanos Cambranes.
Institute of Latin American Studies (Stockholm,
Sweden), 1985. 334 p. $14.95.

El comercio de la Nueva Espaha con las
Filipinas, 1590-1785. Carmen Yuste L6pez.
Institute Nacional de Arquelogia e Historia
(Mexico), 1985. 98 p.

The Economics of the Caribbean Basin.
Michael B. Connolly, John McDermott, eds.
Praeger, 1985. 382 p. $41.95.

Ecuador: An Agenda for Recovery and
Sustained Growth. World Bank. The Bank,
1985. 232 p. $10.00.

External Debt in Latin America: Adjustment
Policies and Renegotiation. Economic
Commission for Latin America and the
Caribbean (ECLAC). L. Rienner (Boulder,
Colo.), 1985. 150 p. $16.00.

Grenada: Politics, Economics and Society..
Tony Thorndike. L. Rienner (Boulder, Colo.),
1985. 160 p. $22.50; $10.95 paper.

Historia laboral de Honduras: de la conquista
al siglo XX. Mario Argueta. Secretaria de
Cultura y Turismo (Honduras), 1985. 205 p.

Latin America: Capitalist and Socialist
Perspectives of Development and
Underdevelopment. Ronald H. Chilcote, Joel C.
Edelstein. Westview Press, 1985. $32.00;
$13.95 paper.

Latin American Oil Companies and the
Politics of Energy. John D. Wirth, ed. University
of Nebraska Press, 1985. 320 p. $27.95.

La libertad sindical en Costa Rica. Fernando
Bolahos C&spedes. Centro de Formacion
Costarricense (San Jose, Costa Rica), 1985.
100 p. $6.50.

Parcelacion de las empresas asociativas:
nueva estructura agraria en el Peru. Jose A.
Portugal Vizcarra. Grafica Mundo (Lima, Peru),
1985. 100 p.

Reussir sur le march des Antilles francaises.
Academie Commerciale Internationale. A.C.I.
(Paris, France), 1985. 122 p. [Papers from a
conference held June 7, 1984, in Paris, France]

Le rhum aux Antilles. Anne-Elisabeth Bault.
University de Bordeaux (France), 1984. 356 p.

The Search for Public Policy: Regional Politics
and Government Finances in Ecuador,
1830-1940. Linda Alexander Rodriguez.
University of California Press, 1985. 296 p.

Sellers and Servants: Working Women in
Lima, Peru. Ximena Bunster, Elsa M. Chaney.
Praeger, 1985. 270 p. $35.95.

Sugar Plantations in the Formation of
Brazilian Society: Bahia, 1550-1835. Stuart
B. Schwartz. Cambridge University Press, 1985.
608 p. $54.50; $19.95 paper.

Tobacco on the Periphery: A Case Study in
Cuban Labour History, 1860-1958. Jean
Stubbs. Cambridge University Press, 1985. 224
p. $42.50.

Transnational Corporations Versus the State:
The Political Economy of the Mexican Auto
Industry. Douglas C. Bennett, Kenneth E.
Sharpe. Princeton University Press, 1985.
$42.00; $9.95 paper.

Tres ponencias sobre political econ6mica. Jose
Israel Cuello H. Editora Taller (Santo Domingo),
1985. 106 p. [About the Dominican Republic]

Underdeveloping the Amazon: Extraction,
Unequal Exchange, and the Failure of the
Modern State. Stephen G. Bunker. University of
Illinois Press, 1985. 279 p. $24.50.

Uruguay 1985: la luz tras las tinieblas. Julio
Knelt. Imp. Prisma (Montevideo, Uruguay),
1985. 202 p.

U.S. Labor and Latin America: A History of
Workers' Response to Invervention. Philip S.
Foner. Synthesis Publications, 1985. 304 p.
$25.95; $9.95 paper.

History and Archaeology

Art and Time in Mexico: The Architecture and
Sculpture of Colonial Mexico. Elizabeth W.
Weismann. Harper & Row, 1985. 320 p. $33.65.

Belize: A New Nation in Central America. O.
Nigel Bolland. Westview Press, 1985. 125 p.


Big Revolution, Small Country: The Rise and
Fall of the Grenada Revolution. Jay R. Mandle.
North-South Publishing (Lanham, Md.), 1985.
120 p. $10.00.

Bolivar y la independencia de Cuba. Margarita
Gonzalez. El Ancora Editores (Bogota,
Colombia), 1985. 141 p. $440 (pesos).

Bolivia: Land of Struggle. Waltraud Q. Morales.
Westview Press, 1985. 197 p. $28.00.

Conquest and Survival in Colonial Guatemala:
A Historical Geography of the Cuchumatan
Highlands, 1500-1821. W. George Lovell.
McGill-Queen's University Press (Kingston,
Can.), 1985. 269 p. $35.00.

Contribution de l'ile d'Haiti a l'histoire de la
civilisation. Louis Mercier. Fardin (Port-au-
Prince, Haiti), 1985. 83 p. [Reprint of the
1938 ed.]

Costa Rica en la segunda guerra mundial,
1939-1945. Carlos Calvo Gamboa. Editorial
Universidad Estatal a Distancia (San Jose,
Costa Rica), 1985. 194 p. $15.00.

Dreams of Amazonia. Roger D. Stone. Viking
Press, 1985. 193 p. $17.95.

The Dutch in the Caribbean .md the Guianas,
1680-1791. Cornelis Ch. Goslinga. Van
Gurcum (Assen, Netherlands), 1985. 720 p.
Dfl.115.00. [Sequel to his The Dutch in the
Caribbean and on the Wild Coast, 1580-1680]

Gift of the Devil: A History of Guatemala. Jim
Handy. South End Press (Boston, Mass.), 1985.
319 p. $30.00; $10.00 paper.

Grenada, Island of Conflict: From
Amerindians to People's Revolution. George
Brizan. Zed Press (London, Eng.), 1985. 360 p.
$35.50; $13.95 paper.

Haiti in Caribbean Context: Ethnicity,
Economy, and Revolt. David Nicholls. St.
Martin's Press, 1985. 282 p. $27.50.

Honduras: histories no contadas. Centro de
Documentaci6n de Honduras. Lithopress
industrial (Tegucigalpa, Honduras), 1985.
218 p. $15.00.

Huanuco Pampa: An Inca City and its
Hinterland. Craig Morris, Donald E. Thompson.
Thames & Hudson (London, Eng.), 1985.
184 p.

La Martinique: une isle a paradoxe. Louis
Ouensanga. Ouensanga (Fort-de-France,
Martinique), 1985. 300 p. 100E

Nas quebradas do sertao: um ensaio sobre o
Nordeste. Expedito Duarte Amorim Filho.
Ahimsa (Sao Paulo, Brazil), 1985. 109 p. $5.50.

Nicaragua: The Land of Sandino. Thomas W
Walker. 2d ed. Westview Press, 1985. 150 p.
$26.50; $12.95 paper.

Nicaragua: una revolucibn reaccionaria. Jorge
Alaniz Pinell. Kosmos (Panama), 1985. 266 p.

Puerto Rico: sus luchas emancipadoras,
1850-1898. German Delgado Pasapera.
Editorial Cultural (Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico),
1984. 609 p. $16.95.

Readings in Latin American History. Peter
Bakewell, John J. Johnson, Meredith D. Dodge,
eds. Duke University Press, 1985. 2 vols.
$65.00; $29.50 paper.

La rebelibn de esclavos de Haiti. Torcuato S.
Di Tella. Institute de Desarrollo Econ6mico y
Social, IDES (Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1985.
118 p.

Revolution in El Salvador: Origins and
Evolution. Tommie Sue Mongtomery. 2d ed.
Westview Press, 1985. 270 p. $32.50; $14.95

Spanish North Carolina: The Documents.
Sylvia A. Gonzales. Greenwood Press, 1985.
320 p. $45.00.

The West Indies and the Spanish Main.
Anthony Trollope. Hippocrene Books, 1985.
352 p. $5.95. [Reprint of the 1860 ed.]

Language and Literature

Alternate Voices in the Contemporary Latin
American Narrative. David William Foster.
University of Missouri Press, 1985. 192 p.

Carlos Drummond de Andrade: quarenta
historinhas e cinco poemas. Richard A. Preto-
Rodas, Afred Hower, eds. University Presses of
Florida, 1985. 268 p. $12.00. [English and

La ciencia ficci6n en la Argentina: antologia
critical. Marcial Souto, ed. Editorial Universitaria
de Buenos Aires, EUDEBA (Argentina), 1985.
242 p.

Clarice Lispector. Earl E. Fitz. Twayne, 1985.
160 p. $19.95.

Elements de grammaire du creole
martiniquais. Robert Damoiseau. Hatier (Fort-
de-France, Martinique), 1985. 126 p. 85F

Ernesto Sabato en la crisis de la modernidad.
Graciela Maturo, et al. Garcia Cambeiro
(Buenos Aires, Argentina), 1985. 202 p.

Esteban Echeverria. Edgar C. Knowlton, Jr.
Dorrance (Bryn Mawr, Penn.), 1985. 176 p.

Felisbero Hernandez: el discurso inundado.
Rocio Ant6nez. Institute Nacional de Bellas
Artes (Mexico), 1985. 152 p.

Flights of Victory-vuelos de victoria: Songs
in Celebration of the Nicaraguan Revolution.
Ernesto Cardenal; Marc Zimmerman, Ellen
Banberger, Mirta Urr6z, eds. and trans. Orbis
Books, 1985. 160 p. $9.95.

From Phonology to Discourse: Studies in Six
Colombian Languages. Ruth M. Brend, ed.
Summer Institute of Linguistics (Dallas, Tex.),
1985. 200 p.

Grammatical Relations in Imbabura Quechua.
Janice L. Jake. Garland, 1985. 300 p. $35.00.

The Humor of Irony and Satire: Style and
Rhetoric in the "Tradiciones Peruanas". Roy L.
Tanner. University of Missouri Press, 1985.
192 p. $22.00.

El indio: su presencia en la poesia
puertorriquefla. Carmen Corchado Juarbe.
University of Puerto Rico Press, 1985. 285 p.

An Introduction to the French Caribbean
Novel. Beverley Ormerod. Heinemann, 1985.
152 p. 6.95.

La literature en peri6dicos y revistas de Puerto
Rico: siglo XX. Otto Olivera. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1985.

Luis Rafael Sanchez: critical y bibliografia.
Nelida Hernandez Vargas, Daisy Caraballo
Abreu, eds. University of Puerto Rico Press,
1985. 292 p. $7.00.

Maladie et folklore aux Antilles: la lpre dans
le conte creole. Raymond Relouzat. Relouzat
(Fort-de-France, Martinique), 1985. 50F.

News from Babylon: The Chatto Book of West
Indian-British Poetry. James Berry, ed. Chatto
and Windus (London, Eng.), 1984. 212 p.

La prosa de Luis Llorens Torres: studio y
antologia. Daisy Caraballo Abreu. University of
Puerto Rico Press, 1985.

Salt and Roti: Indian Folk Tales of the
Caribbean. Kenneth Vidia Parmasad, ed. Sankh
Productions (Trinidad), 1984. 131 p.

Shadows of Silence. Arturo Azuela; Elena C.
Murray, trans. University of Notre Dame Press,
1985. 278 p. $20.00. [Translation of
Manifestaci6n de silencio, a novel about the
1968 riot in Mexico City]

A Thematic Analysis and Source Book for
Hispanic Literature in the United States.
Nicholas Kanellos, ed. Greenwood Press, 1985.

The View from Coyaba. Peter Abrahams. Faber
and Faber (London, Eng.), 1985. 440 p. 4.80.
[A novel from Jamaica]


Politics and Government

Anguilla: Where There's a Will There's a Way.
Colville L. Petty. Petty (Anguilla, W.I.), 1984.
128 p.

Blood of the Innocent: Victims of the Contras'
in Nicaragua. Te6filo Cabestrero; Robert R.
Barr, trans. Orbis Books, 1985. 112 p. $6.96.
[Translation of Nicaragua]

Carrot and Big Stick: Perspectives on U.S.-
Caribbean-Jamaica Relations. Linus A.
Hoskins. Tele-Artists (Inglewood, Calif.), 1985.
240 p.

Chile and the War of the Pacific. William F
Sater. University of Nebraska Press, 1985.
473 p.

The Chilean Communist Party and the Road
to Socialism. Carmelo Furci. Zed Books
(London, Eng.), 1985. 204 p. 16.95; 6.50

Contestation politique et revendication
natinaliste aux Antilles francaises dans un
context electoral. Maurice Satineau. Faculte
des Sciences Sociales et Politiques (Lausanne,
Switzerland), 1985 225 p. 40F.

Crime and Nation-Building in the Caribbean:
The Legacy of Legal Barriers. Cynthia Mahabir.
Schenkman (Cambridge, Mass.), 1985. 276 p.
$18.95; $11.955 paper.

Cuban Foreign Policy: Caribbean Tempest.
Pamela S. Falk. Lexington Books, 1985.

Faceless Enemy: A True Story of Injustice. Pir
Nasir. Exposition Press (Pompano Beach, Fla.),
1985. 224 p. $12.50. [About Venezuela]

Forteresse America. Jacqueline Grapin.
Hachette (Paris, France), 1985. 310 p. 85F
[About U.S. policy in the Caribbean area]

Geopolitics and Conflict in South America:
Quarrels Among Neighbors. Jack Child.
Praeger 1985. $34.95.

Honduras Confronts its Future: Contending
Perspectives on Critical Issues. Mark B.
Rosenberg, Philip L. Shepherd, eds. L. Rienner
(Boulder, Colo.), 1985. 275 p. $30.00.

Impulse to Revolution in Latin America. Jeffrey
W. Barrett. Praeger, 1985. 357 p. $37.95.

Inside Central America: The Essential Facts,
Past and Present, on El Salvador, Nicaragua,
Honduras, Guatemala, and Costa Rica. Phillip
Berryman. Pantheon Books, 1985. $5.95.

Las instituciones costarricenses del siglo XIX:
ensayos sobre la historic del desarrollo
institutional de Costa Rica. Carmen Lila
G6mez, et al. Escuela de Historia y Geografia,
Universidad de Costa Rica, 1985. 179 p. $9.50.

The Last Two Years of Salvador Allende.
Nathaniel Davis. Cornell University Press, 1985.
464 p. $24.95. [By the former U.S. ambassador
to Chile]

Law and the Political Environment in Guyana.
Rudolph James, Harold A. Lutchman. Institute
of Development Studies, University of Guyana,
1984. 215 p. $20.00.

Limites colombo-venezolanos en la Guajira.
Juan M. Echeverria Goenagor. Universidad de
Zulia (Maracaibo, Venezuela), 1985. 245 p.

Movimientos populares en Centroamerica.
Rafael Menjivar, et al. Editorial Universitaria
Centroamericana, EDUCA (San Josh, Costa
Rica), 1985. 524 p. $8.00.

Nicaragua: The People Speak. Alvin Levie.
Bergin & Garvey (South Hadley, Mass.), 1985.
224 p. $25.95; $10.95 paper.

The Political Economy of Land: The State and
Urban Development in Venezuela. Alan Gilbert,
Patsy Healey. Gower Pub. Co. (Brookfield, Vt.),
1985. 200 p.

The Province of Buenos Aires and Argentine
Politics, 1912-1943. Richard J. Walter.
Cambridge University Press, 1985. 268 p.

Revolution or Order? The Politics of Change
and Institutional Development in the
Caribbean Basin. Marvin Will. Westview Press,
1985. 250 p. $28.50.

The Soviet Union and Cuba: Interests and
Influence. Raymond W. Duncan. Praeger,1985.
240 p. $28.95; $12.95 paper.

State and Opposition in Military Brazil. Maria
Helena Moreira Alves. University of Texas Press,
1985. 368 p. $22.50.

The Supreme Court and Puerto Rico: The
Doctrine of Separate and Unequal. Juan R.
Torruella. University of Puerto Rico Press, 1985.
320 p. $18.00.

Third World Instability: Central America as a
European-American Issue. Fernando MorBn, et
al.; Andrew J. Pierre, ed. Council on Foreign
Relations, 1985. $5.95.

Los tratados Carter-Torrijos: una traicibn
hist6rica. Miguel Antonio Bernal. Ediciones
Nari (Panama), 1985. 80 p. $11.00.

Up the Down Escalator. Michael Manley.
Howard University Press, 1985. 313 p. $17.95.
[About Jamaica]

War and Crisis in the Americas: Fidel Castro
Speeches, 1984-85. Michael Taber, ed.
Pathfinder Press, 1985. 272 p. $23.00; $6.95

West Indian Constitutions: Post-Independence
Reforms. Fred Phillips. Oceana, 1985. $50.00.

With Friends Like These: The Americas Watch
Report on Human Rights and U.S. Policy in
Latin America. Cynthia Brown, ed. Pantheon
Books, 1985. $8.95.


Bibliografia de Alejo Carpentier. Araceli
Garcia-Carranza. Editorial Letras Cubanas
(Havana, Cuba), 1984. 644 p.

The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Latin
America and the Caribbean. Simon Collier,
Harold Blakemore, Thomas Skidmore, eds.
Cambridge University Press, 1985. 448 p.

Cine sudamericano: diccionario de directors.
Luis Trelles Plazaola. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1985.

Diccionario geografico boliviano. Ren6
Gonzalez Moscoso. Editorial Los Amigos del
Libro (La Paz, Bolivia), 1984. 257 p.

Directory of Publishers, Printers and
Booksellers in Trinidad and Tobago. Maureen
Henry, ed. The Library, University of the West
Indies (St. Augustine, Trinidad), 1985. $5.00.

A Guide to the Birds of Colombia. Steven L.
Hilty, William L. Brown. Princeton University
Press, 1985. 750 p. $95.00; $42.50 paper.

Hispanic American Voluntary Organizations.
Sylvia Alicia Gonzales. Greenwood Press, 1985.
320 p. $45.00.

Julio Corthzar: His Works and His Critics; A
Bibliography. Sara de Mundo Lo. Albatross
(Urbana, 111.), 1985. 274 p. $32.50.

Refugees in the United States: A Reference
Handbook. David W Haines, ed. Greenwood
Press, 1985. 243 p. $39.95.

Repertoire des projects de recherche en
matiere de developpement en Ambrique latine.
Centre de developpement de I'OCDE, Consejo
Latinoamericano de Ciencias Sociales.
Organisation for Economic Co-operation and
Development, 1984. 831 p. 300F

Un siglo de literature infantil puertorriquefia: A
Century of Puerto Rican Children's Literature.
Flor Piieiro de Rivera. University of Puerto Rico
Press, 1985.

Uruguayan Literature: A Selective
Bibliographical Guide. Walter Rela. Center for
Latin American Studies, Arizona State
University, 1985. 85 p. $9.95.


Florida International University

Southeast Florida's Four-Year State University

Florida International University (FIU)-located in one of the
nation's fastest growing metropolitan areas and centers for
international trade, finance and cultural exchange-empha-
sizes broad interdisciplinary education for strengthening
understanding of world issues and preparing students for
membership in our modern interrelated world. It offers
courses and programs at three locations: Tamiami Campus in
Southwest Dade County, Bay Vista Campus in North Miami
and the Broward Center, on the Central Campus of Broward
Community College.
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.
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 sci-
ences. and a wide range of professional programs, earning
degrees and/or certificates. Of special international interest
are the Graduate Program In International Studies, a multi-
disciplinary curriculum leading to the Master of Arts degree
[contact: Director, Graduate Program in International Studies,
(305) 554-2248] and a program in International Economic
Development, offered as part of the Master of Arts in
Economics [contact: Chairperson, Department of Economics,
(305) 554-2316]. A Master of International Business provides
basic management tools and familiarity with the international
environment [contact: Director, Master of International Busi-
ness, (305) 940-5870].
Several professional programs provide academic and ap-
plied courses in fields applicable to an international focus. The
School of Nursing's program leads to the Bachelor of Science
and prepares its graduates to practice professional nursing in
a multicultural and changing society [contact: School of
Nursing, (305) 940-5915]. The School of Public Affairs and
Services offers undergraduate and graduate degrees in Crimi-
nal Justice, Health Services Administration, Public
Administration and Social Work emphasizing needs, issues
and alternatives in rapidly changing urban societies [contact:
School of Public Affairs and Services, (305) 940-5840].
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, supports research and sponsors
public activities on Latin America and the Caribbean [contact:
Director, Latin American and Caribbean Center, (305)
A certificate in International Bank Management provides
training in international banking policy, practice and tech-

niques [contact: Business Counseling Office, (305) 554-2781].
The International Banking Center cooperates with banks and
businesses in Miami to support research and sponsor seminars
on international banking topics [contact: International Banking
Center (305) 554-2771].
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) 554-2846].
The English Language Institute conducts a writing labora-
tory for individualized instruction, provides diagnostic testing
of oral and written English language proficiency, and operates
the intensive English program, a four-month course of instruc-
tion in reading, conversation, grammar, composition, TOEFL
preparation and business English [contact: Director, English
Language Institute, (305) 554-2222].
The university is also the base for several international
organizations. The Inter-American University Council for
Economic and Social Development (CUIDES) is an indepen-
dent, nonprofit association of representatives from post-
secondary academic institutions. Its primary concern is assist-
ing nations of the Americas with economic and social
development. The Institute of Economic and Social Research
of the Caribbean Basin (IESCARIBE) is a group of Caribbean
basin economists and research institutes which develop
cooperative projects of mutual interest. The institute conducts
seminars and publishes resulting materials.

Florida International University
Bay Vista Campus
North Miami, Florida 33181

Tamiami Campus
Miami, Florida 33199

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