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 Table of Contents
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Caribbean Review
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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: 1987
Copyright Date: 1980
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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Table of Contents
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    Front Matter
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    Back Matter
        Page 48
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

SPRING 1987 No.4



The Caribbean Review Award is given
annually to honor an individual who has
contributed to the advancement of Carib-
bean intellectual life. The winner of the
eighth annual award is W. Arthur Lewis.
He joins previous recipients
Arturo Morales Carri6n, Gor-
don K. Lewis, Philip M. Sher-
lock, Aimd Cesaire, Sidney W.
Mintz, CL.R. James and M.
G. Smith.
W. Arthur Lewis, born in St. Lucia in 1915,
has achieved worthy acclaim as a dynamic
administrator, development economist, lu-
minous lecturer and prolific writer. His
research topics have covered industrial econom-
ics, the history of economics and develop-
ment economics. His works have spanned
four continents and have inspired a genera-
tion of Caribbean thinkers. Among Lewis's

notable writings include his book, Growth
and Fluctuations 1870-1913, for which he
was awarded a Nobel Prize in 1979.
Lewis has served as UN Economic Advisor
to the Prime Minister of Ghana, Deputy

THE 1987


Managing Director of the UN Special Fund,
and Vice Chanceller of the University of the
West Indies. From 1970 to 1974 he worked
to establish the Caribbean Development
Bank and until recently served as a Prince-
ton University lecturer.
We are pleased to accept nominations for
the ninth annual award. Nominations should
be sent to the Editor, Caribbean Review,

Florida International University, Miami, Flo-
rida 33199, by March 10, 1988.
The award will be presented at the XIIIth
International Meeting of the Caribbean Stud-
ies Association, May 1988, Guadeloupe,
French West Indies.
The award committee con-
sists of Lambros Comitas
^ARD (chairman), Columbia Uni-
versity; Locksley Edmonson,
Cornell University; Angel
Calder6n Cruz, University of Puerto Rico;
Lisandro Pdrez, Florida International Univer-
sity; and Andrds Serbin, Universidad Cen-
tral de Venezuela.
The Caribbean Review Award recognizes
individual effort irrespective of field, ideol-
ogy, national origin or place of residence.
In addition to a plaque, the recipient re-
ceives an honorarium of $250.00.

"Nobody knows nothing. See p. 4.

"If is you who vote dem in, vote dem out."
See p. 8.


In this issue

Crossing Swords
The Reality of
Immigration Reform
By Alejandro Portes

Suriname Surprises
Small Country, Smaller Revolution
By Gary Brana-Shute

Vote Dem Out
The Demise of the PNM
in Trinidad and Tobago
By Kevin A. Yelvington

The Party's Over
Bring in the Jugglers
By J. E. Greene

Does Trinidad Have
A Drug Problem?
By Frank Fonda Taylor

Underdevelopment Is
A State of Mind
The Latin American Case
By Lawrence E. Harrison

If Only They Could
Be More Like Us!
A Review Essay by
Daniel H. Levine

Tecnicos vs. Polfticos
The Aftermath of the
Mexican Earthquakes
By George W Grayson

The Canal Treaties
The Other Debate
on Central America
A Review Essay by
Robert A. Pastor

Growing Pains
Latin America's Auto Industry
A Review Essay by Aaron Segal

First Impressions
Critics Look at the New Literature
Compiled by Forrest D. Colburn

Recent Books
On the Region and Its Peoples
Compiled by Marian Goslinga

"Why did de la Madrid make only 12
visits to the earthquake sites?" See p. 20.

Creole Woman with a Parasol,
by Trinidadian artist Michel Jean
Cazabon (Oil on canvas). Its
reproduction is the cover photo
for Cazabon: An Illustrated
Biography of Trinidad's Nine-
teenth Century Painter by
Geoffrey MacLean




July 29-August 1

New Orleans, Louisiana

Costa Rica El Salvador Guatemala
Honduras Nicaragua

The presidents, foreign ministers, ministers of trade, chief
executives of the central banks and mayors of the capital
cities of five Central American countries are meeting to
discuss economics, trade and the re-establishment of
political stability in the region. Private business leaders will
bring ideas for joint ventures and investments.
If you have significant financial, economic or political
interests in Central America, plan now to attend this historic
conference. For complete information about fees, activities
and reservations contact:
Central America '87
612 Gravier Street
New Orleans, Louisiana 70130
(504) 522-6214
telex: 1561043 PHTM UT

Sponsored by Tulane University and the City of New Orleans

Spring 1987
Barry B. Levine
June S. Belkin
Richard A. Dwyer
Elizabeth Lowe
William T. Vickers
Joann Biondi
Forrest D. Colburn
Marian Goslinga

Vol. XV. No. 4

Five Dollars

Jill E. Rapperport
Rosario A. Levine
Eduardo Marin
Linda M. Marston
Marisabel Jorge
Marisela Borondo

Reinaldo Arenas Carlos Moore
Ricardo Arias Calder6n Carlos Alberto Montaner
German Carrera Damas Rex Nettleford
Yves Daudet Daniel Oduber
Henry S. Gill Robert A. Pastor
Edouard Glissant Eneid Routt6 G6mez
Wolf Grabendorf Selwyn Ryan
Harmannus Hoetink Aaron L. Segal
Gordon K. Lewis Andrds Serbin
Vaughan A. Lewis Carl Stone
Modesto Maidique Edelberto Torres Rivas
Leslie Manigat Jos6 Villamil
James A. Mau Olga J. Wagenheim
Carmelo Mesa-Lago Gregory B. Wolfe
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. Banks, Vice President; Kenneth M. Bloom, Secretary).
Caribbean Review receives supporting funds from the Office of Academic Affairs
of Florida International University and the State of Florida.
Editorial policy: to promote international education with a primary emphasis
on creating greater mutual understanding among the Americas, by articulating the
culture and ideals of the Caribbean and Latin America, and emigrating groups
originating therefrom. Caribbean Review does not accept responsibility for views
expressed in its pages, but rather for giving such views the opportunity to be
expressed. Our articles do not represent a consensus of opinion, some are in
open disagreement with others. No reader should be able to agree with all of them.
Copyright: Contents Copyright 1987 by Caribbean Review, Inc. The
reproduction of any artwork, editorial or other material is expressly prohibited
without written permission from the publisher.
Editorial office: Caribbean Review, Florida International University, Miami,
Florida 33199. Telephone (305) 554-2246. Unsolicited manuscripts should be
accompanied by a self-addressed stamped envelope. Concurrent submission on
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Index: articles appearing in this journal are annotated and indexed in America:
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501 Colonial Drive, St. Joseph, Ml 49085.



Founded in Puerto Rico in 1969

Crossing Swords

The Reality of Immigration Reform

By Alejandro Portes

Reformers who have welcomed
the Immigration Reform and
Control Act of 1986 have done
so under the assumption that the appro-
priate legislation can, in fact, make
immigrants and employers behave in
accordance with legislated desires. Real
life is not so straightforward, particu-
larly when the issues are of vital con-
cern to powerful groups within US
society as well as friendly governments.
The current immigration situation
stems from the labor needs of thousands
of agricultural, industrial and service
enterprises in the US that rely on
foreign workers to do labor-intensive
jobs not easily mechanized, and to do
them at low wages. A domestic labor
pool for such jobs is increasingly unavail-
able as many US workers prefer gov-
ernment social payments and/or income-
earning opportunities in the "under-
ground" economy to back-breaking la-
bor for minimum wage. Foreign work-
ers, however, not only work for low
wages but also toil diligently at hard
jobs over long periods because of their
immigration status and family needs.
Immigration reformers view the situ-
ation differently. To them the presence
of thousands of foreign workers indi-
cates that "the US is losing control of
its borders," not that the labor needs
of US firms have created opportunities
drawing immigrant labor to our fields
and cities. They first tried to stem the
tide by border enforcement. When this
failed, they acknowledged the source
of the immigration process and advo-
cated employer sanctions.
Unlike immigrants, employers have
power and influence, both in their local
communities, where they provide jobs
and pay taxes, and through state and
national lobbies and political candi-
dates. This influence actually blocked
enactment of a reform bill for several
years and is visible in many provisions
of the current act. For example, the
legalizing as temporary residents of
undocumented immigrants who can
demonstrate continuing US residence
since 1982 and of those who can show

that they worked in US agriculture for
at least 90 days in the preceding year
effectively stabilizes the foreign labor
pool already in the country and makes
it easier for foreign agricultural workers
who have gone back to their home
countries to return to the US next year.
If the number of foreign laborers in
agriculture becomes insufficient, there
is provision for "replenishment" agri-
cultural workers, who will also receive
temporary permits, to become available
after three years. Since eligibility for
permanent residence requires a mini-
mum of 90 days of agricultural labor
for three successive years and eligibility
for citizenship also requires 90 days for
five years, growers are ensured a labor
supply for the foreseeable future. In
addition, the H-2 agricultural labor con-
tract program now gives employers
easy access to foreign labor sources,
removing the need to engage in a
national or regional search to demon-
strate the lack of domestic labor. Once
an employer obtains certification to
employ foreign contract laborers, it is
valid for three years.
Nor will enforcement procedures hin-
der agricultural employers. Should they
need undocumented labor in addition
to. legalized, temporary and contract
workers, their fields cannot be searched
by immigration enforcement personnel
without their consent or a warrant.
It is clear that the new Immigration
Act protects agricultural interests. But
urban employers also gain from stabi-
lizing the foreign labor supply already
in the country and from replenishment
workers who eventually drift to the
cities. Furthermore, urban firms can use
the grandfather clause which allows
employers to retain undocumented work-
ers hired before enactment of the law.
In addition, while forbidding the "know-
ing" employment of illegal immigrants,
the act does not require employers to
check the validity of documents pre-
sented. Thus new immigrants seeking
work will have to obtain, through one
means or another, suitable documen-
tation. If they do so illegally, they may

suffer the consequences; but the firms
that hire them "unknowingly" will not
be committing a felony.
Another option is subcontracting to
smaller marginal enterprises and to
self-employed homeworkers, thus con-
tinuing to use undocumented immi-
grants without registering them on com-
pany payrolls. Some urban firms may
be able to comply with the new law.
Others, in highly competitive areas such
as electronics assembly, footwear and
garment industries, may relocate abroad.
Still others will close. But the majority
of the firms in construction and serv-
ices, which cannot relocate, will likely
be forced by economic imperative to
subcontracting and the use of new
loopholes. For many of them, continued
access to immigrant workers may deter-
mine whether or not they survive. The
interests of thousands of such firms in
US cities, combined with the economic
needs of the immigrants they hire, are
most likely strong enough to circum-
vent the legislation.
Thus the new act may have only an
apparent effect: bringing some of the
foreign laborers in agriculture above
ground and driving those in urban
industry further underground. It is doubt-
ful that the size of the flow will change
significantly. It will be sad if the act is
ineffective, because it is complex, ex-
pensive, and potentially an administra-
tive nightmare. One might wish that the
legislation had acknowledged the reali-
ties of the labor market by allowing a
flow of foreign labor to the areas where
needed, taxing both foreign workers
and their employers, and using the
proceeds to enforce existing protective
legislation such as fair labor standards
for both US and immigrant workers.
Alejandro Portes is pro-
fessor of sociology and
international relations at
Johns Hopkins Univer-
sity. He is the author of
books and studies on
immigrant adaptation,
the urban informal sec-
tor, and Cuban and Mexican immigrants in the
US. The views expressed here are his own.


Suriname Surprises

Small Country, Smaller Revolution
by Gary Brana-Shute

"What was a pleasant and peaceful
country has been transformed into a
human rights disaster." Americas Watch

"They think that I am a Marcos or a
Duvalier. Well, no way. I am not going
anyplace. I am staying right here." Lt.
Col. Bouterse, Leader of the Revolution

S uriname's military-led, left wing
revolution, now scarcely seven
years old, has proven it can still
surprise. In 1986 alone the revo's his-
tory appears to have sprung from the
overheated imagination of an espionage
thriller writer.
A leading member of the ruling junta
was convicted and sentenced to 12
years in an American jail for attempting
to scam narcotics into the United States.
Later, a bizarre collection of 14 Ameri-
can mercenaries, white supremicists and
survivalists were arrested in New Or-
leans for conspiring to enter Suriname
in the guise of investment bankers, in
order to put the snatch on the leader of
the country, Commander Bouterse, and
several of his cabinet members, to
secure the international airfield at Zan-
derij, and to take over the government
in conjunction with a shady character
from the Netherlands who fronted as a
green grocer.
Meanwhile, internal resistance to the
regime grew serious as one of the
commander's former body guards, pri-
vate Ronnie Brunswijk, began a small
scale, poorly equipped insurgency in
the jungles of east Suriname and called
upon the fabled warriors of times past,
the Maroons or Bush Negroes, to pro-
vide the grassroots support for his
efforts. Brunswijk, heralded by some
as a black Robin Hood, has been
accused of bank robbery by the state

I Mr. Brunswijk I
and no one is quite certain where he is
getting his funding or why he is not
getting more of it from ex-patriot resis-
tance groups in the Netherlands.
Responding to this threat, Commander
Bouterse has up-graded relations with
Libya and called upon Qadhafi to sup-
ply him with advisors, ordnance and
funding. Under the guise of "cultural
exchange" (with the large Javanese
Muslim population) some 100 Libyans
occupy a People's Bureau in Paramaribo.
The US acted when unsavory stories
of civilian massacres surfaced, with
Secretary of State George Schultz de-
nouncing the gross abuse of human
rights in the formerly tranquil country.
Not to be outdone, Assistant Secretary
of State Elliot Abrams warned that
Suriname provided a nest for Libyan
agents who would soon terrorize US

interests around the continent.
The economy is a shambles due not
only to the suspension of Dutch aid
after the massacre of 1982 but also to
the military's mismanagement and the
coincidental decline in world market
prices for Suriname's major export,
bauxite. The damage inflicted by the
insurgents on bauxite installations, palm
oil plantations, and timber operations
has hurt Suriname's economy. Dam-
aged facilities and lost revenues cost
the country $53 million in the six-
month period from mid-1986 to 1987.
Military and civilian officials put a
bright face on the whole matter and
claim that once Bmnswijk is cleaned
out, democracy will be restored, Dutch
aid will be renewed and Suriname will
rise from the ashes. Others are not so
sure, and suggest that it is only a matter
of time before the military regime falls
and everything will return to the pleas-
ant neo-colonial days of status quo ante.
My view is that neither of these two
solutions will emerge in some sort of
sociological virgin birth but that Suri-
name is in for a lot more surprises.

A Democratic Opening?

By early 1986 Surinamers, though cyni-
cal and still traumatized by the 1982
murders, were cautiously optimistic about
the anticipated "democratic opening"
that would return the country to some
form of civilian, parliamentary rule. A
dialogue with the "old" politicians
whom the coup had ousted from power
(Henck Arron of the Creole Nationale
Partij Suriname [NPS], Jagernath
Lachmon of the East Indian Vooruitstre-
vende Hervormings Partij [VHP], and
Willie Soemita of the Javanese Kaum
Tani Persatuan Indonesian [KTPI] had
been formalized with their participation


in the Toberaad or Head Deliberation
Council. An appointed National Assem-
bly, charged with delivering a draft of
a constitution by March 1987, was
functioning with representatives from
the political arm of the army (the 25
February Movement), domestic mer-
chants and manufacturers (Associatie
van Surinaamse Fabrikanten, [ASFA]),
large business houses (Vereniging Suri-
naams Bebriffsleven, [VSB]), and three
of the four major labor unions (Centrale
van Landsdienaren Organisaties, Pro-
gressieve Werknemers Organisatie,
[CLO], [PWO], and the Moederbond:
Algemeen Verbond van Vakverenigin-
gen in Suriname, [AVVS]).
Several generally center-right libera-
tion groups located in Holland warned
darkly that the participants were being
co-opted and duped and railed against
their involvement. Husbanding their op-
timism, Surinamers kept a careful eye
on the the fortunes of the Marxist
Revolutionary People's Party [RVP]
whose role in civilian government and
its advisory capacity to the military
continued to be strong. The Cuban
presence was nil but their numbers were
replaced by Libyans who, in the minds
of most Surinamers, posed only a negli-
gible threat in fact, the Muslim
Javanese downright appreciated the at-
tention they received. Others were more
sanguine given the appointment of the
fiery Henk Herrenberg as foreign minis-
ter. Recognized as the architect of the
Libyan connection, Herrenberg had stud-
ied in Algeria in the 1960s, visited
Libya and was on personal terms with
The Soviets, whose embassy looks
like a plantation stage set from Gone
with the Wind, remained obscurely
locked behind their gates. For many,
democracy remained a nostalgic ab-
straction and the masses preoccupied
themselves with the acquisition of scarce
essentials: medicine, cigarettes, beer,
butter, chicken and toilet paper. There
was no freedom of the press or political
assembly, and the well oiled rumor mill
still churned out stories of the odd
disappearance, but the draconian meas-
ures of 1982-84 seemed to have abated.
Commander Bouterse was still in charge
and from all the evidence intended to
stay there, allegations about a new
democracy not withstanding.
The arrest in late March 1986 in
Miami of Captain Etienne Boerevain
(a talented logistics officer and member
of the Bouterse-headed junta) and two

cohorts on charges of conspiracy to
import drugs into the United States,
revived the subterranean fears of many.
As long ago as 1982 there were allega-
tions that the military was prepared to
cut a $50 million drug deal with Co-
lombian cocaine barons. In 1984 and
1985 Dutch officials interdicted ship-
ments of cocaine hidden in pumpkin-
like fruits carried aboard the state owned
airline for sale in the Netherlands. A
military officer, in close collaboration
with Commander Bouterse, was ar-
rested aboard a yacht in Biscayne Bay
after DEA officials bugged his room at
the Omni Hotel and heard of plans to

I Associates of Mr. BrunswijK |
charge $1 million per plane load of
cocaine shipped to the US. Coca fields
and processing facilities were to be
established in Suriname with the profits
to line the pockets of the military and
to provide scarce hard currency for
military and luxury purchases.

A Good Omen?

Always up-to-date, Surinamers in the
United States video-taped news broad-
casts of the dejected 28-year-old hand-
cuffed captain led in and out of court.
Bootlegged back to Paramaribo, the
tapes sold like hot cakes and provided
a perverse glee for those who watched
the mighty fall. Such must be the nature
of communication in Suriname; with
Radio Nederland broadcasts jammed,

telephones tapped, mail opened, news-
papers censored, and informers from the
Peoples' Militia eavesdropping eve-
rywhere. Surinamers have developed
ingenious ways to pass information
around in and out of the country. Many
took the narcotics embarrassment as a
good omen.
Perhaps, the reasoning went, "if the
government is once again an interna-
tional outlaw, the Americans could be
persuaded to invade and rescue us from
our military." With a residual colonial
cargo cult mentality, most Surinamers
were waiting for an outside force to
rescue them from themselves. In the
menu of invited saviors the Americans
were ranked first, the Dutch second, the
French third and Brazil just a nose
ahead of the Venezuelans.
By May 1986 disturbing reports
emerged from the jungle area of east
Suriname. A labyrinth of trails, rivers,
streams, and dense bush, the area be-
tween the bauxite mining town of
Moengo and the Marowijne River bor-
der with French Guiana is home to
about half of Suriname's 40,000 Ma-
roon or "Bush Negro" population.
Small pockets of Amer-Indians also
reside in the area, which itself is trav-
ersed by one paved road running from
Paramaribo through Moengo and on to
the border town of Albina.
Reports claimed that Private Ronnie
Brunswijk (former body guard to Com-
mander Bouterse and himself a member
of the Ndjoeka Bush Negro tribe) was
up to banditry and mayhem in the area
robbing banks, sticking up travelers,
raiding shops, and raping women. Al-
though proof of these charges was not
made public the army swung into ac-
tion. Twin engine, fixed wing aircraft
attacked Brunswijk's home of Moengo
Tapoe and scattered hand grenades. The
attempt at intimidation backfired and,
although Bush Negro women and chil-
dren were killed, Brunswijk and his
handful of followers could rely on the
protection and cover of their tribesmen.
There is little doubt that Brunswijk
also enjoyed the complicity of French
authorities who were growing increas-
ingly irritated with Bouterse's radical
regime on their colonial border, and
with his working relationship with Liby-
ans with whom the French, for lack of
a better term, were at war in Chad. On
several occasions Brunswijk, with mili-
tary in hot pursuit, crossed the Ma-
rowijne river (known in French as the
Maroni river) to safety in the border


Lt. Col. Bouterse being interviewed by Gary Brana-Shute

town of St. Laurent du Maroni. The
Suriname army, generally poorly trained
and riddled by internal factions, is not
prepared to take on the French Foreign
Legion. If this was a wink and nod by
the French, by late 1986 the relation-
ship had developed into a hearty hand-
Early in June 1986 two Dutch jour-
nalists entered Suriname from French
Guiana and had a clandestine meeting
with Brunswijk during which time they
provided him with a false Dutch pass-
port. Brunswijk crossed into French
Guiana, flew to Paris, and made his
way to the Netherlands where he met
with representatives of at least two of
the three major ex-patriot Surinamese
liberation groups. One of these groups,
Pendawa Lima, originally Javanese in
composition but increasingly Creole in
membership, claimed to have an under-
ground army the SNLA or Suriname
National Liberation Army at work
in Suriname. Brunswijk met with two
of their top leaders and was pledged
their support in his future actions in
Suriname. Whether Pendawa Lima as-
tutely converted a bandit into a patriot
liberator or whether Brunswijk during
his robberies was pursuing guerrilla
actions in the name of liberation is not
certain. With their endorsement and
promise of support Brunswijk returned
to the Suriname bush, via the porous
French Guiana border, and began his
attacks on military outposts in mid-July
of 1986.

From the Netherlands

As with most ex-patriot groups in the
former mother country, folks back home
in Paramaribo do not look upon the
liberation groups in the Netherlands
with a great deal of respect. Denounced
as opportunists, comfortable and secure
in Holland, even the most anti-govern-
ment Surinamer points out that they
fled while he or she remained behind.
The agenda of the liberation groups is
to participate in the governance of
Suriname when and if the military
regime fails.
Democratic forces in Suriname are
unwilling to concede this role to the
groups or to Ronnie Brunswijk whom
many consider to be the ex-patriot
groups' stalking horse. Pendawa Lima
is the most militant of the three groups.
Headed by Salam Somohardjo, himself
a leader of a now defunct Javanese-
based party in Suriname of the same
name, the group was ethnically homo-
geneous until joined by former Creole
prime minister (1969-1973) Jules Sed-
ney. Undeniably pro-US and Dutch, the
center-right group has called for the
restitution of democracy in Suriname
and all the civil freedoms associated
with it. They offer nothing particularly
new and propose a return to the private
enterprise-based open economy, ethni-
cally divided Suriname of status quo
ante. Brunswijk raised a few eyebrows
when he claimed that after his intended

victory he would have Suriname join
the US-sponsored Regional Security
System in the Eastern Caribbean.
A second group, whose influence
with Brunswijk is increasing, is the
Council for the Liberation of Suriname,
was first headed by the first civilian
Prime Minister after the 1980 coup,
Henk Chin A Sen. Chin A Sen, a
physician, democratic socialist and for-
mer member of the now defunct left
wing, nationalist Partij van de Nation-
alistische Republiek [PNR] in Suri-
name, ran afoul of Commander Bouterse
in 1982 and was forced to leave the
country. The Council for the Liberation
of Suriname did not espouse military
action against the government in
Paramaribo until very late, preferring
international pressure on the regime.
By late 1986, Chin A Sen had
entered Brunswijk-held territory in east
Suriname to hold discussions with him.
During the November meeting Brun-
swijk and Chin A Sen signed an agree-
ment pledging a return to democracy
for Suriname upon the government's
defeat. Brunswijk's position was up-
graded to the rank of Commander of
the Suriname National Liberation Army;
known locally as the "Jungle Comman-
dos." The ex-patriot resistance newspa-
per published in Holland, Onafhanke-
lijke Weekkrant Suriname has called
Chin A Sen the most "acceptable
leader" for a liberated Suriname.
The Amsterdam Peoples' Resistance
headed by former "super minister"
Andre Haakmaat who held numerous
portfolios in the revolutionary govern-
ment during 1980 and 1981, is the third
group. A nationalist with a sharp dislike
of the Dutch, Haakmaat is perceived
of as a bright but dark manipulative
prince willing to negotiate and compro-
mise with any and all to advance
himself. He has offered his services to
Bouterse on several occasions to dis-
cuss the "Brunswijk-affair."

Scrambling for Influence

The three groups do not enjoy one
another's support. The central issue
splitting them is, following the fall of
Bouterse, who will take over an interim
government and how will a return to
democratic rule be achieved. Chin A
Sen and the Council are clearly front-
runners and have received the endorse-
ment of Brunswijk.
Moderating their position so as not


to alienate the other resistance groups
and the "old" parties in Suriname, the
Council claimed that an interim govern-
ment will be formed only after careful
deliberation and mutual consent This
has not mollified any competitive fears
and has led to friction between the
resistance groups and the democratic
forces in Suriname. Pendawa Lima, in
fact, will move its headquarters from
comfortable Amsterdam to the jungle
Bush Negro village of Langa Tabiki
on the Marowijne River in what they
call liberated Suriname. One can be
sure that the Council will not be far
behind. Such maneuvering caused Chin
A Sen to re-think his position. In March
1987 he broke from the Council and
cast himself as a resistance movement
free agent. The scramble for influence
with the Jungle Commando was on.
The three groups claim that they are
not violating Dutch law and have every
right to promote their activities in Hol-
land. The Surinamese authorities are
not so sure, claiming that the Dutch
secret service and the CIA covertly
support these groups in efforts to abort
the revolution. Though this may be the
case, the regime in Paramaribo has not
captured any high moral ground. Hit
teams, under regime instructions to
murder liberation group members, en-
tered the Netherlands and performed
their work. In one tragic incident in
1984 a three-man team entered the
Rotterdam offices where Chin A Sen's
group is located, opened fire with ma-
chine guns and discovered that they had
accidentally murdered three innocent
Dutch musicians practicing on their

Brunswilk Attacks

In mid-July 1986 Brunswijk, with some
60 to 100 men (3 or 4 of them white
mercenaries) launched the first of their
attacks. Stealing quietly through the
jungle they overran an army command
post guarding the main bridge over the
Commewijne River on the Paramaribo-
Albina highway. The insurgents made
off with arms, ammunition, food stores,
a truck and 12 captives whom the
government said were hostages. Brun-
swijk claimed the 12 defected to his
numbers. Later that early morning shots
were fired at the Akontoe Velarie bar-
racks in Albina. Throughout July minor
skirmishes took place between the in-
surgents and army patrols.

The first inkling of civilian casualties
occurred in early August in the town
of Mora Kondre on the Moengo-Albina
road. Government troops entered the
village and engaged the rebels in a fire
fight. Before the insurgents slipped
away, a two-year-old Bush Negro and
two women were dead, the army claim-
ing they were accidentally hit in a cross
fire, the rebels alleging the military
murdered them.
A relatively major battle took place
three weeks later in Awara Kondre on
the Marowijne River. There a govern-
ment ammunition dump, guarded by a
patrol boat and manned by the crack
Cuban-trained Echo company, was at-
tacked. It appears that a round fired
from the patrol boat fell short and hit
the dump, exploding the ordnance and
killing three soldiers outright. It was
both a military and propaganda victory
for Brunswijk.
In addition to defeating the govern-
ment's palace guard, the command ser-
geant of Echo company, Henk van
Randwijk, defected to Brunswijk's re-
bels. Lean, professional and holding an
AK-47, van Randwijk posed with Brun-
swijk in a photograph and later gave
an interview to a Dutch journalist repre-
senting the respected NRC Handelsblad
newspaper. Van Randwijk claimed that
the Suriname army and secret police are
riddled with Libyans carrying Suriname
passports. Their role is to funnel in
Soviet arms and train Surinamers in low
intensity warfare and the operation of
mortars and anti-aircraft guns. The Lib-
yan agenda allegedly also includes infil-

treating French Guiana, to monitor and
possibly sabotage communications lo-
cated at the French (and European)
missile complex at Kourou.
Van Randwijk's credibility weakened
when he contended that Cuba would
airlift ten thousand troops to Suriname
should the military require them. This
was gilding the lily. Bouterse expelled
the large Cuban delegation from Suri-
name following the US-led invasion of
Grenada and it does not seem likely
that the cautious Cubans will involve
themselves in a phony revolution in a
country surrounded by France and Bra-
zil, with Fort Bragg only a phone call
Van Randwijk's allegations about a
Surinamese "gestapo" were more plau-
sible and would later be proven true.
Military police and army units were
involved in the intimidation and murder
of Bush Negroes in their jungle villages
and in Paramaribo. Bodies began turn-
ing up in roadside ditches, persons were
disappeared from their houses and later
found in garbage bags, persons were
deliberately hit by automobiles, frame-
ups of foreigners led to their expulsion
from the country, while the morgue at
the state hospital was filling with bod-
ies. Credible sources place civilian deaths
at 300. Van Randwijk concluded by
giving fresh information on the Decem-
ber 1982 murders, Suriname's involve-
ment in drug trafficking, and murders
within the army itself, implicating
Bouterse directly in all events.
For the remainder of 1986, hit and
Continued on page 26


Vote Dem Out

The Demise of the PNM in Trinidad and Tobago
By Kevin A. Yelvington

It was the calypsonian who captured
the mood of Trinidadians and Toba-
gonians in the unusual 1986 gen-
eral election. Deple's controversial "Vote
Dem Out" urged, and probably had a
hand in removing the People's National
Movement (PNM) government from
power If their policy is a fallacy/ Their
bureaucracy a catastrophe/ If they can-
not cope and you seeing sol Then your
only hope is for them to go/ If it is
fabrications the statements they spout/
When you voting vote dem out, vote
dem out/ Before they misuse out, thief
out, sell out and digs out/ If is you who
vote dem in vote dem out.
What the calypso did was to under-
score the major political issues in the
opinions of Trinidadians and Tobagoni-
ans: corruption, economic mismanage-
ment and a declining standard of living.
The calypso became the anthem of the
10-month-old National Alliance for Re-
construction (NAR), which capitalized
on a wave of dissatisfaction, of
"fedupness" as one political observer
put it. In the end, terms like "land-
slide" and "political earthquake" were
accurate descriptions of an election
result in which the fledgling NAR
succeeded in drawing political support
from all quarters in a society character-
ized by ethnic voting.
The results of the December 15
polling became apparent as the night
wore on. The returns indicated not only
the victory but its magnitude as govern-
ment ministers lost their seats. Finally,
when Prime Minister George Chambers
lost in St. Ann's East, there were
celebrations Trini style. Steelband
members got out their instruments and
people "jumped up" in spontaneous
Kevin A. Yelvington is a postgraduate student
at the University of Sussex, Brighton, Eng-
land. This article was written while he was
doing fieldwork in Trinidad.

In New prime minister, Arthur Napoleon Ray Robinson. Photo: Trinidad Express.

Carnival-like processions, singing "Vote
Dem Out" through the night and into
the next day. They hung out of cars
waving NAR flags; they wore NAR
T-shirts for the next three weeks. The
Sunday after the election, 40,000 people
turned out in the Queen's Park Savan-
nah for a "day of national reconcili-
ation" a sort of victory party/
cultural show, reflecting the country's
culture with tassa drumming, steelband,
Hindu song and dance, and calypso.
New prime minister A.N.R. Robinson
and colleagues disported themselves
under the rubric of "One Love."
Thus ended, abruptly and decisively,
the 30-year reign of the PNM the
longest-serving democratically elected
party in the world and the only party

ever to govern independent Trinidad
and Tobago.

Political History

The 1986 election results are even more
remarkable when viewed in the context
of the history of Trinidad and Tobago's
electoral politics. Recommendations of
the Moyne Commission, sent to the
West Indies by Britain to investigate
labor unrest in the late 1930s, moved
the Crown Colony slowly toward self-
government and independence. The first
step was universal adult franchise, which
came into being for the 1946 elections,
but not without controversy. The local
franchise committee had recommended


the qualification that voters should be
able to understand spoken English, a
move largely seen to deprive many of
the colony's East Indian population of
the right to vote. Complaints were made
to London, and the governor was in-
structed to use his powers to grant
universal adult suffrage without the
discriminatory language qualification.
The advent of mass electoral politics
saw the appeal to ethnicity as the most
effective and successful campaign plank.
This era also saw the rise of the Tobago
politician as someone who was judged
on personality and the resolve to im-

nic lines and the absence of formal
alignment of trade unions and political
parties set the stage for the rise to
prominence of Dr. Eric Williams, a
nonideological, pragmatic politician, an
Oxford-educated historian and former
Howard University lecturer, who an-
nounced in 1955 that he would "let
down his bucket" in Trinidad and that
the only place where he would now
lecture was what he dubbed the "Uni-
versity of Woodford Square," referring
to the public square in downtown Port-of-
Spain. There he instructed his black
working-class "students" on the rami-

Out Former prime minister, George Chambers. Photo: Trinidad Express.

prove Tobago's lot. Tobago has un-
doubtedly been the poor relation since
the colony was united administratively
in 1889; electric lights shown in Port-of-
Spain in 1895 but not in Scarborough,
Tobago's capital, until 1952. Trinidad
and Tobago's political history thus
evolved in a different direction from the
other territories in the English-speaking
Caribbean. Although most of the suc-
cessful candidates in the 1946 election
were aligned ideologically with the
trade union movement, the labor vote
was divided, with no group emerging
as clear victor, and no labor leader able
to translate power in that sphere into
formal political power.
The prevalence of voting along eth-

fications of history and there his Messi-
anic legend began.
The elections scheduled for 1955
were postponed a year to allow time for
constitutional changes. This delay gave
Williams and a close-knit group of
insiders mainly urban black and
"colored" intellectuals, professionals
and members of the middle class -
time to form the PNM, which was
formally launched in early 1956. It is
important to note that Williams' pro-
crustean tendencies were evident from
this point. As Ivar Oxaal, Selwyn Ryan
and Bridget Brereton have all pointed
out, "the Doc" defined policy alone
and members of his inner circle were
expected to demonstrate deference and

personal loyalty to him. Their reward
would be the pleasure of party power
and privilege for many years to come.
The well-oiled PNM elections ma-
chine, operated by lower and lower-
middle-class black party activists, played
a crucial role in the elections of 1956,
and this network effectively mobilized
support for the party through the years.
Voting along ethnic lines became
institutionalized. The most powerful op-
position to the PNM was the People's
Democratic Party (PDP), and specifi-
cally Bhadase Sagan Maraj, who was
not only leader of the PDP, but also
leader of the colony's largest sugar
workers union (whose members were
almost all Indian) and of the Maha
Sabha, the main Hindu religious organi-
zation. Baba (a Hindi word roughly
translated as "godfather") was Wil-
liams' counterpart among rural Hindus
and was the prototypical strongman.
Williams and the PNM successfully
split the Indian vote by isolating the
more conservative rural Hindu masses
from Muslim and Christian Indians,
some of whom were given high-profile
positions in the PNM. Williams in-
stilled in his following the feeling that
blacks were the legitimate inheritors of
colonial power. The PNM acceded to
power and formed the government with
only 39 percent of the popular vote,
despite strenuous opposition from influ-
ential interest groups like the Catholic
Church and the business elite. Ironi-
cally, in terms of 1986's events, the
PNM played on widely-held percep-
tions that the quasi-ministerial regime
they replaced was corrupt.
The PNM maintained that it was a
multiracial party. It also attempted to
please and placate the local business
elite by embarking on an economic
program consciously modeled on the
Puerto Rican industrialization-by-invita-
tion development strategy. The strategy
did not work. It was too early a stage
of development, the society had a his-
tory of occupational allocation accord-
ing to ethnicity and ethnicity often
confounded class interests. The busi-
ness community was generally hostile
to the PNM. In 1956 business interests
were identified with Albert Gomes, a
trade union activist who had turned
minister in the previous administration,
a white Portuguese creole, and leader
of the Party of Progressive Political
Groups (POPPG). In 1957 the POPPG
entered a political marriage of conven-
ience with the PDP and the Trinidad


Calypsonian Gypsy singing Sinking Ship at a NAR rally. Photo: Trinidad Express.

Labour Party, for which A.P.T. James
had won in Tobago in 1956. The
resulting Democratic Labour Party (DLP)
was formed for the first elections of the
ill-fated Federation of the West Indies
at the behest of Jamaica's Alexander
Bustamante, who came to Trinidad in
1957 seeking an affiliate for his Federal
Democratic Labour Party.

Ethnic Politics

The DLP was seen as a collection of
individuals symbolizing special inter-
ests, behind which ready-made constitu-
encies fell, rather than a traditional
ideological identification. With Maraj
as its leader, the DLP contested the
1958 federal elections and won 6 out
of 10 seats. Because of its leadership,
the DLP was perceived as an Indian
party even through 7 of its 10 candi-
dates were non-Indian. The campaign
further polarized voting along ethnic
lines, purposely encouraged by the lead-
ership of both parties. The campaign
was capped by Williams' historic pos-
telection appraisal, in which the Indians
were deemed a "recalcitrant and hostile
minority." The PNM did not take
immediate solace from the fact that it
had increased its popular vote and now
commanded the votes of rural blacks,
many of whom had sided with inde-
pendents or minor parties in 1956.
The 1961 elections were crucial in
that they determined the party that

would take the colony to independence.
In 1960 leadership of the DLP passed
from Maraj to Dr. Rudranath Capildeo,
a mathematics lecturer at the University
of London and a qualified barrister.
Although Hindu, he was not identified
with the Maha Sabha, and it was hoped
that he would attract urbanized, middle-
class non-Hindu Indians and non-
Indians. Trinidad and Tobago was mov-
ing into an era which economist/
politico Lloyd Best called "doctor poli-
tics": Capildeo was almost a match for
Williams as a highly educated and
intelligent academic. But unlike Wil-
liams, he was in no way suited to the
role of politician. He was physically
and mentally fragile, and was unable
to control the infighting and disorgani-
zation rampant in the DLP.
The PNM was determined to avoid
a repeat of the 1958 fiasco. It moved
to regularize the electoral process by
introducing voter ID cards and voting
machines. The DLP charged that these
were moves to confuse and defraud
rural and uneducated Indians. The PNM's
most effective tool was the gerry-
mandering of electoral boundaries, pos-
sible because of the close correlation
between geography and demography.
East Indians were concentrated in the
sugar belt in the central and southern
parts of Trinidad, and blacks were more
numerous in what is now known as the
East-West Corridor, an urban zone stretch-
ing from Port-of-Spain east to beyond
Arima. Tobago is almost 100 percent

black. Ten of the seats in the new
configuration were more than 50 per-
cent Indian; the DLP would win those,
but only those.
Although the economic programs of
both parties were basically right of
center, the labor movement endorsed
the PNM. This and all other issues
paled into insignificance, however. The
reality was the two opposing ethnic
groups. Racial violence during the cam-
paign caused the government to declare
states of emergency in Indian areas, and
DLP open-air meetings were violently
heckled and broken up by PNM sup-
porters. Capildeo complained that the
police, predominantly black, did noth-
ing to help. Though certainly provoked
and frustrated, Capildeo made several
agitating remarks from his speaker's
rostrum. At one point he urged his
supporters to arm themselves to "take
over the country" and to run Dr.
Williams out of town.
Williams chose to make the black-
white issue his campaign theme. He
chastised the white elite for rejecting
the conciliations to their interests forth-
coming after 1956. He told the popu-
lace, "massa day done." The slogan
served its purpose, especially among
urban blacks, and the PNM won the
election. Racial tensions became further
exaggerated after the election, when
Williams refused the opposition any
voice in the making of the independ-
ence constitution. Imminent widespread
violence was averted when Williams
agreed to compromise at the 1962
independence conference in London.
Trinidad and Tobago thus took the last
turbulent steps to independence, which
was gained on 31 August 1962.

Independence Politics

The 1966 elections featured the same
two protagonists, the PNM and the
DLP, but by this time the electorate
was becoming disillusioned. This was
demonstrated by a sharp decline in
voter turnout: from 88 percent in 1961
to 66 percent in 1966. The PNM won
again. While it is true that politics was
an ethnic affair, ideology played its
part too. The Workers and Farmers
Party (WFP), interethnic but socialist
in orientation, was overwhelmingly re-
jected at the polls. Its candidates in-
cluded the enigmatic Marxist CL.R.
James and trade unionists George
Weekes and Basdeo Panday. In mainly


white Port-of-Spain North, the conser-
vative Liberal Party captured 41 percent
of the vote. Labor had suffered a
setback the previous year when the
Industrial Stabilization Act (ISA) was
introduced to curb strikes. In 1966,
then-minister of finance A.N.R. Robin-
son, who was identified with the left
of the PNM, introduced the Finance
Act, which sought to close corporate tax
loopholes, especially among foreign busi-
nesses. In the face of pressure from the
business community, Williams with-
drew the bill, for which it is said
Robinson never forgave him.
At the height of the Black Power
demonstrations in 1970, Robinson, who
at the time was deputy party leader and
deputy prime minister, and was gener-
ally regarded as being groomed by
Williams as his successor, resigned
from the cabinet and the party. The
exact circumstances have been colored
by rumor, but ostensibly he disagreed
with the introduction of the Public
Order Bill, authored by Attorney Gen-
eral Karl Hudson-Phillips and designed
to clamp down on demonstrators and
with the way the government was han-
dling the crisis in general.
As a movement which was basically
a call for socialist-type reform by young
urban unemployed blacks, using sym-
bols largely borrowed from American
advocates, Black Power has had far-
reaching consequences. For example it
thrust the government into a more
redistributionist stance, which was fa-
cilitated by the oil revenue windfall
resulting from the OPEC-driven world-
wide oil crisis of 1973. This windfall
also made possible PNM political pa-
tronage projects, including the nation-
alization of large companies and the
ever-expanding numbers in the govern-
ment's employ.
Robinson, a Tobagonian, soon after
formed the Action Committee of Dedi-
cated Citizens (ACDC) along with other
PNM discontents. The ACDC merged
with the DLP, then led by Vernon
Jamadar. Robinson became the leader;
he then surprised everyone by deciding
to boycott the 1971 elections. Tapping
into the general dissatisfaction with the
extremely closed nature of the govern-
ment, he explained that this action
would prove once and for all that the
existing political system was illegiti-
mate. His critics charged that he real-
ized he could not win the elections and
would stand a better chance in the
future without a "loser" image. The

NAR rally in Woodford Square, 15 December 1986. Photo: Trinidad Express.

PNM was challenged by two minor
parties, and its candidates won in all
36 constituencies. As the no-vote cam-
paigners had hoped, voters stayed away
from the polls. The turnout of 34
percent, the lowest in the country's
history. It was a hollow victory for the
PNM, which received support from
only 28 percent of the electorate.
By 1975 Panday had gained control
of the largest sugar union, and he called
for trade union solidarity. Two pre-
dominantly Indian and two predomi-
nnantly black unions, including the
powerful Oilfield Workers Trade Union
(OWTU), led by radical Weekes, com-
bined to form the United Labour Front
(ULF), which was formed into a politi-
cal party for the 1976 elections. Panday,
a Hindu, emerged as the leader, and it
appeared to be a case of the DLP again
as Weekes and other black trade union-
ists did not contest seats. To broaden
its base the ULF sought an alliance
with the Democratic Action Congress
(DAC), the new name of the ACDC,
but was unsuccessful.
On election eve, the ULF staged a
motorcade which confirmed the percep-
tion that it was an Indian party. Banners
and placards, the work of infiltrators it
is suspected, read "Is We Turn Now."
This reignited old fears and anxiety of
an Indian takeover among the black
electorate. Many who were thinking
about voting for one of the minor
parties or the ULF changed their minds.
Panday emphasized that his was a

multiethnic party, but the ULF won
only ten seats, in rural Indian areas. The
DAC won two seats in Tobago. Two
notable minor parties Tapia House
Movement, led by Best and identified
with intellectual socialists, and National
Joint Action Committee (NJAC), the
most important group emerging from
the Black Power experience won
none. Panday became official leader of
the opposition.
Eric Williams died in March 1981.
The dilemma for the country, which had
lost its father, and for the party, which
had lost its leader, was to find a
replacement. After the resignation of
Robinson, Williams had named three
deputies, Kamaluddin Mohammed, Er-
rol Mahabir and George Chambers,
without stipulating which was to be his
successor. President of the Republic
Ellis Clarke was constitutionally bound
to select the one adjudged to command
support from the majority of the House
of Representatives. Mohammed and Ma-
habir were Indian; Chambers was not.
Equally important, there was an aura
of corruption surrounding Mohammed
and Mahabir, but little was known
about Chambers, who first became a
PNM candidate in 1966. Chambers was
The PNM campaign slogan was "give
Chambers a chance." Disbelieving vot-
ers were asked, "who we go put?"
Opposing the PNM were the Alliance,
a federal "party of parties" which
consisted of the ULF, DAC and Tapia,


and the Organization for National Re-
construction (ONR), led by Hudson-
Phillips, who had resigned from the
PNM in 1973. Reflecting a modem
outlook, the ONR received support from
middle-class members of different eth-
nic groups and rejected participation in
the Alliance. The PNM won 26 seats,
a result reflecting not so much a vote
of sympathy but rather a split opposi-
tion vote. The ULF won but eight seats,
losing two to the PNM, including one
where the boundaries had been shifted
to include more black voters. The DAC
won the two Tobago seats. ONR, Tapia
and NJAC won none.
After the 1981 experience, leaders
of the opposition parties probably con-
cluded that they would have to amalga-
mate if the vaunted PNM was ever to
be dislodged. Election statistics ap-
peared to show that a united opposition
could have gained just enough seats to
turn the trick. The possibilities for a
fully unified party became apparent
after the results of the 1984 elections
in the Tobago House of Assembly
(THA) in which the DAC grabbed 11
of 12 seats, thus handing the PNM its
first major regional defeat. This event
overshadowed the 1983 local govern-
ment elections, which also saw the
PNM humbled. With the ONR added
to the fold, the new party was called
the NAR, and Robinson was selected
as its leader in September 1985. As its
constituents were disbanded, the party
was constituted as a unitary one and
was officially launched in February
1986. Preparations began for the gen-
eral election, constitutionally due by
February 1987 at the latest.

Economic Decline

In his December 1985 budget speech,
Prime Minister Chambers announced
several measures which he hoped would
finally apply the brakes to the accelerat-
ing economic decline which had accom-
panied falling oil prices. The oil sec-
tor's contribution to the country's econ-
omy had reached its high point in 1980,
when oil was 42 percent of GDP,
directly provided 65 percent of govern-
ment revenues, and accounted for TT$
9.17 billion of the country's total export
earnings of TT$ 9.72 billion. Despite
the rapid decline in revenue since then,
the government, employing more than
40 percent of the total workforce, sought
to maintain levels of employment and

salaries. Thus wages and salaries out-
stripped oil revenue by about TT$ 20
million in 1986, in contrast to 1981
when oil revenue was four times the
wage bill. The result was a drain on
foreign reserves: in 1982 the country
owned US$ 3.2 billion; in 1983, $2.04
billion; in 1984, $1.18 billion; and by
mid-1985, only $875 million.
Chambers had already imposed strict
foreign exchange control measures, in-
cluding an increase of 107 percent in
port duties on some items, which had
a positive effect. The balance-of-trade
situation changed from a deficit of US$
708 million in 1984 to a surplus of
nearly US$ 300 million in 1985, while
inflation was cut in half over the same
period, from 18 percent to 9 percent.
To further stabilize the foreign ex-
change situation, Chambers devalued

-' -?

Calypsonian Deple and his hit record.

the Trinidad and Tobago dollar from
TT$ 2.42 to TT$3.63 to US$ 1.00.
The government was the immediate
winner as it enjoyed a 50 percent
increase in oil revenues, which are paid
in US dollars. But the economic slide
continued in 1986; and if the country
needed a reminder, there was Gypsy's
calypso, "Sinking Ship": Captain the
ship is sinking Captain the seas are
rough/We gas tank almost empty! No
electricity/The oil pressure reading low/
Shall we abandon ship,/ Or shall we
stay on it,/And perish slow?l We don't
know, we don't know/ Captain, you tell
we what to do. The song traced the
decline in the fortunes of the good ship
Trinidad to when the helm was handed

over to a captain named Chambers, and
indeed heaped blame upon the prime
minister. There were more jokes (such
as "Chambers thought Manual Labor
was a Venezuelan"); and at the tele-
vised finals of an international soccer
tournament in August, Chambers was
roundly booed as he was called upon
to present the trophy to the winning
Canadian team.
The decline, devaluation and auster-
ity measures had an important emo-
tional impact on the country, the oil
money having rapidly constructed a
sizeable middle class, with its attendant
consumption patterns. Trinidadians (more
than Tobagonians) straddle two worlds:
glass and steel skyscrapers, satellite
dishes, cars, shopping trips to Miami,
VCRs, "Dallas" and "Dynasty," trade
unions, wage labor, mass politics, news-
papers, telephones, shopping malls and
fast food, as well as rum, roti, Orisha,
steelband, subsistence agriculture, ca-
lypso, Carnival, Spiritual Baptists, sug-
arcane, dasheen, callaloo, Hindu tem-
ples, Mosques and tapia huts.
It is true that many shared in the
windfall: in 1985 wages and subsidies
accounted for 87 percent of government
expenditure. But the maintenance of
wages has meant the maintenance of
consumption and increased dependency
on imports. The country is not easily
weaned from spending on things "from
away," so foreign reserves continue to
dwindle (the latest calculation is at the
rate of TT$ 35 million per week since
August 1986). As the economy con-
tracted there were visible signs in the
number of workers being retrenched
and the number of large firms going
into receivership. The official unem-
ployment rate for 1986 was 17 percent
(28 percent for the 20-24 age group).
Although the government had earned
TT$ 28.8 billion from the oil industry
out of a total revenue of TT$ 54.4
billion between 1974 and 1985, it had
spent more than TT$ 60 billion. The
60-billion-dollar question at the height
of the recession when the country
was 20 percent poorer than in 1982 and
the price of oil had fallen as low as
US$ 9 a barrel was how that amount
had been spent.
An indignant population pointed to
corruption and economic mismanage-
ment. While corruption had been al-
luded to at various times during PNM
rule, the recession made it stand out in
bold relief. The white elephant Iron and
Continued on page 29


The Party's Over

Bring in the Jugglers
By J. E. Greene

After 30 years as the governing
party, the overwhelming rejec-
tion of the PNM raises several
issues with implications for the political
future of the twin island. Among the
questions are: Why such a massive
defeat? What are the immediate prob-
lems facing the new government? What
are the future prospects for Trinidad and
Before trying to answer these ques-
tions, we should try to place the 1986
general election in perspective. It was
the second since the death of Dr. Eric
Williams, party leader and prime minis-
ter from 1956 until his death in March
1981. Several studies have shown that
the PNM's dominance was due as much
to Williams' political stature as to
ethnic cleavages in the Trinidad and
Tobago society.
Unlike the racial distributions in
Guyana, where East Indians account for
52 percent and Africans 42 percent of
the population, in Trinidad and Tobago
the population of African descent formed
the single largest group. Over the past
30 years, however, there has been a
gradual increase in the East Indian
population and decrease in the African,
resulting in an almost equal distribution
(approximately 45 percent each) in the
1980 census. While ethnicity has been
pervasive in electoral politics in Trinidad
and Tobago, it is not the only explana-
tion for Eric Williams' continuous con-
quest over his rivals and the subsequent
success of the PNM under George
Chambers in the 1981 election.
J. E. (Eddie) Greene is director of ISER,
University of the West Indies, Mona, Kingston,
Jamaica, and president-elect of the Caribbean
Studies Association. He is the author of Race
vs. Politics in Guyana and the coauthor of
Small Businesses in Barbados and The Con-
fused Electorate in Trinidad and Tobago.

The history of modern Trinidad and
Tobago is intertwined with the PNM,
which was founded on two pillars: the
charisma of Eric Williams and a pro-
gram for federation, independence, po-
litical education and morality in public
affairs. This was the basis on which the
PNM defeated the POPPG dismantling
a regime representing the French creole,
fair-skinned upper and middle classes.
When in 1956 a group of black intellec-
tuals came to power under Williams,
the hopes and aspirations of the black
working and middle classes were greatly
By the times of Eric Williams' death,
the program on which the PNM was
established and sustained had become
outmoded and Williams' charisma illu-
sory. The program and charisma were
replaced by patronage and corruption.
Amid a decline in popularity which
brought the PNM government to the
brink of an overthrow during the 1970
Black Power revolt, good fortune played
a critical role. By 1973-74, the oil boom
had created a massive upturn in the
economy, accompanied by increases in
GNP per capital from US$ 2,200 in
1970 to US$ 6,840 by 1980.
That the PNM won the 1981 election
under a new leader was partly due to
the tide of prosperity associated with its
regime and partly to the political frag-
mentation of the opposition as well as
the persistence of the ethnic factor.
The obvious explanations for the
PNM's recent defeat stem from a diminu-
tion of the stature of its leadership and
its program. This slide predates Cham-
bers' accession to leadership, but was
exacerbated by his lack-luster lead-
ership style and the escalation of cor-
ruption which stigmatized the image of
the PNM. Expos6 after expos trans-
formed rumors into evidence.
The simultaneous decline in the eco-

nomic fortunes of the country provided
a critical rallying point for opponents.
The fragmentation of the opposition,
which reached a peak of eight political
parties in 1976, ceased, at least tempo-
rarily. The NAR coalition cut across
ethnic segmentation, ideological polari-
zation and class configuration.
One of the first acts of the new NAR
government was to set up a commission
of enquiry into projects pursued by the
former government. These include alle-
gations of illegal deals surrounding the
purchase of an aircraft by BWIA, the
national airline, the planned but aban-
doned Caroni racetrack complex, the
management of several state enterprises,
and issues such as drugs, firearms and
prostitution. With special reference to
drug abuse, a commission of enquiry,
chaired by retired judge Gavin Scott,
was set up during the latter stages of
the PNM's regime. The report, which
was apparently leaked to the press prior
to its official release, forced newly
elected prime minister Robinson to
disclose that two PNM cabinet minis-
ters and over 50 police officers, to-
gether with several customs officials,
business executives. and others were
linked with drug trafficking. The police
commissioner, Randolph Burroughs, ac-
quitted of four drug charges in January
1987, resigned one month later.

Inherited Problems

It is paradoxical that an upswing in the
economy in the mid- 1970s bolstered the
PNM's electoral chances in 1976 and
1981, even while its popularity was
waning, and a downturn contributed to
its demise in 1986. Between 1970 and
1980 state intervention in the economy
was pervasive. Among the enterprises


that fell under state ownership were the
oil companies, now amalgamated in
tively; the largest sugar company,
CARONI; a number of financial inter-
mediaries; two ammonia plants at Point
Lisas industrial complex; the Iron and
Steel Company of Trinidad and Tobago
(ISCOTT) and the British West India
Airlines (BWIA). Without the socialist
rhetoric prevalent in Jamaica under the
Manley regime during the same period,
state ownership in Trinidad d Tobago
was estimated at 56 percent of GNP,
more than double that in Jamaica.
While such a high level of state
activity in the economy was sustainable
during the oil boom, it became evident
by 1981 that the accompanying exces-
sive consumerism had to be curbed.
The Mighty Sparrow satirized the phe-
nomenon in one of his calypsoes in
1978 as "Capitalism Gone Mad." The
1986 budget indicated the government's
response. It featured a substantial drop
in the proposed recurrent expenditures
from T&T$ 7.4 billion to T&T$ 5.8
billion, while capital spending increased
from T&T$ 1.7 billion to T&T$ 2.88
billion over the same period.
The trend toward austerity beginning
in 1983 included increased taxes de-
signed to dampen consumerism and
inflationary pressures; increased public
utility prices; stricter exchange controls
and introduction of exchange control
order licenses to determine priorities for
imports; and consequently retrenchment,
which swelled the growing number of
unemployed. The severity of the prob-
lem was manifested in the declarations
of bankruptcy by several large private
establishments, chief among them the
Kirpalani retail and manufacturing group
and the McEneamey Alston group, which
includes interests in shipping, car assem-
bly and distribution.
Unlike the Seaga regime in Jamaica
and that of Tom Adams in Barbados,
Chambers continued his predecessor's
independent foreign policy stance. Cham-
bers refused to support the US-led
invasion of Grenada, mainly on legal
grounds, and his proposal for a CARI-
COM peace-keeping force was disre-
garded. The breakdown in diplomatic
relations with Barbados, leading to with-
drawal of ambassadors between the two
countries, was symptomatic of regional
polarities that in turn affected trade
relations and cut deeply into other areas
of functional cooperation in the region.
Though attitudes among governments

in the region have softened since the
American invasion of Grenada, there
are still residual effects on genuine
regional cooperation. The decline in
economic fortunes in Trinidad and To-
bago, and its impact on CARICOM, are
yet to be ascertained. For the present,
Trinidad and Tobago cannot bankroll
the sagging economies of its CARI-
COM partners as it did in the 70s.

Immediate Challeng es

There are several challenges facing the
new regime. Perhaps the foremost is to
establish the economy at least to an
equilibrium point. In this respect, the
interim 1987 budget (January 1987)
presented by Prime Minister Robinson,
who is also Minister of Finance, aimed
at averting a balance-of-payments crisis
and a wage freeze. Debt servicing how-
ever, estimated in 1987 at US$ 495
million, is almost double the 1986 level
of US$ 251 million, and over three
times the 1985 level. With international
reserves continuing to slide, standing
at only US$ 395.5 million at the end
of December 1986 approximately
1/3rd of the December 1985 level the
magnitude of effort for an economic
recovery cannot be overstated.
The execution of policies for eco-
nomic recovery is essentially a feature
of effective public administration. An
initial challenge is the transition of
power from one regime to another.
Even without a survey of senior civil
servants, it is obvious that the over-
whelming majority would not have
been involved in the transfer of political
office, given the 30-year reign of the
PNM. The crisis will therefore be one
of cooperation, loyalty and profession-
alism in the relationship between politi-
cal and career administrators.
Then too there is the division of
spoils among at least four factions
comprising the NAR coalition. With a
crumbling economy and fewer projects
available for political patronage, sus-
tained goodwill is needed to avert
factionalism within the governing party.
Already in Grenada, for example, the
crisis with the present government coali-
tion has been heightened by the resigna-
tion of Alexis and Brizan, the leaders
of two of the factions forming the
cabinet of Prime Minister Blaize. When
to factionalism is added the racial under-
current that is part of the political
culture of Trinidad and Tobago, the

prime minister of the new NAR coali-
tion is faced with simultaneously jug-
gling economic, social, cultural arid
psychological factors.
The future of Trinidad and Tobago
is therefore dependent on the skills of
the present government to avert a na-
tional crisis, which is most likely if the
juggling act fails. Apart from the ur-
gency of economic reconstruction, there
is need for psychological motivation of
a population that is likely to become
despondent at the prospects of a drastic
decline in the standard of living to
which it had become accustomed. The
history of the PNM regime has illus-
trated the extent to which social and
cultural strains may be aggravated, es-
pecially at times of economic crisis.

A Regional Agenda?

It is possible that the future of Trinidad
and Tobago will be seen to be more
deeply rooted in the fortunes of CARI-
COM. In the 1950s Eric Williams was
among the architects of federation; in
the 1960s he was equally an architect
of its demise with his statement "one
from ten equals nought" after the refer-
endum in Jamaica. In the 1970s Trinid4d
and Tobago was viewed as the rich
partner in the regional movement and
in some instances behaved with a de-
gree of arrogance symptomatic of wealth,
status and power. Given the present
circumstances, the country will possibly
be forced to be engaged in the regional
movement more or less as an equal
partner with other member states. The
basis for the revival of CARICOM may
be paradoxically generated out of the
present dilemma of Trinidad and To-
bago, with overall benefits to the region
as a whole. This regional agenda must
include clearly defined policies on trade,
aid and regional security.
The future of the NAR and Trinidad
and Tobago in the short run will also
be bound up with its projected foreign
policy. Will its economic woes force
the present regime to abandon the
independent foreign policy line of its
predecessor? Will restructuring of the
economy mean rushing into a policy
of privatization and domination of the
economy by foreign interests, or will it
mean that Trinidad and Tobago will
pursue a multilateral approach which
sees its viability as intricately linked
with the viability of the CARICOM
region as a whole? Only time will tell.


Does Trinidad Have A Drug Problem?

By Frank Fonda Taylor

Since mid-December 1986, when
the NAR dethroned the PNM,
revelations of the misdemean-
ors of former government ministers
have been common fare. Nothing has
been as distressing, however, as the
disclosure of the findings of a commis-
sion of inquiry into the problem of drug
use in Trinidad and Tobago.
Headed by retired high court judge,
Garvin Scott, the three-man commission
had actually begun functioning on 27
April 1984. During the almost two-year
investigation, the commission had held
a total of 44 hearings and recorded
testimony under oath from 39 witnesses.
These audiences had generally been
private to assure the anonymity of the
Since the beginning of the 1960s, a
problem of drug abuse had been gestat-
ing in Trinidad and Tobago, centered
around the use of locally cultivated
cannabis. During the boom years of the
1970s, the situation had worsened to
the point that local supply had dropped
behind rising local demand, thereby
encouraging illicit importation of the
drug from mainland producers in Co-
lombia, Venezuela, Brazil and elsewhere.
By the mid-1980s cannabis had lost a
considerable amount of its user appeal
to cocaine.
One critical reason for the change to
cocaine, no doubt, is its comparative
advantage over marijuana as a trading
product. Because cocaine is not as
bulky, it is more easily smuggled into
the island and stored. Unlike marijuana,
cocaine does not lose its potency and
can be preserved for extended periods
while awaiting customers. Trinidad and
Tobago's location just off the South
American mainland has fostered in-
Frank Fonda Taylor teaches history at the
University of the West Indies in St. Augustine,

creased cocaine use on the island. Lying
as it does along a route between the
prime producers of cocaine (Bolivia,
Peru and Colombia) and the principal
market for the product (the United
States), it is almost a foregone conclu-
sion that Trinidad and Tobago would
eventually become affected by the deal-
ings between these areas. Clandestine
imports into Trinidad and Tobago, how-
ever, do not come directly from Colom-
bia but via Venezuela where a chain of
corrupt bureaucrats are involved in fa-
cilitating the traffic.
Smuggling between Trinidad and To-
bago and Venezuela is nothing new, at
least from an historical perspective.
What appears to be novel about the
cocaine trade is that traditional smug-
gling operations have now become inter-
meshed within the tentacles of or-
ganized crime on an international scale.
Trinidadian traffickers have also be-
come involved in production of the
drug, it is alleged. According to testi-
mony before the commission, fugitives
from Trinidad and Tobago have taken
refuge among primitive Amerindian
tribes in Gualamalaca, a reserve on the
Escrecana Delta, to refine the cocaine.
It was reported that in the Pedernales
district of Venezuela, marijuana planta-
tions had been set up by Trinidad and
Tobago nationals. Whatever the truth
of these allegations, the commission
claimed to have identified by name
about three dozen persons purported to
be traficantes in the local leg of the
narcotics business.
The publication of the Scott Drug
Report highlights a problem that threat-
ens to undermine the sovereignty and
security of the young nation. The com-
mission makes clear that the corruptive
power of narcotics has, like a cancer,
for some time been gnawing at the very
entrails of the local community, hook-
ing within the vice of drug abuse school

children, teachers, and even a couple
of cabinet ministers of the previous
Moreover, lured by the megadollars
involved in cannabis and coke, at least
one former government minister was
also reported to have a side business
in the sale of narcotics. That these
carryings-on had mushroomed with alarm-
ing facility indicated the complicity of
corrupt policemen, which permitted the
drug barons to ply their profession
without hindrance.
With the petrodollar a thing of the
past, the report makes clear that Trinidad
and Tobago stands poised on the thresh-
old of a new era that of the
narcodollar. If oil wealth permitted the
country a measure of flexibility in
pursuit of its foreign policy objectives,
the narcodollar is not without implica-
tions vis-a-vis the country's foreign
relations. Positioned just 20 miles off
the coast of Venezuela, it is a relatively
simple matter for high-powered boats
to dash across the Gulf of Paria laden
with drugs from the mainland of South
America and unload them at secluded
coves along the coastline. Deliveries
and drops by light airplanes shuttling
between Venezuela and the islands,
though not unheard of, have not yet
posed a major problem.
How is Trinidad and Tobago to curb
the meteoric growth of the domestic
drug culture and reverse its rising utility
as a trade conduit for traffickers in
narcotics to First World markets? A
speedy solution is imperative because
of the sizeable imports of illegal weap-
ons (including submachine guns) as a
corollary to the drug trade. With national
security in jeopardy, law enforcement
agencies under contamination and stress,
and numbers of the country's youth
addicted, it is small wonder that newly
elected Prime Minister A.N.R. Robinson
has declared war on the drug menace.


Underdevelopment Is A State of Mind

The Latin American Case
By Lawrence E. Harrison

ne hears two very different
explanations for Latin Amer-
ica's underdevelopment. The
conventional wisdom of the last few
decades puts the lion's share of the
blame on Yankee imperialism and Latin
America's dependence. Its roots go
back to economic determinism, Marx
and Lenin. The other explanation, which
has attracted increasing attention in
recent years, sees Latin America's con-
dition principally as a consequence of
traditional Hispanic culture. It views
Latin American culture as antidemocra-
tic, antisocial, antientrepreneurial and,
at least among the elite, antiwork. Its
roots go back to cultural determinism
and Max Weber.
In 1962 when I started working with
the Alliance for Progress, I had at least
some sympathy for the dependency
view. I was convinced that Latin Amer-
ica was in trouble principally because
of US neglect, and that a combination
of money, Yankee ingenuity and good
intentions would transform its countries
into rapidly developing, vigorous de-
mocracies in a decade or two. By the
middle 1960s, however, the Alliance
was staggering after a spate of military
overthrows, the assassination of Presi-
dent Kennedy and the US Dominican
By 1972, after working in USAID
missions in the Dominican Republic
and Costa Rica, I had come to the
conclusion that the differences between
North America and Latin America were
far greater than Americans realized. The
Lawrence E. Harrison served in the United
States Agency for International Development
for 20 years. He wrote Underdevelopment Is
A State of Mind while a visiting scholar at
Harvard University's Center for International
Affairs in 1981-83. A paperback edition as
well as Spanish and Portuguese versions will
be published this year.

two have differing concepts of the
individual, society and the relationship
between the two; of the family and
relations between the sexes; of govern-
ment, justice and law; of organization,
enterprise and time; of life and death,
religion and morality. I was becoming
aware that Latin culture had a lot to do
with Latin underdevelopment.
This realization collided not only
with dependency theory but also with
cultural relativism, the concept that all
cultures are of equal value and fulfill
roughly the same functions everywhere.
One doesn't have to live in Latin
America very long to appreciate how
badly most human beings are treated
there in comparison with the Western
democracies. I speak not just of eco-
nomic opportunity, but also of justice,
social responsibility and political par-
ticipation, all rare commodities in most
Latin American countries.
The absurdity of cultural relativism
became even more apparent when I was
assigned to Haiti in 1977. In addition
to being the poorest country in the
hemisphere, Haiti is the country where
people most mistreat one another. The
Duvaliers were typical of an almost
unbroken chain of greedy, autocratic
Haitian chiefs of state going back to
independence in 1804. Moreover, the
abuse and exploitation is repeated at
virtually every level of society. Haiti
also demonstrates the Weberian thesis
of how religion can create psychologi-
cal obstacles to progress. Almost all
Haitians believe in voodou, which
teaches that everything that happens in
the world is the consequence of the
often-capricious actions of hundreds of
spirits. Since voodou undermines the
idea that human beings can control their
destinies, it undermines science and
By the time I left Haiti in 1979, I had

come to the conclusion that values and
attitudes were the principal obstacles
to progress in Latin America. My expe-
rience as USAID director in Nicaragua
during the first two years of the Sandin-
ista government confirmed my beliefs.
What I found was a Marxist restatement
of traditional Hispanic culture, along
with an avid acceptance of dependency
theory. The nine comandantes all have
the caudillo view of power, one that
brooks little opposition or dissent. As
it was for Trujillo, the Somozas and
Batista, and as it is for Fidel Castro,
power is indivisible for the Sandinistas.
As committed Marxists, they are troub-
led by the gross inequities apparent in
Nicaragua and by its historic inability
to forge a stable modern society. But
they turn to dependency theory for the
cause, and instead of blaming their own
view of the world, they blame a foreign
devil: the United States. Even though
US involvement in Nicaragua did not
become significant until this century
and the Nicaraguan tragedy dates from
the sixteenth century, the Sandinistas
have concluded that by exorcising the
United States they will assure Nicara-
gua's place in the sun via a Marxist

An Inadequate Explanation

The economic determinist or depend-
ency school faces the problem of ex-
plaining why, today, the average North
American is so much better off eco-
nomically, politically and socially bet-
ter off than the average Latin American.
The dependency explanation goes some-
thing like this: Latin America is poor
because we are rich. Many of its people
do not eat well enough because we eat
too well. International capitalism, largely
guided by Wall Street, has depressed


prices for products Latin America ex-
ports while charging exorbitant prices
for what it imports. US corporations
that invest in Latin America are both
bleeding it dry and conspiring to install
or shore up right-wing dictatorships.
The United States government supports
rightist dictatorships and opposes truly
popular movements to perpetuate its
privileged imperialistic position.
While dependency theory highlights
some truths the consequences of
world price fluctuations for undiversi-
fied economies, the export of recession
from rich countries to poor ones, the
impact on the poor countries of interest-
rate fluctuations in the rich countries
- it is, in my view, both fundamentally
flawed and a major impediment to
progress in Latin America. The US
economy is substantially self-sufficient:
exports and imports represented about
18% of GNP in 1980, the highest in the
nation's recent history and importantly
reflecting the higher costs of imported
energy. The 1980 ratio for West Ger-
many was 47, the UK 45, France 38%
and Japan 26%. The 18% figure for the

US is prima facie evidence that the
large bulk of its economic growth is
attributable to domestic production and
the internal market (as an example, the
city of Springfield, Mass., is about
important a market as all five Central
American countries together). More-
over, the bulk of US trade is with
developed countries (e.g., our trade
with Canada, a country of 25 million
people, exceeds our trade with all of
Latin Americas, with a total population
approaching 400 million).
The relationship between the quanti-
ties of food eaten in Latin America and
in the United States is a limited one.
The nutrition problem in Latin America
is principally a consequence of low
incomes and inequitable income distri-
bution. No one to my knowledge has
yet produced a convincing, documented
argument that long-term movements in
the terms of trade the relationship
between the prices of a country's ex-
ports and its imports have operated
against Latin America's interests, par-
ticularly in relationship to the terms of
trade for the US. We must remember

that in the nineteenth century the United
States, Canada and Australia all grew
rapidly and democratically as exporters
of primary products and importers of
Michael Novak examines the eco-
nomic impact of US multinational cor-
porations on Latin America in his book,
The Spirit of Democratic Capitalism.
He concludes that the economic signifi-
cance of the multinationals is vastly
exaggerated, as is the extent of their
profits. US investment in Latin America
accounts for less than 20% of total US
investment worldwide and 1 to 2% of
total foreign and domestic investment
in Latin America.
The multinationals have undeniably
involved themselves in Latin American
politics, sometimes unwisely and irre-
sponsibly. But they operate in circum-
stances where due process and continu-
/ ity of policy are the exception; where
it is common for multinationals to
become targets of nationalistic politi-
cians, to say nothing of the far left; and
where an uncompensated expropriation
may be the bottom line. With respect
to the allegation that the United States
supports some would say creates -
right-wing dictatorships, I believe that
an objective reading of US policy to-
ward Latin America during the past
quarter century will demonstrate that
above all the United States has tried to
nurture the democratic center, which
has not always been easy to find.
For reasons that are central to the
thesis of my book [Underdevelopment
Is a State of Mind: The Latin American
Case, reviewed in this issue], Latin
America has tended to produce the
same kinds of authoritarian govern-
ments since independence that it knew
during 300 years of colonial status, and
one of the thorniest dilemmas US poli-
cymakers have faced is how to deal
with these dictatorships. They have
clearly been too cozy with some, par-
ticularly in Republican administrations,
but the costs of a hostile policy toward
them can also be high. Jimmy Carter
alienated the Argentine military over
human rights issues, only to see US
influence in Argentina, including that
over human rights, vanish. The Carter
administration also contributed to the
demise of Anastasio Somoza in Nicara-
gua, only to see a new authoritarianism
replace the old. But the basic point
remains valid: US policies have consis-
tently shown a preference for the demo-
cratic center.


Because dependency theory portrays
the United States as an exploitative,
irresponsible, greedy power, it tends to
erode Americans' belief in themselves
and in their society. But it may have
even more pernicious consequences for
Latin America. As Jean-Francois Revel
has observed, self-criticism is a rare
commodity in Latin America. Most
Latin American intellectuals are in-
clined to blame the United States for
Latin America's shortcomings. Among
the US intelligentsia, on the other hand,
self-criticism is overdeveloped. US in-
tellectuals are telling their Latin Ameri-
can counterparts just what they want
to hear: that Latin America would be a
wonderful place if only it could break
out of the clutches of the Yankee devil.
The two tendencies are mutually rein-
forcing. They erode the quality of schol-
arship in both the United States and
Latin America, and they lead those
Latin American intellectuals and politi-
cians who want to do something about
conditions in their countries down a
dead-end street.
Dependency theory implies that Latin
America is impotent, the course of its
history determined by outside forces. It
both patronizes and paralyzes Latin
America. Yet Latin America can deter-
mine its own destiny. Venezuela's ar-
chitect role in OPEC, Brazil's indus-
trialization, and Peru's development of
its fishmeal industry to say nothing
of recent democratization trends, par-
ticularly in Argentina and Brazil are
cases in point. Above all, Latin Amer-
ica needs to see itself objectively. De-
pendency theory may be comforting,
but it is a debilitating nostrum that
diverts Latin America's attention from
that indispensable coming-to-grips with

Resources and Climate

Two geographic considerations are some-
times adduced to explain the differences
between North America and Latin Amer-
ica: resource endowment and climate. I
believe that natural resource endow-
ment does not significantly favor North
America. Latin America's petroleum
reserves, principally those of Mexico
and Venezuela, are about twice those
of Canada and the US. Latin America's
iron ore reserves are more than twice
those of North America. Latin Amer-
ica's bauxite reserves are vastly greater
than North America's. Latin America

has tin and manganese in quantity while
there is little of either in North Amer-
ica. Latin America has greater copper
reserves than the US or Canada.
Land and water resources are roughly
comparable, although North America
may have some advantage. Canada and
the United States are endowed with
vast stretches of flat and fertile land.
But Argentina may be the best-endowed
country in the world, at least in terms
of fertile land compared to population.
With a population of about 30 million,
Argentina has land area only 16%
smaller than India's. Brazil's land re-
sources are also vast.
It is a fact that countries in temperate
climates have generally fared better
than those in tropical climates. To
survive the rigors of winter required
planning, saving, cooperation and hard
work in earlier times, which might
partially explain higher levels of pro-
gress in temperate zones. On the other
hand, food is generally easier to grow
or find in tropical zones since agricul-
ture is possible year-round, and people
in those areas need not worry much
about keeping warm. It is a fact that all
of the United States and most of Can-
ada are in the temperate zone, while
most of Latin America is in the tropical
zone (the exceptions are Uruguay, most
of Chile and Argentina, half of Para-
guay and a small part of Brazil). It is
also true that tropical heat is a disincen-
tive to work. On the other hand, impor-
tant areas of Latin America are at
sufficiently high altitudes that their
climates are temperate: Mexico City;
all Central American capitals except
Managua; BogotA, Caracas, Quito, La
Paz and Brasilia.
Clearly climate is a relevant factor
in the discrepancy between North and
Latin America's economic progress. But
it is difficult to relate climate to politi-
cal and social progress, where a compa-
rable gap exists. Moreover, within the
tropics there are wide variations in the
degree of economic progress that can-
not be related to resource endowment.
For example, how can one explain the
difference between authoritarian Haiti,
the richest colony in the Caribbean 200
years ago but with an annual per capital
income now of about $300, and demo-
cratic Barbados, also a former slave
colony that now has an annual per
capital income of about $4,000?
I believe the answer has to be culture.
Haiti is basically an African country,
and its level of progress is comparable

to that of a number of African countries
including Benin in West Africa, the
home of most Haitian's ancestors. Bar-
bardian's ancestors came from the same
place, but Barbardians today are much
more black Englishmen than Africans.

Values and Attitudes

The creative capacity of human beings
is at the heart of the development
process. Development results from our
ability to imagine, theorize, conceptual-
ize, experiment, invent, articulate, or-
ganize, manage, solve problems and
do a hundred things with our minds and
hands that contribute to the progress of
the individual and of humankind. The
society that is most successful in help-
ing all its people realize their creative
potential will progress the fastest.
A society can encourage the expres-
sion of human creativity in several
ways: through creation of an environ-
ment in which people expect and re-
ceive fair treatment, are encouraged to
criticize and experiment, and in which
they are helped to discover their talents
and interests and mesh them with the
right job; through an effective and
accessible educational system one
that not only provides basic intellectual
and vocational tools but also nurtures
inquisitiveness, critical faculties, dissent
and creativity and a health system
that protects people from fatal and
debilitating diseases; through a system
of incentives that rewards merit and
achievement and, conversely, discour-
ages nepotism and "pull"; and through
creation of the stability and continuity
that make it possible to plan ahead with
confidence. These conditions describe
a modern democratic, capitalist society.
Three interrelated cultural factors are
of overriding importance in nurturing
values and attitudes that foster such
conditions: First is the extent to which
a person identifies with others in the
society, which is the principal determi-
nant of trust; trust, in turn, influences
attitudes about cooperation, compro-
mise and dissent. Second is the rigor
of the ethical system, which, along with
trust, greatly affects attitudes about fair
play and justice. Third is attitudes about
work, with their obvious implications
for planning, creativity and economic
In Hispanic culture, the family largely
circumscribes the area of identification
Continued on page 34


If Only They Could Be More Like Us!

A Review Essay by Daniel H. Levine

Impulse to Revolution in Latin Amer-
ica. Jeffrey W. Barrett. New York:
Praeger, 1985. 368 p. $37.95.

Underdevelopment Is a State of Mind:
The Latin American Case. Lawrence
E. Harrison. Lanham, MD: University
Press of America, 1985. 210p. $19.00.

Development is one of those
subjects where intellectual fash-
ions run in cycles. Independent
variables come and go; new favorites
regularly emerge to be designated as
engines of change: techniques or social
groups whose promotion will make a
critical difference, fueling breakthroughs
to new levels of continued progress,
equity and democracy. The succession
of perspectives and concerns says less
about development as a real social
process than it does about the changing
mood and temper of the times.
Consider even a brief list of recent
candidates for the role of critical agent
of change in Latin America: technical
and economic assistance, entrepreneurs,
democratic left, Christian Democrats,
community development, reformist mili-
tary. The list reads like a primer in
postwar intellectual fashions and in
American policy to the region.
What is fashionable in Washington
now as the talk turns to Latin America?
Ask in official and semiofficial circles
about causes of underdevelopment, and
you will be greeted by a new orthodoxy
that stresses obstacles to development
and locates these firmly in Latin Ameri-
can culture and national character. The
two books discussed here provide use-
ful insights into this worldview. The
authors, their ideas, and their principal
Latin American exponents are lionized
Daniel H. Levine teaches political science at
the University of Michigan. His most recent
book is Religion and Political Conflict in Latin
America (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1986).

in Washington and cited repeatedly as
holding a new key to understanding
change and stagnation in the region.
The perspective itself is not really
new. The place of cultural factors in
development, and specifically the con-
trast between North and Latin America
on such dimensions, has long exercised
scholars and observers. De Toqueville
is the most distinguished of many who
have taken up these issues in the past.
The ninth chapter of Volume I of
Democracy in America is devoted to
the contrast, and its title makes the
author's views clear "The laws con-
tribute more to the maintenance of the
Democratic Republic in the United States
than do the physical circumstances of
the country, and mores do more than
laws." De Toqueville meant much the
same by mores as our authors do by
culture. Barrett and Harrison use "cul-
ture" above all to denote attitudes to
authority, work and cooperation which
together hinder economic growth and
undermine democratic stability. Unfor-
tunately, their similarity to De Toqueville
ends here.

A Ghost in the Machine

Barrett and Harrison share a vague
sense that there is a ghost in the
machine, something which cuts across
the numbers and "hard facts" of devel-
opment to make the best laid plans go
astray-gutting democracy, reinforcing
inequality, making stagnation and dis-
appointment the norm. Both have expe-
rience in specific development pro-
motion, through the Peace Corps and
AID respectively, and their turn to
cultural explanations reflects frustration
with the failure of many such efforts.
Their concern is understandable, but
their contributions lack substance. Their
vision of culture is static, their evidence
anecdotal, with little reflection of hard
thinking about how cultures are formed

and how they change, or about the link
of cultural issues to institutions, power,
and to action in everyday life.
Admittedly these are difficult and
thorny questions. Change must be ad-
dressed as well as continuity. Good
analysis must consider transformations
within institutions and their relation to
one another, while not forgetting the
links between institutions and their cli-
enteles. The relations of entire societies
to one another are also important, for
they can decisively shape the potential
and tone of the process as a whole.
Finding answers thus requires system-
atic attention to historical, sociological
and political factors at one and the
same time.
But to all these complexities our
authors turn a blind eye. They take
culture as a given: static and unidimen-
sional. When they account for variation,
dramatically opposed principles appear.
For example, Harrison attributes de-
mocracy in Costa Rica to a history of
poverty and isolation, while democracy
in Barbados or Spain is said to stem
from growing wealth and extended con-
tact with the West. Is isolation or
incorporation critical? It is hard to tell.
In any case, culture is often confused
with politics. Political failure is attrib-
uted repeatedly to "cultural obstacles,"
but then the root problem is identified
as inability to build a stable and enlight-
ened political system (Harrison, 148).
This is circular reasoning at its worst.
The gist of the argument of both
books can be summarized as follows.
The core obstacles to development in
Latin America are cultural. Latin Ameri-
can culture impedes development (used
interchangeably with progress) in sev-
eral ways, most notably these: under-
mining social trust and thus impeding
cooperation, constraining entrepre-
neurship and promoting inequality, un-
derwriting authoritarian and corrupt lead-
ership. These traits affect elites and
Continued on page 35


Tecnicos vs. Politicos

The Aftermath of the Mexican Earthquakes
______By George W. Grayson

exico City "Why did Presi-
dent Miguel de la Madrid
Hurtado make only 12 visits
to sites devastated by the September
19-20, 1985, El Grande earthquakes?"
ask cynical disaster victims or damnifi-
cados in the middle-class neighborhood
of Tlatelolco. The answer: "Because
he owns only a dozen leather jackets"
a snide reference to his sartorial
elegance displayed during televised ap-
pearances in disaster zones.
This jibe epitomizes the savage hu-
mor directed at Mexico's 53-year-old
chief executive and his cabinet for their
perceived aloof, ineffective behavior
following a tragedy, this capital's worst,
that killed upwards of 20,000 people,
left 90,000 families homeless, and caused
US$ 3.5 billion in physical damage.
Any ward politician worth his patron-
age allotment would have clamped on
a hard hat, rolled up his sleeves, and
waded into the smoking rubble at
least for a symbolic period to iden-
tify with citizens from across the social
spectrum who spontaneously acted to
rescue family members, neighbors and
fellow workers.
Yet de la Madrid, who reminded one
foreign diplomat more of an "account-
ant scrutinizing a balance-sheet" than
the head of the national family, re-
mained steadfastly detached and appar-
ently indecisive, characteristics of an
administration that will conclude its
six-year tenure in late 1988. The presi-
dent neither appeared at a press confer-

George W. Grayson is John Marshall Profes-
sor of Government at the College of William
and Mary. His next book, Oil and Mexican
Foreign Policy, will be published by the Univer-
sity of Pittsburgh Press.

ence called hours after -die first quake
struck nor, following the second shock,
did he show up on the balcony of the
Presidential Palace to offer sympathy
and succor to grieving families assem-
bled in the Zdcalo plaza.
Equally unemotional was de la
Madrid's wife, Paloma, who toured
stricken areas with Nancy Reagan four
days after the first quake. The Mexican
first lady's sangfroid contrasted sharply
with her guest's inability to fight back
tears, especially when a disheveled and
exhausted Placido Domingo, who had
been searching for family members,
emerged from the debris of a fallen
building to embrace her.
At least 36 hours elapsed before
most government entities, except some
police and fire departments, launched
any semblance of a relief program.
Meanwhile, hundreds of private indi-
viduals mobilized search brigades,
manned bulldozers, set up temporary
housing, food distribution and medical
facilities, and organized emergency trans-
portation frequently with the help
of radio stations, and later with volun-
teers from the United States and other

Political Inadequacy

Just as it was said that revolutionary
theorist Karl Marx had never "touched
the warts or smelled the belches of the
working class," so it is with Citizen
President de la Madrid, as he is desig-
nated on all official documents. Al-
though he incessantly invokes memo-
ries of the 1910 revolution, extols his
government's "revolutionary" heritage,
and is de facto head of the ruling

Partido Revolucionario Institucional
(PRI), de la Madrid exemplifies the
t&cnicos or technocrats who, for 17
years, have broadened their influence
in Mexico's authoritarian regime at the
expense of old-line politicos. These
politicians despair at the ubiquitous
presence of well-educated cosmopolites
who have little or no electoral experi-
ence much less an appetite for
pressing the flesh with snaggletoothed
campesinos, cutting deals over tequila
and Carta Blanca beer with local bosses,
or keeping their ears glued to the
ground for political soundings.
Following Vice President Lyndon B.
Johnson's first cabinet meeting, he
rushed to the office of his mentor,
Speaker Sam Rayburn, to rhapsodize
over the Rusks, McNamaras, Schlesin-
gers and other assembled luminaries.
"Well, Lyndon, you may be right and
they may be every bit as intelligent as
you say," responded Mr. Sam, "but I'd
feel a whole lot better about them if
just one...had run for sheriff once."
None of Mexico's last three presi-
dents had run for local, state or federal
office before his recruitment, princi-
pally by the incumbents, to hoist PRI's


banner in a stage-managed presidential
Economic and personal factors have
lofted the star of ticnicos boasting
backgrounds in law, economics or pub-
lic administration (de la Madrid studied
law in Mexico before earning a Harvard
M.P.A.). For nearly four decades after
its 1929 founding, the self-styled revo-
lutionary party resembled Chicago's
Daley Machine writ large. The poor
have continued to live as ragpickers at
the base of an increasingly squat social
pyramid, receiving little attention ex-
cept from President LAzaro Cardenas,
who impelled agrarian reform and national-
ized the oil industry in 1938.
The "economic miracle" of income
growth exceeding six percent a year
improved the lot and heightened the
expectation of the blue-collar and mid-
dle classes from World War II until the
late 1960s.
It was then that the import-substitu-
tion that powered the miracle began to
sputter, producing tensions between ele-
ments of the middle class, which was
eager for greater democracy and job
opportunities for its children, and the
single-party-dominated regime. Those
tensions sparked an explosion on Octo-
ber 2, 1968, when the army, supervised
by then-interior minister Luis Echev-
erria, killed hundreds of protesting stu-
dents, housewives and office workers
in Tlatelolco's Plaza of Three Cultures,
located only three miles from the center
of the city.
Two years later Echeverria, a party
apparatchik, donned the green, white
and red presidential sash. After ortho-
dox methods failed to stimulate a flac-
cid economy, he turned to populism, a
hugely expanded government presence
in the economy, and the creation of 761
quasi-public enterprises. He recruited
technocrats and loyalists to fill tens of
thousands of freshly minted bureau-
cratic posts an approach continued
by his successor Jos6 L6pez Portillo
(1976-82), who stressed that ticnicos
were needed to manage Mexico's oil
Ironically, L6pez Portillo endorsed
reforms that have expanded the repre-
sentation of opposition parties in Con-
gress, while permitting greater freedom
for a once muzzled press. These changes
have nourished criticism of ticnicos,
including de la Madrid's original 20-
person cabinet, which embraced only
three certifiable politicos. And for sev-
eral years the petroleum boom spurred

growth and job creation before a seller's
market for black gold turned to one
favoring buyers in 1981.
Amid Mexico's worst economic de-
pression since the revolution, the peas-
ants and unions have remained reassur-
ingly tranquil. Poor, dispersed and
suffused with fatalism the former
lacked effective leadership. The unions
were kept in check by Fidel Velazquez,
the octogenarian patriarch of the 4.5
million-member Mexican Workers
Confederation, the PRI's most potent
Less passive was the middle class,
segments of which reacted to a plung-
ing national income and soaring prices
by dispatching their savings to US
banks, evading newly imposed taxes,
and either abstaining from voting or
casting ballots for the Partido de Accidn
Nacional (PAN), a center-right, pro-
business grouping that previously
flaunted links to the Catholic Church.
Votes for the uninspiring PAN largely
expressed anti-PRI sentiment. That is
why the ham-fisted ballot-stuffing of
the July 7, 1985, gubernatorial and
legislative elections in Chihuahua and
Nuevo Le6n states along the US border
provoked few serious protests.
Nonetheless, the government's crisis
performance raised doubts about the
competence of ticnicos to run a nation
of 80 million people, whose economy
is the world's 14th largest, while nurtur-
ing the seeds of organized middle-class
To begin with, critics excoriated de
la Madrid and his cabinet for vacillating
over whether to seek foreign assistance.
Although wiser heads ultimately pre-
vailed within the administration, For-
eign Minister Bernardo Sepdlveda Amor
adamantly refused to request US assis-
tance. His nationalistic posturing when
people were dying severely weakened
the standing of Mexico's dapper chief
diplomat, a quintessential ticnico, who
hoped to succeed de la Madrid as
president in 1988.
Mexico's colorless technocrats lack
either popularity or well-cultivated ties
to the people. This may explain their
refusal to allow the army to implement
fully its DN-Ill(E) emergency plan in
response to El Grande, even though the
scheme had worked well in other disas-
ters such as the 1982 eruption of the
Chichonal volcano in distant Chiapas
state. Reportedly, Mexico City's Mayor
Ram6n Aguirre Veldzquez convinced
the president to limit the armed forces'

role in the September 1985 tragedy lest
an effective performance in this media-
infested capital whet the appetite of the
ever more professional 110,000-man
army for greater political involvement.
Thus, the military's major role was
to provide security. In so doing it
occasionally impeded spontaneous ci-
vilian rescue ventures, thereby damag-
ing its image, a fact that embittered
many generals toward the tecnicos who
had restrained them. At the same time,
the navy's reputation sparkled because
after its ministry collapsed, there were
sweaty, grimy blue-uniformed officers
relentlessly hunting for survivors in the
ruins of its own and nearby buildings.
Wariness of politicos meant that more
than a week after the earthquake, no
one in de la Madrid's entourage had
even contacted Fidel Velazquez about
how to draw trade unionists into the
anti-disaster effort.
More curious was the tecnicos' reac-
tion to the increasingly ugly mood of
uprooted earthquake victims. Some apart-
ment owners were poised to raze their
buildings so they could construct new
ones immune from irksome rent con-
trols. Such a move would have further
constricted the low-income housing stock
in a city that needed 800,000 additional
units even before El Grande struck.
Lacking a politician's feel for the
situation at hand, the mayor and presi-
dent failed to consult or negotiate with
representatives of affected property hold-
ers and residents. Instead, they sought
to mimic the most dramatic political
stroke of the last half century, namely
Cdrdenas's wildly popular seizure of
17 foreign oil firms in 1938 (Ticnicos
Echeverria and L6pez Portillo had na-
tionalized, respectively, large northern
farms and private banks).
But in contrast to the late president's
unambiguous action, the recent nation-
alization decree was hastily conceived
and inartfully written. Its first draft
omitted a number of damaged proper-
ties; some unscathed buildings, includ-
ing private schools and the office of
an opposition party, were named; and
fuzziness pervaded its 10-year compen-
sation scheme. Hence the enthusiasm
for what initially seemed a bold move
soon gave way to greater confusion and
discontent. The plummeting confidence
in the government was evidenced in
accelerated capital flight as the peso,
which stood at 384 to the dollar on
September 28, 1985, exceeded 500 by
Continued on page 36


The Canal Treaties

The Other Debate on Central America
A Review Essay by Robert A. Pastor

The Limits of Victory: The Ratifi-
cation of the Panama Canal Treaties.
George D. Moffett III. Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 1985

The Panama Canal in American Poli-
tics: Domestic Advocacy and the Evo-
lution of Policy. J. Michael Hogan.
Carbondale and Edwardsville: Southern
Illinois University Press, 1986

Each period of U.S. involvement
in Central America has begun
by negotiating treaties in Pan-
ama and has ended by fighting in and
then withdrawing from Nicaragua. This
was the pattern in the middle of the
19th century, the beginning of the 20th,
and alas, it is repeating today. Each
time, North Americans have debated
interests (the connection between access
to a canal and instability in Nicaragua)
and role (the appropriate way to pursue
US interests). Each time, the debate
was divisive.
Without mentioning Nicaragua, both
George Moffett and J. Michael Hogan
have written scholarly books on the
US debate on Panama that not only
illuminate the complex US politics re-
lated to the canal treaties, but by doing
so, also help to understand better the
contemporary debate on Nicaragua. The
two debates are on different countries
and issues, but they have much in
common beginning with deep com-
mitments by two American presidents
Robert A. Pastor is Professor of Political
Science at Emory University and Director of
the Latin American and Caribbean Program
at Emory's Carter Center. He is the author
of Condemned to Repetition: The,United States
and Nicaragua (Princeton University Press)
and the editor of Latin America's Debt Crisis
Adjusting to the Past or Planning for the
Future? (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers).

to pursue unpopular policies.
A decade ago, in September 1977,
then President Jimmy Carter asked the
Senate to ratify two Panama Canal
treaties the first to transfer control
over the canal to Panama by the year
2000 and the second to guarantee the
permanent neutrality of the canal. After
numerous hearings, visits by 45 Sena-
tors to Panama, and the second longest
treaty debate in US history, the Senate
narrowly ratified both treaties.
The second phase of the decade's
national debate on Central America
began in November 1979 when Carter
requested $80 million in supplemental
aid to the Sandinista government. In the
third phase, beginning in 1981, North
Americans concentrated on El Salvador,
and the issue was whether, and if so,
how the US should best support a
regime that brutalized its own people.
The fourth, and current, phase began
in 1982, and the issue is whether the
United States should assist a group to
overthrow the Nicaraguan government.
Each phase of the national debate has
revolved around central questions: What
interests are at stake? How is US
security best pursued? What is the
appropriate role for the United States
in Central America? The answers have
differed according to two separate and
coherent visions. Those visions were
perhaps most clearly articulated during
the first, and very possibly, the most
important phase of the decade's debate
on Central America on the canal

Panama First

In his inimitable way, General Omar
Torrijos, Panama's chief of govern-
ment, complained in 1977 that Pan-
ama's "patience machine was running

out of gas." Other Latin American
leaders, including the presidents of Vene-
zuela, Colombia, Costa Rica, and Mexico
agreed, and asked the new president of
the United States Jimmy Carter to
negotiate new canal treaties with Pan-
ama. Carter decided to give the issue
the highest priority of the first fifteen
months of his Presidency.
Panama was the subject of his ad-
ministration's first Presidential Review
Memorandum (PRM a term of refer?
ence for the State and Defense depart-
ments to prepare an options paper for
National Security Council [NSC] meet-
ings). Drafting the PRM was my first
assignment on the NSC, and I empha-
sized the importance of developing 'A
strategy for persuading Congress and
the American public of the need for
new Panama Canal treaties. Officials
in the State and Defense departments,
however, had been feuding about Pant
ama policy for so long that they had
come to assume that the only important
debate on the treaties was the one they
had between themselves. They drafted
a paper, which reflected this perspec-
tive. The paper had an agenda of ten
items, with the tenth being "Congress
and the public," but only "if time
Prior to the NSC meeting on 27
January 1977, several of the president's
appointees already had agreed on a
strategy for the meeting. Secretary of
State Cyrus Vance began the meeting
by saying: "Let's go to item #10 first."
The administration, led by its two
conegotiators, Sol Linowitz and
Ellsworth Bunker, recognized that ne-
gotiations with the Senate were as
important as those with Panama, and
the two of them began consulting early
and often. In September 1977, at the
first hearing on the treaties, the Senate
minority leader Howard Baker acknowl-


Miss Nicaragua: "Oh, Sam, you fickle thing! They tell awful stories about her!"
Columbus Dispatch, 1902.

edged the "unprecedented" efforts of
consultation: "You did much more than
anybody I have ever known has done."

The Domestic Side

Several years ago, William Jorden wrote
an excellent insider's account of the
US international negotiations with Pan-
ama (Panama Odyssey). Moffett and
Hogan, the authors under review here,
have in these books concentrated on the
domestic side of the negotiations, nego-
tiations as risky as the international one
but much less rewarding.
Both authors are familiar with virtu-
ally all the published literature, but they
approach the subject from different

perspectives. George Moffett is more
concerned with the domestic political
strategies of the administration and its
allies and opponents and the impact of
public opinion on the debate in the
United States. Moffett has interviewed
60 participants and had access to inter-
views with another 20. As the research
director of a small citizens' committee
supporting ratification of the treaties
and later as a member of the White
House between 1978 and 1981, Moffett
knows how the strategies were devel-
oped, and he has used effectively his
first-hand experience.
Moffett's book on the domestic po-
litical side of the Panama debate, there-
fore, serves as a neat complement to
William Jorden's on the treaty nego-

tiations, but while using much first-
hand material, Moffett's is not an in-
sider's book. It is balanced, scholarly,
and detached. He writes lucidly, and
drawing from a wide range of inter-
views by both sides of the debate, he
contributes greatly to our understanding
of several important moments. His ac-
count of the DeConcini "condition,"
for example, is the best, most concise
available. But what is most impressive
is how he weaves together the narrative
with political concepts and public opin-
ion theory.
His story is straight-forward, but his
conclusion is not. After describing and
analyzing the elaborate strategies devel-
oped by both sides of the debate, he
then concludes, to my surprise, that the
attempts to persuade the public had no
effect whatsoever. In 1976 and early
1977, polls showed overwhelming op-
position to new canal treaties, with
between 78 and 87% of the public
opposed. However, after Carter mobi-
lized a campaign to build mass support
and influence opinion in 30 swing
states, the polls appeared to change,
with the opposition shrinking, and sup-
port growing. With public opinion in
favor of the treaties, it became easier
for reluctant Senators to support the
The perception of the trend toward
supporting the treaties was important,
but detailed analyses by Moffett showed
that such trends did not, in fact, exist.
The clearest illustration of his point is
found in the Roper Poll, which began
asking questions about the canal treaties
in June 1976 and repeated the same
questions at periodic intervals until
June 1978. During this period, public
opinion hardly changed, with about
52% of the public opposed to changing
the treaties and 30% in favor. CBS
news also showed a consistent ratio of
5-3 in opposition.
Even more striking was how little
people learned about the treaties. Atten-
tion did increase during the ratification,
but knowledge did not In October 1977
and February 1978, only 7% of respon-
dents answered three simple questions
about the treaties correctly. "Closer
examination makes it clear that what
appeared to be a trend toward public
approval of ratification" reflected
changes in the questions that were
asked. When the questions provided
people with information on the treaties,
which was the case with some of the
Continued on page 38


Growing Pains: Latin America's Auto Industry

A Review Essay by Aaron Segal

Transnational Corporations Versus
the State: The Political Economy of
the Mexican Auto Industry. Douglas
E. Bennett and Kenneth E. Sharpe.
Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University
Press, 1985. 392 p. $9.95, paper.

Public Policy and Industrial Develop-
ment: The Case of the Mexican Auto
Parts Industry. Mark Bennett. Boul-
der, Co: Westview Press, 1986. 134 p.

The Political Economy of the Latin
American Motor Vehicle Industry.
Rich Kronish & Kenneth S. Mericle,
eds. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1984. 336
p. $35.00.

Transnational Corporations and the
Latin American Automobile Indus-
try. Rhys Jenkins. Pittsburgh: Univer-
sity of Pittsburgh Press, 1987. 270 p.

The automobile industry began
in Latin America in 1916 with
the assembly of Fords in Bue-
nos Aires. It grew slowly until the
1960s when government incentives in-
duced multinational corporations to es-
tablish manufacturing operations in sev-
eral countries. By the mid-1980s, Latin
America was producing nearly one mil-
lion passenger cars a year, predomi-
nantly in Brazil, Argentina and Mexico.
There is small-scale production in Co-
lombia, Venezuela, Chile, Trinidad and
Tobago. Latin America accounts for 4%
of total world passenger car production
although its ratio of autos to population
is less than 1/3rd that of North America,
Western Europe or Japan.
The auto industry represents a re-
markable growth in production, em-
ployment, backward linkages to local
suppliers of parts and, in Brazil and
Mexico, of components exports. As a
Aaron Segal teaches political science at the
University of Texas at El Paso. His book,
Learning by Doing: Science and Technology
in the Developing World will be published by
Westview this year.

percentage of GDP, it is the largest
single manufacturing industry in Argen-
tina, Brazil and Mexico and the most
important industrial employer. Although
vehicle production is dominated by
foreign-owned firms, parts are often
manufactured locally. Autos made in
Latin America generally cost more and
use older and more limited designs than
those manufactured in Europe, North
America and Japan. Except for the
adaptation of locally made cars to the
use of gasohol in Brazil, there has been
little formal research and development
in the Latin American auto industry and
only limited informal "shop-floor" ap-
plied research.
The Latin American auto industry is
finding the transition from import-
substitution industrialization to interna-
tional export competitiveness painful.
Since the 1960s, country after country
has attempted to turn its industry to-
ward exports, with the help of extensive
government protection for limited do-
mestic markets. Only Brazil has been
relatively successful, although Mexico
has increased its export of components.
High-cost, capital-intensive protected
auto industries in Colombia and Vene-
zuela have become marginal. The fail-
ure at regional economic integration has
made matters worse.
Four recent books add to the knowl-
edge available on Latin America's auto
industry. Bennett and Sharpe provide a
detailed analysis of the bargaining be-
tween the Mexican government and
multinational auto firms during the pe-
riod 1960-1980. Mark Bennett (no rela-
tion) contributes a brief informative
study of the Mexican auto parts indus-
try, which is primarily Mexican owned
and operated. Kornish and Mericle pre-
sent a more ambitious edited work with
chapters on labor relations and the
structure of the auto industry in Argen-
tina, Brazil and Mexico, on the attempts
to promote exports, and a chapter on
the small industry in Colombia.
Jenkins has produced a descriptive
survey of the Latin American auto
industry covering all the producer coun-

tries. Bennett and Sharpe deal with the
Mexican government's negotiations with
foreign auto firms over two decades.
Relying on extensive interviews and
government and company papers, they
present a well-documented picture. Par-
ticularly useful is the information on
policy conflicts within and between
Mexican government agencies, the will-
ingness of individual foreign firms to
settle for different terms, and the reluc-
tance and inability of the US govern-
ment to intervene in negotiations. The
authors fail to substantiate, however,
that the pattern of negotiations is proof
of Mexican dependency. It was the
Mexican government that initiated both
import-substitution industrialization and
the switch to export promotion in the
auto industry. Some foreign firms were
willing to adjust and others were not,
but at no time does this book demon-
strate that they acted in collusion or
held a whip hand over Mexico.
The book's failing is that it empha-
sizes politics at the expense of econom-
ics and engineering. How much has it
cost Mexico to develop a national
automotive industry whose final prod-
ucts are still highly protected and whose
imported components contribute to the
national trade problem? Why is it that
after 25 years Mexico cannot produce
autos and parts at world market prices?
What is the state of automotive engi-
neering and shop-floor efficiency after
25 years? Since the world automotive
industry is rapidly moving toward large
numbers of models and designs pro-
duced in smaller production runs for
specialized markets, the persistence of
high costs in Mexico cannot be ex-
plained solely in terms of economies
of scale.
The Kornish and Mericle volume is
also long on position and short on
economics and engineering. The con-
tributors are primarily interested in rela-
tions between governments and foreign-
owned companies. Three well-researched
chapters on auto industry labor relations
in Argentina, Brazil and Mexico discuss
the role of unions, strikes, working


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Mexico's Auto Industry. Copyright 1984, Ward's Auto World. Reprinted with permission.
Mexico's Auto Industry. Copyright 1984, Ward's Auto World. Reprinted with permission.

conditions and personnel practices but
have little to say about productivity and
costs. A chapter by Mericle cites the
Brazilian auto industry as a success, able
to export at world economy prices, but
offers no supportive data or any indica-
tion of the extent of Brazilian export
subsidies. Similarly Jenkins labels Ar-
gentina a failure, with its high costs and
stagnant production, while neglecting to
explain the economic and engineering
factors that contributed to failure. Fleet
notes that the Colombian auto industry
has slowly increased local parts produc-
tion but does not discuss costs and
benefits. The book neglects, however, the
auto parts industries, which are mostly
locally owned, or joint ventures; and
ignores completely Latin American con-
sumers, who often have no choice but
locally made vehicles.
Rhys Jenkins attempts to survey the
Latin American auto industry from its
inception to the present while placing it
in an international context The result is
useful as a reference source but falters
analytically when it tackles government-
company relations, internal and export
markets and marketing, and profits. There
is too much reliance on speculation and
too little empirical especially shop
and show-room floor data. The country-
by-country description of the evolution
of the auto industry leaves out why
policies were adopted and then changed
and what were the outcomes for consum-
ers as well as management, workers and
government bureaucracies.

Why did governments in the 1960s
initially opt for import-substitution as the
means for developing auto industries?
How have they generated exports out of
industries that were installed and oper-
ated through massive protection? In his
empirical study of the Mexican parts
industry, economist Mark Bennett comes
closer than the other authors to providing
data on costs and profits as well as
answers to these two key issues.
The Mexican auto parts industry is a
direct result of the 1962 protectionist
measures establishing auto production in
that country. It includes foreign, Mexican-
owned, and Mexican-managed joint-
venture firms, which predominate. Man-
agers report a need for technology. Asso-
ciating with a foreign firm is the most
efficient way to obtain it. Auto import-
substitution was a public policy strategy
to generate production and jobs. The
parts industry was largely reserved for
Mexican firms. Government rules which
have substantially barred the entry of
new firms have combined with supply
shortages to produce annual profit rates
of 15%, well above US rates for similar
parts firms.
In the late 1970s, public policy in
Mexico and elsewhere switched to auto
industry export promotion. Mark Bennett
explains the limited results in Mexico
through analysis of auto parts firms'
costs and profits for the domestic and
export markets. His data suggest that
domestic profits are twice those from
exports in spite of export subsidies and

tax rebates. The principal reason is the
persistently overvalued Mexican currency
combined, perhaps, with restrictions on
exports by some technology suppliers.
Ironically the Mexican government in-
creased its pressure on the multinationals
to produce components for export since
it has more leverage over them than over
Mexican auto parts firms. Bennett specu-
lates that the future of the Mexican auto
industry in the midst of economic crisis
may lie in its low labor cost to produce
compact and subcompact cars for the
US market.
Meanwhile, the global automotive in-
dustry is changing. Multinationals are
frantically increasing research and de-
velopment expenditures to reduce pro-
duction costs and to incorporate innova-
tions in electronics, plastics, glass and
other fields. Markets in rich countries are
increasingly fragmented and sophisticated.
An estimated 500 models of new passen-
ger cars were offered globally in 1985.
The introduction of robotics, sophisti-
cated inventory controls and other
production technologies is altering econo-
mies of scale and making smaller pro-
duction runs, and even custom-designed
models, more economical.
Where does Latin America fit into this
changing global picture? Its options ap-
pear to be real although limited. One
would be to concentrate on a few low-
cost reliable models to be produced on
a mass basis for global export at close
to world prices. Volkswagen production
in Brazil and Mexico approximates this
option. A second approach would be to
promote production for export of compo-
nents and, where possible, of vehicles.
Although the heralded "world car" of
the 1970s, with interchangeable parts
built around the world, has apparently
been rejected, out-sourcing of parts to
countries with low labor costs is likely
to increase. Brazil and Mexico have clear
advantages for an out-sourcing option.
A third approach would be to develop a
low-cost Latin American car for export,
emulating the current efforts by Yugo-
slav and South Korean firms.
There are advantages and disadvan-
tages to each of these options. The status
quo is becoming increasingly untenable,
though, except for Brazil with its large
internal market and subsidized exports.
Since 1960 the auto industry in Latin
America has experienced two decades
of rapid and substantial growth, and
stagnation as part of a general economic
crisis. It cannot recover and grow with-
out a structural transformation.


Continued from page 7

run attacks were launched throughout
the Marowijne District in east Suriname
at the villages of Armina Falls, Stoel-
man's Island (where a government air-
plane was captured), the barracks at
Albina, Mopie Kondre (where a govern-
ment helicopter leased from a private
firm in Brazil was shot down), Bigi
Ston, Wanhatti, Patamacca and the baux-
ite mining center at Moengo. The min-
ing town was shut down briefly in late
1986 and the town evacuated, resulting
in the loss of revenue for the govern-
ment. Thousands of refugees from east
Suriname have fled to French Guiana
while, simultaneously, fresh French
troops from Martinique and Guade-
loupe have bolstered the garrisons at
Cayenne and St. Jean and began build-
ing new base camps along the Ma-
rowijne River.
Brunswijk's successes are enigmatic.
His rebels, estimated in early 1987 to
number from 300 to 600 are lightly,
indeed poorly, armed with shotguns, .22
rifles, simple explosives and the odd
weapon captured from the military.
Rumors suggest that American M-16s
and French assault rifles are increas-
ingly appearing in the rebel repertoire.
These weapons and the, skill Brunswijk
has in maneuvering in the jungle have
allowed him to outfox and outfight
military patrols and expeditions. How-
ever, the rebels cannot overcome the
fixed battle positions, armor, and fortifi-
cations that surround the airfield at
Zanderij and what is increasingly be-
coming the city-state of Paramaribo.
The economy may collapse and the
citizens may be held in a state of siege
but the army will control the essential
arteries of command and communica-
tion. Just why Brunswijk does not have
access to heavier and more sophisti-
cated weaponry simple heavy ma-
chine guns and mortars would probably
do the trick for him and why he has
not inspired a revolt by the citizenry
needs to be thought about.

The Vegetable Merchant

On July 28, 1986 fourteen heavily
armed American mercenaries were ar-
rested by the FBI at New Orleans'
airport. Led by Tom Denley, they
claimed that they were contracted by

the Dutch government and an Amsterdam-
based foundation named ANSU headed
by the vegetable merchant, George
Baker. For a fee of $1 million apiece
they would enter Suriname posing as
international bankers, capture Com-
mander Bouterse and other high offi-
cials, and secure the airport at Zanderij.
Through Baker, who has run advertise-
ments for mercenaries in the Interna-
tional Herald Tribune and Soldier of
Fortune magazine, they had made con-
tact with Brunswijk and one of the
resistance movements in Holland.
One can only guess that this motley
crew, armed also with a Fodor's Guide
to the Caribbean containing an obsolete
chapter on Suriname, felt that they, in
cahoots with Brunswijk, could topple
the military government. The Dutch
government and their secret service, the
American CIA and State Department,
George Baker the grocer, and the resis-
tance movements in Holland all quickly
issued denials that they had anything
to do with the ne'er-do-well mercs.
Nobody knows nothing .
Like it or not, Commander Bouterse
has proven to be an adept politician.
Just before Brunswijk's attacks grew
serious and the mercenaries were grabbed
in New Orleans, he installed his sixth
civilian cabinet, this one headed by the
wealthy Hindustani rice merchant, Per-
tab Radhakishun. A "centrist" cabinet,
it would enjoy a life span of only seven
months until February 1987. This ap-
pointment was a move to fulfill the
Commander's promise that a civilian
government would mirror the composi-
tion of the appointed National Assem-
bly and contain members of the "old"
political parties and the various "corpo-
rate" or "functional groups" in soci-
ety. It was a move sure to please the
United States and Holland by nudging
closer to a return to "democracy" by
including democrats in the government.
Prime Minister Radhakishun repre-
sented the East Indian VHP party, while
other cabinet members were drawn from
the Creole NPS and Javanese KTPI.
Two of the four labor unions were
represented (the CLO and PWO) as was
the small businessman's association
(ASFA). The large scale merchants
association (VSB) the 'capitalists'
- had tacit recognition as the Prime
Minister's sentiments were clearly with
those interests. Members of the political
arm of the military (the 25 February
Movement) secured the major minis-
tries of foreign affairs, interior affairs,

and youth affairs. This democratic "open-
ing" presented a dilemma for all as it
suggested some truth in the assertion
that Suriname would move towards
some form of democratization.
The United States and Holland, al-
though not duped by the installment,
were encouraged that democrats and
capitalists were placed in high, albeit
weak, positions and that the referendum
on a new constitution was moving
towards its late 1987 deadline. The draft
constitution guarantees the military co-
equal footing with the "old" parties
and other "functional" groups in a
deliberative (elected?) body.
Jumpy Surinamers, however, wob-
bled evermore perfidiously on the fence.
On the one hand there was Brunswijk
in the bush and his backers in Holland
fighting an insurgency to-liberate them.
The operative words are "liberate them,"
as they can expect no* uprising in
Paramaribo. Yet, here were democratic
forces involved in all levels of govern-
ance, albeit in an advisory capacity,
from the Topberaad and National As-
sembly through the cabinet and civil
service. The "old" parties remain dubi-
ous about Brunswijk's efforts, their
liberation would result in a clear ero-
sion of what power and influence they
had. The tedious building of Grenada's
coalition government following the US-
led liberation there would look like a
cakewalk compared to what would go
on in Paramaribo if the military govern-
ment fell and the ex-patriots returned
to Suriname to claim -their share of
power. On top of this, thelarge Centrale-
47 (C-47) labor union led by the out-
spoken socialist Fred Derby (and oppo-
nent of the military government) sees
no merit to what he considered to be a
capitalist-inspired insurgency supported
by the old guard.

Tribal Alliances

Brunswijk's support is isolated, geo-
graphically and ethnically, to the jun-
gles of east Suriname and to an uneasy
alliance of several Bush Negro tribes.
In September of 1986 a conference was
held between Brunswijk and the tribal
chiefs or Granman of the Bush Negro
tribes in east and central Suriname.
Granman Gazon of the Ndjoeka was
host, the Aloekoes were represented by
Granman Toelinga, the Paramaka by
Granman Vorster, the Saramaka by
high officials as their Granman Aboikoni


was ill, the Matawai by Granman Lafanti,
and an Amer-Indian group by Headman
Anapaiki. Their decision was to break
off relations with Paramaribo and to
accept Brunswijk as their military chief.
Shortly after the conference the Amer-
Indian group and Granman Lafanti of
the smallest Bush Negro tribe, the
Matawai, broke from the coalition and
distanced themselves from any commit-
ment. According to Dutch anthropolo-
gist Thoden van Velzen, the Paramaka,
Ndjoeka, and the Saramaka, the largest
Bush Negro groups, stand squarely
behind Brunswijk and the Saramaka
have pledged to open a second front to
the south of Paramaribo in the area of
the huge hydroelectric dam. In late
December 1986 reports of minor skir-
mishing were reported in Pokigron,
some 100 miles south of Paramaribo.
Heralding their warrior tradition of
centuries ago and confronted by abuse
and horror again they have, as Richard
Price wrote in First Time: The Histori-
cal Vision of an Afro-American People,
realized "that those times shall come
again." That in itself is the stuff of
pride, but it may not stand up to
machine guns, armor, helicopters, at-
tack planes, phosphorous bombs, and
gun boats. Announcing a major offen-
sive against the Saramaka in mid-
February 1987, Bouterse issued orders
that they must evacuate their tribal
homelands on pain of death to any and
all men, women and children. The
Saramaka's natural allies are the coastal
and urban-dwelling Creoles, East Indi-
ans, Javanese, and other smaller groups.
But, in tiny, gossip riddled, ethnically
polarized Paramaribo duplicity and fear
have cast a sullen and suspicious gloom
over the city and its inhabitants.
Conditions in the city did not dimin-
ish accomplishments in the bush. By
March 1987 Brunswijk's numbers had
swollen to about 1000 and his cadres
were launching attacks on several fronts.
More importantly, the composition of
the group was mixed with Creoles, East
Indians, Javanese and some whites join-
ing the original Bush Negro numbers.
Significant attacks were launched in
west Suriname with a major firefight
in the Indian village of Bitagron result-
ing in the capture of Ewoud Leefland,
one of the original military brotherhood
who planned the 1980 coup. It was a
psychological victory for the rebels
soon to be followed by a tactical one.
In March 1987 they cut off the only
road linking Paramaribo with rice rich

Nickerie, forcing the government to
send foodstuffs to the city by smaller,
slower and more costly river and ocean

International Alliances

Brazil, France, the Netherlands, and the
United States all have an interest in
finding a resolution to Suriname's prob-
lems. All support, to one degree or
another, a return to democracy in Suri-
name and the subsequent removal of
Libyans, Soviets, and what few Cubans
remain. Brazil put pressure on Suri-
name in mid-1983 to remove the Cuban
presence with the understanding that
Brazil would provide handsome arms
shipments and purchase Surinamese baux-
ite. In fact, the future of the Bouterse
regime may depend on whether Brazil
decides that its interests lie in maintain-
ing an unpopular dictator or in develop-
ing ties to a new government. At the
moment they are probably doing both.
France allowed French Guiana to
serve as a staging ground for an aborted
invasion force of mercenaries in 1983
and 1984. It is clear that they allow
Brunswijk and his rebels to enter French
Guiana at will and to allow the passage
of journalists, messengers, and stores
to pass over their border and into
Brunswijk-held territory. Their help to
Brunswijk is justified by French propa-
gandizing the "Libyan-scare." The scare,
which is a real one, has fallen on some
receptive ears in Washington. Rumors
regularly circulate that French troops
will invade Suriname and end once and
for all the left-wing military regime. In
early 1987 Suriname again charged that
the French were allowing a 500 man
mercenary army to mobilize on its soil
in preparation for an invasion.
The Netherlands, bitter with the em-
barrassment of the unsavory events in
its former colony and still withholding
its $1.8 billion aid endowment, also
wishes the military to return to the
barracks. Their complicity with the
resistance movement and Brunswijk is
probable and in January 1987 their
ambassador to Suriname was told to
leave because of alleged meddling in
internal affairs.
The United States righteously sup-
ports and encourages any moves to-
wards the restitution of democracy al-
though no one is quite sure what the
subterranean elements of US foreign
policy are up to. The CIA was involved

in counter coup plans in 1982 and in
1983. American ambassador Robert Bar-
bour has reported cases of military
"brutality, of what amounts to murder,
of gross violations of human rights, and
we consider that the reports are, unfortu-
nately, credible." He is right, but where
does that leave Suriname? It has been
suggested that a consortium of coun-
tries are willing to buy out Bouterse,
provide him with a handsome retire-
ment package and allow him to live out
his life comfortably in Brazil. He does
not want it; besides he has already
salted away a fortune.

What Next?

Commander Bouterse has no intention
of going back to the barracks and is
willing to fight it out with the rebels.
His far left will not loosen its grasp on
power and see the revolution derailed.
Brunswijk cannot mount a frontal as-
sault on Paramaribo. However, his hit
and run attacks are doing severe dam-
age to the regime's economics. In late
January 1987 two power pylons were
destroyed rendering the huge bauxite
smelter at Paranam inoperative. The
plant was shut down, 2000 workers
were released and in their anger trashed
the facility. Shortly after that the bridge
over the Saramaka River one of the
few in the country was blown up.
Bauxite and its processing provides
over 70% of Suriname's foreign ex-
change. Libya has offered the govern-
ment $100 million if Suriname will
provide them with bases for an ex-
panded presence. Brunswijk is making
some spectacular gains in the bush but
it is my guess that what will bring the
country to its knees will be economic
disaster. What, then, is possible?
The drama began in November 1985
with a dialogue between the Com-
mander and the old politicians. The
central figures were Bouterse and his
far left, the ethnically based parties, the
overt and covert involvement of the
United States, France, Brazil and Hol-
land, the center-right resistance move-
ments in the Netherlands, and the major
progressive labor union in Suriname,
the C-47. The involvement of the old
political parties in the Topberaad her-
alded a democratic opening for Suri-
name and, for Bouterse, served as a
gesture to the Dutch to restart their
massive aid. Suriname was bankrupt
This move jeopardized the influence


of the resistance movement in Holland
who saw the US and Holland cautiously
warming towards Suriname. Their spec-
ter of a communist Suriname was losing
credibility as the old parties were will-
ing to play an uncertain step-by-step
game towards some sort of democratic
Suriname. For the resistance movement
their only option was a military one and
they made contact with both American
and European mercenaries and, lo and
behold, a disaffected former body guard
of Bouterse's, trained in Cuba, then
robbing banks in east Suriname, Ronnie
Brunswijk. Dutch, French, Brazilian and
American intelligence sources did not
interfere; uncertain about the veracity
of Bouterse's democratic intentions they
were willing to place their bets on both
horses. The insurgency heated up in
July 1986 at the same time Bouterse
put a new cabinet in place headed by
rice magnate Pertab Radhakishun, a
capitalist fox in the left-wing hen house.
In fact, he has had several run-ins with
the radical Foreign Minister Henk Her-
renberg and threatened twice to resign.
Radhakishun's mentor and fellow East
Indian, Jagernath Lachmon, head of the
"old" VHP, urged him to stay the
course and maintain his position as
prime minister, disagreements with Her-
renberg notwithstanding.
A monkey wrench was thrown in the
works in February 1987 when Bouterse
dissolved the Radhakishun cabinet and
replaced it with one headed by former
minister of interior affairs and member
of the 25 February Movement, Jules
Wijdenbosch. This appointment signal-
led a shift to the left through the
re-emergence of radical RVPers to seats
of power. One observer remarked: "We
are back to cocaine and communism
again." Notable was the simultaneous
appointment of old-timer, former am-
bassador to the Hague and Washington,
Henk Heideweiller as foreign minister
to replace the far-left Henk Herrenberg.
Known as Bouterse's point man in
attempting to mollify the Dutch in
hopes of resecuring the lost foreign aid
endowment, Heideweiller will probably
become a foetoe boi (Sranan; errand
boy) shuttling back and forth between
Paramaribo and Holland.
Col. Bouterse was back up to his old
tricks of, in his eighth cabinet, balanc-
ing the left and the right to maintain
himself in power. Whether the promise
of late 1987 elections and the appoint-
ment of old Henk is enough to convince
the Dutch to shake loose desperately

needed money for the impoverished
regime is uncertain. The Dutch seem
to want Bouterse to go a lot further
than back to the barracks.

The US Role?

Nevertheless, perhaps the Americans
were a bit more optimistic. They de-
cided to reduce pressure on the military
government and withdraw whatever sup-
port they had provided for the resis-
tance movement and Brunswijk. Al-
though the US government does not
support the Bouterse regime, it is al-
leged that US-made helicopters and
fixed wing aircraft from Germany and
Switzerland have been transshipped to
Suriname via the United States. And,
there is evidence that American soldiers
of fortune are in the employ of the
Suriname army, are flying helicopters,
and are killing Surinamese citizens.
Unless there is an unacceptable increase
in Soviet/Libyan involvement coupled
with increased human rights abuses and
murders, the US government may sim-
ply ignore Suriname and continue its
preoccupation with Nicaragua.
The Dutch and French, closer to the
situation geographically and historically
have continued to covertly support the
rebels. Brazil, gambling on Bouterse,
continues to supply the regime with
arms. Brunswijk, poorly armed and
supplied, fights on however. Hence
another dilemma for the major players:
neither total support nor total boycott,
why not throw a line to him so that he
is somewhat controlable.
Bouterse has reversed himself before
and this democratic opening may be
no more than another charade. Hence,
the utility of keeping a bit of pressure
on the military government through the
efforts of Brunswijk who is doing more
economic damage than political or mili-
tary. The chances of Brunswijk scoring
a military victory are slim. That virtu-
ally all of the population is against
Bouterse does not mean that they are
for Brunswijk.
The old political parties sense this
and are busy mobilizing sentiment in
Paramaribo against the rebel liberator.
Brunswijk is no alternative they claim,
issuing remarks akin to the Guyanese
adage "better the devil you know than
the devil you don't know."
Realizing their situation, the old pols
know that barring the unforeseen, they
will never come to complete democratic

power again but they will have influ-
ence, positions in the civil service and
a say in the running of the country with
the military pragmatists serving as watch-
dog of both the constitution and the far
left. The old politicians realize that with
Bouterse under threat from Brunswijk
their influence with the commander has
increased. Bouterse has further molli-
fied them pledging late 1987 "demo-
cratic" elections. His own propaganda
mill is spreading the news that "Brun-
swijk will be worse!" In an unpredictable
reversal, Brunswijk, the democratic lib-
erator, has had the unanticipated effect
of strengthening Bouterse's coalition
of right and left, capitalist and socialist,
democratic and Marxist.
The labor unions in Suriname, with
a tradition of striking and bringing
down governments, are unwilling to
support Brunswijk given their current
cooptation into ruling circles. All wel-
come the democratic opening, with the
left of center C-47 claiming that Bruns-
wijk represents neo-colonialism, the re-
turn of the "old" politics based on
ethnic parties, and laissez-faire state
capitalism. Reverse alchemy, Brunswijk
has converted gold to lead.
To topple Bouterse, Paramaribo must
rebel. The first inkling of this mobiliza-
tion came in late February 1987 when
over 2000 school children took to the
streets to protest the lack of food and
medicine in the city. The school teach-
ers supported them and suggested the
support of many families. Officials closed
the schools and soldiers patrolled the
streets. Incidents involved rock throw-
ing and clubbings with allegations that
two students were killed. One can only
wonder when adults will be as sponta-
neous as the children.
I said at the beginning that what is
going on in Suriname is the stuff that
thrillers are based on. My remarks are
not meant to be cynical. Suriname is a
wonderful country where the citizens
are not free. Bush Negroes are dying
in a situation close to genocide. Human
rights went down the drain a long time
ago Suriname is now ranked third
in New World abuses, behind Cuba and
Nicaragua, ahead of Chile. The idea of
Libyans carrying Surinamese passports
and their reputed activities in the coun-
try are repugnant. Brunswijk is out in
the bush, fighting, and recently com-
plained that "I sit here and I don't get
anything." Odd isn't it, any gun shop
in South Carolina could outfit him


Vote Dem Out
Continued from page 12

Steel Company of Trinidad and Tobago
(ISCOTI) continued to drain the budget.
Figures from 1984 indicate that it lost
TT$ 179 million that year, while more
recent estimates are that it looses about
TT$ 1 million a day, but the details
have been kept hidden. Protests became
acute in the face of perceived govern-
ment intransigence. Opposition senator
Lincoln Myers fasted for 40 days on
the steps of parliament to protest the
"lack of accountability." Myers was
trying to draw attention to the govern-
ment's secrecy on ISCOTT's perform-
ance and their apparent foot-dragging
in publishing the Drug Report, an in-
vestigation into the extent and use of
drugs in the country. The apparent
growth in crime and increase in cocaine
use, including crack, were emotive sym-
bols of social decay for which the
government was blamed, and from the
beginning of 1986 opposition forces
were leading a moral offensive.
Perhaps the most devastating event
for the PNM in the run-up to the
campaign was the bacchanal surround-
ing the repaving of Wrightson Road at
the end of the summer. A heavily used
thoroughfare in Port-of-Spain, it badly
needed repair; in many places it was
barely more than a series of potholes
linked by pitch. The timing of the
resurfacing job was widely regarded as
a blatant sop to the electorate with the
election close at hand. A cynical public
half expected it: "You go see, they
always do this before elections. Why
should this time be different?" said a
school teacher.
The road was repaired in record time,
but upon completion the Minister of
Works, Hugh Francis, erected a monu-
ment with a marble plaque commemo-
rating the event, with "The Hon. Hugh
Francis" emblazoned on the bottom.
After Francis unveiled the monument
at a media press conference, the public
outcry was tremendous; letters to the
editor denouncing the event were pub-
lished for two months after. The Wright-
son Road plaque became a monument
to government arrogance. Francis re-
mained unrepentant, but government
members reportedly cringed in secret.
In addition, the question of corruption
in this project was raised when it was
revealed that the PNM chairman Fran-
cis Prevatt was a major shareholder in

one of the companies contracted to
resurface the road.
The corruption rap stuck to the PNM,
and its image was not helped when
businessman Dennis Davidson, who was
wanted by police in connection with a
US$ 100 million foreign currency racket,
fled the country in late November.
Davidson had feted several PNM minis-
ters in the past, and his escape was
reminiscent of the flight of former
minister John O'Halloran, who fled the
country to Canada in the early 1980s,
suspected of receiving kickbacks from
an American airplane manufacturer who
sold planes to BWIA and of being
involved in corruption in the construc-
tion of the Caroni Racing Complex.
The NAR scored a public relations
coup when former PNM attorney gen-

I, azacan. 01 oJames uarracms.
eral Selwyn Richardson (1976-81) de-
fected. Richardson had recently been
chairman of the Airports Authority and
was credited with the revival of Piarco
International Airport and Tobago's
Crown Point Airport. When he resigned
the post in early October, the newspa-
pers gave the event prominent space.
Richardson recounted his days with the
PNM: he told of his efforts to disentan-
gle problems with the telephone meet-
ing stiff resistance from party members,
of corruption at the airports when he
took over, of being stymied in his
attempts to gather evidence on O'Hallo-
ran as Williams sent him on round-the-
world trips at a crucial time. Richardson's
crossover to the NAR was important.
The NAR and the press named him
"Mr. Clean," because in the public's
mind he spoke authoritatively when
pointing his finger. In the election he
went on to defeat his cousin, Leon
Prevatt, in Ortoire/Mayaro and was
named attorney general by Robinson.

The Campaign

The campaign began in earnest when
the PNM announced its candidates at a
rally in Woodford Square on 9 Novem-

ber. Although Chambers had said he
would be the most unpopular man in
the party because there would be a
shake-up in the slate of candidates, the
lineup showed little change. This was
an early indication of the campaign
style of the PNM, which continued to
emphasize its considerable past achieve-
ments rather than put forward a compre-
hensive plan for the future. The NAR
convention the following week at Cha-
guaramas was well attended, and a
record crowd of 15,000 attended the
rally in Woodford Square where candi-
dates were announced. In the beginning
it was picong politics at its best [picong
is a Trinidadian word meaning teasing
banter]: Chambers, using a cricket meta-
phor, said his opposition wanted him
to declare, but that he would not.
Robinson retorted at the Woodford
Square rally: "He say he coming to
play cricket when he has no head gear,
he has no pads, he has no bat, he has
no gloves, he has no balls! And my
colleagues are telling me even if he had
balls he couldn't keep a length at all!"
But from this humorous high point
the rhetoric deteriorated and the prattle
coming from both sides was character-
ized by what Trinidadians call mauvais
langue. The PNM candidates concen-
trated on telling their audiences that the
NAR planned to take away the pensions
of retirees and that reductions in the
police and defense force would be
forthcoming. Even though its manifesto
was attractive to some, the NAR was
probably equally as guilty in skirting
the issues of the future, but it did not
matter; its multiethnic base meant it
already had wide support, and the moral
offensive meant that it was growing.
In an apparent effort to distract atten-
tion, Chambers used the "red herring"
technique. He launched an attack on the
press, especially on state-owned Trinidad
and Tobago Television (TTT), charging
it with bias and sending away a TTT
film crew who arrived late for a PNM
campaign meeting. He made similar
charges against state-owned Radio 610,
which he basically charged with playing
Deple's calypso too often. The public
reaction was that the real truth was just
the opposite: if anything TTT was the
vehicle for constant, if not boring,
government propaganda. And the staff
at Radio 610 maintained that the station
did not even own a copy of the calypso.
The print media was a different story.
As Lloyd Best commented, "It is an
outrage the extent to which editorial


writers, columnists and even reporters
have...been...writing as if they have
been commissioned to campaign against
the ruling party..."
Another early PNM campaign strat-
egy was what the newspapers called
"The Pappyshowing of Eric Williams."
The PNM was accused of mamaguying
the electorate [mamaguy is a Trinidadian
word meaning excessive flattery] by
leaning on the Williams legend and
recalling the glorious past to woo the
voters. The Mount Hope Medical Com-
plex was renamed the Eric Williams
Medical Complex, and postage stamps
appeared depicting Williams' life. One
columnist mused that little statues of
Williams would start appearing shortly
before the election. In Trinidadian-style
commentary, a joke went around saying
the country would soon be renamed
Eric and Williams. But the PNM may
have had to rely on the purely symbolic
because with falling revenues, large-
scale political patronage was no longer
possible. Chambers announced that reve-
nue had fallen by TT$ 1 billion for the
first seven months of 1986, and expen-
diture in the two ministries traditionally
used for patronage projects, Works and
Local Government/Community Devel-
opment, did not increase appreciably
from the 1985 to the 1986 budget.
Chambers announced that a BWIA plane
would be named after Giselle LaRond,
Miss World 1986, and he pointed out
that her parents were PNM supporters.
Voters were told that they were driving
on PNM roads and educating their
children in PNM schools.
Judging from the performance of
speakers on PNM platforms, it appeared
that the party once known for its
discipline was wallowing in disorgani-
zation. It seemed that whatever mes-
sages the candidates were trying to
convey, they ended up putting their feet
in it. Mohammed, minister of agricul-
ture and a founding member of the
party, chose the following words to
make a countercharge of corruption
against the NAR: "They tief just like
anybody in the PNM." His statement
confirmed the public's suspicions, but
even this was overshadowed by a much-
publicized statement by Housing Minis-
ter Desmond Cartey, who said at a
meeting in Laventille: "Who ent tief
in Trinidad? All ah we tief." The
statement was carried on the front
pages, and Cartey took exception, ex-
plaining that he had been responding
to a heckler and his words had been

taken out of context; but the damage
was done. Chambers also made blun-
ders on the podium. At a meeting in
Sangre Grande he gave hecklers the
following pointers: "I am giving free
PNM technical advice; if you want to
heckle a meeting you must have a
FAB. All yuh have a FAB? You don't
send 18 men to heckle a meeting. After
two minutes they want a beer. You
must put women to heckle a meeting."
FAB stands for Fat Ass Brigade -
women who supposedly supplied much
of the PNM's support and many of
the country's women were outraged at
Chambers' remarks.
With the PNM now on the run, the
country waited to see the party use its
trump card: ethnicity. One possibility
was preempted when NAR activist Mi-

I uazawon: uarengae. I
chael Williams (who would later be-
come president of the senate), the brother
of PNM State Enterprises Minister Ron-
nie Williams, cabled South Africa's
Bishop Desmond Tutu and asked that
he delay his planned visit until after the
elections. Williams feared that the PNM
would gain political mileage from Tutu's
visit, which was due about a week
before the election; Tutu canceled. The
PNM's candidates did appeal to ethnic-
ity, especially while addressing mainly
black urban strongholds. Francis wanted
to know why the people of the East-
West Corridor were being asked to
change by the NAR while Caroni wasn't.
County Caroni is the heart of Hindu
Trinidad, and in local political language
Francis was warning that the interests
of blacks would be subordinated to
those of Indians.
Chambers reminded an audience that
Caroni had received the major benefits
of the petrodollar in the form of subsi-
dies to the unprofitable sugar industry,
even though "they" consistently re-
jected the PNM. In predominantly black
Mango Rose, his birthplace, Chambers
chided the residents of posh (white)
suburbs for following the NAR around
but not daring to go into Mango Rose.
The NAR did promote a multiethnic

approach but also used ethnicity in a
selective way by tailoring its image
according to the audience. For one
thing, it was not to be hampered by a
French creole presence on its campaign
platforms, an image which had saddled
the ONR in 1981.
The NAR successfully mobilized sup-
porters through an expanding network
of activists who were armed with com-
puter readouts supplying data on the
electorate of each constituency. Adver-
tising played a key part, with thousands
of posters featuring the A-beam, the
NAR symbol, dominating the land-
scape. Newspaper ads had a Madison
Avenue touch that enhanced the party's
forward-looking image.
The PNM's ads, on the other hand,
duplicated the theme the party's candi-
dates were pushing. One ad featured a
picture of an old woman, warning
Grannie that the NAR was planning to
take away her pension; another ad
pointed out the "sinister alliance" and
presented NAR leaders as enemies who
had only just become "really pal wals."
But NAR ads, many featuring Robin-
son's smiling face and presenting him
as "the main man," deluged the com-
petition. The most successful in terms
of appeal was a newspaper ad known
as the "baby ad." This was a drawing
of a young child with big brown eyes,
who could have been from any ethnic
group, that pleaded simply: "Vote them
out. Please."
The results were impressive, as cam-
paign meetings advertised as "the
main event" which the main man would
address were very well attended. It
was an exciting campaign as huge
crowds, spouting "One Love," the
NAR campaign slogan, cheered their
candidates. The NAR bandwagon rolled
on to the rhythm of "Vote Dem Out,"
which had become the party's road
Absent from the hoopla was Best,
who, having brought the coalition to-
gether, found himself on the outside.
His crime apparently had been that he
criticized the NAR for being so overly
concerned with displacing the PNM
that it was not addressing the issues
properly. He was castigated in a news-
paper editorial which accused him of
trying to destabilize the party and ruin
its chances. Karl Hudson-Phillips also
did not take an active part in the
election as he was in Grenada prosecut-
ing Maurice Bishop's killers. Also it is
possible that the NAR did not want to


risk a negative image. Hudson-Phillips
was known as standing for law and
order, and he brought some negative
reaction in 1981 from those who re-
membered him as the author of the
Public Order Bill. As The Mighty
Chalkdust sang, "Ah Fraid Karl."

The Election

Suspicions of a huge NAR victory
seemed to be confirmed by objective
fact a week before the election when a
poll conducted by Selwyn Ryan's St.
Augustine Research Associates (SARA)
was published. The poll predicted a
massive NAR victory, reporting that
59 percent of a national sample indi-
cated they would like to see the NAR
form the next government. The poll
traced the growth of support throughout
1986. In January pro-NAR sentiment
was high, and 59 percent said they
planned to vote NAR. In early Novem-
ber, however, when doubts about the
party's ability to cohere and maintain
the ethnic balance began to surface,
only 27 percent polled indicated they
would vote NAR. But the poll at the
end of November heralded a "political
earthquake." Support for the NAR tran-
scended ethnicity, gender, class or age.
The black electorate was leaving the
PNM camp, and younger voters (67
percent of the polled 22-30 year olds)
were supporting the NAR.
When the poll was published in the
Express, SARA attached a warning of
rumors that the PNM would try to use
"the weapon of race and fear to whip
the black electorate back into the fold."
SARA went back into the field after
publication of the poll results and found
that more and more blacks were voting
for the NAR and not the reverse.
With its broad support base, includ-
ing newspapers which gave the party
prominent and favorable coverage, the
NAR headed into the "las' lap" confi-
dent, and a record crowd of 20,000
outfitted in NAR T-shirts jammed Wood-
ford Square two days before the vote.
The result can only be termed a
landslide. The voting pendulum had
swung 25 percent in favor of the NAR
compared with the 1981 election (if the
votes accruing to its constituent parties
in 1981 are taken together). The PNM's
share of the popular vote fell from 56
percent in 1981 to 31 percent in 1986,
a negative swing of 25 percent; the
NAR increased its support from 42

percent in 1981 to 67 percent in 1986,
a swing of 25 percent In terms of real
numbers, though, the PNM dropped
only 16 percent of its 218,557 votes in
1981; while the NAR increased its 1981
vote from 179,276 to 379,178 in 1986,
representing an increase of more than
100 percent.
The NAR's success was in mobiliz-
ing the previously uninvolved elector-
ate. Overall, total voter turnout in-
creased from 56 percent in 1981 to 64
percent in 1986, although it was pointed
out that the Elections and Boundaries
Commission still had not been able to
keep accurate voter lists.
The vote saw traditional PNM seats
like Toco/Manzanilla, Ortoire/Mayaro,
St. Ann's East, St. Ann's West, Barataria/
San Juan, La Brea, Point Fortin and the

I Cazabon: Governor's Residence, St. Ann's. I
three Diego Martin seats, East, West
and Central, fall to the NAR. Dislodged
PNM ministers included Chambers, Ma-
habir, Mohammed, Francis, Wendell
Mottley, Overand Padmore and Marilyn
Gordon. Chambers had said, "They say
I can lose my seat. Imagine!" He did,
to Lincoln Myers. The three victorious
PNM candidates won in close shaves.
Several factors are important when
appraising the reasons for the election
result. Importantly, Panday, who had
once said that the days of African leader
and Indian deputy are over, chose to
assume a "number 1-A" position be-
hind Robinson or face relegation to
perpetual opposition. This move helped
allay the fears of the black electorate,
exemplified by the creole taxi driver
who said, "If a Indian man take over
the country, is trouble for we."
The early DLP and the NAR were
two parties with similar histories represent-
ing similar interests. That they could
yield very different results is a testa-
ment to the symbolic significance of
leadership and perception in explaining
political developments in a society which
quite readily, and often uncritically,
takes a leader's directives to heart.
Robinson's presence as the main man

was absolutely crucial. His sober per-
sonality meant he was attractive to
nonblack groups. In addition, he was
associated with honest and efficient
government in Tobago as head of the
Tobago House of Assembly. The NAR
could put on a suitable face, according
to the situation; it therefore harnessed
ethnic voting, it did not eliminate it.
On the PNM side, there was a clear
void in leadership. Early in 1986 a
SARA poll had indicated that Robinson
was considerably more popular as a
political leader than Chambers. In the
nationwide poll a week before the
election, 30 percent rated Chambers'
performance as very poor and 17 per-
cent as poor. In addition, 45 percent of
the sample indicated Robinson when
asked their choice of prime minister,
compared with 18 percent for Cham-
bers. SARA's results indicated that
most respondents saw leadership as one
of the most important factors in decid-
ing on which party to vote for. Signifi-
cantly, it was the PNM's old guard who
were rejected by voters as the young
Patrick Manning and Morris Marshall
won their seats.
The NAR tried to appeal to all
interest groups, not just ethnically-
defined ones. Although generally con-
servative in outlook, it promised to
alleviate unemployment, to ease the tax
burden in all income categories, and to
give incentives to business, including
removal of the PNM's bureaucratic
tangle that was seen as an obstacle to
the allocation of licenses, permits and
permission. The pleasing of competing
interests, though, did not lead to a
well-integrated plan. The possibility re-
mains that one set of interests will take
precedence over others, with lines drawn
among constituent elements of the party.
In the SARA poll, almost 40 percent
felt that political confusion and faction-
alism would follow an NAR victory.
Yet 56 percent felt that it was important
to vote the PNM out of power even if
an element of factionalism followed.
The fear of factionalism ethnic or
other was overriden. As Anthony P.
Maingot has pointed out, Caribbean
societies are essentially conservative
and capable of reacting with righteous
indignation. Individualistic and highly
mobile Trinidad and Tobago is no
exception. The NAR provided the proper
symbolic ethnic, ideological and leader-
ship elements, but the reaction to frus-
trated rising expectations and a feeling
of moral indignation are perhaps the


most powerful explanations for the NAR

The Prospects

On Old Year's Day (New Year's Eve)
1986, Robinson warned again of im-
pending economic crisis when he an-
nounced that the country's treasury was
practically dry and that the deficit left
by the PNM stood at TT$ 2.8 billion.
Later it was revealed that there was
enough foreign exchange to cover only
about four months of imports. As Crazy
sang concisely, "All de money done."
The new government's main problem,
obviously, was a shortage of money.
Hopes were somewhat raised when
OPEC announced a production cut agree-
ment designed to boost the price of oil
to US$ 18 per barrel. Coming a few
days after the election, the announce-
ment was proof to some that the NAR's
victory was divinely inspired. "Yeh
man. Yuh see? Robbie in good wid de
Power," said a rum shop patron.
What the new government had going
for it was a great amount of goodwill
and excitement. A national cleanup
drive in mid-January saw what seemed
like the whole country working for a
weekend to remove litter and unsightly
rubbish from roadsides and apply fresh
paint to walls, lamp posts and wherever
needed in an impressive display of
national pride. The new education min-
ister, Clive Pantin, introduced a prayer
and the singing of the national anthem
at the beginning of every school day.
The ceremonial opening of parliament
on 12 January 1987 was characterized
by pomp and circumstance. The mili-
tary honor guard wore dress uniforms;
Speaker of the House Nizam Moham-
med and President of the Senate Wil-
liams wore traditional white wigs. Tele-
vision cameras covered the proceedings,
which were attended by several CARI-
COM leaders: Dominica's Eugenia Char-
les, St. Lucia's John Compton, the late
Errol Barrow of Barbados, Guyana's
Desmond Hoyte, Kennedy Simmonds
of St. Kitts/Nevis, and James Mitchell,
of St. Vincent and the Grenadinees.
Manning was installed as leader of the
Opposition and later became PNM po-
litical leader (Chambers had resigned
his party post after the election).
Robinson's presentation of the budget
gave an indication of the direction to
be taken by the new government. The
"Budget of Sacrifices" was a mixed

bag. It called for the abolition of in-
come tax for people earning less than
TT$ 12,000 a year, and it added taxes
for high-income individuals and corpora-
tions. Measures to close tax loopholes
were announced. Robinson called for
the public and private sectors to cut the
salary of directors and managers, and
led the way with a five percent cut in
the salaries of government ministers.
The exchange rate was unified at TT$
3.60 to US$ 1.00. Additional taxes were
announced on gasoline and airline tick-
ets. Robinson called for the revamping
of public enterprises, most of which
receive heavy subsidies, and hinted at
the possibility of privatization. Saying
the country was "on the brink of the
debt trap,"the prime minister said the
government planned to borrow about

Cazabon: Diego Martin Valley.
TT$ 1 billion and that discussions were
already underway with the Inter-Ameri-
can Development Bank and the Carib-
bean Development Bank.
Calling the PNM 1987 draft esti-
mates pie in the sky, Robinson said his
new measures would reduce recurrent
expenditure from TT$ 7.1 billion to
$5.5 billion, while the new recurrent
revenue estimate would be $5.85 bil-
lion, an increase of $882.6 million over
the PNM's figure. In the process, he
said, he converted a current account
deficit of $2.1 billion into a surplus of
almost $300 million and reduced an
overall deficit of $3.85 billion to $2.47
billion. It was also announced that the
Tobago House of Assembly would now
receive its full powers, including those
for raising and spending money. To-
bago was also to benefit from the plan
to make Crown Point an international
airport and the construction of a deep-
water harbor to handle cruise ships -
two measures deemed essential for the
tourism industry.
The most controversial budget meas-
ure was the decision to remove the
cost-of-living allowance (COLA) from
the pay packets of all government
workers. COLA increases had been

suspended since 1984, and with rising
inflation the move hit workers hard,
especially at the lower levels. The cost
of living was estimated to rise by 12
percent in 1987, and a major grocery
store chain announced a 50 percent
price increase for certain staples due to
the news exchange rate. Union leaders
believed this would be a signal for the
private sector to follow suit, and large
protests were carried out in Woodford
On the social front, the new govern-
ment's policy toward the country's di-
versity was multiculturalism, as ar-
ticulated by Brinsley Samaroo, a Uni-
versity of the West Indies history lec-
turer who was a minister in the prime
minister's office. This view would rec-
ognize and even promote the country's
diversity and stands in contrast to the
PNM's version of the melting pot the-
ory. While Robinson denied that there
was pressure for an Indian president,
retired High Court Justice Noor Has-
sanali was elected to replace President
The oil price of US$ 18 a barrel,
which underpins the budget, may not
last and, in fact, on 22 April 1987
Robinson announced a first quarter
revenue shortfall of TT$ 165.8 million
(13.3 percent). It is thus important for
the new government to pursue symbolic
measures, such as the removal of va-
grants from the streets of Port-of-Spain.
Richardson introduced legislation de-
signed to curb government corruption,
and it was announced that a commis-
sion of inquiry would investigate the
PNM government's dealings, including
the purchase of airplanes, the Caroni
Racing Complex, and the formation and
operation of ISCOTT.
The publication of the Garvin Scott
Drug Report confirmed what the public
already suspected: that drug use per-
vaded the society and that drug traffick-
ers came from all walks of life. The
report indicated that PNM ministers,
magistrates and police officials were
involved, and embattled Police Commis-
sioner Randolph Burroughs resigned in
the report's wake. Some were beyond
suspicion, though: "The only occupa-
tion that Garvin Scott ent mention is
the humble calypsonian," sang The
Mighty Chalkdust.
Expectations of the NAR's perform-
ance remain high, but the party may
lose some popularity because of the
imposition of measures it considers
necessary. There were loud protests, for


example, when Samaroo complained
about foreign media influence and hinted
that "Dallas" and "Dynasty" would
be removed from TTT. The two major
daily newspapers, the Trinidad Guard-
ian and the Express (whose director
Ken Gordon was named to the senate
and cabinet, prompting criticisms of a
payback), were the NAR's de facto
public relations organs during and after
the campaign, and their support has
probably increased expectations further.
In general, the new government has
given the impression of being above-
board while trying to fulfill campaign
promises. The most pointed and di-
rected criticism has been from Best and
associates who presented their commen-
tary in a catechetic style via the Trinidad
and Tobago Review.
Trinidadian-style commentary contin-
ues. The "ol' mas" J'Ouvert morning
bands have long replaced big Carnival
bands as mediums for political pique
and satire. For Carnival 1987 there
were bands like "Political Vagrants"
and "All Ah We Does Tief." The
message of "Same Khaki Pants" was
that, despite the pomp and rhetoric, the
political catharsis was more imagined
than real. For the shrunken and discred-
ited PNM to effect a palingenesis, the
party must clearly widen its ethnic base
and stop relying on the stigmatized old
guard. There are other possibilities. In

I -- -----------------

November 1986, Express columnist
Wayne Brown wrote a piece entitled
"1988"in which he drew the following
scenario: The NAR wins the 1986
election, and by 1988 its pro-business
stance and the deepening recession have
impoverished many workers, thrusting
the PNM into the role of a pro-labor
and Black Power advocate. Although a
sharp rise in oil prices may catapult the
country out of its economic mire, Brown
may not be far off the mark if the
situation stays the same. The black
urban poor do stand to be hardest hit
by the 1987 budget measures and reces-
sion, as many are low-level government
employees who do not have access to
land to grow food, and there were
shortages of basic food items and black
marketeering not long after the new
exchange rate was announced. And as
the SARA poll revealed, most of the
PNM's support in 1986 came from
blacks at the lower economic levels.
As for Deple? Saying that his life has
changed since he sang "Vote Dem
Out," he has become a NAR constitu-
ency chairman. He has also become an
international musical mercenary of sorts,
as he was invited by Michael Manley
of Jamaica to write a song for Manley's
People's National Party as it tries to
dislodge Edward Seaga's Jamaica Labour
Party from power.

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The cover of this issue of Carib-
bean Review as well as many
of the lithographs that illustrate
the articles come from two books
published by Aquarela Galler-
ies, la Dere Street, Port of
Spain, Trinidad and Tobago,
West Indies:
Cazabon an Illustrated Bio-
graphy of Trinidad's Nineteenth
Century Painter, Michel Jean
Cazabon by Geoffrey MacLean
(US$45.00 30.00 TT$150.00)
Views of Trinidad, 1851 by M. J.
Cazabon (US$55.00 35.00
Of the first work, Vidia S. Naipaul has
said "...a splendid job, full of infor-
mation and insights...a beautifully pro-
duced work." And Bridget Brereton
has offered: "MacLean's painstaking
research has, for the first time, re-
vealed Cazabon as a fully rounded
human being firmly rooted in a place,
a time and a social formation. ... Yet
in the final analysis it is the art that
mattered." Of the second work, Gor-
don K. Lewis has written "a vote of
thanks should be passed to Aquarela
Galleries for ...[republishing] the col-
lective works of Cazabon."
Aquarela Galleries
la Dere Street
Port of Spain
Trinidad and Tobago

---------------------------------------- I

Continued from page 18

and trust. What is outside the family is
inconsequential, possibly even hostile.
This limited identification is related to
an excessive individualism, captured in
the Spanish self-caricature, "iViva yo!"
- "Long live Me!" It is reflected in
several characteristics common to His-
panic societies: difficulty with the con-
cept of compromise, contributing to
fragmentation of politics and conse-
quent political vacuums that invite dic-
tators; difficulties in organizing and
cooperating to achieve a common goal;
nepotism and corruption; antisocial be-
havior such as littering, disregard for
punctuality and tax evasion; and a
chasm of indifference that separates the
affluent and powerful from the poor and
weak. The latter is manifested in insuffi-
cient resource allocation to education
and health.
In his landmark work, The Protestant
Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, Max
Weber observed that "the God of Cal-
vinism demanded of his believers not
single good works but a life of good
works combined into a unified system.
There was no place for the very human
Catholic cycle of sin, repentance, atone-
ment, release, followed by renewed
sin." Weber also believed that the
traditional Catholic emphasis on the
afterlife put Catholics at a disadvantage
in this life. Although modern Catholicism
in western Europe, Canada and the
United States has diverged from the
traditional form, traditional Catholicism
held sway in Latin America until re-
cently. Moreover, particularly in colo-
nial times, there was an intimate link
between the conquistadors and the church
which magnified the corrosive effect
of Spanish colonialism on justice and
progress. Catholicism contributed to a
highly authoritarian worldview, propa-
gated not only in the church but in the
home, school, government and
workplace. This authoritarianism has
discouraged independent thinking, in-
itiative, risk-taking and dissent.
Although the generalization may make
many uncomfortable, I believe that ethi-
cal standards and the idea of fair play
are more highly developed in the west-
ern democracies than in Latin America.
The problem is related to and com-
pounded by the limited radius of trust
found in Hispanic societies and by
excessive individualism. These cultural

factors are at the root of many social
inequities, such as maldistribution of
land, wealth and income, that character-
ize most Latin American countries.
They are also at the root of judicial
systems in which due process is a rare
I also believe that a higher value is
attached to work in Canada, the United
States and most western European coun-
tries than in Latin America, and that
work plays a more central role in the
structure of our lives, particularly as a
source of satisfaction. Three roots of
the Spanish view of work come to
mind: the conquistador's goal of getting
rich quick and returning to Spain for a
life of leisure; the system of slavery
that inculcated in the minds of master
and slave alike the belief that work is
a curse; and Spanish-Catholic fatalism,
which militates against planning, saving
or even maintaining equipment. To be
sure, large numbers of Latin Americans
work hard, particularly those who live
in acute poverty and must work hard
to stay alive. It is not uncommon,
however, for campesinos to view sub-
sistence as the goal and decline work
opportunities that would carry them to
a higher level.
Large numbers of middle and upper-
class Latin Americans have adopted
North American attitudes about work.
But I stand on the generalization that
North Americans attach more impor-
tance to work than Latin Americans.
Furthermore, because authoritarianism
is less a factor, North Americans tend
to be more creative and entrepreneurial.

Obstacles to Change

Culture does change, but as we learned
with the Alliance for Progress, broadly
accelerated cultural change cannot be
guided from without. It must come
principally from within, particularly from
national political leaders, intellectuals
and the media. As is apparent from the
existence of Hispanic culture in this
hemisphere for almost 500 years, we
are talking about a monumentally pow-
erful cultural momentum. There has
been change: the recent democratization
trend is one example, although we have
seen periods of democratization (e.g.
1960-63) that were overwhelmed by the
propensity for authoritarian systems.
In a recent Miami Herald article,
Carlos Rangel expressed some opti-
mism that Spain's economic dynamism

and democratization, resulting princi-
pally from Franco's opening to Europe
in the 1950s and enlightened leadership
since, may serve as a model for Latin
America. He believes that profound
cultural change is occurring in Spain
and that the lesson will not be lost on
Latin America. Indeed the current wave
of democratization may have been in-
fluenced by modern Spain, which is an
exquisite irony if you believe, as I do,
that the root of Latin America's prob-
lems is traditional Spanish culture.
Because for many people "cultural
determinism" is a dirty phrase and
"cultural relativism" is sacrosanct, there
has been little study of the factors
which promote progessive cultural
change. Yet the frustration we all feel
about the slow pace of progress in the
underdeveloped countries may well be
principally attributable to cultural ob-
While certain kinds of development
projects can play a useful role in
constructive cultural change e.g.,
cooperatives, community development
organizations and other associations
based on mutual interest that can dem-
onstrate the value and tools of coopera-
tion research and experience have
led me to the belief that perhaps the
most promising avenue for promoting
progressive cultural changemay be
through improved child-rearing prac-
tices. Child rearing has been the object
of considerable study in the developed
countries but not in the poor ones.
Traditional North American culture
- especially the combination of a
strong sense of fair play, sense of
community, the quest for excellence
and a commitment to work as a core
structure of human life has brought
us a long way. Octavio Paz said, in a
recent article in The Wilson Quarterly,
"It is not beyond the bounds of possi-
bility that by the end of this century the
United States will have become the first
multiracial democracy in history." Our
culture has both enriched and been
enriched by the most successful democ-
racies in the world.
But lest I be accused of smug chau-
vinism, I would like to conclude by
saying that I am concerned about the
changes I perceive taking place in US
culture, particularly with respect to fair
play, community, excellence and work.
As Greece, Rome, Medieval Spain,
among many others, have demonstrated,
culture changes, but not always in a
positive direction.


More Like Us
Continued from page 19

masses alike, cutting across class and
ethnic barriers. The surest way to over-
come cultural obstacles is by adaptation
to Western (read British or American)
values or, as noted, by isolation.
Let us begin a closer look with
Lawrence Harrison's Underdevelopment
Is a State of Mind. Harrison's goals are
respectable enough: to flush out the
ghost in the machine and in the process,
to shed light on the role of cultural
factors in development. But the book
is flawed by a lack of systematic
evidence. Citations are haphazard; occa-
sionally the author cannot even recall
who is being quoted (168). He proceeds
by pulling together quotations from
favorite authors. He then sets these
against a series of potted histories
which contrast more and less successful
cases: Nicaragua vs Costa Rica, Haiti
vs Barbados, Argentina vs Australia,
and so forth.
Conceptual vagueness is fatal here.
It is never clear just what is encom-
passed by "culture." To Harrison, cul-
ture is a thing in possession of some
group. His analysis of Costa Rica and
Nicaragua is illustrative. After explain-
ing Costa Rica's success (vs Nicara-
gua's failure) by its poverty and isola-
tion, he then notes that if only all
Central America were peopled by Costa
Ricans, democracy and progress would
flourish. But this is contradictory: if all
Central America were peopled by Costa
Ricans, what happens to their unique
cultural traits which presumably arise
from isolation? Moreover, if isolation
and equality cause democracy and develop-
ment, the Sandinistas would seem to fit
the bill admirably. But to Harrison, they
are merely a "new anguish" for Nica-
The other paired cases fare no better.
Barbados is more democratic than Haiti
because extended colonial rule led to
absorption of English values (98). This
example suggests that the critical factor
is not isolation per se, but isolation
from the wrong values. Thus longer
exposure to the right values is good.
How long is necessary? The British
were in Barbados for centuries and that
was sufficient, but apparently the US
occupation of Haiti was too short-lived
to overcome the burdens its culture
imposed. Analysis is inconsistent and

at times borders on the absurd. For
example, Harrison is impressed by the
popularity of cricket in Barbados, for
cricket has rules, and respect for rules
is good. But by definition all games
have rules. Apparently baseball was not
enough to turn the trick in Cuba or
Nicaragua. Culture is supposed to be
the independent and determining factor,
but Harrison believes that our 1965
intervention in the Dominican Republic
sparked a "political miracle" which
may continue (75). Politics would then
determine culture. Or maybe not: No
clear criteria are given.

A Flawed Culture

The clearest thread in all this confusion
is one of dissatisfaction with Latin
American culture, however vaguely it
may be perceived and defined. Along
with Barrett, Harrison also rejects de-
pendency analysis as inaccurate, demor-
alizing and defeatist. But the account
offered of dependency is a caricature,
and its acceptance requires enormous
mental gymnastics. For all its well-
known problems, dependency theory
has the virtue of focusing on economic
and political relationships which are
historical creations, contingent on power.
Ties of this sort are powerful, but
necessarily contingent, subject to con-
stant change and modification. Why
such a focus should be defeatist, and
attention to static cultural "obstacles"
hopeful and uplifting is difficult to
The logical result of this sort of
analysis, after all, is that something is
wrong with Latin Americans. The flaw
is deeply rooted and in the last analysis
can be changed only if Latins become
more like us. Jeffrey Barrett's Impulse
to Revolution draws the inferences
squarely. In his view Latin American
culture weakens privately-led moderni-
zation and makes an effective state role
unlikely. Barrett considers a range of
major groups, including entrepreneurs,
labor leaders, politicians and generals.
All are found wanting, and the author
concludes that Latin America is hard
to govern (87). Political reform, as
through expanded participation, will only
makes things worse, "swelling the ranks
of the demanders" (307). Revolution-
ary and totalitarian movements fare no
better. The problem is intractable, and
for Barrett the only solution is to make

Latin Americans different: the people
must be replaced: "...the Latin Ameri-
can peoples as they exist today are a
raw material generally unsuitable for
the designs of ambitious developmental
elites. Through the modernization point
of view, these masses are seriously
deficient in the kinds of social mor6s
and the degree of national consensus
necessary to achieve an acceptable level
of long-term economic development.
It is a notable feature of Impulse to
Revolution that Latin Americans are
damned if they do and damned if they
don't. If Latin Americans simply give
up, they are defeatist victims of their
culture. But if new perspectives emerge
in the region to explain the situation or
to motivate citizens to promote change,
these are dismissed as mere reaction.
The author's treatment of dependency
is a case in point. He takes it less as
an explanation to be evaluated than as
a psychological phenomenon, a projec-
tion of internal weakness onto a foreign
agent. Nationalism suffers the same
fate. To Barrett, Latin American nation-
alism is a defense mechanism, a way
of dealing with the difficult emotions
caused by inferior status. In his view,
a clear and unbiased vision would
reveal that Western influence is good;
indeed, the more the better (178,180).
These books are easy to fault. But
they are important nonetheless, not so
much for their evidence or arguments
as for what these signify, and why they
should find so ready and enthusiastic
an audience in official Washington to-
day. It is really not so surprising. This
perspective makes development rela-
tively simple and uncomplicated, and
places the blame for failure squarely
on Latin Americans themselves. We are
told that the raw material has been
unsuitable all along, and that nothing
can be accomplished unless Latin Ameri-
cans become different. Attention is thus
directed away from the failure of offi-
cial development programs and their
underlying assumptions, to focus in-
stead on the supposed incapacities of
intended recipients. In response to fail-
ure, development specialists and official
Washington with them, have turned the
tables; and with a sigh of relief and a
shrug of the shoulders, they now pro-
ceed to blame the victims, without ever
considering letting the victims go. If
only they could be more like us!


Continued from page 21

late November. (The peso-dollar rate
in early July 1987 was 1300.)

The People Organize

Dismayed at government shenanigans
and emboldened by adversity-inspired
solidarity, some damnificados began to
organize. A medley of factors a
tradition of participation in four exist-
ing organizations spawned to improve
government-built units, a sense of com-
munity forged by the 1968 "massacre"
and El Grande, and an abundance of
lawyers, physicians, journalists and other
self-confident professionals adept at ar-
ticulating their interests and dealing
with the media made Tlatelolco the
focus of this activity.
Although spurning the title of
"leader," Dr. Cuauht6moc Abarca
emerged as the head of the Tlatelolco
"movement" as everyone here called
the grassroots organization whose 20-
member executive committee comprised
independents, as well as militants in
parties ranging from the free enterprise
PAN to the Trotskyite Partido Revolu-
cionario de Trabajadores. Abarca, a
pudgy, unpretentious, 32-year-old gen-
eral practitioner who prefers a blue-
striped windbreaker to a coat and tie,
is an independent whose widespread
support derived from logic, experience
in a protracted struggle against govern-
ment housing agencies, and his appar-
ent sincerity. "We must not allow the
government to crush us," he told me.
"We are a community and strength lies
in our joining together to defend our
rights. Tlatelolco will triumph."
To preserve Tlatelolco, Abarca asked
authorities to repair structures instead
of demolishing 23 buildings as initially
proposed. In the case of traumatized
residents anxious to move, he demanded
compensation that would assure access
to comparable housing, not the 50
percent of replacement value offered
by the Urban Development Ministry
(SEDUE). Like other damwnficados, move-
ment activists literally hissed their con-
tempt for SEDUE secretary, architect
Guillermo Carrillo Arena who, as a
public official in the 1960s, oversaw
construction of hospitals and other pub-
lic structures that collapsed in Septem-
ber. Of an estimated 20 million square

feet of downtown office space de-
stroyed by the temblor, some 12 million
belonged to the government, including
headquarters of four ministries and a
20-story federal court center. In addi-
tion, the buildings that sustained the
greatest losses of life were all con-
structed and managed by the government
- for instance the General Hospital,
where 116 staff members and approxi-
mately 200 patients died, and the JuArez
Hospital, where some 1,000 victims
perished. Allegations, vehemently de-
nied by the government, surfaced that
those buildings were constructed of
inferior materials. And when promises
from other high officials including the
president remained unfulfilled, Abarca
and his movement stepped up their
They demonstrated, circulated a
weekly newspaper (El Tlatelolco), ap-
peared at press conferences, opened a
legal aid office, and convened well
attended, democratically conducted meet-
ings. Still, most threatening to the
government was the movement's cata-
lytic role in forming a citywide Coor-
dinadora Unica de Damnificados (CUD)
that embraced more than 28 groups,
received endorsements from small labor
unions, and attracted 30,000 partici-
pants in a five-mile-long protest march
to the Los Pinos presidential mansion.
At first the PRI tried to coopt the
movement by using Congresswoman
Elba Esther Gordillo, who represented
a large chunk of Tlatelolco even though
she didn't live in the neighborhood.
Jeers and catcalls greeted her when she
arrived with bodyguards at a movement
rally where she unconvincingly de-
claimed the regime's goodwill toward
the citizens. Her failure preceded the
PRI's hugely unsuccessful attempt to
win control of tenant associations in a
majority of the buildings.
The carrot and stick were then bran-
dished at Abarca. He told me of two
offers by SEDUE Housing Subsecretary
Gabino Fraga to "name my price" and
"say how much I wanted" for coming
to terms. On November 13, 1985, fol-
lowing rejection of these perceived
bribes, a car its headlights off,
bearing no license plates, and racing
down the wrong side of the street -
almost struck the doctor as he walked
home after dark, he said. "It was only
an effort to scare me, because they
could have killed me if they'd wanted
to," Abarca added. SEDUE later
launched a well-financed public rela-

tions campaign both to assert that Tiate-
lolco's problems had been "solved"
and to redbait the unflappable dissi-
dents. Meanwhile, the PRI circulated
pamphlets condemning "bad Mexicans
who attempt to lead us astray."
Abarca continued to exude an opti-
mism based on the "justice" of his
cause and the "solidarity" of the move-
ment. Some of his colleagues were less
sanguine. "Every day we hold out we
lose 5,000 pesos because of inflation
and lost investment opportunities," ob-
served a translator who served on the
executive committee and was prepared
to fight to the last breath. "Moreover,
living week after week with friends or
relatives engenders friction, and Christ-
mas is just around the corner. Let's face
it, time is on their side."
Time was on the side of the t6cnico-
dominated government, which detests
opposition especially when it is
independent, democratic, incorruptible
and brigaded by popular support. At the
outset, divide and conquer tactics con-
centrated on those damnificados least
able to hold out to undermine Abarc,
his Tlatelolco allies, and the CUD.


It became obvious that confrontation
rather than conciliation with the earth-
quake victims would further discredit
the regime, whose standing was already
low according to a late 1985 survey
published in the newspaper Excelsior.
It reported that only 37 percent of city
residents considered the administration's
crisis performance as "excellent" or
"good" (even lower were evaluations
of congressmen at 17 percent; political
parties at 20 percent; and the police at
30 percent) compared to ratings of 98
percent and 93 percent, respectively, for
the behavior of "other countries" and
the "people." The government would
have received even lower marks had it
not preserved order, stifled looting, and
prevented the spread of disease. Indeed,
Abarca himself praised the work of
health and education officials.
Five months after the tragedy, the
technocrats realized the political liabil-
ity that would attend any effort to snuff
out the damnificado movement. By
February 1986, they had replaced Car-
rillo Arena with Manuel Camacho Solfs,
a ticnico with unusual political savvy.
The new Urban Development Secretary
showed his willingness to replace dia-


tribe with dialogue by inviting CUD
leaders and other victims' representatives
to join the government's reconstruction
commission. After tireless negotiations,
Camacho Solis came to terms on a
housing reconstruction strategy with neigh-
borhood committees, church groups and
foreign relief agencies. "My orders from
the president were to negotiate and that's
what we did," he said in an interview.
"It took one month to reach an agree-
ment, but we have been able to work
well since then."
Hospital and school construction have
benefitted from most of the $50 million
donated to a National Reconstruction
Fund, while the World Bank earmarked
a $400 million loan for new housing and
Mexico expected to provide approxi-
mately $500 million. Official figures
released on the anniversary of El Grande
indicated that 28% of the homeless had
been housed, with December 1987 the
target for completing the task. "The
problems of building in the same areas
are enormous," said Eduardo Terrazas,
a leading architect, "but I'd say that
nowhere has so much been done in such
a short time after a natural disaster."
This favorable assessment was dis-
puted by Abarca who, on September 19,
1986, lamented the lack of criminal
prosecution for allegedly faulty con-
struction of government buildings, the
slowness in furnishing shelter, and the
official decision to designate interna-
tional aid for the reconstruction of schools
and hospitals instead of housing. "This
money was given to help the people, the
victims of the earthquake, and the gov-
ernment kept the money for itself," he
complained in an interview with the
Washington Post.
Another bone of contention was the
government's adhering to a death rate
of 4,287 when foreign diplomats be-
lieved the figure to be five times greater.
Admitting a higher toll "would damage
the image of an omnipotent superstate
capable of handling any problem," sur-
mised Adolfo Aguilar Zinsser, a political
analyst at the Economic Research Center.
While governments (least of all Mex-
ico's) seldom admit mistakes, de la
Madrid's administration deserves credit
both for its belated removal of an inept
cabinet member and for its subsequent
impressive attention to the plight of the
damnificados. How much PRI ticnicos
have really learned about politics will
be revealed by their ability to move
beyond the mechanics of reconstruction
to build bridges to poor and middle-class

constituencies in Mexico City where
cynicism and distrust abound. The failure
of de la Madrid and his fellow elites to

win the loyalty of such groups will
further diminish the regime's legitimacy
and its prospects for long-term stability.

Changing directions in the Americas

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Abraham Lowenthal
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$19.95 hardcover

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Gordon K. Lewis
One of the world's foremost Caribbeanists recounts and interprets the events in
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$25.00 hardcover

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The Historical Evolution of Caribbean Society
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Gordon K. Lewis shows how European, African, and Asian ideas became
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$12.95 paperback $30.00 hardcover



The Other Debate
Continued from page 23

latter surveys, the responses were more
favorable. However, when the same
direct questions about whether to sup-
port or oppose the treaties were asked,
public opinion remained the same. De-
spite extraordinary efforts by both the
administration and the opposition, "when
it was all over, nothing had changed."
That is not entirely true. Public opin-
ion remained opposed to the treaties,
and 20 of the 68 senators, who voted
in favor, were not re-elected in 1978
and 1980. Neither was the president.
The leader of the opposition to the
Canal treaties was Ronald Reagan, whose
fortunes fared better. Reagan's argu-
ment was that the canal treaties were
not only a "surrender" of vital inter-
ests, but a dangerous invitation to the
enemies of the United States. "Once
again," Reagan said of the treaties,
"Uncle Sam put his tail between his
legs and crept away rather than face
Whereas Moffett describes and ana-
lyzes the US politics of the debate,
Hogan concentrates more on the argu-
ments and the visions of the two sides.
Hogan is a student of rhetoric and
communication, and he appears more
sympathetic to the case made by the
opponents. He doubts the "experts"
argument that the treaties were needed,
and is more convinced of the basic
soundness of American public opinion,
which he recognizes was largely uncon-
vinced by the administration. "At bot-
tom, the [Carter] Administration failed
to reshape public opinion because its
arguments for the Panama Canal trea-
ties were intellectually untenable and
emotionally unappealing. The historical
revisionism of protreaty advocates was
incomplete, confused, and disparaging
toward America... In contrast to their
opponents' rekindling of national pride
in the Panama Canal, the protreaty case
called upon Americans to feel ashamed
and guilty about their nation's past."
This latter characterization is unfair
and inaccurate. The, major arguments
used by the Carter administration were
that the treaties would guarantee US
interests in the Canal and enhance US
interests and prestige in Latin America
by recognizing legitimate nationalist
aspirations of the Panamanian people
aspirations shared by most people
in Latin America. With new treaties, the

United States would change a resentful
neighbor into a cooperative partner.
Both Hogan and Moffett are correct
that the essence of Carter's argument
- that the US would increase its
control over the Canal by relinquishing
part of it to Panama was both
counter-intuitive and not as persuasive
as the simpler Reagan argument: "We
bought it. It's our's, and we're going
to keep it." In contrast, Carter argued
for a more intangible and broader defi-
nition of US power: "We don't have
to show our strength as a nation by
running over a small nation."
Both books show that arguments on
both sides of the treaty debate reflected
broader visions of the role of the United
States in the world. Carter's vision was
a tolerant one that aimed to align the
United States with changes that had
occurred in the world, most notably the
demand for respect in the Third World.
Reagan's vision was of a proud and
assertive America, one that led the
Third World rather than listened to it.
Despite all the power of the presidency,
Carter found himself swimming up-
stream against a national mood that
gradually came to reflect Reagan's vi-
sion. Subsequent events the hostages
in Iran, inflation, the Soviet invasion
of Afghanistan reinforced the credi-
bility of the Reagan vision in the minds
of most Americans.
In 1978, Torrijos wrote a letter about
what he would have done if Reagan had
been elected President in 1976 rather
than four years later. He expected that
Reagan would have blocked real nego-
tiations, and that violent incidents would
have been impossible to prevent. (Even
the moderate Panamanian president
Roberto Chiari rejected a personal re-
quest from President Lyndon Johnson
in January 1964 to order the National
Guard to stop the riots in Panama.) The
extreme left, Torrijos knew, would ex-
ploit the violence. "They will start their
own fires to gain their own goals," he
wrote. "Three hundred thousand Latin
Americans would be raising the anti-
Yankee banner as they raised it when
the Americans went in to fight Sandino
[in Nicaragua in 1927]... If I had
historical vanity, I would have gone
more for Sandino's place than for the
real solution of our problem."
Torrijos did not let the romantic side
of him carry him away. "I do not
delude myself... Through a war...there
would be mourning in Panamanian
homes. And hate, a profound feeling

of hate for the United States." Because
Jimmy Carter recognized the justice of
Panama's claim, the practical side of
Omar Torrijos prevailed, and the trea-
ties made the Canal more secure.

A Real Test

The allusion to Sandino was prophetic,
of course. The inauguration of Ronald
Reagan in 1981 offered a real, not just
a hypothetical test of a different vision
of the US role in the region. The
national debates over Carter's Panama
policy and Reagan's Nicaragua policy
yield fascinating similarities and differ-
ences, which help illuminate the ways
in which domestic politics constrain
and guide US foreign policy. In both
cases, a small Central American nation
responded to a long-standing grievance
against the United States. Panama sought
every opportunity to change the 1903
treaty, and the Sandinistas attribute,
incorrectly, the death of Sandino to US
With respect to similarities, first,
both debates were divisive and emo-
tional. Public opinion was largely unin-
formed, but nevertheless opposed to
both presidents' policies, the Canal
treaties and aid to the contras. With
respect to the contras, between June
1983 and June 1987, there was rela-
tively little change in public opinion,
with about 23-31% supporting aid to
the contras and 53-67% opposing it.
However, the large majority of Ameri-
cans still did not know which side the
US supported in Nicaragua.
Polls taken immediately after Oliver
North's electric testimony in July 1987
revealed an extraordinary reduction in
opposition to the contras 46% op-
posed and an increase of support to
43%. One of the reasons for the shift
was that Congress chose to focus the
hearings on whether the administration
broke the law, and permitted North to
make speeches for the contras with
neither agreement nor rebuttal. Once
that debate is joined by Congress,
opposition to the contras is likely to
increase again, and support to decline.
Up until North's presentation and
probably afterwords, the most intense
views in the two cases of Panama and
Nicaragua were held by those in oppo-
sition to the administration. The Pan-
ama treaties passed the Senate by one
vote. The Reagan administration's ef-
forts to obtain aid for the contras have


always been difficult and sometimes
Secondly, both presidents have per-
suaded Congress, but only after mobi-
lizing the full resources of their offices
and investing their personal prestige.
Neither president retreated from his
basic commitment, but both repeatedly
compromised to win. Carter accepted
six reservations, seven understandings,
and the almost fatal "DeConcini condi-
tion" in order to win enough votes for
passage of the treaties. With each vote
for the contras, Reagan grudgingly ac-
cepted Congressional conditions, in-
cluding appointing new special envoys
(Stone, Shlaudeman, Habib), promising
negotiations, and accepting conditions
to improve the contras' human rights
performance. In the end, Congress bent
to the president's interpretation of the
national interest, although in the case
of Nicaragua, President Reagan may
have exhausted his capital.
Third, the arguments have been simi-
lar, although the issues are different. In
Panama, the issue was how to preserve
US interests in a secure Canal, and in
Nicaragua, the issue for US policy-
makers is how to contain or change the
direction and behavior of a Marxist
revolution. In both cases, Carter recog-
nized the nationalistic edge of both
governments, but at the same time, he
tried to pursue US interests through
tough negotiations. In both cases, Re-
agan compared negotiations to "ap-
peasement" even mentioning "Mu-
nich," and he characterized agreements
as a "surrender." Reagan chose con-
frontation, calling Torrijos a Marxist
and the Sandinistas communists, while
Carter chose to talk with both rather
than call them names.
Fourth, in both cases, the administra-
tions claimed that lobbying groups sup-


All types of professional translations,
including commercial, advertising,
scientific, legal and technical. Eng-
lish, Spanish, French, Italian, Por-
tuguese. We are committed to meet-
ing your deadlines.
Pedro J. Romahach
22 Salamanca Ave. Apt. 304
Coral Gables, Fl. 33134
Tel. nos. (305): 446-8256
and (305) 649-0385

porting its position were independent,
but it later became clear that the White
House orchestrated the support network
for the programs. The Carter admini-
stration helped establish the Citizens'
Committee for the Panama Canal trea-
ties, and the Reagan administration -
through Oliver North and company -
channelled millions of dollars to their
"subsidiaries" for purposes of propa-
ganda and persuading Congress and
public opinion and also to help the
contras receive arms.
Finally, both presidents won
"pyrrhic" victories; they persuaded Con-
gress, but not the American people.
Carter recognized it as "the toughest
political fight of my life, including my
election as president." And Reagan's
legacy might very well hang in the the
balance of the investigation into the
illegal diversion of funds to the contras.

Different Visions

These similarities should not, however,
obscure the very real differences be-
tween the two visions and cases. First,
with regard to public opinion, the Canal
treaties enjoyed widespread support
among opinion leaders, especially ma-
jor newspapers. The more people knew
about the treaties the more likely they
would support them. In contrast, opin-
ion leaders are divided over the contras
with most of them opposing the pro-
gram. Moreover, unlike the Canal trea-
ties, the more people know about Nica-
ragua the more likely they oppose the
administration's policy.
Secondly, Latin American govern-
ments unanimously supported the Canal
treaties, and urged the United States to
approve them. All Latin American gov-
ernments oppose the contra program,
although the Reagan administration
claims that a few governments support
them privately.
Third, the United States supported
the principle of self-determination in
agreeing to permit Panama to exercise
jurisdiction over its own territory, and
was violating a universally accepted
principle of nonintervention in organ-
izing and supporting a group of Nicara-
guans to overthrow a government.
In brief, the two cases were similar
in that each president doggedly pursued
policies which enjoyed little popular
support. By utilizing the full powers of
his office, both Carter and Reagan
attained most of their objectives, but

their victories were costly. Internation-
ally, Carter benefited from the Canal
treaties, and Reagan engendered resent-
ment by the contras.
The key difference between the two
issues was not in the national debate
in the United States, but in the effect
of the policies in Panama and Nicara-
gua. In Panama, despite instability and
protest against the current military re-
gime, US and Panamanian officials
operate the canal smoothly and coop-
eratively. The treaties are respected by
all Panamanians and viewed as a sign
of US trust and friendship.
Nicaragua, five years after the start
of the contra campaign, the Nicaraguan
government is more militarized and
politically polarized and more depend-
ent on the Soviet Union and Cuba than
it was before the campaign. To argue
that Nicaragua would have been just as
militarized and communized, is to ad-
mit that the contras have been irrele-
vant. In fact, they have been contraproduc-
The principal, lesson of the national
debate on the Panama Canal is that true
leadership in the United States requires
an understanding of the forces of na-
tionalism in the Third World. A coura-
geous recognition by the United States
of legitimate national aspirations abroad
may cost a US leader politically in the
shortterm, but it will benefit the United
States in the longterm. Despite warn-
ings by Reagan to the contrary, the
Canal treaties succeeded in depriving
the left in Panama of the only issue it
could use to broaden its base and tilt
the country. The troubling irony of the
treaties is that the arguments of US
conservatives were proven wrong in
Panama but nonetheless helped them
to power in the United States.


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First Impressions

Critics Look at the New Literature

Compiled by Forrest D. Colburn


Nicaragua's Mosquito Shore: The
Years of British and American Pres-
ence. Craig L. Dozier. University of
Alabama Press, 1985. 269 p.

From the early 17th through the mid-
20th centuries, the eastern shore of
Nicaragua, the Mosquito Coast, was
outside the effective control of Spanish
Nicaragua. The Mosquito--or Miskito,
as anthropologists prefer-Indians were
independent, at least semi-autonomous,
and were much more influenced, at
times controlled, by English-speaking
intruders who offered them the reten-
tion of their traditional ways along with
advantages from the industrialized world.
Although long claimed by Spain and
subsequently by Nicaragua, not until
after 1979 was there a true attempt to
integrate the region into mainstream
Nicaraguan life. Craig Dozier recounts
the history of this exotic region during
its British and North American periods,
essentially 1633 to 1940, and provides
us with perceptive insight and back-
ground on the present conflict.
English influence came to the Mos-
quito Coast with 17th-century bucca-
neers, and many of the characteristics
of the region date from this experience.
Dozier's attention to this period is less
than comprehensive, but sufficient to
give the reader a good idea of the
anglicization process. His coverage of
American influence includes an expla-
nation of the Anglo-American rivalry
from 1844 to 1850. Packed with epi-
sodic accounts of Americans, and occa-
sionally other foreigners, in the region
and their relations with the authorities
in western Nicaragua, Dozier describes
a colonial process that was little known
or even supported by the US govern-
ment. Ultimately, when the Nicaraguan

Forrest D. Colburn teaches politics at Prince-
ton University.

government insisted on its sovereignty
over Mosquitia against the continued
British dominance, the United States
chose to support hemispheric unity and
the Managua government.
While Nicaraguan governments sought
to gain a share of the foreign profits in
the region, they interfered little with the
freedom of the Mosquito Indians to run
their affairs in traditional ways. Thus
as the Americans left, the region tended
to revert to a more primitive condition
under the Somoza dynasty. Suddenly
in 1979, the efforts of the Sandinistas
to bring it into the mainstream of
Nicaraguan life and to prevent the
area's use as a counterrevolutionary
stronghold catapulted it back into the
international spotlight.
Implicit in Dozier's work is the
suggestion that Mosquitia is a separate
nation within Central America or Nica-
ragua. Its native culture, combined with
adoption of the English language and
many American cultural and economic
traits, plus its Moravian Protestantism,
all make it an ethnic and cultural unit
well outside Spanish-Catholic Nicara-
gua. In attempting to challenge the
Mosquito tradition, the Sandinistas have
taken on a greater task than they may
have bargained for.
Ralph Lee Woodward, Jr.
Tulane University
New Orleans, Louisiana


Bob Marley. Stephen Davis. Doubleday,
1985. 276 p.

This biography of Bob Marley is a
well-researched and sensitively presented
account of the life of the Jamaican star.
What distinguishes Stephen Davis' book,
however, is his situating biographical
events within broader historical, social
and political contexts. The author suc-
cessfully captures the complex dialectic

relationship between artist and society,
showing how each acts upon the other.
Bob Marley is portrayed not only as
creator but also as social product. He
both influenced and was influenced by
international musical trends, the inde-
pendence struggles in Africa, and his
own nation's political problems. He
fostered new ideas and yet was part of
a wider tradition which encompassed
Marcus Garvey, Jomo Kenyatta, Kwame
Nkrumah and Leopold Senghor.
This dialectic relationship is mirrored
in the book's structure. The author
skillfully moves from abstract to con-
crete, from past to present and back
again. The result is a complex social
portrait which blends the personal and
the sociopolitical levels. Largely be-
cause of this dual approach, the author's
unquestionably positive appraisal of Bob
Marley does not collapse into the exces-
sive glorification so often characteristic
of biographies of entertainment figures.
The book appeals not only to those
interested in reggae, but to those inter-
ested in sociology as well.
Kamla Lewis
Kingston, Jamaica


Revolutionary Cuba: The Challenge
of Economic Growth with Equity.
Claes Brundenius. Westview Press and
Heineman (London), 1984. 240 p.

Brundenius contends that Cuba has
successfully implemented a growth-with-
equity economic strategy. With the aid
of clearly identified social and eco-
nomic indicators (mostly self-constructed)
and buttressed by previously unpub-
lished statistical data collected in the
island, the author offers a detailed
quantitative base for evaluating Cuba's
performance in economic growth, em-
ployment creation, income redistribu-
tion, and the meeting of basic needs.


In overall terms, the basic theme is
carefully developed, and controversial
points are tightly argued. In addition,
there are many innovative, if risky,
attempts at piecing together the facts
about Cuba's elusive economic reality.
However, at several critical junctures,
the book suffers from serious
methodological shortcomings in the meas-
urement of socioeconomic indicators,
from superficial treatment of important
causal factors, and from lapses in the
exclusion of more appropriate explana-
tory variables.
Brundenius' most impressive contri-
bution is to be found in his estimates
of Cuban economic growth for the
period 1959-1981. But his choice of
inconsistent time-series data and his
combination of several index-number
methodologies raise enough questions
to undermine the validity of some of
his estimates. When Brundenius turns
to analysis and explanation, there is a
tendency to minimize or ignore the
importance of key variables such as the
ideological-political struggle of the 1960s
or the breadth and depth of Havana's
dependence on Moscow and its damn-
ing implications for Cuba's claims of
increased economic self-sufficiency and
superior regional performance.
Sergio G. Roca
Adelphi University
Garden City, New York


History of the Voice: The Develop-
ment of Nation Language in Anglo-
phone Caribbean Poetry. Edward Ka-
mau Brathwaite. London: New Beacon
Books Ltd., 1984. 86 p.

Poet and historian Brathwaite presents
an inspiring prolegomenon to Carib-
bean poetry in English in this brief
transcript of a Harvard lecture. Included
with the transcript is a comprehensive
bibliography of print and audio exam-
ples to illustrate Brathwaite's notion of
a "nation language," the phrase he
created to demarcate a language strongly
influenced by the Caribbean's African
heritage. What Brathwaite is most con-
cerned with is establishing the literary
and political integrity of a literary
language which is English "in terms
of some of its lexical features...but in
its contours, its rhythms and timbre, its
sound explosions, it is not English...."

Although this theme is far from new
in Caribbean literary studies, the con-
siderable value of Brathwaite's essay
centers upon the sweeping connections
he makes in his text and bibliography.
Since a nation language is grounded
in African oral tradition, it is a poetic
language centered on sound and song.
Brathwaite demonstrates how the most
literary of Caribbean poets (Walcott,
e.g.) had to forge poetic forms that
contrasted with English poetry's classic
iambic pentameters to encompass Ca-
ribbean subjects. The liberation from
conservative poetic forms helped bridge
the distance between high-brow writers
nd low-brow musical composers and
DJs. Brathwaite makes meaningful con-
nections between poet Walcott and trom-
bonist Don Drummond, a Kumina Queen
and the late dub poet Mikey Smith.
Some utterly unexpected influences
far from Africa emerge in this account.
Brathwaite credits his listening to a
recording of T.S. Eliot with deepening
his appreciation of jazz cadences in
poetry, reminding us that the African
influence on Caribbean poetry does not
exist in a vacuum removed from Euro-
pean currents. This short but potent
essay and bibliography provides a dy-
namic framework within which new
poetic currents in the English-speaking
Caribbean can be savored.
Norman Weinstein
Boise State University
Boise, Idaho


Latin American Insurgencies. Geor-
ges Fauriol, ed. The Georgetown Center
for Strategic and International Studies
and the National Defense University,
1985. 214 p.

This book approaches insurgencies from
an ideological perspective, with empha-
sis on geopolitical and strategic consid-
erations. Such arguments see Latin Amer-
ica in the context of the East-West
conflict. Throughout most chapters,
which range from descriptions of insur-
gencies, international terrorist networks,
US policies, and the inevitable political
risk star-gazing, the standard arguments
about communist inspiration, infiltra-
tion and influences are offered in an
uncritical framework.
Only with the two country chap-
ters-Guatemala and Peru-are these

assumptions tested. In the case study
of Peru, David Scott Palmer draws upon
his personal experience with the Maoist
Sendero Luminoso leadership during
the 1960s in Ayacucho and provides the
book's most lucid insights to rebellion.
The review of inequities existing in
that Peruvian highland department sug-
gests that more than ideology and geo-
politics attract people to rebellions. For
a wider treatment of such groups read-
ers should refer to Peter Janke's Guer-
rilla and Terrorist Organizations: A
World Directory and Bibliography.
What this work does not address is
why urban and rural populations be-
come sympathetic toward, and even
desire to participate in, insurgent move-
ments. Had the authors concerned them-
selves equally with analyzing socioeco-
nomic conditions and the literature of
revolutionaries within the national and
hemispheric context, different conclu-
sions than the East-West conflict might
have emerged. As Latin Americans
repeatedly state, "We revolt because
conditions are revolting."
Peter Johnson
Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey


An Introduction to the French Carib-
bean Novel. Beverley Ormerod. Lon-
don, Kingston, Port of Spain: Heineman,
1985. 152 p.

The opening chapter of this study ex-
amines Aim6 C6saire's Return to My
Native Land (Cahier d'un retour au
pays natal), specifically as it delineates
the somber vision of West Indian reali-
ties held by French Caribbean authors
and their ambiguous attitude towards
Africa. While necessarily concise, Orm-
erod's reading of C6saire's poem is
illuminating and lays the foundation for
her subsequent discussion. It convinc-
ingly argues that the six novels chosen
for analysis can be seen as "transposi-
tions to a secular plane of the biblical
themes of the fall from paradise and the
return to the promised Land."
Five chapters treat particular vari-
ations on the central themes of the
Cahier. A brief conclusion underscores
the differences in outlook and preoccu-
pations between the Haitian novelists
examined (Roumain and Alexis) and
their Martiniquan and Guadeloupean


colleagues. It points out that later nov-
elists are increasingly concerned with
claiming and celebrating a common
Caribbean heritage, shared with other
West Indians who have inherited Eng-
lish or Spanish as a literary language.
Each essay can be read independently
as a valuable commentary on a specific
work, all of which should be counted
among the most original and seminal
novels to have been published recently
in French. Ormerod draws on her admi-
rable knowledge of the history and
social conditions of the French Carib-
bean to place both writers and novels
in context. The quotations she chooses
are pertinent and illuminating. She never
forgets that she is dealing with artistic
constructs, not with ideological tracts:
the literary value of her texts are her
primary concern. Ormerod's book is in
fact more than the introduction its title
implies. It provides valuable insights
to anyone interested in the Caribbean.
Lion-Francois Hoffnann
Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey


The Caribbean Slave: A Biological
History. Kenneth F. Kiple. Cambridge
University Press, 1984. 274 p.

Kenneth Kiple contributes significantly
to our understanding of slavery in the
Caribbean islands as well as European
and African impacts on the New World.
This book, which compares West Afri-
can and Caribbean disease environ-
ments and covers topically nutrition,
morbidity and mortality among Carib-
bean slaves, is based on sources in
English, French and Spanish from North
American and Caribbean archives.
Kiple's biomedical perspective ex-
plains that West African malnutrition,
combined with limited and poor quality
foodstuffs provided by ship masters,
made the middle passage from Africa
even worse than we previously thought.
Tuberculosis, heretofore considered un-
important among Caribbean slaves, prob-
ably was present but manifested itself
differently from the lung ailment known
today. Kiple argues that the inability
of Caribbean slaves to increase their
own numbers was not because of infer-
tility; rather, the principal causes were
infant and child mortality, caused mainly
by the poor nutrition of slave infants

and their mothers.
The least satisfactory aspect of Kiple's
book is that its scope seems too broad
for its length. Slave health conditions
depended most of all upon the intimate
interactions between individual slaves
and their immediate social and physical
environments, and Kiple's relatively
brief regionwide discussions of vitamin
deficiencies or disease prevalences do
not really capture this idea.
Kiple's assertion that the islands vir-
tually duplicated the West African dis-
ease and nutritional environment may
explain how the exchange of pathogens
and foodstuffs created intertropical simi-
larities, but it underemphasizes the fact
that West Africa is really a mosaic of
different environments and reduces the
appreciation of the vast differences in
drought susceptibility, topography, soil
types, island size, and many other
variables in Caribbean locales that must
have had varying effects on the health
and well-being of Caribbean slaves.
Bonham C. Richardson
Virginia Polytechnic Institute
Blacksburg, Virginia


The Penguin Book of Caribbean Verse
in English. Paula Burnett, ed. Har-
mondsworth, Middlesex, England: Pen-
guin Books Ltd., 1986. 448 p.

This significant and scholarly addition
to the growing body of Caribbean verse
is the first major compendium in Eng-
lish in more than 10 years. While earlier
anthologies covered the works of mid-to-
late 19th and 20th century poets with
only passing reference to the impact of
18th century oral tradition, Burnett's
introduction chronicles the development
of West Indian verse from the 18th
century to the present.
Careful selection of West Indian slave
songs, vernacular verses popularized in
late 19th century newspapers by Mi-
chael McTurk and Edward Cordle, and
works brought in from the oral tradition
by Louise "Miss Lou" Bennett and
others attest to the richness and depth
of the poetry of the region. The literary
tradition is well represented with poets
like LeRoy Clarke and Martin Carter,
who are writing poetry in both tradi-
tions. Clarke's "Where Hurricane," for
example, is written segmentally in stan-
dard English and dialect. The quality

which makes this poetry distinctive is
a hybridization of three literary tradi-
tions: British, West African and North
American. Permutation of these tradi-
tions has produced a distinct genre
unquestionably West Indian.
The book's format is easy to follow.
Its two main sections, one devoted to
oral tradition and the other to literary
tradition, are followed by concise biog-
raphies of each contributor, explanatory
notes and very complete bibliographical
information. A glossary for non-Carib-
bean readers is also included.
Emily M. Belcher
Princeton University
Princeton, New Jersey


Crisis and Change: The Church In
Latin America Today. Edward L. Cleary,
O.P. Orbis Books, 1985. 202 p.

An excellent overview of the post-
Vatican II church in Latin America and
a succinct treatment of liberation thqol-
ogy, this book presents neither the
Roman Catholic Church nor liberation
theology as monolithic, giving special
attention to diversity within both.
Although Cleary notes that his chief
tools of interpretation are those of
anthropology and sociology, it is his
historical discussions that are most en-
lightening. To begin with, he looks at
unrelated and unnoticed events in the
1950s and early 1960s which led to
immense changes in the church such
as the formation of lay movements
(Accidn Cat6lica), short courses in Chris-
tianity (Cursillos de cristianidad), the
influx of foreign missionaries, and the
formation in 1955 of CELAM (the
Latin American Episcopal Council).
Cleary contends that liberation theol-
ogy is not a fad, that it represents the
creation of original religious thought
in Latin America but builds on long-
standing traditions in the Roman Catho-
lic Church. He traces its roots to Pope
Leo XlI's 1891 stands on social and
political issues, especially against the
excesses of capitalism, and his concern
with distributive justice.
According to Cleary, liberation theol-
ogy represents a new way of doing
theology. Instead of beginning with
text, liberation theology begins with the
human situation. Less emphasis is given
to philosophy than to the social sci-


ences, especially class analysis and
dependency theory. Another difference
is that liberation theology addresses the
poor, while traditional theology is ad-
dressed primarily to other theologians.
Cleary acknowledges the ponderous-
ness of writers such as Guti6rrez and
Freire, whose texts often prove difficult
even for professional theologians, al-
though their writings claim to be ad-
dressed to the poor.
Between two and three million Latin
American Catholics take part in com-
munidades de base (consisting of groups
of 12 to 20 persons who meet in private
homes to read scripture, pray and sing).
He speculates as to how these groups
evolved and how they function on a
day-to-day basis. One might have hoped
for more rigorous data and analysis.
Stephen D. Glazier
University of Connecticut
Storrs, Connecticut


The Latin American Military Institu-
tion. Robert Wesson, ed. Praeger, 1986.
234 p.

An examination of armed forces in nine
Latin American nations-Argentina, Bra-
zil, Chile, Colombia, Guatemala, Pan-
ama, Peru, Mexico and Venezuela. The
book deals with ordinary soldiers and
noncommissioned officers, origins and
training of officers, career patterns,
foreign influence, relations between serv-
ice branches, ideology and doctrine, and
the political role of the armed forces.
The study facilitates comparison of
particular aspects of the armed forces
but sacrifices individual country cohe-
siveness. A concluding chapter analyzes
why the military act as they do and
what we may expect in the future.
These are especially important consid-
erations as we celebrate, perhaps pre-
maturely, the redemocratization of Latin
Lawrence H. Hall
Connecticut College
New London, Connecticut


Garrison Guatemala. George Black,
with Milton Jamail and Norman Stultz
Chinchilla. Monthly Review Press, 1984.

According to this work, "The Counter-
revolution [of 1954] was founded on
destroying a real, functional democracy,
the only interlude of its kind which
Guatemala has known in a long dark
night of authoritarian rule, where the
shades of grey are not signals of dawn
but merely the nuances of counterrevo-
lutionary terror, updated and revised."
The authors describe the extended dark
night of Guatemalan history from the
Arbenz defeat in 1954 to the heyday
of what they call the "garrison state"
presided over by General Efrain Rios
Montt in 1983.
The authors contend that the army
so effectively sequestered the political
and economic power of the nation in its
own hands during the regimes of Gen-
eral Romeo Lucas Garcia (1978-1982)
and Rios Montt that the only course of
resistance left open to Guatemalans was
popular organization. By the end of the
Rios Montt administration, the army
had effectively beat back this resistance.
They argue that at present the Guate-
malan military's control of power is
increasingly tenuous in the face of
domestic and regional crisis. This, they
conclude, promises a future regrouping
and even victory for the country's
progressive forces, and an end to the
garrison state.
The authors'political biases are clear,
and the text occasionally rambles into
obfuscated political rhetoric which fails
to inform even those familiar with the
terminology of the left. This should
not, however, obscure the considerable
value of the book.
Virginia C. Garrard
Tulane University
New Orleans, Louisiana


The Other Side of Paradise. Tom Barry,
Beth Wood and Deb Preusch. Grove
Press, 1984.

A useful handbook, it is one of the best
introductions to the Caribbean. It fo-
cuses on foreign investment and eco-
nomic control and concludes that for-
eign economic interests have been the
major force shaping the region.
The authors emphasize how the de-
pendence on and domination by foreign
capital has contributed to Caribbean
underdevelopment. But the Caribbean
has brought forth alternatives, and if the

book has a weakness it is perhaps the
authors' failure to explore them.
While well researched, much of the
book's documentation comes from news-
paper articles and periodicals. It is very
clearly written and jargon-free. It pro-
vides information available nowhere
else in the literature.
Carl Henry Feuer
State University of New York
Cortland, New York


La economfa desigual: Empleo y dis-
tribuci6n en M6xlco. Manuel Gollas.
M6xico: Conacyt, 1982. 506 p.

Whether or not Mexico will eventually
join the select group of industrialized
nations depends on measures taken to
moderate economic inequalities. This
volume breaks new ground on the
subject and must be seriously consid-
ered by Mexican planners.
The book examines concentration as
one of the main factors in the meager
employment generated by Mexican manu-
facturing as well as the monopsonistic
power to bargain for lower wages. It
looks in detail at unemployment in
Mexico's rural areas and its interrela-
tionship with income distribution. Most
importantly, it deals with income distribu-
tion and unemployment within the macro
framework of the Mexican economy,
but from the micro perspective of the
firm. It links recent economic develop-
ment in Mexico with personal income
distribution and the generation of urban
employment from increased disposable
income. It is an important book.
Jorge Salazar-Carrillo
Florida International University


(305) 253-6577
13721 SW 152 ST, MIAMI, FL.


Recent Books

On the Region and Its Peoples

Compiled by Marian Goslinga


The Art of the Kachina Doll. Erik Bromberg.
West Chester, Penn.: Schiffer, 1986. 96p.

Blood of Kings: Dynasty and Ritual in
Maya Art. Linda Schele, Mary Ellen Miller.
Fort Worth, Tex.: Kimbell Art Museum, 1986.
347p. $45.00.

Caribbean Traditional Architecture: The
Traditional Architecture of Philipsburg, St.
Martin (N.A.). Joan D. van Andel. Leiden,
Netherlands: Koininklijk Instituut voor Taal-,
Land- en Volkenkunde, Caraibische Afdeling,
1986. Nf 15.00.

Cinema and Social Change in Latin Amer-
Ica: Conversations with Latin American
Filmmakers. Julianne Burton, ed. U. of Texas
Press, 1986. 276p. $22.50; $10.95 paper.

Colonial Culhuacan, 1580-1600: A Social
History of an Aztec Town. S.L Cline. Uni-
versity of New Mexico Press, 1986. 280p.

The Cost of Conquest: Indian Decline in
Honduras Under Spanish Rule. Linda A.
Newson. Westview Press, 1986.350p. $28.50

Costa Rica Before Coffee: Society and
Economy on the Eve of the Export Boom.
Lowell Gudmundson. Louisiana State Uni-
versity Press, 1986. 256p. $30.00.

Crime in Trinidad: Conflict and Control in
a Plantation Society, 1838-1900. David Vin-
cent Trotman. U. of Tennessee Press, 1986.
320p. $27.50.

Marian Goslinga is the Latin American and
Caribbean Librarian at Florida International
University. The artwork reproduces watercol-
ors that appear in Cazabon: An Illustrated
Biography of Trinidad's Nineteenth Century
Painter (available from Aquarela Galleries,
1A Dere Street, Port of Spair., Trinidad and
Tobago, tel: 625-5982).

Custom and Conflict on a Bahamian Out
Island. Jerome Wendell Wright. U. Press of
America, 1986. 261p.

El desaffo indigena en Nicaragua: el caso
de los miskitos. Jorge Jonkis Molieri. Mex-
ico: Editorial Katun, 1986. 301p.

Desarrollo y poblaci6n en la frontera norte:
el caso de Reynosa. Mario Margulis, Rodolfo
Tuiran. El Colegio de Mexico, 1986. 323p.

A Dream Compels Us: Salvadoran Women
Speak. B. Carter, K. Insko, eds. San Fran-
cisco. Calif.: Solidarity. 1986. 214n S 00f

Educational Reform and Administrative De-
velopment: The Cases of Colombia and
Venezuela. E. Mark Hanson. Hoover Institu-
tion Press, Stanford U., 1986. 264p. $21.95.

Esclavage, assimilation, et guyanite.
Neuville Doriac. Paris: Anthropos, 1986. 320p.

Un grito a Dios y al mundo. Teofilo
Cabestrero. San Jose, Costa Rica: Departa-
mento Ecum6nico de Investigaciones, 1986.

Haitian Painting: Art and Kitsch. Eva Pataki.
Jamaica Estates, N.Y.: E. Pataki, 1986. 161p.

La herencia misionera en Cuba: consult
de las Iglesias protestantes realizada en
Matanzas, Cuba, del 26 de octubre al 3 de
noviembre de 1984. Rafael Cepeda, ed.
Editorial Costa Rica, 1986. 244p.

Los hondurefios y las ideas. Ram6n Oqueli.
Universidad Nacional Aut6noma de Hondu-
ras, Editorial Universitaria, 1986.

The Human Ecology of Tropical Land Set-
tlement in Latin America. Debra A. Schu-
mann, William L. Partridge, eds. Westview
Press, 1986. 385p. $29.95.

Latin American Civilization: History and
Society, 1492 to the Present. Benjamin
Keen, ed. 4th ed., rev. Westview Press,
1986. 400p. $42.00; $18.85 paper.

Lima obrera, 1900-1930. Steve Stein. Lima:
Ediciones El Virrey, 1986. 162p.

The Masters and the Slaves: A Study in
the Development of Brazilian Civilization.
Gilberto Freyre; Samuel Putnam, trans. 2nd
English-language ed., rev. U. of California
Press, 1986. 602p. $12.95.

The Media and the Falklands Campaign.
Valerie Adams. St. Martin's Press, 1986.
256p. $25.00.

Mexican Immigrants and Mexican Ameri-
cans: An Evolving Relationship. Harley L.
Browning, Rodolfo 0. de la Garza, eds. U.
of New Mexico Press, 1986. 264p. $12.95.

Minorities and Power in a Black Society:
The Jewish Community of Jamaica. Carol
Sue Holzberg. North-South Publishing Co.,
1986. 300p. $15.95.

Movimlentos campesinos en el Paraguay:
studio de dos casos hist6ricos. Ram6n
B. Fogel. Centre Paraguayo de Estudios
Sociol6gicos, 1986. 230p.

The Myth of Ritual: A Native's Ethnogra-
phy of Zapotec Life-Crisis Rituals. Fadwa
El Guindi, Abel HernAndez Jim6nez. Univer-
sity of Arizona Press, 1986. 175p. $22.95.

Nonformal Education in Latin America and
the Caribbean: Stability, Reform, or Revo-
lution? Thomas J. La Belle. Praeger, 1986.
300p. $35.00.

The Political Significance of Latin Ameri-
can Liberation Theology. Richard L. Ruben-
stein. Washington Institute for Values in Pub-
lic Policy, 1986.

Politics and Ethnicity on the Rio Yaqui:
Potam Revisited. Thomas R. McGuire: Uni-
versity of Arizona Press, 1986. 200p. $19.95.


Poverty and Politics: The Urban Poor in
Brazil, 1870-1920. June Edith Hahner. U. of
New Mexico Press, 1986. 432p.

Puerto Rican Poverty and Migration: We
Just Had to Try Elsewhere. Julio Morales.
Praeger, 1986. 275p. $33.95.

Suma etnol6gica brasileira. Darcy Ribeiro,
ed. Petropolis, Brazil: Vozes, 1986. 3 vols.

To Be a Slave in Brazil, 1550-1888. Katia
M. de Queiros Mattoso; Arthur Goldhammer,
trans. Rutgers U. Press, 1986. 264p. $35.00.

Los Tucsonenses: The Mexican Commun-
ity in Tucson, 1854-1941. Thomas E. Sh-
eridan. U. of Arizona Press, 1986. 300p. $22.50.

Two Boys, a Girl, and Enough!: Fertility
and Economy on the Mexican Periphery.
Jeanne M. Simonelli. Westview Press, 1986.
200p. $22.00.


Back to Freedom: George Ross' Diary and
the Voyage of the Jamaican Maroons from
Nova Scotia to Sierra Leone. Mavis C.
Campbell, ed. Canton, Mass.: Majority Press,
1986. 200p. $22.95.

A Chicano in China. Rudolfo A. Anaya. U.
of New Mexico Press, 1986. 160p. $13.95.

Diego Rivera: A Retrospective. Cynthia
Newman Helms, ed. Norton, 1986. $60.00.

Fidel: A Critical Portrait. Tad Szulc: Morrow,
1986. $19.95.

Jos6 Hernindez: el civilizador. Angel H6ctor
Azeves. Buenos Aires: Universidad Nacional
de la Plata, 1986. 169p.

Leger Felicite Sonthonax: The Lost Senti-
nel of the Republic. Robert Louis Stein.
Fairleigh Dickinson U. Press, 1985. 234p.

The Life, Music, and Times of Carlos
Gardel. Simon Collier. U. of Pittsburgh Press,
1986. 256p. $19.95.

L6pez Rega: el final de un brujo. Santiago
Pinetta. Buenos Aires: Abril, 1986. 124p.

Mexican Lobby: Matlas Romero in Wash-
ington, 1861-1867. Thomas David
Schoonover, ed. U. of Kentucky Press, 1986.
224p. $21.00.


Jaguar: Struggle and Triumph in the Jun-
gles of Belize. Alan Rabinowitz. New York:
Arbor House, 1986. $19.95.

Saba: The First Guidebook. Natalie Pfan-
stiehl, Paul Pfanstiehl. Newport, R.I.: Van
Steel Press, 1986.

Os Sonhos de Havana. Teixeira Coelho. Rio
de Janeiro: M. Limonad, 1986. 185p.

iTierra y libertadl: Photographs of Mexico,
1900-1935. Agustin Victor Casasola. David
Elliott, ed. Universe Books, 1986. 104p. $14.95.


Am6rica Latina y la crisis econ6mica Inter-
nacional: ocho tesis y una propuesta.
Oswaldo Sunkel. Buenos Aires: Grupo Editor
Latinoamericano, 1986.

La avlaci6n commercial en Venezuela: de la
carreta al avl6n. Guillermo Pacanins Acevedo.
Caracas: Armitano, 1986. 159p.

Bordering on Trouble: Resources and Poll-
tics In Latin America. Janet W. Brown,
Andrew Maguire, eds. Bethesda, Md.: Adler
& Adler, 1986. 400p. $22.95; $12.95 paper.


British Merchants and Chilean Develop-
ment, 1851-1886. John Mayo. Westview
Press, 1986. 250p. $25.00.

Crisis financier: endeudamlento externo
en la Argentina. Ernesto Feldman, Juan
Sommer. Buenos Aires: Centre Editor de
America Latina, 1986. 184p.

Currency Substitution and Liberalization:
The Case of Argentina. Ugo Fasano-Filho.
Brookfield, V!.: Gower, 1986. 200p. $30.00.

Development Postponed: The Political Econ-
omy of Central America in the 1980s.
Richard E. Feinberg, Bruce M. Bagley.
Westview Press, 1986. 78p. $10.95.

Energy Efficiency and Conservation In
Mexico. Oscar GuzmAn, Antonio Yhiez-
Naude, Miguel S. Wionczek, eds. Westview
Press, 1986. 330p. $30.00.

Estado e economfa no Brasil: opgoes de
desenvolvimento. Sonia Regina de Men-
donca. Rio de Janeiro: Graal, 1986. 106p.

Histoire 6conomique de la Guadeloupe et
de la Martinique, du XVIle slecle a nos
jours. Alain-Philippe Blerald. Paris: Karthala,
1986. 336p. 116F.

Industria brasileira: origem e desen-
volvimento. Wilson Suzigan. Sao Paulo: Bra-
siliense, 1986. 403p.

Industrial Strategy and Planning in Mexico
and the United States. Sidney Weintraub,
ed. Westview Press, 1986. 224p. $25.00.

La International Socialista en Argentina.
Julio Godoy. Buenos Aires: El Cid, 1986. 7.50
australes argentinos.

Lecclones de Integraci6n econ6mica cen-
troamericana. Cautama Fonseca Ztfiiga.
Tegucigalpa: Editorial Universitaria, 1986. 159p.

Martinique: Initiation a I'6conomie des An-
tilles. Jacques Crasol. Paris: Editions
Carib6ennes, 1986. 96p. 50F.

M6xico es m6gico: sencillas formulas para
salir de la crisis. Jorge Pinal Verges. M6xico:
Edamex, 1986.

El nuevo poder econ6mico en la Argentina
de los alios 80. Daniel Azpiazu, et al.
Buenos Aires: Legasa, 1986. 210p.

Origen y desarrollo de los problems
agrarlos de M6xico, 1500-1821. Enrique
Florescano. Mexico: Fondo de Cultura
Econ6mica, 1986. 158p.

Petty Capitalism In Spanish America: The
Pulperos of Puebla, Mexico City, Caracas,
and Buenos Aires. Jay Kinsbruner. Westview
Press, 1986. 150p. $17.95.

Poblaci6n y mano de obra en Am6rica
Latina. Nicolas Sdnchez-Albornoz. Madrid:
Alianza Editoria, 1986. 328p. 1650pts.

La politics agraria peronista, 1943-1983.
Mario J. Lattuada. Buenos Aires: Centro
Editor de America Latina, 1986. 2 vols.

The Politics of Penury: Debts and Taxes
in Mexico, 1821-1956. Barbara Tenenbaum.
U. of New Mexico Press, 1986. $22.50.

Regime, Politics, and Petroleum: Ecua-
dor's Nationalistic Struggle. John D. Martz:
Transaction Books, 1986. 345p. $34.95.

Revolutionary Grenada: A Study in Politi-
cal Economy. Fredric L. Pryor. Praeger,
1986. 208p. $33.85.

The Social Ecology and Economic Devel-
opment of Ciudad Juarez. Gay Young, ed.
Westview Press, 1986. 165p. $19.00.


Transnational Corporations and the Latin
American Automobile Industry. Rhys Jen-
kins. U. of Pittsburg Press, 1987. 270p.

The U.S. and Mexico: Face to Face With
New Technology. Catheryn L. Thorup, et al.
Transaction Books, 1986. 224p. $19.95;
$12.95 paper.

Venezuela: The Industrial Challenge. Ser-
gio Bitar, Eduardo Troncoso; Michael Schifter,
Dorsey Vera, trans. ISHI, 1986. 200p. $29.95.


Ancient Chalcatzingo. David C. Grove, ed.
U. of Texas Press, 1986. 672p. $75.00.

Argentina, 1516-1982: From Spanish Coloni-
zation to the Falklands War. David Rock.
U. of California Press, 1985. 478p. $35.00.

Conflictos de la historia argentina: gufa
para su comprensi6n. Hebe Clementi. Bue-
nos Aires: Leviatan, 1986. 141p.

Crisis and Decline: The Viceroyalty of
Peru in the Seventeenth Century. Kenneth
J. Andrien. U. of New Mexico Press, 1985.

Cuba Under the Platt Amendment, 1902-
1934. Louis A. P6rez, Jr. U. of Pittsburgh
Press, 1986. 448p. $39.95.

Dialogues of the Great Things of Brazil.
Ambrosio Femandes Brandao; Frederick Arthur
Holden Hall, William F. Harrison, Dorothy
Winters Walker, eds. and trans. U. of New
Mexico Press, 1986. 608p. $35.00.[First pub-
lished in 1618.]

La Edad de Oro: cr6nicas y testimonies
de la conquista del Perd. Jose Miguel
Oviedo, ed. Barcelona: Tusquets, 1986.

L'histoire des communes des Antilles-
Guyane. Jacques Adelaide-Merlande, ed.
Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe: Editions Caraibes,
1986. 6 vols.

Historia maritime argentina. Laurio Hedel-
vio Destefani, et al. Buenos Aires: Armanda
Argentina, Depto. Estudios Hist6ricos Navales,
1986. 576p.

The Land of the Incas. Hans Walter Sil-
vester. New York: Thomas & Hudson, 1986.
108p. $14.95

Latin America: Perspectives on a Region.
Jack W. Hopkins, ed. Holmes & Meier, 1986.
450p. $34.95; $22.50 paper.

Macanche Island, El Pet6n, Guatemala:
Excavations, Pottery, and Artifacts. Pru-
dence M. Rice. U. Presses of Florida, 1986.

La Martinique: histoire et 6conomle des
ann6es glorleuses. Henri Guignard. Fort-de-
France, Martinique: Association pour Il'nfor-
mation des Problemes Antillais, 1986. 236p.

Nicaragua: um povo e sua historia. Marcia
Cruz Piva, Marco Antonio Piva. Sao Paulo:
Edigoes Paulinas, 1986. 132p.

Panorama hist6rico de la iglesla en Hon-
duras. Jos6 Maria Tojeira. Centro de Docu-
mentaci6n de Honduras, 1986. 255p.

Rebirth of the Paraguayan Republic: The
First Colorado Era, 1878-1904. Harris Gay-
lord Warren, Katherine F. Warren. U. of
Pittsburgh Press, 1986. $31.95.

Rediscovering the Past at Mexico's Pe-
riphery: Essays on the History of Modern
Yucatan. Gilbert Michael Joseph. U. of Ala-
bama Press, 1986. 220p. $28.95.

Senhores da Gerais: os novos Inconfiden-
tes e o golpe de 1964. Heloisa Murgel
Starling. Petropolis, Brasil: Vozes,e 1986.

A State of Fear: Memoirs of Argentina's
Nightmare. Andrew Graham-Yooll. London:
Eland, 1986. 200p. 9.95; 4.95 paper.

Testemunhos do passado campinelro.
Fulvia Goncalves, Benedito Pupo. Campinas,
Brazil: Universidade de Campinas, 1986. 172p.


Borges, the Poet. Carlos Cortinez, ed. U. of
Arkansas Press, 1986. $23.00; $12.00 paper.

Chicano Poetry: A Critical Introduction.
Cordelia Candelaria. Greenwood Press, 1986.

De la vida y del folklore de Ia frontera.
Miguel M6ndez M. U. of Arizona, 1986.

Farewell to the Sea: A Novel of Cuba.
Reinaldo Arenas; Andrew Huxley, trans. Vi-
king Press, 1986. 413p. $18.95.

El idioma nuestro de cada dia. Braulio Diaz
Sal. Buenos Aires: Plus Ultra, 1986. 131p.

The Last Happy Men: The Generation of
1922, Fiction, and the Argentine Reality.
Christopher T. Leland. Syracuse U. Press,
1986. 232p. $29.95.

Literature quechua clisica. Francisco Car-
rillo, ed. Lima: Editorial Horizonte, 1986. 162p.

Novel Lives: The Fictional Autobiogra-
phies of GuilIermo Cabrera Infante and
Mario Vargas Llosa. Rosemary Geisdorfer
Foal: U. of North Carolina Press, 1986. 180p.

The Penguin Book of Caribbean Verse in
English. Paula Burnett, ed. Penguin, 1986.
513p. $8.95.

Poesia cubana comtemporinea: antologla.
Madrid: Editorial Catoblepas, 1986. 279p.

Poets of Chile: A Bilingual Anthology,
1965-1985. Steven F. White, ed. and trans.
Greensboro, N.C.: Unicorn Press, 1986. 283p.
$25.00; $12.50 paper.

Recollections of Things to Come. Elena
Garro; Ruth L. Simms, trans. U. of Texas
Press, 1986. 299p. $10.95.

Reinventing the Americas: Comparative
Studies of Literature of the United States
and Spanish America. Bell Gale Chevigny,
Gad Laguardia, eds. Cambridge U. Press,
1986. 384p. $39.50.

Spanish American Writing Since 1941: A
Critical Survey. George R. McMurray. New
York: Ungar, 1986. $16.95.

Spanish In the Americas. Eleanor Greet
Cotton, John M. Sharp. Georgetown Univer-
sity Press, 1986. 200p. $9.95.

Sur: A Study of the Argentine Literary
Journal and Its Role in the Development
of a Culture, 1931-1970. John King. Cam-
bridge U. Press, 1986. 300p. $39.50.


Armies and Politics in Latin America. Abra-
ham F. Lowenthal, J. Samuel Fitch, eds. 2d
ed. Holmes & Meier, 1986. 300p. $45.00.

Autocrftica Implacable para la esencia re-
volucionaria del peronismo. Julio Barbaro,
Mona Moncalvillo, eds. Buenos Aires: El Cid,
1986. 320p. 4.50 australes.


Bolivia: Press and Revolution, 1932-1964.
Jerry Wayne Knudson. U. Press of America,
1986. 500p. $30.75; $19.75 paper.

El cardonazo. Guillermo Villegas Hoffmuster.
San Jos6, Costa Rica: Casa Grdfica, 1986.

The Caribbean and World Politics: Cross
Currents and Cleavages. Jorge Heine, Leslie
F. Manigat, eds. Holmes & Meier, 1986.
275p. $29.95.

Class, State, and Democracy in Jamaica.
Carl Stone. Praeger, 1986. 180p. $32.95.

The Continuing Crisis: U.S. Policy in Cen-
tral America and the Caribbean. Mark Fal-
coff, Robert Royal, eds. Washington, D.C.:
Ethics and Public Policy Center, 1986. $22.00;
$14.00 paper.

Cuba y Centroam6rica. Francisco L6pez
Sergrera. M6xico: Editorial Katun, 1986. 93p.

Cuban Communism. Irving Louis Horowitz,
ed. 6th ed. Transaction Books, 1986. 850p.

Los derechos econ6micos sociales y cul-
turales en el sistema interamericano. H6ctor
Gros Espiell. San Josd, Costa Rica: Libro
Libre, 1986. 248p.

Los dias de Alfonsin. Pablo Giussani. Bue-
nos Aires: Legasa, 1986. 436p.

La estrategia political de Fidel: del Mon-
cada a las victoria. Marta Harnecker. Mex-
ico: Editorial Nuestro Tiempo, 1986. 151p.

Evoluci6n del estado mexicano. Luis Al-
berto de la Garza, et al. M6xico: Ediciones
El Caballito, 1986. 3 vols.

Guerra revolucionaria en la Argentina, 1959-
1978. Ram6n Genaro Diaz Bessone. Buenos
Aires: Fraterna, 1986. 374p.

Honduras, elecciones '85: mas alia de la
fiesta civic. Anibal Delgado Fiallos.
Tegucigalpa: Editorial Guaymuras, 1986. 181p.

Honduras: pieza clave de la political de
Estados Unidos en Centroam6rica. Victor
Meza, ed. Centro de Documentaci6n de Hon-
duras, 1986. 171p.

Intellectual Foundations of the Nicaraguan
Revolution. Donald Clark Hodges. U. of
Texas Press, 1986. 376p. $27.50; $11.50

Juiclo a la impunidad. Mona Moncalvillo,
Alberto Fernandez, Manuel Martin. Buenos
Aires: Ediciones Tarso, 1986. 362p.

The Latin American Military Institution.
Robert G. Wesson, ed. Praeger, 1986. 180p.

Legislaci6n electoral comparada: Colom-
bia, Mexico, Panama, Venezuela y Cen-
troam6rica. Augusto HernAndez Becerra, et
al. San Jos6, Costa Rica: Instituto Inter-
americano de Derechos Humanos, 1986.

Mexico's Political Stability: The Next Five
Years. Roderic A. Camp, ed. Westview Press,
1986. 225p. $23.00.

Military Government and Popular Partici-
pation In Panama: The Torrijos Regime,
1968-1975. George Priestley. Westview Press,
1986. 166p. $20.00.

Muda Brasil: uma constitugao para o de-
senvolvimento democritico. Fabio Konder
Comparato. Sao Paulo: Brasiliense, 1986.

Nicaragua: autonomla y revolucl6n. Hector
Diaz Polanco. Panama: Centro de Capaci-
taci6n Social, 1986. 122p.

~~ A

Nicaragua: regresidn en la revoluci6n. Ar-
turo J. Cruz S., Jos6 Luis Velazquez., eds.
San Jos6, Costa Rica: Libro Libre, 1986. 291p.

Nicaragua: socledad civil y dictadura. Jos6
Luis Velazquez. San Jos6, Costa Rica: Libro
Libre, 1986. 169p.

Nurenberg argentino: juicio a los militares.
Carlos Alberto Silva. Barcelona: Aura, 1986.
223p. 950 ptas.

Pan American Visions: Woodrow Wilson
and Regional Integration in the Western
Hemisphere, 1913-1921. Mark T. Gilderhus.
U. of Arizona Press, 1986. 200p. $29.95.

Paraguay: en los umb.ales del siglo XXI.
Elba Britez de Zayas. Asunci6n: Mediteraneo,
1986. 348p.

La political exterior de Honduras, 1982-
1986. Edgardo Paz Barnica. Tegucigalpa:
Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, 1986.
491 p.

The Political Economy of Latin American
Defense Spending: Case Studies of Vene-
zuela and Argentina. Robert E. Looney.
Lexington Books, 1986.

Political Liberalization In Brazil: Dynam-
ics, Dilemmas, and Future Prospects.
Wayne A. Selcher, ed. Westview Press, 1986.
315p. $26.50.

Politics In the Semi-Periphery: Early Par-
liamentarism and Late Industrialization in
the Balkans and Latin America. Nicos
Mouzelis. St Martin's Press, 1986. 284p.

El primer domingo de febrero: cr6nica
Interior de Ia elecci6n de Oscar Arias.
Guido Ferndndez. Editorial Costa Rica, 1986.

State and Society in Contemporary Colom-
bia: Beyond the National Front. Bruce M.
Bagley, Francisco E. Thoumi, Juan G. Tokat-
lian, eds. Westview Press, 1986. 260p. $26.50.

Trinidad and Tobago: Democracy and De-
velopment in the Caribbean. Scott B.
MacDonald. Praeger, 1986. 250p. $31.95.


Chicano Periodical Index: A Comprehensive
Subject, Author, and Title Index for 1982-
83. U. of California, Chicano Studies Library,
1986. 660p. $90.00.

Diccionarlo hist6rico del M6xico contem-
pordneo, 1900-1982. J. de Jes0s Nieto
L6pez. Mexico: Alhambra Mexicana, 1986.

Dicclonario hist6rico y biografico del Perd:
siglos XV-XX. Carlos Milla Batres, ed. Lima:
Editorial Milla Batres, 1986. 9 vols. $360.00.

Directory of Inter-American and Other As-
sociations In the Americas. Organization
of American States, 1986. 81p. $6.00.

Latin American Today: An Atlas of Repro-
ducible Pages. World Eagle Editors. Welle-
sley, Mass.: World Eagle, 1986.

Latin America's Top Twenty-Five Thou-
sand. Dun's Marketing Services Staff. Moun-
tain Lakes, N.J.: Dun's 1986. 2300p. $295.00.

Mexican and Mexican-American Agricul-
tural Labor in the United States: An Inter-
national Bibliography. Martin H. Sable. New
York, N.Y.: Haworth Press, 1986. $49.95.

El primer diccionario argentino de lenguas
idish-castellano/castellano-idlsh. Centre
Judio de Estudios Linguisticos en Argentina.
Buenos Aires: C.J.E.LA., 1986. 104p.


Southeast Florida's Comprehensive Public University

Florida International University (FIU) is the fourth largest
university in the State University System (SUS) of Florida. FIU
is a multi-campus institution in the Miami metropolitan area,
with an enrollment currently exceeding 16,500 students in 153
undergraduate and graduate programs, more than 600 full-time
faculty and an annual budget of $100 million. FIU is embarking
on an era of institutional development appropriate for the major
public university in the state's largest metropolitan area.
FIU offers a variety of academic programs and courses at the
bachelor's, master's and doctorate degree levels. Degree level
programs are offered in the College of Arts and Sciences, College
of Business Administration, College of Education, College of
Engineering and Applied Sciences, School of Hospitality
Management, School of Nursing, and School of Public Affairs
and Services. Graduate study at the doctoral level is available in
Computer Science, Education, Psychology, and Public
FIU-located in one of the nation's fastest growing
metropolitan areas and centers for international trade, finance
and cultural exchange-emphasizes broad interdisciplinary educa-
tion for strengthening understanding of world issues and prepar-
ing students for membership in our modern interrelated world.
The International Affairs Center promotes international
education, training, research and cooperative exchange by en-
couraging a wide variety of faculty and student activities, and
helping to develop the University's international programs. Con-
tact: International Affairs Center, (305) 554-2846.
The Latin American and Caribbean Center, one of twelve US
Department of Education National Resource Centers, coor-
dinates teaching and research on the region, administers an
academic certificate program, and supports research. Contact:
Latin American and Caribbean Center, (305) 554-2894.
There are also special international programs at the graduate
level. The Graduate Program in International Studies is a
multidisciplinary curriculum leading to the Master of Arts
degree. Contact: Director, Graduate Program in International

Studies, (305) 554-2555.
A program in International Economic Development is offered
as part of the Master of Arts in Economics. Contact: Chairper-
son, Department of Economics, (305) 554-2316.
A Master of International Business provides basic manage-
ment tools and familiarity with the international environment.
Contact: Director, Master of International Business, (305)
The Certificate in International Bank Management provides
training in international banking policy, practice, and techni-
ques. Contact: Business Counseling Office, (305) 554-2781.
All students may use the facilities of the English Language
Institute, which conducts a writing laboratory for individualized
instruction in all types of writing, provides diagnostic testing of
oral and written English language proficiency, and operates the
Intensive English Program. This consists of a four-month
course, offered three times a year, providing instruction in
reading, conversation, grammar, composition, TOEFL prepara-
tion and business English, using the most advanced teaching
methods and modern laboratory equipment. Contact: Director,
English Language Institute, (305) 554-2493.
Florida International University's faculty members are
renowned for their commitment to teaching, research and ser-
vice from an international perspective. Individual and group
research projects run the gamut of possible topics and
geographic regions. Faculty exchanges take FIU researchers
abroad and bring leading international scholars to the campus.
The University is also the base for several international
organizations such as the Institute of Economic and Social
Research of the Caribbean Basin (IESCARIBE). This group of
Caribbean Basin economists and research institutes develop
cooperative projects of mutual interest. Supported by FIU's
Department of Economics and Latin American and Caribbean
Center, the group conducts seminars and publishes resulting

T4 M

Florida International University
Miami, Florida

We've got a love affair
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in FL (800) 432-3364



-- ..-- -

* -7


, Windjammsm
RO. Box 120, Dept. 3427
Miami Beach, FL 33119-0120
TOLL FREE (800) 327-2600
in FL (800) 432-3364


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

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I. :V

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