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The Garifuna Community
          

Men on boatWelcome to the Garifuna World! You are about to experience the origin of the Garifuna community, their incorporating process to society, their resistance to English and French Colonization and their deporting to Honduran land.

The Garifuna society, also known as the Black Caribs, was first originated in XVII in San Vicente, about a century after the conquering of Central America, South America, and the lower Antilles. The conquerors were not interested in San Vicente and Dominica at first because of its topographic features, lack of precious metals and grasslands for cattle raising, but the Caribs did become interested because of its magnificent areas for fishing.

Who were the Caribs? The Caribs were strong, robust men, of small stature, and mongoloid physical features. They had long, black, straight and thick hair, perfectly cut to their forehead and were generally dressed in a colorful christening skirt. Their original name was Callinagu and their place of origin was from the Orinoco Delta, which they abandoned for conquering the Lower Antilles. When they arrived to the Lower Antilles, they exterminated the Arahuaco men, but decided to keep the women for their convenience. The union of these two Indian groups gave origin to a new society called the Caliponan (also known as the Yellow Caribs, Red Caribs, and Amerindians).

Formation of the Garifuna Society

Garifunas in TelaThe beginning of the formation process was in 1635, and believed to have been caused by the sinking of two Spanish ships loaded with black slaves who were being delivered to their buyers. In those days it was common for the Caliponan to give misleading directions, which lead them to the riverbanks where they disposed the ships from their shipments (gold, wine, and slaves) and killed all of the crewmembers.

The Africans were anxious to establish friend links to avoid being sent back to their owners as slaves; therefore they soon adopted their customs and native language. Short after, they married the Caliponan women who gave birth to a whole new kind of siblings. Their descendents preserved the height and skin color of their father, who on the contrary of the Caliponan were tall and corpulent. This new society (Garifuna) centered their family life in the sexual division of work as a base for their economic activities.

Short after came the conquering of Barbados and Santa Lucia, and men, who could not accept the new rulers, accumulated goods and emigrated in canoes towards San Vicente (28 miles from Barbados). These men, along with the Caliponan, then became such powerful allies in their war against conquerors, that they were considered an allied and independent group.

In the XVII century, a drastic change occurred in the Vicentinian society. The black society had become the dominant group due to their geometric growth because of the immigration of refugees. The constant fighting for power and territorial disputes soon divided both sides. Garifunas forced the Caliponan to move to the Western part and they move to the Northwestern part of the island. Both groups tried to resolve their personal difficulties, because they were aware that an internal division would drive the conqueror's attention to them.

When news about their differences arrived to France, the French took part in this division by supporting the Caliponan. They soon inhabited Caliponan land, while Garifunas defended their land from any European colonization. The French made many intents, but they soon were convinced they had to stop interfering and had to maintain peace links with Garifunas.
Garifunas acquired the French taste for wine instead of rum, dominated French language, incorporated French words to their dialect, adopted the French currency as a mean for commercial trading, obtained French names and customs, and eventually became their allies against the English colonization.   >> Top

French and English Interference

The three coming decades, 1730-1762, were characterized by the constant disputes between France and Great Britain for the desire of gaining power over San Vicente, Dominica, and Santa Lucia. The occurrence of these acts can be described as follows:

1730: San Vicente, Dominica, and Santa Lucia are declared to be free from European inheritance.
1742: British colony is established in Rattan (Roatan).
1748: Aix-La Chapelle Treaty is signed in which San Vicente, Dominica, and Tobago are declared of exclusive possession of the Caliponan natives.
1750: Peace Treaty signed between Spain and Great Britain.
1756: War between France and England begins.
1759: English attack Martinica, and take over Guadalupe Island.
1761: English take over Dominica.
1762: Martinica is taken over by the English (February 4th). In that same date Granada, Tobago, San Vicente, and Santa Lucia were ceded to Great Britain.
1763: Paris Peace Treaty is signed. San Vicente, Grenada, and Dominica were ceded to Great Britain; Cuba was given to Spain; Guadalupe, Martinica, and Santa Lucia were ceded to France.

Great Britain then declared war against the French; the disputing possessions were Martinica, and Santa Lucia. These acts of treason infuriated the French, who in reprisal, responded by exporting their revolutionary ideals to the Caribbean Islands in possession of the English. However, Garifunas understood that these philanthropic manifestations were not to be taken seriously, because most French wanted desired that Garifuna and English would destroy each other and consequently be force to leave the island. Therefore, Garifunas demanded sufficient warlike material from the French as a guarantee of their noble intentions.   >> Top


The War of Exile

First Phase: the Garifunas led by Du Valleé were such a powerful group that they constantly defeated the English. This group gained power over Kingstown, Dorset shire Hill, and another group lead by Chatolier gained power over Chateaubelair. Both groups soon joined forces, along with men that they ha collected in their way, and became such a powerful group that many feared them.
Soon came the death of Chatolier, who was convinced of his paranormal powers and invincibility, who made the fatal mistake of asking Alexander Leith (English) to a duel that caused his death. Chatolier`s death evidently confused the Garifuna-French alliance who held the fighting back and carefully awaited for the next step.

Second Phase: In this stage, the hostility lasted a little more than a year, and was characterized for being a war of exhaustion. Set before the numerous losses of seven months of fighting, and finding no solution to solve their differences, the English governor accompanied by the military force of 4,000 men decided to attack the Garifuna-French alliance. Faced upon the military power force upon them, the Garifuna determined that it was convenient to stop the war and finally surrendered.


Garifuna Expatriation

The English began to worry about their future in the island in comparison to the unexpected number of Garifunas living in their new territory. Therefore, the search for new land where the Garifuna could settle began.

Finally in February 20th, 1797, a total of 2,248 Garifunas along with stored food supplies were set aboard ships and then headed toward the Honduran Coast and Bay Islands. In April 12th, 1797, the Garifunas first set foot in Honduran territory.
Although the English left them with enough food supplies, utensils, fishing chords, and seeds for planting, it became a little difficult to clean the terrain and to plant before the rainy season began.

Garifunas then asked the Spanish to take them to the Honduran Coast. The Spanish accepted gracefully because they knew, that by doing this, they would now own the Bay Islands, and they would also acquire an additional labor force. The Spanish kept their promise; Garifunas arrived in Trujillo, Colon (Honduras) on May 17th, 1797.

In the early 1900s more then 100 enterprises had been exporting bananas from the Central American coast and Garifunas were involved in this commercial trading by helping these companies with the sowing and loading of banana. These companies soon extended their trading circle along the coast f Honduras and concentrated their fruit shipping along Punta Castilla (Trujillo), Tela, La Ceiba, and Cortés in Honduras; and in Livingston and Puerto Barrios in Guatemala, and finally in Belize City. Garifunas mostly concentrated in nearby towns because working for these companies had become a good source of income. However, in the 1940s some of these companies were shut down because their banana plantations had been greatly affected by plagues; this caused the unemployment of many Garifunas. Garifunas then got involved in the seafaring business where they immigrated to other parts of Central and North America.   >> Top

Garifuna Society Today

Garifuna ShackCulture: Their social and cultural characteristics are manifested in their archaic family and social structures, which have suffered very little changes. They still share their dialect, circular dances, religious practices, Punta dance, tales, banana cultivation, and rooster and pig sacrifices with the indigenous people of the Amazon.
Their ways of production are still based in subsistence farming. Among the different communities there is a great potential of production, and in most cases the land is very fertile for farming, however the only people involved are the elders because young people believe farming is not a great source of income. Youngsters are mostly dedicated to fishing, because most of the fish are set for sale and produce an immediate source of income. Youngsters show little or no interest in participating in social reunions with the rest of their community; elders and the women are usually the ones who interact with these reunions. It can be concluded that young Garifunas seem to be more interested in immigrating to North America.

Location: The Garifuna population that lives in the Atlantic Coast, between Belize and Nicaragua, is distributed in 43 towns and villages. Approximately 98,000 Garifunas live in Honduras, and they are mostly concentrated along the North coast from Masca, Cortés to Plaplaya, Gracias a Dios. Among other villages are: Santa Rosa de Aguan, Tornabé, Limón, Nueva Armenia, San Juán, Cosuna, Triunfo de la Cruz, and Baja Mar.

Health: Garifuna are subject to poor sanitary conditions throughout most of the area. The lack of clinical establishments, basic infrastructure projects, illness prevention programs, and nutrition programs greatly affect Garifunas. We can conclude that about 78% of the children under 12 years of age suffer from malnutrition, and that 3 out of 10 will die before they are 2 years old.

Housing: their housing consist of small huts with walls made of royal palm, sugar cane and of cement blocks. The ceiling is commonly made of hay, however they also use zinc as a ceiling too. There is a great tendency to replace their traditional style of housing for more modern types; however, these changes have helped improve their health conditions.

Politics: Garifunas do not believe in politics, they believe that they are too peaceful and that they can handle their personal problems without the intervention of any legal force; however, in some areas a governor is in charge of providing justice between the people. Only Garifunas that had the opportunity of being well educated are the ones that occupy government positions today.

Language: Most Garifunas not only speak Spanish, but also use the Igñeri dialect that is a combination of Arahuaco, French, Swahili, and Bantu.

Religion: Garifunas still maintain their own religious system that is a mixture of African and Amerindian traditions to which they have incorporated Catholic elements. Of great importance is the Garifuna religious system called Gubida that is the conception of the dreams and possession rituals as altered states of conscience considered, by the participants and believers, to be caused by the possession of a spiritual entity.

Education: 72% of the population is illiterate or semi-illiterate. Not enough schools are provided for them in he nearby areas; and villages that have schools, only have teachers to provide them with enough education to reach a 3rd grade level and sometimes a 6th grade level if they are lucky. Only 10% of the Garifunas who finish elementary school continue with their studies, another percentage immigrates to the United States, and the rest just integrate their community life and eventually become illiterates again because of the lack of practice.   >> Top

Organizations in Representation of Garifunas

· ONECA (Organización Negra Centroamericana/Central American Black Organization). The largest umbrella organization for Black communities in Central America and the Caribbean. President: Celeo Alvarez Casildo

· ODECO (Organización de Desarrollo Étnico Comunitario)

Objectives:
1. Development of Local Capacities.
2. Incidence and Empowerment of Afro-Honduran population.
3. Institutional Development, Fortification, and Efficiency.

Its Directive Board is composed of 15 members, nominated as follows:

President: Celio Álvarez Cabildo Secretary: Zulma Valencia
Vice-President: Luis Francisco Green Technical Affairs: Onelia Colon
Public Prosecutor: Bernard Martinez Discipline Affairs: Robustiana Castro
Secretary of Education: Delsy Alvarez Children Affairs: Gregorio Jimenez
Secretary of Promotion: Galata Arzú Secretary of Youth: Karen Bargas
Secretary of Cultural Affairs: Laura Alvarez Secretary of Sports: Candida Blanco
Secretary of Feminine Affairs: Miriam Tifet Treasurer: Felicia Lacayo
Legal and Human Rights Department: Norman A. Jimenez

Website: www.caribe.hn/cumbrecontinentalafro/index.htm
Email: odeco@caribe.hn
Address: Bo. Potreritos, Avenida Júnior, ½ cuadra debajo de Escuela Copan Galel
La Ceiba Atlántida, Honduras, C.A.
Phone No.: (504) 443-3651 Fax No.: (504) 4434642
(504) 4402498

   >> Top

· OFRANEH: (Organización Fraternal Negra Hondureña).
Objectives:
1. Provide help to Garifuna Society.
2. Provide defense of Garifuna territory.
3. Defense of Garifuna's culture

Directive Board
General Coordinator: Gregoria Flores
Coordination Assistant: Miriam Miranda
Act Coordinator: Ana Lucy Bengoechea
Legal Affairs: Teófilo Lacayo

E-mail: ofraneh@laceiba.com
Address: Bo. Independencia, esquina opuesta Escuela Luis Landa.
La Ceiba, Atlántida, Honduras, C. A.
Phone No. : (504)-443-2492

>> Top

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Garifuna News and Articles

The Mega Tourism Industry Threatens Garifuna Villages in Honduras

Triunfo de la Cruz, Honduras - Right between tropical rainforest and the Caribbean Sea in remote corner of Central America, 76 Garifuna villages lay scattered along hundreds of kilometers of beaches in the north coast of Honduras. The Descendants of a 17th-century union of a fierce indigenous people with the survivors of two shipwrecked slave ships, the Garifuna inhabit one of the last pockets of communally held land in the world. They live as they have for centuries: relying on the sea for fishing, relying on the beach for coconut and fruit, on their land for rice cultivation and on the hillsides for growing yucca and gathering firewood to prepare their meals. Their wooden homes are built along the beaches or on stilts above the water. The Garifuna men fish from dugout canoes and dive with spears along the reefs.

Over 100,000 Garifuna live along the Caribbean coast of Honduras, speaking their own dialect known as “Igñeri”, which is a combination of Arahuaco, Swahili and Bantu.

For the Garifuna villages this could all change soon because the government, the World Bank and other businesses plan to transform the Honduras north coast into a tourist friendly place. According to former Honduras Tourism Secretary, Honduras has hundreds of kilometers of beaches along the north coast that aren’t developed.

The Garifuna are resistant to the privatization of their ancestral lands. But talk to a Garifuna community leader Alfredo Lopez for five minutes, and it becomes clear that any attempts to romanticize the cutthroat struggle are misguided. “All this privatization is illegal, and if it continues, we are going to die as a people,” says Lopez, standing before the great Bay of Tela, the disputed territory coveted by Honduran Tourism. “To lose our land is to lose everything. We are in a struggle for our life, and we will do what it takes to defend ourselves.”

Honduras, the quintessential banana republic, is the the second poorest country in the hemisphere. The Central American staples of chronic insecurity, massive migration and unreliable economy torment the country. And in a nation saturated by CocaCola, Pizza Hut, shopping malls and U.S. consumer culture, the Garifuna stand out as different.

The Garifun have a vibrant living culture born from a unique history. Between 1635 and 1670, two slave ships coming from West Africa sank off the island of St. Vincent in the Lesser Antilles. So began the story of the people who came to be known as the Garifuna. Their fate should have been to labor as slaves, but instead they found themselves on a tropical island populated by a hostile indigenous population known as the Red Caribs.

The Red Caribs rescued the shipwrecked, after that they attempted to enslave the newcomers, but they resisted, retreating into the western mountains of the island, forming a maroon community that in time was sought out by other runaway slaves and fugitives. So a liberated territory was consecrated, and a kind of pirate utopia blossomed in the age of 17th century capitalist expansion. Conflict with the Red Caribs was constant and occasionally brutal, but somewhere along the line love overcame differences and the fruits of their union became known as “karibena galibina” child of the Caribe, indigenous galibi and eventually became Garifuna.

When the British seized control of St. Vincent from the French and the Caribs at the end of the 18th century, the Garifuna were deported to the uninhabited island of Roatan off the north coast of Honduras. Many died at sea, but the rebellious Garifuna survived once more.

This ethnic group now found a small space in which to work with the regional colonial masters who where the Spanish at that time. The Garifuna spread out along the Honduran coast, eventually surrounding the Caribbean coastlines of Honduras, Nicaragua, Guatemala and Belize. There they mixed with the indigenous inhabitants, always keeping their ethnical and cultural identity intact. But they remained marginalized, independent and rebellious in their little communities.

The Garifuna fusion of Caribbean fishing and farming traditions with a mixture of South American and African music, dance and spirituality led UNE SCO in 2001 to declare the Garifuna culture one of 19 Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity.

Tela Bay and its nearby comunities are the center of the Honduran Garifuna world, with some 36 communities dotted along an impressive 50- mile sandy shore. The largest of them, Triunfo de la Cruz, with a population of 800 families, is a quiet, unassuming village that now finds itself on the front line of the conflict. The first thing the visitor may notice about the Triunfo de la Cruz beachfront is what is missing.

Little has changed there on the beach at Triunfo de la Cruz for a couple of centuries. in this sun-drenched bay with lavish sands and regal palms, there are no beach-front hotels, no bars, no tourists in bikinis taking the sun, no attendants sweeping up the ocean debris. Instead there is a group of fishermen dragging their dugout boats from the sea, there are groups of children playing around, and there is an attractive, languorous feel to the place and this is how people like it.

The tradition of the Garifuna is to hold their land communally. The community gathers to decide on what happens in the territory. The Garifuna community made this arrangement work without interruption for 200 years, partly due to the isolation of the coast and the marginalization of the community. Nobody else wanted to live in such a wild and remote region, so they were left alone.

The Garifuna achieved legal recognition for their communally held land in 1992 after decades of struggle. In 1994, powerful business and governmental interests made their move. Imagining a Honduran version of Cancún that would help the economy. Locals looked struck with overwhelming shock as suddenly a big fence went up on the beach at Triunfo de la Cruz in 1994, and the building of luxury villas commenced. They were going after the sun and the beach. A privatization bill was passed that rendered the communally held land titles of the Garifuna useless.

The Garifuna took local and regional authorities to court in 1997, but three activists with the Land Defense Committee of Triunfo de la Cruz were quickly assassinated. Alfredo Lopez was jailed for seven years on trumped-up drug charges.

Members of the Honduras Black Fraternal Organization (OFRANEH) have also been targeted for state repression and the members have been illegally detained and harrased. Their houses have been searched. The last deadly assault was aimed at the OFRANEH president, Gregoria Flores, who suffered gunshot wounds while walking down the street in a nearby town.

OFRANEH’s base of support is mainly among women, and it was the women who responded with direct action against the first tourist project, occupying the site and building their own alternative community-based eco-tourist cabins alongside the stalled resort construction site.

One of the committee members from OFRANEH said they do not want the tourist industry in their communities because they come to take their resources.

In 2003 when Alfredo Lopez was released from prison, it had been almost a decade since their struggle began and the government and investors were gathering support for their tourist resort plans from the World Bank and the Inter- American Development Bank while continuously wearing away at community resistance.

The Honduran government issued a new land ownership law that was yet another attempt to break the Garifuna’s collective titles into individual deeds that would make it easier to target individual landowners several years ago. The first Garifuna village to succumb to the preasure was Miami, an impoverished beachside paradise where most residents eventually sold their individual land plots, opening the way for the investors. The coercion was accompanied by threats. As Garifuna leader Edgardo Beneditt pointed out: “The Miami residents think their land will be stolen away if they don’t sell.”

What followed was the multi million dollar Los Micos Beach and Golf Resort. The development affected not only the beach but also their land upon which the Garifuna depend for their livelihood.

Ironically, the jobs promised to locals have not materialized, as companies opt to bring in employees from outside the community.

But resistance continues. In Tela Bay, roads are blocked and the construction of new hotels is being sabotaged. Mass marches are held in the capital of Tegucigalpa. Resistance is both collective and individual, like the single old lady who refuses to budge in the center of the development at Miami village, forcing developers to build their mega complex around her little hut.

It’s a difficult moment because OFRANEH is under intense pressure; people are being bought off, one by one. Some activists are migrating, Alfredo explains, and others are simply tired of the struggle. “We are really at a crucial moment in the struggle, and it could go either way.”

Lopez has as a fearless voice denouncing injustice on his radio show on the local Garifuna Radio Faluma Bimetu, (the Sweet Coconut) and the Radio Progreso. He’s a living example of the saying “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” His is a world of total defiance against the government, the foreign investors, the compliant NGOs and most of all, the local authorities in the town of Tela, those who framed him and killed the fellow members of his group.

“The Tourism is using local people, setting up NGOs as fronts, paying them well, buying some, pressuring others,” he says. “Our community assemblies are infiltrated by individuals working for The Tourism, they try to foment division.

“People look at Miami and see the future. That’s why the struggle here in Triunfo is so important. We are at the top of the list for Tourism. They want this land. If we hold out, so will the other communities.”

The conservation NGOs are pressuring the fishermen. Garifuna have always eaten shark and sea turtle and other now endangered ocean species.

“It’s not us who emptied the ocean, we have always fished just for subsistence. Industrial fishing depletes the stocks,” he says.

People constantly come and go, having a quick word with Lopez or looking for information. A large dreadlocked fisherman with hands the size of oars greets me like a brother, warm and friendly. He assures me he is in the fight. “To the very end,” he says, with a great laugh.

Another man, dressed in city attire, hands Lopez an envelope and leaves quickly, glancing about him. “We have our sources in the municipality,” says Alfredo, his gold teeth flashing. “I broadcast all the inside information we receive on my radio show. The enemy are my best listeners because they know I’ve got the inside information” He smiles.

“We have a string of petitions before the Inter-American Human Rights Court, and we have high hopes that we can win there. The state has never won a case in that court.”

“We are in a struggle to save our people. We will do what we have to do here in Triunfo. We are the strongest community, so the struggle will be won or lost here. And we think we will win our demands. That is our hope.”

By Ramor Ryan
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Punta Gorda, garifuna culture and exuberant beauty

Tuesday , April 29, 2008
La Tribuna

Punta Gorda, Bay Islands. - This community inhabited by garífunas is "the other side of the moon” and should be an attraction for tourist and investors because of its exuberant natural beauty and the ecologic conservation.

A few kilometers of the main road to Oak Ridge, the streets are similar to the lunar surface because they are in bad conditions. Punta Gorda is the first community where 5,080 garifunas arrived from the island of Saint Vincent on April 12 of 1,767. After 200 years the situation has not improved much.

While Roatan is an economic emporium because of the increasing growth of tourism, there is no private or government investment in this part of the island. The four thousand inhabitants of Punta Gorda remain invisible until now, surviving from their fishing, agriculture and remittances.

Punta Gorda is one of 16 garifuna communities located in the Atlantic coast of Honduras, but here the garifunas keep their ancestral traditions alive commemorating their arrival to Honduras every year on April 12th celebrating with dances and rites.

In the past years the decision of the members of this afro-Honduran community has been seen to work with the communitarian and cultural tourism.

This way the garifunas with the support of the Communitarian Development Organization (Odeco), are preparing to immerse themselves in to the tourism industry, developing their area in a sustainable way to avoid repeating the ecologic crimes Roatan is suffering.

The president of the Board of Water of Punta Gorda, Midencio Beneditt, said water is important for the development of their community, because of this, the minister of tourism is helping them improve their water distribution system.

Nevertheless, it is necessary to improve their water system and pave the access to this garifuna community for them to develop.

There is no access to public health, the inhabitants cure themselves with natural medicine, but if it’s a serious illness they have to travel to La Ceiba to be treated.

The people from this comunity are motivated because they know they can move ahead and their aspiration is to improve the life conditions of their people. They are now preparing for the inhabitants of this community to become visible to the public and private investment.

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Garifuna Singers win award in Viña del Mar International Song Festival

Monday, February 25, 2008
La Prensa

Garifuna SingersSunday February 24th was an unforgetable night for our Honduran representatives in Viña del Mar International Song Festival that was in charge of the Honduran singer Jireh Wilson and the Garifuna National Ballet. Jireh received a Gaviota de Plata Award for best folkloric music interpreter with the song “Ay este amor”.

The Viña del Mar International Song Festival is held annually during February in Viña del Mar, Chile, and is one of the most important music events in Latin America. This festival reunites singers from all around Latin America.

After being absent from the Viña del Mar International Song Festival, Jireh Wilson and the Garifuna National Ballet have filled all Hondurans with pride by winning this important award.

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First Garífuna Hospital in Honduras

Monday December 10, 2007
La Prensa

The remote community of Ciriboya jurisdiction of the municipality of Iriona in the department of Colon counts with their own hospital clinic as of December 08, 2007. Thanks to the Cuban medical brigades and the cooperation of union of workers from the United States of America represented by California vice-governor John Garamendi.

The Hospital inauguration was done during midday of December 08, with the presence of personalities such as the Cuban ambassador Juan Carlos Hernandez, the municipal commissioner from La Ceiba, Bernard Martinez and the building manager Doctor Luther Castillo.

This work was also built with the collaboration of the first garifuna doctors graduated from the Cuban Medical School ELAM and the communities that worked hand in hand everyday.

The California vice-governor arrived along with his wife the day before the inauguration to Honduras and shared the culture of the Honduran black communities.

The Luagu Hatuadi Waduheñu Foundation (For the Health of our Town), was founded by the ELAM first graduates, they started by donating 15 of their vacation days to give medical assistance and medication around 19 garifuna communities.

Bernard Martínez said this Project comes to a remote community to cover all the urgent basic necessities of a town that has been historically marginalized and forgotten by the different administrations. He also said he is thankful to the Cuban community and the town of Sacramento, California, because together they made this social Project of big interest to the Garifuna people of Iriona.

He then added that the new professional leadership of the garifuna community breaks with the norms established by the traditional leadership that has solely made actions of ungenerous form that doesn’t cover in the minimum with looking for alternative solutions to the problems raised.

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Friday June 15, 2007
The Guardian 'Look at us now!'

The Garifuna people were forgotten even in places they called home. But a new musical project has brought them worldwide attention, writes Robin Denselow

Music is often used to highlight a particular cause, but it's a rare album that suddenly brings attention to a little-known community struggling to preserve its identity. Watina, by Andy Palacio and the Garifuna Collective, is a remarkable reminder of the rich culture and extraordinary history of a people scattered across the Caribbean coast of central America. It is also one of the most unusual, intriguing and rewarding albums of the year.

Andy Palacio, the best-known musician and spokesman of the Garifuna community, has spent much of his life exploring and promoting the culture of his people in a career that has taken him from local pop idol to senior government official. Now, at 46, he has a new role, recording and touring with the Garifuna Collective, an unlikely band of young and elderly musicians who could prove to be a central American answer to Cuba's Buena Vista Social Club.

Their story starts with a 17th-century shipwreck: the Garifuna are the descendants of Africans who escaped from slavery in 1635, after two slave ships sank off the island of St Vincent. The survivors intermarried with the local Carib and Arawak people of the island, and from that union came the hybrid culture known as Garifuna. However, in 1797 the island was attacked by the British, who shipped the Garifuna off to the island of Roatan, off the coast of Honduras.

"They were just dropped there," says Palacio. "The British must have thought that we would just vanish, but look at us now! There were just 2,000 on the slave ships, but now there are half a million Garifuna worldwide."

Some of those dumped on the island escaped to Honduras, on the Central American mainland, where the majority of the Garifuna communities can still be found today. From there, others migrated to Nicaragua, Guatemala and Belize, where Palacio was born.

The Garifuna have a distinctive culture, "with our own language, music, dances and cuisine," says Palacio. But in some countries, they struggled to survive and were not recognised for centuries. He describes a visit he made to the Garifuna community in Nicaragua back in 1980, soon after the Sandinistas had taken over.

"I couldn't find anyone under the age of 50 who could hold a conversation with me in our own language. The Somoza government had never acknowledged the existence of the Garifuna community, and the Sandinistas didn't know they were there. I told one of their commanders about it, and he asked the press corps to interview me. I said, 'These black people you see here are not the same as the black people you see over in that village,' and the newspaper the next day had the headline that a new race had been discovered on the Atlantic coast."

Palacio's mission to preserve Garifuna culture started early. Born in Baranco, the southernmost coastal village in Belize, near the border with Guatemala, he was inspired by his father, a sailboat captain who sang for his passengers, to start a band while at school. From playing mostly reggae and R&B, he decided to focus on Garifuna music as his "contribution to the survival of the culture".

It was then that he discovered punta rock, a dance style that mixes Garifuna influences with other Caribbean styles such as zouik and soca. It mixes electric guitar and bass with the catchphrase hooks and aggressive beats associated with punta, which Palacio describes as "a sensuous, flirtatious dance that focuses heavily on the pelvic area".

After leaving school, he hosted a Sunday afternoon radio show in which he featured punta rock musicians such as Pen Caytano and the Turtleshell Band, and helped popularise the style within Belize and across Central America.He started writing punta rock songs of his own; a visit to London led to a series of eight-track recordings in a Hackney studio that made him a celebrity back home, and his career began to take off in Central America and beyond. He even appeared in Britain at a punta rock tour in 1992. With the help of producer Ivan Duran, founder of Stonetree records, Palacio began to expand his range, moving away from punta to explore other Garifuna styles like the Latin-influenced paranda, and to work with other Garifuna musicians, including the singer and songwriter Aurelio Martinez.

But by 2000, Palacio's musical career seemed to be slowing down. "I reached a point when I needed a secure wage. I didn't feel I was realising my dreams for my entertainment career, so I figured I should put it on the back burner. I have training as a teacher and in community work, so thought I should restart a public service career."

And so began his successful new role as a civil servant. Palacio started as a rural development officer and is currently the deputy administrator of Belize's National Institute of Culture and History, as well as a cultural ambassador for his country.

None of this stopped his involvement with music, or the Garifuna community. He recalls recording the Watina album: "I would leave the office on a Friday evening, and travel to Hopkins, a small village by the sea where Ivan Duran had set up the recording equipment. I would return from the sessions on Monday morning, and go straight back to work." The aim behind the project, he says, was to "not play punta rock - to go beyond paranda to explore the more soulful and spiritual sounds of the Garifuna repertoire". It was not just a Belize-based project but also involved musicians and songwriters from the communities in Honduras and Guatemala. They were, he says, "fantastic players, but very few are professional. For most of them, music is something you do in your free time."

The cast who assembled at Hopkins village included fishermen and wage labourers, along with Aurelio Martinez, who is now a congressman in Honduras, and an extraordinary singer-songwriter called Adrian Martinez, a schoolteacher. They were joined by Paul Nabor, another singer-songwriter-guitarist, who is now 79 and, Palacio says, "legendary in the Garifuna community for playing in village festivities". The album includes a gently percussive song by Nabor, in which he is joined by Palacio and a rhythm section using anything from Garifuna hand-drums to rum bottles, telling the story of a fisherman who loses his canoe, and pleads for God to save him. Other songs feature the gently rousing electric guitar work of Eduardo "Guayo" Cedano. Then there is Adrian Martinez's exquisite and powerful prayer Baba. "He wrote it recently but it sounds like an old song," says Palacio. "It's now sung regularly at Catholic church services." The song is, he says, an example of dugu, "the highest form of spiritual expression that we have". It is both a musical style and a complex healing ceremony that involves mediation with the ancestral spirits through dance, prayers and medicinal herbs, in a community where "Catholicism and Garifuna spirituality now coexist".

The album was intended as a way of documenting Garifuna culture and showing how it could be a "foundation to create contemporary material", but the project has gone far beyond the musicians' original intentions. In other words, this varied, soulful set has been so successful (it's currently No 1 in the European world music charts) that Andy Palacio and the Garifuna Collective have embarked on their first lengthy tour.

Before leaving for Europe, they gave an emotional show in Belize, where Palacio was delighted by the outpouring of support from the younger generation: "The album is inspiring them to return to their roots and reconnect."

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HONDURAS - A fading culture clings to roots

The small and politically marginalized Garífuna community has maintained its rich African heritage but is struggling for the rights and education needed to survive.

BY NANCY SAN MARTIN

Published June 10, 2007

TELA, Honduras -- The three women in pumpkin-colored skirts, with sand clinging to their naked feet, held maracas over their heads and shook them in rhythm with drumbeats.

Nearby, bare-chested men with colorful headdresses moved with snakelike motions. The men and women then joined for an explosive Baile de Guerra -- a 200-year-old war dance commemorating their ancestors' liberation from English enslavement.

The dancers were Garífuna, descendants of African slaves who were shipwrecked on the Caribbean island of St. Vincent in 1665 and mixed with Carib and Arawak Indians. After clashes with the English, they were sent in 1797 to Honduras, from where they spread to neighboring Nicaragua, Guatemala and

Belize.

Ironically, the dancers were celebrating a planned tourism development that could further erode a unique community with an already muffled political voice, dwindling numbers and vanishing culture. Blacks account for only 2 percent of the people in this nation of 7.4 million.

With virtually no economic clout, widespread poverty and voter apathy within their community, the Garífuna face a difficult challenge keeping their land.

''The investors and the government divided the [Garífuna] community through money; public opinion was bought,'' said Domingo Alvarez, 65, a senior official of the Fraternal Black Organization of Honduras. ``Even as there are denunciations, others simply dance to the tune of the state.''

TOURISM, INVESTMENT

The Garífuna population in Honduras is officially estimated at 45,000, dispersed across more than 30 communities. They speak their own Africa-based language, Garífuna, as well as Spanish and English. But while their communities are promoted in Honduran tourism pamphlets, their numbers are too small to carry political weight.

''We are a minority, and even after 200 years of being here, we are still considered foreigners,'' Alvarez said.

Today, Garífuna communities can be found in small towns along Honduras' Caribbean coast, including one named Miami, a tiny slice of shoreline where families still live in straw huts. But they are struggling to maintain their roots amid a dwindling population and several divisive issues -- the most contentious of them the swath of land where the war dance was held in October. The site is being developed into an $11 million Micos Beach and Golf Resort. Land where about 35 Garífuna families had lived for generations was expropriated by the government for the project.

During the groundbreaking ceremony, Honduran President Manuel Zelaya promised that about $3 million would be set aside to invest in money-making projects specifically for the Garífuna -- but the community remains skeptical.

''We live a little poor,'' said Isaac Arriola, 34, who was at the dance to celebrate the project. ``I think we are going to get some work and get some money.''

''Maybe we are going to clean or cook, but we won't have the top jobs,'' countered Climaco Martínez, 66. ``We don't have the necessary training to do anything else, and the government won't invest in that.''

Martínez's wife, Balbina, said that while the planned resort could provide jobs, she worries about its impact on Garífuna society.

''When I grew up over here, we were innocent,'' she said. ``My grandmother never went to the doctor. She used herbs for ailments. There are hardly any herbs anymore.''

TRADITIONAL BELIEFS

Those who still believe in herbal remedies infused with a dose of spirituality now turn to Félix Valerio, a respected curandero, or medicine man. The rugged 70-year-old gets around on a rusty bicycle and is always barefoot ``to feel the power.''

''We are here to combat evil. We've saved a lot of souls,'' said Valerio, using the ''we'' to refer to himself and the spirits he prays to for guidance.

Consultations take place in the bedroom of a modest Caribbean-style home. One corner contains an altar topped with several statues, a portrait of Jesus, candles and flowers. Valerio listens to his clients' problems and seeks guidance from spirits to provide a solution. Remedies consist of herbs combined with scented water that Valerio prepares in his tiny kitchen. People travel from all over the country to see him. Everyone leaves with a dose of advice and a bottle of herbal brew. Valerio, whose grandfather settled in the region in 1890, has lived in the same house since he was born. The house faces the ocean -- a Garífuna trademark. ''The Garífuna have never liked mountains,'' Valerio said. ``They've always liked the ocean, fishing.''

GOVERNMENT SERVICES

In the nearby fishing community of La Ensenada, Garífuna leader Gerardo Colón Rochez complained about a lack of government services as well as a loss of culture. ''We have maintained our tradition, but we're also losing it,'' Colón said. ``In part, it has to do with racism, but also partly due to us not mobilizing ourselves.''

''Look, this is the most touristic community and we don't even have potable water,'' he said. ``Before, we could take water from the ground and boil it. But now, there are latrines for the tourists, and the septic tanks have ruined the ground.''

Garífuna artist Nicolás Colón Gutiérrez is trying to inspire youths by teaching them to paint.

''In the Garífuna community, a lot of talent is being lost,'' he said. ``This is the only ethnic group [in Honduras] that has maintained its language and culture.''

''Not all of them can make it to the United States or be doctors or professionals,'' he said. ``But they can make a living as talented artists. Here, the community migrates because the government offers nothing for its citizens. This program is providing a message of hope.''

Hope also was at the core of a dance recital at a church in the community of San Juan, where a group of teenage girls held maracas over their heads, shaking them to the rhythm of drums played by a handful of boys. That performance was not about war. It was about cultural survival -- practicing for a parade that would celebrate their heritage. They planned to dance down sandy streets, behind a banner with these Garífuna words: ``Lema Ibagari lau Emenigini Wabaruaguon'' -- ``Life and hope are just ahead.''

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Music Review: Wátina by Andy Palacio & the Garifuna Collective

Written by Ann Hagman Cardinal

Published May 01, 2007

I have a confession to make; I didn’t know about the Garifuna people until I discovered this incredible new CD from Andy Palacio & the Garifuna Collective. This is particularly embarrassing from someone whose family hails from the Caribbean, but it seems I’m not alone.

The Garifuna people’s roots lie in a shipwrecked slave ship in the early 1600’s. Originally accepted by the indigenous peoples of the island now known as St. Vincent, they were captured by the British and exiled to an island off the coast of Honduras. Now the 250,000 remaining Garifunas are spread out, and there is concern that the heart of their culture and traditions are dying out. This remarkable album captures elements of that culture, and really brought them alive for me. Palacio is from Belize where there is a minority of Garifuna people, and he put together this multi-generational ensemble of Garifuna musicians from Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras.

I first listened to the CD without looking at the English translation of the Garifuna language. The music itself is an elegant blend of traditional Afro-Caribbean sounds but with a modern twist. But I could tell that there are stories being told, and since I have learned far more about life from stories than from any textbook, I had to hear them. I quickly cracked the lyric book.

These are songs that tell tales of racial bias and prayer, of the little things of daily lives, of marital woes and a touch of humor. Some feel dark, or at least gray, as in the beautiful “Weyu Lárigi Weyu,” which asks God for help in troubled times. There is much grief embedded in this piece beneath the Spanish and acoustic guitars. “Baba” is another song that speaks to God, asking for help “out of the impossible.” Its haunting melody and gentle acoustic guitar recall folk spirituals, and the repetitive lyric reinforces it as sung prayer.

The title song, “Wátina,” has a strong Caribbean feel, and the lyrics convey the frustration of the protagonist who is unable to get a ride on the side of the road. Though the liner notes talk about this as being about a “common daily occurrence,” for the Garifuna, the underlying and powerful theme of being judged by one’s appearance, class or skin color is one that many people can understand. The song’s dance-like rhythm balances out the message of the disempowering of the Wátina people.

In “Miami” we are treated to an up-tempo calypso or paranda type beat, but the lyrics tell of the rootless of this oppressed people who are “searching for comfort” as they “have no place.” Beneath its dance melody and deceivingly simplistic lyric lies a frightening story of military harassment and powerlessness. “Lidan Aban” is a cheerful song, the contagious rhythm (the claves—called palitos in Puerto Rico—remind me of my mother’s island) goes straight to your newly swaying hips as the vocals kick in. It is then you understand the energy as it is a rallying song, calling the people of Garifuna to “go forward” and “seek the truth.”

The lovely “Gaganbadibá” is directed to the Garifuna children, encouraging them to listen to their mothers, assuring them that their day will come. It’s delicate but melancholic opening notes are reminiscent of a Sting song, and when the vocals come in, we find the ethnic sound added to the modern backdrop. A soothing lullaby, the strings and rhythms undulate like the turquoise waves of the Caribbean Sea.

“Beiba,” or “Go Away” tells the tale of a man who comes home late after drinking all night to find his wife has locked him out of the house. The electric guitar and strong rhythm of the song (most noticeably the clave) makes this a true blended piece, modern with traditional and lyrics that speak of a problem that can be understood on a universal level.

Though truly beautiful, the Paranda style “Sin Precio” is a difficult song to listen to once you know what is being said. This is a slower song, and the acoustic guitar is haunting, particularly as a back drop to this lament about a woman who must endure being called “worthless” and worrying for the safety of her child. In “Yagane,” or “My Canoe,” The vocals are backed by only rhythm instruments that include drumming on an improvised tabletop. A tale of a man who has capsized on the sea and is calling out for his canoe to return to him, this song has a primal feel, one that seems to invoke magic. “Águyuha Nidúheñu” is a song of loss, of the death of loved ones, preparation for one’s own death and remorse over sins of this world. Similarly, the haunting “Ayó Da” was written for a childhood friend of the song’s composer who disappeared as they fished in the lagoon. The song tells the young man’s family of his death.

But by far my favorite song of the album, the poignant “Ámuñegü” is a musical plea for the preservation of the Garifuna culture. This emotionally potent song tells of how the Garifuna people see the precious elements of their culture dying: the food, the language, the traditions, and music. It calls for preservation, “Lest we lose it altogether.”

I have not taken this CD out of my player for two weeks. I have been listening to it over and over again, its lingering melodies now play in my head day and night, soothing me. One of the first releases from the newly formed Cumbancha record label (formed by Jacob Edgar, a former head of A&R at Putumayo World Music) Wátina is an album of beautiful music that has Caribbean and African blood running through its veins, and its rhythmic heart tells a story of dispossession, oppression and cultural genocide, but with a strong undercurrent of hope that seems to mirror the sentiments of an entire culture.

An American's View of the Garifuna

June 1, 2006

Under the Blue Mango
Belize on Five-K and a Pack of Smokes
by Joe Bageant

Once one becomes aware of the fact that babies die in the third world as an indirect result of our simplest choices, such as buying Ziploc plastic bags or bottled water or driving a car, life changes for any approximately moral American. Restlessness sets in, a nagging guilt that only swells with time until, finally, night thoughts grow so damned anxious and black something has to be done. It's been that way with me for a long time. About a year ago I decided to do something more about it than pat myself on the back for recycling the mountain of bottles and unread magazines our household seems to generate. So last fall I vowed to find a decent third world family and put up the money to do something together to better their lives and my own. The issue was so unbearable by spring this year that, by god, I was determined to get it done.

Consequently, I found myself at the Belcove Hotel in Belize City, Belize, that town being the place visitors on discount are most likely to find themselves when flying in or out of the country. The hotel is situated in the gritty core of the city and as good a place as any to stew over the next move. Rooms run as low as 20 US bucks a night and the Belcove is conveniently located by the waters of Haulover Creek, right next to the Blue Marlin bar where a man can drink with Mayan Indians and DEA agents or catch fish right off the deck if he cares to. Most nights at the Belcove you'll find several Americans on its balcony drinking Beliken beer and watching the boats pass under an old manpowered turn bridge in the heart of this not-so-gently rotting British colonial town.

During my first night on the balcony all the city lights went out in another of the city's power outages, which usually last about an hour. From more affluent sectors across the water came the sound of generators kicking in. An American developer, checked into the hotel's only air conditioned room for a break during a yachting trip through the Caribbean, looks at his trim, fiftyish wife who is wearing about $500 worth of Henri Lloyd casual boating wear and says, "I guess the looting will start shortly." "Do you think we should ask the owner to lock the big doors down front?" asks his deeply tanned mate. Another American, a chubby young guy with a shaved head, joins the conversation, telling the Henri Lloyd clothes rack: "The night clerk must surely have a gun. In this city, who wouldn't?" The automatic assumption was that Belize residents, being mainly black, would loot their own city at the slightest opportunity. Personally, I'd rather be in Belize City during a power outage than in New York or Los Angeles.

Fortunately for my quest in Belize, fate is sometimes expedient. It was on the balcony of the Belcove that I found the family I had come looking for. A Garifuna (also known as Black Carib) couple sat in the darkness. And as I listened to them talk I actually had tears in my eyes, such was their plain honesty and dignity in their obvious poverty and mutual love. An hour later I knew they were the people I'd come to meet -- Luke and Marzlyn Castillo.

A couple of days later I was in their home village of Hopkins, originally settled by descendents of escapees from a West African slave ship run aground in 1635. Having escaped, the Garifuna people have never been slaves and are proud of it. Soon I was sleeping in their 600-square foot house with ten other family members, six children, a cousin and a friend who met up with me at the hotel, and enjoying every minute of it, every human sound and smell of a natural boisterous native Caribbean household. Roosters crowed outside and pots rattled and kids squalled inside.

The next couple of weeks showed the village life to be both inspiring and somewhat heartbreaking at times. Days are sleepy and blissful. Time for the most part vanishes and only the hard bright sun and the sea prevail. Chickens wander the lanes and the babies roll and play with one another amicably. It is well known here that children nursed by ganja smoking mothers are more easygoing and socially adjusted. And why shouldn't they be? It's hard to imagine anything better than a toke and a tit rolled into one. (Obvious as this is to anyone with common sense, it has nevertheless been supported in a study by Dean of the University of Massachusetts College of Nursing, Dr. Melanie Dreher, as well as a research by United Nations health workers.)

Life revolves around the kitchen table and the blue mango tree in the back yard. During the day when it is hot we sit under the "beeg mongo" where a stiff sea breeze always blows. So there are almost no insects. The skeeters can't grab any skin as they blow by on their way inland to Belmopan. In the evening we wash the sand off the kids with a hose and soap and go inside to cook coco root (which is rather like a potato and also known as arrowroot) in coconut milk with sweet pepper and onion. And of course fish of every imaginable kind.

Getting back to get back to that project I came to accomplish, it turned out to be a dwelling. With some cash on my part, Luke is building a traditional Belizean cabana. It sits six feet up on strong posts facing the ocean so it can catch the breeze at night, and has a bath and a balcony from which one can look across Hopkins or down on the children playing under the fruit trees. Luke and Marzy will rent it out to eco-tourists for extra income. We've agreed that he not charge more than $15 a night. That way students and retired folks on small budgets can afford to stay there. This may sound like small bucks but it will more than double the family income. And if this old fat gringo comes to visit, he can stay in it as long as he wants, sleep late, write, and play guitar on the balcony. If it happens to be rented at the time, then I sleep on the family couch until it is available. And if I choose to retire in Hopkins or am driven there by the upcoming US economic collapse, then I build them a second one to replace the lost income of the first.

No paperwork is involved. Luke Castillo owns the house. Period. No legal stuff, no bullshit lawyers. We looked each other in then eye from two different worlds and shook on it. At some point good men the world over must trust one another. It only takes one look at both our faces to know which one of us has the most corrupted soul. I am lucky to have his trust, not the other way around.

In any money relationship there is power involved when one party has all the dough. For the first week I worked hard at trying to convince them that I am not rich, which was ridiculous because any American is rich by village standards. So I finally said, "Just think of me as a rich American uncle then." This is more comprehensible since many Belizeans have relatives in the US sending back money. So now I am Uncle Joey and we call what we do a partnership. For me though, it is more like having a new son and daughter and best of all, grandkids at last.

To be perfectly straight with you, what I get out of it is a feeling of direct accomplishment that a man can never have in this country. We just picked something and did it. And it got done for a mere $5,000 US. First the posts, then the floor. Being a working person in America means that, no matter how much you earn or how hard you work, it is never enough and the job is never done. Never do you feel the immediate satisfaction, much less security, from your labors as a citizen of the empire. Pay and work and grind and pay some more as everything drags on forever extracting ever-increasing sums of money just to hang onto what you've already paid for. And always there is the specter of retirement and all the geet that is supposed to require. When I was a kid I read an article that said a person needed $50,000 in savings to be safe in retirement. Not long ago I read a money magazine column that said a million was not quite enough. I have no doubt that I could easily live in Hopkins for about $400 a month -- double what Luke supports a family of eight on -- and manage to have some left over for rum, guitar strings and a little ganja.

Dogs of the Conquerors

This evening the light winds carry the smell of Gumbo Limbo and Allspice leaves, and this evening, like all others, the children, the dogs, Luke, Marzy, are sitting under the blue mango, adults sipping the contribo bitters while the kids hang upon us sleepily, washed by the last faint red light. Suddenly the oldest dog, Rex, stands up rigid with every nerve alert and there is dead quiet as a young man dressed in all black walks down the village lane leading several pit bulls. He has found a fine niche in the white man's new global economy by selling the guard dog services of his eight pit bulls. As a black friend in Detroit warned me before I left, "Don't expect to find nigger nobility in poverty."

The resort owners and the gringos who've built mansions here know they cannot legally keep the villagers off the beachfront of their sanitized air conditioned compounds inside which they sip mohitos and nibble at conch before launching forth in their white cabin cruisers or catamarans or go sail gliding over the great coral reefs. So they buy or rent the services of pit bulls and Dobermans to patrol "their" beaches. The beaches that by Belizean law are open to all citizens. Recently a pit bull chewed up the head of a village child, enough to require serious medical treatment at the hospital in Belize City, two hours away from this village where only ten of the village's 2,000 people have vehicles, most of which are not around of course during the day when their owners are off to work. No charges were filed against the dogs' owner, who happened to be the young fellow in black. In a village where dog owners scrupulously pay for chickens killed by their animals, everyone looked the other way at the mauling of a child. Two centuries of British colonization was not for nothing. I cannot help but think of the European conquest of the Caribbean, and think of Jean-Baptiste's Rochambeau's dogs in Haiti during Napoleon's reign. Rochambeau imported from Cuba fifteen hundred dogs trained to hunt and eat blacks. On the day the dogs arrived, priests blessed the occasion and offered prayers for the dogs' success. Young French girls bedecked the hounds with flowers, kissed their necks, clapped and cheered to see the first negroes thrown to these savage animals and devoured. The dogs of the conqueror are still here. Just less obvious.

Can the Americans who build the pastel stucco palaces on the beaches here be called mean? I suspect they are just provincial in that strange insulated American way, so completely conditioned they can never feel anything for people who do not thoroughly resemble themselves. Conditioned to fear black people even as they look down upon them, they can never truly recover from the consumer state's conditioning. In all fairness, there are as many culturally respectful Americans -- inasmuch as Americans understand the concept -- as there are assholes. Sensitive visitors, usually young and carrying a backpack. They now have one more place to stay in Hopkins.

Contribo, tapeworms and star navigation

Marzy's father, Old Charlie, who is 56, talks of the days not so long ago when he supported his family from the sea. The days when he sailed the big dugouts forty feet long and deep as a man is tall. "There was no roads to Hopkins den an if a man wan to buy so much as a fish hook he had to sail to Dangriga. No way but the sea." Old Charlie and men of his generation sailed entirely by the stars and could tell the time within ten minutes of accuracy just by looking up. "Charlie, he still has the clock of the sea inside his head," Luke says. Charlie smiles and tells of sailing into the big waves, "when you have to make tack in de troughs, an rudder back straight as de wave comes so you get lifted by de wave, not swamped. Tack, cut, tack, cut for hours an hours."

Not only can Old Charlie sail a hundred miles to Honduras with just the stars and two sails, but he is an herbalist too, and can brew the contribo bitters that strengthens the bodies and souls of men. Bitters starts out as a mixture of herbs soaked in a small amount of 180-proof rum to dissolve their essential oils. This rum is then mixed with five or six parts water, so it is not a really something you can get drunk on, being both earthy and bitter tasting and so highly diluted. There are many bitters recipes but all contain the vine, contribo, which according to Charlie, "makes you piss all de poisons out." So three times a day I drink the bitters, which the Cuban doctor in the village clinic says do have preventive medical value, though not all that are claimed. It will not give you the legendary everlasting bitters boner. Between the Cuban doctor and bitters, I found myself breathing like a 30-year old, and even walked four miles one day, some of them carrying a baby on my back!

The Cuban doctor at the village clinic attends those maladies that herbs or bitters cannot prevent or cure. In the States I take five medications a day, but the advice of the Cuban doctor got me down to two (for blood pressure). "No lassix (a diuretic for my lung condition) because in this heat you sweat so much the problem is keeping water, not getting rid of it. As for the Prevacid, the Cuban doctor agrees with the herb doctors here: "You eat too much, especially meat. Eat fish, not pork. Pork is for celebrating. And coffee is good but too much is not." I began to drink only one cup of coffee daily, and that one in the morning brewed with "fever grass," which makes an excellent lemon grass-like tea in itself.

Still, there are plenty of sick people in Hopkins. Many here cannot even afford aspirin, much less medical care. And many women will not go to the Cuban doctor because the villager managing the clinic gossips about their maladies. In such a small close-knit cultural group village gossip is deadly stuff. Consequently, you find children with tapeworms, ringworms, adults with untreated high blood pressure. Villagers get dysentery just like gringos, but it goes mostly untreated. So when Luke and I rode the bus into Dangriga to shop, we bought a good supply of liquid baby aspirin, tapeworm medicine, antifungals -- over the years locals get a skin fungus from swimming in the sea -- diarrhea medicine, ringworm medicine, Tylenol. We got the kids a soccer ball, no small thing among children who own no toys and never expect to.

Not that shopping is a leisure activity as it is in the States. There is little work left fishing and employment at the resort is a tainted blessing. On one hand it feeds the family, but barely so at $1 to $1.50 an hour US. Groceries and commodities are no cheaper here than in the US because they are shipped from the US. So Luke cares for his family of eight on about $50 a week US. Electricity alone takes one week's pay and drinking water takes nearly another, and telephone takes another, a telephone being a necessity when you have a boss at the resort, no car, etc. So that leaves $50-$60 US for food for eight. It also leaves nothing for clothing, soap etc. Somehow though, they manage to come up with the things they need. They remain proud enough, and even with so little they are generous to a fault.

Said generosity does not come easy when you pay proportionately as much of your income for mere drinking water as Americans do for major utilities. As in much if the third world, drinking water here is controlled by foreign criminal syndicates incorporated in Canada, France or the US. It costs about two dollars for five gallons, now that water has been effectively privatized by the very companies that sell you and me bottled water in the States. Crystal, is the big one here and none of Luke's six children can so much as wet their lips without paying Crystal for it. Washing and bathing are done with raunchy water from the village well, which suspiciously has been allowed to become fetid. The heavy concrete cap has been left open for ages so the bugs, dead mice and slime could accumulate. The town's three water maintenance guys, who, besides having not one lick of training, are lackeys of the rotten PUP political party now in power. Wanna bet that Crystal is a contributor to PUP? Still, political corruption is not as bad in the US, just more obvious, and is not institutionalized as it is in America. Belizean democracy, sloppy though it be, is still effective. Belizeans have kicked crooked administrations out on their asses before and PUP will be thrown out in the next election. This ain't Ohio. Votes still count here.

Luke and Marzy are among the finest young couples in the village, moreover middle class by local standards. They have a TV, a small Commie-Chinese-made washing machine that amounts to a sloshing plastic bucket with an electric motor. They own a small fridge and a microwave. Such displays of wealth are sure signs of connivance to some of the village's old farts.

Unarguably Garifuna culture is being destroyed by these small luxuries, particularly processed foods from "the Chinaman's store" down the road, especially television, which the kids watch in the mornings before school. Television surely has something to do with the Abercrombie & Fitch and Victoria's Secret magazine ads clipped out and pasted on the Castillo family's cottage walls. And in the background of everything there are the village's practitioners of the Dugu religion, which is fascinating and scary African stuff whose ceremonies are conducted in long dark thatched buildings wherein pigs are sacrificed at night amid smoke and drumming as the dead come back to instruct the living. Some Dugu practitioners believe the whites are stealing the soul of the Garifuna and they are right. I have seen it myself in Luke's children as the television spins its pornographic consumer holograms in their minds. Already they understand deep inside that without an X-box they are nothing.

Return to the dead zone

Three weeks back in Fritz Lang's Metropolis and I'm once more walking like an old man, my throb and my gut burns. There are malignancies of the body and soul that are purely situational. Things that no amount of contribo bitters can ever heal. The nine pounds I lost in Belize is now shading my dick again. And once more I am keeping my wife up too late railing against the empire -- the unholy rottenness of it all, including the style in which she and I live, and "Why inna fuck can't we sell everything and leave for more humane climes?" You get the picture. It's the kind of stuff that, left unresolved, can lead to divorce.

Now I know what some male readers are thinking: "I'd leave this country in a heartbeat if it were not for my wife. What about the wife?" I've received scads of emails asking just that. It has been my experience that women are almost never up for the escape from America and generally don't feel the anxiety so many liberal and leftish men do in these times. Please spare me chauvinist charges on the grounds that "Women feel the same political outrage that men do." Perhaps so, but most married women in America sure as hell don't take risks about it. I've had scads of emails asking me the question: "How do you get your wife to go along with it?" You don't. Like a divorce, you just give them everything you own, the house (which we never own in this country, mortgage being a form of rent. Who the hell ever pays off a house these days?) cars and all, then hope for the best. It's the same as with Luke Castillo. At some point you have to trust. And if it all goes to hell, so what? A third world family has a small house they can rent out and eventually leave to their children. Or an American woman goes down with the American economy clutching at a very large house. Interestingly, Luke and Marzy own their tiny house and plot of land outright.

As the Belizeans sometimes say, "Let me leave you wid dis, my friend." If you should ever find yourself at the Belcove Hotel in Belize City, step out the front door onto the pot holed, trash strewn pavement and look to your right. A dozen yards down Albert Street you will see an immaculately dressed, wizened little man sitting patiently on the steps of the Beer and Bingo Hall (which is more fun than it sounds). The little old man makes his living going for cigarettes, beer or anything else tourists are seeking (except whores.) Locals call him The Gentleman of Principle. "Because he is a man of the old school?" I asked the Hindu grocer on the corner. "No, my brother" the Hindu answers. "He is called that because he will always return with your beer and the right change." The Gentleman of Principal, Mr. Harris is a Creole man of the old school who has seen governments rise and fall, chopped banana stalks, picked oranges and waited on the tables of diplomats. He knows plenty. Enough that, out of respect, I felt obliged to share a drink with him and buy him a pack of smokes. Thus we sat on the wooden steps talking and after his initial gentlemanly reserve was lifted by a couple shots of Old Masters overproof rum the conversation turned to my people, the Americans.

"Americans hab only one eye," he said.
"One eye?"
"Jah. Dey see only what anudda man do not own. And dey look upon demselves wid great pride because dey own so many things. Den dey go on to de next man to see what he does not own dat dey own. Americans here got big pride in demselves cause most of us got nothing."
"Someday the other eye is going to open."
"Maybe in hebben. Maybe when dey die and God pry dey eye open wid his own finger. But right now dey living in de false light."
On my first day back at work I proudly showed the pictures of my new Belizean family to a co-worker, pictures of the children playing under the blue mango tree, Marzy with the baby of the family, Little Luke, on her hip by the tiny cottage in the sand. The co-worker looked at them carefully, then looked up at me and said, "I just don't see how people can live like that!"

Perhaps one day, if she is very lucky, God will pry her eye open "wid his own finger."


[Joe Bageant is the author of a forthcoming book from Random House Crown about working class America, scheduled for Spring 2007 release. A complete archive of his online work, along with the thoughts of many working class Americans on the subject of class may be found at www.joebageant.com. Feel free to contact him at: joebageant@joebageant.com. Copyright © 2006 by Joe Bageant]

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February 23, 2006
by Karen Juanita Carrillo

Honduras’ new president, José Manuel “Mel” Zelaya Rosales, won the November 27, 2005 presidential elections because of his promise to look for resolutions to the country’s problems.

While his main opponent in the race, the National Party of Honduras’ (PNH's) Porfirio Pepe Lobo, was a strict hardliner, Zelaya, a member of the Liberal Party of Honduras (Partido Liberal de Honduras, PLH), campaigned with a more moderate approach to issues.

Now, the nation’s Black population is planning to hold Zelaya to his promises.

The president-elect took office on January 27, 2006. And, in preparation for his transition to power, Zelaya sat down in Tegucigalpa, the nation's capital, with Celeo Alvarez Casildo, president of the Organización Negra Centroamericana/Central American Black Organization (ONECA – the largest umbrella organization for Black communities in Central America and the Caribbean) and other representatives of Honduras’ Black communities to talk about the campaign promises made to Afro Hondurans and how the new president plans on fulfilling them.

Back on May 26, 2005, when he was initiating his political campaign, Zelaya signed an accord with Afro Hondurans. He promised that, if he won the presidency with their support, he would make every effort to see that their concerns are addressed.

During his 2006 through 2010 term of office, Zelaya has agreed to finalize terms for the government’s granting of land titles to Honduras’ Garífuna. If Zelayo lives up to his promise, he could help end a battle Afro Honduran communities have been waging for decades.

The majority of Afro Hondurans are known as Garífuna, descendants of Africans and Carib-Indians who resisted slavery and were able to retain their own language – a patois of Creole, Bambu, and Patua – and to live independently for years.

Because of many have immigrated, Garífuna communities have spread out across Central America, the Caribbean, and the United States in the last few decades. Yet, historically, the Garífuna were established in the countries of Belize, Guatemala, Panama, and Honduras and along the coastlines of Nicaragua, Colombia, Ecuador, and Venezuela.

Garífuna have long faced discrimination...

Latin America's Garífuna have long faced discrimination and have had to struggle to be politically incorporated within their nations of origin, so Zelaya’s campaign promises did not come out of a vacuum. Garífuna have lived in specific areas of Honduras for the past 200 years and they have petitioned for title to those lands for years now.

Various Honduran governments have granted a few small landholding titles, and yet remained reluctant to negotiate the rest. But the community gained respect after more than 5,000 people marched on Tegucigalpa in the late ’90s and demanded land titles rather than watch their lands sold after being devastated by 1998s Hurricane Mitch.

Government officials had proposed a reform of the Constitution’s Article 107, a law that prohibits Honduran land from being sold to non-citizens. But the Garífuna march stopped the reform: protestors noted that any reform of the law would have allowed for the sale of traditional Garífuna lands along Honduras' Atlantic Coast.

“They have not been able to reform that law,” says Mirtha Colón, a United States-based ONECA member. “But they’ve made efforts to change it by changing other laws that affect Article 107.”

Changing Honduran land ownership laws gives multinational companies the opportunity to buy land and develop tourist hotels, resorts, and casinos in Garífuna territories: areas that are extremely underdeveloped yet have the advantage of being situated along the nation’s picturesque coastline. It has already drastically affected communities in places like Cayos Cochinos, which – the Garífuna were told – was by law set aside as a nature preserve; today the area boasts a tourist attraction named the Plantation Beach Resort.

Garífuna living in the areas of San Juan, Miami, Tornavé, and Triunfo de la Cruz were also initially told their territories would be part of a nature preserve. But when it was announced that a multimillion-dollar tourist resort and casino would be built in the area, the Garífuna demanded title to some parts of the land for their own communities.

Even with the granting of community land titles, Colón says Garífuna are often harassed into leaving their traditional homes: a family’s livestock will be killed or their house burned down. “This is why we are afraid, because many people then have to move to the city,” she said.

“Or they may have to try to enter the United States illegally. But people have to do something to survive.”

Mel Zelaya has pledged that his administration will sponsor a study looking into how much funds sent to Honduras from abroad have been needed to help sustain Garífuna communities. And his new government will tackle racism in Honduras, by sponsoring public service announcements against racial discrimination and by working with Afro Hondurans to sponsor events celebrating the April 12th commemoration of the 18th century Garífuna escape from slavery and arrival of in Punta Gorda, Honduras.

The agreement with the new president also promises increased job creation, and that new health care centers, schools, and roads will be built in Garífuna regions. Garífunas can also expect to see electric, telephone, in-door plumbing and other basic services brought to their territorial areas.

Garifuna Information Blog