Community and Cultural Resilience in Bluefields, Nicaragua

The Pennsylvania State University

The Graduate School

College of Education

COMMUNITY AND CULTURAL RESILIENCE IN BLUEFIELDS, NICARAGUA:

AN ETHNOGRAPHIC STUDY OF CREOLE PEOPLE

A Dissertation in Educational Theory and Policy

and

Comparative and International Education

Erica B. Sausner

Submitted in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

December 2018

The dissertation of Erica B. Sausner was reviewed and approved* by the following:

Mindy L. Kornhaber Associate Professor of Education Policy Studies Co-Chair of Committee Dissertation Advisor

Nicole S. Webster Associate Professor of Youth and International Development Co-Chair of Committee Comparative and International Education Advisor

Dana L. Mitra Professor of Education

Kai Schafft Associate Professor of Education

Kevin Kinser Department Head Education Policy Studies

*Signatures are on file in the Graduate School.

ii Abstract

This critical ethnographic study examines the cultural resilience of Afro-descendant Creole people (research question 1), and the community resilience of Bluefields, Nicaragua (research question 2). Semi-structured interviews, participant observations, ethnographic field notes, informal interviews, and focus groups are engaged to study Creole culture and civil society organizations (CSOs) that serve Bluefields’ youth. Fleming and Ledogar (2008, p.3, citing

Healey (2006)) link and define community and cultural resilience as: “the capacity of a distinct community or cultural system to absorb disturbance and reorganize while undergoing change so as to retain key elements of structure and identity that preserve its distinctness.” The findings include 5 components of Creole cultural resilience. Networks of care and “minding,” extended family relationships, identity formation in families, parenting, and social control over physical presentation and reputation were crucial cultural components passed between generations. Four additional findings address the second research question, and clarify the roles that CSOs play in supporting community resilience. CSOs’ foci, the holistic nature of their work, the links between

CSOs and individual identities, and convivencia (living togetherness) support Bluefields’ community resilience. The 9 findings, associated with 2 research questions, are lenses into the

Bluefields community. Similarities between Creoles and other marginalized groups throughout the world strengthen cultural resilience literature. The findings related to community resilience cast additional light on networks as supportive of community resilience and call for further investigation into this realm. The goal of the work is to offer a starting place for conversations around culture, resilience, and community development with links to education policy that draw upon the ethnographic literature expansion offered in these findings.

iii Table of Contents List of Tables ...... ix List of Figures ...... x Acknowledgements ...... xi Chapter 1: Introduction...... 1 Overview ...... 1 Nicaragua and Bluefields: Geographic and cultural context of the study...... 2 Political context of the study...... 6 Demographic context of the study...... 8 The Present Study ...... 9 Research problem...... 10 Purpose...... 10 Research questions...... 11 Methods and Data ...... 11 Methodology overview...... 12 Impact ...... 12 Rationale and significance...... 12 Assumptions ...... 13 Researcher Identity ...... 14 Key terms and abbreviations ...... 16 Chapter 2: Bluefields Resilience and Creole Resilience in Relation to the Literature ...... 18 Introduction...... 18 Resilience ...... 18 Key characteristics...... 18 Shared components of resilience...... 19 Defining “Culture” ...... 20 Defining “Cultural Resilience” ...... 21 Defining “Community” ...... 22 Defining “Marginalization” ...... 23 Community Resilience ...... 23 Resilience at Different Levels: Individual and Community ...... 30 Linking Up: Community Resilience and Individual Resilience ...... 31 Cultural change continuum and globalization...... 32 Race ...... 34 Complexities of race: Afro-descendants in Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC)...... 34 Afro-descendants in Nicaragua...... 34 Youth and schools...... 35 Conclusion ...... 36 Chapter 3: Data, Methods, and Analysis of the Pilot Study and the Main Study ...... 38 Introduction...... 38 Pilot Study Research Design and Sample ...... 39 Pilot study design...... 39 Pilot study sample...... 40 Main Study: Critical Ethnographic Method and Analysis ...... 41

iv Main Study: Conceptual Framework, Context, and Sampling ...... 43 Conceptual framework...... 43 Context: Re-entry and main study outreach tactics...... 43 Main study data collection instruments...... 51 Analysis and Synthesis ...... 55 Pilot study data...... 55 Main study data analysis...... 56 Risk and Human Protections for the Pilot and Main Studies ...... 63 Ethical Considerations, Trustworthiness, and the Limitations of the Study ...... 65 Reflexivity and specific ethical considerations...... 66 Reciprocity...... 67 Data reliability and validity...... 69 Limitations...... 70 Conclusion ...... 72 CSOs and Their Work...... 74 Chapter 4, Part 1: A Walk Through Bluefields’ Creole Neighborhoods and Culture ...... 75 Introduction...... 75 Introducing Bluefields: Barrio Central ...... 76 A Primary Creole Barrio: Cotton Tree ...... 80 The Other Creole Side of Town: Old Bank ...... 81 Introduction to Leah’s ...... 82 Networks of Care and "Minding" (Finding I) ...... 85 Families...... 86 Neighborhoods...... 88 Seeing the Network of Care ...... 89 Extended Families in Practice ...... 91 Extended Families and Tradition (Finding II) ...... 92 Religion...... 94 Building Identity in multiple contexts (Finding III) ...... 96 Language use...... 96 Household roles...... 97 Family ties...... 101 Shared spaces and youth as a process...... 102 Comparative perspectives and exclusion...... 106 Belief Kill and it Cures: Wellness Within and Between Generations ...... 110 The Last 3 Months: Larriel’s in Cotton Tree...... 112 Race, Safety, and Community News ...... 114 Cultural Values Transmitted Through Parenting (Finding IV)...... 116 Discipline...... 117 Control...... 118 Churches Messaging on Family, Culture, and Community ...... 120 That’s Not the Right Thing (Finding V) ...... 122 Conclusion ...... 126 Chapter 4, Part 2: How Organizations Do Their Part...... 127 Introduction...... 127 Organizational Foci Intertwined with Bluefields Culture (Finding VI) ...... 127

v Autonomy-focused advocacy organizations...... 127 Religious organizations...... 131 Holistic Organizations and Services Responsive to the Community Base (Finding VII) ...... 132 Networked organizations for autonomy and development...... 132 Based on community needs...... 133 Identity and Belonging Outside the Family (Finding VIII) ...... 138 Organizations supporting identity creation...... 138 Sport...... 140 Festivals...... 141 Language...... 142 Living Together, It's All We Have (Finding IX) ...... 145 Conclusion ...... 147 Chapter 5: Understanding Findings via Literature ...... 148 Introduction...... 148 A New Perspective on Economics in Resilience ...... 149 Networks of care and minding (Finding I)...... 149 Family Capitals and Networks ...... 150 Minding and extended families (Findings I and II)...... 151 Marginalized Youth and a Notably Absent Finding ...... 151 Minding and extended families (Findings I and II)...... 151 Resilience as an Active Pursuit ...... 153 Building Identity in the Family, Parenting, and Identity Outside the Family (Findings II, IV, and VII)...... 153 Displays of Belonging and Social Positions ...... 154 Building identity in family and transmitting values through parenting (Findings III and VI)...... 154 Agentic Youth in Process Toward Adulthood ...... 156 Building identity at home, cultural values through parenting, and building identity outside the home (Findings III, IV, and VIII)...... 156 Faith-based, Intergenerational Resilience Support ...... 158 Organizational foci aligned with Bluefields culture and identity formation outside the home (Findings VI and VIII)...... 159 Diverse and Valuable Capitals...... 160 Organizational culture aligned with Bluefields and holistic organizations (Findings VI and VII)...... 160 Power and Isolation Connecting to Community Resilience ...... 161 Organizational foci, holistic organizations, and convivencia (Findings VI, VII, and IX). . 161 Balances between Autonomy, Cultural Rights, and Convivencia ...... 163 Organizational foci, holistic organizations, and convivencia (Findings VI, VII, and IX). . 163 The Power of Social Memory for Resilience ...... 164 Organizational foci aligned with convivencia (Findings VI and IX)...... 164 Defining Community via Culture with Governance Links ...... 166 Organizational foci and convivencia (Findings VI and IX)...... 166 Representation vs. Invisibilization, and CSO Opportunities...... 167

vi Holistic organizations supporting identity formation and convivencia (Findings VII, VIII, and IX)...... 167 The Need to Link Cultural Resilience to Community Resilience ...... 169 Keys to Community Resilience in Parallel Sites...... 169 Ethnography in Education of Marginalized Students ...... 170 Ethnography, Education, and Resilience ...... 172 Cultural and Community Capital Theories Expansion ...... 173 Bourdieu’s Capitals meet Critical Race Theory (CRT): Development and Expansion 174 Indications of Cultural Resilience in the Classroom ...... 179 Migration, Economics, and Cultural Resilience Link to Community Resilience...... 181 Cultural Capital ...... 182 Conclusion ...... 183 Chapter 6: Conclusions and Recommendations ...... 185 Introduction...... 185 Networks of Care and “Minding” (Finding I)...... 185 Extended Families and Tradition (Finding II) ...... 186 Building Identity in the Home/Family Context (Finding III) ...... 186 Cultural Values Transmitted Through Parenting (Finding IV)...... 187 “That’s Not the Right Thing” (Finding V) ...... 187 Organizational Foci Intertwined with Bluefields Culture (Finding VI) ...... 188 Holistic Organizations/Services with a Community Base (Finding VII) ...... 188 Identity and Belonging Outside the Family (Finding VIII) ...... 188 “Living Together, It’s All We Have (Finding IX) ...... 189 Next Steps ...... 189 Conclusion ...... 191 Appendix A...... 194 Pilot Study Interview Protocols ...... 194 Appendix B ...... 198 Sampling Trees ...... 198 Appendix C...... 200 Main Study Field Notes ...... 200 Appendix D...... 202 Living Sites Timeline ...... 202 Appendix E ...... 203 Main Study Interview Protocols ...... 203 Appendix F ...... 205 Note-bag Protocol ...... 205 Appendix G ...... 206 Details of Code Creation ...... 206 Appendix H ...... 208 Pilot Study Themes, Codes, and Sub-codes ...... 208 Appendix I ...... 210

vii Images of Bluefields Murals ...... 210 Appendix J ...... 212 Organizational Links to Cultural Components of Findings ...... 212 Appendix K ...... 218 Additional Findings ...... 218 Learning/doing Culture ...... 218 Community: Infrastructure and roles...... 218 Missing a sense of history...... 220 Support of Culture ...... 222 Introduction...... 222 Community and Cultural Narratives...... 223 Relationships: family, neighborhood, advocates...... 224 Celebrations: May, Christmas...... 225 Culture in the political realm...... 228 Institutionalized cultural representation...... 230 References ...... 233

viii List of Tables

Table 2-1: Units of Cultural Components………………………………………………………..21 Table 3-1: Pilot Study Participants………………………………………………………………41 Table 3-2: CSO Pseudonyms and Descriptions…………………………………………………. 44 Table 3-3: Participants and Organizational Affiliations…………………………………………46 Table 3-4: CSOs Work Linked to Community Resilience……………………………………… 47 Table 3-5: Pilot Study Themes………………………………………………………………….. 56 Table 3-6: Conceptual Framework Codes………………………………………………………. 58 Table 3-7: Variables Grouped by Domain………………………………………………………. 59 Table 4-1: Findings According to Cultural Components……………………………………….. 76 Table 5-1: Critical Race and Racism Structures and Ideologies……………………………...... 177

ix List of Figures

Figure 1-1: Map of Nicaragua (“Nicaragua,” 2017) ...... 3 Figure 1-2: Departments of Nicaragua (“Mapa de Nicaragua departamentos [Map of Nicaraguan departments],” n.d.) ...... 6 Figure 2-1: Key Resilience Characteristics ...... 18 Figure 3-1: Conceptual Framework ...... 43 Figure 3-2: Code Organizational Structure ...... 59

x Acknowledgements

I am grateful to the Bluefields community and honored by their support throughout my pilot study and main study data collection. The welcome and friendship I received there were far beyond what I could have hoped for at the outset of this work. I hope that what I present in these pages does justice to the community and to the individuals who shared so much knowledge and happiness.

The constant support of many families provided hope and opportunities for completing this work. I am especially grateful to the Smiersson and Santos families for their hospitality, laughs, love, and perspective. The Sausner-Breen-Fields, Mahfouz-El Hajj, Brezicha, and Anderson families gave me great peace of mind through their intellectual and emotional support. Thank you. I am grateful to my parents, my siblings, and my nieces and nephews. You all did a great job balancing “Are you done? Where are you now? What are you doing again?” with love, support, and acceptance.

I am honored to have had the guidance of my committee for this work. Their expertise, dedication, and support of my efforts have been crucial drivers throughout the process. I am also grateful to the Africana Research Center at Penn State for its support of my dissertation fieldwork.

Chapter 1: Introduction

Nicaraguan Creoles are an Afro-descendant group with historical ties to the British through enslavement, trade, and political and economic spheres of influence. This dissertation focuses on the Creole community in

Bluefields, an Atlantic Coast city far from Nicaragua’s capital. It uses the concept of resilience as a frame of analysis for Creole culture and the Bluefields community. Scholars in ecology, youth development, and psychology conceive of resilience as a process and a state of being. Fleming and Ledogar (2008, p.3) cite

Healey’s (2006) concise definition of cultural resilience, “community or cultural resilience is the capacity of a distinct community or cultural system to absorb disturbance and reorganize while undergoing change so as to retain key elements of structure and identity that preserve its distinctness.” The extensive history of colonization of the Coast, including the enslavement of Afro-descendants, features disturbances (per

Healey), threats, and vulnerabilities that have put Bluefields Creoles’ culture at risk. This study seeks to identify components of cultural resilience in youth and the formal organizations that support community resilience. With these components identified, Bluefields and other marginalized communities can have research that can support enriched conversations about intentional efforts to build cultural and community resilience.

This chapter first provides an overview of Nicaragua with a focus on geographic and cultural contexts. I also devote attention to the political and demographic contexts of Bluefields in order to frame an understanding of the contemporary setting and its relationship to history. Following the overview, I present the research problem that this dissertation focuses on, including the purpose, the research questions, and assumptions about the relationship between the two questions. Next, I briefly outline the methods and data before pinpointing the study’s rationale and significance. I then provide a list of assumptions that are foundational to my understanding and positionality. Finally, I reflect on my identity as a researcher, linking this to the fieldwork site, the research questions, and my role in analysis, findings, and presentation of this work. I provide an explanation of abbreviations and key terms at the end of this chapter.

Overview

Nicaragua and Bluefields: Geographic and cultural context of the study.

Two Autonomous Regions (North and South) make up more than 50% of the Nicaraguan landmass but are home to less than 10% of the national population (INIDE (Instituto Nacional de Información de Desarrollo)

[National Institute of Development Information], 2016). Bluefields is the capital of the Southern Atlantic

Autonomous Region (RAAS, the Spanish acronym) of Nicaragua, and is one of the few cities in a largely rural region. Bluefields is a port city (see Figure 1-1) that has historically been dominated by Creole people.

Although today most of the Bluefields population is Mestizx (Mestizo traditionally means “mixed race;” refer to definitions at the end of this chapter for further explanation), there is a large Creole population.

Walking the streets of Bluefields you may hear Spanish, Kriol (the spoken language of Creole people),

Mískitu (an indigenous language), or a variety of languages from visiting tourists. Despite being a diverse city with historic importance, Bluefields offers weak infrastructure and limited economic opportunities for locals.

Figure 1-1: Map of Nicaragua (“Nicaragua,” 2017)

The history of Bluefields is complex and crucial to understanding the cultures there today. The

Atlantic Coast of present-day Nicaragua was home to indigenous groups including the Mískitu, Sumu,

Rama, and Mayagna. In the 1600s, an Afro-descendant population joined the mix. The circumstances of their addition are disputed. Some argue that a ship carrying Africans toward a life of enslavement sank off the coast, while others assert that formerly enslaved people escaped and ended up there (Gordon, 1998;

Pineda, 2006). Over the next three hundred years, the traditional inhabitants of the Atlantic Coast, known as

Coasteñxs (Coast peoples), would fight off invasions from Spaniards who had colonized the Pacific Coast

(Pineda, 2006). In time, different colonizing forces would also land on the Atlantic Coast but the reception 3 and outcomes would be starkly different. In addition to a missionary presence, British and American businesses maintained ties with the local population and used the Atlantic Coast and Bluefields as a center for export.

The British were the prominent colonial power on the Atlantic Coast from 1740 until 1787. The area was known as La Mosquitia, or the Mosquito Coast. With the presence of the British, and Afro-descendants from within the British sphere of influence, English became a common language. The regional variation on

Standard English, Kriol, is still spoken today in Bluefields and other Coast communities. In the 1800s, Afro- descendants from British colonies migrated to present-day RAAS. From 1740 through 1860, trade relationships with Britain, and British subjects’ migration to the Coast, contributed to indigenous and Afro- descendant peoples developing identities linked strongly to British culture (Pineda, 2006). Later, in 1849, missionaries from the German Moravian Church established their presence in Bluefields and the surrounding areas. They founded schools and churches and worked to spread literacy and European ideals of labor and faith throughout the region (Gordon, 1998). The mixture of indigenous peoples, formerly enslaved peoples, and colonial powers made Bluefields and the Mosquito Coast a diverse place with multiple extraction industries that built wealth and global connections.

The British extracted bananas, rubber, and other materials for export from indigenous peoples’ plantations (Pineda, 2006). Labor and managerial forces included some enslaved people and some freed, formerly enslaved people who spoke English and local indigenous languages. The indigenous populations in the southern half of the Atlantic Coast spoke their own languages, but became accustomed to the British presence. The British proclaimed a protectorate over the Coast and maintained an indigenous king who reported to British officials (Pineda, 2006). Although there is evidence of racism toward indigenous and

Afro-descendant people, historical accounts reflect a degree of autonomy and economic stability in the

Coastal society. In fact, from the perspective of international forces, ties to British culture afforded Creoles some “cultural superiority” in the region (Gordon, 1998).

When the British ceded the Coast to the Spanish in 1894, indigenous leaders implored the British to take them back under their protection (Gordon, 1998; Hooker, 2012). Foundational to these pleas was that the Coast way of life was more advanced—akin to the British rather than to the Spanish. For generations

Coasteñxs had been educated in English, modeled their laws after the British, traded with British colonies and protectorates, and adopted lifestyles that favored those of the British and their colonies (Gordon, 1998;

Pineda, 2006). The Pacific culture, from their perspective, was weak and lesser. Coasteñxs scoffed at the

Pacific’s ties to Roman Catholicism and their Spanish-style laws, and feared the forces of socialism and communism (Pineda, 2006). Education in English, sponsored by the British and missionary groups, created leagues of professionals in Bluefields. The nurses and teachers trained on the Coast “in those days” are remembered to have left for prestigious positions in Managua. Common understanding among older generations of Coasteñxs today is that if you went to school in Bluefields, you could get a job anywhere in

Nicaragua.

The Atlantic Coast became wedged between at least three outside powers: Nicaragua, Britain, and the United States (US), which tended to support Managua. In 1860, the British signed the Treaty of

Managua “granting” Nicaragua sovereignty over the Coast. Through this process they worked to ensure some protections for indigenous people in the territory, at least for a certain period of time (Pineda, 2006).

The US pushed for establishing the treaty, suspecting that they would be more likely to benefit from a relationship with Nicaragua than with the British. The outcome was that the “Mosquito Reserve” was created, with rights for the “Indians” there, so long as the traditional customs did not conflict with

Nicaragua’s broader structures. La Mosquitia was formally incorporated into Nicaragua under the Harrison-

Altamirano Treaty in 1905 when the British ceded their ties, and their support for the indigenous leadership

(Gordon, 1998; Pineda, 2006). The land became part of Nicaragua and increased the national landmass to cover the breadth of the isthmus. After annexation, La Mosquitia was renamed Department of Zelaya

(Gordon, 1998). Today, the region makes up more than 50% of Nicaragua (see Figure 1-2).

Figure 1-2: Departments of Nicaragua (“Mapa de Nicaragua departamentos [Map of Nicaraguan departments],” n.d.)

Political context of the study.

The Atlantic Coast’s post-colonial transition is important to understanding Creole people in Bluefields, but the political context in more recent history also plays a crucial role in the community. After the British left,

Nicaragua experienced a dictatorial dynasty for approximately 50 years. The Somoza family ruled from the late 1930s until 1979, when they were overthrown by the Sandinistas (Sánchez, 2007).

The Sandinistas came via revolution with a new, far-left, communist political party, the Sandinista

National Liberation Front (FSLN, the Spanish acronym). While the uprising was largely based on the

Pacific side of the country, the US pursued an anti-communist agenda on the Atlantic Coast. The US supported an anti-revolutionary group known as the contras (“contras” means “those against”) (Hooker,

2009). These fighters were a guerilla group in the multiethnic and multicultural Atlantic region (Gordon,

1998). Some were decidedly against the Sandinista regime and its communist foundations, as they feared the implications it would have for their religious practices. Creoles supported the Somozas in the family’s early days of ruling Nicaragua. Later generations of the ruling family were paternalistic toward the Coast, and these late-day Somozas imposed limitations on Afro-descendant activism (Gordon, 1998; Hooker,

2009). The US military also expressed longstanding support for the Somoza dynasty and fueled the fighting in addition to funding the Atlantic Coast contras (Sánchez, 2007).

By 1979 the Sandinistas had ousted the Somozas (Docherty, 1988). In an effort to appease Coasteñx ethnic and cultural groups and to draw them into the re-organizing nation, the new FSLN government drafted a constitution that recognized their presence and began to pay lip-service to the multiethnic nature of the now-unified Nicaragua (Hooker, 2009). The Atlantic Coast regions were known together as Zelaya

Region but with the new Constitution they became the Autonomous Regions. Statutes in the Constitution allowed for governance and policy practices that honored traditional ways of living on the Coast (Gordon,

1998; Pineda, 2006). Among the formal rights granted in the 1986 Constitution were the rights of Creoles and indigenous peoples to their own culture, language, and social organization. Policy around justice, education, and other social institutions were allowed to reflect community ways of living before annexation

(Hooker, 2012). Although they were to be part of the nation, the Coasteñxs were given a new identity as

Nicaraguans set slightly apart from Managua.

When the FSLN first took power, the population and lived experiences of Coasteñxs changed dramatically. In the 1990s, the “agricultural frontier” in Nicaragua expanded. Mestizxs from the Pacific side of Nicaragua migrated and pushed towards the Atlantic Coast in search of more land for agriculture

(Jamieson, 1999). This changed the Coasteñx way of life that traditionally relied on the sea and on coconuts for food and trade. With the shifting agricultural frontier and the loss of ties to the British and the US for

7 trade, the Atlantic Coast population became increasingly Mestizx. The proportion of the indigenous and

Afro-descendant population dropped and continues to drop. Mestizxs increasingly made their lives on the

Coast and Afro-descendants regularly migrate out of the area in search of economic opportunities. Despite nominal autonomy, leaders in the region are not actually able to manage the extraction and export of natural resources in the area. Extraction of resources including wood, precious metals, and seafood has depleted the

Coast, with little of the economic benefit serving the region or its people.

After granting rights for cultural diversity throughout the region in the 1980s, the Sandinistas were quick to build policy and programming around education. In particular, they mounted an extensive campaign designed to eradicate illiteracy by sending literate teenagers into rural regions to teach adults how to read (Arnove, 1995; Gordon, 1998). In RAAS, the education efforts of the new government were not nearly as constructive. The new leadership required schools to function in Spanish. When the existing religious mission schools did not comply they were forced to close (Gordon, 1998). Access to education was weak throughout the years of internal conflict. When new schools opened the language of instruction was exclusively Spanish, a sharp contrast to the policy recognition that the indigenous and Afro-descendant groups had a right to use their own languages. A formal approach to culturally differentiated education in the RAAN and RAAS did not come about until 2006, despite the conversations around it throughout the

1990s (McLean Herrera, 2013). The provision and practice exist today as the Sub-system of Education for the Autonomous Regions (SEAR, the Spanish acronym).

Conversation around SEAR persists but has yet to yield systemic change. Questions of bilingual education curriculum, intercultural-bilingual education, and the consideration of multiple national histories are discussed among autonomy advocates in Bluefields. Spanish remains the primary language of instruction in Nicaragua, with the exception of a few primary schools in the region. The curriculum is designed and mandated by the Ministry of Education (MINED, the Spanish acronym) in Managua.

Demographic context of the study.

Throughout Nicaragua less than 9% of the population identified as indigenous or Afro-descendant, including just over 7,000 Creole youth `Informe nacional sobre desarrollo humano 2011: Las juventudes construyendo Nicaragua [National report on human development 2011: Youth constructing Nicaragua],

2011). Nearly all sources, including the census, are unclear about the actual number of Creole people.

Racism can often lead to under-representation of Afro-descendants (Telles & Paschel, 2014). In addition, self-identification of belonging to an ethnic or cultural minority group was not included in the Nicaraguan census until 2005. When those details were collected, more than 25% of Bluefields residents (Bluefileñxs) identified as Creole, and 96% of that 25% speak Kriol (Rodriguez Serrano, 2005). The identity of Bluefields relies on Creole people who were traditionally the majority and drivers of economic and political systems.

Although Bluefields is the center of the Creole population in Nicaragua, the cultural realities there are changing. Bluefields has experienced an increasing Mestizx population, with two out of every ten

Nicaraguans who leave their home region moving to the municipality (Rodriguez Serrano, 2005). Since the

1950s, policy has encouraged movement along the “agricultural frontier” in search of productive agricultural land from Central Nicaragua toward the Atlantic Coast (Baracco, 2017; Morris, 2016a). A weak economy persists in Bluefields, and there are strong incentives for bi- or trilingual Creoles, who speak Kriol,

Standard English, and Spanish, to leave the area. Some take their families with them while others leave many behind to survive on remittances. This labor force leaves to work in call centers (businesses that subcontract customer support services or sales, for example) in Managua, Panama, or elsewhere. Many

Nicaraguan migrants also head to Costa Rica to work in agriculture, manufacturing, or the service industry

(Binational study: The state of migration flows between Costa Rica and Nicaragua, 2001). Others leave for extended contracts to work on cruise ships, where they work for tips, without vacation (except breaks between contracts), often with the end result of work-related injuries. Better economic opportunities outside of the country also drive some Nicaraguan migration. Brain drain and other migration drivers exacerbate the dilution of Bluefields diversity, weaken community cultural fabric, and threaten family structures.

The Present Study

Research problem.

The Atlantic Coast, Bluefields, and Creole people have faced centuries of colonization and marginalization.

The Autonomy Laws in Nicaragua were meant to end these cycles of colonization but their limited implementation in the realm of education continues to disadvantage Creole youth. The Creole community in

Bluefields is decreasing. Changing populations are leading to a decline in the strength and engagement with

Creole culture in the region. Due to economic and migratory challenges, people are more focused on where money is coming from and what jobs are available than on maintaining their traditions and practices. The actions taken to respond to economic vulnerability threaten cultural and community resilience.

The public education law (SEAR) grants Creoles and other indigenous groups to access to education with content relevant to their history and taught in their mother tongue. This educational right has yet to be realized. Given that schools are used to form citizens and impart shared culture, Creole students experience a clash between home and school cultures. Most schools are Spanish-exclusive (language being a key identifier of culture), and all schools use the national curriculum that has limited information on the Coast and its people. Thus, Creole students confront an unwelcoming school climate despite policy assuring them a better experience. Research in diverse contexts reveals that strengthening young people’s access to and engagement with their culture can serve community resilience and benefit all the ethnic and cultural groups in the region (Buikstra et al., 2010; Heavyrunner & Morris, 1997; Petrone, 2016; Sonn & Fisher, 1998).

Experiences of discrimination have substantial impacts on people, and not seeing their history or cultural background presented in school implies a hierarchy with Creole students at the bottom. The problem is clearly one of policy implementation but the implications are social, academic, economic (for the region), and personal.

Purpose.

The purpose of this research is to understand resilient aspects of an ever-changing culture in Bluefields and to identify CSO assets that support community resilience. Following the understandings of Ross, Cuthill,

Maclean, Jansen, and Witt (2010), this dissertation builds upon the ideas that:

[S]ocial resilience [is] how individuals, communities and societies adapt, transform, and potentially become stronger when faced with environmental, social, economic or political challenges. This definition acknowledges the complex interplay between social, cultural, spiritual, economic and environmental systems, and recognizes the synergistic relationship between people and the environments in which they live and derive livelihoods. (Ross et al., 2010, p. 2) The engagement of diverse and complementary community assets to respond to “environmental, social, economic, or political challenges,” is crucial for the additional component of resilience that Fleming and

Ledogar (2008, p. 3) and Healey (2006) indicate that the “community or culture [. . .] [retains] key elements of structure and identity that preserve its distinctness.” When resilient aspects of culture are identified, they can then be used to inform practice and policy for schools and youth-serving organizations to make the experiences better, more relevant, and more inclusive of Creole youth. Likewise, when resilient aspects of

CSO’s are identified, they can be more deeply understood and engaged to further their success in supporting resilience.

Research questions.

1. What is the foundation of Creole cultural resilience for youth in Bluefields?

2. In what ways do local organizations and advocates support the formation and development of

community resilience for Creole youth?

Research Question 2: Assumptions and relationships among findings

The asset-based approach of this dissertation supports the assumptions behind Research Question 2. I assume that Bluefields is resilient, and that CSOs and community advocates are parts of the resilience process. These assumptions are appropriate because the longstanding existence of Bluefields testifies to its resilience, and my pilot study underscored CSOs’ presence and support of community resilience. CSOs are embedded within the community; they represent and possess capacities that support community resilience.

Among the capacities at play are social capital, institutional connections, human capital, physical infrastructure, political and spiritual capital, and connections to formal and informal networks. Although this study is not an institutional ethnography the roles that institutions (including CSOs) play in the lives of

Creole people are important for community resilience.

Methods and Data 11

Methodology overview.

This dissertation employs ethnographic methods towards a critical ethnographic end. In contrast to traditional ethnographies that seek only to identify cultural traits and practices, critical ethnography requires the researcher to take a stance on an issue of social justice (Madison, 2005). The frequent invisibilization

(intentional omission of the group in mainstream experiences, e.g. textbooks, national representations, the labor force, etc.) of Afro-descendant Creole culture in Bluefields institutions (e.g., schools) drove me to design this study using critical ethnography. In order to review and understand the power structures that maintain Creole youth invisibility, a study of Creole youth culture was necessary. I will use this ethnographic study, with analysis focused on community and cultural resilience, to communicate with the

Bluefields Creole community, following my successful dissertation defense. In keeping with my explanations to participants, I will offer this work as support to community efforts that push against sociocultural hierarchies that continue the marginalization of Creole people and threaten community and cultural resilience.

Research design and data collection.

I used ethnographic research techniques throughout the course of a ten-month fieldwork visit to Bluefields.

During this time, I collected interviews, conducted observations (participant and non-participant), crafted field notes, and convened focus groups. My use of observations (and the affiliated field notes) and interviews support insider and outsider (emic and etic) understandings of Creole culture in Bluefields

(Fetterman, 2010). Ethnographic semi-structured interviews provided me an opportunity to learn about

Creole culture in the participants’ own words. This is crucial for sharing an understanding that faithfully represents the participants (Fetterman, 2010). Finally, I included interviews from a pilot study (conducted in

2015) in the data set for this dissertation. Because the pilot study focused on organizations, these data offer insight to the second research question. The complete details of data collection are included in Chapter 3.

Impact

Rationale and significance.

This study of Creole youth was born out of my interest in understanding how marginalized groups fare in school systems throughout the world. The realities of Bluefields are now global: schools are educating increasingly diverse populations, while still largely reflecting the national status quo. Within Nicaragua, there is a supportive policy created by the autonomy process and the diversity of the community is longstanding. There are multiple communities around the Caribbean and throughout the African Diaspora that share these features. Understanding a marginalized culture in this context, as well as the local supports for maintaining that culture’s resilience, is an opportunity to understand resilience in an environment with substantial supports already in place.

Research engaging critical ethnographic methods is designed to change realities and call attention to power imbalances in an effort to advance social justice claims. In that regard, the goal and value of this work is straightforward. It has been designed and implemented to begin new conversations—among youth,

CSO leaders, policymakers, and community members—around Creole culture and the ways in which it can be maintained and strengthened in Bluefields. By extension, this research is also an early attempt at bringing resilience theory into education practice and policy circles. While the concept of resilience has existed on an individual level for youth, and on a community level for organizations and governance structures, there has not yet been work that links cultural resilience and community resilience to schools and youth. Related concepts, including funds of knowledge (Moll, Amanti, Neff, & Gonzalez, 1992) and multicultural education (Banks, 1993, 1995; Dennis & Herlihy, 2004), touch on some of these concepts in education and policy but lack the connections and systems perspective that is available through a resilience framework.

Assumptions

Both qualitative and quantitative data collection and analysis rely on researchers’ positionality and assumptions. Therefore, it is crucial to clearly identify a priori assumptions, in preparing to collect and analyze qualitative data. I present the following list as a guide for understanding the work that will be presented in the remaining chapters.

1. Although this work seeks to identify cultural features and realities, the findings are not exhaustive or

perfect. Despite my best efforts to validate data and ensure reliability, the findings and process of

this study cannot possibly cover all aspects of Creole culture or youth experiences in Bluefields.

Despite these “imperfections,” the use of rigorous data collection and analysis can provide

information that benefits the community.

2. Culture is not stagnant. Creole culture can be identified as it exists today and has changed over time.

A previous study of Creole culture was conducted in the 1980s (Gordon, 1998) and culture in

Bluefields has changed substantially since then. Culture continues to change even daily or between

neighborhoods. Globalization, mobile populations, population shifts, and technology constantly

change culture. This study does not assume a concept of “the good old days,” but instead looks to

attitudes and features of Creole culture that can be maintained to support diversity and youth

development.

Researcher Identity

The research design and guiding questions of this study make clear that the researcher undertaking it must possess and/or develop a specific set of skills and perspectives. First, ethnographic research of this kind requires extended field stays that are most accessible to researchers who have small families, or can plan for their extended absence. As a single, childless woman, I am privileged in that I was able to leave home for a ten-month stay in Nicaragua. This reality, however, was not without its challenges. A White, highly educated, single woman, with no children in her early 30s is an uncommon sight in Bluefields, Nicaragua, as in many parts of the world. This meant that I was not able to “blend in” to the community and that I was able to have many frank discussions with participants and other community members about culture, life choices, and life paths available in different parts of the world. As a person who stood out in the community,

I was often approached in social settings and asked to clarify my presence and relationship to those around me. With each explanation of my research and purpose, I had an opportunity to hear community members’ thoughts about culture, the community, and youth.

Despite the prevalence of Kriol in Bluefields, the common language in Nicaragua is Spanish.

Although I was often able to understand Kriol speakers (and this ability improved over time), the understanding was not always mutual, especially with children. For those who are accustomed to only hearing and speaking Kriol and Spanish, Standard English can be difficult to follow. Idioms, syntax, and vocabulary all vary drastically. After having spent two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Panama, I was able to communicate effectively and nearly fluently in Spanish. My time in Panama was also crucial in building a basic understanding of how school systems in Latin America may differ from those in the US.

Experiences in another Latin American country, to which some Bluefileñxs migrate for work, helped me develop bicultural understandings. Yet, this previous knowledge also presented a challenge as I looked for patterns and made comparisons. In analysis and data collection, I carefully maintained my perspective as an outsider, continued to question assumptions, and made thoughtful inquiries with my full attention.

As a student in a dual program of Educational Theory and Policy, and Comparative and International

Education, I have built up specific skills and knowledge that further support my work. Multiple research experiences have helped me hone my qualitative and analytic skills. Interviewing in English and Spanish, data analysis, and field note writing are among the specific tools that I developed in the university context but carried with me to Bluefields. Moreover, my coursework included foci on migration and population shifts, education policy, and family structures from sociological, qualitative, and quantitative perspectives.

While independent data collection holds challenges in maintaining rigor, focus, and enthusiasm, my professional and academic experiences were crucial in laying the foundation for the data collection, analysis, and crafting of this dissertation.

Key terms and abbreviations

Bluefileñx—from “Bluefileño,” which means a person from Bluefields; the “x” at the end of the word replaces the specific gender-binary options traditionally available in Spanish. This linguistic switch has often been seen in the US among scholars who choose to recognize the oppressive forces of gender norms and the masculine/feminine binary in the Spanish language (“Latinx,” n.d.; Ramirez, 2016). It is used throughout this work to recognize the presence and value of LGBTQI individuals.

Coasteñx—from “Coasteño,” which means a resident of the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua, this term implies multi-generational ties to the land and excludes Mestizx individuals and others who recently moved to the

Coast; there is a cultural implication of shared identity among Atlantic Coast people; as noted above, the “x” at the end of the word replaces the specific gender-binary options traditionally available in Spanish.

Creole—this spelling indicates a reference to the ethnic and cultural identity of the Afro-descendant group.

CSO—civil society organization.

FSLN—the Spanish acronym for Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional. Sandinista National Liberation

Front. A political party in Nicaragua, responsible for overthrowing the Somoza dictatorship and the subsequent reorganization of Nicaraguan politics.

Kriol—this is the spoken language of the Creole people.

LAC—Latin America and the Caribbean.

Mestizx—from “Mestizo,” which means “mixed” and indicates individuals of mixed ethnic and cultural ancestry; throughout Nicaragua as well as LAC, this represents a shared ethnicity and culture resulting from the miscegenation of indigenous peoples with the Spanish colonizing forces; the “x” at the end of the word replaces the specific gender-binary options traditionally available in Spanish.

MINED—the Spanish acronym for Nicaragua’s National Ministry of Education.

RAAN— the Spanish acronym for Región Autónomo Atlántico Norte, North Atlantic Autonomous Region in English.

RAAS— the Spanish acronym for Región Autónomo Atlántico Sur, South Atlantic Autonomous Region in

English.

SEAR— the Spanish acronym for Subsistema Educativa Autónomo Regional, Regional Autonomous

Subsystem of Education in English. This is a portion of the Autonomy Law on the Atlantic Coast of

Nicaragua. The related legislation outlines the educational rights of indigenous and Afro-descendants on the

Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua.

Chapter 2: Bluefields Resilience and Creole Resilience in Relation to the Literature

Introduction

Turning from the context and research problem, indicated in the previous chapter, this chapter focuses on extant academic work and foundational principles. Among these are definitions and understandings of culture, race, and resilience. The clarity provided in this chapter introduces my scholarly context as a layer that works as a dynamic film, adjusting the color details of the chapters that follow. This film highlights certain colors of the whole picture such as methodological choices and analytical frames.

First, I spell out definitions and understandings that are foundational to my research questions. The second section reviews shared components of the concept of resilience. The third centers on connections between cultural and community resilience and the final section focuses on race. In this final section, I review concepts of race in Latin American and Caribbean (LAC) and Afro-descendants in Nicaragua, including a focus on youth in schools. The conclusion of this chapter identifies the relevance of critical ethnography to studying concepts of resilience and the community of Bluefields.

Figure 2-1: Key Resilience Characteristics

Resilience Resilience Community Individual definition literature resilience resilience (components) (characteristics) (domains) features

Ecological Capacity Social Culture perspective

Multiple Marginali- Difficulty Economic states zation

Context Recovery Natural specific

Social capital

Governance

Resilience

Key characteristics.

Empirical and theoretical scholarly studies on resilience share some common threads. Ecological 18 perspective, multiple and dynamic states of resilience, and context specificity are peppered throughout resilience literature (see Figure 2-1, above). Resilience theories build on an ecological perspective that highlights interconnectedness of culture, individuals, communities, and other kinds of systems.

Interconnectedness allows resilience to happen. As one part of the system grows, it may do so by drawing on the resources of another part of the system. This demonstrates the second characteristic of resilience studies and theory: multiple and dynamic states of resilience. Many studies call on resilience to be measured by longitudinal data because changes in resilience are best seen over time by looking at the differences in the engagement of resources. In the example of family financial stability, a dual-wage-earner family can be stable at one point, and equally stable at another point when one wage earner is able to cover the same expenses. Each study’s context is important for defining resilience, because available resources, opportunities, and challenges are key for determining paths of resilience. To date, these characteristics have not been considered together in a study of Bluefields youth.

Shared components of resilience.

Figure 2-1 (above) provides an overview of multiple aspects of resilience that are relevant to its use as a theoretical framework (Column 1). Capacity, difficulty, and recovery are necessary components in identifying resilience. An ecological perspective emphasizes the connections between systems’ resources and resilience. The complexity of these connections means that multiple states of resilience can exist with the same systems and capacities (see the explanation in “Resilience at different levels.”). These ecologies are context specific with unique vulnerabilities (difficulties) and capacities that determine what resilience

“looks like.” Context is key for understanding resilience because a stressor in one situation may be immaterial in another situation (Fleming & Ledogar, 2008; Ungar, 2008). The second column Figure 2-1 identifies these characteristics of resilience within systems. Theoretical and empirical work on community resilience tends to focus on human, economic, and natural systems of resilience. Each of those can be impacted by social capital and governance, as indicated in the third column of Figure 2-1. Finally, as the last column of Figure 2-1 suggests, studies of individual resilience (often psychological) consider culture as an

19 important system and marginalization as a salient threat. Like community resilience, social capital and governance impact individual resilience. Although Figure 2-1 (p. 18) helps to clarify important points in each area of resilience inquiry, the columns are simplistic. The actual relationships among components, characteristics, domains, and features are more appropriately understood as interconnected through complex webs. (Examples of what these interconnections look like can be found in “Resilience at Different Levels:

Individual and Community,” p. 30.)

The capacity for resilience depends on the resources available and the specific difficulty. Despite the positive connotation of “recovery,” adaptation in the face of difficulty may not always proffer a positive result. The capacity available to face a challenge can lead to change toward a more stable state, but that state may be far from ideal. Finally, related to recovery, the difficulty that is addressed through resilience depends on context and varies by site, individual, and time. What constitutes a challenge at one point may represent an opportunity in another context.

Defining “Culture”

The specifics of what is part of “doing,” culture are detailed in multiple fields of inquiry. In Table 2-1 (p.

21), I identify components of culture (Akala, 2006; Angell, 2000; Bals, Turi, Skre, & Kvernmo, 2011;

Clauss-Ehlers, 2008; Crane, 2010; Daskon, 2010; Healey, 2006; Heavyrunner & Morris, 1997; Kasun,

2014; LaFromboise, Hoyt, Oliver, & Whitbeck, 2006; Ledogar & Fleming, 2008; Nicolas et al., 2008;

Theron et al., 2011; Theron, Liebenberg, & Ungar, 2015; Wexler, 2009; Wilson, 2013). For simplicity, I have grouped components of culture into units: familial realities; faith, religion, and mysticism; physical representations; and, collective conventions. Culture is the sharing of these components among a group, including the processes of inculcating (enculturation) the attendant values, attitudes, and beliefs through social control (e.g., norms) and active processes, such as parenting. This study sought to identify, a) Which of these components and units were foundational for Creole youth in Bluefields, and b) How CSOs and community advocates supported their maintenance and development.

Table 2-1: Units of Cultural Components

Cultural Components and Units Familial realities (unit) family and social practices family ties family structure extended family networks Faith, religion, and mysticism (unit) religious practices spirituality ideological commitment Physical representations (unit) aesthetics art forms food sports and games symbols Collective conventions (unit) habits languages norms social control shared attitudes shared belief systems shared rules behaviors customs/traditions values rituals ceremonies being/doing based on intergenerational legacies common livelihood

Defining “Cultural Resilience”

Cultural resilience, for the purpose of this study, draws on understanding that “individuals, communities and societies adapt, transform, and potentially become stronger when faced with environmental, social, economic, or political challenges,” (Ross et al., 2010, p. 2) and that the goal of these changes is to “retain key elements of structure and identity that preserve [community or cultural] distinctness.” (Healey, 2006 in

Fleming & Ledogar, 2008, p. 3). Cultural resilience, in this dissertation, is clinging to culture in spite of forces that push for assimilation.

In this study, cultural resilience is based on foundations laid by Healey (2006), Ledogar and Fleming

(2008), and Rotarangi and Stephenson (2014). The focus of my work differs from the “cultural resilience” in psychological studies that are prominent in the field of education. From that academic perspective the cultural resilience concept that I draw upon is akin to the resilience of culture. The confusion of titling was not a problem for researchers who studied marginalized cultures in other academic fields. In human geography, Rotarangi and Stephenson evaluate the links between the land (ecology) and the culture of its first inhabitants, the Māori. Their use of the phrase “cultural resilience” leaves no confusion within their discipline. “The term “cultural resilience” has emerged to refer to this continuity of a co-constituted set of long-term relationships between the cultural identity of a people and the set of social-ecological relationships within which this identity was founded.” (2014, p. 27). The work of Rotarangi and Stephenson and my dissertation share a focus on the identity component of resilience, and what remains of a culture when the world around it changes (these components are also known as “resilience pivots”).

Defining “Community”

The community of study for this work is the Creole ethnic group with roots in Bluefields, Nicaragua. This group is not entirely geographically bound as many community members work outside of Bluefields or have emigrated but maintain ties to Bluefields. My definition of community is in keeping with much of the literature around cultural resilience and community resilience. Chaskin notes there are many ways to consider community,

The first is to think about community as an affective unit of belonging and identity, characterized by close relationships among members, shared norms, and common circumstance. In this view, relations among community members are based on primary ties of kinship and friendship, and interactions are rooted in a common identity with and daily adherence to local life and custom. (2008, p. 67). This understanding mirrors that of others, such as Brennan and colleagues in the field of community development (Brennan, 2006; Matarrita-Cascante & Brennan, 2012). While scholars of physical sciences focus on geographic boundaries and the social, economic, built, and natural environments within them (see 22

Norris, Stevens, Pfefferbaum, Wyche, & Pfefferbaum, 2008), community development literature acknowledges ways that components of community interact with one another—especially in the interest of fostering resilience (see, for example, Zautra, Hall, & Murray, 2008). Thus, I employ a definition of community that is bound by ethnicity and culture, rather than geographic terms.

Defining “Marginalization”

I define marginalization as the resulting social position of an individual or group that has been systemically excluded, ignored, or invisibilized in ways that expose the individual or group to risks greater than those that members of dominant social groups face.

Community Resilience

Defining “Community Resilience.” Magis (2010) has a thorough definition of community resilience that shares features with other areas of resilience inquiry.

Community resilience is the existence, development, and engagement of community resources by community members to thrive in an environment characterized by change, uncertainty, unpredictability, and surprise. Members of resilient communities intentionally develop personal and collective capacity that they engage to respond to and influence change, to sustain and renew the community, and to develop new trajectories for the communities’ future. (Magis, 2010, p. 402) As with all kinds of resilience, community resilience is exhibited through a process. The community confronts a challenge, draws on community capacities, and is evidenced by comparing two points in time

(Magis, 2010; Norris et al., 2008; Ungar, 2012b). The process of resilience involves the development and/or engagement of capacities. Among the many capacities that contribute to community resilience are inclusivity and trust within institutions, (Adger, 2000), social capital, norms of reciprocity, institutional presence (schools, government, etc.), human capital (Chaskin, 2008), physical infrastructure, financial capital, cultural capital, spiritual capital, political capital (Magis, 2010), formal networks that support informal networks (e.g., families) in the face of adversity (e.g., migration) (Ungar, 2011), a sense of belonging, and opportunities to contribute to the welfare of others (Theron et al., 2015).

Capacities are engaged to compensate for vulnerabilities (shocks to the system or constant pressure) that threaten community resilience. Vulnerabilities vary, depending on the perspective of the researcher and

23 the community. They can include breakdowns in the social fabric (e.g., through migration), threats to the economy, or political shifts that lead to social vulnerability. The degree to which a community needs to be resilient is a function of the interactions between risks and capacities (or protective factors) (Zautra et al.,

2008), and that resilience is produced through the intersection of multiple levels of culture and capacities throughout the community (Theron et al., 2015). To understand where resilience is needed research often employs proxy measures of vulnerability and resilience, such as formal employment rates, crime rates, demographic (changes), or culturally-defined variables (Adger, 2000). In response, by engaging capacities to counter these vulnerabilities communities complete the cycle of resilience that supports improved community functioning.

Social, natural, and economic domains feature resources (or capacities) for sustaining and supporting communities. Because the capacities for community resilience spread throughout community systems

(domains) they can be found among and between these systems. Resilience-boosting indicators, “[in] approximate order of frequency, [were] as follows: social networks and support, positive outlook, learning, early experience, environment and lifestyle, infrastructure and support services, sense of purpose, diverse and innovative economy, embracing differences, beliefs, and leadership” (Buikstra et al., 2010, p. 981). The assets listed above require advocates who are studying and seeking community resilience to look beyond pathologies and find positive outcomes and successful work upon which to build. Moreover, they require expanding the study of resilience beyond reliance on proxy indicators into the complexities of communities social, economic, and natural systems.

With and for the community. Since the on-the-ground details of communities are important and often misunderstood or ignored by heavily bureaucratic institutions, non-governmental community organizations can be useful in understanding the challenges as well as the capacity for improved community resilience (Stark & Taylor,

2014). For example, while federal actions designed to encourage small US farmers varied, for sustainable, profitable crops, the particularities of a region matter. As such, a local CSO with strong community ties and local experience is better positioned to guide farmers’ actions. Community organizations may be organized 24 for reasons other than resilience, but still have valuable insight for fostering community resilience. This is especially true when a variety of organizations involve diverse people who represent a cross-section of the community. Further, some studies of community resilience specify the dynamic and intentional nature of resilience through factors such as, active agents, collective action, strategic action, equity, resource management, and resource development (Magis, 2010). The role of community institutions and non- governmental organizations is important for resilience. Decentralized decision-making, the spread of resources outward to implement decisions, and local participation can support broader resilience efforts.

Communities are active units that can be the site of change or creators of change for improved resilience (Chaskin, 2008). A key to developing practices to improve resilience is engaging the community to identify assets (capacity) (Zautra, Hall, & Murray, 2008). Resilience, vulnerabilities, and threats must be studied with an emic perspective to identify vulnerabilities and what actions or values represent resilience in that context. The recovery process, then, can be a community effort that relies on individuals and social structures to improve the whole. For example, regrouping, redevelopment, and resistance are potential responses to vulnerability (Chaskin, 2008). Together this literature suggests that community resilience can be intentionally directed; that direction should take community context into account, including culture, values, and resources. Individual agents, CSOs, and governments can work together to direct adaptation for resilience. Although there are many possible routes (e.g., regroup, redevelop, resist) they are best chosen through a decentralized process with deep local engagement.

Engaging institutions. Sonn and Fisher (1998) identified community institutions as centers where youth come together and begin to form their identities. These venues supported identity formation by drawing on cultural history instead of assimilating to the powerful group or internalizing discrimination. The relationships between home, culture, and individual resilience are noteworthy. The ecological perspective of cultural resilience suggests that as individual resilience is fostered outside of the home it is also necessary to consider the extension of cultural assets into other realms. Cultural identity built in the home that is engaged and supported via institutions becomes stronger, thus, the culture more resilient. The ecological nature of resilience suggests that this 25 emboldened cultural resilience will further support community resilience.

As communities intentionally foster resilience, there are benefits for youth and the community.

When young people are welcomed to be a part of community resilience practices they gain experience, social-emotional benefits (e.g. improved self-esteem), and community agency (e.g. a sense of control to make changes). These traits developed early in life may persist for the long term (Brennan, 2006, 2008).

Furthermore, cultural experiences designed for youth engagement support community resilience more broadly (Wexler, Joule, Garoutte, Mazziotti, & Hopper, 2013). Engaging marginalized youth early on builds a pathway for positive social change over generations, and continued community resilience.

The role that government and NGO institutions play in resilience can vary greatly by academic discipline. Research that considers governance structures and resilience tends to focus on how governance impacts the relationships between social systems and natural systems (Apgar, Allen, Moore, & Ataria, 2015;

Boon, Cottrell, King, Stevenson, & Millar, 2012; Garmestani & Benson, 2013).These do not include the social realities and experiences of the community as integral parts of the studies. For Creoles in Bluefields, using resilience frameworks for culture and community with an asset-based approach highlights their realities and expands on resilience literature. An ecological perspective includes governance structures and the broader society, as well as the historical context to show how resilience has been achieved over time.

Together these strands (community, culture, and youth) can be woven to craft a more complete picture of

Creole youth experience in Bluefields in support community and youth development plans within a resilience framework.

My research in Bluefields studies assets amid difficulties that threaten the community. Existing data on Bluefields highlights challenges such as brain drain, weak economic prospects, and demographic shifts that marginalize Afro-descendants (Arnove, 1995; Binational study: The state of migration flows between

Costa Rica and Nicaragua, 2001; Cudjoe, 2012; Sausner & Webster, 2016). I expand on existing community resilience studies by focusing on youth community members in a Latin American and Caribbean context. Moreover, the critical ethnographic approach has not yet been employed for understanding

26 community resilience and brings a social justice orientation to resilience work in a new context. (A full explanation of this approach and its fit for this research is at the end of this chapter.) This is a further methodological expansion beyond the proxy measures that are often focused on negatives (or deficits).

Individual resilience via cultural resilience.

The asset-based approach to community resilience understands that community resources are varied and engaged differently in diverse communities. This thread extends through individual experiences and traits that support resilience. In this section, I review studies focused on marginalized youth and on cultural resilience, both of which are applicable to the Bluefields Creole community. As a parallel to the conceptualization of resilience as a process, marginalization is the challenge that youth face and drawing on cultural components and their persistence has been cited as a source of youth resilience.

A global commitment to valuing the maintenance of diverse group identities is enshrined in the

United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (“Declaration on the rights of indigenous peoples,” 2008). Cultural resilience is the persistence and adaptability of a marginalized culture without changes to its foundational features (Crane, 2010; Daskon, 2010; Ross et al., 2010), this persistence is threatened by globalization and expanding dominant cultures in diverse contexts (specifically,

Spanish/Latinx dominance in multiethnic Bluefields). (See “Cultural change continuum,” p. 32 for deeper discussion of globalization.) Research on the resilience of marginalized youth focuses on their culture as an asset and, thus, links together these two priorities of global cultural diversity and individual developmental success.

Children and adolescents develop skills, perspectives, and values using the resources and experiences around them; these allow them to persevere through situations that make them vulnerable

Bronfenbrenner & Morris, 2006; Ungar, 2011, 2012a, 2012b; Wexler, Joule, Garoutte, Mazziotti, & Hopper,

2013). Studies of indigenous youth show positive relationships between cultural resilience and a variety of social-emotional outcomes, including university attendance and mental health. In the North American context, Heavyrunner and Morris (1997) emphasize that Native worldviews and traditions are comprised of

27 features that foster individual resilience including, “spirituality, child-rearing/extended family, veneration of age/wisdom/tradition, respect for nature, generosity and sharing, cooperation/group harmony, autonomy/respect for others, composure/patience, relativity of time, and non-verbal communication” (p. 2).

Later studies link Native American resilience to university success, specifically through cultural features such as, “spirituality, strengths, elders, ceremonial rituals, oral traditions, tribal identity and support networks, family” (Drywater-Whitekiller, 2010, p. 5; Heavyrunner & Marshall, 2003). Although these studies look to individual resilience indicators, they imply community relationships through the cultural traits. Community resilience literature emphasizes that communities are active units capable of designing and engaging in change for community resilience goals. Likewise, individuals are intentional about their individual resilience. Thus, the extent to which individuals draw on their culture for resilience can impact their community and individual resilience.

Studies of multiple cultural contexts suggest that culture plays an important role in understanding young people’s individual resilience (Ungar, 2008). Combined, these and other studies of individual resilience in culturally marginalized groups identify cultural features that relate to the Creole context in

Bluefields including ethnic identity, participation in cultural practices, traditional spirituality, and community support (Bals, Turi, Skre, & Kvernmo, 2011).

The persistence of cultural narratives can serve as an indicator of cultural resilience though the lessons of each story change with the context. For example, social memory in myths warning of the dangers of a volcano, or fables telling of a village’s escape from an eruption, may protect entire communities or endanger them by minimizing the importance of contemporary scientific warning processes (Wilson, 2015).

Petrone (2016) considers intercultural contact as a process through which youth engage in selective assimilation to manage their intercultural experience and position of relative disadvantage. This practice, the existence of places where it occurs, and places where it is unnecessary are important to identify in order to understand aspects of community that build individual and cultural resilience. While globalization and communication technologies increase the narratives that a group hears and pressures to assimilate, the

28 persistence of traditional beliefs through narratives such as those indicated above are signs of cultural resilience serving community resilience.

An understanding of shared historical oppression among members of cultural groups can lead to a better sense-of-place for youth. Rather than seeing their experience as a personal failing, for example, individuals may develop a perspective on systemic racism and its roots. In another case, “connection to one’s group identity situates the gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender youth within a larger sociohistorical context and provides a framework for conceptualizing their personal experiences of oppression as part of a larger collective struggle” (Wexler, DiFluvio, & Burke, 2009, p. 569). LGBTQ youth used their shared identity to build a sense of community (Wexler et al., 2009). Knowledge of historical oppression and links to cultural groups can also protect indigenous youth (Wexler, 2009). The shared experiences of oppression may help youth identify a group with which they can build community and develop a purpose that addresses their oppression (Wexler et al., 2009). Social memory—whether passed down orally, through fables, or as critical history exercises—allows a culture to continue through youth, thus building resilience of positive cultural attributes. In the critical ethnographic work of this study, identifying Creole history and culture may raise specters of hard times, but it will also raise conversations about how Creoles—as a cultural community—survived them.

Economic actors and abrupt changes, as well as political changes and regime shifts, can create policies that impact the cultural resilience of minority groups (Daskon, 2010; Healey, 2006). Especially in postcolonial contexts, cultural practices (e.g. livelihoods, traditional medicine, and language use) are marginalized and weakened, even as they are intentionally targeted for inclusion and preservation

(McWilliam, 2008). Social justice work for marginalized groups requires a careful balance between addressing systemic and historic marginalization to provide opportunities and respecting cultural realities that clash with the mainstream. In the American context, Hollingsworth (2013) warns (predominantly

White) social workers and others to avoid viewing Black families as universally disadvantaged or oppressed, for example. While trying to benefit diverse cultures, the resilience of those cultures may be

29 threatened. This threat to cultural resilience recalls the lesson of community resilience regarding the importance of an emic perspective, local actors, and local resources.

Studies of individual resilience for indigenous youth are largely based in communities outside of schools, an approach that I mirror in this work. Expanding on the current scholarship, I present a study of an

Afro-descendant group in Latin America and the Caribbean. Although Afro-descendant youth are studied

(Wright, Maylor, & Becker, 2016) with regard to individual resilience, and LAC contexts are investigated in the realm of community resilience and youth development (Matarrita-Cascante & Brennan, 2012), the two streams of research have not yet been connected. My work in Bluefields considers cultural resilience formed in homes, churches, and other social settings. These findings are useful for building stronger theory about how culture supports marginalized individuals and community resilience. Given the cultural, historical, and geographic distance between existing studies and this Nicaraguan study site, the disparate findings between this literature and my research complement each other and contribute to building resilience theory. Absent external pressure and social power dynamics there would be no threat to cultural diversity. However, youth who are born into a culture that is different from the mainstream are regularly challenged to live, know, and grow between conflicting expectations and value systems.

Resilience at Different Levels: Individual and Community

Theories about resilience share a number of common features, including a systemic nature, engagement of capacities within the system, and multiple states that come about as adaptations to systemic shocks. (These are explored in the following sections.) For an individual, resilience results when they draw on existing capacities, skills, and resources to manage the challenge that they experience. The death of a parent is an example of a systemic shock for an individual. While some people seek professional grief therapy, others increase consumption of drugs and/or alcohol, or seek comfort through religious engagement. Each of these approaches draws on a resource that the individual has access to, and is in keeping with the individual’s identity. Community resilience literature considers three systems that contribute to resilience: social, economic, and ecological. An upset to any of these interrelated systems will impact the others, and if the

30 impact leads to adaptations that maintain community identity, the result is another level of resilience. If a rural community relies on corn as their cash crop, for example, and weather prevents a profitable harvest, the economic and social systems can be challenged. Obviously, without a profitable harvest the community members will have individual difficulties providing for their families and supporting the local economy through discretionary spending. Socially, however, the community may be impacted by reduced engagement in volunteer or leisure activities that build social networks if people in the corn industry look for extra work. Prolonged interruptions to profitable harvest would further upset the social health of the community, and its ability to be resilient, if it led to out-migration. Individual and community resilience engage nested and interrelated systems that adapt to manage shocks and maintain their identity. Culture, as it exists within individuals and between them as members of a community, can also adapt and change. The challenges it faces and the resources it draws upon also exist at individual and community levels. Thus, death of an individual and a community agriculture crisis could challenge culture to adapt as well.

Linking Up: Community Resilience and Individual Resilience

Although community resilience and individual resilience are frequently investigated separately, they share common threads. Some theoretical concepts, in addition to resilience components, link the two and merit further discussion (see Figure 2-1, p.18). Specifically, social capital exists at a community and the individual level and is related to both kinds of resilience. Likewise, culture helps individuals identify themselves and ties them to broader communities. This section identifies key roles of social capital and cultural resilience identified by other researchers and examines the role of governance and community engagement.

The concept of social capital is useful in studying resilience because it is broadly understood in the social sciences as the value or benefits gained through certain social relationships and/or as the types of skills, knowledge, and values that are socially valuable and signal social status (Bourdieu, 1986; Coleman,

1988; Portes, 2000). Alternative forms of capital for some marginalized youth (rooted in cultural norms and systems) may lead to improved outcomes along alternative paths (Wright et al., 2016). Aspirational,

31 navigational, and familial capitals have been used to counter the cultural narrative of “failing black males,” for example (Wright, et al, 2016). Aspirational capital is an embodied capital (a desire to achieve) and was linked to a “turnaround narrative” in which life courses can be corrected. Family capital is more complex and includes emotional support and cultural resilience in addition to high expectations from others.

Navigational capital comes from engagement with those who can direct young people to take advantage of other forms of social capital (Wright et al., 2016). Cognitive social capital includes “values, norms, reciprocity, altruism, and civic responsibility” (Ledogar & Fleming, 2008, p. 2) that link to both culture and community resilience (these are not mutually exclusive from aspirational capital). These sub-categories of social capital match the broader understanding of social capital and its relationship to individual and community resilience.

In addition to social capital frameworks, community resilience relates to governance and community engagement structures. Active engagement and social capital are assets that support the community and build connections between individuals to foster their resilience. Personal traits (such as tolerance, shared goals, and interest in preserving the community) are related to the positive development of the local economy (Matarrita-Cascante, Brennan, & Luloff, 2010). Community engagement, desire for change, and organizing structures to direct resilience-building actions (such as government boards and civil society organizations) are supportive of community resilience in a variety of settings (Brennan, 2006). The role of community institutions and non-governmental groups is important for resilience in a number of ways.

Decentralized decision-making, the spread of resources outward to implement decisions, and local participation fostered by CSOs and government can support broader resilience efforts. Community organizations are well positioned to consider that resilience requires a deep analysis of how and where governments function. This is crucial since the on-the-ground details of communities are so important and often misunderstood by heavily bureaucratic institutions (Stark & Taylor, 2014).

Cultural change continuum and globalization.

Resilience literature from diverse fields grapples with globalization: how ecological systems are stretched

32 and exploited by its expansion, how marginalized youth (e.g., immigrants) maintain their wellbeing among dominant institutions, and how community leaders and planners consider options following exogenous shocks (e.g., market volatility, neighboring nation civil strife, or natural disasters). In particular, for cultural resilience of marginalized groups, globalization is a threat. Globalization is a vulnerability that threatens marginalized cultures. Given this vulnerability, it is crucial to investigate the process of cultural resilience for youth in a variety of settings. Studies of resilience in the face of changing community assets often tell only part of the community’s story (Brasche, 2008). Studies of marginalized communities often draw attention to their interconnected nature and leave out the cultural realities experienced by youth as a result.

My critical ethnographic work focuses on important and understudied intersections–ethnicity, race, age, and social networks, among them–in postcolonial and LAC contexts with the benefit of a focus on young people and social justice.

The question of when resilience stops and a new system begins is called “transformation” in ecological systems; a system that changes drastically is transformed, not resilient. In Bluefields, where many Creole people have strong, family connections to other cultures (e.g. via family who have migrated for work), globalization creates daily interactions between cultures. Along the continuum of cultural change, with natural ebb and flow of broadly accepted ideas, the potential for dramatic shifts is exacerbated by globalization in the context of marginalized populations.

Wilson (2015), in reviewing the importance of social memory for community resilience, notes that the “loss of socio-cultural values, technological change, [and] modern values” are among the “disturbances linked to globalization.” His earlier work focused on ties between resilience and policy. In it he warned that,

“Globalisation [sic], in particular, often strengthens economic capital while, on the other hand, weakening social and environmental capital,” (Wilson, 2013, p. 304). This perspective on community resilience does not represent the entire relationship between globalization and marginalized communities in the Global

South. Indeed, scholars of social movements and the African Diaspora, especially in LAC, note that global networks have supported groups pushing for human rights (Hooker, 2005, 2011; Paschel & Sawyer, 2008).

The importance of international networks for spreading ideas of social justice is certainly crucial, but increasing globalization still disproportionately exacts costs from already marginalized groups (Bello &

Rangel, 2002; Reales, 2008).

Race

Complexities of race: Afro-descendants in Latin America and the Caribbean (LAC).

This portion of the literature review provides an overview of conceptualizations of race, ethnicity, and identity for Creoles in Bluefields, Nicaragua. In the US and elsewhere, the dominant understanding of

“normal” is based on White individuals. In LAC, where the indigenous population and the importation of enslaved peoples were substantial, concepts of race, identity, and ethnicity differ from the US. Race is a social construct that is powerful enough to influence individual and group outcomes and thus needs to be addressed carefully (Wade, 2008).

In LAC, minority populations of Afro-descendants live amid the fallout of historic and systemic racism. Linked to British culture through a history of enslavement followed by linguistic, cultural, and trade ties, Creole Afro-descendants live a paradox where Blackness is a disadvantage, but their cultural and linguistic differences are valued by the global economy and as representations of diversity within the nation.

Racism and invisibilization (the intentional omission of the group in mainstream experiences, e.g. textbooks, national representations, the labor force, etc.) impact Afro-descendants in LAC beyond the sphere of negative social experiences. For example, research shows comparatively low economic returns on education resulting from racial discrimination (Wade, 2008). In other examples, segmented labor markets that keep Afro-descendants unemployed, in low-wage positions, or in the informal markets, contribute to discrimination and limited economic opportunities (Reales, 2008).

Afro-descendants in Nicaragua.

It is important to note that Black, Afro-descendant, and Creole identities are not static. Nicaragua’s Atlantic

Coast has a complex history of activism and engagement with identity and politics (Gordon, 1998; Hooker,

2005, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2012). Because the Autonomy Laws grant Nicaraguan Creoles special rights,

34 studies in disciplines such as political science (Hooker, 2005, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2012), women’s studies

(McKim Mitchell, 2011; Morris, 2016b), and the African diaspora (Gordon, 1998; Pineda, 2006) have focused exclusively on Creoles in the region. Despite this attention there is a tendency for Black citizens and culture to be boiled down, or essentialized to success in music, dance, and athletics (Sanmiguel, 2012;

Wade, 2008). While Creoles are misidentified in these and other ways, they assert their difference from the

“Spaniard” (Creole people refer to Spanish-speaking Bluefileñxs as “Spaniards,” in everyday conversation) community, homogenizing others and affiliating them with the colonizing force.

Edmund Gordon’s Disparate Diasporas (1998) is an early example of the academic focus on the

African diaspora in Bluefields. His study during the early days of the Sandinista regime ties together history, political science, and anthropology. Much of the literature on the Afro-descendant communities in

Nicaragua draws on Gordon’s work. Although this is an important starting point, the political and social changes since the time of research and publication are drastic. These changes have a direct and powerful impact on the youth in Bluefields. The work of this dissertation builds on Gordon’s historical understanding by including contemporary and changing components of Creole culture in Bluefields.

Youth and schools.

There is a long history of racism in Nicaraguan textbooks. Most recently, according to Sanmiguel (2012), the Ministry of Education (MINED, the Spanish acronym) censored texts that attempted to offer critical understandings of Nicaraguan history and to represent Afro-descendants in a more positive way. This is unsurprising, given broader studies that found reduced access and lower-quality education are common for

Afro-descendants throughout LAC (Bello & Rangel, 2002; Hooker, 2005; Reales, 2008; Wade, 2008). Afro- descendants in the region learn through a curriculum that does not include them. In some cases, Afro- descendants are not only invisibilized, but appear in school texts only as stereotypes or affiliated with negative images (Bello & Rangel, 2002). Such invisibilization and essentialization lead to broader discrimination throughout the region (Arocha & Maya, 2008; Wade, 2008). The absence of Afro- descendants, their history, and culture in curriculum allow for continued, false perceptions about their

35 contributions and presence throughout Nicaragua.

In contrast to primary and secondary education, higher education in Bluefields has made advances in terms of pluriculturality. The history of the Nicaraguan Caribbean Coast Autonomous University

(Universidad de las Regiones Autónomas de la Costa Caribe Nicaragüense, URACCAN, the Spanish acronym) features political movements for the recognition of local indigenous and Afro-descendant peoples and their need for access to relevant higher-education opportunities (Dennis & Herlihy, 2004). This has also drawn international partnerships and research, resulting in local oral history projects (Broomfield & Davies,

2003). With primary and secondary schooling embodying invisibilization and racism, other social actors can help fill the gap in supporting youth development that promotes and includes Creole culture.

Conclusion

The work of resilience researchers and theorists has laid a foundation for my understandings of cultural and community resilience. Frameworks that highlight both the value of indigenous culture for individual success, as well as the social networks and governance structures for community resilience building, and the ways in which social capital stretches benefits to individuals and communities are important for my understandings of Bluefields’ assets. My use of critical ethnography attempts to better understand how

Creole culture is an asset that serves youth and to support the next generation of a healthy Creole community. It fills the gap in the literature where researchers look to individuals or groups, but ignore culture, when seeking community strengths.

This study seeks to recognize components for resilience in a new context. It uses an ecological perspective that considers social, economic, and political realms as relevant to the success of Creole community resilience, which has not yet been studied. Moreover, while I focus on a marginalized group with shared cultural identification, this study is not limited to youth or school settings. Instead, I draw on existing literature around indigenous and Native youth to extend youth development studies to a new context: The Afro-descendant Creole in Bluefields, Nicaragua. My decision to include research about CSOs throughout the community further links this study to the ecological resilience perspective. Thus, my

36 individual, family, institution, and policy approach to understanding the community is an expansion of resilience literature in multiple areas of scholarly interest.

Chapter 3: Data, Methods, and Analysis of the Pilot Study and the Main Study

Introduction

In the sections that follow, I introduce the logical links between my research questions and the specific methods I used to answer them. This includes the work of my pilot study, which I also discuss in this chapter.

After introducing the research questions, I discuss the pilot study and provide details about the study design and sample. The following portion of this chapter provides the details about and justification for using critical ethnography. Following the methodological context, I review the theory, context, and sampling that I employed for the main study. Next, I review the processes of analysis and synthesis for the pilot study and the main study, including a full description of the process that guided my development from data collection, through analysis, to crafting the findings of this study. This chapter also attends to the ethical considerations of this qualitative dissertation. I provide the pertinent information regarding human protections as well as my ethical considerations during data collection, analysis, and presentation. Among the ethical considerations are tools for trustworthiness and specifying the limitations of this study. These methodological and data details support the logic of the study and ground the following chapters of findings.

Following the conclusion of this chapter is a list of the CSOs involved in this study, and brief descriptions of their work (p.74).

The research questions guiding the research design, data collection, and analysis of this study were:

1. What is the foundation of Creole cultural resilience for youth in Bluefields, Nicaragua?

2. In what ways do local organizations and advocates in Bluefields, Nicaragua support the formation

and development of community resilience for Creole youth?

Both questions require information that cannot be gleaned from quantitative analysis of primary or secondary data.

In order to analyze my data with regard to the second research question—looking for formation, support, and development of cultural resilience—I needed to build an understanding of what resilience

“looks like” in Bluefields. Although previous ethnographic research has been conducted in the Creole community (Gordon, 1998), it was not focused on youth and it took place decades ago. There was a need to better understand Creole youth culture today in the context of increasing mestizaje (mixing of races) and changing political, social, and economic structures in Bluefields. Scholarly work about the role of Creole identity does not focus on the perspective of youth or on cultural resilience. Rather, it links race and identity to politics, social movements, and rights structures (e.g. indigenous rights, autonomy rights).

With regard to the second research question, this study’s methods are appropriate because there is no contemporary research that focuses on CSOs on the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua. Previous research about the Autonomous Regions focused on political organizing around the autonomy process as well as participation in armed conflicts (see, for example, Baracco, 2017; Goett, 2015; Hooker, 2009, 2011; Informe

Nacional sobre Desarrollo Humano 2011: Las juventudes construyendo Nicaragua, 2011).

Pilot Study Research Design and Sample

The design for my main study built on an understanding of the gaps in research related to youth in

Bluefields, which was supported by pilot study findings. My pilot study identified civil society organizations (CSOs) in Bluefields and the populations that they sought to serve. This research was an important first step in identifying shared values, attitudes, and beliefs (see below for more information on this analysis) among these organizations and in the community. By combining the pilot study data and the main study data I gathered a more complete understanding of the key CSOs in Bluefields: from the perspective of leaders and organizers and from the perspective of participants and observers.

Pilot study design.

The pilot study was a bounded case study designed to gain the perspectives of youth, CSOs, government leaders, and school officials in Bluefields related to education and community resilience (Creswell, 2013).

For this work, I spent six weeks in Bluefields in summer 2015. I conducted semi-structured interviews and kept observational field notes related to the interviews and my experiences in Bluefields. The interviews were designed to improve my understanding of the work that CSOs and schools undertook. I sought to know

39 about the populations they served, their goals, how they understood Creole populations to be similar to or different from other groups, and what sectors of the youth population were still in need of service. My interviews with youth participants sought a broader perspective on Bluefields. I wanted to understand what was important to them, how they spent their time, and what kind of future they saw for their community.

Together, youth perspectives, CSO perspectives, and my field notes provided indications of how institutions converged around serving youth and how those institutions could support community resilience.

Pilot study sample.

Pilot data includes 16 semi-structured interviews. The pilot study participants were broken down into three categories: CSO leadership, youth, and school leaders. Most of the participants identified as Creole or Black

Nicaraguans. Those who did not identify as such had substantial interaction with, or understanding of, the

Creole community and policy related to autonomy. Pilot study participants were added through snowball sampling and critical informant sampling. Beginning with a pilot study before the extended data collection allowed me to maximize the variety of participants in the latter round of data collection.

I began pilot study sampling through a key informant (George Henriquez Cayasso) who was introduced to me by one of my dissertation co-advisors (Dr. Nicole Webster). His role in the community has varied over time to include advocate, political candidate, organizer, and CSO employee, but his commitment to Creole autonomy and advocacy is longstanding. (The roles and pseudonyms of pilot study participants can be found in Table 3-1 on p. 41.) George provided me with a starting list of contacts based on what I wanted to learn about Bluefields. The sampling continued from this list using a snowball method (Creswell,

2013). The end of most interviews included a request for contact information for other potential participants who could inform my research. In this way, I was able to include a broad swath of youth participants and participation from CSOs in different sectors. In keeping with my IRB commitments, participants in the pilot study were all over the age of 18.

Table 3-1: Pilot Study Participants Pseudonym Role(s) Jennifer Brown* Community advocate, CSO Administrator Bobby Campbell CSO participant, youth leader Brian Davis CSO administrator Yomira Donaldson University student, CSO participant Stephen DuBois School principal Clinton Heike CSO administrator George Henriquez Cayasso* Key informant, CSO participant, community advocate Gisela Johnson University student Maria Jones Educational administrator Lucy King CSO administrator Isabelle Martin CSO Administrator Dolene Miller* Community advocate, CSO administrator Omar Perez University student, CSO participant Teresa Rodríguez CSO administrator Maria Thompson School principal Cristian White CSO administrator Raquel Willem Community advocate, CSO administrator * Indicates a participant who declined pseudonyms. Main Study: Critical Ethnographic Method and Analysis

Because the target population of study was specific and geographically concentrated, I used ethnography for my main study. “Ethnography is appropriate if the needs are to describe how a cultural group works and to explore the beliefs, language, behaviors, and issues facing the group,” (Creswell, 2013, p. 94). My focus on

Creole Bluefileñx youth meets Creswell’s (2013) further expectation that there is limited literature about the marginalized group. In the case of Bluefields’ Creole youth, there has not been any ethnographic work, nor have there been studies of youth development programs in the area. In looking to the foundations of Creole cultural resilience, my work also meets Fetterman’s (2010) expectation to tell a story giving voice to the people whose context and culture is under study. Finally, these research questions point to the marginalization of Creole culture, youth, and the threat to community resilience in Bluefields. Simply put,

“Critical ethnography begins with an ethical responsibility to address processes of unfairness or injustice within a particular lived domain,” (Madison, 2005, p. 5. Emphasis in original). The power structure in question is the racial hierarchy that privileges Mestizx individuals and fosters cultural homogenization in

Nicaragua. By taking a firm stand on the value of protecting youth, their culture, and the resilience of

Bluefields, I am engaging a critical perspective.

The critical ethnographic method is especially useful for identifying community assets, including those pertinent to resilience. Critical ethnographic analysis requires special attention to “meaningful action, culture, and social systems.” Meaning fields are a collection of possible meanings that the researcher infers from the context (Carspecken, 1996, p. 96). They are used in critical analysis as an important way to make

“low-level inferences” into the happenings in a cultural scene or act. Using meaning-making and considering power relationships for young people can support an understanding of Creole culture for youth

(Carspecken, 1996). This, in combination with data on older generations of Creoles, allows for a study of resilience in Bluefields to show continuity and change in culture over time and generations.

Main Study: Conceptual Framework, Context, and Sampling

Figure 3-1: Conceptual framework: Cultural resilience in community context

Broad Cultural Expression

Creole Cultural Resilience

Support of Learning/Doing Culture (CSOs, Culture (Homes) Institutions)

Conceptual framework.

Figure 3-1 (above) is the conceptual framework that guided the main study. The triangle-shaped framework is composed of four smaller triangles. The center, “Creole cultural resilience,” is nested on a foundation, supported by “Learning/Doing Culture,” and “Support of Culture.” I anticipated that learning and doing culture would take place in home and family settings. I envisioned “support of culture” as instances where institutions either actively fostered engagement with culture or left room for “doing culture” to happen; this did not preclude family settings. The top of the framework is “Broad Cultural Expression.” I anticipated that the cultural learning (bottom left) and cultural support (bottom right) would foster some expression of

Creole culture throughout Bluefields. The celebration of traditionally Creole holidays (in May) was the only indication of broad cultural expression that I expected, based on my pilot study.

Context: Re-entry and main study outreach tactics.

I re-entered the field with contacts from the pilot study, and ideas about values, attitudes, and beliefs from which to begin. My conceptual framework (Figure 3-1, p.43) established a priori, placed cultural resilience

43 in relationship to learning culture, supportive institutions for culture, and broader expression of culture. The locations of learning and supporting culture were hypothesized based on community resilience and cultural resilience literature. Thus, the goal of early fieldwork was to build relationships that would grant me entry to homes, families, the community, and institutions. The recursive process of ethnography, requiring periodic and frequent analysis of data to inform further data collection, began early on and was guided by ongoing reviews of the literature and findings from the pilot study (Schensul & LeCompte, 2013).

The main study took place from August 25, 2016 through June 21, 2017. During this time, I left the field twice: once for visa purposes and a second time to attend a professional conference. I began fieldwork for my dissertation where the pilot study left off. The pilot study data revealed cultural values that informed observations, sampling, and interview protocols for my extended data collection. When I reached Bluefields for the extended fieldwork, some pilot study participants offered informal interviews to guide new data collection (Fetterman, 2010). In addition to maintaining contact and regular communication with my key informant, George, I began to make targeted contacts to purposefully expand my sample (Creswell, 2013). I reached out to pilot study participants who engaged with youth on a regular basis through Coast Region

Youth Services and Autonomy Advocates Center.

The goal of re-contacting the CSOs was to identify youth in contexts where I could observe them to learn about their interactions and day-to-day lives. (Table 3-2, below, provides an overview of the CSOs and their roles in the community.) Eventually, these experiences led to interviews where I learned more about youths’ priorities, their values, and their perspectives on Bluefields.

Table 3-2: CSO Pseudonyms and Descriptions Civil Society Organization description Organization Pseudonym Coast Region Youth Autonomy-focused advocacy organization with wrap around Services services for school-aged youth Autonomy Advocates Autonomy-focused advocacy organization with ties to Center national ministries and liaison roles Places to Be Outreach A youth-development organization Afro-identity Services Intergenerational advocacy group focused on Afro- Group descendants

Cultural Connections to Autonomy-focused advocacy organization Learning God’s Work High School Educational institution Coast People’s High Educational institution School Cultural Readiness Educational institution Elementary Good Shepard Elementary Educational institution

The earliest stages of data collection for the main study required me to reconnect with contacts from the pilot study. Email, Facebook, and telephone were useful in resuming these relationships. The participants that I contacted were receptive to my work and to my community engagement. Maintaining rapport with them allowed me to further expand my sample throughout data collection. The extended relationships led to invitations to community events in addition to expanding the interview sample.

Community observations were a key part of early data collection for the main study of Bluefields, this included noting when I heard Kriol and where I saw people who had Afro-descendant phenotypes.

Appendix C provides a list of the field notes included in the data set. The list excludes methods memos and reflections following individual participant interviews, and contains a total of 51 field notes in this analysis.

In some cases, the field note included multiple events or a summary of a particular theme (e.g. Nicaraguan political situation).

Through supportive CSOs, I was able to reach out to individual youth to request permission for observations and interviews. I targeted youth between the ages of 10 and 30 for the second round of data collection, as a separate IRB process included provisions for getting parental consent (the pilot study IRB specified the inclusion of adults only). I only included Creole individuals in the main study data collection.

Throughout my extended field stay, I also used convenience sampling. Table 3-3 lists main study participants by primary CSO affiliation. A sampling map can be found in Appendix B.

Table 3-3: Participants and Organizational Affiliations Organization affiliation* Participant Sherece (mid-20s) Autonomy Advocates Center Shaleesia (mid-20s) Iris (late 30s) Michelle (educator) Briona (5th grader) Lamont (5th grader) Becky (5th grader) Denise (5th grader) Cornell (5th grader) Lakisha (5th grader) Valerie (5th grader) Cultural Readiness Elementary Andrew (5th grader) Delron (5th grader) Melissa (5th grader) Jamal (5th grader) Washington (5th Kennin (5th grader) grader) Tyrone (HS Senior) Marco (early 50s) Whitney (9th grader) Steven (early 20s) Samson (9th grader) Martin (HS senior) Bricson (10th Grader) Iris (9th grader) Coast Region Youth services Sarena (10th grader) Jane (9th grader) Jaclynn (10th grader) Nadia (HS Senior) Brendon Edwyn (6th grader) Sammy (10th grader) Alexander (HS junior)

Good Shepard Elementary Wendy (4th grader) Sharah (4th grader)

Larriel (mid 40s) Jada (9th grader) Reuban (late teens, HS Shakina (10th grader) Snowball and convenience graduate) sample participants Leah (early 50s) Brinique (9th grader) Seanna (early 30s) Rondell (3rd grader) Reginal (mid 50s) Qlaysha (4th grader) *Some participants have affiliations to more than one organization (e.g., to Coast People’s High School and to Coast Region Youth Services).

Table 3-4: CSOs Work Linked to Community Resilience CSO Social systems Economic systems Social Capital Governance creates neighborhood Coast Non-formal/alternative Identity-building; youth networks; fosters broad Ties to autonomy; ties to Region education including job development; Formal inter-cultural youth multiple levels of Youth skills; financial support for education support, connections; government Services formal education intergenerational spaces Autonomy Non-formal education fosters broad inter-cultural Ties to autonomy; ties to Identity-building; youth Advocates including job skills; youth connections; fosters multiple levels of development; Center volunteer opportunities youth leadership skills government Emphasis on most Intergenerational spaces; Places to Be Non-formal education marginalized; Youth fosters inter-cultural youth Outreach including job skills development connections Afro- Intergenerational spaces; identity Identity-building; youth Ties to international fosters youth leadership Services development human rights organizations skills Group Creates community networks (e.g., around Formal education; Cultural bush medicine); fosters Ties to autonomy; ties to volunteer opportunities; Connections Identity-building inter-cultural youth multiple levels of financial support for to Learning connections; fosters youth government formal education leadership skills; intergenerational spaces God’s Work fosters inter-cultural youth Linked to Ministry of Formal education High School connections education Coast Linked to Ministry of People’s Formal education education High School Cultural Linked to Ministry of Readiness Formal education education Elementary Good Formal education fosters inter-cultural youth Linked to Ministry of Shepard connections education Elementary *Natural systems is N.A. to this study 47

Sampling development.

Table 3-3 (p. 46) includes a list of participants and their affiliation with the CSOs involved in the study. A map of sampling including links to organizations can be found in Appendix B. Table 3-4 (above) draws on resilience literature from multiple fields to offer an overview of the resilience-supporting activities in which participating CSOs engaged. The work of each organization falls under one or more categories of resilience characteristics: social systems, economic systems, social capital, and governance.

Coast Region Youth Services introduced me to a site that served as a gathering place for youth from different parts of Bluefields. I was introduced to program coordinators there, and began a relationship that allowed me to observe in this context on a semi-regular basis. My presence extended to interview and observation opportunities of Creole youth, and my engagement with Coast Region Youth Services grew. I employed participant observation and field-note-taking as I became a regular volunteer, co-leading a youth choir. Meeting with this group three-to-five times per week, for six weeks, built relationships with the youth participants as well as the co-facilitator of the group, himself a Creole Bluefileño. These observations were a data collection tactic through which I embedded in the community. I was able to see the day-to-day activities of youth and the adults in Coast Region Youth Services, as well as the days that broke patterns. In the observations, I was mindful of how youth interacted with one another, including apparent power structures, groupings, and content of conversations, where possible. When my rapport was well established with these students, I reached out to them for individual interviews.

Coast Region Youth Services also established access to three of the members of the community boards that identify students to receive services. Two of these people were staff at schools (Coast People’s

High School and Good Shepard Elementary). The facilitator from Good Shepard Elementary helped me to arrange interviews with two Creole students (only one interview is included in the data set, as I was unable to obtain written parental consent for the second participant before leaving the community). The Coast

People’s High School staff member introduced my study to some of the Creole student scholarship awardees in her school. This targeted group of participants was conveniently sampled from those who were

48 available through the Coast People’s High School gatekeeper, but limited to those who were on scholarships from the Coast Region Youth Services. Students from Coast People’s High School participated in focus groups.

Another group that I observed, thanks to an introduction from a pilot study participant, was a group of adolescents and young adults participating in an ongoing program with Autonomy Advocates Center.

They were recruited for workshops that were tailored to meet the schedules of secondary school students and other young adult participants. In addition to observing and taking field notes on some of the training sessions, I participated in organized events for the group. This was a separate group of youth who were intentionally engaged in leadership training. Participants were older than those in Coast Region Youth

Services, but still within the “youth” age range. I reached out to some of the Creole participants for individual interviews following my observations and participation. By participating in some of the workshop trainings, I built relationships within the group that made individual interviews a stronger experience from the perspective of data collection: participants were willing to share personal details based on the trust we had established.

In the early stages of main study data collection, a pilot study participant with whom I had stayed in contact began planning some potential engagement with her institution (Cultural Connections to Learning).

Although the collaboration did not ultimately come to pass, I shared pilot study findings with professionals at Cultural Connections to Learning, which led to yet another site expansion. Two of the professionals were representatives of the same school (Cultural Readiness Elementary), one a teacher and one a school leader.

Through Facebook, I built rapport with one of these professionals, and afterward got approval to reach out to the parents of Creole children and conduct interviews with those children. Building on pilot study participants was a key component of developing the purposefully sampled participants and observations for this main study. There were, however, additional convenience-sampled participants and related observations

(reviewed below).

I obtained the remaining collection of participants, observations, and field-note-taking opportunities through a combination of convenience and snowball sampling. I sought to talk to Creole people with different positions in households. My conceptual framework (p. 43) suggests families and other institutions as inculcators of cultural resilience, so this sampling strategy was important. (The “Learning/Doing Culture” component, I hypothesized, would take place largely in homes; the “Support of Culture,” I anticipated finding in CSO and other youth-serving institutions.) When I was sufficiently embedded, I sought family members from different households to share their perspectives via formal semi-structured interviews. I also conducted informal interviews on topics such as politics and family planning. These adult interviews indicated the mindset of those who were raising Bluefields’ youth.

One event was crucial to allowing my involvement with community members from outside the scope of engagement with CSOs. My community gatekeeper, George, invited me to a local bar where Creole men from different neighborhoods in Bluefields compete against each other (and sometimes international teams) in dominoes. Despite my apprehension in attending with George, who was in the thick of a political campaign, he made his case by arguing that I should go to celebrate my birthday. At “The Domino Place,” I found myself the lightest-skinned person, and among very few women. As George moved easily among the crowd of familiar men, he left me to chat with a friend of his. When that man left, finding myself alone, I looked around and noticed a group of phenotypically Afro-descendant women at the bar. I introduced myself to them. As much as I stuck out as a White person, I also stuck out as a woman, so I asked one woman if I could stand with her to try to blend in among the large crowd of men. Although this was an act of preservation rather than one of a dedicated researcher, the long-term outcomes served me personally and as a researcher. (The need to feel preserved and safe among women resulted from the discomfort that I experienced as a female-bodied person in a male-dominated space. There were no overt threats to me in this or any other group setting during my time in Nicaragua. The gender roles that grant men physical power over women were salient, nonetheless.) Just as racism is a social construct designed to assert and cement arbitrary hierarchies (e.g., White privilege), so too are gender roles. Near the end of the evening I exchanged

50 numbers with the woman (Leah), and she let me know that she would call me some time to go for a walk or have a beer. This relationship developed into friendship between the end of October and mid-December.

Leah became a key informant. She worried about my living alone and the state of the furnishings in the apartment I rented, and offered to rent me a room in her home. Through that new living situation, I was successful in studying the “home” context indicated in the conceptual framework. Living in Leah’s home was an opportunity to observe a Creole family and take ethnographic field notes, to integrate into a majority-Creole neighborhood, and to conduct formal and non-formal interviews.

I took a targeted approach to the final expansion of my sample for the main study. The neighborhood identities of Bluefileñxs became apparent, and after living with Leah in one key neighborhood (Old Bank), I extended my understanding to another prominent Creole setting (Cotton Tree). George introduced me to the family of his friend, noting that the family had hosted international guests in the past. I moved in with

Larriel and her three children for the final three months of my fieldwork. This was a slightly different (but common) family arrangement from what I experienced with Leah. There were multiple generations of an extended family nearby, sharing a yard, rather than a house. This new living arrangement led to different observation and field note opportunities and to informal interviews. (An overview of my living sites can be found in Appendix C.)

The flexibility of a recursive ethnographic research design was helpful in my collection of a varied, but purposeful sample. In some cases, the combination of snowball and purposeful sampling methods led to an opportunity to more carefully target key groups of participants, including adolescents, young children, and Creole adults of multiple generations. Together, the research design and sampling strategies created a dataset that was analyzed, triangulated, and filled gaps in the research about Bluefields and the strength of its Creole community, and the ties that kept Creole youth connected to their culture.

Main study data collection instruments.

The interview protocols for participants in the main study varied slightly by group of participants. As data collection continued, probes for each interview were modified, based on my developments in understanding and the need to pursue emergent themes in the research (Fetterman, 2010; Schensul & LeCompte, 2013).

Interview protocols and prompts varied slightly by participants, as did the location of interviews.

Adult interviews most often took place in public, but in relatively quiet places. One restaurant in town, in particular, was an easy location to interview adults. It featured quiet music and a welcoming atmosphere, with plenty of space and fans when Bluefields’ heat and humidity climbed. It was comparatively expensive but the only coffee shop-style business in town. I offered adult participants flexibility around interview location. Many chose this restaurant over their homes. In the restaurant setting, I was able to offer participants light refreshment (coffee or juice, and a small cookie or pastry). The digital recording devices

(Fetterman, 2010), a small, handheld recorder and an iPad mini, were placed without being in the way of our conversation. I also used the iPad mini to read from the interview protocols. Youth interviews also took place in multiple locations. In all cases, the interview sites were chosen for the comfort of the participants, and the process of informed consent always included an option for participants to change their mind, or to choose not to answer any question that made them uncomfortable. Among youth interview places were schools, youth centers, and youths’ front porches.

One group of participants and their interview setting merit additional explanation, because I altered the protocol in order to improve the participants’ comfort in the process. The 12 youth participants from

Cultural Readiness Elementary were interviewed at their school. As I arrived, after a bit of polite chat, the teacher and I would identify a student to participate in the interview. The student and I walked to a separate library/storage space where we had a table to sit across from one another, and a fan mounted on a nearby wall. At times, other students and teachers entered and left, with greetings as they came and went, but these were unavoidable and did not seriously disrupt the interviews. I also recorded these interviews on two devices.

Interviews with students in the school presented new challenges to my data collection. With adults and some of the older youth asking questions from the iPad worked well, or I was able to employ rapport- building strategies that eased the process. Younger students (ages 10-13) were comparatively reserved or shy. After struggling through several traditional semi-structured interviews, I designed an alternative approach: Using slips of paper and a paper bag (about the size of a paper lunch bag) that I had decorated, I prepared a bank of questions. Some of the questions were phrased mirroring the protocol. I added fun questions to put the students at ease and some of the questions were re-worded to elicit better responses, for example starting with “Tell me about” instead of “What is.” This approach was extremely helpful. I believe that there was a sense of play in the interaction and that some of the social distance between the interviewer and the participant was bridged by students’ choosing for themselves. I also made a point to respond to some of the questions conversationally to further build connections. (When the slip of paper asked what superpower they would have, I added that I would like to be able to fly so that I could travel more easily, before we moved on to the next question.) Although students were drawing from the bag, they did not move ahead without me. I was able to probe and ask follow up questions. This methodological change was also an opportunity to explore emerging themes that were not included in the initial protocol. The note-bag protocol, including small changes over time, is provided in Appendix F.

One series of focus groups came from an attempt to interview students from Coast People’s High

School. Focus group was a fruitful methodology, as students prompted each other to speak when necessary.

The small groups of high school students felt comfortable being interviewed in the company of friends with shared experiences. The themes and depth of these interviews reflected the students’ ages, compared with the data produced with the younger students of Cultural Readiness Elementary.

The second series of focus groups were designed for younger students from Cultural Readiness

Elementary. My goal was to clarify some themes and understand group conceptions about the community.

The age of the participants made these focus groups very difficult. The first focus group was at a youth center that was accessible to all of the students on a non-school day. The story-telling activity that I

53 designed, modeled on the note-bag interview, was more complicated for the students than I had anticipated.

Instead of being able to “tell me about a time at Sunday school,” for example, the students argued among one another before becoming distracted by decorations on the wall. After the first attempt, the teacher from

Cultural Readiness Elementary helped me to reschedule another attempt at the school, where students might feel more focused. In the second attempt with this group, I was looking for help to understand the community and the culture, focusing on “the best thing” and “one thing to change” about Bluefields.

Ideally, the interview would have encouraged students to share specific experiences of success and challenges at places that support cultural resilience and community resilience. The students were somewhat more willing to discuss the community than they were to discuss their own experiences. The age of the students, however, was a substantial challenge to focus group methodology.

While my research design included plans for focus groups with adults, the two approaches I attempted were fruitless. In both cases I had planned to “piggyback” on meetings scheduled by another organization (Coast Region Youth Services and Cultural Connections to Learning), to recruit adult participants. One of the scheduled appointments saw three out of 25 invited participants arrive; the other was empty. The reason for weak attendance for the events was unclear. A representative at Coast Region

Youth Services suggested that, because the meeting was scheduled on a non-school day, invited parents did not think the event would happen because it related to their students’ scholarships. I did not have any insight from collaborators at Cultural Connections to Learning about why no one attended their event.

In addition to semi-structured interviews and focus groups, I relied on written sources to bolster the dataset for the main study. Throughout my time in Bluefields, I took careful and frequent field notes. The main study focused on ethnographic field note taking. The distinction of this style is the pursuit of indigenous meaning, reliance on contemporaneous field notes, and focus on interactional detail (Emerson,

Fretz, & Shaw, 2011). To prepare full field notes I made use of jottings and headnotes in multiple ways

(Emerson et al., 2011; Schensul & LeCompte, 2013), I also used photos that I took on my phone during the day to prompt the inclusion of further detail. The jottings were either digital (short phrases saved to a

54 document on my phone) or physical (written in a small notebook that I carried with me throughout fieldwork), and served as the beginning of an outline for field notes as they were crafted. When adding jottings to the preliminary outline for the completed ethnographic field notes I also included headnotes of things that stood out, early impressions and reactions, as well as tidbits of conversation that were key to the experience of the day or the event. The fleshed-out field notes included ethnographic components such as description, dialogue, and characterization. They covered days, events, and in some cases profiles of

“characters,” (Emerson et al., 2011) to support contextualization. Most field notes were written in the evening following a day of engagement. In some cases, the fallibility of the researcher-as-instrument meant that the outline was thoroughly composed with key words to serve as triggers but not immediately completed. I may have begun the writing process in the late evening, and finished writing the next day, relying on the headnotes and jottings to support my memory. I attempted to use specifics rather than generalizations in descriptive field notes and to summarize field notes and identify potential themes after reading and editing my work (Emerson et al., 2011).

Analysis and Synthesis

Pilot study data.

I designed the pilot study for this dissertation as a collective case study (Creswell, 2013, p. 100). Because the pilot study data collection occurred one year before the main study began, the earliest rounds of analysis on pilot data were conducted independently from the main data set analysis. The pilot study research questions focused on organizations in Bluefields and how they represented resilience of the community as a whole (in contrast to the main study which focuses on Creole culture and youth). The sample for the pilot study included many adult participants who were advocates for autonomy and social justice issues in

Bluefields.

My analysis of pilot study data followed a recursive process. First I applied “values coding” to identify values, attitudes, and beliefs (Saldaña, 2013). The coded segments were not mutually exclusive. Per

Saldaña’s (2013) specifications,

[A] value is the importance we attribute to oneself, another person, thing, or idea. [ . . .] An attitude is the way we think and feel about ourselves, another person, thing, or idea; [. . .] [and a] belief is a part of a system that includes our values and attitudes, plus our personal knowledge, experiences, opinions, prejudices, moral sand other interpretive perceptions of the social world” (emphasis in original 2013, p. 111).

This coding was deductive. A second round of coding elaborated on the values, attitudes, and beliefs by adding sub-codes of each larger code. Finally, the codes and sub-codes were grouped by larger themes that indicate the major findings of this pilot study. These complete groupings (sub-codes and themes) can be found in Appendix 7 and the findings groups (themes) in Table 3-5. This work was conducted using two software packages, MaxQDA (“MaxQDA,” 2016; “MaxQDA,” 2018) and Microsoft Excel.

Table 3-5: Pilot Study Themes Pilot study themes Belief system with important ties to autonomy process (both successes and struggles) Political engagement for the purpose of social justice (practice and goal) Collaborative work for the community Unity and respect for diversity Personal characteristics and goals: individuals as part of a community Vulnerable groups and need for agency on-the-ground policy limits Active community work Challenges Personal expectations individualistic expression with links to culture Economic development There is value in supporting the community, as a whole. Focus on positive change Sports Need to engage & maintain vibrant history Defining community Places to belong

Main study data analysis.

The main study data analysis was also was recursive (LeCompte & Schensul, 2013). I drew on Saldaña’s

(2013) explanation of structural coding to begin this first round of analysis. The first round of coding was deductive and relied on the conceptual framework that I developed when crafting my dissertation proposal.

The conceptual framework (p.43) suggests that Creole cultural resilience was at the center of three other components: learning culture, support of culture, and broad cultural expression.

As I designed the framework (see p.43), which is built on resilience literature, I posited that learning culture was home-based. Throughout data collection and analysis, I modified this component. My modification left room for learning and “doing” culture in multiple sites. The second foundational component, support of culture, was evidenced by the community and community institutions. Finally, the top of the model was “broad expression of culture,” which I understood as a goal that may have been achieved when some sense of Creole identity was portrayed in public or by institutions.

This model was a “formative theory” with three “conceptual bins” (LeCompte & Schensul, 2013,

Kindle location 1773). Each bin (broad cultural expression, support of culture, and learning culture) became a fixed, early code. Smaller containers within the bins were also fixed and specific after consideration of community and individual resilience literature, and the context of youth in Bluefields. Table 3-6 shows the bins and containers within them (conceptual codes). The only change made to these codes throughout the coding process was an early addition to the “learning culture” code. I added a verb (“doing”) to emphasize that in many cases individuals represented culture in their actions without displaying the development or learning of the cultural reality.

The codes were applied first by the bins, with a subsequent round of coding which created containers for segments of data. All of the data was coded in this method. These two rounds of coding were designed to test the conceptual model (LeCompte & Schensul, 2013). Through two rounds of coding I became familiar with the data and formed early ideas about what patterns may emerge later. LeCompte and Schensul identify this combination of inductive and deductive coding as recursivity (LeCompte & Schensul, 2013, Kindle location 1789). As this coding began simultaneously with main study data collection, I was also able to add supporting information, via memos, to the documents. For example, an early field note identified two people in the community as sisters; after coding this set of field notes, I added a memo to note that I later learned they were mother and daughter.

Table 3-6: Conceptual Framework Codes Bin (Code) Container (Sub-codes) Home Family Learning/doing culture Neighborhood Church Other Institution Support of culture Community Other Broad cultural expression n/a

LeCompte and Schensul (2013) discuss the work of Schensul, Schensul, and Oodit, using language that seems antithetical to qualitative research with regards to codes and sub-codes. They discuss a qualitative study as having independent domains, dependent domains, and factors within those domains, they later parse out factors, sub-factors, and variables (examples) (LeCompte & Schensul, 2013, Kindle location 1817–1836). Specifically, “Variables are the range of possibilities within a category of units or items,” and “Domains are groupings of factors (larger cultural units or phenomena) that can be explained by referring to how people, including the researchers, “make sense” of and organize their world.” (emphasis in original LeCompte & Schensul, 2013, Kindle location 2081). Figure 3-2 highlights the relationships between the three levels of codes. Factors and variables are often associated with quantitative research methods. For some readers they call to mind the quantitative paradigm, exclusively. As is shown in Figure

3-2, their function in creating an organizing hierarchy of codes in qualitative analysis is quite different.

Figure 3-2: Code Organizational Structure

Domains

Factors

Variables (examples)

With this organizational structure in mind, I created 62 variables, specifically for the inductive codes

I generated through recursive analysis. The earliest variables created (those created on March 27) were drawn from my field notes. Shortly after reaching Bluefields, I modified my field note protocol. At the end of each field note document, I included a preliminary analysis tool. This tool was a simple table that prompted, “So what? What next? Potential themes.” (Julia Mahfouz, personal communication, December

15, 2016). The field notes created before I developed this tool were updated with this information. I included “potential themes” from field notes as variables to code the complete data set. Further reading and analysis supported additional, inductive variable identification. I created memos to accompany these later- stage additions in order to recall more quickly when and why the code was created and what it identified.

Table 3-7: Variables Grouped by Domain Identity Organizing life features/concepts Ways to treat people or to be (personality Schooling experiences traits) Religion as guide Discrimination/marginalization Learning Kriol Political clashes/engagement Neighborhood/local focus Organized youth activities Identifying cultural traits/actions Police presence Pigmentation/phenotype conversation Family relationships 59

Claiming Creole identity Friend group activities Multiple language use working out of Bluefields Wanting to learn/share (others') culture Sports Choosing when to participate Religious practice Extended family households Ways to spend time Convivencia and mixed culture friendships Violence/Safety Impressions of Creole/Black community It's not like old times Household roles Work culture Obeayah indication Day to day Doing things the right way Extended family households Wellness Obeayah indication Parenting Parenting Mestizaje Religion as guide Sexuality Multiple language use Claiming Black identity Convivencia and mixed culture friendships Emphasis of advocacy Household roles In-group/out-group Wellness Travel/Knowing other places Neighborhood/local focus Suggestion for new cultural norm Choosing when to participate Children/youth behavior Spanish in schools Family relationships Knowing community news/history Friend group activities Emphasis of advocacy Gender In-group/out-group Learning/development concepts External reality Spanish in schools Extended family households Knowing community news/history Obeayah indication Lack of knowledge about advocacy/process Schooling experiences Education Discrimination/marginalization Suggestion for new cultural norm Neighborhood/local focus Children/youth behavior Choosing when to participate Need to learn or improve Spanish Spanish in schools Learning history/cultural elements in school Knowing community news/history Learning Kriol Impressions of Creole/Black community Doing things the right way Lack of knowledge about advocacy/process Schooling experiences Education Parenting Political clashes/engagement Organized youth activities Negative/challenges Police presence Discrimination/marginalization In-group/out-group Violence/Safety Travel/Knowing other places Needing jobs Violence/Safety Money troubles It's not like old times Feeling dissatisfied Work culture Discussion or disagreement Day to day Gossip Identifying advocates

The recursive nature of coding, especially for variables, meant that certain variables were identified late in the process after some documents had been coded. Thus, the documents coded first had less-varied codes and fewer patterns identified than the last document that I coded. Appendix 6 shows when each code was created. Using this information, I reviewed documents from early in the data set to fill in gaps in coding using the complete code set. For example, the variable “police presence” was created in June 2017 after my initial coding of the field notes Charla with Afro-identity Services Group. Before completing analysis, I returned to that document and coded for “police presence” and other variables that were not yet created at the time of initial coding.

Once the complete data set (pilot study interviews, main study interviews, main study focus groups, and main study field notes) was coded for all variables, I created domains for analysis. Variables were not exclusive to a single domain. For example, the code “multiple language use” was included in the domain

“Organizing life features/concepts” and in the “Identity” domain. Table 3-7 (p. 59) includes the list of domains and their variable components. Creating these domains, and reviewing the content within them, was useful as I began analyzing my data to identify findings. The full process, from analysis through findings, is explained in the following section.

Moving from coding through findings.

After theoretical coding (based on the conceptual framework) and recursive coding I pursued analysis in multiple ways. Because all of the data was coded first for the conceptual framework (see p. 43) and second for ethnographic themes (“variables,” per LeCompte & Schensul (2013); see p. 57 for an explanation of the term), I was able to retrieve segments of data according to either kind of code, and see how they were multiply coded. Each time I used MaxQDA (“MaxQDA,” 2016; “MaxQDA,” 2018) to review segments associated with conceptual framework codes, I was also able to see the ethnographic codes that were assigned to the same segment. Thus, I efficiently analyzed the data by choosing the smaller group to work from: the conceptual codes.

First, I isolated those segments that related to broad support of culture, learning/doing culture, and support of culture. I used MaxQDA (“MaxQDA,” 2016; “MaxQDA,” 2018) to review the segments that were coded and sub-coded under “support of culture.” This group of segments included less content (in pages) than the segments that were coded and sub-coded under “learning/doing culture,” but more than those under “broad cultural expression.” I began in this middle-point based on the relationship that my conceptual framework (p. 43) established. I used Microsoft Excel to review the data based on different groupings of the ethnographic codes assigned to the segment, within the code and sub-code of the theoretical framework. I organized and re-organized the segments in ways that helped me to see nuance and patterns that led to identifying each finding. Later, I used the “paraphrase” function that was introduced in a release of MaxQDA (“MaxQDA,” 2016; “MaxQDA,” 2018) that came out near the end of my analysis. This allowed me to look at segments of data, isolate the main idea, and look at the main ideas together to clarify the findings. With changes in software capabilities, multiple groupings of the segments, and feedback from my committee members, this process was also recursive.

In order to make sense of the large volume of segments that were coded and sub-coded as

“learning/doing culture,” I used the MaxMaps feature in MaxQDA (“MaxQDA,” 2016; “MaxQDA,” 2018).

This displayed the connections between codes and sub-codes, somewhat similar to the way that social network analysis shows the strength of connections between individuals.

My first MaxMap was used to help isolate the very large number of segments that were coded under

“Learning/doing culture,” I started a MaxMap by looking at a sub-code under “learning/doing culture.” For each sub-code, the MaxMap also revealed “co-occurring codes,” and their frequency. The different frequencies were evidenced through weighted lines between the ethnographic code and the sub-code of

“learning/doing culture.” (“Ethnographic codes,” are the “variables,” indicated in Table 3-7, p. 59.

“Theoretical codes and sub-codes,” are those indicated in Table 3-6, p. 58). I evaluated the lines and removed those with the weakest connections between the ethnographic code and the conceptual code. The result was an image of the strongest relationships between ethnographic theme and conceptual framework

62 component. The map increased in complexity as I added sub-codes of “learning/doing culture.” With each addition, I removed the ethnographic codes with the weakest connections. The result of this process of was an idea about what segments to review most closely: those with an ethnographic theme that frequently appeared as co-coded with a conceptual code group. This was a much more sophisticated way to analyze the data than using simple counts of qualitative codes. Moreover, my confidence in my understanding of the data helped to limit the risk of missing an important finding simply because the concept was not frequently present.

After identifying the findings and writing multiple versions of them, including various reorganizations, I completed yet another round of analysis to enhance their validity and to explore multiple ways to group and present the findings. I adapted an approach by Bloomberg and Volpe (2012) for deep analysis and interpretation of qualitative dissertations. For each finding I created a small notecard. I added color-coded text that answered, “What is happening, and why is it happening?” and “How else can this be explained? What assumptions am I making?” (Bloomberg & Volpe, 2012, p. 174). From these cards I created parallel, color-coded charts that included the answers to the questions and analytic categories for the answers. This process resulted in large tables that included a reference to the finding and the analytic idea behind the finding (both the what/why, and the alternate explanations) in color-coded cells. I then re- grouped the analytic ideas to develop more in-depth analysis behind my findings.

The findings included in the body of my dissertation represent a subset of the results of my data collection. I focused the “Findings” chapters on those pieces that explicitly respond to the research questions. However, additional findings are included in Appendix K. These findings provide a fuller description of Creole culture, but fall outside the organizational structure that the research questions support.

Risk and Human Protections for the Pilot and Main Studies

The common tactics for ensuring ethical research and publication for the pilot and the main study include

IRB approval (Pilot study: STUDY00002695—Exempt, No greater than minimal risk; Main study:

STUDY00005091—Exempt, no greater than minimal risk), informed consent (for adults and parents of

63 minors, as applicable) for interviews, observations, and recordings, the use of pseudonyms where appropriate (an exception to this practice is discussed below), and precautions for data protection. When I observed small, centrally organized, group events (in contrast to open community events), I introduced my study and the purpose of the observation and provided attendees the opportunity to ask questions and opt- out of inclusion. (No attendees chose to opt-out of observations.) In the interview process, only one participant declined to be interviewed and recorded. This participant expressed a concern for his job safety related to the recording; I clarified and obtained verbal consent for inclusion in the field notes, rather than extensive verbatim inclusion.

In a surprising exception to the planned use of pseudonyms for all participants, I faced an ethical question unique to this methodology and context. While conducting the main study I prepared a paper and presentation based on the pilot study data. For validation purposes I shared a draft (featuring pseudonyms) with George, my gatekeeper. He did not identify any problems with the findings but raised an important question around participant identity. By using pseudonyms for all participants, George argued, I was erasing their voice and agency from the story, and particularly, those the participants who were vocal advocates for change in the community and proponents of autonomy and Creole culture. The omission of real names from the story was glaring, from George’s perspective. In communication with the Penn State IRB Office, I confirmed that, in this case, re-contacting potentially interested participants and asking if they would prefer to be named or anonymous would be appropriate. I reached out to participants who were known community activists or advocates for Creole culture (public figures), but did not make the same outreach to all participants. This decision was based on the context in which I knew the participants, and whether they were public figures or speaking on behalf of an organization. The participants who were interested in being identified are included without pseudonyms are indicated with asterisks in Table 3-1. The organizations that are included in this study (CSOs, and schools) are listed by pseudonym to help protect the identities of the study participants linked to those organizations.

Throughout the analysis and writing of this work, I re-encountered sensitive situations. As I drew on data for evidence, I chose carefully which ones to include. During data collection I reminded participants of the purpose of my work and my responsibility and efforts to protect them from harm. Drawing on

Madison’s (2005) connection between social work ethical standards and anthropological ethical standards, I reviewed the quotations and findings in this dissertation with the help of a succinct checklist. To avoid

“harm and negative impact,” my job as a researcher is to maintain community involvement and to ensure that my presentations are honest and forthright, avoiding exaggerations or extremes as a tool to catch the reader’s attention or provide evidence for a particular point. Further, I conducted the research drawing on the suggestions to maintain “kindness, friendship, and honesty while anticipating the challenges” (Madison,

2005, p. 138).

Ethical Considerations, Trustworthiness, and the Limitations of the Study

I considered foundational texts in qualitative and ethnographic methods as I planned and reviewed the ethical considerations for this study. Madison’s (2005) consideration of ethics starts conceptually and invokes thinkers such as Rousseau and Plato. Especially helpful for the purpose of this dissertation, however, are references to ethics that relate specifically to ethnography. From Amira de le Garza, for example, four ethics relevant to postcolonial ethnography are set out and detailed: accountability, context, truthfulness, and community. Together they require the researcher to dig deeply into the experience of conducting and writing ethnography, and to do so with a dedication and acknowledgement of one’s responsibility, and finally to see the connections between the study site and participants and the researcher: a community (Madison, 2005, pp. 112–113). In critical ethnography the researcher’s ethics are clear through their frames of understanding, thinking, and analyzing at the outset of research. The ethnography focuses on

“the Other,” and this separation from a larger social group creates a power structure in which the Other is fragile. It is the ethnographer’s responsibility to recognize the reality of this power structure, but also to think of the Other in additive terms, rather than the reductive stereotypes.

In another example, Madison calls on work by Maria Lugones and reviews the concept of code switching as a tactic for the Other (marginalized individuals) to communicate and behave when surrounded by social norms different from their own. Madison refers to this as “world traveling.” World traveling has meaningful relationships to understanding stereotypes, being at ease, playfulness, and arrogant perception/loving perception. Stereotypes may be a source of safety for marginalized individuals, where they act a role in an uncomfortable setting, instead of challenging expectations by being themselves. In the process of world traveling marginalized people can come to feel at ease, even outside of their own world.

With this ease comes tension around the idea of playfulness: when and where someone can feel free to be playful is an indication of their perception of how they fit into the environment.

To be playful in a world means that it is both safe and appropriate for one to take risks, to be foolish and uncertain; to be playful means that one is free to not worry about competence and to abandon competition and self-importance. (Madison, 2005, p. 121) Finally, arrogant perception is a way of viewing the “Other” as objectified and very separate from the ethnographer. Loving perception and “agape,” a kind of welcoming understanding that accepts individuals and Others as they are, is foundational for an ethical critical ethnographer.

Reflexivity and specific ethical considerations.

My individual identity as a researcher was an ongoing consideration for this work. As a White, American, college-educated, unmarried, childless woman doing ethnographic research on Creole youth and community organizations, my place in Bluefields was complex. My race (and phenotype), nationality, and education level were sources of power that cannot be separated from my engagement with the community. Gender was a more complicated component when considering social power. The implications of gender in Creole society converged and departed from the roles that I was accustomed to in the US and other international contexts. As a woman, I often felt vulnerable, threatened, or cautious. My pale skin and blue eyes exacerbated this vulnerability because I had little opportunity to blend into a Bluefields crowd. This vulnerability was not limited to a feeling of impending danger. I stood out and was often the target of newcomers who were curious about “this White girl” at a family party for a Creole child’s birthday, for example. As my relationships in the community were expanded and deepened I felt less like a beacon for all 66 attention when I was in the company of my friends, a group of older Creole women and their kin, whether at parties or in public. I was also able to build trust using aspects of my identity that link me to people on a human level: my love for children and willingness to help care for them, a sense of humor, curiosity, willingness to listen, openness to conversation and debate, and my dedication to the asset-based approach of resilience that I used to explain my presence all engendered trust and helped to embed me in the community.

As a critical ethnography, this work requires continued engagement with the Bluefields Creole community to support social justice and resilience. My relationships and multiple means of contact with the community and individuals support this continued engagement. I anticipate sharing my findings with the

Bluefields Creole community in an ongoing process in which I refine my understandings and grapple with my power and privilege in this context. This process began with sharing my pilot data with George, for example. Further, sharing pilot data with teachers-in-training was an opportunity to expand my sample and gauge the practicality of building local efforts based on my research. By maintaining ties with different levels of the community (activists, CSOs, and families), I am improving the quality of reflection and reflexivity, as well as potential for informing and supporting positive social change.

For approximately two years, through the pilot study, research design, data collection, and analysis of this work, I have grappled with my identity in relation to the Creole Bluefileñxs. My identity lends power and privilege in their community and thus leads to sharp questions about my ability to conduct this analysis and the appropriateness of my doing so. My research and personal philosophies foreground the need for equity and recognize complex intersections of power in the community. Entering the field with the goal of learning (rather than rescuing) was my foremost consideration. I look forward to a time when my findings are challenged by work conducted by Creole Bluefileñxs. My goal with this work was to begin a conversation, recognizing that changing culture and researcher reflexivity mean that I will not provide “the” understanding or any “right answers.”

Reciprocity.

As mentioned above, I invited participants to be interviewed in environments where I could offer them light refreshments. In the cases of the families of Leah and Larriel the reciprocity for opening their home was more complex. I paid rent to the families, and intended to purchase and prepare my own food. In Leah’s home I was treated like family and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner with them on most days. I contributed to grocery shopping when I was out with Leah as she shopped, or bring back treats or staples as I could. For large parties I tried to contribute more, for example, making a large tray of a potato dish that is common at my family’s Christmas celebrations. Later, at Larriel’s I was often offered lunch and dinner, brought to me by Miss Chanara (Larriel’s mother), as Larriel worked. The relationship there was weaker and more formal, however, so whenever possible I cooked my own meals or ate in restaurants. Reciprocity at Larriel’s made itself known in some smaller ways. I worked to engage with her children, ensuring they were safe while I was around, and helped with homework, when I could, for example. During one of the breaks from school for Holy Week, I went with the three children to a public swimming pool while their mother worked. When

I was invited to a party at Leah’s, I took Larriel’s two youngest with me and she joined us later (the families know each other, but had been estranged). In these ways, I worked to share my skills and knowledge, in addition to simply paying rent, while respecting family boundaries.

While in Bluefields I worked and supported some of the youth organizations (e.g. co-leading a choir, or agreeing to facilitate a workshop, offering a presentation to undergraduate psychology students, sharing my research with teachers-in-training). My presence in the Cultural Readiness Elementary classroom became commonplace. Some days as I entered there would be volunteers to interview with me first or students who requested the later slot. My frequent presence in the room, and an early interview with a participant who spoke of longstanding hunger at home, led me to offer the students a concrete acknowledgement for their participation. Rather than offering refreshment with each interview I opted to bring a treat for the entire class on one day. Near the middle of the series of interviews I carried enough homemade juices (kept cold in plastic bags that were tied shut) and cookies to offer the class and the teacher.

These small contributions to the community also supported my research and understanding. The heavier weight of reciprocity, however, remains. I am indebted to the community and to individual participants. At the conclusion of analysis, and with the approval of this dissertation, as I begin to draft and publish academic articles on Bluefields, I will return to the community to share my findings and support

Creole resilience and community resilience.

Data reliability and validity.

Extended time in the field (nearly a year, including pilot study and main study visits) is the foundation of the reliability and validity of this study’s findings. I base the strength of my findings for the pilot study and the main study on the extended experience I gained through living, and embedding, in Bluefields. Further validity for the findings (in Chapters 5 and 6) is based on multiple strategies, outlined below.

I engaged “member checking” (Creswell, 2013, p. 252) on preliminary pilot study findings near the midpoint of main study data collection. This was a two-part process. The first was sharing a draft of a paper presentation that was accepted to the Comparative and International Education Society Annual Meeting of

2017. George, my gatekeeper, reviewed the draft and findings and provided feedback. At this time, I also solicited member-checking support from two other participants who were not able to provide feedback.

Using the same information and findings I presented this work to a group at Cultural Connections to

Learning, including teachers and school leaders. Following the presentation of my perspective and preliminary findings, we engaged in a spirited conversation. Their feedback was largely related to the depth—or rather absence—of their own knowledge regarding Creole culture and history, based on the historical absence of this topic in their training. After my presentation, the education professionals expressed mixed feelings. Most of them were Creole and supported the idea of extending culture more deeply into their schools, based on autonomy rights. However, they did not have in-depth knowledge of local history or

MINED-provided resources to incorporate it into their work. Moreover, these professionals suggested the challenges to sharing Creole culture and history in their classrooms based on institutional pushback and the need for materials. Together, we brainstormed some ideas on creating and sharing materials. This format of

69 member checking was especially helpful because it was not a formal focus group, in which I might drive the conversation. Rather, it was an impromptu discussion led by the participants and their responses to my research.

Throughout analysis I used triangulation (Creswell, 2013, p. 251) to identify shared themes and concepts between data sources including observation field notes, interviews, and focus groups. Loading all data sources into MaxQDA (“MaxQDA,” 2016; “MaxQDA,” 2018) and creating coding structures was key to triangulation. Through the coding process I was also able to identify negative cases (Creswell, 2013, p.

251) to highlight where the themes did not hold, or where the data challenged my expectations.

Triangulation and negative case analysis are important in this single-researcher study where inter-coder reliability was not included in the research design to support the validity of the findings.

Part of ensuring validity for this work relied on my dedication to providing a thorough and honest description of the context and findings. In addition to considering negative cases, I included researcher identity memos in the data set. Researcher comments throughout the process of memoing and creating observation field notes were also part of the bracketing process to identify my personal biases that influenced and changed my understanding of the data. Being clear about these perspectives was foundational in my continued consideration of validity throughout data collection and analysis. Through excerpts, vignettes, and other components of primary data shared in the following chapters, the reader gains a complex view of Bluefields and can thus link the data points to findings. Finally, in memos as well as in the presentation of findings and conclusions of this study I engage “thick, rich description,” to support validity (Creswell, 2013, p. 252). This approach is another that required me to carefully analyze situations in order to describe them and to see them from multiple perspectives. As part of the data in this dissertation my identity, and thick rich description allow the reader and reviewer to consider the validity of my findings.

Limitations.

The limitations in this study reflect the nature of a single-researcher work and the breadth of culture.

Realities that call my research and findings into question stem from design as well as (in)action in the field.

I recognize these two components and acknowledge the potential for errors in analysis. In laying out the limitations I attempt to embrace them as part of the qualitative research process.

The design of this ethnographic study was vague in some ways because data collection and ongoing analysis changed the focus and understandings. Thus, the flexible nature of the design meant that I had freedom and room for error. Without identifying a specific sample or being approved for broad recruitment, there was room for weakness. The sample that I obtained through targeted, snowball, and convenience sampling attempted to mitigate this limitation. It is clear, however, that the sample is weak with regard to some areas. Adult male participants were not part of the targeted sampling approaches and are underrepresented in the study. Also missing from the sample are youth who are actively engaged in high- risk activity. Because I drew from schools and sites of CSO intervention, my sample does not include youth who are not engaging actively in these resilience-fostering activities. This weakness is the result of my targeted participation in certain sites in order to build relationships with participants that would allow for a complex understanding of their lived experiences and perspectives. Some of the focus of recursive data collection turned participants’ attention to these groups of “others” who are outside the already marginalized

Creole population. (Vagos, for example, are people who spend time on the street and are perceived to use drugs and commit theft.) In sharing the perceptions of these “others” I offer insight on social expectations from the community. It remains for future study to understand if and how those who are not engaged in resilience-building contexts view themselves as meeting or missing the mark on these expectations, as well as their perspectives on engagement and exclusion.

My identity is prominent throughout the study; in some instances, identity supported learning and access, in other cases it heightened sensitivities and excluded me. As a single, American, White, college- educated, childless woman in Bluefields I was outside the norm. To mitigate this, I engaged in code- switching in a variety of contexts (Madison, 2005). For example, I adjusted the portions of my personality that I allowed to show through when faced with social situations. Rather than having sharp words for a married man who was flirting with me (as I might in a US context), for example, I turned conversation and

71 attention away from our one-on-one interaction. As an embedded researcher, I became a tangential member of the community. I built relationships as well as conflicts, which were likely present but not perceptible to me. The data included here, then, do not include the conflicts that I did not know or understand. Instead, I use bracketing (Emerson et al., 2011) and reflexivity to understand my role and influence on a variety of situations. Simultaneous connection and distance from being Creole was also related to the use of the language (Kriol). As time passed in Bluefields, I was better able to follow Kriol speakers who did not change their speech to Standard English in my presence. Early data collection, in this regard, must be relatively weak. Despite my improvement in understanding Kriol, I am far from fluent. In later interviews, especially with youth participants, I was able to mimic some Kriol expressions to improve their understanding. In other cases, I switched to Spanish to ensure that my participants and I understood each other well. However, as Spanish is a second language for my participants and myself, distance from meaning is introduced. Through member checking and using multiple data sources I attempt to show a complete picture, but my identity makes it impossible for me to truly understand Creole culture. My best efforts here are a translation with the thoughtful and generous input of my Creole teachers.

The methodology assumes a problem based in power imbalance, while the frame of analysis assumes assets in the weaker group. My analysis sought to identify examples of both, and in doing so may ignore the inverse: Where Creoles have power and where culture is a source of weakness. The negative cases I sought to understand and include are opportunities to challenge this limitation. The difficulty in changing perspectives throughout analysis means that I am likely to have missed examples in data collection as well as in analysis. This potential for incomplete and/or biased data collection is important to consider as a potential limitation. By including multiple sources (sites of observation, interview participants, etc.), I attempt to manage this limitation. The adequacy of the descriptions I have included reflect the degree of success I have had in managing bias and the (in)completeness of my data collection (Emerson et al., 2011).

Conclusion

This dissertation is a critical ethnographic study based on a bounded-case pilot study. The analysis and main study data collection reflect recursive methodologies that I developed as my understanding of the Creole context in Bluefields improved. Extended time in site, multiple sources of data, and attention to sampling improve the validity and reliability of this study. Despite best efforts in design and data collection, the

“researcher as instrument” reality of qualitative work means that my own identity cannot be removed from this work. I engage multiple validity strategies (including member checking and triangulation) to ensure that my identity is bracketed, and base my findings on the perspectives of participants that are emphasized through the inclusion of their voices in the findings. Throughout the pilot study and the main study, I attended to research ethics and took care to protect my participants and respect their wishes. For a few participants, this respect manifested as including their names instead of pseudonyms. As a critical ethnography, this work builds on the perspective that Creole youth experience disadvantage in Bluefields, but my methods of analysis seek to build a foundation for redressing the disadvantage by acknowledging community and cultural assets.

CSOs and Their Work.

Coast Region Youth Services worked throughout the RAAN and RAAS, including in Bluefields. They

offered academic, social, and community support for primary and secondary school students and for

non-traditional students through TVET. Coast Region Youth Services has strong ties to Bluefields

neighborhoods. The organization created teams of community advocates who helped identify

students in need of services and support in education. Those recommended for support were awarded

scholarships, which offered them school supplies, homework support, computer-based activities,

sports, and music lessons with the organization.

Autonomy Advocates Center worked throughout the RAAN and RAAS, including in Bluefields. They

supported policy planning and implementation. They also sponsored youth groups that offered

trainings to be culturally responsive community advocates.

Places to Be Outreach worked only in Bluefields and focused on at-risk youth who were not enrolled in

schools.

Afro-Identity Services Group worked mostly in Bluefields and focused on identity-based advocacy in

multiple social contexts.

Cultural Connections to Learning worked throughout the RAAN and RAAS, including in Bluefields.

Subgroups focused on the needs of Afro-descendants and on traditional health practices.

God’s Work High School served students from 7th -11th grades

Coast People’s High School served students from 7th -11th grade.

Cultural Readiness Elementary served students from Pre-K through 6th grade.

Good Shepard Elementary served students from Pre-K through 6th grade.

Chapter 4, Part 1: A Walk Through Bluefields’ Creole Neighborhoods and Culture

Introduction

The following two chapters result from analysis that focused on the research questions that guided this dissertation. This chapter, “A Walk Through Bluefields’ Creole Neighborhoods and Culture,” responds to the first research question, showing the components of cultural resilience that were salient for Creole youth in Bluefields. A summary table (4-1, p. 76) links my findings and specific components of culture (see Table

2-1, p.21 for components of culture). Following this table, I present ethnographic vignettes to introduce

Bluefields and the barrios (neighborhoods) and homes in which I lived. The chapter proceeds to include the five findings related to the first research question, with additional vignettes to support the ethnographic goal of this work. Finally, the conclusion offers a brief narrative of how the findings link together, before introducing Chapter 6.

As indicated in Table 4-1 (p. 76) familial realities, faith, and collective conventions were salient throughout my pilot study and my main study. (See Appendix H for the complete list of values, attitudes, and beliefs identified in the pilot study.) The first column in lists the groups of cultural components (detailed in Table 2-1, p. 21). The second column in Table 4-1 includes select findings related to the first research question of the main study and to the pilot study. Many of the primary findings from the main study link back to families and their roles. The selection of attitudes and beliefs that are included here, drawn from the pilot study, are part of cultural components considered “Collective conventions.” Although the values and beliefs also relate to the familial and faith-based components of culture, they are not repeated in these portions of the table, for the sake of simplicity. Physical representations of culture were also expressed throughout Bluefields; however, my analysis did not focus on those components of culture.

Table 4-1: Findings According to Cultural Components Cultural Finding component Familial Networks of care and minding can be based on families or realities neighborhoods. (Finding I) Bush medicine links Creole youth to extended family members. (Finding II) Shared spaces between youth and adults link Creole youth to extended family members. (Finding II) Creole youth are linked to extended family through identity-making including language, household roles, and comparative perspectives. (Findings II and III) Creole parenting practices. (Finding IV) Faith, Religious practice links Creole youth to extended family members. religion, (Finding II) mysticism Bush medicine links Creole youth to extended family members. (Finding II) Collective Networks of care and minding extend beyond families to neighborhoods. conventions (Findings I and IX) Bush medicine links Creole youth to extended family members. (Finding II) Household roles link Creole youth to extended family members. (Findings II and III) Kriol links youth to extended family. (Findings II and III) Youth (bad) behavior is a result of parents not fulfilling their role to control their child and teach them to avoid “violence.” (Findings IV and V) Convivencia (living togetherness) is an important feature of the Bluefields community. (Finding IX) Creole youth had limited understandings of history, including components of culture that would support cultural, individual, and community resilience. (Appendix )

Table Key: *Physical representations are removed from this table, as they were not the focus of data collection for the main study Bold text indicates primary findings Regular-case text indicates secondary findings (included in Appendix 10)

Introducing Bluefields: Barrio Central

Bluefields sits on a bay that you glimpse form a handful of points throughout the city. The main streets in

(Barrio) Central (downtown), run perpendicular to the bay. A walk down the central avenue brings you past a variety of shops. Taxis are compact-sized cars with numbers stenciled on them and they vie on most of the 76 streets in Central. Passengers headed to different places throughout the city share them. On foot, you pass open shops with doorways that lead into cramped commercial spaces. There’s no air conditioning in most shops so the heat that you feel on the street barely abates when you enter them. On the cramped sidewalk in the Central it is rare to catch a breeze. Bluefields feels like heat, humidity, sweating, and tiptoeing. It’s walking through the litter, and dipping onto the paving-stone streets where the sidewalk is cracked and a puddle of dirty water takes its place. On the main streets you squeeze past other pedestrians and vendors with their wares spreading over the sidewalk, past groups of young people that collect around the jewelry and pirated DVD vendors. Bluefields is smiling at the women employed by the municipality to sweep litter out of the streets and gutters and carry it away in wooden wheelbarrows.

The miscellanea shops in the Central sell just that: buckets, pens, soap, diapers, rice by the pound, coffee, rat poison, brightly colored plastic piggy-banks and an eclectic collection of things in between. Some of their wares spread out onto the sidewalk. Home fronts sell second-hand clothes with famous brands but faded colors. Particularly nice examples are hung in the window on the wrought iron that’s in front of horizontal glass slats. Other shops meet the more specific and less frequent community needs: watch repair, construction materials, cell phone repair, birthday cakes with bright icing and images that kind of resemble the Disney characters they are representing (without the benefit of copyrights). Restaurants in Central are the fronts or sides of houses, sometimes with names, sometimes known by description (Las Verjas Blancas is delicious and affordable, but you will have trouble finding it unless you know that Las Verjas Blancas means The White Gates). There are only a couple of grocery store options, and you may need to stop at both to get all of the rations on your list, but Bluefileñxs know which has the best prices for each item. You could bypass restaurants and grocery stores and enjoy street food options. In front of one crumbling, roofless building Creole women sell fruits and vegetables. Some shops sell slices of cold watermelon, or cups of cut-up papaya. Busy corners have roving vendors with quesillo (traditional cheese and tortilla wraps with sour cream), sliced mango with a side of salt, or women with furnaces (portable charcoal grills) and pots of frying quesadillas and tacos.

As a researcher, Bluefields meant finding reasons to go to places with good airflow (nicer restaurant- bars with open spaces and lots of electric fans) or air conditioning and quiet (the university library, where all the books are behind the service desk). It meant explaining to people why I would walk between barrios, rather than take a taxi, even though it was sweltering. And when it was too hot to have patience for the cat- calls, or it was raining too hard, or when I was headed somewhere on directions as specific as, “The school is right in front of Mr. Thomas’ house,” it meant taking a taxi. Living in Bluefields required me to constantly remind myself that there is no such thing as “wasting time.” Things happen in their time, and there is always more time, so take it easy. When no one arrives to a scheduled meeting, when choir practice starts 40 minutes late, when I travel across town to a scheduled meeting but my colleague/participant is out of town: all times to take it easy.

For a Creole person, Bluefields feels like home. It is getting your errands done with time for greeting neighbors, family members, and others you know as you run into them on the street. For the budget-minders of the household, living in Bluefields is knowing where to buy rice and who sells the hard, white, salty cheese that your family likes best. Creole people manage the calendars of their friends and family who work out on seven-month contracts on cruise ships, with a knack for remembering when they will return and what to celebrate when they reach home. They can identify extended family members of most people in town and tell you a story about them, a tragedy or an outrage from yesterday or 15 years ago. Bluefileñxs have a sense of the different Creole barrios, and seemingly perfect memories for which one put forth the best dance team or princess candidate at the last community event. A Creole person walking through Bluefields does not need to be reminded to take it easy, but they would not take it so easy as to go out in sloppy or dirty clothes.

Everyone can “look right” with less pressure to be “on time” for anything, since “on time” is a flexible window.

An eye turned toward noticing youth and their Bluefields experiences finds a wide range. In the afternoon, just before lunch, small groups of young people walk the streets on their way home. Teenage girls in pleated school uniforms chat animatedly together or move slowly alone, with their heads bent over a

78 smart phone. The teenage boys move at a quicker pace but mirror the girls’ activities. At all ages, throughout Bluefields, there are young people working to add to support their family. Outside of the bakery in Central a young woman sells thick slices of a cake-like bread that is packaged in small plastic bags. A young boy that is no more than 10 years old wanders the bars in the evening, peering beneath the tables, to check for clients whose shoes need to be shined. At lunch time a frail boy peeks into the windows and doors of restaurants, trying to avoid the staff’s notice, asking diners for leftovers from their plate or for money. In the evening, before dark fully falls, baseball and soccer games sprinkle the streets in the neighborhoods that border the Central but outside of the transit to and from school, youth blend in to the background of the city and adult life.

The sky in Bluefields shifts from bright blue with puffy white to overwhelming gray when the rain starts, and sometimes it stays that way for a week. In the low-lying barrios, in the rain, the brown water flows and rushes above the gutter after a full day of downpours or steady showers. I tiptoe at first, only to accept my fate and walk in the ankle-deep flow on the sidewalks. Crossing the street can be calf-deep. Taxis have their headlights on, and even if one is not too full of customers to stop, getting in can mean a step through the full-flow gutter. The drivers keep towels up front to occasionally wipe condensation from inside the front window. Even in the Caribbean warmth of Bluefields, on rainy days sweatshirts and coats come out. I still wonder, ‘How on earth did anyone here even think to have that winter jacket?’ There are umbrellas and adults rush uniformed primary school students around but not too many adolescents on the street. Creole parents have warned their kids not to “get wet up,” for fear of getting sick. Some parents keep their children home from school for the same reason or if there is lightning. But somewhere in the city, maybe jumping a school fence or on a neighborhood field, there are cliques of kids that do not care.

“Bathing” in the rain is another option when the showers are consistent. Stories of multiple generations playing baseball in downpours, or finding places where the rain falls in a heavy flow off of the corrugated zinc roofs are common. Their commonality runs alongside disturbed exclamations,

“I no play in de rain! How my mama no like me get wet up.”

So, for Creole kids with wary parents, rainy days or weeks mean time in bed and resting or playing with siblings inside. The rainy days really do start to feel cold (even to a New Yorker) when they pile up against one another. It takes nearly a week, most times, for people to get sick of the rain and to turn stir-crazy at home.

Bluefields sounds like the barrio you are in. Each barrio sounds slightly different. Central has music from most commercial storefronts. It is muted by the sounds of voices, speaking mostly Spanish, in different places. It is out-played by the advertising hatchback driving around: its trunk open with a huge speaker blaring out the back. At the highest volume, it can be hard to make out the message you are supposed to hear (a new restaurant is opening, an event coming up in another barrio for all Sandinista and other community members, or the news in Spanish).

A Primary Creole Barrio: Cotton Tree

Cotton Tree, to the south of Central, sounds vibrant. Music flows out of homes and down lanes. From the board-house church, built on stilts, on a corner close to the Central barrio, you hear metallic-sounding electronic keyboards, and look into see young musicians playing to a minimal congregation that claps along anemically. Around the next corner, the street is paved with large concrete slabs or small paving stones. A group of four to ten Black males of different ages congregate there most times. George says that’s the most popular drug-dealing corner in Bluefields. (I have heard other stories about rampant drug sales and abuse but never saw anything, and only smelled marijuana occasionally.) On the way to the infamous corner you pass a home that sells food on the sidewalk. They speak Spanish, indicating a Mestizoization of the traditional Creole barrio, and have their furnace on the sidewalk, waiting for people to buy their fried offerings. A two-year-old boy toddles around near the street but in reach of the adults selling the food.

Turning in front of the drug-dealing corner, there is a group of older men. They are sitting in their usual spot, feet dangling of the porch of a board-house built on stilts. “Good evening,” and other hellos echo around me, and somehow make me feel more uncomfortable than the drug-dealing corner group. The supposed dealers ignore me, as far as I can tell, while I avoid eye contact. Across from the men on the porch

80 are a couple more sitting on the opposite curb. It feels like a gauntlet, but the smell of marijuana is a comfort: my experience tells me that no one who is stoned gets violent or aggressive. The feeling is not unsafe, just uneasy. I draw attention without being friendly, and that makes the interaction unbalanced and strained. It is hard to learn to “take it easy.”

Down this street and the others parallel to it (and perpendicular to the bay), homes with high-fences line the sidewalks. Behind the cement and wrought iron fences and gates are one-story cement houses, painted in bright colors. The large, two-story cement house with heavy wooden doors stands out among the other houses in the barrio. Teenagers roam sidewalks while elementary-aged boys play fútbol (soccer) in the streets and arrange their teams in Kriol. Many of the adults sitting outside in Cotton Tree are Mestizxs, speaking Spanish. Entering the shops or the pharmacy in Cotton Tree, I default to Spanish. The boys in one of my focus groups had been clear about this, “You never see a Black man wit’ a shop, dem’s all

Spaniards.”

The Other Creole Side of Town: Old Bank

Old Bank, to the north of Central, sounds like neighbors playing American vintage country ‘n’ western, reggae, or the occasional new song, especially “Despacito” (Fonsi & Daddy Yankee, 2017). Unlike Cotton

Tree, Old Bank has only one road that is clearly “the main drag,” parallel to Bluefields Bay. Two small side streets run perpendicular to the bay with unpaved lanes connecting them to each other and to the main drag.

Taxis pass with varying frequency, depending on the time of day. When the morning session of school lets out, taxis arrive dropping their student fares at home. Metal gates click open and uniformed kids of all ages head in for lunch. Neighbors stroll past each other’s homes, waving and checking in.

“And how you doin’ gyal [girl]?” A woman heading up to the main drag might say.

“Right here, gyal [girl]. Right here,” the expected response from her neighbor, sitting on a veranda facing the street. With, maybe, an additional note about where the pedestrian is headed or back-and-forth about a common friend, experience, or concern. The neighborhood stray dogs pass by jauntily, looking like they are on a schedule more than the humans who take slow, intentional steps up the hill. The youngest

81 neighbors walk hand-in-hand with grannies, mamas, sisters, or cousins headed to one of the little shops. The shops are shacks or front rooms of houses; they are sometimes occupied, but more often you shout in to the shopkeeper. Customers pick out what they want and hope that the shop has it, lest they have to try the next shop. Packets of “Tree [3]-minute,” instant soups with dehydrated noodles, soda, rice, beans, sugar, coffee packets, frozen chicken or boli (plastic tubes of extra-sweet, flavored ice) are standard fare at these shops.

The houses in Old Bank are mostly made of cement blocks with corrugated zinc roofs. They have wrought iron fences sunk into concrete bases surrounding each home and yard. Here and there are a few remnants of the old style “board houses” that are slightly raised off the ground, with open windows to let in the breeze. On the lanes, smaller houses are wedged in next to each other, still with fences, but much less yard than on the paving-stone streets. Out front of most homes is some space for a covered veranda with chairs. A mixture of plastic lawn chairs and large, cushioned rattan veranda furniture holds the women

(mostly) who sit out to catch some breeze. During the school day, sitting on the veranda, you can watch small groups of young Black men in their late teens through mid-20’s head up the street to hang out on the corner. They are dressed in basketball shorts and undershirts, and have given up on finding shade to pass the time. The young men group together after winding through the lanes of the barrio: the unpaved paths that lead behind and around the biggest, longstanding homes in Old Bank.

Introduction to Leah’s

Leah’s house is bright green and two-stories high. It is on a newly paved street that heads slightly downhill toward the bay in Old Bank, but ends before reaching the water. She has two stories of verandas with wicker furniture on each one. After crossing through the large front gate from the street, a few steps along the cement sidewalk gets you to the second wrought iron gate; behind that is the tiled veranda. If Leah is not sitting there, friends and family enter the veranda to knock on the locked wood and glass door and peer into her living room. (Bill collectors, proselytizing Jehovah’s Witnesses, and others call from behind the gates.)

Inside, a set of dark wooden shelves holds a TV, with wires nearby running to the large speaker for music during parties. The hall (living room) walls are covered with family members’ photos that have been put

82 onto dark-colored wood with heavy lacquer over each image. An oscillating fan flutters the coordinated curtains throughout the hall, and cools the dark, faux leather furniture.

The rest of Leah’s home is similarly neat, organized, and purposeful. There are places where she and her family made concerted efforts to meet material status markers. The second floor (and second floor veranda) is the first signal of status from outside the home. Inside there is the newly constructed bar in the kitchen, with shelves to show off ornaments or bottles, and soon Leah has custom-made bar stools delivered, too (she will let me know that she had worked out with the carpenter to pay as she can, “little, little-like”). Behind the bar is a deep chest freezer, which is turned off unless there is a party when it is filled with ice and beer. Her shiny refrigerator and stove look new and modern, and set me aback when I first visited.

Until recently, Leah’s husband had steady work. He was known to be one of the best mechanics for boats and ships and was sought after in the bay-based community. His work allowed them to build their second floor and buy a diesel truck with the help of their daughter, Alaida, who works on a ship. Now, with less work in Bluefields, the family relies heavily on Alaida’s ship contracts. When he can, Leah’s husband takes on chamba (small, informal jobs for cash income) or travels to work three-month stints with his brother in Arkansas. Leah’s other daughter, Seanna, works intermittently. She was a teacher in Bluefields and once worked on a cruise ship, but her persistent health problems are an impediment to steady employment.

The home has a family feeling to it with Leah at the helm. Her husband is quiet, and the days follow the rhythm that Leah sets. Early in the morning Leah wakes up her granddaughter, Qlaysha, to get her ready for school. The fourth-grader rolls out of bed groggy and is marched into the downstairs bathroom. A bucket with warm water waits for her on a small plastic stool in the shower so that she can clean up without the harsh cold water straight from the showerhead. She dresses herself in her uniform and shoes, with her black plastic glasses resting on her chubby Black cheeks. Breakfast is lukewarm rice with beans mixed in, a little piece of cheese, and maybe an egg for most people in the house; Qlaysha prefers yogurt or juice and a

83 banana. By 7 a.m. the taxi arrives to take “the baby” to school. Leah had set up a contract with a taxista (taxi driver) at the beginning of the year. She pays a fare for him to be on call to come get Qlaysha, and to wait for her after school. As the year wears on, Qlaysha builds up a friendship with him; he is a friendly Creole man and she is a non-stop-talk fourth grader. They have about 30 minutes a day together, and there is no way Qlaysha would be quiet for that long. Going and coming from school are the axes on which the schedule in Leah’s home turns.

When I live with Leah and her family (her husband, their daughter Seanna, and Qlaysha), we get into an easy rhythm. Shortly after my arrival her husband leaves for the US. He has a brother in Arkansas and a visa. For a Creole Bluefileñx, that combination means work, good money, and keeping the family afloat. He goes for about three months at a time, which was most of the time I was at Leah’s. He had thought to stay longer, too, since work was so scarce in Bluefields.

In the afternoons, Seanna tutors small groups of elementary school students on the back veranda.

Although her health often prevents her from having full-time work, Seanna takes on private tutoring students to whom she provides small-group instruction from Leah’s home. The back veranda is mostly enclosed; cement walls come up about four feet, and metal grating extends to the zinc roof. There are roll- down bamboo shades outside to protect the students from the sun that beats into the space. Just beyond there, Leah’s dog is chained to a tree, and pads around a small patch of dirt and roots. With a table wedged between the washing machine and the utility sinks, Seanna guides her clients through Spanish, English, and math, often switching between Kriol and Spanish depending on the students. Qlaysha spends her afternoon watching TV in the front hall, waiting for the students to get done to play a bit before their taxis arrive to take them home.

With three adult women (including myself) and “the baby” at home, things went smoothly. We ate and cleaned up together. After breakfast and getting Qlaysha off to school, Leah and I spent a few minutes on the veranda. This is the best place to get an easy chat, and gossip whether you want to or not. The midmornings involved cleaning or laundry, most days, and thinking through lunch plans before Qlaysha

84 arrived back from school. The rare interruptions to our rhythm sometimes led us to call on male neighbors or acquaintances to resolve what the man of the home otherwise handled (e.g. to work chamba as chauffer using Leah’s family truck for a daylong outing or when bats flew into the home).

The days in Bluefields are exactly 12 hours long. The sun is up, reliably, at 6 a.m. and it is dark by 6 p.m. With this schedule guiding all others, things start early but are not rushed. Leah or Seanna make dinner around 5, usually heating up some white rice and the beans left over from breakfast. Frying marinated chicken, seasoned with culantro (a wild cousin of cilantro) and a flavorful mystery powder (it is yellow with specks and is something like a soup base), on a thick aluminum plate is often a quick go-to dish to serve with rice. The adults eat when they are ready, with a cup of juice. The juice is usually fruit based, although a packet of powdered mix fills in sometimes. Qlaysha eats when she is told, sometimes in her room with the small fan blowing on her as she watches cartoons.

Depending on the season, eating in the kitchen is a workout. The neighbors behind Leah’s home have a large hole in the dirt of their backyard; it fosters hordes of mosquitoes, which sneak into Leah’s house. This can lead to cursing and slapping for anyone in the kitchen who does not have the oscillating fan blowing right on them. In the evening, after dinner, Qlaysha gets another bath. Seanna sits and watches some TV, halfheartedly, more interested in her smartphone. Occasionally the home phone rings, though everyone has a cell phone. If they’re lucky, it is Alaida, Qlaysha’s mother, calling from the cruise ship where she works. She checks in with her daughter and touches base with her parents and sister, making sure that the arrangements they are making for her home construction are going well. She sends money for them through Western Union or through another family member to keep the family afloat, the school fees paid, and to ensure that everyone’s debts and medical needs are up-to-date.

The findings that follow are predominantly based in neighborhood contexts that are similar to Cotton

Tree and Old Bank. They are drawn from youth and adults with families similar to Leah’s. The home and family contexts vary drastically, but the underlying values of these cultural components remain.

Networks of Care and "Minding" (Finding I)

Creole youth came to their cultural identities through their home relationships and behavior, and through the guidance of parents and adult caregivers. Young people were embedded in broader networks and the role of families as "minders," or caretakers, meant complex and deep engagement with multiple family members. In a similar vein, neighborhoods existed as networks of care and minding for adults and youth.

Families.

"Minding," or caretaking, took multiple forms in Bluefields’ Creole community. In the briefest sense,

"Mind!" was a warning against continuing a risky activity such as playing in the street or tipping backward on your chair. Very often more elaborate minding relationships were found among family members and close friends. "She mind [sic] the baby," for example, suggested that the woman fills in for a parent figure of the baby. Through minding ("maintaining" or "sending for"—when it's money), it was clear that the primary unit of care and support among the Creole community was the extended family: stretching back to great-aunts and wide to cousins on both sides.

When parents worked out of the country or away from Bluefields their children were entrusted to another (usually female) family member to mind. The relationship titles often remained the same (e.g.

Auntie, Grannie, etc.) although they could be fluid and include "Mama." The minder took care of parenting responsibilities and managed remissions that the biological parent sent.

L: All of my sisters stay in one house. E: How many? Which ones? L: The oldest one. She in charge of me. ‘Cause my mother gone when we did just getting for walk. [She gone what?] She gone Panamá when we did just getting for walk [She went to Panama when we started learning to walk]. (Lakisha, fifth-grade student)

Lakisha's situation was relatively common. Her mother left when she was a young child, and her oldest sister took care of Lakisha (as well as other sisters). As "minders," aunties, sisters, grannies, and others ironed school clothes, fed children, set rules, and went to school and community events. The return of parents was not always guaranteed in a given period; often the child maintained contact with their parents between visits.

For youth whose parents worked on ships or in neighboring countries, calls to check in often included requests for the basics as well as specialty, imported, and expensive items that could be brought home. Remittances from family members also covered necessities such as school fees. Tenuous family relationships, such as with a former partner whose child is raised in the household, were equally economically important in some cases. Creole youth as young as 11 had clear ideas about how aunts and uncles who "work out" (left Bluefields for work) impacted their family’s finances. With these responsibilities clear, the family reinforced a narrative about the best way to meet minding expectations: go to school and "prepare yourself." Then, if you want to "work out," you could, but the obligations to those at home would persist.

The deep ties among family members and the complexities of minding were organizing life concepts for Creole youth. Tyrone and Bricson (high school boys) discussed their plans to build careers that would allow them to mind their parents as they aged, ensuring their health, well-being, and economic security.

Tyrone: I wan' work doctor. [E: yeah? Here in Bluefields?] Here in Bluefields. When my mother and my father get old, mind them. E: What do you do for them when you "mind" them? T: Send money for them, every month. Send money for them every month and I would make them satisfy with that. Every month. Because dem' can't work no more, we have to mind them… Bricson: [trying to get in] Just how you make work, you know, when they're old and they can't even walk or lift something. Some people like, say they gon' pay somebody else. And they gon' cook for them, clean dey house, and then so. And send the money for them…for them medicine and them thing. (Tyrone, Bricson. High school students)

Bricson added that minding aging parents was necessary because they age out of the labor force. The boys succinctly explained minding expectations and clarified that sometimes they included sending money to hire someone to care for family, including cooking and cleaning.

Many families lived near each other and shared a yard surrounded by family members' houses. This facilitated sharing responsibilities, household items, food, and communication. Larriel's home (my second homestay site, in Cotton Tree) and her sister's home were next to the house where they grew up, which their parents still inhabited. Miss Chanara (Larriel's mother) comfortably walked in and out of Larriel's home, delivering food, looking for ingredients, and returning small items. Though Larriel's sister lived elsewhere,

Larriel and Miss Chanara readily entered her empty house to retrieve what they needed. The proximity of family supported implicit and explicit minding responsibilities. This physical proximity, however, was not required for minding. Those who lived as close as the next neighborhood or as far as the US maintained links to their loved ones in Bluefields through cultural expectations of minding.

Examples of minding people, places, and things within the Creole community were numerous. They indicated that the extended family is a single entity with shared responsibility and shared benefits. With this culture of care, family members and neighbors made sure to sustain and cultivate healthy relationships.

Although disagreements occurred, they were rarely seen as permanent separations. Instead, Creole adults articulated an emphasis on family harmony and cooperation, which extended to their wishes for Creole youth and was part of counseling and parenting that guided future generations.

Neighborhoods.

Minding extended through blood relation to whole neighborhoods creating a sense of caring in Creole barrios. Throughout a barrio, neighbors knew who "had family working" and who was "maintained" by what means. With "family working" it was understood that money was coming in for that household.

Likewise, people were "maintained" through the financial support of a family member or a former partner who retained financial obligations to the family. Some components of minding in the neighborhood hearkened back to an example that Stephen DuBois (a Creole man in his 40s who works in education) offered of community-wide parenting. He detailed a different kind of minding when neighbors could chastise and punish children's behavior if parents were not around; this minding was prevalent during his youth (some 40 years ago). Recently, as neighbors needed errands they called on nearby children to make the trip. Sometimes this included a little money left over to offer the child a snack or beverage which was important for the poorest youth in the community. This kind of relationship had two functions. First, it reinforced the youth-adult hierarchy in which the child was directed by adult action and, second, it supported the barrio as the neighbors were able to find ways to assist those in need.

With minding as a priority for families and neighbors the linkages among Creoles and Creole cultural resilience were strengthened. This cultural component is rooted in social structures that have historically supported community survival, especially in the face of economic challenges. Generations of caring and knowing the state of the community have allowed Creoleness to maintain its value for young people. The following passages link the critical family institution and the expectations of care and minding.

The anecdotes serve as an introduction to the next finding, which is rooted in family as an institution that serves complex purposes.

Seeing the Network of Care

At breakfast Leah asked, “Could you hate your mother, and cuss her?” I was not sure where the conversation was headed. One of Leah’s neighbors saw a girl visiting her mother’s grave, the mother having died six months ago. Leah knew that the girl had not talked to her mother for months at a time. “She didn’t love her mother,” according to Leah. She would fight with her. Now that the woman was dead, though, the wayward daughter was at her grave. And it was sad because the mother “didn’t lie down sick, she just drop[ed] dead.” Leah had sympathy for the daughter who did not have a chance to set things right with her mother. As often happens, a memory or tidbit of gossip set off another memory for Leah, and led into a story with characters that were more familiar to me, and family to Leah.

After breakfast, Leah and I moved outside and she rocked lightly in her chair on the veranda and shook her head. Leah recounted the way her cousin, Mariana, showed little care and attention for her elderly mother (Leah’s Auntie Lola). It was incomprehensible. When Leah’s mother was in the hospital, Mariana did not offer to stay with her aunt. But when Auntie Lola (Mariana’s mother) took ill and was in the hospital, Leah went. Upon reaching the hospital, Leah found Auntie Lola alone in the waiting room because

Mariana had left. A man in the waiting room said that Mariana had spoken harshly to Lola, and he was surprised that they were mother and daughter. Leah set the record straight to the man, “Yes, that’s her daughter. She’s a hog…I don’t know what. She have a hog heart, or a dog maybe.” Leah was sure that

Mariana would be sorry when Auntie Lola was sick, too. Mariana’s inattention to her mother while she was in good health would build regret later.

In contrast to Mariana’s limited attention Lola’s other daughter (Roxanna) and granddaughter

(Talia), who live in the US, see to elderly Lola’s needs by sending money and staying in touch. They “Don’t take no shit,” as Leah sees it. They warn Mariana when they visit and find that their Mamá (Auntie Lola) is not being treated correctly. The warning has teeth, because Roxanna and Talia pay for the house that

Mariana and her son share with Lola. If Lola is not well cared for, the visitors warn, Mariana will need to look for a new place to live.

From Leah’s perspective, Mariana’s behavior has its foundation in parenting. “I told Auntie Lola,

“You made a mistake.” I told her because she brought Mariana up to have a Spaniard man, and she should have brought her to have a Black man. Because now she think she’s more, because her skin color [Leah points gently to her arm]. She think she can be higher and look on everyone else like shit.”

Auntie Lola just laughed told Leah, “Maybe so.”

Leah was convinced that Mariana felt she was better than her darker-skinned sister and cousins. Worse yet,

Leah also suspected that Mariana was embarrassed to be seen in public with Auntie Lola (her mother) because she did not want people seeing her going around with “this Black woman.”

The litany of Mariana’s arrogance continued: Roxanna offered Mariana some property to build a house of her own. Marianna refused because the offer was for an inferior part of the property. Instead of building anything, Mariana lived in the house that Roxanna (and her daughter, Talia) built. Leah had the idea that Mariana, “makes money but for what she wants. She doesn’t cover bills nor medicine for Auntie

Lola. But if her boy want to go to three 15-years’ parties back to back, somehow she has the money.”

Leah’s disdain for Mariana’s crooked priorities and attitude was clear. Leah and her sister have taken to telling Auntie Lola, “Don’t tell me nothing more about Mariana, Auntie Lola. Because then I’m gonna answer, and you not gon’ like it.” As nieces and grandchildren cared for Auntie Lola their memories

90 were strong and went back generations. Because Mariana failed to visit her sick aunt (years ago), and now shows low levels of care and respect for own mother, she carried a poor reputation within her own family.

Extended Families in Practice

I met Barb twice, and only by the second time had I pieced together that she was my friend Bridget’s niece.

The first time we met, Barb was an attendee at a presentation and discussion of my pilot study findings, during which I talked to a group of Creole teachers about funds of knowledge (Moll et al., 1992) and how

Creole culture in the classroom could serve students and fulfill SEAR. Like most of the attendees, Barb was respectful, engaged, but ultimately doubtful that the reality of SEAR would ever come to pass. She did not stand out to me among the group of approximately 15 Creole teachers, most of whom were women.

Later, Bridget would tell me, “You know, my niece Barb asked me about you. Yeah, she said you gave a nice likke [little] talk up there at the class. And she see you in my photos [on Facebook], and tink

[think], “Ain’t dat the likke [little] white gyal [girl] what sometime wit my Auntie Bridget?” We had a good laugh, though I was embarrassed not to have known Barb in that setting. My friendship with Bridget, a single Creole woman in her early 50s, was linked closely to Leah because the two had been friends since childhood.

Later, at an event for Cultural Readiness Elementary, I ran into Barb again. I apologized for not always recognizing her and we began to chat. Barb let me know that I had also met her high-school-aged daughter, Jada, once while waiting to talk to a youth group event. After getting over the tangle of relationships that I did not know I was in, I asked if Barb would be comfortable letting me interview Jada.

She agreed and we quickly exchanged numbers. When the time came to meet up with Jada, I wandered the

Beholdeen barrio looking for Barb’s house. She waved me down, and brought a plastic chair outside for me to wait on the veranda. Jada was inside, but would be out soon. One of Barb’s two young sons peeked out at me from the doorway, but was too shy to talk to me. When Jada came out, I let Barb know that we would probably be about an hour or so. We were headed to a café in barrio Central, and I would bring Jada back in

91 a taxi or by foot, afterwards. Barb was not worried, “Okay, that’s no problem. You’re Auntie Bridget’s friend, so I know it’s okay.”

Extended Families and Tradition (Finding II)

Extended family networks enlarged the circle of caregivers for Creole youth and deepened cultural experiences. Family networks included the closest family members (e.g., in the same household), as well as others throughout Bluefields, and even abroad. Siblings were responsible for full-time caregiving or for ad hoc childcare duties, depending on their age. Elder family members were trusted for their perspective and judgment, just as Barb trusted me because of my relationship to her Aunt Bridget. In some cases, the trust went beyond having faith in one’s perspective and values to parenting. Cousins from different generations, grandparents, or aunts filled in when biological parents pursued work.

We're two boys. Plus, my other cousins that live in front of my house, but their mom is working out [of Bluefields]. And they don't have this motherly love. So, my mom would be their cousin, then since she's an adult, she gives them [motherly love]. They love my mom not as a cousin, but as a mom.

Somos dos niños. Y mas otros primos míos que viven al frente de mi casa, pero su mama esta trabajando afuera [de Bluefields]. Y ellos no tiene este amor de parte materno, entonces mi mama seria primos de ellos, entonces como ella es adulta, ella les da…Ellos los quieren a mi mama no como una prima, sino como una mama. (Bobby Campbell. CSO administrator)

Bobby's case was common: generations remixed themselves to ensure that young children were cared for within families. Such extended families provided more children to play with and additional people to support household responsibilities. While caregivers did not engage in play with young children in Creole homes, they made opportunities available for young people to play with one another.

Rather than playmates, grandparents were caregivers and founts of cultural knowledge. Adult participants in the pilot study and the main study lamented the declining value placed on previous generations. As an axis of cultural identity, Creole respect for elders has changed over time. Although youth participants displayed respect (e.g., towards me during activities at Coast Region Youth Services), adults maintained that the practice of honoring elders was much weaker than it had been in the past. Stephen

DuBois, a leader of God’s Work High School and father of adult children, noted that grandparents were 92 considered objects within a home. Diminishing respect for elders was cited as a comparison between generations, not a value that distinguishes "good kids" from "bad kids" today. In addition to providing goods that parents could not be cajoled into purchasing, grandparents represented cultural diversity within mixed- ethnicity families. Many youths identified as Creole based on their home language, despite having some engagement with indigenous grandparents.

The decline in knowledge about bush medicine mirrored the path that respect for elders has taken within the community. Both were traditions that have come to be associated with previous generations.

Bush medicine included natural cures and approaches to healing that were often preventive in nature.

Gaining this knowledge required respect for elders because it is affiliated with previous generations’ ways of knowing. Although Cultural Connections to Learning’s work to rescue and maintain traditional medicine practices was premised on bush medicine as a rapidly disappearing body of knowledge, my interviews and observations suggested reasons for optimism.

Sometime they got bush medicine for cough, fresh cold [upper respiratory illness], and vomiting. And dem boil it, dem drink it. Dem make it cold, ice a [little] bit, and them drink it. And them feel [a little] better. (Valerie, fifth-grade student)

On her own, Valerie recited a series of ailments for which bush medicine was used, as did other participants of her age. Students in focus groups easily brainstormed about the sources of the cures, identifying plants and some of their health benefits.

Samson: I know a little. E: What do you know, who taught you? S: My grannie. E: Yeah, what she teach you? S: She say any time a get a cut on, or for jump off a bike, I must boil the [. . .] The leaf it got three…it got three, how it name? [E: Like points?] You have to boil it. And then you mash it up. And then you put it on the cut or the…the way you put it on is you tie it up with a cloth. And you leave it right there. It gon' make it get dry up and take out the infection. (Samson, high school student)

Most Creole students in this study could identify at least one bush cure or method of preventive care, as did

Samson and the other high school students in the focus group above. This knowledge was largely home-

93 based and drawn from women in the family. Students who were not able to identify bush remedies on their own were able to name family or community members with this knowledge. This suggested that the network of care for Creole youth extended to include those with bush medicine knowledge and that youth engaged in practices that supported them.

Lakisha's experience offered another example of intergenerational care and a negative case regarding bush medicine knowledge. The slight fifth grader confirmed that her illnesses were treated with pharmacy remedies and that she did not know bush medicine. Though she had some engagement with her grandmother, it was not frequent. Instead, Lakisha's grandmother was a source of refuge. Their oldest sister was raising Lakisha and her siblings. When the caregiving sister struck Lakisha, their grannie's home was a place for the little sister to spend the night until the older sister cooled down. In this example, the grandmother was a source of care beyond the first "parent" identified in her extended network. She served in emergencies but didn't engage in traditional healing for preventive care.

For young (fifth grade) and old (high school) students, there were ties to discrete traditions (such as bush medicine), and the broader culture of extended families as part of the Creole youth experience.

Families as sources of play, wellness, and care were parts of what framed Creole youth experiences in

Bluefields. Engagements with young and old deepened their ties to culture and their ability to replicate it

(their cultural resilience). As in the context of discipline (discussed in Finding IV, p.117), the specifics engagement with extended family members and healing suggest cultural values that are passed through parents and other caretakers in Creole youth experiences.

Religion.

In addition to caregiving and bush medicine, adult extended family members engaged with youth through religious organizations. Creoles drew separations between themselves and family members along sect lines, though identifying different beliefs in each sect was rare. In addition to bringing cousins and siblings together, youth built their identities and friend groups around the church or churches they attended.

Young peoples’ weeks were punctuated by weekend activities with faith-based groups. Most Creole youth participated in “Sunday school” at their church. Some youth even attended more than one Sunday school, alternating different weeks. For teenagers there were also opportunities to attend “Fellowship” sessions that were geared toward their age group. These sessions were typically held on Saturday evenings, and had different content from Sunday schools, which focused on scripture and preaching. In contrast,

Fellowship featured games (often with a religious or moral lesson) or other activities, such as preparation for a regional Bible trivia contest. Parents who chose not to participate in religious services often maintained their children's engagement in the faith by sending them with other family members.

E: And what…does your family belong to a church? Martin: No. My family…we're…a family that with a different religion. My mother goes to a church, and I go to a church. E: And... why do you go to a different church than your mom? M: No. I used to go there—to that church—with my grandmother. My grandmother used to invite me, and I used to go.

E: Y que…su familia pertenece a una iglesia? M: No. Mi familia…somos…una familia que diferente a religión. Mi madre va a una iglesia y yo voy a una iglesia, pues. E: Y…por qué tu vas a otra iglesia que tu mama? M: No. Yo comencé ir allí, a este iglesia con mi abuela. Mi abuela me invitaba que yo iba. Por eso…mi madre [inaudible] en esa iglesia, pues. (Martin, high school student)

Martin's family was an example of the diversity of religious engagements within a family as well as the role that extended family members played in shaping youths’ lives. Attending church with his grandmother became a standard practice. As a teenager, Martin continued his affiliation with that church, rather than the congregation his mother attended. The extension of traditions (religion, bush medicine, and respect for elders) with relatives outside the nuclear family served as a foundation of Creole culture for youth.

Moreover, it extended the relationships that some institutions had with the community. Thus, cultural values were reinforced in multiple contexts, including home and church.

As the first two findings (networks of care and minding and extended family relationships supporting traditions) offered a broad view of resilient cultural components, the following finding zooms in on the specifics of various sites of cultural expression. In a family and barrio that minds its’ members the

95 methods of signaling belonging are complex. Youth build their connections to extended family and religious tradition through identity development, detailed in the following section.

Building Identity in multiple contexts (Finding III)

This portion of “Findings” discusses salient identity-making realities at home and with family. Language use, household roles, family ties, comparative perspectives, and shared spaces for youth and adults shaped the Creole youth process of identity building. These were contexts of meaning making that supported the foundations of Creole culture for young people. By engaging in and understanding these, they could emphasize their belonging to barrios and their extended families. From the previous findings’ explanations of who cares for Creole Bluefileñxs, this finding explores how that care guides who young people become.

Language use.

Speaking Kriol at home was a frequent detail for youth participants citing their ethnic identity. For many youth participants, exposure to Spanish came with formal institutions, notably schools, at an early age.

Using Spanish in schools was a challenge for participants. In instances where students had Creole instructors, they communicated in Kriol, even as the official language of instruction and curricula were

Spanish (and before this was a right under SEAR). Despite the prevalence of Spanish at school, Kriol remained important in homes and bilingualism was a priority for Creole parents. Leah, for example, prided herself on her bilingualism. Noting that her daughters also spoke fluent Spanish, she added that her own

Spanish was "more fine," than that of her daughters. Leah chose to speak Kriol to her daughters at home, knowing that they would develop Spanish fluency at school. In the next generation, Qlaysha's (Leah's granddaughter) reading skills in Spanish were a source of pride for family and friends. Her engagement with a CSO that supported reading and her selection to compete in a reading competition in Managua were evidence of her academic skill and a reflection that Spanish, in particular, was valuable.

Although proud of the Creole community’s bilingualism, parents and homes were charged with training young Creole people to understand their ethnicity separate from Spanish and Mestizx culture.

Iris [a coordinator at Autonomy Advocates Center's youth training program] opened up about ethnicity. [. . .] All of her sisters only speak to their kids in Spanish, and the youngest sister doesn't 96

speak or understand Kriol at all. Iris can't understand why her older sister (with the Creole husband) doesn't speak to [her children] in English or Kriol. That sister speaks it and so does Iris, since she worked in a call center in Managua. Growing up, their mother had gone to RAAN to become a professional and study at the Normal [teacher training school]. In that time, Iris lived with her Creole grandma in Managua. They sent her to school where everyone spoke Spanish and Iris got held back because she didn't. Eventually, she learned it, and when she was about eight, she moved back to Bluefields. They grew up in a Mestizx neighborhood, and so she was accustomed to speaking Spanish. [. . .] Iris put some of the pieces together. ‘People aren't passing it down to their kids. They aren't passing down the language, and they aren't passing down the traditions, either. It's getting lost.' She told me all of this but continued the conversation in Spanish. [Italicized passages indicate the use of excerpts from field notes.]

Despite the encroachment of Spanish in public spaces and the decreasing intergenerational transmission that

Iris saw in her family, developing Kriol and bridging it to Standard English was an important skill in

Bluefields (likely related to the economic value of Standard English). Jada's mother provided her with a dictionary to improve her facility with Standard English (Jada is in high school). And Lamont (a fifth-grade student) received English classes outside of school. Community leaders also emphasized the value of learning English. Reginal did so by questioning the US Embassy's support for Kriol and suggested that this was an attempt to further marginalize Afro-descendants. Reginal rooted his understanding in decades of public service including elected positions on the Atlantic Coast. Bobby Campbell, a coordinator at

Autonomy Advocates Center, also questioned organizations with international affiliations that attempted to market to Creole people using Kriol spelling on billboards. Although he told me the story in Spanish (rather than Kriol), he was insulted by the concept of outsiders writing this oral language. Rather than supporting inclusion, this public display prompted feelings of resentment and disconnection.

Throughout my fieldwork, across diverse participants, language was identified as a primary component of Creole culture. It represented resilience as youth participants spoke it with me: an adaptation that rejected the challenges and dominance of Spanish. But it was a fraught, ongoing cultural struggle as the practicality and necessity of Spanish prevailed in public spaces. Still, language was an important signal of belonging as Creoles—young and old—attentively policed when, where, and by whom Kriol was used, thus protecting the language’s status as a cultural component.

Household roles. 97

While traditional gender roles prevailed in Creole homes in Bluefields, economic vulnerability and cultural expectations also shaped roles and schedules for members of each household. Leah (married, living with her husband, daughter, and granddaughter) and Larriel (widowed, living with her three children), while I lived with them, regularly awoke before the rest of the family to get children off to school and to prepare breakfast and coffee for the family. While youth reported being responsible for washing their dishes and sometimes their clothing, it was mothers and other women at home who were primarily responsible for food preparation and cleaning. Youth assumed that adults organized their days around keeping the house clean and preparing food for the family. When youth engagement in cleanliness routines it prepared them to carry these values into adulthood.

The weak formal economy in Bluefields pushed many community members to work chamba, informal task-oriented jobs for others. These, too, followed traditional gender roles with women attending to matters of the home and childcare, while men were engaged for labor such as maintaining the yard or helping on construction projects.

Absent a male head of household, women engaged in wage-earning labor where possible in addition to traditional home-based labor (child rearing, cooking, cleaning). Small stores in each neighborhood were attached to homes, with women attending to customers who bought beverages, coffee, and food staples.

Larriel, the widow with whom I lived, had a business supported by her nearby parents. This support also aligned with gendered expectations. Her mother prepared homemade food and drinks for sale, while her father rose early to accept the bread deliveries and sat in the shop to sell when needed. Her father also took over transporting the youngest child to school in his car, rather than staying and selling in the store. In a notable exception to this tendency, Reginal, a community advocate, proudly proclaimed himself "chef and maid." He indicated that he had these titles rather than paying a woman to do the work in his home, as his wife had requested. Reginal's emphasis on his own household responsibilities is a contrast to the traditional way in which most Creole homes are run. Although traditional gender roles were prevalent in Creole

98 society, breaking them to earn income was widely accepted. The priorities of maintaining an income, a neat home, and "mannerly" children took precedence over "women's work" or "men's work" ideals.

Male and female heads of Creole households wielded firm control under their roofs. Shaleesia's mother and extended family regulated who entered their homes. Limiting visitors may have been a way to manage the interactions of the children in the house with people whose values were unknown or questionable. That was the case for Leah when she managed her daughters' suitors by not allowing one boy, who was pursuing Seanna, into her home. Even in times of celebration and generosity, control over guests and their behavior was paramount. Larriel, for example, dropped her tradition of selling beer for the May festivals when she no longer had her husband to help maintain control.

The man who usually helps [Larriel] get the liquor license (a distributor who she and her husband worked with for years) called her to see if she was going to sell [beer and rum for the Tulululu event], and she turned him down. Her cousins asked if she'd set up the tents again, and she turned them down, too. She would make some extra tacos and sell those, and that's it. She could go and enjoy Tulululu herself this year. [. . .] Selling now, herself, without a man? No. That's not okay or safe. Yes, she could ask her son for help, but that's her child, and she can't put him in danger [being around drunk revelers]. But when you're selling rum, you need to have a man around in case things get out of hand.

For Larriel, the sense of control that she lost when she sold alcohol at community events was too much. Her approach to maintaining control over her home and business, as a woman, meant that she had to forego some opportunities. At Leah's,

Shortly after a guest complained about the country music, the music was shut off, and the food was unceremoniously cleaned up from in front of the guests (many of whom were not formally invited). Before long, everyone except family and myself had exited. They thanked the hosts for the generosity and wished that the party had continued.

Just as Larriel avoided danger from customers, Leah and her husband avoided further lapses in etiquette after their music was questioned by less-than-grateful, uninvited guests. When only family members remained, the light conversation maintained an undercurrent of control and identity making at Leah's. The family member who was born outside of marriage was treated to a lesser welcome, for example. When she noted the difference in treatment, her presumptuousness that bordered on impolite was served with warning

99 looks from her father and uncle. As Leah recounted the stories of the evening, she emphasized the control that she and her husband had exercised. First, they found a certain way to end the party by turning off the music. Then, although the family was allowed to stay, Leah and her husband made clear where each of them stood.

Just as Leah and her husband implemented a ranking, of sorts, concerning a child born outside of marriage, family was revered but kept in perspective. Part of this perspective was that each family member had responsibilities to fulfill.

E: What are some of the rules in your house? S: Don't go out every time. At night, then, you should be home. You have to clean the dishes such and such a day. You have to clean the house. And…you got the hours to go to your bed. I's a woman, but I stay with my mom so I have to carry her rules. [S chuckles] And what else? Ehm…um, who have the authorization is my mother. And we respect each other, sometime we carry it off [falter], but well she just remember it to [reminds] us. [Both laugh] Ehm, no violence [nor] watching movies that is not appropriate to see at…because my mom consider it, a like…that's not right for you, watching dem things on. [. . .] And love, love each other. (Shaleesia, CSO group participant)

Although Shaleesia was a woman (in her early 20's, with a son of her own) she was also expected to know her place as subordinate to her mother. Shaleesia and others underscored the need to respect and honor family. At times, even this core value had a limit.

E: How long has your uncle lived with you? J: Him stay there because him no got [inaudible] house. And him can't go nowhere. If dem run him, him can't go nowhere. Yeah, so him stay there. (Jamal, fifth-grade student).

Jamal knew that his uncle (in his early 20s) was welcome but that the situation required respect. "If dem run him," if Jamal's mother kicked him out of the home, the young uncle would have no other options. Many adults had the perspective that family ties were paramount; those who fight with or fail to support their siblings adequately are showered with criticism (as discussed in “Seeing the Network of Care,” p.89).

The importance of family as a unit of economic survival (discussed in detail in "Networks of Care and Minding") meant that developing a culturally-aligned identity relied on families for guidance. Identity making included establishing household and family roles, setting clear boundaries, control, and respecting the child-parent hierarchy. Within these structured family contexts, the Kriol language also signaled belonging to the group. 100

Family ties.

Family ties in the community also held social capital that supported community resilience. Proficiency with

Kriol and etiquette were clear representations of embodied social capital. Beyond those ways of knowing, however, extended family ties were social capital beyond the family home.

Creole family ties were extended and strong as relatives interacted in varied contexts for multiple purposes. Youth may have lived with or near cousins and shared a school with them. These regular, strong connections were components of culture and of identity-building that supported cultural resilience. For example, Omar considered himself and his brothers well known in their neighborhood because they were a family of five boys who were often together. In a community as small as Bluefields, and even the surrounding area, Yomira's family was well-known thanks to the work of multiple generations.

E: Who is the person in your family that sort of…worked hard to get that [good] reputation? Y: It start more from my grampa. He well-known in a few communities, and it keep on with my mom. She's a nice person. She's a person that fights [for] the rights of everyone. Even though she's not in an organization, if you have any issue and she knows about it, she will fight with you. And people know her—well-known. She's confiable [trustworthy]. And she's respectable. (Yomira, a university student and community advocate)

As Yomira suggested, personal characteristics reflected on entire families in Creole communities. Both

Yomira and Omar discussed their families with pride. The positive implications of belonging to those groups included feeling welcomed and secure throughout the community.

Family connections were also used for negotiating perspectives and controlling behavior. Larriel only made available specific baby items for her cousin's child, rather than giving her cousin money that might be spent on alcohol. Leah regulated conversations with her sisters to avoid arguments at holiday celebrations. Through avoiding hot-button issues she upheld the Creole value of family harmony and employed subtle techniques to control behavior by limiting the room for arguments. When Bobby

Campbell's family questioned his advocacy for LGBTQI individuals, he turned the conversation to a personal direction, suggesting that their rejection of this group would not extend to their own family. In this he attempted to bridge his activist identity with belonging to his family. Despite deep and complicated

101 connections among family members, there were indications that Creole Bluefileñxs moderated levels of interactions with their families.

Family and faith, both important cultural institutions, had complex interactions. Creole women in the sample chose different churches or approaches to religion from their mothers. Although faith was an influential part of their lives, they made critical distinctions between how their mothers worshipped and their own practice. In one case, a third generation made yet another distinction by deciding not to donate to the Sunday school, as is customary, based on the actions of the preacher. Surprisingly, interview and observational data did not highlight these differences between generations as problematic. Identity based on family ties, even personal religion in comparison to family religion, was common practice among Creole youth.

Creole families extended deep to include multiple generations and wide to include members beyond cousins. These connections were further bolstered by the geography of Bluefields where cousins and siblings were likely to attend schools together or participate in the same CSO programs. In these contexts, the youngest generation engaged in peer networks in multiple locations where the culture was constantly adapted. They also built complex stores of social capital through the networks and activities that helped them understand who they were. As members of households, churches, and extended families youth had inter- and intra-generational relationships that helped them to navigate community, culture, and growing up.

In the following section, I discuss where youth and adults engage together and thus share and change the culture.

Shared spaces and youth as a process.

Within Bluefields, there were many spaces where youth and adults shared experiences that developed or maintained culture. In the case of religious practice, youth had their own Sunday school but also participated in intergenerational worship services. Young Creoles participated in parades and attended them with parents to watch friends and family members pass by. Their participation in the parade indicated their role in representing their school communities. As spectators of the parade, alongside parents and other adults,

102 young people’s roles as Bluefields citizens were clear. Because the parades drew multiple generations of spectators and participants from every level of education it was clear that the spaces of participants and spectators were shared between adults and youth. Young people learned the cultural value of faith and public civic celebrations through participation and attendance alongside adults. Notably, the Creole community shared celebrations and mourning. Creole youth also participated in funeral processions mirroring adult behavior and the traditional black-and-white dress of Creole funerals. These somber processions echoed the cultural lessons of celebratory parades. In addition to special events, day-to-day activities, such as cleaning or resting on the veranda and chatting, were also shared between adults and youth. The variety of youth-adult spaces suggested that young people had deep connections to culture in multiple contexts.

In addition to having shared spaces, Creole youth were portrayed as adults in training. These trainings included foci on actions and on public, physical presentation. Creole youth took part in household chores from an early age and ran errands for neighbors. Participating in household tasks (e.g., cleaning, maintaining the yard) prepared young people for the household roles they would hold as adults. For example, in addition to working around the home, as part of her responsibilities, Jada took on additional adult roles and received praise and recognition for them. She helped to keep her house clean and even cleaned other family members’ homes and addition to taking care of her brothers. Supporting neighbors through paid favors (e.g., running errands) mirrored the informal labor practices, chamba, that sustained some community members through economic challenges. Physical representations of preparation for adult roles included a focus on dress and public presentation. For example, all students wore uniforms much like adult employees in some fields. In public spheres, young girls were groomed for future roles representing

Creole heritage. The "Miss Mayita" cultural competition was a pint-sized version of the "Miss Mayoya" beauty pageant that included displays of cultural knowledge about May celebrations. These experiences required youth to engage at the nexus of "adult" culture and Creole culture, deepening their understanding of the expectations of each.

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CSOs drew on youth throughout Bluefields to form advisory boards to manage youth programming, further evidence of the "adults-in-training" concept that is prevalent throughout the community. Autonomy

Advocates Center trained older youth (approximately 16-25 years old) in youth development content and skills. The training encouraged them to understand and reach out to their community. "Train-the-trainer" sessions emphasized that the original cohort of “promoters” would be responsible for planning future youth trainings and participating in organizational bureaucracies. Although orienting the promoters to adult and bureaucratic expectations, Autonomy Advocates Center engaged with youth in generationally appropriate ways. The organization held team-based volunteer projects and trips, for example, to bring the promoters together. Training leaders also used WhatsApp (a messaging service for smart phones) and text messages to remind promoters of meetings and other events that allowed for social engagement and bonding in an informal setting. (Further discussion of CSO’s practices and community roles is included in Chapter 4, Part

2).

Creole youth regularly fulfilled adults' expectations for their behavior. When Coast Region Youth

Services arranged a photo-shoot to create promotional materials for an upcoming event, approximately two- thirds of the youth participants were not included in the photo. Those included were given brightly colored t-shirts and hats to wear as they posed with musical instruments. Meanwhile, the students who were not included were not in with direct supervision or an alternative activity. Rather than being disruptive or distracting, the students in each group stuck to the expectations of the Coast Region Youth Services staff and the visiting photographer. In many cases, at Coast Region Youth Services, when youth were chastised they received their punishment with understanding, leaving when they were asked to do so. This seemed in contrast to some adult narratives about disrespectful youth and decreasing reverence for elders. Similarly, at

Places to Be Outreach, when a coordinator was sitting with a young person in a semi-private space that was used for counseling, the rule remained unspoken that privacy was of the utmost importance. Isabelle, the counselor at Places to Be Outreach, made clear that students who saw her in that space afforded their peers time and privacy to do the important work of talking to a trustworthy adult. In each of these cases, the young

104 people who engaged with the CSO showed the degree to which they understood the purpose and value of the organization and its work. By following the rules, they consistently demonstrated respect for staff and other young people, as a public extension of a component of Creole culture that was thought to be declining.

Despite the strong tendencies to "behave,” indicated above, and the importance of respecting elders in Creole culture, youth still possessed strong senses of agency. Creole youth, especially those engaged with

CSOs, were vocal about their preferences and advocacy focus. Multiple participants recounted stories of problems with their teachers. They carried their concerns to school leadership and subsequently had the issues resolved. Stephen, a school leader, lauded the engagement of the student government within his school. The group identified areas of need (e.g., bullying) and set about seeking support to resolve them.

Although this case is not Creole specific, there were many examples of Creole students engaging actively in classrooms to serve the broader group even when it required questioning authority. By speaking up to teachers, school leaders, or other students, they exercised their agency and made clear their priorities. Gisela and others, for example, actively supported their classmates who struggled with Spanish as the language of instruction. CSOs intentionally engaged youth and left room for these active roles in determining the direction of the organization. In some cases, as with Afro-identity Services Group, this led to conflict when religious imperatives clashed with the human-rights goals of the organization. In the process of engaging with dissent, the group was able to understand better their goals and each member had an opportunity to express herself fully and to find a fit among peers. These experiences suggested cultural support for vocal youth advocates, including within shared youth-adult spaces.

For Creole youth, home and family environments were supportive spheres for components of cultural resilience. Their position in their household, use of Kriol, and links to family throughout the community offered support for cultural resilience. Likewise, as young people engaged with organizations and mixed-generation groups, they committed their voices for change in a tradition that follows in the footsteps of local efforts for autonomy. In the following section, I review how youth understood themselves, relative to others, in order to support identity-making with ties to culture.

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Comparative perspectives and exclusion.

In homes and neighborhoods with extended family, Creole youth come to understand themselves in relation to a variety of others: siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, and neighbors. Identifying who was considered outside the mainstream revealed values and behavioral expectations for family and community members.

The values and priorities suggest points of cultural resilience. Where components of culture persist among youth in spite of challenges and homogenizing cultural forces.

Creole adults emphasized their identities by focusing on their positive characteristics or values.

Being thoughtful, resourceful, and honest were critical personal identifiers. Adults identified youth behavior that fell outside of appropriate norms and passed these expectations down to young people. Andrew’s family, for example, helped him understand his cousin’s behavior lapses as linked to sources outside of his upbringing: new friends and drugs.

My cousin, he was a good boy. But when he start goin’ ‘bout with [bad boy], they pack him mind. So, he start drink, he start smoke rock, drink rum. [. . .] The rum gone up in him, he get, like, possessed. (Andrew, fifth-grade student)

In this example, Andrew distinguished between before and after his cousin got involved with bad boys. As the cousin developed friendships with people who would “pack” his mind with bad ideas, he turned him from the “good boy” he was into a new version of himself. This new person, by comparison, struck Andrew as “possessed,” a strong image for a fifth grader. Andrew separated himself from his cousin and repeated what he had heard adults say about the troubled boy. Andrew also distanced himself from his own negative behavior when he discussed a time when his grades dropped. The time when his grades were low was shared in contrast to his present situation, where he sought support from Coast Region Youth Services through a program for “boys like [him],” to promote academic achievement. The use of contrasting examples from others’ or one’s own life was a regular pattern that identified expectations for youth.

In addition to referring to specific examples, Creole youth and adults referenced broad groups to draw distinctions between acceptable and unacceptable behavior. Vagos were individuals associated with spending time on the street and engaging with drugs and crime rather than legitimate work. As she discussed 106 where her granddaughter was allowed to play, Leah referred to this group of people within Bluefields and turned their group identifier into a verb. “But she no going to vago about the place, and I don’t know where she [is]. Like how some children go all about and their parents don’t know where dem [are].” (Leah). In this example, Leah separated her granddaughter from vagos and also separated herself from other caretakers who did not pay careful attention to where their charges played. Leah and Andrew highlighted the values within their families by separating their lifestyles from those that were less desirable. For Andrew’s family maintaining sobriety and good grades were important markers of social acceptance, while for Leah it was crucial to remain vigilant for children to ensure they were not becoming like vagos.

Determining social acceptance was also based on characteristics outside of behavior. While

“possessed” cousins and vagos chose their behavior, some social identifiers did not allow for individual agency. By creating “others,” with traits that are negatively perceived by the community, Creole participants identified their personal positions. They implied meaningful differences that set their actions and values above those of the “othered” community members.

Exclusion by physical attribute or culture.

The community monitored the insider/outsider social status of Creoles. This phenomenon contributed to shaping how individuals understood themselves and their role(s). There were distinctions made by ascribed characteristics, such as dress, which extended to Creole and Mestizx youth equally. Physical ideals were also used to create insider/outsider groups. Offhand comments, direct recommendations, and mass media worked to perpetuate presentation standards for Creole youth. These socially ascribed preferences and beauty standards created “others,” based on dominant and non-dominant cultural values. The otherness created via Creole standards provided Creole youth guidelines (for belonging to their culture) and social control. The non-Creole othering, and preference for Mestizx, Spaniard, or “European” physical attributes excluded some Creole youth from the mainstream. And the overlap between Creole and non-Creole othering created a cultural paradox that was difficult to navigate, even to the extent that physical attributes are changeable.

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In Bluefields, phenotype was a component in status and contributed to discrimination and bullying.

In many cases, dark-skinned people were seen as less attractive. In past generations, parents suggested their children “lift up their color,” and marry someone who was lighter-skinned, in hopes that the next generation would also be light-skinned. Some parents continued to limit young people’s love lives to those who were lighter-skinned. Michelle related the impact that the socialized preference for lighter skin had on her childhood when cousins bullied her because of her dark skin and her weight. Bias also extended to the other end of the phenotype spectrum. Leah, for example, noted that her light-skinned cousin, Mariana, developed a bad attitude because she felt superior to her darker-skinned relatives.

Participants in the pilot study suggested that in secondary school and university students who originated from “the communities,” or rural areas, were victimized. In many cases, this was the result of their deep experiences with indigenous languages (Kriol or Miskitu) and weak skills of expression in

Spanish. (This source of discrimination and bullying was suggested, though I did not observe it directly.) In this context, it was important for many Creole participants to be able to “defend” themselves in Spanish.

Although Creole participants struggled with the language in early grades, they exhibited pride in their linguistic development. This pride emphasized the power that the Spanish language and Mestizx culture had over the region. These types of discrimination have deep roots in complex power structures that marginalize non-Mestizx cultures.

In a community where network connections were helpful social capital, to be othered in any way created marginalization. The strength of othering had potential to shape self-perception and changed how individuals were affiliated with groups. Together, the sense of self and the position in the community were necessary for building cultural identity and resilience. That language functioned as a method of inclusion

(see above) and was specifically highlighted as a tool for exclusion is an important indicator of its complexity as a component of culture.

Avoiding politics after feeling excluded.

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A related pattern of acceptance and alienation extended to the political realm in Bluefields. Although youth chose to participate in CSO programs including youth leadership boards, most avoided voting, the traditional exercise of citizenship. Adults often abstained from elections and political conversations because politicians did not meet their expectations. Their expectations were explicit: when Leah, the mother of two adult children, called politicians to help her daughter find a job, and they failed, she lost faith in the system.

Marco, a Kriol-speaking Mestizo man, did not vote for a long period of time because he fought in the war for the Sandinistas but they had not provided him with anything since then. When politics disappointed,

Bluefileñxs abstained and questioned political operations as a whole.

Maria Jones and Teresa Rodriguez (coordinators of CSO programs) noted that Afro-descendant youth were among those reluctant to seek services and benefits from CSOs. Both women suggested that

Creole youth believed that systemic racism or marginalization meant they would have little potential to take advantage of the opportunity. Youth chose not to apply for opportunities that they felt would ultimately reject them for Mestizx candidates. In Nicaragua’s fraught political climate, many young Creole people (and adults) were adamant abstainers from politics and this sometimes extended to CSOs. These patterns of reluctance perpetuated marginalization. This suggests that self-perception, in relation to large bureaucracies or systems, is established in the earliest of experiences that can foster extended marginalization.

Responses to exclusion.

Throughout the Creole community, it was common for teasing or criticism to be accepted before offering a mitigating response. Youth and adults countered criticism with explanations or redeeming features.

Steven [a leader of a Coast Region Youth Services choir] lost multiple games of tic-tac-toe. Though the kids outmatched him, he maintained his dignity. He announced, “I’m not gonna win…but you’re not gonna win, either.” After a series of tied games, Steven’s tic-tac-toe partner left. When a new student approached to play with him, he changed tactics. Rather than taking on more losing games, Steven chose a game that he knew well and the challenger lost for multiple rounds. He beat the next few challengers.

Steven accepted his losing multiple games to younger players, but at the chance to turn the public perception in his favor, he chose a game that gave him an advantage. He accepted teasing about losing but positioned it

109 as “not winning” for either party when he tied the games. As I often saw, Steven turned the attention to his success when he got the chance.

As Steven and others engaged with the community, they drew on a common tactic to re-present their position. When there was a chance to be othered, Creole youth and adults drew on cultural and social assets to maintain a sense of belonging to the community, one that was more aligned with their sense of self.

Economics was an important arena for such actions. Adults actively engaged social networks to find employment or receive economic support through remissions and chamba. Early on, youth learned about and planned how they would later do the same, rather than be excluded or fail to fulfill their social roles.

This was a functional engagement of the identity-via-comparison feature. Rather than othering those who failed to meet social standards, it argued self-inclusion by a different cultural measure.

The following narrative sections draw on the previous cultural components and highlight them in action. The presentation of values and norms include a focus on the role of parents, in particular. TO build on the broad cultural context, the specific cultural components (the previous findings), and the ways they interact, Finding IV offers an operationalization of how parents foster culturally-aligned development through discipline and control.

Belief Kill and it Cures: Wellness Within and Between Generations

Leah’s mother, Cecilia, went to the top of a hill that is now a university surrounded by overgrown bush.

Back then, this space was far removed from the center of Bluefields, and did not have paved access. But the area was not vacant; there was a man there who knew a lot about natural healing, and Cecilia made the trip to look for his advice and care. “People called him a devil man because he was a little Black man,” Leah explained, holding her hand at about the height of her head as she sits in the rocking chair on the veranda.

The conversation started as we discussed Leah’s arm pain and hand numbness. Cecilia (Leah’s mother) drank three gallons of something that the little man gave her and it cured her arms from the pain that seemed to be what Leah now experienced. Before this cure, Leah would have to rub Cecilia’s arms until she slept and wait until the pain woke her again.

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Once, Cecilia took Auntie Lola to the remote area, but Auntie Lola would not let the man “look on or tell” her anything. Leah laughed to think how Auntie Lola was scared of this man, while her sister Cecilia regularly drank his product and enjoyed the benefits. Cecilia and Leah did not think anything bad about him.

People were scared, though, “Because sometimes he could tell you things that would happen. But that didn’t mean there was anything wrong with him. He was just someone that was always connected with the bush, so sometimes him know things.” Leah chuckled at Auntie Lola’s apprehension, but understood it.

Alaida, the third generation in this family, is less committed or against bush medicine. She also talks explicitly, without sounding convinced, about “obeyah,” a traditional belief that a handful of Creole

Bluefileñxs call “voodoo.” It is most often connected to demonic possession of individuals, and curses that are inflicted to cause harm or unhappiness to another person. Obeyah also extends to protective practices, however, including planting a certain kind of tree in the yard to protect the home from those who would use the practice to do harm.

E: This is my last question. What do you know about bush medicine and obeyah…

A: Obeyah? [Obeyah, yeah.] Or the bush medicine. One…they have a saying here, belief kill and it cures. So, it all depends. If you think you being harmed by obeyah or whatever, you gonna believe that. Even though you’re not being harmed it, but it’s just a mental thing that you believe. Somebody harm you. So, it’s truth you have bad people in the world. And they do they nasty stuff, but it’s all about you believin’ if they harm you or not.

And the bush medicine helps…helps a lot. Helps a lot. Because you have these old people that didn’t know about—didn’t know much more about medicine—so many medicine that [inaudible] for a cold or a headache or whatever. They know what bush in that moment they had to boil up and use for a headache, if they had a headache. And that was it. That’s why I guess they live longer. Not like us that we’re dying out right now. So, I guess that is what happen they live a long life. But then when you look in the…when you look at the, also, when you sit down and you realize and you say in other country, those…those old people say, ‘Okay, let’s go to America.’ Let’s say America. They don’t know—they don’t use no bush medicine or nothing. And some of them live long. So, you don’t understand how the thing go.

We have too many beliefs in Bluefields. So, I tell you the belief kill and it cures. So, we believe too many stuff also.

E: How did you learn about bush medicine?

A: Bush medicine…from my grandparents, dem. My grandma used to use…do whatever for headache. You have a headache, she just boil a bush and how they do. And you drink that. ‘Cause in that time they didn’t have any money, anyway, to buy any tablet. 111

The Last 3 Months: Larriel’s in Cotton Tree

Larriel lives in Cotton Tree barrio in a sprawling, one-story house with her three children. Her parents and sister have houses in front of her own, so to reach Larriel’s home you first pass through her father’s car-port which serves as a small shop during the day. (Mr. Dalton, Larriel’s father, has a decommissioned taxi that stays on the street in front when not in use.) Through the garage you reach the patio shared between the three relatives’ homes. With sparse grass, visitors step over dips in the yard or puddles after a rain. Laundry lines crisscross the patio and a large, lean dog is tied to a tree to the right of Larriel’s house. Like many homes in Bluefields, Larriel’s front veranda has wooden rocking chairs that suggest the hope of a breeze. A mango tree between Larriel’s home and her parents shared back porch offers shade and another anchor for laundry lines. In the open floor plan of her home, you enter to a primary parlor space with two couches and an armchair. The walls are decorated with family photos, including a faded memorial to Larriel’s husband that hangs prominently surrounded by photos of their three children. In the back of the house, next to the back door, is a large TV with couches blocking it into the corner. Chairs surround the disused dining room table that holds papers and a collection of things that have not quite been put away. Closing in the kitchen is a tiled breakfast bar with stools. From the window over the kitchen sink there is a view of the dog and broken plastic buckets and bowls, plus a chain-link fence that divides Larriel’s property from the neighbors’ and, beyond that, a path that leads to the back of Cotton Tree.

As a widowed single mother, Larriel spends most of her day in her shop at the front of her home.

Either her father or her mother is usually with her but the business is a relatively new development. Before he died, Larriel’s husband worked on a cruise ship. After building her house, they also built a home near his mother’s house, which is now a rental property that Larriel manages. The rental was designed to be Larriel’s daughter’s home when the time came for her to marry and be independent. Brinique is about 15. She is the middle child, with an older brother Reuban who graduated from secondary school but did not continue on to college or find work in Bluefields. Larriel’s youngest, Rondell, is in second grade and enjoys his status as

“the baby” in the home, with his mother and grandmother reveling in the last little one the family will have 112 for a while. The family at Larriel’s functions together, and most members know what the other is doing at any given time. In the evenings, Larriel and her two youngest children are often in the shop chatting with neighbors and Larriel’s parents. Meals are communal but not together, with Larriel or her mother cooking and serving plates to the children for them to eat on the veranda, in front of the TV, or in the shop.

During the week Larriel is up early to get her youngest two ready for school. She puts a large pot of water on the stove for coffee and bathing. Although there is water from the PVC pipe that stands in for a showerhead, weekday morning bathing is from a smaller bucket for the children, and they dip a cup in to mix the heated water with the fresh, cold water. Breakfast is simple: instant coffee with a heavy dose of powdered milk and sugar for Rondell. Larriel adjusts his uniform and gets him to his grandfather’s car to be delivered to school. Brinique readies herself in the same uniform that girls throughout Bluefields use, a pleated navy skirt with a short-sleeved, white, button down shirt that bears her colegio’s (high school’s) logo. Both students attend the morning session, and are out of the house before 7 a.m.

The children in Larriel’s family focus on their school responsibilities, while the adults work together to keep the family going. Reuban is an exception. He does not have his own family to support, which is probably for the best, given the limited job opportunities in Bluefields. And while he is not enrolled in school, his responsibilities around the home are unclear. He seems to be stuck between life stages. Larriel proudly proclaims how helpful he is “sweeping out” the house, but in my time there, he spends most days listening to music or making plans with his friend.

Miss Chanara, Larriel’s mother, has the responsibilities that come with being a woman in a Creole home, including washing clothes and cooking. Despite a capable washing machine, Miss Chanara insists on wringing out her clothes by hand and chatting about work ethic as a means of staying young. Mr. Dalton’s shop responsibilities expand somewhat from time to time. It is a special boon for business when they can get deliveries of fresh coconuts, for example. Although Creole food is based on coconut milk, they are not for sale in every shop. Moreover, the work of getting to coconut meat and milk is tedious. At Larriel’s shop, though, customers can sometimes buy whole coconuts. For a few Córdoba more they could have it

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“gratered,” or shredded. Mr. Dalton uses a machine that simplified the process. After cracking the fruit in half, he holds the flesh with one hand and turns a crank with the other. With each turn, a large metal screw with serrated edges shaves the coconut meat and leaves white shreds with flecks of brown in a small pan.

The coconut is then collected in a transparent bag for the waiting customer.

After moving in to Larriel’s, I often took to working at one of the university libraries. Although there is Internet and space to work at Larriel’s, I had a sense of unease and formality among her family. Still, Mr.

Dalton and Miss Chanara are especially warm. We wish each other well each morning as I head out before the heat becomes too intense. When I return home, around dinnertime, the plastic chairs and wooden bench in the shop are often full of family members. The conversation extends to the neighborhood and who passed by, or what each person had seen. If he had a chance, Mr. Dalton talks animatedly about politics, with the women in the family trying their best to avoid giving him more to talk about. Unfortunately for them, Mr.

Dalton knows that I am a willing sounding board.

Race, Safety, and Community News

Reuban came home while I was in the kitchen and Larriel was in the house. “And you ran?” she asked him.

I turned to look at him and he was sweaty, wearing shorts and a tank top. Over the next hour or so, the story came out a few different ways.

Brinique went to the park with her friends. The stalls, pizza vendors, and carnival rides were still there for the May festivals. Reuban went with her and her two of his friends, but the boys separated from the girls once they were at the park. Brinique and the girls went on the Ferris wheel and the other rides, and talked about whether or not they were afraid of them. They screamed for their mothers, rocked the Ferris wheel carriage, and screamed some more before heading home.

On her way home, Brinique called Reuban and told him about some goings on at the park. A boy from Cotton Tree was at the park with a knife. He was threatening a boy from Beholdeen barrio who had fought with him before. The Cotton Tree boy grabbed the Beholdeen boy by the hair and added, ‘You think you had me before, but now who got you?’ The fight eventually broke up, but the Beholdeen boy headed

114 back to his neighborhood to get some more people to take care of the rival. Mid-way through her phone call to Reuban, Brinique’s phone cut out. At hearing there was a fight in the park, Reuban ran to look for his sister. He knew that Brinique’s friends were also friends with the Cotton Tree boy who had the knife—he did not want his sister in the mix. As it happened, Brinique and the girls were already on their way home.

Reuban had not heard what she said on the phone. Brinique reached home in a fine mood but Reuban was frustrated and sweaty. The whole happening was mixed up so Larriel had them both cover the story a couple of times to get all the details and timing straight.

For the final telling of the story, we were sitting in the front parlor with Rondell was on the floor playing near Reuban’s bedroom door. The conversation continued as Brinique worked on scraping off her nail polish,

“She can’t go with that to school, you know,” Larriel had warned me, referring to the pretty nails that

Brinique had painted for a banquet over the weekend.

“And if she goes with it?”

“They take you out of class and make you take it off.” Brinique knew what would happen, but did not sound too worried about the idea.

Larriel insisted that Brinique was, “Lucky that Erica had acetone…you forgot to get some from the man

[who walks through the neighborhood selling it].”

From the fight, the conversation moved on to general advice. A different boy in the park had his backpack searched. To Brinique’s amusement, he shouted at the searching officer, ‘No tenemos nada—no somos ladrones!’ [‘We don’t have anything—we aren’t thieves!] And all he had in there was pencils and books.

“That’s why I told you not to go with that backpack, Reuban!” Larriel warned.

Reuban defended himself, “All I ever have is the speakers and the charger for my phone.”

I piped up that if things got bad, it would be better not to have the backpack because police or anyone could plant something in there.

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“AHH! You see!??! Ain’t I tell you that? Thank you, Erica. I tell him that. You see Reuban?”

Brinique laughed to hear her mother’s words come out of my mouth, and then witness Larriel’s joy at being backed up.

“That’s why I look in his bag anytime he leave. Some parents don’t do that, but I always look because that’s my child and I wanna know what in there. Some parents don’t even know what their children is in.”

Cultural Values Transmitted Through Parenting (Finding IV)

In this portion of "Findings," I discuss how discipline, control, and religion were part of Creole families’ childrearing practices. The extent to which these cultural and social realities are stable over time speaks to their value and responds to my first research question. These understandings have the potential to inform culturally responsive practices (in schools and CSOs) to foster resilience. This finding builds on the three that came before it by examining the methods through which parents guide youth understandings of expectations. Creole groups are cared for by a variety of networks (through minding and extended families) that shape their identity (e.g., with regard to language, religion, and belonging to intergenerational spaces).

This finding explores how a specific group, parents, reinforce or alter messaging about care and identity.

The vignettes preceding this section (“Belief Kill and it Cure,” and “Race, Safety, and Community

News”) and the preceding explanation of Larriel’s home setting are important context for understanding parenting. Although belief is passed down between generations, there is still room for individual avoidance of engaging in some components. Lola expressed fear of the bush medicine practitioner and avoided him through the following generation (her niece, Alaida) kept the practices in perspective, locating their contemporary value and understanding its historical roots. Larriel’s home shows how readily culture, history, and family priorities can be passed down in a context where family members who serve as cultural guides and minders physically surround young people. In “Race, Safety, and Community News,” Larriel offers an example of how Creole parents engage with their youth. In addition to the cultural values that follow, Larriel emphasized written and unwritten rules that organized her children’s lives. The following

116 sections outline ways in which Creole minders managed youth behavior and attempted to shape their attitudes.

Discipline.

Physical discipline at home (corporal punishment) as a response to negative behavior was a salient topic for youth participants. Despite the frequency of conversation around “beatings,” I never observed one directly.

Parents suggested that they engaged corporal punishment for discipline at times, but this contrasted the experience of youth participants. Many Creole youth mentioned being "rowed," or yelled at for bad behavior, in contrast to the physical punishment their parents experienced as children. Adults and youth revealed generational comparisons of parental physical discipline. Hearing and witnessing physical discipline were common experiences for participants.

E: What else they tell you about old times? Briona: Tell them old times dem beat dem with wire. (Briona, fifth-grade student)

Briona's example, above, suggested that the discipline involved wires to inflict specific kinds of pain and that these were things of the past. These stories, like references to vagos, highlighted the separation between the interview participant and those who experienced the physical punishment. The sense that parenting had evolved past reliance on corporal punishment was a connecting thread between multiple generations of

Creole participants.

I identified multiple forms of violence within Creole youth experiences. Youth fighting one another, and parents responding to this, was also evident throughout Bluefields. In a small focus group, Sarena and

Jaclynn discussed differing familial approaches to fights between youth. Although both families recognized violence as a reality in the community, they had starkly different ways of locating it within value systems for their daughters. One set of parents insisted their daughter avoid fighting because the father was not raising a "champion." In Sarena's family, however, the message around fighting placed value on dignity: if

Sarena was going to fight, she had better win. If she didn't win the first time, her mother would take her

117 back for round two. The broader message from most families was to not "look for" a fight, but if one found you, you should fight to win.

Public violence was understood as a reflection of childrearing. Youth expressed distaste for violence and linked its prevalence in the community to failures in parenting. Martin, a high school student, suggested that violence came from parents who could not control their children. That violence was a learned behavior emphasized a clear connection between parenting skills and youth behavior in Creole culture. Perceptions of violent people mirrored the perceptions Creoles had about vagos. Namely, both reflected personality flaws that began in youth, for which parents were responsible to redress.

Control.

As suggested by Martin in his belief about violence, Creole parents' primary responsibility was to control their children. In practice, parenting among Creoles reflected a balance of control and individual freedom.

Control included managing behavior and attitudes through curfews and monitoring friend groups. Freedom was available when young people were granted play within time constraints. Within the home, youth were expected to meet their responsibilities (see discussion of household roles, p.97) but were otherwise free to organize their own time. They were left time for play and engagement with siblings, often turning to television and technology.

E: And what do you do [at your auntie's house]? Do you have cousins? [Yeah.] Ahh, and what do you guys play? S: Play baseball. Ehm…we just like watch video on YouTube. Play…we just like molest [bother] my auntie. [Both chuckle.] Uhm, we just sit down and sometime watch tele. (Shakina, high school student)

Shakina's cheeky comment about bothering her aunt showed the balance between control and play. While she centered her play in a safe, family space, she tested her limits by teasing her aunt. This was an exploration of culture, as was the likely unmonitored exploration of YouTube. Confidence in nuclear and geographically close family members allowed for social and play engagement among same-culture youth.

Siblings and near-in-age cousins who lived nearby were regularly Creole youth's playmates. From an early

118 age, this constellation of ties served as a cultural insulator helping to maintain cultural resilience and control behavior.

While young Creole Bluefileñxs often played with siblings or cousins freely, some caregivers more carefully controlled other relationships. Friendships and partnerships were monitored for safety and adherence to beauty standards in some cases.

Sharece: No, [my mother] stop [the relationship] because she never did like him. [E laughs] She never did. E: Why she didn't like him? S: Because he was too dark [S's tone of voice has disdain in it when she pronounces that the first boyfriend was dark skinned]. Him was…him was Garífuna. [uh-huh] So, for me, she never like him, because he was Black. She say he's too ugly for me. [S laughing through her words.] Oh mommy, she's very…strict! (Sharece, CSO youth group participant)

In this example, Sharece's mother exercised control over her adolescent daughter while communicating perceptions of beauty that were common throughout the Creole community. Specifically, some Creole people viewed dark skin as less attractive, and some “European” features (e.g., straight hair, light skin) as more beautiful. Leah, in contrast, presented the managing of her daughters' relationships as something they agreed upon.

You have to put [the vago boys in the neighborhood] in they place. [. . .] They would say to Alaida, "Hi sweetheart, you lookin' good now, you know…” She said, "Boy, go and look your class!" I don't think that that is bad. (Leah, mother of adult children)

Leah supported her daughter's manner of rejecting a boy from the neighborhood. Both viewed the young man as beneath Alaida, and Alaida told him so. Leah later clarified that to "look your class" meant to stay within their social group. She managed her other daughter Seanna's romantic interests more directly. When an undesirable boy was interested in Seanna, the young man was not permitted in Leah's home. The prohibition communicated expectations about presentation and image that Leah had for visitors in her home, which meant that her standards would be even higher for a potential son-in-law.

The ways in which threats of physical confrontations, adult control over youth interactions, and parental management of romantic partners played out in the Bluefields community were important for 119 shaping youth lives. These controls over behavior, time, and friend groups communicated cultural expectations to the next generation. These examples are also intergenerational and represent components of culture that have persisted in the face of changing expectations and values.

The following narrative introduces churches as a social institution that further serves to shape and manage social expectations in Bluefields. The emphasis here I son the public perception of culture learned at home and with families. It serves as an introduction to the final finding for the first research question, related to cultural resilience. Churches, as institutions, help to set and reinforce expectations about behavior.

As intergenerational spaces with messages that echo those of families, they further foster the resilience of behavior and norms related to presentation (discussed in the following finding).

Churches Messaging on Family, Culture, and Community

At Zion Baptist church, the people in the pew near me hold Bibles plus a smaller pamphlet. The preacher speaks from a Bible and a smaller pamphlet. He discusses the challenges of finding a virtuous woman, one who puts her husband and children first and who fears God. “So, when you find a virtuous woman it makes sense that you would go and boast about her. This isn’t machista [sexist], though,” the pastor emphasizes.

Moreover, “The Bible talks about women, even though some people say it doesn’t. Everyone has their role, according to the Bible.”

Later, the pastor announces that the choir will present a song. The choir is dressed in yellow and sing from spiral-bound paper books as they stand in front of the listening congregation. A young woman at a podium announces a new song for all to sing while we wait, though what we are waiting for was inaudible.

After the song, a youth group presents a silent drama over the recorded words of a melodic rap in Spanish.

In the front, a woman plays the part of a fraught mother with a young boy. They mime a conversation along to the words on the recording. Only the refrain, “Oro por tí,” (“I pray for you,”), was easy to hear. The message is clear through the actions: The boy leaves his mother and heads to a group of friends standing on the other side of the church. These friends are the bad influences—their bad ways symbolized by bandanas they wear on their heads. As the young man leaves the gang and begins walking back to his mother, another

120 boy bumps in to him. They shove each other a couple of times before one boy pulls his shirt up and points a mock gun. With quick aim, he puts the young man who left his mother on the ground. There is some chuckling throughout the congregation. The mother figure approaches her son and hugs him, before the friends approach. Throughout the skit, as the drama gets more exciting, a few people near me (far from the actors) stand up to get a better view. When the dramatization is done, the performers stand together and take a bow. The congregation applauds and the woman who played the mother takes a microphone. She gives a brief summary of what the dramatization was meant to show and reminds the young people present that their mothers are always praying for them, even when they feel alone or involved in something deeper than they can handle.

As in the morning service at the Revival Tabernacle church, the pastor switches from a presentation tone to fast shouting during the evening gathering. His voice adjusts to emphasize certain points throughout his preaching. He reminds the congregants that their call to God is individual—their responsibility—but tonight the focus is on helping others. With that he offers a chapter and verse, but tells the group to read the whole chapter at home on their own. Many people around me pull out Bibles and look to the specific verse.

The pastor reads and tells the story of Cain and Abel. (A story in which Cain slays his brother, Abel, and tries to hide it from God.). “We are our brothers’ keepers,” the pastor reminds us. The reason Cain slew

Abel was because Cain had a bad relationship with God; our relationship with God is mirrored in our relationship with others. Today’s environment is too violent, and people are losing their relationships with

God. “Today youth are killing, and it’s affecting families. And the root of it is bad relationships with God.”

In response to the pastor’s assessment, there are murmurs of “yes,” throughout the church. The pastor asks for God’s help in this, but reminds those present, “It is our job to treat people right, because God knows.”

Though it’s difficult to hear, the pastor laments, “We don’t have the culture to say, “I’m sorry.”

Maybe our mothers don’t teach us the vocabulary.” He reminds the congregants that often the people who are closest to us are the most able to hurt us. Big brothers, the pastor tells us, must protect their little brothers. When they are “on the road,” (away from home), throughout Bluefields” the big brothers go with

121 the little brothers so that no one can “thump” (beat up) the little ones.

His volume and pace go up and down, and as they increase, they get anemic “Amens,” in the pauses between. It seems as if the pastor is waiting for a more energetic engagement in these spaces. Throughout the sermon, adults seem to lose attention or not listen actively. Phones are out just as Bibles are. Some shake their legs or fidget; others look around or maintain a soft, blank gaze forward. A phone beeps with notifications of messages every so often.

“We must be our brothers’ keepers, and not our brothers’ killers,” the pastor warns. He then switches his from narrative style to engage some analogies that signal insider/outsider dichotomies. “Keepers find solutions, while killers focus on problems. Keepers have a vision of the future, while killers just dream while sleeping.” He warns about gossip, and the killing that can be done with the tongue. “In a big city, in

Managua, people don’t know their neighbors. But here, where everyone knows their neighbors and the city is small, we can know everyone and we can kill them with our tongues.” This last part of the analogy is shouted and fast, but gets “Amens” from some women near the back. What’s important, the pastor explains, is that killers cause division—division does not come from God, unity does. Even though some do not believe in the “same” Jesus, you cannot just “do what you want,” to them. From gossip and general treatment of others, the pastor moved on to criticism. Eventually suggesting constructive criticism as preferential to talking behind peoples’ backs. And people must try to receive constructive criticism as a way to help them.

Weekly visits to church emphasized appropriate behavior in the eyes of God. In addition to moral expectations that preachers shared, Creoles cultural expectations took the form of narratives, refrains, and beliefs that were shared between generations. In the following section, I discuss some salient messaging that highlights cultural priorities.

That’s Not the Right Thing (Finding V)

Creole Bluefileñxs molded their behavior around values including the primacy of outward appearances. The need to align behavior with personal and group values was clear through interviews. This is a specific value

122 expressed in many of the contexts of minding and extended families; presentation was also a priority in identity-making, and reinforced by parents. Organization-sponsored public displays were also subject to the principle that public presentation must be neat, organized, and intentional. Participation in well-known events, including regional festivals and competitions were focal points for organization leaders and youth participants. The expectation was that the participation would present the organization in a positive light: organized, focused, and talented. The opposite of meeting presentational expectations was covered under the phrase “that’s not the right thing,” which indicated that something was misaligned with cultural expectations.

On an individual level, Creole youth were raised with expectations about presentation. Concepts of cleanliness and tidiness, and the contrasting “nastiness,” were prominent in Creole families. Some prejudices against other ethnicities were rooted in unsanitary conditions.

[My mother would] force you to [clean] because she says that Black people shouldn’t be nasty—that is only for the White people, dem, that they’re nasty. I mean, I do not know…That’s a stereotype, I would think. (Michelle, educator) As Michelle, an educator in her mid-20s, compared her mother to her aunt, she identified the value that both women placed on cleanliness. Her mother (discussed above) set high expectations about cleanliness for

Black people and their homes, and expected Michelle to project that. The aunt who raised Michelle, however, simply modeled the expected cleanliness. Whitney heard similar narratives in her family.

Well my Granma [. . .] told we about the Spaniard: [. . .] don’t go in them house. [. . .] Them don’t clean it the right kinda way. Them don’t cook the right kinda way. Just like that. That’s why the Spaniards them is different from the Creole. Because the Creole dem like do they learn up more [the Creole teach their children the right way] [E: They what more?] Like, um, in things of the house them more cleaner than the Spaniard dem—not all. (Whitney, high school student) While Michelle and Whitney both tried to react in a balanced way to learning about the cleanliness of others in contrast to Creoles, their elders made clear that things are not right among “White people,” and

“Spaniards.” Pride in presentation extended beyond having a clean home in case of visitors, and neat, clean clothes for school and church. Creole youth experienced parenting that emphasized what “looks right,” and attention to what public actions might portray about the family.

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In general, families were strong forces that guided public behavior to protect their reputations.

Larriel, the widowed mother of three, told me of her outrage when she saw the way her cousin was behaving, especially because his actions implicated Larriel’s son, Reuban.

When Larriel saw them, Reuban [was holding the baby and the father was walking around with a full bottle of rum. ‘I don’t say you can’t take your one and two beer, but that don’t look right. Larriel warned Reuban not to be out with his cousin like that anymore. That the cousin would drink (presumably excessively) in public while in charge of his baby reflected poorly on the family. Giving the impression that Larriel’s son (and Larriel by extension) supported that behavior was unacceptable. Larriel controlled her son’s behavior to the extent that she could to make sure the family was represented appropriately in public. She limited Reuban’s interactions with those who might reflect poorly on the family even if it meant jeopardizing family ties.

Participants also drew presentation values from connections to their church. As moral and spiritual guides, religious institutions supported people “doing the right thing.” Teachings guided behavior into adulthood. Despite wanting to attend her church, Leah avoided it while her marriage was in turmoil. Her husband had a “sweetheart” outside of their marriage for an extended period of time. Leah saw this behavior and the discord it caused in her home as incompatible with church attendance. Shaleesia also limited her attendance while engaging in activities that her faith frowned upon, such as wearing jewelry, and having sex outside of marriage. For these women, the perception of being active in church while maintaining contradictory lifestyles at home was unacceptable. As the month of May celebrations and festivals approached, church leaders offered guidance.

Going back to the Bible [the preacher] zoomed in on the word “revel.” Did the congregation know what that meant? It’s “carousing, and wild parties…drinking to excess.” And there are Christians among this group. But they must remember that God is watching. There are Christians who are not strong and are among the revelry. The job of the congregation, however, was to invite people to belong to a church, not to condemn them. “Please don’t condemn the Maypole dancers,” because they don’t know, and you [congregation member] were a dancer once too. Offering guidance and accepting the changed culture, this pastor encouraged his congregation to be compassionate toward those who celebrated. Like preferences for light skin and disdain for Mestizx ways

(discussed in previous examples), these messages formed a paradox. The pastor spoke Kriol and built up

124 some components of Creole culture while issuing warnings about May celebrations, another cultural component.

Emphasis on presentation and “doing the right thing” extended to the public engagement for schools and students with the community. Schools participated in citywide parades for national and regional holidays. In parades and dance competitions students presented well-choreographed performances. Fifth grade focus group participants identified one date a year in which they ”marched” in parades but could not link it to the cause for celebration. The impetus to put forth a good presentation was, in their case, more important than was the event being celebrated. Stephen, a school leader, discussed the pressure for his students to participate in a national academic competition. Before the competition Stephen learned that two winners would be chosen: one from a private school and one from a public school. Stephen told of how students from his organization regularly won math competitions but that they were discouraged from participating when the rules changed. With the change in awards (and decrease in prestige), the competition no longer met Stephen’s standards as a school leader. Reflecting the cultural support for speaking up, indicated in the previous discussion of student agency (see, “Shared spaces and youth as a process”),

Stephen used his own organization to push against the norms of participation and preserved the cultural expectation of “doing the right thing.”

The cultural narrative of presentation also extended to physical spaces. Coast Region Youth Services had a program site in one of the older Creole neighborhoods of Bluefields. One of the cement walls surrounding the site was painted with a mural that represented different cultures of the Atlantic Coast, rivers flowing, Black women filling water, and the names of the youth artists who created it next to the funding agencies who sponsored it. Similar physical presentations could be seen throughout Bluefields. Murals were painted in multiple public spaces including on the sides of schools and the central park. The images presented history with the multi-cultural Coast narrative as a common theme. Some murals were designed to warn young people about the dangers of substance abuse and the negative impacts of violence. CSOs and individuals supported the presentations and were recognized in portions of the murals. These sites for

125 messaging served not only as stories or warnings, but also to make clear a sense of “looking right” and the importance of aesthetics and presentation throughout Bluefields. (See Appendix I for sample mural photos.)

Conclusion

This “Walk through Bluefields and Creole Culture” provided deeper ethnographic insight into living in

Bluefields and Creole culture. It was structured to respond to the first research question that guided my dissertation, “What are the roots of cultural resilience for Creole youth in Bluefields?” At the beginning of this chapter, and interspersed throughout the findings, were sketches of context, including an introduction to

Bluefields downtown (Barrio Central), and two key Creole barrios (Old Bank and Cotton Tree).

Introductions to the families that hosted me during my stay provided examples of the economic and family structures that supported many Creoles in Bluefields.

Building on the thick, rich descriptions of Bluefields and specific family homes, the findings related to my first research question focused on how Creole culture was learned and done. The networks of care and minding that supported Creole people extended from families into neighborhoods. The networks built on cultural expectations of participation and support in each context. Extended family relationships were important to these networks as Creole youth throughout Bluefields were raised, in part, by grandparents, aunts, and siblings. Young people were enculturated through extended family relationships, many of which fostered religious engagement. Belonging to families shaped youth identities as they picked up on notions of exclusion applied to vagos and others who did not meet cultural expectations. Creoles in Bluefields, with

CSOs and churches, thus projected clear ideas about what it meant to “do the right thing,” and carried this value forward to shape behavior and physical presentation.

The following chapter focuses on my second research question. With the understanding of cultural resilience throughout the Creole community, I turn my attention to the role(s) that CSOs played in supporting Creole youth and Bluefields. Rather than taking a similar thick, rich description approach, such as that which sets ethnography apart from other methodologies, the next chapter focuses on CSO activities and roles.

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Chapter 4, Part 2: How Organizations Do Their Part.

Introduction

In this chapter, I discuss CSOs in Bluefields and their roles in supporting community resilience (research question 2). The organizations in this study existed to support and ensure the wellbeing of the community through advocacy and social service. They extended the culture of minding (Finding I, p.85) to a web of care that undergirded life in Bluefields.

In the following sections, I discuss the kinds of CSOs that were prominent in my main study data collection. The interconnections of their web of care illustrates how organizations responded to specific community needs, rather than inserting ideologies and ready-made projects that did not fit the Bluefields context. I discuss how the community viewed organizations and how participants identified themselves based on their participation with CSOs. Although not all study participants had CSO affiliations, adults could identify community advocates with ties to organizations and causes. Identity building with organizations that shared Coasteñx values was an opportunity for Creole youth to experience their culture in a supportive way outside the family and home contexts. This bolstered youth cultural resilience while serving groups that fostered community resilience. (A list of organizations and summaries of their work can be found in Table 3-2 on p.44 and on p.74.) Finally, I describe a shared culture of convivencia (living- togetherness) that links CSOs to Bluefields’ Creole culture.

Organizational Foci Intertwined with Bluefields Culture (Finding VI)

Autonomy-focused advocacy organizations.

Autonomy policies for the Coast's multi-ethnic populations resulted in the creation of advocacy organizations to support policy implementation. Coast Region Youth Services and Autonomy Advocates

Center were prominent youth-serving organizations in Bluefields; they shared a theoretical foundation and components of their missions with Cultural Connections to Learning. These three were pillars of advocacy for autonomy in Nicaragua. Representatives from these organizations quoted the Nicaraguan Constitution, recited important dates in history, and referred to specific laws when discussing their works in the

127 community. They built their community engagement and service on the policy foundation laid forth by

Autonomy Laws. Their work and outreach were directed toward the empowerment of the Coast, which is possible through instruments that enact existing autonomy policies.

Although it worked in concert with other organizations, most pilot and main study participants referred to Coast Region Youth Services as the vanguard in serving youth and focusing on the most marginalized. Coordinators for Coast Region Youth Services noted the focus on skills needed for employment in the region. The organization helped marginalized youth learn trades that sustained the

Autonomous Regions, such as agriculture. Coast Region Youth Services also focused one of its programs on at-risk youth during out-of-school hours. Primary and secondary school student scholarships provided for material needs, academic success, and emotional wellbeing. The latter were provided away from the school site through programming that targeted young peoples' interests while supporting culture (e.g., sports, music, and dance). The program supported attendance and educator development. Psychology students from nearby universities volunteered their services and gained professional experience serving children via Coast

Region Youth Services. The early career psychologists had strong connections to the community and multiple cultural perspectives. They volunteered as traveling service providers who visited the Bluefields site and other locations where Coast Region Youth Services worked to assess and serve the emotional needs of youth. The complex works of Coast Region Youth Services met a variety of needs for youth of all ages.

The organization's efforts built upon understandings of culture and short-term and long-term needs of individuals. Thus, their work linked cultural resilience and community resilience.

In addition to supporting multiple components of academic education many of the autonomy- focused CSOs supported social-emotional needs, leadership development, and community engagement. The formation of youth advisory boards, in multiple contexts, was an important focal point. Youth as part of the organizational structure served myriad purposes. The boards were typically parallel structures to the adult organizational boards, with some youth also participating in joint boards. Together with adults, youth helped determine the goals of the organization, activities for their peers, and plans of action that were community

128 and context specific. In addition to the boards legitimizing youth perspectives, they helped to develop leadership skills and positive identities among the members.

Autonomy Advocates Center shared dedication to promoting autonomy with Coast Region Youth

Services. With a foundation that tied autonomy and local realities to international human rights initiatives,

Autonomy Advocates Center was often an intermediary between national entities and Coast communities.

The organization served multiple roles with schools through agreements with the Ministry of Education

(MINED) in addition to offering extra-curricular youth leadership development. With this deep involvement, leaders in this organization recognized the Subsystem of Education for the Autonomous

Region (SEAR) as an instrument built on community participation. Echoing other community members, participants in Autonomy Advocates Center identified a fault in the national curriculum. MINED's content failed to recognize and include the history, structure, and values of the Autonomous Regions in Nicaragua.

With consultants, community members, and policymakers Autonomy Advocates Center worked to develop a curriculum that could be implemented under SEAR to address these deficiencies. Autonomy Advocates

Center believed that inclusion of Creole and other marginalized histories in the formal curriculum was crucial to youth development of resilience on an individual basis and would support broader community resilience. Including the full history of the nation, specifically, the autonomy of the Coast would legitimize the narratives and cultures of the marginalized groups. Despite the work on curriculum and shared perspectives between organizations, SEAR has yet to be fully implemented.

In addition to the youth boards (discussed above), Autonomy Advocates Center offered youth leadership training throughout the Atlantic Coast. The training was open more broadly than the leadership boards but developed similar skills. Youth worked within their communities to identify areas of need and develop projects. Autonomy Advocates Center emphasized that after developing project plans with youth, they supported funding and implementation. These processes were important on-the-ground, decentralized work that supported the community. They drew on existing resources (e.g., soliciting funds from government agencies, seeking volunteers) and also built sustainable skills and further capacities among

129 individual youth and the groups that they formed. The leadership trainings via Autonomy Advocates Center offered wide-ranging personal development topics, in addition to the ultimate goal of community projects, that fortified ties between young people, their identities, the organization, and the community.

Cultural Connections to Learning supported the preservation of culture by providing education on traditional healing (including bush medicine) and creating networks of traditional healers. By acknowledging the presence of bush medicine, Cultural Connections to Learning legitimized the practitioners and worked to preserve their knowledge for future generations. These actions were in direct contrast to stigmatization of these healers in "old times." As another node in the web of support, Cultural

Connections to Learning worked between national policy and local reality to link traditional medicine practices with broader services. Similar to Autonomy Advocates Center’s role linking education to local needs, Cultural Connections to Learning helped decentralize health institutions to improve their inclusivity and support community resilience.

Most of our doctors were Mestizos, and they force you to learn Mestiza [sic], eh Spanish, or force you to have a translator, because, if not, they do not attend [treat] you because [they] cannot talk with you. So now we are saying, no. If you're a Mískitu, the health system has the responsibility of finding means of communication with this Mískitu if you do not have a Mískitu personnel. If you are Creole, and you need it in Kriol, this person should be able to talk with you in Kriol, or it is his or her responsibility to get a Creole to speak to him or her. [. . .] Our goal is that our local people get [treated] directly in their medical needs and within their culture. That's our main goal. So, then that's where we need to—you as an occidental or western medicine practitioner, should know that something is there already. Acknowledge it, recognize it, respect it, and work with it. (Maria Jones, program coordinator, Cultural Connections to Learning) In support of autonomy, this organization emphasized the necessity of translators and professionals with cultural competence in hospitals and clinics. According to Maria Jones, healthcare professionals needed to be able to communicate with their patients and recognize the legitimacy of traditional medicine practices to fully realize Coastal autonomy.

Autonomy-focused organizations throughout Bluefields contribute to community resilience in myriad ways. Their short-term works address individual and community member connections while their longer-term projects and outcomes suggest support for individual and community economic wellbeing, thus combining four components identified as supportive of community resilience in general (Steiner &

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Markantoni, 2013). They build on multiple capitals (e.g., human, financial, and political) to support the development of resilience-supportive community features including active agents, collective action, and resource engagement (Magis, 2010). Their deep presence in the community and long-standing nature are part of the context of the community as well as the creation of the creation of an identity around the community as an agent of change (Breton, 2008; Chaskin, 2008). Even the basic presence of the organizations and their central locations as gathering points for groups can be considered a supportive factor for community resilience (Kulig, Edge, Joyce, & Deer, 2008). Thus, through specific projects designed to strengthen the community (e.g., community youth boards) and through their orientation as community and autonomy advocates, these CSOs contribute to multiple components of community resilience that support

Bluefields.

Religious organizations.

Religious organizations provided another source of support for community resilience with cultural relevance. In addition to organizing activities for youth on the weekends, the churches supported cultural narratives in the Creole community through regular and transparent communication. The messaging of church services varied from week to week but often included content related to living well. Examples of preachers' experiences or cautionary tales that called on images of the community made the messaging easily received and understood.

Many participants discussed churches as centers for affinity-based groups. Choirs were a common occurrence that engaged culture through music to bring people together. Directive boards at church were also mentioned, mirroring the ways in which autonomy-focused CSOs engaged youth. Church services and groups were accessible to fit within the pace and schedule of home and other responsibilities, and flexible to allow for expanded or limited engagement.

Miss Chanara usually goes to her Anglican church three days a week—Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. The service is at 6:30, so she usually leaves here around 6:15 to walk. [. . .] Sometimes, if she feels like walking around first, she’ll leave at ten-to-six. Today, though, as she was going to cook the nacatamales [tamales] and wash, so she didn’t go to church. And Brinique usually goes 131

with her—on Saturdays she sleeps at Grannie’s house to get up and go in the morning. When she’s not in school, she goes the other days, too. People thought that was her daughter, since she calls her “Baby,” and when she’s not tagging along they ask for her.

[Miss Chanara is] proud of her industriousness. [. . .] Today I heard more of the root of that. She likes to watch one of the religious channels, and one of the ministers she likes to watch says, ‘If you don’t work, you don’t deserve to eat.’ For Miss Chanara, the experience of religion tied her back to her family (her granddaughter, Brinique) and to the community more broadly. The social network and support of churches was emphasized when other parishioners asked about Brinique’s absence. While she could easily skip a service in order to support the family economy (e.g., when she made nacatamales for sale), she could also make it to church multiple days each week without skipping her other home responsibilities. Thus, in addition to engaging with faith as a cultural component (see the findings in the first portion of this chapter), it also serves as a social center that supports community resilience through networks, social support, inclusion, and with active governing bodies to mobilize resources towards shared goals (Berkes & Ross, 2013; Breton, 2008; Kulig et al., 2008;

Magis, 2010).

Holistic Organizations and Services Responsive to the Community Base (Finding VII)

The following strand of findings speaks to the breadth of services available to youth through CSOs. I, first, discuss the structures within which CSOs work and how they interact to weave a complex web of support underneath he youth population. The second portion of this finding details the work and workings of individual organizations. It offers details on how embedded the CSOs are and the ways in which that supports young people and community resilience, more broadly. In contrast to the previous finding’s relationship to the adult world of autonomy and faith=based messaging, this finding works to explore the links among youth, CSOs, and Bluefields’ resilience.

Networked organizations for autonomy and development.

Advocates in Bluefields exist in many arrangements; in addition to CSOs, independent activists support the

Creole community. Their offerings can be woven together and understood as a holistic approach to serving 132 community and youth needs with culturally relevant approaches. In some cases, organizations serve multiple needs of the same youth, whereas other organizations serve specific youth needs and relevant community needs. Together with families, organizations represent a culture of care for youth that promotes their wellbeing, Creole cultural resilience, and community resilience by activating community resources.

Part of this activation is under the rhetorical banner of autonomy and some actually use the tools of autonomy. Local CSOs share an emphasis on empowering local people in contrast to national actors. Social networks are key to the support and maintenance of the activist and advocacy community within Bluefields, and through these relationships organizations and individuals can engage with local, regional, and global issues in meaningful ways. In addition to individual activists calling on one another to attend events and join groups, organizations share participants and expertise. Communication and network maintenance rely on social media, traditional media (TV and radio, and on individual ties between advocates in different thematic and geographic areas. Together, these components create a web of offerings to serve the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of Creole and other youth in accordance with cultural norms. This web links individuals, organizations, and the various levels of government in support of the community.

Based on community needs.

The organizations that dedicated themselves to autonomy and human rights made it part of their missions to honor the diversity of cultures on the Coast. To preserve this diversity and respond to community needs required an understanding of the unique cultures present. These organizations functioned in harmony and in ways that mimicked Creole culture in its heyday. Coast Region Youth Services and Autonomy Advocates

Center collaborated with multiple levels of government to improve service provision (e.g., school lunches, supervision of elections, and facilitation of student governments). As go-between entities, the organizations engaged local ways of knowing and understanding community needs to bring in resources that met those needs.

With two kinds of directive boards, Coast Region Youth Services was able to connect directly to the community. The adult boards identified young people to target for services. With on-the-ground access to

133 young people and better understood their risk factors teachers and community members completed needs assessments and recommended them for scholarships. Participating youth recognized these board members as advocates who could be trusted to support them and their development with caring, understanding, and sound advice.

E: [Coast Region Youth Services representative is] a favorite [teacher]? Why? [Girls laugh] J: Because she…she understand we. Not like some the other teacher [. . .] E: So what kind of problem could you talk to [her] about? J: Any problem… S: Like, problem in the house. Or [inaudible] with the teacher. Or if we…if any other girl say she wan' fight we. [She will] sit down, she talk to we. And, well, we tell she we problem with them. And she would sit down and talk we and give we advice. For we no fight because they would expel we. (Sarena & Jaclynn, high school students)

Sarena and Jaclynn's connection to Coast Region Youth Services’ adult board member suggested that the organization targets appropriate people for inclusion on the board. The representative was more approachable than other school staff, supported the girls, and served as a mentor.

Coast Region Youth Services extended its dedication to understanding the community and its needs to the youth themselves. Youth directive boards guided the organization’s activities on the Coast. These groups were convened at the expense of the organization and contributed to planning. Youth were lenses for identifying the needs of their respective communities. This support for democratic and community-informed work was crucial to the running of Coast Region Youth Services and engage multiple practices that support community resilience. Equally important, however, it communicated a sense of value and legitimacy to the youth involved in the board. Adults in Coast Region Youth Services viewed youth board members as leaders and often referred to them as exemplars or guides.

Marco [a program coordinator for Coast Region Youth Services] came out and joined us. We talked about a specific success story identified by Lucy, my site-visit guide. There was a young woman whose mother was "like her enemy." When [the girl] came to Coast Region Youth Services she wouldn't talk, participate, or let her photo be taken. Now she was on posters. Marco trusted her as a leader among the group and she came to activities even though she wasn't a scholarship beneficiary anymore. A key component of Coast Region Youth Services' approach was that Marco, Teresa, and other facilitators were embedded in the community and youth recognized them as authorities. Facilitators knew and had access to the parents and guardians of youth participants. The facilitators extended the culture of minding as 134 appropriate. For primary and secondary school-aged Creole youth involved with Coast Region Youth

Services, there was a clear sense of belonging to the organization where they saw their culture, language, dance, and historical narratives embraced and honored through program offerings that relied on youth input.

Program leaders in Coast Region Youth Services and Cultural Connections to Learning recognized outreach to Creole youth as key to Creole engagement. Persistent challenges in language acquisition impeded participation in school, according to Teresa Rodriguez (program leader for Coast Region Youth

Services). For Afro-descendants who moved to Bluefields from rural communities to attend high school or university, limited exposure to education in Spanish and the distance from home often posed an insurmountable set of challenges. Teresa identified an internal sense of inferiority or inability to compete for spots among Afro-descendant youth, even when they were invited to participate in Coast Region Youth

Services' activities and scholarship programs. Maria Jones, a program coordinator for Cultural Connections to Learning, drew on her image as a respectable elder in the Creole community to foster Creole boys' participation in training that offered long-term opportunities. To be sure they completed a program, Maria

Jones drove around Bluefields looking for them, offering them a ride to Cultural Connections to Learning's program. Following her efforts, Maria recounted success stories of these youth finishing secondary school as adult learners and getting jobs. She facilitated their connection to the next stage in Bluefields’ web of care and supported their resilience by drawing on cultural assets throughout the community.

In formal (traditional and non-traditional) education contexts, Coast Region Youth Services was an integral part of the Bluefields community web of support. They provided teacher professionalization, wrap- around services for children, and technical and vocational education and training (TVET). Teresa specified that in one of the TVET sites the organization was attentive to the specific needs of the youth who lived at the school they attended. While Mestizx staff managed the food preparation, the Creole youth yearned for their traditional food. To help students feel more at ease and welcome, Teresa and another staff person worked to get turtle meat and coconut bread for the Creole youth to cook. This gesture was an opportunity for students to engage with and share their culture, despite having been far from their home communities at

135 this remote school site. Coast Region Youth Services focused on practical skills needed for employment in the area in addition to helping marginalized youth learn trades that sustain the Autonomous Regions.

Honoring youth as experts on their culture by letting them cook, displaying an inclusive attitude with knowledge of Creole culture, and legitimizing youth voice by responding to their requests are all supportive of cultural resilience but also represent factors that prior research links to community resilience.

In another area of professionalization, Coast Region Youth Services included educators in its work.

With links to MINED, Coast Region Youth Services trained primary school educators and supported their professionalization during academic breaks and on long weekends. Coast Region Youth Services offered support and materials for educators who had a substantial number of scholarship recipients in their classrooms. Although not primarily responsible for classroom activities, Coast Region Youth Services provided wrap-around support for academic success to Creole and other Bluefields youth. This contribution to improving school experience and teacher professionalization reflects a medium to long-term view of the community. It is an investment in human capital and institutional presence that supports community resilience.

In many ways, Autonomy Advocates Center continued the groundwork laid by Coast Region Youth

Services with primary and secondary students. Autonomy Advocates Center also targeted at-risk youth and enrolled late secondary and early university students for their leadership training. Following a model of deep community embedding, Autonomy Advocates Center had multiple sites of engagement throughout the

Caribbean Coast. Through training in leadership and community engagement, youth identified problems in their communities and created plans to address them. This process decentralized decision making, empowered youth, built youth-adult spaces and connections, fostered social capital development, developed norms of reciprocity and contributions to others’ wellbeing, among other community-resilience supporting factors. In these sites, the Autonomy Advocates Center youth leaders became reference points and peer mentors.

For example, one of the biggest problems that our communities have—the youths in communities have—is drugs and alcohol abuse. So, like, this group that we form, what they do is they try to make 136

activities to keep you away from drugs. You know, they would come, and they say, if you're having a problem with drugs, would find a way so that you could get here. And then they have institutions that the government….which, which deal with drugs so they would give you a cleanin' up. And you would go back and they would be with you so you're not gonna be alone until they take you out of drugs. (Clinton Heike, program coordinator, Autonomy Advocates Center).

Although Autonomy Advocates Center had a variety of engagements to support autonomy on the Coast, their work with youth was a strong and active component of their network building.

Places to Be Outreach drew on its participants' preferences to offer workshops as well. As another link in the web, Places to Be Outreach focused on street youth including those who used drugs. While drawing on participant preferences, Places to Be Outreach also looked to marketable skills such as handicrafts, cooking, and agricultural opportunities to provide meaningful development for at-risk youth.

They balanced professionalization with youth-centered activities, including weightlifting and music production, which were tailored to the overwhelmingly male participants. Programs that focused on agroforestry skills drew Bluefields youth away from home but offered opportunities to improve their precarious positions. Coast Region Youth Services and Places to Be Outreach collaborated and referred youth to one another, depending on their needs, to reach a broad swath of youth. In both cases, taking youth preferences and cultural norms into account helped to build welcoming spaces for culture and development.

They offered a sense of belonging and evidence of institutional structures built on inclusion, rather than reinforcing marginalization.

Separate from large organizations involved in working for autonomy, Afro-identity Services Group offered youth engagement and leadership on a smaller scale. The single chapter of Afro-identity Services

Group had a structure that pushed cultural boundaries as it engaged with Afro-descendant youth. Rather than imposing a top-down hierarchy with adult women dictating participation and organizational focus,

Afro-identity Services Group had a divided leadership structure that was 60% youth. The advocacy group had a youth directive board, an adult directive board, and a combined board. The organization trained participants and the community on topics that occasionally created rifts in members’ relationships, as when religious members clashed with bisexual members over sexuality and faith. They focused on teaching

137 specific topics (women's rights, leadership, feminism, sexual-reproductive health, sexual rights, reproductive rights, gender-based violence, and racism) and empowering members to know their rights as

Afro-descendant people. The workshops that Afro-identity Services Group members gave on a variety of sensitive topics were built from a place of inclusion, respect for the cultural diversity of the Coast, and with special attention to understanding an Afro-descendant perspective.

Although dialed into the global social justice and advocacy movements, organizations throughout

Bluefields functioned on their own ground. They built practice around what they experienced in their community and drew on shared history to solve problems and continue advocacy efforts. The organizations were tight networks that often called on one another for training and co-sponsorship. Their shared ideals of autonomy for the Coast and positive development for youth created a protective web for the young people involved, even as they drew new participants into the web of care.

Identity and Belonging Outside the Family (Finding VIII)

Throughout Bluefields, Creole youth had multiple venues to express their culture and to build their sense of community belonging. These places included organized institutions where culture was on display and welcomed. In some cases, spaces were formally organized and supported by CSOs or other institutions; in other cases, they were public events that brought together community and family.

Organizations supporting identity creation.

In Bluefields activist circles—at once their own culture and influencing broader Creole culture in the community—there was a willingness to be known and a need to be heard. Activists and advocates wanted to be heard as individuals and as members of advocacy groups around specific issues. For many participants, the concept of belonging to a group of advocates or volunteers was important to their identities, development, and personal success. In turn, community members often identified advocacy groups by their most vocal members. Churches, CSOs, and individual advocates look to the wellbeing of spiritual-, academic-, and physical-selves of youth with respect for their ethnic identities. In the relatively small context of Bluefields, outspoken advocates are easily turned into public figures. In keeping with the

138 literature that identifies features of resilient communities, this identification is a form of social capital through which CSOs supported formal and informal networks.

Many youth participants of high school age and older linked CSO engagement to their identities.

CSOs defined phases in people’s lives as well as their sense of community. For Bobby and Shaleesia, participation in youth-serving organizations was an important personal identifier. Although they identified as Creole or Black, they also drew on their ties to CSOs to define themselves as members of intentional groups. Bobby recited important experiences and how they developed from his life of advocacy. Moreover, when calling to mind the most important people in his life, two of the three were adults from Bluefields’ youth-serving organizations. One of the figures was a maternal figure at Autonomy Advocates Center who provided encouragement and guidance; the second was a community advocate linked to an organization outside the scope of this study. The second figure guided Bobby's thinking and resolve in advocacy matters.

[He] has always told me that, independent of the fact that I know something, I don't have to let that be it. I always have to move ahead and know how to…how to build something, and also how to take it apart in order to make change, or in order to make youth understand.

[Él] siempre me ha dicho de que independientemente de que yo conozca algo, no me tengo que dejar basar en eso. Siempre tengo que seguir adelante y saber que, como…como construir algo, y también como desconstruirlo [sic] para hacer un cambio, o hacerles entender a las chavalas y los chavalos. (*Bobby Campbell, Autonomy Advocates Center program coordinator)

These youth-adult connections fostered optimism and a sense of purpose for Bobby, thus engaging personal factors that contributed to community resilience. Bobby also described his participation in a training course with Cultural Connections to Learning as something that prepared him as a leader, which was an important part of how he understood his role in Bluefields. Shaleesia, similarly, talked about belonging by distinguishing when she engaged with Coast Region Youth Services from when she engaged with

Autonomy Advocates Center. There was a phase in her life when her work with Coast Region Youth

Services was very important. This experience helped her develop to a point where she understood that the organizational environment was not right for her. As she engaged with Autonomy Advocates Center, she felt a renewed sense of community and belonging. Her role with Autonomy Advocates Center was as part of

139 a multi-cultural group where Shaleesia was able to switch between Kriol and Spanish seamlessly and draw on her professional experiences from Coast Region Youth Services and Cultural Connections to Learning to benefit her peers in the Autonomy Advocates Center group. Shaleesia's engagement with her Creole identity and using Spanish as necessary was clearly reflective of what Clinton cited as the first priority of Autonomy

Advocates Center: developing self-esteem in your own identity.

That's our main goal. [. . .] You come into Autonomy Advocates Center and you learn about self- esteem. And then you get history, identity, so that you are sure of where you are—where you're from—and be proud of what you are. Yeah, that's the first step. (Clinton Heike, program coordinator, Autonomy Advocates Center) Some youth engaged with multiple institutions and organizations that reinforced their Creole identity.

Gisela, a university student, participated with Cultural Connections to Learning in multiple ways that focused on her cultural identity. She was also active in her church and with the Creole communal governance body of Bluefields. These youth dedicated their time to organizations with which they identified, but the young people also became part of the organizations' identities.

Some organizations had traits and stakeholders that built their institutional identity as "Creole."

Coast People’s High School and Cultural Readiness Elementary had historical identities as Creole or Black organizations for youth. Although their formal ties have weakened (with weaker national institutional recognition), they remain classified as such by the community. Throughout Bluefields, Creole youth acknowledged, developed, and maintained their cultural identities in a number of organizations including those that only passively attended to those needs (e.g., by allowing Kriol to be spoken). Other organizations have explicitly appealed to Afro-descendants with subgroups dedicated to ethnicity or age-specific engagement. As these organizations drew Creole youth into their fold, they engaged them and supported their cultural resilience while building community awareness and resilience around youths’ areas of interest.

Sport.

Sport played a role in organizing time in Bluefields from primary school through adulthood. Organizations

(schools and CSOs) used a variety of games to engage youth formally. Coast Region Youth Services used sports to foster youth development. Youth also planned their own activities in barrios to fill time and

140 engage socially. In a focus group, Bricson and Tyrone listed multiple sports that they played, informally, in their barrios with other teenagers. Similarly, Martin mentioned watching neighborhood sports games with his friends as a way to spend time. As an observer in his barrio, Steven specified that youth switched from just "chilling," or "hanging out," to playing games on the neighborhood field that was open to soccer and baseball. In various barrios, young people gathered together for neighborhood play where they spoke Kriol and focused on games that were tightly linked to the Creole community, notably basketball, baseball, and dominoes.

For many youth participants, weekends were scheduled around sports with Coast Region Youth

Services and faith-based activities. In addition to the CSO support of sports, friend and family networks were drawn around sport spectating. During the national professional baseball season, families planned evening outings to baseball games at the Bluefields stadium. When Leah's neighborhood team played in the community championships, the stadium hosted the games.

It was not just a chance to get out of the house and go to an event: there was meaning for the neighborhood in this. Moreover, there is a long-shared history. [. ..] The feeling of the stadium was warm, hopeful, and focused. Everyone there was watching the game. I didn't notice very many people on their phones, just a few selfies here and there. During the professional off-season, smaller games were played at neighborhood diamonds, including women's softball that drew competing teams from other communities. Downtimes during all of these games were opportunities to share stories, listen to music, and reinforce social bonds. Although not a stated goal, formal sport institutions supported informal networks and drew the community together. Community support of sport through attendance (and financial commitment through ticket buying) acknowledged the value that sport held across diverse community factions. From CSOs sponsoring youth engagement through professional baseball games, Bluefileñxs readily gathered to build shared cultural understanding and memories through these activities.

Festivals.

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During May and other times of celebration, Creole families planned outings around cultural events. In some cases, children danced and competed for prizes on behalf of the neighborhood or their school. The smallest girls competed in "Miss Mayita," a cultural pageant for girls as young as 6.

Cultural identities are on display at this young age as the girls announce ties to their barrios, and in some cases introduce themselves fluently in Spanish and Kriol. Many of the girls who participated were phenotypically Black. They dressed in clothes that represent Creole culture with their hairstyles matching the outfits. Similar competition opportunities exist for older youth, grouped by school or neighborhood. They performed choreographed dance that linked to Maypole traditions and wore matching uniforms that have some ties to "old times." The Miss Mayita competition took place in a central, non-Creole barrio surrounded by commercial opportunities. The national government (and ministries within it) supported the competitions. The event for teenage girls, the "Miss Mayoya" competition took place as a large community-wide Carnival celebration.

In addition to dance presentations, costumes, and answering questions about the history of the celebrations, the teenage girls introduced themselves and the barrio they represented. These competitions united families, youth groups, and neighborhoods around culturally relevant music and dance. They served as sites for ongoing engagement and reinforcement of narratives around presentation and the value of artistic and linguistic expression. Moreover, they highlighted components of identity that were valued throughout the community. Young and old participated in alliance with their barrio. The emphasis on predominantly

Creole barrios linked the tradition to Afro-descendants. Despite the focus on history during the festivities, the competition erased Afro-descendants’ roots in favor of honoring Coasteñx identity. This erasure, to some degree, represents the acceptance of diversity as a component of community resilience.

Language.

Just as churches reinforced the concept of doing things the right way (e.g., repeating memory verses and participating when you are at peace with your life) they were also a harbor for Kriol use and development.

For Sherece, belonging to her church pushed her to improve her English literacy and Kriol fluency.

My Tabernacle church? Well when I used to [go] there, I used to feel like [inaudible] funny. I don't understand too much thing. Language, the Kriol language, I never…I never…like when I want to read my Bible, I never came to read in the English. I used to read more Spanish. It's like, after that…after that I began to read in the English more. (Sherece, university student)

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From "feeling funny" engaging with Kriol, Sherece's church fostered her development to fluency. Although she was a Kriol speaking Afro-descendant, her full link to language came through church. The church itself, as Sherece expressed, became a place of belonging: "My Tabernacle church." For many youths, faith-based activities helped build their cultural identity and their social networks. With faith as a central organizing feature of life, and services in Kriol or English, churches were prominent sites for building and maintaining cultural and community resilience.

Educators and school leaders played an important role in incorporating Kriol into the Bluefields classroom. It fell to them, as leaders of buildings and classrooms, to implement change opportunities created by SEAR. Maria Thompson, Stephen DuBois, and Michelle all cited the use of Kriol in their schools, while community advocates noted the limited implementation of SEAR. It was apparent there were difficulties in implementing the national curriculum (which is mandatory and written in Spanish) for Creole students in a multi-lingual classroom.

The curricula are monolingual. They are national. But we have some 30% autonomy in the schools. Where we could include themes on our region, about the Coast, about our municipality. Then there is 30% autonomy, where we could include, within the curriculum, certain themes that…as Coasteños, are of interest to us.

Los programas son monolingües. Son nacionales. Pero tenemos uno 30% de autonomía en los centros. Donde nosotros podemos incluir temas sobre nuestra región, sobre la Costa, sobre nuestro municipio. Entonces hay un 30% de autonomía, donde nosotros podemos incluir, dentro del programa, ciertos temas que…como que Costeños, nos interesa. (Maria Thompson, elementary school principal)

Despite the right to use Kriol and the curricular flexibility that Maria Thompson mentioned, the implementation was limited. Nicaraguan youth (outside of Bluefields) had no access to Kriol, much less

Creole history or the depth of Creole culture through school. Some institutions, in spite of the challenges, maintained their identity as Creole places. Creole identity seeped through where schools and CSOs left room for youth independence. This is akin to a passive inclusivity; it points to a community resilience indicator, but not in a strategic or supportive way. Students in Cultural Readiness Elementary specified that despite instruction in Spanish their recess fun was in Kriol. Other organizations (e.g., Cultural Connections to Learning) similarly served as ways to identify as Creole or Afro-descendant. The strength of language to 143 serve as a link to identity was evident not only through the importance that participants placed upon SEAR but also through their vehemence when they believed the language was being approached improperly or systemically ignored, as many participants expressed when noting the complete absence intercultural- bilingual education, and attention to Creoles and Kriol in the national curriculum.

As social institutions and CSOs supported mother-tongue communication, Creole youth came to take bilingualism for granted. Their human capital, in this regard, was expected but not respected. They struggled to improve their Spanish well into high school as they sought to present themselves in settings governed by the dominant, Mestizx culture. It became a cultural marker that Creole people spoke at least Spanish and

English (or Kriol).

Martin: My parents are Black; my mom is Black. That's why I identify as Creole. E: But no one ever told you, "Martin, you are Creole?" [No.] No. You always knew? And so, is there a…a really good part about this that you could say that… M: Yes. In one…in one way, a good part and a bad part. How we can't speak Spanish very well. [Okay.] I can't speak Spanish well. [. . .] E: Ah, okay. So, in your community, what do you speak more, Spanish or your language? M: I speak more Kriol.

M: Mis padres son negro, me madre son [sic] negro. Por esto yo me identifico como Creole. E: Ahhh, okay. Pero nadie en algún momento te dijo, “Martin, ¿tú eres Creole?” ¿No fue así? [No] No. ¿Siempre lo sabías? Y entonces, hay un…una parte muy buena de eso que puede decir que… M: Sí. En un…una parte, una buena parte y una mala parte. Como nosotros no podemos hablar español casi bien. [Okay.] Yo no puedo hablar español bien. [. . .] E: Ah. Okay. Entonces, en tu comunidad, que hablas mas, ¿español o tu idioma? M: Kriol, yo hablo mas. (Martin, high school student)

Bilingualism as a given among Creole youth impacted their conceptualizations of their peers. Although

Creole realities were missing from the Coast curriculum, many Creole youth assumed that their Mestizx classmates and friends had insight into Creole life and language.

E: You speak Kriol. Do all of your friends speak Kriol? S: Ahhh, yeah maybe one or two doesn't, but they understand Kriol. (Seanna, Creole woman, early 30s) Creole youth took for granted that their friends had learned the same skills in the language that they had.

And yet in school contexts, Creole students recounted getting help from students whose first language was

Spanish and returning the favor in English class.

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By bringing individuals together to build shared understandings of culture, goals, and needs, CSOs build further social connections among the Creole Bluefileñx community. These social ties build networks that increase access to diverse resources and social capital that support community resilience. Shared understandings and belonging to these networks help Creoles throughout Bluefields firmly root their identities as members of the organizations, faiths, and Bluefields as the site for those institutions. In the following section, I showcase the ways in which Bluefields as a site for multiple communities to experience belonging is a shared priority for CSOs. The attitudes and actions related to this priority undergird

Bluefields’ historic and continuing resilience.

Living Together, It's All We Have (Finding IX)

To support the asset-based approach of this research, I often asked participants their favorite part about living in Bluefields or what set Bluefields apart from other places. Responses drew on varied community strengths, but the overwhelming response was the value and experience of diversity in the community.

Without prompting, participants offered responses that tied multiple aspects of community resilience: inclusivity, sense of wellbeing, supporting others, positive outlook, learning (about culture), and shared cognitive capital (e.g., values, norms, reciprocity, altruism). Bluefields was seen in contrast to the rest of

Nicaragua, but also in contrast to other parts of the world where racism and individualism led to isolation and hatred. Bluefileñxs were proud of their home culture because it was welcoming. Bluefields life meant living together and living well with support for neighbors and recognition that the Coast is special.

In the past, the tradition of community support was held and developed through formal social clubs throughout Bluefields. Stephen DuBois and other participants explained the presence and relevance of social clubs through the middle and late part of the 20th century.

There was no television. So, people went out a lot. So, with no Internet, no television, people had to do—go out. So, you had a social club down in Cotton Tree [neighborhood] for the wealthy people who came together. [. . .] You had a Obreros [sic]—the Workers Club. And then my father had what you call the 8 Brothers club, which was fisherman. (Reginal, community advocate)

Although they reinforced some social boundaries, these clubs were discussed as sites for belonging for

Creole people. The Workers Club, the Social Club, the Lion's Club (mentioned by other participants), and 145 the Lodge (based on the philosophies of Marcus Garvey) were tailored to the needs of their participants.

Neighborhoods were sources of concentrated Creole communities that have experienced culture erosion but are still structurally sound. The longstanding engagement in the barrio, for most families, meant that there were many extended family members in the same area with access to one another's resources as needed.

And the clubs were formal organizations that supported non-formal networks.

Despite the population expansion in Bluefields, Raquel noted that a sense of community remained.

Bluefields had hospitable, homelike characteristics including a sense of security (though she acknowledged that there is still reason to be careful).

We continue [. . .] having this conviction that we are a community in spite of the fact that Bluefields has increased a lot. [. . .] You have to be careful. But, still, in spite of that…other countries that I see, we still have this safety. That you can walk in the day, go to the park, with my child, with my family. And still…yes, yes, people get robbed. There are those that rob everywhere. But we still have this: that I can sit and talk. I see someone coming, and we share.

Seguimos siendo esa…tiendo de esa convicción de que somos una comunidad a pesar de que Bluefields se ha aumentado bastante. [. . .] Hay que tener cuidado. Pero, todavía, a pesar de que otro países [sic] que yo veo, todavía conservamos esa seguridad. Que pudo caminar en el día, ir al parque, con mi niño, con mi familia. Y todavía…sí, sí, se cae ladrones. Hay los que roban en todos lados. Pero todavía conservamos eso que me pudo sentar a conversar. Veo alguien que viene: compartimos. (Raquel, community advocate) The sense of "home" in Bluefields was not limited to Creole adults. As a young person, access to youth sports leagues and other activities set the community apart for Omar and others. In his barrio, Jamal felt safe and known. Those who were recognized would not be bothered but those who were new to the area and there after dark were watched carefully by the neighbors. For example, rather than calling the police, the boys who kept Jamal’s barrio safe caught a thief from another neighborhood and tied him up naked for shame. Although Jamal’s vigilante neighbors were an extreme example, they underscore two important points. First, insider/outsider status and neighborhood networks of care were important social controls.

Second, the sense of home and related need to protect one’s home extended to barrio and broader community contexts.

Lucy identified Bluefields as special because of the relationships between ethnic groups and opportunities for young people to experience that diversity. Maria Jones (a program director with Cultural

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Connections to Learning) valued Bluefields for the love and caring that prevailed through the struggles of groups trying to maintain their identity. She noted that Afro-descendant groups worked with other ethnic and cultural minorities to build the community and make plans that serve Bluefields more broadly. Maria

Thompson (a school leader) shared the sentiment of valuing peaceful diversity, "Here we live together, it's the only thing we have. I love that we know how to get along well with different ethnicities" (“Aquí, convivimos, eso es lo único que tenemos. Que me encanta que sabemos que llevarnos con diferentes etnias”) (Maria Thompson).

Conclusion

Findings VI through IX, presented in this chapter, detailed the foci, functioning, and shared values of the

CSOs in Bluefields that worked with Creole youth. Each finding supports understanding the ways in which these organizations contributed to community resilience throughout Bluefields, and the degree to which they mirrored Creole culture and values. The focus on meeting various community needs while being attendant to culture was central for many CSOs. Moreover, this approach strengthened youth inclusion and helped support participants’ networks and built their identities’ relative to advocacy and community belonging.

These identities and connections from the CSOs forged a link between the individual level of cultural resilience and the more expansive level of community resilience.

In the following chapter, I offer analysis of these findings and their relationships to resilience literature. As indicated in the literature review, although certain aspects of resilience can be represented as neatly organized in a coherent chart, the relationships between characteristics, components, and factors of resilience exist in a complicated web (see Figure 2-1, p. 18). The analysis of the following chapter, thus, is organized by research question with the acknowledgement that the depth of resilience as a framework offers many other organizations and lenses of analysis that would be similarly useful for understanding the details of this study.

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Chapter 5: Understanding Findings via Literature

Introduction

This chapter is comprised of two styles of analysis that link my findings to a variety of scholarly literature.

The first style analyzes my own work and is arranged, as in the previous two chapters, by this study’s research questions. I attend to the first research question and the findings associated with it. Then I analyze findings that relate to both research questions, those that tie Creole culture to CSOs in Bluefields. This section of the first analytical style serves as an intermediary between cultural resilience (and its position within individuals and non-formal institutions) and community resilience (which I organize around CSOs).

Finally, I address findings related to the second research question focused on community resilience. Under each heading in this analytical style, I tackle three questions: (a) what does the literature say? (b) what connections do my findings have to this literature? and (c) what can scholars and practitioners take away from these connections? In this final priority, I zoom out from Bluefields. Although ethnographic and qualitative work, my own included, is not designed to generalize to other sites or populations, there are still kernels of continuity that can be extracted. Some of these kernels are included via the third priority.

Throughout this analysis, Finding V, (“That’s not the right thing,” p.122) is not included. This finding focuses on a specific cultural value of presentation and image. This theme was not salient in resilience literature. An exception to this considers Alaskan Native youth (Wexler, Joule, Garoutte,

Mazziotti, & Hopper, 2013); the study links similar cultural expectations of Creoles (e.g., kinship networks and the high value on the geographic community) to psychological wellbeing. Because “doing the right thing” (Finding V) has much to do with social control, which is part of Findings I-IV (networks of care and minding, extended families and tradition, family building identity, and cultural values transmitted through parenting), it is not considered alone in this analysis.

The second style of analysis included in this chapter focuses on broader methodological and theoretical literature. The goal of this portion is to further identify ways in which my own work can be situated within scholarly publications. I compiled this analysis by reviewing the recent ethnographic

148 publications in education and by considering common theoretical frames engaged in education research. The ethnographic publications reflect a common methodological thread between this dissertation and other international education research. My analysis includes considerations of how my work might be expanded in light of the theories that empirical work with similar methodologies has employed. The theoretical examination considers ways in which the resilience focus of this work links to analytical frames in critical theoretical circles. It considers the expansion of alternative capital theories (e.g., from Bourdieu to Lareau and beyond) and how they align to resilience work. As in the analysis of pertinent ethnographic literature, I consider how theoretical works can be supported by resilience theory and how my findings on Bluefields could benefit from further analysis using alternative capitals and Critical theories. Together with the finding-specific analysis style, the goal of this portion of the chapter is to build a bridge into the final chapter of this dissertation. This chapter links my findings to extant literature, and the following, final, chapter links my findings to other sites of research, communities, and resilience theories outside of the field of education.

A New Perspective on Economics in Resilience

Networks of care and minding (Finding I).

Economic features in cultural resilience literature are often tied to livelihoods and ecological sustainability

(e.g., Daskon, 2010; Forbes, 2013). In contrast, economics play into Creole Bluefileñx culture in other ways. There are components of culture and tradition that are simply cost effective: bush medicine, affordable baseball games, and group dance classes in advance of May festivals, for example. They are doable for individuals and CSOs, and also are opportunities for building unity within groups. Traditional links between the region’s natural resources (ecology) and livelihood are weak, and likely to remain so given the political climate and economic health of Nicaragua, as a whole. Instead of based on extraction industries, communities of minding ties prevailed.

“Working out” helped define people’s roles within families and created a division of labor. The importance of work created a flexible hierarchy with fixed roles only for those who did not support the

149 home (with a salary of labor) or look for chamba at the bottom. They were not minding the family in any way but were instead being “maintained.” These titles within Creole culture were meaningful and communicated as a cultural marker for young people. Youth developed the intention to work whenever possible. These roles and expectations supported the family unit through care and minding, which was foundational for cultural resilience and also supportive of community resilience at the neighborhood level.

Job creation in Bluefields’ formal economy was very limited. (Chamba prevails but has limited reach).

CSOs were as important for their outreach services as they were for sources of employment and volunteer opportunities to build experience among younger people. Youth in CSO programs were trained with job skills that could not be put to use locally in the current economic situation. Without new investment or local entrepreneurial skills, training is a short-term engagement with no long-term solution for resilience.

The role that extended families play in enculturation for a marginalized group, especially in an economically weak context, means that family separation (via migration, as is often the case in Bluefields) was a reason for extended families to bond together and a threat to culture as it boosts economic opportunity. What Creole youth learned about labor and economics was different from the kind of poverty than is generally associated with Nicaragua. As they understood the labor market as more global than local, due to the prevalence of “working out,” their goals and attitudes were drastically different from their

Mestizx peers. Creole perspectives on work, family maintenance, and their community existed in tension.

Given this tension, understanding Creole youth psychological resilience would be starkly different from other studies of indigenous/marginalized youth reviewed in this work.

The first and second findings showcase the networks of care that support Creole cultural resilience and the roles that family plays in the same process. As resilient components of culture minding and extended family involvement are responsive to challenges. Using the framework of social capital is a helpful way to understand why these two components of culture are examples of cultural resilience and support community resilience.

Family Capitals and Networks

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Minding and extended families (Findings I and II).

Magis’ work draws on a framework of “community capitals” that extend deeper than economics (Magis,

2010). Ogbu (1991), similarly, recognizes specific tactics (e.g., collective struggle and hustling) that support marginalized communities facing systemic oppression. Minding could reasonably be added as a family tactic that required Creoles to activate capital within family to survive the effects of systemic, historical racism. Within the family structures of Creoles, this was evident. It is notable that this ecological reality led to specialization. Family members made use of embodied and social capital to meet expectations. The young, able-bodied worked on ships and grandmas stayed home using networks to make ends meet between remittances.

Some of the traditional kinds of social capital were clear in my study (e.g., through families and their reputations), but a better understanding of marginalized groups’ capital can guide policy and practice to serve those youth. For example, the distinction between maintaining one’s family’s reputation in front of the world, and taking on the responsibility of “minding,” covers two different kinds of social (and economic) needs. Behaving in ways that build on or maintain a family’s positive reputation conserves social capital built over generations. Minding, in contrast, meets family needs for culturally appropriate childcare, often allowing a wage earner to be out of the home, remitting back to satisfy economic needs.

The multiple networks of minding—family and neighborhood—cover community needs for which

CSOs and government social services are not responsible. The presence of these capitals and networks reflect ways of coping and covering necessities that are out-of-sight for formal organizations. The struggle to meet these needs results in building and exchanging useful social capital. Informal networks can serve as solutions that keep the community united and strong. How and where the variety of capitals are engaged can paint a picture of cultural priorities among the Creole. Notably, the success of extended families and minding networks in dealing with challenges to date.

Marginalized Youth and a Notably Absent Finding

Minding and extended families (Findings I and II).

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Research around the challenges and successes of indigenous youth include considerations of their culture.

An important part of culture is often worldviews that prioritize collaboration or collectivism. Thus, in seeking understanding of marginalized youth, there is a need to study groups in order to understand individuals and their cultures (Fleming & Ledogar, 2008; Sonn & Fisher, 1998; Ungar, 2012b; Wexler et al.,

2013). The importance of culture and its existence in groups are emphasized in my first research question.

Finding I, related to the culture of minding, underscores ways that families and geographic communities help to support cultural resilience in youth. Likewise, Finding II, related to extended families helping build tradition, details the work that extended families do to enculturate Creole youth in Bluefields.

Components of Creole culture in Nicaragua (e.g., extended family, focus on faith) were also important to youth in Canada and South Africa who exhibited individual resilience (Theron et al., 2011).

Creole youth, however, are missing links to historical narratives that are further sources of resilience for culture, individuals, and community. Shared narratives of struggle, on an individual level, have been shown to support LGBT youth in other studies (DiFulvio, 2004 in Wexler et al., 2009). The social memory of groups’ struggles with oppression is important for individual cultural resilience (Wexler, 2009; Wexler et al., 2013). This is particularly important because the invisibilization of marginalized peoples’ struggles throughout the dominant culture can lead to the belief that “failure,” by the measure of the dominant culture, is an individual phenomenon, devoid of historical context and systemic support (Wexler, 2009). Although ties to adults and networks of care support cultural resilience for Creole youth, history sharing was not a

152 salient feature of their experience. Creole Bluefileñx youth were familiar with economic differences and infrastructure changes in the community over time, but not clear on how networks of Creole people maintained the culture and survived through natural disaster, civil war, and ongoing oppression by colonizing forces. (This point is further discussed in “Social memory at the community level,” below.)

Commonalities in cultures support the idea of native worldviews and suggest that these are useful for indigenous youths’ psychological resilience. Also, the power of learning history might extend to those oppressed by systemic racism. To support Creole cultural resilience and Bluefields community resilience, further education is needed. It is reasonable, I propose, to address the absence of historical understanding among systemically and historically marginalized populations before all the evidence is available.

Resilience as an Active Pursuit

Building Identity in the Family, Parenting, and Identity Outside the Family (Findings II, IV,

and VII).

Parenting choices, pursuing work outside of the community, and employing bush medicine and pharmacy solutions are active engagements with culture that impact youth experiences, cultural resilience, and community resilience. Passing Creoleness to young people (enculturation) through parenting, extended family relationships, and networks of care built future generations of Creoles that share cultural values, attitudes, and beliefs. Enculturation is associated with stronger individual cultural resilience (Bals et al.,

2011) that supports problem-solving and community resilience by extension.

In Bluefields, the work of CSOs to support community resilience is evidence of the presence of resources that support resilience. As indicated in “Chapter 4, Part 2: How Organizations do their part,” the organizations work independently but in harmony with one another. The CSOs in Bluefields, particularly

153 link to the coordinated and continuous functioning of services for community resilience; missing, however, is the co-location that would allow marginalized youth a “one stop shop,” so to speak, of support (Ungar,

2011).

The networked nature of many of the CSOs in Bluefields makes available and engages diverse resources for organizational goals. Intentional action taken around those goals is yet another concept of community resilience that my findings reflect (Berkes & Ross, 2013; Brennan, 2008; Magis, 2010). At the community level, CSOs are active agents in enhancing multiple kinds of capital (e.g., human, social, and economic). Their actions include drawing on resources from multiple organizations and crafting programming around community needs. Although resilience is a framework new to the Bluefields context, it was useful. The asset-based approach (in addition to my methodological approach) identified resilience in active pursuits under a variety of banners, including CSO networks, neighborhood networks, and holistic organizations that meet community needs. Masten (2001) referred to resilience as “ordinary magic,” and that is clearly displayed in Bluefields. The actions of individuals and organizations, whether targeted or part of the status quo, contain a sense of “ordinary” actions with the “magic” result being resilience.

Intentionality for resilience may improve its state, but resilience is still possible without announcing it as a specific goal.

Displays of Belonging and Social Positions

Building identity in family and transmitting values through parenting (Findings III and VI).

My findings show how cultural components persist and support cultural resilience for Bluefields Creoles as they are mirrored by CSOs. I emphasize that there is a swath of the youth population that is likely left out of these groups, and that studying, understanding, and serving them requires an approach outside of the networks of care and minding that most CSOs engage. CSOs targeted some of these groups to provide them with increased opportunities. Still there were, and will remain, outsiders in Bluefields; these are indicative of community values and blind spots.

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Social power is meaningful at the level of community resilience (discussed in detail, below) and impacts individuals’ identities and resilience. Sonn and Fisher (1998) identify multiple ways that non- dominant groups react to their oppression, with assimilation and marginalization on opposite ends of the spectrum. Their work highlights a Black community that used religion, language, and music to maintain their identity in the face of oppression (enslavement, in this case). For Creole Bluefileñx youth, belonging and identity are often bolstered by practices of “othering,” identifying those who do not meet cultural expectations or are not fully pliant to mechanisms of social control (e.g., vagos). There are many ways in which individuals and groups are cast aside from the mainstream. Vagos, black sheep family members,

Creole students who don’t have strong Spanish skills, new immigrants to Bluefields from rural communities, and LGBTQI people were all at risk for having weak connections to culture and community.

This occurs in family (Finding III) and CSO contexts (Finding VI), where identities are shaped. Othering is an expression of power; it creates in-groups and out-groups identified by social norms.

From early on young people engage in “selective assimilation,” which Petrone (2016) identifies as a mechanism to manage cultural disadvantage in intercultural spaces. Kriol often remains in the realms of family and church, each institution crucial for meaning making, and for controlling behavior and attitudes

(Findings III and VI). In stark contrast, Spanish is the official language in school. Ignoring the existence of

Kriol, and assuming early childhood bilingualism, is an attempt to delegitimize the power that is rooted in home and church (via language). Even in church, however, some bilingual elements reinforce the power that

Spanish and colonialism have over the community.

This power is emphasized with Spanish as the language of success in school and official engagements with the state. Although many students insist that their Mestizx friends understand Kriol, the friends do not express interest in speaking it fluently. The reality that they are not forced to learn it in school, even if the majority of the students in their class are Creole and speak Kriol, is an undercurrent that perpetuates marginalization. In schools, Creoles trade their culture for good grades and being understood. In most cases, if a teacher speaks Kriol to help a student, it is a kind of remediation.

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The power of Spanish in certain arenas means that as Creole youth engage with their culture (via language) they are disengaged from power and success. This calls into question the importance of culture and threatens its resilience. In contrast a third language, Standard English, is an incredibly powerful medium for economic success. With Standard English closer to their culturally central language, Creole people exist at a disjuncture between three high-value languages. They are pushed to choose among cultural identity

(Kriol), local success (Spanish), and global economic opportunity (Standard English).

Multi-lingual youth have cultural and social capitals that encourage each of their languages in certain contexts. These capitals indicate unique funds of knowledge and youths’ positions as cultural border crossers (Kasun, 2014). Understanding these capitals and roles can help serve marginalized young people and supporting these skills can be useful for youth development

Agentic Youth in Process Toward Adulthood

Building identity at home, cultural values through parenting, and building identity outside the

home (Findings III, IV, and VIII).

As youth became active agents in the community, they engaged in building community resilience (Magis,

2010). Such local participation is crucial to Stark and Taylor’s (2010) framework that challenges broad policy’s ability to suit local resilience. As the youngest generations become comfortable engaging in politics and being part of organizing, they have room to develop critical thinking about change and stability. They gain perspectives useful to the resilience process of recovery following difficulty. Engaging youth as “in process” to becoming adults and creating intergenerational spaces was visible in the political realm and with

CSOs that had youth boards. Invitations to engage in political advocacy organizations and election processes signaled to youth about their value within the community (Finding VIII).

Youth were further part of adult spaces/realities because their behavior reflected on the whole family

(Finding III). As such, family members throughout the community monitored behavior, as did networks of community members. The responsibility that parents and minders had for controlling youth behavior, however, mitigated some of the responsibility placed on young people (Finding IV). Community violence

156 perpetrated by young people outside the home was seen as a negative behavior learned and supported through at home. This suggests that youth are only responsible for what they do, not for developing independent moral codes. (Notably, while young people saw violence as learned in the home, they did not indicate it as a lesson learned from corporal punishment, but from a lack of control over the child.) Instead, it was parents’ or minders’ jobs to inculcate cultural expectations around violence into young people, lest they grow up with bad ways that cannot be shed once they reach adulthood. CSOs and parents sought balance between control and human development in ways that supported cultural resilience and community resilience. Training for adulthood in CSOs, especially advocacy groups, mirrored Creole enculturation.

Doubling exposure to such messaging supports its adoption though the study of these two contexts still lacks within resilience literature.

According to Heavyrunner and Morris (1997), components of the “Native worldview” support resilience. The Creole worldview shares some of these components with indigenous groups of previous studies (e.g., Masta, 2018; Wexler et al., 2013). The reach that spirituality, childrearing/extended family, veneration of elders, generosity, and group harmony ideals have in Creole culture are supportive for psychological resilience in youth and features of cultural resilience in Bluefields. Cultural expectations for

Creole youth have not changed as quickly as youth and parenting culture have changed. Throughout

Bluefields, childrearing includes a balance of management and freedom. Some adults manage friends and behavior closely, and others avoid interference.

Sunday schools had power as an institution because they brought youth together for social network development and responded to youths’ interests. Creole youth understood the value of faith, as evidenced by their Sunday school attendance and enjoyment of “hearing the word of God.” For most Bluefileñx youth, church and/or Sunday school had tight connections to family. Linking grandparents and other family members with something as ubiquitous as faith (or church) gave elevated status to both. With churches as gathering points for people from multiple barrios, and for families, the institutions supported existing networks of social capital and social capital development in many ways. Independent of some barrio

157 politics, with a close foundation of morals/guiding principles, the churches’ position to support cultural and community resilience is strong.

Churches offered important social experiences for youth in addition to supporting components of the

“Native worldview.” Creole Bluefileñx youth chose to engage with multiple weekend faith-based activities, which suggests that there was differentiation in the offerings; they were gaining something different in each setting. This included different social groups, and also included components such as dance, play, and music.

With no more social clubs for adults, churches may have served as junior social clubs that brought people together and created resilience-supportive social support networks (Buikstra et al., 2010). Building these ties and engaging in differentiating activities at multiple Sunday schools suggest potential for resilience building through the diversity of capitals that were built. A nearer, focused study of Sunday schools and fellowships is needed to understand the distinctions.

As youth became more independent, there was a tension between believing that home teaching fixes the bad judgment that youth already have, and the idea that youth need to be watched and attentively brought into expectations about whom to associate with as part of their training to be adults. The persistence of tight community ties (in a small town everyone knows everyone’s business) allows for the idea that the youth are a (or the) problem, without acknowledging how those within one’s family are part of that

“problem” generation as well. Without formal history in schools or strong, detailed oral history about past generations at home, young people only have the big picture that their generation is “no good.” This narrative, plus the story that there is no hope, work, or future in Bluefields sows very serious doubt and bodes poorly for community resilience. Despite the balance sought by CSOs and parents (supporting development while maintaining social controls), there remained outsider youth (who defied social norms) in the community. These became a frequent narrative about youth, though they were not a greater proportion of youth than those that met expectations. Yet, the “good” ones still heard and bore generational ties to the

“others,” and risked negative self-identification as a result.

Faith-based, Intergenerational Resilience Support

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Organizational foci aligned with Bluefields culture and identity formation outside the home

(Findings VI and VIII).

Shared spaces offered long-term benefits that supported youth as individuals and supported community resilience, as Brennan (2006, 2008) emphasized. The experience, social-emotional development, and community agency built in these spaces have wide-reaching impacts. The places where youth engaged with adults featured balances of control and freedom. These shared spaces taught youth what they needed to know and how they needed to behave as they approached adulthood in their cultural context. At the same time, adults gained an understanding of youth perspectives, and perhaps how these “adult activities” are valued, or not, by young people—indicating the parts of culture are most likely to change quickly with the next generation.

The knowledge and social capital of previous generations were still called upon, such as when someone referred to their family being well known, or when a young person referred me to an older Creole person to learn more about Creole culture. These kinds of connections suggested that younger generations sensed that they are devalued with weaker social connections and knowledge. This was problematic for cultural resilience but not surprising. With the idea that celebrations like “Maypole” are the epitome of culture, and knowledge that the tradition had drastically changed, it stands to reason that young people felt they did not have the right to claim to know their culture—they had been told that it is ruined, and to some degree this must relate to their (in)actions around it.

The ways people engaged with institutions looked different across generations. With more church availability, for example, many young people chose less-traditional Christian churches. Rather than Baptist,

Moravian, or Adventist, they attended services in places that catered to their culture: less formal dress, more activities, and dancing. That is not to say, however, that previous generations were not valued. Religion was part of the Creole experience, but it was not fixed or static. People choose different organizations of religion and differentiated practices rooted in the same faith, based on their life situations. This is yet another place of cultural negotiation. These kinds of conversation are interesting and to the extent that community

159 members have them together, can further strengthen shared perspectives and knowledge about one another.

Again, Community resilience and cultural resilience studies cannot ignore faith-based spaces for intergenerational exchange and social capital development.

Diverse and Valuable Capitals

Organizational culture aligned with Bluefields and holistic organizations (Findings VI and

VII).

Social capital is found in connections and relationships, and in community resilience literature is discussed as a willingness to engage bonding, bridging, and linking capital for the community’s benefit (Magis, 2010;

Matarrita-Cascante, Brennan, & Luloff, 2010). The relationships between social capital and community resilience are complicated. Even without specifying bonding, bridging, and linking, Ledogar & Fleming,

(2008) discuss a four-dimensional framework linking individual and community resilience plus individual and community social capital. In Bluefields, engaging the available social capital has not yet been effective in building systemic, sustainable opportunities to improve economic capital in the community. Instead, social capital is engaged for survival at an individual level, and by organizations to pick up the slack where those informal networks leave youth vulnerable. Bluefields persistence is a testament to the importance of social capital as a valuable indicator of community health, and a counterpoint to neoliberal models that judge success only by quantitative and economic measures. This situation is all-too-common in communities with substantial indigenous populations (Ledogar & Fleming, 2008): Bluefields itself is marginalized, but not alone, “broke but not broken” (Blue Scholars, 2007)

Community resilience scholars have explored details within systems to highlight specific resources that can be targeted for improvement or development, including “Economic Development, Social Capital,

Information and Communication, and Community Competence” (Sherrieb, Norris, & Galea, 2014). CSOs that serve youth contribute actively to the development of three of these four components (with

“information and communication” having a weaker connection to these functions). In supporting identity building through affinity-based groups, social capital is strengthened among young people throughout

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Bluefields. Education services (e.g., tutoring and TVET offerings) are further links that CSOs provide for community resilience. Training for individuals leads to expanding skills that support economic development and community competence in resilience-relevant systems.

There is a divide in the literature when it comes to the sources of change for community resilience: dynamic individuals or groups with shared goals. This paradox appears in my findings, as well. At least one community resilience scholar suggests that although there are community capitals, the actual work of resilience-building change is often spearheaded and directed by a single individual (Wilson, 2013). And yet, communities are made of interconnected systems including complex decision-making mechanisms

(democratic and otherwise) and such involved individuals. Systems enact pro-resilience policy or practice through investing shared resources toward that end (Ungar, 2012b). This is the case in Bluefields, where a small “advocacy class” (a source of “community competence,”) works for autonomy policy implementation by engaging political, economic, and social capitals. The policies themselves, however, require coordination with CSOs and government institutions. The goals of these policies and practices are to improve the resilience of the community by increasing the capacities and capitals within it. The extent to which these resources and capacities are available to individuals contributes to their potential success (Ungar, 2011,

2012b); the extent to which they reflect Creole culture contributes to cultural resilience.

Politically powerful and progress-motivated individuals are among the complex capitals that support community resilience. In Bluefields, as in other marginalized contexts, their proportions and engagements shift in reaction to challenges that push resilience to the fore. The creation of the North and South

Autonomous Regions, as a reaction to the political challenges of the Nicaraguan civil war, is an example of a resilient approach to a challenge that threatened social and cultural stability. It is crucial to note that these capitals can exist within networks and CSOs, but they can also exist in a latent form as passionate but weakly connected individuals.

Power and Isolation Connecting to Community Resilience

Organizational foci, holistic organizations, and convivencia (Findings VI, VII, and IX).

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The calls for engaging considerations of power in resilience studies include a focus on culturally diverse communities (Rival, 2009 in Wilson, 2013). This study juxtaposes critical theory, ethnography, policy, and resilience theory. My conceptual framework, research design, and analysis assert the presence of a power imbalance that facilitates the continued marginalization of Afro-descendant Creoles in Bluefields,

Nicaragua. This follows in the footsteps of scholars that have used critical theory to look at racial and ethnic groups’ individual resilience and their communities’ precarious positions. In addition to the strong theoretical foundation of my study, I look to the current understanding of Creole on-the-ground practices of

CSOs in Bluefields to contextualize power relationships in this diverse community.

Furthermore, my findings support those of other studies of marginalized communities with unique governance structures. As Molnar and Schafft (2003) centered their discussion on exclusion as an under- considered flip-side of social capital conversation, my findings include an explicit focus on inclusion and exclusion. The conditions that poverty creates limit the opportunities for community action while shaping individuals priorities (Chaskin, 2008; Molnar & Schafft, 2003). Bluefields maintains resilience in poverty; the poverty is due, in part, to the power exercised by national governance. As in many marginalized communities with indigenous populations, Bluefields’ economic needs are great and pressing. In this context of limited individual action, ties to government institutions facilitate intervention. However, social capital within a relatively closed system can only take sustainable development so far.

Bluefields’ economic and political exclusion from Nicaragua contributes to the community’s vulnerability (Molnar & Schafft, 2003), just as individuals are vulnerable when they are “othered.” This challenges the field of human geography where Wilson (2014) suggests that communities that are isolated may have political power in their hands, as a result of their distance from powerful structures. The community level of exclusion was not central to my study but is an important contextual reality. Participants in my study have suggested that action around autonomy has stalled or failed by design due to hierarchies of political power. More study into Bluefields’ exclusion will improve perspective on the importance of cultural resilience and community resilience and the findings I present here.

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Given the community isolation and exclusion, CSOs work is crucial to fill in the gaps where informal networks and governmental welfare policies fall short. In addition to the context specificity recommended for various kinds of resilience study, the CSOs and their relationships to a) governance and b) marginalized cultures are important to understand when they are assets for resilience. CSOs support social capital development but may also be part of hierarchies that enforce othering and create distance between marginalized cultures or be forces for inclusion. Alternatively, CSOs could exist in a more radical space that works for resilience (cultural and community) against status quo power structures.

Balances between Autonomy, Cultural Rights, and Convivencia

Organizational foci, holistic organizations, and convivencia (Findings VI, VII, and IX).

In contexts with similar governance structures and attention to the minority populations, success in community development is often bolstered by local actions (Schafft & Brown, 2000). Calls for attention to local contexts, including increasingly local governance, are common throughout resilience literature; examples of local emphasis can be found in human development (see, Ungar, 2012a), studies of social- ecological resilience (see, Garmestani & Benson, 2013), and community resilience studies (Matarrita-

Cascante et al., 2010; Zautra et al., 2008). In Bluefields, among the Creole community, there is a history of advocacy that stretches back centuries (Baracco, 2005; Gordon, 1998; Morris, 2016a). Organizations and individuals have worked to maintain the cultural diversity of the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua, with success represented in the Autonomy Laws. These changes to governance created broad advancements in higher education, land titling, traditional healing, and the legal system (Broomfield & Davies, 2003; Dennis &

Herlihy, 2004; Hooker, 2012; Morris, 2016b). Decentralization has been found to support community resilience (Stark & Taylor, 2014). Given how localization and/or decentralization are reported in the literature to support community resilience, and the representations of Creole culture in social institutions with successful autonomy policy, SEAR shines in a different light. Just as Autonomy Laws successfully supported the integration of traditional medicine into hospital treatment, so SEAR can support culturally relevant education. Fully enacting the policy offers support to community resilience efforts that are already

163 begun in Bluefields. Because institutions are deeply embedded in societal functioning, autonomy implementation has been enacted unevenly. That education is the slowest to change may be explained from multiple perspectives. The critical approach of this work identifies education as a powerful tool that is not quickly relinquished by the dominant culture. It is also, less critically, a complex system that is difficult to permeate with new ideas, making individual approaches for change difficult.

The Power of Social Memory for Resilience

Organizational foci aligned with convivencia (Findings VI and IX).

Wilson (2015) makes an explicit study of community resilience and social memory, “how the inbuilt

‘memory’ of a local community helps shape resilience pathways (social memory) (Davidson, 2010)”

(Wilson, 2015, p. 231). Much of these memories in Bluefields are included in the CSOs that support community needs. The development of the three autonomy-focused institutions (Coast Region Youth

Services, Autonomy Advocates Center, and Cultural Connections to Learning), and their ties to community cultural diversity and preservation are important for social memory in Bluefields and the region. Together, their work fills the gaps for young people, and the Creole community maintains social memory through their institutional relationships.

Academics focused on Bluefields engage social memory as a tool for identifying periods of time in the Coast’s complex history; they differentiate periods based on ruling powers, political conflict, and the foci of activists (Gordon, Gurdián, & Hale, 2003). In focusing on areas such as land tenure and political identifications, however, they ignore the identity of Creole and Coasteñx culture in future generations.

Many studies hint around the edges of cultural resilience with support from other fields. Linguistics, for example, and maintaining the use of Kriol is an important component of Creole culture (Tasker-Mueller,

2016). Political scientists make claims for recognition of the reality of the Creole community, offer insight into their oppression, and fight against narratives that criminalize Black Coasteñxs by linking them to the

Contras and drug trafficking (Goett, 2011; Hooker, 2005, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2017). Some inquiries have been made into the particularities of Creole culture, including bush medicine (McKim Mitchell, 2011) and

164 through oral history projects, with the latter reporting on the approach to training community members to gather stories, rather than the stories themselves (Broomfield & Davies, 2003). The content of the social memory of Coasteñx Creoles has not yet been shared with the broader academic world, and my research raises the concern that it has not yet been broadly shared with Creole youth.

Throughout Bluefields, as I conducted my research, participants were excited to share their culture and stories, they wondered why I was the one asking, and they worried that the result of their sharing (my learning) would not make it back to the community. The advocates and activists with the strongest ties to the community were aching for young Creole people to become engaged, hoping to be able to share their knowledge, and wishing that the work of cultural resilience building be shared by the whole community.

This need, now identified, can be approached by CSOs as yet another patch in the community resilience quilt that stretches over Bluefields.

Although social memory’s importance is recognized in multiple fields of study, its foundation in Creole Bluefileñx society is weak. Social memory, instead, exists chiefly within the operational level of CSOs. Given the value of shared histories of oppression for marginalized groups (see, “Parenting choices, pursuing work outside of the community, and employing bush medicine and pharmacy solutions are active engagements with culture that impact youth experiences, cultural resilience, and community resilience. Passing Creoleness to young people (enculturation) through parenting, extended family relationships, and networks of care built future generations of Creoles that share cultural values, attitudes, and beliefs. Enculturation is associated with stronger individual cultural resilience (Bals et al., 2011) that supports problem-solving and community resilience by extension. In Bluefields, the work of CSOs to support community resilience is evidence of the presence of resources that support resilience. As indicated in “Chapter 4, Part 2: How Organizations do their part,” the organizations work independently but in harmony with one another. The CSOs in Bluefields, particularly

Coast Region Youth Services and Autonomy Advocates Center, offer services to Creole youth from locations that are open to all. Their services are based on community needs and networked together. These features allow the organizations to offer culturally relevant services, and for individual advocates within the organizations to have knowledge about community resources outside their own expertise. These practices link to the coordinated and continuous functioning of services for community resilience; missing, however, is the co-location that would allow marginalized youth a “one stop shop,” so to speak, of support (Ungar,

2011). 165

Intentionality for resilience may improve its state, but resilience is still possible without announcing it as a specific goal.

Displays of Belonging and Social Positions,” p.153) and social memory’s role in community resilience, the two related concepts can be studied and improved together. They are especially crucial in economically and socially oppressed contexts.

Defining Community via Culture with Governance Links

Organizational foci and convivencia (Findings VI and IX).

Berkes and Ross’ (2013), in the field of community resilience, employ a geographically-based definition of

“community.” The concept of a cultural community, however, is lacking in resilience literature. Culture as community and its relationship to geographic communities’ resilience needs to be developed further to add nuance to contextually specific concepts of resilience. Berkes and Ross allude to this, calling for further research on “values and behavior that bond communities and cultures within their environments, and cross- cultural resilience” (Berkes & Ross, 2013, p. 17). My work is an initial step in this direction for Bluefields.

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Local knowledge is also foundational for studies of community resilience (Stark & Taylor, 2014). In

Bluefields, the Autonomy Laws are an important component of context that links community resilience to culture and to governance. The autonomy processes of the Coast represent intentional resilience-building strategies of indigenous and Afro-descendant groups. Autonomy practices are among the active, culturally- based ways that community resilience has been maintained in Bluefields and beyond (Sonn & Fisher, 1998;

Wexler et al., 2013). The systemic engagement of institutions (e.g., through culture, social capital, and governance) is a hallmark of resilience as it is studied in multiple processes (Fleming & Ledogar, 2008;

Wexler et al., 2013; Wilson, 2013).

Representation vs. Invisibilization, and CSO Opportunities

Holistic organizations supporting identity formation and convivencia (Findings VII, VIII, and

IX).

Research on traditional measures of school success indicates the value of cultural identity for students.

Absent strong cultural identity, however, students with teachers who share their culture are also more likely to meet their teachers’ expectations (Fryberg et al., 2012). Although this is possible, to some degree, in the

Creole-identity schools in Bluefields, it is not yet institutionalized fully. Michelle, a Creole woman and teacher at Cultural Readiness Elementary, made clear that this process of “cultural matching,” was insufficient. She noted that despite the school’s Creole-identity, there was no bilingual curriculum or shared approach to using Kriol or Standard English. Thus, when students reached her in the fifth-grade classroom, they struggled to read and write in any language (including Spanish).

Throughout Latin America, invisibilization is in keeping with public schools’ mandates to foster a national identity; this homogenization extends to other areas of social services, as well, ignoring the particular needs and contributions of Afro-descendants in many nations (Arocha & Maya, 2008; Bello &

Rangel, 2002). For Creoles, race is assumed to be the only thing that sets them apart from Mestizx

Nicaraguans (Hooker, 2005), likely due to the systems geared towards homogenization that demand assimilation to Mestizx expectations in Nicaragua. For example, the Roma in Hungary have similar rights to 167 self-governance and culturally-relevant education, yet ethnic Hungarians deny Roma culture’s existence beyond the familiar trope of a “culture of poverty” (Molnar & Schafft, 2003). This invisibilization in schools increases the need for marginalized youth to learn the second, dominant culture while hiding the work they do towards that end. It is telling that Autonomy Advocates Center in Bluefields considers developing a link to cultural identity as foundational to their work of youth training in the region. As in many instances, the CSO is filling a gap that supports individual development as well as the community. Its reach, however, is limited compared to that of the public-school system.

Researchers and practitioners explore multiple approaches to bridging cultural gaps in the classroom.

The Funds of Knowledge framework suggests teachers become cultural researchers to better understand their students’ cultural communities and ways of knowing (Moll et al., 1992). Bello and Rangel (2002), warn against including Afro-descendants culture in classrooms in token ways that could be an outcome of half-hearted or ill-planned funds of knowledge attempts. And Ungar (2008) emphasizes that any work to foster individual resilience will be successful only if it includes a number of context-specific realities for implementation and understanding. These are important guiding points that could support development and implementation of SEAR-aligned curriculum.

In Bluefields, there is a problematic disconnection between sources of enculturation (home and neighborhood) and the curriculum and policies in schools. Implementing programs at schools, even if there was sufficient political will and capital to realize them, is a long-term possibility at best. The work of CSOs in Bluefields, however, is likely to have a closer connection to culture, and more flexibility to focus on it.

Using CSOs as a turnkey for initiatives that focus on cultural resilience and community resilience is a more likely near-term reality. This potential is due to their focus on community needs, their reliance on networks, and their role as supporting identity building. As organizations meet a swath of community needs, shape identities, and promote community culture (e.g., convivencia) (Findings VII, VIII, and IX), they are uniquely positioned to recognize and honor marginalized communities. Moreover, as the CSOs’ maintain ties to governance, they can carry this platform of recognition to new levels that further support community

168 resilience. As they engage with social systems (e.g., education and health), they have the opportunity to make marginalized peoples’ needs a common thread throughout their work. Although working with government suggests support for the status quo, the “c” in “CSO” can be updated to represent “change.”

The Need to Link Cultural Resilience to Community Resilience

Despite the literature available in human development and community psychology, there is not yet a strong link between cultural resilience and community resilience. This may, in part, be due to the different definitions of “community” that each field uses. My research design, focused on cultural community that is geographically guided but not geographically bounded, is a step in the direction of filling this gap. I consider ways in which the concentration of Creoles in Bluefields supports cultural resilience such as networks of minding, engagement of culture in faith-based social institutions, and extended families that enculturate youth. Then, turning to organizations that serve youth, I look for ways in which this community resilience (including marginalized culture) is represented or supported. This perspective draws on some components of human development (psychology), community psychology, and community resilience.

Keys to Community Resilience in Parallel Sites

The degree to which a community engages the resources they have, however, is another key component in literature and in my study. If the work of CSOs creates strong community members or improves the economic conditions, but the community does not or cannot engage those resources, the overall resilience is not improved (Magis, 2010). Community agency is key to studies of resilience in many contexts.

Independent advocates and the Bluefields community take action in pursuit of resilience (Brennan,

2008; Magis, 2010; Wexler et al., 2013). They build resilience by drawing on myriad resources to confront particular challenges. As mentioned earlier, parenting choices, pursuing work outside of the community, and employing bush medicine and pharmacy solutions are active engagements with culture that impact youth experiences, cultural resilience, and community resilience. Research on diverse community offerings suggests that they are affiliated with more resilient communities (Steiner & Markantoni, 2013) and that these structures are especially important when other social institutions (e.g., family ties) are not able to meet

169 individuals’ needs (Ungar, 2011). Culturally-relevant approaches and programming in response to local need are also beneficial to community resilience because they are more sustainable and are able to garner participation than are ready-made programs from foreign contexts (Matarrita-Cascante et al., 2010). Being responsive to the context is a central component of what Ungar (2008) prescribes for programs and interventions that serve youth development, including individual resilience.

Ethnography in Education of Marginalized Students

An important function of ethnographic work is underscoring the dignity and legitimacy of cultures that are misunderstood, ignored, and popularly maligned as “backward.” Throughout ethnographies in the field of education, scholars often narrow their work to look at a well-known idea through the lens of culture or to understand how cultures adapt to meet expectations of dominant institutions. This dissertation, with a focus on youth and community, takes a step back from these areas of specificity in action or conceptualization to build a picture of Creole culture and the Bluefields community as they are. In doing so, however, it can link to other forms of ethnographic research that offer insight into the next crucial steps in research, analysis, and ultimately educational practice to meet the goals of autonomy in Bluefields.

Some works parallel my study in Bluefields along the lines of ethnographic methodology and theoretical orientations. In a study of Latinx immigrant families in the US, Monzó (2016) draws on revolutionary critical pedagogy to understand how students and other Latinx immigrants internalize oppression, following the examples of white supremacy set by schools. A similar analytical framework could readily be laid over my data in Bluefields. As in the Los Angeles community that Monzó (2016) studied, there are Creole adults and youth in Bluefields who express internalized oppression of their culture, experience, and ways of knowing because it departs from powerful Mestizx norms. In both contexts, community members come to understand traditions and approaches to resilience as at-odds with the majority.

Monzó (2016) grounds the US-based ethnographic research in the invisibility of whiteness as the embodiment of oppression. In Bluefields, the invisibility of Mestizx culture in also evidences a hierarchy.

The “invisibility” of the dominant culture, in each case, sets up a society where the dominant culture is so

170 prevalent and taken-for-granted that it comes to be seen as a-cultural. Thus, the culture of any marginalized group is identified as “other” and inferior. A revolutionary critical pedagogy analysis of Creole participants would look for instances where components of Creole culture are identified as obstacles to be overcome.

My findings include references to such when participants specified the need to improve their Spanish or discussed their Spanish language facility with an air of superiority. In their current state, however, my findings are limited to identifying components of Creole culture that are persistent through generations (and thus valuable) and how a marginalized community engages its resources to succeed.

There are also studies that push ethnographers to test and question prevailing frameworks for understanding and serving marginalized groups. Dovemark and Johansson (2016), in particular, use ethnographic methods to look at the concept of tolerance in Sweden. The researchers found that, from some perspectives, the liberal ideal of “tolerance” in education can backfire and support systemic oppression. In school settings where “high risk” or troubled students are given the freedom to make decisions about the direction, pace, style, and engagement in schools, teachers and administrators take pride in their dedication to “meeting students where they are.” This tolerant ideal in practice, however, is a disservice to the students.

Despite the goal of preparing struggling students to re-enter academic education, Dovemark and Johansson

(2016) find that the less rigid programming in the tolerant environment results in students not being challenged to progress. Instead, they are steered toward vocational tracks with teachers’ complacency.

These weak expectations mirror the deficit perspective that is too often engaged with marginalized students in a variety of contexts.

Dovemark and Johansson’s (2016) ethnographic work that questions the seemingly undisputable concept of “tolerance” pushes my own work to recognize places where cultural resilience and community resilience are detrimental to Creole people or the Bluefields community. One potential avenue for further analysis is the reality of barrio-based minding. Segregated neighborhoods are the foundation of this cultural component. While the idea of barrio culture and networks as supportive for Creole resilience is appealing, the alternative perspective on this segregation may highlight systemic racism and continued marginalization.

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This and other analysis are possible with my Bluefields data set and are methodologically and theoretically interesting, given the asset-based approach that I used when designing this research.

Ethnography, Education, and Resilience

There is limited empirical work that relates community resilience, cultural resilience, and education through ethnographic methods. An interesting exception to this is Steele’s (Steele, 2018) study of indigenous students in Peru who migrate for education. The author presents paradoxes that these students face as they relocate to urban centers to “move ahead” with the support of their families, community, CSOs, and a religious mission. The process of becoming “civilized,” for these students, is linked to formal education and urban experience. Tension arises between the expectation that the students will return to their village and the idea that those who stayed in the communities were somehow backward. The ways of knowing that are gained from outside are expected to lead to positive community resilience, including through professionalization of educators, leaders, and health care professionals.

In contrast to my work that braids together cultural resilience and community resilience, Steele

(2018) does not explicitly focus on components of culture that would be preserved or sacrificed through these changes. Steele’s respondents make references to their dedication to improving their community while maintaining its identity. This suggestion of cultural resilience highlights the challenges of marginalized people who support community resilience by becoming agents of change while dedicated to their own cultural resilience. Steele (2018) focuses on community resilience and links to higher education and migration, which is an area that can be expanded in Bluefields as well. Such an extension, and the present work share a foundation with Steele’s (2018) concept of identity as a complex weave of culture, race, and place-based features. Likewise, Steele’s analysis of Peru can be deepened by drawing on the conceptual framework presented in this dissertation, and by concepts of cultural resilience, especially for the migrant students who leave and return to their rainforest communities.

Steele’s (2018) community resilience-higher education-migration research indicates an expanding space in academic conversations around culture, resilience, and supportive processes for indigenous

172 peoples, as understood through ethnographic studies. Another work that ties higher education to marginalized communities include Sumida Huaman and Abeita’s (2018) consideration of the teacher-learner within an indigenous higher education program focused on social justice. On the Atlantic Coast of

Nicaragua, the work to link higher education to the local indigenous populations has begun (Cupples &

Glynn, 2014; Dennis & Herlihy, 2004); like the work of Sumida Huaman and Abeita (2018), it does not consider cultural or community resilience as explicitly related to the social justice goals of such efforts.

Thus, this dissertation is a place from which to expand the study of indigenous and Afro-descendant

Nicaraguans and their experiences with education at multiple levels. The links between Creole culture, youth, and CSOs in Bluefields can be foundational for studies of post-secondary education and the communities and CSOs that fuel it in Bluefields.

Through shared methodology, my dissertation links to a breadth of ethnographic literature in education. The analysis of my findings draws on concepts suggested in the conceptual framework (p.43) and extends the concepts of community and cultural resilience and asset-based ideology. The following sections highlight the expansion of the theoretical framework to link with theoretical tools that are frequently used in empirical and theoretical scholarly works in education.

Cultural and Community Capital Theories Expansion

Lareau and Weininger (2003) consider cultural capital according to a “non-dominant” framework that they align to Bourdieu’s body of work. They suggest that the emphasis on “highbrow” cultural capital indicators throughout social science literature drowns out more complex conversations. The complexity they seek reveals cultural capital in relationship to educational achievement and bureaucratic structures. While acknowledging studies that engage alternative indicators of cultural capital this complexity-building seeks only to expand the conception of what kinds cultural capital are recognized. Lareau and Weininger (2003) stop short of upsetting the status quo and building the expectations that institutions become respectful of and responsive to such alternative cultural capitals. In upending the deficit perspective and highlighting the ways in which institutions are built to support white supremacy, Critical Race Theory (CRT; discussed more

173 deeply, below) and this resilience-based study demand more of the systems that reproduce arbitrary social exclusions and marginalization. In doing so, this work takes a stance beyond the symbolic recognition of

“diversity” and pushes those in positions of power and privilege to continually identify and present alternatives to systemic injustice, beginning with the researchers themselves.

Although this dissertation considers alternative indicators of cultural capital, extending beyond

Lareau and Weininger (2003), it falls short of the typical uses of cultural capital in studies of education.

Many studies that rely on Bourdian cultural capital frameworks use quantitative measures to show relationships between success and the possession of cultural capital (however measured). Instead, this study looks to what cultural capital is certainly present among Creole Bluefileñx youth and how it represents cultural resilience. In effect, it takes for granted that the institution of education in Nicaragua was designed to ignore or ameliorate this cultural difference. Based on historical and systemic discrimination and the

Global Critical Race and Racism (GCRR; discussed further below) framework, the findings of this study proffer starting points for conversation about the strengths of Creole culture that can be engaged to support academic success.

The academic work of expanding conversations and complexities of alternative capitals is not new in studies of resilience. Magis’ work draws on a framework of “community capitals” that extend deeper than economics (Magis, 2010). Ogbu (1991), similarly, recognizes tactics (e.g., collective struggle and hustling) that support marginalized communities facing systemic oppression. And Ledogar and Flemming (2008), in studying social capital and resilience, specifically emphasize the ecological nature of Aboriginal communities, with individuals as inseparable from the community and multiple dimensions of social capital.

Bourdieu’s Capitals meet Critical Race Theory (CRT): Development and Expansion

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Nicaragua. This follows in the footsteps of scholars who have used critical theory to look at racial and ethnic groups’ resilience and their communities’ precarious positions. In addition to the strong theoretical foundation of my study, I look to the current understanding of Creole on-the-ground practices of CSOs in

Bluefields to contextualize power relationships in this diverse community.

Critical Race Theory (CRT) expanded from the study of law to multiple fields. Further, it was divided and specialized to address the intersectionalities of oppression for multiple marginalized groups

(Yosso, 2005). From the genealogy of Critical theories that Yosso (2005) offers, this work on Creole

Bluefileñxs is not easily separated from CRT, LatCrit, or TribalCrit. In exploring CRT and its expanded use in social science, Yosso (2005) traces CRT’s roots to Bourdieu. The theory of capitals that Bourdieu (1986) presents is intended to explain ways in which non-economic factors contribute to social status and mobility, as well as how non-economic capitals can be transformed into one another and economic benefits.

Embodied, physical, and social capital, according to Bourdieu (1986) are signals of location in the social hierarchy. Bourdieu only references societies and cultures of the Global North during a particular period of time. Although the signals of status change over time, it remains that social capital considerations are rooted in societies and cultures most like those of the Global North. The same is true of CRT, as it is rooted in US history it draws on the White middle or upper-class male as the point of reference. In Bluefields, the

Mestizx or Spaniard male remains a crucial point of reference, but as such the point of reference for social capital must shift to match it. So, extending Bourdieuian analysis to the Nicaraguan context requires an understanding of how embodied, physical, and social capital of Creoles compares to that of Mestizxs.

Yosso’s (2005) framework that highlights community cultural wealth as an outgrowth of cultural capital is immensely helpful in analyzing the components of Creole culture that are identified in my first four findings. Bringing Critical theory to the analytical framework of alternative capitals supports the efforts of Critical theory to question the status quo and ask “whose capital counts.” In doing so, Yosso (2005) establishes the concept of “community cultural wealth,” which is a more longstanding form of social and embodied capitals (according to Bourdieu) that serve oppressed peoples. Although Yosso’s definition of

175 community is weakly defined, the functions of community cultural wealth can be considered geographically or culturally, as my own analysis does. Aspirational capital, familial capital, social capital, navigational capital, resistant capital, and linguistic capital can be stored within communities that are chronically oppressed and marginalized and drawn upon to support individual and group efforts for advancement and recognition. This approach of critical theory shares a foundation with resilience theory by rejecting deficit perspectives that glorify and reinforce the arbitrary social hierarchies along race, class, gender, ability, ethnic, and other axes.

Though Yosso (2005) specifies that intersectionality dictates that racial oppression does not stand alone, but overlaps with oppression by gender, accent, and other arbitrary sources of discrimination, there remains an important consideration of oppression in Bluefields that reaches beyond extant literature. CRT

(and later other, related critical theories) grew out of oppression in the US. Although there are similarities in racial hierarchies and biases throughout the world and the African Diaspora, the context in which the critical study is undertaken should be held in the forefront. Policy that pays lip service to ameliorating discrimination in the US and Nicaragua is a starting point of the nations’ parallel oppressions. In Nicaragua, as in the US, the success record is weak in terms of upending the systematic exclusion, disenfranchisement, and oppression of indigenous and Afro-descendant peoples. Thus, while there are differences in histories between the two contexts, the commonalities are unfortunately substantial enough to begin using CRT and related frameworks in Bluefields.

In families that guide relationships and friendships away from engagement with oppressive social norms, resistant capital flourishes as a reflection of the navigational capital that exists (in addition to familial capital). Specifically, generations that implore young people to “lift up their color” through selective matches with lighter skinned Creoles are displaying their understanding of navigating a racist reality that favors European phenotypes. In contrast, those who counsel their relatives against consorting with “nasty” Spaniards or Whites who are culturally distinct, with negative attributions, display a resistant capital that seeks to protect Creoleness. In the complexities of race, these messages often overlap as the

176 capitals compete for dominance. The challenge of cultural resilience work is to acknowledge the value that

Creoles place on both sentiments and engage CRT methodologies that allow both sides to show through.

TribalCrit and Critical Race Theory (CRT) are potential lenses for understanding Afro-descendant and indigenous Nicaraguans’ experiences. Although Masta (2018) uses TribalCrit in a US context to understand ongoing, systemic oppression of Native Americans, the governance structures and history of the

Atlantic Coast are an appropriate parallel. Similarly, CRT centers historical and systemic racism in understanding the position of people of color in contemporary society. Expanding CRT to a LAC context to study Creole Bluefileñxs would add important nuance to a field that is dominated by the Global North.

As indicated in the previous section, there are notable problems in using CRT in a non-US context.

One theoretical approach to closing this gap comes in the form of Global Critical Race and Racism (GCRR) analysis (Christian, 2018). This framework engages the foundations of CRT, including a denial of deficit perspectives, with an extension to consider the crucial nature of national history and the neo-liberal turn that has more deeply entrenched white supremacy in the global reality. The framework does not, at the outset, consider a context like that of Creole Bluefileñxs who challenge national norms by embodying a paradox of

Black skin with a link to English language, markets, and culture. The development of GCRR considers the

“malleability of whiteness,” which approaches this paradox, but not regarding racial and cultural heterogeneity within a single nation. Thus, while CRT has theoretical extensions into the global forum, scholars have not yet engaged GCRR in the Nicaraguan context.

Despite the absence of specific historical and contextual analysis of GCRR theory in Nicaragua, the framework is helpful in analyzing the findings of this study. Christian (2018) shows the global nature of white supremacy and how it is expressed intra-nationally and internationally. The racist structure, according to Christian (2018), is comprised of state, economy, and institutional methods of implementation.

Simultaneously, racist ideology is represented in discourse and through other forms of representation. The work of this dissertation and previous educational studies engaging CRT would suggest that racist ideology is manifested through invisibility as opposed to representation. The task, then, of future analysis is to extend

177 the asset-based approach of the pertinent resilience framework in order to identify examples of Creole culture and the Bluefields community countering racist structures and racist ideologies. Table 5-1 (below) lists the systems identified by Christian (2018) and the findings that work against them. While engaging

GCRR theoretical guidance is relevant to the Nicaraguan context, it remains an under-utilized framework.

Engaging the framework in future studies of Bluefields and the nation, however, is an important area of work that further draws together diverse disciplines and can be used to inform community resilience work.

Table 5-1: Global Critical Race and Racism Structures and Ideologies Structures State organizational foci intertwined with Bluefields culture (Autonomy-focused advocacy); holistic organizations/services with a community base Economy networks of care and minding; holistic organizations/services with a community base Institutions networks of care and minding; extended families and traditions; building identity in the home and family (alternative language; flexible household roles; shared space/youth engagement; comparative perspectives/exclusion— questioning Latinx status quo) Ideologies Discourse Living together, it’s all we have Representation/ That’s not the right thing; invisibilization

Christian (2018) specifies, with regard to the ways in which discourse and representation are relevant to

GCRR, that

the contemporary global diffusion of a broad and wide “colorblind” ideology, that adapts and takes shape differently through specific manifestations including “multiculturalism,” “racial democracy,” “mestizaje,” “caste blind,” and “ethnic nationalism,” all produce different discursive and representational practices that downplay the significance of race and racism.” (Christian, 2018, p. 10) Among my findings, two components of Creole culture are linked to the broader Creole discourse. (It is noteworthy that my asset-based approach does not include analysis of the national discourse, which would be especially helpful in GCRR analysis.) The practices that respond racist ideologies exist at individual and

CSO levels. Finding V, “That’s not the right thing,” is a clear rebuke of dominant ideologies that would pejoratively label Afro-descendants. Instead, it is a refrain that emphasizes the ways in which Creoles live and raise their children to present themselves according to cultural norms of representation. Dress and 178 behavior, in this finding, are policed by the community in order to ensure that Creoles are maintaining cultural expectations which are directly contrasted to racist global stereotypes.

The cultural support of extended family members is often facilitated by the geographic proximity, with multiple generations sharing a yard. In terms of Yosso’s (2005) framework of community cultural wealth, this finding links clearly to categories of familial, linguistic, and social. The engagement of faith suggests an expansion of the framework that would, in Bluefields, exist among these three where church is a place to engage Kriol, connect with like-minded youth, and plan for attendance and engagement with family members from different generations.

The State serves as an actor that supports global white supremacy, according to Christian (2018). In

Bluefields, the work of CSOs to preserve community resilience work against this effort. Through the framework of autonomy, CSOs recognize and empower marginalized groups in coordinated autonomy advocacy. With their foci deeply embedded in the local culture and the goals of autonomy, Bluefields CSOs fill the gaps in the wellbeing of many Creole Bluefileñxs. This includes supporting schools and offering non-formal education and training as a long-term investment in Coastal human capital. With these two findings (findings VI and VII) CSOs acknowledge the weaknesses of the state and the needs of local peoples. They work to redress the results of geographic and cultural marginalization that are part of

Nicaragua’s state functioning.

Indications of Cultural Resilience in the Classroom

Researchers and practitioners explore multiple approaches to bridging cultural gaps in the classroom. The

Funds of Knowledge framework suggests teachers become cultural researchers to better understand their students’ cultural communities and ways of knowing (Moll et al., 1992). Bello and Rangel (2002), warn against including Afro-descendants culture in classrooms in token ways that could be an outcome of half- hearted or ill-planned funds of knowledge attempts. And Ungar (2008) emphasizes that any work to foster individual resilience will be successful only if it includes a number of context-specific realities for

179 implementation and understanding. These are important guiding points that could support development and implementation of SEAR-aligned curriculum.

Shoshana (2017) uses critical theory and discourse analysis in a comparative ethnographic study.

This study draws attention to “colorblindness” contemporary education, particularly in Israel, and its extension to the delegitimization of the experiences of racism, bias, and marginalization. Shoshana’s (2017) findings indicate that teachers value the responses typical of high-SES students and are more likely to attempt controlling the speech of low-SES students. An important part of valuing or controlling student discourse, according to this study, is the prevalence of a “psychological” perspective. In discussing a fictional story of a society sliding toward totalitarianism, the psychological perspective links to a neoliberal model of individual responsibility. This contrasted the perspective of the low-SES students who saw powerful social structures as the source of oppression. The finding that social position impacts students’ understandings of oppression and marginalization has clear links to the foundation of this work. Moreover,

Shoshana’s (2017) emphasis on the failure of teachers to recognize and value the contributions and perspectives of non-dominant students can serve as the place from which to launch analysis into potential changes in curriculum in order to better honor the heterogeneous experiences of youth.

One example of an ethnographic work that raises important issues for education of marginalized groups highlights the value of local education in Nepal. Pradahan (2017) looks into Nepalese cultural and linguistic diversity and focuses on a specific school that has built textbooks, curriculum, and pedagogy around the mother-tongue of the community. This is complex work that includes the development of a

“standardized” local language and negotiation of a reality in which that language was understood to be chiefly oral but was wedged into a reality that required a written component for local education to be successful. There are clear parallels in Bluefields, where conversations about the legitimacy of written Kriol abound alongside advocacy for engaging local culture in schools. Pradahan (2017) raises further important questions that, perhaps, can be influential in the Bluefields context even without resolving the thorny question of written Kriol. For example, how are educators trained to use local themes in their pedagogy? In

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Nepal, the locally developed textbooks use examples that students recognize geographically, in contrast to national textbooks that largely ignore their region of the country. This and other details of how this marginalized locality focused on building their reality, values, and cultural imperatives into the educational experience of their children while still supporting a transition to additional “legitimate” languages, is a potential reference point for educators and advocates for the meaningful implementation of SEAR moving forward. Notably, in ethnography, there is a focus on language maintenance as a link to culture. In many cases, not explicitly discussed here, language is used as a starting off point from which to begin legitimizing marginalized cultures in the institutional context of school. Research and academic attention to other components of culture and their interplay in school policy, pedagogy, and curriculum are still underexplored.

This collection of ideas, as well as highlighting the presence and role of culture in a community, is not without its dangers. In emphasizing self-study of broad cultural concepts and community realities (as those identified in the findings), however, these suggestions hope to avoid the pitfalls associated with the essentialization of culture that can come to happen in the educational realm (Alvaré, 2017). Rather than attempting to create links to some cultural “other,” the efforts of CRT and this resilience study focus on the presence of culture within the Creole community of Bluefields, and Bluefields itself. Ultimately, the field of culturally responsive pedagogy will be important to understand for the full implementation of SEAR. It is beyond this analysis of ethnographic work and CSO understandings to delve deeply into that literature.

Migration, Economics, and Cultural Resilience Link to Community Resilience

It matters, culturally, that the economic unit is the extended family, especially with regard to minding and the development of cultural resilience. This informed a variety of decision-making, including migration patterns, education choices, and long-term investments in durable goods. With the extended family as the unit, cultural expectations were reinforced, learned, and shared from multiple perspectives for each person.

This strengthened the messaging for youth and ensured that their cultural foundation was strong.

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The in-and-out nature of migrant laborers could challenge this foundation when they retired home to rejoin the community after having had their own complex intercultural experiences. Given the migration patterns that sustain the Creole community (economically) and the communication/tight bonds among families, cultural communities are a valuable thing to study through a social capital lens. Understanding how culture (especially expectations of youth) is changed and influenced by the inter-cultural experiences of those who come-and-go is valuable. Links between community resilience and migration studies go deeper than economic remittances.

Those who were not minding the family in any way but were instead being “maintained.” These titles within Creole culture were meaningful and communicated as a cultural marker for young people.

Youth developed the intention to work whenever possible. These roles and expectations supported the family unit through care and minding, which was foundational for cultural resilience and also supportive of community resilience at the neighborhood level. Job creation in Bluefields’ formal economy was very limited. (Chamba prevails but has limited reach.) CSOs were as important for their outreach services as they were for sources of employment and volunteer opportunities to build experience among younger people.

Youth in CSO programs were trained with job skills that could not be put to use locally in the current economic situation. Without new investment or local entrepreneurial skills, training is a short-term engagement with no long-term solution for resilience.

Cultural Capital

The concept of capital has expanded beyond the economic context and into the social sciences over generations. From Bourdieu and Coleman’s explanations of social capital, there has been further growth and development of the concept in multiple fields. The findings of this study can also be analyzed with reference to economic and myriad social capitals. As in many theoretical and empirical works that engage such frameworks social and economic capital in Bluefields are linked in complicated ways.

Although this study considers alternative indicators of cultural capital, extending beyond Lareau and

Weininger (2003), it falls short of the typical uses of cultural capital in studies of education. Many studies

182 that rely on Bourdieuian cultural capital frameworks use quantitative measures to show relationships between success along the expectations set by powerful institutions, and the possession of cultural capital

(however measured). Instead, this study looks to what cultural capital is certainly present among Creole

Bluefileñx youth and how it represents cultural resilience. In effect, it takes for granted that the institution of education in Nicaragua was designed to ignore or ameliorate this cultural difference. Based on historical and systemic discrimination and the GCRR framework, the findings of this study and the subsequent analysis begin to proffer starting points for conversation about how and where to alter the institution of schooling to better reflect the strengths of Creole youth.

To enact the minding component of Creole culture, the Bluefields Creole community is articulating a capital that links many of Yosso’s (2005) alternative capitals. It is familial, navigational, and social capital that links extended family members and barrio neighbors together. Minding is an approach to maintaining culture that arises in reaction to challenges meeting chiefly economic needs. With regard to childcare, it draws upon these alternative capitals to allow some family members to engage in economic activities outside of the Bluefields community. At the same time, it ensures that the strength of Creole culture persists as young people are left in the care of those who remain in the crèche of Creoleness.

The findings of my first research question (Findings I-IV) relate directly to a marginalized culture.

They are identifications of specific components of culture that are indicative of cultural resilience among marginalized Creoles who live within oppressive structures that venerate Mestizx culture and homogenization. These findings fit within the alternative capitals that comprise community cultural wealth

(Yosso, 2005) and offer additional insight and specificity that is meaningful in Bluefields and likely found in other African Diaspora communities.

Conclusion

This chapter built a more complete picture of Bluefields, based on the findings in Chapter 4, Parts 1 and 2.

The nine findings indicated in the previous chapters can be looked at individually or as part of multiple landscapes, including that of Bluefields and that of diverse areas of academic focus. In this chapter I

183 considered the findings in a variety of groupings, as informed by resilience literature to underscore ways in which Creole Bluefileñxs share commonalities with other marginalized groups and to draw attention to institutions that are under-explored elsewhere. The following chapter builds on this style of analysis to draw lessons from this research that can be used elsewhere.

The second form of analysis in this chapter undertook to contextualize the methods and theory that are relevant to this dissertation. It outlined links that tie this work to multiple, broader bases of literature in education and theories that support social science research. The second style of analysis identified diverse

“homes” for this research and potential future analyses of the same data, in addition to suggesting ways in which resilience can deepen the analysis of extant studies.

The following chapter leaves literature to the wayside in favor of looking for more practical “homes” for the findings in this work. It suggests ways that the findings in Bluefields can inform future research and offers guiding thoughts for resilience work in Bluefields.

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Chapter 6: Conclusions and Recommendations

Introduction

The goal of this research was to better understand Creole culture as it is passed between generations. And, upon that understanding, to build a more complete analysis of the community resilience work of Bluefields

CSOs. With these understandings, stakeholders in the community can engage in conversations around

Creole culture and the ways in which it can be maintained and strengthened. As a critical ethnography, this dissertation was designed to lead to findings that could be used to improve the experience of a marginalized group (Creoles). Although the context of resilience work is specific, and Bluefields is unique, the underlying realities of Bluefields’ context share features with many parts of the world. Specifically, globalization following generations of colonialism creates values systems and practices that are at odds with the cultural priorities for marginalized groups. Schools are sites of cultural negotiation for marginalized youth who are expected to succeed according to the dominant culture’s standards. Bluefields and Nicaragua’s Atlantic

Coast are hopeful contexts for studying these tense negotiations, given the policy context that opens classrooms there to diverse cultures.

More than 10 months of fieldwork resulted in nine findings linked to the two research questions.

This chapter inverts the lens of the previous chapter. Where Chapter 5 built connections between the broader resilience literature, the findings, and opportunities to expand to other contexts, this concluding chapter focuses exclusively on Bluefields. In the following pages, I summarize the key findings of this work, analyze them, draw a conclusion for each, and proceed with a recommendation linked to youth development, community development, or future research. These recommendations avoid specificity, leaving important details and approaches to the community (in deference to Creole culture and community priorities). I also include a brief overview of “next steps,” for carrying these findings to the community in order to begin the social-justice oriented actions for which this research was designed.

Networks of Care and “Minding” (Finding I)

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Family and neighborhood networks of care and minding are cultural components that support Creole youth.

This means that there are material needs unmet by the government, CSOs, and the market. These are, instead, well met by traditional networks as an expression of resilience. This is evidence that cultural and community resilience are deeply intertwined and mutually supportive in Bluefields. Both kinds of resilience benefit from places of need or challenges specific to the Bluefields Creole context. These unmet needs are challenges that enable resilience to develop. Deeper understandings of these networks, and support of the networks, in school and CSO contexts where Creole youth are developing can bolster the networks, social institutions, and cultural resilience.

Extended Families and Tradition (Finding II)

Extended families are important for Creole youth and cultural resilience. They support economic wellbeing and pass on culture, including language, faith, and traditional medicine. This means that understanding youth requires a perspective that reflects youth connections to their extended family. Among these connections are responsibilities, priorities, and limits communicated by family members of all ages. These experiences impact Creole youths’ goals, plans, and expectations. Because extended family includes different individuals and generations for each young person, the specifics are important when studying

Creole families. Community, and the culture within it, extends to include those “working out,” or seeking to meet family expectations through jobs outside of Bluefields. In this sense, economics are cultural guideposts. Educators should have space to take advantage of the cultural focus on economics and work.

The role of extended family members should be acknowledged and engaged for cultural and community resilience-building efforts in formal and informal ways.

Building Identity in the Home/Family Context (Finding III)

Language, household roles, family ties, intergenerational spaces, and social control via inclusion/exclusion are cultural components that shape Creole identity. They are components within relationships that create culturally relevant social capital. These kinds of social capital inform Creole youth about their position in multiple networks and communities, including those built around culture, family, barrio, school, faith, city,

186 and nation. Developing a positive sense of self with reference to these complexities of Creole social and cultural capital is crucial for positive youth development. Sites and opportunities for social capital development and exchange can also be sources for inclusion and exclusion. Thus, I recommend that when shaping spaces for Creole youth, paths for inclusion according to language, household roles, and intergenerational spaces are made available. Also, when looking to serve the highest-need youth, all of these areas of exclusion need to be thoroughly explored, in addition to unmentioned intersections of gender, religion, mental health, and (dis)ability.

Cultural Values Transmitted Through Parenting (Finding IV)

Parenting transmits cultural expectations through (talk of) discipline, controlling relationships, and controlling youth behavior. This type of enculturation says a lot about perceptions of youth and cultural priorities. (For example, that youth, when left to their own devices, are prone to do bad things, such as defy behavior norms, date socially unacceptable people, or be unclean.) The examples of physical discipline shared through oral histories combine with contemporary restrictions to prevent negative behavior. These are generational differences in the physicality of parenting, but the image of the child remains relatively static. In response to this I recommend that youth outreach and parent outreach (e.g., the “School for

Parents,” run by Coast Region Youth Services) look carefully at the narratives upon which they rely. These include narratives about youth and parents, their respective natures, and their roles and responsibilities. This could be a conversation with community adults and youth to improve understanding, services, and the cultural alignment of those services.

“That’s Not the Right Thing” (Finding V)

Creole youth receive strong messaging around what looks “right.” This presentation value extends from the physical self to public behavior that links to family reputation. This suggests that in a city the size of

Bluefields, with prominent family and barrio networks, the community polices behavior. Thus, in addition to (extended) family and barrios reinforcing culture, young people and adults feel some other, additional, implicit social pressure around their personal presentation. In light of this, work with youth should take this

187 into careful consideration as it approaches expanding Creole cultural norms. For Creole youth, the weight of conformity is heavy. Working with youth to build their cultural resilience and other skills should do so with respect to culture, in a careful manner that does not create undue pressure or expectations in conflict with those norms already under scrutiny.

Organizational Foci Intertwined with Bluefields Culture (Finding VI)

Throughout Bluefields, CSOs are deeply embedded in local culture, including through autonomy ideology and religion. These organizations meet an important criterion for resilience: context specificity. This suggests that the conceptual framework and asset-based methodologies used in this study were appropriate; looking for community resilience through these organizations makes sense. Moreover, components of CSOs work in Bluefields link to other resilience-supporting actions and perspectives. Given this, I recommend that

CSOs in Bluefields (including schools) consider self-study or evaluation using a community resilience framework. This is an opportunity to flip the traditional, neo-liberal evaluation frame that relies on indicators with weaker connection to community priorities and contexts (e.g. individual economic indicators rather than those that reflect family economic stability).

Holistic Organizations/Services with a Community Base (Finding VII)

The work of CSOs in Bluefields fulfills many social, spiritual, and political needs. They achieve this through being networked together and community-based. This research shows that they have adapted to the

RAAS-Bluefields context of economic weakness and political isolation. Although they have not “solved” these problems, the Bluefields community and CSOs function within and around them. These approaches are likely rooted in historical approaches to oppression. It is likely that changes and new approaches

(perhaps new CSOs or programs within existing CSO) will be needed to confront contemporary challenges and changing contexts in Bluefields. More broadly, this conclusion suggests the value of careful consideration of formal groups and informal networks of actors in the study of community resilience in other contexts.

Identity and Belonging Outside the Family (Finding VIII)

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Organizations and programs are sites of belonging and identity making for Creole Bluefileñx youth, in addition to homes and barrios. Youth look for and engage in myriad contexts with different cultures to shape themselves throughout their development. Although CSOs have unique programming goals, identity- making and new youth communities are side effects of their work. Despite the absence of intentionality, inclusion and exclusion patterns within the CSOs’ youth communities are important. The network of youth- serving organizations in Bluefields has an opportunity to assess and consider the inclusion/exclusion practices that result from their programs and practices. In doing so they can identify youth within a matrix of vulnerabilities and work to meet their needs while further supporting community resilience.

“Living Together, It’s All We Have (Finding IX)

Convivencia (especially ethnic convivencia) is an important value throughout the Bluefields community.

The history of colonization and war and contemporary economic and political marginalization make peace, community understanding, and convivencia feel like tangible success and sources of community pride. As a component of community resilience, this positive perspective on Bluefields is very important. It can serve as a foundation for future community resilience endeavors. Thus, from this finding I recommend that as organizations engage youth, the organizations study and emphasize the power of convivencia in addition to supporting cultural resilience. And, in future planning, consider the depth and complexity of what it means, being sure not to allow convivencia to be reduced to a meaningless buzzword.

Next Steps

The recommendations proffered in the previous sections are valuable only if shared with the Bluefields community. As a critical ethnographic work, this study is complete when its results are engaged in actions that counter prevailing power structures that maintain Creole people in vulnerable positions. Although all of the recommendations are actionable, the window through which information can be shared and action can be taken has seen dramatic changes in the final days of preparing this dissertation.

In April 2018, civil unrest began to shake Nicaragua. Beginning as a reaction to changes in social security benefits, the country quickly spiraled into a complex state of unease. Although the protests started

189 with university students in Managua, the unrest spread quickly to Bluefields. As of September 2018, police and military clashes with civilian demonstrators continue to take lives, with the death toll nearing 300

(Cumming-Bruce, 2018). International human rights organizations have sought entry to Nicaragua, and religious institutions have attempted dialogue with national powers. From a reaction to social security changes, the movement has turned to be profoundly critical of the FSLN president, Daniel Ortega and his administration. Civic action has expanded from taking over school buildings, to marches, roadblocks, and a national strike. In this context, implementing changes to programs and social efforts will be difficult.

Resilience and Creole youth are not prioritized by the movements of today, which began with a focus on social security and developed into pro-democracy demonstrations. I suggest that this environment that calls for national, positive change is ripe for pushing social justice, including a resilience perspective and the value of Creole culture for youth development as parallel goals. Although the unrest and political focus will inform my timing and choices of outreach, it will not prevent me from sharing my findings with

Bluefileñxs. The challenges and needs of the community will not be quickly erased, even in the event of a drastic government turnover. With this in mind I offer the following short and long-term approaches stemming from my work.

In the short term (approximately 12 months), I look forward to preparing an executive summary of this dissertation in English and in Spanish. In both languages, the level of detail and technical language will change. The target audience for these documents (each a maximum of 5 pages) will be CSO leaders and adult community advocates. These short pieces can be shared via email or Facebook messenger, and I will use them as a foundation to solicit feedback including critiques. Beyond improving the validity of the study

(via critiques and comments), these summaries are starting places for a conversation. They can be used to make slight changes to existing programs and as shared points of reference within the network of CSOs. I also plan to design smaller images or flyers to share key findings with the community at large, also in

Spanish and English. These will be shared on Facebook, as well, with simple messages about components of resilience that can be bolstered in multiple settings. Especially important in this part of the short-term

190 outreach will be a focus on cultural narratives and history, encouraging youth and adults to spend time sharing oral history and stories of resilience. These media-based outreach tactics have the benefit of being widely shared and accessible to multiple generations of Creoles. And engaging with CSOs and community advocates via the executive summary supports my responsibility to the community and to the critical ethnographic nature of this project.

The long-term (2-4 years) follow-up from this work depends on a) The outcomes of the short-term work; b) The political changes in Nicaragua; and, c) My professional trajectory. Ideally, the first and third components will allow me to return to Bluefields to talk in more depth about the findings. Using existing networks or drawing together community leaders, advocates, and CSOs for this explicit purpose, I envision creating a venue to share knowledge and gauge interest in developing working groups around specific resilience-building approaches. Example working group topics include: history sharing; developing intergenerational spaces for resilience; outreach to persistently marginalized youth; Creole curricular planning; and liaisons between the national Ministry of Education and the community for step-by-step improvements to SEAR implementation. Rather than being the facilitator of the sharing session or the working groups, and with deference to cultural and community resilience, these would be opportunities for me to engage as a learning-expert: someone who is still deepening her knowledge, while sharing research perspectives. The degree to which I continue to liaise with the community around these themes has much to do with the community itself; although I am interested and dedicated to Creole cultural resilience, my principles and ethics prescribe the need for a distance from the process.

Conclusion

The foundation of this critical ethnography is a firmly held commitment to cultural diversity and social justice for marginalized people. In particular, a focus on youth and multiple kinds of resilience created space for an asset-based approach to a community that has endured and overcome centuries of exploitation and colonization. The research questions sought understanding about culture through individuals and about community through CSOs. The nine findings in the preceding chapters emphasize the importance of

191 multiple kinds of networks for cultural and community resilience and also the critical nature of individual and community agency.

The outcome of this research includes an ethnographic understanding of youth, culture, and community as they are woven throughout Bluefields, Nicaragua. My methodology reflects a novel approach to cultural resilience. In offering insight into Creole Bluefileñxs it also exposes the areas of the community and culture that merit further study and appreciation. The social justice framework continues the call for legitimacy that the community has issued for generations. Ethnography and resilience bring Bluefields to another academic space where the power structures that maintain systemic oppression can be seen as the darkness that contrasts the vibrancy of Creole culture. Unlike many studies of marginalized youth resilience, this work considers culture created outside of school, and looks to families as sources of resilience.

Beginning from the point of enculturation, rather than from the point where challenges necessitate resilience, is a unique approach to understanding resilience and youth. Rather than taking culture as a given and looking for resilience, this work assumes resilience and looks to better understand culture.

Including the work and structure of CSOs throughout the community further emphasizes their importance for community resilience as it assigns them responsibility and credit for their efforts built on the tenets of autonomy. In doing so, this portion of findings serves as a productive beginning to a deep, targeted conversation about resilience with Bluefields’ social institutions. My own contributions, outlined in “Next steps,” however, reflect the delicate nature of resilience and the importance of culture. In calling attention to historical wrongs, it is crucial that those in power work thoughtfully and avoid reproducing systems of oppression through essentialization of culture or co-optation of resilience work.

Secondary to the goal of this work (socially just action to upend oppression), this research extends scholarly literature in multiple areas. It ties together individual resilience and cultural resilience in a new way, focusing on “resilience pivots” that stand the test of time, rather than on psychological analysis (as in human development). In doing so it also extends youth resilience, cultural resilience, and community resilience to the LAC context, and to a culturally and linguistic demographic minority group. This extension

192 expands resilience literature geographically, extends the focus on youth in community resilience literature, and draws attention to cultural diversity in the LAC region. It addresses the gap between community resilience literature and the concept of cultural groups as community. Moreover, it identifies a context where governance structures impact social institutions with implications for community and cultural resilience in ways that have not yet been addressed in community resilience or cultural resilience literature.

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Appendix A Pilot Study Interview Protocols

IRB Category: Youth Expected duration: 1 hour 1. Can you please tell me your name and how old you are? 2. Tell me about yourself and your family history. (Prompt: ancestors, history, successes) 3. Who are the most important people in your life? What do they do to support you? 4. What do you do with your time—what would you do if you weren’t doing that 5. How long did you attend school? What school was it? When and why did you decide to stop attending? o Would you like to get more education or training? In what area? 6. What was your school experience like? 7. Can you please help me to understand Bluefields as a community? Tell me about some of the important features and cultural activities. o What do young people in Bluefields do for fun or work? 8. Who is in charge in Bluefields? Who makes the laws, and who makes the norms/culture? 9. What do you know about politics in Bluefields? 10. What is the best thing about living in Bluefields? 11. Do you want to live in Bluefields your whole life? Why or why not? o What might stop you from staying or encourage you to leave? 12. Do you see any organizations or activities that are doing a very good job working with young people in Bluefields (Prompt: are there organizations or activities that you and a lot of your friends are involved in)? 13. Do you feel successful? Why/why not? What would or already does help you feel successful? 14. Finally, are you able to recommend anyone else I should talk to if I want to learn about what opportunities Bluefields has for youth, or what youth might need?

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IRB Participant Category: Government and NGO leadership participants Expected duration: 30-45 minutes 1. Can you please tell me your name, how old you are, and what you do at your organization? 2. Can you please help me to understand Bluefields as a community? Tell me about some of the important features, the cultural activities, economic opportunities, challenges, and areas of emerging development or growth. Please also tell me about how you came to know about Bluefields and all of these specifics. 3. Within your job, what programs are offered in Bluefields? What are those program goals? 4. Of the programs you mentioned, are any focused specifically on economic development? Do they relate to human capital development? 5. What population is served by these programs? 6. What are the outreach methods used to reach these participants? 7. Are there any groups left out who should be served, but are difficult to get involved or maintain involvement? 8. How does the community show support for the programs you mentioned? 9. In your experience are there approaches in Bluefields that might be different from other locations? Why do those differences exist (prompt: is it a need-based difference, or a population-based difference)? 10. Is there anyone else you think I should speak to in order to learn more about programming for youth in Bluefields?

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IRB Participant Category: Government and NGO leadership participants Expected duration: 1 hour 1. Can you please tell me your name, how old you are, and what you do at your organization? 2. Can you please tell me a bit about the history of the organization (prompt: founded—reasons, location, timeframe, political placement)? What is your role in the organization? 3. How does your organization interact with government to achieve its goals? o How does your organization interact with society to achieve its goals? 4. Can you please help me to understand Bluefields as a community? Tell me about some of the important features, the cultural activities, economic opportunities, challenges, and areas of emerging development or growth. Please also tell me about how you came to know about Bluefields and all of these specifics. 5. Within your organization, what programs or projects exist in Bluefields? What are the goals of those projects? 6. What population is served by these programs? 7. What are the outreach methods used to reach these participants? 8. Does your organization have a specific goal for working with youth (prompt: does this link to economic goals for Bluefields? Social goals? Environmental goals?)? o How is that goal achieved? o How do you define “youth,” or who is allowed to participate? 9. How does the community show support for the programs you mentioned? 10. In your experience are there approaches in Bluefields that might be different from other locations? o Why do those differences exist (prompt: is it a need-based difference, or a population-based difference)? o Are there differences in your approach among populations or groups in Bluefields? 11. What are some of the successes of your organization? 12. Do you know of any future goals for the organization? How might those relate to or involve youth in Bluefields? 13. Is there anyone else you think I should speak to in order to learn more about programming for youth in Bluefields?

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IRB Category: Teacher; School administrator Expected duration: 1 hour 1. Can you please tell me your name and how old you are? 2. Please tell me a bit about yourself. I’d like to know, mostly, about how you became a teacher and what reasons you’re teaching in Bluefields. 3. Why did you become a teacher and what, in your opinion, are the most important purposes of education? o Are you able to emphasize this in your classroom or school? How? 4. What is it like teaching for you now? Who do you teach and what are they like? o What is your school culture like (Prompt: relationships among teachers, administrators, students, parents)? 5. How do the laws around education work in Nicaragua? Are they different in RAAS/RAAN? o What are some examples of how you teach here might be different from what it would be like teaching somewhere else? 6. Can you please help me to understand Bluefields as a community? Tell me about some of the important features, the cultural activities, economic opportunities, challenges, and areas of emerging development or growth. o Please also tell me about how you came to know about Bluefields and all of these specifics. 7. Are there any kinds of learning that are more important in Bluefields than in other parts of Nicaragua? 8. To what extent and how are local cultural identities included in education at your school? (Prompt: do local leaders visit the school, are there special holidays celebrated, etc.) 9. Tell me about civics education in your school. Is civics class separate from history and geography? o What does it mean to have a good civics education? o How are students civically active through school (prompt: in school or volunteering in the community)? 10. Is there anyone else you think I should speak to in order to learn more about youth in Bluefields?

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Appendix B

Sampling Trees

Organization 1

Individual interviews

Organization Organization 9 7

Individual Focus groups interviews

Observations

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Organization 5

Presentation Individual focus group interviews debrief

Oragnization 8

Individual interviews

Focus groups

Organization 2

Individual interviews

Observations

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Appendix C

Main Study Field Notes

Main study field notes \2017-05.04.17_Palo de Mayo kick-off \2017_03.15.17_back into it \2017_03.20.17_Getting together and \2017_06.02.17_Tulululu learning more \2017_06.06.17_breaking pattern Sunday \2017_03.20.17_Old Bank v. BICU \2017_03.20.17_Updating alliances and \2017_06.14.17_I know the feeling identities \2017_03.20.17_Violent politics & \2017_06.21.17_classroom notes community activities \2016-09.14.16_independence day \2017_04.04.17_Alaida comes back \2016-09.19.16_Nica political situation \2017_04.04.17_Meeting Reginal \2016-10.31.16_Political tide \2017_04.07.10_A new family \2017_04.13.17_The white house Semana \2016-11.06.16_Election day Santa \2016-11.07.16_Coast Region Youth \2017_04.24.17_Death, games, and school Services center \2016-11.21.16_ Coast Region Youth \2017_04.30.17_Reflections on comments on Services programa mtg government \2016-11.30.16_ Coast Region Youth \2017_05.07.17_Round2 Services _2 funeral day \2016-12.01.16_ Coast Region Youth \2017_05.07.17_Showing up late just in time Services _The devil's around for history \2016-12.02.16_ Coast Region Youth \2017_05.12.17_Catching up at Larriel’s Services _only kissin \2016-12.09.16_ Coast Region Youth \2017_05.15.17_Zion Baptist Services _Saloman the songwriter \2017_05.20.17_House happenings and Miss \2016-12.29.16_Veranda stories Mayita \2017_05.22.17_Morning routine & new \2016-12.30.16_chatting interview technique \2017_01.02.17_New Years wrap up \2017_05.30.17_Weekend mashup \2017_01.22.17_Gossip or fair warning? \2016-09.18.16_Iglesia Maranta Vineyard \2016-09.21.16_Policy talk with Dolene and \2017_01.26.17_making sense of marriages co \2017_02.02.17_Autonomy Advocates \2016-10.12.16_womens groups in court Center training \2016-10.14.16_workshop with Afro-identity \2017_02.07.17_she had a hard, hard life Services Group-women's sexuality \2017_02.09.17_What’s right to do and bush \2016-10.25.16_visit to Coast Region Youth medicine Services \2017_02.10.17_I told you, sweetheart, I’m \2016-11.06.16_Characterization_Marco crazy \2017_02.14.17_Could you hate your mother \2016-11.15.16_The Domino Place

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\2016-11.21.16_Coast Region Youth

Services_pm practice

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Appendix D

Living Sites Timeline

Time frame Living context Neighborhood August-December Independent Barrio Central January-March Leah’s family Old Bank April-June Larriel’s family Cotton Tree

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Appendix E Main Study Interview Protocols

IRB Category: Youth Expected duration: 60 minutes 1. Can you please tell me your name and how old you are? 2. Tell me about where and how you spend your time [for multi-lingual participants, inquire about the use of language in each place] 3. When and where do you feel that you are part of a community—how do you label these (this) communities? § Who are the important people in these settings? (Are they linked to any formal organization, or how did you meet them?) 4. Tell me about your culture; tell me about your family’s culture § is there a difference between your culture and Nicaraguan culture? § what things do you do to maintain your culture? § what things do you do that are outside of the culture that your parents have? 5. Tell me about an average day for you, during the week? (Specify the previous day) § Do your friends have the same kind of days? What is different about their days? Does it vary by their culture? 6. Tell me about an average weekend for you. § Do your friends have the same kind of days? What is different about their days? Does it vary by their culture? 7. What is the rainy season like for you—are there specific things you do? What about the hot, dry season? 8. Who influences whether or not you participate in a specific community 9. Is there a place or situation in which you feel uncomfortable or out of place? 10. What are the most important holidays or celebrations in your life? Why are they important, and what do you do? 11. What kinds of rules do you have at your house (what would you get in trouble for)? Why do you think those are there?

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IRB Participant Category: Adults Expected duration: 60 minutes 1. Can you please tell me your name, how old you are, and what you do for a living? 2. Tell me about where and how you spend your time [for multi-lingual participants, inquire about the use of language in each place] 3. When and where do you feel that you are part of a community—how do you label these (this) communities? § Who are the important people in these settings? (Are they linked to any formal organization, or how did you meet them?) § Are there communities, groups, or conversations that you feel excluded from? 4. Tell me about your culture; tell me about your family’s culture. § is there a difference between your culture and Nicaraguan culture? § do you see young people more interested in engaging with some parts of your culture than others? What about some parts of Nicaraguan or global culture? 5. What groups are there for Creole people in Bluefields? § do you belong to them? § Who are the important people, and what is their role? Can anyone fill their shoes, or is it something about them? 6. What are the most important holidays or celebrations in your life? Why are they important, and what do you do? 7. What are the important tasks or activities of each season? 8. Who organizes cultural events? 9. Are there behaviors that youth engage in that are starkly counter to the Creole culture you were raised with? 10. What kinds of jobs or fields are Creole people involved in? (historically and contemporarily)

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Appendix F

Note-bag Protocol

Note-bag questions What rules do you have at your house? Where do you want to work? What is your favorite food? What is most important to you? What did you do when it rained all day? (RC: This was added after about a week of interviews had been completed, so it is not part of the very first questions that were asked based only on the protocol, and not the bag method.) Which super power is better: Flight or invisibility? *When was the last time they called your attention at home? *Tell me about a time there was a problem in your family. Tell me about your neighborhood. What is your favorite song to dance to? S. Curry or L. James? [RC: This asks the participants to identify which basketball player they prefer, Stephan Curry or LeBron James.] What holidays do you celebrate with your family? What do you do on Sundays? What stories have you heard about old times? What do you know about bush medicine? Tell me about Sunday school. *Who helps your family? Do you do activities with a group? Describe someone who is a vago. What do you do on days when you have class? *What do big people do during the day? What do you do on Saturdays? *Why do people from Bluefields work out? (RC: In the local communication style “work out” means working outside of Bluefields, not exercising.) If you could be any animal, what would you be? Barcelona or Real Madrid? (RC: This asks the participants to identify which soccer team they prefer.) *Tell me about a place where you only talk Spanish. Tell me about your school. Did you ever hear of obeyah Who gives you advice What is your favorite subject? Is there any place you don’t like? Tell me about your house Do you know anyone who: run too much joke? is too serious? repeat anything? What is your favorite animal? Where do people in your family work?

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Appendix G

Details of Code Creation

Variable Creation date and time Gender 3/27/17 13:18:06 Claiming Black identity 3/27/17 13:18:54 Discussion or disagreement 3/27/17 13:14:22 Friend group activities 3/27/17 13:22:53 Claiming Creole identity 3/27/17 13:25:23 Generalization 3/27/17 13:25:59 Concern/suggestion of diluted/appropriated culture 3/27/17 13:27:00 Multiple language use 3/27/17 13:19:57 Choosing when to participate 3/27/17 13:21:26 Wanting to learn/share (others') culture 3/27/17 13:22:23 working out of Bluefields 3/27/17 13:22:35 Extended family households 3/27/17 13:33:16 Convivencia and mixed culture friendships 3/27/17 13:52:25 Identifying advocates 3/27/17 13:52:38 Feeling dissatisfied 3/27/17 13:53:02 Political clashes/engagement 3/27/17 13:28:43 Knowing community news/history 3/27/17 13:30:26 Need to learn or improve Spanish 3/27/17 13:31:14 Impressions of Creole/Black community 3/27/17 13:32:07 Learning history/cultural elements in school 3/27/17 14:00:12 Lack of knowledge about advocacy/process 3/27/17 14:01:00 Suggestion for new cultural norm 3/27/17 14:02:15 Religion as guide 3/27/17 14:03:04 Ways to treat people or to be (personality traits) 3/27/17 13:53:38 Needing jobs 3/27/17 13:55:56 Learning Kriol 3/27/17 13:56:12 Spanish in schools 3/27/17 13:58:22 Emphasis of advocacy 3/27/17 14:10:41 Neighborhood/local focus 3/27/17 14:11:13 Gossip 3/27/17 14:18:03 Pigmentation/phenotype conversation 3/27/17 14:21:03 Identifying cultural traits/actions 3/27/17 14:09:28 It's not like old times 3/27/17 14:10:07 Money troubles 3/27/17 14:10:25 Specific foods 3/27/17 15:48:27 Education 3/27/17 15:54:16 Day to day 3/27/17 15:58:28 Sports 3/27/17 16:11:59 Parenting 3/27/17 15:30:53 Religious practice 3/27/17 15:31:46 Family relationships 3/27/17 15:34:35 Discrimination/marginalization 3/27/17 15:43:34 206

Ways to spend time 6/8/17 15:32:09 Police presence 6/8/17 15:37:52 Schooling experiences 6/9/17 10:27:27 Setting 6/9/17 11:04:22 Children/youth behavior 3/27/17 21:21:11 Sexuality 3/27/17 21:26:59 Mestizaje 6/8/17 15:28:07 Upsetting an expectation 6/8/17 15:30:07 Researcher perception 6/9/17 11:40:20 Anecdote 6/12/17 13:51:08 Organized youth activities 6/12/17 14:33:40

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Appendix H

Pilot Study Themes, Codes, and Sub-codes

Belief system with important ties to autonomy Value: sexual orientation freedom process (both successes and struggles) Value: sexual orientation equity Belief: autonomy=power Value: shared culture Belief: need for strengthened Value: sharing culture autonomy knowledge Belief: implications of autonomy Personal characteristics and goals: individuals as laws part of a community Belief: culturally specific justice Value: persistence system Value: respect for elders Belief: importance of demarcation Value: critical thinking law Value: personal stories Belief: national education Value: self-sufficiency Belief: national v. regional politics Value: values Belief: regionalization success Value: safety Belief: importance of regional Value: practicality health model Value: doing things right Belief: health practice Value: self knowledge Belief: support traditional healing Value: religion Belief: traditional medicine links to Value: meeting expectations identity Value: self-expression Belief: traditional medicine Value: support validity Value: loving your work Value: support Political engagement for the purpose of social Value: responsibility justice (practice and goal) Value: implied; materialism Value: independence Value: implied; religion Value: land titling Belief: importance of being Value: legal recourse responsible Value: legitimization Value: political knowledge Vulnerable groups and need for agency Value: human rights Value: supporting women Value: democratic development Value: opportunities for youth Value: activism Value: serving youth Value: autonomy process Value: youth development Value: empowerment Value: engaging youth Value: national responsibilities Value: meeting youth needs Value: national responsibility Value: supporting youth Value: youth engagement Unity and respect for diversity Value: youth leadership Value: culture Value: implied; supporting women Value: sharing culture Value: supporting afro-descendant Value: identity students Value: recognition Value: diversity On-the-ground policy limits Value: racial equality Belief: intentional limitations Value: respect cultural diversity 208

Belief: limited policy Belief: principled engagement implementation Belief: community health Belief: limited policy action Focus on positive change Active community work Attitude: can-do Value: community service Attitude: motivational Value: social strength Attitude: successful Value: participation Attitude: attentive Value: community maintenance Attitude: determined Value: community engagement Places to belong Challenges Value: group activities Attitude: misunderstood Value: being home Attitude: disappointed Value: church belonging Attitude: language struggle Value: welcoming space Attitude: concern Value: inclusion Attitude: implied; fear Value: belonging to organizations Attitude: indignant Attitude: implied; machismo Need to engage & maintain vibrant history Attitude: implied; shame Value: traditional health Belief: implied; negative cultural Value: understanding ethnicity norms Value: cultural history Belief: weakened family structures Value: ethnic history Value: historical politics Personal expectations Value: traditional medicine Attitude: entitled Value: implied; traditional Attitude: expected to be medicine independent Value: history Value: implied; historical roots and Individualistic expression with links to culture systems

Value: music Defining community Value: arts Value: understanding community Value: language usage Value: shared experiences Economic development Value: community feeling Value: economic opportunities Value: implied; time with friends Value: private enterprise Value: Creole community Value: economic development Value: group activities Value: development Collaborative work for the community There is value in supporting the community, as a Value: organizational health whole. Value: community service Belief: community support Value: Civil society Belief: giving back to the Value: organizational links community Value: volunteering Belief: support for kids Value: organizational networks Belief: value cultural difference Value: implied; community service Belief: implied; supportive CSOs Value: implied; respect from Belief: meaningful community authorities support 209

Appendix I

Images of Bluefields Murals Figure 1: Historical mural. Bluefields, Nicaragua, 2017.

Figure 2: Mural in Progress. Bluefields, Nicaragua 2017.

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Figure 3: Mural Sponsors. Bluefields, Nicaragua 2017.

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Appendix J

Organizational Links to Cultural Components of Findings

The table, below, is organized by participating CSO. In each column are components of culture. Within the row, for each CSO, the text indicates organizational actions and summaries of the findings. Because this table is focused on organization, Findings I-V are largely absent. Religious organizations (e.g. Sunday Schools) are also absent, as they were not sites for observation.

Table J: Organizational Links to Cultural Components CSO Familial realities Faith, religion, Physical Collective conventions mysticism representations Coast Region Parenting Shapes youth identities and organizational identity Youth workshops as part shaped by youth Services of scholarships Value: music Autonomy-based Youth (bad) behavior is a Value: arts Networks of care and minding can be based on result of parents families or neighborhoods. not fulfilling their role to control Convivencia is an important feature of the Bluefields their child and community. teach them to Belief: autonomy=power Value: engaging youth avoid “violence.” Belief: need for Value: meeting youth strengthened autonomy needs knowledge Value: supporting youth Belief: implications of Value: youth leadership autonomy laws Value: supporting Afro- Belief: regionalization descendant students success Value: community Belief: community service support Value: social strength Belief: giving back to the Value: participation community Value: group activities Belief: support for kids Value: community Value: human rights feeling Value: autonomy process 212

Value: democratic Value: sharing culture development Value: identity Value: safety Value: respect for elders Value: opportunities for Value: serving youth youth Value: youth development Autonomy Value: arts Autonomy-based Advocates Shapes youth identities and organizational identity Center shaped by youth Teaching identity-history components Shared spaces between youth and adults Networks of care and minding can be based on families or neighborhoods. Convivencia is an important feature of the Bluefields community. Belief: autonomy=power Value: respect for elders Belief: need for Value: safety strengthened autonomy Value: opportunities for knowledge youth Belief: implications of Value: serving youth autonomy laws Value: youth Belief: regionalization development success Value: engaging youth Belief: community Value: meeting youth support needs Belief: giving back to the Value: supporting youth community Value: youth leadership Belief: support for kids Value: supporting Afro- Value: human rights descendant students Value: democratic Value: group activities development Value: community Value: autonomy process feeling Value: community Value: sharing culture service Value: identity Value: participation Value: social strength

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Places to Be Value: music Value: safety Belief: meaningful Outreach Value: arts Value: opportunities for community support youth Belief: principled Value: serving youth engagement Value: youth Belief: community health development Value: responsibility Value: engaging youth Value: group activities Value: meeting youth Value: volunteering needs Value: supporting youth Value: organizational links Shared spaces between youth and adults

Afro-identity Consider cultural Consider cultural Honoring Afro Shared spaces between youth and adults Services realities when realities when roots (e.g., hair, Group training training dance, music) Language

Kriol use Kriol use Belief: autonomy=power Value: sexual orientation Belief: health practice equity Belief: support Value: sharing culture traditional healing Value: respect for elders Belief: traditional Value: personal stories medicine links to identity Value: safety Belief: community Value: self knowledge support Value: supporting Belief: giving back to the women community Value: youth Belief: support for kids development Belief: value cultural Value: engaging youth difference Value: meeting youth Belief: meaningful needs community support Value: supporting youth Belief: principled Value: youth leadership engagement Value: supporting Afro- Belief: community health descendant students

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Value: legal recourse Value: community Value: legitimization service Value: political Value: social strength knowledge Value: participation Value: human rights Value: language usage Value: activism Value: belonging to Value: autonomy process organizations Value: empowerment Value: understanding Value: culture ethnicity Value: sharing culture Value: history Value: identity Value: understanding Value: recognition community Value: diversity Value: shared Value: racial equality experiences Value: respect cultural Value: Creole diversity community Value: sexual orientation Value: Civil society freedom Value: organizational Value: volunteering links Value: organizational networks

Cultural Bush medicine Bush medicine Music, art Bush medicine support Connections support support to Learning Kriol use Supporting youth learning history Belief: autonomy=power Value: critical thinking Belief: need for Value: values strengthened autonomy Value: safety knowledge Value: doing things right Belief: implications of Value: self knowledge autonomy laws Value: opportunities for Belief: importance of youth regional health model Value: serving youth Belief: health practice Value: youth Belief: support development traditional healing Value: engaging youth 215

Belief: traditional Value: meeting youth medicine links to identity needs Belief: traditional Value: supporting youth medicine validity Value: youth leadership Belief: community Value: supporting Afro- support descendant students Belief: giving back to the Value: community community service Belief: support for kids Value: social strength Belief: value cultural Value: participation difference Value: community Belief: meaningful engagement community support Value: music Belief: principled Value: arts engagement Value: language usage Belief: community health Value: economic Value: legal recourse opportunities Value: legitimization Value: development Value: political Value: traditional health knowledge Value: understanding Value: human rights ethnicity Value: democratic Value: cultural history development Value: ethnic history Value: autonomy process Value: historical politics Value: empowerment Value: traditional Value: national medicine responsibilities Value: history Value: culture Value: community Value: sharing culture service Value: identity Value: organizational Value: recognition links Value: respect cultural Value: volunteering diversity Value: organizational networks Value: diversity Value: racial equality

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Value: sharing culture God’s Work Value: religion Belief: national Value: responsibility High School x education Value: serving youth Belief: national v. Value: youth regional politics development Belief: support for kids Value: engaging youth Belief: meaningful Value: meeting youth community support needs Belief: principled Value: supporting youth engagement Value: language usage Value: national Value: community responsibilities feeling Value: respect for elders Value: religion Value: autonomy process

Coast Value: religion Belief: national Value: religion People’s High education Value: responsibility School Belief: support for kids Value: serving youth Value: national Value: language usage responsibilities Value: autonomy process Cultural Value: religion Belief: national Value: religion Readiness education Value: responsibility Elementary Belief: support for kids Value: serving youth Value: autonomy process Value: language usage Value: national responsibilities Good Belief: national Value: religion Shepard education Value: responsibility Elementary Belief: support for kids Value: serving youth Value: national responsibilities *Physical representations are removed from this table, as they were not the focus of data collection for the main study The following components of “collective conventions” have been removed: implied components; beliefs re: On-the-ground policy limits; Challenges; personal expectations; focus on positive change

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Appendix K

Additional Findings

The findings in this appendix are presented with their relationship to the conceptual framework that guided my study. They were excluded from the “Findings” chapter in order to simplify the presentation around the research questions that were identified in Chapter 1.

Learning/doing Culture

Community: Infrastructure and roles.

The concept of “what should be” extends from individuals to the community as a whole and often relies on comparisons that highlight negative features of current situations, rather than new ideals. A focus group of fifth graders had ideas about the current lapses of presentation in their community, and implied comparisons as they ticked off places for improving. With surprising detail, they focused on contemporary community infrastructure needs. Despite having been asked to name anything they would change about the school, the students were not pushing for more days off, more recess, or less work—instead they quickly identified practical and visible components of the school grounds that impacted everyone who was part of the institution. They wanted to improve broken chairs and cracking paint, plus clean up the schoolyard by cutting the grass. Turning their attention beyond the school fence, they also suggested repairs to sidewalks that were “mash up,” broken and unsightly. Aspirations for the community reflected selflessness and convivencia (living togetherness) as early as fifth grade.

Adults saw community in slightly broader terms, including by barrio (neighborhood), but also considered groups within the whole. Mr. Dalton identified “bad boys” in his neighborhood as he recognized their position in society.

Earlier a boy came [into the shop] from the yard across the street. Mr. Dalton pointed out in a low voice after the boy left, “He is one of the really bad boys in the neighborhood: he’d shoot you. But how we’re from here, he doesn’t bother us.” Neighbors tacitly accepted the presence of “bad boys,” and perhaps felt a sense of security in their presence.

Mr. Dalton made clear that safety was not in question if you were known within the neighborhood. Despite the negative actions of the “bad boy,” he is still a community member who is recognized as connected to 218 and protective of local people. Although “bad boys” are understood as negative individuals within society, community members without cause do not pursue these outsiders. Bad boys and vagos’ practices of spending time on the street—often smoking marijuana or drinking alcohol—are left unmolested by neighbors. Although adults appreciate efforts of police to stem undesirable activities, they are passive and don’t seek it out.

Adults throughout Bluefields noted changes in the availability of social infrastructure as a negative cultural change over time. Where there was once a strong sense of community, there was now an absence of institutions.

There’s no more confidence: religious people have failed [Creole people]. Politicians have failed them. E’erybody have failed them so terribly that they don’t really trust anybody [and are] trying to do on their own. And then, on your own, you will stay alive and you’ll eat while you’re living, but then what about your…your…kids that’s coming behind you? Where are they going? You know. They don’t even have a…plan set up that they could survive. [. . .] And that’s why [we’re] hardly gettin’ anywhere. Because we don’t know where we’re coming from and we don’t know where we’re going. So there [has] to be some kind of a program that [addresses] that situation. (Reginal, community advocate). Other adults echoed Reginal’s concerns about short-term steps toward community advancement in a vacuum of support. The relationships between neighbors and family maintain relevance in this context.

Adults explicitly referenced community networks as ways to survive hard economic times and suggested that they would be as likely to receive help as to give it.

In contrast, some expressions of neighborly support were clear, though not explicitly stated. While standing at the kitchen sink Leah heard a neighbor shout over to her. Within a few minutes, the neighbor came to the house with her toddler in tow. She let herself into Leah’s home and met us in the kitchen. There was another baseball game today, and the neighbor was desperate for chamba [small ad hoc jobs to earn extra money]. Her approach, though, was jovial, expectant, and humble at the same time. She needed 50 Córdobas [approximately $2USD] for the whole family to go to the baseball game.

Seeming to understand the importance of the game, or perhaps the need for poor families to have some recreation, too, Leah worked something out. She didn’t have any jobs for the neighbor today, but she would give her the money and have her do some ironing later in the week. As Leah offered her out-of-work neighbor chamba both households were exposed to their positionalities of the moment. Leah became the giver of help, and her neighbor the receiver of help. Chamba invented for a neighbor who fell on hard times emphasized the point that Reginal makes about a lack of systemic support

219 for out-of-work Bluefileñxs. The ongoing searches for work and/or chamba influenced how individuals and families are understood as part of the community. Those who had economic resources to support others in the community became known as sites of opportunity, while those who are out of work were recognized as potential sources of labor. The seasonal work of some sectors (e.g. fishing) was also well known, making the family, community, and economic networks of the Creole people even more important. Despite the identification of weakening institutions over time, Creole homes remained networked to one another. In displays of convivencia (living togetherness) adults throughout the community passed this component of culture on to youth in multiple households.

Missing a sense of history.

Youth understandings of local history included only limited conceptions of the value of networks compared to the importance that networks bear for older generations of Creoles. In contrast to youth’s nostalgic knowledge about celebrations and parties (discussed in section “Not like old times”), there was no understanding of ways the community once functioned as a whole. Stories about the past focused on negative events such as the war, childhood punishments, and hurricanes, but young participants rarely recalled details. Youth knew about the holistic sense of community in Bluefields only in the broadest strokes.

In the old time dem, like five Córdoba would be your own taxi fare. One Córdoba would buy plenty things. In [those times] everything is cheap. [. . .] Plenty people did stayin’ in board house and so. And you never have street—like the street. They have street but not [paved]. Only got some car [. . .]. In dem time the boy dem did finish dem school, and the girls just go to six grade and start working. (Shakina, a high school student) Shakina drew on history from her grandmother and great grandmother and recounted the higher prices that

Bluefileñxs saw in local stores, changes in infrastructure (from unfinished streets to the paving stones of today, and from wooden homes to cement constructions), and patterns of education that favored boys over girls. Many youth shared similar understandings of concepts such as inflation, the changing role of education for girls, and improved infrastructure over time.

Infrastructure was a common theme of distinguishing the community of Bluefields’ past from today, alongside the anecdotes of their parents’ misdeeds and grandparents’ forms of punishment. Missing from 220 this were narratives that so many adults provided about the centrality of social institutions, clubs, and the community nature of celebrations. Positive cultural changes were also missing, such as increased protection for victims of domestic violence. Details of instructive narratives were also absent, such as the challenges of living under rationing systems in times of war.

[Two women] remembered how much soap they got per person in the house, that they had to use black sugar instead of white (though the people in power in Managua had white sugar, Colgate, and Kotex!), and that even the black market was controlled by the government. The satire was perfect when they talked about the Somoza days when they had rations: ‘And this was the great, so-called, communism!’ While youth had vague understandings of previous generations, they were often through rose-colored glasses. Young people understood that celebrations were more meaningful and that life was more affordable. Details and cautionary tales that would improve resilience, including references to political turmoil that led to scarcity, and experiences of rebuilding after natural disasters, were rare.

Female heads of families were important sources of stories and lessons that trained Creole youth in cultural norms. Responsibility and independence were important, common themes. For girls, independence was a prominent lesson that glossed over realities of early pregnancy. Cultural avoidance of conversations about sexuality and family planning used “independence” and “taking care of yourself” as thickly veiled euphemisms.

Working…when I was a kid [that] was my dream. Get a job, also. Be independent, always. I always want to be independent. Try to take care of myself. And not depending on anybody to give me something or whatever once I can work and get my own stuff. (Alaida, a cruise ship employee in her 30s) Alaida’s childhood expectations of independence were built on examples set by family members, as was for extended family members. Though her mother and father raised her Alaida’s aunts worked on cruise ships and her cousins were raised with her.

The community understood the roles of networks in meeting economic and social needs. Mary Beth

Crane, a community advocate, referred to shared responsibilities of care and referred to the codes through which responsibilities were communicated.

So, it’s something that is like a code, without being explained, that as community we need to support each other. And there will be always someone to protect the need of a child, for instance, that might

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be left alone because mother or father have to go out to work out of the town, out of the country [to work]. (Dolene Miller, community advocate). In a similar vein, household roles had an unspoken but mutually enforcing character. Responsibilities for cleaning the home, cooking, and sending remissions from abroad were keenly understood throughout the

Creole community. They were underscored, in at least one case, by the church as a supporting institution.

[The preacher] discussed the challenges of finding a virtuous woman, one who puts her husband and children first and who fears God. So, when you find a virtuous woman it makes sense that you would go and boast about her. This isn’t machista [sexist], though. The pastor emphasized that the bible talks about women even though some people say it doesn’t. Everyone has their role, according to the Bible. Through unspoken expectations and overt messaging at religious institutions, the Creole community receives and reinforces the roles that women have played throughout multiple generations. This is another component of the constructed lens through which youth begin to understand their place in their home and in their community.

Components of identity such as geography (including neighborhood), ethnicity, phenotype, employment status, and religion are used to create in-groups and out-groups among Bluefileñxs. Values are communicated through identifying these groups. Together identity and values inform youth and adult perspectives on themselves and their individual goals, in addition to community aspirations. Strand 2 details specific cultural components that are displayed through parenting and caretaking in Creole families.

Support of Culture

Introduction.

Bluefields Creole people are tied together by ethnicity, family, and by cultural and community narratives.

These forge links across many aspects of life: work, family, and community safety among them. In this portion of “Findings,” I review and offer evidence of two important cultural narratives and organizing ideas.

This section is relevant to the “support of culture” portion of my conceptual framework (Figure 2-1, p.43).

Within that framework, institutional support of culture and “Learning/doing culture” provide a foundation for the following section. This section reveals where culture is broadly expressed in public. By identifying cultural components (in this case narratives) I highlight them in the context of the institutions and social

222 groups where they are found and supported in Bluefields. The findings are particularly pertinent to the second research question’s focus on CSOs and others that engage culture for community resilience.

This portion of “Findings” begins with an explanation of the distinctions that Creoles drew between the past and the present. The “Community and cultural narratives” section is organized around some key

Kriol phrases. “It’s not like first times,” for example, was a refrain used to draw attention to important community and cultural attributes and their shifts over time. The phrase indicated how contemporary experiences within the community are different from the experiences of previous generations (those of “first times”). Within this narrative I highlight changes in relationships as well as the changes in community celebrations. After focusing on history, I turn to focus on presentation, behavior norms, and their violations.

“That’s not the right thing” is a narrative that signaled a departure from traditional attitudes, behaviors, and perceptions that are valued among the Creole community. Next, the section entitled “Identity and belonging” discusses contexts and institutions that support the development of Creole identities among youth and adults. An important component of identity for Bluefileñxs was the city of Bluefields. A portion of the “Identity and belonging” findings discusses community pride. Finally, the importance of “Networks of care & minding,” looks to the presence, activity, and relevance of Civil Society Organizations (CSOs) and other networked groups (e.g. families, activists) for Bluefields and for Creole culture. Each of these components (narratives, identities, and networks of care) supports Creole cultural resilience.

Community and Cultural Narratives.

Across contexts in Bluefields there were unifying narratives that helped Creole participants understand their community, culture, and the changes within the two. The tendency to reflect on change over time became a refrain, “It’s not like old times,” or, “not like first times.” The phrase signaled differences between a vaguely-dated golden era, “first times,” and the present. Changes throughout the community were manifested in relationships and celebrations. A second cultural narrative focused on presentation, and is discussed in the section, “That’s not the right thing.” This section considers large presentations, celebrations, and day-to-day life. The concept of being visible to the broader community exerts pressure on

223 that Creole people to have actions matched their values. This was a guide for individuals throughout the community and a foundation for criticism.

It’s not like old times.

Relationships: family, neighborhood, advocates.

A nostalgic narrative among Creoles in varying generations told of a time when life was more secure with a clear hierarchy in relationships. As Bluefileñxs drew distinctions between “old times” and today, their areas of emphasis offered insight into their values.

Gisela, a late university student, suggested that Creole culture had weakened over time, and noted that it was difficult to identify when the change occurred.

It’s very difficult to separate one from the other. What I mean like the past from the present. But there are a lot of values that have been lost away. Like, for example, for kids or youth, adolescent, first they used to keep—like the parents used to keep more charge of their kids. And now, somehow or the other, they have lost. And the children have lost respect to their parents; have lost respect to authorities. (Gisela, Participant in multiple CSOs; university student) Gisela had this perspective as a college student who had recently traveled internationally and thought carefully about culture. In a very tangible example, Whitney and other students her age (around 14) pinpointed specific changes in relationships over time, including the decrease in tight control over children by parents. The emphasis of control in old times included physical punishment. Shaleesia (a woman in her early 20s) noted the physical reprimands from her strict mother in direct contrast to the way she planned to raise her own son.

S: I’m raising my son differently. I’m not saying that I don’t give him a little smack. But I don’t want to beat him like my Mamá used to beat me. Because Mamá used to really get me, Erica. [S chuckles to herself.] Look how pale you are, oh lord, Erica, you would be [both laugh]… E: I’d be purple? S: Yeah, seriously! (*Shaleesia, mid-20s Creole woman; translated from Kriol) Though parents and youth recounted the violent approach to raising children in the past, some focus group participants cheekily added their ways to get what they want: try mom, try dad, try grandma. Although parenting styles have changed over time, the extended family relationships among Creoles in Bluefields

224 persisted. Intergenerational value transmission connected layers of the Creole community even as the mechanics of relationships change over time.

In addition to changing parenting styles the role of caregiver has shifted. In cases where one or both biological parents were not present children’s upbringing fell to others (often grandparents or aunts).

Despite the family relationship changes that participants mentioned, there was consistency in relationships that supported Creole cultural resilience. In Creole families vestiges of respect for elders could still be found. With homes where adults were referred to as “ma’am,” or “sir,” youth entered the community using titles for adults, as well. In CSOs where youth input drives engagement the style of communication varied but the level of respect did not falter. Although Bluefields today is “not like first times,” today’s culture for

Creole youth in Bluefields was built upon “first times,” and retained some key features including differentiated levels of respect for elders and recognition of and respect for traditional healing.

Schools, CSOs, and other organizations tacitly supported Creole narratives by understanding their value. As organizations planned events for youth they took static elements of culture into account. Weekend events, for example, were planned for times when youth would not be responsible for helping to clean in the home. Individual advocates throughout the community also played roles in supporting “old times” narratives through their concentrated efforts to maintain Creole knowledge. By promoting the history of specific

Creole women who were community organizers, Raquel reminded people of the strength in their roots.

Reginal used Kriol on the radio to discuss traditional approaches to health. He researched links between contemporary science and ancestral wisdom to support his outreach for community members’ wellbeing.

Support for the Creole cultural narrative, “it’s not like old times,” was both an active process of sharing information and a passive stance. When “old times” traditions were respected and made to fit in to modern experiences and priorities there were opportunities to recognize and build upon previous states of resilience.

Celebrations: May, Christmas.

Among the features that Creole people used to distinguish themselves from Pacific Coast Nicaraguans were the celebration of the month of May. While touted as an important part of Creole heritage the May festivals 225 are also part of the “not like old times” narrative. Components of the traditional celebrations persisted despite changes over time. Tuuluuluuluu (a tradition that links the two traditional Afro-descendant barrios with a procession) still began and ended in Creole neighborhoods. The event still involved shaking a decorated “tree,” or large branch representing a tree. Leading up to Tuuluuluuluu, neighborhoods throughout Bluefields took turns having “Maypole,” events (calling for a fruitful harvest). These included shaking a tree, parties, and events in the street with sales of food and beverages. These were large citywide events that were also open to youth. Families and neighborhoods prepared young people to compete in dance as well as in knowledge of the cultural history of the celebrations.

While Maypole and Tuuluuluuluu celebrations were popular and well-attended, youth described them as a watered-down version of what their grandparents experienced. Changes in the community, parenting, and some religious values prevented many young people from attending May festivals.

Well [May festivals are] we root from we culture. So, [people in my church] try to respect it. Say example, if that celebration going on, we try to respect it. But we no participate in it. But we know that’s…a…like a festival. An important thing what going on here in the Coast. But who want involve in it, involve in it. But we don’t want no involve in it. (Shereece, early 20s) Rather than a rare opportunity to celebrate and be in the community for fun, which they likely were in the past, the May festivals were now seen as large parties that were optional. Sherece linked herself to Creole culture’s “root.” She also stepped away from it, embracing her church that did not engage in “worldly” celebrations. Religion and the “not like old times” understandings of May celebrations were opportunities for Creole youth to opt out of participating in cultural events. While churches and individuals expressed concerns about cultural dilution their choices not to participate further threatened the traditions. It was a cycle that participation in May events was less fun because they were too different from their heyday, while those who choose not to participate might be the ones to bring back the traditional elements.

There was a historical disconnect between contemporary May celebrations and their roots. Although the celebrations are historically Creole, they now rely on government support. Where they were once maintained and organized by the community, contemporary festivals are mediated by the involvement of government outside of Bluefields. This helped maintain the tradition through tough economic times and 226 potential community discord, even as it changed the nature of the events. More inclusive of the diversity of the whole community (whereas previous engagement focused on Creole-dominated barrios), the May festivities are announced and celebrated in Spanish. Creole culture is celebrated yet obviated under the banner of Coasteñx (Coast peoples) culture. Diversity is mentioned, but the realities of Afro-descendant marginalization are ignored. Leaders of youth-service organizations noted that young people today lack basic knowledge about the May festivities and their roots in Creole culture. Some participants discussed learning pieces of this history in school, but their understanding was vague and consisted of the barest sketches of the picture of the cultural celebrations.

In addition to May festivities, Christmas was described as a neighborhood-focused celebration. It has been 10 years since Christmas and New Years were done right in Leah’s estimation. Edith highlighted this too, when she said that people “stay segregated,” and in small family groups rather than extended family or neighborhood groups. Although these women were in their 50s, Creole youth saw the same trend. As was the case with May festivals youth participants explained a different value of Christmas celebrations than did adult and older youth participants. For young people Christmas involved family and a commercial aspect.

With adult family members as chaperones, Creole youth visited Bluefields’ central park to ride carnival rides and eat carnival foods. They discussed the evening activities at home or in the neighborhood, playing with friends and setting off fireworks.

D: We clean up the Christmas tree. [And go out] buying cake, fire rocket [fireworks]. And celebrate with we family. [. . .] E: What happens when you wake up on Christmas? D: When I wake up I does just scrub my teeth. And I’ll get ready, and we’ll go celebrate it. We would buy out in the park. We does go eat ‘bout. And do all kinda things. (Delron, fifth-grade student) Members of older generations lamented the change to a more commercial and less communal holiday experience. Family fostered this change in tradition, even as adult members were nostalgic for old ways of celebrating. Despite the nostalgia of older generations some neighborhood events continued. “Old

Christmas,” in Old Bank, was a prime example. Held early in the New Year, the celebration was organized for entertainment. Participation in the Old Christmas tradition varied by age. For teenagers, a free day with

227 events and food sales could be a chance to hang out. Some homes sold food and drinks, while organizers planned organized games for children.

Pairs of Creole kids hopped down the street with their legs in burlap sacks. Word buzzed around about the potential for a “greasy pole” competition, where a prize placed on top of a greased telephone pole would be fair game for anyone who could scramble up. Adults stood on the edges of the streets chatting and drinking beers. Some older people were offered plastic chairs in the shade of a neighbor’s porch. As in cultural narratives about changing relationships, the change in celebrations has not wholly dissolved

Creole traditions. The historical prominence of Creole people in Bluefields, the names of the celebrations, and the neighborhoods that host celebrations all suggested that the May celebrations were once Creole- specific. They were recently celebrated broadly and advertised as “Coast culture,” and not specific to the

Afro-descendant Creoles. Although the structure of the May festivities persisted they were institutionalized.

With organization by the mayor’s office, other government agencies, and CSOs many participants noted that the shine was off.

Culture in the political realm.

The network of community advocates within Bluefields meshed with the political system in ways that allowed Creole culture to peek through the national political curtain. Although national political parties controlled the government, even in the Autonomous Regions, there were signs of engagement from local actors. In this portion of “Findings,” related to broad Creole cultural expression, I discuss the networked components of politics as well as the symbolism that prevailed throughout the community.

As discussed in “Networks of care and minding,” a collection of CSOs and activists formed a web of care that tended to various individual and community needs. This web, in turn was supported by longstanding engagement of Creole community leaders. Complimented by having served in governments at various levels these individuals’ longstanding community engagement set them apart as readily-identified mentors. In his political career, more than a decade ago, Reginal focused heavily on garnering investment for the Autonomous Regions. The outcome included regional cultural centers throughout the Coast. In

Bluefields this cultural center was a site for presentations of art and dance, as well as a space for public meetings and CSO events. Other veteran advocates engaged with the local communal government and 228 worked toward the goal of securing Creole land titles for Bluefields, under the umbrella of the Autonomy laws.

Through my snowball sampling, these individuals (Reginal, Dolene Miller, and others) were often identified as key sources for learning about Bluefields and the Creole community. As they aged (most are now in their 50s or 60s), these advocates continued to participate in community organizations. As mentors they consciously worked to pass the torch to future generations. Their work over time has helped to create the network of advocates that supported the CSOs throughout the community. These efforts at long-term investment and advancement for Bluefields are representations of Creole advocates working for their ethnicity, culture, and the Bluefields community at large. This foundation and the ongoing support of experienced individuals serve as scaffolding for future generations’ efforts.

As indicated in “Not the right thing” community-wide presentations were an important part of culture. Among these presentations were parades for Nicaragua’s Independence Day and processions that recognized regional priorities (Tuuluuluuluu and Mayoya—the May festivals). In each case the engagement of Creole youth and adults sent distinct messages. Fifth grade participants in one focus group indicated that they remembered being in parades on a specific date but they didn’t know what the parade was about.

Nicaraguan Independence Day was likely one of the many indistinguishable shows of national solidarity for those students. Given the longstanding antagonism between the Atlantic Coast peoples and the Pacific-based government the importance of this day would be hotly contested. It was not surprising, however, that young people knew little of the debate given the absence of Coast experiences in the national curriculum.

Another source of important symbolic processions through Bluefields occurred during May. Early in the month, following presentations and celebrations that were sponsored by national ministries and the city mayor, a procession through the city started off the season. Later, for Carnival (a celebration that was imported to the region, but still centered on Creole history) community members followed neighborhood

Miss Mayoya contestants and bands to the gathering place for the contest and crowning. This procession emphasized the unity within barrios but was organized by the city officials. At the end of the procession, the

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Miss Mayoya competition included trivia in Spanish about Creole history (e.g. the meaning of Maypole, and naming traditional songs) and dance presentations. During May vendors from outside of Bluefields flood the community for economic opportunities. This influx was support for the festivals but not beneficial to

Bluefileñx businesses. The procession for Carnival preserved a sense of convivencia (living together-ness) and nominally recognized Afro-descendants’ roles in the development and history of the Coast. These are the representations of the Coast that can be seen on marketing posters in the Managua airport, yet the depth of the celebration and of Afro-descendants contributions were glaringly absent.

Finally, the Tuuluuluuluu procession at the end of May was heavily centered on Creoleness. The procession starting and ending points alternate between the two oldest Creole barrios in Bluefields: Old

Bank and Cotton Tree. Crowds of dancers of all ethnicities participated in the community procession and party at the ending point. The common anthems of the celebration, heard throughout the month of May, were sung loudly in Spanish by revelers. The celebration was also heavily institutionalized with police presence salient throughout the route. Media and tourists from all parts of the country are visible for the procession. The late-night beginning of the celebration and huge crowds discouraged some from participating, especially youth with curfews and tight control from parents. Threats of violence were common and another reason for some parents to prevent their children from engaging. The 2017 celebration was peaceful though the media noted the limited organization and dancing. Many main study participants noted that Tuuluuluu, Maypole, and other holidays that were once crucial to Creole social engagement and culture have diminished value in recent years. The expanded role of national institutions and outsiders were contributing factors to the changed nature of the events and cultural relevance for Creoles.

Institutionalized cultural representation.

The autonomy process set aside room for the institutionalization of culturally responsive systems. Among these are justice, education, and health. To date Bluefields has made nominal progress on these fronts. As

Creole rights are represented in these formal areas the community achieves long held goals and advocates are pushed to reckon with what success looks like.

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Maria Jones, through her work with Cultural Connections to Learning, worked to have traditional health practices represented within national medical services. Following the “articulation,” or creation of policies that ensure complimentary services in the Northern Atlantic Autonomous Region, a similar process began out of Bluefields in the South. Maria noted that she felt conflicted as Cultural Connections to

Learning worked to link “occidental” medical professionals and traditional healers from multiple ethnicities.

Seeing the work of the organization take on the framing of government offices gave her pause. Other Creole community advocates also questioned the role of traditional medicine in contemporary hospital settings. In this and other cultural realms there was concern that cultural knowledge and practices were being appropriated by broader systems.

The justice system has also engaged local experts to create culturally-relevant adjudication within ethnic minority communities. For Creole people this included access to a “communal judge,” rather than a

“juicio,” (the Spanish term for “judge”). The communal judge had authority over relatively minor cases such as theft in Creole communities. Within Bluefields and the Autonomous Regions, at all levels of the justice system, Creoles and other minorities had the right to access the judicial process in their mother tongue. As I witnessed the trial of a rapist from a community outside of Bluefields, for example, the witnesses were allowed to testify in Kriol. Although the judge was also a Creole man from Bluefields, there was an official translator who communicated the proceedings in Kriol and Spanish. The community advocates who accompanied me at the trial were confident that any lapses in translation would be mitigated by the presence of a Creole judge (who is fluent in Kriol) on the bench. Although some components of institutionalized culture were questioned there was a sense of progress in the judicial realm.

A regional ministry of education in Bluefields was responsible for communicating with the National

Ministry of Education (MINED, the Spanish acronym) around the implementation of the Subsystem of

Education for the Atlantic Autonomous Region (SEAR, the Spanish acronym) which was created by the

Autonomy laws. Dolene Miller, a community advocate, noted that SEAR has “stagnated,” because it was

“meant to stagnate.” As the education portion of indigenous and Afro-descendant representation was only

231 one paragraph in the autonomy policy long-time community advocates recognized it as a wholly symbolic gesture. There are no suggestions for implementation, clear lines of responsibility, progress measures, or other functional ways to ensure that the practice of culturally-responsive education practices come to be.

Multiple participants explained that SEAR was been implemented at the elementary level in some rural communities. Within Bluefields there was a “bilingual” school with an identity that was strongly linked to Creole culture. In practice educators and community members recognized that the school fell short of full bilingual education. This was due, at least in part, to the absence of a national curriculum or “plan,” for how to implement bilingual education. Although there were high schools in Bluefields that were known for having majority-Creole student populations they also lacked the curricular resources for instruction in

Kriol or English. (There is debate about the value of instruction in Kriol over Standard English. Creoles of previous generations read Standard English and have a relatively easy time switching from Kriol to

Standard English. Claiming the term “Kriol” for their language was an important cultural identifier for

Creole youth.)

In addition to formal institutional engagement with Creole culture there were more ephemeral indications of broad cultural expression. Just as some adult participants worried that the traditional health model combined with the hospitals risked co-optation of practice, youth worried about culture. Young people recognized that what was once common for the Black community was increasingly appreciated and appropriated by Mestizx community members. This extended to increased appreciation for the Afro- descendant phenotype and multiple participants discussed decreasing levels of bias and discrimination in their lifetimes. Young people and churches shared the concern for cultural appropriation of Creole festivals.

Changes in dance styles, costumes, and market power during the celebrations was worrisome. These shifts pushed May celebrations away from Creole culture and towards contemporary elements such as sexuality and capitalism.

232

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Vita Erica B. Sausner

EDUCATION Pennsylvania State University University Park, PA Ph. D. in Educational Theory and Policy & December 2018 Comparative and International Education • Dissertation: Community and cultural resilience in Bluefields, Nicaragua: An ethnographic study of Creole people • Advisors: Mindy Kornhaber & Nicole Webster

SUNY New Paltz New Paltz, NY BA, Economics May 2006 Minor, Sociology

PUBLICATIONS Brezicha, K., Sausner, E.B, and Lomeli, H. (forthcoming). A change of plans: How one school board responded to the needs of its immigrant student population in How Educational Equity Can Close Opportunity Gaps in Pennsylvania, (Edited volume).

Mahfouz, J., Sausner, E., Kornhaber M. (2018). US international schools overseas and the Common Core. International Journal of Leadership in Education. doi.org/10.1080/13603124.2018.1481529

Kornhaber, M., Barkauskas, N., Griffith, K., Sausner, E., Mahfouz, J. (2017). The Common Core's promises and pitfalls per policy entrepreneurs and ground-level actors. Journal of Educational Change. https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s10833-017-9306-z

Mahfouz, J., Barkauskas, N.J., Sausner, E.B., Kornhaber, M. (2017). Leadership roles under the Common Core. Education and Urban Society.

Webster, N. & Sausner, E.B. (2017). A focused analysis of TVET: Unique opportunities and strategies for investing in and engaging youth in Nicaraguan society. Journal of Vocational Education & Training. DOI: 10.1080/13636820.2017.1322128

Sausner, E. & Webster, N. (2016). Migration and community resilience in Nicaraguan Afro-Caribbean coastal communities. Journal of Developing Societies, 32(4), 484-507. DOI: 10.1177/0169796X16667876

GRANTS AND SCHOLARSHIPS 2016, Pennsylvania State University Africana Research Center Research Grant 2013-2018, Lillian M. Barrett Scholarship for the College of Education 2016, Comparative International Education Society Dissertation Workshop Travel Grant 2015, Comparative & International Education Research Travel Grant 2015, Education Policy Studies Student Research Group Travel Grant 2014, Education Policy Studies Student Research Symposium Travel Grant

PROFESSIONAL MEMBRSHIPS American Educational Research Association Comparative and International Education Society