Redalyc.Intellectuals and History in the Spanish Caribbean: Between

Caribbean Studies ISSN: 0008-6533 [email protected] Instituto de Estudios del Caribe Puerto Rico

Baud, Michiel Intellectuals and history in the spanish caribbean: between autonomy and power Caribbean Studies, vol. 34, núm. 1, enero-junio, 2006, pp. 277-291 Instituto de Estudios del Caribe San Juan, Puerto Rico

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How to cite Complete issue Scientific Information System More information about this article Network of Scientific Journals from Latin America, the Caribbean, Spain and Portugal Journal's homepage in redalyc.org Non-profit academic project, developed under the open access initiative INTELLECTUALS AND HISTORY IN THE SPANISH CARIBBEAN 277 INTELLECTUALS AND HISTORY IN THE SPANISH CARIBBEAN: BETWEEN AUTONOMY AND POWER

Michiel Baud CEDLA, University of Amsterdam

Ignacio López-Calvo. 2005. “God and Trujillo”: Literary and Cultural Representations of the Dominican Dictator. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. 196 pp. ISBN: 0-8130-2823-X (Cloth). Teresita Martínez-Vergne. 2005. Nation and Citizen in the Dominican Republic, 1880-1916. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. 234 pp. ISBN 0-8078-2976-5 (Cloth); 0-8078-5636-3 (Paper). Pedro San Miguel. 2004. Los desvaríos de Ti Noel: Ensayos sobre la producción del saber en el Caribe. San Juan, PR: Vertigo. 227 pp. ISBN: 1-932766-01-4 (Paper). Pedro San Miguel. 2005. The Imagined Island: History, Identity, and Utopia in Hispaniola. Translated by Jane Ramírez. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. 194 pp. ISBN 0- 8078-2964-1 (Cloth); ISBN 0807856274 (Paper). Richard Lee Turits. 2003. Foundations of Despotism: Peasants, the Trujillo Regime, and Modernity in Dominican History. Stan- ford, CA: Stanford University Press. 384 pp. ISBN: 0804751056 (Paper).

Pedro San Miguel starts his collection of essays on Caribbean intellectuals, Los desvaríos de Ti Noel with a well-known novel by Alejo Carpentier, El reino de este mundo (1994). He compares the volatile, contradictory and in the end pointless attitude of the hallucinating ex-slave Ti Noel of Carpentier’s story with the plight of the Caribbean intellectuals, who always had an ambiguous relation with the holders of political power. Despite their limited power they invested themselves with important political and

Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 278 MICHIEL BAUD social missions. San Miguel observes: “[E]l intelectual caribeño usualmente vive en un delirio, por lo que cree que puede salvar al mundo por medio de la palabra” (p. 23). Because of this mission- ary zeal the relationship between intellectuals and power-holders is often complex and contradictory. This is even more so in the Caribbean where the societies are so small and personalized and at the same time, socially and economically divided. I would personally suggest taking recourse to another story of Carpentier, “El derecho de asilo,” which introduces the “secretario de la Presidencia y Consejo de Ministros” on a Sunday morning, when he is immersed in his erudite intellectual musings. For one short moment he takes the liberty to put himself in the place of the President. “La verdad era que, los domingos, se sentía un poco presidente en el Palacio de Miramontes. Cierta vez había llegado a terciarse una banda presidencial para sentir la emoción del poder” (Carpentier 1982: 187). This scene suggests a metaphor with a slightly different angle to the Caribbean intellectual, the servant who fools himself to be the master, and believes that he is in the centre of power. Most intellectuals quickly realize that this dream will never come true and that it would even be contrary to their vocation (our dear secretario starts reading a book on art when he takes the President’s seat!). Others become bewitched by their dream and place themselves at the mercy of power-holders. In her treatise on Latin American intellectuals, Nicola Miller (1999) writes: “Spanish American intellectuals found themselves obliged to choose between adopting a stance of critical distance, in which case they became politically redundant, or devoting themselves to politics, in which case they risked losing moral authority” (p. 126). Sometimes—very rarely—intellectuals succeed in convincing themselves and their environment of their potential to become real power-holders. This happened twice in the 20th century Dominican Republic. An enigma still to be explained is why this country produced two intellectual Presidents in the latter half of the 20th century: Juan Bosch and Joaquín Balaguer. This question

Caribbean Studies Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 INTELLECTUALS AND HISTORY IN THE SPANISH CARIBBEAN 279 is even more fascinating because the fate of these two men was so different. The first, Juan Bosch, obeys more San Miguel’s typol- ogy of the wandering, unpractical and finally defeated Ti Noel (not surprisingly Bosch is one of the “heroes” of San Miguel’s work). The other, Joaquín Balaguer, is an excellent example of Carpentier’s secretario, who after decades of serving the dictator while dreaming about the presidency on Sunday mornings, finally grabbed power in 1966, only to relinquish it in 1996 with twenty- two years as President.1

Images in an island society San Miguel’s two books reviewed here may be helpful in understanding the complex relation between intellectuals and political power in the Dominican Republic, and the Spanish- speaking Caribbean in general. The Imagined Island is the trans- lation of a book published in Spanish in 1997. It concerns itself with the history and especially the interpretation of history in the Dominican Republic and, to a lesser extent, Haiti. With a great erudition the author looks into the struggle for identity on the island of Hispaniola shared by Haiti and Santo Domingo. In four lucid essays San Miguel unravels the historical imagination of this fascinating island. He starts out with two more general essays in which he analyses the historical imagination concerning the Span- ish colonial domination of the island and the racial contents of the Dominican identity in the independent Dominican Republic. If anything, these essays only confirm how the two parts of the island are linked to each other like a Siamese twin; and, on the other hand, how desperately the Dominican elites have tried to affirm the separate identity of their country. The intensity of this double binding is hard to exaggerate and almost impossible to fully understand for outsiders. In the last two essays San Miguel uses the Haitian intellectual Jean Price-Mars and Dominican writer-politician Juan Bosch to dig into the complexities of nation building and identity formation in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. He presents Price-Mars as

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the intellectual voice of Haiti and tries to see through his work to construct a Haitian (and one could say: Black) perspective on the island’s identity. It is a well composed essay that in the end cleverly uses Argentine writer Borges’ vision of history to suggest the possibility of a harmonious future for the island. In the last essay San Miguel analyses the fictional and historical work by Juan Bosch as an indication of an evolving national modern- izing project. This project was evidently coloured by Bosch’s experiences in Cuba, this most modern and cultured island of the Caribbean. For Bosch, the backwardness of Dominican society which led to cultural (or even racial) pessimism among many of the Dominican letrados, was the direct result of the absence of a real capitalist development in the country prior to the late 20th century. This had also led to a weak bourgeoisie which had not been able to hold its own in the face of imperialism and authori- tarianism. Later this analysis would become the basis of Bosch’s political programme that intended to apply Marxist analysis to the specific circumstances of the country. It has been the tragedy of Juan Bosch’s life that after his short, violently aborted presidency in 1963, he never had the opportunity to put his ideas and political programme into practice. Los desvaríos de Ti Noel which was published in Puerto Rico, touches on many of the same themes and can be seen as a con- tinuation of the discussion started in San Miguel’s 1997 book. It lacks, however, the erudition of his other book. It is a somewhat uneven collection of essays, book reviews and more general writings and lacks coherence. In the long and most interesting essay, “Visiones históricas del Caribe,” San Miguel further pursues his analysis of the relation between intellectuals and national identity extending it to the historical development of the Spanish Carib- bean in general. He sketches the well-known patterns of Spanish Caribbean history with its discussion on the relation between plantations and peasant farming, and shows how this discussion went to the heart of the historical debate in the Caribbean. Influ- enced by the U.S. popularity of Indian subaltern studies, but also

Caribbean Studies Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 INTELLECTUALS AND HISTORY IN THE SPANISH CARIBBEAN 281 by the work of his Puerto Rican professor, Fernando Picó, he is especially interested in the possibilities of the popular classes to influence history. He finishes by suggesting that the present- day migration and globalisation has finally placed the subaltern classes center stage. San Miguel is at his best when he succeeds in connecting the history of the Spanish Caribbean to broader historiographic issues like nation building, the social and political position of intellectuals, etc. Of course, there are always issues one can disagree with or debate about. For example, his analysis of the Dominican Haitian relations is still very much informed by a Dominican perspective, and he has (as most of us) not yet suc- ceeded in constructing a completely balanced model of analysis. While, for example, he has no problem in presenting the various viewpoints on the side of the Dominican Republic, the only time he presents a Haitian intellectual (Price-Mars), he feels the need to register the objections of a whole range of Dominican intellectuals. A more important issue is that in various instances he points out the oral, popular versions of past and present, and how these are different from those of politicians and intellectuals. But he does not tell us how this popular knowledge and these popular perspectives are constructed, how they relate to more hegemonic national versions and how they eventually may have a bearing on the national political discourse. These are minor points, more points of discussion than anything else. However, there is one more serious misgiving that only occurred to me after re-reading the essays. In spite of all their eloquence and broad erudition, ultimately there remains something incomplete about San Miguel’s essays. It is not easy to pin down in words, but they appear to lack a basic question and therefore—in the end—it is not clear what their ultimate goal is. It may be significant that neither of the books has a full-fledged introduction or even a conclusion. San Miguel’s essays give interesting insights into intellectual development in the Carib- bean and in this way make it possible to understand processes of political and social imagination that are fundamental to the

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region. But why is San Miguel interested in these themes and what does he hope to prove or argue? These questions may be even more interesting since he, like many, myself included, started out as historian of social and economic processes, and eventually turned to the analysis of mental and intellectual processes. As he indicates himself, this happened under the influence both of his readings in anthropology and by the so-called cultural turn in history stimulated by authors like Michel de Certeau and Hayden White. Most historians no longer believe in the positivist sanctity of historical sources and accept the ordering role of historians and intellectuals. Therefore, it becomes necessary to understand the work of the producers of knowledge to be able to appreciate the views they produce. However, personally I think that this is not the only reason why social historians have invented something I prefer to call a ‘new intellectual history’. They believe that it is necessary to understand knowledge production by politicians and intellectuals as an element of hegemonic policies. At the same time they are convinced that subaltern classes are producing their own forms of knowledge, often by people we could call “popular intellectuals” (Baud and Rutten 2004). It is the confrontation of, and struggle between these different forms of knowledge that provides us with essential understandings of societal development. Ultimately, this new intellectual history thus tries to understand the production of knowledge and, thereby, the archaeology of power in order to invent new forms of social history. San Miguel’s work demonstrates the great value of intellectual history, but I would have liked him to be more explicit on this relation between knowledge production and social history!

Ideologies of progress San Miguel’s books may be compared to two recently published monographs that connect to his approach, but do so from two different disciplines: history and literature. The first is a book just published by another Puerto Rican historian, Teresita

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Martínez-Vergne. It focuses on a period that has traditionally been favoured in Dominican historiography, the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, in which the utopia of modernity reigned in full glory. Martínez-Vergne focuses on what I myself have called “Ideologies of progress,” the loose set of ideas which demon- strated the elite’s obsession with the idea of “el progreso,” by which it understood a rapid capitalist modernity that could lift up the backward Dominican economy (Baud 1995, chapter 8). In the first chapters of her book Martínez-Vergne intends to show how these ideologies of progress combined with a new nationalist fervor that took shape in the urban centres in the south of the country, especially Santo Domingo and San Pedro de Macorís, the then booming sugar town. On the basis of a wealth of primary sources, she stresses what she calls “the bind” of the Dominican elites. They not only wished modernity, they demanded it, but in this holy project they were faced with a “people” that did not appear to be inclined to “rise to the occasion.” Added to this was the influx of migrant labour that was necessary to bring about the desired modernization, but caused its own set of problems of race and national identity. The result was—as everywhere in Latin America—the implementation of Liberal policies that mixed coercion with efforts to paternalistically civilize the poor huddled masses. After a chapter on perceptions of bourgeois femi- ninity that stands somewhat apart from the general thrust of the book, Martínez-Vergne devotes the last chapters to the activities and reactions of these working classes. She argues that what was often considered as resistance to change, may better be seen as a struggle for citizenship on the part of the subaltern classes. In combination with the access to new material welfare, she suggests that in spite of elite opinions contrariwise, the working men and women of the urban centers actively took part in the search for modernity and national citizenship. Although she presents some interesting material to sustain this view, archival documents do not provide her with many opportunities to present the viewpoints of the subaltern classes.

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The book’s strength is the presentation and analysis of the visions of the urban elites in the central southern part of the country. However, while it can be said that the author at least tries to present some information on the subaltern perspective, it is all but silent on events and developments in other parts of the country. This is surprising because many historical studies, to begin with Hoetink’s (1972) seminal El pueblo dominicano, have argued that a different type of modernization occurred in the northern part of the country. The fertile and prosperous northern Cibao region was dominated not by (sugar) plantations or foreign investors but by peasant agriculture and a local mercantile elite. This led to quite a different social and economic, but also intellectual development. It would have strengthened the book if it had ventured into an explicit comparative discussion between these radically different models in the country. It is clear that Martínez-Vergne’s book touches many of the same themes as San Miguel. Both try to understand the construc- tion of intellectual imaginations in the Spanish-speaking Carib- bean; both profess the importance of subaltern voices, without effectively being able to present them. The nature of the books, however, is quite different. Martínez-Vergne connects her analysis clearly to archival evidence, where San Miguel (surely on the basis of his earlier archival research) presents more general interpreta- tions. Both perspectives are necessary if we want to understand both history and the production of historical knowledge, but social historians need to find new forms of empirical evidence to better understand the expressions and influence of subaltern voices. At the same time it would be useful to confront their viewpoints not only with the fashionable theoretical literature, but also with the results of empirical research in other regions in Latin America or the Caribbean.

Literature and history The book by López-Calvo offers a clear disciplinary contrast. This author, who earlier published on Chilean and Argentine lit-

Caribbean Studies Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 INTELLECTUALS AND HISTORY IN THE SPANISH CARIBBEAN 285 erature, looks at the literary representations of the Trujillo regime that dominated the Dominican Republic between 1930 and 1961. This period has recently been brought back to the attention of the international public by Vargas Llosa’s novel, La Fiesta del Chivo (2000). This novel was written on the basis of a voluminous body of literature—fictional and non-fictional—that demonstrates the fascination with this period of Dominican history among the Dominican population. There is no doubt that the role of intellectuals in the Trujillo regime is an extremely relevant topic. In that context López-Cal- vo’s book is interesting in two respects. It stresses the important— but subordinate—position of intellectuals within the regime, the most important of whom were Manuel Arturo Peña Battle and later president Joaquín Balaguer, who, above all, formulated the ideological legitimation of Trujillo’s anti-Haitian policies. It also shows how after the dictatorship, Dominican novelists have tried to come to grips with this episode of Dominican history, drawing as it were lessons from it for Dominican society, but also for their own position as intellectuals. Concerning the first issue, if there is one element that stands out in the literary representation of the Trujillo dictatorship, it is the sycophantic character of its intellectuals whose excessive praise for and demonstrations of loyalty to “El Jefe” made a mockery of their supposed independence. On the second issue, the book demonstrates the productivity of Dominican intellectuals after the death of Trujillo and their relent- less efforts to shed light on the mysteries of Dominican authori- tarianism. López-Calvo’s sixth chapter (and his long bibliography) on the post-Trujillo period is a vivid testimony to this literary production. On the one hand, Dominican post-1961 writers have tried to unravel and undermine the nationalism that Trujillo has implanted in the Dominican psyche. On the other, they have tried to understand the position of colleague intellectuals, who served power even in its most abject expressions. For me, as an outsider to the genre of literary studies, it is probably impossible to do full justice to López-Calvo’s book. It

Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 286 MICHIEL BAUD is well written and shows an impressive control over the Latin American literary genre that is obsessed with the authoritarian regimes, despots and dictators that abound in the region. His book provides the reader with interesting information, both on the Trujillo dictatorship and its interpretation. Nevertheless, in its representation of Dominican history the book also poses problems, maybe partly because its purpose is not readily clear; there is no explicit leading question or hypothesis guiding the book. The book’s topic is the literary representation of the dictatorship, but inevitably it engages in a constant conversation between these literary representations and historical reality. Although in the end López-Calvo’s analysis remains within the domain of the fictional, he cannot avoid alluding to history. The problem is that often his more historical remarks about events or persons of the period are based on these same literary texts. The result is a somewhat disconcerting coalescence between the fictional and the historical. As if the fictional provides a factual representation of historical reality! For instance, when López-Calvo introduces Bernardo Vega’s historical novel Domini Canes (1988), he starts writing about the acts of “Trujillo’s character,” thereby clearly separat- ing the real and the fictional person. But subsequently he writes sentences like: “Trujillo stresses the importance of cultivating the national intelligentsia and having them as allies…” The problem is not that these statements are necessarily untrue, but that the truth of the fictional person is transformed into a historical truth. This literary strategy makes historians uncomfortable, but carries as an unintended consequence that the book tends to reproduce many of the stereotypical images of the Trujillo dictatorship that abound in the public domain. This is, by the way, also the principle point of criticism that has been made on Vargas Llosa’s novel. For that reason, to understand the intellectual representation of the Trujillo regime I still prefer the older study by Dominican author, Andrés Mateo, Mito y Cultura en la Era de Trujillo (1993).

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Peasant perspectives on the Trujillato The books reviewed here restrict themselves to the realm of knowledge production and do not answer this question on its societal consequences. Even Martínez-Vergne who links her analysis to the social and economic developments of the country, does not provide much insight in how these ideas filtered down into society. The question remains: What were the societal consequences of the words and writings of these intellectuals and how were their ideas perceived by the “people”? Were they effective in imposing a hegemonic ideology in the hearts and minds of the Dominican men and women? It is the great merit of Richard Turits’ large monograph Foundations of Despotism that it tries to approach these questions. This book, which will be reviewed in more detail in the next issue of this journal, tries, on the basis of extensive archival and fieldwork research, to unravel what Trujillo and his regime meant for the peasant population in the Dominican Republic. Turits’ initial intention was to write a history of land tenure, but soon this topic imposed itself. Talking to elderly peasants he discovered that in contrast to the urban middle classes who vilified his regime, many peasants still looked back to this period with good memories. In a long and fascinating book Turits tries to understand this phenomenon. Just as happened to me when I talked to the tobacco peasants in the north, Turits was repeatedly made to understand that the Trujillo regime and its rural policies had been relatively beneficial to the peasantry. While in the tobacco region peasants took advantage of the new control of the intermediate commercial class and the technical assistance the regime provided, in the southern regions where Turits did his research, it was land reform that directly appealed to the peasant producers. But not only that: the state’s rhetoric acquired a new tone. Far away from the political preoccupations and musings of the urban intellectuals presented above, the regime addressed the peasants as real Dominican citizens who had the obligation to participate in the sacred state project of nationalist modernity, but at the same time had the right

Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 288 MICHIEL BAUD to be treated as such. Turits points out that the rhetoric of peasant laziness and vagrancy was replaced by politics of assistance and the solution of material constraints. Of course, the regime’s idealiza- tion of the peasant nicely fitted into its conservative nationalist concerns, but for the peasants it meant that their needs were addressed for the first time and that they received structural support from the state. Turits also shows the downside of this nationalist support of the Dominican peasantry. In Chapter 5 of his book he shifts his attention to the border regions, which were so important in the regime’s anti-Haitian campaigns. One of Trujillo’s most important projects was the so-called “Dominicanization” of the border region which was meant to counter the invasión pacífica of Haitian squatter peasants. Here Trujillo’s support of the Dominican peasantry acquired sinister overtones. He tried to foster large-scale colonization plans meant to attract Dominican peasants to the border region. When these did not work, because the Dominican peasantry was not prepared to move to the dry and hot border regions, Trujillo resorted to the indiscriminate killing of some 12,000 Haitians in the frontier region. Interestingly, Turits sees this episode not so much as the culmination of anti-Haitian ideologies, but as their starting point. It was, in his words, “a transformative event in the diffusion of anti-Haitian ideology and constructs of a monoethnic nation in the Dominican Republic” (p. 146). Prominent intellectuals who served the dictator converted existing elite prejudices into state ideology and spearheaded its propaganda. In the course of time, anti-Haitianism became the principal source of conservative nationalist ideologies. The strength of Turits’ book is that it draws attention to the contradictory and complex relationship between ideology and practice. The conclusions we can draw from his work are contradictory. On the one hand, there is no doubt that the Trujillo regime managed to legitimate its power among the peasant population. Although the peasants probably did not read much of the intellectual production of the era, their collective memory suggests that

Caribbean Studies Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 INTELLECTUALS AND HISTORY IN THE SPANISH CARIBBEAN 289 they were clearly influenced by it. In any case, they remembered the period as relatively beneficial. This would mean that in the rural areas the Trujillo regime achieved a clear hegemony in the Gramscian sense. On the other hand, Turits also demonstrates that this hegemony was not merely the result of ideological manipu- lation, but just as much of concrete measures that directly and positively affected the peasantry’s existence. It was not so much the intellectuals who brought about this hegemony so much as the practical men who supported Trujillo’s project of agricultural modernity. The limitations of the societal role of the intellectuals are also evident in the period after the end of the Trujillo regime. To give just an example, the anti-Trujillo sentiment that had been injected into the population for more than thirty years at the moment of Turits’ fieldwork had not been able to erase the fond memories they had about the Trujillo period.

Intellectuals and power-holders Intellectuals are faced with a difficult moral and intellectual dilemma. If they strive for social and political influence and want to be listened to, they usually have to connect to political factions and power-holders. Most intellectuals are therefore prepared to barter a slice of their autonomy for some societal influence. Doing so, they run the risk of losing their intellectual integrity and autonomy. If they want to retain these two sacred possessions they are all too often condemned to a marginal existence. As the Peruvian historian Pablo Macera observed: “Independence is the name that we intellectuals give to our marginalization” (quoted in Miller 1999:30). It is one of the great paradoxes of Latin American history that these limitations were often temporarily removed by authoritarian regimes which used “their” intellectuals to consolidate their power. This dependence on authoritarian regimes and dictators showed the political impotence on the part of intellectuals, which was in strong contrast to their self-image. This contradiction is a recurring theme in Latin American historiography and may well

Vol. 34, No. 1 (January - June 2006), 277-291 290 MICHIEL BAUD be the principal cause for the so-called pessimism that is often considered a characteristic of Latin American—and certainly Dominican—intellectual history. In the Dominican Republic this situation was temporarily reversed during the Trujillo regime. In the shadow of Trujillo’s power many intellectuals felt themselves omnipotent, just like the secretario in Carpentier’s story. They quenched a thirst for power with their identification with a power- ful benefactor. As long as it lasted, they could live under the illu- sion of their crucial role in the development and modernization of society. Even the opponents of these authoritarian power-holders convinced themselves of their (potential) political importance. They wrote essays on the future of their nation and debated the national destiny. In doing so, they could dream that when they were in power, their role would be decisive. As becomes clear in the foregoing, the personal histories of Juan Bosch and Joaquín Balaguer show the limitations and possibilities of such a political- intellectual project. There is no doubt that Juan Bosch was by far the greater intellectual of the two, but at the same time that may have been the crucial element in his ultimate failure as politician. Eventually, he was unable to replace the subtleties of intellectual reasoning for the ruthless simplifications needed for excercising political power.

References

Baud, Michiel. 1995. Peasants and Tobacco in the Dominican Republic, 1870-1930. Knoxville: University Press of Tennessee. and Rosanne Rutten, eds. 2004. Popular Intellectuals and Social Movements: Framing Protests in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Carpentier, Alejo. 1982. “El derecho de asilo.” Pp. 181-219 in Cuentos completos. Barcelona: Editorial Bruguera. . 1994. El reino de este mundo. Río Piedras: Editorial de la Universidad de Puerto Rico.

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Hoetink, H. 1972. El pueblo dominicano: 1850-1900. Santiago: Univer- sidad Católica Madre y Maestra. Mateo, Andrés L. 1993. Mito y cultura en la Era de Trujillo. Santo Domingo: La Trinitaria. Miller, Nicola. 1999. In the Shadow of the State: Intellectuals and the Quest for National Identity in Twentieth-Century Spanish America. London: Verso.

Notes

1 He left the Presidency after 1978 defeated by the Partido Revolu- cionario Dominicano, and won again in 1986.

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