Copyright by Lawrence Edward Crockett, Jr 2017 The Dissertation Committee for Lawrence Edward Crockett, Jr Certifies that this is the approved version of the following dissertation: Landlocked and Unwanted: The Afro-Paraguayan Dilemma Committee: Edmund T. Gordon, Supervisor João H. Costa Vargas Christen Smith Harry Cleaver, Jr Landlocked and Unwanted: The Afro-Paraguayan Dilemma by Lawrence Edward Crockett, Jr, A.B., MPAff Dissertation Presented to the Faculty of the Graduate School of The University of Texas at Austin in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy The University of Texas at Austin May 2017 Dedication To Shuhan: thank you for your unconditional love and support throughout this process. Acknowledgements Heartbreak seems inadequate, but it is the only word that immediately comes to mind to commence what I feel in my heart is appropriate. In November 2015, I received a phone call that carried unwelcomed news: my Aunt Gloria was diagnosed for the second time with cancer. The first time she was diagnosed, I did not worry. As my great-uncle Fred stated, “Cancer will find out it picked the wrong person to mess with!” I wholeheartedly believed in the sentiment. Glo was an impassioned fighter and eventually became a cancer survivor. Last November, however, the terms of her survivor-hood changed to an uncertain but imminent death sentence. The second diagnosis: an incurable form of cancer that had spread along her spine. The diagnosis seemed vengeful. Glo had travelled down to hell, met the devil, cussed him, perhaps slapped him, and returned victoriously with visible battle scars; but the devil could not allow Glo’s victory to stand. The second bout with cancer immobilized her, weakened her, requiring more torment to her body to stay off her demise. In January 2017, I received word Glo opted to leave on her own terms without further treatment: the pain had grown too much, I presumed. Thereafter, the sequence of events progressed quickly before any of us could catch our breath. Friday, January 13th, my cousin informed me Glo was preparing for her home going. She defiantly held off death one more time to grace those around her with a smile and laughter. Monday, January 16th, the day the world celebrated the life of a king, v Martin Luther King Jr, I made preparations to travel to Memphis to send one of my queens home. Tradition dictates the acknowledgement section should discuss academic contributors—mentors, committee members, advisors, colleagues, etc.—who aided in the completion of the doctoral process. But, evoking Scarface’s lyrics on Jay-Z’s track, This Can’t Be Life: “But heaven knows I woulda been wrong; I wouldn’ta been right, it wouldn’ta been love; It wouldn’ta been, it wouldn’ta been us.” A simple dedication is not sufficient. Glo’s life requires an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement that celebrates what she meant and still means to me. In 1981 (if I recall correctly), a snot-nosed, scrawny black child showed up on Glo’s doorstep. I made the decision to live with my mother rather than my father. I did not immediately show up on Glo’s doorstep. My mother sent me to Chicago, IL first to stay with another aunt until she had things set up for us in Evanston, IL. After a short time, I was in Evanston. My mom and I shared a twin bed in Glo and Frank’s (Glo’s husband) second bedroom in their apartment. It was a full house. Frank, Glo, Talline (who was a baby at that time), mom, and myself occupied the space. But, it was home for the moment. Glo served as second mother to me. My mother worked retail, involving odd hours—particularly at night. Thus, Glo was there when I got home from school and cooked the delicious meals I gladly consumed. She also played other roles such as saving my ass from countless spankings. In the third grade, Ms. Holdman was my homeroom teacher. My friends and I constantly disobeyed her instructions, which led to repeated vi calls to the house complaining about my classroom behavior. Hence, Glo and I engaged in the daily dance: “Boy, I told you ‘bout havin’ that woman callin’ my house!! Don’t do it again!” I would promise to improve my behavior. Glo would smile and promise not to tell mom. Then, the next day we would repeat the same conversation. Each time Glo kept her promise and did not inform mom of my indiscretions whereas I struggled to uphold my end. As our relationship blossomed, Glo became a confidant, a truth teller (whether you wanted to hear it), a friend, and a protector. She taught me how to cuss. Glo once told me, “Now, there’s a difference between cursing and cussin’. We don’t curse…we cuss. Yo’ grand-momma can string some cusses together. And yo’ momma can do some cussin’ when she gets ready to. Now, boy, when you get ready to, you bet not curse. Don’t let me catch you cursing. You betta cuss right! Don’t let me down!!” Glo’s words always stuck with me as I witnessed future generations learn how to cuss from her. During summer 2015, I had a fellowship and required accommodations in Memphis, TN. Without hesitation, Glo and Frank graciously opened their house to me once again. I greatly appreciated the hospitality; but, more importantly, I felt at home. A friend from Austin, TX visited. I introduced Glo as the “hell raiser.” I meant no disrespect. Simply, I recognized Glo as the family protector. If anyone posed a threat to the family, she would raise hell to shield us. I understood that and I loved her for doing so. Thus, when I received the call regarding Glo’s deteriorating health, I had to make the trip to Memphis. Once there, I had to quickly adapt to the reality: cancer robbed Glo vii of her ability to physically function. She could not walk, stand, or do any basic function individuals take for granted. I proudly accepted the responsibility to carry Glo from her wheelchair to bed, couch, or any destination she chose. As I carried her, Glo’s breathing patterns indicated she was in pain. I did my best to be gentle. But, she weathered the pain. I patiently waited for her to inform me whether she was comfortable and listened intently to make the necessary adjustments to increase her comfort. Through the pain Glo remained mostly lucid. She laughed, smiled, displayed honesty, cussed, and conveyed stories to those who sat with her. One night, after I moved Glo to the couch so she could watch her Westerns, Glo recounted my indiscretions— particularly, with Ms. Holdman. She stated, “He always had that heffa callin’ my house talkin’ ‘bout you did this…or you did that. I almost started to worry about you. Then, I’ve watched you grow…I’m proud of you!” I sat on the adjacent couch and stared at the television screen, hoping not to succumb to my emotions. Consequently, my last words to her were: “I love you!” Shortly after Shu and I left Memphis, Glo decided to end her treatments. I understood she was tired. Tired of the pain, the poking, the prodding, the needles, and so forth. No matter how many times I wanted to say so it would have been selfish of me to ask her to continue the struggle. Glo was in pain and I could not bear it. Since her death, I have been in full dissertation mode—eluding the opportunity to grieve because of a fear that the process would have consumed me to the point I could not bring myself to complete this dissertation. I wrote with a heavy heart and I know she viii was there every step of the way. I miss her! Until we meet again, Aunt Gloria. I love you and thank you for being that rock in my life. Peace. ix Landlocked and Unwanted: The Afro-Paraguayan Dilemma Lawrence Edward Crockett, Jr, PhD The University of Texas at Austin, 2017 Supervisor: Edmund T. Gordon Afro-Paraguayans continue to struggle for rights associated with cultural citizenship from the state rather than pursue other strategies. This is especially perplexing given their political organizing around cultural citizenship has not been effective in gaining such rights much less improving their material well-being. Afro-Paraguayans recognize their lack of economic well-being as a critical issue the group faces with regard to survival. Yet, the Red Paraguaya Afrodescendientes (RPA), an association of three community organizations, focuses on cultural citizenship rather than directly confront the state to demand assistance with their socioeconomic marginalization. Hence, why do they continue to engage in such actions? Better yet: why has the state been nonresponsive to Afro-Paraguayans’ demands for cultural inclusion? Drawing from theories on cultural citizenship, moral economies, black liberation, and Afro-Pessimism, I posit the following: cultural citizenship rights are legible to the state due to the institutionalization of hegemonic politics that emerge after post-colonial rule. The institutionalization of those politics has led to a set of beliefs in cultural citizenship rights as the most appropriate course to gain visibility and equal rights as citizens, which Afro-Paraguayans have embraced as the principle solution to their socioeconomic and political deficiencies. But, there is a fundamental issue. The state denies Afro-Paraguayans’ rights because of anti-black racism. In essence, the struggle is not against a hegemonic mestizo nation for cultural inclusion but against a deeply ingrained anti-black sentiment.