Here are a list of countries - Mexico, India (southern bit), Sri Lanka, Thailand, Vietnam, Jamaica. What they have in common is that they all at the same latitude as the Dominican Republic, and all have similar climates - at sea level that is. The advantage the Dominican Republic has is that its mountains go up to over 13,000 feet, and it has a number of mountain valleys with unique micro-climates. The result is that all these places grow similar crops such as rice, coconuts, mangoes and other tropical fruits. The Dominican Republic, by virtue of its high mountains, can add chocolate and coffee to these, and in the cool mountain valleys a whole number of temperate crops such as apples, potatoes, and strawberries.
The difference between these other places and the Dominican Republic is that they have developed a indentifiable cuisine that can be identified with those places, and they have developed a distinct food culture. It is quite astonishing that the Dominican Republic, with its productive seas, tropical lowlands and cool mountains, and its history of mixing Spanish and French colonial legacies with West African slave histories and a smattering of indigenous influences, has spectacularly failed to develop a national cuisine that you would want to eat.
Much is made in places like France, Spain and Italy about how many of the classic great dishes, like Paella, Pizza, and Cassoulet are essential poor peoples dishes. They take cheap, locally available ingredients and add some innovation and pride to produce something magical. The array of cheap, locally ingredients here is amazing. I was passing through the market today, and alongside the onions, potatoes and apples from the mountain valleys were passion fruit, papaya, limes, plantain, and lots of other things that I don't know the english word for. I even had my first taste of raw cocoa bean straight out of the pod - a waxy texture, the flavour was dry, very bitter, but intense, fruity and definately chocolately.
The bit crucial ingredient missing from Dominican cuisine is care and enthusiasm. Despite the abundance of potential flavours, or because they have been spoiled by it, Dominicans seem to just view food as calories, rather than something to be enjoyed. All the many comedors I have been eating in seem to produce the same food - rice, beans, and chicken (fried or boiled), sometimes accompanied by the flavour-vacuum that is plantain. There is no attempt to be different, innovate, become known for producing a dish that is different or better than all the other comedors in the area. It is often quite greasy, which is OK because it lowers the potential for food poisoning - any bacteria that survived being immersed in hot oil will be killed by cholestorol poisoning. There is no sensitivity or delicacy, everything is boiled or fried until it has given up any potential for flavour or nutrition. Up market establishments are rarely better, they just have air conditioning rather than clackety fans, but the food is equally bland. It is frighteningly depressing, if it wasn't for stimulation from the roadside fruit sellers my tastebuds would have killed themselves long ago out of boredom. I find it amazing that countries such as France can breed thousands of types of types of beans, with unique flavours and textures, yet the Dominicans cannot be bothered to go past two - they probably think that it is already excessive.
This is in the city, I will soon move and live up in the mountains, where there is no tropical fruit, and I will be away from the valleys that grow temperate fruit. Where I will be going they grow coffee and some spices such as nutmeg and cinammon, but because the roads are bad, they can only import dried, non-perishable goods such as rice and beans - no tropical fruit! That is ok, I here you say, as you will be surrounded by spice production and some of the world's finest coffee, but unfortutely Dominicans ruin good coffee by saturating it with sugar until it is so sweet your teeth go numb, whilst the spices seem never to make the journey from the tree into the cooking pot. Rice and beans it is for me.
This has been by far the second most depressing thing about field work (la novia ausenta being number one) and it is driving me mad. If only the Dominicans could take some sort of pride in their food, think about how to cook and make the most of what they have, sensitively coax and cajole flavour into their dishes, not crudely bash it out. If only they could change their food culture towards one that produces a cuisine, like India, Vietnam, Thailand, Sri Lanka and Mexico, it will be a far nicer place to live. So far all it has made me do is vow to go somewhere else for fieldwork next time.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Being an academic temporarily separated from the comfy world of abstract debates in seminars, I jumped at the chance to go to a lecture of leading sociologist of information Manuel Castells, held at the central bank. Although a rather excellent lecture from a great theorist, I learned more about the Dominican political class through participant observation than I learned about globalisation, development and the information society. The social anthropology on show was far more evident than the sociology being discussed. It was fascinating. Very similar to the displays of territoriality of silverback gorillas, or more aptly, peacocks.
It soon became rapidly clear that people had turned up not because they were interested in hearing the thoughts of a leading intellectual, but because to maintain their position in the political class they had to be seen to be in attendance. First off, entering the auditorium I noticed that I was virtually the only person not wearing a suit, which means that there were very few academics in attendance, as we would never dream of dignifying a visiting acadmic by making the effort to wear a suit and tie. It would give them too great a sense of self-importance, not good in our egotistic game. Having said that, perhaps it is different here, as Dominicans put an extraordinary effort into presentation - I am convinced that one of their biggest imports is shoe polish. How they maintain a mirror-like surface on black leather whilst living in a dirty, dusty, muddy city is beyound me. I noticed the relation between one's position in multi-stratered Dominican aristocracy and where one parks one's 4*4 (or yipeta as they are known), but this is a topic akin to heraldic shields, and will be explored at a later point.
Anyway, I tried to take my seat, I was asked by a steward which institution I was affiliated. I rose up, puffed out my chest at a the chance to show I was an international intellectual and informed her that I was from the University of Manchester, England, dontchaknow? I was was promptly informed that I could not sit in the front five (half empty) rows, and must sit towards the back of the auditorium. Imagine a lecture in the UK having reserved seating, the outrage there would be. Mind you, the situation would be the reverse, as everyone sits at the back so that they could get a quick exit before the Q and A. Here it is different, it is a clear mark of social status, the proximity to the front. Mere academics are not rated as wanted guests at a lecture by a Professor of Sociology, and must sit several rows behind the government officials, leading businessmen and bizarrely a four star general resplendant in ceremonial uniform. They had to be seen to be in attendance.
Of course, they wouldn't do something as humble as listening to the speaker, they had important things to do, mainly making sure that people notice them. Within seconds of Manuel Castells starting, the first mobile phone sounded. Normally in the UK this prompt a cutting remark from the chairperson, or at the very least a double-checking of pockets and handbags to ensure that you wouldn't be the next victim of a barrage of dissaproving tutting. Here, inaction was the policy and therefore the talk was punctuated every thirty seconds by another CrazyFrog. If they were not letting the phones ring, or even worse, answering them, the audience members took the opportunity to chat the people sat around them. Not a subtle whisper to the person sat adjacent, but a full conversation with your friend three rows back.
The anthropology in this is simple. The social credit gained from people looking at you whilst you talk on the latest mobile phone or chat to somebody, is far greater than any potential social credit lost through interrupting one of the world's leading intellectuals. In fact, the more distinguished the speaker is, the more likely it is that they are interrupted by some trivial phone conversation, as what better way of asserting that you are more important than someone than by interrupting their lecture. The more trivial the interruption, and the more eminent the speaker, the more social status gained. Phone etiquette, such as the totalitarian response that I employ in my classes (if one of my students' phone rings, I answer it, normally with an obscenity), is a completely alien culture here.
The actual lecture that was the distant backdrop to this battle for social supremacy was extremely good. Castells based his lecture on Latin America as a whole, claiming ignorance of the details of the Dominican development experience, and as result I don't know if he appreciates how much he insulted the way of thinking of those present. Firstly he described as outrageous the fact that the DR has had the fastest growing economy in Latin America as well as the fastest growing inequality, and he did so to an audience that had arrived in brand new yipetas, were clearly the ruling elite of the country, and had no intention of addressing the fact that they were the root cause of inequality. Secondly, he stated that the information economy came from lots of failed venture capital in micro-companies that were financed by a few successful startups, to an audience of people who maintain their economic power by stamping on the fingers below (like any academic, I will substantiate this with references, but at a later date). And thirdly, he stated that development in the information age comes from state investment in the things that facilitate increase productivity, rather than grandiose development schemes. This in a country that has cut the education budget to finance a fantastically expensive and probably unworkable Metro system. But of course, a Metro system will always win over investments in education, because it leaves a presidential legacy of Development, Modernity, Progress, Civilisation and turning the DR into a carbon copy of New York.
Of course, the fascinating bit came at the questions. The chair explicitly banned people from making long protacted points about their own perspective in the guise of a question. Imagine trying to do that at an academic conference - there would be lynching! However, although I didn't miss the egotripping, the questions betrayed a lamentable Dominican trait, which is a lack of critical thinking. The questions were simple, boring and largely irrelevant, not challenging any of the ideas discussed, or asking certain points to be expanded upon. I would have lobbed an incisive googly, but sitting in row six I wasn't allowed. An academic here described to me how there isn't the culture in the DR that there is in the rest of Latin America of critical intellectuals, for the simple reason that Dominicans can't take criticism. Here people get offended and will never speak to you again if you even attempt to constructively criticise them, and will kill your pets in return for a mild reproach. Social standing is everything, and woe betide he who is seen to be undermining it. The only way you can make progress is to say "well, you know, perhaps if I was in your shoes, but of course you know best, but perhaps I would consider...."
If people are not prepared to ask the questions, is it little wonder that this country has not provided any answers.
It soon became rapidly clear that people had turned up not because they were interested in hearing the thoughts of a leading intellectual, but because to maintain their position in the political class they had to be seen to be in attendance. First off, entering the auditorium I noticed that I was virtually the only person not wearing a suit, which means that there were very few academics in attendance, as we would never dream of dignifying a visiting acadmic by making the effort to wear a suit and tie. It would give them too great a sense of self-importance, not good in our egotistic game. Having said that, perhaps it is different here, as Dominicans put an extraordinary effort into presentation - I am convinced that one of their biggest imports is shoe polish. How they maintain a mirror-like surface on black leather whilst living in a dirty, dusty, muddy city is beyound me. I noticed the relation between one's position in multi-stratered Dominican aristocracy and where one parks one's 4*4 (or yipeta as they are known), but this is a topic akin to heraldic shields, and will be explored at a later point.
Anyway, I tried to take my seat, I was asked by a steward which institution I was affiliated. I rose up, puffed out my chest at a the chance to show I was an international intellectual and informed her that I was from the University of Manchester, England, dontchaknow? I was was promptly informed that I could not sit in the front five (half empty) rows, and must sit towards the back of the auditorium. Imagine a lecture in the UK having reserved seating, the outrage there would be. Mind you, the situation would be the reverse, as everyone sits at the back so that they could get a quick exit before the Q and A. Here it is different, it is a clear mark of social status, the proximity to the front. Mere academics are not rated as wanted guests at a lecture by a Professor of Sociology, and must sit several rows behind the government officials, leading businessmen and bizarrely a four star general resplendant in ceremonial uniform. They had to be seen to be in attendance.
Of course, they wouldn't do something as humble as listening to the speaker, they had important things to do, mainly making sure that people notice them. Within seconds of Manuel Castells starting, the first mobile phone sounded. Normally in the UK this prompt a cutting remark from the chairperson, or at the very least a double-checking of pockets and handbags to ensure that you wouldn't be the next victim of a barrage of dissaproving tutting. Here, inaction was the policy and therefore the talk was punctuated every thirty seconds by another CrazyFrog. If they were not letting the phones ring, or even worse, answering them, the audience members took the opportunity to chat the people sat around them. Not a subtle whisper to the person sat adjacent, but a full conversation with your friend three rows back.
The anthropology in this is simple. The social credit gained from people looking at you whilst you talk on the latest mobile phone or chat to somebody, is far greater than any potential social credit lost through interrupting one of the world's leading intellectuals. In fact, the more distinguished the speaker is, the more likely it is that they are interrupted by some trivial phone conversation, as what better way of asserting that you are more important than someone than by interrupting their lecture. The more trivial the interruption, and the more eminent the speaker, the more social status gained. Phone etiquette, such as the totalitarian response that I employ in my classes (if one of my students' phone rings, I answer it, normally with an obscenity), is a completely alien culture here.
The actual lecture that was the distant backdrop to this battle for social supremacy was extremely good. Castells based his lecture on Latin America as a whole, claiming ignorance of the details of the Dominican development experience, and as result I don't know if he appreciates how much he insulted the way of thinking of those present. Firstly he described as outrageous the fact that the DR has had the fastest growing economy in Latin America as well as the fastest growing inequality, and he did so to an audience that had arrived in brand new yipetas, were clearly the ruling elite of the country, and had no intention of addressing the fact that they were the root cause of inequality. Secondly, he stated that the information economy came from lots of failed venture capital in micro-companies that were financed by a few successful startups, to an audience of people who maintain their economic power by stamping on the fingers below (like any academic, I will substantiate this with references, but at a later date). And thirdly, he stated that development in the information age comes from state investment in the things that facilitate increase productivity, rather than grandiose development schemes. This in a country that has cut the education budget to finance a fantastically expensive and probably unworkable Metro system. But of course, a Metro system will always win over investments in education, because it leaves a presidential legacy of Development, Modernity, Progress, Civilisation and turning the DR into a carbon copy of New York.
Of course, the fascinating bit came at the questions. The chair explicitly banned people from making long protacted points about their own perspective in the guise of a question. Imagine trying to do that at an academic conference - there would be lynching! However, although I didn't miss the egotripping, the questions betrayed a lamentable Dominican trait, which is a lack of critical thinking. The questions were simple, boring and largely irrelevant, not challenging any of the ideas discussed, or asking certain points to be expanded upon. I would have lobbed an incisive googly, but sitting in row six I wasn't allowed. An academic here described to me how there isn't the culture in the DR that there is in the rest of Latin America of critical intellectuals, for the simple reason that Dominicans can't take criticism. Here people get offended and will never speak to you again if you even attempt to constructively criticise them, and will kill your pets in return for a mild reproach. Social standing is everything, and woe betide he who is seen to be undermining it. The only way you can make progress is to say "well, you know, perhaps if I was in your shoes, but of course you know best, but perhaps I would consider...."
If people are not prepared to ask the questions, is it little wonder that this country has not provided any answers.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Stop the press. I have found out the source of all that is going wrong with the Dominican Republic. The poverty, illiteracy, general malaise. Never mind the IMF aiming to radically restructure the economy, wacking up sales tax that will hit the poorest. Never mind all the people who try to blame everything on Haiti and Haitian immigrants. Never mind all the rampant corruption and the stagnating effect of a strongly partisan political culture. The cause of the Dominican Republics ills is simple:
There is only one person in the country with a PhD in Geography.
Simple.
And he got it from a Spanish university. The president should stop pouring money into the hole in the ground that is the Santo Domingo metro system and invest in postgraduate geographers. I know of at least two Dominicans with Anthopology PhDs, so this begs the question of how a country is to move forward where not only there are virtually no geographers, but also where they are outnumbered by anthropologists. And that is before I even get started on the number of economists.
Mr President, if you are wondering why the country has all of its problems, despite the intense analysis by economists, then it is precisely because you are asking economists and not geographers. If the answer is not 'geography' then you are asking the wrong question. You should do a regression analysis with extreme prejudice on the economists (i.e. throw them to the crocodiles, just as one of your predecessors did with his political opponents), and replace them with geographers. Soon life will be better, everything will work, and little children will run in the sunshine skipping and singing about space and place.
Rant over.
At least this explains why I get looked at funny when I tell people I am a geographer
There is only one person in the country with a PhD in Geography.
Simple.
And he got it from a Spanish university. The president should stop pouring money into the hole in the ground that is the Santo Domingo metro system and invest in postgraduate geographers. I know of at least two Dominicans with Anthopology PhDs, so this begs the question of how a country is to move forward where not only there are virtually no geographers, but also where they are outnumbered by anthropologists. And that is before I even get started on the number of economists.
Mr President, if you are wondering why the country has all of its problems, despite the intense analysis by economists, then it is precisely because you are asking economists and not geographers. If the answer is not 'geography' then you are asking the wrong question. You should do a regression analysis with extreme prejudice on the economists (i.e. throw them to the crocodiles, just as one of your predecessors did with his political opponents), and replace them with geographers. Soon life will be better, everything will work, and little children will run in the sunshine skipping and singing about space and place.
Rant over.
At least this explains why I get looked at funny when I tell people I am a geographer
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I took a wrong turning the other day, and it is all to do with the Dominican Republic's immature national identity.
The last few weeks I have been doing lots of interviews in government offices, which seem to be in the stranges places - to get to the national parks service office you have to get the guagua to a suburb that consists of a mix of crumbling apartments, informal housing (slum) and large factories, walk up a sidestreet, up a path past some dead dogs, and through a hole in the wall. It took me ages to find it. Some ministries are big imposing buildings, set back from the road through large archways, but others are up random alleyways in middle class suburbs. I have been buzzing all over the city, and am getting good at asking for directions (and another thing, Dominican house numbers are completely illogical - I was going to number 25, which turned out to be 300 metres up the street from number 27, right next to 141 and opposite number 8. Confusing and very frustrating).
Anyway, the problem is that about 160 years ago, during a time when the Haitians occupied the Dominican Republic, on the 27 of February, the trinitaria of Duarte, Mella and Sanchez, with the help of rich landowners and the catholic church, mounted a revolution, won independencia and kicked out the Haitians. As Dominican national identity is in a vast part determined as not being Haitian, they have developed an almost fascist obsession with the trinitaria, in particular Duarte. All the coins have his image, the highest mountain is called Pico Duarte, there is a bust of him in every school, most public buildings and every town square. There exists a Instituto Duartino, to promote patriotism in society. This obsession has led to a distinct lack of imagination in street names. In Santo Domingo there is a least one Calle (street) Duarte, Avenida (avenue) Duarte, Autopista (motorway) Duarte, Plaza (square) Duarte, and I am convinced there might be more than one of each. Added to the number of addresses involving Trinitaria, Mella, Sanchez, Independencia, and 27 de Febrero, and it is easy to get lost. If someone tells you to go to the corner of Independencia and Duarte, this could mean any number of places in the city. It has confused me more than once.
If someone who you don't like calls you up and wants to meet, just tell them that you will meet them at the statue of Duarte, on the corner of Independencia and Trinitaria.
Of course, I could use this opportunity to expand on Dominican national identity, but I am lost and trying to find my way home.
The last few weeks I have been doing lots of interviews in government offices, which seem to be in the stranges places - to get to the national parks service office you have to get the guagua to a suburb that consists of a mix of crumbling apartments, informal housing (slum) and large factories, walk up a sidestreet, up a path past some dead dogs, and through a hole in the wall. It took me ages to find it. Some ministries are big imposing buildings, set back from the road through large archways, but others are up random alleyways in middle class suburbs. I have been buzzing all over the city, and am getting good at asking for directions (and another thing, Dominican house numbers are completely illogical - I was going to number 25, which turned out to be 300 metres up the street from number 27, right next to 141 and opposite number 8. Confusing and very frustrating).
Anyway, the problem is that about 160 years ago, during a time when the Haitians occupied the Dominican Republic, on the 27 of February, the trinitaria of Duarte, Mella and Sanchez, with the help of rich landowners and the catholic church, mounted a revolution, won independencia and kicked out the Haitians. As Dominican national identity is in a vast part determined as not being Haitian, they have developed an almost fascist obsession with the trinitaria, in particular Duarte. All the coins have his image, the highest mountain is called Pico Duarte, there is a bust of him in every school, most public buildings and every town square. There exists a Instituto Duartino, to promote patriotism in society. This obsession has led to a distinct lack of imagination in street names. In Santo Domingo there is a least one Calle (street) Duarte, Avenida (avenue) Duarte, Autopista (motorway) Duarte, Plaza (square) Duarte, and I am convinced there might be more than one of each. Added to the number of addresses involving Trinitaria, Mella, Sanchez, Independencia, and 27 de Febrero, and it is easy to get lost. If someone tells you to go to the corner of Independencia and Duarte, this could mean any number of places in the city. It has confused me more than once.
If someone who you don't like calls you up and wants to meet, just tell them that you will meet them at the statue of Duarte, on the corner of Independencia and Trinitaria.
Of course, I could use this opportunity to expand on Dominican national identity, but I am lost and trying to find my way home.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
The Dominican drinking session generally takes place on a street corner. Every street has its colmado, a small shop that sells all your daily needs, but which round here seem to make most money from the sale of alcohol. The more enterprising ones have invested in sets of plastic chairs, lights strung outside and a stereo, and people pass their evenings sitting outside, drinking, chatting and listening to music. One of my favourites is in a small plaza in the Colonial Zone, (Parque Duarte if you are ever in town) - the guys who run it have got a great reputation. At the moment, all the trees in the square are decorated with fairy lights, and in a bizarre touch they have strung up lots of empty beer bottles from the trees as substitute christmas baubles - surreal but pretty. They have a loud stereo but play only the best merengue and bachata hits, and have set up about 50 plastic chairs in addition to the park benches, and some nights you struggle to find somewhere to sit. Recently they have taken things to a new level by setting off fireworks at weekends at 9pm to announce the start of "happy hour". The crowd is great - arty types, always open to chat to a random stranger. The plaza also has a reputation for attracting the strange, I was informed today that until recently there was a man living up one of the trees. Every night there is a marathon playing of Conga drums with accompanying singing. This drumming and singing is associated with the santeria (Dominican Voodoo) festivals, and the African roots in the rythms and call-and-response singing is clear.
The standard drink is a Presidente, the local half-decent brew. The company also makes a second beer called Bohemia, which is also OK. The third beer available is Brahma, a brazilian beer that tastes like meado de gato. Otherwise groups go for a cuba libre servicio, which consists of a bunch of plastic cups, a bucket of ice, two cokes and a bottle of rum. Admittedly the high sugar content is about as intoxicating as the alcohol, but when in Rome.....
This weekend, we followed this up with a trip to one of the better colonial zone bars. There are a few too-cool-for-school yuppie bars, the type with water features in the window and aggressive air conditioning, who would rather serve rubbish imported Johnnie Walker than good local rum. However, next door to one of these is a great establishment called El Sarten, (in Hostos, if you are ever in town), which is a tiny bar that serves cold beer, but that plays amazing old style Son. Many people, because of Buena Vista Social Club, associate this Latin Swing with Cuba, but its origins are as Dominican as they Cuban. This tiny bar is always jam packed, but there are still plenty people dancing, young folk dancing with 80 year old men who still bust some great moves. The standard of the dancing is amazing, until I was forced to get up and give it a go. I tried my best, nobody cared that I didn't have the natural fluency and style of the Dominicans, and was told "Oh well, give it a bit of time and you'll get it eventually"
The Cuba libre servicio dampened the pain somewhat.
The standard drink is a Presidente, the local half-decent brew. The company also makes a second beer called Bohemia, which is also OK. The third beer available is Brahma, a brazilian beer that tastes like meado de gato. Otherwise groups go for a cuba libre servicio, which consists of a bunch of plastic cups, a bucket of ice, two cokes and a bottle of rum. Admittedly the high sugar content is about as intoxicating as the alcohol, but when in Rome.....
This weekend, we followed this up with a trip to one of the better colonial zone bars. There are a few too-cool-for-school yuppie bars, the type with water features in the window and aggressive air conditioning, who would rather serve rubbish imported Johnnie Walker than good local rum. However, next door to one of these is a great establishment called El Sarten, (in Hostos, if you are ever in town), which is a tiny bar that serves cold beer, but that plays amazing old style Son. Many people, because of Buena Vista Social Club, associate this Latin Swing with Cuba, but its origins are as Dominican as they Cuban. This tiny bar is always jam packed, but there are still plenty people dancing, young folk dancing with 80 year old men who still bust some great moves. The standard of the dancing is amazing, until I was forced to get up and give it a go. I tried my best, nobody cared that I didn't have the natural fluency and style of the Dominicans, and was told "Oh well, give it a bit of time and you'll get it eventually"
The Cuba libre servicio dampened the pain somewhat.
Looks like I am not missing much in the UK, as my friend Nicky is now the
41st most elegible woman in Scotland
And that is official!
41st most elegible woman in Scotland
And that is official!
Friday, November 17, 2006
These fruteros are the guys who save me from scurvy. You find them on loads of street corners, selling three bananas, half a papaya or pineapple (ready peeled and in a little bag so you don't drip everywhere) or even a mango, each for about 18p. Marvelous. I get my five a day within 100 yards of the door. And they are delicious.
They are basically wheelbarrow with a bike attached, so if business is slow, they pedal off elsewhere. You frequently see these guys pedalling 30kgs of tropical fruit down a 6 lane highway. Note the high-tech cooling and shading sytem, and the cutting edge brake.
They are basically wheelbarrow with a bike attached, so if business is slow, they pedal off elsewhere. You frequently see these guys pedalling 30kgs of tropical fruit down a 6 lane highway. Note the high-tech cooling and shading sytem, and the cutting edge brake.
Here are three stories from Latin America from the last two years
1. A few months back, the high prices charged by power companies, combined with city-wide blackouts relating to poor infrastructure investment led to demonstrations and riots. The police then shot 7 unarmed protestors dead.
2. Last year there was a prison riot in an overcrowded jail. During this a fire broke out, and 140 prisoners burnt to death.
3. A captain in the army was arrested, on the request of the US, on drugs charges. He was caught with 1,380kg (that is not a typo) of pure cocaine. Because of the bribes he had been passing out, including funding local hospitals and schools with drugs money, locals tried to break him out of jail. As the army is heavily involved in the arms trade, and because he had donated large sums to the two main political parties, this man had been known about at the highest level for a long time, but no one did anything until the US forced them to.
Now, if story 1 had been Bolivia, story 2 had been Brazil, and story 3 had been Colombia, then the BBC and the major newspapers would have mentioned it, if not covered it in detail.
All three occured in the last 2 years in the Dominican Republic
There seems to be a complete blackout of reporting of Dominican Republic stories. Numbers 1 and 3 weren't even mentioned on the BBC website, and number 2 had only a short story, half of which was taken up by references to smaller prison riots and fires in Brazil that killed fewer people. There is a great deal of fascinating stuff going on here, more interesting than much of Latin America, but the DR just isn't on people's radar. There isn't an image in Europe of what the DR looks like, other than a tourist destination, so it is difficult to communicate. We all have multifaceted images of Brazil, combining football, good looking women, beaches, the Amazon, favela slum-towns, violence etc. Our image of it is such that we can cope with top footballers and slum-town violence coming out of the same country, but with the DR it is a cheap holiday destination with all inclusive resorts, and we don't know much more about it. The European media couldn't manage to talk about rampant army-run drugs trafficking in a country rarely mentioned outside of a Thomas Cook brochure.
I reckon most people who go on holiday to the DR from the UK couldn't point it out on a map, and that is sad, because it is a fascinating place with lots of crazy things for geographers to get stuck into.
1. A few months back, the high prices charged by power companies, combined with city-wide blackouts relating to poor infrastructure investment led to demonstrations and riots. The police then shot 7 unarmed protestors dead.
2. Last year there was a prison riot in an overcrowded jail. During this a fire broke out, and 140 prisoners burnt to death.
3. A captain in the army was arrested, on the request of the US, on drugs charges. He was caught with 1,380kg (that is not a typo) of pure cocaine. Because of the bribes he had been passing out, including funding local hospitals and schools with drugs money, locals tried to break him out of jail. As the army is heavily involved in the arms trade, and because he had donated large sums to the two main political parties, this man had been known about at the highest level for a long time, but no one did anything until the US forced them to.
Now, if story 1 had been Bolivia, story 2 had been Brazil, and story 3 had been Colombia, then the BBC and the major newspapers would have mentioned it, if not covered it in detail.
All three occured in the last 2 years in the Dominican Republic
There seems to be a complete blackout of reporting of Dominican Republic stories. Numbers 1 and 3 weren't even mentioned on the BBC website, and number 2 had only a short story, half of which was taken up by references to smaller prison riots and fires in Brazil that killed fewer people. There is a great deal of fascinating stuff going on here, more interesting than much of Latin America, but the DR just isn't on people's radar. There isn't an image in Europe of what the DR looks like, other than a tourist destination, so it is difficult to communicate. We all have multifaceted images of Brazil, combining football, good looking women, beaches, the Amazon, favela slum-towns, violence etc. Our image of it is such that we can cope with top footballers and slum-town violence coming out of the same country, but with the DR it is a cheap holiday destination with all inclusive resorts, and we don't know much more about it. The European media couldn't manage to talk about rampant army-run drugs trafficking in a country rarely mentioned outside of a Thomas Cook brochure.
I reckon most people who go on holiday to the DR from the UK couldn't point it out on a map, and that is sad, because it is a fascinating place with lots of crazy things for geographers to get stuck into.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Today I had the first taste of fieldwork blues on this trip. That is, the sensation that you don't know what you are doing, have no research to write up, are just floundering around without direction, that no-one is willing to cooperate with your research, that when you return you will be ripped to pieces for 'not getting things done', that your carefully developed plans are being shredded, that you might as well go home and work in a bar, because that is all you are capable of.
Of course, this is linked to the secret insecurity that every PhD student has, the fear that some day they will be sitting at their desk, and the vice-chancellor, flanked by the head of deparment and supervisors, will rush in and denounce you as a useless fraud who has no right to be at the university, and has fifteen minutes to clear their desk. Every PhD student constantly has moments of self-doubt about their ability and direction of their work, but they are amplified ten times when on fieldwork, a combination of culture shock, language problems, and the shift from theoretical speculation to data collection.
Admittedly these feelings have diminished significantly as two important interview subjects have set dates to talk to me. Typical law of averages, just as soon as you are getting fed up of plodding along without getting anywhere, you find out something important.
I definately haven't reached the stage I was at during my last strech of fieldwork. Then I was pretty down about my work, and at one point resolved never to do fieldwork again. Cue sixteen months later..... The big difference is that this time I have much better ideas about what my research is about, my aims and questions are much better defined, and I am generally more prepared. Also this time I am here for much longer, so I have to accept that I am living here, and can't try to drift through it. This entails a totally different mindset to short term fieldwork, and most people tell me that paradoxically the feelings of fieldwork blues are much less acute in long periods of fieldwork, because of this different mindset.
My advice to people who want to go on field work is:
Of course, this is linked to the secret insecurity that every PhD student has, the fear that some day they will be sitting at their desk, and the vice-chancellor, flanked by the head of deparment and supervisors, will rush in and denounce you as a useless fraud who has no right to be at the university, and has fifteen minutes to clear their desk. Every PhD student constantly has moments of self-doubt about their ability and direction of their work, but they are amplified ten times when on fieldwork, a combination of culture shock, language problems, and the shift from theoretical speculation to data collection.
Admittedly these feelings have diminished significantly as two important interview subjects have set dates to talk to me. Typical law of averages, just as soon as you are getting fed up of plodding along without getting anywhere, you find out something important.
I definately haven't reached the stage I was at during my last strech of fieldwork. Then I was pretty down about my work, and at one point resolved never to do fieldwork again. Cue sixteen months later..... The big difference is that this time I have much better ideas about what my research is about, my aims and questions are much better defined, and I am generally more prepared. Also this time I am here for much longer, so I have to accept that I am living here, and can't try to drift through it. This entails a totally different mindset to short term fieldwork, and most people tell me that paradoxically the feelings of fieldwork blues are much less acute in long periods of fieldwork, because of this different mindset.
My advice to people who want to go on field work is:
- Thoroughly prepare your ideas and research questions. Don't have the attitude that you will work it out when you get there. Of course, the better defined your questions are, the more likely it is that they will change, but at least you have something to work with. Always have a plan that can fall apart.
- Accept that you will be there for a long time, and bloomin' well act like you are living there
- Go somewhere nice. Caribbean comes with positive recommendations from me! If the funding councils are paying you to go somewhere, you might as well go somewhere good. My friend Charlie originally proposed to do work in the Scottish Islands, thought about it, and then moved her research to the South Pacific - smart girl!
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
How I get to work in the mornings: The joys of Santo Domingo traffic.
As I am sitting in the house, drinking the day's first cup of fine Dominican coffee, I make sure that I have enough small change to get me to wherever I am going. I live very close to the old colonial zone, about 40 yards from the square that is a bit of a transport hub, but I have been working in the periphery, about 7 or so miles away.
There are two types of public transport in Santo Domingo: Carros publicos are cars (for some unknown reason 90% of them appear to be 15 year old Toyota Carollas), with a driver licensed to run a particular route. These travel up and down the main arterial routes of the city, and will take you any distance for 10 pesos (about 20p). To stop one, you need to give the right hand signal - waving a finger means that you want one going straight on, pointing sideways means that you want one turning right, and a thumb means one turning left. Confusingly, different hand signals are used in different routes, so I always check by asking the driver if he is going my direction. This sorts out any potential problems, apart from the time when I confused the cemetary (cementerio) with the cement factory (cementera) - unless I wanted to get buried in concrete. Be warned, the official capacity of these nominally 5 seaters is in fact 7 full grown adults and any luggage that they may have. Two people share the front passanger seat (if the person on the door side is rather large, the person on the inside might find the gear stick curiously uncomfortable), and four squash on the back seat, plus driver. Not confortable in hot weather on terrible roads, especially when there are small children, who sit across people's knees. Once I was in one of these publicos with maximum adult capactiy of seven, as well as two children, one of whom had a live chicken in a cage on their lap. Today was less interesting, just someone's four foot artificial christmas tree stretched across our laps.
It should be mentioned that these generally have the windows wound down to allow the breeze to circulate, along with dust, pollutants and anything else in the air. They almost always have a cracked windscreen, held together with tape, and so many dents and scrapes they look like they have been made from scrunched up tinfoil. I was once in one of these when the bonnet was blown off by an explosion in the engine, which emitted vast plumes of acrid grey smoke. The driver charmingly apoligised for the inconvenience, and promptly refunded us as we were pushing the flaming wreck to the side of the 6 lane motorway.
Despite the discomfort endured in these journeys, I rather like them. Firstly, the people are always in a good mood, never complaining about being squashed up to a 16 stone man with bad body odour and a live chicken. They greet everyone as they get in, and chat or sing along to the radio. They even tolerate envangelical preachers, who try and save their soul on their way home from work. Secondly, the drivers manage to get some wonderful performance out of these old bangers, weaving in and out of traffic, squeezing at 40 miles per hour through gaps that leave and inch on either side, just to be as efficient as possible and process as many passengers as possible. Dominicans use the horn rather liberally, as no one ever indicates with flashing lights - they just beep to tell people they are manouvering, and then move. There are subtle differences in beeps, a dialect almost, telling people that they are turning left or right, that they are impatient in traffic jams, or they are trying to attract the attention of the attractive girl walking past.
The other type are guaguas, equally beat up minibuses, usually with the doors taken off for easy access. They work in teams of two, a driver and a cobrador, who deals with passangers. They hang out of the moving vehicle shouting out their route. Sometimes I look for shouting "feriadoceferiadoceferiadoce", meaning that they are going to the Feria, the district with government offices, before heading to Kilometro Doce, another transport hub. Other times I look for "chuchichuchichuchi" meaning that they are travelling up Avenida Winston Churchill, a collection of anglosyllables unmanagable for the hispanophone. Again these have liberal attitudes towards maximum capacities and seating arrangements. At busy intersections and areas of slow traffic, people will grab hold of the outside of the bus, standing on the wheel arches, trying to sell biscuits, water or fruit to the occupants as the bus drives along.
The great thing about this system is that with certain knowledge and suspension of ideas of personal space, one can travel from one side of the city to the other cheaply and quickly. The traffic is very bad at the moment on my main route, as there are whacking great holes in the road and closed sections, forcing drivers to take detours down side routes. These holes are tunnel excavations for the Santo Domingo metro, part of the government's drive for a Developed, Modern, Progressive Nation. Although there are many cases of egotistic grand projects in the Dominican Republic's history, this one seems like a good idea. Whether it will work, given life and electricity supply here, will have to be seen, but it should do wonders for the massive polllution on the roads. The guaguas and publicos will probably survive, and people will just squash up and socialise in the metro just as they currently do on the roads.
As I am sitting in the house, drinking the day's first cup of fine Dominican coffee, I make sure that I have enough small change to get me to wherever I am going. I live very close to the old colonial zone, about 40 yards from the square that is a bit of a transport hub, but I have been working in the periphery, about 7 or so miles away.
There are two types of public transport in Santo Domingo: Carros publicos are cars (for some unknown reason 90% of them appear to be 15 year old Toyota Carollas), with a driver licensed to run a particular route. These travel up and down the main arterial routes of the city, and will take you any distance for 10 pesos (about 20p). To stop one, you need to give the right hand signal - waving a finger means that you want one going straight on, pointing sideways means that you want one turning right, and a thumb means one turning left. Confusingly, different hand signals are used in different routes, so I always check by asking the driver if he is going my direction. This sorts out any potential problems, apart from the time when I confused the cemetary (cementerio) with the cement factory (cementera) - unless I wanted to get buried in concrete. Be warned, the official capacity of these nominally 5 seaters is in fact 7 full grown adults and any luggage that they may have. Two people share the front passanger seat (if the person on the door side is rather large, the person on the inside might find the gear stick curiously uncomfortable), and four squash on the back seat, plus driver. Not confortable in hot weather on terrible roads, especially when there are small children, who sit across people's knees. Once I was in one of these publicos with maximum adult capactiy of seven, as well as two children, one of whom had a live chicken in a cage on their lap. Today was less interesting, just someone's four foot artificial christmas tree stretched across our laps.
It should be mentioned that these generally have the windows wound down to allow the breeze to circulate, along with dust, pollutants and anything else in the air. They almost always have a cracked windscreen, held together with tape, and so many dents and scrapes they look like they have been made from scrunched up tinfoil. I was once in one of these when the bonnet was blown off by an explosion in the engine, which emitted vast plumes of acrid grey smoke. The driver charmingly apoligised for the inconvenience, and promptly refunded us as we were pushing the flaming wreck to the side of the 6 lane motorway.
Despite the discomfort endured in these journeys, I rather like them. Firstly, the people are always in a good mood, never complaining about being squashed up to a 16 stone man with bad body odour and a live chicken. They greet everyone as they get in, and chat or sing along to the radio. They even tolerate envangelical preachers, who try and save their soul on their way home from work. Secondly, the drivers manage to get some wonderful performance out of these old bangers, weaving in and out of traffic, squeezing at 40 miles per hour through gaps that leave and inch on either side, just to be as efficient as possible and process as many passengers as possible. Dominicans use the horn rather liberally, as no one ever indicates with flashing lights - they just beep to tell people they are manouvering, and then move. There are subtle differences in beeps, a dialect almost, telling people that they are turning left or right, that they are impatient in traffic jams, or they are trying to attract the attention of the attractive girl walking past.
The other type are guaguas, equally beat up minibuses, usually with the doors taken off for easy access. They work in teams of two, a driver and a cobrador, who deals with passangers. They hang out of the moving vehicle shouting out their route. Sometimes I look for shouting "feriadoceferiadoceferiadoce", meaning that they are going to the Feria, the district with government offices, before heading to Kilometro Doce, another transport hub. Other times I look for "chuchichuchichuchi" meaning that they are travelling up Avenida Winston Churchill, a collection of anglosyllables unmanagable for the hispanophone. Again these have liberal attitudes towards maximum capacities and seating arrangements. At busy intersections and areas of slow traffic, people will grab hold of the outside of the bus, standing on the wheel arches, trying to sell biscuits, water or fruit to the occupants as the bus drives along.
The great thing about this system is that with certain knowledge and suspension of ideas of personal space, one can travel from one side of the city to the other cheaply and quickly. The traffic is very bad at the moment on my main route, as there are whacking great holes in the road and closed sections, forcing drivers to take detours down side routes. These holes are tunnel excavations for the Santo Domingo metro, part of the government's drive for a Developed, Modern, Progressive Nation. Although there are many cases of egotistic grand projects in the Dominican Republic's history, this one seems like a good idea. Whether it will work, given life and electricity supply here, will have to be seen, but it should do wonders for the massive polllution on the roads. The guaguas and publicos will probably survive, and people will just squash up and socialise in the metro just as they currently do on the roads.
Monday, November 13, 2006
My current problem is that reality is getting in the way of theory.
I have spend the last two and a half years working on developing hypotheses and theories about what the world should look like, and it seems determined to prove me wrong in a rather spectacular way.
Aparently, it is called "making progress in your research", although what it is going to progress to is as yet unknown. It is incrediably frustrating, as have spent months working out in minute detail what current thoughts and theories suggest the world of conservation politics should look like. And it doesn't resemble it at all. I would tell you what it does look like, but I would probably get sued. You'll have to wait for that one.
On the plus side, my work therefore has the capacity to contribute something new to academia. A physical geographer friend of mine says that you know that an article is human geography, rather than sociology or economics because it contains the phrase "this work challenges important assumptions...". It is a phrase that we do hold dear, and love to use at any opportunity, in the same way that anthropologists prefix most things with "meta", and cultural theorists use "post". I could probably do well as a cross disciplinary academic by talking about "this work challenges post-colonial meta-assumptions...." . At the more boring conferences, I am sure there are sweep stakes on how long it takes this phrase to appear in presentations (other suggestions for academic catchphrases welcome). Therefore I can assert my claim to be a human geographer as I now have not only an assumption, but a newly discovered challenge to it.
The reality of this is that the work seems incrediably frustrating. It has been my full time job for a whole year to develop ideas and write literature reviews, essays and research proposals, and for this to be (partially) torn up in a few days is depressing. If I was told when struggling over my literature review that most of it I would later reject, I might well have become more dissolutioned than I ever was. It does seem that all that reading, thinking and writing was a waste of time, but I am sure that my colleagues will remind me that it wasn't, because I am now in the position to know when I am wrong....... as Donald Rumsfeld so nearly said.
Update: Just recieved this in an email from supervisor: "Always a good thing to have as many of your expected ideas to be refuted as possible on a phd. Its a sign of thorough preparation (for without it you would not have made such detailed refutable speculations in the first place). "
Still doesn't make me feel better.
I have spend the last two and a half years working on developing hypotheses and theories about what the world should look like, and it seems determined to prove me wrong in a rather spectacular way.
Aparently, it is called "making progress in your research", although what it is going to progress to is as yet unknown. It is incrediably frustrating, as have spent months working out in minute detail what current thoughts and theories suggest the world of conservation politics should look like. And it doesn't resemble it at all. I would tell you what it does look like, but I would probably get sued. You'll have to wait for that one.
On the plus side, my work therefore has the capacity to contribute something new to academia. A physical geographer friend of mine says that you know that an article is human geography, rather than sociology or economics because it contains the phrase "this work challenges important assumptions...". It is a phrase that we do hold dear, and love to use at any opportunity, in the same way that anthropologists prefix most things with "meta", and cultural theorists use "post". I could probably do well as a cross disciplinary academic by talking about "this work challenges post-colonial meta-assumptions...." . At the more boring conferences, I am sure there are sweep stakes on how long it takes this phrase to appear in presentations (other suggestions for academic catchphrases welcome). Therefore I can assert my claim to be a human geographer as I now have not only an assumption, but a newly discovered challenge to it.
The reality of this is that the work seems incrediably frustrating. It has been my full time job for a whole year to develop ideas and write literature reviews, essays and research proposals, and for this to be (partially) torn up in a few days is depressing. If I was told when struggling over my literature review that most of it I would later reject, I might well have become more dissolutioned than I ever was. It does seem that all that reading, thinking and writing was a waste of time, but I am sure that my colleagues will remind me that it wasn't, because I am now in the position to know when I am wrong....... as Donald Rumsfeld so nearly said.
Update: Just recieved this in an email from supervisor: "Always a good thing to have as many of your expected ideas to be refuted as possible on a phd. Its a sign of thorough preparation (for without it you would not have made such detailed refutable speculations in the first place). "
Still doesn't make me feel better.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Was out sitting in the park this evening, watching the world go buy, when a man came up to me, offering these two amazingly cute puppies for sale. I thanked him, but told him I wasn't hungry.
I suppose one of the most irritating things about doing fieldwork is that the food is terrible. I am currently in a rented apartment, but as the gas isn't working I can't cook. Given that I was in a hotel for the first week this means that I haven't cooked anything since arriving here, apart from making the odd tomato and coriander salad (but that doesn't really count).
I have therefore had to live almost entirely on street food. Given that I am somewhat obsessed with things culinary, this has grown to be rather depressing. On the plus side, the combination of street food, a hot and sweaty climate and developing world hygiene means I am developing an immune system that could survive a plague epidemic. I would give a list of foodstuffs that I really want, alongside details of what I would do to obtain them, but it would be a thouroughly upsetting business.
As much as academics rant on about positionality, methodology and suchlike in research, surely it is the radically mundane things like wanting something that tastes of flavours other than salty grease that affects how you go about your work. I can predict that a constant theme of this blog in future months will be the way that research training tells you the obvious about positionality and the irrelevant about methodology, and how this is only exceeded by the way it ignores the everyday emotions of fieldwork.
I suppose one of the most irritating things about doing fieldwork is that the food is terrible. I am currently in a rented apartment, but as the gas isn't working I can't cook. Given that I was in a hotel for the first week this means that I haven't cooked anything since arriving here, apart from making the odd tomato and coriander salad (but that doesn't really count).
I have therefore had to live almost entirely on street food. Given that I am somewhat obsessed with things culinary, this has grown to be rather depressing. On the plus side, the combination of street food, a hot and sweaty climate and developing world hygiene means I am developing an immune system that could survive a plague epidemic. I would give a list of foodstuffs that I really want, alongside details of what I would do to obtain them, but it would be a thouroughly upsetting business.
As much as academics rant on about positionality, methodology and suchlike in research, surely it is the radically mundane things like wanting something that tastes of flavours other than salty grease that affects how you go about your work. I can predict that a constant theme of this blog in future months will be the way that research training tells you the obvious about positionality and the irrelevant about methodology, and how this is only exceeded by the way it ignores the everyday emotions of fieldwork.
In response to this wonderful article about writing about Africa, here is a rip-off about how people think about the Caribbean:
Admittedly, part of it is written in frustration about going to Caribbean studies conferences and seeing yet another presentation on Jamaican poetry. I remember one incident at a globalisation conference for postgraduates, when I introduced myself to someone working on banking in Trinidad. I was told that the Dominican Republic wasn't "the proper Caribbean".
When talking about the Caribbean:
- Talk about cricket, strong accents, reggae, and the Windrush. Ignore the fact that the four biggest populations in the Caribbean are Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Haiti and Puerto Rico. Therefore don't mention baseball, Spanish, merengue/bachata/son, or about Cubans in Florida and or 1,000,000+ Dominicans in New York.
-All sentences spoken in the Caribbean end in "yeah mon". Ignore the fact that English is only the third most spoken language in the Caribbean. Don't mention the Dutch or Danish Antilles (come on, how many people know there is a Danish Antilles?)
-The caribbean is a selection of small islands that are all close and similar enough so that they can play as one cricket team. It is not a group of islands over 1000 miles across, with a total population of over 30,000,000, and a huge variety in size, wealth, culture. That it sits in a wider basin surrounded by Latin America and the US, with their economic and political influence is mere details.
-Any article with anything negative to say about the Caribbean by law must have "Trouble in Paradise" as part of the title.
- If you are going to mention Haiti, make sure you mention Voodoo, as there is nothing else there. Voodoo is a bizarre mystical magic (not a religion), that involves skulls, ceremonies in cemeteries, and crazy ancient old witch doctors. Voodoo is not an off-shoot of catholicism involving patron saints and middle class businessmen. Voodoo dolls do exist outside of Hollywood.
-Caribbean people leave on decomissioned troop carriers to go drive buses in Birmingham. They don't leave in overcrowded sailing boats in the middle of the night, running risk of drowning to become an illegal immigrant washing dishes for $3 an hour in New York.
-Any mention of the Hispanic Caribbean should be limited to Cuba. Remember that Cuba didn't exist until 1959, except in Hemmingway novels. All mentions of Cuba must talk about delapidated old buildings, 1950s Chevrolets, Buena Vista Social Club, Fidel Castro's longevity, and possibly the US blockade. Every sentance should include the following words or phrases "Revolution", "a bygone era", "cigar", "in defiance of the US", "beard". It must be accompanied by a photo of Che Guevara smoking a cigar or of a 1950s car. It should not mention poverty, lack of human rights and freedoms. Everything that happens is romantic, accompanied by a smiling singing old bloke, some dancing and ends in a nice cigar. Ordinary mundane things don't happen.
-Feature white sanded beaches, turqouise seas, coconut palms. Don't mention rain forests, alpine forests, big smelly overcrowded cities.
-Talking about post-colonialism is essential. In fact, everything in the Caribbean can be explained through post-colonialism. Post-colonialism is the grand unifying theory that determines everything that occurs in the Caribbean. The most important factor in society is post-colonialism, and so post-colonialism's influence on society should be mentioned at every possible opportunity. All that caribbean people do all day is to find their new post-colonial identity, through writing poetry and painting.
It is critical to make sure that the colonialism involved Oxbridge graduates who brought cricket in exchange for sugar, and ended in the 1960's. Christopher Columbus is irrelevant, as is Simon Bolivar, Jose Marti and the 19th century. When mentioning post-colonialisms influence on Caribbean society, remember that trade agreements, IMF and US influence, and all other things that pass in other areas for important structural influences are mere details.
-The main exports of the Caribbean are Bounty bars and rum.
-All Caribbean people are black. There are no shades, European heritage, mulattos, complex racial politics, racism, or Chinese immigrants.
-Caribbean people sit in beach side shacks, selling coconuts whilst listening to reggae whilst avoiding the stresses of the world - this called living a simple life. Talk about relaxation, chillin', but don't mention poverty, unemployment, lack of power, safe water and sanitation.
-Pirates were bearded people who had all sorts of adventures. They didn't sell DVDs on street corners. Crime in the Caribbean involves boarding ships with cutlasses, in search of buried treasure. It doesn't involve murder, violent robbery, corrupt officials, or bribing police officers. Always mention the eyepatch and parrot.
Admittedly, part of it is written in frustration about going to Caribbean studies conferences and seeing yet another presentation on Jamaican poetry. I remember one incident at a globalisation conference for postgraduates, when I introduced myself to someone working on banking in Trinidad. I was told that the Dominican Republic wasn't "the proper Caribbean".
When talking about the Caribbean:
- Talk about cricket, strong accents, reggae, and the Windrush. Ignore the fact that the four biggest populations in the Caribbean are Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Haiti and Puerto Rico. Therefore don't mention baseball, Spanish, merengue/bachata/son, or about Cubans in Florida and or 1,000,000+ Dominicans in New York.
-All sentences spoken in the Caribbean end in "yeah mon". Ignore the fact that English is only the third most spoken language in the Caribbean. Don't mention the Dutch or Danish Antilles (come on, how many people know there is a Danish Antilles?)
-The caribbean is a selection of small islands that are all close and similar enough so that they can play as one cricket team. It is not a group of islands over 1000 miles across, with a total population of over 30,000,000, and a huge variety in size, wealth, culture. That it sits in a wider basin surrounded by Latin America and the US, with their economic and political influence is mere details.
-Any article with anything negative to say about the Caribbean by law must have "Trouble in Paradise" as part of the title.
- If you are going to mention Haiti, make sure you mention Voodoo, as there is nothing else there. Voodoo is a bizarre mystical magic (not a religion), that involves skulls, ceremonies in cemeteries, and crazy ancient old witch doctors. Voodoo is not an off-shoot of catholicism involving patron saints and middle class businessmen. Voodoo dolls do exist outside of Hollywood.
-Caribbean people leave on decomissioned troop carriers to go drive buses in Birmingham. They don't leave in overcrowded sailing boats in the middle of the night, running risk of drowning to become an illegal immigrant washing dishes for $3 an hour in New York.
-Any mention of the Hispanic Caribbean should be limited to Cuba. Remember that Cuba didn't exist until 1959, except in Hemmingway novels. All mentions of Cuba must talk about delapidated old buildings, 1950s Chevrolets, Buena Vista Social Club, Fidel Castro's longevity, and possibly the US blockade. Every sentance should include the following words or phrases "Revolution", "a bygone era", "cigar", "in defiance of the US", "beard". It must be accompanied by a photo of Che Guevara smoking a cigar or of a 1950s car. It should not mention poverty, lack of human rights and freedoms. Everything that happens is romantic, accompanied by a smiling singing old bloke, some dancing and ends in a nice cigar. Ordinary mundane things don't happen.
-Feature white sanded beaches, turqouise seas, coconut palms. Don't mention rain forests, alpine forests, big smelly overcrowded cities.
-Talking about post-colonialism is essential. In fact, everything in the Caribbean can be explained through post-colonialism. Post-colonialism is the grand unifying theory that determines everything that occurs in the Caribbean. The most important factor in society is post-colonialism, and so post-colonialism's influence on society should be mentioned at every possible opportunity. All that caribbean people do all day is to find their new post-colonial identity, through writing poetry and painting.
It is critical to make sure that the colonialism involved Oxbridge graduates who brought cricket in exchange for sugar, and ended in the 1960's. Christopher Columbus is irrelevant, as is Simon Bolivar, Jose Marti and the 19th century. When mentioning post-colonialisms influence on Caribbean society, remember that trade agreements, IMF and US influence, and all other things that pass in other areas for important structural influences are mere details.
-The main exports of the Caribbean are Bounty bars and rum.
-All Caribbean people are black. There are no shades, European heritage, mulattos, complex racial politics, racism, or Chinese immigrants.
-Caribbean people sit in beach side shacks, selling coconuts whilst listening to reggae whilst avoiding the stresses of the world - this called living a simple life. Talk about relaxation, chillin', but don't mention poverty, unemployment, lack of power, safe water and sanitation.
-Pirates were bearded people who had all sorts of adventures. They didn't sell DVDs on street corners. Crime in the Caribbean involves boarding ships with cutlasses, in search of buried treasure. It doesn't involve murder, violent robbery, corrupt officials, or bribing police officers. Always mention the eyepatch and parrot.
I was recently told that the biggest growth industry in the Dominican Republic is gay sex tourism, and that the Dominican Republic's biggest export is prostitutes. Certainly sex tourism of all types has moved out of the all enclusive beach resorts, and has moved into Santo Domingo. Everytime I walk round the historic colonial zone I pass bars with fat balding white tourists, apparently mainly Germans, drinking and holding hands with stunning local 18 year olds. Neither of them speaks much of the other's language, nor probably do they have an interest in deep and meaningful conversation. The stereotypes are all there. I have also noticed a number of middle aged white ladies, who are apparently all Canadian, walking around with local 20 year old guys.
Don't get me wrong, there are many expats here who meet a girl and have a relationship that is more than financial. Although there are plenty of girls known as "buscavidas", or looking-for-a-life, more interested in the colour of their man's passport than his personality, there are certainly lots of happy trans-national families here. However, there remains a common assumption that a foreigner travelling on their own must be looking for a more intimate experience of local culture.
The sex tourism thing is a funny one. There is quite a specific geography to it, as the different villages around the different beach resorts specialise in different types of relationship. If you are in the know, you arrange your holiday at one specific hotel if you are a man looking for a stunning younger lady, another if you are a lady after a man, a man after a man, or woman after a woman (although I have been told plenty about the other three types, I am yet to hear of stories of international lesbian sex tourism. I am also aware that those last four words of that sentance may bring some interesting and probably soon to be disappointed google traffic in the way of this blog). There is undoubtably a geography PhD to be written on the subject, though mine is not going to be it.
Thinking about it, the sex tourism business is probably the Dominican industry most in tune with customer needs, and as any business entrepreneur will tell you, that is why it is the most succesful.
Some of you were probably waiting to see if I would post on this subject.
Don't get me wrong, there are many expats here who meet a girl and have a relationship that is more than financial. Although there are plenty of girls known as "buscavidas", or looking-for-a-life, more interested in the colour of their man's passport than his personality, there are certainly lots of happy trans-national families here. However, there remains a common assumption that a foreigner travelling on their own must be looking for a more intimate experience of local culture.
The sex tourism thing is a funny one. There is quite a specific geography to it, as the different villages around the different beach resorts specialise in different types of relationship. If you are in the know, you arrange your holiday at one specific hotel if you are a man looking for a stunning younger lady, another if you are a lady after a man, a man after a man, or woman after a woman (although I have been told plenty about the other three types, I am yet to hear of stories of international lesbian sex tourism. I am also aware that those last four words of that sentance may bring some interesting and probably soon to be disappointed google traffic in the way of this blog). There is undoubtably a geography PhD to be written on the subject, though mine is not going to be it.
Thinking about it, the sex tourism business is probably the Dominican industry most in tune with customer needs, and as any business entrepreneur will tell you, that is why it is the most succesful.
Some of you were probably waiting to see if I would post on this subject.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Thursday, November 09, 2006
The expats here in Santo Domingo are all a fascinating bunch. Unlike other expats who live their American lives behind walled compounds (of which more soon), these guys are deeply embedded in the way of life here, running businesses, raising families etc. They are full of deeply revealing and incrediably useful hints - the following are bits of advice given to me yesterday on how to keep out of trouble with the law.
Number one - never have a proper visa. If stopped by police, explain that you a tourist who has lost their tourist visa. This gets you more respect, and less likely to be asked for a bribe.
Number two - when you get your passport photo taken, always wear a suit and tie. As I was told "you never know when you are going to be crossing the Haitian border, in rags and with a 10 day beard, and you need to be taken seriously." Useful advice for everyone, I think.
Number three - as the police are always stopping motorists 'for having a dirty car' and 'fining' them (any excuse for a bribe), then if waved over by the police, just give them a smart military salute and keep on driving. They are then in two minds - is this person really a police or military person, or am I going to get in trouble for stopping a General? Apparently, it works every time. When you are not in your car, just flash any official looking document at them - they are generally illiterate and if you do it with confidence, they are not going to challenge you.
Number four - if anyone asks you were you are from, say China. As the geographical knowledge here is so bad, then they are not sure whether you are having them on, as they kind of know what a chinese person looks like, but are not too sure. They never challenge your chineseness. This is not really for avoiding trouble with the law, but it is great fun to see the confused look develop across their faces.
Number one - never have a proper visa. If stopped by police, explain that you a tourist who has lost their tourist visa. This gets you more respect, and less likely to be asked for a bribe.
Number two - when you get your passport photo taken, always wear a suit and tie. As I was told "you never know when you are going to be crossing the Haitian border, in rags and with a 10 day beard, and you need to be taken seriously." Useful advice for everyone, I think.
Number three - as the police are always stopping motorists 'for having a dirty car' and 'fining' them (any excuse for a bribe), then if waved over by the police, just give them a smart military salute and keep on driving. They are then in two minds - is this person really a police or military person, or am I going to get in trouble for stopping a General? Apparently, it works every time. When you are not in your car, just flash any official looking document at them - they are generally illiterate and if you do it with confidence, they are not going to challenge you.
Number four - if anyone asks you were you are from, say China. As the geographical knowledge here is so bad, then they are not sure whether you are having them on, as they kind of know what a chinese person looks like, but are not too sure. They never challenge your chineseness. This is not really for avoiding trouble with the law, but it is great fun to see the confused look develop across their faces.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
All young researchers doing social research have to undergo a number of courses entitled "research training", teaching you about statistics, how to do interviews and suchlike. They are mostly useless and irrelevant, but with the occaisional gem. What they never prepare you for is the practical and emotional sides of fieldwork.
Today's experience was Dominican public service at its very best. Having arranged an interview with the secretary of someone at the national parks office, I arrive to have them tell me that they have never heard of me, and that I should really speak to their colleague, who will be back in January. Not wanting to waste the effort I went through to get out to the office, I then head to the park services library archives (the three bookshelves in the basement). Having asked for a copy of the budget and annual report for the last 5 years, the reply comes that they think they have something to do with budgets from 1982, and will this do? It didn't matter anyway, as they had no idea where it was.
To make up for this, I try to go to national statistics office, to get hold of the budgets from them. Turned down by the doorman for not wearing a tie. Seriously. It certainly says something about the stupidity of the bureaucracy that archives are harder to get into than swish nightclubs.
The flip side of this, and the thing that makes this country such a fascinating place, is that people outside of officialdom are more than willing to share experiences and help each other out. At this time of year there is a huge rainstorm at about 4pm, which starts with some threatening clouds, a few drops which are promptly followed by rain so hard it hurts. Everyone runs for shelter. The trick is at precisely the right moment to be walking past somewhere with a large overhang and cold beer. The folk round here learnt that a long time ago, and this need is amply catered for. Everyone just gets chatting, the younger folk start flirting, and the older folk start taking bets on the outcome of the flirting. People are generally interested to chat to one another, something you would never see in the UK. They are often absolutely hilarious, more of which I am sure will come.
Through such a random incident, someone referred me to an American lady running bird watching tours in the south west. The Dominican Republic is a paradise for birds (an endemic and endangered species of parrot breeds where I am currently staying, and if it keeps on depositing just near where I am walking, it will shortly become more endangered), and lots of migratory species overwinter and breed here. A quick chat turns into a two hour conversation, the loan of a number of books, an invitation to spend a weekends birdwatching and a dozen phone numbers and contacts I should follow up. Plus I am now renting a room from a internet contact I meet up with for a quick chat about national parks.
The road traffic still makes me laugh. Today's sight was a fresh faced traffic cop directing traffic whilst chatting to his mate on his mobile. He was still blowing his whistle as he talked, so the friend was either very deaf or very patient. Suddenly bearing down on him at 40 mph come a dozen police motorcycle outriders and five big blacked out 4*4s - the presidential motorcade. The poor boy doesn't know whether to stop the traffic, salute or what. In the end, he just ignores it as if this huge kerfuffle wasn't happening. The president speeds through, and life continues once more.
Today's experience was Dominican public service at its very best. Having arranged an interview with the secretary of someone at the national parks office, I arrive to have them tell me that they have never heard of me, and that I should really speak to their colleague, who will be back in January. Not wanting to waste the effort I went through to get out to the office, I then head to the park services library archives (the three bookshelves in the basement). Having asked for a copy of the budget and annual report for the last 5 years, the reply comes that they think they have something to do with budgets from 1982, and will this do? It didn't matter anyway, as they had no idea where it was.
To make up for this, I try to go to national statistics office, to get hold of the budgets from them. Turned down by the doorman for not wearing a tie. Seriously. It certainly says something about the stupidity of the bureaucracy that archives are harder to get into than swish nightclubs.
The flip side of this, and the thing that makes this country such a fascinating place, is that people outside of officialdom are more than willing to share experiences and help each other out. At this time of year there is a huge rainstorm at about 4pm, which starts with some threatening clouds, a few drops which are promptly followed by rain so hard it hurts. Everyone runs for shelter. The trick is at precisely the right moment to be walking past somewhere with a large overhang and cold beer. The folk round here learnt that a long time ago, and this need is amply catered for. Everyone just gets chatting, the younger folk start flirting, and the older folk start taking bets on the outcome of the flirting. People are generally interested to chat to one another, something you would never see in the UK. They are often absolutely hilarious, more of which I am sure will come.
Through such a random incident, someone referred me to an American lady running bird watching tours in the south west. The Dominican Republic is a paradise for birds (an endemic and endangered species of parrot breeds where I am currently staying, and if it keeps on depositing just near where I am walking, it will shortly become more endangered), and lots of migratory species overwinter and breed here. A quick chat turns into a two hour conversation, the loan of a number of books, an invitation to spend a weekends birdwatching and a dozen phone numbers and contacts I should follow up. Plus I am now renting a room from a internet contact I meet up with for a quick chat about national parks.
The road traffic still makes me laugh. Today's sight was a fresh faced traffic cop directing traffic whilst chatting to his mate on his mobile. He was still blowing his whistle as he talked, so the friend was either very deaf or very patient. Suddenly bearing down on him at 40 mph come a dozen police motorcycle outriders and five big blacked out 4*4s - the presidential motorcade. The poor boy doesn't know whether to stop the traffic, salute or what. In the end, he just ignores it as if this huge kerfuffle wasn't happening. The president speeds through, and life continues once more.
A common experience in the Dominican Republic is the sudden, unannounced power cut. These are a result of electricity companies unwilling to invest, and their poor relation with the populace. Indeed, if a barrio has more that 50% of customers who are not up to date with their bills, then the barrio is cut off. It is generally a call for curses and the search for a torch in order to start up the power generator. If they are short on generator fuel then people just carry on as usual – tonight the boys at the gay disco round the corner simply moved the party into the street, carrying on the fun. There was an outage, so to speak. If they are longer people start to kick up a fuss – a few months ago there were power cuts that resulted in riots and a dozen protestors being shot dead by police.
The people you meet in hotels are generally a bit more interesting than your average. Meeting the ubiquitous, and rather charming, Australian on the ubiquitous world tour was followed by a rather senior Dominican expat who had returned from New York for 10 days for some “f****n’ and suckin’ with some of my girls”. Bit tongue, crossed legs and winced.
The people you meet in hotels are generally a bit more interesting than your average. Meeting the ubiquitous, and rather charming, Australian on the ubiquitous world tour was followed by a rather senior Dominican expat who had returned from New York for 10 days for some “f****n’ and suckin’ with some of my girls”. Bit tongue, crossed legs and winced.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Ah, yes. Santo Domingo appears not to have changed in the last 18 months. There are still the same fruitsellers on the same corners, the same smells, the same roadworks, the same sense that everyone thinks you are american.
Still, thanks to increased expenses budget, I am not in the same old brothel, but in a proper (cheap, backpackers) hotel, and the best bit is that it doesn´t charge by the hour!
Tried to spend some time in the National parks office archives department (i.e. a room with three bookshelves, and a bored teenager talking loudly on a phone). The parks office is literally in the middle of a slum town on the edge of the city. Major traffic headache to get to. Really, smelly dirty horrible place, ideal for creating plans to protect beautiful rainforests. Anyway, there appears to be no indexing system, and the folk who work there clearly only got the job because they have the right connections, and are less than useless. Still, am off to the national statistics office on tuesday, so lets hope things are better.
I then proceeded to get slightly drunk on rubbish beer outside of a corner shop, chatting to the boy who works there about how he is trying to save 80,000 pesos (about 1,600 sterling) to pay for the illegal boat trip to Puerto Rico, where he is going to work as an illegal immigrant on a building site, before going to New York. These two incidents show what is holding back this country, that the only way to get forward is to either work as a corrupt public official, or to leave and go to the US.
Sight of the day: A seven tier baby pink wedding cake being driven at high speed through the streets, on top of a rusty van, with two blokes hanging out of the windows to hold it down. I am never surprised but always amused by Dominican Transport.
Ah, beautiful Santo Domingo, so glad to be back.
Still, thanks to increased expenses budget, I am not in the same old brothel, but in a proper (cheap, backpackers) hotel, and the best bit is that it doesn´t charge by the hour!
Tried to spend some time in the National parks office archives department (i.e. a room with three bookshelves, and a bored teenager talking loudly on a phone). The parks office is literally in the middle of a slum town on the edge of the city. Major traffic headache to get to. Really, smelly dirty horrible place, ideal for creating plans to protect beautiful rainforests. Anyway, there appears to be no indexing system, and the folk who work there clearly only got the job because they have the right connections, and are less than useless. Still, am off to the national statistics office on tuesday, so lets hope things are better.
I then proceeded to get slightly drunk on rubbish beer outside of a corner shop, chatting to the boy who works there about how he is trying to save 80,000 pesos (about 1,600 sterling) to pay for the illegal boat trip to Puerto Rico, where he is going to work as an illegal immigrant on a building site, before going to New York. These two incidents show what is holding back this country, that the only way to get forward is to either work as a corrupt public official, or to leave and go to the US.
Sight of the day: A seven tier baby pink wedding cake being driven at high speed through the streets, on top of a rusty van, with two blokes hanging out of the windows to hold it down. I am never surprised but always amused by Dominican Transport.
Ah, beautiful Santo Domingo, so glad to be back.
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