Latin America

Women’s Activism in Latin America and the Caribbean: Engendering Social Justice, Democratizing Citizenship

farhana — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Nathalie Lebon, Elizabeth Maier

One of the aims of the groundbreaking work Women’s Activism in Latin America and the Caribbean is the diffusion of the ideas of these mostly Latin-American scholars to a larger audience, thus the original 2006 Spanish-language volume’s translation and subsequent adaptation and expansion into English.

However, it seems contradictory to the spirit of the project to start reviewing it without mentioning the authors here. Besides excellent introductory essays by the editors listed above, this tome includes articles by the following Latin American and Caribbean academics who, for the most part, have been conscientiously translated from the original language: Myriam Merlet, Graciela di Marco, Norma Mogrovejo, Montserrat Sagot, María Luisa Tarrés, and Morena Herrera. The volume also includes interviews done by Graciela di Marco, and articles by scholars such as Karen Kampwirth, Ana Lorena Carrillo, Norma Stoltz Chinchilla, Kia Lily Caldwell, Mercedes Prieto, Andrea Pequeño, Clorinda Cominao, Alejandra Flores, Gina Maldonado, Cathy A. Rakowski, Gioconda Espina, Fiona MacAulay, Marysa Navarro, María Consuelo Mejía, Virginia Vargas, Marta Núñez Sarmiento, Helen Safa, Alice Colón, and Sara Poggio.

The foreword by Sonia E. Alvarez sums up succinctly why this book is so important to those of us studying questions of gender and activism in Latin America and the Caribbean. According to her reading, it is “brimming with compelling conceptual innovations, fresh empirical insights, and provocative political analysis, setting new parameters for future studies of feminist and other social movements in politics” in the region. There is no denying her expert judgment. However, the fact that this study provides a voice for the women listed above is what brings the innovative aspect, since many of these women have now been working in their respective countries for years in their own languages. Instead of all the “old regulars” working in the field in what the editors refer to as the Global North, this volume allows for an “inside look” into some (an infinite part, unfortunately) of the research that is ongoing in this region, at the same time as it allows for contrasting and/or other voices to come fill its pages. This achievement must be celebrated. Thus, for example, Graciela di Marco provides a voice for founding members of the Mothers and Grandmothers of the Plaza de Mayo, Nora Cortiñas and Estela Carlotto, more than thirty years into their continued battle.

Although some countries’ movements are still not included in this type of volume (Bolivia, Panama, and Honduras come to mind), the attempt made to be as inclusive as possible is one which is on the right track with making visible research on gender-based issues, especially with regard to race, religion, sexual preferences and social classes. However, there is no way to ignore the magnitude of providing a space to the women’s indigenous groups from Ecuador (for example), given that they have only had the right to vote in their own countries for less than forty years. And, significantly, this is what this volume is about- taking a larger look at women’s activism in the region and appreciating the scope of what has advanced in the past years for the very diverse women’s movement, given the ebb and flow of the political, social and economic circumstances in the world.

Regrettably, the situation has actually gone backwards in some countries such as Nicaragua where the women’s movement has suffered significant losses in the past years, as Kampwirth argues in her chapter, especially with the still controversial therapeutic abortion debate which has been ongoing in the country. While some countries have moved from what were seemingly viable feminist movements towards what Kampwirth deems as “antifeminism” or backlash movements, some are only experiencing nascent incursions into this activist domain (what Lebon fittingly calls “activism with unexpected actors”) and still reject the “feminist” label.

Among the twenty excellent chapters, of particular note in the volume, given last January’s earthquake and more recent cholera outbreak in Haiti, is Myriam Merlet’s article on women’s citizenship in that country. It provides a remarkable glimpse into the leaps and bounds that were being made by women leading up to this disaster and, perhaps, provides some inherent insight into how some of the country’s problems could eventually be resolved from within.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, January 11th 2011

A Tortilla Is Like Life: Food and Culture in the San Luis Valley of Colorado

admin — Tue, 06 Apr 2010 00:01:00 +0000

By Carole M. Counihan

University of Texas Press

From the time Laura Esquivel’s well known novel Like Water for Chocolate was made into a film, food and meals have been presented as a means of communication that extends beyond the dinner table. A Tortilla Is Like Life is an excellent book about Hispanic food, recipes, and home remedies.

A Tortilla Is Like Life is an introduction to the unique Hispanic community of Antonito in San Luis Valley of Colorado. This small urban centre with a population of approximately 900 has Spanish, Mexican, and American Indian ancestry with some Anglophone influences. The town of Alamola, thirty miles away with a population ten times the size of Antonito, provides employment for people from nearby communities.

Carole Counihan, an anthropologist who settled in Antonito with her husband and two sons, presents the culture of the community by gathering food-centred interviews between 1996 and 2006 from nineteen women ages thirty-two to ninety-four, making fifty-five interviews in total. Two women in particular play a major role by providing information about the food, traditions, and culture of Antonito. The most active participants in Counihan’s study were Helen Ruybal, born in 1906, who she interviewed nineteen times, and Teddy Madrid, born in 1936, who was interviewed six times.

In this small community, gender arrangements surrounding cooking have changed over the years along with the archetype of the Chicano patriarchal family. Food sits at the heart of the household, contributing to the structure of families. A woman who prepares food is seen as the head of the family, and women construct relationships with men through cooking. Given that many women sell prepared food to make a living, domestic duties belong to both husband and wife. Through food, women establish a sense of their own identity, culture, and place in society. They create stories about food to preserve their legacy for future generations.

Certain foods encapsulate memories, rituals, beliefs, and traditions. Two things that are central to the Antonito diet (for both flavour and tradition) are red and green chilis, which are eaten on numerous occasions—with extended families, during birth rituals, at one's wedding, and after death—as they communicate love, nurturing, and care.

Counihan wants to enrich the understanding of Antonito’s history by presenting diverse women’s voices and creating a cultural mosaic revealing how they relate to food and community. She classifies her book as testimonio and has done a very thorough job researching. A Tortilla Is Like Life deals very well with the sense of cultural belonging felt by those living in a community where women’s identity is shaped by food.

Written by: Anna Hamling, April 5th 2010

The Cuban Revolution (1959-2009): Relations with Spain, the European Union, and the United States

admin — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 01:00:00 +0000

By Joaquín Roy

Palgrave MacMillan

Joaquín Roy’s study is, to my knowledge, the most comprehensive attempt to define Cuba’s relationship to the Western World (Europe and the U.S.) in the past fifty years. There is no question of its timely publication—to coincide with the fifty year anniversary of the Cuban Revolution (1959-2009). Indeed, this is a moment when the world is questioning the ability of this small island nation to remain independent and politically isolated while in permanent conflict with the most powerful nation in the world and only 90 miles from its coast. How on earth did Castro’s Cuba survive? Why hasn’t it, like many other Latin American nations fallen prey to either an insidious or explicit United-States sponsored decline? In Nicaragua, the Sandinistas certainly did (1990), and in Chile, Salvador Allende did, almost twenty years before (1973). What specifically makes Cuba exceptional?

Roy is very well placed to deal with these questions since he is the author of more than thirty books on the European Union (EU), Cuba, and the U.S.’ diplomatic relations and policies. His study Cuba, the United States, and the Helms-Burton Doctrine: International Reactions previously explored some of the larger points that he develops in this more recent tome.

At a time when left-leaning governments are being elected in many Latin American countries and seemingly coming together, Roy’s analysis is precious. It details the ebb and flow of an ever-shifting diplomacy in great detail, ranging from the specifics of economic aid from individual countries or from the EU, to the intricate rapport between high level officials, the “butterfly-effects” of diplomacy—if ever there was one in the political sphere.

Roy’s study reviews the notorious aspects of the Cuban diplomacy, such as the Helms-Burton Law (Cuban embargo, or “blockade” [bloqueo] as the Cubans call it), and adds detail to this bigger picture. Because Cuba’s independence is such a novelty (it was the last Latin American colony to achieve sovereignty in 1898 after more than four centuries of colonial rule), the analysis goes back to the beginning of the island, providing much detail on the rocky foundations of the autonomous country, a period which lasted about 50 years before the Revolution. Roy also delves into more complex aspects of Cuba’s relations with Spain after the signing of the Treaty of Paris and the “end” of the Spanish Empire, navigating the contrasts and parallels between the Franco and post-Franco relations.

Of course, Roy’s attempt to separate the analyses of each country in individual chapters is futile since the aforementioned “butterfly effect” makes all diplomacy unavoidably intertwined. Many decisions are entangled and, especially in recent years, reactions to any statement are instantaneous. The rotating presidency of the EU is one of the most convoluted examples of this; each country has its diplomacy, and the EU has its own relations, but since the presidency is revolving, this provokes knotting and redundancies. Yet, while reading Roy’s text, one is never lost in his analysis and this despite the detail it contains. Because it synthesizes many different points of view, this work is essential to anyone endeavoring to understand just why the Cuban Revolution is still alive. Of course, Roy doesn’t provide us with the answer to that question, but then again, neither does (or can?) anyone else.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, February 2nd 2010

Feminist Agendas and Democracy in Latin America

admin — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 17:01:00 +0000

Edited by Jane S. Jaquette

Duke University Press

The feminist experience of women in Latin America is not one that is often written about or discussed. Many discussions about politics in Latin America leave feminism out, as discussions of feminism in general are often limited to the U.S. and Europe. Perhaps it is for this reason that I immediately warmed to Feminist Agendas and Democracy in Latin America, but it was the content and style that kept me reading.

This book is meant to analyze and compare the structure of feminist movements in Latin American countries that have become democratic in recent history. The book is broken down into three sections: Feminism and the State, Legal Strategies and Democratic Institutions, and International and Cross-Border Activism. In these sections, each chapter is written by women with firsthand experience and/or academic expertise in the feminist or women’s movement in a particular country or region. The book begins and ends with a chapter by the book’s editor, Jane Jaquette, who pulls the pieces together to give a sense of the bigger picture.

What I liked most about Feminist Agendas and Democracy in Latin America, particularly when compared to others I’ve read about the topic, is that it’s easy for the reader to tell that the women who wrote each chapter are experts in what they’re writing about. Some of them even slip in firsthand reactions to the events they mention, which gives the reader reassurance that this isn’t just the usual “outside looking in” account of history. For example, when Gioconda Espina discusses the possibility of creating new alliances in Venezuela with other organizations, she is giving a glimpse into her actual experience working with these other groups, which provides a greater level of authenticity.

It was also great to see the focus on what the future might bring. The fact is that this is a very recent history; indeed, a lot of the countries highlighted in this book were in the middle of major changes when the chapters were written, leaving the picture still incomplete. Because of that, it was good to have the writers try to piece the puzzle together.

The book is not perfect, however. I found that the focus on countries with more recent shifts to democracy such as Argentina, Brazil, Chile, and Venezuela made for a narrow view of Latin America. With the vast number of countries, it’s disappointing to only see the book focus on a handful. Brazil and Argentina, for instance, had a chapter dedicated to each country and then another comparing the two, meaning that three out of ten chapters focused only on two countries. It would be interesting to examine the feminist movements in other Latin American countries, particularly those in the Caribbean and Central America.

I can see Feminist Agendas and Democracy in Latin America being used as a text in college courses about global feminism, Latin America, or emerging democracies around the world. It is an academic text at its core and not meant for light beach reading unless you have a particular interest in this subject matter, as I admittedly do. That said, the book was surprisingly easy to read and digest, and not at all the boring academic text I expected.

I would be happy to check out another attempt by Jaquette, perhaps providing a follow-up to the countries she has already covered and expanding to other Latin American countries in flux. I am confident she would provide a volume of work as captivating as this, if not more so.

Written by: frau sally benz, December 19th 2009

Black and Green: Afro-Colombians, Development, and Nature in the Pacific Lowlands

admin — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 16:56:00 +0000

By Kiran Asher

Duke University Press

Black and Green is a publication based on Kiran Asher’s doctoral thesis in political science, a field she came to by ways of a masters in Environmental Management and much field experience in Costa Rica, Belize, China, and now Colombia. It is her contact with local people that let Asher to want to explore the link between environmental management and society, and her passion for both of these areas of investigation is well displayed in this book.

Throughout Black and Green, one finds passages where the author speaks of her connection with people involved in the Afro-Colombian movement, a concrete connection made through relationships forged during field work with the people she is writing about. Asher’s book not only examines a little-known area of research (resource management in the Colombian Pacific Lowlands on the west coast) but also gives a voice to a people (Afro-Colombians) who have had problems getting their voice heard in their own country and on their continent, let alone to a wider English-speaking audience.

Research in both of these fields is only recent. African slaves and their descendants have inhabited the Pacific coast area for almost as long as the Spanish colonizers. However, the acknowledgment of a distinct Afro-Colombian identity and the development of a national Afro-Colombians movement have only arisen in the last thirty years. Similarly, in a part of the country which has largely been forgotten by national (and often nonexistent) environmental policies—and despite being home to a unique biodiversity—the development of ecological strategies is also quite novel. Both of these issues, as Asher points out, are inextricably linked, and thus the correlation of these issues in her study.

Asher is a privileged witness (and occasional, often reluctant participant) to the process she is analyzing. She frequently employs firsthand accounts of the meetings she attends and the people she meets, something that transforms Black and Green into an interesting narrative of Asher’s own involvement with/in the identity she is studying (something she is very conscious of and recognizes the ambiguities of). The author does not shy away from exposing underlying issues relevant to the construction of her text; this is especially true in the last chapter where she deals with the thorny problem of Colombia’s last few decades and specifically the guerrilla and paramilitary presence in the region she deals with.

Chapter 4, on Afrocolombianas (Afro-Colombian women), is one of the shortest, but one which could have been developed into its own book. Asher’s meaningful connection with the Afrocolombianas is evident in this chapter and her writing at its strongest. She accentuates the implication of Afrocolombianas in the environmental policies movement and establishes the importance of their mobilization for the larger identity and environmental movements.

Overall, Black and Green is an engaging study that signifies a defining moment for academic studies about both Afro-Colombians and nature in Latin America.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, December 6th 2009

Side Dishes: Latina American Women, Sex, and Cultural Production

admin — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 08:00:00 +0000

By Melissa A. Fitch

Rutgers University Press

Side Dishes, at times more tasty, original, and irresistible than “the main dishes,” is a delightful, playful, and innovative work about Latina, Brazilian, and Spanish American women writers, filmmakers, cartoonists, and science fiction producers. Invaluable works by women in Side Dishes are found outside the usual diet of canonical texts by Latin American women. They broaden our knowledge and understanding of different ways and approaches of looking at cultural narratives of women. Beside “the main dishes” regularly serving narratives of women as victims of male aggression, “the side dishes” write, talk, or make films about sexual lust by women and about the treatment of women’s sexuality.

In fact, the first chapter of the book “Lust” discusses sexuality often classified as Pornography, dealing with bisexuality, lesbianism, and masturbation. Chapter two, “Pop,” is about science fiction writers and cartoonists, namely Marta Gómez, the comedian from the United States; Cecilia Rosetto from Argentina; and her compatriot, the cartoonist Maitena Burundarena together with science fiction writer Daina Chaviano from Cuba. Chapter three, “Issues,” explores the academic studies dealing with feminism though journals such as_ Debate Feminista_ from Mexico, Feminaria from Argentina, and Cadernos Pagu from Brazil.

Chapter four, “Flicks,” discusses the representation of women’s sexuality in film. Argentinean Lucrecia Martel’s La niña santa (The Holy Girl) is about a devoutly religious girl Amalia (María Alché) who constantly talks and thinks about sex. Mexican María Novaro’s Sin dejar huella (Without a Trace) explores metaphorical and physical borders in a story about Ana (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón), a Mexican born, but Spanish raised dealer of fake Mayan archaeological relics. In it we also meet Aurelia (Tiaré Scanda), a young Mexican mother who makes her way to Cancún after stealing cash from her boyfriend. Tata Amaral’s film Antonia, a hit in Brazil, is about four young black women living in favelas (slums) outside Sao Paulo who had each experienced a tragedy and want to improve their living conditions. This film is about feminine friendship.

In chapter five, the author examines the development of women’s studies in Latin America and hopes that students will be encouraged to evaluate cultural texts in debates in and out of academia. In Fitch’s own words her goal with Side Dishes is “to put an array of cultural artefacts related to women in Latin America on the table.” She has done it beautifully. Through the culinary metaphors she has expanded on a sometimes forgotten area in feminist studies. With this fascinating work she signposts new directions for areas of Latin American feminism, cultural studies, and film studies, and makes a significant contribution to the main canon of Latin American narratives. This work is most likely to satisfy not only the tastes of academics but also any open minded reader interested in “the side dishes” of the diet.

Written by: Anna Hamling, October 30th 2009

La Americana

admin — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 17:34:00 +0000

Directed by Nicholas Bruckman

People's Television

This review will probably be a bit dated, as Nicholas Bruckman’s 2008 documentary appealing for more welcoming U.S. immigration policy has been superseded by our new president’s openly liberal views on the issue. However, La Americana still manages to be refreshing, ambitious, and important, particularly for those who are still skeptical of Obama’s stance or who simply don’t know much about the immigrant experience.

Bruckman makes a valiant effort to de-generalize the issue or, rather, the people it affects most, by focusing on one woman’s journey to the U.S. as an illegal immigrant from Bolivia. Her story is not the one to which we are accustomed: Maria does not come to New York in pursuit of some variation on “The American Dream;” she is only there in the hopes of making enough money to cover medical expenses for her daughter Carla, who was left paralyzed by a bus accident as a young girl. Ironically, Maria’s need to take care of her daughter ends up being somewhat of a detriment to their relationship, as it keeps them apart for several years.

For a film that’s bookended with two liberal quotes on immigration—the first by JFK and the second by Obama himself—La Americana is surprisingly unbiased in its presentation. Though Maria is a special case and certainly doesn’t represent all the illegal immigrants in New York City, let alone this country, her story is told in such an unadulterated manner that I wasn’t left feeling manipulated or like I was being pitched a political ideal.

It only helps that Maria herself is quite relatable and likable; she speaks candidly and without a speck of naïveté, so much so that even in spite of her situation, we never pity her. When she moves back to Bolivia on Carla’s quinceañera, we are finally able to see the awful living conditions her family endures there, but Maria never breathes a word of despair. She says nothing of how poor the available health care is there—we see it for ourselves, as she is forced to carry Carla up flights of stairs to the doctor’s office.

Unfortunately, the money Maria saved up in the States cannot sustain her and Carla for more than several months, and it is with a world of regret that she must move back to the U.S. It is at this point, at the end of the film, that we are reminded of Bruckman’s agenda, but not by Bruckman himself; it is Maria who pushes for change, eloquently expounding on what the term “American” means and what it should mean.

As I watched Maria tearfully explain that all Americans came from immigrants, I was surprised to realize that I’d never been allowed such emotional access to an illegal immigrant before. Bruckman has done something truly revolutionary by concentrating on this woman’s story: he’s personalized a group of people that has typically been pluralized and portrayed as a single mass, a collective “issue.” With the help of his film, perhaps those who still have trouble breaking that convention will at least begin to see illegal immigrants as people rather than a problem.

Written by: Caitlin Graham, August 27th 2009

Women Build the Welfare State: Performing Charity and Creating Rights in Argentina, 1880-1955

admin — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 09:08:00 +0000

By Donna J. Guy

Duke University Press

Donna J. Guy is a distinguished Argentinean historian, and her book on women’s role in the welfare state (1880-1955) could not be timelier. In the past decades, human rights have often been thwarted in Argentina, producing the need for a reevaluation of women’s rights in South America. Women Build the Welfare State offers some tools to understand the movements that developed in contemporary Argentina by explaining the context and traditions that existed there.

In recent Argentine history, women played key roles in the demand for rights. Startling cases of systemic abuse are prevalent in the country; for example, the country’s “disappeared” and the adoption scandals stemming from the 1976 military coup and ensuing Dirty War Period. In the former, around 30,000 citizens were “disappeared” as suspected political activists in one of the deadliest sweeps in the Argentinean history of bloody dictatorships. In the latter—and as a consequence of the former—pro-government couples adopted around 500 infants born of imprisoned activist women. The Official Story, a film fictionalizing one woman’s discovery of one such adoption, won an Oscar for Best Foreign Film in 1985.

Among key groups of demonstrators against the country’s egregious crimes were famous women’s groups including Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo and the Grandmothers, some of the same mothers of these desaparecidos who began to search for their illegally adopted grandchildren. Eighty-eight children, now in their thirties, have been identified thus far. The development of these women’s movements is extensively studied; however, the context for the emergence of the activities is not.

Guy's study thus fills this vacuum by returning to the last century and the history of orphans and mothers. Although her title limits the study to 1880, Guy brings readers back to Argentina’s 1816 independence in order to construct the different movements and women’s involvement in these. She successfully synthesizes the historic, popular, and academic debates surrounding charity, welfare, women, social class, and children’s rights in Argentina. Guy claims to be taking a “child-centered gendered approach,” but the study can only be one of women’s history of rights since, as she demonstrates, women were the primary actors in the establishment of the philanthropic movement of that epoch.

Perhaps because of my academic background in women’s studies, Guy’s use of the original expression “performance of charity” was a bit disconcerting. The term “performance” at its most basic is something “acted” and not necessarily lived. Its most complex connotation is that of Judith Butler’s theory of socially constructed gender roles. Both definitions could seem to weaken Guy’s argument about the stake that women had in the charitable work and could imply, following a Butlerian analysis, that women only had this vocation because it was considered a “feminine” endeavor. My confusion about her use of this term came to its zenith when Guy analyzed Evita Peron’s “performance of charity” since Guy seems to stress the pictorial nature of her philanthropy. Was Evita doing “good” for political advancement or was her social engagement founded in true charitable values? This has been a long-standing historical debate of Perón’s ambiguous role in her (husband’s) political success.

Sidestepping these important questions, Guy defines her expression as one of women’s empowerment because of women’s “accrual of social status and community recognition, along with an opportunity to perform good works outside the home.” While reading, I had to constantly remind myself of Guy’s definition. More shocking to me was the use of the term “retarded” by the author, one I (mistakenly) thought had been banned forevermore from scholarly writing.

Nevertheless, one can only admire the amount of research that went into synthesizing the enormous quantity of data and testimonials that Guy includes in her excellent historical study. She incorporates an analysis of both religious and secular charitable organizations, including notable Jewish and Catholic associations. Although her study centers on Buenos Aires (where most of the organizations were based), she makes every effort to include data from the provinces. Guy’s study is a noteworthy contribution to the field of women’s studies and history in Latin America.

Written by: Sophie M. Lavoie, July 6th 2009

Gabriel García Márquez: A Life

admin — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 17:00:00 +0000

By Gerald Martin

Alfred A. Knopf

In his exhaustively researched biography of Gabriel Garcia Márquez, Gerald Martin, who spent seventeen years examining every aspect of Marquez’s life and interviewing over 300 people, beautifully takes the reader through the life and times of one of Latin America’s most influential writers, a Nobel Prize winner, and one of the most popular novelist in the last fifty years.

Martin traces Márquez’s (or “Gabo” as he is affectionately referred to throughout the biography) early beginnings back to Aratacata’s early days and to the life of Colonel Nicholás R. Márquez Mejia, Gabo’s maternal grandfather, who played an influential and supportive role in the young boy’s life until he was swooped up by his nomadic parents at nine years old. It’s during that time, Martin writes, that the inspiration for One Hundred Years of Solitude was born and where Gabo learned of magic via his superstitious grandmother.

Living with his parents, Martin writes of the antagonistic relationship with his philandering father, his secondary school years where writes poetry and is acknowledged as a brilliant young scholar, to his University days as a law student, who has no interest in the law, but in literature.

Martin painstakingly examines Gabo’s career as an investigative journalist, his travels to Europe and later to Mexico, where he wrote One Hundred Years of Solitude. The novel was published six years later, catapulting Márquez to fame, fortune and friendships with notable leaders of the left including Spain’s Felipe Gonzàlez, France’s François Mitterand, and Cuba’s Fidel Castro—a source of controversy and criticism for the author who has been a lifelong Liberal.

Gabriel García Márquez: A Life is a magical and intoxicating book that is much more than one man’s life story; it is part history, part cultural studies, and part political science. Gerald Martin provides a mesmerizing tribute to an extraordinary writer.

Written by: Rebeca Schiller, June 28th 2009

How To Cook a Tapir: A Memoir of Belize

admin — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 16:47:00 +0000

By Joan Fry

University of Nebraska Press

There are certain experiences in one’s life that are defining in their impact. Although the actual duration may be short, these experiences help excavate the person you were meant to be and set you on the path to leading the life that you’re meant to live.

In 1962, when Joan Fry set off with her young anthropologist husband to a year-long “working honeymoon” in British Honduras (now Belize), she had no idea how this adventure would impact her life. How to Cook a Tapir is a fascinating memoir about Fry’s experiences living in a remote Kekchi village in the rainforest. Interspersed with recipes that Fry gleaned from the generous village women, the book tells a story of a twenty-year-old woman who can barely cook and her experiences as a young wife and teacher.

Fry tells of the disapproval she encountered from the village women when she spilled the precious water that she and the other women carried on their heads from the well on a daily basis. In this world, Fry, the educated westerner felt at a great disadvantage as she had no cooking or housekeeping experience. As the year progresses, Fry gains a newfound confidence stemming from the support and respect she receives from the community who value her contributions as a teacher to their children.

By the end of this defining year, Fry has started to question her relationship with her husband whom she dubs “The Answer Man” early on in the book. Interestingly enough, her experiences in Belize are what give her the courage to start a new life when she returns to the states. She writes: "I knew that if I wanted to live with the degree of independence that I enjoyed in Rio Blanco, I would have to claim it. My culture didn’t offer me the choice. Neither did my husband. Several months later, it came as no great surprise to either of us when the word 'divorce' came up in the conversation...Did living there change me? How? Yes it changed me, but I wrestled with the question for more than 50 years before I could answer it. I brought my idealism to the Maya—my willingness to fall in love and my desire to help—and they repaid me with their friendship...but then I think about Cirila and Lucia and Maxiana and all the other women who accepted a white stranger into their lives and taught her how to cook, and I have to confess I got the best of the bargain."

Written by: Gita Tewari, June 27th 2009

2666

admin — Mon, 04 May 2009 10:16:00 +0000

By Roberto Bolaño

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

Epic in its proportions, 2666 is a modern day mystery novel more akin to James Joyce than anything on the shelves by John Grisham. The five sections that comprise the book are set around the world, yet the heart of the narratives remains bound to the fictional Mexican border town of Santa Teresa. An industrialized hub, Santa Teresa is home to a multitude of maquiladoras whose workers are paid paltry sums compared to their American sisters directly across the border. An obvious portrait of Ciudad Juarez, Bolaño does not fail to leave out one vital detail. Throughout the book we are confronted with a string murders that exclusively target the women of Santa Teresa. It is clear that Bolaño is not only describing Ciudad Juarez, but he is boldly describing the femicide that has plagued the city for over a decade.

The novel opens with a group of European academics in search of their muse, Benno von Archimboldi. An elusive German writer, he is known only to his publisher. The scholars spend their days teaching his writing and attending conferences devoted to his work. Driven to find Archimboldi, their search brings them to Santa Teresa. It is here that they lose the trail, but they do not give up hope. “Archimboldi is here, and we’re here, and this is the closest we’ll ever be to him,” explains Pelletier, a French scholar who has devoted his life to Archimboldi. It is here that Bolaño reveals the nature of his beast. This town teetering on the brink of fiction and reality is the closest the reader will get to understanding the mystery that unfolds throughout the book. No matter how far Bolaño takes us away, it is to this town that we will eventually return.

Unique to other fictional tales that grapple with femicide, Bolaño does not mythologize the killings. Artfully, he creates a surreal world in which giants exist and wars rage on in castle-filled lands. But he handles the killings with a realistic integrity that enriches the text. The longest and most painfully poignant section titled “The Part about the Crimes” describes the killings and sexual abuses in detail, employing a style that stands apart. We learn the names of the women killed, and of the many more that remain unidentified, with family too far away or too scared to claim their lost daughters and sisters. Just as he does when the trail runs dry on Archimboldi, Bolaño leaves the reader with little closure. Some of the killers are found but most cases remain unsolved.

Written at the end of Bolaño’s life and published posthumously, 2666 is an expansive novel whose stories wildly unfurl leaving the reader with more questions than answers. At the close of the book the truth behind the mysteries remains elusive, however one thing is clear: the murders are not a fantastical portrait of society; rather they are an mercilessly truthful reflection of a world wrought with problems. In this respect the line between fiction and reality is appropriately steadfast in Bolaño’s profoundly affecting new novel.

Written by: Lizzy Shramko, May 4th 2009

Latin American Women Artists of the United States: The Works of 33 Twentieth-Century Women

admin — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 09:21:00 +0000

By Robert Henkes

McFarland & Company

The art world is full of niches large and small that showcase a variety of visual languages and regional cultures. A seeming labyrinth to the outsider, this complexity makes it a bit of a hunt to find American artists that speak to you—especially artists who have not been accepted by mainstream America.

In this delicious treat of an art book, the late Robert Henkes, painter and teacher, examines the art of thirty-three Latin American women artists who worked or lived in the United States. Entries are alphabetically arranged, from San Francisco muralist Juana Alica to Santa Fe painter Bernadette Vigil who studied under Diego Rivera. Other artists include Carmen Herrera, a Cuban artist of great stature who lived in New York City in the mid-1950's; self-taught painter Nora Chapa Mendoza; and installation artist Patricia Rodriguez. In each entry, Henkes writes about the style, influences and works of the artist followed by a summation called “Career Highlights,” in which he provides a brief resume of the artist. The entries are also beautifully illustrated.

I remember reading the diary of a writer who wrote that she liked to have a “book debauchery” evening. She would pour a glass of wine, make a pile of art and photography books around her on the floor, and luxuriate in the sheer heaven of playing with all her books—reading whichever parts struck her fancy, leafing through the pages with childish delight, and stroking the pages as if the magic that created them would flow from her fingertips into her soul.

Latin American Women Artists of the United States is a book you can dip into here and there and be transported. It’s an absolute treasure. Most of the photographs are black and white, and a middle section features exceptional color plates. My favorite images are Dora de Larios’ stoneware sculpture called Innervision (a depiction of an artist’s inward contemplation that unites the spirituality of antiquity with modernity), and Catalina Gonzalez’s Boom Box, punk-inspired geometric shapes pushing aggressively against conventional frames.

Henkes’ prose has been called “choppy” by some, but I disagree; I like his style for its old world, straight-to-the-point authenticity. He discusses how the fight for women’s rights and the feminist movement continues to shape talent and genius and how Latin American women artists seek to unite their two cultures as they weave the sacred, political and personal throughout. Henkes also provides a lot of art history in digestible bites that is intellectually succinct and fascinating. In the book’s introduction, he writes:

“The language of visual art is universal. It is ironic that in order to enter the realm of international art, one must first be recognized in a regional sense. Yet, as a regional artist one is isolated from the world market…it seems essential to first isolate (in order to identify) Latin American art before expecting it to enter the mainstream of American art. The question as to what is ‘American’ in American art continues to go unanswered.”

This is an inspired book and one that offers much joy and magic.

Written by: Cheryl Reeves, March 16th 2009

Rigoberta Menchu and the Story of All Poor Guatemalans

admin — Sun, 06 Jul 2008 12:44:00 +0000

By David Stoll

Westview Press

For those unfamiliar with 1983’s I, Rigoberta Menchu, or the controversy that surrounded the initial publication of David Stoll’s contentious academic countering in 1998, it would be best to revisit the debates that have raged for the last ten years. Rigoberta Menchu, an indigenous Guatemalan woman who won a Nobel Peace Prize for her now twenty-five-year-old testimonio and subsequently found her book added to the multicultural canon in colleges around the world, has drawn sharp criticism from both scholars like Stoll and her own country’s people, who do not believe their stories have been represented by hers.

As Stoll is a white, Western, male academic, his initial deconstruction of her story felt problematic for many. Yet, after conducting nearly 120 interviews with Guatemalan people who refute some of Menchu’s base claims, it becomes hard to remain optimistically objective, even if her story speaks to a wide range of real and existing experiences of oppression and revolution in Latin America and the Global South. In this case, Stoll’s criticisms also feel particularly significant as Menchu’s book has been lauded for its supposed authenticity, rather than as a literary masterpiece.

For the tenth anniversary reprinting of Rigoberta Menchu and the Story of All Poor Guatemalans, Stoll solicited a new foreword by Menchu’s original biographer, Elizabeth Burgos. Estranged from Menchu after Menchu’s dismissal of the book and Burgos in the years following Stoll’s criticism, Burgos does an admirable job of explaining her side of the story while remaining neutral about Stoll’s accusations and findings. Perhaps the best reason for buying this updated version of the book, Burgos’s introduction is an appropriate report of a story within a story—a deeply moving recount of the events leading to her help with I, Rigoberta Menchu and the fallout in her own life following accusations of inaccuracies in the narrative.

Despite appreciating Stoll’s in-depth analysis and research, and the supplementary back-story from Burgos, I caution anyone not already deeply familiar with the Guatemalan people’s revolutionary history or Menchu’s story to find better ways to ease into discussions about the legitimacy of her work. Having read I, Rigoberta Menchu nearly five years ago for the first time, I struggled with the details Stoll calls into question, and at times, I felt only a Guatemalan scholar would be able to keep up despite Stoll’s reasonable, clear explanations, maps, and timelines. The fault of Rigoberta Menchu and the Story of All Poor Guatemalans is not about Stoll or the actual text. It’s about what’s either a personal mental lapse of important details or the way our culture collectively misunderstands indigenous stories that we believe have no weight on our own existence.

A solid academic analysis of a once (and in some circles, still) widely accepted story about Guatemalan history, violence, oppression, and uprising, Stoll’s book is an excellent and necessary wake up call for privileged academics too ready to validate stories of oppression as total truth. Understanding how and why we readily accept the stories of the subaltern is its own interesting debate, and concerns about Menchu’s credibility aside, this book speaks to a host of issues including Western privilege, class bias, academic credibility, and what testimonio and memoir really mean.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, July 6th 2008

NACLA Report on the Americas (Mar/Apr 2007)

admin — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 20:59:00 +0000

By North American Congress on Latin America

Free thinkers must support the independent, alternative publications in this country as a protest against mainstream media’s skewed priorities. Inevitably, news is slanted. With an independent publication, the chance of reading the unvarnished truth is enhanced.

If you wish to embrace diversity and heighten your understanding of our neighbors “South of the border,” read the NACLA Report on the Americas. If you wish to know whether feminism thrives in Latin countries - where machismo is rampant and conservative religious groups oftentimes manipulate governmental officials like puppets - READ this issue.

Be warned, this is not light reading. The articles are stuffed with statistics, historical facts and political jargon. You must think when you read this information. You have to want to read it.

I don’t feel too amiss in telling you about the different chapters inside: Taking Note, Open Forum, Interview, Update, Reviews, ¡YA! Youth Activism and the Report. There are seven separate articles in the Report. While I read them, I thought radical, feminist philosopher Mary Daly’s thesis on the idea of not banging your head against the establishment “wall” and, instead, creating your own empire. If you fight the system, you’re giving your energy to the system, and they will use you. Nicaragua’s Daniel Ortega’s betrayal of his feminist compañeras, the women who fought with him to overthrow the former regime, is an example of Daly’s point.

I was also reminded that history repeats itself. The women in the U.S. who fought for our right to vote at the beginning of the 20th century met with violent resistance. We’ve come a long way, baby, indeed; yet, why is the resistance still so belligerent at times? In South America, they actually have a Christian Democratic Party. The Left is quite conservative. Women are involved in the reforms, yet the reforms are not enough, and not all women embrace the proposed feminist changes.

At the same time, Chile has a woman president, Michelle Bachelet, who is an agnostic! Considering Chile’s past, and the infamous bloody military regime, this is an astounding triumph! It makes me wonder. Will the U.S. ever catch up?

The writing in these columns is very clear. The interview with Ruben Martinez, a “trenchant writer on immigration and the migrant experience,” was especially interesting. Women in this country, particularly feminists, should read this report. Our sisters to the South are in a fierce struggle for their rights.

Written by: Patricia Ethelwyn Lang, April 19th 2007