Although we had first learned of Pura Belpre several years ago, it is only recently did we develop an interest in her work collecting and disseminating Puerto Rican folklore for children. What is most intriguing about her work is the inclusion of multiple stories from or about the indigenous past of Borinquen. Almost half of Once in Puerto Rico consists of stories about the Taino past of the island or the early Spanish conquest and settlement of the island. Some of the tales must certainly postdate the Spanish arrival. For example, the tale of Guani involves an Indian boy who plays a flute to restore his flock of goats. With the help of Yukiyu, Guani saves his goats from a spell cast by an evil toad. This tale refers to a cemi, magic, and an animal that did not exist on the island of Puerto Rico until the Spanish introduced it to the Caribbean.
Perhaps this tale does reflect a far earlier legend or tradition that was "updated" during the colonial period with animals of Old World origin? Other tales about the Indian past, such as that of Milomaki and "The Legend of the Royal Palm," appears to be a legend explaining the singing of a tall palm tree when the wind blows through its branches. This tale, like the "Legend of the Hummingbird" endeavors to explain a natural phenomenon and relies on references to magical or supernatural events transforming people into plants, animals, or things. The tale of Amapola and the colibri, however, has a more tragic romance feel since the the former is not allowed to have a relationship with a Carib male, eventually causing both to transform into a flower and a bird.
Other tales of the Indian past, like that of Iviahoca, unambiguously allude to events associated with the conquistadors of the island and the cacique Mabodamoca. In the case of this last story, the wife of a powerful cacique stands up to Becerrillo and manages to impress Ponce de Leon and Diego de Salazar. Through doing so, she frees herself and her son from the Spanish. The last tale with an Indian character, about Yuisa and Pedro Mexias uses the marriage of a mulatto and a cacica as a symbol for the Puerto Rican people. The two meet, fall in love, and, despite having to relinquish her power as cacica, Yuisa chooses to marry Pedro Mexias. Intriguingly, a council of bohiques is responsible for forcing Yuisa to abdicate her political office. Unfortunately, Carib raids eventually target the village and the two lovers die fighting to defend the island. The tale extolls the two for dying to defend the island and inspiring the governor of the island to attack the Caribs at Vieques. This is lovely and all, but seems to be a justification of the Spanish colony. Perhaps these stories reflect the morally ambivalent feelings of Puerto Rican society about its colonial origins. Moreover, some of these tales were passed on or inherited by others in colonial society who may have changed the tenor to fit their own interests. Nonetheless, it is interesting to note the frequent allusions to caves, cemis, and aspects of belief that mirror those of the Taino cosmovision.
This above video, directed by Leonard Forest in 1957, not 1953, depicts numerous aspects of Haitian social, economic, and cultural life worthy of our attention. It also depicts how the Haitian government and economic elites in Haiti wanted their country to be represented in Canada. For instance, the film touches upon Canadian involvement in mining, Haiti's coffee and sisal exports there, Francophone ties with Quebec, and Haiti's tourist sector. Believe it or not, at the time, Haiti was one of the tourist hotspots in the Caribbean, and the film promotes it through video footage of nightclubs, mention of new hotels, and Haiti's cultural displays (mostly music). A French version was also released,Bonjou' soleil which features Jean Price-Mars.
Unsurprisingly, then, the film focuses on folklore, dance, and music while also promoting an image of Haitian industrial development, dams, economic diversification, and tourism. Intriguingly, although presenting Haiti as Francophone in some respects, it also acknowledges the Creole-speaking majority and literary developments in the language, particularly a segment of a scene from a play of Morisseau-Leroy. The folkloric dancers must have been from some of the formally trained troupes in Port-au-Prince, but, sadly, none are identified. However, for those who have read subsequent studies of the period, this short-lived belle époque of Haitian culture and economy was built on glass, and crashed spectacularly with the fall of Magloire and the rise of Duvalier. The cultural nationalism plus modernization favored by the likes of Price-Mars and others failed.
While perusing old issues of Conjonction for articles on specific topics in Haitian literature and history, I came across the above image in an issue dedicated to Jean Price-Mars. Unfortunately, Jacques Roumain, a key figure in the Haitian ethnological movement's left, is not included, but it's fascinating to see some of the major figures involved with it together. One also sees how an interest in folklore and culture could align with any political orientation, as the examples of Price-Mars, Duvalier, and Roumain demonstrates. However, since Haitian anthropology has been a tool to combat racial inequality since the 19th century, a further examination of its impact on Haitian socialists, nationalists, and Duvalierists is necessary. Perhaps this will be the topic for a future post...
The Singing Turtle and Other Tales from Haiti is the first work of the Marcelin brothers I have read so far. In some ways it is more poetic and 'authentic' than the other collection of Haitian folk tales I read in high school, The Magic Orange Tree and Other Haitian Folk Tales. And the Marcelin brothers have some interesting speculation on possible 'Islamic' origins or influences in Haitian folklore, a topic worthy of additional research beyond the Sylviane Diouf's assertions. Overall, the text is beautifully translated by Eva Thoby-Marcelin, features numerous examples of talking animals, princes and princesses, and magic, the usual archetypes seen in folklore. The other interesting aspect of this collection is possible French or European influences on Haitian oral traditions, which should be obvious, but are seemingly more pronounced in this collection (perhaps that reflects the Marcelin brothers and their class position in Haitian society). Regardless, the stories are magical, endearing, hint at Vodou, and make fun of the entrenched hierarchy of class.
Reading Averill's A Day For the Hunter, A Day For the Prey was both informative, interesting, entertaining, and useful for Haitian music enthusiasts. As a novice to the field of Caribbean music and much ethnomusicology, it was an excellent introduction to the complex subject of 20th century Haitian music as it pertains to history and social relations. The only notable, recurring flaw was the plethora of typos, and perhaps how little the book has to say about pre-20th century Haitian music (despite a good introduction to the subject, the book does not delve deeper into the origins of Haitian meringue or other genres as much as I would like. In Averill's defense, however, that was not the purpose of his book, so those seeking an exhaustive text on the subject of the entirety of Haitian music should supplement this text with Largey's work on Haitian mizik savant or salon/art music, and perhaps read some of Creolizing The Contradance in the Caribbean.
The ultimate strength of Averill's book is to demonstrate how central music, particularly popular music, was in social conflict, class relations, and the production of ideological and political trends in Haitian history, from the early 20th century's period of US Occupation to the rise and fall(s) of Aristide. Various intellectual trends can be clearly revealed to be part of broader ideological shifts in Haitian consciousness, such as indigenism, negritude/noirisme, Duvalierism, populist democratic movements, and militarism. Indeed, from the colonial era to the 21st century, Haitian music has been central in military institutions (the fanfa of the Haitian military helped spread creolized forms of the European contredanse that later birthed the Haitian meringue, as well as shape popular musical practices, such as the ochan and koudjay in Haitian society). In addition, the military, as well as elites, have endeavored to use music to legitimize their rule or at the very least, draw crowds, such as in the koudjay, where elites paid musicians to play in public spaces for them.
Another example of how essential music is to Haitian society would lay in Carnival, a special time where the urban poor and middle-classes could seize the streets, issue a pwen against elites, celebrate themselves, and shape decisions made political and military circles (For instance, Baby Doc chose to leave Haiti in 1986 before Carnival, where more bloodshed would have likely occurred as the anti-Duvalierists would have seized the street, or how Carnival allowed a space for critiques of Baby Doc's wife, and thereby, undermine his regime and legitimacy). The importance of music in Afro-derived Haitian practices, such as Vodou and rara, also shaped Haitian political and intellectual discourse as the indigenist and noirist schools espoused Vodou and Haitian peasant forms as a way of celebrating a Haitian identity and/or championing 'black power,' a product of the US Occupation's racism, the Haitian left (represented by writers and activists, such as Jacques Roumain), the writings of Jean-Price Mars, Haitian class/color dynamics. This of course, aided in the folkloric movement where groups like Jazz des Jeunes (which became a favored band to represent Haiti identity abroad, as well as the most talked about group in Haiti for some time in the 1940s and 1950s, before the rise kompa) and singers such as Candio and Lumane Casimir became famous during and after the US Occupation's end.
The use of Haitian Vodou and rara would also shape the democratization movement in the 1970s thru the 1980s, as rara influenced the mizik raisin movement and artists and cultural troupes, including Boukman Eksperyans, the twoubadou tradition (itself a product of Cuban son influences brought back by migrant workers) and singers like Manno Charlemagne incorporating Vodou allusions in their songs while challenging Baby Doc and the military, and last but certainly not least, the pro-Lavalas movement. The name was taken from a song by a peasant organization, and Aristide himself was a guitarist and songwriter who used Vodou references that appealed to the Catholic and Vodou majority of Haiti's poor. By the way, one must note how Vodou and peasant cultural practices were central to the two nationalist movements in Haiti, forming a Haitian national identity and resistance to the US and foreign imperialism, and sustaining the democratic wave from the 1980s to the present.
One thing I particularly enjoyed was learning about how close kompa was to the rise of Papa Doc and that of his successor, Baby Doc. Early kompa, such as Nemours Jean-Baptiste and Webert Sicot, for instance, also recorded an ochan (or dedicated Carnival pieces) to Duvalier, celebrating his early regime, thereby legitimizing him with their immense appeal as commercial musicians (here are some examples, from Jean-Baptiste). Since this is the first I have read of how kompa's emergence in the second half of the 1950s after the Vodou-jazz phase of artists such as the orchestra of Issa El Saieh or Jazz des Jeunes, kompa direct, 'created' by Nemours Jean-Baptiste and the first hugely commercial music of Haiti (which reached the countryside through the proliferation of radio technology and national radio stations, the very same stations that had previously celebrated the music of Jazz des Jeunes), kompa direct did emerge in the context of the fall of Magloire and the rise of Duvalier, with mostly middle-class musicians such as Jean-Baptiste being a core part of the expansion. Similarly, the mini-jazz phase of kompa music celebrated middle-class lifestyles, exemplifying how the rise of Duvalier was tied to (at least some) middle-class support since the middle-classes and other non-elite actors were allowed some direct participation in the kleptocracy. Some kompa bands would retain their stain of Duvalierism long after breaking away from participating in the pro-Duvalier Carnival celebrations, or receiving money (Bossa Combo being one example of a band with Baby Doc's patronage).
Anyway, I'll stop rambling about the many positives of this book and how insightful of an analysis it is. In the end, the book is a testament to the importance of music as a product and influence in history, whether on the side of elites or the popular struggles. In addition, Averill goes to greath lengths to illustrate how important cultural creolization, the diaspora, and international influences were/are in Haiti, from Cuban son and mambo to Dominican merengue and US hip-hop. Furthermore, there are numerous excerpts from songs that buttress Averill's arguments, and shed light on the Sicot-Jean-Baptiste rivalry, and the problems of commercial music in Haiti (ranging from lack of studios and the necessary technology and funds in Haiti, the pattern of musicians blowing all their money away quickly, musicians only getting paid for recording in the studio and getting no royalties, numerous cases of song theft, etc.). In short, run to read this book for an informative read on the relationship between music and power in a Caribbean context.
