Essential Afro-Latino/ Caribbean Current Events

[Yehuda]

In Loiza, the Afro-Boricua Population Won’t Let a Hurricane Wipe Out Their Traditions

By Eli Jacobs-Fantauzzi

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Much like the rest of the island, Loíza – a northeastern coastal town in Puerto Rico – is still recovering from the devastating impact of Hurricane María and the (now widely reported) mismanaged and inept response by government officials. Still, despite the challenges that remain 10 months later, on July 20, in a demonstration of resilience and fortitude, grounded in culture and tradition that is uniquely Puerto Rican, the community came together to celebrate the annual Fiesta de Santiago Apóstol.

The weeklong celebration, one of the most vibrant and culturally significant on the island, attracted a crowd as diverse and colorful as the costumes and traditional garb worn by bomba dancers, young and old, who performed for smiling and enthusiastic crowds. Thousands gathered to watch caravans of men on horseback; reggaetoneros waving from their Jeeps; teenagers dancing joyfully to the latest Latin trap hit; and others, parading proudly in their traditional vejigante masks, all while children on bicycles and onlookers smiled in awe.

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

With more than half of Loíza’s 29,000 inhabitants self-identifying as Black on the most recent census, the town has the largest percentage of Afro-Boricuas on the island. It’s no wonder such a celebration would highlight and uplift the African heritage of the people. African cloth, dashikis, afros, and the colors red, gold and green (the colors of Loíza’s flag) were worn with reverence.

Bomba, a distinctly Puerto Rican style of music dating back hundreds of years, with origins as a tool of rebellion against slave owners, is still alive and thriving because of communities like Loíza. Dancers of all ages performed proudly throughout the festivities, with Afro-Boricua groups from the town – such as the celebrated traditional bomba group Majestad Negra and the popular bomba fusion group La Tribu de Abrante – taking the plaza stage to the delight of thousands of onlookers.

After experiencing so much loss, it’s evident that the people of Loíza won’t allow colonialism or a hurricane to wipe out their customs and traditions. I offer these photos as a testament to the beauty of Loíza and in gratitude for holding our culture with so much love and pride.

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

In Loiza, the Afro-Boricua Population Won’t Let a Hurricane Wipe Out Their Traditions

 

[Yehuda]

.

Cont.

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

Photo by Eli Jacobs Fantauzzi for Remezcla

 

[Yehuda]

How IBGE intends to include quilombolas in the 2020 census

Murilo Roncolato | 08/02/2018 | 17h23

After approving the inclusion of a question about quilombola identity in 2016, census takers began testing before the demographic census

A CHILD IN QUILOMBO SÃO JOSÉ, IN THE CITY OF VALENÇA, RIO DE JANEIRO.

Do you consider yourself quilombola? If everything goes as planned by IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics), this question will be made in 2020 to the population located in quilombola territories previously mapped by the government agency.

This is a novelty to be incorporated into the production of the next demographic census. To this day, among the dozens of traditional peoples and communities living in Brazil, only the indigenous people are duly registered in IBGE statistics — since they were included in the questionnaire in 1991.

The addition of a specific question to quilombolas has been a topic discussed internally by IBGE for a long time, but the positive wave only came in 2016. Since then, the agency has been evaluating with quilombola representatives and specialists the best way to do this.

A question of identity

In 1988, the Federal Constitution made it the State's obligation to guarantee to the "remnants of quilombo communities who are occupying their lands" the definitive right to their ownership. In 2003, a decree (nº 4.887/2003) regulated the issue, determining that the decision on whether the land is in fact a remnant of a quilombo or not is based on the principle of self-definition.

Thus, in order to obtain regularization, the quilombola community must identify itself as such and obtain a self-recognition certificate by FCP (Palmares Cultural Foundation) an entity linked to the Ministry of Culture, and then apply for the land title at Incra (National Institute for Colonization and Agrarian Reform).

According to FCP, there are more than 3 thousand quilombola communities recognized in the country. Out of these, Incra granted land titles to 206 (or about 7% of all the land).

Official figures, however, show discrepancies. A fact that weighs in favor of who demands the reformulation of questions of the 2020 Census by the inclusion of the quilombola population.

"There are several numbers. Some mention 3 thousand communities, some mention 8 thousand, 16 million quilombolas", said Erivaldo Oliveira da Silva, president of FCP, in a meeting with IBGE in early July. "We want to know about their economic vocation, their cultural manifestations. This is of much concern to us."

At the same meeting, UNFPA (United Nations Population Fund)'s Population and Development officer Vinicius do Prado Monteiro spoke about the importance of recording such data.

"Having information on traditional peoples, including quilombolas, is fundamental for the development of public policies and services focused on this population", he said. "It means, first of all, to give visibility to this population and collect specific data that will help to construct indicators and know their demands."

Quilombolas on the map

IBGE's proposal is that the same methodology used initially for indigenous peoples be applied in the quilombola census. Because this is the first edition of the question in the census, it will not be asked to the entire Brazilian population, but only to individuals located in:

• Quilombola territories: places registered by FCP or already titled by Incra
• Quilombola groups: places where it is known by IBGE there are at least 15 self-declared quilombolas
• Areas of quilombola statistical interest: areas defined by IBGE for purely statistical purposes in which there is, for a number of reasons, evidence that there may be quilombola individuals in the location

This format, as explained by Marta Antunes, who works on the demographic census' technical management and is the leader of IBGE's working group on traditional peoples and communities, is still being developed.

"This is still under negotiation with Conaq (National Coordination of Quilombos). It was the only point of disagreement", said the anthropologist to Nexo, referring to the fact that the entity that represents quilombolas nationally would like the question to be open to all interviewees, so as not to leave out any quilombola that leaves far from the mapped areas.

"They asked us to estimate how much the percentage error would be in the case of quilombolas who migrated. In Rio de Janeiro we estimate something around 5%, which is reasonable", said Antunes. She explains that, in IBGE's assessment, "opening" a specific question such as that of quilombolas to the entire population may end up not paying off.

"It might stop my questionnaire, because people might not understand it and then the census taker will have to explain it all over again. This entails cost, time, etc", she says. "Our proposal is for it to really be spatial sampling in this first census."

Testing stage

In 2017, IBGE made a first test interviewing quilombola communities in the cities of Araruama, Armação dos Búzios and Cabo Frio, all in the state of Rio de Janeiro. The goal was to identify the question most well-received by the interviewees. Three questions were tested:

• Are you a quilombola?
• According to your customs, traditions and beliefs do you consider yourself quilombola?
• Do you consider yourself quilombola?

The first one, says Marta Antunes, left the interviewees worried, because it suggests an officially recognized identity. "Many said they were, but they did not have a title or a document to prove it", she said. The second one caused data distortion in quilombola lands where part of the population has converted to Evangelicalism. In this test the percentage reached 10%.

This way the last question ended up winning. "It was the one that captured the highest percentage of quilombolas in these communities and it also encouraged people to assert themselves positively, saying things like: "Yes, I do. My parents were, my people has always lived here.", said Antunes.

The work of a parallel census made for the production of the Agricultural Census, which had its first data come out at the end of July, is also collaborating indirectly in the incorporation of quilombolas in the next demographic census.

The census takers are using IBGE's GPS system to signal areas where respondents refer to themselves as quilombolas, contributing to the definition of the so-called "areas of quilombola statistical interest". Additionally, it is possible to get an insight into the production done on these lands.

"We can give the total number of agricultural production, we can say how many establishments are collective or individual, what is the main product being grown and the like", said Antunes.

As for the demographic census, there are still more tests ahead. The next one will be done between August and September 2018 and will cover 12 Federative Units. "We are going to ask the defined question and still ask about the number of people who migrated so we can have a broader idea of the percentage error and re-discuss the issue with Conaq", said the anthropologist.

From this test, technicians will have a better idea of whether the use of the term "quilombola" is suitable for all regions.

"The terms 'quilombola' and 'indigenous' are colonizer terms, but they have been appropriated. But we know that in Pará and Maranhão, for example, it is more common to hear about 'land of black people' or 'land of saints' than quilombola", she explains. The information obtained in this process may be part of the manual used by census takers in these regions.

Results

In 2019, IBGE will conduct a pilot test and then a "general test" sending census takers to a quilombola territory and going through the entire questionnaire. If all goes well, the question will be definitively part of the questionnaire and will begin to be made from August 2020, when the work for the demographic census of that year begins properly.

The first data, such as the population of the municipalities, is expected to be published in the middle of 2021. But the results on traditional peoples and communities should be only released in 2022.

Opening to other traditionalities

According to IBGE, the methodology developed for the incorporation of the quilombola population can serve as a reference for the entry of other traditional groups into future censuses.

Through a 2016 decree, the government began to recognize, define specific public policies for them and created a national council that accommodates 26 traditional peoples and communities.

They are groups that identify in an unique way due to ethnicity (Gypsies, Pomeranians, Morroquianos), religion (communities of African matrix), territory (river bank communities, islanders, Caatinga communities) or production activities (mangaba pickers, andiroba planters, babassu coconut shellers).

The goal is to use the census question about address and territory to map areas that are also of statistical interest to these groups and gather demographic information about them.

"We saw this in the Agricultural Census. In the moment people tell you their address, they might identify that place as a traditional community. This is very powerful because we are going to ask this question in every household in the country", says Antunes. "So even if your neighbor might not say that location is a traditional community, you might say it. And that is enough for us to investigate the possibility."

How IBGE intends to include quilombolas in the 2020 census

 

[Bawon Samedi]

How IBGE intends to include quilombolas in the 2020 census

Murilo Roncolato | 08/02/2018 | 17h23

After approving the inclusion of a question about quilombola identity in 2016, census takers began testing before the demographic census

A CHILD IN QUILOMBO SÃO JOSÉ, IN THE CITY OF VALENÇA, RIO DE JANEIRO.

Do you consider yourself quilombola? If everything goes as planned by IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics), this question will be made in 2020 to the population located in quilombola territories previously mapped by the government agency.

This is a novelty to be incorporated into the production of the next demographic census. To this day, among the dozens of traditional peoples and communities living in Brazil, only the indigenous people are duly registered in IBGE statistics — since they were included in the questionnaire in 1991.

The addition of a specific question to quilombolas has been a topic discussed internally by IBGE for a long time, but the positive wave only came in 2016. Since then, the agency has been evaluating with quilombola representatives and specialists the best way to do this.

A question of identity

In 1988, the Federal Constitution made it the State's obligation to guarantee to the "remnants of quilombo communities who are occupying their lands" the definitive right to their ownership. In 2003, a decree (nº 4.887/2003) regulated the issue, determining that the decision on whether the land is in fact a remnant of a quilombo or not is based on the principle of self-definition.

Thus, in order to obtain regularization, the quilombola community must identify itself as such and obtain a self-recognition certificate by FCP (Palmares Cultural Foundation) an entity linked to the Ministry of Culture, and then apply for the land title to Incra (National Institute for Colonization and Agrarian Reform).

According to FCP, there are more than 3 thousand quilombola communities recognized in the country. Out of these, Incra granted land titles to 206 (or about 7% of all the land).

Official figures, however, show discrepancies. A fact that weighs in favor of who demands the reformulation of questions of the 2020 Census by the inclusion of the quilombola population.

"There are several numbers. Some mention 3 thousand communities, some mention 8 thousand, 16 million quilombolas", said Erivaldo Oliveira da Silva, president of FCP, in a meeting with IBGE in early July. "We want to know about their economic vocation, their cultural manifestations. This is of much concern to us."

At the same meeting, UNFPA (United Nations Population Fund)'s Population and Development officer Vinicius do Prado Monteiro spoke about the importance of recording such data.

"Having information on traditional peoples, including quilombolas, is fundamental for the development of public policies and services focused on this population", he said. "It means, first of all, to give visibility to this population and collect specific data that will help to construct indicators and know their demands."

Quilombolas on the map

IBGE's proposal is that the same methodology used initially for indigenous peoples be applied in the quilombola census. Because this is the first edition of the question in the census, it will not be asked to the entire Brazilian population, but only to individuals located in:

• Quilombola territories: places registered by FCP or already titled by Incra
• Quilombola groups: places where it is known by IBGE, there are at least 15 self-declared quilombolas
• Areas of quilombola statistical interest: areas defined by IBGE for purely statistical purposes in which there is, for a number of reasons, evidence that there may be quilombola individuals in the location

This format, as explained by Marta Antunes, who works on the demographic census' technical management and is the leader of IBGE's working group on traditional peoples and communities, is still being developed.

"This is still under negotiation with Conaq (National Coordination of Quilombos). It was the only point of disagreement", said the anthropologist to Nexo, referring to the fact that the entity that represents quilombolas nationally would like the question to be open to all interviewees, so as not to leave out any quilombola that leaves far from the mapped areas.

"They asked us to estimate how much the margin of error would be in the case of quilombolas who migrated. In Rio de Janeiro we estimate something around 5%, which is reasonable", said Antunes. She explains that, in IBGE's assessment, "opening" a specific question such as that of quilombolas to the entire population may end up not paying off.

"It might stop my questionnaire, because people might not understand it and then the census taker will have to explain it all over again. This entails cost, time, etc", she says. "Our proposal is for it to really be spatial sampling in this first census."

Testing stage

In 2017, IBGE made a first test interviewing quilombola communities in the cities of Araruama, Armação dos Búzios and Cabo Frio, all in the state of Rio de Janeiro. The goal was to identify the question most well-received by the interviewees. Three questions were tested:

• Are you a quilombola?
• According to your customs, traditions and beliefs do you consider yourself quilombola?
• Do you consider yourself quilombola?

The first one, says Marta Antunes, left the interviewees worried, because it suggests an officially recognized identity. "Many said they were, but they did not have a title or a document to prove it", she said. The second one caused data distortion in quilombola lands where part of the population has converted to Evangelicalism. In this test the percentage reached 10%.

This way the last question ended up winning. "It was the one that captured the highest percentage of quilombolas in these communities and it also encouraged people to assert themselves positively, saying things like: "Yes, I do. My parents were, my people has always lived here.", said Antunes.

The work of a parallel census made for the production of the Agricultural Census, which had its first data come out at the end of July, is also collaborating indirectly in the incorporation of quilombolas in the next demographic census.

The census takers are using IBGE's GPS system to signal areas where respondents refer to themselves as quilombolas, contributing to the definition of the so-called "areas of quilombola statistical interest". Additionally, it is possible to get an insight into the production done on these lands.

"We can give the total number of agricultural production, we can say how many establishments are collective or individual, what is the main product being grown and the like", said Antunes.

As for the demographic census, there are still more tests ahead. The next one will be done between August and September 2018 and will cover 12 Federative Units. "We are going to ask the defined question and still ask about the number of people who migrated so we can have a broader idea of the percentage error and re-discuss the issue with Conaq", said the anthropologist.

From this test, technicians will have a better idea of whether the use of the term "quilombola" is suitable for all regions.

"The terms 'quilombola' and 'indigenous' are colonizer terms, but they have been appropriated. But we know that in Pará and Maranhão, for example, it is more common to hear about 'land of black people' or 'land of saints' than quilombola", she explains. The information obtained in this process may be part of the manual used by census takers in these regions.

Results

In 2019, IBGE will conduct a pilot test and then a "general test" sending census takers to a quilombola territory and going through the entire questionnaire. If all goes well, the question will be definitively part of the questionnaire and will begin to be made from August 2020, when the work for the demographic census of that year begins properly.

The first data, such as the population of the municipalities, is expected to be published in the middle of 2021. But the results on traditional peoples and communities should be only released in 2022.

Opening to other traditionalities

According to IBGE, the methodology developed for the incorporation of the quilombola population can serve as a reference for the entry of other traditional groups into future censuses.

Through a 2016 decree, the government began to recognize, define specific public policies for them and created a national council that accommodates 26 traditional peoples and communities.

They are groups that identify in an unique way due to ethnicity (Gypsies, Pomeranians, Morroquianos), religion (communities of African matrix), territory (river bank communities, islanders, Caatinga communities) or production activities (mangaba pickers, andiroba planters, babassu coconut shellers).

The goal is to use the census question about address and territory to map areas that are also of statistical interest to these groups and gather demographic information about them.

"We saw this in the Agricultural Census. In the moment people tell you their address, they might identify that place as a traditional community. This is very powerful because we are going to ask this question in every household in the country", says Antunes. "So even if your neighbor might not say that location is a traditional community, you might say it. And that is enough for us to investigate the possibility."

How IBGE intends to include quilombolas in the 2020 census

So these ppl were never included in the census?

 

[Yehuda]

So these ppl were never included in the census?

They were but it was disingenuous, like African immigrants and D.O.S. being treated as the same group.

 

[Bawon Samedi]

They were but it was disingenuous, like African immigrants and D.O.S. being treated as the same group.

Ah I see.

 

[Yehuda]

Honduras: Indigenous Groups Reject New Consultation Law

The Assembly of Indigenous Peoples of Honduras, in Tegucigalpa, August 16, 2018. | Photo: Twitter: @ofraneh

Published 17 August 2018

The bill gives the government the right to ignore the outcome of local consultations for extractive projects in Indigenous territories.

Hundreds of Indigenous Maya Chorti, Lenca, Pech, Miskito, Tolupan and Garifuna in Honduras marched from south Tegucigalpa to the National Congress to protest a new law that would reduce their right to informed consultation to a mere formality.

RELATED: Indigenous Territory: Between Consultations & Conservationists

The government says the new law aims to comply with the International Labor Organization's Convention 169 (C169) on Indigenous rights, which forces Nation-States to consult Indigenous people before authorizing any project in their territories, informing them of both risks and benefits.

Indigenous organizations, however, claim the law is an attempt to transform legitimate consultations into mere formalities, stripping the people of their power over their own territories.

The bill was developed in cooperation with jurist Ivan Lanegra, who helped draft a similar law in Peru. Its second article grants the Honduran government the right to ignore the outcome of any consultation and continue with the project, in violation of C169: one of the biggest areas of contention.

The general coordinator of the Black Fraternal Organization of Honduras (Ofraneh), the Indigenous Garifuna Miriam Miranda, explained the 'Freely Informed Previous Consultation Law' aims to crystallize the "expropiation and surrender of the territories and nature's common resources to big business people."



"Indigenous peoples of Honduras protest in front of the Congress against the proposed Free and Informed Previous Consultation Law, promoted by the government, rejecting it because it wasn't discussed with the Indigenous peoples and grant the government the final word about extractive projects."

"Just now there are communities in resistance, people that are being criminalized," for defending their territories from extractive industry, said Miranda.

A representative of one of the organizations at the march read a collective statement, pledging Indigenous people will continue defending their self-determination and sovereignty, because they have occupied their territories since the Republic of Honduras was founded.

"Wherever your death projects go they will find our resistance inspired by our sisters, like Berta Caceres, who walk with us in the struggles," continued the statement.

Caceres, an Indigenous Lenca environmental activist, was murdered on March 2016 due to her resistance to a hydroelectrical plant.

The Assembly of Indigenous Peoples of Honduras

The day before the march, Indigenous groups united for the 'Assembly of Indigenous Peoples of Honduras' and concluded the bill violates Indigenous rights, aiming to eliminate Indigenous communities as obstacles to large-scale projects on their territories.

"They want to vanish us, the Indigenous peoples, from Earth because we're an obstacle," Miranda told the opening ceremony. "Because the last resources, the last common goods of nature, are in our territories. We're an obstacle to them, and that law they want to pass is only to get rid of us."

The law was developed only in Spanish, excluding the Indigenous languages of Honduras. According to a representative of the Miskito people, Marlen Jackson, this represents another form of discrimination against them.

The Honduran government organized a technical workshop for the development of the new law in 2015, but only government institutions took part, with most Indigenous organizations excluded.

Rosario Garcia Rodas, coordinator of the Lenca People discussion board, said they left the dialogue because their voices were being ignored.



"The Consultation Law was presented to the Honduras' Congress by the Honduran Private Enterprise Council. With it, Indigenous territories would be submitted without a binding consultation with the communities."

Chorti community leader Danilo Espino denied the government's claim that it selectes Indigenous representatives, because communities in fact choose their own representatives.

The new law "doesn't respect the Convention 169... that law is a lie and a falsehood," said Consuelo Soto, of the Tolupan people. "We, the Indigenous peoples, also have ancestral landrights that have been violated, and they give the lands to the big landlords."

At the end of the assembly, the peoples issued a collective statement rejecting the "racist law" because it obeys the logic of a dictatorship that aims to destroy Indigenous peoples, their knowledge, languages and dignity.

"The Indigenous peoples are not willing to dialogue and negotiate over our territories. For us, the land is not a means of life; for us, territories mean community and collective life," reads the statement.

The UN, through its Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Victoria Tauli-Corpuz, has called for the government to modify the law in order to guarantee Indigenous peoples their right to a free and informed consultation, in adherence with international law, but the recommendations have so far been ignored.

Honduras: Indigenous Groups Reject New Consultation Law

 

[Yehuda]

The rise of black people in Brazil vs. the youth genocide

By Helio Santos | 08/19/2018

"Almost 500,000 self-declared pretos and pardos have joined the A and B social classes in 2017". This sound bite, published on August 13 by the Folha de S. Paulo newspaper, started a cover story which considered such growth to be surprising at a time of economic downturn. In fact, at first sight it draws attention, because in that year close to 800,000 people were downgraded from their social strata as a result of one of the worst economic crises Brazil has suffered. And there is more: the phenomenon was the only positive one among all income classes. In other words, this economic empowerment of black men and women goes against flesh and blood Brazil's (as I call the real country in this page) current.

On the other hand, in another direction, 17 days before (July 28) the same newspaper had another headline just as impressive as the one about black people's social climbing. The Civil Police of São Paulo discovered a plan by PCC — the Primeiro Comando da Capital — to recruit approximately a thousand new members per month. The criminal organization's campaign goes by the name "adopt a brother". Considering the reality of Brazilian peripheries, crowded with "Nem-Nem" youth — those who do not study and do not work (nem estudam nem trabalham), PCC's plan of recruting 12 thousand new members per year can be considered modest. According to the World Bank there are approximately 11 million people aged 15–29 who rarely finish high school. PCC's goal — 12 thousand recruits per year — is close to 0.1% of the amount of "Nem-Nem" estimated by the Bank. It goes without saying who the majority of the recruits are, candidates to dying before turning 30 years old. They are youth coming from what I call "at-risk families" — poor, black, from the periphery and usually headed by a woman.

This is not acknowledged, but the rise to the A and B social classes is attributable largely to the affirmative action policies (Racial Quotas) so criticized in recent years. In 1997, the group I coordinated in the Ministry of Justice held the first government meeting to discuss these policies. The meeting took place in the city of Vitória, Espírito Santo and counted with specialists from IPEA (Institute of Applied Economic Research), Itamaraty (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), the Ministry of Justice and Education, among others. Several scenarios were drawn: I always maintained that affirmative action would bring this social climbing and that at the same time a wave of a more visible and less abashed racism would take place. This is precisely what happens today in Brazilian life, 20 years later. It is not possible in this short text to evaluate the variables that made me project this antagonistic scenario. What seems to be most important to highlight here is the lack of public policies for a vulnerable group greater than the populations of Paraguay and Uruguay combined.

New Affirmative Action Policies

Today, the monthly maintenance of an inmate is around 2,400 reais. On the other hand the annual cost of a high school student is 2,200 reais. In other words: the annual cost of an inmate is equivalent to the amount invested in 13 high school students where the "Nem-Nem" tragedy takes shape. There is no investment in the youth, because it is preferable to incarcerate them later. Drug trafficking offers a real job "opportunity" with disastrous consequences for at-risk families.

The policies for the hope collapse of the youth should focus on the creation of a new school that provides contemporary competencies, full-time study and scholarships for the retention of impoverished youth in the school environment. Simultaneously, full-time supportive policies for at-risk families are needed, what should not be confused with the Bolsa Família program.

#DoNotVoteForTheEnemy

I just saw (August 8) the presidential debate on Rede TV. None of the candidates have an effective proposal for the bloodletting that claims the lives of 63 young black people per day. Which party — which candidate — has a runway safety area to revert this situation? In the recent past, many were quiet about the violent attack suffered by racial quotas in the public university system — the most efficient public policy to reduce inequality in the country. Today, while racial quotas draw on talent that was once relegated, at the other end homicides take 23 thousand lives per year.

Who projects the programs of the presidential candidates are the economists. These sinister creatures have never tried to calculate the opportunity cost the country pays for killing off talent; which should be their obligation. The reversal of this genocide requires statesmen; not technocrats who do not think the real country through. It seems we are on a desert whose aridity we are going to have to endure.

The black vote must work. I call a "disvote" the act of boycotting presidential, state and senate candidates who do not have a specific agenda for the majority of the population. This is the moment to organize this vote — the cheapest of the electoral market, as Jânio Quadros acknowledged more than 50 years ago. It makes no sense to empower those who once elected operate with special care against your rights.

The rise of black people in Brazil vs. the youth genocide

 

[Bawon Samedi]

The rise of black people in Brazil vs. the youth genocide

By Helio Santos | 08/19/2018

"Almost 500,000 self-declared pretos and pardos have joined the A and B social classes in 2017". This sound bite, published on August 13 by the Folha de S. Paulo newspaper, started a cover story which considered such growth to be surprising at a time of economic downturn. In fact, at first sight it draws attention, because in that year close to 800,000 people were downgraded from their social strata as a result of one of the worst economic crises Brazil has suffered. And there is more: the phenomenon was the only positive one among all income classes. In other words, this economic empowerment of black men and women goes against flesh and blood Brazil's (as I call the real country in this page) current.

On the other hand, in another direction, 17 days before (July 28) the same newspaper had another headline just as impressive as the one about black people's social climbing. The Civil Police of São Paulo discovered a plan by PCC — the Primeiro Comando da Capital — to recruit approximately a thousand new members per month. The criminal organization's campaign goes by the name "adopt a brother". Considering the reality of Brazilian peripheries, crowded with "Nem-Nem" youth — those who do not study and do not work (nem estudam nem trabalham), PCC's plan of recruting 12 thousand new members per year can be considered modest. According to the World Bank there are approximately 11 million people aged 15–29 who rarely finish high school. PCC's goal — 12 thousand recruits per year — is close to 0.1% of the amount of "Nem-Nem" estimated by the Bank. It goes without saying who the majority of the recruits are, candidates to dying before turning 30 years old. They are youth coming from what I call "at-risk families" — poor, black, from the periphery and usually headed by a woman.

This is not acknowledged, but the rise to the A and B social classes is attributable largely to the affirmative action policies (Racial Quotas) so criticized in recent years. In 1997, the group I coordinated in the Ministry of Justice held the first government meeting to discuss these policies. The meeting took place in the city of Vitória, Espírito Santo and counted with specialists from IPEA (Institute of Applied Economic Research), Itamaraty (the Ministry of Foreign Affairs), the Ministry of Justice and Education, among others. Several scenarios were drawn: I always maintained that affirmative action would bring this social climbing and that at the same time a wave of a more visible and less abashed racism would take place. This is precisely what happens today in Brazilian life, 20 years later. It is not possible in this short text to evaluate the variables that made me project this antagonistic scenario. What seems to be most important to highlight here is the lack of public policies for a vulnerable group greater than the populations of Paraguay and Uruguay combined.

New Affirmative Action Policies

Today, the monthly maintenance of an inmate is around 2,400 reais. On the other hand the annual cost of a high school student is 2,200 reais. In other words: the annual cost of an inmate is equivalent to the amount invested in 13 high school students where the "Nem-Nem" tragedy takes shape. There is no investment in the youth, because it is preferable to incarcerate them later. Drug trafficking offers a real job "opportunity" with disastrous consequences for at-risk families.

The policies for the hope collapse of the youth should focus on the creation of a new school that provides contemporary competencies, full-time study and scholarships for the retention of impoverished youth in the school environment. Simultaneously, full-time supportive policies for at-risk families are needed, what should not be confused with the Bolsa Família program.

#DoNotVoteForTheEnemy

I just saw (August 8) the presidential debate on Rede TV. None of the candidates have an effective proposal for the bloodletting that claims the lives of 63 young black people per day. Which party — which candidate — has a runway safety area to revert this situation? In the recent past, many were quiet about the violent attack suffered by racial quotas in the public university system — the most efficient public policy to reduce inequality in the country. Today, while racial quotas draw on talent that was once relegated, at the other end homicides take 23 thousand lives per year.

Who projects the programs of the presidential candidates are the economists. These sinister creatures have never tried to calculate the opportunity cost the country pays for killing off talent; which should be their obligation. The reversal of this genocide requires statesmen; not technocrats who do not think the real country through. It seems we are on a desert whose aridity we are going to have to endure.

The black vote must work. I call a "disvote" the act of boycotting presidential, state and senate candidates who do not have a specific agenda for the majority of the population. This is the moment to organize this vote — the cheapest of the electoral market, as Jânio Quadros acknowledged more than 50 years ago. It makes no sense to empower those who once elected operate with special care against your rights.

The rise of black people in Brazil vs. the youth genocide

 

[Yehuda]

Afro-descendants are aiming for the 2019 elections

The Panamanian general election of 2019 has a cost of 41,3 million dollars

Afro-descendant candidates will not be left behind in the 2019 elections. Photo: Epasa

08/25/2018 | 04:15 PM

Leaders of several Afro-descendant communities are running for elected offices — mayors, representatives in the 2019 election contest.

One of the most resounding ones is vice-mayor of the Panamá District Raisa Banfield, who announced she will run for mayor of Panama City independently.

"I can choose to withdraw and continue my plans, especially what I would like to do on environmental issues at the national level, but I consider it my duty to provide even the smallest possibility for all those who want me to continue the work I have started" said Banfield in an announcement published in her Twitter account.

According to Banfield, there has been major progress in terms of culture, digitization, civic engagement, environmental issues and spatial planning and she wants to continue this project.

Meanwhile businesswoman and wife of former world boxing champion Anselmo Chemito Moreno, Rouss Laguna, announced an Assembly run for the Democratic Revolutionary Party (Partido Revolucionario Democrático, PRD).

Laguna, the daughter of former boxing champeon Ismael Laguna, wants to occupate a seat at the National Assembly for the 8–8 electoral district, which is comprised of Río Abajo, San Francisco, Parque Leferve, Don Bosco and Juan Díaz.

In the Arraiján sector, Kayra Harding, National Assembly candidate, decided to join Laurentino "Nito" Cortizo's campaign, who is a presidential candidate for this collective, headed by the National Assembly candidate.

Near Arraiján, in the Panamá Oeste region, attorney José Luis Galloway, who is running for president of the Republic as an independent in 2019, ensures that skin color does not matter, what matters is the attitude.

The people's attorney, as many people know him, had his upbringing in El Coco, in the La Gran Chorrera metropolitan area.

A rain of nominations and many expectations

If you thought the list of Afro-descendant candidates stopped there, you were wrong, because the leader of the Federation of Panamanian Black Organizations, Samuel Sammuels and Ileana Molo, two professionals of the Afro-Panamanian social movement, have also launched their campaigns.

Sammuels has proposed his candidacy in the 8–8 electoral district, while MS Ileana Molo presents herself as a candidate in the 8–6 electoral district.

It does not end here, as Ricardo Springer has launched his presidential campaign before the Electoral Court. He is confident that he can get to the presidential seat. "This International Decade for People of African Descent 2015–2024 cannot go unnoticed", said Afro-Panamanian Springer to Observatorio Panamá Afro when asked about his decision to run for President of the Republic.

"With my nomination I am pushing for other black people to run for office in the future", said Ricardo Springer.

Jacqueline Hurtado Payne, former president of the National Forum of Women of Political Parties, also seeks change as she runs for mayor of San Miguelito District.

The last, but not least, of our investigation is attorney Walkiria Chandler D'Orcy, who runs for Assembly for the 8–7 electoral district.

Everyone has the right to be a candidate

According to Alberto Barrow, director of Observatorio Panamá Afro, this body is monitoring the ongoing electoral process in the country, with regard to the offers that have taken place.

Barrow stressed that "the nomination of pre-candidates that come from the Afro-Panamanian social movement seems an interesting development. If these candidacies succeed and they are elected, particularly in the case of candidates for seats in the Legislative Body, it could eventually result in the future formation of an Afro-Descendant Caucus in the National Assembly. It would be the first time in our entire republican history that there is a political fact of that nature".

The Panamanian general election of 2019 has a cost of 41,3 million dollars, according to the budget proposal supported before the Parliament by the Electoral Court today.

Afro-descendants are aiming for the 2019 elections

 

[Yehuda]

Law 70: achievements and shortcomings twenty-five years later

Law 70 was a victory for Afro-Colombian peoples as well as an evidence of structural state noncompliance. Santos left Government without signing the regulation of most aspects of a law we analyze 25 years after its promulgation.

August 31 2018
Camilo Alzate | Quibdó

Nevaldo Perea enjoys recalling one anecdote: the time they went from Bojayá to Quibdó in five boats picking up people from the villages on the banks of the Atrato River telling people they were going to a big rumba party in Quibdó. "And when we got there we told them 'friends, there is no party here, this is an occupation". This is how they occupied the cathedral — one of many — to demand the promulgation of a law that recognizes the rights of Afro-Colombian communities.

"They treated us like we were guerrillas", says Perea, who had been a worker for the big companies that destroyed the Atrato jungles and soon ended up fighting alongside Claretian priests in the struggle against logging companies. Nevaldo worked for ten pesos opening trails in the basin of the Arquía River so that the companies could cut the best trees. He says that one day he realized he was pawning his future and the future of his children. "There was no healthcare, there were no means of transport, only every three or four years we saw the politicians' caravan visiting the communities by boat, then they disappeared. So the Claretians devised a primer where they showed how the birds began to fly and fly and fly and only found where to perch on the wooden logs that had been cut: this was the trigger for the rage against Maderas del Darién S.A.", says Nevaldo Perea, who later appeared as one of the founding leaders of ACIA (Integral Peasants Association of the Atrato, Asociación Campesina Integral del Atrato), which would later become COCOMACIA, the Atrato Senior Council. With attorney Amparo Escobar they distributed copies of the natural resources code in the villages, the people learned it by heart and could even recite it to officials or emissaries of logging companies. (The story of Nevaldo Perea can be read in full in the book Yo Soy Atrato, download it here)

In the lead-up to the 1991 assembly, the Pacific experienced an unprecedented stir. Throughout the main rivers there were social movements and ethnic organizations arising under the influence of the Catholic Church. While indigenous communities achieved the delimitation of their reservations, following the example of a struggle undertaken decades ago in the Cauca Valley, black men and women from the Patía, San Juan or Atrato river banks were organizing in peasant associations whose purpose was to stop the entry of multinational mining and logging companies that threatened to drive them out of their ancestral territories. "Black people were not allowed to cut wood, the companies would run their machinery over the corn and rice plantations and if black people went to town to complain, they would be put in jail", states Leopoldo García, another old leader of the Truandó River that helped to found one of those organizations: The Lower Atrato Peasant Organization (Organización Campesina del Bajo Atrato).

The indigenous people, who already had strong and cohesive organizations, won several seats in the 1991 Constituent Assembly, but there were no black representatives. This emerging Afro-Colombian movement was left orphaned in the law of laws and was at a crossroads: it had to find a judicial precedent that recognized the rights of those communities organized throughout the Pacific coast. The main Afro-Colombian leaders looked for the indigenous constituents to seek the Afro-descendant communities' inclusion into the new Political Constitution. "Francisco Rojas Birry said he knew nothing about black people but if they explained it to him he would speak at the Assembly", recalls Nevaldo Perea.

And so it was, in the end the indigenous people and the left-wing constituents said they would not sign the constitution if the Afro-Colombian communities were not included. From all corners of the country Afro-descendant organizations mobilized, telling their people to sent telegrams to the Assembly's delegates, these "black telegrams" were more than 10,000 and the message was always the same: "We exist". This originated transitory article 55 of the Political Constitution of Colombia, which recognized Afro-Colombian communities as legal persons, which gave rise to the promulgation of a specific rule: Law 70 of 1993.

"Law 70 has been the best achievement of the black communities, it is the best thing that could have happened to us, including Law 21 of abolition of slavery, because it obeyed an international context, while Law 70 is the result of a social movement of black people in this country", says Orlando Pantoja, representative of the Community Councils of the Cauca Deparment. "There were some valuable actions: the recognition of cultural values and identity, progress was made in conceiving a specific education, in titling certain territories as collective property, in shaping ethnic local authorities, assemblies and gatherings. This is what can be highlighted twenty-five years later".

Perhaps the main achievement of Law 70 was the collective land title of fallow territories of the Pacific for the Afro-Colombian and Raizal communities, an area covering about eight million hectares of jungle and rivers from the border with Ecuador to Panama, taking the crest of the West Andes as a boundary. The collective titling of this area and the conformation of Community Councils as local authorities protected the Pacific from the depredation of big logging and mining companies.

But the law left many Afro-Colombian communities settled in other regions of the country — such as Northern and Central Cauca, the Atlantic Coast, the Santander and Norte de Santander Departments or the Valley — outside of the right to land. Not to mention the Afro-descendants settled in the cities, who are only left with cultural assimilation. Only those Afro-Colombians living alongside the fallow areas and riverbanks of the Pacific and some very specific locations of the Caribbean and Northern Cauca had access to land. Then came the mess with the regulation of the law and the legal tricks. Let us look at a case: when the State realized that granting legal status to Community Councils opened a window for them to claim land, it stopped recognizing them.

Nevaldo Perea makes his own diagnosis: "The third chapter was regulated by the land issue which was the trigger, we were going to be left without the territories, specifically by the logging companies that had their eyes on the natural resources of the Middle Atrato. Today the Community Councils are the authority in their territories. We managed to push the issue of prior consultation, because it turns out that the subsoil does not belong to us, so with consultation we can decide if the projects benefit us or not. We pushed the issue of ethnoeducation... But the government has not had the political will to regulate the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh chapters, basically the entire law", he says, "the fifth chapter was partially regulated, but we do not feel represented because it is done in the favor of miners".

The law did not advance beyond the collective titling and the recognition of cultural identity. Like many laws in Colombia, Law 70 was born without fiscal resources and that is the equivalent of saying it was born dead. "The State did not provide guarantees to any of the actions contemplated in the law. Everything has been done through pressure or initiative of the communities, for example, the management plans of the territories were made with the support of Dutch cooperation", says Orlando Pantoja.

Ana Granja, a woman from Salahonda, at the mouth of the Patía River, is another one of the historical leaders who was at the forefront of this process. Today she is critical of that sector of Afro-descendant organizations that was dedicated to handling projects of international cooperation while forgetting to fight firmly for the rights of their people: "We failed in our ignorance of Law 70's vision. Things were proposed but were left loose, nowadays that is causing us a lot of headache. These projects are harming us, because what some people wanted after seeing them was to put money in their pockets. The entire Pacific must make a comprehensive territory proposal, to see if we can advance", says Ana.

After the law's twentieth anniversary, in 2013, the first congress of blacks, palenqueros and raizals of the country was conducted. During this congress, president Santos assured that regulation of the law would happen but five years later the communities are still waiting. Throughout the country there were assemblies and demonstrations; as a matter of fact it was one of the central points of the last civic strikes in Tumaco, Buenaventura and Quibdó.

However, at the end of the Santos government it was said things were finally about to materialize. "The regulating decree was ready, the only thing missing was the presidential signature", says Orlando Pantoja. "Why did the president not sign it? Because of pressure from businessmen. This is a collective interest, but what matters here is the economy".

Law 70: achievements and shortcomings twenty-five years later

 

[Yehuda]

A century after arriving in Suriname, Alcoa negotiates exit with the South American country

Aluminum producer would turn over hydroelectric dam, pay up to $400 million for environmental cleanup

Red bauxite runs for miles along the path to the now shuttered mining and mill operations that once made Suralco one of Surinam's largest employers. The company, a subsidiary of Alcoa, has promised to remediate the land upon their departure of the country. Photographed on Friday, March 10, 2017. (Stephanie Strasburg/Post-Gazette)

The square-kilometer "red mud lakes" near the former Alcoa complex in Suriname are "a ticking time bomb," said Erlan Sleur, an environmental activist working with Suriname's Onoribo people, seen here walking the mud bed on Aug. 10, 2018. He said the public hasn't yet received information on the contents of the waste, nor on whether it is leaking into ground water. (Steve Akkrum)

LEN BOSELOVIC AND RICH LORD | AUG 31, 2018 | 9:35 AM

Alcoa and a Suriname government commission have negotiated a proposed agreement governing the Pittsburgh aluminum producer’s departure from the South American country, where it has operated since 1916.

The proposal calls for Alcoa to turn over a hydroelectric dam that powered its former operations there, with the exchange coming 14 years ahead of schedule, according to Rudi Dilip Sardjoe, Suriname’s leading business magnate and the head of the government commission.

Mr. Sardjoe said the confidential agreement also requires Alcoa to spend between $300 million and $400 million on an environmental cleanup of its former alumina refinery, aluminum smelter and mining areas.

“Alcoa did a fantastic job for this country. It’s going to cost them a lot of money, but they did a fantastic job,” Mr. Sardjoe said in a telephone interview.

Mr. Sardjoe’s estimate exceeds what Alcoa has disclosed will be spent on environmental cleanup, demolition, and other costs associated with ceasing operations in the little South American country.

Suriname has been roiled in recent weeks by accusations that its executive branch has been concealing information about its dealings with the metals company. Those complaints were aired Monday at a raucous session of the National Assembly, the legislative branch of Suriname’s government.

Assembly members had unanimously rejected a government memorandum of understanding with Alcoa in November 2015. Since then, President Desire Delano “Desi” Bouterse and the commission have provided little information about the talks, citing confidentiality agreements with Alcoa.

Alcoa announced in January 2017 that it would permanently idle a refinery in Paranam that converted bauxite ore into alumina, citing high costs and low alumina prices.

The refinery, located about 23 miles south of the capital city of Paramaribo had not operated since late 2015. Alcoa closed a smelter that converted alumina in aluminum in 1999, largely because of environmental concerns and its small size.

At the time of the 2017 announcement, Alcoa estimated future costs of closing its Suralco refining and mining operations in Suriname at $224 million.

That estimate included the cost of the environmental cleanup, as well as the expense of demolishing the refinery and other closure-related items. Alcoa estimated it would pay $151 million, or 60 percent, of the total cost. The remainder would be paid by Alumina Limited of Australia, which owns a 40 percent stake in Alcoa’s Suriname operations.

In a statement Thursday, the company confirmed that agreements have been submitted to the government.

“Alcoa recognizes the importance of Suralco’s assets to the country and its people, so we have been diligently working with the government to ensure a smooth transition from our operations in the country,” the company said.

The sky at dusk is cut by the orange glow of the shuttered refinery at the Paranam Operations of Suralco, a subsidiary of Alcoa, on March 11, 2017.(Stephanie Strasburg/Post-Gazette)

Alcoa’s departure devastating

Alcoa’s decision to leave Suriname triggered a debilitating recession and massive inflation in a country long dependent on the aluminum industry. The Post-Gazette chronicled the painful process in the April 2017 series The Land Alcoa Dammed.

In the three years since Suriname’s lawmakers rejected the first separation agreement, the lack of disclosure about the negotiations has frustrated and angered lawmakers, businesses, environmental groups, economic development specialists and others.

They worry that negotiators for the Third World country may lack the skills and expertise necessary to strike a fair deal with the multinational company. Mr. Bouterse’s failure to deliver an agreement to the National Assembly last year as promised bred even more misgivings.

“Nobody actually knows what is being discussed between the commission and Alcoa. There is no disclosure to parliament,” said Amrish “Danny” Lachman, a former Alcoa manager and director of graduate studies and research at Paramaribo’s Anton de Kom University.

Mr. Lachman said most of the information about the talks that has been disclosed has come from Mr. Sardjoe and “was full with distorted information, incomplete pictures.”

Foremost among the festering concerns is that Alcoa will not live up to the company’s environmental obligations.

“It’s unbelievable to me that they are hiding behind this non-disclosure agreement that they have with the government,” said John Goedschalk, executive director of Conservation International Suriname, the local branch of a global environmental organization.

Mr. Goedschalk said that his requests for information on the clean-up plan have been rebuffed.

Alcoa leaders “ostensibly hold themselves to high standards in terms of social and environmental safeguards,” he said, but then Alcoa officials “sign [a nondisclosure agreement] with one stakeholder, which is government, and then shut out all other stakeholders.”

Citizens need to know more about the waste left over by Alcoa, and whether harmful materials are leaking into ground water, said Erlan Sleur, an environmental activist working with Suriname’s Onoribo people, descendants of former slaves who live on a former plantation near Alcoa’s Paranam refinery operations.

“The nation needs to know what is happening there, if the place is polluted,” Mr. Sleur said. “To me, the priority is pollution, not whether we can get the dam or cheaper electricity, not whether we can get more bauxite mining.”

Two lawmakers from an opposition party expressed concern that Alcoa’s cleanup budget won’t be big enough.

“There is no certainty that all environmental hazards created by Alcoa will be dealt with in a proper way,” Krishnakoemarie Mathoera and Asiskumar Gajadien, members of the Progressive Reform Party, wrote in an Aug. 24 letter to Alcoa.

In its Thursday statement, Alcoa said it will meet or exceed standards for rehabilitating mines and environmental remediation and are recommending that all work be done according to U.S. protocols.

The area surrounding the former Alcoa complex in Suriname is the source of most of the country's drinking water, said Erlan Sleur, an environmental activist working with Suriname's Onoribo people, and seen here walking the banks of a reddish lake in the area on Aug. 10, 2018. (Photo by Steve Akkrum)

Secrecy increases anxiety

Mr. Sardjoe agreed with critics who say the lack of information has contributed to anxiety over the outcome of the negotiations.

But he said the government and commission members were required to sign a confidentiality agreement, which is standard practice when dealing with a company like Alcoa.

“We couldn’t go every day to the newspaper and say: ‘We talk this, this, this and this,’ ” Mr. Sardjoe said.

He has no doubts that Alcoa will address all environmental issues.

“We have reached agreement and they’re going to fulfill that agreement, period,” Mr. Sardjoe said.

“Alcoa is going to take complete [care of] all the environmental, it’s all listed, all the sites, everything. … They are going to spend around, between $300 [million] and probably $400 million [on] environmental [clean-up].”

He denied speculation in Suriname that Alcoa might hand a check for clean-up costs to the country’s government.

Alcoa, according to Mr. Sardjoe, told the government, “We do the clean-up, and you sign off that everything is right. That’s in the contract.”

Suriname’s national institute for the environment and development will monitor the clean-up, backed up by international consultants, said Mr. Sardjoe.

The confidentiality of the negotiations notwithstanding, Mr. Sardjoe said Alcoa has agreed to turn over to the government the massive Afobaka Dam on the Suriname River — as well as the electricity it generates — at the end of 2019.

That is 14 years sooner than required under the terms of the 1958 agreement that resulted in Alcoa’s decision to augment its bauxite mines in the country with the refinery and smelter. Mr. Sardjoe said the government officials who negotiated the 75-year deal gave Alcoa permission to operate the dam until the agreement ends in 2033, even if the company halted operations.

Critics have a different interpretation of the 1958 agreement — contending Suriname had the right to seize the dam once Alcoa halted operations. They also said Suriname should no longer be forced to pay Alcoa excessive rates for electricity produced by the dam.

Mr. Sardjoe said Alcoa has agreed to pay for a study of developing bauxite reserves in western Suriname, then turned the results of that analysis over to the government free of charge.

Mr. Lachman and other economic development specialists hope to revive the country’s aluminum industry by tapping those reserves. They were angered by Alcoa’s decision to demolish the refinery. Jennifer Simons, chair of the National Assembly, said the parliament has unanimously stated that dismantling the refinery would violate the 1958 agreement.

Aluminum industry analysts are skeptical about plans to revive Suriname’s aluminum industry.

In this March 12, 2017, photo Rudi D. Sardjoe stands at the gates of his house in Paramaribo, Suriname. (Stephanie Strasburg/Post-Gazette)

Meanwhile, the 5,000-page draft agreement is being translated from English into Dutch, the official language of Suriname. Mr. Sardjoe expects that task will be completed in mid-September.

When it is, he will turn the proposal over to Mr. Bouterse, who will seek approval of government ministers before submitting it to the National Assembly.

“And then you’re going to see that all of the things they’ve said on the street is a big lie,” Mr. Sardjoe promised. “In Suriname, believe me, 500,000 people are the civil experts of the world. That’s the reason we’re so poor today. And this we find in every Third World country.”

Ms. Mathoera, the opposition lawmaker, is skeptical about whether details of the proposed agreement will be disclosed next month. She noted Mr. Bouterse’s previous failure to live up to promises about providing information.

“I don’t think the government will stick to their schedule because they never did so before,” Ms. Mathoera said.

Len Boselovic: lboselovic@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1941. Rich Lord: rlord@post-gazette.com or 412-263-1542. Twitter:@richelord

First Published August 31, 2018, 8:00am

RELATED: Alcoa begins demolition of Suriname refinery

A century after arriving in Suriname, Alcoa negotiates exit with the South American country

 

[BigMan]

I will be going to Suriname in December

 

[Yehuda]

World Bank: Afro-descendants in Latin America have made significant progress

08/29/2018 - 6:56 PM

Afro-descendants in Latin America have made significant progress in terms of reduction of poverty and the recognition of their agenda, but much work remains to be done to eliminate the structural barriers that impede their full social and economic inclusion, according to a new World Bank report.

One out of four Latin-Americans identify as Afro-descendants, which is equivalent to about 133 million people. A large majority lives in Brazil and the rest is distributed heterogeneously among the other countries.

They also constitute a disproportionately high proportion of people in poverty, according to the report Afro-descendants in Latin America: Toward a Framework of Inclusion, presented this Wednesday in San José, Costa Rica.

"This report is an important step towards a better understanding of the situation in which Afro-descendants live and helping to boost their social inclusion and improve their economic situation in Latin America", said Vice President and Chancellor of Costa Rica, Epsy Campbell.

Afro-descendants are 2.5 times more likely to live in chronic poverty than whites or mestizos. When taken together, Afro-descendants in Brazil, Colombia, Ecuador, Panama, Peru and Uruguay represent 38 percent of the total population, but half of those living in extreme poverty.

Moreover, they have fewer years of schooling, experience more unemployment and are underrepresented in decision-making positions, both public and private.

"Addressing the causes of structural discrimination is fundamental to fighting injustice and creating opportunities for all", said Jorge Familiar, Vice President of the World Bank for Latin America and the Caribbean.

"Eliminating the conditions that limit the full inclusion of Afro-descendants will promote a more just, prosperous and egalitarian Latin American society".

Despite the challenges, great progress has been made in recent years. The past decade witnessed a remarkable improvement in the living conditions of many Afro-descendants, who benefited from a broad reduction in the regional poverty rate. For example, more than 50 percent of Afro-descendant households were lifted out of poverty in Brazil and Uruguay, and more than 20 percent in Ecuador and Peru. Afro-descendants also experienced greater access to education in Latin America, although the gap with the white and mestizo population still persists.

The growth of an Afro-descendant political class and their organizations pushed several countries to incorporate constitutional changes regarding discrimination, property rights and ethnic-racial recognition of their population. Other countries approved legal instruments to safeguard the rights of Afro-descendants, such as affirmative action, awareness campaigns and anti-discrimination laws, as well as their inclusion in the census.

According to the report, much remains to be done to solve the complex problem of exclusion, which is at the center of efforts by the World Bank to have a more level playing field. The goal is to improve opportunities and access to markets and services for excluded groups, with respect to their vision and aspirations. Bearing in mind that Afro-descendants are a heterogeneous population, policies must be designed taking into account the specific conditions of each country, subregion and, often, of each situation.

This requires more and better data, beyond the censuses, which were an important first step. Policies must have clear and measurable objectives, in key areas such as education, employment opportunities and equitable wages. Additionally, racial stereotypes must be confronted and eliminated, and Afro-descendant organizations must be empowered to increase their voice, participation and bargaining power, taking advantage of the progress achieved in recent years by their leaders.

According to the report, the growing recognition of Afro-descendants represents a long-awaited break with a past that began one of the darkest chapters of Latin American history: slavery and its terrible legacy of social exclusion.

World Bank: Afro-descendants in Latin America have made significant progress

 

[Yehuda]

The Hidden Narrative of Racial Inequity in Puerto Rico

By Cyndi Suarez

On a recent visit to Puerto Rico, I realized just how much narrative has to do with the challenges the island faces and its response to those. Though it is a fertile land and has a highly educated population and a vibrant, resourceful culture, Puerto Rico is poorer than Mississippi, the poorest US state. Loíza, the blackest municipality in Puerto Rico, is the poorest on the island. A newly forming nonprofit, Caribbean Cultural Corridor, a network of local economies for local Black art, seeks to challenge anti-black narratives on the island, starting in Loíza.

A group of about 30 leaders concerned with racial inequity in Puerto Rico met in Loíza in August to advance the development of the Corridor. The conversation quickly got interesting when the group was asked, “What is your experience of race in Puerto Rico?” Here is what some of them said:

Melanie Rodriguez, university student: “How is it possible that I can’t get a BA in Black Studies without leaving the island?”

Olga Chapman Rivera, business professional: “Our parents moved us out of our black neighborhood because of the crime and drugs, to a white neighborhood and a private white school. We learned to see our roots and something that is not so desirable. The idea was to come out of blackness and out of the ‘hood in order to advance in life. I had to make a journey back.”

Denisse Lanzo Cortijo, social worker and local municipal legislator: “In Loíza, there is negro de [black from] Piñones, negro del [black from] pueblo, negro de Colobos. Even in Loíza, a black town, we divide ourselves.”

Aaron Gamaliel Ramos, university professor: “This doesn’t happen so much with educated blacks. My friend says, ‘You’re black, but you didn’t go through what I went through.’ We differentiate between black and evidently black. How do we talk about blacks? Here we are celebrating black, but out there they do not.”

Modesta Irizarry, community leader: “It’s important to know the story of the towns and communities. How you talk about it as professionals is also different from how we talk about it in the community. People have been displaced to build high-income housing, which is still empty. Because of the hurricane, this is easier. They got very little for their land, being treated as blacks. The government doesn’t care about Loíza. Why don’t they build livable housing for the people already here? We are not just culture, we are valuable as people. I asked a government official, why not give me one of the three new buildings for the people of Tocones, and he said, ‘We can’t do that.’ I said, ‘You can’t do that because it doesn’t benefit you as a corrupt politician, but it can be done.’ You’re not better than me. I even say that to well-off blacks. The trash here is not thrown out by the blacks of Loíza, but the visitors who think they can trash our neighborhood. A black cop will say, ‘Get down on the dirt negra [black woman].’ ‘Spread your legs negra.’ It’s not just about valuing blackness, but valuing nature.”

Maria Elba Torres Muñoz, university professor: “Blackness in Loíza is different because you are together, but there are blacks everywhere in the island and many of them are isolated as blacks.”

The tensions were evident within the group. Very clearly and early on, the differences between the mostly black leaders were named. These include differences of class, education level, and geography. They reveal the fractal nature of oppression, where the patterns are similar across scale. For example, during the lunch that followed, a small group of women from Tocones, one of the poorest neighborhoods in Loíza, wanted to tell me their story of their marginalization within Loíza. They didn’t feel comfortable sharing it explicitly within the larger group.

Alicia Carrasquillo Ortiz, who describes herself as a Second Community Leader, says, “In Tocones, it’s like we don’t exist. I scheduled three meetings with the mayor and she has cancelled them all. I waited all day in the office, but she never came. I bring simple questions from the community. She isn’t interested. For example, the sewer system erupts in front of our house leaving black waters [contaminated sewer water] where kids play, and they don’t fix it. It’s not even our sewer system, but from the new luxury apartments on either side of us, Aquatika and Costa Mar. Many of the residents are local whites from other towns. Apartments in Aquatika start at $200,000.”

Issues of racism, economic displacement, and narrative interlock. Moreno Vega speaks to it when she says, “Displacement of black people is happening everywhere around the world. So, the idea of this Corridor is to establish the places of historical importance in Loíza, that it be from an Afro-centered view, to determine the narrative and imagery.”

The proposed Corridor would run along Loíza 187, one of the main roads. It would indicate the historic places of the town and illustrate how it was created by runaway slaves. It would also showcase two art destinations featuring the most notable local artists. Artesanías Castor Ayala is a small gallery opened in 1959 by Castor Ayala, who was my grand-uncle and raised my mother. Also featured is Samuel Lind Studios, the live-and-work space of a very well-known painter and sculptor. He is also an Ayala through maternal lineage; these families have influenced each other artistically and are known as stewards of local African history, wisdom, and aesthetics. It is easy to spend a day with Samuel listening to his passionate stories about the great singers who visit him to learn about this heritage and weave it into now-famous songs, like Héctor Lavoe, or the indigenous and relatively unknown people who still live in the mangrove in Loíza. It’s as if no one told these families that blackness is looked down upon, and that’s all for the best. I have always experienced them as loving, humble, and noble, and consider myself blessed to have grown up in such a family where anti-blackness was not present.

An online search for things to do in Loíza quickly reveals other destinations. The Hacienda Campo Rico Heritage Tour takes the visitor to a former sugar cane plantation. Piñones, Puerto Rico’s largest mangrove forest, is near Loíza Beach, which is lined with Afro-Caribbean food kiosks. The Maria de La Cruz Cave, “an enormous formation of limestone origin, whose measurements are 164 feet wide, 82 deep and 98 high, is one of the 72 archaeological sites documented in Loíza, according to the State Office of Historic Conservation.” Ricardo E. Algeria, a Puerto Rican anthropologist and archaeologist known as “father of modern Puerto Rican archeology, excavated the cave to great fanfare. Yale published a book by Alegria on the excavations.

The Corridor seeks to better organize these artists and stewards and link them to one another to help build a more viable and equitable local economy. It will build on the work of COPI [La Corporación Piñones Se Integra, or Piñones Integration Corp.], which focuses on cultural and ecotourism, by providing workshops on conscious tourism, as opposed to exploitative tourism.

Edgardo Larregui, a designer on the Corridor project, says, “We don’t want the banal cliché, what is sold to us as the concept of beaches and tropics, coasts and coconuts. Instead, it’s, ‘What do we do with our raw materials?’ ‘How do we create those raw materials into deities, identities?’”

Dr. Marta Moreno Vega is the visionary behind the Caribbean Cultural Corridor. New York born and raised, she found her way back to the island early on and has spent the last four decades connecting to local black artists and thinkers and promoting their work. She has already identified the building she intends to purchase for the project—a beautiful, abandoned, two-floor structure that sits high on a perch. It is available through foreclosure and needs repair, but it is easy to imagine it as the center of a Caribbean-wide cultural network, as Moreno Vega and her collaborators do.

The Corridor is also an example of new approaches by stateside nonprofits like the Association of Black Foundation Executives (ABFE), which is expanding its work to the black diaspora. ABFE partnered with the Community Foundation of Puerto Rico (Fundación Comunitaria de Puerto Rico), which is leading the philanthropic work on equity on the island and exploring how to support more explicitly its racial aspects, to host this gathering to build awareness of, solicit feedback for, and build support for the Corridor. The response was a resounding yes.

Maricruz Rivera Clemente, COPI’s Executive Director, had just gotten back from New Orleans, where she and Mercedes Martinez, President of the Puerto Rico Teachers Federation, met with a group that had visited Puerto Rico in October of last year that is also fighting the closing and privatization of their schools. Rivera Clemente says, "We were sharing about the things we have in common after the hurricanes. The similarities are a lot. Some women in New Orleans were talking about their experiences of leaving to other cities, where they were called refugees. And they said, 'We’re on our land.' And when they went back [to New Orleans], they didn’t have the same structures. Things were different…the privatization of the schools. Now the teachers weren’t black. They came from other places and didn’t know the cultures of the community. The same thing is happening in Puerto Rico. In Piñones and Loíza, when Maria came, the department of education closed the schools immediately. We’ve known that they want to close the schools for a long time now; the excuse for the government was Maria."

Rivera Clemente also spoke of the issue of violence, “Young black kids are killing young black kids. We are killing ourselves. So we have to work on that, but not in the way the government wants to work with the violence. Since slavery, we have learned to fight against each other.”

Perhaps one major cause of the violence in Loíza is the high unemployment rate. Though a report by the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico, Department of Labor and Human Resources, Bureau of Labor Statistics for 2015-2016 lists unemployment in Loíza at 11.4 percent, this was before Hurricane Maria. Local municipal legislator Denisse Lanzo Cortijo, who was present at the gathering, said the numbers are closer to 70 percent. So, since the storm, most people in Loíza are unemployed.

As the group turned to solutions, it quickly became clear that Puerto Rico does not track race rigorously. In fact, people self-identify their race and many choose to whiten their identity. In the 2010 Census, 12.4 percent of the population identified as Black and 75.8 percent as white. Mary Ann Gabino, Senior Vice President at the Community Foundation, proposed academic scholarships to support the study of data on racial equity, which would help identify gaps and generate solutions.

Recalling the underlying tension between academics and community people at the gathering, Moreno Vega spoke to the need to act now, with on-the-ground solutions identified and led by the people and that generate employment for them. She says, "There’s so much talent in Loíza and no one is paying attention to it. In lifting that, we should train people so they can become entrepreneurs. We always see ourselves as limited. We have young people doing music speaking through the narrative. Training young people in the narrative of culture and empowerment is powerful."

And with this we come back to narrative, because the underlying and unacknowledged racism hampers current economic development efforts. Rivera Clemente explains, “For example, Piñones, with its culinary kiosks, is a culinary space, but what does the state do? It penalizes the community business by being very slow to provide permits. They make it difficult for people to create businesses. The children of the families aren’t encouraged to keep building the businesses.”

Puerto Rico has its own well-worn tactics for tabling race when it is made explicit. Musician Welmo Romero Joseph says, “If you try to bring it up, people say we are all equal, it’s more important to talk about colonialism and our status with the US. When we solve that, all the problems will disappear. They say the problem is that we have an inferiority complex.”

Because this devaluation is built into, or expunged, from the narrative, it appears everywhere, and can feel overwhelming for black people, who can feel like they’re playing a cruel game of whack-a-mole. Romero Joseph says, “There’s so many fronts to fight, you have education, history, media, work…They want black culture, but not black people.”

Art flourishes in Puerto Rico, and there are already groups like Colectivo Morivivi, a collective of young women artists that has gained recognition for their murals, which aim to sensitize the viewer to the human condition. Much of its work features black Puerto Rican women. There is a lot to build on, connect, and amplify.

Institutional power helps, which is why Moreno Vega seeks to build the Corridor. Rivera Clemente says, “Support is not just money, but credibility.”

In spite of the spread of anti-black narratives, Moreno Vega would argue that is precisely because of that that narrative work is critical, especially now. She concludes, “Pathology and lies are becoming normalized. This conversation is so upfront, deadly, and targeted. We can’t accept that as normal. That you’re the lone wolf saying it makes you a target. What’s the interdisciplinary action that one takes to normalize our narrative?”

The Hidden Narrative of Racial Inequity in Puerto Rico