Eleonora Esposito - Discourses From Latin America and The Caribbean - Current Concepts and Challenges

DISCOURSES
FROM
LATIN
AMERICA
AND THE
CARIBBEAN
Edited by
Eleonora Esposito,
Carolina Pérez-Arredondo,
José Manuel Ferreiro
Discourses from Latin America and the
Caribbean
“The editors and the publisher of this timely volume should be congratulated for
their initiative to introduce to the international community of discourse studies
these original contributions from Latin America and the Caribbean. Latin
America in particular, has been among the most active regions of discourse stud-
ies in the world, having established its first international association of discourse
studies as early as 1995. The transdisciplinary studies collected here offer unique
perspectives combining many types of discourse analysis, e.g., multimodal and
corpus linguistic approaches, with critical social and cultural analyses, e.g. of
democracy after dictatorships, slavery, poverty, (post)colonialism, national iden-
tity, (anti)racism, migration, peace processes, student movements, populism,
creolization and ethnic minority resistance, among many other relevant topics.
These contributions uniquely show how sophisticated analyses of text and talk
offer advanced qualitative methods, still largely ignored in the social sciences, for
the study of social issues.”
—Teun A. van Dijk, Pompeu Fabra University and Centre of Discourse Studies,
Barcelona, Spain
Eleonora Esposito
Carolina Pérez-Arredondo
Editors
Discourses from Latin

America and the
Caribbean
Current Concepts and Challenges
Editors
Eleonora Esposito Carolina Pérez-Arredondo
Institute for Culture and Society (ICS) Language Department
University of Navarra Universidad Bernardo O’Higgins
Pamplona, Spain Santiago, Chile

Merlin Research
Santiago, Chile
ISBN 978-3-319-93622-2 ISBN 978-3-319-93623-9 (eBook)

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018946235
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Contents
1 Introduction 1
Eleonora Esposito, Carolina Pérez-Arredondo, and José Manuel
Ferreiro
Part I Ethnic and Latin American Identities Construction in

Intercultural and Multinational Settings 31
2 Discursive Re-foundation of an Intercultural Abya Yala:

Morales’ Discourse in the Midst of Crisis and the Tradition
of Protest 33
Katharina Friederike Gallant
3 The Discursive Construction of a Latin American

Identity/ies in the UN Mission in Haiti (2004–2013) 69
v
vi Contents
Part II Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted Approaches to

Hegemonic and Resistance Discourses in Latin
America 105
4 The Hooded Student as a Metaphor: Multimodal

Recontextualization of the Chilean Student Movement in
a Broadcast News Report 107
Carolina Pérez-Arredondo and Camila Cárdenas-Neira
5 The Zapatista Linguistic Revolution: A Corpus-Assisted

Analysis 139
Isabelle Gribomont
Part III Discourses of Slavery Reparation and Immigrant

Integration from the Caribbean and Latin America 173
6 The Social Media Campaign for Caribbean Reparations:

A Critical Multimodal Investigation 175
Eleonora Esposito
7 Towards Sociocultural Recognition and Integration of

Latin American Immigrants in Los Angeles Through the
Analysis of Social-Discursive Significations 211
Ricardo Medina Audelo
Part IV Integrated Approaches to Race and Gender in the

Caribbean 239
8 Remaking Jamaica: Tourism, Labour, and the Awakening

Jamaica Exhibition 241
Karen Wilkes
Contents
vii
9 Being Said/Seen to Care: Masculine Silences and Emerging

Visibilities of Intimate Fatherhood in Dominica, Lesser
Antilles 267
Adom Philogene Heron
Index 299
Notes on Contributors
Camila Cárdenas-Neira is a PhD candidate in Translation and Language

Studies at Pompeu Fabra University (Spain). During her MA in Communication
(Universidad Austral, Chile), she analysed the ideological representation of the
Chilean youth in historical and specialized discourses that reconstruct their
political actions in the recent past (1970–1990) (Cárdenas 2011, 2012, 2014a).
Currently, her investigation focuses on the representation of the student move-
ment on Facebook, from the multi-semiotic production of discourses, spaces
and practices of youth protests (Cárdenas 2014b, 2014c, 2014d, 2016, in press).
Eleonora Esposito is Marie Skłodowska-Curie Research Fellow at the
University of Navarra (Spain). She holds an MA in Cultural and Postcolonial
Studies (University of Naples L’Orientale, 2010) and a PhD/Doctor Europaeus
in English Linguistics (University of Naples Federico II, 2015). Her research
interests are in the field of Language, Politics, Gender and Society in the
European Union and in the Anglophone Caribbean, investigated in the light of
Critical Discourse Studies, Multimodal Studies and Translation Studies (Esposito
2015, 2017a, 2017b). Currently, she is exploring new theoretical perspectives
and integrated methodologies for the critical investigation of Social Media
Discourses (KhosraviNik and Esposito forthcoming).
José Manuel Ferreiro holds a PhD in Linguistics at Lancaster University
(England), where he has been associate lecturer in Discourse Analysis and
Corporate Communication. He is also head of Semantic/Discourse Analysis at
Merlin Research (Chile). Since his MA in Discourse Studies at Lancaster
ix
x Notes on Contributors
University, he has primarily researched the discursive construction of Latin

American identities and legitimation strategies in UN mission in Haiti from the
point of view of Critical Discourse Analysis (Ferreiro and Wodak 2014). He is
also interested in the media representations of Haiti (Vásquez and Ferreiro 2016)
and constituent processes in Chile (Coddou and Ferreiro 2016).
Katharina Friederike Gallant is a Cultural Anthropologist who holds a PhD
in Historical Ethnology from Frankfurt University and an MA in North
American Regional Studies from Bonn University. Her past research has been
concerned with issues of ethnic identity and interculturality, focusing on Bolivia,
the USA and the intergroup relations and collective victimhood. She currently
works at the Center for Development Research (ZEF), an institute of Bonn
University whose main objective is to find science-based solutions to develop-
ment-related issues.
Isabelle Gribomont is a PhD Candidate in the Department of Modern
Languages at the University of St Andrews, UK. Her research interests include
contemporary Mexican literature, digital humanities, decolonial thinking and
social movements. Her thesis focuses on the literary elements of the writings of
Subcomandante Marcos, spokesperson of the Zapatista movement in Chiapas,
Mexico. As of recently, she became interested in the use of computational meth-
ods to assist the semantic analysis of large quantities of text, ranging from key-
word and collocation analyses to machine learning techniques.
Ricardo Medina Audelo is Lecturer and Researcher at Instituto Politécnico
Nacional SEPI-ESIA-TEC (Mexico). He has several publications on immigra-
tion, social imaginary, discourse analysis, identity, autobiographical memory
and collective memory. He investigates the role of discursive constructions of
identity and autobiographical storytelling in Latin American immigration in the
USA and Spain. His research also explores the idea of public space and spatial
exclusion of Central American immigrants in Mexico City.
Carolina Pérez-Arredondo is an Associate Lecturer at Universidad Bernardo
O’Higgins (Chile). During her MA in Discourse Studies at Lancaster
University (England), she analysed the discursive construction of the Chilean
student movement in the national press (Pérez 2012). She continued this work
during her PhD at the same institution, focusing on the linguistic construc-
tion of motive (purpose) of the same social movement in the national media
(Pérez 2016, 2017). She is also interested in the analysis of discriminatory
manifestations and practices in the Chilean context, especially in relation to
domestic work (Pérez 2014).
Notes on Contributors
xi
Adom Philogene Heron is Lecturer in Social Anthropology at Goldsmiths

College, University of London. His interests include kinship, masculinities,
affect, inter-generational relations, the body and the social lives of hurricanes.
His PhD (2017, Anthropology, St Andrews) explored the familial lives of men
in Dominica, Eastern Caribbean. As an extroverted twin to his PhD project, he
curates a blog on these themes—www.Fathermen.blogspot.com. Post-doctorally,
Adom is developing a project on Caribbean familial responses to hurricanes in
the age of anthropogenic climate change.
Karen Wilkes is Lecturer in Sociology at Birmingham City University. Her
interdisciplinary research on visual texts explores the formation and representa-
tion of gender, class, sexuality and race in historical and contemporary visual
culture, and her book Whiteness, Weddings and Tourism in the Caribbean: Paradise
for Sale was published in September 2016. She has also published chapters and
articles including ‘From the Landscape to the White Female Body’ (2013),
‘Whiteness and Postcolonial Luxury’ (2014) and ‘Colluding with Neoliberalism:
post-feminist subjectivities, whiteness and expressions of entitlement’ (Feminist
Review July 2015).
List of Figures
Fig. 4.1 Structure of the narrative analysis 114

Fig. 4.2 Adaptation of Feng and Qi’s (2014) emotional prosody 117
Fig. 4.3 Multimodal micro-analysis 119
Fig. 6.1 Toussaint Louverture in a 1838 lithograph by Nicolas Maurin 188
Fig. 6.2 Toussaint Louverture’s picture in the 21/10/2016 post on the
CRC Facebook page 189
Fig. 6.3 Gilbert Mottier, Marquis de La Fayette (1757–1834), painted
by Joseph-Désiré Court (1834) 190
Fig. 6.4 Sanité Bélair’s picture in the 13/09/2016 post on the CRC
Facebook page 192
Fig. 6.5 “Freedom Road” picture posted on 01/08/2016 on the CRC
Facebook page 194
Fig. 6.6 Picture posted on 17/11/2016 on the CRC Facebook page 197
Fig. 8.1 Cane cutters (Valentine and Sons, 1891) 249
Fig. 8.2 A washer woman (J. W. Cleary c.a. 1890) 257
Fig. 8.3 Negro girls (Valentine and Sons, 1891) 259
Fig. 9.1 “Plan Your Family”, Caribbean Family Planning Association
(date unknown) 283
Fig. 9.2 Okim and his daughter. Loubiere, Dominica. 2014 290
xiii
List of Tables
Table 4.1 Narrative development of the STUDENT/HOODED

RIOTER is CANCER 121
Table 4.2 Transcript and description of a section of the orientation
sequence128
Table 4.3 Transcript and description of the last 13 seconds of the news
report130
Table 5.1 Ten most represented movements in the Reference Corpus 145
Table 5.2 First 20 words of the intersection between the lists of the 500
most frequent words in the Zapatista Corpus and the
Reference Corpus (excluding stopwords) 148
Table 5.3 Negative keywords with a Marxist connotation 149
Table 5.4 Slang and colloquial language in the Zapatista Corpus 157
Table 5.5 Neologisms in the Zapatista Corpus 158
Table 5.6 Verbal forms alluding to speech acts in the positive keywords
(%DIFF > 1000)162
Table 5.7 Human agents in key-collocates and unique key-collocate
lists of dice 165
xv
1
Introduction
Eleonora Esposito, Carolina Pérez-Arredondo,
and José Manuel Ferreiro
1 Introduction
This edited volume stems from a panel entitled “Discourses from Latin
America and the Caribbean: Current Concepts and Challenges”, which
took place in the occasion of the 6th CADAAD (Critical Approaches to
Discourse Analysis across Disciplines) Conference in Italy, in September
2016. The panel aimed at initiating an extended conversation between
young linguists and specialists in Latin American and Caribbean Studies
willing to explore the recent developments and cross-cutting themes of
E. Esposito (*)
Institute for Culture and Society (ICS), University of Navarra,
Pamplona, Spain
e-mail: eleonora.esposito84@gmail.com
C. Pérez-Arredondo
Language Department, Universidad Bernardo O’Higgins, Santiago, Chile
J. M. Ferreiro
Merlin Research, Santiago, Chile
© The Author(s) 2019 1

E. Esposito et al. (eds.), Discourses from Latin America and the Caribbean,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_1
2 E. Esposito et al.
discursive approaches beyond the Euro-American zone. In the same vein,

this project brings together the latest research in the Latin American and
Caribbean regions in one single volume, hoping to stimulate interna-
tional debate and cross-fertilize the academic research agenda of Discourse
Studies, Latin American Studies, and Caribbean Studies.
The Latin American and the Caribbean regions have traditionally
been the focus of a wide variety of research due to their unique and rich
particularities, able to challenge many conventional dogmas and meth-
ods across the Social Sciences. As Linguists, our view is grounded in the
Bakhtinian notion that language is never neutral (Bakhtin, 1981) but
emerges from sociocultural interaction and is motivated by power rela-
tions among different social groups. Ours is a multifaceted, integrated
concern with the linguistic character of social and cultural processes and
structures in the region, rather than with language use per se, let alone
with language as an object for philological studies. In particular,
Halliday’s (1978) conceptualization of language as a “social semiotic”
and his attention for the strong and pervasive connections between lin-
guistic and social structure inform our perspective on the contemporary
social, political, economic and cultural issues of Latin America and the
Caribbean.
Discourse, therefore, and its pervasive, dialectical relationship with
society, represents the entry point to investigate the complex power
dynamics of Latin America and the Caribbean. Discourse analysis can
shed light on the complexities, struggles and contradictions of the region
by integrating knowledge about historical sources and the social and
political environment within which discourse as social practice is embed-
ded. While linguistics has traditionally focused on the micro analysis of
texts and interactions, social sciences has attended to the macro aspects of
social practice and change. The contributions in this volume thus shun
deliberately from any macro-conceptualization of such a culturally, lin-
guistically and racially diverse area of the world, by focusing on the actual
analysis of discourse as social semiosis in political, institutional and media
discourses from Latin America and the Caribbean. They can be regarded
as an attempt at bridging the existing theoretical and analytical gaps
between the investigation of socio-political and linguistic aspects, finally
interpreting one in light of the other.
Introduction 3
Tackling the multifacetedness of social practice and change in an eth-

nically and culturally diverse region, the contributions in this volume
reflect the current scholarly attention to communication as a multimodal
phenomenon, where “meaning is realized in an interplay between differ-
ent modes of signification such as language, image, and music” (Horsbøl,
2006, p. 149). The ongoing communicative shift from monomodality –
where modes operated more often in isolation – to multimodality – char-
acterized by a growing degree of mode integration (see Machin, 2013),
has been accompanied by a growing awareness of the limitations of a
logocentric approach to discourse (van Leeuwen, 2014). This volume
showcases examples of a more integrated, transdisciplinary investigation
of the role of various semiotic modes in the analysis of language and
discourse.
2 Latin America: Contemporary Voices

Since the 1950s, Latin America has attracted a sheer amount of academic
interest, resulting in the establishment of a vibrant academic field per se.
“Latin American Studies” is now a diverse field, rich in different disci-
plines, theoretical and methodological approaches, and permeated by
complex debates. Latin American Studies have evolved with the region
itself. While at the beginning issues of development and dependency
(Cardoso & Faletto, 2007) were the most salient foci of research, they
have been now sided by others such as identity, dictatorship and transi-
tions to democracy, postcolonialism, resistances, migration, inter-ethnic
relationship, social movements, to name a few examples. Some of these
core issues are covered by the contributions in this book, reflecting on the
most recent socio-political developments in the region.
Latin America has seen the development of several political processes,
such as dictatorships and armed uprisings during the 70s and 80s, and
transitions to democracy and/or peace agreements during the 90s. Latin
America has often been regarded as “the region with the most enduring
and prevalent populist tradition” (Mudde & Rovira Kaltwasser, 2017,
p. 27). More recently, a rich debate has taken place in social sciences over
what some have called the “third wave” of populist governments (Mudde
& Rovira Kaltwasser, 2017, p. 31), such as Bolivia, Ecuador, Venezuela

and Argentina under the Kirchners (2003–2015). Some prefer to call
them a cycle of progressive governments (Modenesi, 2012) or postneoliberals
(Sader, 2008). Labels aside, these governments have represented a turn to
the left in Latin-American politics, encompassing a closer relationship
with Cuba and a series of political and economic inward-looking reforms,
more distant from the IMF policies.
These political changes have been institutionalized into different kinds
of constituent processes. In this political and institutional sense, Latin
America would be in what Gargarella (2013, p. ix) has called the fifth
period of Latin American constitutionalism. This is a period from the end
of the twentieth century to present days which has seen governments
from countries such as Colombia, Ecuador, Venezuela and Bolivia draft
new constitutions via constituent assemblies. This phase in Latin
American history would represent a change where “these reforms not
only move toward a pluralist idea of national identity but also incorpo-
rate elements and forms of differentiated and multicultural citizenship”
(Uprimny, 2011, p. 1590). These institutional processes, and their mutual
relationship with socio-political changes at a national level, have attracted
global attention. One of the most striking examples is the case of Bolivia
and its first indigenous president, Evo Morales. The new constitution
drafted during Morales’ government established Bolivia as a Plurinational
State, in which the multiethnic reality of the country is recognized con-
stitutionally. In a similar vein, Ecuador also connected its new constitu-
tion with its indigenous tradition. This has marked an unprecedented
change in Latin American politics and institutions, giving an official
place to a multiethnic reality, an anti-capitalist discourse based on the
good living (Albó, 2011; Gudynas, 2011) and alternative ways of
development.
Besides the institutional changes in some Latin-American countries,
several social movements have emerged too. While Chile has not been
part of this wave of institutional changes in Latin America, several social
movements have emerged in the country since the 2011 student mass
demonstrations, contributing to change the political landscape of the
country over the past seven years. For example, four former student
leaders gained a seat in parliament during the 2013 elections, becoming
Introduction 5
the youngest candidates to win a Parliamentary election in the country.

Also, the emergence of the Frente Amplio during the 2017 elections
appeared as a viable alternative to traditional politics in Chile, bringing
comparisons to processes such as the Spanish Podemos (Montes, 2017).
The Frente Amplio is composed by several parties and movements which
either came to the fore or started during the social movements’ demon-
strations of 2011 and in the following years. Although emerging from
different political and social backgrounds, their discourses align with a
critique to neoliberalism, progressive stands and contesting the power
distribution established during the 90s’ after the end of Pinochet’s dicta-
torship. In less than a year since its foundation, Frente Amplio have man-
aged to increase their seats in parliament from three to twenty and surpass
20% of the votes in the 2017 presidential and parliamentary elections.
This has foregrounded the causes of social movements to the front stage
of Chilean politics and has seen the emergence of a wide myriad of dis-
courses and contesting discourses which are challenging the status quo in
a similar fashion as the progressive governments did a few years before.
Similarly, the Zapatista movement in Mexico is arguably one of the
most recognized and widely studied in Latin America (Conant, 2010;
Womack, 2009; Rovira, 2009). It officially came to the forefront in
1994 in Chiapas when a group of armed indigenous militants attempted
to occupy seven town halls the same day that the North American Free
Trade Agreement (NAFTA) between Mexico, USA and Canada was
implemented. Since its inception, the Zapatista movement opposed the
neoliberal agenda, blending Zapatism, Marxism and libertarian socialism
(EZLN, 1994). The interface between indigenous, rural and revolution-
ary identities has enhanced the originality of this movement, which has
attracted abundant research interest. In particular, its charismatic leader,
the Subcomandante Marcos has been a subject of significant media atten-
tion (de la Granje & Rico, 1998; Le Bot, 1997) and has become a popular
figure featuring in t-shirts and posters. More than 10 years after its emer-
gence, the Zapatista movement released the sixth declaration of the “Selva
Lacandona” (EZLN, 2005), where they announced the cease of all armed
activities in favour of actual politics. Initially, they did not participate in
general elections, but rather turned to local politics (“la otra campaña”),
helping to both create and coordinate different social organizations and
movements in the country. They also organized intercontinental indige-

nous encounters and expressed solidarity with the alter-globalization
movement and with the governments of Cuba, Bolivia and Ecuador
(ibid.). However, in an unprecedented change, they agreed to nominate
María de Jesús Patricio Martínez as candidate for the 2018 General
Elections, finally ending their reluctance to participate in Mexico’s elec-
toral politics.
Economic, political and cultural relations between the Americas,
encompassing both the long history of U.S. American influence in the
region and the growing Latino presence in the United States, make Latino
Studies an integral part of Latin American Studies. Nowadays, the Latino
population has become the largest and fastest growing minority group in
the U.S. The category “Latino” can be regarded as “a top down, imposed
identity, one that was created in the 1980s as a census category to refer to
all immigrants that could trace their roots back to Latin America/Spain”
(Blitvich, Bou-Franch, & Lorenzo-Dus, 2013, p. 561). Nevertheless, the
Latino identity is characterized by different degrees of assimilation and
hybridization as well as a refashioning of their cultural identity. However,
the Trump era has posed new challenges to the integration of Latinos:
Trump’s campaign for a wall on the Mexican border, his derogatory com-
mentaries against Latin American immigrants and recent offensive asser-
tions (Wintour, Burke, & Livsey, 2018) towards the immigration from
certain Latin American countries certainly have put U.S. Latinos in the
spotlight.
The history of Latin America, the socio-political relations that have
emerged as a result of their colonization and the dictatorships in the area,
as well as the aforementioned emergent, contemporary voices make Latin
America a perfect object of study for Critical Discourse Analysis. For a
discourse analyst, the region means an opportunity to focus on various
social and political phenomena whose origins stem from abuses of power
(e.g. colonialism, dictatorships, and evangelization) and ideological turns
that have scared the region and its people until this day (e.g. Achugar,
2008, 2016; Bietti, 2014; Oteiza & Pinto, 2013, among many others).
Therefore, once this approach to language and social phenomena was
consolidated in Europe in the late 1980s (cf. Fairclough, 2015; Van Dijk,
1993), academics and researchers in Latin America saw an opportunity to
Introduction 7
approach the study of discourse and language in a region that had been
often neglected by Anglo-Saxon academia (cf. Blommaert, 2005; Bolivar,
2010a); a new prospect to analyze, challenge and take a stance on social
problems and phenomena from a multidisciplinary and multi-
methodological perspective (Wodak & Meyer, 2016a). Thus, the
Asociación Latinoamericana de Estudios del Discurso (hencerforth ALED)
was founded in Caracas in 1995 as a multicultural project that aimed to
facilitate the analysis and distribution of research carried out in the area
(see Bolivar, 2010a; Garcia da Silva & Pardo, 2015).
An open and permanent dialogue among researchers and academics is
one of the key features of ALED. Most linguists who brought CDS to
Latin America were highly influenced by the research undertaken in the
1980s in Europe and the United States, highlighting social parallels
between both continents. Pardo argues that researchers in Latin America
studied the discourse of dictators to identify a way of overthrowing them,
much like the racial tensions and the neoliberal practices that emerged
after the fall of the Berlin Wall (Pardo, 2013, p. 9). Under the influence
and tutelage of key figures of CDS, scholars such as Anamaría Harvey
(Chile), Carmen Rosa Caldas-Coulthard (Brazil) and Adriana Bolivar
(Venezuela), among others, introduced CDS to their own countries and
universities (see Londoño Zapata, 2015). In Harvey’s words:
The interest Discourse Studies has sparked, especially in Latin America, is

grounded in the existence of unresolved chronic situations and problems in
our countries; academics and researchers’ growing commitments to con-
tribute to finding a solution through the analysis of representations, inter-
actions, and exchanges that make inequality and discrimination visible (in
FONDECYT1130684, 2014).
This interest in Discourse Studies has resulted in four main research

trends undertaken by Latin American academics and researchers (see
Bolivar, 2015). The first and most prolific trend is a focus on grammatical
choices in an attempt to find patterns in specific genres and/or texts (e.g.
García Negroni, 2014; Koch, 2004; Martinez, 2013; Parodi, 2012).
While this trend considers the social context at a macro level, the empha-
sis is in the text itself. Corpus linguistics, quantitative analysis (statistics)
and some qualitative approaches come to the fore in this trend that focuses
on lexicogrammar. Thus, in this non-critical kind of research, “the first
unit of analysis is the clause and the lexis”, in which speech acts, proposi-
tions, rhetoric and argumentation become objects of study (Bolivar,
2015, p. 14).
The second trend is the focus on oral and written interaction. As
opposed to the first trend, this one focuses “on what people do when they
speak or write and the patterns jointly built among the actors involved in
the interaction” (Bolivar, 2015, p. 15). The work developed in this line of
research regards interaction in its broadest sense, including interactions
in conversational settings, within written texts, and even those across his-
toric periods (e.g. Bolivar, 2010b; Oteíza & Pinuer, 2013). They see lan-
guage as “a process and product of an interaction and the attention
focusses on the construction of identities in interpersonal relations”
(Bolivar, 2015, p. 15). Thus, the dialogical aspect of discourse is fore-
grounded, focusing on both interactions and who performs those inter-
actions, relying on sociocultural pragmatics.
The third research trend follows a similar pattern to a prolific line of
research in Europe, namely the analysis of social representations and how
we interpret reality. This research trend has been highly influenced by van
Dijk’s socio-cognitive model (1997a, b) or Reisigl and Wodak’s Discourse-
Historical Approach (2001, 2016) (Bolivar, 2015, p. 16). Bolivar explains
that, in this research trend, it is crucial to understand that “representa-
tions of experience can be studied from its discourses, realized grammati-
cally in the metafunction of transitivity (Halliday) or as a ‘more
sophisticated’ and more reliable tool than content analysis” (2015, p. 16,
emphasis in original; see also Sayago, 2014). In this trend, discourse ana-
lysts tend to differentiate between discourse analysis and content analysis,
highlighting the interpretative value the various and rigorous method-
ological approaches they draw on in the study of discourse, regardless
whether this is critical or not. Therefore, interpretation is at the core of
this trend, drifting away from the idea of automatization of methodolo-
gies and approaches to data (Sayago, 2014).
Finally, the last research trend focuses on language and social practices
and their influence in socio-political and cultural aspects of society.
Discursive semiotics and multimodal analysis are at the core of this trend,
Introduction 9
which has repercussions in how text is understood. The implications of

this distinction lies in the kind of data used, which is not limited to writ-
ten texts but broadens its scope to study other, more complex semiotic
signs. This focus on society requires a broader methodological frame-
work, resorting to multidisciplinary approaches to the understanding of
the data and its influence in social practices (Bolivar, 2015, p. 17). There
are varied theoretical and methodological influences researchers have
undertaken to the study of social phenomena in the region. Among these
researchers, we can find Haidar’s (2003, 2006) work on political dis-
course and cultural studies in Mexico, Vasilachis de Gialdino’s (2013)
work on sociological-linguistic discourse analysis in Argentina, the work
on multimodal critical analysis carried out by Pardo in Colombia (2010),
the work on historical memory and its ideological struggles by Teresa
Oteiza and Carlos Pinuer (2013), among many others.
In this book, we are interested in understanding Latin America and the
Caribbean through their social and discursive practices. Far from attempt-
ing to overgeneralize the findings in the contributions of this book to
both regions, we aim to highlight the countries idiosyncrasies and chal-
lenges they posit in the identification of social phenomena. The focus is
on people and their practices and how these practices lead to change in
their socio-cultural context (Bolivar, 2010a, p. 219), leading to a multi-
cultural exchange of knowledge and research across Latin American
countries and the Caribbean as well as to the “identification and con-
struction of our identity as a region, unveiling patterns of inequality, dis-
crimination and power abuse” (Bolivar, 2015, p. 22). Therefore, while we
consider their differences and idiosyncrasies, we also acknowledge the
common historical past its people have experienced and that has deter-
mined, to various extents, how they (re)construct, perform and appropri-
ate their individual, national and regional identities.
3 The Caribbean: Broadened Horizons

Many are the common patterns in the histories, cultures, social institu-
tions and political systems of countries throughout the Americas and in
the Caribbean island-nations. Analogously to Latin America, the
Caribbean is a culturally, linguistically and racially diverse region, shaped

by colonialism, genocide and slavery. Both regions are usually regarded as
a complex human mixture of indigenous, European, African and Asian
cultural heritages and are framed using various metaphors of plurality,
fragmentation and hybridity.
Across the Social Sciences, the Caribbean has often been defined as a
“theoretical hotbed” (Munasinghe, 2006, p. 550), for its power to ques-
tion models, paradigms, theories and methods. In fact, “academic ortho-
doxies regarding concepts such as ‘family’, ‘peasant’, ‘religion’, ‘race’,
‘ethnicity’, ‘capitalism’ and, especially ‘culture’ were seriously challenged
by the region’s complexity from the very inception of their application”
(Munasinghe, 2006, p. 550). Commenting on the common academic
urge to systematize the political, economic, social and anthropological
dynamics of the archipelago, Benitez-Rojo observed:
the new (dis)coverers – who come to apply the dogmas and methods that
had served them well where they came from, – can’t see that these refer only
to the realities back home. So they get into the habit of defining the
Caribbean in terms of its resistance to the different methodologies sum-
moned to investigate it (1996, p. 1f ).
Since its inception in the 1950s, Caribbean sociology has attempted at

systematizing the complexities of Caribbean life, cultures and practices,
struggling at drawing some lines across the unparalleled amount of diver-
sities (such as racial, ethnic, religious, gender, and class) contained within
national boundaries and within the Archipelago as a whole. Ironically,
any attempt at describing the Caribbean entailed embedding in the
description some of the main obstacles to its very investigation: “its frag-
mentation; its instability; its reciprocal isolation; its uprootedness; its cul-
tural heterogeneity; its lack of historiography and historical continuity;
its contingency and impermanence; its syncretism” (Benitez-Rojo, 1996,
p. 1).
Sociologists have aimed to develop broad theoretical and conceptual
frameworks both relevant to the whole region as well as applicable to the
single nations of the archipelago. There has been a strong tendency to
historicize the multiple contradictions of the region, establishing a causal
Introduction 11
relationship between the plantation social structure and the social strati-
fication of the present, highlighting the impact of colonial rule and racial
stratification on the social differentiation present in the area (Barrow &
Reddock, 2001). The available studies have generally fallen either into a
narrative of the continuation of ancestral diversities between the diverse
ethnic groups in the Caribbean (plural model) or into accounts of homog-
enization through racial and cultural mixture (creole model).
Smith’s (1965) presentation of the Plural model as a new paradigm for
the Caribbean reality and its socio-historical processes was able to spark a
furious scholarly debate. One of the main points of criticism against
Smith’s model targeted the importance given to race as the core explana-
tory principle of Caribbean society, at the full expense of other equally
crucial and overlapping variables, such as cultural and socio-occupational
stratification (Hall, 1977). Another controversial issue was the deep
influence of J. S. Furnivall (1944, 1948) on Smith’s plural model. A colo-
nial public servant in Southeast Asia, Furnivall contrasted the plural soci-
ety he encountered in these Asian colonies to the homogeneous society he
believed was to be found in the European countries. This portrait of
divided nations beyond repair, with racial tensions firmly entrenched
between ethnic groups, was deeply influenced by British colonial inter-
ests. According to Furnivall (1948, p. 65), in fact, “a benevolent but
impartial umpire” was needed in such countries in order to rule and
maintain stability, as without an “elaborate western superstructure over
native life” (Furnivall, 1948, p. 280), the society would collapse.
The Creolization model emerged during a highly ideologically charged
historical moment, when the British Caribbean was at the forefront of
the cause of national independence and nation-building. Partly drawing
on Elsa Goveia’s study (1965) of the Leeward Islands slave society, the
Barbadian scholar Kamau Brathwaite (1971, 1974) conceptualized
Caribbean society as having emerged over time through “imitation,
native creation or indigenization, language, sex and amorous influences”
(Brathwaite, 1974, p. 19), with black Africans and white Europeans as
“contributory parts of a whole” (Brathwaite, 1971, p. 307). By highlight-
ing the active role of African ancestry and cultural traditions in the
Caribbean, Brathwaite elevated Afro-Creoles to the role of culture cre-
ators in the newly independent nation, serving an overtly anti-colonialist
and nationalist project. Similarly to Ortiz’s transculturation and Glissant’s

transversality, Brathwaite’s creolization was meant to be “powerful tools
for intellectual critique of western colonialism and imperialism, tools
appropriate to a specific context and grounded in Caribbean realities”
(Sheller, 2003, p. 188). Although widely popular and often “generally
accepted as the leading interpretation of Caribbean society” (Shepherd &
Richards, 2002, p. vii), the Creole-society framework is far from being
an all-encompassing mode of understanding Caribbean societies. It has
been embraced in most of the northern Caribbean, including the
Hispanic areas, but its application to the Southern Caribbean has been
more problematic (Reddock, 1998). One of the main limit points of the
framework is the little attention paid to the numerous relations between
non-White ethnic groups in a situation of multiple-ethnic contact in the
Caribbean, such as the complex relations between Indo-Caribbean and
Afro-Caribbean in countries like Trinidad and Tobago, Suriname and
Guyana (Puri, 1999; Munasinghe, 2006).
Linguistics seems to have followed the same fascination for the cre-
ation of models for the scholarly systematization of Caribbean fragmen-
tation and heterogeneity. The linguistic landscape of the Caribbean is as
multifaceted as its social structure, with language users managing a com-
plex interface of Amerindian, European, Caribbean creole as well as
immigrant and religious languages. Although the region has been with-
standing an ongoing process of heavy language loss over the past five
centuries, there are at least seventy surviving languages in the Caribbean
region. Interestingly, while twenty-three heritage Amerindian languages
that have resisted language extinction and death, an equal number of
new, recognizably distinct Creole languages have been created in the area
(Ferreira, 2012).
As a matter of fact, the issue of language creation and linguistic cre-
olization has been representing an ever-absorbing interests of Caribbean
linguists over the past 60 years. Countless studies have been conducted
in subfield of Creole Linguistics (or Creolistics) to determine each lan-
guage’s genesis, typology or structure, analyzing the phenomenon from a
linguistic and socio-historical viewpoint (Devonish, 2010). Up until the
1960s, linguists had often reserved a “half-blood treatment” (Dwivedi,
2015) to the languages born and spoken in the Caribbean: a highly
Introduction 13
compartmentalized approach saw Creole languages as departing from

(and, as a consequence, deforming) higher European languages. While
this Euro-centric model has been largely abandoned, the long history of
controversy over “the definitions of pidgins and Creoles and the specific
criteria that distinguish them from other languages and each other”
(Winford, 1997, p. 1) goes on. Since the 1980s, “universalists” and “sub-
stratists” have been pitted against each other over how to account for the
genesis of a Creole and to what extent it is actually different from its
lexifier language (Kouwenberg & Singler, 2008). Intimately related to
the phenomenon of linguistic creolization in the Caribbean is the second
major research interest in Caribbean linguistics: the thorny issue of
Language Policy and Planning, which, at least in the Anglophone
Caribbean, still operates in the context of general unacceptance of Creole
as an appropriate language for education, especially in higher educa-
tional stages (see Thomas, 2014).
Compared with Latin American Studies, Caribbean Studies has paid
inadequate scholarly attention to political, media and institutional dis-
courses. While we have seen the main socio-linguistic debates and issues
that have kept Caribbeanists busy, we can identify two major causes for
the lack of a solid development of Discourse Analysis in the Caribbean
comparable to the one in Latin America. On the one hand, when delim-
iting the scope of Caribbean discourse analysis, the centrality of the liter-
ary in Postcolonial Studies has played a major role in directing the
scholarly interest of Caribbean scholars towards fiction. This established
tendency to focus on literary production and its criticism as a lens to
interpret the postcolonial social world (see Lalla, D’Costa, & Pollard,
2014) has come at the expenses of political, institutional and media dis-
courses. On the other hand, linguistic investigation in the Caribbean
seems to be monopolized by the subfield of Creolistics, which has come
to represent a synonym for the field of Caribbean Linguistics as a whole.
This tendency shows no sign of abating: in her inaugural lecture at the
University of the West Indies entitled The Future of Caribbean Linguistics,
Kouwenberg (2011) has called for the need of even more theoretical
models of language structure and language contact in Caribbean
Linguistics, still revolving around a largely formal, typological approach
to language.
Throughout this book, we picture – and hope to contribute to – a

more integrated, transdisciplinary future for the field of Caribbean
Linguistics, able to include more socially committed, problem-oriented,
discourse-based, critical approaches to Caribbean social issues. Similarly
to Latin America, the complexities, struggles and contradictions of the
postcolonial Caribbean have long been an open frontier of scholarly
investigation: we see the discursive focus on the socio-political context,
and on its mutually influencing, pervasive relationship with language,
having a strong potential to shed further light on a region marked by
“neo-colonial dependency, global capital’s assaults on sovereignty, cyclical
and mass migrations of population, environmental and cultural ravages,
and bitter ethnic tensions among the members of its disparate diasporas”
(Puri, 1999, p. 14).
Ours is not the first call for a discursive approach in Caribbean
Linguistics. More than a decade ago, Walker (2006) had aimed at draw-
ing the attention of Caribbean social scientists towards a critical discur-
sive approach and highlighted the potential of applying Fairclough’s
Dialectical Relational approach to the study of discourse and society in
the Caribbean. However, few Caribbean scholars to date have explored
the huge potential of a systematic and rigorous analysis of the discourses
shaping the Caribbean social life (Esposito, 2015, 2017a, b). It is also
worth mentioning that academic studies of Anglophone political and
institutional discourse have been characterized by a rather Western-
centric attention to the Euro-American world. Although English is the
official language of politics and government in 58 sovereign states around
the world, major political figures like Winston Churchill, Margaret
Thatcher, Barack Obama, Tony Blair and George W. Bush seem to be the
longstanding objects of interest of the Anglophone discourse analysts
(Charteris-Black, 2005). More recent studies on Anglophone political
discourse in non-Western contexts have primarily focused on African
countries (i.e. Adedun & Atolagbe, 2011; Al-Faki, 2014; Orwenjo, 2009)
but have overlooked the Caribbean context, which represents an authen-
tic data haul of political discourse from the largest set of continuing
democracies among postcolonial countries around the globe.
While the discourse studies toolbox offers a great amount of methods
and techniques for working on discourse and its underlying ideologies,
Introduction 15
the contributions in this volume show the potential of some core discur-
sive analytical frameworks.
Among these, the long-standing discursive interest for the construc-
tion of national, regional as well as individual identities stands out as
relevant to a core issue in the Caribbean region. By means of discourse,
in fact, contemporary Caribbean nations address and redress both the
traumatic colonial experiences of the past and the complex status quos of
the present, with identities being discursively “produced, reproduced,
transformed and destructed” and becoming reality “in the realm of con-
victions and beliefs through reifying, figurative discourses continuously
launched by politicians, intellectuals and media people” (De Cillia et al.
1999, p. 153). In a region with a burdensome history of slavery and colo-
nialism, the parallel interest for the historical dimension of discursive acts
seems particularly significant, as it allows the integration of all available
information about “historical sources and the background of the social
and political fields in which discursive events are embedded, with an
interest in diachronic change” (Reisigl & Wodak, 2001, p. 35).
The discursive approaches in this volume are also characterized by a
holistic conceptualization of discourse, highlighting the “extension to
non-verbal (semiotic, multimodal, visual) aspects of interaction and com-
munication: gestures, film, the internet, multimedia” (Wodak & Meyer,
2016a, p. 2). This extension, a clear example of the multidisciplinary and
multi-methodological nature of the discursive approach, stems from the
interest in “social phenomena which are necessarily complex” rather than
“linguistic units per se” (Wodak & Meyer, 2016a, p. 2), and allows
researchers to account for the “supersyncretic” and “polyrhythmic” nature
of Caribbean societies (Benitez-Rojo, 1996).
4 Outline of the Book
The book is structured around four sections. Each section addresses some
of the theoretical and methodological challenges we have to account for
when studying the Latin American and Caribbean regions.
4.1 art I: Ethnic and Latin American Identities

P
Construction in Intercultural and Multinational
Settings
One of the most commonly researched areas in Discourse Studies is the

construction of (national) identity. Nonetheless, when it comes to the
analysis of identity in the region, analysts face certain challenges, in par-
ticular in terms of the still omnipresent influence of its historical past of
domination and colonization. In theory, mestizaje and the idea of a Latin
American identity are positively evaluated and constructed in this region,
which has been historically grounded in the idea of a common language
and their ideological (i.e. religious) and territorial colonization (Radcliffe
& Westowood, 1996, p. 169). However, a careful analysis of social and
discursive practices shows the opposite: whiteness and/or having
European features are associated with positive and desirable qualities,
while those who do not possess these features are associated with “ugli-
ness laziness, delinquency, irresponsibility, backwardness, lack of intelli-
gence, and so on” (Van Dijk, 2005, p. 84). Similarly, there are two
particular experiences in the Caribbean that posit more and complex
challenges. On the one hand, the experience of Middle Passage and slav-
ery has had a detrimental effect on how identity is understood and expe-
rienced in the area. On the other hand, throughout the experience of
colonialism, the West not only constructed these people as different but
they also “had the power to make [them] see and experience [themselves]
as ‘Other’” (Hall, 1990, p. 225). The Caribbean people are broadly seen
either as the bearers of a “nonhistory”, associated with the painful heri-
tage of colonization, genocide, and slavery, or the bearers of a sense of
“historylessness”, associated to a sense of amnesia and erosion of identity
(Glissant, 1981).
Therefore, this section of the book deals with the concept of identity and
its role in the development and maintenance of political discourses in the
regions. The book starts with Katharina Friederike Gallant’s approach to
Evo Morales’ political re-foundation in Bolivia. This contribution revolves
around the construction of Evo Morales as the first indigenous president,
Introduction 17
departing from the traditional norm of Bolivian presidents. From Gallant’s

point of view, this representation of Evo Morales enables him to define this
norm anew and thus question not only the existent set of rules of discourse
but also the traditional structure of society. Thus, this contribution looks at
how Morales’ ethnic-cultural background is expressed in his discourse (i.e.
his speeches as well as manifestations thereof in core legal documents) and
what effect this has on the discursive construction of intercultural together-
ness in the light of Foucault’s (2007) discourse analysis. In particular,
Gallant explores how the discursive construction of the national and vari-
ous ethnic-cultural identities as well as the re-construction of cultural
memory are at stake as President Morales makes an effort to re-found his
country as the Plurinational State of Bolivia.
Political identities do not only conflict at a national level but also in
multinational settings. This conflict is addressed in José Manuel
Ferreiro’s contribution on the discursive construction of a Latin
American identity in the UN mission in Haiti. Haiti is a country char-
acterized by political turmoil and national emergencies such as the dev-
astating earthquake in 2010, the following cholera outbreak and sexual
abuse scandals. These events led to the creation of a UN mission com-
posed almost entirely by Latin American troops (Ross, 2004, p. 1),
which has been considered an asset by some of the leaders of the mis-
sion, despite its unprecedented nature (Ferreiro & Wodak, 2014). This
chapter analyzes the discursive construction of a Latin American iden-
tity and the legitimation strategies of MINUSTAH leaders in the con-
text of the UN peacekeeping mission in Haiti. The chapter revolves
around the analysis of interviews with MINUSTAH’s leaders conducted
at various instances (2004–2015), grounded in Reisigl and Wodak’s
Discourse-Historical Approach (2001). Ferreiro identifies the complex-
ities of the discursive construction of a Latin American identity, mostly
influenced by geopolitical interests. In particular, he explains that,
while a shared experience of poverty and institutional breakdowns con-
tribute to shape a sense of “cultural identity” (cf. Larraín, 2001), the
self-affirmation of a Latin-American identity is mainly established in
contrast with the United States.
4.2 art II: Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted

P
Approaches to Hegemonic and Resistance
Discourses in Latin America
The construction of (political) identities inevitably addresses issues of

power and ideology, and the dialogical and complex dynamic between
those who exercise power and those who challenge it. Critical Discourse
Studies focuses on the unveiling of social inequality that stems from
power and ideological relations in society, accounting for the critical
component of this school. For discourse analysts, power is “embedded in
and conveyed by discourses” playing a key role in its social implementa-
tion (Wodak & Meyer, 2016a, p. 11), and is understood as “social power
in terms of control” in which a party exercises control over others (Van
Dijk, 2008, p. 9; emphasis in original). In other words, CDS examines
how (abuse of ) power is both exercised, negotiated, and (re)produced
discursively (Fairclough, Mulderrig, & Wodak, 2011, p. 369) and deter-
mined by actors’ access to the public sphere (Van Dijk, 2006a, p. 362).
Unsurprisingly, the relationship between the realization of hegemonic
discourses and their counter-discourses resisting them at various levels
represents another core issue transversally characterizing the region, in
particular when dealing with social movements.
This section of the book starts with Carolina Pérez-Arredondo and
Camila Cárdenas-Neira’s examination of the criminalization of the
Chilean student movement in the national media discourse. The contri-
bution sets to analyze the multimodal representation of the narratives
associated with the student as an inherently violent social actor in broad-
cast media, who is systematically excluded from the public sphere. In
particular, the authors explore the recontextualization of the students’
political actions and motivations through the identification of metaphors
and their function in the overall legitimation of their representation (cf.
Cárdenas & Pérez, 2017). Their analysis combines, adapts, and develops
two main methodologies. On the one hand, the authors use the concepts
of multimodal metaphors and emotional prosody to identify how
the students’ political actions are materialized and naturalized systemati-
cally within the narrative structure provided by the news report. On the
other, they adapt van Leeuwen’s approach to motive and legitimation
Introduction 19
of social actors/actions (2008) to describe how these multimodal con-

structions enhance the crime narrative associated to the student move-
ment in hegemonic discourses such as the media (cf. Pérez, 2016).
From the Chilean student movement, the book moves to Mexico and
the analysis of one of the most innovative revolutionary movements of
contemporary Latin America. Isabelle Gribomont’s contribution analyzes
the Zapatista resistant discourse through the incorporation of Corpus
Linguistics methods. Grounded in decolonial thinking and subaltern
studies, the author analyzes how issues of democracy and identity, nota-
bly the boundary between self and others, East and West, dominant and
subaltern, are disrupted in Marcos’ discourse. Gribomont approaches the
specialized corpus she built and uses keyword, collocation, key colloca-
tion, and concordance line analysis to identify the evolution of Marcos’
discourse as well as ideological and topical shifts. Similarly, she also
focuses on how the semantic prosodies of words related to national iden-
tities, indigenism, or democracy reveal more systematically the connota-
tions associated with those concepts.
4.3 art III: Discourses of Slavery Reparation

P
and Immigrant Integration from the Caribbean
and Latin America
Forced and free migrations represent one of the core phenomena of both
Caribbean and Latin American societies. In the Caribbean, two “dia-
sporic mo(ve)ments” (Lokaisingh-Meighoo, 2001) shape both the collec-
tive memory of the past and the challenges of the present in the region.
The first is the forced migration of the Atlantic slave trade commemo-
rated as the Middle Passage, which dispersed Africans to new locations far
from their ancestral homeland. The second is the voluntary migration of
the present times, which originates both in the crippling legacy of slavery
and in the under-developing neo-colonial control. Caribbean migrations
diasporize both the heritage of an oneiric cultural African space as well
as of an equally imagined pan-Caribbean identity. Similarly to what
happens in the Caribbean, unstable governments affected by corruption
and inequality, economies marred by neo-colonial interests, as well as
profound inter- and intra-community disunity foster migration in Latin

America.
Eleonora Esposito’s contribution explores the multimodal discursive
strategies employed by the CARICOM Reparations Commission
(henceforth CRC) to argue for slavery reparations on Social Media,
with a focus on Facebook. For the analysis of 95 multimodal wall posts
(pictures and captions) posted on the CRC Facebook page between
August and November 2016, Esposito draws on Kress and van
Leeuwen’s (2006) “Visual Grammar” and integrates key tenets on the
discursive construction of collective identities from the Discourse-
Historical Approach (Reisigl & Wodak, 2001). In the context of this
study, the CRC Facebook data is regarded as carefully selected infor-
mation, strategically disseminated by means of a highly interactive
platform. By means of its critical multimodal approach, this study
accounts for the way in which different semiotic resources are deployed
to communicate ideas and values, ultimately contributing to brand the
reparation movement identity. The analysis sheds a light on the CRC
discursive construction of Caribbean history by means of a multimodal
narration and postcolonial confabulation of key historical events and
figures from the archipelago, grounded in a polarized negative other-
representation of European colonizers and positive self-presentation of
African slaves.
The asymmetrical relations that stem from the dichotomy domi-
nated/dominator have caused negative havoc on multiculturality, espe-
cially when it comes to co-habitation of different cultures in a foreign
country. In this regard, the United States and the American dream have
always been a referent in Latin America, fostering migration to this
country. However, integration has always been at stake, due to the nega-
tive discursive constructions of immigrants and the risks to the host
nation (cf. Massey, Pren, & Durand, 2009; Santa Ana, 2002). Ricardo
Medina’s contribution explores the discursive representation of the
socio-cultural integration of Latino immigrants in the city of Los
Angeles in the Trump era. Medina investigates the experiences of Latin
American immigrants in the United States and their perception of real-
ity. He analyzes the social-discursive significations of the Latin American
Introduction 21
immigrant community related to its recognition and integration in the

City of Los Angeles and its society through an interdisciplinary perspec-
tive that combines and integrates empirical, qualitative and phenome-
nological approaches coming from Discourse Analysis (DA) and Social
Psychology. Throughout the realization of focus group (five participants)
and six interviews with immigrants from different Latin American
countries, Medina explores their perception on how their communities
were acknowledged and perceived in Los Angeles, and their impact in
their integration.
4.4 art IV: Integrated Approaches to Race

P
and Gender in the Caribbean
Finally, the book closes with a section on how race and gender are con-
structed, performed, (re)produced and challenged in the Caribbean
region. Racial difference was at the core of the argument that justified the
system of forced transportation and enslavement of an estimated thirteen
million African people via the transatlantic slave trade. The definitions of
racial difference and hegemony in the Caribbean, grounded in the paral-
lel valorization of whiteness and devaluation of blackness, are to be neces-
sarily mapped within an intersectional approach onto gendered power
dynamics in the region. Ironically, both coercive and consensual interra-
cial sexual relationships are the main responsible factor for the creation of
a unique, multifaceted population which is able to resist any fixed racial
hierarchy. As both racial tensions and oppressive gender roles in the
Caribbean today largely developed out of the British imperial system,
gender is a crucial, indispensable lens to investigate dominance systems as
well as to imagine alternative futures in the region.
Inequality and racialized privilege are explored in Karen Wilkes’ con-
tribution on tourism visual texts. This author examines the “revitalisation
of patriarchy” as displayed in the images that “ask[ed audiences] to iden-
tify and interpret events from the bourgeois position…” (Thompson,
1998, p. 67). Wilkes adopts an interdisciplinary approach to discuss epis-
temological considerations for visual research methodologies: as images
are carriers of knowledge, their creators are directly “linked to knowledge
positions” (Rodríguez, 2010, p. 50). She argues for greater depth and under-
standing of the social, cultural, political, and economic significance of visual
texts. This allows her to make visible the representations of patriarchy which
appropriate the Caribbean as a backdrop for displays of patriarchal white-
ness, and present the Caribbean as a white heterosexual consumer utopia.
Gender relations in Dominica, on the other hand, are explored in
Adom Philogene Heron’s contribution on paternal care. This chapter
explores the dissonant discursive construction of paternal care in
Dominica. The author examines how fathers’ care is spoken about and
performed in various ways. He investigates how concepts of care as provi-
sion and emotional labor are both in everyday circulation on the island,
though each is variously verbalized or hushed by mothers and fathers in
context- and class-specific ways. Heron shows how paternal care is discur-
sively formed through everyday speech, public statements, silences and
quotidian practices by a range of actors. He is also interested in how dis-
course affords recognition—whether/how fathers are said, and thus seen,
to care for their children in Dominica and, by extension, the Caribbean as
reflected in seventeen months of ethnographic fieldwork. His methodo-
logic approach is decidedly eclectic, drawing on everyday conversations,
semi-structured interviews, observations, family planning materials, tele-
vision and social media to offer a multimodal analysis of the ways father-
ing is being discussed and performed in Dominica (and the Caribbean
more broadly). Such eclecticism owes not only to the disciplinary stance
of anthropology as a field concerned with the qualitative breadth of
human social life but is necessary for apprehending the “supersyncretic”
and “polyrhythmic” nature of Caribbean societies (Benitez-Rojo, 1996).
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Part I
Ethnic and Latin American Identities
Construction in Intercultural and
Multinational Settings
2
Discursive Re-foundation
of an Intercultural Abya Yala: Morales’
Discourse in the Midst of Crisis
and the Tradition of Protest
Katharina Friederike Gallant
1 Introduction
October 20, 2008, marked a historic date in Bolivian history as tens of
thousands of indigenous people marched toward the Governmental
Palace in the city of La Paz to push for a plebiscite which would allow
them to cast their vote in favor of the new political constitution (CPE).
The Constitutional Assembly had drawn up this new CPE under the
leadership of President Evo Morales. According to Morales (2008d;
2009b), this new CPE—which entered into force in February 2009 after
being approved by plebiscite—should be a sign that discrimination and
racism are coming to an end in Bolivia. In line with this claim and giving
credence to the new name of the country as the Plurinational State of
Bolivia, its preamble states: “We populate this holy Mother Earth with
This contribution is based on a doctoral dissertation at the Department for Historical

Ethnology at Frankfurt University (see Gallant, 2014).
K. F. Gallant (*)
Center for Development Research (ZEF), Bonn University, Bonn, Germany
e-mail: kgallant@uni-bonn.de

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_2
34 K. F. Gallant
different facial features and from now on understand the diversity of

all things and our own diversity as living beings and cultures as valid”1
(CPE, 2009, Preámbulo, Trans.).
Morales, head of the socialist party Movimiento al Socialismo –
Instrumento Político por la Soberanía de los Pueblos (MAS-IPSP) and of
Aymaran descent, was elected Bolivia’s first indigenous president in 2005
(Mesa Gisbert, 2008b). It is this ethnic-cultural origin which distin-
guishes him from all his predecessors and which furthermore implies a
historically unique position out of which Morales became the highest
representative of society. This is particularly remarkable as the majority of
Bolivians self-identified as indigenous rather than as white around the
time that Morales was first elected president,2 though this number com-
prises various different indigenous ethnicities and cultures (INE, 2011).
Bolivia’s demographics not only stick out based on the ethnic-cultural
diversity of its population but also due to the Andean state being one of
the poorest countries of Latin America (PNUD, 2013). Working toward
national unity in diversity and increasing prosperity have thus been
declared core tasks of any Bolivian president (PNUD, 2004).
As an elected representative, Morales took on this responsibility within
the context of a broader movement which is linked to the term Abya Yala,
the original name of the American continent in the language of the Kuna,
an indigenous people living in today’s Panama. The significance of Abya
Yala exceeds that of a mere synonym of America as it also reflects the
desire and search for a new indigenous self-confidence (Estermann, 2009,
p. 1, footnote 2). Abya Yala thus becomes an expression of the subaltern
in their struggle for self-determination and a synonym for a protest move-
ment that seeks to surmount any (neo-)colonialist exploitation of the
indigenous population. This juxtaposition of the dominant Western term
America and the more original term Abya Yala is the broad context in
which Morales was inaugurated first in an indigenous and subsequently
in an official ceremony in January 2006.
1
Original: “Poblamos esta sagrada Madre Tierra con rostros diferentes, y comprendimos desde
entonces la pluralidad vigente de todas las cosas y nuestra diversidad como seres y culturas.”
2
The most recent census of 2012 found that only around 42% of Bolivians self-identified as indig-
enous rather than as non-indigenous (INE, 2015). This decrease of roughly 20% compared to
2001 shows the flexibility of auto-identification and spurs discussion as to the reasons behind these
numbers (Tabra, 2013).
Discursive Re-foundation of an Intercultural Abya Yala… 35
Bringing together this particular formation of continentally relevant

context on the one hand and national-personal context on the other hand
leads to the research question: How is Morales’ ethnic-cultural back-
ground expressed in his discourse and what effect does this have on the
discursive construction of intercultural togetherness? Of particular inter-
est for the exploration of this question is also the contemporary setting,
namely, the rise of protests against the government in recent years.3
During his campaign, Morales had promised a significant—(socio-)eco-
nomic, ethnic-cultural, and environmental—change, thus implying that
he would break free from the previous political tradition (Villegas
Quiroga, 2006; Ministerio de Planificación y Desarrollo, 2006). Given
the uniqueness of his ethnic-cultural background against the white–mes-
tizo history of Bolivia’s government and social elite, any change would be
expected to encompass a strong ethnic-cultural component. Furthermore,
there have recently been other presidents in Abya Yala/America (e.g.,
Barack Obama in the USA) who were also the first of their ethnic-cultural
community to hold that position (or who, like Rafael Correa in Ecuador,
at least promoted indigeneity). Thus, studying Morales’ discourse is
closely linked to the more general questions: Are there indications of a
more encompassing change regarding ethnic-cultural discursive rules?
How do they relate to the philosophical concept of interculturality?
In the following, the context, theoretical framework, and methodol-
ogy of this research are laid out before analyzing Morales’ ethnic-cultural
discourse. Thereafter, the challenge of implementing this discourse is dis-
cussed within the context of two conflicts which resemble the start of
protest against the government and the more recent and perhaps most
serious controversy on Morales’ discourse, respectively. This essay con-
cludes with remarks on Morales’ ethnic-cultural discourse and its impli-
cations for establishing a more encompassing change in the set of
discursive rules (Foucault, 1981) regarding the peaceful encounter
between peoples of different ethnic-cultural backgrounds.
3
Throughout the first eight months of 2016, eight major protests occurred confronting the govern-
ment on social issues (Cuiza, 2016). However, these cases of conflict were not dominated by an
ethnic-cultural component for which reason their discussion is not central to this analysis. Their
occurrence nevertheless points to the contested position Morales’ administration has recently
taken.
36 K. F. Gallant
2 Context of Protest
The general sociopolitical discourse and Morales’ biography connect in
that starting in the mid-twentieth century, societal structures changed in
Bolivia toward a more favorable situation for the indigenous population.4
This development first made today’s era of Morales possible.
The analysis of both Bolivian history and Morales’ personal story
(Gallant, 2014) points to the great importance of social movements
which, at times, quite literally blocked the traditional way of proce-
dures in order to achieve change (Mesa Gisbert, 2008b). Hence,
Morales’ presidency stands on the tradition of protests that started
dominating the customarily non-indigenous Bolivian politics in the
1990s when indigenous people under the leadership of the
Confederation of Indigenous Peoples of Bolivia (CIDOB) marched
from the lowlands to the city of La Paz to draw attention to their
rights to dignity and access to their ancestral territory. Ten years later,
the concept of such an indigenous protest movement was revitalized
in the context of the so-called War on Water. This protest movement
employed elements of an indigenous discourse, such as the reference
to Mother Earth by using the Quechua/Aymara term “Pachamama”
(Canessa, 2006), and turned into the spark that further strengthened
this new tradition of protests. In 2003, the so-called War on Gas fol-
lowed. This time, the Aymara of the highlands, with the support of
cocaleros from the Yungas region, took a leading role in isolating the
city of La Paz through extensive blockades (Mesa Gisbert, 2008b).
Their success was indeed revolutionary as both Bolivia’s president and
vice president resigned as a result of the blockade tactics of Morales’
party MAS-IPSP.
Hence, Morales first became a well-known political entity in opposi-
tion to the white and mestizo structures which had determined the coun-
try’s course until recently. Moreover, he was labeled “drug dealer”,
4
For a detailed analysis of the four stages leading up to Morales’ presidency—National Revolution
of 1952, presidency of Barrientos, emergence of indigenous social movements starting in the
1970s, and political emergence of indigenous peoples as of 1990—and further influential factors,
see Gallant (2014).
“assassin”, “terrorist”, and “Bin Laden of the Andeans” (Morales, 2016a,

p. 42, Trans.), and expelled as a member of parliament in 2002 before
assuming presidency only four years later (Báez & de la Hoz, 2008; Sivak,
2008). Morales embodies a change of power relations and corresponding
discourse that promoted him from the status “enemy of the State” to
“head of State”. Theoretically speaking, Morales’ career points to the
importance of discursive contradictions to understand how formerly
opposing traditions of historic a priori interlocked and created a new set
of rules that first made the singular event of his presidency possible
(Foucault, 1981).
2.1 TIPNIS
In 2011, seventeen social organizations under the auspices of CIDOB

started a protest march from the lowlands to the city of La Paz in order to
protest against the construction of a highway through the indigenous ter-
ritory and national park Territorio Indígena y Parque Nacional Isiboro-
Sécure (TIPNIS). The government had initiated the construction without
consulting with the indigenous people living in the territory and had thus
violated the CPE (2009, Art. 30 (15), Art. 352) and international law.5
As the conflict developed, the government’s understanding of develop-
ment was strongly criticized for ignoring indigenous values (Laing, 2015,
p. 156).
Trying to silence the protests, State officials attempted to dissolve the
movement by violent means (Fundación TIERRA, 2012, pp. 119–138)
and thus, once more, violated constitutional and international law
(Albarracín Sánchez, 2012). The protest march, nevertheless, succeeded
reaching La Paz and thus managed to stay true to their famous historic
template,6 the first indigenous protest march of 1990.
5
Indigenous and Tribal People’s Convention (1989, Art. 7) and UN Declaration on the Rights of
Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP, 2008, Art. 32 (2)).
6
The only act of violence committed on the part of the social movement was that Chancellor David
Choquehuanca, perhaps the most authentic Aymara of the government (Pacheco, 2010), was
forced to join the march for a few kilometers (Fundación TIERRA, 2012, pp. 108–111).
38 K. F. Gallant
Other protest marches both in favor of and against the government’s

stand on the highway construction followed, leading to the passing of
several new laws which were designed to catch up on the previously
missed consultations. Yet concrete government activities in this direction
left room for doubt concerning the sincere character of the encounter
with those indigenous communities that would be affected by the road
construction (Caritas Boliviana & APDHB, 2012).
2.2 Plebiscite
On February 21, 2016, the Bolivian people cast their votes in a plebiscite
to decide whether Article 168 of the CPE should be altered to allow
president and vice president to run a third time in a row (this event is
subsequently referred to as 21F). Morales argued that “the law should be
adapted to the needs of the peoples” (2016b, p. 35, Trans.), for which
reason 21F was to assess whether Bolivia “needed” him and his vice presi-
dent to seek another term in office (Morales, 2016b). Vice President
Álvaro García Linera (2016b) added that the basis for 21F was the unique
trust that Bolivia places in its people to decide upon their own destiny.
García Linera (2016a) assured that President and Vice President would
respect the popular vote, a promise that Morales (2016b) confirmed
shortly thereafter. Be that as it may, the Bolivian people decided by a
small margin of only 2.6% (Medrano Cruz, 2017) that they were not in
support of altering the CPE.
3 Theoretical Framework
3.1 Discourse and Power
In light of the complex net of linkages and references that locate Morales’
presidency in a broader context and define his scope of action through
both an implicit and explicit set of rules, the stated research question is
investigated within the theoretical framework of Foucault’s discourse
analysis. According to Foucault (1981, p. 243), a discourse comprises the

particularity of single events, the conditions due to which they first came
into existence, their limitations and their correlations with other
expressions, the incorporation of a new set of rules adopted by the dis-
course, and the possible replacement of one discourse through another.
Given the particularity which Morales’ presidency owes to the ethnic-
cultural origin of the head of State, locating Morales’ discourse within
Foucault’s framework calls to analyze why his discourse cannot be differ-
ent from what it is, in which way it is exclusive compared to any other
discourse, and in which way it claims a position in relation to other dis-
courses which could not be occupied by any other entity (Foucault, 1981,
p. 43). Practically speaking, such an analysis requires investigating the
historic apriorities7 which first made Morales’ presidency possible—thus
highlighting the particularity of the event of his presidency—before con-
tinuing to analyze his discourse expressed through official governmental
utterances while focusing on how it positions itself within Bolivia’s
ethnic-cultural landscape.
This procedure also allows the application of a distinction pro-
moted by Assmann (1999): he differentiated between history as a col-
lection of facts and (cultural) memory as lived history, the latter being
synonymous with the collective memory as a constitutive part of a
group’s identity. The concept of collective memory, again, is linked to
the theory of social representations (Moscovici, 2001), which func-
tion as socially accepted lenses or cultural imprints through which
groups interpret their environment and which enable them to act and
move around almost effortlessly. Moreover, van Dijk (2006) pointed
out that, whereas social representations are the common ground
shared by an epistemic community, individual groups within that
community may hold onto a specific ideology. This ideology is often
political in nature and as such is linked to rather distinct group
knowledge which is considered a factual assessment of reality by the
group members themselves (van Dijk, 2006). Taking into account the
7
Due to the limited length of this analysis, the historic apriorities are only briefly outlined in the
section “Context”.
40 K. F. Gallant
setting of Morales’ presidency, this approach to knowledge and

ideology emphasizes how the identification of historic events can be
differently interpreted, framed, and even mythically—or ideologi-
cally—charged depending on the discourse of the individual group
(van Dijk, 2006). Given that discourse is not only a group-specific
phenomenon but also a means of power and dominion in a broader
social context (Foucault, 2007, p. 11), Morales’ presidency enables
him to re-found Bolivia in his discourse and thus shape and dissemi-
nate new knowledge which is grounded on the ideologically tinted
knowledge as the particular interpretation of reality shared by him
and his supporters.
Going beyond the original Foucauldian scope of discourse analysis
and thereby highlighting the ethnic-cultural facet, discourse has also
been conceptualized as a complex system of signification and meaning
which manifests in society, defines scopes of action and social power
(van Dijk, 2015), and contributes to the functioning of social stratifi-
cation (Geertz, 1987). Foucault (1981) himself stressed the impor-
tance of analyzing how utterances relate to and are reflected in
institutions and social relations. In this way, discourse is historically
embedded and ideologically loaded as it (re-)produces and legitimizes
dominion. Restraining discourse to the theoretical level becomes
obsolete. Instead it should be viewed as a manifestation of social and
political action as proposed by critical discourse analysis (CDA;
Fairclough & Wodak, 1997) and studied accordingly by taking a criti-
cal perspective on how society and culture, particularly social prob-
lems and quests of group identity, are constituted through discourse
(van Dijk, 2015). However, CDA has also been subject to criticism for
largely neglecting questions of “how these discourses are reproduced,
assumed, challenged and defeated by individuals and groups” (Martín
Rojo, 2015, p. 2). As emphasized by Martín Rojo (2015, pp. 2–3) on
the basis of Foucault’s work, power is not a one-way street attributed
to a single player, but it is rather that empowerment and disempower-
ment can be witnessed in a specific context or case of conflict. This
specification is of interest as it encourages analyzing a discourse from
a comparative and perhaps diachronic perspective, thus addressing

also cases of open conflict.
3.2 Culture, Ethnicity, and Interculturality
In postmodernity and especially when confronted with substantial

change, the quest for identity, signification, and meaning often becomes
prevalent (Bhabha, 1994). Hence, Geertz’s emphasis on symbolism as an
essential part of culture as “manmade webs of significance” (1987, p. 9,
Trans.) applies. Nevertheless, it is important to emphasize the heteroge-
neity of culture, of how it is perceived and interpreted in manifold ways,
within a specific society—a claim which is much more prevalent in
Bourdieu’s (1977) work. At the same time, though, it is Morales’ respon-
sibility as president to (re-)construct national culture with a minimum
level of ethnic-cultural and societal coherence. This implies inevitably
that Morales’ discourse must express a rather unifying and thus homog-
enous interpretation of Bolivian culture.
Notably, a homogenous interpretation of Bolivian culture does not
per se contradict the concept of interculturality. The latter has been
extensively discussed in the Latin American context by liberation
theologians Fornet-Betancourt (2001, 2003) and Estermann (2010).
Their work defines “interculturality” as a constructive encounter of
different cultures which takes place on eye level and is further charac-
terized by a true interest in (the reality of ) the cultural other.
Interculturality understood this way is a culture-relativistic perspec-
tive. Yet, the concept does have universal claims as well as a semi-
normative component when considered the ideal form of encounter of
different cultures.
Finally, within this essay ethnicity and cultural identity are understood
as largely synonymous constructs. This is indicated due to the primacy of
a person’s self-identification as a member of a specific culture or ethnicity.
Identifying with a specific culture or ethnicity is not bound to be linked
to any biological—genotypic or phenotypic—characteristics.
42 K. F. Gallant
4 Methods and Data
To explore how Morales’ ethnic-cultural background is expressed in his
discourse and what effect this has on the discursive construction of inter-
cultural togetherness, 1,273 speeches, interviews, and press conferences
of President Morales were manually analyzed.8 Referenced speeches and
excerpts quoted in this analysis are typical for this body of data but, due
to spatial restrictions, cannot convey the entire material. For reasons of
readability, quotes shorter than one sentence are only presented trans-
lated into English. For the analysis, a bidirectional approach was chosen
by identifying ethnic-cultural topoi in Morales’ discourse and comparing
them to concepts typical for his own ethnic-cultural background and
favorable for an intercultural understanding. These concepts were identi-
fied through critical literature originating from the Bolivian context as
well as through eighteen months of field research in Bolivia, which
employed the traditional ethnological methods of participant observa-
tion (focusing on ethnic-cultural particularities and contributions to an
intercultural togetherness), informal talks, semi-structured interviews,
and focus groups with members of indigenous groups as well as with
high-ranking members of the academic and political field. Naturally, the
chosen methods limit the generalizability of any findings. Yet a qualita-
tive design seems most suitable to explore Morales’ discourse on ethnic-
cultural identity and interculturality as both concepts require a
context-sensitive approach that mirrors their relativistic character.
The data originating directly from Morales’ utterances date from the
period between his inauguration in January 2006 and the plebiscite in
February 2016. Finally, new publications on Morales come out daily as
he is a person of public interest and the longest continuously serving
president in Bolivian history (Mesa Gisbert, 2008a). Nevertheless, little
attention has been given to a detailed analysis of Morales’ discourse—as
an event that exceeds the scope of a single or a few speeches—or to a pos-
sible change in the superordinate set of rules that his discourse might be
an expression of.
8
The majority of these texts were kindly made available by the Bolivian Agency of Information
(Agencia Boliviana de Información, ABI). Transcripts of more recent utterances were accessed via the
webpage of the Ministry of Communication (Ministerio de Comunicación).
5 Morales’ Ethnic-Cultural Portrayal9

5.1 Constructing “the Indigenous”
Morales’ inauguration speech opens with the words:
1. Example 1: Morales, 2006a
Para recordar a nuestros To remember our ancestors… I ask for

antepasados… pido un minuto de a minute of silence for Manco Inca,
silencio para Manco Inca, Tupaj Tupaj Katari, Tupac Amaru, Bartolina
Katari, Tupac Amaru, Bartolina Sisa, Sisa, Zárate Villca, Atihuaiqui Tumpa,
Zárate Villca, Atihuaiqui Tumpa, Andres Ibañez, Ché Guevara,
Andrés Ibañez, Ché Guevara, Marcelo Marcelo Quiroga Santa Cruz, Luis
Quiroga Santa Cruz, Luis Espinal, Espinal, many of my fallen brothers,
muchas de mis hermanos caídos, cocaleros of the tropic zone of
cocaleros de la zona del trópico de Cochabamba, for the fallen brothers
Cochabamba, por los hermanos in the defense of the dignity of the
caídos en la defensa de la dignidad people of El Alto, of the miners, of
del pueblo alteño, de los mineros, de thousands, of millions of human
miles, de millones de seres humanos beings who have fallen in all of
que han caído en toda América…. America…
¡Gloria a los mártires por la liberación! Glory to the martyrs of the liberation!
This initial example of the presidential discourse provides crucial infor-

mation on the ethnic-cultural positioning. On the topical level, Morales
immediately breaks with the tradition of earlier presidents who linked
their era to institutions such as the Church or the private sector (Sivak,
2008, p. 240). Instead he presents his presidency as resting upon the
shoulders of indigenous freedom fighters and (non-indigenous) human
rights activists. Historical figures like Simón Bolívar are also mentioned
but are literally framed as the middle piece of an enumeration comprising
indigenous Katari and activist Guevara, thus limiting Bolívar’s promi-
nence (Morales, 2006a). This becomes even more obvious through the
exposed position of the multitude of anonymous martyrs mentioned
9
An in-depth analysis of the ethnic-cultural positioning of Morales’ discourse can be found
in Gallant (2014).
44 K. F. Gallant
in Example 1. Their geographic or professional background characterizes

them as mostly indigenous and suffering from marginalization. Yet these
martyrs are imminently associated with Morales as his fallen brothers
through the use of the possessive determiner and the lexical family asso-
ciation. This direct link between marginalized indigenous peoples and
the president is repeated throughout the speech as Morales identifies their
experience as his own:
Estos pueblos [indígenas] hemos sido These [indigenous] peoples, we have

marginados, humillados, odiados, been marginalized, humiliated,
despreciados, condenados a la hated, despised, condemned to
extinción. extinction.
Morales’ presidency, though, is not only dedicated to recalling the injus-

tice suffered by the indigenous population but to changing the course of
history toward social inclusion:
Estamos acá… para acabar con esa We’re here… to end this inequality, to
desigualdad, para acabar sobre todo end above all discrimination, the
con la discriminación, opresión oppression which we have been
donde hemos sido sometidos como subjected to as Aymaras, Quechuas,
aymaras, quechuas, guaraníes. Guaraníes.
Respetamos, admiramos muchísimo a We respect, we greatly admire all
todos los sectores…. Ahí pueden ver sectors… There you can see that the
que el movimiento indígena indigenous movement is not
originario no es excluyente. … exclusive. …
[T]ambién les invito a ustedes que se I also invite you to feel proud of the
sientan orgullosos de los pueblos indigenous peoples who are the
indígenas que es la reserva moral de moral reserve of humanity.
la humanidad.
Using the first-person plural positions Morales not as a distant head of

State but as a direct member of the indigenous peoples. While the interac-
tion of indigenous and non-indigenous peoples is conceptually based on
mutual appreciation, indigenous peoples are assigned an outstanding sta-

tus due to their great morality. According to Morales, indigenous peoples
are prone to this position “because the indigenous peoples are from the
culture of dialogue, we’re from the culture of respect, we’re from the cul-
ture of profound relationships of affection, of respect among human
beings” (2007, Trans.). While “indigenous peoples” suggests a variety of
ethnicities, the discourse unifies this plurality to the concept of only one
not further denominated culture which is defined through the juxtaposi-
tion with non-indigenous people.
This constructed indigenous culture is closely linked to the topic of
environmental protection. In this vein, Morales emphasized in front of
the United Nations:
4. Example 4: Morales, 2006c
[L]os pueblos indígenas… somos de la [T]he indigenous peoples… we are of

cultura de la vida y no de la cultura de the culture of life and not the
la guerra, y este milenio realmente culture of war, and this millennium
sea para defender la vida y para salvar really should be to defend life and
a la humanidad, y si queremos salvar to save humanity, and if we want to
a la humanidad tenemos la obligación save humanity we have the
de salvar al planeta tierra, los pueblos obligation to save the planet Earth;
indígenas vivimos en armonía con la indigenous peoples live in harmony
madre tierra, no solamente en with Mother Earth, not only in
reciprocidad, en solidaridad con el ser reciprocity, in solidarity with human
humano. beings.
Apart from the identification of the president with indigenous peoples,

this example pointedly characterizes their relationship toward nature and
mankind through anthropomorphizing the planet and associating it with
the role of the life-bearing goddess.
5.2 Abya Yala
The construct of “the indigenous” as the ideal “culture of life” (Morales,

2006c; cf. 2009a; 2009d; 2009f ) as well as the initially mentioned idol-
ized martyrs, the moral guidelines, and the reference to Mother Earth
allow to further locate Morales’ ethnic-cultural positioning. On the most
46 K. F. Gallant
general level, the discourse refers to Abya Yala which Morales distin-
guishes from “America”:
5. Example 5: Morales, 2008
[L]a lucha histórica del movimiento [T]he historic struggle of the

indígena no solamente de Bolivia indigenous movement not only in
sino de toda América Latina o Bolivia but in all of Latin America or
América antes llamada Abya Yala America, previously called Abya Yala,
siempre ha sido autodeterminación was always on self-determination of
de los pueblos. peoples.
Here, the discourse goes beyond national borders as it refers to the indige-
nous movement all throughout the continent. The indigenous peoples’
struggle for self-determination is linked to the term Abya Yala, thus empha-
sizing the legitimacy of their claim to rights based on their autochthony to
the land—while pointing to the illegitimate nature of colonialism and the
social problems deriving from the foreign exploitation of peoples and land.
Hence, Morales’ discourse shows a close connection to an anti-colonialist
discourse and is, despite its anti-globalist nature, actually of transnational
character. While globalization has been criticized as giving continuity to
colonialism and imperialism (Fornet-Betancourt, 2006, p. 83), Morales’ dis-
course draws up the indigenous culture as relevant on a global scale:
[Representantes de algunos gobiernos] [Representatives of some

nos decían, los indígenas son grupos governments] told us that
subnacionales… pero parece que… la indigenous people are subnational
propuesta de los pueblos indígenas groups… but it seems that the
será un aporte no solamente para proposal of indigenous peoples will
defender a la familia, no solamente be a contribution not only to defend
para defender la vida, sino para the family, not only to defend life,
salvar a la humanidad, y la forma de but to save humanity, and the way
vivencia que tenemos en Bolivia y of living we have in Bolivia and Abya
Abya Yala con seguridad es como Yala certainly is how to defend
defender a la madre tierra, como Mother Earth, how to live in
vivir en armonía con la madre tierra. harmony with Mother Earth.
Indigenous culture and values are constructed as an alternative to the

cultures spread through colonialism (Morales, 2010a) and associated
with the economic system of “death-bringing capitalism” (Morales,
2009e, Trans.). The indigenous economic counterpart is expressed
through the concept of “community-based socialism”. Originating in the
harmonious coexistence with mankind and nature outlined above, this
kind of socialism is modeled after indigenous community life:
[N]osotros entendemos el socialismo [W]e understand community-based

comunitario la vivencia del ser socialism [as] the experience of
humano en estrecha relación en human beings in close relationship
armonía con la Madre Tierra, el in harmony with Mother Earth,
socialismo comunitario no solo son community-based socialism are not
los seres humanos de la comunidad, only human beings of the
sino son nuestros bosques de esta community, but are our forests of
región, de nuestra tierra, nuestros this region, of our land, our animals,
animales, nuestra vivencia, y sobre our experience, and especially where
todo donde yo he nacido … no hay I was born … there is no private
propiedad privada. property.
Naturally the mere term “socialism” stands in the tradition of Marxism and

the mere concept of private property is being critized, yet Morales’ dis-
course draws less on social theory than on values associated with indige-
nous communities. “Vivir bien” (living well) is the term perhaps most
used to describe the objective for Bolivians in theory and practice by
means of implementing this community-based socialism.
[E]l vivir bien, es vivir en solidaridad, en [L]iving well is living in solidarity, in

igualdad, en complementariedad, en equity, in complementarity, in
reciprocidad, no es el vivir mejor. En reciprocity, it is not living better. In
términos científicos, desde el marxismo, scientific terms, since Marxism,
desde el leninismo dice: capitalismo- since Leninism, one says:
socialismo; y nosotros sencillamente capitalism-socialism; and we simply
decimos: el vivir bien y el vivir mejor. say: living well and living better.
48 K. F. Gallant
However, the term “suma qamaña”, the equivalent to vivir bien in

Aymara, is not applied in the presidential speeches; similar observations
can be made regarding other linguistic choices. Whereas these may be
interpreted as language deficiencies on the part of Morales, who despite
his ethnic background is not fully fluent in Aymara (Spedding & Arnold,
2009, p. 326), they can alternatively be viewed as a conscious choice in
favor of a more encompassing audience which transcends ethnic-cultural
and national borders. Given that the inclusion of keywords does not
actually require the speaker to be fluent in the corresponding language,
interpreting Morales’ phrasing as a choice is more compelling. Similarly,
Sivak (2008, p. 56) explained that Morales favors Spanish over his mother
tongue Aymara as it allows him to reach more people.
5.3 Andean Context
On the national level, Morales’ ethnic-cultural positioning in favor of the

indigenous reconstructs the national identity as indigenous in nature,
thus comprising all 36 ethnic-cultural groups who reside within Bolivia’s
borders and are explicitly mentioned in the CPE (Art. 5). Ironically
though, this new category of identity may find its closest relative in the
idealization of the “noble savage” as the virgin-like state of harmonious
yet uncultivated life prior to contact with “civilization”, a concept which
had its heyday in colonial times (Kogge, 2002, pp. 129–130).
Nevertheless, this association is not actively sought for by the presiden-
tial discourse but remains a concept of the very colonial discourse
Morales (2010a) despises.
Besides the discursive unification of indigenous peoples, Morales’ dis-
course shows signs of a more specific ethnic-cultural positioning. This
takes place within the Andean context of Bolivia, thus drawing on central
concepts, symbols, and points of reference within the Aymara and
Quechua cultures10 such as the spiritual entity Mother Earth (cf. above);
the promotion of the ancient Inca flag wiphala as official banner of
10
Aymara and Quechua culture are so closely connected that Albó (2002, p. 64) has suggested
simply using the term “Andean” to refer to both groups; moreover, Aymara and Quechua people
Bolivia (CPE, Art. 6 II); the coca leaf whose medicinal benefits are
analyzed by the newly established Vice Ministry of the Coca Leaf

(Morales, 2006b); or the Andean philosophy of relatedness, complemen-
tarity, correspondence, reciprocity, holism, and cyclicality of time
(Estermann, 2006, 2009).
[S]olidaridad es la vivencia [S]olidarity is the permanent

permanente de nuestros pueblos, experience of our peoples,
reciprocidad y complementariedad reciprocity and complementarity to
para resolver graves problemas de solve serious problems of families
familias entre familias, de regiones between families, regions between
entre regiones, compartir con el otro regions, to share with each other
en vez de competir, ayudar al otro y instead of competing, to help the
no servirse del otro estado, es decir, other and not exploit their state,
estamos hablando de cómo that is, we are talking about how to
complementarnos para mejor servir a complement ourselves to better
nuestros pueblos. serve our peoples.
Example 9 illustrates a holistic philosophy that goes beyond the explic-

itly mentioned values of complementarity and reciprocity as all ele-
ments (families, regions, individuals) are put in relation to one another,
culminating in the primacy of the collective. Furthermore, indigenous
reciprocity results in finding corresponding reactions to any given
action, thus harmonizing forces and re-establishing a constructive equi-
librium of all entities as a basis for social interaction (Albó, 1992,
p.125). Implicitly, the cyclicality of time is also present in Morales’ dis-
course in that past, present, and future are conceptualized as nonlinear
and closely interrelated: Morales’ discourse promotes the return to pre-
colonial cultural practices, thus reversing 500 years of colonial influence
through the return of symbols like the wiphala as well as through re-
establishing societal structures of indigenous communities, for example,
make up the majority of indigenous citizens of Bolivia, accounting for 25.3% and 30.7%, respec-
tively (INE, 2011).
50 K. F. Gallant
regarding collective land ownership, questions of autonomy, and indig-

enous customs and traditions (Albó & Romero, 2009; CPE, 2009, Art.
1f, Art. 271).
These references to the Andean cultures have strong implications for
how the encounter between peoples and between mankind and nature is
conceptualized up to re-founding the country as the Plurinational State of
Bolivia, thereby paying tribute to the ethnic-cultural diversity of its citi-
zens. References to this ethnic-cultural landscape were also incorporated
into the CPE, for example, the national ethical code is defined as follows:
10. Example 10: CPE, 2009, Article 8II
El Estado se sustenta en los valores de Following the objective of living well,

unidad, igualdad, inclusión, the State is based on the values of
dignidad, libertad, solidaridad, unity, equity, integration, dignity,
reciprocidad, respeto, liberty, solidarity, reciprocity, respect,
complementaridad, armonía, complementarity, harmony,
transparencia, equilibrio, igualdad transparency, equilibrium, equality of
de oportunidades, equidad social y opportunities, social and gender
de género en la participación, equality in participation, communal
bienestar común, responsibilidad, wellbeing, responsibility, social justice,
justicia social, distribución y and the distribution and
redistribución de los productos y redistribution of social products and
bienes sociales, para vivir bien. goods.
Then again, most of the values expressed in Article 8II are not limited
to one specific ethnic-cultural background but are likely to find accep-
tance among many different groups. At the same time, the alteration
in the ethnic-cultural positioning of the presidential discourse com-
pared to the previous mestizo focus indicates that the modification
sought for reaches the degree of actively pursuing a break with the
official tradition of non-indigenous governments (Morales, 2008c;
2010b).
This process is supported through mythical narratives which recon-
struct the cultural memory (Assmann, 1999; Moscovici, 2001) in
terms of an indigenous history and identity and back Morales’ position
of power as a traditional authority (Weber, 1922, p. 130). This way,

Morales is portrayed as succeeding and fulfilling the mythic predic-
tions of freedom fighter Katari (Morales, 2009b) who upon his martyr
death promised the million-fold return of the indigenous peoples to
power:
Esa es la lucha histórica de nuestros That is the historical struggle of our

antepasados, a eso se debe ancestors, to that is due again my
nuevamente mi presencia en la presence in the Gate of the Sun of
Puerta del Sol de Tiahuanacu, Tiahuanacu, we have fulfilled the
hemos cumplido con el mandato de mandate of our grandfather Tupac
nuestro abuelo Tupac Katari. Katari.
En noviembre de 1781… Antes de su In November 1781 … before his
descuartizamiento, decía, yo muero dismemberment, he said, I die but I
pero volveré millones, hermanas y will return million fold, sisters and
hermanos, ahora somos millones en brothers, now we are millions in
Bolivia, millones en el mundo. Bolivia, millions in the world.
When Morales was ritually initiated as the highest indigenous leader

through an Andean ceremony at the historic site of Tiahuanacu, this act
contributed once more to Morales and his ethnic-cultural discourse
becoming a symbol of the new and proud indigenous identity which has
risen phoenix-like from the ashes to pledge a new era of overcoming colo-
nialism (Spedding, 2007; Urioste, 2010). In so doing, Morales’ discourse
achieves a re-foundation of Bolivia in reclaiming its (Andean) indigenous
origins and simultaneously pursues the more encompassing indigenous
philosophy implied by the concept of Abya Yala.
6 iscourse Implementation and the Quest

D
for Interculturality
In the discursive quest for re-founding Abya Yala, Morales’ speeches
express their appreciation of the philosophical concept of intercultur-
ality. After all, the characterization of indigenous people in general and
52 K. F. Gallant
the Andean cultures in particular clearly points to the compatibility of

the values therein conveyed with the concept of interculturality.
Beyond the examples given above, Morales (2010c; 2010d; 2010e)
explicitly embraces his country’s—physiognomic, social, economic,
ethnic-cultural—diversity and expresses his desire for a peaceful coex-
istence of peoples:
Debemos trabajar más a fondo en la We must work more profoundly on

recuperación del orgullo nacional, the recovery of national pride, on
sentirnos dignos de nuestra feeling worthy of our diversity, and
diversidad y buscar los caminos más look for the most intelligent ways for
inteligentes para una convivencia harmonious coexistence.
armónica.
As inclusion of all peoples is an explicit objective of Morales’ discourse,

it is unsurprising that the term “intercultural” and its lexical derivatives
are also an integral part of Bolivia’s CPE, though the document lacks a
precise definition of the term. Yet Morales elucidates in one of his
speeches:
13. Example 13: Morales, 2009c
Cuando hablamos de interculturalidad When we talk about interculturality

estamos hablando que las distintas we talk about different cultures –
culturas, sean culturas impuestas desde be they imposed by the West or
el occidente, o las culturas originarias autochthonous to these noble
desde estas nobles tierras pues tienen lands – they need to…
que… complementarse para poder complement each other so they
ser… una familia grande. can be … one big family.
While Morales’ discourse promotes indigeneity over non-indigenous ori-

gins and clearly calls out any oppressive colonial heritage, it does not go
as far as reversing discrimination toward whites or mestizos.
14. Example 14: Morales, 2008b
Somos tan diversos, aunque el We are so diverse, although the

movimiento indígena siempre indigenous movement was always
excluida, estamos apostando a esa excluded, we are opting for this
llamada unidad en la diversidad, un so-called unity in diversity, a
estado plurinacional donde todos plurinational state where everyone
están al interior de este estado is within this plurinational state:
plurinacional, blancos, morenos, whites, browns, blacks, females and
negros, todas y todos. males.
Nevertheless, it would be a stretch to call this new discourse truly inter-

cultural. The rhetorical level may not be challenging to the concept itself,
even though examples of a strong enemy rhetoric can be found, such as
the fervent distancing from capitalism mentioned above or the occasional
sideswipes at the former non-indigenous elite implicitly expressed in
many of the given examples.11 Yet altering the philosophy espoused in
theory is highly different from actually changing societal structures to be
in line with this new national ideology. The TIPNIS conflict was the first
incident which clearly demonstrated the challenges associated with
implementing an intercultural Abya Yala. More recently, the conflictual
21F once more pointed to Morales’ key role in the process of re-founding
Bolivia based on the discursively promoted ideals—as both an enabler
and an impediment.
6.1 TIPNIS
The mere context of the TIPNIS conflict pointed to deficiencies of the

presidential discourse regarding the actual abolition of social hierarchies
and ethnic-cultural discrimination: Instead of backing indigenous peo-
ples’ rights to dignity and territory and staying true to Morales’ ethnic-
cultural discourse, the government chose a reaction much more in line
with the contemptuous neoliberal discourse of the pre-Morales era (Albó,
2012). The TIPNIS conflict first opened an abyss between Morales and
11
For a profound analysis of enemy images in Morales’ discourse, see Gallant (2014, pp. 148–157).
54 K. F. Gallant
the indigenous peoples who had been at the core of his discourse (Urioste,
2012).
By developing into an identity conflict, TIPNIS became a trial by fire
which burnt Morales’ fingers, while non-Andean indigenous people from
the lowlands were able to claim the moral victory (Tamburini, 2012).
Morales’ discourse was altered as government representatives started call-
ing indigenous peoples from the lowlands somewhat backward and
unwilling or unable to see the developmental benefits which the road
construction could bring them (Tamburini, 2012). In November 2012,
then-ambassador to Germany Salguero Carrillo went as far to state that
lowland peoples did not have to live in the woods “like small animals”
(Gallant, 2014, p. 181, footnote 206, Trans.), in contrast to these bad
representatives, good indigenous peoples would understand the benefits
of modernization and advancement. This condescending persisted to the
more recent past:
15. Example 15: Morales, 2014, pp. 5–6
[H]emos hecho el seguimiento a partir [W]e have followed up on the

del problema que se presentó, ese problem that was presented, that
tema del camino… a poco tiempo topic of the road … you will
ustedes mismos van a juzgar quiénes shortly judge yourselves who
están perjudicando, no solamente a un you’re hurting, not only an
movimiento indígena sino también a la indigenous movement but also the
integración de los departamentos. No integration of the departments. I
quiero debatir eso. do not want to debate that.
Momentáneamente, con plata, … Momentarily, with money, … using
usando a los medios de comunicación, the media, people can be
se puede confundir a la gente, se confused, they can be deceived.
puede engañar.
Morales no longer presents himself at the core of the indigenous move-

ment through forming an in-group but rather takes the role of an offended
observer, who does not want to engage on the subject. He patronizingly
portrays the protest movement as short-sighted, naïve, and easily deceived.
In other words, through the TIPNIS conflict, the total of the indigenous
peoples lost their infallibility—in case of the lowland people, they are
now exempt from the bucolic ideal depicted by the discourse of Morales’
early presidency; in case of the highland people and Morales as their most
widely known representative, TIPNIS has shown the deficiencies of the
promised interculturality in Abya Yala.
Despite these obvious limitations in implementing Morales’ discourse,
the moral victory of the indigenous lowland people can also be inter-
preted as a triumph of the discourse itself: Paradoxically, while Morales
did not succeed in applying the intercultural promise of his discourse, the
protest movement against the government’s actions indeed managed
translating this philosophy into practice (Gallant, 2014, pp. 222–223).
In fact, the TIPNIS conflict actually gave further credence to the core
values promoted by Morales’ ethnic-cultural discourse in that they truly
became the voice of the indigenous peoples when their most prominent
spokesperson failed to deliver.
6.2 Plebiscite
In case of 21F, much more was at stake than a constitutional article in

that the referendum was also a vote on the discursive re-foundation of
Bolivia. Two days prior to 21F, Morales still spoke about the “proud
blood covenant” (Morales, 2016b, p. 37, Trans.) that linked the indige-
nous population to him and the promoted process of change. Similarly,
when the preliminary numbers showed that Morales might not have won
the plebiscite, Morales referred to the indigenous communities in remote
rural areas whose votes were still subject to the final count and who had
always supported him:
16. Example 16: Morales, 2016b, p. 12
[S]i ganamos también va a ser con el [I]f we win, it will be with the vote of
voto del movimiento campesino the Bolivian peasant movement,
boliviano, hay más conciencia, hay there is more awareness, there is
compromiso ideológico, hay ideological commitment, there is
compromiso programático, hay una programmatic commitment, there is
identidad con nuestro movimiento an identification with our political
político. movement.
56 K. F. Gallant
This line of reasoning still resembles the discourse Morales chose through-
out the first five years of his presidency. The indigenous subaltern are
morally superior in their ability to support the greater good for all of
Bolivia. Evocatively, it is the indigenous social movement that Morales
(2016a) still claims as the basis of his party and promise of change.
Similarly, the proximity to the poor but sincere people who—as part of a
social protest movement—have brought Morales to the Presidential
Palace is reiterated and the governmental adoration for historic indige-
nous leaders is emphasized:
17. Example 17: Morales, 2016b, p. 12
[N]uestras marchas que hicimos … [O]ur marches that we made … were

era[n] para refundar Bolivia y que el to re-found Bolivia and that the
sector más abandonado en la historia most neglected sector in history,
que es el movimiento campesino that is the native indigenous
indígena originario también tengan peasant movement, also have the
los mismos derechos que la gente que same rights as the people who lived
vivía en la ciudad y el movimiento in the city, and the peasant
campesino desde Túpac Katari, desde movement since Tupac Katari, since
Bartolina Sisa siempre habían luchado Bartolina Sisa had always fought for
por Bolivia no solamente por un Bolivia, not only for a social sector.
sector social.
It sticks out though that following 21F, Morales hardly used any direct
terminological references to the Andean culture: Morales (2016a;
2016b) still portrayed the political and economic re-foundation as a
struggle of the (indigenous) people all throughout Latin America but,
despite the fact that this would be logically coherent, the term Abya
Yala was not applied. It was only at the inauguration of a coliseum
named after Katari that Morales initiated the event with the cheerful
Andean exclamation “¡Jallalla!” (2016b, p. 8). At another occasion,
Morales (2016g) mentioned his past in official organs of the cocalero
movement to emphasize his respect for the official political and elec-
toral system. Similarly, social sector trumped indigenous origin and
identity when Morales (2016c) refrained from pointing to the role of
indigenous authorities who take turns in assuming office and whose
role it is above all to serve their community, as he had stressed in earlier
years (Morales, 2008e), and now attributed this leading example to

Subcomandante Marcos of the Mexican Zapatista movement.
Then again, Morales (2016i) tried to bring social sector and indigene-
ity back together by linking the coca cultivation to the quest to protect
cultural identity and the struggle for political and economic sovereignty
which he framed as the continuation of the War on Water and the War
on Gas. Similarly, Morales highlighted his personal connection to the
department of Oruro in which he was born and grew up: he depicted his
own socioeconomic background such that, as a child, he was not even
familiar with using a spoon when eating (Morales, 2016a). Furthermore,
Morales (2016a) remembered having passed a small hill where evil beings
lived (Spedding, 2005). Referring to these beings, Morales used the cor-
responding Andean terms. However, there is no Spanish translation for
Kharisiri, so there is no alternative for this linguistic choice. Almost ironi-
cally so, it was García Linera, who is neither indigenous nor of deprived
origin, who discursively created an in-group with a predominantly indig-
enous community, thus emphasizing that the process of change serves to
fight the comeback of a racist patronage system before concluding with a
series of vigorous “Jallalla” (2016c, p. 31).
However, as indicated by the patronizing tone when referring to the
TIPNIS conflict, the relationship between government and (indigenous)
social movements has not been entirely harmonious, which makes any
discursive unification of political discourse and discourse of protest move-
ments particular: Morales’ (2016h) discourse bridged this possible
incompatibility by framing critical voices on the part of social move-
ments as protests organized and bribed by the opposition. The defeating
“No” of 21F was framed as a consequence of a campaign lie endorsed by
the opposition, the result of discrimination and racism, as well as elec-
toral fraud by the political right, social networks, and the capitalist (USA)
empire (García Linera, 2016a; Morales, 2016d; 2016g; 2016h).
Indigenous cultural identity, though, was perceived as incompatible with
any other political movement as that of Morales since “Natives [and]
workers have forever been anti-colonialist and anti-imperialist” (Morales,
2016b, p. 10, Trans.).
Seeking a culprit outside his own group—be this the government or
the indigenous peoples—allows Morales’ discourse to revitalize its
58 K. F. Gallant
e thnic-cultural positioning as well as its roots in historic protest move-

ments. According to Morales, his government and the people constitute
together “a revolution, a second profound transformation, yet a demo-
cratic, pacifist, social and cultural revolution” (2016d, p. 15, Trans.).
Moreover, Morales suggested even after 21F that the elections on
December 18, 2005, which first brought him to claim the presidency,
may be considered the anniversary of the “democratic, pacifist, cultural
and social revolution in Bolivia” (2016c, p. 18, Trans.). Even if the plebi-
scite was lost, thus Morales (2016g) claimed, 21F only marked one small
battle in the encompassing struggle of re-founding Bolivia.
“[D]ominated groups may more or less resist, accept, condone, collude
or comply with, or legitimate … power” observed van Dijk (2015, p. 469),
and the Bolivian setting is giving credence to this statement in its various
aspects. On the one hand, Morales’ supporters are not ready to let him go
and despite 21F proposed him as their party’s candidate in the presidential
elections in 2019 arguing that he was absolutely indispensable (Corz,
2017)—which the president accepted in claiming that this seemed to be
the will of the people (Guarachi, 2016a). In so doing, his supporters con-
sented to the currently dominant discourse but condoned the legitimacy
of 21F while at the same time contemplating legal loopholes to justifiably
and lawfully pave the way for reelecting Morales (Guarachi, 2016b). Their
behavior gave credence to a claim García Linera made in 2012:
18. Example 18: García Linera, 2012
[H]ay quienes quieren separar el There are those who want to separate
proceso de cambio del presidente the process of change from President
Evo, se equivocan, el proceso de Evo. They are wrong. The process of
cambio es una construcción colectiva change is a collective construction of
de millones de personas, pero ese millions of people, but this process
proceso de cambio y esa voluntad de of change and this will of millions of
millones de personas se presentan, se people appear and are consolidated
condensan en la vida, en el in the life, the thinking, in the
pensamiento, en el liderazgo, en el guidance, in President Morales. The
presidente Evo. El proceso de cambio process of change is Evo Morales and
es Evo Morales y Evo Morales es el Evo Morales is the process of
proceso de cambio. change.
On the other hand, the opposition resisted the idea of altering the CPE—
be it because they are actually against the current discourse or be it
because they fear attributing to a populist movement—thus defending
the formal foundation of the current discourse but not necessarily
Morales’ administration as such. This setting resulted in an entanglement
of juxtaposed movements and discourse variations, respectively. As
Morales no longer ruled out calling for another plebiscite to override the
unfavorable result of the first, Bolivians took the course of politics into
their own hand by, once again, engaging in a demonstration march which
led them to the Presidential Palace in La Paz. This social mobilization
took place on the first anniversary of 21F and was labeled “Day in Defense
of the No” (ABI, 2017, Trans.) or, according to other sources, “Day of
Democracy” (Atahuichi, 2017, Trans.) in contrast to the government’s
position of referring to 21F as the “Day of the Lie” (MAS-IPSP Dirección
Nacional, 2017, Trans.).
Whether Morales will indeed stay President beyond 2020 remains to
be seen. Certainly, though, his position as the first indigenous president
of a majority non-white country has turned Morales into a symbol of
change, most of all regarding the relationships between the various eth-
nicities and cultures. Despite this fact, deciding against his possible
reelection is actually in line with continuing the process of re-foundation
even as this process was originally centered on his person. Similarly to the
TIPNIS conflict, the Bolivian people themselves took charge of the
change previously endorsed by Morales. They demonstrated their agency
in determining Bolivia’s future which may no longer be linked to a sym-
bolic individual but may in fact be true to the discourse of intercultural-
ity as a constructive and peaceful encounter between different cultures
and ethnicities.
7 Conclusion
Morales’ discursive re-foundation of an intercultural Abya Yala in the
midst of crisis shows that the President’s ethnic-cultural background
manifests in his discourse and is relevant to the construal of an intercul-
tural encounter within national borders as well as within the broader
60 K. F. Gallant
context of reviving the indigenous roots of the entire continent. This is

reflected in the conceptualization of “the indigenous” as a role model for
Abya Yala and, more specifically, of the Andean cultures for a unified, yet
diverse Bolivia. Morales himself is portrayed as a representative of indig-
enous peoples who thereby are rhetorically lifted out of marginalization.
However, Morales’ ethnic-cultural discourse is far from flawless as its
implementation turns into a struggle—not least between indigenous
movements and Morales’ administration—with the government vigor-
ously fighting opposition and protest on a rhetorical and practical level.
At the same time, though, the very conflicts that run danger of leading
the otherwise rather peaceful presidential discourse ad absurdum show
that its essence may already be embraced by large parts of the population
as the most viable national identity and state philosophy—albeit imple-
menting this discourse may currently imply reinvigorating the tradition
of protest marches against the government.
If interculturality is to be put into practice, verbally endorsing the dis-
course cannot be sufficient. Social structures and economic and political
traditions have to be changed in order to reconstruct togetherness based
on a different approach to cultural contact. A delicate role is taken on by
the factor of contextuality: While interculturality mandates that the con-
text of all people involved be taken into account (Fornet-Betancourt,
2006, p. 88), this demand can cause further challenges if old identity
conflicts persist or if—like in the case of TIPNIS—new guilt arises. Here,
actual interventions addressing the needs of all parties involved may be
helpful (Gallant, 2014). Bolivia is not the only country facing this chal-
lenge as the mere concept Abya Yala transcends state borders and calls for
further research on potential intercultural encounters.
Finally, a first discourse discontinuity can already be detected in the
changing ethnic-cultural face of Abya Yala/America, even if this might
not be synonymous with peaceful relations between all ethnicities and
cultures involved. More importantly, as parts of the population adopt the
philosophical essence of Morales’ discourse and defend it spiritedly—yet
peacefully—this discursive alteration transcends the individual it origi-
nally relied on as a leading figure and paves the way for a more encom-
passing change of the discursive set of rules in favor of greater
ethnic-cultural plurality.
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3
The Discursive Construction of a Latin
American Identity/ies in the UN Mission
in Haiti (2004–2013)
1 Introduction
On 30 April 2004, the UN Security Council adopted resolution 1542,
which created the current United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti
(MINUSTAH) in the aftermath of the coup that ousted President
Aristide. More than 13 years have passed, and the mission has undergone
several changes and faced important challenges during this period (like
the devastating earthquake of 2010, the following cholera outbreak, and
sexual abuse scandals).1
Additionally, this mission has been regarded as a Latin American mis-
sion (Heine & Thompson, 2011; Malacalza, 2016a, 2016b; Ross, 2004,
1
For an overview of Haiti’s history and recent events, see (Lemay-Hébert, 2015; Dubois, 2012;
Farmer, Gardner, Hoof Holstein, & Mukherjee, 2012; Zanotti, 2011; Young, 2010; Farmer, 2006).
J. M. Ferreiro (*)
Merlin Research, Santiago, Chile
e-mail: josemanuelferreiro@yahoo.es

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_3
70 J. M. Ferreiro
p. 1). This fact, rather unprecedented, has been considered an “asset” by

some of the leaders of the mission (Ferreiro & Wodak, 2014), and it is
within this context in which it seems interesting to explore which is/are
the Latin American identity/ies that are at the background of this discur-
sive construction. Considering that the decision-makers of the mission
are the visible face and those responsible for what MINUSTAH does, to
analyse their first-hand insight about what the mission is doing and why
seems to be paramount.
This chapter will show how, in the context of a UN peacekeeping
mission, MINUSTAH leaders discursively construct a Latin American
identity and how this process is intertwined with the discursive legiti-
mation of the mission. The data analysed are taken from interviews of
MINUSTAH leaders conducted by me in three different field trips.
The results of this analysis were grouped into three macro-topics,
namely: the experience of poverty, the experience of institutional break-
down, and the geopolitics of being Latin American. In all three macro-
topics, several discursive strategies could be identified. The most salient
were topoi and fallacies and predicational strategies. These strategies
were deployed with two targets: on the one hand, a positive self-presen-
tation of Latin Americans and a negative other-presentation of the
USA and, on the other hand, a legitimation of the Latin American
involvement in Haiti. In terms of legitimation, authorisation and moral
evaluation were the most salient, but both rationalisation and mytho-
poesis were used too.
The structure of the chapter will be as follows: first, I will briefly
explain the theoretical framework on which identity(ies) and discur-
sive identity construction will be considered in this chapter. I will then
move on to detail the interview data used in the analysis and explain
the analytical framework in which it is developed. After that, I will
show the main results according to the three main macro-topics iden-
tified in the analysis. Finally, I will offer a discussion and some con-
cluding remarks.
The Discursive Construction of a Latin American Identity/ies… 71
2 L atin American Identity(ies) and Identity

Construction
2.1 Identity Construction
The concept of identity construction implies that an identity is far from being
something fixed, and it is rather the subject of an ongoing process. Most of
the literature regarding identity, Ricoeur’s (1994, 1984) concept of “narrative
identity” perhaps being the seminal one in this matter, has taken this approach
which seems to be the opposite to the logical concept of identity (see Díaz
Genis, 2004; Larraín, 2001; Ricoeur, 1994). As Wodak et al. explain:
The concept of identity […] never signifies anything static, unchanging, or

substantial, but rather always an element situated in the flow of time, ever
changing, something involved in a process. This applies, of course, to all
forms of personal and social identity as well as to “ego identities”. (Wodak,
de Cillia, Reisigl, & Liebhart, 2009, p. 11)
In a similar approach, De Fina (2011, p. 223) regards identity as “a plural

concept, that is, it is argued that people do not have one single identity
but draw from an inventory of possibilities for self and other presenta-
tion”. This idea is crucial to see what we can expect when studying iden-
tity construction. Identity is not only an active construction process, but
it also allows different choices to be used in self and other presentation.
Therefore, it is possible to expect different features regarding the con-
struction of a Latin American identity, and those features could even be
incoherent and/or contradictory.
Benhabib (1996, p. 3) reinforces the idea of the link between self and
other with identity by arguing that “every search for identity includes dif-
ferentiating oneself from what one is not”. This differentiating element of
identity construction is very useful for an analysis that seeks to look for
contrasts with other identities. In other words, looking for what Latin
American is also means to look for what is not, in particular, against whom
the leaders differentiate with when talking about what is Latin American.
72 J. M. Ferreiro
The question now is why discourse could be a proper approach to

identity as it is with power. In this matter, Bamberg and others point out:
Using the lens of discourse and the lens of construction and bringing them
to focus onto identity, what comes to the fore are discursive practices as the
sites for identity formation processes – where the social and the personal/
individual are fused and become empirical, as situated, in vivo, interactive
processes. (Bamberg, De Fina, & Schiffrin, 2011, p. 189)
Kopytowska (2012, p. vi) follows the same trend, arguing that “identity
thus can be seen as both reflected and constituted in discourse – actively,
ongoingly, and dynamically – or, to use Fairclough’s terms (2003, pp. 8–9)
‘construed’ with potential for ‘construction’”.
2.2 (Multi)National Identities
According to Wodak et al. (2009, p. 16), “individuals, as well as collective

groups such as nations are in many respects hybrids of identity, and thus
the idea of a homogenous ‘pure’ identity on the individual or collective
level is a deceptive fiction and illusion”. Therefore, a collective group as a
nation can be also incoherent and full of multiple features and meanings.
For matters of this chapter, Latin America fits as a collective group, thus it
could also be a case of hybrid identity (Díaz Genis, 2004, p. 46ff.).
This chapter will follow the approach to identities as dynamic and
constructed from an array of different possibilities producing hybrid or
even contradictory ones. Since the dynamic dimension of identity has
already been established and taking into account that its construction
takes place discursively, the following question should be “What are the
building blocks of identity?” In other words, if identities are constructed
from an array of different possibilities producing hybrid or even contra-
dictory ones, what are they made of?
In that sense, Benedict Anderson’s (2006 [1983]) seminal concept of
“imagined communities” establishes that each nation is imagined (mem-
bers will never know most of their fellow-members, yet in their minds each
lives the image of their communion), limited (it has finite boundaries,
beyond them lies other nation(s)), and imagined as a community (despite
inequalities, nations are always conceived as deep, horizontal comrade-

ship). This means that imagination is the key element to construct the
notion of nation. In this chapter, I will assume that just as nations are a
form of collective identity, imagination also has an important role in the
construction of multinational identities as well. The idea of an imagined
community extended to Latin America puts the focus in rather which are
those images that hold that identity than looking for an actual clear-cut
definition of Latin America with coherent boundaries.
At this point, Billig’s (1995) concept of “banal nationalism” seems to
be appropriate as it puts together collective identity construction and
discourse. As Wodak (2007, p. 660) summarises, “the ‘banal nationalism’
often uses forms of deixis in newspapers, political discourse, news reports,
etc., so that ‘here’ is assumed to be the national homeland and ‘us’ the
members of the imagined national community”. In this chapter, I will
explore whether forms of “banal multinationalism” can take place in the
case of Latin America and framed within the discourse of their leaders in
the context of an interview.
Both Billig and Anderson approaches can be controversial when talk-
ing about non-Western settings. Applying their frameworks to Latin
America could easily erase all the complexities of postcoloniality and
multi-ethnicity and treat nationalism as phenomenon with the same
structure and features as in “Western” settings. Of course, this does not
mean that the (multi)national identity processes in Latin America and
the Caribbean do not share features from their former colonial powers. In
this chapter, I will take the “imaginary” dimension of nations applied to
Latin America as a whole and the way “banal nationalism” can be
expressed via deixis and perspectivisation in discourse (see Sect. 3.2).
2.3 Latin American Identity
In the considerable amount of literature regarding Latin American iden-

tity, the seminal work of Sambarino (1980) is one of the few that have
argued the non-existence of a common cultural ethos among the Latin
American nations. For him there is no Latin American being. This way,
the question about a Latin American being would be a false problem
because there are only historic ways of life and culturally generated that
74 J. M. Ferreiro
have not and cannot have an ontological reality, a kind of immobile legal-
ity. Latin America—according to this view—has not a common source of
cultural creation or the same cultural features in their countries. There is
no ethnic or cultural uniformity.
Larraín (2001, p. 52) agrees with Sambarino that it is inaccurate to
look for a Latin American “essence” ontologically constituted but, he
argues, there is a relatively common way of life that it is historically vari-
able. Therefore, it is possible to talk about a Latin American identity as a
“cultural identity” historically changing. I will assume Larraín’s point of
view for the analysis of the data, meaning that even though I do not
expect to find a Latin American essence (or find an answer for the question
What is Latin America?), I will look for some contextualised features that
may be found across the interviews. It also means to put attention to
those ways of life that I will translate in terms of perspectives to face real-
life challenges drawn from the experience and understanding of common
life phenomena. However, Walter Mignolo suggests that the way of life
referred by Larraín may be the way of a creole elite rather than an indig-
enous one:
The history of “Latin” America after independence is the variegated history

of the local elite, willingly or not, embracing “modernity” while Indigenous,
Afro and poor Mestizo/a peoples get poorer and more marginalized. The
“idea” of Latin America is that sad one of the elites celebrating their dreams
of becoming modern while they slide deeper and deeper into the logic of
coloniality. (Mignolo, 2005, pp. 57–58)
Following Mignolo, it is worth considering at this point that the concept

of Latin America itself is crossed by power struggles and by colonialism
itself. Unfortunately, it is impossible now to present here the discussion
about postcolonialism, which is subject to an ongoing debate (de Alva,
1995; Loomba, 2015).
Díaz Genis (2004, p. 23) sums up very well how to research the Latin
American identity, as attempted in this chapter:
We understand that identities can be understood as narrative identities,

and in that narration that we Latin Americans particularly do about
ourselves, there is a main way that has constituted itself by denying oth-
ers, denying otherness. Denier of the different “other”, as we will justify,
never different or completely other.2
In other words, a special focus will be on finding the denied identities by

contrast when constructing this Latin American identity. In the same
line, the work of Feres is very illustrative to understand the importance of
counterconcepts in the definition of Latin American identity. He follows
Koselleck (1985) by understanding asymmetric counterconcepts as “con-
ceptual pairs used by a given human group to confer a universal character
to its own identity while denying others a claim to self-assertion” (2003,
p. 14). It is again an uneven power relationship of domination, in Feres’
words:
[C]ounterconceptual pairs share a common semantic structure: the other is

construed in opposition to the group’s self-image, usually through deroga-
tory expressions and stereotypes that denote perversion, incompleteness,
retardation, and lack of the group’s self-bestowed qualities. (Feres, 2003,
p. 14)
In this sense, the opposition of Latin America as a counterconcept seems

to point to both Europe (for the colonial past) and the USA (for its inter-
ventions in Latin American countries especially during the second half of
the twentieth century). This reference to Europe and the USA (Díaz
Genis, 2004, p. 102ff.) seems to be an angle to be explored in the inter-
views analysis.
In sum, this chapter will understand identity as part of a relation and
a continuous process of discursive construction. In this sense, the discur-
sive construction of Latin American identity in this research aims to
explore the way that power relations and counterconceptual oppositions
articulate that process. However, given that the context of this Latin
American identity construction takes place in a UN peacekeeping mis-
sion in Haiti, it is necessary to address the problematic nature of Haiti
within Latin America.
Original in Spanish, my translation.

2
76 J. M. Ferreiro
2.4 The Place of Haiti
Explaining the dynamics of “Latinidad”, Mignolo makes the point that

“in South America and the Caribbean, ‘Latinidad’ was a transnational
identity uniting ex-Spanish and ex-Portuguese colonies that considered
themselves the heirs of France. The French Caribbean was always mar-
ginal to ‘Latin’ America” (2005, p. 72). What is relevant for establishing
the Latinity of Haiti is the idea of a French Caribbean marginalised from
“Latin” America. Mignolo himself dedicates several pages of his book to
addressing the Haitian phenomenon. In his view:
Haiti was “Latin” from day one, since both Spanish and French are Latin
languages. In spite of the strong presence of Spanish colonialism in Haiti,
Haiti is still peripheral, if not absent, from the “idea of Latin” America.
[…] “Haiti” did not fit the pattern of “Latin” America because “Latin(s)”
were supposed to be of European descent (and if they were Mestizos/as
they were supposed to embrace European cosmology and not indigenous)
and not of African descent! Haiti was seen in terms of “Africanidad” rather
than “Latinidad” by the engineers of the White subaltern identity of South
America and the Caribbean”. (Mignolo, 2005, p. 112)
Mignolo suggests here that the linguistic dimension of “Latinidad” is over-

ridden by race. Haiti, in this sense, has no indigenous creoles. Its people
were African slaves because the native Haitians were exterminated soon
after being colonised. Haiti was displaced from Latin America, as being just
a part of Africa in the Americas—neither Latin nor Anglo. Moreover, not
only did the Haitian Revolution not produce an effect of community with
Latin America but quite the opposite: it was silenced and ignored.
The Haitian Revolution offered also the possibility of an epistemic delink-

ing but instead was reduced to silence, as Michel-Rolph Trouillot has con-
vincingly argued. When Chevalier was writing that France was responsible
for all the nations of the Latin group in both continents, Haiti was not in
his mind. (Mignolo, 2005, p. 86)
Therefore, Haiti appears, according to Mignolo, as a “third way” different

from Anglo and Latin America. However, this problem of situating Haiti in
Latin America also has a counterpart in its place in the Caribbean. In trying
to define an ontology for the Caribbean, Holger Henke (1997) said,

“Perhaps nowhere else in the world do so many different people, value sys-
tems and logics cohabit in such a limited space” (p. 43). In other words, situ-
ating Haiti as part of the Caribbean rather than Latin America would have
more to do with geographical proximity rather than its cultural identity.
There is, though, a common ground for the history of the postcolonial
Caribbean, marked by “neocolonial dependency, global capital’s assaults
on sovereignty, cyclical and mass migrations of population, environmen-
tal and cultural ravages, and bitter ethnic tensions among the members of
its disparate diasporas” (Puri, 1999, p. 14). These shared historic features
of the Caribbean nations make Haiti relevant to be studied from a critical
discourse studies perspective.
However, Haiti does share a key element of Latin America as a coun-
terconcept: in 1909–1911 Haiti moved from Europe’s to the USA’s
sphere of influence (Quinn & Sutton, 2013, p. 9), starting a process in
which the USA became the principal neocolonial power responsible for
international interventions. This articulates what has been called the
“double dialectic” of Haiti, consisting of an internal dialectic of black-
mulatto and an external dialectic of foreign intervention/withdrawal
(Quinn & Sutton, 2013, p. 10).
Another element, which complicates the matters further regarding the
place of Haiti, is that Haiti only joined the Caribbean community of
nations trade bloc (CARICOM) in 2002. Moreover, ten years later, in
2012 they applied to become a member State of the African Union of
nations (AU). So far, Haiti has been participating as a guest member with
no right to vote. On 17 May 2016, the AU rejected the applications on
the grounds that “only African States can join the AU” (“Press Releases |
African Union”, 2016).
3 Data and Methods
3.1 Data
The data analysed in this chapter comprise interviews of former

MINUSTAH leaders (both civilians and military officers) conducted in
2004, 2005, and 2013 covering a time span of nine years. However, the
78 J. M. Ferreiro
interviews held in 2004 and 2005 were carried out in the context of an
unfinished documentary project about MINUSTAH and its leaders in
which I took part. My role in the documentary was designing and con-
ducting most of the interviews as well as being sound technician. It was
five years after my last documentary field trip when I decided to use the
collected material for research. Hence, the interview from 2013 was con-
ducted in the context of a PhD research.
The interviews took place in Haiti and Santiago (Chile). The selected
extracts for this chapter come from two interviews (in 2004 and 2013) to
the former (2004–2006) Special Representative of the Secretary-General
(SRSG), who is the leader of the mission. Both interviews to the SRSG
were carried out in Santiago. The first one lasted 51 minutes, equalling
8,257 words; the second one lasted 82 minutes, transcribed into 13,511
words.
The other interview (conducted in 2005) is to the former (2004–2005)
force commander (FC) who is the military leader of the mission, who
answers directly to the SRSG. This interview was carried out in Port-au-
Prince, Haiti; it lasted 47 minutes, equalling 5,667 words.
The fact that both interviewees are at the same time Latin Americans
and members of MINUSTAH brings the inevitably limitation that their
discourse may have elements of both dimensions. The analysis will
attempt to point to those different dimensions in discourse.
3.2 Methodological Framework
Within critical discourse studies (CDS), I work using the discourse-

historical approach (DHA).3 The entire framework and methodology of
the DHA are elaborated elsewhere (Wodak, 2001; Reisigl & Wodak,
2015). Therefore, I will focus on some salient features which are relevant
to this research.
The DHA enables the systematic, explicit, and transparent (thus retro-
ductable) analysis of the historical (i.e. intertextual) dimension of d
iscursive
This overview on the DHA and its main concepts is based on the first two sections of (Ferreiro &
3
Wodak, 2014).
practices by exploring the ways in which particular genres of discourse are

subject to change over time and also by integrating social theories to
explain context. Following Foucault (1972), historical context can also
mean the history and subsystem of meetings and narratives in an organisa-
tion or any other institutional or everyday event (Wodak, 2000).
History can indicate how perceptions of specific events have changed,
over time, due to conflicting narratives and accounts of a specific experi-
ence—a phenomenon which can be frequently observed in the discursive
construction of national or transnational identities (Heer, Manoschek,
Pollak, & Wodak, 2008; Stråth & Wodak, 2009; Wodak et al., 2009;
Kwon, Clarke, & Wodak, 2009; Wodak, Kwon, & Clarke, 2011) has
recently shown that DHA can be used to shed new light on how meaning
and action in organisations are shaped discursively through power, hege-
mony, and ideology. This ability to link critical theory with rigorous
empirical investigation is a crucial feature of the DHA.
In the case of this research, I will focus both on the construction of a
multinational identity as in the case of Latin America and the legitima-
tion of MINUSTAH, understanding these processes within a peacekeep-
ing mission of an international powerful organisation as is the United
Nations.
This chapter will adapt the DHA framework offered by Reisigl and
Wodak (2015) and the legitimation strategies taxonomy developed by
Van Leeuwen (2008). The main focus of the analysis will be in six kinds
of discursive strategies, first of all, argumentation. Here I will focus on the
use of fallacies or topoi,4 to justify or back a claim (Ruth Wodak & Meyer,
2016). Examples of topoi are the topos of history formulated as: we must
take/not take a certain action, because history teaches it has consequences; or
topos of threat, which can be formulated as: situation X is a menace, there-
fore action Y must be taken (Wodak et al., 2009, pp. 85–86). I will also
focus in contradictions and inconsistencies.
I will also focus on strategies of reference and nomination (Martin Reisigl
& Wodak, 2001), which are aimed to analyse how the different social
actors (Latin Americans, Haitians, non-Latin Americans) are constructed
4
Topoi (plural of topos) are, according to Aristotle’s rhetoric, established ‘common places’ which
provide ‘shortcuts’ to arguments.
80 J. M. Ferreiro
and represented. Predicational strategies (Wodak, 2007) are also focus of

this analysis. These strategies are aimed at how these different social actors
(Latin Americans, Haitians, non-Latin Americans) are characterised.
These strategies are expressed in evaluative attributions of positive and
negative traits in the linguistic form of implicit or explicit predicates.
Another focus is on the perspectivisation strategies (Reisigl & Wodak,
2009, which seek to analyse from which perspective these nominations,
attributions, and arguments are expressed, in other words, how the
speaker’s point of view is positioned by expressing involvement or
distance.
Additionally, there is also a focus on mitigation and intensification strat-
egies (Reisigl & Wodak, 2009). These strategies analyse if the respective
utterances are articulated overtly, intensified, or mitigated, modifying the
illocutionary force of utterances.
Finally, the analysis will also look for legitimation strategies (van
Leeuwen, 2008, pp. 106–107). The main categories of legitimation are
authorisation, which is the legitimation by reference to the authority of
tradition, custom, law, and/or persons in whom institutional authority of
some kind is vested; rationalisation, the legitimation by reference to the
goals and uses of institutionalised social action and to the knowledges
that society has constructed to endow them with cognitive validity; moral
evaluation, the legitimation by (often very oblique) reference to value
systems; and mythopoesis, the legitimation conveyed through narratives
whose outcomes reward legitimate actions and punish non-legitimate
actions.
The analysis procedure was made in four steps. First, all the answers to
similar questions (regarding Latin American identity) were grouped
inductively into macro-topics after a codification process. The second
step was to go through the different discursive strategies for each extract.
In the third step, the positioning (perspectivisation) of each interviewee
with each discursive strategy was analysed looking for patterns. Finally,
the patterns are interpreted looking for an explanation.
Considering the co-construction nature of the interaction of the quali-
tative interview (Abell & Myers, 2008; Hennink, Hutter, & Bailey, 2011;
Rapley, 2004; Silverman, 2006), I will attempt to be self-reflective on my
own role in the interview dynamics generating the data. This means, for
example, that I will point out to how my questions are leading or framing
an answer from my interviewees.
4 Results
In the process of analysis, three macro-topics were identified inductively
after a coding process, with their most salient discourses, namely: the
experience of poverty, the experience of institutional breakdown, and the
geopolitics of being Latin American. I will briefly outline each of them and
then proceed to show the examples and analyses.
4.1 The Experience of Poverty
As was illustrated in Sect. 2.3 above, a common “way of life” could play
an important role in defining Latin American identity. Hence, the experi-
ence of poverty, either by presenting Latin America as being in poverty or,
in the best-case scenario, as having a recent past in poverty emerges as an
identity feature according to my interviewees. As Haiti is the poorest
country in the region (World Bank, n.d.), it is crucial to examine this
feature as a possible link in identity constructions of Haiti and Latin
America and its potential to establish a contrast with the USA and
Europe.
1. Extract 1: Special Representative of the Secretary-General (SRSG)

2004–2006 (in 2004)
JMF: Ahm. The other subject that I JMF: Ehh. El otro tema que me mmm
am interested in if you could go interesaba pudiera profundizar. Tiene
deeper. has to do with the que ver con esta particularidad latina
Latin-American specificity of the en la MINUSTAH ehh. En la práctica, el
MINUSTAH ahm. What does it hecho que ehh esté en manos de
mean – in practice – the fact that fuerzas latinoamericanas, ¿Qué
ahm it is in the hands of Latin significa?
American armed forces?
82 J. M. Ferreiro
SRSG: Well, ahm… look, ahm. from SRSG: Bueno, ehh… mira, ehh. Desde un
the point of view . of military punto de vista . de estrategia militar
strategies, let’s say…I think that . digamos, yo creo que tiene . uno uno
one can imagine certain puede imaginar ciertas uno uno puede
categories: What does the imaginar ciertas categorías: ¿Qué
presence of Latin Americans significa la presencia de
mean in terms of . military tactics latinoamericanos desde en términos de .
(inaudible)? Someone could say las tácticas de los militares (inaudible)?
that Latin Americans are “softer”, Alguien podría decir de que los
in the sense that they have a latinoamericanos son más blandos, en el
concept – because they are used sentido de que como tienen un
to poverty – therefore they have concepto, porque han estado
a certain reaction of . “closeness” acostumbrados a la pobreza, por lo
with poverty and they tanto tienen una cierta reacción de .
understand perfectly that poverty cercanía con la pobreza y entienden
brings violence and that violence perfectamente que la pobreza engendra
cannot be faced only with violencia y que no se puede enfrentar a
weapons, but there have to be esa violencia simplemente con las armas,
other elements in order to sino que tienen que haber otros
dissuade that violence. You have elementos para disuadir esa violencia.
there a difference that you would Tienes ahí una diferencia que tu dirías
say “well, countries of that kind, “bueno, países de esa naturaleza . , una
a military leadership of that kind, conducción militar de esa natu de ese
is different to the traditional tipo, es distinta a la conducción
American leadership or to the tradicional americana o bien a la
colonial that actually considers colonial que en realidad considera que
that ahm you have to use force, ehhm hay que aplicar la fuerza y
period. punto”.
This question goes directly to the meaning of the alleged “Latin American
specificity” of the MINUSTAH which was brought in by the interviewee
himself during a previous answer in the interview, and it is relevant from
the self-presentation point of view since the interviewee is, at the time of
the interview, the Special Representative of the Secretary-General
(SRSG), and he happened to be Chilean as well. This made him part of
the Latin American members of the mission in-group.
However, it has to be taken into account that he is also in a very power-
ful situation and that he was a representative of the UN Secretary-General.
This is relevant as we can expect to hear not only a Chilean or Latin
American voice but also a voice from the UN, related with international
organisations and diplomacy.
The first thing that the interviewee does in this answer is to reframe
the question in terms of military tactics. This implies that the openness
of the question is controlled, allowing a concise approach. This is salient
when taking into account that the mission is not only a military one (as
the interviewee himself had pointed out when referring to the develop-
mental process) and, moreover, that he is the civilian leader and not the
force commander of the mission, who is in charge of the military
actions.
In addition, he uses both strategies of mitigation and perspectivisation.
Among the former, the modality in using “can”, “could”, and “would”
mitigates the assertion by constructing it in terms of “possibilities”. About
the latter, he assumes a distant perspective through the use of an external
speaker: “Someone could say…” and “…a difference that you would
say…”.
In terms of reference and nomination, what was argued in the previous
paragraph may explain the use of third person (“they”), for example,
when he is referring to Latin Americans. In other words, rather than
excluding himself from “Latin Americans” as a group, it seems as if he is
talking about the Latin American military, which then makes more sense
of his talking about “them” in the third person.
The argument is that Latin Americans’ experience and understanding
of poverty may explain differences in their military leadership compared
to the North American or French (implied by the use of “colonial”) mili-
tary. This allows for the idea that the experience of poverty and develop-
ment is both a cognitive experience (i.e. it is something that can or cannot
be understood, and at the same time its experience is paramount to
understanding and dealing with certain issues) and an identity feature
(i.e. it is a way to establish a contrast with the USA and other developed
countries).
There is an explicit causal relationship (marked with the use of “there-
fore”) between having the experience of poverty and understanding the
complexities of poverty and violence. It seems reasonable to suggest that
since he is trying to provide reasons for the alleged advantage they have—
which would be useful for the mission—fits better with causal argumen-
tation. This strengthens the argument providing quasi-objective proof for
84 J. M. Ferreiro
it. Needless to say, it is a case of positive presentation of Latin Americans

in contrast with the previous negative presentation of Americans.
Americans (and French) are referred to as armies willing to use force
without proper consideration. It is implied that there is a causal link
between not experiencing nor understanding poverty and a direct use of
violence. Therefore, the contrast places Latin Americans as being “softer”
in their use of force due to their joint experience of poverty with Haitians.
This takes into account the complexity of the origins of violence; hence
that fighting violence is not only concerned with military tactics but also
about fighting poverty.
The main knowledge presupposed by this answer implies that neither
the USA nor France understands or is used to poverty. Moreover, they
do not seem to understand the complexities of violence linked with
poverty, which should require a less straightforward use of military
force.
2. Extract 2: Force commander 2004–2005 (in 2005)
JMF: Do you think that for Latin JMF: ¿Tú crees que para los
Americans, since we have the Latinoamericanos que tal vez tenemos
chance to have more contact with la oportunidad de estar en contacto
slums, more poverty, more misery con más favelas, con más pobreza, con
than Europeans or North más miseria que los europeos o los
Americans, it’s an advantage in norteamericanos, es una ventaja para
order to work in these situations or trabajar en estas situaciones o para
to cope with the work in Haiti? sobrellevar el trabajo en Haití?
FC: No, I think that our history has a FC: No, yo creo que nuestra historia
bigger link with this misery, tiene un enlace más grande con ese
poverty issue than developed asunto de miseria, de pobreza que la
countries, because they don’t have historia de los países desarrollados,
extreme poverty in their countries, porque ellos no tienen pobreza
rarely. Of course, there are some, extrema en sus países, muy
but the general situation is not raramente. Claro, hay algunos, pero
what we have – I am not going to el aspecto general no es lo que
generalise for the whole of Latin tenemos ─no voy a generalizar en
America – but we have in Latin toda América Latina─ pero tenemos
America a considerable level of en América Latina un nivel de
poverty. pobreza que es considerable.
Therefore, it seems to me that we Entonces me parece que nosotros

are used to being in contact with tenemos el hábito del contacto con la
poorer people, perhaps we already gente más pobre, tal vez ya
have that in our heads, our hearts, tengamos eso en la cabeza, en el
our souls that there is a need to do corazón, en el alma que hay
something, so I think that that gives necesidad de hacer alguna cosa,
us the opportunity to share the entonces eso me parece que nos da la
little things we have…we have little oportunidad de dividir un poco lo
things and the fact of sharing the que tenemos…tenemos poco el
little things we have I think that hecho de dividir el poco que tenemos
ennobles us, it is good for us, we yo creo que nos engrandece, es
feel good to share the little things bueno para nosotros, nos sentimos
we have. […] I think that is the bien, dividir el poco que tenemos.
problem of almost every country […] Yo creo que ese es el problema
which is contributing with troops de casi todos los países que están acá
here from South America, Latin contribuyendo con tropas de América
America, they have poverty but del Sur, América Latina, tienen
they decided to share a little bit, pobreza pero decidieron dividir un
the little they have with someone poco, lo poco que tienen con alguien
that is in a worse situation. I think que está peor que nosotros. Eso me
that is good for the conscience of parece muy bueno para la conciencia
our people, our historic de nuestros pueblos, para nuestra
development, for the maturing of formación histórica, para la
our society, I think that there are a maduración de nuestra sociedad, creo
lot of advantages in that. que hay mucha ventaja en eso.
The question is a leading one, which makes him speak about Latin
American and developed countries explicitly. Having said that, he answers
the question in the first person, using “our”, “we”, and “us”. He clearly
positions himself as a Latin American and by opposition refers to the
people from developed countries as “they”. He uses “Latin America” three
times and “South America” once, immediately rephrased as “Latin
America”. There is not enough evidence in the text to hypothesise a dif-
ference in meaning between the two categories, and since he does not talk
about South America separately, it seems reasonable to assume that he
used them as synonyms.
From the point of view of predicational strategies, Latin Americans are
described as having an advantage because of their own experience of pov-
erty. This is a topic I had introduced in the question, framing the answer.
However, he does end up agreeing with the idea of the importance of
86 J. M. Ferreiro
contact with poverty. This—in his view—is good for the conscience, his-
toric formation, and maturation of the Latin American people. It is worth
considering that Latin American history is mentioned twice in this
answer: first to point out that poverty is something that is part of our his-
tory; secondly, the just mentioned “historical formation”. This fits the
topos of history, a legitimation via history which can be formulated as “an
action should/should not be performed if history teaches us that it has
consequences”. We could formulate the first case as “history teaches us
that poverty is tough and facing it and sharing makes us feel good, there-
fore we can understand Haiti’s situation and share with them what we
have”. In the second case, it is more of a future case of the topos of history
that could be formulated as “we should help Haiti because it will be a
good lesson for our historical development”.
4.2 The Experience of Institutional Breakdown
The history of dictatorships and transitions to democracy in Latin

America during the second half of the twentieth century gives to those
working in Haiti, according to the interviewees, a certain know-how on
how to deal with situations of political instability and coup aftermaths.
As in the experience of poverty, allegedly the experience of institutional
breakdowns would give Latin Americans an edge over people from
Europe or the USA.

2004–2006 (in 2013)
JMF: That this was somehow a JMF: Que era una misión que de alguna
mission that unlike the previous manera a diferencia de las otras
ones had this Latin-American anteriores tenía esta particularidad
feature, right? erm that meant latinoamericana ¿no? Ehh que
some pros, um, um, for Haiti. I significaba algunos pro, eh, eh, para
would like you to tell me a bit Haití. Me gustaría ver si me pudieras
about it. How do you think that it hablar un poco de eso ¿cómo, cómo
crystallised, at least from what crees que cuajó al menos, dentro de lo
you were able to see? que tú pudiste ver?
SRSG: […] How did this idea SRSG: […] ¿Cómo se desarrolla esa idea?
develop? It developed, basically, Se desarrolla, básicamente,
together with a second factor, acompañada de un segundo factor,
which I also think is true, and here que yo también creo cierto, y aquí
perhaps I, erhm, have a personal puede que yo, eh, tenga una influencia
bias because I was the one doing personal porque obviamente era yo el
this construction, which has to do que hacía la construcción, qué tiene
with the transitions to democracy. que ver con las transiciones a la
Chile and the Latin-American democracia. Chile y los países de
countries were all overcoming América Latina venían todos
military dictatorships not so long superando dictaduras militares no
ago. The situation in Haiti was a hacía demasiado tiempo. La situación
situation of internal . violence and de Haití era una situación de violencia .
deep divisions. Lavalas, Aristide’s interna y de división profunda. Lavalas,
political party, ousted from power, el partido de Aristide, expulsado del
was meant to be exterminated by poder, pretendía ser exterminado por .
. the real . power groups, or los grupos de poder . real, o de poder
Haitian de facto power. Therefore, fáctico haitiano. Y por lo tanto, se
it was a situation of pre- civil war, daba una situación de preguerra civil,
which was not very distant from que no era demasiado distante de
many of those lived in Latin muchas de las vividas en América
America. Latina.
The interviewee explicitly positions himself as author of the transitions-

to-democracy link between Latin America and Haiti. This illustrates not
only his own agency over the argumentation that the experience of transi-
tions to democracy in Latin America was similar to Haiti’s situation but
also about how this idea was not necessarily widely (or institutionally)
shared. In other words, it also works as a caveat to make clear that this
argumentation link is only his and not an official position. There is a
weakness in this argument, though: transitions to democracy and recon-
ciliation after dictatorships are processes that have taken place in other
regions and continents, some in Europe, Africa, and Asia more recently
than in Latin America.5 This makes these processes (and their subsequent
link to Haiti’s situation) non-exclusive to Latin America. However, these
are processes that have not taken place in the USA since the civil war in
5
Just to take the example mentioned by the interviewee himself, Chile’s dictatorship ended 25 years
before MINUSTAH was deployed in Haiti.
88 J. M. Ferreiro
the nineteenth century. Hence, rather than representing a link between

Haiti and Latin America, they seem to represent a contrasting difference
with the USA.
On the other hand, it is worth remembering that Aristide’s regime
was not a dictatorship per se (Chomsky, 2004), let alone a military one
(as the army was disbanded by Aristide), although there were, indeed,
deep divisions within Haitian civil society that left the elite and edu-
cated classes in opposition to Aristide and the working classes allied
with him.
The SRSG’s presuppositions in Extract 3 concern a shared diagno-
sis with the UNSC of the situation in Haiti before the mission took
place, more crucially, of the events that prompted the deployment of
the mission, namely, the inevitability of either a civil war or a peaceful
solution of the controversies within the Haitian society. As a legitima-
tion device, it fits the rationalisation category: he establishes a goal
(avoid a civil war) and implies that the mission is the accepted insti-
tutionalised action to achieve it. Additionally, it also works on two
levels: on the one hand, it legitimises the mission itself under the
official UN discourse that an action was needed to prevent further
violence (topos of threat/urgency); on the other hand, it provides a
link to make the case for the similarities with Latin America, as illus-
trated above.
4.3 The Geopolitics of Being Latin American
As discussed in Sect. 2.3, being Latin American means referring to the

USA at some point inevitably. Moreover, the analysis of the interviews
shows that Latin Americans seem to define themselves by opposition
with the USA. Additionally, and as way to establish an identity link, the
influence of the USA in the Latin American region is also something
shared with Haitians.

2004–2006 (in 2004)
JMF: erm . The other subject that I JMF: Ehh . El otro tema que me mmm
am interested in if you could go interesaba pudiera profundizar . Tiene
deeper. has to do with the que ver con esta particularidad latina
Latin-American specificity of the en la MINUSTAH ehh. En la práctica, el
MINUSTAH um. What does it hecho que ehh esté en manos de
mean – in practice – the fact that fuerzas latinoamericanas, ¿Qué
um it is in the hands of Latin significa?
American armed forces?
SRSG: […] And the same thing with SRSG: […] Y lo mismo el hecho que se
the fact of the participation of participe a nivel de Argentina, de Chile,
Argentina, Chile, Paraguay, de Paraguay, Uruguay, Guatemala,
Uruguay, Guatemala has a whole tiene toda una, también una una una
symbolism which is very important simbología muy importante para
for Latin America that, attention! América Latina, ¡que ojo! no está
is not intervening in a conflict in interviniendo en un conflicto en
Paraguay . because a government Paraguay . porque se cayó un gobierno
collapses and there is a military y hay un intento de golpe militar, sino
coup attempt, but is intervening . que está interviniendo . en un país que
in a country in . the north and that está . al norte y que es de interés
is of direct interest to the directo de EE.UU. Por lo tanto, se
USA. Hence, there is the accidental plantea allí un hecho que es casual, el
fact that the USA is intervening in hecho que EE.UU. esté interviniendo en
Iraq with full dedication to the war Irak, y tenga una dedicación total a la
in Iraq, which makes the USA guerra de Irak, hace que EE.UU.
being grateful for the agradezca la participación de un grupo
participation of a group of Latin de latinoamericanos en una situación
Americans in a situation in a small en un pequeño país que si bien, es
country that, even though um it’s ehhh es un país que no tiene una
a country with no great relevance relevancia mayor en el contexto
in the international context and in internacional y en la, en lo que
what we may call the set of podríamos definir el conjunto de crisis
international crises um, it is internacionales ehh, es evidente que es
evident that it is a country that has un país que le ha causado una enorme
caused a lot of difficulties for the cantidad de dificultades a EE.UU. desde
USA for more than a century, um, hace más de un siglo, ehh, por lo tanto,
therefore, -or, or almost a century. o, o muy luego un siglo.
90 J. M. Ferreiro
The first sentence of this extract extends the analysis to Argentina, Chile,
Uruguay, Paraguay, and Guatemala. The joint involvement of these coun-
tries in the mission is of enormous symbolic importance for Latin
America, according to the interviewee.
Latin America itself (again named as a geopolitical region and not only
referring to military force) is realised in the third person; in this way the
interviewee, rather than including himself in the actions of these Latin
American countries, assumes the perspective of an external observer.
There is another reference in the extract where he refers to these countries
as a “group of Latin Americans”, implying that even though all the coun-
tries mentioned are Latin Americans, not every Latin American country
is part of the mission.
The USA is also referred to in this extract four times. The first one is to
point out that Haiti is a country of direct interest for the USA. In that
same sentence, the fact that Haiti is in the northern hemisphere is also
stated as relevant, implying that the northern hemisphere is a matter for
the USA rather than for Latin America.
The second time, the USA appears as an active actor intervening full
time in Iraq. This is described as an “accidental fact”, which seems to be
inaccurate if it is referring to a war (fighting a war requires an intentional
decision). This may suggest that for the argument—since the focus is on
the Haitian situation and not on Iraq—the USA putting its military
attention on Iraq constitutes a “disruption”, which explains the “unex-
pected” fact that they are not involved in Haiti as they should. In other
words, with Haiti being part of the USA’s sphere of direct interest, it
would be expected for the USA to be part of an intervention in Haiti.
However, this has been diverted because of their full involvement in the
war in Iraq.
The third time that the USA is referred to is as an active actor “being
grateful for” this “group of Latin Americans” for taking care of an
American issue. This “gratitude” expressed in the pragmatic act of “thank-
ing” configures a situation in which the solution of the Haitian crisis
seems to be the USA’s responsibility and not Latin America’s. At least, this
is how the interviewee refers to the American approach to the Haitian
crisis. This seems to display the USA as patronising. In terms of perspec-
tivisation, the interviewee is taking the USA’s point of view, speaking on

their behalf.
The fourth time, the USA is referred to passively as being affected by
the Haitian problems. At the same time the phrase “almost a century of
difficulties” reinforces the view of why Haiti must be an American issue.
Haiti is not directly named here, although it is referred to implicitly as
“a country in the north and that is of direct interest to the USA”. From a
reference and predicational point of view, Haiti has a double dimension:
on the one hand, it is presented as important due to its hemispheric loca-
tion and being part of the USA’s sphere of direct interest. On the other
hand, it is presented as a small and irrelevant country. This apparent con-
tradiction is solved in favour of the USA’s aims/ends. In other words,
even though Haiti is a small and irrelevant country in the worldwide
context, it is perceived as causing problems for the USA, and therefore, it
is argued, it is in their direct interest and important enough to provide
“symbolism” to the Latin-American-led mission there. This issue brings
us back to what was discussed in Sect. 2.3 and the importance of the USA
in constructing the Latin American identity.

2004–2006 (in 2004)
JMF: erm . The other subject that I am JMF: Ehh . El otro tema que me mmm
interested in if you could go deeper. interesaba pudiera profundizar .
has to do with the Latin-American Tiene que ver con esta particularidad
specificity of the MINUSTAH um. latina en la MINUSTAH ehh. En la
What does it mean – in practice – práctica, el hecho que ehh esté en
the fact that um it is in the hands of manos de fuerzas latinoamericanas,
Latin American armed forces? ¿Qué significa?
SRSG: […] there are a lot of factors SRSG: […] hay una cantidad de
that could make that society that is factores que podrían hacer que esa
way more Latin American than the sociedad, que es mucho más
Caribbean Anglo-Saxon ones…, that latinoamericana que las anglosajonas
is Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, del caribe … , o sea Jamaica, Trinidad
Bahamas . , countries that have no y Tobago, Bahamas . son países que
relation with Latin America. […] but no tienen ninguna relación con
the truth is that they do not have América latina. […] pero la verdad es
the cultural structure that these que no tienen la estructura cultural
countries have. que tienen estos países.
92 J. M. Ferreiro
Haiti has it, much more despite the Haití si la tiene, la tiene mucho más a
fact that they speak French, they are pesar de que hablan Francés, son
Latin, they have the Catholic church, latinos, tenían la iglesia católica,
they had an independence process, hicieron la independencia, ehh sus
um their leaders dressed like Bolívar, líderes se vestían como Bolívar,
O’Higgins and San Martin. um O‘Higgins, y San Martín. ehh Se
Somehow they felt themselves . as sentían ehh de alguna manera . parte
part of this history and therefore, I de esta historia, y por lo tanto yo
believe that in that sense, the most creo que en ese sentido, la parte más
important issue and one that is more importante y la que cuesta más
difficult to address is to convince the mover, la que cuesta más mover es
Latin Americans that they have to convencer a los latinoamericanos que
incorporate Haiti here. […] there is a tienen que incorporar a Haití para
certain degree of closeness between acá. […] hay un grado de cercanía
these countries and Haiti that makes entre estos países y Haití que hace
Haiti – that is always going to be que Haití –que va a ser siempre
referred to the USA and . to France referido a EE.UU. También . y a
too, for cultural reasons – feel that Francia por razones culturales- sienta
their escape is on the Latin-American que su escape está por el lado de
side. Latinoamérica.
This extract starts with a comparison between the Haitian and the Anglo-
Saxon Caribbean societies. The reference to “societies” rather than to
“countries” helps to focus on cultural and societal issues rather than geo-
political ones. From this point of view, the argument aims to construct a
sense of community that provides a different kind of evidence to support
the idea that Latin America has a right to intervene in Haiti. In other
words, Haiti shares more cultural and societal features with Latin America
than the Anglo-Saxon-shaped Caribbean societies.
The use of “Caribbean Anglo-Saxon [societies]”—exemplified with the
reference to Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago and Bahamas—goes beyond
the language spoken in those countries. Indeed, he states that the fact
that Haiti is a French-speaking country is not a reason to not consider it
a Latin American country by stating “despite the fact…”. The presup-
position is the shared language in Latin America, but the case that
Brazilians speak Portuguese makes it problematic. However, after this
expression he states that they are “Latin”. It seems that language plays an
ambivalent role in this argument, where the Latin language (as the root
of French, Portuguese, and Spanish) seems to be what is being shared in
“Latin America”. As will be shown in this analysis, there are other features
that are more relevant to consider (or not): for example, that a Caribbean
society shares a common space with Latin America rather than a lan-
guage. However, this opposition between Anglo-Saxon and Latin American
helps to establish an opposition between Latin America and the USA. The
USA shares with the Anglophone world, along with the English language,
historical, political, and juridical descent from the Anglo-Saxons (in the
form of being a former British colony).
It is worth considering the expression “more Latin American than…”
used at the beginning of the extract, in more detail. Since the point of
comparison is “Anglo-Saxon” society—which, by definition, is not Latin
American—it would suffice to just establish the contrast by saying, for
example, “Haitian society is Latin American whereas Jamaica, Trinidad
and Tobago and the Bahamas are Anglo-Saxon”. However, the expression
“more than” allows the speaker to put them together in a continuum of
different degrees of Latin Americanness. This only makes sense if the Latin
Americanness of Haiti is disputable. In other words, it seems that Haitian
society is “more Latin American” than the Anglo-Saxon Caribbean ones
because, although Haiti is not completely Latin American, it shares some
Latin American features.
By looking closer at these Latin American features that the interviewee
provides, it is possible to find that they are all framed under the expres-
sion of “cultural structure”. This “cultural structure” comprises the
Catholic Church, the fact of experiencing an independence process, and
the way their original leaders dressed. One may argue whether these fea-
tures suffice to talk about a shared “cultural structure” and whether you
could find them elsewhere. It seems plausible that some African countries
could also claim to be Latin (if not American) on the grounds of having
inherited a Latin language, the Catholic Church, and being through an
independence process. All the former British colonies have been through
an independence process too, although not necessarily involving uprising
and revolution.
On the other hand, the way the independence leaders dressed both in
Latin America and Haiti was an inherited European colonial way of
dressing.
94 J. M. Ferreiro
The argument of shared cultural structure does not seem to be very

strong at this point. The only point that could be held in this argument
is mentioned afterwards, namely, that “they felt themselves as part of this
history”. This sense of sharing a common history seems to be a strong
argument in favour of being a part of Latin America.
However, even though there are some connections between Haitian
and Latin American histories (see Quinn & Sutton, 2013) (see Sects.
2.3 and 2.4), it may be hard to prove that there is still a feeling of a
shared history with Latin America, and recent evidence6 illustrates that
they actually feel like sharing a common past with African countries.
Indeed, as was shown in Sect. 2.4, the historical relationship between
Haiti and Latin American countries has hitherto been rather
problematic.
The references to Latin America are mixed in this extract. When he is
talking about Haitians feeling a shared history with Latin America, he
uses the deictic expression “this history”. He refers to himself as a Latin
American and as sharing that history. But the sentence “convince the
Latin Americans that they have to incorporate Haiti here” is ambiguous.
On the one hand, “Latin Americans” are treated in the third person,
using “they”. On the other hand, the deictic expression “here” is used
including the interviewee in Latin America. In other words, although he
talks as not being part of the “Latin American group”, at the same time
he includes himself in “Latin America”.
A way to sort out this apparent contradiction is to use contextual
information in order to understand what the difference between “Latin
America” and “Latin Americans” is. The first obvious difference is that
“Latin America” refers to a region, whereas “Latin Americans” to a group
of people.
6
In 2012, Haiti started a process to become a full member of the African Union (AU). In May 2016,
this was rejected by the AU on the grounds that full members have to be in the African continent.
https://au.int/en/pressreleases/30342/haiti-will-not-be-admitted-african-union-member-
state-next-summit-kigali-rwanda
However, the question now is which specific group of people is implied

when he positions himself as an outsider. Obviously, he is talking about a
group of people that are not convinced of incorporating Haiti. This
means two things: on the one hand, he is implying that he is convinced
of incorporating Haiti into Latin America, which is consistent with his
previous arguments. On the other hand, this means that he is talking
about Latin American “decision-makers” who can take the necessary
measures to incorporate Haiti into Latin America. Thus, he is talking
about Latin American leaders, and he is excluding himself from that
category.
In sum, he tends to present himself as an international diplomat/UN
representative rather than as a Latin American leader or politician.
Haiti, on the other hand, appears as a country which has not yet been
incorporated into Latin America. At the same time, it is presented as
being “always” referred to both by the USA and France, which operates
as presupposed knowledge. When talking about France, the reference to
Haiti is “for cultural reasons”. I argue that this weakens the argument of
the “cultural structure” presented before in the same extract (and dis-
cussed in the previous paragraphs). If the “culture” is used to establish
links between Haiti and both Latin America and France at the same time,
this is not a feature that can exclusively establish a Latin American
connection.
By the end of the answer, he uses the expression “their escape is on
the Latin-American side”. This expression treats the situation in terms
of a conflict. This “escape” is from a bad situation and, in this case, a
situation where the USA and France are involved. The use of the word
“side” is consistent with this confrontational language where the impli-
cature is that Latin America is on one side and France and the USA
are on the other. Haiti then appears in between these two sides. It is
possible to interpret this utterance as a positive self-presentation of
Latin America and a negative other-presentation of France and the
USA.
96 J. M. Ferreiro
6. Text extract 6: Special Representative of the Secretary-General (SRSG)

2004–2006 (in 2004)
I27: It would be [an American I2: Sería [un protectorado de los EEUU
protectorate with military bases con bases militares en Haití] una
throughout Haiti] a “progressive dictadura progresista como decía
dictatorship”, like Baba said. Baba, ¿no?
Wouldn’t it? SRSG: Sería, bueno sería no, sería un
SRSG: It would be, well no, It would colonialismo, EE.UU. se
be colonialism. The US would turn transformaría en potencia colonial
into a colonial power declaring declarando que Haití no se puede
that Haiti cannot create a gobernar a si mismo decide
government by itself, decides to invadirlo, y coloca un presidente que
invade and allocates a president es un señor que maneja como
who will act as a governor that . , gobernador eso . , bueno Puerto
well, Puerto Rico is an American Rico es una dependencia
dependency, with the difference norteamericana, con la diferencia de
that Puerto Ricans live an ideal life que los puertorriqueños viven una
compared to the rest . , it is an vida ideal en comparación con a los
extraordinarily nice country; once I demás . , es un país
went there the Puerto Rican extraordinariamente agradable; a mi
socialist party told me that they una vez que fui para allá el partido
wanted to show me some extreme socialista puertorriqueño me dijo
poverty . , and they took me to que quería mostrarme la miseria . , y
some buildings where the workers me llevaron a ver unos edificios
and exploited lived that were like donde vivían los trabajadores y los
the Tajamar Towers [upper working explotados que eran como las torres
class-middle class buildings in de Tajamar . , entonces yo dije :
Santiago] . , so I told them: “you “ustedes péguense un viajecito por
should take a trip to Latin America América Latina primero antes de
first, before showing the Puerto andarle mostrando los pobres a los
Rican poor to Latin Americans, latinoamericanos aquí, porque a
because it makes us laugh what nosotros nos da risa lo que tiene
you have here as poverty”. ustedes aquí como pobreza”.
The first sentences of this extract continue with the hypothetical case of
an American protectorate in Haiti clarifying that the way to call it is
This interviewer is not myself but the director of the documentary.

7
“colonialism” rather than Baba’s8 “progressive dictatorship”. This hypo-

thetical example with a governor allocated by the USA takes him to a real
example: Puerto Rico.
Puerto Rico is presented here as an American dependency and com-
pared with the situation of a protectorate. Puerto Rico is presented as an
“extraordinarily nice country”. Puerto Ricans are presented as having an
“ideal life compared with the rest”. It is hard to tell what or who he means
by “the rest” (these could be other American dependencies or the neigh-
bouring Caribbean countries Haiti would be included with). Since the
answer is framed in an interview about Haiti, it seems more likely that he
is making a comparison with the Caribbean countries.
Immediately after mentioning the positive features of Puerto Rico, he
narrates a personal anecdote that seems to back this idea of the good life
of Puerto Ricans. This anecdote, which fits “mythopoesis” as a legitima-
tion category (i.e. a story that is taken as evidence for general norm), gives
some key elements to establish the features of Latin American identity
from his point of view. Basically, the anecdote is about the socialist party
showing him the Puerto Rican “misery” by taking him to where the
“exploited” and “workers” live. Those apartments resemble some Chilean
upper working-class/lower middle-class apartments; in other words, con-
ditions far from being considered as “misery” for him (or for any Chilean).
Poverty, as in Sect. 4.1, appears again as an identity feature of his concep-
tion of the Latin American experience. Latin America seems to be con-
structed as an “authority” in poverty issues, and what Puerto Rico does
not have is “real” poverty. In his words, it “makes [a Latin American]
laugh”.
However, the expression “take a trip to Latin America” immediately
emphasises the fact that Puerto Rico is not part of Latin America geo-
graphically. This is reinforced by the use of “[showing the poor] to Latin
8
“Baba” was a Haitian woman in charge of personnel training for those who arrived in Haiti for
MINUSTAH. She was in charge of teaching them about the most relevant issues about Haitian
culture to help with the basics of settling in and dealing with day-to-day matters. She was inter-
viewed for the documentary project where she expressed a very critical point of view about how
MINUSTAH was dealing with Haiti in terms of cultural understanding.
98 J. M. Ferreiro
Americans”, implying that Puerto Rico is not a Latin American country,

whereas Chile is. Since Puerto Rico is not an Anglo-Saxon country (they
speak Spanish) and shares the Spanish colonial heritage, it seems appro-
priate to wonder why Haiti—which is geographically close to Puerto
Rico—could qualify as Latin American in “cultural structure” mentioned
in Extract 5, whereas Puerto Rico does not. One reason could be that
Puerto Rico never had an independence process; however, having an
independence process is far from being an exclusive Latin American fea-
ture. Probably the way the answer was framed is also key to understand-
ing this exclusion of Puerto Rico: they not only do not have real poverty,
they have an American dependency. And it has been shown how this
contrast between Latin America and the USA is a recurrent identity issue
across the interview. Even though by the end of the answer he uses “Latin
Americans” in the third person, it seems more a rhetorical device rather
than a self-exclusion from that group.
5 Discussion and Summary
The interviewees consider themselves as Latin Americans, and they talk
about some of the features that contribute to a Latin American identity
in connection with what it means to work in the mission. They both have
a similar idea of how those features are an advantage for working in that
mission in Haiti; thus, this mission provides an opportunity to reinforce
Latin American identity elements.
SRSG constructs this Latin American identity both from an external
and an internal point of view, contrasting these features with Anglo-
Saxon Caribbean societies, the USA, France, and Puerto Rico. On the
other hand, he believes that some of those features share a “common
ground” with Haiti. The Latin American identity elements are put both
in contexts of the use for military tactics and in the “cultural structure”—
where history, church, independence processes, and the garments of the
leaders are mentioned.
FC constructs the Latin American identity from an internal point of
view where those features are put in the context of working in the mission
(ironically, not in terms of military tactics as SRSG did) and also in more
intangible ones, as it is the case with the concepts of “conscience of our

people”, “historic formation”, and “maturing of our society”.
Since the analysis illustrates that there is some kind of Latin American
identity constructed within the UN mission, I will now indicate the
salient dimensions.
The extracts analysed from SRSG’s interview provide evidence for four
distinct dimensions. The first one refers to the experience and consequent
understanding of poverty and its complexities, including its relationship
with violence.
The second one relates to what he calls “cultural structure”, even
though the analysis showed that most of the elements named under
that concept are rather problematic. The one referring to the “shared
history feeling” allows an interpretation closer to the concepts of iden-
tity examined in Sect. 2, as well as with Anderson’s concept of “imag-
ined communities”.
The third dimension refers to the institutional breakdowns during the
second half of the twentieth century in Latin America. It is at the same
time the experience of those dictatorships and coups and of dealing with
the reconciliation processes afterwards. However, as shown above, those
processes are hardly exclusive to Latin America.
The fourth is oriented towards territorial arguments, related with
power struggles: the contrast with the USA. Sometimes the contrast is
extended to the northern hemisphere, France is also mentioned once, and
a contrast is established with Puerto Rico—but I argue that Puerto Rico’s
condition of being an American territory makes it an indirect contrast
with the USA. Finally, in Extract 5 there is also a contrast with the Anglo-
Saxon Caribbean societies.
In the case of FC, he shares the first two dimensions with SRSG,
namely, that Latin Americans have an experience with poverty and mis-
ery. This experience gives them a certain perspective and room to develop
solidarity. The second dimension refers to the importance given to his-
tory as something shared by a community. He adds to that the elements
of “society maturation” and “people’s conscience”.
Other features like the language or the geographical borders of Latin
America seem to be ambivalent and not clear-cut at all. Regarding lan-
guage, it seems that Latin as a root would be the minimum common
100 J. M. Ferreiro
ground. Taking that into account, it seems that there is no single shared
language for Latin America.
Regarding borders, it is fair to say that these were never mentioned
explicitly, but when examples of countries were given, they were mostly
South American countries and a Central American country (Guatemala).
No Caribbean country was ever mentioned as Latin American. Guatemala
was the only northern hemisphere country mentioned maybe because
along with El Salvador (not mentioned in the extract), they are the only
ones from Central America with troops in the mission. A big and impor-
tant country like Mexico has no troops in the mission; thus, in the inter-
views there was no context or opportunity to determine if they are
considered Latin Americans despite of what common sense might
indicate.
However, even though there was a shared notion of the experience of
poverty having a sense of “cultural identity” in terms of Larraín (2001),
there was also a strong role in contrast rather than self-affirmation in this
Latin America identity. In this sense, we could appreciate how Latin
America can work as counterconcept from a Latin American point of
view. This contrast was established mainly against the USA. Indeed, since
Latin America is not a continent by itself, the USA can act as a border
within the American continent for what is and what is not Latin American,
that is, all the countries which are considered Latin American are south
of the USA-Mexico border.
It is exactly this idea that allows Haiti’s condition as Latin American to
be disputable. Haiti can be Latin American if it takes the Latin American
“exit” from the USA and France. It is also the main reason why SRSG
does not consider Puerto Rico as part of Latin America. Apparently, the
fact of being an American territory disqualifies them.
It is possible to find in his extracts a mechanism through which the
Latin Americanism of Haiti seems to be more a means to legitimise the
right of Latin American-led intervention in the “direct interest” of the
USA. This challenges American hegemony and legitimises a Latin
American claim for the right to participate in the solution of an eventual
crisis in Cuba. And this is an input for a reflection on postcolonialism.
On the one hand, there is an opposition to colonial and postcolonial
powers (such as the USA) which articulates the Latin American identity
and establishes links with Haiti. However, the mission itself and the pos-
sibility of participating in a similar intervention in Cuba are not prob-
lematised as forms of (post)colonialism.
When SRSG tried to name Latin American identity features, none of
them were indisputable or totally coherent, reinforcing the utilitarian
view of Haiti. Put simply, Haiti is Latin American because that way we can
legitimise our presence there, in the USA’s backyard, and challenge their hege-
monic power in a future conflict in the region.
The Latin American identity seems to be far from being a coherent
concept and is rather the subject to power struggles. But it can also be
used peripherally (in the case of Haiti) as a disguise (or excuse) for power
struggles. All this seems to back the idea that Latin America needs the
USA in order to construct its identity by contrast with the superpower.
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Part II
Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted
Approaches to Hegemonic and
Resistance Discourses in Latin
America
4
The Hooded Student as a Metaphor:
Multimodal Recontextualization
of the Chilean Student Movement
in a Broadcast News Report
Carolina Pérez-Arredondo and Camila Cárdenas-Neira
1 Introduction
In this chapter, we analyze the multimodal representation of narratives,
metaphors, and motives in a journalistic piece that framed the student
movement as being responsible for the bombing on an underground sta-
tion in Santiago, Chile. In particular, we believe that the multimodal
constructions of medical metaphors presented in this report frame the
student movement, and its members, as dangerous and uncontrolled
actors. We argue that the interplay of different semiotic modes (i.e. tex-
tual, visual, aural) in how the medical metaphor frames the report fosters
negative associations of the youth in the audience, as the voices of the
movement are recontextualized to serve the negative and criminalizing
narrative of the report.
C. Pérez-Arredondo (*)
Language Department, Universidad Bernardo O’Higgins, Santiago, Chile
e-mail: cperez.arredondo@gmail.com
C. Cárdenas-Neira
Translation and Language Studies, Pompeu Fabra University, Barcelona, Spain

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_4
108 C. Pérez-Arredondo and C. Cárdenas-Neira
While the relationship between the media and social movements has
been widely explored (Boyle, McCluskey, McLeod, & Stein, 2005;
McLeod, 2007; McLeod & Detenber, 1999; Shoemaker, 1984, to name
a few), news broadcasts have remained fairly untouched (Montgomery,
2007). This chapter aims at contributing to the understanding of how
different semiotic modes come together to (re)present, maintain, and
normalize social representations of marginalized and/or criminalized
groups in a society, especially when their behavior is considered deviant
(cf. Shoemaker, 1984). In order to achieve these objectives, we provide an
overview of the complex relation between the media and social move-
ments in Latin America and Chile. We then provide a more detailed over-
view of the broadcasted news report we decided to examine. Considering
the complexity associated to the analysis of different semiotic modes
simultaneously, we combined different methodological approaches in
order to thoroughly assess how the recontextualization of social actors,
actions, and motives is carried out. Due to the diverse variety of the results
obtained, this chapter only attempts at providing a summary of these.
Thus, we structured the main findings into three categories: social actor
representation, representations of public space, and the representation of
motive. Finally, we present some concluding remarks and outline possible
further research stemming from the contributions outlined.
2 ocial Movements and the Media in Latin

S
America
Despite being facilitators and promoters of social change and civic
engagement (Goodwin & Jasper, 2003; Goodwin, Jasper, & Polleta,
2001), social movements, such as the Chilean student movement, have
traditionally had a complex relationship with the media. This relationship
might stem from the sustained “challenge to authorities, powerholders, or
cultural beliefs and practices” they embody (Goodwin & Jasper, 2003,
p. 3). The Latin American region is an epitome of these challenges. The
varied and constant manifestations of social inequality in the region have
led to the emergence and maintenance of diverse social movements that
have problematized the reproduction and strengthening of inequality and
The Hooded Student as a Metaphor 109
segregation (UNDP, 2016). New social actors and practices have emerged
in both more traditional (e.g. indigenous, workers, and students) and
more contemporary social movements (e.g. those concerned with urban,
environmentalist, human rights, or LGBT causes) (Calderón & Jelin,
1987). In Latin America, these collectives focus on the development and
maintenance of their cultural, political, and economic influence in a con-
text in which they have been widely marginalized.
In these processes of development, we are able to identify a move from
more traditional conceptualizations of social movements (grounded in
social class struggles) to a focus on social contexts characterized by domi-
nation and resistance struggles, in which individuals and the collectives
they belong to challenge asymmetrical power relations (Alvarez, Dagnino,
& Escobar, 1998). These struggles are articulated discursively in that the
meanings these collectives create, disseminate, and challenge aim at social
change, especially if these groups are perceived as consisting of marginal-
ized, alternative, and dissident individuals (Cárdenas, 2014a, 2014b,
2014c; Kress, 2010; Martín Rojo, 2013; Pardo, 2012).
In this vein, the role of the media has been central to social movements
in their attempts to maintain and disseminate their causes. First, mass
media were traditionally the major source for social movements to get
themselves known and it continues in the age of social media such as
Twitter or Facebook (Seguin, 2016). Second, there has been extensive
work dedicated to unveiling ideological and power struggles in news dis-
course and its crucial role in social domination (Pardo, 2007; Van Dijk,
1984, 1988, 1991, 2008), including representations of social movements
and their demonstrations (Fowler, 1991).
There are two main approaches to the understanding of media repre-
sentations of deviant behavior and social movements. First, the consen-
sual paradigm emerged from the analysis of a newspaper reports on an
incident involving a mob confrontation in England (Cohen, 1981,
2011). The features identified revolve around three main axes that deter-
mine how actors and actions are represented: (1) exaggeration and distor-
tion of the actions described, emphasizing the seriousness and violence of
the events taking place; (2) prediction, which consists in the construction
of an implicit threat that this will become recurrent; and (3) symboliza-
tion to enhance the negative frame of the report through the use of
particular referential strategies (e.g. “hooded demonstrators”) that con-

note the violent nature of the people involved as well as exacerbating
their particular features (e.g. violent ones), facilitating the triggering of
negative reactions and emotions in the audience. While it does not
involve social movements per se, the features identified in its media cov-
erage neatly complement the protest paradigm (Boyle et al., 2005;
McLeod, 2007; Shoemaker, 1984), whose sole focus is to identify pat-
terns in media coverage of (radical) social movements. There are five fea-
tures in this paradigm: (1) framing events in a crime narrative, (2) the use
of official sources, (3) the inclusion of protest bystanders, (4) delegitimation
of the protest, and (5) demonization of actors and actions (McLeod,
2007).
The dependence of social movements on the media is also true in the
Latin American context. However, the way the media were originally con-
ceived in the region provides specific particularities that need to be taken
into account. Lugo-Ocando explains that the Latin American media have
always been influenced by a selected elite, in which they conceived of the
media as “(a) commodities to be exploited by the private sector and (b)
mechanisms of political and societal control” (2008, p. 1). This political
and ideological monopolization of the public sphere has downplayed the
effects and influence of social movements, especially when they revolve
around minorities and/or marginalized groups. What stands out, Lugo-
Ocando continues, is the economic component of this monopolization,
which has turned into a “sophisticated mechanism of control, one that is
less politicized and more oriented towards satisfying market needs within
the ideological framework of liberal democracies in the region” (2008,
p. 2). The emergence of alternative/radical media in Latin America has
challenged this conceptualization of the media, becoming a safe haven for
social movements. Through alternative media outlets, social collectives
have managed to empower themselves through the appropriation and
resignification of their communication practices. While they have been
unable to overcome the institutionalized role and status of mainstream
media, there have been cases in which social movements have successfully
challenged the meanings and stereotypes associated with them. The
Chilean student movement is a prime example of this.
3 he Student Movement and the Media

T
in Chile
From its origins in the early twentieth century, the Chilean student move-
ment has always been a catalyst for social and political change (Cabalin,
2012). Student political action has contributed to the secularization of
education, the overthrow of two dictatorships, and the most recent
reforms in the educational system that have allowed thousands of young
students to access higher education for free. Yet, its role has not always
been properly acknowledged in hegemonic, more institutionalized dis-
courses (Cárdenas, 2014a), despite students’ constant and consistent
efforts to challenge these hegemonic representations to vindicate them-
selves as social and political actors (Cárdenas, 2016).
An example of this is media discourses. Unsurprisingly, the students’
relation with the media has had an increasing antagonistic dynamic,
especially ever since Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship. On 11 September
1973, the so-called Silence Operation took place, in which all media out-
lets (i.e. radio, broadcast, and the press) sympathetic to Salvador Allende’s
government were closed down, leaving their workers and journalists fac-
ing persecution, being disappeared, tortured, and/or exiled (Herrera,
2007). After the coup, the remaining media suffered strong censorship
and were highly controlled by the dictatorship, becoming a tool for social
control and manipulation (Monckeberg, 2008). The censorship and sur-
veillance exercised in the media led to their political, ideological, and
economic monopolization, in which dissenting voices were marginalized
and overtly delegitimized (Sunkel & Geoffroy, 2001). The return of
democracy had no effect on this monopolization. The lack of communi-
cation policies consolidated the market-oriented scenario imposed dur-
ing the regime (Lugo-Ocando, 2008; Monckeberg, 2008), having a
detrimental effect on the emerging alternative media which struggled to
remain afloat (Herrera, 2007).
In this context, media representations of students tend to reproduce
the institutionalized conceptualizations of young people produced dur-
ing and after the military regime. During the military regime, there was
an overall tendency to render the role of young people invisible in
egemonic discourses. As studies on the subject suggest, the roles and

h
agency of young people were not only omitted from historical events but
also marginalized, systematically undermining their practices and actions
through their infantilization (Cárdenas, 2014a). After the military
regime, on the other hand, institutional and political spheres conceived
of Chilean youth as apathetic and lethargic, uninterested in political par-
ticipation (Aguilera, 2012, 2014; Muñoz, 2004, 2011) in an attempt to
maintain order and reduce social polarization (Cárdenas, 2016). In this
narrative, their disinterest is understood in terms of lack of agency, thus
making them a problematic actor (Aguilera & Muñoz, 2015).
These conceptualizations of youth are (re)produced, maintained, and
normalized in the media, which is mostly monopolized by the right-wing
sector. Studies suggest that there are two main tendencies in the ways in
which the media represent youth, in particular the student movement
(Aguilera, 2008; Antezana, 2007; Pérez, 2012, 2016; Yez, 2007). First,
there is an expectation that youth should be obedient. Youth should abide
by the sociocultural norms and duties imposed on them, which basically
translate into being contained in an educational institution, studying.
Therefore, any transgression of these duties is to be understood as subver-
sive, undesirable, and as challenging the status quo. Second, they are rep-
resented as voiceless agents. In these representations, youth is an object of
spectacle in the public sphere, suppressed and backgrounded by hege-
monic figures and discourses. In other words, students are always being
talked about, undermining their role as political and social actors, reduc-
ing them to polarized categories (e.g. criminal/obedient; committed/sub-
versive) (Aguilera, 2008; see also Cárdenas, 2016 for a more comprehensive
overview).
Narratives of crime and spectacle are abundant in mainstream media
representations of youth. Students’ motives for protesting are back-
grounded and/or superficially addressed, appealing to the audience’s
shared knowledge on the conflict. More importantly, law enforcement and
social order narratives are praised in conjunction with neoliberal dis-
courses in which the individual is the sole being responsible for their
well-being (i.e. a society of opportunities). These narratives enhance the
understanding of youth as deviant actors, abusing their right to protest
and not abiding by their alleged duties (i.e. to study), maintaining and
normalizing traditional conceptualizations of politics so as to protect the
status quo. While their motives and demands are thoroughly covered in
alternative media (e.g. digital newspapers), these media outlets are still
emerging, restricting their scope to a reduced (yet currently increasing)
number of people who actively seek different sources of information. In
this context, the media, especially broadcast media, still plays an undis-
puted role in how these conceptualizations of students (and their move-
ments) are maintained and reproduced.
4 Data and Methods
As it was briefly introduced at the beginning, we focus on a broadcasted
journalistic piece on the anarchist groups composing the student move-
ment aired by Canal 13 on the same day a bombing attack took place in
an underground station in Santiago. The 11-minute news report was
called “An x-ray of the [Chilean] student movement”, downloaded from
YouTube as it is no longer accessible from their official website.1 The
video was transcribed using Atlas.ti, integrating the transcription with the
video frames consecutively. The examples presented in the analysis
included the original Spanish and an English translation provided by the
authors to facilitate their readings.
The data were analyzed through the combination, adaptation, and
development of two methodological frameworks enabling a macro- and
micro-analysis of the data. At a macro-level, we draw on the concept of
multimodal metaphors (Feng & Espindola, 2013; Feng & O’Halloran,
2013b) in order to analyze the medical metaphor evoked by the title of the
news report (Sect. 4.1). Our analysis brings in Halliday’s language meta-
functions (Halliday, 2014), that is, a focus on the representation of human
experience (ideational metafunction, Id), the enactment of (inter)personal
relationships (interpersonal metafunction, In), and the organization of
meanings (textual metafunction, Tx). The inclusion of this theoretical
Retrievable from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okA54G-Rhck&t=3s

1
frame helps understand the different narrative stages and multimodal

metaphors proposed by the news report in relation to how the audience
might respond to it. For this, the term emotional prosody is useful.
Emotional prosody (Feng & O’Halloran, 2013a; Feng & Qi, 2014)
allows us to identify how the students’ political actions are materialized
and naturalized systematically within the narrative structure provided by
the news report (Sect. 4.2). We focus on reconstructing the viewers’
response patterns to the actors’ as well as the audience’s engagement. At a
micro-level, on the other hand, we draw on van Leeuwen’s approach to
motive and legitimation of social actors/actions (Van Leeuwen, 2007,
2008) to describe how these multimodal constructions enhance the narra-
tives associated with the student movement (Sect. 4.3). Having recontex-
tualization (Bernstein, 1981, 1986) at the core of his definition of discourse,
van Leeuwen proposes a series of linguistic and discursive strategies to
identify the different (re)semiotization processes involved in the represen-
tation and (de)legitimation of social actors, actions, and their purpose.
This combination and adaptation of frameworks resulted in the fol-
lowing structure of analysis (Fig. 4.1):
In the following sections, we explain the core concepts structuring our
analysis and how this framework supposes an innovative amalgamation
for the analysis of multimodal recontextualizations of social protest and
deviant behavior.
ORIENTATION RESOLUTION
• Tx: Introduction • Tx: Problem
• Id: Definition • Id: Disruption
• Tx: Configuration • In: Sympathy • Tx: Solution
• In: Expectation
• Id: Balance / Antypathy • Id: Fulfilment
• In: Alignment/ • In: Hopelessness
Dealignment
PRESENTATION COMPLICATION
MEDICAL METAPHOR
Fig. 4.1 Structure of the narrative analysis

4.1 Multimodal Metaphors
Throughout this chapter, we understand metaphors as semiotic resources

that draw on different systems of signs, thoughts, and social action to
convey new meanings (Pardo, 2013). In Lakoff and Johnson’s words, “the
essence of metaphor is understanding and experiencing one kind of thing
in terms of another” (1980, p. 5). At the socio-cognitive level, metaphors
enable the construction and interpretation of meanings leading to new
understandings of human experience and action (Pardo, 2013, p. 42).
Inevitably, these features influence what we believe and how we under-
stand and develop those meanings and interpretations. There are differ-
ent ways of thinking about metaphor (Grady, Oakley, & Coulson, 1999),
among which the conceptual metaphor approach stands out (Lakoff &
Johnson, 1980). Lakoff and Johnson claim that metaphors are not merely
a linguistic phenomenon but also a cognitive one because it is through
them that we are able to understand abstract thought (1980, p. 7). They
explain that our use of metaphor draws on our early physical and bodily
experiences (source domain, Y) in order to make sense of abstract con-
cepts (target domain, X) through conceptual metaphorical themes (e.g.
argument is war) (1980, p. 5).
While conceptual metaphors have contributed to significant studies in
the area, they only target a verbal semiotic mode. Therefore, considering
the multimodal nature of our data, we turn to the concept of multimodal
metaphor. Forceville points out that there are other semiotic modes
through which metaphors can convey meaning such as the visual, acous-
tic, smell, taste, and tactile modes (2009). In this vein, metaphors can be
monomodal when their source and target domains are restricted exclu-
sively or predominantly to one particular mode or multimodal when both
domains are represented exclusively or predominantly in various modes.
Based on Halliday’s metafunctions of language (2014), Feng and
O’Halloran (2013b) and Feng and Espindola (2013) highlight the theo-
retical value of combining semiotic and cognitive perspectives to
approach multimodal metaphors more holistically. Feng and O’Halloran
propose that the representational metafunction can be realized in
terms of defamiliarization and domestication metaphors (2013b). While
defamiliarization metaphors are constructed through anomalous or
non-conventional arrangements and representations of visual elements,

domestication metaphors are fundamental to the representation of
abstract meanings. These are usually realized when the image shows the
source domain and the linguistic context specifies the target domain
through verbal tagging of the image (2013a, p. 328). In relation to the
interpersonal and textual metafunctions, Feng and Espindola (2013)
propose approaching them as metaphorical systems. To analyze interac-
tion, they consider the aspects of social distance and subjectivity, which
are visually realized through the use of camera distance and angle,
respectively. Subjectivity is understood in terms of relations of partici-
pation and power, realized through horizontal and vertical camera
angles, respectively. Finally, for compositional meanings, the focus is
on the value of information, realized through the location of the object
in the visual space (Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2006).
4.2 Metaphors and Emotional Prosody
According to Martin (1995), the structures of ideational, interpersonal,

and textual meanings have distinctive features which become salient in
their realizations. He explains that “ideational meaning is oriented to a
particulate form of realization, interpersonal meaning to prosodic realiza-
tion and textual meaning to periodic realization” (1995, p. 9). The pro-
sodic feature draws on Halliday’s explanation of the interpersonal
metafunction of language, in which it “is strung throughout the clause as
a continuous motif or colouring (…) the effect is cumulative (…) we
shall refer to this type of realisation as ‘prosodic’, since the meaning is
distributed like a prosody throughout a continuous stretch of discourse”
(Halliday, 1979, p. 67). This prosodic feature can be realized in various
forms (see Martin & White, 2005, pp. 19–21) and in different kinds of
texts, including multimodal texts and other semiotic resources.
In this context, Feng and O’Halloran (2013a) postulate how these
realizations could affect the construction of emotions in films. Drawing
on Kövecses (2000), these authors claim that
[t]housands of seemingly unrelated linguistic metaphors (e.g., I am going

to explode) are instances of conceptual metaphors (e.g., anger is heat)
which are instances of higher-level conceptual metaphors from different

stages of the model (e.g., Loss of Control). We argue that literal expressions
and nonverbal resources (e.g., facial expression, movement) also fall into
the cognitive structure of emotion, giving rise to a multimodal approach to
emotion representation. (2013a, p. 80)
From this understanding, Feng and Qi (2014) propose a metafunctional

model for the analysis of emotional prosody, whose main objective is to
identify how the audience engages with the characters’ emotional represen-
tations. In this vein, they explain that “character emotion is related to the
ideational events and at the same time mapped onto the textural structure
of narrative” (2014, p. 351). According to Feng and Qi, emotional prosody
can be identified by focusing on changes of positive and negative emotions
through stages (Labov & Waletsky, 1967) and phases (Martin & Rose,
2008) in the narrative based on how the characters position themselves in
relation to the accomplishment or disruption of their goals (2014, p. 353).
Throughout this study, we adopt a similar premise in relation to meta-
phorical realizations in the narrative. We believe that the stages and
phases of a narrative can be associated with a superior level of thematic
metaphors that structure the ideational, interpersonal, and textual
meanings at play (cf. Cárdenas & Pérez, 2017). This adaptation and its
stages can be visualized in Fig. 4.2:
Fig. 4.2 Adaptation of Feng and Qi’s (2014) emotional prosody

4.3 an Leeuwen’s Social Actor Approach: Motive

V
and Legitimation
While the analysis of multimodal metaphors and narrative addresses a

more abstract aspect of our data, a more detailed analysis of linguistic
and discursive resources can provide another perspective of how the dif-
ferent semiotic modes co-occur and complement each other in the recon-
textualization of students’ protests. Thus, van Leeuwen explains that
everything, from the most abstract conceptualizations of beings and
actions, can be regarded as a representation. In this vein, recontextualiza-
tion (Bernstein, 1981, 1986) is the purposeful repositioning of social
practices and knowledge into another context. In the case of our study,
we understand that the report on the Chilean student movement and the
bombing of the underground station are a representation of the actual
actions and practices performed in a particular time and place in the
format of news broadcast report. It follows that discourses “not only rep-
resent what is going on, they also evaluate it, ascribe purposes to it, jus-
tify it, and so on, and in many texts these aspects of representation
become far more important than the representation of the social practice
itself ” (Van Leeuwen, 2008, p. 6).
In this framework, van Leeuwen offers a methodology for systemati-
cally analyzing social actors and actions. He identifies various linguistic
and discursive strategies in the identification of actors, actions, time,
place, and purpose, among others, which we are unable to cover more
deeply due to space constraints (see van Leeuwen, 2008, for a detailed
explanation of his framework). While the more detailed aspects of these
strategies can be seen in Fig. 4.3, there are two concepts that we need to
address in more detail due to their relevance to this study: legitimation
and purpose.
For van Leeuwen, legitimation is an inherent part of the recontextual-
ization of social practices as there is a need for understanding “‘why
should we do this?’ or ‘why should we do this in this way?’” (Van
Leeuwen, 2008, p. 105). In this context, he proposes four strategies to
identify how actors and actions are (de)legitimized. First, authorization is
the use of power figures regarded as experts in their field to support/
Recontextualization Legitimation R. Social Actions R. Social Actors R. Purpose

• Substitutions • Authorization • (Re)Action • Inclusion / • Goal-oriented
• Deletions • Moral • (De)Activation Exclusion action
• Rearrangements Evaluation • (De)Agentializa • Activation / • Means-oriented
• Additions • Rationalization tion Passivation action
• Mythopoesis • Abstraction / • (Im) • Effect-oriented
Concretization Personalization action
• Single / Over - • Genericization /
determination Specification
• Determination /
Indetermination
• Categorization /
Nomination
• Single / Over-
determination
Fig. 4.3 Multimodal micro-analysis
attack a particular representation. Second, moral evaluation consists on

(de)legitimation through the use of moral values. Third, rationalization is
the idea of (de)legitimizing by appealing to (institutionalized) instru-
mentality and shared knowledge. Finally, mythopoesis is the use of sym-
bolic narratives in a particular community to (de)legitimize social
practices and actions. It is important to note that these strategies are not
mutually exclusive, in that they can co-occur in any semiotic mode
(2008, p. 119).
In a similar note, van Leeuwen believes that purpose is “discursively
constructed, in order to explain why social practices exist and why they
take the forms they do” (2008, p. 125). He claims there is a power strug-
gle inherent to its representation in that it determines what actors serve
a purpose in society and/or in particular contexts and who do not
(p. 135). While not all purpose constructions are legitimizing, those
which draw on higher moral values “in a frame of instrumentality” are
(Habermas, 1976, p. 22, in Van Leeuwen, 2008, p. 125). In this sense,
we are interested in those moralized actions and qualities regarded as
“common sense and do not make explicit the religious and philosophical
traditions from which they ultimately draw their values and on which
their legitimating capacity ultimately rests” (Van Leeuwen, 2008,
p. 126). He identifies three main elements in purpose constructions: (a)
a purposeful action, (b) a purposeful link, and (c) a purpose (2008, p. 126)
which emphasize the actors’ goals, means and tools, or the effects they
want to achieve. While useful to the analysis of manuals from which this
framework originated, his understanding of purpose restricts its applica-

tion to institutional contexts involving instrumentality, excluding the
context of individual psychology. This is why we prefer talking about
motive instead of purpose, as we apply a broader understanding to why
people do (and do not) things.
5 Results
The analysis shows that there is an overarching medical metaphor struc-
turing and framing the news report through which the student move-
ment and its members are represented as a disease. While this metaphor
can be broadly understood along the lines of social conflict is disease
(Antonova, 2014), the target domain of the metaphor seems to be the
members of this movement, in particular hooded rioters [encapuchados].
Conversely, the source domain of the metaphor draws on the behavior
of cancer. Cancer is characterized by an abnormal growth of cells and
evokes a sense of hopelessness in which “the patient is ‘invaded’ by alien
cells, which multiply, causing an atrophy or blockage of bodily func-
tions” (Sontag, 1978). More importantly, its symptoms are only visible
when it is already “too late” (1978, p. 12). It follows then that the main
metaphor foregrounded through this news report is student/hooded
rioter is cancer. The metaphor is developed throughout the narrative
stages identified in the news report as the following table shows
(Table 4.1):
The news report undertakes the responsibility of carrying out a thor-
ough investigation (“An X-ray of the student collectives”) to identify
the source of the anarchist behavior that led to the bombings of two
metro stations. The metaphor student/hooded rioter is cancer is
thus constantly developed through various multimodal recontextualiza-
tions of the actors and actions being reported. The metaphor is carried
out multimodally as different semiotic modes interact and are built on
one another to convey a sense of hopelessness in relation to the violence
and anarchism in this social collective. These recontextualizations
Table 4.1 Narrative development of the STUDENT/HOODED RIOTER is CANCER

Presentation Orientation Complication Resolution
(00.00–00.32) (00.33–02.05) (02.06–07.52) (07.53–11.16)
Risk Diagnosis Metastasis Symptoms
There is a Identification of The disease The foreign body
distinction irregular (radicalization) (radical
between two behavior grows demonstrators)
entities (student exponentially and terminally spreads
(anarchists and movement) affects other inside a bigger one
students) inside a organs inside a (the student
whose relation bigger body bigger body (the movement) and it
can affect a (society) student has become visible
bigger body/ movement) to society
entity (society)
revolve around three main areas: The representations of the students

and their actions (Sect. 5.1), the representations of public space (Sect.
5.2), and the representations of their motives (Sect. 5.3).
5.1 Representation of Students and Their Actions
There is an overall homogenization of students and demonstrators that

facilitates the negative evaluation of these actors and their identification
as part of a deviant youth. This negative homogenization is carried mul-
timodally in various ways. The most salient strategy consists of the inter-
changeable use of students, demonstrators, anarchists, and/or radicalized
rioters to identify the agents behind these events. More importantly, the
textual suppression and/or backgrounding of these actors in the develop-
ment of the report facilitates the association between students and violent
rioters. These strategies work in conjunction with the visual and acoustic
mode, in which images of rioters in confrontation with the police are
abundant. Take the following extract from the presentation sequence as an
example, in which the news anchor (R. Ulloa) contextualizes the aim of
the report:
1. Sequence 00.13–00.23
Durante las últimas semanas se han Over the last weeks, [violent events]
multiplicado también hasta hacerse have multiplied too, in which
habituales los ataques de confrontations between hooded
encapuchados y sus enfrentamientos rioters and the police have become
con la policía. Los hechos más graves habitual. The most serious events
se han producido en universidades, en have originated in universities, in
la marcha de ayer donde incluso the demonstration yesterday in
intentaron quemar a un periodista y which [they] even tried to set a
la colocación de artefactos explosivos reporter on fire, and the placing of
que apuntan a grupos anarquistas. explosive devices, which point to
anarchist groups.
In this example, as well as throughout the whole presentation sequence,

students [estudiantes] are never mentioned. The actors identified as
responsible for, and associated with, these events are hooded rioters [enca-
puchados] and anarchists [anarquistas]. The connection of the metro
bombings with the student movement is subtle, enhanced by the textual
backgrounding of these actors and the chronological arrangement of
events. There is a coordination of events that situates hooded rioters and
anarchists stemming from universities and, more importantly, as the peo-
ple responsible for the placing of explosive devices. Where these devices
have been placed is suppressed, appealing to an exophoric reference to the
events of the day. The suppression of the students is mainly at the textual
level because, visually, they are clearly identified. The images running in
the background of the studio set not only portray hooded rioters in con-
frontation with the police but also homogenized masses of students hold-
ing banners. This homogenization is largely facilitated by their school
uniforms (dark blue). In this vein, they are framed as being a risk (disease)
that is multiplying alarmingly, resulting in anarchist acts such as the
bombing.
These representations trigger the connection of rioters (and thus stu-
dents) with cancer, one that is spreading uncontrollably in a bigger body
(i.e. society). Throughout the different narrative stages, the protagonists,
along with their actions and objectives, are represented as being highly
and consistently radicalized. This results in an intermodal representation
of social threat, which is mainly conveyed through verbal resources (e.g.

reporter’s voice-over, character generator running the capitalized phrase
UNDER THE HOOD [DETRÁS DE LA CAPUCHA]). However, their
representation as a social threat is also systematically reinforced visually
(e.g. captions depicting confrontations between the police and hooded
demonstrators, images of occupied public space, debris, fire, and tear gas)
and acoustically (e.g. tense music and incidental audio—gunshots, break-
ing glass, screams, etc.).
The report includes the contributions of various actors from different
areas in society (e.g. student leaders, police officers, and academics) to
convey impartiality and provide a diagnosis of their behavior. These actors
introduce and evaluate the protagonists, their actions, and objectives
superficially and partially, in relation to the narrative proposed by the
report. Despite the inclusion of three secondary school student leaders,
their statements were recontextualized in a way their actions are to be
understood as deliberately violent as Juan Vega’s contribution to the report
in the resolution sequence. His contribution is introduced by a succession
of slow-motion shots depicting violence from hooded rioters and police
officers as well as police equipment and vehicles at the receiving end of
those attacks. The sequence is accompanied by an intense, slow percussion
sound, which conveys tension and lasts five seconds before Juan Vega’s
contribution, member of the “Let’s Go” [Vamos] collective in Conchalí, a
deprived area in Santiago. Contrary to the previous two contributions,
Vega justifies the violent acts performed by hooded rioters and presents
them as legitimate political action. Here is an extract of his contribution:
2. Sequence 10.17–10.40
El medio donde nosotros nos We move around the shanty towns,

desenvolvemos que es la población you know? (…) these are schools
cachai (…) son colegios en los cuales eh that only the poorest students go
van los alumnos más pobres cachai de to, you know? So, based on that,
la comuna, entonces en base a eso, tu you cannot tell a dude who has
no le podi decir a un loco que ha vivido been busted down all of his life
violentado toda su vida, cachai puta you know, fuck, let go of that
suelta esa piedra cachai y levanta las stone, you know?, and raise your
manos y deja que los pacos te peguen. hand and let the cops beat you up.
He positions himself, and the collective, as belonging to the shanty towns,

appropriating the poverty and negative connotations associated with
them. Visually, this is enhanced by the graffiti included in the background
when the frame Vega is included in was shot. Textually, he is explicit in
foregrounding these features, including the informal register used in the
interview, in an attempt to reverse the traditional mythopoesis used to
legitimize their actions. From his point of view, hooded rioters volun-
tarily choose violence to subvert the systematic violence the State has exer-
cised upon them and thus fight State oppression and violence as a result
of their social marginalization. Nevertheless, this attempt to legitimize
violence as a political act is visually and acoustically undermined by the
report. The beginning of his contribution shows a slow-motion sequence
of hooded rioters carrying out violent actions, in which public and pri-
vate property is being destroyed. The sound track is similar to the ones
used behind the other two student leaders’ contributions which fosters
negative multimodal evaluation (see Cárdenas & Pérez, 2017).
The negative representation of these actors and their actions enhances
the association of their behavior with a disease (i.e. cancer). It affects a
wider body (i.e. society) and it is uncontrolled. From Vega’s point of view,
the report conveys that using violence is a conscious decision these collec-
tives take to damage society. The police, on the other hand, try to contain
it although they are not always successful as the images show. This nega-
tive representation is further complemented by the dynamic and sym-
bolic uses of the spaces portrayed in the report.
5.2 Representation of Public Space
As mentioned earlier, the intermodal construction of deviant youth is

enhanced by the representations of public space. In particular, represen-
tations of public and private space are a constant strategy to enhance the
students’ homogenization and facilitate their association with vandalism
and anarchism. The main strategy to achieve these associations is the use
of circumstantial constructions to include educational facilities such as
schools and universities as the place social deviance takes place in. These
facilities are traditionally and culturally associated with students. Thus,
suggesting that the most serious [violent] events stem from universities
(Example (1)) easily triggers the image of the student in the audience,
alienating them from the beginning from the students’ perspective. This
is a consistent and constant strategy throughout the report. Consider the
following example, narrated over images of hooded rioters in action
inside a blue-fenced facility in close-up, shaky shots:
3. Sequence 02.18–02.31
Miércoles en la facultad de filosofía de It is Wednesday at the Philosophy

la Universidad de Chile. Un grupo de School at the Universidad de Chile.
encapuchados comienza los disturbios. A group of hooded rioters begin
Se mueven y esconden por rincones rioting. They move and hide in
que conocen de memoria. corners they know by heart.
The visual and acoustic cues representing the suspicious behavior of

hooded rioters are identified both temporally and spatially, with the latter
being highly specific. The actions are set on one particular university
campus, Universidad de Chile, one of the oldest universities whose stu-
dent representatives are usually in leading positions within the
Confederation of Chilean Students [Confech]. The sequence shows
hooded rioters in action while police from the Special Task Force advance
in order to contain the rioters. However, although the places included are
always different, the audience is to assume they belong to this particular
university campus.
Through the coordination of both sentences in Example (3), the nar-
rator identifies the beginning of the riots at this educational facility while
also representing hooded rioters as knowing the place by heart. Hiding
from both the cameras and the police is constructed as a difficult task, to
which knowing secret, hard-to-access hiding spots is an advantage, and
only accessible to people who belong to this university. The kinetic hand-
held camera in this take (and throughout the report) uses shaky close-ups
to capture the behavior of these rioters, which not only conveys a sense of
danger to the camera crew for filming this but also as a closer examina-
tion (or X-ray) of what these actors actually do.
In this way, universities are portrayed as a contaminated space, to
which these hooded rioters belong. Later in the report, the reporter
emphasizes they could access this campus “on a peaceful day” [“Visitamos
la facultad de filosofía un día de paz”], which is foregrounded as an excep-
tion. The first take consists of a hooded scarecrow, representing an
almighty figure overlooking the campus from inside. The occupation of
their own space is shown through long-moving panes which, although
they show a panoramic view of the facilities, do not allow a careful exami-
nation of the students’ wall murals nor the banners set up explaining
their demands and ideological positions. In fact, these shots are comple-
mented by Major Pizarro’s contributions who, as an authority figure,
legitimizes the narrative of the report:
4. Sequence 02.58–03.12
Bueno ataques con boleadoras, con Well, attacks with slingshots, flares,
bengalas, con ácido es lo que and acid is what we usually see a
habitualmente se ve mucho en las en lot in protests, true, or in student
las protestas cierto, o en las marchas demonstrations that end, end with
estudiantiles que terminan, terminan this kind of… vandalism.
con este tipo de… de vandalismo.
The Major goes into great detail to describe the kind of instruments
found in student protests. Unsurprisingly, the agent is suppressed.
Hooded rioters and students are represented as belonging to the same
group due to the circumstantial construction in the Major’s statement.
He ends the contribution by negatively evaluating these actions and iden-
tifying them as vandalism. Due to his social status in society, he becomes
a legitimate actor, whose words remained unquestioned. Thus, the mul-
timodal other-representation of the student movement is also legitimized,
as it serves as evidence of what the Major describes. In terms of emotional
prosody, the radicalized representation of the student movement and its
subsequent delegitimation trigger different attitudes that condemn the
individuals responsible for these actions (i.e. social sanctions). In con-
trast, the attitudes that strengthen the identification with, defense of, and
internal solidarity with the authorities and the police are prompted to
resist and reject such social threat (i.e. social esteem).
In this interplay of multimodal constructions, public space metonymi-
cally represents the social body that is vulnerable and under attack. These
negative evaluations are predominant throughout the report, in particu-

lar in relation to the occupation of public space. The (evoked) social con-
flict foregrounds the potential consequences of the occupation, in which
the audience is likely to develop an increase in social condemnation
through the evocation of integrity. Visually, the depiction of disruptions
and disputes in public space foregrounds the dichotomy between order
and anarchy. While the police contain the advance of these radicalized
groups, the legislative power exercises the law and punishes them. This is
particularly true in the complication sequence, in which hooded rioters
and students are prosecuted and publicly condemned multimodally. On
the one hand, the textual mode is crucial in the construction of deviant
youth as a social axiom. On the other, the visual and acoustic modes
verify and justify the aforementioned axiom through different semiotic
resources (e.g. photography, videos, music) that work as evidence.
All in all, there is an in-and-out dichotomy that structures the narra-
tive. The students’ occupations of public spaces (to vandalize them)
enhance the medical metaphor (i.e. metastasis phase; invasion), and the
backgrounding/suppression of agency enhances the association of violent
actions with the social collective. The editing process also plays an impor-
tant role in the arrangement of these events so as to attribute purpose to
the actors and actions portrayed, as is explored in the following section.
5.3 The Representation of Motive
Rather than being represented as irrational actors, hooded rioters and

students are represented as purposeful actors determined to act violently.
This representation is carried out multimodally, with the textual, visual,
and acoustic modes mutually dependent.
In these representations, editing decisions are crucial. Violent captions
and the oral text are co-ordinated to work simultaneously to convey an
idea of chronological sequence. This chronological arrangement of actors
and actions suggests a cause-and-effect structure conveyed through addi-
tion strategies and the re-ordering of events (i.e. recontextualization).
Thus, for instance, the purposeful action (i.e. the action with which a pur-
pose is ultimately achieved) might be carried out textually and the purpose
visually (or vice versa). Take the following extract as an example (Table 4.2):
Table 4.2 Transcript and description of a section of the orientation sequence

Time Textual mode Visual mode Acoustic mode
00.50–00.51 [1] A burning object in Fast five-beat
the middle of a street tempo followed
by two-beat
higher
percussions
00.51–00.52 [2] Two Special Force Soundtrack
police officers move continues. A
forward toward the gunshot is
right-hand side of heard in the
the shot toward a background
blue fence. One is
holding a shield and
the other one is
pointing toward the
blue fence with a
tear gas cannon
00.52–00.56 Major Pizarro: [3] Behind a blue fence, The soundtrack is
These people’s a hooded rioter runs backgrounded
ultimate objective toward the left-hand once the Major
is [El fin último side of the shot starts talking
de de estos holding a flaming
individuos es] object (most likely a
Molotov cocktail)
[voice-over starts]
and throws it (to the
police—inferred). The
“country”
(symbolized through
the national flag) is
on fire; interviewee:
police officer
(unidentified)
00.57–01.00 (ctd.) to cause the [4] A Chilean flag hung (Same as above)
highest possible on a blue fence
damage to police bursts into flames
[causar el mayor
daño posible a lo
que es vehículos]
01.00–01.02 (ctd.) vehicles and [5] Close-up of Major Soundtrack stops
also to the staff Pizarro, with a police
[policiales y station and a Chilean
también al flag in the
personal] background
In terms of motive and intentionality, this sequence is highly delegiti-

mizing. The editing of the different clips is arranged chronologically in
that (1) there is a disturbance to civil order (burning object in the streets),
(2) the police react to contain the problem, (3) the agent causing the
disturbance is depicted throwing a flammable object (facilitating the
association of agency with the burning object of the first clip), and (4) a
further victim to the hooded rioter’s act, namely, the burning flag.
Metonymically, the flag embodies the country and burning it consists of
a profane, criminal act. Hence, this sequence conveys the idea of an attack
on the country and its status quo by hooded rioters allegedly coming
from universities, as the Major’s voice-over suggests.
If we examine this sequence in the light of the grammar of purpose pro-
posed by van Leeuwen (2008), the sequence suggests that the hooded
rioter is throwing a Molotov cocktail(PA) to(PL) burn down the national flag/
country(P). The purpose link(PL)—that is, how these actions relate to one
another—is implicit, though conveyed by how the hooded rioter runs
toward the left-hand side of the take and the burning flag seems to ignite
from the right-hand side. The purpose(P), on the other hand, is deter-
mined multimodally by the Major’s contribution and the visual cues
included. Without that textual cue (00.52–01.00), the visual clip lacks
any substantial meaning apart from showing a burning flag. This is a
common strategy in broadcast news referring to one of the principles of
intelligibility. On this issue, Montgomery states that any visual cues
should be treated as “a potential referent for a referring expression in the
verbal track” (Montgomery, 2007). According to this principle, people
are more prone to decode a visual image in relation to what the reporter
says, leading to different interpretations (Meinhof, 1994).
These implicit multimodal constructions of purpose are further
enhanced by slow-/fast-motion features, which facilitate attributions of
intentionality in the audience (Caruso, Burns, & Converse, 2016). The
combination of both these multimodal strategies builds up expectancy in
the audience to negatively evaluate the deviant group. This is particularly
true in the last 13 seconds of the ending of the resolution sequence in
Table 4.3.
The transcript shows how the first four seconds of the ending sequence
(11.03–11.07) packs in almost two clips per second. The pace of the
Table 4.3 Transcript and description of the last 13 seconds of the news report
11.03–11.07 Reporter: [1] Group of police Fast-paced
(Anarchist) officers move three-tempo
collectives that forward in percussion,
look for a third attacking position backgrounded
path [Colectivos (repeated clip) to facilitate
que buscan una [2] Hooded understanding
tercera vía] demonstrator (HD) of the reporter’s
taunts an unknown text
actor
[3] HDs move forward
[4] Individualized HD
throws an unknown
object
[5] HD walking
[6] HD throws an
object
[7] Water cannon
shooting
[8] HDs run in opposite
directions
[9] Individualized HD
(repeated clip)
11.08–11.12 Reporter: One that [10] A group of female Same as above
positions them as adults march in
a strong voice Alameda avenue
within the carrying a banner
student with the inscription
movement [Una “LICEO LASTARRIA”
que hoy los and the Chilean flag
posiciona como [11] Mass of secondary
una voz de students facing
fuerza dentro del backward to the
movimiento camera
estudiantil] [12] Close-up of people
and secondary
students marching
[13] Group of female
secondary students
marching
(continued)
Table 4.3 (continued)
11.13–11.15 [14] Secondary students The tone and
marching in front of volume of the
Universidad de Chile fast-paced
[15] Students marching three-tempo
holding the banner percussion
“ZOLEZZI, TU increase. It ends
SARCASMO ES TU abruptly at
CEREBRO!” 11.15
[16] Students marching
holding the banner
“LA NANA PELÁ”
[17] Mass of secondary
students marching
[18] Two police officers
retreating from
white smoke
(probably tear gas)
[19] Group of standing
students (repeated
clip)
11.15–11.16 [20] A papier-mâché There is a
coffin with the lingering sound
inscription Q.E.P.D. from the abrupt
[R.I.P.] (repeated ending
clip)
s uccession of clips complicates the identification of the actors and actions

depicted. However, as the description of the clips suggests, their common
denominator is the confrontation between hooded rioters and the police.
If we consider the textual cue that frames the visual mode, we are able to
interpret that the third path within the student movement consists of
violence and anarchism: it continues and legitimizes the narrative of the
resolution sequence as a whole. The clips in the next four seconds
(11.08–11.12) are clearer and can be fully appreciated as there is one
second per clip on average. These images show how various groups,
including adults, occupy the Alameda, the main avenue of the capital and
a highly contested space. There is an emphasis on quantification, as they
become an unrecognizable mass of people as the last stages of cancer. In
this sequence, therefore, the cancer has fully developed and spreading in
other areas other than educational buildings.
The last image, which lasts a whole second and is added as a slow-
motion feature, is that of a papier-mâché coffin. The coffin, lingering at
the end of the report, and being carried by anonymous and suppressed
agents, conveys the idea that (a metaphorical) death is the ultimate pur-
pose of this mass of people. Once again, this is carried out multimodally.
The consolidation of anarchist collectives inside the student movement
consists of an infection/disease that has spread to the point that leads to
their death. This metaphorical death can be extrapolated if we consider
that the bigger body (society) has also been infected as the occupation of
the Alameda (symbol of the political and economic power of the capital
(Marin, 2014)) implies. Finally, the fast/neutral/fast/slow-motion combi-
nation not only metaphorically conveys the pace at which these collec-
tives are growing, but the caption regarding the flag running in slow
motion allows the audience to process the consequences of the growth of
these collectives.
The violence and confrontation of the parties involved, apart from
being highlighted by the alternation of slow- and fast-motion captures,
are further enhanced by the kinetic camera work (very shaky, coarse-
grained) which adds realism to the visual evidence, positioning the audi-
ence in situ. Hence, purpose constructions are overshadowed by the
images of social deviance and disturbance. These images do work as the
ultimate purpose sought by the students and the hooded rioters, despite
the backgrounding of purposeful actions. The images serve as evidence to
support the implicit attributions of purpose to these actors, in which the
audience is overwhelmed by images of confrontations with the police and
hooded rioters acting violently. In this context, inconsistencies between
the different semiotic modes are overlooked (Meinhof, 1994) as the audi-
ence is already predisposed to negatively identify students with vandals.
It follows, then, that the audience is inclined to adopt a demoralized and
disheartened attitude toward the social consequences of the association of
youth, threat, and social disobedience presupposed in the report. Such an
association is represented as unavoidable and its consequences as essen-
tially detrimental.
6 Concluding Remarks
In this investigation, we argued that the multimodal recontextualizations
of the student movement in the news report contribute to frame their
narrative under the medical metaphor hooded student is cancer.
These recontextualizations serve different purposes, among which is
establishing the connection between the student movement and the
bombings on a subway station by drawing on crime and spectacle narra-
tives as well as existing negative social representations of the youth. The
medical metaphor is present at every stage of the narrative and frames the
actions of hooded demonstrators as infecting the student movement to
reach its collapse, evidenced by how they have become an uncontrolled,
homogenous group attacking the public space.
The source domain of cancer is used to frame the actions of hooded
demonstrators (target domain), who are used interchangeably with stu-
dents. There are three levels that determine how this medical metaphor is
carried out. At the level of actor representation, homogenization and col-
lectivization are key to trigger associations of an uncontrolled, growing
mass that cannot longer be contained at educational institutions. Thus,
different semiotic modes come into play in their criminalization, present-
ing anarchist groups and hooded rioters as taking over the student collec-
tive and society as a whole while the police are represented as being
overwhelmed and outnumbered (see Cárdenas & Pérez, 2017). At the
level of the uses of public space, circumstantial strategies highlight the
inside/outside divide in which this disease operates. This divide enhances
the idea of the police trying to contain the anarchism stemming from
educational institutions, while hooded demonstrators try to get out and
destroy private and public property. The violation, interference, and domi-
nation of such spaces support, and give meaning to, the medical metaphor
structuring the narrative in the report. This is why carrying out an “X-ray”
of the student movement leads to uncovering how radical groups make use
of these spaces by altering, infecting, and causing them to collapse.
The interaction of these two levels posits the idea that hooded stu-
dents purposefully aim at both destroying public and private property
and destabilizing the status quo. Thus, the visual semiotic mode is
foregrounded as it is regarded as the realization of the textual mode,

regardless of the incongruences between them. In this vein, delegitima-
tion of the students’ actions is carried out multimodally, promoting an
alienation of the audience from this social collective as hopelessness
takes over.
We hope to have provided a general overview of how media recontex-
tualizations of students’ actions are carried and, more importantly, the
effects these can have in people’s responses to both the actors investigated
(allegedly the student movements and its anarchism) and the event they
are accused of perpetrating (the bombings). The connection relies in
implicit constructions carried out through a combination of semiotic
modes that trigger negative associations of the youth and foregrounding
dangerous features associated to a cancer invading their society. There is
a need to problematize this kind of recontextualizations, especially when
the media are highly monopolized politically and economically. In par-
ticular, we hope to have shown how more studies like ours can contribute
to identify how different semiotic modes work simultaneously in the rep-
resentation of social actions and its effects in a wider social context.
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5
The Zapatista Linguistic Revolution:
A Corpus-Assisted Analysis
Isabelle Gribomont
1 Introduction
The starting point of this research project is the assumption that the
Zapatista Army of National Liberation (EZLN), a largely indigenous and
peaceful guerrilla group based in the Mexican south-east,1 offers a renova-
tion of revolutionary and leftist language in Latin America. Subcomandante
Marcos himself, historically the main spokesperson of the movement,
was perhaps the first to make this claim in an interview with Yvon Le Bot
in 1994, soon after the movement’s uprising against the federal govern-
ment. He claimed that the EZLN reconsiders political language in novel
terms, not inventing a new language but giving it new meanings (Le Bot,
1997, p. 301). Various scholars have put forward the idea that part of the
After the short initial armed uprising, the EZLN did not take the arms again.
1
I. Gribomont (*)
Department of Modern Languages, University of St. Andrews,
St. Andrews, UK
e-mail: ig25@st-andrews.ac.uk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_5
140 I. Gribomont
Zapatistas’ international fame is due to the creativity of their language

(Conant, 2010, p. 67; Holloway, 2005, p. 176; Levario Turcott, 1999,
p. 131; Rosset, Martínez-Torres, & Hernández Navarro, 2005, p. 37). In
what ways are the Zapatistas subverting or renovating existing Latin
American guerrilla discourses? Are they giving new meanings to words
traditionally used by guerrilla groups, or are they proposing an entirely
new set of concepts?
The present investigation contributes to this debate by using corpus
methods to compare the lexis of a corpus comprised of every Zapatista
communiqué issued since the first of January 1994 and a reference corpus
constituted of other Latin American guerrilla discourses.
2 The EZLN and Guerrilla Discourse2

The EZLN was founded in 1984, in the Lacandon Jungle, Chiapas,
Mexico. Over the next decade, the small group initially composed of
three indigenous leaders and three urban mestizos became an armed
movement mainly constituted of indigenous peasants (De Vos, 2002,
pp. 335–339). On the first of January 1994, the day the NAFTA agree-
ment officially entered into force, the EZLN took control of several
cities of the state of Chiapas. Among their demands in the next few
months were the betterment of living conditions for indigenous popu-
lations in Chiapas and the recognition of indigenous rights and cul-
tures. The armed uprising lasted less than two weeks, during which the
Zapatistas managed to gain considerable international attention and
support. A dialogue with the government was initiated, but the
Zapatistas never obtained satisfaction, even though agreements were
signed (Collier & Lowery Quaratiello, 1999, pp. 4–5, 166–167). Since
then, they refrained from any negotiations with official authorities and
2
A guerrilla is understood here in the Latin American context as an armed movement, often created
in order to combat social injustices and/or dictatorships through violent means. Guerrilla discourse
is defined as any discourse emitted by a guerrilla (i.e. speeches, communiqués, letters, etc.).
For more details on guerrilla movements in Latin America, see Castro (1999), De La Pedraja
(2013), Gott (2007), and Wickham-Crowley (1992).
The Zapatista Linguistic Revolution: A Corpus-Assisted Analysis 141
created local and alternative institutions such as health and educational

systems. During most of the 24 years of their public existence, the
EZLN has regularly issued communiqués and letters, largely circulated
on the internet.
Fairclough (1989) argued that “politics partly consists in the disputes
which occur in language and over language” (p. 23). He was making a
case for linguistic analyses of political discourses but the Zapatistas
could not agree more. The crucial importance of language has been
made clear by both the Zapatistas and their many interpreters. In June
1994, Marcos describes how he was told by the Old Antonio—a wise
indigenous man often featuring in the communiqués—that the word
rendirse (to surrender) did not exist in Tzotzil, Tzeltal, Tojolabal or
Ch’ol, the indigenous languages spoken by the Zapatistas, which is why
they could never surrender (Marcos, 1994b). This fragment indicates
that, for the Zapatistas, words influence a people’s worldview. The word
is a recurrent symbol in the Zapatista discourse. The Maya language is
referred to as la palabra verdadera (the true word) and was created by
the first gods—los que nacieron el mundo (those who birthed the world)
(Marcos, 1994a). According to King (1999), in Maya societies, the
word has a symbolic importance linked to the oral nature of the society
itself. One’s word is intrinsically linked to individual identity and
honour (p. 339).
In addition, as noted by Conant (2010), sympathisers and supporters
of the Zapatistas were often accused of romanticising indigenous cultures
and armed struggles resulting in an oversimplified and idealised represen-
tation of the movement. Conant is right in saying that paying closer
attention to the terms of the debate contributes to move beyond a super-
ficial reading and gain a nuanced understanding of Zapatismo (p. 13).
Detailed analyses of the linguistic patterns characteristic of the Zapatista
discourse have the potential to provide this kind of scrutiny and therefore
become a real asset in the Zapatista scholarship.
Several scholars have commented on the EZLN’s desire to aban-
don worn-out expressions and ideas (Callahan, 2004; Conant, 2010;
Holloway, 2005). It has been argued that the Zapatista linguistic
renovation cannot only be credited to Marcos’ literary skills but
142 I. Gribomont
rather to “a different way of seeing the world” (Holloway, 2005,

p. 176). In addition, according to Rosset et al. (2005), the struggle of
the global left was transformed into a war of images and words, there-
fore breaking with the linguistic legacy of the twentieth-century left
(pp. 37, 40–41). The EZLN argues that it does not rely on Marxist
terminology because the “old words had become so worn out that
they had become harmful for those that used them” (EZLN in
Holloway, 1998, p. 180). In addition, the encounter with the sym-
bolic and metaphoric language of the indigenous people was a major
influence in the shift away from Marxist language (Carr, 1997; Le
Bot 1997, pp. 146, 355).
3 Data and Methodology
3.1 Corpus-Assisted Discourse Studies (CADS)
CADS is used to investigate “the form and/or function of language as

communicative discourse which incorporate the use of computerised
corpora in their analyses” (Partington, Duguid, & Taylor, 2013, p. 10).
This methodology takes into account the context in which the lan-
guage was produced rather than considering it in isolation, relying on
background information and close reading as much as the data
(Partington et al., 2013, p. 10). Influenced by Stubbs’ seminal work on
corpus linguistics (1996, 2001), CADS aims at identifying patterns of
meaning characteristic of one type of discourse which are difficult to
recognise via close reading alone (Partington et al., 2013, pp. 10–11).
It is assumed that meaning is created by language use. Therefore, a
repeated linguistic pattern associated with one word within a specific
discourse can change the meaning of this word within the context of
that discourse. Hoey (2005), for instance, argues that “[a]s a word is
acquired through encounters with it in speech and writing, it becomes
cumulatively loaded with the contexts and co-texts in which it is
encountered” (p. 8).
3.2 Data and Corpora
The Zapatista Corpus includes all documents emitted by the movement

since the first of January 1994 and contains 4,067,402 words.3 The files
have been extracted from the archives of the website Enlace Zapatista. It
is important to bear in mind that this corpus is far from homogeneous.
During the last two decades, the Zapatista discourse has evolved. In
addition, if Marcos is historically the main spokesperson of the move-
ment, he was never the only one writing communiqués. The Juntas de
Buen Gobierno (Councils of Good Government), for instance, have
published dozens of denunciations. Therefore, the patterns extracted
from the statistical analyses are not representative of the Zapatista dis-
course at any given moment but rather of a fictional average of their
overall discursive production.
A reference corpus is necessary “if we wish to establish that some
word or form is more common in a particular text than is normally
expected”. The corpus has therefore to be representative of the expec-
tations towards the genre/discourse/variety under investigation
(Baker, Hardie, & McEnery, 2006, p. 137). Due to the ambiguous
nature of the EZLN, it is unclear to what norm it should be com-
pared. The EZLN has been considered as a one-of-a-kind movement,
defying any attempts at classification. It has been described as the
“first informational guerrilla movement” (Castells, 1997, p. 79) and
the first “postmodern revolutionary movement” (Burbach, 2001,
p. 116). Since the premise of this investigation is that the EZLN
offers a renovation of preceding leftist and Marxist traditions, it was
decided that the reference corpus would comprise the communiqués
from other Latin American armed movements. Even though those
movements are certainly not the closest to what the EZLN has become
nowadays, they represent what the Zapatistas allegedly distanced
themselves from.
The last communiqué included in the Zapatista Corpus dates from 13 April 2016.
3
144 I. Gribomont
The Reference Corpus therefore contains the digital archives of the

CeDeMa (Centro de Documentación de los Movimientos Armados).4
Only communiqués from Brazil and Haiti were excluded, since they were
not written in Spanish. The Reference Corpus includes documents written
by 349 movements from 19 countries, with a total of 8,820,562 words (see
Table 5.1). According to its website,5 the CeDeMa was created to reflect
all the written expressions issued by military and political organisations of
the American continent. It is aimed at researchers or institutions interested
in this type of political interventions. Even though this corpus does not
encompass all documents written by Marxist-inspired armed movements,
it is large enough to fulfil its task. As mentioned by McEnery & Hardie
(2012), “[b]alance, representativeness and comparability are ideals which
corpus builders strive for but rarely, if ever, attain” (p. 10).
3.3 Methods
The data were analysed in terms of keywords, collocations, key-

collocations, and concordance lines. The analyses were carried out with
code written in the programming language Python 2.7.6
3.3.1 Keywords
A keyword is a word with a significantly higher or lower frequency in the

corpus under analysis than in another corpus, either a general reference
corpus or a comparable specialised corpus, as it is the case in this project
4
The oldest communiqué in the archive dates from 10 March 1952, and the last communiqués
included in the Reference Corpus date from 25 February 2017.
5
http://www.cedema.org/.
6
The code makes use of the Python libraries NLTK (Bird, Klein, & Loper, 2009) and SciPy (Jones
et al., 2001). The desire to control what is happening behind the scene led to the decision to write
the code instead of using pre-existing software. In addition, to the best of my knowledge, some of
the queries used in this investigation, for example, key-collocations, cannot be made in a straight-
forward way with publicly available corpus linguistics software such as AntConc and WordSmith
Tools. Transparency regarding formulas, significance thresholds, and statistical tests used ensures
reproducibility. I would like to take this opportunity to thank Julius Jonušas for his considerable
help towards writing the code.
Table 5.1 Ten most represented movements in the Reference Corpus

Number of Word
Name Country documents count
Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia 1542 1,343,958
Colombia—Ejército del Pueblo
(FARC-EP)
Revolutionary Armed Forces of
Colombia—People’s Army
Partido Comunista de Perú (Sendero Peru 187 777,831
Luminoso)
Communist Party of Peru (Shining
Path)
Ejército de Liberación Nacional (ELN) Colombia 1138 684,931
Army of National Liberation
Partido Democrático Popular Mexico 621 601,421
Revolucionario—Ejército Popular
Revolucionario (PDPR-EPR)
Revolutionary Popular Democratic
Party—Revolutionary Popular Army
Ejército Revolucionario del Pueblo Mexico 114 390,360
Insurgente (ERPI)
Revolutionary Army of the Insurgent
People
Partido Comunista el Salvador (PCS) El Salvador 40 280,944
Communist Party of El Salvador
Movimiento Revolucionario Túpac Peru 166 252,165
Amaru (MRTA)
Túpac Amaru Revolutionary Movement
Movimiento de Izquierda Chile 207 237,386
Revolucionaria (MIR)
Revolutionary Left Movement
Partido Revolucionario de los Argentina 97 174,705
Trabajadores—Ejército Revolucionario
del Pueblo (PRT-ERP)
Workers’ Revolutionary Party—People’s
Revolutionary Army
Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nicaragua 99 163,796
Nacional (FSLN)
Sandinista National Liberation Front
(Scott, 1999, p. 71). Keywords point towards the major differences between
the two corpora in terms of style and content. The statistical test used is
Dunning’s log-likelihood test (Dunning, 1993). It compares the observed
values in the corpus under investigation and the values in the reference
146 I. Gribomont
corpus. The greater the difference between the observed values and the
expected values, the less likely it is due to chance. The significance thresh-
old was set at 6.63 (p < 0.01), which means that the probability of the key-
ness of a word to be due to chance is smaller than 1%. As advised by
Gabrielatos and Marchi (2012), the keywords were ordered by the percent-
age difference of their frequency in the Zapatista Corpus when compared
to that in the Reference Corpus. Indeed, percentage difference is a more
accurate measure of keyness than statistical significance (see Gabrielatos &
Marchi, 2012). In this chapter, normalised frequency, noted NF, is defined
to be the number of occurrences divided by the length and multiplied by a
million. The number obtained represents how often the word under inves-
tigation would be expected to occur, on average, in one million words. The
percentage difference, noted %Diff, is calculated following the formula
proposed by Gabrielatos and Marchi (2012, p. 12). Words which are sig-
nificant in one corpus—that is, whose normalised frequency is greater than
one—but do not appear in the other have also been taken into consider-
ation. They are called unique keywords.
3.3.2 Collocations
The definition of collocation adopted in this research is the above- or

below-chance frequent co-occurrence of two words within a span of five
words on either side of the word under investigation (the node) (Sinclair,
1991, p. 105; Baker et al., 2008, p. 278). The statistical calculation of
collocations is based on three measures: the frequency of the node, the
frequency of the collocate, and the frequency of the collocation (Baker
et al., 2008, p. 278). The statistical test and significance threshold are the
same as for keywords. The study of collocations is particularly interesting
since they provide information about the semantics of a word within a
particular discourse but can also “convey messages implicitly” (Hunston,
2002, p. 109; Baker et al., 2008, p. 278). That is because a node’s collo-
cates denote its discourse prosody. Discourse prosody is the “consistent
aura of meaning with which a form is imbued by its collocates” (Louw,
1993, p. 157). In other words, the meaning of a node is coloured by its
collocates. However, corpus linguistics is the only reliable and time-
efficient way to decipher such patterns. Not only can it provide all the
pairs of words often co-occurring together within a given corpus, but it
can also indicate whether a collocation is significant, that is, whether a
frequent—or infrequent—co-occurrence is likely to be a coincidence
(McEnery & Hardie, 2012, p. 123–125).
3.3.3 Key-Collocations
A key-collocation, in analogy with a keyword, is a collocation—in the

Zapatista Corpus and/or in the Reference Corpus—which occurs signifi-
cantly more often or less often in the Zapatista Corpus than in the
Reference Corpus. In the case of collocations, the normalised frequency
is the number of times the collocate co-occurs with the node divided by
the frequency of the node. The significance threshold is the same as for
keywords. Like keywords, key-collocations are ordered by percentage dif-
ference. Unique key-collocations, that is, collocations which are signifi-
cant in one corpus but absent from the other, have been taken into
consideration. The concept of key-collocation has been designed to high-
light the differences between the environments in which a given word is
found in the two corpora.
3.3.4 Concordances
The analysis of emerging significant lexis and lexical patterns was sup-
plemented throughout with the examination of their concordances. A
concordance presents the analyst with instances of a word in its immedi-
ate co-text (Baker et al., 2006, p. 42–43). Baker (2006) argues that it is
“worth considering all of the concordance lines, as more subtle discourse
prosodies are likely to exist which may support or counter what has
already been found” (pp. 113–114). Overall, concordance lines allow
for a more detailed and nuanced analysis, by identifying exceptions to
the tendencies, and offer precisions about how the tendencies are con-
strued in the text. In addition, examples were chosen from the concor-
dance lines to illustrate the different findings that the corpus analysis
uncovered.
148 I. Gribomont
3.4 Procedure
The aim of the investigation is to reveal the continuities and ruptures

between the Zapatista discourse and the discourse emitted by other Latin
American armed movements. The keyword analysis discloses broad dif-
ferences between the Zapatista Corpus and the Reference Corpus, since
it points to the most significant disparities in terms of vocabulary. In
order to be informed on the potentially different approaches to common
themes, the 500 most frequent words in each corpora have been extracted.
The intersection between those two lists is 275-word long. The first 20
words of the intersection—in order of their frequency in the Zapatista
Corpus—have been chosen for collocation analysis (see Table 5.2).
Focusing on words which are prevalent in the Zapatista Corpus but also
used consistently in the Reference Corpus favours the extraction of some
Table 5.2 First 20 words of the intersection between the lists of the 500 most
frequent words in the Zapatista Corpus and the Reference Corpus (excluding
stopwords)
NF in the Zapatista NF in the Reference
Keyword Translation Corpus Corpus
Gobierno Government 2314 2056
Compañeros Companions/ 2097 503
comrades
México Mexico 1874 409
Nacional National 1573 1524
Ahora Now 1564 488
Sólo Only 1490 662
Gente People 1421 204
Indígenas Indigenous 1363 225
Otro Other 1258 419
Pueblos Peoples 1227 683
País Country 1219 1465
Lucha Fight/struggle 1199 2372
Nada Nothing 1183 362
Mujeres Women 1171 318
Decir To say 1154 404
Tierra Earth 1083 303
Dice Says 1053 185
Pueblo People 1024 3195
Campaña Campaign 979 227
Mundo World 970 693
of the most significant patterns of continuity and difference between the

two corpora.
4 Results
4.1 L eftist Guerrilla Language in the Zapatista
Discourse
The Zapatistas’ choice to discard Marxist vocabulary is unsurprisingly the

most salient tendency of the keyword and collocate analyses. Negative
keywords—that is, words which appear significantly less often in the
Zapatista Corpus than in the Reference Corpus—include words tradi-
tionally associated with Marxist language. Out of the first 50 negative
keywords—ordered by the difference between their normalised frequen-
cies in the Zapatista Corpus and in the Reference Corpus—12 belong to
this category (see Table 5.3).
The %Diff being smaller than −99 indicates that the normalised fre-
quency of the words in the Reference Corpus is more than a hundred
times higher than in the Zapatista Corpus.
Table 5.3 Negative keywords with a Marxist connotationa

Keyword Translation %Diff Significance
Imperialista Imperialist −99.85 1062
Mao Mao −99.76 682
Bolivariana Bolivarian −99.64 444
Oligarquía Oligarchy −99.60 1587
Imperialismo Imperialism −99.58 3824
Bolivariano Bolivarian −99.54 345
Proletaria Proletarian −99.49 933
Camaradas Comrades −99.41 1062
Burguesa Bourgeois −99.39 775
Marxismo-Leninismo Marxism-Leninism −99.37 249
Antiimperialista Anti-imperialist −99.33 466
Proletariado Proletariat −99.11 2091
a
With the exception of camaradas, the English translations of all these words
have an entry in Johnson, Walker, and Gray’s Historical Dictionary of Marxism
(2014).
150 I. Gribomont
In this section, I demonstrate that, in spite of this salient difference

between the two corpora, a continuity between Marxist guerrilla lan-
guage and the Zapatista discourse can be traced at several levels of the
text, proving that, in fact, the Zapatista discourse is entrenched
within the leftist guerrilla tradition. First of all, the analysis of collo-
cations and their concordance lines reveals that some set phrases,
expressions, and linguistic patterns are linguistically and semantically
expressed in similar ways in both corpora, for example, expressions
such as la voz del pueblo (the voice of the people), el gobierno opresor
(the oppressive government) and el pueblo en resistencia (the people in
resistance).
1. Example 1: La voz del pueblo in the Zapatista Corpus
Que suene grande la voz del pueblo Let resonate loudly the voice of the
mexicano gritando: ¡Democracia! Mexican people shouting:
¡Libertad! ¡Justicia! Democracy! Freedom! Justice!
2. Example 2: La voz del pueblo in the Reference Corpus
¡Cuando no puedan responder con When they will not be able to answer
balas, la voz del pueblo será with bullets, the voice of the people
escuchada! will be heard!
The Zapatistas sometimes reinforce clichés rather than subverting

them. Humilde (humble), honesta (honest), buena (good), sencilla
(simple), and pobre (poor) are collocates of gente (people) in both cor-
pora but, in all cases, are more popular in the Zapatista Corpus than
in the Reference Corpus. The Zapatistas strengthen the stereotype of
the poor and humble people, victim of greater forces. This representa-
tion is at odds with the empowering image of the indigenous peasants
of Chiapas who made themselves seen to the world and defied the
neoliberal system.
3. Example 3: Collocations with gente in the Zapatista Corpus
Por el momento es todo nuestra palabra For now, it is all our word, and we
y les pedimos a toda la gente buena y ask to all the good and honest
honesta estén atentos de lo que pueda people to pay attention to what
pasar con el compañero Francisco y could happen with the compañero
con todo nuestros pueblos. Francisco and with all our peoples.
4. Example 4: Collocations with gente in the Zapatista Corpus
Es la gente más pobre la que hace cola It is the poorer people who queue
para entregar, en los puestos de acopio, to hand over, at the supply
el arroz, el frijol, el aceite y la sal que points, the rice, beans, oil and
seguramente hacen falta en su propia salt which are surely needed on
mesa. their own table.
The Zapatistas underline the idea that they are fighting for all people who
live at the margins of society. The reinforcement of the trope of the good
common people is symptomatic of the Zapatistas’ disregard for people in
position of power. As conveyed in the above examples, they insist that
they are exclusively dialoguing with the poor and honest people and over-
looking the elites. By consistently doing so, however, they further a cliché
ever present in guerrilla discourse.
Nevertheless, in some cases, the Zapatistas alter the age-old images of
revolutionary jargon, without separating from it. Corazón (heart) is a col-
locate of pueblo in the Zapatista Corpus and in the Reference Corpus.
The phrase corazón del pueblo (heart of the people) is prevalent in both
corpora. However, in 89% of the occurrences of this phrase in the
Zapatista Corpus, it is describing Votán-Zapata, a god of the Zapatista
mythology, born out of the encounter between the Maya god Votán and
the leader of the Mexican Revolution, Emiliano Zapata, from whom the
Zapatistas take their name. The phrase is used in a formulaic fashion typi-
cal of mythical storytelling.
152 I. Gribomont
5. Example 5: Corazón del pueblo in the Zapatista Corpus
Nosotros estaremos pendientes de We will be on the lookout to defend

defenderlos, que para eso somos el them, because this is why we are the
Ejército Zapatista, el Votán-Zapata, el Zapatista Army, the Votán-Zapata,
guardián y corazón del pueblo. the guardian and heart of the
people.
6. Example 6: Corazón del pueblo in the Zapatista Corpus
Unido a Votán, al Guardián y Corazón United to Votán, the Guardian and

del Pueblo, Zapata se levantó de nuevo Heart of the People, Zapata rose
para luchar por la democracia, la up again to fight for democracy,
libertad y la justicia para todos los freedom and justice for all
mexicanos. Mexicans.
7. Example 7: Corazón del pueblo in the Reference Corpus
Hoy es la hora de sembrar, de Today is the time to sow, to rebuild

reconstruir campo popular, de ganar the popular field of action, to win
el corazón del pueblo como the heart of the people as
reclamaba Ho Chi Minh, de unir a demanded by Ho Chi Minh, to unite
quienes aún creen que es posible those who still believe it is possible
luchar por construir un mundo mejor. to fight for a better world.
8. Example 8: Corazón del pueblo in the Reference Corpus
Quienes tras su combativo ejemplo, Those who, following his combative

conquistaron hoy como ayer, el example, conquered today as
corazón del pueblo trabajador yesterday, the heart of the
nicaragüense. Nicaraguan working people.
Observing the phrase in its context, it becomes evident that, in the

Zapatista Corpus, it serves the specific purpose of defining the identity of
the Zapatistas through this uniting deity. In the Reference Corpus, how-
ever, the meaning of the expression is looser and refers to the romantic
idea of the common heart or essence of the people, which can be con-
quered or infused with new ideas. The Zapatistas appropriate the phrase
and grant it an updated meaning. It has been established that the
Zapatistas consider the “old words” to be so worn out and overused that
they have lost their meaning (EZLN in Holloway, 1998, p. 180). In this
case, the Zapatistas do not abandon the word altogether but adapt it to
their own needs. More specifically, they use it as a tool to create a bridge
between the expectations of their audience and their difference rooted in
the Maya cultural context of Chiapas.
In addition, the Zapatistas have a tendency to reuse linguistic patterns
already identified in the Reference Corpus but primarily to qualify other
revolutionary movements. Digno (dignified) is a collocate of pueblo (peo-
ple) in both corpora. In the Zapatista Corpus, 50% of the occurrences
refer to another people whom the Zapatistas praise for their dignity. Even
in the cases where they include themselves within the pueblo digno (digni-
fied people), they often allude to the Mexican people rather than to the
Zapatistas specifically. After 2006, only one occurrence of the collocation
appears in reference to the Zapatistas.
9. Example 9: Collocation pueblo digno in the Zapatista Corpus
De todos ellos, queremos mencionar Among them, we want to mention

especialmente al digno pueblo yaqui especially the dignified Yaqui people
que no es respetado por los malos who is not respected by the bad
gobiernos governments
10. Example 10: Collocation pueblo digno in the Zapatista Corpus
Alguien por ahí ha criticado que, Someone around here has criticised
cumpliendo lo señalado en la Sexta that, fulfilling what is stipulated in
Declaración de la Selva Lacandona, se the Sixth Declaration, Zapatista corn
haya enviado maíz zapatista al noble was sent to the noble and dignified
y digno pueblo de Cuba. people of Cuba.
154 I. Gribomont
11. Example 11: Collocation pueblo digno in the Reference Corpus
Nuestro pueblo, digno heredero de las Our people, dignified heir of the
tradiciones revolucionarias que revolutionary traditions which put
pusieron fin a otro imperio en an end to another empire in
América America
12. Example 12: Collocation pueblo digno in the Reference Corpus
Convencido de que la nueva Convinced that the new Constitution

Constitución inicia el conteo begins the countdown of the
regresivo del principio del fin de las beginning of the end of inequalities,
desigualdades, las injusticias y la falta injustices, and the lack of
de oportunidades, de un pueblo opportunities, of a people who is
digno, humilde, solidario, acogedor y dignified, humble, solidary,
fraterno. welcoming and fraternal.
In the Reference Corpus, on the contrary, only 4.5% of the occur-

rences explicitly refer to a group which the guerrilla does not identify
with. As can be observed in the above examples, the adjective digno
(dignified) is used to glorify the people. The Zapatistas, even though
they regularly emphasise the importance of living with dignity, rather
than as slaves of the neoliberal system, avoid describing themselves as
“dignified”. As noted by several scholars, the Zapatistas relax the strict
codes of guerrilla language (García de León, 2005, p. 12; Holloway,
2005; Rosset et al., 2005, pp. 40–41). Rather than relying on solem-
nity, they favour humour and self-deprecation. Olesen (2007), for
instance, argued that humour played a crucial part in the Zapatistas’
initial popularity. This reluctance to attribute this adjective to them-
selves is part of their intention to dissociate the EZLN from the aura
of gravity surrounding guerrilla movements which can be perceived in
the above examples from the Reference Corpus. To a lesser extent, a
similar phenomenon is observed when looking at lucha (struggle) and
heroico (heroic) as collocates of pueblo (people). The Zapatistas con-
sider words such as “heroic” and “dignified” too worn out and ponder-
ous to qualify the Zapatista movement but not to describe the struggles
of others. On the one hand, this phenomenon illustrates the desire of
the Zapatistas to set themselves apart, but, on the other hand, it shows
that they have internalised traditional guerrilla language nonetheless
and use it to dialogue with other groups in the language they are
familiar with.
The Zapatistas also recuperate forgotten or underused formulations in
order to renew concepts which have been the topic of discussions in left-
leaning guerrillas for decades. For instance, the expression mal gobierno,
used by several Latin American political figures of the late nineteenth and
early twentieth century such as José Martí (Benítez, 1995, p. 146),
Ricardo Flores Magón (Cantón, 1982, p. 343), and Ricardo Palma (2017,
p. 69), has been brought up to date by the Zapatistas. The phrase mal
gobierno is used in both corpora but is much more prevalent in the
Zapatista Corpus. In the Reference Corpus, only three occurrences pre-
date Zapatismo. However, from 1996 onwards, the phrase is used often.
Until 2004, it is exclusively adopted by nine different Mexican move-
ments but subsequently becomes widespread in communiqués from sev-
eral other guerrillas from Colombia, Peru, and Ecuador. Instead of
operating a rupture with previous political language, the Zapatistas adopt
and reinstate not only the expression but also the concept. By calling
their own local councils Juntas de Buen Gobierno (Councils of Good
Government), the Zapatistas place their own system as the antithesis of
the mal gobierno. All those who subsequently appropriate this expression
can ignore only with difficulty what a buen gobierno and a mal gobierno
are, in the eyes of the Zapatistas.
A similar process is at play around the Zapatista concept of mandar
obedeciendo (command by obeying). The Zapatista communities are
famous for their signs saying Aquí el pueblo manda, y el gobierno obedece
(Here the people is in command, and the government obeys). This is
reflected in the positive key-collocates of pueblo, which includes manda
(commands), mandar (to command), obedece (obeys), and obedecer (to
obey). The Zapatistas appear to have created a formulaic vision around
this idea. Evidently, they are not the first to have said that the people
156 I. Gribomont
should be in command. In the Reference Corpus, the phrase el poder

para el pueblo (power for the people) is prevalent. The expression man-
dar obedeciendo has also been adopted by several Mexican movements
from 1998 onwards but is most often attributed to the Zapatistas rather
than appropriated. The adoption of these phrases in the Reference
Corpus proves that the Zapatista language is compelling for other
movements. More importantly, it reveals that the Zapatista renewal of
political language is not a phenomenon happening in isolation but
rather a continental, if not global, phenomenon taking place within a
dialogical dynamic.
4.2 Orality and Indigeneity
Although, as proven in the previous section, the roots of Marxist lan-

guage run deeper in the Zapatista discourse than could have been expected
at first sight, the corpus analysis shows that the emphasis on orality and
dialogue is a truly innovative feature of their writings. First of all, the lists
of positive keywords and unique keywords in the Zapatista Corpus indi-
cate that the Zapatistas use more slang and colloquial language than the
average Latin American guerrilla (Table 5.4).
Some of the slang words are mostly used in Mexico, such as pinche
and chingar. Although many of the communiqués from the Reference
Corpus were written in Mexico, those words never appear in it. Órale
and cabrón, however, do occur sporadically in the Reference Corpus,
but the high difference percentages show how much more prevalent
they are in the Zapatista Corpus. The use of colloquial language is one
of the differentiating characteristics of the Zapatista discourse and sug-
gests that the movement is working towards a reconciliation between
everyday language and political language. In addition, since slang
is usually the prerogative of spoken language, the Zapatistas also sub-
vert the boundaries between spoken and written languages. On the one
hand, it can be perceived as an inheritance from the oral nature of Maya
culture and, on the other hand, as a defiance of the strict codes of
Marxist language.
Table 5.4 Slang and colloquial language in the Zapatista Corpus

Unique keywords
Keyword Translation NF in the Zapatista Corpus
Mmh Mmh 31
Chingo Shitload 30
Pinche Damned 28
Orita Now 17
Chinga Fucks over 15
Chingar To fuck over/to be a pain 13
Positive keywords
Órale Wow/Hey/Come on 31,119 319
Cabrón Bastard 8419 326
Ahorita Now 7078 2707
Nomás Nothing more/just 6474 1844
Jodida Fucked up 5543 156
Desmadre Mess 5103 142
Platicaron (They) chatted 4913 227
Pinches Damned 4297 118
Chamba Job 3088 108
Ora Now 2227 223
Cabrones Bastards 1311 118
13. Example 13: Slang Words in the Zapatista Corpus
Lo que nosotros vemos es, en este What we see is, in this mess that
desmadre que está el mundo capitalista, the capitalist world is, where we
dónde conseguimos la información. obtain information.
14. Example 14: Slang Words in the Zapatista Corpus
Ahorita, si tienen tiempo, pues les Now, if you have time, then I’ll tell
cuento esa historia. you that story.
The keyword analysis also reveals that the Zapatistas use several types of
neologisms to either feminise male words or to make them gender-
fluid. By using the words insurgenta (female insurgent), comandanta
(female commandant), jóvena (female youth), and otroa (other, used in
158 I. Gribomont
Table 5.5 Neologisms in the Zapatista Corpus

NF in the Zapatista
Keyword Translation Corpus
Comandantas Female commandants 39
Jóvenas Young women 25
Insurgentas Female insurgents 24
Insurgenta Female insurgent 18
Compañeroas Simultaneously male and female 11
companions
Otroas Simultaneously male and female others 10
relation to transgender individuals in the corpus), the Zapatistas exhibit

an explicit stance towards parity between genders and non-binary toler-
ance, alongside a willingness to skew the Spanish language to suit their
own needs (Table 5.5).
15. Example 15: Neologisms in the Zapatista Corpus
Ese primero de enero de 1994, On that first of January 1994, hundreds

cientos de mujeres milicianas, of militiawomen, insurgentwomen,
insurgentas y dirigentas del EZLN and leaderwomen of the EZLN we rose
nos levantamos en armas y in arms and took several cities of our
tomamos varias ciudades de state.
nuestro estado.
16. Example 16: Neologisms in the Zapatista Corpus
Entonces nosotros, nosotras, Therefore us, Zapatista men and

zapatistas, pensamos que tenemos Zapatista women, thought that we
que preguntar a otros, a otras, a have to ask to other men, other
otroas, de otros calendarios, de women, other menwomen, of other
geografías distintas, qué es lo que calendars, other geographies, what it is
ven. that they see.
Considering the Zapatistas’ emphasis on the power of words in line

with Maya tradition, their willingness to alter the Spanish language to
make it less rigid towards genders is significant. Not only is it a case of
expressing a sociopolitical stance, but it is also a desire to operate a

deeper change within society, which, for the Zapatistas, has to take
place through language. This modification of the Spanish lexis is prob-
ably one of the major contributions of Zapatismo towards the evolution
of Latin American leftist language. A gender-focused analysis of the
Zapatista discourse is beyond the scope of this chapter, but these lin-
guistic innovations pave the way for a novel type of radical politics,
concerned with equality in all its dimensions.
The poetic and imaginary elements of the Zapatista discourse also
mean that the words under investigation are likely to be found in a more
varied set of environments. The poetic aspects, maybe unsurprisingly, are
not particularly salient in the keyword and collocation analyses, because
the poetic associations of one given word are not as consistent as other
linguistic patterns linked to issues the Zapatistas address repeatedly.
However, the collocate lists are still more likely to present drastic seman-
tic variations in the Zapatista Corpus.
The word mundo (world), for instance, has several common collocates
in the Zapatista Corpus and in the Reference Corpus, such as país (coun-
try), construir (to build), Latinoamérica (Latin America), pueblos (peo-
ples), gobiernos (governments), and globalizado (globalised).
17. Example 17: Collocation mundo-pueblos in the Zapatista Corpus
Desde aquí, desde México, saludamos From here, from Mexico, we greet all
a todos los pueblos del mundo que the peoples from the world who
resisten, luchan y no se rinden ni se resist, fight and do not surrender or
venden. sell themselves.
18. Example 18: Collocation mundo-pueblos in the Zapatista Corpus
Por tanta maldad que han hecho en For so much evil they have done
contra de nuestros pueblos, en México against our peoples, in Mexico and
y en mundo. Juntos tenemos que in the world. Together we have to
luchar, unidos en una sola palabra. fight, united in one word.
160 I. Gribomont
19. Example 19: Collocation mundo-pueblos in the Reference Corpus
Llamamos a los comunistas y We call the communists and

revolucionarios del mundo […] a revolutionaries of the world […] to
construir Partidos Comunistas build Maoist communist parties to
maoístas que sirvan a la lucha serve the anti-imperialist fight and
antiimperialista y la revolución the global revolution of the
proletaria mundial pues son la proletariat, since these are the
garante del rumbo correcto y el guarantee of the correct way and the
Ttriunfo en la lucha por la triumph of the struggle for the
emancipación las naciones oprimidas emancipation of the oppressed
y pueblos del mundo, nations and peoples of the world,
20. Example 20: Collocation mundo-pueblos in the Reference Corpus
Al proletariado y a los pueblos del To the proletariat and the peoples of

mundo nuestro saludo camaraderil y the world, comradely greeting and
votos por avanzar en la lucha vows to advance in the revolutionary
revolucionaria para cambiar el struggle to change the world.
mundo.
The collocation mundo-pueblos is used in similar contexts in both cor-

pora, for example, to greet other revolutionary groups, call for a united
revolutionary movement, and denounce oppressions. However, the word
mundo also has a drastically different set of collocates in the Zapatista
Corpus. With positive key-collocates such as dioses (gods), colores
(colours), nacer (to be born), nació (was born), and nacido (born) in the
Zapatista Corpus, mundo is clearly associated with a mythical dimension
and, more precisely, with the creation myth.
21. Example 21: Collocation mundo-dioses in the Zapatista Corpus
Doliendo dolía el dolor de no tener Painfully painful was the pain of not
ya a los primeros padres, los dioses having the first fathers anymore, the
que nacieron el mundo. gods who birthed the world.
22. Example 22: Collocation mundo-dioses in the Zapatista Corpus
Fuerte pelean las nubes y se cansan, Forcefully the clouds argue and get
pero no lloverá hasta que tired, but it will not rain until they
entiendan, como cuando se nació el understand, as when the world was
mundo, que la pelea es por morirse born, that the argument is to die
aliviando, en un beso, la Tierra. soothing, in a kiss, the earth.
23. Example 23: Collocation mundo-colores in the Zapatista Corpus
Pero no sólo otras voces buscamos de But we are not only looking for other
quien otros es y con nosotros lucha y voices from who is other and fights
anda. Palabra que tiene todos los and walks with us. Word which has
colores que en el mundo se hablan. all the colours that are spoken in this
world.
24. Example 24: Collocation mundo-colores in the Zapatista Corpus
Sobre el árbol madre los dioses primeros, On the mother tree, the first gods,
los más grandes dioses, dejaron el the older gods, left the world.
mundo. Con colores, palabras y cantos With colours, words and songs,
hicieron los dioses primeros al mundo. the first gods made the world.
The corpus analysis demonstrates that those associations are not punctual
in the corpus. On the contrary, their prevalence creates a poetic image
and mythology around the word mundo, visible in the four above exam-
ples. In addition, observing these collocations in context shows that the
poetic elements come from the influence of the Maya storytelling tradi-
tion and are therefore also linked to the oral dimension of the Zapatista
discourse.7
7
About indigenous storytellers in Chiapas, Gossen (1999) writes: “The storytellers themselves
wrote in a style that is closely linked to the conventions of oral performance, for all had reached
adolescence or adulthood as monolingual Tzotzil speakers; they knew none other than the oral
style” (p. 33). For more information on Maya storytelling in Chiapas and its importance today, see
Gossen (1974, 1999).
162 I. Gribomont
It becomes evident that there is a more radical semantic variation in the

collocates of a given word in the Zapatista Corpus, ranging, in this case,
from Maya myths to geopolitical concerns. The collocates of the nodes
from the Reference Corpus are more homogeneous, therefore suggesting a
tight-knit network of signifiers, in which semantic distances are narrower.
The wider-ranging set of references challenges a compartmentalised view
which would place guerrilla language and poetic Maya tales in distinct
discursive traditions. It also illustrates the shift in language made upon the
encounter with the Indians described by Marcos and other commentators
(Carr, 1997; Hernández Navarro, 2004). More than abandoning Marxist
rhetoric, the Zapatistas create a whole net of semantic associations, defying
simultaneously rigid codes of guerrilla discourse and cultural boundaries.
The Zapatistas’ discursive difference also resides in their relationship
with individual voices. The corpus analysis proves that people are much
more likely to speak in the Zapatista Corpus than in the Reference
Corpus but that authoritative voices are less likely to appear. The positive
keywords extracted from the keyword analysis include several verbs which
can be grouped under the broad umbrella of conversation verbs
(Table 5.6).
Table 5.6 Verbal forms alluding to speech acts in the positive keywords

(%DIFF > 1000)
Platicaron (They) chatted 4913 227
Explicaron (They) explained 2296 192
Escucharlos To listen (to them) 2181 145
Platicando Chatting 1787 172
Escucharnos To listen (to us) 1750 167
Escuchamos (We) listen(ed) 1574 699
Escuche Listena 1492 379
Pedirles To ask (you/them) 1470 237
Escuchen Listenb 1447 288
Proponiendo Proposing/offering 1418 443
Pregunté (I) asked 1380 157
Escuchando Listening 1345 547
Decirles To tell (you/them) 1325 1033
Platicar To chat 1271 321
Preguntando Asking 1064 128
Subjunctive, first and third-person singular or imperative, third-person singular.
a
Subjunctive, third-person plural or imperative, third-person plural.

b
Since no words referring to the act of speaking or listening can be

found in the negative key-collocates, it suggests that the Zapatista dis-
course puts an emphasis on dialogue in comparison with the Reference
Corpus. This tendency is confirmed with the collocates and key-collocates
of the words under investigation. For instance, nearly a sixth of the posi-
tive key-collocates of gente (people) are words related to the act of
dialoguing.
In the average Latin American guerrilla discourse, however, the verbal
interaction appears to be downplayed, and the discourse is more mono-
lithic than dialogic. Decir (to say) and dice (says) are part of the words
under investigation and are therefore frequent in both corpora, but their
divergent discursive function is evidenced by their collocates. The posi-
tive key-collocates of decir include many verbs which, in the concordance
lines, are shown to be part of phrases such as empiezan a decir (they start
to say), venimos a decir (we came to say), tienes que decir (you have to say),
vengo a decir (I come to say), and queremos decir (we want so say). A simi-
lar phenomenon emerges from the negative key-collocates, even though
the phrases yield different meanings and intentions: podríamos decir (we
could say), debemos decir (we have to say), se podría decir (it could be
said), pudiéramos decir (we could say), and podemos decir (we can say).
While the phrases including decir in the Zapatista Corpus refer to the act
of speaking, in the Reference Corpus, most occurrences punctuate a the-
oretical reflection. In the latter case, decir is used in a more figurative
sense, which has little to do with a speech act.
25. Example 25: Phrases with dice in the Zapatista Corpus
Que fue necesario abrir un espacio That it was necessary to open a space
para el oído, para saber que for listening, to know that we existed,
existíamos, esta metodología, muy this methodology, very elementary
elemental que usamos en las that we use in the indigenous
comunidades indígenas que es la communities, which is the one
que articula el discurso de la Sexta that the discourse of the Sixth
Declaración de empezar por decir Declaration is articulating, of starting
quiénes somos y en dónde estamos to say who we are and where we are
164 I. Gribomont
26. Example 26: Phrases with dice in the Zapatista Corpus
Entonces ya se empieza a decir que a So some are starting to say that no

ninguna mujer la pueden obligar a woman can be forced to get
casarse, ni la pueden obligar a tener married, nor be forced to have
hijos. children.
27. Example 27: Phrases with dice in the Reference Corpus
la violencia es una ley universal sin Violence is a universal law without

excepción alguna, quiero decir la exception, I mean the
violencia revolucionaria; revolutionary violence
28. Example 28: Phrases with dice in the Reference Corpus
Se podría hasta decir que un gran It could even be said that many of
número de ellos, si no la mayoría, them, if not the majority, wish the
desea el mismo cambio por el que same change that the one for which
nosotros luchamos. we are fighting.
This divergence illustrates again the oral dimension of the Zapatista lan-
guage, not only because it explicitly refers to the speech act but also
because it reports speech in a conversational tone, as if recounting a story
to a third party (see Example 26). The readers feel they are granted access
to the dialogues happening within the Zapatista communities and to the
decision-making process. This rhetorical device is mirrored by the
Zapatista mythology. The gods mentioned in the communiqués are
known for having endless conversations before reaching an agreement.
29. Example 29
De hablar no estaban cansados porque de Of talking they were not tired

por sí muy buenos eran para la because they were very good at
habladera estos primeros dioses, los que talking those first gods, those
nacieron el mundo. who birthed the world
30. Example 30
Se reunieron entonces los dioses So the first gods, those who birthed the
primeros, los que nacieron el world, had a meeting, and who knows
mundo, y a saber lo que hablaron, what they talked about, but we do
pero sí se sabe que tardaron. know that they took a while.
The linguistic accent on speech therefore reflects the importance granted

to words and dialogues in the Zapatista psyche. In addition to making
conversation an inherent part of their discourse at the linguistic level,
the EZLN also gives a voice to different entities. Table 5.7 includes
words referring to human actors in the key-collocates and unique key-
collocates of dice. Apart from Fox, referring to Vicente Fox, president of
Mexico from 2000 to 2006, the positive key-collocates denote anony-
Table 5.7 Human agents in key-collocates and unique key-collocate lists of dice
Positive key-collocates
Collocate Translation %Diff Significance
Compañera Companion (female) 2619 38
Tú You 486 15
Yo I 433 87
Te You 405 47
Alguien Someone 222 16
Fox Fox 217 11
Compañero Companion (male) 214 15
Gente People 191 28
Gobierno Government 91 21
Unique key-collocates in the Zapatista Corpus
Collocate Translation Frequency of collocation
Durito Durito 198
Marcos Marcos 52
Sup Sup 35
Compa Compa (companion) 35
Heriberto Heriberto 25
Elías Elías 20
Señora Mrs./woman 15
Niña Girl 12
Eva Eva 11
(continued)
166 I. Gribomont
Table 5.7 (continued)
Negative key-collocates
Collocate Translation %Diff Significance
Santos Santos −92.39 17
Debray Debray −91.63 8
García García −90.70 13
Juan Juan −88.59 14
Presidente President −72.60 40
Usted You −52.94 14
Unique key-collocates in the Reference Corpus
Collocate Translation Frequency of collocation
Mao Mao 31
Lenin Lenin 27
Mariátegui Mariátegui 14
Marx Marx 12
Bolívar Bolívar 9
Libertador Liberator 9
Fabricio Fabricio 8
Che Che 8
mous people. The unique key-collocates of the Zapatista Corpus, minus

Subcomandante Marcos himself, also allude to anonymous people or to
fictional or semi-fictional characters. Eva and Heriberto are children
with whom Marcos has conversations in the communiqués. Elías is a
Zapatista man, most likely a figment of Marcos’ imagination, who
also appears in the novel Marcos wrote in collaboration with Mexican
writer Paco Ignacio Taibo II, Muertos incómodos (The Uncomfortable
Dead).
31. Example 31: Key-collocations with human agents and dice in the
Zapatista Corpus
Les pagan—porque dijo el They pay them—because the young

compañero joven, dice: “hay que compañero says: “it’s necessary to
estudiar historia”, vean cómo era study history”, look how it was during
en la época porfirista the Porfirian era
32. Example 32: Key-collocations with human agents and dice in the
Zapatista Corpus
Bueno, pues de ahí que la niña se Well, so from there the girl got
encabronó y le dice más fuerte a ese cross and says louder to this man,
hombre, que sea que como que lo that is to say that she scolds him.
regaña.
Giving a voice to anonymous men, women, and children, the Zapatistas

are in stark contradiction with what appears to be the trend in the
Reference Corpus. Not only does the EZLN distance itself once more
from Marxism by failing to quote well-known representatives of the ide-
ology, but it limits authoritative individual voices. This non-hierarchical
and inclusive approach is in line with the Zapatista ideals of horizontality
and participation.
5 Conclusions
In this chapter I argue that, contrary to what has been claimed by several
scholars, much of the Zapatista language is deeply rooted in the Latin
American Marxist guerrilla tradition. Although they superficially aban-
don vocabulary closely tied with Marxism, several tropes can still be
found in the Zapatista discourse. If the Zapatistas occasionally grant a
new meaning to worn-out clichés such as corazón del pueblo or rebrand
them as in the case of el poder para el pueblo turned into mandar obedeci-
endo, we are far from a clean rupture.
The true innovation found in this investigation is linked to the
Zapatistas’ turn towards orality. This emphasis can be perceived in the
adoption of slang and neologisms typical of oral language and in the
relaxation of the rigid pomposity of Marxist language. It is also visible in
the poetic use of the lexicon tied with Maya oral tradition seeping in
Marcos’ writings and in the Zapatistas’ uncharacteristically frequent lin-
guistic representations of speech acts.
168 I. Gribomont
This alteration of guerrilla language turned out to be a valuable strat-

egy for the EZLN. In the 1990s, Latin American guerrillas were having a
bad press due to the mediatisation of the violence of the FARCS in
Colombia. Distantiating from such groups was therefore imperative. By
adopting regularly an oral indigenous style while superficially rejecting
the stern communication associated with armed movements, the EZLN
was sure to appeal to the sensibility of the urban intellectual elite whose
support they needed to ensure their survival.
The corpus methods proved efficient to nuance the premise that the
Zapatistas propose a renewal of leftist language but also to pinpoint in
what way they do so and in what way, on the contrary, they reinforce pre-
existing linguistic patterns. More specifically, the innovative use of
key-collocations grants immediate information about the salient differ-
ences in the environment in which each word was found in the corpora.
This study sets off with a broad goal of identifying areas of difference
and continuity but offers several leads for further investigation into more
specific aspects of the Zapatista discourse. For instance, a gender-based
analysis, a detailed study of verb use, and an analysis of the representa-
tions of the masses would all yield valuable insight and contribute to a
better understanding of the movement.
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Part III
Discourses of Slavery Reparation
and Immigrant Integration from the
Caribbean and Latin America
6
The Social Media Campaign
for Caribbean Reparations: A Critical
Multimodal Investigation
Eleonora Esposito
1 Overview
In 2013, the 15 Caribbean Heads of Governments established the
CARICOM Reparations Commission (henceforth CRC), with a man-
date to prepare a case for reparations against the United Kingdom, France,
and the Netherlands in the International Court of Justice. Reparation is
being claimed for crimes against humanity in the forms of genocide, slav-
ery, slave trading, and racial apartheid, addressing both the extermination
of the Caribbean native peoples and the transatlantic trade in Africans to
the West Indies plantations. Chaired by the Barbadian historian Hilary
Beckles, the CRC has outlined a Ten-Point Action Plan, calling not only
for full formal apologies and cultural heritage programs, but also for
financial assistance with education and healthcare, technology transfer,
and debt cancellation, among other measures.
E. Esposito (*)
Institute for Culture and Society (ICS), University of Navarra,
Pamplona, Spain
e-mail: eleonora.esposito84@gmail.com

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_6
176 E. Esposito
One of the main CRC aims consists of giving visibility to the cause of
reparations, informing the general public on the global reparations move-
ment and the activities of the Commission. As part of its activities, the
CRC hosts a series of international relays and rallies on reparations,
mostly held on days of historical significance in relation to colonialism
and slavery in each CARICOM member state. As an emerging social
movement of the twenty-first century, the Caribbean cause for repara-
tions is also characterized by an active use of the new communication
affordances of the participatory web (KhosraviNik, 2017), with the aim
of fostering global awareness and canvas support. In 2016, the CRC
launched the official CARICOM website caricomreparations.org, a mul-
timedia portal that aggregates speeches, lectures, and essays on repara-
tions by CARICOM leaders, public intellectuals, academics, and civil
society activists in the Caribbean and beyond. Similarly, Facebook,
Twitter, and Instagram profiles of the CRC were made available, mostly
with the same content shared across the three social networking sites.1
This paper explores the multimodal discursive strategies employed to
argue for reparations on the CRC Facebook page.2 According to its mis-
sion in the page description, the CRC Facebook page aims “to mend the
wounds of the past, to create a better future together”. Page activity heav-
ily relies on the use of visuals: the main communication activity consists
of the daily postings of pictures on the main wall, with short, almost
Twittable captions enriched by hashtags and hyperlinks to the official
CRC website. The corpus of data in analysis consists of 95 multimodal
Facebook posts (pictures and captions) posted on the CRC Facebook
page between August and November 2016, to be analyzed by means of a
social semiotic approach, drawing on Kress and van Leeuwen’s “Visual
Grammar” (2006) and integrating key tenets on the discursive construc-
tion of polarized and collective identities from the Discourse-Historical
1
CRC profiles on social networking sites are available at the following addresses: https://facebook.
com/CARICOMReparations/, https://twitter.com/CariReparations, https://www.instagram.com/
caricomreparations/.
2
Facebook being the current “global online giant” (Papacharissi & Yuan 2011, p. 91), the CRC
Facebook page has a considerably higher number of followers compared to its Twitter and Instagram
counterparts (as of July 2017, 33,960 Facebook likes vs. 1271 Twitter followers vs. 715 Instagram
followers).
The Social Media Campaign for Caribbean Reparations… 177
Approach to Critical Discourse Studies (de Cillia, Reisigl, & Wodak,

1999; Wodak & Meyer, 2009; Wodak, de Cillia, Reisigl, & Liebhart,
2009).
This study aims at shedding light on the different roles played by the
narration of past historical events and the presentation of future socio-
structural improvements in the launch of the CRC’s vision and mission
in the cybersphere. Few posts seem to directly tackle the core CRC mis-
sion related to the Ten-Point Action Plan, but the vast majority of con-
tent is actually related to facts and figures from the colonial past in the
Caribbean, serving a mnemopolitical construction of the historical past
of slavery. While the focus on the history of colonial wrongdoings obvi-
ously serves the present reparation claims, the way the CRC addresses
Caribbean history also plays a crucial role in the complex discursive
construction of an official collective memory and a shared political
Caribbean identity in the multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, postcolonial
archipelago.
2 he Rise of Global Reparation

T
Movements: From the 2001 Durban
Conference to the CRC
The recent activities of the CRC and the reparation movement in the
Caribbean build on a long tradition of black internationalism and pan-
Africanism which has been addressing the legacies of slavery and racial
apartheid endured by people of African origins across the world.
Undoubtedly, the US American one represents the most long-stand-
ing national debate for African slavery reparations as well as the one
which has been most discussed in scholarly literature. The debate in the
United States is often seen as originating from the collapse of the 40 acres
and a mule dream that took place after the Civil War: seen against slave-
owners’ compensations, the theft of land became the first stone of an
argument highlighting slave labor exploitation as the roots of US
American capitalism. First incorporated in the civil rights movement in
1960, the grassroots and legislative efforts for reparations in the United
178 E. Esposito
States culminated in the H.R. 40—Commission to Study Reparation

Proposals for African Americans. The bill, introduced in 1989 and strongly
supported by all the major civil rights organization, has never made it
out of the committee.
Episodes of national and international settlements compensating sev-
eral wronged minorities in the history of humanity have been infusing
new blood in the international case for reparation for African slavery. The
most famed and internationally cited example is the reparations agree-
ment between Israel and West Germany signed in 1952. The agreement
settled the financial cost absorbed by Israel for the rehabilitation of about
500,000 survivors of the Nazi regime, but also included ad personam pen-
sions paid to survivors of the death camps and forced laborers during the
Holocaust. In the United States, the Civil Liberties Act of 1988, granting
reparations to Japanese Americans who had been interned during World
War II, sparked the formation of The National Coalition of Blacks for
Reparations in America (N’COBRA).
N’COBRA, together with other US American associations (the
December 12th Movement, All for Reparations and Emancipation, the
Black Radical Congress, and the National Black United Front to name
the principal ones), has been contributing to reparation claims both at
a national and international level, lobbying for over a decade with sev-
eral African, Asian, Latin American, and Caribbean nations for a UN
Conference on the topic. This much-awaited conference, the World
Conference against Racism, Racial Discrimination, Xenophobia, and
Related Intolerance, took place in Durban in September 2001.
Meaningfully held in post- apartheid South Africa, the Durban
Conference is often regarded as one of the most controversial moments
in the history of slavery reparations and can be seen as a prodrome to
the foundation of the CRC in the Caribbean.
During the conference, two events contributed to bringing the repa
ration cause to a halt. The first was the withdrawal of the United States
from the conference in solidarity with Israel, both unwilling to accept
the definition of Zionism as a form of racism and to acknowledge the
negation of human rights in Palestine. The absence of the United States,
for which the reparation issue had a pivotal domestic significance and
potential international implications, had a considerably negative impact

on the cause. The second was the defensive stance of the West and
European Union groups, both fearing that an official apology would
spark a potentially infinite number of lawsuits for compensation. A final
agreement was brought by a European-African political convergence,
somehow made possible by Africa’s disunity on the matter, with African
countries like Senegal and Nigeria actually standing against reparation
claims (Beckles, 2013, p. 172).
In the final declaration, slavery was addressed in a number of points
under the heading Sources, causes, forms and contemporary manifestations
of racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related intolerance. Point
13 reads:
We acknowledge that slavery and the slave trade, including the transatlan-
tic slave trade, were appalling tragedies in the history of humanity not only
because of their abhorrent barbarism but also in terms of their magnitude,
organized nature and especially their negation of the essence of the victims,
and further acknowledge that slavery and the slave trade are a crime against
humanity and should always have been so, especially the transatlantic
slave trade, and are among the major sources and manifestations of racism,
racial discrimination, xenophobia and related intolerance, and that Africans
and people of African descent, Asians and people of Asian descent and
indigenous peoples were victims of these acts and continue to be victims of
their consequences. (United Nations, 2001, p. 6, my emphasis)
This point embodies the solution of compromise between African and

Western groups: it recognizes slavery as a “crime against humanity” but
implies that, while it “should always” have been considered as such, there
were neither international treaties nor customary international provisions
prohibiting those practices during colonial times. Protected by the prin-
ciple of non-retroactivity of law, and sheltered from any legal liability, the
West and European Union groups agreed to sign the final declaration.
Furthermore, the final declaration did not include an apology, but only a
statement of regret. Included under the heading Provision of effective rem-
edies, recourse, redress, and compensatory and other measures at the national,
regional and international levels, point 99 reads:
180 E. Esposito
We acknowledge and profoundly regret the massive human suffering and

the tragic plight of millions of men, women and children caused by slavery,
the slave trade, the transatlantic slave trade, apartheid, colonialism and
genocide, and call upon States concerned to honour the memory of the
victims of past tragedies and affirm that, wherever and whenever these
occurred, they must be condemned and their recurrence prevented. We
regret that these practices and structures, political, socio-economic and
cultural, have led to racism, racial discrimination, xenophobia and related
intolerance. (United Nations, 2001, p. 17, my emphasis)
The concepts of regret and apology, far from being utilized interchange-
ably in legal texts, entail two very different levels of commitment to the
issue at stake. A statement of regret can be regarded as a “desire that the
event did not occur, or sadness that the event occurred” (Wolfe, 2014,
p. 76), but contrary to the apology, it does not equate the symbolic action
of taking responsibility for the event, which represents the “central (sym-
bolic) requirement of the redress and reparation movement” (Wolfe,
2014, p. 76). Apologies and reparations are mentioned in the document
under point 100:
We acknowledge and profoundly regret the untold suffering and evils

inflicted on millions of men, women and children as a result of slavery, the
slave trade, the transatlantic slave trade, apartheid, genocide and past trag-
edies. We further note that some States have taken the initiative to apolo-
gize and have paid reparation, where appropriate, for grave and massive
violations committed. (United Nations, 2001, p. 17, my emphasis)
Introduced by another statement of regret, the apologies and reparations

are aptly relativized and confined to some exceptional cases in which
“grave and massive violations” occurred, implying that reparations paid
by some states for exceptional events, such as Germany for the Jewish
Holocaust, cannot represent a legal precedent for future reparations.
Unsurprisingly, many scholarly works on the topic refer to the 2001
Durban Conference as a black page in the history of the reparation move-
ments and remark on a “Disaster in Durban” (Camponovo, 2002), where
activists were “Sold in Africa” (Beckles, 2013). Conference organizers
included a recognition of the crimes committed and possibly the p
rinciple
of voluntary reparations, but the final document expressly set out the
absence of any legal obligation to take appropriate measures to terminate
the detrimental consequences of past practices of colonialism and slavery.
The Caribbean group, which had called for reparations in the context of
a full discussion of historical wrongdoings during colonial times, contin-
ued to follow its agenda of political, legal, and cultural reparation activ-
ism that will culminate in the foundation of the CARICOM Reparation
Commission 2013.
3 he CARICOM Reparation Commission

T
and the Ten-Point Action Plan
The Caribbean Community and Common Market (CARICOM) can be
regarded as an economically oriented embodiment of the hopes of
regional integration that originated in the 1950s with the short-lived
British West Indies Federation. Established in 1973, the CARICOM
mainly focuses on coordinating economic policies and development
planning, with special projects for the less-developed countries as well as
operating as a regional single market and handling regional trade dis-
putes. The 15 full members of CARICOM are in large part independent
Caribbean states (with the exception of Montserrat) and former British
colonies: Antigua and Barbuda, Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Dominica,
Grenada, Guyana, Jamaica, Montserrat, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint
Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, and Trinidad and Tobago.
Haiti and Suriname are the only two CARICOM members having been
colonized by European countries other than the United Kingdom (France
and the Netherlands, respectively).
In July 2013, during the Thirty-Fourth Meeting of CARICOM held
in Trinidad and Tobago, the 15 full members of CARICOM agreed to set
up the CARICOM Reparations Commission (CRC), to establish the
moral, ethical, and legal case for the payment of reparations by the for-
mer colonial European countries to the nations and people of the
Caribbean. With each Head of State aiming to secure the welfare of their
country in the reparation bid, national reparations committees were also
established, with the chair of each of these individual committees holding
182 E. Esposito
a seat on the CARICOM Reparations Committee. As of February 2016,

national reparations committees have been established in all the member
states, excluding Montserrat, Grenada, and Haiti.
The CARICOM Reparations Committee has embarked on a Ten-Point
Action Plan, within the formulation of the CARICOM Reparations Justice
Program (CRJP), aimed at highlighting the casual relationship between
the impoverished economies and underdevelopment of these former col-
onies and their instrumental role in the industrialized economies of their
former colonial masters.
First, the CRC seeks a full formal apology instead of the statement of
regret that was expressed in the 2001 Durban Conference. As men-
tioned in the previous section, the formulation of the statement of regret
can be regarded as an actual refusal to take legal responsibility for such
crimes.
Second, the CRC seeks a program of repatriation back to Africa with
all available channels of international law and diplomacy to be employed
to resettle those who wish to return, addressing matters such as citizen-
ship and community re-integration.
Third, the CRC aims at initiating and funding a development program
for indigenous people, one of the most marginalized minorities in the
region, to compensate them for genocide and land appropriation.
Fourth, the CRC seeks the establishment of cultural and community
institutions, such as museums and research centers, in order to educate
the Caribbean community for an understanding of their history.
Fifth, the CRC seeks both medical and financial help to solve the pub-
lic health crisis in the Caribbean, having highlighted the correlation
between slave descendency, poverty, and chronic diseases, such as hyper-
tension and type 2 diabetes.
Sixth, the CRC seeks a program of illiteracy eradication, conceptual-
izing illiteracy as an inheritance of colonialism with heavy social and
developmental implications.
Seventh, the CRC seeks the establishment of an African knowledge
program for the community rehabilitation from issues of cultural and
social alienation and existential belonging. The program would include
school exchanges and culture tours, community artistic and performance
programs, entrepreneurial and religious engagements, as well as political
interaction.
Eight, the CRC sees reparatory justice as instrumental for the rehabili-
tation of African-descendant populations from the psychological trauma
suffered for being classified as non-human, chattel, and property.
Ninth, the CRC seeks a technology transfer and science sharing from
European governments for the development of the Caribbean region.
The CRC has highlighted how the colonial role of producer and exporter
of raw materials denied any industrialization process in the Caribbean.
Tenth, Caribbean governments seek a program of support for the pay-
ment of domestic debt and cancellation of international debt. In the
CRC’s view, the current debt cycle affecting the Caribbean is imputed to
the colonial governments who have made no sustained attempt to deal
with debilitating colonial legacies, causing institutional unpreparedness
for development and poverty.
The measures included in the CARICOM’s Ten-Point Action Plan can
be subsumed under two overarching, and apparently contradictory, agen-
das. On the one hand, the plan puts to the fore various backward-looking
justifications for reparations, all highlighting the European states’ respon-
sibility to amend their past crimes. Primarily backward-looking points
include: the formal apology (1), the repatriation program (2), the estab-
lishment of cultural institutions (4), the African knowledge program (7),
psychological rehabilitation (8), as they focus on “the need to acknowl-
edge, learn about, research, make peace with, and repair the past”
(McKeown, 2015). On the other hand, the plan displays a number of
forward-looking justifications for reparations, as they address present-day
conditions and primarily aim at distributive justice and future sociostruc-
tural improvement. Primarily forward-looking points are the indigenous
people development program (3), as well as the multifaceted requests of
financial support to deal with the public health crisis (5), illiteracy eradi-
cation (6), technology transfer (9), as well as debt cancellation (10).
This reflection on the interplay between forward- and backward-
looking justifications in the vision and the mission of the CRC represents
the starting point for the present investigation of the CARICOM visual
campaign on social media. As McKeown (2015) points out, the two cat-
egories are not to be regarded as entirely clear-cut, but they are to be
regarded as overarching, and sometimes overlapping, themes in the wider
reparation claim. At the same time, as we will see in the following sec-
tions, the CRC social media campaign seems to be characterized by the
184 E. Esposito
predominance of a backward-looking focus on the history of colonial

wrongdoings and slave resistance, leaving relatively little space for the
presentation of present and future actions included in the plan.
4 Critical Multimodal Approach

A
to the CARICOM Social Media Campaign
While the long-standing debate around the African-American claims for
reparations in the United States has been widely discussed in literature,
the more recent instance for reparation that emerged in the Caribbean
has received less scholarly attention. One of the main recent academic
studies entirely dedicated to Caribbean reparations is the economic his-
tory Britain’s Black Debt (Beckles, 2013).3 Beckles’ work can be regarded
as updating Eric Williams’s Capitalism and Slavery (1944) with current
economic research, highlighting the causal link between the past experi-
ence of colonialism and slavery and the current social, political, and eco-
nomic issues in the Caribbean. Like Beckles’ work, most studies on
Caribbean reparations stem from disciplines other than Discourse
Studies, such as Law (especially International and Human Rights Law),
Economics, Development Studies, and History. The issue is touched on
from different angles, in the context of wider works addressing economic
injustices and neo-colonialism in the archipelago (Werner, 2016), types
of colonially inherited legal systems in the Commonwealth Caribbean
(Antoine, 2008), as well transnational overviews on reparations in the
United States and Africa (Brennan & Packer, 2012).
The present study integrates the current literature with a contribution
on Caribbean reparation from the point of view of Multimodal Critical
Discourse Studies, with a specific focus on the new digital affordances of
the participatory web. Social networking sites (henceforth, SNS), in fact,
are now widely recognized as indispensable tools to build brand aware-
ness and loyalty through dialogic communication (Gunelius, 2011), with
3
It was very much against the backdrop of the publication of Beckles’ book that the prime minister
of St. Vincent and the Grenadines proposed to found the CRC during the Thirty-Fourth Regular
Meeting of the Conference of Heads of CARICOM Government in July 2013. Beckles is currently
chairman of the CARICOM Reparation Commission.
popular brands having consistent involvement in the daily management

of their virtual presence. In the same vein, organizations and associa-
tions have also been proactive in creating digital platforms to expand
their reach, share organizational news, recruit supporters, stay connected
with key stakeholders, and foster long-term bonding (Kent & Taylor,
1998; Briones, Kuch, Fisher, & Yan, 2011). SNS have offered new plat-
forms for the multimodal construction and management of both indi-
vidual and collective digital identities, to be regarded as a dynamic and
open-ended act of self-presentation. Content shared on the official social
media platforms of the CRC, therefore, is to be analyzed as strategically
planned to brand the reparation movement identity as well as to dis-
seminate highly selected information by means of interactive communi-
cation tools, allowing for a potentially infinite replicability of the
message.
Kress and van Leeuwen’s Visual Grammar represents a fruitful method-
ology for the analysis of visual communication, for it proposes a system-
atic way of analyzing images to bring to the surface what is being
communicated by means of visual designs. The very notion of grammar is
to be intended in a Hallidayan sense, not as a set of rules but as a selection
of means of representing patterns of experience, with an interest for the
“underlying repertoire of choices, of meaning potentials, that communi-
cators could draw upon” (Machin, 2013, p. 348). Starting from the initial
aim of extending the field of application of Halliday’s systemic functional
linguistics (SFL) (1978), Kress and van Leeuwen proposed clear formal
criteria to analyze the way in which different semiotic resources are
deployed to communicate ideas, values, and identities. More specifically,
Kress and van Leeuwen’s approach (2006 [1996]: Chaps. 2 and 3) is
guided by three core methodological questions, largely reflecting the
three Hallidayan metafunctions. Firstly, they classify images as either
“narrational” or “compositional”, according to the “representational” (the
Hallidayan “ideational”) function. Representational meanings, building
upon Halliday’s transitivity system, can be summarized with the question
What is happening? and construe the nature of events and participants
involved, as well as the circumstances in which they occur. Secondly, they
focus on the relationships between the object or “participant” in the rep-
resentation and the viewer (2006 [1996]: Chaps. 4 and 5). Interactional
186 E. Esposito
(the Hallidayan “interpersonal”) meanings answer the question How is

the relationship between the viewer, the image and the image-maker? and are
usually realized through gaze, angles, and shot distance. Finally, they
transfer Halliday’s focus on language and text to the composition of the
image (2006 [1996]: Chap. 6). Compositional (the Hallidayan “textual”)
meanings refer to How is the image composed? and are “concerned with the
distribution of the information value or relative emphasis among ele-
ments” (Unsworth 2001, p. 72).
Multimodal discourse studies informed by the tradition of social semi-
otics can be regarded as a “critical strand” (van Leeuwen, 2014, p. 283)
within the field, sharing with Critical Discourse Studies the tenet that
“human communication is always social. It is defined by and construes,
and over time can be transformed by and transform, its social context”
(Djonov & Zhao, 2014, p. 1). My critical integrated approach to dis-
courses of slavery reparations includes tenets from the Discourse-
Historical Approach (henceforth, DHA), also known as the Vienna School
of Critical Discourse Studies. DHA allows to account for identity as con-
stantly “constructed and conveyed in discourse” (Wodak et al., 2009,
p. 22), by means of a number of discursive strategies to signal group
membership and the creation of polarized categories of “us” and “them”,
such as “positive self-presentation and negative other- presentation”
(Reisigl & Wodak, 2001, p. 46, after van Dijk, 1984). Moreover, the
Discourse-Historical Approach draws on the conceptualization of
“nation-ness” as a form of “social and textual affiliation” (Bhabha, 1990,
p. 292) and sees the construction of any national or collective identity as
building “on the emphasis on a common history, and history has always
to do with remembrance and memory” (de Cillia et al., 1999, p. 154).
History is always constituted by a discursive construction and fictional-
ization that revolves not only around “founding myths and myths of ori-
gin, mythical figures, political successes, times of prosperity and stability”,
but also attempts at making sense of “defeats and crises” (Wodak et al.,
2009, p. 31).
With Caribbean history associated with the painful heritage of coloni-
zation and genocide as well as with a sense of amnesia and erosion of
identity (Glissant, 1981), the CRC is called to make sense of a thorny
past in its reparation claims. In the following sections, we will see how the
CRC discursively constructs and frames Caribbean history in the repara-

tion claims by means of a multimodal narration and postcolonial con-
fabulation of key historical events and figures from the archipelago,
grounded in a polarized negative other-presentation of colonizers and
positive self-presentation of African slaves.
5 he Slave as Hero: Reclaiming Agency,

T
Rewriting History
The first main aspect of analysis was investigating what kind of social
actors are represented in the Facebook posts. Multimodal referential
strategies found for the “positive self-presentation” (Reisigl & Wodak,
2001, p. 46) of Caribbean actors seem to be twofold and, although
extremely contradictory, equally serving the reparation cause. Caribbean
people, in fact, are represented both as heroes and active shapers of their
destiny of independence and freedom as well as harmless victims of the
dehumanizing fury of colonialism and slavery.
The CRC multimodal narrative on Facebook highlights African slaves’
agency, representing the main social actors that authored a major change
in the regional sociopolitical asset, causing the end of colonial rule. In a
large part of Western historiography, in fact, the abolition of slave trade
and slavery has been conceptualized as a gracious British concession to
patiently waiting slaves, contributing to reinforcing an overall representa-
tion of slaves as passive and submissive, almost at ease under the colonial
yoke (Doumerc, 2003). As a matter of fact, African resistance to enslave-
ment and captives’ rebellion against the conditions of slavery were imme-
diate and constant reactions to the transatlantic slave trade. Slave
resistance was an endemic, day-to-day activity but overt and violent only
in few circumstances (Craton, 1997), further contributing to its deletion
from most historical narratives.
Haiti and its revolution are one of the great protagonists of the multi-
modal positive self-presentation on the CRC Facebook page, as an exem-
plary insurrection by self-liberated slaves against French colonialism.
Sparked in 1791, the Haitian Revolution led to the country’s indepen-
dence and the foundation of the first black republic in the Western
188 E. Esposito
Hemisphere. In particular, Toussaint Louverture can be regarded as one

of the highest symbols of black heroism, slave resistance, and Caribbean
self-determination. The life and iconography of the Haitian general lie
between legend and reality and his pictorial representation remains as
controversial as the interpretation of his life. According to Bell (2007),
most representations (mostly black and white lithographs and few water-
colors) were not the result of portrayal from life, but consisted of more or
less racialized depictions of generic African features. Many portraits are
almost grotesque, his African somatic traits are exaggerated, featuring a
very prominent lower jaw and full lips, in striking contrast with his full-
dress uniform and general bicorne hat. The most frequently reproduced
and imitated image of Toussaint Louverture is the lithograph by Nicolas
Maurin published by François-Séraphin Delpech in 1832. While Maurin
seems to have racialized Louverture’s features, Geggus (2013) maintains
that the prominent lower jaw may as well be regarded as a realistic feature
of the general, who lost his upper set of front teeth in the mid-1790s due
to a cannonball (Fig. 6.1).
Fig. 6.1 Toussaint Louverture in a 1838 lithograph by Nicolas Maurin

Fig. 6.2 Toussaint Louverture’s picture in the 21/10/2016 post on the CRC
Facebook page
The portrait chosen to be posted on the CRC Facebook page is an oil on

canvas featuring the black Jacobin in a blue uniform with a white ruff
neck and big gold buttons (Fig. 6.2). In the caption to the picture,
Louverture is discursively constructed as the actor of a large number of
material, verbal, and relational processes, having an effect on an outer
entity and highlighting his agency (Halliday & Matthiessen, 2004):
Toussaint Louverture led an invasion on January 3, 1801 of neighboring

Santo Domingo and freed the slaves, initially liberating them on behalf of
the French Republic, he would eventually overthrow the French and claim
the entire island. He was Governor from 1801–1802. For more news,
updates and information about reparation and the work of the CRC, visit
our website: http://caricomreparations.org/ #ReparationTimeCome (my
emphasis).
Interestingly, the picture posted on the CRC Facebook page is not an

authentic portrait of Toussaint Louverture but a 1834 painting of
Gilbert Mottier, Marquis de La Fayette (1757–1834), a French aristo-
crat and military officer famous for his involvement in the American
Revolutionary War and the French Revolution. The black man’s head has
190 E. Esposito
Fig. 6.3 Gilbert Mottier, Marquis de La Fayette (1757–1834), painted by Joseph-

Désiré Court (1834)
been photoshopped in the painting, and the image has been cropped to
a medium close shot, excluding some of the original elements (such as
the scroll and the hat, whose cockade may lead to an identification of
the portrayed subject) from the picture (Fig. 6.3).
When the Haitian Revolution sparked, Louverture was about 50
years old and looked very different from the fresh-faced African young
man in the photomontage. Even the most endorsing biographical
sketches narrate that he was slightly built, short, and with a head dispro-
portionately large for the body (Bell, 2007). As Geggus (2013) reports,
people who claimed to have met him at the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury wrote he was of “a manly form, above the middle stature” or “of
average height, repulsive to look at, ugly, even for a black”. In order to
canonize Louverture as the utmost Caribbean hero, the CRC abides by
a principle of καλοκαγαθία (kalokagathìa), a sociopolitical notion dis-
cussed by Aristotle as the ideal of the Athenian aristocrat, physically and
morally excellent, whose nobility and valor were reflected by its armoni-
ous bodily features.
Moreover, for the CRC to celebrate Toussaint Louverture as “a black
founding father, with the same iconic value of George Washington”
(Wilson, 2016, p. 80), the black and white lithograph cannot suffice. The
oil on canvas portrait, prerogative of Western royals, aristocrats, and mili-
tary officers, allows for a “higher modality”. Color saturation and modula-
tion, level of detail, depth, illumination, and brightness, allow for a higher
level of “credibility” and a perception of the image as “real” or more real-
istic (Kress & van Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 136). Louverture’s oil on
canvas realistic portrait can be regarded as a form of multimodal appro-
priation allowed by the new technology affordances of photo editing soft-
ware like Photoshop. Interestingly, the photomontage altered one of the
main features of the portrait, which is the gaze. While La Fayette’s portrait
is a “demand” in Kress and van Leeuwen’s (2006 [1996], p. 122ff) terms,
that it directly and powerfully addresses and engages with the viewer by
means of its gaze, Louverture’s portrait is an “offer”. Toussaint is looking
at the right of the picture, his eyes are lost gazing something we cannot
see, while he is offering himself to our view as an item of information or
an object of contemplation (Kress & van Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 119).
Louverture is not the only protagonist of the Haitian Revolution to be
included in the CRC Facebook page. The choice of the historical figures
to be represented on the Facebook page is also instrumental to the posi-
tive self-presentation and refashioning of slave women. Object of a dou-
ble oppression, slave women withstood a number of gender-related
brutalities, such as the perpetual sexual abuse by their masters as well as
the warping of child bearing and motherhood as slave breeding.
Objectified as victims and commodities, and stuck in a dichotomous rep-
resentation as either scheming “Jezebels” or nurturing “Mammies”, their
agency is even more obliterated in slave history (Campbell, Miers, &
Miller, 2005). The contribution of women to the Haitian liberation cause
is a lesser-known aspect of the revolution which is highlighted on the
CRC Facebook page. An example is the portrait of Sanité Bélair as fea-
tured on the ten Haitian gourde banknote for the “Bicentennial of Haiti”
Commemorative series, and one of the few available portraits of the
Tigress of Haiti (Fig. 6.4):
192 E. Esposito
Fig. 6.4 Sanité Bélair’s picture in the 13/09/2016 post on the CRC Facebook page
Suzanne Sanité Bélair is also memorialized in C.L.R. James’s history of the

Haitian Revolution The Black Jacobins: born an affranchi (a free person of
color), Sanité fought with Toussaint Louverture’s troops as a Sergeant and
later as a Lieutenant. In 1796 she married Charles Bélair, Louverture’s
nephew, who fought with Toussaint as a Brigade Commander and later as
a General. Both Sanité and her husband were arrested by Dessalines in
1802. Some of this information is included in the picture caption, which
helps to identify the androgynous subject wearing a uniform:
Sanité Bélair was a Haitian Freedom fighter and revolutionary who attained
the rank of lieutenant in the army of Toussaint Louverture during the con-
flict with French troops of the Saint-Domingue expedition. She was even-
tually captured and beheaded by the French Army in 1802. For more
news, updates and information about reparation and the work of the CRC,
visit our website: http://caricomreparations.org/ #ReparationTimeCome
(my emphasis).
In The Black Jacobins, C.L.R. James reports the details of her bravery in

the execution, contributing to the establishment of her myth. Contrary
to what is reported in the caption, according to James she refused to die
by decapitation (a method considered more appropriate for women) and
demanded to be executed as an honorable soldier like her husband, whom
she just witnessed being executed by firing squad. This discrepancy is an

example of the multivocality of sources, and the osmotic boundaries
between fact and myth, when it comes to many historical figures across
the Caribbean.
Both Louverture and Bélair’s portraits can be regarded as “symbolical”
processes: they are about what a participant means or is and portray the
identity of a participant (Kress & van Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 105). In
this structure, the participant is thus a “Carrier”, while his or her identity
is the “Symbolic Attribute” (Kress & van Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 105).
In both portraits the uniform is the symbolic attribute that is made salient
in the representation. Uniforms are symbolic attributes par excellence as
they “are conventionally associated with symbolic values” (Jewitt &
Oyama, 2001, p. 144), but in these two portraits, they somehow “look
out of place in the whole” (Jewitt & Oyama, 2001, p. 144), contrasting
with the African features of both historical figures. The uniform as sym-
bol of heroism and strength, prerogatives of the white man, is abrogated:
black men (like Louverture) and women (like Bélair) appropriate it and
imbue it with new meanings. Not disempowered slaves covered with
rags, Louverture and Bélair are free men and women that shape the des-
tiny of their own nation, the uniform symbolizing their power and
self-determination.
The canonization of Caribbean heroes on the CRC Facebook profile,
with Toussaint Louverture and Sanité Bélair being only two of many
examples, is highly instrumental to refashioning Caribbean history as one
of the heroic resistances against white colonizers. It is also instrumental to
the reparation cause, as the following image aptly summarizes (Fig. 6.5):
The picture is a photomontage of statues and portraits of four men and
two women on the background of a highway leading to a highly symbolic
breaking dawn with an orange sunrise. The caption helps in clarifying the
identity of the characters:
Today we remember Bussa, we remember Garvey, we remember Nanny,

we remember Sally, we remember Cuffy, Julian Fedon, Cudjoe and all
our ancestors who fought for freedom, justice and to end the horror that
was slavery, paving the way for our freedom. #ReparationTimeCome
#ReclaimYourHistory
194 E. Esposito
Fig. 6.5 “Freedom Road” picture posted on 01/08/2016 on the CRC Facebook
page
All the characters are seminal figures in the history of the Caribbean.
Bussa’s (not in the picture) rebellion in 1816 was the largest slave revolt
in Barbadian history and one of the three large-scale slave rebellions in
the Caribbean that contributed to the abolition of slavery. Marcus Mosiah
Garvey (first right) was a proponent of Black nationalism and pan-
Africanism who founded the Black Star Line, a shipping and passenger
line which promoted the return of the African diaspora to their ancestral
lands. Nanny of the Maroons (second left) was the legendary leader of
the Jamaican Maroons in the early eighteenth century and a Jamaican
National Hero. Sally Bassett (third left) was a mulatto slave in Bermuda
who was executed by burning in 1730, charged with suspicion of poison-
ing her owners. Cuffy (first left) in 1763 led a revolt of more than 2500
slaves in the Dutch colony of Berbice (present-day Guyana). Today, he is
a national hero in Guyana. Julien Fédon (third right) was the leader of
the homonymous rebellion, a slave revolt that took place in Grenada
between 1795 and 1796, inspired by the Haitian Revolution. Cudjoe
(second right) was a Maroon leader in Jamaica during the time of Nanny
of the Maroons, remembered for reaching an agreement with the British
that recognized the Maroons as an independent nation.
As it reads in the picture, these Caribbean heroes and heroines have
contributed to pave Freedom Road, contributing to the resistance against
slavery and its consequent abolition. The popularization of national

“heroes” or “icons” seems to be the “indispensable appendage to any pos-
sible interpretation of national identity” (Eriksonas, 2004, p. 15) and, in
this case, pan-Caribbean identity. The emotional ties to the Caribbean
are fostered by a sense of pride, supported by a description of the achieve-
ments by notable citizens, which are able to incarnate a narrative of
exceptionalism and transmit messages about what it means to belong to
a particular group (Hall, 1996). The final aim of the canonization of these
Caribbean “founding myths” (Wodak et al., 2009, p. 31) is mainly to
“reclaim history”, as it reads in the hashtag included in the caption, to
disseminate the history of these notable figures of slave resistance in the
Caribbean. But it is also to typify the essential traits of what it means to
be Afro-Caribbean, the defiant resilience that characterizes the slave his-
tory of resistance and rebellion throughout colonialism. The implication
is that these features must have been somehow inherited from the ances-
tors, and it will be only possible to attain the goal of reparations only by
following in the steps of those who emancipated themselves from
slavery.
6 he Slave as Victim and the Brutal

T
Colonizer: Compensation for the Horror
An equally important strategy of positive self-presentation is employed
on the CRC Facebook page to present Africans in the Caribbean as harm-
less victims of the dehumanizing fury of colonialism and slavery. Drawing
on the imagery and rhetoric of the shock effect of many humanitarian
campaigns, one of the strategies used on the CRC Facebook page is to
post pictures of children.
Photographic imagery has always been one of the key tools used by
international organizations or nongovernmental organizations (NGOs)
to raise public awareness and funds with humanitarian purposes. The
development of global and new media has augmented the circulation of
images of violence and suffering, raising debate over the ethics of the
whole process, and questioning the nature of humanitarian imagery as
“moral rhetoric” rather than “visual evidence” (Fehrenbach & Rodogno,
196 E. Esposito
2015, p. 6). More specifically, the prevalence of children in contemporary

humanitarian imagery has been always regarded as controversial. Seen as
grounded in a modern, Western-based iconography of innocent child-
hood (Manzo, 2008), the “moral figure of the child” is a shared, familiar,
and depoliticized image able to stir emotions and foster a “self-conscious
globalism” (Malkki, 2010). In particular, crying children are a classic sub-
ject of pictures widely used in NGO campaigns aimed at raising funds.
Figure 6.6 was actually shot in Congo in 2008, during the civil conflict
in the eastern part of the country. The story of Response, the crying child
carried on her aunt Protegee’s back (cropped in the CRC picture), as they
look for their relatives in the village of Kiwanja, made it to many newspa-
pers and provoked a flood of responses. The caption to this picture reads:
During the Middle Passage, it is estimated that a quarter of the enslaved

Africans transported were children. At first children were undesirable due
to their vulnerability to illness and lack of strength but eventually became
preferred as they would live much longer than the average adult African.
Many were kidnapped or taken as spoils of war before being sold. For more
news, updates and information about reparation and the work of the CRC,
visit our website: http://caricomreparations.org/ #ReparationTimeCome.
Like adults, African children were unwilling participants in the slave

trade. In particular, as the abolitionist movement increasingly threatened
their slave supply, by the middle of the eighteenth century planters
adopted the strategy of importing younger slaves. Childhood under slav-
ery was characterized by brutality and loss: most young slaves were taken
from their families and sold several times throughout their childhood,
growing up in circumstances of want (Teelucksingh, 2006).
By means of the caption, Fig. 6.6 is extracted from its original context
(i.e., “de-contextualized” from 2008 Congo) and inserted into a new
context (i.e., “recontextualized” to the eighteenth-century Middle
Passage). After the two-phase process of decontextualization and recon-
textualization (Reisigl and Wodak, 2009, p. 90), the given element partly
acquires new meanings in use. By means of this dialectic of “coloniza-
tion” and “appropriation” (Chouliaraki & Fairclough, 1999), the picture
shot in Congo becomes instrumental to the reparation cause. The child’s
tears are made salient as a symbolic attribute as they symbolize the pain
suffered by children during slavery. The child looks even smaller and
more helpless because of the choice of a particular vertical angle shot in
the picture: the high-angle shot, in fact, is able to embody viewer power
over the portrayed subject.
Power and its imbalance are at the heart of the debate on humanitarian
photography: the dissemination of photos depicting “the pain of others”
(Sontag, 2003) can be regarded as a discursive practice both structured by
and structuring power, positioning and assigning roles to subjects and
spectators in the modern visual economy. In particular, the traditional
“negative imagery” entailed in the portrayal of human misery has been
criticized for objectifying the sufferer and increasing the polarization
between “us” and “them” (Pantti and Tikka, 2014), instead of evoking
purposeful affective responses in the viewer. However, by means of appro-
priation and recontextualization, pictures like Figs. 6.6 and 6.7 on the
CRC Facebook page are embedded in the reparation argument: by stag-
ing the pain and suffering endured by slaves, they highlight the violation
of human rights involved in chattel slavery and the slave trade, and can-
vas support for an adequate reparation.
Figure 6.7 is another example of recontextualization serving the rep
aration cause: this 2015 picture, originally in color, portrays a child
Fig. 6.6 Picture posted on 17/11/2016 on the CRC Facebook page

198 E. Esposito
orking in a forge in Abidjan, Ivory Coast. A background of tires pres-

w
ent in the original picture has been cropped not only to avoid dating
the picture to more contemporary times, but also to make the viewer
focus on the demanding gaze of the child. Visual demands are another
classic strategy found in pictures in many humanitarian campaigns, as
they allow for the establishment of an immediate connection between
the viewer and the subject of the picture, where the gaze represents an
actual demand for material help.
As we can read in the caption, this picture is an actual demand for
compassion and empathy, aimed at canvassing support for the CRC
cause. Not only the picture puts to the fore the appalling phenomenon of
forced child labor and the overall vulnerability of young slaves in the
system of slavery, but another emotional pull is added. The caption, by
means of direct questions, invites the viewer to compenetrate themselves
in the role of a slave parent, who had their children “stole, raped, beat and
brutalized till death”:
What would you do if someone stole your child, raped, beat and bru
talize them till death? Think for a moment of how this would make you
feel? For more news, updates and information about reparation and the
work of the CRC, visit our website: http://caricomreparations.org/
#ReparationTimeCome.
In Visual Grammar, a “conceptual” process is described as the process

of being or having, and a “narrative” process is described as the process of
happening or doing. Conceptual processes are seen to “represent partici-
pants in terms of their generalized and more or less stable and timeless
essence” and “in terms of class, or structure, or meaning” (Kress & van
Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 79). The two processes can be distinguished by
establishing whether a vector is present (narrative) or absent (concep-
tual). A vector is usually a diagonal line, which can be in the form of
bodies or limbs, eyelines or tools, and which means is connected to, is
conjoined to, or is related to.
As we have seen in Figs. 6.6 and 6.7, conceptual representations, such
as demand images of people in need, are classic choices in humanitarian
campaigns. The CRC also uses narrative representations, such as Figs. 6.8
and 6.9, as they are instrumental to the negative other-presentation of the
white colonial master.
Narrative processes or patterns “serve to present unfolding actions and
events, processes of change, transitory spatial arrangements” (Kress &
van Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 59). Similar to the material processes in
SFL transitivity analysis (Halliday, 1985), which have an “Actor” and
“Goal” as participants, the “Actor” of narrative actional processes is “the
participant from whom or which the vector departs, and which may be

200 E. Esposito
fused with the vector to different degrees” (Kress & van Leeuwen, 2006
[1996], p. 59). The “Goal” for narrative processes, on the other hand, is
the participant at whom the vector is directed.
In Fig. 6.8, the actor is the white man with a whip in his hand: his
hand together with his gaze constitutes the vector directed to the black
man’s naked back (the goal). More vectors are constituted by the gazes of
the men in the audience, which all contribute to put the black man as
goal at the very center of the picture. Interestingly, the picture is not
originally shot in the Caribbean but depicts a whipping post in Delaware
at the beginning of the twentieth century.
Whipping was the most common form of physical coercion and pun-
ishment in slave society (Higman, 1984). In his Surveiller et punir,
Foucault (1975) addressed the role of public punishment as a spectacle of
power which is both a manifestation and a validation of the master’s
authority. The picture exposes the invulnerability of the white man’s
power as well as the sheer size of his cruelty. The whipper’s face, similarly
to the audience, seems to show no emotions in relation to the whipping.
The slave tied to the whipping post is portrayed from the back, his naked
back slashed by the whip being the focus of the picture. We cannot see
the slave’s face, and this somehow contributes to give him the role of a
black everyman.
The representation of the body of the black slave has always been ideo-
logically loaded (Gardner & Wiedemann, 2002). In life as in art, African
nudity or partial nudity is qualified as savagery and animality, a visual
representation of their inferiority. By means of whipping, the transgres-
sor’s crimes are actually inscribed upon his body: whip scars, clearly visi-
ble on the slave’s back in Fig. 6.8, were regarded as a symbol of bad
character (Boster, 2013), almost a bodily track-record of the slave’s behav-
ior. In contrast, the master’s higher social rank is signified by clothing
that visually communicates superiority and control of his impulses
(Foster, 2010). The presence of a fully clothed audience, with hats and
ties, witnessing the scene is able to augment the contrast, the black slave
being the only man in the picture not entitled to wear clothes.
Figure 6.9 is another example of narrative process seeing black slaves as
goals of the inhumane agency of white colonizers, although with differ-
ent modality. Figure 6.8, being an actual picture in black and white, has
a higher modality compared to Fig. 6.9. On the other hand, Fig. 6.9 is an

original lithograph which is situated in a specific moment in history by
the caption, so it still has a satisfactory level of modality. In Fig. 6.9,
white men on a ship are seen as throwing overboard a black slave; two
slaves are already in the water and another one is being held on the ship
by a white man with a big sword in his hands.
As we can read in the caption, this picture is an actual depiction of the
massacre of the Zong. The Zong has come to be a symbol of the
inhumanity, carelessness, and selfishness of slave traders. Entirely con-
cerned with profit, captain Collingwood overloaded his ship of slaves,
and as the voyage took longer than planned, he did not hesitate to throw
overboard enslaved Africans ravaged by disease and malnutrition:
In November 1781, 133 enslaved Africans were murdered onboard the

slave ship Zong. After sailing from Accra with over twice the people on
board, many were thrown overboard in the Middle Passage when
rations ran low. Upon reaching Black River, Jamaica, the crew made a
claim on their insured cargo that they tossed overboard, leading to a
trial where they were found to be at fault. The remaining slaves were
freed. For more news, updates and information about reparation and
the work of the CRC, visit our website: http://caricomreparations.org/
#ReparationTimeCome.
202 E. Esposito
The Zong killings had a strong impact on the development of the aboli-
tionist movement in Britain, which dramatically expanded in size and
influence in the late 1780s. Following the trial mentioned in the caption,
freed slave Olaudah Equiano, with the support of anti-slavery campaigner
Granville Sharp, attempted at having ship’s crew prosecuted for murder.
Because of the legal dispute, reports of the massacre received increased
publicity and the Zong events were increasingly cited as a powerful exam-
ple of the crimes against humanity of the Middle Passage to America
(Walvin, 2011). The horror of the Zong massacre is also said to have
inspired The Slave Ship, originally titled Slavers Throwing Overboard the
Dead and Dying—Typhoon Coming On, a well-known oil on canvas by
the British artist J.M.W. Turner, first exhibited in 1840.
The inhumane cruelty of colonizers is exposed in another post of the
CRC Facebook page which portrays one of the most renowned and con-
troversial figures of the history of Western colonization, Christopher
Columbus. Figure 6.10 can be regarded as a “Speech Process” (Kress &
van Leeuwen, 2006 [1996], p. 68): a quotation (the “utterance”) by the
conqueror itself is photoshopped on the background of his portrait (the
“sayer”) by Sebastiano del Piombo.
The caption to the picture guides the viewer in the interpretation of
the quotation, which ends up being quite ironic:
Upon landing in the Bahamas in 1492, Columbus had to this to say about
the native Tainos. How ironic that they should show their visitors such
kindness only to be met with death and enslavement. For more news,
updates and information about reparation and the work of the CRC, visit
our website: http://caricomreparations.org/ #ReparationTimeCome.
The caption aims at creating a contrast with the innocence and generos-
ity of the Taíno bon sauvage population as described by Columbus and
the genocide they suffered at the hands of Spaniards in the Caribbean.
Native genocide is one of the arguments for Caribbean reparations, as
well as one of the ten points of the Action Plan: the creation of a devel-
opment program for indigenous people aims at compensating them for
genocide and land appropriation. The Taíno people were one of the
largest of the indigenous peoples of the Caribbean and the first to make
contact with the Western arrival to the region. At the time of European
contact in the late fifteenth century, they were the principal inhabitants
of most of Cuba, Trinidad, Jamaica, Hispaniola (Haiti and the
Dominican Republic), and Puerto Rico. Following settlement by
Spanish colonists, the Taíno became the victims of an authentic geno-
cide, primarily due to infectious diseases for which they had no immu-
nity, but also due to starvation, resistance against Spaniards, as well as
suicide. While estimates vary, as many as three million people, approxi-
mately 90% of the Native population, may have died by the early 1500s
(Wilson, 1998).
The inclusion of Christopher Columbus on the CRC Facebook page
serves the argument of reparation on different levels. As mentioned, it
puts to the fore the topic of native genocide, which together with slave
trade and slavery represents one of the core arguments for Caribbean
reparations. Mirroring the positive self-presentation of Caribbean
heroes like Louverture, Nanny of the Maroons, or Sanité Bélair, the
negative other-presentation of Columbus is almost an obligatory step in
the discursive construction of Caribbean history on the CRC Facebook
page. It contributes to the rewriting of a page of history usually framed
as a miraculous discovery of a New World by a much-celebrated historical
figure, discursively constructed as an exceptionally heroic explorer in
the face of a perilous transatlantic journey. By means of his own very
204 E. Esposito
words, Columbus is negatively presented as a symbol of violence and

deceit, who did not hesitate to destroy the life and culture of those
people he had described as generous, gentle, and welcoming.
7 Concluding Remarks
The relationship of the Caribbean with history is traditionally vexed and
the matter has long fascinated and absorbed the most prominent
Caribbean intellectuals (V. S. Naipaul, 1962; C.L.R. James, 1962;
Walcott, 1974). While history in the West consolidated grandiose ideals
about Western civilization, this did not exactly apply to the Caribbean.
Western notions of history, what Glissant (1981, p. 62) calls “Histoire
avec un grand H” (History with a capital H), are grounded within a
Hegelian hierarchical, Eurocentric frame that constituted Africa (and,
through the Middle Passage, the Caribbean) as the place of the “ahistori-
cal”. Conceptualized as such, history appears as something Caribbean
people could not make or have, a “nonhistory” associated either with the
painful heritage of colonization, genocide, and slavery or with a sense of
amnesia and erosion of identity, a collective neurosis over this sense of
“historylessness”.
Nevertheless, if history is to be regarded as a post hoc, meaning
endowed narrative, “a story which people tell about themselves in order
to lend meaning to the social world” (Ram, 1994, p. 153), the power of
discourse is able to frame the construction and fictionalization of both
victories and defeats, which “become carriers of consensual values and
ideals, and which therefore have value as objects in collective memory”
(Wodak & Heer, 2008, p. 1). The CRC seems to make use of both “vic-
tories” and “defeats” in its Facebook campaign to advertise its activities
and canvas support. Key historical events and figures are discursively con-
structed and framed by means of a multimodal narration, which gives life
to an authentic postcolonial confabulation of Caribbean history.
As we have seen, both positive self-presentation and negative other-
presentation are highly instrumental to the CRC multimodal narration, as
key strategies in the discursive construction and maintenance of any in-
group vs. out-group differentiation and polarization. The CRC history of
the Caribbean is grounded in the celebration of Afro-Caribbean people as

resilient heroes that withstood slavery, eventually contributing to emanci-
pation and independence from colonial yoke. This multimodal narrative,
celebrating historical figures like Toussaint Louverture and Sanité Bélair of
the much-celebrated Haitian Revolution, serves the reparation cause by
highlighting resilience, resistance, and activism as typical Caribbean fea-
tures that will eventually contribute to the success of the reparation cause
as well. As shown in Fig. 6.5, characters like Bussa from Barbados, Nanny
of the Maroons, and Cudjoe from Jamaica, Sally Bassett from Bermuda,
Cuffy from Guyana, and Julian Fedon from Grenada are discursively
included in a pan-Caribbean pantheon of heroes to whom contemporary
Afro-Caribbean people should inspire themselves to in order to walk
down the Freedom Road.
Equally important in the CRC reparation cause is the positive self-
presentation of slaves as harmless victims of the systems of slave trade and
chattel slavery. This is achieved both by employing pictures and litho-
graphs from the time (Figs. 6.8 and 6.9), as well as by an interesting
phenomenon of appropriation and recontextualization of more contem-
porary images from Africa (Figs. 6.6 and 6.7). Drawing on humanitarian
photography, Figs. 6.6 and 6.7 show how the CRC aims at highlighting
the phenomenon of forced child labor and the overall vulnerability of
young slaves in the system of slavery. By staging the pain and suffering
endured by slaves, the CRC highlights the violation of human rights
involved in chattel slavery and the slave trade and canvasses support for
an adequate reparation. This aspect of positive self-presentation of Afro-
Caribbean slaves as victims is deeply related to the negative other-
presentation of white colonizers, who are depicted as actors of two of the
most striking acts of violation against human rights during slave trade
and chattel slavery, which almost symbolize the horrors the slaves faced
during their captivity. The first act is slaves (dead but also alive) being
thrown overboard from ships during the Middle Passage (see Fig. 6.9), an
inhumane practice which denied slaves any funeral or burial rite, and
fueled abolitionist campaigns in the United Kingdom after the Zong
massacre of 1781. The second is whipping (see Fig. 6.8), as the true sym-
bol and ubiquitous feature of Foucauldian control and punishment at the
hands of colonial officers and plantation owners.
206 E. Esposito
In the self-contained, articulated, and creative confabulation of the

historical past of the Caribbean on the CRC Facebook page, what seems
to be left out of the picture is the present of the CRC campaign and the
region itself. No mentions are made to the Ten-Point Action Plan, which
is aimed at offering more or less tangible solutions to the underdevelop-
ment in the archipelago and could somehow substantiate the CRC aims
by providing a clear evidence of the future plans of the Commission,
especially if any reparation is to be paid in the future. While the CRC
tries to glue together the fragments of a broken history, in an attempt
which seems closer to knowledge dissemination rather than an actual
activist campaign, both the future of the Caribbean and of its reparation
cause remain unwritten.
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7
Towards Sociocultural Recognition
and Integration of Latin American
Immigrants in Los Angeles Through
the Analysis of Social-Discursive
Significations
Ricardo Medina Audelo
1 Introduction
The present work focuses on international migration, particularly in the
immigration of Latin Americans from Colombia, Costa Rica, El Salvador,
Mexico, Guatemala, Dominican Republic, Panama, Honduras, Peru,
and Nicaragua in Los Angeles. International migration in the United
States is an increasingly complex phenomenon and is of great interna-
tional concern, especially in the present times, when the American soci-
ety and its government are becoming less tolerant of cultural pluralism
and less respectful towards the human rights of the immigrants them-
selves. With the arrival of Donald Trump to the Oval Office, plus the
deportation of 2.7 million “illegal” immigrants during the presidency of
Barack Obama, their situation is getting more and more complex and
adverse (Medina, 2016; Rocha & Ocegueda, 2014).
R. Medina Audelo (*)

Instituto Politécnico Nacional. SEPI-ESIA-TEC, Mexico City, México
e-mail: ricardo.medina@upf.edu

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_7
212 R. Medina Audelo
As mentioned in a previous study (Medina, 2016), the integration of

the immigrant into the host society is consubstantial to the recognition,
granted by the latter, of the immigrant as a legitimate member of soci-
ety. Integration and recognition have to do with the right of the immi-
grant to access the same conditions of equality, equity, rights, obligations,
and opportunities as the citizens of the host society (Medina, 2016,
p. 143).
This study, by means of the discourse produced in focus groups and six
semi-structured interviews, aims to analyse the social-discursive significa-
tions of the Latin American immigrants related to their recognition and
integration in the city of Los Angeles and its society. I observed how the
characteristics of the host society affect the perception and the integra-
tion of the aforementioned immigrants. The present research answers the
following questions: What is their perception of American society, the
Americans themselves, and the Latin American community? Who is
responsible for the recognition and integration of immigrants? What
actions should be suggested for their integration? In order to achieve our
goals, I have adopted a qualitative, empirical, phenomenological, and
interdisciplinary methodology, approaching the analysis of discourse,
theory of enunciation (Benveniste, 1977; Charaudeau, 2006), and social
psychology, theory of social imaginary (Castoriadis, 2002).
The pertinence of the present work lies in looking through the immi-
grants’ own vision of their integration and signifying them as important
actors (see Medina, 2016). On the other hand, it is necessary to empha-
size that the Latin American community, inside and outside the United
States, is not homogeneous: there are some elements and characteristics
that separate them, while others bring them together.
This chapter is structured as follows. Firstly, I describe the relation
between globalization and immigration, the Latin American immigra-
tion in the United States and the city of Los Angeles, and the measures
promoted by the US government over the last decade to control the
migratory phenomenon. Secondly, I review the concept of social signifi-
cance and social imaginary. Then, I provide a theoretical revision of the
discursive modalities in the enunciation. Fourthly, I explain the method-
ological framework of this research and describe the selection criteria of
participants and the development of the interviews. Then, I discuss the
Towards Sociocultural Recognition and Integration of Latin… 213
main findings, foregrounding the main perception of immigrants on

American reality and their difficulties in the integration process, high-
lighting the importance of the recognition of the immigrants in the polit-
ical, economic, social, and cultural spheres. Finally, I present the main
conclusions of this study and its implications on immigrant integration
in the Latin American region.
The present research belongs to an investigation of Latin American
immigrants in Los Angeles, which belongs to a larger comparative inves-
tigation about Latin American immigrants in Barcelona, New York, and
Los Angeles.
2 Immigration and Latin American

Immigrants in the United States and Los
Angeles
Contemporary globalization and neoliberalism have negatively affected
national and transnational social organizations. In some societies, a sig-
nificant part of the population is increasingly excluded in diverse spheres
and systems (economic, educational, social, political, environmental,
among others), especially those societies marked by a weak political and
economic system. Such is the case of Latin American countries (cf. Schiff,
1996; Massey, 1998).
Migration is one way of facing and seeking to counteract these nega-
tive effects of globalization and neoliberalism. Individuals decide to move
locally, regionally, or transnationally, sometimes with the objective of sat-
isfying the needs related to their financial conditions, employment, edu-
cation, and security, and to change the adverse lifestyle of their relatives
and themselves. In this way, globalization and neoliberalism have implied
that contemporary or postmodern societies institutionalize and become
increasingly diverse from a cultural standpoint (Scholte, 2005).
International migration, among other factors, has fostered the exis-
tence of these polycultural contexts and has influenced societies to turn
into complex systems. The phenomenon of migration brings forth several
challenges for host regions or countries. Among these challenges, the
most difficult is related to the management of polyculturality in contem-

porary societies (Vertovec, 2010; Rex, 2005; Taylor, 1993), specifically,
what kind of recognitions and integrations are promoted to deal with the
diverse and what kinds of conditions are available to afford it.
The United States is the leading migrant destination on a global scale
and the first destination for Latin American immigrants. It is estimated
that, in 2015, the population of Latin Americans grew over the previous
year by 2.2 per cent (1.2 million), reaching approximately 56,592,7931
inhabitants. The Latin American community is the largest immigrant
group in the United States. Most of the immigrants are from Mexico
(35,371,314), Puerto Rico (5,319,961), and El Salvador (2,100,433).
Made up by people coming from different places and different political,
economic, and sociocultural contexts, the Latin American population is
not homogeneous. It is significantly heterogeneous in terms of age, gen-
der, length of residence, legal status, level of education, types of work and
professions, lifestyle, life perspective, desires, and achievements.
The State of California and the city of Los Angeles, with 14,990,679
and 5,979,000 immigrants, respectively, are the places where the Latin
American community is most likely to reside.2 In 2015,3 California has
experienced an influx of 193,869 new Latin American immigrants.
The first period of Barack Obama’s administration was characterized
by a general carelessness about immigration policies, and more than 2.7
million immigrants were deported during that period (Medina, 2016;
Rocha & Ocegueda, 2014). It was in its second period that Obama’s
administration promoted the programs known as Deferred Action for
Childhood Arrivals (DACA), the Deferred Action for Parents of
Americans (DAPA) and, at a later time, the expanded DACA.4
1
US Census Bureau. American Fact Finder. Annual Estimates of the Resident Population by Sex,
Age, Race, and Hispanic Origin for the United States and States: April 1, 2010 to July 1, 2015.
Retrieved September 20, 2016, from https://factfinder.census.gov/faces/tableservices/jsf/pages/
productview.xhtml?src=bkmk
2
Pew Research Center (2016a). Hispanic Population and Origin in Select US Metropolitan Areas,
2014. Retrieved September 20, 2016, from http://www.pewhispanic.org/interactives/
hispanic-population-in-select-u-s-metropolitan-areas/
3
Pew Research Center (2016b).
4
For DACA and DACA “Extended”, cf. Verea, 2014; Hooker, McHugh & Mathay, 2015.
These programs are mainly aimed to stop the deportation of young

people who entered the United States during their childhood in an irreg-
ular way and to avoid the deportation (at least for a certain time) of legal
resident immigrants and the deportation of the mothers and the fathers
of US citizens. The “Extended” DACA and DAPA could have benefitted
at least 13 million5 “paperless” immigrants (Capps et al., 2016). However,
on December 3, 2014, these programmes were suspended.
On November 8, 2016, a new president was elected, and the two
chambers were renewed. The Republican candidate, Donald Trump, won
the elections, and his party won the majority in both chambers of
Congress.
During the first month of his administration (February, 20), Trump
signed the executive order “Border Security and Immigration
Enforcement Improvements”, which “[i]mplements new policies
designed to stem illegal immigration and facilitate detection, apprehen-
sion, detention and removal for aliens who have no lawful basis to enter
or remain in the United States” (US Department of Homeland Security,
2017, p. 1) and border security. The president also requested to plan
and design a wall along the Mexico-United States border and ordered
the recruitment of 15,000 police officers and staff members to work on
customs, migration, and deportation (10,000 for Immigration and
Customs Enforcement (ICE) and 5,000 for Customs and Border
Protections (CBP)) (US Department of Homeland Security, 2017).
According to Immigration and Customs Enforcement, between January
and April 2017, 41,318 people were arrested for legal immigration vio-
lations (ICE6).
The scenario appears to be favourable to an anti-immigration policy,
not just because the Trump phenomenon has fostered the victory of the
Republicans but also because American society has shown itself to be
intolerant towards immigrants, and the mass media (and other sectors of
3.6 million undocumented adult immigrants who are eligible

5
Immigration and Customs Enforcement. ICE ERO Immigration Arrest Climb Nearly 40%.
6
Retrieved May 17, 2017, from https://www.ice.gov/features/100-days

society) have fostered these xenophobic attitudes7 (Valentino, Brader, &

Jardina, 2013).
3 he Incidence of Social Imaginary

T
in the Individual and Society’s Institution
The individual and society are co-instituted by the relationship and
interrelation between them and by their mutual incidence. In the case
of the institution of the individual, society offers the explanations and
the elements which are needed by the individual to guide him/her to
organize and understand the accumulation of emotions and sensations.
In this way, society enables the apprehension of objective and subjective
knowledge, through the transmission of socially constructed meanings.
Social meanings—since they are constituted in structures of knowledge
(ideas, categories, or concepts) and intersubjectively elaborated by the
social consciousness of the individuals (social representations and social
imaginaries)—create, form, organize, guide, and determine the social
reality and the daily lives of these individuals (Schütz, 1993; Searle,
1997).
According to Castoriadis, the social imaginary, a magma of social
imaginary significations, institutes the individuals (1989, p. 307) and
constructs society. Individuals, influenced by the social consciousness
and the social structure, act, participate, react, and influence the social
structure, determining, maintaining, and transforming it (Berger &
Luckman, 1989).
The social imaginary participates in the co-construction of society and
the individual, and affects it by its institutional trait, its ability to create
new significations, by means of a collective consciousness that transforms
existing historical forms. Both imagination and symbolic elements play a
preponderant role in the institution of these new forms, as imagination is
the source of creativity and restorer of the rifts and insufficiencies of reality
7
Proposition 187 in California –“Save Our State– (1984), LA Illegal Immigration Reform and
Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA (1996), USA Patriotic Act (2001) and Arizona SB 1070
(2010).
(Bergson, 1996; Bachelard, 1982; Durand, 2000; Castoriadis, 2002).

According to Cassirer (1998), while the importance of the symbolic lies in
the fact that the apprehension and confrontation of the subject over real-
ity have symbolic aspects, the symbols are also instruments of social inte-
gration, since they allow consensus around sense of the social world and
contribute to the production, reproduction, and transformation of social
order (Bourdieu, 1980; Durkheim, 1983; Bloch 2004).
The symbolic is inside and outside our minds—it is in the reality itself
(Ibáñez, 1988). In closing, society is an objective and subjective reality,
and, in order to read it, understanding it both ways is essential (Berger &
Luckmann, 1989, p. 216).
4 ontext, Discourse, and Enunciation

C
Modalities
Speech, for linguistic discourse, is understood as the inclusion of a text in
its context. The conditions of its introduction, production, and reception
are found in discourse that people produce themselves (Benveniste, 1977;
Culioli, 1999; Kerbrat-Orecchioni, 2005; Bronckart, 2004; Charaudeau,
2003, 2006; Adam-Michel, 2005; Maingueneau, 2007). From this per-
spective, discourse refers to the sequence of sentences that introduce an
entity that opposes language as a form of action, interaction, interdiscur-
sivity, rules, situations, and contexts.
Every discourse abides to a context of production; no discourse lacks
context; a sentence without sense and meaning is not understandable
without it, for the discourse itself contributes to define context and can
modify it during enunciation (Charaudeau & Maingueneau, 2005,
p. 182). In fact, both exist in a dialectic relationship of constant interde-
pendence. For Foucault (2005), discourse goes beyond speech and should
be understood as a social and discursive practice (Wodak, 2000; Van
Dijk, 2000, 2003).
A relationship between enunciations, language, and realities (subjec-
tive and objective) is present in every enunciation. From this perspective,
in discursive production—or enunciation—the introduction of subject
can be identified in its discourse (Charaudeau & Maingueneau, 2005,

pp. 228–229).
All enunciation is established and supported in the referential aspect of
deixis, a way to identify the introduction of the subject in the discourse
(Moeschler & Reboul, 1999).
In deixis one can identify directives, lines, and coordinates of signifi-
cance, allusions, portrayals, and information exchange between speak-
ers in regard to differing realities. These deictic tools refer to people
(you, me, he/she, e.g. “We are a Latin American immigrant”), place
(here/there, e.g. “I don’t like living here”), and time (yesterday, now,
today, tomorrow—“I’m going back to Nicaragua tomorrow”). Deixis
allows people to identify locutionary acts: the elocutive (the speaker par-
ticipates directly through the first person deictic, be it singular or plu-
ral, during verbalization), the delocutive (the speaker involves the
interlocutor during verbalization to impose their presence in their
speech—defined by the use of the second person “you”), and the alocu-
tive (impersonal expression and attitude of the speaker in the enuncia-
tion; it is the delocutivity, the non-person, the not-you or not-me
during speech, expressed through the use of the third person, plural or
singular) (Charaudeau, 2006; Pottier, 1977; Damourette & Pinchon,
1968).
Another way to identify the introduction or mark of the subject in the
discourse is through enunciation modalities. These, as pointed out in
previous research (cf. Medina, 2016), refer to the attitude of the speaker
in the utterance (and their positioning in relation to the co-speaker)
(Balmayor, 1998). It is what Charles Bally identified, in his reflections
regarding expressive modalities, as the modus (Bally, 1967). The modus is
the positioning and attitude the speaker takes in regard to the world, real-
ity, and everything it enunciates.
On the other hand, the modal logic (Honderich, 2001; Lyons, 1997)
identifies posture and behaviour the speaker takes in response to what
they enunciate. These modalities are epistemic (relating to the knowledge
of the world and its realities), alethic (behaviour linked to necessity, con-
tingency, possibility, or impossibility towards a fact, object, theme, sub-
ject, and other issues) (Pottier, 1977, p. 282), affective (linked to affective
and emotional matters), appreciative (in passing judgement or evaluating),
deontic (referring to duty, obligation, what is allowed and forbidden), and

assertive (when confirming or denying facts) (García & Tordesillas, 2001;
Lyons, 1997). There is another classification of nonlogic modals: expressive
(referring to emphasis in spoken language), spatial (in localization, “every-
where, nowhere, somewhere”), frequency (“always, never, sometimes”),
volition or inclination (desire, intent, or refusal), and quantity
(“everything”, “nothing”, “something”) (Calsamiglia & Tusón, 2007,
pp. 177–178).
5 Participant Selection and Data Collection

This study analyses the social-discursive significations of Latin American
immigrants related to their recognition and integration in the City of Los
Angeles and its society. In order to fulfil this objective, I performed the
following procedures:
5.1 Identification and Selection of Participants
The snowball technique has been employed to identify and select partici-
pants for the focus group interviews and the semi-structured interviews.
In the snowball sampling technique, existing study informants recruit
future participants from among their social groups (family, friends, co-
workers, and acquaintances) (see Potter (1996) for a description of the
technique).
5.2 ample Selection: Focus Group and

S
Semi-Structured Interviews
Data selection followed different procedures to ensure reliability and valid-

ity. First, a focus group (henceforth FG) was set up with the participation
of five storytellers, two women (from Colombia and Costa Rica) and three
men (from Mexico, El Salvador, and Guatemala). Then, six interviews
were conducted to complement the data obtained in the focus group dis-
cussions. Five interviews were carried out to women from Dominican
Republic (Leticia8), El Salvador (Teresa), Honduras (Yolanda), Peru

(Angelica), and Nicaragua (Maribel) and a man from Panama (Pedro).
All participants were 30–60 years-old and had different academic and
employment backgrounds. They live in Los Angeles, and their resident
permit varied from five to thirty years. In addition, some participants
were already in possession of a legal residence permit and even citizen-
ship. These characteristics determine the participants’ interactions as
direct and indirect experiences of their migration have clearly influenced
their way of perceiving reality.
6 Discussion
6.1 Internal and External Aspects of the Latin
American Immigrant Around Their Migration
to the City of Los Angeles
By means of the dialogues under study, I was able to identify different

aspects that influenced participant decisions, the causes and reasons for
which they chose to migrate. From my point of view, the causes of migra-
tion are related to external aspects, which are beyond the control of indi-
viduals, while immigrant reasons have to do with internal aspects, such as
desires, goals, and expectations. Regarding the external perspective, I
have found out that the causes of migration are related to the character-
istics of the points of origin of our participants. According to the analysed
discourse, the societies of origin are perceived as adverse and negative for
the development of a livelihood.
These adversities are connected to several aspects and spheres of social
life. For instance, economic problems and violence, derived from drug
trafficking and related criminal activities in some Latin American societ-
ies, emerge as a push factor of migration. In regard to this issue, our nar-
rator Martha considers it as the main topic, using a causal discourse and
expressing the idea in an epistemic modality:
For ethical reasons and to safeguard anonymity of our narrators, their names have been changed.
8
1. Martha
vinimos con mi hija por la situación We came (here) with my daughter

económica que se puso difícil because of the economic situation which
cuando todo lo del narcotráfico had worsened because of the drug
ese fue el motivo porque nos trafficking, (it) was the reason why we
vinimos la situación estaba difícil came, the situation was difficult,
este nunca fue mi sueño (FG) (coming here) was never my dream9
(FG10)
With respect to the internal aspects of immigrants, their desires, aspira-

tions, and goals in the host society, I have found that the improvement of
their financial situation, better work conditions, the need to send money
to the country of origin, the search for better opportunities (the American
Dream), and obtaining American citizenship are the main causes of
migration. These life expectancies are, in some way, closely affected by the
traits and the adverse situation of their societies of origin. For example,
Leticia has pointed at the financial factor as the cause of migration.
Through a causal argument, she criticizes and accuses their societies of
origin of being responsible for migrations:
2. Leticia
Porque viven en sus sociedades de (They left) because they used to live in their
origen de modo crítico y ayudar societies of origin in a critical condition,
a la gente que dejan en sus so they can help the people who still live
comunidades mandar dinero in their communities sending money,
construir esperanza de llevárselo building the hope of having legal
de tener papeles llevar a su permissions to finally take their relatives
familia away (from these critical conditions)
Teresa and Angelica expressed the same concept in an underhanded and

assertive way, respectively.
9
Personal translation
10
FG means that the segments correspond to the discourses extracted from the elaborated focus
groups.
3. Teresa
para hacer una vida dizque aquí To make a life, I mean, here, right? To
¿verdad? buscar una oportunidad look for an opportunity
4. Angelica
Yo vine a buscar oportunidades I came (here) to look for opportunities

gracias al sorteo de visas. thanks to the draw of visas.
As I have mentioned above, there is a clear link between the causes and
the reasons for migration. We can observe it in the following segment,
in which our narrator (5) points out, through the elocutive modality
(in the first person singular) and a causal argument, the motives of his
migration, which are linked, on the one hand, with an economic issue
and with his religious beliefs on the other. He emphatically criticizes
the consumerism that permeates the relationships of immigrants in
American societies:
5. Pedro
Vengo por una meta y vengo por una I came for a goal and I came for a
misión entonces trato de no desviar mission, so I try not to divert my goals
mis metas y mi misión al mundo and my mission to the consumerist
consumista […] son privadas, pero world […] they are private, but some
tiene que ver una parte con lo of them has something to do with my
económico […] la otra tiene que ver financial conditions […] others with
con la parte religiosa my religious purposes.
This criticism of consumerism, and the malaise that it brings, coincides

with the reflections of various intellectuals, who harshly criticize the
tendency to objectify not only objects but human beings, time, and
space. This objectification is typical in capitalist societies (Simmel, 2016)
and reaches extreme levels in post-industrial societies (Bauman, 2001),

particularly in the United States. In this regard, Lipovetsky and Charles
argue that “hyperconsumption is a consumption which absorbs and
integrates more and more spheres of social life” (2014, p. 26) transform-
ing even social relationships in consumption goods.
6.2 L atin American Immigrant Perception on Host

Society and Themselves
In this work, I observe how our participants, starting with their ideas
and preconceptions of the host society and particularly the American
society, represent a non-cohesive community, since they do not per-
ceive themselves as a part of the host society. These constructions are,
on the one hand, related to the different dimensions and experiences of
daily life and to different topics and valuations on the other. They are
the result of the categorical and relational connectionism that the
immigrant uses in the construction of his identity, starting from his
experience and his sociocultural and socio-economic contexts in the
host society.
I was also able to identify aspects connected to the interrelationship:
ideals, values, principles, ideology, behaviour, work, money, and con-
sumption, among others. For example, in the following passage, I observe
our narrator signifying the American citizen positively, conveying through
an affective mode, avoiding generalizations, and using adjectives and a
causal argument. The positive allusions about Americans from the United
States have not been recurring in the analysed discourses. In his argu-
ment, the narrator describes the immigrant as “annoying”. This percep-
tion is due, in part, to the feeling of “invading” the host society that the
immigrant assimilates in his daily experience, which is recurring in the
discourse of immigrants when they express their points of view about
their host societies (cf. Simmel, 1977; Santamaría, 2002; Medina, 2016,
in press). In that argument, Pedro repeatedly uses the deontic mode and
alludes to axiological aspects:
6. Pedro
Hay muchos que son muy buenos no There are many (Americans) who are
puedo decir que son malos porque very good, I cannot say that they’re
primero que nada ellos se han nos bad, as they have, first of all, borne
han soportado y eso hay que tener with us, and you have got to have
cojones y paciencia para eso y por eso balls and patience for that, and for
hay que agradecerle tienen algo que that we have to thank them. They
son muy disciplinados en su forma de have something, they are very
trabajar de realizar todo […] hay que disciplined at work, at finishing
darles las gracias por habernos everything […] we have to thank
dejado entrar aquí them for letting us in here
The perception of society, its evaluation, reflects a very marked duality:

some of the interviewees have shown a good perception of the host soci-
ety; nevertheless, the majority has shown a negative one. One of the few
examples of a positive evaluation can be appreciated in the following
statement. The speaker employs, by using the adverb más (more), an
implicit analogy with her society of origin, in order to describe the host
society in a positive way while simultaneously accusing the latter of hav-
ing changed:
7. Maribel
[en Los Ángeles] la vida es más tranquila [in Los Angeles] life is more relaxed
pero ha cambiado but it has changed
Part of the appreciation of the host society is linked to the “American

dream”: Los Angeles has been frequently considered as the place of oppor-
tunities, of personal development and success in different dimensions of
life (cf. Cullen, 2002; Clark, 2003; Medina, 2016, in press). However,
this allusion was enunciated with criticism and disappointment. In real-
ity, the main signifiers were similar to something unreal and illusory as a
consequence of the inequality of opportunities, exclusion, and equitable
recognition.
8. Leticia
por eso (los inmigrantes) aguantan, That is why they (the immigrants) stand
echan para adelante […] mucho it, they just carry on […] a lot of
sufrimiento suffering
Other constructions and criticisms against the host society are related
to exploitation, abuse, poverty, indigence, and racial discrimination.
Xenophobia, as in other cities of the United States (Medina, 2016), is
still present in Los Angeles. Fernanda, in an emotionally, elocutive (first
person singular), attenuated and deontic mode, points out that exploi-
tation and racism are still two problems that immigrants face in the
host society. Through an alocutive (third person singular) and a causal
discourse, she explains that this situation is due to the lack of “legal”
documents. Finally, she stresses that the abuses are also linked to gender
issues:
9. Fernanda
no tiene derecho uno tiene que (the immigrant) has no rights, has to
estar calladito por eso sucede lo shut up, that is why there are cases of
que es la violencia doméstica domestic violence, really, because lots
verdad porque también mucho of people take advantage of the
abusan de eso digamos este como situation, we can say, since the woman
la mujer no tiene papeles o does not have papers or vice versa, the
viceversa el hombre verdad en el man does not either, and in the case of
caso del compañero la familia the partner, as they belong to the
siendo la misma familia lo explotan same family they being exploit you as
a uno entonces eso diría yo la well, so, I would say that the (main
explotación y el otro problema que problem is) exploitation and, I think
creo que es el racismo (FG) that the other problem is racism (FG)
However, xenophobic practices are not exclusive to Americans. They are

also carried out by Latin Americans themselves. There is a strong con-
sensus on the fact that the different communities of Latin American
immigrants build tense and conflicting relationships and interactions
instead of supporting each other. Among them there is a strong antago-

nism. The Latin American is signified as selfish, indifferent, and not
supportive at all. This is confirmed by Yolanda, who points out, in an
analogy between the American and the Latin American communities,
that the latter is the one that most exercises this behaviour:
10. Yolanda
aquí le dicen los gabachos los gringos here we call them the gabachos, the
no son tan discriminativos como los gringos, they are not as discriminating
latinos mismos nosotros mismo nos as the Latins themselves, we consider
vemos de menos de ahí a veces ourselves as “less”, even within our
entre la misma comunidad own community
This phenomenon may be attributed to the increasingly fierce competi-

tion for resources and to lack of recognition from civil society and the
government of the host country, which destroys immigrants’ self-respect
and self-esteem and, consequently, their ability to respect and esteem
others (Honneth, 1997).
6.3 owards Sociocultural Recognition

T
and Integration of Latin American Immigrants
In the last two sections, I have been able to identify and analyse various
aspects that affect immigrants’ perception of their integration: on the one
hand, those aspects that influence the participants’ decision to immigrate
and on the other, their perceptions of the American society. Thus, through
their experiences and their perceptions, our participants construct their
meanings around their integration and recognition as Latin American
immigrants in the host society.
I discuss the participants’ constructions of who the people in charge
and/or the participants of the integration process are in the host society.
Then, I analyse our interviewees’ proposals, which can lead them to rec-
ognition and integration in the host society. From our participants’
points of view, the recognition and integration have several actors: the
immigrants (Latin Americans), the US government, and the embassies
of the societies of origin. Nevertheless, the responsibility lies mainly with

the Latin American immigrants and the American government. This
point of view responds especially to two aspects. The first has to do with
the feeling of being an alien, a stranger, developed by the immigrants,
while the second is related to the type of integration that they mean,
which meets the main characteristics of the assimilationist pattern of
diversity management, based on the unidirectional adaptation and the
acculturation of the other (see Sects. 6.1 and 6.2 above).
For our participants, Latin American immigrants are mainly responsi-
ble for their assimilation. Not much has been said about the participation
of Americans, other institutions of society, and other groups of immi-
grants. In this way, acculturation, assimilation, and adaptation emerge in
the discourse of the following segment, in which the narrator, in an epis-
temic and deontic way, and through an allocative (second person singular)
and a referred speech, expresses the responsibility and the behaviour of the
immigrant in the host society. The ideas expressed reveal a veiled feeling of
being strangers, alien and distant from the host society:
11. Leticia
Cuando llegas a un país no te vas a When you arrive in a new country, you
imponer tú tienes que adaptarte cannot impose yourself, you have to
como ya te dije a lo que ya hay adapt, as I told you, to what is already
there
The ideas expressed also place the responsibility on the embassies of the
societies of origin, considered active participants in the integration process,
and relieve the government and the Americans of their responsibilities:
12. Pedro
eso no es compromiso de ellos es un This is not their responsibility

compromiso de las embajadas de (Americans), it’s a responsibility of the
nuestros países insertar a los embassies of our own countries to
ciudadanos de esos países aquí y place the citizens of their countries
darles el 500 por ciento de apoyo. here and support them 500 per cent.
The proposals for actions on the recognition and integration refer to the
legal, educational, political, labour, and cultural dimensions but, mostly,
the first two. Some of these dimensions are also related to axiological
aspects. For example, in the following segment, the enunciator criticizes
that recognition of immigrants refers only to juridical-legal aspects. She
suggests that recognition should be integral and involve cultural identi-
ties, the needs, and the rights of the immigrants (equity and equal oppor-
tunities in various fields just like all Americans):
13. Leticia
Aquí solamente se está luchando Here, we’re only fighting to recognize

porque los ilegales sean reconocidos the paperless people or some of their
o algunas cosas de los ilegales sean things, but together with this, your
reconocidas pero es que identity, and other things about you,
conjuntamente con eso viene tu also need to be recognized by a
identidad muchas cosas de ti que society, which should also recognize
Como sociedad debiera también ser your way of being.
reconocida en tu forma de ser
In fact, some of our interviewees consider the residence permit as an

answer to the disadvantages and the discords that immigrants suffer in
Los Angeles. The arguments proposed by our participants are of a differ-
ent kind, but none of them think of the residence permit as an integral
solution. On the contrary, it is considered helpful only in some specific
situations related to medical care, legal residence, work, and assistance in
cases of mental illness. Indeed, there have been apologies for the regular-
ization programmes, such as the DACA and the DAPA.
Indigence is a problem that concerns our interviewees. According to
the Los Angeles Homeless Services Authority (LAHSA) report (2016),
there are 28,464 indigents in Los Angeles, of which 21 per cent are of
Hispanic origin (LAHSA, 2016). In the following segment, the speaker
criticizes Obama’s administration for the actions aimed at the legal regu-
larization of immigrants. She signifies poverty and indigence as conse-
quences of the lack of legal regularization. In fact, she describes Los
Angeles as a place of destitution:
14. Maribel
de todo que le hubieran dado Above all, (they) should have given
permiso para pedir la residencia a permission to ask for residence to all
toda esa pobre gente […] sería those poor people […] it would be
bueno sabe por qué […] mire good, you know why […] Now, look,
ahora mire bastante gente en las look at all these people in the streets,
calles verdad. really…
From our interviewees’ perspective, education is the key element of inte-

gration. Immigrants must be educated in a formal and informal way, on
various skills and subject matters. Above all, they should be trained for
specific tasks to get into the labour market. In the following example, our
narrator Andrés, in a deontic mode, appeals to the education of Latin
American immigrants as the way to get better living conditions:
15. Andrés
a nosotros como latinos nos falta We, as Latins, lack preparation […]. If
preparación […] al prepararse tiene we prepare, we have more
más oportunidades esa es lógica en opportunities, which is logical in this
este mundo en el que vivimos ¿si? world where we live (nowadays),
[…] hacen falta mucho recursos para right? […] (Our) community needs
la comunidad más que en todo en more resources and, more than
capacitación (FG) anything else, (we need) training (FG)
The labour aspect is another important issue. Each of our interviewees

expressed their concern in particular ways, and it reflects, in a certain way,
the prevailing adverse situation that they are going through. This concern
is closely related to their idea of the “American dream” and their under-
standing of the host city, described in the previous section. In the follow-
ing segment, we can detect how the speaker affectively assumes that an
appropriate employment could be a solution to her problems. She uses
the referred discourse to argue that the lack of a permit is the first cause
of their unemployment.
16. Yolanda
a mí me gustaría que hubiera un I wish I had a job, that is what I would

trabajo eso es lo que me gustaría a like, that is what I want, because this
mí porque eso es lo que yo quiero is what I want: a good job, but since
un buen trabajo pero como dicen they say that I don’t have my work
que no tengo mi permiso ahorita permit now, they’ll give (a good job)
me lo van a dar después to me later.
Regarding the previous point, another narrator suggests a proposal of

legal and economic nature that allows access to the United States, on the
one hand, and to employment, on the other. This proposal refers to the
returning immigrants, and according to our narrator’s statements, it
would allow immigrants to be economically independent and avoid their
indefinite permanence in the host society. Participants also talked about
some political issues and the role of organizations. It has been suggested,
in a deontic and a superlative mode, that immigrants should organize
themselves politically, in order to exert pressure on the government and
to provide an integral assistance to the immigrants in various dimensions
of their lives. Our narrator Pedro signifies the immigrant as an active
protagonist of his integration process:
17. Pedro
Lo que aquí hay que hacer es como si What we should do here, is something
fuera una como si fuera una like a Hispanic immigrant
organización del hispano inmigrante organization with a significant impact
que tuviera mucho peso […] mucho […] (with) a huge (political) weight,
peso mucha fuerza mucho poder y strength and power, not only like
con esa organización que no sería those kinds of organizations that are
solamente para arreglar papeles y needed just to fix papers and
documentos […] sería una documents […] (what we actually
organización para ayudar need is) an organization which helps
inmigrantes en todo los sentidos o immigrants on all levels: the cultural,
sea cultural profesional política professional, political, financial; all of
económico en todo them
With regard to the cultural issue and its symbolic dimension, Leticia and
Andrés propose an acculturated immigrant, who is culturally assimilated
by the host society. The word sistema (system), used in one discourse of
our interviewees, suggests this idea:
18. Leticia
Tratar de involucrarse sería la palabra en Trying to get involved would be the

el lugar en el sistema en lo que hay en word: (involved) in the place, in the
el funcionamiento del lugar de system, in the operations of the
acogida place of reception
19. Andrés
(integrarse) simplemente dejarse (to be integrated, we) simply (have) to

llevar por la cultura americana […] get carried away by the American way
estadunidense para ser más of life […] the culture of U.S. to be
específicos ¿no? (FG) more specific, right? (FG)
For our next narrator, integration means achieving the American dream,
which is described as access to consumption, as we have already described
in the previous examples:
20. Jorge
el sueño americano (se refiere a) tener the American Dream (refers to) having
casa carro montonal de cosas la ropa a home, a car, a lot of things,
de marca (FG) branded clothes (FG)
For another of our interviewees, Juan, the integration process involves,

precisely, the knowledge and application of obligations and knowledge of
one’s rights, behaving and willing to help the community. This perspec-
tive integrally reflects the typical absorption of the American liberal social
imaginary. In order to express these ideas, Juan employed an attenuated
and deontic forms:
21. Juan
considero que la integración de un I consider that the integration of a

inmigrante latinoamericano tiene que Latin American immigrant has to
ser conocer sus obligaciones sus do with knowing his obligations
derechos tener un buen récord y hacer and his rights, having a good
servicio comunitario (FG) record and doing community
service (FG)
From our interviewees’ points of view, the Latin American community

has three characteristics: lack of cohesion, lack of solidarity, and lack of
formal educational training. These characteristics negatively interfere in
the integration and the adaptation of the immigrants in the host society.
Another important aspect that has been pointed out in our interviews has
to do with racism. It is pointed out, as I have already mentioned, that
racist practices occur constantly in the receiving society. Therefore, the
need to eradicate it through propaganda strategies in various scenarios,
which would have a positive impact on the way in which Americans sym-
bolically signify and interpret the Latin immigrant, is constantly sug-
gested. In this regard, the government is identified as responsible for
taking action.
Another narrator (Martha) criticizes the teaching of the English lan-
guage as an ideological counterfeiter who undermines the image and the
self-esteem of Latin American immigrants. She appeals, in a deontic way,
to the preservation of the Spanish language:
22. Martha
porque ellos llegan acá y empiezan ahí As they come here and they
mismo a aprender ahí mismo los niños immediately start to learn, the
desde chiquiticos empiezan aprender children, since they’re very young,
inglés y lamentablemente les begin to learn English and,
empiezan a transmitir la vergüenza de unfortunately, (the teacher)
ser latinos eso ha cambiado […] antes transmits the shame of being
era peor Latins, that has changed […] in the
past it was worse
Finally, Leticia, in a deontic mode, states that it is necessary and impor-

tant for the individuals in society (and the immigrants are not the excep-
tion) to project their cultural and identity characteristics in the social
lives and within the public sphere:
23. Leticia
Hacer valer su forma de ser […] en el Asserting his way of being […] in the
espacio público en la esfera pública public space, in the public sphere
This last segment is one of the few discourses in which the reader can
clearly observe the contradictory feeling that immigrants live constantly
in their daily life in the host society: on the one hand, they underline the
importance of preserving their identity and cultural profile and, on the
other hand, the clear tendency of signifying recognition and integration
as assimilation and acculturation.
7 Conclusions
In the present research, I observed how globalized neoliberalism has
forced the participants of this study to migrate as they were unable to find
alternatives to counteract the adversities caused by social inequalities pro-
duced by neoliberalist dynamics. Sometimes, migration appeared as their
only way out. However, when they have finally approached American
society, they ended up facing the same social inequalities they were run-
ning from.
The present research has actually revealed that the city and the society
of Los Angeles have not met the expectations of our participants: their
discourse has shown their material, symbolic, and psychological vulner-
abilities. The recurrent use of affective enunciations, a dysphoric and an
epistemic mode, and the causal arguments illustrate this discomfort.
I consider that their vulnerability is due to the lack of recognition
that immigrants are suffering in their daily life in the host society: US
citizens (and their government) do not make an effort to understand

them, their different points of view on reality, nor their contributions
while ignoring and/or disrespecting them most of the time. This atti-
tude towards immigrants appears at several points in their statements.
They are not recognized neither by civil society nor the State. If we
consider that building our identity is a social process, that our acknowl-
edgement and recognition of ourselves depend on the recognition that
others attribute to us, this constant (and institutionalized) lack of rec-
ognition of immigrants leads to dangerous consequences on their psy-
chological state, bringing them to the assumption of destructive and
self-destructive attitudes. After a while, depending on their strength,
immigrants feel that they do not deserve to be recognized for what they
actually are and end up denying their identity and trying to assimilate
the autochthonous identity and their cultural profile in order to be
accepted and recognized. It demonstrates that assimilationist migration
policies have been well internalized. The recurrent employment of dis-
cursive strategies, of affective and deontic modes, as well as casual argu-
ments, can help us to reinforce this idea, together with the ambiguous
and contradictory attitude that our participants express towards the
host society: on the one hand, they agree not to be up to the expected
standards imposed by the host society, and, sometimes, some immi-
grants even feel responsible for native hostility and, indirectly, justify
the segregation and the ghettoization that they suffer every day; on the
other hand, they feel that the host community is hostile and does not
facilitate their adaptation and integration process and consider the gov-
ernment the main culprit for their exclusion.
Social exclusion, most of the times, brings to financial exclusion, and
some of our participants confirmed they did not find the “American
dream”: they survive, but they are not as rich as they would like.
Their inability to meet the market’s expectations, because of their lim-
ited purchasing power, does not help their integration process. As habi-
tants of a neoliberal and hypermodern society, the people who are unable
to take part in the consumer fest, the so-called defective consumers
(Bauman, 2001), undergo further marginalization, which further attacks
their self-consciousness and self-esteem.
To overcome these difficulties, I consider that recognition has to be the

watchword of migration policies. Immigrants should be recognized in all
dimensions of their lives: the economic, labour, legal, cultural, social,
psychological, cognitive, and symbolic dimensions. Our interviewees’
proposals usually refer only to the economic, labour, and legal dimen-
sions; nevertheless, this approach is considered questionable by the pres-
ent research, since these proposals handle the integration process partially
and non-integrally, overshadowing, for example, the importance of cul-
tural and symbolic factors. Their proposals clearly demonstrate their
alienation: they are not able to carefully analyse the causes of their dis-
comfort, which is not only and exclusively economic in nature but also
psychological.
Finally, this research, and others, could be considered as steps forward
in helping us understand immigrant perceptions of reality, their visions,
and their concerns, and that should be the starting point for improving
migratory policies and our approach to them.
Acknowledgments This research was supported by a Consejo Nacional de

Ciencia y Tecnología (CONACYT, México) Fellowship for postdoctoral
Researchers.
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Part IV
Integrated Approaches to Race and
Gender in the Caribbean
8
Remaking Jamaica: Tourism, Labour,
and the Awakening Jamaica Exhibition
Karen Wilkes
1 Introduction
Travel and image-making are central to modernity (Gikandi, 2011; Ritzer
& Liska, 1997; Thompson, 2006) and to the formation of the European
and white American self-image. In this chapter, I want to argue that as
central features of modernity, travel and tourism were intended to per-
petuate discourses that continued the objectives of European colonial
and imperial projects in the Caribbean. Integral to the reinvention of the
region as a commercial and tourist paradise was the positioning of black
people as visual tropes and economic tools, a construction of blackness
that was essential to the making of a white leisure culture in post-slavery
Jamaica.
This discussion considers how tourism in the Caribbean was engi-
neered to maintain colonial power relations and was achieved by employ-
ing constructions of the late nineteenth-century romantic myths of the
Caribbean as paradise and discursive strategies adopted to represent
K. Wilkes (*)
Birmingham City University, Birmingham, UK
e-mail: karen.wilkes@bcu.ac.uk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_8
242 K. Wilkes
blackness as naturally suited to labour, depicted as “subordinates [and]

curiosities” (Poupeye, 1998, p. 36) in commissioned photographs for an
international exhibition. The chapter critically examines the historical
visual narratives produced to represent a new Jamaica, as a safe and luxu-
rious haven for elite white tourists to engage in new forms of self-making
(Taylor, 1993) and cultural expression.
By the end of the nineteenth century, when Jamaica was being estab-
lished as a restorative health destination, there was an increasing presence
of Euro-American elites in the region who positioned themselves as travel
experts. They drew upon common-sense scientific racist thinking of the
period to describe, categorise, and thus express their beliefs regarding
European exceptionalism and the West Indies as rightfully colonial terri-
tory and the populations justly colonised. Therefore, from its inception
in the nineteenth century, tourism discourses operated in unison with
other discourses, those of Victorian racial theory which professed that
“some races were born to be mastered” (Catherine Hall quoted in
Barringer, 2007a, p. 41).
An interdisciplinary approach has been adopted to explore the role of
the colonial visual texts used to maintain colonial power relations by
combining critiques of coloniality, postcolonial, and semiotic analysis.
This approach seeks to examine the reliance of elite white identities on
representations of gendered racialised subjects. The discussion is guided
by a historical framework that is informed by Anibal Quijano’s (2007)
theorising of the coloniality of power which comprises four domains that
are interlinked. The first of these is the control of the economy and
includes the following practices: “land appropriation, exploitation of
labour and control of natural resources” (Quijano, 2007, cited in
Mignolo, 2007, p. 156). The second of these fields is control of authority
exercised by institutions and the military. In the third domain, Quijano
(2007) articulates that it is colonial subjects who are subjected to the con-
trol of gender and sexuality through the systems governed by colonial
institutions.
The final domain is control of subjectivity and knowledge (epistemol-
ogy) which conveys the depth of the interrelated spheres of control.
However, it is the epistemological foundations of the colonial matrix of
power that directs the articulation of all three preceding domains, whilst
each domain is simultaneously interlinked.
Remaking Jamaica: Tourism, Labour, and the Awakening… 243
The colonial matrix of power will be applied to the analysis of a selec-

tion of colonial photographs that firstly make apparent the colonial con-
trol of land, since it was the colonial white elite who retained control of
the economy and were determined to extract the labour of colonised sub-
jects beyond the slave period. As the chapter considers, the control of
natural resources such as land is linked directly to Quijano’s domain of
control of gender and sexuality. This is made apparent in the visualisation
of the black female labourers depicted in the photographs. Under the
conditions of slavery and post-slavery, they were exploited as both eco-
nomic and sexual resources and appear in the archival material as carry-
ing the discourse of disciplined black labour. An examination of visual
archival material exposes the epistemological frameworks that were used
to construct and disseminate distorted narratives about the inferiority of
the other and, according to the colonisers who ruled them, were legiti-
mate exploitable subjects.
Quijano’s domains can be applied to an examination of colonial visual
texts as an instrument of the colonial matrix of power, since the archive
in which the exhibition photographs reside reveals the colonial practice
of collecting, owning and viewing foreign peoples as objects represented
as human curiosities; thus “in the Europe of the Enlightenment, the cat-
egories of ‘humanity’ and ‘society’ did not extended (sic) to non-Western
peoples” (2007, p. 176). They were constructed as not-quite-human to
serve the economic demands of the white colonial elite.
The images are intertextual as they specifically refer to the Victorian
practice of displaying difference as a form of entertainment, such as the
display of the South African woman Saartjie (or Sara) Baartman and,
more broadly, the human zoos (Andreassen, 2015; Doy, 2000) that were
“a profitable business” (Gould, 1982, p. 20) and popular in metropoles
throughout Europe and America.
2 Historical Context of the Exhibition

Sir Henry Blake, the Jamaican governor, commissioned the Scottish pho-
tography firm Valentine and Sons to produce photographs for the 1891
Awakening Jamaica exhibition. The photographs would eventually be
244 K. Wilkes
exhibited at the World’s Columbian Fair in Chicago, in 1893, and con-

tinued the colonial tradition of circulating images of blackness as differ-
ence in common culture (Gikandi, 2011, p. 44; Hall, 1997; Hobson,
2005). The images were subsequently featured on postcards and distrib-
uted throughout Europe (Thompson, 2006).
The historical and cultural significance of the 1891 photographic exhi-
bition has been revived by the contemporary exhibition, Making Jamaica:
Photography from the 1890s, which was hosted by Autograph ABP (the
Association of Black Photographers, London) from the 24th of February
to the 22nd of April 2017. From a selection of images from the 1891
exhibition, Making Jamaica presented more than 70 photographs to con-
sider the ways in which the Awakening Jamaica exhibition in Kingston
offered up the colony through representations of blackness to wealthy
white audiences as a site for commercial and touristic opportunities. The
photographs presented at the ABP exhibition in London were loaned by
the Caribbean Photo Archive in New York and provided twenty-first-
century audiences with an opportunity to consider how narratives of the
Caribbean as a tourist destination were established during the late nine-
teenth century.
Simon Gikandi’s (2011) detailed work on the intimate relationship of
slavery with European and early American cultures of taste conveys the way
in which slavery was central to formulations of white self-making in the
modern period. Indeed, how whiteness came to be imagined, formulated,
and crucially, publically expressed was centrally dependent on the process
of debasing blackness. It was an ongoing project, indeed one that has not
been completed (Quijano, 2007). Thus, it was necessary to repeat the argu-
ments and intensify the exploitative systems that maintained anti-blackness
and its close companion, capitalism. It is because blackness was central to
the formation of whiteness as a modern identity that any threat posed to
these relations would be vehemently opposed and strategies developed to
ensure that as custodians of civilisation (Gikandi, 2011), elite whites would
retain this position. It is on this basis that the only relationship with black-
ness that the colonial elites wanted was one in which they determined the
power relations and continued the process of denigrating blackness as
exploitable and expendable labour. Therefore, to conceive of the possibility
of black rule was an anathema to whiteness.
Jamaican planters had played a central role in the operations of the

triangular slave trade and had been one of the main importers of sugar
into Europe during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The colonial
plantocracy were renowned for their wealth and extravagance, most nota-
bly in their social gatherings (Burnard, 2004; Sheller, 2003). However,
the demise of the planter class during the nineteenth century was due to
a range of factors: the passing of the Sugar Duties Act (1846) which
removed the favourable conditions for Jamaican importers of sugar, the
vehemently opposed abolition of slavery in the British Empire, and the
period that followed, post-emancipation (1838–65). The island’s waning
economic power and significance to the British Crown was due to Britain
turning its attention towards the expansion of its empire, along with
other European colonial powers by annexing Africa. These factors con-
tributed to high rates of bankruptcy with white planters abandoning fail-
ing and heavily mortgaged plantations. As a consequence, the number of
white elites on the island went into sharp decline and this situation was
exacerbated by the economic and political uncertainties produced by the
American Civil War. These events were underpinned by a culture of fear
that the Haitian Revolution (1791–1804) would influence the former
slave population in Jamaica, as in pro-slavery propaganda, Haiti was fre-
quently held up as an example of what Jamaica “could become without
British rule” (Smith, 2014, p. 5, 151; see Sheller, 2003), that is, the estab-
lishment of another black republic in the Western Hemisphere.
In response to the perceived threat of black self-rule and to reverse the
decline of ruling white elites by “death and departure” (Smith, 2014,
p. 161), Sir Henry Blake invited a group of wealthy landowners and
businessmen to devise the Awakening Jamaica exhibition (1891). This
group would subsequently form the Awakening Jamaica Committee.
They were directed by the governor’s rallying call to invest large amounts
of financial and ideological capital (Barringer, 2007a, p. 41; Thompson,
2006) to present Jamaica, or at least Kingston, as modern and indepen-
dent, and poised for industrial development. The exhibition was in keep-
ing with “the great spectacles of the colonial period” (Lidchi, 1997,
p. 195) which were commercial enterprises that promoted exploration,
trade, and displays of humans as spectacles (ibid). Blake envisaged that
tourism would be part of a strategic plan to reverse the fortunes of the
246 K. Wilkes
elites. This would enable the colonial administrators to maintain the

racialised power relations in Jamaica, to repopulate the island with
wealthy white migrants, and restore Jamaica’s economic significance as an
independent colonial state, by courting the investment of American busi-
nessmen due to America’s increasing influence in the region (Smith,
2014).
The Awakening Jamaica event was planned as an international exhibi-
tion and Thompson (2006) comments that the event attracted interest
from elites as far afield as Russia, Holland, and India (Thompson, 2006,
p. 31). The colonial elites and their agents continued the operations of
the colonial matrix of power by forming alliances with wealthy elites
(Quijano, 2007) from overseas.
As this discussion will demonstrate, black bodies were commodified as
objects of the white gaze and enmeshed in strategies to visually sell
Jamaica to the rest of the world: firstly to the elites who could afford to
travel to the region and to white lower-class populations who consumed
images of otherness in the form of photographic representations on post-
cards that were disseminated throughout the Empire and at world fairs in
Europe and America. The exhibitions mounted by imperial powers
allowed for the “blurring of ‘scientific’ and ‘popular’ anthropological dis-
courses” that perpetuated discourses of European superiority (Lidchi,
1997, p. 196) and presented the use of “physiognomic traits of the peo-
ples as external manifestations of their ‘racial’ nature” (Quijano, 2007,
p. 171).
The Awakening Jamaica exhibition was also intended as a platform to
display the island’s modern credentials such as the new roads, railways,
and electric trams that ran “through the parishes of Kingston and St.
Andrew” (Smith, 2014, p. 244). By using the modern technology of pho-
tography, the colonial elites displayed and promoted its available resources
of land and cheap labour. This chimed with the focus of the 1867 exhibi-
tion in Paris, The Exhibition Universelle, which displayed “colonial sub-
jects as service workers” (Lidchi, 1997, p. 195). Numerous photographs
in the Jamaican exhibition featured wide shots of the landscape as lush and
ripe for development. Positioned as integral to these landscapes, black
workers appeared in staged poses for the camera: rural scenes at harvest,
women washing clothes, and men transporting goods. A campaign such
as this exemplifies the colonial control of land as an economic resource

and was in addition to the existing commercial activities of the profitable
American banana trade on the island (Smith, 2014; Taylor, 1993). The
Awakening Jamaica Committee set out their agenda for the future of the
colony by encouraging more American investment that would continue
the colonial matrix of power.
3 Methodology
There is a tradition of representing blackness within myths of colonial
benevolence (Gikandi, 2011, p. 204), as in Roland Barthes’ (2013) dis-
cussion of the black soldier who appears on the cover of the Paris Match
magazine. The discussion presented here draws on this work to take into
account the how of representation. Myth, as Roland Barthes argues, is a
semiological system intended to distort and has the ability through dis-
course “of transcending itself into a factual system” (2013, p. 245). Thus,
there are, as Barthes acknowledges, different ways in which an image can
be read. The signs in images have polysemic meanings. However, in the
production of myths, the history of the meaning “evaporates” (2013,
p. 227). This process encourages a “preferred meaning” (Hall, quoted in
Rose, 2016, p. 133), and as a product of colonial visual culture, the rep-
resentation encourages a reading of harmony that denies the violent and
brutal history of slavery and colonialism. As Rose argues, “myth makes us
forget that things were and are made; instead it naturalises the way things
are” (2016, p. 131).
To understand the systems of knowledge and relations of power
that are represented and (re)produced by the exhibition images, semi-
otics has been combined with Edward Said’s and Michel Foucault’s
approach to discourse in relation to the modes of colonial significa-
tion: the production of knowledge, perspectives, and images (Quijano,
2007, p. 169). What could be photographed was used as evidence in
the human sciences of anthropology and ethnography. Thus, “being
made visible is an ambiguous pleasure, connected to the operation of
power” (Lidchi, 1997, p. 195). The analysis follows a format of explor-
ing the denotive messages in the images and then aims to provide a
248 K. Wilkes
deeper connotative analysis that is informed by Quijano’s identifica-

tion of the “four interrelated domains” (2007, quoted in Mignolo,
2007, p. 156) of the colonial matrix of power. The exhibition is an
example of how the commodification of race was central to colonial
operations and made visible through the business of exhibiting that
“differentiated, ordered and classified” (Lidchi, 1997, p. 195) differ-
ence. The relationship between knowledge and power (Foucault,
1980) is exemplified by the Awakening Jamaica exhibition, since the
forms of knowledge produced about the colonised were presented as
evidence and a natural fact.
Discursive regimes and colonial regimes being one “produce subjects
who fit into, constitute and reproduce” (Barker & Galasiński, 2001,
p. 13) hierarchies of social order. Constituted subjects appear to be natu-
ral objects of knowledge within classificatory systems that generate the
“production of a range of subjects” (Barker & Galasiński, p. 12). In the
practice of discursive regimes, specific ways of knowing are accepted as
legitimate whilst simultaneously excluding other ways of knowing as
“unintelligible” (ibid, p. 12). This involves producing recognisable sub-
ject positions, as in the case of the Awakening Jamaica exhibition (1891),
which provided a framework for the exercises of capitalism and patriar-
chy within a system of colonial power.
This repeated practice of placing blackness under the visual scrutiny of
whiteness produced a discursive formation that “locked [black bodies]
within the racist colonial gaze” (Alexander, 2012, p. 261) as a seemingly
natural occurrence in the minds of white populations. The kind of knowl-
edge being produced by the images continued the processes of debasing
blackness; their identities are denied by titles such as “washer woman”
that specifically position black women as economic implements within
the capitalist and patriarchal system.
4 Visualising a New Jamaica

The first of three images to be analysed in this chapter is “Cane cutters”
and was featured in the Awakening Jamaica exhibition and displayed in
the ABP Making Jamaica exhibition in 2017:
Fig. 8.1 Cane cutters (Valentine and Sons, 1891)
The photograph depicts the much repeated practice of representing plan-

tation life in colonial discourse (Poupeye, 19981; Thompson, 2006). The
image could be read as an ethnographic document (Spencer, 2011,
p. 157) and an example of the material culture of anthropology that was
being instituted in museums during the nineteenth century (Doy, 2000,
p. 111). For audiences viewing the image of the cane cutters, the display
of black womanhood could be read as evidence of their silencing and
reassurance of the continuity of their position within colonial hierarchies.
They are featured as being disciplined through work, since one of the
prevailing colonial narratives was that black people in the colonies refused
to work.
Indeed, the image also references the colonial preoccupation with the
ranking of black peoples as species, pseudo-scientific racist ideologies that
migrated from philosophical and political works to the site of the museum
and the exhibition hall. Thus, the images demonstrate “the power rela-
tionship between those subjected to such classification and those promot-
ing it” (Lidchi, 1997, p. 191).
Figure 8.1 is a sepia-toned image that features twelve cane cutters
standing in a sugarcane field; they appear to have paused specifically for
the photographer and would certainly have waited in position for the
photograph to be taken. Six women appear on the left of the photograph
See Victor Patricio de Landaluze The Sugarcane Harvest 1874

1
http://www.akg-images.co.uk/archive/Cane-sugar-harvest-in-Cuba-2UMDHUBOJSP.html.
250 K. Wilkes
and one woman appears in the centre attending to the sugarcane, and
four men and one woman stand to the right of the image. Their heads are
covered and they are dressed in cumbersome, torn clothes. They are com-
posed in a line, and all but two of the workers look directly towards the
camera. There is one white man who is dressed in formal attire; he is
wearing a suit and a bowler hat and rests his right hand on an umbrella.
His clothes contrast sharply with the dirty and torn clothes worn by the
field workers. In his left hand he is holding a piece of cane. The cane field
dominates the image and mountains can just be seen in the background.
To accommodate all the elements in this composition of the field, the
photograph has been taken at a distance to capture the height of the crops
to be harvested, the worked cane, and all the workers in the field. Despite
the wide angle at which the photograph has been taken, the dominance
of the cane suggests an enclosed and restricted space. One of the reasons
for this may be to communicate the economic significance of the cane
field in the colonial matrix of power. The cane field, and particularly the
presence of the formally dressed white man in the image, connotes “con-
trol of economy” (Quijano, 2007, cited in Mignolo, 2007, p. 156), that
is, the appropriation of land which was the site of wealth production for
Jamaican elites and more broadly produced Britain’s substantial wealth.
As Catherine Hall argues, “Atlantic slavery together with the commer-
cialisation of agriculture [w]as key to industrialization” (2014, p. 24) and
modernity. This may provide one explanation for the excessive depiction
of landscapes in colonial discourses, as it was a particular obsession for
colonial elites who eulogised the “mastery of the landscape” (Sheller,
2003, p. 52; see also Thompson, 2006) and expressed “emotive and
implicitly ideological” sentiments towards “landscapes shaped by cultiva-
tion” (Sheller, 2003, p. 51).
The focus of the Awakening Jamaica Committee’s visual project was not
to create an image of Jamaica as signifying modernity, but to construct
and secure Jamaica’s identity as contradictorily pre-modern, with the trap-
pings of modernity by drawing on the well-established visual narratives
that mimicked English landscape paintings and fetishised the landscape
as a natural tropical Eden, simply waiting to be placed under production
and cultivation (Sheller, 2003; Thompson, 2006). This tradition was
established by the artistic works of European artists such as Agostino
Brunias (1730–96) and George Robertson (1748–88), who were com-

missioned by wealthy plantation owners. Their respective patrons, Bryan
Edwards and William Beckford, are two well-known examples. Brunias
and Robertson produced artworks of their patron’s properties, which were
subsequently exhibited and traded throughout the British Empire as part
of the market for luxury goods facilitated by slavery and sugar (Gikandi,
2011). The artworks also served additional purposes; they valorised the
imagined picturesque nature of the colonial landscape, available for culti-
vation, and publically communicated the wealth and status of the patron.
They were an effective tool in conveying the colonies as “desirable places
of settlement” and spaces of white refinement (Kriz cited in Gikandi,
2011, p. 188). What is central to understanding the aims, purpose, and
use of the images that were produced for the Awakening Jamaica exhibi-
tion is to engage with the complexities of coloniality and its articulations
of power.
In Fig. 8.1, the depiction of land appropriated for commercial gain
and the representation of black bodies connoting labour are centrally
placed within the control and surveillance of the plantation (Gikandi,
2011) as they would have been during slavery. In the context of the hos-
tilities expressed by the planter class who vehemently opposed the aboli-
tion of slavery, Fig. 8.1 appears to support Governor Eyre’s view that
“even when he does work, the Creole labourer requires an amount of
direction, supervision and watching unknown in other Countries” (Eyre
quoted in Barringer, 2007b, p. 534). Therefore, the practice of surveil-
lance as a technology of the plantation system (Foucault cited in Gikandi,
2011) was integral to the colonial disciplinary regime. Governor Eyre’s
comment indicates that the relationship between blackness and physical
labour was central to the colonial system of domination.
It was the gradual decline of the planter class and their wealth that
produced such hysterical responses as that of pro-slavery writer Thomas
Carlyle: that there would be “little or no sugar growing” if there was
black self-rule in the Caribbean and thus the ending of white rule would
lead to a “ruined wilderness” (Carlyle quoted in C. Hall, 1992, p. 272).
The exhibition mounted by the Jamaican governor could be viewed as
an attempt to reverse the so-called ruin and misery (Jamaica Despatch
& New Courant, quoted in Barringer, 2007b, p. 534) attributed to
252 K. Wilkes
slavery’s abolition. Indeed, the idea that ending slavery would lead to a
ruined Caribbean was a much repeated narrative by the slave-owning
class and their supporters (Barringer, 2007b, p. 509; Hall, 2014; Sheller,
2003, p. 52; Smith, 2014). The exhibition was therefore an attempt to
re-narrativise this discourse of ruin and present evidence that Jamaica
had been awakened, or the notion that modernity was being brought to
Jamaica as a process of awakening. However, as Walter Mignolo argues,
“there is no modernity without coloniality, that coloniality is constitu-
tive of modernity” (2007, p. 162).
The Awakening Jamaica exhibition draws attention to the “the cross-
winds of change” of the post-emancipation period that brought financial
uncertainty to the white population in Jamaica (Anim-Addo, 2007,
p. 136). Yet, this was the period in which they awaited “compensation”2
for the loss of their human property. For the former slaves, this was “the
beginnings of assuming personhood for African-heritage peoples” (Anim-
Addo, 2007, p. 113). However, emancipation was, for the black subject,
a different term of enslavement as the system had not been dismantled.
The “model of [global] power” that was instituted through the coloni-
sation of the Caribbean region was framed by “a system of domination,
structured around the idea of race” (Maldonado-Torres, 2007, p. 244).
This was claimed to be objective natural ordering of identities coded as
racial, ethnic, and anthropological (Quijano, 2007, p. 168) despite being
produced through colonial domination. It is the racial categories pro-
duced under the conditions of domination that are displayed in the
archival material. The field workers visualise the racial “distribution of
work” within the capitalist system “created in the context of European
colonization” (Maldonado-Torres, 2007, p. 244) and visualise the ideolo-
gies of coloniality that the colonial authorities sought to maintain.
Aided by the racialised classificatory system, the intersecting discourses
cemented the presumed natural superiority of Europeans as architects of
modernity and the inferiority of blackness as naturally suited to labour. It
is within this dialectic that blackness was conceived as not being integral
to modernity, but as an auxiliary to its projects of progress, namely, the
2
Former slave owners received £20 million in compensation from British taxpayers. See the UCL
research project, Legacies of British Slave-ownership, https://www.ucl.ac.uk/lbs/project/.
operations of capitalism. Therefore, conceptualisations of blackness that

occurred outside of, or did not reference, European-derived articulations
of modernity were not regarded as intelligible, or even conceivable. Put
simply, blackness did not make sense outside of those “modes of regula-
tion” that insisted on blackness being implanted into “manageable
groups” to extract their labour (Barker & Galasiński, 2001, p. 13).
Thompson (2006, p. 16) observes that scholars have discussed the role
of photography as a tool of “surveillance and the social control as described
by Michel Foucault (Foucault, 1980, 1995; Crary, 1990; Pool, 1997;
Ryan, 1997)”. However, as Thompson goes on to argue, few scholars have
discussed the way in which photographs generated for tourism have been
incorporated into the creation of disciplined tourist spaces (2006, p. 16).
This is also striking as the Caribbean region has a rich history of visual
culture (Montgomery, 2011; Thompson, 2006), and thus how we have
come to know the Caribbean is through visual colonial discourses (Wilkes,
2016). In this case, and in keeping with Foucault, the new technology of
photography was used as a disciplinary regime to fix in place and docu-
ment colonial subjects (Thompson, 2006) that entwined the Victorian
“valorisation of science” (Rose, 2016, p. 3) with the travel of European
elites. Travel was framed as a “visual practice” (Adler, cited in Rose, 2016,
p. 4) and aided by the technology of photography.
The development of the medium of photography is significant as it
provides insight into the intimate relationship between modernity and
coloniality that naturalises the logic of oppression and exploitation. The
colonial elite were anxious to convey Jamaica as a site of modernity as
industry within a colonial context. This is a “package of control of econ-
omy and authority”, in which “gender and sexuality of knowledge and
subjectivity” are included (Mignolo, 2007, p. 162). Black womanhood is
at the centre of this package, in Fig. 8.1, represented by the woman who
bends from the waist to do the back-breaking work of harvesting the
sugarcane. It is such that the European approach to modernity was
framed around ideas of race and yet negated blackness as the antithesis to
modernity (Gikandi, 2011). Specifically this involved the construction of
stereotypes to “humiliate and debase women of colour” (Fusco, 1998,
p. 369). It was a contradiction that whilst being “quarantined from the
culture of modernity” (Gikandi, 2011, p. xii), black women were at the
very centre of its construction, thus marking the beginnings of “global
254 K. Wilkes
coloniality” (Maldonado-Torres, 2007, p. 244) and the “modern experi-

ence” (ibid) that call for adaptation to processes of hybridity.
The photographs visualise the element of the colonial matrix of power
that claims control over gender and sexuality (Quijano, 2007, cited in
Mignolo, 2007, p. 156), signified by the white man holding a piece of
cane. The whip as an instrument of punishment in the slave economies
was a “critical factor[s] in the control of the slave’s body” (Gikandi, 2011,
p. 207). Therefore, the presence of the cane in the image is a reminder of
“the whip, metonymic of white mastery of the black body” and more
broadly “the whip as a symbol of Atlantic slavery” (Anim-Addo, 2007,
p. 113). Excessive flogging was a dimension to the relations between the
white slave master and the enslaved black woman, since “mastery signi-
fied through the whip was also sexual mastery” (Anim-Addo, 2007,
p. 114).
The image may suggest a cordial relationship between the white man
and the field workers. However, in a confined space, and the presence of
the whip, violence was at the centre of plantation “management”3 and is
signified in Fig. 8.1. In the context of the photographic exhibition as
colonial propaganda, the image celebrates the cultivation of the tropical
landscape and securely positions blackness as labour within the scopic
regime of coloniality. To cultivate tropical land and ownership of black
bodies were central ingredients in the formation of white identities
(Sheller, 2003) and crucially the ownership of slaves and plantations as a
mark of whiteness, culture, and status (Burnard, 2004; Gikandi, 2011).
The facial expressions of the people in the images cannot be easily read.
However, the body language can be read as possible resistance that chal-
lenges an obvious reading with a more complex interpretation that sug-
gests punctum, that is, “meanings which are more difficult to pin down”
(Barthes, 2013, quoted in Spencer, 2011, p. 157). One of the women
stands with her head tilted, possibly frowning as though questioning the
events. Her body is turned sideways, perhaps communicating a physical
refusal to being photographed. Another example of possible resistance
is the presence of the male worker who is just visible behind the
3
See Wilkes (2016) for a discussion on the use of the whip as a form of control in colonial domestic
settings.
man in the middle of the group, on the right side of the image. Only the
top of his head and his right eye are visible. However, what the viewer can
see is perhaps a critical returned stare. This possible critique and challenge
to the imposition of the photographer and the camera is asserted by the
man who stands at the centre of the group. The machete he is holding is
raised, which he rests against his shoulder and he squarely faces the cam-
era with his left hand on his hip. His lips are parted as though he is about
to speak. This is a powerful pose that contrasts sharply with the body of
the white man who is stooped over his umbrella. There are reproductions
of the image that have been cropped and the white man does not appear
in the image. However, in this production, his presence produces an
ambiguous representation of colonial relations that questions the “legiti-
mising mythologies of white control” (Bhattacharyya, Gabriel & Small,
2002, p. 101).
One of the central myths circulated during slavery and attests to the
mythologies of white power was that peoples of African heritage pos-
sessed “innate laziness” (Hall, 1997, p. 244) and was followed by dis-
torted narratives of blackness during post-emancipation in which colonial
agents and commentators bemoaned the fact that black people refused to
work. Mr. Mason, a wealthy plantation owner in Wide Sargasso Sea,
expresses such sentiments when he says, “the people here won’t work.
They don’t want to work” (Rhys, 1968, p. 30). Such expressions convey
assumed rights to extract labour from black populations within colonial
and capitalist regimes.
In response to conditions that differed little from slavery, “more than
twenty-five thousand” black men migrated to Panama and Costa Rica to
build the Panama Canal and to construct the Costa Rica railroad between
1880 and 1914 (Martin & Lee, 2007, p. xix; see also Sherlock & Bennett,
1998). A challenge to the narrative of laziness and refusal to work as sug-
gested by colonial and pro-slavery supporters, migration by working-class
Jamaicans belied the narrative of a compliant and disciplined workforce
as displayed in the exhibition images as where possible they preferred to
seek low-paid work abroad, than to accept the poor conditions and treat-
ment of employment in Jamaica (Sherlock & Bennett, 1998, p. 274;
Smith, 2014). Rather than continue to be tied to the terms of unfree
labour, people worked in rural settings, but on their own terms. Smith
256 K. Wilkes
argues that “freed people devoted their attention not to estate labour on
major staples, sugar and coffee, but to the cultivation of their own food
crops, a practice that had its genesis in slavery” (2014, p. 24; see Burnard,
2004 & Gikandi, 2011).
The colonial context in which black workers were photographed pro-
vides insight into the production of Western fictions against the back-
drop of black realities (Soto & Showers Johnson, 2012). Despite the
systematic debasing of the enslaved, there were expressions of subjectivity
and sorrow (Gikandi, 2011; see also Anim-Addo, 2007). Directing our
attention towards the woman who places her hand against her cheek, this
could be read as Princess Madia’s gesture, a Congolese woman aboard a
slave ship, and displayed a melancholic response to her bondage and
enforced labour, interpreted as being “because of the solemnity of her
bearing, most notably the palm she always placed on her cheek” (Gikandi,
2011, p. 191).
However, the process of debasing the enslaved allowed the slave-
owning class to control the narrative of emancipation and its legacies. All
expressions of humanity were reserved for whiteness to take up and pos-
sess, and this included articulations of emancipation and the period that
followed. Evidence of this can be found in the Awakening Jamaica exhibi-
tion that demonstrates that blackness could not be conceived outside of
the colonial relations of power. Figure 8.1 communicates the demands of
the elites to project an image of a colonial nation state securely under
white mercantile control. Despite the official jubilation regarding eman-
cipation (Barringer, 2007b; Smith, 2014), the power relations were in
keeping with the world order, as Jamaica’s economic “resources [remained]
under the control and for the benefit of a small [largely] European minor-
ity – and above all, of its ruling classes” (Quijano, 2007, p. 168).
Figure 8.2 is an image of a black woman washing clothes and was a
much repeated articulation of black womanhood that tied her to drudg-
ery and domestic labour (Wilkes, 2016).
The image appeared in the ABP exhibition in 2017 and indicates the
type of representations of black women that were circulated by the colo-
nial travel discourse. Such images were particularly prominent in the
travel accounts produced by colonial elites and their agents who along-
side the national and international exhibitions encouraged “exploration”
Fig. 8.2 A washer woman (J. W. Cleary c.a. 1890)
(Lidchi, 1997, p. 195) (or tourism) and recounted the typical sites that
could be seen as one travelled through the Caribbean (Sheller, 2003).
This is as Quijano (2007) argues that a central feature of the colonial
matrix of power is the control of subjectivity and knowledge; this power
was articulated by appropriating the bodies of black women, conveyed as
static, loyal, and reliable in the images.
A key ingredient in such compositions was the focus on “translating differ-
ence as inferiority” (Hesse-Biber, 2012, p. 5); specifically, black and Asian
female bodies were repeatedly featured as racial types (Doy, 2000). The trav-
ellers’ comments refer to the “presumed ugliness” of black women as defined
by scientists working to confirm “distinct racial and sexual differences
between the African and European ‘races’” (Hobson, 2005, p. 1). The strat-
egy used was to emphasise the physiognomical differences of black women in
contrast to European ideals of femininity and was underpinned by their loca-
tion as part of the tropicalised landscape (Sheller, 2003; Thompson, 2006).
The elderly black woman presented in Fig. 8.2 is described as simply a
washer woman. In this black and white photograph, she appears to be
seated outside, although as in the production of similar images of black
258 K. Wilkes
women, this staged setting is likely to have taken place in a photography

studio (Thompson, 2006). The title of the image positions the woman as
a character within the narrative of Jamaica as a site of colonial explora-
tion. With her aged arms and legs exposed, the angle of her left hand and
the shape of her bare feet suggest physical impairment and attest to the
effects of arduous labour on the black female body under the conditions
of slavery and colonialism.
She looks directly into the camera and her expression belies the possi-
bility of a simple reading. She is holding a white garment over a large
wooden tub, beside which is a bar of soap and a metal bucket filled with
water. Her business of washing appears to have been interrupted by the
photographer. This construction of elderly black woman as domestic ser-
vant is a device that makes her recognisable to European audiences, since
“the Victorian obsession with cotton and cleanliness”, and more broadly
refers to the coerced colonial labour that produced cheap cotton and soap
oils (McClintock, 1997, p. 281). The image also speaks directly to com-
modity racism and its intimate relationship with the marketing of soap as
a symbol of purification. Indeed, in the 1906 colour postcard version of
the image, the English brand Sunlight Soap was written on the bucket
and the bar of soap to more forcefully associate black women with the
civilising colonial mission.
As authoritative speakers, colonial elites were able to define and con-
trol the way in which they represented themselves and how they consti-
tuted colonial subjects. This involved constructing a version of reality
that presented the colonial elite and their agents as unique individuals:
leaders, innovators, and entrepreneurs (Dyer, 1997) who it was claimed
brought modernity to those codified as inferior. Colonial visual culture
also served the purpose of publically communicating a view of Jamaica
that depicted and constructed the island as a space outside of modernity,
yet a place where affluent metropolitan whites could retreat, away from
the social pressures of modern societies and indeed a place where their
status as privileged whites could be reaffirmed.
Thus, the production of images was crucial in reminding and reassur-
ing whites that they were superior. Colonialism and slavery were for these
reasons, among others, aesthetic projects (Wood cited in Gikandi, 2011,
p. 179). The visualisation of the colonies to wider audiences was integral
to the construction of the white self-image that needed to articulate

greatness (Gikandi, 2011) and was imperative to producing narratives of
whiteness as signifying industry, technology, and intellectual thinking.
This included providing evidence of the success of colonial projects as
civilising projects and therefore demonstrating that colonised peoples
could be controlled, ordered, and made civilised.
In this construction of the colonial state as modern, the categories of
humanity and society could only be legitimately claimed by the ruling
elites. Thus, it was an articulation of “the European paradigm of rational
knowledge [that] was not only elaborated in the context of, but as part of
a power structure that involved the European colonial domination over
the rest of the world” (Quijano, 2007, p. 174).
Figure 8.3 is a sepia-toned photograph of two black girls who appear
on the outdoor steps of a property decorated with potted plants. The
young girls appear staged in this setting, with props of a wicker basket
and a brimmed hat. Although they appear with bare feet, which con-
notes low status, their plain and full-length dresses convey their possible
position as house servants. They are perhaps being used to signify “wel-
come” to visitors, as in the deployment of the black butler in contempo-
rary tourism visual texts (Wilkes, 2016). One of the young women looks
directly at the camera and stands whilst bending her left knee. She
appears to casually place her left hand on her hip. Her companion sits on
the steps and holds a hat, but does not face the direction of the camera.
Fig. 8.3 Negro girls (Valentine and Sons, 1891)

260 K. Wilkes
In the context of the Awakening Jamaica exhibition, the staging of this

photograph on the steps of what appears to be a Great White House is
significant as the plantation house signified white power within planta-
tion slavery regimes (Burnard, 2004). It is also a reminder of the sexual
exploitation of female house slaves who were expected to be mistresses to
white masters (Burnard, 2004).
The elite’s desperation to maintain colonial relations through the con-
trol over colonised bodies is expressed in the focus on black women in the
exhibition photographs. Central to colonial regimes in the Caribbean
was the specific control over black women’s bodies; they were “sites of
physical torture and sexual exploitation … they were both publicly traded
and privately kept” (Sheller, 2003, p. 153; see also Anim-Addo, 2007).
Yet, this new public image of black women is one that erases the facts of
colonial relations and “call[s] attention to the duplicity of the institution
of slavery itself, where masters presented blacks as the antithesis of cul-
tured life while constantly engaging with them in intimate relations of
one kind or another” (Gikandi, 2011, p. 152). However, as free peoples,
black women’s bodies continued to be “a contested terrain” (Sheller,
2003, p. 155). This controlled image of black womanhood belies the real-
ity of this so-called new era and the violence that was integral to the slave
system which was still in evidence along with the systematic denial of
peasantry rights (Smith, 2014, p. 4).
This was a context in which the old plantocracy were “still collectively
enraged by the ending of slavery” (Barringer, 2007b, p. 503). It is as
Anim-Addo argues:
Slave-owners and particularly powerful and wealthy plantation owners, the

primary ‘agents’, resisted reforms allowing any erosion of their power over
the bodies of the enslaved people purchased. The power of the pro-slavery
lobby within the Caribbean region and abroad, typified in London by the
‘rich and powerful’ West India lobby, had become almost legendry. (2007,
p. 95)
The two lithographs, Abolition of Slavery in Jamaica, 1838, by Thomas

Picken and Celebration of the 1st August 1838 at Dawkins Caymanas near
Spanish Town Jamaica by R. A. Leighton, depict the bourgeois celebra-
tions marking the end of slavery and attest to the idea that “justice for
slaves is a novelty imposed from the metropolitan capital” (Anim-Addo,
2007, p. 114). Indeed, as Smith explains, “in Jamaica, the colonial state
introduced new laws, implemented a police force, [and] reformed the
prison system” (2014, p. 4). Rather than signalling a new period of equal-
ity, new technologies of punishment such as the treadmill were developed
during this period (Gikandi, 2011, p. 177; Barringer, 2007c). As such,
Jean Rhys’ character Christophine in Wide Sargasso Sea remarks on the
little changed circumstances for the once enslaved population as thus:
“No more slavery! She had to laugh! ‘These new ones have Letter of the
Law. Same thing. They got magistrate. They got fine. They got jail house
and chain gang. They got tread machine to mash up people’s feet’ (Rhys,
1968, pp. 22–23).
The representation of carefully posed young black women in images of
a post-slavery Jamaica appears transformative as they constructed Jamaica
as a luxury and consumer utopia with racialised workers ready to serve
foreign visitors. Certainly the colonial administrators promoting the
island wanted to project a representation of Jamaica as “civilised” and a
place where elite whites would desire to migrate and settle (Montgomery,
2011, p. 25). However, what the images attempt to overwrite is whites’
“dependence upon and acculturation by enslaved Africans …” (Green,
2007, p. 156). It is the positioning of black women in this new vision of
Jamaica that is particularly significant and how the compositions can be
read as an attempt to control black women’s bodies so that they would
continue to service colonialism and capitalism for the elites. In this patri-
archal capitalist regime, African women were placed at the bottom of the
schema, yet were central to the operations of plantation slavery. Their
appearance in many of the images produced by the Scottish photographic
studio, Valentine and Sons, for the Awakening Jamaica exhibition is a
recommodification of black women in this new capitalist era and a
reminder of their function as economic and sexual property of white
men. It is useful to draw on Toni Morrison’s (1992) observation regard-
ing the dependency of whiteness on so-called minority peoples for their
identity formation (Morrison cited in Engles, 2006, p. 27). Thomas
Thistlewood’s Jamaican diaries attest to the extent to which white men
were dependent on black women as they formulated their identities on
262 K. Wilkes
the basis of owning and violently abusing black bodies (Burnard, 2004).
What is significant in the images is that they mark a period in which
black women were the legal owners of their own bodies and it was no
longer legal for white elites to demand the reproductive labour of black
women, nor to coerce them to send their children to labour in the planta-
tion fields.
5 Conclusion
An examination of the images produced to sell Jamaica to white audi-
ences enables an excavation of the colonial matrix of power (Quijano,
2007). The images attest to the power of the visual and their centrality in
colonial discourses (Said, 1978) and the “‘scopic regime’ of modernity”
(Metz, quoted in Gikandi, 2011, p. 44). As Gikandi argues, “the visual
was the dominant model of representation in the reimagination of a
modern identity” (ibid).
The aim of the Awakening Jamaica exhibition was to re-narrativise
the island as a holiday retreat, although the event was an ongoing pro-
cess of “ordering of difference” (Haraway cited in Rose, 2016, p. 13).
The practice of simply naming the photographs as “A Washer Woman”
or “The Cane Cutters” renders the subjects in the photographs anony-
mous and largely irrelevant. The names of people in the images are not
provided, nor the details of where they are from. Their purpose is to
serve as characters, features of Jamaican life, presented as quaint or
amusing and made available for visual consumption. The aim was to
reassert the colonial practice of speaking for the colonised and to pro-
duce knowledge about the other. As a site of colonial knowledge pro-
duction, the exhibition demonstrates their almost “success in silencing
or regulating other epistemologies to a barbarian margins, a primitive
past” (Mignolo, 2007, p. 162). Just as literature, portraiture, and music
were celebrated as examples of white refinement during the colonial
period, and served to profess whiteness as individuality, uniqueness,
and standing in for all humanity (Gikandi, 2011), the Awakening
Jamaica exhibition can be placed within the discursive formation of
whiteness through pro-slavery propaganda. The ruling elites under-

stood what was “at stake was the reconfiguration of economic and polit-
ical power after slavery’s end” (Smith, 2014, p. 4). A discursive approach
to the analysis of visual culture produced within the post-emancipation
period makes visible the contradictions, anxieties, and coloniality that
lie beneath the official narrative of the new vision for Jamaica that the
colonial elites pursued.
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9
Being Said/Seen to Care: Masculine
Silences and Emerging Visibilities
of Intimate Fatherhood in Dominica,
Lesser Antilles
Adom Philogene Heron
1 Introduction
“We have a problem here in Dominica, our men doh like to take care of
deir children”, declared a single mother in her 40s during my first month of
ethnographic fieldwork on the Eastern Caribbean island. Similar state-
ments recurred routinely. One such declaration from a mother in a hair
salon prompted a conversation: “But what about all the fathers I see picking
up their children from school, walking them home together? So, they doh’
care about their children then?!”, I asked (in the rhetorically contentious
way Dominicans often pose questions). I was thinking of men I regularly
sighted in public caring for their children. She paused, appearing confused.
“Care, like check their chil’ren, nuh!”, she irritably reiterated. “Checking”
means to materially provide—the normative province of Caribbean father-
hood. Upon reflection, we were transacting two divergent models of fatherly
care: hers the long-standing hegemonic concept of provision as care
(Rodman, 1971, p. 88); mine an imported, though increasingly localised
A. Philogene Heron (*)
Goldsmiths College, University of London, London, UK
e-mail: a.heron@gold.ac.uk

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9_9
268 A. Philogene Heron
notion of care as demonstrative everyday practice. Throughout my time in

Dominica, I would notice a marked chasm between these competing ideals
and perceptions of men’s fulfilment of them.
In this chapter, I explore the dissonant discursive construction of
paternal care in Dominica. I examine how fathers speak about and per-
form childcare in various ways. Notions of care as provision and emo-
tional labour are in everyday circulation on the island, though, each are
verbalised or hushed in context- and class-specific ways. My intention
here is to demonstrate how care is discursively formed through everyday
speech, public statements, silences, and quotidian practices by a range of
actors. Furthermore, I am interested in the extent to which discourse
reflects recognition—whether and how fathers are said and seen to care
for their children.
In what follows, I draw out the numerous strands of this discursive nexus
of care. To do so, firstly, I outline local parenting norms, the models of
masculinity they reinforce, and how these are often contradicted by visible
daily practice. These elements lay the context of paternal care in Dominica.
Secondly, I discuss the male muting this context produces with regard to
the intimate model of care—how patriarchal images of masculine person-
hood reinforce Particular silences. Thirdly, I reveal the dissonance between
these silences and the emerging public visibility of caring paternal labour in
recent decades (the Caribbean’s “new father”, as he was termed in Euro-
American contexts). Fourthly, I document how this proximity looks in
daily life, sharing observations of mundane kinship acts and their evident
yet unspoken significance for a growing minority of fathers and their chil-
dren. Finally, I conclude by discussing an emergent phenomenon whereby
fathers share photos and captions of their caring interactions via social
media. I argue that these fathers are finding burgeoning voice for their care
and in the process provoking a broader reimagining Caribbean fathering.
2 Methodological Orientation
This chapter emerges from 17 months of ethnographic fieldwork on
men’s kinship lives in Dominica, a mountainous, agrarian island of some
70,000 inhabitants, sandwiched between Guadeloupe (north) and
Being Said/Seen to Care: Masculine Silences and Emerging… 269
Martinique (south) in the Lesser Antilles. My methodological approach

is decidedly eclectic. I draw on everyday conversations, semi-structured
interviews, observations, family planning materials, television, and social
media to offer a multimodal analysis of the ways fathering is being dis-
cussed and performed in Dominica (and the Caribbean more broadly).
Such eclecticism owes not only to the disciplinary stance of anthropology
as a field concerned with the qualitative breadth of human social life
(Rapport & Overing, 2000, pp. 245–9) but is arguably necessary for
apprehending the “supersyncretic” and “polyrhythmic” nature of
Caribbean societies (Benitez-Rojo, 1992). As a complicated cultural set-
ting composed of multiple migrations (Amerindian, European, African,
Asian) and violent ruptures (conquest, enslavement, plantations, earth-
quakes, hurricanes, revolutions), the region has become an “open fron-
tier” (Trouillot, 1992) for anthropological theory—a cultural space that
requires appositely varied methods to comprehend its complex dynamics.
Caribbean kinship is no exception.
Early fieldwork revealed the necessity of such methodological openness.
Setting out to explore what Carsten called “the close-up, intimate and expe-
riential dimension of kinship” (2004, p. 9; Notermans, 2008), I was quickly
confronted by silences when pursuing intimate fathering via the word
(Chamoiseau, 1999) or pawol, as speech is termed in the island’s kweyol.1
Masculinity was muting aspects of paternal orality. Realising that mundane
yet affecting dimensions of kinship were better addressed through observa-
tion, I pursued paternal care via words and acts. Therefore, I present here a
conversation between discursive and practical modalities. In addition to
people’s statements and silences, I cultivated observant participation in the
everyday lives of my Dominican informants/friends (Lassiter, 2005).
Observant participation aims to invert the self-other-reifying orthodoxy of
1
With French and British colonial histories, the Dominican lingua franca is a mesolect of English
vocabulary with a Francophone kweyol syntax and a sprinkling of kweyol vocabulary. (Dominican
kweyol is akin to Haitian and French Antillean Kreyols.) Dominica has been described as having a
“fragmented language situation” (Trouillot, 1988), with kweyol being a first language in many vil-
lages, whilst those from Roseau (the capital) may know little kweyol. Kweyol is recognised as the
folk/working-class/peasant tongue of the island, whilst formal English is that of the elite/middle
classes/governance/colonisation. Nonetheless, people of various backgrounds code-switch fluidly as
they move through context and social geography. For a detailed contemporary study of Dominican
kweyol, see Paugh (2013).
participant observation (an ethnographic staple) in favour of a method that

privileges social participation and service alongside “data collection”
(Philogene Heron, 2016, p. 25; 2017). I also observantly participated in
Dominican social media networks, enabling me to see the quotidian affects
and practices of fathering in both virtual and real lives. I engaged this
method alongside interviews, conversations, reviews of public education
documents, campaign materials, and popular cultural images, from which
meanings were heard and read. The result: an inductive methodology that
affirms the complementarity of critical discourse analysis and ethnography,
the mutuality of the spoken/written and the observable for our understand-
ing of everyday social worlds.
In what follows, I understand discourse analysis as an interpretive
method that enables the form and semiotic content of text/speech to be
critically unpacked. Here I concern myself more with content than form.
Krzyżanowski argues that discourse studies have “opened out” in recent
years, embracing more contextually embedded approaches to the analysis
of language (2011, p. 231); and ethnographers have reciprocated, becom-
ing more alert to the social power of words (Tusting & Maybin, 2007).
Likewise, as an anthropologist approaching discourse studies from with-
out, I argue for the necessity of analysing word, act, and social context
within a common frame. This is of import in the Caribbean, a place long
remarked upon for its oral performativity, a central feature of life: in sto-
rytelling, political rhetoric (Abrahams, 1983), and everyday interlocution
between kin (e.g. Richman, 2002); yet, it is also a place where subtle
practices and affects reside beyond words. Therefore, discourse represents
one of several analytic angles employed within an approach that refuses
an a priori analytic framework. Instead, what emerges is an eclectic analy-
sis that responds to my informants’ words, actions, and the diverse media
that circulate through Dominican and wider Caribbean milieux. In what
follows, this challenge of flexibly figuring my analytic approach to reflect
the complex social worlds of my informants is applied to caring Caribbean
fatherhood. Herein, I illustrate the synergy of discourse-based and ethno-
graphic analyses as I unpick the complex relationship between intimate
silences and practical paternal visibilities.
Concerning sample size, of all 29 middle- and working-class fathers I
observed and/or spoke with about their practice of intimate fathering, 14
regularly undertook such care (three times a week or more). That said,
mothers still fulfilled the bulk or at least half of the parental labour in
most of these cases (excluding one single father); and my sample is admit-
tedly skewed towards paternal involvement since less-active fathers were
less observable (due to the irregular nature of their care). Nevertheless,
this cohort of 14 routinely caring fathers is small but qualitatively signifi-
cant, as I will show. Furthermore, they caught my ethnographic attention
because their daily practice contradicts prevailing discourses around
fatherly absence (Brown, Anderson, & Chevannes, 1993).
Next, I provide some context on Caribbean parenting ideals and every-
day practices as a background against which to discern the silences, visi-
bilities, and vocalities that follow.
3 arenting Ideals and Practices:

P
A Contextual Setting
That fathers are expected to provide for children is a truism of Caribbean
kinship. Caribbeanists recursively identify this breadwinner function as
foundational to the father’s role (Smith, 1956; Clarke, 1999; Greenfield,
1966, pp. 104–5; Rodman, 1971, p. 76; Dann, 1987, p. 57). In their
Jamaican study, Brown et al. state it most plainly: “there was total una-
nimity that being a good father meant providing economic support for
one’s children” (1993, p. 16); with Rodman insisting that in Trinidad
“the core of the father’s role is to support the child financially and not to
be close to him [or her] emotionally” (1971, p. 88). Dominicans share
this paternal ideal. Once a father is named (assigned paternity), his pri-
mary obligation is to materially maintain his child. Yet, on this agrarian
island with a history of export dependency2 and economic crises precipi-
tated by monocrop decline, material scarcity is a lived reality which makes
provision a sacrificial expression of love. Or to put it inversely, as one
father did, “no money no love, so it be in the country”. Failure to provide
is failure to express love.
2
From coffee, to vanilla, cocoa, sugar, limes (Trouillot, 1988), and, finally, bananas—the latter
decimated by WTO rulings banning European Union quotas at the turn of the twenty-first century
(Klak, 2012).
The ideal of provision as care derives from a normative division of

labour between parents. Fathers are charged with “extending a hand”,
and mothers are expected to undertake the daily bulk of childrearing.3
This division is normalised and naturalised. “Mother’s work”, as it is often
termed, involves cooking, bathing, dressing, laundering clothes, and
household budgeting (Lazarus-Black, 1995). Moreover, Dominican
mothers are not only expected to undertake such practical caregiving but
also to care (Wozniak, 2002, p. 9)—to express emotional concern for
their children’s wellbeing, whereabouts, and futures. Conversely, paternal
care is normatively hands-off. Provision constitutes a loving foundation
from which fatherhood can develop via a father’s other normative roles:
“correction” (discipline), guidance (moral, spiritual, educational), and
protection. Thus, ideals of fatherly care are less about continuous emo-
tional and domiciliary labour to meet quotidian need and more con-
cerned with intermittent intervention, occasioned by specific requirements
(e.g. buying school books or meting out punishment).
That said, middle-class Caribbean mothers, expressing long-standing
concerns at their husbands’ apparent lack of commitment to the idea of
the nuclear family (Alexander, 1977), are beginning to expect their men’s
daily investment in family life (Freeman, 2014). “When we had move to
our previous house, mista jus sit down whole day watching movies not
lifting a finger, while I there working [housework]”, a middle-class
mother of three in her 40s complained about her husband’s lack of caring
labour. “He [is] always out liming [drinking with friends]. Toute bagai se
mwen [I have to do everything]!”, exclaimed another mother of one in
her early 50s, concerning her disinterested “child father” (father of her
children). Such frustrations, and the expectations of emotional invest-
ment underpinning them, were less apparent amongst working-class
mothers, who were more preoccupied with simply receiving “mainte-
nance” to meet children’s basic needs. “He never give me a tin of milk, so
much as a button for that child”, complained an elder working-class
mother recalling her daughter’s father. Indeed, the participation of
3
Or mothers are charged with finding an aunt, grandmother, nennen (godmother), foster mother,
or father to do so if she is unable to fulfil this role. See Gordon (1987) for an overview of the “child-
shifting” phenomenon.
children’s fathers in daily childrearing was far less of an explicit priority

than provision for working mothers.
Working-class folk’s and for the most part middle-class men’s hetero-
normative model of parental care is closely bound to their gendered per-
sonhood. What is seen to make a proper man or woman mediates the
norms and practices of parenthood. Hence, provision is tied to masculin-
ity and fatherhood. Blake (1961, p. 192) noted that Jamaican fathers’
“ideal self-image appears to be that of a responsible patriarch”. I found
this to be true of their Dominican counterparts today, a responsible
Dominican father being a co-residing or “visiting” household head who
wields respect, benevolently provides, and administers discipline. This
cross-class hegemon is ubiquitous. Likewise, for mothers of all classes, the
quotidian sacrifice of raising children and ensuring they grow properly—
become respectful and successful even—similarly enhances their statuses
as women. In short, parenting ideals exist in dialogue with ideals of man-
hood and womanhood.
Concerning parenting practice, mothers take on most of the everyday
labour of reproducing households and children. The following sketch of
daily caring labour is modelled on one of my industrious neighbours, yet
I observed similar patterns amongst cohabiting parents island-wide. Now
in her early 60s, Anne wakes well before work, around 5 am, to prepare
the family’s lunch. She makes breakfast for her spouse, children, and
grandchildren and then heads to work at 8 am. Mothers who farm often
wake up earlier. She returns shortly after midday to serve/eat lunch,
before returning to work until 4 pm. In the evenings, she “presses clothes”,
hand-squeezes juice, or cleans fish for the following day. On weekends,
she typically washes the family’s clothes and tends her yard garden. By
contrast, her husband’s labour consists of a day’s work to earn a wage—to
“put some money in de home”, as one father put it. After work he tends/
feeds the animals (chickens that provide eggs, rabbits that provide meat,
and dogs that protect). Once this is finished, he can relax, whilst his wife
continues to work in the kitchen. During such periods, he plays with his
grandchildren, sleeps, watches TV, or goes up the road to socialise.
This portrait reflects a co-residential norm. The father that features
here is regarded as a responsible man, and the woman, a dutiful mother.
In cases were the father is not co-resident, a mother might be expected to
undertake much of the paternal role too (unless a beau pé [step father],
grandfather, uncle, or brother does). I offer this concise depiction of
paternal and maternal labour for I see these practices as reflective of co-
residential parenting in Dominica—where a mothers’ kin work is exten-
sive and routinely crosscuts the ideals of mother and father4; whilst a
father’s usually sits within the discrete bounds of what is expected of him.
Most working people imagine and discuss care within these parameters:
paternal care as mainly material and mothers’ as almost everything else.
4 “Data” and Discussion
In the remainder of the chapter, I discuss a small, though burgeoning,
number of working-class fathers’ nurturant parenting, which extends
into the normative domain of mothering. These practices evaded recog-
nition. They were beyond comment—deemed neither good, bad, nor
interesting, as they sat beyond the remit of perceptible fathering. Next, I
(a) examine fathers’ silences surrounding these practices, before (b) exam-
ining the emerging paternal visibilities—images of middle-class men and
(c) practices of working-class men—that these silences conceal. These
three elements constitute the data5 of the chapter and are analysed in the
sections in which they appear.
4.1 Encountering Silences
Trouillot (1995) writes of historical silences as the obscuring of past hap-

penings via the ambiguity between event and word, between history as
occurrence and history as narrative. Although concerned with the social
present and the every day, I am similarly attentive in the ambiguities
between event and word, and the concealments that may inhabit them;
notably, between caring acts and men’s capacities to discuss them. During
a family history interview, a grandfather stated in the distant third
4
Evoking the striking title of Clarke’s classic ethnography, My Mother Who Fathered Me (1957).
5
I problematise this term due to discomfort with reducing complex biographies and intimate prac-
tices into a narrow positivist idiom. I retain the term for the reader’s ease of reference.
person: “In the rain and sun Bernard is in the construction work, nobody
knows what he is thinking”. Bernard most eloquently described the kinds
of silences I often observed amongst Dominican men, a silence which
conceals interior worlds of thought and sentiment from kin. In her pater-
nal memoir, Mr. Potter, Kincaid describes this psychic male landscape as
“the many interstices of Mr Potter’s heart” (2002, p. 152), those spaces
between speech and act, where Kincaid—Potter’s abandoned child—
searches for paternal feeling. Like Kincaid, I try to uncover that which
these silences veil. However, where her project concerns an indifferent
and absconding father, mine centres on visibly committed yet silent dads.
It is instructive to investigate the role of masculine ideals in this mut-
ing of paternal affects. To state that men don’t talk is to recite a local cli-
ché. As I learned, the intimate and affecting aspects of fatherhood are
areas Dominican males seldom discuss. However, the cliché is mislead-
ing, for men do talk about many things: politics, sport, sex, automobiles,
religion, and work; and they do so in multiple registers: humour, para-
bles, boasting, insults, and advice (Lewis, 2007). Conversely, family life is
an area in which Caribbean men give notably less conversational atten-
tion. I only heard Dominican men speak about fathering in specific cir-
cumstances. Many boasted about the sexual acts that produce children;
others waxed lyrical about their child(ren)’s academic achievements; and
some complained of acrimonious relations with “child-mothers” (mothers
of children) or the hardships of child maintenance. But, rarely did they
speak amongst peers of their feelings concerning children (e.g. affections
or non-material worries), time spent together, or the small acts of daily
care (bathing, braiding hair, cooking) which many co-resident fathers,
and some live-apart fathers, routinely undertake.
These mundane acts were so every day that often mothers did not
remark on them either, unless commentating on their practical undertak-
ing (e.g. discussing hairstyles), listing one’s daily activities, or complain-
ing about a lack help with chores. For example, Sharon a mother-of-three
complained of being the primary carer of her grandson: “I that have to
bathe him, dress him, put him to sleep, before I go [out]…. Nobody [i.e.
his mother or father] want to do nothing…. I am the only one who does
things for myself, after god!” This listing of the burdens of childcare,
recorded whilst Sharon was engaged in caring labour (plaiting hair),
c ontrasts sharply with how men undertake such practices: either in silence
or rarely announcing them in their schedules (indeed such care is often
spontaneous). Although most fathers, when asked, told me unequivo-
cally that they love their children, they rarely found words to elaborate
such feelings beyond affirming normative commitments to protect or
provide for them. In short, most men’s intimate paternal practice reflected
the cliché; everyday care was simply undertaken without description or
explicit reflection.
I observed that men do not speak about such practices because they are
without a shared register to do so. Rutherford describes “men’s silences” as
the result of a “disjuncture between lived experience and available vocabu-
laries” when they enter gender non-normative realms of practice (1992,
p. 11). Since Caribbean men usually gain little esteem for their caring
labour—popularly identified as “women’s work” (Brown et al., 1993,
p. 198; Maurer, 1991)—it is effectively a non-act, neither an explicit
responsibility nor something expected of them. Such caring labour is thus
“illegible”, lacking an elocutionary script (Neal, 2013). Instead, it is simply
undertaken out of a personal and pragmatic duty to contribute to a house-
hold, parenting alliance or to meet a child’s needs. Hence, intimately
involved Caribbean fathers are discursively “muted” (Ardener, 2005, p. 51)
by masculine norms6 and gendered models of care, which preclude the
discussion of such paternal practice and affect. Herein, men lack the surety
to speak on kinship, patriarchal ideology having posited women as natu-
ralised mothers and kinship experts whilst dumbing-down men’s kinship
knowledge. This muting was evident during two attempted interviews
with fathers from the south-western village where I lived throughout field-
work. I reflect on the significance of the silences these interviews unearthed.
4.1.1 Butterfish
Butterfish is a father of five in his 40s. A year into fieldwork, I began

seeing him sat outside his girlfriend’s house. Eventually we struck up
6
Writing on her husband’s theory of “muted groups”, Shirley Ardener notes, “Edwin always main-
tained that muted group theory was not only, or even primarily, about women – although women
comprised a conspicuous case… he also drew on his personal experience as a sensitive (intellectual)
boy among hearty (sportive) boys in an all-boys London secondary school” (2005, p. 51). Hence,
counter-hegemonic masculine expression is also in some sense muted.
conversation. I told him of my research and local youth football coach-

ing (a voluntary role assumed alongside research). It transpired that I
coached his two sons, for whom he returns from America for three
months each year to visit: “I come back for my boys, man”. “I don’t have
to be there [i.e. in Dominica], you know!”, he reminded, informing me
of his “green card” and construction job in America. However, he elects
a responsible family life and to provide for their family’s present and
future. Like many of the committed fathers I spoke with, he described
opting into his paternal duties—coming home to Dominica, seeing his sons,
building their house extension, and forfeiting “liming” (drinking with
peers)—all in terms of choice and sacrifice rather than obligation. It was
his choice to care, normatively providing and protecting, as a father.
During his final month in Dominica, I saw him walking with his sons,
dropping them to football, and bringing them to a team fundraiser. The
boys could be seen riding an electric plastic car, on the savannah with
new football boots and around the village with a puppy—each of which
he had bought for them. The mutual affection between father and sons
was evident. Butterfish expressed this materially by “spoiling” them with
gifts and through immaterial daily acts, such as ensuring their safe move-
ment through the village. Yet, he only spoke of the quantifiable dimen-
sions of his care (“jus two months I back and every day is spend I spending
on those boys”), never any mention of time spent together or his dutiful
movement with them.
One Thursday after Christmas, I passed by their freshly painted house.
Butterfish was inside in a convivial mood and invited me for a whiskey.
Whilst drinking he recalled his career on cruise liners: sailing to Vanuatu,
America, and Australia as a provision master (“a hard work, man!”). He
shared the biography of his nickname, Butterfish (“when you pass to cross
the pacific they giving everybody the name of a fish”). He told of his now
retired alias, Rooster (“Rooster was women business. I finish wid dat
man… I am a fada now”). Then I glanced at the time; I was late for foot-
ball. “We need to go through the whole history”, I said, throwing back
my drink as I got up. “Of course, I dere for a little while, man”, he replied.
I suggested returning the next morning for an interview. He agreed.
That morning, their door was unusually closed. I called from the step.
No reply. I called again and waited. “Who dat dere?”, a voice jolted
through the door. “Is Adom, I come and check you about the interview
and becoming a fada”. Silence. Then: “I tired, man”, he grumbled, “come

back another time”. “Ok, no problem”, I replied and then ambled back
up the hill.
Initially, I thought I had overstepped the fledgling trust of our field-
work friendship by prying into his family life. But, days before his depar-
ture, I encountered him on the road and realised trust was not the issue.
We stood watching the traffic. He mentioned his suspicion towards
members of the neighbourhood: “I don’t really talk with people, you
know. You will mostly see me by myself ”. Truly, I had observed that
amongst men of his age, associations often wither and just several depend-
able friendships are maintained into middle age. To my surprise, he then
added, “You alone I does really pull up and talk to in the village”.
Though I will never know why he did not answer the door that morn-
ing, it seems that his giving up “woman business” and taking on material
responsibilities were the aspects of fathering he felt comfortable to vocal-
ise in casual conversation. These he presented as a caring sacrifice; trading
his charismatic Rooster persona for that of a father and “old man” was an
ageing metamorphosis he could comfortably discuss. But my attempt to
investigate the intimate details of his fathering was to enter a private
realm, which, if not “a secret to himself ” (Kincaid, 2002), was perhaps so
unremarkable that my interest in it was confusing and uncomfortable.
Thus, Butterfish possessed a limited vocality on paternal affects and prac-
tices, which afforded discussion of some features of his fathering whilst
precluding others. Perhaps the very idea of the interview represented an
intrusion into sensitive psychic ground.
4.1.2 Mr. Scotland
With Mr. Scotland, a policeman and 59-year-old grandfather, the oppo-

site occurred. Not only did we conduct an interview, but it was more
disclosing than either of us had anticipated. He shared his love for his
children, caring relationship to his wife, his frustrating career in the
police, and his special closeness to his two grandsons (“is they I am living
for”). As we concluded the interview, he told me, “That’s the first time I
opened-up to-, I’m not a great speaker. I’m not a person that would just
open out to-, it’s probably the first time I’m doing that”. For this inter-
view to be the first time Mr. Scotland was finding words to discuss the
profound significance of these relationships amazed me (if just for the
eloquence and feeling with which he spoke). The interview had entered a
register that was foreign to him.
Mr. Scotland and I lived nearby one another. Before the interview, we
had not met,7 but afterwards I saw him carrying his sleeping grandsons to
the car as I passed by his house or would hail his Nissan as he drove
home. I always showed regard as we passed, acknowledging him and the
reflections he had so candidly shared. He had drawn his interview
responses from the depths of himself. Still, perhaps for this reason, when
we re-encounter one another in the street, our meetings felt stilted. My
questions had coaxed him from the realm of surface-level male interac-
tion, disarming him of the safety of silence. Such silence so often sits
beneath humour, parables, banter, and even anger, providing protection
against the vulnerability of intimate disclosure. Now we did not know
how to approach each other on the roadside. We attempted to commune,
as acquaintances do, through jovial, indirect conversation; but it was
apparent that beneath our interchanges sat a knowing of the other, an
unequal knowing that I possessed: of his feelings towards his beloved kin.
Though I assured him that I would treat this information with strict ano-
nymity (I use a pseudonym here), perhaps the act of unveiling previously
unspoken feelings symbolically exposed a site of personal weakness to the
outside world in which we later met.
I once asked Simon, a young Kalinago8 father, why men fell silent
when asked about fathering. His reply was straightforward: “It’s not like
you have to bring out your family business to your friends, you know.
What happen home, stay home. [With] your family. When you pull up
with your friends you chat about something else”. So obvious once stated
so plainly: Dominican men socialise in and predominantly inhabit out-
side spaces (roadsides, workplaces, bars), yet for a man to bring out family
business in such public contexts is to expose the privacy of his home life,
7
His daughter, a neighbourhood acquaintance, had introduced us.
8
Kalinago people (once termed Caribs) are the indigenous inhabitants of Dominica, of which there
are approx. 2100 resident in Dominica. Furthermore, amongst the general Dominican population,
most people claim some Kalinago ancestry.
with its stresses and vulnerabilities, to peers who may later ridicule him.
Whilst I do not think Mr. Scotland believed I was going to betray his
trust, I think the experience was nonetheless unfamiliar and disarming
for this reason.
Psychoanalyst Michael Diamond has noted that “fathering is fre-
quently unsettling since men are typically unaccustomed to complex
affective, relational upbringing and the profound depth of feelings not
easily put into words that are evoked by their children” (1998, p. 246).
Indeed, reflecting on these two interviews—one characterised by the
avoidance of discomfort (Butterfish), the other by the discomfort of over-
disclosure (Scotland)—I see that my questioning scratched at silences
imposed by masculine norms—norms which afford paternal intimacies/
affects little public value, significance, or noteworthiness. Pursuing
descriptions of these through “the word”—let alone in the staged format
of the interview—provoked unease in my interlocutors. And where words
could be found, prevailing modes of male sociality failed to accommo-
date the disclosures divulged and vulnerabilities unearthed.
Most Dominican fathers I discuss observably experienced the kinds of
affects Scotland mentioned, yet they were often implicit and inarticulate.
They were simply experienced: felt and observable but not uttered.
Hence, intimate paternal practice can be described as an imponderable
feature of Caribbean kinship:
…a series of phenomena of great importance which cannot possibly be

recorded by questioning… but have to be observed in their full actual-
ity…. Here belong such things as the routine of a man’s working day, the
details of his care of the body, or the manner of taking food and preparing
it…. (Malinowski, 2002 [1922], p. 18)
I observed the details of bodily care, cooking/feeding, and other patterns

of caring labour to meet children’s needs on many occasions in Dominica.
Later in the chapter, I turn to observation and description of everyday
care to make sense of working-class fathers’ nurturing practices, in their
full actuality. But first, some history on the emerging visibility of father-
hood in Dominica and the wider Caribbean—from middle-class,
foreign, and emigrant sources. These provide a backdrop for the

ominant culture’s representational reimagining of Caribbean fathering,

d
against which working men’s observed practices are positioned.
4.2 Emerging Paternal Visibilities
The idea of the father as provider, guide, disciplinarian, and protector has
long existed in Dominica. However, the notion of fatherhood as some-
thing a man embraces or rejects as a matter of identity and for which he
is publicly appraised, this is new, becoming more common from the late
1970s. Barrow identified it as a regional shift that is gradual and ongoing,
a “cultural reconfiguration of fatherhood”, from “the traditional version
of breadwinner and authority figure to a more rounded role with a daily
involvement in care and communication” (2010, p. 137). However, to
accept this claim is not to say that fathers were not demonstrably affec-
tionate before this. Based on the oral testimonies of elders, I would sug-
gest that perhaps nurturant fatherhood was simply not visible in the
public domain before this time. Thus, Mona, a grandmother and youth
group leader born in the 1930s, recalled of her childhood:
My very first memories of life were on my father’s knee. And he’d be smok-
ing his pipe and talking. And my ear would be somewhere on his chest…
and his voice would be reverberating throughout my ear. And that is how
I would fall asleep at night. Every night.
Such intimate memories were not unusual to elders raised in early-to-

mid-twentieth-century Dominica. Such micro-histories are largely hid-
den from record behind narratives of fathers of this era as distant and
indifferent figures, much as other elders also recalled. Hence, interactions
like Mona’s were concealed in the private domain. Mrs. LeTouche, a
grandmother and retired headmistress, recollected: “before, you would
never see a man walking with his child, holding his child, on the bus with
his child. Men simply didn’t do such things”. These elder observers, like
Barrow (2010), posited a diachronic before-after view of intimate father-
hood’s emergence.
Their narratives are corroborated by family planning campaigns of the
era. From the late 1970s, Caribbean governments and family planning
agencies made a concerted push to increase fathers’ family involvement.

Malthusian concerns with “overpopulation” on islands with small
resource bases, low foreign exchange and import dependencies, and cen-
tred family planning as a development priority for newly independent
Caribbean states (Bourbonnais, 2016). Inheriting the structural func-
tionalist logic of colonial social science (e.g. Simey, 1946) and its policy
agendas (Putnam, 2014), national administrators viewed “the family” as
the “basic unit” of governance. Hence, resolving the apparent pathologies
of “illegitimacy”, “promiscuity”, absent fathers, and single mothers would
ostensibly alleviate numerous social ills (“delinquency”, criminality, pov-
erty). These concerns aligned with anxieties amongst the middle classes
and religious leaders towards “lower-class” men who sire innumerable
unsupported children (Barrow, 2001). Fathers deemed to fit this profile
were to be “brought in” to the family, to “maintain” children and become
patriarchal guides and disciplinarians. Moreover, such social agendas
were married with an emerging international dissemination of a gentler,
more demonstrative image of the father—the “new father”, as he was
known across the North Atlantic9.
In Dominica, similar messages were propagated by the Dominica
Planned Parenthood Association10 (DPPA) via posters in municipal build-
ings and neighborhood health centres. Some presented emotive images of
abandoned children and mothers. Others shamed absconding fathers. They
appealed to fathers’ consciences, imploring them to present themselves
financially and emotionally. They also urged men to take responsibility for
reproductive planning and child maintenance. Furthermore, some posters
proposed a broader definition of care, beyond the financial. For example,
one poster of a father assisting his daughter with her homework read:
One of the nicest ways that he can show his children that he cares is by
spending time with them… being there when he’s needed. Do you know
what is happening in your children’s lives? Are you there when they need to
9
Eerola and Huttenen (2011) called it the “metanarrative of the new father”, reflecting Hawkins
and Dollahite’s “generative father” (1997), Pruett’s “nurturing father” (1987), Doherty, Kouneski,
and Erikson’s “responsible father” (1998) and Pleck’s “positively involved father” (1997). In short,
an emotionally open and sympathetic, “hands-on” paternal ideal.
10
Founded in 1976, DPPA is part of the Caribbean Family Planning Affiliation (CFPA) and
International Planned Parenthood Federation (IPPF).
be comforted… cheered… guided? Your presence could make the differ-

ence whether your child succeeds or fails. (National Family Planning
Board, C.1979)
Such posters targeted paternal pride, drawing a direct link between a

child’s success (e.g. in school, a man’s boasting fodder; Wilson, 1973,
p. 126) and a father’s daily presence in their lives. Some posters displayed
guidance and support; in others, men cradled infants. For the first time,
public representations of Caribbean fatherhood, as explicitly “responsi-
ble” and emotionally engaged, were entering the public domain with the
aim of transforming men. However, it is worth noting that the more
attentive-looking fathers in these posters appear to be middle-class
(smartly dressed, in well-furnished houses), by contrast to those that
depict impoverished-looking absconders—such as a young man wearing
shoes without laces (below). Thus, a classed image of attentive fatherhood
was emerging (Fig. 9.1).
Fig. 9.1 “Plan Your Family”, Caribbean Family Planning Association (date
unknown)
The 1980s also witnessed satellite TV’s arrival in Dominica. Although

anthropologists have highlighted parents’ negative perceptions of
American TV’s effects on Dominican youth (Quinlan & Hansen, 2013;
Blank, 2003), my interlocutors contended that it also had some positive
influence on local parenting. Representations of middle-class black fam-
ily life in American films and TV, the most notable being The Cosby Show,
exported an ideal image of a benevolent black nuclear patriarch: patient,
confident, materially secure, respectable, and, most importantly, deeply
involved in his children’s lives. This was a paternal profile that resonated
with many. Nevertheless, as the Dominican milieu is porous to many
extra-local images, objects, and experiences that each impacts kinship
ideals, it is difficult to isolate the emulation of American TV as a central
source of shifting paternal visibilities.
Instead, for Dominicans who work, study, and visit family in northern
metropoles, migration also informs changing embodiments of father-
hood. Fox (1999) tentatively makes this case in her study of Jamaican
fatherhood. Her informant, Richard, “a peaceful Rasta” from a rural vil-
lage who cooks, cleans, and assists his daughters with their homework,
spent several years in London where he witnessed a fluid division of
domestic labour11 between his sister and her husband. They cooperatively
co-parented and shared housework, which Richard continued in Jamaica,
where he became a more hands-on presence at home. Likewise,
Dominican men who encountered new norms in Canada, the US, and
the UK returned with expanded concepts of fatherhood. Simultaneously,
with the 1980s came the spread of Caribbean feminisms, mothers
demanded greater paternal involvement, and later the emergence of men’s
groups like Father’s Inc.12 (1990s) and CariMAN13 (2010s) also informed
shifting ideas. Mrs. LeTouche (quoted above) summarised this play
between local transformation and imported foreign symbols: “we go out
and we see how they do it… as time changes, things change too. The
11
This echoes Kan and Laurie’s finding that of all ethnicities in the UK, “black Caribbean men
hav[e]… the highest housework share compared to other groups” (2016, p. 11).
12
A Jamaican group that pioneered the promotion of “responsible fatherhood” (Brown, 1995).
13
The Caribbean Male Action Network, a regional activist group supported by UN Women, that
works for gender justice (e.g. ending “gender-based violence”). See, http://menengage.org/regions/
caribbean/.
methods of living change”. Thus, migratory circuits and cosmopolitan

relations carry new practices into the evolving Antilles, and in time, some
of these become embedded in daily life.
Given the silences and imported images of fathering, it is difficult to
discern a single cause for Caribbean men’s shifting practices. Rather, vari-
ous images and experiences—family planning materials, television,
migration, and gender-focused activism—have moved through the
Caribbean (and her diaspora) to partially normalise intimate fatherhood.
Nonetheless, bringing this section to bear on the previous, we are con-
fronted by a paradox. Images and experiences of intimate fatherhood are
increasingly present in the milieu—appropriated, often from above (by
family planners, the media, and returning emigrants)—whilst the work-
ing-class fathers I worked with were often without the elocutionary regis-
ter to articulate their experience of such practices. A discursive dissonance
between dominant imagery and common practice is apparent. Hence,
fathers are increasingly told they should be more hands-on, and many are,
yet this does not necessarily give them the linguistic and emotional means
to discuss such acts. How then to make sense of these imponderable prac-
tices and affects? How to capture kinship meanings that reside beyond
words? Herein, observation becomes an important means for compre-
hending increasingly visible yet persistently under-discussed interactions.
Next, I sketch a series of observations and reflect on their significance.
4.3 How Men Care
4.3.1 A
t Home: Cooking, Bodily Care, and Minding
Children
I was struck by the number of co-resident fathers who undertook part or

most of their household’s cooking. For example, Vince, a father of one
living with his common-law wife and their daughter, is the main cook in
their home. Whilst his wife works 8 am–4 pm in a shop, he is a plumber
with flexible working hours, meaning he often cooks. He prepares break-
fast (eggs salad, tea, mastiff [traditional] bread), lunch (Dominican’s main
meal, e.g. “ground provisions” [yam, sweet potato, cassava], rice, beans,
meat/fish), and dinner (typically bread and tea). Saturdays are a free up
day where eating varies with their plans, mood, and what is available.
And on Sundays his wife prepares a dinner of macaroni pie, stewed
chicken, and rice. Their household food rhythms are inherited from
Vince’s mother’s household, in which he learnt the rudiments of cooking,
carrying them into his procreative family. Whilst Dominicans have long
acknowledged that single men (of Vince’s father’s generation, men in
their 50s and older) are proficient in preparing a one pot,14 it is altogether
more recent for a family’s food ways to be inherited by a son and become
his domain as a father. Such cases are relatively few: 5 out of 29 fathers I
observed cooked most meals for their children, though, significantly
more cooked when a wife/girlfriend was unavailable. Men were not talk-
ative in this area, so the prevalence of such activities was difficult to ascer-
tain. Nonetheless, fathers who cook are far from anomalous in Dominican
households; and this process of feeding children, once associated primar-
ily with mothers, enables the development of close nurturant bonds with
young kin (as is well documented elsewhere; Carsten, 1995). Fathers who
cooked for children were often those most involved in their lives in other
ways and were spoken of with fondness by their children.
Concerning children’s bodily care, I observed fathers bathing small
children when I visited them at home or giving them curative “sea baths”
by the bay (for numerous ailments). Similarly, I recall several women
remarking on friends or brothers who kango (Congo or cornrow braid)
their daughter’s hair. Yet, only when I moved to the yard of felon-turned-
father, Scratchie (a year into fieldwork), did I begin to regularly see such
bodily care. Here my field notes detail observations of Scratchie and his
4-year old’s interactions across two days in 2013:
Taking out kango.

I arrive by Scratchie15to see him seated at the table with his daughter stand-
ing next to him as he upbraids her ‘kango’. ‘Ow daddy it hurts’, she says as
he pulls the final tooth of the pink and white comb though her short hair.
He is taking out the style she had worn to school that day – presumably
14
A dish of fish/smoked meat with provisions (plantain, yam, dasheen, green banana), dombwé/
dumplings, and seasoning, cooked in a single bom (pot) over gas/coals. The ingredients of a one-pot
vary according to availability.
15
To “go by” someone is to visit them at their home.
Cyrila [his wife] or [teenage] step-daughter had ‘combed’ [plaited] her hair
that morning. As Scratchy progresses from one row to the next he is firm
in his touch. A short ‘tough’ [stocky] man with full, hard, working hands;
he is firm yet gentle in how he treats his daughter. ‘Ow daddy too hard’.
[Scratchie:] ‘Sorry baby’, as he works his way onto the next braid. I ask if
he can ‘comb’ [as well as take out] hair. He says, ‘no, not to say kango, but
I can plait’. As I leave them sitting at the table with the TV playing in the
background Cyrilla is on the phone in the bedroom, Mahalia is standing
quietly and he is a picture of concentration, meticulously and dutifully
unpicking each interwoven portion with the comb and his fingers.
Bathing in the Yard.
Friday evening after dark, I finished up some repairs on the shack and came
up the concrete step to say goodnight to the family. Scratchie was outside
bathing Mahalia under the bright bulb that illuminates their yard. He
filled a ‘bom’ [pot] with water as she shuffled around covered in suds, fight-
ing the cool evening breeze. Her father then poured the bom over her
whilst she scrubbed frantically and the soap rinsed away. As he poured she
told him she was thirsty. She opened her mouth to drink the last bit of
water before he wrapped her in a towel and she darted inside.
These brief vignettes of quotidian interaction illustrate the kinds of bodily

care that many fathers undertake, as well as reveal robust form with which
they practice it. Hard-worn working hands appear at odds with the gentle
affectivity of the middle-class fathers in family planning posters.
Nonetheless, fathers’ improvisation of fatherly care, with bodies less
habituated to softness16 (than many mothers), testifies to a committed if
unremarkable love for their children. Furthermore, by painfully upbraid-
ing their hair or washing them in a chilly yard, fathers also contribute,
albeit unintentionally, to developing a hardiness amongst their children
that is valorised17 in Dominica.
Finally, looking at (minding) or simply being with children, whilst a
mother is out (at work or church), was common amongst co-residing
16
“Soft” is an insult men wield on the ballfield, street, or at work and is antithetical to the valorised
toughness of a “big hard back man” who eats “hard food” (provisions) and can “play hard” at
football.
17
To describe a child as “good for their self ”—bold, assertive, and resilient (Paugh, 2013, p. 115)—
is a compliment. Though mothers scold and beat children, fathers are seen and expected to be
firmer with children.
fathers, although more frequently mothers were at home with children,

whilst the father was working or running an errand. Nonetheless, stay-at-
home fathering was often a practical imperative for working-class parents
due to declines in commercial agriculture since the 1990s (notably
bananas; Mantz, 2003) and the growth of service industries (hotels, res-
taurants, banks) where women have fixed-hour employment, whilst
tradesmen often have flexible job schedules (like Vince). Hence, I rou-
tinely observed children entertaining themselves in the yard after school,
whilst fathers fixed bicycles and cars or undertook house repairs nearby,
occasionally supervising their offspring with their peripheral vision. Here
dads issued orders to “take it easy nuh, man!” if children played unsafely;
young children were entertained with a book, toy, or tablet computer;
and older boys or girls were encouraged to join their father’s work by
fetching tools. Therefore, paternal childcare sat alongside activities more
affirming of masculine norms whilst being responsive to the immediate
needs and safety of children.
4.3.2 Outside: Daddy “Jump Up” as “Fathering Event”
Whether they live apart or reside with children, fathers normatively fig-
ure as a bridge to “outside” public spaces: fêtes (festivals), the sea, the Zion
(mountainside provision garden), roadside, workplace, or overseas.
Diamond emphasises that “fathers traditionally play a pivotal, represen-
tational role in introducing their infants to the exciting, larger outer
world” (1998, p. 261); whilst Lazarus-Black argues that Antiguan father-
ing is enacted in sporadic “kinship events” (1995, p. 52). Likewise, along-
side the everyday, Dominican fathering occurs through such moments:
father-child ventures into the outside world. Taking the children out
includes trips for ice cream on “Bayfront” (in Roseau, the capital), trans-
insular drives, and “going beach” or “river”, which usually occur during
holidays and weekends—moments beyond humdrum routines.
Furthermore, seasonal festivals present an opportunity for children to
witness the “bacchanal” of carnival, national independence celebrations,
or village feasts (traditional fêtes) under a father’s supervision. Mothers
expect fathers to perform this duty. Providing treats and amusement on
such occasions constitutes the material expression of care and represents

the idealised context of father-child co-presence in the outside world.
Conversely, many fathers without money were at a loss for how to entertain
their children. Hence, this ideal also motivates fathers of limited means
to make sacrifices that were necessary to enable them to take their child(ren)
out. This brief example of Okim and his 10-year old’s carnival trip dem-
onstrates the significance of such sacrifice during a fathering event.
On carnival Tuesday, 2014, Okim’s daughter walked the steep
“Backstreet” to wake her father and remind him of his promise to take
her to the Roseau parade. Like me, Okim lived alone in a rented shack in
Scratchie’s yard. He had recently been injured in a motorbike accident, so
whilst he got back on his feet, Scratchie had convinced his wife to let
Okim stay. He came down in a hurry to bathe in the communal shower.
As he passed by my door, I offered him a quick drink. He shared his day’s
plan,
I wanted to go town and free-up myself today but de moda say she not
taking her [their daughter, to the] parade. Me and de moda jus get in a
lickle talk [argument] for dat. But I checking, I doh want our daughter
to see me and her moda in no vile [confrontation]…. Best I go town
wid her. [Jah] Jehova see what I doing, he alone that can give me my
blessings….
He continued,
I love my lickle girl, wii boy! She is all I have in dis world, I doh have
woman [a girlfriend]. When I old and pooping on myself is she dat taking
care of me, eh! She understands. If we go in town [and] I only have five
dollars, she will ask for something for two-fifty. She understands!
For most of his male partners, the carnival season was a time of drunken
revelry. By contrast, Okim’s choice to take his daughter to town instead
of drink rum and dwivay (party/wander) was an expression of love and
sacrifice for his child (albeit in response to his child’s mother). Okim
clearly appreciated their time together. And since finances are limited, he
also appreciated her modest demands when they are out. Likewise, I
could see from her excitement that she appreciated her father’s willing-
ness to direct time and funds to her during the festivities.
The following day, I bounced him up (bumped into him) on the road-
side with his friends. “How your carnival was with the little lady, nuh?”,
I queried as we “knocksed” fists. “It was nice, wii”, he replied with a wide
smile, adding, “anytime I wid her I cannot get in no gang or get in no
pwoblem. When de music finish I leave town”. Thus, not only did their
time together bring mutual enjoyment, it also saved him from potential
perils that befall young men at the carnival (Fig. 9.2).
These ethnographic sketches and portraits of caring labour and father-
ing events reveal sentiments beneath the silences that often envelope them.
Although some of the textual and photographic depictions were framed
by the father’s words, these were uttered during momentary exchanges,
Fig. 9.2 Okim and his daughter. Loubiere, Dominica. 2014

not extended reflections. To depict via photo and description is to capture

aspects of paternal experience which are there for the eyes to see, but
fathers were unable (or chose not) to express. Therefore, instead of tran-
script or detailed quotation, ethnographic description and photograph
enable us to interpret the fine semiotic texture of these exchanges and their
variegated joys, imperatives, and impacts for father and child.
Finally, I turn to the visual and textual representations of working-class
fathers themselves, as they begin to reimagine and give voice to their
fatherhood in virtual space.
4.4 irtually Reimag(in)Ing Fatherhood: Paternal

V
Profiling and Captioned Care
Thus far I have discussed a paradoxical situation: whereby tightly gen-

dered notions of parental care produce male silences—silences which, in
turn, conceal increasingly visible “hands-on” fathering. However, online
social platforms like Facebook and Instagram are offering a paternal
vocality that disrupts these silences. Fathers set profile pictures and “share”
or are “tagged in” photos/videos of themselves with their children. These
images present fathers with their “pride and joy”, their “responsibility”,
proof of their virility, and proof of their “name living on” in the world.
This is what I call paternal profiling, the declaration of fatherhood via
social media profile pictures and posts. These men, of varied class and age
(teens to 40s), also caption their photos, appealing for public recognition
as caring fathers. Such captioned care offers a shorthand frame for the
images by describing shared activities or concisely articulating affection
for a child. “Nothing better than hanging out with your kids. They are
my heart beat”, writes Scratchie below a photograph with his daughters
and step-grandson, on a Facebook status in 2014.
What is particularly telling about the photos is not simply their depic-
tions of intimate paternal proximity. Since the 1970s and 1980s, with
cameras becoming more accessible, families shared personal photo-
graphs of men cuddling, stood holding, and simply being with their
children, as numerous interlocutors reported. What is new is the volume
of such images and the way their captions address a transnational online
audience. They communicate with diasporic Caribbean publics, at home

and abroad, the existential importance of everyday intimacies. Paternal
profiling and captioned care are observable worldwide, amongst various
ethnicities; yet, amongst black populations in the Caribbean, the US,
and the UK, this process has special significance due to prevalent stereo-
typies concerning black paternal absence/marginality. (See the work of
Zun Lee, NYC, or Aaron Sylvester, London, for grassroots photography
that challenges these stereotypes.18) Hence, Dominican fathers, aware of
such caricatures, are reimagi(ni)ng Caribbean fatherhood, that is, recon-
ceiving it on their own lived terms, via photos and brief textual
assertions.
For working-class men, such auto-photographic depictions, selfies of
everyday co-being with their children, engage an implicit dialogue with
the polished middle-class representations of family planning organisa-
tions. Rather than focusing on images of middle-class intimacy and
working-class fecklessness, such paternal profiling proclaims that any-
one can be a hands-on father. Therefore, equivalents of the paternal
portraits that were circulating the 1970s–1980s from above (on posters
and TV) are now entering the smartphones and laptops of Caribbeans
in greater frequency. Importantly, these are no longer contrived by
family planning agencies and American TV producers or primarily car-
ried in the returnees’ habits. Online platforms enable anyone with
internet access, rich or poor, to contribute to the definition of caring
contemporary fatherhood through camera and text (significant in
Dominica, where there are 107.4 cell phone subscriptions per 10019
inhabitants and an internet access rate of 58.6%; International Telecoms
Union, 2016).
Furthermore, Caribbean social media networks have begun collec-
tively appraising online paternal performance. The most widely discussed
is a Facebook video depicting a Jamaican man vigorously bathing his son
18
Sylvester’s 2016 exhibition Dad: the forgotten parent? New Black Stereotype (Fueller, 2016) or Lee’s
2011 work, Father Figure (McKeon, 2015) provide apt examples of challenges to dominant carica-
tures of Afro diasporic fatherhood across the Black Atlantic.
19
Many residents register on both main mobile/cell operators to access promotions and ensure
cheap calls to members of their social network on either provider. Hence, more than one SIM card
is registered per person on the island.
in his yard20 (1 million views; 1300 comments). His predominantly

Caribbean audience either praised him (“Wow beautiful, just beautiful…
the rest a fathers dem deh that need to step up?”), found humour in his
bathing style (“A message to non-Caribbean… people. This is how we
Jamaicans exercise our babies, so don’t think its child abuse…”), or criti-
cised his roughness (“He bathing that baby like it was rolling in mud…
why he scrubbin the child so?”). However, as the slim dreadlocked man
energetically cleaned his boy and dangled him to dry by his chubby limbs,
he addressed the camera with a message,
…you see me, when it come to my yout dem me nah play! All if me ave. a
woman, an’ all if me doh have one, me still ah take care ah my yout!
Because [you] wann know why? Them got some fada out dere, all dem do
is get up and breed people gal pickney [girls], an gone bout dem business
and doh care about dem [children]. But you see me? Me a yout, me love
my kid and me na wait pon uman [woman] fe do nottin for my pickney
[child]….
So me ah tell all fada out dere, you see dis what me a do right now-,
unno [you all should] take care yur pickney dem, you [h]ear!? Because you
done know me ah feelin him you know…. So as me ah say big up and
respect to all fadda out dere and all mudda out dere who take care ah dem
yout! Because you see him? Look [u]pon him! He favour me [i.e. looks like
me]. Him ah for me [i.e. he is my child]. Me love him you know, he is my
son!
The voice of this young father, emphatically encouraging others to take

care of their children, praising parents who already do, and expressing
affection for his baby son, drowns out the squabble of Facebook com-
menters. As he holds his clean infant to his chest and declares his love for
the child (“me ah feelin him”; “me love him”), it becomes clear that he, like
others who post and caption photos/videos with their children, has given
expanding voice to nurturing Caribbean fatherhood through this new
online medium.

20
Retrieved November 10, 2015, from a public profile: https://www.facebook.
com/1526251450984199/videos/1534461360163208/.
5 Conclusions
In this chapter I have proposed the complementarity of discourse-based
and ethnographic methods (interviews/conversation and observation) for
understanding recent shifts in Caribbean fathering. I highlighted how
masculine norms impose silences around intimate fatherhood, at the
same time as the latter is becoming increasingly visible. This paradox
revealed the limited efficacy of interview methods for interpreting the
imponderable significance of hands-on fatherhood; whilst detailed obser-
vation was foregrounded as a means of understanding quotidian intimate
interactions. Finally, I have explored emergent caring discourses on social
media, the burgeoning voices of fathers who are beginning to represent
and rephrase fatherhood on their own terms, through captioned photos
and videos, articulating a democratised image of Afro-Caribbean father-
ing, as they see and experience it.
It remains for the future to reveal the extent to which this trend will
contribute to a regional redefinition of care or a reconfiguration of
gendered ideals in Dominica and the wider Caribbean. Nevertheless,
even if parenting ideology lags behind contemporary practice, it is clear
that those who “step up” (as the Facebook commenter ordered) by becom-
ing more hands-on are also starting to speak up. These fathers are finding
voice and therefore demanding that their small acts be acknowledged
whilst inviting others to do the same. And as social researchers who navi-
gate the epistemological interstices of discourse, practice, and experience
in search of meaning, we must continually adjust our methods in response
to people’s shifting modes of expression. Hence, an appositely flexible
disposition unto the social world is in order so that we may interpret
word, act, and social context within a common frame.
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Index1
A Brazil, 7, 144
Anim-Addo, J., 252, 254, 256, 260, British colonialism, 269n1
261
Argentina, 4, 9, 89, 90
Argumentation, 8, 79, 83, 87 C
Assimilationism, 6, 227, 233 Care
Autograph ABP, 244 affect, 276
gendered meanings of, 22, 273,
276, 291, 294
B quotidian, 22, 268, 272, 287
Bolivia Caribbean, the
Abya Yala, 33–60 Caribbean heroes, 190, 193, 194,
Aymara, 36, 37n6, 44, 48, 48n10 203
García Linera, Álvaro, 38, 57, 58 Caribbean history, 20, 177, 186,
Katari, Tupac, 43, 51, 56 187, 193, 203, 204
Morales, Evo, 4, 16, 17, 33–60 Caribbean slavery (see Slavery)
plebiscite 21F, 33, 38, 42, 55–59 CARICOM, 77, 176, 181,
TIPNIS, 37–38, 53–55, 57, 59, 60 183–187
Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

1

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-93623-9
300 Index
Chile, 4, 5, 7, 78, 87, 87n5, 89, 90, E

98, 107, 108, 111–113 Emotional prosody, 18, 114,
Corpus-Assisted Discourse Studies 116–118, 126
(CADS)
collocation, 19, 144, 146–147,
150, 151, 153, 154, 159–161 F
concordance, 19, 144, 147, 150, Fairclough, N., 6, 14, 18, 40, 72,
163 141, 196
key-collocation, 144, 144n6, 147, Fatherhood
166–168 masculine silences, 267–294
keyword, 19, 48, 144–149, 156, paternal ideals/practices, 271
157, 159, 162 representations of, 283, 294
Critical Discourse Studies Foucault, M., 17, 35, 37–40, 79,
discourse-historical approach, 8, 200, 217, 247, 248, 251, 253
17, 20, 78, 176, 186
social actors approach, 18, 19, 79,
80, 108, 109, 112, 114, G
118–120, 187 Geopolitics, 70, 81, 88–98
Government
institutional breakdown, 17, 70,
D 81, 86–88, 99
Discourse mal gobierno, 155
hegemonic discourses, 18, 19,
112
media discourses, 2, 13, 18, 111 H
social media discourse, 22, Haiti, 17, 69–101, 144, 181, 182,
175–206 187, 203, 245
visual colonial discourse, 253 Haitian Revolution, 76, 187,
Discursive strategies 190–192, 194, 205, 245
intensification, 80 Halliday, M. A. K., 2, 113, 115, 116,
mitigation, 80, 83 185, 186, 189, 199
negative other-presentation, 70,
95, 199, 203–205
nomination, 79, 80, 83 I
positive self-presentation, 20, 70, Identity/identities, 3, 4, 6–9, 15–20,
186 39–42, 48, 50, 51, 54, 56, 57,
predication, 70, 80, 85, 91 60, 69–101, 141, 152, 177,
reference, 36, 38, 42, 79, 140 185, 186, 193, 195, 204, 223,
Dominica, 22, 181, 267–294 228, 233, 234, 244, 250, 261,
Durban Conference, 177–182 262, 281
Index
301
Imaginary, 73, 159 multimodal metaphor, 18,

social imaginary, 212, 216–217, 113–116, 118
231 Mexico
Immigrants, 6, 12, 19–21, EZLN, 5, 139–143, 153, 154,
211–235 158, 165, 167, 168
Indigeneity, 35, 52, 57, 156–167 guerrilla, 139–143, 149–156,
Interculturality, 35, 41, 42, 51–53, 162, 163, 167, 168
55, 59, 60 Middle Passage, 16, 19, 196, 201,
202, 204, 205
Modalities, 83, 200, 201, 212, 218,
J 220, 222, 269
Jamaica enunciation, 212, 217–219
1891 Awakening Jamaica Motive, 18, 107, 108, 112–114,
exhibition, 243–248, 250–252, 118–121, 127–132, 222
256, 260–262 Multiculturalism, 4, 7, 9, 177
post-emancipation, 245, 252, Multimodality
255 multimodal, 3, 8, 9, 15, 18–20,
22, 107–134, 175–206
multimodal analysis, 8, 22,
L 269
Latin America, 1–9, 13, 14, 17–21, Visual Grammar, 20, 176, 185,
34, 56, 72–77, 79, 81, 84–97, 199
99–101, 108–110, 139,
140n2, 159
Legitimation, 17, 18, 70, 79, 80, 86, N
88, 97, 114, 118–120 Narrative, 11, 18, 19, 50, 71, 74, 79,
Louverture, T., 188–193, 203, 205 80, 107, 110, 112, 114,
117–120, 122, 123, 126, 127,
131, 133, 199
M orality, 45, 156–167, 269
Marxism, 5, 47, 167 storytelling, 151, 161, 161n7, 270
Marxist language, 142, 149, 156,
167
Media P
alternative media, 110, 111, 113 Poverty, 17, 70, 81–86, 96–100,
mainstream media, 110, 112 124, 182, 183, 225, 228, 282
media, 2, 13, 18, 19, 22, 54, Power, 2, 5, 6, 9, 10, 16, 18, 21,
108–113, 134, 215 37–41, 51, 58, 72–75, 77, 79,
Metaphor, 10, 18, 107, 113–118 87, 96, 99–101, 109, 116,
conceptual metaphor, 115–117 118, 119, 127, 132, 151, 156,
302 Index
158, 193, 197, 200, 204, 230, armed movement, 140, 140n2,
234, 241, 242, 244–249, 251, 143, 144, 148, 168
252, 255–257, 259, 260, 262, protests, 56, 57
263, 270 student movement, 18, 19,
colonial matrix of, 242, 243, 107–134
246–248, 250, 254, 257, 262 Sociocultural integration, 20,
Puerto Rico, 96–100, 203, 214 211–235
Purpose, 114, 118–120, 127, 129, Stereotype, 75, 110, 150, 253,
132, 133, 152, 195, 222, 251, 292
258, 262
U
Q United Nations
Quijano, A., 242–244, 246–248, MINUSTAH, 17, 69, 70,
250, 254, 256, 257, 259, 262 77–79, 81, 82, 87n5, 89, 91,
97n8
Special Representative of
R Secretary-General (SRSG), 78,
Recognition, 21, 22, 140, 180, 81, 82, 86, 89, 91, 96,
211–235, 268, 274, 291 98–101
Recontextualization, 18, 107–134,
196, 197, 205
Register V
neologism, 157, 158, 167 Van Leeuwen, T., 3, 18, 20, 79, 80,
slang, 156, 157, 167 114, 116, 118–120, 129, 176,
speech, 51, 164 185, 186, 191, 193, 199, 200,
Reisigl, M., 8, 15, 17, 20, 71, 78–80, 202
177, 186, 187, 196 Visibility, 176, 267–294
S W
Slavery Wodak, R., 7, 8, 15, 17, 18, 20,
reparation for slavery, 19–21, 177, 40, 70–73, 78–80, 78n3,
178, 186 177, 186, 187, 195, 196,
slave resistance, 184, 187, 188, 195 204, 217
slave trade, 19, 21, 179, 180, 187, Womanhood, 273
196, 197, 203, 205, 245 black womanhood, 249, 253,
Social movement 256, 260

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DISCOURSES

Discourses from Latin

José Manuel Ferreiro

ISBN 978-3-319-93622-2 ISBN 978-3-319-93623-9 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018946235

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2019

Cover illustration: © longtaildog / Getty Images

Part I Ethnic and Latin American Identities Construction in

2 Discursive Re-foundation of an Intercultural Abya Yala:

3 The Discursive Construction of a Latin American

Part II Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted Approaches to

4 The Hooded Student as a Metaphor: Multimodal

5 The Zapatista Linguistic Revolution: A Corpus-Assisted

Part III Discourses of Slavery Reparation and Immigrant

6 The Social Media Campaign for Caribbean Reparations:

7 Towards Sociocultural Recognition and Integration of

Part IV Integrated Approaches to Race and Gender in the

8 Remaking Jamaica: Tourism, Labour, and the Awakening

9 Being Said/Seen to Care: Masculine Silences and Emerging

Camila Cárdenas-Neira is a PhD candidate in Translation and Language

University, he has primarily researched the discursive construction of Latin

Adom Philogene Heron is Lecturer in Social Anthropology at Goldsmiths

Fig. 4.1 Structure of the narrative analysis 114

Table 4.1 Narrative development of the STUDENT/HOODED

© The Author(s) 2019 1

discursive approaches beyond the Euro-American zone. In the same vein,

Tackling the multifacetedness of social practice and change in an eth-

2 Latin America: Contemporary Voices

& Rovira Kaltwasser, 2017, p. 31), such as Bolivia, Ecuador, Venezuela

the youngest candidates to win a Parliamentary election in the country.

movements in the country. They also organized intercontinental indige-

The interest Discourse Studies has sparked, especially in Latin America, is

This interest in Discourse Studies has resulted in four main research

which has repercussions in how text is understood. The implications of

3 The Caribbean: Broadened Horizons

Caribbean is a culturally, linguistically and racially diverse region, shaped

Since its inception in the 1950s, Caribbean sociology has attempted at

and nationalist project. Similarly to Ortiz’s transculturation and Glissant’s

compartmentalized approach saw Creole languages as departing from

Throughout this book, we picture – and hope to contribute to – a

4.1  art I: Ethnic and Latin American Identities

One of the most commonly researched areas in Discourse Studies is the

departing from the traditional norm of Bolivian presidents. From Gallant’s

4.2  art II: Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted

The construction of (political) identities inevitably addresses issues of

of social actors/actions (2008) to describe how these multimodal con-

4.3  art III: Discourses of Slavery Reparation

profound inter- and intra-community disunity foster migration in Latin

immigrant community related to its recognition and integration in the

4.4  art IV: Integrated Approaches to Race

Albó, X. (2011). Suma qamaña = convivir bien. ¿Cómo medirlo? In I. Farah H.

Charteris-Black, J. (2005). Politicians and Rhetoric: The Persuasive Power of

FONDECYT1130684. (2014). Alfabetización semiótica. Retrieved December

Munasinghe, V. (2006). Theorizing World Culture Through the New World:

Van Leeuwen, T. (2014). Critical Discourse Analysis and Multimodality. In

This contribution is based on a doctoral dissertation at the Department for Historical

© The Author(s) 2019 33

different facial features and from now on understand the diversity of

Bringing together this particular formation of continentally relevant

“assassin”, “terrorist”, and “Bin Laden of the Andeans” (Morales, 2016a,

In 2011, seventeen social organizations under the auspices of CIDOB

Other protest marches both in favor of and against the government’s

analysis. According to Foucault (1981, p. 243), a discourse comprises the

Part I Ethnic and Latin American Identities Construction in

2 Discursive Re-foundation of an Intercultural Abya Yala:

3 The Discursive Construction of a Latin American

Part II Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted Approaches to

4 The Hooded Student as a Metaphor: Multimodal

5 The Zapatista Linguistic Revolution: A Corpus-Assisted

Part III Discourses of Slavery Reparation and Immigrant

6 The Social Media Campaign for Caribbean Reparations:

7 Towards Sociocultural Recognition and Integration of

Part IV Integrated Approaches to Race and Gender in the

8 Remaking Jamaica: Tourism, Labour, and the Awakening

9 Being Said/Seen to Care: Masculine Silences and Emerging

Fig. 4.1 Structure of the narrative analysis 114

2 Latin America: Contemporary Voices

3 The Caribbean: Broadened Horizons

4.1 art I: Ethnic and Latin American Identities

4.2 art II: Multimodal and Corpus-Assisted

4.3 art III: Discourses of Slavery Reparation

4.4 art IV: Integrated Approaches to Race

setting of Morales’ presidency, this approach to knowledge and

3.2 Culture, Ethnicity, and Interculturality

5 Morales’ Ethnic-Cultural Portrayal9

5.2 Abya Yala

5.3 Andean Context

6 iscourse Implementation and the Quest

e thnic-cultural positioning as well as its roots in historic protest move-