Pan-Caribbean Integration: Beyond CARICOM 9781138056718, 9781315165158

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Pan-­Caribbean Integration

A critical part of the history of regionalism in Latin America and the Caribbean is to be found in the widening of the economic and functional relationships among the English-­speaking Caribbean to embrace other countries in the Greater Caribbean. Bringing together a range of international experts to explain the broad thrusts of CARICOM’s Widening Project and the opportunities and challenges it presents, the book pays particular attention to CARICOM’s relations with the French Caribbean territories. Providing a review of the pan-­Caribbean landscape this volume notes the impact of these new relationships on internal CARICOM affairs; inter-­regional/South–South cooperation; and political and legislative changes in European metropoles of the non-­independent territories. It also contemplates recent developments in the region and globally, such as political instability in Brazil and Venezuela, Britain’s decision to leave the European Union and the policies of the Donald Trump administration. This edited collection will be an important resource for students and researchers in Latin American and Caribbean politics, economics, development, history and heritage. Patsy Lewis is Professor of Regional Integration and Small States Development at the University of the West Indies, Mona, Jamaica. She is also visiting Professor, Watson Institute for International and Public Affairs, Brown University, USA. Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­Roberts is Research Fellow at the Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies (SALISES) at the University of the West Indies, Mona, Jamaica. Jessica Byron is Professor of Caribbean International Relations and Diplomacy and Director of the Institute of International Relations, UWI St Augustine Campus, Trinidad.

The International Political Economy of New Regionalisms Series Series Editor: Timothy M. Shaw

The International Political Economy of New Regionalisms Series presents innovative analyses of a range of novel regional relations and institutions. Going beyond established, formal, interstate economic organizations, this essential series provides informed interdisciplinary and international research and debate about myriad heterogeneous intermediate-­level interactions. Reflective of its cosmopolitan and creative orientation, this series is developed by an international editorial team of established and emerging scholars in both the South and North. It reinforces ongoing networks of analysts in both academia and think-­tanks as well as international agencies concerned with micro-, meso- and macro-­level regionalisms. For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/The-­ International-Political-­Economy-of-­New-Regionalisms-­Series/book-­series/ASHSER-­ 1146 Recent Titles Contemporary Regional Development in Africa Kobena T. Hanson Eurasian Regionalisms and Russian Foreign Policy Mikhail A. Molchanov Africa in the Age of Globalisation Perceptions, Misperceptions and Realities Edward Shizha and Lamine Diallo Governing Natural Resources for Africa’s Development Edited by Hany Gamil Besada Security, Education and Development in Contemporary Africa Edited by M. Raymond Izarali, Oliver Masakure and Edward Shizha

Post-­Colonial Trajectories in the Caribbean The Three Guianas Edited by Rosemarijn Hoefte, Matthew L. Bishop and Peter Clegg Post-­Hegemonic Regionalism in the Americas Toward a Pacific-­Atlantic Divide? Edited by José Briceño-Ruiz and Isidro Morales Forthcoming Titles Understanding Mega-­Free Trade Agreements The Political and Economic Governance of New Cross-­Regionalism Edited by Jean-­Baptiste Velut, Louise Dalingwater, Vanessa Boullet and Valérie Peyronel Pan-­Caribbean Integration Beyond CARICOM Edited by Patsy Lewis, Terri-­ Ann Gilbert-­Roberts and Jessica Byron

Pan-­Caribbean Integration Beyond CARICOM

Edited by Patsy Lewis, Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­Roberts and Jessica Byron

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 selection and editorial matter, Patsy Lewis, Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­ Roberts and Jessica Byron; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Patsy Lewis, Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­Roberts and Jessica Byron; to be identified as the authors of the editorial matter, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-05671-8 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-16515-8 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear

Dedicated to Norman Girvan in recognition of his unflagging and pioneering work in striving for a pan-­Caribbean vision.

Contents



List of illustrationsx Notes on contributorsxi Acknowledgementsxvi List of abbreviationsxviii

Part I

The foundations of pan-­Caribbean regionalism

1

  1 Pan-­Caribbeanism and the CARICOM Widening Project

3

P atsy   L ewis , T erri -­A nn   G ilbert -­R oberts and J essica   B yron

  2 Constructing the Greater Caribbean

15

N orman G irvan

  3 Diaspora, affective ties and the New Global Order: Caribbean implications

28

P ercy C . H int z en

Part II

Confronting boundaries of formal sovereignty

47

  4 Responses to the sovereignty/vulnerability/development dilemmas: small territories and regional organisations in the Caribbean

49

J essica   B yron and P atsy   L ewis

  5 The stakes of admitting the French Caribbean Territorial Authorities to CARICOM and the OECS K arine  G aly

70

viii  Contents   6 A deeper regional incorporation for the French territories of the Americas: the shifting dynamics of French foreign policy

83

A lexandra  P etit

 7 The insularisation of a regional university: the case of the former UAG

97

F red  R E no

Part III

Haiti and the Dominican Republic: challenges to integration

113

  8 Haiti–CARICOM relations: between fascination and mistrust

115

S abine M anigat

  9 French or Creole? Which second language for CARICOM?

128

B ernard P hipps

10 Imaginary narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent: media debates around Sonia Pierre and Juliana Deguis

138

G loria A me z q uita

Part IV

Assessing initiatives in pan-­Caribbean regionalism

151

11 Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM: from Grant Aid to Compensated Development Cooperation

153

M ilagros M art í ne z R einosa

12 Towards a New Latin American–Caribbean regionalism of solidarity

162

J os É P iedras

13 Opportunities for CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC A ntonio R omero  G ome z

171

Contents  ix Part V

Global and regional trends: implications for pan-­Caribbean integration

185

14 ‘Far from home but close at heart’: preliminary considerations on regional integration, deterritorialisation and the Caribbean diaspora

187

D . A lissa  T rot z

15 CARICOM and rising powers: India, China and Brazil’s growing South–South cooperation in the region

206

A nnita   M ontoute and A driana   E rthal   A bdenur

16 Confronting shifting economic and political terrains

224

P atsy   L ewis , J essica   B yron and T erri -­A nn   G ilbert -­R oberts



Bibliography246 Index276

Illustrations

Figure 10.1 Cultural map and diagram of opposed cultural tendencies

142

Tables 10.1 Obstacles to the implementation of the Law 169 and Decree 250 13.1 GDP and real rates of growth at constant 2005 prices 13.2 Debt to GDP ratio, 2011

141 172 173

Contributors

Adriana Erthal Abdenur is a fellow at the Igarapé Institute, in Rio de Janeiro, and a Senior Post-­Doctoral researcher at Centro de Pesquisa e Documentação de História Contemporânea do Brasil (CPDOC), in Fundação Getúlio Vargas (FGV-­Rio), with funding from the Senior Post-­Doctoral Scholarship programme of the Brazilian National Council for Technological and Scientific Development (CNPq). She works on international development, especially South–South Cooperation, and international security and peace-­building in the Global South. She holds a bachelor’s degree from Harvard University and a PhD from Princeton. Gloria Amezquita is the director of the Oxfam-­Dominican Republic Programme for Democracy and Citizenship and coordinator of a consortium of citizens’ organisations working for transparent and inclusive local government. She is also a coordinator of El Consejo Latinoamericano de Ciencias Sociales (CLACSO) Working Group on ‘Crisis and Responses in the 21st Century Caribbean’ and a member of the Multi-­Theme School team which engages in policy research and critical analysis of political, socio-­cultural and economic issues facing the Dominican Republic. She holds a BSc from the Technological Institute of Santo Domingo (INTEC), an MSc from the Autonomous University of Santo Domingo; and an MSc jointly awarded by the Basque University and the Autonomous University of Santo Domingo. She has worked extensively with the Jesuit Service for Migrants and Refugees on human rights protection, migration and Dominican-­Haitian bi-­national relations, and with the national and municipal planning authorities on state-­civil society relations and on delivery of public services. Her research and publications focus on human rights and labour migration, in particular Haitian migration. Jessica Byron is the Director of the Institute of International Relations at the University of the West Indies (UWI) St Augustine Campus in Trinidad. She has published extensively on Caribbean–Latin American international relations and on small states and territories in the global political economy. Her latest publications include ‘Summitry in the Caribbean Community: A Fundamental Feature of Regional Governance’, in Mace, Gordon, Therien,

xii  Contributors Jean-­Phillipe, Dabene, Olivier and Tussie, Diana, eds, Summits and Regional Governance: The Americas in Comparative Perspective (Routledge Global Institutions Series, 2016) and ‘Martinique’s Accession to the OECS: A New Chapter in Caribbean Regionalism?’ The Round Table, 106 (3) June 2017, 279–302. Karine Galy is a Senior Lecturer in Public Law at Université des Antilles (formerly Université des Antilles et de la Guyane (UAG)) at the Schoelcher Campus in Martinique. She is a member of the Caribbean Centre for Research on Local Authorities (CRPLC) where she coordinates a research project on the ‘Evolution of Instruments for Regional Cooperation and Integration in the Caribbean and Americas’. Her doctoral thesis was entitled ‘The Progressive Impregnation of Regionalism by Human Rights: The Example of American Regionalism’. She also held a UNESCO Chair on regional cooperation at the Jean Monnet Centre of Excellence at the Université de Rennes in France. Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­Roberts is a Research Fellow at the Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies (SALISES) at the UWI, Mona, Jamaica where she chairs the SALISES 50/50 Youth Research Cluster which supports evidence-­based youth policies and programmes in the Caribbean. She is the author of The Politics of Integration: Caribbean Sovereignty Revisited (Ian Randle, 2013) and Editor of Youthscapes’ of Development in the Caribbean and Latin America, a 2014 Special Issue of the journal Social and Economic Studies 63 (3&4). She was Commonwealth Academic Fellow at the Institute of the Americas, University College London in the 2016/2017 academic year. Norman Girvan served as Secretary General of the Association of Caribbean States for the period 2000 to 2004. He was Professor Emeritus of the UWI and Professorial Research Fellow at the UWI Graduate Institute of International Relations at the time of his passing on 9 April 2014. In 2010 he was appointed as the United Nations Secretary General’s Personal Representative on the Guyana–Venezuela Border Controversy. He was a Board Member of the South Centre from 2002–2011, serving as Vice Chairman from 2006 to 2011. He was also a member of the United Nations Committee on Development Policy (from 2009). He had also served as Professor of Development Studies and Director of SALISES at the UWI, and head of the National Planning Agency of the Government of Jamaica. He published extensively on the political economy of development in the Caribbean and the Global South. He was the recipient of several honours and awards Antonio Romero Gomez is a Cuban economist (PhD in Economics, University of Havana, 1996) who specialises in international economic relations. He is currently titular professor at the Centre for Research in International Economy (CIEI) of the University of Havana. He was the Director of CIEI from January 1992 until April 2002 and subsequently served as an international official at the Permanent Secretariat of the Latin American and Caribbean Economic System (SELA). He returned to Havana in December 2011 as Chief of CIEI’s

Contributors  xiii International Trade and Economic Integration Department, and as President of the ‘Norman Girvan’ Caribbean Studies Chair of the University of Havana. In August 2015, Simon Bolivar University (Barranquilla, Colombia) awarded him an Honoris Causa PhD degree in Social Sciences and Humanities for his intellectual work on international economic relations and Caribbean Studies. He has published more than 60 articles in specialised journals on economics, development and international relations. Percy C. Hintzen is a Professor in the Department of Global and Socio­ cultural Studies and Director of the African and African Diaspora Studies Program at Florida International University and Professor Emeritus at the University of California, Berkeley He earned his PhD in Comparative Political Sociology from Yale University. His research and publications examine relationships among modernity, political economy and the production of difference. His primary fields of enquiry are post-­colonial studies, globalisation and development. Patsy Lewis is Professor of Regional Integration and Small States Development at the UWI, Mona, Jamaica. She is currently a Visiting Professor and Faculty Fellow of the Watson Institute for International and Public Affairs, Brown University and Director of the Development Studies Program. Her research has focused on CARICOM and the OECS as well as small states development. She is a graduate of Cambridge University (MPhil, PhD) and the UWI, Mona, Jamaica (BA). Sabine Manigat is a Professor at the Université d’Etat d’Haïti (ENS, INAGHEI, CTPEA) and the université Quisqueya, Port-­au-Prince. She graduated from the Paris Institut d’Etudes Politiques (IEP) in international relations, Université de Paris VII, with a Bachelor’s diploma in History and holds an MSc degree from the Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales (FLACSO), Mexico, where she taught and researched up to 1986. Her research and publications focus on Haiti’s history and political system, Caribbean relations and international migrations. Her publications include, Ayiti Ki demokrasi? El movimiento socal haitiano entre partidos y Estado – 1986–2006 (CLACSO, serie investigaciones, 2014); M ape drive tankou yon bowemyen – Mitos y realidades de las migraciones de haitianos en el Caribe” in Atlas Caraibe (https://atlas-caraibe.certic.unicaen.fr/fr/). Annita Montoute is Lecturer at the Institute of International Relations, The UWI, St Augustine Campus, Trinidad and Tobago. In 2012, she was Research Fellow at the European Centre for Development Policy Management (ECDPM). She is the co-­editor of The ACP–EU Development Partnership: Beyond the North–South Debate (Palgrave, 2017) and has also published on civil society and trade policy, emerging players in the Caribbean and Caribbean security. She is a graduate of the UWI, obtaining a Bachelor of Arts Degree in History in 1996, a Post Graduate Diploma and PhD in International Relations in 2003 and 2009, respectively.

xiv  Contributors Alexandra Petit is a PhD student of Political Science at Université des Antilles et de la Guyane (UAG), where she is affiliated with the Centre d’Analyse Géopolitique et International (CAGI). Her research focuses on the intersection between theories of the ‘New International Relations’, the dynamics of Caribbean regional integration, and the governance relationships between dependent territories like Guadeloupe, Sint Maarten and Anguilla and their respective governing states in Europe (France, the Netherlands and the UK). She is also interested in Caribbean political and institutional processes. Bernard Phipps holds a teaching degree in English with a specialisation in the ‘utterer-­centred’ approach to linguistics. He teaches at the Guadeloupe Fouillole Campus of the Université des Antilles (UA) (formerly Université des Antilles Guyane) and is a member of the CAGI political research center of UA (Centre d’Analyse Géopolitique International). His interests include exploring the relationship between language and power in the particular context of Guadeloupe – a Creole-­speaking country where French is the official language – and his publications question commonly held views about Creole and French and the relations between the two, suggesting a complexity and opacity of a linguistic landscape where the speaker is both an agent and an effect of the language. José Piedras is a former Cuban diplomat, public speaker, professor, writer and social researcher. He has 32 years of experience in International Relations, which includes serving in diplomatic missions in five countries, among them Jamaica, where he was Ambassador for six years. He has been a Professor and Assistant Professor at the University of Havana since 2009. He also worked at the ‘Manuel Fajardo’ University of Sport and Physical Culture, and as an International Information Analyst with Cuban Television. He has published his work in Cuba and internationally. Milagros Martínez Reinosa is an Economist and Assistant Professor at the University of Havana. She is also the Executive Secretary of the Norman Girvan Chair of Caribbean Studies of the University of Havana. She holds a Masters degree in Caribbean Studies from the University of Havana and has worked for more than 40 years on issues related to Cuba–US relations and Cuba– Caribbean relations. She has published in academic journals and books inside and outside of Cuba. Fred Reno is a Professor of Political Science. After teaching at the University of Rennes, he taught comparative politics, Caribbean political systems and political sociology at the Université des Antilles (UA). He is the author of articles on identity, Creolisation policy in the Caribbean, social mobilisation, and the politics and culture of the French West Indies. He is co-­editor of books on political culture in the Caribbean with Holger Henke, identity politics with Robert Hudson and the French West Indies with Richard Burton.

Contributors  xv D. Alissa Trotz is Associate Professor of Women and Gender Studies, and Caribbean Studies at New College, University of Toronto. She is also Associate Faculty at the Dame Nita Barrow Institute of Gender and Development Studies, UWI (Barbados). Recent publications include (with Kiran Mirchandani and Iman Khan) ‘Growing Downhill? Contestations of Sovereignty and the Creation of Itinerant Workers in Guyanese Call Centers’ in Borders in Service: Enactments of Nationhood in Transnational Call Centers, edited by Mirchandani, Kiran and Poster, Winifred (University of Toronto Press, 2016); (with Beverley Mullings) ‘Engaging the Diasporas: An Alternative Paradigm from the Caribbean’ in New Rules for Global Justice: Structural Redistribution in the Global Economy, edited by Scholte, Jan Aart Scholte, Lorenzo Fioramonti and Alfred Nhema (Rowman & Littlefield, 2016). Her current research explores history, memory and violence in colonial and contemporary Guyana. She is a member of Red Thread Women’s Organization, Guyana, and edits a weekly newspaper column, ‘In the Diaspora’, in the Stabroek News, Guyana.

Acknowledgements

The genesis of this book was the ‘Fifty–Fifty’ project of the Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies (SALISES), University of the West Indies (UWI), initiated by Brian Meeks in 2012, during his term as director. The project, designed to reflect on the region’s experience 50 years after its first states gained their independence from Britain (Jamaica and Trinidad in 1962) and to project challenges and opportunities for the next 50 years, was organised around a group of research clusters. Out of this research initiative came the regional integration research cluster, headed by Patsy Lewis, which, in a conference in 2013 to commemorate the Caribbean Community’s (CARICOM) fortieth anniversary, brought together scholars from across the globe to reflect on CARICOM’s experience. This collection represents a development of some of the papers presented there. It was enriched by contributions from Sabine Manigat and Gloria Amezquita who addressed important themes that were not covered in the conference: Haiti’s relationship with CARICOM and the Dominican Republic’s (DR) restrictive immigration policy towards the children of Haitians born in the DR, respectively. Jessica Byron-­Reid and Patsy Lewis’s chapter, which presented a timely intervention on the bid by some European Overseas Territories to join CARICOM and the Organisation of Eastern Caribbean States (OECS) and to reflect on their experience in other regional organisations, first appeared in Danielle Perrot, 2014, Collectivites Territoriales Et Organisations Regionales: De l’indifference a l’interaction and is being republished here with the permission of Perrot and L’Harmattan publishers. We thank them for allowing us to include this chapter. We wish to thank Brian Meeks for his insight in launching this broad research project and in making SALISES resources available to support the work of our cluster and this conference. We wish to thank the members of our research cluster for their support and exchange of ideas. We also wish to thank the members of our conference organising committee, in particular Nadine Manraj-­ Newman, who provided critical support in liaising with our conference participants and, in the early stages, with our chapter contributors and the staff of SALISES, in particular Richard Leach, for their support before, during and after the conference. We also thank Jacqueline LaGuardia Martinez and Elizabeth Wilson and others who translated some contributions.

Acknowledgements  xvii We owe a special debt to Norman Girvan, who delivered the conference’s keynote address, which appears in this volume. Girvan generously agreed to deliver the address after Association of Caribbean States (ACS) director, Alfonso Múnera, who was scheduled to speak, was unable to attend. Beyond his contribution to this volume, we are indebted to Norman for his constant efforts to view the Caribbean in more expansive and less exclusive terms and his practical efforts as ACS director, to work towards this. We also wish to thank Jasmine Girvan for her support in ensuring that his chapter is included in this volume. Finally, we wish also to thank the anonymous reviewers of our manuscript proposal and our chapter contributors who have given their intellectual insights to this volume.

Abbreviations

ACCP ACP ACS ALBA AS AU BRICS BVI CAFTA CAGI CAIC CALC CARIBCAN CARICOM CARIFORUM CARIFTA CARPHA CBERA CBI CBU CCCCC CCJ CCRIF CDB CDEMA CDF CELAC CGCT CIVETS CLACSO COFAP

Assembly of Caribbean Community Parliamentarians African Caribbean and Pacific Group of States Association of Caribbean States Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of our Americas Associated Statehood/Associated States African Union  Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa British Virgin Islands Central America Free Trade Agreement Centre d’Analyse Géopolitique et International Caribbean Association of Industry and Commerce Latin American and Caribbean Summit on Integration and Development Caribbean–Canada Trade Agreement Caribbean Community Caribbean Forum of African, Caribbean and Pacific Group of States Caribbean Free Trade Association Caribbean Public Health Agency Caribbean Basin Economic Recovery Act Caribbean Basin Initiative Caribbean Broadcasting Union Caribbean Community Climate Change Centre Caribbean Court of Justice Caribbean Catastrophe Risk Insurance Facility Caribbean Development Bank Caribbean Disaster Emergency Management Agency CARICOM Development Fund Community of Latin American and Caribbean States General Code of the Territorial Authorities Columbia, Indonesia, Vietnam, Egypt, Turkey and South Africa El Consejo Latinoamericano de Ciencias Sociales Council for Finance and Planning

Abbreviations  xix COFCOR COHSOD COTED CPA CROSQ CRPC CSA CSME CTO CUAG CXC DACA DFID DGM DOMS DR EC ECCB ECLAC ECOALBA-­TCP ECSC EDF EEZ ELAM EPA ERDF EU FATCA FDI FIDA FNP FORMADIP FTA FTAA FUNGLODE GDP GIP GTZ ICE ICTs IIRSA IMF IMPACS

Council for Foreign and Community Relations Council for Human and Social Development Council for Trade and Economic Development Cotonou Partnership Agreement CARICOM Regional Organisation for Standards and Quality Caribbean Research and Policy Center Caribbean Studies Association Caribbean Single Market and Economy Caribbean Tourism Organisation Centre Universitaire des Antilles et de la Guyane Caribbean Examinations Council Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals Department for International Development Directorate-­General of Migration Départements d’outre-mer Dominican Republic European Community Eastern Caribbean Central Bank United Nations Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean ALBA Economic Zone Eastern Caribbean Supreme Court European Development Fund Exclusive Economic Zone Latin American School of Medicine Economic Partnership Agreement European Regional Development Fund European Union Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act Foreign Direct Investment Foundation for International Development Assistance National Progressive Force Formation Diplomatique Free Trade Area Free Trade Area of the Americas Fundación Global Democracia y Desarrollo Gross Domestic Product Groupements d’intérêt public German Agency for Technical Cooperation Immigration and Customs Enforcement Information Communication Technologies Initiative for the Integration of the Regional Infrastructure of South America International Monetary Fund Implementation Agency for Crime and Security

xx  Abbreviations ITEC JCE LAIA LDCs LODEOM Loi ATR LOOM MERCOSUR MIST MOSTHA MUDHA NAFTA NCDs NGOs OAS OCTs OCTA OECD OECS OLADE OPEC PANCAP PPS PRC PRI RCC RGPP RTC SALISES SDG SELA SEML SICA SIECA SME TCI TCP TNCs UAG UFR UA UK UM UNASUR

Indian Technical and Economic Cooperation programme Junta Central Electoral Latin American Integration Association Lesser Developed Countries Law for Overseas Economic Development Law on Territorial Administration of the Republic Loi de l’Orientation pour l’Outre-Mer Southern Common Market Mexico, Indonesia, South Korea and Turkey Movement of Haitian-­Dominicano Workers Movement of Dominican-­Haitian Women North American Free Trade Area Non-­Communicable Diseases Non-­Governmental Organisations Organisation of American States Overseas Countries and Territories Overseas Countries and Territories Association Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development Organisation of Eastern Caribbean States Latin American Energy Organization Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries Pan-Caribbean Partnership Against HIV/AIDS Pharmaceutical Procurement Scheme People’s Republic of China Institutional Revolutionary Party Regional Cultural Committee General Revision of Public Policies Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies Sustainable Development Goals Latin American Economic System Sociétés d’économie mixte Locales Central American Integration System Permanent Secretariat of the General Agreement on Central American Economic Integration Small and Medium-­Sized Enterprise Turks and Caicos Islands People’s Trade Treaty transnational corporations Université des Antilles et de la Guyane Unité de Formation et de Recherche Université des Antilles United Kingdom Université de Martinique Union of South American Nations

Abbreviations  xxi UNCTAD UNESCO UNIA UNIALBA UPR US USAID UWI UWI-­IIR WHO WIC WIF WTO ZSP

United Nations Conference on Trade and Development United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organisation Universal Negro Improvement Association ALBA People’s University University of Puerto Rico United States US Agency for International Development University of the West Indies University of the West Indies Institute of International Relations World Health Organisation West Indian Commission West Indies Federation World Trade Organisation Priority Solidarity Zone

Part I

The foundations of pan-­Caribbean regionalism

1 Pan-­Caribbeanism and the CARICOM Widening Project Patsy Lewis, Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­Roberts and Jessica Byron

Introduction The Caribbean Community (CARICOM1), which emerged in 1973, was the continuation of a project to secure the independence of the former and extant colonies of Britain in the Caribbean, whose first iteration was the West Indies Federation (WIF ) (1958–1962). Thus, its primary concern was with integrating the economies of its members, pursuing functional cooperation across a wide range of areas and, in a more limited way, coordinating foreign policy. Its ambit widened in the early 1990s with the recommendation by the West Indian Commission (WIC), set up to review its goals towards the close of the twentieth century, that not only should the Community focus on deepening the process among its current members, but it should also seek to widen its membership. CARICOM’s role in the advancement of a pan-­Caribbean identity has rarely been documented in the literature. However, a critical part of the history of regionalism in Latin America and the Caribbean is to be found in the widening of the economic and functional relationships among the English-­ speaking Caribbean to embrace other countries in the Greater Caribbean, across linguistic and cultural lines. In particular, overtures from CARICOM and the Organisation of Eastern Caribbean States (OECS2) to Cuba in the 1970s, Haiti in the 1990s and the non-­sovereign territories in 2000s, tell an important part of the story of a changing landscape of regionalism in the Americas. This volume brings together a wide spread of chapters that capture the broad thrusts of CARICOM’s Widening Project and the opportunities and challenges it presents, with a particular focus on CARICOM’s relations with the French Caribbean territories, Haiti and Cuba. It is a review of the pan-­Caribbean landscape that notes the impact of these new relationships on internal CARICOM affairs; inter-­regional/South–South cooperation; and political and legislative changes in European metropoles of the non-­independent territories. It also contemplates more recent developments in the region and globally, such as political instability in Brazil and Venezuela, Britain’s decision to leave the European Union (EU) and the policies of the Donald Trump administration. Before providing an outline of the arguments made in each of the remaining 15 chapters, it is useful at this point to offer a brief historical review of the emergence of pan-­Caribbean regionalism.

4  P. Lewis et al.

The CARICOM Widening Project The impetus for widening CARICOM’s engagement with the region can be located in the broader context that gave rise to the political union initiative among some states of the OECS in the late 1980s, and the Grand Anse Declaration, in 1989, which committed these countries to the creation of a Single Market and Economy (CSME). This was the need to reassess the regional integration project against the backdrop of a changed international environment and the perceived damaging outcomes for the region. These included the collapse of the Soviet Bloc and the end of the geopolitical basis on which their engagements with the US and Europe had been pursued; the embrace by the EU of a single economic market and the likely restructuring of the trade protocols of the Lome Convention; the negotiation of the World Trade Organisation (WTO) which threatened to further erode some of their protections in the EU market; and the negotiation of the Canada-­US Free Trade Agreement and, later, the North American Free Trade Area (NAFTA), which they feared would undermine their protected access to the US market under the Caribbean Basin Initiative (CBI) (Lewis 2002, pp.  8–9). The WIC’s recommendation to reach out to the wider region was an effort to reduce the isolation that CARICOM feared would result from these developments. The primary vehicle for widening CARICOM’s engagement with the region was the proposed Association of Caribbean States (ACS), which provided for various forms of membership for all 32 states and territories washed by the Caribbean Sea, including the non-­sovereign territories of the UK, France, the Netherlands and the US as well as the non-­CARICOM independent countries – Haiti, Suriname, the Dominican Republic (DR) and Cuba. The widening agenda had already been set, with requests from Haiti, Suriname, the DR and Venezuela for full membership in CARICOM. The rationale for the ACS was to provide a distinct forum for CARICOM’s engagement with the wider Caribbean (WIC 1992, p.  60), while leaving its inner core intact. In other words, CARICOM feared that broadening its membership to include other countries in the region comprising different language groups and much larger populations, threatened the organisation’s cohesiveness. Thus, the ACS would be the vehicle for managing trade and functional cooperation between CARICOM and its larger Caribbean counterparts (WIC 1992, pp. 59–63). The ACS’s ambition as a mechanism for expanding regional trade was stymied, however, by the prospect of the hemispheric Free Trade Area of the Americas (FTAA), negotiated between 1998 and 2004, and did not recover after the latter’s collapse. Its focus shifted to and has remained on issues related to the Caribbean Sea – a unifying motif for its members – sustainable tourism, disasters and transportation. CARICOM accepted Suriname’s bid for membership in 1995 and Haiti shortly thereafter3 but did not extend membership to the DR. Despite being accepted for membership in 1997, with accession in 2002, Haiti’s full integration within CARICOM has been problematic. Trade with CARICOM did not begin until 2004. In March 2004, CARICOM protested the extra-­constitutional

CARICOM Widening Project   5 removal of President Aristide and his government’s replacement by the Gérard Latortue administration, by suspending its membership, reinstating it in July 2006 after elections brought the government of President René Préval to power. Despite CARICOM’s more active involvement with Haiti in the aftermath of the 2010 earthquake, Haiti is still not integrated into the CSME, especially in respect of the movement of skilled people. Some CARICOM countries maintain visa restrictions against Haitian nationals. Haiti’s integration, therefore, remains a work in progress. In preference to the full accession of the DR to CARICOM, the Community opted, instead, for a Free Trade Area (FTA) in goods (1998), with provision for future services liberalisation. Nevertheless, the formation of the Caribbean Forum of African, Caribbean and Pacific Group of States4 (CARIFORUM) in 1992 comprising CARICOM states, Haiti (before its accession to CARICOM) and the DR, driven by the impetus from the EU to streamline its operations in the region, brought the DR closer to the group. CARIFORUM was eventually located within the CARICOM Secretariat. The negotiation of the CARIFORUM–EU Economic Partnership Agreement (EPA), which saw the Regional Negotiating Machinery negotiating on behalf of the DR, appears to have undermined CARICOM’s tendency to keep the DR at arm’s length, with the DR relaunching its bid for membership in 2009. This was stalled, however, when CARICOM suspended consideration of the DR’s membership in protest over the Constitutional Court’s ruling in 2013 to withdraw citizenship from Dominicans of Haitian descent. Thus, the DR’s troubled relationship with Haiti continues to present challenges to its embrace by CARICOM, whatever the economic arguments in its favour and, even here, there is concern that its membership may have negative effects on smaller CARICOM economies. The WIC Report advocated an explicit engagement with Cuba, aimed at ending its isolation, bringing it within the Caribbean fold and agitating for an end to the US embargo (WIC 1992, p.  49). An outcome of this was a partial scope trade agreement in 2000. Cuba’s relationship with CARICOM has run longer and deeper with cooperation in education and health care delivery, including the provision of nurses and doctors, and the construction of health infrastructure. More recently, it has collaborated with Venezuela to deliver the Operation Miracle eye programme that provides screening and treatment for eye disease in individual CARICOM states and in Cuba, where necessary. CARICOM also established a number of trade agreements with other countries in Latin America between 1992 and 2004. These included partial scope agreements with Venezuela (1992) and Colombia (1994), and an FTA with Costa Rica (2004). Venezuela’s offer of a one-­way preferential FTA with CARICOM was part of a bid for a more direct engagement with CARICOM. More recently, promoted by the Hugo Chavez government and continued by President Nicolas Maduro, CARICOM–Venezuela engagement included the PetroCaribe Agreement, which provided cheap financing for Venezuelan oil for participants5 and Venezuela’s involvement, with Cuba, in Operation Milagros. The FTA was eclipsed by the Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of our

6   P. Lewis et al. Americas (ALBA), initiated by the Chavez government and supported by Cuba, with six CARICOM states – Antigua and Barbuda, Dominica, Grenada, St Lucia, St Kitts/Nevis and St Vincent and the Grenadines – engaging as full members6 and another three – Haiti, Guyana and Suriname – as observers (i.e. observers). This relationship is not unproblematic, however, with long-­standing claims by Venezuela to a sizeable portion of the territory of Guyana, a CARICOM member, and related tensions have been resurrected by the Maduro government. Moreover, as Chapter 16 in this volume details, recent political and economic turmoil in Venezuela places the future of ALBA and the PetroCaribe arrangements in doubt. Brazil has played an important role in drawing the region more closely into broader subregional integration processes. Both Guyana and Suriname are members of Union of South American Nations (UNASUR), in which Brazil plays a major role. Their engagement in Initiative for the Integration of the Regional Infrastructure of South America (IIRSA) has provided the basis for their stronger physical integration into the continent, with the construction of bridge and road infrastructure, as has already been occurring between Brazil and Guyana. On the popular level and unsanctioned by the regional project, is the informal movement of people, which has led to the establishment of Brazilian communities in border towns in Guyana and a sizeable Guatemalan population in Belize. Brazil was also an important contributor to the collapse of the FTAA project and the move towards the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC), in which CARICOM countries are engaged. Brazil, under the Lula regime, expressed interest in broadening its engagement with CARICOM, participating in summits with regional leaders although, as Montoute and Abdenur detail in Chapter 15, this has slowed down subsequently. Between 1991 and 2003, the non-­independent British territories,7 with the exception of Montserrat, which was already a full member of CARICOM, became associate members and engaged in some of CARICOM’s functional arrangements, most notably, education. The subregional OECS, which brings together CARICOM’s smallest members, all considered Lesser Developed Countries (LDCs), with the British Virgin Islands (BVI) and Anguilla as associate members, was the platform for engaging with the French Caribbean, notably Martinique and Guadeloupe. Martinique became the OECS’s latest associate member in April 2016,8 with Guadeloupe accession negotiations underway. CARICOM’s Widening Project has also received a boost with expressions of interest in associate membership from a number of non-­independent entities in the French and Dutch Caribbean. These are Martinique, Guadeloupe, French Guiana from the French Caribbean and Curacao and St Maarten from the Dutch.

Structure of the volume This volume brings together a wide spread of chapters that capture the broad thrusts of CARICOM’s Widening Project that embraces the wider Latin America region and some of the non-­independent territories of the Caribbean, and the

CARICOM Widening Project   7 opportunities and challenges it presents. It also addresses their evolving South– South relations with Brazil, China and India. It is divided into five sections. The first includes the introduction and broad historical overviews by Norman Girvan and Percy Hintzen, laying the basis for a fuller understanding of the progress in pan-­Caribbean regionalism outlined across the volume. The second brings together four chapters that explore attempts by the French Caribbean territories as well as other sub-­state entities to be more closely integrated with regional organisations, the legal and political implications of this, and the opportunities the engagement presents for both sets of actors. The third section groups two chapters that touch on Haiti’s engagement with CARICOM and a third that explores the implications of the DR’s constitutional ruling to restrict the right of Dominicans of Haitian parents to Dominican citizenship. The fourth section focuses on CARICOM’s relationship with the broader Hispanic Caribbean. It assesses their engagement in more recent initiatives that transcend trade and the changing terrain of Cuba’s provision of fraternal assistance. The final section comprises three chapters that look at CARICOM’s relationship beyond the region and explores new developments that hold challenges for its engagement in the newer integration projects and with South–South cooperation initiatives, more generally, as well as with its diaspora; and new uncertainties introduced by the British decision to leave the EU and the election of Donald Trump to the presidency of the US. A feature of this collection is that it embraces academics and civil society representatives from across the region: Brazil, Cuba, English-­speaking Caribbean and its diaspora, Haiti, the DR and Martinique and Guadeloupe; representing universities and academic institutions such as: the University of the West Indies, the Université Antilles, University of Havana, Université d’Etat d’Haïti and the Université Quisqueya, Haiti, University of Toronto, Florida International University, the Igarapé Institute, in Rio de Janeiro, Oxfam and El Consejo Latinoamericano de Ciencias Sociales (CLACSO) – reflecting on challenges and possibilities of pan-­Caribbean regionalism and possibilities for alternative South–South forms of cooperation.

Part I:  The foundations of pan-­Caribbean regionalism In addition to the introduction, the volume opens with Norman Girvan’s chapter, ‘Constructing the Greater Caribbean’ which presents a broad historical sweep of a pan-­Caribbean project that charts the imagining of a pan-­Caribbean identity variously through literature and activism, drawing its inspiration from perspectives on race, class, resistance and economy. Girvan references a wide range of authors and activists who contributed to the attempt to construct a pan-­Caribbean identity, and in so doing suggests the cross-­pollination of ideas that contribute to an understanding of the region that transcends language and draws on its common history and Haiti’s special role in the construction of a pan-­Caribbean identity of resistance. Girvan places his own emphasis on culture as an avenue to Greater Caribbean integration to counter the centrifugal tendencies of post-­ independence nationalism.

8   P. Lewis et al. Percy Hintzen’s chapter, ‘Diaspora, affective ties and the New Global Order: Caribbean implications’ which follows, provides the backdrop for understanding the growing influence of Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa (BRICS) in the region – a theme Montoute and Abdenur explore in detail in Chapter 15 – which he locates in the decline of European influence and the loss of US hegemony that has opened up spaces for these emerging actors. He also explores the unanticipated role of initiatives such as the US’s CBI and the EU’s Caribbean Forum (CARIFORUM) – meant to further their interests in the region – in fostering pan-­Caribbean integration, breaking down language and other barriers fostered by colonialism; and the increasing array of regional initiatives that bring the two groups out of their mutual isolation. He also privileges race in the construction of the region. Hintzen places particular emphasis on the role of the region’s diaspora in ‘challenging the logic of the state’ with the potential to break down barriers to regionalism and contribute to a broader pan-­Caribbean project. Moreover, he argues that historical migratory patterns in the region provide a connection between the Caribbean and these new emerging powers, in particular China and India.

Part II:  Confronting boundaries of formal sovereignty Jessica Byron and Patsy Lewis’s, ‘Responses to the sovereignty/vulnerability development dilemmas: small territories and regional organisations in the Caribbean’, presents a detailed insight into the working of three regional groups, CARICOM, its sub-­grouping the OECS and the ACS, in particular, the avenues they provide for the deeper integration of the autonomous and semi-­autonomous territories of the French, British and Dutch Caribbean. They explore the impetus behind these territories’ attempts at increased integration within the region in which they are located and the interests the groupings might have in accommodating their membership. They suggest that greater integration within regional groupings provides these territories with avenues for functional integration, especially around the Caribbean Sea, natural disasters, education, among others, which are less feasible for the European states with which they are constitutionally aligned to provide; but it also gives them access to a political platform, including in their relations with the latter, which they would not have otherwise. They observe that interest in these organisations, with the exception of the OECS, is coming at a time when they have been experiencing crises and propose that their embrace of the non-­ sovereign Caribbean territories could potentially inject life and strengthen the rationale for their existence. This is particularly important in CARICOM’s case as it re-­emphasises its role in functional cooperation and foreign affairs, which tend to be subordinate in the organisation’s deliberations. Byron and Lewis assert that while constitutionally bound to Europe, these non-­sovereign entities remain very much a part of the region and these regional organisations are important tools for overcoming some of the challenges of small size which they also face.

CARICOM Widening Project  9 The two chapters that follow present differing perspectives on the implications of the accession of the French Caribbean territories to regional organisations. In Chapter 5, ‘The stakes of admitting the French Caribbean territorial authorities to CARICOM and the OECS’, Karine Galy presents a perspective from the French Caribbean territories on their rationale for seeking closer integration, the struggle they have waged to ensure this and the legal challenges involved. Galy suggests that the Départements d’outre-mer’s (DOM’s) quest for closer integration with the region is grounded in a perception of their identity as Caribbean people and their developmental needs which they believe would be better realised if they are more integrated in economic and functional relations with neighbouring countries. Their quest to join these organisations presented challenges for the French state as it meant their greater exercise of sovereignty considered the purview of the French state. The legal basis to facilitate this emerged over time and in response to a constant struggle waged by the territories. Nevertheless, their engagement in regional integration processes poses legal challenges as many sectoral programmes involve intertwined competencies by the local authorities (DOMS), the French state and the EU. She argues that this was a dilemma that the accession negotiations had to overcome. Galy concludes that the accession of the French Caribbean territories should lead to a further refining of French law and laws/regulations governing these regimes. Alexandra Petit, in the subsequent chapter, ‘A deeper regional incorporation for the French territories of the Americas: the shifting dynamics of French foreign policy’, presents a more realpolitik view of the regional engagement of the Caribbean French overseas territories. Petit argues that rather than representing autonomous action on the part of the overseas territories, their engagement in regional organisations actually strengthens the presence of the French state. While it satisfies the overseas territories’ interest in pursuing their ‘autonomous development policy’, she argues, it is also a deliberate aspect of France’s reconfigured foreign policy approach that is conducted at the European, state and local levels. In the specific context of Caribbean and Latin America, it allows France to differentiate among the various countries on the basis of their importance to France, facilitating the focus of its diplomatic resources on a small number of countries – such as Brazil and Mexico – more crucial to its interests. Thus, the overseas territories’ engagement with CARICOM and the OECS allows France to scale back its activities in this region, while boosting its visibility. Petit notes that France retains considerable strategic interest in its overseas territories, in general, because they constitute 96 per cent of its Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). She observes that the legal basis for allowing overseas territories to gain ‘international competency’ is itself restrictive, limiting them to engaging with organisations within their geographical region as well as specified areas of functional cooperation, the majority requiring French approval and legal oversight. She concludes that the engagement of overseas territories in regional organisations is not independent of France but, rather, France and its interests remain present. The danger she identifies is that these French overseas territories may inadvertently be a channel for French policy in the region.

10  P. Lewis et al. Fred Reno’s chapter, ‘The insularisation of a regional university: the case of the former UAG’ shifts the discussion to fragmentation tendencies in the French overseas territories, that led to French Guiana’s withdrawal from the regional Université des Antilles et de la Guyane (UAG), and the greater autonomy of Guadeloupe within the arrangement. Drawing on the experience of the regional University of the West Indies (which embraces all the CARICOM territories with the exception of Guyana), Reno interrogates the role of a university in developing a regional identity. He argues that, unlike the UWI, which notwithstanding challenges to its regional coherence over the years, the Universite des Antilles et de al Guyane (UAG) never had this as a conscious function and concrete programmes to promote regionalism and facilitate exchanges of faculty and students were few. Also, in contrast to the clear impetus to strengthen ties with European and North American institutions of higher education, there is no such conscious effort to do so with the UWI and, even where a dynamic academic programme exists with the UWI (and the University of Bordeaux), this is not emphasised. Despite not being explicitly stated, there is the danger that the movement towards insularisation that Reno identifies in this instance may well be strengthened by the overseas territories’ pattern of engagement within regional integration processes. Petit, for example, noted the concern of Guadeloupe’s Victorin Lurel, Minister for Overseas Affairs, that their decision to seek individual membership in regional institutions could lead to damaging competition between them.

Part III:  Haiti and the Dominican Republic: challenges to integration The three chapters that comprise this section focus on Haiti from different aspects of its engagement with the region. Sabine Manigat and Gloria Amezquita reflect on the challenges of Haitian migrants within CARICOM states and the DR. Manigat traces the myriad roots of Haiti’s relative estrangement from the CARICOM region, reflected in negative perceptions of Haitian migrants, which continue despite its formal accession to the organisation, while Amezquita discusses Haiti from the perspective of the neighbouring DR’s treatment of Haitians. Specifically, she assesses identity discourses and national myths within the DR and the divisions in that society on the ruling of the Constitutional Court to deny and revoke the citizenship rights of descendants of Haitian migrants born in the DR, an issue that halted the DR’s consideration for CARICOM membership. Bernard Phipps raises philosophical questions about CARICOM’s adoption of French, rather than Creole, as the second official language of the Community. Manigat’s chapter, ‘Haiti–CARICOM relations: between fascination and mistrust’, explores the historical roots of Haiti’s problematic relations with the region, located in the isolation it suffered after its 1804 revolution. These are evident in the treatment of Haitian migrants throughout the region and Haiti’s slow and halting embrace by CARICOM. Haiti still does not enjoy all the rights of full membership, despite being fully admitted in 2006, nor has it fulfilled all

CARICOM Widening Project  11 its obligations of membership. She argues that the road towards Haiti’s integration is likely to be challenging but that its integration was inevitable. Bernard Phipps, in ‘French or Creole? Which second language for CARICOM?’, continues the debate on Haiti’s integration into CARICOM, this time from the perspective of language. In the context of CARICOM’s acceptance of French as its second official language, Phipps assesses arguments in favour and against either language but weighs towards supporting Creole as the more legitimate option. Paradoxically, while some CARICOM leaders addressed Haitian President Martelly in Creole, it was Martelly who responded in French and insisted that French should be a formal language of CARICOM. Implicit in Phipps’s chapter is the concern that the choice of French over Creole will continue to marginalise the majority of Creole-­speaking Haitians from the regional integration process. Gloria Amezquita’s chapter ‘Imaginary narratives about Dominicans of Haitian descent: media debates around Sonia Pierre and Juliana Deguis’, provides a commentary on the DR’s constitutional ruling denying citizenship to Dominicans of Haitian descent. She does this through chronicling the struggles of two women, thus shifting the problem from an amorphous group to allow for a more intimate perspective of how the life of the individual is affected. More importantly, the two case studies illustrate the divisions that exist in Dominican society, as represented in media debates and popular perspectives on the two cases. Although not speaking explicitly to the integration experience, Amezquita’s chapter helps to illustrate why CARICOM would find it challenging to admit the DR to membership while the citizenship matter remains unresolved.

Part IV:  Assessing initiatives in pan-­Caribbean regionalism This section shifts the focus from the French Caribbean to assess the challenges and possibilities of CARICOM’s engagement in integration initiatives with the Hispanic Caribbean and Latin America. It begins with Milagros Martinez Reinosa’s assessment of the evolution of CARICOM–Cuba relations and the likely direction this is going to take, followed by José Piedras’s, ‘Towards a new Latin American-­ Caribbean regionalism of solidarity’ and Antonio Romero Gomez’s, ‘Opportunities for CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC’, which explore newer regional initiatives that transcend a narrow focus on trade. Martinez Reinosa, in her chapter, ‘Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM: from Grant Aid to Compensated Development Cooperation’, provides an insider perspective on Cuba’s shift towards greater reciprocity in its relationships with third countries, including CARICOM. This shift is occasioned by the effects on the economy and ultimately, the Cuban people, of three hurricanes in 2008, aggravated by the global economic crisis. Cuba has thus had to modify its approach to aid adopting myriad strategies that include working with other countries in the region, such as Venezuela, particularly in the provision of health care services; and with Brazil, Argentina and Norway, a country outside of the region, to assistant Haiti following the 2010 earthquake. The implications of Cuba’s shift to adopting the

12   P. Lewis et al. principle of reciprocity in 2011, means that for CARICOM states, many of the services Cuba has provided will now be at a cost. The consequences for those CARICOM countries engaged with ALBA are likely to be less severe. Piedras examines what he terms CARICOM’s gradual participation in initiatives such as CELAC, ALBA and UNASUR which, he believes, is based on pragmatism reflecting their need to balance their interest in such schemes with their relationship with the US and Europe. Potential tensions lie in foreign affairs where their interests might conflict with those of their Latin American counterparts. He advocates a cautious approach on the part of Latin America in appreciating CARICOM’s concerns, as well as the centrality of consolidating their own integration scheme. Gomez, in his chapter ‘Opportunities for CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC’, extends this analysis by suggesting that initiatives such as ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC offer the opportunity for CARICOM to address broader social and economic challenges. This was already occurring under PetroCaribe, which addressed their need for a more affordable source of oil and ALBA, which offered possibilities for cooperation across a broad field that includes health, culture and telecommunications. Gomez sees mutual benefits to Latin America and the Caribbean from their participation in CELAC, suggesting that it could be a vehicle for addressing CARICOM’s concerns with size and the need for special and differential considerations in trade; high levels of indebtedness of middle-­ income countries, a category in which they fall; as well as infrastructure, climate change, disaster risk reduction and social development, among others. He observes that Latin American countries also stood to benefit from CARICOM’s participation in CELAC, given CARICOM’s expertise in tourism, culture and cultural industries, information communication technologies (ITC), telecommunications and e-­commerce. He concludes that CARICOM’s participation in wider regional initiatives could well be the basis for tackling the current crisis of implementation within which its integration process is enmeshed.

Part V:  Global and regional trends: implications for pan­Caribbean integration This section picks up on some of the key themes running through this collection, while reflecting on important developments regionally and globally and their likely implications for the region. Trotz’s chapter, ‘ “Far from home but close at heart”: preliminary considerations on regional integration, deterritorialisation and the Caribbean Diaspora’ focuses on the role of CARICOM’s diaspora, which Hintzen raised earlier. Trotz explores an oftentimes turbulent and ambivalent relationship between CARICOM states and their diasporas. Increasing attempts by governments to write their diasporas into economic policy, based on the large volume of remittances many receive, as well as halting and fleeting efforts by CARICOM to define a regional diaspora, speak to the increasing perceived importance of this group. Trotz explores the inherent pitfalls in this targeting of the diaspora as a resource to exploit in the interest of the state, warning that it could lead to a hierarchy of

CARICOM Widening Project  13 diasporas that privileges those with resources at the expense of those who find it more challenging to survive in their adopted land, challenges that are likely to increase under the Trump administration – a theme explored in Chapter 16. Annita Montoute and Adrian Erthal Abdenur’s chapter, ‘CARICOM and rising powers: India, China and Brazil’s growing South–South cooperation in the region’ shifts the focus to CARICOM’s relations with some of the BRICS group, moving the discussion beyond regional cooperation to assess its economic relationships with these countries. What emerges from this discussion is the largely asymmetrical and bilateral nature of relationships established, in contrast to CARICOM’s engagement with Latin America. Also of interest, is that these relations are governed by geopolitical considerations that include access to the US market (China), the balancing of power (Brazil vs Cuba and Venezuela) as well as diasporic considerations, in the case of India and China, which have sizeable diasporas in some countries. Notwithstanding, there have been initiatives to develop relationships with CARICOM by these three states. What is missing is a coherent strategy on CARICOM’s part to maximise benefits from these arrangements. Patsy Lewis, Jessica Byron and Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­Roberts’s concluding chapter, ‘Confronting shifting economic and political terrains’, charts major shifts at the regional and global levels that have introduced fault lines into pan­Caribbean integration. At the regional level this is reflected in Venezuela’s deep political and economic crisis that threatens to erase its projection of an alternative model of South–South cooperation through ALBA and Brazil’s internal conflicts that have already resulted in lower levels of engagement with the region. The main developments at the international level are Britain’s decision to exit the EU and greater insularity in Europe which introduces uncertainty both in their continued non-­trade relations with the EU after the Cotonou Agreement ends in 2020; as well as their trade and non-­trade relations with Britain after 2019, when Brexit negotiations end. The other element of uncertainty has arisen with the election of Donald Trump as US President. Early policy signals, reflected in a plethora of Executive Orders, suggest clear challenges in migration and climate change – the latter with disproportionate effect on small states; and a scaling back of relations with Cuba. Although there are no clear immediate negative effects on trade, the President’s hostility to foreign trade is an area of concern and insecurity arises from the likelihood of further effects from the implementation of a conservative political agenda. The apparent further withdrawal of Britain and the US from the region widens the space for further South– South cooperation, particularly by BRICS and other players such as Mexico. These developments suggest the need for a more coherent approach by CARICOM and broader thrusts to strengthen the wider regional project.

Conclusion This volume, as it attempts to move beyond the traditional focus of CARICOM’s internal dynamics, to reflect on its broader relations with other language groups in the region, represents a rare attempt to engage, not just with conceptual

14  P. Lewis et al. understandings of the region, but also with a broader academic community. It reflects important trends, not just in formal integration initiatives and their fortunes, but also in the contributions of history, culture, identity, race and migratory movements, not always frontally addressed by the integration literature. We hope that it makes a useful contribution to the literature.

Notes 1 CARICOM’s member states are: Antigua and Barbuda, The Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Dominica, Grenada, Guyana, Haiti, Jamaica, Montserrat, St Kitts and Nevis, St Lucia, St Vincent, Suriname, Trinidad and Tobago. 2 The OECS is a subregional grouping of countries formerly classified by CARICOM as lesser developed, with the exception of Belize. They are Antigua and Barbuda, Dominica, Grenada, Montserrat, St Kitts and Nevis, St Lucia and St Vincent. They also include Anguilla, the BVI and Martinique, as associated members. 3 The CARICOM Heads of Government accepted Haiti’s membership in 1997 with certain terms and conditions that were met in 1999. Haiti was formally admitted in 2002, although the 2010 earthquake has stymied its full integration. 4 Cuba was initially a member of CARIFORUM but declined to sign the Cotonou Partnership Agreement (CPA). 5 Trinidad and Barbados were not signatories to this agreement. 6 Grenada and St Kitts/Nevis are not members of the associated People’s Trade Treaty (TCP). 7 These were the BVI and the TCI (1991); Anguilla (1999); the Cayman Islands (2002); and Bermuda (2003). Montserrat was one of the early signatories to CARICOM. 8 Although Martinique signed documents of accession in February 2015 and has been considered as part of the OECS since then, the formal process was completed when France signed off on the agreement in April 2016.

2 Constructing the Greater Caribbean Norman Girvan

Introduction Some years ago I published a paper that discussed the various meanings and definitions that are attached to the term ‘Caribbean’ (Meeks and Lindahl 2001). There is a sense in which the divisions of language are part of a larger picture that we could call the ‘legacy of empire’ in our region; and it is a useful point of departure. In these reflections, I want to explore how far the ongoing project of constructing the Caribbean may usefully be looked at through the optic of the opposing forces of empire and resistance. After a brief tour of the imperial project I will invite you to consider with me some of the principal resistance projects – by which I mean regional projects of indigenous construction – which have impacted our ideas of region and their political and institutional expressions. The projects I look at are pan-­Africanism, West Indian nationalism – regional and insular; revolutionary pan­Caribbeanism; Plantation pan-­Caribbeanism, and Greater Caribbean (some of these are invented labels). I will suggest that these different projects have been conditioned by factors such as language and colonial heritage, ethnicity and referential identity, class and ideology, and national state interest.

Influence of empire It may be useful to begin at the beginning as it were, by recalling that the linkages among our scattered islands go back a long way. We are told that they were initially settled by people from the mainland to the South, thrusting upwards from the Orinoco, and perhaps by others from the Yucatan venturing across to Cuba and The Bahamas. But unlike, say, the Japanese and Indonesian islands, our archipelago never benefitted from having an empire of indigenous origin that united the disparate islands under a common language, religion, culture and cosmology. There is no historical memory of being One upon which we can collectively draw. In Spanish colonial times, the ports of ‘Terra Firma’ on the Southern mainland were networked with those of Las Antillas Mayores (Greater Antilles) in the service of wealth extraction and trans-­Atlantic shipment. Subsequent incursions by other European nations were to seriously fragment the geopolitical

16  N. Girvan configuration of the archipelago and, as pointed out by the Puerto Rican historian Antonio Gaztambide-­Geigel (1996), it was not until the latter half of the nineteenth century that the sea and its surrounding littoral began to be known as ‘Caribbean’. This development, as he shows, was a reflection of the imperial designs of an expansionist America. In effect, the Caribbean ‘Basin’ was constituted as the ‘Third Frontier’ of the US – or, as some would call it, ‘America’s Backyard’. It is in this sense that the seizure of Puerto Rico and de facto of Cuba in 1898, the separation of Panama from Colombia in 1903 in order to build an American canal, and the US occupations of Nicaragua, Haiti and the DR in the opening decades of the twentieth century, were all steps in the construction of the Greater Caribbean, American style. This would continue through the Anglo-­American Caribbean Commission of the 1940s, and a string of US interventions in the second half of the century in Cuba, the DR, Grenada, Nicaragua, Panama and Haiti, Reagan’s CBI and involvement in counter-­insurgency in Colombia. Most recently we have had the reactivation of the US Fourth Fleet in 2008 (Gragg 2008) and the pervasive US military presence in the entire region, complete with overflights of drones, conveniently packaged as the War on Drugs.

Pan-­Africanism My main concern, however, is not with the constructions of empire; rather it is with those that have arisen in response and from within. In this connection I would like to start with the work of Jamaica’s National Hero, Marcus Garvey. Although Garvey was not a regionalist in the customary sense, his project was to a significant degree formed by his regional experience of travel and observations of the common condition of black workers in the circum-­Caribbean and South America. The countries he visited included Panama, Costa Rica, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Chile, Peru, Honduras, Colombia and Venezuela. It was in these communities that his sense of international vocation and vision crystallised; it was here that his skills as an orator, political journalist and publisher were honed; and it was immediately after his return to Jamaica from these travels that he founded the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) in 1912. And although the focus of his organisation settled on the US it had a wide regional outreach. Professor Robert Hill informs me1 that there were UNIA branches in Cuba, Jamaica, Haiti, the DR, Puerto Rico, St Thomas, Virgin Islands, Antigua, St Kitts, St Vincent, Barbados, St Lucia, Dominica, Grenada, Trinidad, Tobago, Guyana, The Bahamas and Bermuda, as well as in six countries in the circum-­Caribbean. This extraordinary fact is testimony to the extent to which Garvey’s message of racial pride, self-­respect and economic self-­ development resonated in these societies. In Arthur Lewis’s autobiographical note (Lewis 1994, p. xliv), for instance, he records that his interest in the question of underdevelopment began when his father took him to a meeting of the St Lucia branch of the UNIA, when he (Lewis) was barely seven years old. It was of course Lewis’s work on the economics of development that won him his

Constructing the Greater Caribbean  17 Nobel Prize, so I have sometimes quipped that the honours should have been shared with Marcus! Garvey was, above all, a pan-­Africanist in the audacity of his vision and the tenacity of his organisation, the first in a stellar line of personalities in that tradition who have their political roots in this archipelago. Indeed it is a matter on which we might reflect; that many of the most influential political thinkers from these islands have never found it possible to confine themselves to the insular space, and have embraced projects of far wider dimensions. After Garvey we had C. L. R. James, George Padmore, Walter Rodney and Bob Marley; from the French-­speaking Caribbean we have Aimé Césaire and Frantz Fanon. We also think of Michael Manley and his struggle for a New International Order and of José Marti’s assertion that Homeland is all of Humanity. We think of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro, who have made international solidarity the bedrock of the Cuban project. It was this sense that our societies and our presence in these parts are the product of global economic forces, and the mission to be part of the construction of a global future, I think, that made a young Walter Rodney, still just a sixth form student in Georgetown, declare to his fellow students that ‘West Indians live more in time than in space’. My point here is that the construction of region, in our concrete circumstances, must necessarily take account of the imperative of ethnic cultural and psychological self-­emancipation which derives from the peculiar and unique conditions under which Africans, by comparison with other ethnicities, were incorporated into the labour regimes of this hemisphere; conditions which are well-­known to all of us and with whose legacy we are still struggling to come to terms. We see this, for example, in the on-­going debate over race in Cuba; in the launch of the campaign by CARICOM nations for reparations for slavery and native genocide; and in the matter of the treatment of Haitian descendants in the DR. This issue is of course mediated by the reality that people of African origin share the insular and regional space with other ethnicities; including those of primarily Hispanic descent in the Spanish-­speaking countries and those of Asian descent in the Southern Caribbean. In such a context, if ethnicity is made into the dominant, or only, source of political identity, it can lead to a degenerate form of political tribalism as ethnically-­ based political parties vie for state power; it can become a cover for the corrupt use of state assets; and it can be an obstacle to the consolidation of national communities around common goals and objectives. Mutual respect and understanding, based on a thorough knowledge of historically derived prejudices and stereotypes, are the key; and here of course scholars have a crucial role and responsibility. One thinks of C.  L.  R. James’s dictum that: The race question is subsidiary to the class question in politics, and to think of imperialism in terms of race is disastrous. But to neglect the racial factor as merely incidental is an error only less grave than to make it fundamental. (James 1989, p. 283)

18  N. Girvan

West Indian nationalism – regional and insular Only three years after Garvey founded the UNIA, at the other end of the archipelago, a young Grenadian named T. A. Marryshow was founding a newspaper called The West Indian – the last two words, significantly, joined together in a single word in the banner headline of the first issue. Thus was launched a second current of resistance, social thought and political practice that has impacted the construction of region. This is the current of West Indian nationalism. This current responded to similar conditions in the colonial order that gave rise to Garveyism, but it took a somewhat different form and trajectory. Taking root and spreading over the years, it crystallised in the form of the project of West Indian nationhood when Marryshow and Cipriani held a regional conference in Grenada in 1932. These people had the audacity and the vision to write a draft Constitution for a WIF with Dominion status – read ‘Independence’ – long before the British Colonial Office got into the business of mass-­producing such documents. The pioneers were followed by the Caribbean Labour Congress in 1938, which explicitly linked the campaign for self-­government and nationhood to the cause of emancipation of the working people and the creation of societies based on social justice. Democracy and political sovereignty would not be ends in themselves; they would be instruments for, in effect, a second emancipation of the West Indian people. Yet, as the thrust continued after the Second World War, these goals were to be progressively diluted in their class content and deprived of their regional dimension. By the time Marryshow’s dream became a reality in the form of the West Indian Federation in 1957, the writing was on the wall for it to become almost a nightmare, as a result of the emerging dynamic of insular nationalism. By this time too, the regional project had been robbed of its progressive social and economic agenda, and fragmented by virtue of the abstention of British Guiana – not to speak of British Honduras and The Bahamas – as a consequence of Cold War ideological fissures and ethnic politics. Hence the insular nationalism, that has in large measure displaced West Indian regionalism in the Anglophone Caribbean since the mid-­twentieth century, while also a project of resistance, has become a powerful centripetal force in the region. Since the break-­up of the Federation, British West Indians have tried to reconcile the dynamic of insular nationalism with the economic imperative of regional integration in the form of the Caribbean Free Trade Association (CARIFTA), and the CSME, to date with only limited success. I must say however that the recent ruling of the Caribbean Court of Justice (CCJ) in the Shanique Myrie case2 is a major development in rescuing the CARICOM regional project. Not only does it give justice to an aggrieved CARICOM citizen in her treatment by the functionaries of another CARICOM state, it also establishes minimum standards for unobstructed hassle-­free travel with which all states are bound to comply; and it gives much greater legal force to decisions of the CARICOM Conference of Heads of Government than had hitherto been thought to obtain. In the 1980s, a spirited debate erupted over the

Constructing the Greater Caribbean   19 relative merits of ‘deepening’ versus ‘widening’ the Community by the inclusion of non-­Anglophone states. The Report of the West Indian Commission (1992) on this question was actually a vigorous reaffirmation of the case for consolidation of a West Indian identity that had been elaborated by the early visionaries, and speaks to its enduring appeal. It is captured in the eloquent words of the Chairman, Sir Shridath Ramphal, in his Preface to the Report: That fluent sculpture of time has already changed us; we the diverse people of scattered islands and mainland countries plucked from far continents by cruel history, drawing strength from our variety of race and culture and place of origin, but reaching beyond them for other strengths from uniting elements. Historical forces and the Caribbean Sea have divided us; yet unfolding history and that same Sea, through long centuries of struggle against uneven odds, have been steadily making us one. Now West Indians have emerged with an identity clearly recognisable not only to ourselves and our wider Caribbean but also in the world beyond the Caribbean Sea … … I am the fourth generation of my family’s anguished transplantation. Other West Indians have been here over a longer period, and through systems of greater anguish; yet it was natural for me to remind an audience during the Commission’s consultations that ‘I am a Guyanese before I am an Indian. I am West Indian before I am a Guyanese’. Oneness had replaced separateness in four generations. So it is for most of the people of our CARICOM region. That oneness is the basic reality of our West Indian condition. (p. vii) This notion of ‘West Indianness’ as a composite of historically subordinated ethnicities in the English-­speaking Caribbean, melding as a result of the processes of Creolisation, continues to occupy a central place in the construction of wider regional identities. It is buttressed, materially and organisationally, by a complex of regional institutions and common socialisation processes in which the University of the West Indies plays a not insignificant part. I like to tell people that I entered the Mona Campus over 50-odd years ago as a Jamaica nationalist and left as a West Indian regionalist; and I have never recognised any contradiction between the two. Yet we must concede that it is an identity that is derived from common British colonial experience in which language and common institutional heritage is the main medium of communication and of shared understanding. Going forward, ‘West Indians’ will be more and more challenged to accommodate this feeling of uniqueness with the necessities of wider regional and hemispheric circles of association in which other languages and institutional legacies predominate.

Challenging the narratives In the seven years between 1938 and 1945, four books were published by writers from this region that in one way or another challenged the prevailing imperial

20  N. Girvan narratives of Caribbean history. The books to which I refer are The Black Jacobins by the Trinidadian C. L. R. James (1938); The Caribbean: The Story of Our Sea of Destiny by the Jamaican W. Adolphe Roberts (1940); Capitalism and Slavery by Trinidadian Eric Williams (1944); and The Caribbean: Sea of the New World by the Colombian Germán Arciniegas (1946). It can hardly be a coincidence that these books should have appeared at a time when colonial peoples were on the march and the political economy of Latin America was being refashioned as a result of the Great Depression. But what seems to me of great significance is the way in which these books, both individually and collectively, effected fundamental changes in the way in which we look at ourselves. As I hope to show, their import lay in transcending the frontiers of language and colonising power and in laying the foundations of a pan-­Caribbean historical and political consciousness that continue to shape our constructions of region to the present day. Revolutionary pan-­Caribbeanism C.  L.  R. James wrote The Black Jacobins as a weapon in the anti-­colonial struggle. What is of interest is that he took his inspiration from the Haitian Revolution that had occurred some 150 years before and was the first successful revolution against slavery and colonialism in all of Latin America and the Caribbean; and that he looked to the person of Toussaint for lessons in the brilliance of Black political generalship, strategy and tactics. James’s project was the more audacious, in that since its self-­liberation Haiti had been relentlessly demonised in the Anglophone imaginary, used as proof that it is futile to defy imperial power and that black people are incapable of governing themselves without extended periods of white colonial tutelage. In the 75 years since it first appeared, probably no other single book as The Black Jacobins has so awoken the consciousness of English-­speaking Caribbeans to the wider community of imposition and resistance of which we are an integral part. James leaves us in no doubt as to his revolutionary pan-­Caribbeanism when in the 1963 republication of the book he adds an epilogue titled ‘From Toussaint Louverture to Fidel Castro’ and makes this declaration: Castro’s revolution is as much of the twentieth century as Toussaint’s was of the eighteenth. But despite the distance of over a century and a half, both are West Indian. The people who made them, the problems and the attempts to solve them, are particularly West Indian, the product of a peculiar origin and a peculiar history. West Indians first became aware of themselves as a people in the Haitian Revolution. Whatever its ultimate fate, the Cuban Revolution marks the ultimate stage of a Caribbean quest for national identity. In a scattered series of disparate islands the process consists of a series of uncoordinated periods of drift, punctuated by spurts, leaps and catastrophes. But the inherent movement is clear and strong. (Appendix: p. 391)

Constructing the Greater Caribbean  21 It is to the Haitian Revolutionaries, therefore, that we ultimately owe the foundations of our consciousness of self as a regional people of equality, self-­respect, dignity and essential humanity. The historical connections operate as at a subterranean level in collective memory. We think of the often-­overlooked fact that Boukman, a prime initiator of the Haitian Revolution, came from Jamaica; that Bolivar was materially assisted by Petion; or there persists a fallacious notion conveyed in French texts, as the Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano reminds us, that Caribbean slavery was abolished by the benevolent French in 1848! In 1885 the Haitian anthropologist Antenór Firmin became one of the first writers to challenge the fallacious science of racial hierarchies in his book De l’égalité des races humaines (English: On the Equality of Human Races), for which he was reviled, ridiculed and marginalised from the French academy. Firmin’s book was written in rebuttal to the Frenchman de Gobineau’s pseudo-­ science The Inequality of the Human Races (1853–1855). Only four years later, at the other end of the Caribbean, the Trinidadian John Jacob Thomas published his book Froudacity (1889); itself a brilliant polemic in rebuttal to the ill-­ informed and bigoted travelogue by the Englishman James Anthony Froude’s 1888 book The English in the West Indies, in which he argued that West Indians were congenitally unfit for self-­government. The similarity is self-­evident. It was not necessary for Thomas to know of Firmin’s work, let alone to have communicated with him, or vice versa. Both Caribbean writers were taking aim at ideas then prevalent in the imperial centres. The language of empire is the same, no matter what language it speaks in. Let us remember that this was happening in the same decade as the imperialist ‘Scramble for Africa’, the Congress of Berlin that carved up the continent, and the accompanying doctrines of ‘White Man’s Burden’ and Mision. The spirit of Haiti, indeed, persists as a kind of thread connecting the French/ Creole, Anglo and Hispanic world of spiritual and intellectual marronage in the Caribbean space. We owe to the Cuban literary critic Emilio Jorge Rodríguez the beautiful notion of a Transcaribbean Literary Identity, with Haiti as its driving force. In his book of the same name, published in Spanish and English in a single volume by House of Nehesi in Saint Marten in 2011, Jorge Rodríguez tells of his love affair with Haitian literature. He traces its impact on, and connections with, the Cuban intellectual and artistic canon associated with Nicolás Guillén, Alejo Carpentier, Wilfredo Lam and several others who visited Haiti in a process of mutually creative exchange in the 1940s and after. Jorge Rodriguez himself made the pilgrimage to Haiti, so to speak, in several visits commencing in 1995 and completed with an exhausting and emotional trip to the Citadelle Laferrière; to which Lloyd Best has said every Caribbean child should be taken to gaze in wonder, awe and inspiration. In his modest way Jorge Rodriguez (2011) points us in his conclusion to possible future undertakings: Indeed, studies on Caribbean trans-­nationalization indicate the expansion of culture beyond national administrative boundaries.… Perhaps a look at Caribbean renationalization based on intra-­regional studies may contribute

22  N. Girvan to demonstrate how identity building has shaped our history and culture.… Just as Alejo Carpentier highlighted in 1951 the pressing need of taking into account Haitian novels when drawing an overview of Latin American literature, today we can assert that in any attempt to define the cultural geography of the Caribbean and Latin America, the trans-­Caribbean links emerging since the Haitian Revolution are one of the pillars that gave rise to our hemispheric specificity. (pp. 133–134) The incorporation of Haiti into CARICOM in 2002 can thus be seen as the latest step in the regional validation of the Haitian experience; and a belated but welcome recognition of our historic debt to Haiti, as has been recognised by CARICOM and by the University of the West Indies in their programmes of collaboration with Haitian institutions post-­earthquake; and by bodies including ALBA and UNASUR; by Venezuela; and especially by the magnificent example of the Cuban Henry Reeves medical brigade serving in urban and rural communities in Haiti. But this is very much unfinished business, as witness the shameful ruling of 23 September 2013 by the Constitutional Court of the DR to strip of their citizenship some three generations of native-­born Dominicans who hitherto fore enjoyed that status, on the spurious grounds that their forebears were illegal immigrants, who, as it happens, are in the vast majority of Haitian origin. It has to be said that this ruling has been roundly condemned by a wide coalition of human rights organisations in that country. Plantation pan-­Caribbeanism In 1944 there appeared Eric Williams’ Capitalism and Slavery, thought by many to be the intellectual offspring of The Black Jacobins. You could hardly ask for a more comprehensive yet meticulous work of turning the colonial narrative on its head by its thesis that slavery and the slave trade had fuelled, if not financed, the British Industrial Revolution, while foreclosing all possibility of economic development in the Caribbean. But more than that, Williams provided a theoretical and analytical frame by which we can understand all such economies, irrespective of colonial power and associated linguistic and institutional heritage. In furtherance of this understanding Williams spent several months doing post-­doctoral research in the Spanish-­speaking islands and Haiti in 1940, and maintained a lively correspondence with the Cuban luminary Fernando Ortiz, éminence grise of the documentation of the African presence permeating Cuban culture. Returning to Howard University, he published his first academic article in 1941 calling for a pan-­Antillean Union or Federation, in which he declared inter alia that the ‘defence of the Western Hemisphere does not require, nor does it need, U.S. domination of the Caribbean’, but rather ‘the end of colonial rule and the assumption by the islands of full control over their internal affairs’ (Garcia-­ Muniz 1984, p.  26, citing Williams 1941, pp.  542, 543). Williams later wrote that the time he spent in Cuba was the most important of his intellectual life.

Constructing the Greater Caribbean   23 I call this construction of region Plantation pan-­Caribbeanism. After this book, we begin to understand Caribbean economy, and hence society, as a system, whether preceded by the qualifier British, French, Dutch or Spanish. For Williams, this system lay at the core of his historicised thesis of the essential Caribbean condition of fragmentation caused by imperial rivalry, colonialism and slavery, and his utter conviction that only by means of economic and ultimately political integration of these islands could true economic emancipation, independence and self-­development be achieved. Williams remained steadfast to this conception throughout his political career. He fought for the WIF to have a strong central government, responsible for economic development; after the break-­up of the Federation, he convened a conference of states and territories of all the language zones to forge a Caribbean Economic Community in 1963; he insisted that the Economic Commission for Latin America should establish a Caribbean office to promote cooperation in this region; and he initiated the establishment of a Caribbean Cooperation and Development Committee of ECLA – now ECLAC (United Nations Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean), in 1975, along with Cuban Vice President Carlos Rafael Rodriguez. When he published his other major work of Caribbean history – From Columbus to Castro – in 1970, Williams made clear that his Caribbean was the archipelagic Caribbean, with the three Guianas and Belize added because of their history with the archipelagic experience. Intellectually, the road from Capitalism and Slavery would lead to the New World Group in the 1960s and the Theories of Plantation Economy of Lloyd Best (1968), Lloyd Best and Kari Polanyi Levitt (1969) and George Beckford (1972) in the 1970s, and to the Association of Caribbean Economists in the 1980s. Most notably, and without gainsaying the enormous contribution of eminent Caribbean historians who followed Williams, it is the scope of ‘Caribbean’ that underlies the magisterial United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) History of the Caribbean project launched in the 1980s; published in six volumes. Even then, we find a growing elasticity around the edges its notion of Caribbean region. As early as 1967 we find Lloyd Best beginning his famous essay on ‘Independent Thought and Caribbean Freedom’ with an assertion that the Caribbean, as the world of plantation America, extends from the Northeast of Brazil to the South of the US. In the aforementioned UNESCO history, we find that the region is defined to include those communities – as distinct from states – in the circum­Caribbean that share the core experience. Indeed, Colombian and Venezuelan scholars take great exception to any suggestion that they are, in effect, not one of us, at least as far as the Caribbean coast of these countries is concerned. The Caribbean Studies Association (CSA) has held successful conferences in the Colombian Caribbean island of San Andres, and even as far away as Salvador da Bahia; all of which leads to two other books to which I wish to refer, which have to do with the construction of the Greater Caribbean from a perspective from within.

24   N. Girvan Greater Caribbean W. Adolphe Roberts’s book The Caribbean: The Story of Our Sea of Destiny was published in 1940. Now Roberts was not only a self-­taught historian, he was a passionate Jamaican nationalist. Some credit him with ‘conceptualising and initiating the march towards Jamaican self-­government’ from his base in New York, where he founded the Jamaica Progressive League on 1 September 1936 (Jones 2011). His book of 46 chapters and 340 pages spanned a 450-year story of the lands lying in and around the ‘1,800 miles from the Serpent’s mouth, between South America and Trinidad and the Yucatan Channel’ (p. 14). It might seem to be a curious paradox that a man of such intensely insular nationalist orientation should publish a book of this magnitude claiming a proprietorial relationship with the larger space that we inhabit, and asserting it as the locus of our destiny. But what this tells us is the powerful role of history, landscape and seascape in forming the sense of our place in the world. So many of our poets, novelists and artists derive their inspiration from what lies around us. I recently watched a film on Derek Walcott, Poetry Is An Island (Ida Does Productions 2013), where he says that if he travels outside of St Lucia for more than a certain period of time, he feels literally incomplete, almost ill, with longing for his islandscape. The hinterland of Guyana has evoked some of the most compelling, almost mystical, prose of the writer Wilson Harris. This sense of place, in the widest sense, is the foundation stone of a truly expansive regionalism that fixes the Greater Caribbean as the centre of our world. We encounter this, too, in Germán Arciniegas, public intellectual par excellence, diplomat in the service of his country, and one of the most distinguished and revered men of letters of the twentieth century of his native Colombia. In the 65 years from 1932 to 1997 Arciniegas ‘published practically one book a year along with hundreds of essays, articles and speeches’ (Back cover, ‘Editorial Reviews’ Amazon, www.amazon.com/Caribbean-­Sea-The-­New-World/dp/1174857013). His Biografía del Caribe (1945), (published in English in 1946 as Caribbean: Sea of the New World) is a ‘breath-­taking and magisterial work, encompassing four centuries of history of the Caribbean basin in its broad sweep’ (Girvan 2003); and remains one of his most acclaimed works. These two books were written, therefore, as part of a political vocation to create Our Story in place of Their (His) Story. As Professor Bridget Brereton (2003, p.  315) has written, they were among the first, if not the first, to break with the imperial traditions of Caribbean historiography in writing a general yet accessible history of the region that straddles the centre of the hemisphere. In centring their narrative on the Sea, both Roberts and Arciniegas find themselves characterising the Caribbean as the Mediterranean of the Americas; a place of clash of cultures and perpetual imperial rivalries; pawns in a power game of emperors and kings; objects of the unworthy attentions of pirates and other assorted criminals. Nowadays, this strategic location gives us the dubious importance of sitting astride the principal drug trafficking routes between South America, North America and Europe, and as a result having some of the highest

Constructing the Greater Caribbean   25 homicide rates in the world. It is almost as if the cocaine and marijuana of today are like the gold and silver of yesteryear: sources of fabulous wealth that traverse our borders, acting like magnets of greed and unmitigated ruthlessness. And the region has its own twenty-­first century pirates too! On the other hand, we continue, as we must, to seek opportunities for leveraging this location to legitimate advantage, as we see from the plans to create a logistics hub in Jamaica and the recent opening of the huge trans-­shipment facility at the Port of Mariel in Cuba, in order to garner the spin-­offs of the expansion of the Panama Canal. We will always be where we are, and the Sea will always be with us. We have no choice but to centre our world on this space; to embrace our Sea and make it ours. One of the most important initiatives of the ACS – the principal institutional expression of the Greater Caribbean so far – is to have the Caribbean Sea designated by the United Nations as a Special Area for Sustainable Development. In respect of the ACS, which was launched in 1994 after the Report of the West Indian Commission, what is actually noteworthy is the speed of change in Latin America and the Caribbean that has profoundly altered the hemispheric configuration since then. One consequence is that new and attractive avenues for cooperation between the Caribbean and the continent have been opened up that go beyond the ACS. Undoubtedly the most important of these are PetroCaribe, ALBA,3 UNASUR and CELAC. PetroCaribe has become far and away the largest single provider of concessionary finance to CARICOM, the majority of which are members of the scheme. Four of them have carried this further by becoming full members of ALBA and two others are in ALBA as observers.4 In the case of UNASUR, to which Guyana and Suriname belong, a huge Brazilian-­ led initiative to integrate the infrastructure of the continent in roads, waterways, energy and telecommunications is underway. The road from Brazil through Guyana to the Atlantic/Caribbean will become a reality. CELAC5 furthermore is set to become an increasingly important political actor in hemispheric affairs. Every Caribbean country participates and, very importantly, CARICOM has been allocated a permanent seat on its Bureau. This is of course in recognition of the voting power of the Community and the distinct circumstances and interests of this group. The ACS therefore now concentrates on those areas of functional cooperation that can best be served by an organisation centred on this geographical space – areas such as natural disaster mitigation, sustainable tourism and air transport. The key areas for the future are certainly going to be protection and sustainable management of the Caribbean Sea, and cultural cooperation and exchange in the Greater Caribbean. Caribbean cultural community There is no question in my mind that culture, widely defined, holds the key to wider Caribbean integration. It is the means by which we develop a consciousness of ourselves as a regional people, and of fostering mutual understanding and respect across the boundaries of language and ethnicity. In the past few

26  N. Girvan years I have attended literary festivals, film festivals and festivals of traditional folklore in different locations in the Caribbean space, and it has been eye-­opener and a consciousness raiser. In July 2011 I was in Santiago de Cuba attending the annual Festival del Caribe. During the festival I had several epiphany moments which I would like to I share: As scholars pondered Pan-­Africanism in Cuba and Jamaica and the development of Black consciousness in Martinique and Trinidad and Tobago; Vudú and Yoruba religious ceremonies were being performed in communities adjacent to Santiago. The cultural procession held in the city centre before the culture ministers of Cuba and Trinidad and Tobago and a crowd of several thousand ended with a street jump-­up which to all intents and purposes was a j’ouvert – except that it was Santiagueran Conga. A Jamaican would have recognised Jon Cannu and Rastafari among the Cuban groups; a Trinidadian would have recognised familiar Carnival characters like Moko Jumbies and Dame Lorraines. Santiago’s Steelband del Cobre and Trinidad’s Valley Harps steel orchestra had half their audiences at Teatro Heredia jumping on the stage at the end of their respective performances. The homage to the Cimmarón (Maroon) held on a hilltop in the community of Cobre was a ceremony with powerful spiritual impact – complete with possession – which reminded me of Jamaican Kumina and, I am told, shared many elements with Trinidadian Shango. Bob (Marley) was everywhere. (Girvan 2011a) Attending several of the cultural events, I came away with a strong sense of the power of music, dance and spiritualism as the common language of Caribbean people. The barriers of language and political status virtually evaporate in the heat of music, dance and shared rituals. The sense of the Caribbean as a ‘community of culture’ that one experiences on these occasions, stands in curious contrast with the difficulties that have been encountered in configuring the Caribbean as an economic and political community. Can we therefore not propose the establishment of a Caribbean Cultural Community? Were Dr Múnera6 here I am sure he would be telling you of crucial initiatives in the field of culture in the ACS that have been initiated or facilitated under his watch. One such is a network of Caribbean carnivals, under which member countries would have present in their carnivals, representative carnival band or carnival characters from other participating countries – an initiative launched recently in Cartagena. Another, which involves the University of the West Indies (UWI), is a Caribbean network of scientific research and researchers on subject areas of common interest. Years ago some of us were involved in developing a project for multilingual, multidisciplinary Master’s degree in Caribbean Studies in which several Caribbean universities would participate. Several academic centres are now offering Master’s degrees in Caribbean Studies, notably in Cuba, Colombia, Venezuela and Puerto Rico. The creation of a cadre of young Caribbeans grounded in the rich history, literature, culture and politics of the region, and able to communicate

Constructing the Greater Caribbean  27 in two or more regional languages, is the single most important contribution we as academics could make towards fostering the project of the Greater Caribbean as a vibrant part of the hemispheric and global community.

Conclusion I remember the words of two great Caribbean writers. The first come from Derek Walcott in his Nobel acceptance lecture (1992): Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.… Antillean art is this restoration of our shattered histories, our shards of vocabulary, our archipelago becoming a synonym for pieces broken off from the original continent. The second is from George Lamming in his book of essays, Coming, Coming, Coming Home (c2000): I do not think there has been anything in human history quite like the meeting of Africa, Asia, and Europe in this American archipelago we call the Caribbean. It is so recent since we assumed responsibility for our own destiny, that the antagonistic weight of the past is felt as an inhibiting menace. The most urgent task and the greatest intellectual challenge: How to control the burden of this history and incorporate it into our collective sense of the future. (p. 25)

Notes 1 Hill is a leading Garvey scholar. He is the editor in chief of the Marcus Garvey and the UNIA Papers Project and has published 11 volumes on Garvey. 2 This refers to the landmark decision by the CCJ in a case brought against the Barbadian government by a Jamaican national, Shanique Myrie, which found that the Barbadian authorities, in denying her entry to Barbados, were acting in contravention of the Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas which guarantees entry for a minimum of 6 months to citizens of signatory states. 3 Before 2009, ALBA was referred to as the Bolivarian Alliance of the Peoples of Our America. 4 In December 2014, Grenada and St Kitts/Nevis joined Antigua and Barbuda, Dominica, St Lucia and St Vincent to become full members of ALBA. Suriname was admitted as in 2012 a ‘special member’, which signified an intention to join the organisation, as in 2012. Haiti is a permanent observer. See ALBA-­TCP 2014. 5 CELAC, which replaces the Rio Group and the Latin American and Caribbean Summit on Integration and Development (CALC), embraces all of the countries of the Caribbean and Central and South America, including Mexico. It excludes the US and Canada and is widely viewed as a replacement for the FTAA. 6 Dr Alfonso Múnera Cavadía was the Secretary General of the ACS between 2012 and 2016. He was initially invited to deliver the opening address to the SALISES 2013 Conference, ‘Rethinking Regionalism: Beyond the CARICOM Integration Project’, UWI, Mona, but was replaced by Norman Girvan when he could no longer attend.

3 Diaspora, affective ties and the New Global Order Caribbean implications Percy C. Hintzen

Beyond colonial reason We may begin a critique of current forms of regionalism in the West Indies by proposing that the ideas and documentary practices that inform its ‘instrument effects’ are mired in what I would term colonial reason.1 In other words, the way we ‘think’ of the Caribbean, and the institutional practices that produce the materialities of regional formation, are mere inscriptions and re-­inscriptions of colonial and neocolonial (imperialist) formation. These regional formations are operating co-­terminously with the emergence of alternative vectors of global connections. The latter, I want to argue, are much more constitutive of the fundamental conditions of modern social formation. The documentary practices organised around CARICOM, DOMS, ACS, ECLAC, Organisation of American States (OAS), OECS, CARIFORUM, and earlier around the US-­derived CBI Caribbean Basin Economic Recovery Act (CBERA)2 all specify, produce and reproduce forms of structural relations that tie the region to Euro-­American statist formations and all that such relations entail (including their linguistic practices). They conscript the behaviour of the region’s governing elite, policy makers and people into the service of Euro-­American neocolonial interests. Such conscription, produced out of the pedagogies of colonial practice rooted in colonial ideology, render invisible the role of alternative vectors of connection that were fundamental in the production and reproduction of the modern world order. The ‘freedom struggles’ of anti-­colonial movements in the Global South effectuated a publicisation of some of these critical global linkages.3 The critical practice of anti-­ colonial movements in the former colonies and the resultant post-­colonial formations, theorised by scholars of the Global South and implemented by the forces of popular mobilisation and their leaders, extended the horizons of new possibilities for the reformulation of global political economy. Notwithstanding their persistent inscription in colonial practice, anti-­colonial and post-­colonial formation had the effect of uncovering fundamental and critical connections that existed outside of Europe and upon which the various colonial empires were built. Anti-­colonial and post-­colonial discourse and practice rendered visible these existing ‘structures of relations’ distorted by colonial ideology. They brought to consciousness alternative possibilities for new patterns of

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  29 global formation that came with challenges to Euro-­American hegemony. This is despite the persistence of colonial discourse, pedagogies and political economy in their formulations.4 There are new and significant developments in global formation that represent a ‘turning away’ from European and North American-­centred colonial hegemony. These are, in some way, made possible by the effective presence of a group of newly ‘emerging economies’ in the Global South. The economic rationale for their emergence relates to what David Harvey (2006, pp. 413–445) identifies as the emerging ‘crisis’ produced out of ‘the dialectics of imperialism’ and the latter’s perpetual need for new markets, investment opportunities, and raw materials that ensues from the condition of ‘over-­accumulation’. The imperialist response to the crisis has led to the emergence of these new centres of global capital accumulation in the ‘Global South’. It has produced, in its wake, new vectors of connection among these centres and new patterns of ‘South–South’ relationships. Even though not necessarily an accurate representation of their organisation and operational effectiveness, the countries specified in these new global formations are known by their acronyms, BRICS (referring to the growing alliance of Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa), MIST (the newest emerging market club of Mexico, Indonesia, South Korea and Turkey), and CIVETS (the market alliance of Colombia, Indonesia, Vietnam, Egypt, Turkey and South Africa). The singular and collective emergence of these groups of countries destabilises the ‘instrument effects’ of colonial discourse and documentary practice by complicating the pattern of colonial and neocolonial flows of accumulation and transfer of surpluses from the Southern peripheries to Northern colonial and neocolonial metropoles. In particular instances, these flows and patterns of accumulation have been reversed with significant implications for global political and cultural power. The new emerging economies are constitutive of a new phase in global capitalist formation consistent with imperialist necessity. They predicate significant shifts away from colonial patterns of global alliances, that is, from the colonial phase of imperialism. Their emergence has augured in much more formalised patterns of South–South alliances organised around alternatives to colonial and neocolonial articulations.5 The shift to globalisation and to its current phase of global capitalism has also reoriented forms of national identity and loyalty to those organised around origins (both to country of origin and those organised around originary (diasporic) claims at the root of racial formation). These connections are not new, but were previously subservient (in the true sense of the word) to colonial and neocolonial institutional and documentary practices, especially in their ‘instrument effects’. There are explanations for the ‘South–South’ turn in the reformulation of global relations, other than those rooted in economic determinism. They rest, fundamentally, in anti-­colonial critical practice. Colonialism was instantiated by and through dispossession from and denial of the technical conditions of development (that came to mean in the final analysis capital accumulation) for the racially abject in the colonised Global South. We may argue, therefore, that racial formation was the fundamental social condition of the modern world

30  P. C. Hintzen system. White supremacy became the trope against which the anti-­ colonial project was forged. In this way, the latter became a project of international relations that cemented ties among the colonised territories seeking independence and national self-­determination. In the ferment of the anti-­colonial movement, racial ties became intensified for those separated by the colonial project from their soi-disant territories of origin to which they retained claims of belonging: Africans, Indians, Chinese and Indonesians, in particular. This is where the sentimental foment of diaspora became intensified in transnational commitments to self-­determination and development of homeland. As an imperative of post-­ Second World War imperialist formation, demand was initiated for two different forms of global transfers: transfer to the colonised of the technical capacities for the organisation of the global order; and transfers of colonial labour to Europe and North America. This resolved the problem of ‘over-­accumulation’ as the white working class entered into what Samir Amin calls a social-­democratic alliance with global capital (Amin 1980). In the Global North, the alliance transferred a portion of the surpluses of global accumulation to white working classes everywhere in exchange for their loyalty and commitment to global capitalism. It was forged through implementation of Keynesian-­based welfarist policies in North America and the more progressive socialist policies of Western Europe. These were accompanied by global financial transfers organised around the Marshall Plan and by new forms of global economic coordination and control through the introduction of the Bretton Woods institutions. Together, these developments consolidated and ushered in a new neocolonial North Atlantic alliance that also included Japan. The ‘neocolonial’ project of white global consolidation was harnessed, after the Second World War, to the economic, military, political and social power of the US. It was occurring at the very time of intensification of anti-­colonial nationalist challenges, themselves organised around forms of global racial consolidation: Indian Independence, the Maoist revolution in China, the anti-­Western conflicts in Indo-­China and on the Korean peninsula, and the shift in the pan-­Africanist focus to African and Caribbean independence. The collected challenge to white supremacy and white affective consolidation provided the material framework that linked these highly disparate global and national movements together. Third Worldism, the Non-­Aligned Movement, the Group of 77, the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) and UNESCO were harnessed to inter-­regional formations of anti-­ Western consolidation. Then came the current era of globalisation, ushered in by phenomenal breakthroughs in information, communication and transportation technology. This was occurring on the heels of massive increases in productive efficiency and of access to sophisticated military technology in the Global South. They were accompanied by significant investments in human capital in a number of countries in the Global South and increasing access to skills, training, technology and finance by their growing diasporas in the Global North. Connections to their countries of origin by these diasporas became and are becoming increasingly intensified in the face of growing nationalist xenophobia stemming from the

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  31 consolidation of white sentiment. Such consolidation was and is being increasingly fuelled by globalisation and its negative impact upon the material conditions of the white working and middle classes in the industrialised north. The shift in capital accumulation to selected former colonies of Europe was facilitated by exploitation of their comparative advantage in remuneration costs (wages, salaries and other forms of compensation paid to workers) and the phenomenal reductions in transaction costs (the costs of locating in a particular country) enabled by the new technological breakthroughs. It also ensued from the ability of oil-­producing countries to control the terms of trade through the development of the Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC). These were the material conditions that supported challenges by countries of the Global South to a world order organised around the legacies of colonial commandment. Their diasporas in the Global North were well positioned to support these challenges. Important in this regard were the contributions members of these diasporas made to the reversal of transnational flows of capital in the form of remittances, investment capital and human capital provided to their territories of origin. In this way, diaspora constitutes another ‘South–South’ response to the crisis of global capitalism that challenges its documentary practices. It does so in two respects: first as the mechanism through which resource transfers can be mobilised to resolve the crisis of ‘dependent development’6 at home. In addition to capital transfers, overseas migrant populations become available for use by their countries of origin for political and economic access to the Global North.7 In this way, diaspora has destabilised colonial and modernist state formation, as both idea and practice. One of the ways it does so is through the exercise of governmentalised forms of control over their overseas populations and their progeny. This extends jurisdictional boundaries of control beyond the territory of the state identified. The results are forms of extra-­territorial and multi-­ territorial reformulations of ‘the nation’. In other words, such developments contribute to the undermining of the organisational form of the ‘nation-­state’ that is rooted in colonial modernist ideology.8 The second ‘effect’ of diaspora is the challenge it poses to the very logic of the ‘state’ by the articulation of transnational global connections based on race and racialised narratives of ‘origin’. This has led to racialised and deterritorialised forms of global connections unhinged from the idea of citizenship. All of these have profound implications for ‘regionalism’ in the Caribbean because they destabilise the foundations upon which the discourses and practices that frame regional formations are based. The fact of such destabilisation supports and marks the shifts in economic, cultural, political and social linkages that have characterised the constitutive elements of the region. Such shifts represent an incipient ‘turning away’ from colonial and neocolonial centres in the Global North to newly emerging ones in the Global South. They are also predicated on new patterns of capital transfers (including human capital) from the North to the South. Notwithstanding the material conditions that have driven them (related to global political economy), they are organised, justified and facilitated, partly, through the deployment of affective ties fashioned out

32  P. C. Hintzen of racialised discourses upon which colonial formation rested. At the most general level, they harness the sentiments and emotions forged out of resistances to colonialism in the ‘freedom struggles’ – the latter signified by the counter-­ hegemonic documentary practices of the ‘third world’ movement. Anti-­colonial resistance and the ‘quest for freedom’ emerged (partly) out of resentments felt by Europe’s African, Asian, Pacific and Middle Eastern colonised subjects to European domination and dispossession. In Latin America, ‘resistance and resentment’ were organised around anti-­ imperialist critical practice (through, for example the development of ‘dependency theory’). ‘Freedom struggles’ subsequently became expanded into a ‘tri-­continental politics of post-­ colonial critique’ that combined and incorporated counter-­ discursive formations from Asia, Africa and Latin America/Caribbean. This was first codified (or named) at the Great Havana Tri-­continental (conference) of 1966. It signalled the interpellation of ‘internationalist political identifications’ into global post-­colonial formation, posing ‘epistemological challenges’ to colonial practice (Young 2001, pp. 1–11). To diaspora and tri-­continentalism must be added the failure of American imperial practice in the Caribbean and Latin America as a driving force behind the reconstitution of Caribbean regional formation. Alice Amsden (2007) sees such failure as the fundamental cause that has enabled emerging giants in the Global South to ‘veto’ American power. The decline of American imperial power has contributed to a ‘redistribution of global power’ away from ‘Euro­ centric’ and ‘Western’ domination. It is accompanied by a relative shift to these new ‘giants’.9 While the latter’s fortunes and influence ebb and flow with fluctuations in the global political economy that underwrite their material base, the trajectory of their emergence is unquestioned. America’s demise has created new spaces of opportunity for challenging its hegemony in Latin America and the Caribbean, facilitated by Brazil directly, and Mexico, indirectly, as two of the ‘emerging giants’, by Venezuela on the ideological plane and through the use of its oil revenues, and by ‘tricontinental presences’ particularly China. The challenges posed by their emergence have contributed directly to the reformulation and refashioning of political, economic and cultural relations in the constitutive states of the region, however differentially.

Documentary practice and Caribbean regional formation The argument, thus far, is that colonial formation rendered invisible South– South linkages that were critical and operative in modern formation. Regional formations produced out of colonial practice are continuously and increasingly being challenged by the publicisation of these alternative linkages and the institutional practices associated with them. Initially, however, the impetus for regional respecification in the Caribbean was driven by neocolonial responses to geopolitical and geostrategic changes and to changes in the global political economy. In other words, they were the effects of neocolonial initiatives inter­ polated by new global formations.

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order   33 Regional initiatives Colonial documentary practice and Caribbean regionalism What stands out in typical political representations and mappings of the Caribbean as documented is the way colonial practice is inscripted onto the region.10 This is most noticeable in the naming ontologies of the various territories of the region particularly as they are represented in the political cartographies that inform map-­making. These ontologies serve as signifiers of, if not the most recent, then the most significant history of colonial control and domination that have interpolated current ‘official’ forms of intra-­regional linkages. The power and pervasiveness of colonial practice are marked by naming. Notwithstanding the nationalist assertions of ‘independence’ in the documentary practices of regionalism, the very composition of the officially organised regional units in the Caribbean reveals the pervasive power of colonial practice. All the member states of CARICOM, with the exception of Haiti and the former Dutch colony of Suriname, are former British colonies. The group comprises the independent states of Antigua and Barbuda, The Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Dominica, Grenada, Guyana, Haiti, Jamaica, St Lucia, St Kitts and Nevis, St Vincent and Grenadines, Suriname and Trinidad and Tobago, and the British territory of Montserrat. Associate membership is reserved for Britain’s existing ‘dependencies’ comprising Anguilla, Bermuda, the BVI, Cayman Islands, and Turks and Caicos Islands (TCI).11 The inclusion of Haiti and Suriname were responses to changes in European statist formation out of which the EU was fashioned. To reflect such changes, European colonies became grouped together and often referred to as an African, Caribbean and Pacific group of states (ACP). CARIFORUM became constituted as the Caribbean component of the ACP group of countries. In other words, the inclusion of Haiti and Suriname into CARICOM reflected changes in Europe rather than any reformulation of Caribbean regional specification. Notwithstanding this, the crossing of colonially imposed boundaries that it produced, however limited to Haiti and Suriname, brought with it new possibilities for regional reformulation. The Caribbean Forum of African, Caribbean and Pacific States The ACP group of states was established by the EU in 1975. It was created to institutionalise a new arrangement with Europe’s former colonies consistent with the EU’s formation. CARIFORUM was established to incorporate the latter’s Caribbean Colonies into this arrangement, organised around the advancement of regional integration, cooperation and consultation. Its impact on regional respecification has been quite significant. Its membership includes former Spanish (including Cuba), French and Dutch colonies along with the former colonies of Britain organised into CARICOM. The British, Dutch and French ‘overseas territories’ are included under the designation of ‘observer status’. The formation of CARIFORUM instituted a significant shift in regional relations because of the

34   P. C. Hintzen inclusion of former colonies and existing ‘dependencies’ across the divide of language and diverse colonial histories. Notwithstanding the new possibilities for regional reformulation opened up by the crossing of colonial and linguistic boundaries, there was no break from colonial inscription since CARIFORUM emerged out of the imperatives of consolidation of Europe’s colonising metropoles into its own regional union as the EU. The documentary practices of CARIFORUM are organised around access to ‘international aid and trade’ focused on the EU and its Development Fund. It was established as a political group in October 1992 ‘to manage and coordinate policy dialogue between the Caribbean Region and the EU; and to promote integration and cooperation in the Caribbean’.12 The formation of the EU was in itself a response to post-­colonial imperialistic reformulation as a result of the shift in the centre of global capitalism to the US. As such, CARIFORUM’s formation was quite consistent with shifts in region-­wide relations in response to US hegemony.13 Its formation opened up new horizons of possibilities for contesting colonial inscriptions. First, it negated claims of internal linguistic divisions as impediments to regional cooperation except within the established colonial boundaries that these divisions represented. This is quite significant because the argument of ‘linguistic divisions’ has been raised as a ‘problem’ for regional integration. Such argument has been popularly deployed to support the manner in which post-­colonial formation became organised into linguistic exclusivity. Second, the inclusion of Cuba injected an ideological critique of global capitalism and Euro-­American neocolonial imperial formation. Third, CARIFORUM created a platform for discussion of the regional commonalities of colonialism and its legacies, freed from the particularities of specific metropolitan colonial practice. The Caribbean Basin Initiative There was a similar ‘reformulation’ of the region by the US in response to its neocolonial, geosecurity and imperialist economic interests. The CBI was established in January 1984 as a Cold War formulation of US policy and practice in the region. The initiative unilaterally remapped the region to include Central America. Launched through CBERA, it was organised to provide tariff and trade benefits to selected Central American and Caribbean governments as rewards for active opposition to leftist movements and insurgencies (United States Customs and Border Protection 2017). Particular targets of the initiative were the Sandinista government in Nicaragua and leftist guerillas in El Salvador. The CBI was also implemented to punish countries whose governments had adopted anti-­capitalist and anti-­US policies by denying them access to aid, trade, and tariff preferences and favours. The Cold War ideological agendas of CBI and CBERA were forged out of geostrategic, geopolitical, neocolonial and imperialist interests. But the inclusion of countries in Central America reflected long-­standing connections that became reflected in the formation of post-­colonial alliances.14 The documentary practices of CBI and CBERA opened up new horizons of possibility for refashioning the region and for making connections with Central America, at the very least

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order   35 in conceptualisation and consciousness. They publicised existing historical connections and growing commonalties of interests, some of which were organised against US-­dominated imperialist practice. One fundamental argument of the chapter is that post-­colonial reformulations in Europe and changes in American neocolonial practice opened up new horizons of possibilities for ‘rethinking’ the region. The instrument effects upon regional relations, formalised in these new documentary practices, were the crossing of linguistic divisions and the extension of regional understandings beyond the archipelago into the Spanish-­speaking mainland in a new circum­Caribbean formulation.

The challenge to post-­colonial statist formation A new look at old formations The ‘loss of American absolute power’, observed and argued by Alice Amsden (2007), has created new opportunities for regional reformulations, freed from the imposition of US interests. These have become manifest in regional challenges to US hegemony. It has profound implications for Caribbean political and economic interests. New alliances with Latin America, when freed from the imprimatur of the US, offer significant opportunities for the Caribbean, economically and politically. When combined, the two regions have 632 million residents, a labour force of nearly 300 million, and a relatively low age dependency ratio of 50.2. Latin America enjoyed a healthy growth rate of 3.8 per cent between 2005–2009, during a period of severe global depression and a growth rate of 4.5 per cent in 2010. These provide a strong economic foundation and material base for the development of new regional formations that tie the Caribbean to Latin America (World Bank 2016). The academic intervention: the role of experts It might be quite instructive to examine the manner in which the region is being represented by its scholarly community. The CSA, self-­described as ‘the primary association for scholars and practitioners working on the Caribbean Region’,15 is perhaps a sound measure of scholarly thinking. The Caribbean, as defined in CSA’s official publications, extends beyond the archipelago to ‘Central America, the Caribbean Coast of Mexico, as well as Venezuela, Columbia, Northeast Brazil and the three Guianas’. The sites chosen by the CSA for its annual conferences serve as signifying practices of regional (re)specification. They include Puerto Rico, Martinique, Guadeloupe, Caracas, Mexico, Cuba, Columbia, Panama and St Martin/St Maarten. Like CARIFORUM and CBI/CBERA, the CSA is employing its critical scholarly practice to mount meaningful challenges to the region’s colonial formation that confines its mapping to the ‘islands of the Greater and Lesser Antilles’. The post-­colonial challenge mounted by the CSA extends to the region’s racial conceptualisations through the inclusion of spaces formed and fashioned out of

36   P. C. Hintzen ‘Mestizo’ and indigenous narratives of nation and belonging. The singling out of ‘Northeast Brazil’ and the Yucatan Peninsula as part of ‘the region’ constitutes an important and critical rejection of statist imaginaries of a homogeneous territorialisation that are direct products of colonial modernist discourse. The Venezuelan challenge to colonial practice One of the more significant and visible challenges to Caribbean colonial and neocolonial practice was organised around the re-­signification of Latin American independence and its relationship to Simon Bolivar. The late Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez, founder of the Fifth Republic Movement (replaced in 2007 by the United Socialist Party of Venezuela), explicitly tied efforts at regional reorganisation to the ‘intractable conflict with neocolonialism and neoliberalism’. Chavez attempted to refocus Caribbean regional and global relations through the development of reciprocal trade and aid agreements in a region-­wide practice organised around the use of distribution of Venezuelan oil and the use of its oil-­derived revenues. In 2003 Venezuela developed a PetroCaribe facility as an organised alliance that provided oil at highly discounted prices to 18 Caribbean and Latin American member states participating in the facility. The goal of PetroCaribe was the promotion of regional economic cooperation (Mallett-Outtrim 2013). Participating countries, along with Venezuela, are Antigua and Barbuda, The Bahamas, Belize, Cuba, Dominica, the DR, Grenada, Guyana, Jamaica, St Lucia, St Kitts and Nevis, St Vincent and the Grenadines, Suriname, Haiti, Nicaragua and Guatemala. PetroCaribe was but one element in a much broader effort organised as a direct challenge to US hegemony and Euro-­American neocolonial and capitalist formation. Chavez also proposed a leftist alliance of Venezuela, Cuba and Brazil (the latter later replaced by Bolivia) that he termed ‘The Axis of Good’16 as a regional precursor to an OPEC-­like alliance of Caribbean and Latin American oil-­producing states. Venezuela, Columbia, Brazil, Ecuador, and Trinidad and Tobago were to be included in this alliance (Clendenning 2003). While the initiative was not formalised into documentary practice, it reflected the growing reality of regional realignment away from colonial and neocolonial formation in the face of the declining influence of the US. One signifying event of such decline was the American administration’s failure in November 2005 to implement its initiative for a FTAA. The objective of the latter was to extend the NAFTA comprising the US, Mexico and Canada to 34 Latin American and Caribbean Countries. The initiative was met with determined opposition from a group of countries headed by Venezuela, including Cuba, Bolivia, Ecuador, Dominica, Nicaragua and Honduras. A ‘Bolivarian Alternative for the Americas’ was proposed by Venezuela in opposition to what it termed US’s ‘annexation plan’ for ‘imperialist exploitation’ (Horowitz 2014). The Alternative contained proposals for agreements on energy and infrastructural collaborations that were to be ‘gradually extended to other areas, finally to include the total economic, political and military integration of the member states’ (Horowitz 2014). The inclusion of Bolivia and Ecuador in the Bolivarian initiative extended the possibilities of regional linkages between the Caribbean and the Pacific Coast of

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  37 South America. A second group of countries (Brazil, Chile and Argentina) also raised objections to the FTAA over the inclusion of WTO practices around intellectual property rights and the exemption of Western industrialised countries (particularly the USA) from prohibition of subsidies for traded agricultural goods. What is evident here is the potential created by the loss of American power for unleashing new forms of regional assertions. Brazil’s efforts at regional respecification A Council on Hemispheric Affairs recounting of a Caribbean visit by former Brazilian President Rousseff in February 2012 provides a succinct assessment of Brazil’s growing regional influence: By aligning itself closely with Cuba’s economic interests and providing extraordinarily generous support towards Haitian reconstruction, Brazil has tacitly challenged the United States’ influence in its own back yard. Brazil has not only become an important partner for many American states, but also enjoys good relations with countries that the US simply cannot cooperate with, such as Cuba and Venezuela. Much like Turkey, which played a crucial mediating role during and after NATO intervention in Libya last year, Brazil’s increasing diplomatic authority in Latin America could consolidate its role as a regional arbitrator and peace broker. While the US focuses intently on Afghanistan and the surrounding region, Brazil is rapidly establishing itself as Latin America’s big brother and protector. (Coddington 2012) What is emerging is Brazil’s real potential to replace the US as the fulcrum and pivot around which the Caribbean and its global relations are organised. In 2006, Brazil appointed an Ambassador to CARICOM and established formal relations with the organisation. This was followed in 2010 by the first CARICOM–Brazil summit and the signing of a number of bilateral and regional agreements including air links with Barbados and infrastructural agreements with Guyana. It has also established production and trade relations with Jamaica, St Kitts, The Bahamas and other countries in the region organised around sugar, ethanol, energy production and educational cooperation. A commentator, Rosanne Glasgow, writing for a newspaper in Trinidad and Tobago, argued that these relations can provide the Caribbean region with the opportunity ‘to secure (its) existence in this new globalised world’ (Glasgow 2011). She spoke about the possibility of a Caribbean– Brazil relationship breaking the ‘history of colonial rivalry (that) … conditioned intra-­regional isolation and mistrust and created linguistic barriers’. Cooperation with Brazil, she added, ‘can be a movement from our overreliance on the US, Europe and Canadian markets’ and a foil ‘against the United States’ considerable (political and economic) influence’ (Glasgow 2011). The potential for Brazil to reshape the region is already becoming evident in bilateral relations formalised in 2013 through a ‘Guyana–Brazil Working Group’.

38  P. C. Hintzen The stated objective was ‘the pursuit of common synergies’ aimed at ‘joint development of the two countries’ organised around ‘economic and social integration’ aimed at making Guyana a ‘sister country’ of Brazil. Plans were made for Brazil’s financing and development of a massive 220 megawatt hydroelectric plant and transmission lines to satisfy the growing energy needs in both countries, a 265-mile road development project, and a major bridge connecting Brazil’s isolated Northeast with a new major deep-­water port facility to be developed jointly with China. All this was to be accompanied by major investment initiatives, especially in mining (Kaiture News 2013). This relationship, and Brazilian potential assistance in oil exploration and development under then increasing indications of the presence of offshore oil reserves, now confirmed, can catapult Guyana into a leading role as one of the most important countries of the English-­speaking Caribbean. It comes with the potential to change the entire nature and direction of Caribbean regional practice. Brazil’s Guyana initiative represents one aspect of the country’s growing influence in the region. It highlights Brazil’s impact on the process of regional respecification away from its colonial formations. Notwithstanding the potential and reality of regional respecification, Latin America and the Caribbean are heavily inscribed in the cartographies of power of global capitalism. They are affected, positively and negatively, by flows of financial capital, technological transformation, decisions about foreign direct investment (FDI), domestic policy formulation and implementation, global instability, etc. and the political and social conditions affected by all of these. This has been particularly the case for Brazil and Venezuela where a combination of these factors has reduced their capabilities to effect regional transformations. Brazil experienced a decline of 3.8 per cent in its gross domestic product (GDP) growth rate in 2015 while Venezuela is teetering on a calamitous economic collapse (partly as a result of precipitous declines in the world market price of oil). These come with significant implications for efforts at regional respecification because they affect, directly, one of its rationales that rest in the material conditions for economic growth and development brought about by new regional arrangements. This rationale is being undermined by recent regional declines in GDP per capita growth from 4.5 per cent in 2010 to minus 1.3 per cent in 2015 (World Bank 2016). While these financial downturns do not necessarily affect significantly the regional impulse for reformulation, they do affect the capacities and capabilities of the emerging economies in the region to provide material and political support for such reformulation. They also highlight the continuing importance of colonial and neocolonial relations. Mexico, for example, as a member of NAFTA, was not as significantly affected over the period of regional decline. Its drop in GDP per capita growth rate was a mere 0.6 per cent between 2010 and 2015, from 1.7 per cent to 1.1 per cent (World Bank 2016). Codifications in region-­wide organisations There have always been currents in Caribbean regional thought and practice that challenge colonial discursive formation and pedagogies. This is no less true

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  39 today, notwithstanding the weak challenges they pose to existing forms inscripted upon the region by colonial interests. One on-­going effort to break out of such inscriptions is codified organisationally in the ACS. The Association of Caribbean States On 24 July 1994, the ACS signed itself into existence in Cartagena de Indias, Colombia with the stated goal of ‘promoting consultation, cooperation and concerted action among all the countries of the Caribbean’ (Association of Caribbean States 2016). Its formation was a self-­described ‘product of the desire of the 32 Contracting States, Countries and Territories of the Greater Caribbean to enhance cooperation within the region, an initiative aimed at building upon obvious geographic proximity and well-­documented historical linkages’ (Association of Caribbean States 2016). What is important here is the assertion of ‘well-­ documented historical linkages’ negated, diminished or rendered invisible in and through colonial practice. In its efforts to re-­inscribe these linkages onto regional practice, the ACS brought together in its membership the following countries: Antigua and Barbuda, Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Columbia, Costa Rica, Cuba, Dominica, DR, El Salvador, Grenada, Guatemala, Guyana, Haiti, Honduras, Jamaica, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, St Kitts and Nevis, St Lucia, St Vincent and the Grenadines, Suriname, Trinidad and Tobago, and Venezuela. The existing Overseas Departments and Associated States of Britain, France and the Netherlands were incorporated as associate members according Aruba, Curacao and France (the latter on behalf of French Guiana, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Saint Barthélemy and Saint Maarten) ‘the right to intervene in discussions and vote at meetings of the Ministerial Council and Special Committees on matters which affect them directly’ (Association of Caribbean States 2016). The inclusion of France (on the surface an apparent anomalous throwback to colonial practice) is especially instructive. It highlights that country’s efforts to use its DOMS to exploit the very opportunities opening up in and through regional reformulations by making claims to Caribbean belonging.17 This represents a ‘reversal’ of colonial practice where the orientation and relations of the colony are focused on its European colonial centre. In effect, the claim of Caribbean belonging through its Caribbean territories reverses this relationship. France is revisioned, if not respecified, as belonging to the Caribbean, at least in this specific instance. The formation of the ACS highlights a pattern in the reorientation of global formations that is organised around South–South relations. It also highlights a process of expansion of regional relations beyond the archipelago. ‘Founding observer status’ was granted to other regional organisations in both the Caribbean and Latin America ‘in view of the emphasis upon promoting, consolidating and strengthening the regional cooperation and integration process’. ‘Special arrangements’ were made with CARICOM, the Latin American Economic System (SELA), the Central American Integration System (SICA), and the Permanent Secretariat of the General Agreement on Central American Economic Integration (SIECA) (Association of Caribbean States 2016). ECLAC

40  P. C. Hintzen and the Caribbean Tourism Organisation (CTO) were admitted as ‘Founding Observers’ in 2000 and 2001 respectively (Association of Caribbean States 2016). What is important here is the orientation towards Latin America rather than Europe in the relational structure of the ACS, reasoned on the grounds of geography and history. The importance of the discussion of the ACS is not because of its effectiveness as a regional organisation. It has come up against the power of colonial and imperial representations and their related documentary practices. Rather, like the CSA, it has played a role in charting and publicising the changing form of Caribbean regionalism and its constitutive geography. The Community of Latin American and Caribbean States One of the most significant developments in regional reorganisation and respecification has been the establishment in December 2011 of a new regional bloc known as the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC) comprising 33 countries speaking five different languages. It was formed as a direct counter to the OAS, dominated by the US and Canada, two countries that were excluded from its membership. The current overseas territories of France (the DOMS), the Netherlands and the UK were also excluded. Twelve of its members are in South America. Included are 18 Spanish-­speaking, 12 English-­ speaking, one Portuguese-­ speaking, one French-­ speaking and one Dutch-­ speaking countries. The declared objective of CELAC is to deepen regional integration and to reduce the influence of the US on the region’s politics and economics (Xinhua News 2011). The important point that is underscored by these developments in regional organisation is that they signal a ‘turning away’ from colonial and post-­colonial imperial practice. They are engaged in a process of redefining regional relations in ways that incorporate ‘the Caribbean’ into ‘Latin American’ relations at multiple levels. This ‘turning away’ is motivated by tri-­continental imaginings and the way these have become imbricated in changes in the global architecture through the development of new forms of relationships.

Contesting statist boundaries Diasporic practices There are about 3.5 million immigrants from the Caribbean living in the US. They account for 9 per cent of all foreign-­born residents in the country. The largest numbers come from Cuba, the DR, Jamaica, Haiti, and Trinidad and Tobago. Nearly seven out of ten of them live in Florida and New York, concentrated in just three metropolitan areas. They engage in forms of ‘transnational citizenship’ that tie them and their descendants to their countries of origin. With the exception of Cuba, their countries of origin are systematically exploiting strong sentimental attachments of their overseas migrant populations and descendants in efforts to

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  41 formalise their inclusion into their national political community. The result is the development of forms of transnational consciousness (Schiller and Fouron 2011, p. 4). The integration of overseas populations into official specifications of ‘citizenship’ and into reformulated notions of national peoplehood comes with a number of implications for regional formation. First, it incorporates local and national geographies that are located outside of the national territory into the national political economy. Second, it produces forms of cross territorial linkages that have implications for the way the region is thought. On 14 April 2004, a workshop was hosted by Inter-­ American Dialogue (a Think Tank on the Caribbean and Latin America) to ‘identify policy areas in which the World Bank can help enhance the contribution of the Caribbean diaspora to the development of their countries of origin’ (Inter-­ American Dialogue 2004). The workshop brought together  selected researchers working in the selected areas/topics of discussion; multilaterals, and development agencies working on issues of remittances and diasporas in the Caribbean (IDB, USAID, Ford Foundation, FIDA, GTZ, Inter-­American Foundation); key representatives from Caribbean diaspora business and social community organisations. (Inter-­American Dialogue 2004) Four types of connections were identified as critical to efforts aimed at ‘enhancing the contributions’ of diasporas to their countries of origin: migrant capital investment, particularly in the form of remittances; human capital transfers; transnational families and communities; and nostalgic trade in goods produced at home and consumed in the migrants’ countries of residence. The patterns of relationships fostered by and through these types of transnational transfers have reformulated understandings and practices of national belonging as these diasporic subjects develop and retain affective ties to their countries of origin and revoke or modify allegiances to their host countries. Significantly, they become involved in global currents of identification that open up possibilities for involvement of their countries of origins in new global connections. One important ‘instrument effect’ of the reformulation of racialised identity in the West Indian diaspora is its potential to reorient the region’s global alliances. For Caribbean immigrants, these can involve new forms of pan-­Caribbean identity and identification with Latin America. Black nationalism is contributing to the development of black affective relationships, which are being used to forge ties among the Spanish, French and Dutch Caribbean as well as to Latin America. Such ties are producing an intensification of ‘Afro-­Latino’ sentiments in Latin America as the basis of assertions of black claims to full citizenship, denied under mestizo pedagogies and national narratives (Rahier 2013, Whitten and Torres 1998). On their part, Latin American states are using ‘multicultural’ inclusion of their Black populations to forge ties with the Caribbean. This has been most evident in Brazil’s publicisation of its Northern frontier as the locus of Black emplacement in that country’s efforts to claim Caribbean belonging.

42  P. C. Hintzen Black nationalism can have polyvalent and contradictory implications for regional integration. The consolidation of Black diasporic identity has produced centrifugal forces that pose challenges to existing regional formation. It has resulted in an intensification of processes of exclusion of Asian Indians from regional narratives and nationalist assertions. This comes with considerable implications for countries like Guyana and Trinidad and the manner in which they participate in forms of regional discursive formation. The political histories of these two countries provide stark evidence of the negative effects that racial nationalism can have on regional integration. The imbrication of competing racial claims in anti-­ colonial and post-­ colonial politics in the Anglophone Caribbean led, in some measure, to the decision by British Guiana not to join the West Indies Federation in 1958. The fear of ‘black domination’ in a federal arrangement with predominantly black West Indian territories led to a split along racial lines in Trinidadian nationalist politics on the eve of that country’s independence (Hintzen 1989).18 While racial identity is creating fissures in and conflicts over territorially-­based intra-­national claims on citizenship and belonging, it is producing regional and global alliances. Both challenge Westphalian notions of sovereignty that undergird the international relations regime as an imperative of European modernity and political economy. Diaspora, tri-­continentalism and regional respecification An argument can be made that tri-­continentalism is the mechanism through which the vast potential of the region will be unleashed. It comes with opportunities to promote integrated development and growth through the regional consolidation of the Caribbean and Latin America. Cooperation with the emerging ‘giants’ such as China and India, and the turn away from Europe and North America, can be integral to this process. New regional specifications will be, and are being, significantly impacted by this ‘turn’. For the immediate future, any effort at regional reformulation, to be effective, must accommodate the realities of this new global architecture. Brazil and Mexico as emerging ‘giants’, however uncertainly, are destined to figure prominently. The role of Brazil has already been discussed. China, through tri-­continental alliances, has become one of the driving forces that will profoundly affect regional relations. The wider Latin America and Caribbean Region, with a population of close to six million people and a combined GDP of US$5.29 trillion in 2016 has become an important trade and economic partner for China. The importance of the China–Latin America and Caribbean relationship is reflected in China’s Policy Paper on Latin America and the Caribbean that was released on 5 November 2008. It specified China’s commitment to ‘sound, steady and all round growth’ in its relations with the region (Chinaview 2008). The commitment is most timely in the face of efforts to deepen and widen cooperation and integration across South and Central America and the Caribbean. China’s involvement is organised around a number of related efforts. In 2005 the country inaugurated a ‘China–Caribbean Trade and Economic Cooperation Forum’ at a meeting in

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  43 Kingston, Jamaica. The Forum concretised proposals that were first presented in 2001 by then President Jiang Zemin for the formalisation of economic, diplomatic and military relations with Latin America and the Caribbean. This was followed by a number of high-­level visits to the region, including visits in 2004 and 2008 by then President Hu Jintao, visits in 2009 by then Premier Hui Liangyu and then Vice President Xi Jinping, in June 2012 by Premier Wen Jiabao and in June 2013 by current President Xi Jinping (Castaneda 2009). In their policy statements and proposals, Chinese leaders have made it clear that they think of the Caribbean and Latin America as a ‘single strategic entity’ (Jessop 2012). The Chinese administration considers its relationship with the region an ‘inseparable’ aspect of ‘south–south cooperation’ (Mi 2013). Its engagements with the region are backed by the considerable power derived from China’s position as the second largest economy in the world and the country with the largest foreign-­exchange reserves. It is the second largest trading partner of Latin America and the leading trade partner of Brazil. Bilateral trade with the region has been increasing by over 8 per cent annually to reach a total of US$261.2 billion in 2012. This is anticipated to reach US$400 billion by 2017 (Mi 2013). The country’s investments in Latin America reached US$65 billion in 2013. The discourse of tri-­continentalism with its ‘South–South’ orientation is at the critical centre of the documentary practices around which China’s engagement with the region is organised and justified. In their official declarations its leaders point to the ‘common challenges’ that both China and the Latin America and Caribbean region have to face, including ‘rural urban migration, sustainable development, environmental protection, and the widening wealth gap’ (Mi 2013). These challenges are presented as the bases for the development of relations between the two. Cooperation agreements have been signed in areas of energy, finance, agriculture, infrastructure, science and technology, aerospace, tourism, education, cultural exchange and people-­to-people exchanges. There are also proposals for a number of other collaborations including military exchanges and cooperation. Of critical importance for regional respecification are China’s insertions into existing regional organisations. With the support of Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Mexico and Venezuela (the largest economies of Latin America), the country gained permanent observer status in the 35-member OAS in 2004. In 2009, it became a member of the Inter-­American Development Bank (the major development bank in the region), making a contribution of US$350 million (Castaneda 2009). Significantly for the ‘South–South’ tri-­continental turn away from Europe and North America, China proposed the establishment of a formalised relationship with CELAC, including regular foreign ministers’ meetings and meetings of Heads of Government. In January 2014, the China–CELAC Forum was established at a meeting of CELAC’s second summit held in Cuba. President Zi Jinping officially launched the Forum at its first ministerial meeting held in Brazil in 2014. Tellingly, President Zi used the occasion of his attendance at the sixth annual BRICS summit meeting to do so (Fan 2014). In January 2015,

44  P. C. Hintzen the Chinese government hosted the First Ministerial Meeting of the China– CELAC Forum that was attended by over 40 ministerial level officials including several Heads of State. A US$20 billion China Latin American Countries and Caribbean States Cooperation Plan was signed and bilateral loan agreements and projects were announced with Venezuela and Ecuador and over US$50 billion in new investments in CELAC countries over a five-­year period were announced. China also committed itself to providing 6,000 scholarships and 6,000 training opportunities to the region (Li and Yanzhou 2015, Telesur 2015). The choice of CELAC as the primary organisation around which China’s regional relations will be forged has to do with its tri-­continental credentials, signified in the objective, stated in the Community’s charter, of challenging North American and European domination of the region and regional bodies. There are other tri-­continental engagements that are quite important. Mexico, as an emerging regional and global power, is poised to play a critical role. Relations between Mexico and the Anglophone Caribbean are organised through a CARICOM Mexico Joint Commission that has met on numerous occasions. There have been three CARICOM Mexican summits up to 2014. At the broadest level, the stated intention of these engagements is the deepening and broadening relationship to contribute not only to the growth and prosperity of the economies of our countries but also to strengthen our coordination in responding to internal challenges and promoting our interests in order to influence global developments. (CARICOM Secretariat 2012a) The fact of Mexico’s focus on the Anglophone Caribbean through CARICOM is instructive of the pivotal role the latter plays in these intra-­regional formations, such as, for example, the conduit through which ACP relations with CARIFORUM are organised. With the recent decision of the UK to leave the EU, CARICOM’s role, through its connection with the British Commonwealth of Nations, can be enhanced. Its relations with Mexico comes with important implications for regional relations because of the potential it offers for that country to pivot away from its North American orientation (through NAFTA) to a more Latin American and Caribbean one. The current fissures developing in US–Mexican relations over immigration and trade, particularly emphasised through the election of Donald Trump to the American Presidency in 2016, may make such a pivot much more likely and desirable. India, as one of the emerging ‘giants’, is also actively involved in the region through bilateral relations, particularly with Guyana and Trinidad and Tobago, organised around tri-­ continental diasporic articulations (Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Government of Guyana 2014; The High Commission of the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago 2014). The country is also a member of the BRICS group that is collectively and singly impacting Caribbean relations. Once again, CARICOM’s importance for regional rearrangements is emphasised because of its membership in the Commonwealth of Nations and its special relations with Guyana and Trinidad and Tobago with significant Indian-­descended populations.

Diaspora, affective ties, New Global Order  45 Cuba, where the idea of tri-­continentalism was first given formal expression, represents the clearest instantiation of the turn away from Western-­centred capitalism and the colonial relations in which it is inscribed, notwithstanding its current accommodation of capitalist forms. Its bilateral relations with countries in the Caribbean and Latin America and its involvements in multiple regional initiatives have had profound and significant effects on regional respecification. Cuba’s involvement with Africa presents a perfect example of the deployment of diasporic connections for reformulation of international relations. It has played pivotal and determinative roles in African conflicts in Angola, Mozambique and Ethiopia and in supporting the Front Line Sates and the African National Congress (ANC) against the Apartheid regime in South Africa. The country’s Spanish and African dual provenances locate it at the fulcrum of efforts aimed at deploying tri-­continentalism for regional reformulation. Its post-­revolutionary history serves the region as an example of a viable alternative to relations steeped in colonial discourse and practice. For better or for worse, the tri-­continentalsm out of which these practices are forged is driving new forms of Caribbean regionalism. To be effective, policies of Caribbean governments and regional institutions must be informed by the changes brought about by these conjunctures and by the manner in which they are becoming inscripted onto regional formations.

Conclusion Caribbean regional formation, inscribed by the documentary practices of European colonialism and neocolonialism, is increasingly under challenge. This stems from a combination of the instrument effects of tri-­continentalism, European and North American responses to changing geopolitical and geostrategic conditions, and a fundamental reconstitution of the global political economy. Emerging ‘giants’ in the Global South are using the opportunities opened up by the combined effects of these three developments to fashion new relations with the region and to expand old ones. Regional reformulation is the product of responses of Caribbean and Latin American countries and institutions to these conjunctures.

Notes   1 I refer here to the ‘semi-­autonomous’ entangled relationship between ideology and reality. See Jameson’s (2001, pp. 260–278) discussion of Marx in relation to the market and the way ideology appears in reality through its ‘instrument effects’; also James Ferguson (1990, pp. 251–277). By ‘instrument effects’ I mean the far-­reaching effects of institutional or bureaucratic practice for communities. These effects relate to the ‘documentary bases’ that inform the practice of ordering and directing relations among groups. See Arturo Escobar (2011, pp. 107–109) discussing Smith (1984).   2 The CBI launched through the CBERA.   3 I use ‘publicisation’ here to emphasise the fact that these linkages were always operative but were rendered invisible by colonial discourse. In the Caribbean it led to the idea of a unidirectional ‘triangular’ formation of relations comprising Europe, Africa and the Caribbean, with Africa as the source of slave labour. Europe was represented as the beginning and end point of this relation.

46  P. C. Hintzen   4 This was especially evident in their statist assumptions and consequent organisation around national development. Statism and national development were at the critical centre of the collapse of the West Indian Federation as a post-­colonial form in 1962.   5 I use ‘articulations’ here in the sense of both ‘enunciation’ (i.e. based on the symbolic communication of identity) and the linkages that are formed out of such communication. See Fiske (1996, pp. 213–214) on Stuart Hall.   6 I use the term ‘dependent development’ to express the form that the crisis takes, and the possibility for an imperialist opening, related to the uneven development of capitalism in the global geographical landscape (Harvey 2006, p. 425) that has produced, as argued by dependency theorists, ‘underdeveloped peripheries’ produced by the expropriation of surplus.   7 For an extensive discussion of diasporic mobilisation by China see Ong 1999.   8 This is significantly different from the modern colonising state that claims and incorporates territory placing it under its legal-­rational and constitutional authority. Here, the claim is not to territory, but to people.   9 Such ‘redistribution’ was predicted as early as 1979 by President Carter’s National Security Advisor, Zbigniew (see quotation in Amsden 2007, p. 137). 10 Here the term ‘inscripted’ is used to mean subservient to the purpose of colonial practice. 11 The list of countries is taken from the official website of CARICOM ‘Members and associate members’ caricom.org 2017 (CARICOM Secretariat n.d.(a)). 12 See ‘Cariforum – The Context’ in Caribbean Community caricom.org 2017 (CARICOM Secretariat n.d.(b)). 13 One example was Cuba’s increasing involvement with the English, French and Dutch­speaking countries of the region. 14 Historically through the presences of English-­speaking black West Indian populations along the entire Atlantic Coast of Central America and through relations with Belize. In the ‘post-­colonial’ era, through ideological ties forged with and through Cuba. 15 All the quotations and discussion are taken from the official publicisation and circulation of the document by the CSA Secretariat announcing the decision and rational to hold its thirty-­second annual conference in Salvador da Bahia in Brazil (Caribbean Studies Association President 2007). 16 Fashioned as a direct rejection of American imperial practice, he posed such an alliance as a rejection of America’s campaign against what the George W. Bush administration termed the ‘Axis of Evil’ to refer to what it deemed radical ‘terrorist’ states of Iran, Iraq and North Korea and their quest for the production of nuclear weapons. 17 From discussions with French consular officials in Brazil in 2007. 18 Asian Indians comprise the single largest group in both countries (40.3 per cent in Trinidad and 43.5 per cent in Guyana).

Part II

Confronting boundaries of formal sovereignty

4 Responses to the sovereignty/ vulnerability/development dilemmas* Small territories and regional organisations in the Caribbean Jessica Byron and Patsy Lewis1 Introduction History and geography in the Caribbean have created a region with many small territories, varied types of juridical status and relationships with several major powers. Diverse colonial legacies have left at least four official languages, different legal and political systems and considerable diversity in economic linkages and social arrangements. Nonetheless, these manifestations of difference are accompanied by a general sense of Caribbean identity, common experiences and shared challenges to be overcome, and the imperative of cross-­ border exchanges and cooperation. Given the small state/micro-­state characteristics of most Caribbean territories, regionalism has been perceived by the smallest as a ‘problem-­solving device’ (UNDP 2012, p. 3). The Americas have a rich history of regional cooperation, dating back to the establishment of the Pan-­American Union in 1889. Yet, with the exception of regional organisations in the Caribbean zone and the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean, few of the regional groupings provide for the membership of non-­independent territories. In the Caribbean Basin mechanisms for regional cooperation and/or integration have emerged which have sought to transcend the issue of sovereign status and to address common questions of socio-­economic development and the construction and consolidation of democratic systems of governance. Three regional groupings fall into this category: CARICOM established in 1973, the Organization of Eastern Caribbean States (OECS) formed in 1981 and the ACS formed in 1994. CARICOM and the OECS emerged, driven by the logic of decolonisation in the British Caribbean and the search for regional institutional frameworks that would reinforce member states’ political and economic viability as sovereign entities and support their engagement with the international community. The ACS appeared later in a changed international environment. It was an initiative by the Group of Three2 and CARICOM to construct a regional forum that could bridge the dividing lines in the Greater Caribbean and build new forms of regional cooperation.

50  J. Byron and P. Lewis This chapter presents a comparative survey and analysis of the three regional organisations. It reviews the historical context in which each grouping emerged, its objectives and membership composition, the constitutive texts and mandate of each organisation. It examines the different ways in which each organisation has incorporated its non-­independent members and the evolution of the latters’ participation over time. It highlights the areas of greatest participation by the non-­independent members, examining their contributions and the specific development benefits that they may have derived. These include cooperation in the spheres of education, health, disaster management in the case of CARICOM and judicial and monetary integration in the case of the OECS. The chapter examines the significance of this constituency for the evolution, consolidation and raison d’être of the regional organisations. The chapter discusses contemporary issues concerning the membership of non-­independent territories in the organisations. There are dynamic processes of political and constitutional evolution and contestation taking place in the British and Dutch Caribbean territories while the French departments and collectivities explore the limits of their decentralised powers and Puerto Rico and the United States Virgin Islands (USVI) continue their own constitutional debates and struggles with the US. Regional organisations are facing watersheds, sometimes crisis points in their own development and are struggling to overcome these challenges. We argue that this context offers new possibilities for the continued role of regional organisations in the Caribbean as arenas in which the actors formulate responses to common development challenges and seek to pool collective resources.

The Caribbean Community (CARICOM) An exploration of small size, decolonisation and governance in the twentieth-­century Caribbean: CARICOM and its associate states The Caribbean has very large numbers of independent small and micro states. They range in population terms from St Kitts/Nevis with 40,000 people to Jamaica with 2.7 million. They are characterised by the following features which constrain their competitiveness: economic openness which increases their vulnerability to external developments in the economies of their major trading partners; high cost of borrowing to fund development projects; high cost of administration and infrastructure; high frequencies of tropical storms and hurricanes; and vulnerability to climate change arising from global warming which threatens low-­lying coastal areas. The region also has the largest numbers of states with relationships with former colonial powers – the UK, France, Netherlands, US – that reflect various degrees of autonomy. Colonial rivalry has resulted in a region fragmented by language, administration and legal systems. These features, aggravated by their separation by sea, have encouraged distinct island personalities that have made political and economic integration difficult. This reality complicated the process

Responses to dilemmas  51 of decolonisation. The British sought to overcome concerns about the viability of their territories as independent units by bringing separate constitutional units together in a federation in 1958. The WIF ’s collapse five years after it began left in its wake a large number of small units deemed unviable as independent States. These entered into an Associated Statehood (AS) relationship with Britain, which allowed them internal self-­government while Britain controlled foreign policy and defence. Between 1974 and 1983 six of the Associated States progressed towards independence,3 leaving the rest in various stages of constitutional dependence. The relationship between Britain and its dependent territories has evolved, with a process of constitutional review between 2006 and 2011. They are now referred to as overseas territories and have access to British citizenship. New constitutions resulting from this exercise extended Britain’s reach in the economy, giving it control over the offshore financial sector. The UK Parliament also has ‘unlimited power to legislate’ (Foreign and Commonwealth Office 2012, p. 12). It also introduced European Human Rights norms abolishing the death penalty and repealing anti-­homosexual laws and judicial corporal punishment (Clegg 2009, p. 13). The various constitutional models that exist among the British overseas territories share common features. Britain maintains control over external relations and security, leaving them with control over internal affairs. The Governor or Commissioner, who represents the Queen, exercises control over external affairs, defence, internal security (including the police) and the appointment, discipline and removal of public officers (Clegg 2009, p. 12). Independence failed to resolve the question of viability. Within five years of Jamaica’s and Trinidad and Tobago’s independence, a proposal was made for the establishment of CARIFTA among the former members of the WIF. The initiators included Antigua, an AS of Britain and Guyana, which had only just become independent in 1966 and had not been a member of the WIF. Interest in CARIFTA by both the newly independent and non-­independent states suggests some appreciation of the common challenges which independence could not resolve. By 1973, CARIFTA had evolved into CARICOM, which added functional cooperation and foreign policy coordination within its ambit. CARICOM states4 have found their existence as independent states increasingly challenging. The early years brought access to concessionary financing from the international community and non-­ reciprocal preferential trading arrangements. Specifically, they benefitted from access to the EU market and grants from successive Lome Conventions (later Cotonou Partnership Agreement or CPA). They also received preferential access to the US and Canadian markets under the CBI and the Caribbean–Canada Trade Agreement (CARIBCAN), respectively. Their difficulties increased with the shift towards trade liberalisation in the 1990s under the auspices of the newly formed WTO, which undermined the legitimacy of such arrangements and precipitated the collapse of their banana and sugar industries. Thus, their diplomatic thrust has been to focus attention on the particular constraints to their development, contingent on their small size and environmental vulnerability. Their development challenges have

52  J. Byron and P. Lewis been such that they are increasingly held up to non-­independent territories as examples of the failings of independence. Many CARICOM states experience high levels of unemployment, poverty, government debt and variable economic growth. The economic performance of the British dependencies, up to 2008 appeared stronger than that of CARICOM states. Before the start of the recession all, with the exception of St Helena and Montserrat, were independent of British aid. Montserrat became a recipient of British aid in the wake of the 1995 eruption of the Soufriere volcano, which made most of the island uninhabitable and displaced economic activity and much of the population. Generally, Caribbean overseas territories have done well off their services sectors, primarily the tourism and the financial sectors. Their reluctance to proceed to full independence, despite dissatisfaction with aspects of their constitutional relationship with Britain, is partly attributed to the sentiment that their close relationship with Britain, associated with which are stability and financial probity, underpins the success of their service economies. Despite attempts to establish a positive correlation between colonialism and income levels of overseas territories (Freyrer and Sacerdote, cited in Sutton 2012b) the global recession has undermined their economic base showing up the same structural weakness of small Windward Islands banana producers (Dominica, St Lucia and St Vincent and the Grenadines), whose economies were among the most prosperous in CARICOM. For instance, in the early 2000s, well before the recession, poverty rates in the TCI and the BVI were 26 per cent and 22 per cent, respectively, of the population (KAIRI 2000). They are now being presented with similar prescriptions to address revenue loss: increase taxes on consumption and income. Even before the recession, overseas territories were sensitive to the constraints their small size presented despite their apparent success. Their case for special consideration in response to the European Community’s (EC) 1999 Green Paper revising the association arrangements followed much the same line as that of their independent counterparts. They drew attention to their small size (Anguilla) and environmental concerns and proneness to disasters (the BVI) and sought special consideration in trade and resources to mitigate vulnerabilities (the BVI) (Sutton 2012a, p. 115). Thus, it is important to note that despite their constitutional relations with Britain, the recession has shown up the fragility of their economic base, proving it to be no more diversified than their independent counterparts. Meanwhile, the quest for viability combined with some measure of autonomy took different paths in the rest of the Caribbean. Puerto Rico became the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico in 1952, enjoying some self-­government but remaining a US territory under Congressional authority (Sutton 2012b, p. 115). A 1954 Statuut made the Dutch Caribbean territories autonomous entities within the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Following further constitutional developments, by 2010 Curacao, Aruba and Sint Maarten had become separate countries within the Kingdom while Bonaire, Saba and Sint Eustatius became Dutch munici­ palities (De Jong and Van Der Leer 2012, p. 61). The French territories opted to

Responses to dilemmas  53 become Overseas Departments of France in 1946. There were decentralisation measures in 1982, 2000 and 2003. Of specific significance for this discussion, the Loi d’Orientation pour l’Outre-Mer (2000) empowered their local authorities to participate in regional organisations within the limits of their constitutional competences as long as permission had been granted by the French state (Bishop 2009; Daniel 2009a; Mrgudovic 2012). In all cases, there remain many self-­government deficits (Corbin 2012) and the relationships between the territories and their Metropolitan State have continued to evolve within a dynamic of contestation, negotiation and the quest for economic well-­being, greater autonomy and a stronger sense of identity. CARICOM institutions CARICOM embraces four pillars of cooperation: economic, under the CSME; foreign policy coordination; functional cooperation; and security. The Community Organs are the following: the Conference of Heads of Governments, comprising the Heads of Government of all full member states, which is the supreme decision-­ making organ; and the Community Council of Ministers, which is responsible for the strategic direction of all the pillars of cooperation. The following organs were developed to advance work in these areas: the Council for Finance and Planning (COFAP) oversees economic policy coordination, financial and monetary integration; the Council for Foreign and Community Relations (COFCOR) addresses relations with third states and organisations; the Council for Human and Social Development (COHSOD) is responsible for functional cooperation; and the Council for Trade and Economic Development (COTED) directs trade relationships with third countries and the CSME. Additional bodies and institutions include the CARICOM Secretariat and the Legal Affairs Committee, Budget Committee, Committee of Central Bank Governors and the CCJ. The CCJ is the prime mechanism for interpreting the laws of the CSME and is expected to eventually function as the final court of appeal in civil matters. As of 2017, only Barbados, Belize, Dominica and Guyana had the court functioning in both capacities. The CSME, a significant new element in the Revised Treaty, provides for rights of establishment, especially in respect of services; the liberalisation of capital flows and relaxation on movement of people in specified categories. These are university graduates; sports, artistes and media personnel; nurses; teachers; musicians; holders of a Caribbean Vocational Qualification certificate and associate degree or equivalent qualification. Free movement was to be extended to all categories of skills by the end of 2009. Governments have faced challenges in implementing the CSME, which have been aggravated by the global recession. This has resulted in the slowing down of Single Market implementation, including the removal of capital controls, movement of people and contingent rights; postponement of single economy objectives that speak to political, administrative and legal harmonisation across a wide range of areas; the virtual abandonment of single currency ambitions; and reduced funding of

54  J. Byron and P. Lewis the Secretariat. Nevertheless, CARICOM engages in a wide range of functional activities in areas that its Members consider to be best treated at the regional level. These include education (UWI and the Caribbean Examinations Council (CXC)); health (the Caribbean Cooperation in Health Initiative (CCHI) and the Pan Caribbean Partnership against HIV/AIDS); crime and security (Council for National Security and Law Enforcement (CONSLE) and the Implementation Agency for Crime and Security (IMPACS)); and climate change (the Caribbean Community Climate Change Centre (CCCCC)). Non-­independent territories and CARICOM Association status in CARICOM CARICOM provides for two types of membership: full membership and associate membership. There is further differentiation among the full members as they are allowed to reserve their participation in certain specified aspects of the arrangement. Thus, The Bahamas, while fully engaging in CARICOM’s functional arrangements and foreign policy coordination, does not participate in the economic elements of the Treaty. Haiti has also been exempted, for a period, from participating in the CSME, given its economic challenges, aggravated by the 2010 earthquake. In addition, Montserrat, a British overseas territory, was a full member of the integration process from its origins in CARIFTA, although it has not signed on to the CSME. Its membership is constrained, however, in areas of foreign affairs and security, which remain within the purview of the British government. CARICOM also allows for states and organisations to have observer status in some of its organs, although there is no specific provision for observer status in its Charter. CARICOM currently has five associate members – Anguilla, the BVI, Cayman Islands, Montserrat, the TCI, all British OCTs. It has also received expressions of interest in associate membership from the French Departments in the Americas of Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guiana and the Dutch autonomous countries of Sint Maarten and Curacao. The legal basis for AS is provided in Article 231 of the Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas, which states that the ‘Conference (of Heads of Government) may admit any Caribbean State or Territory to associate membership of the Community on such terms and conditions as Conference thinks fit’. The engagement of overseas territories is based on specific permission from the UK government, expressed in the form of a letter of entrustment signed by the Minister for Overseas Territories at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Participation in CARICOM is restricted to areas outside of foreign affairs and security, which, under their constitutions, are the responsibility of the UK government. They also require permission from the UK government to engage in the economic elements of the arrangement. Full members enjoy full representation and voting rights in decisions of the Heads of Government and Community Council. The only exception is Montserrat, which must refrain from voting on matters relating to foreign policy and security. Thus, while it can participate in COFAP, it is constrained

Responses to dilemmas  55 from exercising a vote. Associate members can participate in Organs of the Community, except COFAP, but have no voting rights. However, they can propose and/or modify programmes and measures falling within the purview of these bodies, once these are not related to foreign policy issues. They may also share in benefits of all CARICOM regional programmes and measures, whether or not proposed by them. They do not constitute the quorum for meetings of Community Organs and Subsidiary bodies and are excluded from the decision-­ making of Organs and Subsidiary bodies. On occasion, they attend meetings of CARICOM’s Heads of Government. They are required to accede to the Protocol on Privileges and Immunities of CARICOM, accept CARICOM’s travel document and contribute to 3 per cent of the Secretariat’s budget. The main Council of interest to Associate members is COHSOD which coordinates functional cooperation. Benefits to OCTs of associate membership The benefits of associated membership are best expressed in a Discussion Paper by the Government of Bermuda in putting the case for associate membership (Bermuda Government 2002). These include: strengthening international links to balance the strong relations with Britain, US and Canada, in geographical and cultural terms; providing access to resources of international donors through engagement in regional programmes (Bermuda Government 2002, pp. 7, 16); easier access to technical assistance; greater access to Bermudan companies; and access to universities on a preferential basis (in respect of fees). Justification for a closer relationship with CARICOM was also expressed in terms of cultural similarity and familiarity; historical ties, manifested in common political and constitutional roots in the British system of government; common education system; a history of migration with other Caribbean countries in both directions; and common trade links (Bermuda Government 2002, pp. 6–7). Bermudian civil groupings already enjoyed association with a number of regional institutions,5 despite not being associated with CARICOM. The paper also reported justification for membership from other OCTs. Anguilla argues that engaging with CARICOM gives them a stronger voice in international affairs and greater international influence. The TCI views CARICOM as an avenue for expressing national concerns in the international arena. Thus, it affords the TCI ‘an opportunity to enjoy participation at a high level in political discussion, trade debates, health and education’ (Bermuda Government 2002, p. 16). The overseas territories’ case for closer association with CARICOM reveals some frustration with constitutional restrictions in engaging with the international community. Frustrations can be related to the distinct interest of OCTs, all of which had thriving offshore financial sectors, which may not have accorded with the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development’s (OECD) efforts at curtailing the activities of offshore centres. Within the terms of their constitutional relationship with the UK, their voices were muted. CARICOM thus offered a means of circumventing these restrictions and giving voice to their concerns. CARICOM’s

56  J. Byron and P. Lewis open criticism of the UK’s handling of the TCI political crisis in 2009, which included suspending aspects of the existing Constitution and imposing direct rule by the Governor, is an illustration of this. CARICOM objected to the UK’s handling of the situation in statements made at the thirtieth Heads of Government meeting in Guyana (CARICOM 2009) and the 24th Inter-­sessional Heads of Government meeting in Haiti (CARICOM 2013a). The latter was addressed by the TCI Premier Rufus Ewing. The tightening of Britain’s constitutional reins on the overseas territories, which extends its control to sections of the economy and its more direct involvement through the Governor, as evidenced in the TCI, is likely to enhance the region’s role as an avenue to air their concerns. Anguilla’s appeal to CARICOM, in response to its impasse with the British government over budgetary allocations, elicited a statement of support from CARICOM with an offer to assist in ‘abating ongoing tensions’ (CARICOM 2012). Another impetus for a deepened relationship is the attractiveness of regional cooperation as a means of addressing some of the common challenges these small states’ experience, despite their constitutional connections with Britain and Europe. The most obvious of these are hurricanes and other natural disasters and the drug trade to which small islands are susceptible. They benefit from their participation in the Caribbean Disaster Emergency Management Agency (CDEMA) (Anguilla, the BVI, the TCI) and the Caribbean Catastrophe Risk Insurance Facility (CCRIF ),6 which provides insurance to offset the effects of natural disasters. They also participate in the regional UWI and its associated University Hospital of the West Indies, which provide access to higher education for students, and the CXC, which sets standardised regional exams at the high school level. They contribute to the budgets of these institutions. Their relationship with CARICOM also allows them to access financial support from the Caribbean Development Bank (CDB). One instance of this is the CDB’s refinancing, in 2010, of Anguilla’s higher-­cost domestic debt with a policy-­based loan, which lowered interest rate costs (Eastern Caribbean Central Bank 2011, p.  17). Another is the CCRIF ’s financial outlay to Anguilla in 2010 (US$4,282,735) and the TCI in 2008 (US$6,303,913) to offset damages caused by cyclones. Together, they received nearly 33 per cent of funds disbursed for the period 2007–2011 (US$32,179,470) (CCRIF 2012, p. 4). Britain has generally supported its overseas territories’ participation in regional organisations. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office’s report on the Overseas Territories asserts its ‘commit[ment] to supporting Territories which aim to strengthen their societies and economies by forming links with international and regional organisations or other countries’ (Foreign and Commonwealth Office 2012, p. 9). The limits of the UK’s tolerance for their engagement was reached, however, when CARICOM made public its dissatisfaction with Britain’s handling of the political crisis in the TCI. This incident also points to the success that overseas territories have had in influencing CARICOM’s foreign policy, notwithstanding their exclusion from its foreign policy deliberations. It would appear that the limits that the UK places on their engagement in foreign policy did not accord with CARICOM’s view of its own obligations to its

Responses to dilemmas  57 associate members. This was probably not a challenge that Britain foresaw. CARICOM, thus, has become an avenue for giving voice to a group of territories muzzled by their constitutional relationship with Britain. Whither CARICOM OCT relations? CARICOM’s interest in the OCTs was expressed in the influential Time for Action: Report of the West Indian Commission, published in 1992. The Report’s argument for widening CARICOM spoke to the overseas territories, including Puerto Rico, the US Virgin Islands and the French DOMs. Justification was based on movements of CARICOM nationals to these jurisdictions as well as the OECS’s move towards deepening its relationship with the French DOMs and Puerto Rico (West Indian Commission 1992, p. 431). Unlike the OECS that have close relations with the French DOMs, CARICOM’s engagement is primarily with the British overseas territories, despite the admission of Suriname and Haiti. This may well be about to change, as CARICOM considers the implications of admitting as associate members entities with constitutional arrangements with France and Holland. Curacao, Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guiana have made formal requests for associate membership of CARICOM as some have to the OECS. Sint Maarten has indicated its interest informally. Curacao and Sint Maarten’s interest is influenced by their changed status within the Kingdom of the Netherlands, which gave them more control over foreign relations. Both states currently have observer status in COHSOD. They participate in initiatives in health through the Caribbean Public Health Agency (CARPHA), the coordinating agency for the five organisations addressing health-­related issues;7 education, through the CXC; and their private sector in the Caribbean Association of Industry and Commerce (CAIC). In response to Curacao’s request for consideration of associate membership, the CARICOM Council of Ministers, at their twenty-­ ninth meeting,8 established a Technical Working Group on Associate Membership of the Community. The Terms of Reference for the Group included reviewing the existing terms and conditions for associate membership and establishing criteria and terms and conditions of associated membership as well as specific requests for membership. The slate of issues to be considered includes the place of observer membership and the relationship between associate and full membership; the cost implications for an expansion of CARICOM’s role which may result; challenges of compatibility in respect of language, political and legal systems and the relationship with European administrations of which states are constitutionally a part; and Curacao’s interest in trade (CARICOM 2013b). In 2014, the Heads of Government accepted the Group’s report and endorsed the process established for the consideration of applications for associate membership (CARICOM 2014). Conclusions on CARICOM’s role in respect of non-­independent territories The interest of the overseas territories, Curacao, Sint Maarten, Martinique and Guadeloupe in a relationship with CARICOM suggests the existence of a need

58  J. Byron and P. Lewis which they see CARICOM as meeting. Despite their relatively successful economic performance before the recession, marked by high per capita income, they face resource limitations aggravated by their small size, which collaboration with neighbours in CARICOM will help to mitigate. CARICOM provides them with the opportunity to lessen their alienation from the broader region and the developments that are taking place there, particularly in the context of the increasing consolidation of regional schemes, especially the emergence of CELAC. Given the refusal of Latin American groups to recognise them, CARICOM’s openness provides them with a concrete platform for engagement with the wider region. Thus, CARICOM could be seen as having a responsibility to the region’s small states and territories that other relationships are unable to fulfill. CARICOM offers the overseas territories, DOMs, Curacao and Sint Maarten a cultural affinity that their relationship with respective EU states is unable to satisfy. The widening interest in associate membership comes at a time when CARICOM is arguably at its weakest, with an apparent waning of commitment from its Members States evidenced in a slowing down in the implementation of the CSME, and general pessimism as to its role and future direction. The recession has weakened CARICOM by reducing its members’ ability to meet their financial contributions. Its inability to play a lead role in developing strategies to address the recession has diminished its Members’ confidence in the organisation. The overseas territories, DOMs and Autonomous states’ interest in participating in CARICOM draws attention to CARICOM’s importance in other areas outside of the economic, which has tended to dominate thinking about CARICOM: that is, its functional arrangements and its role in foreign affairs. It is also a reminder that the challenges of the region’s small states go beyond economic survival and that the political and constitutional relationship between the region and Europe is still unresolved. This widening of interest in CARICOM suggests an obligation on its part in respect of these territories that it cannot afford to ignore and may well be one of the impetuses for its renewal.

The Organization of Eastern Caribbean States (OECS) General presentation The OECS was established in 1981 (Treaty of Basseterre 1981). It has seven founding Members that include six independent states and one non-­independent territory (Montserrat). The BVI and Anguilla became associate members in 1984 and 1995 respectively. Its formation is attributed to several factors (Lewis 2002, p. 278; Lewis et al. 1972; Mullerleile 1996; p. 374). Notably, the seven West Indies Associated States of the Eastern Caribbean had consultative and cooperative bodies that dated back to the mid-­1960s or earlier. These included the Eastern Caribbean Supreme Court (ECSC), joint consular representation in London and Ottawa and shared monetary arrangements in the East Caribbean Currency Authority, upgraded in 1983 to the Eastern Caribbean Central Bank

Responses to dilemmas  59 (ECCB) (Lewis 1993, pp. 99–121; Samuel 1995). Finally, there were growing perceptions of vulnerability sparked by the economic challenges of independent statehood, uprisings in Dominica and St Vincent in 1978 and 1979 and Grenada’s troubled independence experience during the years of the Gairy regime that culminated with the Revolution led by the New Jewel Movement in 1979. Vaughan Lewis concludes that ‘the existence of the OECS […] can be seen as indicating the use of integration and cooperation institutions by these individual, very small entities in their search for economic development and for economic and political security’ (Lewis 1995, p. 102). Most regional organisations in the Caribbean have emphasised intergovernmental cooperation rather than supranational integration. Due to the characteristics and constraints of its members, the OECS grouping has explored more profound forms of integration than other Caribbean groupings. This is reflected in the statement by the current Director-­General that  at the heart of the OECS model of integration is the pooling of resources … in a bid to provide for the delivery of critical services to … members which they would be hard pressed to provide for themselves as individual countries. (Ishmael 2006, p. 45) The organisation’s initial objectives included strengthening cooperation among its members and with the international community; building solidarity and defending members’ sovereignty, territorial integrity and independence; supporting one another in meeting their international commitments; foreign policy harmonisation and joint overseas representation where possible; economic integration and the formulation and implementation of common policies in areas of common concern (Mullerleile 1996, p. 45; Treaty of Basseterre 1981 Article 3). The OECS is a curious blend of integration and cooperation programmes that includes a common judicial system, fiscal and monetary integration, joint overseas representation and common services where possible. Article 8 of the Treaty of Basseterre provided for collective security arrangements among the independent member states in the event of a threat to any one of them.9 Article 3 (2) provided for a wide range of coordinated economic activities, including agricultural and infrastructural development, the collection and management of national statistics, international trade and development cooperation, transportation and communications management, maritime policies and marine resources, tertiary education, scientific, cultural and technical cooperation (Lewis 2002, pp. 40–43). The fortunes of the OECS waxed and waned during the subsequent three decades. In its first phase, there were two significant initiatives towards deeper integration. The first involved the establishment of the Regional Security System in 1982. Prime Minister Mitchell of St Vincent and the Grenadines then launched a proposal for deeper political and economic union in 1987. The initiative began with OECS-­ wide consultations that ended up with the Windward Islands

60  J. Byron and P. Lewis proposal for political union prepared by a Regional Constituent Assembly (RCA). Despite the investment of substantial political and financial capital, the move towards political union fizzled out in 1993 (Byron 1999, pp.  251–285; Lewis 2002). For a time, subregional integration lost its momentum after the collapse of the political union project. The organisation went through much restructuring and reduced the scale of its activities. But by the early 2000s, the Secretariat and member states began to formulate a new work agenda focusing even more on functional cooperation and common services, and on constructing external partnerships that corresponded to their particular needs and interests (Ishmael 2006). As the OECS neared its twenty-­fifth anniversary in 2006, the governments prioritised the establishment of an economic union.10 The Revised Treaty of Basseterre which established this union was adopted in June 2010 (Revised Treaty 2010). The Revised Treaty of Basseterre and the protocol of economic union Many provisions in the Revised Treaty remain true to the earlier text while some enlarge the scope of the original provisions and commitments. Articles 3 (iii) and 27 provide for expanded membership, stating that a state or territory in the Caribbean region that is not party to the Treaty of Basseterre (1981) may accede as a member or associate member of the organisation with the approval of the OECS Authority, that will decide on the nature and the extent of associate members’ rights and obligations. Article 4.2 increases the areas for joint action. New areas include harmonised policies on intellectual property rights, regulatory and competitive authorities, social protection and social policy, public administration, taxation and audit procedures, economic integration and cultural and artistic cooperation. The Revised Treaty changes the institutional structure of the organisation, increasing the organs to five: the Authority, the Council of Ministers, the Economic Affairs Council, the OECS Assembly and the OECS Commission. The Authority is the highest policy-­making organ, the final legislative authority of the organisation, comprising all the Heads of Government of the Member and associate member territories. The chairmanship of the Authority rotates annually on an alphabetical basis among all categories of members. However, its deliberations may at times include only the member states possessing competence in the specific areas under consideration.11 The Authority takes decisions aimed at achieving the purposes of the organisation and maintaining the functioning of its organs. It can establish organs, if deemed necessary reverse the decisions of organs or ignore their consultative recommendations, and make financial decisions for the organisation. It decides on the conclusion of treaties and other international agreements and the establishment of new international relationships for the grouping (Revised Treaty of Basseterre 2010, Articles 8.4, 8.10 and 14). Decisions on procedural matters require a majority of full member states present and voting. The adoption of decisions on non-­ procedural matters requires unanimous agreement from full member states who are either present and voting

Responses to dilemmas  61 or who give their consent within 30 days after the event. In the case of decisions relating to the Economic Union Protocol, this concerns only the full member states who have signed on to that Protocol. Finally, any state which has accumulated one year or more of arrears in its contributions to the OECS is obliged to abstain from voting unless it is granted special permission to vote by the other member states (Revised Treaty of Basseterre 2010, Articles 8.9 a) and b)). The Council of Ministers works on any matters referred to it by the Authority and makes recommendations to the Authority. It enacts regulations and formulates directives that will bring into effect legislative Acts that have been passed by the Authority. It can also undertake policy consultations with the OECS Assembly. It operates in accordance with the same decision-­making and chairmanship rotation rules outlined above. The Economic Affairs Council consists of ministers designated by their Heads of Government from the member states that possess competence in the areas under consideration. The Council’s functions are set out in the Economic Union Protocol. Its decisions are binding based on the Revised Treaty and the provisions of the Economic Union but they can be subject to judicial review. The OECS Assembly is a completely new organ established under the Revised Treaty with quite restricted deliberative and consultative functions. Its representatives are drawn from the elected members of parliament or members of the legislatures of member states. Full member states have five representatives each while associate member states have three representatives each. The composition of each delegation should reflect the national parliament’s distribution of elected representation between the government and the opposition and in all cases, at least one member of each delegation must be appointed by the opposition parties in the member state. In general, members of the Assembly have a term of two years from the date of their national elections, or up until the next scheduled general election in their country.12 The Treaty provisions give the Authority considerable control over the convening of the Assembly and the scope of its activities. Unlike other organs, there is no Treaty provision for the regular scheduling of meetings of the Assembly. Its functions include considering and reporting to the Authority on proposed legislative Acts or on any other matters which the Authority may refer to it. However, the Authority is not obliged to take its reports into consideration. The Assembly also considers and reports to the Council of Ministers on matters that the Council has referred to it. Despite its limited mandate, the Assembly has stirred up interest and debate in OECS societies. It was inaugurated in August 2012 in Antigua with the Chief Minister of Montserrat speaking on behalf of the non-­independent territories. Its first full business sitting was in March 2013. For the non-­independent members who have local legislatures but no direct representation in the UK or European Parliaments, it affords the opportunity of a new regional political space and voice. While its powers appear limited and controlled by the OECS Authority, it has provoked questions about its functions and the possible infringement of the sovereignty of national parliaments. The ECSC has been asked to give an advisory opinion on the constitutionality of the legislative powers of the OECS

62  J. Byron and P. Lewis organs (The Anguillan 2012).13 At present, OECS decisions and regulations are passed on to national parliaments to be ratified within a period of three months (Telephone interview with Elma Gene Isaac, Head of Economic Union Division at the OECS Secretariat, 7 May 2013). Another innovation is the OECS Commission, composed of one Commissioner from each member state and the Director-­General of the OECS (Revised Treaty of Basseterre, Article 12). By extension, this includes the Secretariat staff who report to the Director-­General and service the work of the OECS organs. The Commissioners have ambassadorial status and represent the Commission within their member states. The Commission is based at the OECS headquarters in St Lucia and is responsible for the general administration of the OECS. Article 13 designates the Director-­General as the Chief Executive Officer for the OECS, appointed for a four-­year term that can be renewed. Staffing provisions allow for consideration to be given where possible to the equitable distribution of posts among the different member states. In conclusion, the restructured OECS contains several innovations. However, the Authority retains most of the decision-­making power. Moreover, within the Authority, the weight of that power rests with the full member states. The participation of the associate and non-­independent members remains restricted in certain areas and the wording of the Treaty provides for flexibility in their commitments. A primary characteristic of the Revised Treaty is its greater scope, and the binding nature of the parties’ commitments. Article 14 states that the OECS has legislative competence over matters pertaining to the common market and the customs union, over monetary and trade policy, over maritime jurisdiction and maritime boundaries of the OECS region, over civil aviation, common commercial policy, immigration policy and environmental policy. However, Article 14 (3) goes on to state that non-­independent full or associate Members may, when ratifying or acceding to the Treaty, make reservations with respect to this article. Article 5 (3) requires independent full member states to enact legislation that will delegate to the Organisation the authority to legislate on their behalf in the areas of competence listed in Article 14. An alternative course of action laid down in Article 5 is that they should enact legislation to receive acts, regulations and orders of the OECS Authority and give them direct effect in their domestic laws. However, Article 5 (4) also goes on to state that nothing in the Treaty should require member states to undertake amendments to their Constitutions.14 Montserrat’s accession to the Revised Treaty depended first upon the completion of negotiations with the British government towards the conclusion of a new Constitution and then upon the successful conclusion of an Entrustment process, initiated in December 2009. The September 2011 Constitution delegated responsibility to the Chief Minister, under prescribed conditions, for Montserrat’s participation within Caribbean regional organisations in regional and external affairs that are of interest to Montserrat. There were long drawn-­ out consultations on Entrustment with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office focusing on the potential for added value from regional cooperation. British

Responses to dilemmas  63 government scrutiny focused on possible increased costs to the Montserrat budget derived from membership contributions, loss of revenue from eliminating work permit fees for OECS nationals, the possibility of increased immigration into Montserrat, revenue effects of the Common External tariff and possibility of derogation, and the prospect of expanded access to international development assistance through participation in the OECS Economic Union. Entrustment was ultimately granted in December 2011 and the Legislative Assembly had the first reading of its OECS Act in March 2013. Montserrat has named representatives to the various OECS organs, including the Economic Affairs Council.15 The government of the BVI has similar responsibility for matters pertaining to regional organisations under its Constitution Order of 2007. However, it has not elected to seek Entrustment and remains an associate member under the 1981 Treaty, like Anguilla. Press reports highlight the BVI concerns about the OECS freedom of movement regime in the Revised Treaty (Carib Journal 2012). In the non-­independent territories, and to some extent in the wider OECS, there has been some debate involving governments and the wider society about the costs and benefits of deeper OECS integration as it pertains to business interests and to immigration matters.16 Media reports indicate that OECS officials have engaged since 2011 in increased diplomacy and public education to advance the legal consolidation of the new institutions and commitments.17 The non-­independent members: areas of major participation The Revised Treaty lists three OECS institutions, namely the ECSC, the ECCB and the Eastern Caribbean Civil Aviation Authority. Indeed, the non-­independent territories have concentrated their OECS engagement in the area of functional cooperation and particularly in their involvement with the first two institutions. All three belong to the ECSC, which has been in existence for 46 years. In addition to being the Supreme Court, it oversees the High Court system in OECS jurisdictions and is integrating territories’ Magistrates’ Courts into the ECSC system. The BVI is a prominent member of the ECSC as it has both a civil court division and the only commercial court division in the OECS, established in May 2009.18 The ECSC drives the development and management of the OECS judicial system. It has been responsible for technological and operational modernisation, upgrading the physical infrastructure, continuous training of judicial officers, accessing financial and technical assistance through its partnerships with bilateral and multilateral donors and increasing the pool of legal expertise available to its Member Territories. Its budgets and the budgetary quotas allocated to its Member Territories have remained largely stable since 2008, due in part to cost reductions occasioned by new technology and procedures. Undoubtedly the regional arrangements have provided a more efficient and cost-­effective judiciary than the individual administrations could have achieved (ibid.). Montserrat and Anguilla are members of the ECCB and the East Caribbean Currency Union, while the BVI, due to its geographical location, uses the US dollar like the US Virgin Islands. The ECCB, established in 1983, serves eight

64  J. Byron and P. Lewis economies. Its functions are to maintain the stability of the EC dollar, to maintain the integrity of the banking system by supervising the commercial banks and providing oversight for the offshore banking sectors, to manage a common pool of foreign reserves, to provide research assistance and policy advice. The central Monetary Authority decides on monetary policy and contributes to the growth and development of the member economies, most recently by the adoption of an Eight Point Stabilization and Growth Programme which is the OECS response to the economic crisis period since 2009 (Eastern Caribbean Central Bank 2013). In addition to its normal operations, the Central Bank is empowered to make advances to participating governments for payments that relate to their membership in international financial institutions. It may also make temporary advances to participating governments to meet their seasonal needs of amounts of up to 5 per cent of their average annual recurrent revenue during the past three years (Government of Montserrat 2005, Article 40 (1) (2)). The ECCB is an essential development partner for all its participating countries, enabling them to maintain conservative and sound monetary policies and a stable exchange rate for three decades and providing them with invaluable technical expertise. Anguilla’s economic recession and budgetary difficulties 2009–2012 offer a case study of the ECCB’s value for its non-­independent members. Not only did Anguilla benefit from an ECCB advance in 2010, the Central Bank also provided technical support in its first ever Art. IV Consultations with the IMF in 2011 and it continues to provide support in fiscal management, economic restructuring and the regulation of the banking sector (IMF 2012c). The final functional cooperation entity highlighted is the OECS Pharmaceutical Procurement Scheme (PPS), initiated in 1986 and in which all nine Member Territories participate. The entity collectively purchases pharmaceuticals and some medical supplies for the group. The scheme has been financially self-­ sufficient since 1989. In 2002, it was reported that this mechanism enabled them to procure pharmaceuticals at 44 per cent less than the market prices and in 2011, it reduced the cost of medicines by over 20 per cent, resulting in collective savings for the group of approximately EC$4 million. The OECS PPS has been cited by the World Health Organisation (WHO) as a good practice example and was adopted as a model by Fiji in 2001 (The Montserrat Reporter 2011). Since the 1990s, the external relations of the OECS have encompassed other non-­independent Caribbean territories (Lewis 1993). In 2004, a Memorandum of Understanding was signed with Puerto Rico, one of the two largest economies in the island Caribbean, which led to the establishment of an OECS office in San Juan in 2006 to facilitate trade, tourism and investment among the parties. This was expanded with an agreement in 2008 between the University of Puerto Rico (UPR) and the OECS to facilitate access of OECS students to academic programmes at the UPR (Overseas Territories Review 2008). There have been wide-­ranging multilateral and bilateral cooperation programmes with neighbouring French Caribbean territories Guadeloupe and Martinique. These programmes have included trade and investment, tourism development, security, alternative

Responses to dilemmas  65 energy, health and education, cultural exchanges and infrastructural development (OECS Secretariat 2009). A major step was taken to deepen this relationship in December 2011 when Guadeloupe and Martinique applied for associate membership in the OECS. Their application was welcomed by the OECS group, preparatory studies and talks took place in 2012 and formal negotiations on the modalities of their membership began in 2013.19 This represents a new phase in the expansion of the OECS, one which will widen its membership beyond English-­speaking communities with a British institutional legacy.

The Association of Caribbean States (ACS) The ACS was formed in 1994 with its Convention entering into force in August 1995. It has 25 member states, consisting mostly of countries located in or bordering on the Caribbean Sea.20 Article IV (2) of the ACS Convention also allows for associate membership for non-­ independent territories in the Caribbean region, specifying that such members would have the right to intervene in discussions and vote at meetings of the Ministerial Council and Special Committees on matters which affect them directly and which fall within their constitutional competence. Their participation is governed by relationship agreements with the ACS that set out the terms and conditions, manner of participation and voting for them (FLACSO 2008, p. 149). France joined on behalf of Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guiana in 1996 and their initial, quite limited scope for participation gradually evolved over time, driven by internal constitutional discussions and decentralisation arrangements within the French state (Lesales and Reno 2011, pp. 265–282) The Netherlands Antilles and Aruba became associate members in 2003. In 2010, the Netherlands Antilles entity fragmented. Curacao has since signed agreements that renew its membership of the organisation and Aruba remains an associate member (ACS 2012). Likewise, based on new areas of constitutional competence, Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guiana have applied for associate membership in their own right. This was granted during the Nineteenth Ordinary Meeting of the ACS Ministerial Council on 17 February 2014 in Trinidad.21 Ultimately however, questions may still arise from time to time concerning the competence of the French Caribbean territories to endorse certain ACS initiatives.22 The ACS is a less structured grouping than CARICOM and the OECS. Its chief organ is the Ministerial Council which provides political direction and meets at least once a year. There have also been five ACS summits, convened between 1995 and 2013. It has a Secretary-­General and a small Secretariat, based in Trinidad, which provides administrative direction. There are four Special Committees that coordinate its focal areas of work. These are Sustainable Tourism Development, Air and Sea Transport, Disaster Management Cooperation and Trade and Economic Cooperation. The ACS also emphasises cooperation aimed at preserving the Caribbean Sea and has been engaged since 2008, together with the United Nations, in seeking to consolidate the establishment of a Commission that would be responsible for the sustainable use and

66  J. Byron and P. Lewis governance of the Caribbean Sea. Finally, there is a Special Fund for Technical Cooperation which receives donations from member states and other parties and which is governed by a Council of National Representatives. The ACS introduced many innovations to Caribbean models of cooperation in its conceptualisation of the regional space, its membership criteria and interest in other partnerships including civil society and its more flexible staffing and administrative arrangements (Gill 1996, pp. 97–118; Serbin 1998, p. 136; Byron 1998, pp. 33–63). It has focused on constructing a Greater Caribbean Zone of Cooperation in which it stimulates consultation and concerted action.23 Past Secretary-­General Ruben Sillie contends that its members have progressed from being indifferent neighbours to mutual awareness and closer cooperation (FLACSO 2008). However, the ACS has also been plagued periodically by the divergent or conflicting economic and political interests of its Members, by difficulties experienced in carving out its exclusive institutional space, by a lack of resources and by its member states’ failure to ratify and implement signed agreements. Many analysts would agree that it has failed to realise its potential and that the interest of some Members has waned. Nonetheless, the ACS is currently witnessing a resurgence with new leadership and new applications for associate membership. Moreover, it has always been perceived by its associate members as a valuable strategic grouping which offered them greater regional visibility and voice, and the means to build development partnerships and deepen their integration into the Greater Caribbean. Martinique currently chairs one Special Committee and is Vice-­Chair for the Council of the Special Fund, while Guadeloupe is Vice-­Chair for two Special Committees. France is the fourth largest contributor to the regular budget, paying 10 per cent, while the Dutch associate members, up until 2010, collectively paid approximately 4 per cent (ACS 2013). The engagement of the French associate members has mainly been in sustainable tourism projects, language training, natural disaster management and in regional transport. Their regional councils in 2000 supported the financing of project management and resource mobilisation posts at the ACS. The organisation has been viewed by the European Commission as a means of integrating EU Caribbean territories more deeply into their regional and hemispheric setting. Between 2002 and 2006, in the implementation of the EU INTERREG III B Caribbean Space programme, 12 projects valued at US$2.3 million were developed involving the French associate members and ACS partners. This practice continues with the implementation of INTERREG IV 2007–2013 and has provided the means for both French and Dutch associate members to engage more energetically with ACS cooperation programmes (Lesales 2008).

Conclusion The discussion shows a trend of greater interest in participation in regional organisations by the British overseas territories, French territories and Dutch small states. This is occurring at a time when all the organisations, with the exception of the

Responses to dilemmas  67 OECS, have been experiencing a crisis of identity. This is a positive development as it underscores the value of functional cooperation in mediating the challenges of scope and scale which small states experience, thus strengthening the raison d’être of these organisations. From the perspective of the territories, their growing interest in regional engagement speaks to their desire to be more closely integrated with the countries with which they share a common sea, culture and history. More importantly, it speaks to their common vulnerabilities and limitations as small states that make such cooperation essential. The more fulsome engagement of these territories will undoubtedly shape the ways in which the organisations operate, not just in terms of their functional agenda, but in respect of the more central engagement of their associate members. From the territories’ perspective, their engagement is likely to strengthen areas of autonomy vis-­à-vis the European states with which they have a constitutional relationship. The discussion has also highlighted interesting differences across the three groupings in defining the terms and conditions of associate membership, in the associates that they have attracted and in the areas of cooperation in which they specialise. Overall, their experience suggests the importance of regional organisations in expanding the ambit available to the non-­independent territories for exerting autonomy in political and international spheres, despite constitutional limitations. The 2012 organisation of these territories into the Caribbean Overseas Countries and Territories Council with a joint agenda for sustainable development, and better coordination in negotiating their agenda with the EU (Caribbean360 2012) also shows their sense of growing need for coordination among themselves vis-­à-vis the global community (Sutton 2012a, pp. 79–94). It suggests a deeper awareness of themselves as political agents needing more vocal engagement, not just with Europe, but also with the Caribbean region. Their deeper integration with the region is likely to strengthen as the recession weakens the cohesion of the EU. Their involvement is positive not only because it integrates them more fully in the region in which they are physically located, but also because it serves to infuse new life and a new sense of purpose to these organisations.

Notes   * © Editions l’Harmattan, 2014.   1 This chapter first appeared in Perrot 2014. Collectivites Territoriales Et Organisations Regionales: De l’indifference a l’interaction. Paris: L’Harmattan. It has been reprinted with the kind permission of the editor and publishers.   2 The Group of Three consisted of Colombia, Venezuela and Mexico. Their grouping evolved in the early 1990s out of their role in the Contadora Group’s diplomatic interventions in Central America in the 1980s and their subsequent desire to strengthen political and economic cooperation among themselves and with the other actors in the Caribbean Basin.   3 Grenada was the first to gain independence in 1974; followed by Dominica in 1978; St Lucia and St Vincent and the Grenadines in 1979; Antigua and Barbuda in 1981; and St Kitts/Nevis in 1983.  4 CARICOM members are Antigua and Barbuda, The Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, Dominica, Grenada, Guyana, Haiti, Jamaica, Montserrat, St Kitts/Nevis, St Lucia, St Vincent and the Grenadines, Suriname and Trinidad and Tobago.

68  J. Byron and P. Lewis  5 These include The Caribbean Employers Association, the Caribbean Congress of Labour, the Caribbean Hotel Association, CTO, the West Indies Cricket Board of Control, inter alia.  6 CCRIF was established in 2007 on the initiative of CARICOM governments. It is funded by a number of governments – UK, Japan, France, Canada, Ireland, Bermuda; and institutions – World Bank, EU and CDB. It is headquartered in the Cayman Islands.  7 These are the Caribbean Epidemiology Centre (CAREC), the Caribbean Food and Nutrition Institute (CFNI), the Caribbean Environmental Health Institute (CEHI), the Caribbean Regional Drug Testing Laboratory (CRDTL) and the Caribbean Health Research Council (CHRC).   8 The meeting was held on 7 February 2012, in Georgetown, Guyana.   9 In addition to Article 8 of the Treaty of Basseterre (1981), the OECS countries signed a 1982 Memorandum of Understanding with Barbados on mutual security assistance. This Memorandum of Understanding would evolve into the Regional Security System headquartered in Barbados which encompasses the main security arrangements for its participant territories and is anchored in the Treaty Establishing the Regional Security System signed at St George’s (Grenada) in March 1996. 10 Once again the Prime Minister of St Vincent and the Grenadines, now Dr Ralph Gonsalves, played a catalytic role in the process of decision-­making on economic union for the OECS. 11 This would include, for example, certain multilateral or bilateral foreign policy matters and some security cooperation areas in which Montserrat or the associate member states may not be involved, or Economic Union Protocol matters for states that are not parties to the Protocol. 12 There is nothing in the Treaty provisions on the possibility of successive terms of office once the two-­year term has been completed. 13 See comments by Antiguan government official suggesting that ‘constitutionality concerns may have contributed to countries’ delays in enacting legislation to give effect to OECS decisions and directives in Antigua Observer, 25 March 2013. OECS Assembly’s Power to Make Laws challenged in Court, [online]. Available from: [www.antiguaobserver.com/ [accessed 4 May 2013]. 14 The Revised Treaty has now been enacted into domestic legislation by all the independent member states. Except for St Kitts and Nevis, all have delegated to the OECS legislative powers as per Art. 14. St Kitts and Nevis have suspended the application of Art. 5(3) expressing doubts about the constitutionality of delegating legislative competence to the OECS in this manner (telephone interview with OECS official, 7 May 2013). 15 For information on Montserrat’s legal and diplomatic accession campaign, see Overseas Review Blogspot 28 July 2011. Montserrat Chief Minister explains territory’s status in the OECS [online]. Available from: http://OverseasReviewBlogspot.com/ [accessed 23 March 2013]; OECS 20 August 2011. OECS Director-­General Congratulates Government and People of Montserrat on Adoption of new Constitution [online]. Available from: [www.oecs.org/media-­ center/press-­ releases/secretariat/ [accessed 26 April 2013]; MNIalive 30 November 2012. OECS Director-­General to visit Montserrat [online]. Available from: www.MNIalive.com/caribbean/montserrat/ [accessed 26 April 2013)]; Government of Montserrat Office of the Chief Minister, 28 February 2010. The Case for Entrustment: Montserrat as a Member of the OECS within the Caribbean Regional Architecture, Annex I; Government of Montserrat Office of the Chief Minister, 26 April 2010. Montserrat Entrustment, Annex II, Add. 1: FCO and DFID Request for Further Information on New Treaty of Basseterre; Government of Montserrat Office of the Chief Minister, 13 May 2010. Montserrat Entrustment, Annex II, Add. 1: FCO and DFID Request for Further Information on new Treaty of Basseterre.

Responses to dilemmas  69 16 The OECS legislation on freedom of movement has been adopted by all the independent member states except for St Lucia and Antigua. Montserrat has also agreed to granting indefinite stay for all OECS visitors (telephone interview with OECS Secretariat official, 7 May 2013). 17 In addition to the OECS discussions with the BVI and Montserrat, see, for example, Caribbean Election 2012; Caribbean News Now 2013a. 18 The BVI contributes 13 per cent of the ECSC annual budget, on par with most independent Members, while Anguilla pays 8 per cent, Montserrat 5 per cent. Together they would seem to account for approximately 20–25 per cent of the judgments delivered annually. See ECSC Annual Reports 2008–2009, 2010–2011. 19 See Communiques of fifty-­fourth meeting of OECS Authority, Rodney Bay St Lucia 23–24 January 2012; 55th Meeting of OECS Authority, Buccament Bay Resort, St Vincent 10–12 June 2012. OECS Authority meets in Dominica, Caribbean News Now 2012. 20 These countries include the CARICOM group, Cuba, the DR, the Central American countries and Mexico, Colombia and Venezuela. 21 See Association of Caribbean States, 26 April 2013. Declaration of Petionville revitalising the vision of the ACS for a stronger, more united Greater Caribbean; Caribbean News Now 2013b. See Association of Caribbean States 2014a, Accord approuvant l’octroi à la Guadeloupe et à la Martinique du statut de Membre Associé de l’AEC en leur nom propre. 22 This might arise if the ACS were to adopt a political position in response to a specific event, or were to urge the adoption of certain norms in relation to the governance of the Caribbean Sea. 23 ACS, About the ACS [online]. Available from: www.acs-­aec.org [accessed 12 May 2013]; FLACSO 2008. Dossier: The Association of Caribbean States, op. cit.; Girvan 2006. The Role of the ACS: Cooperation in the Greater Caribbean Kingston: 214.

5 The stakes of admitting the French Caribbean Territorial Authorities to CARICOM and the OECS Karine Galy Introduction The integration of the French Caribbean Territorial Authorities1 into their immediate geographical environment is an ongoing political process that was initiated at the beginning of the 1980s and is gradually being recognised by French legislation (Daniel 2007; Nabajoth 2002). The Overseas General Principles Act of 13 December 2000 is one of the first pieces of legislation to equip the French overseas territories with increased competence in the field of international relations. It covers their bilateral relations with neighbouring countries as well as those with regional organisations and the specialised bodies of the United Nations. The legal framework for their integration within the region was further strengthened with the adoption of L.4433–4–5 of the 1997 General Code of the Territorial Authorities (CGCT)2 and Articles L.7253–6 and L.7153–6 of Chapter 3 of the Territorial Authorities of Martinique and French Guiana Act of 27 July 2011. The former recognises the potential for admission to Caribbean regional organisations; while the latter makes specific provision for the territorial authorities of Martinique and French Guiana, which are both undergoing an institutional evolution, to become, in their own right, associate members or observers of regional organisations such as the CARICOM and OECS, provided they receive prior written agreement of the authorities of the French Republic. This legal framework was more recently enriched by the adoption of Law 2016–1657 on 5 December 2016 on the External Action of Local and Regional Authorities and Overseas Cooperation in their Regional Environment. Among other things, this text provides for the possibility for these authorities to negotiate, more extensively, agreements with foreign states as well as provisions related to the conditions of local officials working in France’s diplomatic missions abroad. On the basis of these legal provisions, Martinique, French Guiana and Guadeloupe thus began, from November 2011, a process of negotiation to formalise their admission to the following regional organisations: the OECS, CARICOM, ACS and ECLAC in the case of Martinique; CARICOM and CARIFORUM in the case of French Guiana; and the OECS, CARICOM and ACS for Guadeloupe (Ministère des Outre-­mer 2013, p. 7). For the time being, while negotiations are

French Caribbean in CARICOM and the OECS  71 on track for Guadeloupe, Martinique became an associate member of ECLAC on 31 August 2012. It also became an associate member of the ACS on 11 April 2014 and of the OECS in February 2015. The process of accession to CARICOM, begun in February 2015 by Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guiana, is under way. Straightaway, these differentiated choices raise questions about the strategies of each of the concerned authorities. Are they guided by historical, cultural, economic or other motives, including issues related to identity? Moreover, beyond the rhetoric of identity, what are the stakes for the various targeted regional organisations of admitting these authorities? What will be the impact of their participation on the development of these organisations? Conversely, what will be the perspectives and challenges faced by these organisations arising from their engagement? The admission of the territorial authorities to CARICOM and the OECS presents an interesting case study in international public law and, in particular, the international law of regional cooperation. In this respect, the participation of the French authorities in the regional organisations within the zone is based on their need for regional insertion. In turn, the notion of regional insertion reflects a fundamental objective: addressing their development aspirations. Therefore, it justifies the implementation of a specialised legal framework for regional cooperation, which will steer both the admission of these authorities as well as their participation.

The legal framework for regional insertion and the quest for development The aspirations of Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guiana to become fully incorporated into the organisations of their immediate environment aims, generally, at strengthening their insertion in the Caribbean space and beyond, and reflects their major development interests. We offer in this section an overview of the evolution of a specialised legal framework for regional cooperation before discussing the development rationale for its emergence. Very early on, a popular sense of identification with the Caribbean geographical space stimulated the interest of the local authorities in developing regional cooperation, which led to the progressive reorientation of the French state towards implementing a legal regime specific to the overseas territories, the goal of which was their insertion within their geographical region. The unfolding of these legal and integrative changes took place in four main phases that are discussed in turn in subsequent sections. Phase 1:  1980s legislative developments The need for the development of relations between the French Caribbean Regions and their neighbours was felt most deeply and urgently from at least the 1980s. The first phase of legislative change involved the adoption of several

72  K. Galy texts with a limited application for Departments and Overseas Regions. These included the 1980 ‘European Outline Convention on Transfrontier Co-­operation between Territorial Communities or Authorities’ (called the Madrid Convention); and Article 65 of the law of 2 March 1982 governing the ‘Rights and the Liberties of the Municipalities, the Departments and the Regions’, recognising the possibility for the regions, with prior authorisation from the government, ‘to organize regular contacts with foreign decentralized authorities’. However, this dual legal framework did not fit well with the concerns of most of the French Authorities of the Caribbean because of their insularity and their remoteness. French Guiana was the exception.3 In addition, the law of 31 December 1982, supplemented by that of 2 August 1984,4 which allowed for the implementation of a specific regime of cooperation overseas, making Departments and Overseas Regions a real laboratory or a terrain of experimentation in this domain, was another response to this need for closer relations within the Caribbean (Prieur 1985; Autexier 1986; Bouzely 1989). These texts signal the beginning of international competence of Departments and Overseas Regions. The 1982 law allowed, for the first time, the Regions to be consulted on all draft agreements which France negotiates with neighbouring states concerning regional cooperation in the economic, social, technical, scientific and cultural domains, including on issues of civil and environmental protection (Article 9). Although the measure was considered controversial during parliamentary debates and solicited challenges to its constitutionality (see Popotte 1994), it was adopted. The government asserted its will to help ‘DOMs (French Overseas Departments) to break their economic and cultural isolation by allowing them to express an opinion on the agreements of regional cooperation’ (Popotte 1994, p. 21). The law of 1984 made this consultation compulsory for any international agreement concerning natural resources in the EEZ. In that regard, international relations law is progressively anchored within the domestic law of decentralisation, when applied overseas. In fact, the purely consultative mechanism introduced by the 1982 law adopts a more peremptory character in maritime law – an area of strategic interest for the concerned regions (Chicot 2005, p. 88). These texts were accompanied by several circulars that extend this consultative competence to the General Councils.5 It is interesting to point out that this framework for the exercise of international competences by the French Caribbean authorities, remains widely dominated by the state (Braconnier 2007, p.  51). This is likely to elicit claims by locally elected representatives for greater flexibility for regional authorities in their actions in respect of regional cooperation. Phase 2:  Cooperation by conference since the 1990s The second phase of integration has involved the convening of a series of ‘Regional Cooperation Area Conferences’ – the first of which was introduced in 1990. Indeed, the conference on Caribbean regional cooperation, held in Cayenne on 5–6 April 1990, constitutes a decisive stage in the French

French Caribbean in CARICOM and the OECS  73 government’s conception of cooperation of Caribbean local authorities with countries and territories of their immediate environment, even if in hindsight, the result of cooperation to date remains unsatisfactory. Although specifically centred on regional cooperation in the Caribbean zone, the conference’s effects extend beyond the Caribbean because it implies the need for an umbrella policy on regional cooperation by the French state. So, the 1992 Law on Territorial Administration of the Republic (Loi ATR) seeks to bring ‘legal stability’ by qualifying regional cooperation and by establishing it on the conclusion of agreements and on the use by the authorities of tools such as Sociétés Locales d’économie mixte (SEML) or Groupements d’intérêt public (GIP).6 In any event, to understand the scale of this change, it is worth recalling that this conference was held in a particular context. First, there was a change of presidential majority in France. Second, there was a strengthening of the EU’s regional policy of cooperation,7 including development aid cooperation with ACP countries, the legal base of which rests on the Lomé agreement signed one year earlier.8 Finally, there were several initiatives coming from French Departments and Regions of the Caribbean which, so as not to remain outside this new plan of cooperation, had decided to assert their position as the ‘bridgehead’ of Europe in the Caribbean (whether on the initiative of private sector entities9 or directly under the aegis of the interested authorities)10 (Brial 1998, p.  139; Beauregard 2007, p. 62; Rubio 2000, p. 302; Nabajoth 2002). The 1990 conference coincided with the publication of Bernard de Gouttes’ (1990) report dedicated to ‘regional cooperation from the French Departments of Americas’, which formally set out the positions of each department towards regional cooperation. So, local elected representatives insist on their own conceptions of regional cooperation (sometimes diverging from the state’s conception), which, based on the foundation of decentralisation, provide a strong rationale for local authorities to operate in the international sphere. Consequently, barriers to their participation, erected on the principle of state sovereignty and its exclusive diplomatic privileges, began to fall. At that conference, one notices the softening of the state’s attitude towards the incursion of the overseas sub-­state authorities in the field of international relations. Prime Minister Michel Rocard’s speech to the conference set out the implementation of a concrete action plan to allow the insertion of the French Caribbean authorities in their regional environment. Divided into three areas, the State’s vision of regional cooperation of the Caribbean authorities intended to provide new resources for the development of cooperation, to coordinate and develop relations of all types with Caribbean States and to build upon the Community experience stemming particularly from the POSEIDOM decision and the Lomé Convention. The voluntarism shown by the national authorities during the conference of Cayenne was repeated at the regional conference of the French Guiana-­Caribbean zone held in Guadeloupe on 4–5 November 1996. This 1996 conference provided a point for evaluation of regional cooperation activities since the Cayenne conference and to identify necessary adjustments. Not less than 50 proposals were announced to relaunch regional cooperation, the political

74  K. Galy backdrop of which was to respond to the requests of the local elected representatives for a greater association with French diplomacy. Thus, this Guadeloupe conference was the occasion for the diverse partners to reaffirm the importance of the Caribbean territorial authorities as actors of regional cooperation in the zone and to insist on the importance of the closest possible coordination of all actors. These speeches of the local elected representatives, found a particular echo in the law of 13 December 2000 establishing the Overseas General Principles Act (Loi de l’Orientation pour l’Outre-Mer, LOOM) that constitutes the current law applicable to the Overseas Departments and Regions. Phase 3:  The LOOM Act of 2000 The LOOM constitutes the third phase of this legal construction of regional cooperation in the Caribbean zone, completing an initiative introduced in the early 1990s and whose symbolic act had been in particular the signing of the Mexico Convention11 allowing and organising the participation of Guadeloupe, French Guiana and Martinique in the works of the ACS12 as associate members ‘in consort with the French Republic’.13 In accordance with Articles 42 and 43 codified in the CGCT, the General Council and Regional Council see themselves strengthened with the possibilities now offered to establish relations with States and nearby territories. In fact, they now have eight primary areas of additional competences. First, they can send proposals to the government for the conclusion of international commitments with respect to cooperation between the French Republic and Caribbean States and between the French Republic and states in the Indian Ocean, as well as between the French state and regional bodies of the corresponding areas, including those dependent on specialised United Nations institutions. Second, they can ask the authorities of the French Republic, to authorise their President to negotiate and sign agreements with one or several of the States, territories or above-­mentioned bodies. The draft agreement is then submitted for deliberation and acceptance. Third, they may receive, in the areas of state competence, the state power to negotiate and sign agreements with one or several States of their area of membership. Fourth, they may be associated with the negotiations of international agreements. The fifth area of competence emerges from the fact that the President of these local Authorities can be in charge of representing the authorities of the Republic within the regional bodies. In the sixth area of competence of the Region or the Department, they can also be authorised to negotiate and sign agreements with one or several States or regional bodies; otherwise, they can participate in negotiation as part of the French delegation. It is the same for negotiations relative to the specific measures applicable to the outermost regions (Article 349 of Lisbon Treaty). Regions (and not Departments) have a seventh additional competence to become associate members or observers in regional bodies with the agreement of the authorities of the Republic. Finally, both the Departments and Regions can ask the government for France to hold membership in such regional bodies.

French Caribbean in CARICOM and the OECS  75 Phase 4:  Internal changes within France The fourth phase of this legal construction towards regional insertion concerns French internal institutional changes. For Martinique and French Guiana in particular, the law of 27 July 2011 strengthens the international competence of these authorities and allows them for example, to designate, in keeping with conditions determined by an agreement with the State, civil servants of the local authorities to represent them within the diplomatic missions of France. So, Martinique and Guadeloupe officially designated their representatives to the OECS, based in St Lucia. The 2016 law on External Action of Local and Regional Authorities, drawing on the experience of 2012, reinforces the status of territorial agents appointed in embassies (Chapter 4). It thus provides for an indemnity plan, residence facilities and reimbursement of expenses related to the performance of duties. The draft law provides that the officials concerned shall be presented to the authorities of the receiving state for the purpose of obtaining the privileges and immunities recognised by the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations of 18 April 1961. In a general sense, this provides the setting within which the French territorial authorities can ensure their visibility on the international stage. Indeed, this obliges them to set up strategies and to use instruments that certain authors define as para-­diplomacy (Paquin 2004, 2005; Viltard 2010). For example, the state authorities send study missions for development-­ related initiatives sub-­ overseas and participate in trade fairs and in certain international fora, or specialised institutions of United Nations, such as ECLAC. They finance public relations campaigns to increase their exports and attract investments; set up official visits welcoming other regional leaders or representatives of sovereign countries; and open missions or delegations abroad on the model of the EU delegations. The list is not exhaustive but reveals all the same that the French Caribbean authorities are developing a comprehensive strategy to become local actors in international relations. It is important to point out, here, the influence of the EU, which very early on encouraged and emphasised cooperation through, in particular, the policy of cohesion. From this point of view, it is interesting to note that beyond the encouragement of the European institutions, sub-­state authorities themselves introduced a number of actions to develop the law of cooperation. In the context that interests us, reference can be made to actions carried out by the French Caribbean authorities to participate in the elaboration of the EU–CARIFORUM strategy – the strategy that they considered to be the prelude to their participation in CARIFORUM and CARICOM (Galy 2013). The French Caribbean authorities’ search for incorporation into CARICOM and the OECS as associate members is justified by the need to mark their presence in their geographical zone but also and especially by the objective of benefitting from the activity of these organisations – joint action, studying possible projects, receiving information, even sometimes influencing decision-­making.

76  K. Galy And so, the deepening of the decentralisation observed above, allows us to see that sub-­state authorities are associated more and more with French diplomacy, in a subtle exercise of co-­construction of the diplomacy of France.

The development rationale for the framework Development in its broadest sense is ‘a process to develop the economic, social, mental structures of a society’ and to improve the living conditions and the well-­ being of its members (Ba 2008, p. 219). Endogenous development or self-­reliant development is a conception of development that integrates a territorial dimension: development ‘from below’, as opposed to the functional ‘top-­down’ development on which previous practices were based (Gagnon et al. 2008; Dillé 2000). The theory of development, introduced in the late 1950s particularly by the economists John Friedmann and Walter Stöhr, is based on voluntarism and considers development (economic and cultural) as an approach starting at the bottom – the local level – and favouring so-­called endogenous local resources (Friedmann and Weaver 1979, p. 234). It is thus defined as what is produced by the Community without outside contribution, in opposition to exogenous development. Applied as such, endogenous development leads inevitably to separation. However, by locating it within the framework of regional cooperation, endogenous development and development more broadly, becomes a shared objective that encourages, through regional cooperation, the evolution of close solidarity among neighbours. Therefore, the cooperation of the French Caribbean authorities with their immediate neighbours is in response to a compelling need arising from their remoteness from their European State. Indeed, far from the metropolis, they undergo similar constraints and have the same characteristics as territories and foreign states that are part of their regional environment (Jacquemet-­Gauche 2011, p.  722). Besides, these overseas authorities have a lower standard of living than authorities situated in the metropole. Integrating within their region then seems essential to promoting their development. This new dimension of the perception of international relations of the French Caribbean authorities gave rise to a multitude of initiatives. As an example, during the first interministerial council dedicated to overseas territories, the President of the French Republic, Nicolas Sarkozy, insisted on the fact that ‘To prepare for ‘endogenous development’ [and] create on-­the-spot wealth, the Overseas Territories have to strengthen their regional integration and thus multiply the links and the exchanges with the countries of their geographical zone’ (The Editor 2009). In keeping with this perspective, measures to simplify formalities for the issue of short stay visas were implemented for nationals of nearby countries in the Pacific, Caribbean and Indian Ocean, the objective of which was to facilitate tourism, business trips and regional integration. Also, the Law for Overseas Economic Development (LODEOM) of 27 May 2009, aimed to support endogenous economic development by creating a series of incentive devices – global free zones of activities and tax exemption in favour of social

French Caribbean in CARICOM and the OECS  77 housing (Yanno 2009, p.  690). More recently, by introducing a new theory of ‘economic diplomacy’, the Minister for Overseas Development, Victorin Lurel (2013) was able, during the XXI Conference of Ambassadors held on 27 August 2013, to note that: the regional economic insertion of Overseas Territories has no other ambition than to widen the range of possibilities for the economic players and the local populations. It is a question of favouring the modernization of the island economies for mutually profitable development, thanks to the regional projection of our best SMEs (Small and Medium-­Sized Enterprises) in the Overseas Territories and in the capacity of our Overseas Territories to attract international investors. Numerous initiatives are being implemented to concretize this strategy. The concept of economic diplomacy is only the economic side of a new paradigm according to which sub-­state authorities now participate completely in France’s international action. On the theoretical side, if the admission of Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guiana to the regional organisations of their area constitutes an innovation with regard to the French law of decentralised cooperation, it also has implications for the general law of international organisations. The challenge is to define the contours of associate status in the atypical situation of the French Caribbean authorities.

Admission to CARICOM and the OECS or the question of associate member status Generally, associate status covers a variety of realities. It usually involves the will of States or non-­sovereign entities to participate in the activities of the concerned organisation. However, associate status of sub-­state authorities is novel in that it provides a context for the development of functional cooperation. Indeed, very often, associate status is either explicitly outlined in the Constitution of the international organisation, or the same Constitution refers to a specific agreement of association which determines the rights and duties of the partner. With regard to the French Caribbean authorities, associate status acquired a double legal foundation. First of all, internally, the basis for the membership of the French Caribbean authorities is set out in Article 43 of the Overseas General Principles Act of 13 December 2000 which provides for the possibility for said regions to be associate members or observers of the regional bodies, with the agreement of the authorities of the Republic.14 Second, the application for admission as associate member has to meet the requirements of the concerned regional organisations. The most important condition concerns the provision in the constituent Treaty of the regional organisation to admit substate authorities as associate members or observers. The 1981 Treaty of Basseterre, the constitutive act of the OECS, provides for this possibility in Article 2 by indicating that any state or territory

78  K. Galy of the Caribbean region can become a full member or an associate member and can be admitted as such after a unanimous decision of the High Authority.15 This possibility is also stated in Article 3(3) of the 2010 Revised Treaty of Basseterre which specifies:  A State or Territory in the Caribbean region not party to the Treaty of Basseterre 1981 may become a full Member State or Associate Member State in accordance with Article 27. The OECS Authority shall determine the nature and extent of the rights and obligations of Associate Member States. Article 27 indicates the Authority as the competent organ to receive and follow up applications for admission. Article 3(2) of the Treaty of Chaguaramas creating CARICOM in 1973 and revised in 2001, provides that ‘Membership of the Community shall be open to any other State or Territory of the Caribbean Region that is, in the opinion of the Conference, able and willing to exercise the rights and assume the obligations of membership’. The imprecision in this statement is partially addressed when we combine these measures with those of Article 231 that provides that the Conference can admit, as an associate member of the Community, any state or territory of the Caribbean, in accordance with its terms and conditions. Here again, both regional organisations officially received the applications for admission of the French Caribbean Authorities and included them on their agenda for consideration. In practice, the competent authorities of both regional organisations welcomed the applications for admission of the French territories of the Caribbean and they each established a technical working group to specify the modalities of membership. The modalities of Martinique’s future admission are more advanced within the framework of the OECS than within the framework of CARICOM. In any event, they already reflect a crucial challenge, which is that of governance.

Participation in CARICOM and the OECS or the challenge of multilevel governance The different texts which constitute the basis for French overseas territories to engage in regional cooperation pose two conditions for the international action of sub-­state authorities. First, action has to develop within their areas of local competence or, by default, by delegation of the state in its area of competence. Second, action has to develop in compliance with France’s international and European commitments. These limits or constraints fix the boundaries for future participation of the French Caribbean authorities within the OECS and CARICOM. Indeed, the legal principle that conditions the participation of these authorities in the works of the concerned organisations, is that of respecting the distribution of competence among the French State, sometimes the EU and the local authorities. Thus, the solution proposed to resolve the possible conflicts is that of negotiating a convention between the French state and the local authorities.

French Caribbean in CARICOM and the OECS  79 The ‘Gordian knot’: distribution of competence The identification of the domains of public interests in CARICOM, in the OECS and in the French authorities has led to a non-­ exhaustive list for regional cooperation in the spheres of inter alia health, tourism, enhanced trade, the development of sea and air transport, fishing, the harmonisation of customs rules, development of renewable energies, prevention and management of natural disasters. It thus covers a very vast field of actions where cooperation can develop. It should be stressed, however, that some of the examples mentioned highlight a variety of stakeholders because they fall within the respective competences of the French State, the local authorities, and the EU, or even certain private actors such as business associations and non-­governmental organisations (NGOs). Therefore, the problem is the delineation of the margins of manoeuvre for authorities with regard to these various possible spheres of action. Indeed, the relevant legal provisions make it clear that the French regions can act only under their respective competences. The difficulty is real because a number of competences are often shared between the state and these authorities and require close coordination. The example of the current negotiations between Martinique and the OECS, with the prospect of gaining associate membership is a typical example. Indeed, since the request for membership and the appointment of the technical committees, two negotiation meetings took place – the first on 1 March 2013 and the second on 30 September 2013 at the OECS headquarters in St Lucia. Several sectors of cooperation were discussed by both parties: health, air and maritime transport, yachting and tourism, cultural industries, the development financing of the energy sector, education and fishing, trade, security and the issues of immigration and mobility in general. Apart from the area of energy for which Martinique possesses specific competence, all the other domains fall within the area of shared competence (education, transport, fishing, health) or the sovereign sphere of the French state (security, migration). This leads to at least two observations. The first concerns the OECS: the tangle of competences was perplexing and complex for the negotiators accredited by the OECS Secretariat. It is very likely that the lengthy negotiations were due to the OECS’s scepticism about the real capacity of Martinique’s local authority to represent itself without the supervision of the French State. The second concerns Martinique and France who have to get used to each other, establish bonds and build trust on matters that concern international relations and inaugurate a new ‘territorial diplomacy’. The latter reveals a certain fear and reluctance on the part of the French authorities to allow the Martinican authorities to negotiate alone, even though it is an exercise pertaining to sovereignty. In terms of law, however, the legislature was careful to set out a procedural framework for the relations between France and the Martinican authorities by providing for an agreement which would define the main outlines of the actions of the authorities in the areas of shared competences.

80  K. Galy Solution for harmonisation: the convention It is the 2012 circular on ‘competences exercised by the overseas Authorities in international matters’ that proposes a solution to the problem of the distribution of competences. It states that it will be advisable to define exactly the modalities of participation of Authorities in the works of organizations, in particular when the subjects to be dealt with involve at the same time competences of the State and the local authority. These modalities of participation can be the object of an agreement. (MAE 2012b) How can we interpret this measure? In the absence of relevant elements of substantive law, we must first observe that the establishment of an agreement is optional – ‘these modalities of participation can be the object of an agreement’. Moreover, the general brevity of the text shows that even beyond an agreement, the participation of the French Caribbean authorities remains stamped with the seal of the State.

Conclusion In conclusion, and without anticipating what the real place of the French Caribbean authorities will be within CARICOM and the OECS, we can cautiously observe that their associate membership raises questions that reveal the random character of the legal regime of regional cooperation, which oscillates between stabilisation and necessary safeguarding of state sovereignty. From the point of view of the organisations considered, the status of the French Caribbean authorities constitutes an atypical situation that will involve an enrichment of the law generated by these bodies. In any case, the impact of the participation of French communities and particularly of Martinique within Caribbean regional organisations remains difficult to measure. The development of commercial relations with the OECS is convincing, as evidenced by this observation made by the French Ambassador to the OECS countries: ‘the adhesion of the Territorial Collectivity of Martinique to the OECS, as an associate member, and the forthcoming accession of Guadeloupe, are important steps that can foster exchanges and facilitate the establishment of French companies’ (de la Moussaye 2016). However, there are still many obstacles related to differences in language, challenges of intra-­regional transport and varied bureaucracies and standards. Furthermore, it would probably have been useful, at the operational level, to extend the possibility given to local authorities to post officials within embassies and regional organisations in which they hold associate membership. As a privileged liaison of the collectivities, these agents could have helped to strengthen the place of these collectivities within the regional organisations, thus promoting the development of joint projects.

French Caribbean in CARICOM and the OECS  81

Notes   1 French Caribbean Authorities located overseas include, on the one hand, the Overseas Regions/Departments (DROM/ROM), namely, Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guiana; and, on the other hand, the Overseas Communities (COMs) namely, Saint Martin and Saint Barthelemy.   2 This 1997 version was modified by Article 1 of the July 2011 law 2011–884 on Territorial Authorities of Martinique and French Guiana (Article1), Available from: www. legifrance.gouv.fr/affichCode.do;jsessionid=2AF8FF91CD744D993C143445B6330D 9F.tpdila14v_2?idSectionTA=LEGISCTA000006181180&cidTexte=LEGITEXT000 006070633&dateTexte=20170309 [accessed 10 March 2017].   3 Unlike French Guiana which has a land border, Martinique and Guadeloupe could hardly take advantage of this Act (see Dolez 1993, pp. 124–125).   4 These were on Organization of the Regions of Guadeloupe, Martinique, French Guiana and Reunion (Law 82–1171) and Competences of the Regions of Guadeloupe, Martinique, French Guiana and Reunion (Law 84–747), respectively.   5 We can note in particular: first, the Prime Minister’s circular to the Prefects and heads of diplomatic and consular post, N 1739/SG of 26 May 1983 relative to the external action of local authorities (not published) which tends to clarify the role of systematic information of the delegate in the outside action of local authorities; second, Circular No 2063/SG of 10 May 1985 which clarifies the conditions of cross-­border cooperation and introduces the notion of decentralised cooperation. It stresses the limits of this type of cooperation by detailing the procedure for checking the legality of the interventions of Authorities. Finally, circular of 12 May 1987 relative to the international relations of France and to the external action of the DROM. It is undoubtedly the most instructive text because it was drafted specifically to interpret the laws of 1982 and 1984.   6 In English, these are local public enterprises and public interest groups, respectively.   7 It is within the framework of its regional policy that the EU registered the development of decentralised cooperation. The driving role of the Commission as well as the implementation of INTERREG financial or legal instruments allowed the development of actions to facilitate cross-­border cooperation, (among adjoining territories situated on the internal and external borders of Europe); transnational cooperation (which concerns cooperation initiatives between national, regional and local authorities of the Union including 13 groupings of regions, with neighbouring foreign regions); or inter-­regional cooperation (between regions of Europe not necessarily contiguous but organised in networks). See Luchaire (2007) and Vestris (2009).   8 From the Third Lomé Convention signed on 8 December 1984, the question of cooperation between the DOMs and the ACP had been encouraged (in particular, in Appendix VII). However, it was in Lomé IV of 15 December 1989 that plans of cooperation between ACP States and surrounding Overseas Countries and Territories (OCTs) and DOMs are identified. This beginning of a European policy of regional cooperation will be strengthened by the decision 89/687 of the Council of the Communities of 22 December 1989 establishing a programme of options specific to the estrangement and to the insularity of the DOMs (POSEIDOM) and setting up a financial support for the operations of international cooperation decentralised of DOMs.   9 For example, a ‘Europe–Caribbean contacts’ device was employed on the initiative of the Chambers of Commerce and Industry. The private sector played a determining role in the triggering awareness of regional cooperation through CAIC and the Conference of Presidents of Chambers of Commerce and Industry. The Europe–Caribbean contacts held in 1981 and in 1987 constitute a real dynamic in favour of regional cooperation. These conferences were places of reflection and formulation of proposals on the means to be implemented for developing the economy of the French Departments. See Beauregard (2007, p. 62).

82  K. Galy 10 The French departments tried very early to position themselves as real partners of their Caribbean counterparts, through actions of ‘twinning’ or developing protocols of operational cooperation. As an example, we can cite the case of Martinique: the twinning of the Municipality of Grand Rivière with Roseau (capital of Dominica) or that of the City of Lamentin with Santiago de Cuba. In terms of operational actions, we can again cite agreements of cooperation between the Regional Council and the municipality of Carrefour (Haiti) from 1987 to 1990, which included the financing of infrastructure in exchange for training for the small business sectors, and was eclipsed by political unrest in Haiti. The links between the City of Fort-­de-France and Plaza de la Revolución’s municipality (Havana, Cuba) included the joint development of initiatives geared at rehabilitating and improving the urban environment. See Rubio (2000, p. 302) and Nabajoth (2002). 11 Agreement between France and the ACS, 24 May 1996. 12 The ACS was created by Cartagena Agreement, 24 July 1994. 13 It is also worth noting the publication of the report of deputies C. Lise and M. Tamaya (1999, p. 214) that emphasises the will of the local elected representatives to obtain more responsibilities in particular, to place regional cooperation at the heart of their economic development and of their identity aspiration. 14 Article L4433–4–5, Modified by Law 2010–1487 of 7 December 2010, Article 5: the regions of Guadeloupe, Martinique, Mayotte, Guiana and Réunion can, with the agreement of the authorities of the Republic, become associate members of regional bodies, mentioned in the first paragraph of the article L. 3441–3, or observers in these organisations. The regional councils of these regions can apprise the Government of any proposals aiming at the membership of France in such bodies. Formally, the authorities have to submit a resolution expressing their wish for membership, as well as permission to initiate relevant negotiations to the authorities of the Republic – i.e. the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry in charge of Overseas Territories. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, by letter, expresses his agreement and transmits a copy to the competent authority of the concerned body. For instance, on 20 January 2012 and 16 April 2012, the Regional Council of Martinique transmitted to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, by letter, a request for membership as associate member to the OECS and CARICOM. In return, the Minister, by letter on 11 July 2012 formally gave his approval in the name of the French state and authorised the Chairman of the Regional Council to hold relevant negotiations. He further informed the High Authority of the OECS and the Secretary-­General of CARICOM of the French State’s support for such an approach. The same procedure took place within the regional councils of Guadeloupe and French Guiana. 15 Fifty-­fifth meeting of the Authority of the Heads of state and governments of the OECS, in January 2012 and the Council of Ministers of CARICOM.

6 A deeper regional incorporation for the French territories of the Americas The shifting dynamics of French foreign policy Alexandra Petit Introduction For a long time, France has been a privileged partner of Latin America and the Caribbean. Hence, France has had the benefit of being seen as an ally and a solid supporter. The close relations that the region and the French Republic have maintained bear witness to this – from the support given to General De Gaulle’s Resistance,1 through the solidarity shown by the French during the period of the dictatorships,2 to the decision of the Senate designating 31 May as Latin America and Caribbean Day.3 France constructed her foreign policy on the wide diffusion of her culture throughout the zone, notably via the establishment of a vast network of alliances. France remained for a long time as a political, social as well as cultural reference point (Rolland 2011), as evidenced by the welcome to Paris accorded to numerous artists, such as Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Pablo Neruda, but also to political refugees like Fernando Enrique Cardoso.4 Nevertheless, these dynamics of fruitful cultural exchanges, notably through university scholarship programmes between France and the region in general, since the publication of the 2008 White Paper on French European foreign policy (Juppe and Schweitzer 2008) and the General Revision of Public Policies (RGPP) of 2009, have been hindered by the new system of reference for French international cooperation and diplomacy. The latter, henceforth within the framework of a bilateral dynamic, has been restructured and represents a break with previous policy. The evolution of the French diplomatic network thus responds, according to Minister of Foreign Affairs, Laurent Fabius, ‘to a cutback in the government’s rate of expenditure in line with the demands for modernization in public action’ (Châtelot 2013). However, France remains ‘a Caribbean state’.5 The presence of three departments and two French overseas collectivities6 in the zone means that France is still a legitimate strategic participant in the region. In addition, France’s new political and diplomatic strategy, which now incorporates her overseas territories, makes them an important axis in breathing new life into her relations with the Caribbean. The enhancement of the range of diplomatic activities of her departments is part of the restructuring being carried out in France’s diplomatic presence in the region. Along with legislative and

84  A. Petit constitutional advances, these territories have progressively acquired a relative international competency through the possibility of exporting their domestic competencies (Chicot 2005). In this way, restructuring is accomplished through new measures, notably, the integration into the diplomatic network of regional chargés de missions representing the overseas collectivities – the goal being to reinforce the visibility of their external activities but within the context of the French representation in host States.7 This new French strategy reflects a specific vision of diplomatic action on the part of its subnational territories; a coordinated effort, tailored to the international objectives of the State; and a ‘city diplomatic’ initiative as part of France’s international action. The latter is aimed at increasing French influence in the context of globalisation. In a wider sense, this strategy is a response to the debate on para-­diplomacy. It views the activity of subnational collectivities as a reconfiguration of the international system that reinforces state legitimacy, opposing those who view these activities as a weakening of the state (Viltard 2008). Nevertheless, if this appropriation of ‘city diplomacy’ (la diplomatie des villes) on the part of the state is original in the case of the French, it does not entail competition between the State’s conventional diplomacy and the international activities of the territories. Making them responsible binds the overseas territories in a double logic. They become elements in French diplomatic policy, guarantors of the upholding of the State’s interests in the region; and this allows them, at the same time, to engage in the defence of local interests abroad and a more autonomous development policy. Thus, recent initiatives vis-­à-vis overseas territories are more widely integrated into the new French foreign policy in the Latin America-­Caribbean region. This policy manifests a certain opportune complementarity between bilateral cooperation with countries such as Brazil and Mexico (and to a lesser extent, the DR and Haiti), European cooperation, and local action on the part of the overseas territories. The problematic we explore concerns the compatibility between the regional integration of overseas departments and the external actions of the French State, within the logic of legal constraints on measures in every domain of public action and in particular, of foreign policy. How do the overseas departments become links in France’s external action, participating in its redeployment in this region? In order to treat with this question, we will analyse the shift from an overall foreign policy for the Latin America-­Caribbean region to a policy of subcontracting, and we will present the motivating forces behind the regional integration of the French collectivities of the Americas and the double logic that this entails. From centralised diplomatic action to subcontracting8 France’s foreign policy towards Latin America and the Caribbean has evolved in tandem with changes in the international system, going from the main­tenance of privileged relationships in a bipolar logic to a strategic reinforcement in

Regional incorporation of French territories  85 the newly emerging countries. Today, France positions itself in a rational dynamic. France applies the principle of subsidiarity at both the European and sub-­national levels. The celebration of ties of friendship France has long shared with Latin America and the Caribbean privileged relationships based to a large extent on the reception and diffusion of a French cultural model. This was the foundation for France’s cooperation with Latin America and the region has always been receptive ground for the influence of the French language, for education and for its general culture. Latin America was the first region to develop committees for the Alliances Françaises in 1883, and the numerous scientific and literary exchanges that followed up until the 1980s have sustained this diplomatic relationship celebrating the bonds of friendship and of solidarity between these peoples. In the early period of the Fifth Republic, Latin America was moreover, a strategic geopolitical investment – a base for France to contest American hegemony. For example, DeGaulle condemned American military intervention in the DR in 1965 and rejected the embargo imposed by the US on Cuba – a ‘soft power’ weapon that would not endanger France’s geostrategic alliance with the US. Relations between France and Latin America also signalled the first endeavours to break the East–West connection. In a bipolar world it thus gave evidence of their commitment to a multipolar world (Couffignal 2011). Today, France is still very present in the region and pursuing a long-­term strategy. France’s recent presidencies of the G8 and the G20 are evidence of her awareness of the importance of Latin America and the Caribbean as indispensable partners in negotiations on global concerns such as climate change, bio­ diversity, food security and the governance of globalisation. Moreover, Nicholas Sarkozy has pleaded intensely for extending the G8 to include five emerging countries, among them Brazil and Mexico.9 France, in addition, pays marked attention to regional concerns, particularly to the issue of the rehabilitation of Haiti. She intends to undertake a more active promotion of ‘la Francophonie’ (French language and culture) notably, through the regional incorporation of her overseas territories (MAE 2012a). Her presence in a number of regional organisations engages her in the internal evolution of the region. She maintains a presence in the OAS as an observer member, she has deepened her partnership with ECLAC and remains an associate member of ACS. France also enjoys diplomatic representation to CARICOM and to OECS. The historic partnership between France and Latin America and the Caribbean is therefore, still a reality. Nevertheless, it is now within a different context and the whole history of this relationship is being called into question. Henceforth, it is the EU which is responsible for global policy towards Latin America and the Caribbean, in accordance with the principle of subsidiarity.10 Therefore, there is no longer a French Latin American policy, but a quest for concerted action with certain countries in the region in order to put into place a new system of global governance (Couffignal 2011).

86  A. Petit A bilateral commitment to emerging countries Bilateral relations and economic interests have taken precedence over regional engagement, which was based on a celebration of friendly ties. International action is, henceforth, being based on strategies of territorial attractiveness. The demands of globalisation have placed France on a path of competitive action in the face of new players. China is now emerging as Latin America and the Caribbean’s second commercial partner, and the first partner in the case of Brazil (Rouquier 2011). In addition, the growing prominence of Latin American states such as Brazil and Mexico on the international scene necessarily accentuates the political and economic heterogeneity of the region. Thus, Laurent Fabius (cited Châtelot 2013) announced, in a 15 April 2013 letter addressed to François Hollande, that: ‘Diplomatic missions in countries where our interests are non-­existent will be closed’ and ‘… economic logic takes precedence over the principle of universality’. This principle of universality implies that France should have permanent representation of its interests in the majority (84 per cent) of Member States of the United Nations (Cours des Comptes 2013). The geo-­political map of Latin America is being redrawn in accordance with France’s interests. Although the zone was formerly one of the most significant areas for French diplomatic establishments, these have been reduced in the RGPP undertaken by France in order to rationalise public action. The entire diplomatic network in the zone has been restructured – with Brazil and Mexico benefitting from ‘expanded missions’ and Colombia, Venezuela, Argentina and Chile benefitting from ‘priority missions’. Cuba, the DR, Guatemala, Costa Rica, Panama, Peru, Bolivia and Ecuador enjoy both ‘priority missions’ and ‘individual co-­operative action’. All the other states in the region have the benefit of a ‘simple diplomatic presence’. Nevertheless, we must also point out that Cuba, Haiti and the DR form part of France’s ‘Priority Solidarity Zone’ (ZSP).11 Otherwise, the Latin American-­Caribbean zone is no longer a major area of involvement for France. Olivier Dabène (2012) even speaks of a Latin America ‘forgotten by France’. In spite of these restrictions, the involvement of France in the process of the regional insertion of her overseas territories reflects a new dynamic. The state is withdrawing from its obligations in order to focus on emerging countries and is giving to its overseas territories the responsibility for new diplomatic competencies. This commitment relates, first of all, to the need for local autonomy and, second, to the dynamic of making subnational communities responsible in a globalised world. Nevertheless, the status of overseas departments undercuts the argument about disinterested action on the part of France. The new international competencies of local communities are evidence of the progress of the French plan of action in terms of territorial diplomacy. However, these communities have limitations when it comes to their involvement in national foreign policy.

Regional incorporation of French territories  87 Local international action: an element of French foreign policy We observe several dimensions to French diplomatic action. First, there is a rationalisation of French diplomacy in light of global issues, while maintaining privileged relations with emerging partners who have become key subjects in international relations. Second, action has been geared towards ensuring that parts of France’s actions are rooted in the regional policies of the EU and that it remains a major player in public policies set up, notably, on the borders of Spain and Portugal. This position allows France to acquire wider influence and to participate in large-­scale EU action. France is thus involved in ambitious programmes that it would not be able to undertake at a national level – for example the ‘EUROsociAL’ programme of regional cooperation which aims to facilitate social cohesion in Latin America. France provides the coordination of its components (MAE 2012a). Third, one observes the construction of an ‘international competency’ or mandate for its collectivities, leading towards local diplomacy. This new dynamic in French diplomacy does not represent a withdrawal on the part of the State. It is not a sign of a reduced role for the state in the defence of national interests. Rather, this new dynamic is part of a new diplomacy at two or even three levels. This ‘city diplomacy’ of departments and regions contributes perfectly to the spread of France’s influence and constitutes an important part of the State’s foreign policy, ensuring the effectiveness of French diplomatic action in a period of budgetary restrictions. This commonality of action between the European, national and sub-­state sectors has become necessary because of the exigencies of globalisation (liberalisation, suppression of borders and new non-­state players).12 There is less state supervision of the collectivities and more focus on acquiring the participation of local authorities in meeting common objectives.13 The recommendations of the White Paper on France’s foreign and European policy thus anticipate involving local collectivities with a view to ‘making French foreign action more transparent, open and regulated’.14 The intentions of the French state are clear. Starting with a platform of diplomatic priorities now considered as shared, the executive power envisages putting the asset of proximity15 held by local authorities at the service of this ‘leverage diplomacy’. This diplomacy, combined with conventional diplomatic action and that of the EU, secures for France a presence in the zone noticeable enough to justify a reduction of national diplomatic resources without the risk of becoming a minority player. This French strategy is clearly expressed by Laurent Fabius, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, in an interview with the Revue International et Stratégique. He describes the new face of French diplomacy as ‘influential power’ and also places France among the top powers in terms of soft power, notably through its overseas presence (Billion and Martel 2013, p. 55). By ‘multiplied diplomacy’, Fabius means to mobilise all French networks of influence, including local authorities (Billion and Martel 2013, p.  58). The influence would not proceed from all the actions carried out by each actor, but from the effect of networking which would produce a synergy, allowing France to exponentially deploy its

88  A. Petit influence abroad. Thus, multiplied diplomacy does not proceed from an ambition to see increased responsibilities of sub-­state authorities for external action. It stems from the desire to involve local authorities in the state enterprise. This is an important clarification because it highlights an ambivalence between the ambitions of the state and the demands of the territories. It highlights a difference in understanding of the meaning of this multiplied diplomacy. The regional insertion of overseas entities: ‘the two faces of Janus’ The reinforced range of international competencies of overseas collectivities has allowed the exploitation of opportunities that include a better insertion in their regional environment. Nevertheless, through these new competencies, and in the context of leverage diplomacy, it is the ensemble of the French diplomatic mechanism that is enriched. In this dynamic, the overseas collectivities have associated the new diplomatic order and the underlying strategies with a policy of reinforcing their local autonomy and of regional insertion. As well as being players in leverage diplomacy, overseas authorities engage in a course of action and a policy of local interest. We can, nonetheless, question the real local consequences of these policies. By engaging in individual actions, overseas departments participate in strengthening the State. The consolidation of local autonomy, achieved by giving local collectivities more apparent responsibility, is also a part of the state enterprise to merge responsibility (function) and territories (identity) in the appointment of senior officials. This initiative masks the presence of the State, despite the dynamic of decentralisation, by the appointment of personalities of local origin. This unambiguous involvement of the state in the process of regional integration is justified by the aforementioned notion of multiplied diplomacy, by which France does not develop subsidiary diplomatic networks, but rather creates synergy between the various state and sub-­state services. This influential power strategy affects populations of non-­independent territories who see accountability seemingly being reinforced by the growing involvement of overseas political players in positions where overseas interests are played out. Thus, it is also a ‘soft power’ strategy – ‘the ability of a country to persuade others to do what it wants without force or coercion’ (Nye 1998, p.  86). In fulfilling the need for accountability of non-­independent territories through appointments, the state maintains its presence on all fronts without being blamed for some form centralisation. The contours and limits of the new international competencies of French collectivities France has the third largest diplomatic network in the world after the US and China and the largest of European countries (Cours des Comptes 2013). It is represented in the Caribbean by six embassies.16 These embassies give France a diplomatic presence in the whole of the Antilles. In 2001, this structure was complemented by the appointment of an Ambassador with responsibility for

Regional incorporation of French territories  89 regional cooperation whose chief mission is to coordinate and facilitate the actions of the state and of the territorial authorities (Le Président de la République 2001). These activities are carried out under the rubric of regional cooperation in the Caribbean zone, the Guyana plateau and Northern Brazil. Within the dynamic of inclusion for the overseas departments in the region, this appointment and the perpetuation of the process can shed light on the steps taken by the French in implementing a plan of action that also reveals certain limits. Indeed, the effectiveness of Ambassadors with special responsibilities has been questioned by some, given that their functions are difficult to define and to justify, suggesting that these posts should be abolished. Senator Felix Desplan voiced the concerns of the Senate about the usefulness of Ambassadors with specific functions such as the Ambassador appointed for regional cooperation, thus: ‘In general it is imperative to carefully consider the definition of the role the State intends these ambassadors to play.… No doubt one should envisage doing away with them or expanding their functions’ (Sénat 2013). The overlapping of national and territorialised diplomacy highlights the real implication of the departments and their room to manoeuvre in an undertaking which was up until now reserved for states alone. Are not overseas departments basically representatives of the French State? In the unitary and indivisible logic of the French State, what is good for the overseas departments is also good for the State, but is the opposite true? Besides, although public opinion might doubt it, the overseas territories represent non-­negotiable interests for the State. Indeed, the overseas territories represent 96 per cent of the French EEZ. Thanks to these entities, France enjoys the third largest maritime area in the world and a presence in every ocean (Benjamin and Godard 1999). A better integration of her departments would for example allow her to play a greater role in ocean policy. The departments also constitute vectors for the diffusion of ‘la Francophonie’ by which the overseas departments, due to greater regional integration, can become showcases for models of integration à la française. There is no reason to doubt that the authorities have become aware of the significance of such a position. The new possibilities offered to the overseas departments are summarised here through a few articles of the Overseas General Principles Act (LOOM)17 of 13 December 2000. In Article V: ‘Concerning the international engagement of Guadeloupe, French Guyana (Guyane), Martinique and Réunion in their regional environment’, we learn of three new areas of competence afforded to overseas departments. First, these authorities can negotiate and sign international accords with regional States, territories and organisms of the zone on matters pertaining to sovereign domains.18 That is, the French Departments of the Americas can represent the state in international negotiations on matters pertaining to sovereign domains and have the possibility of negotiating with foreign states, which is not the case for authorities located in the metropole for which respect for the principle of state sovereignty dictates that they can only sign conventions with other local authorities in foreign territories.

90  A. Petit Second, with the authorisation of the State, the President of the Regional Council can negotiate agreements with States, territories and organisms of the Caribbean zone in relation to national commitments.19 In this case, the power to sign is only accorded after verification with respect to French commitments. The action of overseas departments is equally limited by the scope of their competences and is restricted to discussions on economic integration (which is of the greatest interest), transportation, tourism, the disaster risk prevention, health, education, research and professional training, culture and sport, environment and energy. These competences offer wide possibilities to the regional authorities; however, among these competences, only professional training and the management of schools are exclusive to the Region. Thus, the majority of these competences fall within the framework of a national policy set out by the government.20 Third, these departments can become associate members or observers of regional organisations of the Caribbean zone.21 The limits of this international action are in this case geographic and strategic. Indeed, the overseas regions can only be associate members of regional organisations located within their regional area. The international competence of overseas departments does not constitute autonomous power. The latter is subject to prior agreement on the part of authorities of the state and is subject to approval by legal oversight.22 Overseas departments, in particular Guadeloupe and Martinique, have exploited these possibilities as evidenced by their requests to join the OECS, CARICOM, ECLAC and the ACS as associate members. Some of those requests have been granted and are currently in place. Since 31 August 2012, Guadeloupe and Martinique have been associate members of ECLAC. Since 14 February 2014, they have also been associate members of the ACS. Furthermore, Martinique has been an associate member of OECS since 4 February 2015, becoming the first non-­English territory to enter the organisation. The decision adopted by the ACS Council of Ministers in Port of Spain, Trinidad brought to an end more than five years of negotiations between Caribbean Heads of State and regional executives. Guadeloupe sits as an entity by itself alongside the French state which is equally a member representing Saint Martin and Saint Barthelemy. The departments-­regions will therefore, in theory, be free to take decisions that will suit them in the field of competence proper to them, while also respecting the interests of the State. This decision is one of the most significant put in place by the international competences accorded since LOOM. Nevertheless, it remains for us to observe these agreements and the modalities of the dialogues between the French state, Guadeloupe and Martinique. Let us recall the interview with Serge Letchimy, President of the Regional Council of Martinique, in which he envisaged the possibility of common representation for Guadeloupe and Martinique in these organisations (The Editor 2012).23 Today, one may critically question the strategies finally put in place by these two territories. How will France, also represented at the ACS, position herself vis-­à-vis the new collectivities who are now associate members? Can the state ask its

Regional incorporation of French territories  91 collectivities to represent it occasionally in these organisations?24 If yes, does this not risk creating or recreating confusion among their Caribbean partners? (Jos et al. 2011b). This relative local autonomy accorded to overseas departments in no way negates the presence of the French state at every stage in the decision. The state is indeed present and notably watches over its interests (Dubesset and Lucas 2011, p. 73). An ‘à la carte’ insertion The overseas territories, thanks to legislative and constitutional advances, have committed themselves to a process of regional insertion and to taking responsibility, locally. They have exploited the possibilities offered to them by laws such as LOOM and its previously cited provisions. Equally engaged in institutional advances which would grant them different status from now on,25 these departments are evolving individually for the first time since the 1946 Assimilation laws. In this way, they are giving full meaning to the new concept of ‘à la carte status’. Hence, it is authorities within the institutions themselves that have entered into negotiations with a view to becoming associate members in organisations of Caribbean regional integration; each territory shaping its own negotiating strategy for regional insertion. One could observe this tendency, especially at the Conference for Antilles-­Guyane Regional Cooperation that was held in Guadeloupe 7–8 November 2013. The Minister for Overseas Affairs at the time, Victorin Lurel, warned in his closing address about the risks of such a course of action, and worried about a nascent competition between the entities that could be damaging to the attractiveness of their markets. Ambiguity, characterised by a lack of clarity about the real local repercussions of these actions and the actual responsibilities of the territories, is fed on both sides by the political and diplomatic actors involved. This contributes to strengthening the presence of the state in representations to organisations and in the process of regional insertion in general. In addition to a constitutional presence, there is a functional presence as well. The incorporation of civil servants from the territories who represent the different authorities in the diplomatic network must not make one forget the real scope of the agents of the State. Moreover, the inclusion of the chargés de missions on the list of French consular and diplomatic personnel, making them subject to the rights and duties prescribed by the Vienna Convention on diplomatic and consular relations, marks an even stronger state presence.26 Does this not make them first and foremost representatives of the State?27 The inseparable nature of the engagement of the French authorities and of the national plan of action can also be seen through the Peyronnet Report28 in which Proposition no. 14 suggests the all decentralised cooperative action should be reported to the French Embassies in the partner country. The Report also confirms that the embassies and their personnel could become actors in decentralised cooperation. Therefore, even within the space of decentralised cooperation that the overseas collectivities have gained, the state is playing a growing role, indirectly through the embassies. The former Minister for Overseas Affairs, Victorin Lurel, ratifies

92  A. Petit the relationship between regional insertion of the overseas departments and the State’s foreign policy with these words: ‘The territories which make up the overseas authorities occupy a growing place in their environment and thus in France’s foreign policy’ (cited Ministère des Outre-­Mer 2013). The state progressively creates the conditions for an indirect presence, notably via its diplomatic network in questions of regional insertion and decentralised cooperation, all the while maintaining an impression of giving local responsibility sustained by local politics. It also merges function and identity in the appointment of high-­ranking civil servants. The diplomatic function: territorialisation of representation The dynamics of giving overseas collectivities responsibility have also resulted in the appointment of actors from the overseas departments to diplomatic and ministerial functions and as high-­ranking civil servants. This strategy was first adopted by Nicholas Sarkozy in 2009 when he named Marie-­Luce Penchard as Minister of Overseas Affairs. This appointment was intended to give to the overseas territories both economic and political autonomy as well as begin to encourage, in the wake of the social events of 2009, reflection about the institutional and statutory evolution of overseas collectivities – a reflection initiated by the then President (Constant 2010; Daniel 2009b). To this appointment was added that of Fred Constant, a Martinican, to the post of Ambassador responsible for regional cooperation in the Antilles-­Guyane zone. François Hollande continued this approach with the appointment of Victorin Lurel, to succeed Marie-­Luce Penchard, both from Guadeloupe, followed by George Pau-­Langevin, a native of Guadeloupe, to succeed Victorin Lurel as Minister of Overseas Affairs and then Ericka Bareigts from Réunion to succeed George Pau-­Langevin. We could also add to this list the appointment of Marcelle Pierrot, Guadeloupean born, as chief administrator (préfète) in her department. This tendency breaks with the unitary and universalist Jacobin French tradition but also with the ‘centrality of identity’ of the French state (Laïdi 2008). Not giving local preference in the appointment of high-­ranking civil servants was in keeping with the principle of the unity of the French people. For overseas territories, it gave meaning to the great principle of Equality which upheld their ‘undifferentiated incorporation into the national administrative, political and cultural mould’ (Constant 2002).29 In this regard, the paradigm shift has assumed great importance for the overseas populations as was illustrated by the motion of protest adopted by the General Council of Réunion against the appointment of Claudine Ledoux – French but not from overseas – to the post of Ambassador for regional cooperation in the Pacific zone.30 Local preference, henceforth, became part of the functions of national representation. These new dynamics feed a closer relationship between the territories and the national interest under the guise of giving more responsibility to the populations. Between the lines, what is being sought is the reestablishment of the confidence of the populations in their representatives. This is indispensable if

Regional incorporation of French territories  93 the state wishes to accomplish the political and economic autonomy that will serve as a catalyst for regional insertion. This manipulation of identities nourishes the dual logic of giving responsibility to local authorities and of promoting regional insertion. In the face of the failure of the politics of exceptionalism and promises of decentralisation, the new French policy takes the form of centrifugal and centripetal dynamics that allow the central place that the state still occupies in its territories to show through.

Conclusion The necessity of rethinking the terms of its public action led France to review the entire range of her diplomatic structures and the priority zones for her foreign action. Although Latin America and the Caribbean no longer benefit from a global policy on the part of the French authorities, France is still anxious about safeguarding her interests and exploiting the zone’s potential through new measures. The growing involvement of Europe in regional affairs does not overshadow France’s responsibility in this process. In observing the notion of common responsibility, the French state associates itself strongly with the actions of the EU. The exigencies of globalisation have made emerging countries key partners not only in global governance but also on the economic and industrial plane. France’s bilateral relations, notably with Brazil and Mexico, attest to this new paradigm. Thus, France is moving forward on three strategic levels: a global and regional level through the EU; a national level through her strategic bilateral relations with emerging countries; and a subregional and non-­national level through her departments which allows her to profit from having a single voice on localised issues. This multiple strategic position takes the form of delegating power both from above and from below – a delegation of power which in no way dilutes her interests (Agnew 2009). By participating in Caribbean regional issues while remaining a partner on the international scene, France ensures her presence and her interests in a zone with significant assets. In the restructuring of the global economic order, richly endowed with natural resources and with reserves that are becoming scarce at the global level and enjoying favourable demographic trends, Latin America and the Caribbean are destined to weigh more and more heavily in the major global balance of power (MAE 2012a). The overseas departments associated with this process, while embracing the legislative advances that allow them to feel the reality of a genuine new competence, are very conscious that ‘the current levels of their competences in the matter of cooperation do not allow them to have an extremely effective policy’.31 The broadening of competences comes in response to, on the one hand, a demand for local autonomy and, on the other hand, the need to restructure the French diplomatic machinery – effectively, ‘killing two birds with one stone’. Are we really looking at a change in policy on the part of the French state towards its overseas authorities or are we simply witnessing structural adjustments on the part of a state responding to the need to rationalise public spending?

94  A. Petit The contours of territorial diplomacy or of leverage diplomacy which today describe international cooperation by the authorities confirm ‘the appropriation’ by the French state of this concept gained by non-­national entities and make a paradigm shift on the part of the state towards its authorities very unlikely. Neither complementary nor parallel foreign action by overseas French territories is an integral part of the external action of the State. So can one speak of giving autonomy or responsibility? One cannot deny legislative and statutory advances in this matter. But the presence of the state in orienting the actions of decentralised French cooperation, in their implementation, their financing and their effects, raises questions about the real place of the local authorities in question. As for making them responsible, we must bear in mind that all the measures taken in favour of external action on the part of the authorities ‘in no way modify the final responsibility for the conduct of the foreign policy of France which remains entrusted to the State’ (Ministère des Outre-­Mer 2013).

Notes   1 After General DeGaulle’s appeal, on 18 June 1940, inviting overseas French communities to join together, the Committees for a free France came into being. Of 400 committees over 300 were in Latin America.   2 Up until the 1980s Valéry Giscard D’Estaing welcomed political refugees fleeing military dictatorships. Paris was one of the capitals that welcomed the greatest number of Latin Americans.   3 On the initiative of the Senate a resolution aimed at instituting this commemorative day was voted in February 2011. This initiative came essentially from senator Jean-­ Pierre Bel whose commitment to Latin America described as ‘Cuban tropism’ was the subject of polemics (see for example The Editor 2013a).   4 These political and cultural exchanges recall the notion of ‘Euro-­America’ which calls for a common space formed by Western Europe and Latin America on either side of the Atlantic, born of the close relationship that spaces dominated by Spain and Portugal maintained during the colonial period. This notion was developed, notably, by Compagnon (2009) and Guerra (2002).   5 We borrow this expression from Murielle Lesales and Fred Reno. The French state would thus be more than a state having Caribbean dependencies, it is fully a Caribbean State. The nature of the links and the relationships between the overseas departments and collectivities would be such that they cannot be disassociated from the State. One cannot disassociate the parts from the whole in this way (see Jos et al. 2011a).   6 The departments of Guadeloupe, Martinique, French Guiana (Guyane) and the overseas collectivities of Saint Martin and Saint Barthélémy.   7 The Regional Council in Guadeloupe has thus mandated five chargés de missions in Québec, Miami, St Lucia, the DR, and in the state of Para in Brazil. The Regional Council in Martinique has appointed three chargés de missions in Haiti, St Lucia and in Jamaica.   8 Here, we are using the expression ‘subcontracting’ to mean an ‘operation by which an entrepreneur entrusts to another person under his responsibility and control, all or a part of the execution of the tasks in his charge’. See the definition in the Larousse dictionary available at: www.larousse.fr/dictionnaires/francais/sous-­ traitance_sous-­ traitances/73949 [accessed 28 June 2017]. This expression helps to illustrate France’s current diplomatic policy and the place of the overseas territories.

Regional incorporation of French territories  95   9 The extension of the G8 to a G13 would include China, India, Brazil, South Africa and Mexico. 10 France’s foreign policy for the Latin American zone becomes problematic from 1985 under François Mitterand and with Jacques Delors, President of the European Commission. 11 The ZSPs corresponds to territories where public aid, committed in a selective and concentrated manner, can produce a significant effect and contribute to the harmonious development of institutions, the society and the economy. A ZSP is composed of countries among the least developed in terms of revenue, not having access to the capital markets and with which France intends to knit a strong partnership relationship in a context of solidarity and sustainable development. 12 The concept of the state in a situation where it is not obliged to share its responsibilities for globalisation has notably been developed by Bernard Badie (1999, p. 223) that: States are certainly no longer the only payers on the international scene; nothing is either totally internal or totally external to them. Their sovereignty is more than ever fictitious and out of place, but they participate with other players in a game which is only partially restrictive in order to encourage them to reinvent responsibility in line with the profits that it procures for them. 13 This argument was made Charles Debasch on the subject of solidarity between public authorities. 14 Proposition 12.3 of the White Paper on France’s foreign and European action. 15 By proximity, we mean geographical and socio-­cultural proximity. 16 Cuba, Haiti, the DR, Jamaica, St Lucia and Trinidad-­Tobago. 17 In French – Loi de l’Orientation pour l’Outre-Mer 2000. Law 2000–1207. 18 General Code of Territorial Authorities, Art L.4433–4–2. 19 General Code of Territorial Authorities, Art L.4433–4–3. 20 The same capacities apply to a departmental authority by function of its competences. 21 General Code of Territorial Authorities, Art L4433–4–5. 22 This capacity is distinct from the legal oversight instituted by the bill of 2 March 1982 abolishing supervision and creating a legal oversight a posteriori. Thus, international agreements committing territorial authorities to action remain under state supervision, undergoing intense scrutiny and requiring authorisation. 23 To the question ‘Which diplomatic support are you going to lean on to ensure your presence is effective in these institutions?’, Serge Letchimy replies, We are going to designate people who will be given responsibility for this relationship and who will sit on the institutions, someone elected or a technical person. We envisage sharing joint responsibility with Guadeloupe to see for example if she will represent our two countries in the OECS or ECLAC or the other way round. (The Editor 2012) 24 This possibility can be offered by Article L.4433–4–2 of the CGCT: The president of the Regional Council can be charged by the authorities of the Republic with representing them in regional organisations belonging to the categories mentioned in the first paragraph. The authorities of the Republic furnish him with the necessary instructions and powers. 25 After the popular consultations of 24 January 2010, the law of July 2011 institutes two unique authorities in Martinique and in French Guiana; authorities with particular status which exercise all the competences of the department and of the overseas region. Nevertheless, the schema of governance of the two authorities are different.

96   A. Petit 26 The conventions relative to welcoming the agents of the Martinique and Guadeloupe regions to the diplomatic and consular network of the state signed on 19 December 2012 define in the first articles that: The agent is registered on the French diplomatic and consular list, according to the modalities in force in the countries of residence. As such, for the duration of his mission, he benefits from the corresponding privileges and immunities in respect of the Vienna Convention on diplomatic and consular relations. This entails respect for constraints associated with this status, in particular, the duty of confidentiality. These conventions set out equally in their Articles 3 and 2, respectively: ‘The agent can equally, at the request of the head of mission, and after authorization from the Regional Council, give his support to the work of the diplomatic or consular mission to which he is appointed’. 27 The Vienna Convention on diplomatic and consular relations specifies in Article 3 that ‘… the functions of a diplomatic mission consist of protecting in the accredited State the interests of the accrediting State and of its nationals within the limits prescribed by international law’ and in Article 5, that ‘a head of mission or a member of the diplomatic personnel of a mission can represent the accrediting State in any international organization’. Hence, we understand that if chargés de missions defend the interests of their respective regions that is understood as inseparable from the wider mission of the defence of national interests. 28 The Report was submitted in the name of the delegation to territorial authorities on decentralised cooperation lead by Senator Jean Claude Peyronnet, 13 November 2012. 29 Fred Constant (2002) identifies the three dominant paradigms on which policies towards overseas entities are founded as Equality, Identity and Responsibility. 30 The motion relating to Madame Claudine Ledoux’s appointment as Ambassador named to regional cooperation in the Indian Ocean zone was adopted on 2 October 2013. Available online: www.cg974.fr/index.php/Motion-­adoptee-a-­l-unanimite-­enCommission-­Permanente-du-­Conseil-General-­relative-a-­la-nomination-­de-Madame-­ Ledoux-en-­qualite-dambassadrice-­deleguee-a-­la-cooperation-­regionale-dans-­la-zone-­ Ocean-Indie.html. 31 Serge Letchimy, in an interview with the daily France-­Antilles, 29 November 2012.

7 The insularisation of a regional university The case of the former UAG Fred Reno

The Université des Antilles et de la Guyane (UAG) is no more. Following a strike on the Troubiran campus in Cayenne on 8 October 2013, various unions representing students, faculty and administrative personnel, supported by local political figures and by Christiane Taubira, the French Minister of Justice – originally from French Guyana – secured from the government, the conversion of the French Guyana campus into a separate university. The two other French Caribbean campuses were then asked to choose between a joint Université des Antilles or a second fragmentation with Guadeloupe and Martinique each maintaining its own institution of higher education and research. This surprising and hasty decision from the government precipitated a process that will end in 2020, closing a chapter on a regional experience. Regardless of the justifications, the decision requires us to reflect on the role of universities in our area, and especially those like the University of the West Indies (UWI) and the UAG that operate in several territories. The history of universities as institutions in the world is marked by several ‘revolutions’ that correspond to both their adjustment to and their involvement in their environment. During the first revolution, knowledge was at the centre of the university’s mission. Universities shifted from being institutions dedicated to the preservation of cultural heritage to bodies dedicated to the creation and dissemination of knowledge (Etzkowitz, Webster and Healey 1998, p. 1). At the beginning of the twentieth century, during the second revolution, universities took on an economic dimension to meet the requirements of the environment in which they functioned. This period is characterised by an increasing use of knowledge for business purposes (Pinheiro, Benneworth and Jones 2012, p. 1). This development is widely explained by the liberal logic that tends to limit public spending and therefore state intervention in social regulation. In addition to the failure of the state, academics may subsequently seize the opportunity to make knowledge a market commodity in a context of unrestrained privatisation of sectors that had until then been under state control. Finally, a third stage, a direct consequence of the second stage completed this evolution: the ‘regional mandate’ assigned to universities in the development of the areas where they are located (Pinheiro, Benneworth and Jones 2012, p. 1). This presentation of the evolution of universities as institutions in rapport with their environment offers the advantage of not isolating historical sequences.

98  F. Reno Indeed, the first sequence introduces the second, which is neither a final one, nor does it exclude the function of the first sequence. In developing countries, more than elsewhere, a university’s task is multifunctional. The university is a major player in the development of the society in which it is located, by its contribution to this society, and by the opening it provides to the outside world. The third sequence establishes learning and research at the heart of regional action. Through this mission, universities were thus meant to contribute to the creation of valuable knowledge for the development of their specific regions and generate value added that could not be replicated in other areas. This perspective assigns a core mission to the institution. It highlights a regional purpose, which is context-­specific. All universities do not have this representation of their mission. This chapter will investigate development patterns in universities by examining stakeholders’ strategies which, depending on the interests at stake, may either reinforce or alter this ‘messianic’ approach to the university. The case of the UAG reflects the weight of territorial strategic approaches to the institution which can subvert its regional mission. The history and present situation of the UAG reveal the limits to the regional scope of the university. On these issues, even a brief comparison with the UWI is quite enlightening. As a regional institution, the UWI deliberately anchored its mission in the region. Also a regional institution, the UAG is stuck in its single territories. Therefore, it can hardly fulfill its regional mission. After the withdrawal of French Guyane, it consisted of campuses located on two separate islands, Guadeloupe and Martinique, who must either agree to preserve the joint institution or go their separate ways. Various strategies of separation or autonomy have been proposed which amount only to lesser or greater degrees of insularity.

A regional institution imprisoned in its territories In theory, the small size of Caribbean island territories as well as their proximity should encourage solidarity and complementarity in an international context where size, threshold and critical mass are perceived as issues of economic competition. The choice of creating a regional university in the French dependencies was the result of the converging desire of the French government and local political and academic elites. However this approach did not generate perennial commitment to a regional policy, but rather sporadic regionalism and individual initiatives. Impetus for the creation of a regional university With regard to academia, ‘small is beautiful’ seems outdated in light of what is expected from the institution. The university must have a vision of its role consistent with the realities of its time. The French administrative structures, including in the Caribbean dependencies, are changing. The number of layers of government will decrease; the communes are being regrouped within intercommunal organisations, the representatives of which are now elected by

The insularisation of a regional university  99 universal suffrage. The ‘multilayered’ institution will disappear because of its cost and inefficiency. In France as elsewhere, it is time for concentration, pooling of resources and emergence of large groups in a competitive environment where the small actors are sacrificed. ‘Small’ however has less to do with size than with resources. But when small size is coupled with small resources, solidarity should be preferable to isolation. The construction of a regional space can be one of the responses to this dual challenge. It is often the product of the intervention of a group of stakeholders who, on the basis of shared interests, impose a shared vision of the construct through various strategies. The latter includes, in general, the grouping of several territories based on their history, culture, economic development and possibly a political project. The UAG and the UWI websites highlight two image policies that definitely reflect diverging realities and concepts of the connection with the regional environment. The UWI’s narrative outlines the stages of a history, the sequences of which are well identified. As early as 1943 the British university authorities convened a Special Committee to review the principles that should guide the promotion of higher education, learning and research in the colonies. The recommendations of this Committee led to the creation by Royal Charter of a University College in Jamaica in 1948, embryo of the University of the West Indies. In 1960, a second campus was established in St Augustine in Trinidad. Until 1962, the two campuses were attached to the University of London. They then separated from this university and became the University of the West Indies enriched by a third campus in Barbados in 1967, through the allocation of more than 18 hectares of land received from the Government of Barbados (UWI, n.d.). A similar story exists in the French-­speaking part of the Caribbean but it has not been highlighted and valued by the institution. It is as if the so-­called ‘academic community’ has chosen, after more than 40 years of shared life, to ignore it. In the Caribbean, the Francophone area consists of a sovereign entity, Haiti, and three territories attached to France.1 The UAG comprised two island territories in the Caribbean Sea and one continental territory, French Guyana, located in the Northern part of South America. Their linguistic isolation and the resolve of local elites to get rid of the guardianship of the French University of Bordeaux led the central political authorities to create a regional institution whose mission was to meet local demand for training and also to showcase the French presence in the Caribbean. The history of the UAG began in 1944 with the establishment of a Law and Economics degree programme in Martinique, then in Guadeloupe by Professor Henri Vizioz of the Bordeaux School of Law. The Henri Vizioz Institute was created in 1948 with jurisdiction over the two islands. The inter-­regional experience started early in the Francophone area. In 1962 the Centre d’Etudes et de Recherches des Antilles-­Guyane was set up for economic purposes, and to cater first for Martinique then for Guadeloupe. In 1963 the College of Sciences and the College of Arts were established (Centre d’Enseignement Supérieur Scientifique et le Centre d’Enseignement Supérieur Littéraire) as sub-­branches of the Bordeaux School of Science and School of Arts. By the law dated 12 November

100  F. Reno 1968 the College of Sciences and the College of Arts and the Vizioz Institute became University Training and Research Units – Unité de Formation et de Recherche (UFR). It was originally intended that each unit would have specialised offerings but increasingly there has been duplication. Indeed, Martinique has a law and economics UFR with an extension in French Guyana and a science UFR. Guadeloupe also has a law and economics UFR and a literature UFR. On 31 July 1970, a financially autonomous public legal entity was created, the Centre Universitaire des Antilles et de la Guyane (CUAG) which evolved into the Université des Antilles et de la Guyane (UAG) in 1982.2 Even though the French Caribbean islands were the first to experience inter-­regionality, their university was founded 20 years after the UWI. This account known only by insiders and historians does not appear in any documents published by the UAG. Without over stating the usefulness of the historical narrative and its ostensible function (Zangara 2008, pp. 249–256), one may contend that formalising a history contributes to the feeling of joint ownership by the users of the institution. One could even see there an analogy with the oracle effect of representation as analysed by Pierre Bourdieu (1984, p. 51): ‘the multitude of isolated individuals access the status of a single entity when they find the constitutive image of their unity in the consolidated representation of their diversity conveyed by their single representative’. On the UAG website, just two sentences introduce the institution. The project is described as follows: ‘From its inception, the UAG as an institution has accompanied our societies and participated in their issues. Driven by a great mission, it contributes to the regional and international development of our communities’ (UA n.d.). At no time is there a mention of a collaborative project. If it exists, it serves the interests of societies and communities that radiate through an almost artificial institution. The territories do not withdraw to give birth to an autonomous integrated organisation that could in turn become their joint representative. On the contrary, the organisation’s core task is to further reinforce its separate components. The pitfall of this approach is that the parts end up prevailing over the whole. This trend is evidenced by the fact that Guadeloupe and Martinique agreed to rotate between themselves the appointment of the presidency of the university. This practice highlights alternating control; assuming that candidates will be equal and all have equal ability to carry out their mission. This rotation custom is a crisis generator when it is applied erratically, but is also perceived as a solution to the crisis, since the central government plans to make the tradition a written rule in order to strengthen its binding nature. At the UAG, apart from rare sporting events between the local branches, which provide opportunities for both exchange and conflict, few opportunities are offered to scholars to form a community. Even the logo, which is meant to symbolise unity, confirms the break-­up of the common house by presenting three separate maps. The experience of the UWI is different. Without idealising this model, it illustrates the regional mission that can be filled by the university in the geographical and socio-­economic context of the Caribbean chain of islands. It covers 17 Territories spread over four campuses (three on separate territories and one virtual).

The insularisation of a regional university  101 Its mission and vision are all the more remarkable as they unfold into a space in which the archipelagic configuration and economic constraints are real challenges. Indeed, the institution intends to contribute to the inclusive development of the region: today the enduring mission of The UWI is: To advance education and create knowledge through excellence in teaching, research, innovation, public service, intellectual leadership and outreach in order to support the inclusive (social, economic, political, cultural, environmental) development of the Caribbean region and beyond. (UWI n.d.) Nonetheless, there have been periodic concerns expressed by the Non-­Campus territories, which led to the establishment of the Open Campus. Instead of a development of single territories advocated by the UAG, the UWI-­contributing territories advocated inclusive development of the region through the university. In reality the UAG generated multiple activities in its environment but was not successful at building a regional policy. In Guadeloupe and Martinique this translated into low levels of interest in the surrounding Caribbean region. The UAG concentrated on its three territories and neglected its linkages to the Greater Caribbean, although it was open to international ventures through various agreements. Without underestimating the financial constraints that impeded the movement of students in the area, especially for the non-­Francophones, we must concede that the UAG sent few students to the other parts of the Caribbean and received even fewer students from the region.

Limited experiences of regional cooperation among universities Building on its multifaceted identity, the UAG implemented a number of actions that could have enabled it to develop and carry out an international policy, including numerous structured actions in Europe, generally through European Region Action Scheme for the Mobility of University Students (ERASMUS) programmes. The UAG implemented 29 agreements with 32 European universities in order to develop its staff and student mobility. The internationalisation of training in the UAG was considered a priority and a necessity (UAG Bureau des Relations Internationales 2014, p.  1). There were also joint-­graduate programmes reported with universities of Latin America, but, with regard to the UWI, cooperation was limited. The UAG highlighted its partnerships with 15 universities of the Caribbean located in Cuba, Dominica, Haiti, The Virgin Islands, Puerto Rico and in the DR (UAG Bureau des Relations Internationales 2014), but made no reference to the UWI despite having a joint cooperation programme since the 1970s, the most recent of which was an exemplary graduate degree programme in Political Science offered jointly with the Bordeaux Institute of Politics.3 The tangible participation of lecturers and students from the three entities, while still insufficient, enabled the issuance of university diplomas

102  F. Reno in Pointe-­à-Pitre, UWI Mona and Bordeaux in relatively satisfactory conditions. Nonetheless, the French University aspired to be a reference point for inter-­ university cooperation in the Caribbean and the Americas (UAG Bureau des Relations Internationales 2014). In fact our connection to our island environment is limited because we failed to develop an attractive regional policy. An analysis of the flow of incoming and outgoing Caribbean students to the UAG provides an illustration of this shortcoming. According to statistics provided by the UAG Bureau des relations internationales (personal communication, 31 October 2013) between 2002 and 2004, students preferred Caribbean destinations to study languages, but that trend was subsequently reversed in the following year and North America and Europe became the favourite destinations for students. More recent information demonstrates a continued trend. In 2013–2014 all UAG campuses jointly registered four Caribbean and 60 European incoming students. Regarding the outgoing students from the UAG to other universities of the Caribbean, 11 Francophone students enrolled in another institution of the Caribbean, three times more than the number of incoming students. Fifteen enrolled in a European ERASMUS programme (UAG Bureau des Relations Internationales 2014). The absence of a Caribbean programme comparable to ERASMUS limited student mobility and their sense of belonging to a geographically and culturally diverse environment.4 Regional cooperation for students remains an uphill battle. In reality, the UAG’s cultural affiliation and geographic location do not define a clear ‘regional mission’. Initiatives are generally steered by isolated actors or by the separate components, disconnected from any actual regional approach. One such initiative, emblematic of the meaning and conditions of the regional activity of the UAG was the training project for diplomats and stakeholders involved in regional cooperation (Formation Diplomatique, FORMADIP) developed by a research team based on the Guadeloupe campus at the Center for Geopolitical and International Analysis (CAGI) and the ACS Executive Secretariat in 2006. The project was developed as a European INTERREG Project based on a partnership between the EU, the UAG, the ACS and several regional bodies. The EU’s contribution to regional Caribbean programmes is often decisive, especially regarding funding. Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guyana, both French and European territories, are entitled to financial contributions from Paris and Brussels. The UAG’s cooperation activities in the Caribbean heavily derive from these affiliations. More than 70 per cent of the FORMADIP operation was financed by Europe through the European Regional Development Fund (ERDF ). FORMADIP had three components. The first concerned the training of regional diplomats and stakeholders in charge of regional cooperation in the various countries of the region. It was based on a shared understanding that our knowledge is often limited to geographical and cultural information bequeathed by the colonial powers. The second component focused on the movement and immersion of administrative personnel from the various countries of the Region. The third component dealt with the production of guidelines and teaching material for universities of the Caribbean.

The insularisation of a regional university  103 A true repository for regional action was thus built around shared ideas and representations. This repository included an inventory of barriers to the free movement of persons. Linguistic differences, communication and transportation hindrances, mutual lack of knowledge among the countries within the region and the non-­recognition of the Greater Caribbean as a space for cooperation, are not prohibitive impediments to cooperation in the Greater Caribbean, but it is true that societies are not aware that they share a joint space and that they have identical challenges to face. The observation of such obstacles implies a need for a commitment and the identification of questions as to the areas to explore and actions to carry out within this project. Territories and countries bordering the Caribbean Sea should therefore engage in exchanges to achieve sustainable development. We should move beyond the difference between island and continental territories in order to reach a shared vision of our interests. The main questions that the training programme addressed concerned the geopolitical and economic issues in the area. These tended to eclipse the other components. What are the strategies deployed by the US, the EU and the emerging powers (China, India, Brazil, Venezuela) in the Greater Caribbean? What are the realities and strategies of the Caribbean States at the international level? What is their level of autonomy in their relations with the US, Europe and emerging powers? Despite this programme’s ambitious scope and success, it did not reflect the regional policy of the UAG, beyond being officially authorised by the university administration. Regional cooperation may not bring immediate benefits or greater media visibility for political leadership. It may even be counterproductive in societies that focus almost exclusively on their metropolis and on their territory. This might explain the low involvement of leaders of the university and political authorities with regards to cooperation programmes despite voicing strong pro-­Caribbean rhetoric. Nonetheless, one should note the efforts made in the early 1990s by local executives to activate the participation of French authorities in the ACS (Lesales and Reno 2011). More recently, the Presidents of the Regional Councils of Martinique and Guadeloupe, Serge Letchimy and Victorin Lurel, obtained from the French government authorisation to seek associate membership of these two French local bodies in the ACS, CARICOM, OECS and ECLAC.5 The dysfunctions of the UAG highlight the implicit choice of territorialisation, which contradicts the initial approach established by the founding fathers of the institution. The prospect of a single UAG was widely supported then by academic activists who were traditionally unified around the common desire to see the university reach a critical size, enabling it to exist not only at the national level, but also within its environment (Nabajoth 2006). Today the vision has shrunk below territorialisation to real insularisation of the institution.

An institution limited to an island, deprived of its regional mission Insularisation does not just mean that after the withdrawal of Guyane the university lost its continental dimension. Insularisation does not only mean small size

104   F. Reno and specific geographic features, but rather the sociological context. This means that during the university’s crisis, insularisation was above all a strategy of actors who made geography and territory the mainsprings of their discourses and academic practices. Chak moun mèt’ a kaz ay!6 Territorialisation is usually associated with the implementation of public policies referring to the process of decentralisation and the organisational management of the territory. The concept of territory is hardly transposable and has no equivalent in the Anglo-­Saxon world as it is ‘a constitutive mark of French exceptionalism and Jacobin centralism’ (Faure 2004, p. 430). From the 1990s analysts started referring to a territorial notion in order to define the power now given to the French local authorities as legitimate areas to initiate public action. During the crisis that paralysed the Guadeloupe branch of the university for more than a month in 2013, and which is explored in greater detail below, some commentators sought to give a very positive representation of the territory and of local politicians who were expected to support the movement. Defined to suit the occasion, the territory is the geographical setting, and the local authorities may act as the senior partner and to some extent the co-­architect of the university programme. Therefore the territorialisation of the university would be defined as the process by which academics in collaboration with local politicians confer on the territory the ability to define the repository and resources for university programmes now at the service of its geographic area and of donors. Insularisation reinforces this trend. It means first and foremost collective self-­ centred strategies by stakeholders convinced that the single-­territory university is the answer to the development needs of each territory that would in return pledge material and symbolic resources to the self-­centred interest. The State’s role is limited to monitoring compliance with national criteria for delivering diplomas, paying salaries and a substantial portion of the institutions’ operating costs. Insularisation also rests on the expectation of unwavering financial aid from Paris and support from local elected officials. The Creole expression, ‘chak moun’ met’ a kaz ay!’ reflects this meaning. The UWI projects a different vision of academic activity in the following statement: By 2017, the University will be recognized worldwide as an internationally innovative and competitive university, integrated within the region, deeply rooted in all aspects of the development of the Caribbean and committed to the service of the diversity of people in the region and beyond. (UWI n.d.) The role of universities in their environment varies depending on the context. One needs to consider the expectations of the environment and the ability of the institution to meet those expectations. In a recent survey on the contribution of

The insularisation of a regional university   105 African universities to development, the approach was both universal and specific. ‘Shouldn’t Universities train job creators instead of job seekers, shouldn’t they also seek to alleviate poverty?’ (Kamdem and Schamp 2014, p. 9). These questions are also relevant in the Caribbean but resound less in the French territories as the state and Europe provide them with financial support. Insularisation relies explicitly on strengthened partnerships with decentralised authorities who will play a greater role in the definition of the university’s policies.7 In terms of the challenges of globalisation and the need for regionalised responses, the insularisation tendency goes against the choice made by the French government to consolidate higher education and research institutions. It is also contrary to the strategy of regional specialisation implemented by Brussels with significant effects expected in 2020. In the European approach to regional specialisation, universities play an important leadership role in boosting innovation. For the EU, the resolve to be acknowledged internationally for quality teaching and research must be supplemented by regional involvement. This can occur through regional partnerships, network stimulation, multi-­sector action plans and attractive regional policies (Lindqvist, Olsen and Baltzopoulos 2012). As French Collectivities and Outermost Regions of Europe, Guadeloupe, French Guyana and Martinique must be aligned with the guidelines set by France and Europe. Thus the UAG, should it consider being included in this approach, would experience difficulties developing its activity in a single-­island setting. This difficulty is further intensified by the need for Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guyana, who are all associate members of regional Caribbean bodies to develop concerted actions. Beyond the academic experience, the challenges of regional integration in the Caribbean are also relevant to the ongoing discussions on the redesigning of the university. In the Caribbean, our decision-­makers cannot avoid the issue of territories’ size and resources. Gilbert-­ Roberts’s observation that a regional approach to governance is preferable to single state strategies is also applicable to the university (Gilbert-­Roberts 2013, p. xiii). During the UAG’s 2013–2014 crisis, stakeholders had diverging positions. The territorialisation and the insularisation of the institution were the courses selected which amounted to independence for French Guyana, separation for Guadeloupe and a claim for greater autonomy for Martinique. The government’s decision to separate French Guyana from the others was certainly a response to a local demand, but it also took into account the geopolitical and economic interests of France. French Guyana is home to a European space centre from where European and Russian space rockets are launched. The historical image of the penal colony with which Cayenne was associated has given way to the oil-­rich Guyanese coast and biodiversity on which the state intends to exercise its control because of the importance of the Guyanese forests and its economic resources. The Caribbean sections of the university have no comparable arguments. When the French Guyana division of the university expressed its demands for independence, a similar claim was voiced by part of the Faculty and administrative staff in Guadeloupe represented by a committee of composite unions.

106  F. Reno In Pointe-­ à-Pitre the protest began with the bypassing of the university authorities. Academics from Guadeloupe and Martinique took a stance in favour of independent universities8 and demanded direct dialogue with the government. The single-­island logic was clearly expressed in the demand for direct negotiations with the Ministry of Higher Education and Research regarding any project concerning the academic community of Guadeloupe in order to secure basic guarantees as to the future of the personnel and of students of the UAG in Guadeloupe.9 The protests led eventually to meetings with the President of the UAG, the Rector-­Chancellor of the university, and a Plenipotentiary of the State, with no explanation as to the exact meaning of the participation of this high-­ranking official. Thereafter, the initiative rapidly became a demand for a University of Guadeloupe, also voiced by trade unionists, non-­unionised teachers and a few students. The intellectual task associated with the union’s political showcase was the redesign of the new university and media projections.10 The month-­long strike did not include the students who then expressed their determination to be heard, reminding everyone that ‘the student body is more than essential since there is no University without students’.11 In fact, student participation may have been shunned due to the virtual certainty that their stance would have diverged from that of the island university proponents. The remnants of the UAG are far from exemplifying the Triple Helix system that combines university, business and political stakeholders in order to stimulate innovation within a region (Ranga and Etzkowitz n.d., p. 1). Usually these three potential partners maintain a shared distrust. The principle of university autonomy is seen by scholars as a protection against any exploitation by the other two partners. The business world generally looks down on academics, perceived as enclosed in their high tower, unable to understand the needs of society. Political leaders see the university as an interest group, prone to oppose and seldom to propose. This pattern of mutual exclusion in perception and transactions that governs the helixes of the UAG system is in sharp contrast with the message sent out by the UWI and the way in which it interacts with its environment. Although some individual behaviours are similar, the vision that each institution nurtures regarding its contribution to the region really differs. In a recent report, UWI academics were blamed for losing focus on regional issues and innovation policies to focus on consulting activities that consumed a large part of their time (UWI-­ IIR 2011). But despite these criticisms, the institution managed to build a partnership with business, which has no equivalent in the French territories. This led to a range of services being offered through the establishment of UWI Consulting Inc. in 2007. These services were previously rendered by academics in their personal capacity; now they are also provided by the institution on the basis of a regional vision. The university supplies research and advice to business, public and private customers, as well as to

The insularisation of a regional university  107 regional and international organisations. This reveals the university’s adherence to private sector management methods, which would be difficult to replicate in French institutions (UWI 2011). On UAG campuses, the decline in state funding is also noticeable. But while the UWI sought to establish commercial relations with the business world, Guadeloupe and Martinique resorted to the island territory alternative to compensate for the state financing cuts. Insularity as a decentralised management method of the university was confirmed. The market-­oriented culture that characterises the UWI model is obvious in its academic activity, and differs totally from the French counterpart, the UAG model with its bureaucratic culture of which the French state is the ideal-­type (Badie and Birnbaum 1983). In the Anglophone Caribbean, the UWI’s involvement in regional development is politically driven since it has clearly been requested by regional governments, as stated by the UWI Vice Chancellor, acknowledging both the institution’s need for income diversification and its response to the governments’ wishes to have a single portal from which to access the university’s services (UWI 2011). Indeed the university issue is essentially a political issue. The stakes transcend the simple educational purpose. The request from the Caribbean governments is clear evidence of this. Similarly, the evolution of the UAG, the involvement of the French government in the creation of a University of French Guyana, and the instrumental role played by political figures in both islands during the Caribbean crisis, all indicate that the university issue is deeply political.

Facing the challenge of a politicisation of insularity Whether defined as the political way to convert or recreate social realities into political activities, politicisation is currently manufacturing the inclusion of public issues on the political agenda (Lagrove 2003). The methods used during the UAG crisis were those of a politicisation operation in its most obvious form. Using outsiders’ support is the manner in which protest groups in all three territories manage to make their grievances public issues. Politicians anticipate and take over the issue even before it is directly addressed to them. It is difficult to separate these two forms of intervention. They are intertwined, stimulating each other. The politicisation of insularity is not new. In the 1970s, the allocation and duplication of curricula between the two islands, and the location of the headquarters of the future UAG, were often the outcome of political interference. The Law School in Guadeloupe was launched after a student strike was taken up by local elected representatives. Eric Nabajoth (2006, pp. 196–197) points out that support from local collectivities is ever present, since the General Council in each island contributes to the operating budget of the institution, and there is latent competition between Guadeloupe and Martinique. The various administrative entities of the university are also distributed between the two territories and

108  F. Reno the local authorities supplement the additional expenditure of the French state that results from duplication. There is a long tradition of interference by local collectivities in the daily activities and operations of the university structures in the Antilles and French Guyana One of the first consequences of politicisation was the end of the planned teaching specialisation on campuses. Student discontent and the response of elected officials resulted in Guadeloupe also having its own Schools of Law and Economics. A few years later, Martinique opened its own School of Natural and Medical Sciences, originally taught in Guadeloupe. Humanities and Literature taught in Aimé Césaire’s homeland were given a campus too in Guadeloupe. The UWI’s development is similar. Medical sciences, social sciences, law, business administration, humanities and natural sciences are now all taught in Mona, St Augustine and Cave Hill. It seems that rather than focus on fighting duplication, one should identify other mechanisms to give meaning to the regional dimension of the university. Regional policy should include fostering cooperation among campuses urging students to move through several sites to complete their education while harmonising registration and evaluation procedures. In 2013, the intervention of elected officials took place during the unrest. In French Guyana, feelings of injustice led to the conflict and severing of ties with the Antilles. In this South American territory there was a strong sense of injustice resulting from the lack of consideration given to the specific expectations expressed by the members of the Cayenne unit of the University, in particular with regards to the distribution of teaching and administrative positions, the daily operations and the quality of services provided to the students. (Gillot and Magras 2014, p. 24) The interventions of political authorities, in particular that of Minister Taubira, speeded up the decision establishing a French university in South America. Martinique and Guadeloupe were left pondering whether to go their separate ways or stay together and redefine the purpose of a University of the Antilles. Political authorities on both islands showed caution because the issues in the French islands were different from those of French Guyana, their bargaining power was less and the local activists were divided. In Pointe-­à-Pitre the supporters of a University of Guadeloupe were more vocal but did not necessarily represent a majority. In Martinique, actors used the media to state their support for a University of the French Antilles, rejecting the Guadeloupean option of a single-­island university. There may have been some support for a University of Martinique, but there was no official indication of which option had the majority. The President of the UAG, Corinne Mencé-Caster, proposed a consultation where users of the institution would choose between a university on each island and a regional university, then the results would be submitted to governmental authorities. The blockade of the campus in Guadeloupe by supporters of the single-­island university option stopped

The insularisation of a regional university  109 the consultation, which was to take place under the supervision of both local Rectors representing the French Minister of Higher Education. While French Guyana was preparing to receive the resources for a new university, questions remained on the other two campuses: one Université des Antilles (UA) or a Université de Guadeloupe (UG) and a Université de Martinique (UM)? The first significant display of politicisation in favour of the single-­island option came from Guadeloupe. In a letter to the Minister of Higher Education, the President of the Regional Council of Guadeloupe expressed her support for a UG without mentioning whether this option was that of the majority of users of the university of the Territory. This galvanised the proponents of this option. Then, during the annual conference on regional cooperation in November 2013, the Minister of the French Overseas Territories and former President of the Regional Council of Guadeloupe, Victorin Lurel warned against the creation of ‘left-­over tails/rump universities’. The turmoil created by the declaration of the President of the Guadeloupean Region and the hesitations of her Martinique counterpart, led to the option of a single university, serving both islands being supported by elected regional representatives from Guadeloupe and Martinique. After harsh discussions,12 academic and political stakeholders of both islands as well as the state chose the regional option with broad autonomy for each unit. So politicisation of the university issue occurred, first by external advocacy by ‘separatists’, then through the involvement of elected officials. The UA option, in the absence of a consensus among users of the institution, was ultimately supported by the then Presidents of the Regional Councils of Martinique and Guadeloupe. This case highlights the need for a minimum consensus in the political resolution of disputes between the islands. Political consensus was first perceived on 31 March 2014, in the form of a joint communiqué from the executives of Guadeloupe and Martinique announcing the convening of a commission charged with drafting a design for the UA. The initiative failed following the boycott by several stakeholders, including academics and the representative of the State. Politicisation was also a response to a social demand. On 4 July 2014 a meeting of executives of the ‘Departments’ and ‘Regions’ of Guadeloupe and Martinique demonstrated that politicians were willing to tackle an issue that surpassed the confines of the campus. The reaction of the public to the crisis had now become a serious concern. The loss of confidence in an academic institution already retaining only 25 per cent of high school graduates, and that risked becoming even less attractive, explains the hasty inclusion of the issue on the political agenda. The elected officials had to demonstrate a proactive response to the situation. The issue was especially critical as it referred to a public good of the so-­called sister-­islands whose historical tensions quickly escalate from ideological differences to identity controversies. The political handling of the contention was even more complex as elected officials could not ignore the identity tensions. Despite a consensual discourse on the benefits of institutional unity, they sometimes assumed identity postures, without acknowledging this. In conclusion, the political handling of the university crisis limited the damage and enabled cautious optimism about the future. It became obvious that

110  F. Reno political movements did not necessarily align with territorial boundaries. The single-­island university advocates were politically a minority. That option was not embraced by any political party, although mentioned by the President of the Guadeloupe Regional Council. It is difficult to conclude if ideological political groups supported unity or separation, the main topic dividing academics. The leftist groups of Martinique and Guadeloupe were more visible because they control the local assemblies and executive power centres. The Martinique left, like the majority of the university community in Martinique, was favourable to a UA, and mourned the withdrawal of French Guyana. The comments of Serge Letchimy, then President of the Regional Council, were unequivocal.13 The Guadeloupe left revealed tensions within and between the Socialist Party which controls the Regional Council and the Groupe Union Socialisme et Réalités which controls the other Assembly, the Department or General Council.14 The Martinique Movement for Independence, contrary to the one in Guadeloupe that remained silent on the subject, supported a UA through the voice of its leader Alfred Marie-­Jeanne: ‘I am not a parochial separatist. I have always considered the UAG as a common heritage to preserve and a common asset to develop.’15 This position is similar to that of the ‘founding fathers’ of the UAG. It is likely to be for the time being, the position of the majority notwithstanding the challenge from a new generation of academics more prone to engage in local power struggles than to ensure the permanence of a regional space for which they do not perceive the immediate benefits. In an era in which the French Caribbean seeks membership in Caribbean regional organisations, and has an interest in strengthened cooperation, it is paradoxical that the insular takes precedence over the regional. In reality, this conflict scenario provides an opportunity for deeper reflection on the configuration of a Caribbean university space. Even while exchanges grow with Europe and the Americas, student mobility across the Caribbean region should be privileged in order to develop a shared core of knowledge, practices and collegial networks that will support exchanges among our youth and our elites. Let us dare to conceive of a university space that is open to our immediate neighbours with whom we share a Creole culture. Why not incorporate Dominica, St Lucia, Saint Martin and Sint Maarten in an original and potentially enriching initiative based on both our proximity and our differences?

Conclusion The ex-­UAG has emerged. The UA, now reduced to Guadeloupe and Martinique, is making the island territory the referent of university policies. The autonomy of the university is being superseded by the autonomy of the two poles. The whole is gradually giving way to the law of the parts. Conversely, the UWI, in spite of the centrifugal tendencies with which it contends, has succeeded over time in constituting a real regional entity. Beyond the lessons that can be drawn from the failure of the UAG and the relative success of the UWI, the constraints

The insularisation of a regional university  111 of regionalisation processes in the context of globalisation ought to be examined more broadly (Payne 2003). Whether it concerns the university, the economy or political institutions, whether it takes the form of cooperation or integration, regionalisation is based on the voluntary sharing of beliefs and interests. Its realisation in most cases involves a transfer of competence or sovereignty to the benefit of a supraterritorial regulator. In the Caribbean, regionalisation has not gone beyond cooperation despite the discourse on Caribbean identity and the apparent desire for integration. It therefore remains unfinished. The Caribbean regional construction is based on a paradox of regionalist beliefs and nationalist tensions. In Europe where memories of conflict stimulated political integration, and in the Caribbean, regionalisation is primarily a political project. This goes also for the university. Regionalisation refers to power relations, namely, the struggle to gain or not to lose power. This idea is valid at the different levels of the regional chain. At the territorial level, the regional question divides supporters and opponents of supraterritoriality. There is the fear of losing positions of power or of diminishing the chances of obtaining them should a regional structure be set up. At the inter-­territorial level, historical and colonial rivalries between Guadeloupe and Martinique are aggressively brandished but underlying them are struggles to conquer new or to preserve old positions of power. This is exemplified in the recurrent debates on the alternation of the presidency of the university. When the fierce defence of territorial entitlement sets little store by academic qualifications, the territorialists’ intentions must be questioned. In the context of the Université des Antilles, regional construction is often interpreted by these elites as territorial negation. The UAG failed because the Guyanese were not benefitting from it. The UA, born from its ashes, remains fragile in spite of the efforts at unity. The UA could fail because the Martinican-­Guadeloupean secessionist faction is convinced that island universities would correspond more to their interests and to those of their territories. Everything may become a pretext to revive ‘the war of the territories’ – recruitment of academics, criteria for financial allocations, and the election of the future President. The territory remains at the centre of all tensions. In fact, insularisation is a political staging of the territory, tantamount to the will of the ‘territorialists’ to establish a privileged relationship with the political decision­makers. In advising the prince and making public statements of support, the territorialist academic may derive material and symbolic advantages from the relationship. The paradox is that while territorialisation was supposed to ensure the autonomy of the poles, it actually ends up reinforcing dependence on the political class. It is counterproductive and diverts the university from its universalist missions. The wider political context, however, is not conducive to the separation of the two university entities. The state has neither the will nor the means to support such a choice. In the 2015 regional elections, the populations of Guadeloupe and Martinique voted in favour of political personalities favouring the unity of the university institution. The political context and the maintenance of a unitary structure respectful of territorial identities are probably the foundations for the success of the university project in the French Caribbean.

112  F. Reno

Notes   1 The Collectivites of Saint Barths and Saint Martin who were previously communes of Guadeloupe, after a referendum in 2003 chose to be directly attached to Paris via a status that granted them a wider autonomy.   2 A summary of this can be found in Groupe de travail sur la situation et l’avenir de l’université des Antilles et de la Guyane. Délégation sénatoriale à l’outre-mer. Caractéristiques générales de l’Université des Antilles et de la Guyane Pointe-­à-Pitre le 20 Janvier 2014.   3 French Guyana’s departure from the UAG does not affect this programme as it was not involved in the programme.   4 In 2016 the European mobility programme, ‘Erasmus plus’, created to promote university exchanges, was extended to the Caribbean. It is open to all levels of students pursuing degrees in other Caribbean universities, but applies only to PhD students of the Université des Antilles.   5 Martinique and Guadeloupe are now associate members of the ACS. Martinique is also an associate member of the OECS.   6 ‘Each should be master in his own house!’ said by a lecturer during a strike of the personnel. ‘I am in favour of a Université de Guadeloupe included in a group of universities, chak moun mèt a kaz ay.’   7 See Higher Education and Research Act 2013, Law n°2013–660 of 2 July 2013 or Code of Education 2017 Art L214–2: ‘In accordance with national strategies for higher education and research, the Region defines a regional plan for education, research and innovation which defines its principles and processes’.   8 See the arguments by G. Virassamy (n.d.), former President of the UAG. He invites his colleagues from Martinique to further action and to collaborate with other universities as mentioned in the law.   9 Memorandum of the inter-­union committee on the advancement of negotiations of the demands dated 14 March 2014. Pointe-­à-Pitre 25 March 2014. 10 See Press release no. 1, 7 April 2014, GUAD group (Guadeloupe Action Defense), in which the group confirms its support for the creation of a Université de Guadeloupe within the framework of a Community of Universities and institutions with a confederate status. 11 Representative of Students of the Guadeloupe Division. 12 An excerpt is available in a documentary – Is There a Future for One University in Guadeloupe and One in Martinique? – from a conference organised by the CAGI and the Commission in charge of Culture at the UAG (UAG Commission for Culture n.d.). 13 (Letchimy 2014), email from Serge Letchimy to Geneviève Fioraso, State Secretary for Higher education dated 20 June 2014. 14 In Guadeloupe, the region and the department are two collectivities covering the same territory but whose elected officials are designated according to two different voting systems, which explains why on the single territory there can be two different parties in power. 15 Alfred Marie-­Jeanne, Presentation during a meeting at the Ministry of higher education regarding the UAG on 21 November 2013.

Part III

Haiti and the Dominican Republic Challenges to integration

8 Haiti–CARICOM relations Between fascination and mistrust Sabine Manigat

Relations between the states of CARICOM and Haiti have been characterised by a mix of proximity and mutual rejection. These perceptions are rooted in history. Colonialism paved the way for two differing realities: the balkanisation of the Caribbean Basin which would later result in its political crumbling, and the emergence of ‘plantation civilisation’, a powerful bond that defines the region. But altogether, history has tended to isolate Haiti from the countries that today form the CARICOM. The impact of these and other factors on identities within the Caribbean has been often discussed – underlined or questioned – but many recognise the existence of a Caribbean culture. Furthermore, many intellectuals and political personalities have attempted to define a Caribbean identity comprising either the islands or all the countries of the Basin. But whatever the definition, Haiti seems to be somewhat ‘apart’, notwithstanding the country’s presence in some fields related to arts and entertainment. Last but not least, politics has been key for the moulding of the region. The building of CARICOM, in the early stages, decidedly implied the exclusion of Haiti (among other states). But, eventually, it may turn out to be the forum in which Haiti and the Caribbean reach a form of commonness in the context of a hectic globalisation with contradictory effects.

History A fundamental consequence of the history of colonialism in the Caribbean remains the extreme fragmentation of the area as a result of the colonial powers’ struggle for supremacy. From the beginning of the sixteenth century and until the second half of the nineteenth, the region was dominated by the building of the predominantly sugar plantation colonial system. It is also the era of fixation of its deepest fractures and divisions along the lines of imperialist rivalries and conquests. This first ‘post-­discovery’ Caribbean is predominantly British and French, and to a lesser geographical extent, Spanish. A triple, lasting balkanisation occurs during this time: economic, political and linguistic. It could be said that it is during these years that the Caribbean becomes ‘One and divisible’ (Casimir 1992), sharing one condition as a region of slavery and plantation but

116  S. Manigat split according to the ways, rules, government and culture of a specific coloniser. In this chapter, I focus on political fragmentation within the context of a common social and economic fabric in the vast majority of the islands around sugar and plantation, as a primary consequence of having different colonial powers alongside political and cultural-­linguistic fragmentation – that is, different languages, different regimes and different cultural intertwines. The Haitian exception was born with its revolution of independence. The victory of Dessalines’s army was, it must be said, indeed the trophy for the long struggle of the insurrected; however, in part as a result of Toussaint Louverture’s policy itself,1 but undoubtedly because of colonial rivalries, the UK played its part if only by remaining ‘neutral’ during the crucial year 1803 (Manigat 2007). Nevertheless, after the victory the new nation found itself totally isolated, particularly after the Vienna congress, and the first pan-­American congress of 1926 which brought together all the newly freed Latin American countries, some of them indebted to the Haitian Revolution.2 All these circumstances gave birth to a myth: that of Haiti as a bad example capable of contaminating the surrounding colonial and slavery order – in the words of the American historian Rayford W. Logan: ‘an anomaly, a challenge, a threat’ (Manigat 1964) – but also as a unique example of audacity, resistance and heroism. The myth surrounding the country’s exceptional history had induced fears, linked to this status of bad example, that the powers of the area (all owners of at least one territory) bestowed on the country. It must be remembered that the region distinguishes itself from the rest of Latin America by the permanence of the colonised status of most of its territories, with only three independent states after the mid-­nineteenth century. Haiti evolved as a state in complete solitude. In fact, until almost up to the 1960s, Haiti shared with only the DR the status of full state. With the Platt Amendment, Cuba had been fundamentally under American control, Puerto Rico had been bought and all other islands are owned by the Netherlands, France or UK. The parallel history of the Caribbean countries for the following 150 years needs not be detailed here, but two important aspects of their evolution are worth underlining. One has to do with population movements within the area and the way they have shaped perceptions and relations; the other relates to the social and economic fabric of the societies that developed during the period. In fact, already after the abolitions in the nineteenth century, flows of workers incessantly crossed the Basin in search of employment and better working conditions. The political compartmentalisation of the region did not impede such flows. Traces of this dynamic are, for example, the communities of Haitians in Cuba, or of ‘cocolos’ in the DR. Haitians moved fundamentally according to the same parameters that defined other flows of workers in the area: the search for employment in the plantation economies (Cuba, and from the 1920s, the DR) and in major works such as the construction of the Panama Canal. Haitian migration was then still relatively modest in proportion to the country’s total population. However, Haiti’s central geographical position within the island arc seems to be reflected in the demographic, social and economic network of its

Haiti–CARICOM relations  117 communities of emigrants. At the same time, the lack of recognition and protection on the part of the authorities of their own country, and the differences in language and culture that created obstacles to their adaptation, contributed to making these communities of Haitian migrants true ‘roving bohemians’, even though they formed more or less stable communities. Then, from the dawn of the twentieth century and the incorporation of the Haitian labour force into the geopolitical-­economic complex of the US in the Caribbean Basin, Haitian migration began to bear the specific traces of the country’s ‘different’ history, particularly its long political isolation. Haitian migrants moved within a space that fundamentally ignored their country of origin. The consequences were multiple both in terms of their conditions of employment and insertion in the host societies, and for the management of their residence and adaptation by the authorities of those countries. As a result, more often than not, integration turned out to be a struggle against hostility. But it was not until the 1960s specifically, when Haitian migrants progressively dominated migratory flows in the Caribbean islands arc and even on the South American rim (French Guiana). These flows continued throughout the twentieth century. In the 1970s, the oil boom in the region induced important population movements towards the Virgin Islands, Aruba, and Trinidad and Tobago, among others. Subsequently, the tourist boom that took over after the oil crisis brought other labour migrations towards the countries with the highest tourist growth but lacking employees for the services sector. Intra-­Caribbean migration thus finds permanent incentives to this day. Within this context, the history of Haitian migrations in the Caribbean arc testifies to a tradition and culture that have given to Haiti the fame of an ‘invader’ in the region. Haitians migrants in the Caribbean and French Guiana have had an impact on its history, its socio-­demographic specificities, its many facets and, of course, its economy, differently from country to country. Throughout the Basin, around 200,000 Haitian migrants (excluding to the DR), transit or have established themselves (Manigat 2012). At the regional level, this migration has changed in profile, motivation and skills. The characteristics that define it today are the following: Temporal or definitive, it is composed not only of braceros but increasingly of merchants who move throughout the Basin, towards The Bahamas predominantly, but also more and more towards Panama, the French Antilles and Guyana, the smaller islands (Dominica, Saint Martin, St Lucia). Migrants have woven a network that is both economic and cultural. According to the economic characteristics of the receiving society, their socio-­demographic profiles vary between the predominance of rural workers with low qualifications, a majority of urban workers in the informal sector or, from the 1990s, middle-­class and professional communities. But because of their demographic importance within small societies and economies, these Haitian migrations have often kept the image of an invasive and miserable stranger, somewhat like the Bolivians in Brazil, the Paraguayans in Argentina or the Nicaraguans in Costa Rica. The difference lies in the fact that

118  S. Manigat the Haitian migration comes from a single nationality that travels throughout the region. For this reason, the welcome and adaptation of Haitians are varied, but often impregnated with hostility. It is significant that the existence of other important migratory flows from other islands does not alter this image, which has resulted in stigmatisations of Haitians in several countries. Actually, even a quick glance at the intra-­Caribbean migration dynamics reveals that there are two categories of countries in the region, in terms of tradition and migratory balance. On the one hand, there are countries with strong emigration, within or out of the region: Haiti, Jamaica, the DR, Dominica, Barbados, Suriname, St Lucia, Puerto Rico, Trinidad and Tobago, and Grenada. On the other hand, there is a group of countries that are essentially recipients of Caribbean migrants: the French territories (Martinique, Guadeloupe, French Guiana), The Bahamas, Antigua and Barbuda, the TCI, the British and the US Virgin Islands. Communities from countries such as Jamaica, Dominica, the DR or Puerto Rico in receiving countries such as Guadeloupe, Martinique or The Bahamas often suffer from discrimination similar to those faced by Haitians. Thus around 2008 for instance, citizens of Dominica outnumbered Haitians in Martinique, 1,543 to 1,347; and in Guadeloupe, out of a total of 38,273 foreigners, 23,232 were Haitians, 8,057 from Dominica3 and 2,329 from the DR. Nevertheless the image of a ‘migration invasion’ remains particularly linked to Haiti. At the specifically political level the ‘old’ republics and particularly Haiti undertook a historic journey punctuated with political and economic struggles linked to imperialist appetites intertwined with oligarchic rivalries. Political contacts with the British islands were obviously quite scarce since the future CARICOM members were all subjected to the same colonial regime that was to remain another 150 years, and slavery lasted for several decades. Haiti’s isolation from the rest of the Basin for a very long time also induced the development of a number of political perceptions and behaviours that would have considerable implications and whose effects would be incalculable for the country’s future integration within the region. For their part, in the early 1960s, after their independence, the former British colonies developed a new political and cultural profile. Today, the islands of the Caribbean thus present a relatively homogeneous West Indies bloc on the one hand, and a set of ‘old’ formations including Haiti, on the other. History has therefore built a very diverse subregion, fragmented but with a primitive unity that the balkanisation by colonial powers has not erased but rather made more complex, contributing to the emergence of a cultural melt that authorises us to discuss the existence of a Caribbean culture.

Identity As an introduction, it must be recalled that, despite political segregation, Haiti’s links to the rest of the world were never broken, essentially because of the network of intellectuals and politicians that emerged early during the nineteenth century.4 At the Caribbean level, these networks worked as powerful links that

Haiti–CARICOM relations  119 kept and developed early in time a sense of ‘Caribbeanness’ beyond the popular, migratory and economic dynamics. From the early days of the Haitian nation, some of the nearby islands (Jamaica in particular, but also St Thomas) served as countries of refuge for a number of Haitian political men. During the nineteenth century, Edmond Paul took asylum twice in Kingston in the 1870s; Anténor Firmin conceived, with notable Caribbean intellectuals and politicians,5 the first pan-­Caribbean project (the Antillean Confederation) that envisioned the Federation of Haiti, Cuba, the DR, but also Puerto Rico and Jamaica. In the twentieth century, Haitian President Estimé and his successor Paul Magloire, also found refuge in Jamaica after being overthrown (Smith 2005). Otherwise, there are traces of the interest fostered by certain intellectuals, mainly historians, of the two ‘worlds’ for the respective fate of one and the other. We can mention briefly C. L. R. James, or Eric Williams for the English-­speaking intellectuals, and their considerations of the centrality of Haiti in the region’s history and identity; or Leslie Manigat and Jean Casimir, among others, in Haiti, in their work on Caribbean identity and international relations. Leslie Manigat (2007) refers to geography and history to circumscribe the Caribbean in terms of the common legacy of the plantation and inter-­imperialist struggles in the Basin. The Caribbean of Manigat integrates the factor of the sugar plantation, the mark of the struggles between imperial powers but also, and explicitly, the ethno-­cultural factor. ‘All countries surrounding the Caribbean Sea belong to the Caribbean region.… But it is only about the islands that we can seek and analyse – a common Caribbean cultural identity. (…) … the option corresponds to insular black America’6 (Manigat 2007, p. 701). Indeed, identity is perhaps the most powerful link between the Caribbean islands. The matter as such escapes the purpose of this chapter but it is relevant for the social and political aspects of CARICOM and Haiti’s relations. One could consider commerce, migrations and culture as the main drivers of identity in the region. On the one hand, the cultural legacy of colonialisms and the fragmentation of the Caribbean as a region have moulded its stunning diversity. It all begins with the settlement of the Caribbean, a mosaic of peoples of immigrants and migrants from all regions of the planet, who mixed with the American people when and where the latter survived the conquest. Throughout history, migrations: European and African until the nineteenth century; then (especially after 1833) Indian, Chinese; later, Arabs and Levantines in general, from the dawn of the twentieth century, have composed ethnic, linguistic and cultural mixes on the basis of the more or less erased traces of the American peoples. Then, the physical presence of the main world powers inside the Basin, beyond the balkanisation effect, leads to an inevitable socio-­cultural mix, the only way to absorb the many confrontations and contradictions distilled by the colonial era. ‘Caribbeanism’ emerges from this complexity. Caribbean intellectuals have best captured its nature, either underlying the large scope of what can be defined as such, or attempting to circumscribe its specificity. In the words of Norman Girvan: ‘The Caribbean are islands and archipels, but it is much more than that.

120  S. Manigat You find the Caribbean in Brazil. You find it in Peru, in Colombia and Venezuela; you find it in Central America’ (Girvan 2012). For his part, in the forging of a Caribbean identity – a common Caribbean culture as he refers to it – Leslie Manigat (2007, pp. 699–715) describes three generations of Caribbean thinkers (and thinkers of the Caribbean). The first generation, of the 1920s and 1930s, represented by intellectuals like Jean Price-­ Mars, Fernando Ortiz, Marcus Garvey among others, made a consistent contribution to the rehabilitation and promotion of the African dimension of the ‘Caribbean cultural character’ (personnalité culturelle caraibéenne). A second generation, of the two following decades – 1940s and 1950s – with Aimé Césaire, Eric Willams, Frantz Fanon or Léon Damas, formulated and defended the concept of negritude as an ideological battle front. The third generation, represented in Manigat’s view by writers such as Rex Nettleford or Edouard Glissant, assumes the negritude as part of the more complex (composite) Caribbean personality. Manigat (2007) eventually defines the Caribbean cultural personality as a ‘continuum of syncretism’, a palette of multiple layers of intermix. Assuming that Haiti is part of his view, it could be said, in the words of George Beckford quoted by Norman Girvan, that: ‘Caribbean people are already integrated. The only people who don’t know it are the governments’ (Girvan 2012, p. 1). But how does this Caribbean culture express itself in people’s daily life? What is the share of common values and what the weight of prejudices and confrontations? Again, be it for relations between populations or be it between states, the importance and impact of migrations appears nodal in the building of the Caribbean culture. And Haitian migrants in the Caribbean have contributed to it like no other nationality. Globally, the Caribbean is considered to be one of the regions with the greatest migratory flows per capita in the world and the net migratory rate for the Caribbean is one of the highest, with countries like Jamaica, St Lucia and Suriname at the top. From the ethnic and cultural mosaic to the diversity of religions, the contribution of migrations to the definition of the region is as important as that of other similarities or economic potential that result from geography and geopolitics. It should also be said that the majority of the Caribbean Commonwealth countries are the product of ethnic mix as a result of Britain’s management and colonial policy. Brewing from all these migratory currents within and outside the region gives the Caribbean basin its own, almost ‘transcontinental’ personality. And it is here, probably, that a first difference is detectable between Haiti and the other islands. Indeed, the circumstances and consequences of the Haitian independence revolution have had the effect of drastically reducing for a long time the country’s contacts, influences and cultural exchanges with foreign countries, while at the same time forging a ‘Haitian personality’ based mainly on the ethno-­cultural contributions inherited from colonisation. Migratory contacts, as early and frequent as they might have been since the nineteenth century, are far from having produced decisive impacts on the essential characteristics of the population and the culture of the country. Coupled with this panorama, which translates into political and diplomatic isolation, differences in language,

Haiti–CARICOM relations  121 economy, cultural and religious traditions contribute greatly to the projection of Haitian migrants into the image of a strange, in-­assimilable people, unwilling to integrate. Contrary to these persistent perceptions, as already discussed, until the wave of migrations in the 1970s, which in the following decades becomes a real demographic bleed, Haitian migration does not exceed that of other countries in the area. So, what do these prejudices feed on? Beyond subjectivities, certain elements have undoubtedly contributed to making that negative image of the Haitian in the Basin. Identifying them is a prerequisite for overcoming them, in order to achieve the development of the Caribbean as an entity of the global community of regions. We understand that in the crystallisation of these prejudices certain elements have played an important role. The long isolation of the country with respect to the region favoured the appearance of certain themes. In fact, Haiti’s political isolation has had incalculable demographic, economic and cultural implications for its later insertion in the region; furthermore, the long American military occupation (1915–1934) sanctioned in a certain way the failure of the dominant project designed by the Founders; it strengthened the role of labour supplier ‘assigned’ to Haiti within the US economic-­military complex in the Basin. Twenty-­three years later, the 29 years of Duvalier’s dictatorship followed by a failed transition, deepened the gap between economies, political systems and living standards in Haiti compared to many other countries in the area and specifically the members of CARICOM. This distance can be measured with many of the classic socio-­ economic indicators, such as, for example, the Human Development Index (HDI) developed by the United Nations Development Program (UNDP). For the year 2016, 13 of the 15 members are classified as countries with ‘high human development’, one, Guyana, has ‘medium development’. Haiti lags far behind with a ‘weak HDI’ rank, – 35 – placing it lower than Guyana. In sum, while Haiti was never totally outside the region, but rather in a kind of ‘counterpoint’ with respect to it, the gradual distance that has been established between the states has led to a kind of singularisation of the Haitians in the Basin.

Politics The integration of the Caribbean as an international institutional entity has undoubtedly been dominated by politics. While intra-­regional migration has indeed favoured a mix that justifies George Beckford’s opinion, it is politics that seems to be able to overcome the mistrust between Haiti and the CARICOM countries. Indeed, at the beginning of the 1960s, as a country with up to 150 years of (anti-­imperialist and other) projects, failures, struggles and diplomatic battles in the time of the League of Nations – Haiti was faced with a group of young ‘new comer’ states emerging from the same cocoon and seeking to build individual or collective independence. Between the two, historical distrust is compounded by great differences in political culture, at a time marked in the ‘old’ state by the advent of popular movements which, in the short or medium

122  S. Manigat term, would topple the Duvalier dictatorship; and for the new states by the search for affirmation and stability. Undoubtedly, from the WIF of 1958 to today’s CARICOM and Caribbean Single Market, the journey towards the integration of the Caribbean region has actually been quite short. Already by 1973, the Treaty of Chaguaramas that created the Community and Common Market of the Caribbean symbolised the success of the regional project; and since 2006, as the CSME was formalised, the Caribbean appears to have forged a distinctive and coherent personality. At the same time it becomes ineffective, to say the least, to continue to accept the fragmentation of the region when globalisation has imposed regional blocs as the main, if not the only, actors in politics, the economy and diplomacy on the international scene. CARICOM was first to understand this new reality and has made the necessary steps to overcome the multiple obstacles to the building of one Caribbean. The adhesion of Haiti has been its first and most prominent success. For Haiti, the way to CARICOM has been somewhat hectic. Before becoming a provisional member on 4 July 1998, Haiti related to the CARICOM states essentially through the OAS. However, shortly after Chaguaramas, it was Haiti which first expressed interest in joining the Caribbean family (Hyppolite-­ Manigat 1980).7 It took 28 years after this first expression of interest before Haiti was finally accepted with full membership. These nearly three decades correspond to a crucial and difficult process of adjustment of procedures, principles and political values between the two entities. Two political situations directly involving Haitian politics have revealed the extent of CARICOM’s influence and interest in Haitian affairs: the case of Jean-­Bertrand Aristide, in 1991–1994, and again in 2004; and the situation created by the sentence of the Dominican Constitutional Court stripping the nationality of tens of thousands of Dominicans of Haitian descent. The decisive event that accelerated the rapprochement between the two entities is undoubtedly the election of Jean-­Bertrand Aristide to the presidency of Haiti on 16 December 1990. This event, with important international repercussions, had in the Caribbean the particular echo of a revival worthy of the struggles and hopes aroused by the fall of the Duvalier dictatorship. Fascination had its share again. But Aristide was overthrown after nine months by a military coup. This prompted the strong reaction of the OAS and the direct involvement of CARICOM in the negotiations for the re-­establishment of the overthrown President. The OAS resolutions condemning the blow in the name of democratic principles8 are strictly enforced by CARICOM countries. In 1993, the human rights monitoring mission, Mission Civile Internationale en Haïti (MICIVIH), was led by a representative of CARICOM.9 For the first time10 CARICOM invested itself in Haiti’s internal affairs, although in the institutional context of an international intervention. As a result of this deep involvement of CARICOM, including in the direct negotiations between the military and Aristide, it is true to say that in 1994 ‘Aristide returned to power under US and CARICOM protection’ (CARICOM Secretariat 2017a). All these precedents paved the way to Haiti’s entry in 1997 as a provisional member (Dash 1998; Tardieu 1998). What

Haiti–CARICOM relations  123 appeared to be a logical outcome actually raised more issues than the benefits it brought, if only because the economic, institutional and political preparation of Haiti was not contemplated by the government of Haiti itself. As a result, much of this integration remained formal, if not outright artificial, even after full membership was granted to Haiti in 2002. But politics was to play again a decisive role in the interruption of Haiti’s participation in the institution, between 2004 and 2006. This time the issues were of another nature and implied direct interference in Haiti’s internal affairs coupled with some kind of polemic with the Haitian authorities. The background of the dispute is, again, the fate of Jean-­Bertrand Aristide.11 The issue is, again, that of the understanding of ‘democratic legitimacy’. At stake is the very definition of CARICOM’s core political principles, in line with its members’ history, social structure and dynamic. The Haitian political crisis in 2004 brought to light two fundamental changes in Haiti–CARICOM relations: First, the confirmation of a distinctive change in the power relation, with clear positions of authority from CARICOM regarding the political situation in Haiti. For instance, in a statement to the press on 27 January, Jamaica’s Prime Minister, Percival Patterson, issued a severe warning to President Aristide regarding the latter’s promise to make concessions to the opposition and respect fundamental rights. At the same time, CARICOM spokesman, Jamaican Foreign Minister K. D. Knight, clearly expressed the organisation’s opposition to any attempt to force the Haitian leader out of power: ‘We endorse the full application of democracy in Haiti’, he said. ‘We will not accept a coup d’etat in any form. Any change in Haiti must be through constitutional means. There should be no doubt about CARICOM’s commitment to the democratic process and the constitutional authority in Haiti’ (Knight 2004). The second change relates to a definite endorsement by CARICOM of Haiti’s interests and fate as a full member of the organisation. The situation created with the DR in 2013 was to demonstrate it clearly. The forced departure of Aristide on 29 February 2004 was thus to trigger a major confrontation with CARICOM. Shortly after taking office, Haiti’s interim Prime Minister Gerard Latortue withdrew the country’s Ambassador to Jamaica and suspended relations with CARICOM after ousted President Jean-­Bertrand Aristide was temporarily admitted in the island. As an immediate retaliation, Haiti was suspended from CARICOM until July 2006, on the occasion of the twenty-­seventh annual summit of Heads of State and Government of CARICOM member countries in St Kitts and Nevis, when Haiti officially returned to CARICOM after the elections that brought René Préval back to power. In February 2008, Haiti’s Parliament ratified the Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas that allows the establishment of the Caribbean Community and possibly the Single Market economy of CARICOM (CSME). The last step in the internal ratification procedure in Haiti was the publication in the official gazette. Reward? Political bet? In any case, Haiti is joining CARICOM as a grateful and ‘debtor’ member. The ‘TC 168–13 affair’ can be considered a test of belonging. The outcome confirms a radical reversal in Haiti’s traditionally daring diplomacy, as it reveals

124  S. Manigat CARICOM’s firm commitment to democratic and human rights values. On 23 September 2013, the Dominican Constitutional Court issued a judgment that stripped tens of thousands of Dominicans of Haitian descent from citizenship. The decision caused an international outcry and CARICOM’s reaction was prompt and radical. As early as December 2013, in a letter sent to President Danilo Medina, – worth quoting extensively – the then CARICOM Chairman Persad-­Bissessar, also the Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago, said that the court ruling was ‘unacceptable’ to her government. ‘Additionally, any commitment to naturalize those persons is at variance with established norms and principles.… Accordingly, I call on you to take steps to restore immediately Dominican nationality to those who have been denationalized’. Furthermore, taking note of the establishment of a Haitian-­Dominican commission to discuss migration and trade, she stresses again that ‘the issue of the denationalization of those who previously held Dominican nationality from 1929 to 2010 must be addressed immediately’ (Persad-­Bissessar 2013). However, a major disappointment took place on 19 February 2014 when CARICOM urged the OAS member states to collectively use their political weight to prevent the American continent from becoming the part of the world with the most stateless persons. The response of Haiti’s Ambassador to the OAS, Duly Brutus, on that occasion, suggested hopefulness for a favourable resolution from ongoing discussions between Haiti and the DR, including on Judgment TC168/13. His statement was clearly a refusal by the Haitian government to take the side of Haiti’s descendants who were victims of racism and xenophobia by the Dominican Constitutional Court. Nevertheless, again two years later, in a statement issued at the end of the Thirty-­Sixth Regular Meeting of the Conference of Heads of Government, Chairman of the Community, Barbados’s Prime Minister, Freundel Stuart, strongly reiterated CARICOM’s condemnation of a decision that enshrined ‘barbarity into the constitutional practices of the Dominican Republic’ (CARICOM Secretariat 2016). Beyond the shameful statement and behaviour of Haiti’s representatives under the circumstances, the bottom line is that the episode underlines the deep differences in diplomatic practices, the understanding of national interest, let alone the concept of human rights between CARICOM and its newest member. Needless to say that such differences in political culture are rooted in the history of the people and the shaping of the institutions; and that they constitute serious challenges for the integration process. But it also must be noted that CARICOM stood as one, confronting even some countries of the Basin (Nicaragua for example) who tried to dismiss the Haitian representative, Guy Alexandre, or pretended that the TC 168–13 sentence was an internal issue of the DR and, as such, was outside the competence of any international body.

Looking at the present Perspectives ahead show more challenges than gains, but with a shared acceptance that there is no way back. At stake is the future of the Caribbean as a

Haiti–CARICOM relations  125 sustainable regional bloc within the inter-­American system and international relations, more broadly. Haiti’s membership can only be strengthened once it meets the conditions that are still pending. Where are the bottlenecks and how can they be overcome? There are several important impediments. On the commercial front, since 2002, Haiti has not complied with rules of origin and standards in force in the Community. In 2006, CARICOM made Haiti’s effective integration into its single market conditional on the adoption of a tariff scale, aligned with that already in force in the other countries of the Community, so as to facilitate free trade between member states. There is also the issue of quality standards compatibility to be examined with the regional organisation for quality and standards (CARICOM Regional Organisation for Standards and Quality, CROSQ). Other important aspects include the formalisation of the country’s participation in the work of the CCJ, starting with the signing and ratification of the Agreement establishing the institution. There are also details that affect the sense of membership and the ease of CARICOM nationals, such as the establishment at the Toussaint Louverture airport, both on arrival and departure, of a line reserved for nationals of member countries of the Caribbean Community. Haiti also has its own objectives. According to Haitian economist Fritz Deshommes, Haiti could have the leadership of the Caribbean Common Market if it had a product not found in other member states. For example, he cites the craft sector that could help the country to have a prominent place in the area (AlterPresse 2006). In any case, Haiti potentially represents a market that doubles that of all the other CARICOM countries combined. Meanwhile, progress has been made with the reopening of the CARICOM office in Haiti and the appointment of a representative who speaks English, French and Creole. Improvements in migration policies among member states were recently discussed during the Port-­au-Prince meeting that took place in 2012 when Haiti presided over the organisation for the first time. CARICOM today presents the institutional profile with the greatest potential to bring together this project of forming a Caribbean block. But the existence of deprioritisation of the migratory issue, which complicates both a clear examination of its real complexities and the search for agreements conducive to regional integration, is also detectable. It is therefore necessary to return to the treatment of the migratory problem that conditions the very viability of a united Caribbean region. First, currently only a minority of CARICOM countries have a significant presence of Haitian citizens. They are essentially The Bahamas, the former British Guyana and Dominica. On the other hand, the leading states of the Community turn out to be either major sending countries – such as Jamaica – or countries with a reduced and non-­conflicting presence of Caribbean migrants in general or Haitians in particular – such as Trinidad and Tobago. There is, therefore, no overlap between recipient countries of large numbers of Haitian migrants and CARICOM member countries. The truth is that the reluctance – and even the resistance – that for a long time has hindered Haiti’s entry into

126  S. Manigat CARICOM, has no important foundation in the migratory issue, but originates in the political history of the Caribbean and the relations that were established between the former British colonies and other states from the 1960s. However, the migratory issue has been almost systematically evoked to limit the scope of Haitian membership. Thus, the Treaty of Chaguaramas, which governs the Community, was amended in 1989 with the aim of establishing a unified Caribbean economic zone and market. It has been in force since 2006 but to date its effects on the free movement of goods and people have been very limited and although Haiti is theoretically involved in the Community, it does not benefit from this component. Likewise, The Bahamas has not signed this clause of the Community and for Dominica, which is part of the Treaty, it does not apply to Haitians. Definitely, with more than ten million inhabitants, Haiti represents, demographically alone, about 60 per cent of CARICOM’s population. Its ‘full’ incorporation into this regional organisation is subject to multiple ‘exceptions and reservations’, which refer first and foremost to the fear represented by the poorest economy and the most populous country among the islands. There are challenges and potentialities in regional integration. CARICOM, as well as the ACS, which it rightfully promotes and supports, are the most concrete achievements on the way to overcome the legacy of colonialism. Since its official creation in 1973, the organisation has overcome some primitive limitations, such as a certain self-­perception as the ‘West Indies’, inherited from a still recent past; or the rather defensive objective in its formulation, of ‘a common front in relation to the external world’ (Preamble to the Treaty of Chaguaramas 1973). It has made major recent openings, after the integration of Haiti, with the acceptance of the DR as an observer country. Today, the Caribbean geopolitical complex is being consolidated with more dynamism, as the regional block and policies acquire the character, not only of true strategies of survival, but of affirmation at the level of international relations. However, CARICOM remains very much ‘centred’ in its origins as illustrated, among other indications, by the maintenance of English as its official language. And fear still prevails in certain sectors, which see Haiti as a danger for Caribbean affairs, arguing of its so-­called atavist political instability. The truth is that fascination and mistrust are the two sides of the same token: that is, mutual ignorance of the historic evolutions and social fabrics that have built the Commonwealth nations on one hand, and the Haitian nation on the other. Social unrest, for instance, speaks of a robust social movement that in Haiti had to face all kinds of dominations from its very birth. Institutional stability speaks of a long-­term shaped system that moulded societies and minds within the British Empire and, further, the Commonwealth. As much as they seem to oppose, they also have the potential of nurturing and enriching each other for the benefit of a region whose potential and strategic importance need not be demonstrated.

Haiti–CARICOM relations  127

Notes   1 Louverture carefully managed the relations, first with Spain who owned the Eastern part of the island, then with Great Britain who vowed to capture France’s most prosperous colony, until he successfully established his power from 1799. Dessalines’s strategy was in no way different until 2003.   2 Among others, the concrete solidarity shown to Bolivar who created the first Venezuelan flag in the Haitian Southern city of Jacmel in 1816, before departing towards the continent with fresh troops and arms. Haiti was not invited to Panama in 1826.   3 Dominica’s smaller numbers here are to be understood in terms of the vast difference in population size between these two countries: ten million for Haiti, compared with 72,680 for Dominica.   4 As an illustration, one can mention Victor Hugo’s reference to Haiti as ‘a light’ for the democratic world; or Lamartine writing an opera on Toussaint Louverture.   5 Ramon Betances from Puerto Rico, José Marti from Cuba, among others.  6 Personal translation.   7 The Duvalier regime showed real interest and deployed intense diplomatic activity in seeking membership for Haiti. CARICOM was probably too recent, still in search of consolidation, to receive such a request.   8 Passed on 3 and 8 October 1991, that restricts relations with the de facto government and establishes a partial embargo which was to be reinforced by the UN in 1993.   9 Ambassador Collin Granderson. 10 Actually around the fall of the Duvalier dictatorship some negotiations, which involved Jamaica, in particular, took place. But altogether political interference was non-­existent between the future CARICOM countries and Haiti. 11 There is to this day, on the part of CARICOM states in particular, a persistent valuation of Jean-­Bertrand Aristide’s presidential mandates as the genuine expression of popular will expressed through legitimate elections in Haiti; and therefore an absolute condemnation of his departure in 2004, assimilated to another coup. Haiti’s internal political dynamic does not reflect such a position, beyond the legal discussion about the departure itself and the interruption of his mandate.

9 French or Creole? Which second language for CARICOM? Bernard Phipps

Introduction Haiti’s accession to full CARICOM member status in 2002 has introduced a new language – French – into the Community’s deliberative process. Although Dutch-­ speaking Suriname had already disrupted, in 1995, the monopoly of English on the Community’s linguistic identity, the relatively greater demographic weight of Haiti, having ten million Haitians to Suriname’s some 540,000 people, gave greater impetus to linguistic expansion. It is also likely that linguistic inclusion of Haiti was preferred as the less complicated option, given Suriname’s widely varied linguistic landscape, with no less than 25 languages, of which two are Creole. Notwithstanding, Haiti’s distinctive linguistic configuration has become problematic for the CARICOM widening process. Although French has been adopted as an official CARICOM language, the overwhelming majority of Haitians are Creole speakers. Against the background of that problematic, this chapter will analyse, in four sections, the main arguments in an ongoing debate on whether French or Creole should be established as CARICOM’s official second language. The first section provides a brief overview of the linguistic history of the Community and its implications for the way in which some actors define the Caribbean. The second and third sections offer arguments presented in favour of Creole and French, respectively. The fourth section analyses the arguments by drawing on a representative public dialogue between two commentators and the chapter ends with some conclusions on the question.

CARICOM’s linguistic divisions and recent rapprochement The embeddedness of English in CARICOM is an obvious result of the history of British imperialism and colonialisation of Caribbean peoples. Although English is, arguably, the international language of professional communication, its dominance in the CARICOM institution is explained by the fact that the overwhelming majority of the 15 full member states have adopted English as their official language. Consequently, in a political sense, the geography of CARICOM is largely Anglo-­centric; although, theoretically, the concept of ‘community’ has potential to accommodate linguistic diversity. In practice, however, non-­English speakers

French or Creole?  129 have defined a separate perimeter for their definition of ‘Caribbean’. From a Francophone perspective, it could be argued that the independence experience of the Anglophone countries, and their ‘differentialist’ type of colonisation, have anchored them in a self-­centred perception of their geopolitical space. While this does not exclude, completely, their neighbours from their vision of development, the vision is delimited by a specific Caribbean horizon. By comparison, the French-­speaking Caribbean, with its assimilationist trajectory of universalistic inspiration, has a geopolitical landscape that embraces a variable geometry mindset, in which the Caribbean space is only one of the components. Those countries play a game of musical chairs alternating between claims on their status as European Outermost Regions (RUP/FCOR) or French Departments and their desire for better relationships with the other countries in their closest, or at least less distant, geographical environment. So, among the features that Caribbean people share, there is definitely a reciprocal relative indifference to their specific realities. While the English-­speaking islands demonstrate linguistic indifference towards their French neighbours, the French-­speaking territories may only be paying lip service to the need for rapprochement more than demonstrating an actual willingness to address it. This latter phenomenon, I contend, derives, in part, from French universalism in which the lofty republican ideals end up ‘crashing and burning’ when they bump into the real flesh of reality. In addition, the French Caribbean political class has had a romanticised view of their English-­speaking neighbours, who fought for their independence and now can boast of walking on their own two feet; while, in contrast, the French Caribbean is still seen as being spoon-­fed by the motherland. The independent countries of the region are therefore looked up to as political role models. The challenge is that the living standards the French West Indians enjoy by comparison with the average independent country of the region has strong separatist deterrent power. So, on the whole, the mutual disregard of others is equally shared; though, on the one hand, it feeds on important socio-­economic differences, and on the other hand, on distinct political philosophies underpinning the colonial processes and which the local political classes inherited for the most part. This disregard was forged across the region and fuelled by colonial divisiveness whereby the fragmented spaces were entirely designed to meet the desires of their respective metropoles. Edouard Glissant (1977, pp. 16–18) contends that Guadeloupe and Martinique, for example, are characterised by a vertical structure of conflictual disputes whereby local conflicts are cannibalised by the French state (often at the demand of the local actors themselves), frustrating the deployment of a dynamic horizontal conflict that could bring about a collective endogenous project. For Glissant, a gradual dislocation and ‘trivialisation’ of the cultural values born of the Plantation system have run parallel with the crumbling down of that very system leading to a society that more than ever cannot stand on its own two feet and is, definitely, under complete colonial remote control. One can extend Glissant’s analysis to explain the tensions inherent in a region composed of both autonomous and non-­autonomous states – all still seeking full

130  B. Phipps freedom from their former and current metropoles. If we consider CARICOM as a dynamic centripetal movement initiated by the English-­speaking Caribbean which pulls along the rest of the region in its revolution, it is possible to read the application, in January 2015, by Martinique, Guadeloupe and French Guyana for accession to CARICOM associate member status as part of the region meandering and shifting its course according to varying strategies, interests and agendas while nevertheless seeking to build a more integrated cross-­Caribbean regional centre of gravity. The CARICOM Secretary-­General, Ambassador Irwin LaRocque indicated as much, when he told the delegation from French Guiana (la Guyane), led by the then President of the Guyanese Regional Council, Rodolph Alexandre, that ‘we are all part of the Caribbean’ (CARICOM Secretariat 2015). A paradox remains to be accounted for however, since at the very moment when some of the existing member states began to question their participation in CARICOM, the non-­independent countries of the region were eager to jump on the bandwagon. Former Jamaican Prime Minister, Edward Seaga argued that the WIF failed because the political cart had been placed before the economic oxen. Although corrections were brought about through CARIFTA, then through the CARICOM Community and Common Market, he argues that the latest economic model – the CSME – does not meet the requirements of Jamaica’s current economic situation (Seaga 2013). He questions CARICOM’s relevance for Jamaica.1 While economic considerations should not be ruled out altogether in the motivations by the French territories to join the association, the move should primarily be regarded as political. Political motive was not the original force behind the creation of the WIF; rather, it was the broader sense of a common belonging forged in history – regardless of differing political trajectories – of an inescapable geographical common existence through which, to quote Benjamin Franklyn, ‘we must, indeed, all hang together, or most assuredly, we shall all hang separately’. So, while those who contend that it is urgent to ‘walk the walk rather than talk the talk’ certainly have a point, as a people whose subjugation relied on linguistic suppression, Caribbean people may set great store by language. Though marginal today, language may become a central issue in the decades to come at least because it lies at the core of the question of identity which is a key question, historically, for Caribbean people. With the admission of the first non-­English-speaking country, Suriname, in 1995 and that of Haiti seven years later, CARICOM, which had so far led a monolingual English existence since its inception in 1973 with the signature of the Treaty of Chaguaramas, became multilingual in practice. In July 2012, ten years after Haiti’s admission, the regional body announced that it was considering making French and Dutch official languages. And at the end of the 24th Intersessional Meeting of the Conference of Heads of Government of the Caribbean Community (CHOG), on 18 and 19 February, 2013 in Port-­au-Prince, a resolution was adopted to recognise French as the second language of the Community, a decision that was to become effective on 4 July of the same year at the regular summit of the CHOG in Trinidad and Tobago.

French or Creole?  131

The debate: French or Creole? Against the background of that discussion of the historical divisions and more recent rapprochement between the French and English-­speaking territories, it is important to examine the debate on whether French or Creole should be the official language of CARICOM. CARICOM and Creole The case for adopting Creole as the official language rests on six points that pertain to linguistics, demographics, constitutional matters, politics, human rights and culture. Each is discussed in turn. Language and the people The linguistic and demographic arguments are to be taken together: Haiti is over half the population of CARICOM2 and Haitians are overwhelmingly Creole monolinguals. In addition, there is increasing growth in the use of Creole in traditionally non-­Creole regions of the Caribbean. It is estimated that the intra­Caribbean Haitian Diaspora represents close to two million people and that Creole is the second most widely used language in many countries of the Caribbean, including the DR and The Bahamas. In fact, Creole is the third most widely spoken language in the Caribbean after English and Spanish, even when we add the populations of the 14 continental states in the Wider Caribbean Basin to the 24 island states of the Caribbean.3 Language and the Haitian Constitution Article 5 of the Haitian Constitution reads: ‘All Haitians are united by a common language: Creole. Creole and French are the official languages of the Republic’ (Constitution de la République d’Haïti/Republic of Haiti 1987). Saying that more than 50 per cent of the population of CARICOM is French or Creole-­speaking is a gross overstatement. While the Haitian Constitution formally puts French and Creole on an equal footing as the two official languages of the country, it acknowledges the precedence of Creole over French as being the cement of the nation. Haitians do not speak Creole and French as if they were bilingual. The very few with a command of French use it only in situations where they cannot or think they cannot speak Creole. This means that all linguistic situations are ‘spontaneously’ dealt with in Creole, including by the few people with a command of French. And even in those situations where the use of Creole might be regarded as impossible or at least awkward for want of syntactic or lexical equipment (for example in the Law or in technical scientific fields), the 1987 Constitution, in article 213 of Chapter V, provides for ‘imposing Creole and enabling its scientific and harmonious development’ (Constitution de la République d’Haïti/Constitution of the Republic of Haiti 1987).

132  B. Phipps The political argument: the linguistic policy The Constitution seems therefore, to make it a duty of Haitian law and policy makers to take steps to invest in the linguistic development and application of Creole in all fields so that it can become a full-­fledged language. Developing the language is not just the responsibility of the Haitian academy then; it also demands decisions by policy makers at the highest level of the State. By not choosing Creole as an official language of CARICOM, the Haitian policy makers might arguably be said to go against the Constitution. No wonder then that the choice of French as a second language triggered hostile reactions among the people concerned with the linguistic question. In January 2013, the Rector of the Haiti State University and the Committee for the establishment of an Academy of Haitian Creole sent an open letter to the Haitian government to make known the concerns of Haitian academics about the approach taken by President Michel Martelly in advancing French as an official language of CARICOM (in Léger 2013). Creole language and human rights Haiti, as the most advanced country in the development of Creole in the world, has a lot to offer the wider CARICOM region, in terms of language and culture. Besides paying tribute to the people who forged the language through the thick and thin of history, the choice of Creole would also formally recognise the dignity of Haitians of the Diaspora who are often discriminated against in their identity, and ultimately, in their language. The University of Toronto’s Frénand Léger (2013) argues that far from ensuring the respect and protection of the language and human rights of the Haitian minority in the Caribbean, the refusal to choose Creole is in keeping with the tradition of disrespect of the linguistic and human rights of the majority of the Haitians who speak only Creole. In addition, the choice of French as a second official language of CARICOM can hardly contribute to the protection of the interests of Haitian migrants to other Caribbean countries, who are the victims of xenophobic prejudices in the region. This argument is also found in the writings of José Clément (2013, p. 4): It is simply a contempt for this language forged from hard sacrifices on the colonial plantation houses and consequently a contempt for the Haitian people.… The time will come … [where] Creole … will be the common working language within CARICOM, and not French to be used as a tool of alienation.… Support from the leaders of CARICOM There is evidence of executive acknowledgement of Creole by some of the political and administrative leaders of CARICOM, namely St Lucia’s former Prime Minister Kenny Anthony and the Secretary-­General Irwin LaRocque, who have each addressed meetings of the Community in Creole (CARICOM Secretariat

French or Creole?  133 2012b, 2013a). It is important though to note that these two leaders have a background in the Creole language, both being nationals of countries where Creole is spoken, that is, St Lucia and Dominica, respectively. It was strange, however, that the President of Haiti did not, at the 24th Inter-­sessional meeting held in Port-­auPrince, use even one word in the language of the people on whose behalf he said he spoke during his welcoming message to CARICOM officials in Haiti; especially since Ambassador LaRocque had offered some Creole words in his opening remarks to the same meeting (CARICOM Secretariat 2013a). All the more difficult to understand, is Martelly’s pleading in favour of Babel during his speech: it is the same for the issue of language. Our diversity is our wealth. The culture of others becomes a part of everyone’s heritage. Integration is also the possibility for the other to express their important and unique nature. Our community is the Tower of Babel that should be treasured. (CARICOM Secretariat 2013b) CARICOM and French In spite of the aforementioned arguments for the adoption of Creole, there are also arguments which have been offered in favour of adopting French as a second official language in CARICOM. In this section, I will outline four of the main arguments which relate to: standardisation of language; international status and recognition; technical appropriateness and political support. Standardisation of language – one Creole or many? If the number of Creole speakers far exceeds the French speakers, the issue of the cross-­understanding of the different French-­based Creoles should not be underestimated. While the long history of the French language has led to a stabilisation of a single standard language, this has not been the case for the young Creole language, which has a diffracting history that has produced various distinct dialects many of which will inhibit communication. The size of Haiti’s population, but more importantly its separation from France and its almost autarchic development, resulted in the development of a national language that distanced itself from French. St Lucia and Dominica, for their part, have experienced a growing decreolisation as a result of the cannibalisation of Creole by English which now occupies the place deserted by French. On the contrary, the accession of Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guiana to the status of French departments in 1946 led to an amplification of the logic of integration with France. Schools, the media and all the activities of commercial consumerism have supplanted Creole by consolidating French as a quasi-­exclusive lexical provider. This therefore, raises the issue of which dialect would be the official language or a common working language for CARICOM, in the absence of a stable standardised Creole. Here, we return to the juxtaposition of CARICOM leaders

134  B. Phipps addressing President Martelly in Creole and President Martelly addressing them in French at the 2013 Inter-­sessional Meeting of the Conference of Heads of Government. While LaRocque pays a sincere tribute to the Haitian people through the formal use of the Haitian language, forged in blood and sweat, he, unlike Michel Martelly, does not use Creole as his daily language. Regional versus international status and recognition Even if Creole is more widely spoken than French in the region, the former remains a regional language, whereas the latter enjoys international status. This may account for the fact that President Martelly ‘turned a deaf ear to the calls of the Chancellor of the Haiti State University and the Committee for the creation of an Academy with regard to the promotion of Haitian Creole’ (Léger 2013, paragraph 2), seeking instead to meet with Mr Abdou Diouf, then Secretary-­ General of the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie (OIF ), ‘… to advance the cause for the adoption of the French language in CARICOM’ (Léger 2013, paragraph 2). In Michel Martelly’s view, arguably, the word international applies regionally as well. When CARICOM member states meet, various nations of the Caribbean meet. In that regard, the international dimension of French takes precedence over the regional character of Creole. Second, CARICOM’s relations with French-­speaking African groupings could be facilitated with French-­speaking Haiti. The growing importance of OIF, whose Secretary-­General in office happens to be Michaëlle Jean, a Canadian of Haitian origin; as well as the election of the Canadian-­Haitian writer Dany Laferrière to the French Academy, the second black figure ever in the history to become a member of this prestigious institution, are evidence of the international importance of French, including to Haitian people. In that regard, Haiti has an opportunity, through the international détour French allows, to broaden the Caribbean dimension and scope of CARICOM; and to steer clear of a vision of language that, for the sake of defending Creole, may end up stifling wider communication. In other words, one may argue that, far from being the liability its detractors consider it to be as a language that alienates CARICOM from the Haitian people or vice-­versa, French may, to the contrary, prove an asset for CARICOM. Technical appropriateness of languages for functionality Historically knocked around, the Creole language has for a long time been ‘closed within’ menial tasks. Reduced to immediate practical human activities, Creole has not had the pleasure of building the intellectual and scientific language that follows from free mental activity and the free exercise of time, two insoluble ingredients in a colonial economy. Creole is therefore faced with the following two choices. The first choice is to follow the way of total deviance, according to the theorem of the Martiniquan linguist and writer Jean Bernabé (1976), that consists of escaping the phagocytation by the French and searching in the Creole archives to resuscitate dormant words and/or to work one’s genius on the formation of new

French or Creole?  135 Creole words that would allow one to avoid the usage of French. As an example, during the 2009 social movement in Guadeloupe, the old dormant Creole word ‘pwofitasion’, was dug up, rekindled and became the name of the movement. LKP literally means ‘Lyannaj Kont Pwofitasion’ (Weaving, like Lianas, against Exploitation). Had the movement not achieved such unheard of success, ‘pwofitasion’ would have remained marginally used or become extinct, since the French word ‘exploitation’ was the word most commonly used before the LKP movement. The second choice for Creole is what could be called import substitution. The words, if not the entire expression, are transferred from French to Creole in a ‘copy and paste’ fashion. The greater the distance between the technicalities of the language considered and its capacity to respond to technical specifications, the more Creole will be forced to the nearest and best possible word, therefore the increase of its language indebtedness to the French. For the work of the Haitian Academy of Creole to be honoured and to have the choice of Creole as a common working language for CARICOM would, simply, be a herculean task of translation of a sophisticated technical language which is neither a priority of the Academy nor of CARICOM. In that case, the adoption of a Creole ‘a minima’ – more or less an ersatz of French – would only be in the interest of avoiding French rather than in the interest of employing a language with practical utility. Political support for French – the spoils of war When we consider the ambivalent relationship that the Haitian people have with Creole as with French, one can argue that Martelly, in his function as President, may have felt that the use of Creole with his non-­Haitian hosts would show a lack of respect towards the function that had been entrusted to him by the people. One could also argue that he would not want to pay lip service to Creole. At the same time, one could also argue that the intimate knowledge that Martelly – called ‘Tet Kalé’ – has of Creole, as a popular musician, could have led him to favour Creole for CARICOM. But it can also be contended that it is paradoxically his intimacy with Creole that dictated his conduct. In this sense, when he declared in French in 2013, ‘I am the voice of the whole nation of Haiti, who welcomes you and wholeheartedly offers you a most enjoyable stay’ (CARICOM Secretariat 2013b) he may indeed have been speaking the popular voice of wisdom capable of making the difference between the informal language of the home and the formal language of law, politics and scientific knowledge. Similarly, his reference to Martin Luther King at the 2011 meeting in St Kitts can be read in that light:  The reverend Martin Luther King had a dream for the United States of America. I have a dream as well for Haiti and its people. I have dreamt of a Haiti where after my five year term as President, the great majority of the Haitian children will learn to read and write.  (CARICOM Secretariat 2011)

136  B. Phipps

Towards a conclusion on the debate: which second language for CARICOM? The debate was not confined to CARICOM’s political circles. Ordinary citizens jumped into the fray to give a piece of their minds on the internet.4 ‘Pro-­French’ and ‘pro-­Creole’ commentators offered their opposing visions of the issue. The former argued that it was useless to argue over an elusive and fantasised international status of Creole (which is at an impasse), but that focus should be placed on the democratisation of French which has so far been confiscated by the ruling elite who deny the people access to development by trapping them in the use of Creole alone. The whole rhetoric on Creole, they argue, is at best counterproductive; at worst, an aggravation of the social divide in the country. The pro-­Creole commentators, for their part, contended that the issue is not French or Creole, as such a choice makes no sense for the overwhelming majority of Haitians. They contend that not only is it an aberration to teach children in a language with which they have no contact, which cannot but result in massive failure; French is also not the best linguistic ticket when it comes to giving Haitians a ‘fair shot’ in a globalised world.

Conclusions In summary, on the one hand, pro-­Creole advocates defend a ‘no-­nonsense approach’, an approach which is not to be taken in with fine words and that looks at the reality of the country head on in taking the most effective decisions. Pro-­ French supporters, for their part, are of the view that the issue of language is essentially the issue of freedom from bondage, specifically in politics. Considering the arguments on either side of the dispute, the debate has turned out to be more complex and nuanced than we anticipated. The difficulty in the required choice hinges upon the fact that the two languages are not on equal footing in the same way as French and English. It is not just that history made French the dominant language; Creole equally inherits its legitimacy from a history of entire areas that French does not control. The case for Creole is twofold: for one it is the language of the people and for a leader to fail to speak the language of the people when speaking in the name of the people boils down to being estranged from the people he purports to represent and ultimately to speaking in their own names. Second, beyond its content, the language spoken at international meetings has a ‘face value’ that should not be disregarded, which means that the choice of Creole would have expressed more than a mere no-­ nonsense practical approach of the issue. The arguments in favour of French as we saw are technical. It is better equipped to address technically complex questions on par with English. This by no means gives it any superiority over Creole. It is just that they do not occupy the same functional segments. Second, it cannot be gainsaid that on the international scene French has something of a competitive edge over Creole. Last, precisely because it is spoken by a minor portion of the population, the rich and

French or Creole?  137 the well-­off for the most part, French may be regarded as a source of wealth that the large masses of Haitians should be entitled to as well. In that respect, while French may serve as a tool of alienation, so can Creole. And conversely, if Creole is the hallmark of the Caribbean civilisation built through the thick and thin of slavery and colonisation, French is the hard won spoils of war ripped from the oppressor. However, we are still left at the end of the day with a choice to make. It seems to me that the linguistic question is not just a question of language. It speaks to the very core of the definition of the Community of the Caribbean – the Caribbean Community. While the dimension of trade between member countries is of paramount importance, CARICOM’s raison d’être is first and foremost living together. For that human adventure to be shared as largely as possible it must rest on a common original bedrock. That bedrock is Creole regardless of what idioms the various peoples of the Caribbean speak. Creole as a language is the expression, the metaphor as it were, of that common patrimony. It is one of the centrepieces of the construction of the Caribbean. It is the daily identity of millions of Caribbean people. And whatever reasons politics may invoke to go around the language the people speak, they will sound hollow if they turn their back on what makes the ‘deep down’ daily identity of the people. In effect, we agree with Glissant (1977) that the problem lies not so much in the ignorance of a language as in the inability to master an appropriate language. French as an extraneous, authoritative and socially divisive marker only serves to reinforce processes of deficiency. A critical review of the French language appears thus as the sine qua non condition for reclaiming the appropriate language.

Notes 1 The question of relevance has continued into 2016, as the newly elected Government of Jamaica, under the leadership of Seaga’s party – the Jamaica Labour Party, has appointed a Commission to review Jamaica’s participation in CARICOM. 2 Estimates for 2016 suggest a population of 11,078,033 Haitians, according to online population atlas, Population.net. Available from www.populationdata.net/pays/haiti/ [accessed 24 February 2017]. 3 It is noted that the word ‘Caribbean’ is polysemic with a stretchable geographical landscape and a political reality that do not always overlap. The expression ‘wider Caribbean’ which refers to the extension of the notion to the continental countries bordering the Caribbean Sea supposes a ‘smaller Caribbean’ that consists of the islands of the region. Politically, the ‘Caribbean’ refers to the socio-­economic groupings of the region – CARICOM being one of them. The adjective ‘Caribbean’ in ‘Caribbean Community’ has ‘wider’ connotations, given the fact that the membership includes continental countries like Suriname as well as small islands such as Barbados. 4 For example see the public comments made on Léger’s article. Available at: www. alterpresse.org/spip.php?article14114&fb_comment_id=566832109995642_7906492#. VlOjGIQU0_U [accessed 24 February 2017].

10 Imaginary narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent Media debates concerning Sonia Pierre and Juliana Deguis1 Gloria Amezquita Introduction The Haitian population on the island of Hispaniola constitutes the principal migrant group to the DR. This group has made a crucial contribution to different sectors of the national economy, including construction, agriculture and services. There are many perspectives on the Haitian presence and much public debate by different groups about the economic, political and cultural implications. A good example of the diversity of such views is captured here: Who is a Haitian? For a rich Dominicano, a rich Haitian is someone to do business with, someone who is looking for investment opportunities denied to him in his own country. For a poor Dominicano, a rich Haitian is an exploiter who gives him a job at the same wage paid to poor Haitians. For the more caring Dominicano, a Haitian is a human being who is given some money in the street, who is given clothing and work when possible … to be Haitian comprises a range of stereotypes and conditions behind which lurk various realities of exploitation and wounded humanity. (Diario Libre 16 July 2007) This way of viewing Haitians, this range of stereotypes that determines if neighbours are accepted as Legitimate Others, in Maturana’s (1928) terms, is fuelled by the perceptions held by different groups (nationalist and non-­nationalist)2 about current developments like the numbers of migrants and the legal status of their descendants, as well as historical events which include the so-­called Haitian Occupation3 and the killing of Haitians in the Massacre River ordered by the President of the DR Rafael Leonidas Trujillo in 1937, to cite some examples. In the last decade, the debate has shifted. Now it is not the Haitian sugar workers who are the focus. The nationalist forces have directed their efforts towards wresting from the formers’ sons and daughters the nationality that they have already acquired. The debate about who is and who is not a national of the DR has been a recurring theme that has mobilised various groups in the country, especially in the last decade. This debate has had significant national and international repercussions.

Narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent  139 However, before examining how the debate has been represented in the media, it is important to highlight some events that will help us to better understand the cases presented and the context in which they occurred.

Background Since 2003,4 the authorities of the DR, headed by the Central Electoral Council (Junta Central Electoral, JCE) have adopted a series of measures that affect the legal status of the Dominicano offspring of Haitian migrants. In 2007 two important events took place that paved the way for what would follow. The first was the JCE’s application for the cancellation of the birth registration of Sonia Pierre, a well-­known activist for the rights of Haitians and their descendants. The second was the publication of Circular No. 17 which ordered the officials of the Civil Registry to cease issuing birth certificates to citizens who were the descendants of ‘foreigners’ who might have been born in the DR but who may not have produced documentary evidence to substantiate the residence or legal status of their parents in the country. At the same time it prohibited the provision of copies of their birth certificates to those who had already been registered. These measures were expanded by Resolution No. 12 which extended the scope of the functions of the offices of the Civil Registry by establishing a procedure for the provisional suspension of birth registration entries presumed to be fraudulent or processed in an irregular manner. Unlike Circular No. 17, Resolution No. 12 was issued and signed by the plenary body of the Central Electoral Council and not simply by the Administrative Chamber, which attests to the support of the judiciary for these measures.5 Up until January 2010, the Constitution of the DR had established the right to nationality by a mixed system, either through having been born on the soil of the DR, or by virtue of having parents with Dominicano nationality. Article 11 of the Constitution stated that ‘Anyone born in the territory of the Dominican Republic is Dominicano, except for the children of foreign diplomats and persons who are in transit through the territory’. The people who are negatively affected today were registered under the provisions of this article. Likewise, the Constitution stated that ‘All those persons who are children of Dominicano fathers and mothers are Dominicano on the basis of the principle of jus sanguinis, the predominant element used to recognise the nationality of Haitian descendants born in the country’. This was the provision adopted in the amended Constitution of 26 January 2010. The most recent controversial action taken in this regard is Ruling 168 issued by the Constitutional Court on 23 September 2013. This judgment stripped Juliana Deguis of her Dominicano nationality and mandated the review of all the birth registrations of Dominicanos of Haitian descent born between 1929 and 2010. The ruling, like the measures that preceded it, contravened the legal principle that laws should not be applied with retroactive effect.

140  G. Amezquita In light of the provisions of this ruling, and as a palliative measure to address the situation, Law No. 169, the Law on a Special Regime and Naturalization Process was passed on 23 May 2014. It was legislated with alacrity by the National Congress and was presented as one element of a consensus hammered out by various sectors, partly in response to the wave of international criticism directed at the state because of the earlier actions. Among the most consistent critiques were those expressed by the member states of CARICOM in bilateral meetings and various other international fora. Law 169–2014 ordered the immediate delivery, without any administrative procedures, of identity documents to people affected by the judgment of the Constitutional Court. Nonetheless it specified two groups of persons who were born on the territory of the DR between 1929 and 2010, just as Ruling 168 had done. Group A consisted of Dominicanos and Dominicanas of Haitian descent whose births had been recorded in the Civil Registry. Group B consisted of Dominicanos and Dominicanas of Haitian descent whose births had not been recorded in the Civil Registry. The law stated that for Group A, the JCE should deliver and reinstate without any administrative requirements the documents of those who had been affected by Ruling No. 168–13. However, for Group B, a special process of naturalisation was established through Decree 250 of 23 May 2014, which would only become effective three months after its publication, all of which implied for Group B an overall delay of five months (May to October 2014) before the naturalisation process would even begin. At the same time as these laws were being passed, the JCE was implementing other provisions of Judgment 168 which entailed doing an audit of the birth certificates that had been issued to the children of ‘aliens’ during the period specified in the judgment. A Commission was appointed for this purpose and given one year in the first instance to do its work, which could be extended for a second year. Once this commission delivered its report, the JCE published a controversial list of more than 50,000 Dominicanos of Haitian descent who would get back their nationality. The audit was used by the JCE as justification for not delivering the documents immediately as the law had stipulated. As previously pointed out, Law 169 and Decree 250 seek to address the predicament of Dominicanos and Dominicanas whose lives have been placed in limbo, however, their implementation has not produced this result. According to a report known as the Assessment of Law 169 of 2014, done by the Movement of Dominican-­Haitian Women (MUDHA) and the Bono Centre,6 the implementation of the legislation has encountered significant obstacles, some of which are highlighted in Table 10.1.7 Parallel to the process of ‘solving’ the documentation situation, the JCE continued to petition the Courts of First Instance to annul the birth registration of persons affected by the ruling of 2013. This was being done on the basis of alleged dual civil registration. The most recent documented case of such a cancellation of birth registration was that of Juliana Deguis, who was subjected to an extreme form of racism.

Narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent  141 Table 10.1  Obstacles to the implementation of the Law 169 and Decree 250 Group A

Group B

• The immediate issuing of nationality documents was authorized but a timeframe by which this should take place was not established. • There were delays on the part of the JCE in issuing documents, based on the claim that it was carrying out the audit in order to proceed with the issuance of identity papers. • The Council published a list which contained the personal data of affected persons, thereby violating their right to privacy. • A special book was produced, the ‘Book of Transcriptions’ in which they registered the Dominicans of Haitian descent who already had their documents.

Significant administrative hurdles such as: • the process did not begin simultaneously in all regional offices, among other things because of lack of knowledge/information about the process; • individuals were being asked to produce more personal witnesses than the stipulated number of seven;1 • the Naturalization Process was handled as part of the National Plan for Foreigners. Some persons were registered in this latter category.

Source: MUDHA/Centro 2015. Note 1 Decree 250–14 says that Dominicano birth can be established by producing a statement from a public hospital or private medical centre with the mother’s name, the baby’s gender and date of birth. If the individual was not born in a hospital, there can be notarized statements from seven Dominicano witnesses giving the date of birth, the baby’s name, the parents’ names, and there must also be a sworn, notarized statement from the midwife giving the date and place of birth and the mother’s name (Hannam 2014, p. 1154).

Conceptual framework In responding to the situations of the affected persons, civil society groups who support Dominicanos/as of Haitian descent and the interest group that supports the actions of the Constitutional Court targeted public opinion and channelled their perspectives into the discussions taking place via the various mass media platforms. This chapter aims to use Mary Douglas’s Cultural Groups theory (1998)8 to analyse the characteristics and considerations that are evidenced in the media debate on nationality and documentation. The way in which the various types of mass media present a theme helps to shape the social constructs and imaginaries that are invoked by a specific interest group and set of stakeholders. The myth that is constructed is what influences people towards accepting or rejecting a situation, an idea and a statement concerning a specific theme. People interpret situations and issues on the basis of imaginaries and ideological constructs that they hold (Douglas 1998). For Douglas, there are four types of society, each of which forms part of a cultural map (see Figure 10.1). Cultural theory begins by situating the context in which the discourse takes place, then it uncovers the strategies and identifies the foundation myth as the

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final connecting element with the aim of showing ‘how each vision that is present in the arguments originates in a distinct perspective in the society: individualistic, isolated, hierarchical or egalitarian’ (Douglas 1998). Therefore, cultural theory bases its enquiry on social organisation, postulating that in every community, those who exercise power must possess strategies aimed at ensuring their positions and confronting criticism. Mary Douglas emphasises that the two dimensions of the social space are the structural pressures and the group pressures. The different cultural tendencies are the protagonists in a contest to dominate the discourse. To throw blame is to show to which group one belongs and to distance oneself from the others. In this sense, the individualist groups might blame the hierarchies for suppressing freedom of action and exploiters of the labour force for opposing their access to benefits. Social dissident groups tend to blame the system in its entirety. To illustrate these concepts, two concrete case studies have been selected that encompass all the regulations and Judgment TC 168–13, and that are representative of thousands of cases, people who are in many ways reliving the 1937 Haitian massacre, this time without visible bloodshed but nonetheless experiencing the annihilation of their existence.

Cancellation of birth registration and other documentation: Sonia Pierre and Juliana Deguis The cases of Sonia Pierre and Juliana Deguis are mirror images of the experiences of so many other people in similar situations. Their stories are characterised by the fact that they are female protagonists, daughters of Haitians, born in

Narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent  143 a sugar zone of the DR and that they have children of their own. This chapter presents the media discussions in each case and illustrates the contextual framework leading up to Judgment TC 168–13, a sentence against the life of Sonia Pierre, and which also suspended the civil aspects of the life of Juliana Deguis.

Sonia Pierre: a constant struggle to exist Sonia Pierre’s struggle to survive was summarised by El Pais (2010) as follows: Sonia Pierre has been targeted with criticism from the government of her country, harassment from the private sector and death threats ever since she was arrested at the tender age of 13 for the being the spokesperson for a cane cutters protest in the town of Altagracia in the South East of the Dominican Republic where she was born in 1963. (El Pais, Spain, March 2010) In 2007, members of the JCE applied for a judicial cancellation of Sonia Pierre’s birth registration.9 Franklin Garcia Fermin10 emphasised in a letter to the press that ‘any action to strip her of her nationality is an act of retaliation’ (The Editor 2007). Garcia Fermin’s statement was in reference to her work defending migrants and their descendants, including the cases of the girls Yean and Bosico which were taken up by MUDHA, the organisation headed by Mrs Pierre, and in which the legal judgments of 2005 went against the DR. In this instance, public responses were quite polarised. On the one hand, there were those who defended Pierre’s right to citizenship and on the other hand, there were those who challenged it. The first group can be defined using Douglas’ terminology as ‘dissident enclaves’, since they presented the standpoint of the affected parties and advocated for their rights. Within this group were the Robert Kennedy Memorial at the international level and, at the national level, a coalition of NGOs and dissident members of the JCE. On the other side, Douglas’s ‘conservative hierarchy’, were those who questioned and put on trial Sonia’s Dominicano nationality. They included the National Progressive Force (FNP), the Chair of the Administrative Chamber of the JCE and the National Frontier Council. In this debate, the conservative hierarchy groups were described by the dissident enclaves as ‘small party’, ‘minuscule grouping’, ‘xenophobic and anti-­ Haitian leaders’ (referring to the FNP). Likewise, the labels applied to the institutions and individuals on the other side were ‘anti-­Nation’, ‘pro-­Haitian’. In reference to Pierre, there were statements such as, ‘They have cast her as a victim and this helps her international campaign’. In this sense, one cannot only speak of imaginaries surrounding the conflictual theme, but also that each group invented myths about the actions of the others, as expressed in the foregoing rhetoric. During the media debate around Pierre, there were three myths that were emphasised by the conservative groups: (1) ‘Sonia Pierre insists that she is

144  G. Amezquita Dominicana’ as they constructed the narrative that denies her nationality; (2) Her documents were fraudulently acquired; (3) Her intentions were to seek protagonists or a leadership position for herself in the public sphere. Sonia Pierre’s death in December 2011 saw her being referred to as ‘a natural daughter’11 of her own country amid dispute over her nationality and the resistance to recognising her Dominicano citizenship. The headline of the newspaper El Dia (2011) read ‘The Surprising Death of Sonia Pierre throws the Haitian Community into Mourning’. Even after her death, the press snatched her nationality away from her, always labelling her as a Haitian-­Dominicana. It was as if the newspapers begrudged conceding in print the nationality accorded to her by the soil of Villa Altagracia12 where she was born and where she also died.

Juliana Deguis: life suspended by a court ruling The ruling (168–13) of the Constitutional Court was pronounced on 23 September against Juliana Deguis, divesting her nationality not just by sowing doubts via the press, but also by the more definitive judicial route. In response she declared: ‘I am the victim of an attempt to strip me of my nationality’ through an illegal act that ‘is based on discrimination against me because I am descended from a family of migrant workers in the bitter sugar cane’. This judgment was not only directed at Juliana Deguis. It was also intended to silence the forces on the street, mobilised by the activities of Reconoci.do,13 which had won victories in administrative court proceedings in various parts of the country, resulting in various Dominicanos of Haitian descent obtaining their documents. It seemed that the nationalist forces had found in this court judgment the way to paralyse the actions of those defending the human rights of the Dominicano victims of this new ‘Parsley Policy’.14 The publication of the judgment triggered unprecedented levels of public interest in national issues. For almost six months the media debate transcended the borders of the DR. For the first time, other Caribbean countries condemned the action of the DR, as representatives of Trinidad and Tobago did at the United Nations. Internally, there was intense debate. As in the Sonia Pierre case, the debate was polarised into two blocs, the conservative hierarchy and the dissidents, the former proclaiming the soundness of the Constitutional Court’s judgment and its supreme authority in the face of any international reaction or popular pressure. The dissident bloc called for the protection of the rights of Juliana and her children and the repeal of the judgment because of the negative impact it would have for the affected population. Unlike in the Sonia Pierre case, in this latter case the labels directed at the conservative hierarchy applied both to the judgment itself and to those who were associated with it. The judgment was considered by the civil society actors who opposed it as ‘an injustice, a legal aberration, discriminatory and inspired by Nazi laws’. The actors of the Constitutional Court were described as ‘ultra­ nationalist culprits’. With regard to the dissident enclaves, the principal description used was ‘civil society masquerade’ (Medina 2014). This label was used to

Narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent  145 refer to the civil society organisations that had been assisting Juliana with her US visa application. They also applied the epithet to government officials who supported her cause or who had promoted dialogue with civil society as a means of finding a solution to the situation. The organisations that supported Juliana Deguis, like the Jacques Veau Network and the Movement of Haitian-­Dominicano Workers (MOSTHA) or any other organisation that defended the rights of Dominicanos of Haitian descent aroused deep-­seated nationalist tendencies in the country and they have been labelled by those sectors. One of the main accusations levelled is that they are ‘USAID NGOs’, a term which connotes two key ideas in the discourse of the nationalist groups. The first is that the US through these organisations tries to make the DR take responsibility for, or resolve the Haitian issue, and the second is the idea that the US and France are the parties who must accept this responsibility since Haiti was occupied by the former and colonised by the latter. This discourse magnifies the image of Haitians as dead weight, given the state of the country crushed by overwhelming poverty. But it is obvious that the use and abuse of this poverty has enabled the Dominicano business sector and state to produce wealth and to develop public infrastructure with cheap labour. A constant term used in the discussion was ‘illegal Haitian’. News headlines announced the ‘regularization of illegal foreigners’, ‘offspring of illegal Haitians’, ‘offspring of illegals’. This element is critically important because the message it promotes in the news media is that not only are the individuals with this problem Haitian people, but that Haitians resident in the country or their descendants can only obtain their documentation by irregular means. While the media debate ebbs and flows, the interest groups raise and lower their voices, the life stories of this collection of Dominicanos and Dominicanas continue to weave a complex history. Although the problems appear to have been addressed and silenced, the JCE continues its project of divesting people of their nationality documents. And, while all this is taking place, Juliana Deguis Pierre, born 31 years ago of Haitian parents, in the DR, who has never left the country, who speaks neither French nor Haitian Creole, goes on with her life hanging in legal limbo that not only damages her civil existence but also her whole being. Juliana has stated that I am saddened that foreigners had to take up my case because when the electoral authorities initially refused to issue copies of my birth registration, I went in search of protection from the Dominicano legal system that is supposed to protect our constitutional rights – we, the citizens of this country. (El Periodico Hoy 2014a) Contrary to the press statements that accuse her of carrying out an international campaign to discredit the country, it was the failure of the national institutions that led to the door of the Inter-­American Human Rights Commission. Moreover, with the Dominicano authorities still refusing to propose a legal solution,

146  G. Amezquita the finishing touch to the media debate took place in March 2014 when Juliana was prevented from leaving the country to attend a sitting of the Inter-­American Human Rights Commission. Although the US granted her a humanitarian visa to appear at the hearing, the immigration authorities prevented her from leaving the International Airport of the Americas, on the grounds that she did not have a passport. Jose Ricardo Taveras,15 Head of the Directorate-­General of Migration (DGM) and a member of the FNP, made a statement that confirms what can be termed as ‘institutionalized discrimination’: ‘Whatever the visa says and whoever issued it, that is their prerogative, but for now she will not leave through here’ proclaimed Taveras and went on to announce that ‘the only way she can leave is through the Haitian border if she returns to her country’ (Tavárez 2014). Despite Ricardo Taveras’s statements and after a new media debate in which this time the United Nations High Commission for Refugees was implicated, Juliana obtained her national ID card in August 2014. After more than ten years of struggle to obtain her documents and after all the damage to various aspects of her life, the young woman succeeded in her goal of obtaining a birth certificate in order to be able to have a better job and to register her own children. But, what she did not realise, and likewise what the other people who had obtained their documents did not understand either, was the temporary nature of their victory. Since there are applications to nullify these awards, the case is still not closed. The Central Electoral Council applied for her registration to be annulled and this application was granted in January 2017. Now Juliana is back where she was in 2014, or perhaps in a worse situation, undocumented, without any certainty of obtaining citizenship and without her children being registered. The JCE has maintained a vicious cycle in the case of Juliana and also with many others who have suffered through a similar process.

What are the common elements in these cases? There are a number of common features in the debates surrounding these cases; debates that developed in a context of institutional change trending towards greater conservatism and inflexible provisions. The cases, despite their specificities, reflect the reality of hundreds of people who have no access to public opinion. Certain elements stand out: Catalysts: in both cases there was a development that triggered the debate, linked to reports or declarations emanating from international organisations. In this context, the external developments are classified by the conservative hierarchy as interference or violations of national sovereignty. Conversely, the dissident enclaves perceive the international arena as an obvious means of defending human rights since the domestic channels have been exhausted and the country is a signatory to international declarations. A clearly identified target group: The cases of Sonia Pierre and Juliana Deguis are representative of the situations of hundreds of affected people who appear only as a number, as statistics in the media debate. It should be noted that the JCE provisions referred to ‘foreign parents in irregular or illegal situations’

Narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent  147 but in fact they have only been applied to the descendants of Haitians. For instance, the authorities failed to challenge the nationality of a prominent Italian family, raising the question of whether the treatment of Haitians was discriminatory. The consequence for Haitian-­Dominicanos is that their lives have been put on hold. They find it difficult to access jobs to enable them to provide for their basic needs; are vulnerable to police operations; and are denied access to education and health care. These conditions run the risk of reproducing the cycle of poverty and diminishing prospects for a decent life. Binary opposites in the debate: the media debate has highlighted a series of binary opposites between the polarised groups, images and labels which invoke a historical discourse that is charged with racism: • • • • •

nationalists versus enemies of the country; national sovereignty versus the guarantee of human rights; absorption by Haiti versus brotherhood between the two peoples; illegal Haitians – undocumented Haitians; Haitian-­Dominicanos versus Dominicanos of Haitian descent.

Denial of the Dominicano identity: To elaborate further on the last point above, the conservative groups narrate a myth that those who call themselves Dominicanos are not really so. For example, Leonel Fernandez Reina, the former President of the Republic and Director of Fundación Global Democracia y Desarrollo (FUNGLODE), in reference to Juliana Deguis, states: ‘there are people who have had the impression that they are Dominicano’ (Siete Dias 2013). How can a person have the impression of having a nationality if the authorities of the country gave her de jure recognition of this?

Implicit institutionalised racism As mentioned earlier, the JCE did not state explicitly that such measures were directed at the population of Haitian descent. However, this has been the reality. The measures adopted are basically a rejection of all things Haitian. Wilfredo Lozano (El Periodico Hoy 2014b), the well-­known Dominicano sociologist, argues that in Juliana’s case, ‘an authoritarian political project, almost amounting to segregation, has emerged’. The strongest evidence of this institutionalised discrimination lay in the declaration made by Ricardo Taveras, Director of Migration. This type of discrimination is evidenced by actions and is felt by the affected people. Official denials of discrimination and the consequent failure to address it intensify the discrimination that already exists. The DR’s Ambassador to Haiti, Ruben Sellie, locates this attitude in a rejection of blackness: ‘the Dominicano does not want to be black and makes it difficult to marshal public opinion to unveil racism and to accept ourselves’ (Servicio Jesuita a Migrantes, 2009). As we have seen, the issue of documentation in the case of Dominicanos of Haitian descent is very serious because of the deprivation suffered by the people who do not have identity documents, and also because of the political divide it

148  G. Amezquita has created. We refer to the two opposed groups, the conservative one which has the support of certain political interest groups and well-­ positioned business people as well as the upper echelons of the Catholic Church, which were openly in favour of the judgment. The dissident group is mainly composed of civil society organisations. It has the support of most of the rank and file of the Catholic Church and important international allies. On this topic, it is easier to emphasise the uncertainties and the looming questions than it is to make clear conclusions. Why has the government moved so slowly to find a solution, what are the factors threatening its political alliances? What solution will it offer to so many people who can only work on the basis of their documentary status, who cannot hold a job in the formal sector or enjoy workers’ benefits? Why is the Dominicano private sector not interested in preventing catastrophic situations like these from occurring? In what ways might they be benefitting from easy access to generations of undocumented workers? Racism as practiced against Haitians in the DR is institutionalised, because it transcends the private sphere and implicates the collective. In the DR, this level of intentionality of the racism has become more concrete and increasingly systematic through subtle and more overt developments such as the following: 1 Circular No. 17 was published by the Administrative Chamber of the JCE, but was also reinforced by Resolution No. 12, which was signed by the Judicial Plenary attached to the same entity. This extended the scope of the edict and gave the ensuing practices greater legitimacy. 2 Law 169 established two categories A and B, which implied not only segregation between Dominican citizens and Haitian descendants, but also a further segregation within the ranks of the latter group of affected persons. 3 Group B, as we specified earlier on, in principle applies to Dominicanos of Haitian descent whose births have never been registered in the Civil Registry, however in practice they are not seen as nationals of the DR. 4 The law that was drafted to provide a solution to this situation is a law of naturalisation. The law that was drafted to provide a solution to this situation is a law of naturalisation that, ironically, sought to naturalise persons who were already nationals of the country. This approach to resolving the issue begins by placing the affected persons outside of the realm of DR citizenship. 5 The files for persons in this group are handled in the Ministry of the Interior and Police Services, in departments that do not work on the documents of citizens but of foreign nationals. 6 The Naturalization Law is being implemented as part of the strategy contained in the Plan for the Regularization of Foreigners and in this context, various cases have been reported as being dealt with under the latter Plan and not under procedures for the registration of citizens as they ought to be. In these processes of cancellation of the documentation, it is not only the group’s nationality that is called into question, but its entire existence as Dominicanos in

Narratives about Dominicanos of Haitian descent  149 the society. The act expresses a power relationship in which those who are considered a threat or those whom they do not wish to be Dominicano citizens are expelled. The implementation of Law No. 169 for Group B individuals creates a dynamic of existing and of not existing, since the person is supposedly identified as Dominicano, but in reality is recognised as a foreigner who may be eligible for naturalisation. Moving beyond the issue of the adoption or the non-­adoption of this legislation, the action damages the individual’s ability to act in the social and political spheres and of freely exercising the rights and duties of citizenship. To paraphrase Hinkelammert (2003, pp. 65–66), if I defeat you, I put my power on display, I demonstrate clearly that I do not care if you or your parents are no longer in the territory, that we have no regard for the status quo of many years. The symbolic weight of these provisions is as strong as the legal one. Can a person easily understand or accept that after so many years of believing that he/ she was a citizen of the DR, now that is no longer the case? Undoubtedly, the elaboration of myths and imaginaries in the themes explored here, as in many others, is a constant driven by the media and supported by interest groups and institutions like schools or the family setting. A major challenge facing the DR is to work to dismantle the negative myths about Haitians and their descendants that populate most of the history of the Republic. Making this change necessitates a critical reading of historical narratives, the construction of positive myths, the strengthening of relationships and the recognition of the Other as legitimate. To refer once again to Hinkelammert (2005, pp.  127–131), to construct positive imaginaries implies affirming from all the different perspectives ‘that we exist only if the others exist’.

Notes   1 Paper presented at Annual International Conference of the Instituto de Superior de Relaciones Internacionales, 25–30 November 2014, Havana Cuba.   2 The term nationalists refers to those who base their arguments on normative views about sovereignty, national security or protection of the country and who fashion their ideas, propositions and actions around such themes. Non-­nationalists do not embrace such notions in the same way.   3 Between 1822 and 1844 the territory of the DR was ruled by Haiti, led at that time by General Royer.   4 In 2003, Roberto Rosario Marquez was appointed to the JCE and currently serves as its Chairman. He is a member of the FNP, a party allied with the Dominican Liberation Party (Partido de la Liberacion Dominicana, PLD) in terms of its programme, and which is characterised by its openly anti-­Haitian stance. PLD administrations have governed the DR without interruption since 2004.   5 It should be noted that only two judges of the Constitutional Court, Justices Eddy Olivares and Aura Celeste Fernandez, publicly stated their opposition to these regulations.   6 The Bono Centre is a Jesuit human rights organisation that operates in the Haitian-­DR border areas.   7 Source: Author compiled table using the information provided in the MUDHA/Bono Report (2015) Assessment of Law 169 of 2014.

150  G. Amezquita   8 Mary Douglas (1998) states that there are several cultural groups with specific characteristics. In each case, language, religion and social practices may encompass a special symbolism.   9 Sonia Pierre died in December 2011. She was born in Villa Altagracia, a town located in the North of the DR. She was the daughter of Haitians who had migrated to the DR during the dictatorship of Rafael Leonidas Trujillo. She was a social activist who defended the rights of Dominicanos of Haitian descent. She was the founder and President of the Movement of Haitian-­Dominicano Women (MUDHA), an organisation that works with low-­income women on issues that include their rights and their documentation, sex education and health in the sugar cane districts of Monte Plata, Villa Altagracia and Santo Domingo. Sonia received international awards for the social work she had done for many years. 10 He was Vice Rector of the state-­owned Autonomous University of Santo Domingo in 2007 and an expert in constitutional law. 11 In this case, it implies that she was an outside child who did not really belong to the DR. 12 A municipality of the province of San Cristobal where Sonia Pierre was born and died. 13 Reconoci.do is a social movement that brings together Dominicanos of Haitian descent affected by the national measures that threaten their citizenship rights. It emerged in 2011 as a campaign in reaction to specific events and it evolved into a space for advocacy which organises demonstrations, debates, analyses of critical developments and lobbying activities. 14 During the Trujillo dictatorship, the Parsley Policy was established to identify those who were Haitian and those who were not. People suspected of being Haitian were required to pronounce the word parsley (perejil). If it was not pronounced in a flowing manner, if there were difficulties with pronouncing the ‘r’, the individual was Haitian and risked deportation, ill treatment or even death. This action was part of the policy of whitening the population that Trujillo espoused during his regime. 15 Member of the FNP.

Part IV

Assessing initiatives in pan-­Caribbean regionalism

11 Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM From Grant Aid to Compensated Development Cooperation Milagros Martínez Reinosa1 Introduction Cuba’s external relations with the Caribbean region can be evaluated as a successful one (Suárez Salazar 1997, p. 11). At the same time, the changes observed over the last decade in the global and hemispheric contexts indicate the necessity of submitting this relationship to a comprehensive review. In particular, the exacerbation of the global economic crisis and its negative impacts on the developing world has compelled Cuba to look for alternative mechanisms that allow it to preserve South–South cooperation as a central element of its foreign relations. This chapter explores the practice of international cooperation in the developing world, specifically by examining the Cuban experience with the member countries of CARICOM. The concept of cooperation, as the core of the external projection of the Cuban Revolution is analysed, together with main changes in its understanding and implementation during the last years. The future course of Cuban cooperation policy is also examined, taking into consideration the introduction of alternatives that may open new possibilities for the exercise of multilateral cooperation. As a case study, this chapter assesses Cuba’s assistance to Haiti after the earthquake of 12 January 2010. Defining cooperation I define cooperation as a space in which each participant interacts with others to achieve a common purpose and to produce consensus as a group.2 Cooperation means creating a collective synergy, where all contribute and receive, although each participant brings different capabilities in different dimensions according to diverse fields of action and where the values ​​of solidarity, complementarity and reciprocity set the standard. The sense of collective architecture emerging from these interactions allows for recognition of cooperation as the foundation of an alternative and independent path to overcoming underdevelopment.

Cooperation and Cuba In the search for a qualitatively different way of positioning itself within the international system, Cuba has upheld solidarity as its philosophy and cooperation as its

154  M. Martínez Reinosa tool of implementation. Cuba has sought to avoid, though not always successfully, welfare-­based perspectives on cooperation that do not contribute to autonomy and self-­development. Instead, the building of capacity to fight dependence is the guiding principle of Cuba’s exercise of international development cooperation. This approach is embedded within a vision of South–South cooperation, which emerges from the joint actions of states, based on mutual respect and political will, to cooperatively pursue development. This is substantially different to the welfare approach to cooperation. A report of the Cuban Foreign Ministry from 2012 estimated that since 1961 Cuba has implemented cooperation programmes in 157 countries, with the participation of more than 400,000 Cubans (Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Cuba 2012). Cooperation programmes have been developed in many areas but especially in education through the programme ‘Yes I Can’ (Yo Sí Puedo) and in health services provision through ‘Operation Miracle’ (Operacíon Milagro). Other key examples are humanitarian assistance provided after extreme events in different places of the planet, which has proved to be highly important to Haiti and other Caribbean nations; joint efforts developed within the ALBA mechanism together with Venezuela, Ecuador and Nicaragua; and the inauguration and performance of the Latin American School of Medicine (ELAM). Published national statistics indicate that from 2004 to 2007 Cuba’s donations clearly surpassed the grants received by Cuba (Oficina Nacional de Estadística e Información 2012, Table 8.3). In 2008, due to the effect of the global economic crisis together with severe damages suffered by hurricanes that affected the island, the trend changed. Cuba continued its cooperation activity, but provided less financial resources than before. As Frei Betto3 commented in a meeting with students of the University of Havana in April 2007, to live in Cuba is like living in a monastery because the Community takes precedence over individuality. He also acknowledged that, to do so, a large dose of altruism is needed. Cuba’s cooperation programmes, often ignored by the international media, are based on the daily sacrifice of the Cuban population.

Cuba and the Caribbean The importance that Cuba places on the Caribbean is tangible in many ways. The Constitution of the Republic of Cuba explicitly refers to its national policy towards the Caribbean by recognising Cuba’s willingness to integrate with Latin America and the Caribbean. This statement was confirmed in 1992, in the section related to the constitutional precepts of Cuban foreign policy.4 It was not until the nineties that the basis for the articulation of a coherent, harmonious and concerted strategy that recognises the Caribbean’s importance to Cuban foreign policy objectives was created. At the same time, the Caribbean region became a clear priority for Cuba’s foreign policy. It is precisely during these years that Cuba’s external projection to the Caribbean was most dynamic and effective (Suárez Salazar 1997). As a result, the Cuban foreign policy strategic plan approved for the period 2000–2010 committed Cuba to work intensely to

Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM  155 strengthen relations with the Caribbean, not only with CARICOM members, but also with rest of the countries which form part of the wider Caribbean. Cuba and the Caribbean: development cooperation As noted earlier, South–South cooperation has been the cornerstone of Cuban external projection towards developing countries during the Revolution. Cuba is among the world frontrunners on technical cooperation provision to the developing world. The Caribbean area has been privileged in this regard. South–South cooperation has been present in Cuban relations with the Caribbean since the 1960s. The civil aid provided to Guyana in 1961 was the first experience of its kind,5 followed by programmes in other Caribbean countries. More recently, dozens of Cuban doctors have treated patients in the poorest areas of the Caribbean, in the wake of four damaging hurricanes and a tropical storm that affected the area in 2003 and 2004. The summits of Heads of State and Government have been an effective mechanism for political exchange and cooperation coordination at the highest level between CARICOM and Cuba. The first was celebrated on 8 December 2002, in Havana, on the thirtieth anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations between Cuba and Barbados, Guyana, Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago and, since then, are held every three years: Bridgetown, 2005; Santiago de Cuba, 2008; and Trinidad and Tobago, 2011 (Granma 2005, 2008, 2009, 2012). Preparations for the Fifth Summit on 8 December 2014 in Havana began with a meeting of Foreign Ministries in Grenada in 2013. Cuban cooperation through intergovernmental summits It is worth making some remarks about the most significant elements of the Third and Fourth Summits in 2008 and 2011, respectively. The Third Cuba–CARICOM Summit in 2008 was regarded as a success by diplomats and experts (Fernández de Cossió 2009). Fourteen Heads of State or Government from CARICOM attended the meeting, more than were present at similar meetings that CARICOM had previously had with other main partners such as the US and Canada. The central topic for discussion was cooperation for further integration in the Caribbean and actions for the region to address the global economic crisis.6 It was the first summit that President Raúl Castro Ruz was attending as Head of State. He confirmed that cooperation programmes were and would continue to be a central element in Cuba’s relations with the Caribbean, both bilaterally and with the bloc. President Castro recognised the importance of this relationship in countering US attempts to affect Cuba’s external relations. At this summit, Cuba confirmed its decision to maintain the levels of cooperation achieved, despite the difficult economic conditions arising from the US economic blockade, the severe damages caused by three hurricanes in 2008 and the negative impacts of the global economic crisis. The 2008 summit was also a moment for consolidating relations between the peoples of the Caribbean region. Not only did it focus on strengthening

156  M. Martínez Reinosa the already stablished programmes, but also work was done to identify new cooperation initiatives to contribute to the socio-­ economic progress of the region. The Cuban government introduced an important shift in the implementation of capacity-­building programmes by proposing to conduct some of the programmes in the recipient countries instead of in Cuba, with the exception of the training offered in higher education institutions. That change would contribute to reducing costs of implementation and to achieving a closer understanding of the real challenges faced by recipient countries. In the Fourth Summit held in 2011, the Cuban government reaffirmed its willingness to further consolidate relations with CARICOM and to seek renewed ways to implement cooperation projects as well as to increase the effectiveness of existing ones. Cuba also highlighted two key elements from its cooperation policy in the region. First, the priority given to Haiti was to be maintained. Second, despite the persistent economic crisis and its costs to the Cuban people, Cuba would honour commitments undertaken, reflecting the centrality of solidarity to the alternative social model Cuba was constructing. Cuban cooperation through ALBA and PetroCaribe The Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of the Americas/Alianza Bolivariana para los Pueblos de Nuestra América (ALBA), which is a regional project with a substantial social agenda at the centre of its work, was established on 14 December 2004. Four pillars characterise ALBA: cooperation, sovereignty, solidarity and complementarity. Among them, cooperation is the most outstanding (Garcia Lorenzo 1996). In ALBA’s XII Presidential Summit, held in July 2013, in Guayaquil, Ecuador, members agreed on the need to continue efforts towards the integration of Latin America and the Caribbean, focusing on respect for human dignity and the achievement of economic development, the right of self-­ determination of peoples and the defence of sovereignty. ALBA projects have reached the most diverse countries regardless of political orientations and their effective participation in the bloc. ALBA’s focus is to work for the benefit of societies. Up to 2010, the three CARICOM states that were full members of ALBA had received, through different projects and the PetroCaribe programme, US$145 million, while the EU had contributed US$27 million through its development aid programmes (Girvan 2011b). Up to December 2012, Cuba reported that 1,983 Cubans were providing services in different Caribbean territories as part of its cooperation programmes. In addition, by that date, 96,382 surgeries had been performed, 4,020 Caribbean professionals had graduated from Cuban universities and 2,845 scholarships to study various specialties in Cuba had been awarded (Granma 2012). These actions have secured the goodwill of Caribbean governments and peoples towards Cuba and have helped to consolidate the principle of solidarity as a base for forging unity among Caribbean countries. Cuba’s main participation in ALBA is directly related to ALBA’s social projects, including literacy, vocational and higher education programmes. In addition to

Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM  157 programmes in the health and education fields – ‘Yes I Can’ and ‘Operation Miracle’ – Cuba has also developed sports and cultural projects. Other agreements included cooperation in tackling common problems that affect regional security, such as drug trafficking, natural disasters, environmental protection, maritime borders and migration. The energy cooperation agreement PetroCaribe, established on 29 June 2005, has also contributed to this renewed vision of regional integration. It has been identified as a principal coping strategy in response to the negative impacts associated with the global crisis despite the pressure the debts acquired may pose to the balance of payments of certain Caribbean economies. At the Eighth PetroCaribe Summit in Managua, Nicaragua in June 2013, it was also reported that, according to figures offered by Petróleos de Venezuela S.A., since 2007, 232 million barrels of oil were sold for a daily average of 108,000 barrels. The figure represented about 40 per cent of the consumption requirements of PetroCaribe members. Another interesting initiative was the proposal to create a PetroCaribe Economic Zone to establish productive chains on the basis of regional development planning. It was also announced that the ALBA Caribbean Fund allocated grants of US$179 million for the execution of 85 projects in 12 nations, together with another US$22 million for electrical infrastructure. The ALBA Food Security Fund employed US$24 million in a dozen initiatives aimed at developing sustainable production of basic food items. Petroalimentos is another initiative that emerged as another relevant project in the economic development cooperation within ALBA. These initiatives have been supported by Venezuela’s President, Nicolas Maduro, in keeping with Hugo Chavez’s commitment to strengthen regional integration within the Caribbean region. It would be naive to think that everything is solved and guaranteed in the ALBA model. There are vulnerabilities that must be considered. The political context in Venezuela, where domestic tensions are permanent, fuelled by an explicit Washington determination to destabilise President Maduro’s government, should be noted. Another element to consider is the complex process of updating the Cuban economic model. Internal dynamics in both Cuba and Venezuela have to be monitored because the weight of ALBA cooperation initiatives and PetroCaribe lies disproportionately on these two nations. Another vulnerability is associated with the fluctuation of oil prices, especially since PetroCaribe operates under a financing scheme that adopts oil prices as a point of reference.

Cuba’s ‘new’ type of cooperation: from Grant Aid to Compensated Cooperation The global economic crisis has forced Cuba to undergo a comprehensive review of its cooperation policy, with the goal of finding renewed and creative formulas to maintain South–South cooperation in an adverse economic context. The new cooperation policy has as its central axis the reduction of costs without affecting the essence of cooperation programmes, so the implementation of cooperation had to be redesigned.

158  M. Martínez Reinosa At the Sixth Congress of the Communist Party of Cuba on 18 April 2011, Guidelines of the Economic and Social Policy of the Party and the Revolution were approved (Communist Party of Cuba 2011). Regarding Cuba’s foreign policy in the region, Guideline 115 states that Cuba will: Keep an active participation in the economic integration process with Latin America and the Caribbean as a strategic objective, and maintain Cuba’s involvement in the regional trade economic arrangements to which Cuba has adhered, including but not limited to the Latin American Integration Association (LAIA), the Caribbean Community (CARICOM), the Association of Caribbean States (ACS) and PETROCARIBE, and continue to strengthen the unity among the members of these arrangements. On Cuba’s cooperation policy, Guidelines 110 and 111 state that Cuba will: Continue to exercise international solidarity through cooperation projects pursued by Cuba and keep financial and statistical records, as required, for assessment purposes; in particular, cost analyses … [and] Where practical, consider a payment requirement to cover at least the costs incurred by Cuba in its solidarity cooperation projects. By the second half of 2011, and following the Guidelines approved, the foundations of a renewed Cuban cooperation policy were discussed. Substantial changes were introduced, starting with changes in the gratuitous provision principle since Cuba was no longer able to undertake as high levels of expenditure as before. The basis to move from free-­ of-charge cooperation to compensated cooperation was established, with a major focus on Cuba’s professional services export capability. At the Council of Ministers meeting on 31 May 2013, the Cuban Health Minister Roberto Morales Ojeda made specific reference to the Cuban international medical cooperation and health services provisions and how to reconceive them in the light of the Guidelines of Economic and Social Policy. The Minister stated that the Cuban government will maintain the cooperation programmes that already exist in more than 60 countries. The main scheme for providing cooperation will change and new mechanisms to continue cooperation programmers will be implemented. The costs Cuba faces when providing health services will be reimbursed and incomes coming from Cuban medical services will increase. The Minister confirmed that for those countries that cannot afford the costs of Cuban medical services the solidarity principle will be maintained as before, as is the case of Haiti. The Cuban medical services will not be heavily charged even for those countries that can afford it, and they will remain less expensive than similar offers coming from the US, Canada and European countries (Puig Meneses and Martínez Hernández 2012). The new cooperation policy has four main premises. First, it eliminates the free-­of-charge provisions when possible. Second, it will conduct an exhaustive

Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM  159 case-­by-case analysis when evaluating cooperation projects in each country, taking as a main principle: ‘to provide each country according to their needs and considering the real possibilities of Cuba to deliver the cooperation programs required’. Third, Dominica, Antigua and Barbuda, St Vincent and the Grenadines and St Lucia, CARICOM countries participating in ALBA, will receive the benefits to which they are entitled as ALBA members. Finally, Haiti will receive special and exceptional treatment, in accordance with what was approved at the Fourth CARICOM Summit of December 2011. At that meeting, it was recognised that cooperation must be more vigorous where it is most needed to benefit the most disadvantaged sections of society, taking into account Haiti’s significance, not only for the Caribbean, but for humanity as a whole. The policy changes meant a substantial reduction in the number of scholarships to study in Cuba, the elimination of the annual meetings of the Joint Committees and increasing avenues for specific consultations with Caribbean Embassies in Cuba and with Cuban Ambassadors in Caribbean capital cities. However, the transitioning of Cuba’s cooperation policy from a free-­of-charge modality to compensated cooperation does not mean that Cuba will apply a market-­oriented approach. In the new context, innovative possibilities emerge. Particularly interesting is the ‘triangular cooperation’ model of international cooperation in which three actors work together in a specific programme: for instance one actor provides the financial and material resources, a second actor offers qualified professionals and the third one is the recipient of cooperative action. This modality calls for a greater level of organisation, precision and less improvisation, and may be more effective. This modality has proved to be very effective but it demands careful planning, organisation and implementation.

Cuba and the triangular cooperation model In the Cuban triangular cooperation model, a key element is the close ties between Cuba and Venezuela (Serbín 1987, p.  265). Besides the direct benefits resulting from cooperation actions implemented, this joint participation may help to dispel long-­standing misunderstandings rooted in perceptions derived from different colonial legacies and varying political processes, in addition to ethnic and cultural elements, which may have contributed to mutual distrust and suspicion.7 All the actions undertaken by President Chavez to favour the Caribbean have been vital to change the image of Venezuela in the region. Caribbean leaders, such as President Michel Martelly of Haiti and Prime Minister Ralph Gonsalves of St Vincent and the Grenadines, have repeatedly highlighted the major contribution of Venezuela and ALBA. They have publicly expressed their thanks for the role that the Bolivarian country plays in the region (Vincentian 2010). The engagement of other regional actors with special interest and linkages to the Caribbean may result in new positive synergies. Brazil, a country that maintains an excellent track record on triangular cooperation with Cuba, could be considered. President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva visited the island four times and

160  M. Martínez Reinosa activated the Brazilian diplomatic machinery prioritising an active foreign policy towards the Caribbean (Granma 2010).8 A mechanism for regular consultations between Brazil and CARICOM was established, as reflected in the Brasilia Declaration adopted at the First Brazil–CARICOM Summit held from 23 to 27 April 2010 (CARICOM Secretariat 2010). The Brazil–Cuba–Haiti Tripartite Commission for the reconstruction of the Haitian health system was created (Martínez Hernández 2010). It is financed by Brazil, which contributed US$70 million. The main objective is to strengthen the institutional capacity of the Haitian Ministry of Public Health and Population for running the health system and public health services, to improve access to health care and boost hospital construction. It includes the support of Haitian professionals and training programmes based on the needs identified by the Haitian government. Another example lies in the join collaboration of Cuba, Venezuela and Argentina together with UNASUR to assist Haiti after the earthquake of 2010. UNASUR established an office in Port-­au-Prince and allocated more than US$800,000 for the reconstruction and expansion of the Reference Community Hospital of Corail in Grand Anse, in coordination with the Haitian government and the Ministry of Public Health and Population. The Argentinean Vice President Amado Boudou attended the inauguration together with the Cuban Vice Minister of Health Marcia Cobas. Cobas described the hospital’s construction as an example of South–South cooperation conducted without intermediaries or consultants, a joint work between fraternal peoples to solve specific issues. Beyond the Americas, Norway has been an active participant in triangular cooperation in the region. Under the Fourth Agreement between Norway, Haiti and Cuba for the period 2013–2016, signed on 26 June 2013, Norway provided US$800,000 to finance the labour of the Cuban medical brigade in Haiti. According to the Norwegian Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs, Gry Larsen, the humanitarian work developed by the Cuban medical brigade in Haiti was outstanding. The first tripartite agreement was signed ten days after the earthquake of January 2010, and the successful results of this collaboration have led to its ratification every two years.

The Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC) It is important to acknowledge the emergence of CELAC on 23 February 2010, given its inclusion of most of the Caribbean nations. It is expected to play a key role in the full incorporation of the Caribbean into its natural continental environment, even when recognising that this approach towards Latin America will be a gradual and complex process. The Caribbean nations are in a very sensitive historical moment. Their inclusion as active members of a multilingual and multiethnic regional identity is, on one hand, a guarantee of independence and sovereignty, but CELAC may also, on the other hand, play a key role in the transformation of the political, economic and social hemispheric map.

Cuba’s cooperation with CARICOM  161 Cuba is the most Caribbean of the Latin American countries and the most Latin American of the Caribbean countries, putting the nation in the position of acting as a bridge between the two subregions. During the period when Cuba acted as President Pro Tempore of CELAC, January 2013 to January 2014, the process of acknowledging the Caribbean presence and contribution in CELAC advanced significantly.

Conclusions The future of the Caribbean, in the context of its dependency, will require both national and regional interventions. Cuba can significantly contribute to the development of the region, if we acknowledge Cuba’s position in regional security dynamics and that a Caribbean without Cuba is not the Caribbean. Cuban cooperation in the Caribbean is of most importance, but it has to be redesigned. This transformation will be directly impacted by the new economic conditions in Cuba and the future of the Venezuelan social project. The new initiatives undertaken will continue to support the integration of the economies and societies based on the generation of collective synergies that allow all participants to give and receive, in a context where the values of solidarity, complementarity and reciprocity set the pace.

Notes 1 Translated from Spanish by Jacqueline Laguardia Martínez. 2 Definition inspired by Laura Campo Lorenzana on her Wordpress.com blog. 3 Frei Betto is Catholic priest who, during the 1980s, visited Havana and held frequent and lengthy interviews with Fidel Castro. The results of those talks was the book, Fidel and Religion: Conversation with Frei Bretto in Marxism and Liberation Theology. London: Simon and Schuster (1985). 4 Constitution of the Republic of Cuba 1992. Chapter 12, subsection c). states,  ARTICLE 12. The Republic of Cuba espouses the principles of anti-­imperialism and internationalism, and (c) reaffirms its desire for integration and cooperation with the countries of Latin America and the Caribbean, whose common identity and historical need to advance united together on the road to economic and political integration for the attainment of true independence would allow us to achieve our rightful place in the world. 5 According to O. Marrero, Principal Specialist for the Caribbean in the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Cuba (interview, November 2012) and O. Arteaga, Principal Specialist for the Caribbean in the Ministry of Commerce and Foreign Investment of Cuba (interview, November 2012). 6 Interview with Ofelia Arteaga, expert in the Ministry of Foreign Investment, January 2009. 7 One example of the issues which cause distrust include the border dispute between Guyana and Venezuela in the Esequibo region, as noted in an interview with Tania Garcia Lorenzo, December 2007. 8 Data from the Brazilian Ministry of Foreign Affairs outlined that trade between Brazil and the CARICOM countries exceeded US$657 million in 2002 and close to US$5 billion in 2008.

12 Towards a new Latin American–Caribbean regionalism of solidarity José Piedras1

Introduction The theme chosen for this volume is timely and relevant, at a moment in which integrationist processes are being created, promoted and continue to proliferate all over the world. These integrationist trends are especially strong in the Western Hemisphere, particularly in Latin America and the Caribbean. Discussions regarding integration processes encourage opinions and analyses from various approaches. The debate is not only conducted at national levels, but has also acquired global dimensions. In many cases, the discussions are part of an ideological confrontation that cuts across the region as a result of the recent rise of left-­wing parties and governments, inspired by the ideas of great heroes such as Simón Bolívar and José Martí who insisted on achieving regional integration as a prerequisite for economic and social development. These leftist ideals have come into confrontation with more nationalist political ideologies. Economists, political scientists, historians, lawyers, environmentalists and many other scholars in Cuba, including Luis Suarez, Tania Garcia, Antonio Romero, Milagros Martinez and Carlos Alzugaray among others, discuss the scope of ALBA and PetroCaribe. They examine whether these groupings can be classified as processes of integration, regionalisation, part of the New Regionalism, or are solidarity cooperation arrangements. Essentially, work to date has assessed the scope of each of those projects, taking in consideration whether they can be inserted into constructions of new paradigms in regional relations and/or are new and more advanced forms of South–South solidarity. Similar discussions proliferate regarding UNASUR, the Southern Common Market (MERCOSUR) and CELAC. The future of CARICOM and CSME has also been subject to systematic inspection, both by CARICOM’s own political leaders and by academic scholars such as the late Norman Girvan, Mark Kirton and many others in the region. Precisely, some of these recent studies on the topic of regional integration initiatives in Latin America and the Caribbean – initiatives directly linked to diverse foreign policy interests in the region – indicate the emergence of new theoretical frameworks for understanding the current dynamics and future developments of regional integration. The advancement of the more recently

Regionalism of solidarity  163 established integration mechanisms will allow, at the same time, the evolution of useful notions and concepts to understand the new regional realities. The fundamental principles that the new theoretical approaches should consider, from a political point of view, include the need for an anti-­hegemonic notion that should be applicable to actors both within and outside the region. It means the adoption of concepts that encompass the respect for diversity within a critical framework for analysing inter-­regional relations and adopting an active and comprehensive cooperation and solidarity practice. As President of the Oriental Republic of Uruguay, Jose ‘Pepe’ Mujica (cited in The Editor 2013b) emphatically established on an official visit to Cuba made in July 2013, ‘we must respect the other, those different to us. In a world that is becoming smaller, we must create values of respect for diversity’. Likewise, from an economic perspective, the new proposals should be translated into the creation of larger and more effective spaces and options of association both within the region – as seems to be happening now – and also with other regional blocs. The economic component, together with the political one, are the core pillars sustaining the fresh integrationist vision that spans the region and affects almost every country in the area. Cuban Vice President José Ramón Machado Ventura (cited in The Editor 2013c), in his speech at the ALBA summit held in Ecuador in July 2013, noted that ‘integration means a guarantee of sovereignty and independence for our peoples’.

Foundations of the New Latin American and Caribbean regionalism The international environment surrounding these processes remains influenced by the severe crisis of capitalism that has weakened the global economy. In spite of the economic crisis, the unfair international monetary order still in place is preserved by the dominant international financial institutions – the International Monetary Fund (IMF ) and the World Bank, and to a lesser extent, the WTO (Estay 2013). The current situation justifies the search for an alternative regional financial architecture for Latin America and the Caribbean. The new system should provide effective responses to the growing demands of societies in the region and, along with the left-­wing governments committed to the welfare of the majorities, should favour the construction of political, economic, trade and cooperation processes where intra-­regional interdependence and complementarity relations play central roles. A precisely defined, expanded and shared political will by most governments in the region has facilitated and propelled the advance of these regional and subregional formations, strongly founded in the recognition of unity in diversity. The presence of left-­wing governments has played an influential part in the building of the New Regionalism, which is innate to the region and characterised by a lesser dependence on the US. The failure of neoliberal policies that did not bring the highly expected improvement in the daily life of large majorities in the region is another factor behind the spread of new integration proposals.

164  J. Piedras Another explanation lies in the recovery, by many Latin American and Caribbean leaders, of the integrationist vision that throughout history has been advocated by the heroes of independence on the continent. Undoubtedly, the rescue of the ideals of Latin American unity opened the possibilities for governments and political forces with different ideological allegiances to adhere to new mechanisms of coordination. Since the construction of our territories as nations – small and poor due to a lack of natural resources – the concept of unity has been at the centre of the struggles for independence and sovereignty. Alongside the historic efforts of Latin American and Caribbean leaders towards independence, efforts were also made towards building the union among neighbouring countries and also extended to the wider region. Simon Bolivar, Jose Marti, Marcus Garvey, and most recently, Fidel Castro, Michael Manley, Errol Barrows, Eric Williams, Cheddy Jagan and Hugo Chavez, have shown their will for unity as a basic concept of future development at regional level. Without a doubt, cooperation is considered a key ingredient of unity. It is precisely this desire that serves as political engine to move forward the various integrationist projects and models that have emerged in relation to cooperation on inter alia the economy, trade and commerce, finance, sports and culture. To its merit, the Caribbean region has one of the oldest integrationist processes in the Western Hemisphere that has evolved into CARICOM and its CSME. However, discussions which arose around building a New Regionalism in the Caribbean, emerged against the background of a broader Latin American political vision based upon the concepts of respect between the nations, non-­ interference in the domestic affairs of the peoples and governments as well as broad and mutually beneficial cooperation among them. That historical foundation of these ideals is what both Mujica and Machado Ventura reflected on in their aforementioned statements. It is important to recognise that the recent regional efforts have antecedents in subregional institutions, more or less similar, that had as a common denominator, a genuinely Latin American and Caribbean nature. Elier Ramírez Cañedos and Esteban Morales Domínguez (2011, p. 33), when evaluating the Latin American political situation in the early seventies, pointed to: remarkable advances in integration processes that excluded or limited the presence of the United States. On May 25, 1969, the Andean Pact was created, initially with the participation of Bolivia, Ecuador, Peru and Venezuela as Members, while Colombia joined in 1973. That same year, the Caribbean Community (CARICOM) and the Latin American Energy Organization (OLADE) were founded. In 1975, promoted by Mexico and Venezuela, the Latin American Economic System (SELA) was born as the first continental grouping completely outside the orbit of domination of the United States. Added to these were the Latin American Integration Association (LAIA) established in Montevideo, Uruguay in 1980 and ACS born in 1994 in Cartagena de

Regionalism of solidarity  165 Indias, Colombia. These latter organisations have promoted and continue to promote dialogue and regional integration. By analysing regional integration as an ongoing process, we may establish that the region has been pursuing a continental commitment to the construction of new integration models for more than four decades now; a process that is not exhausted but, on the contrary, is still in permanent renovation and today is favoured by a positive political environment.

Forty plus years of the Caribbean Community CARICOM is one of the oldest integration projects in the region. In early July 2013, the Caribbean leaders, at the 34th Regular Summit of CARICOM in Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago, dedicated a solemn session to commemorating the fortieth anniversary of CARICOM’s creation. CARICOM was recognised, in the words of Trinidadian Prime Minister, Kamla Persad-­Bissessar (2013), as ‘the oldest integration movement in the developing world’. Most Caribbean leaders who spoke on the occasion of that important anniversary underscored the legitimacy of the thinking of the founding fathers of the Community, when they established regional integration as a necessary and indispensable process for the survival of the subregion. Jamaican Prime Minister Portia Simpson-­ Miller highlighted that the ‘construction of CARICOM, over the 40 years, has been rooted in [the shared] history, geography and culture and many other traditions, so its existence and survival remains critical’ (Simpson-­ Miller 2013b). She also argued that CARICOM is more than an organisation or a mechanism, but represents the permanence of the ideals and aspirations of the founding fathers of achieving an integrated region that would provide the best opportunities for economic and social development. She expressed the commitment of the new Caribbean leaders to maintain that vision for the benefit of present and future generations of Caribbean people. Finally, she also noted that regardless of its challenges, CARICOM remains the most developed integration movement and concluded by recognising that ‘integration is a process not a single event’ (Simpson-­Miller 2013b). The essential content of these brief interventions allows us to identify four enduring ideas. First, there is a political vision of the integration process that embodies the commitment to continuity. Second, the permanence and continued relevance of the ideas that guided the founding fathers of the Community is significant. Third, there is recognition of the need to remain united in the face of varied vulnerabilities; and finally, there is some level of political will to move forward towards a more complete project. As noted before, CARICOM is now under the scrutinising lens of its key players, who show disagreements and anxiety over what they consider very slow progress in achieving its fundamental objective – the establishment and implementation of the CSME. However, long before celebrating CARICOM’s fortieth anniversary, efforts to eliminate many of the obstacles that hindered its progression had been made; but after the anniversary, there were new efforts to inject new energy for action on a specific set of goals. In this regard, the Secretary

166  J. Piedras General, Irwin LaRocque (2013), at the opening of the 34th Regular Summit of CARICOM, stated that ‘within the context of an ever-­evolving world, it is imperative that we recognize the urgency to stay ahead of the game’. LaRocque outlined a new reform process in place in the CARICOM Secretariat and the approval of the Caribbean Community’s Five-­Year Strategic Plan 2015–2019 – the first of its kind. These two actions, driven by concepts of relevance, efficiency, effectiveness, accountability, innovation and creativity are aimed at improving the service CARICOM will provide to the peoples of the Caribbean who are now considered to be the centre of the regional project. LaRocque (2013) concluded his message to the Heads of Government by asserting that integration in CARICOM is not an esoteric ideal but a vital reality. Notwithstanding these administrative changes, political critiques have emerged which focus on the slow level of implementation of the decisions approved by the Conferences of Heads of Governments on key issues of the CSME. In particular, strong criticism has been made of the functions of the Secretary General and the principal Organs of the Community by the Prime Minister of St Vincent and the Grenadines, Ralph Gonsalves; by the former Prime Minister of Jamaica, Bruce Golding; and most recently by Prime Minister Roosevelt Skerrit of the Commonwealth of Dominica. All of these Heads of Government, in one way or another, have been calling for expedited application of their own previously approved resolutions. At the same time, critics should recognise and accept that, after 40 plus years, CARICOM exhibits significant progress on issues contained in the four pillars of the integration project: economic integration, functional cooperation on social and human development, foreign policy coordination and security cooperation. From the Secretary General’s perspective, there has been progress in the evolution of the Community and the provision of benefits through the Single Market, health services, disaster management, education and technical cooperation with third countries, among other achievements (LaRocque 2013). In addition, when looking at intra-­regional trade, it is notable how the integration process has facilitated and acted as a catalyst. According to data provided by the CARICOM Secretariat at the time of the fortieth anniversary, trade between CARICOM member states in 2011 was 30 times the level of 1973, despite the fact that the region’s main trading partner remains the US (The Editor 2013d). Furthermore, the mechanism has been successful in the construction and operation of regional institutions under the integration scheme such as CDEMA, the Caribbean Broadcasting Union (CBU), CDB and CCJ, among others.

The dynamics of CARICOM–Latin American integration The current context of CARICOM–Latin American integration is characterised by the gradual approach of the Caribbean region, especially the English-­speaking territories, to some of the newly created integration projects in Latin America. This trend signals a more effective Caribbean–Latin America relationship. The growing Caribbean presence constitutes a milestone in the history of the relations

Regionalism of solidarity  167 of the West Indian nations with Latin America. This renewed relationship, happening at a favourable time, may result in a more effective bilateral and multilateral relationship that generates the awaited spaces where the Caribbean nations finally find legitimate interlocutors capable of recognising their development asymmetries and therefore, treat them according to their special needs for fair trade and economic relations. The growing participation of CARICOM members in Latin American spaces such as PetroCaribe, UNASUR, MERCOSUR, ALBA and CELAC is different from the historical behaviour of CARICOM that has traditionally privileged an Anglo-­centric projection in its foreign relations. The changes that have been occurring in the region have not gone unnoticed by Caribbean leaders who, in one way or another, have benefitted from the innovative projects for regional cooperation and solidarity. It should be noted that a traditional Caribbean Anglo pragmatism has influenced this new perception at evaluating the possibilities for development offered by Latin American governments beyond ideological preconditions. In my view, the recent Caribbean move towards Latin America is an example of Caribbean pragmatism in seeking fair recognition for their vulnerabilities without falling into political opportunism. As a result, several economic and social development projects have come to effect in various Caribbean countries through the mechanisms established in ALBA and PetroCaribe which represent benefits to Caribbean societies. I note two processes that seem to go together and complement each other. First, new formations for unification and political coordination and cooperation are gradually evolving to cover a larger geographical portion of the region. Second, the Caribbean’s participation – perceived as a historical necessity – is therefore, being encouraged. Correspondingly, a growing interest is visible from the Caribbean in engaging these new mechanisms. There is clear evidence of the recognition given to joining Latin America in such a historic moment. Interesting to note, though, is that the Caribbean’s participation is unrushed and does not neglect the region’s main commitment to integration, which resides within CARICOM. I consider that this is the core of what has being identified as a new projection of foreign affairs for CARICOM members. So far, the Caribbean’s participation in the above-­ mentioned integration mechanisms has been moderate and presumably will remain temperate. The Caribbean already has its own integration project and despite all the criticism and complaints, CARICOM remains at the centre of the integration efforts in the region. This is why expectations should not be too high, in the short-­term, regarding a protagonist Caribbean participation in these Latin American projects. However, much will depend on the extent of the spaces for Caribbean participation conceded by Latin American states. CELAC’s decision to incorporate the Caribbean state presiding as the rotating Chairman of CARICOM to the CELAC troika is an example that reflects the importance of this latter point. Another example has to do with the strong political support received by Caribbean states from CELAC for CARICOM’s reparations claim against Europe for the crimes of slavery.

168  J. Piedras In the present-­day regional context, multilateral relations will continue to be one of the foreign policy cornerstones for CARICOM members. I believe that the potential benefits of a closer relationship with Latin America will outweigh doubts and obstacles. Latin America needs to incorporate the Caribbean into this new wave of regionalism as indispensable proof of a solid continental unity and to avoid any vacuum that would allow the US to step in. The main benefits to be derived from the Caribbean’s participation in these integration mechanisms are linked more to development cooperation initiatives than to the enlargement of fora for political dialogue and projection of Caribbean perspectives to an international audience. At the same time, it is clear that the region is not interested in developing conflict or frictions of misunderstanding neither with the US nor with its other traditional economic and commercial partner – Europe. The Caribbean nations have proved a considerable political pragmatism that has allowed them to keep a careful balance in their relationship with the new form of regionalism in Latin America influenced by internal political principles and positions and traditional links with other foreign actors. Bilateral relations should also register progress, particularly with Venezuela, Brazil and Mexico. With the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, the well-­ founded policy of understanding and solidarity towards the Caribbean led by Hugo Chavez overcame mistrusts that infected the bilateral relationship prior to the Venezuelan Fifth Republic. In the case of Brazil, although the relationship is still distant, bilateral ties have advanced, thanks to policies of rapprochement employed by the governments of Lula and to important economic projects developed in the sector of ethanol and infrastructure development. The deepened relations along shared borders with Guyana and Suriname also represents important steps forward in the strengthening of the economic and commercial links. In the case of Mexico, the relations with the Caribbean are specifically included in the foreign policy strategy of the Institutional Revolutionary Party administration (PRI), because it also provides the latter an avenue to exert influence throughout the region. For CARICOM, the recent dynamics and interactions in Latin American regionalism should foster the intra-­Caribbean consultation capacity, as already demonstrated with the negotiation that enabled CARICOM member states to individually accede to the PetroCaribe, ALBA and UNASUR agreements. However, the present context may also present challenges for CARICOM in presenting a common front, especially around foreign policy decisions. One of the biggest challenges for CARICOM member states will be how to harmonise their positions on certain matters of foreign policy with the positions defended by ALBA and CELAC. In particular, there will be need to circumvent, whenever possible, Latin American absolute commitments to political positions that openly confront the US and other extra-­regional actors with which the Caribbean states maintain close relations. Not long ago, I answered a questionnaire on many of these issues. When responding to a question regarding the participation of CARICOM countries in CELAC and the possibilities this project opens to them

Regionalism of solidarity  169 in the context of border disputes among Latin America members of CELAC (e.g. Bolivia vs Chile) and Caribbean nations, (Belize vs Guatemala and Guyana vs Venezuela), I suggested that these controversies cannot be avoided. Disagreements will be present and, in spite of them, the goal should be to make CELAC’s non-­Caribbean nations better understand the vulnerabilities of small Caribbean states face and not to pressure them to adopt positions that contravene their foreign policy principles. In a context of constant challenges to peace and stability, CARICOM members shall preserve at all costs the capacity of policy coordination in their own integration mechanism as a way to enhance their negotiation margins with third parties. How much of this can they find in CELAC or in the other mechanisms they have recently joined? It is too soon to advance definitive conclusions and it will depend greatly on the ability of the Latin American partners to recognise and address Caribbean political interests. One main obstacle in a rapid and full integration of the Caribbean in these Latin American consultation mechanisms could be the appearance of new policies made in Washington aimed at alienating the Caribbean countries from the new momentum of their relationship with Latin America. At the same time, it is expected that Caribbean membership in CELAC, ALBA and other integration initiatives should allow the Caribbean to expand their capacity as a group to place specific regional topics on bilateral or multilateral agendas, allowing them to gain greater understanding of their own interests and needs.

Conclusion During the last few years, some CARICOM countries, through their foreign policy, have been able to develop, in a smart and cautious manner, important synergies within the new integration processes in the region. Such is the case of the gradual insertion of Guyana and Suriname in South American integration schemes and of Antigua and Barbuda, Dominica, St Vincent and the Grenadines and St Lucia in ALBA and PetroCaribe. It is vital for these Caribbean nations to perceive from their Latin American partners the understanding, willingness and ability to articulate differentiated cooperation policies towards the Caribbean and respect their independence and sovereignty. This is a key element that would enable overcoming different perceptions that occasionally may arise concerning certain issues or situations in international politics. ALBA, in particular, has made progress in that direction with six English-­ speaking Caribbean nations as full members, and two more – Haiti and Suriname – as observers. The latter two, with Guyana, have been very active in the recent approach to Latin America. In addition, the relations of mutual respect, friendship and solidarity that Cuba enjoys with CARICOM members and Latin American nations would assist in an increasing and deeper participation of the Caribbean nations in the new integration mechanisms in which they participate. It is not possible to avoid the fact of the setback of the left-­wing governments in Brazil and Argentina and the strong political and economic aggression exerted

170  J. Piedras against the Bolivarian government of Venezuela and its President Nicolas Maduro that could introduce changes in the progress of the integrationist process. However, in a general sense, it is expected that the political will for integration should prevail in the region, and the governments which have defended this New Regionalism, where for the first time the Caribbean region has found a comprehensive space, will continue to move forward under the spirit of unity, independence and sovereignty. In moments of uncertainty in international relations where a new protectionist model is emerging and contentions abound around migration policies, Latin America and the Caribbean must preserve its unity and independence still working together in all those areas in which there exist common interests and objectives.

Note 1 Translated from Spanish by Jacqueline Laguardia Martínez and Terri-­Ann Gilbert-­ Roberts.

13 Opportunities for CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC Antonio Romero Gomez

Introduction The academic and political discourse concerning the development of links between CARICOM and Latin American countries has historically dwelt on the notions of isolation and economic and cultural separation between the two regions (Kirton 2011). The discourse always emphasises CARICOM states’ preoccupation with their small size and the potential challenges to maintaining their distinct identity within an expanded regional context with many larger countries and some Latin American emerging powers. Nonetheless, recent hemispheric and global changes have brought about some convergence of interests between CARICOM and Latin America. Issues of mutual significance for both zones/blocs include: the impact of globalisation on developing countries; the incidence of poverty and inequality in the societies in the region; the fundamental importance of economic cooperation, especially in the form of South–South cooperation to address development challenges; economic and social challenges of the HIV-­AIDS pandemic; and growing concerns about the effects of climate change and the reduction of risks associated with natural disasters; as well as security-­related problems such as increases in drug trafficking, human trafficking, and the illegal arms trade and transnational crime.1 Stimulating economic exchanges and deeper cooperation between CARICOM and Latin America should be a medium and long-­term priority for Caribbean states seeking to diversify their external relations. Projects to develop mutual understanding, the establishment of broader channels of communication between the Caribbean and Latin America, and CARICOM’s rapprochement with other regional and subregional integration and cooperation groupings could be part of a strategy to deal with the main economic and social problems affecting Caribbean states. It is well known that the Caribbean countries have experienced economic recession or (at best) stagnation in the last few years, during which time social and institutional problems have proliferated, causing the Prime Minister of St Lucia, Dr Kenny Anthony (2012 in Girvan 2013, pp. 4–5), to remark that the region was ‘is in the throes of the greatest crisis since indepen­ dence. The spectre of evolving into failed societies is no longer a subject of

172  A. Romero Gomez imagination’. Dr Anthony continued, ‘How our societies crawl out of this vicious vortex of persistent low growth, crippling debt, huge fiscal deficits and high unemployment is the single most important question facing us at this time’. The fundamental aim of this chapter is to analyse some characteristics and trends of the new entities in cooperation and regional integration – ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC – which may be important in determining their potential for complementarity with CARICOM and the role that they can play in addressing the development challenges facing Caribbean countries. The first section will summarise the economic and social evolution of CARICOM countries in recent years. The second section will examine the objectives and some of the most important projects of ALBA and PetroCaribe. The third section offers some recommendations that might encourage more active engagement of CARICOM with the newly established CELAC that is today the main slab in the new multilateral architecture in Latin America and the Caribbean. Finally, we summarise the main points and make some conclusions.

Recent social and economic trends in CARICOM states The recent social and economic evolution of most CARICOM countries shows a marked deterioration, radically different from the relative success with which several Latin American states have navigated the global economic crisis (ECLAC 2013). Table 13.1 shows the change in GDP in subregions from 2010–2013. In general, Caribbean countries have experienced a period of crisis and/or stagnation with aggravated macroeconomic imbalances since 2008, largely as a result of the very unfavourable impact of global developments on their economies. This is due to the way in which they are inserted into the global economy and their structural vulnerabilities. However, one should also point out that within CARICOM, four states have maintained economic dynamism (Trinidad and Tobago, Guyana, Suriname and Belize) while the others have been grappling with their worst economic crisis in the last 25 years. To the above, one should add the very compromising public debt situation that characterises many CARICOM economies (see Table 13.2 compiled from data in the World Economic Outlook Database (IMF 2012a)). In fact, several CARICOM member states show debt to GDP ratios which, relative to the size of their economies and the indicators of their debt servicing burden, are larger than Table 13.1  GDP and real rates of growth at constant 2005 prices Regions

2010

2011

2012

2013

Latin America and the Caribbean Mexico and Central America South America CARICOM

5.9 4.1 6.5 –0.1

4.3 4.3 4.5 0.4

3.1 4.2 2.7 1.1

3.8 4.8 4.0 2.0

Source: ECLAC (2013).

CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC  173 Table 13.2  Debt to GDP ratio, 2011 Country

Ratio

Intra-regional ranking

Antigua and Barbuda Bahamas Barbados Belize Dominica Grenada Haiti Jamaica St. Kitts and Nevis Saint Lucia St. Vincent and the Grenadines Suriname Trinidad and Tobago

75 49 117 80 70 87 11 139 153 72 71 21 32

6 10 3 5 9 4 13 2 1 7 8 12 11

Source: IMF (2012a).

those of the currently most indebted countries in the European periphery (the so-­ called PIIGS: Portugal, Ireland, Italy, Greece and Spain). In addition, there has been a complex dynamic affecting economic integration as a result of contradictory domestic processes and significant challenges in external relations. According to ECLAC, in recent years the CARICOM integration process has advanced very slowly, due in part to the fact that member states concentrated on addressing the effects of the global crisis and delayed the implementation of the complex CSME. Nevertheless, ECLAC notes that they have continued their efforts to revitalise the Caribbean integration project which is indispensable to deal with the global challenges (ECLAC 2012).2 Conversely, regional experts express deep concern about CARICOM’s current situation. In a paper, Norman Girvan (2013) stated that CARICOM’s economic integration is experiencing an extremely deep crisis which compromises the grouping as an integrationist project, impacts negatively on CARICOM as a collection of intergovernmental organs and raises questions about the Secretariat of the regional institution. According to Girvan, the 2011 decision to put the CSME implementation programme on hold – which implied that the following summit in July 2011 would adopt a new schedule for its implementation – and the fact that the final communique of the 34th Heads of State and Government meeting in July 2013 did not even mention this topic is the most graphic manifestation of the crisis in the economic integration process in the Caribbean. Moreover, the external relations of the Community have emerged as a new problematique in this difficult period. The adverse effects emanating from the implementation of the EU–CARIFORUM EPA stand out particularly (ECLAC 2010; Girvan 2009; Jessop 2010b), likewise the negotiations for a Canada–CARICOM Trade and Development Agreement,3 and the matter of preparing for the completion of the CARICOM–DR Free Trade Agreement on which there has not been any significant progress.4

174  A. Romero Gomez In view of the acute social and environmental problems that most CARICOM countries have had to confront in recent years, several themes that are not primarily about trade and economic production have assumed a central place in the discussions about the social dimension of the process, and the agenda for reconfiguring the integration effort. In the 33rd Summit (St Lucia July 2012) climate change took centre stage; and during the Intersessional meeting which took place in Suriname (March 2012) Heads approved a regional strategic plan on climate change and its consequences for the period 2012–2021. In the area of public health, CARICOM points to advances in the fight against HIV/AIDS that have been made through the Pan-­Caribbean AIDS Programme (PANCAP) and the project on Non-­ Communicable Diseases5 (NCDs). CARICOM member states have reaffirmed the need to continue to support PANCAP as the regional response to the AIDS epidemic. In July 2011, the Caribbean Public Health Agency (CARPHA) was inaugurated. This provided the missing third pillar that had been outlined in the Nassau Declaration and completed the CARICOM regional health institutions.6 During the twenty-­first meeting of the Regional Cultural Committee (RCC)7 in Suriname in December 2011, the Development and Action Plan for CARICOM cultural industries was discussed. This strategy is considered by the governments to be a fundamental underpinning for the work of the Working Group on cultural industries, established in October 2008. CARICOM attaches increasing significance to the contribution of the creative and cultural industries to the economies of the region and considers that with a favourable policy and legal environment there could be exponential growth in this sector that would generate employment and wealth in the region. These issues were also emphasised by COHSOD.8 Finally, CARICOM states have noted encouraging developments concerning Haiti’s situation. They have pointed to a new climate of greater political stability and have repeatedly stressed the need to respect its sovereignty, calling for all international assistance to be channelled through and administered by the Haitian government. In summary, the last few years have been complex on the economic, social and environmental fronts for CARICOM states, deeply engaged in redefining their immobilised subregional integration project. However, the broader regional context in which CARICOM is located has been evolving in a manner that opens up new opportunities for constructing alliances and elaborating collaborative strategies with Latin American countries. These efforts to expand cooperation links with Latin America should also be a part of the CARICOM reconfiguration. We continue by examining the main features and projects emerging in ALBA and in PetroCaribe, both of which have provided benefits in varying degrees for most CARICOM countries. This will enable us to identify the areas for possible articulation among these complementary projects that might contribute in the medium term to resolving some of the structural impediments to the development of CARICOM member states. Both ALBA and PetroCaribe are also currently undergoing a process of

CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC  175 redefinition, influenced by the difficulties and severe macroeconomic imbalances faced by the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela. Nonetheless, both groupings have at their disposal proven political will and the significant natural, economic and human resources of their member states, and there are also efficiency savings that could be drawn on if they were to incorporate management and operational procedures based on greater economic rationality. There is no doubt that the latter could contribute to overcoming the uncertainties and rebuilding the bases of these innovative initiatives for integration and regional cooperation.

ALBA and PetroCaribe ALBA was established in April 2006 on the basis of the principles of complementarity and in the framework of a multidimensional approach to development (economic, political, social and cultural). This drives the solidarity and reciprocal cooperation that aims to overcome the asymmetries among its members. It has four Councils focusing on political affairs, social affairs, economic matters and social movements. In its Eleventh Summit (Caracas, 4–5 February 2012), ALBA member states agreed to admit Haiti, St Lucia and Suriname as special guests of the alliance and it was decided to establish an ALBA-­Haiti Working Group charged with developing an ALBA Special Plan for Cooperation and Development in Haiti.9 Six CARICOM member states, Antigua and Barbuda, Dominica, Grenada, St. Kitts and Nevis, St Lucia and St Vincent and the Grenadines, all OECS members, are now ALBA members while Guyana, Suriname and Haiti10 participate as observers. At the beginning of 2013, the ALBA Council for Economic Cooperation signed the Agreement to establish the ALBA Economic Zone (ECOALBA-­ TCP). The aim of this agreement is to form a shared economic development zone that is interdependent, sovereign and based on solidarity, destined to consolidate and expand a new and alternative model of economic relations that will strengthen and diversify the productive machinery and trade flows. It also aims to establish the platforms for other related bilateral and multilateral commitments that the parties may sign on to. (SELA 2012) One should also note that, in the ALBA context, the Treaty of Sucre was signed by the representatives of Bolivia, Cuba, Ecuador, Honduras, Nicaragua and Venezuela at their Seventh Summit, five years after the founding of the integration movement. The Sucre Agreement entered into force on 27 January 2010. It establishes a common monetary unit, the ‘Sucre’, a Central Clearing Mechanism for payments and a Fund for reserves and trade convergence. The Sucre Regional Monetary Council is the highest decision-­making organ for all these bodies. The Sucre has been used to register values, reimburse and liquidate payment transactions that are

176  A. Romero Gomez channelled through the system’s Central Clearing Mechanism, and it is gradually gaining acceptance in the participating countries. Less than four years after its implementation, the private sector had increased its use of this interesting mechanism which, in accordance with the terms of the Agreement, is open for the participation of all Latin American and Caribbean countries.11 Likewise, there is the ALBA Bank – Bolivia, Cuba, Nicaragua and Venezuela are the participating members – which was established during the Sixth Summit of ALBA-­TCP (Caracas, January 2008). The Bank’s objective is to contribute to sustainable economic and social development, reduce poverty and inequality, strengthen integration, promote a just, dynamic, harmonious and equitable economic interchange among the member countries inspired by the principles of solidarity, complementarity, cooperation and respect for the sovereignty of their peoples.  (ALBA-­TCP  2008) It has a subscribed capital of one billion US dollars and it began operations on 1 September 2009. The ALBA Bank performs important functions within the Regional Payments System in three different ways: (1) in developing the electronic communications system which enables the transactions among those central banks that participate in the Sucre system to be registered; (2) it participates in the management and administration of the Central Clearing Mechanism for Payments, acting as the Agent Bank; (3) it administers the Fund for Reserves and for Trade Convergence, acting in its capacity as a fiduciary body. The ALBA Bank has supported projects which are vital for the social development of its member countries, among which are those which fall under the portfolios of ALBA Culture, ALBA Education, ALBA Health and ALBA Food. A dossier of projects has been developed for energy, the natural environment and telecommunications, and it collaborates in the administration of the ALBA-­ PetroCaribe Fund. During the Sixth ALBA Summit, in the context of the decision to create ECOALBA, the need to reinforce the capacity of the Bank was emphasised, the necessity to provide it with an adequate institutional architecture and to ensure the growth of its reserves and its full capitalisation.12 The Grannacional enterprises – financed through the ALBA Bank – are distinct from transnational corporations (TNCs) in their conception and aims, and they are germane to the institutional structures of this integration project. There is ALBAMed, a grannacional project to establish a Regulatory Centre for ALBA Pharmaceuticals, which is intended to develop and implement a unique, harmonised and centralised system for the testing, standards approval and registration of all medicines developed by this enterprise, which is also the importing, exporting and distribution agency for ALBA medicines. There are six other priority programmes for this regional entity.13 In June 2012, policies were drawn up for the establishment of the Grannacional enterprise to distribute and trade pharmaceutical products with social objectives (ALBA Farma). In the sphere of education there is the grannacional ALBA project on literacy and post-­literacy which

CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC  177 aims to carry out literacy and post-­literacy programmes in the member states. Over a seven-­year period, this has enabled four countries, Nicaragua, Ecuador, Bolivia and Venezuela to eradicate illiteracy. Two others worth noting are the grannacional ALBA education project, the ALBA People’s University (UNIALBA) and ALBA Cultura for the exchange of knowledge and to build closer ties among the populations as the foundations for what the authorities refer to as communication and cultural sovereignty. Another project linked to the social sphere is ALBA Food (ALBA Alimentos) that has an allocation US$50 million and which has stimulated agricultural and fisheries projects in South and Central America and the Caribbean. Two other important projects are ALBA Forestry and ALBATel. The first seeks to reforest and improve lumber production in Bolivia and Venezuela, while ALBATel seeks to provide the region with telecommunications technology via the Venezuelan Simon Bolivar satellite and the fibre optic submarine cable between Venezuela and Cuba. With ALBATel they will be able to advance projects in telemedicine and distance education for thousands of persons living in remote locations of the region. There is also the grannacional ALBA Cultural project which aims to transform the ALBA Cultural Fund, set up in 2007 into a grannacional enterprise in order to develop the ALBA Cultural strategic plan. The project has five programmes: (1) Production, distribution and promotion of cultural goods and services; (2) The articulation and development of networks of social movements and cultural entities; (3) Human resource development in cultural spheres; (4) Giving greater legitimacy and visibility to regional cultural values; (5) The development of activities which will have a socio-­cultural impact on the member states’ populations.

The PetroCaribe Agreement PetroCaribe is a mechanism that guarantees access for its member states14 to petroleum resources and fuel supplied by Venezuela under financing conditions that allow for deferred payments ranging from 50 per cent to 70 per cent of the invoice, indexed to the world market price of a barrel of oil or its derivatives, with an interest rate of 2 per cent and a repayment period of 15 years plus a grace period of two years when the oil price is below US$40.00 per barrel. The terms are more advantageous if the oil price rises above US$40.00 dollars per barrel (1 per cent interest and repayment in 23 years plus a grace period of two years). A part of the deferred payment can be made in mutually agreed products, goods or services, within a fair trade framework. As part of its mandate, PetroCaribe supplies an average of 95,000 barrels per day of petroleum and its derivatives and meets 43 per cent of the energy needs of the countries participating in the initiative. It has also significantly contributed to upgrading the refining and storage infrastructure for the provision of hydrocarbons to the beneficiary countries. Eleven joint venture companies have been established in nine countries in the region and one subsidiary company in Cuba, and it has also begun to

178  A. Romero Gomez establish a fleet for the transport of hydrocarbons and has installed 365 megawatts of electricity generation capacity (SELA 2012). The reliable and timely delivery of fuel under this financing scheme has enabled the beneficiary countries to also reduce the cost of their energy purchases by establishing a direct relationship with the supplier, without dealing with any intermediaries for the provision of hydrocarbons. This represents an additional savings for the parties to the agreement. The Agreement on Energy Cooperation allows PetroCaribe to access the ALBA Caribe Fund that is designed to contribute to the social and economic development of the countries in the region by financing social projects and infrastructural developments. This fund is based on contributions from the deferred portion of the fuel payments and also on an initial contribution from Venezuela of US$50 million.15 The fund focuses its financing on regional and national projects which establish or expand infrastructure for agriculture, research innovations, technology, transport, telecommunications, energy and basic services. Another criterion emanating from PetroCaribe’s principles and priorities relates to the funding of non-­state actors who are not the traditional recipients of international cooperation. In general, based on all that has been said about the work and the projections of ALBA and PetroCaribe, one can conclude that there are six strategic areas that could benefit, or which will continue to benefit from the collaboration or participation of CARICOM member states in projects linked to these two regional cooperation schemes. The first strategic area is in education. The participation of the CARICOM countries that are full members of ALBA and also of the observer countries in specific projects linked to ALBA Literacy and Post-­ literacy would certainly have a positive social impact by contributing significantly to raising the levels of instruction available to the most vulnerable sectors of these societies. It must be remembered that, as the UN has reiterated, education is a key factor in any poverty elimination strategy, and is also important for building more inclusive societies. In fact, some CARICOM countries have already benefitted from these programmes, also from the facilities offered by ALBA for training their human resources in alliance countries like Cuba and Venezuela. Second, there is potential for greater cooperation on food security that is crucial at the present time for most of the CARICOM member states. According to a recent IMF report, the Caribbean region ranks second in the world in terms of its vulnerability to food price hikes (IMF 2012b). The synergies that could be developed by the participation of Caribbean members of ALBA and PetroCaribe in the ALBA Food Programme would be relevant, not only because of its possibilities offered for access to imported food products but, above all, because it provides funding for the development of agricultural and fishing projects in the beneficiary countries. A third area for strategic cooperation is on energy. As in the case of food, all CARICOM states, with the exception of Trinidad and Tobago, are net importers of fuel. Therefore, they are extremely vulnerable to shocks that may come from

CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC  179 increases in the prices of hydrocarbons. The continued participation and working for improvements in the financing mechanisms and management of PetroCaribe should be a priority for CARICOM parties to this innovative cooperation scheme, while they also refine the development and investment projects that are financed by the ALBA Caribe Fund, which go way beyond the guaranteed delivery of petroleum and its derivatives for the beneficiaries and the development of alternative energy sources. The fourth area is in health. There are promising opportunities that could result from the participation of CARICOM members and observers in ALBAMED, particularly if this could be a way to establish closer cooperation with CARPHA. That could possibly promote joint participation in public procurement schemes for medicines, the development of a manufacturing base to produce generic drugs for the ALBA and CARICOM markets, and possible progress towards the establishment of a harmonised system for the registration of medical procedures and pharmaceutical products between the two bodies. Fifth, there is potential for continued cultural cooperation. In this sector as in health, the participation of the CARICOM ALBA members and observers in the ALBA Cultural Programme could be advantageous for all parties. The Caribbean states could encourage cooperation involving the five ALBA Cultural projects with the Regional Strategy and Plan of Action for CARICOM’s cultural industries. Finally, information communication technologies are the sixth area of strategic collaboration. ALBATel would also be a programme in which the participation of CARICOM ALBA member states and observers would not only bring benefits to those states. Given the levels of development in this sector demonstrated by some Caribbean countries, they could make significant contributions to refining the strategy and development policies for new ITC policies in the context of ALBATel.

CARICOM countries and CELAC CELAC is the most recent integration and cooperation project that has emerged as a result of decisions adopted through summit diplomacy16 and it aims to advance the process of political, economic, social and cultural integration across the entire region, creating the necessary balance between unity and diversity.17 CELAC will have to position itself as the highest instance of Latin American and Caribbean coordination in the most diverse spheres, gradually consolidating itself and exercising collective sovereignty.18 Therefore, the region will through this medium shape its capacity to be a relevant interlocutor with respect to global themes in the new governance fora that are slowly reconfiguring the international system. CELAC is a process of multilevel interaction across several issue areas, the manifestation of a dense web of relations of complex interdependence. It reflects the new landscape of Latin American integration and cooperation. In this context, the active participation of the Caribbean in CELAC is essential for the consolidation of the regional integration space.19 One example of the existing regional consensus about the importance attached to the active participation of

180  A. Romero Gomez Caribbean states in CELAC can be found in the Declaration of Santiago which recognises ‘the historic role played by the CARICOM countries in the integral development of the Latin American and Caribbean region’.20 As far as CARICOM’s interests are concerned, CELAC’s real contribution to Caribbean states will be determined by its capacity to effectively promote stronger ties of political, economic and social cooperation with Latin American states. Beyond the widening of economic relations with Latin American countries, there are areas of specific interest for Caribbean states that should take priority among the various inter-­regional cooperation projects to be developed in the CELAC context. These are the following: 1 cooperation on energy matters, included as a CELAC priority in paragraph 27 of the Declaration of Santiago; 2 infrastructural development (explicitly mentioned in paragraph 26 of the Declaration of Santiago); 3 social development which includes education, health, gender issues and food security (paragraphs 39 and 56 of the Declaration of Santiago); 4 the development of cooperation strategies to manage the challenges of climate change and disaster risk reduction. Obviously, any programme to encourage the active engagement of CARICOM countries in CELAC must have as its basic principles the provision of asymmetrical concessions and guarantees of special and differential treatment for small economies. Consequently, one component of development cooperation which recognises the need for external resource flows for institutional strengthening and for building economic, productive and social capacity in CARICOM ought to be assumed by the Latin American governments and by regional financial and cooperation institutions. These principles would be in accordance with paragraph 32 of the Declaration of Santiago in which the Heads of State and Government of CELAC reaffirm their ‘commitment to mutually beneficial integration, solidarity and cooperation among the members of our Community, in particular with vulnerable countries with relatively less economic development’ (CELAC 2013). It is clear that CELAC should strive not to reproduce the shortcomings of other organisations in which sufficient consideration is not given to the small, vulnerable countries, although they claim to speak in their name. Neither should CELAC try to assume mandates that are held by other international fora – like the OAS – in which most CELAC governments participate. Caribbean states would also have a particular interest in the very difficult but crucial task which has not yet progressed significantly, of coordinating CELAC’s policies vis-­à-vis the multilateral trade system, to make the latter more responsive to the enormous needs of the developing world. Likewise, a Caribbean priority might be to guide CELAC in discussing and proposing a multilateral formula for the restructuring of the debt of small middle-­income countries (the category into which most CARICOM members fall). Furthermore, Caribbean countries would certainly support activities that would lead to the adoption of a set of principles and norms ensuring that intra

CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC  181 and extra-­regional cooperation should result in tangible benefits for the countries of the Community, and should be in conformity with the strategies, plans and development programmes that they have agreed upon. The Caribbean states have expressed in various international fora their legitimate concerns about the negative impact that current trends in development cooperation and certain normative arrangements linked to the new architecture of international cooperation are having on their preferred vision for social and economic development. It should be noted that in the Santiago Summit, the Heads of State and Government of the region applauded the setting up of the CELAC Working Group on International Cooperation and they wished it to progress towards constructing a policy of South–South and Triangular Cooperation that would reflect the identity of the region, contribute to reducing regional asymmetries, promote sustainable development and make connections with the pre-­ existing cooperation programmes in the region (CELAC 2013, paragraph 33). It must also be emphasised that the active participation of Caribbean states in CELAC would be beneficial for the Latin American nations. In spite of CARICOM’s limitations, this group of countries has certain advantages – and strategic interests – in some sectors in which they have a record of good practices and positive experiences, and which they could use to make significant contributions to the rest of the CELAC membership. Among these sectors are (1) tourism; (2) culture and cultural industries; (3) ITC, telecommunications and e-­commerce.21

Summary and conclusions The economic and social evolution of most CARICOM countries has shown a marked deterioration in the last few years and the subregion has experienced a period of crisis and stagnation with serious macroeconomic imbalances since 2008. This has mainly resulted from the unfavourable impact of the global crisis and is linked to the way in which their economies are incorporated into the world economy and to their structural vulnerabilities. The process of subregional integration is going through a complex phase of redefinition. CARICOM economic integration today faces a deep crisis which compromises the entire integration project and has negative consequences for CARICOM’s collection of intergovernmental organs. The 2011 decision to put the implementation of the CSME on pause – which implied that there should have been a new schedule for implementation adopted at the next summit in 2012 – and the fact that in the final communique of the 34th Summit in July 2013 there was not even mention of this matter is the most graphic sign of the current crisis in CARICOM. The broader regional context in which CARICOM functions, has been evolving over the last few years and opening up new opportunities for the construction of alliances and coalition strategies with Latin American countries. The launching of groupings like ALBA-­TCP, UNASUR and especially the formal establishment of CELAC are signs of a renewed vision in Latin America and the Caribbean on joint regional and subregional strategies to collectively face the challenges of development in conditions of globalisation. CARICOM’s

182  A. Romero Gomez participation in joint projects – but on a new basis – with ALBA-­PetroCaribe and CELAC could be useful for relaunching Caribbean integration. It has already proved very useful to some Caribbean countries. Moreover, it could also be instrumental in overcoming some of the problems confronting Caribbean economies that require international collaboration. In ALBA and PetroCaribe, through their programmes in the education, health, food and energy sectors, there are opportunities for the Caribbean to explore a major, different style of participation in regional cooperation entities. For the other countries in these integration and cooperation schemes, CARICOM’s progress in the areas of culture, informatics and ITC, despite its current difficulties, makes it a promising partner. The active participation of the Caribbean in CELAC is essential for the consolidation of this regional space for cooperation and integration. For CARICOM, the real contribution of CELAC to its member states will be determined by CELAC’s capacity to effectively stimulate greater political, economic and social cooperation with Latin America. The difficult tasks of coordinating policies within CELAC vis-­à-vis the multilateral trade system and guiding CELAC in proposing an acceptable multilateral mechanism for restructuring the debt burden of small, middle-­income countries constitute a particularly significant agenda for Caribbean countries. Caribbean participation in CELAC will also be beneficial for Latin American states. These small economies have strengths in some sectors – tourism, culture and cultural industries, ITC technologies, telecommunications and e-­commerce – through which they can make valuable contributions to the other states in the Community.

Notes   1 Kirton (2011) indicates that the first decade of the current century has witnessed advances in CARICOM–Latin American relations. Notable among these are the fact that (1) Guyana and Suriname participated from the beginning in the formation of the South American Community, today UNASUR; (2) in 2006, Guyana representing CARICOM assumed the Chairmanship of the Rio Group; (3) in 2007, Belize assumed the Pro Tempore Chairmanship of the Central American Integration System (SICA); (4) various CARICOM states are members and beneficiaries of PetroCaribe and some are members of ALBA; (5) there is fluid dialogue and growing cooperation between Guyana and the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela and between Guatemala and Belize; (6) a shared agenda of cooperation among various Latin American and Caribbean nations has developed in Haiti.  2 Among other initiatives, ECLAC states that in May 2012 an intergovernmental working group was established to develop protocols on public procurement and contingent rights. See ECLAC (2012).   3 Four negotiating rounds have taken place but according to the specialists, there has been little progress.   4 The CARICOM Heads of Government issued a mandate to the Council for Trade and Economic Development (COTED) to advance the implementation. In May 2012, the fourth meeting was held of the Joint Council for the Negotiation of a FTA between CARICOM and the DR but there were few significant advances in this process either.   5 In this respect, it should be noted that the HIV/AIDS epidemic has stabilised and the transmission of the virus from mother to child has been reduced.   6 The other two pillars are the PANCAP and the NCD project.

CARICOM in ALBA, PetroCaribe and CELAC  183   7 The RCC is a CARICOM entity which advises the Ministers of Culture in several areas such as cultural patrimony and the links between culture, trade, the economy and politics.   8 COHSOD drew up model legislation for the development of cultural industries which could guide member states in implementing the recommendations which have come from CARICOM’s highest authorities. Among these are: (1) the elaboration of a package of fiscal incentives to stimulate the creative and cultural industries; (2) granting a harmonised regime of tariff exemptions for cultural industries in the context of the CSME; (3) ratification of international agreements which protect cultural and intellectual property and extending authors’ rights from 50–70 years after the death of the holders of those rights; (4) the establishment of sustainable and transparent mechanisms for financing cultural promotion; (5) establishing a regional council for cultural industries to support the operationalisation of the strategy; (6) strengthening educational programmes in the Arts in the region; (7) creating integrated registers of regional and national databases of artists.   9 Also in this summit they agreed to the establishment of an ALBA Defence Council. 10 In particular, Haiti’s relationship with ALBA has been constructed on the basis of an integral programme of cooperation with the Haitian people and administrations. 11 However, as was acknowledged by the Venezuelan Vice President for Economic and Productive Matters, there is a need to address certain issues like the regulation of sales from state-­owned enterprises, the speed with which transactions can be completed, increasing the value of lines of credit, and developing lines of credit in ‘sucres’ for SMEs so as to increase the attractiveness of this instrument. 12 In the same summit, the Venezuelan President proposed that each member state should deposit 1 per cent of its international reserves in the ALBA Bank and he confirmed Venezuela’s decision to do this, which meant that almost 300 million US dollars of new funding flowed into the Bank’s reserves. 13 Within the ALBA Health programme, the following projects are being developed: ALBA Medicine; ALBA Pharmaceuticals (ALBA Farma); ALBA-­Prot (Prosthesis project); the Miracle Mission; Everyone with You (Todos con Vos); and ALBA-­ Movil which addresses gastroenterology needs. 14 All the CARICOM states except for Trinidad and Tobago and Barbados are included in the 16 member states of PetroCaribe. 15 During the Eighth Meeting of the PetroCaribe Ministerial Council (Caracas 2–3 December 2011), participants were informed that the ALBA Caribe Fund had financed a total of 88 social development projects in 12 countries with an estimated investment of US$207 million in grants, benefitting around 2.5 million people. 16 Presidential diplomacy has emerged as a privileged mechanism in the current phase of international relations. Although the decisions adopted at the CELAC summits have no binding legal weight, they certainly carry an important political significance and legitimacy. As was agreed in the Procedures for the Institutional Functioning of CELAC, decisions are adopted by consensus at all times and they are political agreements. 17 See paragraph 5 of the Declaration of Santiago, made at the first CELAC summit. 18 The construction of collective sovereignty enables them to jointly overcome challenges in a context in which no actor has enough power to unilaterally confront transnational threats. 19 For the purposes of this chapter, the term Caribbean refers to the group of independent countries which are members of CARICOM. 20 See paragraph 8 of the Declaration of Santiago. 21 It should be noted that in the Santiago Declaration, paragraph 25 stresses the need to deepen and diversify connectivity among the CELAC countries.

Part V

Global and regional trends Implications for pan-­Caribbean integration

14 ‘Far from home but close at heart’ Preliminary considerations on regional integration, deterritorialisation and the Caribbean diaspora1 D. Alissa Trotz Introduction This chapter addresses the following related questions: Is the Caribbean Diaspora relevant to the regional integration project? In what ways might diasporic communities engage with the regional integration project that can be of benefit to themselves and the region? What are some of the likely challenges that their engagement presents? Although, as we shall see, diaspora is a fairly slippery concept, it is foregrounded here as a broad reference to Caribbean peoples who reside outside of the region. Indeed, diaspora has become a term that has gained popular purchase, a way of marking oneself in relation to where one left, even if it is now detached from an earlier sense of displacement and eternal alienation from an originary homeland. There are a number of reasons to take this matter seriously. The first relates to the sheer size of the Caribbean population living overseas, which by many anecdotal counts exceeds the numbers of people within the region; even Prime Minister Portia Simpson-­Miller (2013a) remarked in her address to the opening ceremony of the 5th Biennial Jamaica Diaspora Conference in June 2013, that she had been informed that ‘Our island with its vibrant diaspora … is more than twice the home population’. It is not even clear how we might arrive at an accurate measure of the diaspora and who counts: How do we reckon with vast numbers of undocumented migrants? How should we think of temporary agricultural, domestic, construction and hotel workers? Through how many generations does the Caribbean persist as a meaningful category of identification? The second has to do with my own social location, as someone who has lived outside of Guyana for well over two decades, but who considers the entire region to be her home. A student remarked to me once that ‘Is only when you leave the Caribbean that you realise that you are from a region, not just a country’. While it is too simple to conclude that migration is a prerequisite for moving past a narrow nationalism, this comment draws our attention to the ways in which movement works to deepen and extend, rather than sever a connection with the places left, and not merely via the work of nostalgia but through the practices of daily living in new spaces. We see this across literature: evocative renderings of Caribbean-­ness produced as a space of refuge and shared camaraderie in hostile

188  D. A. Trotz cities in Sam Selvon’s The Lonely Londoners or George Lamming’s The Pleasures of Exile; imagining the Caribbean from cities like Toronto and engaging the politics of return in books like Shani Mootoo’s Moving Forward Sideways Like a Crab, Merle Collins’s Angel and Dionne Brand’s In Another Place, Not Here. In Canada, busloads of Caribbean women travel weekly to visit Caribbean places and Caribbean people in Brooklyn, New York, actively producing what I have called a vernacular regionalism that is not unlike the forms of connectivity instantiated by the higgler, even if the maps drawn by the occupants of the bus offer new diasporic geographies through which we might glimpse the region (Trotz 2011). Bookstores provide a site for lively sociality and the usual friendly but argumentative exchange about the state of the Caribbean or the challenges of living in foreign, while churches and mosques and temples bring congregations together in which faith is expressed in differently inflected Caribbean accents. In Canada, I operate partly within the institutional framework of a Caribbean Studies undergraduate programme, where the students mostly describe themselves as Caribbean-­Canadian, and where their enrolment in the programme frequently discloses the intertwining of intellectual interest and affective investment in mapping places and relationships to places that many have left as children, or never actually visited. People keep in touch with the communities they have left at an individual level, but also through participation in organisations and groups; hometown associations, sports clubs, alumni organisations, mobilising relief aid in the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake, the hurricane in Grenada, the floods in Guyana, adopting schools, refurbishing hospital wards. These cross-­border webs are not particularly new, but what is different is the intensity and speed of connection that characterises our world today, and the new kinds of deterritorialised proximities it affords (Sassen 2001). Finally, overseas communities have been increasingly capturing the attention of national governments. There are numerous examples: the explicit policy of the Philippine government to export its citizens to work as domestics and in the entertainment sector in other countries; the introduction of new categories of overseas citizens (Non-­Resident Indians) by the Indian government to facilitate investment; the efforts of the government of New Zealand to attract its expatriate community; the passage of legislation in Italy that allowed the Italian diaspora to elect members of parliament in the 2006 elections to represent their interests as citizens living outside the country (see Larner 2007). Within the Caribbean, while there has always been some kind of relationship to the diaspora (overseas arms of political parties are the most obvious, but there are also examples like Jean-­ Bertrand Aristide’s declaration that the diaspora constitutes the tenth department of Haiti), it is only within the decade that we have seen Caribbean governments begin to initiate efforts to tap into the immense resources that extra-­territorial communities are perceived to have at their disposal. As Prime Minister Simpson told the 2013 Jamaica Biennial Diaspora Conference, ‘We take the position that Jamaica’s growth and prosperity agenda is incomplete without the committed engagement and active participation of the diaspora’.

‘Far from home but close at heart’  189 This identification of the diaspora as a key development partner follows, indeed we might even say takes its cue, from the attention being paid in the twenty-­first century by development agencies and international financial institutions to remittances and the investment possibilities that diasporas represent (Simpson 2013a). The Jamaica Observer carried a report from the World Bank’s brief on Migration and Development – tellingly, the accompanying image was of hands flipping through a stack of US$100 bills, the lingua franca of our world – that remittances constitute triple the size of official development assistance flows to the Global South, and also exceed ‘private debt and portfolio equity flows to developing countries’ (Suresh 2013). This chapter reflects on the potential relationship between regional integration and the space inhabited by diaspora. The adjective ‘potential’ is deliberately invoked here. First, it is important to emphasise that the Caribbean discussions to cultivate diasporic affiliations that are regional in scope rather than singularly nation-­bound are relatively unprecedented worldwide.2 Second, this is a topic that has yet to receive systematic attention at the level of the regional integration institutional machinery, despite being flagged as important over two decades ago by Time For Action, the 1992 Report of the West Indian Commission. In official communiqués from the CARICOM Secretariat, we see occasional references, such as the 1991 Port of Spain Consensus of the Caribbean Regional Economic Conference that emphasised that ‘Policies and strategies to strengthen the links with our migrant communities and draw upon their potentials in the areas of finance, purchasing power, knowledge base, skills and experience, need to be put into place’ (CARICOM Secretariat 1991, paragraph 13). In a 2005 publication of the CARICOM Secretariat, Our Caribbean Community, notwithstanding early acknowledgement that ‘our diaspora therefore represents an important resource both in intellectual ability and other skills, on which we must draw to further our development’, the subject disappears completely from the remaining 400 pages of deliberations (save for one reference to the existence of Caribbean diasporic carnivals) (CARICOM Secretariat 2005, p. 5). In June 2007, a CARICOM US Summit included official discussions with members of the Caribbean diaspora that had been organised by the CARICOM Caucus of Ambassadors in Washington (CARICOM Secretariat 2007). Six years later, at a meeting on Caribbean integration also held in Washington in April 2013 under the auspices of the Caribbean Research and Policy Center (CRPC), delegates noted that there had been no real follow up, with calls from the Chairman of the CRPC Ambassador Ward and Assistant Secretary-­General of the OAS Ambassador Ramdin for future dialogue on the role of the diaspora in advancing the cause of regional integration (Caribbean Research and Policy Center, 2013). Matters relating to the diaspora fall broadly under the Directorate for Foreign and Community Relations at CARICOM, but as far as one can tell, from looking at the various Declarations and Consensuses emanating from the Conference of Heads of Government (CARICOM’s highest decision-­making organ), there is not yet an established commitment to engaging the issue as a regional one,

190  D. A. Trotz notwithstanding the Rose Hall Declaration coming out of the 24th meeting of the Conference of Heads of Government in Montego Bay, Jamaica, in 2003, that expressed a desire for Member Governments and the Community Organs [to] work with the public and private sectors and with civil society to strengthen and broaden cultural, social and economic linkages with the West Indian diaspora, which is an integral part of the Caribbean Community. The following discussion will neither dwell on the reasons for this uneven attention to the topic of diasporic engagement in ongoing conversations about the regional integration movement, nor be laboriously prescriptive about what needs to be done. The goal is more modest, and it is to reflect on some of the key issues that appear to be framing the conversation when it does occur. This will be done through an exploration of how the diaspora-­regional relationship is imagined across a remarkable – and seemingly one-­ off – public meeting with Caribbean people that took place in Toronto some years ago, and through an earlier series of consultations that would lead to a comprehensive list of recommendations for CARICOM set out in the 1992 Report of the West Indian Commission, Time For Action.3 Rather than take diaspora as a given, the task here is to explore how the idea of diaspora is being put to work by regional bureaucrats and (nation) state representatives across these events. What does it stand for, who are the imagined subjects of such appeals, on what terms are they invited to contribute to and share in the development of the region, and what is the content of this summoning of a Caribbean extra-­ territorial population across these events?4 Precisely because this relationship seems incipient, these encounters are imagined as animated by and alive with possibilities and challenges.

Constructing a regional diaspora One late spring afternoon in 2009, and along with geographer Beverley Mullings, I attended an event that was widely advertised across the Greater Toronto Area as a ‘CARICOM Diaspora Public Forum’, which was held in the Medical Sciences Auditorium of the downtown campus of the University of Toronto.5 Anticipating a decent turnout – it was the middle of the week and downtown, neither a hospitable time nor place for the vast majority of working Caribbeans who make their homes on the outskirts of the city and in the suburbs – we were both surprised to see how many people showed up. By the end of the evening some hours later there was standing room only in the auditorium, which seats 500. The CARICOM standard, the flag of the regional integration movement, was projected on a large onstage screen, surrounded by much smaller flags of all of the member states. The Forum was the brainchild of the Ottawa-­ based High Commissioners, and executed by the Toronto Caribbean Consular Corps, most of whom were present and at the doors welcoming arriving guests. Presentations were made by six High Commissioners

‘Far from home but close at heart’  191 representing Barbados, The Bahamas, Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, Guyana and the Eastern Caribbean. Haiti’s representative was ill, while Suriname and Belize were absent. A number of topics were covered: diaspora investment; Canada/CARICOM relations; and the Caribbean diaspora in relation to Canada’s political process. The effusive declaration by the Consul General of Trinidad and Tobago, that the Toronto gathering was the ‘first event of its kind in all the decades since the countries of the Caribbean have moved into independence’, was of course somewhat overstated. As I have already noted, two years earlier such a dialogue had been attempted in the US, with preparatory town hall meetings with Caribbean­Americans held in Washington, New York, Hartford (Connecticut), Phila­delphia, Fort Lauderdale, Boston, Houston, Atlanta and Los Angeles, in the lead up to the June consultations with CARICOM in Washington. Such claims of newness also overlook the fact that the West Indian Commission (WIC), constituted in 1989 to take popular soundings on the state of the regional movement, hosted public meetings not just across the Caribbean but also in spaces outside of the region where significant numbers of migrants had made their homes – London, Birmingham, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, Washington and New York. In its introduction to the 1992 report the WIC commented: we must not take for granted the vast number of West Indians in the diaspora, the great majority of whom, including generations beyond the first migration, retain a love of homeland and a preparedness to contribute ‘back home’ to which we must respond more positively than we have done in the past … we have voices and talents and interests and resources which we must find organized ways, and devise systematic preferential arrangements, to involve in our work and lives back home. (pp. 26–27) The Report’s case for including Caribbeans living overseas drew on the work of Commissioner and former CARICOM Secretary-­General William Demas, who submitted a paper, ‘Towards West Indian Survival’ in which he reiterated his earlier position that regional integration is necessitated by the structural limitations of small size (Demas 1965). With a population of some 5.5 million people (at the time, Suriname and Haiti were not members), it was argued that the CARICOM market does not provide the critical mass that is imperative for the accomplishment of economies of scale and efficiencies in such areas as ‘the mobilization of regional capital for regional use, trained and professional manpower, export marketing, business management, university education, research and development, science and technology, sea and air transportation’ (WIC 1994, p. 408). Discussions of CARICOM can be broadly seen as taking two forms. Deepening refers to the intensification of coordination among member states, while widening denotes the extension of relationships beyond the existing grouping, like the granting of membership status to Suriname (1995) and Haiti (2002) or the

192  D. A. Trotz inclusion of the DR in a broader CARIFORUM grouping. The Report is significant, in that while the section titled ‘Compulsions for Widening Integration’ restricts itself to a consideration of exploring and consolidating relationships with other states or supranational bodies (like the OAS and the UN), the theme of diaspora receives separate attention, underlining how ‘transnational processes have clearly reshaped the presumed association between nation-­states, sovereignty and territoriality’ (Sharma and Gupter 2006, p. 7). We might think of this discussion of Caribbean migrants (primarily in North America and Europe) as part of a conversation on widening (a clue is offered in one of the headings in this section, ‘An Expanded Concept of Community’). It entails an argument for the jurisdictional reach of member states to be extended beyond traditional understandings of territoriality. It remains a state-­centric vision, a family affair, but one in which migrant itineraries generate a transnationalised relation to, and demand a reconceptualisation of, the nation, although what is striking is that it is regional and not national space that is being reimagined here. The domestication – perhaps a more appropriate term is regionalisation – of these translocal connections in the WIC Report’s discussions of CARICOM’s wider relations is underlined in the placement of the extended discussion of diaspora in a section titled ‘Special Issues’, and not in ‘Chapter XI: Shaping External Relations’. There, the Commissioners urged a rearticulation of the space of the Caribbean on the grounds of expanding access to the potentialities represented by these overseas constituencies, and as a way of achieving the critical mass envisioned by Demas as so necessary to the viability of the integration movement: The concept of regional unity and closer integration should not be limited to geographical space alone, because migration has made the Caribbean significantly larger than its geographical space.… This larger Caribbean comprises a thriving expatriate community with considerable resources. This reality suggests that if Caribbean integration is predicated on economic and demographic space rather than geographic space alone, the Region can immediately enlarge considerably the human and financial capital resources available to it. (WIC 1992, p. 410) In 2003, Jamaican Prime Minister P. J. Patterson would reiterate this more fluid and expansive notion of boundary: The ‘people’ boundaries of CARICOM are not confined to the physical boundaries of our regional homelands. The living boundaries of CARICOM are to be found wherever CARICOM nationals or their progeny reside and work … the West Indian diaspora communities abroad are within the demographic and cultural boundaries of CARICOM. We want to have overseas West Indians fully engaged with the rest of us in consolidating Caribbean regional integration. (Patterson 2003)

‘Far from home but close at heart’  193 The WIC Report also argued that it was abundantly evident from the public consultations that a strong Caribbean cultural identity exists among migrants, generated by histories of movement, patterns of settlement, and the experience of interacting with people across the region. A similar sentiment was on display at the 2009 Toronto gathering, where one speaker noted, ‘Look around this room … after a while, you don’t hear accents. We have the same heritage. We need to develop a Caribbean country.…’ In these representations of unity, the diasporic subject – through routinised encounters with other Caribbean folk – is seen as occupying a unique position relative to those who have not left. Now that the diaspora has been identified as a key player in shaping the future of the Caribbean, it is the task of the regional integration movement to recognise and give institutional form to these translocal desires for reconnection. The WIC Report names what it sees as sluggish official recognition of the tremendous promise of diaspora, suggesting that what we are seeing is no more than a reactive response to a grouping that already exists as a coherently constituted category (p. 413).6 To be sure, many of the examples they provide support such a reading, such as complaints from the UK-­based Caribbean business community about the costs of doing business in the region. And a search online reveals an extensive list of diaspora groupings that have established relations ‘back home’, ranging from hometown associations to professional groups and alumni organisations. An emphasis on belatedness should not, however, come at the expense of considering the constitutive role of CARICOM states in shaping and directing these affinities. The WIC Report, then, is itself proactively invested in cultivating diasporic sensibilites, requiring us to investigate the mechanisms through which the region emerges into view for the diasporic as a distinct and preferred site of possible engagement. Who is being recruited here, and for what kind of regional project? This generative force was certainly evident at the Toronto meeting – which although not officially sanctioned by CARICOM, fulfilled one of the WIC recommendations for ‘consultation with the diaspora involving … joint action between Embassies, High Commissions and Consulates of CARICOM countries’ (p. 415). Billed as a public forum, it consisted primarily of presentations by members of the diplomatic corps, whose effort to cultivate diasporic affect was strategic and multifaceted. The first dimension of this involved grappling with the migrant’s location in, and relation to another country with at least a partial claim to their loyalty. In its 1992 report, the WIC pointed to the importance of not relinquishing the importance of offering representation, by emphasising the specific conditions of migrant life overseas: Lest it be thought that our interest in the diaspora is purely mercenary, we must also find better organized, more systematic, ways of involving ourselves in the problems they face in their new homes. In particular the racism which many have experienced, and which many more are likely to experience as the voice of extreme chauvinism becomes shriller in metropolitan countries, must be considered our problem too. We must represent our

194  D. A. Trotz interest in the well-­being of ‘our people’ at the highest levels and whenever required. We must treat these men and women and children of the diaspora as West Indians all, far from home but close at heart. (pp. 26–27) This was not the tack taken at the Toronto meeting, which in addressing itself to the Canadian dimensions of diasporic experience seemed to shift the burden of representation to the migrants themselves. The Caribbean diaspora was described as a potentially powerful constituency that, possessing Canadian citizenship, could advocate on its own behalf as well as on behalf of the region it had left. Speakers noted that their responsibilities as Caribbean state representatives precluded them from commenting on the internal affairs of a sovereign country, and urged audience members to get more actively involved in provincial and federal politics in order to guarantee a more humane approach to matters relating to the immigrant experience in Canada (identifying such issues as family reunification and expediting of visas in case of emergencies). But they also staked out an important political role for Caribbean-­Canadians, in which a concern for ‘homeland’ would translate into active engagement and lobbying efforts to ensure that Canadian foreign and trade policies responded to the region’s needs. In the latter case, Caribbean diasporics are figured as loyal insiders, embodying a strategic positionality that enables them to act as Ambassadors of Caribbean interests within the corridors of Canadian political structures.7 The apparent reticence of the diplomatic corps at the Toronto meeting to indicate how they might officially handle complaints about local – as in Canadian – issues appears to stand in contrast to the WIC Report. But it is also possible to read the acknowledegment of the issues facing Caribbean-­Canadians (even if the advice offered was that the audience needed to organise and better represent themselves) as doing a different set of work. Naming these experiences of contingent citizenship – if we think of citizenship less as a bundle of legal rights and more as a set of hierarchical processes that establish differentiated terms of inclusion – becomes the basis of appeals to make the Caribbean a priority, a choice that is described as mutually beneficial for region and migrant alike. Simply put, the message here is that unlike in Canada, you – and your money – will always be welcome in the Caribbean. The desire to be a big man or big woman, more difficult to accomplish in the migrant destination, can be more easily achieved by developing an institutionalised relationship that enables one to achieve respectability while acting upon cultural and ancestral affiliations that remain impervious to the formal acquisition of Canadian citizenship. It is here, then, that the Caribbean state machinery positions itself agentially as facilitator. At the Toronto meeting, speakers were keen to identify high commissions and consular offices as crucial mediating spaces where the expertise, information and power to translate diasporic desire into business opportunities is to be found. The virtues of CSME were extolled, with the audience told that they would be at home wherever they travelled and that infrastructure was being put into place to enable potential investors to take advantage of incentives right

‘Far from home but close at heart’  195 across the region (cultural industries like music and film were offered as examples ripe for investment). What are some of the key issues that arise from the ways in which the diaspora comes into the line of vision of Caribbean officialdom as a critical resource, with the capacity to reinvigorate not just faltering economies but the regional integration project itself? To begin, on the stage at the Toronto meeting, the prominent location given to the CARICOM standard was matched by official speakers’ repeated attempts, throughout the evening, to speak as if with one voice. At one point the High Commissioner for Trinidad and Tobago gently chided a questioner who asked her for specifics about the island, reminding the audience that they were not there as representatives of individual countries (Trotz 2009). After each presentation the floor was opened for questions, but the format was unable to accommodate the extraordinary interest shown by the audience, with people taking up positions in long lines at the microphones waiting to be heard. The disjuncture revealed a gap between a deep desire to be recognised as having a part to play in the Caribbean’s future, and the absence, despite the clear diplomatic effort to portray the region as a unified space, of a robust regional infrastructure that can accommodate the desire of Caribbean peoples in Canada to reconnect, able to translate affect into the kinds of contributions – material and otherwise – that people were envisaging.8 As one example, notwithstanding the existence of something called a Caribbean consular corps, each CARICOM country continues to have its own consular office in Toronto (there was an OECS High Commission – the OECS – in Ottawa, which was represented at the 2009 meeting, but it closed in 2011).9 The 2009 Canadian gathering appears, unfortunately, to have been more the exception than the rule, a singular event that was the initiative of a few enterprising Caribbean diplomatic representatives. Unlike the WIC, it was neither generated by the CARICOM Secretariat nor was it the result of a decision taken at any of the Heads of Government Conferences, and there has been no follow up since. Moreover, when we turn to the WIC Report, the nine recommendations pertaining to the diaspora are relatively vague; only one (Recommendation Four) deliberately mentions joint action, while the others refer to something called ‘The Region’, as if this is an already constituted entity, made coherent through mechanisms that enable CARICOM to coordinate a systematic approach to overseas Caribbeans. The most specific proposal comes elsewhere in the document, urging the development of a scheme that might attract skilled nationals to the region for fixed short-­term assignments, and calling for the establishment of a high-­level working group by 1993 to initiate consultations with governments and potential donors to make this a reality. What we have seen instead are proactive measures being taken by individual member states to reach out to their nationals overseas; for instance, the Government of Guyana, in conjunction with the International Organization for Migration, announced that it would be creating a database of skilled Guyanese overseas.10 While these singular initiatives need not take the place of a regional approach to diasporic engagement (playing an accompanying role instead), what

196  D. A. Trotz this issue throws up is a fundamental, well-­known and as yet unresolved tension within CARICOM between rights and obligations at the level of the Community and domestic/national laws and governance mechanisms, between national sovereignty and the regional project, succinctly captured by Norman Girvan’s conclusion that ‘… governments tend to perceive supranationality as less an exercise in collective sovereignty and more as a diminution of national sovereignty’ (Girvan 2010a, p. 69). In this regard, if we read Caribbean state strategies to reach individuals once seen as outside of the territorial imaginaries of the nation-­state as an attempt to reterritorialise, through concretising diasporic members’ transnational relations with their country of origin/heritage, then will this insistence on particularity come at a regional cost? How jealously will member countries guard what may well be perceived to be their overseas citizens’ natural affinity to home?

Contradictions and tensions in diasporic engagement Another area to consider is the possible reification of hierarchical differences between those who have remained in or returned to the region and those who have left, especially since many of the new rituals of courtship rely precisely on diasporics staying in place in the West and directing their networks and resources to the Caribbean; as the WIC Report states unequivocally, ‘Given new technologies, the time is now ripe for accessing these resources to the benefit of the Region, without the need for relocation’ (WIC 2009, pp. 413–414).11 The message at the Toronto meeting that the Caribbean is open for business glibly overlooked the fits and starts that have plagued the establishment of CSME. Crucially, we need to be aware of the spatial hierarchies at work in appeals to would-­be diaspora investors to feel welcome in any part of the region, in a context where freedom of movement simply does not exist for the majority of people domiciled in the Caribbean, as the Shanique Myrie case that was decided in 2013 before the CCJ so poignantly illustrates.12 Even those categories of workers now granted access on paper continue to face significant hurdles to travel. The Canadian gathering took place at a time when Barbados was coming under the spotlight for its deportation of Caribbean nationals (especially Guyanese), when the Antiguan opposition was alleging that the government was conducting midnight raids and deporting people without due process, and when there were word of mouth reports just a few weeks earlier of a flight returning with over a dozen Jamaican nationals on board who had been refused entry into Trinidad and Tobago (Trotz 2009). Against this backdrop, an invitation to the diasporic community that one’s ties to one CARICOM country will guarantee access to all member states, glosses over the fact that it is the foreign passport that is qualifying Caribbean citizenship here, and that mediates entry and facilitates the welcome. What is being promised is free movement for privileged diasporics, an approach that stands in danger of heightening inequalities and producing tensions between ‘home’ and ‘away’. What this issue underlines is that it is neither plausible nor wise to

‘Far from home but close at heart’  197 facilitate genuine diasporic engagement regionally, without simultaneously (or as a prior move) committing to making freedom of movement for people within the Caribbean a reality. The CCJ ruling in the case of Shanique Myrie, which awarded her damages (although it rejected her claim that she was discriminated against on the basis of her nationality), upheld the right of CARICOM nationals to enter CARICOM member states hassle-­free and to remain for up to six months, a right derived from the Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas (RTC) and reaffirmed at the Twenty-­Eighth Meeting of the CARICOM Conference of Heads of Government at Needham’s Point, Barbados. The CCJ also pointed out that it expected Barbados to interpret or modify its domestic laws to bring them in line with Community law on this question, although it is not clear to me at this stage whether the language of ‘expectation’ is legally binding or enforceable. It remains to be seen what the lived effects of this landmark ruling will be for intra-­ regional movement (Walker 2013). In addition to thinking carefully about divisions across these transnational sites, we should consider intra-­diasporic differences – the limits of diaspora – and how they shape relations of power and forms of inclusion/exclusion (see Thomas and Campt 2008). We see this clearly in relation to deportation, an issue was raised at the Toronto meeting, with the diplomatic corps expressing frustration at the large numbers of persons being stripped of their legal residency and involuntarily sent back to a region that itself would prefer to withhold recognition. That the ‘welcome with open arms’ policy is not an undifferentiated one also underlines the value states continue to place on having control over the movement of persons across their territorial borders. Moreover, notwithstanding the belief that the diaspora stands in a privileged relation to the region in terms of seeing itself more readily as Caribbean, the sense of unity articulated there was restricted to the Anglophone Caribbean (although not inclusive of Belize), reinforced by the absence of diplomatic representation from Suriname and Haiti. As a Haitian audience member reminded the gathering near the end of the meeting, ‘After what we have given to the world, we are treated like slaves, including in other parts of the Caribbean’. If it is not explicitly addressed, diasporic involvement may in fact deepen, rather than undermine existing inter-­island rivalries (bigger vs smaller countries, Anglophone vs the rest). We also need to carefully examine who exactly is being interpellated by these emerging governmental strategies that are gaining traction among states, international financial institutions and development organisations alike, and that enthusiastically promote ‘the diaspora option’, which refers to ‘a policy orientation that is geared toward incorporating the human, economic, and social capital and networks of émigrés’, and which derives from ‘the idea that the human and financial capital held by members of diaspora can be “tapped– into”, “mobilized,” and “channeled” into state development strategies, in ways that are more [patriotic] and dependable than FDI’ (Trotz and Mullings 2013, p. 162).13 Initially concerned with the staggering levels of remittances

198  D. A. Trotz returning to countries of origin, official attention has increasingly shifted to the potential catalytic role that highly skilled and economically successful migrants can play in their home countries.14 In a structurally-­ adjusted Caribbean, the emerging discourse (as elsewhere) seems to be primarily revolving around the idea of the self-­directed, responsible and entrepreneurial subject who simply needs an enabling market framework to be put into place in order to exercise choices that will ultimately redound to the benefit of all, as for example in the WIC’s call for Caribbean governments to replace ‘red tape’ with a ‘red carpet’ (Trotz and Mullings 2013)15 It is a conversation that has particular resonance in a region that with some of the highest out-­migration rates of ‘skilled’ emigrants (Trotz and Mullings 2013, p. 163). Significantly, while there continues to be ongoing debates over the effects of brain drain on the region’s human resources and capability, in relation to the diaspora the idea of brain gain appears to be gaining increased traction, with an emphasis on the transnational networks that might enable a contribution to development regardless of one’s geographical location (Trotz and Mullings 2013). Thus at the Toronto gathering, while the desire of older migrants to retire to the Caribbean was explicitly acknowledged (a conversation in which questions relating to things like personal safety and health care are paramount), the diplomatic corps were careful not to limit their remarks to such a generationally and spatially restricted cohort. The appeal was much broader, and deliberately aimed as well at a younger generation of Caribbean people (including those who had been born outside of the region). A recurring theme was that return is not a condition of financial engagement. This is not, however, a blank invitation, but rather one in which finance, or financial potential, becomes a condition of possibility for diasporic engagement. Return here is figured not just or even physically, but as the materialisation of investment possibilities created by the networks that the successful overseas Caribbean person can mobilise and direct homewards. In this approach, the diasporic actor gets figured as a key node in a transnational network, whose embeddedness elsewhere, rather than residence in or return to the region, is what provides the advantage. As Beverley Mullings and I have suggested, what we are seeing here is a variation on aspects of the Arthur Lewis model of the 1950s that emphasised foreign investment as an initial engine of industrialisation. Today, it is the diasporic investor who seems to be increasingly positioned as capable of rescuing the region from imminent collapse, prompted to act not simply by business principles but also and even more crucially by virtue of a felt Caribbeanness and who should be enabled to meaningfully act on that desire and demonstrate that patriotism (Trotz and Mullings 2013, p. 170). In this conceptualisation, everyone benefits: the region’s resource base is no longer jurisdictionally restricted, and the diasporic subject profits in the process of actualising a meaningful relationship with a land no longer – or never – lived in. This raises an obvious question – who is being prioritised and at whose expense, by such strategic targeting of select diasporics by states, regional and supranational organisations (to put it bluntly, for whom is the region really open for business?), and what are the possible consequences of this approach for our

‘Far from home but close at heart’  199 sense of what the Caribbean really needs? We should not forget that the work to keep the transnational household going falls predominantly on women. It is these contributions, the sacrifices that they represent and the lives torn apart that they stand for, that are in danger of occlusion by the dispersed family romance that now positions the elite and mobile diaspora entrepreneur as the magical figure who will inject the needed medicine into a faltering regional economy. The Haitian proverb, ‘The donkey works but the horse is promoted’, cited by George Lamming in his meditation on regionalism, seems apposite here (Lamming 2000). The invisibility is compounded by a neoliberal discourse that increasingly dismisses remittances as non-­productive, inefficient and encouraging dependency, the effect of which is to reinforce a false epistemological and spatial dichotomy between economic production and social reproduction. The valourisation of the self-­governing diasporic subject directs our attention away from their imbrication in a web of hierarchical social relations that stand in danger of being reproduced, rather than challenged by such a vision. How, then, might we reframe the conversation on dependency? I am referring here not to the colonial and striated relations that were so sharply diagnosed by dependency theory, but to the circulation of the term in the context of neoliberal globalisation. An important point of departure is the insights of feminist debates that point out that the autonomous actor is nothing more than a hegemonic construct, since the ‘independence’ they enjoy in the public sphere would not have been made possible without devalued and unwaged care work that must and continues to be done at multiple scales locally and transnationally.16 In other words, how might we shift our now almost instinctive understanding of dependency as something to be disparaged and avoided at all costs, to a definition that speaks of a sense of interdependence, of relation that nourishes and values all lives (remembering too that we already have a language in the Caribbean for this, expressed in such proverbs as ‘one hand can’t clap’, or han’ wash han’ mek han’ come clean)? This is not an argument for inclusion on the same or someone else’s terms – co-­optation and depoliticisation have sadly been the all too frequent next step that follows recognition. It would seem ironic at the very least, if these transnational popular survival strategies – for that is what they are – were to be harnessed to deepen the same economic and social arrangements that in fact prompted people’s departure for other shores. The WIC invoked regional integrationist and economist William Demas in their case for expanding the critical mass of the Caribbean via the diaspora, but Demas’s original argument was one of a series of critical intellectual interventions that at the time included Alister McIntyre, Norman Girvan, Kari Levitt and Havelock Brewster among others, who made a strong case for regional integration as a vehicle of structural transformation. That developmental thrust has since been overtaken by the externally inspired market-­driven orientation to trade liberalisation that undergirds the 1989 Grand Anse Declaration setting out the goal of a CSME (Norman Girvan has referred to this as open regionalism). This is the backdrop to the WIC’s identification, three years later, of the potential of diaspora in enabling the Caribbean to compete more effectively in a neoliberal global arena.17

200  D. A. Trotz

Democratising the integration process This brings us to the final area of concern, namely facilitating genuine dialogue and meaningful participation between Caribbean constituencies across different diasporic nodes, and between the diaspora and the governments and people of the region. Again, this is a conversation that has taken place at a national level in several countries – in the 2011 elections in Guyana, at least one political party put the question of parliamentary representation for the diaspora on the table. There has been much deliberation on this issue in Jamaica around such topics as overseas voting rights, dual citizenship rights, representation in the Senate, and the creation of a select parliamentary committee to explore how to better involve the diaspora. But we need to think about what this would look like scaled up to the region, and the role that social media might play in facilitating cross-­ border conversations. Brian Meeks is one of the few scholars who focuses on questions of political participation. His proposal of a Constituent Assembly of Jamaicans at Home and Abroad with deliberative powers perhaps comes closest to a model that might be feasible at a regional level (Meeks 2007, p. 130). The problem – or the challenge – here is with trickle down regionalism. The structures of decision-­making are elite and profoundly undemocratic, and despite several unimplemented reports on governance, there remain no real systems of accountability, no enforceable mandates for implementation and no systematic efforts to genuinely involve Caribbean people in the regional integration process (only the regular and vacuous ritual of grand pronouncements at the end of the various annual meetings).18 As Edouard Glissant states,  What is missing from the notion of Caribbeanness is the transition from shared experiences to conscious expression; the need to transcend the intellectual pretensions dominated by the learned elite and to be grounded in collective affirmation, supported by the activism of the people. (Glissant 1989, p. 89) Guyanese social activist Eusi Kwayana has offered two proverbs that beautifully capture this gap. The first, a fine commentary about the quality of leadership, observes that ‘Stone dey a battam ribba, he na know ow sun hat’, while the second gestures to Glissant’s faith in the activism of the people as repository of experience and knowledge: ‘Houri come out a trench and tell you sey patwa gat feevah, believe am’.19 It is instructive to consider the structure and fate of the Assembly of Caribbean Community Parliamentarians (ACCP), conceived as a deliberative and consultative body by CARICOM heads and which held its inaugural meeting in Barbados in 1996. Its membership, drawn from CARICOM representatives who have been either elected or appointed by their respective national parliaments, is based on a fairly limited understanding of politics that fundamentally precludes wider participation from diverse sectors.20 Even beyond this it is not clear what effect the ACCP has had. Originally intended as at least an annual gathering, it has met about three

‘Far from home but close at heart’  201 times since 1996. We know nothing about any mechanisms through which the everyday concerns of women and men across the Caribbean are brought before this body. Notwithstanding the 2003 Rose Hall Declaration on Regional Governance and Integrated Development expressly calling for the strengthening of the ACCP in enhancing the regional integration process, there has not been a single communiqué issued from any Heads of Government Conference that indicates that the Assembly has had any input into or influence on substantive issues.

Conclusion I conclude with a brief reflection on a word that appears in the title of the 2013 conference hosted by the Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies (SALISES) at the Mona Campus of the University of the West Indies, ‘Rethinking Regionalism: Beyond the CARICOM Project’. ‘Beyond’, a preposition/adverb that has both spatial and temporal dimensions, lends itself nicely to this discussion about the diaspora, most obviously perhaps because it directs our gaze beyond the cartographic perimeters of the nation-­state and challenges CARICOM to develop trans-­ regional mechanisms to reckon with these communities. ‘Beyond’ also suggests a future horizon that goes further than or exceeds what we have at the moment.21 Certainly the emerging discourse about what overseas Caribbeans can contribute carries with it a sense of excitement and anticipation. The impact of regional forms of diasporic engagement on the integration movement is figured in terms of incredible promise. Diaspora is now invoked routinely and almost limitlessly: skilled professionals to assist in health and education; the use of overseas citizenship to create lobbying networks to better represent Caribbean interests in strategic capitals around the world; and (crucially) injecting dynamism into economic integration (easily the most sluggish aspect of CARICOM) through the provision of a gateway to capital and markets beyond the limited geographic space of the region. One gets a sense of this all encompassing capacity in the WIC Report, where the diaspora appears not just in a special issues section but also in chapters dealing with investments, savings and financial institutions, tourism, education, culture, entrepreneurship and private sector involvement. Even at the level of identity, the notion that you become Caribbean through migration seems to throw into relief the kind of polemic that was represented by a May 2013 column that appeared in the Jamaica Gleaner, in which lawyer Ronald Mason declared: I am a Jamaican; I am NOT a Caribbean man. I want no part of the totally useless creation we label CARICOM. The peoples who populate those islands 1,000 miles away from my home are not brothers and sisters. There has been some cross-­breeding, but it’s statistically insignificant to warrant the familial term ‘brothers’. (Mason 2013)

202  D. A. Trotz In contrast, in discussions so far diasporics are akin to sophisticated regionalists who can infuse CARICOM with a sense of cohesiveness. As the WIC Report confidently claimed, ‘In the course of this [outward] search West Indians have rediscovered their oneness’, in stark contrast to ‘a West Indies fragmented by sovereignty’ (p. 409). To be sure, at one level these rescue narratives, in which the diaspora is cast in leading role as saviour, inject a note of hopeful optimism into a conversation that is, frankly, despairing: no apparent respite from structural adjustment despite little to show after more than 30 years of such policies; violence and social dislocation; unsustainable out-­migration patterns; corruption; the transnational drug trade which many commentators see as artificially inflating the modest growth rates boasted by some countries. It comes at a time when, as political scientist Hilbourne Watson notes, CARICOM is plagued by structural economic unevenness in the productive forces, limited foreign investment and marginal economic performance, exchange rate issues, limited labor mobility, heavy debt to GDP ratios, widespread poverty, and skewed distribution of benefits from production and trade. (Watson 2013) It is certainly uplifting to latch on to something, maybe anything, that might reinvigorate a regional integration movement that some characterise as moribund, on the verge of collapse, long past its sell-­by date, even dead. What is more, these are not external forces, even if they are dispersed across the world, but a community that remains ‘close at heart’. The deterritorialised practices of diaspora are not therefore any threat to sovereignty and territorial integrity, for CARICOM states can provide the route through which roots in the region can be re-­established. In this figuration of relation, there is an assumption of interests in which differences between home and away are simply collapsed altogether. But ‘beyond’ also references the unknown, a fuzzy temporal horizon, invoking the sense that it is not a question of whether the Caribbean diaspora should be a key part of the regional integration equation, but what are the terms of engagement, and what a transformative intervention that does not promise more of the same, should look like. As this chapter suggests, there is much that should give us pause: the elision of the messy complexity of diasporic formations; the ways in which diasporic ties can deepen and not alleviate exclusionary nationalisms; the convergence of supranational, regional and national efforts to enlist diasporic resources into the exclusive and exclusionary cause of neoliberal globalisation, with the state continuing to play a key role as a strategic arbiter of the different kinds of value represented by its overseas populations. We need to have the conversation, but we also need to ask critical questions, to interrupt this singular narrative by

‘Far from home but close at heart’  203 interrogating its assumptions and by populating it with other stories. As I come here from Canada, let me close by offering a few from Montreal: the Caribbean Community and university students in the 1960s, who challenged racism in what has come to be known as the Sir George Williams Affair, a protest that was felt in the Caribbean and especially Trinidad and Tobago; their work with the Caribbean Conference Committee (people like Rosie Douglas, Tim Hector, Ann Cools); their hosting of C. L. R. James, Walter Rodney and so many others; the dynamism at the Centre of Developing Area Studies at McGill University, where Kari Levitt was then based, and the establishment of a Montreal New World Group that saw itself as deeply committed to regional integration that put Caribbean realities and Caribbean people first, perhaps not unlike that other idea of regionalism that was represented by the efforts of the tragically short-­lived Caribbean Labour Congress, described by historian Nigel Bolland (2001, p. 509) as ‘the only home-­grown, genuinely independent federation of labour organisations in the British Caribbean’. There are different genealogies of pan-­ Caribbean diasporic engagement, and of its relation to regionalism, which reveal a different template of possibilities from the one that seems to confront us. These other registers are what we, too, must remember.

Notes   1 This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Maud Fuller, proud Jamaican and committed regionalist.   2 The only exceptions that I have come across so far relate to a 2007 World Bank document, titled ‘Mobilizing the African Diaspora for Development’, that includes in its definition of diaspora members ‘involuntary’ migrants of African heritage in places like Latin America and the Caribbean, a consultation held that same year in Barbados that was organised by the governments of Barbados and South Africa as well as CARICOM and the African Union (AU), and a 2011 meeting of the AU targeting peoples of the African diaspora, to which the CARICOM Secretariat sent representatives to South Africa.   3 The West Indian Commission has its origins in the 10th Conference of Heads of Government in Grenada in July 1989. The Grand Anse Declaration states that the Heads accepted the proposal for the establishment of a Commission of eminent West Indians under the chairmanship of Sir Shridath Ramphal, to promote the purposes of the Treaty of Chaguaramas with special emphasis on the process of public consultation and involvement of the peoples of CARICOM through leaders, teachers, writers, intellectuals, creative artists, businessmen, sportsmen, trade unionists, religious and other community organisations. They agreed that the Commission should be required to report to the Heads of Government prior to their meeting in 1992. (CARICOM Secretariat 1989). Also see the West Indian Commission, 1992   4 As Beverley Mullings and I (2013, pp. 154–155) point out, ‘The purchase of diaspora in our world today thus requires us to carefully and precisely specify who is invoking it, under what conditions, in what ways, and to what ends’. For an excellent and practice-­oriented approach, see Edwards 2001.   5 The discussion of the meeting comes from extensive notes taken at the session.

204  D. A. Trotz   6 One finds a similar sentiment (‘it’s time to catch up again, fellows’) echoed in a short essay by Orlando Patterson (2000).   7 This message has since been expressed by other commentaries, for instance David Jessop (2010a) argued that ‘If the Caribbean expects to be taken seriously in London and by extension in the US and Canada, it needs a coordinated and well delivered regional strategy for its worldwide diaspora’.   8 The disjuncture reveals the heavy symbolism of the meeting to be an effort to instantiate, rather than a manifestation of, regional processes at work. As Sharma and Gupta (2006, p. 11) note, Analysing these cultural processes through which ‘the state’ is instantiated and experienced also enables us to see that the illusion of cohesion and unitariness created by states is always contested and fragile, and is the result of hegemonic processes that should not be taken for granted.   9 The closure was attributed to a shifting approach to the region by the Government of Canada through the Canadian International Development Agency (CIDA), which made it no longer economically feasible to maintain the Ottawa office. See Dominica News Online, 2011. 10 According to the Guyana’s Diaspora (GUYD) Project website (n.d.), the aim is  to contribute to the economic development of Guyana through the support and engagement of the Guyanese diaspora. The information obtained from the GUYD Project will act as an important indicator as to what skills and resources exist in the Diaspora and the interest of the Diaspora, which will serve as important factors guiding Government policy to engage the Diaspora. 11 In a slightly different register, and for a critique of the on the ground effects of the transnational networking among what Ong (2003) refers to as translocal publics, which increases the distance between those ‘at home’ and ‘ethnics abroad’. 12 Shanique Myrie is a Jamaican national who was stopped at the Grantley Adams airport in Barbados, allegedly strip searched, detained, verbally abused and eventually deported to Jamaica without being allowed to enter the country. Her legal challenge, which was heard by the CCJ, tests the freedom of movement provisions under the CSME. See Kamugisha, 2011. 13 Also see Mullings and Pellerin (2013) and Mullings (2011). 14 Also see recommendation 7 of the WIC Report’s discussion of ‘The Diaspora: Commitment and Potential’, in WIC (1992, p. 415). 15 The discourse surrounding the celebration of the entrepreneurial capacities of the diasporic subject on the one hand, and the bureaucratic nightmare of state regulations that stifle the possibilities for innovation and growth, echo the arguments made two decades earlier by Hernando de Soto (1989). 16 For a careful elaboration of this critique in the US context, see Fraser and Gordon (1994) and Trotz and Mullings (2013). 17 For an excellent overview of the political economy and changing global context of regional integration approaches from the 1960s to the present, see Girvan (2010b). 18 For a fuller discussion, see Gilbert-­Roberts (2013). 19 Translated roughly as: The stone that is at the bottom of the river has no idea how hot it really is; when the houri comes out of the trench and informs you that the patwa is ill, believe what he is telling you because he knows (houri and patwa are two freshwater fish found in Guyana). Kwayana (personal correspondence, 3 October 2013). 20 The WIC noted this limitation as early as 1992, expressing the hope that  the Assembly of Caribbean Community Parliamentarians [be] recast as the CARICOM Assembly, with Parliaments being required to elect to the Assembly a

‘Far from home but close at heart’  205 mix of parliamentarians and non-­parliamentarians, and for conventions of consultation to be inaugurated whereby the involvement of social partners in the Assembly can be assured. (p. 486) For an overview of the ACCP see Gilbert-­Roberts 2013, Chapter 5. 21 This representation falls in line with the scholarship that sees diaspora as always already transgressive and post-­national. For an interesting debate on this in the context of Caribbeanist scholarship, see the exchange between. Braziel (2008) and Torres-­ Saillant (2008).

15 CARICOM and rising powers India, China and Brazil’s South–South cooperation in the region Annita Montoute and Adriana Erthal Abdenur

Introduction Over the past decade, Caribbean Community (CARICOM) states have encountered a plethora of new opportunities in terms of international cooperation, but these have been accompanied by challenges and asymmetries. In particular, an increase in development cooperation by the rising powers – Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa, the BRICS states – has broadened the partnership options for Caribbean states, both individually and collectively. In this chapter, we undertake a comparative analysis of three BRICS countries’ engagement with CARICOM states: Brazil, China and India. More specifically, we address two key questions: how have these rising powers engaged with CARICOM?; and, how has CARICOM responded to these overtures, both as individual states and as an institution? By addressing these questions, we hope to highlight some of the heterogeneity within the growing wave of South–South cooperation in the region. Using a comparative approach relying on data and primary documents relating to the cooperation programmes established with these rising powers, we focus on mainly economic and diplomatic cooperation, within the broader context of these states’ and institutions’ deepening ties.1 The analysis is anchored in a historical understanding of these three states’ engagement with the Caribbean, including the existence of diaspora communities and inter-­state relations during the Cold War, yet we focus on the significant deepening and diversification of trans-­regional ties since the turn of the millennium. While there is a growing literature on cooperation by individual rising powers with CARICOM, the comparative dimension of this research offers an opportunity to identify major patterns, both in terms of similarities and divergences, as well as the benefits and hurdles posed by the different cooperation styles. In addition, we take seriously Mohan and Lamperi’s (2013) call to consider local agency in analyses of South–South cooperation, rather than considering only the ‘insertion’ of rising powers in a one-­sided manner. In order to avoid this pitfall, we analyse the actions and responses of all parties, including both state and non-­state actors. We offer a two-­part argument. First, while all three states adopt a discourse of horizontality and mutual benefit, there are significant differences between cooperation provided by these three countries, whose role is shaped not only by

CARICOM and the rising powers  207 economic interests, but also by specific geopolitical considerations and particular institutional arrangements. Second, even though individual states have been presented with an ‘age of choice’ through the diversification of cooperation partnerships beyond traditional powers such as the US and Europe, CARICOM lacks a coherent collective approach through which to properly leverage the new alternatives and competitive dynamics of this wave of South–South cooperation (Greenhill, Prizzon and Rogerson 2013). As a result, cooperation initiatives are dominated by a short-­term vision rather than long-­term thinking, especially on the part of individual states. In terms of ongoing debates regarding regionalism in international relations, these conclusions suggest that the predominantly bilateral cooperation initiatives linking CARICOM states to rising powers generally weakens, rather than strengthens, the institutionalisation of region-­ level cooperation (see Montoute 2011). The chapter is structured as follows. First, we offer a brief overview of the major political and economic shifts that took place as part of the transition from the Cold War bipolarity to the post-­Cold War period, as well as an outline of the state of play of CARICOM regional integration, to provide the backdrop against which China, India and Brazil entered the Caribbean. Next, we analyse the interests and cooperation strategies of these three countries in the region, covering economic, political and geopolitical dimensions. The conclusion highlights the broad patterns of cooperation among the three players, analyses some of the key implications of these engagements for development and regionalism in the area, and outlines the way forward.

CARICOM and the changing geopolitics of the Caribbean The increasing presence of the BRICS countries in the Caribbean is a reflection of broader shifts in the global political economy and the subsequent gaps left by traditional powers in the region. During the Cold War, when the world was caught in a state of bipolarity and great power competition – principally between the US and the Soviet Union – the Caribbean held historical and geopolitical/ strategic significance to major powers. The location of the Caribbean in relation to the US and the status of Caribbean countries as former colonies of Europe, explain the strategic interests of the US and Europe in the Caribbean during that period (see Commission of the European Communities 2006). For the US, the presence of communist Cuba and radical politics in Jamaica and Grenada resulted in various kinds of US preferential trade and aid arrangements designed to keep the Caribbean on the right (see Erisman 1989). Europe–Caribbean relations centred on aid and preferential trading arrangements provided through the Lomé Agreements (first signed in 1975) in the context of the African, Caribbean and Pacific (ACP) Group of States (see ACP Group 2011). This means that the trade relations of CARICOM – an organisation of mostly Anglophone countries, established in 1973 – were overwhelmingly oriented towards the US and Europe, and that its members were predominantly exporters of primary products to those places (European Commission 2016a).

208  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur The end of the Cold War brought a major shift in the global political economy, with the emergence of a US-­centric unipolar world in which the threat of communism declined. Against these broad structural shifts in the international arena, the importance of the Caribbean to traditional US security interests waned. US preferential trade, aid and economic relations generally deteriorated, giving way to narrow interests with a focus on illegal migration and the drug trade (Lowenthal 1987). Tectonic shifts in the global economy deeply impacted the Caribbean. As the Cold War drew to a close, the Uruguay Round of trade negotiations, which had started in 1986, led to the establishment of the WTO. The new institution championed neoliberal trade relations, which legitimised the dismantling of preferential arrangements and reciprocal and ‘non-­ discriminatory’ trade regimes,2 resulting in a reconfiguration of trade relations with traditional partners. By 2013, CARIBCAN, CARICOM’s preferential trade arrangement with Canada, was to have given way to a WTO-­compatible free trade agreement – the Canada–CARICOM Free Trade Agreement.3 In 2008, the EU had signed a reciprocal free trade agreement with CARIFORUM,4 the CARIFORUM–EU EPA5 which had been provided for in the 2000 Cotonou Agreement. In the 1990s, Europe also started dismantling its preferential trade arrangements with the Caribbean, partly because at the WTO, the US contended that Europe’s preferential arrangements towards the Caribbean were discriminatory, leading to the collapse of the economies of banana producing countries in particular (Mlachila et al. 2010). This development has actually reversed gains made by the Caribbean over previous decades. Although one-­way trade preferences did not result in a significant increase or diversified exports to the EU market, expansion of banana exports did stimulate growth in many of the smaller economies and helped with poverty alleviation in rural areas. While it would be premature to make definitive statements on the impact of the EPA on the Caribbean, one can glean from the impact of the erosion of preferences on bananas in the Windward Island, for example, the potential effects of reciprocal trade agreements on the Caribbean (see DFID 2004; see also Girvan and Montoute 2017). At the same time, certain rising powers began experiencing unusually high growth in the post-­Cold War era. The growing economic heft of the BRIC countries6 was captured by Goldman Sachs, whose economists predicted that, within 40 years, these four economies would overtake the top Western economies (O’Neill 2001). In 2000, the BRICS share of world GDP stood at 16 per cent and rose to almost 25 per cent in terms of Purchasing Power Parity (PPP) in 2010 and it was expected to continue to rise at that time. ‘In terms of contribution to growth of PPP – adjusted global GDP of the world’, the BRICS contributed 55 per cent between 2000 and 2008 and it was projected to continue to increase (The BRICS Report 2012, see Ministry of Finance, Government of India, 2012). Individually, for the period 1991–2010, China’s GDP grew from US$379.5 million to US$5,878.6 million, an increase of 1,449 per cent over the 10-year period. Brazil, Russia and India also grew, but less dramatically,

CARICOM and the rising powers  209 experiencing GDP increases of 412.6 per cent, 190.5 per cent and 546.4 per cent, respectively (Hosein and Khadan 2012). These rising powers’ growth spurts were taking place within a context of intensifying globalisation. The growing economies, and especially China’s, demanded greater inputs in the production sectors. In addition, the governments of these countries encouraged the internationalisation of companies, which increasingly looked abroad for new opportunities for markets and investments (Alden 2007). Since 2010, however, growth has slowed down in emerging markets, particularly the larger ones, including the BRICS countries. Growth has been sluggish and, although some of these economies are showing signs of recovery, they have not reverted to the pre-­2008 averages. Post-­2010, BRICS countries exhibited growth rates below their 2003–2008 average and by 2015, they had all recorded three successive years of slower growth (Didier et al. 2015). According to the OECD, in China, the largest of the BRICS, economic growth is expected to fall even further to 6.1 per cent by 2018 (OECD 2016). Brazil has yet to recover from a severe recession and has experienced considerable political turbulence domestically, which undermines prospects for immediate recovery and growth. India is projected to experience growth of 7.5 per cent in 2017–2018, experiencing the fastest growth among the BRICS (OECD 2016). Despite these drawbacks and slowdowns, the BRICS countries’ economic importance, especially that of China, remains considerable. In June 2015, China’s trade surpluses translated into foreign reserves of US$3.69 trillion (Wenner and Clarke 2016). The growing relevance of the BRICS states in the Caribbean coincided with challenges in CARICOM’s own regional integration arrangements, including a hiatus in the process. In 1989, CARICOM had decided to deepen the integration process by embarking on a CSME. The CSME, launched in 2006, aimed to deepen liberalisation among member states in response to globalisation. However, while significant headway has been made towards the establishment of the Single Market very little progress has been made in the area of the single economy (see Girvan 2005; Girvan 2010b). Despite these and other difficulties – including high debt among Caribbean states, the region’s high vulnerability to natural disasters, and its economies’ susceptibility to external economic shocks – the Caribbean offered opportunities for trade, investment, diplomatic advantages, and a gateway to large markets in Latin America, North America and Europe. From the perspectives of rising powers, in addition to the opportunities offered by the Caribbean’s tourism industry, the region is viewed as a promising trade partner. In addition, they consider the Caribbean’s inadequate infrastructure not so much as a hurdle to cooperation as a set of new business opportunities. Although, compared to Africa and South America, the region’s natural resources are somewhat limited, the presence of oil is also viewed as an opportunity given the BRICS countries’ growing concerns with energy security. Finally, since middle classes in rising powers have been growing rapidly, rising powers are increasingly interested in tapping into certain high-­end Caribbean niche markets, including quality coffee

210   A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur and local rums (Bernal 2013). From a geopolitical stance, the retreat of US and European influence in the region – now even more apparent under the Donald Trump administration and in the aftermath of the Brexit vote in the UK – also began to be viewed as creating something of a partial political void in which rising powers could expand their roles. As rising powers’ political ambitions abroad expanded, their willingness to strike cooperation outside of their immediate regions also increased. With the conditions being conducive on both sides, Caribbean (economic, social and political) relations with China, India and Brazil began expanding and diversifying. Although CARICOM trade with rising powers is still modest in comparison to traditional partners, imports from China have been growing at a faster rate than with the EU (see Montoute 2011). Moreover, this trend has accelerated since the 2008 onset of the global economic crisis, which has made Northern capital scarcer and opened up new opportunities for South–South cooperation. It is worth noting that CARICOM member states are engaging in a multi­p­licity of new relationships even beyond the cases analysed in this chapter (Brazil, India and China). Emerging ties include those with Venezuela as well as with regional groupings such as CELAC, UNASUR and ALBA. It is in this atmosphere of uncertainty about the future of regional integration and increasing complexities of CARICOM’s relationships that Brazil, India and China are engaging with the region. In the next section, we map out their approaches, highlighting the similarities and differences among these rising powers’ deepening ties to CARICOM and its member states.

India, China and Brazil ties with CARICOM Institutional arrangements The institutional arrangements put in place by these three rising powers to deepen their engagement with the Caribbean, including CARICOM, have evolved significantly over the past decade. India’s institutional channels are set up under the FOCUS Latin America and Caribbean programme. Launched in 1997, it provides the overall framework for managing economic and commercial relations with the Latin America and Caribbean Region. The programme is aimed at increasing trade and economic relations with the Latin America and Caribbean Region and specifically for raising awareness among organisations involved in trade promotion (Government of India 2006). India also has a framework for engaging with CARICOM as a bloc. The Standing Joint Commission on Consultation Cooperation and Coordination Agreement was signed in 2003 to manage the relationship at the CARICOM level in the areas of political, economic, environmental, health, scientific and technical relations and for coordinating the parties’ positions in international fora (CARICOM Secretariat 2003). On the trade front, India engages with CARICOM countries bilaterally through multiple mechanisms. These include the government and its agencies (Joint Commissions have also been set up bilaterally with Suriname, Guyana,

CARICOM and the rising powers  211 and Trinidad and Tobago); the private sector and private sector bodies (India Trade Promotion Organisation, Export Promotion Councils and Apex Chambers of Commerce and Industry); and other institutions, such as the EXIM Bank, the Export Credit Guarantee Corporation of India (ECGC) and the Indian Missions. Consultations are also held with relevant bodies to facilitate engagement, such as the Confederation of Indian Industry (CII), the Federation of Indian Chambers of Commerce and Industry (FICCI), Export Promotion Councils (EPCs) and other trade bodies specific to certain sectors (Government of India 2006). India’s development cooperation with CARICOM is conducted primarily through the Technical and Economic Cooperation (ITEC) framework programme.7 Initiatives are carried out largely on a bilateral basis, but recently ITEC funding has also been used for regional initiatives (Government of India 2015). The ITEC programme is complemented by other schemes similar to those available to African, Asian and Latin American countries, and by the Commonwealth Fund (High Commission of India – Kingston, Jamaica n.d.). In contrast, China’s engagement with CARICOM remains heavily bilateral, even though China is an observing or contributing member to several of the region’s multilateral initiatives, including its development banks. There is a biennial China–Caribbean Economic and Trade Cooperation Forum, and China is a member of the CDB as well as the Inter-­American Development Bank. China has also contributed to the CARICOM Development Fund (CDF ) to provide technical and financial assistance to those CARICOM countries designated by the organisation as disadvantaged. Even when China does engage with multilateral institutions in the region, these initiatives tend to be secondary to its bilateral relations. For instance, when President Xi Jinping visited Trinidad and Tobago enroute to Latin America, he met individually with nine CARICOM Heads of State to discuss cooperation agreements and prospects. Partly because not all CARICOM states have ties to Beijing (Haiti, St Lucia, St Vincent and the Grenadines, St Kitts and Nevis and Belize formally recognise Taiwan instead), Xi’s announcement of a US$3 billion concessionary facility for its formal partners only reflected the bilateral emphasis of China’s cooperation in the region. A similar dynamic is seen in the 2012 proposal by Wen Jiabao that a Forum of China–Latin American Cooperation be created in the mould of the Forum for China–Africa Cooperation (FOCAC with Africa) – which has yet to be implemented – and the China–CELAC Forum, established in 2014. The Chinese government engages with CARICOM states via a plethora of government ministries and agencies. While the Ministry of Foreign Relations remains responsible for broad negotiations, other ministries, particularly those of finance, also play a role in the negotiation of concrete projects. Chinese development assistance also entails a variety of other ministerial divisions and banks, including the China Development Bank and the EximBank. State-­owned companies and, to a far lesser degree, private sector firms are primarily in charge of project design and implementation. Finally, Chinese diaspora communities, established across the Caribbean as early as the nineteenth century, when the

212  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur British brought labourers to the islands and some of the littoral colonies, have become more active in bridging CARICOM states to China – a role that Beijing has actively encouraged (see Hosein et al. 2010). Brazil started the Brazil–CARICOM Summit as a mechanism for facilitating high-­level political exchanges. The first meeting took place in Brasilia in April 2010 and included the presence of ten Heads of State from CARICOM nations. During the event, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva stated that the summit was motivated not by economic interests, but rather, by the need to support sovereignty and reaffirm democracy on the continent. Lula also affirmed that the weight of a country was not to be measured by the size of its territory or population, but rather by the gestures of its people and leader. Lula’s remarks highlighted the ideas of solidarity and mutual benefit between Brazil and CARICOM and also that relations could be mutually useful (Dame and Alencastro 2010). During the summit, a total of 48 agreements were signed between Brazil and CARICOM and with its member states (Patriota 2011). Among the most important initiatives is the Brazil–Jamaica Professional Education and Training Centre, opened in February 2014 (Ministry of External Relations – Brazil 2014). Since then, several meetings have taken place at ministerial and Head of State level. Cooperation discussions have focused on environmental issues and sustainable development, with related initiatives in agriculture, technical cooperation, sports, culture and youth, public security, climate change, response to environmental disasters, transportation and tourism (Ministério das Relações Exteriores Brazil 2013a). Economic relations Trade Trade relations between the three rising powers analysed here and CARICOM states have been growing substantially over the past decade, albeit at different rates. India is more important to CARICOM as an importer rather than an export market, but this trade lags behind both those of Brazil and China. In 2011, for instance, India was the nineteenth largest import market for Trinidad and Tobago, while Brazil and China, ranked fifth and sixth, respectively. CARICOM imports from India are more diverse than exports, the top imports being shelled cashew nuts, medication, barium sulphate, steel products and spices. Trade between India and CARICOM has mainly been in the energy sector, focusing heavily on Trinidad and Tobago, whose exports of liquefied natural gas account for over 90 per cent of the value of total exports to India. The two other important Trinidad and Tobago exports to India were scrap/waste iron and wood (Rambarran 2013, 7, 8, v). Trade between India and Jamaica has been limited and heavily skewed in favour of India. India mainly exports motor parts, textiles, readymade garments, plastic and linoleum products, imitation jewellery, pharmaceutical products and tobacco to Jamaica (High Commission of India – Kingston, Jamaica n.d.).

CARICOM and the rising powers  213 India’s trade with the region is very limited when compared to that of China. Although starting from a small base, over the past two decades, bilateral trade between the Caribbean and China has increased dramatically, expanding from 20 million dollars in 1990 to two billion dollars in 2008 (IMF, cited in Erikson 2009). From China’s perspective, the CARICOM states are not significant providers of raw materials; thus, in contrast to the rest of Latin America, where economic considerations still predominate in relations with China, geopolitical factors play a greater role in China’s relations with this region. While these increased flows have boosted local economies, they are marked by a stark imbalance. By 2013, China had accumulated a balance of trade surplus with CARICOM countries of US$3 billion. In 2008, 93 per cent of Caribbean– China trade was of Chinese exports to the region, while the value of goods exports from the region to China totalled around US$60 million (Guyana News and Information 2011). There is also an imbalance in the composition of trade. As elsewhere in the broader region, China primarily imports raw materials, and exports manufactured goods. Among key Caribbean exports to China are gas and asphalt from Trinidad and Tobago, bauxite from Jamaica, and timber, bauxite, and other minerals from Guyana (Guyana News and Information 2011). In contrast, China exports to the region primarily manufactured goods. Due to the region’s relatively small population, somewhat limited middle class and these countries’ limited purchasing power, Chinese exports to CARICOM states are also modest in comparison to the rest of Latin America. In addition, large quantities of pirated Chinese goods are sold in the region. There is a growing awareness within CARICOM countries about these imbalances, and some debate regarding how to (and whether it is possible to) address them. Economic motivations also play an important role in Brazil–CARICOM relations. Between 2002 and 2011, bilateral trade increased six times, from US$619 million to US$4.2 billion. In 2012 alone, trade reached US$3.2 billion (Ministry of External Relations – Brazil 2017). However, it is important to note that, even during this period of ‘surge’ in economic relations, Brazil’s trade with CARICOM countries is still limited and unbalanced. For example, in the case of Jamaica in 2012, imports from Brazil totalled US$240 million, while exports from Jamaica to Brazil were only US$9.4 million resulting in a deficit of US$230.4 million (Statistical Institute of Jamaica, cited in Jamaica Observer 2013). Brazil has been pushing for a MERCOSUR–CARICOM trade deal but negotiations have been sluggish (Jamaica Gleaner 2010). Trade has since decreased, totalling US$1.35 million in 2016 (Ministério das Relações Exteriores 2017). In 2007, the Brazilian state oil company Petrobrás made an agreement with Hess Oil St Lucia Limited (HOSLL), to store oil for export to third markets. Because of that agreement, 99 per cent of Brazilian exports to St Lucia are of crude petroleum oil. In addition, due to the agreement, Petrobrás has been able to negotiate with refineries in the Gulf of Mexico, the US East Coast and the Caribbean, reducing the costs of exporting oil to the US market (Comissāo de Relações Exteriores E Defesa Nacional 2011).

214  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur Investment Investment is one of the areas in which the rising powers’ growing relevance is most visible. India has bilateral investment treaties with specific Caribbean countries, for instance, Trinidad and Tobago. Indian investments in Trinidad and Tobago include banking and insurance,8 tourism, agriculture, and especially mining. The largest Indian investors in the region are Mittal Steel, having invested US$2 billion, and Essar Steel, with US$1.2 billion, for steel-­ processing plant. There are four Indian-­owned hotels in Trinidad and Tobago and Indian companies have been awarded contracts for infrastructure projects in telecommunications, IT-­related services and road construction. At the end of 2007, Indian private sector investment totalled US$3.4 billion in various projects across various sectors (Horta 2008). Indian companies have also shown interest in biofuels, energy, minerals and pharmaceuticals. In Antigua and Barbuda, the Manipal Education Trust took over and expanded the Antigua College of Medicine (High Commission of India – Georgetown, Guyana, n.d.). Other examples of projects undertaken by Indian companies in the Caribbean include irrigation infrastructure contracts in Jamaica, Guyana and Suriname as well as cricket stadiums in Guyana and Barbados (valued at US$25 million and US$30 million, respectively). India has also built a highway and bridges in Suriname (Horta 2008). China has become Latin America’s third partner, after the US and the EU, and it now accounts for 9 per cent of investment in the region. According to China’s Ministry of Commerce, FDI in Caribbean countries by Chinese firms reached nearly US$7 billion in 2009, a more than 300 per cent increase from 2004, when total Chinese FDI in the Caribbean was US$1.7 billion (Fieser 2011). CARICOM countries receive investments not only from Chinese firms, but also from the government, and often these components are intertwined in complex ways. Some of the projects undertaken aim to boost the local productive base (for instance, through the rehabilitation of roads and ports), while others, particularly more recent projects, are intended specifically to boost the region’s tourism infrastructure. For example, China’s EximBank is financing the construction of a 3,800-room resort in The Bahamas, featuring the largest casino in the Caribbean. China’s investments in the region are not evenly distributed. Its ties are particularly strong with the ‘Big Six’ CARICOM member states, with Jamaica having become China’s top trading partner in the Caribbean in 2012. China– Jamaica trade tripled from 2009 to 2012 alone (Chinese President Xi Jinping, cited in Richardson 2013). Economic ties are also strong with The Bahamas, Barbados, Guyana, Suriname, and Trinidad and Tobago, although China has also engaged smaller countries and economies. Recent project proposals and ongoing projects by Chinese firms suggest that China is trying to identify the untapped potential in other countries; for instance, in Suriname, China is interested in prospecting for minerals and timber in densely forested areas. China has also used CARICOM states’ geographic proximity to the US to manufacture and

CARICOM and the rising powers   215 assemble products destined for the US market (Guyana News and Information 2011). Finally, China is becoming an important source of tourists for these countries, and CARICOM states are putting structures in place to tap into this potential, for example visa waiver arrangements9 and Memoranda of Understandings to facilitate Chinese group travel.10 Brazil’s investments in the region have focused on Cuba, where Brazil’s National Development Bank (BNDES) has helped to underwrite the new port in Mariel, and in Haiti, where Brazil has led the military component of the United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH) UN Peacekeeping Mission since 2004. More recently, Brazil has also sought out investment opportunities in smaller CARICOM states. In St Vincent and the Grenadines, for instance, Brazilian authorities have noted the presence of Cuba and Venezuela in the construction of an airport, and the Prime Minister has expressed an interest in Brazilian participation. A Brazilian construction company, Andrade Gutierrez, was contracted to undertake the renovation and expansion of the airport in Antigua and Barbuda (Andrade Gutierrez Group 2007). In 2016, Brazil completed internal processes to become a non-­borrowing member of the CDB. Development cooperation In addition to intensifying trade and investments in the Caribbean, rising powers have also begun to offer more development cooperation. Indian development cooperation with the Caribbean has been concentrated in education and training, health, culture, agriculture, science and technology, and IT. Specific programmes include scholarships for Caribbean nationals to study in India; training; cultural and educational exchange programmes; credit for various projects; and exchanges of technical experts and disaster relief specialists. In 2008, for instance, India carried out a feasibility study for an IT park and a sewage treatment centre in Antigua and Barbuda. India also completed a US$1.3 million project for the computerisation of the CARICOM Secretariat and the creation of an Information Technology Centre as well as projects designed to boost Arts and culture in Jamaica (Ministry of External Affairs – Government of India 2005; High Commission of India – Kingston, Jamaica n.d.). The following is a list of agreements signed between India and CARICOM countries: Bahamas – bilateral cooperation agreement in 2006 and in 2005, a Memorandum of Understanding for consultations between Ministries of Foreign Affairs; Dominica – agreement for the creation and construction of a centre of excellence in information technology in 2011; Haiti – framework agreement to promote bilateral cooperation in various areas; and Trinidad and Tobago – several cooperation agreements, namely, on air services, cultural exchanges, technical and scientific cooperation and consultations between Ministries of Foreign Affairs in 2012 (SELA 2014). In the case of China, its development cooperation tends to accompany investments, but it also provides education initiatives. In addition, China contributes to the CDF, designed to provide technical and financial assistance to the CARICOM-­designated disadvantaged countries, subregions and sectors. China

216  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur often provides highly visible buildings to these countries, sometimes as a reward for switching allegiances from Taipei to Beijing. For instance, in Dominica, China’s cooperation package so far has included a sports stadium, a school, road rehabilitation and a medical facility renovation. In Trinidad and Tobago, China has built the Prime Minister’s official residence and the National Academy for the Performing Arts. Finally, China has contributed to disaster prevention and response, specifically regarding hurricanes. On the part of Brazil, CARICOM states received more attention under the Workers Party-­led government of Lula, whose foreign policy privileged relations with the Global South. Technical cooperation expanded in areas such as health, agriculture and the prevention of natural disasters. Since 2006, for instance, the Brazilian National HIV/AIDS Program has been cooperating with the Pan Caribbean Partnership against HIV/AIDS, and Brazil has donated medicines to PANCAP member states (UWI Consulting 2011). In 2012, the governments of Brazil and St Lucia successfully negotiated the deployment of technical teams to assist St Lucia in the formulation of policy interventions in agriculture, education, trade, tourism, youth development, healthcare, environmental conservation and sports (Invest Saint Lucia 2012). In addition, there has been cooperation in the areas of security, disaster management and energy. There has also been some mutual interest in cooperating on biofuels. Brazil is interested in the market benefit and duty free exemptions that Caribbean states have for the US market in order to export ethanol hydrated in Caribbean states to the US. This area has been identified by the Brazilian government as one of the priorities that Brazilian embassies recently opened in the Caribbean should pursue. Since 2011, Brazil has also been offering technical training in agricultural development to CARICOM states. Between 2011 and 2012, ten cooperation initiatives were undertaken, covering training, capacity-­building, diagnostic missions and specialised consulting visits, all coordinated by the Brazilian Cooperation Agency (ABC) and valued at US$7.29 million. In early 2013, the Brazilian government announced its intention to develop a programme designed to build capacity in cattle herding, seed production, environmental preservation and soil planning in Caribbean partner states (Ministry of External Relations Brazil – 2013b). Some of this cooperation portfolio, however, has shrunk in recent years due to the economic and political crisis in Brazil and the resulting decrease in its South–South cooperation budget. Diplomacy and soft power All of the exchanges analysed so far have been accompanied by deepening of formal diplomatic ties, as well as soft power strategies designed to improve relations bilaterally. India has friendly relations with all CARICOM States and maintains diplomatic presence in several countries, with accreditation where there is no resident High Commissioner. There are Indian High Commissions in Trinidad and Tobago, Jamaica and Guyana (also representing Antigua and

CARICOM and the rising powers  217 Barbuda and St Kitts and Nevis). The High Commissioner for Guyana is jointly accredited as Ambassador to CARICOM, and the Embassy in Suriname also represents India in Barbados and St Lucia). Over the years the relationship has been sustained by high-­level visits of Indian diplomats to the region and the presence of missions. India’s Caribbean soft power strategy centres on cultural cooperation, principally with the Indian diaspora in the region. In Trinidad and Tobago, India has several programmes in this regard: Persons of Indian Origin (PIO) Cards and Overseas Citizenship of India (OCI) schemes, the Know India Programme (KIP); Know India Youth of Trinidad and Tobago (KIYTT) Programme; Tracing the Roots programme; a Scholarship Programme for Diaspora Children (SPDC), as well as alumni associations for locals who have studied in India. In Guyana, cultural cooperation includes scholarships for the Know India Youth programme; an Indian Cultural Centre; and a Cultural Exchange Programme, which provides for cultural visits from India to Guyana, exchanges of archivists, training of Guyanese citizens in archives management and exchanges of exhibitions between the two countries’ national art galleries (High Commission of India – Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago n.d.; High Commission of India – Georgetown, Guyana n.d.). Likewise, over the past decade, diplomatic contact between China and CARICOM states has increased significantly. Xi Jinping’s 2013 three-­day visit to Trinidad and Tobago was only the second visit by a Chinese Head of State (Hu Jintao visited Cuba in November 2008), but there are high-­level exchanges on a regular basis. To help cement these ties, several CARICOM Heads of State have visited Beijing, and there are ministerial discussions regarding different aspects of China’s cooperation with CARICOM states. China also has a variety of soft power initiatives in the region, meant to both open up new opportunities and to smooth over emerging tensions. In October 2011, Beijing sent a navy hospital ship, the Peace Ark, to the region on a 100-day ‘Harmonious Mission’. In addition to docking in Cuba, the ship made stopovers in Jamaica, Trinidad and Tobago, and Costa Rica. In the ports where the ship docked, the staff offered free medical treatments to locals (Franks 2011). China has also launched health initiatives elsewhere in the Caribbean, for instance in Guyana, as part of a broader package including components in transportation, training and culture (The Guyana Press 2011). In Trinidad and Tobago, the Chinese government has developed a programme to support martial arts initiatives, bringing performers from the country’s Chung Shan Association, based in Port of Spain, to China for further training (Homer 2011). Like India, China’s overtures to diaspora communities within the region also constitute a form of soft power, especially when accompanied by efforts to promote Chinese language and culture. In some CARICOM countries, China provides support for community initiatives such as Chinese-­language schools and newspapers. Brazil has prided itself for having a diplomatic presence in every independent country in the Caribbean. However, it is important to note that, during the Lula administration, members of the Brazilian government opposition questioned the opening of Brazilian diplomatic representations in some Caribbean countries,

218  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur noting the small territory and population of these states. At the 2009 Senate session analysing the nomination of the Brazilian Ambassador to Antigua, for instance, Senator Eduardo Azeredo, then President of the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee, questioned if it would not be better for Brazil to increase its consular presence in places such as Portugal, the US, the UK and Argentina rather than open embassies in small countries which do not have many links with Brazil (Senado Federal 2009). Despite this contestation, Brazilian strategy towards CARICOM has included setting up resident embassies in CARICOM member states that previously had no Brazilian diplomatic representation. New embassies were created in Belize (April 2006), St Lucia (December 2007), Grenada (October 2008), Antigua and Barbuda (February 2009), and St Kitts and Nevis (2009). Brazil’s decision can also be understood in geopolitical terms, especially in order to balance the influence of Cuba and Venezuela in the Caribbean. For example, in Grenada, aside from Brazil, only the People’s Republic of China (PRC), Cuba, Venezuela and the US have resident embassies in the country. CARICOM member states have also demonstrated an interest in increasing their diplomatic presence in Brazil. In April 2010, Barbados opened an Embassy in Brasilia, followed by Jamaica, in June 2013 which is of particular symbolic importance because Brazil was the first Latin American country to recognise Jamaican independence and to set up an Embassy in Kingston (Ministry of External Relations – Brazil 2013a). There are also education initiatives, including a technical and cultural cooperation agreement between Antigua and Brazil signed in 1982, but only implemented in 1996 (Rabelo 2007). More recent measures include the 2005 creation of a Brazilian Studies Chair at the University of the West Indies (Barbados). In Brazil, The Vila Velha University, in the Brazilian state of Espirito Santo, has also entered into an agreement with the UWI. A Center for Caribbean and Latin American Studies exists at the University of Brasilia, where a professorship of Central American and Caribbean Studies was created in November 2007 (Brazil Government Portal 2011). For Brazil, the political support of CARICOM countries was also important due to Brazil’s interest in becoming a permanent member of the UN Security Council and electing Brazilian candidates to leadership positions in international organisations. CARICOM member states represent 7 per cent of the UN General Assembly votes and 44 per cent of OAS votes. In February 2011, for example, during a CARICOM meeting attended by the Brazilian Foreign Minister, CARICOM announced its support for José Graziano as head of the UN Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO) (Brazil Government Portal 2011). Since 2014, when President Dilma Rousseff was impeached in a hotly contested process, Brazilian foreign policy has prioritised relations with the industrialised countries, although the Global South has not left the agenda. Diasporas also play a growing role in soft power relations with the Caribbean, especially in the case of India. India conducts much of its formal cultural cooperation activities with the Caribbean through the diaspora. China reaches out to its growing diaspora in the Caribbean, but less formally and substantively

CARICOM and the rising powers  219 than India does. Brazilian communities in the region are far smaller, and thus the diaspora plays a far less substantive role. Brazilian communities are only numerically expressive in Suriname and Guyana, where Brazilians are involved in mining activities, sometimes in a clandestine capacity, which leads to clashes with the police and migratory authorities as well as local miners (Brazil Government Portal 2011). South–South cooperation and the dynamics of regional integration There has been wide variation in the degree to which rising powers engage with CARICOM as a collective unit, rather than merely with its individual member states. The appointment of an Indian Ambassador to CARICOM reflects the importance of CARICOM as a bloc to India, as does the establishment of the India–CARICOM Standing Joint Commission on Consultation, Cooperation and Coordination. In 2005, India and CARICOM held a joint meeting of foreign ministers on the sidelines of the CARICOM summit. Additionally, India has funded projects geared specifically at the advancement of CARICOM, including ITEC programme initiatives that are independent of the cooperation provided to member states. Additional evidence of India’s interest in CARICOM regional integration is seen in India’s request for membership in regional institutions like the CDB. In the case of Brazil, it has deepened ties with Suriname and Guyana, since all three states are members of the Amazon Cooperation Treaty Organisation (OTCA), UNASUR and the South American Defense Council (SADC). By 2012, Suriname and Guyana were attending MERCOSUR meetings, and as of July 2013, they became associated states of the organisation, of which Brazil is a founding member. Because of these overlaps in regional institutions’ membership, Brazil has supported the integration of subregions through groupings such as CARICOM. With respect to interacting with CARICOM as a grouping, Brazil has an advantage when compared to India and China, because Brazil is located in the same hemisphere as CARICOM states and is therefore already a member of hemispheric initiatives along with CARICOM states, including the OAS and CELAC. China and India have both developed an overall framework for engaging with the Caribbean in the Latin America and Caribbean context: the China Policy on Latin America and the Caribbean and the FOCUS Latin America and Caribbean Programme respectively. It must be noted, however, that China has in place an overarching policy towards the Latin America and Caribbean Region that covers all areas of its cooperation with CARICOM states. India’s FOCUS Latin America and Caribbean, by contrast, focuses on commercial and economic relations. The all-­embracing Latin America and Caribbean policy/framework of China and India is part of a global trend to lump the Caribbean together with Latin America. There are some benefits to this approach, since it reinforces the Caribbean’s growing relations with Latin America. At the same time, this approach could paper over the important peculiarities between the Caribbean and

220  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur its Latin American neighbours. Finally, this approach often includes only the Spanish-­ speaking Caribbean countries and larger CARICOM states, thereby excluding the smaller countries in the region. Brazil has no equivalent regional framework, possibly because Brazil and the Caribbean share membership in various regional and hemispheric arrangements of which CARICOM and some of its member states are a part. As such, Brazil and CARICOM members interact not only through bilateral ties but also via a number of regional and global configurations, including the OAS and the UN system. Caribbean agency in dealing with rising powers The expansion of South–South cooperation in the Caribbean has not been merely a product of initiatives by rising powers; local states and other stakeholders have also helped to foment these deepening ties. The Caribbean has welcomed Indian cooperation, actively pursuing relations because India is perceived as having huge potential for Caribbean development. Politically, CARICOM also views India as an ally in international fora, by virtue of India’s long-­standing cordial relations with the region and India’s articulation of the need for a more equitable global order. For instance, CARICOM has sought India’s support within multilateral settings when making a case against CARICOM’s graduation from development assistance due to member states’ reclassification as Middle Income States by the World Bank (CARICOM Secretariat 2013c). CARICOM members have therefore actively sought to deepen ties with India, as reflected by the numerous official visits to India including trips by Jamaican Minister of Foreign Trade Anthony Hylton, in 2001; Minister of Industry, Commerce and Technology Phillip Paulwell, in 2001; and Minister of State for Tourism and Culture Wykeham McNeil, in 2007. CARICOM has also responded positively to India’s interest in joining the CDB and has requested contributions from India for the CDF. Every CARICOM country with formal diplomatic relations with Beijing has received substantial investment from China. Those governments have generally welcomed this influx of investments and other opportunities, particularly in light of the global economic crisis and its impact on Northern economies, which historically have been so important to these states. As the US and Europe reduce their roles in the region, China has found new opportunities in the Caribbean. However, local stakeholders are not merely passive recipients of this cooperation. In some instances, accumulated experience has led to resistance or negotiation as certain CARICOM states seek greater leverage in shaping the types of projects that China carries out. For instance, in Jamaica, after a first wave of huge infrastructural projects carried out by Chinese workers and materials, local politicians and citizens began calling for a more balanced approach. Nonetheless, the ability to respond to China is reduced by the persisting asymmetries in its relations with CARICOM states, as well as political fragmentation within CARICOM itself – which tends to encourage bilateralism in trans-­ regional cooperation.

CARICOM and the rising powers  221 It is clear from the discussion above that, while the rising powers share some interests and approaches to the Caribbean, there are some nuances and, in some instances, glaring differences among them. Brazil, India and China deepened their ties with the Caribbean drawing strength from their increased global economic and political prowess and buttressed by intensifying globalisation. Their presence in the Caribbean is therefore only part of a broader agenda towards asserting themselves as great powers on the world stage. In addition, these rising powers implement their economic and political agendas rather differently. China’s financial capacity far outpaces that of Brazil and India, and the scope of its massive infrastructure projects is unmatched (although Brazil is gaining ground through projects with financing from the Brazilian National Development Bank, BNDES). Brazil’s ties to CARICOM states via regional multilateralism provide it with dialogue channels not yet available to China or India, yet these links have been tested by Brazil’s domestic turmoil. And India relies on a well-­established diaspora that has helped to bridge the region to India through non-­state actors as well as government initiatives. Despite slowing of growth in China, Brazil and India, their engagement with the Caribbean continues unabated (see CARICOM 2015; CARICOM Today 2015; Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the People’s Republic of China 2016).

Conclusion – ‘age of choice’: implications for CARICOM For the three rising powers analysed in this chapter, we find significant differences in the way they implement their South–South cooperation with CARICOM, both individually and as a collective entity. First, geopolitics matters differently for those rising powers. For Brazil, CARICOM states are at the same time an opportunity to have a facilitated access to the US market and also a source of political and diplomatic support in order to strengthen Brazil’s position on the international stage, within the Global South and the Americas, the latter possibly leading to counterbalancing US influence in the hemisphere. From the side of the US, the country tends to prefer an increase in Brazilian relations with CARICOM states than an increase in Cuban, Venezuela and Chinese influence in the region. China also views in the US’s declining role in the Caribbean an opportunity to compete by expanding its role in a region located close to US territory. For India, whose geopolitical concerns are closer to its immediate vicinity, direct competition with the US in Latin America is a lesser factor. With respect to development cooperation, India, Brazil and China are engaged to some degree in similar areas: health, culture, agriculture, science and natural disaster relief. India however seems to be placing heavier emphasis on cultural cooperation, IT, and science and technology than the other two rising powers. However, there is a common trend of diversification, so that the three providers of South–South cooperation may end up competing directly in a wider variety of sectors. Such enhanced competition could provide CARICOM states, as well as the organisation as a whole, greater leverage in negotiating cooperation packages

222  A. Montoute and A. E. Abdenur – part of the ‘age of choice’ created by the proliferation of aid and cooperation providers acting within the region. In addition, there are significant differences in how burgeoning trade with these rising powers has affected the asymmetries of the Caribbean. Trade imbalance is a common thread in trade relations between CARICOM states with Brazil, India and China. In all three cases, trade is heavily in favour of the emerging economies with the commercial imbalance being highest with Brazil, followed by China and then India. Another pattern we see in all cases is the undiversified nature of exports from CARICOM states versus more diversified imports from each of the countries under study. In all cases, these exports are largely composed of raw materials such as mineral resources and agricultural commodities, whereas imports are made up of manufactured goods from Brazil, China and India. In a sense, the Caribbean is being used by all three rising powers as a gateway to enter third country markets, including the US, whether by using the Caribbean as a bridge to reduce the cost of exporting oil to the US (as in the case of Brazil), or by relying upon the Caribbean for the assembling of products destined for the US market. In maximising the opportunities offered by the enhanced South–South cooperation offered by these rising powers, CARICOM states – and especially the entity as a whole – must formulate coherent cooperation policies based on a long-­term vision of development rather than prioritising short-­term gains. This has become all the more urgent in light of oscillating or even decreasing economic power of the rising powers, including the slowdown and transformation of the Chinese economy (Lumdsen 2015), Brazil’s political and economic crisis, and India’s geopolitical concerns, which tend to make Indian actors focus on the country’s immediate region despite the perception of opportunities elsewhere, including in the Caribbean. If the region is able to leverage these rising power options towards fostering development and integration, while mitigating the risks, it will reap development benefits in the long run, regardless of the precise mix of partners acting in the region at any one point in time.

Notes  1 It is worth noting that military cooperation with CARICOM states, especially by China and Brazil, has also intensified during the same period. However, analysis of defence cooperation lies outside the scope of this chapter.   2 Some explanations for the erosion of preferences for bananas, for example, is that it was a result of the US contesting the EU’s banana regime in the WTO. However, WTO rules of non-­discrimination provided the justification for bringing the case forward to the Dispute Settlement Understanding (DSU) – in that sense, the WTO legitimised the dismantling of preferences.   3 The WTO extension for the CARIBCAN waiver expired in 2013. With the slow pace of the CARICOM – Canada Free Trade Agreement and the expiration of CARIBCAN, Caribbean goods into Canada are set to attract WTO tariff rates.   4 Cuba is the only member not party to the EU–CARIFORUM EPA.   5 CARIFORUM – The Forum of the Caribbean Group of Africa, Caribbean and Pacific States (ACP).

CARICOM and the rising powers  223   6 South Africa became part of the bloc later making the acronym BRICS. The term was coined by Goldman Sachs’ Chief Economist in 2001, who recognised the rapid growth of these economies and the increasingly important role they would play in the global economy.   7 The ITEC was established in 1964 as a bilateral programme of assistance of the Government of India. ITEC and the sister scheme the Special Commonwealth African Assistance Programme (SCAAP) for Commonwealth countries in Africa and countries in Asia, East Europe, Africa, Latin America and the Caribbean benefit from India’s development experience. India provides about US$12.5 million under ITEC for training, projects and project-­related activities such as supply of equipment, feasibility studies and consultancy services, deputation of experts and study visits to developing countries (Government of India 2015).   8 New India Assurance and Bank of Baroda are operating in Trinidad and Tobago. Life Insurance Corporation of India (has shown interest) in Trinidad and Tobago by conducting market surveys.   9 As in the case of The Bahamas. 10 This has happened in the case of Barbados, for example.

16 Confronting shifting economic and political terrains Patsy Lewis, Jessica Byron and Terri-­Ann  Gilbert-­Roberts

Introduction CARICOM’s diversification of its membership and external relations is occurring in a period of rapid global change. The most dramatic of these were Britain’s decision in 2016 to leave the EU and, in November of that year, the election of Donald Trump to the Presidency of the US who, within the first two weeks of his administration, introduced an element of uncertainty in respect of traditional foreign policy practice. While the contours of these developments are still taking shape, it is likely that they will have material effect on CARICOM states. These are to be considered with earlier developments such as the death of Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez and that country’s subsequent plunge into economic and political chaos, in response to falling global oil prices; the Obama administration’s steps towards normalising relations with Cuba, key elements of which have been reversed under President Trump; Brazil’s political chaos; and the slowdown in China’s growth and greater uncertainty about its likely relationship with the Trump administration. Educated guesses can be made on the implications of some of these developments for CARICOM but others will unfold over the next few years. This chapter examines the ways in which the region has already been affected by some of these developments and considers the likely shape of others.

Brexit and its implications for CARICOM Britain made its formal application to leave the EU on 28 March 2017, in keeping with the results of the June 2016 referendum. Negotiations towards its final exit began on 19 June 2017 and are expected to take at least two years. Britain’s exit from the EU is likely to have important implications for CARICOM, although it is too early to determine precisely what these will be. At least the following aspects of this relationship will be affected: CARICOM’s relationship with the remaining EU members and with a post-­Brexit Britain. There are also implications for British and French OCTs, including their role in the region and the future of the CPA and associated aid programmes, which end in 2020.

Shifting economic and political terrains   225 CARICOM–EU relations post-­Brexit CARICOM’s engagement with the EU is primarily in trade, covered under the CARIFORUM–EC Economic Partnership Agreement (CARIFORUM–EU EPA), and development financing under the European Development Fund (EDF ). In 2008, CARICOM states1 signed a reciprocal trade agreement with the EU’s 27 members, including Britain. The EPA is a wide-­ranging agreement covering trade and services, as well as ‘competition, innovation and intellectual property, public procurement, and environmental and labour standards’ (European Commission 2012), with commitments to explore additional disciplines, namely investment as well as the further liberalisation of services (Economic Partnership Agreement, Title II, Chapter 1, Article 62). This agreement stays in place even after Britain leaves the EU. Once negotiations for Britain’s withdrawal have been completed, however, CARICOM would need to negotiate a new trade arrangement with Britain. While the CARIFORUM–EU EPA will remain in effect, minus Britain, its attractiveness to CARICOM (and possibly some EU members) is questionable. Gonzales (2017, p. 103) points out that CARICOM’s market share for goods in the EU declined from 3.8 per cent for the period 2004–2008 to 2.8 per cent for 2010–2014, although the DR’s exports to the EU expanded. A five-­year review of the Agreement (2008–2013) showed that it had little impact on the economies of CARICOM states, nor did its provisions address the main areas impeding competitiveness: ‘availability of private sector financing … the cost and quality of electricity, basic utilities, transport infrastructure and logistics’ (Europeaid 2014, p.  9). The authors did note, however, that the agreement’s effectiveness was hampered by the global recession, which began shortly after it was signed. EU negotiations were contentious for CARICOM states, reflecting the variable benefits members expected to receive. CARICOM’s exports to the EU were substantially greater than exports to the UK, the latter amounting to only 2.5 per cent of 11.4 per cent of total exports to the EU in 2014 (Sanders 2016, Table 1, p.  526). The picture at the country level, however, is more varied with some countries more reliant on the UK markets than others. As noted by Sanders and by Razzaque and Vickers, the EU market was more important to Suriname, Grenada, St Kitts and Nevis, Trinidad and Tobago, and Jamaica, than it was for St Lucia, Dominica Belize, Guyana, Antigua and Barbuda and St Vincent and the Grenadines, which rely more heavily on the British market (Razzaque and Vickers 2016; Sanders 2016, Table 1, p. 526). The latter note also that the DR’s organic banana sector relies greatly on the British market. Britain’s exit may make the EU even less attractive for those countries that find it challenging to access its highly complex markets. These differentiated interests are likely to complicate both compliance with implementing the EU–CF EPA and negotiations with Britain, as well as strain CARICOM’s coherence. A central component of the CARIFORUM–EU relationship is access to the EDF, which ends in 2020. Under the 11th Regional Indicative Programme, the EU has allocated €364 million between 2014 and 2020, to cover ‘regional

226   P. Lewis et al. economic cooperation and integration’, ‘climate change, environment, disaster management and sustainable energy’ and ‘crime and security’ (European Union 2015, p.  8). Sanders (2016, p.  525) notes that Britain’s withdrawal would also mean the loss to the EDF of its roughly 15 per cent contribution to its budget. It is not clear, however, when Britain leaves the EU in 2019, whether it will have to honour its commitment to the EU budget that ends in 2020 (BBC 2017), although this is a stipulation of the EU’s negotiating guidelines (European Council 2017). What is more important for CARICOM is whether there would be interest in the EU to negotiate a new arrangement with the ACP group when the CPA and its aid provisions end in 2020. Even if the remaining EU members decided to continue this relationship in some form, it is likely to be significantly reduced in scope and with the loss of Britain, as Sanders (2016) notes, the Caribbean would be losing an important ally in these negotiations. Moreover, the weak economic performance of a number of EU states coming out of the depression, coupled with a growing humanitarian crisis in the Middle East and other parts of the world, is likely to dampen interest in strong support for the ACP’s development agenda. Ronceray and Mackie (2016, p. 2) note that there has already been a ‘rechanneling of ODA funds to internal costs on refugees and asylum-­seeker management’. Currently, the EU’s average gross national income (GNI) contribution to development assistance is 0.47 per cent, short of the targeted 0.7 per cent (Ronceray and Mackie 2016, p. 2). The outlines of a post-­CPA ACP–EU relationship are suggested in the EU’s ‘Global Strategy on Foreign and Security Policy’ and its ‘Proposal for a New European Consensus’. The clear priorities of both documents are ‘security and defence’, specifically ‘the EU’s surrounding regions in the East and the South, spanning from Central Asia to Central Africa’ (European Union n.d.). Its development policy is also aligned with its foreign and security policy and the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) that sees ‘a focus of aid on the poorest and fragile states, with innovative partnerships with Middle Income Countries, promoting best practice, technical assistance and knowledge sharing’ (European Commission 2016b, p. 3). The implications of this are that the EU has a differentiated interest in the members of the ACP group, which would see its attention focused on Africa, rather than on the middle-­income countries of CARICOM, with the possible exception of Haiti. Interest in the Caribbean is likely to be in more limited areas such as climate change, disaster risk reduction, biodiversity and alternative energy, areas in which EU interest in its Caribbean OCTs coincide (European Union 2013, paragraph 10). It is also likely to lead to greater conditionalities, given the EU’s view of the OCTs as a conduit of its ‘values and standards’ to the region (European Union, paragraph 7). This is likely to weaken the already frayed relationship among ACP countries, wrought by the EU’s insistence on regional economic partnership agreements as its preferred approach to trade. It is not at all clear that the ACP will survive these negotiations. As already noted, in two years’ time, CARICOM (and the DR) would need to have in place a new trade arrangement in order to access the British market. It is

Shifting economic and political terrains   227 unlikely that Britain would be ready to negotiate with the region, as it would also have pressing negotiations with more important trading partners, not least among them, the US. Moreover, Britain’s position in respect of the Caribbean region is likely to reflect the concerns that prompted Brexit in the first place. Thus, despite assurances by the UK High Commissioner to CARICOM and the Eastern Caribbean, Janet Douglas, that the UK was committed to closer relations with CARICOM (CARICOM Secretariat 2017b), negotiations are likely to occur in an environment that is less sympathetic to CARICOM’s concerns, reflected in harder positions on immigration, trade and aid, issues of concern to the region. It is also unlikely that EU support to the region via the EDF and the Department for International Development (DFID), will continue at existing levels, as Britain would have to shift its resources in keeping with its new priorities, especially if it wishes to achieve anything close to the level of influence it had as a member of the EU. Jessop (2016) sounds an additional note of alarm for the region, suggesting that Britain may be disinclined to continue treating the Caribbean as a region distinct from Latin America, a trend he argues, which is already in evidence. Some trade analysts (Jones 2016; Stevens and Kennan 2016) have raised the possibility of significant disruption to trade and higher tariffs to access the British market post 2019, and have advocated the need for bridging arrangements to be put in place for Britain’s trade with ACP states until long-­term market access agreements are negotiated. Brexit’s implications for CARICOM’s associate members As discussed elsewhere in this book, there is increasing interest in membership of regional institutions among the remaining European dependencies and non-­ state entities in the region. Most are already associate members of the ACS, with bids to join CARICOM and the OECS. Brexit’s effects on these territories are likely to be differentiated, depending on their particular relationship with the EU. DOMs, as integral territories of France, are fully within the EU framework and the Dutch territories would retain their current access to the EU market and development cooperation programmes. The Overseas Countries and Territories Association (OCTA), which brings together all OCTs2 with the EU and the European states to which they are connected is the main forum through which these territories engage with the EU. Unless Britain is willing and able to negotiate the continued engagement of its Caribbean OCTs in OCTA, then they are likely to be negatively affected. This includes loss of EU support over a number of areas ranging from more liberal rules of origin (including cumulative rules of origin with EPA countries), resources to increase their resilience, combat climate change, manage coastal zones and fisheries, diversify their economy, strengthen private sector growth, and benefit from funds allocated under the 11th EDF (€229.5 million), and from financing to offset fluctuations in export earnings (European Union 2013). Clegg (2016) also notes that they stand to lose the right to move freely and work within the EU as well as political visibility they gain from their engagement in OCTA. Those UK territories whose economies are

228   P. Lewis et al. based largely on their financial sectors, such as Bermuda, the BVI and the Cayman Islands will experience varying degrees of uncertainty about the conditions that will govern their continued access to the EU market for their insurance and re-­insurance services and other international financial operations (Ernst and Young 2017). In addition to a possible change in their relationship with the EU, British Caribbean OCTs will lose an avenue, through OCTA, to engage with other OCTs in the region. In this context, their membership of regional groupings becomes even more important, to reduce their isolation in the region. As OCTA (May 2016, p. 2) observes, ‘OCTA networks … of experts and technical staff … serve as channels of communications among individual territories’, an important resource they stand to lose. Regional organisations such as CARICOM, OECS and ACS thus become more important as arenas for a more coherent approach to common issues that affect these territories, as well as conduits of EU resources geared at addressing common challenges such as climate change, disaster risk reduction, marine resource management, inter alia. Provided that the EU does not unravel with more exits, France’s role, as the EU member with the most interest in the Caribbean, is likely to be enhanced, especially as the DOMs become more integrated into the region. This is likely to increase their clout and leverage in CARICOM and OECS, as they serve as a channel for Caribbean interests/concerns to enter the EU agenda. The OECS and Trinidad and Tobago already benefit from closer relations with the DOMs, in their access to visa-­free travel to Schengen countries, which is not available to all CARICOM states The future of the EU It is too early to speculate on the EU’s future post-­Brexit. What is clear is that Brexit has emboldened anti-­EU forces across Europe, evident in the strong showing of anti-­EU politicians in elections in Holland and France. Polls in the Netherlands just two weeks ahead of elections to elect a new government showed 56 per cent of people in the Netherlands wanted to leave the EU, their preferred engagement being an FTA (Gutteridge 2017). Although incumbent President Mark Rutte went on to beat Geert Wilders, his far-­right Eurosceptic challenger, who promised a referendum on EU membership if he won, the high levels of support for leaving the EU suggests deep scepticism as to its value to Holland. Anti-­EU sentiments had actually increased in the Netherlands, by 10 percentage points, over earlier polls taken before the British referendum. Those earlier polls, conducted by the Pew Research Center (Wright 2016), also showed high levels of scepticism across Europe: 71 per cent in Greece, 60 per cent in France, and close to 50 per cent in Spain, Germany and Sweden. Despite losing the 2017 French presidential elections to Emmanuel Macron, Marine Le Pen, who also campaigned on an anti-­EU platform and promise of a vote on France’s continued membership (Barnes 2017), still managed to secure almost 35 per cent of the votes cast, nearly double that of her father’s in 2002 (Smith 2017).

Shifting economic and political terrains   229 These electoral victories against far-­right political parties in France and Holland are unlikely to quell dissatisfaction with the European project. A collapsed or weakened EU project will have significant impact on CARICOM, not least of which would be a questioning of the very rationale of its integration schemes.

Caribbean and US relations in the age of Trump The assessment of US–Caribbean relations this early (months) into the Trump administration, may be somewhat premature, but the government has already introduced policies, or made statements that give some indication of likely challenges. Chief among these are immigration; its relations with Cuba; AID; reduced commitment to combat climate global warming; and a more hostile stance on China. Immigration The Trump administration has adopted a restrictive attitude towards immigration evident in President Trump’s early Executive Order on immigration (so-­called ‘Muslim ban’), targeting seven countries in Africa and the Middle East as well as refugees and, his revised Executive Order, for which he has achieved some success with the Supreme Court’s judgment (26 June 2017) to allow some parts to go ahead, before a full hearing in October3 (Shear and Liptak 2017). The Executive Orders have raised concerns for the region, although no Caribbean country was named in either the original or revised Executive Order. Insecurity in respect of the Trump administration’s approach to immigration arises from the following: an apparent targeting of countries categorised as supporting ISIS; restrictions in the treatment of H-­1B visas for skilled persons; a less tolerant approach to repatriation of undocumented immigrants; and uncertainty as to its policy on the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), which President Obama introduced in 2012 to provide relief for undocumented persons who were brought to the US as children. Muslim ban and the Caribbean A concern for the region lies in widely reported connections between some Trinidadian nationals and ISIS. Reports suggest there may be as many as 125 Trinidadians – fighters and their families4 – in ISIS controlled areas, giving Trinidad and Tobago the dubious distinction of being ‘the largest per-­capita source of ISIS recruits in the Western Hemisphere’ (Associated Press 2017). Trinidad has already appeared on the new administration’s radar. Prime Minister Keith Rowley was one of the first leaders President Trump contacted, extending an invitation to visit the White House (Associated Press 2017). The two leaders reportedly spoke about ‘terrorism and other security challenges, including foreign fighters’ (Robles 2017). According to Robles:

230   P. Lewis et al. American officials worry about having a breeding ground for extremists so close to the United States, fearing that Trinidadian fighters could return from the Middle East and attack American diplomatic and oil installations in Trinidad or even take a three-­and-a-­half-hour flight to Miami. There are two possible fall-­outs from Trinidadians’ engagement with ISIS. The first is the possibility that ISIS sympathisers within the country or returned ISIS fighters (The Atlantic 2016) may heed the call to mount attacks against the Trinidadian state and the embassies of Western countries (Robles 2017). The second is CARICOM’s mobility regime which removes constraints from most travel within the region, increasing the region’s vulnerability to what former US deputy assistant secretary of state for the Western Hemisphere, Juan S. Gonzalez, referred to as ‘lone-­wolf attacks’ (Robles 2017). Gonzalez also noted the US’s potential vulnerability to such attacks as ‘visa-­free travel throughout the islands … makes it fairly easy to travel to the Bahamas, and from there make a “short jump” to South Florida’ (Robles 2017). CARICOM has sought to undertake a regional approach to the problem by strengthening security cooperation, the main elements of which are the implementation of a CARICOM arrest warrant and seizure of assets of nationals involved with ISIS; the introduction of anti-­ terrorism legislation; and the development of a counter terrorism strategy (Alexander 2017). The danger for Trinidad and other CARICOM countries is that, even in the absence of such attacks, they may well be the victims of an extended ban, if the current Executive Order is upheld by the Supreme Court. The administration had already indicated that it expected to widen its net beyond the original countries named. The challenge is that the US administration could, at any point, select countries with nationals who have joined ISIS for special immigration treatment. The implications could extend beyond Trinidad to the entire region given CARICOM’s freedom of movement provisions. In the absence of a ban, the US could still implement policies that constrain movement from the region. An example of such measures is the decision to give embassies more autonomy in determining who are given visas to enter the US. Illegal immigrants and DACA Another concern emerges from the administration’s treatment of undocumented immigrants, including DACA beneficiaries.5 DACA, while not providing a clear path of citizenship, forestalled deportation by allowing so-­called ‘Dreamers’, children of immigrants who were brought to the US illegally by their parents, to apply to work and study legally. These permits were approved for two years and were renewable once the programme remained in place. The President’s antipathy towards immigrants in general, amplified in his commitment to build a wall along the Mexican border, appears to have encouraged a more restrictive approach to immigration. In keeping with his campaign commitments to increase deportation of undocumented aliens, he signed an

Shifting economic and political terrains   231 immigration order in his first week in office that expanded categories of persons targeted for deportation (Nakamura 2017a). Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents have been detaining for deportation, not just persons guilty of criminal offences, but ‘those with minor offenses or no convictions at all’ (Rein, Hauslohner and Somashekhar 2017), doubling the detention of immigrants with no convictions (Nakamura 2017a). Anecdotal evidence suggests that the region is already feeling its effects, both for those seeking visas to enter the US and those, even with valid visas, denied entry at the border, as well as undocumented persons subjected to immediate deportation.6 Critics of the new approach have suggested that this represents a shift from the Obama administration’s prioritisation of those with criminal records for deportation. This environment has introduced an element of disquiet among immigrant groups especially as reports circulate of persons being denied entry or questioned on their religion and previous travel. As Nakamura (2017a) reported, this has already led to significant declines in those entering the US illegally. More pointedly, there are reports that the administration has moved towards significantly increasing its deportation force and its capacity to detain undocumented immigrants, with the addition of 33,000 more beds (Nakamura 2017b). Despite no change in policy in respect of DACA, ICE’s net has included high-­profile instances of the deportation of DACA eligible immigrants (Racke 2017) and increased numbers of those who have lost their protected status have been deported (Jarvie 2017). This development presents a challenge to the region, for whom the US is a prime destination for Caribbean migrants. In 2014, there were around four million migrants from the region (the majority were from Cuba, Haiti, the DR, Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago), representing 9 per cent of all immigrants (Zong and Batalova 2016, Table 1, p. 1). Most of these have migrated through legal channels but, nevertheless, estimates put the region as accounting for 2 per cent of the 11 million illegal immigrants (Zong and Batalova 2016, p.  1). The majority of these are from ‘the Dominican Republic (98,000), Jamaica (59,000), and Haiti (7,000)’ (Zong and Batalova 2016, p. 2). A sizeable number were eligible for DACA consideration. The Migration Policy Institute (2016) put these as 13,000 for the DR and 9,000 for Jamaica. So far, the Trump administration has not sought to repeal DACA, with the President announcing in June (2017) that its provisions will remain in place. Insecurity in respect of the programme, arises, however, from traditional Republican hostility, expressed in a 2014 bill to repeal it (Dumain 2014), the increase in deportation of those who have lost their protected status (Jarvie 2017), and, more importantly, Trump’s failure to extend protection to the parents of DACA beneficiaries who are subject to deportation (Guadalupe 2017). The Revised Executive Order, while clarifying the rights of Green Card holders and those with visas in hand, has removed provisions for fast-­tracking H-­1B visas. Trump has also signed an Executive Order reviewing the H-­1B programme, to ensure that Americans were given priority in hiring (Romm 2017). This may well have implications for the migration of skilled persons from the

232   P. Lewis et al. region, primarily in the health sector, who are actively recruited from the region. While this may put a brake on the migration of such persons, which may seem inimical to the region’s thrust to increase remittance flows and engage its diaspora as tools of ‘development’, this may well have a positive effect on the delivery of important services, primarily in health and education, the main focus of these recruitment efforts. On the other hand, governments can expect a large influx of either voluntarily or forcefully returned nationals, which can strain economic and social institutions in countries with already high levels of unemployment, poverty and weak social safety nets. US–Cuba relations The Trump presidency has threatened the move towards the normalisation of relations with Cuba, which President Obama initiated in 2014, with the signing of a new Executive Order on 16 June 2017. Under the Obama administration, diplomatic relations between the two countries were restored, with embassies opening in both countries in 2015. This was to be accompanied by measures to ease trade, travel, the transfer of remittances and financial transactions (Rosenblum and Hipsman 2015), the conservation of protected marine areas and cooperation in the study of cancer (Martinez 2017), among others. It also held the possibility of easing the loss of one of Cuba’s key economic partners with the collapse of the Venezuelan economy. The US government also moved towards normalising immigration with Cuba, ending its so-­called ‘Wet Foot, Dry Foot’7 policy. Trump’s June 2017 Executive Order reversed some of these measures, although falling short of a complete roll back of the Obama administration’s initiatives. Diplomatic ties remain between the two countries, but restrictions were placed on tourist travel, stay in military-­owned/operated hotel and commercial activity with entities associated with the military. The precise form of these restrictions is to be developed by the Treasury and Commerce Departments over the coming months (see Wagner and DeYoung 2017). It is not clear how the new measures will affect health cooperation. While the Trump administration’s policies towards Cuba have found approval from some within the Cuban-­Miami community, there are wider constituencies within the US that stand to lose. These include Cuban-­Americans who have benefitted from easier access to family; Americans who travel to Cuba for relatively inexpensive medical procedures; businesses who had or were poised to take advantage of easier access to Cuba; and powerful interest groups, such as the agricultural lobby (Legierska 2017), who value the Cuban market; and scientific institutions who welcome medical cooperation with Cuba, particularly on cancer research and drug development. A freeze in relations with the US could lead to a repeat of Cuba’s experience in the late 1990s to mid-­2000s when a brief window of US economic opening by the Clinton regime, during a period in which Cuba was suffering from the loss of its major trading partner, Russia, was abruptly closed by the Bush administration.

Shifting economic and political terrains   233 At that point, Venezuela became Cuba’s lifeline. Venezuela’s ability to continue playing this role has been curtailed by its own economic woes. This has already led to a 19.5 per cent reduction in oil supplies, forcing Cuba to introduce rationing (von Bergen 2016; Deutsche Welle 2017). On the other hand, US scale down of relations with Cuba opens the way for the engagement of other countries, such as the BRICS, in the Cuban economy. As Wagner and DeYoung (2017) note: Russia and China have moved to expand their military and economic cooperation with Cuba. Cuba is about to receive its first major Russian oil shipment this century, and Moscow has pledged a $2 billion investment in the Cuban railroad. China is selling computers to the island, and Brazil has funded a state-­of-the-­art port in the Cuban city of Mariel. Another unknown in Cuba–US relationship is what changes, if any, would Raul Castro’s resignation in 2018, bring. For CARICOM countries, a new freeze in US–Cuban relations would not be welcome, given their consistent lobby for the normalisation of these relations. At the same time, however, this has been viewed with disquiet in some quarters, which see Cuba as a competitor for tourism and markets (see discussion of this in Acevedo, Alleyne and Romeu 2017). There is a counter perspective, however, that the opening up of the Cuban tourism industry could push the region to adopting a more collaborative approach to the industry (Whitefield 2017). The rollback of US opening towards Cuba under the Trump administration has not led to a reinstatement of the ‘Wet Foot, Dry Foot’ policy, which makes Cubans as vulnerable to immigration restrictions and repatriation as other Caribbean immigrants. Aid, trade and financial regulations Early pronouncements from the Trump administration suggest a retreat from international engagement, except in matters of security, and a more intense internal focus, represented in Trump’s oft voiced slogan: ‘America First’. This shift was reflected in the 2017 budget, which significantly cut US aid while massively increasing military spending (by US$54 billion) (Clarke, Fox and Green 2017). Towards the end of 2015, before Obama demitted office, US Agency for International Development (USAID), the main channel for assistance to the region, signed a Five-­Year Development Objective Agreement (DOAG) with CARICOM, amounting to US$165 million. It covered issues such as youth violence, HIV/AIDS, and climate change (USAID 2015). While this agreement is unlikely to be affected, the US’s reduction in funds allocated to aid signals that such funds may become increasingly unavailable. One of the positive aspects of CARICOM–US relations is the bipartisan Public Law 114–291 (United States–Caribbean Strategic Engagement Act of 2016), adopted by the US Congress on a bipartisan basis in December 2016, before Obama demitted office. The Bill represents a commitment by the US to strengthen its engagement with the region in areas including economic relations,

234   P. Lewis et al. security, encouraging ‘economic diversification and global competitiveness’, energy security, public health and expansion of internet access. This presents the region with an opportunity to more clearly define the nuts and bolts of cooperation. Realistically, however, how this agreement develops is largely dependent on the new administration’s willingness to pursue the letter and spirit of the agreement. The region also benefits more indirectly from US support of organisations and initiatives, which may be negatively affected by the Trump administration’s ideological perspectives on issues such as women’s reproductive rights, in particular, abortion, as well as climate change. An early casualty of this arose from the administration’s decision on 12 April 2017 to withdraw funding from the UN’s Population Fund (UNFPA), on the claim that it partners with ‘a Chinese government programme that includes forced abortions and sterilizations’ (Caribbean360 2017) – UNFPA has been active in the region in health and reproductive issues, including teenage pregnancy. Defunding UNFPA will have widespread effect across the Caribbean as it funds programmes in both independent and non-­independent territories (Caribbean360 2017). Climate change An important aspect of US policy with likely negative implications for the region is the administration’s scepticism on the issue of climate change, concretised in its decision, on 1 June 2017, to pull out of the Paris Climate Agreement.8 The US withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement is of particular concern to the region as its success is threatened by the US unwillingness to honour its commitments to reduce greenhouse gases. A reduced US commitment to carbon emissions targets will significantly undermine the commitment to keep global temperature rise below two degrees Celsius this century, effects of which will be felt most acutely by small islands, which comprise the majority of CARICOM’s membership. Efforts to resist the effect of the administration’s decision on the Paris Climate Agreement are likely to mitigate, although not completely reverse, its negative impacts. These include the US Climate Alliance of 12 states and Puerto Rico and 187 cities, which has pledged to work towards reducing carbon emissions and pursuing renewable energy alternatives (Crooks 2017; Frangoul 2017); and a consortium of over 300 universities, committed to implementing green policies to cut their carbon emissions. Former mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg, has pledged to meet the US$15 million commitment towards the operation of the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change from the US’s pull out of the Agreement (Phillips 2017). The other area of US engagement with the region is in trade. Trump’s posture has been protectionist, expressed in his withdrawal from the Trans-­Pacific Partnership; his stated intention to renegotiate NAFTA with Mexico and Canada; his promotion of an America first policy in trade; as well as a restricted approach to the immigration of skilled persons. CARICOM9 (and other countries in the region) benefit from preferential access to the US market under the CBI, which

Shifting economic and political terrains   235 covers the Caribbean Basin Economic Recovery Act (CBERA), the Caribbean Basin Trade Partnership Agreement (CBTPA) and its extension. This programme, which was introduced in 1984, has no specified terminal date but because it is a one way preferential agreement offered by the US, can be withdrawn at any time. Given the administration’s commitment to ensure that American economic interests are at the forefront of trade agreements, it is likely that these arrangements will be up for review, with a government less sympathetic to CARICOM’s development concerns. On the other hand, CBI’s effects on US trade has been minimal, with the exception of methanol (United States International Trade Commission 2015), so might not be on the frontline of US action (see Sanders 2017). FATCA and correspondence banking Other areas of Caribbean concern, some pre-­dating this administration, are in the financial sector, which strain the domestic and offshore banking sectors. The Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act (FATCA), which requires banks to report on the accounts of US citizens and residents to the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network, poses a direct threat to the financial services sector. Former Trinidadian Prime Minister, now leader of the Opposition, Kamla Persad-­Bissessar, went to unprecedented lengths to write a letter of enquiry to President Trump as to his position on FATCA, reminding him of his campaign promise to repeal all of President Obama’s Executive Orders (Singh 2017). Sanders (2017) notes that other measures, such as Trumps proposal to introduce a ‘tax repatriation plan’, giving ‘a special one-­off tax holiday allowing firms to repatriate funds held overseas … at a ten per cent … versus the current 35 per cent (tax) rate’, coupled with his planned reduction of corporate taxes are likely to enhance the attractiveness of the US investment climate, while reducing the attractiveness of the offshore sector on which a number of Caribbean countries rely. A US squeeze on the financial sector, coupled with previous efforts within the OECD and G20 to tighten the regulatory framework, has already threatened the formal banking sector in a number of countries, with major US banks refusing to continue offering correspondent banking services (see Nicholls 2017). These strains are likely to be aggravated by the US’s identification of Caribbean states,10 both independent states and OCTs, as major money launderers (United States Department of State 2017, p. 5) and another four,11 along with the DR, as ‘major illicit drug producing and/or drug transit countries’ (United States Department of State 2017, p. 4) US–China relations and the Caribbean It is too early to determine the Trump administration’s policy towards China. Initially, the prioritisation of security, aligned with the ‘America first’ economic approach, signalled China as the US’s greatest adversary. In his campaign, Trump targeted China’s trade imbalance with the US, accusing China of currency manipulation to make its products more competitive, and threatened to

236   P. Lewis et al. retaliate by raising tariffs and revisit trade relations. Trump also threatened to end the US’s One China policy, potentially increasing conflict over Taiwan12 (Migranyan 2017). This approach has softened since his meeting with Chinese President, Xi Jinping (Yan 2017), and an acknowledgement of China’s importance in deflecting mounting tension with North Korea over its nuclear development and testing programme. It is not clear, however, how long this softening towards China will last. A heightened focus on security as well as a more adversarial relationship with China is not helpful for the Caribbean as it is likely to see the US privileging security concerns in its relations with the region. One of the possible implications of this would be to view Chinese economic engagement in the region as a threat to the US. This could result in US pressure to scale down this engagement, at a time when China has become the main source of concessionary financing and infrastructure development to the region and likely to be more so as US decreases its support. As long as the US maintains a neutral perspective on Chinese engagement in the region, the latter is likely to intensify as Venezuela becomes less of a source of financial support. Whatever the evolution of the US’s relationship with China, China’s drive to engage more globally – with a commitment of US$3 trillion to construct its ‘One Belt One Road’ (or new Silk Road) initiative to build and renovate land and sea infrastructure to connect it with countries in the South and Europe, accompanied by soft loans and grants (Goh and Chen 2017; Kuo 2017) – is likely to ensure its growing influence in the region. The Trump administration has introduced an element of instability not only in its relations with the region, but also in global affairs. It is difficult to predict the precise ways in which the region will be affected. In addition to the relationships discussed above, volatility arising from the market’s response to developments internal to the US, affecting the value of the dollar, transmitted in the prices of imports and exports; a drop off in tourism to the US which may or may not be temporary and thus may or may not present an opportunity for the region; the way in which the US chooses to conduct its foreign policy which may increase the threat of conflict, are additional unknowns which are likely to have significant implications for the region. In addition, there are already sufficient indications from policies pursued in the administration’s first days that these are likely to have material effect. What can be said with surety is that the full implications for the Caribbean are unknown, but are likely to emerge in unanticipated areas, as the administration continues to fulfill a cross-­cutting right-­wing, nationalist political agenda. These myriad challenges suggest that a coordinated regional approach is essential.

Pan-­Caribbean integration – Venezuela and Brazil Venezuela In the initial years of the twenty-­first century pan-­Caribbean regionalism began to merge in an unprecedented way with the political and economic initiatives of Latin America. This resulted in the prolonged involvement of Southern Cone

Shifting economic and political terrains   237 countries in MINUSTAH, the United Nations peace-­building mission in Haiti as of 2004. It also produced PetroCaribe and ALBA; The South American Union, UNASUR, in which Guyana and Suriname are members; and finally, CELAC. Guyana and Suriname became associate members of MERCOSUR in 2013 The pace and dynamics of pan-­Caribbean cooperation have thus been influenced not only by external economic developments and global power shifts, but by domestic politics and changing ideological configurations within Latin America and the Caribbean. Latin American voters’ disenchantment with neoliberal economic policies resulted in a wave of governments on the left of the political spectrum in the first years of the century who launched an agenda of institution-­building and new regional programmes that emphasised social cohesion, poverty alleviation, infrastructural development and South–South cooperation. However, as the global boom in commodity prices slowed and Latin America’s buoyant economic growth phase declined after 2010, political conflicts sharpened, leading to the replacement of leftist governments in some countries by more conservative leadership, notably in Argentina and Brazil. For the Caribbean, the most momentous developments have been the political and economic upheavals in Venezuela and Brazil. In the Hugo Chavez era, Venezuela’s long-­standing energy cooperation in the Greater Caribbean expanded its scope with the PetroCaribe Energy Cooperation Agreement of 2005. By 2013, Venezuela was supplying between 40 and 60 per cent of the fossil fuel products consumed in the PetroCaribe countries (SELA 2013) and was also one of the most significant providers of development financing for several territories in CARICOM and the rest of the Caribbean region (PetroCaribe 2014, SELA 2015). PetroCaribe reports indicate increased trade in goods and services across the PetroCaribe Economic Zone, amounting to US$3.2 billion by the end of 2014 (PetroCaribe 2014). The Achilles heel of the ALBA and PetroCaribe initiatives was the centralisation of Venezuelan management, the heavy dependence on Venezuela’s oil resources, highly personalised leadership structures and relatively weak institutionalisation. Venezuela’s economy manifested slowing growth and rising inflation as of 2009 and its economic management problems were aggravated as oil prices slumped in the ensuing years. National income plunged by over 40 per cent in 2015, while oil income accounted for 95 per cent of export earnings, 60 per cent of budget revenues and 12 per cent of GDP (Buxton 2016). ECLAC (2016) reported that the Venezuelan economy had contracted by 9.7 per cent and the inflation rate was 515.4 per cent. The estimated debt burden in 2016 was US$123 billion and international reserves had shrunk by 28 per cent. Despite its economy being in deep crisis, Venezuela continued servicing its debt payments up to the end of the first quarter in 2017. However, there has been a heavy toll on the quality of life of the population, with poverty rates rising from 27 per cent in 2013 to 73 per cent in 2015, widespread shortages of food and medicine and breakdowns in the delivery of essential services, particularly health care, public utilities and public security (Feldmann, Merke and Stuenkel 2016). 

238   P. Lewis et al. Since the death of President Hugo Chavez in March 2013, Venezuela’s political polarisation has deepened, public disaffection and political protests have intensified and the government’s responses have become increasingly authoritarian. Successor President Maduro was narrowly elected by a 1 per cent majority in 2013 and the United Socialist Party of Venezuela (PSUV) suffered a significant two thirds defeat to the opposition coalition Mesa de la Unidad Democratica (MUD) in the parliamentary elections of 2015. The latter development precipitated an impasse between the executive and the legislative branches of government, a growing tendency of the executive to rule by presidential decree and to use the judiciary to attempt to neutralise the legislature, and the imprisonment or exclusion from public office of several prominent opposition figures. Regional elections scheduled for 2016 were indefinitely postponed. In May 2017, Venezuela began proceedings to withdraw from the OAS and President Maduro unilaterally announced the convening of a Constituent Assembly to repeal and rewrite the 1990 Bolivarian Constitution. Venezuela’s repeated episodes of civil unrest since 2013 have resulted in over 100 deaths. In the protests April–May 2017, there have been 43 deaths, over 1,000 arrests and more than 700 injured (Al Jazeera 2017; Marco 2017). International responses have included calls by the UN Secretary-­General and the Human Rights Council, the EU, the Russian and Chinese governments for calm, dialogue and peaceful resolution of the political crisis, while the US government imposed targeted sanctions in 2015 and 2016 against certain Venezuelan officials which will last until 2019. The Secretary-­General of the OAS has campaigned since 2016 to invoke the provisions of the Inter-­American Democratic Charter against Venezuela. Although the move was defeated in 2016, on 26 April 2017 the OAS Permanent Council adopted a resolution supported by 19 member states to convene a meeting of the OAS Ministers of Foreign Affairs in May 2017 to discuss the situation in Venezuela (OAS 2017). A statement was also issued by 11 Latin American governments calling on Venezuela to guarantee the right to peaceful protest, the avoidance of violence and the release of an electoral calendar for the delayed regional elections (Boothroyd-­Rojas 2017). Venezuela has become increasingly isolated with its suspension from MERCOSUR in December 2016, its recently announced withdrawal from the OAS and the decision to rescind its Constitution and eliminate the constitutionally elected National Assembly. Diplomatic efforts at mediation in 2016 involved the former Spanish Prime Minister Zapatero, the Vatican, the UNASUR Secretary-­General and the former Presidents of Panama and the DR. Their efforts produced a draft Agreement on Democratic Coexistence in October 2016 that was not adopted. Until early 2017, few Latin American governments made public pronouncements on the Venezuelan crisis, limiting their actions to appeals for dialogue and peaceful settlement and to providing humanitarian assistance and entry to Venezuelan citizens travelling across their borders. UNASUR’s diplomatic intervention has been stymied by the fact that major actors like Brazil, Colombia and Argentina are preoccupied with their own internal political and

Shifting economic and political terrains   239 economic challenges or may not be seen as neutral intermediaries by both sides of the conflict (Feldmann et al. 2016). However, neighbouring states’ concerns have escalated in the face of growing evidence of crisis-­driven Venezuelan migration. Official estimates of Venezuelan migrants in Colombia approximate 400,000 (Rueda 2017), while Panama, with 150,000 legal residents has experienced a 133 per cent increase in annual arrivals between 2010 and 2016 (Aymerich 2017). Migration to Brazil surged by 3,000 per cent in 2017, and Peru issued up to 6,000 temporary visas for Venezuelans in 2017 (Agencia Brasil 2017; Martin 2017; Reuters 2017a). Venezuelan asylum applications to the US were reported to have increased 150 per cent between 2015 and 2016 (Zong and Batalova 2016). Trinidad and the DR also showed evidence of increased Venezuelan migration in 2015–2017 (CNC3 2016). Venezuela’s escalating instability has had multiple regional repercussions even beyond the humanitarian consequences. The perennial territorial dispute between Venezuela and Guyana was reignited in 2014, the UN Secretary-­ General will use his good offices to mediate until the end of 2017, after which the parties can seek a ruling from the International Court of Justice if no permanent settlement has been reached. Relations between Venezuela and Colombia are similarly delicate as Colombia navigates a precarious peace agreement with its guerrilla movements after decades of civil conflict and strives to insulate this process from the turbulence next door. Economic exchanges and consultations within the context of PetroCaribe have dwindled due to the crisis. Guyana withdrew from the fuel purchase agreement, also terminating its rice exports to Venezuela. Jamaica and the DR opted in 2015 to buy out 50 per cent of their PetroCaribe debt to Venezuela at discounted rates and subsequently Jamaica also ceased its exports of cement products to Venezuela, which had been part of the earlier debt repayment arrangements. Venezuela’s fuel deliveries to most PetroCaribe partners have been reduced but several still have substantial debts to repay to Venezuela. Trinidad and Tobago is an exception to the trend of reduced economic transactions with Venezuela. Trinidad’s relations with Venezuela are defined by the transnational processes of their geographical proximity. Recent cooperation includes a 2013 agreement to jointly develop three gas fields in their maritime border zones (Caribbean Journal 2013) and a 2016 agreement for the supply of Venezuelan gas to Trinidad through the Gulf of Paria (Charles 2016a). Trinidad has increased its food exports to Venezuela in 2016–2017, destined for regions in proximity to Trinidad on the basis of bilateral commercial agreements (Charles 2016b). For Trinidad and other Caribbean countries, the Venezuelan crisis has major economic implications. There are implications also for regional organisations. While ALBA-­TCP has remained active in coordinating foreign policy positions, notably with resolutions supporting the Venezuelan government, its activities in other spheres have dwindled significantly, due to Venezuela’s crisis and its central role in that grouping. CARICOM’s weak capacity for foreign policy coordination exacerbated by the divergent interests and competing affiliations of its member states

240   P. Lewis et al. initially gave rise to divided responses to the Venezuelan crisis.13 However, on 31 May 2017, CARICOM states joined forces to table a resolution at the OAS Foreign Affairs Ministers meeting calling for dialogue, peaceful resolution of the crisis and opposing intervention by the OAS. This effectively blocked the passing of a counter-­resolution authorising stronger action against Venezuela (Burdge et al. 2017). The OAS membership remains deeply divided concerning Venezuela and similar divisions are apparent among the member states of the ACS. In conclusion, Venezuela has been a core actor in the shaping and reshaping of pan-­Caribbean integration. Inevitably, therefore, the Venezuelan crisis is at the heart of many contemporary regional divisions and is on every regional grouping’s agenda. Further escalation of the Venezuelan internal conflict, and its resolution in whatever form will have major implications for other actors in the Caribbean and Latin America, implications which might include the demise of ALBA and substantial changes to the present form of Venezuela’s energy diplomacy. Brazil–Caribbean relations Between 2003 and 2014, Brazil experienced an extended period of economic and social progress under the Partido dos Trabalhadore (PT) administrations of Presidents Lula da Silva and Dilma Roussef. The average annual growth rate from 2006–2010 was 4.5 per cent, which then dipped to 2.1 per cent from 2011–2014. Domestic policies emphasised reducing social inequalities and living conditions improved significantly for an estimated 29 million Brazilians previously below the poverty line (World Bank 2017). Under President Lula, Brazil’s foreign policy emphasised its BRICS partnerships, South–South relations, greater leadership in the Latin American and Caribbean region, and a more dominant voice in global governance. Brazil’s South–South policies, sometimes referred to as ‘the politics of non-­indifference’ (Feldmann et al. 2015), played out in the Caribbean in Brazil’s peace-­building presence in Haiti, in increased diplomatic representation, some expansion in technical cooperation and economic and cultural exchanges notably with Cuba, Jamaica, Trinidad and neighbouring Guyana and Suriname. However, the South–South dimension of Brazilian foreign policy was modified during the Roussef administration and the Brazil–CARICOM multilateral programme did not deepen after 2012, although Brazil continued to emphasise its role in South America and maintained its commitment to Haiti. The country’s economic fortunes changed drastically in 2015 and 2016 when Brazil’s GDP growth contracted by 3.8 per cent and 3.6 per cent respectively, with damaging impacts on employment, public sector budgets and rising debt levels (ECLAC 2016). The economic crisis became the catalyst for a political crisis engulfing the political parties at state and federal levels, and large numbers of business people. In August 2016, President Dilma Roussef was removed from office by the Brazilian Congress, not on corruption charges, but under the Law of Fiscal

Shifting economic and political terrains   241 Responsibility for having failed to disclose full details of the severity of the economic situation before her re-­election. This had been preceded by investigations into numerous corruption schemes surrounding Petrobras, Brazil’s state-­owned oil company, state officials and private contractors. The Petrobras ‘Operation Car Wash’ scandal is estimated to have caused a 1 per cent loss of GDP in 2015, to have cost over 700,000 jobs and US$10 billion in fines, and to have substantially reduced national investment capacity between 2015 and 2019 (Girgenti 2016; Latin American Brazil and Southern Cone Report 2017). The corruption scandals expanded to include several other leading Brazilian multinationals, focusing on their bids to gain domestic and international political influence and contracts. Brazil’s domestic governance has been destabilised by widespread public protests at political corruption and economic austerity, and by the uncertainty and loss of legitimacy caused by the large numbers of parliamentarians, former and current presidents and cabinet ministers, state governors and business magnates who are under investigation or have been convicted on corruption charges. The economic fallout from the corruption investigations into Odebrecht, Latin America’s largest construction enterprise, has been the loss of 300,000 jobs since 2014 and the closure of several engineering firms as a result of the legal penalties, loss of contracts and suspension of activity (Latin American Brazil and Southern Cone Report 2017). Brazil’s debilitating crisis has affected the Latin American and Caribbean region in several ways. It has resulted in Brazil’s withdrawal from regional leadership to focus on the domestic maelstrom. The economic recession has necessitated major budgetary cutbacks and a retreat from much of the South– South cooperation agenda. Some of the most instrumental business actors in propelling external investment and projects have been severely weakened. Most significantly, due to the importance of Brazilian FDI in the Latin American and Caribbean region, the widening ripples from Brazil’s corruption proceedings have triggered legal and political investigations, negative economic impacts and in some cases major political fall-­out, most visibly in Argentina, Colombia, the DR, Ecuador, Panama, Peru and Venezuela.14 It is likely that Brazil’s foreign policy priorities will be adjusted in the aftermath of this turmoil. For some time, it may exercise a lower profile in the Caribbean zone, even while it works to rebuild image and presence in South America. Clearly, the political and economic events of the last two decades in both Brazil and Venezuela have left major imprints on the pan-­Caribbean region and the current upheavals will also have long-­term effects on regional public policy. Caribbean actors desirous of furthering the partnerships that have been established during the last two decades will have to exercise greater initiative and invest more in their maintenance on a stable, sustainable course.

Mexico and pan-­Caribbean regional integration Strained relations between the US and Mexican administrations, as a result of the negative lenses through which President Trump has viewed key aspects of

242   P. Lewis et al. relations with Mexico, raises the question of whether this could influence the dynamics of pan-­Caribbean regionalism. The context certainly suggests the potential for a strengthened resolve, on Mexico’s part, to honour its previously stated commitments to the prioritisation of regional integration within its foreign policy (Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores 2015). More significantly, President Nieto’s administration has outlined an intention to promote a more ‘assertive and pragmatic multilateralism’ within the region that is geared towards the value of regional cooperation to achieving practical sustainable development outcomes for Caribbean people (Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores 2016a). In that context, there is potential for the resurgence of the ACS as a significant forum for advancing regionalism. Although political dialogue against US-­hegemonic regionalism has largely been the purview of the more-­expansive and ideologically-­charged CELAC, the ACS offers a space for technical and financial cooperation on trade, disaster management, transportation and, more recently climate change which are key elements of Mexico’s sustainable development-­focused foreign policy towards the Caribbean (Association of Caribbean States 2014b; Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores 2016b). In fact, Nieto’s leadership of the ACS in 2014 and proposal of a four-­point action plan has influenced the subsequent direction of the Association as reflected in the current ACS Havana Plan of Action for 2016–2018 adopted at the VII Summit in June 2016 which reflects a more explicit sustainable development orientation.15 Perhaps in anticipation of increased investment in the Greater Caribbean as a zone of sustainable development, the ACS, under the leadership of the Cuban Presidency and the new Secretary General June Soomer, inaugurated the ACS Cooperation Conference in March 2017 which provided an opportunity for state, civil society and private sector actors to identify areas for closer cooperation (Association of Caribbean States 2017). Continued political and financial support for the ACS could be significant for Mexico. Geopolitically, the Association is inclusive in its pan-­Caribbean membership, including associate membership for Martinique, Guadeloupe, Sint Maarten, Aruba and Curacao who participate in their own right, alongside the Netherlands and France on behalf of their respectively less-­autonomous territories. Politically, the Association potentially provides a forum in which Mexico can assert a level of regional leadership and strength in development cooperation (particularly in technical cooperation on disaster risk management, transportation and trade) vis-­à-vis the more vulnerable Eastern Caribbean states who have benefitted from the Mexican Agency for International Cooperation and Development (AMEXCID).16 In that context, the Eastern and Southern Caribbean is emerging as a key area of subregional interest for Mexican regional cooperation, as demonstrated by visits made by the Deputy Secretary for Foreign Affairs to St Lucia and Trinidad in November 2016 (Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores 2016c).17 It has also opened in 2015 a unit within its Embassy in St Lucia to better coordinate with non-­resident Caribbean Ambassadors to Mexico (Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores 2015).

Shifting economic and political terrains   243 At the same time, Mexico now chairs an ECLAC Forum of Latin American and Caribbean Countries on Sustainable Development which, in the face of recent US criticisms of multilateral institutions and in particular the UN system, provides a space for Mexico to advocate for the strengthening of multilateralism and regionalism as relevant mechanisms for concretely advancing the 2030 Agenda on Sustainable Development. Notwithstanding the aforementioned potential for strengthened regional cooperation, the capacity of ACS member states to honour their financial commitments, in the face of domestic challenges, may continue to dog the organisation.18 In particular, the political and financial crises in larger Caribbean states like Colombia and Venezuela may affect the financing of regional cooperation projects – perhaps widening the space for assertion of Mexican leadership in this area.

Conclusion The myriad challenges and uncertainties confronting the region can have the effect of either plunging regional integration into crisis, leading to its ultimate demise, or of infusing it with a new purpose. This new purpose will have to be based on a vision of a wider movement with the OECS and CARICOM at its core, but with Cuba, the DR and the French DOMs, and British and Dutch overseas territories viewed as integral to the fashioning of a renewed regional approach. Politics in the wider Latin American region is fluid, with effect on the enthusiasm with which the wider integration process, represented by CELAC as well as the ACS, is pursued. Nevertheless, CARICOM’s deeper economic and political engagement with the region remains important, especially as it offers possibilities for new models of South–South cooperation. The current uncertainty introduced by Brexit and the policies being enacted by the Trump administration, nevertheless, has the potential to re-­energise pan-­Caribbean regionalism, especially if US antipathy towards Mexico and NAFTA, reorients Mexico to its neighbours in the South.

Notes   1 Montserrat, a British dependency, was not a signatory to the agreement, while Haiti, because of its economic challenges, especially in the wake of the 2010 earthquake, is not implementing the agreement.   2 The Caribbean members of OCTA are: Aruba, Anguilla, Bonaire, the BVI, Cayman Islands, Curacao, Montserrat, Saba, Saint Eustatius, Sint Maarten, the TCI and Bermuda.   3 The First Executive Order (27 January 2017) suspended immigration from seven countries (Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria and Yemen) and imposed a 120-day ban on Syrian refugees. After being struck down by lower courts, a revised Executive Order, released on 6 March, removing Iraq from the list and exempting Green Card holders among others from the ban, was again halted by lower courts in various states. The 26 June Supreme Court ruling allowed for restrictions on persons ‘with no bona fide relationship with a person or entity in the United States’ (see Brown 2017) to remain.

244   P. Lewis et al.   4 Francis Forbes, executive director of the CARICOM Implementing Agency for Crime and Security (IMPACS) has put the number of fighters and family members as over 200 (Alexander 2017).   5 Those eligible for consideration should: Have arrived in the United States prior to age 16 (;) Have continuously resided in the United States without legal status since June 15, 2007 (;) Be less than age 31 as of June 15, 2012 and at least age 15 at application (unauthorised immigrants under 15 but in removal proceedings are also eligible to apply) (;) Be currently enrolled in school, have graduated high school or obtained a general education development certificate (GED), or be an honorably discharged veteran (;) Have not been convicted of a felony or multiple or serious misdemeanors and not pose a threat to national security or public safety. (Singer and Svajlenka 2013)   6 It is difficult to establish that these are the result of a new policy as immigration has wide latitude in allocating visas and in permitting entry even of valid visa holders. Nevertheless, the current environment lends itself to increased fears of a degree of arbitrariness in these decisions.   7 Under this policy which was initiated in the mid-­1990s, Cubans intercepted at sea were returned to Cuba while those who made it to a US port of entry, were allowed to apply for permanent residency or asylum at an accelerated rate. The repeal of the policy allows the US to also repatriate those Cubans who arrive by land.   8 Before this, the President had taken a number of domestic initiatives designed to reverse progress achieved during the Obama administration. See Freedman 2017; Henry 2017; Korte, 2017; Potenza, 2017.   9 The DR and Haiti are excluded from these arrangements as the former is now part of the Central America Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA)-DR FTA with the US and Haiti falls under special arrangements: Haitian Hemispheric Opportunity through Partnerships Encouragement (HOPE) Acts of 2006 and 2008 and Haitian Economic Lift Program (HLP) Act of 2010 (United States International Trade Commission, 2015). 10 The countries and territories listed are: The Bahamas, Barbados, Belize, the BVI, Cayman Islands, Cuba, the DR, Dutch Caribbean, Eastern Caribbean, Guyana, Haiti, Jamaica, Suriname, Trinidad and Tobago, Venezuela. 11 These are The Bahamas, Belize, Haiti and Jamaica. 12 Migranyan (2017) notes that there are two broad perspectives within the Trump administration, one that views China in adversarial terms and the other that sees possibilities of increased access to China’s market. The first is represented by Peter Navarro, Trump’s appointee to head the National Trade Council, who favours strengthening Taiwan as a counter to China, and Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson, who views China’s actions in the East China and South China seas as a security threat; the other by Vice President, Mike Pence, who sees possible Chinese investment in the US economy, thus providing jobs for Americans. 13 This came out in the positions adopted in the OAS Permanent Council in April 2017. Five CARICOM states supported a resolution to convene a meeting of foreign ministers while six states, mostly ALBA members opposed, two CARICOM members and one CARIFORUM state (the DR) abstained and one was absent (Jessop 2017). 14 In Colombia, investigations are ongoing into Odebrecht’s election campaign financing of various parties and politicians. All Odebrecht’s state contracts have been cancelled or suspended and the firm’s assets frozen, which has delayed major infrastructural projects. In Peru, Odebrecht has agreed to pay the government US$10 million to settle bribery charges. Its withdrawal from projects there will mean major delays to infrastructural developments. In the DR, public prosecutors are investigating cases of corruption involving government officials and Odebrecht (Latin American Andean Group Report 2017; Reuters 2017b; Romero 2017).

Shifting economic and political terrains   245 15 Nieto’s four-­point plan presented at the 2014 summit under his Chairmanship focused on key sustainable development issues related to geospatial information, risk management and civil defence, international transportation of goods and customs administration and short-­distance inter-­connectivity for trade. 16 AMEXCID has provided significant development and humanitarian aid to Caribbean countries in the aftermath of recent natural disasters (Hurricane Matthew in Haiti) and as a preventative mechanism to support disaster risk reduction and management in the OECS. Importantly, however this aid is administered via bilateral arrangements although they are styled as Caribbean cooperation in the context of Mexico’s foreign policy that prioritises regional integration. 17 The interest in the OECS likely relates to the potential to assert the regional leadership of its international development agency; and the interest in Trinidad is related to the potential for investment in the oil and gas industry. 18 The 2014 summit concluded with a prominent reminder to members of their obligations (Association of Caribbean States 2014b). With the more recent challenges of Venezuela and Colombia, contributions to the ACS and its Special Fund may be challenged.

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Index

ACCP (Assembly of Caribbean Community Parliamentarians) 200–1, 204n20 Acevedo, S. 233 ACP (African, Caribbean and Pacific Group of States) 33, 44, 73, 81n8, 207, 223n5, 226–7 ACS (Association of Caribbean States) 4, 8, 25–6, 27n6, 28, 39–40, 49, 65–6, 69n21, 69n22, 69n23, 70–1, 74, 82n11, 82n12, 85, 90, 102, 103, 126, 158, 164, 228, 240, 242–3; associate members 74, 90, 112n5, 227; Cartagena Agreement 82n12; Convention 65; Cooperation Conference 242; Declaration of Petionville 69n21; Executive Secretariat 102; Havana Plan of Action 242; Secretary General 27n6, 242; Special Fund 66, 245n18; summits 65 ACS Council of Ministers 90; Nineteenth Ordinary Meeting 65 affective ties 8, 31, 41 African, Caribbean and Pacific (ACP) Group of States 33, 44, 73, 81n8, 207, 223n5, 226–7; African Union (AU) 203n2 Agencia Brasil 239 ALBA (Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of the Americas) 5–6, 11–13, 22, 25, 27n3, 27n4, 154, 156–7, 159, 162, 167–9, 172, 174–5, 178–9, 182, 210, 237, 240; 244n13; Bank 176, 183n12; Cultura 177; Caribe Fund 157, 178–9, 183n15; Cultural Fund 177, Cultural projects 177, 179; Defence council 183n9; Food Programme 157, 176–7, 178; forestry 177; medicine 176, 183n13; pharmaceuticals 176, 183n13, grannacional 176; Haiti

relations with 183n10; Health Programme 183n13; initiatives 157; literacy 178, MED 176, 179; Tel, 177, 179; People’s University 177; summit 156, 163, 176 ALBA Council for Economic Cooperation 175; ALBA-TCP 27n4, 176, 181, 239; see also ECOALBA-TCP ALBA Economic Zone (ECOALBA-TCP) 175 ALBA-Haiti Working Group 175 ALBA members 159, 175, 179, 182n1, 244n13; full 25, 27n4, 156, 178 Alexander, G. 230, 244n4 Amazon Cooperation Treaty Organisation (OTCA) 219 Amin, S. 30 Amsden, A. 32, 35, 46n9 Andrade Gutierrez Group 215 Antigua Observer 68n13 Arciniegas, G. 20, 24 Arteaga, Ofelia 161n5, 161n6 Associated Press 229 Associated Statehood (AS) 51, 54 Badie, B. 95n12, 107 Beauregard, C. 73, 81n9 Beckford, G. 23, 120–1 Bermuda Government 55 Best, L. 21, 23 Billion, D. 87 Black Jacobins 20, 22 Bolivar, Simon 21, 36, 127n2, 162, 164, 177; Bolivarian constitution 238; Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela 168, 170, 175 Brazil 3, 6–9, 11, 13, 23, 25, 32, 37, 94n7, 95n9, 117, 120, 208, 215, 221, 233, 236–8, 240; Amazon Cooperation

Index   277 Treaty Organisation 219; assistance for Haiti 160, 215; bilateral ties 168; CARICOM diplomatic presence in 217–8; CARICOM relations 213, 216; CARICOM summit 37, 160, 212; cooperation with 84; CSA conference 46n15; decline in GDP 38; diplomatic presence in Caribbean countries 217; economic and political crisis 216, 224, 240–1; emerging power 42, 85, 103; engagement with CARICOM states 206–7, 210, 215–16, 219–20; French bilateral relations 84, 93; French diplomatic network 86; Government Portal 218–19; leftist alliance 36, leftwing governments 169; migration to 239; military cooperation with CARICOM states 222n1; Northern 41, 89; Northeast 35, 36; oil-producing 36; recession 209; relations with CARICOM 212, 220–2, 240; trade with CARICOM countries 161n8, 212, 213; trade with China 43, 86; cooperation with Cuba 159, 233; Working Group with Guyana 37–8; see also BRICS BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa) 8, 13, 29, 44, 206–7, 209, 223n6, 233; partnerships 240; Report 208; summit 43 BREXIT 13, 210, 224, 227, 228, 243 BVI (British Virgin Islands) 6, 14n2, 14n7, 33, 52, 54, 56, 58, 63, 69n17, 69n18, 228, 243n2, 244n10 Byron, J. 8, 13, 60, 66 CAFTA (Central America Free Trade Agreement) 244n9 CAGI (Centre d’Analyse Géopolitique et International) 102, 112n12 CAIC (Caribbean Association of Industry and Commerce) 57, 81n9 CALC (Latin American and Caribbean Summit on Integration and Development) 27n5 Canada-US Free Trade Agreement 4 Caribbean360 67, 234 Caribbean Basin Trade Partnership Agreement (CBTPA) 235 Caribbean Catastrophe Risk Insurance Facility (CCRIF) 56, 68n6 Caribbean Community Conference of Heads of Government (CHOG) 18, 53, 124, 130, 189–90, 197, 203n3; Intersessional Meeting 130, 134

Caribbean Election 69n17 Caribbean Examinations Council (CXC) 54, 56–7 Caribbean integration 7, 192; CRPC meeting 189; pan- 8, 12–13, 236, 240; project revitalisation 173; relaunching 182; wider 25 Caribbean Journal 63, 239 Caribbean News Now 69n17, 69n19, 69n21 Caribbean Research and Policy Center (CRPC) 189 Caribbean Studies Association (CSA) 23, 35, 40; 46n15 Caribbean Tourism Organisation (CTO) 40, 68n5 CARIBCAN (Caribbean–Canada Trade Agreement) 51, 208, 222n3 CARICOM (Caribbean Community) 3–5, 8, 46n12, 50, 58, 130, 137, 158, 164–5, 180, 189, 203, 206, 227; accession to 5, 71, 130; Assembly of Parliamentarians (ACCP) 200, 204n20; Council of Ministers 53, 57, 60–1, 82n15, 158; cultural industries 179; development assistance 220; development concerns 235; diaspora 12; economic and political engagement 243; economies 5, 172; expertise in tourism 12; foreign policy 54, 56, 239; fortieth anniversary 165; Heads of Government 55, 189; importance for regional rearrangements 44; influence in Haitian affairs 122–4; integral part 190; involvement with Haiti 5; limitations 181; linguistic divisions 128; mobility regime 230; non-independent territories 57; official second language 10–11, 128, 136; participation in joint projects 182; political leaders 162; political principles 123; population 126; rapprochement 171; recommendations 183n8; Regional Organisation for Standards and Quality (CROSQ) 125; reparations claim against Europe 167; role 3, 44, 57; TCI political crisis 56; trade arrangement 208; widening project 3–4, 6, 19, 57, 128, 191–2; see also Caribbean Community Conference of Heads of Government (CHOG) CARICOM countries 5–6, 121, 193, 222n4, 233; airport line for nationals 125; Chinese trade and investments 213–14, 217; economic and social

278   Index CARICOM continued evolution 172, 174, 181; financial assistance 211; integration processes 169; ISIS fighters 230; market 125; OAS resolutions enforced 122; participating in ALBA 12, 159, 178; participation in CELAC 168, 179–80; political interference non-existent 127n10; political support for Brazil 218; role in Latin American and Caribbean region 180; small middle-income 180; trade with Brazil 161n8, 213; trade with India 210, 215 CARICOM Development Fund (CDF) 211, 215, 220 CARICOM engagement with 6–7, 9, 206, 211; with wider Caribbean 4; with Latin America 13; with Venezuela 5, 6 CARICOM integration initiatives 11–12; economic integration 173, 181; regional arrangements 209 CARICOM members 6, 67n4, 121, 155, 183n19, 183n19, 234, 244n13; associate 57, 227; capacity of policy coordination 169; consideration for 10; countries 123, 125; deepen ties with India 220; diversification 224; foreign policy cornerstones 168; full 4, 6; future 118; interact via regional and global configurations 220; participation in ALBAMED 179; participation in Latin American spaces 167; projection of foreign affairs 167; status 128 CARICOM member states 14n1, 134, 210; accession to PetroCaribe, ALBA and UNASUR agreements 168; ALBA 175; Big Six 214; cooperation on food security 178; debt to GDP ratios 172; increasing diplomatic presence in Brazil 218; participation in regional cooperation schemes 178; right of entry for CARICOM nationals 197; structural impediments to development 174; support PANCAP 174; trade between 166; UN General Assembly votes 218 CARICOM relations 210; with BRICS 13; with DR 5; EU members 224–5; with French-speaking African groupings 134; with OCT 57; wider 7, 192 CARICOM Secretariat 5, 44, 46n11, 46n12, 53, 122, 124, 130, 132–3, 135, 160, 166, 189, 195, 203n2, 203n3, 210, 215, 220, 227

CARICOM states 6, 12, 122, 127n11, 172, 174, 193, 202, 220, 224, 228, 244n13; Brazil investment opportunities 215; BRICS engagement with 206, 222; Chinese exports to 213; economic crisis 172; economic relations 219; economies 225; full members of ALBA 156, 182n1; members of PetroCaribe 182n1, 183n14; Haitian migrants 10; military cooperation with BRICS 222n1; net importers of food and fuel 178; Operation Miracle eye programme 5; links to rising powers 207; ties to Brazil 216, 221; ties to China 211–13, 217, 220; trade relations with rising powers 212; unemployment and poverty 52; Venezuelan crisis 240 CARICOM Today 221 CARIFORUM (Caribbean Forum of African, Caribbean and Pacific States) 5, 8, 14n4, 28, 33–5, 44, 46n12, 70, 75, 192, 222n4, 223n5, 244n13; EU free trade agreement 208 CARIFORUM–EC Economic Partnership Agreement (CARIFORUM­-EU EPA) 5, 208, 225; relations post-Brexit 225 CARIFTA (Caribbean Free Trade Association) 18, 51, 54, 130 CARPHA (Caribbean Public Health Agency) 57, 174, 179 Carpentier, Alejo 21, 22 Casimir, J. 115, 119 Castaneda, S. 43 CBERA (Caribbean Basin Economic Recovery Act) 28, 34–5, 45n2, 235 CBI (Caribbean Basin Initiative) 4, 8, 16, 28, 34–5, 45n2, 51, 234–5 CBU (Caribbean Broadcasting Union) 166 CCCCC (Caribbean Community Climate Change Centre) 54 CCJ (Caribbean Court of Justice) 18, 27n2, 53, 125, 166, 196–7, 204n12; Shanique Myrie case 18, 27n2, 196–7, 204n12 CCRIF (Caribbean Catastrophe Risk Insurance Facility) 56, 68n6 CDB (Caribbean Development Bank) 56, 68n6, 166, 211, 215, 219–20 CDEMA (Caribbean Disaster Emergency Management Agency) 56, 166 CDF (CARICOM Development Fund) 211, 215, 220 CELAC (Community of Latin American and Caribbean States) 6, 11–12, 25, 27n5, 40, 160–2, 167, 172, 210, 219,

Index   279 242; Caribbean membership 169; contribution to Caribbean states 180, 182; countries 44, 183n21; Cuba President Pro Tempore 161; Declaration of Santiago 180, 183n21; emergence of 58, 160; formal establishment of 181; governments 180; integration and cooperation project 179; Latin American members 169; members 237; membership 181; participation in 12, 182; participation of Caribbean states 179–82; participation of CARICOM countries 168; relationship with China 43–4, 211; summits 43, 183n16, 183n17; wider integration process 243; Working Group on International Cooperation 181 Centre Universitaire des Antilles et de la Guyane (CUAG) 100 CGCT (General Code of the Territorial Authorities) 70, 74, 95n24 Charles, D. 95 Charles, J. 239 Châtelot, C. 83, 86 Chavez, H. 157, 159, 164, 168, 224, 237, 238 Chicot, P. 72, 84 China 7–8, 13, 30, 32, 38, 88, 95n9, 229; Caribbean commercial partner 86; CELAC Forum 43–4; cooperation with Cuba 233; diasporic mobilisation 46n7; emerging power 42, 103; financial capacity 221; GDP growth 208–9; growth slowdown 224; Policy on Latin America and the Caribbean 219; relations with US 235, 236, 244n12; trade with Latin America 42, 43, 214; trade surpluses 209; see also BRICS China CARICOM engagement 206–7, 211–13, 215–18, 220, 222; military cooperation 222n1; trade 210–11 China–CELAC Forum 43–4, 211 Chinaview 42 CIVETS (Colombia, Indonesia, Vietnam, Egypt, Turkey and South Africa) 29 CLACSO (El Consejo Latinoamericano de Ciencias Sociales) 7 Clegg, P. 51, 227 CNC3 239 Cobas Marcia 160 Code of Education 2017 112n7 COFAP (Council for Finance and Planning) 53–5 COHSOD (Council for Human and Social Development) 53, 55, 57, 174, 183n8

COM (French Overseas Communities) 81n1 Communist Party of Cuba 158, 161n5 Competences of the Regions of Guadeloupe 81n4 Conference for Antilles-Guyane Regional Cooperation 91 Constant, F. 92, 96n29 Constitution de la République d’Haïti/ Constitution of the Republic of Haiti 131 Constitution of the Republic of Cuba 154, 161n4 Corbin, C. 53 Couffignal, G. 85 Council for Foreign and Community Relations (COFCOR) 53 Council for Trade and Economic Development (COTED) 53, 182n4 Cours des Comptes 86 CPA (Cotonou Partnership Agreement) 14n4, 51, 224, 226 Creole 10–11, 21, 128, 132; archives 134; cannibalisation of 133; culture 110; dormant words 134–5; expression 104, 137; Haitian 145; Haitian Academy of 135; pro-Creole commentators 136; widely spoken in the Caribbean 131 Creole-speaking 125, 131; countries 133; Haitians 11, 128, 132, 134 CSME (Caribbean Single Market and Economy) 4–5, 18, 53–4, 58, 122, 123, 130, 162, 164–6, 173, 181, 183n8, 194, 196, 199, 204n12, 209; Haiti in 5, 54; implementation 53, 54, 58, 165, 173, 181 Cuba 3–7, 14n4, 15–16, 22, 25–6, 33–7, 46n13, 46n14, 69n20, 82n10, 94n3, 95n16, 119, 127n5, 149n1, 160, 161n5, 163, 177–8, 217–18, 243, 244n10; ACS membership 39; ALBA Bank 176; American control 116; assistance to Haiti 160; Brazilian investments 215; CARIFORUM 222n4; CARICOM summit 155; CELAC summit 43, 161; communist 207; Communist Party 158, 161n5; Constitution 154, 161n4; debate over race 17; embargo imposed by US 85; Haitians in 116; medical brigade 22, 160; migrants returned 244n7; migrants to US 40, 231; PetroCaribe 162; Platt Amendment 116, Priority Solidarity Zones 86; revolution 20, 158; solidarity with CARICOM members 169; sports and cultural projects 157; Treaty of Sucre 175; tri-continentalism 45; universities of the Caribbean 101

280   Index Cuba cooperation policy 153–8; military and economic (Russia and China) 233; triangular 159 Cuba relations: with Brazil 240; with CARICOM 11–12; US 13, 224, 229, 232–3 DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) 229–31 Daniel, J. 53, 70, 92 Deguis, J. 138–40, 142–3, 144, 146–7 Demas, W.G. 191–2, 199 Departments and Overseas Regions 72 deportation 150n14, 196, 197, 230, 231; of Caribbean nationals 196; of DACA eligible immigrants 231; of undocumented aliens 230 DFID (Department for International Development) 68n15, 208, 227 Diario Libre 138 diaspora 7–8, 13, 30–1, 32, 42, 189, 193, 195, 203n4, 205n21; African 203n2; Biennial Jamaica Conference 187–8; brain gain 198; Caribbean 12, 41, 187, 189, 191, 194, 202; CARICOM 12; CARICOM Public Forum 190; deterritorialised practices 202; entrepreneur 199; in the Global North 30–1; Guyana’s Diaspora (GUYD) Project 204n10; Haitian 131–2; Indian 217; investment 191; investors 196; Italian 188; limits of 197; mobilization 203n2; parliamentary representation 200; potential of 199; regional 12, 190; regional strategy for worldwide 204n7; Scholarship Programme for Diaspora Children (SPDC) 217; tools of development 232; West Indian 41, 190–2, 194; WIC Report recommendations 195, 201, 204n14 diaspora communities 206; Brazilian 219, 221; China’s overtures to 217–18; Chinese 211 diasporic 193, 202; affiliations 189; Black identity consolidation 42; Caribbean 194; Caribbean carnivals 189; claims 29; communities 187; connections 45; considerations 13; engagement 190, 195–8, 201, 203; entrepreneurial capacities 204n15; geographies 188; intra-diasporic differences 197; mobilisation 46n7, 197; nodes 200; practices 40; self-governing subject 199;

subjects 41, 193; tri-continental articulations 44 Directorate-General of Migration (DGM) 146 Dominica News Online 204n9 DOMS (Départements d’outre-mer) 9, 28, 39–40, 57, 58, 72, 81n8, 227, 228, 243 Douglas, J. 227 Douglas, R. 203 Douglas, M. 141–3, 150n8 DR (Dominican Republic) 4–5, 7, 10–11, 16–17, 22, 36, 39–40, 69n20, 84–6, 94n7, 95n16, 101, 116–19, 123–4, 139–40, 143, 148n3, 148n4, 231, 243, 244n9, 244n10, 244n13; access to British market 226; Ambassador to Haiti 147; CARICOM 192, 222n4; CARICOM Free Trade Agreement 173, 182n4; CARICOM observer country 126; Civil Registry 139–40; Constitution 139; Constitutional Court of the 22, 124, 139–49; Creole language 131; exports to the EU 225; former President 238; Haitian issue 145, 149; Haitian migrants to 138, 150n9, 150n11; illicit drug producers 235; increased Venezuelan migration 239; institutionalised racism 148; Jesuit human rights organisation 149n6; media debates 144; migrants to US 231; National Frontier Council 143; Parsley Policy 144; PLD administrations 149n4; political fall-out 241; ruled by Haiti 149n3 Dreamers 230 EC (European Community) 52, 64; CARIFORUM­EC Economic Partnership Agreement 225 ECCB (Eastern Caribbean Central Bank) (ECCB) 56, 58–9, 63–4 ECLAC (United Nations Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean) 23, 28, 39, 70–1, 75, 85, 90, 95n23, 103, 172, 173, 182n2, 237, 240, 243 ECOALBA-TCP (ALBA Economic Zone) 175 EPA (Economic Partnership Agreement) 5, 173, 208, 222n4, 225–7; CARIFORUM–EU 5, 225; countries 227; EU–CARIFORUM 173, 222n4; strategy 75; see also CARIFORUM–EU

Index   281 ECSC (Eastern Caribbean Supreme Court) 58, 61, 63, 69n18 EDF (European Development Fund) 225–7 education see higher education, universities EEZ (Exclusive Economic Zone) 9, 72, 89 El Dia 143–4 El Pais 143 El Periodico Hoy 145, 147 ELAM (Latin American School of Medicine) 154 engagement with CARICOM Brazil 6; BRICS countries 206; China 211; Haiti 7; overseas territories 9; Venezuela 5 ERDF (European Regional Development Fund) 102 Etzkowitz, H. 97, 106 Europeaid 225 European Commission 66, 95n10, 207, 225–6 European INTERREG Project 102; financial or legal instruments 81n7; III B Caribbean Space programme 66; IV 66 European Outermost Regions (RUP/ FCOR) 74, 105, 129 European Outline Convention on Transfrontier Cooperation between Territorial Communities and Authorities (Madrid Convention) 72 European Regional Development Fund (ERDF) 102 European Union (EU) 3, 9, 34, 68n6, 75, 78–9, 214, 226–7, 238; British decision to leave 7, 13, 44, 224–6; CARICOM trade 210; COCTC negotiations 67; development aid programmes 156; established ACP group of states 33; exports to 208, 225; free trade agreement with CARIFORUM 208; future post-Brexit 228; INTERREG III B Caribbean Space programme 66; INTERREG Project 102; market 4, 51, 208, 225, 227–8; members 224–8; negotiations 225–6; project 229; regional involvement 105; regional policies 81n7, 87, 93; responsible for global policy towards Latin America and Caribbean 85; states 58, 226; strategies in Greater Caribbean 103; support to the region 227; trade engagement with CARICOM 225 exceptionalism 93, 104

External Action of Local and Regional Authorities and Overseas Cooperation in their Regional Environment Act 70, 75 FATCA (Foreign Account Tax Compliance Act) 235 FDI (Foreign Direct Investment) 38, 197; Brazilian 241; Chinese 214 Federation, of labour organisations 203; pan-Antillean confederation/union 22, 119; West Indies 3, 18, 23, 42, 46n4, 51; see also WIF Fernandez Reina, L. 147 FIDA (Foundation for International Development Assistance) 41 Firmin, A. 21, 119 FLACSO 65–6, 69n23 FNP (National Progressive Force) 143, 146, 149n4, 150n15 FORMADIP (Formation Diplomatique) 102 France (state) 9, 53, 89–90, 94; associates with EU actions 93; authorisation for negotiations 82n14; bureaucratic culture 107; Caribbean dependencies 94n5; centrality of identity 92; colonies 33; commitments 90; companies established 80; COMs (Overseas Communities) 81n1; consular and diplomatic list in Caribbean 91, 96n26, 96n27; consular officials in Brazil 46n17; decentralisation arrangements/ cooperation 65, 94; delegation 74; DROMs/ROMs (Departments and Regions) 50, 81n1; distribution of competence 78–9; Embassies 91; expenditure 108; external actions 84; foreign policy intentions 87; government 72–3, 98, 103, 105, 107; local autonomy accorded to overseas departments 91; institutions 107; internal institutional changes 75; local conflicts cannibalised 129; Minister of Higher Education 109; Minister of Justice 97; networks of influence 87; plan of action 89; policy 9, 93; presence in the Caribbean 99; presidential elections 228; progressive reorientation 71; regions 79; regional cooperation 73–4; representation in host States 84; Republic 70, 74, 76, 83; solidarity 83; sovereign sphere 79; University 99, 102; West Indian living standards 129

282   Index French Antilles 108, 117; French authorities 71–2, 79, 91, 93, 103; Caribbean 9, 70, 73, 76–8, 80, 81n1; local 104; territorial 75 French Caribbean 6, 11, 110; authorities 72–3, 75–8, 80, 81n1; campuses 97; islands 100; political class 129; Regions 71; Territorial Authorities 9, 70; territories 3, 7–9, 64–5; university project 111 French collectivities 50, 105; of the Americas 84, 88; overseas 83 French departments 50, 82n10, 129; accession to status of 133; in the Americas 54, 73, 89; developing the economy of 81n9 French diplomacy 74, 76, 87; and international cooperation 83; territorial 86 French diplomatic 88, 93; action 87; establishments 86; list 91, 96n26; network 83; policy 84 French foreign policy 9, 84, 87; European 83; Latin American 85 French Guiana (also French Guyana, Guyane) 6, 39, 54, 65, 72, 81n4, 89, 94n6; 97, 99–100, 102, 105, 108–9; accession to CARICOM 71; application for associate membership of CARICOM 57, 130; admission to regional organisations 77; Caribbean zone 73; delegation to CARICOM 130; departure from the UAG 10, 110, 112n3; Haitian migrants to 117–18; international competence 75; land border 81n3; participation in ACS 74; regional council 82n14; status of French departments 133; Territorial Authorities Act 2011 70, 81n2, 95n25; University of 107 French-speaking 125, 129; African groupings 134; Caribbean 17, 99, 129; countries of the region 46n13; Haiti 134; members of CELAC 40 French language 85, 137, 145; democratisation of 136; second language of CARICOM 10–11, 128, 132–6; tool of alienation 137 French legislation 70; law of decentralised cooperation 77; Loi de l’Orientation pour l’Outre-Mer 95n17 French OCTs 224; communities 94n1; DOMs 57, 72, 81n1, 243; Loi de l’Orientation pour l’Outre-Mer 95n17

French territories 52, 66, 78, 102, 105–6; of the Americas 9; Minister of the French Overseas Territories 109; move to join CARICOM 130; overseas 9–10, 70, 78, 94; recipients of Caribbean migrants 118 Friedmann, J. 76 FTA (Free Trade Area) 5, 182n4, 228; Central America Free Trade Agreement (CAFTA)-DR 244n9; North American Free Trade Area (see also NAFTA) 4, 36, 38, 44, 234, 243 FTAA (Free Trade Area of the Americas) 4, 6, 27n5, 36–7 FUNGLODE (Fundación Global Democracia y Desarrollo) 147 G8 85, 95n9 G20 85, 235 Galy, K. 9, 75 Garcia Lorenzo, T. 156, 161n7 GDP (Gross Domestic Product) 38, 42, 172–3, 202, 208–9, 237, 240–1 General Code of the Territorial Authorities (CGCT) 70, 74, 95n24 General Revision of Public Policies (RGPP) 83, 86 Gilbert-Roberts, T. 105, 204n18, 205n20 GIP (Groupements d’intérêt public) 73 Girvan, N. 7, 24, 26, 27n6, 69n23, 119–20, 156, 162, 171, 173, 196, 199, 204n17, 208–9 Glasgow, R. 37 Glissant, E. 120, 129, 137, 200 Global North 30–1 Global South 28–32, 45, 218, 221; emerging giants 45; foreign policy privileged relations 216; official development assistance flows 189 Goldman Sachs 208, 223n6 Gonsalves, Ralph 68n10, 159, 166 Government of India 210–11, 223n7; Ministry of External Affairs 215; Ministry of Finance 208 Government of Montserrat 64; Office of the Chief Minister 68n15 Granma 155–6, 160 Greater Caribbean 3, 7, 15–16, 24–5, 27, 49; ACS 39, 66, 69n21, 69n23; ACS Cooperation Conference 242; construction of 23; cultural cooperation and exchange 25; linkages neglected by UAG 101; PetroCaribe Energy Cooperation Agreement 237; strategies

Index   283 deployed in 103; Zone of Cooperation 66 Group of Three (Colombia, Venezuela, Mexico) 67n2, 49 GTZ (German Agency for Technical Cooperation) 41 Guadeloupe 6–7, 10, 35, 39, 81n3, 81n4, 92, 94n6, 95n23, 96n26, 112n1; accession to OECS 80; accession to status of French departments 133; admission to regional organisations 70, 77; areas of competence 89; Caribbean migrants 118; Conference on Regional Cooperation 91; conflictual disputes 129; cooperation programmes 64; Creole language 134–5; DROM/ROM 81n1; higher education 97–102, 104–6, 108, 110, 112n6, 112n11, 112n12; participation in ACS 65–6, 69n21, 74; parties in power 112n14; regional conference of French Guiana-Caribbean zone 73–4; Regional Council 82n14, 94n7, 103, 109–10; representatives to OECS 75; secessionist faction 111; state financing cuts 107 Guadeloupe Action Defense (GUAD) 112n10 Guadeloupe associate memberships: ACS 112n5, 242; CARICOM 54, 57, 71, 130; ECLAC 90; OECS 65 Guillén, Nicholas 21 Guyana News and Information 213, 215 Hannam, M. 141n1 Harvey, D. 29, 46n6 High Commission of India Georgetown, Guyana 214, 217; Kingston, Jamaica 211–12, 215; Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago 217 Higher education 105; access to 56; European and North American institutions 10; French Minister of 109; Guadeloupe 97–102, 104–6, 108, 110, 112n6, 112n11, 112n12; institutions 97, 156; Martinique 97–101, 106, 109, 111, 112n12; Martinique School of Natural and Medical Sciences 108; Ministry of 106, 112n15; programmes 156; promotion of 99; State Secretary for 112n13; see also universities Higher Education and Research Act 2013 112n7 Hinkelammert, F. 149 Hintzen, P. 7–8, 12, 42

Horowitz, Z. 36 Horta, L. 214 Hosein, R. 209, 212 Hyppolite-Manigat 122 ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) 231 IMF (International Monetary Fund) 64, 163, 172, 173, 178, 213 Implementation Agency for Crime and Security (IMPACS) 54, 244n4 India 7–8, 95n9, 208, 211, 223n8; bilateral investment treaties 214; bilateral programme of assistance 223n7; Caribbean soft power strategy 217–18; emerging power 8, 13, 42, 44, 103; engagement with CARICOM 206–7, 210–11, 216; exports to 213; growth 209; scholarships for Caribbean nationals 215; trade relations with CARICOM 219–22; see also BRICS Information Communication Technologies (ICT) 12, 30, 179 Initiative for the Integration of the Regional Infrastructure of South America (IIRSA) 6 Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI) 168 integration 9, 27n5, 34, 67, 84, 89, 117, 133, 163, 176, 179, 182, 222, 229; Caribbean 121–2, 155; Caribbean Basin mechanisms 49; challenges to 10; commitment to 167, 180; economic 60, 90, 158, 166, 173, 181, 201, 226; economic and political 50, 161n4; economic and social 38; effort 42, 174; financial and monetary 53; future 118; Greater Caribbean 7, 66; Haiti 4–5, 11, 14n3, 123, 125–6; judicial and monetary 50, 59; LAIA 158, 164; of Latin America and the Caribbean 156; legal framework 70; OECS 63; of overseas populations 41; movement 165, 175, 192, 201; pan-Caribbean 8, 12–13, 236, 240; political 23, 111, 161n4; political and military 36; political will for 170; projects 7, 27n6, 165–6; second phase of 72; South American schemes 169; of subregions 219; see also regional integration, subregional integration integration initiatives 11, 14, 162, 169; innovative 175; support 161 integration mechanisms 168–9; Caribbean Basin 49

284   Index integration processes advances in 164; CARICOM 173; challenges for 124; deepened 209; democratising 200; discussions 162; economic 158, 173; enmeshed in crisis 12; facilitated intraregional trade 166; full member of 54; new 169; political vision of 165; regional 9–11, 39, 200–1; subregional 6; wider 243 integrationist 162–4, 170, 173, 199 Inter-American Dialogue 41 Invest Saint Lucia 216 Ishmael, L. 59–60 ITEC (Indian Technical and Economic Cooperation) 223n7; programme 211, 219 Jacobin centralism 104; French tradition 92; see also Black Jacobins Jamaica Gleaner 201, 213 Jamaica Observer 189, 213 James, C.L.R. 17, 20, 119, 203 Jarvie, J. 231 JCE (Junta Central Electoral) 139–40, 141, 143, 145, 146–7; Chairman 149n4; Circular No. 17 148 Jessop, D. 43, 173, 204n7, 227, 244n13 Jesuit: human rights organisation 149n6; Servicio Jesuita a Migrantes 147 Jos, E. 91, 94n5 KAIRI 52 Kaiture News 38 King, Martin Luther 135 Kirton, M. 162, 171, 182n1 Knight, K.D. 123 Lam Wilfredo 21 Lamming, G. 27, 188, 199 LaRocque, I. 130, 132–4, 166 Latin America 3, 5–6, 9, 11–13, 22, 25, 32, 37, 39–40, 93, 94n1, 94n3, 94n4, 116, 211, 227, 237, 240; Caribbean relations 166–70; CELAC 160, 169, 181–2; China’s Policy Paper 42; cooperation with CARICOM 171, 174, 209, 219; Cuban bilateral relations 45; ECLAC 23, 49; EUROsociAL programme 87; FOCUS programme 210, 219; French foreign policy 84; growth rates 35, 172; integration 154, 156, 158, 161n4, 162, 166, 236; Inter-American Dialogue 41; migrants of African heritage 203n2; partnership with France 83, 85; political

economy 20; regionalism 163; relations with India 221, 223n7; universities 101 Latin American Andean Group Report 244n14 Latin American Brazil and Southern Cone Report 241 Latin American Integration Association (LAIA) 158, 164 Latin American relations with China 42–3; Chinese exports 213; commercial partnership 86 Law for Overseas Economic Development (LODEOM) 76 Le Président de la République 89 Léger, F. 132, 134, 137n4 Lesales, M. 65–6, 94n5, 103 Lesser Developed Countries (LDCs) 6 Letchimy, S. 90, 95n23, 103, 110, 112n13 Levitt, K. 23, 199, 203 Lewis, A. 16, 198, 201 Lewis, P. 4, 8, 13, 58–60 Lewis, V. 58–9, 64 Loi ATR (Law on Territorial Administration of the Republic) 73 LOOM (Loi de l’Orientation pour l’OutreMer) 74, 89–91, 95n17 Lozano, W. 147 Lula Da Silva, Ignácio Luiz 159, 212, 240 Lurel, V. 10, 77, 91–2, 103, 109 Maduro, Nicolas 5, 157, 170, 238; government 6 MAE (Ministère des Affaires étrangères et éuropéennes) 80, 85, 87, 93 Manigat, L. 116, 119–20 Manigat, S. 10, 116–17 Martelly, Michel 11, 132–5, 159 Martinez, M. 11, 162, 232 Martí, Jose 17, 127n5, 162, 164, Martínez Hernández, L. 158, 160 Martinique 6–7, 78, 81n3, 81n4, 82n10, 94n6, 96n26, 103, 112n8; admission to regional organisations 77; autonomy 105; Black consciousness 26; Caribbean migrants 118; conflictual disputes 129; cooperation programmes 64; CSA conference 35; decline in state funding 107; DROM/ROM 81n1; EU funding 102; French Department in the Americas 54, 133; law of 2011 75; leftist groups 110; LOOM 89; Movement for Independence 110; negotiations with OECS 79; participation in ACS 74; participation in Caribbean regional

Index   285 organisations 80; Regional Council 82n14, 94n7; Special Committee 66 Martinique associate memberships 65, 90; ACS 39, 65, 69n21, 90, 112n5, 242; application to CARICOM 130; ECLAC 71, 90; formal request to CARICOM 57; OECS 14n2, 14n8, 65 Martinique higher education 97–101, 109, 111, 112n12; independent universities 106; School of Natural and Medical Sciences 108 Martinique Territorial Authorities 70; Collectivity 80; law 81n2, 95n25 Mason, R. 201 Meeks, B. 15, 200 MERCOSUR (Southern Common Market) 162, 167, 213, 219, 237–8 Mexico 9, 13, 27n5, 32, 35–6, 38–9, 42–4, 69n20, 93, 164, 172, 213, 234, 241–3, 245n16; bilateral relations 168; Convention 74; ECLAC 243; emerging power 29, 42, 44, 85–6, 95n9; foreign policy 242, 245n16; French bilateral relations 93; French foreign policy 84; in Group of Three 67n2; membership of ACS 39; MIST 29; NAFTA 36, 38, 234; pan-Caribbean regional integration 241–2; rate of growth 172; refineries in the Gulf 213; relationship with Brazil 84–6, 168, relationship with US 241, 243; SELA 164 Mi, L. 43 Migranyan, A. 236, 244n12 Migration Policy Institute (MPI) 231 Ministère des Outre-mer 70 Ministério das Relações Exteriores Brazil 212–13 Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Cuba 154 Ministry of External Relations ­Brazil 212–13, 216, 218 Ministry of Foreign Affairs 82n14; Brazilian 161n8; Government of Guyana 44; People’s Republic of China 221 MIST (Mexico, Indonesia, South Korea and Turkey) 29 Montoute, A. 6, 8, 13, 207–8, 210 Montserrat 6, 14n1, 14n2, 14n7, 33, 52, 54, 58, 68n11, 69n16, 69n17, 69n18; accession to Revised Treaty 62; British dependency 243n1; CARICOM member 67n4; Chief Minister 61, 68n15; Government 64; member of ECCB 63; member of OCTA 243n2; Reporter 64

MOSTHA (Movement of HaitianDominicano Workers) 145 MUDHA (Movement of DominicanHaitian Women) 140, 141, 143, 149n7, 150n8 Mullerleile, C. 58–9 Mullings, B. 191, 197–8, 203n4, 204n13, 204n16 Myrie, S. 18, 27n2, 196–7, 204n12 Nabajoth, E. 70, 73, 82n10, 103, 107 NAFTA (North American Free Trade Area) 4, 36, 38, 44, 234, 243 Nakamura, D. 231 NGOs (Non-Governmental Organisations) 79, 143; 145 Non-Communicable Diseases (NCDs) 174 OAS (Organisation of American States) 28, 40, 43, 85, 122, 180, 192, 219–20; Assistant Secretary-General of, Ambassador Ramdin 189; Foreign Affairs Ministers 240; Haiti’s Ambassador to 124; membership divided 240; member states 124; Ministers of Foreign Affairs 238; Permanent Council 238, 244n13; votes 218; withdrawal of Venezuela 238 OCTA (Overseas Countries and Territories Association) 227–8; Caribbean members 243n2 OCTs (Overseas Countries and Territories) 57, 81n8, 235; associate membership of CARICOM 54–5; British and French 224; Caribbean 226–8; Caribbean Council 67 Odebrecht 241, 244n14 OECD (Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development) 55, 209, 235 OECS (Organisation of Eastern Caribbean States) 3, 6, 8–9, 14n2, 14n8, 28, 49–50, 57–8, 67, 68n15, 70, 75, 228, 243, 245n17; Assembly 60–1, 68n13; associate membership 65, 71, 75, 77, 82n14, 90, 103, 112n5, 227; Authority 60–2, 69n19, 78, 82n15; commercial relations 80; Commission 60, 62; constitutive act of 77; countries 68n9, 80; court divisions 63; Director-General 62, 68n15; disaster risk reduction and management 245n16; discussions 69n17; domains of public interests 79;

286   Index OECS continued economic union 63, 68n10; external relations 64; freedom of movement 63, 69n16; French diplomatic representation to 85; headquarters 62, 79; High Commission 195; Legislative Assembly Act 63; legislative competence 62, 68n14; members 175; model of integration 59; organs 61–3; participation in 78; PPS 64; region 62; representation to 95n23; requests to join 90; response to economic crisis 64; Secretariat 62, 65, 69n16, 79; state contributions to 61 Oficina Nacional de Estadística e Información 154 Ojeda, Roberto Morales 158 OLADE (Latin American Energy Organization) 164 Ong, A. 46n7, 204n11 OPEC (Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries) 31, 36 Organization of the Regions of Guadeloupe, Martinique, French Guiana and Reunion 81n4 Overseas Countries and Territories Association (OCTA) 227–8, 243n2 Overseas General Principles Act 70, 74, 77, 89 Overseas Territories Review 64 PANCAP (Pan-Caribbean Partnership Against HIV/AIDS) 174, 182n6; member states 216 Pan-Caribbeanism 15; emergence of panCaribbean regionalism 3–6; Greater Caribbean 24–5; identity 3, 7, 41; plantation 15, 22–4; revolutionary 20–2 Patterson, P.J. 123, 192 Patterson, O. 204n6 Payne, A. 111 People’s Republic of China (PRC) 218, 221 Persad-Bissessar, K. 124, 165, 235 Petrobras 241 PetroCaribe 6, 11–12, 25, 36, 158, 162, 167, 169, 172, 175, 237; Agreement 5, 157, 177; Agreement on Energy Cooperation 178, 237; ALBAPetroCaribe Fund 176; CARICOM member states accession to 168; CARICOM member states of 183n14; debt to Venezuela 239; Economic Zone 157, 237; improvements in management

179; initiatives 237; Ministerial Council meeting 183n14; process of redefinition 174; programmes 156, 182; Summit 157 PetroCaribe members 182n1; participation in ALBA Food Programme 178; Pierre, S. 138-9, 142-6 Pinheiro, P. 97 Platt Amendment 116 Popotte, Ch. 72 PPS (Pharmaceutical Procurement Scheme) 64 Razzaque, M. 225 Regional Cultural Committee (RCC) 174, 183n7 regional integration 12, 34, 76, 89, 125, 162, 165, 171–2, 189, 191, 204n17, 243; advancement of 33; Caribbean 192; CARICOM 207, 209, 219; challenges 105, 126; commitment to 157, 203, 242; consolidation of 179; economic imperative 18; effects of racial nationalism 42; of French collectivities 84; future of 210; movement 190, 193, 202; objective of CELAC 40; organisations of Caribbean 91; panCaribbean 241; prioritised by Mexico’s foreign policy 245n16; processes 9–11, 88, 200–1; project 4, 187, 195; renewed vision 157; vehicle of structural transformation 199; and Caribbean diaspora 187, 189- 202, 203n2, 204n7 regionalism 27n6, 199, 203, 243; Caribbean 31, 33, 40, 45; debates 207; documentary practices 33; expansive 24; Latin American 168; Latin American ­Caribbean 11, 163; New 162–4, 170; pan-Caribbean 3, 7, 11, 236, 242–3; problem-solving device 49; rethinking 27n6, 201; sporadic 98; trickle down 200; US-hegemonic 242; vernacular 188; West Indian 18, 28 Reuters 239, 244n14 Revised Treaty of Basseterre Establishing the Organisation of Eastern Caribbean States Economic Union 60–3, 68n12, 68n14, 78 Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas Establishing the Caribbean Community including the CARICOM Single Market and Economy (RTC) 27n2, 54, 123, 197 Roberts, W.A. 20, 24 Robles, F. 229–30 Rodriguez, Carlos Rafael 23

Index   287 Rodriguez, E.J. 21 Ronceray, M. 226 Rubio, N. 73, 82n10 Roussef, Dilma 37, 218, 240–1 Saint Barthélémy 81n1, 90, 94n6 Saint Martin 81n1, 90, 94n6, 110, 112n1, 117 Saint Thomas 16, 119 Sanders, R. 225–6, 235 Sarkozy, N. 76, 85, 92 Seaga, E. 130, 137n1 Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores 242 SELA (Latin American Economic System) 39, 164, 175, 178, 215, 237 SEML (Sociétés Locales d’économie mixte) 73 Serbín, A. 66, 159 Servicio Jesuita a Migrantes 147; see also Jesuit Sharma, A. 192, 204n8 SICA (Central American Integration System) 39, 182n1 SIECA (Permanent Secretariat of the General Agreement on Central American Economic Integration) 39 Siete Dias 147 Sillie, R. 147 Simpson-Miller, P. 165, 187 Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies (SALISES) 27n6, 201 SMEs (Small and Medium-Sized Enterprises) 77, 193n11 South–South 29; cooperation 3, 7, 13, 43, 153–5, 157, 160, 171, 181, 206–7, 210, 219–22, 237, 243; cooperation budget 216; relations 39, 240; solidarity 162 sovereignty 59, 79, 95n12, 149n2, 170, 192; collective 179, 183n18, 196; cultural 177; defence of 59, 156; formal 8; greater exercise of 9; guarantee of 160, 163; national 147, 196; political 18; possible infringement of 61; respect for 169, 174, 176; state 73, 80, 89; struggles for 164; support 212; threat to 202; transfer of 111; violations of national 146; Westphalian notions challenged 42 Suárez Salazar, L. 153–4 subregional integration 60, 171; processes 6, 181; project immobilised 174 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) 226 Sutton, P. 52, 67

Taiwan 211, 236, 244n12 Taveras, R. 146–7 TCI (Turks and Caicos Islands) 33, 52, 54–6, 118, 243n2 TCP (People’s Trade Treaty) 14n6; see also ALBA-TCP, ECOALBA-TCP technical cooperation 59, 166; expansion in 216, 240; initiatives 212; Mexican regional leadership 242; provision to the developing world 155; Special Fund for 66 Telesur 44 Territorial Authorities of Martinique and French Guiana Act 70, 81n2 The Anguillan 62 The Atlantic 230 The Editor 76, 90, 94n3, 95n23, 143, 163, 166 The Guyana Press 217 The High Commission of the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago 44 The Montserrat Reporter 64 Thomas, J.J. 21 TNCs (transnational corporations) 176 transnational 197; citizenship 40; commitments 30; consciousness 41; cooperation 81n7; crime 171; drug trade 202; families and communities 41, 199; flows of capital 31; global connections 31; networking 198, 204n11; processes 192, 239; relations 196; survival strategies 199; threats 183n18 Treaty of Basseterre (establishing the OECS) 58–60, 68n9, 68n15, 77–8; see also Revised Treaty of Basseterre Treaty of Chaguaramas (Establishing the Caribbean Community) 78, 122, 126, 203n3; Preamble to 126; signature of 130; see also Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas tri-continental 40, 44; alliances 42; Great Havana Tri-continental conference 32 tri-continentalism 32, 42–3, 45 triangular cooperation 159–60, 181 Trotz, D.A. 12, 188, 195, 196–8, 204n16 Trujillo, R.L. 138 Trump, D. 224, 241; administration 3, 13, 210, 229, 231–6, 243, 244n12; election to US presidency 7, 13, 44, 232; Executive Order 229, 231; One China policy 236; Revised Executive Order 231; tax repatriation plan 235 UA (Université Antilles) 7, 100, 109, 110–11

288   Index UAG (Universite des Antilles et de la Guyane) 10, 97–103, 105–8, 112n15; Bureau des Relations Internationales 101–2; Commission for Culture 112n12; failure of 110–11; French Guyana’s departure 112n3; President 106, 108, 112n8 UFR (Unité de Formation et de Recherche) 100 UK (United Kingdom) 4, 40, 50, 61, 218; based Caribbean business community 193; Brexit vote 210; Caribbean islands owned by 116 (see also OCTs); CARICOM constitutional relationship with 55; decision to leave the EU 44; government 54, 68n6; handling of TCI political crisis 56; High Commissioner to CARICOM 227; Parliament 51; markets 225 UM (Université de Martinique) 109 UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) 234 UNASUR (Union of South American Nations) 6, 12, 22, 25, 160, 162, 167–8, 181, 182n1, 210, 219, 237; SecretaryGeneral 238 UNCTAD (United Nations Conference on Trade and Development) 30 UNDP (United Nations Development Program) 49, 121 UNESCO (United Nations Educational Scientific and Cultural Organisation) 23, 30 UNIALBA (ALBA People’s University) 177 United States 37, 195, 230; Customs and Border Protection 34; Department of State 235; domination 164; International Trade Commission 235, 244n9; Supreme Court ruling 243n3; Virgin Islands (USVI) 50; see also US United States C ­ aribbean Strategic Engagement Act 233 Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) 16, 18, 27n1 universities 7, 97–8, 105, 109, 112n8; access to 55; Caribbean 26, 101–2, 112n4; consortium of 234; Cuban 156; Guadeloupe 112n6, 112n10; independent 106; island 111; role of 104 UPR (University of Puerto Rico) 64 US 88, 122, 145, 168, 191, 204n16, 214, 218; aid cut 233; antipathy towards Mexico and NAFTA 243; Caribbean

relations 204n7; CARICOM relationship with 12; CARICOM Summit 189; CARICOM trading partner 166; CBI 8, 28, 34; centre of global capitalism 34; Chinese investment in 244n12; Climate Alliance 234; criticisms of multilateral institutions 243; Cuban medical services 158; declining influence 36–7, 210; dollars 63, 176–7, 183n12; East Coast 213; economic blockade 155; economicmilitary complex 121; embargo 5, 85; excluded from CELAC 27n5; former colonial power 50; Fourth Fleet 16; free exemptions on exports to 216; French geostrategic alliance with 85; government 232, 238; interventions 16; investment climate 235; ISIS attacks 230; less dependence on 163; non-sovereign territories 4; One China policy 236; power 30; presidency 7, 13; reduced role in Caribbean 220; security concerns 208, 236; South 23; strategic interests 207; strategies deployed 103; support of organisations and initiatives 234; territory 52; Third Frontier 16; traditional powers 207; Virgin Islands (USVI) 57, 63, 118 USAID (US Agency for International Development) 41, 145, 233 US asylum: Cuban applications 244n7; Venezuelan applications 239 US hegemony 34–6; hegemonic regionalism 242; loss of 8 US immigrants 244n5; Caribbean 40; Haitian migration 117; illegal immigrants 230–1; policy on 229 US­Mexican relations over immigration and trade 44, US, relations with 55; Caribbean 229; CARICOM 12; China 235–6; Cuba 232–3; Mexico 241, 243 US trade 235; aid arrangements 207–8; Caribbean 234; Central America Free Trade Agreement 244n9 US visas 145–6; entry 231 US market 215, 222; access to 4, 13, 51, 221, 234; costs of exporting oil to 213; duty free exemptions for Caribbean states 216 UWI (University of the West Indies) 7, 10, 19, 22, 26, 27n6, 54, 96–102, 104, 106, 110, 201, 218; Consulting 106, 216; development 108; regional 56; Vice Chancellor 107; Vila Velha University, agreement with 218

Index   289 UWI-IIR (The University of the West Indies Institute of International Relations) 106 Venezuela 3–5, 11, 16, 22, 32, 35, 37, 39, 43–4, 69n20, 120, 154, 164, 178, 215, 218, 221, 236, 244n10, 245n18; academic centres 26; ALBA Bank 176; benefitting from priority missions 86; Bolivarian Republic of 168, 170, 175, 182n1; border dispute with Guyana 161n7, 169; close ties with Cuba 159–60, 233; emerging power 103; Group of Three 67n2; PetroCaribe facility 36 (see also PetroCaribe); Petróleos de Venezuela S.A. 157; political and economic crisis 6, 13, 38, 232, 237–40,; programme to eradicate illiteracy 177; territorial dispute with Guyana 239; ties with CARICOM 210; Treaty of Sucre 175; Trinidad food exports to 239; United Socialist Party of (PSUV) 36, 238, Fifth Republic 168; flag 127n2; migration and asylum applications 239; oil 5, 36; President 36, 183n12; scholars 23; Simon Bolivar satellite 177; social project 161; Vice President for Economic and Productive Matters 183n11

Viltard, Y. 75, 84 Wagner, J. 232–3 Walcott, D. 24, 27 Watson, H. 202 WHO (World Health Organisation) 64 WIC (West Indian Commission) 3–5, 19, 25, 57, 189–91, 198–9, 203n3, 204n20; Report 192–6, 201–2, 204n14 widening 243; CARICOM Project 3–4, 6, 19, 57, 128, 191–2; corruption 241; economic relations with Latin American countries 180; interest in associate membership 58; wealth gap 43 WIF (West Indies Federation) 3, 18, 23, 122; collapse 51, 130 Williams, E. 20, 22–3, 119, 164, 203 World Bank 35, 38, 41, 68n6, 163, 189, 203n2, 220, 240 WTO (World Trade Organisation) 4, 37, 51, 163, 208, 222n2, 222n3 Xi Jinping 43, 211, 214, 217, 236 Xinhua News 40 Zong, J. 231 ZSP (Priority Solidarity zone) 86, 95n11