Are Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry An Endangered Species Critical Literary Debates On Panamanian Blackness in The Works of Carlos Wilson Gerardo

Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies
ISSN: 1744-2222 (Print) 1744-2230 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rlac20
Are Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry an

Endangered Species? Critical Literary Debates
on Panamanian Blackness in the Works of Carlos
Wilson, Gerardo Maloney, and Carlos Russell
Sonja Stephenson Watson
To cite this article: Sonja Stephenson Watson (2009) Are Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry an
Endangered Species? Critical Literary Debates on Panamanian Blackness in the Works of Carlos
Wilson, Gerardo Maloney, and Carlos Russell, Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies, 4:3,
231-254, DOI: 10.1080/17442220903331605
To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/17442220903331605
Published online: 30 Nov 2009.
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Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies
Vol. 4, No. 3, November 2009, pp. 231–254
Are Panamanians of Caribbean

Ancestry an Endangered Species?
Critical Literary Debates on
Panamanian Blackness in the Works
Downloaded by [Smithsonian Astrophysics Observatory] at 16:01 03 January 2018
of Carlos Wilson, Gerardo Maloney,

and Carlos Russell
Sonja Stephenson Watson
Contemporary Panamanian writers of West Indian descent shed light on the formation
of black Anglophone Caribbean identity in a nation constructed around non-blackness.
As writers of Panamanian and Caribbean ancestry, Carlos Wilson, Gerardo Maloney
and Carlos Russell navigate geographically and linguistically between the West Indies,
Panama and Africa. Their literary texts challenge dominant discourses of homogeneity
and whiteness in favor of a black one that promotes a Caribbean heritage through a
consciously racialized discourse. Indeed, they strive to be both Panamanian and
Caribbean in a nation that views both in conflict. As a result, their works on West Indian
nationalism challenge, refute and spur critical literary debates on blackness in a country
that has suppressed a black national and literary identity since Colonialism.
Keywords: Afro-Caribbean; Panamanian West Indian; racism; identity; nation-

building; race-mixing
Contemporary Panamanian writers of West Indian ancestry are bilingual speakers of

Spanish and English and navigate culturally and linguistically between Panama,
Africa, the Caribbean, and the United States. Born between 1934 and 1945,
Anglophone Caribbean authors represent the first generation1 of writers in Panama
to discuss the ‘duality’2 of being both Panamanian and Caribbean. They react to this
duality in a myriad of ways from appropriating an integrationist perspective that
defines them exclusively as Spanish-speaking Panamanians or by simultaneously
embracing their black Anglophone Caribbean roots along with their panameñidad
[Panamanian heritage]. However, being Panamanian and Caribbean represents more
than a dual heritage; their plural lineage connects these writers to Africa, Latin
America, the Caribbean, and the United States. Carlos Wilson (born 1941),
ISSN 1744–2222 (print)/ISSN 1744–2230 (online)/09/030231–24 2009 Taylor & Francis
DOI: 10.1080/17442220903331605
232 S. S. Watson
Gerardo Maloney (born 1945), and Carlos Russell (born 1934) represent members of
this generation, and their works illustrate the complexity of being both Caribbean
and Panamanian in the 21st century. Their works manifest a desire to maintain the
Caribbean heritage in Panama through language, literature, culture, and political
activism. In turn, their literary texts challenge dominant discourses of homogeneity
and whiteness in a Hispanic colony in favor of a black one that promotes a Caribbean
heritage through a consciously racialized discourse. Each writer sheds light on the
formation of Anglophone Caribbean identity in a nation constructed around non-
blackness.
Their works further problematize the concept of blackness in a Spanish-speaking

nation, and reflect a Duboisian double-consciousness as they negotiate what it means
to be both Caribbean and Panamanian in the 21st century. Over a century ago in his
seminal essay The Souls of Black Folk, DuBois (1989, p. 5) presented this problem of
duality that plagued blacks during the 20th century and continues to do so in the
present.
It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s
self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks
on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness, an American, a negro; two
souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body,
whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.
(DuBois, 1989, p. 5)
DuBois’ theory of double-consciousness frames the discussion of Wilson, Maloney,

and Russell, who negotiate their Anglophone Caribbean heritage with their Hispanic
heritage that is often viewed in conflict with the nation-state. The linguistic markers
‘West Indian’ and ‘Afro-Caribbean’ used to describe these subjects point to the
difficulties that Panamanian West Indians have in signifying their Caribbean heritage,
a heritage that no doubt stands in opposition to their Panamanian nationality. Both
‘West Indian’ and ‘Afro-Caribbean’ carry with them a myriad of significations, one of
which is a connotation of blackness (Smart, 1984, p. 12). Indeed, the term ‘West
Indian’ most often refers to the English-speaking populations of the ‘Caribbean,’
because ‘to be West Indian is to be Anglophone and black’ (Mosby, 2003, p. 21).
However, the term ‘Afro-Caribbean’ is more problematic because ‘Caribbean’ does
not exclusively denote African heritage. The term ‘Caribbean’ not only refers to the
Anglophone, Francophone, and/or Hispanic archipelago, but it also makes reference
to various racial and ethnic groups. Thus, the term ‘Caribbean’ does not carry the
same racial implications as ‘West Indian’ and therefore does not exclusively denote
African heritage. In the context of this analysis, ‘Afro-Caribbean’ will be used to
denote the Anglophone and African heritage of Panamanians from the English-
speaking West Indies and will be used simultaneously with the term ‘West Indian’.
This nomenclature will situate this study and these subjects into literary and cultural
debates on the Caribbean Basin and will be used to properly analyze the dichotomy of
the Anglophone Caribbean (Jamaica and Barbados) and the Republic of Panama of
this literary generation.
‘Afro-Caribbean’ not only stands in opposition to panameñidad but also
contrasts with the use of the terms ‘Afro-Hispanic’ or ‘Afro-Panamanian’.
Are Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry an Endangered Species? 233
While ‘Afro-Hispanic’ refers to enslaved blacks in Panama who were assimilated

through mestizaje [race-mixing], ‘Afro-Panamanian’ is a more inclusive term that
denotes the union of one’s Panamanian and African heritage. Both terms remain
problematic for Anglophone Caribbeans because they each omit the group’s
Caribbean ancestry. In effect, the texts analyzed in the present study illustrate that the
Anglophone Caribbean constitutes an integral part of Panamanian culture and
identity, and contributes to its ethnic hybridity and heterogeneity. While the
Anglophone Caribbean may complicate the articulation of black Panamanian
identity, as Richard Jackson suggests, it also makes for a rich literary tradition and
has contributed to critical literary debates on Panamanian blackness.
Panamanian Nation-building and Anti-West Indian Sentiment

The history of the Panamanian West Indian population dates back to the 19th
century when many emigrated from the British Caribbean islands of Jamaica,
Barbados, and Trinidad and the French Caribbean islands of Martinique and
Guadeloupe to construct the Trans-isthmian Railroad (1850–1855) and Panama
Canal (1903–1914). Indeed, from the 19th century onward, Panama served as a
conduit for migration for other Caribbean colonies that benefited from the nation’s
economic promise. Cultural clashes ensued amongst Panamanians and West Indians
and immigrants from China, the United States, and other European countries (Spain,
Germany) because of racial and linguistic differences. Many workers brought
prejudices from their native countries and despised laboring with others who were
not their racial equal. With the exception of white US laborers, workers from other
immigrant nations including Panama were relegated to non-skilled jobs in the Canal
Zone that required less pay and fewer amenities. The animosities that ensued
amongst the various ethnic groups and nationalities in Panama was a part of the
larger plan of the Isthmian Canal Commission to pit one group against the other to
insight ‘competition between groups [to] spur them to work harder’ (Greene, 2009,
p. 47). The Canal Zone, operated by US imperialists, began to closely resemble the
Jim Crow South where race and color determined one’s position and social status.3
These various migrations from non-Hispanic countries challenged the dominant
discourse of hispanidad [Spanishness] and panameñidad that was rooted in a
Colonial Hispanic past. Cultural, racial, and linguistic distinctions contributed to a
burgeoning anti-West Indian sentiment that persists in the present.
Afro-Caribbeans from Barbados outnumbered all other immigrant groups,
including those of Jamaica, ‘because its government was agreeable, it had a good
supply of English-speaking workers, and they were known to be orderly, peaceful,
and obedient’ (Greene, 2009, p. 51). In turn, migration in Panama not only
problematized relations between Afro-Caribbeans and other immigrants, but spurred
intra-African Diaspora clashes amongst Afro-Caribbeans and Afro-Hispanics. While
Afro-Hispanics were viewed as ‘compatible’ with the cultural foundation of the
nation, Afro-Caribbeans were viewed as a threat to the homogeneous image that
Panamanian nationalists desired to propagate during the early 20th century. Thus,
Afro-Caribbeans experienced double marginalization by Afro-Hispanics and
234 S. S. Watson
Panamanians as both groups dismissed the West Indian population for being too
black, Anglicized, and Protestant.
Afro-Caribbeans differ culturally and linguistically from Afro-Hispanics; that is,
black Panamanians who were enslaved during the colonial period. Because they were
involved in the process of mestizaje, the nation viewed Afro-Hispanics as willing to
assimilate and as a result they were not considered a threat to the nation-building
project (1880–1920). However, after the Panama Canal was completed in 1914,
Panama was perceived as a US territory devoid of its Hispanic heritage. Panama
reaffirmed its hispanidad by utilizing neo-colonial architecture, constructing a
monument of Cervantes in 1923, and by naming its currency the balboa, in honor of
the conquistador of the Isthmus, Vasco Núñez de Balboa (1475–1519) (Szok, 2001,
p. 99). All of this was done with the hope that the outside world would recognize
Panama as a unified Hispanic nation. Moreover, hispanidad became a major tenet of
Panamanian nationalism, which aimed to whiten Panamanian culture (Szok, 2001,
p. 94). Panamanian criollos [European-descended Panamanians] appropriated the
discourse of mestizaje to reinforce hispanidad and the nation’s racial, cultural, and
linguistic homogeneity. The national discourse promoted assimilation and excluded
blackness, all which resulted in a national anti-West Indian sentiment that isolated
Afro-Caribbeans. Clearly, Panamanian nationalists desired to rid themselves of
anything that did not reflect a nationhood of common people; that is, a mestizo,
Catholic, and Spanish-speaking republic. Religion, language, and Hispanic culture
marked the major differences between West Indians and Panamanians, including the
Afro-Hispanics. The national anti-West Indian sentiment in Panama resembles the
discrimination of the cocolo in the Dominican Republic, a derogatory term used to
identify West Indian immigrants on the Island. The cocolos emigrated from the
Anglophone Caribbean islands of St Kitts, Nevis, and Anguilla to the Dominican
Republic to work on the sugar plantations from the 1880s to the 1920s. Similar to the
situation of the West Indian population in Panama, Dominicans despised cocolos
because they were culturally and linguistically different from the dominant
population (Stinchcomb, 2004, p. 64; Howard, 2001, p. 24). On the Isthmus, West
Indians were not willing to assimilate as many of the Afro-Hispanics had done
centuries before in the eyes of many nationalists. The fact that they continued to
speak English, to construct Protestant churches, and to maintain high rates of
intermarriage demonstrated that West Indians were a threat to the discourse of
mestizaje that negated blackness.
During the Panamanian nation-building project, racial particularities were
de-emphasized and the intellectual discourse of mestizaje permitted a unified
nation based on a ‘common’ group of peoples. As Juan de Castro (2002, p. 19) notes:
‘the discourse of mestizaje, thus became a way for the three numerically dominant
races living in the Americas – white, Amerindian, and black – to become
incorporated into the same national project.’ Unlike in the United States where
the ‘one-drop rule’4 applies to anyone of African descent, the classification of Latin
Americans varies according to class, color, and complexion. To complicate the racial
ambiguity as Davis notes (2005, p. 99), racial status in Latin America ‘depends more
on social class than on color or other racial traits’. However, this does not mean that
racism is non-existent because the darkest Latin Americans form part of the lowest
socio-economic group (Davis, 2005, p. 103). Consequently, the classification of many
Panamanians of African descent ranges from mulato, mestizo, moreno to negro,5
depending on their complexion and presence or absence of African features. Even
though the term mulato generally refers to the mixture of whites and blacks, mestizo
is commonly used to designate any combination of the white, indigenous, and
African populations, and therefore ignores racial differences. The terms moreno and
negro refer to people of visible African ancestry, but differ based on the visibility of
their African characteristics. The classification of a person of African ancestry as
moreno or negro depends on one’s proximity to whiteness or blackness in terms of

both color and physical features. Although Afro-Hispanics are almost always referred
to as moreno, depending on the presence or absence of African features and their
position within the color spectrum, they too can be considered negro. Obviously, the
use of these terms remains ambiguous. In Panama, the term negro continues to
generate negative connotations that are associated with slavery, Africa, and the West
Indian population. As a result, many black West Indians are almost always referred to
as negro because they are visibly black and often much darker than Afro-Hispanics. In
turn, for many Afro-Hispanics, to be called negro is an insult and aligns them with
the denigrated Afro-Caribbean population.
Anglophone West Indians were viewed as anti-nationalist because they did not
coincide with the national imaginary, which promoted homogeneity over racial
differences. National discourses of homogeneity are not unique to Panama. The same
discourse of mestizaje that promotes cultural and national affiliations over racial ones
is evidenced in Ecuador, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic. In ‘El mestizaje:
an all-inclusive ideology of exclusion’, Stutzman (1981, p. 45) examines the role of
mestizaje in the small town of Puyo, ‘a provincial capital located on the western rim
of Ecuador’s Amazonian interior,’ and found that blacks and indigenous people
traded their ethnicity for nationality. Stutzman argues that five pillars6 of Ecuadorian
nationhood have been accepted as constitutive of ecuatoriañidad and have served to
exclude the indigenous and African populations. He argues that mestizaje, which
secretly hoped for blanqueamiento [whitening], led to the exclusion of the indigenous
and black populations. Much of Ecuador’s indigenous and African populations
internalized this hegemonic discourse and sacrificed their ethnicity for nationality
since to be ethnic was considered to be anti-national. As Stutzman (1981, p. 46)
acknowledges, however, this situation is not unique and ‘occurs commonly, and not
only in Ecuador’. Afro-Hispanics in Panama reflect the process of mestizaje and are
culturally a part of the Panamanian nation. As a result, their racial and ethnic
differences were de-emphasized and their allegiance to the nation was stressed. As
Paul Gilroy (1993, p. 27) notes: ‘The emphasis on culture allows nation and race to
fuse. Nationalism and racism become so closely identified that to speak of the nation
is to speak automatically in racially exclusive terms’. Therefore, the mestizaje
discourse emphasized cultural affiliations and, by extension, a sense of nationality
that superseded any specific racial identity.
Both Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic sought to ignore their strong
African roots. The island of Puerto Rico promoted its Spanish heritage, played down
236 S. S. Watson
racial prejudice and identification, and blamed African descendants for the
‘backwardness of the Island’ in the early 20th century (Santiago-Dı́az, 2007,
p. 121). The Dominican Republic’s hatred of the black nation of Haiti after the
latter’s 22-year (1822–1844) occupation of its neighbor, led it to erase its black
heritage and redefine itself as a Hispanic non-black nation. Because of its hatred
toward Haiti and fear of becoming another black nation, the Dominican Republic
erased its blackness through the literary portrayal of the nation as an indigenous
nation. This was achieved despite the fact that 90 per cent of the population is of
African descent. Manuel Galván’s historical drama Enriquillo: Leyenda dominicana
[Enriquillo: A Dominican Legend] of 1882 retraced Santo Domingo’s roots to its

indigenous past by failing to acknowledge the nation’s African heritage, and
consequently ‘rewrote’ the Dominican Republic’s history (Stinchcomb, 2004, p. 86).
Galván secretly hoped to remove the indigenous heritage from the nation and create
a mestizo and non-black country. Thus, the Dominican Republic redefined itself as a
nation of mestizos, distancing itself simultaneously from its African past and Haiti.
Afro-Dominican writer Blas Jiménez (2000, pp. 87–88) notes his country’s hatred of
Haiti in the poem ‘Haitiano’ [‘Haitian’], which equates the nation and the
population with the terms black, ugly, and bad. In the Dominican Republic, Haitians
represent the proverbial ‘other’ and symbolize a race that does not typify
dominicanidad. Similar to the Dominican Republic, which attempted to divorce
itself culturally from Haiti and, by extension, from blackness, Panama also rejected
any meaningful identification with its large Afro-Hispanic and Afro-Caribbean
population.
To encourage West Indians to leave the Isthmus after the completion of the Canal
in 1914, the Panamanian oligarchy promoted assimilation and enticed them to give
up their linguistic and cultural ties to their respective Caribbean countries. Although
Law 13 (1926) and Law 26 (1941) prevented West Indians from entering the country
and made citizenship contingent on speaking Spanish, West Indians finally achieved
full citizenship in 1946 under the new Constitution (Herzfeld, 1983, p. 151).
However, as Law 26 previously mandated in 1941, the 1946 Constitution promoted
cultural assimilation since many feared that the Anglophone West Indian’s Protestant
religion and native English language would alter the racial, linguistic, and cultural
paradigm of Panama. Many West Indian leaders believed that the success of the West
Indian in Panama rested solely on his/her ability to assimilate and adopt the major
tenets of Panamanian nationality: language, culture, and religion. As a result,
prominent West Indian leaders such as George Westerman (1910–1988) encouraged
other Caribbeans to assimilate in order to be accepted into Panamanian culture. Not
surprisingly, Westerman did not focus on cultural differences between West Indians
and Panamanians. Instead, he promoted assimilation and celebrated the Afro-
Caribbean’s intellect and economic contributions to the Isthmus. Despite
Westerman’s hopes for the West Indian population in Panama, the harsh reality
was that Panamanians rejected the group not only because they spoke a different
language, but because they were black. Thus, many Panamanian West Indians
repudiate Westerman’s assimilation thesis and strive to incorporate the West
Indian into the Panamanian social and political matrix while maintaining their
Caribbean heritage. Panama’s national resistance to cultural and racial heterogeneity

is recuperated in the writings of Wilson, Maloney, and Russell, who object to the
national anti-West Indian sentiment and make an effort to integrate the Anglophone
Caribbean into the national discourse of panameñidad.
Preserving West Indian Heritage

During the 1970s and 1980s, Panamanians of West Indian descent spearheaded
organizations that aimed to study black problems in Panama. Although they desired
to analyze problems of all blacks and the possibility of the unity of Afro-descendants
in Panama, many of the issues that arose centered on problems that inflicted the
West Indian community. These organizations included: Acción Reivindicadora del
Negro Panameño [Redeemption for the Black Panamanian] (ARENEP), Unión
Nacional del Negro Panameño [National Union for the Black Panamanian]
(UNNEP), Asociación de Negros Profesionales [Association of Black Professionals]
(APODAN), El Centro de Estudios Afro-Panameños [The Center for Afro-
Panamanian Studies] (CEDEAP), and Sociedad de Amigos del Museo
Afroantillano de Panamá [The Society of Friends of the West Indian Museum of
Panama] (SAMAAP). Much like the Civil Rights Movement of the United States
during the 1960s, these organizations were political in nature and aimed to unite the
Afro-Panamanian community and to discuss concerns that affected the population
such as inequality, discrimination, and unemployment. Panamanian West Indians
identified with the Civil Rights Movement because of their marginalized situation in
Panama, their ability to speak English, and because discrimination in the Canal Zone
was based on a polarized racial system modeled after the United States. Many other
West Indian leaders in Panama were inspired by the Civil Rights Movement’s quest
for racial equality and its goal to integrate blacks into society. For example, ARENEP
sought to eliminate racism in Panama (Maloney, 1988, p. 151). Afro-Panamanians
were not only concerned with national problems, they also participated in and
organized forums to treat problems that other Diaspora populations faced. For
example, CEDEAP organized the Second Congress of Black Cultures of the Americas,
which took place in Panama in 1980. One year later, in 1981, Afro-Panamanians
organized their own conference, the First Congress of the Black Panamanian, a forum
devoted to studying: black contributions to Panama, the black’s role in socio-political
struggles, Canal Zone worker problems, Afro-Panamanian Panamanian relations,
and Afro-Caribbean migration to the United States (Maloney, 1988, p. 155).
Among other topics that arose during these forums was the use of the term ‘Afro-
Panamanian’ as opposed to ‘Afro-Caribbean’ to describe Afro-descended populations
in Panama. Some Panamanians of West Indian descent found ‘Afro-Panamanian’ to
be an adequate term to describe blacks on the Isthmus, but others felt that it
promoted assimilation and did not reflect their Caribbean heritage (Barrow &
Priestley, 2003, p. 215). Many West Indians in Panama and the United States rejected
the term because they felt that it did not promote black West Indian nationalism.
However, Gerardo Maloney advocated the use of the term because he felt that it is
useful when contrasting Panama with other Afro-Latin Diaspora populations; that is,
238 S. S. Watson
Afro-Colombian, Afro-Ecuadorian, and so forth (Barrow & Priestley, 2003, p. 221).
Others such as Wilson and Russell preferred the term ‘Afro-Caribbean’ to describe
the West Indian experience in Panama because it promoted West Indian nationalism.
Notwithstanding Wilson’s preferred use of the term ‘Afro-Caribbean’, he seeks
unification among all Afro-descendant populations in Panama realizing their
connection with the greater Diaspora. Clearly, the use of Afro-Caribbean as opposed
to Afro-Panamanian reinforces the mission of contemporary West Indians to
preserve Caribbean heritage in Panama.
Of the organizations previously mentioned, SAMAAP has had the most lasting
effect on sustaining Panamanian West Indian culture and heritage. Founded in 1981
to preserve Afro-Caribbean culture on the Isthmus, SAMAAP secured that the
Panamanian West Indian Museum would be maintained and properly funded. The
West Indian museum retains the history of black Panamanians while the society
SAMAAP sponsors annual celebrations to celebrate ethnicity in Panama and the
contributions of blacks on the Isthmus. Both the West Indian Museum and SAMAAP
secure that Afro-Caribbean culture and heritage will be remembered and recognized
not only by West Indians but also by non-West Indians on the Isthmus and abroad.
Similar to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People
(NAACP) in the United States, the society also protests racial inequalities and
discrimination that exist in Panama. Most recently, the organization expressed
disapproval of the stereotypical portrayal of Panama’s black Ministra de Educación
[Minister of Education] Lucy Molinar, on the popular weekly television program
Parecen Noticias [Looks like News]. The program, known for its political satire,
created a caricature of Molinar’s son using the stereotypical image of the gorilla. The
organization’s protests resulted in a public apology broadcast on the show as well as
one generated in person by the show’s producers. Clearly, the utility of SAMAAP is
understood with racist 21st-century portrayals such as these.
These organizations have shaped the literary generation of Wilson, Maloney, and
Russell, and have contributed to debates on race, language, and identity in their 20th-
century and 21st-century texts. The research on identity formation in the African
Diaspora of Stuart Hall and Paul Gilroy provides a theoretical framework to explore
how the social construction of race manifests itself in Panama. Hall’s research will be
useful to illustrate the multiplicity that describes present-day Afro-Panama, which is
comprised of the Afro-Hispanic and Afro-Caribbean cultural element but stands in
contrast to a nation-building rhetoric that homogenizes and excludes. Gilroy’s work
on nationalism, blackness, and identity is important to this study because, as
previously stated, it illustrates that the emphasis on culture causes nationalism and
racism to coalesce. This fusion obliterates race and racism from the national
imaginary, a phenomenon that characterizes Panama. The obliteration of race from
the national imaginary had particular consequences on the Afro-Caribbean
population who identified with their black West Indian ancestry. Wilson, Maloney,
and Russell respond to this anti-West Indian rhetoric in different ways, but all evoke
a West Indian consciousness that begs for recognition, acceptance, and full
incorporation into the Panamanian nation-state.
Mestizaje negativo in the Fiction of Carlos Wilson

The fiction of Carlos Wilson best reflects the effects of the 19th-century and early
20th-century mestizaje ideology in Panama. Wilson preserves West Indian heritage in
Panama by disclosing years of West Indian prejudice on the Isthmus, therefore
educating the mainstream population about the injustices inflicted upon the Afro-
Caribbean community. Wilson, who goes by the pseudonym Cubena, is Professor
Emeritus of Spanish at San Diego State University and has published all of his works
while in the United States. His works reveal the effects of centuries of mestizaje on the
Isthmus, which has resulted in individual and communal black hatred. Thus,
Wilson’s novels, Chombo7 (Wilson, 1981) and Los nietos de Felicidad Dolores [The
Grandchildren of Felicidad Dolores] (Wilson, 1991) demonstrate national prejudice
towards the Afro-Caribbean population and bolster West Indian pride.
Collectively the novels serve as a reminder of West Indian heritage and incorporate
Caribbean history into Panama. The entire action of Chombo takes place in 1977, the
year when the Carter Torrijos treaty8 was signed, and recalls the history of the
descendants of Papá James and Nenén who emigrated respectively from Barbados
and Jamaica. The novel begins with the main character’s (Litó) return to Panama
from the United States. The signing of the treaty leads West Indian descendant Litó
and his mother to recall the history and the struggles of Afro-Caribbeans in Panama.
Their narrative focuses on a story about three gold bracelets that they trace to the
arrival of Afro-Caribbeans to Panama. The bracelets appear and reappear
throughout, and they evoke the history of Papá James and Nenén, who dies at the
end of the novel ironically before her voyage back to Jamaica. Finally, the characters
discover that the three gold bracelets have followed generations of African
descendants (both Afro-Hispanics and Afro-Caribbeans) from Africa to the West
Indies to Panama, demonstrating the unity of the African Diaspora.
The Grandchildren of Felicidad Dolores begins in the future (in 1999) with the
United States signing over the Canal to Panama as the Carter Torrijos treaty
promised two decades earlier. As the title suggests, the novel focuses on the
descendants of Felicidad Dolores who are similar despite their perceived differences.
The narrative commences in a US airport where West Indian descendants are
reunited to return to the Isthmus for the signing over of the Canal to Panama. The
action vacillates between the past and the present and, similar to Chombo, details
discrimination of West Indians on the Isthmus. The novel deals with the prejudices
of two families those of Juan Moreno and John Brown, who are Afro-Hispanic and
Afro-Caribbean, respectively. The subsequent sections deal with these families’
prejudices toward one another, particularly those of Moreno, which are passed on to
their descendants and prevent an open romantic relationship between their children.
Throughout the novel, the characters attempt to discover the meaning of the word
sodinu, which is unidos [‘united’] in Spanish spelled backwards. Because of the
cultural fragmentation of the characters, they are unable to decipher the meaning of
the word. Instead, Wilson, the author, inserts himself in the text and explains the
meaning of the word in a letter where he relates that Afro-Latin Americans are now
united and, in fact, have always been since they share a common African origin.
240 S. S. Watson
Although both novels terminate by pointing out the shared heritage of African
descendants in Panama, Wilson often portrays non-West Indian characters as those
plagued by a societal prejudice that prevents them from embracing the Afro-
Caribbean population. In Panama, this societal prejudice towards blacks stems from
a national rhetoric of nation-building that deemed Panama contradictorily a mestizo,
non-black nation.9 As previously mentioned, the mestizaje ideology propagated
during the 19th and early 20th centuries, reinforced hispanidad and ultimately
encouraged Panamanians to deny their African roots. Thus, in both Chombo and The
Grandchildren, Wilson treats the effect of mestizaje on the human psyche and
explores intraracial hatred among African descendants in Panama. In effect, both

works illustrate the effects of what Richard Jackson identifies as mestizaje negativo,
literally negative race-mixing as opposed to mestizaje positivo or positive race-mixing.
Mestizaje positivo involves a ‘blending of cultures in which there is equal respect for
both’ while ‘[mestizaje negativo] means that a minority culture is absorbed as an
inferior culture’ (Jackson, 1979, p. 14). Cubena’s texts challenge the latter form of
mestizaje because it has robbed African descendants in the Americas of their
autochthonous heritage. Ultimately, Cubena’s texts call into question the national
myth of racial harmony and expose racism on the Isthmus. For example, in Chombo,
the blind protagonist Don Justo’s repetition of the interrogative, ‘Are you of pure
Spanish blood’ [‘Es usted español de cepa pura?’] reinforces the importance of
hispanidad (Wilson, 1981, p. 15). Don Justo’s prejudice towards black West Indians
is ironic considering that he is ‘flat-nosed, brown and nappy haired’ [‘ñato, moreno y
de pelo encrespado’] (Wilson, 1981, p. 15). In effect, he serves as a metaphor for
Panamanians and Latin Americans of African descent who are blind to their own
African features and fail to identify themselves as people of color. As Miller (1993,
p. 82) informs us: ‘The Blind man’s real handicap is his denial of his people, and of
the very existence of racism in Panama . . .’
One of the national myths in Panama was that North Americans brought prejudice
to the Isthmus during the construction of the Canal, which absolved Panamanians
from any culpability. Clearly, the United States reinforced divisions between
Panamanians and Afro-Caribbeans. However, as the following examples illustrate,
the prejudice already existed. For example, while Chombo’s Litó acknowledges that
the Canal Zone is ‘the heart of discrimination’ [‘el corazón de la discriminación’], he
rejects the idea that racial discrimination came with the United States (Wilson, 1981,
p. 28). As Litó observes: ‘But mom, – with or without the gringo there is a lot of
racial prejudice here’ [‘Pero mamá – con o sin el gringo aquı́ hay mucha
discriminación racial’] (Wilson, 1981, p. 28). Don Justo reinforces national
discrimination against West Indians in the following statement: ‘I repeat, we are
all like brothers and sisters and we even love the black West Indian chombo’ [‘Vuelvo
y repito, todos somos como hermanos y hasta queremos al chombo negro antillano’]
(Wilson, 1981, p. 14; emphasis added). Don Justo’s attempt to display racial
harmony fails in the second part of his statement where he declares that Panamanians
even love chombos. Also, the use of the first-person plural pronoun ‘we’ demonstrates
an ‘us’ versus ‘them’ mentality as well as a non-inclusive one. In turn, ‘we’, or
Panamanians, is juxtaposed against ‘they’, or West Indians, who are excluded from
the national imaginary.
Other characters in Chombo also deny their African heritage and are plagued by
desires of ethnic cleansing. The narrator of Chombo ridicules Afro-Hispanic Karafula
Barrescoba for her attempts to whiten. For example, she bathes daily with five cartons
of milk, straightens her hair, and pins her nose with a clothes-pin. Cubena utilizes
humor to demonstrate the absurdity of her behavior. But the implications are not
humorous at all because they show the measures that some African-descended
persons will take to achieve whiteness and national and local acceptance. Similar to
her character in Chombo, Karafula reappears in The Grandchildren and is consumed

by the same hatred for blacks. She opposes the relationship between Chela and Fufo,
and urges Chela to look for ‘a white husband to improve the race’ [‘un marido blanco
para mejorar la raza’] (Wilson, 1991, p. 75). Karafula resembles the young black boy
in Cubena’s short story, ‘The flour boy’ [‘El niño de harina’], who pours flour over
himself nightly hoping to erase his blackness. The effect of mestizaje is clear: it has
caused African-descended peoples to hate themselves and everything that symbolizes
blackness.
Chombo’s Fulabuta Simeñı́quez is another character who has internalized the
national discourse of mestizaje. Known as la quemacorcho for burning cork to lighten
herself, she frequently sings anti-chombo songs and is described as a fanatic of a
conservative patriotic party of Panama whose campaign slogan was ‘whitening is
nation-building’ [‘blanquear es hacer patria’] (Wilson, 1981, pp. 51 and 50). More
surprisingly, ‘Fulabuta, like her brother – Arnulfo Simeñı́quez the leader of the
patriotic party, could not see blacks in portraits, and even more, she felt a deep hatred
towards black West Indian women’ [‘Fulabuta, como su hermano tracallero –
Arnulfo Simeñı́quez – el jefe de los patriotistas, no podı́a ver a negros ni en pintura,
es más, ella sentı́a un profundo odio especial hacia las negras antillanas’] (Wilson,
1981, p. 50). To this end, she tells French West Indian Tidam Frenchı́ to encourage
her daughters to marry blue-eyed gringos to ‘improve the race’ [‘mejorar la raza’]
(Wilson, 1981, p. 53). Rabiaprieta, another character in The Grandchildren, seeks to
‘whiten’ the black race by having babies with white men (Wilson, 1991, p. 75). While
waiting in the airport terminal in the United States for her voyage back to Panama,
Rabiaprieta brags about the blue-eyed fathers of her five children and seeks others in
order to give birth to light children. Wilson plays with the use of names by naming
her Rabiaprieta, ‘the black tale’, a linguistic alteration of the term rabiblancos (the
white tales) that refers to the aristocrats or ruling elites in Panama. Thus, initiated
readers will identify Rabiaprieta with these same whites who denigrate the black race.
Karafula, Fulabuta, and Rabiaprieta represent various generations of Afro-Hispanics
and demonstrate the effect of the mestizaje ideology that continues to plague the
present. These characters’ obsession with whiteness leads them to hate blackness and,
by extension, themselves. Afro-Hispanics who seek to ‘lighten’ or ‘whiten’ themselves
through language or physical alteration illuminates the effect of Colonialism on the
black psyche and the group’s unwillingness to identify with their African heritage.
These characters who desire to whiten themselves bring to light the assertions of anti-
colonialist Frantz Fanon (1967, p. 9), who noted some time ago that in the collective
242 S. S. Watson
unconscious of blacks there is a desire to achieve whiteness. Wilson’s portrayal of
Afro-Hispanics exemplifies their desire to attain whiteness and social status to
coincide with the national imagery.
In effect, Karabula and Fulabuta have both assimilated the racial discourse of the
colonizer. Society’s preoccupation with whiteness and the characters’ desire to be
accepted have inspired self-hatred. Wilson portrays Karafula and Fulabuta as
obnoxious and consumed with hatred towards West Indians to reveal the dire
consequences of the national rhetoric of mestizaje on the black psyche. Women are
not the only ones who have adopted the anti-West Indian discourse. In Chombo,
Arnulfo Simeñı́quez notes: ‘When I become president, the first thing that I am going
to do is deport all the chombos from this country’ [‘Cuando yo sea presidente, lo
primero que voy a hacer es deportar a todos los chombos de este paı́s’] (Wilson,
1981, p. 27). Arnulfo’s name and characterization echo that of Arnulfo Arias, the
former president of Panama who implemented the 1941 West Indian repatriation
act.10 Not only does the name resemble that of Arias, but also the character’s anti-
West Indian attitude.
Wilson contests the mestizaje ideology by asserting that the only way to improve
the race is through education and not through whitening as these characters profess.
According to the narrator of Chombo:
The third goal that Nenén’s grandchildren planted had more obstacles than a difficult
labyrinth constructed by a diabolic white genius: the ability to improve the black race
through education – the only way – and not by the racist and irrational process of
‘mestizaje’ as Fulabuta Simeñı́quez advised.
[La tercera meta que se plantearon los nietos de Nenén tenı́a más obstáculos que un
dificultoso laberinto construido por un diabólico genio blanco: el anhelo de mejorar la
raza negra por medio de la educación – la única manera – y no por el racista e irracional
mestizaje como aconsejaba Fulabuta Simeñı́quez . . .]
(Wilson, 1981, p. 76)
It is Wilson’s goal that the descendants in Chombo and The Grandchildren will learn
from his story and others.
The mestizaje rhetoric of the late 19th century has divided Afro-Hispanics and
Afro-Caribbeans on the basis of race, religion, and language. Chombo’s Karafula
Barrescoba is the major exponent of Afro-Hispanic prejudice, and she feels superior
to Afro-Caribbeans because ‘her native language was Castilian Spanish, her religion
was Catholicism, and moreover because race-mixing had robbed some of her African
heritage’ [‘su lengua materna era el castellano, su religión católica, y sobre todo
porque el mestizaje le habı́a robado algo de su africanidad’] (Wilson, 1981, p. 65).
Karafula decides to hide her blackness so as not to be confused with other Afro-
Caribbeans. Her superiority stems from her ability to trace her lineage to the more
‘Spanish’, that is, white elements of Panama. For example, she raves about being a
descendant of blacks who witnessed the decapitation of Vasco Núñez de Balboa.
Moreover, she stresses that she is ‘brown’ (morena) and not a ‘black West Indian’
(negra antillana) like Nenén because the former carries a weaker racial stigma than
the latter. Karabula abhors her own brother appropriately named Carbón or
‘Charcoal’ for having nappy hair like the chombos. Fearing that his hair will cause
others to mistake him for a West Indian, Carbón proclaims publicly in the Santa Ana
plaza that he is a brown man and not a chombo (Wilson, 1981, p. 67).
As in Chombo, The Grandchildren aims to unite Afro-Hispanics and Afro-
Caribbeans and brings to light the absurdity of their hatred toward one another. This
is evidenced by the feud between Juan Moreno and John Brown. Their names, which
are mere Spanish and English translations of one another, represent their similarities
in spite of their own perceived cultural and linguistic differences. Another Moreno,
Lesbiaquina, opposes the relationship between her niece Candelaria and West Indian
Guacayarima because it would be ‘a tremendous shame for the Brown family’ [‘una
tremenda vergüenza para la familia Morena’] (Wilson, 1991, p. 171). In a
conversation with her brother Anı́bal Moreno, Lesbiaquina displays her prejudice
towards the West Indian community.
They are not human beings. Chombos are brutes and stupids. Because they are big-
lipped they can neither read well nor pronounce Castillian words and because of that
the stupid ones celebrate the new laws that exist to deport them. Yeah, because they
have tough nappy hair, knowledge can not penetrate their brains and because of that
they are brutes . . .
[Nada de gente y mucho menos tan gente. Los chombos son brutos y estúpidos. Como
son bembones no pueden leer bien ni pronunciar palabras castellanas y por eso celebran
las nuevas leyes que los estúpidos no captan que son leyes para deportarlos. Sı́, como
tienen el pelo cuzcú y bien duro, la inteligencia no puede entrar en sus cabezas y por eso
son brutos . . .]
(Wilson, 1991, p. 163)
Lesbiaquina echoes the national West Indian sentiment of the early 20th century and
articulates all the myths and prejudices towards West Indians: their inability to speak
fluent Spanish, their lack of intelligence, and their African features. When Anı́bal
writes on his job application that he can speak English, Lesbiaquina is so concerned
that others are going to think that he is a chombo that she refuses to celebrate his new
job offer. Clearly she has adopted the national discourse that describes West Indians
and blacks as inferior. Ironically, Lesbiaquina fails to see that she is denigrating
herself when she makes these comments because after all, she is also of African
descent.
The Afro-Caribbean population contrasts drastically with the color-conscious
Afro-Hispanics. Wilson’s favorable presentation of West Indians has sparked much
criticism as his texts most often presents Afro-Hispanics as villains who help
propagate the national anti-West Indian sentiment and racial oppression. The
Afro-Hispanic characters who populate the text serve to expose the prejudices of the
Afro-Hispanic population on the Isthmus. The names of many of the Afro-Hispanic
characters reinforce that the population, in Wilson’s view, has consumed the
mestizaje ideology and turned its back on its own racial heritage. Albeit ironic, the
names shed light on the Afro-Hispanic population’s desire to reflect the national
imaginary of whiteness. For example, the name Carbón signifies the blackness that he
wishes to escape and Rabiaprieta’s name alludes to the white aristocracy. One of the
most picaresque characters in the novel is the previously mentioned Lesbiaquina
244 S. S. Watson
Petrablanche de las Nieves de Monte Monarca Moreno. Lesbiaquina’s exaggerated
name pokes fun at the need for Latin Americans (whether black, mixed-race, or
white) to trace their lineage to their Spanish heritage. Literally her name is
Lesbiaquina Petrablanche of the Snow of the Brown Monarch Mount, which
references her European heritage and signifies that although she may be brown at
least she is not black. The names of the majority of the West Indian characters who
populate Wilson’s novels Papá James, Nenén, and Litó to name a few contrast
starkly with the names of the color-conscious Afro-Hispanics. The names of some
West Indian characters in Wilson’s fiction are also comical and often point to their
racial heritage such as with French West Indian Tidam Frenchı́. Although the name
Frenchı́ clearly symbolizes the character’s Francophone Caribbean ancestry, she is not
portrayed as a lunatic obsessed with blackness, whiteness, or the mestizaje ideology.
Thus, her characterization is much more favorable than that of her Afro-Hispanic
counterparts.
Although in the end of his novels he points to the shared lineage of Afro-Hispanics
and Afro-Caribbeans, Wilson accomplishes this at the expense of Afro-Hispanics.
That is to say, he denigrates the Afro-Hispanic population in his quest to educate the
nation about national prejudice against West Indians and further divides the two
populations. It emphasizes Afro-Hispanics’ desire to be brown instead of black
symbolizing a denial of their own African ancestry. Thus, his overall message is
obscured because he demeans others. Wilson’s didacticism and harsh tone against his
(neo)colonial oppressors is understood in the context of the national anti-West Indian
sentiment that continuously denounced the contributions of West Indians to the
Isthmus. Wilson exposes the ills of the Isthmus and comes down hard on his fellow
black brothers and sisters of colonial descent in Panama because, in his estimation, the
prejudice received by them is worse because they share a common origin.
Wilson points to the shared heritage of Afro-Hispanics and Afro-Caribbeans, one
that is rooted in a distant past but continues to plague the present as evidenced in
their physical likeness. The physical likeness of the two patriarchs of The
Grandchildren, John Brown and Juan Moreno, reinforces their common African
ancestry.
But the day that Juan Moreno met face to face with John Brown, like someone who
becomes frightened by his own shadow (other than the similar physical appearance and
the same gestures and moves, both wore their pants patched with different color fabric
and curiously with the same style of sewing . . .)
[Pero el dı́a que Juan Moreno se encontró, cara a cara, con John Brown, como quien se
espanta de su propia sombra (además del parecido fı́sico y los mismos gestos y
ademanes, ambos tenı́an pantalón remendado con parches de tela de diferentes colores
y, curiosamente, del mismo estilo de costura . . .]
(Wilson, 1991, pp. 120–121)
In this respect, Juan Moreno resembles the main character, Charles McForbes, in
Quince Duncan’s Los cuatro espejos [The Four Mirrors], who confronts his black West
Indian identity in the mirror, an identity that he has evaded his entire life. Despite
their cultural differences, Afro-Hispanics and Afro-Caribbeans in Panama are clearly
more similar than different. In the second section of The Grandchildren, the narrator
illustrates that West Indians were descendants of blacks in Spain and underlines their
connection to Afro-Hispanics in Panama. These differences are less real for the
present generation of Afro-Panamanians; The Grandchildren makes clear that many
Afro-Hispanics and Afro-Caribbeans seek to unite despite their ancestors’ feuding.
For example, the respective children of John Brown and Juan Moreno, Salvadora
Brown and Anı́bal Moreno, desire to have a romantic relationship in spite of their
perceived cultural and linguistic differences. Despite their fathers’ forbiddance, they
continue to see each other secretly.
Thus, both novels end by rejecting the division among blacks in Panama and seek
integration within the black Panamanian community. In order for Afro-Hispanics
and Afro-Caribbeans to unite, Wilson feels compelled to reveal anti-West Indian
prejudice by both Afro-Hispanics and Panamanians. It is only through the
recognition of these past ills that the black community in Panama can put aside
its differences. By chronicling the Afro-Caribbean experience in Panama, Wilson
effectively incorporates the West Indian experience into Panamanian society, history,
and culture, and exposes discrimination of West Indians. Finally, Wilson recuperates
the national anti-West Indian sentiment prevalent during the early 20th-century in
Panama to remind present generations of the population’s struggles and their
contributions to Panamanian society.
Gerardo Maloney: Instilling Black Pride and Solidarity

Unlike the other writers of this generation, Gerardo Maloney privileges Afro-Panama
over the Anglophone Caribbean. Born in Panama City, Gerardo Maloney is a
prominent Panamanian West Indian poet, essayist, film-maker, and sociologist. Most
recently, he served as Ambassador of Panama to Trinidad and Tobago (2004–2009).
He also served as president of the Second Congress of Black Cultures of the Americas
and directed the film Calypso (1991), a documentary on Afro-Caribbean music in
Panama. In addition, he has published numerous articles and essays about the
problems faced by blacks in Panama, Ecuador, the United States, Costa Rica, and
Brazil, to name a few. Needless to say, Maloney is not only a scholar of Afro-Panama
but also of the Americas. Thus, Maloney possesses a Diaspora consciousness and
portrays the realities of Afro-Panama and the African Diaspora in general.
Above all, Gerardo Maloney is known for his poetic verse. Maloney has written
several volumes of poetry in Spanish, including Juega vivo [Get Hip] (Maloney, 1984),
En tiempo de crisis [In a Time of Crisis] (Maloney, 1991a) and Latidos: Los personajes y
los hechos [Heartbeats: The People and their Deeds] (Maloney, 1991b). Heartbeats: The
People and their Deeds rescues important local, national, and international figures
that represent the African Diaspora. In this volume, Maloney pays equal homage to
ordinary people such as the doorman (‘el portero’), Afro-Panamanian scholars such
as Armando Fortune (‘Fortune’), and international figures such as Afro-Peruvian
poet Nicomedes Santa Cruz (‘Nicomedes’) and Jamaican activist Marcus Garvey
(‘Garvey’). On the one hand, he applauds Panamanian journalist and economist
Armando Fortune for his efforts to help all black Panamanians; and on the other, he
246 S. S. Watson
admonishes blacks for not following Garvey’s dream to return to Africa. Thus, in
Heartbeats, Maloney not only gives testimony of local Panamanians, but he also
incorporates the voices of others of African descent across the globe. For example, in
‘Black Ecuadorian’[‘Negro Ecuatoriano’] he expresses black solidarity and identifies
with the situation of Afro-Ecuadorians, who according to him have been denied the
expression of their blackness. The verses of the first stanza indicate that the situation
of blacks in Ecuador is similar to that found in Maloney’s native Panama. The poet-
speaker commences in a dialogue with his fellow black Ecuadorian brother and
muses: ‘It remains clear that here they have also not loved you as well’ [‘Queda claro
que también aquı́ tampoco te han querido’] (Maloney, 1991b, p. 67). The poet
continues and insists that blacks participate in: ‘a common past’ and ‘a shared
heritage’ (Maloney, 1991b, p. 67). Clearly, Maloney recognizes that the Panamanian
experience must be understood within the broader context of the African Diaspora.
Maloney’s emphasis on local Panamanian heroes is reminiscent of Nancy Morejón’s
(2005) Carbones silvestres [Wild Charcoal], where she rescues local female figures of
the community such as ‘Nélida’ and ‘Merceditas’.
Juega vivo, translated loosely by Maloney as ‘Get Hip’, reflects the author’s black
consciousness, the problems that blacks have endured, and the ones they must
confront in the future. The title Get Hip displays thematically and linguistically
Maloney’s connection with the people; that is, the Panamanian West Indian as well as
the black poetry from the United States during the 1960s. As Smart (1986, p. 43)
notes, the signature poem of the collection ‘Playing it Cool’ [‘Cogiéndolo suave’]
resonates with other poems written during the 1960s in the United States, such as
Gwendolyn Brooks’ (2005, p. 127) ‘We Real Cool’. ‘Playing it Cool’ reflects the poet’s
use of colloquial West Indian speech as well as his black consciousness and his
broader Diaspora consciousness.
Yesterday . . .
Hey!
You
Chombo . . . Jamaican
Who? Me . . .
Me, westindian panamanian
born here,
love it here,
although I remember with love
the drums of my motherland . . .
Today . . .
and above all else
Black!
you aren’t doing anything,
the people are making fun of you
with a false smile
and you, like always
laughing and dancing
playing it cool.
[Ayer . . .
Hey!
Tú
Chombo . . . Jumecan
¿Quién? Yo . . .
Me, westindian panamanian
nacer aquı́,
gustar aquı́,
aunque recordar con sabor
los tambores de mi madre patria . . .
Hoy . . .
y a pesar de todo
‚Negro!
tú na tá en naa,

la gente te está liquidando
con una sonrisa falsa
y tú, como siempre
riendo y bailando
cogiéndolo suave.]
(Maloney, 1984, p. 49)
In a harmonious tone, the poet-speaker references his West Indian roots, recognizes
his African heritage, and remembers ‘the drums of (his) motherland’ [los tambores de
[mi] patria], which symbolize his African heritage (Maloney, 1984, p. 49). He also
uses colloquial speech such as the apocopation ‘tá’ of the verb ‘to be’ [estar], and the
use of the infinitives ‘to be born’ [nacer] and ‘to love’ [gustar] to reflect the first
person. By doing so, Maloney elevates colloquial speech to the level of formal speech,
and oral language to that of the written word. These forms represent the speech of
second-generation, third-generation, and fourth-generation Panamanian West
Indians who blend elements of Spanish and English into their speech. The use of
the English signs ‘hey’ and ‘me’ in the original Spanish version of the poem illustrates
code-switching11 and reproduces the West Indian community’s speech. In these
verses, Maloney ‘speaks’ to his West Indian brothers and sisters, and subtly
admonishes them for ‘playing it cool’. The last verses criticize Panamanian West
Indians, who are described as ‘laughing’, ‘dancing’ and, above all, ‘playing it cool’. In
a light tone, the poet-speaker makes fun of the black’s passion for not taking things
seriously even when he/she encounters serious problems. In fact, he does not solely
blame whites for the ills of the black race. As an insider of this group, Maloney subtly
points to the West Indian community’s weaknesses. Unlike Wilson, Maloney
recognizes the shortcomings of Afro-Caribbeans, which contribute to their lack of
progress. As Smart (1986, p. 43) notes, the poem resembles Nicolás Guillén’s (1979,
p. 76) ‘Sabás’ from West Indies Ltd (1934) in that the poet-speaker chides the main
character Sabás for begging for sustenance and questions his lack of work ethic (‘¿Por
qué, Sabás, la mano abierta?’ [‘Why do you have your hand open Sabás?’]). Both
Maloney and Guillén illustrate that these chides can only be accomplished by insiders
of the community.
On the surface, ‘Playing it Cool’ appears to be a light whimsical poem that satirizes
a young West Indian youth’s passion for appearing cool. However, Maloney’s
incorporation of West Indian speech evokes a sense of nationhood indigenous to the
Anglophone Caribbean community. Maloney subtly defies the common notion of
248 S. S. Watson
nationhood by utilizing ‘code-switching’ as a strategy for cultural resistance to
maintain the Anglophone Caribbean heritage in his community of West Indians. The
West Indian speech is a reminder of linguistic differences between Afro-Caribbeans
and Panamanians and Afro-Hispanics. However, the poet-speaker embraces his
Panamanian heritage and insists that he is defined equally by his Panamanian and
Caribbean identity. His use of West Indian speech is promising because, although
many nations embrace multiculturalism and ethnic diversity, there are common
claims about nationhood and citizenship. ‘[C]itizens are still expected to speak a
common national language, share a common national identity, feel loyalty to
national institutions and share a commitment to maintaining the nation as a single,

self-governing community into the indefinite future’ (Kymlicka, 2004, p. 236). Thus,
Maloney’s poem defies the central component of panameñidad, which insists on the
exclusive use of Spanish.
In ‘I Love my Race’ [‘Amo a mi raza’], Maloney pays homage to his race and makes
no apologies for his black pride and heritage. The poet-speaker professes his love for
his African race because ‘it has been hated for century after century’, ‘it is black,
strong, and vigorous’ [and] ‘you want me to forget it, to deny it, and ignore it’
[‘ha sido odiada de siglos en siglos’, ‘es negra, fuerte y vigorosa’ [y] ‘tú quieres que la
olvide, que la reniegue, que la ignore’] (Maloney, 1984, pp. 75–76). Maloney directs
his anger towards ‘you’ [‘tú’], a composite marker for those who hate the black race.
The ‘you’ refers to white Panamanians and other groups who criticize or do not
understand the black’s racial pride. This poem resembles that of Blas Jiménez’s
(2000) poem ‘I Have’ [‘Tengo’] where the poet-speaker emphasizes that he has to be
black for all the times that his blackness was denied in the Dominican Republic.
Maloney no longer describes the black experience utilizing black/white
dichotomies or imagery, but by their historical experiences. The black pride
evidenced in ‘I Love my Race’ references the poet’s African heritage and not
exclusively his West Indian roots. The inclusive tone of his work differentiates it from
that of both Wilson and Russell, who are clearly angered by the national anti-West
Indian sentiment. In the analysis of Wilson’s work it was evidenced that the writer
possesses a strong hatred towards Panamanians who denigrated West Indians. Unlike
his counterparts, Maloney treats his West Indian heritage as an integral part of Afro-
Panamanian identity as well as another facet of the African Diaspora. His poetry
indicates that he is more concerned with illustrating Afro-Panama, which
demonstrates that the West Indies are an integral part of Panama but should not
be viewed as a separate entity. His use of ‘code-switching’ in ‘Playing it Cool’ is a
linguistic marker of West Indian heritage but is not used as a way to exclude. For
example, in ‘Live to Love’ [‘Vivir para Amar’], Maloney (1991a, p. 81) writes as a
Panamanian patriot, which manifests his nationalistic allegiance. His poetry
illustrates that his West Indian heritage is important but that it is just another
facet of the cultural hybridity that comprises the Panamanian nation. Wilson and
Russell, who both migrated to the United States during the second half of the 20th
century, continue to envision Panama during the height of the national anti-West
Indian sentiment that they both experienced as youngsters residing on the Isthmus.
Perhaps Maloney is less radical than his counterparts because he continues to reside
on the Isthmus. The Panama that he experienced and continues to remember, recall,
and recollect is not one of the past but of the present and thus is slightly less divisive.
Clearly, Maloney integrates all voices of Afro-Panama into his poetry and
demonstrates that it is possible to preserve the West Indian identity in
Panamanian society without marginalizing blacks of non-West Indian ancestry on
the Isthmus and abroad, as Wilson’s prose does.
Carlos E. Russell’s Quest to Preserve the Caribbean in Panama

Whereas Gerardo Maloney makes an effort to integrate the voices of Afro-Panama
into his poetry, Carlos Russell’s (2003) book-length manuscript The Last Buffalo: ‘Are
Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry an Endangered Species?’ yearns to maintain the
Anglophone Caribbean in Panama. A Panamanian of West Indian descent who
resides in the United States, Russell is Professor Emeritus of the City University of
New York–Brooklyn College. Russell represents many other Panamanian nationals
who migrated to the United States during the second half of the 20th century for
economic advancement. Although he lives in the United States, Russell has dedicated
his life to the preservation of Panamanian West Indian culture, language, and
heritage through his literature and political activism. In his poetry12 and prose,
Russell attempts to reconcile his Anglophone Caribbean heritage with that of his
Panamanian one. Russell is perhaps the most radical of the three members of this
literary generation because of his insistence on the preservation of West Indian
heritage not only through memory and education but also through language. His
book-length essay informs us about the construction of identity and how various
ethnic groups appropriate hybrid political identities that are often rooted in
homogeneous discourses of whiteness.
In The Last Buffalo, Russell ponders the possibility of an eventual loss of Caribbean
culture among the present generation of Panamanian West Indians and identifies his
fear that the Panamanian of Anglophone Caribbean ancestry is in danger of
extinction. Russell’s angst responds to decades of West Indian exclusion from the
Panamanian nation-state and the fear that the current generation of Panamanian
West Indians will assimilate and no longer speak English, the language of their
Anglophone Caribbean ancestors. The Last Buffalo expresses concern over the loss of
Caribbean identity in the current generations of Panamanians of West Indian
ancestry. Russell theorizes that the loss of English among Anglophone Caribbeans,
the disconnect with their native homeland of Jamaica and/or Barbados, the exclusive
use of Spanish, and the Caribbean’s assimilation into Panamanian culture and
society, all denote a decline in the efficacy of Panamanian West Indian culture.
Russell’s (2003, p. 20) doubts about the preservation of Caribbean culture and
heritage in Panama lead him to ponder the question: ‘Where do we, as a Caribbean
people, fit within the social and political configuration of the Republic of Panama?’
In effect, according to Russell, West Indians are analogous to the last buffalo that is in
danger of extinction.
Russell believes that the loss of Caribbean culture is due to assimilation. In this
respect, he rejects the assimilation thesis of George Westerman, who argued for
250 S. S. Watson
Afro-Caribbeans to illustrate their compatibility with the Panamanian nation
through their similarities in spite of their racial and cultural distinctions. Whereas
Westerman and others campaigned for Panamanian West Indians to assimilate into
Panamanian culture and society, Russell renounces this strategy and calls upon West
Indians to maintain their cultural and linguistic ties with the Caribbean. The only
possible way to maintain ties with the Caribbean is to not only be knowledgeable of
the heritage and these customs but to practice these customs; that is, by speaking the
language fluently. Language is central to maintaining Russell’s Caribbean and
Panamanian identity but further complicates national identity in Panama where
many West Indians are bilingual speakers of English-based Creole13 and Spanish.
Russell’s choice to write primarily in English does not reflect his proficiency, or lack
there of, in either language. He is completely fluent in both Spanish and English, and
as he acknowledges in The Last Buffalo, which is written primarily in English: ‘I am an
‘Aguilucho’14 and it would be strange to graduate from the eagle’s nest and not
dominate the Spanish language’ [‘Yo soy aguilucho y serı́a raro egresar del nido de
águilas y no dominar el español’] (Russell, 2003, p. 32). Clearly, for Russell, the use of
English equates black nationalism and the loss of it suggests a denial of his African
(i.e. West Indian) roots. As Russell (2003, p. 32) informs us:
[m]y reason for choosing English is in keeping with my commitment to that ‘Last
Buffalo’, and my sense that there is a desperate need to preserve our heritage. To do so
we must master the English language, for English was the primary language of our
Caribbean forbearers.
The threat is obvious – language loss signifies the obliteration of Russell’s
Anglophone Caribbean heritage. The use of English in a Spanish-colonized territory
is not viewed in conflict. For him, English is a constitutive part of Panamanian
heritage and identity, and has been since his Caribbean ancestors migrated to
Panama for economic advancement over a century ago. The use of English in
Panama remains important for Russell because, as Fanon (1967, pp. 17–18) asserts,
‘[t]o speak . . . means above all to assume a culture, to support the weight of a
civilization’. For Russell, this civilization and culture is comprised of both the
Panamanian and Caribbean cultural element, neither of which he is willing to
relinquish.
It is important to note that other Panamanian Caribbeans disagree with Russell’s
belief that Panamanians of West Indian descent are an endangered species. Nor do
they believe that speaking English is the principal way to preserve West Indian culture
in Panama. Panamanian West Indian journalist and attorney Alberto Barrow is one
of these people. He notes:
But to present English as the fundamental base of our Panamanian Caribbean identity
does not seem to me to be a good idea. In effect, that choice denies the multicultural
and multilingual richness of our people, congealing it in the past, creating unnecessary
limits, that are unattainable, that separate us from other black Spanish-speaking peoples
of our country, including our progenitors. Unlike my colleague and friend Carlos
Russell, I do not believe that it is possible to recreate in Panama what they call a
Caribbean identity . . . In conclusion, maintaining the language is not an indispensable
requirement in order to preserve ethnic identity.
[Pero presentar al inglés como la base fundamental de nuestra identidad panameño-
caribeña no me luce como una propuesta del todo buena. En efecto, ello niega la riqueza
multicultural y multilingüe de nuestra gente, congelándolo en el pasado, creando lı́mites
innecesarios, no aconsejables, que nos separan de otros negros hispanoparlantes de
nuestro paı́s, incluı́dos nuestros progenitores. A diferencia de mi colega y amigo Carlos
Russell, no creo necesario ni posible recrear en Panamá lo que él llama una identidad
caribeña . . . En definitiva, mantener la lengua no es un requisito indispensable para
conservar la identidad étnica.]
(Barrow & Priestley, 2003, pp. 264–265)
Barrow’s sentiments are less radical than Russell’s and perhaps express views of other
Panamanians of West Indian descent (such as Gerardo Maloney) who do not feel that
it is necessary or even realistic that current generations will be able to speak the
language of their ancestors fluently. Barrow also illustrates the fear that the exclusive
use of English will separate this generation of Panamanian West Indians from their
progenitors and further alienate them. Russell’s belief is not surprising because
‘[m]embers of a group who feel their cultural and political identity is threatened are
likely to make particularly assertive claims about the social importance of
maintaining or resurrecting their language’ (LePage & Tabouret-Keller, 1985,
p. 236). Understandably, he is concerned about the current generation of
Panamanian West Indians and their relation to their ancestors’ Caribbean homelands
of Jamaica and Barbados. Russell privileges his Anglophone Caribbean heritage over
his Panamanian one even though both experiences resulted in the separation from
his African roots. However, Russell clearly equates his West Indian ancestry with the
use of English and most importantly with blackness. The Last Buffalo ends with the
hope that the current generation of Panamanian West Indians will preserve
Caribbean culture on the Isthmus. In a conversation with a young West Indian
woman in Panama, he is pleased when she responds to him in English meaning that
she has not ‘forgotten’ her roots. Perhaps the Panamanian of Caribbean ancestry is
not an ‘endangered species’ as the title of his piece suggests.
Wilson, Maloney, and Russell form part of the same literary generation of
Panamanian West Indians but react differently to the mestizaje ideology of the
Panamanian nation-building period. Their works demonstrate that the Anglophone
Caribbean heritage continues to thrive in Panama. Each of these writers differs in the
way he presents the problematic of identity of the Panamanian West Indian. It is
evident that Maloney’s works constitute not only that of the Hispanic Caribbean but
also of the greater African Diaspora. Maloney is not only concerned with relating the
contributions that West Indians have made to the Isthmus, but also with portraying
black culture in Panama of West Indians and non-West Indians. That is to say, his
poetry does not privilege one group over the other and depicts Afro-America. For
Russell, Spanish is a means of communication, but it is not a symbol of the Afro-
Caribbean experience. Russell insists on preserving West Indian culture in Panama
through the preservation of language. While Russell aims to educate Afro-
Caribbeans, Wilson directs his works to the Panamanian of non-West Indian
ancestry and aims to educate the general population about West Indian contributions
to the Isthmus. His novels clearly focus on national prejudice directed toward West
Indians. However, in his efforts to denounce Panamanian national anti-West Indian
252 S. S. Watson
sentiment, he marginalizes and further separates Afro-Caribbeans from Afro-
Hispanics. This contradicts the goal of his texts, which is to unite the two populations
and to fully incorporate the West Indian into the Panamanian nation-state. It is clear
that Carlos Russell is merely concerned with the Panamanian of West Indian descent
as his book-length essay illustrates. He views Panama’s West Indian ancestry as a
separate expression of panameñidad and as a part of the larger Anglophone Caribbean
Basin. While it is important to view this population as a part of the Anglophone
English-speaking Caribbean, Russell marginalizes the population not only from
Afro-Hispanics in Panama but also from those populations of the Hispanic
Caribbean. Bilingual in Spanish and English, Maloney, Wilson, and Russell are
perhaps similar to the last buffalo in that they represent one of the last generations of
Panamanian West Indian writers who are able to fluently write and speak the
language of their Caribbean ancestors. However, they each contribute to the
preservation of this heritage by relating the West Indian experience in Panama,
which is a larger part of the Afro-Panamanian experience and the Caribbean Basin.
By doing so, their works further illustrate Panama’s hybrid cultural identity and
diversity that is colored by not only Spanish influences, but by African and Caribbean
ones as well.
Notes
[1] The term generation refers to those writers of Caribbean ancestry in Panama born between
1934 and 1945. Thus, it refers to the literary generation and not the years that the writer’s
ancestors have resided on the Isthmus. Members of this literary generation include Gerardo
Maloney (born 1945), Carlos Russell (born 1934), Carlos Wilson (born 1941), and Melva
Lowe de Goodin (born 1945), the latter who is analyzed in a separate study (see Watson
2005).
[2] The term duality is used to emphasize that Panamanian West Indians belong geograph-
ically and culturally to both Panama and the Caribbean. It is not my intention to
exclude their multiple allegiances to Africa, Latin America, the Caribbean, and the United
States.
[3] The Jim Crow system in the American South was based on a racial hierarchy that relegated
blacks to an inferior status of whites. It led to segregation laws that prevented blacks from
attaining the same status as whites. In the Canal Zone, this racial hierarchy led to the creation
of a dual pay system (Gold Roll and Silver Roll) that provided US workers with more
economic and living privileges than other citizens. Those designated as Gold Roll employees
were primarily whites from the United States, and those on the Silver Roll were ‘colored’
Panamanians, black West Indians, Europeans, and Colombians (Conniff, 1985, pp. 32–36;
Greene, 2009, p. 127). Gold Roll employees earned twice as much as Silver Roll employees for
the same position.
[4] In the United States, one drop of African blood means that you are black.
[5] Mulato refers to someone of African and European heritage. Although moreno refers to
someone who is brown in terms of physical appearance, it can also describe someone of
African ancestry but often subtly points to the person’s blackness. However, this term is
ambiguous because it can categorize someone of non-African descent who has dark features.
Negro symbolizes someone who is of African heritage and visibly black.
[6] Stutzman (1981, pp. 68–69) lists five thematic components of Ecuadorian nationality that led
to the exclusion of ethnicity in Puyo, Ecuador: (1) the capital is the center of the nation;
(2) the nation is urban, and therefore excludes the indigenous peoples that surround the
capital; (3) a minority elite controls the nation; (4) the nation is mestizo; and (5) cultural
change comes from the outside.
[7] Chombo is a term of disrespect used against Panamanian West Indians.
[8] The Carter Torrijos treaty guaranteed that Panama would gain control of the Panama Canal
after 1999, which would end the control that the United States had exercised since 1903.
[9] For more information on Panamanian nation-building and the mestizaje rhetoric, see Peter
Szok’s (2001) ‘La última gaviota’: Liberalism and Nostalgia in Early Twentieth Century
Panamá.
[10] In 1941 President Arnulfo Arias instituted Law 26, which made it a requirement to speak
Spanish to become a citizen. West Indians were encouraged to give up their own culture and
adopt that of Panama or leave (Conniff, 1985, p. 4).
[11] Romaine (1995, p.121) defines code-switching as ‘the juxtaposition within the same speech
exchange of passages of speech belonging to two different grammatical systems or
subsystems’.
[12] Russell’s collections of poetry Miss Anna’s Son Remembers (1976), An Old Woman
Remembers (1995), and Remembranzas y lágrimas [Memories and Tears] (2001) and book-
length essay The Last Buffalo: ‘Are Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry an Endangered
Species?’ (Russell, 2003) all propose similar questions of Caribbean identity loss in Panama.
[13] The terms ‘English-based Creole’ and ‘English’ are used interchangeably to identify the
language spoken by the West Indian population. However, it is important to recognize that
the English referred to is an English-based Creole. In the Dictionary of Panamanian English,
Thomas Brereton (2001, pp. v–vi) acknowledges: ‘The language spoken by the Caribbean
people who immigrated to Panama, their descendants and by others who have learned it
from them is an English-based Creole. Creoles are languages with multilingual roots and are
primarily lexified by one language but show influences of one or more other languages in
their lexicon, syntax, and phonology. Throughout the city of Panama the language of
Antillean Panamanians is commonly known as English’.
[14] Aguiluchos are students of Panama’s National Institute, a school once known for its high
educational standards.
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Sonja Stephenson Watson is at the University of Texas at Arlington, Department of Modern

Languages, Box 19557, Arlington, TX 76019, USA (Email: Swatson1@uta.edu).

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Latin American and Caribbean Ethnic Studies

ISSN: 1744-2222 (Print) 1744-2230 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rlac20

Are Panamanians of Caribbean Ancestry an

Sonja Stephenson Watson

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/17442220903331605

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