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A Modern Paradise: Garifuna Land, Labor, and Displacement-in-PlaceAuthor(s): Sharlene MollettSource: Latin American Perspectives, Vol. 41, No. 6, AFRICAN-DESCENDED AMERICANS,DISPLACEMENT, AND NEOLIBERALISM: ENVIRONMENTAL JUSTICE AS A HUMAN RIGHT(November 2014), pp. 27-45Published by: Sage Publications, Inc.Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/24573989Accessed: 24-08-2019 15:59 UTC

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A Modern Paradise

Garifuna Land, Labor, and Displacement-in-Place by

Sharlene Mollett

On the Honduran North Coast, the Afro-indigenous Garifuna struggle to maintain access to and control of their ancestral lands. Their concerns are due in part to the Honduran state's long-standing goal of modernizing the North Coast and providing an attractive site for foreign investment in land and tourism. The state's commitment to improving the country's development profile by opening coastal land ownership to for

eigners often overlooks international and constitutional recognition of communal forms of land tenure. Ethnographic participant observation in the Garifuna community of Tomabé, a fishing and farming village in the Tela Bay region, supplemented by semistruc

tured interviews, historical data collection, discourse analysis, and research on agrarian and environmental policy, suggests that Garifuna displacement is a product of the state's

development imaginaries, which racialize the Garifuna as backward and consider their blackness redeemable only by their labor.

En la costa norte de Honduras, los garifunas afro-indigenas luchan por mantener el acceso a y control de sus tierras ancestrales. Sus preocupaciones se deben en parte a la meta

de largo plazo del estado hondureno por modernizar la costa norte y hacerla atractiva a la

inversion extranjera en tierras y turismo. El compromiso del estado por mejorar el perfil

de desarrollo del pais accediendo a que exista propiedad extranjera en la region costena a menudo ignora el reconocimiento constitucional e internacional déformas comunales de tenencia de la tierra. Observaciôn etnogrâfica participante en la comunidad garifuna de Tomabé, una aldea de pescadores y agricultores en la region de Bahîa de Tela, complemen tada con entrevistas semi-estructuradas, recopilaciôn de datos histôricos, anâlisis del dis

curso e investigaciôn sobre polîtica agraria y ambiental, sugiere que el desplazamiento forzado garifuna es un producto de imaginarios de desarrollo estatales que los racializan

como rétrogradas y consideran que su negrura solo es redimible a través de su trabajo.

Keywords: L,arifuna, Displacement, Kaciaiization, I ounsm, Honduras

Sharlene Mollett is a critical cultural geographer and an assistant professor in the Centre for Critical Development Studies and the Geography Department at the University of Toronto, Scarborough Canada. Her research interrogates the multiple ways in which race, gender, and racialization inform natural-resource conflicts in the context of protected-area management and tourism in Central America. She thanks the Garifuna community of Tornabé, the Organization de Desarrollo Étnico Comunitario, and the city of Tela for their openness and support for this research project. She is grateful to LAP reviewers for their constructive and supportive comments, to the Geography Department at the University of Washington and the African and African American Studies Program at Dartmouth for inviting her to participate in their speaker series, to Roderick Neumann for his

supportive and constructive suggestions on an earlier draft of this paper, and to Chris Loperena for his insightful comments about the future of development on the Honduran North Coast.

LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES, Issue 199, Vol. 41 No. 6, November 2014,27-45 DOI: 10.1177/0094582X13518756

© 2014 Latin American Perspectives

27


28 LATIN AMERICAN PERSPECTIVES

After the 2009 military coup in Honduras, President-elect Porfilio Lobo vowed to do more than get the country back on track. Following a one-year hiatus of foreign development financing, he proclaimed that Honduras was "open for business," a government mantra that promised not just economic recovery but the transformation of Honduras into a modern and "world-class" destination (Repüblica de Honduras, 2011). Under the National Investment Promotion Program (2010-2014), the state promised "deep institutional and legal reforms to position Honduras as the most attractive investment destina tion in Latin America" (Repüblica de Honduras, 2011). A key area for foreign investment was tourism. The state's investment strategy targeted the Caribbean North Coast as a development priority (Repüblica de Honduras, 2011), while the Honduran Tourism Institute, a government agency, argued that "according to new market trends, the ability to combine sun and beaches with first-class nature make this region the most attractive to allure the increasing demand of international tourists" (Repüblica de Honduras, 2011). Minister of Tourism Nelly Jerez said, "We are going to exploit [the coast] as a way to realize the dream that we have always had: to develop Tela Bay as they did in Cancün. We are going to transform ourselves into the Cancün of Central America!" (quoted in Trucchi, 2010:3).

While such prose may appear benign, it is part of a state imaginary shaping North Coast development. Tela Bay is the site of the Indura (formerly Los Micos) Beach and Golf Resort, which boasts an 18-hole golf course, a number of five-star hotels, an equestrian center, 400 private villas, shopping centers, bars, restaurants, and pools. Yet Tela is also the home of roughly 25,000 Garifuna, and they are critical to Honduras's dream of its own "Cancün" devel opment imaginary. Formerly known as the Black Carib, the Garifuna are the descendants of seventeenth-century escaped African slaves and Carib and Arawakan Indians who lived on the island of St. Vincent. In 1797 the British,

fearing a Carib-French alliance, deported the dark-skinned Caribs from St. Vincent to the island of Roatan (also British-controlled). Moving from Roatan to the Honduran mainland in the early 1800s, the Garifuna established settle ments from the Department of Cortés to Gracias a Dios (an area referred to as the Mosquitia). Today there are more than 50 Garifuna villages and hamlets along the North Coast and in the bay islands (Pinto, 2002). Culturally, the Garifuna are distinguished by a blend of West African and Amerindian cul tural practices including collective land holding, subsistence farming, artisanal fishing, the dance known as the punta, and the Garifuna language. Their dis tinct cultural traditions were declared a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO in 2001 and are slated to be a key attraction for international tourism.

This development dream was born in the mid-1970s with the creation of the Honduran Tourism Institute. One of the institute's first projects was the devel

opment of tourism in Tela Bay, taking advantage of Garifuna cultural differ ence as a key component of Honduran folklore (Euraque, 2003; Lopez Garcia, 2006). As they gradually established a small tourism market in Tela, institute officials came to believe that international tourism was stunted by a long standing constitutional provision designed to protect the sovereignty of the country (Lopez Garcia, 2006). Article 107 reads:


Möllen IGARIFUNA DISPLACEMENT-IN-PLACE 29

The land of the Republic, municipal, communal and private property situated on the border zones with neighboring states and on the shores of both oceans for 40 kilometers inland, and the islands, cays, reefs, cliffs, and sand banks, may only be acquired and possessed by Hondurans by birth or corporations made up of only Honduran stockholders and by state institutions, punishable by annulment of the respective title or contract.

The prohibition of foreign ownership of coastal lands became the subject of criticism in the late 1990s. The president of the National Congress, Rafael Pineda Ponce, proposed modifying Article 107 to allow foreign ownership of coastal lands for those willing to invest in tourism. He argued that the article "discriminated" against the possibility of Honduras's profiting from its "wealth of nature, pristine beaches, and living cultures" such as the Garifuna (La Prensa, October 9,1998). Widespread resistance from the country's indigenous and Afro-descendant populations confronted the proposed reform and cited Garifuna displacement as a top concern (ODECO, 1999; Hondurans This Week, August 3,1998). Nonetheless, the congress passed this reform on November 2, 1998, just two days after Hurricane Mitch had pummeled shorelines, destroy ing homes and crops, killing thousands of people, and leaving many home less.1 La Prensa ran the story of a Garifuna woman who waded in the floodwaters for seven days (La Prensa, December 4,1998). In the small coastal city of Tela (46,000) the irony of the two news stories did not go unnoticed by many Garifuna. Marcela Thomas, a cook at a Tela hotel, lamented, "While she clung to logs and branches desperate for dry land, her government was selling her land to gringos." More than a decade later, on April 1,2011, during a gov ernment-sponsored celebration of the 214th anniversary of Garifuna settlement in Honduras, a coalition of Garifuna organizations rallied against the Lobo regime, denouncing the violence and repression aimed at indigenous and Afro indigenous communities. Protesters denounced the foreignization of the North Coast and the forthcoming opening of the Indura Beach and Golf Resort: "The Dispossession of Lands Is Racism: Territory to the Garifuna People!" (OFRANEH, 2011, cited in Anderson, 2012).

This paper draws upon ethnographic data and semistructured interviews conducted in 1998 and 1999 in the Garifuna community of Tornabé, semistruc tured interviews with government officials in 2000-2008, historical data, and secondary sources. In it I outline the way in which regional and national racial ideologies shape Garifuna subjectivity in Honduras and then show that Garifuna's collective land tenure arrangements are being eroded by the state's development plans. I argue that threats to Garifuna land tenure are part of a long-standing postcolonial development narrative that problematizes black ness and truncates Garifuna economic development. This process continues today through legal and institutional development mechanisms operational ized at the state and municipal levels. I conclude that Garifuna displacement is a product of the state's development imaginaries, which racialize the Garifuna as backward and consider their blackness redeemable only by their labor. As a result, the Garifuna occupy a precarious space as almost-citizens who are key to the making of the nation but without rights to its rendering.

In Honduras, state development policy and practice are underpinned by dislocation, a process I refer to as "displacement-in-place." I situate this paper in the spaces between postcolonial political ecology and critical racial studies.



A postcolonial political ecology problematizes mainstream development poli cies that treat land insecurity and poverty as technical problems and therefore offer only technical and apolitical solutions such as land titling and microcredit (Le Billon, 2001; Neumann, 2005; Robbins, 2004). It highlights the power rela tions that link development with the social, calling for policies that not only mitigate power inequities but require a reconceptualization of development itself (Escobar, 1995; Ferguson, 1994; Wainwright, 2008). It pays particular attention to the continuity of colonial power relations in contemporary devel opment practices and the way in which they shape access to land and natural resources (Escobar, 1995; 2010; Neumann, 1998; Peluso and Vandergeest, 2011; Power, 2003).

I use the term "displacement-in-place" to reflect on the postcolonial com plexity of the "multiple historical/geographical determinations, connec tions, and articulations" (Hart, 2006:984) that shape Garifuna dispossession. Development in its many forms is concerned with remaking space (Hart, 2002; Vandergeest, 2003), but space is shaped also by displacements (Cernea and McDowell, 2000; Escobar, 2003; Vandergeest, Idahosa, and Bose, 2006). This of course is not new. Most development organizations and practitio ners come armed with policies to mitigate the displacing effects of their development models (Cernea and McDowell, 2000; Penz, Drydyk, and Bose, 2011; Vandergeest, Idahosa, and Bose, 2006). Much more subtle than the flooding of agricultural plains that displaces small farmers with the con struction of dams (Scudder, 2012) or the enclosure of protected areas for biodiversity conservation (West, Igoe, and Brockington, 2006), however, much displacement does not involve physical movement but takes the form of constraints on livelihoods and cultural practices and as a result "dis places futures" (Brand, 2001; Katz, 2004:162; Vandergeest, Idahosa, and Bose, 2006).

For some, this expanded definition may "obscure the plight of those who are physically separated from their lands and homes" (Agrawal and Redford, 2009: 2). Agrawal and Redford define development-induced displacement as "the removal of a thing from its place, putting out of place." I choose to refer to Garifuna land loss, reproduced through a racialized development regime, as displacement-in-place to emphasize the fact that not only is displacement part of development but also "place" and its meanings, hierarchies, and discursive representations are bound up in these processes in place-specific ways. Honduran state development projects on the North Coast, while dislocating the Garifuna from their collective territorial claims, require that they remain close by because their labor is central to the spatial imaginary of tourism devel opment built around Honduran folklore and their "living culture" (Repüblica de Honduras, 2011). Thus struggles over natural resources are not simply explained by changes in political economy; rather, racial and cultural ideolo gies are embedded in development and modernization projects (Andolina, Radcliffe, and Laurie, 2005; Hale, 2005; Neumann, 2005; Ngweno, 2007; Radcliffe, 2007; Sundberg, 2008).


Mollett IGARIFUN A DISPLACEMENT-IN-PLACE 31

BLACKNESS AND MESTIZAJE

Racialization, the production of social hierarchies and power inequities that assign both privilege and punishment along racial and cultural lines, is rele vant to the examination of international development processes and narratives of modernization and progress (Appelbaum, Macpherson, and Rosemblatt, 2003; Bonnett and Nayak, 2003; Escobar, 1995; Fanon, 1967; Kothari, 2006; Spurr, 1993). Development narratives discursively reproduce the global South as "different," "inferior," and "backward" (Chakrabarty, 2000; Escobar, 1995; Ferguson, 1994; Power, 2003; Radcliffe, 2007), and in Latin America racialized hierarchies affect development practices (e.g., agrarian reform, biodiversity conservation, land titling programs, water and sanitation) with jarring conse quences for the region's indigenous and Afro-descendant populations.

Garifuna displacement in Tornabé occurs in spite of multicultural constitu tional reforms. Over the past 15 years, the collective positioning of indigenous and Afro-descendant communities vis-à-vis Latin American states has

improved with state-led democratization. In addition, pressure on the state from indigenous and Afro-descendant social movements has empowered com munities in their struggles against increasing poverty, land-tenure insecurity, encroachments by outsiders, and exclusion from employment, health care, and education (Dixon and Burdick, 2012; Hooker, 2008; Rahier, 2012; Sanchez, 2008). For Honduras, multicultural reforms brought recognition of the multi ethnic and multicultural composition of the country, collective rights to bilin gual education for indigenous and Afro-descendant Hondurans, and ratification of the ILO's Convention 169 and the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Among the development improvements is the Intersectoral Commission for the Titling, Extension, Recovery, and Protection of the Lands of the Garifuna and Miskito Communities of Honduras, which aims to guarantee Miskito and Garifuna collective property rights. Its protec tions extend to "those that constitute their functional habitat and are regarded as ancestral [lands] under the ILO Convention No. 169" (ILO, 1989; Repüblica de Honduras, 2001).

In Latin America state distribution of collective property titles has tended to benefit the collective land tenure regimes of indigenous peoples more than those of Afro-descendants (Hooker, 2005; Walsh, 2012). As Catherine Walsh (2012:17) puts it, "It has been indigenous peoples, not African descendants, who have set the frame and the claim—both in the past and the present—for cultural-ancestral difference, collective identity, and social, cultural, and terri torial rights." In state and elite imaginings, indigenous people have "culture" and blacks do not (Hooker, 2008; Ngweno, 2007). When Afro-descendant pop ulations have succeeded in making land claims, their success has often been explained in terms of their employment of "indigenous-like" narratives and strategies (Anderson, 2007; Hooker, 2005; Ngweno, 2007). The treatment of the Garifuna as "indigenous-like" in the constitution does not, however, affect the racialized imaginaries that represent the Garifuna (despite the fact that they were present before the consolidation of the nation-state) as "upstarts" and



"foreigners" whose presence on the North Coast is made acceptable only by their capacity for labor in the cause of national development.

Garifuna subjectivity is in part shaped by regional racial hierarchies. In Latin America, race is a prominent aspect of the distribution of rights and resources (Andolina, Radcliffe, and Laurie, 2005; Appelbaum, Macpherson, and Rosemblatt, 2003; Hooker, 2008; Mollett, 2006; 2011; Sundberg, 2008; Warren, 2001). Contemporary racial hierarchies are the result of the persis tence of the notion of mestizaje, blood and cultural mixing, as the path to a homogeneous nationalism and elevated global status. Inherent in mestizaje is the idealization of whiteness and its achievement through a process of whiten ing (Bonnett, 2000; Radcliffe and Westwood, 1996; Wade, 2001; Whitten and Torres, 1998). The ideology underpinning mestizaje attempts to obscure its racist exclusion by proclaiming "racial democracy" (Gould, 1998; Rahier, 2003; Wade, 2001). While brown-skinned Indians have always been visible and part of the nation-state in Latin America (Hooker, 2005; Ngweno, 2007; Wade, 1997; 2001), Afro-descendants have been invisible and "othered" (Dixon and Burdick, 2012; Rahier, 2003; Wade, 1997; 2001; Whitten and Torres, 1998). They are rarely imagined as part of the "ideological biologies of national identity" (Rahier, 2012:1). These naturalized hierarchies reflect a "coloniality of power" grounded in the notion of race (Quijano, 2000). The discourses and practices of whitening place Indians above blacks and view blackness as degenerate (Mollett, 2006; Thompson, 2004; Walsh, 2012). The persistence of mestizaje is visible in the "narratives of white supremacy" (Quijano, 2000; Rahier, 2003:42) that assume that nonwhites seek whiteness as a path to modernity (Bonnett, 2000; Rahier, 2003).

My analysis tempers the popular notion that neoliberal multiculturalism has replaced mestizaje as a system of governance (Anderson, 2009; Hale, 2005). While certain events fit nicely into this framework (see Brondo and Woods, 2007), whitening remains a key operating logic in the shaping of racial hierar chies in Honduras and sets the stage for neoliberal multiculturalism's "menac ing" impacts on the majority of indigenous and Afro-descendant peoples (Hale, 2002; Radcliffe, 2007). Whiteness is woven into the development of capitalism and modernity. Notwithstanding the recent creation of the Secretariat for the Development of Indigenous and Afro-Honduran Peoples and the Promotion of Policies of Racial Equality, Honduras is known for its racial prejudice. As the UN's special rapporteur points out (Diere, 2004), "Such prejudice is a legacy of the colonial conquest and the slave holding system, which, by subjugating these peoples and belittling their identities and cultures on the basis of an openly racist ideology, have effectively marginalized them in a lasting way at the political, social, economic, and cultural levels."

THE GARIFUNA AND DISPLACEMENT-IN-PLACE

The Garifuna village of Tornabé is located on the North Coast in the munic ipality of Tela in the Department of Atlântida. Tela is almost equally distant from Honduras's second- and third-largest cities, San Pedro Sula and La Ceiba. It is the municipal center for roughly 100,000 people in both rural and urban


Mollett IGARIFUNA DISPLACEMENT-IN-PLACE 33

areas. (Procorredor 2011). Previously the home of the United Fruit and Tela Railroad Companies, for the past 80 years it has been a sleepy fishing town in which the beach, the climate, and the hospitality of the locals fuel the dream of its becoming a bustling tourist destination.

Tela contains six Garifuna communities: Rio Tinto, Miami, Tornabé, San Juan, Triunfo de la Cruz, and La Ensenada. Tornabé (population 4,000), founded in 1885, is 5 kilometers from Tela and is predominantly Garifuna, with ladinos making up fewer than 10 percent of the population. Most villagers speak both Garifuna and Spanish. Subsistence farming and fishing are the main livelihood strategies, but roughly half of the villagers receive remittances from family in the United States or Europe (ODECO staff member, interview, La Ceiba, 2003). Women cultivate crops and sell products in the market in Tela. They also sell to tourists who come to Tornabé for "authentic" ereba (cassava bread), machuca (mashed green plantains served with whitefish or shellfish and coconut broth), or pan de coco (coconut bread). Yuca is a staple among the Garifuna and is central to Garifuna identity on the North Coast. Lily, who owns a small restaurant on the beach, says, "The Garifuna people belong on the coast because that is where we harvest our food. Yuca [laughing], like us, is durable. It grows in sandy soil" (interview, February 1999). Garifuna connections to coastal lands are grounded not only in livelihoods but in practices such as the dugu, an intricate two-week-long ritual that honors the ancestors of a commu nity member who is gravely ill or suffers an affliction untreatable by Western medicine. Under the guidance of a buyai (shaman), worshipers contribute locally produced foods ranging from game to medicinal rum. The freedom and frequency of travel along coastal beaches to and from Tela's commercial center are key to the control of place, allowing cash-poor villagers to move about between communities without paying the cost of bus transport. Access to the beach also provides cooler travel to Tela than the gravel and dirt roads and is important for the economic activities of Tornabé villagers.

State and municipal development practice threatens the integrity of Garifuna communal land titles. The Honduran constitution guarantees the communal land rights of "ethnic" groups, "particularly in the land and forest in which they are settled" (Repüblica de Honduras, 1982: Art. 346). Under the Law of Modernization, indigenous peoples have the right to have lands titled com munally (Repüblica de Honduras, 1992). With communal title, improvements to land can be bought and sold by individuals within the community, but all land is held by the government and cannot be sold to non-Garifuna. Land use rights depend upon inheritance, residence, and ethnic identity (Mollett, 2000).

Tornabé has a communal title awarded by the National Agrarian Institute in 1992, but in the past 10 years the title has been rendered almost meaningless. First, it was awarded in exchange for 500 hectares of communal agricultural land. The former president of the village government, Tulio Lano, explained: "INA [the institute] told us that these lands [the 500 hectares] would be public land used for infrastructure development [potable water and sanitation ser vices] for the Tela Bay Project and that we, the communities of Tornabé and Miami [a small Garifuna hamlet to the west], would have rights to these ser vices" (interview, 2003). However, in 1994 the community learned that the lands had been sold to Maltwood Development, a Canadian company and a



key investor in the Tela Bay Project. According to the former executive director of the environmentalist nongovernmental organization Fundacion PROLANSATE (Foundation for the Protection of Lancetilla, Punta Sal, and Texiguat), the Honduran Tourism Institute had an agreement with Maltwood that the state would provide the road, electricity, water, and sewers prior to the development of tourist infrastructure (Mollett, 2000). Between 1994 and 2000, the state was unable to do more than build the road, leaving villagers in Tornabé feeling duped (Garifuna guide at Fundaciön PROLANSATE, interview, Tela, 2003). Making matters worse, in 1998 Hurricane Mitch flooded villages and caused millions of dollars in damage. With the government declaring a state of emergency and appeals for international assistance, investment in the Tela Bay Project froze (former director of Fundacion PROLANSATE, interview, 2003). Because the process of communal land titling in Honduras involves three steps—titling, the removal of nonindigenous people, and the recovery of agri cultural lands (Gregoria Flores, interview, 2003)—along with most Garifuna communities Tornabé is awaiting this final step.

Garifuna displacement also occurs through protected-area enclosure. Bianca Jeannette Kawas National Park (or Punta Sal), created in 1994, is on the Ramsar List of Wetlands of International Importance, and it has changed natural resource access for the Garifuna population at Tela Bay. Tornabé lies within the buffer zone for the park, and this means that land use is limited to subsistence farming and that what were once prime fishing areas are now off-limits. Agricultural and forested lands have also been greatly reduced. Because pro tected areas in Honduras are state property, park land cannot be used to restore Tornabé's agricultural lands.

The park is managed by the Fundacion PROLANSATE, which is also respon sible for the management of the Texiguat wildlife refuge (established in 1987) and Punto Izopo National Park (established in 2000). Private security guards patrol the boundaries of the national park and deny access to villagers despite ancestral rights (World Bank, 2007). Villagers insist that they have not been told the rules and therefore do not know what the state considers a violation, which makes them vulnerable to fines and mistreatment (Mollett, 2000). In the context

of protected-area expansion in T ela Bay, the former president of the Organization Fraternal Negra Hondurena (OFRANEH), Gregoria Flores, denounced the state's expansion of Punta Sal, rejecting "the desires of the powerful elite that have tried to expel us from our territories in Tela Bay... directly affecting our capacity to survive as a distinct culture" {El Tiempo, 2004). Roughly 60 percent of Garifuna communities are enclosed within protected areas (Miranda, 2009).

For many years the Fundacion PROLANSATE had argued that the Los Micos Beach and Golf Resort project failed to satisfy environmental impact assessment parameters because it would be located too close to the nucleus of the park. In 2006, however, the executive director said (Trucchi, 2010: 7):

Tela has been waiting for this project for more than 30 years It is necessary to foresee a scenario in which the communities have the best quality of life. What do we gain to have a protected area when we have people living in hor rible conditions without food security? It's here that we have to recognize that people do not live from conservation.


Möllen IGARIFUNA D1SPLACEMENT-IN-PLACE 35

This about-face regarding conservation did not, however, lead to the Garifuna's being granted access to the nucleus zones of Tela Bay's protected areas and having their agricultural lands returned. Rather, the foundation gave the green light to the development and expansion of the resort within the buf fer zone of Punta Sal.

UNSUITABLE LAND USES AND SUITABLE LABORERS

Contemporary threats to their land tenure security are part of a long-stand ing postcolonial development narrative that problematizes blackness and trun cates economic development among the Garifuna. Antiblack sentiment was already commonplace when the Garifuna arrived in Honduras in 1797 (Anderson, 2009; Mollett, 2006). Along with the Zambo-Miskito, also located on the North Coast, they were considered degenerate (Thompson, 2004; see also Mollett, 2006; 2011). In fact, "mulattoes, zambos, and free Negros all suf fered from the combination of illegitimacy and the stigma of slavery.... The most 'vile' birth of zambos and mulattoes was considered a fact beyond discus sion" (Mörner, 1967: 44-45). In 1804, the intendant governor of Honduras, Ramon de Anguiano, commenting on the growing Black Carib presence on the North Coast, argued that this "herd" brought little good to the nation and sug gested that "all this coast be left clean of blacks... before they multiply further ... in order to remove them from this Kingdom a people only good for itself [and] useless for our works" (Anguiano, 1946 [1804] :122—124).

However, only 10 years later Spanish officials sought to incorporate the Garifuna, despite their blackness, into the country (Thompson, 2004). According to José de Aycinena (quoted in Thompson, 2004: 23], converting the Black Caribs to Catholicism would improve

the temporal happiness of the whole province of Guatemala, since the Caribs are diligent in agriculture, incessant in the work of cutting exquisite woods, like "fish in the water" for fishing, skillful sailors, and brave soldiers. By virtue of their physical constitution they are strong and robust; for them, these climes are healthy, and they multiply in great numbers—wherefore they are very suitable for populating the immense wastelands of this coast with benefit to the state, and for forming settlements along the roads, which are so sorely lacking.

The harnessing of suitable black labor as a way to redeem blackness was further encouraged by competition over land with the expansion of the global banana trade in the last decades of the nineteenth century (Chambers, 2010; Euraque, 1996; 1998). In Tela, Garifuna farmers lost significant amounts of land to the fruit companies, often through violent confrontations (Lopez Garcia, 1994: 29-33). These displacements were often justified in terms of the alleged inappropriateness of Garifuna crop choices and their small plots. In 1896 Francisco Altschul, a ladino farmer, sought state support to exploit a significant coconut grove in Tela, arguing that the Garifuna, "having planted a very small number of coconut trees, take those of the Nation for their own" (Soluri, 1998: 82). Ladino farmers also maintained that "what the Moreno [Garifuna] calls a



crop is only miniscule plantings of yucca, made in the yards of their houses, that barely serve to maintain them" (Soluri, 1998: 81).2 But while they were considered inadequate as farmers, the Garifuna remained an important source of labor for the banana plantations and in the Tela Railway Company (Anderson, 2009; Euraque, 2003).

Complicating matters further, the Honduran government passed immigra tion laws in 1929 and 1934 that prohibited "the entry of Negroes, coolies, gyp sies, and Chinese into the territory of the Republic"(Repüblica de Honduras, 1934: Art. 14), While much of the nationalist rhetoric targeted West Indians, blackness was represented as a "threat" to the nation (Mollett, 2006). Despite being targeted by the antiblack rhetoric that treated them as foreign, the Garifuna's role as "suitable" labor persists and continues to shape Garifuna subjectivity.

CONTEMPORARY STATE DEVELOPMENT

LOGICS ON THE NORTH COAST

The historical trope of the Garifuna as suitable laborers looms large in the context of two development initiatives on the twenty-first-century North Coast: The Honduran Land Administration Program and the Indura project. Debates over North Coast tourism development have sparked Garifuna protest and mobilizations in Honduras since the mid-1990s (Anderson, 2009; El Tiempo, December 20,1998; Mollett, 2000). The battle over tourism is a battle over land

(Paley, 2010)). Garifuna leaders insist that tourism represents, "as always, an invasion of our habitat by the gringo; this time, maybe they aren't coming armed with rifles, but they are with their devaluation of our ancestral heritage, our culture and our national being" (ODECO, 1999, my translation). Despite these concerns, the state has legalized foreign ownership of coastal lands through a special provision in Article 107. It can declare coastal land a "tourism priority" and then use Law 90/90, which permits foreign ownership of urban land, to open a land market to foreigners (Repüblica de Honduras, 1982; 1990; World Bank, 2007). All six Garifuna communities in Tela are classified as "urban."

In 2004 the Honduran government, seeking debt relief under the International Monetary Fund /World Bank program for heavily indebted poor countries, launched the Honduran Land Administration Program. The central objective of this US$139 million and 12-year World Bank-funded program is to formalize the country's property rights systems, improve access to land for the poor, reduce the transaction costs of property transfers, and develop a market in land (World Bank, 2008). It considers land titling a way out of poverty (World Bank, 2004). In the development narratives of this program, rural poverty and extra legal land systems chain Honduras to the past (Repüblica de Honduras, 2004). In a two-page spread in El Heraldo (January 28, 2003), the former president Ricardo Maduro argues that Honduras has almost 800,000 undemarcated properties and that "such extralegal property arrangements are a sign of an outdated property system."



He goes on to say that most rural communities live on "extralegal land" and only 30 percent of the country's estimated 2.6 million parcels are legally regis tered. Complicating matters for the government is that the property arrange ments of roughly 500,000 indigenous and Afro-Honduran people do not conform to the individualized property regimes central to a mainstream model of land tenure modernization (Jansen, 1998; Mollett, 2006). Maduro holds that

"land regularization will ensure that ordinary Hondurans may invest in agri cultural inputs and sell their surplus as 'modern' contributors to the Honduran economy and the wealth of the nation-state" (Secretarfa de Gobernaciôn, 2004: 4). This assumes that individual title holders will use their titles as collateral for

credit. Thus modernity is linked with individual tenure arrangements and cul tural practices.

The Property Law (Republica de Honduras, 2004) that is a key component of the program is deemed the "most innovative property law in Latin America" (Coma-Cunill and Delion, n.d.). One of its aims is to regularize indigenous and Afro-descendant land claims. However, according to the OFRANEH, it does the opposite, and in 2006 this nongovernmental organization requested an inquiry into the World Bank's responsibility to consult indigenous communi ties in the management of the program (Anderson, 2009; World Bank, 2007). OFRANEH acknowledges that the property law provides for indigenous rights over ancestral lands and respects their communal land tenure regimes (Repüblica de Honduras, 2004: Arts. 93 and 94). However, at the same time outsiders living in the ancestral territories of indigenous peoples are afforded generous concessions. In fact, the Property Law makes legal the dissolution of communal tenure systems and "[authorizes] the rental of lands to third par ties" (World Bank, 2007: 57). With foreign ownership made legal under Law 90/90, OFRANEH fears that "the land titling and procedures under the project will ultimately cause the loss of their rights over parts of their ethnic lands and the demise of collective property held by Garifuna communities in favor of individual property" (World Bank, 2007: x). Thus the development of a market in land encourages encroachment by nonindigenous people, which will only complicate ownership and create conflict. Because the Property Law is a central component of the program, since 2007 the Garifuna have rejected any partici pation in it (World Bank, 2007).

The dismantling of Garifuna communal territories by tourism and neoliberal land policies are the newest version of a common tale of indigenous disposses sion. Communal titles have long been menaced by state and elite geographic imaginaries about what is suitable for North Coast development. According to the former minister of tourism Norman Garcia, Honduras loses millions of dol

lars each year because of a lack of tourism infrastructure compared with Costa Rica and Guatemala. "The North Coast is a tourist developer's dream There are 600 kilometers of uninhabited beach" (La Prensa, October 9,1998). The claim that the North Coast is uninhabited is of course a familiar fiction of conquest, using a word or phrase such as "empty," "no-man's," or "useless" to justify encroachment by denying the presence of people and their cultural practices on the land. In the face of Garifuna resistance to these claims, Antonio, an offi cial at the Honduran Institute of Tourism says, "It seems that the Garifuna want



to live in reservations like red-skinned Indians in the United States.... They need to integrate themselves into Honduran society" (La Prensa, December 4, 1998). State officials assume that living communally precludes integration into the wider society. In contrast, the Garifuna in Tela have worked for global banana conglomerates and for centuries have been tied to global networks of trade and migratory labor (England, 2006; Gonzalez, 1988). At the same time they overlook the fact that displacement of Native Americans and Garifuna peoples is central to mainstream development in the Americas.

According to a former executive director of the Fundaciön PROLANSATE, Raul Aviva (interview, Tela, 1999), "communal titles are an obstacle to state development plans for North Coast beaches." As a result, the state "comes and gives money to the community and offers poor people in the community a way out of their misery.... They will keep offering poor people a cheap price for their lands until they have sufficient amounts of land in the middle of the com munity and then chase the rest of us out." These observations are echoed by Mulonari, a Garifuna fisherman from neighboring Triunfo de la Cruz, who laments that "the government seeks to offer us communal land titles on one hand and on the other to blame us for our misfortune [the fracturing of com munal lands] when people are pressured to sell their lands because of coercion and poverty" (interview, 2003). As Escobar (2003:158) explains in the case of the Afro-Colombian displacement, modernity and development as "spatial cultural projects" require the subjugation of people and territories and demand ecological and cultural change shaped by "rational logocentric order." Projects of modernity are imbued with hegemonic notions of continual progress, indi viduation, and homogenization and linkages to capitalism filtered through the nation-state and the governance of daily life (Escobar, 1995; 2003).

The governing practices of Tela take Garifuna displacement for granted. When I asked Carlos, a ladino official and a surveyor in the Tela cadastral office, about Tornabé's eligibility for the restoration of its agricultural lands, he said, "Those little blacks2 don't pay taxes" and "live on free land" (interview, Tela, February 1999). When I followed up with an inquiry about whether ladino encroachments would complicate the village's access to recovering lost lands, his secretary, Angela (also in the room), remarked, "It is just hard to see such hardworking people [ladinos] struggling for land while the blacks run around on their poor women and leave their children without fathers. Hardworking families should have land. They deserve it." While at first it seemed to me that she had ignored my question, I later understood that she was indeed address ing it. In her opinion ladinos were more deserving of land than the Garifuna. It was clear, furthermore, that the cadastral office ignored international policies that grant the Garifuna people rights to the coast. As Victor Virgilio, a Garifuna agronomist in Tela, put it,

Our [Garifuna] relationship with the municipality is the same as it has been for many years. We stand in the way of their money. They see us as the enemy because we declare our rights to our ancestral lands. They forget that when we say these lands are "ancestral" we don't just mean that our ancestors lived and worked here. They died here, are buried here, are still here.


Mollett IGARIFUNA DISPLACEMENT-1N-PLACE 39

SUITABLE LABOR

While Garifuna land claims engender exclusionary state explanations, nar ratives of inclusion highlight Garifuna's labor as a key feature of Honduran "living culture." The former president Carlos Roberto Reina (quoted in El Heraldo, April 12, 1997), at a state-sponsored bicentennial celebration of the Garifuna's arrival, said,

Being a people of multiethnic origin, we are prepared to develop, from the natural and geographic advantages of our country, an ecotourism industry in which you, above all, can be effective protagonists, taking advantage of the force of your dances, the originality of your foods, the happiness of your char acter, and the natural beauty of these islands and all of the Atlantic littoral of Honduras.

The Garifuna and their coastal lands help provide a tourist landscape in the state's image. While there are certainly villagers who welcome tourism in Tornabé, most Garifuna aspire to jobs beyond being "janitors and waiters in the production of the state's tourism dream" (Maiden nature guide, interview, Tela, 2003). These experiences are not dissimilar to tourism projects elsewhere in the region (Babb, 2010; Castellanos, 2010). While it is too soon to tell what the impact of the promised 5,000 direct and 10,000 indirect jobs in Tela Bay will be, initial reports indicate unequal hiring practices, poor working conditions (low wages and outright lack of payment), and limited jobs for local people (Loperena, 2010; personal communication, 2011).

While the municipality and the state ignore, obscure, and erase Garifuna ancestral rights in the name of national development, ladino and gringo resi dents on the coast employ local Garifuna ancestral connections to the land as a basis for their own claims to Afro-indigenous space. Garifuna rights are central to the property claim strategies of nonindigenous people in Tornabé. For example, in the early 1990s Rodrigo, a former military official turned jew elry maker from Tegucigalpa, registered four manzanas of land with the municipality. "No one asked me how I acquired the land," he said. "They just told me how much tax I owed, I paid it, and they gave me a receipt. The land was mine." He maintains that while he was an army pilot he met a Garifuna fisherman, Tony, who needed transport to Tegucigalpa to get paperwork for a job abroad, and took him to Tegucigalpa and back the next day. As payment Tony gave Rodrigo some land on the edge of Tornabé on the condition that his cousins be allowed to remain living on the property. "It was only right to let them stay," he said. "Their family had lived there for almost 200 years." Over the next five years, Rodrigo established a 10-cabana resort and hired local Garifuna women to cook typical Garifuna cuisine for backpackers and eco tourists. He boasted of being "almost" Garifuna and, despite having a wife in the city, was proud of his Garifuna girlfriend and his "acceptance" into the community.

In the late 1990s, an American man named Jim arrived in Tela to claim a beachfront plot that he said he had inherited from his father. According to Jim, his father had purchased a plot of land on the edge of Tornabé from the



municipality in 1970s and then paid the Boden family (Tony's cousins) to "watch" it. On learning that his inheritance had been claimed and registered by Rodrigo, Jim submitted a request that the municipality investigate the plot's history. In the meantime, he built a one-room house on the beachfront side of the property. He then told the Bodens that they had to leave because they had been hired by his father to protect his land and, given Rodrigo's presence, had failed to do so. The family moved, but only 20 meters, to Rodrigo's side of the property. Not satisfied, Jim threatened to hire the Tela police to "persuade" the family to leave immediately. In response, Rodrigo contacted his acquaintances in the national military police stationed in Tela. The next day Jim's home was burnt to the ground. Infuriated, Jim went to confront Rodrigo, and "before he could even open his mouth" Rodrigo shot him. The bullet grazed Jim's neck, and in the end he fenced the property and moved into Tela, traveling for months with a bodyguard.

In the aftermath of the shooting, Rodrigo maintained that he was the legal holder of the property. In 2003, in the context of renewed enthusiasm for the Indura project, he said, "I am Honduran, and I have papers to this land. But, more important, I am sensitive to the local people's rights. The Garifuna live on this beach. I am not throwing them out, like my American friend; I accept them, and they accept me. Our friendship is key to my tourism business; we have a partnership and an understanding." In contrast, Jim is holding out for the tour ism boom: "As soon as I can sell this land, I'm out of here. My father paid the Bodens to mind his property. They grew food here and were able to live off this land because of my father. They worked the land in my father's name."

Both Rodrigo and Jim claimed this space, and they used their relationships to the Garifuna—as employer, protector, friend, "family," neighbor—to legiti mate their presence on Garifuna land. The conflict between them not only illus trates the devaluation of Garifuna claims to coastal land in the face of capitalist/ elite outsiders but shows that Garifuna displacement is a naturalized outcome of elite demands justified by offers of employment and protection. Jim's and Rodrigo's claims converge with the creation of a Central American Cancün whereby the Honduran Tourism Institute seeks to mitigate Garifuna disposses sion with promises of employment (Repüblica de Honduras, 2011).

CONCLUSION

In Honduras, race and its cultural meanings are embedded in environment development practice. The state's commitment to improving the country's development profile centers upon opening up coastal lands to foreigners. These concessions weaken international and national regulations that ought to pro tect indigenous and Afro-indigenous people's lands from encroachment by outsiders. Without completely removing the Garifuna, they undermine their rights to their ancestral lands and play a central role in reproducing racial hier archies that exalt whiteness and devalue blackness.

Garifuna displacement-in-place reflects the fact that their presence in Tela Bay is part of the landscape sold on the Internet as "attractions" (see http://www.Letsgohonduras.com). In this sense, with dwindling access to



land and few economic opportunities, their presence is a form of unpaid labor. Tornabé residents are aware of this paradox. Molana, a Garifuna woman from Tornabé (interview, Tornabé, 1999), said,

We have been asking for territorial protections against invasions for many years The fact is, we are black people. The only time they are interested in our heritage is when they come for Garifuna cooking or ladino men and grin gos want to see Garifuna women dance punta. They want to make us depen dent, to serve ladinos from here and white people from rich countries. Garifuna were never slaves, you know? We won't be slaves now.

NOTES

1. Similar comments are made regarding the Miskito and their land use practices (see Mollett, 2011).

2. While this is a literal translation, negrito is more pejorative, much like the word "nigger" in the United States. The president of the Tornabé village government clarified that most of the residents of Tornabé lived in homes valued at less than US$1500 (20,000 lempiras), which were exempt from taxation.

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