Monday, April 28, 2008

Narrative Based On Service Learning Journal

Narrative Adaptation

It was nearing sunset when out plane landed in Santiago, nearly 24 hours after our initial departure from Pittsburgh. Planes do not make the best hotel rooms, and so we all stood outside of the airport, faces a blank daze of exhaustion, as we waited for our bus. The chrome-lined vehicles that arrived may have been state of the art in 1950s America, felt entirely alien to us. While a group of smiling men bailed our few possessions and suitcases of donated items into one bus, we tried to settle into the other. Unfortunately, here I learned my first and easiest lesson about people of my home nation—we’re large. Every seat on the bus was filled, with padded boards suspended between isles as auxiliary seating. With every jostle in the road the entire mass of people swayed as one.

Creative nonfiction is a genre all its own, an expanding form of literary writing.

Narrative—A story, my story. I lived it.

“I was very touched by your service learning journal. It is one of the most insightful reflections on a first-time international experience that I've read in a long time—maybe it's at the top of the list.”

Soon enough the reader begins to ask, “Do I trust this voice?” Often, the best way to anticipate this question, to win the reader’s confidence, is quite simple: just tell the truth.

In Altoona, a railroad town in Pennsylvania, whose days of prominence and glory are long past, my feet shuffled through tangled undergrowth. The rubber soles pause at the edge of a fallen piece of carved sandstone, one of many forgotten names in the old graveyard. My great-grandfather had emigrated from Ireland, drawn by the metal woman’s torch, promise of prosperity as hollow as she. He settled there amid the tiny rolling mountains indicative of central Pennsylvania. No images survive of this man, the father of my grandmother. As a child, I listened to my grandmother’s stories of him, remembrances tinted with a child-like affection. He stands clearly in my mind, one eye ocean blue, the other an empty socket set in his laughing face, a thick gentle hand marred by a middle finger clipped short just above the first joint. One eye, part of a finger were a small price to pay for the high wages of the Pennsylvania Railroad shops, the largest hub of railroad research, development, and repair in the entire world. He died in the heat and steam of an engine repair shop.

Build tension. Make the reader ask: is this grave at your feet his? But I don’t know. I never found out where they buried him, so what do I tell them? That I though it was a clever introduction to me, to death? Be honest.

Do you trust this voice?

If you take the trouble to write the full scene, the reader really sees what occurs, and if the reader sees what occurs with his or her own eyes, it becomes real. And your reader is convinced.

Sitting on the idling bus, back pressed against the lumpy seat, I began to write—I told myself that it was from boredom and so continued to observe, refusing to think. “People around me are desperately trying to learn Spanish. A bit late to start if you ask me, but who am I to tell. I’ll probably be freaking out this time tomorrow b/c I can’t understand the language. Oh, well, we shall see.” My writings do not show the fear gnawing at the edges of my mind, defying my attempts to ignore it. All that I knew about the Dominican Republic at that time was that it was off the coast of Florida, swimming somewhere in the well-explored waters of the southern Atlantic Ocean. Distracted by the first woes of a college freshman, I’d never even begun to research my destination. The bus shuddered as the doors swung silently closed. A soft, foggy silence settled in the crowded bus, broken only by the occasional falling pencil or frantically muttered word of poorly pronounced Spanish.

We use the word discovery to indicate the deeper subject or ideas that underlie a work of creative nonfiction.

As we pulled onto orphanage property, a whirling dance of confusion began. The bus was immediately surrounded by a huge group of children shouting, “Americanos!” Their rolling, rhythmic dialect of Spanish, was more beautiful and incomprehensible than anything I had ever heard in an American classroom. When the sun was up, the bug-phobic, complaining college women and I toured the orphanage and surrounding town. “Compared to the kids we live like kings here, sure it’s weird to have mosquito nets, but the kids don’t have them at all, our showers are cold and we limit water use, but at least our showers are inside, not just four walls and a drain that is outside. I’m trying not to think about all the stuff that I have at home.” Childhood remembrances of Earth Day and episodes of Captain Planet aside, I had never really considered that I might be part of a throw-away culture. At an on-campus protest, the signs informed me that, America is home to 5% of the world's population, yet it consumes 1/3 of the Earth's timber and paper; making paper the largest part of the waste stream at 37.5% of the total waste stream, and Americans toss out enough paper & plastic cups, forks and spoons every year to circle the equator 300 times. In touring the village of Esperanza, I saw what I had considered garbage put to use in the most unconventional and artistic ways. Broken glass formed colorful murals and security systems when set in the top of concrete walls. Painted plastic packing skids walled in gardens, keeping the plethora of free-ranging goats from attacking the few struggling plants. I wondered what these builders could do if “I could only transport to them everything that I’ve thrown away as junk in the last few weeks.”

Memoir will occasionally focus on life-changing or tragic events.

We taught in Dominican schools, walked in the community, shoveled gravel and built buildings, and came home laughing. Those few could speak passable French were working with imported Haitian sugar workers in communities known as Bateys. They returned home every day, their silence a closed window against our laughter. I begged to trade places with one of the Batey volunteers. I wanted to understand the void that seemed to surround them. Red fingers of sunlight were just reaching into the cloudless sky as we traveled past fruit and sugar plantations to reach Batey Two. The bus coasted to a stop at the edge of wide grass field, hovering at the edge, as if afraid to tread on the dirt and refuse that lay beyond. The houses, built of crushed gasoline cans, made pinging noises in the light wind. Children ran shoeless on the field—shirtless bodies displaying swollen bellies and sores, the hallmarks of malnutrition and disease. We toured their hospital, an empty shack with a dirt floor. It was a building made to house death, a mausoleum where one stored the living when there was no longer any hope. It was the poverty of commercials and fundraising drives, to be safely confined behind television screens. In 2005, the United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child has expressed concerns about Haitian children being denied access to education and medical care, but no real action was taken. The children ran just beyond the door of their death hospital, laughing in its shadow. The strong, refuse-coated building would survive much longer than they. It is because of the turgid Dominican bureaucracy, difficult transportation, and ignorance of the importance of documents, most cane cutters do not register births with authorities, children will be nationless, paperless, these people do not exist. It is indefinitely difficult to place the blame. International human-rights groups blame the Dominicans, but the Dominicans are not alone. The United States has been silent on the issue. I looked for their graveyard, wondering how many markers I would see. But if they had one, it was well hidden from my eyes.

Creative-nonfiction seems to beg the question, “Why would anyone care?”

Annotated Bibliography (1/22)

Annotated Bibliography

Bishop's Warning. (1960, August 15). Time, 07. Retrieved January 22, 2008, from http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,871477,00.html

This document describes the role of Catholic religious leaders, representatives of the dominant Dominican religion, in spurring poplar unrest against the Dominican dictator, Rafael Leonidas Trujillo. The church was one of the most outspoken groups against Trujillo, and the only one not subject to torture, imprisonment, and humiliation. Bishop’s Warning describes a population very quietly, but persistently on the verge of revolution.

Diederich, B. (1978). Trujillo: The Death of the Dictator. Princeton: Markus Wiener Publishers.

This slightly fictionalized account tells the emotional history of the death of Rafael Leonidas Trujillo through the eyes of a group of conspirators determined to rid the country of this dictator. Most telling is the work’s accounts of atrocities committed by Trujillo and on his orders, such as torture and acts of pedophilia. Also provided is a brief chronology of the Trujillo dictatorship.

Espinal, R. (1995). The Dominican Republic: Social Change and Political Stagnation . Latin American Perspectives, 22(3), 63-79. Retrieved January 22, 2008, from Jstor.

This article follows the economic side of the struggle to maintain democracy in the Dominican Republic. It traces various protest movements to the economic ups and downs which parallel them. The work concludes with a well organized argument showing the causal relationship of economic difficulties and civil unrest in a democracy.

Lissner, W. (1960, August 15). Castro Unit Assails Trujillo in His Capital. The New York Times, p. 12. Retrieved January 22, 2008, from ProQuest.

In this newspaper article, the reader is informed of Cuban-backed military actions in the Dominican Republic. The article also elaborates on openly anti-Trujillo protests, which would have been brutally suppressed. Although mass arrests and propaganda efforts continued, Lissner contends many on the world stage believe that Trujillo would not remain in power for long.

SLC: Global Salon




Oil Panel Discussion Agenda

Introduction:

Panel Members give brief introduction of themselves (area of expertise, etc.)

Amy: Introduce the topic of discussion

Many scholars accept the idea that the world is at its peak of oil consumption. As the supply of available oil decreases, what will be the political, social and economic ramifications on the world stage? I would like to end the discussion with a brief exploration of how to circumvent, or at the very least reduce, the negative impact of a decreased oil supply.

Commence Discussion:

Possible questions:

(Brainstorm of questions, but discussion will be crafted based on panel views and information)

What are some of the political ramifications?

  • How will relations with the Middle East change?
    • With Russia? Europe?
  • What could American foreign policy look like in the future?
  • Will all available oil resources be utilized?
    • What will be the environmental repercussions of such and action?

What are the economic ramifications?

  • How will price be affected?
    • Will demand be reduced?
    • Will there be an attempt to cap prices?
  • How may the economy behave if oil supplies decline?
  • How will economies on the local level be affected?

What are the social ramifications?

  • How will the individual be affected by a reduced oil supply?
  • How will the landscape of American culture change as a result of the lack of cheap oil in the short term?
    • In the long term?
  • Will American lifestyles and level of consumption change?
    • Is change economically and socially possible?

Concluding point:

What steps can be taken before the point of crisis to lesson the impact of a reduced oil supply?

Amy: Conclude the exercise

Panel Discussion Synopsis

The discussion began with a self-introduction by each of the speakers—Dr. Black, a professor of environmental studies, Dr. Wiens-Tuers, a professor of economics, and Dr. Seymour, a professor of political science. Each of the three panel members were able to offer unique and interesting viewpoints throughout the discussion, given their very different academic backgrounds. The discussion then commenced in front of a full room of seemingly-interested students.

I began by describing the key issue of discussion—the idea of peak oil. Peak oil is a theory in the scientific community that the world has reached the height of possible oil production. Dr. Black offered some background knowledge to the issue. When oil was discovered in Titusville, Pennsylvania in the 1860s, people really did think that it was infinite, although somewhat useless. To this point whale oil was still being used for lighting, although the whale population was slowly going extinct due to over-hunting. It was the oil whaling families of the north-east that invested in oil, researching it as a potential source of light. Eventually kerosene was refined and the Titusville oil became a profitable commodity. Oil’s profitability only increased as new uses were found for the substance, from cars to plastics in the twentieth century.

Dr. Seymour brought the discussion into the present when she offered a viewpoint of the coming political struggles over oil. She offered the idea that as oil availability is depleted, resource wars will commence. Nations will fight to control what is left of a dwindling energy supply. Situations, such as the genocide seen in Darfur, where a population was pushed off of potentially energy-rich land, will become more common in the coming decade. Dr. Seymour and Dr. Black also discussed the creation of strategic oil reserves in many nations. In the United States, George W. Bush authorized the creation of a strategic oil reserve, placing oil in abandoned salt mines where it could be saved and protected. Having a protected oil supply may seem like a good idea at the onset, but this is not domestic oil. It was purchased abroad at market prices and had the effect of reducing the international supply, thus increasing international prices. All speakers agreed that this hording mentality would only increase in the coming years, as oil supplies begin to dwindle.

One student in the audience asked if a biofuels or some technology might be a solution to the oil crisis. Dr. Weins-Tuers offered the interesting point that one cannot completely rely on technology as a total solution. All of the major technological advances in the last century, she offered, were petro-based. Even if a major technological shift was possible, it would still follow older economic patterns of an economy in transition. Every time a nation undergoes a major economic shift, it follows the pattern of creative destruction. In this pattern, an old way of life is killed and replaced by a new pattern of existence. This shift may be desirable, even necessary, but it still results in massive unemployment and social turmoil. The panel then began an extensive discussion on unintended consequences. Biofuels are not a viable solution to the energy crisis because of their many unintended consequences, such as deforestation and a corresponding increase in carbon emissions. Additionally, the creation of biofuels from food products creates both food shortages and higher prices, potentially causing world-wide hunger.

The panel discussion concluded with an exploration of the economics of the oil situation. In the American social structure, one must drive to work and be part of society. This creates an inelastic demand that is unable to respond to price. Therefore, consumers will buy gas, no matter what it costs. The only way to combat this trend is if the price of gas is so high that the consumer is completely unable to pay for it, only then will patterns of consumption change. The panel members speculated that suburban culture would be destroyed by the oil transition, a shocking fact to the young audience. However, suburban existence has been in existence for a historically short amount of time, and a transition away from this lifestyle is completely possible. It is clear from the content of the discussion, however, that the era of cheap easy energy is over. Patterns of worldwide consumption and diplomacy are going to change to reflect an oil shortage. While weathering the transition away from oil is completely possible, it will not be an easy process—and it is becoming unavoidable.


SLC: Special Topic Presentation


























SLC: Service Learning Journal


Hispanola—Questions without Answers

Introduction

When I made the decision to travel to an orphanage in the Dominican Republic during spring break of my freshman year of college, many people told me that the experience would be life-changing. I didn’t believe them. After all, how could one week change a person’s entire life? I began keeping a journal the night before leaving, and it was full of doubt and American arrogance. I was traveling with the notion that I was going to “help people,” as if spreading my culture was a method of enlightenment. My only excuse is that I was in many ways very young. I was nineteen years old, embarking on a journey with no real idea of where I was going. I was willing to throw myself into an intellectual void—a first ill-planed indulgence of my sense of adventure and philanthropy. Looking back, I was both closed-minded and guilty of the dreaded anthropological curse of ethnocentrism. I was wholly unprepared for the challenge to my entrenched emotional and intellectual ideals that I was about to face. But, I learned—I came home with different views, and a host of mental images that would never leave. One single week, one brief journey, was enough to make a college freshman see the problems of the world in a new and radically different light. This is a retelling of that journey.

Santiago

I grew up in Altoona, a railroad town in Pennsylvania, whose days of prominence and glory were long past. My grandparents had immigrated from Germany, Ireland, and England for the illusion of a better life across the Atlantic. They had made their respective ways into interior of the east coast, settling amid the tiny rolling mountains indicative of central Pennsylvania. No images survive of these men but the ones I have built in my mind. Especially poignant is the mental portrait of Grandmother Dodson’s father, my paternal great-Grandfather Dunn. As a child, I listened to my grandmother’s stories of him, remembrances tinted with a child-like affection. He stands clearly in my mind, one eye an empty socket set in his laughing face, a thick gentle hand marred by a middle finger clipped short just above the first joint. One eye, part to a finger were a small price to pay for the high wages of the Pennsylvania Railroad shops, the largest hub of railroad research, development, and repair in the entire world. Two generations and one college education removed, I wonder what he felt, chasing the dream of a better life, dying in the heat and steam of a factory so far from the land of his birth. I grew up, fueled on family stories, to a college career filled with the study of American history, considering myself the ideological champion of immigrant rights and ethnic equality.

My family has been Altoona since Grandpa Dunn’s first settlement there. The days of hopeful prosperity passed slowly into the void of time, but they stayed. Solid fixtures of responsibility, they carved out an existence amid economic poverty, showing none of his inkling to travel and resettle. I, however, carried what I imagined to be his impulse to move, to see the world—my philosophical inheritance from a man who died in search of prosperity. I was two months into the first term of my freshman year—the first of any member of my family, when I decided to sign up for a trip over spring break. It was an alternative spring break trip—a chance to work and live at an orphanage in the Dominican Republic at relatively little cost. Lacking the luxury of an over-prosperous birth, I viewed this trip as an opportunity to see some small corner of the world that I might never view otherwise. It was this impulse that found me sitting, two months later, on a bus bound for the Pittsburgh Airport, a mere three layovers from the Dominican Republic’s Santiago.

Sitting on the idling bus, back pressed against the lumpy seat, I began to write from boredom and a healthy dose of nervous energy. I observed and reflected in only the shallowest of ways. As I wrote, “People around me are desperately trying to learn Spanish. A bit late to start if you ask me, but who am I to tell. I’ll probably be freaking out this time tomorrow b/c I can’t understand the language. Oh, well, we shall see” (3/5/05). I was afraid, although my writings do not show it—it was a gut-level fear that I was hesitant to even admit to myself, let alone commit to writing. All that I knew about the Dominican Republic at that time was that it was off the cost of Florida, swimming somewhere in the well-explored waters of the southern Atlantic Ocean. Distracted by the first woes of a college freshman, I’d never even begun the exploratory research that a seasoned traveler would never plan an excursion without. A typical American, I never paused to consider that three years of Spanish classes might not help me to interact with a culture that I knew nothing about. I had never traveled outside of the United States and so knew nothing, expected nothing. At the time my only tangible fear was that I hadn’t managed to cram enough clothing and entertainments into the one carry-on bag that we were allowed to use as personal luggage (we had filled out checked luggage materials to be donated to the orphanage).

It was nearing sunset when out plane landed in Santiago, nearly 24 hours after our initial departure from Pittsburgh. Planes do not make the best hotel rooms, and so we all stood outside of the airport, faces a blank daze of exhaustion, as we waited for our bus. The busses that arrived may have been state of the art in 1950s America, but they were certainly not what we were accustomed to. While a group of smiling men bailed our few possessions and suitcases of donated items into one bus, we tried to settle into the other. Unfortunately, here I learned my first and easiest lesson about people from my home nation—we’re large. In fact, compared to many of the Dominicans that we interacted with, we Americans were huge. Suddenly the idea of lebensraum took on new, uncomfortable connotations. Every seat on the bus was filled, and padded boards were suspended between isles as auxiliary seating. With every jostle in the road the entire mass or people swayed as if one. We rode like this, with no air conditioning other than the open windows, for the entire six hour drive from the airport to the orphanage in the poor rural village of Esperanza. For me, the one comfort was the music blaring from the driver’s speaker system. I understood the driver’s Spanish enough to learn that this was merengue. The music begged for dance, one could see a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, and blues in all of their primary colored glory. The high trumpet notes were piercing, the rhythms driving, and every not spoke of unfading summer. To me, the meringue was as beautiful as it was unfamiliar.

As we pulled into orphanage property, a whirling dance of confusion began. The bus was immediately surrounded by a huge group of children shouting, “Americanos!” Many of the children tried to speak with me, although I was lucky to understand one word in ten of their rolling, rhythmic dialect of Spanish, more beautiful and incomprehensible than anything I had ever heard in an American classroom. We were ushered off into a building our hosts called a ramada, which was to be our quarters from the duration of our stay. The building itself offered little protection from the elements, as I described in my journal, “The walls are of chain-link fence that is covered in plastic canvas tart up to within three or four feet of the roof. The roof itself is corrugated metal and wood…my bunk is a metal frame…covered in lime-green mosquito netting…it feels a little too open” (03/05/05). I fell asleep that night to the sound of my fellow American women complaining at the accommodations and screaming in fright when a moth invaded their personal space.

Esperanza

The (much-hated) roosters work us up promptly at 4:30 am. When the sun was up, the bug-phobic, complaining college women and I toured the orphanage and surrounding town. I wrote of the journey, “compared to the kids we live like kings [here], sure it’s weird to have mosquito nets, but the kids don’t have them at all…our showers are cold and we limit water use, but at least our showers are inside, not just four walls and a drain that it outside…I’m trying not to think about all the stuff that I have at home” (03/06/05). It was my first brush with a society with so many fewer material goods than my own. I had never thought about international inequality before. Childhood remembrances of Earth Day and episodes of Captain Planet aside, I had never really considered that I might be part of a throw-away culture. I had been told such shocking facts as “America is home to 5% of the world's population, yet it consumes 1/3 of the Earth's timber and paper; making paper the largest part of the waste stream at 37.5% of the total waste stream,” and “Americans toss out enough paper & plastic cups, forks and spoons every year to circle the equator 300 times” (Clean Air Council). It is one thing to be told how materialistic and wasteful you are, it is quite another type of shock to actually visit a place with this fact of life is less prevalent. In touring the village of Esperanza, I saw what I would have considered garbage put to use in the most unconventional and artistic ways. Broken glass formed colorful murals and security systems when set in the top of concrete walls. Painted plastic packing skids walled in gardens, keeping the plethora of free-ranging goats from attacking the few struggling plants. I wondered in my journals what these builders could do if “I could only transport to them everything that I’ve thrown away as junk in the last few weeks” (03/04/05). Americans wasted while these people reused—it was a powerfully personal realization.

It is well known that there are political issues in the Dominican Republic, but I did not know what they were when I entered this nation. My first brush with a major social problem came in the form of architecture. In the town of Esperanza, poverty is high, but the crime rate seemed to be low, as we were assured by the leadership of Orphanage Outreach. Certainly, even if crime were a major factor, there was little in the poor orphanage to steal. However, the tiny grouping of buildings that comprised the orphanage was surrounded by a giant wall. At first I thought that this was to keep the children in. Yet, the children could leave by the front gate at any time, navigating the busy street beyond with practiced ease and skill. Confused, I finally found one of the leaders of the Orphanage and asked. I was told the wall was not built because of crime or any similar reason—it was built because of land. I later learned that “according to the reports of the Junta Agroempresarial Dominicana (JAD), about 40% of the land is not registered” (Gil 8). The orphanage did exist on registered land, purchased legally by a group in Puerto Rico. However, the surrounding homes were not sitting on registered land. Squatters built homes of concrete and recycled materials wherever they could. In its first year of existence, the orphanage found itself on an ever-shrinking plot of land. Homes that were destroyed in the morning were being rebuilt as early as that evening. Legal action, I was told, was a laughable idea. In desperation, the orphanage investors build a large of concrete and brick. The squatters could not build on land that they could not access—it was a clear “no trespassing” sign.

Another interesting social problem was that of electricity. More than one drawing session with the orphanage kids was interrupted by sudden darkness. Before ever leaving the United States, we were warned not to forget to bring flashlights. I found the Dominican nights to be beautiful when the power grids failed. I had never seen stars so brightly as on these nights, free of the tinge of florescent streetlights that even the remotest night sky in America never seems to entirely shake. I loved astronomy and could name the constellations in the winter sky by heart, with no book or chart to guide me. There they were, arrayed like the diamonds of the famous Beatles song in the patterns based on legends Roman and Greek. Polaris lay just above the horizon of this southern vantage point. I was ever so strange to view Orion, the hunter, who usually stocks his prey in the dead of winter, while wearing shorts and a light jacket. My fascination with viewing starts free from the evils of city glow was not, however, shared by all Dominicans. The electricity problem had turned political years before, as I later learned, increasing pressure “on President Hipolito Mejia to resolve what is euphemistically called the, “electricity crisis” (Canute 1). I, myself, had first hand experience with some of the causes of these problems, recording “you’ll never guess what serves as poles…sticks! Well sticks, and one tree…just stripped of all but the top leaves and branches. No wonder we seem to lose power at least once a day!” (03/04/05). According to a report in the financial times, what I saw were “illegal electricity taps…many Dominicans take a practical approach to electricity, regarding illegal link-ups as a form of self-help rather than theft” (Richard 15). It was a creative solution to a complex problem. However, so many Dominicans tapped into the network illegally that the system crashed entirely—and the politicians were blamed. It was an interesting and multi-faceted problem that would not soon be solved, although it must have made life as a Dominican politician interesting and undesirable.

The town of Esperanza was itself a beautiful place. As we walked through the village, I saw grown men and women sitting and speaking together in front of houses. Some in the group thought of this as a sign or extreme poverty, and some unforgivably fell back on the old American stereotype of the lazy Central American. However, there was a real sense of community, of adults stopping and taking the time to establish ties with one another. I didn’t truly understand the mentality until our group leader, Dale, related to us the favored parable of the Dominican Fisherman (see attached). It was yet another culture shock to see a group of people who did not work solely for the acquisition of goods, so very different as to be alien. Even more mind boggling to me was that many of the people that we passed smiled at us, even though we, with our cameras and backpacks, looked terribly foreign and uncomfortable. For the first time I viewed avoidance of eye contact with strangers as rude, instead of the opposite—a fact that earned me more than one offended glare when I returned to the States. I was well on my way towards falling in love with this culture and this people, when I hit a terrible snag.

Dale, one of the leaders of Orphanage Outreach, believed in working for social change, in working for the rights of all people. It was through him that many of the children in the orphanage got the chance to live a better future. On one of our last days in the orphanage, after we had gotten to know the children without judgment, Dale organized a presentation to show us why many of the children were living at the orphanage. Most of the children, we learned, were not orphans after all—they had parents and siblings outside of the orphanage that just could not take care of them. Some of the young boys had mothers who were prostitutes in the major cities, catering to the richer and more powerful in a socially stratified society. These women could not afford to take care of themselves, let alone a child. The women knew the psychological damage that a child could incur while living in such an environment, so they brought their sons to the orphanage where they would be fed and educated. These were not, however, the saddest stories. One boy was a true orphan—but of Haitian descent. The average Haitian will have different physical characteristics than the average Dominican. It is a difference primarily in skin tone—Haitians tend to have darker skin than the Dominicans and speak Kreyol, a mixture of Spanish, French, and other languages, instead of Dominican Spanish (Wucker 59). While the Dominican Republic shares an island with Haiti, this has not let to social and political equality. According to Roger Plant, author of Sugar and Modern Slaver, Haitian workers have historically been imported by the thousands to work in the Dominican sugar fields (64-67). They come from the war-torn nation of Haiti seeking higher wages and a better way of life, very much as the poor Europeans traveled en masse to America at the turn of the century. The American immigrants met with inequality and social strife, but nothing compares to what the Haitians face in the Dominican Republic. The orphaned Haitian child, we were told, was adopted by a Dominican family, who pitied him and took him into their home. However, they faced constant teasing and eventually social stigma for their decision to adopt a Haitian child. Eventually, the social pressure became too much and they left him at the orphanage to be cared for by strangers. This quiet boy had to bear the emotional scars of being orphaned twice—and once voluntarily, because of the color of his skin. Another boy, well into adolescence when I met him, was born in the Dominican Republic, but of Haitian parents. His name was Juan, and he was one of the most impressive children that I had ever met. Juan had no birth certificate, a common problem, we were told, among Haitians in the Dominican Republic. Without this document he could not graduate from high school. As one Haitian worker complained “we do all of the work, but our children cannot go to school” (Thompson 16). Juan was one of the most intelligent people that I had ever met. He actually taught himself to be fluent in English by listening to volunteers from the United States speak to each other. Juan was fluent in Spanish, English, French and Keryol, yet he could not earn a high school diploma. I did not know how to handle the injustice of this system.

Juan did have one major hope, and that was a man everyone called Reverend Joseph. This man came to speak with us volunteers one night. He spoke in French, as he was raised in Haiti and this was his native tongue, but a student translated for him. He commanded respect, with every word and action. Reverend Joseph spoke with such passion about the plight of Haitian sugar workers living in the Dominican Republic that one could not help but be moved. I had studied injustice in America, had seen for myself evidence of the injustices that the Civil Rights movement sought to end, but the images that he conjured were ten times worse than these. He was possibly the greatest man that I have ever seen, unselfishly working for a cause in which he believed completely. It was like sitting ten feet from Martin Luther King, Jr. I have never, before or since, been so moved by any speech, but I had no seen the injustices for myself and they moved to the back of my mind, still swimming with complete respect for Dominican society.

Batey Two

I was vaguely disturbed by the Haitian aspect of Dominican culture, but only vaguely until I made a snap decision. A group of students from Penn State Altoona had been working separately from the rest of us. These few could speak passable French and so were working in Haitian communities within the Dominican Republic referred to as Bateyes. Unlike the rest of we volunteers, who taught in Dominican schools, walked in the community, shoveled gravel and built buildings, and came home laughing, this group was silent at the end of the day. They were the only ones not really taking about their experiences, and I wanted to know why. So, I got permission to trade places with one of the Batey volunteers. The day began early as we traveled past fruit and sugar plantations to reach Batey Two. We pulled into a wide grass field, littered with garbage and other refuse. The houses were made of crushed gasoline cans. Children ran in the field with very little clothing and no shoes—some showing the swollen bellied and sores that are hallmarks of malnutrition and disease. We toured their hospital—an empty shack with a dirt floor. I couldn’t see that this building could have any use other than being a place to die. For the first time in my life, I saw the kind of poverty that is shown in television commercials which ask for money. In 2005, “The United Nations Committee on the Rights of the Child has expressed concerns about Haitian children being denied access to education and medical care” (Thompson 17). It is one thing to read these words on a page, but it is quite another to see the aftermath in person. I saw children trying to run and play with the soccer ball that we brought them, with the full knowledge that if I returned in a year, or even a few months, some of these children would not be there. Although Juan could not graduate because of his ethnic heritage, these children had no rights at all. “Because of the turgid Dominican bureaucracy, difficult transportation, and ignorance of the importance of documents, most cane cutters do not register births with authorities…children…will be nationless, paperless…these people do not exist” (Wucker 96). No one protects these people, and it is indefinitely difficult to place the blame. According to Wucker, “International human-rights groups blame the Dominicans, but the Dominicans are not alone. The United States…has been silent on the issue” (113). I didn’t know where to place the blame for this problem, and still do not. All I knew then, as I know now is the toll of human suffering. I was nineteen, a freshman in college, and I tried to teach English to the dying children of powerless parents. The only question that I could ask myself is “why haven’t I been here?” I was being affected and changed by a happy, industrious people, while totally ignorant that this suffering existed. In some complex way, I, the successful granddaughter of immigrants, felt that I had to shoulder part of the blame. My society had changed, I had success and opportunity, and yet I didn’t know how to help these people, though I desperately wanted to—I felt guilty for my easy life. I feel this way still.

My experience in the Dominican Republic was challenging in many ways. Exposure to a new culture and different way of life challenged a cultural arrogance that I didn’t know that I had. I saw new possibilities through exposure to a society less wasteful than my own. I gained a true respect for the culture that taught me these lessons. However, I also learned that there are two sides to every story. I saw the plight of the Haitians living in the Dominican Republic, social atrocities that I could not respect, and yet I couldn’t wholly dislike the culture that produced them. I learned the most difficult lesson of the anthropologist—one must suspend judgment when looking at a culture, even when your mind is screaming that the things you see are wrong. Nothing is as simple as right and wrong. Nations, cultures, and especially people, are complex, indefinitely complicated. The experience was sobering, maturing, life-changing, and left me with one of my most central mantras—there are no simple problems, there are no easy answers.

Works Cited

Canute, James. "Power Failures Turn Up the Heat on Dominican President." London TimesProquest. Penn State University Library. 28 Mar. 2008. (2002): 5-6.

Gil, Margarita F. Security of Land Ownership in the Dominican Republic: a Legal and Historical Analysis. Diss. Univ. of Wisconson-Madison, 1999. 11 Mar. 2008 .

Lapper, Richard. "Power to the People Transformed: Management Utilities: Electricity Theft is a Part of Life in the Dominican Republic." Financial Times (2000): 15-16.

Proquest. Penn State University Library. 29 Mar. 2008.

Plant, Roger. Sugar and Modern Slavery. London, New Jersey: Zen Books Ltd., 1987.

Thompson, Ginger. "Immigrant Laborers From Haiti are Paid with Abuse in the Dominican Republic." New York Times 20 Nov. 2005: 15-19. Proquest. Penn State University Library. 20 Mar. 2008.

"Waste and Recycling: Waste Facts and Figures." Clean Air Council. 2006. Clean Air Council. 20 Mar. 2008 .

Wucker, Michele. Why the Cocks Fight: Dominicans, Haitians, and the Struggle for Hispaniola. New York: Hill and Wang, 1999.


SLC: Leader Profile (3/19/08)

Aung San Suu Kyi and Las Hermanas Merabal

On the surface, there are a multitude of striking similarities between the Dominican Republic under the dictator Trujillo and the nation of Burma under the current military junta. The dominant political group of both nations used repression and extreme political control to maintain power. In both nations, opposition meant the threat of imprisonment and even death, both tools that were liberally utilized. In the Dominican Republic the opposition was figure headed by women, the Merabal sisters, while in Burma a woman, Aung San Suu Kyi, symbolizes the anti-dictatorial hopes of that nation. Here, however, the similarities end. The Dominican Republic’s Trujillo was eventually assassinated and his government removed from power. In contrast, Burma has experienced two popular uprisings, both ending in death and further repression. To comprehend why the anti-dictatorial movements of the Dominican Republic succeeded while those in Burma continue to fail, it is necessary to study the complex differences between their relative political systems, technologies, and the international political environment that impacts both nations.

Dominican Republic—History and the Rise of Trujillo

Hispanol, the island that would become both the Dominican Republic and Haiti, was discovered in 1492 by Christopher Columbus. Spain immediate colonized the Dominican Republic, where gold and other precious metals were found in small amounts. Of perhaps greater note is the Spanish treatment of the native population, the Taino “Indians,” as Columbus called them (Dominican Republic Guide). As with many cases of settlement in the new world, the native peoples were soon diminished to ever-shrinking numbers by disease and other factors. Over time Spanish control of the colony diminished and the French took control of part of the island using it for sugar plantations and as a major hub of the international slave trade. This section of Hispanol became known as Haiti (Dominican Republic Guide). The three cultures, native, European, and African slave melded into a people of “mixed European and African origins…the two heritages blend in the popular song and dance, the merengue” (BBC news Country Profile: Dominican Republic). As later discussions of ethnicity will reveal, however, the blending of cultures would not ensure equality of treatment or representation in the minority ethnic groups of this island nation.

Inspired by the French Revolution and other armed conflicts worldwide, the slaves of Haiti revolted, eventually taking over the Dominican Republic as well as their own nation. This rebellion was followed by a series of wars in which France, Spain, and finally the United States, took control of this island (Hartlyn 26, 27). Logically, such a series of conflicts would weaken the infrastructure of any nation, but especially that of a colonial holding, which had already switched allegiances once during the course of its early history. The Dominican people had developed an identity during these long years of warfare and wished to be independently ruled, to have true political sovereignty. It was the United States that would saddle the Dominican Republic with the worst ruler in its long history. Rafael Leonidas Trujillo Molina was “a military officer trained by the U.S. Marine Corps” (Haag 158). Trujillo “established his regime in 1930 with the approval of the United States, which had recently ended its occupation of the Dominican Republic and above all else desired stability in the region for economic and strategic reasons” (Haag 158). Although the US government approved Trujillo’s reign, it was a complex balance of factors that allowed this megalomaniac to remain in power.

One of Trujillo’s most clever actions as dictator was to cement his base of power carefully and thoroughly. According to Jonathan Hartlyn’s “The Struggle for Democratic Politics in the Dominican Republic, “the church was dramatically weakened during Haitian occupation…it was only under Trujillo that the church began to rebuild its wealth due to its close association with the dictator…extending rights and privileges to the church” (33). It is difficult, as a modern citizen of the United States, to understand the brilliance of Trujillo’s strategy in dealing with the Catholic Church. However, the Dominican Republic is predominantly Catholic in religious orientation (BBC news Country Profile: Dominican Republic). As was previously discussed, Trujillo already had the approval of the United States, which probably could have blocked his rise to power before it really began. Now he had taken control of the only major non-political infrastructure of the country—the church. In faithful communities, the subversive power of religious leaders cannot be overstated. If the church had disapproved of Trujillo’s rule from the beginning, it would have spread this message to parishioners, forcing Trujillo to use outright and violent repression. The country likely would have been swallowed in civil war rather than submitting to the subtle manipulations of their own dictator. However, Trujillo had cemented his political position brilliantly. Furthermore, the military dictator was cheered for his ability to accumulate wealth. “Within two decades, Trujillo had paid off the nation’s foreign debts, developed a national infrastructure, and laid the groundwork for economic development by promoting industrialization” (Hall 14). Trujillo worked immediately to create a modern nation out of a former colony, to create a Dominican identity, a nationalistic cornerstone for his regime. Many Dominicans, especially those of the small economic elite, respected Trujillo, at least at first after his rise to power.

This regime, however, had a much more sinister side. Ethnic differences and tensions had existed within the Dominican Republic since the time of Columbus, as previously discussed. Although some aspects of culture had melded, such as song in the case of the merenge, there were still sharp divides between ethnicities. Trujillo took advantage of the tensions between ethnic groups to cement his own power structure. According to Richard Lee Turitus’s “A World Destroyed, A Nation Imposed: The 1937 Haitian Massacre in the Dominican Republic,” the Dominican-Haitian border was peopled with small farmers of Haitian and Dominican background, living in relative harmony (589-591). Playing to the “racist opposition of elite Dominicans to the bicultural conditions of the Dominican frontier,” Trujillo ordered the execution of thousands of ethnic Haitians in the border regions (600). There is some debate about Trujillo’s true motives in ordering this mass killing, and other executions over the course of his regime. Some, like Turitus, suggest that he was simply playing to the desires of the racist elites. Perhaps this measure was a logical outgrowth of establishing a nationalistic identity. One symptom of forced nation-building is the eliminating all of the outlying peoples that might claim citizenship within the nation. Trujillo, with his propensity to gather wealth, currying favor with the upper class and endorsing a national religion, while eliminating divergent populations, was, by this definition, an authoritarian state builder.

Burmese History and Politics

Burma has a similar colonial history to that of the Dominican Republic, although much simpler and more brief. Burma has a long history of empire and self-rule, although it was concurred by the British Empire in 1824 (CIA World Factbook). Life was not easy under British rule. Perhaps the most illustrative description of this period in Burmese history comes from the political leader Aung San Suu Kyi, herself. She writes that “The economy and people were exploited, and profits mainly enriched British and other foreign interests. The British moved tens of thousands of troops into Burma to quell revolutionary uprisings. Missionaries arrived to attempt to convert the overwhelmingly Buddhist population to Christianity, finding moderate success in a few ethnic minority groups, in particular the Karens” (qtd in Koistinen 349). To give this statement context, it is vital to remember that although “the largest group is the Burman people…Burman dominance over Karen, Shan, Rakhine, Mon, Chin, Kechin, and other minorities has been the source of considerable ethnic tension…”(BBC News Country Profile: Burma). As seen in the case of the Dominican Republic, ethnic tensions and the cruelty of dictators seeking scapegoat targets for destruction are inexorably linked.

Burma continued to be ruled by the British until it came to be considered as part of India in the lat 1940s (CIA: The World Factbook). Logic would dictate that this nation, like the Dominican Republic would experience an increasing wish for a return to self-rule as time continued to pass. However, when independence did come, it was not passed into the hands of the people. Instead, “since 1962, Burma has been ruled by an oppressive military junta that claims legitimacy through Buddhism” (Friedman 23).

The claim of Burma’s military leaders to the legitimate rule of Buddhism is significant. Burma is 89% Buddhist (CIA: The World Factbook). Like General Trujillo, who cemented his base of power by currying favor with the Catholic Church, the Generals of Burma’s military junta attempt to use the symbolism of the dominant religion to control the minds of the people. In a country as poor as Burma has become, it is vital to remember the incessant power of religion in daily life. Since breaking with the British Empire, and even during its colonial experience, Burma has suffered from extremes of poverty and daily hardships. Any government wishing to control the practices of the people and prevent revolution must find a method to control and give outlet to the negative aggressions of the people. Fear as a method of rule is an inarguably powerful tool, but fear will only take a ruler so far in exercising his or her will. A people must have hope to be able to continue with daily life—otherwise the chance of change through revolution outweighs the probability of violent death in challenging the military authorities. In Burma, the military junta has attempted to use the Buddhist religion to inspire hope, and therefore obedience, in the minds and hearts of the Burmese people.

Whenever a national figure rules through fear and death, leaders will arise to resist their claims to power. However, their own individual leadership styles sometimes matter less than the political systems already in place within their nation. In the context of the Dominican Republic, any resistance seemed doomed to fail against the power of Trujillo. Yet, as select few did resist. Among the leadership of the Dominican Republic’s anti-dictatorial movement are the Mirabal sisters. “Born into a family of landowners, the four Mirabal sisters—Patria, Minerva, Maria Teresa, and Dede—grew up in a highly conservative and sheltered atmosphere” (Haag 158). Given that Trujillo courted the good graces of the upper class, at least at first, it is surprising that these particular individuals would be involved in a movement to undermine this ruler’s claim to power.

The Mirabal’s resistance to Trujillo began because of an intensely personal experience. Minerva, “at age 22, having turned down sexual overtures from Trujillo…was jailed and banned from continuing her law studies” (Haag 159). Various casual way in which the crime of defying the physical wishes of Trujillo suggests that the practice of entering into physical relationships with young women was a fairly common one during his regime. Thus, with Minerva’s imprisonment, a relationship of mutual hate between the sisters and the dictator began.

Surprisingly little data survives about the sisters’ underground activities with the resistance movement. It is notable that Minerva spent her time under arrest “painting watercolors and writing poetry about the suffering endured by the exploited poor of her country” (Haag 159, 160). In many ways Minerva, growing up in her sheltered, upper class environment, is a case study for other upper-class Dominicans. If she was aware of the problems of exploitation and poverty, others within her social strata also had to be aware that such conditions existed within their society. What is known about the sisters is that “by 1960, Patria, Minerva, Maria Teresa, and their husbands has become thoroughly enmeshed in the growing anti-Trujillo resistance movement that began to sweep the Dominican Republic” (Haag 160).

Understandably, but frustratingly, little information survives about the methodology of the underground movement against Trujillo. Trujillo was, however, relentless in his persecution of all resistance, “Inside the jails, his well-bred prisoners—doctors, engineers, sons of government officials, university professors, industrialists—were systematically humiliated by being stripped, handcuffed and tossed into communal cells” (Bishop’s Warning). As in many other repressive regimes, it was the intellectuals of society that suffered the direct punishment’s of Trujillo’s enforcers. Although Trujillo had at first established a strong base of power, he lost support over time from both the upper class and the church. As his rule was drawing to a close, Trujillo “sent his Foreign Minister hurrying off to the Vatican in an attempt to turn off church opposition” (Bishop’s Warning). It was clear, from direct observation, that the repression of Trujillo was failing, but it would take a significant flashpoint to finish this dictator’s rule once and for all.

Perhaps the most vital question about the Mirabal sisters is, if so little concrete information is widely available about their activities, how is their leadership in the resistance movement more significant than that of other members of their anti-dictatorial movement? The answer to this question lies not in the lives of the Mirabal sisters, but in their deaths. “Incensed by the opposition of these three attractive women who he would have preferred as bedroom conquests, Trujillo instructed Johnny Abbes, in the second week of November, to ‘terminate the Mirabal problem’” (Diederich 69). The solution to this problem was to entice the sisters into journeying to visit their husbands and friends in prison. On the road to Trujillo’s jail, the sisters were ambushed and beaten to death by Trujillo’s men, their bodies thrown over a nearby cliff (Haag 160, 161). The murder was easily traceable to Trujillo’s doorstep, and the backlash was significant. “The cowardly killing of three beautiful women had a greater effect…than most of Trujillo’s other crime…the Mirabals’ murder tempered the resolution of the conspirators plotting his end (Diederich 71, 72). In a mere two months, Trujillo lay dead from an assassin’s bullet (Haag 161). Little scholarly information about the sister’s leadership practice within the resistance movement is available for study, however, they were undoubtedly powerful forces within their society. Although Trujillo’s empire began to crumble when he lost the support of the church, and of international forces, it took the death of three sisters to truly finish his regime. Martyrdom is a powerful force, and many people who would not normally have had the courage to openly resist Trujillo did so because of the Mirabals’ sudden and tragic deaths. Therefore, the Mirabal sisters led through self-sacrifice. They were symbols for the people of the Dominican Republic—it was their deaths, more than their lives, which inspired revolutionary fervor in their people.

The case of Burma and the rise of Aung San Suu Kyi to political power is one of undeniable complexity. Against a military junta that controls almost every aspect of life, Aung San Suu Kyi stands, as the Mirabal sisters of the Dominican Republic, as a symbol of sacrifice, even martyrdom. Although Suu Kyi did not die for her people, she did give her life for them. Aung San Suu Kyi is the daughter of a Burmese national hero. It was Aung San, her father, who helped secure final Burmese freedom from the British Empire (Koistinen 349). Although she lived away from Burma for some time, she returned to her nation to care for her dying mother. It was a time of extreme political unrest, a Aung San Suu Kyi was adopted by the resistance movement as the obvious heir to her father’s political work for the freedom of the Burmese people. She left her husband and family in Great Britain to continue to work against the military junta in Burma (Koistinen 349). During the early part of her political career, and on and off ever since, Aung San Suu Kyi has been under house arrest. The home is not a pleasant one, “the rooms are mostly bare, and whatever furniture had not been sold…to buy food while she was under house arrest is old and worn” (Victor 31). Aung San Suu Kyi is indeed a powerful symbol for the Burmese people. Although she had created a life for herself in Great Britain, she left it behind to become a political activist for the Burmese people. There are few individuals on the international stage who could not feel respect for a leader willing to sacrifice for her country. Indeed, Aung San Suu Kyi once won the Nobel Peace Prize, gaining international recognition for her bravery in trying to participate in the public sphere of Burma (Broughton 11). Public political work against a repressive military force is anything but easy. Unlike the Mirabal sisters, who work within an underground movement to undermine the rule of Trujillo, Aung San Suu Kyi is very public with her support for democracy. She once said

“We must make democracy the popular creed. We must try to build up a free Burma in

accordance with such a creed. If we should fail to do this, our people are bound to

suffer … Democracy is the only ideology which is consistent with freedom. It is also the

only ideology that promotes and strengthens peace. It is therefore the only ideology we

should aim for.” (qtd in Koistinen 351).

This rhetoric is powerful and well-organized. It is clear that this political figure is speaking to the thoughts and wishes of her audience. The strength of her language is that she is showing the courage to speak the words that the common people cannot. In all actuality, Aung San Suu Kyi’s party, the National League for Democracy has the support of the people, winning a landslide victory in a 1990 election organized by the military junta (CIA World Factbook).

The real question is not one of Aung San Suu Kyi’s leadership abilities. Like the Mirabal sisters, Aung San Suu Kyi is considered a figure in opposition to dictatorial rule. However, unlike the Mirabals, Aung San Suu Kyi is a public figure, working overtly to overcome the unfair political progress. Instead of engaging in subversive activites, Suu Kyi has attempted to bring the plight of her people onto the international stage. The real question is this: why has the anti-dictatorial movement in Burma met with such extreme failure?

A case study vital to understanding why the military junta has not been removed from power is the recent protests in October of 2007. In this situation, Buddhist monks, powerful voices in a society in which religion is so ingrained, lead a massive protest against the government (Friedman 23). The aftermath to their peaceful march for human rights was “a scene of utter horror…local residents…told of soldiers lining up monks one by one, bashing their heads against the brick monastery walls until they were lifeless” (Friedman 23). The protest was followed by a social crackdown to accompany the deaths. In Burma “telephones…are tapped…but the lines are also cut intermittently, without warning…The chief censorship body of the media is the Press Scrutiny Board….which censors all references within the country to poverty, bravery and corruption” (Victor 12). Burma is not a free nation, paid spies imprison anyone who had “complained or talked against the SLORC (Burmese military government)” (Victor 14).

In joining with the monks to combat the government, the Burmese people lost what little freedom that they had. The US and EU spoke out against the violence and repression, but “neither the US or EU have significant influence on the country’s leadership” (BBC News Q&A: Protests in Burma). For now, it seems, neither internal religious resistance nor external pressures will change the form of government. It is no wonder then, that a imprisoned Nobel Peace Prize winner who speaks eloquently against the current regime is such a powerful symbol to her people. As a leader, Aung San Suu Kyi has given up a life with her husband and children to live under house arrest within her nation, imprisoned by a political party that lost a popular election to her own party. Whenever the Burmese speak out against the government, they are imprisoned, perhaps even killed, as seen in the case of the monks. However, the government cannot kill Aung San Suu Kyi without causing a popular uprising that would overthrow their rule, in spite of massive loss of life. Therefore, although Aung San Suu Kyi is imprisoned, she can speak while others are silenced. She is truly a symbol of her people. In the words of one Burmese taxi driver, “the Lady is Burma…she encompasses the hopes and dreams of the people” (Victor 27).

By extensively analyzing the colonial histories of the Dominican Republic and Burma, one can discover the divergent paths of two relatively similar colonial nations. It is an interesting case study to view two dictators rising out of a colonial past. In both cases, the authoritarian rulers became paranoid and violent, leading to widespread repression, yet the imperative difference is in the degree of repression. Trujillo repelled all resistance, such as the subversive movements of the Mirabal sisters, with outright violence. Violent repression has a limited effectiveness before armed rebellion appears safer to the individual than life under the repressive regime. Once this threshold is crossed, as seen in the murder and subsequent martyrdom of the Mirabal sisters, violent resistance ensues and the regime is generally overthrown. The methodology of Burma’s military junta is much more subtle and difficult to combat. Because daily life is so thoroughly controlled, the people of the nation are afraid to be subversive, afraid to resist in any way. Dissenters are imprisoned quickly and silently—this inspires not fear of death, but fear of disappearance into a forgotten obscurity. In addition, the government of Burma allows the people to have hope. Their leader, though under arrest, remains a public figure. Aung San Suu Kyi gives the people an outlet, therefore reducing open resistance. The junta is smart enough not to make her a martyr—making Aung San Suu Kyi a symbol of both hope for a better future and continued repression. Understanding the test cases of the Merabal sisters and Aung San Suu Kyi are vital to comprehending the forces that allowed the Dominican Republic to break free from dictatorship while Burma remains under repression. However, to understand and perhaps prevent, further dictatorial governments, it is vital to understand the histories of these two nations and the forces that allowed their repressive regimes to come to power. Only by comprehending both the history of repressive regimes and the combatants against these governments can one gain a full body of knowledge about the rise and fall of repressive regimes.

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