Author: ODALYS FIGUEROA-GUERRERO

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Research project 4: Latin America in the media

Migration

Migration between Mexico and the United States has long been central to their economic and political relationship. The Washington Post article “As its workers stream to the U.S., Mexico runs short of farmhands,” highlights the ongoing labor shortage in Mexico and its connection to U.S. economic demands. Historically, this labor dependency reflects deeply intertwined economies, but political narratives in the U.S. have often framed migration as a security threat rather than an economic solution. Conversely, in the 1990s, Mexico approached migration with a focus on preventing its citizens from leaving the country, emphasizing the conflicting perspectives within this interconnected dynamic.

The U.S. has long relied on Mexican labor to sustain industries like agriculture. Programs like the Bracero Program (1942–1964; Rice, slide 10) brought millions of Mexican workers to the U.S. to fill labor shortages, particularly during World War II. As U.S. veterans returned from the war and avoided low-paying farm work, migrants became indispensable to the agricultural economy. Even in modern times, the Washington Post notes that the “…strong U.S. economy drives the Mexican labor market…” with over 300,000 H2-A visas issued annually to Mexican workers.

However, political narratives began to shift by the late 20th century. Ronald Reagan’s 1986 Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA; Rice, slide 12) granted amnesty to millions of undocumented immigrants, allowing many to leave agriculture for better-paying jobs. As labor shortages emerged, U.S. rhetoric around migration shifted from an economic focus to a security concern, fueled by political campaigns like California Governor Pete Wilson’s anti-immigrant Proposition 187 in 1994 (Rice, slide 20). This measure sought to deny undocumented immigrants access to public benefits and portrayed migration as a threat to societal stability rather than an economic necessity.

While the U.S. viewed migration as a security issue, Mexico faced challenges managing labor migration during the 1990s. Amid economic reforms following the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA; Rice, slide 9), Mexico sought to prevent its citizens from emigrating by addressing the root causes of rural poverty and unemployment. The Mexican government recognized that losing a significant portion of its workforce to the U.S. would weaken its rural economy where farm labor was vital. However, despite efforts to improve conditions in rural areas, economic disparities between Mexico and the U.S. remained stark. The Washington Post article explains that this dynamic persists today: Mexican farmers in regions like Jalisco struggle to compete with U.S. wages, forcing many workers to migrate. Additionally, 90 percent of Green Gold Farms’ produce is exported to the U.S., illustrating the deep economic ties between the two countries that continue to shape migration pressures.

The labor shortages in Mexico described in the Washington Post article highlight the enduring economic interdependence between Mexico and the U.S. Mexican farmers face significant challenges in retaining workers, as young people increasingly seek higher-paying opportunities either in industrial sectors or abroad. One farmer cited in the article explains that “we’re talking about Mexico having 1.5 million unfilled job openings…”, reflecting how migration continues to create labor gaps domestically.

At the same time, U.S. agriculture remains reliant on migrant labor. This paradox echoes the 1990s when Mexico attempted to retain workers while the U.S. framed migration as a threat. The article also notes that Mexican farmers are now recruiting migrants from other countries like Central America to fill their labor needs. However, these efforts are hindered by the same economic and political forces that drive Mexican workers to migrate north. This begs the question, if the U.S. benefits from Mexican labor and agricultural exports, should it invest more in addressing the root causes of migration in Mexico and the region? These questions underscore the complexity of migration as not only a national issue but also a transnational challenge requiring collaborative solutions.

Work Cited:

Rice, Mark. “Illicit Economies” Class Lecture, December 1, 2024. (slides 10, 12, and 20)

Rice, Mark. “Neoliberalism success and discontent” Class Lecture, December 1, 2024. (slide 9)

Sheridan, Mary, and Fred Ramos. “As Its Workers Stream to the U.S., Mexico Runs Short of Farmhands.” The Washington Post, 23 Mar. 2024, www.washingtonpost.com/world/2024/03/23/mexico-farmworkers-us-economy/. 

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Research project 3: Latin America in the Cold War

Argentina: Interrogation and Killing of at least Nine Subversives

Link to National Security Archive: https://nsarchive.gwu.edu/document/18433-national-security-archive-doc-17-cia-cable

The CIA cable titled “Argentina: Interrogation and Killing of at least Nine Subversives” and the firsthand accounts in Never Again uncover the violent and strategic methods used by the Argentine regime under Jorge Rafael Videla. These documents reveal how the dictatorship systematically used violence, specifically targeting opposition groups like the Montoneros. The CIA cable illustrates how Argentine security forces operated with chilling efficiency, capturing, interrogating, and killing suspected political opponents in a calculated manner. High-ranking Montoneros like Raul Yager were not only tortured for information but later, deaths were staged as though they were accidents and not related to the detentions of people. By staging these deaths, the regime aimed to create a public illusion of legitimacy and control while concealing the extrajudicial nature of its actions.

The cable also sheds light on how military and police forces coordinated to carry out these state-sanctioned killings. In the CIA cable, the actions of the Argentine security forces are described in a detached, official way. For example, when a document says security forces would “arrange for them to die,” it’s using formal language to describe state-sanctioned executions. This type of language makes the violent acts seem routine and masks their brutality, giving the impression that these killings were just ordinary procedures within government operations. Torture was a key part of the regime’s strategy to eliminate dissent and instill terror. When prisoners under torture revealed information about others, this led to further arrests, creating a cycle of violence that dismantled opposition networks.

While the CIA document presents a detached and organized view of these repressive tactics, Retamozzo’s testimony in Never Again brings out the raw suffering endured by the detainees. He describes specific torture methods like “electrodes on the teeth” and the physical reaction of “retching and vomiting” (Nouzeilles & Montaldo, 442), showing how the regime experimented with new ways to break down detainees both physically and mentally. Prisoners were stripped of identity and reduced to numbers, as Retamozzo recounts, I “… was number 11”  (Nouzeilles & Montaldo, 443). This form of dehumanization erased any sense of self, possibly as a tactic by the regime to prevent escapees from identifying others, ensuring that survivors couldn’t share the names of fellow detainees with the outside world and further concealing the extent of the repression.

Beyond physical torture, psychological manipulation was a relentless tool. Guards forced Retamozzo to walk up and down stairs as a disorienting tactic, after which interrogators tried to make him question his memories, even suggesting that the pain he endured was less severe than he recalled. The regime’s tactic of instilling self-doubt was designed to make prisoners question their own experiences, isolating them and making it even harder to share their trauma. Although Retamozzo eventually shared his story, these psychological tactics were designed to confuse prisoners and discourage many from talking about what they endured. These forms of psychological manipulation aimed to further break the detainees on every level, ensuring any sense of opposition was thoroughly subdued.

The CIA cable shows that the U.S. was aware of these abuses, but its response was initially muted. Due to Cold War alliances, the U.S. maintained diplomatic ties with Argentina’s military regime in the early years, prioritizing anti-communist objectives over human rights concerns. It wasn’t until the late 1970s under the Carter administration that the U.S. began to take a more critical stance, reducing military aid as reports of human rights violations mounted. However, this shift was seen as slow and limited, underscoring how international silence or hesitancy enables authoritarian regimes to continue their repression unchecked.

Work Cited:

CIA, Directorate of Operations, “Argentina: Interrogation and Killing of at least Nine Subversives,” Secret/Exclusive for, Intelligence Information Cable IN 83 1260378, May 21, 1983, The National Security Archive, Argentina Declassification Project, (Washington, D.C.: The National Security Archive, George Washington University, Digital National Security Archive, 2018), accession number C06698600.

National Commission of the Disappearance of Persons, “Never Again,” in The Argentina Reader: History, Culture, Politics, ed. Gabriela Nouzeilles and Graciela Montaldo (Duke University Press, 2002), 440-47.

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Research project 2: Images of Latin America in the late 1800s and early 1900s

Clergy

Canónigo Don Juan Bautista Ormaechea. Tulane University Digital Library. Early Images of Latin America. Cruces y Campa Collection 63, Box 1, cyc_19.

The image of Canónigo Don Juan Bautista Ormaechea visually represents the Catholic clergy’s influence in 19th-century Latin America, particularly in Ecuador. While Ormaechea himself was not directly connected to Ecuador, his depiction evokes the power and presence of clerical figures who played significant roles in spiritual guidance and political affairs. The clergy acted as spiritual leaders, intermediaries, and protectors who perceived their role as guiding Indigenous people “into the civilized world” by framing them as “spiritual infants” in need of Catholic discipline (Williams, 729). This legitimated the church’s authority to maintain spiritual and social behavior. They also enforced colonial order by reinforcing landowner interests and perpetuating inequalities. The critique of this system is articulated by liberal writers who exposed the “…nefarious consequences of landlord and clerical control…”, illustrating how this alliance perpetuated inequalities and hindered Indigenous emancipation (Williams, 731). The liberal critique emphasized the need to diminish the church’s power for meaningful social progress and equality, challenging the pervasive clerical influence over social hierarchies and Indigenous rights.

In mid-19th-century Ecuador, liberal political projects challenged the church’s extensive influence over Indigenous communities. President José María Urbina led reforms aimed at protecting Indian pueblos from exploitation, such as by emancipating Indigenous populations from “clerical tutelage”, a system granting the church significant authority over the legal and social rights of Indigenous people (Williams, 700). The dismantling of legal tutelage in 1854 enabled Indigenous people to access the national judicial system without clerical mediation fostering greater Indigenous autonomy. His reforms also targeted the alliance between landlords and the clergy. The passage of the 1856 water-rights law directly confronted the feudal control over land and water resources held by the church and Serrano landlords (Williams, 698), emphasizing the deep-rooted connection between religious life and land ownership. These reforms sought to realign social hierarchies by placing civil law above religious influence, pushing for liberal democracy and civil rights.

Despite these reforms, the 1854 Ley de Indígenas redefined church-state relations, not fully excluding the church but establishing a “paternal” relationship between the state and Indigenous communities (Williams, 704). Previously, the clergy had exerted caste-like control over Indigenous rights; however, the law attempted to balance these rights with broader nation-building goals, reducing the church’s direct legal authority. García Moreno’s Catholic-conservative rule in 1859 further sought to restore and protect the church’s influence, counteracting the liberal advances of Urbina. García Moreno’s administration aimed to create “harmony” by reasserting the church’s influence over Indigenous affairs and countering pro-Indigenous “populism” (Williams, 726). The church continued to provide moral and spiritual guidance, bolstering its control over both landowners and Indigenous communities, thus reinforcing social hierarchies. 

The shifting power dynamics between liberal reforms and the Catholic church’s entrenched authority in 19th-century Ecuador reveal deeper tensions about how a country defines progress and equality. Urbina’s efforts to dismantle “clerical tutelage” and García Moreno’s counteraction raise critical questions: To what extent can policies reshape deeply ingrained social and religious structures? How did the church’s control over land and race shape or hinder the development of a more inclusive civil law? This also makes us wonder how past struggles still play a role in today’s debates regarding religion and politics.

Works Cited

Williams, Derek. “Popular Liberalism and Indian Servitude: The Making and Unmaking of Ecuador’s Antilandlord State, 1845-1868.” Hispanic American Historical Review 83, no. 4 (Nov. 2003): 697-733.

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Research project 1: Visualizing Latin American independence

Saccharum officinarum, L.

JCB Archive of Early American Images, accession number 69-18, Canne a sucre Saccharum officinarum, L.

This detailed drawing of a sugarcane plant was created by Dutrône de La Couture, a leading expert on sugarcane and French medical doctor associated with the Société royale des Sciences & Arts at Cap François in Saint Domingue (now known as Haiti). Sugarcane was a key crop in the colony’s economy in the 18th century. I find it interesting that someone in medicine took such a significant role in studying sugarcane. Possibly, the purpose was to find ways to genetically modify the sugarcane plant to decrease cost and increase production. 

The economic prosperity of the sugar industry in Saint Domingue was at the expense of slave labor. The colony’s shift from indigo to sugar led to a rapid increase in the demand for labor, and with it, a dramatic rise in the enslaved population. In just three decades, the number of enslaved individuals brought from Africa skyrocketed from “…3,000 to well over 47,000…” (Fick, 55). The cultivation of sugarcane was brutal and deadly, with many enslaved workers dying within 3 to 4 years. Low birth rates among enslaved women, combined with the high mortality rates of male slaves, meant a continuous influx of enslaved Africans was needed to sustain the sugarcane industry. This begs the question, was sugar truly worth more than the life of a human being?

As the French Revolution began in 1789, revolutionary ideas of liberty and equality started to spread, including calls to abolish slavery. However, French colonial authorities and plantation owners were determined to keep the sugar economy thriving. This highlights a disconnect between France’s revolutionary ideals of freedom and equality and the continued exploitation of enslaved people in Saint Domingue, who increasingly questioned their oppression and sought their own freedom. What I find even more fascinating is that this image was created around 1790, just before the Haitian Revolution (1791). At that time, France’s reliance on Saint Domingue’s sugar production made the colony one of its most valuable assets, as “…slavery and the colonies were still primary factors in the development of France’s economy” (Fick, 53). For example, the city of Nantes in France benefited immensely from this crop, profiting from the trade of enslaved people and through refining and selling sugar. Thus, the sugarcane plant depicted in the image here symbolizes French wealth. 

Remarkably, the revolution in Saint Domingue became the only successful slave revolt in history, ultimately leading to Haiti’s independence in 1804. Even after achieving independence, sugar remained a highly desired commodity, not only by foreign powers but also by the newly independent Haitian leaders like Jean-Jacques Dessalines who sought to revive the sugar industry to stabilize the nation’s economy. By nationalizing the lands Dessalines tried to implement policies that compelled former enslaved people to work on plantations, despite the abolition of slavery. This demonstrated that despite the revolution, the economic necessity of sugarcane in Haiti persisted, even among those who had once been its victims. This raises the question, did the revolution truly succeed in dismantling the structures of exploitation or did they merely change hands?

Work Cited:

Fick, Carolyn. “The French Revolution in Saint Domingue: A Triumph or a Failure?” In A Turbulent Time: The French Revolution and the Greater Caribbean, edited by David Barry Gaspar and David Partick Geuggs, 51-75. Indiana University Press, 1997.