Creolization: Mix and Transform

A creole language is a stable language that emerges from a mixture of various languages, all at the same time, it maintains elements and vocabulary consistent with the parent languages, while containing original features and syntax unique to itself. The creolization process also applies to cultures, and, of course, to music and dance as cultural expressions. Creolized elements of culture arise from the interaction of heterogeneous elements simultaneously present at a given location. The process of creolization goes beyond simple mixture, to the actual origination of new cultures. Latinoamerican culture is a premium example of this hybridity, and our music and dance forms serve as prime illustrations.

As anybody with some knowledge of the history of the Americas knows, three major cultures were at play in the creolization process: European, Native, and African. In most of mainland Latinoamerica, European was specifically Iberian (Spanish or Portuguese); while in the Caribbean, Brittish, French, and Dutch were also primordial colonizers – not to mention the cultural influence of later Asian immigrants. The cultural groups native to the Americas and the Caribbean were very diverse before colonial times (and continue to be!) To add on top of that, Africans brought during the slave trade came from different regions with diverse cultures too. This immense number of cultural variables account in part to the complexity and variety of cultures across the Americas. Thus, when focusing exclusively in the music and dance genres of Latinoamerica we are encompassing an incredibly wide range of ways of moving and making music, all with different mixtures of European, African and/or Native roots. For example, Cuban and other Hispanic Caribbean singing styles simultaneously contain almost identical survivals of Spanish decimal, as well as the West African complex harmonies and call and response format. In the bodies of Latin dancers coexist the African in the lower body with its bent and flexible knees, low center of gravity, and moving hips, and the European in the lifted upper body (doesn’t it make you think of Spanish flamenco or French waltz?) Isn’t this seemingly contradictory juxtaposition of arrogance and earthiness stereotypical of Latino idiosyncrasy?

What does it mean for us to be all at once African, European, and Native American? How can we identify with aspects of all but at the same time claim our own unique identity? How can all f us be Latinos while being at the same time acutely aware of the differences between regions and countries and even areas? Given that different proportions of the presence and influence of two or all three of the originating cultures in different sociopolitical and environmental circumstances gave rise to a plethora of varied cultures, each with a variety of music and a dance form that fall in different points of the bi or tri-cultural continuum, what are the common thread across our music and dance? I am inclined to believe that it is precisely the process of creolization, out of the same parent cultures and under similar circumstances, what allows us to conceive of a “self” wide enough to include us all. In the case of Latin music and dance it is the commonly repeated elements with their shared roots that identify it as such. Furthermore, cultural creolization, although a process inevitably influenced by the particular relationships of power between the original cultures at play, eventually creates a new independent identity that gives us the freedom to move forward in the ability to identify as one. It’s the African drums, with the European guitars or accordions, and the Native guiros or quenas, which created a dance and music culture with specific, recognizable, shared roots, that is also uniquely our own.

A word on choice of terminology

I use Latin, Latino, and Latinoamerican interchangeably, without making a distinction between people of such origin living in the U.S. and those living in Latinoamerica, including the Caribbean.

I chose the word “Latinoamerica” even if it doesn’t really exist in English because it’s the word use in Latinoamerica to refer to Latinoamerica, that is Mexico, Central, South America and the Caribbean. I dislike Latin-America because the association with other such dashed terms (Asian-American, African-American) implies someone who is an “American” (as the term is used in the United States to identify its citizens) but who was roots somewhere else. If ethnic terminology in the U.S. followed logic, Latin-American would be used to refer to second+ generation Latinos.

On the other hand, I use American to refer to anybody from any region of the Americas (not just U.S.A.)

Native American refers to indigenous tribes of the Americas (not just North America). I have no problem with “indigenous” (indígena) or “American Indian” either, only with “Indian” which I would only use to relate to India.

Sometimes I want to refer specifically and only to certain regions of the Americas. Thus “Hispanic Caribbean” or Hispanoamerica refer to the countries in the Caribbean for the first term, or Mexico, Central, and South America for the second term, that were colonized by Spain. The prefix Ibero- refers to both Spain and Portugal.

Just to be picky, I also often include regions of the U.S., such as California, Texas and New Mexico, in which Hispanic cultural elements about when referring to Hispanoamerican culture, in the same manner in which South Florida and New York are immensely Caribbean. After all, Salsa which has come to be the ultimate representation of Latinidad (Spanish for Latin-ness) or Caribbean music, was born and bred in New York, which doesn’t make it anyless of a Latin cultural expression.

Finally, although I recognize the cultural difference between the Hispanic Caribbean countries (Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Dominican Republic) and the rest of the Caribbean, Brittish, French, and Dutch, as well as the fact that many people of the Caribbean would not identify as Latinos, I chose to focus on the similarities for the sake of this exploration of music and dance. I often state "Latin and Caribbean," even if it is redundant according to my own definition of Latin, to emphasize this. On the other hand,when referring to the unique Caribbean culture (versus South American, or Mexican, for example), I include Belize, as well as the Caribbean coasts and island of all the mainland countries that surround the Caribbean (from the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico, to the Honduran island of Roatan, to the citiy of Barranquilla in Colombia, and the Caribbean coast of Venezuela).

Identity in Motion

"Identity in Motion" is the subtitle to Raices, the hispanic arts and culture educational program I developed and teach. However, it is also a very fit title for some of the thoughts evoked by reading Caribbean Dance from Abakua to Zouk: How Movement Shapes Identity.

Susanna Sloat's introduction is very thought provoking. She brings up the issue of how music and dance areperhaps the best known representation of Caribbean cultures - Latin cultures in general, I would add. All over the world we are immediately associated with popular rhythms, from the latest reggaeton, to the immortal conga lines. In this way our music and dance represent us, or misrepresent us, worldwide. Music and dance are the most well know Latin cultural expression in the countries that form the diaspora, where Caribbeans and Latinos have immigrated traditionally, and beyond, into countries with no considerable Latino presence. Plenty of times people's concept of our cultures are downright simplified to the characteristics our music and dance. I am also very aware of the fact that we are not only represented by our rhythms and dances, but by our attitudes towards movement, which, carefully contextualized, contain important clues to who we are. Caribbeanness is inextricably associated with joy, hip fluidity, and sensuality. In this way, "dance becomes the primary mark of identity," both personal and communal, both internal and external. Foreigners expect all self-respecting Latinos to be able to dance a Salsa, without exception. Dancing at New Year's parties and other family gatherings and social celebrations creates a communal experience and a sense of belonging, while marking insiders and outsider. Children learn in elementary school the basics to our "national" folkloric dances, and pick up popular and social ones from adults through observation and participation. Considering the colonial history of Latin America and the Caribbean, all matters of ethnic pride and national identity become primordial, music and dance are no exceptions - in fact, wonderful examples. As Sloat so beautifully puts it:
"In the Caribbean, ... where people love to dance, ... individuals become passionately attached to the dances they do, whether they are those of the majority or of a subculture, in that way asserting their identity through movement".

As I begin this journey exploring sociocultural and historical aspects of Latin music and dance from a feminist perspective, I find it important to take a look, first of all, at my initial location - where do I come from, what are my personal experiences related to the topic? What ideas and feelings related to Latin music and dance am I starting off with?

I will say that I identify as a young Latina (all at once Latin-American by birth, of Hispanic heritage, and a migrant in the U.S., so, regardless of which of the many definitions of the word you pick, it will still fit me). I am half Argentinian, half Panamanian, born in the former, raised in the latter. I like to joke that I'm Argentinian when I dance tango, and Panamanian when I dance salsa -- and it's true. The many years I have spent in the U.S. have also shaped who I am. It has already been a number of years since I started dreaming and thinking in English, and referring to Americans in the first person plural. I am proud of my ethnicity and cultural background, and once I bought a t-shirt that read "Latina is beautiful". Music and dance have always been an important part of my life, and I currently teach and perform professionally. I also identify as a feminist, one who seeks equality and resists oppression in all its forms (gender, race, sexuality, class, economic, etc).

That being said, I can think of no better way to explore where I am speaking from than by examining a poem I wrote a few years ago. I will present the original Spanish version below, as well as an attempt at a noted translation. It must be kept in mind that by the very nature of the poem, many colloquial words without literal translation present concepts difficult to explain to a foreign mind. I also include the text from the original post on my personal blog, where I first published this poem, in order to further contextualize my location.

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Friday, January 20, 2006

today, i told my dad: "la vida a lo gringo es como cafe descafeinado con splenda ... la vida a lo latino es cafe tinto con azucar morena " ("life American style is like decaf coffee with splenda, life Latino style is like espresso with brown sugar")

today, someone who knows me well, said: "you are too latina for your own good"

today, a close friend decided that the worse and most offensive insult someone could say to me would be: "you dance like a gringa"

Here's a poem about women, Latin-American music and the Latin-American way of life I wrote last year:

Danza, mujer, el ritmo
tropical de los tambores
con ese tumbao caribeño de las caderas,
con esa cadencia decadente y elegante.
Es la cultura de la cintura,
la historia de son y sal,
del viento tras las palmeras
persistente y furioso como el mar.

Danza, mujer, el ritmo
latino de la guitarra,
con ese arte alegre y antiguo,
con ese aire de fiesta eterna,
Es el calor que se lleva en las venas,
la desesperada calma que se arrastra en los pies,
la resignada esperanza del desamparo,
espontáneo y medido como la música.

Danza, mujer, el ritmo mestizo de las maracas
con esa pasión de cuerpos contiguos,
con ese amor a lo mutuo y compartido.
Es el culto bailable a la fertilidad,
la conexión a la tierra y la gravedad,
la herencia de tres continentes,
milagrosa e inestable como la paz.

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Dance, woman, the tropical
rhythm of the drums
with that Caribbean tumbao (1) of the hips,
with that elegant and decadent cadence.
It's the culture of the waist,
the history of son (2) and salt,
the wind among the palm trees,
persistent and furious, just like the sea.

Dance, woman, the Latin
rhythm of the guitar,
with that ancient and joyous art,
with those airs of eternal fiesta (3).
It's the heat we carry in our blood (4),
the desperate calmness we drag in our feet,
the resigned hope of el desamparo (5),
spontaneous and measured, just like music.

Dance, woman the mestizo (6)
rhythm of the maracas (7)
with the passion of contiguous bodies,
with love for that which is mutual and shared.
It's the danceable cult to fertility,
the connection to the earth and to gravity,
the heritage of three continents,
miraculous and unstable, just like peace.

(1) tumbao is a Caribbean slang word similar to the words "strut" or "swing". It refers to moving the feet or hips with a certain grace, sensuality, rhythm, swagger, groove, or flavor, especially when dancing or walking.

(2) Son refers to a particular sound, rhythm, mood, or melody. It is also used in Latin America to refer to a song with a lively, danceable beat. It is also a Cuban rhythm.

(3) Unlike the English "party", the Spanish "fiesta" also refers to fetivals, holidays, or any kind of festive celebrations, including religious festivities.

(4) the expression "llevar en la sangre" refers to something inhereted. It is used to refer to something a whole group of people or culture share ,or a family trait.

(5) abandon, helplessness, without protection or refuge, relinquished.

(6) mestizo means of mixed race. In Latin-America there was much more intermarriage between the Europeans and the natives, as well as with the Africans that were brought later, than in the U.S. or Canada. This process is called mestizaje and is, among other reasons, probably due to the fact that in one case mostly men were arriving to conquer territories, while in the other entire families were migrating to create new settlements. As a result, terms like "biracial" are not often used in Latin-America, where most everybody is mestizo in one way or the other.

(7) the references to the drums, guitar, and maracas, allude to the African, European, and Indigenous American influences in Latin music respectively.