In the Diaspora (This is one of a series of fortnightly columns from Guyanese in the diaspora and others with an interest in issues related to Guy-ana and the Carib-bean)
By Yarimar Bonilla (Yarimar Bonilla teaches an-thropology at the University of Virginia.)
Thanks to Pablo Morales, editor of the NACLA Report on the Americas (www.nacla.org), for granting permission to publish this excerpt from an article that appears in full in their May edition.
On January 20 the Caribbean archipelago of Guadeloupe witnessed the launch of the largest political movement in its history. For 44 days a mass general strike brought the French overseas territory to a standstill: Schools and universities closed, major commerce was suspended, banks shut down, hotel rooms emptied, government services were discontinued, restaurants were shuttered, public transportation halted, and motorists became pedestrians as gasoline distribution was interrupted.
Huge demonstrations accompanied the strike, with as many as 100,000 people marching in the streets. After a month and a half of political deadlock, violent confrontations with the French police, and the death of a union militant, Guadeloupean activists reached an agreement with the French government on 165 demands, including a 200-euro ($250) increase in the monthly minimum wage, measures to aid farmers and fishermen, lower bank fees, reduced airfares between the islands and France, and reduced prices on food, housing, water, gasoline, and public transportation.
The strike was organized by a coalition of 48 organizations, including trade unions from a wide spectrum of industries (gasoline distribution, commerce, tourism, civil service, health care, education, and agriculture to name a few), environmental groups, peasant organizations, political parties, pro-independence activists, consumer rights advocates, associations for disability rights, fair housing proponents, music and dance groups, and other political, cultural, and civic leaders. These activists came together under the name Lyannaj Kont Pwofitasyon (LKP), which can be loosely translated as the Alliance Against Profiteering. In Creole, lyannaj refers to a joining of forces for a common goal. In this case, Guadeloupean activists found themselves in lyannaj against the “expensive life” that characterizes the French Caribbean and the excessive profiteering and economic exploitation they call pwofitasyon.
Their political agenda first took shape in December around the high cost of gasoline, which had recently reached exorbitant levels—up to about $130 for a full tank of gas. Labor activists, particularly those in the UGTG (General Union of Guadeloupean Workers), launched a movement to lower gas prices, but as other organizations joined the effort, it quickly became clear that gasoline was not the only important commodity whose price was inflated in Guadeloupe. Through a series of meetings, the collective developed a political platform that not only centred on the high cost of living but produced a list of 120 demands, calling for, among other things, the development of the local fishing industry, the promotion of local cultural initiatives, an overhaul of the educational system, environmental planning, and employment initiatives.
While the LKP movement is a response to the global economic crisis, its demands are rooted in Guadeloupe’s history of economic exploitation and racial inequality. As a French overseas department, Guadeloupe enjoys relatively high salaries and standards of living compared with other Caribbean societies. It has one of the highest per capita incomes in the region, and the minimum wage is the same as in France (almost USD$1,200 per month when the strike began). However, these high salaries are accompanied by high prices on most consumer goods and services—ranging anywhere from 20% to 170% higher than the prices in mainland France. Moreover, with an unemployment rate of 22.7%, compared with France’s 8.1%, and twice the French poverty rate (12.5% versus 6.5%), the contemporary Guadeloupean economic landscape seems bleak, particularly for local youth (the unemployment rate is 50% for those under 25).
Merchants argue that high transportation costs, taxes, and tariffs oblige them to charge more for imported goods. Activists answer that the high prices are also the product of a larger racial and economic history. A small white minority, commonly referred to as the békés, monopolize Guadeloupe’s economy through their control of the import-export industry and most major retail operations. These elites are seen as the direct descendants of the colonial-era plantation owners and slaveholders. In fact, it was partly the fear that independence from France would only consolidate the békés’ economic dominance that led many in the region, including intellectuals like Aimé Cesaire, to turn to the political project of French incorporation. But that quickly proved disappointing: After Guadeloupe’s integration into the French Republic in 1946, the local economy collapsed, unemployment skyrocketed, islanders left in massive numbers, and dependence on the French state deepened—even as the economic dominance of the béké class remained as strong as ever.
The LKP members I spoke to said the movement was united in its critique of Guadeloupean society, but its activists do not have a common political solution. Some of the organizations in the collective are known for their pro-independence ideology, but others do not share it; in fact some of the organizations claim to have no political leanings at all, save for their opposition to high prices. This is a distinguishing feature of this new movement. Unlike previous generations of pro-independence or pro-autonomy political projects, the LKP does not imagine itself as a political organization advancing a specific political project.
The initial goal of the movement was to bring together a variety of organizational struggles in the context of a shared campaign in order to strengthen the work of each individual organization, and not necessarily to create a new institutional apparatus. But the LKP soon became larger than the activists involved could have imagined, partly in response to a local thirst for political and social change.
Despite the absence of an official political agenda for the movement, its platform was seen by many as a demand for more local sovereignty and autonomy, though not necessarily outright political independence as in most of the English-speaking Caribbean.
The LKP itself does not advocate for greater autonomy, yet during the course of the strike, a popular chant emerged as the official slogan of the movement: “Guadeloupe belongs to us, Guadeloupe does not belong to you, you can’t do what you please in our country!” (La Gwadloup sé tan nou, la Gwadloup sé pa ta yo, yo pé ké fè sa yo vlé, adan péyi an nou!) Originally a protest chant created by Jacky Richard, a local bank worker, “Guadeloupe Belongs to Us” was set to music by the group Akyo and quickly became a massive hit. During the time of the strike, the song was shouted by thousands of demonstrators during protests, sung by children on the playground, blasted out of car radios and open windows, and its lyrics were emblazoned upon thousands of T-shirts sold out of the trunks of cars.
The ambiguous slogan might explain its popularity, for it is unclear how the lines of belonging are drawn here: Who exactly constitutes “us” and “you”? And what does belonging mean in this context? This ambiguity speaks to a particular political agenda, one distinct from the political projects of incorporation and independence. As Raymond Gamma, an LKP spokesperson, told me: “We are trying to invent a new form of collective organization. Maybe we will find it within the French collectivity—not being French while at the same time being in the French ensemble [collective]. I don’t know. What I do know is that we are creating something that no one can imagine except us.”
