French academic Guy Martinière (born 1944) originally included this essay as a chapter in his doctoral dissertation of 1978. The author offers a history of the use and political implications of the term Latin America, beginning with the earliest thinkers on the subject including Charles Calvo [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.1] and continuing on to include more contemporary writers. The author’s main contention is that the Latin-ness of America can be as useful an operative concept as more entrenched constructs such as “European,” “African,” or “Asian.” The essay was first titled Contribution à l’étude de l’économie rétrospective du Brasil, essai d’historiographie [(These III, Cycle: Histoire, Paris X, 1978)]. Martinière’s work was edited and published as chapter 2 of Aspects de la coopération franco-brésilienne: Transplantation culturelle et stratégie de la modernité [(Grenoble: Presses Universitaires de Grenoble and Paris: Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’homme, 1982), 25–37], on which this translation is based.
THE CONCEPT OF A LATIN AMERICA is so widely accepted these days that we take it for granted.1 But it has not always been that way, far from it. Over time, and for a variety of reasons, it was merely an “operative” concept. To better understand why and how the Latin-ness of America became more firmly established during the mid-nineteenth century, we must understand why and how the trend reversed in the late twentieth century with the movement to eliminate this single Latin classification, which was the second step in France’s cultural transplanting strategy vis-à-vis the New World, so as to better identify the past and present realities of this semi-continent, known by its plural name of Latin Americas. Could it be that, shortly after the independence period of 1775–1825—the first “de-colonization”— the criollo middle class in the Americas living beyond the Anglo-Saxon sphere of influence was helped by its Latin cultural roots to resist the rising expansion of a United States of America riding a wave of continental unity inspired by their triumphant Pan Americanism?
A concerted effort was made during the first three decades of the nineteenth century to find a new political vocabulary that was relevant to the mood of independence sweeping the countries that had been under Spanish and Portuguese colonial rule since the sixteenth century. Revolutions rocked the Spanish Empire in the Americas in the very early nineteenth century, leading to the emergence of some fifteen independent nations, all of which deeply admired the United States of America, recently founded after decades under the yoke of British colonial rule. Echoes of the French Revolution were also reverberating in the area. It had now become impossible to keep using the same administrative and political vocabulary imposed by Spain during her colonial administration of the New World. Names such as New Spain [Mexico] or New Grenade [Colombia] among others would inevitably be changed by the new “libertadores” [liberators]. A process of creating new political names was thus under way. Following the independence of these young nations throughout the continent, [Baron Alexander von] Humboldt was, of course, instrumental in addressing this question by theorizing that, inspired by the very emergence of these countries, there was a common way to analyze the problems of this part of the American continent. The following excerpt is from his Supplement to the Political Essay on the Island of Cuba that appeared in 1826:
Regardless of the political changes that may occur in this region I will, in this document, attempt to avoid annoying convolutions by continuing to use the term Spanish America to refer to the countries inhabited by Spanish-Americans. I use “The United States” with no reference to “of North America”—to refer to all the Anglo-American countries that, though not the United States, are also part of northern America. It is embarrassing to talk about nations that play an important role on the world stage when they lack a collective name. The term “American” can no longer be applied solely to the citizens of the United States of North America. An accurate name for the independent nations of the New Continent would be welcome if it could be agreed to easily and harmoniously.2
It would be another thirty years before that “easy, harmonious, and accurate” name would be “invented” for the group of young nations in America that had just gained their independence after their Spanish and Portuguese colonial period. Then, during the following century, from 1860 to 1960, the main question concerned the Latin identity of the America that had been created by the Iberian empires.
The new invented name for America came from Europe; it first appeared in France during the Second Empire. This latest baptism rivaled in importance the one performed in the early sixteenth century by the humanist and geographer from Loraine, [Martin] Waldseemüller, who said that America—named for Amerigo Vespucci—was the “quarter” of the world that Christopher Columbus put on the European agenda. It is extremely interesting to note how many different intrigues, some with very specific political and ideological connections, were involved in the names used to denote—that is, to define—that land, that continent that Europe discovered, or rather rediscovered, in the late fifteenth century, at the dawn of the first colonization and then again at the end of the nineteenth century, at the beginning of the second great colonial enterprise. The discussions between humanists, Italian or otherwise, were intent on making sure that the name of lands of the New World, of America, contained no reference at all, or a very minimal one at any rate, to the Iberian political powers that annexed them during their imperial periods in the sixteenth century. These very lands—that became independent thanks to their inhabitants who were originally European— were called Latin America in the mid-nineteenth century for entirely political and ideological reasons.
Dreamed up in France during the time of Napoleon III, the concept of Latin America appeared on the eve of the military expedition to Mexico that was also a Franco-European scientific venture. One of the earliest instances (perhaps the very first) of this concept appearing in print in Paris was in a book by Carlos [Charles] Calvo [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.1], published by the A. Durand publishing house early in 1862: Recueil complet des traités . . . . The scope of the work was astonishing: more than twenty volumes of some 400-500 pages each, divided into three main periods, and published over the course of several years. In short, this was a monumental book in the strictest sense of the term, one that made history in the history of the Latin Americas.3
Carlos Calvo’s contemporaries, by the way, were not unimpressed, since they wrote many reviews of the book, beginning with the very first volume. Calvo was originally from Latin America, and would introduce himself as having been, “Born on the bountiful banks of the River Plate.” His scientific reputation was beyond reproach, closely combining knowledge of both the natural sciences and human society. In Europe and in Latin America he moved in various circles, socializing with historians, geographers, economists, botanists, naturalists, and even paleontologists. In addition to his scientific abilities, Calvo was also skilled in the art of politics. His calling card teemed with titles. To the one that introduced him as a “Corresponding member of the Historical Institute, of the Geographical Society, of the Imperial Society of the Acclimatization Zoo of France, of the Society of Economists, Paris,” he added the title “Paraguayan Chargé d’ affaires to the Courts of France and England.” In other words, Carlos Calvo was no ordinary man.
When he published his book, he included a dedication to Emperor Napoleon III. His goal was clear. Calvo was presenting his work not just as “a token of respectful admiration inspired by Your Imperial Majesty’s superior intelligence and keen insight.” But, also, as “the sincere expression of gratitude of all people of the Latin race.” However, the political and ideological objective could not be clearer: “Your Imperial Majesty has understood, better than any other European sovereign, the full importance of Latin America and has made the most direct contribution to the substantial development of trade undertaken by France with this vast continent.”
A few days later, Mr. Thouvenel, the French Minister of Foreign Affairs replied, saying that the Emperor “who genuinely appreciated the affection that inspired your request—has graciously accepted the dedication of a body of work whose publication, in his opinion, seems to be of great interest at this time.” That was putting it mildly… [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.1].
It had been little more than three months since French troops had landed in Mexico on a mission to oust [President Benito] Juárez and nearly six months since the joint British, Spanish, and French military intervention had been decided. [Given the timing], could there have been a better guarantee of Napoleon III’s political influence in Latin America than a scientific text written by Carlos Calvo, a respected Latin American diplomat? In fact, Calvo, on one single page lost among the thousands of others in his book, denied being in favor of military intervention in Mexico. Nevertheless, the essential fact remained that he had “taken his hat off” to the “Latin American” policy of the Emperor, whom he called the best sovereign in Europe. Overall, the various great themes of Napoleon III’s political strategy had been woven into one, even if the use of certain military procedures stirred up differences of opinion that were expressed in public. His definition of “Latin” to describe the French political, cultural, and economic objectives concerning the continent formerly colonized by Spain and Portugal was admirably in accord with the Emperor’s “grand design.”
This grand design had been carefully considered and developed over a period of several years. The view expressed by Senator Michel Chevalier, who was responsible for ideological matters in the imperial regime, would seem to be significant. Essentially, it can be summarized as follows: As the heir of the Catholic nations of Europe, he wrote, France is the world’s torchbearer for the Latin races, that is, the French, the Italians, the Spanish, and the Portuguese. A guarantee of peace and civilization, that torch could help light the path to progress since an “effective agreement” exists between Paris and London. If, however, all due caution is not exercised, adverse conditions in Italy, Spain, and Portugal—in other words, the Catholic and Latin countries in Europe—are liable to increase, providing opportunities to dissident Christian nations such as Russia, Prussia, and Turkey, unless a new alliance, led by Napoleon III, could bring them back into the fold. Beyond the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, the rise of Protestant countries and of the Anglo-Saxon race is even more evident in America. Neither Brazil nor Cuba is in a position to counter the influence of the United States all by itself. It is high time to unite the Latin nations of Europe so as to help our sisters in America, to embark on that road to progress that France has already taken, and provide more effective support to Mexico first of all, [and] to halt the expansion of the United States.4
The book titled Le Mexique ancien et moderne [Ancient and Modern Mexico] was published in 1863 [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.2]. It featured the Emperor’s Latin and Catholic grand design and included Napoleon III’s instructions to Marshall Forey, commander in chief of the expedition to Mexico. Neither Michel Chevalier nor Napoleon III directly referred to the concept of Latin America. Officially, in fact, it was simply a matter of Latin races in the Americas. However, the way in which Carlos Calvo used the name Latin America—missing in Humboldt’s writing—was about to take Europe by storm.
Favorable or otherwise, the first exposure to this new name provoked violent reactions, “debates and disputes.” The fact is that an idea such as the one suggested by Carlos Calvo in 1863–64—formally characterizing America as Latin— was bound to unleash strong feelings. And, of course, the ideological debates and political disputes about the French strategy in the Americas drew both praise and censure.
The “cultural” backing from Catholic and Latin European nations was muted, except among the pro-French groups in the Mediterranean regions. Spain, for example, refused to acknowledge the independence of her former colonies; in her view, these countries of the Americas were Hispanic American, before and instead of Latin American. It wasn’t long before the idea of Hispanic-ness began to appear in response to Latin-ness. Similarly, Portugal stood behind its Lusitanian Empire in Africa and Asia and considered Brazil to be “adult” enough to find its own way. With regard to the Italians, they were too concerned by their own national unity and the role that Napoleon III would play to be interested in the Latin continent of the Americas.
Beyond the Rhine, Humboldt’s followers violently criticized the term Latin America; in Goettingen (1863) someone by the name of Wappaens published the following statement in the Journal des Savants [The Scholars’ Journal]: “We will gladly excuse a certain amount of boastfulness in the Hispanic Americans. . . . But we most particularly hope that they will think very carefully before adopting French ideas. They would be better advised to consider the basis of their nationality; they should not attempt to be a Latin evolution—i.e., neo-French—but rather develop a neo-Spanish identity, along the lines of the neo-English one chosen by the Anglo Americans. To achieve that goal, however, or others of a similar nature, they should not send their younger generations to Paris for their higher education. They should send them to Madrid or to Spanish colleges to be inspired by Spanish literature, instead of filling their heads with the works of Voltaire, [Jean-Jacques] Rousseau, Eugène Sue, and other French writers.”
The term Latin America actually achieved its highest levels of acceptance among the intellectual milieu of the young independent states of the Americas, where it was immediately seen as an expression of identity. Eventually, the ex-colonials managed to sever the umbilical cord to the Iberian Motherland and achieve their own international presence, which British support could not provide. Only Napoleon III’s adventurous plan to send a military expedition to Mexico compromised the cultural impact of Latin-ness in the Americas.
The ultimate success of the concept of Latin America was fueled by the ideological work of the Third Republic. [The surrender at the Battle of] Sedan—which provided the opportunity and the cradle of the Third Republic, allowing it to become the herald of Latin-ness—and the regrettable failure of the expedition to Mexico, both foretold the military collapse of the Empire. But the “success” of the latter in the economic arena—the Industrial Revolution—was seen as a legacy by the followers of the nouveau régime. The inheritance of the “concept” of Latin America was thus duly claimed in spite of Napoleon III’s mistaken colonial strategy of trying to re-conquer a world that had only just become independent. After the fall of the Empire, however, the concept of Latin America was used very cautiously in France. If it had been tarnished by the Napoleonic “failure,” shouldn’t it be banished along with all the other memories of imperial political activities?
The acceptance of the term in America, however, in addition to the influence of supportive cultural and economic pro-French policies, led to a much wider use of the name during the period 1880–85. New meanings were ascribed to this Latin-ness. First of all, the Catholic nature of the Latin legacy was excised as an aggressive new Positivism emerged and became the prevailing ideology in Jules Ferry’s secular Republic. Thus the Positivist doctrine, carried far and wide by Auguste Comte’s followers, spread its influence in Latin America, conquering a rebellious Mexico that supported Juárez, and was adopted by imperial Brazil as a basis for its government. The American republics, therefore, became Latin republics, sisters of the Great French Republic that was leading the world to civilization and progress. Military conflicts waged in the early twentieth century accentuated this new perspective. After World War I, the concept of a Latin civilization was an essential part of the ideological and cultural vision of the French and South American ruling classes. It was seen as a true East-West axis, a symbol of the extension of European humanism—the heir to the Greco-Latin world—and a New World with a fabulous future for the Latin republics of America.
In the United States, which tried to use its growing influence to promote a Pan American perspective of the continent, the concept of Latin America was finally accepted and took root in the local lexicon. The North-South expansion of Pan American goals, which conflicted with the idea of Latin Americanism, never succeeded at a cultural level following the decline of Europe or during the collapse of “French influence” in Latin America between the world wars. By adopting that name, even by defending it, the criollo elites of America—those who rejected the domination of Spain and Portugal—immediately proclaimed their originality in defiance of the invasion of Yankee imperialism. The transplanting of Latin-ness to America had finally succeeded.
But other terms had been found that also defined the original quality of this subcontinent. Both Iberian America and Spanish America were still in use, to the great satisfaction of those who supported Hispanic-ness and Lusitanian-ness. An Amerindian America was also proposed. But, what role did the Natives play in building a national identity that was conceived by the criollo ruling classes? For many years, French geographers were decidedly reluctant to use a term so heavily charged with obvious ideological and cultural connotations and far preferred the more neutral South America and Central America. But it did not make sense to exclude Mexico from this group that was trying to assert its legitimacy. In 1973, the geographers finally yielded to the mood of the times and published the first collective work on the Geography of Latin America, coordinated by Mr. Pierre Monbeig.5
This leads to the question: Is this concept still operative? The day after World War II ended, French historians gradually started referring to the Latin Americas instead of Latin America. In 1948, Fernand Braudel [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.7] was the first to pose the question in an article with a provocative title: “Y a-t-il une Amérique latine?” [Is there a Latin America?] Written as a review of Peruvian author Luis Alberto Sánchez’s [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.6] book, ¿Existe América Latina?,6 Braudel’s article suggested the following answer to the question: “To intercede on someone’s behalf means to choose, to simplify, to rule out objections, and to distort the facts. It means to argue in the style of those earlier European observers and dreamers who, from 1910 to 1939, spoke about European unity. Europe is undoubtedly one, but it is not just one: Europe has ruled itself out, has opposed itself, and has been obsessed with both its own construction and destruction. Does this mean we can be more optimistic regarding Latin America in the present or the future?” “Could we say, in that case, that there is an Iberian, a Native, or a mestizo tradition, and could we say that there is only one? Would that not be substituting wishes for realities? Why can the masses—since they are at the heart of this formula—be more united than the elite? And those should both be plural: masses and elites. No, it is not enough to turn our backs on Europe, or to deny the essential value of white people, in order to create a melting pot of everyone who lives on this continent which is, after all, Portuguese and Spanish, Negro and Indian, not to mention all the other human contributions.” He is adamant in his conclusion: “In truth, Latin America can only be one, clearly and sharply defined, if seen from the outside.” . . . “Because it is one by contrast, by opposition, held captive within its continental mass. It is one on condition that it opposed the other continents, though that never prevented it from being deeply divided.” Indeed, the title of the Cahier des Annales no. 4 [Paris, 1949] on the issue, “À travers les Amériques latines” [Across the Latin Americas], suggested an authentic program of action and research. For the first time the plural version was used. In France, it was used by representatives of a school that was about to shake up the techniques and conceptions of History, so that this new concept appeared via the laboratory of Latin America.7
After 1948, this idea prospered. When, in 1968, the Institut des Hautes Études de l’Amérique latine [Institute for the Advanced Study of Latin America] decided to publish a periodical, it was named Cahiers des Amériques latines [Notebooks of the Latin Americas]. According to Pierre Monbeig, [this plural version] seemed to be the best way to enquire about “the fate of the Latin Americas.” Incidentally, it was also a way to highlight the diversity among the contributors to the Annales in 1948, as Monbeig did when he included the new term “The Latin Americas” in his foreword to the first volume of Géographie de l’Amérique latine [Geography of Latin America].
Nevertheless, even though it had become de rigueur among the innovators, the plural form was not widely accepted. To use it required a change in perspective and a rejection of broad generalities in an attempt to gain a better understanding of individual features without losing sight of the details of the whole subcontinent. After all, weren’t these details, chiefly the individual features of several of the countries in the Latin Americas, thoroughly described and disseminated by the work of Marcel Niedergang [SEE DIGITAL ARCHIVE 1052740 (http://icaadocs.mfah.org/icaadocs/THEARCHIVE/FullRecord/tabid/88/doc/1052740/language/en-US/Default.aspx)] when he evoked the fate of Les vingt Amériques latines [The Twenty Latin Americas]?8
It seems that a new operative concept appeared immediately after the end of World War II thanks to a deeper understanding of the realities of the region. On their return from several years of teaching in various countries in Latin America— mainly Brazil and Mexico—a group of French college students proposed the new concept. The seed was planted. A generation later, after endless debates and disputes, the very first results appeared. In 1968, during that tumultuous period of new ideas, the new name was finally recognized.
But the river of reality keeps flowing, and the debates did not come to an end. Only a few innovators contributed to the evolution of the idea of a Latin America as they looked for a better way to define the diversity of both the people and the elites of the continent. As soon as a new name for Latin America was up for consideration—trying to adhere as closely as possible to the evolutions in progress—new concepts took shape in the mind of other intellectuals.
The Italian historian Ruggiero Romano referred to the European conquest of bodies and souls in the New World. In his 1972 work titled Les mécanismes de la conquête coloniale: les conquistadores [Mechanisms of the Colonial Conquest: The Conquistadores] he wrote: “How can we ignore that the definition of Latin does not encompass the realities of Central and South America? These days, nobody dares to speak about the Latin-ness of America in colonial times. There is total agreement on that matter and the subject is closed. On the contrary, during the period from the mid-nineteenth century to the first three decades of the twentieth century, there was an agreement concerning the definition of Latin; which, I repeat, seems accurate to me. People in those countries had an essentially French outlook and way of thinking at that time. The definition is accurate—even when we remember that, during that period of widespread Latin-ness, the most significant influence and investment in Central and South America was actually British.” Romano goes on to say: “Today, however, there are two major sectors of the population that, though living side-by-side, are sometimes opposed to each other. On the one hand, there is an undeniable awakening of the American masses. Slowly, laboriously, to one extent or another, the masses take part in the internal debate concerning their countries in either Central or South America. On the other hand, there is a ruling class that has always been more influenced by lifestyles and ways of thinking imported from the USA. Another, smaller group consists of opposition groups that reject plans, ideologies, and standards that come from the USA, or would prefer to ignore the concept of Latin-ness and align themselves instead with Russian or Chinese ways of life, or with their own American heritage as expressed in the Central and Southern regions of the continent. According to their scenarios, it would be wiser not to be defined as Latin, but that would take a massive amount of support from the international media, and the intellectuals do not have that kind of power.”9
Would it be necessary, then, to renounce any reference to the Latin-ness of America, even if the continent’s diversity revealed its existence in the background of the Latin Americas? The question remained unanswered, and the political context of the 1970s introduced yet another dimension to the discussion.
In 1975, Cuba’s appearance on the African political stage generated widespread consternation. Several international political observers immediately linked the Cuban presence in Africa to Soviet expansionism. From then on, Cuba’s African policy made the Cubans look like Moscow’s “armed wing.” It is undeniable that Havana would have been unable to develop the tactical resources and operational ability to establish itself on the African continent—“a synthesis of black and Arab characteristics,” in the words of President [Leopold Sedar] Senghor—without the full support of Eastern European countries. Furthermore, the extent of Cuba’s aid to the movement led by Agostinho Neto, during the struggle for independence in Angola, was limited to military cooperation. And, when the island intervened in Ethiopia at the request of Colonel Megistu, Cuba’s African policy consisted solely of providing manpower to support the armies involved in the conflict.
This fundamental aspect of the Cuban involvement in Africa, however, is only one facet of the new relationship between the two regions. In the cultural realm, the emergence of a new operative concept was expressed in 1975 by Fidel Castro himself: Cuba will no longer be known as a Latin American country, but as a Latin African one. This new term was evidently coined to justify the temporary military intervention. Nevertheless, the emergence of a concept of this nature, the Afro-Latin-ness of Cuba, inevitably hints at other issues. In fact, Cuba’s political discovery of the African continent did not suddenly appear in 1975 but was already a factor in the 1959 Cuban Revolution. The origins of Cuban involvement in Africa are structurally linked to a radical re-evaluation of cultural identity in Cuba; this Cuban-ness with African roots was born during the Revolution. Isn’t it true that one of the basic functions of the Cuban Socialist model was to establish a governing system to serve the people, not the criollo ruling classes?
In Cuba as in the rest of Latin America, the goal was to provide a seat at the table for those who had been excluded from the market economy. Thus, the scorned and the downtrodden among the dark-skinned masses living in New World countries were finally united in their recently acquired right to a political identity of their own. The goal of “Socialist” revolutions was to improve the fate of these people, trying to eradicate the racism that was so deeply embedded in the social strata created by Spanish colonization that it wasn’t eliminated in Cuba until 1898. Under the earlier regimes, everything was arranged for the benefit of the criollos. But literature, poetry, and folklore all had deep roots to Africa, as did dance—the rumba—songs, music, food, family life, sexuality, racial mixing, and religion. After 1959 the masses—that had been living on the fringes until now, marginalized by the white elite that was “limpia” (meaning clean and spotless, at least in their own view of themselves)—found that their traditions were now the object of a revolutionary “cultural” fascination. Why shouldn’t these cultural phenomena that were starting to influence local policies also exert an influence in the arena of international cooperation? The “Afro-Cuban” roots of “Cubanness” might not be enough to explain the current Cuban policy of “solidarity” with Africa, but they must be considered within the scope of Cuba’s policies toward Africa. What was the meaning then—and now—of the symbolic hope of the “Black blood of the Tropics” within the official cultural tradition as expressed by Havana? Does Marxist doctrine provide an unexpected rationality? What is the meaning of the “mestizoed Negro-ness,” loved by both [poet] Nicolás Guillén and [writer] Alejo Carpentier within the context of the cultural re-evaluation of Cuban-ness?
The Afro-Latin American-ness phenomenon is not unique to Cuba. Other Latin American countries—such as Brazil—aspire to become “midsize powers,” but still express their own version of African-ness. Though the emergence of the Third World in the 1950s was a revelation for them, overshadowing Pan Americanism and the Latin dialogue with Western Europe, that revelation could not find political expression until the de-colonization of Africa, first during the Franco-English phase in the 1960s and then during the Spanish and especially the Portuguese phases that followed.
But after 1964, Cuba and Brazil [following a military coup d’état in the latter] were very different in terms of their areas of development and their international relations. The political fallout from African developments adversely affected their ability to “cooperate.” For instance, while Brazil’s de facto military government announced a diplomatic and commercial breakthrough in 1970–73 by claiming to have discovered a new “frontier” in the South Atlantic, where white South Africa seemed relatively stable, “Socialist” Cuba would only maintain diplomatic relations with certain “progressive” African countries and with leaders of “Marxist” revolutionary movements in exile. The ousting of the [President Marcelo] Caetano regime in 1974—carried out by members of the armed forces, which led to a Portuguese retreat from Africa and the creation of five new countries—gave Cuba another opportunity to set foot on the Black Continent. Once these countries proclaimed their independence, the struggle for power led to new forms of cooperation with partners who were not interested in working within the traditional framework of Euro-African relations. Even the traditional North-South cultural relations between Europe and Africa were at risk of being modified.
Brazil and Cuba, though very different from each other, are by no means unusual examples of the new African cooperation. They each, in their own ways, experienced the slave uprisings that in the 1930s helped forge a bond between Negroes in Africa and the Americas. There were obviously many references to interracial breeding and to the black population, as in the case of the discours antillais [Caribbean discourse] that testify to the universality of these connections.10 Les Amériques noires [The Black Americas], to use Roger Bastide’s lovely expression, now find their African roots in New World countries. Even countries with barely-known African traditions have re-discovered their African-ness, as shown in Denys Cuche’s recent book on Pérou nègre [Black Peru].11
Andean America and Mexico, by claiming their Native-ness, their Indianismo, had already helped to draw attention to a variety of aspects of that triumphant Latin American-ness.
Will the Latin African-ness establish a dialogue of new worlds (Michel Jobert) and create a South-to-South relationship to challenge the restriction imposed by the American and the Latin compass which insists that relations should be limited to the Western Atlantic countries, as André Siegfried [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.4] shrewdly observed in 1947?12
1
All analyses concerning the “Latin African” impact of cultural policies in both Cuba and Brazil were developed in other recent works: “Brésil, la politique africaine” (1970–76), in Problèmes d’Amérique latine, no. 48, La Documentation Française, Notes et Études Documentaires no. 4474, July 13, 1978, pp. 7–64; Le Brésil et l’Afrique: les nouvelles formes de rélations internationalles des Ameriques latines, (Paris: F.N.S.P., Audir, 1979), II–567; “Cuba and Africa” in Problèmes politiques et sociaux 347 (October 13, 1978); “Héritage national et solidarité anti-impérialiste: la vocation latino-africaine de Cuba,” in Le Monde Diplomatique (January 1979); “Le nouveau dialogue Amérique latine-Afrique, fondement des rapports Sud-Sud,” in Relations Internationales 23 (Fall 1980): 313–40 (special issue edited by Guy Hermet and Guy Martinière, “L’Amérique latine dans les relations internationals”), etc.
2
Alexandre de Humboldt, “Supplement qui renferme des considerations sur la population, la richesse territoriale et le commerce de l’archipel des Antilles et de Colombia” Essai politique sur l’Île de Cuba, vol. 2 (Paris: Librairie de Gide Fils, 1826), 111–12, note 1.
3
Recueil complet des traités, conventions, capitulations, armistices, et autres actes diplomatiques de tous les États d’Amérique latine compris entre le Golfe du Mexique et le cap d’Horn, depuis l’année 1493 jusqu’à nos jours, précédé d’un memoir sur l’état actuel de l’Amérique, des tableau statistiques, d’un dictionnaire diplomatique, avec une notice historique sur chaque traité important (Paris: Librairie A. Durand, 1862–64).
4
Michel Chevalier, Le Mexique ancien et moderne (Paris: Librairie de L. Hachette et cie., 1863), 494–508.
5
Pierre Monbeig, Preface to L’Amérique latine. Approche géographique général et régional (Paris: Bordas, 1973), two volumes under the direction of Claude Collin-Delavaud.
6
Like Braudel, Martinière added the article “una” [a] in order to support his argument regarding rejecting the notion of “only one” America. —Ed.
7
Fernand Braudel, “Le livre de Luis Alberto Sánchez: y a-t-il une Amérique Latine?,” Cahiers des Annales no. 4, Paris, 1949.
8
Marcel Niedergang, Les vingt Amériques latines [SEE DIGITAL ARCHIVE 1052740 (http://icaadocs.mfah.org/icaadocs/THEARCHIVE/FullRecord/tabid/88/doc/1052740/language/en-US/Default.aspx)].
9
Ruggiero Romano, Les mécanismes de la conquête coloniale: les conquistadores (Paris: Flammarion, 1972).
10
Edouard Glissant, Le discours antillais (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1981).
11
Denys Cuche, Le Pérou nègre (Paris: L’Harmattan, 1981); de Roger Bastide, Les Amériques noires: Les civilizations africaines dans le Nouveau Monde (Paris: Payot, 1967).
12
André Siegfried, “Le developpement économique de l’Amérique latine,” in Revue de Paris, 54, 1 (January 1947): 3–13. In addition to this, see Michel Jobert, “Dialogues des Nouveaux Mondes,” in Jeune Afrique, no. 1011 (May 21, 1980).