As I sat in estadísticas—the office at the front of the hospital, I looked around and saw the same red, white, and blue sticker all around me. “US AID” was printed on every file cabinet, printer, computer, chair, table—nearly everything in the hospital’s office. A week later, Dr. Cabrera asked me to come and give a presentation about my research to the Japan International Cooperation Agency (JICA). Shortly afterwards, I saw a group of American veterinarians who had occupied a local abandoned restaurant and were giving free surgeries and immunizations to pets. When I was leaving, an American mission group of surgeons was arriving at nearby hospitals to do specialty surgeries for a week. The international aid involvement in Region III of the Dominican Republic is staggering; it is everywhere, and it certainly has an impact on the local environment. What I saw seemed to disagree with Dichter and Easterly’s pessimistic opinions of aid. Things were being done; tangible changes were visible in the community; aid was not a complete waste. Yet, Dichter’s question stayed with me:“Yes, these are achievements, and some are attributable to the development industry. But large questions surround these achievements and put them in perspective: Could they have been had for less money? What unintended and negative consequences came in their train?” (Dichter 2003).
Certainly, the greater scope of the Dominican Republic’s development reaches much further than my experiences can explain, but a few things do remain true. Poverty is widespread in the Dominican Republic. Levels of socioeconomic inequality are scandalous. Perhaps most importantly, things have not changed for a long time. As organizations continue to approach development with the Sachsian “ladder” approach, they forget that each country is shaped by its own unique history—its own unique reality. The Dominican Republic continues to suffer the effects of generations of slavery, poor work conditions in the sugar cane industry, and vast inequality between those of Spanish descent and those of slave and/or Haitian descent. As Vandana Shiva writes, “Ending poverty requires knowing how poverty is created” (Gardner, A., & Hoffman 2006).
The international aid interventions sharply contrast the enormous tourist industry that exists throughout the Dominican Republic, and I could feel that the locals were confused when they discovered that I was neither there to SCUBA dive nor provide free surgeries. In a way, I was expected to give (either through paying for tourism services or by providing some sort of aid), and it took a few weeks of my presence in the community before people understood that I was a simple student in the hospital, Tatá’s “adopted son”, a member of the church, and a part of the community.
In Region III, the development of various industries has been evolving. The surrounding Bahía de Samaná was a long-time fisherman’s haven, but increasing sediments from the Río Yuna and over-fishing have led to decreased yields. The region contains the principal producer of coconut in the Dominican Republic, but demand for coconut has been decreasing as well. More and more, tourism is beginning to dominate the industries, as it has in other areas of the country (Oficina Nacional de Estadística). In addition to the presence of a few hotels, the Bahía de Samaná receives many visitors from January to March to observe migrating humpback whales. Thus, many of the workers in Samaná hold service jobs in the tourism industry (working with boats, customer service, hotel maintenance, etc.), while the others hold jobs in the region’s towns: Sánchez, Limón, Samaná, Las Terrenas, and Las Galeras. These workers usually consist of automobile mechanics, barbers and hair stylists, cashiers, motor taxis, etc. Generally, there exists a vast socioeconomic gap between the owners of these companies and their employees. Owners of tourist destinations are often wealthy foreigners who are largely not present in the community. Employees are paid low wages and often view tourists as their source of quick money. As my barber Miami said, “There isn’t any opportunity here. The Dominican Republic doesn’t have anything. Well, yes, yes we have beautiful landscapes, but that’s it.” Miami would charge me $150 pesos for a haircut—about $3.33. Many, like Miami, sought to immigrate to Puerto Rico to take advantage of American currency. According to Miami, he could earn $15-20 per haircut in Puerto Rico. There was more opportunity.
Interestingly enough, Dominicans were supportive of immigration into Puerto Rico but were harsh on Haitian immigration into the Dominican Republic. Just as Dominicans sought to take advantage of the American Dollar, so too, did Haitians seek to take advantage of the Dominican Peso. In my experience, the Haitian presence in the Dominican Republic is very similar to that of the Mexican presence in the United States. Some have very negative opinions towards Haitians and want them deported; others view them as part of the community. Like Mexican Americans in the U.S., Haitians tend to occupy the undesirable jobs in the Dominican economy; they become agricultural workers, house servants, landscapers, etc. Although Dominicans are largely poor, the Haitians occupy the lowest socioeconomic class in the Dominican Republic, often living a near-“indentured-servitude” to their employers, as has been exposed by recent documentaries, such as The Price of Sugar. To make matters worse, Haitians (who are often brought to work in the sugar cane fields) usually leave their forms of identification behind, are not granted Dominican citizenship, and end up stateless. Many are unaware that the Dominican Republic does not grant citizenship to their children born in the Dominican Republic; thus, their children become stateless as well. Such a situation has produced hundreds of thousands of stateless humans presiding in the Dominican Republic (Kosinski 2009).
Dominicans in Region III are poor largely because of a lack of opportunity. In my town, a relatively major town in the region, there were no universities (nor any nearby). The one satellite university campus that used to exist was promptly shutdown because of funding issues. One of my informants blamed adolescent pregnancy on this local reality: “The women around here don’t go to college and have nothing better to do than get pregnant.” Locally, lower class life meant agricultural work; middle class life meant a job in-town, a small, rough living space, and no expected career growth; upper class life meant tourism work. Tatá’s close friends were owners of a fleet of boats that catered to the seasonal influx of tourists hoping to see the humpback whales. Their beautiful apartment, brand new BMW, and international lifestyle were the envy of the entire town—the only glimpse of hope into the “good life” that most Dominicans could dream of, and a representation of tourism’s economic promises.
Driving from Sánchez to Samaná with Tatá and Fedecito (a mere 32 kilometers), we counted exactly 25 “Banca(s) Erík” along the road. Bancas are a line of lotteries that have spread across the country with alarming frequency. They have different games, different payouts, and advertise their “quick-pay” for a winning ticket. Every day outside the town market we would see a bus of Haitians being brought in from the valley’s farms, taking the little bit of money from the day’s work to the various bancas. It was quite disappointing and shocking how prevalent the little shops were and how much success they had. They spread across the countryside like a disease, oftentimes being the only concrete, tiled, and painted buildings amongst a village of a few dozen barren wood homes. Not only a predator of Haitians but one of poor Dominicans as well, the bancas point to a lack of financial education and perhaps more importantly, a sense of financial desperation among the people. Dominican poverty is real, and despite international aid, the cycle seems to continue. My reflections led me to wonder, “Is there any opportunity in the Dominican Republic?” “Is there something unhealthy about the Dominican Republic’s growing reliance on the tourism industry?” “What aspects of Dominican poverty require intervention, and what aspects are simply ‘their way of life’?”
Certainly, the greater scope of the Dominican Republic’s development reaches much further than my experiences can explain, but a few things do remain true. Poverty is widespread in the Dominican Republic. Levels of socioeconomic inequality are scandalous. Perhaps most importantly, things have not changed for a long time. As organizations continue to approach development with the Sachsian “ladder” approach, they forget that each country is shaped by its own unique history—its own unique reality. The Dominican Republic continues to suffer the effects of generations of slavery, poor work conditions in the sugar cane industry, and vast inequality between those of Spanish descent and those of slave and/or Haitian descent. As Vandana Shiva writes, “Ending poverty requires knowing how poverty is created” (Gardner, A., & Hoffman 2006).
The international aid interventions sharply contrast the enormous tourist industry that exists throughout the Dominican Republic, and I could feel that the locals were confused when they discovered that I was neither there to SCUBA dive nor provide free surgeries. In a way, I was expected to give (either through paying for tourism services or by providing some sort of aid), and it took a few weeks of my presence in the community before people understood that I was a simple student in the hospital, Tatá’s “adopted son”, a member of the church, and a part of the community.
In Region III, the development of various industries has been evolving. The surrounding Bahía de Samaná was a long-time fisherman’s haven, but increasing sediments from the Río Yuna and over-fishing have led to decreased yields. The region contains the principal producer of coconut in the Dominican Republic, but demand for coconut has been decreasing as well. More and more, tourism is beginning to dominate the industries, as it has in other areas of the country (Oficina Nacional de Estadística). In addition to the presence of a few hotels, the Bahía de Samaná receives many visitors from January to March to observe migrating humpback whales. Thus, many of the workers in Samaná hold service jobs in the tourism industry (working with boats, customer service, hotel maintenance, etc.), while the others hold jobs in the region’s towns: Sánchez, Limón, Samaná, Las Terrenas, and Las Galeras. These workers usually consist of automobile mechanics, barbers and hair stylists, cashiers, motor taxis, etc. Generally, there exists a vast socioeconomic gap between the owners of these companies and their employees. Owners of tourist destinations are often wealthy foreigners who are largely not present in the community. Employees are paid low wages and often view tourists as their source of quick money. As my barber Miami said, “There isn’t any opportunity here. The Dominican Republic doesn’t have anything. Well, yes, yes we have beautiful landscapes, but that’s it.” Miami would charge me $150 pesos for a haircut—about $3.33. Many, like Miami, sought to immigrate to Puerto Rico to take advantage of American currency. According to Miami, he could earn $15-20 per haircut in Puerto Rico. There was more opportunity.
Interestingly enough, Dominicans were supportive of immigration into Puerto Rico but were harsh on Haitian immigration into the Dominican Republic. Just as Dominicans sought to take advantage of the American Dollar, so too, did Haitians seek to take advantage of the Dominican Peso. In my experience, the Haitian presence in the Dominican Republic is very similar to that of the Mexican presence in the United States. Some have very negative opinions towards Haitians and want them deported; others view them as part of the community. Like Mexican Americans in the U.S., Haitians tend to occupy the undesirable jobs in the Dominican economy; they become agricultural workers, house servants, landscapers, etc. Although Dominicans are largely poor, the Haitians occupy the lowest socioeconomic class in the Dominican Republic, often living a near-“indentured-servitude” to their employers, as has been exposed by recent documentaries, such as The Price of Sugar. To make matters worse, Haitians (who are often brought to work in the sugar cane fields) usually leave their forms of identification behind, are not granted Dominican citizenship, and end up stateless. Many are unaware that the Dominican Republic does not grant citizenship to their children born in the Dominican Republic; thus, their children become stateless as well. Such a situation has produced hundreds of thousands of stateless humans presiding in the Dominican Republic (Kosinski 2009).
Dominicans in Region III are poor largely because of a lack of opportunity. In my town, a relatively major town in the region, there were no universities (nor any nearby). The one satellite university campus that used to exist was promptly shutdown because of funding issues. One of my informants blamed adolescent pregnancy on this local reality: “The women around here don’t go to college and have nothing better to do than get pregnant.” Locally, lower class life meant agricultural work; middle class life meant a job in-town, a small, rough living space, and no expected career growth; upper class life meant tourism work. Tatá’s close friends were owners of a fleet of boats that catered to the seasonal influx of tourists hoping to see the humpback whales. Their beautiful apartment, brand new BMW, and international lifestyle were the envy of the entire town—the only glimpse of hope into the “good life” that most Dominicans could dream of, and a representation of tourism’s economic promises.
Driving from Sánchez to Samaná with Tatá and Fedecito (a mere 32 kilometers), we counted exactly 25 “Banca(s) Erík” along the road. Bancas are a line of lotteries that have spread across the country with alarming frequency. They have different games, different payouts, and advertise their “quick-pay” for a winning ticket. Every day outside the town market we would see a bus of Haitians being brought in from the valley’s farms, taking the little bit of money from the day’s work to the various bancas. It was quite disappointing and shocking how prevalent the little shops were and how much success they had. They spread across the countryside like a disease, oftentimes being the only concrete, tiled, and painted buildings amongst a village of a few dozen barren wood homes. Not only a predator of Haitians but one of poor Dominicans as well, the bancas point to a lack of financial education and perhaps more importantly, a sense of financial desperation among the people. Dominican poverty is real, and despite international aid, the cycle seems to continue. My reflections led me to wonder, “Is there any opportunity in the Dominican Republic?” “Is there something unhealthy about the Dominican Republic’s growing reliance on the tourism industry?” “What aspects of Dominican poverty require intervention, and what aspects are simply ‘their way of life’?”