“I Am the Darker Brother:” On Michèle Stephenson’s Stateless & Dominican Racism
Young boys run through a Dominican sugar cane. © Image from Stateless.
Editor’s note: This article is co-published with the North American Congress on Latin America (NACLA). Para leer este artículo en español, haz clic aquí.
Michèle Stephenson’s documentary film, Stateless, follows Dominican lawyer and advocate Rosa Iris Diendome as she defends the rights of Dominicans of Haitian descent against deportation. Diendome is also the subject of a short documentary titled Our Lives in Transit produced by Minority Rights Group International. In both films, what can only be called tragicomedy plays out; the Dominican Republic is a Black nation plagued by systemic anti-Black racism. The small island nation is easily 90% Afro-descendant. It is also the first Spanish colony and the first to import enslaved Africans into the “new world.” Additionally, it is Haiti’s neighbor. Haiti—home of the first slave rebellion that led to the first independent Black nation in the West. This might be old history for some, but for more than two-hundred thousand Dominicans of Haitian descent left stateless by a 2013 Constitutional Court ruling, the struggle for their humanity plays out every single day.
In short, the Constitutional Court ruled that:
Dominican children of irregular migrants born in the Dominican Republic between 1920 and 2010 had never been entitled to Dominican nationality and would be stripped of that nationality.
As you watch the documentary, it becomes plain that the Dominican government’s concern with their countrymen’s dark skin color goes hand in hand with its consternation over their immigration status.
The shadow of the 1937 Parsley Massacre looms heavy over the situation. In a conversation with Spelman Documentary Film Professor Anjanette Levert, Stephenson observed that history is a continuum, so we must stay vigilant. Violent threats against Haitian laborers and Dominicans of Haitian descent are made hourly and daily over social media along with veiled threats in the news. Attacks are commonplace and escalating in a way not seen since the Trujillo era. It is apropos then that sprinkled into the film’s narrative is the story of Moraime, a young Haitian girl from Freddy Prestol Castillo’s novel El masacre se pasa a pie.
The novel demonstrates all the ways Dominicans were complicit in the massacre. Moraime attempts to flee the Parsley Massacre by running through sugarcane fields toward Haiti. The story, paired with Stephenson’s ethereal cinematography and double mirror effects, adds an element of magical realism to the documentary.
In the opening scene, Diendome narrates the tale for her son, “He (Trujillo) murdered many, including Moraime’s mother, because of the color of their skin.” It is skin color that foils Diendome’s attempt at securing a valid ID for a young man named Clenol Boni. The official in charge of granting the ID looks disparagingly at Boni’s dark complexion. After asking him to state his name she refuses him, stating she doesn’t believe the young man is Dominican because he doesn’t speak Spanish correctly. A soldier stands to the side, casting a doubtful look in her direction. Diendome argues that his documents are in order and that nothing else should matter in a country of laws. She bases her argument on nationality due to birthright. However, the Supreme Court ruling makes it a moot point. The official refuses them both in an argumentative and dismissive tone.
The encounter is a microcosm of what lawyer-advocates for stateless Dominicans of Haitian descent face daily. In the Dominican Republic, a valid ID document is a citizen’s lifeline. You literally can’t do anything without one: school, health benefits, work, transportation, banking, the ability to vote in elections—all require a valid ID document (a.k.a. cédula). Therefore, the State is purposely paralyzing its Dominican-Haitian citizenry by rejecting, in most cases, perfectly valid documentation presented for the renewal of the vital identification card. Dominican lawyers have termed this civic genocide. Currently, the State is offering no options for correcting irregularities in documents like birth certificates and is instead rejecting irregular documents as counterfeit. I asked Diendome about this process.
RCG: What is the biggest problem you would encounter when reviewing citizenship documentation?
RD: The biggest problem so far has been the origin of the parents or grandparents, since although the proof of the document with which they have lived in the Dominican Republic is provided, the JCE (Central Electoral Board of the Dominican Republic) always asks for additional documents, and they are subjected to a process of endless research. The JCE ignores that the affected were born in the Dominican Republic, and have already proven the fact of birth, this is in the case of those who already have a birth record.
The unregistered have no way for their nationality to be recognized, even though they should carry the protection of being born on Dominican soil.
RCG: What causes the problem in documents that have irregularities?
RD: The fact that the Dominican State interprets the status of the parents as in indefinite transit. The Supreme Court ruling states that Haitian migrants have been in transit since 1929. It is contrary to the constitution and the immigration law in force until 2004, which established that any foreigner who was in the Dominican Republic for more than 10 days could be in another immigration status, but not in transit. Listen, the constitution only indicates two exceptions to acquiring nationality:
People born in the national territory, with the exception of the sons and daughters of foreign members of diplomatic and consular legations, of foreigners that find themselves in transit or reside illegally in Dominican territory. All foreigners are considered people in transit as defined in Dominican laws…
However, Haitian migrants came to the Dominican Republic to work in the sugarcane fields and, in most cases, they were taken in by the State or private companies. The zafra, which is the sugar production period, had a duration of 6-8 months. The State or the company provided the workers with a document called a ficha, the workers used it to collect their pay every week or fortnight. The companies used it to deduct funds for health insurance, social security and other taxes (although today the State does not want to pay workers their pensions) and with that same document they went to officials to register their children. And the authorities accepted the ficha as a complete and valid form of identification. Now, the State alleges the irregularity of their documents based on the status of the parents. By invoking the transit rule from 1929-2013, they invalidate the ficha and every other document. A fact that violates the constitution, even the new constitution of 2010. No law can be above the constitution or international treaties.
RCG: What excuse or reason does the government provide for rejecting the documents?
RD: The fact that an irregular document cannot generate rights, referring to the supposed state of transit of the parents. Applicants carry the stigma that when they submit an application with a French last name, they will receive different treatment. Applicants are also asked questions that are nothing more than delaying tactics in the process.
People crossing a bridge at the Frontier between Haiti and the Dominican Republic. © Image from Stateless.
Diendome is personally aware of the Dominican-Haitian experience. Both her parents were Haitian laborers in the bateyes, Dominican sugarcane plantations. It was a hard life. She explains that, during zafra, food is plentiful for workers and their families.
However, after the six-month harvest period is over, workers eat once a day, usually in the evening. The crux of Diendome’s advocacy involves visiting bateyes and ensuring that community members have the necessary paperwork to avoid further disenfranchisement, harassment, and deportation.
The scene then cuts to former President Danilo Medina explaining the National Regularization Plan. Medina denounces the international community for criticizing the plan and its impact on Dominicans of Haitian descent. He denies the fact that two-hundred thousand Dominicans have been left stateless. Stephenson has purposefully pixelated and blown up the footage of politicians. The effect is that the propagandistic tone of the speeches are made tactile. Meanwhile, Diendome’s colleague, Genaro Rincón, is beaten savagely by a crowd of anti-Haitian nationalists. On a television program called A Partir de Ahora (From Now On), Rincón explains that he was stoned with chunks of cinder blocks and stomped on. He presents his injuries to the camera. A guest on the same program, Diendome decries the violence and rebukes the government for their silence in the face of increasing threats and attacks.
People crossing river at the Frontier between Haiti and the Dominican Republic. © Image from Stateless.
When Gladys Feliz-Pimentel first appears in the film she is in Dajabón, at the Dominican-Haitian border, taking photographs and being a nuisance. In many ways, she’s reminiscent of a Trump supporter or an American “Karen.” Feliz-Pimentel observes: “Damn, they can cross to our side [of the border] so easily and we can’t enter [their side].” A soldier informs her that the Haitians entering and leaving are licensed merchants who cross the border daily to conduct business. She is not convinced, “I can’t cross from there to here, but they can come here whenever they want…”
Feliz-Pimentel is a member of the Dominican Nationalist Movement. Their rhetoric is eerily similar to that of right-wing groups around the globe and of America in particular. The movement is anti-Haitian, anti-immigration, racist, and wraps all of these destructive beliefs in the flag. Feliz-Pimentel accuses Haitians of assaults, rapes, and stabbings just to name a few things. Sound familiar? It should. Donald Trump ran for president using this rhetoric as his platform, and it worked.
Feliz-Pimentel claims her lineage goes all the way back to El Grito de Capotillo, the 1863 rebellion against Spain. She claims her ancestor fought alongside Haitians (the Dominican Republic and Haiti fought side by side to defeat Spain) and was president during the transition period. She claims she’s not racist. She simply believes that Haitians belong in Haiti:
“Haitians have always fought by our side. Including in 1965 against the Gringos. We have always lived in fraternity. Them in their country and us in ours. Except when they’ve come here and tried to steal our country.”
The rhetoric is eerily familiar to American racist xenophobia. I asked Diendome about her understanding of the nationalist movement. In particular, I wanted to understand if the nationalists are supportive of the Trujillo dictatorship and its policies.
RCG: Is the nationalist movement automatically supportive of the Trujillo regime, or do they distance themselves from him?
RD: Interesting question, if we take into account Nationalist Movement speeches and organizational behaviors, you could say that they are Trujillistas. They’ve publicly stated many times that the State should repeat what Trujillo did. I hear them say that they are not racists, but they also say they want nothing to do with Haitians. Their constant contempt for our African heritage and their cult of Eurocentrism, leads me to understand that they are Trujillistas.
The film jump cuts to former President Medina’s scene questioning how the Dominican Republic can be considered a racist nation when eighty percent of its population is black and mulatto. In a classic example of “talking out of both sides of your mouth,” he asks, “how can Dominicans be accused of being racist towards Haitians when they live and co-exist with us everywhere in our country?”
In the documentary Our Lives in Transit, the same clip shows Medina stating publicly that:
Today 13% of women having babies in Dominican hospitals are Haitian…Not only Haitian women that are resident in the Dominican Republic, but also women who cross the border to give birth here because it is cheaper than in Haiti, where they have to pay…They are undocumented, but they walk the streets of the Dominican Republic freely, without any police or any immigration stopping them to ask if they have a passport or a visa to reside in the Dominican Republic.
This rhetoric is an exhortation to the general public to accost and harass “suspected” illegal Haitians. Many advocates blame the wave of anti-Haitian violence on this type of State-sponsored rhetoric. At this point in the film, Moraime’s narrative has her running for her life through the cane fields on the night of the Parsley Massacre.
Juan Teofilo Murat, Rosa's cousin. © Image from Stateless.
As the film progresses, Diendome tries to help her cousin, Juan Teófilo, straighten out his documentation to return to the Dominican Republic. Juan Teófilo decided to move to Haiti after La Sentencia rather than be deported. Diendome visits him in Haiti, her first ever trip to her forefather’s land and the trip fills her with pride and joy. Juan Teófilo is a wonderfully proud man and a devoted father who has been stripped of his identity, homeland, and his relationship with his Dominican-born children by the ruling. He is understandably bitter and Diendome spends most of their time reassuring him of the need to remain steadfast. After securing an interview to review his documentation and hopefully resolve his situation, the pair undertake the perilous journey of getting Juan Teófilo from the Haitian border to the JCE in Santo Domingo. Diendome recounts the story where a group of Dominicans of Haitian descent was attacked on a public bus. She states that the conductor announced, “the ruling has spoken, you are not Dominican,” during the altercation.
While awaiting his appointment, Juan Teofilo visits his children, which is easily one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the film. At the appointment he is told there is a discrepancy between his mother’s age listed on her death certificate and the birthdate on her birth certificate. Due to this discrepancy, the interviewer declares Juan Teófilo’s paperwork counterfeit and useless. The interviewer effectively ends the interview by taking out his cell phone and flipping through his social media. The State makes no effort to correct and validate the documentation of Dominicans of Haitian descent.
RCG: What are the main challenges that Dominicans of Haitian descent face in locating these necessary documents?
RD: The main challenge is the political will of the authorities. From there, other challenges emerge. We always have to think of the situation as two affected groups: First, those who have already been registered. Their challenge includes whether or not the parents can find the documents with which they were registered. In many cases, due to atmospheric phenomena, fires, or the parents’ death, they cannot present the documents. If you have financial resources, you can go to Santo Domingo (the capital) to the main headquarters of the JCE so that you can interview with the Inspectorial Department, and this is in addition to being able to find each means of proof that they ask for. You must also be able to secure legal representation when the JCE demands nullity before the ordinary courts (so as not to be left in a defenseless state), all of this costs money. There’s also a question of the will of the JCE and its officials to get the situation resolved.
Second, some have never been registered. In the case of mixed couples (Haitian mother or of Haitian descent with Dominican father), if the mother does not have a document (Dominican ID, or legal residence), even if the father is Dominican, the child is registered as a foreigner, leaving them in a legal limbo in which they do not recognize the child’s nationality.
RCG: Do other Dominicans, not of Haitian descent, have similar problems?
RD: No, they don't have similar problems. Even though we have a problem with their registrations in the country, which in many cases are generational, from my experience, they have a different and more agile course of action to rectify their situation.
*
Another jump cut to Medina. In this scene he is refuting claims that two-hundred thousand Dominicans of Haitian descent have been left stateless, “In the Dominican Republic, the number of stateless people is zero. Of course, we sometimes make mistakes. If this happens, and someone presents their case to our government, have no doubt that we will find the solution. But until now, that has not happened.” Juan Teófilo and countless others serve as proof that Medina and the State are lying.
*
When next we see Feliz-Pimentel, she is gathering what might mistakenly be called a meeting of harmless, adorable aunties and grandmothers. Nothing could be further from the truth. The women are members of the nationalist movement, and they spout time-worn racist tropes about Black criminality, sexual malevolence and deviance, and propensity for violence. These same myths still plague the United States. In her book The Borders of Dominicanidad: Race, Nation, and Archives of Contradiction, Dr. Lorgia García-Peña writes, “During the early days of the foundation of the Dominican Republic (1844-65), the United States supported the idea of Dominican racial superiority over Haiti and disavowed Haiti as racially inferior and thus unfit for self-government.” It is no wonder then that the nationalists sound like American racists and right-wing ideologues.
Feliz-Pimentel claims, “women make up 90% of our nationalist movement. Women, 90%. But those men who are the 10% are hot headed. They want to fight.” The nationalists refer to the Haitians as “the Haitian problem,” and they use words like “invasion” when discussing Haitian immigration. In many places, anti-Haitian graffiti is spray-painted on walls. The nationalists openly claim that Haiti plans to “dump all Haitian citizens on Dominican soil.” The rhetoric at nationalist rallies carries over to social media, where they combine with violent threats that lead to violence on city streets and in rural communities. The scene cuts to a nationalist rally that mirrors extremist nationalist rallies globally. There is always the vilified other (refugees, immigrants, Muslims, etc.) that must be ousted or defeated, and always rage and violence.
At the heart of this violence and vitriol is the nationalist’s desperate need to completely disavow Africa and African lineage. Blackness and African-ness are viewed as distinctly negative. Dominicans of Haitian descent are acutely aware that racism and colorism are the main causes of their daily dehumanization. Diendome seeks political solutions to these problems. She believes that through the socio-political organization and action of the people, and international pressure, the State must capitulate. To that end, when she is asked to run for congress, she accepts. Her campaign gets off to a positive start even though her campaign funds are limited, but it soon becomes apparent that the people are cynical about long-term political change. They are more interested in the short-term bribes that proliferate on election day. Political candidates offer voters one hundred Dominican pesos ($1.75 US) for their vote.
Diendome asks the people to think beyond the bribe and to think about the future. I wanted to understand the machine behind the bribes.
RCG: Who finances the bribes that are given to voters?
RD: The political party’s candidates. The bigger question we need answered is “Who finances the political parties?”
RCG: What is the mechanism to get beyond the one-hundred-peso bribe?
RD: On many occasions, the promises of jobs or improvements to the community, which are never kept, leads to voters trying to monopolize what they can get on election day. The voters know they will not see that candidate again. This has been the case historically. Traditional politicians always identify a leader who can convince the voters to accept the bribe. When the voter refuses, threats are sometimes used.
Rosa Iris meets with two young women. © Image from Stateless.
The election scenes in the film are where Stephenson captures the people’s struggle. Either they sacrifice the immediate meal, beverage, cell phone, or utility service they could consume with the one hundred pesos, or they potentially risk their lives by going against the bribe. Lurking somewhere within this corrupt political ether is the far-off chance that the political candidate will improve their situation. I ask Diendome how Dominican-Americans and anyone else who wants to can help.
RD: First, by understanding that nationality and statelessness in the Dominican Republic have not yet been resolved. We can still affect change by holding events and mobilizations that summon the Dominican State to take up the issue. Additionally, by supporting local organizations like the Recognized Movement (reconoci.do), whose greatest limitation is the lack of economic resources for field work. The Recognized Movement is an NGO working towards the recognition of Dominicans of Haitian descent as full citizens. Also, by continuing to empower local leadership. Finally, by sending letters to embassies.
*
How do you explain to a nation who they actually are, and the shared history they are part of? Where in the long and painful process can you begin? The transatlantic slave trade, colonialism, post-colonialism, dictatorships, the global Black Power movement, Pan-Africanism? What drives a nation of Black people to see themselves not only as the victims of past colonial horrors, but also as its beneficiaries? Scholars have written countless books to explain the complexities behind Dominican identity. Books that use history, language, and even the so-called unique relationship that existed on the island between slave and slave-master. At the end of the day, a Dominican must be able to look at their darker skinned brothers and sisters and see a human being worthy of love and respect, but for too long, this has proved difficult for too many. Until that happens in a meaningful way, a way that tips the scales of justice towards equity for Dominicans of Haitian descent, scholars can write all the books they want.
Towards the end of Stateless, the camera shows us a billboard that reads, “NO NATION WITHOUT BORDERS. THE WALL. BORDER CONTROL.” Again, it is all too familiar.
Moraime’s paralleling narrative ends tragically. She is close to escaping when a hungry dog’s barking gives her away and soldiers discover her. Diendome narrates, “Soldiers drunk on rum and blood don’t forgive. Moraime’s body floated on the river. And the night fell silent.”
Michèle Stephenson’s Stateless can be seen virtually at the Los Angeles Pan African Film Festival as well as the Portland International Film Festival.
Resources:
For more information on how to view Michèle Stephenson’s Stateless, visit: https://radastudio.org/work/
Organizations and activists, you can support:
Movimiento de Mujeres Dominico-Haitianas
Movimiento Nacional Reconocido
Dominicans Love Haitians Movement
Ana Belique: Sociologist, Activist and Defender of Dominicans of Haitian Descent
Roberto Carlos Garcia writes extensively about the Afro-Latinx & Afro-Diasporic experience. His essays have appeared in The Root, Seven Scribes, Those People, the now defunct Gawker, and elsewhere. Roberto has published three poetry collections, including black / Maybe: An Afro Lyric, which Kiese Laymon called “the new standard for American race work in the 21st century,” and most recently [Elegies]. Roberto is the founder of Get Fresh Books Publishing.