Academic literature on the topic 'Flags – Haiti – History'

It is customary, if not mandatory, in contemporary African diaspora studies to invoke the pioneering spirit of Melville J. Herskovits (1895-1963), whose lifework was dedicated to the repossession of Africa’s heritage in the New World. Not that Herskovits was the first to engage in such research. Others before him included W. E. B. Du Bois and Carter G. Woodson, as well as Jean Price-Mars of Haiti, Fernando Ortiz of Cuba, and—more his contemporaries than predecessors—Zora Neale Hurston and the Brazilian ethnologists Rene Ribeiro, Arthur Ramos, and Gilberto Freyre. But Herskovits more than any other scholar posed the African-American connection as a theoretical problem that, in the service of a progressive if intellectually circumscribed political agenda, demanded systematic research into an unprecedented range of West African and New World cultures. It is not my aim to praise a great ancestor, whose flaws and limitations are as legendary as his virtues, but to assess the relevance of his theoretical program to contemporary African-American research. In particular, I will focus on his syncretic paradigm, which continues—even among those who disavow it as crudely es-sentialist or unwittingly racist—to inform the current renaissance in studies of the African diaspora.

David Scott; Conscripts of Modernity: The Tragedy of Colonial Enlightenment (Shalina Puri)Rebecca J. Scott; Degrees of Freedom: Louisiana and Cuba after Slavery (Olivia Maria Gomes da Cunha)Patrick Bellegarde-Smith (ed.); Fragments of Bone: Neo-African Religions in a New World (Dianne M. Stewart)Londa Schiebinger; Plants and Empire: Colonial Bioprospecting in the Atlantic World (J.D. La Fleur)F. Abiola Irele, Simon Gikandi (eds.);The Cambridge History of African and Caribbean Literature (A. James Arnold)Sean X. Goudie; Creole America: The West Indies and the Formation of Literature and Culture in the New Republic (J. Bradford Anderson)Doris Garraway; The Libertine Colony: Creolization in the Early French Caribbean (Charles Forsdick)Adélékè Adéèkó; The Slave’s Rebellion: Fiction, History, Orature (Owen Robinson)J. Brooks Bouson; Jamaica Kincaid: Writing Memory, Writing Back to the Mother (Lizabeth Paravisini-Gebert)Gary Wilder; The French Imperial Nation-State: Negritude and Colonial Humanism between the Two World Wars (Nick Nesbitt)Fernando Picó; History of Puerto Rico: A Panorama of its People (Francisco A. Scarano)Peter E. Siegel (ed.); Ancient Borinquen: Archaeology and Ethnohistory of Native Puerto Rico (William F. Keegan) Magali Roy-Féquière; Women, Creole Identity, and Intellectual Life in Early Twentieth-Century Puerto Rico (Yolanda Martínez-San Miguel)Katherine E. Browne; Creole Economics: Caribbean Cunning under the French Flag (David Beriss)Louis A. Pérez, Jr; To Die in Cuba: Suicide and Society (Matt D. Childs)John Lawrence Tone; War and Genocide in Cuba, 1895-1898 (Gillian McGillivray)Frank Argote-Freyre; Fulgencio Batista: From Revolutionary to Strongman (Javier Figueroa-De Cárdenas)Juanita de Barros, Audra Diptee, David V. Trotman (eds.); Beyond Fragmentation: Perspectives on Caribbean History (Bernard Moitt)Matthew Mulcahy; Hurricanes and Society in the British Greater Caribbean, 1624-1783 (Bonham C. Richardson)Michaeline A. Crichlow; Negotiating Caribbean Freedom: Peasants and the State in Development (Christine Chivallon)Peta Gay Jensen; The Last Colonials: The Story of Two European Families in Jamaica (Karl Watson)Marc Tardieu; Les Antillais à Paris: D’hier à aujourd’hui (David Beriss)Rhonda D. Frederick; “Colón Man a Come”: Mythographies of Panamá Canal Migration (Michael L. Conniff)James Robertson; Gone is the Ancient Glory: Spanish Town, Jamaica, 1534-2000 (Philip D. Morgan)Philippe R. Girard; Paradise Lost: Haiti’s Tumultuous Journey from Pearl of the Caribbean to Third World Hotspot (Carolle Charles)Michael Deibert; Notes from the Last Testament: The Struggle for Haiti (Carolle Charles)Ellen de Vries; Suriname na de binnenlandse oorlog (Aspha E. Bijnaar)In: New West Indian Guide/ Nieuwe West-Indische Gids no. 82 (2008), no: 1-2, Leiden

-Valerie I.J. Flint, Margarita Zamora, Reading Columbus. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. xvi + 247 pp.-Riva Berleant-Schiller, Historie Naturelle des Indes: The Drake manuscript in the Pierpont Morgan Library. New York: Norton, 1996. xxii + 272 pp.-Neil L. Whitehead, Charles Nicholl, The creature in the map: A journey to Eldorado. London: Jonathan Cape, 1995. 398 pp.-William F. Keegan, Ramón Dacal Moure ,Art and archaeology of pre-Columbian Cuba. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1996. xxiv + 134 pp., Manuel Rivero de la Calle (eds)-Michael Mullin, Stephan Palmié, Slave cultures and the cultures of slavery. Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1995. xlvii + 283 pp.-Bill Maurer, Karen Fog Olwig, Small islands, large questions: Society, culture and resistance in the post-emancipation Caribbean. London: Frank Cass, 1995. viii + 200 pp.-David M. Stark, Laird W. Bergad ,The Cuban slave market, 1790-1880. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995. xxi + 245 pp., Fe Iglesias García, María Del Carmen Barcia (eds)-Susan Fernández, Tom Chaffin, Fatal glory: Narciso López and the first clandestine U.S. war against Cuba. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1996. xxii + 282 pp.-Damian J. Fernández, María Cristina García, Havana USA: Cuban exiles and Cuban Americans in South Florida, 1959-1994. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. xiii + 290 pp.-Myrna García-Calderón, Carmen Luisa Justiniano, Con valor y a cómo dé lugar: Memorias de una jíbara puertorriqueña. Río Piedras: Editorial de la Universidad de Puerto Rico, 1994. 538 pp.-Jorge Pérez-Rolon, Ruth Glasser, My music is my flag: Puerto Rican musicians and their New York communities , 1917-1940. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1995. xxiv + 253 pp.-Lauren Derby, Emelio Betances, State and society in the Dominican Republic. Boulder CO: Westview Press, 1995. xix + 162 pp.-Michiel Baud, Bernardo Vega, Trujillo y Haiti, Volumen II (1937-1938). Santo Domingo: Fundación Cultural Dominicana, 1995. 427 pp.-Danielle Bégot, Elborg Forster ,Sugar and slavery, family and race: The letters and diary of Pierre Dessalles, Planter in Martinique, 1808-1856. Elborg & Robert Forster (eds. and trans.). Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1996. 322 pp., Robert Forster (eds)-Catherine Benoit, Richard D.E. Burton, La famille coloniale: La Martinique et la mère patrie, 1789-1992. Paris: L'Harmattan, 1994. 308 pp.-Roderick A. McDonald, Kathleen Mary Butler, The economics of emancipation: Jamaica & Barbados, 1823-1843. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995. xviii + 198 pp.-K.O. Laurence, David Chanderbali, A portrait of Paternalism: Governor Henry Light of British Guiana, 1838-48. Turkeyen, Guyana: Dr. David Chanderbali, Department of History, University of Guyana, 1994. xiii + 277 pp.-Mindie Lazarus-Black, Brian L. Moore, Cultural power, resistance and pluralism: Colonial Guyana 1838-1900. Montreal & Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press; Mona, Kingston: The Press-University of the West Indies, 1995. xv + 376 pp.-Madhavi Kale, K.O. Laurence, A question of labour: Indentured immigration into Trinidad and British Guiana, 1875-1917. Kingston: Ian Randle; London: James Currey, 1994. ix + 648 pp.-Franklin W. Knight, O. Nigel Bolland, On the March: Labour rebellions in the British Caribbean, 1934-39. Kingston: Ian Randle; London: James Currey, 1995. viii + 216 pp.-Linden Lewis, Kevin A. Yelvington, Producing power: Ethnicity, gender, and class in a Caribbean workplace. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1995. xv + 286 pp.-Consuelo López Springfield, Alta-Gracia Ortíz, Puerto Rican women and work: Bridges in transnational labor. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1996. xi + 249 pp.-Peta Henderson, Irma McClaurin, Women of Belize: Gender and change in Central America. New Brunswick NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996. x + 218 pp.-Bonham C. Richardson, David M. Bush ,Living with the Puerto Rico Shore. José Gonzalez Liboy & William J. Neal. Durham: Duke University Press, 1995. xx + 193 pp., Richard M.T. Webb, Lisbeth Hyman (eds)-Bonham C. Richardson, David Barker ,Environment and development in the Caribbean: Geographical perspectives. Mona, Kingston: The Press-University of the West Indies, 1995. xv + 304 pp., Duncan F.M. McGregor (eds)-Alma H. Young, Anthony T. Bryan ,Distant cousins: The Caribbean-Latin American relationship. Miami: North-South-Center Press, 1996. iii + 132 pp., Andrés Serbin (eds)-Alma H. Young, Ian Boxill, Ideology and Caribbean integration. Mona, Kingston: The Press-University of the West Indies, 1993. xiii + 128 pp.-Stephen D. Glazier, Howard Gregory, Caribbean theology: Preparing for the challenges ahead. Mona, Kingston: Canoe Press, University of the West Indies, 1995. xx + 118 pp.-Lise Winer, Richard Allsopp, Dictionary of Caribbean English usage. With a French and Spanish supplement edited by Jeanette Allsopp. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. lxxviii + 697 pp.-Geneviève Escure, Jacques Arends ,Pidgins and Creoles: An introduction. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1995. xiv + 412 pp., Pieter Muysken, Norval Smith (eds)-Jacques Arends, Angela Bartens, Die iberoromanisch-basierten Kreolsprachen: Ansätze der linguistischen Beschreibung. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1995. vii + 345 pp.-J. Michael Dash, Richard D.E. Burton, Le roman marron: Études sur la littérature martiniquaise contemporaine. Paris: L'Harmattan. 1997. 282 pp.

This updated issue of the professional publication Bulletin of the Slovenian Armed Forces is dedicated to the question of the Slovenian commitment to finding peaceful solutions to conflicts. As Commander­in­Chief of the Defence Forces of the Republic of Slovenia, I find this subject not only necessary but also entirely essential. There are many reasons for this. The historical experience of the Slovenian people has not always been pleasant regarding the preservation of national identity, manifested in the language as well as in the cultural and national tradition. Despite different repressive and denationalising measures taken by many foreign authorities, our ancestors managed to preserve the Slovenian nation through much wisdom, deep national awareness and political skill. The importance of consistent compliance with the provisions of international law in crisis situations, including wars, was seen in 1991. Slovenia won the war, not only in a military sense but also by complying with all legal norms, thus soon becoming recognised as a young European democratic country founded on high legal and moral principles. The lessons of war in 1991 increased the resolve of the Slovenian people for clear rejection of the use of force in finding solutions to any kind of conflict. For this reason, my pleasure at being invited to write about the topic of Slovenian people in the service of peace is that much greater, in part also due to the fact that I spent a large part of my professional life, from 1992 to 2005, working in the United Nations, first as the ambassador of the Republic of Slovenia, later as UN Assistant Secretary­General. In both functions I dealt with peacekeeping operations to a considerable extent. United Nations peacekeeping operations were in full swing at that time and underwent great development on the one hand, but also bitter disappointment and moments of deep doubt on the other. However, they continued to develop to the current extent. The topic of the Bulletin is presented in truly deep, scientific, theoretical and practical ways, from strategic and tactical levels, considering the evolutionary and transformational characteristics of peacekeeping operations, and deriving from historical experience. The most respected authors in the Slovenian professional field have thrown light upon important conceptual changes in the area of peacekeeping operations, which result from numerous factors, in particular from important geopolitical changes in the world. We must not disregard the increasing cooperation of regional organisations in the implementation of peacekeeping operations, which has indirectly brought about a different understanding of the term “peacekeeping operation” and opened technical discussions in the area of terminology as well as in the technical fulfilment of obligations, all the way to the question of the necessity of a preliminary UN mandate. These deficiencies can also be seen in Slovenia and point to the need for conducting a deep technical discussion as soon as possible and unifying the understanding of both the structure of the Slovenian Armed Forces and the broader defence and security system. The introductory and in particular the more theoretical parts of the Bulletin may be taken as important contributions in this regard. Some of the articles offer interesting historical insight into the cooperation of Slovenian men, and later women, in various endeavours for peace launched by individual great powers and international organisations. Although it is difficult to understand the military intervention of European forces on the island Crete in 1897 as a peacekeeping operation, the objective which is still in the forefront of contemporary efforts of the international community in this area was achieved for at least some time. This intervention ensured an armistice between the parties involved in the conflict and enabled a diplomatic solution on the island without unnecessary victims. The confidence that the highest political and military authorities in the Austro­Hungarian Empire had in the 2nd Battalion of the 87th Infantry Regiment from Celje was truly special. This was particularly the case because the military unit was mainly composed of Slovenes, and at the time of deployment in Crete its commander was a Slovene as well. However, we need to emphasise that such thinking is unconventional. By studying the literature on peacekeeping operations we see that such operations were first mentioned around 1919 in connection with peace conferences after the end of World War I and with managing various border issues in Europe, different plebiscites and other situations which, besides political and other diplomatic action, also required the protection of security and were followed by military operations intended for this particular purpose. History tells us much about peacekeeping operations intended to maintain truces. In these operations, coalition forces were deployed to an area in which a truce already existed and had to be maintained among well organised and disciplined armed forces. Today, the status of armed forces is quite different. We have to look at all of history and every aspect of international military engagement which is not armed combat by nature but a military presence with various aspects of employment of military force and the constant readiness and capability of peace forces to defend themselves effectively and be prepared to use weapons to fulfil their mandate. If today we see peacekeeping operations as valid in this respect, it is clear that we have to be familiar with history and evaluate what we can learn from past experience and how we are obliged to consider the present. Of course, we must consider the present. If we look at the status of peacekeeping operations today, we see how important this military activity is for the modern world. I will only dwell upon the United Nations, which from the standpoint of peacekeeping operations is the most important organisation operating today. Approximately 140,000 soldiers participate in peacekeeping operations under the auspices of the United Nations. No other military force has that number of uniformed personnel operating abroad. These people are assigned to eighteen currently active peacekeeping operations, each costing the organisation about seven billion dollars. This is the largest component of the budget of the United Nations. However, this expenditure is small in comparison to other kinds of military deployment outside the UN, to operations which are not peacekeeping operations by nature. Peacekeeping operations have become very multidimensional. The latest such operations, established in Africa (Darfur, Chad, Central African Republic), have been among the most demanding from the very beginning. We can thus conclude that peacekeeping operations are becoming increasingly more complex, which also results in a higher degree of risk. In 2007, 67 members of UN peacekeeping operations lost their lives. Looking at individual operations we see that six people died in Lebanon alone that year. Ever since peacekeeping operations have been in existence, Lebanon has been one of the most dangerous areas. Today, however, it is somewhat outside the sphere of interest. This may be due to the fact that there is a peacekeeping operation active in the area, on account of which a state of relative peace can be better maintained. Peacekeeping operations are both dangerous and multidimensional, multidimensional because they are no longer focused merely on keeping belligerent parties apart. Modern peacekeeping operations include both standard and supplemental functions. Providing a secure environment for political normalisation, humanitarian activity and development is a comprehensive task, requiring the engagement of peacekeeping forces in operations that are far from being common types of military deployment. This raises different questions about the training and competence of peacekeeping forces. We also have to ask ourselves how we can fully consider the lessons learned from previous peacekeeping operations and organise a system of command, particularly in organisations such as the United Nations, while at the same time making sure that national contingents do not lose their identity. There are thus two lines of communication, one through channels established by international organisations and the other through those established by national systems of armed forces. How to balance this and achieve efficient functioning? How to ensure the operation of different cultures, members and levels of competence in a way that facilitates the success of peacekeeping operations? These are always important questions to consider. In recent years the question of interest has pointed to the complexity of modern peacekeeping operations. Peacekeeping operations are frequently required to facilitate an environment in which elections can be conducted and assist in the establishment of a legal order and institutions to maintain that order. Both tasks are extremely demanding. The establishment of a safe environment for conducting elections in a country with poor communications, with no tradition of elections and with violence linked to every political event, is an extremely difficult task. The establishment of a legal order in areas with no such tradition or adequate infrastructure is even harder. There is often a need to include the civilian police, whose tasks in peacekeeping operations are very demanding. Civilian police have a number of other particularities besides problems connected to the aforementioned multidimensionality. It is necessary to adapt to the local environment in order to facilitate effective police performance. How to facilitate this in an environment such as Haiti, for example, with its difficult past? How to facilitate this in linguistically demanding environments such as East Timor until recently and in other difficult circumstances? These are all extremely demanding tasks. However, there is not much understanding with regard to all the details and problems arising from their implementation. The international political community is often satisfied merely by defining the mandate of a peacekeeping operation. For many people this signifies the solution to the problem, considering that the mandate is defined and that the deployment of forces will occur. However, this is where real problem solving only begins. Only then does it become obvious what little meaning general resolutions of the United Nations Security Council and other acts by which mandates are defined have in the context of actual situations. Therefore, I am of the opinion that we have to take a detailed look at experience from the distant past as well as the present. When speaking of the civilian police we also have to consider the fully human aspects that characterise every peacekeeping operation. Once I spoke to a very experienced leader of civilian police operations about the need to send additional police officers to the mission in Kosovo in the spring, when winter is over and people become more active, which also results in a higher crime rate. He explained that this is not only a problem in the area of this mission but elsewhere in Europe. In spring, the crime rate rises everywhere. Therefore it is difficult to find police officers during this time who are willing to leave their homeland, where they are most needed, and go to a mission area which is just then facing increased needs. I mention this to broaden understanding of the fact that the deployment of peacekeeping forces, both military and civilian police, is not only a matter of mandates and military organisation, but sometimes of the purely elementary questions that accompany social development. I have already mentioned that memory of the past is a very important component of considering present peacekeeping operations. I would like to conclude with another thought. I believe the manner of organising the knowledge of peacekeeping operations is of great importance to all countries, especially those that are new to cooperating in peacekeeping operations. This knowledge cannot be gained from books written at universities, but only from monitoring and carefully analysing the previous experiences of others. It is very important that this knowledge be carefully organised, that these experiences be carefully gathered and analysed, and that a doctrine be developed gradually. This doctrine is required for a country like Slovenia, which is new at conducting peacekeeping operations, to be able to manage well and define its role in international peacekeeping operations properly. To achieve this objective, a new country must cooperate with those countries which have been conducting peacekeeping operations for a long time and therefore have a richer experience. The neighbouring Austria is known to have one of the longest and most interesting systems of experience in peacekeeping operations within the United Nations. Ever since it joined the UN, Austria has been active in numerous activities linked to peacekeeping operations. Its soldiers and the civilian police have participated in a number of peacekeeping operations. Experience gained in this way is of great value, and using this experience is necessary for successful planning of and operating in future peacekeeping operations. The future will be complicated! At one time, when the members of peacekeeping operations numbered approximately 80,000, the United Nations thought that nothing more could be done, and a larger number of members was unthinkable. Today the number of members is significantly larger, development will most likely still continue and conditions will become even more demanding. I do not wish to forecast events which have not yet taken place. However, I would like to strongly emphasise that the history of peacekeeping operations is not over yet and that the future will be full of risks and challenges. I would also again like to stress the importance of this issue of the Bulletin of the Slovenian Armed Forces, which is entering a new decade, and express my pleasure at being able to note down a few thoughts. Let me particularly emphasise that as Commander­in­Chief of the Slovenian Defence Forces I will continue to devote special attention to achievements in the area of cooperation in peacekeeping operations in the future, having a special interest in these experiences. I thank the authors of the articles of this important issue of the Bulletin for their scientific and professional contributions – and I greatly respect those who have already done important work in the name of the Republic of Slovenia with the Slovenian flag on their shoulders, with the hope that they continue to fulfil their obligations in accordance with the rules.

When we think of United Nations (UN) peacekeepers, the first image that is conjured in our mind is of an individual sporting a blue helmet or a blue beret (fig. 1). While simple and uncomplicated, these blue accessories represent an expression and an embodiment resembling that of a warrior, sent to bring peace to conflict-torn communities. UN peacekeeping first conceptually emerged in 1948 in the wake of the Arab-Israeli war that ensued following the United Kingdom’s relinquishing of its mandate over Palestine, and the proclamation of the State of Israel. “Forged in the crucible of practical diplomacy” (Rubinstein 16), unarmed military observers were deployed to Palestine to monitor the hostilities and mediate armistice agreements between Israel and its Arab neighbours. This operation, the United Nations Truce Supervision Organization (UNTSO), significantly exemplified the diplomatic and observational capabilities of military men, in line with the UN Charter’s objectives of international peace and security, setting henceforth a basic archetype for international peacekeeping. It was only in 1956, however, that peacekeeping formally emerged when armed UN forces deployed to Egypt to supervise the withdrawal of forces occupying the Suez Canal (informally known as the ‘Second Arab-Israeli’ war). Here, the formation of UN peacekeeping represented an international pacifying mechanism comprised of multiple third-party intermediaries whereby peaceful resolution would be achieved by transcending realist instincts of violence for political attainment in favour of applying a less-destructive liberal model of persuasion, compromise, and perseverance (Howard). ‘Blue helmet’ peacekeeping operations continue to be regarded by the UN as an integral subsidiary instrument of its organisation. At present, there are 12 active peacekeeping operations led by the UN Department of Peacekeeping across the world (United Nations Peacekeeping). Fig. 1: United Nations Mission in South Sudan (UNMISS) sporting blue berets (https://www.gov.uk/government/news/uk-troops-awarded-un-medals-for-south-sudan-peacekeeping-mission) But where did the blue helmets and berets originate from? Rubinstein details a surprisingly mundane account of the origins of the political accessory that is now a widely recognised symbol for UN peacekeepers’ uniforms. Peacekeepers’ uniforms initially emerged from the ad hoc need to distinguish UN troops from those of the armed forces in a distinctive dress during the 1947 UNTSO mission by any means and material readily available, such as armbands and helmets (Henry). The era of early peacekeeping operations also saw ‘observers’ carry UN flags and paint their vehicle white with ‘UN’ written in large black letters in order to distinguish themselves. The blue helmets specifically came to be adorned during the first peacekeeping operation in 1956 during the Suez crisis. At this time, Canada supplied a large number of non-combatant troops whose uniform was the same as the belligerent British forces, party to the conflict. An effort to thus distinguish the peacekeepers was made by spray-painting surplus World War II American plastic helmet-liners, which were available in quantity in Europe, blue (Urquhart; Rubenstein). The two official colours of the UN are ‘light blue’ and ‘white’. The unique light “UN” blue colour, in particular, was approved as the background for the UN flag in the 1947 General Assembly Resolution 167(II), alongside a white emblem depicting a map of the world surrounded by two olive branches. While the UN’s use of the colour was chosen as a “practical effect of identifying the Organization in areas of trouble and conflict, to any and all parties concerned”, the colour blue was also specifically chosen at this time as “an integral part of the visual identity of the organisation” representing “peace in opposition to red, for war” (United Nations). Blue is seen to be placed in antithesis to the colour red across several fields including popular culture, and even within politics, as a way to typically indicate conflict between two warring groups. Within popular culture, for example, many films in the science fiction, fantasy, or horror genres, use a clearly demarcated, dichotomous ‘red vs. blue’ colour scheme in their posters (fig. 2). This is also commonly seen in political campaign posters, for example during the 2021 US presidential election (fig. 3). Fig. 2: Blue and red colour schemes in film posters (left to right: Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015), Captain Marvel (2019), and The Dead Don’t Die (2019)) Fig. 3: Biden (Democratic party) vs. Trump (Republican party) US presidential election (https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-10-15/us-election-political-parties-explained-democrats-vs-republicans/12708296) This dichotomy can be traced back to the high Middle Ages between the fourteenth and seventeenth century where the colour blue became a colour associated with “moral implications”, rivalling both the colours black and red which were extremely popular in clothing during the eras of the late Middle Ages and early Renaissance (Pastoureau 85). This ‘moral metamorphosis’ in European society was largely influenced by the views of Christian Protestant reformers concerning the social, religious, and artistic use of the colour blue (Pastoureau). A shift in the use of blue and its symbolic connotations may also be seen, for example, in early Christian art and iconography, specifically those deriving from depictions of the Virgin Mary; according to Pastoureau (50), this provides the “clearest illustration of the social, religious, and artistic consequences of blue's new status”. Up until the eighteenth century, the colour blue, specifically ‘sky blue’ or light blue tones resemblant of the “UN” shade of blue, had minimal symbolic or aesthetic value, particularly in European culture and certainly amongst nobility and the upper levels of society. Historically, light blue was typically associated with peasants’ clothing. This was due to the fact that peasants would often dye their clothes using the pigment of the woad herb; however, the woad would poorly penetrate cloth fibres and inevitably fade under the effects of sunlight and soap, thereby resulting in a ‘bland’ colour (Pastoureau). Although the blue hues worn by the nobility and wealthy were typically denser and more solid, a “new fashion” for light blue tones gradually took hold at the courts of the wealthy and the bourgeoisie, inevitably becoming deeply anchored in Western European counties (Pastoureau). Here, the reorganisation of the colour hierarchy and reformulation of blue certainly resembles Pastoureau’s (10) assertion that “any history of colour is, above all, a social history”. Within the humanities, colour represents a social phenomenon and construction. Colour thus provides insights into the ways society assigns meaning to it, “constructs its codes and values, establishes its uses, and determines whether it is acceptable or not” (Pastoureau, 10). In this way, although colour is a naturally occurring phenomenon, it is also a complex cultural construct. That the UN and its subsidiary bodies, including the Department of Peacekeeping, deliberately assigned light blue as its official organisational colour therefore usefully illustrates a significant social process of meaning-making and cultural sociology. The historical transition of light blue’s association from one of poverty in and around the eighteenth century to one of wealth in the nineteenth century may perhaps also be indicative of the next transitional era for light blue in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, representative of the amalgamation or unity between the two classes. Representing the ambitions not only of the organisation, but rather of the 193 member-states, of attaining worldwide peace, light blue may be seen as a colour of peace, as well as one of the people, for the people. This may be traced back, according to Pastoureau, as early as the Middle Ages where the colour blue was seen a colour of ‘peace’. Colours, however, do not solely determine social and cultural relevance in a given historical event. Rather, fabrics and clothing too offer “the richest and most diverse source of artifacts” in understanding history and culture. Artifacts such as UN peacekeepers’ blue berets and helmets necessarily incorporate economic, social, ideological, aesthetic, and symbolic aspects of both colour and material into the one complete uniform (Pastoureau). While the ‘UN blue’ is associated with peace, the beret, on the other hand, has been described as “an ally in the battlefield” (Kliest). The history of the beret is largely rooted in the armed forces – institutions typically associated with conflict and violence – and it continues to be a vital aspect of military uniforms worn by personnel from countries all around the globe. Given that the large majority of UN peacekeeping forces are made up of military personnel, peacekeeping, as both an action and an institution, thus adds a layer of complexity when discussing artifact symbolism. Here, a peacekeeper’s uniform uniquely represents the embodiment of an amalgamation of two traditionally juxtaposing concepts: peace, nurture, and diplomacy (often associated with ‘feminine’ qualities) versus conflict, strength, and discipline (often associated with ‘masculine’ qualities). A peacekeeper’s uniform thus represents the UN’s institutionalisation of “soldiers for peace” (Howard) who are, as former UN Secretary-General Dag Hammarskjold proclaimed, “the front line of a moral force” (BBC cited in Howard). Aside from its association with the armed forces, the beret has also been used as a fashion symbol by political revolutionaries, such as members of the ‘Black Panther Party’ (BPP) founded in the 1960s during the US Civil Rights Movement, as well as Che Guevara, prominent Leftist figure in the Cuban Revolution (see fig. 4). For, Rosabelle Forzy, CEO of beret and headwear fashion manufacturing company ‘Laulhère’, the beret is “emblematic of non-conformism … worn by people who create, commit, militate, and resist” (Kliest). Fig. 4: Berets worn by political revolutionaries (Left to right: Black Panthers Party (BPP) protesting outside of a New York courthouse (https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2988897/Black-Panther-double-cop-killer-sues-freedom-plays-FLUTE-Murderer-demands-parole-changed-fury-victim-s-widow.html), and portrait of Che Guevara) In a way, the UN’s ‘blue beret’ too bears a ‘non-conformist’ visage as its peacekeepers neither fit categorisations as ‘revolutionaries’ nor as traditional ‘soldiers’. Peacekeepers personify a cultural phenomenon that operates in a complex environment (Rubinstein). While peacekeepers retain their national military (usually camouflage) uniforms during missions, the UN headwear is a symbol of non-conformity in response to sociological preconceptions regarding military culture. In the case of peacekeeping, the implementation and longevity of peacekeepers’ uniforms has occurred through a process of what Rubinstein (50) refers to as ‘cultural’ or ‘symbolic inversion’ wherein traditional notions of military rituals and symbolism have been appropriated or ‘inverted’ and given a new meaning by the UN. In other words, the UN promotes the image of soldiers acting without the use of force in service of peace in order to encode an image of a “world transformed” through the contribution of peacekeeping toward the “elaboration of an image of an international community acting in a neutral, consensual manner” (Rubinstein, 50). Cultural inversion therefore creates a socio-political space wherein normative representations are reconfigured and conditioned as acceptable. Rubinstein argues, however, that the UN’s need to integrate individuals with such diverse backgrounds and perceptions into a collective peacekeeper identity can be problematic. Rubinstein (72) adds that the blue beret is the “most obvious evidence” of an ordinary symbol investing ‘legitimacy’ in peacekeeping through ritual repetition which still holds its cultural relevance to the present day. Arguably, institutional uniforms are symbols which profoundly shape human experience, validating contextual action according to the symbol’s meanings relevant to those wearing it. In this way, uniform symbolism not only allows us to make sense of our daily experiences, but allows us to construct and understand our identities and our interactions with others who are also part of the symbolic culture we are situated in. Consider, for example, a police officer. A police officer’s uniform not only grants them membership to the policing institution but also necessarily grants them certain powers, privileges, and jurisdictions within society which thereby impact on the way they see the world and interact with it. Necessarily, the social and cultural identity one acquires from wearing a specific uniform only effectively functions by “investing differences”, however large or small, into these symbols that “distinguish us from others” (Rubinstein, 74). For example, a policeman’s badge is a signifier that they are, in fact, part of an exclusive group that the majority of the citizenry are not. To this extent, the use of uniforms is not without its controversies or without the capacity to be misused as a tool of discrimination in a ‘them’ versus ‘us’ scenario. Referring to case regarding the beret, for example, in 2000 then US Army Chief of Staff, General Eric Shineski, announced that the black beret – traditionally worn exclusively by specialised US Army units such as ‘Rangers’ – would become a standardised part of the US Army uniform for all soldiers and would denote a “symbol of unity”. General Shineski’s decision for the new headgear symbolised “the half-million-strong army’s transition to a lighter, more agile force that can respond more rapidly to distant trouble spots” (Borger). This was, however, met with angry backlash particularly from the Rangers who stated that they “were being robbed of a badge of pride” as “the beret is a symbol of excellence … that is not to be worn by everybody” (Borger). Responses to the proposition pointed to the problem of ‘low morale’ that the military faced, which could not be fixed just by “changing hats” (Borger). In this case, the beret was identified and isolated as a tool for coordinating perceptions (Rubinstein, 78). Here, the use of uniforms is as much about being external identifiers and designating a group from another as it is about sustaining a group by means of perpetuating what Rubinstein conceptualises as ‘self-legitimation’. This occurs in order to ensure the survival of a group and is similarly seen as occurring within UN peacekeeping (Joseph & Alex). Within peacekeeping the blue beret is an effective symbol used to perpetuate self-legitimacy across various levels of the UN which construct systems, or a ‘community’, of reinforcement largely rooted on organisational models of virtue and diplomacy. In the broadest sense, the UN promotes “a unique responsibility to set a global standard” in service to creating a unified and pacific world order (Guterres). As an integral instrument of international action, peacekeeping is, by extension, necessarily conditioned and supported by this cultural model whereby the actions of individual peacekeepers are strategically linked to the symbolic capital at the broadest levels of the organisation to manage the organisation’s power and legitimacy. The image of the peacekeeper, however, is fraught with problems and, as such, UN peacekeepers’ uniforms represent discrepancies and contradictions in the UN’s mission and organisational culture, particularly with relation to the UN’s symbolic construction of community and cooperation amongst peacekeepers. Given that peacekeeping troops are made up of individuals from different ethnic, cultural, and professional backgrounds, conditions for cultural interaction become challenging, if not problematic, and may necessarily lead to cross-cultural misunderstandings, miscommunication, and conflict. This applies to the context of peacekeeper deployment to host nations amongst local communities with whom they are also culturally unfamiliar (Rubinstein, "Intervention"). According to Rubinstein ("Intervention", 528), such operations may “create the conditions under which criminal activities or the institution of neo-colonial relationships can emerge”. Moncrief adds to this by also suggesting that a breakdown in conduct and discipline during missions may also contribute to peacekeepers engaging in violence during missions. Consequently, multiple cases of misdemeanour by UN peacekeepers have been reported across the years including peacekeeper involvement in bribery, weapons trading, and gold smuggling (Escobales). One of the most notorious acts of misconduct and violence that continues to be reported in the present day, however, is of peacekeepers perpetrating sexual exploitation and abuse against host women and children. Between 2004 and 2016, for example, “the UN received almost 2,000 allegations of sexual exploitation and abuse” (Essa). According to former chief of operations at the UN’s Emergency Co-ordination Centre, Andrew Macleod, this figure may be, however, much more disturbing, estimating in general that approximately “60,000 rapes had been carried out by UN staff in the past decade” (Zeffman). An article in the Guardian reported that a 12-year-old girl had been hiding in a bathroom during a house search in a Muslim enclave of the capital, Bangui [in the Central African Republic] … . A man allegedly wearing the blue helmet and vest of the UN peacekeeping forces took her outside and raped her behind a truck. (Smith & Lewis) In the article, the assailant’s uniform (“the blue helmet and vest”) is not only described as literal imagery to contextualise the grave crime that was committed against the child. In evoking the image of the blue helmet and vest, the author highlights the uniform as a symbolic tool of power which was misused to perpetuate harm against the vulnerable civilian ‘other’. In this scenario, like many others, rather than representing peace and hope, the blue helmet (or beret) instead illustrates the contradictions of the UN peacekeeper’s uniform. Here, the uniform has consequently come to be associated as a symbol of violence, fear, and most significantly, betrayal, for the victim(s) of the abuse, as well as for much of the victim’s community. This discrepancy was also highlighted in a speech presented by former Ambassador of the UK Mission to the UN, Matthew Rycroft, who stated that “when a girl looks up to a blue helmet, she should do so not in fear, but in hope”. For many peacekeepers perpetrating sexual exploitation and abuse, particularly transactional sex, however, they “do not see themselves as abusing women”. This is largely to do with the power and privileges peacekeepers are afforded, such as ‘immunity’ – that is, a peacekeeper is granted immunity from trial or prosecution for criminal misconduct by the host nation’s judicial system. Over the years, scholarly research regarding peacekeepers’ immunity has highlighted a plethora of organisational problems within the UN, including lack of perpetrator accountability, and internal investigation or follow-up. More so, it has undoubtedly “contributed to a culture of individuals committing sexual violence knowing that they will get away with it” (Freedman). When a peacekeeper wears their uniform, they are thus imbued with the power and charged with the responsibility to properly embody and represent the values of the UN; “if [peacekeepers] don’t understand how powerful a position they are in, they will never understand what they do is actually wrong” (Elks). As such, unlike other traditional institutional uniforms, such as that of a soldier or a police officer, a peacekeeper’s uniform stands out as an enigma. One the one hand, peacekeepers channel the peaceful and passive organisational values of the UN by wearing the blue beret or helmet, whilst at the same time, they continue to sport the national military body uniform of their home country. Questions pertaining to the peacekeeper’s uniform arise and require further exploration: how can peacekeepers disassociate from their disciplined military personas and learnt combat skills if they continue to wear military camouflage during peacekeeping missions? Is the addition of the blue beret or helmet enough to reconfigure the body of the peacekeeper from one of violence, masculinity, and offence to that of peace, nurture, and diplomacy? Certainly, a range of factors are pertinent to an understanding of peacekeepers’ behaviour and group culture. But whether these two opposing identities can cohesively create or reconstitute a third identity using the positive skills and attributes of both juxtaposing institutions remains elusive. Nonetheless, the blue beret is a symbol of international hope, not only for vulnerable populations, but also for the world population collectively, as it represents neutral third-party member states working together to rebuild the world through non-combative means. References Borger, Julian. “Elite Forces Fear the Coming of the Egalitarian Beret.” The Guardian 19 Oct. 2000. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2000/oct/19/julianborger>. Elks, Sonia. “Haitians Say Underaged Girls Were Abused by U.N. Peacekeepers.” Reuters 19 Dec. 2019. <https://www.reuters.com/article/us-haiti-women-peacekeepers-idUSKBN1YM27W>. Escobales, Roxanne. “UN Peacekeepers 'Traded Gold and Guns with Congolese rebels'.” The Guardian 28 Apr. 2008. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2008/apr/28/congo.unitednations>. Essa, Azad. “Why Do Some Peacekeepers Rape? The Full Report.” Al Jazeera 10 Aug. 2017. <https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2017/8/10/why-do-some-peacekeepers-rape-the-full-report>. Freedman, Rosa. “Why Do peacekeepers Have Immunity in Sex Abuse Cases?” CNN 25 May 2015. <https://edition.cnn.com/2015/05/22/opinions/freedman-un-peacekeepers-immunity/index.html>. Guterres, António. Address to High-Level Meeting on the United Nations Response to Sexual Exploitation and Abuse. United Nations. 18 Sep. 2017. <https://www.un.org/sg/en/content/sg/speeches/2017-09-18/secretary-generals-sea-address-high-level-meeting>. Henry, Charles P. Ralph Bunche: Model Negro or American Other? New York: New York UP, 1999. Howard, Lise Morjé. Power in Peacekeeping. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2019. Joseph, Nathan, and Nicholas Alex. "The Uniform: A Sociological Perspective." American Journal of Sociology 77.4 (1972): 719-730. Kliest, Nicole. “Why the Beret Never Goes Out of Style.” TZR 6 April 2021. <https://www.thezoereport.com/fashion/history-berets-hat-trend>. Rubinstein, Robert A. "Intervention and Culture: An Anthropological Approach to Peace Operations." Security Dialogue 36.4 (2005): 527-544. DOI: 10.1177/0967010605060454. ———. Peacekeeping under Fire: Culture and Intervention. Routledge, 2015. Rycroft, Matthew. "When a Girl Looks Up to a Blue Helmet, She Should Do So Not in Fear, But in Hope." 10 Mar. 2016. <https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/when-a-girl-looks-up-to-a-blue-helmet-she-should-do-so-not-in-fear-but-in-hope>. Smith, David, and Paul Lewis. "UN Peacekeepers Accused of Killing and Rape in Central African Republic." The Guardian 12 Aug. 2015. <https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/aug/11/un-peacekeepers-accused-killing-rape-central-african-republic>. United Nations. :United Nations Emblem and Flag." N.d. <https://www.un.org/en/about-us/un-emblem-and-flag>. United Nations Peacekeeping. “Where We Operate.” N.d. <https://peacekeeping.un.org/en/where-we-operate>. Urquhart, Brian. Ralph Bunche: An American Life. New York: W.W. Norton & Co. 1993. Zeffman, Henry. “Charity Sex Scandal: UN Staff ‘Responsible for 60,000 rapes in a Decade’.” The Times 14 Feb. 2018. <https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/un-staff-responsible-for-60-000-rapes-in-a-decade-c627rx239>.

The recent announcement that the Costanera Center building in Santiago will finally open in 2012 is the latest episode in the building’s troubled history, during which it has been both the emblem of Chile’s booming economy and the grand symbol of its downturn in the context of the global recession. The mixed-use development –which includes what will be South America’s tallest building, standing 300 meters high— will feature a shopping mall with a number of restaurants and a cinema, two hotels, two shopping markets and office space.The previous chapter in its history was much less optimistic: during most of 2009 the project in the financial district of Santiago (colloquially known as Sanhattan) sat half-finished, its exposed concrete and reinforcement bars contrasting with a banner at the site that read Icono del Desarrollo Latinoamericano (“Icon of Latin American development”). Once a symbol of Chile’s soaring copper driven economy, the Costanera Center became an emblem of its decline, an all too visible manifestation of the dramatic downturn of the construction sector that saw dozens of projects like this coming to a halt and caught in a temporary-but-possibly-permanent state of suspension. According to the Corporación de Bienes de Capital (CBC), an institute that monitors private investment in Chile, a total of 105 projects at different stages of planning or construction were delayed, suspended or scrapped last year. Even though works at the Costanera Center slowly started again during December 2009, the massive earthquake that affected Chile at the end of February 2010 created new doubts about the development. The engineers in charge finally announced that the construction would continue at a rhythm of two and a half floors per month. At every level, height appears to be the measure of achievement: Chile is on its way of having the continent’s highest building, and the workers involved in the construction will see their pay rise as they literally climb higher and higher in their daily job. The destructive nature of the earthquake can be compared to the explosive and unchecked character of Santiago’s frenetic development and, indeed, the relationship between both phenomena goes beyond the metaphorical (and not just because the recently elected president Sebastian Piñera named a number of high profile businessmen in the construction sector as the new local authorities for the five worst affected regions, arguing that their expertise would be key to the success of the reconstruction). The earthquake swept away not the very old, but the very new in Santiago and other major Chilean cities like Concepción, generating a temporal displacement in which rise and fall, birth and decline simultaneously appear at the construction site. Halted projects like the Costanera Center and the newly-finished-but-already-ruined buildings both express a frozen form of architecture that cannot be expended, enjoyed or consumed.Paradoxically, and in spite of their evident fragility, these buildings present themselves as having a solid, uni-dimensional meaning rather than a contingent quality; they stand still, maintained as they are, waiting either for an order of demolition or the reactivation of works. To this extent, these constructions represent a notion of waste that does not appear to be generative, but rather, seems to be suspended and vacant. Even though they might have radically different fates, in their present state both halted projects and half-ruined buildings refer to the same condition of waste. These examples of development and decline are inscribed within the larger processes of speculative construction and economic control that have shaped Chile’s urban landscape from the 1970s onwards. These processes echo the experiences of other countries but are also particular to Chile’s history, its rapid modernisation, its troubled recent political past, and its vulnerability to natural disasters. The suspended landscape created by these buildings appears to limit the potentialities that otherwise contingent spaces could have. The work of the British architect Cedric Price, for instance, addresses the endless capacity of buildings to maintain themselves in a condition of openness, without any reference to past or future functions. In his understanding, the interval—manifested, for example, in the period in which a structure is yet-to-be-built, or in the moment in which the construction is paralysed due to economic or regulation constraints (which is, indeed, the present state of these Chilean buildings)—is an opportunity to be free from any limitation from the past or any aspiration to future glory, a condition of potentiality that generates new processes of exchange. But Price’s projects—which vary from very simple design solutions to buildings in a more conventional sense—could only work if they are able to engage with the present of the construction without privileging any particular outcome. In contrast, the examples of architecture coming to a standstill in Chile (due to the fragility of the country’s economy and the foundations of its flashy construction) can be seen as static monuments that do not commemorate a past event but rather refer to a future that is already out of date. Rather than generating new uses while these projects are halted, they remain encircled, in arrested development; limiting the transformable aspects that might be derived from their current uncertain position. From the 1970s Chile abandoned its old state-centred policies in favour of a virtually unregulated free-market economy. Indeed, recent accounts of the earthquake metaphorically recall Milton Freedman’s doctrine of shock (the imposition of capitalism without any softening of its sharp edges) as a discursive figure: the American economist was advisor to General Pinochet during his dictatorship and a whole generation of highly influential Chilean professionals received a first-hand education from Friedman at the University of Chicago. ‘The Chicago Boys,’ as the group is commonly known in Chile, exerted a direct influence over the complete re-organisation of the country’s public health and education systems, alongside the transformation of its material infrastructure in a process not dissimilar to the changes wrought by earthquake and tsunami. Santiago, in particular, is a city that has transformed its old urban fabric like no other in Latin America. The city is an extreme example of the boom-and-bust development process: plans get approved, buildings get ready and constructions become dated within an incredibly short life-span. Development opportunities in the city centre are rapidly becoming scarce, and construction companies now look to demolish whole buildings to source their land. Other companies buy any property that remains in the wealthier neighborhoods without concrete plans to build anything; these properties are laid to waste, with their gardens unkempt, masses of weeds covering the walls. Consumer sites dedicated to urbanism and architecture such as www.plataformaurbana.cl suggest that the earthquake has provided new opportunities for land speculation and rapid demolition. In Talca (another city badly damaged by the earthquake), construction companies offer new, cheap houses on the city fringe in exchange for damaged properties near the historic centre.Among the endless images of destruction reproduced after the earthquake, the most notorious depict recently built constructions in complete ruins. In Santiago, at least 23 apartment buildings were abandoned and/or received demolition orders in the aftermath of the quake. The development known as Condominio Don Tristan (which, split in half and severely inclined towards one side, became the most emblematic image of the catastrophe) still has the signs reading Visite Departamento Piloto (“Come and Visit the Showroom Apartment”).Interestingly, this type of destruction generated significantly less international attention and media coverage than in the case of Haiti, since Chile presented an image of coping well with the disaster. TV and press images did not communicate a total collapse but rather a sensation of time frozen, or stillness. Analysing the media images, it is salient to note that there is not much rubble in these pictures or people excavating the debris; rather, most of them depict buildings with no one around, empty, standing still. Unlike the images of Haiti, where the devastation took the form of endless piles of rubbish and unsorted rubble, the visual face of the catastrophe in Chile is that of halted construction.In spite of the discrepancy between a building destroyed by disaster and one left unfinished, Chile’s architectural landscape betrays no substantial difference between those structures half-finished and those half-ruined in either the terms of their use (or rather their lack of function, since they cannot be inhabited, used, or enjoyed) or in the bareness of the limbo in which they find themselves. These structures are dumping grounds, not of traditional waste, but of useless forms of architecture. As dumping sites they are void spaces within the city, monitored places that people surround but do not pass through. Paradoxically, they are also the most expensive sites in the city, in terms of both the money spent on them and land prices. They are luxurious dumps. It is the apparent stillness and temporal displacement of Chile’s developments that distinguish these buildings laid to waste from other types of contemporary ruins. Without aiming for it some of these constructions have been ruined before even having been built. There is, however, no ‘ruin value’ here as there was, for instance, in Albert Speer’s ideal of building projects that would decay in an aesthetically pleasant way. In spite of the desire for novelty that animated their creators, the buildings have fallen into a condition of sameness.The artist Robert Smithson made a similar observation in relation to his native New Jersey when he remarked that the city, unlike its cosmopolitan sister New York, gave up any desire to become part of the “big events” of history. In two essays dedicated to his home state Smithson suggests that the unused bridges and dated water pipes dismantle time in their total lack of aspiration. However, in his appreciation of these obsolete artefacts he is not arguing for a romantic redemption of the industrial ruin, nor is his aim to give them an aesthetic quality as objects of venerable decay.That zero panorama seemed to contain ruins in reverse, that is, all the new construction that would eventually be built. This is the opposite of the “romantic ruin” because the buildings don’t fall into ruin after they are built but rather rise into ruin before they are built. This anti-romantic mise-en-scene suggests the discredited idea of time and many other “out of date” things (“A Tour” 72). According to Smithson, everything seems to be declining in a present, even time. New Jersey’s suburban monuments are cheap and flat and embrace a future already outdated, as do Chile’s suspended buildings. Smithson does not seek to redeem the abandoned or unnoticed industrial landscapes of New Jersey (which, unlike Chile’s wasted buildings, inhabit the periphery rather than the centre of the city) but rather to stress how they embrace, through their vacant character, a total immanence.Instead of causing us to remember the past like the old monuments, the new monuments seem to cause us to forget the future. … They are not built for the ages but rather against the ages. They are involved in a systematic reduction of time down to fractions of seconds, rather than representing the long spaces of centuries. Both past and future are placed into an objective present (“Entropy” 11).According to Smithson, the suburbs are privileged in comparison with big cities because they are uninterested in making history. The flaws and holes of their streets enact more clearly the immanence he is trying to argue for: “those holes are monumental vacancies that define, without trying, the memory-traces of an abandoned set of futures” (“A Tour” 72). It is interesting how the artist expresses similar concerns when writing about erosion, entropy and natural disasters, not least because they relate the wasted products of architecture with geological destruction, a connection that can also be observed in the case of Chile.Written in 1966 before the rise of the ecological movement, a text like “Entropy and the New Monuments” links conditions of disorder and decay with a new kind of monumentality embodied in the undistinguished landscape of suspension. Smithson presents entropy as an irreversible and evolutionary process, yet not an idealistic one; even though these spaces were animated by evolutionary and modernisation processes, they now offer nothing but suspension. It is here that Smithson’s writings seem most pertinent in relation to Chile’s voided spaces. Unlike organic dumps, where refuse products rot and transform, Chile’s developments these express their entropic character in their stillness, in their absence of generative energy.Recent critical theory has given significant attention to industrial ruins and has revaluated their cultural importance, arguing, from diverse perspectives, that processes of destruction could release new layers of meaning or generate different forms of knowledge. The writings of Dylan Trigg, for instance, make use of ruins to construct a philosophical critique of the notions of temporality and progress. Chilean born photographer Camilo José Vergara proposes to convert the failed modernity of Detroit’s buildings into a space of playful awareness. Tim Edensor vindicates ruins with particular enthusiasm, refuting the notion of an industrial wasteland and re-imagining ruins as spaces of leisure, shelter, creativity and alternative public life (21). This unpredictable unfolding of new meanings does not seem to be present in Chile’s suspended architecture. These buildings are yet to be consumed, and therefore they somehow pervert architecture’s cycle of novelty and obsolescence, while remaining in a state of suspension, waiting to be demolished.ReferencesEdensor, Tim. Industrial Ruins: Space, Aesthetics and Materiality. Oxford and New York: Berg, 2005.Smithson, Robert. “Entropy and the New Monuments”. Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings. Ed. Jack Flam. Berkeley and London: U of California P, 1996. 10–23.———. “A Tour of the Monuments of Passaic, New Jersey”. Robert Smithson: The Collected Writings. Ed. Jack Flam. Berkeley and London: U of California P, 1996. 68–74.Trigg, Dylan. The Aesthetics of Decay: Nothingness, Nostalgia and the Absence of Reason. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2006. Vergara, Camilo Jose. The New American Ghetto. New Jersey: Rutgers UP, 1997.

Chapter 3 analyzes the history and content of the Rada Rite, including its ceremony, cycles of salutation, stations of salutation, and rituals. The names of 102 Rada Rite spirits are provided with linguistic and cultural features. The chapter includes 25 Haitian Creole and English facing-page songs by the contemporary Vodou group “Rasin Figuier” that focus on Rada Rite themes and spirits, including Ginen, ounsi kanzo (“initiates”), Papa Legba, Gran Chemen, Marasa, Lesen, Bondye (“God”), Loko, the angel Gabriel, Agaou, Ayizan, Danbala Wèdo, Ayida Wèdo, Vodou flags, the white of Rada, Èzili Freda, Agwe Tawoyo, Nago Rite songs for Ogou Balizay and Olicha, plus a few chante pwen (“songs of criticism”) that address political feuding, literacy, and national unity. The method of Vodou hermeneutics reads in history, religious studies, linguistics, literary criticism, and ethnomusicology to interpret Rasin Figuier’s Rada songs focused on life, order, and rootedness.