British Forum for Ethnomusicology

Forgotten Histories and (mis)remembered Cultures: The Comback Party of Curaao

Author(s): Nanette de Jong
Source: British Journal of Ethnomusicology, Vol. 12, No. 2 (2003), pp. 35-50
Published by: British Forum for Ethnomusicology
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NANETTE DE JONG
Forgotten histories and
(mis)remembered cultures:
the Comback party of Curagao
Through a collective process of forgetting and (mis)remembering, a community's
past assumes mythological status, manipulated through a perceived remembrance
that addresses present and future needs. This paper explores how systems of
forgetting and (mis)remembering exert profound influence upon the collective
memory and identity of the individuals in a society, with an examination of the
Afro-Curagaoan community offered as a compelling example. I seek to demon-
strate the processes whereby Afro-Curagaoans raise the island of Cuba to
mythological vision and continue to celebrate the assumed Cuban fountainhead
of their cultural belonging through the Comback party.
Look at me! Where do I belong?
I can be from anywhere I choose.
I think my history gives me that right.
And I choose Cuba. It's as simple as that
-Amell Salsbach
Comback parties are frequent events on Curagao, enjoyed equally by members
of the island's white and black communities and bringing together the young
and the old.1 The Comback's connection to Cuba is unmistakable. Recordings
by Cuban artists like Benny Mord and Arsenio Rodriguez are piped loudly onto
the dance floor, as are recordings by local Curagao bands consciously imitating
their musical styles. Men may attend parties wearing Cuban guayabera shirts
and handsomely crafted palm straw hats and, with their female partners, dance
to traditional Cuban rhythms, like guaracha and guajira.
Yet, with their Spanish Caribbean origins, Comback parties seem oddly
misplaced on the Dutch island of Curagao. Equally curious are the passionate
explanations among party-goers as to why the Cuban influence is so pronounced.
1 Located thirty-five miles north of Venezuela and forty-two miles east of Aruba, Curacao
is the largest of the Netherlands Antilles (171 square miles). With a population of 152,698,
Curagao houses nearly two-thirds of the entire population of the Netherlands Antilles.
BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL. 12/ii 2003 pp. 35-50
BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
According to their rationale, Curagaoan identity is quite simply a manifestation
of Cuban identity and there is nothing odd about it. "I can be from anywhere I
choose. I think my history gives me that right," shares a young Afro-Curagaoan
pianist and bandleader. "And I choose Cuba. It's as simple as that" (A. Salsbach,
interview 1997).
This paper examines the cultural emergence of a Cuban identity on Curagao.
It is a particularly interesting and colourful story of cultural rebirth, made espe-
cially poignant by the fact of the Afro-Curagaoan people physically having to
leave their home island and then return to it with a set of experiences containing
the seeds for eventual cultural rebirth. As we shall see, the consciousness of
Afro-Curagaoans has raised the island of Cuba to mythological status and they
continue to celebrate the Cuban fountainhead of their sense of cultural belong-
ing through the Comback party.
My research for this paper draws on several visits to CuraSao over a period
of five years (1995-2000), in the course of which I was able to gather a wealth
of data from practising Comback musicians. Included in the paper are excerpts
from numerous interviews, recorded from conversations with musicians and
audience members of all ages, black and white. My integration into Curagaoan
society was eased by the fact that I am a flautist, well-versed in jazz and salsa
performance; with this background I was able to become a regular guest artist
with several Comback bands, including the famed Arnell i su Orkesta, one of the
oldest and most revered bands on the island. Through the common ground of
musical performance, I was thus able to connect with and gain the respect of
Curagaoan musicians and local audiences in ways that would otherwise have
been impossible. Many of the conversations I engaged in with local musicians
occurred after gigs, when party hosts shut their doors to outside visitors and
offered drinks to the musicians and a few close friends. Without my flute-play-
ing, these conversations would almost certainly have remained closed and musi-
cians likely would not have conversed so honestly and openly with me.
What I found most striking during my research was how surprised the
Curagaoan people were at my keen interest in Comback. My questions concern-
ing their unique relationship with Cuba were met by their own questions as to
why I would find it unusual. What emerged in the course of these conversations
was that this Cuban-inspired identity, which evolved nearly a century ago,
involved a transformation so gradual and natural that it has become entirely
integrated with daily Curagaoan life. Its evolution has embraced a highly com-
plex process of forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures that assumes
definition and disjuncture only when examined within the context of the island's
larger historical narrative, which the next section addresses.
Developing an appreciation for Cuban culture:
the historical setting
Curagao's unique involvement with slavery occurred with the Dutch occupation.
Never attaining true plantation status due to arid weather and poor soil condi-
tions, Curagao became a wealthy slave depot, through which the Dutch-owned
36
DE JONG Forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures: the Comback party of Curayao
West Indies Company imported thousands of Africans for purposes of sale.
Those marked unsaleable (largely due to illness or old age) remained on Curagao.
Rarely exceeding 2,300 (Goslinga 1971), they worked in domestic positions
and lived in close proximity to proprietor landhuizen ("plantation homes") -
this translated into a significant measure of intimate cultural contact. Afro-
Curagaoans gained their physical freedom when slavery was abolished in 1863,
but the invisible bonds of social oppression remained equally (or more) difficult
to shed. In fact, prior to the Cuban migration, most Afro-Curagaoans aligned
their identities in relation to the Netherlands.
Slavery was big business on Curagao, and when it was abolished meaningful
employment was virtually impossible to find. Most white Hollanders returned to
the Netherlands; those remaining retained positions of governmental authority
and social prominence. Afro-Curagaoans were forced to travel outside the island
for work. Of the various destinations, Cuba became the most popular. Afro-
Curagaoans joined Chinese, Mexican, Haitian and Jamaican nationals who also
sought employment in Cuba's lucrative sugar industry. Along with the existing
Afro-Cuban population from the island's own slave days under Spain, these
groups comprised the large workforce. While the pay was not great, jobs were
available; and the Cuban sugar industry remained the employment destination of
choice for Afro-Curagaoans well into the early years of the twentieth century
(Paula 1978:22-5). It is estimated, for example, that during the 1920s and 30s
half the male Afro-Curagaoan workforce migrated to Cuba (Allen 1989). The
great numbers were due in part to the emergence of certain employment agree-
ments, known as braceros Antillanos negros, which were designed to undercut
the local Afro-Cuban workers and their demands for more reasonable wages.
Drawn up by the sugar industry itself, these employment agreements authorized
the importation of increasing numbers of black Caribbean manual labourers
willing to work on the plantations for low wages (Perez 1995).
On the island of Curagao, a parallel business sprang up as enterprising
opportunists (both white and black) assumed the role of intermediary agents,
accepting per-head payments from Cuban sugar magnates for each Afro-
Curagaoan delivered (Paula 1978:22-5). In a further irony, as the numbers
headed to Cuba grew, some of these agents resurrected old sailing ships, relics
from the slave trade era, to accommodate the workers in their passage (Godfried
2000). The achievement of a measure of economic success on Cuba brought
with it extravagant stories of life there - a golden land, as the developing myth
had it, of opportunity where lizards were said to roam the island with dollar bills
hanging from their mouths. Such tales of easily attained fortunes on Cuba per-
petuated an image of the island as a land of golden opportunity (Allen 1989).
Actual conditions, of course, were far from ideal. On their arrival, the Afro-
Curagaoans were contracted by individual Cuban sugar companies, who forced
them to live exclusively on their plantation grounds (often in the very barrac6n
lodges used decades earlier to house Cuba's own enslaved Africans). Afro-
Curagaoan workers almost invariably earned substantially lower wages than they
had been promised by the agents and were typically required to work through
the entire season before receiving any pay. Following completion of the year's
37
BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
sugar harvest, money was typically deducted from Afro-Curagaoan workers'
paychecks as they were expected to pay for food, clothing and other essentials
provided on credit from the estate stores. The exorbitant prices often charged to
guest workers left many financially obligated to the sugar estates in a seemingly
unbreakable cycle of oppression (Paula 1978:33-45).
Afro-Cubans found themselves increasingly unable to compete for work,
their small wages undercut further by the influx of migrant workers (Allen 1989;
Brenneker 1961; Paula 1978). Disillusioned, Afro-Cubans organized protests,
which led to the eventual establishment of Cuban workers' unions. The
Independent Party of Color was established in 1908 with the aim of bettering
work conditions for Cuba's black population. Officially outlawed by the Cuban
government in 1910, protesting members revolted in the "Little War of 1912,"
which was violently dealt with by the Cuban government. Resulting in the
deaths of reportedly more than 3,000 workers, the uprising ultimately redefined
an Afro-Cuban middle class and promoted a corresponding awareness and affir-
mation of Cuba's creole links (Ibarra 1998; Pdrez-Stable 1993).
The implications of living on Cuba during a time when Afro-Cubans were
redefining their own identity were far-reaching for Afro-Curagaoans, changing
their lives in ways that could scarcely have been imagined. Afro-Curagaoans
joined Cubans in their expressions of discontent, many attending the workers'
union meetings and even joining in the protests for equality (Paula 1978:45).
So strong was their involvement that when Cuban nationalists Carlos Baliiio
and Julio Antonio Mella founded the first Communist Party on Cuba in 1925, a
number ofAfro-Curagaoans were among the party's first members (Allen 1989).
These activists came to know Cuba intimately and were inevitably shaped by
this experience as their involvement influenced the manner according to which
they contemplated nationhood, affecting the very construct and character of their
own identity. In formulating a nationality around Cuban structures - its tradi-
tions and institutions - they became like Cubans, practising "that is, emulation
as a means of assimilation" (P6rez 1999:53). When music emerged as the
primary force by which Afro-Cuban identity found expression, Afro-Curagaoans
also assumed the symbol as their own.2
The musical genres that assumed the greatest importance among Afro-
Curagaoans on Cuba were son, guaracha, guajira, and danz6n. The danz6n
became an important national symbol during Cuba's war against Spain (1898),
reemerging to express the depth of artistic possibilities available within Cuba's
Creole culture. Similarly, the Afro-Cuban son utilized lyrics and instrumentation
to demonstrate the fusion of things African and European. The guaracha, a
working-class Afro-Cuban vocal/dance genre repressed in the nineteenth century,
2 Afrocubanismo was an artistic movement in Cuba during the 1920s and 1930s. Drawing its
inspiration from the island's black street-culture, the movement popularized the formerly
marginal genres of Afro-Cuban music. In its fusion of African and Iberian art forms,
Afrocubanismo redefined Cuba as a cultural hybridity. Those Afro-Curagaoans on Cuba who
found themselves sympathetic to the spirit of reform among the Afro-Cubans found in
Afrocubanismo a comfortable position by which to acknowledge an African past while main-
taining an already-established regard for Europe.
38
DE JONG Forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures: the Comback party of Curajyao
similarly reemerged in Cuba during the early twentieth century. And the guajira
(subgenre of the son) combined Spanish traditions with Hispanic melodies to
create a new syncretized form that celebrated rural life and the Cuban country-
side with romanticized nostalgia (Manuel 1991; Moore 1997). In their later
integration into Curagao's social life, these music and dance styles enabled a
Cuban memory to be passed down to younger generations.
Adopting Cuban culture: reinventing Cuba on
Curagaoan shores
On Curagao, meanwhile, the prospects for employment suddenly improved with
an unparalleled economic boom reflecting the giant Dutch oil corporation Shell's
burgeoning interest in South American oil. The establishment of new refineries
created a corresponding need for workers at all skill levels (Paula 1978). To meet
these new employment demands, the Curagaoan government, which had largely
ignored reports of Afro-Curagaoan mistreatment on Cuba, began making arrange-
ments during the 1930s for the reparation of its emigrant workforce, inviting
them to come back and holding out incentives for them to do so (van Soest 1977:
125; Romer 1977:113-14).3 Although some elected to stay on Cuba to build their
own Antillean community there, scores of Afro-Curagaoans, many with strong
family connections to Cuba, began to stream back to their home island (Paula
1978:59-61). Reentering as a collective community, they brought with them
revered memories of their Cuban experience, which they continued to recount
and transform into a nostalgically perceived mythology.
Striving to recreate and disseminate images of Cuba on Curagao, Afro-
Curagaoans turned to Cuban music and dance. 78 r.p.m. recordings, brought back
from Cuba by the migrant workers, became a popular commodity on CuraSao
(Martijn 1979:18-21), receiving air play from local disc jockeys; and downtown
businesses, with an eye toward exploiting popular trends to attract commerce,
began having the music piped in and around the entrances to their stores or invit-
ing live dance bands to perform at weekends (Allen 1989; Godfried 2000).
Afro-Curagaoan musicians also organized numerous dance bands emulating the
traditional Cuban genres, involving the use of the tres, a small guitar-like instru-
ment distinct to Cuba, as well as the marimbula, a wooden-boxed instrument
originating from Cuba's rural Oriente province. Cuban dance clubs emerged and
private dance parties flourished, with club owners and hosts either hiring bands
or playing 78s. Cuban music garnered a loyal following of listeners and with
it the danz6n, son, guaracha and guajira - self-proclaimed symbols of Cuban
identity - resumed bold nationalist connotations on Curagao.
The popularity of Cuban music not only helped to promote and teach Cuban
nationhood to the Curagaoan people, it also provided an outlet through which
3 The Cuban sugar industry remained the employment destination of choice for Afro-
Curacaoans well into the early years of the twentieth century. Although the number of
migrants travelling to Cuba declined after the government's plea, it was not until 1948 that it
finally ceased completely (Paula 1978:59-61).
39
BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
Figure 1 The popular conjunto band Grupo Nacional (from 1938). (Photo from Martijn, S.
"Yapi" 1979:56. Reproduced with permission of the author.)
Afro-Curagaoans could challenge key premises of Dutch colonial rule. When,
during the late 1930s and early '40s, the island's elite voiced opposition to Cuban
sentiments, they attached the highly derogatory epithet Bandi du Bongo ("bands
of Africa")4 to all of Curagao's emerging Cuban-influenced dance bands. The
Afro-Curagaoans, exemplifying a new-found community strength, rechristened
their ensembles as conjuntos ("orchestras"). Conjunto Mundumar, Conjunto
Gezellig and Conjunto La Fama were the names of just a few dance bands
emerging during the 1940s (Martijn 1979:18-21); a photograph of the popular
conjunto band Grupo Nacional (from 1938) appears in Figure 1.
The popularity of Cuban culture remained widespread among Afro-
Curagaoans until the 1960s, when an era of great political unrest between Cuba
and the United States ended with an embargo, making it virtually impossible for
Curagaoans to import Cuban recordings and music.5 For a time the only new
popular music accessible to CuraGaoan listeners was British rock and American
rhythm and blues, musical styles that were held in great esteem by the white
4 The bongo drum is an instrument comprising two single-headed drums connected by a
wooden frame. During the 1940s, the term Bongo became widely used by the Dutch and
white Curagaoans to define the Afro-Curacaoan community. Within this context, Bongo
became an expression of insult, used to define the continent of Africa.
5 Throughout most of the nineteenth century, Cuba remained politically tied to Spain,
although its largest trade partner was the United States, with sugar exports to the U.S.
accounting for over 80% of the total market in the late 1800s (compared to Spain's 6%).
United States dominance continued into the twentieth century through its governance over
40
DE JONG Forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures: the Comback party of Curayao
Figure 2 The Silhouettes (from 1965). (Photo from Martijn, S. "Yapi" 1999:97. Repro-
duced with permission of the author and with a special thank you to "Mr. Solo", solo singer
with the Silhouettes.)
upper class. These new musical styles became a pervasive force in the develop-
ment of popular culture on Curagao, with the youth - black and white - appro-
priating American and British music into their daily social lives. Rock and
rhythm and blues soon became the standard fare on radio airwaves (Martijn
1999). Progressively, as a contemporary bass player explains, young musicians
began referring to conjunto music as "that stuff the old people danced to"
(J. Wout, interview 1998). Their preferences were forged through the establish-
ment of bands emulating the sounds of the Platters, the Beatles, the Impressions
and the Rolling Stones. Dressed in polyester suits, sporting tight, narrow pants
and collarless jackets, they performed in beatbands which, with names like the
Prefenders,6 the Silhouettes (Figure 2) and the Scorpions, closely copied the
American and British genres.
Cuban finance, agriculture and industry - assets that the U.S. government reportedly guarded
through its support of dictators who jointly advocated U.S. interests (Gellman 1973; Jenks
1928; Perez 1997; Perez 1999). The last of these was Fulgencio Batista, whose reign, marred
by corruption, provoked a series of protests led by a young lawyer, the now legendary Fidel
Castro. Despite U.S. support, Batista finally resigned on January 1, 1959; by February, Castro
was named Cuba's Premier. Castro initiated several changes that gravely affected U.S. sugar
interests, including agrarian reform laws that prohibited non-Cuban stockholders from
governing Cuban plantations. When the Castro government impounded an estimated $1 bil-
lion in U.S. properties on Cuba, Washington responded with the 1962 trade embargo (Mencia
1993; Perez 1995).
6 The Curagaoan band, Prefenders, is a local, vernacular twist on the U.S. group, the Pretenders.
41
BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
This emergence of rock and rhythm and blues coincided with a decline of
Cuban culture. Once-popular Cuban dance parties were replaced by British and
American pop music; Cuban dance clubs were remodeled into beatband
lounges; and, to the dismay of older Afro-Curagaoans (for whom neither the
United States nor Britain held any historical or cultural attraction), Cuban
music and the conjuntos were relegated to secondary status. Because the past
"is not only recollected, it is also recalled, imagined, through association with
artifacts, some of which have been arranged and designated for that purpose"
(Eyerman 2001:9), when Afro-Curagaoans no longer included Cuban music in
their daily lives, they lost the needed venue in which to exercise and celebrate
their Cuban identity. As one older woman explained it, "Parties were a way for
us on CuraSao to build a community - to socialize. When we no longer felt
welcome at the neighbourhood parties, it was very difficult. It meant we no
longer had a place to socialize. We no longer had our community" (A. Wout,
interview 1997).
The next decade involved a process of adaptation and adjustment, as Afro-
Curagaoans unsuccessfully tried to reconstruct senses of self outside a Cuban
identity. Not until the 1970s, when political and social circumstances shifted,
did Cuban culture regain its dominance on Curagao. Oil revenues at Shell sky-
rocketed during the '60s, matched by a corresponding growth in governmental
bureaucracy and new government positions of authority. Although numerous
lucrative government jobs were created, these evolving positions were filled
again and again, to the discouragement of both Afro-Curagaoans and their white
counterparts, with imported Dutch-born civil servants. A deepening discontent
among Curagao's white and black population served to unite the two groups.
Their relationship culminated on May 9, 1969, when they joined forces in a
politically charged riot, known today as "The May Movement" (Anderson
1975).
Knowing that the success of the Movement depended largely on the ability to
unite, divisions articulated between "white Curagaoan" and "black Curagaoan"
were abandoned in favour of the more inclusive term "Antillean." A sense of
solidarity was further strengthened by a collective strategy of making Cuban
culture central to the struggle. Cuba resumed mythological status as Movement
participants - white and black - looked to the Cuban Revolution as a model
for instigating social reform within Curagao's politics. Some followers even
compared the situation on Curagao with the Batista years on Cuba, with one
participant responding, "All Antilleans should be as free as the Cubans have
been since the Castro-led revolution" (Anderson 1975:10). Further emulation of
Cuba was demonstrated by choice of clothing: most adherents sported the khaki
military dress made famous by the Castro regime. Cuban culture made a corre-
sponding comeback, this time pursued not only by Afro-Curagaoans but also by
white Curagaoans (Allen 1989; Anderson 1975). Cuban music was recognized
and revered specifically for its fusion of European and African influences. As a
product of creolization, it offered precisely those qualities which white and
black Curagaoans sought as a way to distinguish themselves from the Holland
Dutch (Anderson 1975). Although the May Movement may have resulted in
42
DE JONG Forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures: the Comback party of Curajao
only minor changes in the island's political system,7 its impact on Curagaoan
culture was significant and long-lasting: not only did it establish a unified,
Antillean identity, it also reaffirmed Cuba as the primary vehicle by which to
express that identity.
The revival of Cuban music resulted in the reappearance of the conjunto
ensemble. Bands made famous decades earlier reorganized during the 1970s
with former members, now paired with younger musicians, maintaining their
earlier commitment to closely imitate original 1920s recordings. Dennis Cicilia,
singer with Arnell i su Orkesta, prides himself on being able to adapt his singing
style to accommodate the singing styles of other Cuban performers. "I have my
own way of singing," he confesses, "and when I sing salsa, you will hear me,
my way of singing. But when I sing the old Cuban favourites, you will hear the
masters ... Antonio Machin or Machito" (interview 2003).
Younger musicians, caught up in Cuba's renewed popularity, gradually left
rock music behind and reorganized themselves into contemporary conjunto
ensembles. Unlike the majority of their predecessors, many of these younger
musicians were trained in music, able to read and write in Western notation.
Taking this training into the genre of 1920s Cuban music, the younger musicians
wrote original compositions emulating the traditional styles. With the danz6n,
son, guaracha or guajira providing the rhythmic base, they composed new
melodies and attached texts which, written in Spanish, Papiamento (the creole
language of Curagao)8 and even English, communicated stories distinctive to
CuraSao (Martijn 1979). The popularization of the conjunto is represented in
the numerous recordings that evolved in the 1970s and '80s. Showcasing local
conjunto bands, these recordings came to dominate Curagaoan airwaves, edging
out rock and rhythm and blues (J. Wout, interview 1997).
In 1981, radio announcer Frank Casimiri organized a weekly programme
featuring Cuban music, with selections taken from his prized collection of 78s
(brought back from family members involved in the Cuban migration) and
newly purchased recordings by local conjunto bands. During his radio shows
Casimiri asked audiences to "Come back to the music you know and love. Come
back to the music of your past" (Reymound, interview 2000). The popularity of
Casimiri's show was tremendous and his weekly, hour-long programme was
quickly transformed into a three-hour show, twice a week (Martijn 1979).
Neighbourhood parties returned and were more popular than ever. Often organ-
ized around Casimiri's radio show, these parties borrowed Casimiri's famous
call to "Come back to the music of your past." They assumed the title Comback,
7 Following the May Movement, Afro-Curagaoans, for the first time, were considered for
employment in certain governmental positions: in 1970, the first black Governor was
appointed; in 1973, the first black Prime Minister was elected. Internal conflicts ensued,
however, with the Dutch government soon regaining its political stronghold. For more infor-
mation, see William Averette Anderson's Social movements, violence, and change: the May
Movement in Curacao.
8 Curacao's creole language, Papiamento, is a combination of several languages, including
Portuguese, Dutch, Spanish and a myriad of West African languages. In its unique fusion of
cultural influences, Papiamento exemplifies Curacao's distinctive cultural make-up.
43
44 BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
Figure 3 An invitation (2000) to a Comback party, to be held at Knip Bay in the Bandariba
area of Curacao.
which, recognizing the island's intervening influence from the United States, is a
vernacular version of the English term "comeback."
Adapting Cuban culture: the Comback party of today
Comback parties currently are held outdoors in a hofi, the garden grounds of a
former slave plantation home. A large central area, be it cemented or left as a
dirt floor, is designated as the dance floor. Proper etiquette is expected. Private
hosts generally send personalized invitations, while public Comback events are
publicized in local newspapers (Figure 3). Individual wooden chairs, organized
into single rows encircling the dance area, provide seating for the single adults,
who voluntarily segregate themselves by gender. Attending couples are accom-
modated by tables and chairs set towards the back.
All Comback parties must have a disc jockey, the most sought after of whom
own large and diverse collections of old Cuban recordings. The disc jockey sits
near the dance floor, at an assigned table stacked high with electronic equipment,
DE JONG Forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures: the Comback party of Curay'ao
Figure 4 Dancing to Comback music at local Comback party (August 2000). (Photo by
the author.)
with boxes of personal cassettes, compact discs and, occasionally, actual 78 record-
ings all within reach. Percy Pinedo is one of Curagao's most respected disc jock-
eys. His collection consists of a large number of original 78 recordings, handed
down to him by his father, now transferred to mini-disc. "Nowadays we do not
use those records any more, it is more CD, mini-disc and other new technolo-
gies" (Pinedo, interview 2003). Live conjunto bands may be hired in addition to a
disc jockey. At such parties, the band or bands generally play a total of three sets,
with the disc jockey offering recorded music before, between, and after the sets.
The dancing at Comback continues to reflect an assumed Cuban tradition.
Steps are small but fast-paced, with the man seemingly floating across the dance
floor, commanding the moves of his partner as if she were a rag doll. The female
dancer's upper torso is often bent backwards, her right arm pinned behind her
head, while her partner's right arm is stretched over her left shoulder (Figure 4).
Being able to dance the traditional Cuban rhythms is now considered an
integral aspect of socializing. As explained by one Curagaoan (himself a pianist
and bandleader): "The island has no place for someone who doesn't know how
45
46 BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
to dance Cuban. If you can't dance Cuban, you can't socialize on the island"
(W. Wout, interview 1998). Since the mid-1970s, numerous schools specializing
in Cuban dance have emerged. Parents, believing that their children's social sur-
vival and identity as Curagaoans rely on an ability to "dance Cuban", continue
to send sons and daughters to these dance schools. "When I sent my children to
their dance lessons," Aura Wout recalls, "I knew they were learning about Cuban
culture and its special meaning to the Curagao people". For that reason, she sent
each of her nine children to bi-weekly dance lessons during the 1970s, admitting
that "some of my children learned to dance very well, and I'm very proud of
that. ... Their ability to dance well shows me, and the world, that they are true
Curagaoans" (interview 1998).
Although Cuba remains a specific and vital influence, Comback currently
endorses an Antillean inclusiveness through the food offered at its snack bar.
Afro-Curagaoan sweets, including pan seiku (peanuts in brown sugar) and
kokada (freshly shaved coconut in white sugar), are served alongside the Dutch
favourites frikandel (sausages) and vlees bitterballen (beef meatballs). The
United States influence is also evident: Wrigley's chewing gum, sold singly or in
packs of five, has become a necessary item at Comback. In fact, its importance is
so significant that some attendees are quick to comment that, "If you don't have
Wrigley's, you won't have a successful Comback." Continuing to represent
Afro-Curagaoan identity, Comback, in its current integration of varied cultural
influences, mirrors the island's growing Pan-Antillean sentiments.
Conclusions
The process guiding a specific cultural identity is often comprehensible through
the consideration of an individual's affiliation with a perceived past. Michael
Kammen offers vivid support to this premise in his discussion of a certain
"cultural amnesia" experienced by newly arrived American immigrants during
the 1900s. Offsetting the process of forgetting is the corresponding establish-
ment of a new national cohesion between and among the diverse cultural
communities comprising the United States. Forced to leave their multitextured
Old-World histories behind, these immigrants forged new identities, giving rise
to a homogenized American "melting pot" (Kammen 1991). With specific
regard to the Black-American experience, Ron Eyerman's "cultural trauma
theory" convincingly suggests that slavery engendered "a crisis in meaning and
identity", surmountable only through the eventual collective reinterpretation of
the past (2001).
Through a process of selective remembering, Afro-Curagaoans attached
meaning to places in the New World. Decidedly, the migrant experience on
Cuba was less than ideal: wages were low, hours were long and mistreatment
was commonplace. Yet, upon their return to Curagao, workers elevated Cuba to
mythological vision, evoking nostalgic representations of their experience there.
Richard Hofstadter describes this phenomenon as a "quest ... carried on in a
spirit of sentimental appreciation rather than of critical analysis" (1948:v), while
Fred Davis describes the process as occurring within "the context of present
DE JONG Forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures: the Comback party of Curayao
fears, discontents, anxieties, or uncertainties even though those may not be in
the forefront of the person's awareness" (1977:420).
John R. Gillis convincingly argues that phenomena of memory and identity
are interdependent "constructions of reality" under ongoing revision in accor-
dance with present needs. Group identity reflects "a sense of sameness over time
and space, [as] sustained by remembering; and what is remembered is defined
by the assumed identity" (1994:3). When Afro-Curagaoan workers united with
those from Cuba, they felt the need to commemorate a shared past and in a rela-
tively brief time constructed what they regarded as a Cuban concept of identity -
replete with accompanying perceived memories.
Dutch interests had focused exclusively on issues of trade - not proselytiza-
tion (Hamelberg 1901:107); yet when Spanish, English, and French colonialists
voiced reticence toward purchasing African labourers not indoctrinated into
Christianity, savvy Dutch entrepreneurs were quick to enlist Venezuelan priests
to travel to Curagao for purposes of conducting Mass and converting the
enslaved (Goslinga 1977). Firmly indoctrinated into Catholicism, Curagaoan
Blacks developed an affinity for Spanish culture, including a speaking knowl-
edge of the language. This appreciation for things Spanish continued after aboli-
tion and provided the foundation upon which migrant workers were later able to
construct their Cuban-inspired cultural edifice (Allen 1989).
In order to sustain their new Cuban identity following the migrant workers'
return to Curagao, a process of selective memory - described by Benedict
Anderson as "collective amnesia" (1983) - was crucial. With the passing of time,
Cuba became transformed from a geographic location into a cultural principle or
collective "state of mind" (McDaniel 1993), where, manifested in the Comback
party, it assumed relevance among the young and old alike, among Whites and
Blacks equally. From this perspective, selective forgetting and remembering pro-
vide "intentional and purposive ... absences that can be crucial to the reconstruc-
tion and revaluation of social meanings and relations" (Weiss 1996:133).
The Comback, born within a synthesized collective memory of 1920s Cuba,
continues to provide Afro-Curagaoans with "a mythic explanation of their exis-
tence" (Kammen 1991:27), allowing them to "fashion a fictive identity that
gives voice to their deepest values and beliefs" (Lipsitz 1990:234). In this way,
the Comback aims not so much to enact specific origins or to allege authentic
folk forms as to unite the present with the past in a dynamic yet continuous
process of collective reinterpretation and reenactment. Stepping to the Cuban
rhythms, Comback participants dance out connections to a perceived past, pres-
ent and future replete with forgotten histories and (mis)remembered cultures,
organized into a collectively meaningful portrayal.
Joseph Campbell (1988) writes that the mundane world acquires its spiritual
and sacred qualities through myth - words that assume particular resonance on
Curagao. Despite the fact that Afro-Curagaoan Martijn "Shon Ma" Salsbach has
never travelled to Cuba (nor has anyone in his immediate family), he displays a
strong Cuban cultural identity, expressed through the many conjunto bands he
has organized during his lifetime. "I am Curagaoan," he explains, "but my heart
is Cuban" (M. Salsbach, interview 1995).
47
BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
Acknowledgments
This article is offered in remembrance of Curagao's famous Comback musician
Martijn "Shon Ma" Salsbach (1921-2001), who offered hours of his time
guiding my research of the Comback party. I would like to thank my other
Curagao mentors, including Fanny Salsbach, Arnell Salsbach, Percy Pinedo
and Max Martina; and Owen de Jong and Andrew Kirkman for helpful com-
ments and suggestions on the manuscript. The research presented in this article
was supported by grants from the Rutgers University, Office of Research and
Sponsored Programs.
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Cicilia, Dennis (singer). By telephone, 2003.
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Reymound, Leonard "Magou" (percussionist). CuraSao, 2000.
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50 BRITISH JOURNAL OF ETHNOMUSICOLOGY VOL.12/ii 2003
Salsbach, Martijn "Shon Ma" (trumpeter, bandleader, and father of pianist
Armell Salsbach). Curagao, 1995 and 2000.
Wout, Aura Rijke (mother of bass player John Wout and pianist Walter Wout).
Curagao, 1997.
Wout, John (electric bass player). Curagao, 1998.
Wout, Walter (pianist and bandleader). Curagao, 1997.
Note on the author
Nanette de Jong received her Ph.D. from the University of Michigan and is
currently an assistant professor at Mason Gross School of the Arts, Rutgers
University, where she teaches ethnomusicology and flute performance and con-
ducts the Rutgers University Salsa Band. Her research broadly focuses on the
music and rituals of the African diaspora, emphasizing their role in the establish-
ment of collective memory. She has published articles on the Netherlands Antilles
and on the Chicago-based Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians.
Address: Department of Music, 100 Clifton Avenue, Rutgers University, New
Brunswick, New Jersey 08901-1568, USA; e-mail: ndejong@rci.rutgers.edu.