A Conversation with ‘a daughter of immigration’, Mariette Monpierre, Director of Entre 2 rives: de Saint Domingue à Pointe-à-Pitre (2017)
Abstract
Abstract
Mariette Monpierre’s documentary, Entre 2 rives: de Saint Domingue à Point-à-Pitre, filmed in Guadeloupe and the Dominican Republic, shares the painful and personal stories of two migrant mothers from the Dominican Republic, Cristina Beato (38 years old) and Joanna Olivares (40 years old). Having undertaken this treacherous journey to Guadeloupe, leaving their children behind, these two women lead lives filled with turmoil and anxiety as they struggle to find employment with the ultimate goal of their children reuniting with them in Guadeloupe. By sharing the lived experiences of these two women, Mariette Monpierre raises out of obscurity the untold stories of female migrants within the Caribbean. This conversation with the director is focused primarily on the motivation and goals for creating the documentary.
This article was published open access under a CC BY licence: https://creativecommons.org/licences/by/4.0.
Résumé
Dans son documentaire, Entre 2 rives: de Saint Domingue à Point-à-Pitre, tourné en Guadeloupe et en République dominicaine, la réalisatrice, Mariette Monpierre, met au point les histoires éprouvantes de deux mères dominicaines immigrées en Guadeloupe, Cristina Beato (38 ans) and Joanna Olivares (40 ans). Ayant entrepris des voyages dangereux et éloignées de leurs enfants restés en République dominicaine, Cristina and Joanna mènent une vie de turbulences et d’angoisses personnelles et s’efforcent sans cesse à trouver du travail avec le seul objectif de soutenir leurs enfants et un jour de les faire venir en Guadeloupe. En nous faisant part de leurs histoires vécues, Mariette Monpierre dévoile le côté obscur de la migration des femmes dans le Bassin caraïbe. Cette conversation avec la réalisatrice se focalise sur la création de ce documentaire et les objectifs à cet égard.
Je suis une immigrée. Ma mère a fait le même choix que Johanna et Cristina. Pendant plusieurs années, elle m’a laissée en Guadeloupe avec ma grande mère pour aller vivre en France dans l’espoir de trouver une vie meilleure. Ce choix, elle l’a fait en pensant à moi et à mes sœurs, se disant qu’une fois installée elle nous fera venir en France où nous bénéficierons d’une éducation meilleure et des opportunités de travail. Je m’identifie donc totalement à cette histoire même si le contexte et l’époque sont différents.1
The topic of immigration, especially that of undocumented immigrants, is ubiquitous and has permeated the very ethos of many cultures around the world, sparking heated debates and numerous instances of violence. The French Caribbean island of Guadeloupe is no exception to this global phenomenon. After three centuries of colonialism, Guadeloupe has witnessed the displacement of thousands of people from Europe, Africa, and Asia – the majority involuntarily, others voluntarily or driven by desperate circumstances. Today, most life in Guadeloupe – human, fauna, and flora – is not native to the environment. Historical narratives of these displaced people are woven deep throughout every aspect of Guadeloupeans’ lives. Despite this rich history of migration, flagrant and heinous rhetoric in public and private discourse vis-à-vis undocumented immigrants in Guadeloupe is no less pervasive on this island of immigrants today than in the rest of the world.2
As is the case with most human migration, poverty, political instability, human rights abuses, and natural disasters in the past 20–25 years have contributed to a precipitous increase in undocumented immigration towards the island of Guadeloupe.3 However, Guadeloupe diverges in some important ways from global migratory patterns. Most immigrants coming to Guadeloupe are undocumented and are primarily from within the Caribbean basin. In 2009, of a total of 38,723 immigrants in Guadeloupe, Haitians constituted the largest group with 23,232, followed by 8,057 from the Dominican Republic (a majority of them being women), and 2,329 from the neighbouring island of Dominica.4 Most of these immigrants share the historical and cultural contexts of colonialism and enslavement with native Guadeloupeans and in some instances even share linguistic backgrounds (French and Creole), as in the case of the Haitians.
Although the archipelago of Guadeloupe is located thousands of miles away from continental France, it is a département and a région d’outre-mer (DROM) of the French Republic, which makes all Guadeloupeans citizens of France, entitled to all the rights and privileges thereof.5
The confluence of a stable social safety net with free education and healthcare for all, economic and political stability relative to many of the other Caribbean islands, and the possibility of acquiring work permits with an eventual pathway to citizenship (however difficult it may be), makes this French Caribbean island an attractive destination for many intra-Caribbean migrants.6 Additionally, Guadeloupe’s archipelagic geography facilitates island hopping in small boats, and air travel can be quite affordable for many immigrants.7
Mariette Monpierre’s 52-minute French documentary Entre 2 rives: de Saint Domingue à Pointe-à-Pitre, filmed in Guadeloupe and in the Dominican Republic, premiered in Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe, on International Women’s Day, 8 March 2017. The film shares the painful and personal stories of Cristina Beato (38 years old) and Joanna Olivares (40 years old), two women from the Dominican Republic who have made the treacherous journey to Guadeloupe in search of opportunities to better the lives of their children, who remained behind in the Dominican Republic. This poignant film is emblematic of a host of postcolonial societal challenges in the Caribbean Basin, from poverty, illiteracy, the absence of fathers and its impact on women and children, to issues of cultural identity and belonging. Through this heart-wrenching yet empowering documentary, Monpierre lifts up the untold stories of these female migrants from obscurity and places them squarely within the matrix of intra-Caribbean migration.
Born in Guadeloupe, and educated in France and the United States, Monpierre launched her career in film-making in Manhattan and has been making short films, documentaries, and full feature-length films since 1998. Her work includes award-winning productions such as Knowledge is Power, Sweet Mickey for President, Rendez-vous, Chez-moi, and Le Bonheur d’Elza.8 Monpierre’s personal experiences as an immigrant in Paris and the US as well as her professional insights as a Caribbean female director are well suited to the film’s theme. She is exceptionally well-positioned to present a compassionate, intimate, and holistic picture of Caribbean women migrants mired in the web of economic distress.
The following conversation is part of a longer interview conducted with Mariette Monpierre on 22 January 2021. The main thrust was to explore the impetus for the creation of the documentary Entre 2 rives and its broader implications for postcolonial societies in the Caribbean.
Mahadevi Ramakrishnan (MR): Good morning and thank you for taking the time to talk with me today. I’d like to start by asking what inspired you to take on the topic of immigration in Guadeloupe?
Mariette Monpierre (MM): Well, first of all, I’m a daughter of immigration, it has been my whole life. I was born in Guadeloupe but went to France at the age of six. My mother, who had left Guadeloupe a few years prior to look for work in France, came back to Guadeloupe and brought us to France so that we would get a good education. This was the period of the Big Boom of French Caribbean migration to Paris in the ’60s and ’70s. My mum was one of the thousands of migrants who left for Paris in search of work – work that a lot of the metropolitan French no longer wanted to do. And that’s when the process of dépeuplement began; the French Caribbean islands started to lose their native inhabitants, who were slowly replaced by white French people coming to settle on the islands looking for the good life in the sun. Ironically, the islanders were leaving for France in search of a better life there. Interesting dynamics …
MR: Growing up in Paris, did you fully embrace French culture and the opportunities that being there provided?
MM: When I was growing up in Paris, I always knew that I wasn’t from there, that I was different. Even though I loved Paris and I had French nationality, it was obvious that I wasn’t French and that my culture wasn’t French culture. My mum kept telling me, ‘you’re not from here, you know, you have to work harder. You have to be better, better than anybody because that’s the only way you’re going to get a good job and get ahead’. I didn’t have any role models because none of the role models looked like me. I didn’t know about my Caribbean history because I wasn’t taught my history in school; on the contrary, I was told that my ancestors were the Gauls, les Gaulois. I was pretty messed up in my mind, you know?
MR: Would it be fair to say that your feelings of ‘not belonging’ in a place where you thought you should belong drew you to the theme of the documentary?
MM: Yes! I always felt like an immigrant, and when I was presented with the project of directing a film about two women having immigrated to Guadeloupe and struggling to have a meaningful life, I could relate exactly to what they were feeling because I had felt the same way many years prior, and those feelings were still very much a part of me. The deeper I got into directing this documentary, the more those feelings resurfaced and I was able to identify very well with those two women. The only difference is that these women came to Guadeloupe illegally, risking their lives on a small boat across the Caribbean Sea. I didn’t have to do that. I did cross the ocean, but I took a transatlantic boat to France called the Caribia, and I still have the original ticket that my mum purchased, I can share it with you. I remember I loved the journey; crossing the ocean for me was wonderful. My mum, my two sisters, and I had a cabin, and we could see the ocean and the journey lasted a fortnight. But I didn’t know what was really waiting for me. So I could relate to the two women in the documentary because it was the same feeling of ‘you don’t belong here’.
MR: What made you select Johanna and Cristina as your protagonists? Was there something in particular that caught your attention about their personal stories?
MM: What broke my heart and made me gravitate to their particular characters and particular stories is that both these women ended up in Guadeloupe after a very dangerous journey. Besides that trauma, they’ve been trying ever since to bring their children left behind in the Dominican Republic to Guadeloupe to be reunited again as a family. And they were never able to accomplish this up to this day. So, imagine the life of these children who grow up without seeing their mother. It’s heartbreaking because these children have their childhood stolen from them and their relationship with their mother is impacted. You can see this particularly in Cristina’s youngest son, who is a broken child yearning for his maman. It was really this sadness and the impact on these children growing up without their mum that made me feel like it was my duty to expose this situation to the people around me.
MR: In a way, it seems to me that you are highlighting the paradoxical nature of immigrant marginalization among French Caribbeans in general, but also in Guadeloupe more specifically.
MM: Yes, even though we French Caribbeans were put in a similar situation of facing racism, disrespect, and poor living conditions when we went to France looking for a better life, we kind of do the same to the migrants in Guadeloupe. There is systemic racism against those who come from the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Of course, not all French Caribbeans left the islands to go to Paris, but nevertheless, many Guadeloupeans somehow feel threatened by the presence of these newer waves of immigrant populations from Haiti and the Dominican Republic.
MR: The absence of men was yet another striking feature of your documentary. The film very artfully presents the struggles of these two amazing women, but there is really no mention of their Dominican or Guadeloupean male partners, or of the children’s fathers. Could you please shed some light on this?
MM: Well, let me respond first by saying this: Joanna and Cristina are two strong women who were willing to share with us their stories and were very open; I salute their generosity. It was a hard thing for them to do because they are private people who did not want to expose their life to the public. But I think that somehow, they also needed the camera on them to be able to share their stories because they felt like it was necessary to let people know what they were experiencing. As generous as they were (and it was difficult for them to share), their partners were not. First of all, Cristina does have a partner, but he did not want to participate and wanted to keep his privacy. Joanna built a new family in Guadeloupe and had children with two different men. However, she doesn’t live with either of them and they’re not really present. Currently, the men are very much absent from these women’s lives.
MR: So, this was not an attempt to just focus on women’s individual stories?
MM: No, it was definitely not deliberate. It was not an attempt to leave the men out; I tried, and my producers tried, to involve the men. Although the men in the lives of our two protagonists liked the documentary very much, they did not want to be part of it. And I think that’s very symptomatic of the part that Black men play or do not play within Guadeloupean society; the men are oftentimes absent in the raising of the children, just like in my other film, Le Bonheur d’Elza. The father is on the fringes, he is there somewhere … But as you see, they’re not really present in the film.
MR: On a related note, were you able to connect with the biological fathers of the children left behind in the Dominican Republic? There is no mention of them in the documentary.
MM: Oh, in the Dominican Republic, the relationships that Cristina and Joanna had with their male partners were not positive. The fathers of the children in the Dominican Republic were also out of the picture because of the dysfunctionality. As a female film director, at every screening, I get this question quite a lot: ‘Where are the men?’ They are absent. Gone … It is definitely not for lack of trying; I tried to get these men to be a part of my documentary.
MR: I think you are in many ways trying to speak to a larger societal issue. I don’t think that really was your primary focus, but it comes out very clearly.
MM: Yes, and those children are deeply impacted by the absence of their fathers, both in the Dominican Republic and in Guadeloupe. Joanna and Cristina tried to rebuild their lives with new partners, with new children in Guadeloupe. The emotional and financial tolls of supporting two families on two different islands are a large enough burden for these women to bear. And when you add the lack of support from their partners, and all the anxiety and frustration of their illegal status, these women are in very, very difficult situations. These women have a lot of different partners, not at the same time, but …
MR: Why do you think that is? Especially given their insecure immigrant status, this kind of behaviour can generate more condemnation from the larger Guadeloupean society.
MM: I think they live very difficult lives in very difficult conditions. They don’t have a lot of support. They were illegal for many years and lived in hiding. In the documentary, you hear one of them say that they did not know that the ‘good job’ waiting for them was prostitution in Guadeloupe. So, God knows what happened to them when they arrived here; they did not want to share those painful details. One can only imagine … They go from one disappointment to another.
MR: It sounds like they have had to face so much trauma in the Dominican Republic and upon arriving in Guadeloupe, being told that ‘you are only worthy of prostitution’ has taken a toll on their identity as women and their self-worth.
MM: That’s right. But they also had to pay the traffickers who smuggled them across the Caribbean Sea on a boat to Guadeloupe. On some occasions, they were forced to swim ashore. I think Cristina was dropped off far from the Guadeloupean shore in an area of the Caribbean Sea where there are a lot of currents and big waves. So, it wasn’t just like, ‘Oh, I’m taking a boat, and I’m going, and I hope the police are not there’. They had to confront the dangers that nature presented to them and risk their lives to come here. Cristina was clearly very impacted by this dangerous journey; she became very afraid of the ocean.
MR: I recall that scene where Cristina is engaged in a kind of water therapy. I was truly moved by that scene; it was beautiful. It made the title of the documentary, Entre 2 rives, even more meaningful.
MM: Yeah, it was; she doesn’t swim since her traumatic experience swimming across to Guadeloupe, though. So, I thought that it was a symbolic way to try to get her back into the water, reconnect and make peace with this water that separates her from her children, and experience a kind of rebirth. And during that session, we were very afraid that we had lost her because she went to some place really deep, but thankfully she came back to consciousness.
MR: It was undoubtedly a powerful scene! I also wanted to ask you if you have followed the lives of Joanna and Cristina since the release of the documentary.
MM: Yes, yes. I have followed the lives of these women. They have become my friends. Cristina is gainfully employed and works at a bakery in my town, Gosier. But very sadly, she still has not been able to bring her son from the Dominican Republic to visit her and her new family. She was not even granted a 45-day tourist visa. The French embassy kept rejecting the tourist visa based on the assumption that her son will end up settling in Guadeloupe and become an illegal alien. And Joanna has her work permit and has a restaurant business. She has a steady income and pays her taxes, but she too has not been able to bring her children from the Dominican Republic. And I think one of her children is turning eighteen soon and unfortunately will no longer be eligible for family reunification under French law.
MR: To your knowledge, has the situation of family reunification for female migrants changed in Guadeloupe?
MM: No, nothing has changed and nothing is changing. Actually, a couple of years ago, one of the girls from the Dominican Republic disappeared and was never found.
MR: I also recall reading about a 44-year-old woman from the Dominican Republic who went missing in Guadeloupe. She too had left her two children in the Dominican Republic and come to Guadeloupe looking for employment, a story eerily similar to Joanna’s and Cristina’s.
MM: Yes. It is important to recognize that these women are broken but very strong and are determined to get out of their difficult situations. At the same time, these women are vulnerable and need a lot of support and compassion.
MR: What were some of the challenges you faced in making this documentary?
MM: We had a couple of major challenges. The first and most important one was for us to find two strong women who would be willing to share their personal stories with us. Cristina and Joanna were not the first we contacted. We had reached out to several other women, but all of them backed out due to their fear of deportation given their illegal status in Guadeloupe. In some instances, they were asked by their male partners not to participate in the documentary because they did not want to expose their lives and share personal details. Believe it or not, two weeks before shooting, we had lost all of our characters!
MR: That must have been quite a scare!
MM: Yes, it was. The second challenge is that when you film a documentary the way I like to do it, it is a lot more involved. I don’t treat it like a news piece where you go and put your microphone under someone’s nose and they begin to talk. No, that is not how I do things. My way of filming a documentary is to become close to the person, to be their friend, show compassion, be there with them throughout and gain their trust. So when I show up with my camera and start filming, the character doesn’t even know that I’m there, doesn’t even know that the cameras are there because they are so used to me, so used to having me around, and feel totally comfortable, you know? And I’m proud of my work!
MR: You certainly should be. It seems like you’ve put your heart and soul into it.
MM: Exactly. These are not actors, but real people with real lives. So, it’s not something that can happen over the course of just a couple of days. I needed to spend a lot of time with them and explore their daily lives, and often very personal sides of their lives. And in order for that to happen, I had to be there all the time. So, it takes months to have a finished product that you are really proud of.
MR: I am assuming that the filming of the documentary involved some travelling too, right?
MM: Of course. That was yet another challenge. We really wanted to go to the Dominican Republic to get a true picture of everything. I could not make a documentary about family separation without learning about the children who are central to this issue. We wanted to know about these children who were left behind and what their lives without their mothers were like in the Dominican Republic. I couldn’t just connect with the mother only; I had to see the children and listen to their stories. The children caught in the middle of all this mess are the real protagonists. So, we went to meet them in the Dominican Republic.
MR: Was gaining access to talk to these children and film them challenging?
MM: Some of the children were living with other family members and some were living with friends. We had to again gain the trust of the people these children lived with to be able to talk to them and film them. We had to be accepted by people from the Dominican Republic because we were from Guadeloupe and spoke French, so we were foreigners in their homes.
MR: How was the documentary received in Guadeloupe?
MM: We had tremendous success in Guadeloupe. We had a big premiere at the local theatre, and it was sold out, people had to stay outside. It was a symbolic release because we released it on International Women’s Day.
MR: That’s really great! By any chance, are you aware of the response to the documentary in the Dominican Republic?
MM: I think it was selected for a film festival in the Dominican Republic, but unfortunately they were not able to invite us there. They had budget constraints. So, I don’t have any feedback, but I should follow up on that.
MR: Here’s my last question for you. Given that there is a much larger Haitian immigrant community in Guadeloupe, which is demonized and treated with hatred and sometimes violence, do you see yourself making a documentary in the future about their situation?
MM: I would love that. I would love to make a film on the Haitian immigrant population in Guadeloupe. But I want it to be a completely different aspect of the Haitian community because I don’t like working on the same theme twice. I would have to approach the Haitian immigrant community from a different angle. As I mentioned earlier, when I make a new documentary, it takes me a few years and I want to make sure that I am fully invested in it. It’s not like a news piece that you work on for a day or two. But, to come back to your question, yes, at some point, I may very well work on a documentary about the Haitian community in Guadeloupe.
MR: Ms Monpierre, that concludes our interview. I thank you for your time and your very insightful comments.
MM: You are very welcome. I enjoyed this.
As a conclusion to this conversation, the following discussion aims to situate Monpierre’s work within the scope of other continuing efforts to address the issue of undocumented immigration in Guadeloupe. In 2017, the year Entre 2 rives was released, the total number of female immigrants in Guadeloupe was 11,889 compared to approximately 8,000 in 2009. There were twice as many women as men, especially those between the ages of 25 and 54.9 The additional 3,889 immigrants may seem like a drop in the ocean for larger countries like the United States. However, on an island whose landmass is 1,128 km2 and whose population is 400,404, such an increase is not negligible, especially considering that it only represents the female immigrant population and not the overall immigrant population, which includes thousands more from Haiti and Dominica.10 The continued upward trend of female immigrants, mostly from the Dominican Republic, and their ongoing struggles of resettlement in Guadeloupe demonstrate to the extent to which Entre 2 rives is a timely and significant contribution to contemporary debates on immigration in the French Caribbean, especially undocumented.
Although the documentary’s primary focus is to highlight the multifaceted challenges faced by Joanna and Cristina as they attempt to recreate a new life for themselves and their families, there are constant subtle reminders throughout the film of their traumatic journeys to Guadeloupe. Some Guadeloupean non-profit organizations and churches are working to explore and expose the exploitative network of illegal female immigration and offer support to the women entangled in it. Their work conveys a clearer picture of the unconscionable female migratory trend from the Dominican Republic to Guadeloupe.
Most female migrants appear to start their journeys from the Dominican Republic (occasionally Haiti) by pawning or selling their valuable belongings to pay the traffickers (mostly from the Dominican Republic or Haiti) for their travel to Guadeloupe. Those who are indebted to their traffickers are oftentimes coerced into prostitution upon arrival in a desperate attempt to pay off their debts. Some are able to get away and start their own small businesses as seamstresses or hairdressers. Despite the numerous challenges they face, it is noteworthy that the majority of these women stay in close contact with their families, especially the children they have left behind in the Dominican Republic.11
The sex trade in specific neighbourhoods of Pointe-à-Pitre, Grand-Baie, and Saint-François are where many of these women unfortunately begin their new lives in Guadeloupe.12 Degrading slurs such as ‘les prostituées’ or ‘les Espagnoles’13 are directed at these women from the moment they set foot on the island and become a kind of ‘scarlet letter’ with which they are permanently branded. In addition to prostitution, unemployment, drugs, and violence are rampant in these neighbourhoods, leaving many of these vulnerable undocumented immigrants with no way out, ‘pas de porte de sortie’.14
Associations such as Dominicanos Unidos, founded in 2009 by Eduardo Pérez, have been actively countering the objectified image of female immigrants and changing this negative perception. Using his platform as a commentator for the Guadeloupean television channel Canal 10, Pérez targets the neighbourhood of Carénage, known for its sex trade, situated just a few kilometres from the centre of Pointe-à-Pitre. The organization strives relentlessly to showcase the numerous and meaningful cultural contributions that immigrants from the Dominican Republic have made in Guadeloupe so that they are not marginalized by negative stereotypes. The following expresses this sentiment:
L’objectif de notre association est de montrer une image positive de notre communauté et non celle de Carénage […] La communauté dominicaine a autre chose à partager avec la population guadeloupéenne, que ce soit au niveau culinaire ou musical […] les Dominicains vivant en Guadeloupe ont peur d’être assimilés aux filles de joie ou aux voyous.15
Within the context of the noticeable increase in migration and the growing debates on the complexities of intra-Caribbean migration, the year of the Dominican Republic was launched by the Conseil Régional de la Guadeloupe in March 2013. This was an attempt by local officials in Guadeloupe and the governments of the Dominican Republic and France to intervene and underscore the importance of the cultural, historic, and economic ties between Guadeloupe and the Dominican Republic, ‘un pays ami’. Officials from France, the Dominican Republic, and Guadeloupe standing together shoulder to shoulder and participating in this event was a clear demonstration of solidarity and strength, with the hope that such events would encourage better cooperation between the two islands on a host of issues.16
Issues of cultural identity, internalized racism, and misogyny in the French Caribbean are central to Monpierre’s work, and Entre 2 rives is faithful to her artistic vision. Film as a medium to raise awareness of contemporary debates, in and of itself, has a broader reach to different demographics across the Caribbean and the wider world. The visual impact of this documentary connects viewers to the female protagonists and their personal stories in a way that evokes empathy for their situation. In subtle yet powerful ways, Monpierre calls on Guadeloupeans to engage in a deeper and broader analysis of undocumented immigration, especially in relation to two undervalued components: the treatment of women and family separation. She is able to reach into her own life and experiences as a young Guadeloupean ‘daughter of immigration’ growing up in France, and as an adult woman navigating the complex world of theatre and cinema in New York City, to organically share the Antillean experience with a wider audience, which she considers one of her responsibilities as a Guadeloupean and as a film-maker. She eloquently shared these thoughts during a lecture entitled, ‘Guadeloupe et identité à travers l’art d’une cineaste’, delivered at the Massachusetts Foreign Language Association Conference on 26 October 2018:
Je voulais aller plus loin … pour raconter les histoires de mon peuple afro-caribéen, inconnu du grand public. Nous ne sommes pas représentés sur le petit ou grand écran … Quand les Antillais figurent à l’écran, c’est généralement dans des rôles de gangsters, de drogués, de prostitués et dans des rôles comiques ridicules. Mais une autre réalité existe et c’est ma responsabilité de la révéler au grand jour. Je voulais faire un film traitant d’un thème universel qui nous présente avec nos conflits et contradictions.
Footnotes
1
Mariette Monpierre, ‘Dossier de presse Entre 2 rives’, <https://www.francetvpro.fr/sites/default/files/files/2017/03/15/Dossier%20de%20presse%20Entre%202%20rives.compressed%281%29.pdf> [accessed 14 January 2021].
2
Sébastien Nicolas, ‘“Je ne suis pas ton Haïtien”: une racialisation identitaire en Guadeloupe au prisme de l’immigration haïtienne’, Communications, 2 (2020), 107, 219–35.
3
See ‘Haiti, Events of 2019’, Human Rights Watch, <https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2020/country-chapters/haiti#73fccc> [accessed 21 May 2020].
4
Monique Bégot, ‘Les migrations intra-caribéennes’, Atlas Caraïbe, 2019, sec. 3.2, <https://atlas-caraibe.certic.unicaen.fr/fr/page-275.html> [accessed 21 December 2020].
5
See ‘Que sont les départements et les régions d’outre-mer?’, Vie publique, 2 February 2021, <https://www.vie-publique.fr/fiches/20146-que-sont-les-departements-et-les-regions-doutremer> [accessed 30 August 2022].
6
Bégot, ‘Les migrations intra-caribéennes’, sec. 1.
7
André Calmont, Justin Daniel, Didier Destouches, Isabelle Dubost, Michel Giraud, and Monique Milia, ‘Histoire et mémoire des immigrations en régions, Martinique – Guadeloupe’, Rapport de recherche CRPLC 2010, <https://hal.archives-ouvertes.fr/hal-01629750> [accessed 21 May 2020], pp. 121–22.
8
See Monpierre’s website, <mariettemonpierre.com> [accessed 21 December 2020].
9
‘Étrangers – Immigrés en 2017 Région de la Guadeloupe (01)’, Insee, 9 December 2020, <https://www.insee.fr/fr/statistiques/4515432?geo=REG-01> [accessed 17 June 2020].
10
See <https://outre-mer.gouv.fr> [accessed 14 January 2021].
11
Calmont et al., ‘Histoire et mémoire des immigrations’, pp. 121–22.
12
Chantal Luissint, ‘Observation sur le phénomène de prostitution en Guadeloupe: zones de Pointe-à-Pitre, Grand-Baie et Saint-François’, Observatoire féminin, <http://www.observatoirefeminin.fr/files/OBSERVATION_SUR_LE_PHENOMENE_DE_PROSTITUTION_EN_GUADELOUPE.pdf> [accessed 14 January 2021].
13
A prejudicial term used to objectify and stereotype Spanish-speaking women from the Dominican Republic.
14
Laure de Charette, ‘Dans les “aspirateurs de misère” Pointe-à-Pitre’, 20 Minutes, 19 February 2009, <https://www.20minutes.fr/france/303130-20090219-aspirateurs-misere-pointe-a-pitre> [accessed 14 January 2021].
15
Eduardo Pérez qtd. in Karel Clotaire, ‘L’Autre visage de la communauté dominicaine’, France-Antilles Guadeloupe, 16 August 2013, <https://www.guadeloupe.franceantilles.fr/actualite/culture/l-autre-visage-de-la-communaute-dominicaine-229625.php> [accessed 23 January 2021].
16
Josette Borel-Lincertin, ‘Cérémonie de lancement de l’année de la République Dominicaine intervention de la Présidente du Conseil Régional’, 29 October 2014, <https://www.regionguadeloupe.fr/actualites-et-agendas/tout-lagenda/detail/actualites/ceremonie-de-lancement-de-lannee-de-la-republique-dominicaine-intervention-de-la-presidente-du-cons/#> [accessed 23 January 2021].
Information & Authors
Information
Published In
Francosphères
Volume 11 • Number 2 • 1 December 2022
Pages: 247 - 261
Copyright
This article was published open access under a CC BY license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0.
History
Published in print: 1 December 2022
Published online: 7 December 2022
Keywords
Mots-clés
Authors
Metrics & Citations
Metrics
Other Metrics
Citations
Cite As
Export Citations
If you have the appropriate software installed, you can download article citation data to the citation manager of your choice. Simply select your manager software from the list below and click Download.
There are no citations for this item