Cheering on the World Cup’s secret team: The Garifuna
The scene was familiar enough in New York City: a gathering of immigrant fans cheering on one of the 31 non-U.S. teams at the World Cup. Except for one difference: These supporters congregated at a community center in the South Bronx were cheering on a team not even officially participating in FIFA’s jamboree in Brazil, one that very few people know even exists. The team in white and blue may officially represent Honduras, but for this group of fans, the side facing France in Porto Alegre was the unofficial Garifuna national team.
The Garifuna are a people with a distinct culture and language hundreds of years old, who transcend borders along the Caribbean coast of Central America from Belize in the north through Guatemala and Honduras to Nicaragua. Latterly many have made their home in the U.S.
Their ancestors were the product of shipwrecked or runaway African slaves who mixed with the indigenous Amerindians on the Caribbean island of St Vincent, where they were known to outsiders as Black Caribs. For decades they resisted British colonialism, but – after allying with the French – they were ultimately defeated in a cruel and bloody war. Little more than 2,000 survivors of a British internment camp were deported 1,700 miles away to Central America in 1797.
Nearly half of the Honduras starting line-up for their opening match was Garifuna – Maynor Figueroa, Víctor “Muma” Bernárdez, Wilson Palacios, Jerry Bengtson and Brayan Beckeles – and there were nine in the squad of 23. That’s a phenomenal presence for an ethnic group that makes up perhaps 2% of the national population. That figure, of course, is an educated guess – there are no reliable figures for the Garifuna population in Honduras or anywhere else, since they are rarely counted separately in censuses. It’s probably safe, though, to speak of a region-wide population in the hundreds of thousands.
There was no evidence, once the game kicked off, of any memories of the Garifuna alliance with the French two centuries ago. After an initial flurry of Honduran attacks, within five minutes the game had settled into a pattern of French dominance and what might politely be called “robust” Honduran defending. Then, Wilson Palacios, one of the Garifuna players, bundled into the back of France’s Paul Pogba, conceding a penalty and a second yellow card. (His first came from stomping on the same player.) That left the Hondurans facing a second half 1-0 down and playing with only 10 men against the mighty French.
A Guatemalan Garifuna sitting nearby took this as the cue to mutter repeatedly “Time to break some legs, man” – not a comment designed to mitigate the Hondurans’ reputation for rough play.
During the match most of the comments in the community center came in Spanish or English, something that hints at a wider problem for this community.
Beneath the TV screen was a whiteboard with the evidence of a Garifuna language class in a string of words – all unfamiliar except for “hudutu” – a traditional Garifuna stew featuring mashed plantains.
Milton Guity, who teaches the language class, explained that many of the younger generation born in the U.S. are not learning their traditional tongue. If the parents don’t insist on speaking Garifuna at home, the pull of Spanish and English is too great for kids who just want to fit in with their friends. A language that has survived more than two centuries of exile and discrimination may be facing its greatest challenge amid the freewheeling, polyglot culture of New York.
While the language may struggle for currency, there is no shortage of cultural activities promoted by a welter of community organizations. A feature film, “Garifuna in Peril”, has recently been released to acclaim, and Garifuna music has become a familiar world music staple.
The “Casa Yurumein” community center itself is an unprepossessing cluster of rooms above commercial premises. Its name comes from the Garifuna word for the island of St Vincent and its walls are decked with the yellow, white and black Garifuna flag. During the match women volunteers sold cold drinks and hot empanadas to the spectators to raise funds, and spirits.
The match drew to its inevitable conclusion: a 3-0 defeat with little to lift Garifuna hearts. But as one of the spectators at Casa Yurumein put it: “The important thing is that we’re there.” For a culture that came close to extinction at the hands of the British, that is still quite an achievement.
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