AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST

In the Name of the Nation: Blood Symbolism and the Political Habitus of Violence in Haiti
Louis Herns Marcelin

ABSTRACT Analysis of cultural categories such as personhood, family, and community, and the class of relations they imply, highlights how blood symbolism is paradigmatic in the production of social and political boundaries among Haitians. The principle that endows an individual or an individuals family with a social identity also functions as an exclusionary principle, allowing one to ritually, morally, and physically destroy rivals in the name of family, community, or nation. Drawing from research conducted in rural and urban Haiti as well as in the Haitian diaspora, this article explores how blood constitutes an organizing principle of the Haitian sociocultural universe. [blood symbolism, ritual of violence, Haiti and political habitus, anthropology of power and politics, witchcraft] Lanalyse des categories et les relaRESUM E culturelles comme le sang, la personne, la famille, la communaute, ` quel point le symbolisme du sang est paradigmatique dans la production de tions quelles impliquent, souligne a ` ` une identite sociale a ` un individu ou sa frontieres sociales et politiques entre les Ha tiens. Le principe qui confere famille fonctionne egalement comme principe dexclusion, permettant rituellement, moralement, et physiquement ou nation. Puisant des recherches menees de detruire les rivaux, au nom de la famille, communaute en Ha ti et la diaspora ha tienne, cet article explore comment le sang constitue un principe organisateur de lunivers socioculturel ha tien.

Time is what practical activity produces in the very act whereby it produces itself. Pierre Bourdieu (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:138).

his article examines the politics of violence as embodied in the concept of blood among Haitians. Ethnographic data collected between 1986 and 2010 frames and underpins an analysis of how Haitians use blood variously as a core symbol within a complex of practices designed to regulate bodies, especially bodies linked to political space. Although scholars have pointed out how Haitians use blood to register nationalism in a transnational context (e.g., GlickSchiller and Fouron 1999, 2001); culturally translate health and illness conditions (Brodwin 1996; Farmer 1988); dene masculinity, femininity, gender and reproduction (Weidman 1978); and narrate memory of violence and nation (Subramanian 2005), how blood operates in sociopolitical space and its role in the production of particular modes of violence in Haiti has not been an object of analysis. Accordingly, an analysis of indigenous concepts of power, authority, and the occult through blood metaphor would enrich and

recast the interpretation of the study of authoritarian political order in Haiti. The signature of this ideology is the spiritualized personication of power relationsthat is, the creative incarnation of power in nonhuman beings (Ashforth 2005; Crais 2005; Geschi` ere 1997). I argue that a reading of the ethnographic data from the communities studied, in concert with a reading of complementary texts (Abbott 1991; Diederich and Burt 1969; Dupuy 2007; Fatton 2007; Heinl and Heinl 2005; Labelle 1978; Laguerre 1983, 1989; Nicholls 1996; Rotberg and Clague 1971) suggests that this ideological scheme represents a kind of foundational myth of power at every level of Haitian society. I became interested in blood in the eld when respondents in studies conducted in different circumstances brought to my attention the centrality and history of blood metaphor in their ideas of power, magic, and subjectivity as well as the uidity and multivocality of blood symbolism. During my studies of family and kinship from urban to rural systems in Haiti (198090), I came across various situations in which study participants who play a role

AMERICAN ANTHROPOLOGIST, Vol. 114, No. 2, pp. 253266, ISSN 0002-7294, online ISSN 1548-1433. c 2012 by the American Anthropological Association. All rights reserved. DOI: 10.1111/j.1548-1433.2012.01423.x

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in local or national government refer to blood and magic to describe their authority and power. In my eld notes, I recorded participants from Southern, Central, and Northern Haiti explaining differential in power and wealth in their own family network and local community as the work of occult forces. Blood of others, they reported, feeds the power of local political chiefs and wealthy individuals and the authority derived from these positions. Victims, according to most participants, are usually those who cross the paths of these wealthy individuals inadvertently or who did not understand the rules that govern the public space (politics). Among the rules that govern public space, some participants identied the following: pa antre nan sak pa regadew (dont get involved in affairs that go beyond you); je w` e bouch pe (lit., dont talk about what you see). These rules are not just sayings, they actively regulate national and local politics in time and space, days and night. Thus, I observed many participants who circumscribed their activities at particular moments during the day and avoid at all costs investing the public alleys, even the back yards of their houses during the night. Indeed, local explanatory theories framed power, authority, and wealth as well as the world of politics in the idiom of magic or malevolent forces. I also recorded the importance of blood in the political eld among study participants in urban areas, mainly in J er emie, a city on the South of Haiti, and Port-au-Prince, Haitis capital. Powerful individuals who play a role in Haitis politics as well as local community members in the shanties of Saint-Martin or Cit e Soleil in metropolitan Port-au-Prince also describe authority, wealth, and power in terms of blood and magic. Some participants carry sacred objects to either ward off malevolent forces to seal their blood or to display their occult power to suck blood from those who dare challenge them. Powerful individuals invest a considerable amount of energy, time, and resources to protect themselves from rivalry through occult secret societies. Even those who do not acknowledge publicly that they have a connection with the djab (occult forces) still circulate rumors to the contrary. In fact, reputations of the occult in families and communities, tin essence rumors, seem to be the most productive way to create and maintain the sociocultural life of power in the respective communities. One study participant said in an interview that: moun pran pwen an sekr` e, men se pa pou al kache [one take protection in secret but not to remain a secret]. Another said If you want to become a politician, you have to be respected . . . create boundaries of invulnerability against envy, malicious attack, and evil. Thus, the power of rumors. As a well educated Marxist colleague from the Haitian elite explained to me, if you want power you have to know how to retain it; to retain power you lose nothing by putting all forces in your side, even when you know that these forces indeed are products of mere imagination, epiphenomena. There is no more revealing moment to observe these ideologies enacted than during crisis of political regimes in Haiti, which in many instances I did.

In subsequent eldwork studies on family, generation, and identity among Haitians in transnational contexts (from Haiti to the Dominican Republic or the United States) during the last 20 years, I also recorded countless situations in which study participants framed family, communal relationships, nations, and politics in terms of blood (e.g., Marcelin 1988, 1990, 1999; Marcelin and Marcelin 2001). As we shall see, in different ways and circumstances many participants use blood to classify self, others, and behaviors. This exercise, which by no means is unique to Haiti (Marcelin 1999; Meyer 2005; Miller-Idriss 2009), takes particular forms in the production of class distinctions, cultural conceptions of biological differences, belonging, and identities inside and outside Haiti, from rural to urban systems (Brodwin 1996; Glick-Schiller and Fouron 1999, 2001; Labelle 1978; Nicholls 1996; Paquin 1983; Weidman 1978). It is not so much about the material blood than it is about the position and the relationship created within the classication. My aim here is to investigate and provide an understanding of how particular modes of violence and their support structures are enacted through an ensemble of blood metaphors inherited from their complex relation with the colonial slave-based plantation. Nowhere is this relation more evident than in the representations and uses of blood in the production of exclusion, terror, fear, and death across Haitis political landscape. After an outline of the methods used in this study and the different sites selected, my argument begins with a brief discussion of the anthropology of blood symbolism, magic, power, and political violence with particular attention to the postcolonial political landscape. Next, the article analyzes the ethnographic ndings on blood as embedded in concepts of family, community, and nation from rural to urban systems in Haiti, and the transnational immigrant context of South Florida. Further, it turns attention to the uses of blood as moral attribute and principle of classication across Haitian cultural practice. Finally, it explores how ideologies and discourses on blood, magic, and authority shape technologies of domination in local communities, and how these technologies are reappropriated by political agents within wider sociopolitical struggles to legitimize and sometimes contest the status quo in Haiti.
METHODS AND SITES STUDIED

Data for this article derive from ethnography conducted in four separate sociocultural contexts in Haiti and in U.S. Haitian communities in the course of 30 years. The rst set of studies is based on a large-scale qualitative study of contexts of childhood and experiences of maltreatment among Haitian immigrants in Homestead and Florida City. Its main goal was to analyze antecedents that affect patterns of parenting and childhood experiences in this immigrant context from 1990 to present. The second set of studies consisted of a multisited ethnographic social network tracing among Haitian migrant workers from Florida, conducted for the U.S. Bureau of the Census in 2000 and 2002 with

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follow-ups in 2005 and 2008. The objective of the study was to characterize the community context of the respondents residential mobility and emphasize (1) how likely Census 2000 was to omit them, (2) their identity processes, and (3) their interacting networks, based on ethnographic eld research. Both studies served to illuminate the relationships among Haitian concepts of family, generational succession, and blood. The third set of studies (Haitian Youth Gang and HIV Study) was funded by the National Institutes of Health. The studies were designed to explore the sociocultural contexts within which Haitian youth (1318 years old) and their families are living in Miami-Dade County, Florida, including challenges and issues related to identity and gang activity as well as drug use associated with lifestyles, immigration experience, and contexts of marginalization or integration of the Haitian community into the wider local society. Sites included two marginalized communities Little Haiti, HomesteadFlorida City, and one middle-class neighborhood, Kendall. Both studies used snowball communitybased samples of Haitian youth (296 participants from the Gang Study and 300 from the HIV Study) selected in neighborhoods predominantly inhabited by Haitian immigrants. The design also provided for continuous in-depth interviews and intensive observations of family contexts of a subsample of 96 youth over more than six years (Marcelin et al. 2005; Page and Marcelin 2003). The fourth context involves research into the relationships among family, kinship, religious practices, and community organization in the urban periphery of Port-au-Prince (198486), and in an administrative subdivision of the town Abricots (198590), located about 50 miles from the city of J er emie, using ethnographic method (Marcelin 1988, 1990). To this corpus has been added a current ethnographic investigation of violence and political practice in Cit e Soleil (2004present). In all these studies, a critical commonality across the entire range of social spaces and temporalities is the centrality of blood imagery. Indeed, I would submit that to apprehend blood imagery it is necessary to grasp how Haitian social practice implements and regiments its use across those contexts. In this respect, the various investigations present a privileged venue for studying blood symbolism and its implications in the political space.
BLOOD SYMBOLISM AND THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF POLITICS AND POWER

The importance of religion in cultural conceptualizations of blood and sacrice is obvious. Here, nonetheless, emphasis is given more to the uses of Vodoun symbolism through local organizations called secret societies to reassert narrative of power and authority. Thus, I choose to conne the discussion in this analysis to the realm of magic in the political space, particularly informal networks of power (secret societies), not the domestic aspect of Vodoun religion. Indeed, the complexity of the relationship between magic and religion

in Haiti would call for a more extensive discussion, which we have no space to cover. Sufce it to say that a discussion on the intertwining of magic, Vodoun, and politics calls for a larger critical framework in which one does not a priori equate Vodoun to sorcery (as in Laguerre 1989 and 1998). (For a discussion on Vodoun and sorcery, see Beauvoir and Dominique 2003; Hurbon 1979, 1987; and see also the excellent work done by Ramsey [2011]). Blood is one of the most evident and recurrent metaphors in human societies. Its plasticity and openendedness seem to allow it to transcribe a complexity of meanings inscribed in a sum of domains, from ethnophysiology to moral attribute, from magic to sacrice, from personhood to organizing principle of social organization and representations of power relations. Blood may be simultaneously and variously envisioned as a source of power renewal (sacrice or cannibalism), a keynote in the language of power (violence or repression), a fundamental statement that articulates a cosmovision of alterity (us vs. them), and a principle of legitimization of specic forms of domination and privilege (lineage, kinship, imagined communities, and patriarchy). In this article, I foreground the symbolism of blood in the creation of the Haitian space of power, privilege, and politics. In her survey of blood symbolism, Meyer noted that humans have imposed more symbolic and metaphorical meanings on blood in more ritualized contexts than any other substance (2005:5). Although uid and malleable in daily practices (Lovell 2002), social scientists have noted a conceptual continuity in the way blood is imagined to dene modes of belonging or exclude possibilities to belong to collectivities, nations, and communal identities (Grandin 2000; Kramer 2006; Linke 1999; Miller-Idriss 2009; Theweleit 1987) as well as to order and reorder things, life, and spiritual and occult forces (Ashforth 2005; Comaroff & Comaroff 1993; de Heusch 1985; Meyer 2005). Although cultures frequently naturalize their conceptions of blood, an ethnography of blood cannot but implicate the work of history and the structuring effects of the political economy. As shown in Foucault 1978, Linke 1999, Miller-Idriss 2009, Sobo 1993, Tapper 1999, and Theweleit 1987, the uses and meanings of blood are contingent on sociohistorical processes within and between societies. Thus, Michel Foucault (1978) identied in premodern Europe a particular concept of blood that was ultimately translated into a racial discourse on natural superiority of particular groups, genders, and nations. In the case of Germany, for example, this sanguine vision of race and differences (Linke 1999) later, according to Foucault (1978), migrated to the political to dene nationhood, rights, privileges, and ultimately regimes of exclusion and outright extermination (Elias and Schr oter 1996). This particular concept of blood has historically and contemporarily framed modes of sociality, nationhood, hierarchy, and identities and the connectivity between them, particularly in the Americas of plantations (Centeno 2002; Dayan 1995; Mintz and Price 1992; Stepan 1991;

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Todorov 1984). Likewise, concepts of blood associated with sacrice, magic, the occult and power in Africa have fascinated social scientists, particularly anthropologists (e.g., Ashforth 2005; Comaroff & Comaroff 1993; de Heusch 1985; Jay 1992; Seeman 1961). The sociocultural bloody encounters that have created the colonial worlds have also congured European and native symbolisms and meanings of blood in the making of identities and subjectivities. In the postcolonial worlds, the colonial system provided a racial frame to conceptualize class differences, descent, identities, genealogies, communities, and rights (Gilroy 1993, 2010; Mamdani 2001; Mbembe 2001; Mintz and Price 1992; Todorov 1984). In the case of Haiti, I argue, concepts of blood encapsulate complex European ideas of sanguine vision of power and privileges with concepts of occult forces, authority, and politics to shape the conundrum of its modern political practices. As mentioned earlier, postcolonial visions of blood, power, politics, and occult forces in the middle of modernity are not singular to Haiti. Indeed, many of the best ethnographies on modernity and democracy across the postcolony have examined the persistence of the occult in the creation of the present (Ashforth 2005; Bayart 1993; Comaroff 1993, 1998; Crais 2005; Geschiere 1997; LiPuma 2000; Mamdani 2001). In daily understandings and practices in Haiti, there is a conceptual continuity that operates, in contradictory terms, from good blood to bad blood as markers of social identities, gender differences, political exclusion, and inclusivity; political limits and rights; life and death. As Giorgio Agamben (1998) might have noted for Haiti, the continuity and centrality of blood helps establish the conceptual space and conditions for exclusion, bare life, vulnerability, and death. It serves as a key conceptual tool in the struggle over who has the right to power and political voice. Ultimately, precisely because it is realized in so many diverse yet kindred forms, blood can powerfully symbolize life and death in Haiti.
LEGACIES OF THE PLANTATION, POLITICAL HABITUS OF VIOLENCE, AND BLOOD METAPHORS

Haitis history has been described by one historian as written in blood (Heinl and Heinl 2005). As an exemplar of the slave-based plantation societies, Haitian society spent three centuries setting in place two complementary histories of violence: a history concretized in the array of institutions and social practices dened by the plantation and embodied in the production of structure and agency (Dayan 1995; Dupuy 1997, 2007; Fatton 2006; 2007; Fick 1990; Hurbon 1987; M-R Trouillot 1990, 2002). As a political system, the regime of the plantation in the Caribbean, which has sought to reduce the expression of social organization to violence (and was prevented from doing so only through countless acts of resistance, small and large) is still instilled in the ethos, rituals, metaphors, and practices of the political culture of power and governance (Drummond 1982; Mintz and Price 1992; Thompson 1975). As a cultural ma-

trix (M-R. Trouillot 2002:198), the system of plantations has generated an underlying conguration of principles that, under specic circumstances, deeply shape and regulate politics, control mechanisms of bodies, and governance. The result is that, despite the recent demise of the authoritarian regimes and the unending transition to democratic governance in Haiti, there has been a preservation of the principle of violence, exemplied conceptually in the notion of blood, institutionally in the technologies of repression, and legitimated through ideologies of socioracial difference. The social reality under investigation here encompasses temporal and spatial dimensions of postcolonial legacies in which narratives, beliefs, and ctions about politics, identities, and power, under imposed circumstances, have created fertile grounds for terror, fear and death (Crais 2005; Dayan 1995; Drummond 1982; Hulme 1998; Mbembe 2001; 2003; Mintz and Price 1992; Ramsey 2011; Taussig 1987; Todorov 1984; M-R. Trouillot 2002). Informed by the legacies of colonialism and slavery, this reality in turn structures and denes formation of groups and individual actors desires, interests, indifferences, and fantasies of self and other as related to power and privilege. It readjusts itself under continuing constraints of time, sociopolitical contexts and transnational circulation and is constitutive of what Pierre Bourdieu (1977, 1990) calls the habitus, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures (1990:53). As the product of history, the habitus inherent in any historically constructed social reality is an open system of dispositions that is constantly subjected to experiences, and constantly affected by them in a way that either reinforces or modies its structures (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:133). Central to this concept is the notion that habitus can only be dened and understood dialectically in relation to the social reality that generates it and that, in turn, the habitus reproduces. In this article, I use political habitus of violence as a dynamic and open internalized and externalized system of dispositions about power relations, politics, and violence; it produces the political reality inside and outside of individual actors and groups. As a heuristic device, I use the concept of political habitus of violence to analyze what Mintz and Price (1992) have characterized as the underlying grammatical principles that activate particular postcolonial plantations imageries, narratives, and fantasies of self and other through blood metaphor to express, at time and creatively, modes of terror, fear, violence, exclusion, suffering, and death in contemporary Haiti. As noted earlier, the underlying principles of the postcolonial social reality are molded by internal and external forces, both of which combined with the circulation of cultural forms (Calhoun 1997; LiPuma and Koelble 2005) to impose limits and transformations on claims of blood and belonging. In this respect, Glick-Schiller and Fourons (1999, 2001) analysis of blood and long distance nationalism among Haitians and other diasporic groups (Glick-Schiller 2005) provides a comparative framework to think about circulation of categories of belonging and reinvention of

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sociopolitical actions in what they call a transnational social eld. Here the concepts of circulation and transnational social eld provide a theoretical space to illustrate the open and transformative nature of political habitus of violence as used in this article.
A COMMUNITY OF BLOOD

As reported in many ethnographic studies of family and kinship in Haiti, including my own, there is a sensibility among the population studied that blood begins with, and belongs to, the family, and so it is in the familial context that my discussion begins (Moral 1961; Labelle 1978; Lowenthal 1987; Marcelin 1988, 1990). The word in Haitian Creole that designates both the analytical concepts kinship and family is fanmi. With variations from rural to urban, between classes and between Haiti and the diaspora, fanmi is the primary reference that denes the persons universe and identity. By extension, it also refers to various degrees of proximity and familiarityin practice empowered to encompass particular forms of social relatedness, such as neighbor, acquaintance, friend, community, or even common humanity. In the course of the Haitian Adolescent Study conducted in Haitian neighborhoods in Miami-Dade for example, many parents who were forced to work multiple jobs and could not stay at home for their children relied on a neighbor, always a Haitian neighbor, to help look after them. Many parents qualied their neighbors as dra or bed sheet: vwazinaj se dra. A female parent said vwazinaj se fanmi (neighbors are family). These statements reect the extrapolatory power of fanmi. This system of relations can be illustrated with the farm workers. Haitian farm workers annual work cycle and circuit journeys begin in April in South Florida and by July to November, they follow the harvest seasonal crops up to Virginia and New Jersey. From the constitution of their networks to the acquisition of temporary shelter in group or transient quarters, the migrant workers operate under a key principle: kin relationship and commonality of region of origin in Haiti. Participants in focus groups explained the constitutions of these uid groups as the following: we are family, we are the same ras (race as descent), the same blood. These statements about familykinshipregion of originblood are shared among other networks of Haitian migrant farm workers studied. For the purpose of the census study, my coinvestigator and I isolated three networks of Haitian migrant workers to observe during the same period (between May and November) over several years (between 2000 and 2008). Follow-up observations conducted in 2001, 2002, 2003, and 2008 were focused on the following set of activities: childcare, contexts of recruitments of new members, organization of transportation (who travels with who? and how?), activities, and social support in the elds from Florida to Virginia. Although the size and demographic of participants networks changed over time, activities and trajectories shifted, their practices around these activities remained

inscribe within the frame of the ideology of kinship, community, and blood. My colleague and I noted an endured sense of shared experiences among study participants of these networks, despite constraints imposed by time, space, and social institutions as well as the variability in polities and regulations across the southern United States and the agricultural elds. We observed a sense of mutuality that creates sociality in terms of shared substance, blood, not material blood, but a moralideological marker that endured adversity. In the same token, this dynamism has also fragmented weak connectivity among some participants who in the past were one blood but have become archenemies, providing ground for constructing opposing good and bad blood. In many instances, we have documented study participants who formerly were engaged in a particular network where they used to naturalize their relationships by over emphasizing blood, shared substance, and commonalty, who later have been accused (or have accused others) of malevolence. As an example, a participant went to Haiti to get a pwen (a magical power) to safeguard his position within the group. His enemy is a rival member who mostly caught the attention of the foreman (the Haitian subcontractor), often manipulated by the contractors (mostly African American or white) who control access to the most desirable jobs in the eld! All in all, fanmi and blood remain at the core of the narrative of their daily experiences. To enhance the statement that they are family, all participants of these networks insist on the thread of blood that makes them the same; these ideas also translate their connectedness to their neighborhoods in Miami and Homestead as well as their region of origin in Haiti (Marcelin and Marcelin 2001). Similarly, when in relation with other ethnic groups, as we have observed with African American farmworkers and Mexican migrant workers in the contexts studied, participants in focus groups extend the idea of the same blood, same family to the one of country (Haiti) or nation. Ultimately, the idea expresses a biological connectedness to the nation; in this sense it translates nationality. As suggested by Glick-Schiller (2005); Glick-Schiller and Fouron (1999; 2001), blood here is used as a naturalizing idea about national connectedness. Blood denotes a variety of conceptions of biologically shared substance, at various degrees, by most members of Haitian society in Haiti and abroad (Bastien 1951; Lowenthal 1987; Marcelin 1988, 1990). Blood, in this sociocultural frame, is the ultimate vital principle of life; it is the fundamental element that makes life possible. As in Meyer (2005), blood is a metaphor for life; the circulation of blood through the body is the precondition for ones circulation through the community. Given the extensive symbolization of blood across societies, it is understandable that these conceptualizations in the continuum of Haitian sociocultural contexts nd echoes in different ethnographic studies in time and space (Linke 1999; Lovell 2002; Meyer 2005; Seeman 1961; Jay 1992; Sobo 1993; Tapper 1999). Commonality of blood gives disparate members of a fanmi a position in the whole body: the fanmi.

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In short, blood is the central summary principle of sociality that denes and articulates family and kinship relations, which, in turn, interpolates specic social relations within a community. Although it is safe to say that the concept fanmi, in its wider acceptance, is an overarching principle for the articulation of Haitian social life, it would be a simplication of what we have identied as a complex reality to assume that fanmi encompasses the same constellation of meanings across the entire space of Haitian society. Nor does it entail the same references across the Haitian diaspora. Indeed, the ethnographic ndings suggest that both conceptually and in its application, fanmi is expressed in rural and urban areas in Haiti, and in the varied immigrant venues in South Florida, in ways whose differences are marked, depending fundamentally on a familys position and mobility in social space. Ethnographic studies conducted in rural areas (Bastien 1951; Lowenthal 1987; Marcelin 1990) and inner-city communities (Marcelin 1988) indicate that fanmi embraces the living biologically bound relatives, the living dead who communicate with and remain integrated into the lives of the living, those who function as practical kin, and the lwas (spirits of the family) congured in the land (Mintz 1971). By contrast, among urban middle- and upper-class Haitians, the concept fanmi (always and diacritically expressed in the French, famille) eclipses the rural and innercity sensibility and foregrounds economic and political power, entitlement, and the accumulation of social and cultural capital. In the Haitian Adolescent Study in Kendall, we enrolled 100 adolescents and their families of which 35 parents or guardians were interviewed over time on immigration challenges, family histories, adolescence, delinquency and discipline, as well as transnational family relations and social support (Marcelin et al. 2005). Throughout the interviews, parents narratives insisted on their European blood to establish the distinction between them and the rest of Haitian immigrants. Most of my interviewees insisted on genealogy as a marker of differences, moral superiority, and entitlement to political power and privileges. We are a (family name) and when you are (. . .) you carry in your vein the blood that makes you different from the masses; you carry the civilizing values; you know what is wrong what is right said an interviewee, lawyer and mother of three children, referring to both her family genealogy and their distinctiveness in the Haitian diaspora. Haiti, said another interviewee, a dentist, father of two adolescent males, is the way it is because the civilizing elite has been disbanded by exiles and political turmoil. [. . .] Haiti is now at the mercy of barbaric, uneducated, disease and voodoo-ridden people. [. . .] Because of them one has to be careful in identifying oneself as Haitian without being stigmatized. My ethnographic work on middle- and upper-class families in both Haiti and the United States has highlighted a key nding: genealogy, not community, rst denes family and belonging to the nation. During my interviews, narratives

of genealogy always separate the narrator from the Haitian masses (rural or urban) while connecting them with a civilized and superior Europe (Labelle 1978). Given the stigma that these participants see attached to slavery and African origins, the work of reinventing familial identity has emerged as a necessity that easily tips over into something of an obsession in middle-class Haitian narratives of family history. This renarrativization, which draws from colonial ideas on race, color, and class, as well as civilization and barbarism, recongures the idea of famille (Marcelin 2005). It is also inscribed in a larger continuum of post-plantation narratives of family, class, color, and nation in the Caribbean (Drummond 1982; Martinez-Allier 1988; Smith 1988. In the case of the middleand upper-class participants in Haiti and its diaspora in the United States, the strategy is to show that, because of the admixture and effect of European bloodas exemplied in their education, occupation, and other indices of social capital such as uency in Frenchthe upper- and middle-class narrators are endowed with a more civilized sensibility than the rest of the Haitian population. Furthermore, in what amounts to a literal reproduction of the colonial genealogy of power, this reworked narrative objectively justies their claims for position, power, and privilege. For those enmeshed in this ethos, what is important is the presence of a deeply naturalized social ontology in which descending from good blood allows for the accumulation of social capital, which, in relay, validates their right to power and position. The quasiritual practices that surround this reinvention of the past have a powerful performative moment in that they presuppose that Haitis deeply racialized history did not affect the blood of certain famille. Precisely because they claim such immunity, questions of genealogy, blood, and descent are a constant theme in Haitis urban middle and upper classes (Labelle 1978; Marcelin 2005). Representations of blood, descent, and skin color are not unique to contemporary middle- and upper-class Haitians. Postcolonial modes of distinction and entitlement among Haitian elites were captured in publications of the 19th and the early 20th centuries and analyzed in anthropological scholarship (Dayan 1995; Hurbon 1987; Ramsey 2011). Then and now, claims of European blood, nonslave ascendance, a natural propensity for French as opposed to Creole, Catholicism as opposed to Vodoun, serve as efforts to forge social identities and self-recognition. In this sense, the symbolic investment in social rituals of distinction (Bourdieu 1984), language, stories, family myths, and the perpetual task of production and reproduction of desired truths about themselves, their genealogies, and the quality and potentiality of their blood line create a constant dynamic of what Myerhoff called a cultural mirroring where interpretive statements are mirrors for collectivities to hold up to themselves (1986:262). Whether in urban or rural Haiti, or South Florida, and with some signicant variability, Haitians formulate the concept fanmi through the language of blood (claims of descent, belonging, or purity), and that language is invoked to

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situate, stigmatize, legitimize, and demarcate. Underlying this linguistic regime is the understanding that blood is the regimenting metaphor for articulating the political cultural processes of locating, legitimizing, and demarcating Haitianness, and by extension, the production of the moral economy inasmuch as character is itself understood to be a feature of Haitian-ness. So in addition to its role in casting relations of social inclusion and exclusion, blood helps organize relations of internal hierarchy and differences insofar as it denes the moral character and permanent attributes of a person and also of entire collectivities. A person can be of move san (lit., bad blood). Here, agents interpret bad blood not as an emotional state (as analyzed in Farmer 1988) or an ethnotheory of health and illness (Brodwin 1996; Weidman 1978) but, rather, as an attribute of people that reveals something fundamental about their moral posture. One aspect of the Haitian adolescent study focused on drug use and gang activity among the youth in South Florida (Marcelin et al. 2006; Page and Marcelin 2003). Families whose teenage members were involved in crime, gangs, and drug use explained the phenomenon by citing their childrens intense exposure to a street culture whose values express the amorality of bad blood and the corruption of bad friends (move zanmi). Also, according to their parents, some of those adolescents gen move san (have bad blood). A single mother of ve children who deals with her older son in jail because of drug trafcking and her younger one involved in gangs and theft said: ti moun yo gen move san (those children have bad blood); se move plan, `tansya (they have bad genes); se p` plan o esekisyon (they are persecuted by malevolent spirit). According to study participants, being of move san or move ras makes the individual irremediably a move moun (a bad person who has bad blood). The subjectivity of a move moun is that of outcast, to be rejected by the family and the community because the presence of bad blood is an absence of belonging. Because this badness is constitutive of the personthat is socially, as constitutive of the person as is the blood that ows in the veinsthe ideology leaves very little space for change. There is very little chance that a newfound spirituality, rehabilitation through incarceration, or a personal desire to transform ones life will be anything more than deception. These terms can also refer to a bad lineage, a branch of a family, a whole group, or even an entire community. An individual of good blood is exactly the opposite of bad blood: it refers to the collective good family (descent) or family of good reputation or high moral standard. It also refers to individual moral and psychological attributes: wise, generous, or patient individual. These representations of blood are internally inconsistent in their use. There are more than a few examples of a family member accusing a relative of having bad blood, an accusation that should rebound on the accuser because the very concept of fanmi is founded on a sameness of blood. It should serve as a collective indictment because the accusation would also impugn the moral soundness and social potential

of the whole fanmi. And, indeed, liation in Haitian society is bilateral. The power of the metaphor derives from its seeming impossibilitythat you alone among all the members of your family have inherited tainted blood, which signals that there has been an intervention of malevolent forces that, although beyond our powers of understanding, show up nonetheless in the reality that ones character exemplies bad blood. The aspersions cast on your personhood do not reect on your family because they recognize that, genealogically, there is always a space of ambiguity, and with it the risk that good blood may go bad in ways that are singular, unpredictable, and beyond logical comprehension (Lovell 2002; Meyer 2005). Thus, the apparently incompatible notions that family members share common blood and that an immoral, asocial person has bad blood even if he comes from a good family can coexist. Because the logic of practice can parse or extract the singular from the general without destroying or compromising the concept, Geertz allows that cultural analysis is intrinsically incomplete (1973:29). I would go further and suggest that a dening aspect of the symbolic power of core concepts is that they transcend the contradictions they engender and that the magic of the transcendence is itself a source and index of their power.
BLOOD AND THE POLITICS OF SELF AND OTHERS

In rural and urban areas, a move je (move san) is incarnate in the gure of the sorcerer (malfekt` e, b` ok` o) or the boogeyman (lougawou) who both participate in the reign of malevolence. For the participants interviewed both in inner-city Port-auPrince and rural Grande-Anse, these gures are the ones who hold economic and political powers, at the local, regional, or national levels. For these interviewees there is an inherent connection between the accumulation of power over others and malevolence. The moral economy of goodness manifest in good blood and the equitable sharing of social goodsis perpetually under attack from sources of malevolence, animated by those whose bad blood imbues them with an insatiable appetite for money and power, which, like the cannibal, causes them to consume others. In this ideology, wealth and power follow malevolence and magic. Thus, the sentiment of one participant: moun ki gen lajan se moun ki pran pwen [those with money are those with magical power]. Common to each of these communities is not only the association of powerful and well-connected individuals with sorcery and magic but also the participation and delight of these individuals in the perpetuation of rumors of their magical exploits. This ideological formulation operates according to a logically economical opposition between good and bad blood, between the principled moral economy and the reign of malevolent forces. In practice, in existential situations where judgments may be uncertain, the reign of malevolent forces does not appear as a simple undifferentiated assault on the community. If the ideology delineates a classication system that appears unambiguous, the existential act of classifying

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persons always involves some measure of decision making under uncertainty. In the communities studied, people offered neither a unied, articulated view regarding what the worldly works of malevolent forces consist of nor a consensus about its face or complexion. In some communities, a sense of inordinate differentiation and occultism was attached to those who maintain power and wealth in ways deemed illegitimate. There are a variety of competing and sometimes contradictory perceptions of powerful and even abusive individuals who participate in ruling the community. Ch` ef Seksyon (sheriffs, often perceived as totalitarian agents of the Haitian state, dismantled in 1992) and Tonton Makout (Duvalier militiamen dismantled in 1986), or Chim` e (gang leaders under Aristide) are at the same time fathers, godfathers, husbands, or paramours. Some of them are also employers in enterprises that range from legal to illegal, traditional to modern. Most of the time, they partake in religion; and among them, one can nd pastors, Vodoun or Catholic priests. Their children, godchildren, women, paramours, their employees, and spiritual children are friends of friends of people who, in normal conditions, appear as normal as anybody else. Their social existence is woven into the fabric of social relations. As seen in different sociocultural contexts (Ashforth 2005; Crais 2005; Bayart 1993; Geschi` ere 1997), the ideological chain is drawn even tighter through a link between the production of the values of wealth and power, and a willingness to conspire with and deploy malevolence in ones own self-interest. I would argue that a reading of the ethnographic data from the communities studied, in concert with a reading of complementary texts (Abbott 1991; Diederich and Burt 1969; Dupuy 2007; Fatton 2007; Heinl and Heinl 2005; Labelle 1978; Laguerre 1983, 1989; Nicholls 1996; Paquin 1983) suggests that this ideological scheme represents a kind of foundational myth of power at every level of Haitian society.
BLOOD SACRIFICE AND POLITICS

Politics is the quintessential domain where enactments of blood symbolism take on material manifestations. For the exercise of classication cannot be separated from what blood symbolism classies, the world it orders, essentializes, and ultimately reproduces. In a focus group with young community leaders in Cit e Soleil in May 2009, one young man said: power politics can only be taken. Blood must be spilled! And, like a chorus, the rest of the group, men and women completed the formula: and it (power) is never to be given back. In a stark reversal, these statements well echoed interviews I conducted with peasants in the GrandeAnse region during my eldwork between 1985 and 1990. Then, the slogan was religiously repeated, like a mantra, by the Duvalier r egime: Jean Claude Duvalier took power and he took it for life. The one who owns power, according to this ideological representation, must exercise violence. Symbolically or physically, power does not come without sacrice of blood.

In 1985, during a eld study on family and kinship in Haiti, I observed a group of regional and local leaders arriving from the cities (mainly from Abricots and J er emie) to consult their b` ok` o (sorcerer) because of the political upheaval around Jean Claude Duvaliers regime. The fear of a popular uprising against years of oppression led political agents of the state to this region in an effort to enhance and reinforce their invulnerability. The public cultural character of those visits had two proclaimed objectives: rst, to insure the loyalty of local allies and representatives of the state apparatus in rural regions; second, to dissuade the local communities from revolting against the established order of things by tapping into their strong beliefs in the malevolence or magical nature of power. The underlying aim was the production of fear, deeply paralyzing fear, through the personication of malevolence and the performativity of ritual sacrice to presuppose the condition of power that the ritual, and, importantly, the subsequent discourse about the ritual, served to create. Political rebellion against the Duvalier regime was widespread among students in the cities. Most of these students came from or had fanmi in rural areas. Leading the fanmi to dissuade their children from getting involved in politics was a key tactic for local and regional authorities in the ght against disobedience and rebellion. Although the students understood rebellion as motivated by a desire to counteract political repression, many within the rural communities imagined the cause as lying with malevolent invaders, Kamoken and Kominis (rebelscommunists) who were corrupting their children and needed to be repulsed by magical force. One of the visiting ofcials was a representative of Grande Anse in Haitis Congress. On this occasion he helped organize a spectacular Vodoun ceremony in kalfou Lambert on a Friday night. Kalfou Lambert was (and still is) a vast open market place situated at a symbolic crossroad. People in the community think of it as a kafou danjere (dangerous crossroad), where local study participants say, powerful humans change into animals and where zombies are known for their disrespect and disregard for power. That night, the representative and his invitees paid tribute to the occult forces that maintained their power and secured their ofces. As in any ceremony of this kind, they conducted the sacrice of animals, which served as a communion for the guests, both local and foreign. The day after, rumors circulated through the community, and eventually the entire region, that the ceremony involved human sacrice. The following paragraphs give a condensed account of the narratives that followed the ceremony, based on my participant-observations and interviews. As Kamoken and Kominis have invaded the country, inoculating hatred, negative ideas, and division among the na ve young students and the peaceful peasants, some squads from the militia Tonton Makout, animated by the spirit of the dead Franc ois Duvalier himself, have come to the rescue of the population and the president-for-life (his son Jean Claude Duvalier). Rumors and fears disseminated

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throughout the populace around the gure of the Kamoken and Kominis explain the emergence of the gure of Ti Kalap. Ti Kalap represents the personication of the malevolent force necessary to combat and destroy the malevolence of Kamoken and Kominis. In this ideology of power, the imagination of one malevolent force renders necessary the imagination of another terrible force to combat it. Ti Kalap is a terribly feared creation of the popular imagination; it represents a spiritual incarnation of the death squads, secret police, and clandestine informers that have haunted the political landscape since the days of the plantation economy until the present. The reality of the fear summoned by Ti Kalap exists at the level of an embodied predisposition. Ti Kalap is imagined as a sort of mythic squads that circulate along local streets during the night, the time of gravest danger. They come from nowhere and go everywhere. They possess inexplicable power, as evidenced by the fact that they can seemingly overhear private, even intimate conversations between couples in the secrecy of their bedrooms; they can intuit feelings and read minds, meaning that ones political feelings and thoughts are subject to surveillance. Ti Kalap eat children and women whose parents and husbands dare risk any contact with Kamoken and Kominis. After being caught, the stories go, Kamoken and Kominis are magically transformed into cows and pigs, and their childrenif they have anyare transformed into goats. That is why, according to the narratives, last night, in the ceremony, the authorities sacriced a whole family, originating perhaps from the city of J er emie: one cow, two pigs, and, at least, three goats! People who were there (and most community members were) had a cannibalistic dinner, where they consumed Kamoken, Kominis, and their children in the form of cows, pigs, and goats. The ritual sacrice creates a confrontation around which the local community is coerced and duped into conjoining with the state to reassert the power and authority of a failing Duvalier regime. So the ritualized sacrice plays out on the cosmological plane a political reality emblazoned in Haitian imagination in which the authoritarian state (Silverstein 2001) here in the person of the Tonton Makout, kills, incarcerates, and tortures those seeking greater freedom. As the tales circulated, an ineffable terror swept through the community. Those who did not attend described symptoms: they heard the sound of the macabre ceremony, listened to the desperate cries of sacriced children and smelled the scent of the blood and grilled human esh. For example, in the family where I lived and, later I learned through interviews, in the region, nobody bought meat at the open-air market for more than a week. Rumors of gold teeth extracted from a steer brought to slaughter provoked not only community worries and pain about the unfortunate victim but also extraordinary anxiety for those families whose children risked being involved in a rebellion against Duvalier. The ritual, by publicly obligating agents to oppose the communists and conveying that information about the obligation indexically through their cannibal feasting, helped to restore

order to the political system in a way that does not depend on the intentionality of the participants (Rappaport 1999). The most signicant aspect of the event was not the ceremony itself but the ritualized retelling and circulation of the sacrice, which not only reproduced the reality effects of the original ritual but also, as Silverstein suggests, muted citizens willingness to confront power. The aftermath of successful rituals will reect their raisons d etre. Here, we see (1) the competing but power-focused and articulated narratives of blood sacrice as an aspect of the sociopolitical order, (2) the excessive symbolization of brute power in the local community, (3) the enhancement of local networks of power and control, and (4) the symbolic display of the predatory and malevolent nature of wealth and power. These ritualized confrontations are so effective because they mercilessly tap into a singular continuum that sutures the memories of repression from colonization, slavery, and spiritual submission; for a calculated audience, they induce and maintain a politically paralyzing sense of fear and terror. In fact, between December 1985 and February 1986, ministers, Tonton Makouts, and other dignitaries of the Duvalier regime, and even the president-for-life himself, went to visit powerful hougans, celebrated mystic mass, and solicited ritual services at the National Palace to calm the population and save the order of things. Rumors of ritual blood sacrice in the National Palace spread around the country (Abbott 1988:298299). In Haiti, political power is symbolized through the capacity to spill blood: symbolically or concretely. A male participant in the study in Grande Anse said: Depi-w nan politic f` ok men-w tranpe nan san [once in politics your hands must be tainted with blood]. As accumulation of wealth and power in Haiti has been a questionable process, always in the Haitian view tied at some level to bad blood and complicit with socially destructive forces, the only means to gain and maintain power is through violence. Thus conceptualized, political power can only speak through blood, implying a politics founded on the capacity and threat of shedding blood, a politics in which those with bad blood shed blood, ritually, concretely, and through the artifact of the tortured bloodied body. This bodywhich visibly connects a concrete death to a republic ruled through fearis so incontestably real that it has conferred a sense of incontestable power on the ofcials responsible. Because fear and terror are the privileges of power to maintain and reproduce order through death and suffering, they become part of the technology of political power. Even more, the production of fear and terror becomes evidence of the very actuality of the Haitian state, especially as it has historically been the principal way in which that state comes into deliberate contact with its citizens. The technology that maintains power by producing fear and terror through public spectacles of blood, tortured bodies, and death is, of course, hardly exclusive to Haiti. Indeed, if the literature on such spectacles makes one cross-national point it is that the necessity of these spectacles derives from

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the fact these states are imperiled and permanently in a state of emergency because they are so deeply alienated from their citizenry (Centeno 2002; Koonings and Kruijt 1999; Menj var and Rodr guez 2005). It means that states such as Haiti under the successive Duvalier regimes required outside assistance, which (like many other nation-states) places its history of disappearances, public executions, and torture within the context of the Euro-American war on communism. In this regard, the Cold War took on special importance to Haiti because of its proximity to the United States and the fact that, in U.S. eyes, Cuba had already been tragically lost to communism. One of the key consequences in Haiti is that those factions demanding internal reform could not only become part of the history of blood but also their massacre could help secure the right to perpetuate this history.
BLOODY POLITICS AND THE CULTURAL LEGACY OF PLANTATION

In tracing a line of the violence and bloodshed of the plantations to the Duvalier r egime, this article is also mindful that technology of power has taken different forms from slavery to Haitis contemporary world. The Duvalier r egime was not unique in the uses of violence and bloodshed (Fatton 2006; Dupuy 2007); nonetheless, as Trouillot (1990) puts it, the r egime took violence to its paroxysm. Indeed, in both the absence of strong civil society institutions and the need to maintain predatory rapport with the peasantry and urban artisans, political repression was necessary to the state. The fact of the matter, says Trouillot, was that the state had chosen to live at the expense of the nationand in this choice lay the seeds of future divisions. (Trouillot 1990:64). Up to 1986 this has remained a constant in Haitis political history (Nicholls 1996).
CONCLUSION: IN THE NAME OF THE NATION

Sidney Mintz and Richard Price (1992:73) suggest that while every nation is unique, Haiti is in a class by itself: no other nation in world history has ever been created by slaves. Paradoxically, however, the revolution from slavery to freedom has resulted in an unbridgeable gap (Fick 1990) between the state and its organization, on the one hand, and the nation and its conguration, on the other hand (also Trouillot 1990). Precisely because of this feature, combined with its relative economic isolation from modern trends for almost two centuries, the historical experience of Haitian society has carried with it unsettled social and political issues that underlie Haitis endemic violence in the sociopolitical sphere until today (Fatton 2007; Dupuy 1997; Hurbon 1987; Heinl and Heinl 2005; Trouillot 1990). At the same time the increasing direct foreign powers involvement in Haitis sociopolitical life has paradoxically failed to address the underlying factors that reproduce this legacy in its different forms. The plantation regime has instituted a perverse system of control in which authority and power need to be constantly asserted to forestall any eventuality of rebellion and quell any signs of discontent, disobedience, or malfeasance (Dayan 1995). This cultural legacy has persisted despite the Revolution and through subsequent years of governance (Fatton 2006; Hurbon 1987). This, as noted by Trouillot (1990), has been compounded with the lack of investment on the part of Haitian elites to civil society institutions. Today, the assertion of personal dominance through the arbitrary exercise of power remains an integral part of Haitian societal and political dynamics at many levels, from the family to the state. And even where control has already been effectively assured through coercion, as a practical matter, this particular legacy shapes the political habitus not only at the institutional level but also at a personal level as an act of self-assertion, a way of acceding to the status of master rather than being relegated to that of the slavein any given social context.

Based on ethnographic research spanning several decades and in a variety of contexts, I have argued that blood is a central, polyvalent, and valorized symbol and metaphor in Haitian society. It functions to both organize political space and dominate the bodies that occupy that space. Blood appears across the whole of the political spectrum from conservative right to liberal left and from an authoritarian regime to an internationally approved democratic replacement. Blood is the central and summary principle of sociality that denes and articulates familial relations of the politics of everyday life, which, in turn, interpolates the specic political relations within a community. It does so by organizing relations of internal hierarchy and differences insofar as agents use blood to dene the moral character and permanent attributes not only of persons but also of collectivities. Haitian imagery of blood also gures centrally in the representation of the ambiguity of powerover others, over the production of knowledge, and over the accumulation of wealth. It is not only that those saddled with bad blood are morally corrupt and conspire with malevolent forces but also that a persons accumulation of conspicuous wealth betrays (indexically) a willingness to embrace violence and destruction in pursuit of ones self-interest. The one who owns power and wealth must exercise violence. Symbolically or physically, neither comes without sacrice of blood, the regimentation, and victimization of the bodies of others, the imagery a direct descendant of the culture of the plantation. The signature of this ideology is the spiritualized personication of power over others, wealth, and knowledgethat is, the creative incarnation of power in occult beings. I have argued that this ideological scheme represents a kind of foundational mythology of power operational at every level of Haitian society. The fall of the authoritarian state and the ascension of democracy have motivated the reactivation of a latent discourse about the unworthiness of Haitis poor people (L. Trouillot 2002). Increasingly, it is used to locate the rural peasant and the inner city in a space through use of terms that

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reproduce the colonial discourse. The idea is that the rural and inner-city poor always retained the proclivity to believe in sorcery and witchcraft, to live in lth and squalor, and to communicate in only the most base manner. Although the authoritarian regimes may have suppressed these proclivities, the opening up created by democratization has encouraged their public reemergence. The often-repeated characterization of Haiti in the global imagination as a country of voodoo, black magic, rapacious AIDS-spreading sexuality, and irrational violence reinforces this view. The near result is a growing bifurcation of the nation into the elite and the impoverished, which not only deeply resembles the division between masters and slaves on the plantation but also actively reappropriates that discourse: that the destitute and impoverished do not possess the blood necessary to establish and sustain civilization. Governance, in this model of politics, has nothing to do with civil society consensus as a source of political legitimacy. For while the overwhelming majority of the governed are part of political society, they lack the quality of blood for inclusion within civil society. As Carole Nagengast says, The ways in which nation and state are constructed and the manner in which those constructions enter into social knowledge have to do with consensus about what is and is not legitimate (1994:10936). That is, violence has become the legitimate means for attaining social agreement as to what kind of nation Haiti ought to be.
Louis Herns Marcelin Department of Anthropology, Depart-

ment of Epidemiology and Public Health, University of Miami, Coral Gables, FL 33124, and The Interuniversity Institute for Research and Development (INURED), Delmas 83, Rue Eucalyptus #8, Port Au Prince, Haiti; lmarcel2@med.miami.edu. www.inured.org

NOTES
Acknowledgments. This publication is based on studies that have

over the years benetted from the support of the National Institutes of Health, Bureau of the Census, Family and Youth Community Research Center, and The Interuniversity Institute for Research and development (INURED). I would like to thank Edward LiPuma, Louise Marcelin, and Susan Maurer for their continued supports and insightful comments. I am thankful to the anonymous reviewers for valuable comments on earlier drafts of the article and Tom Boellstorff for his assistance. I am grateful to Tracy Ardren, Toni Cela, Rosemarie Chierici, Michael Houseman, Jeff MacDonald, Bryan Page, and Alpen Sheth, for their insightful feedback and supports. Finally, I would like to express my gratitude to those who were associated to this research.
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FOR FURTHER READING

(These selections were made by the American Anthropologist editorial interns as examples of research related in some way to this article. They do not necessarily reect the views of the author.) Copeman, Jacob 2008 Violence, Non-Violence, and Blood Donation in India. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 14(2):278296.

Farmer, Paul 2004 An Anthropology of Structural Violence. Current Anthropology 45(3):305317. James, Erica 2010 Democratic Insecurities: Violence, Trauma, and Intervention in Haiti. Berkeley: University of California. Kovats-Bernat, Christopher 2006 Sleeping Rough in Port-au-Prince: An Ethnography of Street Children and Violence in Haiti. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Simpson, Bob 2011 Blood Rhetorics: Donor Campaigns and Their Publics in Contemporary Sri Lanka. Ethnos 76(2):254 275.