Visual rhetoric and oppositional consciousness: poster art in Cuba and the United States.
This essay considers the development of Cuban poster art alongside the emergence of Chicana poster art in the United States to chart the aesthetic similarities and differences between the two movements as they sought to interpolate citizenship at mid-century. In analyzing the visual rhetoric of these two movements, I seek to understand how representations of gender functioned in these new discourses of nationalism. Visual rhetoric refers to a large body of visual and material practices ranging from the visual arts and architecture to interior design, cartography, photography, museums and public memorials. I contend that the visual rhetoric of both aesthetic and political movements pivoted on the production of citizenship idealized in gendered bodies in poster art. In the case of Cuban posters, those bodies were overwhelmingly male and in the case of feminist poster artists, particularly in the Chicano movement, there was a conscious self-representation of female bodies. However, while it is tempting to place Chicana poster art in opposition to Cuban poster art simply because of the prevalence of heroic men in Cuban posters, such a move is would be simplistic and misleading, since the complexity of visual gender in Cuban posters is remarkable. Rather, Cuban poster art asserted a new masculine identity for the island in the wake of persistent American domination. And while this hegemonic masculine identity permeated visual art during the period, it also influenced and contributed to the emergence of North American Third World feminist poster art, particularly among Chicanas. The connection between the exploitation and oppression of Chicanas in the U.S. as women of color and the repression of anti-colonial movements in Cuba and Vietnam, specifically, and Latin America, generally, was emphasized through explicitly political art after 1968 in posters as well as murals, which helped Chicanas reclaim public space.
Posters in both contexts used visual gender codes to help unpack the mechanisms of power operating during the Cold War as anti-colonial revolutions spread. Coined by R. W. Connell in 1983, the term "hegemonic masculinity" emerged in dialogue with sex role theory to understand the emergence of gender roles within frameworks of power. Hegemonic masculinity relies upon the production of gender ideals that find their ultimate expression in fantasy figures of the culture or in lives totally removed from the majority. Often, hegemonic masculinity functions as a building block of citizenship and nationalism as rhetoric emerges to encourage participation in hegemonic behaviors (Donaldson 646). Consequently, naturalizing and institutionalizing hegemonic masculinity necessitates an exploration of what it means to be a heroic man, including a valorization of qualities like "courage, inner direction, certain forms of aggression, autonomy, mastery, technological skill, group solidarity, adventure and considerable toughness in mind and body" (Carrigan et al.75). Examining the role of hegemonic masculinity in Cuban political posters from 1965 to 1975, the period widely acknowledged to be the golden age of the poster, as well as how Cuban posters influenced Chicana poster art following the golden age, provides a wide range of comparative texts that explore how visual masculinity shaped a rhetorical tapestry of oppositional ideology. The visual rhetoric of Cuban poster art deployed the oppositional images of heroes and villains to simultaneously assert and challenge hegemonic masculinity, fertilizing visual rhetorical practices among Chicana feminists in the United States. And, as Tomas Ybarra-Frausto has suggested, now is the time "to do comparative analysis and look for affinities between Mexican American artists and artists in Latin America, because there is a foundation" from which to understand how ideas about art and politics circulated in liberation movements (10). As many poster scholars have documented, the aesthetic influence of Cuban poster art on a whole range of Chicano art is apparent (see Romo 2001; Jackson 2009), but the rhetorical influence, particularly in terms of gender, has yet to be excavated.
This analysis is premised upon the synthesis of several theoretical frameworks: theories of visual rhetoric, including ideas about the role of iconic photography in the production of what S. Paige Baty has termed the "representational characters"; R. W. Connell's notion of "hegemonic masculinity"; and Chela Sandoval's excavation of "oppositional consciousness," which structures resistant ideology through binaries "whose paired terms display linearity, symmetry, contrariety, and commutation, on any one of a variety of levels: difference, distinction, division, or conflict" (Goodwin 95). Oppositional rhetorical choices form the basis of what John Hammerback has called "the rhetoric of reconstitutive discourse" (18). Since the Cuban government explicitly utilized posters to build oppositional consciousness, it seems logical that binary oppositions would be cornerstones of the visual rhetoric its poster art. Here, Cuba was rhetorically reconstituted as a strong nation of "New Men" who could withstand and flourish in the face of American dominance. By combining the literatures on visual rhetorical practices and the gender theory on masculinity, citizenship, and resistance, this analysis contributes to a theoretical understanding of the strong constitutive rhetorical function of posters as they reconfigured oppositional resistance politics in the mid-twentieth century.
Visual Rhetoric in Poster Art
As a rhetorical instrument, the political poster circulates ideology about nationhood and citizenship, particularly in the context of decolonization, where its visual vocabulary translates symbols across semantic fields (Donner 75). Ideological study uncovers the constitutive rhetoric advanced by political posters that seek to transform political culture. In constituting new publics, Maurice Charland reminds us, national narratives are constructed through the emergence of "personae" that provide cohesion in times of political turmoil (138). In the words of Michael Calvin McGee, "the people" emerge as a cohesive structure once they begin to accept the political fictions that constitute their plural identity (244).
It is no surprise then, that political posters emphasize heroic traits such as bravery and leadership while promoting futurist fantasies about belonging and citizenship (Edelman 2). Because posters require an active reader to interpolate their visual politics, they are exemplars of constitutive rhetorical discourse, creating a social and political identity for a group of people. This relationship between the artist's images and the reader's understanding is where constitutive rhetoric functions to form and confirm identity, particularly as the visual rhetoric of the poster communicates notions of citizenship to illiterate populations. Since they function with minimal text, the compelling images within posters involve "literary practices that demand active, critical participation on the part of the reader" (Smorkaloff 100). Audience reception is crucial in the rhetorical reading of poster art because the collaboration between artist and citizen is where persuasion propels the making of political meaning. In other words, posters can "call people to participatory action, depict leaders at work in their name and for their causes, and conceive of idyllic new worlds if citizens worked to achieve major reforms and even revolutions" (Gronbeck xxiii). The symbolic codes, social conventions, and rhetorical forms highlighted in poster art create a tapestry of discourse foundational to the kinds of political change initiated by formal governments as well as opposition groups.
Political posters demand a high degree of participation to create national meaning, endowing them with layers of visual signs generally associated with "high art" (Craven 16). Because of their interaction with viewers, posters generate critical reflection. Given this complexity, Latin American poster art functions as a kaleidoscope of culture, reflecting and refracting varying elements of the political scene, particularly in Cuba, where the simplicity of the poster ensured that it would be a powerful tool of political observation. (1) Likewise, oppositional posters in the Chicana movement promoted a critical interrogation of colonization in the borderlands to strategically harness the rhetorical potential of the poster in the aid of expanding consciousness about the lives of the dispossessed.
The proliferation of Cuban poster art after the Revolution was remarkable in the sheer mass of images produced and notable in the content of those images as state directed artists helped the illiterate Cuban population to reimage Cuban nationhood. These posters consolidated images of anti-imperialist revolution as part of a new cultural hegemony around images of resistance. As Donaldson explains, "[h]egemony involves persuasion of the greater part of the population, particularly through the media, and the organization of social institutions in ways that appear natural,' 'ordinary,' 'normal'" (645). Referring to Gramsci's Prison Notebooks, Donaldson suggests that hegemony is the process of gaining and holding power while forming and destroying social groups (645). For his part, Gramsci maintains that even in oppositional coups, leadership is predicated upon domination because "there must be 'political hegemony' even before assuming governmental power, and in order to exercise political leadership or hegemony, one must not count solely on the power and material force that is given by government" (137). In Cuba, this dominance emerged, in part, through the proliferation of oppositional visual symbols that consolidated the heroic narrative of the Cuban Revolution on the island and across the globe. In U.S. Chicana/o communities, particularly in the Bay Area, women used visual rhetoric to intervene against white, nationalist masculine narratives about community, family, and home in ways they found liberating. In both cases, gender provided the lexicon through which visual rhetoric emerged.
Cuban poster art provided a consolidated gendered subjectivity through images of masculine heroes, like Che Guevara and Ho Chi Minh, and villains, especially Richard Nixon. Cuban posters offer a topography of resistance with three major locations of critical inquiry: 1) the singularity of Che Guevara as the New Man and as the primary gendered visual icon of the Revolution; 2) a reinterpretation of strength as military prowess combined with intellectualism, compassion, and peacefulness; 3) indictments of American imperialism through depictions of American hegemony as a global monstrosity. These three points suggest that Cuban artists used revolutionary posters to reshape national culture via hypermasculine discourses in competition with American hegemony.
The Cuban Revolution effectively reinvented the poster (whose long history in Russia, Poland and elsewhere reemerged in Cuba at the beginning of the twentieth century) as a rhetorical medium with the prolific use of the serigraph, or silkscreen, which blends photography, painting and lithography. (2) Cuban posters after the Revolution essentially created a new visual language grounded in iconic photos rendered as serigraphs that rhetorically built what Chela Sandoval (1991) has termed "oppositional consciousness" into the field of Cuban nationalism. (3) Sandoval discusses the ways in which oppositional consciousness emerges as a form of rhetorical emancipation via discourses that "cut through grammars of white supremacy" by embracing five skills: "semiotics, deconstruction, meta-ideologizing, democratics, and differential consciousness" (3). This new awareness is born from an interrogation of ideology prompted by rhetorical and aesthetic strategies that challenge dominant narratives, particularly about domination and colonization. The production this new political consciousness relies upon "sedimented layers" of rhetorical meaning created through the exhibition of cultural materials borrowed, stolen, and invented to help the viewer interrogate the use and abuse of power in a culture (Mansbridge 7). Oppositional consciousness, then, is a political mindfulness structured by the system of dominance and subordination that produces discourses of justice and injustice, privilege and lack.
In utilizing serigraphs along with surrealist disjuncture and Dadaist photomontage, Cuban posters helped Cubans to "claim their previously subordinate identity as a positive identification, identify injustices done to their group, demand changes in the polity, economy, or society to rectify those injustices, and see other members of their group in sharing an interest in rectifying those injustices" (Mansbridge 1). Using techniques that built an oppositional consciousness, poster art provided a textual construction of the Cuban public after the Revolution.
In revolutionary Cuba, oppositional consciousness developed in response to American domination following the Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban missile crisis, where American imperialism attempted to mark Cuba as feminized and subordinate. (4) Cynthia Weber explains that after the Cuban Revolution,
a masculinized United States 'lost' its Caribbean reward for hemispheric valor in the Spanish-American War--the feminized Cuba, its symbolic object of desire. Playing a role in the U.S. imaginary as a sort of trophy mistress, Cuba was the near colony and certain feminine complement the United States relied upon to forestall any pending midlife/hegemonic/masculinity crisis. (1)
As a result, Cuban artists produced a visual masculinity located in revolutionary terms that re-engendered the island and asserted a new identity in opposition to American dominance. Thus, gender became a major constitutive vernacular through which the United States and Cuba negotiated the geopolitical changes following the Cuban revolution. It also became a major frame in consolidating hegemonic masculinity in Cuba and in global postcolonial movements. As the Cuban Revolution's most photogenic and prolific intellectual, Che Guevara became the locus of oppositional consciousness, particularly in the visual gender rhetoric presented in poster art.
Che Guevara and Cuban Visual Culture
Che Guevara's martyrdom (after having led revolutions in Cuba, Algeria, and Bolivia) occasioned a huge outpour of public expression that solidified him as the "Hombre Nuevo," the revolutionary New Man that he was trying to inspire in his famous 1965 letter titled "Socialism and Man in Cuba." In this document, Guevara defines the ideal qualities of the New Man, praising his "incompleteness" as "an unfinished product" (249). He writes of the constitutive process of the New Man: "The vestiges of the past are brought into the present in the individual consciousness, and a continual labor is necessary to eradicate them. The process is two sided: On the one side, society acts through direct and indirect education; on the other, the individual submits himself to a conscious process of self-education" (249). Through self-education and solidarity with the masses, the New Man completes identification with his government through collective participation. Guevara suggests that through these processes the New Man will reach total cognizance, breaking the alienation of modern life (253). Guevaras writings on "The New Man" identified the representative character that the mostly illiterate Cubans were expected to emulate in their thoughts and actions.
In death, Guevara perfectly embodied the "New Man" that he wrote so profusely about. Since 1967, Guevara has become what S. Paige Baty has called a "representative character." As a product, story, or combination of the two, the "representative character is a cultural figure" imbued with "authority, legitimacy, and power" which functions to build the defining narrative that composes national political culture (Baty 10; 8). Robert Bellah and others have argued that the "representational character" is a rhetorical trope that defines for a public what kind of person to be (39). Guevaras military heroism, his support of anti-imperialism across the globe, and his stirring condemnations of the U.S. propelled his image across the globe as the repository of revolutionary hope in this tumultuous era. Guevara's image was already iconic due to the 1960 photograph "Guerrillero Heroico" taken by Fidel Castro's personal photographer Alberto Korda at a memorial service, and this snapshot became the image that launched thousands of posters of Guevara. (5)
"Guerrillero Heroico" is an example of what Lucaites and Hariman call "iconic photography," since it is widely recognized as a significant representation of a hero that evokes strong emotions and is reproduced across genres (37-8). Iconic photographs like Korda's picture of Guevara function as a form of constitutive visual rhetoric shaping and mediating Cuban nationalism, behavior, and identity. Lucaites and Hariman catalogue the rhetorical work that iconic photographs do to translate ideology, build social knowledge, shape collective memory, model citizenship, and provide cultural resources for communicative action (9). Guevara became a representational character through this process of translating iconic pictures of him into serigraphic poster images of him as a revolutionary because his visage became a site for negotiating the dynamic and complex ideologies of the Revolution.
Subsequent posters featuring Che used the rhetorical trope of what has been termed the "individual aggregate" (Lucaites and Hariman) to reconstitute the entire Cuban population via representations of Che and so build a mythic identity following the Revolution (8). Lucaites and Hariman explain that the reproduction and circulation "of such iconic photographs maintain the form of individual agency while habituating the public to institutional management of collective behavior" (40). An iconic photograph, like Korda's of Guevara, which functions as the individual aggregate is significant because of its ability to distill a moment in time into a singular (masculine) image that focuses public culture on a representative (hegemonic) character. Thus, representations of Guevara in poster art use his figure as the gendered landscape through which to promote revolutionary values about Cuban citizenship.
Irish artist Jim Fitzpatrick created the first public poster of Che's bust in October of 1967, just before Che's execution in Bolivia, and it featured the revolutionary slogan "Hasta La Victoria Siempre" ("Until Victory, Always!"). This image framed Cuba's 1968 declaration of the Year of the Guerrilla, named in homage to the Argentinean hero. In the posters after 1968, the focus on Che's face and bust begun by the Fitzpatrick poster created an intimacy with the viewer that universalized Guevara as a symbol of revolutionary masculinity in a way that full-length pictures of him would minimize. As Lucaites and Hariman make clear, iconic images like those of Guevara tap into deep, widely held beliefs which structure memory and civic participation (10). In the case of Guevara, Cuban ideals of masculinity are a central part of this constitutive move following the Revolution.
Certainly Guevaras attractiveness added to the intimate focus on his face and the exaltation of his masculine visage. Perhaps if he were not so handsome, so photogenic, so close to certain ideals of male beauty, his face would be less important. The fact that he was one of the original barbudos, or bearded ones, made his face important since the revolutionaries were known by their beards. Because of his attractiveness, attire, and poses, Che became the model of masculinity for Cubans connecting the Revolution to Cuban machismo. Lumsden has gone so far as to claim that machismo "had reached extreme proportions in Cuba at the time of the revolution's triumph," when nationalist and authoritarian attitudes characterized much of Cuban public culture (37). Guevara exhibited Cuban machismo, the essence of which is "the willingness to endure any hardship, any deprivation, any degree of suffering in defense of one's self" or one's nation (Hooker 83). Che's visual rhetorical representations emphasized his control of the Cuban revolution and of the country as a kind of political patron saint, exercising judicious restraint but firm domination over any situation.
The gendering of Cuba through iconic images of Guevara also works metonymically in the context of the failed Bay of Pigs Invasion and the Cuban Missile Crisis. Images of the United States made in America before 1965 were preoccupied with a headless America. "Headlessness marked its Cuban castration," as Weber suggests (5). In this moment in American discourse, the face and the penis became symbolic analogues and losing one's head is analogous to losing one's penis. Weber adds, "Left headless, and thus voiceless, the United States no longer can be assured the last word in global affairs" (5). By producing a multitude of posters focused on Guevara's face and bust, Cuban civil society claimed Guevara as its new patriarch as a tender and tough rebel-father, re-inscribing a new masculinity back onto the formerly feminized island.
In this vein is Elena Serrano's "Day of the Heroic Guerilla" (OSPAAAL 1968), the most widely circulated of the posters published after Guevara's death. Here, Che's ideas radiate through South America from his beret, a rich symbol of revolutionary masculinity. As a continental hero whose support for revolutionary and independence movements was well known, Guevara is represented "chromatically and luministically, a single pulse over a unified landmass which both frames him and is reconstituted by him" (Kunzle, Che Guevara 40). In posters like Serrano's, political movement is depicted as an exclusively masculine phenomenon and Guevara's revitalized mind and body (even in death) function as a synecdoche of the politically invigorated continent.
Images of Guevara, heroic Argentinian, revolutionary thinker, and military leader, demonstrate that revolutionary consciousness transcends location since Guevara engaged colonialism intellectually and as a guerrilla all over the globe, thus expanding his influence beyond Cuba or even South America. For example, in Raul Martinez's "Che" (1968), Guevaras revolutionary ideals are connected to the people of the globe through his long, pronounced beard and the star on his beret. The star rises above Guevara's beret "in a celestial, protective spray and as the sparks of ideas which travel around the globe and reach out toward us" (Kunzle Che Guevara 54). Gerardo Mosquera has praised Martinez's incredible talent at "representing leaders as myths and at the same time companeros (companions), owing to the collective sense that they portray, to their popular freshness, to a grandeur that is nonetheless free of rhetorical excess" (qtd. in Craven, Art and Revolution 103). In this case, like the others, Guevara functions as the representative character in the pose of the individual aggregate that travels across the globe, whereas Mosquera has noted, "the multitudes are formed by completely particularized characters" (103). Guevara's visionary gaze and his connection to the masses epitomize revolutionary representations of the New Man, which deployed both toughness and tenderness simultaneously, pushing back against feminization of Cuba asserted by American militarism in the Cold War.
As his ideas radiate from the star in his revolutionary beret, Guevara's bust fuses elements of the New Man in Cuba into an easily legible form that connects global struggles against imperialism. But Alfredo Rostgaard's "Guerilla Christ" (OSPAAL, 1969) moves the imagery of Guevara's heroism from the secular to the sacred as the star transforms into the halo. There is a sense of divine reflection in posters focused on Che's bust, emphasizing his martyrdom. Kunzle calls this visual phenomenon the "Chesuchristo," since these images reinterpret Guevara as a Latin American Christ figure. Images of a serene, de-militarized Guevara contributed to his elevation as a Christ-like martyr after his assassination. The "Guerilla Christ" poster links the revolutionary agitation of Jesus and Guevara suggesting that both led liberation movements only to be executed for their sedition. It also acknowledges Che as a charismatic and long-suffering movement leader, not unlike those in the Church. Certainly, the visual rhetoric surrounding Che was not the first chance for "the long-suffering Latin Americans to identify with the sufferings of Christ and see themselves as Christlike sociopolitical victims," but it was visually constitutive at mid-century ("Chesuchristo" 101). In transforming Che into a Christ-figure, his role as the individual aggregate transforms all revolutionaries into vindicated witnesses and warriors while simultaneously challenging the dominant masculinity of the U.S. by inflecting Che-as-Christ with both militarism and piety.
In these posters, Guevara's complexity is rendered through urbane artistic strategies that Kunzle argues emphasize "notions of spontaneity, flexibility, and plurality" demonstrating how the diversity of form "suggests a high respect on the part of cultural professionals for the artistic literacy of the Cuban people and for their capacity to interpret new systems of symbolism" (Che Guevara, 23). In some ways the nostalgia for Guevara nods towards the imperialistic longings of the West in borrowing the "Great Man" to inspire nationalism, though in the case of Cuba, this borrowing is complicated by the feminization of Cuba and its leaders by American politicians.
These posters and the hundreds of thousands since have guaranteed Guevaras place in the pantheon of leftist heroes due to the care with which poster artists appropriated rhetorical symbols that re-inscribed Cuba with a masculinity emphasizing boldness of action, militarism, and charismatic leadership while also connoting intellectualism, anti-authoritarianism, and tenderness. These depictions interpolated citizenship through a gendered lens that "unhinged the tough/tender opposition, as the revolutionary can be (must be!) both tough and tender" (Bayard de Volo 423). Though Cuban citizenship was rhetorically imagined as undeniably masculine, the masculinity born from Guevara "incorporate[d] traditionally feminine attributes," notably "tenderness and love for the people, a trait more specific to revolutionary combatants aiming for social transformation" (Bayard de Volo 420). Still, even in the unhinging of this binary, visual representations of Guevara only calcified the masculinity that dominated Cuban poster art.
Consequently, Cuba is represented in poster art via images of Guevara as brave and independent, while simultaneously depicting the U.S. in the devalued position as the weakened imperialist. Revolutionary intellectuals (in Cuba and elsewhere) were encouraged to see themselves in Guevara's likeness. In particular, hegemonic masculinity framed the gendered constructions of bravery as posters embraced Guevara as a the nationalist symbol of Cuba, allowing the Castro regime to articulate a paradigm of strength based on their resistance to the brutal occupation of the United States, particularly in the context of the Vietnam war. Successive iterations of posters have made generations of global citizens intimate with Guevaras heroic visage in a move that rhetorically constructs all revolutionaries as potential Che Guevaras. These posters function as an assertion of hegemonic masculinity that pushed back against the global American dominance during the Cold War.
Cuban Posters, the Vietnam War, and Ho Chi Minh
Certainly Che Guevara occupied a central space in early Cuban poster art and his visage redefined Cuban masculinity but his heroism and symbolism were also used to help connect the Cuban struggle with the war in Vietnam in a deft move that demonstrated the fidelity of both nations to anti-imperialism. By identifying Vietnam as a case similar to Cuba, in suggesting that the similarities between Che Guevara and Ho Chi Minh united them in visual memory, and in positioning the United States, epitomized by Richard Nixon, as the imperialist power against which revolution should be aimed, the images of the Vietnam War in Cuban poster art visually marked the postcolonial imaginary as it emerged in the poster aesthetics of the period. These pairings helped build the oppositions that reconstituted Cuba and built new global Third World gender culture.
Cuban posters encouraged political participation through the assertion of oppositions that remasculinized Cuba and feminized the United States through depictions of heroism embracing Che Guevara and Ho Chi Minh in opposition to Richard Nixon. Because of its international significance in postcolonial struggles, Vietnam was an important subject matter for Cuban poster art. (6) In fact, Editora Politica sent Rene Mederos to Vietnam in 1969 and again in 1971 to experience the American ground war in Indochina, which inspired two series of posters depicting the American occupation of Vietnam. These posters expressed solidarity with the Vietnamese people; they instructed the Cuban people to view American imperialism as the same domination that had plagued Cuba since the days of Jose Marti; and they instructed revolutionaries all across the globe to denounce the war. These posters also offered dynamic and unrelenting "support for Third World liberation, support which many other socialist countries have, in the interests of conciliation with the United States, tended to mute; the Soviet Union, for instance, observed resounding silence on the issue of U.S. aggression in Viet Nam" (Kunzle, "Cuba's Art of Solidarity" 73).
Consequently, Cuban posters reflected the complexity of Cuba's solidarity with the independence movement of Vietnam as they asserted a new masculinity for postcolonial movements worldwide as Cuba literally embodied revolutionary success. David Kunzle writes, "At the time of the Viet Nam War, Cuba was perceived as a unique model of a successful revolution," particularly because of the achievements of the Revolution in literacy and health, which gave it a unique and revered status around the globe ("Art of Solidarity" 72). At the center of these posters is the image of Vietnamese leader Ho Chi Minh, who occupies a singular place as the hero of the Vietnam series.
Just as Che Guevara appears as a symbol of virile masculinity and strength and as a generative repository of revolutionary ideology and action in Latin America, depictions of Ho Chi Minh follow a similar vein, suggesting that Cuban posters demonstrated an ideological and political continuity between the two men. For example, in Alfredo Rostgaard's "Ho Chi Minh and Che," which graced the cover of Tricontinental (Sept/Oct 1969), a rainbow connects the two resistance leaders in their ideologies and struggles against domination. Ho Chi Minh's beard is pronounced, connecting him to the barbudos in Cuba through a clearly masculine symbol. Here, their faces have the cartographic and chromatic quality that links their ideas like a wellspring of revolutionary thought. This poster connects Guevara and Ho Chi Minh to nature, where they are interconnected with the elements and the land.
This connection to the land is repeated in Fernandez Reboiro's "79 Springs" (ICAIC, 1969). In Reboiro's heroization of Ho Chi Minh, again the beard is pronounced in the portrait, though it is placed on a background of leaves, connecting Ho Chi Minh to the earth as a literal "organic intellectual." The title "79 Springs" and the focus on nature are hopeful signs that a new day will dawn in Vietnam when the people will have their freedom.
Finally, in Felix Beltran's "Vietnam Will Win" (1968), Ho Chi Minh is set in an Edenic, idyllic, pastoral setting where he is reading and communing with the natural world. In rendering Ho Chi Minh's body in this antimodern, primitive setting, cleansed of the modern destruction of warfare, Ho Chi Minh's image serves to inspire nostalgia for a Vietnam unshackled by the colonial empires of France and the United States. Again, in his singularity the figure of Ho Chi Minh works as a synecdoche for the entire country of Vietnam. His thoughts are of an organic nature and suggest that the Vietnam that will repel American aggression will return to a state of tranquility and peaceful beauty. Ho Chi Minh is decontextualized from the war, which is only alluded to in the text, which states in thirteen languages: "Viet Nam Will Win."
These posters heroizing Ho Chi Minh connect him to the kind of masculinized revolutionary legacy left behind by both himself and Che. Posters about Vietnam provided a visual message that constituted Cuban solidarity with the Vietnamese against American imperialism for viewers in Cuba and around the globe. Rhetorically, the circulation of these heroic images of Ho Chi Minh and Che suggested that Vietnam could recover its lost sovereignty through a re-inscription of revolutionary masculinity much like Cuba had in the years following the Revolution. Ideally, Cuban artists sought to inspire revolutions in the colonized world by providing heroic forms of citizenship and civil identity that promoted a radical vision of the future.
Guevara and Nixon: Oppositional Binaries
In the final set of Cuban revolutionary posters, artists use the figure of Nixon as a counterpoint to the images of Guevara (and Ho Chi Minh). Where Guevara and Ho Chi Minh function as heroic New Men, Nixon serves as the ultimate enemy figure highlighting the continuity of American imperialism and the use of oppositional binaries to reconstitute global politics and identity during the Cold War. Oppositional binaries frame political and social issues through the zero sum logic of either/or and through exclusionary language that make two ideas incompatible (Goodwin 94-5). The rhetorical power in oppositional binaries is found in stark contrasts, emphasized in Cuban posters through different artistic techniques. Where posters of masculine heroes like Guevara and Ho Chi Minh use serigraphic techniques and Pop Art sensibilities to highlight serenity, intellectualism, and global vision as strengths, posters of Nixon use photo collage and popular culture references to cast him as a monster.
The anti-Nixon posters produced in Cuba during the War in Vietnam are the most shocking in their aggressive, oppositional anti-imperialism. And while shock was a major strategy in these posters, the rhetorical message was engaging, unambiguous, and served to sharpen opposition to U.S. aggression in Indochina (Stevens 24). In these posters, constitutive rhetorical symbols like the American flag, the U.S. dollar sign, the bald eagle, and Richard Nixon's portrait "are deliberately violated as a way of confronting US political and cultural imperialism" through oppositional desecration (Eckmann 36). These inversions provide the symbolic template for a new oppositional identity, one rooted in the dominance of Cuban and Vietnamese male heroes over the U.S. president, whose masculinity is visually undermined by depictions of his ridiculousness and his corruption.
For example, in "Nixon Tearing the Heart out of Indochina" (OSPAAL, 1971), Rene Mederos pictures Nixon as a bird of prey ripping the still-beating heart out of Vietnam. This inversion of the American eagle, symbol of democracy and freedom, critiques Nixon's escalation of the war in 1971 and characterizes the President and his Vietnam policy as both predatory and illegitimate. Nixon is so vile that he is depicted as a kind of vampire-eagle, reminiscent of early Nazi iconography. The black and white of the poster contrast to the vibrant red heart, leaking life force across the Ho Chi Minh trail into Laos and Cambodia as the war expanded. Turning posters into a critique of U.S. expansionism, Mederos is able to compromise Nixon's credibility with images alone.
In a similar poster titled "Nixons Peace" (OSPAAL, 1972), Lazaro Abreu used photo collage to appropriate an image from Dr. Strangelove of Nixon straddling B-52s over Southeast Asia. Using U.S. popular culture to indict the country's own leader proved to be a provocative and compelling visual strategy for Abreu. Flying over the Ho Chi Minh Trail as the war expanded from Vietnam into Laos and Cambodia, Nixon holds an American flag and looks gleeful as the bombs fall away to destroy Indochina. This poster harnesses disgust as the world watched Nixon campaign in 1968 to end the war in Vietnam, only to massively expand the air war into Cambodia and Laos. His manipulative and monstrous foreign policy provides an enemy of the revolutionary New Man as he struggles to emerge in an imperialist world of superpowers vying for empire. Abreu's poster and those like it subvert the calculating politics of the Cold War, where American imperialism found its ultimate justification in the eradication of communism. Posters like "Nixon's Peace" point to the ironies of American statements about securing a peace in Vietnam given the expansion of the war and express solidarity with the Vietnamese fighting the maniacal American imperialists.
Where Abreu depicts Nixon as a nuclear terrorist, Luis Balaguer and Alfredo Rostgaard imagine the President as a vampire, suggesting that his presidency is feeding on the life force of revolutionaries in Southeast Asia and undermining his masculinity by exposing his illegitimacy. In Balaguer's "Day of Continental Support for Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos" (OCLAE, 1969) we see Nixon's pearly smile shining out at us in a very macabre portrait. The eerie blue skin of his face contrasts with his beady red eyes and gleaming white smile to depict a political monster aroused by the kill. Photo collaged onto Nixon's forehead is a photograph of dead Vietnamese civilians, perhaps at My Lai, massacred as a result of Nixon's paranoia and bloodlust in Vietnam.
Finally, in Rostgaard's "Nixon as a Vampire" (OSPAAL, 1972) poster, the Nixonmonster is rendered in pop art colors depicting him as a vampire. His pointed ears and teeth, his jowls and blue hair create an image of Nixon as a monster, evil and thirsty for the blood of the Vietnamese people. Judith Halberstam has convincingly demonstrated that the trope of the vampire signifies an "aggregate of race, class, and gender," condensing monstrosity into one body, adding that the vampire, particularly the image of Dracula, "is repulsive and fascinating, he exerts the consummate gaze but is scrutinized in all he does, lives forever but can be killed" (334). The vampire is a perverse and feminized parasite that exists in perpetuity to terrorize communities but that must be eradicated. In these posters, the opposition to imperialism is vehement as the artists take pains to undercut Nixons credibility and his masculinity. Nixon functions as the individual aggregate for other sadistic imperialists with comparisons to Hitler being the most provocative in the visual rhetoric of Cuban posters.
Aesthetically, the use of photo collage and popular culture references in posters of Nixon speak to two elements of critique. First, photo collage makes the indictments of Nixon's bloodlust airtight as a case against imperialism by the U.S. in Vietnam or elsewhere. Or, rather, they rely on the kind of masculinist mythmaking where renditions of Nixon are anchored by photographic evidence of American monstrosity. Second, the references from Western popular culture provide evidence of the hypocrisy of the U.S. government and layer the rhetorical signifiers for a very sophisticated international audience. The rhetorical oppositionality of these images of Nixon's expansion of the War in Vietnam is found in their insistent "use of grotesque visual and statistical evidence, their rage, and their devastatingly acerbic commentary," which provide a "necessary voice of dissent against all the lies, disinformation, hypocrisy, cruelty, and violence exercised by the status quo legions of power against the rights, liberties, health, and happiness of those whom they oppress" (McCormick 27). Heroes like Guevara and Ho Chi Minh secured heroic ideals of the "New Man" in the popular imagination of the international Left as representations of Nixon symbolized impotent imperialism and colonialism. Functioning in tandem, these images of men were deployed to constitute revolutionary publics through oppositional techniques rooted in the visual rhetoric of masculinity.
Oppositional Consciousness inChicana Visual Art
As mid-century Cuban posters made their way to the U.S. through the circulation of Tricontinental, new audiences began to engage with the political ideas within them. By the 1970s in Miami, New York, and, especially, San Francisco, Cuban poster art was de rigueur. Because of the stunning artistry and popularity of the posters, McGraw-Hill published an oversized coffee table book entitled The Art of Revolution: Castro's Cuba: 1959-1970 with full color reproductions of nearly 100 posters. In 1974, a significant exhibition of Cuban posters took place at the California Palace of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco, showcasing the finest examples of the genre. Two years later, Juan Fuentes, one of the curators of the Legion show, curated an exhibit of Bay Area Latino/a artists in Cuba. Chicana/o and Latina/o living in the Bay Area, especially those who supported civil rights and postcolonial movements, appreciated Cuban poster art and began appropriating techniques for their own ideological work. When the financing permitted a large poster printing, lithography was used, otherwise serigraphy was the technique embraced, particularly by artists in the Chicano Power Movement.
Like Cuban posters, the major function of Chicano movement art was a rhetorical (re)constitution. According to Chicano poster curator Tere Romo, these posters visually articulated "the Chicano movement's political stance" although they also "had as a central goal the formation and affirmation of Chicano cultural identity" (100). In sustaining Chicano community activism, Chicano posters initiated a symbolic reclamation process that served to "reintroduce Mexican art and history, revitalize popular artistic expressions, and support community cultural activities" (100) as well as build historical memory and encourage a more politicized consciousness. As such, Chicano posters share with Cuban posters the constitutive rhetorical function of identity construction.
Still, despite the cross-pollination of aesthetic techniques between Cuban and Chicano posters as both sought to rhetorically constitute their communities of practice, there remain several differences. First, Cuban poster art was overseen by the Castro government and produced by state-sanctioned artists in the service of consolidating the revolution. In the U.S., that mode of resistance emerged in the visual rhetoric of social movements of the era but was conspicuously absent in posters produced by the U.S. government. A primary consequence is that the institutionalization of poster artists and their creations in the U.S. was insecure, unlike in Cuba, where posters were the dominant national visual idiom. Additionally, unlike Cuban artists that worked exclusively on poster art, Chicana artists, in particular, worked across visual mediums but used Cuban rhetorical techniques to interrogate their relationship to hegemonic domination.
Second, where Cuban posters embraced the visual rhetoric of masculinity to understand Cuba's position in the Cold War, U.S. posters, particularly the feminist and Chicana posters of the period, engaged with hegemonic masculinity through progressive artistic ideals emphasizing female leadership and solidarity, which influenced both content and presentation. Particularly in an American public sphere where feminism was emerging as an important intellectual movement in concert with other equality movements, the gendered vernacular in the poster art of the period was markedly different in its interrogation of "the nation" and "home," though U.S. oppositional poster art relied upon the same critical reading strategies employed by Cuban posters.
Finally, Chicana artists refrained from demonizing the United States as a monster since their constitutive rhetorical work was aimed internally at building Chicana political identification. Consequently, domination was asserted with an absent referent for the political enemy of Chicana feminists, who located their goals in solidarity rather than demonization.
Frequently in the Chicano movement, female artists wanted to expand their ideas about solidarity and homeland by exploring the multiple oppressions that characterized their lives in the U.S. (Flores 143). Chicana artists "wanted to extend their vision by sampling the vocabularies and sedimented artistic traditions of their own communities," characterized by amalgamation and fusion of traditions across the Americas (Ybarra-Frausto 12). Chicana/o art collectives, often working under a policy of anonymity, incorporated the politics of two colonized populations into their visual rhetorical landscape: Puerto Ricans and Latina/os from the Southwest (Goldman 196). In this spirit, the Chicana/o art movement was a rhetorical movement of "regeneration and renewal, of looking back at historical roots to deal with contemporary realities" (Ybarra Frausto 12) to help build new collective citizenship practices that reflected shared history and promised a new future.
Consequently, early poster art in the Chicano movement was concerned with historical inequalities in education, employment practices, and political participation as they created new artistic and visual rhetorical forms to help form an oppositional consciousness around these political issues. Chicana/o posters started as advertising tools for organizations, committees, and community events that helped support the movement for self-determination. Selling posters and prints became a way of supporting fledgling social movement organizations in the wake of declining funding as the 1970s ended. They continued to be important in the development of movement identity and in creating new political realizations in the face of racism, sexism, and exploitation of Mexican Americans.
As they embraced the ideological and artistic techniques popularized by Cuban poster artists, Chicana artists worked to highlight the intersectional relationships among imperialism, racism, sexism, and class as they built a visual idiom that promoted political identification with Chicana causes. In the words of Chicana artist Patricia Valencia, "[w]e make visible the tactics that disempower us: the usurpation of natural resources and land, the destruction of economic and agricultural self-sufficiency, the irrelevant and foreign educational environments, the interference with generational transmission of spiritual knowledge, the devaluation of language, of labor, or women and of youth" (qtd. in Huacuja 105). Chicana feminists have developed artistic strategies designed to build a movement for social change, including "decolonizing the female subject by supplying knowledge that is rooted in the lived cultural experiences of the marginalized community and denaturalizing an oppressive visual culture by picturing 'othered' Chicano subjectivities, such as gay and lesbian bodies" (Huacuja 109). In doing so, Chicana artists blend histories to form a mestizo/hybrid/border consciousness where their art forms a link between cultures and times to help interrogate Chicana life in the United States.
Alienated from the predominantly male-led Chicano movement, Chicana visual artists in the late 1960s and 1970s took up so-called "women's issues" like birth control, childcare, and equal pay as they articulated the unique concerns of working-class Chicana women. Posters and other visual tools, including murals, became a part of the visual rhetoric of the movement as Chicana women began to articulate their concerns as a separate public from Chicano men. Unlike Cuban poster artists, who were supported and promoted by the state, Chicana artists were often working in collectives without the benefit of institutional support to circulate their work or preserve it. Nonetheless, major examples from this period have found their ways from private collections into newly forming archives that help to document the impact of Chicana art on working-class Chicanos during the late 1960s and early 1970s.
For example, Inkworks, founded in San Francisco in 1974, produced many radical posters for social mobilization in the Bay Area influenced by Cuban poster art, particularly focusing on social justice in communities of color. One famous poster features the slogan "STOP FORCED STERILIZATION/ ALTO A ESTERILIZACION FORZADA!" (1974). It showcases three women ostensibly representing African American women, Puerto Rican women, and indigenous women shouting with fists in the air. This poster and those like it use cartographic techniques similar to Cuban artists in the representations of Guevara. Here, however, they work in the service of rhetorical reconstitution, rebuilding coalition and solidarity among women of color against the reproductive control over their bodies in their homes and in their communities. In doing so, they work against decades of repression that had fragmented Chicano communities to rebuild Chicana solidarity centered on the experiences of women. In this case, the Cuban visual rhetorical techniques are harnessed to build an oppositional consciousness about reproductive justice in the United States.
In the case of Chicana visual artists, another preoccupation was with social control over womens bodies. For example, Barbara Carrasco's print "Pregnant Woman in a Ball of Yarn" (1978) was widely circulated as an indictment of punitive reproductive health policies. This image portrays an oppressed pregnant woman, bound and gagged, unable to free herself from the cultural constraints of her imposed submissiveness. In this image, the woman is crocheting a baby slipper with the yard from the ball while positioning the needle towards the womb. Expressing the deleterious effects of chauvinism and machismo on Chicana women, this image connected misogyny, lack of access to contraception and abortion, and violence to social reproductive control. This print is a haunting exploration of the ways in which Chicana women are trapped by poverty and a lack of access to reproductive justice. Rather than heroize motherhood as it is often portrayed in Chicano/Latino culture, Carrasco's image provides a rhetorical reconstitution of Chicana women as imprisoned by the pressures of motherhood from which they cannot escape. "Pregnant Woman in a Ball of Yarn" reconstitutes motherhood as compulsory and constraining, demonstrating the ways in which Chicana visual arts interrogated racial, class, and gendered power to provide an oppositional consciousness and an oppositional rhetoric about the Chicano family.
Additionally, within Chicana poster art, there was a concerted effort to represent women as a cultural mass and as heroines. As Chicana poster expert Shifra Goldman explains, Chicana women understand sexism because it is coupled "with racism and economic exploitation. The direction of Chicana feminism, therefore has particularly stressed issues affecting the victimization of women owing to their color, national origin, and poverty as well as their sex" (Dimensions 199). This intersectional analysis became an overarching framework in the reconstitution of Chicana political agents and helped Chicana poster art to represent political complexity like Cuban posters did as well.
But even with Chicana posters that depicted the depth of political issues affecting Chicanas in their communities, ideological work to consolidate Chicana heroes was still of utmost importance. In her assessment of this artistic movement, Jane Humes writes, "recovering and acknowledging women heroes in history and mythology is important work. Women must be present in history books, as leaders and as the ordinary heroines of their own lives" (73). Chicana techniques for representing their leaders and heroines borrowed from the Cuban vernacular in terms of the styles of posters as well as the political values that were used in these constitutive posters; however, Chicana art was also indebted to Frida Kahlo, pre-Columbian art techniques, indigenous art and culture, the Virgen de Guadalupe, and barrio culture, particularly the heavily made-up chola women who embodied tough-chic, an inversion of Guevara's tough but tender masculinity. In using a pastiche of artistic techniques to build an oppositional visual culture, Chicana women echoed the Cuban poster movement while innovating with signs and symbols that resonated in their communities.
Chicana posters also interrogated citizenship through U.S. popular culture inversions like those used by Cuban artists depicting U.S. imperialism in Vietnam. For example, Yolanda Lopez's 1978 poster inverts the iconic poster of Uncle Sam (wagging his finger at the viewer with the slogan "I WANT YOU!") by replacing Uncle Sam with a Chicano man in Toltec dress demanding "Who's the Illegal Alien, PILGRIM?" which points to the oppositional relationship between indigenous peoples and the larger nation. This poster depicts Chicano life as an internal colony of the United States where those claiming European heritage dominate Chicanos. Doing the work of rhetorical reconstitution, this poster positions descendant of Europeans as the illegal aliens and places them firmly within a history of political and racial domination.
In a similar vein, Ester Hernandez produced a 1976 printing titled "Libertad" (Liberty) that used the Statue of Liberty as a site of rhetorical reclamation for Chicanos. Meditating on the U.S. bicentennial, the etching (later produced as a screen print) showcases a Chicana chipping away at the statue's face, carving images of indigenous women into the facade over a base that reads "Azatlan" ("White Land"--the Aztec land of origin) below a Mesoamerican lower body. This inversion functions to rhetorically reclaim the U.S. origin for Chicanos in a move that displaces white nationalism and interrogates the internal colonization of Chicanos and Chicanas while the nation espouses discourses of freedom and equality. In this way, "Libertad" feminized the notion of liberty while suggesting that the U.S. can be a place of indigenous empowerment in the future (Perez 29).
Ester Hernandez also produced one of the most iconic posters from this period that highlighted the health concerns of Chicana agricultural workers. Titled Sun Mad (1982), the poster was a gruesome interpretation of the Sun-Maid raisin box underscoring the risks associated with harvesting grapes for raisins. The limited text on the poster reads "Unnaturally Grown with Insecticides--Miticides--Herbicides--Fungicides" and features a grinning female skeleton peeking out from the Sun-Maid bonnet and holding a basket of grapes. The macabre scene punctuated by the bright, primary colors that frame the skeleton highlights the serious health complications facing Chicana grape pickers and demonizes the corporation's investment in pesticides that were killing agricultural workers and poisoning consumers.
In addition to highlighting areas of specific political concern Chicana artists worked to recover and represent women as leaders through their poster art. For example, they replaced heroes of the Mexican Revolution with heroines "(especially those culled from the Augustin V. Casaola Photo Archives), labor leaders, women associated with alternative schools and clinics, working women, [and] women in protest)" to showcase "activated women" that were shaping public culture by creating and mobilizing new publics for social change (Goldman, Dimensions 202). For example, Barbara Carrasco, whose lithographs markedly influenced Chicana visual representations of motherhood, family, and medical culture, produced much art about the United Farmworkers (UFW) movement after approaching Cesar Chavez about the possibility. Her iconic silkscreen poster of Dolores Huerta (1999), co-founder of the UFW, is a premier example of how Chicana posters inverted the hegemonic masculinity of Cuban posters since these heroic representations almost universally feature Huerta as the singular hero portrayed in a bust like Guevara. Against a sea foam green background, Huertas visage is punctuated with hot pink that links her name "DOLORES" in capital letters with highlights in her hair (like Guevara), with her lips, and with her work shirt. Huerta is represented as a dynamic leader through the choice of "feminized" colors utilizing Pop Art techniques, the points of emphasis for the color in the poster, and the focus on her face as a representation of the entire Chicano labor movement. Doing so allows Huerta to be the representational character reconstituting Chicana/Latina workers as agents of resistance and change in the 1970s as they sought to improve working conditions and provides a visual rhetoric of resistance to the exploitation of Chicana workers. Readers supply her last name and her political context because she is so iconic as a social movement leader, demonstrating the importance of the Chicana poster as a constitutive rhetorical form.
As these examples demonstrate, Chicana poster artists used the techniques pioneered by Cuban artists to challenge ideological assumptions about race, class, and gender in the United States. Chicana artists highlighted female heroes (ordinary and revolutionary) to reconstitute Chicanas into the nation at each level of personal, institutional, and structural power. By communicating figures and forms that recontextualized conversations about Chicano community around women facing poverty, violence, poor working conditions, and lack of reproductive access (among other concerns), Chicana artists provided visual rhetorical interventions into discourses about power, justice, and social movement activism that reconstituted Chicanas as leaders and heroes.
Legacies of Visual Rhetoric in Cuban and Chicana Poster Art
The influence of the Cuban poster art movement in the United States, particularly among Chicana artists, was profound as Chicana visual art appropriated oppositional strategies of revolutionary art to reconstitute civic culture in light of modern social justice movements. However, where Che Guevara, Ho Chi Minh, and Richard Nixon framed the Cuban gender imaginary in terms of heroic masculinity after the Revolution, Chicana visual rhetoric had a more populist trajectory even when it embraced movement leaders. Chicana artists, in particular, created an oppositional consciousness that reframed traditional "women's issues" through an intersectional lens of race, gender, class, and exploitation to change the nature of the conversation about politically salient issues relevant to Chicanas. Sandoval argues that oppositional consciousness "travels differentially but with literacy across and through cultural spaces: it is a mobile, flexible, diasporic force that migrates between contending ideological systems" (30). In the cases presented here, oppositional consciousness pivoted upon ideological gender systems and visual rhetorical forms that helped to improve ideological legibility within movements for social change.
In both case studies, artists used visual rhetorical forms to reconstitute publics in crises. Both cases showcase how oppositional forms provided rhetorical interventions that shaped public culture to change the narratives about their communities. Where Cuban artists used their posters to express solidarity, particularly with the Vietnamese, against American colonialism and imperialism, so too, did Chicana art express the colonization of women of Mexican descent within the United States. Further, Chicana visual art pointed to the exploitation and cultural domination of women within Chicano culture and by white supremacist national culture, focusing their attention on issues that particularly affected womens bodily autonomy and health. Still, in both cases, gender was clearly a major vernacular presence within the visual rhetoric constituting the collective identity of the movements. By demanding a higher degree of participation, these visual rhetorical interventions redefined the political narratives shaping their artists and audiences in ways that were intrinsically connected to ideas about gender, heroism, citizenship, and nationalism.
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(1.) Rafael Hernandez (2003) has convincingly demonstrated that Cuban civil society cannot be conceptualized either as neoliberal (economically) or as conventionally Marxist (politically). He argues that Cuban civil society is best understood in Gramscian terms that allow for creative tension--rather than conflict--between civil society and the revolutionary state.
(2.) The process of serigraphy entails forcing ink through a screen containing a stencil with a squeegee and applying directly to the surface of the paper, while lithography is a photo-mechanical process where the image is offset onto a rubber-covered cylinder and then printed to paper (Eckmann 39).
(3.) Photographic images were a common feature of revolutionary serigraphic posters because of the influence and ubiquity of photographic images of Cuban heroes taken by renowned photographers like Alberto Korda, Raul Corrales, Osvaldo and Roberto Salas, and Liborio Noval.
(4.) Though to be sure, this relationship was textually present in early discourse like the Monroe Doctrine.
(5.) Korda had been a fashion photographer and it is clear that his eye for aesthetics was perfectly trained for Che Guevaras charisma. Korda shot two frames with his Leica camera before Guevara moved from view. Korda initially only made one small print for himself, a cropped portrait, and he stuck it on his studio wall, where it remained for many years. The Cuban periodical Revolucion published it a year after Korda first took the photo. It was slated to accompany a conference on April 16, 1961, during which Guevara, as the Minister of Industry was to be the keynote speaker. The conference was disrupted when 1,300 CIA-backed exiles began their attempt to overthrow the Castro government in what came to be known as the Bay of Pigs invasion.
(6.) Cuban posters about Vietnam are the most numerous of all of the countries OSPAAAL represented and they outnumber even those about Cuba.
Lisa M. Corrigan
UNIVERSITY OF ARKANSAS
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|Author:||Corrigan, Lisa M.|
|Article Type:||Critical essay|
|Date:||Mar 22, 2014|
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