In a paddyfield far out in the Dominican countryside, a bare-chested campesino whipped his straining oxen. "Go, you lovelies!" he cried. "Get up, you bastards!" Across the rich corn and platano fields of the Cibao Valley, fair-skinned, barefoot women toted gourds from roadside fountains to their thatched shacks, while nearby mounds of rice lay drying in the sun. In the mountains to the north, a grizzled farmer, Vicente Santiago, 65, worried his head over his ten children, his ten hens, his three acres of coffee, platano and corn—and little else. If there...
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