Full of the vibrant rhythm of the tambora, güira, and accordion, merengue serves as the Dominican Republic’s signature music. A new book shows that questions remain regarding its origins. Haiti and Cuba assert a part in how it began.
Merengue’s Historical Puzzle
Merengue has long been recognized as the Dominican Republic’s quintessential musical export. In 2016, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) declared merengue part of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. For decades, its infectious rhythms have energized global audiences, popularized by legendary performers such as Johnny Ventura, Wilfrido Vargas, Milly Quezada, Fernando Villalona, and Juan Luis Guerra.
Despite this widespread acclaim, the true origins of merengue remain surprisingly elusive. Some scholars trace the word “merengue” in reference to this music back to a Dominican newspaper, El Oasis, in 1854. However, as music historians and performers began debating the subject, a consensus never quite formed. That gap is precisely where journalist and writer Máximo Jiménez enters the story.
Jiménez’s new book, “Merengue: obra periodística en La Nación (1940–1965),” is a collection of many pieces that appeared in La Nación. That paper was started by Rafael Trujillo, once a Dominican ruler. The book examines the potential beginnings, development as well as importance of the merengue music type. Readers find claims within it. These include arguments about the beginning of merengue. It is suggested it began in Haiti or even Cuba. Historians and musicians there sometimes say they own the rhythm.
Jiménez had a conversation with EFE. He communicated “The newspaper featured fascinating debates involving historians, musicians, in addition to writers who may not have had a clear link to merengue.” He mentioned some contributors contended that Haiti, Cuba, also Puerto Rico all present an argument for being the place where the genre began.
Such disputes are hardly surprising given the rich cross-cultural exchanges that have influenced the Caribbean over the centuries. The creation of merengue is a result of Spanish, African, and Indigenous contributions. Jiménez’s compilation emphasizes how the tambora, güira, and accordion—the core instruments of merengue—each reflect distinct historical legacies. The tambora channels African percussion traditions, the güira represents local craftsmanship, and the accordion showcases European influence.
Trujillo’s Influence on Merengue
Though merengue’s early history can be murky, one figure unquestionably pivotal to the music’s national prominence is Rafael Trujillo (1930–1961). Before his regime, merengue was primarily associated with rural areas and the so-called “arrabales”—urban slums or marginalized neighborhoods. It was sometimes viewed as a rough adaptation of the European-influenced danza, dismissed by elites as unsophisticated.
Trujillo’s government, however, harnessed merengue for propaganda. After coming to power, the dictator famously elevated this once-maligned music, using it to project an image of national unity and culture—albeit one that placed Trujillo himself at the center of attention. He sponsored large bands, staged extravagant galas, and even danced merengue publicly, as documented by photographs in Jiménez’s book.
The shift was dramatic. Merengue moved from an informal dance tradition into a carefully curated emblem of Dominican identity—an identity that, in official narratives, Trujillo claimed to safeguard. Articles reprinted in Jiménez’s volume highlight how La Nación regularly praised the dictator for his supposed cultural vision. Indeed, it was no coincidence that discussions on merengue’s historical relevance were taking place in a paper explicitly created to promote Trujillo’s image.
Earlier still, as the merengue expanded its influence, it eclipsed other Dominican folk rhythms such as the mangulina and carabiné. In a 1942 piece, Dominican writer Ramón Marrero Aristy predicted that merengue from the Cibao region would soon “overwhelm” these similar rhythms popular in the east and south of the country. Around the same time, Santo Domingo was renamed “Ciudad Trujillo,” and state-sponsored festivities centered on the centennial of Dominican Independence in 1944 further placed merengue at center stage.
In a bold move to legitimize these efforts, Trujillo hired American musicographer J.M. Coopersmith, who traveled across 22 points in the north, northeast, and northwest of the Dominican Republic to document local musical expressions. Coopersmith came back with 78 recordings. These captured different types of merengue and other folkloric styles. This was quite an accomplishment. It showed the genre’s variety and made clear its central place in the national heritage.
Searching for Merengue’s Future
Jiménez’s book has 237 pages, also it holds about 20 photos; it showcases the historical records. The book has one picture displaying Trujillo dance with a shy woman. This shows the dictator’s strong want to connect to how well-liked this music was. Many from the Dominican Republic do celebrate the contemporary effect of merengue. This visual hint shows that culture may be taken over by politics.
The more profound element is still the music. The ability of the music to last and to change outside of political goals matters. The articles in La Nación could show Trujillo’s message, yet they did show a broad talk about merengue’s origins. Music from Spain, Africa, next to the local Dominican place, has always changed how the music sounds.
The question of origin—whether traced to Haitian compas, Cuban variants, or purely Dominican social dance traditions—may never reach a definitive conclusion. In 1941, Dominican writer Rafael Vidal offered a poetic, if somewhat nationalistic, perspective on merengue’s birth, suggesting it was music “that was born in the heart of the people upon conquering their freedom.” His words echo the genre’s thematic emphasis on liberation and communal joy, regardless of which side of the island or the sea first gave it life.
Merengue is enjoyed across many areas. It exists from dances in Madrid to celebrations in New York. The rhythm connects people from the Dominican Republic all over the world. Other people enjoy the music. They like its energy and culture. Merengue acts as a symbol. It shows the strong spirit of the people of the Dominican Republic.
Challenges still exist. Online services split up the audience. Other types of music compete for notice. Merengue can still change as needed. This has assisted it for some time. Modern creators mix old rhythms with new approaches. This gives a current feeling. Ensembles and specialists maintain documents of old tunes. It confirms that the past is not ignored.
The Jiménez group of items is vital for later studies. It assembles discussions, interviews and critiques from La Nación. It increases conversations regarding merengue’s past. “Merengue is a treasure that UNESCO protects.” The music is for all who dance, play, or hear its rhythm.
Ultimately, the swirling mystery around merengue’s birthplace is part of its enduring charm. Each new generation of dancers and listeners contributes to its story, adding fresh nuances to the centuries-old sound of the tambora, güira, and accordion. Whether it first took shape in a Haitian ceremony, a Cuban street festival, or a Dominican countryside gathering is less important than the shared sense of identity, joy, and history that emerges every time a merengue is played.
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Through scholarship, performance, and cultural debate, merengue continues to evolve—its contested origin is a testament to the fluid, intertwined histories of the Caribbean. Thanks to Jiménez’s latest volume, we have another window into the 20th-century battle for the soul of merengue and a reminder that, in music as in life, roots can be as widespread as the branches.