Roving with TonyC... from the back seat of a Trinidadian Taxi

I enter the car, there's another passenger seated at the front.

Front passenger: i don't have any issue with them you know, as long as they [insert stricture on self expression or identity].

Driver: Yeah partner, I don't mind them either - I lived in Europe for almost a decade, they were everywhere, some things though, just don't need to be public... *sound of assent and short laugh* i dont even kiss my girl in public - but to stand up by traffic light in the middle of town and suck another man tongue out he head?

*I fall asleep in the taxi*

*re-awakens* 

Passenger: it have plenty of them in the government, even that big Rasta one [name redacted] yeah, he, I know for a fact that him is one of the worst kind, he's a receiver. I know that for a fact because Is one of my friends from over [community redacted] him go to and get dig out. *All out laughter.* But seriously, big man like that. But I have no problem with them y'know. 

Driver: in truth? I thinking is only "the Chief" that would be rejoicing. Y'know  he had a fella up by me, up by where I living, we would see him round there.

Passenger: true yes, I never understand why he go for public office with those ways, yes. But as I say, let them live. The law changing for them. But...how that work? The law in the bible says *driver dismisses the reference with a "everybody not Christian" - himself a rastafarian* hear me out nah, the bible that outlaw dem ting, is the same thing they swearing in on at court and ting? So how you can swear over a book you not following? 

*I am self aware enough to not bother engaging, the driver keeps checking rear view to look at my expression. My face is schooled into a bored expression*

Driver: well, I don't think everyone swear over that, but how many people really living like that book ask for? Anyway, I don't have a problem with them. As I say, if I have a child or relative who find that them is that way, I won't kick them out, I won't hate them. But the public ting...

Passenger: so you would want your boy child bringing home a man? In your house? 

*driver is silent, as he considers. Passenger laughs mutely*

See dem ting? Not happening in Jamaica 

Driver: how you mean? Of course it happen. You don't hear about them ones in that place there [name redacted]? The ones living in the gully,  robbing people and hoe-ing.

Passenger: so they stop killing them? 

Driver: no, of course not *they both laugh* but that ain't stopping them anymore. 

Passenger: I hope they ain't looking to come here then. Stay and fight for themselves over there, and dead [at] home.

*driver allows silence to build at that comment. Checks mirror. Eyes making contact with mine, he looks out the window at others stuck in standstill traffic.*

Well, as I say, I have no problem with them. Man does choose his own hell or heaven. It just have some tings I don't like or appreciate. 

Driver: well, as I say, it real different in Europe, them free up and everywhere. But gay or straight, some things just not for public. 

*I sit up and pay fare, preparing to leave vehicle, as the topic evolves into a discussion on "Them trans people there, and that one that call herself [redacted] and use to work in Red House."*

Invocation as rejection...et cetera [with much perspective jumping]

"Ah prayin' for yuh."

I used to take great comfort in receiving lines like this. Even at my moments of religious ambivalence, I'd be warmed. The thought that someone would intercede with their supreme being for my benefit often made me speechless with gratitude. 

 - not everyone is quite so kind-minded. 

As I got older, i came to appreciate the line, and some of its other iterations. The inflections that "mean more than they mean - y'know whaddamean?" 

Sitting in church right with you, I am in the mid region pew. You know, the 'not-so-much-a-saint-I-can-pull-off-the-front-row-but-certainly-not-to-be-in-the-back? Yeah. There. Minding my business, dropping two or three harmony lines in the hymns, praising just like you came to do (ha). End of service and sermon comes, and just before I awkward side step to my house (or, to be real, to head to a performance), you corral me into conversation. It often happens that you are right in front of me at church. No morning greeting did I warrant, no sign of peace at mass. But here you are. Post church and just before you slip off the pious face for something more...comfortable? Roadworthy? Real? 

"How you doing? How is *insert grandmother, father, uncle, aunty, cousin, sister...personal favourite: Girlfriend* ?"

Like a dog whistle, the saccharine voice has triggered me, and I shake off my distracted attempts to leave. Your smile widens. I respond politely, and I calm down; maybe you are simply asking after them. 

You are never simply asking after them. 

"So why you not looking to carry her to meet your church family?" My mind reels from the open blow of the question. In the silence that you ensured with my surprise, you press on. " Or she in here already and the two of you hiding the dealings?" Your smile is simply feral now. Your glare is predatory, sure that you have caught me out. 

Unfortunately for you, Sister, I stopped playing this game long, long time. 

"I am gay. By the look on your face, you know that I am gay. You are aware I am not single. He is not a member of this church, but I will certainly take him along one day when we are both in town." I now smile. "You would like him." I watch you all but sputter. You never thought I would be so blatant. 

"Oh yes, well you should bring him." Then, to reclaim the situation: "I will keep praying for you." Of course you will. But right now another church sister/the pastor/Father/ brother/Elder and you need a word. 

Bye.

Now a friend of mine once said she felt her urges to be petty or dismissive were because somewhere in her DNA is a 'Steups' (a kiss teet; a caribbean/African gesture of impatience, upset or annoyance). I can confirm that this "gene" is probably Caribbean region universal. I feel it every time I have to jump out of my mild mannered self to address the particular brand of foolishness (read: fuckery) that is Caribbean people of a certain generation and/or "(non)sensibility." 

A similar kind of invocation occurs when they are trying to assure you they are ameliorating the blight that surrounds you from being related to someone who offends their or the community's (still their, but with an invisi-majority backing them) sense of decency/morality. 

Church fully forgotten, and the mid-week is upon us. Enter another well meaning neighbour. 

"Hey, how you doing?" You are disarmed. She living right down the road, and everyone knows her daughter have 3 children with 2 awarded (but 3 - 5 potential) last names. You engage in some small talk. You laugh a bit. There is an undercurrent of the yet-to-be-said, but you assume it's something inane, like a concern that your father taking too long to deliver something, or at most, borrowing money. 

And then she drops it.

"Careful how them see you in the road with *insert name here.* we might know him and you is relative,  but we know you not playing them things, and we don't want you going down with him." Now, the person discussed is a relative. One with whom you are not only closely related, but genuinely close to. You are confused as to what could warrant the warning. Then you remember the current neighbourhood scandal: cuzzo has decided to move in with his partner, and they are raising his child in their un-holy, un-recognised union. You are unsure how to process the judgement that is coming from she of the flexi-morals. Responding with amicable rejection of the notion of anything wrong, you begin to part ways as warmly as you met - if a little off kilter. 

"Well you just be careful. You soft hearted 'bout these things. I hope it don't burn you. I praying for you, that him judgement don't fall on you too." 

You swallow back the DeoxyriboNucleic-STEUPS response that bubbling and waiting to jump out. Nah. She can't be real. 

The last one I will touch on, is the summons of revenge and retribution. 

We are all raised, for the most part, with the mantra "God not sleeping." Every perceived slight or injustice is postluded  with this phrase. This weaponising of the otherwise all benevolent God can strike in the most arbitrary situations.

"Ah going to take you to God in prayer!" Is the shouted parry of a church sister who was glaringly cut off by another driver at an intersection.

And we celebrate her restraint. How, you ask, has she shown such? Why, she avoided curse words! She refused to cuss out the other driver, and instead (with her spectacularly triggered Steups gene) put him before her Lord to mete out judgement (the "as she the victim sees fit" is as silent as the 'k' in knight).  

I have more I could say, but I am here triggering my own kiss teet' response

Selah, til' we chat again, 

Carl-Anthony 

A Reflection: What is Blackness? What is Black Identity?

From a Jamaican studying in Trinidad and Tobago 

Sparked from the work of Herskovits in general, and the tribute article of Sidney Mintz in particular (Mintz 1964) I was intrigued by ethnicity and it’s resulting impact on identity - even as I am forming daily my opinions, insights and identity as a young adult. In the article, Mintz discusses seminal works on black identity in the aftermath of the upheaval and exploitation of slavery and Herskovits’s work put up for discussion among names such as Dubois, Johnson, as the thinker who came to stir up the debate which had seemed all but totally shelved by American and the English Caribbean as an issue still present and influential in the dynamics of society.

A lot of activists within the realm of racial and ethnic divisions and equality claim influence by the works of Herskovits and his presentation of the retentions and innovations of culture and practices that were taken with the enslaved blacks to the new world. Startling to me however, were those who questioned the right of Herskovits, a Jew settled in America, to be presenting the African presence to these the descendants and inheritors of the legacy, and how it is that it took ‘him’ in order for the subject matter to have gained prominence and validity in “mainstream Academia.” It is a view which later had affected students under him (PBS.org 2010). Reading and watching these actions and the sentiments/ reactions of those affected interest me as a student of the social sciences, but they resonate with me in many ways because of the society within which I exist and am shaped.

Key to my understanding (or lack thereof) of the reactions of those onlookers and students who were ascribed status as the inheritors of the displaced Africans was my own experience here in the Caribbean. To be black in my country is to be the ethnic majority; it means seeing myself, and any manifestation of a life choice I may make reflected in society. I see myself as my nation’s leader, the holder of high offices, and the trained professional, even as I see myself as the delinquent and the disciplinarian. And yet, it was through looking at the response to their identity from the lens of black as minority that I became open to perceiving class struggles and conflict through a new lens. And yet, Herskovits did not seek to present the “…Political position of these peoples” (Mintz 1964). The Myth of the Negro Past was to present a challenge to the notion that the displaced peoples had no past – that they had carried little with them from the continent of origin and what they carried was lost to the deculturization process that was chattel slavery. His work highlighted the resilience of culture and cultural practices, and their rebirth and relevance to subsequent generations.

It is interesting to note that the widely held belief in American Sociological thought may have been that the displaced Africans did not come with any culture, when in my own country there are laws (some of which, like the 1898 Obeah law, are still on the books) that were specifically created as a response to culture’s pervasive and versatile nature.  

This was no really “new” phenomena in my home country, indeed we were taught about the suppression of culture as well as race based oppression and dehumanisation, but I think a lot of us failed to grasp what it meant. And even as I read the article and did my own research on sentiments/ reactions to both the work of (and reception of) Herskovits on Africana (that word in itself causes me some disquiet though I have not yet unboxed why), I am grateful and arrested that this man sought to legitimise his standing in academia through his presentation of ethno-cultural realities and retentions of a race that was not his own. How does one begin to address this feeling?

Nevertheless, the term I leave this article having been moved by is Africanisms, which I understand to mean those elements of language, attitudes, modes of expression – those components of a cultural identity – which are deemed to be African in origin.

Works Cited

Mintz, Sidney. 1964. "Melville J Herskovitz and Caribbean Studies: A retrospective tribute." Caribbean Studies, vol. 4, No 2 4 (2): 42 - 51.

PBS.org. 2010. Independent Lens: Herskovits at the Heart of Blackness. January. Accessed September 25, 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8m8VSdKRu4.

as I reflect

"Yuh tek drunkard 'tick fi guh lick mawga dawg,

when mawga dawg dead a weh yuh a guh do?"

(You take drunkard's stick to abuse the meagre/malnourished/ailing dog, when the dog dies, what will you do?)

 - Jamaican proverb an folk song lyrics 

This song keeps re-visiting my mind lately, and I suspect the reason needs exorcising. I see so very often people try to obfuscate truth - and truth here in its many forms. People hide the truth of their convictions, the truth of their feelings, the truth of their hopes, their goals, their abilities. for what? Why on earth do we play this game of hide the real self? and then the more baffling aspect that these lines speak to: we highlight the plight and misperceived (often deliberate) weak points and 'villainy' of others. to what end? why do we put each other down? is there some point to this? crabs in a barrel will climb over each other to escape - BUT THE BARREL IS NOT A CRAB'S NATURAL HABITAT! we are not in a barrel...in fact, often we are experiencing pressure in a unique way, and the lessening of that pressure often has very little to do with the person who we drag into our situations.

NOTE: drunkard stick... the song notes that we are not "ourselves" in this moment. we are removed from sensibility and for whatever reason we in that state of weakness - react in outward destruction.

So... when that blame causes the person, the system of support, the group - whatever - to disperse, disappear, no longer function or be a point of escaping scrutiny...What will we/you/he/she/they do? are we even thinking of that time to come?

...Weh we a guh do?

Lands at the edge of the world

The Hills flamed upward, scorning death and failure here...

streams...

Maybe I'm tired.

Maybe I really cannot deal with the madness that others stir up,
Maybe I cannot hold my tongue further for sake of cohesion
Maybe I can't stand and watch the dementia take root
Maybe I can't breathe and this is getting too much to handle

and I am not there to deal with it, process it.
I am not here to fix it when I was made to deliver it just as it began healing
but the universe never allows a vacuum
and divine action is slow but sure
and we reap what we sow
- except when we reap our brothers and sister fields  -
and we are so full of empathy
and Hollowed of our caring
so soulful
 - having lost our souls

And he looked and saw the centuries before him, millennia of strife and bloodshed in his name
wars launched by his people against his people in a name he will in time possibly resent
and still
knowing he could give up at any time
sighed, and hung there
and...
 died

We see and are seen, do and are done to...

Corrine tired of his pain. She watched him, bent over the fire pit, his tongue between teeth. Grunts of effort absently escaped his lips as he tended the flame. It hurt to watch. She couldn't stop herself.
"One day, you're going to have to explain how you made this look so easy." Her eyes bulged, hand reaching for her chest. If she still had a pulse, she suspect it would be hammering. After some seconds of silence, the hope that he had somehow been aware of her presence died. _Wasn't death supposed to be paradise?_ not for the first time, she reached for him - only just holding her anger back as her hand passes through his form, wisps that reshaped on exit. A slight pause and shiver were her reward. It was going to be a _long_ afterlife.