Carolyn Cooper | “Emancipation was a joke”

In response to last week’s column, “So much to pree in Kingston!,” I got a backhanded compliment from Mark Chue who posted this comment: “A refreshing (sic) to not have to read about colonialization, race, blackness and the usual grievance peddling. More ‘PREments’ on things that uplift and motivate us away from vexatious matters.” I took it as a genuine compliment that Mr Chue seems compelled to take note of my columns, even though they don’t seem to “uplift and motivate” him. He will certainly not be refreshed to see that I’m back on “the usual grievance peddling.”

The public events hosted by the PREE Writing Studio last week addressed “vexatious matters.” Here are links to the programmes:

https://www.youtube.com/live/SX9etgDqhyE and https://www.youtube.com/live/yURitioPTn8

In the first session, Ingrid Persaud read from her novel, The Lost Love Songs of Boysie Singh, which tells the story of four women entangled with a notorious gangster and murderer. Gender politics is also central to Leone Ross’s This One Sky Day. She introduced the novel by paying her respects to Anthony Winkler, “the king of Jamaican mischief.” Strange sexual happenings occur in the fiction of both writers. In Leone’s novel, the private parts of the governor’s daughter, Sonteine, magically fall off.

Shivanee Ramlochan opened with a startling admission. Since she was about eight years old she has been accused of being a witch. Her poem, “Witch Hindu,” confronts that allegation. Addressing the exploitative males who raped her ancestors, she issues this warning: “witch hindu promises you will not be able to think of/sorries in the land where reparations are drawn first/ from the battlements of your thighs.”

A CAUTIONARY TALE

The first poem Ishion Hutchinson read, “The Night Autobiographies of Leopold Dice,” recounts the complexity of personal and national politics. The conflict between green and orange parties in Jamaica reflects the gender dynamic between Leopold, who became a farm worker in Florida, and Isabella Fernandez Garcia, the Cuban woman who “dredged all/ the money he made in those swamps.”

On Leopold’s return to Jamaica, with a lucky throw of the dice, he is redeemed by the baker May:

“her ginger beer so strong it burned

his throat for days,

purged him clean of wonder, rum,

and other women.”

Kei Miller read from his collection in progress. His poem, “Between Here and Every Promised Land,” documents the fleeting fame of Clifton Brown who was interviewed on Television Jamaica about the flooding of a river in his community. Clifton’s words, “Nobody canna cross it (the bus can swim),” were transformed into a Refix video by DJ Powa. Kei turns Clifton’s short-lived popularity into a cautionary tale of how quickly we move on to the “next and strange exciting episode of Jamaica.”

The panel discussion on the tradition of essay writing in the Caribbean opened with a reading by journalist Garnette Cadogan about family in which he riffed on the various names by which he is called. Roland Watson-Grant who is primarily a fiction writer, related how he gradually branched out into essay writing. Roland, the son of an obeah man, wrote a brilliant essay on the still outlawed practice. He highlighted the intertwining of various narrative forms.

“YOU PEOPLE SELL WI OUT”

For me, the most riveting session was the conversation between Erna Brodber and Kei Miller. Erna, a novelist, historical sociologist, essayist and cultural activist, brilliantly reflected on the urgent need for the Caribbean intellectual to take into account the perspective of those who are often dismissed as uneducated. Erna was chastised by one of the 100 people she interviewed for her acclaimed book, The Second Generation of Freemen in Jamaica, 1907-1944.

One of them said to her, words to this effect, “Yu know, you people sell wi out. Wi feel dat unu give up Emancipation. Unu give up August 1st an tek on di odder something. . . . Di old people don’t like dat yu know.” Erna was motivated to revive the celebration of Emancipation Day in her community. In addition, she was asked to do a review of the government’s social development programmes. She recommended that Emancipation Day be put back on the national calendar.

Erna also reflected on the way schooling turned Emancipation into a joke. The curriculum reinforced negative perceptions of the capacity of Africans to fulfil their potential as free people. Furthermore, not all schools offered opportunities for academic excellence. Students often had to travel far from home. As Erna put it so wickedly, “Elementary school now is like obeah. The further you go to a obeah man, the better he is.”

I recently recognised the truth of Erna’s assertion. Last Wednesday, at approximately 5:30 a.m., I passed the Windward Road Primary School on my way to the airport. I was shocked to see three children going into the schoolyard at that ungodly hour. On my way back, I stopped to look for the children. Mrs Andrea White-Green, security/watchwoman told me that there were several children already at school.

The acting principal, Mrs Tanisha Montaque, confirmed that students come from far and wide: Portmore, Yallahs, Bull Bay, even Linstead! Children have to leave home very early with their parents who are going to work. Many teachers volunteer to come before the start of school to help take care of these students.

At the end of the school day, some students often stay as late as 6 p.m. Children should not have to spend twelve hours at school. This is a vexatious matter we must address. If, as a society, we are truly committed to the development of all Jamaican children, we have to ensure that they can learn in circumstances that give them a fair chance at success.

Carolyn Cooper, PhD, is a teacher of English language and literature and a specialist on culture and development. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and karokupa@gmail.com