Performing Resistance

Abstract

Introductiongrowing up in st Vincent in 1980s and 90s, I inhabited predominantly urban and middle-class southern portion of island; specifically, I lived in an affluent and well-known area that was about fifteen minutes' drive from nation's capital, Kingstown. Some of my friends at Kingstown Preparatory School also resided in general vicinity - we all lived in comfortable homes in easy proximity to city and all its amenities, we had pipe-borne water in our homes, and we went to school in private vehicles instead of mini-vans which plied St Vincent's roads and highways. The top schools and modern supermarkets were all in town and we were privy to all these things, due to our physical location in south of island, and our economic privilege.There were of course smdents in my large classes from further afield - from places like Layou on Leeward coast, or from distant reaches of Windward side or 'country'- from villages and towns with names like Lauders, Greiggs, Georgetown and Sandy Bay - smdents who made serious efforts to make it to school on time from these relatively far-flung places, whose families undoubtedly made sacrifices for their children to attend a prestigious school located in the city. I had a good number of friends from these rural areas also, but it was hard to see them outside of school time. They could not visit me in Ratho Mill - they lived far away, van routes from these destinations into more urban areas were scattered and few and far between on week- ends, and these friends had chores and hard work to do, to contribute to their families' economies and well-being. I heard stories of homework by kerosene lamp at night. I did not have much to do in terms of domestic chores, and my family had a generator for when power (frequently) went out - but some of my schoolmates at time did not have electricity to begin with.In reality I could have gone to visit some of these classmates on weekends since I was sometimes in neighbourhood - my family favoured drives and picnics in country, and we always drove out there to see splendid green mountains and to sit near pristine rivers, but never really to visit people. So I had a good visual impression of area, but not much understanding of what social constructs, histories and forces underlay difference in lifestyle I had noted between my residential enclave and more northern villages, towns and agricultural expanses. Long before I was exposed to Marx and other theorists who opened my eyes to political economics and class theory, I sensed a divide that was physically demarcated, in sense that place, way you lived and how much money you had were all interconnected. But I did not know how deeply divide, neatly symbolised by my rolled-up car window and curious gaze outwards, was connected to island's past.Before my years in prep school, I attended kindergarten in home of St Vincent's esteemed veterinarian-cum-archaeologist Dr Kirby; his wife Monica was known as Aunty Kirby and was proprietor of popular preschool. Over few years that I attended Aunty Kirby's, I had exposure to historical artefacts that Earl frequently brought downstairs to show us young ones. These seemed to me to be relics of an ancient past - Caribs (the European misnomer for Kalinago), no longer with us, stories buried deep in soil and turned to stone. I had also seen painting series up at Fort Charlotte that depicted Black Caribs (a similarly colonial term for Garinagu, or Garifuna culture) and their struggle for sovereignty - but again, this seemed to me to be so long ago. And I certainly never made clear connections with these experiences and my later experiences in school and as a sort of local tourist in rural northern areas of island. As much as I loved my time with Uncle when he came to talk with us, I never knew about his book on St Vincent's Garifuna history until in my early twenties - when I was introduced to it as a university student in Toronto. …