“A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.” ~ Marcus Garvey.

I became a teenager at a time of racial upheaval in the USA. It coincided with the growing consciousness (‘woke’-ness) in Jamaica of young people of African descent. Rastafarianism and awareness of African culture and traditions began to infuse the music scene, most famously in the lyrics of Bob Marley. In 1968, two African American athletes had stood on the podium at the Olympics and, with their heads bowed, each raised a black-gloved hand in protest, in the ‘Black Power’ salute.  All was not well.

In Jamaica, as a white girl growing up in the heart of rural Jamaica, I was immersed in the discussions about Black Power, about colonialism.  Books by Eldridge Cleaver, Malcolm X, Angela Davis circulated.  The language of Rastafarianism (which included a determination to be repatriated to Africa) gave Jamaica its own identity, a religion which was not recognized, traditions of vegetarianism (ital) and growth of the ‘dreadlocks’ originated in the Bible.  I was aware that as a representative and descendant of the White Colonial master (although I was assured by my Welsh father that the Welsh were also oppressed and colonized by the English) I was on the wrong side of history.  I didn’t take it personally, though I was quite distressed not to be able to grow an Afro, and had to hide from the sun, with my melanin deficiency.

It was also distressing to learn more than was taught in the classroom about the history of the Trans-Atlantic slave trade.  It was horrible to realize that although the enslaved Africans were used as free labor (under cruel conditions) throughout the Caribbean and the Americas, the English (as well as other European nations) were the instigators, the middlemen in this market.  Their hands were not clean.

It was even more years (once I was married to a Jamaican of African descent) and living in the US, before I read more and recognized the legacy of the slave trade, of colonialism, of the history of the descendants of those enslaved especially in the USA.  Emancipation did not result in freedom for those former enslaved people.  It began a new era of servitude.  It was virtually impossible to earn a living wage.  Reconstruction in the American South meant more cruelty.  Black men were arrested under any pretense and sent to prison, where they became a new form of slave labor, in the ‘chain gangs’.  In Jamaica, those recently freed were made to ‘pay back’ their former owners for their lost investment.  Haiti was the first island to gain ‘freedom’. The King of France demanded that Haiti pay for its independence, 150 million francs at the time (ten times what the US paid in the Louisiana purchase).  Well into the 20^th century, 40% of Haiti’s national income was taken to repay debts to France and the USA.

The Jim Crow era in the US was no kinder to those descended from the formerly enslaved.  In fact, this was the era when Black men could be lynched on the mere accusation of wrongdoing, and this would be an occasion for entertainment among the White community.  The deaths of Civil Rights workers in the 60’s, of Medger Evers and others have been publicized, books and movies have made their names known.  But what about the stories of those unnamed thousands who routinely lost their lives to the KKK?  As recently as 1981 an African American young man (19 year-old Micheal Donald) was beaten and killed by the KKK, his body hung from a tree.

I recently was asked by an African American friend to review something she had written, and correct any grammatical mistakes.  I protested that I was sure her grammar was as good as mine.  She reminded me that she had grown up in Liberty City, where class time could be spent standing on one leg, balancing a book, punishment for talking too much.  Books were often second-hand, out of date, and Ebonics was the first language.  I was humbled, recognizing that I was making assumptions about her education, since she was a college graduate and lady of distinction.  What else don’t I know about the Black experience of growing up in the USA?

The beauty of the human experience is that we are given opportunities to reinvent ourselves, to educate ourselves, to right a listing ship.  It has felt recently, in this current election cycle, as if the US has ‘rebooted’ and started over.  The vision of a woman of Indian and African (by way of Jamaica, diluted somewhat by the colonial masters) descent has provided new possibilities for a nation tired of old white men imposing their values on the nation.  For once we are seeing crowds of people who ‘look like us’, a diverse crowd of all colors, genders and ages, coming together to be hopeful about a different future for this country.

When you live in a country which was stolen from the original inhabitants, and then populated by immigrants and their unfortunate African slaves, it is rich indeed to hear that ‘migrants’ are the problem.  Over the past decade we have heard from leaders who turn us against each other, who promote divisiveness and ‘otherness’.  We have watched as a large group of so-called ‘Christians’ have become the tool of the racist far right, demonstrating a level of ‘un-Christianness’ as they try to turn a selfish narcissist into the sword of God.  Enough!

Almost ten years ago when that selfish narcissist (who shall not be named) began his ascent to power and control over a political party, I was sure that people of good conscience (particularly those descended from Europeans) would not stand for his bigotry, his misogyny and his racism.  I was sure there would be a backlash, a push-back by those good people that I was sure existed in the US.  Instead, it appeared that those who shared his values became emboldened, and we saw more and more open acts of aggression and racism. 

Thankfully, it now appears that those who did not condone that behavior, but did not feel strong enough to openly oppose it, have now coalesced into a beautifully diverse, organic movement that is tired of the hatred, the negativity, the divisiveness.  All over social media there are huge groups of people uniting to fight for hope, for optimism, for basic human kindness to each other.  A new day appears to be dawning.

This Friday morning, I am encouraged by the signs of people coming together, ready to show that we care for each other, and wish to work together.  There is still much work to be done, for there are examples of systemic racism that continue to permeate our social structure.  But perhaps there is now the space for conversations to be had, books to be read, and respect for each other’s lived experience to be demonstrated.  Our history may be painful, but it must be opened up to sunlight in order to be purged and cleansed.

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.