The Caribbean

The Caribbean: History, Diversity, Resistance, and Creativity

For many, the Caribbean evokes breathtaking images: the sea a dazzling and crystalline blue, the majestic sun, extraordinary fauna, luxuriant vegetation. Others summon up the portrait of Christopher Columbus, who supposedly “discovered” this part of the world. Geography enthusiasts picture an array of small islands, along with neighboring ones somewhat or considerably larger, all bordered by the Caribbean Sea and some of them also by the North Atlantic.

I live in Delmas, a commune of my country, Haiti, on the island of Hispaniola, which we share with the Dominican Republic. Not very far from Puerto Rico, Jamaica, and Cuba. I know that these images of marvelous landscapes, for the most part blurred by clichés and stereotypes, coexist with other, more menacing ones. The truly enchanting scenery depicted by the travel agencies doesn’t blind us islanders to the risks associated with our geographic location. As a child, I used to follow the gusts of tropical storms with both fascination and dread. I had learned very quickly how dangerous they could be. Today, intensified by global warming, the hurricane season extending from June to November inflicts ever-increasing property destruction and loss of life in our region. 

The widely used word “discovered” prevents us from appreciating that the islands existed long before the arrival of Christopher Columbus’s caravels. The inhabitants of these territories—mistakenly called “Indians” by Columbus, who thought he had landed in India—were the Tainos, whose exact origin has elicited a great deal of study and research. Over a hundred-year period, the actions of the European invaders, the diseases introduced from Europe, harsh treatment, and enslavement caused the death of fifty million Amerindians. The extinguished native population was replaced by men and women captured and brought from Africa for their labor. During the era of colonization (beginning in the sixteenth century), the transatlantic passage to what was called “the New World” delivered more than ten million Africans to the Americas. To round out the toll in lives, it’s also necessary to include those who perished during the crossing. For nearly five centuries, the Caribbean Islands were subjected to invasion, exploitation, and domination by the colonial powers of the era: France, Spain, Portugal, England, the Netherlands, and Denmark. 

In fact, what was really “new” about this world was the European invaders’ sudden intrusion on its inhabitants. An encounter that took place from the outset on uneven terms, since the native people had no firearms. Unsuspecting at first, they rebelled once they recognized the Spaniards’ intention of exploiting their wealth and labor. The struggle proved fierce and unequal, for despite their courage and determination, the Amerindians were all but annihilated. A number of them, ferociously attached to their freedom, took refuge in the mountains and established self-governing settlements. The most famous holdout, named Guarocuya until he was baptized Enriquillo (Henry) by the Spaniards, was a Taino chieftain who resisted the invaders for almost fifteen years. He was hanged by the Spanish governor, Nicolás de Ovando. Nevertheless, despite their near-total disappearance, the Tainos left culinary, religious, and artistic imprints on the populations of several Caribbean islands.

This historical record, albeit sparse and far from exhaustive, accounts for the diversity of languages spoken in the region, which are reflected in its literature. It also explains the development of Creole, a product of the mingling of Indigenous, European, and African languages. The same goes for the emergence of religions like Haitian Vodou, which according to some experts is a syncretism resulting from a combination of elements drawn mainly from Catholicism and African religions. The musical genres of the region, whether the Cuban salsa or the calypso of Trinidad and Tobago, to cite only two examples, derive likewise from a range of sources. Generally speaking, the Caribbean cultural heritage constitutes a creative, innovative, and unique blend of these complex and varied exchanges. Territories rich in diverse components and entwined in an inevitable cohabitation emerged as independent countries from the 19th century onward. Though they pursued differing social and political paths, certain common experiences have nonetheless left their mark, such as the triangular trade; colonization and enslavement; the struggles for abolition and independence; and the American occupations and invasions of the 20th century. 

Also noteworthy are the mass migratory movements launched after the Second World War by the former colonial powers in response to their need for unskilled, low-paid labor: the Windrush movement in the English-speaking Caribbean (1948–1973) and the Bumidom (1963–1982) in the French territories of Martinique, Guadeloupe, Guyana, and the more distant Réunion. Alongside other factors, these movements formed the base for the presence of citizens of Caribbean origin in Europe and for the racially-charged social turmoil that they generated. Still later in the 20th century, the Americans for their part multiplied their operations in the region in the name of the Monroe Doctrine, which holds that all foreign intervention in the politics of the region is presumptively hostile toward the United States.

Social Realities and the Imagination in Motion

It is thus in a context of multifaceted contours that the literary creations of the Caribbean arise. Obviously, the region’s literature cannot be reduced to the impact of history, nor to the splendor of its scenery, the continuation of social inequalities, or the persistence of color prejudices in the aftermath of enslavement. The same is true of the ambivalent and oftentimes estranged or dependent relationships with the former colonial powers, the massive waves of immigration from one island to another, or to North America or Europe: these themes cut across certain texts—such as Marie Moïse’s essay “We Cried a River of Laughter,” included in this collection—without, however, defining them. The literature of the Caribbean, like everywhere else, embraces all realities, from the squalid to the sublime, transforming them into something fresh and unique. Beyond that, each of the islands has followed its own particular trajectory, and its life has taken on divergent hues even when the usual colors also exist there. 

The texts of Caribbean authors are often imbued with a common imagery. It’s almost impossible to live on an island, or a third of an island in the case of Haiti, without the sea being present in one’s imagination. Besides its unique physical attributes, which demand a place in literature, images of the sea also allude to history and reflect the complexities and contradictions of memory. Aimé Césaire writes, "We are born in the hold of slave ships. That’s where the history of the West Indies was born." For her part, Velma Pollard (Jamaica) writes,"[t]he sea hums endlessly,” and the Cuban poet Nancy Morejon adds, "I still breathe the foam of the sea they made me cross.” Others compare the sounds of the ocean to the moans of the shipboard captives. In the texts offered here, the sea is ever-present, sometimes elusive and subtle (as in Omar Pérez’s mysteriously generative mist), at other times invasive and even threatening (see Anabel Enriquez Piñeiro’s allegory of space-as-sea). Just like history, which often invades literature in various forms, while also shining a new and sometimes unsettling light on our realities.

Another common feature of Caribbean literature is the strong presence of poetry. Indeed, while its impact seems less and less evident in the Western countries, poetry assumed an important place in these islands early on and continues to play a fundamental role. Many well-known novelists are also renowned poets. Some authors publish only poetry and have a considerable influence on the younger generations. Short stories, too, are always a current and relevant literary mode. Moreover, it is quite common for a Caribbean author to publish in several genres and be called a poet, novelist, playwright, and essayist. Louis-Philippe Dalembert, whose poem “Port-au-Prince on an IV Drip” appears in this collection, is one such author. Other featured authors whose work crosses genres include the Cuban poet, essayist, translator (and percussionist) Omar Pérez; the Martinican fiction writer, poet, and playwright Suzanne Dracius; and the Haitian Canadian novelist and journalist Dany Laferrière.

Some writers in the region are public intellectuals and are often looked upon as individuals who reflect on their realities, human relationships, and the meaning of existence, such as the Raizal Colombian author and diplomat Emiliana Bernard-Stephenson; the Puerto Rican author, activist, and educator Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro; and the Haitian author, professor, journalist, and editor Lyonel Trouillot.

At the same time, the foremost of the distinct components of the region’s literature is the handling of language. In each of these islands, in various ways and at differing momentums, writers and poets took the language that had been imposed on them and shaped and molded it to suit their own needs. Creole, a language born mainly from the confluence of African and European languages, has not developed at the same pace and with the same consistency throughout the region. Its literary use, official recognition, and internal status vary from island to island. Particularly in Haiti, the profusion of poems and plays in Creole reflect its social and literary evolution despite the persistence of prejudice. To a lesser degree in the French Antilles and other territories such as Saint Lucia, Creole is being used at various levels as a literary language. By the same token, whether it is in Jamaica, Cuba, Haiti, Guadeloupe, or the islands off the Colombian coast, to name only a few places, Creole-language writing reflects a desire to control the language of the colonizer, a recovery springing from a search for identity and self-affirmation. In her joyful, defiant poem “Kriol Soldier,” Emiliana Bernard-Stephenson celebrates the Creole spoken on the Colombian island where she grew up:

Kriol is both my window and my door

Open all day, open all night, open all the time

Never closed nor asleep, because they might wipe it out, just like a dime

 

(Krioul dah mai winda an mai duo tugeda

Opin all die, open all nait, open all taim

No cluose nar sliip bicass them mait iradicate it laik a daim)

With regard to the populations born of enslavement, the Black Liberation theologian James H. Cones wrote that resistance is "the ability to create value and beauty from the ugliness of the slave’s existence.” It seems to me that the Caribbean cultural elements attest to their resistance and dignity.

The Caribbean: A Key to Better Understanding the World

Since the present century began, the region has faced a new challenge: the need to find an autonomous voice in inter-island dialogue and in its relations with the world, despite the imposing proximity of the great neighbor to the North. Voices are raised to question the memorial narratives orchestrated by the Western world, sometimes leading to the violent toppling of statues of former colonizers. Concurrently, actions are being considered with the aim of claiming reparations for the initial plundering and other practices of the colonizers that are largely responsible for poverty and underdevelopment in several countries of the region. At the literary level, in particular, there is confirmation of the need to explore regional editorial possibilities and to promote the translation and circulation of books from one island to another without depending on Western channels. To that end, coalitions have been formed at both political and cultural levels.

The texts selected here, organized under five themes, "Love Stories,” “Transformation," "Resilience,” "Leaving Home,” and "Disaster," offer a gateway to this literature. Of the twenty-one texts, eleven are poetic, which illustrates the importance of poetry in the area. The selection also reflects a diversity of languages, themes, and genders. An introduction to a universe of defiance and sexual fantasies, humor and pain, violence, longing for life, colors, and resonant demands.

I speak Creole and French and have enough English to read texts written in that language. I would like to be able to delve more deeply into Caribbean literature without language restrictions or editorial barriers. Whether it comes from Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, Guadeloupe, or elsewhere, what strikes me most about this literature is its vitality and diversity. Literature that the international literary world cannot ignore. Recognized voices represent it: Alejo Carpentier from Cuba and the magic of his writing; Derek Walcott (Saint Lucia), winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature; Aimé Césaire (Martinique), whose Cahier d'un retour au pays natal is essential reading for a better understanding of the postcolonial situation; Jacques Roumain (Haiti), whose signature work, Gouverneurs de la rosée, has been translated into more than twenty languages; Louise Bennet (Jamaica); Earl Lovelace (Trinidad); Merle Collins (Grenada); Kamau Brathwaite (Barbados); Jacques Stephen Alexis (Haiti); Jamaica Kincaid (Antigua); and so many other names that reverberate not only in the region but around the world. And alongside these famous authors—with the need above all else for expression in perpetual renewal—the constant emergence of new creators, some of whom confirm the richness of poetic, novelistic, and theatrical expression. Fresh voices in this collection include the Dominican poet Frank Báez, who performs his virtuoso “Self-Portrait” in a video posted next to the poem, as well as Jean D’Amérique, Marie Moïse, and others. 

Reading the Caribbean literary corpus sheds new light on the relations between the countries of the North and those of the South, while also revealing the links between the history of the region and that of its former colonial overlords and their effect on current relations. It is to rediscover humanity in its overwhelming diversity. Thinking about the Caribbean almost always brings me back to the verses of the great poet René Philoctète (Haiti), too few of whose texts have been translated into English, and to his collection under the striking title, Caraïbe. In his quest for humanity, the poet sees in the Caribbean islands: ". . . [the] setting in motion of greenery, beliefs, stories, extreme possibilities of living, growing.”