At the moment, I am laying in bed, typing this on my laptop. As per my usual M.O. I am only wearing panties, for all the kinky people out there. I am happily covered in the down comforter that I've had ever since I started having sex, and my belly is full of my aunt's Easter ham. I just came back from a bucolic 24 hours in Northampton where i fulfilled my dyke karma by responding to a summons from my ex-girlfriend's girlfriend to come and visit more often to keep my ex's spirits up in the Land of the Lost. All is well -- except for My Uncle's Altercation.
As some of you may know, in order to take care of estate business, I have relocated to my mom's house in Queens, which is currently also occupied by my aunt and uncle. My uncle is a mellow guy Pisces who makes a mean curry chicken and who does all manner of wifely things. He also has a "club." This club is somewhat of a mystery to me: they throw West Indian parties, mostly around Carnival time, and they also run a field hockey league. They also have really long meetings about once a month where they discuss esoteric topics such as verifying scores, umpires, and hiring DJs.
At the moment, the meeting facilitator (not the uncle I live with, he's super nice) is engaged in a nearly-shouting match (every one is too bourgie to actually raise their voices that much, so they just repeat themselves sternly back and forth for a while) with one of the group members, which brings me to the topic of my post. Trinis and Jamaicans.
The one woman in the group, the other participant in the inane argument outside my door, is also Jamaican. Two strikes. I am not sure how she got there. I think my cousin told me that she is someone's ex (another strike) and she put up a lot of money, and is good at business (I suppose her black beemer attests to that) so she stays. But the guys in the group don't like her. And I think it's because she is Jamaican.
Now there are lots of little nationalistic prejudices going around, and this is one of them. And whenever I have tried to talk to anyone in my family about it, they either suddenly become interested in a fly in the windowpane, act like I haven't said anything at all, or insist that I don't really know "real"Jamaicans so I don't what they are talking about. My aunts snickered at the Jamaican accent of the groom's mother at my cousin's wedding -- "I ope de Lard take dese chirren in de palm of e an" --she was marrying down, but at least he was part Chinese.
More insidiously, though I had been walking around feeling enlightened and non-prejudiced, when I first went to Jamaica, I realized that I had these little thoughts in my head too. As I walked around Kingston, I was surprised that it was such a big city. I was amazed at how clean Jamaicans kept their cars. I was surprised at anything nice, anyone educated, and that their patwa was really a language. I am ashamed to say that those little icky voices were in my head, too, that Jamaicans were stupid, dirty, incompetent, uneducated, bad cooks, talked jibberish -- you name it. I was horrified and really ashamed.
I tried to think about where this came from . I could not remember my parents ever having said anything bad about Jamaicans. However, I was raised clearly with a sense of Trini superiority. Our "twang" was beautiful and lilting. Our management of our country's natural resources kept us from whoring ourselves to tourists. Our people were the most attractive (ent yuh see how many Miss Universe Trinidad have?). Our food was the most delicious. Our Carnival the best in the world. Our culture the richest and most diverse. And so on and so on.
And though my parents never said anything negative about any group of people (except perhaps Trinis themselves -- not known as trickdadians for nothing) lots of people around me did. My cousins who went to mostly West Indian high schools regularly talked about how trashy and ghetto the Jamaicans were. My aunts at the wedding. And don't let my aunt in Trinidad self get started. And so on.
So now, my uncle's friend is trying to verbally crush this woman -- who is, of course, holding her own -- and that reminds me of when I went to Kingston and was confronted with the voices inside my own head. I am not interested, I suppose, in why these rivalries exist -- neo colonial hegemonic blah blah -- I've read my Eric Williams and company. I am interested in the places that are excavated when we are confronted with the nastiness within ourselves.
I've since returned to Jamaica twice -- for another wedding and then for the Calabash International Literary Festival and I am glad to say that since I found those embarrassing hobgoblins and exposed them to the light, they haven't come back. I still though sometimes hear an accent and hear that bad thing sneering,"ugly." Or see the batty riders and think "ugh, so trashy." And I know that I am not just expressing my personal opinion, but something poisonous that disguises itself as a salve against a terrifying inferiority complex. And so I say to myself, "just different, just different" like a mantra to untrain that brain, and listen to my sister hold her own in my uncle's altercation.
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