Issue 2: Caribbean Studies, Today

IYARI C ISSUE 2

VIVID VISIONS:

IYARIC | Issue 2 Caribbean Studies, Today September 2024 IYARIC is a graduate student-run journal at the Centre for Research on Latin America and the Caribbean. This publication is intended to platform Black, Caribbean, and Indigenous voices and scholarship. We would like to extend a special thanks to the Provost and the Jean Augustine Chair in Education, Community & Diaspora for their continued support.

IYARIC is published by York University’s Centre for Research on Latin America and the Caribbean. Its content is produced in line with the principles of Open Access research and in support of the greater global exchange of knowledge. As a result, IYARIC is freely available to the public via: issuu.com/iyaricjournal. IYARIC has an exclusive license for the articles published herein, limited to first right of publication granted by the author(s) who hold copyright. Articles herein are covered by applicable copyright law with authors retaining copyright of their manuscripts. This issue of IYARIC is published under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

IYARIC nor its sponsors, including and not limited to the Centre for Research on Latin America and the Caribbean and the Jean Augustine Chair in Education, Community & Diaspora, are responsible for any views expressed in the included content. The publication, its editors and sponsors are indemnified against any loss, liability, damage, cost or expense of action arising from any breach, or alleged breach, of ownership representations espoused by its content creators, or any legal action arising from acceptance and publication of the author(s) work.

LAND ACKNOWLEDGMENT The IYARIC Initiative is based out of Tkaronto, an area that has been traditionally cared for by the Anishinabek Nation, the Haudenosaunee Confederacy, and the Huron-Wendat. Today it continues to be the home and gathering place of many Indigenous communities. We are mindful that the area’s current treaty holders are the Mississaugas of the Credit First Nation and that this territory is subject to the unhonoured Dish with One Spoon Wampum Belt Covenant. In making this acknowledgement, we understand that such statements are merely symbolic steps toward decolonization and that the ultimate dissolution of settler projects across this hemisphere is imperative.

ISSN 2816-8267 ISSN 2816-8275 Cover art by Natalie Wood Printed in Canada

WELCOME NOTE

With immense pride and admiration, I introduce the second Edition of the IYARIC journal, a beacon of our graduate students’ intellectual exploration and scholarly dialogue at the Centre for Research on the Caribbean and Latin America (CERLAC). This Edition is a testament to our graduate students' tireless dedication, innovative thinking, and deeprooted passion, whose contributions have intricately woven a tapestry of themes ranging from evocative poetic reflections on the diasporic experience to the rigorous analyses central to Caribbean Studies.

In academia, where the pursuit of knowledge is both a journey and a destination, our students have embarked on this path with commendable zeal. They have navigated the complexities of public space-making, unravelling the nuances of community interaction and identity manifestation within these shared realms. Their submissions are a remarkable example of how diasporic communities continue to foster significant impact, bridging geographical divides through enduring bonds of solidarity and shared heritage. These submissions are not merely academic exercises but vibrant narratives that breathe life into our journal pages, inviting us to ponder, debate, and grow. They underscore the dynamic and multifaceted nature of Caribbean experiences, challenging us to broaden our perspectives and deepen our understanding of the region and its diaspora.

As we delve into the rich content of this Edition, I urge our readers, scholars, and stakeholders to engage with these works as observers and active participants in a continuing dialogue. The path of Caribbean Studies beckons us forward with the promise of untold stories, unanswered questions, and unexplored territories. This path requires our collective efforts, curiosity, and creativity. Looking ahead, the journey of academic inquiry into the Caribbean is boundless in its potential. It calls for a multidisciplinary approach, integrating insights from history, sociology, anthropology, environmental science, and beyond. Our task is to build upon the foundations laid by those before us, pushing the boundaries of our understanding and contributing to a body of knowledge that illuminates the past and present and shapes the future.

In closing, I would like to thank the Provost, the Jean Augustine Chair and the editors, Tka Pinnock and Collin Xia, for their gifts of time and financial support. I also extend my heartfelt congratulations to our graduate students for their exemplary work and dedication. Your contributions are not only a source of academic enrichment but also a source of inspiration for future scholars. Let us all move forward with a renewed commitment to exploring the depths of Caribbean Studies, driven by the spirit of discovery, collaboration, and a profound respect for the rich mosaic of cultures that define this vibrant region.

With warmest regards, Tameka Samuels-Jones, Ph.D. Associate Director, Centre for Research on the Caribbean and Latin America (CERLAC)

The IYARIC Initiative began from a need to address incidents of anti-Black surveillance and policing on campus, with a mandate to renew CERLAC as a safe community space for Black students. Staying the course, this issue continues to interrogate the limits of blackness, indigeneity, and Caribbean scholarship in the academy.

The main objective of this edition is to contribute to current thinking about the state and space of Caribbean Studies in the Canadian academy. We are most appreciative to hear from Drs. Audra Diptée and Tameka-Samuels-Jones, whose respective interviews highlight the promises and challenges of Canadian Caribbean Studies programs in the neoliberal higher education landscape. Our contributors – all emerging scholars – offer insights into the new and ongoing questions and practices that the field take up: public space making and development; surveillance; diaspora and diasporic identities; Indigenous solidarity. We invite readers to read the issue as an archive of the present. It marks the ‘big ideas’ our contributors are grappling with in their present reading and writing of the Caribbean and her Diasporas.

Putting together this special issue was both joyful and worrisome for curating a journal issue about Caribbean Studies mirrors some of the very challenges faced by the field, more broadly. It is regretful, for instance, that the issue only engages the Anglophone Caribbean.

As the IYARIC journal forges ahead, we recognize that much work needs to be done to ensure that it represents and deeply engages with the complexity and diversity of Black, Indigenous and Caribbean communities.

We end with a word of gratitude to our contributors and collaborators, who breathed life into this issue, and to our readers, who will make it live.

Walk good, Tka + Collin

EDITORIAL LETTER

The academic institutional response to the global movement against anti-Black racism in 2020 led to the re-emergence of Black (Canadian) Studies, or more appropriately, put squarely in the spotlight the ongoing critical work done by cohorts of Black Canadian faculty and students to have Black Canadian Studies recognized and respected as a discipline. However, as Black Canadian Studies went (and continues to go) through a necessary period of growth and maturation, some scholars argued that Caribbean Studies (and African Studies) diminished in the academic landscape. For years before the historic moment of 2020, Caribbean Studies faced an uncertain future, particularly at York University. Once a thriving bastion of the field, the Caribbean Studies program at our institution saw its numbers decline over the years. Other Canadian institutions may point out that their programs never reached the zenith of a York University or University of Toronto. Nonetheless, the juncture of the “Year 2020” presented a moment to ask productive questions about the state and future of Caribbean Studies in the Canadian academy. This second issue of the IYARIC student journal is a small fruit of those explorations.

EDITORS Tka Pinnock Collin Xia COPY EDITOR Carol Lawes GRAPHIC DESIGNER Silja Mitange FOUNDING ADVISORY COMMITTEE Dr. Honor Ford-Smith Dr. Tameka Samuels-Jones Dr. Carl Everton James Camila Bonifaz Debbie Ebanks Tka Pinnock

CERLAC RESOURCE CENTRE

“Indigenous, Black, and Women’s Voices”

A sample of documents that represent “Indigenous, Black, and Women’s Voices” (in Spanish and English) is now available in digitized format from the Resource

Centre collections of York’s Centre for Research on Latin America and the

Caribbean. The digitized materials form part of an Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion project supported by the President’s Office, and they come from large and unique collections of original historical documents on these and other topics.

Founded in 1978, CERLAC and its Resource Centre (currently located on the sixth floor of the Kaneff Tower) were inspired by the exiled students and scholars who arrived in Canada from the military dictatorships of the time in Latin America. It incorporates the collections of the Latin American Working Group (LAWG) that functioned as an independent civic organization that engaged in research, publication, and activism from the mid-1960s to the mid-1990s.

The sample of “Indigenous Voices” documents incorporates materials from

many Latin American countries and a few from the Caribbean. They document

the indigenous rights violations of governments and corporations intent on prioritizing resource extraction and agro-business exports. The items included

also illustrate how indigenous communities mobilize to fight for and protect their territories.

The digitized “Black Voices” items reflect the persistence of racism in well-known events in Caribbean history, such as the banning of Black Power literature in Jamaica in 1968, the triumph of the New Jewel Movement in Grenada in 1979, the

assassination of the Marxist historian Walter Rodney in Guyana in 1980, and the Haitian refugee exodus of 1980-81. Collectively, the documents presented at the digital site are relevant to scholars from a broad range of disciplines.

The “Women’s Voices” (mostly in Spanish) come from the first feminist organizations that were founded in Latin America and the Caribbean in the 1980s

and 1990s. The materials are historic although many of the organizations that were established during those decades continue to function today.

The “Women’s Voices” also deal with issues of anti-Black and anti-Indigenous racism and directly address diverse and controversial topics such as abortion rights, domestic violence, and homosexuality, to name a few.

The “Indigenous, Black, and Women’s Voices” can be accessed here: (https://vitacollections.ca/cerlacresourcecentre/search).

table of

CONTENTS Locating Caribbean Studies in Canada, Today: Conversations

01 | with Tameka Samuels-Jones, PhD and Audra Diptée, PhD

Audra Diptée, Tka Pinnock, and Tameka Samuels-Jones International Relay Map 16 | First Odeimin Runners Placemaking as Public Space Planning Tool in

18 | New Providence, Bahamas Nastassia S. Pratt

“It is not about us; it is never about us”: An Analysis of the Alliance

22 | of Jamaican Alumni Associations (AJAA) in Canada, 1980s–2000s Arshad Suliman The Watched Self

29 | Whitney-Ann Patrick Cotch

32 | Keisha Bell-Kovacs A Bitter Taste

35 | Vindra (Vanessa) Moonilal Cover Art “ They Say We Can’t Breathe Under Water”

38 | Natalie Wood 39 |

Contributors

Tka Pinnock

Locating¹ Caribbean Studies in Canada, Today: Conversations with Tameka Samuels-Jones, PhD and Audra Diptée, PhD

Preface: An Invitation What is the state of Caribbean Studies in Canada today? In the spring of 2023, Chevy Eugene— Caribbeanist scholar and activist and doctoral candidate in Social and Political Thought at York University—lamented The Crisis of Caribbean Studies in Canada.² That conversation brought together emerging and established scholars and activists of the Caribbean in Canada to consider the contemporary question of Caribbean Studies. It served as an anchor for a series of conversations I had with scholars in the Canadian academy in the summer of 2023 on the state and future of Caribbean Studies.

I am deeply invested in these questions “as a reader and writer of the Caribbean” (Scott 2013, 7) but also as a Caribbean person living in the diaspora who is concerned with the thriving of the region. I take heed of Noxolo’s warning that we ought to avoid “fixing the region for our own self-definition, staking a double claim to it, both as ancestral homeland and as area of expertise” (2016, 832). Otherwise, we risk reproducing a “colonising scholarship” that leads to “the Caribbean as career” (Ibid). While the neoliberal impetus of the academy compels us to consider these questions about the state and future of Caribbean Studies from a careerist standpoint, I see them echoing those questions we should be asking about the Caribbean itself and the conditions of knowledge production about it. For implied in the question, “What is the state of Caribbean Studies today?” are questions about what Caribbean Studies can tell us about the question of the present, and what is Caribbean Studies in the present?

What is the state of Caribbean Studies in Canada today?

I posed this meta-question to two Caribbean women scholars working in Canadian universities: Tameka Samuels-Jones and Audra Diptée. They come from different disciplines and scholarly backgrounds: Dr. Samuels-Jones is an Assistant Professor in the School of Administrative Studies at York University and Dr. Diptée is an Associate Professor of History at Carleton University.

Both, however, are uniquely positioned to offer rich insights to the questions posed given their leadership roles in Caribbean Studies at their respective universities. Dr. Samuels-Jones is Associate Director of the Centre for Research on Latin America and the Caribbean and Dr. Diptée is Program Coordinator of the Latin America and Caribbean Studies. What better perch than the windows through which they look!

I encourage you to consider the interviews as invitations to reflect and meditate on the contours, textures and boundaries of Caribbean Studies and our relationship to/with/in it.

Please note that the transcripts have been edited for length and clarity.

01 | IYARIC ¹ I titled the piece prior to becoming aware of and reading Pat Noxolo’s 2016 article, “Locating Caribbean Studies in unending conversation.” The title is in fact inspired by an invocation in the conclusion of David Scott’s prefatory article to the July 2013 Issue of Small Axe. In “On the Question of Caribbean Studies,” Scott concludes with a reminder that the task of making and remaking Caribbean studies requires us to be “attentive to the problem of location in its various instantiations: conceptual, institutional, geopolitical, generational, disciplinary” (2013, 7). While, in other circumstances, I would retitle the piece to avoid any appearance of impropriety or plagiarism, I have decided to keep it because this piece sits alongside and acknowledges Noxolo’s and Scott’s in the delicate ecosystem of knowledge production on the Caribbean/Caribbean Studies, reverberating questions and themes taken up by both from their particular locations. ² The talk is available here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ZQTKCSvoIw

Interview with Tameka Samuels-Jones, Ph.D Tka Pinnock : Dr. Samuels-Jones, your research interests span environmental crime, Indigenous law in the Caribbean, regulatory law and AI ethics in the Global South. How did you come to your scholarly work?

Tameka Samuels-Jones: I will start by talking about my positionality. I position myself as a Jamaican born and raised Caribbeanist researcher and scholar. Of course, my lived experiences have guided my research interests and led me to where I am today.

My bachelor's degree, which I completed at the University of the West Indies, Mona, was in Hotel Management. My undergraduate program drew my awareness to how the Caribbean is perceived.

First, the media framings of the Caribbean are highly racialized and often negative. So we are perceived as criminals. And paradoxically, the Caribbean is also represented as a luxurious elite holiday destination. So, there are two very different representations, both of which serve to perpetuate the Caribbean as a problematic space. And so I came from that program very aware of what I looked like to “others” and confused about who I was [as a Caribbean person].

After completing my undergraduate studies, I started a career in regulatory law. I worked at the Fair Trading Commission and the Financial Services Commission [in Jamaica]. I came to realize that, “okay, this problem also exists outside the sphere of tourism.” And when we talk about law, we're talking about how the Anglo-Caribbean has transplanted laws from other jurisdictions, especially England, and just placed them in these previously colonized states and expected them to work.

I returned to the UWI Mona to complete a master’s degree in Government because I assumed it would help to answer my question: “How can regulatory law protect our people if these laws were not designed for them in the first place?” In choosing to study Government, I thought I would find out why Jamaica uses laws that do not belong to us. I did not.

I decided to take charge of finding the answers to my question. I imagined others wanted these answers too. So, I embarked on my PhD, and that led me to complete my doctorate in Criminology and Law at the University of Florida.

My desire to conduct this kind of research work started off from a very naive perspective. As with most graduate students I started [with] “I don't like that problem and I want to fix it.” As I grew as a scholar, it became a desire for transformative change. There are lot of issues to unpack when we study the Caribbean. I am now coming to terms with the complexity of the region and my ability to implement some kind of change, little by little. This is especially possible because of my role as the Associate Director of CERLAC.

02 | IYARIC

TP: What is your current research agenda?

TSJ: My work is interdisciplinary and I think most work within the Caribbean region has to be in some way, even if there is a specific focus. I worked for seven years in regulatory law and my primary research interest is in looking at the ways in which state regulatory law is often at odds with Indigenous or local religious law, specifically within Jamaica.

I work with the Maroons, who, through their 1739 treaty with the British, are legally autonomous, a fact that most Jamaicans do not know. They do not fall under Jamaican state law except for cases of murder. Those are the only cases that fall under the jurisdiction of the state. They have their own political structure and vote for their own political leaders. There has always been conflict between the Maroons and the state, and most recently, the conflict has centered on issues related to extractivism and land dispossession. The Jamaican state is trying to move the boundaries of Maroon land to accommodate extractive industries such as bauxite mining by transnational corporations. This is my current research project.

My overarching interest is to look at the ways in which the elite within the Caribbean, and specifically within Jamaica, uses the law to promote continued neo-colonization.

TP: There's growing talk about institutional competition between African Studies and Caribbean Studies and now Black Canadian Studies, particularly as the latter has grown as a field in the last few years.

What are your thoughts on this competition, and where might there be space for us to be thinking across these fields?

TSJ: When we think of the Caribbean, its history, its culture, its political affiliations, one can appreciate that it is a unique space, and to suggest that there is homogeneity between the Caribbean, Africa and Black Canada serves as a form of erasure. There is so much diversity within the Caribbean alone that one can hardly speak of us as one group, depending on the research that you are doing.

There is work that can be done across all three fields, but it does not have to be done to the exclusion of any. I do not believe that Caribbean Studies should be removed, nor do I think that Black Canadian Studies or African Studies should be removed. They all have an important role to play. I've never heard it said that we should stop studying Spain or the Netherlands because it's already covered by the study of Europe. It seems there is no problem covering Europe five, six times over. In furtherance of our work as Black people, we must do it all. We don't have to exclude one field in order to raise another. We can all grow together while simultaneously focusing on our field-specific scholarly agendas.

“In furtherance of our work as Black people, we must do it all. We don’t have to exclude one field in order to raise another.”

03 | IYARIC

TP: You came to Canada from studying in the United States. It seems that in the US, African American Studies has found a way to live side by side with African Diaspora Studies and Caribbean Studies. So what is happening in the Canadian context that we are missing?

TSJ: At the University of Florida [where I completed my PhD], Caribbean Studies was not underserved in any way. African Studies was quite comfortable with Caribbean Studies having their space and quite comfortable with African American Studies. All understood that they are distinct areas of study, but when required, they come together in a show of strength.

One of the issues here in Canada is funding. Let's get to the basics; there's only so much funding to go around and everyone wants to ensure that their funding is secure. The best way to secure your funding is to demonstrate that your work reaches the greatest number of people. It is unfortunate that the Caribbean is often showcased as something that's so small that if you're going to get rid of something, you should get rid of it. It’s a lie. Though regionally, we may be small, the Caribbean's impact is enormous when you're looking at transnational work and knowledge production. When we talk about prominent scholars in the disciplines of politics, economy, political economy, sociology, history, anthropology, many of these scholars are Caribbean. We should look at the rich and vast bodies of scholarship the Caribbean has produced. If there were adequate resources, Caribbean Studies would be fine, but the truth is there is not, so we have to show the value in what we do and there is a whole lot of value.

TP: What is the value of Caribbean Studies or in studying the Caribbean? And those might be different things for you.

TSJ: Caribbean Studies is inherently antithetical to Eurocentric knowledge production and concepts. One of the strengths of Caribbean Studies is that you have a wide variety of people that are connected through birth, through kinship with the region that generates so much knowledge on it. A better understanding of the Caribbean is seen most in our trans territorial connections, the ones that we make, even in places like CERLAC and the Caribbean Studies Association.

Although we seem not to be getting the kind of attention that we deserve, especially from the Global North, it's not necessarily to our detriment. The fact that our work does not suffer from the consistent white gaze gives us the opportunity to do and produce authentic work. When we are competing—as we often do in academia—with scholars in the Global North, we tend to shape and fashion our work to meet their measuring sticks. Doing the work for us has created in us a body of work that is deeply rich and authentic, and when you explore Caribbean scholarship, you cannot help but feel what those readers write. Our intellectual inquiry could have been dominated by the Global North because we have the US in our backyard, who is a powerful influence. Europe still haunts it. What makes us so different is that we're not answering to the Global North.

04 | IYARIC

TP: Returning to the white gaze. There are white non-Caribbean scholars who have built their careers on researching the Caribbean. In the first couple of years of my doctoral program, I questioned whether studying Jamaica for my dissertation project was the right decision. I wondered if it would be limiting for my academic career because I thought my peers in the discipline of Politics would think the Caribbean “too small” a place to study, and that I should include a Latin American country in my project. Knowledge production is tied up in power, and knowledge produced by a Black Caribbean scholar studying the Caribbean might be received quite differently by academia than knowledge produced by a white, non-Caribbean scholar studying the same topic.

TSJ: It is important to think about the power relations of knowledge production and this is one reason Caribbean Studies is so important. If we do not have formal Caribbean Studies programs, if we disband them and do not offer some direction to scholars studying the Caribbean, then we may end up with knowledge about the Caribbean that may not be grounded in any truth.

Thinking about my own work with the Maroons, they will not let you in until they trust you. One of the first things they taught me was a saying in their language, Kromanti. During my doctoral research, a community member said something to me in Kromanti and I did not know what it meant. I asked their Minister of Security, “what does that mean?” and he said, “it means we talk some and keep some. We don't know you well enough yet that we're telling you everything, but we like you enough that we're telling you some things.” Caribbeanist scholars know that relationship building is one of the most important parts of Caribbean research and to get at the truth, people have to trust you. Caribbean people do not care about your title and where you come from. If they saw you last year and you took care of them, and you return this year and ask them for nothing but visit just to hail them and see how they are, that’s when people begin to trust you. That’s when you make a friend for life. We know these Caribbean ways of being and center them in our research practices.

Unfortunately, many scholars from outside the region feel justified in developing knowledge and producing it for us. But, if there are enough of us and there are enough of us asking questions, they will stop it. If you have an open space—and remember, the Caribbean has a wealth of data and they know this—who would not want to do research in a beautiful place? They get funding for it. It's a nice place to be. We have to take up that space.

We have to take up more space in academia, in our scholarly work. We have to own it.

TP: Are you a Caribbeanist or are you a scholar of the Caribbean? And is there a difference?

TSJ: I most certainly am a Caribbeanist! I think Caribbeanists have lived experience within the Caribbean.

They have a deep understanding of the Caribbean and have history with the Caribbean. On the contrary, I think scholars of the Caribbean may lack that, but they are researching within the Caribbean, conducting research in either the region as a whole or one small part of the region.

05 | IYARIC

“We have to take up more space in academia, in our scholarly work. We have to own it.”

Now, there are arguments, as there always are, regarding who is a Caribbeanist versus who is a scholar of the Caribbean. Gordon Lewis in his work describes a Caribbeanist not as somebody who is intimately involved with the work of the Caribbean, but as someone who studies the Caribbean as a whole. That is problematic for me and for a number of other scholars, because rarely do you find people studying a region as a whole, especially when there are such differences and distinctions between one country and another.

I am a full-fledged Caribbeanist scholar and I advocate for making linkages between Caribbean countries where necessary and possible. We should always try when we can. Let us say that you are writing a research grant to start a new database in Jamaica that captures the impact of climate change. Once you have secured funding and set-up that database, you should see if perhaps it's possible to get funding to expand to, say, Barbados or Trinidad. That is a true Caribbeanist. You care about the region as a whole, even if the entire region is not your major area of interest.

TP: I’m glad you mentioned Gordon Lewis. There is a particular Caribbean that I find scholars of an older generation—whether Caribbeanists or scholars of the Caribbean—talk about, and it’s the Caribbean on the eve of and just after independence. Scholarly attention is trained on the wave of independence, even in this present moment. For myself and other emerging Caribbeanist scholars who are children of the 1980s and 1990s, we were raised in and are familiar with a different Caribbean space, which gives rise to different questions.

TSJ: There was a spirit of nationalism in the 1960s and 1970s that the older generation of scholars are so proud of, and there is a lot written about that era. But for scholars like you and I—and I'm an 80s baby —one of the constraints I have always had in terms of Caribbean scholarship, is that so much of the work I see is by people based in that era. Times have changed so significantly, and while you must know the history, that is not the entirety of Caribbean studies.

As part of my role at CERLAC, I am teaching a summer Caribbean Studies diploma course and I am committed to showcasing the breadth of current Caribbean scholarship. There is a resurgence of interest from this generation in terms of Caribbean scholarly work, and we need to showcase the work that is now being produced. It is a new Jamaica, a new Caribbean.

TP: CERLAC alum Chevy Eugene, professor at Dalhousie University, often reminds me that for many Caribbean/ist scholars, there is a deep emotional attachment to the independence moment and a great despair that results from its failure. But to your point, for those of us born and raised in a firmly neoliberal Caribbean, inundated by American media, who know no other Caribbean, how do we, or do we even, move beyond the “moment of independence?” What are some of the challenges and interventions that we need to make in Caribbean Studies today?

TSJ: In academia, we stand on the shoulders of scholarly giants who went before us. I respect that a great deal. I believe our history is always important, but at the same time, the old guards need to give room to new(er) scholars coming in. We are experiencing a new Caribbean. While their work is relevant—it serves as a point of departure for current work we’d like to embark on—there are new things to study. In my field of Criminology and Law, for example, our primary focus is no longer on gangs. Criminals are using artificial intelligence now. Crime has changed, so what we study also has to change.

06 | IYARIC

We cannot conflate Caribbean Studies with history. It is not history. One can do historical Caribbean studies. I research regulatory law in the Caribbean, and people often ask me about things from the 1950s and the 1960s. I am floored. I think to myself, “the laws I research were not written then; they were not enacted at the time.” That is a problem that we have in terms of advancing the field—not being able to separate Caribbean Studies from history, or only emphasizing culture. We have to open the door a little bit and make room for current work and research on what is happening now.

TP: Do you think Caribbean Studies today, particularly in the Canadian context, offers an effective understanding of the Caribbean?

TSJ: There are very effective research units across Canada, but we have to position Caribbean Studies in such a way as to show how it’s related to other fields/disciplines. We don't have to prove our relevance because we know we're relevant. But if we want to be funded, we have to demonstrate that we're bringing something to the table. That is where we are lacking in the Canadian environment. We know we're doing the work when people think of a multiplicity of things when you say you study the Caribbean. We are not there yet. We know we have been true scholars of the Caribbean region when we ave motivated people to think beyond the Caribbean as beaches and gangs. We have not done that yet in Canada. We need to hear the fresh voices of emerging scholars.

TP: Where do we go from here?

TSJ: Let us expand!

We are so intellectually diverse. We are so inventive. I want us to expand. I want us to develop an appreciation for different aspects of Caribbean Studies and we start by not putting our young Caribbeanist scholars in a box. I promise that if we listen to the younger scholars, it will open doors in terms of funding and showcasing the work of the Caribbean.

The box is the problem, so we leave the box alone. We just open the door to people who want to do new and diverse things. That is where we go from here.

07 | IYARIC

Interview with Audra Diptée Tka Pinnock: Dr. Diptée, you self-describe as a historian, author and educator who studies the ways in which historical thinking can advance contemporary social justice issues. Tell me more about your scholarly work and how you came to it.

Audra Diptée: I started my intellectual journey at York University. It feels like I am coming back full circle by having this conversation with you.

My introduction to Caribbean Studies at the university level was really at York, where I was introduced to history courses, literature courses, and various interdisciplinary courses in Caribbean Studies. Those courses are what laid the foundation for my journey. I would not be a professor today, if I did not go to York University. I was very fortunate to be in a space that allowed Caribbean Studies to flourish at a high level, and at the time, it was at a level that exceeded other universities. I was very fortunate that way.

I went on to do my PhD at the University of Toronto and my dissertation looked at the Atlantic slave trade. At that time in the early 2000s, there was a resurgence in scholarly interest in slavery and Atlantic history. I was very interested in the connection between the ways in which events in Africa had influenced the lives of enslaved people as they made the journey and were forcibly inserted into Caribbean societies. For me, the question was about this larger Atlantic connection between these forced immigrants being put into a created society and what that meant and wanting to put a face to these people.

My current project, though, is a project I could only do now at this stage in my career, and it comes out of my experience as a racialized faculty member in the Canadian university system and largely through observation and participating in the politics of university life.

I have decided to take my intellectual interest and really channel it towards understanding something that many Caribbeanists of earlier generations did, which was to explore the ways in which power— and the university is an institution of power—shapes knowledge production. So whose voices are legitimated, just off the top, and whose voices are questioned and seen as not having legitimacy? And, what does that mean for the ways in which we tell stories, in general, or about the Caribbean specifically? My current project, called Chained in Paradise, examines how history was used to change the Caribbean future. It is looking at the ways in which Britain controlled documents—they did not want Caribbean people to access certain documents—and what that meant for the kind of stories we could tell about ourselves.

Because I think this is such an important topic that needs to be accessible to as many people as possible, I publish my research findings through a newsletter and on the website https://www.chainedinparadise.com.

08 | IYARIC

This is fascinating, because the Caribbean has produced world-class historians. Think Eric Williams, C. L. R. James, Walter Rodney, and Elsa Goveia. These people understood that history was crucial to making any kind of revolutionary or fundamental change in the region. Understanding the Caribbean past was essential, but unbeknownst to them, while they are fighting the anti-colonial fight in the 1940s, 50s, 60s, Britain had begun a practice, and eventually developed a formal policy called Operation Legacy, to remove and destroy documents so that Caribbean people could not access them. Colonial governments in general do this. We have evidence of it happening in France. I am sure it happened in Spain and Portugal. It is just remarkable to see that there was a formal policy called Operation Legacy, and what made it particularly interesting is that they denied it until 2009. At that time, they had no choice but to admit it and eventually put the documents in the British National Archive. Now historians can access these documents, but it still requires a trip to the United Kingdom, which presents other sorts of challenges.

TP: History is political.

AD: Yes, exactly. Very well said. The relationship between politics and history is intimately intertwined in the intellectual history of the region. There is no single Caribbean historian from the 40s to the 60s who did not think of history as something that needed to be used to change the political situation of the day.

They were anti-colonialist; they didn't have the luxury of saying, “I'm really curious about this, I'm going to just go write it and then bury it in in a box.” They were studying, reading, and writing to get the kind of knowledge necessary to make change in the region.

TP: You and I are Caribbean peoples in the diaspora producing knowledge about the region. In your position as the coordinator of Latin American and Caribbean Studies at Carleton University, I imagine you work with scholars and students who are studying the region who may not have a connection to it.

What are your thoughts on knowledge production about the region by non-Caribbean scholars?

AD: We used to have this conversation when I was a graduate student: who gets to study what? On one hand, I think everybody has the right to study anything. If I wake up tomorrow and decide I want to study ancient China because I have an intellectual curiosity, I do not want anyone saying, “You don't have a right to study ancient China You're not Chinese.” think everyone has a right to study anything and everything. I also think people bring different perspectives and if we allow for those perspectives, and we listen to them and consider them, then, perhaps, we will come to a higher level of understanding.

I am not advocating for some sort of exclusivity—saying this is ours; you do not have a right to this.

That said, I believe scholars from the Caribbean, generally speaking, are better able to write from a/have a Caribbean perspective. They are rooted in the region. Even though we are in the Diaspora, we still try to understand the Caribbean as a Caribbean person.

A non-Caribbean scholar might go there and spend six months, but they are outsiders looking in and that creates a different kind of perspective. Again, I'm not dismissing that perspective because they have a toolbox that's different and can offer us points of comparison.

09 | IYARIC

I am not interested in writing Caribbean history for the sake of writing Caribbean history.

I am interested in writing history that I think will serve the region and shape how people of the region see their past and how they can use that past to influence the present and the future.

TP: Do you think there's a difference then between a Caribbeanist and a scholar who studies the Caribbean?

AD: I think I would be both. I do have an intellectual interest in the region. I want to come to this with a certain objectivity and commitment as a Caribbeanist, as a scholar, as a historian. There are certain methodologies that we [as historians] have to follow and I have fidelity to those methodologies.

I also, as a scholar of the Global South, understand the importance of questioning those methodologies. As a Caribbean person, I understand that those methodologies come out of very Western epistemologies and they tend to exclude many voices and perspectives. They privilege certain kinds of evidence.

I do not think there is a single definition of a Caribbeanist. I think if you ask different people, they are going to give you different responses. For me, a Caribbeanist is someone who is interested in producing knowledge that serves the region, takes a Caribbean-centered perspective, and is committed to Caribbean ways of knowing.

TP: In 2013, the journal Small Axe published an issue on what is Caribbean Studies, and it interrogated the question of Caribbean Studies in that temporal and political moment. I must credit that issue with sparking this question, “What is Caribbean Studies today?” in me and a few of my colleagues. How do you define Caribbean Studies?

AD: Caribbean Studies by definition, for me, is a commitment to an interdisciplinary framework. It is also a commitment to a pan-Caribbean perspective—so a willingness to look at the French Caribbean, the Spanish Caribbean and the Dutch Caribbean. Even if you do not have the expertise, you have to be aware that there are strong parallels. Some Carbbeanists argue that the imposed linguistic barriers should not divide us. So for me, very simply, it is a commitment to the study of the region through interdisciplinarity and one that transcends the linguistic boundaries. Caribbean Studies also understands the Caribbean region as unique in many ways. In part, this uniqueness about the region comes from the ways in which these societies were created. We have the massive marginalization, destruction and removal of the indigenous population.

Caribbean societies are built on that foundation. Beyond that, we have these societies that were created to be exploited, to send profits back to Europe.

In a way, that exists elsewhere, but those societies in Latin America and North America were still settler societies. Caribbean societies were designed for people to come, generate as much profit as possible and then leave. The people that were meant to stay were the unfortunates that were brought there to be super exploited. Caribbean Studies recognizes this.

10 | IYARIC

“I am not interested in writing Caribbean history for the sake of writing Caribbean history. I am interested in writing history that I think will serve the region and shape how people of the region see their past and how they can use that past to influence the present and the future.”

TP: I am glad that you have signaled the uniqueness of the Caribbean space, particularly as one for intellectual theorizing and examination. It is very common to see the Caribbean tied to Latin America in academic settings. What does this institutional linkage offer to Caribbean Studies and what does it foreclose?

AD: If you have a program that is “Latin America and the Caribbean” and you have 20 Latin Americanists and two Caribbeanists, you are going to have a difficult time negotiating for the intellectual space that the Caribbean deserves. Yes, Caribbean Studies exists in these programs, but it is generally marginalized.

When I was applying to PhD programs, I applied to a program at a university in Florida. The program was promoting Atlantic studies and the study of the Caribbean, but as I sought more information, they made it clear that I could only do my comprehensive fields in Latin America.

They did not see the Caribbean as an important field and they were not interested in trying to help me expand my knowledge of the Caribbean.

They actually said to me, “you will never get a job as a Caribbeanist. Universities only hire in Latin American history.”

That was the perspective of some Latin Americanists almost in the year 2000.

TP: A struggle for me when I entered my PhD program—my work focuses on Jamaica—was whether I should include a Latin American country. I thought that Political Science departments would not find the Caribbean sexy enough and so if I paired it with a Latin American country, then that would be my way in. If we can be frank, many white non-Caribbean scholars in Canada who study the region seemingly do it without the kind of fear that perhaps Caribbean and racialized students carry with them. It is a fear that our work might not be taken seriously in the (intellectual) endeavor.

AD: Junior scholars should have a certain level of fidelity to their intellectual interests but also be strategic.

I was strategic. I knew I was interested in the Atlantic slave trade. I was interested in picking up Africa. I was also very aware that at the time there was a resurgence in Atlantic Studies. I told myself, “I am going to make this happen. I am going to pursue this project.”

I would say go forth with courage on the Caribbean project.

TP: I wonder, from where you sit as somebody who is administratively responsible for a Caribbean Studies program, what are some of the challenges you are seeing on that front?

“I would say go forth with courage on the Caribbean project.”

11 | IYARIC

AD: In the Latin American and Caribbean Studies Program which I coordinate, there are very few Caribbeanists and many more Latin Americanists. The program itself is very small, and I am committed to advancing the cause of both.

The challenges are cyclical and so you have moments where you get support and then you have moments when you have to fight. During those moments when you get support, you have to do as much as possible and prepare for the period when you are not going to get support. That is the challenge, generally speaking, for administrators.

The enrollment numbers for our program are not very high, but a big part of it has to do with, I believe, underfunding. Fledgling programs need investment and institutional commitment. The problem with universities is that they have to keep showing that programs are generating revenue. It is very rare that they are in a position to give long-term funding of say 5 to 10 years, because for every dollar spent, they need to show that it is pulling in students. A challenge for us is getting the kind of resources necessary.

I happen to know that my university has a large contingent of students from the Caribbean and large contingent of students from Latin America. There is no reason our Latin America and Caribbean Studies program should not be thriving. It just requires resources to reach the students. It is a resource issue.

TP: I have a colleague who attends the University of the West Indies, Saint Augustine, and he once asked if Caribbean Studies in the Canadian context was elucidating anything new about the Caribbean for students in the diaspora or from the Caribbean, that they could not get beyond their lived experience.

Is Caribbean Studies helping [Caribbean] students to understand the contemporary Caribbean and the relationship between contemporary Canada and the contemporary Caribbean?

AD: Academics need to consider that question. Based on anecdotal evidence, I think students take courses that help them understand the contemporary. They take courses in subjects that pique their curiosity and help them understand the world around them.

Popular culture also influences their choices. I will give you an example. When the CSI series hit the air, there was a spike in Criminology Studies at the university level. I cannot prove that there is a direct correlation, but popular culture seems to influence what students can imagine as work and the kinds of questions they ask about the world. With that in mind, I am of the opinion that then there is a certain hegemonic influence coming out of the Global North—out of the United States—that shapes the way Caribbean students imagine the world. This has always been the battle for the Caribbean.

This is a big part of my current project. The battle for the Caribbean imagination. Colonial Britain wanted to make sure Caribbean people could not imagine anything beyond what was convenient for Britain. They did this through propaganda, the education system, the radio . . .

12 | IYARIC

There is a different battle now where people in the Caribbean have about 150 television channels of which the vast majority are American. While some might see that as a positive thing, it leads to a specific way of imagining the world and the kind of assumptions we make about how the world works.

It takes a lot of willpower and critical thinking and reflection to be able to divorce yourself from perspectives coming out of the United States.

TP: There is a generation of Caribbeanist scholars who came to adulthood and intellectual maturation during the wave of independence in the region.

You, like my cohort of scholars born in the 1980s and 1990s, grew up in a Caribbean that was firmly entrenched in neoliberalism. We grew up with deep access to American culture. The independence moment had passed for us, and we knew nothing else.

How do we start to talk to our generation of Caribbean people, both in the region and the diaspora that existed outside and beyond the independence movement?

Can we divorce Caribbean Studies and how we think about it, from how the Caribbean is globally situated and our ongoing and almost unbreakable connection to American empire?

AD: If we are talking about American imperialism and its continued influence in the region, that is one thing. Frankly, it is a continuation of the same problem that challenged the region under colonialism. It is the same sort of asymmetries of power at play and same ambitions to exploit the region.

But there is another problem, which is the way in which we talk about the region. I do not have an answer, to be clear, but there is a certain problem.

I am implicated in the problem along with others from the Caribbean who completed our studies abroad. So, what's the problem there? The problem is we are taught about the Caribbean from a Western perspective, from a Global North perspective . . . We start to repeat certain narratives and scholarship coming out of the Global North. We return to the region with a Global North lens because that is the scholarship to which we were introduced. That is a problem.

Caribbeanist scholar Dr. Kamala Kempadoo has an article in which she talks about the ways in which Global North narratives around human trafficking have become “indigenized” such that Caribbean intellectuals, policy makers, and politicians have started to adopt—uncritically—the vocabulary and assumptions, and narratives of the Global North.

I will give you a second example. An earlier generation of scholars from the 1960s and 1970s, such as the Jamaican criminologist Ken Pryce among others, argued that crime in the Caribbean needed to be studied from a perspective that highlighted the kind of structures that the Caribbean had inherited under colonialism. Pryce and others, asked questions about the ways in which colonialism created societies in which acts of crime were more likely to be committed. They examined crime from a structural and institutional perspective and argued that changes needed to be made at those levels.

13 | IYARIC

Then a new wave of scholarship comes out informed by psychology. These psychologists start to talk about the deviant Caribbean person and inclinations towards crime.

The problem of crime now becomes the Caribbean person. From this perspective, we no longer have to do the difficult work of dismantling the structures and institutions that lead to inequality and arguably heighten levels of criminality.

This made it possible to just blame Caribbean people. In other words, the problem of crime was taken out of its historical and current context—which is, among other things—a context of colonialism and imperialism.

Instead, we have people in the Caribbean repeating imported narratives of deviancy and worthlessness. These narratives are taken up uncritically and they are “indigenized” to again borrow from Kamala Kempadoo.

It is vitally important that the current generation of Caribbean scholars understands the legacies of colonialism and imperialism. It is important that they approach Global North perspectives critically and with skepticism.

To do otherwise is to play checkers when the game is chess.

TP: You may have been asked this several times before because it is a very current conversation in the Canadian Academy. There appears to be institutional competition between African Studies and Caribbean Studies and now the growing field of Black Canadian Studies. Scholars and students alike are claiming their stakes in the conversation. Where do you sit?

AD: There is a competition for resources. It does not serve us to pit these intellectual interests one against the other. There is a reason why anti-colonialists of the earlier period from the Caribbean were engaging with intellectuals in Africa and Latin America. They were talking to each other all the time.

Their position on the matter was “your problem is my problem. My problem is your problem. How do we speak to each other and figure this thing out? We must develop a strategy to fight the ‘divide and conquer’ tactics that are in place.” They were very aware of the importance of collaboration.

I hope that more scholars understand that these are all marginalized areas, and we should follow in the tradition of that earlier generation of scholars who understood that if we are not careful, we will find ourselves in a race to the bottom. We need to collaborate and unite and advocate for all of these fields as being legitimate.

We can support each other through collaborative events. We can support each other administratively.

We can support each other in different kinds of ways and not give in to the temptation to try and claim one field as more legitimate than the other.

TP: To end on a hopeful note, where do we go from here?

14 | IYARIC

“It is vitally important that the current generation of Caribbean scholars understands the legacies of colonialism and imperialism. It is important that they approach Global North perspectives critically and with skepticism.”

AD: You want a hopeful note? The optimistic outlook on this is that there is a generation of young people like yourself who are here to carry the torch. I have been carrying the torch given to me by my mentors.

You are going to carry the torch given to you by your mentors. The challenges you face intellectually as a scholar are going to be different from the challenges I face, but we have to keep carrying that torch and trying to avoid the inclination to divisiveness that comes during times of scarce resources.

Also, there is a responsibility to find the generation who will be coming after you. Find them, support them, and then when the time is right pass the torch on to them. This is going to be a long and ongoing battle. That is the only way forward. If each of us moves this battle one centimetre, and each generation moves it a full metre, eventually we are going to find our way to a very good place.

15 | IYARIC

Odeimin Runners First International Relay Map Abstract The Odeimin Runners art collective strives to foster and nourish relations between communities. The First International Relay Map visualizes Indigenous and Caribbean embodied mapping methodologies as an interactive storymap representing the multiple interconnections of three different geographies: St. Elizabeth, Jamaica; Saugeen First Nation; Wasauksing First Nation.

In the past decade, activist movements such as “Idle No More” and “Black Lives Matter,” as well as governmental and institutional policy changes resulting from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission Report, imprinted decolonial and anti-racist discourse into mainstream culture. Working against performative discourse and allyship, Odeimin Runners’ approach refuses to operate oppositionally to colonial institutions and systems. Instead, our art practice offers an alternative path focused on mutually nourishing all our relations¹ in the worlds we are born into and encounter. As an Indigenous and Black-Persons-of-Colour (IBPOC) media art collective, Odeimin Runners engages our communities to re-trace trade and ceremonial routes between the north of Turtle Island and the Caribbean archipelago—routes and roots that have been there/here since time immemorial—linking stories, videos and artworks to traditional territories. In other words, while Afro-Indigenous relations are trending, they are nothing new.

Adrian Kahgee (Afro-Anishinaabe) and Debbie Ebanks Schlums (Blakka—Black and Hakka Chinese), form a media art collective called the Odeimin Runners guided by the traditional teaching of the odeimin/strawberry plant as a model for interpersonal, inter-communal relations. We use Bolex film cameras and process cinema to connect and visualize the different worlds we live in and with at micro and macro levels—including plant, spirit, human, animal, and celestial worlds. The First International Relay Map offers the insights of shared stories of lived experience by creating a lattice of interconnected odeimin/strawberry runners in an online storymap.

The odeimin (heartberry) or strawberry teaching evokes the shape and function of the plant to teach relationality. The fruit is in the shape of a heart and its roots create a networked lattice of relations between individual plants. Inherent in this understanding is the notion that connected communities are also parts of the self, relying on the soil, sun and air to thrive. Pre-dating and parallel to Western theoretical debates, odeimin teachings circumvent a god-eye, human-centered view, since no one entity—plant, animal, mineral or spirit—dominates another; instead, all are in relation. ²

16 | IYARIC ¹ All our relations refers to the interconnectedness of all things reflecting a deep sense of shared knowing and being. See for instance https://firstnationspedagogy.ca/interconnect.html. ² An article detailing the theoretical frameworks we adopt from Indigenous and Caribbean scholars will be published in an upcoming special issue of PUBLIC on the pluriverse. Here, we provide a brief description of the map and its methodologies.

The storymap, First International Relay, embodies the engagement of the geographies and communities with which we are connected, including Anishinaabek communities, Jamaican villages and artistic networks. Our method of artmaking involves what Janine Marchessault and Phil Hoffman call process cinema. This utilizes analogue Bolex cameras and hand processing high contrast 16mm black and white film, employing plants to develop the image. Plants were collected from each of the members’ territories by giving thought to the plant's purpose or properties in terms of its cultural use in their territories, as a way to embrace and acknowledge the interrelational connectivity of all our relations. Giving thanks to the plants, laying down tobacco, acknowledging our ancestors, following community and family protocols are incorporated into how we work with plants and communities.

With Canada Council for the Arts funding, we were privileged to spend time in each of the territories and share stories with members of the communities, all of whom received honoraria. Public Visualization Lab’s Patricio Davila created the online platform for the First International Relay Map. The digital map embeds the stories which are available as audio, photographs and video as a layer of content that viewers must interact with and spend time with in order to hear, see and experience.

The map itself consists of multiple layers of digitized phytograms—phytochemically produced imprints of the plants on film when exposed to sunlight—as well as conventional cartographic online maps. The map contains stories—video, audio, photographs, and links to collaborators. Each story is marked by a strawberry. Scrolling over a strawberry triggers the runners that represent points of connection between the stories and territories. Clicking on the strawberry reveals the story.

We hope you enjoy!

17 | IYARIC

Natassia S. Pratt

Placemaking as Public Space Planning Tool in New Providence, Bahamas Abstract My research critically investigated the emergence of tourism development as a strategy in The Bahamas, the instrumentalization of the industry for planning public space, and the potential for “everyday placemaking” to be a touchstone for public space planning in the nation and the wider Caribbean region. In addition to a literature review and discussion, I conducted interviews, and an observational public space study of the Potter’s Cay Commercial Area from which these watercolours emerged.

Public space in the Caribbean is increasingly under the planning and organizing power of the tourism industry. In The Bahamas, waterfront public spaces for locals to enjoy and engage in everyday placemaking and social practice are often provided with “the tourist” as its primary end user. Locally activated, informal public spaces that lie beyond the direct influence of tourism development, such as the Potter’s Cay Commercial Area in New Providence, de-centers tourism and resists its spatialization forces.

My Major Research Paper critically investigated the emergence of tourism development as strategy, the instrumentalization of the industry for planning public space, and the potential for “everyday placemaking” to be a touchstone for public space planning in the nation and wider Caribbean region.

In addition to a literature review and discussion, I conducted interviews, and an observational public space study of Potter’s Cay from which these watercolours emerged. I chose to include watercolours because I believe that they render the vibrancy of Potter’s Cay public realm as existing and real in a way that words and photographs cannot.

18 | IYARIC

Map Potters Cay

Conch Vendor

Produce Vendor 19 | IYARIC

Captain Beckles

The Restos 20 | IYARIC

Old Man on Porch Potters Cay

Produce Vendor at Potters Cay 21 | IYARIC

Arshad Suliman

“It is not about us; it is never about us”: An Analysis of the Alliance of Jamaican Alumni Associations (AJAA) in Canada, 1980s–2000s Abstract Using the Alliance of Jamaica Alumni Associations (AJAA) as a case study, this paper demonstrates that the Jamaican diasporic community in Toronto created organizations as vehicles of cultural retention, community responses to anti-immigrant and anti-Black racism, and community development —both in the host and home countries.

Introduction Jamaican organizations emerged alongside the increase in the Jamaican diasporic population in Canada, including activist groups, cultural groups, and alumni associations. In the Greater Toronto Area (GTA), newly founded Caribbean and Black organizations were led predominantly by Jamaicans, including the Black Business and Professional Association, the Markham African Caribbean Canadian Association, and the Tropicana Community Services.

This paper examines the emergence and development of the Jamaican community in Toronto—which has a substantial Jamaican population—through the lens of diasporic organizations, focusing on the Alliance of Jamaica Alumni Associations (AJAA). By 2007, Toronto had over 82 Jamaican organizations, 58 percent of which were alumni associations of Jamaican primary and secondary schools, and 21 percent for “[s]ocial, cultural, and broadly defined organizations” (Jones 2007, 107). Using the AJAA as a case study, this paper will argue that the Jamaican diasporic community in Toronto created organizations as vehicles of cultural retention, community responses to anti-immigrant and anti-Black racism, and community development—both in the host and home countries.

Although “diaspora” is a widely disputed term, for the purposes of this paper, I use the definition put forth by Paul Tiyambe Zeleza. For Zeleza (2008), diaspora “implies a form of group consciousness constituted historically through expressive culture, politics, thought and tradition, in which experiential and representational resources are mobilized, in varied measures, from the imaginaries of both the old and the new worlds” (7). It is the shared group identity formed through similar experiences in the “homeland” (Jamaica) and the “host country” (Canada) presently and across history (7). These similar experiences connected members of alumni associations through a shared group identity, which manifested in the AJAA.

22 | IYARIC

Background on the AJAA Individual alumni organizations emerged with the increase in Jamaican immigration in the midtwentieth century. Each alumni association is linked to and comprises members from secondary (and some primary) schools in Jamaica. Interviewee Paul Barnett, for example, came to Canada in 1967 after graduating from Ardenne High School and founded the Ardenne Alumni Association in Toronto in 1981 (Barnett 2021, author interview). Through funding and projects, each alumni association in Canada donated/donates money and resources to its high school counterpart in Jamaica. Dave Reece states that his association was a vehicle through which he and fellow St. Jago alumni gave back to the school that educated them (Reece 2021, author interview). Tka Pinnock comments that, through fundraisers, her association, Wolmer’s Alumni Association, Toronto, sought to build outstanding libraries, functioning computer labs, and new bathrooms in Wolmer’s Girls’ and Boys’ high schools as well as support current students from low-income families (Pinnock 2021, author interview).

In 1988, 13 individual Jamaican alumni associations merged to form the AJAA (Barnett). As Paul Barnett recounted in our 2021 interview: One evening, a group of us, about six of us or seven of us, got together down at King Street to have a nice evening and a nice drink. So, we were there discussing about forming some sort of alliance because the alumni associations that were presently there, were raising funds both for projects here in Canada and back in their schools in Jamaica. But there are only so many weekends that are real good weekends for fundraising. [...] There were not enough weekends for each association to have their functions. So, we decided to come together and look at how we work as a body to spread out those functions to make it beneficial to everybody. Then it was said, “Can we get together and do an alliance?” (Barnett 2021, author interview) After establishing a single unified association made up of individual alumni associations, the number of alumni associations “grew to 25, to 30, 40, then we were up at 52 at one time” (Barnett 2021, author interview).

Today, the AJAA is described as “a charitable umbrella organization comprised of 40 Toronto-based alumni associations affiliated with education institutions in Jamaica” (Williams 2014, 35). As the umbrella organization, the AJAA provides benefits to its individual alumni association members, including charitable tax receipts for donations made to the alumni association and liability insurance for alumni events.

In addition to fundraising for their high schools in Jamaica, the alumni associations connect with the Jamaican diasporic community in Toronto through programs for new immigrants and scholarships for Jamaican and Jamaican-descended youth. In Pinnock’s interview, she discussed her role as the chair of the scholarship committee for Wolmer’s Toronto, which gave scholarships to Jamaican students pursuing post-secondary studies in Canada and Jamaica (Pinnock 2013, author interview). She also described the AJAA’s youth leadership program “which brings current students from the high schools [in Jamaica] for leadership training in Canada.

23 | IYARIC

They are able to meet Canadian students, and engage with a postsecondary institution” (Pinnock 2013, author interview). Paul Barnett and Andrea Chambers both recounted their experiences with international students in Canada, who they would invite to their houses for “special holidays” such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter (Barnett 2021; Chambers 2021, author interviews). These alumni organizations also created spaces for incoming Jamaican immigrants to meet other Jamaicans and learn “collective survival strategies in the new society” (Henry 1994, 247). The AJAA’s commitment to “collective survival” in the Jamaican diaspora is evident in its services, resources, and spaces for Jamaican immigrants. As scholar Frances Henry (1994) comments, “voluntary associations within immigrant communities generally play a mediating or brokerage role between the ethnic group and the mainstream society” to help newcomers adapt to the new environment (235).

Brubaker’s concept of “intragroup identity” aptly describes the AJAA. Brubaker argues that we need to shift our “attention from groups to “groupness” and treating this groupness as variable and contingent rather than fixed and given” (Brubaker 2002, 168). The Jamaican diaspora is not a monolithic “group,” but rather, each actor has a different understanding of their own “groupness” or “Jamaicanness,” which emerges in their involvement in diasporic organizations in Toronto (Brubaker 2002, 168). For example, the AJAA focuses on providing opportunities for Jamaican students and improving educational facilities in Jamaica, while the Jamaican Canadian Association (JCA) seeks to “advocate to improve the well‐being and equity of Jamaican, Caribbean & African‐Canadian communities within the Greater Toronto Area” (Jamaican Canadian Association 2021). The idea of “intragroup identity” highlights the differences within the Jamaican diaspora in Toronto and challenges common essentializing misconceptions of “Jamaican immigrants” as monolithic, criminal, uneducated, or other negative stereotypes.

Community Development in Canada “Social capital,” or the benefits of belonging to larger social networks, is essential to living in the diaspora and being involved in the diasporic community in the “host country.” Such benefits include access to employment and housing information via larger organizations (Jones 2007). Terry-Ann Jones argues that Jamaican diasporic organizations serve as vehicles of social capital, noting that “[s]ocial capital among Jamaican immigrants in South Florida and Toronto is dependent on the establishment of social networks and economic niches that are created based on shared experiences and common culture” (31). The AJAA also promotes community development through philanthropy for the Jamaican diasporic community in Toronto.

Both Paul Barnett and Tka Pinnock recounted their experiences on scholarship committees in their respective alumni associations. Paul Barnett described the Graduates Program in which the AJAA gives back to our community that is in Canada here. [There are] students who are finishing high school but [are] having a hard time trying to get into university or college. So as a combined group we came together and sat issuing scholarships. First of all, we just came together to celebrate their success of finishing high school. Then a few years later we gave scholarships and bursaries to those who were going to universities and colleges, to assist them. And that continues up to today. (Barnett 2001, author interview).

24 | IYARIC

The Care and Share program and the Graduates Program illustrate the AJAA’s local projects and objectives within Toronto: to care for, support, and improve the experiences of all individuals living in the Jamaican diaspora in Toronto. The AJAA’s network is a prime example of the potential of social capital for diasporic communities.

Vehicle of Cultural Retention The concept of “homelands” is crucial to diasporic studies. One of Brubaker’s key elements of diaspora studies is the “Homeland Orientation,” understood as an “orientation to a real or imagined ‘homeland’ as an authoritative source of value, identity and loyalty” (Brubaker 2005, 5). William Safran’s definition of diaspora also includes a connection to “a specific original ‘centre’” and a need to continue to relate to this centre while living in the diaspora (Safran 1991, 83–84). The AJAA’s connection to its “homeland,” Jamaica, manifests in the AJAA’s events and philanthropy for that country. For example, the AJAA has run SoccerFest every summer since 1985 modeled on the national high school soccer competitions in Jamaica—Manning Cup and DaCosta Cup. Paul Barnett describes the event as follows: There are two high schools in Jamaica, Kingston College and St George’s College, that had a soccer tournament every year. It was the battle of supremacy for Knox Street.¹ They were both on the same street in Jamaica, and there’s always a rivalry between the two of them. And so, they brought it to Canada. But then the other schools, they wanted to be part of this whole excitement of the day. So, it was brought over to the Alliance and it grew from the two schools to one time we had 12 schools, 14, schools, 16 schools. (Barnett 2021, author interview) The brochure from Rhona Dunwell describes SoccerFest as a place for the AJAA members to “[r]elive the memories of Jamaican football competition during this fun filled day” (Dunwell 2021, personal correspondence). The popularity and success of the AJAA in SoccerFest highlights the significance of cultural retention and memory through the conduit of soccer. The expansion of this event in Jamaica into the AJAA’s SoccerFest in Toronto indicates the Jamaican diasporic community’s connection to events in the “homeland” and desire to reproduce those events and memories within their new “home” country.

Although the main goal of the AJAA’s philanthropy for Jamaica was/is to improve schools in Jamaica, philanthropic events and projects offer spaces for cultural retention and connections to the homeland.

Frances Henry (1994) argues that events in Jamaican diasporic organizations in Toronto give “people an opportunity to re-establish their ethnic origins and enjoy aspects of their culture [...] [while] also keep[ing] migrants in touch with events in their countries of origin” (235).

Paul Barnett recalls the AJAA’s Ten-Year Project in the 1990s, the first long-term project after the incorporation of the alumni associations into one large organization. The project had different foci every two years, such as education, technology, or science, and the organization would spend one year in Canada raising funds and then one year in Jamaica implementing the project. For example, the twoyear sub-project, “Technology 2000,” occurred in the mid-1990s and donated computers to various high schools in Jamaica (Barnett 2021, author interview). The next two years focused on “Science 2000,” where the AJAA “went to one of the pharmaceutical places to ask for lab equipment, Bunsen burners and things like that [...] to help replace some of the old equipment” in Jamaican schools (Barnett 2021, author interview).

25 | IYARIC ¹ Kingston College and St. George’s College are located on North Street. Knox Street is incorrect.

This ten-year project both empowered students in Jamaica with proper resources and encouraged members to return to Jamaica to assist the students with the new resources, resulting in cultural retention.

Additionally, the AJAA offered/offers spaces to maintain Jamaican identity, of particular importance to new Jamaican immigrants. Tka Pinnock recounts the nostalgia she feels for Jamaica when attending AJAA events and meets other alumni members. Her alumni association is “a very specific community [in which] we are connected to each other through memories,” including six or seven decades of people who attended the same school (Pinnock 2021, author interview). She also states that each of the alumni association spaces provides “a different form of community” and a sense of familiarity, especially for recent newcomers.

However, also crucial to this discussion is the physical and temporal distance from the homeland, which reconfigures the diasporic experience and organizations. As James and Davis (2012a) argue, the longer a diaspora exists, the greater “the physical and cultural distance from the imagined ‘homeland’” becomes (19). Pinnock also commented on this increasing distance in our interview: “while Canadianborn children and grandchildren may go to alumni events, they have no connection to the schools” (Pinnock 2021, author interview). As Jamaican descendants become further distanced from the high schools represented by alumni associations, the less interested they are in their maintenance.

Therefore, to continue cultural retention, the AJAA relied and relies heavily on the continued immigration from the homeland (Pinnock 2021, author interview).

This is not to suggest, however, that young Jamaican-Canadians—i.e., second-generation or later—do not engage in diaspora philanthropy. In her study on young Jamaicans and diaspora philanthropy, Tka Pinnock (2013) found “evidence of a strong obligation among [Jamaican descendants] to help their fellow Jamaicans and Jamaican-Canadians through the giving of time, goods, talents, skills, and money.” Youth leaders in the Jamaican diaspora expressed a desire to “give back” and a need to (re)connect with “the homeland” as primary motivations for leading and participating in diasporic initiatives (Pinnock 2013). As such, while they may not participate in their parents’ and grandparents’ alumni associations, they have founded alternate ways of maintaining their Jamaicanness (Pinnock 2013).

Conclusion Although the AJAA has received little scholarly attention, its actions from its inception in the 1980s until the present day demonstrate its role in the Jamaican diasporic community as a vehicle of community development, cultural retention, and community response to anti-immigrant and anti-Black racism.

Today, due to a lack of interest from younger Jamaican descendants, a major concern of the members of the AJAA is sustainability. With its Graduates Program, the AJAA seems to have expanded its focus to include the educational attainment of youth in the diaspora. As Dr. Michele Johnson shared in our correspondence on her involvement in the Knox Past Students’ Association: People there [in Jamaica] still believe that education is the key to an improved life. And most families will do everything they can— soetimes with enormous sacrifice—to try to support children’s education. I think that might be one reason why the alumni associations continue to work at it—to give (often poor) children an opportunity.

(Dr. Michele Johnson 2021, personal correspondence)

26 | IYARIC

This quotation speaks to Jamaican youth’s experiences in both Jamaica and Canada and the AJAA’s extensive involvement in the improvement of schools and opportunities in both countries. Through community development in the “homeland” and the “host country,” the AJAA was and continues to be a vehicle of collaboration and cultural retention for Jamaicans in Jamaica and the growing Jamaican diaspora in Toronto. During the Knox College Virtual Fundraising Gala on April 17, 2021, I felt the strength of the Jamaican diasporic community in Toronto. That I as a non-Jamaican felt this empowered by an event held by the Knox Past Students’ Association speaks to the possibilities of alumni associations as spaces of cultural retention and community engagement, not only for the Jamaican diasporic community in Toronto and youth in Jamaica but also for the larger Black community in Toronto.

27 | IYARIC

Works Cited Brubaker, Rogers. 2002. “Ethnicity without Groups.” European Journal of Européennes de Sociologie/Europäisches Archiv für Soziologie,.vol. 43, no. 2, 163–89.

———. 2005. “The ‘Diaspora’ Diaspora.” Ethnic and Racial Studies, vol. 28, no. 1, 1–19.

Sociology/Archives

Henry, Frances. 1994. The Caribbean Diaspora in Toronto: Learning to Live with Racism. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Jamaican Canadian Association. 2021. jcaontario.org. Accessed April 24, 2021.

“Jamaican

Canadian

Association

Centre—About

Us.”

James, Carl E. and Andrea Davis. 2012a. “Instructive Episodes: The Shifting Positions of the Jamaican Diaspora in Canada.” Journal of Education and Development in the Caribbean, vol. 14, no. 1, 17–41.

———. 2012b. Jamaica in the Canadian Experience: A Multiculturalizing Presence. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing.

Jones, Terry-Ann. 2007. Jamaican Immigrants in the United States and Canada: Race, Transnationalism, and Social Capital. New York: LFB Scholarly Publishing.

Knox Past Students’ Association—Toronto Chapter. https://knoxtorontochapter.ca/. Accessed April 20, 2021.

2021.

“About

Knox

Toronto

Chapter.”

Pinnock, Tka. 2013. “Young Jamaican-Canadians as Diaspora Philanthropists: A Case for Intergenerational Collaboration.” The Philanthropist https://thephilanthropist.ca/2013/04/youngjamaican-canadians-as-diaspora/ Safran, William. 1991. “Diasporas in Modern Societies: Myths of Homeland and Return.” Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies, vol. 1, no. 1, 83–99.

Walker, James W. St. G. 1984. The West Indians in Canada. Ottawa: Canadian Historical Association.

Williams, Kay-Ann Simone. 2014. “Jamaican Middle-Class Immigrants in Toronto: Habitus, Capitals and Inclusion.” Queen’s University, PhD dissertation.

Zeleza, Paul Tiyambe. 2008. “The Challenges of Studying the African Diasporas.” African Sociological Review / Revue Africaine de Sociologie, vol. 12, no. 2. 4–21.

Personal Communication Interviews Barnett, Paul. 2021. April 17.

Chambers, Andrea. 2021. April 28.

Pinnock, Tka. 2021. April 15.

Reece, Dave. 2021. April 26.

Correspondence Rhona Dunwell. 2021. “Benefits of Membership.” Alliance of Jamaican Alumni Associations (Toronto).

Dr. Michele Johnson. 2021.

28 | IYARIC

Whitney-Ann Patrick The Watched Self Abstract The Watched Self captures the claustrophobic, surrealist nature of living in a world where surveillance has become the norm. This art piece is part of a broader project entitled, The Two-Edged Power of Community-Based Surveillance: How the Culture of “Maccoing” and Gossip Can Act as a Deterrent for Devious Behaviour while Perpetuating Paranoia, which examined the physical and technological forms of surveillance within the Caribbean context.

“The Watched Self” captures the claustrophobic, surrealist nature of living in a world where surveillance has become the norm. The striking visual centre, the woman whose headwrap is stacked with colourful houses, is a nod to the painter’s home country, Trinidad and Tobago. Gazing out from the dark windows are glaring detached eyes. With no human face present, these eyes present no differently from the clunky surveillance cameras contrasting them. These symbols are meant to evoke an eerie feeling, a nod to the cultural practice of “maccoing,” (minding people’s business), but not quite as human.

At the forefront, the woman wears a fairly neutral facial expression and is depicted wearing headphones. The intention behind this artistic choice was to depict the notion that the subject is tasked with bearing the weight of surveillance. She is trying to block it out, as surveillance, with all its positive and negative properties, has begun to feel suffocating. The social media logos, and chat bubbles below, and around her, are also jumbled and overbearing. These icons, like the houses, are a constant reminder of her existence as a perpetually surveilled being, only this time, within the digital sphere.

Overall, the artist chose to use a variety of loud and bright colours, defying the notion that surveillance must be conveyed in cold detached tones. Joyous and sunny warm tones are meant to provide a contrast to the subject matter and delineate the discussion as intricate and multi-dimensional. The colours are also a cultural nod, acknowledging gossip and surveillance's rich cultural position within many spaces. Ultimately, the painting invites viewers to engage critically and draw their own conclusions. The piece also asks that the viewer reflect on their feelings regarding their positionality in an increasingly surveilled world.

30 | IYARIC

The decision to portray the subject as Black was intentional based on the artist's own lived experiences.

Blackness and surveillance studies intersect with broader conversations surrounding power, visibility, and control—all themes I wanted to touch on in the piece. I drew from the work of Simone Browne, "Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness," as a key lens through which to view Black resistance against oppressive surveillance. It is important to acknowledge the hyper-visibility of Black people and how bias seeps into surveillance practices. Black peoples are surveilled and often engage in selfsurveillance for the protection of self and one’s image, as well as to manage societal expectations and stereotypes.

I wanted this piece to fully encapsulate the way surveillance has been adapting and changing within the social landscape. It speaks to communal or lateral surveillance, which is the practice of individuals monitoring their peers or within a social group. Unlike traditional forms of surveillance that involve topdown monitoring by authorities, lateral surveillance occurs horizontally among equals or within a community. This concept emphasizes the idea that individuals are actively engaged in watching and regulating the behaviours of others who are part of the same social network. I positioned communal surveillance or lateral surveillance at the centre, to communicate that everyday actions and speech such as rumours and gossip can have a larger impact than individuals may think.

The advancement of technology and security systems in the Caribbean has occasioned seen a shift in communal surveillance practices. Many residents of Trinidad and Tobago are increasingly using surveillance technologies, such as camera systems and social media platforms, to monitor their communities. The art piece explores the use of home security systems, particularly camera security systems like CCTV, as a means to deter petty crime and antisocial behaviour. It delves into the idea that the illusion of being watched through these systems creates a sense of safety in communities. Yet, despite this, crime still occurs at a high rate and the population seems generally even more paranoid at the prospect of being watched. The technological gaze of our devices presents a seemingly more invasive threat to people’s everyday lives. The art piece also speaks to a form of anonymous surveillance where observers are able to remain hidden behind screens, exerting influence without a direct human presence. This form of surveillance is linked to both protective and destructive consequences, including self-management and paranoia.

31 | IYARIC

Keisha Bell-Kovacs Cotch Abstract This creative writing piece offers a reflection on a Patwa word and the Third Culture experience.

“Language is the dwelling place of ideas that do not exist anywhere else.”

- Robin Wall Kimmerer. Braiding Sweetgrass¹

“I just miss Jamaica. I need to come home.”

“I can hear it.” she replied.

I had called my aunt to see if I could spend a week with her at her home near Portmore. I’ve lived in Canada for almost 40 years. There were seasons where I felt Canadian, felt a sense of belonging. I had gotten used to Anglo-Canadian culture, particularly conservative Christian Anglo culture. Unknowingly I dressed and spoke a certain way, believing I was blending into the mix, believing in the myth that is Canadian multiculturalism. Yet I would feel inexplicably untethered at times. I felt an inexorable longing for my country, for the warmth of the land and the people.

I have abandoned knowledge systems that stem from the European Enlightenment which privilege the cognitive over the corporeal. Instead, I am learning to let my body teach me. And I cannot explain the ache in my body that sometimes brings me to tears. I listen to sensations that cannot be expressed with my first language, the “Queen’s English,” as it was referred to unironically by my elders. I consider that perhaps there are other languages more useful than this one, despite its global hegemony. In Spanish, there are verbs for meals—desayunar, almorzar and cenar—to have breakfast, lunch and dinner respectively. Each word elegantly describes a particular meal for a particular time of day. Because of Jamaica’s race, class and language politics, English is my mother tongue. My uppermiddle class private school upbringing didn’t have room for me to learn Patwa, the vibrant Jamaican language based on English and West African languages. I knew some words and phrases, but I could not (and still cannot) understand the language spoken quickly.

32 | IYARIC ¹ Kimmerer, Robin Wall. 2014. Braiding Sweetgrass. Minneapolis: Milkweed Editions.

It was the language of our domestic helper, our gardener, the market vendors. In the 70s it was considered poor speech, a sign of limited education. Today, I approach Patwa like I do French or Spanish—I piece phrases together in my head before clumsy attempts at speaking. Maybe because I am learning to stop self-editing or code switching, I find the occasional Patwa word jumping to the forefront of my consciousness while I speak. “Cotch” is one of those words.

I cannot think of an English equivalent. To cotch something is to place it temporarily until it gets to its final destination. It comes from an old English word, “scotch,” which referred to a wooden block placed temporarily under a wheel to prevent it from moving.² “Where do you want me to put the bag?”

“Just cotch it over deh-so.”

If you sit on the arm of the sofa next to someone, you’re “cotching.”

This is not a permanent situation, it would not be comfortable for very long. During a recent rehearsal I asked my Trinidadian bandmate about the word—he also uses it. He agreed that there is no English equivalent, and that it is in fact a very handy word.

Musing over the word helped me to see the beauty in the Patwa language that I missed for so long. I now find myself reaching for it because of its succinctness, and its ability to explain what Canadian English cannot.

For years I have been cotching somewhere inbetween Jamaica and Canada. Neither location feels fully like home, so perhaps I need to make roots in that liminal space. I can locate myself the in-betweenness of my Jamaican and Canadian identities, knowing that I am not alone there.

The term “third culture kid”³ describes people like me who leave their countries of origin because of their parents’ choices before they have had a chance to fully develop a personal or cultural identity.

We have more in common with each other than we do with those from either of our other cultures.

33 | IYARIC ²https://jamaica-gleaner.com/article/commentary/20210523/carolyncooper-cotching-fools-paradise ³ http://www.iss.edu/pages/kids.html

I spent a week in June at my aunt’s house. The intense heat didn’t bother me—the air conditioning had been down in our building in Toronto a few weeks before during an unexpected May heat wave, so I used the time to acclimate. I joined her as she ran errands in Kingston on the weekend. I ate all of my favourite foods. I booked a day trip with tour guides, a married Jamaican couple, who took me through the Blue and John Crow Mountains from St. Catherine into Portland. I deeply inhaled the cool, damp air and listened to the singing of verdant hills. Along the coast outside of Buff Bay, the birthplace of my paternal grandfather, I asked to stop at the roadside so that I could put my feet in the sea.

There used to be a plantation nearby which could have been where his people came from. As we drove through a bustling town in St. Mary, the wife commented on the bad smells coming through the open car windows. Those smells reminded me of trips into town with my mother when I was small. I’ve never been anywhere that smells this way. It is home for me. Even her disdain was familiar and comforting—“Out of Many, One People,” as the Jamaican motto goes. It probably sounds strange, but I felt healing permeate my skin that day. The longing that brought me back was satisfied during my weeklong visit, but that day was especially pivotal. My feet were firmly planted into the soil where my ancestors lay. I didn’t feel untethered anymore. As Kimmerer says in Braiding Sweetgrass, “The land knows you, even when you are lost.” She took care of me that day, and knowing where my roots lie, I can make a home anywhere.

34 | IYARIC

Vindra (Vanessa) Moonilal A “Bitter” Taste

Abstract This paper expresses the mode of allegory, illustrating the complexity of repression and ostracization through the visual and sensorial representation of the meal curry chicken. More specifically, the narrative conveys the intricacy of being a first-generation Canadian Indo-Caribbean child and the importance of storytelling.

It’s a mundanely chilly November. I’ve neared the end of Dionne Irving’s (2022) book The Islands Stories. I contemplate the various ways stories can be incorporated as academically credible within Caribbean Studies in Canada.

As a Canadian Indo-Caribbean academic, I am situated within a diasporic range of multiple identities.

Within the Trinidadian context, the small island is predominantly inhabited by a high ratio of people of Black and Indian descent. Yet, across the Caribbean, the ratio of Indian inhabitants extensively decreases. With the demographic size fluctuating, there is a need to record personal narratives and conduct scholarly research within the Canadian context. Yet, given the nature of contending identities within the Caribbean, I question, how can the process of recording stories be ethically conducted within academia? As a scholar, am I allowed to record these stories? Does my Canadian upbringing overshadow my Indo-Caribbean identity?

The last question brings forth an unconscious bias to being Canadian Indo-Caribbean, as there is an awareness that I am unable to retain certain traditions of my Indian heritage. For instance, replicating a simple curry chicken dish my mom effortlessly makes. The instructions are straightforward, so I think: 1. Pour some oil into d pot!

2. Half a spoon of curry powder!

3. Quarter spoon of saffron powder!

4. Put some seasoning into de pot (shado beni/cilantro, garlic, and pepper).

5. And let everything burn down (that’s how yuh get de taste).

6. After, place yuh seasoned chicken into de pot and mix it. Let the moisture of de chicken burn out.

7. Then add about a cup of boiling water into de pot and let de chicken cook.

8. Taste de sauce to know if salt is needed.

35 | IYARIC

Everything seems to be going well! My curry chicken is aesthetically pleasing (almost like Mum’s)! I dish out my meal—curry chicken with the gravy and rice. I eagerly take the first mouthful of chicken and rice; I chew and chew until I’m hit with a bitter taste that lingers at the back of my tongue. I am dissatisfied with myself and the meal. My mind wanders back to Irving’s book as I desperately attempt to relight the stove and add more water to stretch the curry sauce within the pot. From one of Irving’s short stories, the fictional narration from Kerry replays in my mind when she notes: “It was difficult for some people to understand the experience of being raised in a Jamaican household while not being in Jamaica. The family, the community, the culture was part of her life. But she wasn’t Jamaican, not to Jamaicans. Not to the people she grew up with. To them, she was Black. Just Black.

Some people who hadn’t grown up eating breakfasts of ackee and saltfish, who hadn’t had tablespoons of fish oil every morning, who hadn’t swallowed fishy burps all day couldn’t understand.

There was Blackness, yes. But the cultural experience was too different. The thing holding [. . .] together seemed to be skin color and mutual oppression. But everything else felt different. It had been impressed upon her so deeply that she must remember that she was not Black American.” (Irving 2022, 193–94) Irving’s fictional dialogue hits close to home, prompting the bitter realization that my diasporic identity is tolerated through the watering down of the curry sauce. Being a first-generation Canadian IndoCaribbean child, I am aware of the liminal state I delicately navigate. Residing within the Canadian diasporic space, my Caribbean culture is typically mistaken for South Asian-ness due to my phenotypical characteristics. Typically, there is the misconception that to be Caribbean is to be Black and Jerk chicken is the staple dish for the entire Caribbean. Ironically, the Caribbean is a hybridity of flavours that have merged from all corners of the world.

Similarly to Irving’s passage, I have decided to draw a reference to curry chicken to symbolize my IndoCaribbean background. There is an element of diasporic-ness that forms a mosaic identity of belonging and not belonging. Within a cultural context, tradition is key to retaining identity, especially within the Indo-Caribbean household. The act of cooking brings forth generational memories of the senses coming alive through smell, taste, and touch.

Symbolically, the act of stretching the thick binding of the seasoning is an attempt to extend every molecule of my Indo identity—(re)shaping an evolution that is in constant progress for and against time and space—until the curry chicken is “okay” to eat, as it has and continues to be generations before it will just be “okay” to adapt, adjust, and resettle. I am at a loss as to what I did wrong.

Why can I not replicate a simple recipe? Maybe, it’s the reality of embodying two cultural identities—the Canadian dream with the honour of retaining an Indo-Caribbean culture. There is nothing wrong, yet all is wrong with one bitter mouthful that screams “skin colour,” “mutual oppression,” and the “felt difference” of being a first-generation Canadian (Irving 2022, 193–94). The bitter taste of intergenerational memory brings forth questions that have been concealed by the previous generation of immigrants who relocated to Canada for a better, not bitter life. The “felt difference” is an unspoken reality that is mundanely bitter, unmasking the everyday realities of “skin colour” and “mutual oppression.” How to address the bitterness that lingers with the taste of life. . . freeze it?

36 | IYARIC

Subconsciously, the act of freezing my curry chicken reflects an attempt to ignore the tainted reality of an ambiguous existence. An existence yet defined by the first-generation children who have and continue to experience the best of both worlds. The experience I speak of seems unworthy, as the question that lingers is whose voices are valid when recounting personal narratives? My generation struggles with the learned behaviour from our parents freezing their narratives, as our parents’ stories have been forcefully frozen into a silent abyss. Let’s immortalize the smiling sun and cozy island breeze to defrost the rich-tasting stories seasoned and fermented with years of experience and hardship—to bring forth flavourful stories that will forever nourish our minds and souls with past and present experiences. Maybe then will my curry chicken find its place without a bitter taste.

37 | IYARIC

CoverArt “They Say We Can’t Breathe Underwater” Natalie Wood

They say we can’t breathe underwater is a photoshopped image of a 2022 Toronto Carnival Individual Category Costume I co-designed and performed depicting Yemayá, the Orisha who birthed the seas.

The photo, taken at Toronto's Lakeshore is digitally immersed in the Atlantic Ocean ‘s Middle Passage, and superimposed is a swimmer honoring the journey, reminding us that we, descendants of the the Atlantic slave trade continue to breathe in unbreathable circumstances.

In Pedagogies of Crossing: Meditations on Feminism, Sexual Politics, Memory, and the Sacred, Jacqui Alexander writes, Yemayá holds the crown, having enabled the Crossing…She has assumed the task of transforming what we most need to learn from the Crossing into what we most need to learn about ourselves. Pedagogies of the Sacred are pedagogies of Crossing. (Alexander, 2005, p.329).

Natalie Wood is an award-winning Trinidadian-born, Tkaronto-based visual and media artist. Her multimedia artwork cohabits the areas of popular culture, education and historical research and explores her fascination with counter-narratives, Caribbean folk tales, healing cultures and icons that liberate Black and Queer communities. Her practice includes painting, drawing, printmaking, photography, video, and performance, and extends into her work as a curator, educator, and community-based queer activist. She is presently completing a research creation project for her PhD focused on Black Queer Resistance in the performance of Blue Devil mas.

Wood is a founder of the Blue Devil Posse, Co-conspirator in the Blue Sea Devil Moko Jumbie Mas Camp, co-founder of the Environmental and Urban Change Black Caucus at York University, a fellow at Black Lives Matter’s Wildseed Centre for Art and Activism, and as a George Brown College (GBC) Professor, she has been a Black Futures consultant and co-founder of the GBC Social Innovation Hub. She is represented by Paul Petro Contemporary Art. Selected awards include a SSHRC grant (2021), Canada Council Creation Grant 2020, several York University, Ontario Graduate Scholarships and Fellowships, a Black Leadership Award from the Black Student Success Network at GBC 2017, Community Based Research Award of Merit from the Centre for Urban Health Initiatives & the Wellesley Institute 2007, the New Pioneers Award for contribution to Arts and Culture 2006, and the City of York Civic Recognition Award 1997 for using the Arts to support marginalized communities, a NourbeSe Philip Arts recognition grant along with numerous grants and awards from Toronto, Ontario and Canada Arts Council.

38 | IYARIC

Contributors Keisha Bell-Kovacs

Keisha Bell-Kovacs is a musician and third year PhD student in ethnomusicology in the School of the Arts, Media, Performance and Design.

Vindra (Vanessa) Moonilal

Vindra (Vanessa) Moonilal is a PhD student in the Department of Humanities at York University. Her research interest is in first-generation Indo-Canadian Caribbean biographical narratives.

Whitney-Ann Patrick

Whitney-Ann Patrick is a second-year Master’s student in the graduate program in Communication and Culture at York University. She holds a bachelor's degree in Communication, Culture, and Film Studies from the University of the West Indies, St Augustine. Her current research focuses on the digitisation of Carnival Culture and the implications for Trinbagonians and members of the Trinidadian diaspora. Her research reflects a commitment to elucidating the evolving dynamics of cultural identity and communication in the digital age.

Tka Pinnock Tka C. Pinnock is a PhD candidate in the Department of Politics, and a Research Associate at the Centre for Research on Latin America and the Caribbean at York University. Her research interests lie at the intersection of feminist political economy, political ecology, globalization, and critical development studies where she explores the everyday politics of “life- work.” Her dissertation project explores the ways in which the life-work of marginalized workers is re/shaped by and in response to contemporary economic development processes, using the tourism sector in Jamaica as a case study. Pinnock’s community work also gives rise to an interest in diaspora studies and community-based research.

39 | IYARIC

Contributors Nastassia S. Pratt

Nastassia Pratt is a recent graduate of the MES-Planning in the Faculty of Environmental and Urban Change Studies, with scholarly interests in public space planning, open and recreational space planning, and spatial justice. Nastassia is also an accomplished artist and curator.

Odeimin Runners (Adrian Kahgee and Debbie Ebanks Schlums)

The Odeimin Runners is a collective of Ogimaakwe—women warriors, Indigenous and Caribbean —inspired by the traditional teachings of the strawberry or “heartberry.” Together, members Adrian Kahgee (Saugeen First Nation) and Debbie Ebanks Schlums (Turtle Island/Jamaica) with Rebeka Tabobondung (Wasauksing First Nation) exhibited works at the Durham Art Gallery, Agnes Etherington Gallery and Nuit Blanche.

Arshad Suliman

Arshad Suliman is a PhD candidate in the Department of History at the University of Toronto. He is a 2023 Pierre Elliot Trudeau Scholar and holds the prestigious Canadian Graduate Scholarship to Honour Nelson Mandela. He completed his BA and MA in History, and obtained a Certificate in Black Canadian Studies at York University. His doctoral project uses oral history methodology to explore the role of Black Canadians in transnational liberation movements in Southern Africa.

40 | IYARIC