The LitBlog Co-Op reads Ngugi

If you're a Bahamian nationalist, a Caribbeannest, a pan-Africanist, or just someone who doesn't believe everything that you see on TV or hear on the radio, you ought to be reading Ngugi wa Thiong'o.Ngugi is the reason I decided, decades ago, to begin writing plays. Ngugi, who was originally christened James in the colonial Kenya of the early 20th century, was once a novelist himself -- one of the greatest in all Africa. When Achebe ruled the west coast, Ngugi ruled the east. He was a Marxist, a Kenyan nationalist, and, during the war of liberation (otherwise known in the empire as the Mau-Mau Rebellion), chose to reject his Christian name in favour of the Gikuyu Ngugi wa Thiong'o. He wrote four great novels in English, and then decided two things: one, that he would no longer write in the colonizer's language, and switched to Gikuyu, and then that he would no longer write novels, because the masses of people he was trying to reach inhabited an oral society, and theatre would reach more of them than novels.He impressed me, and I began writing plays.Now, after over 20 years, Ngugi has written another novel. And it's available in English. And it's been featured over at the LitBlog Co-Op, here, over the past month or so.

Tribute to Winston Saunders by Rex Nettleford

TRIBUTE TOWINSTON V SAUNDERS, CMG

By Professor Rex NettlefordVice Chancellor Emeritus

Every society throws up in each generation persons of immense talent, intellectual energy and creative excellence. Winston V Saunders, legal luminary and cultural activist was such a person with talents ranging from playwriting and acting to musicianship and the sort of vision about culture and development. That vision and the actions that followed from it informed his stance on the building of a new Bahamian nation and the shaping of the self-directed society he wished to have tenanted by a confident, culturally aware citizenry with a sense of place, of purpose and of history to undergird the certitude which he saw an independent Commonwealth of Bahamas becoming.He made sure to marry a historian – Dr. Gail who is the proud recipient of an honorary doctorate from our University of the West Indies. As a highly respected Caribbean historian among her peers, she was his best friend offering to him the kind of support that true friendship engenders. Packed in Winston’s bags on coming to Jamaica and sadly to his untimely passing was her latest chronicling (along with Patrice Williams) of the conflict, controversy and control that attended constitutional and parliamentary issues in the contentious 18th and 19th century Bahamas.

For Winston, the natural scholar and student of Bahamian affairs, understood such congenital indulgences of his well-nigh ungovernable contradictory, contentious but exciting Bahamas which he cherished and which cherished him no less. It was that loving, compassionate, caring relationship with the history and existential reality of the Caribbean region as a whole which made him the most engaging of informed and witty conversationalist, the most engaged of Bahamian national and optimistic Caribbean man that he became. Such special attributes endeared him to all who had encounters with this civilized, hospitable, sophisticated, multifaceted polymath of a textured human being whom we will all remember and forever treasure.It was his understanding of the persistent historical features of both his own and the wider Caribbean society that drove him to Jamaica to participate in discussions about collaborative engagement in the commemoration of the abolition of the Transatlantic Slave Trade which has had such a profound and lasting impact on the lives and being of us as a people of the Americas – that is ever since Cristobal Colon accidentally landed and was discovered by Native Americans on a Bahamian beach. Unfortunately, Winston was not to participate in the meetings that followed his arrival in Jamaica. But to his conscious end his mind continued to grapple with the awesome challenge facing his Bahamian compatriots in the quest “to be”, by engagement of a history of severance suffering and survival.It was beyond that survival that we both, along with kindred spirits like the late Clement Bethel his dear departed friend, often discussed throughout the 1970’s and since – always dreaming about a future that spelt hope rather than despair. So what a joy it was to visit the Bahamas to see Winston Saunders and to continue the never ending dialogue which had its full and robust, sometimes humorous, but always profound effect on life and living in our post-colonial Caribbean.His special talents and profound grasp of the centrality of creative energy to the building and shaping his society made him the natural fount of the richness of that sense and sensibility needed to inform the cultural development of his native Bahamas as well as of a philosophy that needed to bring sensitivity and sanity to public policy. He was certain of the need for appropriate institutions to give form and purpose to the innate creativity of his people as well as to preserve the intangible heritage of his fellow Bahamians. And, he was no less certain of the passion and generosity and magnanimity of spirit he felt was vital to strategies of growth and development through the engagement of the arts of the imagination working in tandem with the creative intellect -- individual and collective.The wisdom of the present Administration to engage his services as cultural guru and formally as chairman of the Cultural Development Commission, as well as draughtsman for the legal instruments that reflect the need to formalize but not to gird in an iron-grid framework either the exercise of the creative imagination or the general vision on how to have the arts of the imagination inform intellectual pursuits and public policy. People like Winston Saunders do not grow on trees! He shall be severely missed.All the more reason, then, to celebrate a life rather than to mourn a death. Winston Saunders would not have had it otherwise. And nor should we.

Bahamian, Woman, Poet, and Good

In this post, Lynn Sweeting calls attention to the achievements of Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming (otherwise known as Asha), who is featured in Anthurium Vol 4 No 1. Lynn also, quite rightly, laments the fact that Asha wasn't one of the writers who went to CARIFESTA.Lynn's post made me think, and rethink, the concept of selection, of representation, of nationality, and the nature of my job. I don't think it's my place to go into specifics; there are some things that shouldn't be expressed on a personal blog. But I'm finding that there are certain decisions one makes that one would ordinarily disagree with. On the other hand, one finds out that one's private opinions are not always relevant — a strange fact, but true.So I'll try and be general here. How do we collectively decide who represents our nation? When we choose people to send abroad to represent us, what criteria are foremost? And do we use different criteria for different arenas? In sports, for instance, aren't we more forgiving than in culture? How many people we might ordinarily classify as "Jamaican" or "Haitian" have held, and hold, medals for us in the sports arena, and how many of our major sports heroes hold Green Cards or even American passports?Because I find I agree with Lynn; Asha is ours. She is Bahamian, woman, poet, and good. Could she represent our nation in an international festival? Should she? What criteria should we use to pick? And who should decide? Should people who occupy positions of responsibility be guided by the collective will, or should they try and direct that will — or perhaps a little bit of both?I'd better stop writing now. But I'd be interested to see what others think.Edit: for those people who aren't aware, here's some background on Asha Rahming:

Lelawattee Manoo-Rahming was born in Trinidad and lives in Nassau, Bahamas. An artist, poet, fiction writer as well as mechanical/building services engineer and part-time lecturer, she has published poetry in several magazines and anthologies in the Bahamas, the Caribbean and London. She won the David Hough Literary Prize from The Caribbean Writer(2001) and the Commonwealth Broadcasting Association 2001 Short Story Competition. Her first book of poetry, Curry Flavour (2000) was published by Peepal Tree Press.

A different take on Guenter Grass

Ever since the revelation that Grass was a member of Germany's Waffen SS during his youth, the jury's been out on his sin. And the jury that I've been reading has been leaning in favour of convicting him of having committed the unforgivable. I've seen references throughout the media to the news, and they're overwhelmingly condemnatory; the conclusion has been that Grass is a hypocrite, that his reputation can never be redeemed.Enter Marlon James.

Far more sensible has been the reactions from the Mayor of Gdansk himself who said, “By his actions, he has already paid for the mistakes of his youth.” That’s the crucial thing to remember here. Grass was SIX when Hitler came to power. OF COURSE he would be a member of the SS, what greater ambition would a child growing up in the very shadow of Hitler have? Grass says he kept silent on his past because he was ashamed. I see nothing shocking in this. I’d be more horrified if he wasn’t so ashamed of his past that he tried to hide it. As for all the people who are calling for him to return his Nobel Prize and whatever honour he has gotten please, spare me. Knut Hamsun never regretted his Nazi sympathies and he still has his. I would think that a man who was in the elite SS going on to become the very conscience of his nation, would speak to the very best of humanity, not the worst. There’s no getting away from the contradiction of a man forcing a nation to confront truth when he could not confront his own. But that again brings us back to the ever-wise Winterson: the man needs forgiveness. Lord knows he has mine.

I have to confess that my own perspective is far closer to James' own than any of the others I've read. In part it's because I agree with him about what heroism is, and I don't make the mistake of confusing human beings with God. In part it's because I think — again like James — that sometimes it takes far more courage and conviction to take a stand against what one once was than to have condemned it for all of one's life. And in part it's because I believe that the process of forgiveness and atonement and redemption — as unpopular as those ideas are these days — is a complex one that never really ends. As recovering addicts know, one is never cured of an addiction; one is recovering as long as one lives. It's the old idea of temptation, which new translations have airbrushed out of the Lord's Prayer; the strength of human goodness can't really be measured until it's tested by the strength of human evil as well.Some other links:Austin Bay BlogBooks, InqThe Elegant VariationWhat I'm finding interesting is that some of the more forgiving perspectives are coming from people who live with fear, discrimination, hate and prejudice on a daily basis, rather than from people who don't. People of colour, from so-called "developing" nations, people whose cultures' existences depend on the decisions of one or two leaders of (mostly) irresponsibly superpowers, tend to be more forgiving of Grass than those people whose cultures shape the world.Perhaps it's because it's reassuring for us to realize that evil can change. And perhaps it's disconcerting for others to note that behind every good deed may lie a fatal flaw.We may be forgiving because we grew up with that knowledge.

Hezekiah's Independence

Some time ago (end of June, I do believe) I attended a book launch at Chapter One, COB's bookstore.  The book was Hezekiah's Independence by Freeport writer Keith A. Russell.Now Keith Russell (known formally as Dr. Keith Russell) is the author of three novels (Hezekiah is his third) and is one of my favourite Bahamian novelists.  He deals with tough stuff in his work — dispossession, identity, injustice, all the stuff that you expect a Caribbean writer to deal with — but he does so in a readable fashion, in lovely prose, and in a very Bahamian way. The Disappearance of J.D. Sinclair tells of an island boy who comes to Nassau and doesn't make good (for reasons, Russell argues, that are beyond his control).  When Doves Cry is harrowing, beautiful, and tragic — not going to tell you anything else except that it's set in the Turks and Caicos and Haitian communities in Grand Bahama — communities that exist on the fringes of Freeport.Hezekiah's Independence (I'm quoting the bookbackblurb here) tells the

engaging tale of four generation of men—a slave who stole himself, a farmer, a poet, and a teacher ...

I'll just post a little from the book itself.  Then you go on over to Chapter One Bookstore — or, if you're in Freeport, track Dr. Russell down — and buy yourself a copy.

When I was young I used to run with Olympic contenders, he says.I sat straight in the chair at the little kitchen table and put down the newspaper.  He turned and stared in my direction for a moment, then returned his gaze to the opening of the door.In Alexandria, during the war, we had to find things to occupy our time.  To kill the boredom and shorten the long meandering days.  Someone came up with the bright idea of having races.  I was the fastest runner of any regiment stationed in Alexandria.  I might have been the fastest in the entire war.  At first, we would race for food or cigarettes or to get off work detail.  Then the officers took an interest.After that, we raced for regiment pride, or to boost moral, to banish facing the truth.  We were considered not fit to fight.  My secret was that right after my first win, I was racing to be counted, to have a measure of respect.  And not just for me.  I never told them, though, that back in Abaco there were young men who would leave me twenty yards behind in a hundred-yard-dash.  But no one ever came to see them.  No one that makes the rules anyway.  They didn't get a chance.  They didn't count.  those flowers never got to bloom.  And every day, even now, that makes me sad.

Checks and Balances

I caught a bit of Issues of the Day yesterday, an interview with US Ambassador John Rood. One of the questions touched upon the American government's policy to effectively blacklist or quarantine countries whose governments do not fall within US expectations of proper conduct. The Ambassador seemed to support this activity, stating that all countries "do what's in their best interest" (true enough, as far as that goes) and that the US was only acting in its best interest.One of the greatest things about the US, however, is that its constitution and its government can help to save it from itself. The whole point about the structural balance of power inherent in the American system is so that no branch of government can get above itself. The problem with postcolonial countries is that our minds fit very well into caps of subordinance, and we tend to fall very quickly for the idea that we can't do anything about American abuse of power, especially when it takes place in the name of homeland security.This report from P.E.N. suggests otherwise, and is an illuminating example of one reason the US deserves to be a great country (hint: it's not because the US is the strongest country in the world). It also shows that part of its greatness is that there are limits to the US's ability to bully others, built in to its system.To wit:

PEN Freedom to Write and International Programs Director Larry Siems emphasized that Professor Ramadan’s ordeal is just one of many cases where international writers and scholars have been denied visas or turned back at the border, apparently for ideological reasons, including at least three instances in the last three months. “Today’s ruling makes very clear that our government is not allowed to pick and choose our nation’s international visitors based on their political views. We hope it has an immediate effect not only for Professor Ramadan but also for the many other writers and intellectuals from abroad who have been turned away or discouraged from visiting the United States.”

Instructive.

Midnight Robber

Flying back and forth from New Orleans (for the Jazz and Heritage Festival) gave me the opportunity to read the second of Nalo Hopkinson's books, Midnight Robber.A couple of years ago I bought and devoured Brown Girl in the Ring, her first book, highly acclaimed. I loved it, mainly for personal reasons, but also for political ones: she's a hybrid West Indian (Guyanese and Trini roots mainly, but Canadian by residence and pan-Caribbean in interest) who writes what's now called speculative fiction (but which is known by its trade genre as Science Fiction and Fantasy). Now I don't mind telling you that I was a big SFF fan growing up. I leaned more to the Fantasy side, once I discovered it, but I cut my adolescent teeth on writers like John Wyndham, Madeleine L'Engle, and Ursula K. Le Guin, and then moved on to Herbert and Asimov, Bradbury and Clarke.Then two things happened. First, I ventured into more contemporary (i.e. post-war, post-sixties) SF, and hated most of it; and second, I began to notice that most of the time SF featured white people only. So then I retreated into fantasy, getting hooked by Brooks and eventually working my way to Tolkein. But when I became politically aware I gave it up as a genre. There were two reasons for this (and they only partly explain why I didn't give up classic English mysteries). The first was political -- many of the contemporary writers seemed to be misogynistic and racist, and I couldn't be bothered to trawl through all of them to get to the ones who weren't. Having been lucky to discover L'Engle and Le Guin early, I couldn't find any writers who had the same scope. And the second was -- well, political. The big difference for me was that the classic mystery writers, like the early SF writers, were bound by their time. Yes, Sayers and Christie and others are racist, almost fascist, but they were defined by their societies and their political incorrectnesses are reflections (as are Tolkein's and Lewis' -- and Orwell's and Wells's for that matter) of their time and place, and interesting in themselves.But the later SF writers were replicating those incorrectnesses, perhaps feeling safe about it because of the fantastic nature of their writing. And then there was the fact that fantasy writers all seemed to follow Tolkein by drawing upon the mythology and history of Europe in their worldmaking; nowhere was Africa or Asia or the Caribbean represented. So I left the genre.(I had the great fortune to read, through Nalo Hopkinson's blog, this account of another woman-of-colour's experience with SF, which resonated so fully with me it's worth reading; I can't say anything Pam Noles doesn't say).And then I found Nalo. I can't remember how. I was searching for something on Amazon, I imagine, or -- no -- I was reading Donald Maass' books on novel-writing, and noticed that he represented a young Caribbean writer from Toronto who was writing speculative fiction. That was how I came to do the Amazon search, and how I came across Brown Girl in the Ring. What hooked me was that it was Caribbean, it was spec fic, and it was set in Toronto, which I know well enough to get excited about. And it was written with Caribbean nation-language.Once I got my head around that, I invested in some Hopkinson. And began reading SF again.Well, to be fair, I have only read Nalo's work, and through her have discovered Octavia Butler. I think Nalo's better -- or more accurately, perhaps, Nalo's world resonates more with me than Butler's does, although Butler's work is African-American and female.So I recommend that people read Hopkinson. It's spec fic and more than spec fic; it's the new wave of Caribbean fiction, and it's finally breaking the coming-of-age mould that, despite every effort and every disguise of language and structure, still dominates the genre, together with magical realism so dense that it needs a ray-gun to cut through it.Brown Girl in the RingMidnight RobberThe Salt RoadsThe New Moon's Arms (not yet out)The other stuff written and edited by her can be found here. Or check out her whole website, here.