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From left to right:
Sabrina; Natalia; Bárbara (me); Bianca |
Like a normal college student, I spend a portion of my time on campus hanging out with my friends. My best friends and I call each other The Girls. We’re four girls that are best friends and have known each other since high school; however, since we started university, we have become much closer. A few weeks ago, I was talking with one of them—Natalia—about Jamaica Kincaid. It had coincidently turned out that her English professor assigned her Jamaica Kincaid’s novel, A Small Place, as one of the class’ readings, just like my profesor had.
First off, let me tell you a little bit about Natalia. She’s a very outspoken and authentic person. She is sarcastic, honest, and an avid reader. In many ways, she is a lot like Jamaica Kincaid. It is no surprise then, that when I asked her if she liked the reading her eyes lit up, she took out the book, and engaged in an enthusiastic monologue about her newly found love towards Jamaica Kincaid. I listened to her, and while she proclaimed her admiration towards this new author she’d discovered, I couldn’t help but wonder why I didn’t feel as enthusiastic about the reading as she did. After thinking about this fact for some time, I arrived at the conclusion that it wasn’t a matter of Kincaid being a good writer or not and much less about the quality of the novel itself. For me, my lack of enthusiasm ran much deeper: my own families history.
A Small Place, by Jamaica Kincaid, explores the topic of how the presence of the English (i.e. Great Britain) in Antigua during colonial times affected the island’s economic, social, political, and cultural present. Jamaica Kincaid is a very sassy and sarcastic author. Therefore, she exposes her themes in the same tone. Additionally, every line you read, although completely justified, comes with a hint of anger towards the colonizer. This aspect hit home.
I was born and raised in San Juan, Puerto Rico to a Puerto Rican father and Cuban mother. I spent little time with my father’s family, while most was spent with my Cuban grandparents. This made me grow up with a great love and respect towards Cuba, more so than the love I feel for Puerto Rico (although I respect and love both). Most words I use are used in Cuba and not in Puerto Rico. I strongly dislike Puerto Rican food yet absolutely adore Cuban food. In essence, most of the aspects that make up my identity are Cuban. My mother’s family are Cuban exiles that left the island after Fidel Castro rose to power. The amount of horrifying stories that have been told to me about the limitation of rights after he became president of the island would shock you to your very core. To name one of the most mild and insignificant examples, when my grandparents were leaving the island in 1968, my grandmother, being the religious woman that she is, tried to take with her an image of the patron saint of Cuba, la Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre, that had sentimental value. You were only allowed to leave the island with the clothes you had on your back and a small suitcase so when they found she was hiding the image under all her clothing, they took it away from her. What harm to the Republic could a religious image do? My grandmother, up to this day, continues to wonder this.
With this poignant influence ever-present in my life, when someone condemns the hand that gave them progress, my blood boils. Kincaid exposes many arguments. For example, she criticizes the English for edifying universities in Antigua because the education they provided was biased towards their [English] culture. All her arguments, including the one mentioned here, are evident truths. Yes, the education provided by the universities Great Britain built in Antigua was from an English perspective. Nevertheless, her angry tone towards the English doesn’t make me relate to her writing. My Cuban background doesn’t let me appreciate it. Coming from a family who involuntarily had to leave their country in search for a new life, I can't understand why Kincaid is not able to acknowledge that the English did give Antigua good things. She doesn’t have to like it and much less agree with it. I simply believe she should also expose the bright side. At least they have universities because of the English--biased or not.
Coming from a background of two Caribbean islands, I know what it’s like to live in a colonized place. I’ve seen the horrors colonization has brought, but I’ve never agreed with the complete antagonizing of it either. Colonization did bring many horrors, but it also brought progress to many Caribbean islands. Therefore, to me it seems unjust to present just one version of it. For the complete picture, we must present both sides of the story: the positive and the negative. As I’ve said, all of Kincaid's arguments are true. It is the way she states them—with hatred—as well as the fact that she fails to see the bright side that doesn’t make me click with her. Nonetheless, it seems like Kincaid and I are more alike than I thought: both our Caribbean blood boils for what we believe; a belief strongly influenced by our roots.
