In the past few weeks, the people of Jamaica have been challenged, yet again, to come to terms with how they want to be seen locally and internationally. What is it that they are most proud of, and how to achieve and sustain national consensus on whatever that turns out to be. When we are not really thinking about it, there is a list which can be easily recited. It includes the names of the fastest woman and the fastest man on the planet, the beaches and the music. Contextualise that list within the reality of the ways in which fast athletes give way to faster athletes, or beaches suffer the impact of climate change of human abuse or other, the discomfort we express at nations innovating on our music, and we give rise to the question of who or what we might be without these.
Over the weekend of December 14-15, 2019, the Association of Jamaican Potters staged its annual craft fair. The highest quality of creative output, including, but not limited to ceramics, woodwork, photography, beadwork, paintings and jewellery, was on display. It was evident that a great deal of thought, energy and dedication had been invested in each piece. It was also clear, and confirmed in several conversations, that none of the participants was an overnight sensation. They had spent years studying their craft, attaching themselves to the masters in the given fields, and established for themselves a standard below which they would not fall, and on which future artists and artisans could proudly build. The fact that much of their work constitutes documentation of the points in history in which they operate, thus functioning as part of the memory of the nation, is but brawta.
There is not yet a national or international forum in which these accomplishments are rated, acknowledged, celebrated or contextualised in the proud-to-be-Jamaican schema. What a shame that on that same weekend of this display of how wealthy we are, the nation was transitioning from expressing its anguished embarrassment at the international outing of Annie Palmer in the Miss Universe competition, to savouring its redemption and its recuperation at the capturing of the Miss World title. KinTeet is minded to express that not so long ago it could be said, without fear of contradiction, that beauty is not an accomplishment. That might not be the case now with the myriad of ways of enhancing or creating beauty – with hair extensions, ornamental eyelashes, and the unending ways of augmenting various body parts, without fear of embarrassment. Even Miss Nigeria, The Jubilant, found a way to shamelessly inject humour into her explanation of her wig malfunction in front of the millions.
HeartBun lips drop to the ground in utter bewilderment at what that is supposed to mean or prove. It is not even about where are the Miss Worlds of this world, or what the title has meant for the people with whom they share a national identity? It is about what are the values and beliefs at the core of that identity and how we still jump hoops to play at games invented by others seeking to validate ourselves by how well we measure up. Meanwhile, large numbers are oblivious to or sometimes just ignore the exclusive domains that we have carved out for ourselves, that have withstood the test of time and at which we cannot be beaten. What a shame.
The shame is that many of these international showings that cause us to jump with joy or rock with indignity, are undertaken by individuals in their private persona, and the choices they make about the nature of their participation are guided by their own programme and cannot be circumscribed by a national agenda that does not exist. Is there, then, a role for national institutions to play in order to provide a context within which a choice, more in keeping with the place to live, work, do business and raise families, might be made. Is there a national agenda about identity and representation? Who holds responsibility for it, and how is it to be pursued?
At the same time as this has been the sub-text of the furore and the celebrations, the Jamaica Cultural Development Commission (JCDC) found a way to rationalise reverting from calling a section of the annual performing arts competition Jamaican Language Poetry to the Jamaican Dialect. This, during the celebrations of the 100 days of revering Louise Bennett-Coverley, who was adamant that the thing was not a dialect, but a language. Not one expression of embarrassment. In fact, many of those who were so frightened by what the appearance of the ghost of Annie Palmer might be revealing, would have missed the JCDC’s undoing, the potters’ fair, the absence of one mention of Dennis Scott on his birthday, even at the arts institution with a theatre bearing his name.
Annie Palmer is her own embarrassment. Kinteet and HeartBun are agreed that ours is the continued failure to sustain programmes and activities that establish clear hallmarks of what we stand for, so that individuals would have no doubt when they were in violation. Such failure is compounded by the confusion of image with accomplishments. It begs to be corrected, otherwise, if John Grisham will allow, we will disgrace ourselves so many times that eventually we become immune to it.
Amina Blackwood-Meeks, PhD, Cultural Studies, is a lecturer and college orator at The Edna Manley College of the Visual and Performing Arts.
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