No Man’s, No Woman’s an Island

Anthony Best & Gus Franklyn-Bute

Updated July 2021

I said that life [sweet life], it must be somewhere to be found [somewhere for me], Oh, instead of concrete jungle [jungle]. Illusion [concrete, jungle], confusion [confusion, concrete jungle].

Concrete Jungle lyrics ©. Songwriter: Bob Marley

Caribbean Diaspora Dreams vs Concrete Jungle Reality

If realism is concerned with facts and the real state of affairs, at this moment, my reality assumes the coordinates 48° 0′ 0″ N/83° 0′ 0″ W, (get Googling). I am far removed from Caribbean island life with its twangy dialects reverberating across golden sun-drenched beaches, over rolling lush hills, and punctuating the atmosphere at the occasional rum-shop rendezvous. The persuasive percussion of Bob Marley’s “Concrete Jungle” is poignant in the mind of a West Indian dreamer living abroad. Thousands before me and thousands that set out after are in pursuit of some kind of dream, an aspiration, a notion of bettering, opportunities and access. The 21st century’s passage of flying north for a better life is ever lucid, as Marley extols his irony in my snow-covered Canadian reality.

Two questions linger on my mind as a Caribbean man on a quest for exploration. “Did we forget where we came from? Did we forget that we are transient people?” Each of our journeys is one of the millions of us traversing continents and boundaries for over 500 years, making migration what we do. Yet, abandonment of the only world one knows for another to which we dream to belong is, perhaps, in our ancestral genetic code of Exodus, a theme Marley exquisitely appraised.

The Awakening

The West Indies, circa 1960, was restless with longing and desires. Island people, invested with ambition brought on by the social and political movement towards independence and enfranchisement, were eager to excel. The island life attitude of “no problem” came under pressure as men and women searched for new meanings, a new realism. A consciousness grew, an awakening that was pungent with the stench of “selling out”. The yearning, a dream for a mulatto landscape, was like trading in the wrought iron manacles of plantocracy for a tight-fitting pendant of island abandonment – a fettered disconnection. The picture postcard may have depicted a passive, subservient people – cane-cutting, grinning mango eaters – a metamorphosis of Thomas Carlyle’s “Pumpkin Easters”. However, in the shadows of the former barracoons, villages and town dwellings, a different type of tropical storm was brewing.

Out of Many, One.

Fishing communities like Bathsheba, Barbados needed a soldier, an activist-hero of change. The neighbour’s son sailing off to an uncertain destiny would do. A casual survey of Caribbean anthropology would reveal that one by one, men and women fled villages and neighbourhoods from Jamaica to St Lucia, leaving empty seats in Sunday morning church pews and classrooms without teachers. Many sons and daughters never returned.

Many like Marcus Garvey, the godfather of the awakening, took up the mantle. Women are often less credited for their contribution to the Caribbean freedom story. Other leaders included Sir Frank Worrell, the first black man to captain West Indies Cricket; CLR James; Che Guevara; Sir Garfield Sobers; and much later, the likes of Michaelle Jean (born in Haiti and former Canadian Governor-General). They continued to break free and change their dreams and hopes into new realities – new versions of Caribbean heroes. Their successes validated the ambitions of Caribbean independent nations to manage their own affairs, lighting cinders of possibilities for hapless Caribbean nationals to pursue. The collective outbound journeys created new paths of hope and promise of greener grass and golden streets that lay waiting for anyone who could afford a ticket to ride.

They will send for you

Labourers, nurses, teachers and professionals exited in droves leaving behind in matricentric households, children with shiny faces, feet clad in gunslingers and jelly shoes with a promise “they will send for you.” Bob Marley’s music depicts the real-life trials of Caribbean people, their struggles and their common search for an identity. To the world, Marley became a musical legend. To us, he was a son and prophet voicing and “spliffing” our truth.

Marley’s narrative described people on the move, geographically and psychologically. Millions of women and men migrated from holy-sounding rural communities like St Ann, St Joseph and St Andrews with grips packed with the ambition to find job security, enlightenment and fame. Scammed with false promises, Caribbean migrants mustered the courage to abandon their known world for the unknown. And yet, while Bob Marley’s Concrete Jungle speaks of a sweet life out there to be found, did the West Indian really have to leave the islands to find it?

Together We Aspire and Achieve

Going foreign meant leaving the nest with a heaving burden of expectation. For those left behind, the hope is he would not forget home, his Black Shack Alley. By the 1970s, the awakening was stirring faster and wider by many who had travelled to the US and the UK. The momentum for change created the Black Power Movement that emerged from the Civil Rights Movement. Caribbean people had made progress in forging new identities and redefining their rich heritage. Jamaicans embodied strong wilful people, reggae music became a powerful sound and message with natty dreads as its symbol of identity and pride.

Once we accepted our intrinsic nature for the bon voyage, without compromising our dignity, perceptions shifted. We have negotiated countless barriers designed to contain us. Now, more than ever, we are defined by our ambitions and not solely by our history. Today, when we leave our communities, whether conscious or not, each Caribbean national is an ambassador of a new order for our diverse Caribbean selves. We have become The Islands. What we say and how we say it; what we do; and how we move, are sensational. Our pride, vivacity, food, music and character make us unique, setting us apart. We are nation-building athletes who have taken the baton from our fore-bearers. For the men and women who have made their homes away from home, they shall forever be The Island in a bigger, braver, newer world.