Caribbean Manners – A Good “F..k”

Anthony Best

Updated February 2022

Trapped in my bubble in a public space a while back, the attempt to balance my meal, drink, book and iPod ended in a frustrating mess, splayed across the floor. I didn’t cry, but I came close. Honestly! Instead, I did the next best thing. I conjured one of my best “fucks”, dusted it off, and let it rip. The expletive went soaring into the public domain. My social radar sensed a bustle of activity immediately behind me. I turned and an older woman, perhaps with her daughter and grandchild were shadowing me. Condemnation and judgment were etched deeply ear to ear and brow to chin across their faces.

Loose Profanity

The social persecution filled me with regret, but only for a moment. I reasoned that they didn’t deserve the full force of my cursing spasm since one was older and the other was a child. My eagerness to apologise was a reflex of a disappearing West Indian upbringing, and the residual fear of my granny brandishing the leather strap, her teeth clenched with righteous indignation. As I shifted to let the fearful family pass and set about tidying my mess, I began to wonder, “why did I see this cussing as a real issue; and why did I think bad of something that felt so good?”

Caribbean moral standards dictate that your manners, or lack thereof, reflect your “broughtupsy”, specifically the way you were cultured and raised at home. This questionable dogma and behaviour were made all the more sinful during that period on a Sunday, after church, as those pew gossiping, panty girdle-wearing, elderly ladies clip-clopped home from praise and sanctity. To speak or behave in any manner that even remotely reflected sub-moral standards expected at home, would not go unmentioned or unpunished. The “manners maketh man” mantra, in-famous in Caribbean discipline, would prologue a cut-ass for the transgression.

Judge Not

There is something to be said for well-trained members of society. How often have you had to cope with some belligerent drunk on public transport, or the notorious mobile phone hog who lacks a full grasp of the functionality of the microphone? Social etiquette is imperative to the balance and order of any community, but it is impossible to deny the thrill of throwing out good and audible “fuck” or the swearword of your choice in the direction of the asshole who cuts you off in traffic. There is a social principle that suggests how we should act and where and when we may be allowed to exercise the freedom of a blue outburst. However, why does a the fuck swearword generate such genuine displeasure to the ear? What has traumatised us so completely that we cannot let go of the stigma attached to the word?

As I continued to tidy my lunch from the floor, I reflected on my intellect and my reclamation of the F word.  The family had gone, but I continued to question why I was the one seemingly bent out of shape over what, a word? “Was it really about the word? Surely I wasn’t the first person they heard utter such an expletive? I certainly wouldn’t be the last.”

The F word is here to stay. My mother, bless her heart, still takes time out of her day to scold me, a thirtysomething-year-old, when I swear on my Facebook timeline. The reasoning might be far more complex in my case, but the purpose is the same. My manners are still a portrayal of my parents and what people think of me matters to them – it is the way it should be. While I may roll my eyes from time to time, somewhere deep down it’s cute to know that you are never too old to be chided or coached to do better.

Old fashioned?

Swearing has always been a pseudo-language. It allows us to colour outside the lines and release steam when faced with a precarious situation. For example, a gentle “nofuckingway” is used to emphasise genuine shock or disbelief.

The word “fuck” is believed to have been first used in literature in the late 1400s. The divisions created by its use are a little more than a case of old school vs. new age. In my youth, obscene words were left for streetwalkers and rum shopgoers, social habits that “respectful’ members of society discouraged their children from pursuing. Back in the day, well, back in the early 1990s, you were expected to be dressed appropriately, speak when spoken to, and be respectful of the laws and norms of a respectful society.  These days, when I watch a child go ape shit in public I would become nostalgic about the Caribbean discipline I endured.

Having established that I know better and understand the norms of respectability and social etiquette, it’s my choice to enjoy throwing F-bombs at times to really drive a point home. My mainstay expressions include the stone-walled “fuck off”; the passive-aggressive “fuck him”; not to mention the deprecating “fuck me”; and the obviously confrontational ‘“fuck you”. While I am obviously waving my flag in support of the fucking cause, I equally embrace that many of us refrain from profanity as a means of expression.

What does using F-bombs say about you?

Naturally, how we live is ultimately defined by our actions and not merely our words. A foul mouth is as much an asset in the right circumstance. Using F-bombs doesn’t make you a bad person and not swearing doesn’t make you good. Manners go deeper than social expectations, they hold you to your values, they balance the internal and the outer parts of your experience. The challenge for me is not to stop using fuck words, but to know their true value when you are compelled to use them.