A few years ago I visited The International Slavery Museum, Liverpool England. While visiting the museum it seemed as if I was virtual synchronous (shifting place but not time) with history. It was as if a time portal opened and I can see the past with my eyes. I read books in school’ Nelson’s West Indian History, A Pre-Emancipation History of the West Indies etc. but the full impact of the brutality of slavery was not so tangible until that morning in the museum.
Did I hear someone just ask if she is really writing about slavery, emancipation again? Wait; allow me to quickly diffuse your tension about my obsession of emancipation this week. Firstly, it is the week in which we celebrate the anniversary of emancipation; I am only a vehicle to remind you that it would have troubled our ancestors if they would have known that we would be forgetful of their historical milestones, when we forget. If you don’t believe me check the inscription when you visit The International Slavery Museum that reads “People need to remember about slavery. It pains the ancestors when we forget.” Secondly, I am trying to understand my past and what matters to me; thus enabling me to have a more meaningful opportunity to integrate the pieces of my life in new ways. Thirdly, I owe it to my stakeholders (me [mind, body spirit] husband, child, community) to impart what I have learned. Fourthly I hope that my enriched connections/ experiences may be of some benefit to you.
In the Slavery museum there were black and white photographs, models of the masters’ home. Additionally there were models of the slave ships and the slave quarters. There were maps of the slave triangle, replicas of slave huts and there were distinctive accounts that varied in drama and suspense. The exhibits were also in the form of interactive computers that narrated stories of slaves and there were audio enactments of the dehumanizing ways they were physically and mentally tortured.
There were European accounts justifying the inhumane buying and selling of African men, women and children. True accounts of slavery, like those in the museum informs you of the European view of African culture being barbaric thus justifying their actions. Similarly, there was an elderly black man passionately narrating his story: his surname was given to his ancestor by a slave master. He along with the remainder of his family still did not know anything about their origins and can only trace their family tree so far.
Likewise, it was also there I learned about the song ‘Amazing Grace’ written by John Newton; the hymn that we bellow in church with such conviction, as if our sins parallel that of the Hymn Writer. When John Newton became a Christian he gave up his trade as a slave-trader he became an Abolitionist, Hymn Writer and wrote that said song:
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost but now I’m found
Was blind but now I see
Unquestionably, the museum grabbed my attention as there was a tug, a power, a force that caused me to respect all aspects of life. It has been quiet some time since but as I replay my experience that day and I still feel incoherent from such a profound and overwhelming experience.
St. Anthony's Church - Jan Baster
Each year we celebrate the anniversary of something; birthdays, deaths, anniversary, national holidays and each year I find new meaning in these celebrations and pause for thought. A few days ago we celebrated the 176 anniversary of the emancipation of slaves. Now questions are erupting in my consciousness and about the land of my birth.
On the 1 August 1838, two years after the Emancipation Day Proclamation was passed, in thanks to God the freed slaves in Montserrat gave a silver communion cup to St. Anthony’s church. They would have seen that very same church with a sign that previously read “No slaves or dogs allowed.” In fact they were relegated to sit under a large tamarind tree while their owners worshipped.
St. Anthony’s Anglican Church was/is the oldest Anglican/Episcopal church in the Church of the Province of the West Indies (The Anglican Church of the Caribbean) built in 1636. The church was abandoned in the danger zone in 1995, due to volcanic activity. For me the church held such significance as I recall with accuracy that last time I entered and left that church. I was a teacher and my farewell was held in St. Anthony’s. I left the church with a remarkable enthusiasm for life some seventeen years ago as I embarked on my journey to the Bahamas. As an Anglican who now resides in another country in the same Province; I beam with pride to know that my island was on record of having the oldest Anglican Church in the Province.
I walked in that church yard many times and stood where the same tamarind tree was unaware of such a history with an unforgettable message. I now ask myself, did I drink from that cup when I last received Holy Communion there? Did the slaves go on to build the faith of others in the island, even the faith of my ancestors? The sign outside the church “No slaves or dogs allowed.” was taken down shortly after emancipation. The sign positioned approximately 3km from the church (not in the church yard) now reads; ‘No entry beyond this point.’
I now ask myself, where is the cup? as I retrace the steps of the former slaves in my mind. It brings to mind the fact that we have to be careful what signs we put up now, because in years to come the situations of life may force us to wear different signs. I also reflect on the fact that our past is all around us and what our ancestors did still affects us in subtle ways today. Do we realize this as we live out our lives now? I concur with a writer that once wrote the past do lingers in the present.
Do you know and understand what happened around you?
Her gaze…
Turns inward
Increasing wisdom
Yet still searching
Hitting her stride
Evolving
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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Photographed my Mario Testino
Hopeful, excited, eager, curious … these are just a few of the labels to ascribe my interest in the pending nuptials of Prince William and Kate. I found myself keenly waiting for and watching the new lifetime movie, taking a royal quiz, reading or watching any medium that discuss William and Kate. I do not know if it was out of curiosity for tabloid celebrity or popular culture. Maybe my interest is psychological due to my being born into a Crown Colony hence my status as a British subject and my allegiance to all things royal. It may be sociological in that my interest is because the wedding is a great social occasion that I want to share in. Perhaps it is maternal in that I have a four year old daughter who would one day see the coronation of William as King of England. I want her to be aware of the wider world in which we live and its many leaders and forms of governance. In that way it would be in my interest to inculcate such notice to the British Empire.
I also want to share this moment with my daughter because she is into princesses, weddings and fairy tales and occasions like this engenders that kind of emotion and strike a magical balance between fantasy and real life. As I did likewise almost thirty years ago as I watched Prince William’s mother and father captivate the world. Their world is no doubt different from the world as we know it however for us the Royal Family is a patina of “sophistication and old brilliance.”
So as I read about Elizabeth, the Octogenarian Monarch I look forward with profound interest to Friday morning. I am looking forward to seeing the poignant snapshots of the historical buildings and traditional ceremonies of Britain be brought fully and movingly to life. I anticipate seeing the fancy frocks, the majestic guards, royal carriages and the progress of the Empire. Perchance I am thinking like Thomas Carlyle and to paraphrase the younger generations of the world have in them the freshness of young children and yet the depth of earnest men. Although the future is not yet set I am certain that it will define Prince William as both a symbol and a part of the embodiment of new generation of symbols that matter.
Junkanoo in The Bahamas
On the first anniversary of one of history’s worst natural disasters, Haiti despair is still felt. “The earthquake drew a remarkable emergency response from the international community. It also prompted ambitious plans to reconstruct, even reinvent, the hemisphere’s poorest nation – to “build it back better.” Two-thirds of the 1.5 million Haitians left homeless by the quake still live in tents, and fewer than half the 45,000 t-shelters that the U.N. and other housing organizations had hoped to build by now have been erected.” There is a need to do more and the children of Haiti remains hopeful. “But the recovery process really hasn’t begun yet.” To add to their woes the people of Haiti have to deal with a recent cholera epidemic.
Today I pray for all souls (volunteers, leaders, the wealthy, dying) especially the poor, the hungry the unemployed all victims of persecution, injustice and discrimination of any kind.
Celebratory launches
Rituals began – hard habits
The year past now a sheltered world
Extraordinary moments stamped
Chilling thoughts
Dividing lines
What lies ahead?
Chances, glances
Impervious to defeat
Fearless … steps to untried challenges
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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Wishing you a happy and prosperous New Year from McCartney House
Photographed by ANDREW BIRAJ
Today many Western churches remember the dead. The names of deceased family or friends are presented in church for prayers. Someone who is reading this right now maybe gobsmacked, others who have heard of it before and do not subscribe to these rituals may discount or simply dismiss these practices.
At one time or another all of us have lost someone we once cherished and put our trust in and thinking about them does evoke some response in our hearts as multitude of memories no doubt flow. Even my three year old daughter sometimes sits down and expressed her disbelief that her grandpa is not coming back, perhaps it has something do to with it is coming up on the anniversary of his death. Sometimes still when she achieves anything she wishes he was around to share in the experience.
Recently I too have been thinking about my deceased maternal grandfather (Papa) and him kneading the bread for my grandmother to bake and how he would ensure I get hot bread out of the oven with salted butter. I think of paternal grandfather (Dada) sitting outside the house with a cap on the landing beating a pound cake for my grandmother to bake. I can now taste the cakes, using a mixer could not provide such a smooth batter as he did in kneading the cakes with all the love in the world.
In the spice island of Grenada in the Caribbean today it is a tradition for islanders to a gather their family and visit the graveyards placing lit candles on the graves as they honour to share moments of remembrance. This is a tradition that goes across many cultures and religions. Celebrations in other parts of the world include; some people wear ing masks, carrying signs, or erecting elaborate decorations to honour the dead.
According to the Columbia Encyclopedia “Some community centres invite people to commemorate their deceased loved ones with ofrendas (offerings) through alters that include food, symbols, flowers, candles, photos and other mementos. Altars in memory of the dead are also made in people’s homes.”
Whether there is scepticism or out right denial about the validity of the concept of All Souls Day; as we recall the memories of our love ones collectively today, the one thing that we all share in common is that we honour their lives that they once shared with us.
Photographed by Alissa Stella Maris
Pounding almonds on pathways
Elemental desires
Rough tides lapping
Bicycle rides
Line fishing
Swimming smiles
Echoes off concave ledges
Birds flies disperse
Sequined colors on flawless teal
Can not tell –
the beach to be quiet
even seagulls to stop talking
Sea grapes groves and almond trees -
team around rocks
Energy thunder through
Sun kissed pleasures broken shells
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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Photographed by Susan Koster
Stilted comprehension
Sheltered in misty reflections
The humming through veins
Melted wild
Words trailed
Banquet of amusing chirps
Chimes in wind beaten fronds
Downward bent coconut shafts
Feather-like blessings thrill
Peak through crispy green extensions…
Enter stalks of lavender
Cold splash of hypnotic blue eyes
Almond tear drops
Blooms of soft crimson rose
Defiant passion
Sapphire thoughts
Shinning rusty shards
Among milky amber streams
Willed a rising blinding flash
The penetrating silence
As new seagrape leaves
Besotted blind beauty
His promise
-
Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
Image taken from Album Cover 'No Rules'
Some of the memories that resonate with me when it comes to Arrow pertain to my aunties (aunts). Right now, I have this urge to call my Dad as I recall the memories of his sisters coming home from London at Christmas time excited. They could not wait to go to Sturge Park in Montserrat to see Arrow perform. There would be lots of gold, black, red, green glittered blouses; high heel shoes and stockings, there would be men and women raw with excitement. Arrow would come on stage in the early hours of the morning to perform one or two songs. That irritated some, but even for them it was worth everything. I remember my maternal aunt who had a passion for the Arrow song “Man Must Live,” she always recited the lyrics as if they pertained to her own life.
As I grew older his works took a more personal interest. When I was studying abroad, in College, receiving the news about the volcano erupting, the song that resonated with me was “Ah Just can’t run away.” Particularly during those College years I would play the song and sang the lines “On the map you can’t hardly find it but it has always been my paradise,” to the tip of my voice as I found it hard to believe that most people I would meet never heard of Montserrat.
His work has brought a lot of recognition to Montserrat especially the song “Hot Hot Hot” it gave us as sense of ownership no matter where in the world we were. When he came to the Bahamas in the late Nineteen Nineties our friendship was born. I remember going to Clifford Park to watch him perform. It was ‘ram pack’ (filled) that night. I was always filled with pride about my island but that night it bore a deeper root.
From then I would go home and always visit him or from time to time I would get personal messages from him. I am grateful to my husband to have the insight to encourage me to purchase a copy of each of his compact disc (CD) and have him autographed them (they are not for sale). Montserrat, The Caribbean and the world over will forever celebrate
In the middle of the morning Rush Hour
By royal command he rests
His movements always legendary
He carries his island in his spirit
The sound track of our lives in a Stranger’s Paradise
The Groove Master made many loose control
Flamboyant magnetic appeal on stage we can see
The world turns with his borrowed energy
Like a torch lit flame, memories blaze
With mix match dance and cadence
Now his music is louder and sweeter
The explosion blend of soca , meringue, rap, salsa
The Art of his natural instinct – songs with social commentary dance
He thrived with passion, tempo, and kindness
Roll Back – Sweet Beat – Breakdown
No volcano can erase his classical incantation
Lava flow pales in comparison
The rest of the world mourns
He was our own
As we Montserratians Hold on to our property
He left us a rich legacy
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Poem Written by Brenda L. McCartney
photographed by Shaun Best
Recently I was watching a National Geographic Channel special, which featured a replay of the September 11 attacks. My daughter was in the room and my natural instinct was to turn the channel and spare my child such horrific events. As I searched desperately for the remote in a panic she said to me Mama leave it, I told her I am going to give her Sprout (a preschool Network) her favorite channel she shake her head no. She watched intensely. At various points in the program she tried to articulate what she saw as she gesticulated with her hands. As a mother today the children who have lost a parent that day taunted me. I wonder how those children are coping with their loss?
As I type I recalled a conversation I had with a friend whose birthday falls on September 11, I asked him where he was on his birthday in 2001, his response was not one of, “I did this or that”, but he remembered the week prior to the bombings he was at Ground Zero. Today there are so many divided emotions. Someone is celebrating another year of birth, anniversary, maybe the loss of a loved one but etched in their conscious are the painful images of September 11, 2001.
September 11 has changed everyone world’s point of view in terms of what happened before it compared to what happened after it. No matter the geographic location it was a dividing line in time so we reflect on the events of that day.
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