In the morning
When the moon is at its rest
You will find me
At the time I love the best
Watching rainbows play on sunlight
Pools of water
Ice cream cold nights
In the morning
Cant you imagine it?
Its the morning of my life
In the Morning Nina Simone
It didnt occur to me until this week how much I missed
being part of Emancipation celebrations.
It took a troupe of dancers from North West Laventille to
do the trick. To make my heart skip a beat and my eyes well
up with tears, and for a second I couldnt figure out
why I was feeling these happy sad feelings.
Sometimes you dont realise how much youve missed
something till you see it there in front of you.
Even through the emotion, the anticipation of the dawn of
another Emancipation morning, I ask myself what does it really
Is it self-reflection or neo-tribalism? Are we remembering
our history for a reason or are we going to make Emancipation
into another excuse to dress and find our place?
The years in exile, the times when I didnt have the
physical reassurances of drums and bodies and the rhythmic
shuffle of feet marching through streets, I didnt really
miss it. I had had a lifetime of those processions. It grew
up with me. It got bigger and better. It had a crisis of consciousness.
Free now. Free to gather. Free to celebrate.
Free to be born-again Africans and free to put on persona
on the one day that it is socially acceptable only to bury
it in the cupboards for the rest of the year.
We free. So they say. No shackles but the bling chains on
our necks. No slave master but the multinational corporations.
No overseer but the ministers. No Uncle Toms but the drug
We real free. So free that we dont know what to do with
all this freeness.
We so free we pay plenty money to jail ourselves back into
When youre in it, its easy to not see the flaws.
Its easy to say everything nice. I mean to say, look
at black people in all their glory. On the streets dancing.
Its beautiful yes. Its beautiful too, to be a
part of the mass. To not be the oddity.
But the next day we sink back into the fear.
The fear that we will become so locked into frenning with
only those who look like us that we think that we must deny
ourselves culturally to be not seen as too unaccommodating.
But that is a mistaken notion. The missing ingredient in this
celebration of self-awareness is balance. Loving yourself
does not mean hating others. How do people get the two to
compute I never really understand.
I tell my elders I am not interested in struggling. I want
to win now.
I reason with bredrins about this struggle thing. Everything
for a time and a season. I dont want to be 50 and saying
the same things, fighting the same causes. I want to do the
job right and once.
My bredrin says choose your battles wisely. But what are the
battles that we choose? There will always be those who think
something is impossible.
Now the racisms are more pronounced, or perhaps they have
more media through which to manifest themselves. After all
the liming with woolly European liberals, it alarms me that
our vibrations remain base and so counterproductive.
This Emancipation Im checking out the scenes.
The time for struggling to get along with each other is coming
to an end. I declare myself emancipated from the politics
of resentment. I declare myself emancipated from the politics
I declare myself emancipated from any confusion between
freedom and freeness.