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Old Pictures of the
New World |
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by Dionne Brand |
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1. |
They show tourists rolling |
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on beaches in Barbados |
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someone told me that this island |
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is flat and inescapable |
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just right for american military
transports, |
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this same someone said, |
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the topography of the island |
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lacking in gradient or thick forest |
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gives historical witness to the absence |
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of slave rebellions, |
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the slaves having nowhere to run |
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adopted an oily demeanour. |
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How history slaps us in the face, |
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using our own hand too. |
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2. |
They show an old |
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black man |
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beckoning racists back |
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to the way it was in Jamaica |
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a full page ad in the Chicago Sun Times |
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the slave catcher, the African one, |
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is a little analysed character, |
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(being amongst us |
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is it embarrassing to admit,) |
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but in contemporary times |
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whenever the IMF raises the price |
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on our heads, |
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whenever the americans want to buy |
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our skins, |
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they raise their hands so quickly, |
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it shocks us. |
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3. |
They show a little grenadian boy |
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eating an orange |
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with an american soldier |
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this is the new picture postcard |
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the new commercial for the new right |
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the new look for the new colonialism. |
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4. |
They show american medical students |
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coming back to Grenada |
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now it is safe for them to do their
practicals |
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in imperialism |
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and to spit on the population. |
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5. |
They show grenadian market vendors |
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and taxi drivers |
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call Reagan “daddy” |
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now we understand the class war |
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and patriarchy. |
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6. |
They show george shultz |
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celebrating the day columbus discovered
Grenada |
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he shades his eyes with his hands |
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at Queen’s Park |
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he sees colonies and slaves |
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like the celebrity of 1498 |
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now we know our place. |
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7. |
In the end |
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I suppose one knows that Eugenia and
Adams |
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and Seaga are compradors, |
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one knows that they are enemies of the
people |
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and the future, |
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one knows these saprophytes |
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will eat on colonialism’s corpse until
it dries |
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one knows that they are our class |
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enemies |
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but one cannot part with the sense of
shame |
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at their voraciousness and our current
defeat. |
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8. |
now I am frightened |
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to be alone, |
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not because of strangers, |
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not thieves or psychopaths |
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but, the state, |
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9. |
they think that I’ll forget it |
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but I won’t |
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and when they think that I’ve forgotten |
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they will find a note in the rubble |
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of the statue of liberty. |