Some of us dare
to say that we can see and so we cry out to others. Our call is not so
much a proclamation issued from a high tower of reason, but a whisper to
fellow sufferers, to feel for the end of the tunnel, to escape the horror
that stealthily stalks us. We want to embrace new values arming ourselves
with new ways of thinking so that when we walk somewhere in the distant
future, we will have with us methods and strategies to make the right choices;
to wage good war and never again be slaves on the treadmill of decay that
today we have placed ourselves upon. And we want this not just for ourselves
but for the children - the pre-schoolers and the older ones and the children
yet to come. We want it for the rich and the not-so-rich (for perhaps if
we do it right, there will not be so many poor). We want it for all peoples
everywhere, that they would all be granted vision and that in time, their
hearts might change.
Who will do it?
We have many helpers. It matters not where they come from or how they come, just that we may join our hearts together and then our hands in action. If they come unprepared but willing, we will welcome them. We long to have the teachers for, faithful to their daily duties, they can ignite imaginations and inspire countless thousands and their words are remembered almost to eternity.
And then there are the players with dots and dashes, from Morse Codes to morning television talk shows. The media, from press room to distant satellite, all wait for our command. Animated though they may seem, they are but tools in powerful hands of those who use and own them, programming messages which inject the minds of myriad peoples. So we too should use them.
Do not forget the
singers and dancers, the woodcarvers and the story tellers, the whispers
of ancestors' voices in the wise sayings of the long departed. Let us dance
the message to the old drumming, let us sing our story to the quiet children,
let us carve it on mahogany and green heart, that a monument to the wisdom
of tending our land and seas may be erected. Let it be painted in the murals
of the city and on the small canvas on the artist's easel. And though some
may distrust them, we must still serve the politicians as they rule our
land. Their decrees reach us, whether for torment or ease and we abide
with them. So let us teach the politicians to see the vision. Do not forget
the preachers, for though some may scorn and scoff at them, revile and
even abandon them, they are the best leaders of this pilgrim band.
How will we do all this?
We will do it by trying. By starting with what we have: in the schools at every level; sharing what is there and hidden. We will persuade the politicians. If they want facts and figures we will give them. If they worry about money, we will help them to remember that once these lands and seas were beautiful and rich. We will feed our morsels to the singers, to the players and to the actors. We will bring wood for the sculptors and with prayers and hope, wait for the thrilling tale, the rapturous dance, the giddy monument, the song, the skit, the vision that may persuade more followers to come.
We will drop our message at the street corners.
Shove it into the whispers and rumours that scamper through our cities
and our villages. Let it be shouted across the open fields, let it become
a byword even among beggars and vagrants, for even their lot might change
if the chorus rises rich and real enough across this land. We may have
to write books and poetry and television commercials, radio scripts, sermons,
songs and notes for choreographic scores .... And we can.
When will it happen?
It is happening even now and we seek to be the
catalysts, the bringers of the epiphany. It will happen first mostly with
the willing, so that we may not be too soon discouraged. Then as we count
our successes, we will take on tougher trials as our endurance increases
and our muscles grown stronger
Where will It happen?
It will happen throughout
the Caribbean. Down by the quayside and in the quiet harbour Among the
sandwiches and teas of high Government officials' meetings; on top the
files of bureaucrats and underneath the tables of greasy-handed industrialists.
It will be happening with large toys and loud songs in the pre-schools
and on-stage and back stage and in the rehearsal rooms; in sleepy afternoon
schools and between bristling boots and armoury; in pews and on kneelers;
before alters and incense, bells and candlesticks, placards, voters' ink
and registration. It will happen everywhere that the Blue Caribbean kisses,
urging a resurrection and an awakening.
Profiles of the Contributors
Joy Rudder (nee Cobham) is a writer and photographer from Trinidad. She holds degrees from the University of the West Indies, in Mass Communications and Social Sciences as well as Environmental Studies and Resource Management. She has written Our Native Land, published by UNEP and co-authored A Strategy for Environmental Education and Communications for the Caribbean, published through the Caribbean Conservation Association and CIDA. She has been an environmental columnist for Caribbean Week newspaper and worked on several environmental education/ developmental projects for PAHO/WHO, UNDP, IDRC, in the Caribbean. She has travelled with her Barbadian husband Charles, throughout much of the Caribbean and several regions of North America. When not in the Caribbean, she pursues a post-graduate programme of Inter- disciplinary Studies, at Regent College, Vancouver, British Columbia.
Detta van Aardt was bom and grew up in Britain where she obtained a degree in Fine Arts. She has lived in India and Jamaica and chosen Trinidad as her home. She has evolved a unique reputation as a person who has successfully adopted many varieties of injured or abandoned wild animals. Amongst the creatures she has lived with closely and cared for, have been a red howler monkey, a small fruit bat, varieties of owls, small mammals such as manicou, various birds and many others. Wherever possible, she returns them to the wild. Detta also teaches art and periodically shows her own work, whether paintings, ceramics or prints. Her artistic creations all reflect her keen insight into the world of nature.
Yvette Louison lays claim to a unique Caribbean heritage. Her mother is a Dominican Carib who is a successful agriculturalist and entrepreneur; her father is the famed Trinidad landscape artist Dermot Louison. A graduate of Holy Name Convent, Yvette has married the worlds of art and business as an accomplished computer graphic artist. She has several years of experience in publishing and advertising and now runs her own business. In her spare time, she cares for a variety of beautifully named canine companions.