At 14, I was eagerly ushered into the United States, with the promise of a better life and an invitation to shed the “stifling” constraints of a Caribbean existence dangling before me. America was synonymous with success and to drink deeply from its well was to embrace advancement and improvement, in contrast to the stagnation of its “third world” counterparts.
From high schools to corner stores, when I bumped into my immigrant comrades, I was certain that we were all steeped in the pressures of conformity. The rawness of our accents that distorted American phrases, the parent-bought clothes that were out of step with American fashion, and our conspicuous naiveté made us powerfully aware of our thirst. That coupled with the many “coconut" and “off the boat” jokes made us feel the desire to fit in dripping off our faces. Little did I know then that Brooklyn, the capital of the West Indian Diaspora, would tame and redirect those desires, forcing me and others to acknowledge and embrace the cultures that America had hoped we would forget.
Thirteen years later, islanders who are willing to prosper on American soil are now often less willing to barter with their identities. Thus, Caribbean culture has become as portable as suitcases and as purchasable as plane tickets, allowing many West Indians the freedom to go in search of a better life without the fear of facing an ultimatum: to choose between culture and success. In fact, West Indian nationalism is now such a commodity that one would be hard pressed to stroll through two blocks in Brooklyn without bumping into a car with a Grenadian flag, a person with a Trinidadian map hanging from their neck, or a set of keys bound by Jamaican colors.
Yet these sights are not only the result of a community recognizing the market value of patriotism. They are also the product of a community struggling to keep its cultural identity intact, seeking to distinguish itself from its African-Americans counterparts, and illustrating its unwillingness to assimilate into the larger American society, even while living out the American propositions of success.
If the calypso song “Get Something and Wave” could be the West Indian Labor Day Parade anthem, then its trademark would definitely be the flag. This celebration, bursting at the seams with over 2 million avid flag-waving people, showcases flags made in every color and design, representing every possible nation under the Caribbean sun. Quick nods and smiles exchanged in camaraderie as cultural kin dance past each other; conversations interrupted by “Whey yuh from?” or “Yuh trini nah?” become the passport for the day.
The parade is not only the celebration of the West Indian community in America; it is the re-invention of time-honored traditions such as Carnival and Crop Over, which inspire and invoke patriotism. This annual veneration keeps in place a system of loyalty and nationalism among the West Indian community who, in fact, stake their honor on their representation of their perspective countries, “flagging” themselves from head to toe in a show of pride and loyalty.
Hand in hand with this intense cultural call to “big-up” or “represent” one’s country, West Indian immigrants are being forced to contend daily with the issues of identity and ethnicity and to ascertain their place and role in American society. The resulting scenario has been a post-West Indian Day culture entrenched in excessive nationalism, where how you “talk,” what you wear, which parties you go to, and which radio stations your listen to, are all part of your allegiance.
Consequently, a market has opened that feeds on the nostalgia of many immigrants. Since the biggest proof of one’s loyalty lies in visual and aural effects, the willingness of West Indians and Americans to capitalize on these longings have also fueled this culture of nationalism. Compared to ten years ago, now a Saturday morning on Flatbush or Nostrand Avenues means walking past several street vendors or stores that flagrantly solicit this sentiment. Hanging flags, plaques, clothes, hats, keys, jewelry, and house decorations lure unsuspecting consumers with the promise of a connectedness with their homelands.
With flag waving and head tying on the rise, parades such as the Puerto Rican Day parade, Independence Day and the African American Day Parade are now easy venues for this rise in symbolism, illustrating that it is not purely loyalty-driven but also trend-forming. In order to keep the cash flowing, party promoters, radio stations and storeowners have been busy formulating new ways to attract consumers by appealing to nationalism. In the end, West Indians are being forced to respond economically to the ever-growing numbers of ways they can “big-up” their countries, while still negotiating the landscape of anti-American sentiment.
As a way to grasp another reason for this keen West Indian sense of loyalty and patriotism, the existing rifts between the African-American and West Indian communities need to be examined. Often rife with disregard, disrespect and degradation, the complaints by both sides usually stem from the issue of America’s history of racism towards people of color. African Americans find West Indians too “Uncle Tomish” in their attitudes, seen as undermining the hard-won struggles against racism in America; while West Indians define African Americans as “lazy and stupid” because of their unwillingness to cooperate and take advantage of the system.
Thus, the natural tendency for West Indians has been towards a dual existence: over-defining themselves in terms of nationality, while hoping not to be co-opted by the African-American meta-narrative. The result has been a breakdown in a united Black community in America. Brooklynites are well aware of the lines of demarcation within the borough, where Flatbush and Nostrand mean West Indian, Bed-Stuy and Bronxville mean African American. With the scales of nationalism being tipped in favor of cultural ethnicity or commonality rather than race, blacks from both sides of the ocean are less willing to embrace each other and promote a united front. Widening the gap between these communities are the familial ties between the immigrant communities and the home country, which continue to enforce an overseas connection, thereby enhancing a sense of nationalism through ancestry.
West Indian immigrants, left with the bad taste of America’s long history of racism and capitalism, have been keen on not wanting to be defined or exploited by it. Though they still want to profit from the American experience, many have opted to become the unwitting pickpockets of American society; they show up to work and build America but refuse to play the American trump card: patriotism. This lack of participation and support shows itself best in West Indian discourse, where conversations ridiculing “dotish” political leaders, “blodcat” taxes, or commenting on Americans who “doh value education and hard work,” or who “cyar wine” often make for interesting debates in politics, social policies and social structures.
On the flip side, there is a taunting aspect to West Indians’ regard of America’s tunnel vision-syndrome which makes it easy for this neglected population to “run ah scam,” “pull ah fas one,” or simply “get the hook up,” finding creative ways to “buck the system” to their own advantage. These phrases, commonplace in everyday conversations, are suggestive of a kind of subversion and radicalism amongst West Indians, which signifies non-alignment with American society.
West Indians refuse to assimilate, often staying bound to and supportive of their own communities by invoking the right of nationalism. Many West Indians, even though vulnerable to deportation and immigration inspections, continue to remain staunchly nationalistic, even requesting dual citizenships when applying for permanent residence in America.
Ultimately, America is still the “land of honey” in terms of wealth and opportunities for many West Indians; hence the migration to America is still a priority for poor people wanting a better life. Yet, the changing landscape of West Indian nationalism with its stoic refusal to assimilate is indicative that these migrants also have a view of America that is tinged with distaste. This encourages a distancing of their identities from those of Americans: black, white or other. This portable and purchasable nationalism – sprinkled with capitalism, loyalty, distinction and subversion – indicates that West Indians are caught in the crux of defining themselves within American society, as they continue to become part of a black majority within the United States. Brooklyn, the Mecca of the West Indian Diaspora, has proved to be a region where the desire to resist assimilation, coupled with consumerist competitiveness of nationalism, has created a mental state of “separate but equal” for many West Indian immigrants.
