October 12 is upon us once again and naturally the country is geared
up for its national day off. In whose name have we been granted the
honour of rest: none other than the honourable international terrorist
Christopher Columbus. Unfortunately I cannot rest or tire from
speaking out about our national commemoration of Discovery Day because
to this day, the status quo remains.
Last week I drove past Government House and I was halted in traffic
right in front of the white gates. Towering over me was a white statue
of Christopher Columbus. At its base was a rusting black iron cannon
aimed right at me. I was affronted by the symbolism of this design.
There he was carved in stone as an honoured symbol of power. I often
wonder if the statue was placed there by our former enslavers to mock
our very existence.
What does it say about the nature of our society if we value Columbus
as a symbol of power and authority? He was the architect of the first
great genocide in the New World. He orchestrated the enslavement,
brutalization and eradication of an entire group of people; the grant
theft of their land and all that was upon it. Who is he to place on a
pedestal and then complain about our children playing games like Grand
Theft Auto?
And to think not even one monument can you find in our nation’s
capital to honour the indigenous people to whom we owe for the
stewardship of these islands. We continue the genocide today by
erasing their memory from our consciousness and built environment.
The Columbus statue design is not a mere coincidence of history. A
stroll down to Parliament Square will confirm this. There you will
find the not-so-grand statue of Sir Milo Butler placing its
allegiance, not to the Commonwealth of the Bahamas, but to the Queen.
Sir Milo’s bust is immortalized in submission to our supreme symbol of
power and authority clasping the very book used to enslave his mind
and those of his ancestors.
As if I could not escape the symbolism, I was again confronted when
using the phonebook this weekend. The image of the Bahamian crest on
the front cover stole my gaze. There it was again, the vehicle of our
so-called discovery, Christopher Columbus’ ship. Immediately I
recalled the Jamaican crest, which is designed with the image of an
indigenous Amerindian. These symbols speak volumes. They broadcast an
identity story; a narrative of self. Everywhere we turn in the
Bahamas we are confronted with the colonial story told from the eyes
of the conqueror, as if it marks the beginning and end to our
existence and the only concept of ourselves.
Some people get vex because of crime and violence. I get vex when I
see symbols of our powerlessness flaunting themselves in grand style
right in front of my face.
This question of Discovery Day is so critical for the Bahamas, because
our country is the gateway place and space for the entry of the new
world order in the West. And the Bahamian psyche is the vehicle
through which the great lie is preserved. It is a fact that we
underappreciate. The great massacre that made way for the Western
world as we know it today took place on our soil, and our lack of
remembrance or concern gives legitimacy to all that was done in the
name of discovery.
The discovery narrative provided a framework to legitimize colonial
authority, Christianisation and white supremacy. In many ways, it
still serves that function today. It established a zero-value identity
for whosoever and whatsoever existed prior, and established the
authority to carry forward the conquering mission.
In an interview with historian, cultural scholar and political
activist George Lamming he reminded me, while discussing Columbus,
about “the connection that goes always between power and knowledge.”
His analysis spoke directly to my distaste for the mainstream
Discovery Day narrative.
Professor Lamming was in the Bahamas as a guest writer for the 2011
Bahamas Writers Summer Institute. He delivered a public lecture at the
College of the Bahamas. During my interview, Professor Lamming spoke
about England being a powerful colonial empire in large part due to
its success at controlling knowledge: knowledge of self and knowledge
of the world.
“Europe, it started rather late. You know England was once a barbarous
little island. The Romans arrived there and wondered who are these
crazy people. But they have a very magnificent story, because they did
not have very much. They discovered late that they had a little coal
and some fish. They did not have all that much resources, but they
were very daring were these sea voyages. So that tremendous leap of
Europe out, and in no time at all I mean they were all over the place
conquering and taking people’s lands away, there is some extraordinary
kind of adventure story in that,” said Professor Lamming.
The myth that colonial empires were able to create he said is that the
triumph of their expansion was “in fact the evidence of an inherent
superiority”, and the conviction of that superiority gave them immense
power. One of the most covert ways in which they exercised this power
was through language and naming. “To name something is to control it,”
said Professor Lamming. All over the world we are confronted with the
sad reality of non-European people speaking only European languages,
having no consciousness of their native tongues.
“So wherever there has been a colonial intrusion, power affirms itself
by imposing its language on the other. And once that language is
imposed on the other it means that when I put up a school here, the
language of instruction will be my language not your language. I will
teach you something called History in my language, whether it be
English or French or whatever. I will teach you Geography in my
language. And if you are going to speak my language correctly, please
don’t mix it up with your language,” said Professor Lamming.
The strategy of the enslavers was to suppress the native tongue and
impose the European language. It was a strategy of power and control.
To speak your native tongue became like “an act of insurrection.” The
collision of indigenous languages and European languages created a
number of “unauthorized marriages”, as Professor Lamming calls them,
such as French Creole in St Lucia and Haiti, the Jamaican language and
Bahamian speak. These languages tell amazing stories of resistance to
colonial oppression, about cultural continuity and identity.
Circle back now to the discussion of Discovery Day. Some people say,
what’s in a name? Power or a lack thereof lies in a name, after all,
it is the same discovery doctrine that was used as a legal principle
by the North Americans to colonise the Native Americans.
In our schools we should be studying critically the concept of
discovery. For our national commemoration, we should be pouring
libations to honour the memory of the “tru tru” Bahamians, those
native islanders who inhabited these lands.
In our self-narratives we should retell the discovery story and
situate Columbus in his proper place, amongst the list of the world’s
most notorious terrorists. He was certainly an important person in
Bahamian history, but he is no honoured symbol of power and authority
deserving of a prized place at the doorstep of our government’s house.
We should tell the stories of our national heroes who endured and
overcame the greatest trials under the political and soci-economic
system that Columbus represented. We should tell the stories of our
national heroes who brought us into a brighter day.
Let us take Columbus off his pedestal, do away with discovery day,
once and for all, and take charge of naming ourselves.
Pan-African writer and cultural critic Khalila Nicolls is currently a practicing journalist in The Bahamas.