My delight at the opportunity of delivering a course, Reading Caribbean History through Literature, is matched only by my dismay at the dwindling numbers of students in both the history and literature departments at Costaatt.
The colleague who drew my attention to our rapidly fading clientele rightly suggested that as only one of the many tertiary institutions which have mushroomed under the Gate system, we have not marketed ourselves efficiently or effectively.
I agree but then it’s hard in the current culture of grabbing a degree or diploma as quickly as possible, in the hope of an upwardly mobile salary, education now runs a poor second to certification. Why—prospective students will ask themselves—should we bother to invest four or five years acquiring a BA when it can supposedly be done in two years, with a master’s degree thrown in for no more than a year’s beating of books? I may be exaggerating slightly, but both my casual online research and the reports of former students corroborate this.
With history now excised from many secondary school curricula and film, animation, social media or smartphone texting fulfilling the “literary” aspirations of many, while saddened, I’m not entirely surprised that both history and literature are endangered subjects. Maybe in the context of postmodern, increasingly globalised T&T, the liberal arts themselves are perceived as superfluous to our little rocks with their inflated energy-based economy.
And then, what’s the point of wasting a precious day turning pages written by some dead person, who it may be difficult to follow, when there are nails to be painted, weaves to be spun, gyul an boy to be tracked, and instant gratification to be met? Reading, which is the foundation of the liberal arts, simply requires more time and effort than the majority seem to now have either at their disposal, or discretion.
Many times in the past eight years at Costaatt I’ve met resistance or apathy when I mention the desirability of engaging with a text. In fact now I usually ask new classes, “Who hates reading?” It’s better to know what you’re dealing with in front.
Fortunately, so far at least, many, if not all, of the anti-textists I’ve encountered have had a change of heart by the end of the course. But the perception largely remains that Shakespeare, Walcott, Lovelace, are “boring,” they’re not sexy and reading—unless it’s a solid textbook or a work contract—is really an unnecessary activity.
The world is what it is; you see what you get and the dollar marches in the vanguard. So I wasn’t shocked when at a recent ceremony marking the end of a state-funded creative writing mentoring programme led by Earl Lovelace, to hear the Minister of Arts & Multiculturalism admit he had to bribe his son with $100 to read Paul Coelho’s The Alchemist. Previously I’ve had to find creative ways to entice Lit students to get beyond the first few pages of one of their compulsory texts, or even to explain why if you want a degree in literature, you actually have to read some books!
Reading may be passé, but ironically writing has become one of the new cools in T&T, along with filmmaking and animation. For every one reader I can show you 20 or 30 writers or budding cineastes. High-profile festivals like the TTFF and the Bocas have made writing and filmmaking, with the possibility of celebrity status, cool beyond sexy. There’s also the more dubious aspect that T&T with its Carnival/good times/exotic tropic cachet has now joined the list of cultural destinations, where mainstream publishing and film industries can combine networking with holidaying, where glitz rules over grit where glittering prizes temporarily gloss the reality that very few of our beleaguered population will shell out the price of a book, or read it if offered it for free.
To a bibliophile like myself all this is either a mystery or a tragedy. The more instantaneous life becomes, the more the now and its exigencies dominate, is the more I find refuge and continuity on the page. The written word connects me to other lives, other times and places, besides allowing me the space for self-reflection necessary to make a way in the world.
Just opening a new copy of CLR James’ Black Jacobins, is both a real sensual pleasure and a thrill. I first read it some 30 years ago on the Circle line in London and was so captivated I spent an entire day riding round and round below the streets of London devouring one of the greatest historical dramas of modernity.
It may not be outlandish to suggest a direct corollary between the viciousness and brutality of our times in T&T, and the demise of the liberal arts. Knowing how we got where we are and who we are, is fundamental to deciphering where to go. That’s where history comes in. Empathising with others, across time, language and culture is the basis for tolerance, understanding, illumination and joy. So read on.