For all of us, at whatever strata we live, episodes come along on our journey that transform us significantly purely from the realization or understanding those encounters generate. An intriguing part of the phenomenon is that the realization is not always immediate. Often it can take months, or even years, for the dawning or the understanding to come clear, but when it does one instantly sees the legitimacy of the awareness that has emerged. Two other intriguing aspects of these illuminations – that is essentially what they are – are their strength and their wide diversity.
For me, as an example, a pivotal one was my long acquaintance with a man named Ormond Panton whom I got to know over many years living in the Cayman Islands. At one time, he had been the most powerful politician in the country, forming its first political party, clashing with consecutive British administrators in the colony, and he had been known as a firebrand orator with his focus being independence for his country. “Mister Ormond,” as he was commonly known, was retired from all that when I met him, but he remained a firebrand with a sailor’s repertoire of cuss words, including a temper to match, and many Caymanians gave him a wide berth. His impact on me stemmed from his almost fanatical nationalism. Then and since I have not met anyone in whom that particular fire burned so brightly, and it was an illumination for me in how unflinching it was in the man; indeed, his intensity fortified my feelings for my own country while living in his. Without intending to do so, he was actually making a big difference in my own growth. (I would later recognize the same fierce loyalty to principle of Mister Ormond in the boxing phenomenon Muhammad Ali, another person I truly admire for the same reasons.) I eventually ended up writing the story of Mister Ormond’s life shortly before he passed away, and among the several prominent Caribbean people I have encountered, he remains the most impressive for that iron devotion to his country. Long retired from politics, he carried his commitment like a sword throughout his days.
Before I came to Cayman, another illuminating occurrence for me – I have referred to it before – came in a linguistics class at Ryerson University in Toronto. The background here is that I had grown up in Guyana conditioned to believe 
that our dialect, as well as the other Caribbean versions, was evidence of the lack of worth in us and in our regional family. In Canada, in the process of dissecting the dialect, I was now seeing it treated instead by academics as a completely valid language expression, certainly different from Standard English, but valid nonetheless. In the case of Mister Ormond previously mentioned, the awareness of the power of personal conviction was a gradual emergence; this understanding of dialect worth was almost instantaneous. I sat stock still, staring at printed page, as the idea struck. The realization was transforming. From literally one day to the next, it triggered a legitimising process in the way I saw myself, other Caribbean people, and our achievements. The shattering of that one falsehood, the one condemning the way we spoke, was like a domino effect shattering other negative false perceptions I had been subject to. I don’t exaggerate when I say it was like a light entering my life bringing an illumination that continues to this day.
In the latter years of my time in Cayman, I came into contact with an inspiring Jamaican – the late Rex Nettleford – and the illumination there was simply to see how impressive Caribbean people could be. Looking back, my awakening of worth in the linguistics class in Canada, left me ready to recognize and accept the excellence of Nettleford. He was a man of many parts – leading educator, writer, choreographer, commentator and initiator. In the performance culture, he is probably best known for his creation and direction of the world-class National Dance Theatre Company (NDTC) of Jamaica, but the array of his contributions are out there if you’re curious enough to look for them. Rex’s illumination for me, not something you will see widely noted, was that aura of the prince that he carried with him. In private chats or on public platforms, Nettleford was a master with the spoken word. He could be humourous or biting. His presentations could range from Oxford University verbiage (he was a Rhodes scholar) to the Kingston ghetto, all in the same sentence. One of his special targets was the colonial English, and I have been at speeches where he skewered them and had them laughing at the same time. Always sharply dressed, Rex stood out with an engaging amiable strut. Looking back, he was the first to make me aware that Caribbean people could be royal, too.
The final illumination I mention here is a book, The West Indies: The Federal Negotiations by Paul Mordecai, of Jamaica, the one-time Deputy Governor-General of the ill-fated West Indies Federation. First published in 1968, the book covers the West Indies Federation story in copious detail and is riveting on several levels. It corroborates, for instance, Rex Nettleford’s constant assertion of us as a “powerful people.” It’s represented in the brilliant figures of that time (Michael Manley, Bustamante, Eric Williams, Grantley Adams) but also in the formidable tenor of the people in these newly-emergent nations. It is there in the manoeuverings of the negotiations, and in the machinations of the British shedding their colonial burdens. It is historical high drama throughout. For today’s appetite, however, in a time of shaky regional unity, the salient illumination is that Mordecai’s book, which ultimately presents several reasons for the Federation’s failure, also shows us the ridges of difference already clearly showing themselves among us some 50 years ago. For some illuminations, to use the Jamaican expression, “yuh av fe ‘ang an.”
