Matters Arising by Kenneth Ramchand was published in October 2021, taking its name from the column that Ramchand wrote for the Trinidad Guardian for little over a decade (1987-1998). The book comprises forty-five columns, a preface by the author, and a publisher’s note. The cover of the large paperback features a pastoral scene of scarlet ibis in flight. Ramchand is a heavyweight in the Caribbean literary world. His definitive book on Caribbean literature, The West Indian Novel and Its Background (Ian Randle,1970) remains the seminal text on the Caribbean novel. As the first Professor of West Indian Literature at the University of the West Indies, Ramchand was instrumental in charting the academic path of West Indian Literature and in overseeing both the development of home-grown writing and dismantling curriculums long dictated by colonial rule. From 1987 to 2006, a particularly tumultuous time in the history of the young nation, he served as an independent member of the Senate of Trinidad and Tobago.
In many ways, this is an extraordinarily intimate book. The columns as they would have appeared cover a broad range of topics. Read in their entirety as an oeuvre, what emerges is a fiercely enquiring mind that never ceases to tease and deconstruct his beloved Trinidad and Tobago. It would be short sighted to view this collection as pertaining only to local events. The column began appearing at approximately the same time as Ramchand began his service as an independent senator. This gifts the reader with an insight into the affairs of the day, providing a retrospective view of environmental concerns, education, linguistics, geo-politics, and vivid social commentary. And this is by no means an exhaustive list. Nothing appears off limits and his approach ranges from tenderness to irony to flat out satire, none of which is unexpected in the commentary of the growing pains of a new nation. It is clear he enjoys matching topic and style when reaching for the mischievous or the humourous. The result is both lively and non-pedantic, another signal that this is no “ivory tower” academic writing from a hallowed hall.
Despite Ramchand’s significant academic achievements, the strength of these columns is their ability to be deeply human. One has the sense of having the undivided attention of an engaged and engaging storyteller.
Ramchand stretches the range of his voice and style so that there is never a flat note. In reading the collection in their entirety, it is possible to see what may not have been obvious as the columns appeared one by one over the weeks. Whether he is writing about a mealybug infestation, a forgotten novelist, fishing, or the bastardisation of a beloved food (paratha) into an item of clothing (buss up shirt), the tone is pitch perfect. Satire is used liberally but there is also the very tender voice of a grown son visiting a mother who yearns to be returned to her home.
What is clear in these columns is the deep love that Ramchand holds for this land. He returns repeatedly to his home village of Cedros and is often narrating off the end of a jetty with a fishing line in hand. He writes deeply and movingly about the importance of art and culture in a developing nation. Ramchand also does something that may be peculiar to the age; he writes with the unselfconscious of an East Indian man of this place. By this I mean, he is writing from a place that feels like a beginning, which in many ways it was. Love of land and nation, art and culture are as integral to him as his heritage. Or put another way, there is a sense of nationalism to these columns. A sense of putting of nation before self that does not appear to have translated with time.
As with any chronological work, there is a trajectory. In 2022, it’s easy to forget just how young and unformed we were in 1986 and how much heartbreak we had ahead of us. In the eighth column of the collection Ramchand gives a detailed account of the rise and fall of the coalition party, The National Alliance for Reconstruction, which, for a brief euphoric moment, seemed capable of bringing the country together, taking Trinidad and Tobago forward in unity and progression. I believe Ramchand gets it right when he quotes Lloyd Best (leader of The Tapia House Movement, one portion of the coalition government) in an early cautionary statement and the pushback this received:
Best’s attempts to make the group think about what “coalition” means and what a unitary was, were regarded as interventions that would cause a loss of momentum. (p. 44)
Decisively titled History Will Not Forgive Them, Ramchand articulates what I have heard many a Trinbagonian say – this was when something in the country changed. The disintegration and political failure of the NAR would have serious consequences going forward. In the end, coalition would become just another word and the political infighting would set a precedent the likes of which no one could have foreseen.
It is not easy to summarise some forty-five columns but the constant through them all is the creation of this new nation – our Trinidad and Tobago. Ramchand had by this time made his mark in the world of academia and revolutionised how West Indian writing was presented and perceived. In these columns, he is using everything in his arsenal to reach Joe Public, the man in the street, anyone who could gain access to a newspaper. And in column after column, he presents his case for our culture, language, the arts, environmental concerns, feminism, religion, and the state. Many of the subjects raised some thirty plus years ago are relevant today. In column Thirty-Four, The Language that West Indians Speak, he says:
Dialect is not something to be ashamed of. You have to know how to modify it with some Standard, and you have to use it to modify Standard in turn. You have to be the kind of user of our language that even when you are not mixing deliberately, your hearers feel the sound system subtly at work. Even when Sprangalang scrapes for the deepest level of dialect you know the man knows the Standard form better than you. (p. 188)
The Standard to which he is referring is Trinidad Standard, which is our first language, for as he argues:
“…all varieties of English have their own dialect or dialects. And they all have their own Standard as well. The variety of English we speak is called West Indian English. If you don’t like that you can say we speak Trinidad English. Trinidad English is one of the variants of West Indian English. (p. 186)
The natural movement along the continuum of Trinidad Standard and dialect is illustrated by Ramchand throughout these columns as he moves easily up and down the register depending on context, character, or his chosen style of delivery.
Despite Ramchand’s significant academic achievements, the strength of these columns is their ability to be deeply human. One has the sense of having the undivided attention of an engaged and engaging storyteller. One who can ole talk with the best of them, satirise the blazes out of a story and just generally display that biting humour all Trinidadians will recognize. It is this deeply human thread that ensures the collection, while being rich is fact and history, is never didactic.
I re-read the preface once I had come to the end of the collection. It seemed the inevitable thing to do. In the preface, Ramchand explores a different voice. One that is more poetic and vulnerable. The preface reminds that the man collating these columns is now a much older man. There is a sense of reckoning. A sense of heartache for his beloved country: “What is to become of my Trinidad?” (p. 6)
Rest easy, Prof Ramchand. You have done your part.
∞
Sharon Millar is a Trinidadian writer, winner of the 2013 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, and author of the acclaimed short story collection The Whale House and Other Stories.