Saturday, February 11, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
Jeans and Ethics
In recent years two trends in male fashion have been very troubling for some sectors of our societies. Call them fitted jeans, pencil pants or skinny jeans they have some people uncomfortable. The other is the low waist style which allows varying degree of underwear to show. I find them troubling because they always draw my attention. The problem is a little graver for others. The former is a perceived threat to masculinity and consequently the domain of women and the latter speaks to this sense of decency that black men must subscribe to as they must do nothing to further their marginalization in societies that have more reasons to deny them work, respect, love and acceptance than not.
I remember after my trip to Suriname in about 2004 someone explained the slim fitting pants that were everywhere there then, as the Dutch influence, it was an expression of the liberal male found in all of Europe least so England. Holland is known for its liberal attitudes, in France the men kiss, in Italy they walk down the streets hugging each other. The closer silhouette naturally followed the flat-front pant, just as a point of interest. In Suriname, though, the young men were all wearing close fitting pants. It stood in stark contrast to the still pervasive baggy finish associated with the global Hip Hop image elsewhere, it was therefore not American.
After Suriname I spent three years in Jamaica. The fitted silhouette was there before it was in Trinidad and Tobago by my observation. One of the things that I believe influences Jamaican trends is its proximity to Miami. Many boutique owners shop in Miami.
By now the L.A. punk style that really some say ushered in the age of skinny jeans, had reached New York, Miami and London. They were no longer in types of denim but now bright colors in the these places. It was around then too that metrosexuals went mainstream, a characteristic of this being a new masculinity that put taste before allegiance to norms of accepted men’s attire.
I see less of them being used to “dress up” as we say here, and more so casually, it suggests that the trend is running its course. One person even commented to me last weekend that skinny jeans were out of fashion. This despite another person recently complaining about men wearing a women’s brand, PJ’s which seem to be made of stretch denim, giving an even closer fit.
Emerging trends in jeans seem to be the stone- washed grey which is more a color statement than one of fit and partially bleached blue denim. It must be also noted that some high end brands post True Religion and Evisu have also been capturing a market that is loyal and visible.
The other trend of the sagging pants speaks to values. Some are to a degree repulsed on one level to be seeing a man’s underwear. He is said to have no self-respect, no ambition, be appropriating a foreign culture with roots in the jails where belts are taken away and so pants sag. I even saw a campaign by an U.S. politician to have it banned. President Barack Obama has spoken against it. I heard, too, that male some tourists disembarking a cruise ship in Grenada were sent back on board by Prime Ministerial decree because their underwear was showing. I can’t confirm it but I took no time to doubt it.
From as far back as the 90’s Mark Whalberg, then Marky Mark modeled Calvin Klein in magazines with his underwear showing. I can’t say I remember the response of the politically correct but fact is that that was over 20 years ago, we don’t yet accept it and still make it a problem.
Perhaps even earlier male Rock musicians and Punk stars were wearing skin fitting jeans.
I read in a historical account of “gayness” in Trinidad and Tobago of some of the ways the community existed. It described same sex sexual relations among men as “a gentleman’s vice”. The term "gentleman" was reserved for certain members of the society, we know we were not all considered gentlemen. It speaks of a man of stature, a man with a lady, a man of society. So in examining the history of homosexuality in Trinidad and Tobago some are outside the notes of history. Even if those interactions were between “gentlemen’ and those of a lower class the article does not mention any other sector of Trinidad and Tobago in that period.
Its Carnival and Singing Francine has a song I’m sure we’ll hear at Calypso Fiesta warning about the societal ill that wining is when done by children. Ok, not sure what my position is on that. One Red Cross official has also been known to admonish against lewd behavior by children at the junior parades of the bands.
Yes it is a disturbing sight for me to see young girls, particularly, gyrating as they parade. However, there is a part of me that doesn’t see wining as vulgar, despite how it looks. The fact is it feels good to do it. What it connotes is really imaginary to the person doing it almost. Too, most times I have seen a young girl wining a female guardian was close by. I may protest too much but while I don’t think it something to encourage I’m not sure the reasons why it should not be encouraged should be encouraged either, as silently articulated as they are or may be.
For me this Carnival I’d like to wine. I have tried to “wuk up” as the men do in Barbados and realized how bound I was by the Trinidad and Tobago limitation on how much a man can wine before becoming suspect of partaking in the vices of gentlemen. I don’t need anyone’s permission but I would say that I too find myself trapped by ideas about how I should behave. I’m not sure though if how I wine and wear my jeans are not in fact genetics.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Losing Game by Amy Whiner
There is no point in playing a game you know you’ll win, it’s part of the thrill of the thing. Amy Winehouse said Love is a Losing Game yet we play it over and over. I agree with her but that is based on my experiences at least in romantic love, its not a department I’d say I have had success in. There are other games we play, though, even if we don’t want to it seems that we have to.
I got an invitation to a party today from a friend. I immediately responded and said I wont be attending then I thought to myself that he invited me because he wanted me to come so I then sent another message saying I may come.
Now I have been accused of making much ado about nothing as a rule but I respond by saying who feels it knows.
This is Trinidad and Tobago where the nation trumps all. As a small country every birth counts and so procreation is revered above all else. It has implications for the future labor force, attendances at fetes and numbers in carnival bands and pan sides. Most of us accept this and so the national dialogue has little room for anything else.
How then do I explain to my friend that…you know…straight fetes cause problems for people who are not straight not exactly in the same way that not straight fetes only attract not straight people but akin.
So here I go agreeing to play that game that always sees me losing. The game of silence when so much has to be said, like “wow he's fine”, “did she really wear that” and other things that only non-straight men say.
This in no way really gets to the depth of the hegemony of which I speak but it does suggest that in the interest of nation many compromises are made.
The funny thing is that my friend, like many who may be at the fete, knows that not all of us are straight and to an extent the attendance of non-straights at straight events is a but of an endorsement as non-straights are thought to be of discerning taste on one level and too such a rarity that they can also be seen as an attraction. You’re allowed to disagree with that last statement.
So in deciding to go out in a country where for the most part the heterosexual hegemonic are only second to the closeted cartel it is with the knowledge that we are engaging in the game, one I don’t feel that I win. Maybe, just maybe it’s the game of love.
I got an invitation to a party today from a friend. I immediately responded and said I wont be attending then I thought to myself that he invited me because he wanted me to come so I then sent another message saying I may come.
Now I have been accused of making much ado about nothing as a rule but I respond by saying who feels it knows.
This is Trinidad and Tobago where the nation trumps all. As a small country every birth counts and so procreation is revered above all else. It has implications for the future labor force, attendances at fetes and numbers in carnival bands and pan sides. Most of us accept this and so the national dialogue has little room for anything else.
How then do I explain to my friend that…you know…straight fetes cause problems for people who are not straight not exactly in the same way that not straight fetes only attract not straight people but akin.
So here I go agreeing to play that game that always sees me losing. The game of silence when so much has to be said, like “wow he's fine”, “did she really wear that” and other things that only non-straight men say.
This in no way really gets to the depth of the hegemony of which I speak but it does suggest that in the interest of nation many compromises are made.
The funny thing is that my friend, like many who may be at the fete, knows that not all of us are straight and to an extent the attendance of non-straights at straight events is a but of an endorsement as non-straights are thought to be of discerning taste on one level and too such a rarity that they can also be seen as an attraction. You’re allowed to disagree with that last statement.
So in deciding to go out in a country where for the most part the heterosexual hegemonic are only second to the closeted cartel it is with the knowledge that we are engaging in the game, one I don’t feel that I win. Maybe, just maybe it’s the game of love.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The Queen's English
I remember in the 80’s, while still a teenager, they’d speak of the “royal lisp”. It was a condition thought to afflict gay men where a slight tied-tongue would give a quality to your speech that the likes of the late Stephanie Hospedales would be happy to help you with. Everything was to be corrected, buck teeth, riders, bandy legs anything that was not a feature the majority of us shared. Before I lose my point though, the “royal lisp” was considered a sure sign that one was ac/dc, a popular euphemism for gay back in the day.
I moved to New York and it was there that the queen’s English became more significant. It was a code amongst a downtown set that does what all language does, it unites as much as it gives color to the expression of a sub-culture. One popular House song would later ask Do you Know the Queen’s English?
In Trinidad and Tobago we can still say that the Queen’s English is the preferred mode of communication. Some eschew it all together and speak dialect. I practise what Linguists call, code-switching. It’s characteristic of many Caribbean people, to flow seamlessly from Standard or Queen’s English to dialect in one sentence or depending on the circumstance. Like when a neighbor approached me last night and asked how I was the only answer to give was “normal” as opposed to my usual “I’m alright thanks.”
It was at my home in Brooklyn one day many years ago that my brother, Kevin, questioned me after he heard an exchange between me and a friend where we repeatedly referred to each other as “bitch” as in: “bitch please I never told you that”. He found the use of the term unnatural between men and at that moment began another level of disassociation with a life style or culture if you will which I had found my self a part of quite comfortably.
If a queen says to you “you’re tired!” it has nothing to do with you being exhausted well not directly. It’s a statement about an action or position they don’t approve of. Example: a: I just bought a WonkaDonka shirt. Cost me a thousand dollar but its fierce! B: Miss thing that’s not fierce that’s really tired, why would pay that for a shirt? This example carries many examples of queen’s English but also shows that not all queens are willing to shell out the asking price for fashion, that would require a blog entry all its own.
It would be some years before I left New York and while Kevin takes a lot of licks as my older sometimes domineering brother, I want to say the loss of that learned tongue, queen’s English helped dislocate me in a sense and in part facilitated my leaving New York. I was no longer speaking the same language as my tribe, the values of the tribe questioned, I was moved to a no man’s land in some senses. The implications have been heavy. It was akin to the loss of a mother tongue. It has possibly led to a stasis on many fronts.
I have been accused of not living my life fully in the past ten years by some who know me. Part of the problem is that there are aspects of my past that I don’t care to relive and having changed I feel estranged from a world I wonder was ever for me.
I’ve been reading up on ethnography for a workshop I have to do this trimester and it speaks of the elements of culture, cultural knowledge, cultural behavior and cultural artifacts. When an observed group agrees on these or exhibits them routinely enough they are believed to share a culture. It doesn’t take an anthropologist to know what happens when an individual is removed from a culture.
Part of the struggle for me in being back in Trinidad and Tobago is which cultural grouping do I belong to? My best friends have for the most part all become parents. We share knowledge, behavior and artifacts. I cant say that it doesn’t still leave me sometimes lost for a sense of identity. Last Carnival I was a Wotless Trini, this year I find myself sometimes a Bacchanalist, A Baddess and in a chorus singing Mr Fete? I want to leave myself with options for my Carnival Tuesday portrayal but I’ll most likely be found in the Vulgar Fraction, a bit poetic if you ask me. These are all partial representations, though, as the vernacular of Carnival is seasonal.
Migration and repatriation are not without their issues for me. The process of cultural assimilation following migration and then disengagement can leave one feeling like many. The point may not be clear but suffice it to say we are united by intangibles, language among them, as well values. Both of which are inconsistent in my expression. I just wish there was a place like a dictionary or grammar book to help me know what is standard, as when one speaks the Queen’s English.
I moved to New York and it was there that the queen’s English became more significant. It was a code amongst a downtown set that does what all language does, it unites as much as it gives color to the expression of a sub-culture. One popular House song would later ask Do you Know the Queen’s English?
In Trinidad and Tobago we can still say that the Queen’s English is the preferred mode of communication. Some eschew it all together and speak dialect. I practise what Linguists call, code-switching. It’s characteristic of many Caribbean people, to flow seamlessly from Standard or Queen’s English to dialect in one sentence or depending on the circumstance. Like when a neighbor approached me last night and asked how I was the only answer to give was “normal” as opposed to my usual “I’m alright thanks.”
It was at my home in Brooklyn one day many years ago that my brother, Kevin, questioned me after he heard an exchange between me and a friend where we repeatedly referred to each other as “bitch” as in: “bitch please I never told you that”. He found the use of the term unnatural between men and at that moment began another level of disassociation with a life style or culture if you will which I had found my self a part of quite comfortably.
If a queen says to you “you’re tired!” it has nothing to do with you being exhausted well not directly. It’s a statement about an action or position they don’t approve of. Example: a: I just bought a WonkaDonka shirt. Cost me a thousand dollar but its fierce! B: Miss thing that’s not fierce that’s really tired, why would pay that for a shirt? This example carries many examples of queen’s English but also shows that not all queens are willing to shell out the asking price for fashion, that would require a blog entry all its own.
It would be some years before I left New York and while Kevin takes a lot of licks as my older sometimes domineering brother, I want to say the loss of that learned tongue, queen’s English helped dislocate me in a sense and in part facilitated my leaving New York. I was no longer speaking the same language as my tribe, the values of the tribe questioned, I was moved to a no man’s land in some senses. The implications have been heavy. It was akin to the loss of a mother tongue. It has possibly led to a stasis on many fronts.
I have been accused of not living my life fully in the past ten years by some who know me. Part of the problem is that there are aspects of my past that I don’t care to relive and having changed I feel estranged from a world I wonder was ever for me.
I’ve been reading up on ethnography for a workshop I have to do this trimester and it speaks of the elements of culture, cultural knowledge, cultural behavior and cultural artifacts. When an observed group agrees on these or exhibits them routinely enough they are believed to share a culture. It doesn’t take an anthropologist to know what happens when an individual is removed from a culture.
Part of the struggle for me in being back in Trinidad and Tobago is which cultural grouping do I belong to? My best friends have for the most part all become parents. We share knowledge, behavior and artifacts. I cant say that it doesn’t still leave me sometimes lost for a sense of identity. Last Carnival I was a Wotless Trini, this year I find myself sometimes a Bacchanalist, A Baddess and in a chorus singing Mr Fete? I want to leave myself with options for my Carnival Tuesday portrayal but I’ll most likely be found in the Vulgar Fraction, a bit poetic if you ask me. These are all partial representations, though, as the vernacular of Carnival is seasonal.
Migration and repatriation are not without their issues for me. The process of cultural assimilation following migration and then disengagement can leave one feeling like many. The point may not be clear but suffice it to say we are united by intangibles, language among them, as well values. Both of which are inconsistent in my expression. I just wish there was a place like a dictionary or grammar book to help me know what is standard, as when one speaks the Queen’s English.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Last Minute Shiz...
Don’t call it a shop or a store says Designer Robert Young of his latest venture The Cloth Propaganda Space.
Young says while merchandise will be on sale he envisions more for the space at 24 Erthig Road, Belmont.
Helping him achieve his goals is Lupe Leonard the Edna Manley School of Design and Parson’s School of Design graduate who produces under the label Asyiin, not to be pronounced.
The former printery of forty years has been transformed into a vibrant atmosphere that will house collections from both designers over the coming weeks.
Young says it’s a workshop, a laboratory and an experiment where he envisions a coming together of minds and energies that will be as well transformative.
The choice of location is deliberate and takes him away from the Woodbrook district that houses many other top designers.
The Cloth Propaganda space has been stocked with some of his staple designs along with new offerings. Ms Leonard is a craftsperson who produces artisan style accessories.
The store opened on Wednesday, December 21.
Friday, December 9, 2011
A Sharing Time
So much has happened since I last blogged and even before. This is my medium, though, and it does not respond to all of the Current Affairs agenda. Like any good media outlet it is in that way independent. I have been busy with school and now exams while admittedly finding time to recreate in other ways. Two titles have been recently begging for exploration, Why I Hate Christmas, An ya Know What I Mean and this one.
It is the season of sharing though and I have been wanting to post. It actually feels good to blog, I may have said that before.
How can I hate Christmas? I told a friend of my intention to write about it and she said “you don’t hate Christmas!” I’ll say that in part I do. It’s hard to celebrate the birth of Christ when your thoughts on Him are not always faithful.
Hard to ignore all the good soca that has been playing since Crop Over as has been the case in the years since local artistes are producing for the festival. I wasn’t here for the Bajan Invasion but had my own version of it with Krosfyah when in New York. Meh trini cousin Karma's friend, who went on to become my friend too, was dating a member of the band and on Eastern Parkway in the late 90’s we could be found with the band. Can I say that to me the Haitian and Jamaican bands were characterized by a less than Bajan courtesy. Forgive me. Having covered Crop Over for many years consecutively I was also more aware of the selections earlier than most and would search them before the wave of music for Trini Carnival began playing. These days though Crop Over marks the start of the annual Soca Season.
This now competes with Christmas for air time and represents a conflict that is being Trinbagonian. Not until the late 70’s did I start to recognize local musical expression heralding the season. I swear if the internet didn’t in the main replace the posting of correspondence as in through the post, I’d go postal the next time I heard I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas, responded to in I never Had a White Christmas.
Can it not be said that this is a struggle for identity and valorization of the indigenous which I believe is eroded in some of the aspects of identifying with other than Nation, The United States is not exempt from a place with Africa and India in this regard, too England. They all continue to hold a dominant place in our narrative as spoken and heard.
Commenting on Soca last year took me to a new place. I wondered if I could have saidon the airwaves what I wrote in the posting? We’ll see how the breeze blows for me this year. I’d say here that Carnival holds no more comfortable place in my craw at times with all that separates it from Christmas. I can say that the rhythms of the music do make the medicine a little easier to go down.
The Partnership seeks to spread the message of its Live Up campaign. Does this compromise my independence or as was discussed yesterday blur the line of activism. Fact is in the last ten years at least four of my close friends have been diagnosed as Hiv+. The disease continues to spread, something to be mindful of we are oft reminded especially during the Carnival season even if we sexing down the place whole year. You know, like Christmas is Jesus time even if we live less than generously year round. Hmmm.
The NGO, though, seeks to get its material aired as a charity to the cause. On the other side though is the question, if your message is that important why not pay to have it aired year-round? AIDS is one of the most visible charity based causes, Breast Cancer runs second and I see Autism on the horizon. Of Hope, Love and Charity the Bible says Charity is the greatest. I sense some capitalism at play. I may be speaking from a cynical place but it wouldn’t be the first time. I mean even God? Can we say "yes" all the time "there is a God", faith requires that I believe, that is all faith asks. Yeah cause you sometimes have to fight to see the good amid all else that life is. Plato is responsible for the similarity in the two words Good and God.
Last year was a special Christmas as they tend to be. I have so far though resolved not to buy any gifts. I’ll let you know how that goes.
In essence Christmas is here and Carnival is waiting to take to the stage. I have one exam left. They’ve been enjoyable so far, apart from the anxieties which I don’t need a reason fto get. I went to a workshop. It was to sensitize journalists about reporting on HIV related matters, as well, we were given guidelines for terminology and explanations of key terms.
I have to hit the road and there is more to be said. Xmas is too a time for sharing of time and food and that’s good any time. I look forward to that, particularly preparing my own family’s meal as I do every year on Christmas Eve night, all night…hahaha! Yet to be decided what’s on the menu but let’s pray nothing burns or gets too much salt, they’re a hard two to please.
Did you know that from a Pagan ritual December 25th or thereabouts represents the ascension of the Sun into the Western Hemisphere?
It is the season of sharing though and I have been wanting to post. It actually feels good to blog, I may have said that before.
How can I hate Christmas? I told a friend of my intention to write about it and she said “you don’t hate Christmas!” I’ll say that in part I do. It’s hard to celebrate the birth of Christ when your thoughts on Him are not always faithful.
Hard to ignore all the good soca that has been playing since Crop Over as has been the case in the years since local artistes are producing for the festival. I wasn’t here for the Bajan Invasion but had my own version of it with Krosfyah when in New York. Meh trini cousin Karma's friend, who went on to become my friend too, was dating a member of the band and on Eastern Parkway in the late 90’s we could be found with the band. Can I say that to me the Haitian and Jamaican bands were characterized by a less than Bajan courtesy. Forgive me. Having covered Crop Over for many years consecutively I was also more aware of the selections earlier than most and would search them before the wave of music for Trini Carnival began playing. These days though Crop Over marks the start of the annual Soca Season.
This now competes with Christmas for air time and represents a conflict that is being Trinbagonian. Not until the late 70’s did I start to recognize local musical expression heralding the season. I swear if the internet didn’t in the main replace the posting of correspondence as in through the post, I’d go postal the next time I heard I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas, responded to in I never Had a White Christmas.
Can it not be said that this is a struggle for identity and valorization of the indigenous which I believe is eroded in some of the aspects of identifying with other than Nation, The United States is not exempt from a place with Africa and India in this regard, too England. They all continue to hold a dominant place in our narrative as spoken and heard.
Commenting on Soca last year took me to a new place. I wondered if I could have saidon the airwaves what I wrote in the posting? We’ll see how the breeze blows for me this year. I’d say here that Carnival holds no more comfortable place in my craw at times with all that separates it from Christmas. I can say that the rhythms of the music do make the medicine a little easier to go down.
The Partnership seeks to spread the message of its Live Up campaign. Does this compromise my independence or as was discussed yesterday blur the line of activism. Fact is in the last ten years at least four of my close friends have been diagnosed as Hiv+. The disease continues to spread, something to be mindful of we are oft reminded especially during the Carnival season even if we sexing down the place whole year. You know, like Christmas is Jesus time even if we live less than generously year round. Hmmm.
The NGO, though, seeks to get its material aired as a charity to the cause. On the other side though is the question, if your message is that important why not pay to have it aired year-round? AIDS is one of the most visible charity based causes, Breast Cancer runs second and I see Autism on the horizon. Of Hope, Love and Charity the Bible says Charity is the greatest. I sense some capitalism at play. I may be speaking from a cynical place but it wouldn’t be the first time. I mean even God? Can we say "yes" all the time "there is a God", faith requires that I believe, that is all faith asks. Yeah cause you sometimes have to fight to see the good amid all else that life is. Plato is responsible for the similarity in the two words Good and God.
Last year was a special Christmas as they tend to be. I have so far though resolved not to buy any gifts. I’ll let you know how that goes.
In essence Christmas is here and Carnival is waiting to take to the stage. I have one exam left. They’ve been enjoyable so far, apart from the anxieties which I don’t need a reason fto get. I went to a workshop. It was to sensitize journalists about reporting on HIV related matters, as well, we were given guidelines for terminology and explanations of key terms.
I have to hit the road and there is more to be said. Xmas is too a time for sharing of time and food and that’s good any time. I look forward to that, particularly preparing my own family’s meal as I do every year on Christmas Eve night, all night…hahaha! Yet to be decided what’s on the menu but let’s pray nothing burns or gets too much salt, they’re a hard two to please.
Did you know that from a Pagan ritual December 25th or thereabouts represents the ascension of the Sun into the Western Hemisphere?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
In de Gayelle
If I deny all that is foreign to me I might end up like Gayelle TV.
The media house has dedicated itself to 100% Trinidad and Tobago programming. It has struggled for that choice. Advertisers in this country don’t support Gayelle, at least so the story goes. In essence 100% local has not proven to be a winning business model.
It’s name, Gayelle (pronounced: guy-l), is taken from the name of the arena for stick-fighting, a blood sport that is decades even centuries old. Two men, usually, engage in a fight using a piece of wood taken from a tree, not one processed like ply or so, called a bois.
To extend on its meaning it can be suggested that it, too, means as an entity it is prepared to fight to the end in its defence and as is evident by the response to its agenda, with some offense.
My name, Sterling Henderson, is in the first part English and then Scottish.
As the story goes my first name was chosen by my god-father. I am my mother’s second child and she says the pregnancy felt so different to when she carried my brother that she believed she was having a girl. She decided on no boy names and when I was born it was then that a name was chosen.
The black Hendersons I have heard of hail from the southern states of North America and were freed after serving in the Civil War. Some of them settled in south Trinidad after migrating from the States, my father, Sylvan was from Belmont and before that I’m not sure.
Some might suggest that my name is not an African name and needs to be changed to reflect my heritage. I am Caribbean Roman Catholic. Some suggest that to really accept Christ I must be born again: now that I am older and aware I must consciously choose my savior and not accept the one given to me at baptism as a baby, I unawares. In Judeo-Christian tradition, though, the child follows the religion of the mother and so for now I rest comfortably like a vagrant outside the Vatican.
The story of Gayelle is one of determination in a sense and belief in self, too, of using the media to develop both in a nation, perhaps.
Abbott Joseph Liebling in a 1960 article for the New Yorker magazine wrote “freedom of the press is guaranteed only to those who own one”. The title of the piece was Do You Belong in Journalism?
I write this against the backdrop of a world with a relentless agenda that reinforces through images, popular music and silence that gays do not exist.
All the music I hear speaks to male-female relations, some to inter-racial relations and some to praising gods.
What in my day in the media says to me you have a voice? What says I exist? Not much.
People never seem to agree when I say I hate the world. Maybe I’ll struggle but hopefully they’ll understand if I say it’s really about embracing that which is like me and rejecting that which is foreign to me.
The media house has dedicated itself to 100% Trinidad and Tobago programming. It has struggled for that choice. Advertisers in this country don’t support Gayelle, at least so the story goes. In essence 100% local has not proven to be a winning business model.
It’s name, Gayelle (pronounced: guy-l), is taken from the name of the arena for stick-fighting, a blood sport that is decades even centuries old. Two men, usually, engage in a fight using a piece of wood taken from a tree, not one processed like ply or so, called a bois.
To extend on its meaning it can be suggested that it, too, means as an entity it is prepared to fight to the end in its defence and as is evident by the response to its agenda, with some offense.
My name, Sterling Henderson, is in the first part English and then Scottish.
As the story goes my first name was chosen by my god-father. I am my mother’s second child and she says the pregnancy felt so different to when she carried my brother that she believed she was having a girl. She decided on no boy names and when I was born it was then that a name was chosen.
The black Hendersons I have heard of hail from the southern states of North America and were freed after serving in the Civil War. Some of them settled in south Trinidad after migrating from the States, my father, Sylvan was from Belmont and before that I’m not sure.
Some might suggest that my name is not an African name and needs to be changed to reflect my heritage. I am Caribbean Roman Catholic. Some suggest that to really accept Christ I must be born again: now that I am older and aware I must consciously choose my savior and not accept the one given to me at baptism as a baby, I unawares. In Judeo-Christian tradition, though, the child follows the religion of the mother and so for now I rest comfortably like a vagrant outside the Vatican.
The story of Gayelle is one of determination in a sense and belief in self, too, of using the media to develop both in a nation, perhaps.
Abbott Joseph Liebling in a 1960 article for the New Yorker magazine wrote “freedom of the press is guaranteed only to those who own one”. The title of the piece was Do You Belong in Journalism?
I write this against the backdrop of a world with a relentless agenda that reinforces through images, popular music and silence that gays do not exist.
All the music I hear speaks to male-female relations, some to inter-racial relations and some to praising gods.
What in my day in the media says to me you have a voice? What says I exist? Not much.
People never seem to agree when I say I hate the world. Maybe I’ll struggle but hopefully they’ll understand if I say it’s really about embracing that which is like me and rejecting that which is foreign to me.
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