The focus of this issue of Black Theology: An International Journal is on the Caribbean and its Disapora, specifically on the shape of God-talk through the optics of Fidel Alexjandro Castro Ruz (1926–2016), the Cuban Revolution, and the dream of a new Caribbean World. It would be reasonable to say that Fidel and the Cuban Revolution are etched on the consciousness of both Cubans and the Caribbean. This is the case for both those “at home” (Cuba) and those of the Cuban and Caribbean diaspora. Reasons may vary but the late Fidel Castro and the Cuban Revolution casts a long, overwhelming, and complicated shadow.
That shadow also looms large across the Caribbean as the Cuban Revolution is trans-regional/national in character for what it symbolizes. In the English-Speaking Caribbean. there are those who adore Fidel Castro, while others see in him an autocrat and dictator. For many though, he stands out as Moses taking on the might of Pharaoh or as David facing Goliath. These see the early “socialist fever” as necessary to address penury and so-called post-independence freedom. Fidel Castro and the Cuban Revolution symbolized a way of taking on the might of empire which held the region in a suffocating embrace of cultural asphyxiation and economic death. Iconic Caribbean Carnival designer Peter Minshall represents this as “jumbie on the back” of the people of the region.
It is in this attempt to exorcise the “jumbie” (demons) that many in the region hold on to as they point to Cuba’s sensible foreign policy where non-aligned countries in Africa, Asia, Caribbean and Latin America were given greater agency towards self-determination. For, behind this intentional foreign policy has been a strategic signifying on colonization and neo-colonization and where necessary the promotion of revolutionary politics to bring about transformation. This included the army of Cuban doctors, dentists, nurses, healthcare personnel, engineers and teachers. Not even the bombing of an Air Cubana FlightFootnote1 just off Barbados where many young bright Caribbean minds were destroyed could have stopped the flow of and equipping of the Caribbean knowledge and skills base, the resourcing of Caribbean cultural initiatives, and collaboration in the midst of hegemonic pressures.
The essays in this issue offer both distinctive and overlapping entry points on the working theme.
Miguel A. De La Torre’s essay nails the troubling matter of Black identity/agency in Cuba in the context of ongoing structural racism faced by Cuban negra/os. It was the womb of Mariana Grajales Cuello, mother of Antonio and Jose Maceo, that bore a nation. Besides being Cuban-Dominican-Haitian, her motherhood symbolizes resistance and defiance – African Cuban style. But where is her story told? Professor De La Torre’s exposes the complicity of the problem of skin-o-cracy and lighter toned Cuban’s complicity with privilege and structural racism.
Leslie R. James’ essay “undresses” and “re-dresses” the question of “wear” as seen in the costumes of three iconic Caribbean figures: Toussaint L’Ouverture, Marcus Garvey, and Fidel Castro and their significance. Professor James’ contention is that the “wear” is not value-free. Their costume/uniforms functioned as revolutionary signifiers on Caribbean identity, self-determination, self-formation, conflicts and struggles, and the imagining a new future for a “free Caribbean”.
Evie Vernon sees in Fidel Castro one powerful example of Anansi at work. What does resilience and the spirit of resistance look like in the face of empire and hegemony, economic blockade, pariah status, political and economic repression, and unfulfilled promises? Vernon draws on Anansi, the Caribbean patron saint and trickster, to make her case that such a lens offers insight into understanding the complexities and ambiguities of walking the tightrope of Empires’ powerplay.
Anthony G. Reddie’s essay draws on the Caribbean ritual and artform of cricket. Reddie deploys it as a heuristic for a theo-cultural articulation of Caribbean God-talk. Professor Reddie’s contention is that the wrestlings of Caribbean intelligentsia and activists on the existential reality of persistent poverty/penury of many and the disenfranchisement of Caribbean people found energy, motivation, sustenance and inspiration from the decolonial politics of the Cuban Revolution and the leadership of Fidel Castro. Is it possible that the process of discerning a Caribbean theology may be seen as a parallel journey of the socio-political transformation of Cuba as a result of its Revolution? Reddie makes a strong case for this.
Celucien L Joseph’s essay offers much-needed insight into the intersecting themes (freedom, hope, self-determination, etc.) of four Caribbean theologians from Haiti, Trinidad, Jamaica and Antigua in their work on articulating a Caribbean theology driven by anti-imperial and post-colonial impulses. Here the connections with the revolutionary ideas and political theology of Cuba, Haiti and the rest of the Caribbean are highlighted. The essay’s critical significance, however, is that it delivers a rare French-Caribbean insight into Caribbean God-talk, which is often associated with the English-speaking region.
Whatever our view on Fidel Castro and the Cuban Revolution, the reality is that Caribbean God-talk could not neglect the challenges that both posed to rampant capitalism and persistent enslavement of the region while putting socialism as a viable Caribbean alternative. All attempts to a collective approach by the region to take on the evil mechanism of economic enslavement (the heartbeat of empire) were strangled by the intervention of empire and its avatars. These essays show that all is not lost and that the spirit of resistance is needed more than ever. Lourdes Casal captures that spirit: “I live in Cuba/I always lived in Cuba/ … Not on the easy island … /but on the other;/the one that raised its head … . /making history/and remaking herself”.Footnote2
I invite you to read, reflect on, engage with, and enjoy the contributions of this special issue of Black Theology: An international Journal.
Notes
1 On 6 October 1976, two planted bombs aboard Flight 455 exploded, killing everyone on board.
2 “I live in Cuba” translated from the Spanish by Margaret Randall in DeCosta-Willis, Miriam. Daughters of the Diaspora; Afra Hispanic Writers. Kingson: Ian Randle, 2003, 183.