My idea is to posit C[arib]bean rhetorical forms as the sine qua non of the superisland ethos. | It's an odd thing to say that this project is grounded in a theory. But it is, nonetheless. And it's true that this is not an academic project, as such, though some of its roots can be traced to graduate seminars as easily as to barrack yards. So a theory informs at least part of what The Caribbean Memory Project sees as its imperative: Service and Social Change. Many of us tend to be intimidated by theory, by the very word. Others of us (myself included) are actively discouraged from engaging in it. Too cerebral, you'll hear people say. The convoluted ideas. The abstractions. The big words. Very often, we see theory set up as the elitist counterpoint to practice, where some will tell you the real differences are made. I took both positions into consideration, choosing to ignore them and to go about the work of articulating aspects of Caribbean culture that engage them both on the grounds of praxis. |
Those efforts resulted in my book,Tropic Tendencies .
As expected, I came up with a definition or rhetoric that I thought would sustain me for the years it would take to finish the project:
Caribbean rhetoric builds on the sense of the familiar (doxa) in order to underscore shared interests and shared benefits that are probable in a given situation, meanings that have been acquired through experience and cataloged as a living archive of knowledge and expression that can then be activated, revised, and applied for particular consequences. All are based on a fundamental desire to be a part of the world and improve the quality of life while here (Tropic Tendencies, 7).
In retrospect, a fairly simple definition. Reflection, we come to learn, is also an invitation to confess certain truths (at least, as you've come to understand them). For me, the confession is that over time, I’ve realized how easy it is to take things for granted–not only of the things I do through habit, but also the more important things. I’ve taken for granted the fact that all the texts I produce have meaning in terms of conception, methodology, and practice. I don’t know why I’ve let that fact slide, especially when knowing, and acting on what is known, is at the heart of my work and of my conception of what we do as vernacular practitioners of everyday life.
I want to invite you to revisit the latter parts of the path I took to get to it. The book didn’t just happen–couldn’t just happen. In a way, I'm suggesting that these early articulations–the semi-literate scribblings in four notebooks–ought not be relegated to the nether regions of untapped memory, dry-rotting in the mind like an unkept artifact. Who owns knowledge, really? Are these ideas mine alone?
Or, are they yours, as well?
@drbrowne
As expected, I came up with a definition or rhetoric that I thought would sustain me for the years it would take to finish the project:
Caribbean rhetoric builds on the sense of the familiar (doxa) in order to underscore shared interests and shared benefits that are probable in a given situation, meanings that have been acquired through experience and cataloged as a living archive of knowledge and expression that can then be activated, revised, and applied for particular consequences. All are based on a fundamental desire to be a part of the world and improve the quality of life while here (Tropic Tendencies, 7).
In retrospect, a fairly simple definition. Reflection, we come to learn, is also an invitation to confess certain truths (at least, as you've come to understand them). For me, the confession is that over time, I’ve realized how easy it is to take things for granted–not only of the things I do through habit, but also the more important things. I’ve taken for granted the fact that all the texts I produce have meaning in terms of conception, methodology, and practice. I don’t know why I’ve let that fact slide, especially when knowing, and acting on what is known, is at the heart of my work and of my conception of what we do as vernacular practitioners of everyday life.
I want to invite you to revisit the latter parts of the path I took to get to it. The book didn’t just happen–couldn’t just happen. In a way, I'm suggesting that these early articulations–the semi-literate scribblings in four notebooks–ought not be relegated to the nether regions of untapped memory, dry-rotting in the mind like an unkept artifact. Who owns knowledge, really? Are these ideas mine alone?
Or, are they yours, as well?
@drbrowne
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