Kincaid: Tourism as Occupation

     In Jamaica Kincaid’s A Small Place, she exposes the Antigua that she used to know in stark contrast to the Antiqua that she knew at the time this piece was written and published (1988). Starting with the journey of the typical, potential tourist, Kincaid does not hide her feelings: “A tourist is an ugly human being” (14). Although the author describes the many sights a tourist might see, she still concludes that in the end, “You see yourself” (13). This salience of self-thought results from the inability to see oneself as an outsider that does not deserve or need to be in a particular location. Kincaid reminds us, “For every native of every place is potential tourist, and every tourist is a native of somewhere” (18). But, alas, as Kincaid displays and as we have learned from previous class texts, the tourist/colonizer/white man/military has gone and will continue to go where he is not welcome. As a result, Kincaid writes, “Everybody is used to white people” (63).

            What struck me in particular about this text was the ironic similarities of Kincaid’s view of American and/or European tourists in comparison with how the US Marines viewed the Haitians in Taking Haiti. The tourists’ ignorance and corruption lead Kincaid to view them as “un-Christian-like…small-minded…below human standards…[like] animals…We felt superior to these people” (29). These views are similar to those of US Marines in regards to the Haitian natives; they viewed them as uncivilized, corrupted by voodoo, irrational, animalistic, and inferior. How is it that two opposite groups developed the same stereotype of those whom they regarded as Other? These horrible people that Kincaid writes about have not only brought unnecessary woe to her homeland, but they have also introduced systematic oppression: “Have you ever wondered why it is that all we seem to have learned from you is how to corrupt our societies and how to be tyrants?” (34). Whereas Kincaid views these behaviors as learned from the colonizer/invader/tourist, the US Marines in Haiti viewed these behaviors as natural to the natives, and thus, their presence was justified, for they had to ensure democracy, stabilization, and civilized behavior. A final opposing parallel of these two occupations is that the Other is viewed as dirty and diseased; the US Marines certainly thought this of the “savage” Haitians, and Kincaid labels the loneliness and emptiness of the tourist as “a European disease” (80). Is it true, then, that these aforementioned hostile words and stereotypes will continue to materialize when entire populations are not doing what is wished of them?

            “Now and then the people of the United States should be reminded that they are no longer merely citizens of a republic but also citizens of an empire which reaches out from it native continent to include various isthmuses and islands far away…” (Renda 3). This quote by Carl Van Doren introduces the prologue in Taking Haiti, and Kincaid’s essay proves that this statement is true for more than one type of occupation: “Do you understand why people like me cannot get over the past, cannot forgive and cannot forget?” (26) Kincaid cannot forgive nor forget for she is just one of many who have been affected by the imperialist tentacles of the United States and others. Additionally, her history is one that exists on both an individual and a collective level, so its reality is two-sided and twice as strong. Still, there are attempts to silence it. When discussing the issue of language and education in Antigua, Kincaid expresses discontent that she has no native tongue, for she has only been taught to acquire English. Rightfully so, this makes her angry: “For the language of the criminal can contain only the goodness of the criminal’s deed” (32). This reality echos Stoler’s claims of the gaps left in history, and Kincaid acknowledges the lack of historical knowledge of her people: “This cannot be held against them; an exact account, a complete account, of anything, anywhere, is not possible” (53). Without exact and complete accounts, silences will still exist, but yet, when will we know that an exact and complete account has been achieved? Does this mean equal representation of voices or seeking out history written by those who have been dominated/colonized/seized? Furthermore, perhaps we should expand our definition of what is seen as “credible” history. That is to say, Kincaid’s piece did not enter my realm of knowledge through the “approved” avenue of a textbook, yet it was more powerful than anything I could have learned about Antigua from a Western view. It is true that we see ourselves in relation to the Other; so, perhaps our Western education has simply been an effort to silence the true history of ourselves and our violence. By not examining the other, we have been self-defined and self-taught over and over to the point that US American history has become watered-down, simple, boring, etc. Luckily, Kincaid has jarred us awake.