It is “Hurricane Season in the Caribbean.” They begin as storms – tropical storms to be more precise and still categorized as natural disaster: perhaps, a good way to downplay the effects of global warming and the human contribution on the increasing numbers of and ferocity of these storms.
While I have experienced heavy winds in Guyana, it was only in 1988 that I experienced and survived the might of a hurricane – “Wild Gilbert” as it was immediately popularised by a local singer. In the midst of pouring rain and mighty winds, I witnessed whole roof tops flying, buildings blown down, trees and poles uprooted and galvanised sheets folding up like paper around leaning posts that were held by a mass of tangled electrical wires. After the hurricane departed and when it was safe, I managed to walk towards what used to be the main road. All I saw was total chaos with no road in view. I am sure Caribbean people who constantly live through the threat of hurricanes can tell a bundle of other stories –deadly ones as well.
One of the things that that always impresses me is the way life gets back to “normal” after a brief spate of being dazed and how people quickly pick up the pieces and bounce back with style. I guess for many people (many mostly poor) there is no time for the luxury of seeing an insurance agent and talking with the bank or seeing a counsellor about being traumatised. They need to get back to eke out a living and resurrect another shack over their heads. Even the more well-to-do folks would not sit around wasting time though they may have insurance for such stormy days. This is not to diminsh the real cost that hurricanes will leave in their trail of debris.
I note that Caribbean life lies somewhere between land and the deep blue sea – with the "devil" around somewhere. The tourist brochure may sell a paradise of sun, sea and sex - missing out the region's history of one disappoint after another (past and present). Bob Marley did not miss it when he sang of Caribbean people as “survivors”. Philip Potter developed the same thesis to speak of Caribbean as the “in spite of” people – with the amazing ability to bounce back in style after every disaster. Yet, these setbacks do have a price that those outside of the region may not always perceive: stagnated economic development and the fragile/risky nature of the Caribbean economy are just two.
So, how is theology done in Caribbean before, during and after hurricanes? There is hardly anything among the written stuff coming out of the region that offers a clue. Perhaps Caribbean theologians are too busy re-building churches and houses! It would be exciting to theologise on the following: Are Caribbean people survivors because of faith or in spite of faith? If it is the former is it only Christian in shape? If it is the latter what does this mean for our theology? While there is a paucity of the written stuff – preaching/sermonising after a hurricane tends to cite the disaster as the Christian God (largely White and Eurocentric) being angry at the ungodly and immoral practice of the Caribbean nation and her people. This is besides the fact that hurricanes flatten houses and places of worship without discrimination.
Hurukan, according to the Caribs (after whom the Caribbean Sea is named), is the God who created earth, animals, fire and people and governs over whirlwind, hurricanes, thunder and spiritual illumination. It may just be that Hurukan is the spirit at work in Caribbean surviving – especially since the Christian God as preached, taught and represented over the years seem never to be on the side of Caribbean people from the time of Columbus to Bush. Theologians in the Caribbean need to consider such disasters (eg. hurricanes) as sites for doing and rewriting theology rather than burying their heads in the musky theological tomes from Christian Europe and America that will continue to clog up Caribbean minds. Perhaps, hurukan may be able to purge our minds.
© copyright Jagessar
