The Tribune

EDITOR, The Tribune.

WHILE penning this article I was soberly reminded, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” – George Santayana

Recently, at a special political convention, Dr Keith Rowley, Prime Minister of the Republican nation of Trinidad and Tobago, announced plans to remove the depictions of Christopher Columbus’ three ships, the Niña, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria from their Coat of Arms. These symbols are to be replaced with the steel pan, the national instrument of their country and first musical instrument of the 20th Century. This decision has ignited a significant regional dialogue about the representation of history and culture in national symbols. For The Bahamas, a nation with a shared Commonwealth heritage, this conversation is not just timely but essential, especially as we reflect on our national identity fifty-plus-one years after gaining independence.

I believe that as a nation who has celebrated its Emancipation year, its year of Jubilee, the question of national character is more pressing than ever. We have been a sovereign nation for over five decades, yet the symbols and edifices that define us are often still tethered to a colonial past. Although used as a backdrop to this discussion, the historical narrative surrounding Columbus is, admittedly, more complex. His arrival, often portrayed as a navigational error, marked the beginning of centuries of exploitation and cultural erasure for indigenous and African people. Ironically, the presence of Columbus’ ship on our Coat of Arms serves as a visual manifestation of our own paradoxical nature, a people who are politically sovereign (to a degree) yet subconsciously reliant on colonial vestiges to define our identity.

The Bahamas is not new to the occasional discussions about reimagining our national symbols to better reflect Bahamian cultural signifiers. However, these conversations have been tepid at best. The topic, like many other topics of debate surfaces in national discourse periodically but often lacks the urgency and passion needed to go beyond a one-week press run and inspire meaningful change. This lukewarm approach suggests a deeper ambivalence about what independence truly means in a Bahamian context. While we have been politically independent for 51 years, the question remains whether our national consciousness has fully embraced this independence or whether it continues to be shaped by colonial influences, politically, legislatively, spiritually, and culturally. I would go further to state that the individual consciousness of some of our people might even prefer the status as usual in avoidance of a Bahamas that is truly self-reliant because there is a lack of trust in that form of independence.

The Bahamian Coat of Arms, adopted in 1971, features elements deeply rooted in the country’s natural beauty and biodiversity: a conch shell, a marlin, and a flamingo. Yet, like many aspects of our national identity, it also bears traces of colonial influence, reflecting a history that is not entirely our own. As Bahamians we must be intrinsically motivated in the act of altering these symbols, understanding that it is more than just a cosmetic change; it is a conscious effort to redefine how we see ourselves and how we present ourselves to the world. Moving beyond the vestiges of a colonial past that lingers in the Bahamian psyche is a necessary step toward reclaiming our narrative. Our Coat of Arms, in many ways, is a microcosm of the larger colonial remnants that continue to influence our national identity. By revisiting and revising these symbols, we take a small yet significant step toward shaping our own story.

This is an opportune moment to reflect on how we present ourselves to the world and to ourselves. The nation-building process is ongoing, and the symbols we choose to represent us are crucial in shaping our collective identity. Just as Trinidad and Tobago is taking steps to align its national symbols with its cultural heritage, The Bahamas, too, should consider how our national emblems reflect who we are today and where we aspire to go in the future.

Replacing colonial vestiges is a process that comes with both support and criticism. We saw this in 2021 when the Columbus statue was vandalised by a lone assailant. While there may be a consensus that colonial imagery can be demoralising, its removal can also be perceived as an attempt to sanitise history or purely unnecessary. This raises the question: How do we balance the need to acknowledge our history with the desire to move beyond colonial symbols that no longer resonate with our national identity?

This article should not be seen as a call to remove and forget but rather a call to look at approaches to catalogue and put things in their rightful place. One approach is a call for a complete overhaul of the educational framework around Bahamian history and how it is preserved. I for one am a proponent of ensuring that future generations understand the full scope of our past, including the impact of colonialism. However, I believe that such education should manifests itself in the halls of a fully equipped national museum, in the archives of our university and in the depths of archeologists’ explorations of our waters. This education should go hand in hand with a deliberate effort to choose symbols that speak to the resilience, creativity, and cultural richness of the Bahamian people. Possibly seeking to answer who really “discovered” the Bahama Islands.

Our country, rich in cultural heritage, has a plethora of symbols that could be more prominently featured in our national emblems. The cowbell, integral to Junkanoo, echoes the vibrancy and rhythm of Bahamian life, while the goat-skin drum speaks to the African roots that permeate our soul. Instead of the Santa Maria, possibly a depiction of a Cacique to memorialise the first settlers of our islands, preserving the same story but recasting the main character. But the idea that stands out foremost in my mind is a sailing sloop, representing the maritime traditions that have sustained Bahamian communities for generations. It could serve as a symbol of our enduring spirit and connection to the ocean. Admittedly, it can be seen as esthetically similar and possibly more palatable than any other suggestion in a referendum.

It must be underscored that this call is not to suggest that we erase or forget the past or even a call for modernisation. Instead, it is about recognising that the symbols we chose fifty plus years ago must not continue to ignore the people who have been here for centuries. They should tell the story of our struggles and triumphs and our hopes for the future. The symbols we choose to represent us should resonate with our experiences, our values, and our aspirations. They should reflect the diversity, creativity, and resilience of the Bahamian people not the remnants of a colonial past that no longer defines us.

As we move forward, it is crucial to assert our independence in the truest sense. An independence of thought, conscience, and identity. The time is now for The Bahamas to take bold steps toward defining who we are as a nation. Only then can we truly say that our conscience is independent.

TAMAR MOSS-FERGUSON

Nassau,

August 22, 2024.