1 Introduction

The island of Barbados, noted for being the first island in the region to undergo a sugar revolution, entered the twenty-first century reimagining its economic fortunes, now following a global pandemic. The responses to the pandemic have in some ways refocused attention on history, heritage, and development, allowing for their intersection at a critical moment. Nevertheless, similar moments had arisen before; will now be the time that heritage is fully embraced as a pillar of development? The past may be a prologue.

Following independence, in the 1960s through the 1980s, emerging Anglophone Caribbean nation-states turned their attention (in some cases reluctantly) to the creation of a national identity that went beyond designing a flag, singing a national anthem, and reciting a national pledge. The role of identity creation became the core mandate of cultural institutions, which in many instances were museums and heritage institutions. I will examine the ways in which the nation-state utilizes its material culture (or not). Though I am concerned with addressing the situation in Barbados, some references will include other islands in the English-speaking Caribbean. Interrogating the use of material culture will entail examining its legal position before delving into issues of cultural resource management and interpretation. At that juncture of interpretation, the contested identities between state-sanctioned and marginalized groupings can be explored, thus allowing for a better understanding of the issues surrounding identity creation. The thread of thoughts expressed in this article has preoccupied my research into Caribbean museology for some time and is a modified and updated version of a paper presented in Basil Reid, Caribbean Heritage 2012. Central to this is the evolving methodology used to reconstruct, deconstruct and expand on what is Caribbean Museology in the age of decoloniality.

2 Archaeological Resources

Historical archaeology on the island is relatively new and the excavated sites are few. What has been researched is primarily located in the rural context and has only been examined as it relates to burial practices (Handler & Lange, 1978); the potential locations of enslaved villages (Handler, 1989; Handler & Lange, 1978); and the development of sugar estates and the creolization of pottery manufacture (Farmer, 2016; Loftfield, 2001; Scheid, 2005). The development of historic settlement on the island has been examined both in the rural (Armstrong, 2011; Reilly, 2014, 2019; Schied, 2005; Stoner, 2000) and urban contexts (Finneran, 2019; Farmer and Smith, 2005; Smith and Farmer, 2004;).

Meanwhile, the field of prehistoric archaeology has been professionally studied since the 1960s (Bullen & Bullen, 1968). Its main concerns have been settlement (Bullen, 1966; Drewett, 1991), delimiting sites and periods of occupation (Drewett, 1991; Fitzpatrick, 2019), and ceramic typology (Harris, 2019). It further has a greater number of excavated sites on the island, with some 70 prehistoric sites excavated compared to 10 historic archaeological sites (De Waal et al., 2019). The use of artifacts in formal education is minimal; in the informal sector, they are used by museums.

3 The Independence Movement in Context

Following the independence thrust of the post-World War II period in the British Caribbean, initial gradualism gave way to full-scale independence for a select few in the 1960s. At the outset, these pioneering independence movements sought to grapple with the type of societies they wished to form, and engaged in concrete social engineering through free education, housing programs, and apprenticeship schemes to transform their agrarian societies into modern service-oriented and industrial societies. Few of these movements invoked history or heritage as a tool by which to engender national identity, beyond the newly invested symbols of state wrapped in the package of anthem, flag, and coat of arms. Nor was the new nation-state engaged in an inclusive creation of national identity. Identity creation rested on the core foundation of repudiating all that was European, but gradually. Such gradation was a form of nationalist veneer, embracing cultural forms that had been sanitized for mass consumption. The revitalization of harvest festivals or carnivals with an eye to increasing the tourist trade did not concern itself with preserving local culture. Commodification of culture was to be a revenue earner. This economic impetus was not interested in radical change but gradualism: clearly a sign that colonialism had embedded a cautious strain when it came to matters of sociopolitical adventurism. Those states that opted out of the normative social liberal democracy were ostracized or underwent invasion, like Guyana under Jagan. At the outside, culture was not a pillar of national identity regionally, though there were some exceptions.

The creation of the Peoples’ Museum of Craft and Technology (originally called the Folk Museum of Jamaica) in 1961, located in the old capital of Spanish Town, was that exception. At the forefront of a revolution taking place in Jamaican popular culture at the time, the museum was seen as an anti-elitist symbol. Elevating the folk within the space of a museum was an attempt, I believe, to illustrate the worthiness of the marginalized. One may argue as to its effectiveness.

The Folk Museum mandate and purpose were to celebrate the creativity and industry of the now “emancipated” people as they fashioned a new life for themselves in towns and rural villages across Jamaica. The exhibition offered visitors a truly nostalgic trip down memory lane, back to “ole time Jamaica” to reminisce and enjoy. In reading its mandate, one notes its strident call “to truly appreciate our fore parents’ triumph over enormous odds to secure our future in modern Jamaica.” Such naked nationalism was the mantra of museums created during the post independence phase. The narrative was as important as the space in which it was told.

However, it is instructive that the museum is located in a space comprised of many former colonial buildings. The reimagining of colonial spaces to tell the story of post independence peoples is problematic, but also emblematic of the development ethos that neglected culture as a pillar of development. In retrospect, the museum was a clarion call for the dispossessed and disenfranchised in the region, its siting a clear attempt to reclaim a contested identity from a liminal space. The movement to redress legitimate and perceived marginalization through the narrative told in museums had begun.

At a national level, these museums sought to distill a national identity that was accessible to all, and increasingly so to the visitor as economic development shifted to tourism. In some places, this was now joined by a state that acknowledged that the past must be engaged in order for a new type of nationalism to thrive. Social partnerships developed whereby the professional curator, the antiquarian, both amateur and professional historians, and others interested in heritage came together to forge or formulate policy for the operation of museums in the region. The museum was therefore evolving from an elitist institution to one that, in addressing populist concerns about representing the “common man,” was now the preserve of an emergent middle-class elite. However, it was the role of the state to control the message and the messenger. The result was that it unintentionally energized a contested new state, apart from the one it was seeking to change.

4 Identity in the Post Independence Landscape

The post independence Caribbean was determined, both ideologically and physically, to discard and distance itself from the colonial past, in some cases going to extremes in dismantling the vestiges of empire: for example, through the neglect (and ultimate destruction) of colonial-style buildings. A major catalyst for this ideological shift lay within the developing historiography of the region, disseminated by a new cadre of professionally trained historians returning from the metropole to teach at the newly developed and growing University College of the West Indies (now the University of the West Indies). These Caribbean historians thus had a platform from which they could confront the historiography of the region.

These new indigenous historians from Goveia to Marshall, Beckles, Shepherd and the new cadre sought to interpret the history of the region from a postcolonial, gendered perspective and not that of empire. Their research continues to inform and frame the paradigm around reparatory justice and deconstruction of imperial histories. It informs what and how museums present and interpret such histories for its societies.

This emergent nationalism has also seen the co-option of colonial institutions in the development of the newly independent nation-state, at the same time that new institutions were being created to meet the challenges of development. That which was British became West Indian and eventually Caribbean, with some modifications. Alissandra Cummins (1994) notes that colonization was a process of “de-culturalization,” and such a process was reflected in the development of museums in the region. Born out of the Victorian desire to explain the world through science and to exhibit its progress, museums in the Caribbean became showcases of technological progress juxtaposed against all that was primitive. This dichotomy meant that what was presented invariably indicated that all that was European was superior and all that was not (i.e., Amerindian, African, and Asian) was inferior. Created by the colonial elite, these often privately funded institutions were governed by a discriminatory mindset that persisted into the postcolonial era.

Existing museums in the region were co-opted by postcolonial governments to become agents of identity creation. This saw existing institutions, such as the Barbados Museum and Historical Society (BMHS), change focus through government intervention to facilitate the creation of a new national identity.

Politically, nationalism manifested itself symbolically in the election of majority non-white governments. At the national level, this meant that the formerly disenfranchised black populace eventually became masters of their fate. However, the result of this has been that, in the nationalist experiment of the Caribbean, the creation of the region’s image as primarily comprising descendants of Africa has led to the marginalization of certain other ethnic groups.

This has led to new forms of contestation. Sometimes this marginalization evolved into factionalized political parties, as witnessed in Trinidad and Tobago and Guyana following independence. Independence therefore witnessed the creation of a pro-black nation-state whose institutions and organs were organized to facilitate such a shift in the politics of government business. The response to this has been the intensification of ethnically oriented cultural activity, not least the creation, in 2006, of the Indian Caribbean Museum in Trinidad and Tobago.

In some cases, these new museums are not born out of resisting a particular narrative, but of re-informing the present about the past. Such an approach has been undertaken by the new Jewish arrivals in Barbados toward the Sephardic Jewish presence on the island, which predated them by some 30 years, having existed on the island since the mid-seventeenth century. Here were new migrants, identifying with the earlier presence of Jewish people and taking care to preserve and interpret that past, firstly through renovation of a historic synagogue, and eventually by creating a Jewish Museum on the island. The synagogue and museum are called Nidḥe Israel Synagogue and Museum, respectively. This reconstruction of a Jewish past in the region is not confined to Barbados, as there are similar efforts in various phases of development ongoing in Nevis, Tobago and Curacao, whether the upkeep of a cemetery or synagogue. For in the twenty-first century, regional heritage resides within museums, at sites, within historic buildings, and in memory. It is both tangible and intangible and requires continual research to bring it into the light. Landscape and seascape form part of the material construct of the region and must be interpreted as such if one is to reconstruct and interpret that past.

Caribbean nationalism, as it was constructed in the post independence era, sought to combat the issue of the colonial self as inferior, replacing it with a notion of self as superior and therefore capable of running one’s own country. However, there was also a need to face the reality of how to combat the five hundred years of colonization practiced and legitimized by the judicial, political, and social machinery of the day. The Caribbean, then and now, can be framed within Lamming’s concept of “Caliban bettering Prospero” in his The Pleasure of Exile (1960). This thesis posits that an emergent Caribbean consciousness, when awakened and rooted in a strong sense of self, is able to overthrow the weight of the colonial stereotype of ineptitude. The emergent Caribbean nation is still grappling with this concept of self-actualization and development of identity, and has turned to its museums as agents of change. The question is, can they fulfill this role of redefining the national psyche?

The development of Caribbean museums has gone through several phases nuanced by temporal and spatial factors, and as such, the region’s museums cannot simply be labeled as pre- or postcolonial institutions. One such phase of museum development witnessed the colonial museum, formed in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, evolving into a postcolonial institution. This museum has been able to redress its imbalances internally without resorting to name changes or being shuttered, and has readjusted to reflect the new society in which it now functions: the emerging independent nation-state. Concomitant with this is the development of site- or theme-specific museums, situated at restored plantation houses or historic, industrial, or military sites that focus on attracting the tourist, such as Sunbury Plantation in Barbados; Nelson’s Dockyard, Antigua; and the Chaguaramus Military History and Aerospace Museum in Trinidad and Tobago. Added to these social historic museums are natural history exhibits such as the Soufriere interpretive center in Saint Lucia and the Montserrat Volcano Observatory (MVO) that explore aspects of the physical landscape and its creation, which are and have become part of the identity of the people. So much so that the national flag of independent Saint Lucia utilizes one of the Pitons, a volcanic plug, as a national symbol. Museums in the region have become more selective in what they interpret and exhibit.

The museum in its use of artefacts to tell the narrative of the National State, its people and context has within the artefact the threads of many stories. Its curation revolves around the selection of which narrative to amplify in the telling of the nation’s story. In the past that narrative has resulted in a monolithic tale that erases many voices. That erasure is being resisted in the formation of thematic museums.

Thematic museum created by energized individuals or groups in the community, are motivated by creating a space in which their voices can be heard. They add the missing narratives in the national storytelling, asserting a place at the table of what constitutes the history of place. Such interventions are not without its detractors but it highlights the nuances and messiness of history. The many sided view of how the story and object can be seen differently and use in various ways by people.

Thematic museums also fall within the ambit of “subaltern” museum spaces, constructed by persons or groups that see themselves as marginalized in society and seek to redress this imbalance through museum creation. Personal or community collections have found fertile ground, inspiring the emergence of “culture houses” in Belize, “negga houses” in Antigua and Barbuda, and Amerindian museums in Dominica, Guyana, Belize, and Trinidad. Meanwhile, a new type of thematic museum is concerned with locating the intangible, such as the Junkanoo Museum in the Bahamas; this museum seeks to house objects that traditionally have been destroyed as part of their cycle of creation. The museum upholds this cultural practice, and as such is engaged in safeguarding the intangible through destroying the tangible. This juxtaposition runs counter to what a museum is, but in fact it chronicles an aspect of Caribbean culture that has yet to be fully explored: the inherent destruction of the created object as a form of cultural expression. Perhaps this foreshadows a new movement in Caribbean museology.

These institutions were confronted with similar issues of interpretation, relevance to the communities they served, and the “democracy” inherent in the creation of exhibits. Canizzo (1987) states that museums are “negotiated realities” that reflect the fears and aspirations of those who create them. As elsewhere, museums in the Caribbean rely on their collections to frame the interpretation of history that the viewer will experience. Much of their new direction, however, is designed to lessen reliance on the tangible (where the preserved heritage tends to be largely colonial in origin and focus), and to balance this with intangible memories and historical experiences based on family or community knowledge.

As such, the formulation of Caribbean museums as repositories and showcases of the region’s economic and cultural diversity reflects the Enlightenment worldview advanced by the founders of colonial museums and expanded upon by the founders of the postcolonial museum.

But all is not lost. The legacy of Garvey’s pan-African movement is reflected in national governments’ joint creation of the Order of National Heroes in the last 60 years in the region. From Jamaica in 1969 to Barbados in 1998, various regional governments have turned to this method to frame the National Story. This in turn has resulted in the establishment of monuments or galleries of “national heroes”; for example, Barbados’s Museum of Parliament and National Heroes Gallery. Essentially, they are designed to commemorate the lives of persons chosen to be “heroes” for the national audience. Similarly, the Institute of Jamaica recently created a museum in honor of Marcus Garvey at Liberty Hall for his centenary anniversary. The privately owned Bob Marley Museum in Jamaica, while responding to a more opportunistic imperative, also broadens its visitor base through memory and popular culture in the region.

Material Culture is the foundation of the museum interpretation of the past for the present society. Knowledge creation resides in those who have been trained to understand its function. In this region, such creation has been the purview of the external researcher. It is time that such research is taken up by persons’ resident in the region but that also involves the society from which such artifacts are located. In some instances, local memory can inform on how an object was used and its importance to the community. Those voices require access and equity. Such equity must be the model for the New Caribbean Museum.

5 Discussion and Conclusion

Caribbean museums are not yet fully democratic, and it is their willingness to combat this lack of democracy and limited funding that will determine how these museums formulate and develop content, programs, and policies. They must grapple with being spaces for the intangible, being truthful to the communities they serve, and avoid narrow political posturing in their desire to create identity. Museums in the region need to become more reflexive if they are to be dynamic and relevant in the twenty-first century.

This is particularly important in the face of developing globalization and a nascent neocolonial mentality. The museum must be more than the sum of its collections. Regional museums must construct a hybrid between the traditional “tangible” orientation of the European model and the intangible modalities of Indigenous, African and Asian museums. They must embrace the oral tradition of storytelling and “ole talk” and maximize the masquerade festivals and their potential to engage peripheral communities. In this, the Bahamian Carnival museum is an exemplar of a new path. More importantly, regional museums must engage the community in co-curation to ensure societal ownership and engender that trust that is required to be the space in which all narratives are welcomed.

They must become centers of discourse, willing and able to voice the concerns, fears, and aspirations of the multiple voices of the people they represent, without bias or favor. They must reflect the development of the societies they represent and prepare themselves to question—and in some cases help resolve—societal problems through their programs and heritage interpretation. Both the tangible and intangible components of a society must find equal space within the museum as it strives to give voice to varying constituents in the new century. The museum must not see itself as the singular authority in the construction of national identity but must instead allow itself to be a conduit through which the often manifold voices of society are heard. The curator is not a gatekeeper but a custodian by popular decree, not a master, but a servant. Society should be encouraged to shape its national identity within the “negotiated reality” of the national museum and in association with its “subaltern” counterparts, even though issues of contestation might arise. For in a space of contestation, elements of the authentic may be found. This must be grounded in the need to utilize the excavated object as part of the narrative. Its story is the story of the present, past and future.