‘Little England' no more: what I learned on my first trip to the Caribbean

The Guardian

3 days ago

Hello and welcome to The Long Wave. I'm writing from Bridgetown, Barbados, where I've spent the past week participating in Crop Over festival. I'll take you through some reflections on my first experience of the Caribbean.
When I looked up the hotel I'll be staying in before leaving London, one of the first things I noticed is that the gallery is largely made up of white tourists. It's no surprise – Barbados is heavily reliant on tourism, which contributes nearly one-third of GDP to the economy. And during the northern hemisphere's colder months, the numbers jump higher.
This winter tourism often conjures up a particular image of middle-class couples and families seeking sun, enjoying the resorts, cruises and rum punches but, perhaps, more detached from the local culture.
But that is a limited image the country is evidently keen to expand, as I learned when I finally arrived. As Andrea Franklin, the chief executive of Barbados Tourism Marketing Inc (BTMI), a division of the government's tourism affairs, tells me that 'in the past, the Caribbean was viewed as sun, sand and sea'. Now there is a greater impetus 'to recognise who we are as a people – and to promote the culture, the heritage, our food, our music'.
Crop Over, which takes place during the quieter rainy season, presents an opportunity to focus on promoting cultural heritage. Franklin says this has helped strengthen the orange economy: the wider contribution of creative and cultural assets, and so Barbados focuses on promoting its musicians, artists and chefs.
The Mottley effect
In part, this reshaping of the island's image can be attributed to the influence of its prime minister, Mia Mottley. She is the most prominent Caribbean leader outside of the region, having made headlines for her radical climate policies, taking on the IMF, calls for reparative justice and for transforming Barbados into a republic by severing ties with the British crown.
These bold moves are helping the island shed its 'Little England' reputation, a nickname derived from Bajans' supposedly English affectations and love of cricket, which had been a particular appeal for some tourists. Under Mottley's leadership, Barbados has also developed ambitions to become the first carbon-neutral island state. Its sustainable and regenerative tourism strategy is central to this – and encourages visitors to become involved in community-driven initiatives, as opposed to just sipping piña coladas on the beach. The idea is that this contributes towards tackling poverty through job creation and upskilling, providing opportunities for Bajans to earn an income from tourism beyond hospitality roles.
Mottley's perceived radicalism has, in fact, boosted interest in Barbados, as has the global megastar Rihanna. Franklin says: 'Because [Mottley's] viewed so highly worldwide, it serves us well as a destination, because people want to see where this woman is coming from, what's happening on the island.' While positive, you do wonder about the sustainability of a country's prominence hinging on a politician (especially one who is rumoured to be eyeing the top job at the UN in 2027), and though Rihanna's cultural cachet is likely to endure, I wonder how Barbados intends to maintain this momentum in prominence when Mottley eventually steps down.
My pick of the Crop
This visit is my first time in the Caribbean, and while I had been familiar with aspects of the culture through the UK's large diaspora, my time in Barbados was an incredibly thrilling education in its heritage and history. Crop Over, originally called Harvest Home, has its roots in the 17th century, as enslaved people throughout the archipelago marked the end of the yearly harvest, making it one of the oldest festivals in the western hemisphere.
It is now a multiweek cultural event running through July and August, featuring fetes, arts, food and spectacle – culminating in Grand Kadooment, a street carnival attracting 15,000 masqueraders on the first Monday of August that is a parade of colourful feathers, sequins, jewels and endless soca. The celebrations coincide with Emancipation Day, commemorated across the Caribbean on 1 August, to mark the anniversary of the abolition of slavery, and a reminder of the history and pain that underpin the region.
Over the week, I've made the most of the cultural feast from fire-breathing demos, stilt-walking classes and T-shirt cutting to a history lesson on the Tuk band, a Barbadian musical ensemble described as a meeting of west African percussive culture and the colonial regimental bands of the British military.
What particularly thrilled me was seeing how much these celebrations were a meeting of the Black diaspora. I met fellow Brits and visitors from the US, Canada as well as other Caricom states. Despite the difficulties of travelling between Caribbean islands, I came across Jamaicans, Bahamians, Trinbagonians and St Lucians. Some who, like me, were visiting for the first time, were on a mission to experience different festival and carnival events across the region and to strengthen their understanding of their sister cultures.
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Undoubtedly my highlight is Foreday Morning, also known as J'ouvert, a parade in the early hours of the morning in which revellers throw powder and paint over each other while dancing in procession behind a truck blaring soca bangers. Two things I learn are that Jordan English's track Darkers is the unofficial anthem of this Crop Over season, and that even thousands of miles from home I can't escape the viral Jet2Holiday 'song of the summer', which gets a ridiculous – but frankly delightful – soca reworking.
But mostly I am struck by just how free I feel. It is almost cliche to say that dancing in the street is a liberating experience but, as someone who, admittedly, can be uptight, J'ouvert completely unravelled me and released me from all inhibitions. It drove home that this was not simply a party but a collective spiritual experience – nourishment for the soul. It is so far away from the image of pristine beaches and cruises yet feels like the real face of Barbados.
The path of progress
There is one aspect of these celebrations that feels like a meeting of Barbados's progressive image, who they want to be as a country, and what putting its people front and centre means in practice: the status of its queer community. In 2022, the high court struck down colonial-era buggery laws, and Mottley has made clear her intolerance to homophobic discrimination. Luke Lascaris, a queer researcher who has worked with the National Cultural Foundation as a Crop Over ambassador, tells me that in the Caribbean Barbados is seen as a 'city on the hill'. The striking down of the buggery law was considered by many as 'a pivotal moment. People also believe that becoming a republic in 2021 ushered in a whole set of new rights and a lot more equity and equal representation for all people in society.'
It is not that such progress is in service of tourism, but inevitably this will do much to attract a different kind of visitor – younger and more progressive, with a revamped image of openness. Barbados has evidently done much to distance itself from its standing in 2019, when the island was ranked by Forbes as the eighth most dangerous destination for LGBTQ+ travellers. (I must say, I have long disliked these lists for how they oversimplify the context of travel, and their ignorance to how queer people have long navigated their countries of heritage – I have been gay clubbing in Nigeria, after all.)
Barbados hosted its first Pride march in 2018 and it has continued annually since. Lascaris tells me that the event 'started out as a lot of expats and people from overseas but more and more locals have become involved'. However, it is not only in Pride that queer Barbadians are making themselves visible – with this strategy to promote Barbados's people, there is a clear demand from the queer population to be included. 'There's been a very large push for queer rights, so that queer people feel seen and heard and not pushed constantly to the shadows,' Lascaris says. 'Queerness is a part of our identity as Caribbean people. The national motto of Barbados is 'pride and industry', so why shouldn't we be proud of who we are?'
Lascaris is clear that Barbados has some way to go in terms of changing social attitudes. However, so long as the government leads – particularly on recognising same-sex civil unions and following up on a promised referendum on marriage – the people will follow, despite their conservatism. 'Barbadians will accept what the status quo is and follow along with it, and a lot of people don't believe there would be homophobic backlash to that,' he says.
At J'ouvert, I felt some of that tension: the in-reach and yet frustrating distance between what the country is and what it could be. While dancing with other revellers, I had an encounter with a beautiful Caribbean man who made clear his interest in me. We did not quite dance together but rather sprayed each other's bodies with paint in a way that was more tense and erotic than any dancefloor kiss I've had in London. When I looked around, I noticed other same-sex intimacies between men and between women, and I'd heard many stories about queer encounters at festivals and carnivals across the region. And so while centring culture is evidently a success story for Barbados, it is not one that is only about industry and economy, but something charting a society that feels on course to true liberation.
This trip was provided by Barbados Tourism Marketing Inc.
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