Melville Cooke

Some time ago I was at a supermarket in Havendale, St. Andrew, when a genuine (as in unbleached and head hair straight but apparently unprocessed, implying that the same grade matting covers parts heading further south) browning reminded me of one of the peculiarities of skin colour in Jamaica.

Or, rather, one of the peculiar behavioural patterns of some of the light of skin among us. She was not speaking to me, but to everybody from the aisle with mackerel and sardine to the one with banana chips and bread - and that is a widespread of tastes and distance, with delicacies like motor oil.

Okay, she was not addressing us directly. On the face of it she was speaking to someone on her cellular phone, but make no mistake about it, her very loud message was meant for all within earshot. But not within sight - at least, her sight. 'Cause she did not see us. She was aware that other bodies were around, naturally, but she did not see us - deliberately.

I have found that many light-skinned black Jamaicans are rather loud persons, light and noisy, as I think of them. Their voices are tuned to a particular pitch and volume above normal conversation, but falling just short of outright shouting, their thoughts and concerns of the moment expressed in standard English for all to hear.

All this is done while totally ignoring the darker of hue within earshot and line of sight.

Defence mechanism

I once found it annoying, but now it amuses me, because I see it for what it is and what I understand rarely infuriates me. This light and noisy behaviour (by, it must be emphasised, some, but not all) of the light-skinned Jamaicans, is another defence mechanism by a minority, defence by tried and trusted way of attack. If someone can speak so loudly and, apparently, confidently with not a thought for those around them, then they must be special beings, I figure the psychology of the loud chatter is.

It is not new behaviour, either, as I read a novel set before Emancipation (can't remember the name, unfortunately) where the white folk would speak about the blacks, some of whom were naturally their servants at the dining table, as if they were not there, dealing the double blow of degrading them verbally and also acting as if they did not exist.

Curiously enough, I have found that the Jamaican white, where there is no thickening of the lips and flaring of the nostrils to indicate that a black 'un snuck into the Great House a long time ago, generally does not speak that loudly. Maybe it is a matter of the imitator imitating the original too well, much like the church flourishing in the Caribbean and Africa even as Europeans give up on a dead god in their own Caucasian image.

Belly laugh

Where this matter of light and noise gets really interesting, though, is when black people get as loud, and it is considered abrasive and even outright rude. The belly laugh of a light-skinned black person gets a different response from the bellow of amusement of a dark-hued one, in much the same way that the gyrations and proddings at Carnival are celebrated by way of live television, yet the 'dutty wine' is considered by some in polite society to be, well, dutty. Whether somebody says in clear, carrying tones "charge it to my MasterCard" or 'darks up' the place with "Yow! Run dat pon me cyard," it is the same thing, is it not?

Light and noise does sound very confident, especially in settings such as banks and schools where the dark-hued are encouraged to be seen and not heard. Me? I think it is downright rude and, as Christine Hewitt said at the last Backyaad Crack-Up I saw her perform on, good behaviour a suppen whe dem use an' keep black people inna dem place.

And since some of the light will not pipe down, it is only fitting that the dark should pipe up.

Melville Cooke is a freelance writer.