As a Griot for the Soul of West Indian Cricket
As a former literature teacher, I have been privileged to ignite classrooms with the memory of cricket’s golden age—a time when the sport was not merely recreation, but a hallmark of Caribbean identity. I dedicated my vocation to animating those halcyon days: cricket as heartbeat, as hymn, as the unifying thread in the vibrant tapestry of the West Indies. Yet, I often found that my students—untethered from that era—struggled to truly feel the pulse of what cricket meant to us, West Indians. Not because they lacked imagination or empathy, but because the fierce pride and electric unity that cricket once kindled belonged to a distant, nearly mythic past.
Through the dissection of Stewart Brown’s “Test Match, Sabina Park”, I watched as the poetry of cricket’s glory flickered, elusive, in their eyes. The lived reality that gave those lines their fire had faded from the world outside their windows. I implored them to watch documentaries, to listen for the thunder in our veins—a crash of leather and willow that once reverberated from village square to Parliament floor. But as years passed, my dismay deepened. Another generation would inherit only the brittle husk of what once powered our collective spirit: the soul of cricket—our chronicle of struggle, triumph, and belonging—even now further shrunken to a footnote in the ledger of political gamesmanship.
Cricket: More Than a Game; A Caribbean Legacy
Please, permit me, without the threat of sounding disrespectful, to express how disheartened I am that many of my former students and many more present will continue to lack the historical and emotional context to truly feel the pulse of what cricket once meant to us, West Indians. Not because they are incapable, but because the soul of cricket—the symbol of our shared struggle, triumph, and cultural pride—has been reduced in their lifetimes to a footnote in partisan politics.
I am, quite frankly, disgusted that the recent re-emergence of cricket discourse in SVG is not rooted in our regional pride or a strategic sporting vision—but in the callous theatre of political sparring. And now, even the iconic Brian Lara has entered the conversation with painful honesty: that what is plaguing West Indies cricket is not merely talent drain or mismanagement—it is a lack of pride.
Can you imagine his disappointment?
Cricket as a Metaphor for Caribbean Greatness—At Risk
Brian Lara didn’t just bat centuries. With each stroke he erased centuries of stripes that traumatised us, his runs bonded us in a unified healing, much like the six sixes of the Great Garfield Sobers and many more of our cricket heroes. Cricket was not a stepping stone to politics—it was the cornerstone of our political reimagination, a weapon of dignity wielded by the oppressed against colonial domination. Cricket was not played for endorsements or exit opponities. It was played with a passion like a raging fire, where the bat became a sword, the ball our bombs and the boundary a declaration of ind endence.
What we are witnessing today is poetic nemesis—our children, who should be inspired by cricket’s legacy, not watch its dignity dismembered in the public arena. Who remembers when, during a West Indies match, everywhere was this still silence , save for the spontaneous “AHHHHHHHHHH!” that echoed in unison from houses throughout the community? That was the heartbeat of a people. A subtle yet powerful assurance that we were collectively tuned in to the same frequency in our private and personal spaces,that we were one. We have won!
Now, where we once cried for our team’s defeat, we’ve run out of tears—defeat has become routine.
Where once “rallying round the West Indies” meant sacrificing self for the region, today it has become a contest of egos, soundbites, and shallow nationalism. The anthem implores us to “now and forever, rally round the West Indies.” But this shameful back-and-forth between one of CARICOM’s longest-serving leaders and the President of Cricket West Indies is not a rally—it’s a rupture. It is the kind of intellectual masturbation—to borrow from Jomo Thomas—that achieves nothing but self-gratification.
This is sacrilege, not strategy. It is neocolonial rot in full bloom—a bitter harvest from the quarters of our inner plantation, where power is prized more than principle, and legacy is sold for partisan gain.
Political Theater vs. The True Challenges We Face
I don’t care for the personal grievances of either man. What I care about is that this discourse adds no value to the urgent challenges we face: economic precarity, youth unemployment, the decay of education, the digitization of global ladigitisation, and rising crime stemming from systemic disillusionment.
At a time when our children face a future of uncertainty, when the ideals of Caribbean unity are under siege, this reckless political spectacle mirrors the tragedy of the Federation’s collapse. It’s not just disappointing—it’s dangerous.
A Call to Rally with Purpose, Pride, and Poetry
Yes, leaders must speak. Yes, institutions must be held accountable. But when public discourse devolves into grandstanding and egocentric banter, it becomes a popularity contest, not a national conversation. And that, in itself, dishonours the legacy of every cricketer who gave us reason to believe in something bigger than ourselves.
Cricket was, and still can be, a metaphor for regional greatness. But only if we protect its soul from the corrosive politics that now surround it.
Let us rally, yes—but let us rally with purpose, with pride, and with poetry in our veins—not as pawns in a petty game of self-promotion.
