Trinidad – Traces (Session 03)

For the final session of my Trinidad-series I decided to set off to discover Trinidad and Tobago’s Spanish and British colonial heritage as well as the cultural-material imprint of the nation’s immigrants from East India. A named this session “Traces” to reflect on the palimpsest-nature of Trinidad’s post-colonial social fabric, which presents itself in material forms in various points of the country.

Traces (2014, Trinidad)


Wet prayer cards lain on the ground besides the paved trail leading to the Hanuman Murti Temple in Trinidad. Prayer cards function as both the material artifact of religious self-expression and tokens of memory and remembrance.



A withered billboard displaying Guinness, the imported Irish beer from the British Empire in Moruga, the southernmost village on the isle of Trinidad. Although the advertisement still stands in the remote village, Guinness can only be bought in the larger towns’ and cities’ supermarkets. Behind the board, the towers of an old Jesuit church are visible. The Baroque edifice marks the spot where the first Catholic missionaries set foot on Trinidad following Columbus’s third voyage to the Caribbean in 1498.



Written sign on the metal railing of a roadside boutique. Besides major retail store chains, such as Hi-Lo, small markets and similar metal shacks are the distributors of common goods in Trinidad.



Barbed wire on top of the fence surrounding the campus of the University of the West Indies, near Millner Hall, the dormitory building which hosted our group of students from Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut. Similar security measures have been imposed on various governmental and private buildings and properties. Due to the high crime-rate in Trinidad, the colonial legacy of physical boundaries is still prevalent throughout the tropical landscape of the young nation.



The T.M.L. Majid Mosque in Saint Joseph is the largest Muslim temple in Trinidad and Tobago, which provides space of worship to a relatively small East Indian Muslim population. Indenture workers arriving from the Bengali region of colonial East Indies during the 1850s and 1870s had been generally of Hindu affiliation. However, Muslim Indians have been recently accompanied by North African immigrants, also Muslims, who now occupy this large temple in the earliest settlement of Trinidad (Saint Joseph was inhabited by Spaniards as early as the 1520s).

Trinidad – Places (Session 02)

Below is the second installment of my photo-project on Trinidad and Tobago. This time, my focus searched the boundaries of spaces and non-spaces. I identified non-spaces as marginal or liminal territories of functional spaces, which have been partly or fully abandoned either through forgetting or displacement. As many examples show, such liminal spaces generally become the transitional corridors between the human habitat and wildlife.

Places (2014, Trinidad)


Squatter’s hut near the Western Main Road, which connects the capital Port of Spain and inland Arima. Altough squatting is illegal in Trinidad, temporary shacks tend to crop up on various pieces of land owned by the government. Average rent is high in Trinidad and since 1962, when Trinidad became and independent republic, increased urbanization left rural and off-road places abandoned.



A domestic goat wanders off a nearby grazing field onto an abandoned basketball court in Buccoo, Tobago. While Buccoo is a frequented tourist destination due to the nearby coral reef, which is among the most well preserved coral reef areas in the Caribbean Sea, the village is struggling during off-season periods, when schools close and locals migrate to either Trinidad, or Scarborough, the capital of Tobago (also a regular destination to island-hopper ocean cruisers of the Caribbean).



The Irons-family’s only cow stares from below a papaya-tree near the Blanchiseuse Road. The narrow freeway cuts through Trinidad’s Northern Range and yields access to quarry and deforestation sites. Uninhabited land in the forest along the road proves to be cheap land for many home seekers but entails sustenance farming.



Another family’s cow grazes near the Western Main Road in Trinidad, where an abandoned Catholic cemetery occupies a portion of the land. Graveyards in Trinidad host “open” graves with simple styles. A lot of abandoned cemeteries can be found in Trinidad as well as in Tobago, a phenomenon symptomatic of the generational divide between pre- and postcolonial cultural and religious affiliations.



A pelican in the center and young seagulls along the rims perch on a fishing boat on the northern coast of Tobago. Fishermen on the twin-island of Trinidad work early in the morning and tend to tourists in the afternoon, in a period which wildlife reoccupies its natural habitat.



Fisher boys watch the sunset near Pigeon Point in Tobago. Since Trinidad and Tobago lie only 10 degrees north of the Equator, the length of days and nights remain balanced throughout the year (12 hours each). Sunset thus arrives before 6 p.m. every and sunrise commences around 6 a.m. Fishermen rest and rise with the sun and center their work around the important transitional periods of the day when sea life is the most active.

Trinidad – Faces (Session 01)

Dear Visitor,
below and in further installments you will find a photo-project completed by Bernát Iváncsics, student of Trinity College in Hartford, CT, and participant of TC’s Trinity-in-Trinidad program researching Caribbean and West Indian culture. The project was done in accordance with his internship at Lyndersay Digital Ltd. in St. James, Trinidad.

Trinidad – Places (Session 02)
Trinidad – Traces (Session 03)


Trinidad and Tobago, a nation of West African and East Indian descendants, sits on the edge of the South Caribbean sea only 10 miles off the Venezuelan coast. A land of paradise and industrial waste, the twin-island state celebrated its 50th birthday as an independent republic only two years ago, in 2012. Now a Hungarian journalism student decided to set off and capture the magical and mysterious, as well as the mundane and littered, side of the country. A crucial part of this photo essay is based on photographing the Trinidad Carnival, the Caribbean cultural heritage of celebrating joy, national identity, and the memory of anti-colonial resistance in the form of Mardi Gras inspired street parades and music bands.

“Faces – Places – Traces” wants serve as a tryptichon to showcase a Central European vision of a Caribbean republic.


Faces (2014, Trinidad)

Girls in uniform entering the front yard of Arima Public School on a Friday morning at 6:50 a.m. Many public schools in Trinidad maintain religious affiliation and require uniforms, a heritage of European colonialism.



Young girl looking startled at our passing school bus between Moruga, the southernmost village of the isle Trinidad, and Las Lunas. Literally living on the edge of civilization, people in rural areas rely on sustenance fishing and hunting in the nearby rainforest.



Woman of East Indian descent holding up a shrine on the western coast of Trinidad near the Temple of Hanuman Murti (background). The small temple was named after a spiritual man and yogi who was denied by British colonial authorities to build a Hindu shrine on British territory. Consequentially, for thirty years he shoveled pebbles and soil into the sea to produce a small artificial peninsula on which he could eventually construct the temple.



Fisherman refreshing himself with a bucket of water on the western coast of Tobago, the sister island of Trinidad. Tobago today relies on tourism but the majority of the population is still cut off from the industry and must sustain itself from natural resources.



Man on a water truck sprinkles the partying crowd on Jouvay morning in Port of Spain. “Jouvay” stems from the creolized expression of “jour ouvert,” “the opening of the day” in French. On Carnival Monday, Trinidadians celebrate the metaphorical performance of anti-colonial resistance against 19th century British authorities. The commemoration stages the riot and street marches of emancipated slaves in Trinidad between the 1890s and the 1900s. Today, Carnival revelers march out of the capital city at 4 a.m., and spray each other with body paint, reenacting their predecessors’ clay and mud disguise during the riots. At 8 a.m., the marching crowd returns to Port of Spain to party, but also to cool down and wash the paint of oppression.



A “Devil” reenactor during Jouvay. The role of the Devil or the Blue Devil, along with a series of other archetypical characters, is constructed from folk myths and Creole French masquerade themes. It represents a witty but evil character, who is known to act upon its instincts and attack innocent bystanders.



A young man stands exhausted in a pan yard in Port of Spain after a 5-hour long rehearsal for the Panorama Finals, the major musical event in Trinidad. The steel pan is Trinidad’s national instrument, an instrument percussive and melodic at the same time, which now features as a national heritage of the nation. On Emancipation day (August 1) all around the world Trinidadians and West Indians living in diasporas in London, Toronto, or New York City, generally play on these instruments while marching in bands.



A Trini Reveller singing during Carnival 2014, the annual pre-Lenten celebration carried out on the streets of Port of Spain with over 1 million visitors in average. The Trinidad Carnival has been recognized as a performative event of celebration and also as an artistic form of social resistance to the colonial powers of Britain, which for decades tried to brutally abolish the festivity of the colonized locals.



Men dressed in costumes for the Carnival procession on Charlotte Street in Port of Spain. As opposed to, for instance, the carnival in Rio de Janeiro, the Trinidad Carnival is a participatory festive event where locals and visitors can join the procession in pre-fabricated or self-made costumes.



Carnival-goers resting before the procession on Carnival Tuesday at around 7 a.m. in the morning in Port of Spain.



Mirroring a cloudy sky. The temperature in Trinidad is usually around 90-95 F in average and the air is moist in the tropical belt. Carnival in February or March is on the border of the 6 months-long wet and dry season.



Costumed women rest at the bottom of an office building in Port of Spain on Carnival Tuesday afternoon.



In another part of the city, revelers are still in the middle of their celebration.



The procession passes through three stages erected in different parts of the city. The first one is shown on the photo below, and is located at the Queen’s Park Savannah, the largest public park in Port of Spain, bearing the English Queen’s name from the late colonial period during the 50s and 60s. On the main stage, the procession is flanked by photographers and TV cameras, at which point the revelers begin to dance vividly.



Revelers on the main stage in Queen’s Park Savannah. Young as well as middle-aged men and women equally take part



Children hide under an umbrella on the beach near St. James, Trinidad. In January, the residue of the wet season can still be felt.



Young boy bathes in the Caribbean sea at Chagwell Beech situated on the western coastline of Trinidad. In the upper left corner a detail of an oil tanker is visible. Trinidad’s western coastline faces the Pariah Bay, an interim section of the Caribbean sea between Trinidad and Venezuela where much of Trinidad’s oil drills are located. Over 80% of Trinidad and Tobago’s annual GDP relies on crude oil export.



A captive monkey grabs the hands of a fellow Trinity-student in Moruga. Monkeys are rare in Trinidad due to overhunting. Viewed as pests in many rural areas of the island, these creatures are either shot down or held captive for the rest of their lives.



A fisherman in Moruga slices fish on the top of a discarded kitchen cupboard. This small village on the southern shore of Trinidad marks the spot where Christopher Columbus discovered the island in 1498 and named it after the Holy Trinity.


Popcorn Chicken vs. the KFC Festivity: Interrogating Colonel Sanders on the Theme of the Suspected Appropriation of the Trinidad Carnival

First, let’s get the title straight. Hear this: two Hungarian students fly off to Trinidad and Tobago, the southernmost twin-island state of the Leeward Islands of the Caribbean, 10 miles east of Venezuela, 30 miles north of Guyana, formerly British Guiana. You only get turquoise-blue water around Tobago. In Trinidad, the western coast is black of tar and frequent oil spills. The southern coast’s waters are thick of the Orinoco-mud. The Atlantic side is as rough is it can get: a shoreline eroded by the meters each year can testify to that. The north coast: you get far better waves than on the Big Sur in California, but you have to cross the mountains to get there. It’s that type of shoreline – tropical fauna covered cliffs crashing into the water with smooth beaches forming intermittent bays – on which Columbus stepped out in 1492, ensnarled by a booming Vangelis-scented bass organ soundtrack. I actually used to listen to this very album on my way there, riding the Maxi Taxi, just to get in the mood.

(Actually, Columbus only reached Trinidad in 1498. He never stepped on shore to avoid being left behind by a hungry and mutiny-poised crew. He saw three adjacent hills on the southern shore of the island, thought about the holy Trinity, hence the name. A last bite of etymology: if you think of Tobago, think of tobacco.)

The local shaman, head of the Carib community of Arima, called piai in Arawak, asserts that these two students are the first Hungarians ever whom he saw entering the rainforests of the Northern Range. Perhaps we even managed to do our share of the first-Hungarians-ever-to-set-foot-on-[insert place name here] project.

The Hungarian girl assists a psychotherapist of East-Indian origin at a girl’s home, where young girls, sometimes below the age of 10, are kept as a result of their criminal record, a juicy little list of theft, murder (yup), and rape (yupp). The Hungarian boy has an internship that allows him to spend entire afternoons shooting pictures of cows grazing in a graveyard.

The Republic of Trinidad and Tobago is young, younger than my father, who is not at all old. Mid-aged. It has 1.3 million inhabitants, half of which is filthy rich, while the half which bites mud each day. Imagine the GINI index. Due to irrationally overhyped government subsidies, gas is around 1 dollar per gallon or 65 HUF/l. Temperature is a constant 95 F or 35 C. Means of finance is the Trinidadian Dollar, an artificial currency pegged to the USD. 10 degrees north of the equator makes a 6-month wet and a 6-month wet season throughout the year and a stable 12-12 hours of daylight and nighttime. Half of the population comes from West Africa, the other half from the Bengali territory in East India. People are either called Jeremy Cumberbatch or Ravi Ji. 150 years of imperial British rule had its impacts: they drive on the left, only import Cadbury cacao, and deduct serious points from your essay at the University of the West Indies if you play hard on the serial comma. All cars are “pre-owned” and imported from Japan. Probably this is the only place on Earth where whoever has a refurbished Suzuki Swift is king.

So what about the title? KFC is everywhere. Colonel Sanders’ omnipresent gaze staring from the side of KFC-buckets haunts the place and puts me in an act of revolt: I listen to one of my favorite guitarists of all time, Buckethead, the entire day. This guy used to have an actual KFC-bucket on his head during live performances with “KFC funeral” inscribed on a yellow band around it. He used to call KFC the chicken-holocaust. I used to gobble my Twisters at Király utca back in Budapest, but in Trinidad I was merely coping with the idea that in certain ways Trinidad is a slaughterhouse for all of us, Trinity-bantams.

Carnival is the well-known pre-Lenten event every February or March, found all over the Caribbean states but most prominently in Trinidad. After Venice and Rio, the Port of Spain version of it is the most attended Carnival-event annually in the world. It literally draws over a million people. This year, KFC found the revenue of its two-storey facilities, which are open 24/7 (yup), unsatisfactory. In response to that it penned an entire anthem to facilitate literally all of its commercials pertaining to Carnival. This anthem was the “Popcorn Chicken.” The chorus ran as follows: “Pop-corn chick-ken. Feel yuh riddim. Pop-corn chick-ken.” (32x) Locals call this a “creative process,” undertaken by their favorite company. I viewed it as highly problematic act of cultural appropriation.

Let’s go even further back in universal and Caribbean history. Carnival was supposed to be an act of resistance. Similarly to the mocking quality of farce and commedia dell’arte in France and the Italian city states during the Middle Ages, the Caribbean slave population – through the appropriation of the pre-Lenten masquerade tradition employed by their own white and mulatto (Creole) slave owners – represented its own way of celebrating emancipation through a mask parade. They played percussive music, donned costumes, paraded through their streets. The parade began at 3-4am in the morning and lasted late in the evening. The appropriation of “mas” meant that slaves mocked the upper-class masquerade balls by using the same costumes but parading on the streets, electing their own new “king” and “queen,” and creating alternative personalities through mas-roles – generally based on certain personality archetypes -, such as the “Midnight Robber” and the “Blue Devil.”

Today what you do when you want to participate in Trinidad Carnival is pay around 500 USDs for a pretty but ill-fitting costume that barely lasts until the end of the day and also pay another set of beefy fees in similar chunks to participate in a mas-band (band of people wearing the same mass-fabricated costumes), where you get your drinking truck and music trucks guiding you along the hot streets of Port of Spain.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s fun. But it’s not what it was used to be. It’s not revolt. Perhaps against the cumbersome rhythm of everyday life. Meanwhile, KFC sound systems boom the Popcorn Chicken anthem with an ear-ripping volume.

But here we were, still young, tanned within an hour, headbanging to Bunji Garlin’s hit “Truck on the road.” It was a song about trucks on the road.

Personally,  I couldn’t pretend that my inner journalist-slash-social-critic wasn’t working in me. I couldn’t not see how the post-colonial struggle in Trinidad and Tobago railed off its initial trajectory of resistance. The problem is: forming a nation on an island which served as a colonial sugar and tobacco factory for centuries, hosting a mixture of displaced ethnicities, would have been a hard enterprise anyway. In the age of post-nationalism, where cultural myths, identity-narratives, and national artifacts have been – respectively – decomposed, fragmented to bits (bytes) of neutral data, and physically destroyed, such enterprise is even harder. And not just for a struggling young nation. But for all those ex-colonial powers in Europe, as well as for the less fortunate countries, such as Hungary, which are in serious need of reevaluating their cultural and political assets (sic!) within the global context of information society.

A Story to Tell

This year’s first post from us, Trinity-students, will mark the caesura of our Kellner-year: it leaves space for hindsight with which we can recollect our memories of the first four months in Hartford, but it also yields perspective on the new semester in the Caribbean. We have a story to tell. Let’s start at the very beginning.

Hartford. Not many earlier blog posts deal with the town itself, and the two of us, Márta Korom and myself, Bernát Iváncsics, the two Kellner-scholars residing in Connecticut’s capital this semester, had always wanted to hear more about this urban environment surrounding Trinity College’s campus. Generally, it is dismissed in discussions due to its tarnished 19th-century fame and its letdown neighborhoods. True, the city founded in the 1640s and the home of Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mark Twain, Samuel Colt and his arms factory, J.P. Morgan and his hotel-size mansion, as well as many other industrial tycoons and artistic individuals, now gives home to the descendants of Puerto Rican tobacco-workers, Serbian immigrants, and other significant minorities. Sometimes it’s hard to get by trying to speak English, since Spanish is preferred. Hartford, however, is a thriving community, with Labor Day’s marches; Columbus Day flags; posh West Hartford districts; the oldest towns of the United States as neighbors (Windsor, Farmington); a 100-years-old carousel in Bushnell Park; a golden-globed Capitol where the US’s (and the world’s) first ever written state Constitution was kept; the beautiful bank of the Connecticut River; and of course, Yale’s sister university founded in 1823: Trinity College. If we consider the city a text in which history and ethnicity is inscribed diachronically, the etymology of “text” offers the allusion to “texture,” the quilt fabric of the city in which the synchronic co-existence of multiple cultures intertwine.

America is mind-blowing for a European newcomer. Hartford was and is the truly representative city for us here. During our fall semester, we have travelled to Boston, New York, Washington DC, Baltimore, Cape Cod, Newport, Springfield, Storrs, Willimantic, Niagara Falls, Toronto, Chicago, and the Hudson Valley (almost passing by Bard College in Annandale-upon-Hudson). We have roamed Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Maryland, Virginia, New Jersey, Illinois, the state of New York, the District of Columbia, and the state of Ontario by plane, car, and bus. Wherever we have been, the secularized and polarized fabric of the cities, a scape similar to Hartford’s, was present: New York’s Harlem right nearby Upper Manhattan with Columbia University’s campus and picturesquely cliff-frontiered Morningside Park; the huge Chinese gate in DC’s Chinatown only a couple of blocks north of the Capitol, the main building of the Supreme Court and the Library of Congress; Toronto’s Chinatown, in which the official street-names are inscribed first in Chinese, then in English; Boston’s downtown, where in a Wendy’s we were told not too kindly by a black man that “we need some color;” in Provincetown, at the very tip of the Cape Cod peninsula, where 50-year-old white transvestite men roam the streets in latex during Halloween, and coo at me and our French friend; the dawn that dries up the dew on our rented car near one of the beaches of Hyannis, in which a Hungarian boy, a Hungarian girl, a French boy, and a Chinese-American girl from Kentucky sleep under their blankets taken from Vernon Place dormitory: the same sun dawns upon JFK’s summer house only a mile away on the 50th anniversary of his assassination. Hartford contains east coast America in a nutshell: the colorful forests of the New England fall share frontiers with nylon-covered tobacco-fields; the Wadsworth Athenaeum’s free Magritte-, Picasso-, and Mondrian-collection is surrounded by the commercial waste of Burger King cups on the street; Hartford’s St Joseph cathedral, with the largest continuous stained glass window of the world (imported from Paris) neighbors the controversial expansion of the health insurance company Aetna with it’s oversized (and thus mostly vacant) parking lots and its appropriation of historical neighborhoods. And the list goes on.

But America is mind-blowing on an even more profane scale: the nail-gunned roofs and wooden planked walls of the American “common house” (I had to look up this term) with their front yards either stuffed with Virgin Mary altars (Latino district), or US flags, Halloween corpses and remote-controlled singing Christmas trees (Dyker Heights, Brooklyn). The huge MACK trucks, the yellow school busses, the over-sized SUV’s gurgling up gallons of cheap and poorly refined 87-octane gasoline. The pharmacy and bank drive-thrus, the Dunkin Donuts’ on every corner, the malls, the king sized items in Wal-Mart. The contempt in the eyes of an African-American sales clerk in Walgreens, staring at my all-too-white face after the self-checkout machine messes up my purchase, and the fake joviality of the ex-Bosnian bus driver who converses with Márta in Serbian. The cordiality with which a psychology professor of Trinity College and UConn invites us for Thanksgiving, an event where three families sit at a table, eat themselves to death, joke about the massacre of the Native Indians (hence: “Thanksgiving”, and “do Canadians have Thanksgiving? They probably eat beaver.”), enjoy Oscar, the pug’s presence with his scar on his rear after a rectal operation, and have their best time in their lives – an evening which leaves all of us dorm-students a bit moody the next day, longing for this warm family event (but we are dorm-students all the same, and so we stroll the same beer-ponged and alcohol-drained corridors of Vernon Place).

American college-life is another culture shock, even for an American Studies student. The cooperation and the response of professors, the work-load, the commitment. It does work in the long run. And it works especially when accompanied by the immense facility of the Raether Library and Information Technology Center, where we have followed the path of many other previous Kellner-scholars at Trinity as shelvers, inventory-makers, and circulation desk assistants. Sometimes it takes multi-tasking: one hand scanning, the other holding my e-reader, my ears squeezing the old Sennheiser earplugs for music, and my forehead leaning against the library shelf to hold me while I am sleeping. 4x3x10 pages of final papers, 2-hour naps. Meanwhile, we reserve our accommodations, organize our flights, hop into the car for our next road trip, and try to reach Cave for our pre-midnight sub sandwich and Starbucks coffee. Sometimes we do chill on the porch of Vernon Social, drinking cheap Californian wine, quarreling about the open-container law with campus safety officers but enjoying our time all the same. Avicii bass tracks boom from nearby frat-parties, and I do have to send a girl back to her dorm when she sips on my cigarette with the burning end in her mouth. Then it’s Sunday morning again, 4 am, and I have two 900-word Trinity Tripod articles to write until 11 am. I am a journalist, too, and I listen to people: to the competitors of the Federal Reserve Challenge in Boston and DC, to Jewish memoir-authors in the Smith House, to the DJ’s in the Mill, the Latino girls in Summit Tower, the German girl in Mather, and the Indian guy on the George Kellner Squash Center courts. The mascot of Trinity College is a masculinized bantam, and Trinity-students do in a way take up the attitude: they are harsh and eloquent. They are entrepreneurs. I drain myself with the workload, but I try to keep track. And I write their stories.

And… this is the end of our first post. From now on, we will frequently update the blog due to a new chapter in the experience of Kellner-scholars at Trinity. For the first time in the history of this scholarship, we embark on a Study Away program in Trinidad and Tobago, more specifically in the town of St Augustine, a satellite of the capital Port of Spain. Study Away programs so far have been impossible for Kellner-participation due to administrative reasons, but we’d like to work on altering that. From January 20, 2014, we will report on our experiences in Trinidad, as well as in Limón, Costa Rica. Although our planning of a long west coast road trip in the US for the summer is already under way, we believe that we have already managed to catch a glimpse of the cultural diversity of the US, and this experience has lead us to the realization that the American continent in its globalized and postcolonial context can hardly be narrowed down to the US itself. Trinidad, already closely tied to the US by its propane gas economy and direct cargos to New Haven (!), is interestingly following the route of Puerto Rico, the heavily Americanized island of the Caribbean region. Our study in Trinidad and Costa Rica will hopefully serve as a useful appendix to understand where the US is today in terms of its ethnic and cultural constitution. Our photojournalism-related internships at the University of West Indies in St Augustine, into which we are preparing ourselves to enroll in a couple of days as exchange-exchange students, will try to follow the critical-mindedness of photographers and journalists of the 40s, 60s, 70s, and 90s sponsored by the Guggenheim fellowships, such as Jack Delano and his son, Trinity-professor Pablo Delano.

PS.: A similar thirst to explore the American continent led us to invest our round-trip fees back home into a Mexican road trip this winter, where 4800 kilometers through dirt roads and mountain villages captured by revolting insurgents have taught us some important lessons. Why is there a Wal-Mart in the shantytown of Mexico City, and why is the Navidad edition of Oreo biscuits the cheapest of all products? There is a great political and industrial struggle today around the Gulf of Mexico, and the Caribbean is part of it. The US, although unwillingly admitting it, is also part of it. This is controversial postcolonialism at it its best, and we dive for it. Trinidad’s historical layering of multiple political occupations unfolds into a synchronically displayed tableau, and we will be there to witness it.