I clinched my hands tightly as I threw them in the air wildly bellowing the chant of my brothers beside me. Rocks in the hands of some and torches in the hands of others we screamed louder as we awaited massa to come from his throne hidden in his white house on top the hill. The atmosphere was heated and we stood together, an angry mob chanting “massa time done” This was the last straw, no more bad treatment from massa, today was the last. The night was as cold as the hearts of those who oppressed us, those who we were fighting against.
“Look massa coming” someone from the mob shrieked sharply interrupting our chant. I was ready to fight, the crowd was ready to fight we started throwing ...view middle of the document...
Still slowly clawing my way back to reality realising that what I experienced was merely a dream. I looked down at my stomach to see if there was any blood. There was none, rather what was directly in front of me was a history book covered in sweat and saliva opened up to a page with the title saying “1937 Labour Riots In Barbados” with a pencil mark on a paragraph describing a riot on a plantation where those who rioted went to the plantation with rocks and torches.
After that I refocused my attention to my brother who was still laughing with his phone in his hand. I lunged for his stomach and tried to grab the phone from him to try to delete the pictures. There was no way in hell that I was going to let those get on Facebook. I held him down and grabbed the phone from his hand and started deleting the pictures, they really did look horrible. Drool was everywhere, some even on my outstretched hand shielding the light from the flash from my eyes. I threw the phone back at my brother’s stomach whose expression had now changed to one of major frustration. I guess he was angry that I beat him up and took his phone deleting all of the pictures he managed to take.
As he opened his mouth to shed his frustrations the sound of the opening song for the news blazed through the house. Hearing that ring in my ears, I made a bee line for the living room and prepared myself for whatever news of a strike was going to come. As I excitedly awaited the peak of what was going to be an uneventful news hour. I saw several reports of politicians rambling about the government planned 3000 layoffs and also reactions of some of my fellow citizens who were sounded in my opinion like some indoctrinated puppets touting great praises to the government and urging fellow Barbadians to make their sacrifice for ‘love of country’. Clinching my fists tightly together I went for the remote across the room asking myself “could they not see that people were suffering from these layoffs”.
I stormed back into my room angrily mumbling under my breath “why are Barbadians so passive”. We are going through an economic crisis with poor management by a government who along with making life extremely difficult add insult to injury by saying harsh things like “Barbadians are to spoilt” and earlier in their term of leadership “it is time to tighten your belts” when the belts of Barbadians are tightened beyond suffocation.
We as Barbadians need to react to this poor management and we did it before but I was at the time too young to understand but now that I do I want to know what made us change so drastically from the people of 1937 and those from 1994. I had to check the statistics, I had to see why we were the way we were, but before I pursued this deep philosophical quest through a random daydream I forcibly changed my focus to my history book. Finishing this essay was a pressing issue, it was due on Monday and I had to finish it at least a week before the deadline.
As I delved into my...