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Crosses/Crossroads/Crossings

Smith, Faith, 1964Small Axe, Number 24 (Volume 11, Number 3), October 2007, pp. 130-138 (Review)
Published by Indiana University Press

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Crosses/Crossroads/Crossings
Faith Smith
AbstrAct: This essay discusses Jacqui Alexanders Pedagogies of Crossing as framing an analysis of the curtailment of erotic autonomy in the United States and the Caribbean, the failures of liberal feminism and academia, and the propensity for military intervention, with an examination of the possibilities offered by the sacred.

I am an outlaw in my country of birth: a national; but not a citizen. . . . Why has the state focused such a repressive and regressive gaze on me and people like me? M. Jacqui Alexander, Not Just (Any) Body Can be a Citizen

I provide a sobering note on the dangers of offering up sexual freedom alone on the broken platter of U.S. democracy in order to secure or ostensibly guard the boundaries of modernity, and ultimately I urge queer studies and queer movements to take up questions of colonialism, racial formation, and political economy simultaneously. M. Jacqui Alexander, Pedagogies of Crossing

It has been over a decade now since the essay that begins with the first of my epigraphs above, Not Just (Any) Body Can be a Citizen: The Politics of Law, Sexuality and Postcoloniality in Trinidad and Tobago and the Bahamas appeared in a 1994 issue of Feminist Review on sex and the state.1 The essay is not included in Alexanders new Pedagogies of Crossing2, though expanded versions of her arguments appear in Redrafting Morality focusing on Trinidad and included in Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism, as well as Erotic Autonomy

1. M. Jacqui Alexander, Not Just (Any) Body Can Be a Citizen: The Politics of Law, Sexuality and Postcoloniality in Trinidad and Tobago and the Bahamas, Feminist Review 48 (Autumn 1994): 5. 2. M. Jacqui Alexander, Pedagogies of Crossing: Meditations on Feminism, Sexual Politics, Memory, and the Sacred (Durham: Duke University Press, 2005). Subsequent references to this work appear parenthetically in the text.
small axe 24 October 2007 p 130138 ISSN 0799-0537

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focusing on the Bahamas, first published in 1997 in Feminist Genealogies and part of the present book.3 If Pedagogies of Crossing, then, constitutes a retrospective collection of work that has appeared in journals and anthologies since the early 1990s, alongside hitherto unpublished lectures, and new work that breathtakingly manages to move in a new direction and re-map all previous roads taken, there is still a real sense in which it should not be regarded as a culmination, since it does not exceed the force of what came before it. Both Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism, and Feminist Genealogies, Colonial Legacies, Democratic Futures, which Alexander co-edited in 1997, exemplify the kind of feminist collaborations that have been significant scholarly interventions, and that have also been discounted for the almighty tenure and promotion because they are not single monographs.4 As collaborative editorial ventures that crossed United States ethnic boundaries and actively placed the perspectives of women of color in global contexts, these books challenged United States national as well as European-American canonical definitions of feminism, while also placing Caribbean, South and East Asian, as well as Latino and Latin American perspectives at the center of transnational feminist theorizations of the state and other institutions. Alexander herself alludes to the shifting and multiple I voices that inhabit the various iterations of her work over the years, and that are gathered up here (16). I am thinking of the absent essay, Not Just (Any) Body, and the utter exposure of that first-person declaration: I am an outlaw in the country of my birthafter all this time, still, for me, as a nice Caribbean girl trying to wend my way through North American academia, terrifying in its impropriety. I will return to this momentarily. In Pedagogies, Alexander crosses borders impolitely and insists that we refuse to join her at our peril. At every turn we are shown the complicity of liberal and radical projects with the dangerous adventures of both North American imperialism and the Caribbean postcolonial state. Framed, on the one hand, by the obsession with war that imperils the world and purports to make it safe for those of us who make our beds and lie down in the shadow of the North American university, and, on the other, by a praisepoem to Yemay who presides over the crossing that is at the very heart of Alexanders interrogation and achievement, Pedagogies shows us the cost of this interrogation to her own progress through the world of academia. In Whose New World Order she documents the downsizing of the university and the farming out of labor to temporary, under-paid adjunct faculty in the 1990s, the increasing separation

3. Chandra Talpade Mohanty, Ann Russo and Lourdes Torres (eds) Third World Women and the Politics of Feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991). 4. M. Jacqui Alexander and Chandra Talpade Mohanty (eds) Feminist Genealogies, Colonial Legacies, Democratic Futures (New York: Routledge, 1997).

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between community activism and the discipline of Womens Studies, the heated debate over affirmative action, and the institutional use of multiculturalism to [cathect] all difference onto the bodies of people of color in a way that avoids developing a commitment to antiracist policies (113). These provide a context for her discussion, in Anatomy of a Mobilization, of what many readers will recall as the painful exposure (again, that word, from my cautious perspective of toeing the line) of Alexanders mid-1990s re-appointment at the New School for Social Research in New York City, in the pages of the Chronicle of Higher Education. My own recollection of this as, among other things, a cautionary tale about book publication as the surefire way to succeed in the North American academy, and to succeed quietly, is radically overturned here. We are shown Alexanders insistence on linking her own appointment at the school with a struggle, initiated by students and other faculty, which she later joined: to revamp a Eurocentric curriculum, improve the wages of security guards and other staff, and to expose as mere window-dressing the schools commitment to diversifying the faculty. That is, re-appointment and tenure guarantee nothing but the chance to serve a corrupt institution permanently. Alexander insistently indicts liberal feminism for colluding in the universitys attempt to manage difference and labor like a corporation, but also in the project of North American militarization. This shows itself in the failure to subvert the tradition versus modernity paradigm which produces for students a way of consuming the other in fiction by women of color, but also in the Feminist Majoritys critique of the Talibans oppression of women in Afghanistan, without showing the relationship between Christian and Islamic patriarchies, or Afghani and North American state-sponsored terror (185). Like Cynthia Enloe, whom she cites, Alexander shows how United States militarization mobilizes sentiment for our troops from women explicitly by [positioning] itself as benign patriarch and concealing both its failure to promote military women consistently and the frequency of sexual abuse of female soldiers by their male counterparts (9798). Yet with all her critique of national and imperial domination, feminists failure to critique this, and the academys failure to transform the classroom, Alexander maintains that teaching students to be radical keeps the focus on domination (8). The reason for this emerges in the stunning last section, which continues the books overall critique of, among other things, current accounts of modernity, but which is much more interested in affirming another way of being and knowing in the academy, and in the world at large. Here, focus on the ancestral crossings of enslaved Africans and the deities that sustained them, as well as both the centuries of African transformations that preceded these crossings, and the subsequent journeys to crossroads barely understood in St. James, Trinidad, and basements in the Bronx, New York, leads Alexander to enquire into the workings of the spirits.

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A scholarly attempt to understand how the body had become central in the contest between European and African systems (293) through the trial and execution of one enslaved woman in nineteenth-century Trinidad, ultimately involves Alexanders personal initiation and attentiveness to the ways in which the academys abiding attachment to secularism shuts the spirits out.5 Here Alexander reminded me of both Val Carnegies recent study of transnationalism, in which his own religious attachment is used to test his claims, and Rhonda Cobhams reference to a colleagues silences about her wrestling with the spirits in her scholarly work: [There] was no gnosis, no sanctioned code for articulating Caribbean systems of belief and knowledge, through which the spiritual battle she had experienced could be incorporated into her academic text.6 Crossing the border between the sacred and the secular is perilous, since we risk scholarly credibility, but Alexander shows how not doing so leads to conclusions about modernity, and about gender and sexuality, that are too safe and ultimately flawed, and that concede all the spiritual ground to fundamentalists (325). Moreover, since exploiting the sacred in order to perform the smart reading or avoiding it altogether risks writers blockthe death sentence of the institutionally-attached scholarthe attempt to preserve our credibility is as deeply ironic as it is harmful. A consideration of Alexanders scholarship and activism raises questions for me about her relationship, as a Trinidad-born scholar based in North America, to Caribbean (by which I mean only English-speaking) feminisms and feminists. Admittedly, my familiarity with this body of work is not extensive, but I am struck by the apparent lack of convergence between Alexanders work and that of the senior feminist social scientists in the region who are roughly speaking of her generation and who work on gender, sexuality, citizenship and the state.7 In
5. The woman is Thisbe, who may or not be the same as Luisa Caldern, whose trial and torture during Governor Pictons regime is well-documented in the archives. When Alexander is ready to receive her, in part by readjusting her own relationship to the authority of official archives, and to memory, Thisbe reveals herself to her as Kitsimba. Two other Trinidad-born writers reflect on Calderns fate in their work: Valerie Belgrave, Ti Marie (London: Heinemann, 1988) and V.S. Naipaul, A Way in the World (New York: Vintage International, 1995). 6. Charles V. Carnegie, Postnationalism Prefigured: Caribbean Borderlands (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2002); Rhonda Cobham, Mwen Na Rien, Msieu: Jamaica Kincaid and the Problem of Creole Gnosis, Callaloo 25, no. 3 (Summer 2002): 868. 7. Though it should be noted that Alexanders work is cited in, or even central to other scholars, some of whom appear in the anthologies produced by senior Caribbean feminists. See, for instance: Donette Francis, Uncovered Stories: Politicizing Sexual Histories in Third Wave Caribbean Womens Writings, Black Renaissance/Renaissance Noire 6, no. 1 (Fall 2004): 6181; Kamala Kempadoo, Sexing the Caribbean: Gender, Race, and Sexual Labor (New York: Routledge, 2004); Linden Lewis, Masculinity, the Political Economy of the Body, and Patriarchal Power in the Caribbean in Barbara Bailey and Elsa Leo-Rhynie (eds) Gender in the 21st Century: Caribbean Perspectives, Visions and Possibilities (Kingston: Ian Randle, 2004): 236261; Tracy Robinson, Fictions of Citizenship, Bodies Without Sex: The Production and Effacement of Gender in Law, Small Axe 7 (March 2000): 127; Michelle Rowley, Bureaucratising Feminism: Charting Caribbean Womens Centrality within the Margins in Gender in the 21st Century:

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the 1980s they fought the good fight in their respective territories as parliaments enacted bills that simultaneously protected women and girls from sexual assault, penalized marital violence and then didnt, and reinforced existing legislation criminalizing unnatural sex, including the criminalization, for the first time, of sex between women. Hovering over these debates was the new specter of HIV-AIDS, and it must have been painful for the various Working Womens groups and coalitions to listen to public opinion and religious leaders influence the decisions of lawmakers, and to see gains being offset by compromises. Alexander pays tribute to the Caribbean Association for Feminist Action and Research and Action (CAFRA) and Development Alternatives for Women (DAWN) in Pedagogiesorganizations that were critical to the formation of feminists, including herself, and senior scholars based in the Caribbean. I imagine that this organizing and these debates informed the urgency of texts such as Rhoda Reddocks important study, Women, Labour and Politics in Trinidad and Tobago: A History, in part an account of the colonial and then post-colonial states policing of womens sexuality, even when such studies were begun long before the 1980s.8 We may even find in retrospect that this moment was formative for both the production of fiction exploring Caribbean sexualities explicitly that has appeared since the late 1990s, and the turn to a consistent, explicit repudiation of perverse sexualities in dancehall reggae music.9 By apparent lack of convergence I suppose I mean the absence of references to Alexanders work in the essays and anthologies produced by feminist social scientists based in the region, and while I risk displacing the importance of historians, literary and cultural critics and other non-social-scientists, it does appear that the most visible face of Caribbean feminism in terms of the leadership of academic units and the production of anthologies, is a social scientist one. Of course, I am unaware of the linkagesgraduate student committees, institutional residencies, guest lecturesthat might tie Alexander to her peers in the region.
Caribbean Perspectives, Visions and Possibilities, 655686; Patricia Saunders, Is Not Everything Good to Eat, Good to Talk: Sexual Economy and Dancehall Music in the Global Marketplace, Small Axe 13 (March 2003): 95115; Yasmin Tambiah, Threatening Sexual (Mis)Behavior: Homosexuality in the Penal Code Debates in Trinidad and Tobago, 1986 (unpublished paper); Deborah A. Thomas, Public Bodies: Virginity Testing, Redemption Songs, and Racial Respect in Jamaica, Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology 11, no. 1 (Spring, 2006): 131; Natasha Tinsley, What is a Uma? Women Performing African Diaspora Sexuality in Paramaribo, Suriname (paper presented at Caribbean Studies Association, 2005, Trinidad); D. Alissa Trotz, Between Despair and Hope: Women and Violence in Contemporary Guyana, Small Axe 15 (March 2004): 19. I am indebted to Tinsley and Tambiah for being able to read unpublished work. 8. Rhoda Reddock, Women, Labour and Politics in Trinidad and Tobago: A History (Kingston: Ian Randle, 1994). Alexander cites this in Pedagogies, and Reddocks 1984 dissertation in Not Just (Any) Body. 9. Studies along these lines are much more common now, but for an important early analysis of the fiction of Jamaica Kincaid, Michelle Cliff, Patricia Powell and others, see Evelyn OCallaghan, Compulsory Heterosexuality and Textual/Sexual Alternatives in Selected Texts by West Indian Women Writers, Caribbean Portraits: Essays on Gender Ideologies and Identities (Kingston: Ian Randle, 1998): 294319. We still need discussions of dancehall that historicize its various registers. A very good one in this regard is Cecil Gutzmore, Casting the First Stone! Policing of Homo/Sexuality in Jamaican Popular Culture, interventions 6, no. 1 (2004): 118134.

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Then one could ask why trajectories should continue to be the same after the 1980s given that different locations generate different priorities, engagements, and struggles. Certainly, to ask why Caribbean-based feminists do not cite those in the diaspora is to open oneself up to the valid charge of metropolitan presumption: do those in the diaspora cite those who are based in the Caribbean? What is the status of unpublished material culled from Caribbean libraries in the published work of those who live outside of the region? To what extent is the trip to the Caribbean a validation exercise for scholars based in North America and Europe? In the other direction, how is the lack of access to the rhythms of daily life in the region used to invalidate the conclusions of scholars who are based abroad? Such tensions, spoken and unspoken, emerge in the conferences in the region. They were certainly evident at Recentering Feminism, a conference organized by Tracy Robinson and Michelle Rowley at the Cave Hill, Barbados campus of the University of the West Indies in June 2002 (and in which Alexander participated). Tensions between diasporic and resident, but even more so between activist and academic were very apparent, and suggested that center and periphery are as evident within feminist circles as they are between what gets marked as feminist and what is considered external to or indifferent to it. And this last is crucial. That is, if I am inquiring into what seems to me to be Alexanders marginality to discussions of gender and sexuality in the region, this surely has to be placed in the context of the precarious place of feministswhether they use that appellation or notin the region. The Gender and Development Studies units on the campuses of the University of the West Indies, firmly established and directed by full professors as they are, exist in the context of the on-going deep suspicion about feminists claims about the place of women in the Caribbean, in relation to issues such as the male marginalization thesis and sexual harassment.10 This simultaneous centrality and marginality has been the subject of soul-searching in different directions. Eudine Barriteau asks about the ways in which a focus on gender has sidelined women; an anxiety shared by Womens Studies programs in the United States as they shift to Gender or to Gender and Sexuality programs. Guyanese activist Andaiye worries about the NGO-ization of Caribbean feminism, and Natasha Barnes brilliant reading of Sylvia Wynters oeuvre suggests how nationalist theorizing can supplant, or perhaps even require the displacement of feminist registers.11 I am indicting feminist social scientists, that is, for silences that ought to be laid at the door of the regions social scientists as a whole.
10. Errol Miller, Marginalization of the Black Man: Insights from the Teaching Profession (Kingston: Canoe Press, 1994); Eudine Barriteau, Requiem for the Male Marginalization Thesis in the Caribbean: Death of a Non-Theory in Eudine Barriteau (ed) Confronting Power, Theorizing Gender: Interdisciplinary Perspectives in the Caribbean (Mona: UWI Press, 2003); Tracy Robinson, Fictions of Citizenship. 11. Eudine Barriteau, Theorizing the Shift from Woman to Gender in Caribbean Feminist Discourse: The Power Relations of Creating Knowledge in Confronting Power. See also Hilary Beckles, who takes the long historical

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Perhaps, then, issues of diaspora, institutionalization, and accommodation all come together to account for the place of Alexanders theorizing about gender, sexuality and the Caribbean postcolonial state in relation to Caribbean feminisms, but also to theorizations of Caribbean nationalism more generally. It may be that as a function of not being in the region she has been able to sustain attention to matters of sexuality in particular that activists within the region in the 1980s felt that they had to drop, and alternately, her insistence on foregrounding these issues has guaranteed her marginality. We are in a moment when public discussions about political and cultural sovereignty in the Caribbean seem to turn, more than ever, on the question of legitimate sexualities. Where the anti-colonial and nationalist discourses of an earlier era had seemed to be driven more explicitly by political and economic issues, today, issues of sovereignty seem to be waged more forcefully in the domain of sexuality. As Caribbean nations seek greater control of the ways in which they are perceived by world music connoisseurs, potential tourists, and United Nations sub-committees, they face international criticism on everything including opposition to gay cruises, and the homophobia of dancehall lyrics. These underline the regions participation in and anxieties about its popularity as a tourist destination, and the international prominence of its icons and cultural products. Pressure by the United Kingdom and the United States to decriminalize homosexual sex and distribute condoms in prisons, tourists demand for gay cruises and nude weddings, the consecration of openly gay bishops in metropolitan branches of religious denominations, have all sparked public discussion about compromising our principles, warnings that foreign legislation need not be imported along with car parts, about being true to ourselves as West Indian people, and catching up without being carried away.12 These discussions can certainly border on the hysterical and ludicrous: an opposition minister declares that no homosexuals will occupy a cabinet position when his party comes to power, or a prominent don tells the court that his alleged sexual violation of a male victim does not compromise his own heterosexuality since he has fathered several children, including

view of feminists selling out to liberalism in Historicizing Slavery in West Indian Feminisms, Feminist Review 59 (Summer 1998): 3456; David Scott, Counting Womens Caring Work: An Interview with Andaiye, Small Axe 15 (March 2004); Natasha Barnes, Reluctant Matriarch: Sylvia Wynter and the Problematics of Caribbean Feminism, Small Axe 5 (March 1999): 3447; and see also Cultural Conundrums: Gender, Race, Nation, and the Making of Caribbean Cultural Politics (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006). Jonathan Goldberg has noted that it is certainly possible to survey Wynters thought and barely mention gender as a concern, as can be seen in Paget Henrys discussion/evaluation of Wynter. . . . Goldberg, Tempest in the Caribbean (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2004): 164; Paget Henry, Calibans Reason (New York: Routledge, 2000). 12. Daily Gleaner On-Line, 20 February 1998; Daily Gleaner On-Line, 19 July 1998. Homosexuality Out of the Closet, Editorial; Garnet Roper, The Churchs Same Sex; Reginald Allen, Business Leaders Mum on Homosexual Appointment all in Sunday Herald ( Jamaica), 29 June5 July 2003, 4A, 6A.

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one born during his incarceration.13 But the discussions take many, many forms, and it is important to note that affirmations of our true West Indian selves as relentlessly straight are often responses to attempts to reverse existing legislation that criminalizes sexual activity deemed by the state to be perverse. What is certainly the defence of dancehall musicians freedom to sing whatever they choose in the face of first world censorship is also a reaction to wholesale characterizations of the region as the most violent or the most homophobic in the world, designations that smack of old-style imperialism.14 Hovering over these discussions in the present is the realization that the regions feminists sought to frame earlier versions of them in the 1980s. And Alexanders own contributions, then and now, bear on the equivocations by Caribbean states; the designation of the regions positions as antiquated by the first world, and the affirmations of the regions essential, authentic inclinations to or against same-sex desire. Her contributions bear on them even when Alexander herself remains unremarked. Linking political and economic woes attendant on globalization to sexuality in Not Just (Any) Body in 1994, Alexander examined Caribbean states restrictions on homosexual sex and homosexuals, noting the hypocrisy of this policing of non-procreative sexuality in light of the encouragement, or willed ignorance, of tourismrelated prostitution. The essay connects this policing of transgressive sexuality to a crisis of legitimation occasioned by structural adjustmentthe shrinking of public services in order to conform to IMF and World Bank demands. Decreasing sovereignty in the economic arena, Alexander contends, is accompanied by more surveillance in the moral arena, where governments feel they can be effective. Heteronormativity, and specifically black and Indian heteronormativity in the wake of the violation of the Creole African and Indian body during slavery, indenture, and colonialism,
13. No Homos! Opposition to Gays in the Cabinet, Sunday Herald, 8 April 2006; Melville Cooke, The Death of Donship, Daily Gleaner, 15 June 2006. 14. In June 2006, the Joint Select Committee of Parliament for the proposed Charter of Rights in Jamaica heard from, on the one hand, the National AIDS Committee asking for the repeal of laws criminalizing prostitution, sodomy, adultery and fornication, and, on the other, an organization of Christian lawyers requesting clarification of the reference to marriage so that it would be defined as the voluntary union of one man to one woman for life, to the exclusion of all others (to loud applause from the packed gallery), Balford Henry, Lawmakers Fears [sic] Christian Lawyers Want to Curtail Freedoms, Sunday Observer, 18 June 2006; Tim Padgett, The Most Homophobic Place on Earth? Crimes Against Gays are Mounting in Jamaica and Across the Caribbean, Time Magazine. Posted Wednesday, 12 April 2006. http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1182991,00.html. Two well-known contributions to the discussion about the lyrics of dancehall musicians are Carolyn Cooper, Lyrical Gun: Metaphor and Role-Play in Jamaican Dancehall Culture, The Massachusetts Review 35, 34 (AutumnWinter 1994): 145178; and Timothy S. Chin, Bullers and Battymen: Contesting Homophobia in Black Popular Contemporary Caribbean Literature, Callaloo 20, no. 1 (1997): 12741. For a discussion of the deep investment in heterosexual masculinity for working-class Jamaicans, see Robert Carr, On Judgements: Poverty, Sexuality-Based Violence and Human Rights in 21st Century Jamaica, The Caribbean Journal of Social Work 2 (July 2003): 7187.

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and thus the need to offer up a normal, wholesome sexuality as as proof of the regions modernity: this is what Alexander insistently excavates in that essay, and in other essays included in Pedagogies. To participate in that project actively or silently is essentially to prop up the violence of the heteronormative postcolonial state. But Alexander does not stop there: I urge queer studies and queer movements to take up questions of colonialism, racial formation, and political economy simultaneously, instead of, offering up sexual freedom alone on the broken platter of U.S. democracy (12). To take Alexander seriously is to refuse to choose between condemning the violence of homophobic lyrics and bristling at North American critiques of Caribbean homophobia (and thus defending Caribbean sovereignty) by appealing to the homophobia of small-town America or North American conservatism generally. She does both. Her critique of first world tourism, and white gay capital in particular, is searing. (One wonders what her assessment of black tourism, gay or straight, diasporic or not, would be.) Without entering any of the current arguments, on the ground as it were, in the region, Alexanders work bears on all of it. The continued silence around sexuality in public discourse and scholarship; the ways in which middle-class respectability, its critics in the middle class, religious fundamentalism, and dancehall shore each other up when it comes to a deep investment in heterosexuality; the uncritical ways in which our scholarship affirms the emancipatory projects of either nationalism or its critics without attending to the silences that Alexanders work refuses to ignore. Pedagogies places all of this in the framework of attending to the need to ask over and over, how we know what we knowand what are the spiritual and emotional resources that undergird our moral and intellectual identities, and our hopes for the future. In doing so she exposes her own personhood in the most terrifying ways: not citizens in general but people like me, are outlawed by the states fear of charting modernities that answer to the regions complex histories and memories, rather than protocols generated elsewhere. That improper I holds the Caribbean postcolonial state responsible, the first-person pronoun asserting her violent excision from and her insistent attachment to the postocolonial nation. It is an I that is usually reserved for fiction, or for creative writers speaking about their work. This insistence on the autobiographical register of the examination of the sacred and profane is what continues to stun in Pedagogies, for those who first encountered Alexander in Not Just (Any) Body.

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