Inspired by ongoing field research of phenomena such as the relatively recent resurgence of Carib identity and traditions in Trinidad and Tobago, and the formation of the Caribbean Organization of Indigenous People (COIP), this report sets out to lay some of the empirical and theoretical bases for an examination of the reconstruction/reacquisition of indigeneity in a local-global continuum.  By the local-global continuum I mean the construction, organization and transmission of material and symbolic resources that legitimize and support indigeneity, flowing bi-directionally along that continuum.  I thus examine how local and global levels each acts as restraints, parameters and motivations that both condition and inspire the revitalization of Carib identification.  I also analyze how globalized terms, images, practices and motifs of indigeneity act as a fund of materials which are engaged and sifted through by the Caribbean Amerindians to define who they were, are, and who they are to be.  A motivating question involves unveiling the extent to which the material for an indigenous identity comes from and is negotiated out of a globalized aboriginality and a globally organized political economy of tradition.  I devote some attention to highlighting certain key events, such as the foundation and organization of the COIP; the involvement of Canada's Assembly of First Nations and the Federation of Saskatchewan Indian Nations; the role of CARIFESTA as a platform for regional Amerindian gatherings; and, the parts played by various international agencies.  In the process, one possible theoretical outcome is that the Caribbean Indigenous self-understanding is very much a "work-in-progress," and indigenous site under construction.  We may tentatively begin to envision that the network, on an abstract plane, is the Indigene.
 

BIOGRAPHY

The author is a doctoral candidate in Anthropology at the University of Adelaide, Australia.  At the time of the conference, he was engaged in field research on the Santa Rosa Carib Community of Trinidad and Tobago.

INTRODUCTION

         One area of studies of the Caribbean that continues to be relatively neglected is the current resurgence of Amerindian identities and traditions.   This neglect is especially noteworthy given that one of the most common presumptions about the defining feature of the culture and history of the modern Caribbean is the supposed erasure and absence of an Indigenous element.  Yet, the region has witnessed the formation of the Caribbean Organization of Indigenous People (COIP), and there are several established Amerindian communities in Guyana and Dominica, and Amerindian associations in Trinidad and Tobago, St. Vincent and Belize, along with a number of new Amerindian organizations involving the Tainos of Puerto Rico, Cuba and New York.  Indeed, the revival of Amerindian identities in the Caribbean seems to be a monumental new development that has spread from one end of the region to another, appearing in unexpected places such as Barbados and the U.S. Virgin Islands, and crossing all linguistic and territorial boundaries, from the Dominican Republic to Suriname, from Belize to Guyana, even though the numbers of those participating in these revivals still remains relatively small.  Moreover, there is already considerable evidence that the growth and development of Amerindian identity and traditions in one territory is significantly aided and shaped by a regional coordination of Amerindian cultural revitalization.  Major media for this phenomenon have been those of  conferences-as-gatherings, regional arts festivals, international organizations, the Internet to a limited extent, and basic personal ties and relations between individuals.
        I have been examining these developments "on the ground," and this report seeks to outline what I have learned in my field research centred on the Santa Rosa Carib Community of Arima, Trinidad.  I have conducted lateral research visits to Dominica's Carib Territory and the Assembly of First Nations in Ottawa.  Additionally, I have corresponded with individuals central to the regional organization of Amerindian communities and groups.  Also, I have examined Caribbean Amerindian sites on the Internet.   I will briefly set out some of the very basic empirical material describing these developments and propose certain possible theoretical interpretations.
        Before I go further, however, I wish to first clarify what I mean by "indigeneity," a term I use frequently in what follows.  Indigeneity, as I see it (the term itself still an emergent and often undefined one in the literature), does not involve an objective set of unchanging cultural traits and refers more to a fluid and adaptable state of being and means of defining a special type of identity, primarily.  It involves feeling, believing and seeing oneself as "indigenous."  How "indigenous" is defined depends on the place and the time concerned.  In the case of Trinidad's organized Caribs, it basically refers to ancestry, attachment to the land, and surviving aspects of a knowledge-system that predates that of other groups in the society.  The spatio-temporal feature of defining "indigenous" is crucial:  "here before others;" loving no other land; harking back to no other distant shores.  Ultimately, to know oneself as "indigenous," I would assume, involves a lack of knowledge of one's roots (except for the information provided by archaeologists), that is, not knowing how far back one's roots in a place extend, not knowing one's heritage as coming from any place other than "here."  Again in the case of Trinidad's Caribs, there is certain "cultural stuff" that is highlighted as emblematic of their "Caribness," yet, this material has itself changed over the years in meaning and importance, and it has also been (re)created.  They key would seem to be, as they say, that they "feel indigenous," besides just knowing themselves to be.  Why they should wish to feel this way, or see themselves as Indigenous, is a complex question of value, stemming from the personal and emotional to the political-economic and global.
 

THE SANTA ROSA CARIB COMMUNITY OF ARIMA, TRINIDAD: FROM THE SUPPRESSION OF INDIGENEITY

         Describing the origins and development of the Carib Community in the Borough of Arima, in Trinidad, is a complex affair which is still engaging me in the field research that I am continuing at the time of writing.  What is beyond the scope of this paper is an overview of the pre-Columbian history of Trinidad's Amerindians.  Let me start by saying that the contemporary "Santa Rosa Carib Community" (the focus of my study) is a modern phenomenon, as an organization.  Leaders of the group will thus stress that while the organizational form is in fact new, there have "always been Caribs in Arima."  What this means, specifically, is that there has been an established Carib presence in Arima since it was created as a Mission Town starting in 1759, and consolidated in 1785.  I emphasize "Carib" since, while there almost certainly would have been an Amerindian presence long before these dates, the "Carib" phenomenon is comparatively modern.  As Amerindian groups began to dwindle in size, and their economic, ecological and cultural bases eroded by colonial labour requirements, Amerindians came to be settled in mission towns (see Newson 1976).  In 1783, the Spanish governor decreed that Catholic immigrants were to be encouraged to settle in Trinidad, and, seeking to transform Trinidad into a sugar exporter after a dramatic collapse of the cocoa economy (which had incorporated the Amerindians), numerous French Caribbean planters and slaves began to enter (Brereton 1981).  Thus, in order to clear lands for the new sugar economy, and facilitate better administration and Christianization, several Amerindian tribes were relocated and congregated in missions such as Arima.  In the case of Arima, though there were groups known locally by various different names, they all came to be generically referred to as Carib and/or "Indio."   Thus was formed the demographic base of the Carib community of Arima.
         Arima's Caribs became devout Roman Catholics, especially by the end of the 1700s, already having become increasingly "hispanized" and intermarrying frequently with Spaniards.  Indeed, the majority of today's Caribs still carry Spanish surnames, and almost all Spanish Trinidadians can claim some Amerindian ancestry as well.  There is a legend, held especially among elder Caribs (and disputed by other groups) that St. Rose of Lima, the Patron Saint of the New World, noted for her charitable work among poor Amerindians and Africans in Peru, appeared in the mid-1700s before a group of Carib hunters, urging them to convert to Christianity for their own good.  The Catholic authorities also created the office of Queen of the Caribs, responsible for the maintenance and preparations of annual religious rituals (such as the Santa Rosa Festival).  There was to be no official Chief from this point onwards.  The figure of St. Rose has come to be a dominant feature both amongst Caribs and the wider Arima community as it developed over the following generations.  "Santa Rosa" has become a popular name, attached to places, facilities and organizations in and around Arima, and St. Rose is herself referred to as "the patron of Arima" (La Patrona de Arima), and is even referred to as Santa Rosa de Arima.
        The Santa Rosa Festival emerged from mission times to become possibly Trinidad's oldest festival and a major annual Catholic event that some say distinguishes Arima as possessing a unique cultural identity within Trinidad.  From its inception, the Santa Rosa Festival was prepared and conducted by the Caribs, except for the saying of mass itself of course.  One of the questions that has emerged is whether one can rightly emphasize that Caribs, that is, self-identifying Caribs conscious of themselves as such, prepared and maintained that festival, or whether one should say that Arima Catholics were responsible -- in other words, using different emphases to denote the same group of people.  So far, I have found only conflicting evidence:  elders in the Carib community, such as one daughter of a late Queen, insist that as far back as they can remember, they were always called Caribs, never Spanish or just plain Catholic.  Others instead note that many of the elders were ashamed of their Amerindian heritage, seeking to become more European, Christian, and modern, and actually preferred to be seen as Spanish, Catholic, or anything other than plain Carib.   We can expect elements of both cases to be true -- that is, a self-identifying and publicly identified Carib core that maintained the Santa Rosa Festival, while the edges of the larger Amerindian-descended population of Arima began to drift away in ever greater numbers toward the more mainstream cultural identity of Creole Trinidad.  This seems to be the case for the period from the 1790s to the 1960s, barring further historical investigation.
        By the late 1960s, the Santa Rosa Festival, both in terms of preparation and numbers of participants, was on the decline.  A young man by the name of Ricardo Bharath Hernandez, who was then living with his family in Detroit, felt a constant desire to return to Trinidad, and would do so on regular trips.  The Santa Rosa Festival had remain fixed in his mind, from his childhood days, as an event of major beauty and one that brought a closeness and familial togetherness for the residents of Arima's Calvary Hill, long a residential area for Arima's Carib descendants.  Other "proud Arimians" of the 40 to 70 years age group, that I have met also attest, without claiming to be of Carib descent, that this Festival was a happy part of their childhood of which they still have fond memories.  At any rate, on his frequent trips home, Bharath noted that this Festival was reaching miserable depths of disarray, disrepair and even apathy as he recalls it.  Whatever he managed to save from his temporary jobs in the US, he would bring back to Trinidad and spend on the upkeep of this Festival.  He then felt compelled to return to Trinidad permanently around 1973.
        Bharath will repeatedly emphasize that the origin of the revival of the Carib community that he has come to lead, was centred exclusively on the Santa Rosa Festival.  Indeed, it might be more accurate to say that what he first spearheaded was the formation of a more permanent Santa Rosa Festival committee. Bharath does not disagree with this characterization, noting that he had no knowledge whatsoever in the early 1970s of any Amerindian history, heritage or identity.  It was not, then, an Amerindian cultural revival.  While he says that he found documentaries on American Indians quite inspiring, during his stay and subsequent stays in the United States, what attracted him most is what he saw as their fervent commitment to preserving their traditions.  For his own part, Bharath was motivated solely by the drive to revive and rejuvenate a passing tradition, the Santa Rosa Festival, and nothing else at first.  With time, however, having long and detailed conversations with elders, probing the past of the people involved in the Santa Rosa Festival and the families of Calvary Hill, Bharath came to learn that so much of what he had taken for granted was in fact Amerindian in origin.  At the very least, what was long held unconsciously became the subject of sustained and conscious attention.  Many other adults in Arima that I have interviewed also attest that it was only as they neared their 40's that elder relatives divulged to them that they had Amerindian ancestry.  The reason offered for the delay in being told this is that their elders were ashamed of their heritage and wanted the young ones to be "raised proper," not as "primitive and backward people."   As Bharath came to rediscover his own Amerindian heritage, his revival efforts would become suitably amplified.

SCENES OF THE 1998 SANTA ROSA FESTIVAL
AND THE CARIBS OF ARIMA, TRINIDAD.
Photographs by M. Forte
PHOTOGRAPHS, FROM LEFT TO RIGHT:  FIRST ROW 1.  Members of the Santa Rosa Carib Community prepare flags for the Santa Rosa Festival on Aug. 23, 1998;  First Row 2.  One of seven Carib processions for the Santa Rosa Festival, this one occurring to deliver the statue of the Infant Jesus (held in the Carib centre) to the hands of the status of St. Rose in the Church.  SECOND ROW 1.  A statue of St. Rose outside the Church;  2. The Carib Queen and King of the Festival Day, leading the Carib section of the main procession from the Church through the streets of Arima on the Festival Day itself;  3.  The Carib section of the procession departing the Church for the procession through Arima  -- traditional colours for women are pink, to symbolize St. Rose, and black and white for men to signify the somber mood of what is meant to be a funerary rite for St. Rose.  THIRD ROW 1.  The front of the procession is led by the acolytes and the Parish Priest, followed by officials of the Arima Borough Council led by the Mayor, then the Caribs and then the rest of the congregation;  Third Row 2. A view of the "throne" holding the Caribs' statue of St. Rose (held inside the Church) during the procession on the Festival Day.

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         Bharath found that in order to revitalize the Santa Rosa Festival there was need for regular meetings between elders and himself as well as need for a more dynamic leader to ensure the upkeep of the Festival and to make representation to the necessary authorities in order to secure assistance for the Caribs in their work for the Festival.  Thus it was that Bharath became the new leader, the primary "culture broker" (Antoun 1989).  He found that a regular place for meetings was lacking, especially one that all could agree on or find neutral enough (there were personal likes and dislikes between certain individuals).  He thus sought land from the Church in Arima for building a meeting house.  He then also realized that it would be beneficial to have a communal residential area, especially for the numerous Carib families that had been displaced from Calvary Hill in order to make space for a Catholic secondary school -- they had been promised land in return but had yet to receive any.  In response, claiming this was the advice of attorneys, the Archbishop instructed them to form themselves into a limited liability company in order to receive the lands as formal property.  This turns out to have not been necessary under the law.  However, since Bharath developed a larger vision of a recreated Amerindian community in the passing years, and approached the state for a land grant, it became necessary any way to form a company.  In 1976, with the guidance and support of the Ministry of Culture, and another unspecified organization, Bharath registered the Santa Rosa Carib Community as a limited liability company.  Land they received form the Church was quickly occupied by squatters.  The state, in turn, could not find land suitable for the needs of the Carib group.  It was clear to Bharath that this revival and reorganization was to be a long-term affair and that he was in for "the long haul."  This process continues a quarter of a century after.
         As an organization, the official Carib Community led by Bharath began to organize aims and goals.  As I mentioned, the early to late 1970s was a period in which Bharath began to discover the Amerindian history and heritage of this group and its surviving traditions.  He was also keenly interested to re-learn lost Amerindian traditions and felt the need to rescue this history from obscurity.  Bharath perceived that the Amerindians had made important contributions to the "national foundation," and that these had to be recognized.  The 1970s in Trinidad, with the country led by one of the premiere nationalist intellectuals of the Caribbean, and the society in the grips of momentous upsurges in ethnic consciousness and pride in local history, saw numerous such grass roots revival efforts.  This too being a period of vastly increased wealth, with a boom in foreign exchange earnings in the petroleum industry, also greatly advanced local pride and confidence.  As a nation-in-the-making, searching for a sense of self and its own native roots, Bharath's efforts should have been well received, and eventually were to a certain (inexpensive) degree.
         The main demands of the organization were:  recognition as a "legitimate cultural sector," research support, and institutional support, especially funding.  Amongst the primary aims of the Carib Community were the preservation and maintenance of surviving traditions (even those traditions that, historically, were for the Amerindians and not by them:  i.e., the Santa Rosa Festival and Parang music, a Spanish "folk" music originally developed for the catechism of illiterate Amerindians).  However, a new aim also emerged:  the "retrieval" and "recovery" of traditions by the Amerindians, including the Island Carib language.  This last aim was not only pushed forward by a new and influential member in the group, one who came to teach himself to become a shaman, but was also encouraged by Bharath as an aim that should be pursued via the vehicle of "cultural interchange" between Amerindian communities of the Caribbean.  Visions of a future community also began to alter:  land is being sought to not only build a "model Amerindian village," but one that could also host visiting delegations of Caribbean Amerindians on a long-term basis.  My informants both within Trinidad's Carib Community and Dominica's Carib Territory have indicated a desire to perhaps merge the two groups, possibly by sponsoring more intimate exchanges and encouraging intermarriage.
 

DEVELOPING TRADITIONS OF A GLOBALIZED INDIGENEITY

         In the preceding I mentioned the emergence of a self-taught Shaman within the Carib Community.  This individual represents and embodies an altogether new and energetic thrust in the Carib Community, one that seems well in tune with modern developments in the global organization of aboriginal themes, issues and groups.  Cristo "Atékosang" (The Traveler) Adonis represents the dimension that consists of an aboriginal spirituality, so described, and an ecological and globalized sense of indigeneity. The tendency he represents does not concern itself with local preoccupations with "racial purity;"  nor is his tendency necessarily constrained to doing only what the ancestors were perceived as doing;  nor is it a tendency satisfied with simply reenacting a distant past, while at same time borrowing past practices, and modern perceptions of those past practices.
         Cristo, while he cherishes the traditions that have survived, is also wont to learn new things, do new things, experiment, innovate and gain new knowledge, in his words -- that is to say, to try to pick up where the ancestors left off, and thus move forward. His definition of Indigenous Peoples is not those who are racially distinct (there are a number of such individuals in Trinidad who, indeed, have very little interest in the Carib Community or in maintaining Carib traditions -- further evidence that "race" does not an aboriginal make), but rather those who are "Earth People": lovers of the earth, committed to maintaining nature's patrimony, feeling a close spiritual and emotional bond with the earth itself. As such, Cristo has spearheaded the construction of Amerindian dwellings, works with an important new Eco-tourist project, and is always keen to teach people about trees, plants and herbs and how one can make, as he says, a sustainable and sane living from being integrated with the natural environment. Cristo has also been active in reinstituting what I call a "neo-Amerindian aesthetic": favouring designs of materials inspired by various Amerindian artistic styles and developing items of clothing more adapted to the environment that also celebrate an Amerindian vision. Some may wish to call this "invention" -- I feel that this interpretation misses the point somewhat, insofar as all traditions are invented.  So I believe we thus have to look deeper and try to understand the deep emotional and spiritual undercurrents that motivate people to opt for an Amerindian ancestry.  Individuals such as Cristo also resolutely refuse to be crippled by a "victim mentality": their sense of aboriginality is enthusiastic, not mournful.  It is also a tendency strongly concerned with justice, and not just with making theatre of one's heritage.
         Cristo Adonis plays a central role in the Carib Community, one that often can complement the role played by the President, Ricardo Bharath. While Ricardo is an effective manager and broker for the Community, while also holding responsibility for the direction and execution of the Santa Rosa Festival according to the Catholic traditions adopted and upheld by the Carib Community, Cristo Adonis is more responsible for the recovery of Amerindian traditions. Cristo is thus in charge of preparing for and performing the Smoke Ceremony, in developing and highlighting herbal medicines, and in building the interpersonal cultural life of the Community. Whereas Ricardo is keen to preserve what has existed for some time now, that is, traditions for the Amerindians, Cristo is active in recovering and developing traditions of the Amerindians. These two specialists thus play a balancing role between old and new, between spiritual and economic, between local and global. It would be wrong, however, to imply that their roles do not often overlap. Ricardo too is eager to build cultural exchange relationships with Amerindians elsewhere and in maintaining those pre-Columbian Amerindian traditions that were in fact retained: the cassava culture, weaving, and building traditional homes.
         The Smoke Ceremony mentioned above (see photographs that follow), is just one example of an important ritual being developed by Trinidad's Caribs that plugs them into the world of internationalized indigeneity.  The ceremony itself, held on whichever public occasion is deemed to be important, is no longer a private ritual.  Amongst the specialists involved in performing the ceremony there is even disagreement whether it was ever practiced.  The President of the Carib Community points to the ritual as one that provides them with a religious space independent of the Catholic Church (and the Church's increasing disinterest in facilitating a special and separate Carib ethnic presence in the Santa Rosa Festival).  The Smoke Ceremony is designed as a series of offerings and invocations with the intent of praising the earth and protecting its spiritual and physical integrity, remembering the ancestors, blessing the families of the Caribs, and asking for the blessing and guidance of the "Great Spirit," who the specialists explain is merely what is otherwise called "God."  Special offerings may even be made to St. Rose herself.  Incense is burned.  Corn is offered to the fire.  A feather is used to fan smoke to the male only participants.  Tobacco is burned and a cigar is smoked by the Shaman who then puffs smoke toward the forwards of the participants.  The Shaman will also hold the heads of those he has participating and press his forehead into theirs and close his eyes.  Cassava bread and water in a calabash are spatially and symbolically central features as well, in a ceremony that thus embraces the elements of earth, air, fire and water.  The Carib participants carry special spears.  Feather headpieces are worn, chests are bare, and loincloths are donned.  Maracas are periodically shaken during the ceremony.  Necklaces made of seashells and Job's Tears beads, made by the Shaman himself, are also worn by the Carib participants.  Lastly, four stones are placed around the fire, symbolizing the guardians of the Four Corners of the universe, usually seen as taking the form of different wild animals native to Trinidad.
         To the unknowing eye, all this may seem simply local.  In actual fact, according to the relevant Carib specialists, some of the maracas are from Suriname;  the feather headpieces were gifts of visiting delegations of Amerindians from Suriname and Taïnos from New York City.  The use of the cigar, and the subsequent development of a Cigar Ceremony, are acknowledged as adaptations of what they learned from a visiting delegation of Taïnos.  (Sometimes, Christian elements seem to sneak in unconsciously, such as beginning and ending the ceremony by making the sign of the cross.)  More importantly, however, is the source of the Shaman's overall Amerindian knowledge and his larger repertoire of Amerindian and other Indigenous cultural items, which includes zemis from Puerto Rico, dream-catchers from North America, maracas from Mexico, a bull-roarer from Australia, and items of clothing from New York's resurgent Caribbean Amerindian groups.  The Shaman also reads heavily, especially books by or about modern day American Indians of the U.S. provided by a close friend who lived in the U.S. for many years and spent much time on different reservations, as well as books on medicinal and shamanic traditions and rituals in South America.
         What the Shaman and his associates involved in performing the Smoke Ceremony also mirror is a growing trend among people of mixed heritage who identify with an Amerindian ancestry to either alter their names or choose new ones (in the Carib Community there is thus already "Atékosang" and "Kapaupana") and a trend to develop traditional-looking wear, worn usually in special ceremonies, along with Amerindian-styled jewelry that is worn regularly.  This reminds me of African American and Caribbean Muslim converts who will also adopt Arabic names, wear Middle Eastern-style clothing, or those involved in "Back to Africa" movements who adopt Yoruba and Ibo names and dress in West African traditional wear.  This can, naturally, be viewed on different levels;  my own tendency is to regard these manifestations as attempts to make clear and to make public a strong and radical identification with a cultural tradition or perceived culture area, often justified by the participants as a means of regaining an "evolutionary" step that was bypassed or negated by colonialism.  On the other hand, cultural politics in societies such as Trinidad tend to be "pragmatic," that is, both comparative and competitive between ethnic individuals and groups, so much so that the backward looking historical justification presented in the last sentence may actually prove to be of little explanatory value.
         What these various items represent, in actual practice, is what I term the local-global continuum of indigeneity.  It is not merely a question of simple importation and copying.  Rather, heads come together and confer, discuss each other's rituals and openly say that they will adopt and adapt this or that element if "deep inside" they believe it to be valid.  The main framework for this "cultural interchange," as my informants name it, consists of international, regional and local Indigenous gatherings that members of the Carib Community have participated in, and that I shall detail momentarily.

         The sources of the development of this ritual are in fact manifold.  There is no denying that some of the elements in fact derive from the memories of elders in Arima's Carib Community, who recall such practices from their childhood.  Some go further and suspect that there is "more to the mortar than the pestle":  many Trinidadian observers of the Smoke Ceremony are astounded by how it is virtually identical in form to ceremonies of the Shango/Orisha faith in Trinidad, which is of Yoruba origin.  In fact, over the decades and centuries, Trinidad has indeed experienced many flows between cultural practices and this is not as "shocking" as it may seem, to the extent that people's observations of these two groups' ceremonies are believed to be accurate.  Thirdly, some of the development of the Smoke ritual is owing to the Shaman's own admitted attempts to fill in gaps and to coherently organize what knowledge he did receive via the memories of elders (most members of the Carib Community, even those in the 60-70 age group will attest to never having seen a Smoke Ceremony as children and that no Shaman preceded Cristo Adonis).  Fourth, in an attempt to further fill in gaps, the Shaman, like others in the Carib Community, adheres to the principle of "cultural interchange" between Amerindian groups.  This means that all surviving Amerindian cultural traits and practices spread across the Caribbean Basin are potentially those that once pertained to the Arima Carib's ancestors, thus the recovery of indigenous practices can be achieved by assuming the interchangeability of the various groups and thus the validity of each other's traditions.  To put it crudely, the principle at work here is that:  "If you do something I do not do, it is probably something I should do too, because my ancestors probably did it, even though it only continued in the territory you live in."  Where matters become more dense and complicated is in discovering that some of the elements and practices of certain Caribbean Amerindian groups, besides the Arima Caribs, are not necessarily the product of straight-line trait survival but also of equivalent and parallel processes of "filling in the gaps."
         This last paragraph may have the unfortunate effect of deceiving the reader into believing that what is being addressed here is authenticity, or disputing the "true" Indigenous nature of the Smoke Ceremony.  That is far from the concern here.  What is of greater relevance here, however, is authentication and validation -- that is, processes by which things are believed to be appropriate, valid and valuable.  The modern and growing inter-Amerindian network in the Caribbean helps to underscore the perceived authenticity and validity of these newly redeveloped traditions, especially insofar as they are embraced by other Amerindian participants attending from neighbouring territories.  Indeed, with reference to the Smoke Ceremony in particular, I have already examined well over a dozen articles in Trinidad's major daily newspapers over the last three years where correspondents unanimously hail the Smoke Ceremony as "a surviving ancient ritual," in its entirety.  What I am not prepared to say here is whether this alone was the major intention of the Shaman or of the Carib Community as a whole.  Certainly "recognition" is a major aim of the group.  I also notice a correspondence between greater media attention to the Shaman and to his Smoke Ceremony and the growing interest by political and corporate figures in the activities and the "future" of the Carib Community.  Indeed, the point has been reached where even Trinidad's central tourism promotion agency, TIDCO (the Tourism and Industrial Development Corporation),  has cast the Santa Rosa Festival itself as an Amerindian event that honours the Rosa of Lima as the first Amerindian saint to be canonized by the Church.  This is advertised as a tourist attraction by the state.  However, St. Rose was in fact born of Spanish immigrant parents and this has been the most generally undisputed account -- not even the Carib Community claims that St. Rose is Amerindian.  Given these and a great many more details I cannot outline here, I believe that the Carib Community's identity as Amerindian has been bolstered over the years to the extent that very few can be heard questioning their identity.  Indeed, more often the question seems to centre on what are the most appropriate things the state should do to address the special needs and demands that stem from such a special identity, a surviving and authentic Indigenous entity, given the national pattern of rewarding ethnic groups on the basis of not just their material but also symbolic importance to the "national foundation" ("Where every creed and race find an equal place," are the words of the national anthem of Trinidad & Tobago).
         Yet, trying to interpret the meaning and purpose of such a ritual and its elements is a much harder task.  My own preliminary conclusion is that it represents an attempt at various things:

1. To get into "the spirit" and to learn to literally love the land and one's roots.  Participants attest to experiencing altered states of consciousness during the Smoke Ceremony (without the use of hallucinogenic substances like Amerindian rituals in other countries)
2. To find an independent religious ritual, free from the constant bargaining and friction that marks every year's Carib preparations for the Santa Rosa Festival, in a parish consisting overwhelmingly of non-Caribs.  Interestingly, the parish priest and the Carib Shaman in particular have had a warm and friendly relationship:  the priest was made into an Honorary Carib by the Shaman and the priest has also supplied Indigenous items from other countries to the Shaman.  One possible explanation is that both the Catholic priest and the Shaman share a disinterest in continuing the organized Carib participation in a Catholic feast such as the Santa Rosa Festival, one that is not actually syncretic but is contested between the Caribs and the Catholic Church as a piece of cultural property.  A more grim explanation some of my informants have offered is that the parish priest is also attempting to play divide and rule by cultivating friendly relations with the Shaman while maintaining coldness and distance with the Carib President.
3. To develop, simply put, more Indigenous "cultural stuff" that helps to further mark the identity of the group as Carib. And,
4. To have an operational platform for further integrating and exchanging with other Amerindians from neighbouring countries and from more distant places.
 
 

THE NEW INDIGENEITY AND ITS GLOBAL ELEMENTS:  SELECT PICTURES

Photographs by M. Forte

PHOTOGRAPHS, FROM LEFT TO RIGHT:  FIRST ROW, Aboriginal posters from Australia and one from a Taïno organization based in New York with branches in Cuba and Puerto Rico.  SECOND ROW 1. Daniel "Yaconax" Rivera (Taïno, New York), Chris Sara (Aborigine, Queensland, Australia), and Chief Cibanacan (Taïno, New York) photographed together by a participant in a November 1997 Conference held at the Santa Rosa Carib Community in Arima, Trinidad (photograph courtesy of the Carib Community);  2.  A close-up of the headpiece worn by a Carib Cristo Atékosang Adonis;  3.  A close-up of Carib Shaman Cristo Atékosang Adonis during a Smoke Ceremony.  THIRD ROW  1. One of the Shaman's zemis, 2. Another zemi in the meeting hut of the Shaman;  3. A Dream Catcher from the U.S.;  4. Another Dream Catcher from the US, hanging from a beam in the Shaman's meeting hut outside his home on Calvary Hill, Arima.  FOURTH ROW  1.  At centre, Shaman Cristo Atékosang Adonis flanked by Carib President Ricardo Bharath at the start of a Smoke Ceremony held at Calvary Hill View Park in Arima on 01 August, 1998, to mark the start of the month of the Santa Rosa Festival in Arima.  However that same date is officially African Emancipation Day, and in the photo you see the back of an Orisha guest invited to partake and add to the Carib Smoke Ceremony;  2.  Shaman Adonis blows a conch shell;  his "wayuco" (loincloth), woven from him and on which he painted his own design, features a hand that symbolizes life;  3.  The son of the Shaman shakes a maracas from Mexico, a gift from the Roman Catholic parish priest in Arima.

TOWARDS A NEW DIASPORA:  LANDMARKS IN TRINIDAD'S INSERTION INTO A DEVELOPING INTER-AMERINDIAN NETWORK.

         In 1992, the Santa Rosa Carib Community became a member of the Caribbean Organization of Indigenous People which was itself formed in 1988, following a 1987 Caribbean conference organized by Canadian Indigenous and non-governmental organizations.  The platform for the formal recognition of Trinidad's Caribs by the other members of COIP was Trinidad's hosting of the 1992 Caribbean Festival of the Arts (CARIFESTA), a major event organized by the states of the Caribbean Basin that in the year of the Columbian Quincentenary focused on Amerindian cultural performances.  Arima, and its Santa Rosa Carib Community, was host to and base for all the Amerindian delegations from Belize, Dominica, St. Vincent, Guyana, Suriname and Venezuela.  Trinidad's ruling party at the time, the People's National Movement (PNM), was determined to make Arima the focus for such events.  The President of the Santa Rosa Carib Community is also a member of the PNM.  In 1993 the Ministry of Culture assisted the Carib Community in hosting what was termed "The Second Gathering," where many of the same Amerindian groups were invited back to Arima.  In that same period, the President of the Carib Community, by his own admission benefiting from the spotlight, successfully ran for a seat on the Arima Borough Council.  By the end of The Second Gathering, in August of 1993, the Carib Community was officially praised and awarded for "its demonstrated commitment to the struggles of Indigenous People worldwide," as worded by the Director of Culture, Lester Efebo Wilkinson, in a plaque now on display in the Carib Community Centre.  At the end of the same month, the Santa Rosa Carib Community received the National Award of the Chaconia Silver Medal for Culture and Community Service, bestowed by the President of the Republic of Trinidad and Tobago.  In 1995, a second CARIFESTA was held in Trinidad, again with Amerindian delegations based in Arima, although on a somewhat smaller scale.  In May of 1997, the Arima Caribs hosted a visiting delegation from Dominica's Carib Territory, arriving as a result of the landmark "Gli-Gli Carib Canoe Project" that involved the building of a large Carib canoe that was then sailed down the Caribbean islands and into the Orinoco River in an attempt to symbolically relink the region's Amerindian communities by traditional Carib means.  The Gli-Gli received much attention in the regional media, including Trinidad's (for more information, see the websites located at:
http://www.delphis.dm/gligli/leg2.htm). In November of 1997, a private organization in Trinidad, Harmony in Diversity, sponsored a much publicized international gathering of Indigenous representatives in the Carib Community Centre in Arima, with delegates from as far away as Australia (see photograph shown above).  The Caribs' Smoke Ceremony, with Taïno participation, received major newspaper headlines.
         These patterns of networking and exchange go much deeper than may appear in the last paragraph.  In fact, a number of seemingly out-of-place Canadian First Nations organizations had entered the Caribbean in search of links and contacts, especially as 1992 drew near.  One group, the Federation of Saskatchewan Indian Nations (FSIN -- see their website at: http://www.fsin.com/index.html), sent representatives to the Eastern Caribbean in order to meet and organize with any surviving communities of Amerindians.  The result of their trip was their sponsorship of the 1987 conference of Caribbean Indigenous People, with the aim of seeking "greater recognition and development" (see Palacio 1992).  In Trinidad's case, where the Arima Caribs are concerned, the work of the FSIN had a direct impact as the Carib Community's "Fiesta Queen"/Youth Representative was awarded a one-year scholarship to study Administration and Management of Amerindian Communities at the Federated Indian College in Regina, Saskatchewan (http://www.sifc.edu/home.html).  There she studied computer science, business, marketing, Canadian Amerindian studies, and history.  The business and marketing courses were not, as she explained to me, only from an Indigenous perspective or just looking at the successful business ventures of First Nations communities in North America, but also involved an examination of the strategies and organization of corporate giants such as Coca-Cola.  She was also only one of several Caribbean Amerindian students to study there in the 1992-1993 academic year, which included students from Dominica (whom I have also met), Guyana, St. Vincent and Belize.  Still acting as the Arima Carib's Youth Representative, she cites this experience as a momentous one in her life.  It has also aided her going into business for herself insofar as she owns and manages a beauty salon in the capital, Port of Spain.  She would very much prefer, however, to help the Carib Community establish its own businesses as she feels this will help them attract more youths into the group.
         The President of the Santa Rosa Carib Community, for his part, often relates how his participation (along with the Youth Representative) at a November 1991 conference in Ottawa, Canada, hosted by the Assembly of First Nations in cooperation with the World Council of Indigenous Peoples and with hundreds of delegates from across South America, North America and the Caribbean, exposed him to groups with similar struggles and concerns.  For him, as he explains, this was an event of great exposure, inspiration and confidence building.  He is often tempted to "give up," as he says, but events such as these help to renew his resolve to continue developing and strengthening the Carib Community.  The knowledge of being part of a global network of friends and comrades in the "Indigenous struggle" is thus a key source of inspiration and motivation underlying the survival and development of the modern Santa Rosa Carib Community, and we should be careful not to minimize the emotive and intellectual import of such a diaspora-like phenomenon.
         As mentioned in connection with CARIFESTA in 1992 and 1995, the Santa Rosa Carib Community has been host to numerous Amerindian delegations from across the Caribbean Basin and even Peru, Chile and Venezuela.  The Carib Community has also received many visits outside of these two events.  My research in Dominica, designed to track down some of these connections, aided by the provision of names and contacts from the Arima Caribs, revealed a number that not even the Arima Caribs had kept track of:  no less than 37 Dominica Caribs (more people than are in the active core of the Santa Rosa Carib Community) visited Trinidad, on no less than 10 separate visits.  I am excluding from these figures the fact that a number of these traveled to Arima on more than one occasion.  Many of these visits were "cultural interchange" visits designed to promote the exchange of Amerindian traditions, and could last two weeks or more.  In the case of a visiting delegation of Guyanese Caribs, the stay lasted eight weeks and focused on weaving techniques.  I also discovered, in the case of Dominica's Caribs, that very strong emotional bonds with their Trinidadian counterparts had developed.  I was, in fact, quite overwhelmed by the depth and intensity of their expressions of fraternal love for the Arima Caribs they came to know.  They also displayed familiar recollections of not only the more prominent figures in the Arima Carib Community, but also knew names of all the children, names of drivers, etc.
         On the other hand, I am aware of a certain nagging disparity underlying these exchange visits.  My Arima Carib informants most often stress how much they can learn, and have learned, in terms of cultural traditions and Amerindian practices, from their visitors.  They will also routinely emphasize that such exchanges are vital to them in terms of helping them to become "stronger."  One informant explained that since Arima's Caribs began to receive Amerindian visitors, they have been "less easily dismissed by the authorities," and have become more "visible and respected in the society."  My same Carib informants in Arima will also swear that should such exchanges end, they could suffer greatly.  Yet, for the most part, they are the recipients of exchange visits, seemingly unable to muster the financial resources of their Caribbean counterparts that would allow for an Arima Carib delegation to visit these other islands.  (It is true, however, that the President visited Guyana by himself, and the Youth Representative visited Dominica by herself).  Indeed, my Dominica Carib informants were most emphatic that they were ceasing any further visits to Trinidad until they received a visit from the Arima Caribs.  This is one side of the disparity.
         The second side of the disparity is more serious.  While my Arima Carib informants will testify that they have learned much from their Caribbean Amerindian visitor delegations, my Dominica Carib informants were generally unable to say the same about how much they learned from the Arima Caribs.  Indeed, while the Arima Caribs will also say that they would suffer greatly from any loss of contact and exchange with their Caribbean Amerindian counterparts, the Dominica Caribs I interviewed all felt that they would not suffer in any appreciable way from loss of contact and exchange with the Arima Caribs, aside from an emotional sense of loss.
         Insofar as the current Chief of the Dominica Carib Territory is more interested in cultivating ties, exchange and even trade relations with wealthy American Indian groups in the United States, and seeking recognition from states such as New Jersey, matters do not bode well for inter-Amerindian ties in the Caribbean.  Indeed, the Dominica Chief wondered aloud as to what could be gained, economically and in terms of development, from deepening ties with Trinidad compared to deepening ties with US Indian organizations.  This does not mean, however, that the views of the current Dominica Carib Chief are representative of the views of all residents of the Carib Territory.  In fact, when I relayed this view to my informants, as if it were my own, they often both frowned upon and even ridiculed this notion (noting that formal trade ties between the Dominica Caribs and American Indians would be excessively constrained by a whole host of laws and regulations they could not be aware of).
         It is also the view of some in the Carib Territory that what makes strength is numbers, and thus any loss of ties with groups such as the Arima Caribs is bound to affect them in Dominica itself and worldwide.  The argument made here is that it is always best to let one's government know that other ears and other eyes outside are always watching.  Furthermore, it is always best to let international agencies know that the Dominica Caribs are part of an alliance, a network, a transnational movement, that they are thus "not alone."  Amongst those who think this way in the Carib Territory are some who feel the ultimate aim of exchanges in the Caribbean should be genetic and emotional exchange -- meaning full intermarriage between Caribs of Dominica and Trinidad, with mutual settlement of each other's territories.  In order to achieve this, they argue, they must first start to tackle the numerous immigration and work permit laws that constrain the free flow of people within the Caribbean.  Given that the technocrats and heads of state leading the Caribbean Community and Common Market (CARICOM) also proclaim that the free flow of people and skills throughout the Caribbean is one of their noblest objectives for deepening regional integration, Caribbean Amerindians would seem to have a moral "ace" in their hands -- indeed, it is becoming increasingly common to hear non-Amerindian Caribbean speakers on the topic of the free movement of people in the Caribbean, begin their speeches by harking back to precolonial days when the Caribbean was one unified zone where Amerindians freely traveled between and lived in neighbouring territories.

RACE AND THE DEFINITION OF CARIBBEAN AMERINDIAN SPACE.

         To begin with the societies of the Commonwealth Caribbean continue to reproduce racial ideas and practices in everyday life.  In societies such as Trinidad and Tobago, Guyana, and Dominica, three that I mention only because they will be at the focus of what follows, it almost seems as if today more than ever racism is paramount in social behaviours and political life.  As unpleasant a topic as this is, it would be wrong to deny the fact that many Amerindians involved in both national and regional organizations also harbour seriously racialized notions of identity and culture.  In other words, there is an enduring legacy of defining a "true" or "pure" Amerindian in racial terms, that is, in terms of phenotype, or put more simply, how really Amerindian one looks.  I agree with those among my informants who argue that such tendencies, in turn, threaten to disrupt both ongoing and future attempts at regionally organizing Amerindian communities.
         We must also recognize the fact that, by the nineteenth century, a turn took place in British colonial relations with the few surviving remnants of Amerindian communities in the Caribbean.  Whether in the form of lands, or location in a particular place, the Amerindian groups of Trinidad, Dominica and Guyana all owe their special "place" to colonial arrangements.  These colonial arrangements were motivated by "romantic primitivism," a new-found appreciation for the few remaining "pure" descendants of once noble and excitingly savage warrior tribes.  As a result, Amerindians' position in the colonial racial hierarchy became entrenched, and they thus came to be classified as racially superior to Africans and East Indians, indeed, almost "white."  As one respondent once told me:  "I'm not a nigger.  I'm not a coolie!  I'm a Carib."  Hence a privileged classification as "not nigger, not coolie."
         Others (see Hulme and Whitehead 1992 and Layng 1983) have already very well presented the relevant details of the history of Dominica's Carib Territory.  We also have access to the actual colonial reports produced by the British Governor of Dominica, Henry Hesketh Bell, in favour of creating a special reserve for Caribs where they were to be segregated from the society of which they had already become a part, and mandated the creation of a chief to be paid by the government.  The effort was constructed as part preservation, part revival, part creation, and part racial segregation (see Bell [1899]1992, [1902]1992).  Apparently so few see the colonial assumptions at work in his actions to the extent that a prominent Internet service in Dominica maintains a special page devoted to one of Hesketh Bell's reports on the Caribs (see: http://www.delphis.dm/caribs2.htm).
         During a recent research trip to Dominica I quickly encountered the ongoing racial worldview adopted by the Caribs toward not only their African descended neighbours but also toward those "mixed" with African within the Carib Territory itself.  It is commonplace for more visitors to the Carib Territory than myself alone, to be met with explanations of who is "pure blood," who is "half blood, " and who is "quarter blood," echoing the detailed colour hierarchy developed on slave plantations under colonialism.  One can very easily meet even prominent individuals in the Carib Territory who not only openly proclaim their disdain for "blacks" in Dominica as a whole, but who also view themselves as superior to their own Carib neighbours who show "black" features more than anything else.  Indeed, I also encountered a still vigorous debate among leading members of the Carib Territory over the sensitive topic of "what is a real Carib," with some finding themselves publicly attacked for having said to the media that, "there are no real Caribs today in Dominica," a statement that both seeks to stem racial purist doctrines while also, ironically, reproducing them.  In Dominica's case, the worry of some is that there will be those within the Territory who are basically "black" but who will say they are "Carib" in order to receive land within the Territory.  As the Chief explained to me in an interview, people claim to be Carib in order "to get a piece of the economic pie," especially as the Carib Territory is quickly becoming a major cornerstone attraction in Dominica's tourist promotion efforts.
         This brief sketch would not be very relevant here if these notions and attitudes did not in fact spill over into the regional Amerindian integration process.  Among some of my Dominica Carib informants, and I do not suggest that this is the predominant view in the Carib Territory, there were expressions of concern in becoming too involved with Caribs in other islands that were so heavily mixed with "black blood."  They also did not wish to lend any credibility or legitimacy to mostly "black self-styled Amerindians" and their organizations.  Understanding that in Dominica the main racial divide is between Africans and Caribs, it is then not too surprising that those Dominica Caribs who travelled to Trinidad and encountered members of the Carib Community who are in fact descended of East Indian mixed parents, found that they had "such Amerindian faces."   That is to say, they looked so Amerindian by virtue of not looking very black.  Again, I cannot say that this is the predominant view among Dominica Caribs.
         The case of Arima, Trinidad, and its Caribs is not entirely different from that of Dominica, insofar as a special "reserve" of sorts was established in the form of a Mission town.  The difference with a Mission is that it can be (and was) easily dismantled without anyone suggesting that Amerindians would lose their rights as a lost, having been placed their as wards and not owners.  What is most similar to the Dominica case, perhaps even more so in Trinidad's case, is the prevalence of paternalistically sympathetic British Governors seemingly possessed by notions of the "noble savage."  Governors Woodford and Harris of the nineteenth century come to mind readily (see Leahy 1980), and Governor Hollis in the middle of our own century, for having patronized the Santa Rosa Festival, and for having provided gifts to the Caribs of Arima and establishing cordial relations with their various Queens.  Sir Ralph Woodford, for one, was responsible for having consolidated Arima as an Amerindian population centre, requiring that all Amerindian descendants working outside Arima be returned to Arima, and calling for a census of all Arimians who "appeared" to be "pure blooded" Caribs (Leahy 1980).  He also put a British military officer in charge of the Mission, a Captain William Wright who appears in the Baptismal Registers of the early half of the 1800s as godfather to some children listed as "Indio" (Amerindian), according to my ongoing archival research in the Santa Rosa Church of Arima.  The cannon that is ritually blasted by Regiment troops for the Caribs during the Santa Rosa Festival, symbolizing "the voice of Hyarima" (their last great chief), was itself a gift by one of these British Governors and is today a prominent landmark in Arima.
         While I would not exclaim that Arima's Caribs are "racist," I do notice that mainstream racial assumptions prevalent in Trinidad are echoed within the Carib Community.  There is, to a certain extent, admiration within the group for those who "look like pure blooded Carib," accompanied often by explanations (even apologies) about how one might not look very Carib, "because I mix."  Indeed, I have been offered many such statements, even though I was not seeking such information, concerning how, "we never really say that we are pure Amerindian," or, "we know that we are of mixed race, but we say it is not our fault."  I have enough reason to believe, therefore, that "racial purity" is a matter for concern among many members of the Santa Rosa Carib Community (and other members also reject it as a vain concern).  I have also encountered a certain subdued friction between those members of mostly East Indian descent versus those members of mostly African descent.  In Trinidad, the major racial divide is between Africans and East Indians.  In general terms, in competitive and conflicting assertions of bounded differences, between antagonistic ethnic groups in the wider society, "purity" becomes established as an important emblem of "fully" and "truly" belonging to one group more than another and thus presumably allowing one to feel that his/her position in a social hierarchy is thus preserved or enhanced.  Assertions of purity can also enhance one's position within a group and within a wider social framework especially if one is a member of a "special" and "quasi extinct" group heralded in nationalist historiography as an "ancestor to the nation" -- as is the case of the Caribs in Trinidad.  It is thus not too surprising that recently we find a very elderly Carib lady in Arima, celebrating her 102nd birthday in 1998, stating:  "When I dead, all Carib done" (meaning she is the last "pure blood Carib").  Indeed, certain members of the Carib Community, operating on its outer fringes, will demand that the President of the Community pay them more tribute (often expressed in monetary terms) because they have special access to all the "pure blood Caribs" living around and away from Arima, and could bring in the "pure bloods" to join and thus enhance the current Carib Community.
         Again, this description alone would not be relevant to this paper's topic if it did not have implications for how the Santa Rosa Carib Community enters into and negotiates linkages and exchanges with Amerindian groups in other Caribbean territories.  My knowledge, of what kind of impact such feelings and views could have, began with one of my informants telling me why they were upset with a visiting delegation of Guyanese Amerindians.  According to this informant, when the Guyanese delegates thought they could not be heard by the informant in question, they made a derogatory remark along the lines of:  "Why is that nigger in this group anyway?"  Such experiences have served to quietly divide members along the lines of those favouring greater relations with the more "black" Amerindian organizations of the region (such as the Tainos of New York or the Caribs of St. Vincent and Dominica) who do not use race as the main marker of their cultural identity, versus those favouring greater relations with Amerindians from the "pure areas" such as the Orinoco in Venezuela or the hinterlands of Guyana.  (The former group also happens to be that most critical of racialized notions of indigeneity, one searching for more truly cultural practices of indigeneity, and one quick to point out that the "most pure looking Caribs" in Trinidad never admit to being Carib, shun relations with Caribs organized as Caribs, thus proving their thesis that race alone does not an aboriginal make.)  Sometimes, when observing everyday life "on the ground," we discover how seemingly minor or petty occurrences can occasion major ideological shifts affecting more global behaviour, which added to other evidence is leading me to believe that many members of the Amerindian organizations of the Caribbean are caught in the hinges of thinking locally and acting globally.
         Notions of "racial purity" in practice do have a place in defining and shaping actual working relations and emotive bonds among and between groups involved in the regionally organized revival of indigeneity.  In general terms, this becomes especially evident when we discover that in both Dominica and Trinidad the common answer to the question of, "Where are the pure Amerindians?" is "In the Orinoco River Delta."  The assumption here is that Amerindians in other parts are themselves not "mixed," an assumption which, given half a millennium of contacts, exchanges, migrations and colonialism, is doubtful to survive closer scrutiny.  Where the "pure Amerindians" exist in other times and other places (or in places seen as belonging to other times), this can only distort current prescriptions for relations and representations of present Amerindian groups distant from both the past and the "pure zones."  Why is "purity" a continuing concern?  I am not sure I have all the answers, or the best answers, to offer here, but I suspect that where groups see themselves as lacking in "authentic Amerindian cultural stuff," the main marker of their specialness can be that of how unique and different they look.  Between groups of Amerindians in the Caribbean, there may even be a desire for a monopoly of Amerindian identity, such as one group wishing to cast itself to the whole world (and the international tourist market) as the "last surviving group of true Amerindians in the Caribbean."

AGAINST PURITY:  TOWARDS A NEW INDIGENOUS REALITY?

        At a recent conference of the Caribbean Organization of Indigenous People (COIP), held in Dominica in September of 1996, notions of what exchange relations were acceptable to what kind of  "pure" or "mixed" Indigenous people, surfaced as a major point of contention, according to some of my Dominica Carib informants.  These same informants explained that when these tensions emerged into the open, they virtually caused a total breakdown of COIP.  The only reason I report this is because I received this information form a number of informants, all describing the matter in the same manner, all having been participants in the conference, and all having somewhat prominent positions in the Dominica Carib Territory with their own experience in building networks of Caribbean Amerindian groups.  The major divide that seemed to have emerged was between Belize with St. Vincent (perceived as having Amerindians that are too black) and the purist faction of Dominica itself with Guyana as a partner.  I must also report that my informants were all uniformly alarmed and disturbed by the situation.
         Thus, what we may expect to happen, as it is already being discussed in some quarters, is a substitute sub organization of COIP emerging, one that may seek some "divorce" from COIP itself, as one of my informants worded it.  Such an organization would have two defining features:  it would be for islands only -- based on the premise that mainland problems are different from island problems where Indigenous groups are concerned; and, two, it would embrace only St. Vincent, Dominica and Trinidad.  Some of my Trinidad Carib informants were themselves rather receptive to this idea.  Unfortunately, I have no knowledge as to whether or not it is an idea even being discussed in St. Vincent.  Interestingly, all three territories and their Carib groups have plans or actual work underway to build "Carib Indian Model Villages," designed in varying degrees of determined appeal to tourists.  The suggestion I have met is that the three groups' model villages could be integrated, technical assistance shared between them, and the three marketed together as a vacation package for the "island hoppers."
 

CONCLUSION

         This paper, presented mostly as a firsthand research report, still leaves certain difficult theoretical questions unresolved, at least where this topic is concerned.  First, when speaking of a local-global continuum (which, by definition, does not exclude national or regional) in the development of indigeneity, are cultural flows along the continuum balanced and equal?  What determines the need and movement of the cultural flows to begin with?  Secondly, when speaking of global and local levels each acting as restraints and parameters that condition and inspire, constrain and enable (to use Giddens 1984) the development of indigeneity -- which is more prominent, the global or the local?  Furthermore, what has more weight on cultural practice, those forces that constrain or those forces that enable?  Thirdly, to what extent can we really speak of a "globalized aboriginality"?  Which internationalized motifs and practices emblematic of indigeneity seem the most prominent and why?  Thus far, this paper has provided mostly empirical information that can be used to tackle these difficult sociological questions, which is not a bad start in my view.  However, in an attempt to move into more theoretical future versions of this work, I would like to provide some of my own preliminary "answers" to these questions, by way of conclusion.
         First, while I have actually seen the adaptation of items imported from North American Indian groups into the Caribbean, I cannot say that I have seen the reverse happen and have as great an impact.  Furthermore, while North American Indian organizations include those that own casinos, or important and internationally prominent political organizations such as Canada's Assembly of First Nations, and others that have tertiary educational institutions attached to them and with the periodic ability to offer international scholarships, I do not see Caribbean Amerindian groups having anywhere near as prominent a voice or muscle as their North American friends have.  In other words, the so-called "development gap" and "centre-periphery relations" pertaining to the interstate system are echoed just as much between Indigenous people in the North American core and the Caribbean (semi)periphery.  What I doubt can be said, at present, is that the nature of these centre-periphery structured relations is an exploitative one, that is, following a Wallersteinian description of an axial division of labour serving to drain capital from the periphery and accumulating it in the core.  Indeed, if anything, we see at present that North American Indian cultural capital is invested in the Caribbean, without any significant returns, in my estimation.  I still think that it is true to say that where the value of Indigenous cultural capital is concerned, on a global plane, most of the "value added" work still occurs in the core.
         As to the second batch of questions, my own tendency is to regard globally diffused patterns and processes as having greater weight than whatever local conditions can muster.  It is especially true in the case of the Caribbean that what is from a geographically defined outside world, continues to have overwhelming prominence in what are geographically defined as local/Caribbean societies.  In this paper, we have seen details presented that touch on migration, travel, Colonialism, racism, Roman Catholicism, the nation-state, money, and tourism.  I think that this paper has said enough about how central and determining these forces have been in creating the shape, emergence and possibilities for a regionally orchestrated revival of Caribbean indigeneity.  As to whether these forces act more to constrain or enable the development of Caribbean indigeneity is a difficult question that, for now, I do not think I can resolve satisfactorily one way or another.
         Lastly, I do believe that we can see the important beginnings of a globalized aboriginality.  In sketchy terms here, these can be witnessed in the popular association of Indigenous Peoples with environmental struggles worldwide;  the growth of major international organizations of Indigenous Peoples;  the capacity and ability of local Indigenous movements to enter international fora and make their cases the subject of world media attention;  the development and diffusion of Indigenous media;  the discussion and debate of issues and concerns of Indigenous Peoples in the most prominent inter-state bodies such as the United Nations and the Organization of American States;  the incorporation of Indigenous perspectives and concerns in important international documents such as the Rio Declaration and the International Labour Organization's Convention No. 169;  the proclamations of the UN International Day, International Year and International Decade for the World's Indigenous People;  International Indigenous conferences and congresses -- and the list could be even longer.  Therefore, in a most preliminary fashion, I can offer the one observation and one interpretation.  One observation is that, stemming from the foregoing, the most important motifs and practices of a globalized aboriginality are those associated with protecting the environment, those signifying a spiritual attachment to land, and those denoting attachment to ancestors and to place.  One interpretation, that will surely be disputed by the participants themselves, is that Caribbean aboriginals are still largely peripheral to the development of these phenomena and continue to act as takers of metropolitan trends rather than makers of new global trends.

1.          I say this "neglect" is relative.  This is not meant to exclude the scholarly writings of activist academics of Caribbean Amerindian descent who have been involved in developing some of the phenomena I discuss here, the two most prominent being José Barriero at Cornell University and Joseph Palacio (1992) at the University of the West Indies college in Belize.
2.          I too have been a participant in extending this phenomena by constructing three websites devoted to these and other topics relating to Trinidad's Carib Community, including the first ever official website for Trinidad's Carib Community.  Those who are interested may wish to see the following sites: http://members.theglobe.com/mcforte/default.html  (A University of Adelaide Anthropological Field Project, The Trinidad Caribs Project Part 2)
http://www.angelfire.com/ma/maxforte/index.html  (The First Nations of Trinidad and Tobago);  http://members.tripod.com/~SRCC1CaribCommunity/index.html (official website of the Santa Rosa Carib Community).  A fourth website that I produced is an attempt to gather in one place all the Amerindian communities and resources on the Internet, in what I have named the "Caribbean Amerindian Centrelink" which can be accessed at: http://www.centrelink.org/index.html.
3.          These generic labels I have observed in the Baptismal Registers of the Santa Rosa de Arima Roman Catholic Church, were the "race" of those baptized was regularly indicated until the late 1800s.
4.          Anthropologists refer to this abandonment of what are perceived to be the stock elements of one's heritage in favour of what are perceived as the stock elements of a "modern" culture as the "inversion of tradition" (see Thomas 1992).
5.          This statement is based on preliminary results of an ongoing survey I am conducting with people either in or from Arima, who know themselves to be of Amerindian descent and came to know of this as adults, and who are proud of this heritage even though they may have no contact whatever with the organized Santa Rosa Carib Community.
6.          There is a lengthy literature and extensive series of debates in anthropology concerning the invention of traditions or culture invention (see, for example, Hanson 1989 and Handler and Linnekin 1984).  These debates are not central to this paper, nor really to my research as a whole.  My lead research question is not so much "how Carib are the Caribs?"  nor is it "are the Caribs Carib?" but consists rather of the following two companion questions:  Why are there still people calling themselves Carib today?  And secondly, what is it "worth" to be a Carib?  The focus on invention merely leads to look, always in frustration, for the realm of the authentic;  what it does not tell us is why things are invented and why some inventions take hold and others do not.  I am presently trying to explain, therefore, how these neo-Amerindian traditions developed by Cristo Adonis are in fact taking hold.
7.          For a more detailed explanation of approaches to ethnicity focusing on pragmatism -- what anthropologists call the "interest group" and "instrumentalist" approaches to ethnicity -- the reader is encouraged to read Cohen (1969) and Williams (1989).

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