In the Castle of My Skin

Identity politics is defined as a tendency of people sharing a similar cultural, religious, racial, or ethnic identity to form exclusive political alliances. These political alliances reject traditional forms of politics. Often at the heart of identity politics is an issue of trust, or, as in the case of In the Castle of My Skin, a mistrust of “otherness.” One of the first examples of identity politics arises when G. describes the relationship between the overseer and the villagers in Chapter 2. Both the overseer and his fellow villagers share the same racial and ethnic identity. The disconnect between them stems from cultural identity. The overseer is influenced by the white landlord, whose cultural allegiance is to England. England’s culture is steeped in colonialism. In an attempt to placate the landlord, the overseer abandons his old allegiance and aligns his thought process with the landlord’s:

 Low-down nigger people was a special phrase the overseers had coined. The villagers were low-down nigger people since they couldn’t bear to see one of their kind get along without feeling envy or hate. This had created a tense relationship between the overseer and the ordinary villager. Each represented for the other an image of the enemy. And the enemy was to be destroyed or placated. (26)

The animosity between the villagers and the overseer benefits the landlord because it upholds the belief that the villagers need to be policed. As G. says, “The landlord’s complaint heightened the image, gave it an edge that cut sharp and deep through every layer of the land. […] The image of the enemy, and the enemy was My People” (26-27). The divide between the villagers and the overseer also infiltrates the consciousness of the villagers, who see themselves as “other” when it comes to whites: “Like children under the threat of hell fire they accepted instinctively that the others, meaning the white, were superior, yet there was always the fear of realizing that it might be true” (27). This mutual mistrust is evident when the white inspector visits the head teacher in Chapter 3: “The inspector smiled and the head teacher smiled back, and the cat in each smiled too. it was not a reassuring smile. It was not inconceivable that the cat would spring and suck the blood of the other” (39-40).

The vicious cycle of identity politics is seen on a different scale when G., Boy Blue, and Trumper play at the beach. G. mentions how the villagers react to those with darker or lighter skin:

 The saving grace about his face was the colour of his skin. He was black too, but not as black as Boy Blue. No one was as black as Boy Blue. Trumper was what we called fair skin, or light skin, or, best of all, clear skin. Boy Blue was simply black. His blackness made us laugh. (127)

These distinctions in color not only reinforce the idea that light, or white, is better, but also that darkness, or blackness, signifies a lack of culture or education. “But though we were nearly all black, we all used the colour as a weapon against interference. If we lost our temper we would charge the other with being a black fool, or a black ass” (127).

The theme of identity politics resurfaces when Trumper explains the “Negro race” to G. in Chapter 14. Trumper’s speech echoes present-day politics when he speaks of reclaiming derogatory words and using them as positive identifiers. In describing the difference between “a Negro” and “Negro people,” Trumper says, “It make a tremendous difference not to the whites but the blacks. ’Tis the blacks who get affected by leavin’ out that word ‘man’ or ‘people.’ That’s how we learn the race” (297). Trumper’s identity politics virtually trump the traditional politics that he accuses G. of ascribing to. Trumper remarks, “He ain’t got no time to think ’bout the rights o’ Man or People or whatever you choose to call it. It’s the rights o’ the Negro, ’cause we have gone on usin’ the words the others use for us, an’ now we are a different kind o’ creature” (297). G. is shocked to learn about identity politics, and he says as much. By the end of the narrative, however, G. is ready to step into the wider world and explore the truth behind identity politics.

Education in Creighton’s Village is many things: an effective tool used by the British Empire to propagate an institutionalized, skewed dogma; an ineffective tool for cultural and historical learning; and a double-edged sword for village kids who decide to further their education. Some of the best examples of poor education are found in key passages about the village school. Lamming himself reveals that the “paradox of the school is that it perpetuates ignorance and confusion among the children” (xviii). Chapter 3 abounds with examples of ignorance, ranging from students’ confusion about slavery, freedom, and how pennies are minted to the history behind Queen Victoria (whose birthday they’re celebrating). This ignorance is exacerbated when students ask teachers who themselves either don’t know the answers or don’t care to know: “One boy said he had asked the teacher [about the queen ‘freeing’ old people], but the teacher said he didn’t know what the old people were talking about. They might have been getting dotish. Nobody ever had to make him free” (57).

When the boys turn to the topic of slaves, they’re met with the same ignorance:

 He told the teacher what the old woman had said. She was a slave. And the teacher said she was getting dotish. It was a long, long, long time ago. People talked of slaves a long time ago. It had nothing to do with the old lady. (57)

Due to skewed dogma, and because of the school’s failure to teach cultural knowledge, the students receive a subpar, systematic colonial education. This type of education aggrandizes the British Empire’s role in affairs but minimizes or eradicates the effects of colonialism. Slavery, the Caribbean’s roots, and the origins of its inhabitants are ignored. The boys are left to determine the answers to weightier questions themselves, and their farfetched conclusions reveal an ignorance compounded by their institution of learning.

Education also tends to harm those who pursue it. G.’s acceptance into high school is a prime example of this tragedy. G. admits that “Boy Blue and Bob remained in the village, but they had drifted into another world. None of them had gone to the High School which was the instrument that tore and kept us apart” (217). There’s a stark distinction between the simple village school and the high school. The villagers themselves uphold this troubling distinction: “There weren’t many [boys], and it wasn’t easy for them to cope with the two worlds. They had known the village intimately and its ways weren’t like those of the world High School represented” (219). G. admits that the importance of village life eventually diminishes as he furthers his education, and his friends mark him as different: “If I asserted myself they made it clear that I didn’t belong just as Bob, Trumper and Boy Blue later insisted that I was no longer one of the boys” (220). This paradox leaves G. confused and isolated from his friends and neighbors.