Earlier on today (June 4), I tried to drop-in to the former “home”, however, much to my despair, I was to encounter the “king.” “Sit down son”… I felt obliged. I sensed something coming. After some routine small-talk, it erupted…again. Obviously, the previous token apology was irrelevant; it clearly wasn’t accepted… but let me take you back in order to add some clarity to this narrative, and where better to begin than Making Malone, in which I outline the situation, and provide a context: ‘In March, 2010, following the issuing of a warrant, my father suggested I turn up to the police station to deal with the investigation. I attended, and was assured that I was just there to be questioned, but to my horror, I was arrested […] I was devastated following the arrest, and seemingly broke down. I disappeared from home, as I could not deal with the devastating blow of being charged. I had built my life around staying on the right side of the law, but felt I had been criminalised for trying to do the right thing. My pride was gone, and I wanted to vengeance. I gave up on family, and left the home. I had already clashed with my father on two prior occasions, but felt especially sickened by his response to the incident. Without any facts, he simply opined that the [property damage] incident was stupid, and yet, all of those months when I was trying to sort out my life, he was not there to support me. His only intervention had been in the form of suggesting I attend the station. Disgusted by this disregard, and relative cowardice, I left […] I haven’t been in contact since.”
Although written in late 2011, at the beginning of 2012, this changed when I “accidentally” decided to call-home. Originally, and honestly, I only intended to check the post, HOWEVER, when I discovered my little bro’s at the house, I decided to stay and wait for “pops” in what was to be an epic exchange. “Why are you here”, he asked, and ambivalently, I didn’t have a clear answer. Eventually, I found some token words to utter: “to apologise.” I didn’t mean it really, or at least, not sincerely. Why I felt a need to “reconcile” is because being on bad terms with Father would not go down well with other, more favoured family members. In truth then, it was a tactical move aimed at regaining access to the wider family. Even then, however, this was a longer-term plan, as I did not desire to re-establish contact with any family member until I had completed the AETC project, via publication. I felt that upon achieving this, the recognition would speak more volumes than the titles in the collection, and also, take on more significance than my sudden disappearance which had come to tarnish my reputation. I did not, however, start the AETC project to redeem myself, as to begin with, I felt contempt for all peoples that did not challenge the existing state of affairs: white domination. Father especially, although he had ‘the books’, i.e. Amos Wilson, Malcolm X, History of Grenada etc, I did not see the knowledge demonstrated or the truths applied. It was as if Father, like other supposedly conscious family members, were defeated people, and that being so, they could never be people I could respect. THis being so, the idea of disappointing father amazed me: why would I try to make proud someone that always failed to impress? I’d rather admire KGR!
Maybe it wasn’t right that I left family to deal with the police ‘intrusions’ (invasions), and yet, I cannot disagree with it. In a system of such complex but disgustingly degrading domination, anything beyond the initial insult is inconsequential. Furthermore, having long decided to always deal with systems prior to engaging people, I didn’t value individuals, but preferred to maintain a clear focus on a deeper, wider structure. This being so, long ago I lost an interest in people; I lost the capacity to care; I simply weren’t bothered, but why should I be. In not effectively challenging and not conclusively derailing the system I was born into, I felt betrayed by all the “older” people, and even came to see age as synonymous with oppression. In my logic, in not defeating the system, but rather, being defeated by it, these people were complicit and therefore, collaborators with the system which sought to crush my being, and this was the basis for people-contempt. Although I was always a task-orientated, object-obsessed individual, the fact that the individuals around me were so non-conscious, non-constructive and non-progressive further reinforced the feeling that the people, being so interchangeable, were irrelevant, and this was the basis for so much disregard. It wasn’t that any “parent” or “older” person had necessarily, directly did me wrong, but that in not preventing that harm that would come upon me, I felt betrayed; I felt I was failed. As a result of their failure to intervene, then like the Team, they too represented the symbolic apparatus of oppression. They were the new colonists, but as people, they were dead. Although I did offer a token apology to father, I could not mean it, as to feel anything for someone so pitiful is impossibly implausible.