Plastic man Harrilal

Last week’s column identified the East Indian country-boy, Harrilal, as a “plastic man,” given his cultural versatility noted in the 1970’s. As media files reveal, in public debates over race and culture during and after the 1970 Black Power protests, Harrilal’s identity became a cultural curiosity, almost an anomaly towards “nation building.” A leading Black Power group, National Joint Action Committee (NJAC) told Harrilal he had nothing to fear, that the urban rebellion was not “racial” but against the country’s inequitable class structure. Harrilal wondered.

Harrilal’s cultural adaptation was not without psychological pressures. Before the 70’s the “national” frame of reference was still distant for Harrilal, the homespun Penal Hindu. But, working in town, he manoeuvred and stretched from outside, adjusting his culture by successive approximations to become “somebody” to others. Country-boy Harrilal demonstrated cultural elasticity for urban respect. Cultural reciprocity evolved, but for Harrilal, unevenly. Being a “knife and fork” Indian was middle passage in becoming “cultured.”

It wasn’t just the cultural challenges he faced in the turbulent 70’s. It was that his native customs and attitudes – seemingly exotic, sometimes mocked – were so deeply rooted and furthest from the mainstream, the urban centre. The cultural gap, the psychological distance, was wide, even risky. Therefore, the cognitive dissonance he experienced in adapting was intense, often stressful. He retreated to cultural safety at home.

A bit of Harrilal’s story was published with the title Harrilal – the Plastic Man in the weekly Bomb newspaper (November 12, 1971) Last week’s column carried Part One. Part Two (edited) now follows:

“From country to town and back, Harrilal behaves like a ‘twenty-four hours,’ smoothly changing to suit the environment. At work in Port of Spain he hums a rock tune, whistles a popular calypso – even eats ham and hops, or rice and beef. A little souse or pudding among co-workers in town didn’t hurt either. At home, it is a horse of a different colour. It is roti and dhal, aloo tackarie and rice – with Indian songs in the background. Next day, he returns to town, adapting again like a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He even began feeling comfortable talking to African girls.

“Now, how Harrilal behaves in town is not exactly how he thinks. He still has a lot on his mind. If you pull him out of his shell, the first thing he would tell you is how he doesn’t like this race in politics business, how Indians have no real leader, how 'his people' could never organise, how 'his people' could only fight and spite one another, how they ‘fraid' to join the Police Force or Regiment. What really hurts, he confesses, is when two of 'his people' won island scholarships, everybody started talking how Indians ‘does only study, study,’ but when only ‘four Indians’ got national awards, scarcely anybody said a word. Hearing this, you might say ‘Harry, boy, ah wasn’t looking for you dey at all.’

“But Harrilal will tell you he loves this country and when the chips are down, he will stand by it. That is why he will not return to India. But he must solve his identity problems fast, for his kids will want to know who they are, or what type of citizens they should become. Will it be peaceful co-existence, integration, plastic people or what?

“Harrilal admires Gandhi, says he shuns violent confrontation and does not want to dominate anybody. But how he solves his identity challenges will be tough. He says every time he makes little progress towards solving his identity problem peacefully, the election bell rings and its 'vote by race' again. And after the elections, he complains how he has to pick up the pieces and start all over again. The ‘racial’ election makes the ‘others’ see plastic man Harrilal as an antagonistic ‘Indian’ before all else, supporting an Indian party. Colonial identities get revived. This could get a man fed up, he complains, I didn’t vote.

“So you ask him when he will stop cheering Indian cricketers when playing against Trinidad, he says ‘when the crowd stops booing people like the Karamaths in beauty contests.’”

All this was part of the multicultural imagination – anticipation and reaction. That was the 1970’s. What would Harrilal say today – in 2018?

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"Plastic man Harrilal"

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