My dad denies what colonization stole from us

This First Person column is written by Jillian Sunderland, a PhD student at the University of Toronto. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

I've gone back to the bustling streets of Bridgetown, Barbados many times, but I still feel out of step with the rhythm of life. Despite it being my father's homeland and the fact that I hold dual Canadian and Barbadian citizenship, Bridgetown has never felt like home to me. 

Growing up in Canada, my father never encouraged an interest in our Bajan roots. We avoided dining on traditional dishes of oxtail and pigs' feet and didn't listen to the syncopated beat of calypso music. 

Instead, in most of my childhood memories, my father is dressed in a three-piece suit, reserved and quiet. His accent sounds more British than the soft rhythmic tones of the Creole dialect, more colonizer than colonized. Rather than regaling us with stories of his youth or sharing with us the rich cultural heritage of Barbados, he seemed intent on instilling in us the values of steely competitiveness, conformity, and laudation of authority. His influence continues to haunt my academic work where I commonly fall into rigid defense of rules and the status quo despite not being a "real" doctor as he had hoped. 

I thought my father had turned his back on his life in Barbados and adopted Canadian customs to succeed as a Black immigrant in Canada, but that is only partly true. 

I now understand that his assimilationist ambition stemmed from his upbringing when Barbados was still a loyal colony of the British empire. 

Once dubbed "Little England," Barbados was Britain's first slave colony and was under British rule from 1625 to 1966. Slavery in the Caribbean was unique in its brutality as plantation owners chose to work the enslaved people to death and decided it was more profitable to buy newly imported slaves than provide for their survival. Profits from these sugar plantations helped line the pockets of the English settlers and the monarchy. 

Although slavery was abolished in the British empire in 1834, Britain still ruled in Barbados until 1966 and endeavoured to "correct" the culture of freed West African slaves. Entitled to attend schools for the first time, Black youths like my father dressed in crisp school uniforms, were taught "correct" deportment, English customs, and allegiance to the Royal Family.Through his formal education, my father inculcated British values and customs and became deeply committed to the Crown. These were the values he imparted to my brother and I. 

"Friends" rejected my party invitations, claiming their parents had labelled me a "bad seed." Despite sharing a typical Canadian upbringing, race still served as an insurmountable obstacle to inclusion. 

This was the outcome of British imperialism — and it followed my family from Barbados to Canada.

Spurred on by a desire for belonging, I visit Barbados often and search for traces of my family's lineage. But I have been hampered by my father's secrecy over his past life and it's forced me to try to reconstruct my family's history on my own. 

I managed to trace my lineage back to one of my enslaved ancestors before hitting another wall of colonial legacy. Before slavery was abolished, enslaved people were stripped of their family names and forced to take on those of their English owners — as if they were property to be owned. 

In 2021, Barbados severed ties with Britain. It removed the Queen as its head of state and became a republic. My father, being a man of tradition, decried this move. He seemingly holds no ill feelings towards the Crown. After all, he believes his English-based education enabled him to advance and build a successful life as an Afro-Caribbean immigrant in Canada.

Yet in my mind, the brutality inflicted on my enslaved ancestors was too big a cost to pay. Even after slavery ended, the imposition of British customs and education on my dad led to his alienation from his roots, customs and practices.