My name is Burton Sankeralli and I am a founder-member of the Philosophical Society of T&T.
I spent most of my life in highly boring Valsayn and no one “comes from” there, really. So I’d have to say I come from the whole of Trinidad. There is a certain privilege involved in living in Valsayn. But there’s also a certain screwing up of one’s consciousness.
Every now and then I get [told] I look white but, in other parts of the world, not so much. In Trinidad, I stand out. Unless I walk through West Mall.
Indo-Trinidadians find my name funny, because “Sankar” is Hindu and “Ali” is Muslim. And, of course, I grew up Catholic. The name would have been like Shakur Ali, originally, when that branch of my ancestors came from India. But the clerk at the docks wrote it down wrong when they came off the boat: so it’s a Trinidadian name!
Within the context of Trinidad society, I’ve been getting whiter as the years go by: I did not grow up being regularly called white. I also get called “Spanish” or “Chinee.”Now and again, maybe, an “Indian” might pass. But Trinidad is like that, as any schoolteacher would know. You look at a class roll, call an Indian name, and a Chinese boy sticks up his hand.
I went to St Mary’s College. Until form five. I was an academic failure. I guess that qualified me to become a philosopher.
I didn’t really like school much in the first place; and then I found religion. I was Catholic. I’m in the Orisha tradition now. I belong to an Orisha shrine. Needless to say, I stand out there, too. Can’t act anonymously. I don’t think I really fit into the conventional academic or even social milieu.
When I left the regular school system, I decided to pursue a degree in theology. I did a four-year UWI programme at Mt St Benedict. The Catholic tradition in theology is a very intellectual one and draws a lot on ancient philosophy.
The year David Rudder had his Calypso Music album really changed me. It was the first time I had a direct encounter with Orisha. Because David Rudder had those intimations and connections in his singing and performance.
I’m a lead vocalist in two bands now, one a traditional parang movement. I sing for entertainment but, right now, it’s also my day job, at least at Christmastime. I’m hoping to at least have something like a regular income three months in the year: I’m shooting for that. I’m on a very, very irregular income. My last regular-ish income was, I did a few months’ work with the First Nations.
Penury helps philosophy: it gives you time to think. Since the whole patronage system broke down a couple centuries ago, it’s been rough for philosophers. In other cultures, patronage and– let’s be frank –begging is considered holy but it has this awful cultural stigma in our time.
The Caribbean has a great intellectual tradition. But there has been a marginalisation and breakdown of this tradition, to where we have to seek refuge in rumshops. Because we don’t really have universities in this country –with the possible exception of the Adventists…Ironic, huh?
The Philosophical Society was formed in late 2005, early 2006 by myself, Darryl Naranjit and John Borelly. It grew out of a philosophy class under the umbrella of the then UWI School of Continuing Studies.
Studio 66, run by Makemba Kunle, has taken the burden of administering the group. Right now, we just have open meetings and people are free to come. There has been some attempt to institutionalise a membership. But I don’t know whether philosophers and artists make the best organisers.
The best thing about setting up society is that, when the history of Trinidad is written, they’ll say, “Well, at least there was a Philosophical Society.” No matter what other else was happening here.
Trinidad is really not good at process and institutions and Trinidad may sink or swim on that issue. All the institutions that work relate, somehow, to banditry: gangs; political parties; conglomerates etc.
Someone I parang with was strumming his cuatro, and began to sing Abba’s Fernando–the history of Mexico, people fighting for freedom, and I was ready to cry; because I realised we are not a great people: but we can be. And that’s a Trini.
T&T, to me, is like a marriage gone disastrously wrong. But you know you can never walk away from it. At least not permanently.
Read a longer version of this feature at www.BCRaw.com