Caribbean Mothers and Daughters Face Generational Trauma

written by Alya

The legacy of colonialism is impactful within the Caribbean diaspora. It is filled with pain that is passed down through the generations to the present day. Generation after generation, West Indian womxn have suffered the consequences of slavery and indentureship. Womxn, in particular, suffered gender-based violence at the hands of colonizers and men. The echoes of these traumas are reflected in our lives and art decades later, particularly in literature from across the Caribbean diaspora.

Let's look at history, amongst the Caribbean population, colonization is viewed as oppressive. Indentureship and slavery were filled with trauma for Indian indentured servants, natives, and Black slaves. This pain and trauma would seep into generations to come.

Sexual, physical, and verbal abuse from colonizers to indigenous populations, as well as Black and Brown women, was a norm. Sadly, the residual effects of such atrocities have not stayed in the past. We find that they are ingrained in our lives, homes, societies, and minds.

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The saying that “hurt people, hurt people” is true. Victims of abuse can become the abusers. This is true of our ancestors from decades ago and of Caribbean parents today. Through colonialism, these intergenerational chains of abuse still hold a powerful grasp on Caribbeans across the globe. Many artists have expanded on this in various forms.

Art can be a therapeutic experience and often a release of pain. Whether a using a paintbrush or a pencil, Caribbean artists have used art to make sense and heal from pain. This practice is not new and has been seen in postmodern literature from across the Western world. The inevitably of pain can shape the narratives we tell and how we tell them. When it comes to Caribbean literature, there is often a recurring theme of strained relationships between mothers and daughters. Examples of this would be Zalika Reid-Benta's "Frying Plantain” and Nicole Dennis-Benn's "Here Comes the Sun.” All three of these works contain some form of an unhealthy relationship between mother and daughter.

“Girl” is an experimental short story that uncovers the rigid expectations that a mother has for her daughter. Set in rural Antigua in the 1970s, her daughter feels as though she is failing to meet said expectations.“Frying Plantain” is a coming of age piece set in the early to late 2000s in Toronto’s Eglinton West neighborhood known as ‘Little Jamaica. “Frying Plantain,” ’ illustrates the tenuous relationships between daughter Kara Davis and her immigrant mother and grandmother. The uneasy balance of friendship and rejection between the three is deeply rooted in multiple power imbalances between the generations. It also touches on the experience and cultural assimilation that comes with being a child of immigrants in a new country.

“Here Comes the Sun” is set in the 1990s in Jamaica and plays with the perspectives of a mother and her two daughters living in poverty and attempting to survive in an unforgiving environment. Between the mature perspective of the eldest daughter and the coming of age arch for the youngest daughter, “Here Comes the Sun” is a novel layered with familiar cultural experiences. Whether it is the failure of the daughter to satisfy expectations or her mother’s failure to be an adequate parent, there is an undeniable pattern being displayed. In these works of literature, these strained relationships breed issues still very present in our community today. Mental health issues, unhappiness, or unhealthy romantic relationships that perpetuate the cycle of abuse are just a few examples. Although these works are fiction, the cultural truth in the portrayals of such relationships between mothers and daughters is undeniable.

This pattern in reflected in Caribbean literature is deeply concerning. When we fail to have healthy relationships with our first caregivers, our parents, we can suffer a slew of issues throughout a lifetime. These issues can include perpetuating familial violence with children, mental illness, or unhealthy sexual habits. Without a healthy relationship with one’s parents, one is more vulnerable to continuing to live a life of pain. West Indian culture traditionally enables silence and victim-shaming. We don’t talk about our problems regardless of how bad it gets. This often results in the transference of poor coping skills and effects of not dealt with trauma to the next generation. This solidifies the continuation of silenced trauma and abuse that has passed down from our foremothers to some Caribbean daughters today.

How exactly do we break this chain? While I’m no expert, history has shown that all great changes made begin with a conversation. It's challenging for everyone involved to acknowledge the ugly truth of stifled generational trauma. While pain is swept under the rug than dealt with, avoidance should no longer be a coping mechanism for our generation. It can be even more difficult to try and wrap your head around the deep-rooted origins of intergenerational trauma after years of denial. Regardless of the challenges, the trauma in the Caribbean community will never heal unless we acknowledge the present-day traumas we still face.

Accepting that it is an issue is the first step to initiating necessary dialogue. I encourage womxn to seek a relative, friend, but most importantly a therapist. There is no shame in including family into the conversation. This takes time, work, and effort, but the healing has to begin. Children of generational trauma unintentionally traumatize their children. Healing these wounds is necessary to uplift ourselves as Caribbean womxn today and for future generations. In order to end the cycle of intergenerational trauma between Caribbean mothers and daughters, there needs to be both realization and therapy. It starts now.