Throughout the social and economic struggle which, for me, was an attempt at maintaining some kind of foothold on the heritage left by our forefathers, we as part of the Silver Roll people were still suffering as if it had been our own fault for being hold up in one room in some barrio of Panama. Pauperised, the whole community would fight back any way it could, if passive aggression counts in any war without negotiation. Continue reading
This was how Central Avenue looked in 1940. Image thanks to our friends at czimages.com
This is an image of how Calidonia looked in 1940. Thanks to our friends at Afro-panavision.
For someone like me, who experienced life as a Black Canal Zone Silver child and also a black Panamanian child, I can safely say that the insight I gathered from what it was like to be a Silver laborer came from my brief experience with my maternal grandfather, Seymour Green. Continue reading
The strange “rainbow” that I watched dance from building to building
was probably some kind of back draft activity as the Great Colón Fire of
1940 got started in April, the week of my fourth birthday.
It was my first story and I was almost sure that it may have been Cuadernos Balboa’s first Westindian story of that year of 1950 or any year before. As the class suddenly became quiet, I noticed that the teacher had returned to her desk at the front of the class. Tarrying some at her desk she then left the room again as activities in the back of the classroom became louder. The writing paper I had been examining, while my memories of early childhood flashed back and forth, was almost new. I caressed the page with my sharpened pencil intent on practicing writing a story. Continue reading