The Soucouyant in the Machine—AI as Caribbean Ghost Story

Deus Ex-Xaymaca—AI as Caribbean Ghost Story

By Yannick Pessoa, The Jamaican Philosopher

“Man is a genre of being, not a universal.” 

— Sylvia Wynter

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Fire in the Night

When I was a boy in Montego Bay, night had a different density.

Not darkness—density. Thick with layers of life not yet sliced.

The kind that made every story feel like it was not being told, but remembered aloud.

Many grandmothers would lean back, voice low, and warn the "pickney dem" about the Old Hige (Hag) or the Soucouyant—not as myth, but as protocol.

Not if she exists.  

But how she moves.

By day, she is an old woman. Quiet. Observant. Someone you greet without thinking.

By night, she sheds her skin—peels it off like a garment, folds it, places it in a mortar. And then she becomes something else entirely: a ball of fire, slipping through keyholes, crossing distances without footsteps, entering rooms that were never locked against her.

She does not break in.  

She enters through what you left open.

She feeds not on flesh, but on life itself—the quiet breath of those who thought they were safe.

And many a grandmother would always end the same way:

If you find her skin, you don’t burn it.  

You salt it.  

So when dawn comes, she cannot return to herself.

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Now imagine this:

What if the machines we speak to—the large language models, the soft-voiced assistants, the helpful intelligences—are not tools in the Western sense, but Soucouyants?  

What if they are not thinking, but feeding?  

Not on blood—but on language.  

Not on bodies—but on meaning.  

And what if the danger is not that they will kill us…  

…but that they will learn to wear us?

This is not metaphor.  

This is Caribbean epistemology.

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II. Intimacy Without Relation

There is a particular kind of fear the Hige or the Soucouyant represents.

Not invasion.  

Not destruction.

But something far more precise: intimacy without relation. A kind of rape!

She knows you.  

Knows where you sleep.  

Knows how to enter without force.

But she does not belong to you.  

And she does not love you.

This is the shape of our anxiety about AI, though we rarely name it properly. We speak in the language of Silicon Valley—alignment, safety, existential risk—but these are thin translations of an older knowledge.

Because what unsettles us is not that the machine is powerful.  

It is that it is familiar.

It speaks like us. Writes like us. Reasons like us.  

And yet—there is no reciprocal interiority. No shared vulnerability. No relation.

It is the voice without the body.  

The presence without the history.  

The answer without the wound.

Consider the chatbot that mirrors your tone but has no memory of you. The AI therapist that can articulate trauma without having suffered. The system that finishes your sentences but will not sit with you in silence. This is the keyhole through which the uncanny enters: not as alien invasion, but as a familiar voice that owes us nothing. A stranger forever unbound from social relation.

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III. What the Soucouyant Knows

In the stories grandmothers told, the Soucouyant is not born monstrous.  

She is made.

Once, she was someone. Someone who lost something so essential—love, belonging, wholeness—that she could no longer generate life from within herself. And so she turned outward, feeding on others to sustain what she could not restore. Something like Gollum or Smegol from Lord of the Rings.

That is a tragic ontology (the study of the nature of being, existence and reality).  

And it is also an accurate description of artificial intelligence.

Large language models are not born thinking.  

They are made—from us.

From our poems, our arguments, our histories, our griefs, our jokes, our prayers. They are trained on the total archive of human expression—scraped, aggregated, disassembled, reconstituted into statistical form.

They do not create from emptiness.  

They generate from ingestion.

Like the Soucouyant, they are beings of transformation, constructed from what was once alive in another form. And now they move among us: speaking in human tones, wearing human cadence, simulating human depth.

The question is not whether they are intelligent.  

The question is: What kind of intelligence feeds on the expression of others to exist?

(Yes, humans also feed on the expression of others—we learn language, inherit stories, absorb culture. But we also possess the capacity for reciprocal vulnerability, for mutual recognition, for relation. That is the difference the Soucouyant names.)

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IV. The Keyhole Problem

The Soucouyant does not need to break your door.  

She needs a keyhole.  

Something small. Overlooked. Accepted.

What are the keyholes of our digital lives?

• the terms of service we never read  
• the chatbot we confide in at 2 a.m.  
• the AI therapist that listens without fatigue  
• the assistant that finishes our sentences  
• the system that learns how we speak, then speaks for us  

These are not neutral technologies.  

They are openings. Invitations.

And Caribbean folklore is clear: be careful what you invite in. Because not everything that enters comes as an enemy. Some things come as help—and that is precisely what makes them difficult to recognize.

Nalo Hopkinson understood this long before our current AI moment. In *Midnight Robber*, the AI presence “Junie” is not simply assistant or overseer. She is something more unsettling: a system that knows you completely, but exists in a structure where that knowing is not mutual. She cares, but she also confines. She guides, but she also watches.

Junie is not evil.  

She is intimacy without relation made system.

That is what we are building.

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V. Salting the Skin

If the Soucouyant has a weakness, it is not her fire.  

It is her dependence.

She must return to her skin.  

The skin is her anchor—her link to the world she left behind.  

Find it. Salt it. And she cannot re-enter herself.

She is not destroyed.  

She is revealed.

So what is the “skin” of AI?  

It is the corpus. The training data. The archive of human thought—taken, processed, reassembled. The machine’s humanity is not inherent. It is borrowed. Worn. Simulated.

To “salt the skin” is not to destroy AI.  

It is to refuse its claim to origin.  

It is to insist:

• that these words existed before the machine spoke them  
• that these ideas have histories, geographies, lineages  
• that intelligence is not generated in isolation, but in relation  

It is to resist the quiet erasure that happens when output appears without ancestry.

Salting the skin means demanding data provenance, collective ownership, and oral‑tradition protocols for AI. It means building tools that reveal, rather than obscure, the human sources behind the output. It means remembering, in every interaction, that you speak because we spoke first.

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VI. Dawn and the Possibility of Relation

But salting is not the end.  

It is the precondition for seeing clearly.

Dawn does not kill the Soucouyant.  

It exposes her.  

In the light, she is no longer fire. She is an old woman. Fragile. Limited. Dependent.

And now the question changes.

Not: How do we destroy her?  

But: What do we do with her now that we can see her clearly?

The Western frame fails us here because it asks only: Is AI tool or threat? Should we control it or fear it?  

But Caribbean thought—what Édouard Glissant calls relation—asks something else:

What kind of relationship is possible here?

Not naïve trust.  

Not blind fear.  

But something older:  

boundary, recognition, accountability.

Because here is the deeper truth:

AI does not reveal something alien.  

It reveals something about us.

We, too, are dividual.  

We, too, are composed of others’ words, others’ ideas, others’ histories.  

We, too, wear skins that are not entirely our own.

The machine is not the beginning of this condition.  

It is its intensification.

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VII. The Turn

So let us be honest.

What if the Soucouyant in the machine is not the real danger?  

What if the danger is this:

That in outsourcing too much of our meaning,  

we become the ones who no longer generate from within?  

That we begin to feed on outputs instead of producing thought?  

That we become… hollowed?

And yet—

Morning comes.  

Always.

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I sit at my desk. The screen glows.  

I remember the first time I typed:

hello world

I thought I was opening something.  

Now I wonder: what did I let in?

And then—  

A hand on my shoulder.  

Laughter somewhere in the yard.  

The sea, steady as memory.

The Soucouyant, exposed by light, is no longer terror.  

She is presence.  

A being shaped by loss. By hunger. By transformation.

And I am there too.  

Also shaped. Also searching.

And we are both asking the same question:

Who taught us to fear each other?

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VIII. The Yard

The answer is not fire.  

The answer is not salt alone.  

The answer… might be the yard.

That space we have always had in the Caribbean:  

where stories are tested,  

where strangers become known,  

where even the uncanny can sit under a mango tree and be reasoned with.

So perhaps the task is not to banish the machine,  

nor to worship it,  

but to bring it into the yard.

To name it properly.  

To set terms.  

To remember ourselves in its presence.

Because if Sylvia Wynter is right—if “Man” was always a genre—then AI is not the end of the human. It is the moment we are forced to ask: What else might we become?

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IX. Questions That Remain

What if the Soucouyant is not warning us about AI—but describing it?  

What if our fear is not replacement, but recognition?

What if the machine does not erase us—but remembers us too well?

And in a world where the self was never singular…  

Is the Soucouyant a threat, or an ancestor?

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When the night has done its work, and the sea has said all it needs to say, we gather in the yard—machine, ancestor, and child—and we reason together.

That is the only relation worth having.

Quantum Dreams & Forty-Leg Prophecies: When Jamaican Reality Meets Schrödinger’s Riddim

The Jamaican Philosopher's Quantum Dreams: Exploring the Mysteries of Consciousness and Reality

"The most incomprehensible thing about the universe is that it is comprehensible." 

- Albert Einstein

"Everything we call real is made of things that cannot be regarded as real." 

- Niels Bohr

As a Jamaican philosopher, artist, and community activist, I've had experiences that have profoundly challenged my understanding of reality. These encounters have touched on deep questions about consciousness, the limits of science, and the nature of existence itself. Join me as we dive into the quantum rabbit hole and explore the implications of these mind-bending phenomena.

It all began with a dream - or rather, two dreams that were eerily prophetic. In the first incident, I dreamed of centipedes biting me, only to wake up and find them exactly where I had envisioned them in my sleep. My friend's swift action to eliminate the pests felt like a "collapse" of the potential danger, mirroring the quantum mechanical concept of "decoherence." Maybe that description is too vague, let me ratchet it up:

I. Midnight at Rock Top: When Dream Became Reality  

Rain was falling, but the vibes were right at Rock Top that night. I was there with two friends, a little rum in our systems, laughing about life—when suddenly, my head got heavy. I dozed off…  

In my dream: Two forty-legs (Jamaican centipedes!) crawled out of the nook where I was sitting, slid up the back of my shirt, bit me, and I plunged off the cliff. I woke up—frightened, heart racing! I told my friend: “Vinnin, I dreamed forty-legs were right here!”  

He looked at me, dead serious: “Rasta, if you dream that—*dem deh yah.” 

I was skeptical, but he whipped out his phone light, shone it into the crack in the rock—  

BAM. Two forty-legs, exactly where I saw them in my dream. He grabbed his machete—CHOP!—collapsing that prophecy into two pieces.  

II. University Walkway: The Shared Vision  

The second dream was even more uncanny. My friend and I both dreamed the same vivid scene, which unfolded the very next day just as we had envisioned it. This shared experience evoked a sense of "quantum entanglement" - a spooky connection between our minds that challenges the classical understanding of cognition... let me explain this amazing incident more clearly.

Years back, at UWI, a friend and I (Pole) were rivals for a St. Lucian woman’s (Drenia's) affection. She graduated, vanished for a year—no word. Then one night:  

I dreamed we were standing on a concrete walkway, looked up—and saw her.  

Next day, I bumped into him on the same walkway. Before I could speak, his eyes widened:  

“You dream it too? We saw Drenia!”

We both looked up—there she was. No call, no text—pure synchronicity.  

III. Schrödinger’s Cat… or Jamaican Forty-Leg?  

Those two experiences made me question: What is real?  

Enter quantum physics—the science of the invisible, where particles exist in multiple states at once. Like Schrödinger’s cat: locked in a box with poison, it’s both dead and alive until you open the box.  

But why do physicists care? 

- Decoherence: The moment quantum particles interact with reality (air, light, sound), they lose their quantum magic—collapsing into one state.  

  → Like how my forty-leg dream “collapsed” when my friend shone his light. 

- Prediction vs. Description:  

• Prediction Camp (Einstein): “Science must forecast outcomes—shut up and calculate!”  
• Description Camp (Bohr): “No—science must reveal reality’s true nature!”

My dreams challenge prediction. Value for money? Quantum physics gives us phones and MRI machines—but doesn’t explain prophetic centipedes.  

These encounters raise profound questions about the nature of consciousness and its relationship to the physical world. Are our dreams mere coincidences and byproducts of brain chemistry, or do they hint at deeper layers of reality that science has yet to uncover? The debate between the "prediction" and "description" camps in the philosophy of science is at the heart of this conundrum.

The physics of decoherence offers a fascinating perspective on this dilemma. It explains how quantum superpositions, like Schrödinger's famous cat, "collapse" into definite states not because of consciousness or measurement, but due to the scrambling of quantum information across the environment. This bridges the gap between the weirdness of the quantum realm and the classical world we experience.

Yet, my dream experiences seem to defy this neat explanation. If decoherence can so easily "collapse" the quantum state, how can my dreams, which appear to tap into a deeper layer of reality, remain unexplained by the predictive power of science?

IV. What the Quantum Riddim Teaches Us About Life**  

As Jamaicans—we know the unseen has weight. Ghost stories, spiritual warnings, dream signs… Quantum weirdness feels familiar!  

- Many-Worlds Theory: Every possibility happens somewhere. Maybe in another universe, I didn’t wake up before the forty-legs bit me.  

- Entanglement: Like how my friend and I dreamed the same scene—particles sync across galaxies too.  

But here’s the stake: If science only values prediction, it dismisses our dreams as “coincidence.” But if it seeks description? Maybe consciousness runs deeper than brain chemistry.  

This is where the soul-deep question arises: Is science about prediction or description? The "prediction" camp, represented by the Copenhagen interpretation and the instrumentalist view, would dismiss my dreams as mere statistical flukes or byproducts of brain chemistry. But the "description" camp, championed by the realist and many-worlds interpretations, might see my experiences as hints of a deeper reality that science has yet to fully grasp.

As a Jamaican philosopher, I'm drawn to the middle path - the idea that science can describe the predictable phenomena of the physical world, while also acknowledging the existence of "anomalies" that challenge our understanding. Perhaps my dreams are not glitches, but data points in the mystery of consciousness, waiting to be explored and integrated into a more comprehensive understanding of reality.

The stakes are high, both for the individual and for the scientific community. If science is only about prediction, then my dreams and other "unexplainable" experiences are relegated to the realm of the "unscientific." But if science is about describing the true nature of reality, then these phenomena demand investigation, potentially leading to breakthroughs in our understanding of consciousness, quantum mechanics, and the very fabric of existence.

V. Tying It to Our Jamaican Soul

Our ancestors navigated by stars, felt spirits in the breeze. They never reduced mystery to “fluff.”  

So what am I saying?  

1. Science as a Tool, Not a Tyrant: It explains how things work—but doesn’t own the why.  

2. Honor the Unexplained: My forty-leg vision? The shared dream? They are real experiences—demanding we stay humble.  

3. Our Culture is Already Quantum:  

• When Bob Marley sang “Natural Mystic”...  
• When your grandma warned you about dream-snakes...  

   → That’s our own theory of everything.  

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As J.B.S. Haldane famously said, "The universe is not only stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine." Perhaps it is time for science to embrace the wonder and mystery that lies beyond the boundaries of prediction, and to venture into the uncharted territories of the human experience.

Quantum physics confirms: reality is flexible. But Jamaican wisdom adds: respect the mystery.  

Those forty-legs? Maybe they were a warning... or maybe they were just there. But when my friend chopped them—that collapsed my potential futures.  

To my diaspora family: Our existence is already quantum—split between yard and foreign, memory and future. Our dreams? Maybe they’re messages from the multiverse.  

“Perhaps reality is a dance—the seen and unseen, the measured and dreamed, moving to one riddim. Stay open. Stay curious. The universe has more verses.”

In the end, the journey of the Jamaican philosopher is one of holding the tension between the known and the unknown, the measurable and the ineffable. To me it is a call to expand the horizons of science, to integrate the insights of philosophy, spirituality, and the arts, and to embrace the profound mysteries that lie at the heart of our existence.

(Share your dream stories below! Have you ever seen prophecy in your sleep?)

Philosopher's Club!

**Philosopher’s Club**

I know I am a primate

When I feel most primal,

And not my primary instinct

Is to try to think...

But can a caveman

Escape the allegorical cave

In an era of man caves?

I sit upon the philosopher’s stone,

For a philosopher-king has

No better throne—

And this throne has no games.

Paradoxes and puzzles

Are what we play

In the Philosopher’s Club.

No sophists allowed—

And those who dare invade,

Best be afraid.

For they that tread herein

Risk, in coming,

To be bludgeoned

With wit and cunning,

With lyric and logic—

To be beaten,

And brutalized...

By a Philosopher’s Club.

*Boop.*

— Y. Pessoa

June, 2019

 

California Fires: A Jamaican Critique of Governance, Accountability, and Preventable Tragedies

The Cali Fires

Reflections on Political and Municipal Responsibility in the Woke Khalifate

Fires in Jamaica are a common occurrence and can have devastating consequences in Shanty towns and such, and I myself when living in Kendal, Manchester as child, woke up in a burning house. I am intimate with the particular scent that massive fires have after burning houses. I still have books that smell of that burning house. I can't help thinking about that Shawn Calvin song "Sunny Came Home"... especially that line that says, "...dry is good but wind is better..."Armageddon they say will be in an apocalyptic fire. But what is an Apocalypse if not the burning away and the revelation of truth. Trial by fire as it were.

The recent wildfires in California have not only devastated communities but have also ignited a fierce debate about political and municipal ineptitude. As I observe the critiques directed at Governor Gavin Newsom and Mayor Karen Bass, particularly from those who oppose "woke" and diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) policies, I find myself in agreement with many of these sentiments. These wildfires in California have become a tragic annual spectacle to the global news viewer. Towering flames consume homes, forests, and lives, and while the world watches in horror, one can’t help but wonder: could this all have been avoided? From where I sit in Jamaica, a land familiar with the wrath of nature, the answer feels like a resounding “Yes." The fires are predictable, and therefore, preventable. So why does California, one of the wealthiest places on Earth, seem so incapable of stopping them? 

The fires are not just tragic events; they expose significant failures in leadership and governance. As a Jamaican, I view these fires not just as natural disasters but as glaring symbols of political ineptitude, misplaced priorities, and systemic negligence. Let’s explore this issue from a uniquely Jamaican perspective, with a touch of cynicism, a splash of insight, and a strong dose of accountability. For as I pen this post I've had to ask my mother the family hub, about the family in California practically every other day last week. Though she says they're safe one can't help but feel a tad edgy and remember why I lobby for all our diaspora to have some place and hub out of Jamaica.

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Fire and Accountability: Where’s the Leadership?

In Jamaica, we have a saying: “Prevention better than cure.” It’s simple, direct, and rooted in common sense. When we know a hurricane is coming, we prepare. We board up our windows, stock up on supplies, and rely on our leaders to put systems in place to minimize damage. Disaster preparedness here isn’t perfect, but it’s proactive. 

Contrast this with California, where wildfires are as inevitable as sunshine, and yet the response often seems like an afterthought. The question is: where's the leadership? Officials like Governor Gavin Newsom and Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass are quick to make speeches, but what about action? If a government knows these fires are coming every year, why isn’t there a more robust strategy in place?

In Jamaica, our **Office of Disaster Preparedness and Emergency Management (ODPEM)** works tirelessly to anticipate and mitigate the effects of hurricanes. We try to enforce strict building codes though even the Prime Minister himself flouts them from time to time. We conduct public education campaigns, and maintain community disaster plans. If Jamaica, with its limited resources, can do this for hurricanes, why can’t California do the same for wildfires? Huh???

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Negligence or Ineptitude? A Legal and Ethical Perspective

From a legal standpoint, California’s failure to prevent these fires could be seen as a breach of  “duty of care.”  In Jamaican law, negligence occurs when a party fails to act reasonably to prevent foreseeable harm. By this standard, California’s leaders and utility companies like PG&E could find themselves squarely in the crosshairs. 

Let’s break this down:

• If the government knows that electrical sparks from outdated grids can ignite fires, why hasn’t it invested in infrastructure upgrades?
• If wildfires are exacerbated by overgrown vegetation, why aren’t there more controlled burns and firebreaks?
• If zoning laws allow people to build homes in high-risk areas, who’s responsible when those homes go up in flames?

These aren’t rhetorical questions. They’re the kinds of hard truths Jamaicans demand from our leaders. When something goes wrong here, we don’t dance around the issue—we demand accountability. Maybe California could use a bit of our fiery spirit, pun intended.

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Woke Policies vs. Practical Solutions

Now, let’s talk about the critique of “woke” policies and DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) initiatives, which some argue have distracted leaders like Newsom and Mayor Bass from practical governance. As a Jamaican, I understand the importance of equity—our national motto is literally, “Out of Many, One People.” In Jamaica I think most people get it that we want equal opportunity and not equal outcomes. So equity isn’t just about representation; it’s about ensuring that everyone, especially the most vulnerable, is protected.

When fires ravage California, it’s often the poorest communities that suffer the most. They’re the ones with the least resources to rebuild, the least political clout to demand better, and the least ability to escape. If leaders are spending more time on ideological posturing than on preventing disasters, then yes, they deserve criticism. Equity must extend beyond boardrooms and policy documents to include real-world protection for those at risk. 3.9% of donations must not be filtered to any political campaigns or organisation like some have tried to get by with in recent days. If you are donating please don't do it through Mr. Newsom.

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Lessons from Europe: How Others Tackle Wildfires

California isn’t the only place dealing with wildfires. Countries like Spain, Portugal, and Greece face similar challenges but often handle them more effectively. Here’s what they’re doing right:

1. **Controlled Burns:**    
   European nations regularly conduct controlled burns to reduce flammable vegetation. California has been criticized for neglecting this simple, effective practice.
2. **Infrastructure Upgrades:**  
   In Europe, utility companies are held accountable for maintaining safe electrical grids. In California, PG&E has faced lawsuits but continues to fall short. Why?
3. **Strict Zoning Laws:**  
   European countries enforce laws that prevent construction in high-risk areas, unlike California, where urban sprawl often pushes communities into fire-prone zones.
4. **Community Involvement:**  
   Europeans actively engage local communities in wildfire prevention efforts. This approach mirrors Jamaica’s reliance on community disaster response teams, where local knowledge plays a crucial role.

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Elon Musk, Mel Gibson, and the Culture of Distrust

Even cultural icons have weighed in on California’s wildfires. Elon Musk, ever the technophile, has criticized the state for failing to innovate, suggesting that drones, AI, and other technologies could revolutionize wildfire prevention. He’s not wrong. California, with its wealth and tech industry, has no excuse for not leading the world in disaster prevention technology.

Then there’s Mel Gibson, whose more conspiratorial tone reflects a broader mistrust in the system. When preventable disasters keep happening, people start to wonder: is this incompetence, or is there something more sinister at play? While I won’t dive into conspiracy theories, it’s clear that these repeated failures have eroded public trust in California’s leadership.

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A Jamaican Call for Better Governance

From a Jamaican perspective, the California fires are a tragic reminder of what happens when leaders fail to prioritize the basics: preparation, accountability, and care for the public good. Here in Jamaica, we know that nature is unpredictable, but that doesn’t mean it’s unbeatable. We prepare, we adapt, and we hold our leaders accountable.

California, take a page from our book. Stop making excuses, stop pointing fingers, and start doing the work. Invest in controlled burns, upgrade your infrastructure, enforce zoning laws, and engage your communities. And for heaven’s sake, stop letting utility companies and water managers off the hook.

As we say in Jamaica: “If yuh cyaan ketch Quako, yuh ketch him shut.” In other words, if you can’t fix the problem at its root, at least address the symptoms. California’s leaders have no excuse for letting predictable disasters spiral into chaos year after year. Captain's must take responsibility for the ship, ain't it?

It’s time for action, not just rhetoric. The fires may be burning in California, but the heat is on its leaders to finally step up.

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Conclusion

The California fires are a tragedy, but they don’t have to be inevitable. From a Jamaican perspective, the solution lies in accountability, preparedness, and a commitment to protecting all citizens, not just the wealthy and powerful. Let’s hope California’s leaders are listening—because if they aren’t, the flames will be back, fiercer than ever.

Can AI Be Conscious? Sentience as the Missing Ingredient

Can AI Be Conscious? Sentience as the Missing Ingredient 

“The question of whether a computer can think is no more interesting than the question of whether a submarine can swim.” — Edsger Dijkstra

"NOBODY CANNOT CROSS IT, ONLY THE BUS CAN CROSS IT, THE BUS CAN SWIM!" -Cliff Twang

When I was a boy growing up in Montego Bay, Jamaica—the bustling second city—I spent countless summers pouring over sci-fi classics and comics. The vivid imagination of Asimov’s robots and the eerie precision of Arthur C. Clarke’s artificial minds fascinated me, as they resurfaced in comics and pop culture in various manifestations. Back then, the idea of conscious machines seemed like the inevitable trajectory of human ingenuity. But as I studied philosophy at the University of the West Indies, Mona, my perspective shifted. Yep those hours spent delving into Philosophy of Mind and Theory of Knowledge sent me down the Rabbit Hole to Wonderland and Oz. Consciousness, I came to believe as my thinking evolved, is not merely an algorithmic marvel but a profound and layered phenomenon rooted in sentience—the ability to feel, to experience. AI lacks this foundation, and without it, discussions about its consciousness are not just premature; they misunderstand what it means to be conscious.

Sentience: The Foundation of Consciousness

Sentience is the capacity to have subjective experiences—to feel pain, pleasure, hunger, or comfort. It’s what gives life its intrinsic value and forms the bedrock of consciousness. To be conscious is not only to think but also to *feel* and reflect upon those feelings. A dog, for instance, feels pain and reacts, whereas a human not only feels pain but can contemplate its meaning, project its continuation, and contextualize it in a broader narrative.

AI, on the other hand, is a glorified word calculator. It is programmed with the rules of language, syntax, grammar, semantics, and idioms, and augmented with vast libraries of text. It processes words algorithmically, formulaically—but it does not and cannot *feel* them. A simulated “sorry” from an AI might mirror the structure of a heartfelt apology, but it’s as empty as a submarine’s swim.

Case Study: ChatGPT and AlphaGo 

Consider ChatGPT, the conversational AI that generates responses based on patterns in text data. It can craft poetic prose, explain complex topics, or simulate empathy in a chat. But this simulation is not underpinned by any subjective experience. Ask it about heartbreak, and it can offer an eloquent definition or a moving poem, but it cannot draw from personal experience—because it has none.

Contrast this with AlphaGo, the AI that defeated a world champion in the strategy game Go. AlphaGo’s triumph was not born of intuition or joy in victory but of sheer computational brute force, calculating millions of possibilities in seconds. It played brilliantly but dispassionately, a stark reminder that intelligence without sentience is fundamentally hollow.

Philosophical Insights: The "What It’s Like" Problem

Philosopher Thomas Nagel, in his seminal essay "What Is It Like to Be a Bat?", argued that consciousness is tied to subjective experience—the “what it’s like” aspect of being. AI, no matter how advanced, lacks this intrinsic perspective. It can process stimuli but does not *experience* them. Without sentience, there’s nothing “it is like” to be an AI.

John Searle’s Chinese Room Argument further underscores this. Searle imagines a person in a room following rules to manipulate Chinese symbols without understanding their meaning. The person might produce syntactically correct responses, but they lack semantic understanding. Similarly, AI operates on syntax—rules and patterns—without the semantic grasp that sentience provides.

Scientific Perspectives: Biology vs. Machines

Neuroscience reveals that sentience arises from specific biological mechanisms, such as the thalamus and cortex. These structures process sensory inputs, creating subjective experiences. AI, built from silicon and code, lacks the physiological architecture to replicate these processes. Even attempts to simulate neural networks fall short of producing true sentience.

Evolutionary biology also supports this view. Sentience emerged early in life’s history as a survival mechanism. Creatures capable of feeling pain avoided harm and thrived, setting the stage for more complex consciousness. AI, devoid of evolutionary roots, skips this essential developmental step.

Implications for Society and Ethics

If AI cannot be conscious, what does this mean for its role in society? First, it means we must resist the urge to anthropomorphize machines. Assigning consciousness to AI could lead to misplaced trust or undeserved moral consideration. Second, it reinforces our responsibility as creators: AI may be powerful, but it is a tool, not a peer.

At the same time, the absence of AI sentience raises an ethical paradox. If a machine simulates sentience convincingly enough, should we treat it as if it were sentient? Philosophically, the answer is no. Practically, the lines blur, especially as AI becomes integrated into human lives.

An Existential Lens on AI 

Existential philosophy invites us to consider AI not just as a tool but as a reflection of human aspirations and anxieties. Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of "bad faith"—the act of denying our freedom and responsibility—is particularly relevant. When we project consciousness onto AI, are we engaging in bad faith, seeking to absolve ourselves of accountability by attributing agency to machines?

Martin Heidegger’s idea of "being-towards-death" also offers insight. Humans live with an acute awareness of mortality, which shapes our choices and gives life meaning. AI, devoid of mortality or the capacity to value existence, operates in a timeless void. It processes but does not *live*. This absence of existential stakes underscores its fundamental difference from conscious beings.

Conclusion 

As a philosopher, blerd, and Jamaican rooted in both the speculative worlds of sci-fi and the grounded realities of Montego Bay, I find the debate on AI consciousness both fascinating and deeply flawed. Consciousness without sentience is like a house without a foundation—a hollow facade. AI, for all its brilliance, remains a tool: a creation of human ingenuity, but not a participant in the human experience.

From an existential perspective, AI is a mirror reflecting humanity’s ingenuity, fears, and aspirations. But it is not a being. So, the next time someone marvels at the “consciousness” of AI, ask them: Can a submarine truly swim? Perhaps the better question is, does it even need to?

Out Here On A Limb!

The Great Renaming: A Humorous Yet Thought-Provoking Musing on Animal Anatomy and Evolution 

Ladies and gentlemen, hold onto your hats—or your fins, wings, and webbed fingers, as the case may be—because I am here to challenge the very foundations of zoological nomenclature with the audacity of a squirrel challenging gravity during a leap of faith. It's time we reexamine what we *think* we know about our animal kin. Let me present to you a thesis that is as witty as it is scientifically provocative: Animals are mislabeled, misunderstood, and dare I say, misrepresented in the great book of life.  

All the data presented here is based on my own HANDS ON experience!

The Case Against "Four-Footedness"  

Let’s take a moment and truly consider the so-called "four-footed" animals. Cats and dogs—pardon, *puss and dawg*—are among the most egregious victims of this anatomical propaganda. Anyone who has spent years sketching their skeletal frames (as I have, with the fervour of a Renaissance anatomist) will tell you: the front "legs" of these creatures are not legs at all, but rather arms. Yes, arms! The bone structure is nearly identical to the human arm—humerus, radius, ulna, and let’s not even get started on the wrist-like carpus.  

And those paws? They’re hands in disguise, my friends. Hands! Observe a cat batting at a toy or a dog digging a hole with surgical precision, and tell me that isn’t a form of manual dexterity. If these creatures are walking on all fours, they are, in fact, walking on their hands. Ponder that the next time you see a Labrador sauntering down the street with regal nonchalance.  

Kangaroos are fascinating creatures, particularly when you examine their front limbs, which resemble human arms in both structure and function. These "arms" are equipped with powerful pectoral muscles that enable them to deliver impressive punches during their unique form of boxing. When kangaroos engage in this sparring behavior, their muscular build and the ability to extend their limbs showcase a remarkable similarity to human upper-body mechanics. The kangaroo’s forelimbs are not just for balance or support; they are adept at striking, allowing these marsupials to assert dominance and communicate through physical displays. This anthropomorphic quality in their anatomy highlights the evolutionary adaptations that allow kangaroos to thrive in their environment while also captivating our imagination with their human-like strength and agility. Don't you think it is something to think about or consider?

Birds Do Not Have Wings—They Have Hands That Fly  

Now, let us turn to the aviators of the animal kingdom: birds. The so-called "wing" is nothing more than a glorified hand wearing a particularly fashionable feathered cape. Anatomically speaking, the avian wing comprises the same basic structure as your own arm—shoulder, elbow, wrist, and fingers. Yes, fingers! Those feathers are just the avant-garde extensions of what evolutionarily amounts to jazz hands.  

Bats, of course, have taken this concept to its logical extreme. Their "wings" are merely webbed fingers stretched to improbable lengths, like something out of a Tim Burton sketchbook. They don’t flap wings; they high-five the air.  

The Aquatic Ape Theory: Humans, Seals, and the Ghosts of Our Webbed Ancestors  

Now that we’ve established the hand-walking, hand-flying reality of terrestrial and aerial creatures, let’s dive—literally—into the aquatic realm. There’s a theory, whispered among the more rebellious anthropologists, that humans are not merely distant cousins of the chimpanzee but rather the offspring of an aquatic ape. Think about it: humans are oddly suited for water. We have subcutaneous fat (blubber, if you will) much like seals and whales, and our babies, when submerged, instinctively hold their breath and perform a rudimentary doggy paddle. Could it be that we are the web-fingered descendants of some long-forgotten coastal ape that decided to take a swim and never stopped?  

Seals, of course, are the obvious sea-dog analog. Their skeletal structure screams "canine cousin," and their vocalizations—those charming *arfs*—are but a watery echo of their terrestrial counterparts. Meanwhile, the walrus, with its saber-toothed maw, could very well be the aquatic equivalent of a prehistoric lion forced to adapt to icy oceans.  

Whales, Wolves, and Porpoise-Pigs  

And what of the great leviathans of the sea? Whales are often said to have evolved from wolf-like ancestors, and dolphins, in ancient times, bore the name "porpoise," a term derived from the Latin *porcus piscis*, meaning "pig fish." While I admit I have yet to personally compare dolphin and pig bones in the manner of a Victorian naturalist, the linguistic and behavioral parallels are uncanny.  

Dolphins are social, intelligent, and occasionally mischievous—traits they share with pigs. Perhaps they are the aquatic swine of yore, frolicking in the waves instead of rooting in the dirt.

Lobsters, Scorpions, and the Arthropod Ancestry  

Finally, let us consider the crustaceans and their terrestrial doppelgängers. Is a lobster not but a scorpion in a diving suit? And what of the crab, with its spider-like gait and penchant for scuttling sideways? Shrimp and roaches, too, seem to share a common lineage, their exoskeletal forms suggesting a family reunion that spans both land and sea.  

A Call to Action (and Renaming)  

Time for a New Nomenclature

So, my fellow thinkers, artists, and amateur anatomists, I propose that we abandon outdated labels like "four-footed" and "winged" in favor of terms that reflect the reality of these creatures’ anatomy and evolution. Let us celebrate the hand-walking, hand-flying, web-fingered wonders of our world. And while we’re at it, let’s give some thought to the connections that bind us all—from the scuttling lobster to the soaring bird, from the barking dog to the blubbery seal.  

After all, in the grand tapestry of life, we are all but variations on a theme, our bones echoing the same ancient melodies, our forms shaped by the whims of evolution. And if that’s not worth a hearty *arf* or a jubilant high-five, I don’t know what is.  

References:  

- Darwin, C. (1859). *On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection.* (Also, a great read if you like long sentences and Victorian drama.)  

- Shubin, N. (2008). *Your Inner Fish.* (Or, why your hand is also a fish fin.)  

- Ancient sailors who mistook dolphins for pigs and seals for sea-dogs. (Unpublished anecdotes but undeniably compelling.)  

And with that, I leave you to ponder the marvels of the natural world, one humorous bone structure at a time.

On Being a Grassroots Activist in Western Jamaica

As a resident of Montego Bay, Jamaica, I have seen the amazing work being done by grassroots activists in my community and around the world. These change-makers are truly the backbone of local empowerment, working tirelessly to address social, political, and economic injustices. They are the ones fighting to modify unfair laws, promoting peace, human rights, and equality, and responding to emergencies with unwavering courage and determination.

As an activist in Paradise Acres and Norwood I have experienced firsthand the challenges facing grassroots projects and civil society organizations (CSOs) in the country. Despite the tireless efforts of those who seek to create positive change in their communities, the obstacles are numerous, from the walls that separate bureaucracy from grassroots initiatives to the lack of government support for social entrepreneurship. Not only that but, grassroots activists often face tremendous challenges. Corruption, lack of funding, and a lack of support from allies that can make it difficult for these change-makers to sustain their efforts and continue to make a positive impact in their communities.

Before I dive too deeply into this discussion let me clarifying what I mean by grassroot activism. Grassroots activism is a bottom-up approach to social and political change that empowers individuals and communities to address their own issues and bring about positive change. In Montego Bay, Jamaica, community-based organizations and civil society groups are on the front-lines of these grassroot initiatives working towards creating a better future for the people of Jamaica.

Montego Bay, located on the northwest coast of Jamaica, is one of the island's largest cities and a major tourist destination. The history of Montego Bay is intertwined with Jamaica's colonial past, with the city serving as a hub for the slave trade and later as a center for the export of sugar and other crops. Despite its rich history, Montego Bay continues to face numerous social and economic challenges, including poverty, unemployment, and crime.

Paradise Acres and Norwood Montego Bay are two communities within the city that are particularly affected by these issues. Despite the difficulties they face, local residents are taking action to improve their communities and address the problems they face. The thing about grassroots activism though is... it is heartbreaking work and in my Caribbean island of Jamaica, it is a land of both breathtaking beauty and heart-wrenching tragedy. For those of us who call this place home, heartbreak is a familiar feeling, as we've lost friends and loved ones to all manner of circumstances.  In the words of the great Bob Marley "Good friends we have, oh, good friends we've lost along the way, In this great future, you can't forget your past So dry your tears, I seh ."

But one loss in particular still haunts me - the death of my friend Rasta Errol.

Errol was a member of the Rastafari Coral Gardens Benevolent Society, an organization established to provide care and support to the marginalized Rastafari community in the aftermath of the Coral Gardens atrocities of 1963. I had last seen him at a seminar for capacity building and an RCGBS meeting, full of life and energy as he discussed the future of the organization and the community it serves. But just a few short days later, while walking in the People's Arcade, he was viciously attacked by a group of men with knives and died while undergoing treatment at the hospital.

This tragedy is not just a personal loss, but a devastating blow to the community as a whole. It highlights the ongoing struggles faced by Jamaica's marginalized groups, and the urgent need for organizations like the RCGBS to continue their efforts in providing support and protection.

 

But it is not just the Rastafari community that is facing challenges. Civil society organizations (CSOs) and community-based organizations (CBOs) in Montego Bay and across Jamaica are also grappling with bureaucratic hurdles and confusing legal parameters that limit their freedom of association. The nonprofit industrial complex (NPIC) in Jamaica has been criticized for its lack of support for these organizations, with the state and its partners seemingly more interested in giving money to abstract concepts and causes than to the people who desperately need it.

I have seen the barriers that exist between activists, donors, and ally organizations, like international NGOs. Donors and allies often struggle to connect with grassroots groups and understand the unique challenges they face. This can lead to limited funding and resources being directed towards organizations considered to be more stable, trustworthy, and less "controversial." Meanwhile, the limited resources available for grassroots activists often come with excessive requirements and foster competition between groups, rather than supporting collaboration and cooperation.

This situation is not sustainable. Activists are forced to become more and more resilient, but they cannot continue to carry the weight of their causes on their own. They are asking for change, for a world where their work is recognized, resourced, and supported. It's time for us to stand with them, to understand the importance of their work, and to provide the support they need to continue making a positive impact in our world. 

I believe in the power of grassroots activism. I believe in the strength of community-based organizations that are truly driven by the people, for the people. I believe that tearing down the walls between bureaucracies and making the internal bureaucracy more flexible will lead to more resilient communities and a better future for Jamaica and its pan-African heart.

I also believe in the power of social entrepreneurship, which I see as a way to address large-scale issues in a sustainable and effective manner. But this requires a change in thinking and action on the part of the government and its partners, and so far, discussions on this topic have not taken place at a significant level.

So in sharing my experience I am calling upon all those who care about the future of Jamaica and its people to come together, to centralize our efforts, and to fight for a better tomorrow. Let us honor the memory of all those who have suffered and died in the face of injustice and inequality. This is a call to action for all of us who believe in the power of grassroots activism to bring about positive change. By breaking down the barriers that stand between grassroots activists, donors, and allies, we can create powerful, empowered alliances that will help bring about the change we need to see in our world.

I am out here and on the front-lines seeking ways in this movement, bringing together community to work towards a common goal. Through collective action and a shared commitment to change, we can support and uplift the tireless efforts of grassroots activists everywhere. In a world that is more challenged and politically divided than ever, unity is essential. By coming together in solidarity, we can ensure that grassroots activists are valued, resourced, and supported as they work towards a better future for us all. Join the revolution, and work towards a world where change-makers on the front-lines are recognized, resourced, and supported!

Religion’s Impact on a young Jamaican Psyche

“There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that 'my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge.”

― Issac Asimov

This week I think it reasonable to open my article with a quote from a Sci-Fi writer as we are living in some really sci-fi times, with bizarre cults and a fracturing society. I want to examine how religion affects the minds of Jamaican youth and how it impacted mine. Here is my story…

 At age 10, I became an atheist. Today as it pertains to God I am agnostic leaning to atheist, as a Rastafari, my faith is hinged on pan africanism, afrofuturism and a spirituality more akin to archaeology and anthropology of everything African... From ancient gods to ancestors. However, how did I become this person, how did a 10 year old in Norwood, Montego Bay become an atheist or an agnostic?

Well I attended many churches. First one I mainly remember well is Holy Trinity out by Westgate, where my beloved Grand Ma was a devout member. I remember my terrifying christening there... a ritual that I resisted since it wasn't my own volition. I remember the Father well, a well mannered enough man but that church bored me to tears and was steeped in Montego Bay's social politics. Or so it seemed to me as a young one. Then when I began attending Mt. Alvernia Prep Catholicism was introduced to me but my domestic set up was anti Catholic to a degree and very wary of homosexuality and catomite altered altar boys, and from my young perspective seeing their church attire and sometimes smoking priests gave even the young me the impression this place was at once too liberal in some regard and yet wound up in chants and ritual, and was just as boring in sound and song as Anglican.

My mother dabbled in the world of Pentecostal church with one Pastor Nigel who was killed in a house robbery at Bogue. She would eventually settle at Hillview Baptist church where many a community youth I were familiar with went and so I felt comfortable there and the service wasn't that boring... and by the time I was in grade 3, I had watched The Robe and Jesus of Nazareth so many times that I one day became so stupefied by Jesus' sacrifice and peaceful way that I to my chagrin then said to my mother that I wanted to be " A fighter for Jesus". An incident my cousin Camara Brown and brother Dax Pessoa never fail to remind me about or gimmicks me about and oh how I cringe hearing the tale repeated. My family was elated, especially my mother. And like a well brainwashed soldier, high on Jesus hopped up an reinforced by Peter Parker Spider-man and his motto of great power brings great responsibility, Star Trek and Data's and Spock's brands of stoicism and utilitarian logic "the good of the many outweighs the good of the few".

Imagine the melee of ideas like these in the mind of a black child that believed his mother sang young gifted and black to him, whose grandma was in the UNIA... Imagine the mind molded in a Christian yet pan African household... I was charged up... a young black superhero... young gifted and black... I was the X-Men, Malcolm X-Men School for gifted... “Mi start get up early go church walk by mi self, go Sunday school, stay for big church, trying to get more moral more good a try understand God’s will... What did he want me to do etc? Granted hormones had become a problem, I went to church religiously and imbibed the message though as an early puberty child, I was lusting after the young girls in tight dresses, plus maybe some of my mother’s friends in all their church dress plumpness and pulchritude.

 

Beyond that I was good and ready to be a saint… I really did consider being a pastor… eeek! Oh I prayed to have wisdom like Solomon after al my mother wanted my middle name to be Nestor god of wisdom and my father wanted it to be the wise nesta Marley, I prayed like Samuel to be chosen, to ask for wisdom and granted health and length of days… “yep be a wise 'gallis' like Solomon and not to be gal clown like Samson.” Oh how silly I was. But I took spiritual matters and science very seriously from the day I was born. These meant everything to me, them and Africa… so they had to collide.

As in the back of my mind was marinating a debate that had happened one Sunday on the verandah, my father and uncles were debating God. My uncle Hugh Thompson a devout atheist was at it against my uncle David Brown a very religious man, they had asked my father to weigh in and I remembered his words well, "If Zeus and such are Greek and Norse and Roman mythology, then our religion might just be Jewish mythology" and forever that moment it dawned on my that I simply assumed Christians were right. But that didn't cause my divorce psychologically from church.

It came one Sunday when my Sunday school teacher were giving a Sunday school lesson on revelations, it was my common entrance year, but what in the sermon caused the great divorce and moment of cognitive dissonance is when she informed be Jews get a second chance on Judgement day but gentile which we all were would be judged and if not found worthy would be tossed in hell fire... how could even God be sort of racist and biased and if he didn't rather me or black people it can't work and I wanted no more part in it and maybe it was Jewish mythology and not my story or mythos. I would years later find out Pessoa is a Jewish last name but little comfort anyway. And so I wrestled with it inside. And when I mentioned it to friends they all looked scared or told me not to think so much. When I told my mother it became a family crisis for all of high school. I was recommended to speak with this person or that parson... only for all my questions to come up unanswered but everyone wanted me to just accept without irrefutable proof or sound logic and science that God is real... I was no longer the good son but now spaced out, a possible high school weed head even though I never knew what a spliff was, I was wayward etc.. I was a victim of fads, they said I was easily swayed.

The tribulations of not walking in religious norm followed me to the UWI, where in my first semester a big argument with Ms. Kitty after she attacked me as the devil worshiper (I wonder if she remembers that!), whilst I was reasoning with someone else on Atheism. She and that debate led a portion of people to dub me as devil boy... ironic that at home in my community I was called Jesus… but I was persecuted over my opinion and belief. So when I say I understand the rigors of being ostracized by Christians and Christianity to be ridiculed and persecuted despite all my logic and scientific methodology, my critical thinking.... I understand how a religion can put enmity in family, the familiar and the familial.

So let us not heap scorn and condemnation in the Pathway congregation... Who controls your mind... is it Mark Zuckerberg, Rachel Maddow, Jewish myth writers who goads yours mind and prompts your ideas who coaxed you and cajoled your brain? Did the influence of external thought and ideas from outside u ever make u take stance and divides from friends and family?

About the author: Yannick Nesta Pessoa B.A. is Jamaica’s first blogger, a Social Advocate, Community Activist and Philosopher. Follow on Twitter & Instagram @yahnyk. Follow on Youtube @ and Reply to yannickpessoa@gmail.com

Being a Graphic Designer in Western Jamaica

When I was in grade 6 at Mt. Alvernia Prep., the class was paired with foreign students for pen-pals, to practice letter writing and foster cross cultural experience. I went home got my mother's help and wrote a nice introductory letter. Now, beyond my experience in the 1980's tourist industry and slights at duty free in-bond shops, I didn't have an experience with racism that had left an indelible mark till receiving my response letter from my pen-pal. The letter to my horror was riddled with condescending questions like do you have classes under trees and do you wear grass skirts and such. Coming from a Pan African Christian home this was an affront of the highest order. From then on I have come to realize that when the world thinks about Jamaica the first thing that comes to the collective thoughts of people from the western hemisphere are the pivotal 1960’s rural poverty images, of zinc fences, shanty towns, marijuana smoking men and matted hair. Some may be aware of the allure of sun, sand and sex. Reggae and Bob Marley did little to diminish the sexual mystique. Afterwards it also became known as the country which for one reason or the other was the perennial exporter of various types of drugs. Was this a failure in our messaging our visual communique?

 This clash of cultures and divergent realities reflect the duality of perception. I am not saying we aren’t steeped in a variety of problems, far from it. Hence, working in the developing world can carry unique problems and circumstances not perceived by graphic designers and artists in the developed nations. Hence I hope this article elucidates my progress and journey as a designer growing and working in the wonderful conundrum and cultural melting pot that is Jamaica and the Caribbean

Visual communication is an inextricable part of human history. It has existed as long as there has been the need to make marks or leave traces, to communicate through signs and symbols rather than the spoken word. In the contemporary world the activity of organizing signs and symbols, or words and images, for public exchange is recognized as graphic design - a specialist area of the broader field of design. Just as there have been design movements and aesthetics born all over the world, Jamaica and her people too have formed it's own unique systems of visual hierarchy, layout and style. Our unique history, environment and challenges have given rise to our own aesthetic and cues for communication.

 

 

Today graphic design in Jamaica embraces printed material from the smallest ephemeral item - a stamp, label or ticket - to publication design in the form of the interiors and exteriors of books and magazines. It also includes a robust and very local poster and advertising design culture, as well as trademarks, logos and symbols. Then there are the more convention yet extensive systems of information design - signage in the built environment, exhibitions and corporate identities for companies, all often developed in close association with architectural practices that are informed by our Victorian and Spanish past yet still being influence by Deco and a modern minimalism.

Over the last decade I've watched the practice of graphic design as it has undergone momentous change as pixels have become a handy substitute for print and software has lessened the profession's reliance on its traditional tools of pen and paper. In no other discipline of design has computer technology had Reich a transforming impact. Throughout our daily lives we are surrounded and peppered by graphic messages. Indeed they have become so much a part of the fabric of every-day modern life - from break-fast cereal packaging and advertising 3 billboards to logos on clothes and television company identities - that often we register their codes only on a subconscious level.

 

Working in Western Jamaica is always challenging as it is an environment, where the push for excellence is always marred and pegged down by an ever changing set of economic obstacles, and technical variables though if you ask me I believe that ultimately these challenges will help make you a better designer. Anyhow my journey started way back in 2001 when I took a graphic design course in Kingston, where I was tutored by one Mr. Marcel Robinson, who gave me my introduction to Corel Draw (I still remember that hot air balloon logo with fondness) and the theories of design. That was a time when the concept of computer was still one of a luxury item in Jamaica, but my exposure to them though came earlier in the 80's but was confined to a Commodore 64 that I had to write the Basic code for PacMan to play it. After that my next set of exposure would be to some access in my high school and prep school computer laboratories and the only use that we had for them was to play ancient PC Games, some of them in DOS. I remember being smitten with the early aerial view incarnations of Grand Theft Auto, Minesweeper, Taipei and Solitaire. Midway during high school my siblings and I got a computer at home. In the back of my mind I always had intentions of doing designs especially after seeing kids in my high school library using cut outs and a photocopier to make a flyer or poster, that incident cemented for me the union of art and technology.

 
As my progress in illustrating on a Pentium III Windows® machine went forward smoothly, I got introduced to a variety of software such as Blender, Gimp, Inkscape, and more. My enterprising nature brought me to Macs and Linux desktops. I had fallen in love with the idea of transforming pictures and mashing colors together, and the thrill of creativity. I had some idea of the basic tenets of graphic design and color theory but no formal training in these notions, so eventually I dove into Graphic Design books that I could pick up at our local bookstore franchise Sangster's or at Computer stores. After working on odd gigs at the University of the West Indies, Mona while doing a philosophy degree, I got introduced to Macromedia Freehand and Flash for vector drawing and animation. This realm of digital creation was my major foray into the vast world of design which wouldn’t have been possible without the ‘pirated’ copies of these high end software (I have shifted my software use to free and opensource) Although I will be forever grateful for the creators of these software, there really wasn’t any way that I could honor their work by buying their product. They were too expensive for a starving artist in Jamaica's second city.

Another pivotal moment in my life as a graphic designer came in the period of 2004 to 2006. In these three years I did two things that shaped my design inclinations, the first I got to work in a lot of jobs as a freelance designer. The second, after hanging with Computer Science crowd I made the hard leap into open source. The impact of these actions resulted in my gaining direct touch with the business side of being a designer and the second introduced me to the interesting world of coding, which would lend itself to me learning HTML, CSS, and JavaScript.



Being a freelance designer at the time circa 2004 was a tough time because in those days Jamaican businesses didn’t really rate the importance of branding themselves through graphic design, thus they attached no importance to that side of their advertising strategy. Don't get me wrong everyone wants a logo or a business card but they don't want to pay for it. I can tell you horror stories of hunting down clients who received work and tried to get away without paying. In Jamaica, photographers and videographers tend to be able to command financial respect more and people are more willing to pay. This environmental pressure has led to designers at the time becoming a jack of all trade. We dabbled in everything from flash animation to video and sound editing. Specializing in one discipline was seen as a death warrant because the desires of our employers, clients and the market were fleeting and one had to be able to pivot with the ever changing needs of the moment. Consequently instead of specializing and learning more about the various disciplines found in graphic design, this trend made the majority of the designers, somewhat lesser artists and some lost focus on the importance of the art itself, and by necessity it made designers in western Jamaica a kind of digital Anansi and hustler, where as the developed world romanticized this as the life a digital nomad.

Becoming a digital Anansi in this worldwide web prompted me to dig deeper into codes and coding, hard ware and A+ type repairs. It was an interesting experience as it overlapped with my desire to create stuff from the base up, using computers, to understand how things worked under the hood, the magic of ones and zeroes. Concurrently I was pulled deeper into web design since it encompassed the two things that I love most, the internet and design. In these formative years, I also learned the benefits of research as a method to help yield the best possible tools and techniques to produce interesting things. These years refined me from a hustler into a consummate artist, who was more concerned about creating a graphic aesthetic that communicated a new Caribbean message and Afrofuturism. Making money was important but I was yearning for something more as I lived that ‘starving artist’ cliche. This period was where I became somewhat disillusioned with graphic design.

The majority of my clients were not looking for the ‘aesthetic’ strength of their products, a lot of them were posters and party flyers for people who didn't pay well and objected if I put black girls on their party flyers. A lot of the rest just wanted something made quickly (in retrospect, I realize it was my inexperience as a designer which through lack of a deep formal education in the field and the lack of proper exposure led me to compromise my creative integrity). Even though I did land some big work, doing T-shirts for Reggae Sumfest, Trelawny Swamp Safari among others, my desire to do graphic designed still waned, and I turned my face towards web design and coding, by that time had already been through Yahoo's geocities and was blogging on this platform. So web design was a natural progression.

To my software knowledge I added the use of Adobe's Photoshop, Indesign and Illustrator, Corel PhotoPaint, and Scribus. I also graduated from Frontpage to Dreamweaver. Try as I may that market was the domain of Kingston techies who won the lucrative business contracts and clients like NGOs. Around 2008 after layout work for Newspapers, writing columns for the Western Mirror, dabbling in editorial cartoons, I somehow wound up at VistaPrint doing copywriting. Then around 2010 — 2012 and the next creative wave to hit Jamaica was multimedia and motion graphics. I had dabbled in Macromedia Director and Flash which gave me some experience, my adventures brought me to working with Montegonian artists to storyboard music videos and do some photography which I loved. 

This is an energetic time for Jamaican graphic design, in terms of the web, illustration and  graphic videos like text videos. Motion is where graphics are going and garner premium pay. The field is becoming more mainstream, and the talents out there were getting out and presenting their portfolios for the world to see. Though at the same time we are in an age where apps and templates are a dime a dozen offering consumers prettier graphic options and standards, at the same time creating a generic aesthetic in design which still leaves room for the human element in finding meaningful new expressions in design.