The Feast and the Liberation of Sensing

by Zuleika B. Sheik

Feast

Knowledge.

I am hungry for it.

With gluttonous abandon,

I devour it.

Leaving you depleted.

Exhausted.

Drained.

Still you come back for more.

Why? Because I promised you something.

A piece of paper.

Legitimacy.

A seat.

A table.

 

Ah…your ancestors fell for that too.

So many generations, yet so little learned.

Once a coolie, always a coolie[1].

 

You say you are doing this for them.

But you did not heed their warning.

Silly, they could not read,

what’s your excuse?

A print too small.

 

You can stay here you know, and feed off the knowledge of others as I do.

Drain them, deplete them, leave them worse off than before.

Call this research.

We will reward you, praise you, hell we’ll even give you that piece of paper.

 

Go on then…this is what you came for.

Cannibalise yourself in the pursuit of knowledge.

Gnaw on the bones of your ancestors.

Drink their blood spilled in the (sugarcane) field.

So that you may arise, anew…in my own image.

 

And…whilst we drown you in a black gown.

Think not of your ancestors draped in the kala pani[2].

Think not of their sweat fertilizing the soil.

Think not of their tears watering the sugarcane.

Think not of their backs broken to sweeten my tea.

 

Think instead that you are one of us now…and feast.

 

Zuleika B. Sheik is PhD researcher at the International Institure of Social Studies (ISS). She can be reached at sheik[at]iss[dot]nl

This poem was first published on the BLISS blog as part of an epistemic diversity series.


[1]Coolie is an unskilled labourer employed cheaply, especially one brought from Asia.

[2]Kala pani means black waters, referring mainly to the Indian Ocean. By crossing this ocean many Indians feared they would loss their caste, social standing and cultural identity.

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