Que pasa aqui?

Some of my ancestors came here in the 1880s fleeing social unrest. It is believed that they came over on boats, eventually settling in places like Santa Cruz, Flanigan Town, Rio Claro, Arima, San Fernando and Tobago.

“Cocoa panyol”, from the word espa?ol, or “peon”, Spanish for labourer, is what they were called.

They took to the land, planting especially cocoa, a major crop at the time. They would have also brought their culture, contributing to our taste for distinctly Spanish foods and our beloved Christmas music, parang from the Spanish “parranda”.

More than a century after, ongoing civil unrest in Venezuela has meant that, once again, citizens of our South American neighbour are looking to us for “aid and succour” as recently described by the Prime Minister.

However, the fact that we could be faced with economic refugees from our neighbour is a prospect that seems to be disturbing to citizens.

This is ironic given that there was a time when workers from Venezuela were actually encouraged to come here because of their experience in cocoa cultivation.

I wonder why we seem so uneasy.

Those in the know will tell you that “they already here you know,” referring to the reality that Venezuelans and indeed nationals of many other Spanish speaking countries are renting homes, getting jobs, sending money back and even opening businesses.

I don’t think it is about feeling threatened culturally. Although we were handed over to the British in 1797, prior to this we had been under Spanish rule and socio- cultural influence since the 16th century. After the Spanish withdrew, for a while this aspect of our cultural mix diminished.

However, research indicates that in time, there began a steady flow of Venezuelans in the “first two to three decades of the 19th century” to our shores. In the Caura valley, for instance, it was noted that most of the people there were of Spanish descent.

Further, it would seem that there is a long history of people from the mainland coming here to shop and take back necessities, while wealthy Venezuelans even sent their children to Catholic educational institutions here.

This new influx of people from the mainland has however put attention on the porousness of our borders — from Chaguaramas to Moruga and Icacos. The potential for anyone to get off a boat and walk into our country is not just a possibility but a reality.

It also calls into question the kind of social changes with which we are faced.

This week the media reported that some 30 Venezuelan women were detained by police in just one raid, some of them very young, all of them here illegally.

Disturbing too, especially at a time when the safety of women and girls are occupying the attention of the nation. At another level, this speaks to a broader issue of our control of illegal immigrants from any nationality, as well as the ability of our protective services to really protect us.

Juan, Pedro, Rosita and Maria are some of the ancestors whose names we still call in our family.

My cousins regularly win national parang competitions and in many ways we are united by our shared Venezuelan heritage.

Still, we too are looking on at the current global refugee crisis. Like you, we are wondering whether this is a challenge we will soon face, and what it will mean for us all.

Dara Healy is a performance artist and founder of the NGO, the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN.