1. Let’s assume you were born in 1950 or some year thereafter. I was born in 1951. I wager a bet I cannot lose. All of us born in and after 1950 share a few common thoughts. What were our parents and grandparents doing before and after the two world wars; and how were they affected. If I lose the bet because even one of us did not harbour these thoughts for even a few seconds, my silly retort would be that person was not born.

2. The choice of 1950 is simple. It is five years after the end of the World War II. Also, we of the 1950s would have read or heard something about the past, including the history of the Caribbean from a young, tender age.

3. I was fascinated by history at the Antigua Grammar School, but I was enchanted by science to the detriment of history and geography, since there were clashes in the timetable.

4. I am telling you this because history is repeating itself, and this time, with no clashes in the timetable. Even though time is still a luxury, I want to make amends for forsaking history in school, notwithstanding what I read generally.

5. At school, history exercised a lot of memory, whilst the sciences allow me to think and play with my thoughts during my regular habits of quiet, isolated loneliness. And yet a few specific details of our history class remain. Some for no apparent reason.

6. For example, I do not recall the year or the day or the school period, but I vividly recall the history master (as we called our teachers). He was short, carried an angulated face looking almost like the island of Redunda, well dressed as always, black like me, unusual accent. He said something like this: Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck were two pretenders to the English throne in the late 15th century, challenging the rule of Henry VII.

7. Oddly, I cannot recall the name of the school master, but the names of Lambert Simnel and Perkin Warbeck I cannot forget. Not only because of their unusual names but also because I had never heard the word pretender used in that way. I was intrigued by what pretenders do and how they do it. Maybe the master was Mr. Lambert, our history teacher in third form, and my silly, jocular, puerile brain wondered if he was related to Lambert Simnel, the pretender. Time carries an erasure.

8. The Caribbean has changed irreversibly and will continue to change, with 359 degrees, not 360, in waiting. Change is a good thing. It wakes you up. It allows you to put to bed the many thoughts you had about the lives of your parents and grandparents. These thoughts are not simple and naked. They are clothed in the wonder of how you would have managed if you were in their stead. Even if you do not make such a conscious comparison, it lies somewhere in your subconscious because we use our parents as weights and measures, avoirdupois or metric.

9. The Caribbean is called to arms. A call to arms in which we must expect, again, division and derision, from within and without. What we also must expect, and give thanks for, is a golden chance to relive history and answer the questions we asked of our predecessors, from Caribs and Arawaks to Africans and Indians, and the rest of the invading and invited and welcoming internationals from all corners of the earth, that altogether make the Caribbean unique; a metropolis in waiting.

10. This is not a time for despair, Caribbean people. This is a time, as our motto instructs us, to gird our loins and join the battle against fear, hate and poverty. With real and artificial intelligence and our indomitable will never to be slaves again, our work is as clear as crystal, and yet unbreakable.

11. The blueprint is not yet in print. It is not even blue yet. The only staple we have is that our history will guide us, with knowledge of its failures, foibles, and successes.

12. Sometime soon, someone will be bright enough and smart enough to coin the appropriate term, which initially may be called the Renovation of the Caribbean. Like all renovations, we are stuck with certain strictures and structures, some passages and weight-bearing columns that seem immovable. But renovate we must, dismantling some posts and changing some corridors, galleries, patios, and atria. But the fundamental principles of survival cannot not be compromised. Our DNA and our epigenetics forbid negotiating our survival.

13. As the sorties, sallies, and palavers occupy our islands, we have to think and act wisely for our survival. A nexus of sense and nonsense will flood our lives and livelihoods. We have to know and learn again the words and rhythm of the calypso and all of our Caribbean music and what they are really saying. When to sing along, when to shut up, and when to dance, even with a deceptive dance. We did this before. The charts are embedded in our Caribbean soul. This time, we have the pain of history and the coda and the cadenza of our music to know how to move and what to wave.

14. It is also clear that our internal and regional politics and virtually every single facet of our livelihood cannot and will not be the same. Status quo, no; status pro, yes. Some will argue that the wintry hurricane from the North People is the shakeup we needed. How else can the sins of the past and their reparations be reconciled as we repair, fight again, and prepare and renovate for the brand-new future. Remember, at the heart of reparations lies the unburdening of the souls on all sides. All sides. Do not fear addition. Arithmetic knows how to balance its equation.

15. In physiology and in every single discipline in life, we learn the normal, the usual, the routine. When the chips are down, and the fire begins to blaze, that is when we know who is who and who not only can stand the heat, but who will not get out of the kitchen, even if we have to cook outside and eat only what we can find and grow. We did this before. Show me your motion, even when you are marking time and seemingly standing still.

16. In time to come, as the kaiso says, we, Caribbean people, will have to come together in some new shape and form. History is repeating itself with a twist and shout and a new Caribbean dance. The Caribbean negotiating table is polygonal and all inclusive. The table is so sacrosanct that it sends me back to another vivid leaning moment in school in Latin class: The declension of the word table: mensa, mensae, mensae, mensam, mensa, mensa.

17. Our ancestors are watching and waiting under the table.