Atlantic Studies

Global Currents

ISSN: 1478-8810 (Print) 1740-4649 (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rjas20

Atlantic childhood and youth in global context:

reflections on the Global South

Audra A. Diptee & David V. Trotman

To cite this article: Audra A. Diptee & David V. Trotman (2014) Atlantic childhood and
youth in global context: reflections on the Global South, Atlantic Studies, 11:4, 437-448, DOI:
10.1080/14788810.2014.972246

To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/14788810.2014.972246

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Atlantic Studies, 2014
Vol. 11, No. 4, 437–448, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14788810.2014.972246

Atlantic childhood and youth in global context: reflections on the

Global South
Audra A. Diptee* and David V. Trotman

This article is an introduction to the special issue dedicated to exploring the ways in
which childhood and youth have been shaped by Atlantic and global dynamics. It
explores some of the methodological and theoretical challenges of writing a history of
childhood and youth in the Global South. The authors suggest that current theories
which address the experiences of young people do not adequately consider the
historical specificities of childhood and youth in colonial contexts. In particular, they
maintain that there are at least four distinctive factors that shaped young people’s
experiences. These include the racialization of childhood and youth, attempts to
reshape the boundaries of childhood and youth to reflect the priorities of colonial
states, the existence of colonial narratives which articulated childhood and youth in
terms of deviance and pathology, and the presence of non-Western notions about
young people which acted in opposition to colonial impositions despite the severity of
the power imbalance. Furthermore, the article argues that while there may be a need to
develop a theory that works for children in the Global South, historians should by no
means abandon empiricism or develop an over reliance on generalizations that do not
adequately consider historical context. Finally, the authors suggest that historians need
to rely on nontraditional sources and develop new narratives for articulating the
experiences of young people.
Keywords: childhood; youth; children’s rights; methodology; Caribbean; Africa

Although there is a rich body of literature on the history of childhood and youth, the
historical experiences of young people in much of the Global South has only recently
been receiving scholarly attention and, it can be safely concluded, still continues to be
under researched.1 As a result of this dearth in the historical literature, theories about
childhood and youth tend to rely heavily on research that addresses the experiences of
young people in the developed world.2 Given that the history of childhood and youth in
much of the developing world is still in its nascent stages, however, it remains unclear if
any such derived theoretical framework should be broadly applied to regions such as
Africa, the Caribbean, and Latin America.3 To do so would be to continue with a well-
established tradition, beginning with colonialism, of imposing Western notions of
childhood and youth on the Global South with little regard for actual realities. That
said, it is also necessary, as Peter Coclanis has cautioned, to be mindful that trans-Atlantic
dynamics need to be contextualized within a larger global framework. To use his words,
the Atlantic world both “drew its lifeblood” from and “hemorrhaged” into other
networks.4 An analysis of childhood in the Atlantic world, then, should not only
contemplate the tension between the various non-Western and Western notions of

*Corresponding author. Email: audra.diptee@carleton.ca

© 2014 Taylor & Francis
438 A.A. Diptee and D.V. Trotman

childhood, but it should also resist the temptation to use an analytical framework that
treats the Atlantic world as a closed unit that had little impact from and on other regions.

Historicizing and theorizing colonial childhoods

Although not a point given adequate contemplation, colonial efforts were invested in
shaping the terms that would define the experiences of young people. European powers
understood that their future in the colonies depended on their ability to control generation
after generation of the colonized: children were a source of labor and, children could
potentially be socialized to serve colonial objectives in a manner that surpassed that of
their parents. To capitalize upon and control this human resource required, to the degree
that it was possible, imposing parameters on young people’s lives that were, quite often,
in conflict with the practised tradition of those who found themselves at the bottom of the
European-imposed racial hierarchy. Despite the severe power imbalance, however, these
attempts at remaking childhood and youth in the colonial context did not pass
uncontested. In the simplest of terms, at the heart of the colonial enterprise, there was a
battle over childhood and youth. Indigenous peoples, enslaved Africans, and their
descendants in the Caribbean and Latin America, as well as the colonized on the African
continent itself, all sought to mediate colonial efforts to set the parameters that bounded
young people’s experiences. The same holds true for South Asian, Chinese, and Javanese
populations who were brought to the Caribbean and Latin America, from far outside the
Atlantic Basin, to meet a diverse range of colonial labor needs.5 To put it another way,
during the colonial period, childhood and youth existed in a colonial framework, were
informed by a racial hierarchy, forged in the crucible of an Atlantic world, and grounded
in networks which were global.
The circumstances were quite varied in Africa, the Caribbean, and Latin America, of
course, but certain generalizations can be made about colonial childhood and youth.
There are at least four distinctive factors that shaped the experience of most young
people: childhood and youth were heavily racialized; attempts were made to reshape
childhood and youth in a manner that reflected the economic priorities of the colonial
states; colonial discourses of childhood and youth were imbued with narratives of
deviance and pathology; and, non-Western notions of childhood and youth acted in
opposition to colonial impositions despite the severity of the power imbalance.6 With
these peculiarities in mind, it seems reasonable to suggest that current theories on
childhood, informed by the European experience, might be misplaced in those studies
that focus on specifically colonial, and perhaps even postcolonial, contexts.
In James and James pioneering theoretical work on the “cultural politics of
childhood,” they make it clear that notions of childhood are influenced by social and
cultural contexts.7 That said, it remains to be seen if conceptions of childhood that
operated in the colonial context can be properly understood using their theoretical
framework.8 In their study, James and James caution that although childhood is a
universally shared “developmental stage,” it should not be seen as “unproblematic” or
merely a “natural biological phase.” Childhood (and arguably youth) is a social
construction that is “interpreted, understood and socially institutionalised.” They identify
three key factors as shaping the cultural politics of childhood. First, they maintain that
conceptions of childhood are determined by children as well as adults. Children may be
assigned social status by adults, but they also have the capacity to negotiate the terms of
their childhood or to act as agents. In popular discourse, any such acts of agency by
 Atlantic Studies 439

children and youths might be referred to as “disobedience” or “rebelliousness.” Second,

culturally determined discourses institutionalize childhood by means of the law. Using a
broad definition of law, James and James include conceptions of childhood that are
shaped by tradition, the implementation of social policies, as well as formal legal codes.
Finally, James and James emphasize that there is a danger in generalizing about children’s
experiences as these children often interpret and respond very differently to imposed
notions of childhood. Such differences might be apparent in different social and cultural
contexts, but it is also possible that they could occur in the same environment.
In colonial contexts, the cultural politics of childhood was no doubt further
complicated by institutionalized racism, a patriarchal framework that was virtually
nonexistent in slave families, the clash between imposed and opposed notions of
childhood and youth, and efforts to remake young people’s lived experiences in a manner
that reflected colonial economic priorities. That said, any scholarly effort to develop a
theory of childhood and youth that contemplates the colonial experience must avoid
analyses that are grounded in, to use Frederick Cooper’s words, notions of a “generic”
and “ahistorical” colonialism. In his persuasive methodological critique of postcolonial
studies Cooper, who readily acknowledges the previous contributions in the field, argues
that one cannot underestimate the importance of “doing history historically.”9 Coloniza-
tion was not “a single, coherent project.”10 In fact, there was no single “colonial project.”
There were many projects. The machinations of colonization varied from place to place
and changed over time. The circumstances affecting the making of empire were diverse,
and they were determined by specific conditions in specific locations. There is an
analytical danger in not recognizing this specificity. The problem with the concept of
coloniality, as Cooper has put it, is that it generalizes and essentializes to the point of
having little meaning. It offers little insight on how colonial power, in its various
contexts, was actually exercised, limited, and confronted by those people who played a
role in shaping the terms of colonial struggles.11 Lest it be suggested that our effort to
identify general characteristics of childhood and youth in colonial settings, writ large, has
taken us off that particular intellectual precipice, we feel it necessary to emphasize an
unequivocal commitment to privileging historical context. In other words, any general-
izations about the colonial battle over childhood and youth must be bolstered by an
understanding of the specific time, terrain, and terms in which the battle took place.
Danielle Kinsey’s article in this special issue helps to emphasize this need for
historical nuance. Kinsey shows, through an analysis of conceptions about children inside
and outside of Britain, that in the nineteenth century, attitudes toward child labor “were
rooted in a specific geography” and that “place mattered.” Although the thrust of her
article emphasizes the ways in which contexts outside of Britain shaped constructions of
childhood within Britain, her study makes clear that ideas about childhood were by no
means rigid. Notions of childhood were not only racialized, but they were, at times,
divergent, fluid, and inconsistent. Through her analysis of transnational mining cultures,
she explores the ways in which ideas about childhood in Brazil and in India could be
constructed very differently.
That notions of childhood and youth were unstable is further supported by Erin Bell’s
analysis of juvenile delinquency in colonial Kenya during the period of the Mau Mau
Rebellion. In her study, Bell situates discourses of childhood and youth within the context
of British Empire. She suggests that colonization schemes in both the Atlantic and Indian
Ocean worlds developed narratives addressing young people that were distinct and that
“the legal construction of childhood […] was highly pluralistic and open to multiple –
440 A.A. Diptee and D.V. Trotman

and at times conflicting – understandings of gender, race, and sexuality.” These local
contexts were shaped by the specific dynamics of colonizer and colonized.

Methodological challenges and possibilities

The issue of historical nuance aside, it is clear that historians also face significant
methodological challenges in their efforts to understand subaltern perspectives on
children and youth. There is no need to recount here the ways in which the organization
of archives affects the production of history. That is a well traversed ground.12 Historians
of childhood and youth in the Global South, however, need to develop a better comfort
level with using source material produced by the subaltern groups that speak to the ways
in which childhood and youth were imagined and understood. Of course, as the articles in
this special issue demonstrate, there is still much that can be done with traditional sources
such as colonial correspondence, missionary records, travel writing, and newspaper
accounts. Getting access to the competing notions of childhood that operated within the
colonial context, however, necessitates the use of interdisciplinary approaches that allow
historians to explore how contemporary literature and song, for example, offers insights
into the ways in which notions of childhood and youth were understood, lived, and
bounded. As Stuart Hall sees it, any study of cultural manifestations such as “recreation,
dance, and popular song” are most useful when “seen in relation to a more general, wider
history.”13 As Hall’s body of work suggests, an analysis of culture exposes “the relations
of power that exist within a society.” Popular culture, in particular, is the “site at which
everyday struggles between dominant and subordinate groups are fought, won and
lost.”14 With this in mind and by way of an example, the next section explores, through
an analysis of the music genre of calypso in the British Caribbean, both the promise and
the challenges that come with an exploration of alternative sources that might shed light
on subaltern notions of childhood and youth in the Global South.15

Alternative historical sources: childhood, youth, and calypso

During the colonial period, calypso was a subaltern cultural production.16 Though one
cannot make this claim today, during its golden era (1920s–1960s), it was produced by
subordinate groups within the society who sang independent of political influence and
with little hope of monetary reward. The very first commercial recordings were made in
the early twentieth century, and the genre itself was understood to be a site of contestation
that offered social commentary on issues of the day from the perspective of the working
class. The composers and performers of calypso, who were not necessarily the same
person, were urban based, primarily of African descent, rarely studied beyond elementary
school, and generally male. In other words, women and individuals who were not of
African descent were a minority among calypsonians. Despite this bias in the
demographic profile of practising artists, it is still possible to glean visions of childhood
and youth from the available recordings. There may have been no child calypsonians
during this period, but there were certainly some who entered the calypso fraternity in
their youth. Furthermore, even when it is not possible to access perspectives of youth,
adult men were known to sing calypsos that sometimes shed light on subaltern, Afro-male
perspectives about the young.
Put another way, the “weapons of the weak,” to use James Scott’s words, have the
potential to offer significant historical insights on children and on youth.17 This is not to
 Atlantic Studies 441

say, of course, that cultural productions such as song, dance, and play should be treated as
unproblematical by historians. The key point being made here is that these types of
sources have the potential to offer access to the ways in which childhood and youth were
articulated in arenas that remained largely outside of colonial control. In the case of
calypso, in particular, its existence was independent of church and state. It was not on the
list of approved cultural practices. To be sure, it was popular among the working classes
and some sections of the middle class, but even they perceived calypso as a manifestation
of “low culture.” Calypsonians offered political and social commentary as well as
discussion of the raw reality of life in working-class communities. Many songs of this
genre were sexually suggestive double entendre compositions. The content of calypsos
and the behavior associated with calypsonians were deemed morally and socially
unacceptable.
For this reason, working-class parents, many of whom participated in the cultural
consumption of calypsos, discouraged their children from participation in the art form. In
so doing, they made it clear they concurred with religious authorities, representatives of
the school system, and colonial officials. In other words, even the popular classes, who
eagerly listened to these songs, understood the arena of calypso to be an unregulated,
unmediated, and unsavory space. Despite parental and community disapproval, there
were some calypso careers that began at an early age. Aldric Farrell (1917–2002), who
initially sang under the stage name “Boy Wonder” made his debut in 1929 at the age of
12 with a self-composed calypso. In later years, after he changed his stage name to Lord
Pretender, he recounted an incident when his grandmother publicly dragged him off the
stage while he was performing as she so strongly disapproved of his participation in
singing calypsos.18 Other calypsonians of that period have also made public the
difficulties they faced as adolescents hoping to sing calypso. Parents and teachers who
recognized their singing ability encouraged them to participate in church and school
choirs.19 Calypso was seen as taboo and out of bounds. As a result, it was only after they
left school, at around the age of 15, that they found the freedom to exercise their choice
for calypso as a preferred artistic form and profession.
An analysis of youth in the calypso art form is useful in at least three ways: First,
those youths who dared to enter the guild of calypsonians have left historians with a
record of their articulations. Ironically, in an effort to prove their manhood, the lyrics
penned by these adolescents addressed adult issues. Their calypsos offered anti-colonial
political commentaries, provided justifications for patriarchy, told tales of sexual
conquests, and related concerns about employment, wages, housing, and what they
perceived as deviant sexual behavior. Despite the fact that they rarely reflected the
concerns of the young, these narratives should not be ignored. They are a valuable
resource for assessing adolescent understandings of adult behavior and realities. Second,
those calypsos sung by adults give insight to the ways in which (primarily) grown men
imagined and understood childhood and youth. Many of their songs, which were targeted
at parents, tended to be admonitions about the perils of failed parenting and the
importance and value of education. These calypsos give us insight into how men
understood the role of parenting and the parameters of childhood and adolescence. Just as
importantly, they speak to the boundaries of behavior which children and youth
challenged and as a result, often became labeled as juvenile delinquents and youthful
offenders. Third, some calypsonians offered narrative constructions of their childhood as
they experienced it under colonialism. Many of these compositions contained nostalgic
sentiments and sketched idealized portraits of childhood. In this particular narrative,
442 A.A. Diptee and D.V. Trotman

children’s needs were provided for by family and community despite circumstances of
poverty. These songs were penned by calypsonians who had reached adulthood and were
usually in response to perceived societal changes which were reflected in the reported
(mis)behavior of a new generation of young people. As such, these songs offer historians
valuable portraits of what was perceived to be an ideal childhood and the perceived
boundaries associated with it.20

Developing alternative narratives

Such methodological considerations aside, there is much to be gained by adopting
childhood and youth as a framework for understanding the past of former colonized
regions. In so doing, there is the potential to disrupt dominant narratives, many of which
privilege the experiences of adults and emphasize the dynamics between colonizer and
colonized. This is despite the fact that childhood, and arguably youth, exhibit “a basic
permanence” in societies even though they can be quite different depending on context.21
We argue that there are possibilities for radically new historical interpretations, if
historians were to resist the temptation of inserting young people’s history into the
“colonizer versus colonized” paradigm. After all, to use the words of the American
psychologist Abraham Maslow, “if the only tool you have is a hammer, [it is tempting] to
treat everything as if it were a nail.”22 Put another way, it is necessary to recognize the
impact of colonialism on childhood and on youth, but it is also worth considering that,
while young people lived in a colonial space, they did not always recognize their actions
as being defined by or in opposition to the colonial framework. In other words, how
might historical interpretations change if historians asked different questions and worked
with different assumptions about childhood and youth in various colonial contexts? We
would like to illustrate this by exploring youth involvement in the emergence of the
steelband – a musical instrument developed in the Caribbean island of Trinidad in the late
1930s.
The steelband was invented by predominantly black working-class (male) youths
during World War II (1939–1945). These youths, who were no longer in school and
unemployed, transformed discarded oil drums into a musical instrument that could
reproduce a full range of musical notes comparable to any other orchestra.23 For this
generation, traditional musical instruments and music lessons were not affordable and
therefore outside the realm of their possibilities. In other words, the steelpan was a
musical instrument born out of poverty, out of the depravities of colonialism, and out of a
community of poverty-stricken young people with little access to education and
employment. Despite the fact, that it was young males who were the pioneers of this
instrument, which today is an iconic image and sound for the Caribbean, historians have
seen its emergence as a reflection of the anti-colonial struggle, class conflict, and African
cultural resilience in the struggle for cultural hegemony in the race-biased society of its
birth. What they have not contemplated is why it was youth, in particular, who laid the
foundation for the development of this instrument.
Our intention here is not to dismiss all of the elements listed above that influenced the
birth of this new instrument, but instead to illustrate how an overconcentration on the
known context (race, class, and colonialism) and the rounding up of the “usual suspects”
may blind us to other crucial elements which are germane to the history of childhood and
youth and, for that matter, the history of the steelband. Shifting the lens slightly on the
emergence of the steelband from colonialism and its concomitant issues of race, class,
 Atlantic Studies 443

and culture would allow for other discussions including intergenerational conflict, youth
violence, and the innovativeness of youth and the transition to adulthood.
Moreover, while scholars have focused on the emergence of this instrument, we
should not ignore the role of children and youths in the creation of a social movement
centered on the instruments and its practitioners. The continued development of the
instrument generated a praxis of organization and administration which were in large
measure peculiar to the social situation of steelband practitioners. Hence, it is also
possible to explore the process of political socialization and the patterns of political
attitudes and praxis developed by this generation of youth, as they struggled with self-
organization in the midst of a rapidly changing wider societal climate.
Finally, in keeping with the theme of this special issue, which explores global and
Atlantic interactions, it seems necessary to contextualize youth and the steelpan in the
larger context of the international oil industry. The steelpan, as mentioned above, was
made from discarded oil drums. As a result, it would not exist today without the presence
of petroleum in Trinidad, an accompanying international demand, and, during the
colonial period, foreign investors (primarily British and American) who were willing to
exploit the mineral resources of this small island.24 Moreover, it was those youths, who
while managing the challenges of adolescence, engaged in numerous ways with the
presence of young American soldiers who were part of the American occupation forces
stationed in Trinidad during the World War II. Local youths were caught up in a colonial
world which was experiencing the eclipse of British cultural hegemony in the face of a
rising and aggressively penetrating American cultural presence.25 As such, the emergence
of the steelpan was a result of the innovative capacities of poverty-stricken youth in an
Atlantic colonial context which was being influenced by a global petroleum market, as
well as the USA’s cultural influences and physical presence on the island.

Conclusion: universal notions of childhood in the twenty-first century

Colonial discourses about childhood and youth were shaped by multidirectional
influences from various corners of the British Empire. Administrators were, after all, a
mobile group, and they would use their experiences from one British colony to inform
their practices in another.26 Furthermore, there were multiple subaltern notions of
childhood and youth. These were held by both adults and young people, and without
question gendered. Such notions were often in opposition to conceptions and impositions
from colonialists and humanitarians alike. In fact, Europeans made little effort to
incorporate, or even consider, local ideas about childhood and youth. For example, in
1931, Save the Children International Union organized a conference on “The African
Child” which was held in Geneva. The conference was attended primarily by European
humanitarians who hoped to take European notions of childhood to Africa.27 Imperial
humanitarian ideals, however, were often compromised in local contexts. This is made
clear in Catherine Koonar’s article which explores the ways in which the Basel Mission in
colonial Ghana (1855–1915), despite its official opposition to slavery, was often “directly
involved in mediating the exploitation of child labour” through various local institutions.
In the same way that there was no single subaltern notion of childhood, there were
also competing notions among the colonialists and those acting with their support. The
articles by Lara Putnam and Cecilia Green, both of which look at the British Caribbean
situation during the 1930s, draw attention to the differing perspectives held by
colonialists, “local reformers, and local plantocratic elites.” They also emphasize the
444 A.A. Diptee and D.V. Trotman

ways in which the “global and transatlantic dialogues” affected policy debate. Putnam
argues that British imperial policy paid “almost no attention” to children before the
1930s. By the mid-nineteenth century, however, there would be increased attention given
to children and the focus would be on the “social and psychological consequences of
child-rearing, rather than the moral and medical.” Green’s study, which focuses
specifically on Barbados, reminds us that during this period children were not “active
bearers of rights.” Through her analysis of the Moyne Commission (1938–1939), she
explores the efforts to move away from a system that privileged the paternalism of the
plantocracy and the church to a “standardized bureaucratic paternalism” grounded in a
very particular set of moral codes.
Ironically, competing notions of childhood continue to be a challenge despite the fact
that we operate in a very different context in the twenty-first century. Today we are
guided by the 1989 United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child (UNCRC).28
The USA and Somalia are the only two countries who have not yet ratified the UNCRC.
This includes South Sudan which, at the time of publication, is the world’s newest nation.
The widespread ratification of this document is indicative of an international consensus
on how childhood should be defined and the particular obligations adults have toward
young people.29
In other words, the UNCRC (as well as its precursors) codifies in law a very
particular notion of childhood. It reflects attempts to create an “international vision of
childhood.” That said, while the globalization of laws might have the tendency to
universalize perspectives on childhood, there continues to be a tension between this
international vision and the local conceptions of childhood that have been shaped in
various social, political, and economic contexts across the globe.30 This explains why in
1990, the Organization of African Unity (now the African Union) felt compelled to
develop the African Charter for the Rights and Welfare of the Child (ACRWC), which
aimed to better address childhood in the African context. The Organization of African
Unity (OAU), comprised of African heads of state and government, thought it prudent to
develop a Charter that better reflected the concerns stemming from “socio-cultural and
economic realities of the African experience.”31 This decision suggests that there are
issues today that are reminiscent of an earlier period: a globalized vision of childhood
(with universalizing tendencies) that does not adequately consider the specific circum-
stances that shape the various local productions of childhood.
Accessing the voice of children, both past and present, continues to be a problem. It is
a remarkable irony that although the Convention on the Rights of the Child is the most
widely ratified document and has been existence for 25 years, it has been without
accompanying mechanisms that make it enforceable. In this issue’s interview with Sara
Austin of World Vision Canada, we learn about her eight-year journey to get the voices of
children heard through the Third Optional Protocol of the UNCRC. In short, this
legislation, which came into effect in 2014, makes it possible for children (or individuals
working on their behalf) to file a complaint to the UN Committee on the Rights of the
Child in Geneva, if they believe their rights are being violated and are receiving no
support at the local level. As its name suggests, however, it is an optional protocol and
therefore, countries are under no obligation to sign it. Austin continues to advocate for its
adoption among those countries that have ratified the UNCRC. What this document does,
in essence, is to create a legal space for children to act as agents when confronting
breaches in international law. Theorists of childhood have long argued that children also
have a role in shaping their own childhood. They negotiate the terms of their childhood
 Atlantic Studies 445

and test the boundaries and parameters imposed upon them. The Third Optional Protocol
is a legal manifestation that is grounded in this theoretical assumption and has established
a mechanism for children to present legal challenges on human rights issues. It provides
children with an opportunity to deal with their local experiences at an international level.

Notes on contributors
Audra A. Diptee is an Associate Professor in the Department of History at Carleton University. She
is also cross-appointed to the Institute of African Studies. Her research covers common themes in
both Africa and the Caribbean and explores issues related to children and childhood, gender,
historical consciousness, slavery, and race relations. She has published work in each of these areas
including a monograph, edited works, and several articles.

David V. Trotman is an Associate Professor in the Department of History at York University. He is

cross-appointed with the Department of Humanities. His research and publications explore various
aspects of Caribbean history and society, including the history of crime, Caribbean popular culture,
and public history.

Notes
1. Some works in this area include, González and Premo, Raising an Empire; Grier, Invisible
Hands; Sen, Colonial Childhoods; and Hecht, Minor Omissions. See also selections from
Campbell, Miers, and Miller, Children in Slavery through the Ages and Child Slaves in the
Modern World.
2. See the influential theoretical work by James and James, Constructing Childhood.
3. The literature on the history of children and childhood in Europe and North America has a
much richer historiography than that of Africa, Latin America, and the Caribbean. It would be
impossible to offer a complete listing here, but see, for example, Ariès, Centuries of Childhood;
Pollock, Forgotten Children; Cunningham, Children and Childhood in Western Society since
1500; King, Stolen Childhood; Fass and Mason, Childhood in America; and Sutherland,
Children in English-Canadian Society.
4. Coclanis, “Beyond Atlantic History,” 339.
5. See Northrup, Indentured Labor in the Age of Imperialism, 1834–1922; Look Lai, Indentured
Labor, Caribbean Sugar; Yun, The Coolie Speaks; Look Lai and Beng Tan, The Chinese in
Latin America and the Caribbean.
6. For works which discuss the pathologization of childhood and youth in colonial contexts, see
Waller, “Rebellious Youth in Colonial Africa”; Campbell, “Juvenile Delinquency”; Fourchard,
“Lagos and the Invention of Juvenile Delinquency.”
7. James and James, Constructing Childhood, 6–9.
8. In her study on Indian childhood, Sarada Balagopalan offers an interesting critique of James
and Prout’s early theoretical work Constructing and Reconstructing Childhood. She suggests
that despite the effort to recognize multiple childhoods, this “culturalist” paradigm does not
include “an analysis of the transformations that colonialism and modernization” have had on
conceptions of childhood in colonial and postcolonial societies. She also argues that the
dynamics of power and the ways in which these childhoods have been represented as “the
other” are overlooked. Balagopalan, “Constructing Indigenous Childhoods,” 21;
9. Cooper, “Postcolonial Studies and the Study of History,” 409.
10. Ibid., 417
11. Ibid., 405, 409.
12. See Stoler, Along the Archival Grain; and, Trouillot, Silencing the Past.
13. Hall, “Notes on Deconstructing ‘the Popular,’” 445.
14. James Procter, Stuart Hall, 2, 11.
15. There has been some work which explores childhood in calypso, but these are not historical
studies and the focus has been on the postindependence period. See Regis, “Doh Beat Mama
Popo” and “First They Must Be Composers.”
446 A.A. Diptee and D.V. Trotman

16. For a discussion on the history of calypso and its social significance, see Gordon Rohlehr,
Calypso & Society in Pre-Independence.
17. See Scott, Weapons of the Weak.
18. See “Lord Pretender: Calypso’s Last Great Exponent of Extempo Singing”; “Lord Pretender”
The Independent, February 14, 2002.
19. See Liverpool, From the Horse’s Mouth.
20. See, for example, calypsos such as Destroyer, “A Mother’s Love”; The Mighty Sparrow,
“Rebel” and “Education is Essential”; The Mighty Composer, “Child Training”.
21. Qvortrup, “Editorial: A Reminder,” 395–400.
22. Maslow, The Psychology of Science, 15.
23. For the history of the steelband, see Johnson, From Tin Pan to TASPO; Stuempfle, The
Steelband Movement; Goddard, Forty Years in the Steelbands, 1939–1979.
24. For a succinct history of the oil production in Trinidad, see Boopsingh, “From Walter Darwent
to Atlantic LNG Train 4,” 140.
25. Neptune, Caliban and the Yankees.
26. For a sophisticated discussion of the dynamics between colonizer and colonized see Stoler and
Cooper, “Between Metropole and Colony.”
27. For a fuller discussion of the 1931 conference on “The African Child,” which was held in
Geneva, see, Marshall, “Children’s Rights in Imperial Political Cultures,” 275.
28. Although the UNCRC was the most influential, it is important to note that there were a number
of child-focused declarations that preceded it in the twentieth century. This includes the 1924
Geneva Declaration of the Rights of the Child, the United Nations declaration in 1959, and
several Hague conventions in the 1980s and 1990s. James and James, Constructing Childhood,
81.
29. The United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child defines a child as anyone who is 18
years of age or younger.
30. Boyden, “Childhood and the Policy Makers,” 190–229.
31. Olowu, “Protecting Children’s Rights in Africa,” 127–36. Chirwa, “The Merits and Demerits of
the African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child,” 157–77. As of 2014, the African
Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child, was ratified by only 47 of the 54 member states
of the African Union. See “The African Charter on the Rights and Welfare of the Child.”

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