ANCESTRAL SIDE EYE: A KING AMONG FREE PEOPLE

As Caribbean people, we understand that our ancestors do not need a microphone to be heard.

They speak to us in dreams and unexpected changes in the atmosphere, and they have certainly been vocal over the past week.

The British Monarch, King Charles III, arrived in a region in late October 2026 to exercise the royal diplomacy that we know all too well. Carefully choreographed photos for the royal archives, enthusiastic school children and speeches about friendship and a shared future. One could be forgiven for thinking Charles had popped down, in the peak of the tourism season, for a lime. Maybe that's what makes the whole thing so unsettling. The fact that this is not somebody’s elderly uncle visiting from overseas. Charles is the hereditary monarch of a country whose imperial history is inseparable from the enslavement, exploitation and political subjugation of Caribbean people and our ancestors.

Generations of our people resisted, rebelled and died to dismantle colonial rule in pursuit of freedom and self-determination. In 2026, their descendants are showing up to wave flags and applaud the very same institution that stood at the pinnacle of the imperial system that they fought so hard to escape.

One can respect that Charles is carrying out his duties, and recognise the diplomatic importance

of the visit and still be left wondering: What are we celebrating?

We get it. Royal tours are diplomatic theatre used to reinforce relationships and present the monarchy as a symbol of continuity. The tour included meetings with community leaders, displays of local traditions and conversations on very real environmental concerns. All of whichcould be legitimately valuable in bringing some much needed international attention to issues like economic resilience and cultural conservation in the region. However, this does little to separate the Crown from the history upon which its enduring global power was established.

The British did not first come to the Caribbean as a benevolent cultural exchange programme. They came as pillagers, and that's putting it nicely. Their wealth and influence were built through colonial extraction and forced labour. They viewed African people as property and indigenous communities as obstacles to their imperial expansion. That history does not vanish when King Charles parades in the street ringing a cow bell.

The Ancestors were not having it.

Now, no one is suggesting literal spiritual interference in Guyana’s electrical grid or Antigua and

Barbuda’s weather patterns. But if there were ever an event begging the ancestors to make themselves heard, this was it.

The widespread blackout that affected Guyana during the King’s visit was attributed to problems

affecting distribution feeders. Anyone familiar with the realities of life in the Caribbean knows that an unexpected power outage is hardly evidence of divine intervention, and depending on the country it would be more of a surprise if the lights had stayed on. But the timing? Priceless.

One could imagine the conversation of the ancestors went like this:

“Wait nah… is Charles dat in Guyana?”

“Yeah man, de King come down for a lil visit.”

“Oh? So he bring de reparations?”

“Reparations? Boy, dem still talking bout dat.”

“Still talking?! After all dis time? How long we dead?”

“And you should see de big welcome dem giving he. Red carpet, music, de whole works.”

“Wha?! So he come empty-handed and allyuh throwing party for he?”

“Well, dem say is a goodwill visit.”

“Goodwill? Steups. All dem years we work for free and now he come looking a free vacation

too?”

“So wha we doing?”

“Boy, cut off de lights. Leh dem lime in de dark.”

If Guyana was an opening act, Antigua and Barbuda was a fitting finale.

Caribbean people know the power of a good cleansing. Whether to wash away misfortune or get

rid of negative energy following you. So when the rains came down in Antigua and Barbuda during Charles’ appearance at the 45th Independence Day celebrations, it was like the ancestors had decided that the Crown was long overdue for a washdown. After all, the ancestors wouldn’t expect centuries of colonial baggage to come off with a little sprinkle.

“So where Charles reach now?”

“Antigua. Dem got he up dey for Independence Day.”

“Independence Day? And dem invite de King? Boy, you cyah make up dem kinda thing.”

“And look how dem dress up nice nice to welcome he.”

“Steups. After all we go through, look how dem carrying on.”

“Well, we done cut de lights in Guyana. Wha we doing now?”

“Boy, I feel like he could do with a lil fresh up.”

“You know wha? A good wash off before he leave.”

“So we sending down a lil rain?”

“A lil rain? Nah man, if we doing it, leh we do it properly!”

“But wait, he ain't got no umbrella!”

“Well, good. We ain't had none in de cane field neither.”

All this for what?

Maybe the most provocative part of this whole thing is the normalcy with which hereditary royalty is still celebrated in the Caribbean.

The Caribbean region has birthed freedom fighters, intellectuals, revolutionaries, artists and political leaders whose contributions have shaped the world.

But here we are, a free people, cheering and celebrating a royal tour while conversations about

historical accountability and self determination remain unfinished. Of course, free people can choose to celebrate whatever they please. But freedom also means a right to question the inherited symbols of those who oppressed us.

There is nothing inherently wrong with Caribbean hospitality, nor is it unreasonable that some people may genuinely admire Charles or appreciate his interest in the region's environmental challenges. But what does it mean to celebrate a hereditary institution whose power and prestige are intertwined with our own history of exploitation? And why is “tradition” so often accepted as sufficient reason for unquestioning deference?