Karukerament Lexicon - Caribbean vs. “Antillean”

Yé Moun La! In 2025, Karukerament offers you a lexicon to describe the representation issues of Caribbean cultures. This series of short articles is inspired by Toni Morrison's quote (May 30, 1975): “It's important, therefore, to know who the real enemy is, and to know the function, the very serious function of racism, which is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work.” The purpose of racism is to distract us from what's important. What's important is to define our joy, to build harmonious inclusive communities. Trying to prove your humanity to the system is a waste of time and energy. Over the last 8 years, I've seen 20th-century identity issues come back with no evolution of point of view compared to the time. I'd even say there's been a setback, because the négritude, antillanité, créolité and Maryse Condé’s literature wasn’t created for my generation to still see itself as deportees with no future, uprooted people looking for external validation. This defeatist, miserabilistic vision has even led to the radicalization of certain positions, reflecting a form of Black supremacism as dangerous as any other supremacism, which is why it's so important to keep a trace in 2025.

#2 Caribbean

“A frantic race through the heart of the Caribbean.” When the first version of the poster for Nelson Foix’s film “Zion” was unveiled in February/March 2025, I knew right away that the marketing for this film had been designed through the colonial filter. From interview to interview, from reaction videos to enthusiastic testimonials about the “representation of the true reality of Antillean people,” I became increasingly skeptical... And then I saw the film, and my suspicions were confirmed. This is not an Antillean film, this is a Guadeloupean film (with a French perspective, but that's not the point). Beyond drug trafficking, the authenticity of the way of life in “Zion” will appeal to people from other Caribbean countries like Jamaica or Trinidad. However, where Jean-Claude Barny preferred cultural neutrality in his film “Nèg Maron” (Karukerament, episode 6), “Zion” affirms its belonging to Guadeloupean culture. The tradition of gwoup a po is Guadeloupean culture. The tradition of gwoka played in the city center is Guadeloupean culture.  

If this film had been set in Martinique or French Guiana, these characteristics would have required a different representation. The Trinidadian films I have already discussed in Karukerament (episodes 3, 9, 11) use Carnival through other symbols than rebellion against colonial order or the spirituality of the connection with ancestors (episode 15 coming soon in English). Since Jamaica doesn’t have the same relationship with Carnival, this sequence couldn’t have taken place in that context. So this film may be “a frantic race”, but we aren’t “in the heart of the Caribbean.” We are in the heart of Guadeloupe

When I started blogging in 2016, I became more interested in social media. The prominent content creators at the time didn’t use Guadeloupe/Martinique in their branding. For those who produced lifestyle or general content, it was difficult to determine where they came from because they simply didn’t mention it. I was all the more puzzled and confused because I had spent a decade in the English-speaking digital world of Asian content, where consuming Korean, Japanese, Taiwanese, Chinese, Thai, or Vietnamese content was done with full awareness. Making this distinction was necessary to find the content we wanted. Categorizing content in this way was not a negative thing, so I didn't understand why Guadeloupeans didn't say they were from Guadeloupe and Martinicans didn't say they were from Martinique, even though they didn't seem to reject their culture as I did in my twenties.

I launched Karukerament in 2019. Yes, I had encouragement from the start, but spontaneous reactions like the one Euzhan Palcy gave me when I presented my podcast to her in 2024—a big smile and a “that's cute”—were few and far between. Over the past ten years, I have seen how the terms “Antilles/Antillean” have become a banner, a rallying cry for Guadeloupeans and Martinicans to give themselves the illusion of a community strength based solely on the dynamics between metropolitan France and the overseas departments. Incidentally, other overseas citizens* do not have this difficulty in asserting themselves. People from Réunion Island call themselves Réunionnais [Reunionan]. Kanaks people call themselves Kanaks. Guyanese people call themselves Guyanese, etc. Why are Guadeloupeans and Martinicans so attached to the term “Antillean,” which invisibilizes the specific characteristics of Guadeloupeans (and therefore Martinicans)? Perhaps this was a natural evolution of language for communities in mainland France, but I note that this linguistic shortcut is beginning to leave digital traces that will be exhausting to rectify if the change is not made now, as we are already 25 years behind in the algorithms. Thus, expressions such as Antillean-Caribbean, Franco-Antillean, and Franco-Guadeloupean have emerged to refer to what is purely Guadeloupean or purely Martinican. During the opening session of the “The Epicentrum” conference in 2023, one of the panelists even wondered about the existence of “Guadeloupean Caribbean Antillean cinema”... Even Christian Lara, nicknamed the father of Antillean cinema, came to the conclusion that his cinema was Guadeloupean. He saw no identity complexity. In “Antillean” literature, where Martinican authors predominate in people’s imagination, Maryse Condé has always asserted herself as Guadeloupean. Pierre-Edouard Décimus, the brain behind the Kassav' concept, also came to the conclusion that there is a Guadeloupean and Caribbean culture... In cinema, literature, and music, we already have artists who have spent their lives reflecting on who we are. They have given us the fruit of this reflection on identity. So why does my generation of Guadeloupean people hide behind the term “Antillean”? 

I don’t deny that Guadeloupean people and Martinican people (especially in mainland France) have formed a community where the two cultures have blended in certain ways. Yes, there is such a thing as a Martinican-Guadeloupean or Guadeloupean-Martinican experience. Yes, it takes a long time to write and say, but these are the most accurate expressions without making oneself invisible. However, these adjectives aren’t used. People would rather use “Antillean.” We could even go so far as to remove the hyphen to express the blending of the two identities rather than their simple juxtaposition. There is a need for mutual recognition and acceptance between local communities and diaspora communities. There is a need for lyannaj. That's why I expected “Gwadiniquais,” released by Paille x Misié Sadik x Def J in 2021, to become an anthem for local and mainland people in their 30’s and 40’s.  

2021 was a year of relentless media coverage in which “Antillean artists” denigrated themselves. (See my podcast Notre (dés)amour du Zouk which will be soon available on Youtube with English subtitles), “gwadiniquais” was the perfect substitute for the term “Antillean.” Instead of erasing cultural differences, the adjective, as in the song, emphasized the combination of differences to form a third entity. The music video for the original song “Martiniquais” by Paille and Def J has over 485,000 views to date, but I don't know if the remix with Misié Sadik is considered a hit. I would tend to say no, since I’ve never heard it played as a warm-up at concerts in Paris over the last four years. Why? Probably a timing issue in a new wave of Afrocentric identity claims tinged with hyper-problematic Black supremacy**. 

At the end of 2020, JOZII released the music video for “Bienvenue aux Antilles” (Welcome to the Antilles) (over 6 million views on YouTube). The imagery reignited media interest in the “Antillean” rap scene. In post-COVID France, with black squares in tribute to the victims of police violence in the United States, the (Afro) French media highlighted content creators from Guadeloupe and/or Martinique who presented themselves as “Antilleans,” who talk about the problems of “Antillean people,” the lack of representation of “Antillean people”... The A.O.D.A (Africain Originaire des Antilles, or African native of the Antilles) concept featured in the music video for “Faux Frère (Fake Brother)” reflects this need for Afrocentric identity affirmation, which invisibilized the multiculturalism and even the mixing of cultures inherent in the “Antilles.” At the same time, “Antillean” artists were once again being sought after by the (Afro) French media for this “Antillean” rap, which gradually started being analyzed as Caribbean rap. Although the effort to define these genres came too late to prevent confusion, I believe that the rise of Martinican shatta and Bouyon Gwada also contributed to the decline in the use of the term “Antillean.” Indeed, these artists no longer wanted to present “Antillean music” associated with Zouk and the artists of previous generations who had enjoyed (inter)national success. They presented themselves as Caribbean artists, with references to trap music from the United States, dancehall from Jamaica, and Bouyon from Dominica

In their discourse and that of social media, the term “Caribbean” has therefore replaced ‘Antillean’ while remaining within “the narrower French vision of what ‘the Antilles’ represent,” a contraction of the term “French Antilles” already observed among local students at the University of the Antilles in 2013. Indeed, still according to my hypothesis, this substitution was initiated by the “Free Spotify in the Caribbean” campaign launched on social media by Blackstane in 2020. I am still waiting to hear the word algorithm make an appearance in analyses of our streaming, but I think it has given a new branding to artists identifiable as Guadeloupean and/or Martinican over the last five years. However, new branding and using another word to describe yourself have no effect if the actions are exactly the same as before. Thus, the (Afro) French media understood that they had to use the term “Caribbean,” but they continued to see us as this monolithic, indeterminate block where Guadeloupe, Martinique, and French Guiana are interchangeable because we presented ourselves as interchangeable. 

Nevertheless, if there has been any progress to note in our (digital) community discourse over the last ten years, it’s the inclusion of French Guiana. Absent from cultural discourse in 2016/2017, it has made an appearance over the last two years. Discussions are still hesitant, even awkward, when it comes to evoking an “Antillean-Guyanese” reality when describing situations specific to the islands... but the desire to include French Guiana is clearly there. Over the last two years, I’ve never seen so much content explaining the difference between the Antilles and the Caribbean, between the Lesser Antilles and the Greater Antilles, what the Greater Caribbean and the Insular Caribbean are... This is still a geographical distinction, the relevance of which I only understood during geography tests in fifth and eighth grade. It’s an economic and political distinction obvious to me as an adult. However, when it comes to shared history and culture, French-language Caribbean content remains focused on Guadeloupe, Martinique, and French Guiana. Our cinema, literature, and music are a wonderful gateway that still struggles to interest content creators. Why is there this dissonance between this obsession with lexical precision to claim a region and this absence of discourse on cultural productions in that region? That being said, in all transparency, I see the same thing happening in English- and Spanish-speaking Caribbean digital creation. While there are more and more interviews with local artists, there are still too few digital traces of analyses focusing solely on Caribbean cultural productions. As a result, I am constantly on the lookout for content such as Cien años de Soledad, en compañía or Reels & Riddims. Similarly, while content creation around facts about the history of slavery and contemporary oppression remains a sure bet for generating shares on social media, I would like to see the same enthusiasm for recounting our cultural specificities outside of Carnival, Kreyol, and the denunciation of colorism/racism in the “Antilles”... What brings you joy in the Caribbean cultural content you consume and why? This is the central theme of my newsletter, and you can't imagine the joy I feel when someone responds to me. And if it's publicly, as Joanne C. Hillhouse did? I'm in Nirvana.

What exactly are we trying to express with terms such as Franco-Antillean, Franco-Guadeloupean, and Antillean-Caribbean? Similarities, differences? Guadeloupean culture has been shaped by contributions from French culture (and vice versa). To make them two separate entities by defining only the Guadeloupe part by African contributions is to invisibilize the contributions of all other communities and to focus one's perspective on the link to France. And one might want to do so in the Franco-European sense, which means France-European Union, but to use Franco-Guadeloupean or Franco-Antillean in a non-political context? I don't get it. If the Antilles and the Caribbean refer to the same geographical area, in what sense do we use Antillean-Caribbean? To refer to French speakers (excluding Haiti) on the one hand and all other “Antilleans” on the other, okay, but why use it when we want to talk about unity? Why, in a Guadeloupean media outlet, is Joé Dwèt Filé, nominated in the French Caribbean Artist of the Year category at the 2025 Caribbean Music Awards, characterized by Haiti/France, while DJ Quick (who was raised and lives in continental France) is characterized only by Guadeloupe? Are we talking about division or unity?


In the same way that Guyanese, Corsicans, Bretons, Kanaks, etc. assert themselves, what prevents Guadeloupeans from doing the same? Why should the term “Antilles” take precedence when referring to Guadeloupe? Why should ‘Antillean’ carry more weight than “Guadeloupean”? There is an adjective that encompasses all these similarities, differences, and specificities that the term “Antillean” should have meant but which it erases because of the French meaning given to it:  it’s “Caribbean.” Now, when I say “Antillean,” I literally say it in quotation marks to show that I am using this narrow vision of Guadeloupe + Martinique interchangeably in relation to France. In a Karukerament context, Caribbean is the adjective used to refer to anything related to any Caribbean country, and the link to France exists but is marginal. It’s an inclusive term that symbolizes distinctions based on ethnic origin, language, and geographical location. 

I do define myself as AfroCaribbean because, to my knowledge, my direct ancestors are mostly Black people from Africa. My life experience as a Guadeloupean woman will be linked to that of other Black Caribbean people, whether their ancestors were slaves or not, but also to that of Native/Indigineous people, IndoCaribbean people, SinoCaribbean people, SyroCaribbean people, and even White Creoles (the original meaning of the French term; we will return another day to the misuse of the adjective “Creole” in French). When I define myself as Caribbean, it means that I connect with these people from all over the Caribbean because we do share a history, a culture, and an economy on an individual level, whether in the region or in the diaspora. Caribbean can also be combined with other adjectives to describe specific characteristics. Besides, Caribbean can be specified as English-speaking, French-speaking, Spanish-speaking, Dutch-speaking, or continental. 

From the moment Karukerament was launched, I expressed my reluctance to use “Antillean” to define my content, which I already knew wouldn’t be exclusively Guadeloupean. The first episode is dedicated to Alain Bidard's “Battledream Chronicle,” a Martinican film available since 2015. I still tried to use the term “Antillean” at first in order to find an “Antillean audience,” but I quickly gave up because I could see that what the French language attaches to the adjective “Antillean,” i.e., just Guadeloupe + Martinique in an interchangeable way, did not reflect my content at all. When making season 1 in English, the question of translation arose: should I use “Antillean” or ‘West Indian/Caribbean’? At the time, “West Indian” was still widely used by the English-speaking Caribbean, but more as a distinction between people living in the region and the diaspora. After 2020, the word “Caribbean” became widely used, probably due to the rise of digital content creation using this adjective. #readcaribbean, #caribbeanpodcast, etc. Thus, in 2021/2022, AI translated ‘antillais’ indiscriminately as either “West Indian” or “Caribbean.” Since 2023/2024, “Antillais” has generally been translated as “Caribbean.” Making season 2 of Karukerament in 2020 reinforced my use of the term Caribbean. I use it in the same sense as Bad Bunny did in the press release of his album in January 2025: “Soy puertorriqueño, soy caribeño y por mi sangre corre mi música, mi cultura, mi historia y la de mi tierra” [I am Puerto Rican, I am Caribbean, and my music, my culture, my history, and that of my land run through my veins]. 

There is no opposition, contradiction, or hierarchy between all the facets of my identity. I wondered whether I belonged to Edouard Glissant's Antillanity or the Creoleness of the B2C trio (Jean Barnabé, Patrick Chamoiseau, Raphaël Confiant). I don't think I have yet fully understood what these concepts mean. Explanatory short videos would have been welcomed (wink wink to content creators), and if they exist, I would be more than grateful if you could share them with me. From what I understand, these two concepts are based on the idea of having multiple roots that allow us to create links with former French colonies. In any case, in 2025, these concepts may still be valid, but they are insufficient to reflect my reality. 

This is the reality that I can and want to promote with Karukerament: a Caribbean identity, Caribbeanness. A Caribbeanness where I place Guadeloupe at the center, with multiple roots strong enough for the other facets of my identity to develop without losing the connection to the Caribbean and without needing to seek roots elsewhere to justify my existence. The center remains fixed, like the breaking point of an earthquake. I say the center, not the epicenter or hypocenter, because I move from circle to circle to interact with the world. I can move away from the center, I can return to the center, because this isn’t a one-way movement.  

There is neither verticality nor horizontality, really. Perhaps I could subscribe to the concept of diversality, but I find the definition too broad, and it gives priority to the concept of mixing, whereas I think that not everything mixes. The waves of two earthquakes may meet, but will they completely combine? Certain cultural aspects that come from very specific roots are distinct and will remain distinct. For example, there are aspects of Indian culture that I can learn about but they will never make sense to me in the same way that they make sense to an Indo-Guadeloupean person... Who would dare say that Henry Sidambarom or Henri Debs weren’t Guadeloupean? The former had Indian origins, the latter had Syrian/Lebanese origins, but exactly where in India or Syria/Lebanon, I don’t know. It is each person's own personal history, but they were Guadeloupean. And that is enough for me. Recognizing and respecting our specific origins doesn’t prevent Guadeloupe from becoming our common origin. And that's enough. Not knowing precisely where we come from in Africa, America, or Asia doesn’t mean that we are lost, rootless people. Guadeloupe is a sufficient anchor. And I think that our contemporary challenge is to learn to live by asserting ourselves while respecting the differences of others without needing to have a part of them within ourselves. The challenge is to take an interest in our neighbors without prejudice and to repair the devaluing dynamics resulting from slavery. This seems to me more urgent and important than seeking recognition from distant cousins by recounting fantasies of an origin story glorified by a dangerously supremacist view... But to each their own priorities.

So I know that people might point out all the structural obstacles that prevent Guadeloupe, Martinique, and French Guiana from participating in certain types of trade in the Caribbean.  If the word Guadeloupe could be integrated into our everyday discourse instead of the word “Antilles,” knowing that we are not referring to a situation shared by other Caribbean countries, that would be good. If the phrase “you Antilleans” or “the Antillean man,” systematically followed by a derogatory statement, could be banned from our discourse, that would be good. If we could put the same energy into building positive branding and storytelling around “Guadeloupean people,” that would be great. And above all, whenever the opportunity arises, writing Guadeloupe's digital footprint so that future generations know of our existence and understand the reality behind the term “the Antilles” would be great.

From a Karukerament perspective, the cultural, academic, and even economic exchanges that already exist are a sufficient basis for tracing at least this first circle, the first wave of this Caribbean identity. It isn’t a question of waiting to be recognized by others. It is first and foremost a question of thinking of oneself as a full-fledged Caribbean person and not as a second-class Caribbean person.


*overseas: I don't mind the adjective itself when it is used to refer to the link between France and its overseas departments. But we must be careful that its use does not shift towards a claim of “I am proud to be an overseas person,” which continues to place France at the center. This, in itself, is not a problem as long as it doesn’t lead to the invisibilization of specificities such as “Antillean,” which has replaced “Guadeloupean.”

**Yes, I am referring to the anti-colonial activist movement that was active in 2020/2021, particularly in Martinique.


NB: This is an article that I have had in draft form since 2024. I am publishing it in 2025 in the hope that it will no longer be relevant in a few years' time. If our artists (regardless of their discipline) make the effort to reach out to other Caribbean countries while asserting their identity... Our Caribbean cultural market could really take off. Perhaps at that point, we could even talk about a pan-Caribbean system.