The Promise of Infrastructure
Urban planning in the Caribbean has historically focused on the functional and practical uses of infrastructure. While roads, dams, and electric grids provide practical quality of life improvements, these infrastructures also hold sentimental and unquantifiable value. It is thus difficult to isolate the functional value of infrastructure without interrogating what the poetics and narratives of infrastructure tell us about ourselves.
According to Brian Larkin, infrastructures generate the ambient environment of everyday life. They are the physical networks through which goods, ideas, waste, power, people, and finance are trafficked.1 Our bodies, perceptions of space, and the environment are therefore engaged in constant and intimate relationships with infrastructure. We become shaped by infrastructural forms: when they are working and when they are not, when they are being built and when they are crumbling.
Karl Parboosingh’s 1966 painting Cement Company embodies Jamaica’s post-independence promise of a modern industrial future, as well as its optimism about a post-colonial economic “take-off” and self-determination. But, following the neoliberal turn in the mid-1970s, that optimism has given way to a more pessimistic outlook and a more realistic understanding of the persistence of Western imperial control. Today, development in the Caribbean is on a divergent path from that of the Global North, but is “structurally adjusted” along linear timelines with defined points of development. Our development is underpinned by images exported from the West that have become embedded in our collective psyches.
Infrastructure is a continuous material process that depends on extended global supply chains to maintain itself, political compromises and private negotiations to secure control over resources, and the weaponization of affect to politically justify surplus extraction. It is the contact zone between states and the populations they unevenly govern, and is often distributed in the interest of capital accumulation. Infrastructure cannot be separated from the long history of Western imperialism that is manifested in Caribbean spaces through intense dependency. According to Rivke Jaffe and Lucy Evans, “the political nature of infrastructures lies not only in their ability to connect subjects across space, but also in their aesthetic and semiotic capacity to make specific projects of rule and belonging seem normal, natural, and desirable.”2 As such, the propaganda, marketing, and branding of infrastructure in Jamaica are means of deepening the dependency of our island state on global empires and capital.
Infrastructures of Dependency
Dependency is embedded in the logic of many Caribbean cities through the historical framework of the plantation economy. This is particularly true in former British colonies whose colonial-era “hands off” style of administrative control preferred regulated private sector activity over direct governance. The relationship between the metropole and the colony—that is, the relationship between the external Western imperial powers and the internal plantocracy (major landowners and political administrators)—fundamentally shaped all internal developments. In the words of John Walton, this naturally leads to “certain intra-national forms of patterned socio-economic inequality directly traceable to the exploitative practices through which national and international institutions are linked in the interests of surplus extraction and capital accumulation.”3
Caribbean cities originated—and still serve—as logistics hubs for warehousing and transportation, coordinating the extraction of raw materials from rural plantations for export to the metropole. Resources were processed in the metropole and imported back through these cities to plantations as value-added goods. The Caribbean city today is the manifestation of this relationship in infrastructural form, characterized by a concentration of resources and development around the port and a satellite concentration of rural land and resources in the hands of the plantocracy.
Commodified Islands, Branding Colonialism
Unlike the French and the Spanish Empires, the British Empire specifically implemented a form of indirect rule in its colonies “to preserve economic ties while reducing administrative and bureaucratic burden.”4 This reliance on the private sector to manage distant colonies required attracting “entrepreneurs” to the West Indies. This messaging identified the island of Jamaica, its resources, and its people as commodities available for exploitation and thus for private profit. The marketing of Jamaica as a commodity intensified in the 1930s with the popularization of film. Countless films produced by the private sector present Jamaica as a site of aspirational possibility not only for colonialists, but also for its people.
Photograph of King Street, ca. 1930. Source: District Grand Lodge of Mark Master Masons of Jamaica & Cayman Islands.
In one propaganda film from the 1930s, the narrator says: “Let’s stroll down King Street. Here we note signs of civilization on every side and find it hard to realize that only three centuries ago this was the tropical wilderness, the favored hideout of old pirates and buccaneers.”5 The film highlights modern amenities including a tram, paved roads, urbanism, and architecture similar to that in the West. Here, infrastructure takes on semiotic qualities, representing ideas of progress and modernity, but also familiarity and opportunity.
The narrator adds a hint of nostalgic allure by referencing Kingston’s past as a hedonistic yet opportunistic city for pirates and buccaneers. Like pirates, investors in Jamaica had the opportunity to make entrepreneurial magic and return home with the spoils. The video begins with a ship entering the Kingston Harbor and ends with a steamer returning to the Global North. The value of infrastructure was always meant to be extracted and taken “home.”
The video celebrates the success of the colonial administration not only in taming this tropical wilderness through infrastructure, but also in taming the “Jamaican Negro” through education and colonial comportment. “Just a hundred years ago Great Britain abolished slavery, today the Jamaican Negro is a happy, enlightened, law-abiding citizen, loyal to his government of which he is very proud.”
Infrastructures of Independence: Building Blocks of Aspiration
Zannah Matson writes that “colonial infrastructure was designed and built to bring about a particular version of the future and promise of civilization” to the extent that the possession of infrastructure (paved roads, electricity, railways, and running water) came to define civilization itself.6 As Jamaica approached independence in the 1960s, much investment in infrastructure had already been made. The most poetic of this was the national stadium, which, following Jamaica’s spectacular performance at both the 1948 Olympics in London and the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki—where the team won five medals and placed thirteenth overall—was woven into Jamaicans’ “aspirations and imaginations of our future selves.”7
Sir Herbert Macdonald was a Jamaica-born white sportsman and administrator credited with advocating for the development of the national stadium. He was also infamous for his management of the Jamaican team at the Olympic Games in Mexico in 1968.8 In the 1950s, Macdonald approached the then-Premier of Jamaica, Norman Manley, and the Leader of the Opposition, Sir Alexander Bustamante, and sold them on a vision of a national stadium grand enough to accommodate international competitions.
Film still from Pathe News, “Jamaican Independence (1962).” Source: YouTube.
The land the stadium was built upon was originally owned by the British Army, which had valued it at £300,000 but agreed to accept a £100,000 down payment from the Jamaican government, treating the balance of £200,000 as an “independence gift.”9 After 307 years of British rule, Jamaica ushered in independence with a series of celebrations lasting two weeks in August 1962. On the eve of independence, Sunday, August 5, 1962, Princess Margaret, representative of Queen Elizabeth II, came to ceremonially turn on the lights for the new national stadium, symbolizing Jamaica’s entrance into the world as a newly independent country with the blessing of the crown.
Photograph of the four athletes who won the gold medal in the 4×400 relay at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics standing under the statue of “A Jamaican Athlete” at the National Stadium, shortly after it was unveiled on Saturday, August 4, 1962. Source: The Gleaner.
At 11:59 pm that night, the National Stadium went dark for one minute as the Union Jack was lowered, and the new Jamaican flag was raised, followed by a stadium of cheers, fireworks, and the singing of the brand-new national anthem.10 The national stadium was named Independence Park and went on to host the 1962 Central American and Caribbean Games and the British Empire and Commonwealth Games in 1966.
Film still from British Pathe, “Selected Originals - Jamaican Independence (1962).” Source: YouTube.
While the excitement of the new Jamaican citizens was electric, the independence infrastructure was already showing signs of the decay. Heavy rainfall the night before independence flooded the stadium’s cycle track, which created a moat that performers had to dance and parade around. The original budget for the stadium sought to reduce costs by not including roadways, drainage, or anti-erosion works.11
Infrastructures of Control: Creating a Citizenry
We intimately experience infrastructure on an everyday basis. Infrastructure plays a paramount role in either securing or denying the “very substance of existence,” and, by doing so, constructs or deconstructs publics/citizenries.12 One powerful example of this can be found in the urban renewal projects that took place in Kingston in the late 1960s.
A promotional video created by the Jamaica Information Service documents the demolition of a sprawling informal settlement in West Kingston called Back-O-Wall and the resettlement of some of its residents into the first major government-built high-rise project, Tivoli Gardens.13 The construction of the first phase of Tivoli began three years after the displacement of 932 families, comprising almost 4,000 people; another 2,000 people were removed to build the remaining phases.14
The “social architect” of the project, Edward Seaga (who later became prime minister), outlines his thesis for the project as follows:
What we set out to do was to reverse the physical and human erosion of the area and to show that the worst could become the best … It is one thing to erect new buildings and remove people into them. But unless you can induce a higher standard of behavior and a higher standard of living among the people, you will simply end up with a higher class of slum.15
Edward Seaga in front of a plan of Tivoli Gardens. Film still from Jamaica Information Service, “Hard Road to Travel: Public Housing in Jamaica,” late 1960s. Source: YouTube.
Seaga and politicians after him promoted the idea of infrastructures for the deserving: that those who worked hard and comported themselves in a way appropriate for modern infrastructure deserved it. However, bestowing infrastructure has far more to do with rewarding patron-client networks than with a person’s “deservingness.” Back-O-Wall was a well-documented political stronghold for the People’s National Party (PNP) in the 1950s and 60s. It is widely accepted that displaced Back-O-Wall residents were largely supporters of the PNP, while residents who moved into Tivoli Gardens were supporters of Seaga’s Jamaica Labour Party (JLP).16
Aerial image of Tivoli Gardens. Film still from Jamaica Information Service, “Hard Road to Travel: Public Housing in Jamaica,” late 1960s. Source: YouTube.
By improving people’s standard of living, politicians were able to ensure political loyalty for generations. Tivoli included a variety of residential typologies: high-rise apartments, townhouses, and single-family homes. There were seven parks, playgrounds, and a football field. Tivoli’s centerpiece was, at the time, the largest community center on the island, and included facilities for skills training, arts, and cultural programming. There was also a maternity clinic, nursery, and daycare on the campus.17
School children playing in one of the Tivoli Gardens playgrounds. Film still from Jamaica Information Service, “Hard Road to Travel: Public Housing in Jamaica,” late 1960s. Source: YouTube.
The video concludes with a montage of the most triumphant elements of the new infrastructure and closes with Seaga stating:
Every flower, every tree, every green area is an inexpensive visual reminder to the new residents that they are in new surroundings requiring new patterns of behavior. Just as the elements of decay, dirt, and garbage were conditioning factors in the old way of life, just so will be the carefully manicured gardens in the people’s park and the refreshing foundations decorated with lights recondition old standards and produce new discipline and behavioral codes.18
One of Tivoli’s high rise apartment buildings. Film still from Jamaica Information Service, “Hard Road to Travel: Public Housing in Jamaica,” late 1960s. Source: YouTube.
Four decades later, Jamaica’s Prime Minister Bruce Golding (of the JLP) would declare a state of emergency following the largest post-independence civil unrest in Kingston’s history, which had its epicenter in Tivoli Gardens. In 2010, when the government sought to arrest and extradite Christopher “Dudus” Coke, the country’s most notorious criminal “don,” the military and elite police stormed their way into Tivoli Gardens—Coke’s home and headquarters—killing sixty-nine people. Dudus was eventually caught weeks later, extradited to the US, and sentenced to twenty-three years in prison for arms and drugs trafficking. Golding resigned as prime minister a year later for his alleged affiliation with Coke and his gang, the Shower Posse.
In May 2010, security forces invaded Tivoli Gardens in West Kingston in search of Christopher “Dudus” Coke. Source: The Gleaner.
After having “recaptured” Tivoli, the government established a military presence in the neighborhood that lasted over a year. The security forces installed military checkpoints at all entrances and implemented a curfew that lasted over a month. During these curfews, thousands of men and teenage boys from Tivoli and other inner-city neighborhoods were rounded up by security forces. Even though they were never charged with any crime, they were detained at the National Stadium—the very symbol of independence, which became an infrastructure of incarceration for citizens of Kingston’s poorest communities.
Neoliberal Infrastructure: Privatized and Policed
Beginning in the mid-2010s and following the Tivoli incursion, a new era of rapid infrastructure development (and propaganda) began, which, together with the increasing militarization of the police, has reshaped social-spatial dynamics across Kingston. Some examples of this include:
A significant upzoning, drastically increasing density across the municipality, coupled with a memorandum of understanding between the Ministry of Tourism and Airbnb that has effectively transformed housing into a speculative commodity. With a sudden increase in the maximum allowable number of floors and residential units, there is now a real estate boom, with housing and land prices soaring, ushering in an affordable housing crisis;
The ongoing implementation of a series of urban highways, dubbed “Legacy Road” projects. Initiated in response to increased congestion across Kingston, these projects are expropriating public space to double and sometimes triple the width of existing roads, but are having the opposite effect on traffic by encouraging more private car use and reinforcing dependency on imported fossil fuels;19
The deployment of Zones of Special Operations (ZOSOs) and the excessive and unconstitutional use of States of Emergencies (SOEs). These crime-reduction practices geographically isolate high-crime communities with militarized boundaries, suspend human rights, and restrict residents’ freedom of movement. With the ultimate goal of “weeding out” organized crime with the help of residents, these programs also include social interventions such as land titling;
The introduction of a nationwide CCTV surveillance network that allows registered private citizens to share footage from their personal cameras with local authorities. This includes a multi-billion-dollar cybersecurity defense contract with Israel-based ELTA Systems. A statement from the Office of the Prime Minister in 2021 declared that Jamaica has “long admired” Israel’s advances in technology, cybersecurity, agriculture, and other areas, but the details of this contract have remained secret.20
Photo of the introduction of a Zone of Special Operations (ZOSO) in Denham Town, West Kingston, in 2018. Source: Loop Jamaica News.
All of these infrastructural systems have resulted in an unprecedented consolidation of land and resources in the hands of the few, as well as the quarantining of the poor in militarized districts. Not coincidentally, these modes of policing are applied primarily in areas of the city that are seen as having the most potential for commercial redevelopment despite being ravaged by poverty. The commodification and exploitation of land through globalized real estate and tourism further threaten common access to the city, all while the infrastructure developed to sustain these systems deepens our dependency on global forces and poses an existential threat in the face of climate breakdown.
Prime Minister Andrew Holness (fourth right) cuts the ribbon to symbolize the opening of the Harbour View to Yallahs Bridge-leg of the Southern Coastal Highway Improvement Project on February 6, 2024. Photo: Yhomo Hutchinson. Source: Jamaica Information Service.
Conclusion
It is difficult to separate an analysis or critique of a single piece of infrastructure (like a road) from the belief that promoting infrastructure brings about change, that through change comes progress, and that through progress comes enlightenment. As a result, present-day discussions around infrastructure in Jamaica often fall within a very shallow “development vs. anti-development” debate. The government has taken advantage of the peoples’ collective anxiety for development by weaponizing this binary, where people who are “for development” are also understood to be “for progress” and “the future,” while anyone who poses a critique must want to keep all Jamaicans “behind” and stagnant.
Throughout the history of Jamaica, the spectacle of infrastructure has evoked feelings of progress and an enthusiasm of the imagination.21 While a road’s technical function is to transport vehicles from one place to another, it can also be a fantastical object that generates desire and awe. That road not only encodes the dreams of individuals and societies, but is also the vehicle whereby those fantasies are transmitted and made real.
Brian Larkin, “Promising Forms: The Political Aesthetics of Infrastructure,” in The Promise of Infrastructure, eds. Nikhil Anand, Hannah Appel, Akhil Gupta (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2013).
Rivke Jaffe and Lucy Evans, “Imagining Infrastructure in Urban Jamaica,” GeoHumanities 8, no. 1 (2021): 17-32).
John Walton, Internal Colonialism: Problems of Definition and Measurement (Center for Urban Affairs, Northwestern University, 1974).
Malcolm Cross, Urbanization and Urban Growth in the Caribbean (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1979).
“Jamaica In The 1930’s | Jamaica In The 1930s | Jamaica, 1930s | West Indies | Caribbean,” n.d., video, 9:01, ➝.
Zannah Matson, “Review of The Promise of Infrastructure,” review of The Promise of Infrastructure, edited by Nikhil Anand, Hannah Appel, Akhil Gupta, Society and Space, June 7, 2021, ➝.
Matson, “Review of The Promise of Infrastructure.”
At the opening ceremony, Macdonald carried the Jamaican flag, causing protests within the team and leading other athletes to boycott the opening, insisting that an athlete (presumably a black one) should carry the flag instead. Leroy Brown, “Sir Herbert, father of the National Stadium,” The Gleaner, March 7, 2015, ➝.
Brown, “Sir Herbert, father of the National Stadium.”
“Jamaica Independence, 1962,” National Library of Jamaica, ➝.
Glendon L. Logan, “Ministry Paper No. 15: National Stadium,” March 20, 1962, ➝.
Anand, Appel, Gupta, eds., The Promise of Infrastructure.
Jamaica Information Service (JIS), “Tivoli Gardens Documentary - Hard Road To Travel - Public Housing in Jamaica,” 1960s, video, 39:52, ➝.
Deborah A. Thomas, Political Life in the Wake of the Plantation: Sovereignty, Witnessing, Repair (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019).
Jamaica Information Service, “Tivoli Gardens Documentary.”
Thomas, Political Life in the Wake of the Plantation.
Edward Seaga, “The Tivoli Gardens community-development model,” The Gleaner, June 13, 2010, ➝.
Jamaica Information Service, “Tivoli Gardens Documentary.”
See ➝.
See ➝.
Anand, Gupta, Appel, eds., The Promise of Infrastructure.
Loudreading is a collaboration between e-flux Architecture, WAI Architecture Think Tank, and Loudreaders Trade School supported by the Mellon Foundation, re:arc institute, the Graham Foundation, Producer Hub, Iowa State University, GSA Johannesburg, Universidad de Puerto Rico–Rio Piedras, and the inaugural ACSA Fellowship to Advance Equity in Architecture.
