Adapted from Une Tempête (1969) by Aimé Césaire
Caliban: Call me X. That would be best. Like a man without a name, or to be more precise, a man whose name has been stolen. You talk about history well, that’s history, and everyone knows it! Every time you call me it reminds me of a basic fact, the fact that you’ve stolen everything from me, even my identity! Uhuru!
In Aimé Césaire’s a Tempest, Caliban is an angry, revolutionary figure. While perhaps in the 2010 film adaption of The Tempest, Caliban’s fear of Prospera leads to her understanding of him and his freedom, in Cesaire’s adaption, Caliban seeks for his freedom by wresting it from Prospero.
The wrestling can be seen immediately as Caliban begins the lines I have shared above. Not only does he demand that Prospero give him a name that he has made for himself, but he blatantly accuses Prospero of colonialism and ends with a loud proclamation of “Uhuru”, which is a Swahili word meaning “freedom.” His body language matches his words completely; he literally grabs the gun (a symbol of power) from Prospero, and corners him to the floor as he makes his statement. This Caliban is not one to be messed with. He knows what he wants and he will fight for it.
I thought this depiction of Caliban was interesting in its connection to the previous monstrous/poetic aspects of the different Calibans that I have brought up before. In this scene, Caliban might not be speaking poetry, but I find his cry of “Uhuru” to be a symbol of the “poetry” I have noticed in the Calibans before. Like when Shakespeare’s Caliban speaks poetry, assumptions about the monster he is thought to be are examined, when Cesaire’s Caliban says “Uhuru”, he calls forth a whole history of peoples who have been taken from their land and yet have an identity of their own. He becomes more than just one man against another, but he suggests a larger system of oppression. Caliban’s poetry always served to emphasize his humanity, and “Uhuru” does just that as one man, and a history of many, have called out for their freedom.
Poetry of Caliban 