In Cutlish (the rural Guyanese word for cutlass or machete), Rajiv Mohabir presents a series of poems that are unapologetically Indo-Guyanese and queer. He angrily confronts the horrors of colonialism and indentured labour, as well as xenophobia and homophobia. He focuses on everything we’ve lost and the marks indenture left on us, and describes the loss of our culture with passion and longing. Carried within this anger and passion is resilience, and the desire to do what we can to keep our culture, traditions, and languages alive. His poems about cultural appropriation and dealing with stereotypes are fierce and powerful. 

 

My favourite parts are the more subtle verses, where Mohabir sees a packet of Demerara sugar and contemplates his existence, or writes about the cultural traditions he doesn’t know how to do. He also references all that the cutlish symbolizes, and makes connections to sugarcane and diabetes (which is prevalent in Guyanese people). These were all real and relatable moments for me and I felt seen in ways I’ve never been seen before. 

 

There’s a reader’s guide available online, in which Mohabir says: “The cutlish was a tool of work for indentured labourers as well as a tool of violence: emblematic of forced migration and its racial, ethnic, homophobic and misogynist effects…. It is an object that bears our history surviving the cane field.” I loved this discussion. If you’re Guyanese, your family might own a rusted cutlass (mine does 🙋🏾‍♀️), but have you ever thought about what it means? I never understood why we kept ours. But as Mohabir says, “they represented back home.” 

 

Before I read this book, I’ve always looked at our cutlass as weird and unnecessary. But now, I see our complicated history. And because of Mohabir’s poems, I can see how it has cut down more than sugarcane, and that it is a part of our history and represents survival. I’m grateful to still be learning about my culture and what my ancestors endured, and to authors like Mohabir for leading the way.