In the Western world, the Caribbean has long been seen as an Edenic paradise. As a result, it has attracted legions of tourists from around the world seeking an escape from the crushing banality of their daily existence. Although popular culture would suggest otherwise, many Caribbean natives resent the masses of countless tourists who frequent the region each year. Caribbean writers, in particular, have expressed contempt and indignation towards the tourism industry and the economic and environmental exploitation it entails. Adele S. Newson-Hurst and Munashe Furusa attest that, for Antiguan author Jamaica Kincaid, "tourism involves more than the accepted notion of the act of traveling for recreational or leisure purposes [...] Significantly, the [ his] definition creatively links tourism with a new economic order underpinned by injustice” (Newson-Hurst 142 argue that Kincaid “links tourism with the imperial order and its design of commodification, relegating the other to a subhuman category for [colonial] consumption” (142). They argue that Kincaid's work “contest[s] and subvert[s] assumptions about the [Caribbean] that are based on the 'imperial text' he posits. the people of the [Caribbean] as the 'other' whose primary role is to appease the recreational and economic interests of the North” (141). A Small Place, employs postcolonial counter-discursive strategies to resist and combat exploitative imperialist attitudes towards the Caribbean and West Indies. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay Resistance through counter-discourse is a fundamental aspect of the formation and study of postcolonial texts. Helen Tiffin, in her work “Post-Colonial Literatures and Counter-Discourse”, argues that “the project of post-colonial literatures [is] to investigate the European textual capture and containment of colonial and post-colonial space and to intervene in this original and continuous containment” (Tiffin 101). This, of course, is achieved through counter-discourse, which according to Tiffin “does not seek to subvert the dominant with the aim of taking its place, but [...] to develop textual strategies that [...] expose and erode [the prejudices] of the dominant discourse” (99). In other words, the purpose of counter-discourse, at least in this particular context, is not to overthrow and replace the hegemonic discourse perpetuated by imperialist ideology, but rather to reveal and subsequently exploit cracks in its foundations. Counter-discursive strategies, according to Tiffin, “involve a mapping of the dominant discourse, a reading and exposition of its underlying assumptions, and the dismantling [sic] of these assumptions from the cross-cultural perspective of the imperially subjectivized “local.” '” (101). For the purposes of my analysis, I will pay particular attention to the last item on Tiffin's list: the dismantling of long-standing assumptions and prejudices established and considered facts by the dominant ideology. Kincaid – the “imperially subjectified local” in this scenario – subverts the orientalist conception of the Caribbean as a tropical paradise filled with, in Leah Rosenberg's words, “island music,” pristine beaches, [an] attentive black waitstaff, and the [ ...] freedom to dance and make love with partners not permitted in the North” (Rosenberg 361). Kincaid accomplishes this through the use of two strategies: first, by showing his readers the reality of Antiguan life; and second, placing those same readers in the position of the “localimperially subjectivized” locked out of the hegemonic discourse with its voice appropriated by the dominant colonial narrative. There has been debate as to when and why the Caribbean and the West Indies came to be seen as paradise on earth. Rosenberg lists several factors, including “Britain's loss of empire and the rise of the United States as an imperial superpower on the one hand, and on the other the United States' struggle for civil rights and Indian nationalism Westerners; and by the interaction of these forces with culture: the calypso craze, the rise of an internationally recognized West Indian literary tradition, Britain's need for a new literary aesthetic and a new vision of itself in the wake of Empire, and Hollywood's fascination with race, romance, culture. and Cinemascope” (362). Rosenberg further argues that islands such as Jamaica, St. Lucia, Grenada, and Barbados appealed to North American and European sensibilities by offering “countryside and beach-based tourism with the kindness associated with Britishness” (361). While Rosenberg traces the rise of the popular image of the Caribbean as paradise to around 1950, Richard Grove, in “Green Imperialism,” argues that the influx of tourists can be attributed to the search for Eden that flourished in the Middle Ages and continued well in the twentieth century. During this period, Grove states that “the task of locating Eden and revaluing nature had already begun to be accomplished through the appropriation of newly discovered and colonized tropical islands as paradises” (Grove 499). It is this image of the Caribbean (and Antigua, in particular) as an Edenic utopia that Kincaid seeks to undermine in A Small Place. Lesley Larkin, in her essay "Reading and Being Read: Jamaica Kincaid's A Small Place as Literary Agent," aptly describes Kincaid's slim collection of essays as an "anti-guide," in the sense that it shows the reader what really happens in his home island of Antigua in contrast to what advertising and neocolonial representations of the Caribbean would have you believe (Larkin 195). Indeed, Kincaid presents the reader with a portrait of Antigua that is markedly different from the romanticized portrayal perpetuated by Western media. Kincaid's Antigua is a nine-by-twelve-mile hotbed of political corruption and environmental exploitation; complains about the island's perpetually dry climate and how it has come to be seen by tourists as a positive feature. Kincaid laments: "[T]hey thought about what it might be like for someone who has to live day after day in a place that constantly suffers from drought, and therefore has to carefully watch every drop of fresh water used [...].], it must never cross your [the tourist's] mind” (4). Kincaid actively proceeds to undermine clichés and popular images associated with the Caribbean: for example, while contemplating the image of tourists wading into the ocean, Kincaid he remarks mischievously, "You don't have to wonder what exactly happened to the contents of your toilet when I flushed it [....] Oh, it could all end up in the water you're thinking of taking a swim in, the contents of the Your toilet might, just might, gently graze your ankle as you carefree wade through the water, because you see, there is no proper sewage disposal system in Antigua" (13-14). Antigua is also politically corrupt. The government of island regularly sacrifices the cultural stability and well-being of its citizens to accommodate the hordes of tourists who frequent the island. Later in the book, Kincaid tells the reader about a series of suspicious deaths that carry the unmistakable stench of politically motivated assassination. The average tourist, obviously, hasn't had the slightest thought or concern about these issuespoliticians. Kincaid's simmering hatred of the exploitative nature of tourism culminates when he contemptuously declares that "[a] tourist is an ugly human being" (14) – a statement that, as Adele S. Newson-Hurst and Munashe Furusa point out , “amounts to sacrilege since the nation's economy depends on tourism” (Newson-Hurst 148). While Kincaid obviously does not hold tourists in high regard, Lesley Larkin argues that “the main goal is not tourism itself but the tourist reading and the subject matter it produces [emphasis in original]” (Larkin 195), According to Rosemary V. Hathaway, tourist reading is “a form of selective reading” that “threatens to 'subsume' cultural particularity within.” of preconceived notions” (qtd. in Larkin 195). According to Larkin, Kincaid “shows how tourist reading is a productive discourse, which constructs not only the tourist site and its inhabitants but also the tourist himself” (196). that Kincaid's work “anticipates the tourist impulse of [his] readers” – many of whom, he argues, are “privileged whites, starting with New Yorker readers, for whom Kincaid originally intended his work (and who are probably experienced tourists) to American university students who, regardless of the tourist impulse, are regularly invited to 'visit' other cultures according to the diversity requirements of university curricula” (194). Larkin further argues that Kincaid's distinct use of second-person speech "points the finger at her [...] readers, critiquing contemporary reading practices for their affinity with global tourism and imperialism." (194). Thus, the reader is placed in the position of the imperialized local: his or her voice silenced and even appropriated by Kincaid where necessary. To compound this portrayal, Kincaid makes blanket statements that do not take into account the heterogeneity of his audience. For Kincaid, his audience merges into a shapeless white mass: they have been effectively dehumanized in the same way that imperialist ideology has dehumanized those directly marginalized by colonial discourse. It becomes increasingly clear that Kincaid holds the reader directly responsible for injustices. The Antiguans had to face the hands of European colonizers. “Have you ever wondered why all the people like me seem to have learned from you how to imprison and kill each other [...]?” seethes Kincaid (Kincaid 34). He continues: “Have you ever wondered why all we seem to have learned from you is how to corrupt our societies and how to be tyrants?” (34). According to Kincaid, the unknowing reader “will have to accept that this is mostly [their] fault” (34-35). He then proceeds to unleash a deluge of accusations against which the reader is unable to defend himself: “You killed people,” he fumes (35); “You imprisoned people. You robbed people. You opened [. . .] banks and deposit our money there. [. . . .] There must have been some good people among you,” Kincaid admits, “but they stayed home. And that's the point. That's why they're good. They stayed at home." (35). Kincaid never gives the reader the opportunity to defend themselves against these accusations and give their version of events. By robbing the reader of his voice, Kincaid forces him to experience this subhuman status for himself. Works Cited Carrigan, Anthony. “Hotels are catering to my metaphors: tourism, sustainability and sacred space in the Caribbean.” Journal of Commonwealth and Postcolonial Studies 13-14.2-1 (2006): 59-82. MLA International Bibliography [ProQuest]. Network. November 2, 2015. Grove, Richard. “Green imperialism”. The Postcolonial Studies Reader. Ed. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin. 2nd ed. New York: Routledge. 2006. 498-500. Print.Kincaid, Jamaica. A.