How My Caribbean Heritage Shaped My Sustainability Values

If I didn’t know any better I would think the idea of sustainability was relatively new and grew in popularity as a response to the rise of consumerism and fast fashion. Growing up in a Jamaican household, it was common to see eco-friendly practices at home; the bunches of plastic grocery bags under the kitchen sink, adding water to the dish soap to make it last longer and hand-washed clothing set hung to dry as soon as the sun came out. I spent much of my early teenage years with a closet filled with mainly clothing for home and school, when I needed something semi-formal to wear to an event or church, my mother would often find something in her closet that she could pin on me.

Fast-forward to 2025 and the concept of sustainability feels quite foreign. It appears that in order to meet the standard of “sustainable living” you need a growing collection of $1 reusable grocery bags and a weekly trip to the farmers market. The concept of sustainability was being repackaged and resold to me, and as a result I was losing the recipes for true sustainable efforts. According to a Bain & Company survey, nearly half of all developed-market consumers believe that living sustainably is too expensive. I realized that in order to participate I didn’t need to buy into trends-I needed to reconnect with the resourcefulness that was already woven into my heritage.

Looking back further at many of the cultural practices that developed as a result of slavery, it’s clear that sustainability wasn’t a performance, it was a necessity. During Jamaica’s colonial era, using the less desirable cuts of meat like oxtail and liver was necessary to get your protein. If you wanted to clean your space but had no access to cleaning materials, you’d make a broom using the long grass from unused fields. Though the colonial era ended in 1962, I couldn’t help but notice the theme of foreign powers trying to control prime land and natural resources is still prevalent. The politics surrounding the Beach Control Act of 1956, which prevents locals from accessing one of Jamaica’s greatest natural resources, its beaches, is a result of laws that imply these resources are being preserved and protected, when in reality they are being marketed and misused. Seeing how these patterns echo older systems of control pushed me to think more critically about the relationship between power, access, and the resources we often take for granted.

This awareness made me reconsider the true value of raw and readily available materials. When capitalism has its hand in everything, it becomes harder to distinguish between our wants and our needs. In response, I’ve chosen to treat minimal-waste living as a genuine “need.” Holding this as a core value allows me to create in ways that prioritize resourcefulness while also challenging my creativity. It reminds me that I have the ability to add value to anything once it becomes useful—and that worth doesn’t have to be tied to a dollar sign.

Here are some ways I practice sustainability without turning to more consumption:

1. Break it down. I was due for some new pillows as the ones I had were starting to become a little flat. I knew I didn’t want to just discard of my old pillows though, so I decided to cut them open and save the fill for future sewing and craft projects. This is also a good way to repurpose fabric scraps that can be shredded to add fill to things like old jackets.
2. What goes around, comes around. After recycling some soda cans, I started thinking about how many cans I was actually going through on a regular basis. I wanted to find a way to repurpose the pull tabs. I figured I could use them as notions to create a lace-up closure on clothing and other wearable items. Wrapping them in yarn that matches the colour of the fabric makes them a little more visually appealing.
3. Leave a mark. Lately I’ve been exploring handmade prints and experimenting with different ways to make templates for block printing and stamping. Before disposing of garbage and recyclables, I like to set aside things that can be used to make prints such as styrofoam and plastic with unique shapes. Common items like plastic yogurt containers and canning jars can be used to store dyes and chemicals.

At first, it might feel like I’m restricting myself by limiting my resources to what’s readily available, but these small practices help me produce in a way that encourages problem-solving, creativity and makes me feel connected to my culture.