Island in the Sun

Out here, yes.
How big is Santa Marta?
It's 50 miles long.

There are other countries.
My skin is my country.
Maybe the men looking at Margot
at some cocktail party in Bloomsbury...

or at a literary tea-
well, they'd envy Denis Archer.
Their own wives look sort of dull
when she walks into a room.

But if I were to walk in with you,
or a girl like you as my wife-

Do you care what stupid
and prejudiced people think?

You've never had to fight stupidity or prejudice.
Besides, I'd be a fool.

- Why?
- Because it would be inevitable.

What would be?
That night that she'd forget herself
and call me a nigger.

You can't mean that.
You can't possibly mean that!

- No. I don't.
- Then why did you say it?

Because here is my world.
These are my people, and this is where I belong.

If I went to England, who would I be?
What would I be?

- David Boyeur.
- No.

I'd be an exile in a bowler hat,
sipping tea, and carrying a rolled umbrella...

talking with the other exiles about how much
we could do if we were only there.

But I'm here.
I don't have to go.

And even here,
I'd be in your way, wouldn't I?

Yes, you would be
in my way.

- Besides, they'd never understand.
- Who wouldn't?

My own people.
They'd feel I betrayed them.
I have no choice.
You're like a rock.
Yes. I'm buried deep right here.
My people have their freedom.