Black Virgin - Modern Art Exhibition - Paris

For your Christmas pleasure, another view of the Virgin, who has appeared under various guises, most notably at the Chartres Cathedral. We know her in the Caribbean as Erzulie.

Related Post: "Erzulie's Daughter" @ peony moon

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Rastafari @ the X roads

About a year ago, I was interviewed by Darren Middleton, who uses my book, Benjamin, My Son, as part of a religion course at Texas Christian University, about the influence of Rastafari on my work. The interview became part of an article, "Dreadlocked Dante," which will be published in an upcoming issue of Caribbean Quarterly. I was reminded about the interview by a recent post in Yannick's Misadventures regarding a group of Rastafari and their attempts to sue dancehall artist, Munga over his "Gangsta Ras" image:

No one has copyrights, or ownership of Rasta. Did this group invent Rasta, muchless to claim ownership? And are we to stay stagnant? No Rasta will evolve, does evolve and has evolved and will not remain what confined to anyone individuals ideas or and one group.

I agree especially with the idea," No one has copyrights, or ownership of Rasta." Rastafari belongs to no one or if it does, it belongs to InI. But here's the section that really caught my eyes:

Especially with a generational baton pass at hand, even in the Rasta community we see a generational ideological battle

This generational crisis within Rastafari matches a part of the interview in which Professor Middleton (DJNM) asked me (GP) the following:

DJNM: My own research convinces me that Rastafarians, especially those in Africa, are revising their Christology these days, in that they either downplay or deny Haile Selassie’s divinity. Jason/Benjamin certainly seems to symbolize this trend, no? At one point, he champions the Rastafari for their moral values – unity and oneness – and not for their Christology (p.124). Thoughts?

GP: Jason is what I would call a secular Rasta – he accepts the unity and oneness, but not the divinity of Haile Selassie. All religions adapt and change, but in changing they face the issue of remaining true to their core ideas. If Rastafari can perhaps come to a compromise – Haile Selassie represented the kingly aspect of the Christ nature and preserve InI, the indwelling god connected to God, they could survive.

My interest in the survival and the meaning of Rastafari is not casual. I have been fascinated by Rastafari since my adolescence and this interest was enhanced by the music of Bob Marley and the Wailers. The last part of Yannick's observations also paralleled some of the generational issues in Jamaican/ Caribbean writing. As a young writer growing up during the seventies and interested in the theme of identity, I had to ask myself, how is my work similar to and different from these writers:

The Colonials (writers born in the thirties) preoccupied with the creation of a regional identity with work that demonstrated that they were equal or if not better than their counterparts from England, Spain, France, and the Netherlands.

The Postcolonials (writers born in the forties) who were interested in creating a national identity out of the experience of a particular island.

The Independence/Reggae Generation (writers born in the fifties/early sixties) who came of age during the seventies and began creating work that sometimes focused on the disillusionment with national independence and the Caribbean diaspora.

The influence of Rastafari and Reggae were very important in my development as a writer for the following reasons:

Music in my own tongue, in my own voice and about my experiences to which I could sing and dance.

Creation of values to contradict the racist, postcolonial attitudes that were prevalent in Jamaica and the Caribbean.

Creation of aesthetics that gave me the confidence to create out of my experience works such as Benjamin, My Son, "Sister Faye and the Dreadlocked Vampire," and Uncle Obadiah and the Alien.

Replacement of a racial/national/ identity with a based on wholeness and grounded in the metaphysical identity of InI

As the main character in Benjamin in, My Son says,

Although I could never accept Haile Selassie as the reincarnated Christ, it [Rastafarianism] helped me overcome my woundedness over my wealth, my colour, and my class. I saw the oneness in things – like the light the Impressionists said suffused all things (124).

For it has always been my contention the central tenet of Rastafari, InI, that embraces diversity while at the same time engaging the moral imagination of its adherents and the artists who have been influenced by Reggae (a sonic representation of the experience of Rastafari) provides a basis for aesthetics, the creation of identity, and prophetic discourse within the struggle for personal and national liberation. I've also realized that Rastafari contains the solutions for psychic wholeness, especially for people of African descent who have survived the Atlantic Holocaust.

It will be interesting to see how the temporal and geographical isolation of Rastafari as a memeplex will manifest itself in the upcoming years.

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Previous Posts on Rastafari

"Get up, Stand up": The Nobel Truth of Rastafari

Rastafari and Renaming: A Model for Freedom

Reggae, Rastafari & Aesthetics

Retelling I-Story: "Redemption Song

Rastafari

“Many Rivers to Cross”: The Theme of the Diaspora in the Reggae Lyric

Jamaican music from its earliest recognizable forms such as ska and rock steady has drawn many of its themes from the language and imagery of the King James Bible. The creative interplay between song lyrics and the Old Testament, as evidenced by the ska inspired “Six and Seven Books of Moses” by Toots and the Maytals and the dancehall flavored “Til Shiloh” by Buju Banton, was amplified by the rise of Rastafarianism in Jamaica.

One of the implications of this nexus between Rastafarianism and the work of songwriters such as Burning Spear, Bob Andy and Bob Marley was their insistence in giving voice to the plight of the dispossessed by using the prophetic discourse of the Bible. As the critic Kwame Dawes points out, “Rastafarian ideology provided a clear and appealing cosmolology for the reggae artist with highly metaphorical, frequently poetic discourse which fed easily into a working class discourse that was already rich in proverbial and Biblical resonance” (100). Another implication was that songwriters such as Dennis Brown and Bunny Wailer, who based their lyrics on the King James Bible and the beliefs of Rastafarianism, envisioned their home in Africa. Rastafarians, whose theology is derived in part from the King James Bible, accepted the pattern of paradise, exile (wilderness) and return, a dominant pattern in the Judaeo-Christian tradition, (Pearson 73) and the work of many reggae songwriters allude to this pattern that forms the basis of their work. This importance of this pattern gains added poignancy when we examine Jamaican music (Ska, Rocksteady, Reggae) because the archetypal pattern of loss, exile and return is colored by a history of slavery, colonialism and economic privation. Whether the theme of the paradise, exile and return is interpreted literally or metaphorically, the idea remains one of the major motifs in the development of the reggae lyric.

Africa: The Lost Paradise

Africa and the loss of the fatherland have always been central subjects of Jamaican music. One of the earliest examples is found in the lyrics of a song every Jamaican knows by heart, “Satta Massagana” by The Abyssinians. “Satta massagana ahamlack ulaghiize” is Amharic (the official language of Ethiopia) and means “Give thanks and praise to God continually” (Reggae Lyric Archive). Even a cursory review of the lyrics reveals the songwriter’s indebtedness to the King James Bible and the influence of Rastafarianism.

There is a land far, far away

Where there’s no night, there’s only day

Look into the book of life and you will see

That there’s a land far, far away

That there’s a land far, far away.

The King of Kings and the Lord of Lords

Sits upon his throne and He rules us all

Look into the book of life and you will see

That He rules us all

That He rules us all.

Satta Massagana ahamlack, ulaghize

Satta Massagana ahamlack, ulaghize ulaghize. (Satta Amassagana)

Rastafarians believe in the divinity of Haile Selassie I, “The King of Kings and Lord of Lords,” who was a direct descendant of King David through the union of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. (Owens 18). On his coronation in 1930, the chief or Ras of his people, Tafari Mekonnen took the title as the “King of Ethiopia, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and Conquering Lion of the tribe of Judah” (Owens 18). The connection between this event and the fact that as late as 1999, The Guinness World Book stated that Jamaica held the record for the most churches per square mile¹ becomes clear when we realize that Jamaicans and Caribbean people in general, are people of the Book. The Old Testament model of paradise lost, exile and return is a part of our cultural tradition.

Rastafarians have translated the pattern to mean: if Africa is the birthplace of humankind, then Africa is paradise, an idea that the group Steel Pulse assert in “Not King James Version”:

Cause out of Africa

Came the Garden of Eden

Hidden from me I was never told

Ancient prophets black and bold

Like Daniel, King David and Abraham

Israel were all black men. (Smash Hits)

It follows then that all the covenants made with these patriarchs, Noah, Abraham, and Jacob (Israel) must apply to their descendants-people of African descent. It must also follow that the first Israelites (descendants of Abraham) must have been black. If Africa is the true homeland for all black people, then Black people must return to Africa. The eventual repatriation to Africa fits the pattern as Dennis Brown states in “Africa”:

Africa we want to go

Our fore parents were born Ethiopians

It’s the land of the Lion of the Tribe of Judah

The root of David (Greatest Hits).

Another songwriter who identified easily with the Old Testament paradigm was Desmond Dekker, who during the Sixties wrote the song, “The Israelites,” which made it to the Top Ten in Israel because of the mistaken belief on the part of the Israelis that the song was about them. This identification with the Old Testament pattern has led many to conclude that our present dislocation and exile is nothing new--it’s happened before and it will happen again.

Or as Bob Marley declares in “Redemption Song”: “Some say it’s just a part of it/ we’ve got to fulfill the Book” (Songs of Freedom 4:18). The current loss and brain-drain that began with the slave trade, then with the loss of whole generations to Panama to build the canal; to England to become part of the skilled and unskilled labor force during the Fifties; the exodus of Jamaicans to New York, Canada and Miami during the Seventies; and the current migration of Jamaican teachers to New York is all seen as part of a larger pattern that was captured by The Melodians in “By the Rivers of Babylon” (Story of Jamaican Music 2:9)

Exile in Babylon

“By the Rivers of Babylon” (another song that made it to the Top Ten in Israel) is a reworking of Psalm 137.

By the rivers of Babylon

Where we sat down

And there we wept

When we remembered Zion

But the wicked carried us away in captivity

Required from us a song

How can we sing King Alpha’s song

In a strange land? (Story of Jamaican Music 3:8)

The Melodians, using the language of the King James Bible, transformed the experience of the Jewish exiles in Babylon into a statement about the Jamaican condition during the Seventies. Rastafarians separated by geography and history from the man who was prophesied by Marcus Garvey in one of his speeches: “Look to Africa for your king!” sought an explanation for their dilemma and found it in the Books of Jeremiah, Lamentations and the Psalms (Owens 18). When Selassie ascended the throne in 1930, Marcus Garvey was thus seen as a prophet, a Moses returned and became a revered figure in Rastafarian theology. And the reason should be obvious. Garvey in his many speeches and proposals was the first Black leader to outline a plan for Black self-improvement, liberation based on repatriation to Africa. In other words, he outlined a coherent philosophy that on the one hand, had a foundation of raising self-esteem within the Black community and a practical means of achieving that goal. Garvey’s vision of a unified Black nation and an African homeland was woven into the texture of the reggae lyric. Garvey was thus elevated to the status of a cultural hero and prophet by songwriters such as Culture in “The Two Sevens Clash”:

My good old prophet Marcus Garvey prophesize and say:

‘St. Jago de la Vega and Kingston is gonna meet’

And I can see with mine own eyes

It’s only a housing scheme that divide (Story of Jamaican Music 3:10)

The loss of Paradise, according to Rasta logic occurred because Jamaicans, and African in the New World², were guilty of a sin of omission--that is, they failed to recognize Selassie as earth’s rightful ruler and they sold Marcus Garvey into the hands of Babylon. Jamaicans had transgressed against the King of Creation and therefore broken the covenant of having no other gods before JAH and had distorted the true history of Black people. Steel Pulse in “Not King James Version” explains further the loss of this homeland: In Esau’s chapter of history

So little mention of you and me

We rulers of kingdoms and dynasties

Explored this Earth for centuries

Phoenicians, Egyptians, and the Moors

Built civilization, that’s for sure

Creators of the alphabet

While the West illiterate (Smash Hits) Jamaicans and all Black people, as the true Israelites, by forsaking the King of Kings and the Lords of Lords, were paying the price for their broken covenant with the King of Creation, so they would now suffer humiliation and exile in modern Babylon, which Rastafarians interpret as our Western capitalistic system of exploitation that puts profits above principles. Marley uses the image of a vampire to show the debilitating effects of living in “Babylon System”: “Me say the Babylon system is a vampire/Sucking the blood of the sufferers” (Songs of Freedom 4:8). 

There is no reformation of Babylon and to describe the coming destruction of Babylon, Rastas draw heavily on the apocalyptic language of the books of Daniel and Revelation because “the time of tribulation” is a precursor to the final battle of good over evil (Armageddon) that results in the return to Paradise. Songs such as “Armageddon Time” and “Joggin” by Freddie McGregor welcome the coming conflagration for it means deliverance from Babylon. The only way to escape the coming wrath of the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords is to escape from the clutches of Babylon. Yet only a remnant of Black people will survive as Bob Andy reminds us in a lyric reminiscent of the Jewish Passover: “If the sign is on your door, /then you will be saved for

sure” (Fire Burning).

Return to Zion

The music is therefore charged with an urgency to flee Babylon and to repatriate to Africa. Steel Pulse in “Rally Round the Flag,” state this necessity: 

They took us away captivity

Required from us a song

Right now man say repatriate

I and I patience have now long time gone

Father’s mothers sons daughters every one

Four hundred million strong

Ethiopia stretch forth her hand

Closer to God we Africans (Smash Hits)

The movement out of Babylon can be physical –-many Rastafarians have relocated to Ethiopia³ and other parts of Africa or it may be metaphysical--one remains in Babylon physically, but mentally and spiritually, one remains uninfluenced by Babylonian dress or culture. Babylon’s system must be resisted and the idea of marronage or resistance that has had a long history in the Caribbean and especially in Jamaica (Black 60) has been assimilated into the Rastafarian religion. Bob Marley in “Soul Rebel” proclaims; “I’m a rebel/ Soul Rebel/ I’m a capturer/ Soul Adventurer” (Songs of Freedom 1:19). According to the myth, we are in the resistance or exile stage of our history as a race and at this stage in the journey only a few, a remnant will make it to Mount Zion or Africa. This is why Rastafarians wear dreadlocks--a complete repudiation of Babylon’s system and ways of dress and heeding the Biblical commandment found in Leviticus 21:3; “They shall not make baldness upon their heads neither  shall they shave the corner off of their beards” (qtd. in Owens 38).

Rastafarians refuse to be slaves to Babylon --a system that makes us feel as Cornel West defined “Black” in America: “Unsafe, unprotected, subject to random acts of violence and hated” (In-Depth). Rastafarians seek escape from Babylon physically and/or mentally, or as Bob Marley relates in “Duppy Conqueror”: “I’ve got to reach Mount Zion, the highest region” (Songs of Freedom 1:23). ⁴ 

In order to describe the spiritual journey out of Babylon, Rastafarian songwriters use the image of the train as the metaphorical vehicle of transport (no doubt a borrowing from the North American Negro Spirituals⁵ and R&B tradition with its echoes Harriet Tubman’s Underground Railroad) and it is an important motif in the music. Whether it’s for romantic or economic reasons, the train is featured prominently in songs such a “Stop That Train” by Bob Marley and Peter Tosh, which extends the reason for repatriation in a message of social conscience which is another major element in the reggae lyric:

Some goin' east, and-a some goin' west,

Some stand aside to try their best.

Some livin' big, but the most is livin' small,

They just can’t even find no food at all.

I mean they’re starving (Catch a Fire)

The social concern of reggae has always been a cornerstone of Marley’s lyrics and his influence on Jamaican music, especially with regard to the theme Diaspora cannot be understated. Whether it’s penning with Jimmy Cliff “Many Rivers to Cross” or writing “Exodus” --the most direct example of incorporation of the myth of Exodus into the Jamaican experience-Marley personalized the plight of his community, and made his audience aware of the larger implications of his personal and, by extension, our collective history. 

Marley realized that there were added dimensions to everyday activities and transformed the most mundane acts into acts of spiritual inquiry. For example in “Running Away,” Marley who had spent some years in self-imposed exile in England, used his predicament to questions his motives for leaving Jamaica; “You must have done something that you don’t know nobody to know about/ you must have done something wrong/ Why you can’t find where you belong” (Songs of Freedom 3:13).) 

The self questioning within the call and response framework of the Black church and African worship was one of the methods that Marley used to convey the idea that his suffering and exile (and by extension our history and exile) was not in vain-that there was a larger, nobler pattern to suffering as he asserts in Jammin': “We’re the living sacrifice” (Songs of Freedom 3:8). In other words, the journey is not futile as Marley declares in “Redemption Song”: “So won’t you help to sing, another song of freedom, cause all I ever had, redemption songs” (Songs of Freedom 4:18). In this song, Marley recounts his personal and our collective history in metaphorical terms and paints a picture of fulfillment and pleads with us to join in the vision atonement or at-one-ment.

This was the essence of Marley’s greatness. He understood intuitively the archetypal pattern of loss, exile and return and more than any other songwriter of his generation and made a conscious effort at working these themes, especially the theme of freedom, into his songs. The quest to reach Mount Zion and the admonitions to leave Babylon stem from the most basic of human desires: freedom. And Marley, if he was nothing else, was a champion of individual freedom and this is another reason why his music resonates with so many people around the world and especially his poor and dispossessed brethren.

Marley, at some point, realized that his life was emblematic of a larger structure in the life of Black people surviving in a system that would demean and destroy their lives and he wanted to free them from the system. It is no wonder then that so many of his songs have titles such as, “Lively up Yourself” and “Get Up, Stand Up.” Marley wanted to educate Black people for them to know their past and used the now famous Marcus Garvey quote, “Rise, you mighty people,” in the song “Wake up and Live!” He wanted to awaken black people out of their “sleep and slumber,” and in the process made Jamaicans and many people around the world aware of their spiritual condition (Survival).

For example in “Exodus” he asks: “Are you satisfied with the life you’re living?” And then pleads, “Send us another brother Moses, gonna cross the Red Sea.” (Songs of Freedom 3:10). Even if one does not accept Marley’s” view of divinity residing in the personage of Haile Selassie, one can share in the vision of compassion of “Exodus” to break “oppression, rule equality, wipe away transgressions, set the captives free” (Songs of Freedom 3:10). This is the vision of Isaiah and the theme of all world religions. But true peace can only be realized through compassion for all human beings and a demand for equal rights and justice. Until equal rights and justice are achieved for all people, inequality and injustice will be obstacles for Black people and in turn present obstacles for the entire human race to achieve the ascent to Mount Zion. 

 Yet the struggle for freedom is not limited to one race as Peter Tosh reminds us in “Equal Rights”: “Palestinians are struggling for equal rights and justice” (The Best of Peter Tosh). As long inequality and injustice exist, the former slaves who still carry the world’s burdens will continue to be scattered. The solution then lies in our philosophies of racism and exploitation or as Marley explains in “War”: “Until the philosophy that holds one race superior and another inferior…until the color of a man’s skin is nor more significant than the color of his eyes… me say war” (Songs of Freedom 3:5). Marley is not content with only a few, remnant, achieving the return to Mount Zion. As he says in “So Jah Seh”: “Not one of my seed shall sit on the sidewalk and beg your bread” (Natty Dread).

When the “basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all” then the Diaspora can be reversed or as Bob wails in “I Know”: “Bring my children from the ends of the earth” (Uprising). This is what the Diaspora means for many Jamaicans songwriters. They see the current scattering and suffering as part of a larger plan and must take place before repatriation will occur. It is a testing in the wilderness of exile. To quote another Marley song “Natural Mystic”: “Many more will have to suffer, any more will have to die/Don’t ask me why” (Songs of Freedom 3:11). 

These songs whether on LPs, tapes, or CDs provide a narrative for us to understand our experiences-for that ultimately is what these songs provide--meaning to our lives. And in a country like Jamaica with its rich oral histories that have been the major means of transmission of a sense of the past, the songwriters have become the unofficial historians of the island and have shaped the social conscience of entire generations. It is a method of inscribing and transforming the consciousness of the world that will ultimately lead to the healing that Marley sang about in his anthem of universal brotherhood, “One Love”: “One love. One heart, let get together and feel all right” (Songs of Freedom 1:5)

For my own part sometimes I believe the songs sometimes deceive us into a willing complacency--waiting to enter that far off promised land or as Philip Larkin, the British poet, declared in the poem “Next, Please”:

Always too eager for the future, we

Pick up bad habits of expectancy.

Something is always approaching: every day

Till then we say. (52)

Marcus Garvey’s “prophecies” about famed ships coming to take Black people back to Africa, as FredLocks declares in “Seven Miles of Black Star Liners” never came to pass.

Seven miles of Black Star Liners coming in the harbor

I can see them coming

I can see I-drens running.

I can hear the Elders saying, “These are the days for which we’ve been praying.”

Seven miles of Black Star Liners coming in the harbor

It’s repatriation,

A Black liberation.

Yes, the time has come:

Black Man, we’re going home! (Black Star Liner)

Selassie’s death in 1975 provoked a serious crisis of faith for many Rastafarians. As Dawes points out, the event became for Rastafarians: “a spiritual mystery that can only be open to metaphysical interpretation” (125).

The pattern of loss, exile and return is a powerful one and is deeply embedded in the human psyche. Its manifestation is not limited to the Bible, and its equivalent can be seen in any mythology that celebrates an ascent to the symbolic “world mountain” (Campbell 23). In the case of the reggae, the pattern is enveloped in a danceable beat, and it carries an enormous an emotional appeal. Many of us who were weaned on the reggae, despite our cynicism still hope that one day as Marley sings in “Rastaman Chant”: “One bright morning when my work is over, I’ll fly away home” (Songs of Freedom 2:13”).

Notes.

The wilderness is a key image in the Judaeo Christian tradition. "Salvation traditionally comes from the wilderness. Moses, Elijah, and David all had to flee to the wilderness (Exodus 2:15; I Sam 23:14; I Kings 19:3-4). The wilderness is both a route to the Promised Land and a place of exile for those who are at odds with God. It is a place where people sin and it is a place where we repent to restore our right relationship with God once again. (Jones)

2 Edna Manley, wife of Jamaican Prime Minister Norman Washington Manley (1959-19620 and mother of Prime Minister Michael Norman Manley (1972-80 & 1989-92) was a part of a group of influential artists and poets—a sort of Bloomsbury—that began in the Forties and whose influence on the intellectual life of Jamaica extended into the mid-nineties.¹ For more information see http://www.bartleby.com/>.

² See http://www.everytingjamaican.com/channels/theisland/culture.asp

³ Peter Tosh in “African” asserts: As long as you are a black man, you’re an African” (Best of Peter Tosh)

⁴ The Black Star Line founded by Marcus Garvey was intended to facilitate repatriation of Black people to Africa. Although the idea had some currency in North America for a brief period, the idea never really took root as strongly as it did in Jamaica where it remains one of the main tenets of Rastafarianism. See http://search.biography.com.

⁵ Marley seemed to have been ambivalent about a literal interpretation of the myth. In some interviews he advocated a physical return to Ethiopia (Goldman 41), yet in “Redemption Song,” he urged his audience to “Emancipate yourself from mental slavery/ none but ourselves can free our minds” (Songs of Freedom 4:18).

⁶ Many Negro Spirituals also contain the pattern of covenant/exile/ return, and had a literal interpretation. As The Negro Spiritual Workshop states, “The Negro spirituals “The Gospel Train” and “Swing low, sweet chariot” directly refer to the Underground Railroad, an informal organization who helped many slaves to flee”

Works Cited

Abyssinians. Satta Massagana. CD. Heartbeat, 1993.

Andy, Bob. Fire Burning. CD. Trojan, 1995.

Black, Clinton V. The History of Jamaica. Essex: Longman Caribbean, 1983.

Brown, Dennis. Greatest Hits. CD. PPI, 1994.

Campbell, Joseph. The Mythic Image. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1974.

Dawes, Kwame. Bob Marley: Lyrical Genius. London: Sanctuary, 2002.

 ------. . Natural Mysticism: Towards a New Reggae Aesthetic in Caribbean Writing. Leeds: Peepal Tree, 1999.

Folkes Brothers, et al. The Story of Jamaican Music. CD. 4 discs. Island, 1993.

Fred Locks. Black Star Liner. CD. VPD, 1995.

Goldman, Vivien. “Uptown Ghetto Living; Bob Marley in His Own Backyard.” Reggae Rasta, Revolution: Jamaican Music from Ska to Dub. Ed. Chris Potash. New York:

Simon, 1997. Jones, Annette. “Re: Wilderness.” E-mail to the author. 19 Nov. 2003.

Larkin, Philip. Collected Poems. Ed. Anthony Thwaite. New York, Farrar, 1993.

Marley, Bob. Songs of Freedom. CD. 4 discs. Island, 1999.

------. Confrontation. Island, 1983.

 ------. Uprising. Island, 1980

------. Survival. Island, 1979

------. Natty Dread. CD. Island, 1974.

 -----. Catch a Fire. CD. Island, 1971.

Owens, Joseph. Dread: The Rastafarians of Jamaica. London: Heinemann, 1976.

Pearson Carol S. Awakening the Heroes Within: Twelve Archetypes to Help us Find Ourselves and Transform our World. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1991.

Selah. 20 Jan. 2002. Reggae Lyrics Archive. 27 Jan. 2002. <http://hjem.get2net.dk/sbn/reggae.htm.>.

Spiritual Workshops. Negrospirutual.com.14 February 2002.

<http://www.negrospirituals.com/song.htm.

Steel Pulse. Smash Hits. CD. Elektra, 1993.

Tosh, Peter. The Best of Peter Tosh. CD. Sony, 1999.

West, Cornel. Interview. In-Depth. C-Span. Washington. 8 Jan. 2002.

A Caribbean Harry Potter?

Now that book lovers all over the world are getting ready for the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows scheduled to be released this weekend (my family has already pre-ordered our copy), I can’t help but wonder if we will ever have a series from the Caribbean that could be similar to Harry Potter. For ever since my brief foray into writing a children’s book, Grandpa Sydney’s Anancy Stories, I’ve been asked if I was going to expand the book into a series. But if I were to attempt to write something similar to Harry Potter, it would have to be in the realm of speculative fiction, an area where I’ve had some success with stories such as Uncle Obadiah and the Alien, “Sister Faye and the Dreadlocked Vampire,” and ‘The Day Jesus Christ Came to Mount Airy.”

But a Caribbean Harry Potter? And I don’t mean a parody or anything like that. I mean an authentic hero in a children’s book whose foundation is the myth and folklore of the Caribbean and whose protagonist practices the magic and rituals of the Caribbean.

In other words, while not discounting the vision and stamina of J.K. Rowling in creating Harry Potter and the subsequent support of her publishers and readers to see the project to its end, what other factors would be needed to create a Caribbean Harry Potter? For the challenge that any Caribbean writer would face in creating a series such as Harry Potter in the Caribbean would be what Coleridge has called the “willing suspension of disbelief” which is essential in creating any fiction. Let me explain.

Besides being firmly entrenched in the world of English boarding schools (a world that I know only too well), the foibles of British life (read any novel by Sam Selvon or the other exiled Caribbean writers from the fifties), and the British civil service (Monty Python or The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), Harry Potter is firmly grounded in the milieu of Grendel, Narnia, Lord of the Rings and the folklore that predates the imposition of Christianity on the Celtic and Germanic tribes in what is now known as the United Kingdom. Much of British literature and indigenous nature religions such as Wicca share this common mythological background that is viewed by many, sometimes on purely nationalistic terms, as an alternative to Christianity. The existence of Wicca legitimizes a character such as Harry Potter because an a priori assumption of the Harry Potter series is the existence of “good” wizards. This would be the main challenge for a Caribbean author in writing a children’s series in the manner of Harry Potter. For although the nature religions of Great Britain and West Africa share many archetypal similarities, if an author were to draw on the myths of the Caribbean that derive from the religion of the Yoruba people of West Africa (Lukumi, or Voudoun ), she would have no problem creating a credible “evil” houngan or wizard. She would, however, have an extremely difficult challenge in dispelling in her reader’s mind that there could exist a “good” Voudoun wizard to which parents from the Caribbean (or anywhere else for that matter) would want to expose their children -- never mind that Harry wears the mark of the warrior Xango.

This is not to say that J. K. Rowling books have not been mired in religious controversy and that the Harry Potter series has not been accused of being the gateway to practicing witchcraft and devil worship. But Harry Potter’s magic is perceived as a benign practice. And even Lord Valdemort as bad as he is would be no match for Baron Samedi. In other words, Wicca may be have a little “good,” but Voudoun is thoroughly evil. And this has always been the puzzling factor for a writer, like me, who is interested in archetypal/mythological themes in literature. For while it is possible to write a children’s book using the nature religions of Great Britain, it is unthinkable to write a children’s book using the nature religions of the Caribbean. Or you could write it, but who would buy it?

But enough of this idle speculation. On July 21, my children, who have all grown up on the Harry Potter series long before it became popular and was only sold in independent book stores like Books and Books, will join in the Harry Potter celebrations. My eldest will wear her Gryffindor regalia; the younger will wear her T-shirt that says, “Hagrid is my Bitch,” and my son, who is waaay too cool for all of this hoopla will probably hold out until he realizes how much fun we’re having. And as the pattern has gone for the last six releases, my eldest will begin reading the book as soon as we get home and finish it by about eight or nine o’clock. She will then hand the book over to her sister or brother, and no matter how much we probe and beg, she will never reveal the ending. And with this release, I’m sure she will never tell even if we threaten her with a spell of cellulite in unwanted places. And for what it’s worth, given J.K. Rowling’s incredible gift to this generation and many more to come, Harry will live.

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harry potter

Desire, The Secret, and Literary Fictions

Buddha gathered his disciples at a lake on Gridhakuta for instruction. His adherents sat in a circle about him eagerly awaiting his teachings. Wordlessly Buddha reached into the muck and pulled up a single lotus flower. He then held it high for all to see.

Practically everyone was bewildered. But then the disciple Mahakashyapa began to laugh.

Finally, Buddha handed the lotus flower to Mahakashyapa and said, “What can be said I have said to you, and what cannot be said, I have given to Mahakashyapa.” (Via Copyblogger)

What makes an action significant? Is an action inherently significant or does it depend on the actors or the perception of the observers? The interchange between the Buddha and Mahakashyapa could have been perceived as one person giving another person a flower, but when the contextual clues of teacher and student are added, we understand why this simple action led to Mahakashyapa's realization of Zen. Does the difference between significance and insignificance rest on the intentionality of the actors and the ability to perceive the meaning of the action within the framework of the contextual clues?

In the story above, the disciples of the Buddha were expecting a lecture on being and the Buddha pulled up a lotus-- a flower that had profound cultural significance. Yet only Mahakashyapa realized the profundity of the action. The significance resulted from the Buddha's intentionality (a sign on a focused consciousness) and the meaning was expanded by metaphor. The significance of the action was created by the Buddha's focused consciousness and not from the perception of the observers. In an alternative story I would have written, the Buddha in another incarnation had tried the same lesson, but it didn't work, so he was left with a dead flower in his hand. And even though he knew he was enlightened, he was still sad as he walked down the hill because he knew that he would have to go through another lifetime before one disciple got it, but he was still focused.

In literature, as in life, it is this focused concentration on the significant actions within a community's memory that distinguishes literary from non-literary fictions. The result of this concentration is manifested in sentences, characters, plot, and narrative, and the entire work is marked by an awareness of the complexity of choice within the cultural/historical tradition of a community. In a work of fiction, the desire of the protagonist propels the drama and necessarily invites the presence of an antagonist. This antagonist can be external, internal or external representations of the protagonist's internal conflicts. Is it me, them, or there is no "them," Spoon Boy? Either way, if there is no desire, there is no drama.

Writers and prophets tread the same hallowed ground of desire and often ask the same questions: what is the nature of desire? What is the relationship between ethics and desire? At what cost should the desired object be achieved? Are some actions inherently "wrong" or "right" or should those questions be considered only within the context of the gaining the desired object and the ability/willingness of the protagonist to live with the consequences of his/her actions? The difference between a writer and a prophet is that the prophet usually wants to change the listeners' views about desire and the writer is fascinated by the effects.

Quite often, the writer begins from the proposition, I wonder what would happen if the hero of my novel, I'll call him Bobby, who wants______ were to_____. But then, _____ happens. The drama begins with desire, and as the Buddha teaches desire, even if fulfilled, is the cause of suffering. The writer may know this, but it's Bobby we're worried about. Bobby really wants X. This begs the question, why does Bobby want X?

This leads us to questions of identity:

Who am I?

Where have I been?

Where am I going?

Methods of gaining the desired object:

How will I get X?

How did people in the past get X?

Did it work?

Is R, the way of my people, the only may of getting X?

How about using Y?

The context of the community's identity and memory;

This is who we are.

This is where we have been.

This is where we are going

The community's methods of gaining X:

R is how we have gained X in the past and R is how we will gain X in the future.

Only ___________ should gain or have X

Non-literary fiction or popular fiction doesn't concern itself with these questions. Commercial fiction is only prepared to ask two questions, will Bobby get X? What happens next? And we read along just to find out if Bobby will get X because Bobby is a fine fellow who has ___ hair, ___ eyes, brushes his teeth, combs his hair, lives in ______, doesn't smoke, works out regularly, and has a sense of humor, so he's named his dog, Woof!

Bobby never asks complex questions--he's too busy worrying about his hair. And if Bobby does think about these questions, his partner usually says, "Why are you worrying about that? I just want to dance. C'mon, dance with me Bobby! Dance with me! You're still not thinking about Y, are you?"

For the minute Bobby thinks about Y, then the creator has a choice: either to continue with the same old script (which may not be working) or use what s/he knows to write a new script. If the creator decides to follow Bobby on his quest of discovering how using Y will get X, then we have the possibility of a literary novel. For if Bobby tries a new way, he must now confront his past, the community's memory of the past, and the upholders of Y-NOT! Allusion is one method that writers often use to demonstrate the protagonist's plight within the literary tradition. The strength of literary fictions often depends upon the writer's ability to make the connection between the past and contemporary events and to create complex metacognitive patterns that are reflected in the choice of words, sensory details, and figurative language. And it's not complexity for complexity's sake, but a thorough examination of metaphor--a signature beauty that is often not present in commercial fiction.

For example, a popular novel could be about a man who went to fight in Iraq because he thought that this would make his parents and the girl whom he loves proud of him. Bobby goes to the war and sees many bad things. On his journey home, he meets some interesting people and then comes home. His parents are proud of him and he marries the girl at the dance.

A literary novel on the other hand could show the connection between Bobby's journey and the mother of all war veteran's journey, the Odyssey, and if the characters are emotionally appealing, the plot is believable, and the sentences are rich with sensory and emotional details that engage the reader, then the writer may have written a book that a school teacher will force on her students. This is why we have Cliffs Notes.

But what if the creator is obsessed about desire, the nature of desire, and its relationship to ethics? In other words, what is the price that Bobby must pay to achieve X? What must Bobby do to achieve X? What if the community of which Bobby is a part deems that his methods of achieving X are "unethical"? What if his community has said that people like Bobby shouldn't get X and will defend their right to deny Bobby X? What if Bobby hasn't been trained or mentored to achieve X and isn't prepared for the consequences of using R? What if after Bobby has achieved X, the cost and unintended consequences of achieving X are more than Bobby can bear? As a sidenote, this is the part that the creators of The Secret (which verges on a kind of solipsism) have left out, but these questions have been a part of our literary tradition in the plays of Shakespeare and in Orson Well's classic, Citizen Kane.

In Hamlet, the protagonist, who has been studying in another country, wants to discover who killed his father, but he has not been trained by his society in the methods of achieving this goal. The only surviving mentor available is an old fool who prattles traditional platitudes. Hamlet's knowledge of the murderer's culpability was not arrived at by his community's usual methods of judging guilt or innocence. Yet he trusts that intuitive knowledge which leads him to the truth, but his method gives the murderer enough time to plot against him. In the midst of this, although he is committed to bringing his father's killer to justice (not merely vengeance), he questions his community's ethics and values. Hamlet is focused on his goal, but he gives his antagonist enough time to react, which leads to his demise. Hamlet is in new territory, but when he doubts his methods and actions, he shows that he doesn't have a sense of entitlement that a young prince should have. Was he doomed from the start to deal with situations like this? Shouldn't he have been trained from childhood to become the king and to deal with similar situations? Shakespeare gives us an answer in Prince Harry who knows exactly what he wants, but when he leaves Falstaff, his beloved mentor, we realize the terrible price he has paid in order to become the king. Similarly, Orson Well's, Citizen Kane (the hero's final word is "Rosebud"--a reference to his childhood), also demonstrates the unintended consequences of achieving a goal for which the protagonist is emotionally unprepared. The weight of history crushes the hero.

The burden of history takes many forms. In Caribbean literary fictions, as the books from the Top Ten Caribbean Novels demonstrate, the protagonist's struggle against history in the forms of slavery, colonialism, and patriarchy, and the ethical dimensions seems to haunt the narratives. The ethical questions of the actions are usually judged within the context of the Judaeo Christian morality. (In the oral tradition, many of Bob Marley's lyrics derive their appeal from his allusions to Judaeo-Christian morality and its connection to the events in his life.) But many of the novels the Top Ten Caribbean Novels are over thirty years old and some of the questions that they raised are now historical curiosities.

If a writer's task is to demonstrate the emotional consequences of action within a cultural and historical context, where are the literary fictions in the Caribbean that highlight our current preoccupations (desires) within the literary tradition of Naipaul, Kincaid, Danticat, Mais, Lamming, Hopkinson, CLR James, Schwarz-Bart, Patterson, Lovelace and Rhys? If they are not present, do we really want this? Why? Why not?

The question of desire is as old as Gautama and all the Buddhas before him, and a healthy literary tradition asks questions about the means of achieving goals. The tentative answers provided within literary fictions are always conditioned by time and place because if it was "right" for Hamlet to kill the king to achieve his goal, then why is it "wrong" for Macbeth to kill the king to achieve his goal? Are authenticity and intentionality the only means of judging actions? Should we be judging at all? Do ethics matter at all? Are all ethical questions conditioned by time and place? What is ethical in a postcolonial setting? Is a focused, driven life the only way to achieve success or is there such a thing as serendipity? What if someone either by natural or cultural disposition, like the Caribbean Hamlet, Ralph Singh in Naipaul's Mimic Men, is hesitant, will this always lead to failure? Are there cultures that are predisposed to failure in the twenty-first century? What if someone who was born into one of these cultures tried to change the cultural dispositions, would she achieve success? Who should achieve success? These are some of the questions we could be asking or finding ways to ask new questions. Are we listening or do we just want to dance?

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I'll be taking a break for Easter. See you on Monday.

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Caribbean writers Caribbean literature Caribbean books Literature Writing Books Religion Buddhism

Color, Identity, and Candomblé in Brazil

"Brazil is not just Pele, coffee, and Samba," said Joel Gondim as he began his presentation, "Color, Identity, and Candomblé in Brazil," in which he explored the African connection in Brazil, specifically Bahia where he lives, and the manifestations in food, music, and religion. "And the true wealth of Brazil," he continued, "comes from the fusion of the Africans, indigenous peoples, and the Portuguese."

It was this fusion, especially in the religious arena that led to the creation of syncretized religions such Candomblé and one of the more interesting aspects of Joel's lecture was his description of his preparation, the psychic cleansing by a babalorixá that he underwent before he came to America. He also explained the relationship between the orisha pantheon ( Shango, Olokun, Ifá, Yemoja, Osun, Obatala, Oshun, Ogun, Ochosi, Oko, Soponna, Oya and Esu|Legba), nature, and everyday life. In fact, today is Oxalá's day.

Axé

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For more photos of "Color, Identity, and Candomblé in Brazil" which is part of the Conference on African Spirituality in the Americas (February/March 2008), click here: Candomblé.

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Arts & Culture Americas Brazil Candomble Yoruba Ideas Spirituality

A Mother's Legacy: The Gift of Laughter

It had always been there, but I never saw it. Or perhaps I was too close. Although I can’t see why. No, a better answer is that I was focused so much on Preston’s talents as a writer and teacher, and it took a funeral for me to notice.

On Sunday, March 18, 2007, the funeral for Iris Eleanor Gale Allen, Preston’s mother (or Aunty Iris as her family called her) was held at Mount Pisgah Seventh-Day Adventist Church. Although she had been ailing for some time, her death came as a shock, for no one’s ever prepared for a parent’s death. It was especially hard on Preston’s son, Quinn, who had grown into a fine young man from the Yugio trading boy who had attended my twentieth wedding anniversary four years ago. Yet here he was, standing beside his father and three uncles, and when the time came for his reflection, a poem Preston had written, Quinn read with poise and eloquence beyond his twelve years. Although I never met her, I can say Aunty Iris (I am claiming this intimacy) would have been proud. For in a way, I did know her. She reminded me in many ways of my mother.

One of the main reasons for my friendship with Preston has been the remarkable similarities in our lives. Besides growing up in the Caribbean and trying to figure out our place in the diaspora, Preston and I were brought up by matriarchs who were grounded in fundamentalist religions. We both went to colleges in Florida, met our wives at Miami-Dade College, and we’ve both lived and worked as writers/teachers in Miami for the past twenty years. Sometimes when I stroll over to the English department, my former colleagues remind me of the afternoons when they’d eavesdrop on the conversations that Preston and I would have about O’Connor, Faulkner, Dostoyevsky, Joyce, Pushkin, and the Miami Dolphins.

We’d open the doors to our offices that faced each other, our brains still on fire from writing all morning, and grade papers, trade manuscripts, and crack jokes. In fact, that’s what I remember most about those conversations. Our laughter. Preston has a great sense of humor. He once told me about his starving student days (he still has to write about them) and how he “volunteered” to become a patient for some dentist interns on the condition that he would release the university from all indemnity. He signed the forms, got eighty dollars, and he’s been in pain ever since. Although he was describing a horrible experience, the way he told the story (I’m laughing even as I write this) was so funny, I had tears in my eyes from the laughter. We spent many evenings like this: telling jokes, trading stories, and laughing.

Late in the evening after the din and clamor, we’d settle into a pattern of quietly talking about our deepest fears and desires. Would we make it as writers? After so many rejections, should we try self publishing? Would we get a review in the Herald? Would we get promoted this year? Would we turn out like our fathers? For we wanted to be better than our fathers. We wanted to be generative, supportive, protective men for everyone in our lives.

Yet when I got the e-mail about the funeral at a Seventh-Day Adventist church, I was a bit hesitant. It had been a long time since I’d been to an Adventist meeting, and my wife, good Catholic that she is, had never ventured inside those Protestant doors. We sat in the pews and waited as the family and extended family filed in, and once the invocation was given, it seemed as if we were in a regular American church with readings from the Old and New Testaments. However, once the reflections began, it was clear that we were at a Caribbean/Honduran funeral with the requisite singing of every single verse of hymns such as “as “In Times Like These (You Need a Savior)” and sermon by fiery preacher--Jonathan Edwards with a West Indian accent.

As we sweated through the sermon that ended the service, what struck me more than the preacher’s exhortations was the deep sincerity and appreciation that the speakers and the audience had for Aunty Iris. Many had come from all parts of the world to honor a woman who had given assistance in any way that she could—sometimes opening her door to strangers who stayed days, weeks, months, or years in her home (another thing Preston and I have in common). Speaker after speaker commented on her kindness, and I couldn’t help but think, how many of us, as sophisticated as we are and locked away in the hermetic cells of academia, have touched lives in such as profound was as this simple woman from Roatan? How many people are going to show up at our funerals, not to talk about how our books, or ideas influenced their lives, but how we provided, food clothing, or shelter without thinking about the IRS deduction? And Aunty Iris went beyond that. The “fatherless boys" testified about how she drove around in her station wagon and took them to church on Sabbath. Many were thankful that Aunty Iris, despite the fact that they had sometimes fallen by the wayside, always loved them and stood by them in times of need: “Whenever she was in the room, we knew everything would be all right”.

And when the time came for Preston and his brothers to speak, in the midst of the congregation and although he was the shortest (“We got the height and he got the brains,” Cameron explained), Preston was slowly, before my eyes, assuming a gravitas that I had never seen before, and his wife, brothers, son, mother-in law, the entire congregation watched the transformation in awe. Preston spoke about his mother's legacy and her sense of humor. He reaffirmed the bond that a mother and son share, especially when a father is not present. He knew he could call her up at any time and talk to her about anything and she would listen. Even though she was a Christian woman, Aunty Iris would listen to everything because she, too, had lived. She knew about this world that breaks the heart of its lovers, and still she laughed. Whether she was in pain or nearly comatose, she taught him always “to be of good cheer.” It felt good to be in the midst of the congregation and to listen to Preston speak about the value of a life lived in the service of others and delivered with a gentle wit and compassion. Preston's homily had more of an impact on me than the preacher’s rant.

And when we came outside into the midday sun where the hearse waited to take his mother’s body to its final resting place, we could hear the laughter of Aunty Iris in the voices of her sons, grandsons and all the fatherless boys of Miami. Aunty Iris was probably smiling and laughing as we cried and laughed during the service. I know she was. I heard your laughter, Aunty Iris. I also saw your son transform into the man he always wanted to be--the man you knew he always was—that I and the host of witnesses now saw. And I knew you (and all the saints who were smiling and laughing) were proud.

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Tags: Caribbean Caribbean writers South Florida writers African American writers family personal