Caribbean Carnivals, which stories to tell?
Is 2021 a turning point in our way of Carnivaling [a/n: I’ll use Carnival also as a verb]? Probably. Between street parades maintained in spite of the prefectural ban or radio/TV shows sharing our Carnival history, we find ourselves at the crossroad of what this cultural element rooted in the Caribbean symbolizes. Affirming one's freedom while facing an oppressive system and celebrating one's identity. These are the main themes of the Guadeloupean film documentary “Dèyè Mas-La” (2018) directed by Dimitry Zandronis with the Tout Est Possible collective.
I plan to dedicate a podcast episode to my review so I won't comment much on the content here. However, I’d like to use this documentary to share some thoughts on audiovisual storytelling around Caribbean Carnivals.
A Carnival being appropriated...
I talk about it my episode 9 with "After Mas". Today more than ever, it is important to know the history of the Caribbean carnival so that its origins aren’t diluted or erased. In fact, Caribbean carnivals have been attracting the attention of international pop culture for a long time. Some Caribbean stars helped to show the imagery. For instance, Rihanna’s pictures when she attends Barbados Carnival set the internet on fire. Nicki Minaj honored her Trinidadian roots in her "Pound The Alarm" music video in 2012. Black Americans use the Carnival to promote themselves like Ashanti singing with Machel Montano in 2019, like the reality TV show "Love and Hip-Hop: Atlanta" shooting an episode in Trinidad during the 2019 Jam Nation. Singer Adele’s picture uploaded in August 2020 after the cancellation of the Notting Hill Carnival is a recent example of the Caribbean carnival's impact beyond the limits of Black communities. When non-black communities show an interest in a cultural element, one has to question their perception of it...
Half-naked people, sensual or even sexual touching, alcohol flowing freely... International pop culture only sees our Carnival as an open call to debauchery. It only promotes soulless entertainment, whereas the Caribbean Carnival is above all a space for liberation, claims, a celebration of struggles and connection to its human nature. How to pass on this history?
A carnival documenting…
From February 7 to 14, the Trinidad and Tobago Film Festival (TTFF) held a #watchamovieonus session dedicated to films about the Trinidad and Tobago Carnival. Each day, one film was available worldwide for free for 24 hours. From documentaries to docufictions to short and feature-length films, they highlighted the history of the Trinidad and Tobago Carnival.
Caribbean Carnival storytelling is to recall the origins: a space of freedom but also of danger for the enslaved Black persons whose memories are now celebrated. Caribbean Carnival storytelling is to describe the encounters between different communities. Caribbean Carnival storytelling is to explain the individual and collective spirituality that this space requires. Caribbean Carnival storytelling is to highlight artistic creativity, especially in terms of music. Caribbean Carnival storytelling is to create a time capsule because Carnival is a movement constantly transforming itself while protecting its strong roots. Caribbean Carnival storytelling is to make the voices of the people who live it heard. And it is important for all voices to be heard, and not just the voice of a patriarchal black heterosexual community. I think that the few women heard from one documentary to another reflect our social dynamics. Society relies on the hard work of women but they remain in the shadows. Gender norms are overlooked to center the narrative around men. Despite the specificity of the Trinidad and Tobago Carnival, I think that this storytelling approach can be found in other Caribbean cultures... or at least the one I see in Guadeloupe.
One Carnival, Several MaS
“Dèyè Mas-La” focuses on these aspects in one hour with three differences: it’s a recent time capsule, there are more women experts on the screen and there’s a direct reminder of the political dimension of our Carnival. This documentary highlights the different interpretations behind the word "mas" in Guadeloupe. This diversity makes it possible to draw parallels with what I learned about T&T Carnival this week. The tradition of the Mas in Vieux-Fort reminds me of the Blue devils of Paranim. The use of plastic drums, skin drums, or snare drums is creative expression as much as it is for the pan. The Mas (whatever its definition) is about rituals, moments that unite our communities. Carnival is the visualization of the complexity of our identity, hence the importance of also valuing Mas'* in a political perspective, which is the approach getting less media coverage.
In her most recent music video, “BB Compte” (2021), Martinican rapper Meryl describes the oppressive daily life of the West Indians (her lyrics are in French, but the reality is definitely West Indian) as she raps on the drums played by Akiyo, considered to be the first gwoup a po with political discourse. The second half of the music video summarizes this particular philosophy of the Mas as a space to protest, to express your identity, and to bring together all generations. Yet, most of the music websites presented Akiyo just as “a famous gwoka group” bringing in the Carnival atmosphere to make you dance… There was merely a sentence about the lyrics’ theme as if she was rapping about everybody. No, what she did was to rap about her people’s struggle in the safe space Carnival allows, but anyone hustling can relate.
I've been living in France for about fifteen years now and this political discourse Carnival can also create remains absent from the conversations I've read or heard about Caribbean Carnival. The latest example to date is the media coverage of the street parades that occurred in Guadeloupe/Martinique despite the authorities’ ban. French media wrote headlines about the “unconsciousness” and “indiscipline” of this Black population willing to risk their health just for fun. This brings us back to the negative image constructed by Westerners who once again present our history, our daily life as a source of entertainment and even mockery... Change of perspective. Playing mas (carnivaling) when you’re forbidden to is to remain in the very tradition of Carnival. Our arts are all the more important in documenting these events which the future generations will need to know in order to keep "lespwi Mas" (the Mas spirit) alive and well respected.
challenges
In the "how to document Carnival" panel discussion organized by the TTFF on February 10th, each participant underlined the difficulties in passing on the legacy of the Caribbean Carnival narrative. The French-speaking Caribbean also has this problem. Making this history of Carnival accessible to the local and foreign population requires archive storage structures of all kinds. Certainly, the LAMECA media library is already doing a great job, but is there a Carnival museum/archive center in Guadeloupe? Some Carnival groups use social networks to communicate about their activities, but few, like Voukoum, have created a website explaining their Mas philosophy. And why limit ourselves to a local narrative of the Carnival? Why not have a digital space dedicated to all the Carnivals of the Caribbean and the Diaspora?
In any case, every article, every photo, every video, every costume, every song, every fiction counts. No one can predict what Carnival will be like in a few years, but I doubt that its essence will change. As a biopic about Notting Hill Carnival founder Claudia Jones is underway, the anthology promised by Eric Nabajoth on the history of Guadeloupean Carnival will provide material for fiction such as Wally Fall's “Démaré Mas” (English subtitles are available). I can't wait to watch what our filmmakers and carnivalists will be offering us in the years to come.
* The standard spelling in Creole is Mas without the apostrophe. But some publications use the spelling Mas' so I used it just once for the algorithm, but I believe in writing Creole with the standard spelling.