Kingston On The Edge
Pondi Road |
Sunday, July 06, 2008
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Kingston was on edge the week of June 22nd. Global consulting firm Mercer published a study in which Kingston was listed as the 31st most dangerous city in the world (war-torn Baghdad took the grand prize).
As if to confirm the study, in the same week, the president of JUTC Douglas Chambers was killed outside of meetings while buying cigarettes apparently because he was far too cocky, abrasive and arrogant as he went about his job of cleaning up organisational corruption. And to quote a nurse's aide I was speaking to about the incident, "'Im fi dead," suggesting that there may be broader-based public support for the use of firearms and knives to settle disputes and disagreements.
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| Noelle Kerr as soulful seductress. Ooo mamacita! Theatre on the edge at The Phillip Sherlock Centre. |
The current anger and hopelessness in the city is the worst that I can remember. The anger is so palpable that you feel it in the air. You can see it in the way we drive; the speed with which minor things escalate into a fight; the total absence of civility and generosity. We are rapidly fracturing from the myths of "irie mon," "cool runnings," "no problem, mon". I watched my own usually unflappable demeanour get thrown out of balance when a man cut the line in front of me at Sugar and Spice. The naked rage I felt was ludicrously disproportionate to the event. "'Im too fi dead!" The soul reflects and responds to the quality of the cultural air we breathe.
June 22nd was also the week when dozens of innovative visual and performing artists took over Kingston with an exciting array of edgy art for the festival, appropriately titled Kingston On The Edge (KOTE). The week was superbly organised largely by Omar Francis, Enola Williams, Carolyn Lazarus and Beatriz Pozueta. I took in a little over 50% of what was on offer. Not all of it was great; some of it was even quite bad but there were also several extraordinary moments. And the entire effort was an astounding A+. By Sunday, June 29, I was an exhilarated wreck.
One of the extraordinary efforts from KOTE was a series of public sculptures at RedBones The Blues Café done by the soulful Noella Costabile. Noella spent weeks collecting garbage which had been thrown out largely on the Palisadoes Road, creating an environmental hazard. Think plastic bottles, doll parts, shoes, pens and so on. She then carefully recast the junk into three outdoor sculptures; creating beauty out of ugliness; unity out of chaos; aesthetic utility out of discarded garbage.
It struck me that these pieces were a great metaphor of hope for Kingston. What can be built out of wreckage? Where can we find unity amidst widespread despair? It took an extraordinary visionary to look at the wasteland, see beyond it to the possibility of art, and then to build it. So much about her idea and the dedication with which she undertook it appealed to me. I also took it as an accusation, as the only thing I ever do about Palisadoes garbage (or any other horrendous problem in Kingston) is to drive by it. And here was Noella, creating a public call to arms; a slap to my own cynicism. She was willing to get her hands dirty (literally), what about me?
I was blown away by the KOTE events at the Philip Sherlock Centre on Wednesday June 25. The evening started with drumming outside the auditorium which calmed the senses like a Sanskrit chant, breaking the chaos of the day and opening the audience up for deep theatrical exploration inside.
Drumming was perhaps the first performing art form and its enduring appeal is partially because it always takes us back to our ancient roots. On its own, undisturbed by other instruments, its rhythms call us to our natural state. I imagined a national "moment of drumming" (instead of silence) for peace, where everyone stopped and grabbed whatever surface was available and drummed. Imagine a national orchestration led by Marjorie Whylie's drum circle on the radio and TV. The interconnectedness and power in such an event could be astounding.
Inside the auditorium, we were treated to an impressive montage of monologues, excerpts from new plays and dance performances that moved along at an impressive clip. Many of the issues raised were gut-punching, but often delivered with the humour for which we are famous. There were several very laudable attempts to recast much of current thinking about human rights, male-female relations, sexuality and the Jamaican identity. This was some of the best theatre coming out of Jamaica in the last decade. The evening elicited fiery debate outside the theatre and into the parking lot. I found myself engaging passionately with people whom I had never met before.
It was also clear from the KOTE week that dub poetry is having a strong local renaissance, but the entire effort needs a "Chris Blackwell" to find his "Bob Marley," or it will not take proper root and flourish internationally. There were interesting poems from some of the emerging practitioners, but the master of this art form remains Mutabaruka. who to my sacrilegious thinking rivals Marley, but his career unfortunately has never been properly nurtured. His current efforts do not have the same heady resonance with current problems as his earlier works did, but nevertheless I remain in awe of this man. This art form can still excite a crowd. It needs a wider audience.
On Saturday June 28, KOTE organised the Mural Project where people from all walks of life came together to paint three distinct wall murals in different parts of downtown Kingston. There was something moving about disparate groups of people working on the same project and bringing different sensibilities to bear. The invisible hand of the great artist in all of us created beautiful tapestries of social message in vibrant colours. As I sat there sloshing through my blues and reds, there was this very talented dread-locked kid painting next to me, taking extraordinary care and blowing my meagre efforts away. She threw me some great pointers which improved my work. This effort brought together people who would not often meet, bridging different age groups, classes, political affiliations, and skin colours. It was an amazing Saturday morning. For those of you who were not there, you missed something really special. I caught a glimpse of a Jamaica past and the possibility of a Jamaica future we actively need to build.
We keep looking to successive governments for solutions to our overwhelming problems, but it is becoming clearer that both parties are completely bereft of answers. The argument they make is that the world environment has changed and we were/are caught up in international forces beyond our control. Nonsense! Any idiot can captain a ship in calm waters with the wind blowing in your desired direction. You take on the job of captain when you know how to pilot the ship to shore in bad weather conditions and the wind blowing against you. Let us acknowledge what at some level must already be obvious to all, but we have been too afraid to say: our political elite is intellectually bankrupt.
No political prince or princess charming is coming to rid us of crime or give us jobs or clear our debt. So if not JLP or PNP, then who? We cannot keep Waiting for Godot. (Note to Brian Heap: this play is begging to be Jamaicanised and staged for current audiences.)
What can one do? As a start, we must support extraordinary efforts like KOTE when you see them. Support these efforts even when you are dog-tired. These events are antidotes and a signal to the broader culture that there is appreciation for the Jamaica that is extraordinary. We must let the tireless participants know that someone somewhere values their efforts. As members of the public, we are their emotional fuel. And they are our critical bridge to the other side; if there is to be another side.
Bookophilia; Kingston on the Edge; Shakti; Afiya; Poetry Society; Film Festivals; RedBones programmes; Edna Manley College; Calabash; First online; Rocktower among dozens of other often unsung efforts are our last gasps at collective sanity. If they all die, so too will we. Many have already gone without proper notice through lack of support. More of us must heed Noella's clarion call, we can choose to live in garbage or create something beautiful out of the wreckage.
No one outside these shores will cry any tears if we descend into chaos. It is, after all, what countries run by black people do. We, the "wretched of the earth", are expected to live in crime, poverty, and despair. Globally, we have mastered this art. An open question is whether Jamaicans can carve a different path or are we too to descend into the same n*gga cesspool? Is race destiny? Omar, Noella, Melinda, Sage, M'Bala, Carolyn, Norma, Marjorie, Bobus, Della, Enola, Beatriz, Bryan and their friends want desperately to believe otherwise. What do you think?
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