TRINIDAD Carnival is one of the famous festivities in the world, attracting revellers from all corners of the globe who seek to partake in the most colourful tradition of the Caribbean. The New York Times has exposed the negative side effect of this two day parade’s popularity, which just ended on Tuesday: The rising costs of participating. What used to be a basically free bacchanalia of costumes and music has evolved into a growing system of enterprise in which savvy entrepreneurs sell spots in the parade well in advance of party time.

Is this positive for the small native economy or putting a stranglehold on what should be a free-flowing, all-inclusive experience? And even worse, could this rapid commercialisation be diluting the very cultural elements that made the Trinidad Carnival full of the spirit that makes it grand? About one of the most successful commercialisers of Trinidad, The New York Times writes: Mr Ackin runs one of the country’s most popular Carnival bands, the groups of people who don costumes and masquerade — or play Mas, as locals call it — in the raucous annual two-day street parade. The roughly 5,000 spots available in Mr Ackin’s band, Tribe, sell out every year almost as fast as they go on sale. Demand has been so high since he started Tribe in 2005 that Mr Ackin just started a second band.

But some say Mr Ackin and others like him, who have in recent years spun profitable, year-round businesses out of organising these bands, threaten the existence of Carnival as Trinidadians know it.

By shunning the conservative, traditional costumes for cheaper, skimpier outfits that are sometimes produced outside of Trinidad, these new bands, critics say, are distorting their forebears’ creation and sending work elsewhere at a time when the government and others are trying to turn Trinidadian-style Carnival into a more profitable and exportable industry.

“We call it two-piece and fries, the bikini and the bras,” said Stephen Derek, a traditional costume maker, referring to the skimpy costumes that have become a staple of the new bands. “The costume comes like a fast food. To them, the bottom line is profit. It has nothing to do about country or culture anymore.”

The entrepreneurial bandleaders counter that they are part of a natural evolution, merely offering what people want.

“If you really look at those people who play Mas with the younger bands, or if you talk to a visitor abroad and say: ‘Hey, have you ever heard of Trinidad Carnival? What band would you play with?’ they would call Tribe or they would call one of the younger bands,” Mr Ackin said. “That says we are reaching out further than the traditional bands. We are reaching out to the international market.”

Is the reliance on mass-produced bikinis — a far cry from the elaborate, hand-crafted costumes Trinidadians had grown accustomed to –stifling the creative works that have been the hallmark of traditional Carnival, which the government of Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar has been pressing to revive since she took office last year?

Or does it reflect the country’s new energy, representative of a push beyond Trinidad’s reputation for complacency in developing revenue streams beyond oil production?

Cultural debates like these are very common in nations of people who are of African decent. Often our native creations are so colourful, so sensual and so fun, everyone wants a piece of it — from jazz to gospel to hip-hop. And then the inevitable question arises about the value and inevitable option of selling out. Certainly there is no way to bring an authentic experience of rhythm, fun and music to a growing audience of people without watering it down. And yet purists and often those in authority decry such a choice being made by those with the acumen to expand the audience. But these elders fail to see how a folk art form can be grown in a way that also uplifts the fortunes of the entire community that produced it.

In the case of the Trinidad Carnival, it would seem that the old folks and the elder stateswoman want to stick with the old ways, even though a little mass production of the Trinidad Carnival experience could make this cultural tradition into an unlikely export — an export of mystique attracting many more people than the 40,000 visitors who attend every year.

If the cultural traditions that made Trinidad Carnival a rich community expression are truly in danger, then the government should work to subsidise the aspect of local production that can ensure that these traditions persist. Stopping the expansion of the successful commercial ventures is not the answer. Just as in hip-hop, with its radio and underground contingents, Trinidad Carnival can make room for both the party and deeply authentic versions of the fun.

Expanding the opportunities for both kinds of carnival experiences will help Trinidad develop a much-needed and internationally-fuelled revenue stream. Artistes like Miles Davis and Jay-Z have mastered mass appeal and artistry. It can be done.

( This article appeared in Black Voices)