What a firestorm we have to deal with only weeks away from Independence Day.

Ishawna granted Audley Shaw a gift he himself didn’t see coming. His over $8-M phone bill and failed attempts at justification have faded into the background, allowing him to enjoy an even shorter period of upset than the usual nine days to which we are accustomed. The dancehall artiste, fresh off the backlash from her so-called taboo Equal Rights single that sent tongues wagging and ended some consumers’ appetite for bag juice and Pepsi, reignited calls for her head when she made a post on social media comparing the national fabric — bandana — to a mere tablecloth. The bow atop that gift to the minister, however, was her decision to include revered cultural icon Miss Lou in the now infamous post that said, “Mi nuh dress inna tablecloth like Miss Lou #RipMissLou.” That line that may have taken a few seconds to write and publish, but has since spiralled into a whirlwind of comments that have attacked everything from her choice of outfits, quality of career, sexuality, womanhood, value to society and ‘class’. In a matter of minutes, she became the girl who sullied the bandana.

Along with the generous helping of some of the most caustic adjectives that exist in the English language, there have been calls for Ishawna to educate herself on the significance of the fabric to Jamaica. That is fair. She may very well need the information as unofficial online biographies say she grew up in the United States and after years of travelling to and fro, decided to live on the island. But in doing so, too many, the majority women, have taken the route of slut-shaming the embattled singer, chastising her autonomy about the way she presents her body, her expression of sexual desires, and diminishing her to a second-class citizen; an object without class, intellect, or purpose. For example, Sonya Stewart wrote in a so-called poem, “Miss Lou a national treasure and you are yesterday, gone-out-of-style fabric … Pretty and dunce is not a qualification.” There were other similarly disparaging lines and all were equally concerning. How does one move from championing girls’ and women’s rights in one situation and in another allow their actions to strengthen the rhetoric men have been using against women for ages? I am shocked, ashamed and mortified at the message sent. This is no less reckless than the post that inspired this discussion. Punishing and degrading women who do not fit into traditional moulds or ritualise ordained behaviours is unacceptable, regardless of motivation.

But what is this all really about? It seems to me that much of the ire was born out of the plausible perception that Ishawna was ‘dissing’ Miss Lou. However, I don’t believe that was the intention of the post. It is practical that the name of the cultural icon who facilitated critical conversations on culture and popularised the fabric, ultimately elevating the identifiable feature of one demographic of Jamaicans would be used to drive the comparison home. I myself have joked before, in response to this issue, that no one comes for Miss Lou; Miss Lou sends for you, even from the grave through her well-thought-out written works. But Ishawna’s reason for including Miss Lou, in my opinion, is arguably as simple as the quip would otherwise have been ineffective. Communicators would argue it is still ineffective because her intended message, as I understand it, was lost. Nonetheless, as insensitive a post it may be, she gave some semblance of nuance with the aid of the hashtag #RipMissLou. The popular acronym, a sign of respect for the deceased icon, allowed for her to also awake interest in the culturally apathetic, even if unintended. It is perhaps the timing of the comment that has made it an important piece of commentary, as many of the town criers who sounded off probably wouldn’t have cared in January, skip February, resume not caring in May or June, and then skip October and November. There are few who really embrace the culture all year round, or have been seen wearing the bandana publicly.

Additionally, it is interesting to me that in venerating the fabric that traditionally adorned working class, disenfranchised women, who represented the efforts of the ordinary Jamaican to make an honest living — who Miss Lou herself celebrated — we have ironically sought to tear down one such individual. The comment was indeed a faux pas and it is appreciable that some would find it disrespectful rather than (misguided) commentary on fashion, and, by extension, class. It is also understandable that it would be especially difficult for the cultural psyche to ignore because of the context of the pre-Emancipendence season. Though all that is rational, this Ishawna/bandana ‘conversation’ is no longer about cultural features being disrespected (and arguably it was never purely so). It is instead a demonstration of the classism that we lie about as a nation.

As it stands, class came up twice. The first instance is when Ishawna, having identified that it is a fraction of Jamaicans who identify with the fabric, find it fashionable and would even wear it outside of cultural occasions, attempted to communicate her own class/taste. It is her opinion put in the public sphere, and responses that I imagine were not what she expected were given. The social construct came up a second time when those who felt slighted by her comments sought to deride her, referencing her demon of a decision/bold move (depending on who you ask) to put her womanly desires to music in a fashion that male artistes already do by highlighting one of the two omens of the end of days (albeit second to homosexuality), oral sex; citing ‘classlessness’ when she is skimpily-clad and seeking visibility. Why does covering up most of the body, for women at least, automatically mean one person has more class than the other?

The bandana, since the early 1940s has been rightfully recognised as a part of Jamaica’s heritage. But in various responses, terms such as ‘sacred’ and ‘nationally loved’ have come to the fore. The problem with both is that there isn’t much evidence that the assumed pride in the bandana is as widescale as purported. Outside of a few mavens of culture and a certain demographic of Jamaicans who were taught about the fabric and its place in history and used it decoratively during occasional days of ‘remembering or revering the culture’ or during cultural performances, this item, dubbed the national fabric, isn’t so mainstream. I have also seen it used as a covering for tables and stapled to walls. We must, therefore, investigate the integrity of the proposed sacredness of the fabric. Who gets to decide what is sacred? What are the parameters for such a determination? Why is it off-limits for critique/commentary? The truth may be as it appears. Unless you were exposed to certain programmes as included in some basic and primary level schools, national libraries, and even fewer churches; entered Jamaica Cultural Development Commission festival competitions; or have had interactions with older generations from lower-income, mostly rural communities (or the mavens who have gone through social mobility and are now outside the lower-income brackets), the bandana means nothing more to you than would a prized tablecloth. Individuals have even wrongfully referred to the bandana as the national costume. It doesn’t seem as though Ishawna is the only one who is unaware.

To the disappointment of many, Ishawna, in the capacity of artiste, will more than likely survive this ordeal she created by publicising something that others may be thinking as well. And, at the end of it all, three things are to be noted. The first is that careful management of our online presence and identity, as well as better judgment in gatekeeping exercises in said social media spaces is key. The second is that despite our motto, we have much to work on in terms of how we view each other, our tendency to major in the minor, and our default approach to handling differences, especially online. Over these soon-to-be 55 years, we have not made enough strides in truly embracing independence. That would include ridding ourselves of Eurocentric understandings of what is classy or respectable. These philosophies we hold fast to are no good for anyone involved, as they lead to sexism, which is also an intersectional issue at play.

Finally, August 6 still a keep!

Yohan S R Lee, holds a Bachelor of Arts with a double major in Journalism and Gender and Development Studies, with first class honours from the University of the West Indies, Mona. Send responses to him at yohan.s.r.lee@gmail.com or to editorial@jamaicaobserver.com