Flambeaux tourism

Culture Matters

OH SH--!

A grown man fell off his chair. In that moment, he was petrified at the thought that the figure in white next to him could actually be La Diablesse. His fear was probably justified. The pitch dark of the night punctuated only by flambeaux, the white flowing robes, broad hat, pronounced limp and maniacal laugh were not for the faint-hearted. Children bawled and ran away. Other adults laughed nervously; you could see them logically repeating to themselves, “This is not real. It is only an actress. This is not real.”

This week, there is an interesting confluence of commemorations. On Thursday, we celebrated becoming a republic. Tomorrow, World Tourism Day will occupy our attention. The theme of the day is significant. Not only does it place a focus on rural development, but seeks to highlight “the important role tourism plays in preserving and promoting culture and heritage all around the world.”

In many ways, covid19 has triggered what common sense could not – forcing us to refocus on diversification and self-sufficiency. As we grow older, how do we empower our creative sector to be centre stage in a new type of tourism, as opposed to being mere spectators in the fantasy of someone else?

It is a simple case of chickens, cars and cabbage. Confusingly, we obsessively import all of these and more. Our import bill is in the billions. Covid19 is forcing countries to look inwards, to reassess how they define development. Growing our own food is rapidly becoming more than a catchy slogan; it is about survival as a nation.

Increasingly, there is a similar philosophical debate around travel and tourism. Globally, it is estimated that about 120 million jobs in the sector will be lost as a result of the pandemic. As countries look inwards for solutions, how do we infuse profitability into traditional artforms, in a manner that is dignified? Further, how do we locate the people in marginalised communities creating films on their phones, crafting drums, or experimenting with the pan? How do we incorporate them into a more relevant interpretation of development?

But how did we arrive at such bewildering notions of progress? It is possible that after more than 150 years of colonialism, we got into the habit of gazing outwards. Strawberries not mangoes. Kellogg’s not Sunshine. Classical interpretations of David Rudder. Six hundred dollars to play J’Ouvert. Slowly, these aberrations of culture are being reversed, although we still seem to be so grateful when foreigners tell us we are talented.

The World Tourism Organization acknowledges that tourism “gives rural communities the ability to protect and promote their natural surroundings, as well as their culture and heritage.” In TT, from the wire-bender in San Juan to the stick-fighter in St Mary’s, from the Ramleela storyteller in Chaguanas to the fire-breather in Paramin and speech-band lyrics master in Roxborough – these communities do more than maintain our traditions. They are the foundation of our arts, culture and heritage, kept alive by elders and practitioners who create, whether or not they receive the government subvention.

Thus, we have the possibility for another confluence. How can our communities be regenerated as artistic spaces that celebrate the uniqueness of each region? Food is integral to our culture. How can we reinterpret sustainability as a concept emerging from the core of our shared heritage, as opposed to a “product” invented by marketing experts to woo visitors? Do you see the difference?’

But before we even get there, we have another challenge. Do enough people in our communities recognise and understand the value of our cultural expressions? Are there enough young people with the dedication and tenacity that produced the Temple in the Sea? If we agree that we need to look inwards, then we must have a plan. And it must be bold. In Costa Rica they have moved holidays to Mondays “for Costa Ricans to enjoy long weekends to travel domestically...”

On the beach, the man who fell off the chair got over his embarrassment and well ’buse us for frightening him. But he was laughing too, because he had never seen the power of our stories in action. Chickens, cars and cabbage. We need leaders who understand the power of our stories. Who understand that when indigenous arts and food thrive, our communities prosper. Who understand that visitors should absolutely experience the raw, magical and cantankerous versions of ourselves, delivered just like that night on the beach in the flickering light of the flambeaux – sans humanité.

Dara E Healy is a performance artist, communications specialist and founder of the NGO, the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN