The essential tensions of Carnival

Mark Lyndersay -
Mark Lyndersay -

BitDepth#1394

MARK LYNDERSAY

THERE HAVE always been three essential tensions that define the planning, production and success of Trinidad and Tobago’s Carnival – the political, the commercial and the creative.

When these sometimes hotly competitive interests array themselves in interesting conflicts and agreements, the festival springs to life.

This is also where things can go dramatically wrong and when they do, it’s often with the best of intentions and in the interests of “de culture.”

Culture is a word that gets tossed around a lot in discussions about Carnival, often alongside tradition.

But tradition, by definition, is the process of continuing to do something in a particular way because it’s always been done that way.

Culture, conversely, is a reading of the current ideas, customs and behaviours of a human collective, normally viewed as an evolution over time.

Carnival originated in a challenge to entitled authority by underserved social classes that played out in visual allegory, chantuelle and defiant iron rhythm. In each of those early years, the balance of power shifted decisively in favour of creative potential.

But what happens when them become us? When the lines of conflict disappear and there is no clear idea where they should be redrawn?

What happens when the oppressed become the gatekeepers of a cultural heritage that’s central to perception of national character?

These considerations should have been part of the deliberations of the Carnival Development Committee and its successor, the National Carnival Commission (NCC).

Both bodies, at least until the NCC finally conferred more decision-making power to TUCO, Pan Trinbago and the NCBA, exercised complete control over the shaping of Carnival events between 1957 and 1991.

Stakeholder bodies were empowered when the National Carnival Commission Act became law, but it would take years for these representative agencies to effectively take control of their slices of the festival.

When that happened, it soon became clear that wishing for power was not the same as wielding it.

Stakeholder agencies began demonstrating signs of pervasive kleptocracy, including a continuing reluctance to account for the massive sums granted for the production of events under their control.

The State’s unwillingness to insist on proper accounting only fed the fiscal frenzy.

In those circumstances, what had once been expressly creative became strategically political, and the spending became an opportunity for the establishment of constituencies, a process that renounces the individual in favour of a servile collective.

Over the 40 years that I’ve observed Carnival, the changes have been profound, but always incremental.

Old mas, an arena for brutal punning and scatological humour – once so popular that major Carnival parties began with the staging of mini-competitions – dwindled to a forgettable shadow of itself. Today it’s a whisper before the mud and paint explosion of modern J’Ouvert.

Brassorama, a defining tournament between the prevailing road bands of Carnival collapsed into a parody of self-indulgent arrangements that veered between the aspirational and the desperate, losing its audience.

Carnival 2023 exposes new fault lines in the festival. Calypso tents continue their slow slide into state-funded obscurity even as soca’s heirs begin recasting the conversation about how music is presented during the season.

Pan commands a shrinking audience gathered around the increasingly irrelevant idea of competition among creators.

Carnival at its core is competitive, but pureeing it through competitions at inadequate venues has moved from being dated to being dangerous.

The State’s hand on the balance of Carnival is heavy, and the lazy insistence on spending taxpayer money to foster pointless rivalry is destructive.

Merit-based grants for small creators and community Carnival arts projects that fertilise the next generation of artists and artisans should replace these pointless jousts.

State-level investment has, for instance, nurtured dozens of calypsonians through school calypso, but these young bards face a world in which their skills have diminishing outlets.

The humiliation of Desperadoes having to leave their Laventille home is potentially the greatest indicator of the diminishing presence of the steelband as a vector for coalescing community.

Yet there are individuals, some acting collectively, insisting on creation and personal choice in the execution of the festival.

Agency is to be across a range of actors, from Dean Ackin’s customer-focused Tribe to the insouciance of Robert Young’s Vulgar Fraction and the whimsical ferocity of Tracey Sankar-Charleau’s individuals.

While the talk continues about evolving Carnival, the festival transfigures.

State and commercial interventions must identify and nurture the seeds of creation that will inspire future generations and find the courage to stop propping up dead limbs that will never again bear fruit.

Mark Lyndersay is the editor of technewstt.com. An expanded version of this column can be found there

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