Carnival and the city – stronger together

DARA E HEALY

“The two bands, Desperadoes and Calvary Hill…peopling different sections of the same slum that ringed this side of the city…had been for years locked in a war that they themselves must have created out of their own need to cultivate and uphold that spirit of rebellion and warriorhood...”

– Earl Lovelace, The Dragon Can’t Dance

YESTERDAY the 2026 Carnival season was launched with much excitement and a concerted effort to reconnect the capital city with our festival. This was an important decision, as the distancing of Carnival from the space that birthed it is a major source of its spiritual and ancestral decline. From the uprooting of Desperadoes to the shifting of Carnival routes away from East Port of Spain, we have allowed forces outside the city to determine our festival. Will this shift to the city stay or will it be more about presentation than reclamation?

The shifting of Carnival away from the city was a gradual, deliberate process. After emancipation, there was an influx of job seekers to the city, particularly thousands of free Africans who came as indentured workers. Port of Spain became a pulsating, confusing place of commerce, hustle and creativity, but also of families simply trying to make the city their home. Stories of cricket and picnics in the bed of the East Dry River remind us of this.

It was against this cauldron of competing interests and squalid barrack-yard living conditions that masquerades of resistance evolved. Baby doll, sailor, dame Lorraine and others emerged as expressions of frustration and self-expression, but also as remembered histories of ancient and royal African civilisations.

The upper classes (and also some people of mixed ancestry) resented the direction in which the Carnival was going and they were supported by the elite-owned newspapers. For instance, the Port of Spain Gazette described a calypso being sung in the city streets as “a savage Guinea song.”

The city was always a space of resistance through Carnival. Not many people engaging in Carnival "revelry" today will spare a thought for the stickfighters and jamettes who fought to protect the festival from being completely banned. Hollis Liverpool documents a 1958 old mas portrayal that mocked Dr Williams – “Dr Eric Williams, Minister of Fine Ants,” with a briefcase displaying the words "Tax Like Fire."

However, for me, the city as a Carnival space holds magical memories. I have written about peeping through the railings of Woodford Square as masqueraders chipped down Frederick Street, of pushing pan and almost getting squashed in the turn; of being covered in ritual mud for Jouvay (J'Ouvert).

But in this moment, nostalgia is of little help to us. Ordinary people were consistently blamed for the stickfight battles, that eventually became pain reflected in steelpan wars. Few acknowledged the oppressive laws and dire social realities that forced frustration onto the streets of the city. The legacy of the 1938 Carnival Improvement Committee and later versions of this organisation still leave their unpleasant odours of censorship of calypsoes, unfair competition rules and wanting to “rid Carnival of its ugly features.”

Reclaiming the city is an important first step towards dispelling centuries of cultural injustice, but how to do it? After the euphoria of the launch, there must be real efforts to recraft the city to honour those who sacrificed and gave their lives for Carnival. A festival that annually brings billions into our country and enriches us in countless other ways.

It is hard to believe that Port of Spain, a space that becomes deserted after four pm, was designated a Creative City of Music by UNESCO in 2019. Worse, the history of our city connected to the innovations of calypso, steelpan and traditional masquerade remains invisible.

There are still no street names, monuments or QR codes to share this history with citizens. Who is Joe Talmana, warrior leader of the 1881 uprisings? Where on Nelson Street was the Trinidad Calypso and Musicians Advertising Association that was run by calypsonians Attila and Lion? Why did Lord Kitchener sing “Zigilee, Pops and Battersby…/They had people jumping wild in the street/Port of Spain was catching afire/When the steelband was crossing the Dry River.”

Like Carnival, our city waits for respect and care. But most of all, she awaits the return of the festival and its spirit of resistance. We must ensure the reconnection lasts, or they both will die.

Dara E Healy is a performing artist and founder of the Idakeda Group, a cultural organisation dedicated to empowering communities through the arts