EVERY Wednesday night, Christie Park is transformed into an organised festival ground to house hundreds of Junkanooers who come to feel the rush from the beat of the drum and the clang of the cowbells. The unmistakable sound of Junkanoo reverberates from inside the park and echoes all the way down Nassau Street.
Musicians from the Roots Junkanoo group take centre stage to tune up their sound for the Boxing Day and New Year’s Day Junkanoo parades. Roots devotees and faithful Junkanoo lovers line all sides of the park as spectator-participants, connecting with that earthy sound speaking directly to their spirits. Food, music and all manner of spirits you can find on the park grounds.
Three to four months prior to the winter season Junkanoo parades, children gather, adults gather and elders gather in a spirit of community for the occasion we call Junkanoo practice. Christie Park is not the only place this festival scenario plays out.
On Thursday nights by Centreville Park you find Junkanooers at practice; down the road in Mason’s Addition or across the way on Market Street, you find Junkanoo. All across town in standard and unassuming places, you find associations of Junkanooers large and small engaged in the same way. The Junkanoo practice space is one I have come to love far more than any competitive parade, because there you find Junkanoo being expressed in its relatively most pure spiritual form, free of the rigid filters of the mainstream Junkanoo establishment. I say relatively, because there are still some unspoken rules that regulate Junkanoo practice, and they create unfortunate barriers for the pure flow of spirit.
Last week I attended a Valley Boys Junkanoo practice and as I danced on the sidelines, the spirit of the drums kept calling me closer and closer. My spirit wanted to be immersed in the vibration of the music. Before I knew it, I had moved from the observation zone on the periphery to the middle of two organised lines of drummers. It did not take long before a group martial appeared to escort me back to the sidelines.
That encounter aside, I can still appreciate the beauty of the Junkanoo practice space. It is one of the most under-rated aspects of Junkanoo by the cultural establishment. Gathered in the heart of the community every week you find Junkanooers responding of freewill to the powerful call of the drums, a most fundamental retention of our African heritage.
It is one of the few cultural spaces in the Bahamas that is more concerned about the essence of expression than providing conveniences for a witnessing audience. It is also one of the few cultural spaces in the Bahamas that is not artificially manufactured for an audience of tourists. And ironically, it would no doubt be the most popular tourist attraction if the cultural establishment had the vision to see.
The sensory experience of Junkanoo at practice is far superior to any parade because the practice space is much more intimate than any parade route. The spirit of community resonates at a higher frequency because the element of competition is diminished. The communicative and healing quality of the drums is more potent because the barriers between participant and spectator are reduced.
At Junkanoo practice, the absence of any costuming takes little away from the Junkanoo experience, which sounds surprising given the time and energy put into costuming every year for the winter parades. But on deep analysis, it makes sense, because beyond all of the cosmetic elements of Junkanoo, the most fundamental element is an African spirit expressing itself intuitively, creatively, and communally in its own interest. To the detriment of Junkanoo, many people run away from this truth.
Modern Junkanoo has become more associated with the visual display of spectacular Junkanoo art, representing the creative ingenuity of a people. The philosophy of transforming junk-anew gave birth to a philosophy of extravagance and limitless growth. This shift resulted in a massive creative expansion but it also turned Junkanoo into an unsustainable enterprise.
Junkanoo has also become associated with a competitive culture that breeds materialism. After all, Junkanoo groups maintain their fierce rivalry – spending upwards to $150,000 – just to compete for a $40,000 grand prize, which is a pittance in the grand scheme of things. Along the road to modernity, Junkanoo has achieved much, but it also has sacrificed much, mainly of its connection to spirit.
Historically, Junkanoo was the vehicle through which subjugated blacks in the Bahamas freely expressed their African spirits. It was the way in which the community expressed itself as a collective. Through Junkanoo, black Bahamians claimed liberation over oppression in a colonial system that preferred rather to beat the black out.
Although it is not seen as such anymore, Junkanoo embodied a spirit of liberation and resistance that was culturally specific to African descendants in the Bahamas. It was a source of spiritual sustenance for blacks who at one time would even steal away at nights to the bushes just so the drums could speak.
At Junkanoo practice, the connection to a more ancient Junkanoo spirit is more powerfully felt. It is a spirit that the Junkanoo community should acknowledge and nurture. One way to do so is for Junkanoo groups to have a liberation rush during Junkanoo practice perhaps once a season or once a month. During the liberation rush the musicians should be free to jam in the way their spirits call them to do. The community should be free to immerse itself in the way the spirit moves it to do. Perhaps, for example, when the groups move to their secondary venues, like Potter’s Cay Dock in the case of the Valley Boys, during the liberation rush, spectators could join the performance line at will and free dance with the group.
Additionally, Junkanoo groups could have an ancestral rush, which would apply the same principles from the liberation rush, while adding an element of ancestral celebration. Participants could be encouraged to wear t-shirts recognising a dearly departed family member during the rush or some other creative expression to honour the ancestors. For the pure joy of expression, these Junkanoo practice sessions would honour the essence of Junkanoo free of restraint and control. Aside from developing strategies to reconnect with that ancient spirit of Junkanoo, the cultural community should view the Junkanoo practice space with new eyes.
Pan-African writer and cultural critic Khalila Nicolls is currently a practicing journalist in The Bahamas.