My love for reggae music isn’t surface level, and doesn’t end at the music itself. Reggae is a genre I’ve come to believe is sacred. At least for me it is. I have countless personal anecdotes to explain that statement, but I’ll share a recent one for the sake of brevity.
I was talking to a man, getting to know him, and boy, did I love him off. We fell out after one of the most absurd conversations I’ve had in my life, during which he descended into classing me all kinds of ways. Only one of his attempts to insult me stuck, and it was that I am a rebel without a cause.
This, because I’m one to love a debate. I’m opinionated, I love to think and am eager to learn, and I love to challenge the views of myself and others in pursuit of never ending learning. It’s fundamental to my being, and has been used against me since my first memory of myself. All my high school report cards include a comment from a teacher or principal emphasizing that my potential is hindered by how much I love to chat and argue.
I am now acutely aware that some people will just not be my people because of this, and that my natural inclination to question and assert is an asset in all the right spaces, and that’s a liberating awareness that I don’t take for granted. As I’ve been consciously doing deep work on my Self this past year — probing every one of my self-limiting beliefs; healing all my hurt feelings; crystallizing all my loftiest dreams and goals with hundreds of hours of journaling, reading, and challenges (from personal finance to meditation to unlocking my vision of self, etc.) — I’ve continued to listen to reggae music, mainly because… good vibes.
During the very period of my self work to heal my hurt feelings about being labeled a causeless rebel — I can’t make this up — Pressure Busspipe released his album, “Rebel With a Cause.”
“Rebel With a Cause” is an album that includes a song that will play in the background of my future wedding, a verse by Jah9 that is no less than formative, and an overall message so in line with what I was, at that very same time of release, experiencing, but also on a different level, what I continue to experience now.
So for me, reggae is sacred. It is always sent for me with very direct instructions and affirmations hidden in lyrics and titles and sound power. It’s an art that I deeply appreciate.
That is not the point of this love letter, though. The point is that as a nation, for generations, we have birthed and been home to not just a powerful genre, but power infinite and fundamentally untraceable.
The other day, I learnt that Jamaica was basically Martin Luther King, Jr.’s favorite island, and that he rented a house in Ochi, minutes away from where I’ve lived majority of my life, to write his last book before being assassinated — arguably one of his most prophetic works — “Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community,” a plan for a future America, in peace and solitude.
Shortly after that, in reading Zora Neale Hurston’s ethnographic study, “Tell My Horse,” I came across her words: “The very best place to be in all the world is St. Mary[‘s parish], Jamaica.” St. Mary, where I’ve lived majority of my life. Zora Neale Hurston, prolific juggernaut in my very passion, writing.
I don’t even need to get into listing Jamaican greats like Usain Bolt, like Bob Marley. I don’t even need to talk about the global impact of our tiny nation’s culture and people.
It’s no mystery or argument that greatness and Jamaica are synonymous. My solitary greatest wish for every Jamaican is a radical acceptance of the proximity to greatness, in any sense of the word, that is their birthright.
I’m not sure where my love for Jamaica really comes from, but I vividly recall a moment in which, maybe, it was born. I was 8 years old and standing in the crowd of the student population at morning devotion at my preparatory school in Upton, St. Ann, where we were required to sing Jamaica’s National [School] Song:
I pledge my heart forever
To serve with humble pride
This shining homeland, ever
So long as earth abide
I pledge my heart, this island
As God and faith shall live
My work, my strength, my love, and
My loyalty to give.
O green isle of the Indies,
Jamaica, strong and free,
Our vows and loyal promises,
O heartland, ’tis to thee
I felt an overwhelming sense of emotion, but I couldn’t identify which emotion it was. I got goosebumps hearing the chorus of varying ages sing those words. Inspired by the British song “I Vow to Thee My Country,” the national song for schools was composed with the aim of preparing youth for nationhood after independence, which was gained in 1962. I suppose since we’d already achieved independence and a national identity, it made a patriot out of me.
This is why I laugh at myself when I remember my inner, secret reaction to a themed birthday party my coworkers threw for me at my work study job during my time at Howard University. I walked into the office to screams of “Surpriiiise! Happy birthdayyy!” and to the sight of green mixed drinks, Jamaica flags in the cups, Jamaica flag cupcakes, and Jamaica-themed decorations. I was genuinely happy, of course, but I remember secretly comparing myself to others later that night. My other coworkers had had parties thrown based on things about them and things they loved that weren’t their nationality. I asked myself if everyone saw me as just Jamaican.
After my time of introspection, I’ve concluded I am not just a Jamaican, I love being one. It’s a privilege to have my citizenship be a source of personal pride. Not everyone feels that feeling.
I know we have a lot of work to do, but I’m grateful to have the ability and the will to do my part of that work.
empress. french press. success. 