'Rasta Revelation' in Jamaica Part 5: how a Belgian became director of a Jamaican music school

On Tuesday, we have an appointment at the National Library of Jamaica, downtown Kingston. I feel honoured that my book is being included in the collection here. The director, a petite, feisty woman, proves to be quite a character, both for us and her staff. Back home, we might call her outspoken or perhaps even blunt. In Jamaica, she serves as a behavioural model for most women, where despite domestic violence, emancipation seems to have progressed further than here. 

We also visit the Edna Manley College of The Visual and Performing Arts, a sprawling campus with various departments: School of Music, School of Dance, School of Visual Arts… We’re given a tour by Gerd Beyens, former director of the college and currently head of the Theory and Musicology department. He’s been working here for over 20 years. “I had a Jamaican girlfriend back then, and that’s when I started playing reggae. When I came on vacation, with my conservatory training, I was asked if I could teach here. At one point, I became the director, but it was certainly no walk in the park. A lot of administration and always being available to everyone: it was sometimes very exhausting.”

Reggae is just part of it 

In all those years, only one person complained that a white European musician wouldn’t be able to teach Jamaicans how to play reggae. “I fully understand that,” says Gerd: “Colonization still weighs heavily here, and with Black Lives Matter and social media, we’re now also dealing with black, mostly American racists. I grew up in an artistic environment where skin colour never mattered, but it’s a theme we have to take into account nowadays.” 

In the concert hall, Grub Cooper (of Fab Five) gives a practical lesson. The students play a basic riddim. Reggae is just one part of the jazz ensemble course. “You can’t practice reggae for four years, you’ll have it down after a few lessons. Our goal is mainly to train teachers so they can teach music alongside other subjects.”

Pea soup and banana mash

We have lunch at the Veganly Vegetarian Cafe, an outlier in the Seymour Park Business Complex. Pea soup, Vegetable Run Down, Coconut Curry Chickpeas, Banana Mash, Pumpkin Rice, Steam Green Veggies… Nowhere have I eaten better this week than in this unassuming restaurant with room for only four people, where most customers simply come to pick up their food. 

In the afternoon, we’re expected at the Ruff Kutt Krew studio (since 1989!), where Warrior King rehearses with his band. There are also a few kids present, and for the next session, the musicians of Alborosie are already lining up. Vibes!
 

The legacy of Marcus Garvey and Peter Tosh

We stop by Cooyah, the boutique on Hope Road. A nice collection of tasteful T-shirts, indeed, alongside the jewellery of Bramma Shanti and other special accessories. We see more gems, arts & crafts that evening at the Kingston Night Market. I Nation sells books on Rastafari, Marcus Garvey, and black activism. Others sell original juices and other delicacies, artisanal woodwork, perfumes, clothing, and wellness products. Leslie Bryan, the operator of the ganja shop in the Marley museum, also has a stand here; I’ll leave it to your imagination what he offers. 

This is where the more affluent Kingstonians stroll. Cocktails and snacks are served. There are modest performances, and I briefly introduce my book. This too is Jamaica, a bit like the Vogelenmarkt in Antwerp (albeit much smaller). 

Our last day in Kingston is history day. First, we head downtown again, to Upper King Street. Liberty Hall was purchased in 1923 by the Kingston branch of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA), the organization of Jamaican preacher and activist Marcus Garvey. It was the first building owned entirely by black Jamaicans, and also their first major meeting place in the city. Garvey himself gave it its name, in tribute to Liberty Hall in Dublin, the headquarters of Irish trade unions and the independence movement, “the fortress of the militant working class of Ireland”. Garvey saw many similarities between the Irish and black liberation struggles.
 

Burning Spear

Since 2003, Liberty Hall has been a museum entirely dedicated to Marcus Garvey and UNIA, the first multimedia museum in the Caribbean and the only place where “the legacy of Marcus Garvey” is upheld. If you click on all the screens and call up all the images and texts, you could easily spend an hour here. You can also watch a short documentary, and the shop offers T-shirts, pens, and other Garvey paraphernalia for sale. The only reference to Rastafari comes with precisely 1 tune: ‘Marcus Garvey’ by Burning Spear, what else? It’s no secret that Garvey wasn’t fond of the early Rastas, and by the end of the 1930s, he distanced himself from Haile Selassie as well. However, it’s the Rastas who have kept his name and his works alive, rightfully honouring him.

Even the current UNIA chairman (the organization still exists), Steven Golding, is a devout Rastafarian. He invites us to an art gallery-jewellery store-restaurant near Ocean Boulevard. Barely had we introduced ourselves, when Golding inquired if we were Rastas; in other words: if we recognized the divine status of His Imperial Majesty Haile Selassie. It sparked a spirited conversation with mutual respect. Steven is also the first Jamaican ever to treat me to lunch, in a classy restaurant no less. Next month, he’s traveling to Bath, UK, for an event at Fairfield House, the imperial family’s residence during World War II, also known as Home of HIM in some circles. What would Marcus Garvey, the founder of UNIA, have thought of that?

Disrespect for Peter Tosh

I want to see one more place: the Peter Tosh Museum on Trafalgar Road. It’s been around since 2016, but I haven’t had the chance to visit it yet. You can’t just walk in. First, pay 20 US dollars in an adjacent office, then enter what seems like just another office, only smaller. At the entrance: a grumpy guard, the surliest security officer I’ve ever seen in this country, and that says a lot. He makes no effort to welcome us and grumbles we can’t take photos and videos. No wonder the museum is hardly tagged on social media. There’s nothing to see in those two rooms, aside from a few clichéd timelines and information panels. There’s no music. Well, Tosh’s infamous M16 guitar is on display, and his unicycle sits in a corner. A glass case showcases the items with which the singer was beaten and tortured by the police back then. A weapon, a chain, handcuffs… Is that really what we should remember about Peter Tosh? Is the museum director perhaps a former police officer, proud that he was able to apprehend the famous singer back then? Why isn’t there a ganja plant here, or at least a few images of what was Jamaica’s most beautiful and largest (albeit illegal) export product for years? The rest of the world recognizes Peter Tosh as a pioneer of the legalization movement and a legend of reggae. Here, in this mockery of a museum, little of that legacy remains. I much prefer the recently renovated Peter Tosh Memorial in Belmont, his birthplace. And not just because there are ganja plants there.