Annie Paul | ‘Nah mek dem win’: rise of the Tambourine Army
Tambourine Army's emotionally charged, moving survivors' march from the Moravian Church at 127 Molynes Road to Mandela Park in Half-Way Tree Square was one of several held across the Caribbean that day. It was probably also the most heart-wrenching one, organised, as it was mostly by survivors of rape and abuse, for many of whom this was a cathartic experience. The 700-strong march was a record number for non-political and non-religious protests.
Heralded by dissension on social media and fallout with earlier generations of feminist activists, the Tambourine Army nevertheless prevailed on March 11, their well-orchestrated, rootsy, Rasta drum-and-pan-driven procession moving at a nimble pace through the streets of Kingston. Led by flag woman Taitu Heron, gloriously clad in Orisha-inspired white and expertly manipulating a large white flag in front of purple-clad marchers, the procession packed quite a visual punch. Such a pity that neither of the two TV stations in Jamaica seemed to be there (recalling the famous words of Gil Scott-Heron "The revolution will not be televised ..."), so that it fell on social media to disseminate the colourful images.
A truck with a sound system accompanied the procession, pumping out the doleful but mesmerising song Nah Mek Dem Win, with lyrics telling an all-too-familiar Jamaican story. Young girl being abused by her father, tries in vain to bring it to the attention of her family, yet:
Mama neva listen
Aunty neva listen
Mi try tell mi sista, but ... she neva listen
But this is healing time ...
An you don't have to do it on your own
Just Stan Firm.
Nah mek dem win
Nah mek dem win ...
Keisha Firmm, author and singer of Nah Mek Dem Win, is the survivor of a horror story herself. After her mother's death, her relatives sent her to England to live with a man who claimed to be her father. The inevitable happened, leaving young Keisha full of anger and pain with nowhere to turn for help. Questions kept swirling through her mind. Why had this happened to her? How could society leave children to the mercy of predators with no protection whatsoever? Would she ever be normal again?
I asked her how participating in the march had made her feel. Less empty, said Keisha, less alone. A student in UTech's USAID-funded Fi Wi Jamaica arts residency programme, sharing her story and turning it into song has been therapeutic for Keisha, who hopes that it will help other young women like herself. During the march, the truck would stop along the way, allowing different survivors to share their stories, the singer Tanya Stephens, among them.
Leading the march, right behind the flag woman, was a row of black-clad women, in armour-like outfits. They were members of En Kompane, the dance troupe started by virtuoso dancer Neila Ebanks. When the procession reached Mandela Park to find that the generator had packed up and there was no sound, the ragtag live instrumental band struck up and Neila danced a powerful 'cutting and clearing' dance.
Cutting and clearing space for themselves was what this march was about for the women and men who participated in it. The unseemly pre-March cass-cass between older feminists who should know better and younger activists whose zeal and passion at times made them hot-headed and confrontational was unfortunate.
The public's apathy made me realise that there's no culture here of holding protest marches, or protests generally. The immediate response of too many is, 'what is a protest going to achieve?' They miss the point. For the victims of abuse who participated, the march was part of the healing process. For others like artist Deborah Anzinger, who brought her six-year-old daughter, it "... felt like a valuable step and exercise. As children, we never learnt of organised demonstrations/
protesting as an option for us to show disapproval of any social problem. It felt good introducing this to our daughter and her friend. It was an opportunity to talk to them about how far we've come towards basic equality and human rights for all people and how much further there is
I'll close by quoting Kashka Hemans, whose Facebook status said: "I'd like to congratulate the Tambourine Army on their fearless and, in many ways, peerless activism in the cause of ending gender-based violence in Jamaica. ... I stand with them on the basis of what they stand for. ... [The Tambourine Army is] giving a platform to many women to tell their stories, to vent, to 'gwaan bad' and cuss claat in a country where claat cussing is the only language many in officialdom seem to understand."
- Annie Paul is a writer and critic based at the University of the West Indies and author of the blog, Active Voice (anniepaul.net). Email feedback to firstname.lastname@example.org or tweet @anniepaul.