UWI pulls the plug on Ragashanti

Carolyn Cooper, Contributor

I've never been able to listen to 'Ragashanti Live' for more than about 10 minutes at a time. I have a lot of respect for Dr Kingsley Stewart's intellect. He's a brilliant anthropologist who always gives a riveting account of how he made it off the streets and into university. His rise to fame and fortune is truly inspirational. 'Miss Cherry washbelly', as Kingsley fondly describes himself, certainly makes his mother - and many of us - very proud.

'Ragashanti' is a whole other story: Dr Stewart's alter ego. This Latin term literally means 'the other I'. In psychology, the split personality has negative overtones. But in the case of Ragashanti, King of Mix Up an Blenda, I think 'the other I' is meant to be a positive expression of Dr Stewart's commitment to stay connected with his roots. He simply refuses to 'step up in life' away from his origins.

Even though I do appreciate the value of Dr Stewart's Ragashanti identity, I still had problems with his radio programme. It had nothing to do with his use of the Jamaican language. As an uncompromising cultural activist, advocating acceptance of our mother tongue in public discourse, I certainly had no issue with that.

It was the brawling register. I just couldn't take it for very long. In linguistics, the term 'register' refers to the variety of a language that is used in different social contexts. At a symposium in honour of the late Rex Nettleford, I had an interesting exchange with Mrs Barbara Gloudon, the grande dame of talk radio. I claimed that there were different registers of Jamaican - both formal and informal. Mrs Gloudon scoffed at the seemingly ridiculous idea. But, on her own 'Hotline' programme, she uses a much cooler register than Ragashanti's.

'Uptown patwa'

For many Jamaicans, our mother tongue is seen primarily as the language of 'bruckin out.' English, the official language, is felt to be a confining system of grammatical rules that tie the tongue and imprison the spirit. Our mother tongue is the language of 'leh go.' And we let go in raucous laughter or vicious quarrelling. We don't often think of Jamaican as a language of tenderness.

In order to expand our awareness of the range of registers of our heart language we need to experiment. That's the main reason I decided to deliver my inaugural professorial lecture in Jamaican. I chose a deceptive English title, 'Professing Slackness: Language, Authority and Power Within the Academy and Without.' Then I proceeded in Jamaican: bait and switch.

One of my Trinidadian colleagues accused me of not using 'real' Jamaican; it was 'uptown patwa.' This was largely because the register of the lecture was formal, not brawling. I had a hard time convincing him that a lecture in Jamaican was just as 'real' as 'Ragashanti Live.'

Similarly, when I used to write a bilingual column in another newspaper, I was under constant pressure to use only English. The editor had a hard time accepting Jamaican on the opinion page. The language was seen as inappropriate for serious analysis. It was OK for entertainment but not much else. I insisted that the English column was married to the Jamaican and he could either take them both or not.

Balance of power

Quite frankly, I just didn't like the tone of 'Ragashanti Live.' Endless tracing matches at the standpipe. And the host's moral recklessness was disturbing. The programme would have been better scheduled late at night for an adult audience. But I have to concede that one of the reasons the programme was so popular is precisely because of Ragashanti's flirtation with the forbidden. And his fans love him for it. They want his voice and theirs to be heard in prime time.

A few years ago, a guest on 'The Breakfast Club' chastised the hosts in no uncertain terms. They were merrily chatting away in their usual bookish English when the woman stopped them in their tracks: "Chat mek mi understand."

Without any sense of inferiority, this self-possessed woman made it quite clear that if they wanted to converse with her they had to use her language. The balance of power had shifted. But this woman's assertion of the authority of her mother tongue is fundamentally different from Ragashanti's careless 'talk di tings' exposure of provocative subjects.

The decision of the University of the West Indies, Mona, to pull the plug on Ragashanti is an unequivocal assertion of power from on high. But Ragashanti had, in fact, already resigned. He'd decided to host one final show that he wasn't allowed to finish, perhaps for fear of what he might have said on air.

A press release from the University's Marketing and Communication Office states that the board of management of the station decided that "the programme should be discontinued with immediate effect and appropriate music played until further notice".

The music of choice is R&B. Management could have been much more creative in the selection of music to replace 'de real Jamaican talk show.' R&B is a far cry from the hardcore cultural politics of 'Ragashanti Live.'

Many will see the university's acceptance of Dr Stewart's resignation as a principled decision to rid the station of an unwelcome element. But it may prove to be quite costly. Will the sponsors of 'Ragashanti Live' stay without him? Hardly likely, if the interim programme format is anything to go by. In the end, the sponsors, not the university, will decide where the real power lies.

Carolyn Cooper, PhD, is a public intellectual specialising in cultural enterprise management. She is also the host of PBC Jamaica's new TV talk show, Big People Sup'm. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com or karokupa@gmail.com.