Rastaman (Routledge Revivals)

The Rastafarian Movement in England

E. Cashmore

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781135083731
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Sciences sociales
• Subtopic: Sociologie

First published in 1979, this book makes a detailed study of Rastafarianism. It traces the expansion of Rastafarian culture from its origins and development in Jamaica through to the growth of Rastafarian life in Britain. It looks at Rastafarian culture in England in the late 1970s based on the author's intimate experiences and communications with followers of the movement.

Chapter 1

Introduction: The Sociological Interest in Rasta

Sociology takes its place in the company of sciences that deal with man as man; that it is, in that specific sense, a humanistic discipline. An important consequence of this conception is that sociology must be carried on in a continuous conversation with both history and philosophy or lose its proper object of inquiry. This object is society as part of a human world, made by men, inhabited by men, and, in turn making men, in an ongoing historical process. It is not the least fruit of a humanistic sociology that it re-awakens our wonder at this astonishing phenomenon.

Peter Berger and Thomas Luckmann, 1972

The Scope of the Problem

The British black power leader Obi Egbuna once reflected that during the 1960s it was ‘the climax of absurdity to call a “West Indian” African’ (1970, p. 17). During the middle and latter stages of the 1970s it was an outrage to tens of thousands of West Indians to call them anything but African. In 1978 I asked a young black in London his nationality; he replied: ‘I’m from Ethiopia, but I was born in the West Indies.’ Here in a nutshell lies the sociological problem behind this work.

The dramatic and comprehensive changes in consciousness occurring within the West Indian community of England during the 1970s was arguably the most important development in the history of the black presence. First-generation migrants from the West Indies were relatively accommodating, cultivating thoughts and postures conducive to their low visibility and repressed anxieties; few attempted to articulate their felt grievances and for the most part phrased their ambitions in terms of the institutional facilities available. Their sons and daughters totally and utterly rejected their parents’ perspectives: they developed radically different stances vis-á-vis the wider society, nurtured and preserved new ways of thinking, fresh methods of expressing their anxieties; they created a new reality. For the sociologist this elicits two questions: why they did. it, and how they did it. My effort, therefore, was to advance on these two fronts, asking what were the motivations, dispositions and cognitive states impelling black youths to new modes of thought and action, and how it was possible for them to construct for themselves a conception of reality so divorced and distinct from that of their parents that it was breathtaking to imagine that only one generation separated them. The fruit of my inquiry was intended to be an understanding of the processes whereby a new definition of reality was achieved: how West Indian youth in the 1970s created a peculiarly Rastafarian reality.

But the sociologist is not interested merely in the internal pressures and processes at work in the creation of reality, the mechanisms social groups develop for constructing their conceptions and defusing challenges to their definition, important though they are. He must go further to investigate the historical situation from which that group grew, the material context out of which it emerged, the relationships sustained or terminated with other groups and the consequences it produces for insiders and outsiders. To crystallise these concerns into a single theme one might say that the impulse is to uncover the social foundations of a particular conception of reality. In order to satisfy adequately this impulse and lay bare the social bases of the English Rastafarian movement my investigations took me as far back as the seventeenth century and as far afield as Jamaica and Africa – albeit an Africa of the imagination; from the general area of British colonialism and the particular brand of racism it manifested and perpetuated to the specific area of West Indian attitude change, or shift in cognition.

The historical dimension is intended to anchor the English movement in its past; to unravel the complex processes and mechanisms which contributed to the production and transmission of a belief system so compelling in appeal that not only did it remain a dominant cultural force in its original context (Barrett, 1977, pp. 185–97), but transferred to North America most particularly to Toronto (where I noticed the movement in 1975–6 and was informed by the Inspector of the Intelligence Bureau, Metropolitan Toronto Police, that the Rastas’ ‘relationship with the Metropolitan Toronto Police Force is usually of a criminal nature’); to Hartford, Connecticut where the movement emerged around 1962 (Barrett, 2 June 1977, personal communication); and most strikingly to New York City where the cult was linked to trafficking in ganja (marihuana), extortion and murder after four Rastas were found murdered execution style (C. Gerald Fraser, June 1977, New York Times Service). In 1977 the movement surfaced in Paris. Though I am unqualified to comment on these, I observed that the British movement provoked similar patterns of reaction from the wider society, reaching a full pitch with the publication of the Shades of Grey report (1977) and the sense of panic it generated in Birmingham. Historical analysis reveals that the attribution of deviant status had been a feature of the movement since its inception in 1930. This in itself warranted investigation and I took care to focus on societal reactions to the cult and how they might have affected its overall development. It is important to realise how a volatile reaction from the wider society can impinge on the movement’s ability to produce and sustain a version of reality at variance to ‘conventional’ conceptions.

To offer a synopsis, my attempt was to dig an exploratory shaft into the social foundations of the movement by tracing the development of religious thought in colonial and post-colonial Jamaica, noting the influences on and conditions underlying these developments and documenting the legacy they left in their wake. Particular attention was paid to Marcus Garvey, without question the most socially important precursory inspiration to the movement. He cut a path through extant traditions of thinking in Jamaica and presented building blocks on which to construct a totally fresh and exhilarating conception of reality. The Rastafarian interpretation of Garvey’s concepts and categories was far more exotic and bizarre than the charismatic prophet’s own; it constituted what Michael Barkun (1974, p. 37) calls a ‘quantum leap’ – that which separates millenarian movements from other forms of social protest. Unlike Garvey, who had worked pragmatically at achieving his central aim of repatriating all blacks to their ‘native’ Africa, the Rastas conceived the idea that the entire social universe would be totally transformed and they would be returned to Africa through the power of the then Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie I who was taken to be the living God. After repeated failures of the millennium to materialise in the late fifties and early sixties some factions of the movement reconceptualised the nature of the messianic consummation and encouraged its arrival through resort to violence; their efforts were severely consequential in prompting a societal reaction of such intensity that panic gripped the island for several years. To conclude Chapter 2 I summarise the contemporary situation in Jamaica and the routes along which it is likely to develop, paying particular attention to neo-Marxist interpretations of the cult.

To link the two movements I open Chapter 3 with a description of the post-war Jamaican migration to England, and a cursory glance at the type of reception the immigrants experienced. Some early patterns of black adaptation to the new environment are then outlined. Dealt with next is the emergence, development and contours of the English Rastafarian movement and the social origins of its members. From here I look at the two dynamics propelling the modern movement: the creation of a suggestible and receptive black populace; and the existence of a Rastafarian definition of reality and the social apparatus for its transmission. My efforts then turn to delineating the actual mechanisms which the movement operated to sustain and recreate its own particular version of reality. From here I inquire into how Rastas, despite their lack of material resources, were able to effect and consolidate the sense of belonging to an exclusive and in many ways élite groups, entry into which was restricted to only the ‘enlightened ones’. Despite the Rastas’ strain to perpetuate exclusivity, however, their very presence in urban-industrial centres necessitated contacts with outside groups, some of which were fraught with more tension than others. The movement’s relationship with the police was the most conflictriven and this gave rise to a panic of such proportions that the whole of the movement’s membership was brought into severe disrepute. Finally, I conclude with an analysis of the African consciousness which has gripped the minds of West Indian youth in the 1970s and compare this with the négritude movement of the thirties and forties, which also sought to upgrade blacks by instilling in them pride and dignity in their African heritage.

Conceptual Apparatus

During the course of my research it became apparent that the puzzle for the modern Rastas themselves was in discovering what in history made possible a forecast of an imminent and total transformation of the existing order and an entry into a realm of human perfection. In a peculiar way their problem was similar to mine for I, too, was trying to discover the social roots of the Rastaman. But while Rastas were looking to Africa, for them a continent of unlimited possibilities and the black man’s Zion, I was focusing on Jamaica where the movement first emerged and on Africa only for the initial influences on thought which were elaborated, transmitted and rendered amenable to the fantastic synthesis which became known as Ras Tafari. From there my route was fairly clear: to follow the development of this mode of thought from its inception in the 1930s to its contemporary form and then to examine its transmission and growth in the new environment of England. In other words, while the Rastas were at work creating reality on the basis of their perceived African heritage, I was recreating the background, thought and actions of those responsible for the reality.

I anticipate the immediate and most serious set of objections to approaching the task in the manner I have and one of these is that my theorising tends to be over-impressionistic, sometimes unsubstantiated and occasionally too subjective in orientation. Unfortunately, I have little with which to counter such criticisms and can only concede that the nature of the work necessitated a heavy reliance on intuition and inference. No one who appreciates the craft of the sociologist would seriously expect a perfectly faithful and sympathetic reproduction of the actor’s definition of reality (many sociologists would find this irrelevant anyway); the best I have achieved is a number of insights and understandings about the thoughts of the group about which I am concerned and their relationships with social settings. My conviction is simply that consciousness can be best expanded by analysing that of others in specific social contexts. This is a view of sociology as a humanistic enterprise.

A related exception to my approach might be that my indulgence takes me into the shadows of epistemological relativism, that because of my preparedness to adopt a stance of sociological agnosticism and not comment on the correctness, validity or truth of the beliefs with which I am dealing, my conclusions command no significantly higher level of theoretical awareness than those of the Rastas themselves and, therefore, are reduced to ‘one amongst many’ viewpoints. In my defence against this I marshall the support of Derek Phillips who contends: ‘Objective knowledge exists in sociology in the sense that it is accredited by members of the sociological community’ (1973, p. 143). The truth of a belief, then, lies in the agreement it elicits within a particular community. So, for example, what constitutes truth for a British sociologist may not be truth for a Brazilian Ubandist, nor for a Rastaman in Jamaica or England. Truth pertains to its specific social context so that a mature sociological analysis needs to examine varieties of truth; the analyst’s own conclusions are never more than versions of reality for there is no way the sociologist can stand outside and analyse objectively (though he may endeavour to eliminate bias). Sociology is itself a socially organised activity and its results are received by a social community; they are converted into truth only by the application of canons of procedure which provide for the possibility of agreement. My aim is to proffer a version of the genesis and development of the particular consciousness informing the Rastafarian movement. Rastas themselves might well dispute its correctness and replace it with their own version; a Roman Catholic priest might contest the validity of both versions. I am not interested in the ultimate epistemological status of my version and feel that the inclusion of questions concerning the validity of knowledge within the sociological discipline is, as Berger and Luckmann express it, ‘like trying to push a bus in which one is riding’ (1972, p. 25).

Closely related to this issue is the question of choice of concepts used for the purposes of analysis. As an actor standing outside the movement, yet trying to comprehend what goes on inside, my task was complicated by my very social location. My analysis, therefore, is unavoidably coloured by my own conception of reality and phrased in concepts I find contributory to understanding. Given my general theoretical position I strenuously tried to eschew what I regarded to be impositional concepts, those constructs created and utilised by social scientists to analyse phenomena in terms not recognisable to the phenomena themselves. Whilst realising the necessity for some degree of imposition, I attempted to extract my concepts from the Rastas themselves, sometimes thematising them, often naming them differently, and sometimes linking them in ways with which Rastas would not agree.

To take an example, the ‘Babylonian conspiracy’ is not a phrase used by Rastas themselves but seems to capture the theoretical underpinnings of much Rastafarian thought. The process of ‘mental erasure’ is my own phrase but would be recognised by Rastas as a condition of membership. My research indicated that the concept of ‘drift’ (a term borrowed from David Matza) suggests the most fruitful method of analysing the process of progressive involvement with the movement; though Rastas might find this offensive and argue that they were always Rastafarian, it just being a matter of time before realising this: ‘Jah passed over I’ being an illustrative response.

Other concepts retain much more fidelity and so rely on Rastafarian world views, which are, of course, replete with their own analytic tools. ‘Acceptance’ of Ras Tafari as the living God, I discerned, was the critical moment in the career of becoming a Rastaman; this constituted the opening of new windows from which to look out at reality, or what I chose to call the acquisition of new ‘conceptual maps’ (pace Jarvie). At this point ‘insight’ is said to be achieved. The notion of a ‘brotherhood’ or ‘brethren’ to characterise the social organisation of the movement are terms derived from the Rastas themselves and give revealing glimpses into how Ras Tafari held together as a movement as opposed to a loose aggregation of individuals. This connected closely with what I considered to be the most enriching concept in the Rastafarian vocabulary, ‘I and I’. Expressed through the words of a Rasta, this denotes, ‘the oneness of two persons … that God is in all men’. In Rastafarian reality God is both a deity and inherent in all men, thus providing a tie or link between all brothers. The relevance of this important concept becomes apparent as the total picture unravels. So, while I am not specifically interested in the philosophy of the Rastafarian reality in itself, I had little hesitation in drawing upon Rastafarian analytic constructs to supplement my own analysis. Some sociologists might find such short cuts unacceptable and unscholarly: I make no apology.

In more detached moments I made use of terms which are the exclusive property of the analyst. The meaning of many of my borrowed concepts, such as Ian Jarvie’s ‘conceptual maps’ and Stanley Cohen’s ‘folk devils’ are clarified as the book unfolds, but others require elaboration at the outset. I characterise Ras Tafari as both ‘cult’ and ‘movement’. Without indulging in a consideration of what exactly is to constitute a cult (as opposed to a sect or a church) let me simply state that I do not accept criteria which include the content of the belief system or their life-span. With Roy Wallis I agree that the central characteristic of the cult is ‘epistemological individualism’: ‘By epistemological individualism I mean to suggest that the cult has no clear locus of final authority beyond the individual member’ (1976, p. 14).

The belief system of Ras Tafari was so vague and loosely defined, even at its inception, due to its lack of a single authoritative voice, that what was to be acceptable doctrine was largely a matter of individual interpretation. Never in the history of the movement had there been a leader effective enough to impose an unambiguous interpretation and so make demands on members in such a way as to establish clear boundaries. Instead there existed few demands and no distinction between members and non-members (technically, at least). This introduced the problem of distinguishing what constituted the typical Rastaman; but if there was a solution to this it was an arbitrary one. As a cult, Ras Tafari had a very transient membership, usually an expanding one. In its English manifestation I preferred to see the membership as constantly in flux with members drifting towards the core of the belief system until they came to accept the divinity of Haile Selassie; but even this was not a spur-of-the-moment decision but a ‘process’ of acquiring insight. The belief system itself remained broadly based and amenable to differential interpretation, adaptation, supplementation and abridgement.

Lacking in centralised authority, the Rastas were never able to organise themselves on sectarian models and, therefore, faced problems of control which continually threatened to dissolve the membership and render it a loose aggregation instead of a warrantable movement. I take the term ‘movement’ to transcend particular types of religious manifestation, such as cult and sect, and refer more generically to a collective mode of response to specific interpretations of evil; and here I look to Bryan Wilson who contends that ‘Men apprehend evil in many different ways and thus look for relief from it in different forms of supernatural action. The various responses to the world embrace different conceptions of the source of evil and the ways in which it will be overcome’ (1973, p. 21).

Ras Tafari was a response to the perceived source of evil – the white colonial system of Babylon. Rastas collectively located the evil and responded to it in a relatively focused manner. Sharing this common focus and perceived ways of alleviating their anxieties united them into a movement. The Rastas’ response was to reject dominant cultural goals by declaring that only the wholesale transformation of the social world, the destruction of Babylon, would suffice.

What made the Rastafarian a ‘millenarian movement’ was that the process of transformation was to be engineered and executed by a supernatural agency, in this case Haile Selassie (though it should be pointed out that some groups felt the need to participate in the process of transforming by assisting with violent measures). The movement conformed neatly to Norman Cohn’s (1957) seminal definition of a millenarian movement, the five criteria of which were: that it will be a collective response; that salvation will be activated in this world; that the transformation will occur imminently; that it will be total, overturning the extant order; and it will be miraculously achieved with the help of a supernatural agency.

My work indicated that in the transition to England the movement lost little of the millenarian vitality which characterised its Jamaican predecessor. True, there were no congregation at London docks to await the arrival of Haile Selassie’s ships, but this is not to concede that the contemporary Rastas lost their commitment to the super-naturally wrought destruction of Babylon and the ensuing world transformation: ‘must come’ was the oft-heard reply to the question of the inevitability of the holocause, ‘these are the last days’. The mechanics behind the transformation were never revealed but at no time was any doubt shown about its ultimacy and inevitability and that it would be the consequence of divine action: ‘God’s will’.

My preference for ‘movement’ as opposed to ‘cult’ is simply a reflection of the Rastas’ predilection to use this term. Ras Tafari was most assuredly a cult, but I feel no clarity...