Junkanoo, for Bahamians, is the ultimate national symbol

Junkanoo in the Bahamas: a tale of identity

Nicolette Bethel

Adapted from Navigations: the Fluidity of National Identity

in the Post-Colonial Bahamas, PhD dissertation, 2000.

Junkanoo, for Bahamians, is the ultimate national symbol. A street festival of West African origin held at Christmastime, it represents poverty and wealth, discipline and rebellion, competition and cooperation, creative genius and physical prowess. It is simultaneously viewed as the quintessential Bahamian self-conception and the best face turned to the visitor. Like street festivals everywhere, it can be classified as a ritual of rebellion,[1] a politico-cultural movement[2] or an annual invocation of the liminal.[3] As a marker of identity, however, it provides Bahamians with a means of reflecting on current issues and criticizing social ills, while at the same time offering to tourists a spectacle full of colour, movement and sound; and it encompasses the ideals of family, neighbourhood and social commitment while accommodating individual self-expression.

In many respects, Junkanoo is similar to Carnival in Trinidad and elsewhere. Like Carnival, it is a street parade in which groups compete for prizes, with distinctive music and attire. These groups are judged on their costumes, music and performance; participants rush (parade) along the two main thoroughfares of the capital, Bay Street and Shirley Street. In recent years the majority of those who take part have belonged to one of approximately fifteen groups, about six of whom compete fiercely for cash prizes; these organize their presentations according to central themes, around which all the elements that they bring to the parade cohere. The rest, both individual competitors and small groups, participate for the fun of it.

Like Carnival, Junkanoo may be regarded as the culmination of the tales of identification told to the self (Bahamians) and to the other (tourists and other foreigners). Several scholars have examined the ways in which major street festivals elsewhere across the African diaspora similarly provide tales of identification.[4] Bahamian Junkanoo tells the following tales of the self: it is simultaneously the central symbol of black Bahamians’ development, a metaphor for national progress, an affirmation of Bahamian creativity, an arena for social commentary and a ready tool for the education of the young. Perhaps the most enduring element of Junkanoo is found in the competition at the heart of the parade, a rivalry whose roots lie in the territories from which the groups originate. Here questions of place, land and identity are embodied in the practice of Junkanoo.

The tales told to the other, although less commonly invoked by Bahamians as conscious markers of identity, mirror the tales told by other participants in street festivals elsewhere. These are tales that embody the expected, that promote the visitors’ imagination of the exotic, the unfamiliar. Bahamians, however, are not picky about the accuracy of these tales, and many of them are richly ironic. Junkanoo is enacted for the tourist in ways that would be unacceptable to a Bahamian audience. While it is perfectly acceptable for Junkanoo performers and groups to take part in hotel floor-shows, and while it is not at all uncommon for social directors at the various hotels to build into their schedules a “Junkanoo” parade of some sort, these affairs are not considered to be authentic, or even believed to be representative of the real thing. The men and women who engage in them do them as part of a job; they are paid to appear, and as such do so without real regard to the essence or the evolution of the festival. Costumes are mass-produced, often gaudy, swiftly pasted and generically designed; the music is commercialized, destined for the untutored tourist ear; the dances are consciously tailored to giving the visitors what they expect. The presence of the tourist in these performances is crucial; however, that presence serves to refashion Junkanoo into something that Bahamians themselves find risible. Here the tale of Junkanoo becomes infinitely malleable, as it was on the Mall in Washington in 1994, where a female American spectator, observing Bahamian Junkanoo musicians warming up their goatskin drums, asked whether some sort of sacred ritual was being carried out. A Bahamian bystander answered that it was. Although his remark was sarcastic, the woman took it literally, especially after a Junkanoo, overhearing the exchange, added enthusiastically that each Junkanoo group had its own set of fire-rituals that it performed before every parade.

To some degree, then, Junkanoo is a tourist commodity, another object promoted for the visitor’s consumption. However, the tourist in Junkanoo is a spectator only. The tale of Junkanoo is far more commonly told to other Bahamians than to outsiders. In this paper, I will look at three of these tales told to the self. The first of these will be the very conscious political role played by Junkanoo in the building of national identity, through its reclamation of history and its alignment with the black working and middle classes. The second will be the significance of Junkanoo’s occurrence during the Christmas season; and the third will be a brief examination of its role in refashioning native perceptions of Bahamian national identity, as demonstrated by its involvement in the Smithsonian Festival of the Americas.

Masquerade politics: the occupation of the street

Of all the “national symbols” in the Bahamas, it is Junkanoo that receives the most attention. Throughout history, it has acted as a force for the construction of many different Bahamian identities. During the early 1800s it united slaves in Christmas celebrations; during the middle of that century it was adopted by Liberated Africans as a focus for their displacement; at the beginning of the twentieth century it provided members of the working class with a forum for their grievances; and later in the century it functioned both as an emblem of race and of masculine activity.[5] Since Independence in 1973, it has become more and more integral to conceptions of the nation. Iconized, it now appears on stamps, customs stickers and five-dollar bills; restaurants bear its name, much of contemporary popular music follows its beat, and both an art gallery/cultural centre and the national beer are onomatopaeically named after the sound of drum and cowbells. Additionally, Junkanoo is promoted to tourists as the “quintessential” cultural event. Somewhat paradoxically, however, it remains primarily an occurrence produced by Bahamians for Bahamians. It is possible to argue that Bahamians regard Junkanoo as something that is fundamentally theirs, and that its function as a tourist attraction is secondary, as indeed, Patullo does:

...the parade[s] ... have flourished and have become a magnificent, home-grown attraction created for and performed by groups of Bahamians for themselves. The groups represent communities with a strong sense of belonging and collective identity; in this way, tourists are almost entirely excluded from participation ...[6]

Like many other festivals throughout the Caribbean, Junkanoo’s roots are understood to lie in slavery and the African heritage. It is one of a group of Christmas celebrations that occurred from the Carolinas to Belize during the slave era, the most elaborate of which was the Jamaican Jonkonnu masquerade, which flourished until the mid-nineteenth century.[7] These festivals, known variously as John Canoe, Masquerade, Gombey and Moco Jumbo, were not uncommon in the British Americas during the slave era, and they took place during the three-day holiday given by the masters to the slaves at Christmas. Unlike most of the other festivals, however, Bahamian Junkanoo did not disappear during the post-emancipation era, but grew, as did Trinidad’s Carnival, into the present urban extravaganza.

It is likely that the survival of Bahamian Junkanoo is owed in part to the relative poverty of the Bahamas during slavery.[8] The Bahamian colony was unique in the region because it was held more for its strategic position on the borders of Britain’s enemies in the New World than for its economic potential. Except for a brief period at the end of the eighteenth century, large-scale commercial agriculture did not flourish in the Bahamas, and as such the plantation was not central to Bahamian survival. The result, until the discovery of tourism during the twentieth century, was an intermittent poverty, interrupted every two generations by periods of prosperity, that attached to slaves and freemen alike. Unlike their other counterparts in the region, then, Bahamian slaves never grew dependent on their masters for the financing of their festivities, and so the parades were able to continue after Emancipation.

Another major reason for the survival of Junkanoo in its present form was the landing of Africans liberated by the British from French, American, Spanish and Portuguese slave ships during the mid-nineteenth century. These brought with them their customs, and revitalized the Christmas parades, just as they seemed about to be overtaken by the marching brass bands rather than gangs of goombay drums and cowbells. The influence of the growing numbers of Liberated Africans being settled in Nassau and elsewhere began to be seen in the restoration of percussion instruments to the centre of the festival.[9] Not unnaturally, then, Junkanoo is appropriated by many Bahamians as a symbol of the African past, as well as an integral component of national identity.

Paradoxically, its historical connection with slavery is invoked by the leaders of Junkanoo groups not as an indication of the former oppression of black Bahamians, but as a symbol of freedom; “Bahamians were never slaves,” I was told, because of Junkanoo. To quote from an interview with Junkanoo leader Stan Burnside:

[Y]ou know the only analogy I can think of is Mandela. Mandela being enslaved for twenty-seven years and being tortured and they tried to brainwash him and at the end of that twenty-seven years he comes out with his shoulders back. That’s not the image projected by Hollywood and it’s not the image projected by even the history books. You know? But Junkanoo expresses that same spirit that is Mandela’s. And that is that in spite of the condition known as slavery, despite all of the negative experiences, the spirit and the dignity is intact and there’s no sign that the spirit was ever broken ... You can see something in the music — because the music is a ... An accumulation, you know? of everything that happened in history, you know? It couldn’t have got to this point without going through all of the pain.

Although Junkanoo in the Bahamas is at least two hundred years old — the crowning of a “John Canoe king” occurred as early as 1801 in Nassau[10] — the active incorporation of the festival into Bahamian identity-building has occurred only during the past few decades. Indeed, the development of Junkanoo parallels quite closely the development of black Bahamians’ own consciousness.[11] Van Koningsbruggen’s study of Trinidad Carnival and its role in nation-building,[12] which traces that event’s history from its occurrence as a dual celebration of both masters and slaves during plantation times to its current place as Trinidad’s foremost national symbol, has many resonances for the Bahamian case. What began in Port-of-Spain as a spontaneous expression of slaves and working-class blacks was taken over and appropriated during the post-Independence era by the Creole middle classes who now rule Trinidad, and is becoming increasingly a vehicle for the expression of middle-class tastes and values. In the same way that Carnival mirrored the fate of the black working classes of Port-of-Spain, Junkanoo is valued for its significance to the equivalent group of people in Nassau. During the early years of the twentieth century, when the slippery fortunes of the Bahamian colony moved it from depression to prosperity and back again, the parades, then the domain of the urban working classes, reflected the socio-economic condition of its participants.[13] In hard times Junkanoo was rough, disorderly and satirical, often erupting into brawls that landed their perpetrators in jail; van Koningsbruggen documents much the same for the Jamet carnivals of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century Trinidad. During boom periods — the most significant of which, before the institution of a more permanent prosperity after the Second World War, occurred during the bootlegging years of American Prohibition (1919-1932) — the festival was treated by the elites as an exotic entertainment to be promoted to tourists, and the parades assumed a different form: colourful, performative, visually spectacular. Similarly, just as the Trinidad festival has been appropriated by the Creole middle classes as their own during the post-Independence period, much the same has happened to Junkanoo. Once the domain of the outcast, the drunken and the unemployed, the Junkanoo of the late 1990s is led by middle-class professionals who wield considerable social, political and economic clout.

For many of these leaders, considerable significance is given to the role of the parade as resistance to the conditions of the black masses. Jackson Burnside regards it as a symbolic struggle on the part of black working-class Bahamians against their oppression by whites:

All of a sudden black people can come over the hill and take over Bay Street and carry-on bad down the main street and do what ever they wanted to do; it was usually the strongest, the healthiest, the most revolutionary spirit of the over-the-hill people. It wasn’t the people who were the closest to the big house of the massa.[14]

In this regard Junkanoo has the quality of an occupation, an invasion of the centres of authority; it occurs at the heart of the commercial power of the white Bahamian elite. This symbolism is still implicit in the parades. Although today they follow a circular route, Bahamians still refer metonymously to the act of attending or participating in the parades as “going to Bay Street” — the focus of anti-black discrimination, the site of legislation, and the heart of commerce — and until 1998 the subversion of the everyday state of affairs was emphasized by the fact that the Junkanoo parades ran counter to the normal one-way traffic system of the downtown area.[15]

For many black Bahamians, then, Junkanoo embodies their best response to the dehumanization of slavery and its aftermath.

When discovered by the so called master, folks (the Junkanoos) would create the mimicry, the mime, the buffoonery that suggested that they were making fools of themselves; and which was instead affirming their manhood; affirming their humanity; establishing a sense of dignity for a people whose dignity and whole humanity had been artificially taken away from them ...[16]

In his study of London’s Notting Hill Carnival,[17] Abner Cohen outlines a theory of ‘masquerade politics’ that echoes these emic perceptions of Junkanoo. For him, Carnival “is always political, intimately and dynamically related to the political order and to the struggle for power with in it.”[18] Carnivals are movements, volatile arenas in which the political and the cultural mesh and where, as a result, contests for political and economic dominance are conducted. Predominantly urban occurrences, their function as celebrations of temporary freedom from care among the dispossessed may permit them to act as safety valves that benefit the dominant social structure. However, Cohen moves beyond the static model of the ritual of rebellion by emphasizing the state of flux in which carnivals exist; he notes that though that model may work for a while, street festivals “unavoidably ... [become] a security problem” to the state. Often, the illusion of freedom provided by such occurrences becomes an opportunity for the otherwise oppressed to make their own grab at real liberation. Street festivals often carry in them the seeds of revolt. In response, the governments that permit their existence for the purposes of steam-letting may do one of two things, or, often, both: they may tighten the restrictions surrounding the festivals, or, alternatively, they “may attempt to co-opt [them], thus, in effect, politicizing [them] on a higher level for [the government’s] own benefit.”[19]

Junkanoo has been used by both the elites and the disadvantaged for their own purposes; the same festival that was banned in 1942 following the race and labour protests of the summer was heralded five years later as a tourist attraction unique to the Bahamas.[20] The argument has been further advanced by Bain, who regards the co-optation of Junkanoo by the state as evidence of the continued oppression of the masses.[21] Similarly Wisdom, while concentrating on the symbolic aspects of the parades, supports the notion of Junkanoo’s serving the needs of the rising black middle classes during the 1950s.[22] Thus, for the Bahamian, whether participant or scholar, Junkanoo is not only a symbol of current national identity, but it is also the embodiment of a history constructed by and for the African-Bahamian population.

Saturnalia and Kalends: Junkanoo, Carnival, and Christmas

Central to the belief in Junkanoo as a unique manifestation of Bahamian culture is the fact that Junkanoo, unlike most other major street festivals in the Americas, takes place at Christmas. For Bahamians, this provides not only its fundamental distinctiveness, but is also another marker of proof that Junkanoo was an integral feature of black Bahamians’ resistance to their oppression.

That this distinction is not merely a pedantic one, but may have some theoretical weight, is evinced by Miller’s theory of Christmas, and his application of that theory to Trinidad. In his account of modernity and material culture in Trinidad, Miller[23] points out that for Trinidadians, there are two major festivals, and not one, in a year. Christmas and Carnival represent two opposing forces which together provide Trinidadian society with a duality, a tension that is fundamental to Trinidadian culture. Trinidad is not alone in this duality, moreover. Miller’s theory of Christmas discusses the “twin peaked” nature of the event.[24] Beginning with the Roman holidays of Saturnalia and Kalends, one of which represented a reversal of the normal order of life, the other an affirmation of that order, he makes a strong case for seeing Christmas as often, if not always, woven into a similar opposition. If the modern European Christmas, as he argues, may be regarded as “‘purified’ of [its] carnivalesque elements”, and if in Trinidad “we see the emergence of first a dualism and then a clear split between the celebration of carnival and Christmas”,[25] then the Bahamas offers an instance where the two are not separated, but where they coincide in a manner that makes a discussion of both ambiguous. According to Miller’s account, which draws on Wilson’s theory of a dual value system in the Caribbean,[26] Trinidad sublimates that tension by separating the “respectability” of Christmas from the “rudeness” of Carnival by holding the two festivals two months apart.[27] Unlike Lenten celebrations, however, Junkanoo does not provide for such an easy separation. Rather, it compresses the celebration of family and the national ritual of inversion into the same holiday, thus increasing tension. Junkanoo costumes, like Carnival fantasies, require months of work to create. For Junkanoo artists they necessitate long hours spent in the “shack”, the place where costumes are built and stored, a predominantly male enclave far away from the family. The most intense period of work, moreover, occurs on Christmas Day itself, the Boxing Day parade being regarded as the primary competition.[28] On that day costumes are fresh, having been prepared over a period of months; ideas are radical, innovations prized. The group that wins the Boxing Day parade is the group that receives the most prestige within the Junkanoo world.

Owing largely to its association with Christmas, Junkanoo is placed in opposition both to the culture of the masters and to the practice of Carnival elsewhere in the Caribbean. Carnival is viewed by Bahamians as a sort of accommodation between master and slave in the areas where it exists; as it fits appropriately into the Catholic calendar, Bahamians consider it to be an indigenization of an (imposed) European festival. Junkanoo, on the other hand, because placed in direct opposition to European religious festivities, is seen as resistance to domination. Christmas is theoretically a time of peace, both physical and aural; Junkanoo, a celebration of sound (those who oppose it denounce it, even today, as “noise”), is also a time of disorder, of fights. Carnival ends as Lent begins; traditional Junkanoo, however, held on Christmas Day itself, challenged Christmas, providing a counterpoint for church services, giving the working classes a chance to counter the status quo.

Despite these conceptions of Carnival, however, Junkanoo maintains an uneasy relation with it. Since 1982, Junkanoo leaders and committee members have been attending Carnival in Trinidad annually, and it is certain that many innovations in the Bahamian parade have been inspired by those visits. Indeed, Junkanoo leaders are divided on just what the relationship between Junkanoo and Carnival should be. For many, the facts that Junkanoo occurs at night, and remains in the heart of the city, are fundamental to its character; for these leaders, all else may change, but these form the core, the “spirit”, of Junkanoo, and must remain the same. Accordingly, costumes and performances are designed for just that setting, and created to be at their best under the unreal glow of street lights, rather than the too-revealing light of full day. This view is fundamentally political; for these leaders Junkanoo is most significant not only in its Afrocentricity but in its role in resistance, its unruly history, and its challenge of the status quo. The leaders who hold this view tend also to stress the primacy of drums and cowbells on the parade, as well as favouring the use of indigenous Bahamian Junkanoo materials such as crepe paper and cardboard in the making of costumes. Anything else is “Carnival”, and regarded with suspicion.

For others, however neither nighttime nor Bay Street is fundamental to the parade; rather, Junkanoo’s meaning lies in its visual artistry. The past is less central to these leaders than the future (the “evolution” or “development”) of Junkanoo. Inspired by the Trinidadian festival, these advocate a relocation of Junkanoo to the national stadium and a moving of the judging to daylight hours, when skill in costuming might be best appreciated. These leaders were not at all averse to incorporating brass sections, long considered taboo by traditionalists, into their groups during the early 1990s, and were among the first to sanction the use of melody as a means of illuminating their theme; today, they focus less on the traditional polyrhythms of Junkanoo music, but insist rather on creating a quick beat that shows off the mobility of their costumes to its best advantage and makes the crowds dance. However, even these leaders regard Junkanoo as fundamentally different from Carnival, although they see the distinction as lying in the nature, rather than the form, of the Bahamian festival. As Gus Cooper has pointed out, Junkanoo, unlike Carnival, retains the connection between artist and performer. In Trinidad, it is possible to have nothing to do with the design or production of Carnival costumes during the year, and yet still take part in the parades; indeed, Trinidadian bands recruit many of their members by selling costumes to the public. In Junkanoo, however, such a situation does not exist. Although it is not uncommon for a musician or a dancer to commission a builder to make a costume, it is still largely impossible for members of the general public to buy Junkanoo costumes, thus emphasizing, for Cooper, the authenticity of the Bahamian parade.

Junkanoo is markedly different from Trinidadian Carnival in at least one other respect as well. Modern Trinidadian Carnival is renowned for having been “taken over” by women.[29] Junkanoo, however, remains almost exclusively a male endeavour. Despite the fact that many women participate in various ways, from the peripherally sexy appearances of the choreographed dancers to the comparatively few women carrying dancer or beller costumes or appearing as free dancers, it is generally understood that Junkanoo is a man’s festival. The vast majority of the major leaders, designers and musicians are men, as are all the most important free dancers in Junkanoo. What is more, although the choreographed dancers are popular with the crowds, among Junkanoos themselves they are often seen as window-dressing, little more — hooks to attract judges so that they can be captured more readily by the intricacies of theme, costume and music. My position as a researcher of Junkanoo was made both more peripheral and less threatening by the fact that I was female; as recently as the twenty-fifth Independence celebration in July 1998, which was to be culminated by a celebratory Junkanoo parade, although I was given the task of announcing to the Junkanoos that it was time for them to enter the arena, that responsibility was taken away from me by the musical director of the show, a Junkanoo himself, because “these guys funny, they might not listen to a woman”.

Junkanoo, the state, and Bahamian self-consciousness

During the summer of 1994, the Bahamas was featured at the Smithsonian Institution’s Festival of American Folklife. This event, an annual occurrence in the American capital, is a large fair in which representatives of various nations and peoples display their cultures. The festival is constructed and arranged in a peculiarly anthropological fashion — the participating cultures are displayed in various areas of the Mall in Washington, and are described in ethnological terms in an accompanying programme. The Bahamas’ invitation to participate, therefore, required a considerably different depiction of the self than normally occurred. Preparations for the Smithsonian Festival forced a completely new perpective onto Bahamian conceptions of the self, and required a considerable adjustment of ways of looking at Bahamianness. The Bahamas’ involvement in the festival had the effect of changing significantly the way in which the nation constructed its identity. On one level, it provided a transformation in the way the nation was presented to outsiders; indeed, this transformation was a source of conflict during the pre-festival period. On another, it changed the tales Bahamians told themselves. Central to the change was the way in which Junkanoo was presented.

In preparation for the festival, a committee was formed in Nassau of prominent intellectuals and artists, whose job it was to appoint researchers to the project. The Smithsonian’s preference was that these researchers be academics or official government employees — theoretical experts — wherever possible. These were dispatched in teams, or “clusters”, to comb the Bahamian archipelago, selecting appropriate traditional arts and ways of life and identifying roughly one hundred “tradition-bearers” to put these customs on display in Washington. Their areas were Junkanoo; music and dance; narration; crafts; and cuisine. The research took place between October 1993 and early February 1994. In February, the tradition bearers were to be selected, but the process went on into March, mainly because of various objections to individuals on ideological and other grounds.

In Junkanoo, the resulting recommendations were the source of considerable conflict. In keeping with the Smithsonian’s approach to Junkanoo, the research cluster was headed by academics, with only one Junkanoo leader as a member. To be fair, part of this was due to the fact that the research period coincided rather too neatly with the most intense Junkanoo season, and the leaders were simply not free to take part in the research. The report that was submitted by the leader of the cluster followed the Smithsonian’s model of regarding Junkanoo as merely one aspect of Bahamian culture, rather than the most important one. In keeping with this philosophy, and owing to budgetary constraints (which provided for the participation of no more than one hundred “tradition bearers” for the entire Bahamian contingent), the committee’s report recommended the participation of a limited number of representatives not only from the major Nassau groups, but also from other islands on which a Junkanoo parade of any kind took place. These people would be available for lectures and discussions, but the performance of Junkanoo would be relegated to photographs and videotapes. Arrangements were also made for small “rush-outs”, during which the “tradition bearers” would form bands and give spectators the feel of Junkanoo music.

Such a situation was deemed utterly unacceptable by the Junkanoo leaders, who wanted to mount a full-scale parade in Washington, and who threatened not to attend if they were not granted that right. As such, the Junkanoo Leaders’ Association entered into direct negotiations with the Smithsonian and the Prime Minister’s Office. The resulting decision overrode the committee’s report and ensured that a “full” Junkanoo contingent, comprised of well over over one hundred people, would be sent to Washington to stage a celebratory parade, complete with costumes, on the Mall. In the process the leader of the Junkanoo cluster was completely disregarded, his authority replaced by that of the Junkanoo Leaders’ Association.

What happened next is illustrative of the redemptive power of the Junkanoo festival. Offended by the overriding of his recommendations, the leader of the Junkanoo cluster withdrew from participation in the project. Almost immediately, overtures were made by representatives of the JLA to secure his continued involvement — but on the Junkanoo leaders’ terms. He was invited to participate in the “rush-out” as a parader. When the time came, he was fully involved in the Washington Junkanoo parade, rushing near the front of the group, his costume built and pasted by him under the leaders’ watchful eye.

The humiliation and subequent redemption of this particular individual by the Junkanoo leaders is instructive. To begin with, these actions underscore the leaders’ conviction that Junkanoo is fundamental, not incidental, to Bahamian identity. Their success in achieving their goals indicates, perhaps, that the Bahamian state appears to agree with them. Certainly for the government, the power of the Junkanoo Leaders’ Association was incontrovertible; as such, in the conflict, the Bahamian cabinet ministers supported the Junkanoo Leaders’ Association and ensured that its demands were met. Rather than accepting the argument that Junkanoo is only one of a range of Bahamian cultural expressions, the state seemed to accept the idea that it is the most important national symbol.

The fundamental Bahamian conception of Junkanoo, indeed, is that the festival can take anything into itself and remake it. One of the most popular and persistent folk etymologies of the festival’s name describes this quality effectively: the name, it is said, comes from the taking of junk and making it anew.[30] In the words of Stan Burnside:

[Junkanoo] has everything in it. That’s the amazing thing about Junkanoo, that once a costume goes to Bay Street it becomes a part of Junkanoo. Once a rhythm goes to Bay Street it becomes a part of Junkanoo. And nothing is ever thrown away. I think that that’s the whole spirit of it.

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Notes