Up Close at Trinidad's Carnival

What's really behind the raucous pre-lenten rite? An intrepid scholar hits the streets of Trinidad to find out

  • By Barbara Ehrenreich
  • Photographs by Alex Smailes
  • Smithsonian magazine, February 2009, Subscribe
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Blue devils at Carnival
Partaking in an old but ambiguous rite, blue "devils" (in Paramin, with mouths colored by dyed bubble gum) offer spectators a deal: pay, or get rubbed with body paint. (Alex Smailes)

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Masquerader

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Related Books

Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy

by Barbara Ehrenreich
Holt, 2006

Rituals of Power and Rebellion: The Carnival Tradition in Trinidad and Tobago, 1763-1962

by Hollis "Chalkdust" Liverpool
Frontline Distribution (Chicago), 2001

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When Northerners think of the caribbean, Trinidad isn't usually the first place that comes to mind. Until recently, Trinidad had few tourist-oriented hotels or restaurants, and its crime rate is so high that visitors are advised not to venture outdoors wearing watches or jewelry, and definitely not at night. What Trinidad does have is carnival—a centuries-old blowout reputedly so wild and intense that it makes Mardi Gras look like a Veterans Day parade.

I had a reason beyond hedonism for making the trip. I'd spent nine years researching a book on the carnival tradition, Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy. Prehistoric rock drawings suggest that costuming and group dancing date back to the Paleolithic. In the 19th century, Western explorers found it going strong among indigenous peoples worldwide, including Polynesians, Inuits, West Africans, Australian Aborigines and villagers in India. In Europe, however, it had been suppressed when Protestantism and the Counter-Reformation wiped out most public festivities, which, over the years, had become flash points for popular unrest.

The European experience in Trinidad is a case in point: 18th-century French settlers brought the tradition of a pre-Lenten festival, in which they found it amusing to dress up and dance like their African slaves. The slaves found it even more amusing to use the confusion of carnival as an occasion for uprisings. Long after the slaves were emancipated by the British in 1838, the colonial administration continued to fight the now-Africanized carnival piece by piece—banning, at one time or another, drums, masks and dancing in the streets.

But carnival survived, and my question was: What compromises had it made to do so? I had watched Key West's version of carnival—October's Fantasy Fest—go downhill over the years, blanched by commercialization and robbed of artistry as the point of it became to bare one's (painted) breasts and drink oneself sick. Had Trinidad managed to keep carnival's traditional creativity and political charge alive? Most of my years of research had been sedentary, in hushed libraries and poorly lit archives. Last February I decided to go dancing in the streets myself.

I arrived in Port of Spain two days before the official start of carnival, giving me plenty of time to see that "mas," as the Trinidadians call it (from "masquerade"), isn't just a diversion. It's practically a national mobilization. Tens of thousands of people poured into the squat, mountain-ringed city, most of them native-born "Trinis" home from other parts of the world, with a few European tourists thrown in. Banners flying over downtown streets advised, for safety's sake, to "stay with your lime," your lime being the friends you came with. Newspapers offered front-page reports of bitter rivalries in the pre-carnival soca music competitions, screaming headlines like " 'No One Will Spoil Dis Mas,' Warns Police Commissioner Paul" and earnest editorials on exactly the kind of questions that concerned me, such as whether the predominance of foreign-made bikini costumes has reduced carnival to a girlie show.

The festivities begin at 4 a.m. on the Monday before Ash Wednesday with a ritual called Jouvay, from either the French jour ouvert ("opening day") or the Creole jou ouvé? ("Is it daybreak yet?"). I had no idea of what I was getting into when I "registered" at the 3canal storefront center the day before. 3canal is both a musical band and one of the many small production companies that stage carnival; the name, according to one of the musicians, Roger Roberts, derives from a type of machete used by cane cutters and, he says, is "a metaphor for cutting and clearing a path and space for vibes to flow and grow." Despite assurances that no one really has to pay, I'd plunked down 60 Trinidadian dollars (about $10 U.S.) for a bag containing a 3canal badge, a white tank top, a square of silver lamé cloth and—ominously—a plastic water bottle filled with white paint.

A little after 4 a.m, I returned to the 3canal storefront with my little lime of four—two Trinis and two other Americans—to find hundreds of people milling around a flatbed truck from which the 3canal musicians were blasting the band's heavy beat into the darkness. Around Port of Spain, people were assembling into 14 other Jouvay bands, each several hundred to a thousand strong, and each with its own music and colors.

When the flatbed truck started rolling, the crowd danced along behind it or, more precisely, "chipped," which is Trinidadian for moving individually to music. At first I chipped in my resolute white-lady way, conscious of my status as the only visible blue-eyed person in the crowd. But then the paint came into play, hurled from bottles and dabbed on any body at hand. A plastic bottle of rough whiskey was passed around. There was a moment of near-panic when a police car forced its way through the crowd, and I learned later that in the pushing and shoving a knife fight had broken out just behind us. But still, the vibe here was overwhelmingly sweet. A teenager planted himself in front of me and announced that I looked "too nice," a condition he corrected by gently anointing my face with fresh paint. I don't know the origins of this orgy of body-painting, and I am glad I hadn't joined one of the Jouvay bands that use chocolate or mud instead, but I know its effect: race was dissolved; even age and gender became theoretical concepts.

In the tradition of Western sociology, crowds are dangerous because they can turn into mobs. So when a contingent from our procession broke away to chase a group of Chinese men watching from the sidelines, I ran along anxiously behind them. Was there resentment of these workers, imported to build downtown skyscrapers? No. Would there be violence? No, the Jouvay celebrants just wanted to cover the foreigners in paint, and the Chinese were doubling over with laughter as they escaped. This was the true and ancient spirit of carnival: there can be no spectators, only participants, and everyone must be anointed.

Sunrise found us in a small public square, and in a condition far from the one we'd started in. We'd been moving through the streets for over three hours, powered by beers passed from hand to hand, and even my ultra-buff American friend was beginning to sag. People were still chipping away, raising their heads toward the already-hot blue sky in a kind of triumph. Hardly anyone was noticeably drunk, but we were annihilated, as individuals anyway—footsore, bone-tired, dripping with paint and sweat. We were, in some transcendent way, perfected.


When Northerners think of the caribbean, Trinidad isn't usually the first place that comes to mind. Until recently, Trinidad had few tourist-oriented hotels or restaurants, and its crime rate is so high that visitors are advised not to venture outdoors wearing watches or jewelry, and definitely not at night. What Trinidad does have is carnival—a centuries-old blowout reputedly so wild and intense that it makes Mardi Gras look like a Veterans Day parade.

I had a reason beyond hedonism for making the trip. I'd spent nine years researching a book on the carnival tradition, Dancing in the Streets: A History of Collective Joy. Prehistoric rock drawings suggest that costuming and group dancing date back to the Paleolithic. In the 19th century, Western explorers found it going strong among indigenous peoples worldwide, including Polynesians, Inuits, West Africans, Australian Aborigines and villagers in India. In Europe, however, it had been suppressed when Protestantism and the Counter-Reformation wiped out most public festivities, which, over the years, had become flash points for popular unrest.

The European experience in Trinidad is a case in point: 18th-century French settlers brought the tradition of a pre-Lenten festival, in which they found it amusing to dress up and dance like their African slaves. The slaves found it even more amusing to use the confusion of carnival as an occasion for uprisings. Long after the slaves were emancipated by the British in 1838, the colonial administration continued to fight the now-Africanized carnival piece by piece—banning, at one time or another, drums, masks and dancing in the streets.

But carnival survived, and my question was: What compromises had it made to do so? I had watched Key West's version of carnival—October's Fantasy Fest—go downhill over the years, blanched by commercialization and robbed of artistry as the point of it became to bare one's (painted) breasts and drink oneself sick. Had Trinidad managed to keep carnival's traditional creativity and political charge alive? Most of my years of research had been sedentary, in hushed libraries and poorly lit archives. Last February I decided to go dancing in the streets myself.

I arrived in Port of Spain two days before the official start of carnival, giving me plenty of time to see that "mas," as the Trinidadians call it (from "masquerade"), isn't just a diversion. It's practically a national mobilization. Tens of thousands of people poured into the squat, mountain-ringed city, most of them native-born "Trinis" home from other parts of the world, with a few European tourists thrown in. Banners flying over downtown streets advised, for safety's sake, to "stay with your lime," your lime being the friends you came with. Newspapers offered front-page reports of bitter rivalries in the pre-carnival soca music competitions, screaming headlines like " 'No One Will Spoil Dis Mas,' Warns Police Commissioner Paul" and earnest editorials on exactly the kind of questions that concerned me, such as whether the predominance of foreign-made bikini costumes has reduced carnival to a girlie show.

The festivities begin at 4 a.m. on the Monday before Ash Wednesday with a ritual called Jouvay, from either the French jour ouvert ("opening day") or the Creole jou ouvé? ("Is it daybreak yet?"). I had no idea of what I was getting into when I "registered" at the 3canal storefront center the day before. 3canal is both a musical band and one of the many small production companies that stage carnival; the name, according to one of the musicians, Roger Roberts, derives from a type of machete used by cane cutters and, he says, is "a metaphor for cutting and clearing a path and space for vibes to flow and grow." Despite assurances that no one really has to pay, I'd plunked down 60 Trinidadian dollars (about $10 U.S.) for a bag containing a 3canal badge, a white tank top, a square of silver lamé cloth and—ominously—a plastic water bottle filled with white paint.

A little after 4 a.m, I returned to the 3canal storefront with my little lime of four—two Trinis and two other Americans—to find hundreds of people milling around a flatbed truck from which the 3canal musicians were blasting the band's heavy beat into the darkness. Around Port of Spain, people were assembling into 14 other Jouvay bands, each several hundred to a thousand strong, and each with its own music and colors.

When the flatbed truck started rolling, the crowd danced along behind it or, more precisely, "chipped," which is Trinidadian for moving individually to music. At first I chipped in my resolute white-lady way, conscious of my status as the only visible blue-eyed person in the crowd. But then the paint came into play, hurled from bottles and dabbed on any body at hand. A plastic bottle of rough whiskey was passed around. There was a moment of near-panic when a police car forced its way through the crowd, and I learned later that in the pushing and shoving a knife fight had broken out just behind us. But still, the vibe here was overwhelmingly sweet. A teenager planted himself in front of me and announced that I looked "too nice," a condition he corrected by gently anointing my face with fresh paint. I don't know the origins of this orgy of body-painting, and I am glad I hadn't joined one of the Jouvay bands that use chocolate or mud instead, but I know its effect: race was dissolved; even age and gender became theoretical concepts.

In the tradition of Western sociology, crowds are dangerous because they can turn into mobs. So when a contingent from our procession broke away to chase a group of Chinese men watching from the sidelines, I ran along anxiously behind them. Was there resentment of these workers, imported to build downtown skyscrapers? No. Would there be violence? No, the Jouvay celebrants just wanted to cover the foreigners in paint, and the Chinese were doubling over with laughter as they escaped. This was the true and ancient spirit of carnival: there can be no spectators, only participants, and everyone must be anointed.

Sunrise found us in a small public square, and in a condition far from the one we'd started in. We'd been moving through the streets for over three hours, powered by beers passed from hand to hand, and even my ultra-buff American friend was beginning to sag. People were still chipping away, raising their heads toward the already-hot blue sky in a kind of triumph. Hardly anyone was noticeably drunk, but we were annihilated, as individuals anyway—footsore, bone-tired, dripping with paint and sweat. We were, in some transcendent way, perfected.

But carnival has many faces and many moods, with different towns observing it in their own special ways. At dusk we were in the tiny mountain town of Paramin, sitting at an outdoor fried-chicken place. The townspeople were slowly assembling on the edge of the road, drinking beer and chipping to a sound system that had been erected just behind our table. At nightfall, the sound system fell silent, and ten men beating drums made out of biscuit tins emerged from the darkness—a reminder of the Trinidadian ingenuity at drawing music out of industrial detritus, like the island's steel drums, traditionally crafted from oil barrels. Behind the drummers came 20 people of indeterminate age and gender, covered in blue paint, some wearing grotesque devil masks, others leering hideously, leaping and writhing. Then another band of drummers, followed by another contingent from hell.

Some of the devils were pulling others on ropes or mock-beating them with sticks in what is thought to be an evocation of the work-'em-till-they-die slavery of early Trinidad. Certainly, there was an edge of menace here. When a Blue Devil approached and stabbed his finger at you, you had to give him a Trinidadian dollar (worth 16 U.S. cents), or he would pull you up against his freshly painted body. The onlookers laughed and shrieked and ran, and in the end I didn't run fast enough. Having used up my dollars, partly in defense of two genuinely frightened little girls, I was slimed blue. As the devils eased up on their attacks, the crowd swelled and surged toward the town's central square, where vendors were selling beer and rum amid the ongoing chipping. But I was too sticky with paint to continue—and too shaken, I have to admit, by the mimed hostility of the devils, with its echoes of historical rage.

Shrove Tuesday, the second day, is when the mas bands parade through Port of Spain to be judged on their costumes and music. If there was a time to witness the corrupting effects of commercialism, this "pretty mas"—so called to distinguish it from the first day's "old mas"—would be it. There are about 200 mas bands on the island, and each was offering, for the equivalent of several hundred U.S. dollars, a costume and such essentials as a day's worth of food and drink and private security. A pre-carnival article in the Sunday Express estimated that the big bands, with 3,500 or more members, would each gross ten million Trinidadian dollars, not counting donations from corporate sponsors, such as the ubiquitous cellphone company bmobile. This isn't just partying; this is business.

According to historian (and soca star) Hollis Liverpool, pretty mas grew out of the upper classes' efforts to tamp down the African-derived aspects of traditional mas, which they saw as vulgar and unruly. To an extent, they have succeeded: the price of admission limits participation to the more affluent, such as Nadia John, a 30-year-old lawyer I met in her apartment on the Sunday before carnival. For John, it was all about the costume. She modeled the one she would wear with the Island People mas band: a bikini made of wire, feathers and jewels, so minimal that she dared not let her mother see it.

Not that the poor don't try to crash the party—hence the need for all the private security that surrounds each band as it moves through the streets. According to Wyatt Gallery, one of the owners of the Island People band, this is because "we're very serious about the competition and don't want to look bad," as they might if a lot of un-costumed people slipped in.

So I wasn't expecting much, beyond a chance to see Nadia John in her glory, when we walked from our hotel to the part of town where the mas bands would march and found a place on the curb to sit. But it turned out that even pretty mas is impossible to tame. Despite all the "owners" and "producers," people were still creating carnival themselves, in the streets and on the sidelines—chipping, drinking, eating and smoking ganja. Then the bands began to drift by, each with its own trucks for music, food and drink. The marchers were chatting, chipping and, most notably, "wining." This is like grinding in American dance culture, only the pelvic motions are quicker, more fluttery—an artistic rendition of sex rather than a simulation—and it can involve up to three people at a time. Probably not quite what the British meant by "pretty." One costumed woman sticks in my mind, lost in her own chip, throwing her head back, her face gleaming with exultation and sweat. As Goethe wrote of the 18th-century Roman carnival, it "is a festival that is not actually given to the people, but which the people give to themselves."

Yes, Trinidadian carnival has been commercialized—or "Brazilianized," as they say locally—with too much money and booty involved. But as Che Lovelace, a young artist told me, carnival "can't go back, it must go forward." The money helps support hundreds of Trinidadian artists, musicians and entrepreneurs, and, he says, "helps drive the economy and create jobs." In Trinidad, commercialization is not the death of carnival, but part of how it perpetuates itself.

Score card for carnival 2008: in a win for Trinidad's persistent devils, a preliminary body count came to 5 dead and 20 others stabbed or shot. But in a triumph for artistry and social relevance, the title of best mas band went to the MacFarlane band with the apocalyptic theme "Earth: Cries of Despair, Wings of Hope." Its call for planetwide renewal and its towering, avant-garde costumes—giant structures pulled by the wearer and wreathed in colored smoke—stole the show.

Barbara Ehrenreich has written more than 15 books.
Photographer Alex Smailes' book Trinidad and Tobago appeared in 2006.


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Comments (36)

i love carnaval,love the folkz,but hate why they party a few dayz and then get back to the real them.just check the trinidad news and it all will fall in place.its sad that a beautyfull country like trinidad is loosing people that want the best 4 everybody,not only the upper class.lots of things happening is 2 blame on the ones making rules,and if they did,then they cant handle them self.well its just unfair from my point of few.maybey 1 day it be ok.

Posted by dre on March 21,2011 | 08:45 PM

Hollis Liverpool is not a 'soca' artiste, he is a calypso artiste there is a marked difference.
Perhaps a little more research into the history of the country will help.

Posted by Kris A-M on February 17,2011 | 03:39 PM

This is a great article. I would disagree on the pictures of the true Carnival in Trinidad. Your pictures does not entice me to want to go to Trinidad's Carnival. It looks more like a a ghetto place that you should stay far away from. You may want to copy and paste other pictures from the Web that truly represent what Carnival is about if you do not have pictures reflecting this. Some people are visuallike myself and it is not doing it for me. PLEASE! Add more true Carnival pics.

Posted by Pat on August 4,2010 | 08:52 PM

Thanks for making the attempt to analyse a broad subject like Trini Carnival. It's always good to see things from another perspective. However, for the unitiated, Hollis "Chalkdust" Liverpool is more accurately known as a calypsonian than a soca artiste. Calypso and soca, though closely connected (calypso giving birth to soca), have evolved into different genres.

Posted by Crystal on January 28,2010 | 04:12 PM

I hope that people who are interested in the culture of Trinidad & Tobago will check out the new Dictionary of the English/Creole of Trinidad & Tobago (McGill-Queens University Press, available on Amazon etc.), the first historical scholarly dictionary of the vernacular language of the country. Among the over 12,000 words included are many many terms relating to Carnival and steelband.

Posted by Lise Winer on August 7,2009 | 08:36 AM

Although I am in agreement with most of the responders to your writing, I must add my feelings about what you have written. Carnival is not only for the monied peoples of my country. We all can participate. Frankly, the "poor" could be the first ones to register to take part in the magic that is our carnival. Anyone can, and will play the "mas". Also,for the many years of participation I have never encountered people just sitting around smoking weed. The impression given could be interpreted to mean "we all sit, smoke weed" and drink alcohol at carnival time. My drink of choice is water and intoxication comes from the moods, rythms, feasts and sounds of carnival. Incident-ally, did you come to any conclusion as to the artistic designs and colours you might have experienced? Trinidadians are a very creative people and these traits are manifested through the beautifully designed and colourful costumes that are displayed, particularly on carnival Tuesday.

My wish is that you will find the time to spend a longer "season" so that your next article would be more informational. This should allow you to give us the credit that is due and since no mention was made as to whether your time in Trinidad was enjoyable, I will hope that it was for you.

Thank you once more for bringing us "Trinis" out. Hope you visit again and when you do, please let us know whether the time turns out to be an unforgetable occasion.

Doh worry man, we love yuh for de exposure!!!

Posted by ann bedeau on June 2,2009 | 12:53 AM

I LOVE TRINIDAD AND THERE ARTS

Posted by aykia on May 26,2009 | 01:31 PM

The comments posted for this article were my thoughts exactly, so I will not belabour the points, but agree that the writer made a good attempt at presenting her point of view. One point that should be noted - and I am not quite sure the writer was aware of the point made "A teenager planted himself in front of me and announced that I looked "too nice," a condition he corrected by gently anointing my face with fresh paint. I don't know the origins of this orgy of body-painting, and I am glad I hadn't joined one of the Jouvay bands that use chocolate or mud instead, but I know its effect: race was dissolved; even age and gender became theoretical concepts". This represents my beautiful country where race, age and gender is not important but the coming together of all for the same purpose, fete!. To me this is one of the most significant aspects of our carnival.

Posted by Veron on February 26,2009 | 04:49 PM

i would love to see that jouvert band where daybreak comes and "hardly anyone is noticeably drunk" that would be the eighth wonder of the world!

Posted by lisa on February 26,2009 | 01:26 PM

I am glad to see the article about Trinidad carnival but like some of the other commentators I feel that the article has only brushed the surface of what is carnival. It is not only J'Ouvert but is all of the events that lead up to the final street party. You have to visit the pan yards, the mas camps, the various carnival fetes and limes, the kiddies carnival, the kaiso contests--toute bagaille as Trinis say. Carnival is a feeling, a getting together of friends or people who have come to enjoy themselves and who end up being friends. Hope the author gets the opportunity to go for a longer time. Also, I would advise any traveller to use the same caution that you would use when visiting any foreign country.

Posted by Claudette on February 23,2009 | 09:22 PM

I wish I was there. And yes this article is missing focus and providing wrong information , a 2 day visit can never give you not even a slight insight on Trinidad's carnival.

Posted by Nicole on February 23,2009 | 12:51 PM

I experienced carnival 1962-1964 as a 19 year old US Marine stationed at the naval base at Chagaramus(sp?). The author may have discussed some of the great calypso debates between "Lord Kitchner" and "Sparrow," during these times. I am not sure who is featured now. Also, my understanding is the steel drums were shaped from empty oil drums left by naval submarines after refueling. The steel band music is incredibly beautiful. The "fet", as I recall it was called, lasted for several days. I recall lots of music, eating of "roties" (sp?),taking the "trip" cab, drinking of Vat 19 rum, love making, and yes parades. Some of the costumes were also modeled from the clothing of the British and American soldiers, who occupied the country. Remember this was a British colony until about 1964 (It has been a long time so the date may not be precise). Tourism too was prevalent, and the streets were safe. I guess, like many US urban areas in the latter 60s and 70s, things later went downhill, i.e., unemployment, crime, etc.

Posted by Herb Hunter on February 22,2009 | 12:44 PM

Since when is Port of Spain surrounded by mountains?

Posted by Fred L. on February 21,2009 | 02:57 PM

"But I was too sticky with paint to continue—and too shaken, I have to admit, by the mimed hostility of the devils, with its echoes of historical rage." The author did not spend enough time to understand that this was all in good fun. Just the same as would be in a Broadway play with one exception... the road is their stage.

Posted by Mathieu Issa on February 11,2009 | 10:34 PM

I commend Ms Ehrenreich for her article but, she got some of her facts all mixed up. It was not the owners who dressed as slaves. It was the other way around. It was the slaves who dress as their owners, which gave rise to the Dame Loraine a traditional carnival character, where the rear end is pronounced; this effect came from the bustled gowns of their mistresses, and another character is the Burrokeet, where the slaves mocked the horseback riders.

These traditional costumes are still seen at Carnival times.

Posted by Yvonne Barnes on February 2,2009 | 06:59 AM

Interesting point of view. Did you have a wonderful time? On your next visit take 100 friend along...

Posted by Michael C. Smith on January 31,2009 | 02:43 PM

Well....it sounds like this was your first Carnival. Maybe you should have done Carnival two or three times before writing on it. For each Carnival is a different experience and you still don't understand what's behind it all, (the music, mas, food, lime, and on and on...)unless you are a true Trini. 2009 will be my 5th Carnival and this time it will be all about the pictures for it's too hard to put into words what Cranival is all about.

Posted by Tony Tillman on January 30,2009 | 10:07 PM

Well done for someone who arrived on the island a day before the start of the "opening" ..it's always nice to get exposure in a major publication in North America FREE of charge. The tourism board should in-vite people of that nature to come and experience the festival fully, which, could lead to more exposure for our beautiful island which is morally decaying slowy but surely like the rest of the Americas.

Posted by PEDRO ALCANTARA on January 30,2009 | 09:52 PM

Good article, but unless this was part of a series it was seriously lacking. For someone who claims to be doing research I find it odd that all her preparation research didn't alert her to the fact that Carnival starts Boxing night (day after xmas) in Trinidad, and culminates the day before Ash Wednesday. J'Overt and "Pretty Mas" are but 2 aspects to Carnival, and final pieces to the puzzle at that. Next time she should get into Trinidad 2 weeks before Ash Wednesday, which will give her a better idea of what makes Trinidad Carnival so special: Panorama (steel pan) competitions, All-Inclusive fetes, Camboulay, Ole Time Mas, Insomnia fete, Kiddies Carnival, Caribbean Brass Festival, Soca Monarch, Chutney Monarch, Girl Power, Calypso Tents, Mas Camps, Panyard practice nights, St. James at night for food, Ash Wednesday Cool Down, Dimanche Grand night, Kings & Queens of Carnival competition, Midnight Robber competition, Jab Jab & Devil Mas, RUM and beers (namely Carib & Stag), foods from our French Creole, Spanish, Indian, African and Amerindian heritage available on every street corner, the fine art of LIMING and..... Tobago beaches from Ash Wednesday!

Posted by Jan on January 30,2009 | 03:08 PM

I'd like everyone to read the article again and then the comment Posted by Shirin on January 29,2009 | 11:30PM Everything about Trini Carnival will never be covered in any article presented by any visitor with limited time and scope, but this one has touched on as many experiences and gathered data that the writer was able to get. Appreciate it from an objective rather than subjective point of view, in plain terms too - put yourself in the shoes of the writer.

Posted by Dhawyne Parris on January 30,2009 | 01:54 PM

while I applaud the writer's attempt of portraying trinidad and Tobago's Carnival, I feel that more time should have been spent in research and definately an earlier arrival would have provided a more indepth exposure to this festival. to the issue of crime; while it remains a problem I feel the writer should have put the situation into its proper context and not simply label the murders as related to carnival (as seems to be suggested). And more so she should have indicated that the crime level though high are not targeted toward visitors but rather is a systemic urban gang problem that has gotten terribly out of control. Lastly I would still love to thank her for the time taken in writing this article and it's hoped that she would be inspired to return to our twin island nation to soak up more of our unique culture.

Posted by Colin Providence on January 30,2009 | 01:23 PM

In arriving a mere 2 days before J'ouvert, you have really missed what really is Carnival. It isnt just the 2 days of jumping in the street. Carnival is an atmosphere, one that is cultivated long before J'ouvert. The Camboulay Riots re-enactment for example, the fetes of the weeks before, the chutney soca, the dimache gras, the Ash wednesday cool down, the old time mas on South Quay, and our beloved stick fighting. As somebody who has experienced both Brazilian carnival and Trinidadian carnival, I must assure u the difference between them is astounding. Carnival is our history, our culture and our identity! Your carnival experience described in the article, seems to be lacking sorely in the carnival experience. It is not the "rich" that partake in carnival. One thing about trinidadians even though the price of costumes are steep somehow they find the funds to do it. And even when this is not possible there is always south mas or a small band to play mas in. However I do appreciate the time and exposure you are bringing to Trinidad's carnival in your own way.

Posted by Kerri on January 30,2009 | 11:10 AM

As a Trinidadian, I found this article a bit lacking and missing focus, having many inaccurate statements. However, it was a reasonable effort to portray Trinidad carnival. I do suggest however, that she take another trip to Trinidad for carnival.

Posted by Happitrini on January 30,2009 | 09:44 AM

Carnival could never be "Brazilianized" as she says. I think it is still it's own identity out there in the world. It may go astray a bit, but it's true roots will always shine out. If she wanted to truly canvas Carnival, she should go from January, until Ash Wednesday and experience everything Carnival that sweet TnT has to offer, not just the Mas, because the mass is only the tip of the iceberg.

Posted by Andre Parris on January 30,2009 | 09:29 AM

Good article. Although the beauty of Trinidad Carnival was not reflected in the photos above. The Monday and Tuesday costumes are a photographers dream. Take a trip to the island and see for yourself, that's the only way to enjoy it.

Posted by Margaret Toussaint on January 30,2009 | 09:22 AM

Well done, but Trinidad Carnival is not only Jouvert and Pretty Mas but the all the different show and events leading up the two glorious days before lent.

Posted by Richard McKenzie on January 30,2009 | 08:09 AM

Though I am proud to see that Trinidad is featured in the Smithsonian magazine, I am saddened that the author seemed to not put too much into research (for instance it is not Jouvay but rather J'Ouvert), but rather more into flowery language. I understand that the focus was most likely intended to represent the author's own Carnival experience, but when writing about a culture which is not your own, the most valuable thing you can do to help you understand and retell your experiences is to really do some in dept research into said culture. This article barely scratches the surface or what Carnival is to the people of Trinidad and Tobago, and the amount of work and festivities that go into the pre-Carnival preparations. The author also only arrives 2 days before adult mas, and thus misses out on the opportunity to really get into the MAKING of mas, and does not seem to care about the artistry as much as she claims.

Posted by Melissa on January 30,2009 | 07:29 AM

Great article. But what about the other events thhat lead up to carnival like panorama, kiddies carnival, all the inclusive fetes and both soca and calypso monarchs.

Posted by Roger on January 30,2009 | 05:06 AM

For the unintiated, Carnival is not about the final two days. If the writer had done more research she would have found out that it's a season. She missed the Children's parade which is the true example of what carnival costuming should really be about. She also did not explain the variety of costuming across the board such as "Fancy Sailors and other traditional costuming. She also did not speak about the King and Queen of Carnival costumes (you get a view of all if the King and Queen of Carnival competitions are attended)as well as the beautiful section leader and Individual costumes which are quite elaborate. No reference to the Panorama, the fantastic Steelband Competition which decides the champion Steel Orchestra for the year, Calypso Tents(she arrived too late)and a variety of other shows which relates to THE SEASON incxluding the Dimanche Gras show which heralds the final two days. I wish the analysis was more indepth.SHE SIMPLY ARRIVED TOO LATE.

Posted by Donna Gomez on January 30,2009 | 04:17 AM

I agree with one comment that the article lost its focus and the chronology seemed off in terms of how the writer got from being in Port of Spain to Paramin. Maybe I am the only one lost? I think it does not capure Trinidad carnival fully, perhaps only the j'ouvert side of it so in that respect it is disappointing. I think it also highlights aspects like the smoking of canabis and crime that most people do not experience, I certainly don't and I am back every year. It is unfortunate that 1 article may put many off of seeing the spectacle of as Trini's call it "The Greatest Show on Earth".

Posted by Joe blo on January 30,2009 | 04:03 AM

Trust Barbara Ehrenreich to immerse herself in a foreign culture and explore a topic that is ignored by most Westerners but is quite to meaningful those involved. I am a graduate student in economics in DC. Naturally I've read a couple of your books, and have even seen you give a book talk in DC. Despite my lingering fascination with your having studied my culture up close, I want just to make a prediction that many Trinis will be dissatisfied with your article. Even in the face of rising crime, petty politics and racial tensions, Trinis (with the exception of probably V.S. Naipaul and a few others) derive enormous pride from their nationality. That you haven't exactly emerged from your Carnival experience totally smitten with Machel Montano or singing the praises of Carib beer may be dissapointing to some of the prideful. You see, Trinis consider Carnival to be one of the most profound expressions of their culture. On this second point, I too am guilty. The exclusivity of fetes and high-priced bikins may prevent some (like me) from experiencing mas. But nothing dampens the excitement and anticipation of the season, the happiness that comes from dancing to your favourite soca tune playing at ear-splitting volume, or having everyday business grind to a halt 2 days a year because of a voluntary national "mobilisation" of people who want to sing, dance, drink and spend time with friends, together! If one does not even get the music, one is unlikely to experience the blissful essence of Trinidadian Carnival from a Trini point of view. But anyway, your article isn't meant to sell Carnival as if through some tourist brochure, but instead deals succcintly with the history and evolution of Trini mas for the edification of Smithsonian mag readers who are eager to learn about it. As a Trini, I am intrigued to read your book and see what other conclusions you have come to on the subject!

Posted by Shirin on January 29,2009 | 02:30 AM

I read the article to see how our Carnival is perceived by a non Trinbagonian and it was interesting. A pity the writer did not get to Trinidad a wk before to experience some of the activities that preceeds the actual 2 days of Carnival.

Posted by Yolanda H. on January 29,2009 | 11:11 PM

Great article. Trinidad is one of the most amazing island in the Caribbean. The carnival is unrivaled. Also equally amazing, is the flora and fauna which is remarkable diverse. There are wetlands, savannas and forested mountains. Anyone visiting the carnival should put a little time aside to get to know the island. www.caribbeandiscoverytours.com A naturalist will not be disappointed.

Posted by Stephen Broadbridge on January 28,2009 | 12:14 PM

I am from Trinbago. This article began in such a way that it took you home to Jouver't morning. But then the writer lost her focus. All in all T&T Carnival is an experience we all need at least once. And if you're liming with the right crowd the world is without sorrow and suffering. Add a little ba-bash with coconut water and the sky's the limit.

Posted by D' Iron Lady on January 26,2009 | 05:29 PM

yes , my dear you have found the spirit. once it,s in you that,s it you can never refuse it. you r a TRINI. LOL

Posted by rena savary on January 26,2009 | 09:09 AM

Good Article, your photos could show more costuming. I read the article trying to imagine what impression a non Trinbagonian's impression would be. Carnival has certainly evolved and hundreds of thousands parade for 2 solid days. It is an artists dream,Live canvass. You should experience Carnival at least once in your lifetime. You also omitted that there is a post Carnival exodus to the sister island,Tobago for beach bumming and winding down.

Posted by Natalie on January 25,2009 | 02:44 AM

It may be getting commercialized, but for us, coming from the US, it was easier to take part. Our Trini friends signed us up for Red Ants for J'ouvert, and we registered ourselves for Tribe. It's not cheap, but absolutely everything is provided. We've been many places around the globe, and can honestly say we've never had a better time than Carnival 2008.

Posted by Bill on January 25,2009 | 12:25 AM

A good cursory view of Carnival but lacking much depth by way of research. Pretty mas is the popular, "commercialized" expression of the Mas but it is sad that the article says nothing about the true traditions of Carnival as expressed in the Calypso tents, the Traditional Mas competitions and Panorama. Each of these elements illustrate in their own way the rich cultural history of Trinidad Carnival, which can never be "Brazilianised". This article is good light reading but touches only the surface of what is true Art - an expression of spirit through music, dance and masquerade.

Posted by Larry on January 25,2009 | 08:29 PM

you need to state what is old and pretty mas.

Posted by geeta on January 25,2009 | 02:47 PM

jouvay is often spelt jouvert.

Posted by Stefan Ramrop on January 24,2009 | 01:10 AM

I think this article lacked another bit of info...the slaves used this time to mock their masters and their master's wives. Some traditional characters portray this mainly the Dame Loraine

Posted by Melissa on January 23,2009 | 09:14 PM



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