Facing the Music

Contemplations on the relationship between music and gender-based violence in the Caribbean region.

Content warning: This article contains mentions of gender-based violence and discriminatory language.

Whether it is the sweet sound of calypso, the grooviness of soca, the ‘easy like Sunday morning’ feel of reggae or the adrenaline of dancehall, one thing remains true of Caribbean people- we take pride in our music. Music has benefitted us tremendously. It is not merely a form of entertainment, but also a form of popular culture which has fostered Caribbean creative expression, encouraged nationalist sentiments, functioned as a form of protest, and secured global recognition. However, perhaps because of the freedom our music inspires, we tend to overlook its ugly side and the ways it upholds dangerous patriarchal and gendered ideologies which perpetuate violence against girls and women, and other vulnerable gender identities.

In challenging the crisis of gender-based violence (GBV), the construction of hegemonic masculinity and the link between masculinity and violence is frequently called into question. Accordingly, we must reflect on how Caribbean music is an ideal site for male artistes to shape and validate their masculinity and the consequent implications for GBV. In 1969, Michael Kaufman proposed a sociological theory that male violence can be understood through a triad of violence. This triad comprises men’s violence against women, other men, and themselves, and is shaped under the pressures of hegemonic masculinity where surplus regression eventually transforms into surplus aggression. Although Kaufman’s theory originated at a different site of examination, I contend that its application to Caribbean music can make sense of how violence is directed to various categories of vulnerable persons through gendered articulations and lyrics.

The first corner of the triad which addresses male violence against women becomes apparent when we consider that Caribbean music is laden with lyrics that reiterate the patriarchal and misogynistic view that women are sexual objects, foster male sexual entitlement to women’s bodies, and disregard the rules of consent. Consequently, this assumed entitlement, paired with the rejection of the same, can lead to men committing acts of sexual and other forms of violence against women. However, these views have been echoed by Caribbean scholars of gender and human rights and are not novel. Yet, male artistes operate under the impression that such articulations of women’s bodies, should empower them and inspire self-confidence.

Perhaps because of the freedom our music inspires, we tend to overlook its ugly side and the ways it upholds dangerous patriarchal and gendered ideologies which perpetuate violence against girls and women, and other vulnerable gender identities.

Let us consider Machel’s “Showtime”. One might say there is an empowerment factor in the line “…show dem yuh run town” and the centring of the woman subject as the star of the show. However, this becomes less apparent, non-existent even, when measured against the fact that many of the lyrics are actually commands from the singer, for instance, “bend over” and “drop down pon de ground”, as well as the fact that he admits the woman’s “performance” and supposed agency functions to satisfy the male gaze in the line, “…this is showtime, not Cinemax. But just like Netflix, man haffi watch”. Rather than truly recognizing women’s sexual agency, these articulations position them as objects of sex and subjects of male sexual entitlement, thus making them more vulnerable to violence.

Speaking to the second corner of the triad, men can also enact violence against other men if they perceive that their masculinity is being threatened or regarded as subordinate. Constructions and expectations of hegemonic masculinity frequently result in men resorting to violence to resolve conflicts or acquire respect from other men. The emergence of Trinibad music is a clear example of this as Trinibad artistes are gang-affiliated and such songs function to send threats between them. This is also a good example of how GBV is executed between men.

Male violence against other men can also be seen in their treatment of homosexual men. In discussing the link between Caribbean music and GBV, it would be remiss to exclude members of the LGBTQ+ community since they are perceived as disobeying gender norms. Dancehall music specifically contains discriminatory language which condemns homosexuality, making members of this community more vulnerable to GBV. Lesbians are not always outrightly vilified, possibly because they are labelled as “freaky” and as candidates for corrective rape. However, gay men are assigned derogatory names such as “bullerman”, “batty boy”, “chi chi man” amongst others. Revered Caribbean music icons such as Buju Banton and Beenie Man even have songs dedicated to promoting anti-gay violence.

To highlight how extensively music is employed as a tool for exclusion and discrimination, the Jamaican Labour Party adopted dancehall band TOK’s hit “Chi Chi Man” as their theme song in 2001 which delivers a message to kill and burn gay men. Similarly, in 2002, the People’s National Party adopted the slogan “Log On to Progress”, a reference to the dancehall song “Log On” by Elephant Man, which also features homophobic lyrics. These examples are an indication of how violence against gay men can be promoted and justified by other men. In 2007, a collaboration between the Stop Murder Music Campaign and reggae promoters resulted in the Reggae Compassionate Act (2007). Reggae artistes like Buju, Sizzla and Capleton signed on to the Act to renounce homophobia and anti-gay violence and commit to making music without prejudice. However, we must admit that their earlier songs which incited hatred and violence against homosexual persons still populate our contemporary playlists, showing just how influential music artistes can be and how their relevance is sustained over time.

The final corner of the triad recognizes that men can commit violence against themselves. This type of violence is not straightforwardly present within the genres of interest since men’s violence against themselves result in a surplus regression which, when transformed into surplus aggression, manifests as violence against others. Women, other men and other vulnerable persons then become the victims of this explosive aggression. Nevertheless, these acts are often rooted in men’s internalization of gendered ideologies and so misogynistic, sexist and violent behaviours become sites of release for men’s violence against themselves. Avenues for healthy purgation of repressed emotions are replaced by violent behaviours by men towards others and themselves. Kaufman’s theory, therefore, provides guidance for interpreting the lyrical content of local and regional music in a way that achieves connections between the messages in the music and various manifestations of GBV.

As a final point for consideration, there is a major issue that demands attention when investigating the link between music and GBV. We must recognize that the “doh-care” feeling inspired by Caribbean has ramifications for GBV situations. I can recall a song by local artiste, Trinidad Ghost, entitled “I Ain’t See”. Amidst other insensitivities embedded within the song, a particular lyric that discounts the severity of GBV goes, “Meh neighbour beatin’ he wife…I ain’t see.” This line of thought is especially problematic for a myriad of reasons. Firstly, it discourages the civic duty to be your neighbour’s keeper and disturbs the “if you see something, say something” call to action which social and gender justice advocates have extensively encouraged. Furthermore, it functions to perpetuate the long-standing idea and cultural dismissal of GBV, particularly domestic and intimate partner violence, as a private matter which concerns solely the victim and perpetrator and which should be resolved only by them.

This issue is further exacerbated by a culture of victim-blaming, which in itself falls under the umbrella of GBV, where persons who are aware of such situations often believe that the violence is justified. The expectation of violent and abusive interactions to be resolved by only those involved, paired with victim-blaming, places an additional burden on the victim who may lack access to the resources, solidarity and intervention required to exit from the situation. Finally, the aforementioned “not my business” mentality dangerously operates to excuse perpetrators from accountability and convinces them that violence is excusable and unheeded by bystanders, which only serves to prolong such behaviours.

I close by echoing my starting sentiments. There is much to appreciate about Caribbean music. However, the current climate of GBV and gender injustice requires us to interrogate normalized behaviours and attitudes which are counterproductive to the efforts of the feminist movement, women’s rights advocates and justice workers to eliminate GBV. Understanding that our colonial history and Western imperialist influence has moulded the region’s perspectives on gender norms and intersecting issues allows us to waive the blame we assign to Caribbean people and instead encourage reorientation and resocialization to target the root causes of gender-based violence. However, the responsibility is on the people to relinquish harmful and counterproductive ideologies and transform our attitudes and behaviours in a way that advances gender justice and equality. This, therefore, means that music artistes must commit to production and performance which support the fight against gender-based violence rather than perpetuate it. It also means that we, as listeners, must meticulously interrogate the messages encoded within the music, and resist and reject anything that hinders the creation of a world that is just, equal and free from violence and discrimination. Simply put, it is time we face the music.

About the Author

Celine Jaggernauth is a young, de-/anti-colonial, intersectional Caribbean feminist and writer currently pursuing post-graduate studies in gender and development. She is interested in challenging women’s rights issues and advancing gender justice through gender-responsive policy development, education, advocacy, activism decolonial praxis and poetry.