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Give me room to wine
Carnival has always been about negotiation of gendered and sexual power. Think of jamettes’ long confrontation with middle-class and religious expectations of respectability. Think of a cross-dressing mas tradition long enabling performance of transgressive identities.
The charge has historically been directed at women “wining like that” with century after century of commentators repetitively raging about (women’s) vulgarity and the potential for bam bam to make all social order bend over.
Ignoring the hysteria of such emasculated morality, women increasingly came together in movements tens of thousands strong to declare a desire for sexual freedom and pleasure, and an expectation of state responsibility for protection of these, as “rights.”
Commentators who bemoaned Carnival’s loss of political punch completely misread decades of bikini mas because they were not the mouthpiece for Afro-Trinidadian working class men in the tradition of pan and calypso.
They missed the significance of year after year of multi-class and multi-ethnic bands of bubblicious women in agreement about such rights as a modern Caribbean feminist politics predating “Slutwalks,” “Life in Leggings” or “Me Too” responses to sexual harassment.
“Carnival is woman” on the one hand was about commodifying and marketing women’s bodies as the nation’s economic stimulus package, but on the other it marked a decisive shift to a contemporary social order in which jamette resistance had become fully nationalised.
TTPS’ public position on consent in Carnival is the jamette’s desire and right to sexual autonomy and freedom from sexual violence, both denied by the very foundations of colonial authority, now articulated by law.
It’s a historically significant signal of change and power not to be by-passed, a legacy of Carnival becoming woman, now penetrating into state authority.
It should stop anyone from declaring that Carnival is no longer political because the renegotiation of power in the democratic density of a ram fete or in the middle of rough wine on the road is politics itself, from rather than in “yuh pweffin.”
A debate with all expected hullabaloo followed the police press statement.
Iwer declared: “If you look at all the history about Carnival, we never had an issue with anybody wining on anyone.”
Thousands of women can tell you about fellas not taking a “no” or a “move away,” others pulling your wrists or your waist when you on the road for Jouvay, needing to roll with a crew of fellas for protection, and playing mas within ropes and with security precisely to be free of being pursued and grabbed.
Fay-Ann’s concern was about the right to consent being abused by “a lot of women in the stations” falsely claiming a man tried to wine on them, though reports of sexual violence have never worked that way.
Machel was criticised for his instructions before his management instructed him to back back. The police were above the fray and dead clear.
It’s assault to touch someone without her or his consent.
Police Service Asst Supt Michael Jackman went further than advising permission to wine: “Even when a person is already engaged in dancing or wining or gyrating with another person, with a partner, a friend, family member or stranger, at some point in time that person says, ‘Okay, I want to stop’, and they indicate that verbally or by action, that action may be by stepping away or saying, ‘no’, verbally, ‘I had enough’, then the person who they were engaged with at that point in time ought to respect that decision and stop.”
In his statement were echoes of Explainer’s Rasta Chick, Singing Sandra’s Die with My Dignity, Destra’s Wrong Bam Bam and even Sharlene Boodram’s, Ask It.
Wining is an old jamette language now brilliantly informing interpretation of law by police brass.
The body talks, and the lesson is to become literate in woman-centred traditions of lyrical and waist skill, or dan is the man in the van on his way to make a jail.
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