The FIYA BURN Controversy:
On the Uses of Fire in a Culture of Love and Rebellion

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This is a problem not confined to the dancehall, but is part of a much broader tendency, what Deborah Tannen has called The Argument Culture. Trying to destroy those we disagree with, or those who are merely different, has become a way of life. It is a part of the Babylon System which one sees on TV, on the streets, every day of the week: tribal war, Us vs. Them, played out over and over, a cycle of violence, both lyrical and literal. This is a phenomenon that challenges us not just to condemn, but to create more attractive alternatives.

In this context, I see something positive coming out of the Fire Burn controversy: a new sense of community is emerging among those who produce, promote, and consume dancehall and reggae. People in the community have been doing some necessary soul-searching about the state of the culture, and about their place in it. I think that an awareness is emerging that this music provides a forum for discussing important issues that go far beyond the music. So the critique of the Fire Burn mentality, if done consciously, should also become self-critique, and critique of the world we live in. In an email to my Idren DJ RJ, Marlon Regis, author of The Beat column "Musical Murder," write: "Society is not a reflection of the music, it’s the OTHER WAY around. The riddims may be wicked, their flow even rhythmic, but the message is indeed STAGNANT, not to mention DIGRESSIVE. A reflection that SOCIETY NEEDS TO CHANGE."

Or as Cocoa Tea sings in "Blood a Run," a musical critique of the social consequences of an unchecked Fire Burn mentality: "We need a change in attitude."

THE ROOTS OF FIRE BURN: NO WATER CAN PUT OUT THIS FIRE

One of the beauties of participating in bass culture over time is the historical context it provides, a sense of continuity with a tradition and a community with very deep roots. Dancehall is an extremely fashion-conscious turf, yet it also continuously recycles riddims and lyrics from the past. Scratch and you uncover a historical perspective on the fads of the present.

The past year, I’ve been asking my roots-and-culture friends, "is there a place for fire in Zion?" Almost inevitably, they say no. They see the core message of Rasta Reggae as one of love and righteousness. Yet the notion of fire burn has always had a central place in the imagination of reggae artists. Fire illuminated the vision of those artists who sang of a Zion towards which we were marching, the more attractive world towards which we moved on our Exodus from Babylon. If fire burn has no place in Zion, then are we willing to lock Bob Marley out of Zion gates?

I think of the many examples of outrage, of lyrical violence, of fire burn, that fill Marley’s songs. In "Talkin’ Blues," he professed: "I feel like bombing a church, now that I know the preacher is lying." The Wailers’ first Island album was titled Catch a Fire, taken from the song "Slave Driver," in which the sense of fiery vengeance is clear:

"Slave Driver, the tables are turning

Catch a Fire, you’re gonna get burned"

The Wailers’ second album Burnin’ featured "Burning and Looting." Yet Marley was a master of lyrics that spoke on many levels, that combined notions of physical revolution and spiritual evolution. His own interpretation of this song, which youths reportedly sang during the L.A. Riots as they sacked stores, was as follows: "It’s not literally about burning down the city, it’s about burning down certain illusions in our mind so as to live in one harmony." Marley clearly understood that there were destructive and constructive uses of fire. Although he warned about destruction, he aimed for reconstruction. This reconstructive mindset is clear on the remake of "Burning and Looting" from Chant Down Babylon, when over the sound of sirens, Bob intones "stop them," and "it’s not the music of the ghetto." I.E., destructive uses of fire should not be the music coming out of the ghetto. We have to stop them from destroying themselves.

Marley’s thinking about fire takes many forms, but is expressed perhaps most memorably in "Ride Natty Ride." He tells a parable to a leader trying to give a speech on a beach, but a dread cuts him off, saying "fire is burning, man pull your own weight." He clearly voices a notion of fire as an invaluable resource:

"there is something that they can never take away,

and that’s the fire, burning down everything...

No water can put out this fire."

Marley’s conception of fire here combines a revolutionary fire, which burns down a corrupt world, but he is also talking about an inner fire, the passion for justice, the fire of a spiritual vision that lights our path.

This is a Biblical vision of fire. It has been forwarded by many contemporary artists who use Marley as a reference point to portray fire as a spiritual resource, and as a potential force for reconstruction. For instance, Marley’s line "no water can put out this fire" is repeated by Jah Mali in "No Water" and by Morgan Heritage in "Don’t Haffi Dread." But there are times when the old has to be destroyed to make way for the new. This is the context of Marcia Griffiths’ remake of the Bob Andy tune, "Fire Burning," and of "Fire (Is the Desire)" by Justin Hinds and the Dominoes. The fires of "progress," of uncontrolled human development and greed, and burning out of control. The people are yearning for change. Dread times are here, and when the tables turn, "the haves will want to be in the shoes of the have nots."

Capleton has been roundly criticized for his fire burn lyrics. Yet his defense of the importance of fire is persuasive. Capleton insists that he is not encouraging anyone to light their clothes, or burn a church. He emphasizes, like Marley, that "It’s not a literal fire, it’s a spiritual fire. Fire’s all about the livity." Fire is a source of purification, Capleton says repeatedly. "Water cleanse, but still the fire have to burn water to purify it. The herb is the healing of the nation but still the fire bun the herb so the herb can heal. Fire is the main source of life universally. Fire make everything move, and there is no life if there is no fire."

Like many Rasta artists, Capleton uses the Biblical example of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, who in Daniel 3 walked through a fiery furnace without getting burned. In this sense, fire is a force that tests our faith, and if our faith is strong enough, then we not only survive moments of crisis, we emerge strengthened.

Perhaps this would be the best way to come to terms with another troubling aspect of the Fire Burn controversy, which is the black supremacist philosophy of the Bobos, and the willingness of some artists to fire burn on white people, or Europeans, whom in some branches of Rasta, are still seen as an enemy to be expelled, along with the battyman and the Vatican.

THIS IS MY CULTURE TOO: EUROPEANS IN THE HOUSE

One of the prime sources of creative energy during the "Rasta Renaissance" of the mid-1990s was the emergence of a group of fire-breathing Boboshanti artists such as Sizzla, Anthony B, and Capleton. ("The Bobo Dread" by Barry Chevannes) If the main voices of the early 1990s flowering of conscious reggae were culture artists such as Luciano and Garnett Silk working within the "One Love" wing of Rasta, the Bobos forwarded a very different vibe. In contrast to the emphasis on unity and spiritual growth of the Twelve Tribes branch of Rasta, the Bobos advocated a philosophy of black supremacy. They seemed much more interested in condemnation of enemies, than the unification of allies.

Sizzla quickly earned a reputation as the "angry young man" of the Bobo Dreads. His passion and undeniable talent energized many young people of reggae’s international audience, whose mood often was closer to Sizzla’s anger than to Luciano’s inity. But Sizzla’s relentless Afrocentrism had a shadow side: "white people."

At the 1998 Sumfest, according to a report in Reggae Nucleus Magazine by RudeGal, Sizzla went on a "rampage" after performing "Near & Far. "He said: "See all the white people in Jamaica? They don’t belong here. Go way! Bun the white people in Jamaica! Bun all the people backstage. Bun all the people outside. Bun dem, bun dem!"

This incident inspired intense discussion on the internet reggae newsgroup (rec.music.reggae) for months afterwards. Some DJs said they would not play Sizzla any more, and some in fact have never forgiven him. On balance, however, this attitude doesn’t seem to have affected Sizzla’s reputation much. A reporter asked Sizzla how he thought European people should react to his Afrocentric fire-burning:

"Don’t be afraid of the fire," Sizzla responded.

I remembered my second visit to Jamaica in 1988, when I brought along my fiancée, an Afro-American with braids. We experienced relentless hostility from the locals in Montego Bay. Among the printable things they told me was, "go home white boy, you ain’t got no culture." I bought Dennis Brown’s "Death Before Dishonor," which expressed the same sentiment:

"Go Away and stay away,

you ain’t got no culture;

go away and stay away,

you’re acting like vulture."

Our host was a Rasta who raised pigs on a farm he had carved out of the rocky hills with his Australian wife. He took us to the airport and asked how we had enjoyed Jamaica. I told him about the racial hostility we had encountered. He gave me some advice I’ve never forgotten: "Jus relax, mon." That was it. Don’t sweat it, just take it easy, and everything will be all right.

So I can’t think of Sizzla’s advice without laughing, remembering my Jamaican host. There’s certainly a double standard involved in the culture, kind of like the dynamics in black comedy clubs, where it is routine for black comics to racially insult white guests, in a way that would be unthinkable if the roles were reversed.

Mutabaruka

This too has been an occasion for self-reflection, and critique, among reggae’s audience. I remember how much Mutabaruka ‘s assertion "It no good to live in the white mon country too long" rang true for me, even though I’m of Irish ancestry. That line, echoing back to Marcus Garvey, made sense to me. I have never wanted to live in a Eurocentric culture either.

Yet as a long-time participant in Bass Culture, I have become increasingly uncomfortable with certain forms of racialism. I like to turn things on their head. What would be our reaction if a European artist said "Burn black people"? Could this artist turn around and say "Don’t be afraid of the fire" with a straight face?

I played Sizzla’s "Get We Out," from the Reggae1Luv double CD Liberate Yourself: Sizzla and Bredren, for DJ RJ. The very first words of the song are, "All white subjects out of Ethiopia." "I can’t use that," RJ said, athough he loved the riddim. "If you started censoring Sizzla because he’s a racialist, you wouldn’t have much left," I pointed out. I am personally comfortable with expressions of black pride, and yet when Sizzla obsessively addresses himself to black people over and over, I begin to tune out. This was why I stopped listening to hip-hop in the early 1990s. Too many artists like X-Clan were demonizing the "cave boy oppressor." I support artists who speak to the community I live in, which is a multi-ethnic community. Sizzla does not speak to the concerns of a multi-ethnic community, although Junior Reid, another Bobo, articulated what drew so many of us to Rasta reggae in the first place with his anthem "One Blood."

In Rasta reggae, there have always been dual themes: expressions of racial unity, but also another part of the culture obsessed with opposition to the white man. DJ RJ and I did another edutainment special about this phenomenon, in the wake of the Sizzla "burn white people" controversy. It’s called "White Boy a Follower? From Black Supremacy to ‘One Love’ in Rasta Reggae."

We used many samples in this show to illustrate these dual themes, from Bobos discussing the concept of Black Supremacy on Muta’s show, to Prophet Gad, the founder of the Twelve Tribes, quoting "One Blood" from Acts 17:26 to argue against any notion of racial separatism. Rasta is a culture that has evolved a long way, from a chant of "death to white oppressors" in the early days, to the slogan "death to black and white oppressors," which has been repeated frequently by artists from Bob Marley to Capleton. This expresses the view that oppression is a force that transcends race.

I think that as reggae and dancehall become ever more transnational, the international audience in particular will have to struggle with the question: what is our place in the culture? This seems to be a particularly vexing question for Europeans and Euro-Americans, as long as there are artists like Sizzla and groups like the Bobos who seem to define their allegiances and their enemies in primarily racial terms (http://www.oneworldmagazine.org/focus/etiopia/rasta.html).

The right time has come for making a case for Europeans claiming a place in the culture. In my book On Racial Frontiers, I’ve made this argument on historical grounds, including the evolution of Rasta as a part of a history of international and multi-racial freedom movements in which the notions of "Black liberation" and "multi-racial redemption ("One Love") co-exist. For Europeans to go on acting like outsiders to the culture (or accepting that definition), merely praising "the black man’s culture," seems to be yet another form of mental slavery. When we develop enough wisdom to claim this as our culture too, this brings a new set of responsibilities. Which means, in my view, that if we are going to be part of Sizzla’s fan base, then we need to find ways to engage Sizzla in dialogue about his attitudes towards the fair-skinned people who provide him with the majority of his royalties. So let’s think of another take of that old story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Sizzla’s predominantly European audience truly doesn’t need to be afraid of the fire, because if they check the roots of the historical struggle for equal rights and justice, they will find it has always been a multi-ethnic, international movement. So wouldn’t it be just if we began to expect artists like Sizzla to begin acknowledging our presence in his artistic vision?

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