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Perspectives
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Rastafari:
it's more than just ganja, reggae
Julia Lieblich
Salt Lake Tribune (UT)
Saturday, September 12, 1998
NEW YORK -- ``Beware of the imposta' Rasta.'' So warned Dave Simon, 25,
who said it takes more than dreadlocks and ganja to make a Rastafarian.
``You can grow your hair and not live the life of a Rastaman,'' said Simon,
sitting in the back yard of the Olive Branch, the West Indian restaurant
in Queens where he works. ``I'm bald and I'm a Rasta Rastaman.
``It comes straight from the heart.'' Since the 1960s, many Americans
have been quick to adopt the trappings of the Rasta life -- from the dreadlocks
to the reggae to the ganja, or marijuana, smoking -- while forgetting
that for hundreds of thousands of followers, it's more than a fashion.
It's a religion. Rastafarians and the scholars who study them report
a resurgence of interest in the music and the faith. From New York
to Miami, people are hailing the ``Lion of Judah,'' the late Ethiopian
emperor Haile Selassie, as a living incarnation of God. Leonard
Barrett, author of The Rastafarians, estimates that there are 800,000
Rastas worldwide, more than 2 million if one counts followers of the lifestyle
but not the faith.
No one has tracked the growing number of Rastafarians in the United States,
he said. But reggae singers have helped bring young men and women
into the fold with songs calling for racial harmony and a return to religion.
And some of the new Rastas are mixing a tradition of rebellion with decidedly
traditional Christian teachings. The movement began in the early
1930s, when Prince Tafari Makonnen of Ethiopia was crowned Emperor Haile
Selassie I, a self-proclaimed descendant of King Solomon of Judah and
the Queen of Sheba. Some Jamaicans, followers of Pan-Africanist
Marcus Garvey, saw Selassie as the messiah who would redeem all black
people by bringing them back to Africa.
They formed a religion combining the word ``Ras,'' or prince, with the
emperor's first name, Tafari. The early movement was particularly
popular among the poor ``suffarahs,'' Jamaica's under- and unemployed,
said Barrett. It was the second-generation converts who instituted
dreads and ganja and increased their opposition to Western political and
economic domination ( ``Babylon'' ) through street marches and
defiance of the police, said University of the West Indies anthropologist
Barry Chevannes.
It was not long before the Caribbean migration -- and reggae icon Bob
Marley - -- brought Rastafari to the United States. The movement
appeals primarily to young Caribbean immigrants, writes sociologist Randal
Hepner in an essay published in the recently released Chanting Down Babylon:
The Rastafari Reader. But it's also attracting, he said, ``a growing
number of Africans, African Americans, Native Americans and white Americans.''
``It's for everybody,'' said Paul David, 33, an owner of the Olive Branch,
who joined Simon and four other Rastas for a smoke behind his restaurant.
A veteran with waist-length dreads, David guides the younger Rastas, playing
devotional reggae on a boombox and showing videos on a television in the
stock room.
That afternoon he was showing documentaries about Haile Selassie's life
in honor of the emperor's July 23 birthday, which was celebrated that
evening.
There's no initiation for newcomers, David said, and no required reading
except the Bible. He tries to help instill in young people a sense
of pride in the African heritage and a desire to free themselves from
racial and economic oppression.
He warns them to get their lives together ``before they have to face the
king himself,'' Haile Selassie, who they view as a living manifestation
of God. Rastas, said David, envision the coming of a golden age
on Earth for the pure of heart.
The movement, said Barrett, sees Ethiopia as the promised land, where
black people will be repatriated though an exodus from Western countries.
The timing, many believe, awaits the decision of Haile Selassie, and the
details are secret. Will anyone go to hell? ``I wouldn't know about
that,'' said David.
``I think so positive. I think about freedom.'' He gestured toward
the boombox to bring the point home. ``Soon we will be free,'' the
singer chanted while a young man lit another joint. Ganja, said
David, is not a drug.
It's a religious sacrament. ``Drugs to me is cocaine, heroin.
Herb is the healing of the nation. Herb heals people from glaucoma
and diabetes.'' Hepner said his research does not support the common conception
that Rastas are heavily involved in drug trafficking.
Rastas, he said, are adamantly opposed to the use of narcotics and alcohol.
Some do not smoke at all. Weed or no weed, any gathering that invokes
Haile Selassie is worship, said Simon. Most American Rastas, Hepner
said, do not attend formal churches, gathering instead in homes, clubs
and smoking yards.
Larger congregations hold Bible study, Sunday school classes and courses
in African history and the roots of the back-to-Africa movement.
Some Rastas, said University of North Carolina philosophy and religion
Professor Nathaniel Samuel Murrell, have reinterpreted the idea of repatriation
to mean a voluntary relocation to Africa or a symbolic return to cultural
values.
Attitudes toward Christianity have also changed, said Barrett. The
early Rastas were hostile to Christians, who vilified Rastas in Jamaica.
The Twelve Tribes, one of the most influential and mainly middle-class
Rastafarian sects, believe Jesus is a manifestation of God like Haile
Selassie, and many members sound like evangelical Protestants when reciting
biblical verses on good and evil.
Today the rebellious side of Rastafari religion in the United States is
expressed primarily through reggae, and in some cases a refusal to work
in mainstream jobs. ``We're a family, and not even Newt Gingrich
fights families,'' said a long-time Rasta who said police do not bother
Rastas who smoke at the church.
``Rastas are just Christians who seek repatriation.'' Despite popular
conceptions, Marcia Dan, 40, a grocery store owner, said that Rasta religion
is more about traditional Christian values than pot smoking and reggae,
a claim that might have made early Rastas cringe.
``It's about peace, peace, peace,'' she said, the scent of marijuana wafting
around her. ``Love the Lord God with all your heart. And love
your neighbor as yourself.''
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