A Personal Sightings of Rastafari: A Detailed Approach

Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope…. and crossing each other from a million different centres of energy and daring those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.” – Robert F. Kennedy. Starting as ripples of hope, which eventually became violent waves.......

A powerful force that challenged Eurocentrism, resisted systems of oppression and dismantled barriers placed around the untamed and complex expression of Black identity, while simultaneously promoting unity within the Black nation. Rastafari... For the average person, the word may immediately summon images of Bob Marley, marijuana and reggae music. But for me? When I hear the word Rastafari, I think of something much deeper. An oasis in a time of political drought. A resistance. A spiritual banner birthed from a collapsing system. I get asked every so often about my views on the tenets and livity of this movement, and I thought it fitting to grace my platform with my own reflections. Bear with me as I journey back to where it all began. I sighted Rastafari at a tender age. As a young girl from simple beginnings, of course I grew up hearing Gladys Knight and the Pips, Anita Baker and many other legendary artists. But I was also exposed to rootical music. Looking back now, I think my parents used it as a form of grounding, something to hold firm to while the world around them was constantly swaying. I grew up hearing Bob Marley, Sizzla and Capleton. I believe this is where my curiosity towards Rastafari first began. It must be noted that my parents were not Rastafari, nor did either of them wear locks. Yet the livity that surrounded my upbringing reflected many of the movement's core principles. I was encouraged to become the most authentic version of myself. To remain firm in meditation. To be mindful of what I consumed, what I thought and the company I kept. My parents taught my sibling and I that our hearts and minds should remain close to the Most High Creator, through scripture, prayer and fasting. These were not occasional practices. They were actually family practices. So it was of little surprise that when I turned sixteen, I decided to loc my hair. And strangely enough, as my locks grew, so did my spiritual curiosity. Perhaps through socialization, or perhaps through genuine seeking? I explored Christianity for a number of years. But after extensive studying, contemplation and personal conviction, I quietly stepped away. My gaze returned to Rastafari. I built relationships with Rastafari lecturers at my local university, elder members of the movement and immersed myself in the literature surrounding its birth. Presently, I do not consider myself Rastafari per se. Yet I remain deeply connected to many of its foundational pillars and hold profound respect for the roots of the movement. Picture this. A time where you were persecuted because of the darkness of your skin. A time where Black people were deliberately denied education, dignity and opportunity. A time of political unrest and uncertainty. A time where the voices of Marcus Garvey and Malcolm X were beginning to shake the world. And then one morning, you open the newspaper and see the image of a Black Emperor in Africa. Not just a Black king. An Emperor. The continent from which we were exiled. From Ethiopia, in particular... the only African nation to successfully resist European colonization. Do you know what that must have done to the psychology of a people living in that moment? In the midst of Garvey's whirlwind. In the economic desperation of colonial Jamaica. In the downtrodden condition of Black people across the diaspora. Rastafari was birthed. Birthed as a solution. Birthed as a rebellion. Birthed from the frustrations of a people searching for dignity. It became a beacon of light in what felt like endless darkness. A refuge when everything was unstable. A movement that empowered people when the world taught them to be ashamed of their Blackness. It was one of the only movements actively teaching Black history. Not slavery. Not European history. BLACK HISTORY. Our real history, recounting tales of when we were kings, queens, kingdom builders and world conquerors before slavery It encouraged self-sufficiency through Black nationalism. Feed yourself. Educate yourself. Take care of your family. It declared boldly that Black people were kings and queens. It bun fire pon colourism. It bun fire pon classism. It bun fire pon white gods and systems of oppression. When I finally sighted the context from which Rastafari emerged, something within me shifted. I realized that whether one accepts every theological position of the movement or not, its historical and spiritual significance deserves honour. It should never be reduced to stereotypes. The transformation of reggae music itself stands as testimony. Reggae became a vehicle. A vessel carrying messages of liberation, love, justice and Black consciousness across the globe. Songs that, to this day, feel capable of bringing down modern-day Jericho walls. As I continued trodding through the history of Haile Selassie I and his coronation, another aspect of Rastafari struck me deeply. Its reverence for the Black family unit. The relationship between Jah and the Jahess. The balance between masculine and feminine energies. Selassie choosing to be crowned alongside Empress Menen Asfaw spoke volumes to me. breaking centuries of an entrenched tradition. It suggested that true sovereignty begins within the union of man and woman and extends outward into the family and ultimately the community. I was also deeply moved by a speech given by the STX Nyahbinghi House, years ago Though I do not remember the name of the elder who spoke, I have never forgotten his words. He spoke of Pan-Africanism. Reparations. The continued persecution Rastafari people experience, especially young people who carry the covenant upon their heads. His words resonated with me because I, too, have experienced judgment simply because of my locks. He spoke of building underground Caribbean markets. Of self-sustaining systems. Of returning to one another. Of preparing communities that could survive independent of collapsing structures. I realized then that beneath the public image of Rastafari lies something profoundly innovative. A spirituality intertwined with resilience. A philosophy rooted in independence. A call toward collective healing. Black Nationalism, Pan-Africanism and Ethiopianism have all offered hope to Black people across the world. Though distinct, they each seek restoration. Black Nationalism seeks empowerment where one stands. Pan-Africanism calls the scattered children of Africa into unity. Ethiopianism invites Black people to encounter God through an Afrocentric lens rather than a European one. Each movement, in its own way, attempts to restore something that history tried to erase. Rastafari represents the perfect unity of all these movements. Although I have my reservations regarding certain aspects of Rastafari, particularly some of its gender dynamics and understandings of the Godhead, it nevertheless occupies a sacred place within my heart. For me, Rastafari was never simply about locks, reggae or herb. It was a people remembering themselves. A people reclaiming their image. A people looking at centuries of oppression and declaring: "We are still here." And perhaps that is why, even today, when I hear the word Rastafari... I do not simply hear a religion. I hear a livity! I hear resistance! I hear remembrance! I hear a people refusing to forget who they are! A 🧿🪶 “If the white man has the idea of a white god, let him worship his god as he desires. If the yellow man’s god is of his race, let him worship god as he sees fit. We, as negroes, have found a new ideal. Whilst our God has no colour, yet it is human to see everything through one’s own spectacles and, since the white people have seen their god through white spectacles, we have only started out late though it may be- to see our God through our own spectacles. The God of Issac and the God of Jacob let Him exist of the race that believes in the God of Issac and The God of Jacob. We Negroes believe in the God of Ethiopia, The Everlasting God- God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, the One God of all ages. That is the God in whom we believe, but we shall worship Him through the spectacles of Ethiopia.” – The Philosophies and Opinions of Marcus Garvey, Vol I, page 44. "Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God." -Psalms 68:31