Jes Grew and the Deities
Santería and Vodou both originate from West African religions, but they evolved in different places. Naturally, they changed a lot. Santería mostly developed in Cuba, and Vodou in Haiti. They both mix African beliefs with Catholic ones because enslaved people had to mask their religions to keep them alive. Folks would outwardly appear as though they were praying to saints, but those saints stood in for the orishas or lwa they already believed in. In Santería, people pray to orishas like Obatalá, Eleguá, and Yemayá. "Orishas are often represented by pots, usually arranged like a shrine, where people leave food and other offerings for the deities. Similar to other religions, these deities are believed to guide and protect people. In Vodou, it’s the lwa (or loas) like Legba, Danbala, and Erzulie who do that. Both religions use drumming, dancing, and offerings, and people during the ceremonies might be “mounted” or possessed by spirits, which means the spirit temporarily takes over their body to communicate or guide. The main differences between Santería and Vodou is the language, the names, and how each dealt with racism and colonialism. Basically, Santería stayed more hidden and adapted to survive, while Vodou became part of the public.
In Mumbo Jumbo, Ishmael Reed uses Vodou and hoodoo to show that these beliefs are a real part of Black culture, not just old superstition. He writes about PaPa LaBas, who’s kind of a priest figure, and through him, Reed turns Vodou into this big symbol of rebellion and creativity. During class discussion, we talked a lot about how Jes Grew was tied to the history of music (more specifically Jazz), but I’d like to take an approach that views Jes Grew as a metaphor for the energy of Vodou. Because just like music, these syncretic religions are alive in dance and spirit, connecting people to the past and the unseen. I think Reed wants people to see how African spiritual traditions shaped art, music, and freedom movements. Reminding us they’ve always been right there, even if people ignored them. It’s kind of (always) confusing, but that’s the point — he’s mixing religion, politics, music, culture and irony to make you think about how many people don’t understand these systems. People hear “Vodou” and “Santería” and think it sounds like something it isn’t. They see the ceremony and call it something it’s not. Like any religion (or anything good for that matter), some will use it to justify harm or control, but that does not define it. The history exists, the evidence is there and the truth continues, quietly, underground (literally and figuratively), sometimes disguised, but still moving. These traditions are less hidden than before but never separate from the secrecy that once kept it alive.
The Diloggún by Ócha’ni Lele:
Lele, Ócha’ni. The Diloggún: The Orishas, Proverbs, Sacrifices, and Prohibitions of Cuban Santería. Destiny Books, 2003.
Reed, Ishmael. Mumbo Jumbo.
This is a super informative and relevant post--thank you for adding to the conversation with some specifics on Santeria. There are additional variants of the same "syncretic" religious practices in Jamaica, where it's called "obeah"--all versions of the same dynamic. And I agree with your point about not identifying Jes Grew directly with jazz or music--the novel is clear that this is just the form that Jes Grew assumes in this particular outbreak, and by framing jazz culture in this way, Reed helps readers grasp the historical and musicological fact that many elements of jazz music and culture have roots in voodoo practices and traditions (the role of the drums is crucial, and therefor the setting of New Orleans, and Congo Square--it makes a lot of sense to see jazz as a manifestation of "voodoo energy"). But the end of the novel, where LaBas ponders the emergence of a "future Text" produced by a "generation of new artists," it seems clear he's not just talking about music (although again, through voodoo, the role of rhythm, dance, and communal call and response to music is hard-wired into jazz and blues culture). Looking at the historiographic record of the twentieth century, specifically the one reflected in Silverstein's article on the 1619 Project, I think we could make a strong case for a shift in historians' focus toward the lived experience of enslaved people and emancipated people of African descent throughout American history, or the focus on previously suppressed African history in the context of world history, as a kind of "academic Jes Grew." Reed is clear that this "essence" (call it "voodoo energy") can manifest in pretty much any form imaginable. We can have Jes Grew media, film, philosophy, history, gender studies, whatever. It's all connected, and wherever you see it emerging, you're sure to find some Atonist backlash.
ReplyDeleteAlana, this post is really awesome! I love your approach of Jes Grew, and how you emphasize Reed's points in that just because this more accurate view of Voodoo culture isn't as well known doesn't mean it isn't true and actively continuing and changing as time goes on. It was also super interesting to hear more about Santeria--I love how you're giving more examples for us to look into past the one in the text!
ReplyDeleteHi Alana! I have never heard of Santería and found it really interesting. I like the way you connect these two ideas and highlight how evidence is there even though it's quiet. Looking forward to reading your next one!
ReplyDeleteHi Alana! Thank you for giving the context on Santería and Vodou for us. Its really cool to see the elements of this book in their full historical context and significance! You look at Jes Grew as Vodou energy, and the book from a unique angle.
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