Visions of Zion: Ethiopians and Rastafari in the Search for the Promised Land 9781479890996

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vISIONS OF zION

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Visions of Zion Ethiopians and Rastafari in the Search for the Promised Land

Erin C. MacLeod

a NEW YORK UNIVERSIT Y PRESS New York and London

NEW YORK UNIVERSITY PRESS New York and London www.nyupress.org © 2014 by New York University All rights reserved References to Internet Websites (URLs) were accurate at the time of writing. Neither the author nor New York University Press is responsible for URLs that may have expired or changed since the manuscript was prepared. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data MacLeod, Erin C.   Visions of Zion : Ethiopians and Rastafari in the search for the promised land / Erin C. MacLeod.        pages cm  Includes bibliographical references and index.   ISBN 978-1-4798-8224-3 (cloth : alkaline paper)  1.  Rastafarians—Ethiopia—History. 2.  Immigrants—Ethiopia—History. 3.  Rastafarians— Ethiopia—Public opinion. 4.  Rastafari movement—Ethiopia—Public opinion. 5.  Repatriation—Social aspects—Ethiopia. 6.  Ethiopia—Emigration and immigration. 7.  Citizenship—Social aspects—Ethiopia. 8.  Pan-Africanism. 9.  Ethnicity—Ethiopia. 10.  Ethiopia—Ethnic relations.  I. Title.   BL2532.R37M33 2014   305.6’996760963—dc23                                                             2014002553 New York University Press books are printed on acid-free paper, and their binding materials are chosen for strength and durability. We strive to use environmentally responsible suppliers and materials to the greatest extent possible in publishing our books. Manufactured in the United States of America 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Also available as an ebook

To the memory of Anne Gillespie 1956–2013 Marafiki wakubwa lazima waachane.

Those who repatriate from the Caribbean and the west assume that, going back to Africa, they would be accepted as African brothers and they would be welcomed into a community. The reality is that once they get on the ground they find out that they are treated as foreigners. . . . They become the Babylon that they are running away from. Henok Semaegzer Fente It’s totally different to hear of Ethiopia and to live in Africa. It’s totally a different thing. So we have to find some mechanism now of how we move forward. Priest Paul Phang

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Contents

Acknowledgments

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Introduction: My Father’s Land

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1. Ethiopianness

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2. Christianity and the King, Marriage and Marijuana

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3. Speaking of Space in/and Shashemene

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4. Africa Unite, Bob Marley, Media, and Backlash

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5. Representations of Rastafari

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6. Development and Cultural Citizenship

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7. Strategies of Ethnic Identity and African Diaspora

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Conclusion: The Future of Ethiopians and Rastafari in the Promised Land

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Notes

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References

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Index

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About the Author

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Acknowledgments

This book has been a while in the making. I have not done this by myself and have had help at every stage. Thanks first go to Jonathan Sterne, who made me feel this was a fascinating topic and continues to encourage me far beyond the call of duty. Also, thank you to Jenny Burman for feedback and necessary support, and to both Will Straw and Bob White for asking excellent questions. Thanks to Charmaine Nelson for sitting with me and telling me that my work needed to become a book, to Michael Valpy for encouragement (and for actually reading my entire thesis) and to Emily Raboteau for enthusiastic support and productive conversation in person and online. Much appreciated. Thanks to all my interviewees in Ethiopia and beyond; Rastafari, habesha, and otherwise, your ideas and insights have built this project. Big love and thanks to Dr. Sam and Cheryl Crow, two incredible individuals whose hospitality was beyond compare. Also, in Ethiopia, thank you to the incomparable Heruy Arefe-Aine, who introduced me to so many people and made me feel at home. Warmth and appreciation to Amanda Blewett—a conversation, cup of tea, and time with Killa always made things seem so much better. To Francis Falceto: thank you for your constant votes of confidence. Hohete Arefe-Aine also deserves appreciation for providing much-needed connections in the final stages of the manuscript. Also, thanks go to my research assistant Salamawit Kidane who was able to wade through archives and come out with exactly what I required. Aida Ashenafi, Kaleyesus Bekele, Tefere Ghedamu, and Terefe Worku also deserve credit for connecting me with many important individuals. Thank you to Habitat for Humanity International, without whom I would never have made my way to Ethiopia and subsequently fallen in >>

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information and linguistic ability. I would not have been able to write large sections of this book without Matt’s help and his amazing online Amharic dictionary project. His translations and conversations have been invaluable. He also deserves thanks for introducing me to Charlie Sutton, also a great resource. I also benefited greatly from the privilege of knowing Barry Chevannes. His constructive criticism was invaluable—as was his statement that a Ph.D. is a beginning, not an end. Thanks also to Jahlani Niaah and Michael Barnett of the University of the West Indies, and the entirety of the Institute of Caribbean Studies. You made me feel welcome as a postdoctoral scholar. Giulia Bonacci of the French Centre for Ethiopian Studies has also provided encouragement to me from the beginning and always made me feel this project was indeed of value. To the Crossroads Conference 2008 and its organizers, especially Sonjah Stanley Niaah: thank you for your invitation. The conference was a major turning point in my research. Great appreciation goes to my editor at NYU Press, Jennifer Hammer. Thank you for your insightful suggestions throughout the process and for helping me work through revisions that have enriched the text substationally. Anonymous reviewers of my book manuscript provided essential suggestions. Also, Dereje Feyissa and John Homiak were willing to sit with me and talk through some of the difficult elements, providing excellent guidance and resources. Michael Thompson designed a gorgeous cover. The Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada through the Doctoral Fellowships and Post Doctoral fellowships programs, as well as the Internal Granting Office at McGill, generously financed my studies and the travel necessary to do the research that eventually became this work. An earlier version of chapter 3 was published as “Space in and around Shashemene: Rastafari in Ethiopia,” in the collection Back to Africa (2012). An element of chapter 7 was published as “Water Development Projects and Cultural Citizenship: Rastafari Engagement with the Oromo in Shashamane, Ethiopia,” in Rastafari in the New Millennium (2012). An adapted version of chapter 2 was published in Ethiopian Images (2014), thanks to editor Felix Girke. And to Joshua Chamberlain—the final stages of this project were made all the better thanks to you.

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Introduction My Father’s Land

I was on my way to the town of Shashemene, about 250 kilometers south of Addis Ababa. Having worked in Jamaica, Shashemene was a place that I mostly had heard about in reggae songs. It was where I’d been told that Rastafari,1 who view Ethiopia as the Promised Land and themselves as Ethiopian, had developed a settlement on land provided to them by Emperor Haile Selassie I, who ruled the country from 1930 to 1974. At the time of my first visit, I had just finished volunteering with Habitat for Humanity on a project in Jimma, a town located in the west of the country. I had extended my plane ticket home with the idea of doing a bit of traveling. I thought it might be interesting to visit Shashemene and see the Rastafari town I had heard about. I had few further details. I sat at the back of the bus next to a young woman who introduced herself as Meskerem.2 After I said “yeqerta,” excusing myself for shimmying into the very last available space, she looked at me with a shocked look on her face. “Amarinya techeyalesh?” she asked, wanting to know if I spoke Amharic. I awkwardly told her that I had a little knowledge of the language: “Amarinya tenish tenish new yemechilew.” Delighted, we set up a bit of a “language trade” as the bus left Addis Ababa. It takes nearly six hours to make the journey to Shashemene, including a lunch stop in Ziway, a little more than halfway to the final destination. I had lunch with Meskerem and asked for kitfo. Kitfo is raw, spiced ground beef, tossed in spiced butter. Worried about my stomach, I sheepishly asked for it “leb leb” or half-cooked. Apparently, however, this was quite a brave decision for a ferenj. Meskerem laughed at my choice, and told me that she was happy that I’d want to eat the “national food” and would be willing to have it less than well done! Kitfo is a >>

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considered different from Ethiopians. Meskerem’s statement reflected back on her own sense of identity as Ethiopian. But the difference between the Rastafari and me is that I do not see myself as Ethiopian, unlike the Rastafari, who view Ethiopia as Zion and consider themselves to be Ethiopians. Clearly, however, Meskerem did not share this belief. We were all equally foreigners—ferenjoch. I began to wonder about Rastafari in Ethiopia. I had more questions. As an immigrant community, how do they fit in? How does the Ethiopian community treat the Rastafari community? What do Ethiopians think about this group of people who see their country as Zion? These questions ran through my mind as the bus got closer to Shashemene. Shashemene itself is a bustling town. The present population is 102,062,4 with just over a quarter living in the urban area of the town and the balance in the rural outskirts. Of the diverse cultures in Ethiopia, the ethnicity of Shashemene’s population is predominantly Oromo. However, as anthropologist Mesfin Getahun5 reports, members of ethnic Amhara, Gurage, and Wolaita are “numerically dominant,” with “Kombatta and Tigray” people accounting for a “significant percentage of the population” (2001, 269). A brand-new Orthodox church has been built on the outskirts, but there are also a number of other Orthodox churches and Protestant places of worship. Mosques are evident too, demonstrating the religious variety in the town. Though Ethiopians from various parts of the country move to Shashemene for economic reasons, there are no particular immigrant communities—no groups of ferenjoch.6 Save for one. About one kilometer away from the center of town, in an area called Melka Oda, lies a group of brightly colored buildings, painted in the red, green, and gold of the Ethiopian flag and featuring paintings of the conquering lion, symbol of Haile Selassie, the former emperor of Ethiopia. In this area there are restaurants where Caribbean food such as spicy curry goat or fried escoveitch fish can be had alongside the equally tropical rice and “peas” (kidney beans) and sweet potato pudding. Strains of reggae music can often be heard. This is the Rastafari part of town, known as the Jamaica sefer (meaning “area” or “neighborhood” in Amharic). Though this space has become known for its Rastafari inhabitants specifically, the land in this area was initially designated as a settlement for repatriated Africans in general. According

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Amharic: “Weraj!” My fellow passengers laughed at my use of the term and the bus slowed. I said goodbye to everyone I’d been sitting with, and I stepped down from the bus. Along with the Rastafari travelers and the other Ethiopian passengers, including Meskerem, I had reached my destination in Shashemene. Meskerem had returned home from Addis Ababa. For some time Rastafari settlers had been coming home to Shashemene to settle in Ethiopia, the country they believed to be their Promised Land. Perhaps the Rastafari on the bus felt they were coming home as well. But Meskerem’s disconnect from the Rastafari travelers demonstrated that when she thought of home, she did not think of a shared home with Rastafari. Her home is not their home. The Ethiopian government’s lack of official recognition seems to reflect this disconnect as well. At that moment, disembarking from the bus, I realize now that I had already begun thinking about what would ultimately become this book. I wanted to know more about the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari and how these two groups related to each other. Many travelers to Ethiopia, myself included, have been fascinated with the story of Rastafari, whose powerful belief system has led them to settle in this part of the world. Giulia Bonacci, who is both Rastafari and a historian of repatriation to Ethiopia, contextualizes Rastafari in a history of repatriate movements (such as to Sierra Leone and Liberia, as well as through the efforts of Marcus Garvey) in her book Exodus! L’histoire du retour des Rastafariens en Éthiopie (Exodus! The History of the Return of Rastafari to Ethiopia).9 Viewing Rastafari “returning” to Ethiopia as “heirs,” she delineates the trajectory of Caribbean peoples to Ethiopia and outlines the history of the Rastafari community in Shashemene. Although Bonacci’s work provides a strong, detailed, and thorough historical narrative, she herself has said, “We possess very little information on the real reactions of Ethiopians. A lot of rumours exist” (Mayer 2002).10 Political scientist Horace Campbell, in his book Rasta and Resistance, provides a brief description of Bob Marley’s visit to Shashemene, and how this visit led Marley to see repatriation as more of a symbolic attempt at refocusing (or repatriating) the mind to an understanding and valuation of Africa. Many songs on Marley’s album, Exodus (1977), especially the title track, deal both with the issue of mobilization for freedom as well as a

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My Father’s Land: Narration, Identity, and Citizenship Identity, historian Horst Möller writes, is constituted by collective memory—not only “real events” but also “myths and legends” (2007, 33). The way these real events, myths, and legends come to create collective memory is through stories, which are constructed from perceptions. This study of the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari takes as its starting point the value of listening to stories. These stories are what position the Rastafari repatriates as a case study that challenges and expands theories of immigration as well as discussions of relationships between continental and diaspora Africans. The title of this Introduction,“My Father’s Land,” references a reggae song by performer Sizzla Kalonji.12 His lyric “Leaving out of Babylon, going straight to my father’s land” tells a story: it demonstrates Rastafari desire for repatriation to Africa and Ethiopia. Babylon, the Rastafari name for the repressive West, is the biblical home of Sodom and Gomorrah. The Rastafari escape from the captivity of Babylon to come home to the Promised Land, the “father’s land” of Ethiopia. Rastafari have narrated a specific Ethiopian identity and having done so, they consider themselves to be Ethiopian citizens. Postcolonial literary scholar Edward Chamberlin suggests that our way of seeing or perceiving is based on what we see as true in the context of our lived experiences. This, he says, “is inseparable from the ways in which we imagine it” (2003, 2). In this way, through the statement “my father’s land,” what is important is what the speaker believes (or, in Chamberlin’s words, “imagines”) about his or her own homeland—informed by history, experience, and other people. These multiple narratives exist in Ethiopia, each coming together, overlapping, layering, connecting and disconnecting, helping to construct identities and a sense of citizenship. Rastafari, however, have their own narratives. The two sitting on the bus that day had their own reasons for getting to Shashemene and their own “imaginations” informing their identities. As Chamberlin writes, What Rastafarians have done is to make up a story—and I say this in high tribute—that will bring them back home while they wait for reality to catch up with their imaginations. It is an immensely powerful

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that is, in my experience, generally not denounced by Ethiopians—but he is understood to be the personification of God. Rastafari believe that Haile Selassie is not just divinely ordained, but divine. Each year on 23 July, Rastafari communities worldwide celebrate Haile Selassie’s birthday. In Shashemene, the date is commemorated with a large concert. Each performer to grace the stage declares the following: “God Bless Jesus Christ who came to us in the personality of His Majesty Haile Selassie. King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah.”13 The name “Rastafari” itself stems from Haile Selassie’s birth name of Tafari Makonnen Woldemikael. According to Ethiopian Orthodox Church tradition, Tafari was given another name at baptism: Haile Selassie. Ras is the Amharic word for a type of aristocrat, perhaps equivalent in English to a “prince” or “duke.” As an artistocrat, Tafari was Ras Tafari, hence the development of the term “Rastafari” and the use of “Ras” as a general honorific for Rastafari adherents. When he became emperor of Ethiopia on 2 November 1930, Tafari Mekonnen took his baptismal name as his regnal name. Alongside this baptismal name, which in Amharic means “power of the trinity,” and his title of “King of Kings, conquering lion of the tribe of Judah,” Haile Selassie connected his lineage to the biblical King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba’s son, Emperor Menelik I. One might call the crowning of Haile Selassie as emperor the climax of a perfect storm of elements that came together in Jamaica to create a new belief system. Combine the Christianity of the Church of England‒influenced colony of Jamaica, the burgeoning anticolonial movements occurring on the island, and the promotion of back to Africa ideas, and the result is Rastafari, a new, Afrocentric faith based in biblical Christianity. Ethiopia was the birthplace of prince Ras Tafari, but Jamaica was the birthplace of the Rastafari movement. Leonard Barrett, who wrote the first extensive study of the Rastafari faith, explains how, in the first part of the twentieth century, the combination of economic and political crises in Jamaica and the rise in Afrocentric belief systems as promoted by people like Marcus Garvey (and his Back to Africa philosophy) led to a belief in Haile Selassie’s reign as more than the continuation of Ethiopia’s monarchical government system: “A forgotten statement of Garvey . . . ‘Look to Africa for the crowning of a Black King; he shall be the

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of the earliest research on Rastafari, has written that Ethiopia’s importance arguably began the moment the Christian Bible was introduced into Jamaican society, in the eighteenth century. The oft-quoted verse, Psalms 68:31, looms large over all Ethiopianist thought: “Princes shall come out of Egypt; Ethiopia shall soon stretch out her hands unto God” (Simpson 1985, 286).16 References to Ethiopia in the Bible could potentially have held a “liberatory promise” from the moment the book entered the Jamaican consciousness. “[W]hen contrasted with the indignities of plantation bondage,” these mentions of Ethiopia “showed the black man in a dignified and humane light” (Shepperson, quoted in Chevannes 1994, 34). Here we see how Ethiopianism is not merely an interest in the history and narrative of the country, but a “philosophical orientation generally embodying notions of pan-Africanism and African liberation” (Yawney 1978, 87). Beyond simply being a nation-state, Ethiopia stands for freedom, liberty, and justice. Historian Fikru Gebrekidan (2005) demonstrates how Ethiopia has been viewed in this way by many groups in the African diaspora, one of them being Rastafari. Ethiopia’s status as the Holy Land was confirmed for Rastafari when Haile Selassie was crowned emperor on November 2, 1930. The November coronation is marked by Rastafari worldwide, and the fact that many world leaders attended the event and paid attention is viewed as testament to Haile Selassie’s power. Rastafari see the coronation of Haile Selassie I, King of Kings, Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah as the formal acknowledgment of the emperor’s messiah status, and his land of Ethiopia as Zion.

Thinking about Rastafari Thinking Though this work focuses on the Ethiopian view of the Rastafari movement, a basic overview of Rastafari thinking—especially with regard to their identity as Ethiopians—will ground further discussion. For Rastafari, establishing Haile Selassie as messiah and Ethiopia as the focal point in the quest for emancipation and redemption provides a possible answer to the postcolonial question of origins. When Barbadian poet Kamau Brathwaite writes in the persona of a “Rastaman” in the poem “Wings of a Dove,” he makes plain this empowered belief that

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Africa and Ethiopia are two “holy” places to most Jamaicans. Africa is often called Ethiopia—in fact, most Jamaicans confuse the two. This was true of the great lover of all things African—Marcus Garvey. To the Rastas, Ethiopia means that territory ruled by Haile Selassie, who is the God of the black people. It is through him that Blacks shall be removed from the far-flung places where they as Africans have been carried into slavery and, through repatriation, will be returned to their homeland. (1997, 268)

Ethiopia and Africa are, for Rastafari, often conflated. To refer to Ethiopia is to refer to Africa and vice versa. Ethiopia thus becomes a metonymic stand-in for the whole of the continent—it is the universal homeland for the African diaspora. The word Ethiopia comes from the Greek, meaning “the land of burnt faces.” This reflects the ancient reality in which anything south of Egypt was considered Ethiopia. But from the time of the birth of the Rastafari movement through to the present day, Ethiopia has been a country—one of the now fifty-four sovereign states existent in Africa. For Rastafari, however, Ethiopia and Africa remain synonymous. Jesuit priest Joseph Owens spent time living with Rastafari in Kingston. He further explains this concept: “Africa for the Rastas is not  .  .  .  the same as Africa for ‘society’ people.” By “‘society people,” Owens means non-Rastafari: “Even as regards the name the brethren [i.e., the Rastafari in Kingston] stand apart, since they consider the proper name for Africa to be Ethiopia. Such it was called in the Bible, and, they maintain, only those who have an interest in concealing the truth about the Promised Land will give it another name” (1976, 223). The view of Ethiopianism as being connected with pan-Africanism (the view expressed by Yawney 1978) through the pan-African ideals of Haile Selassie (who established the United States of Africa), also connects Ethiopianist thought with Africanist or Afrocentric thought. All this allows for what some might call a historical inconsistency as regards the Rastafari belief of Ethiopia as a homeland. It could certainly be argued that the African diaspora in Jamaica, the birthplace of Rastafari, should historically speaking call West Africa the homeland, given the history of the heinous trans-Atlantic slave trade. Tanzanian scholar Godfrey Mwakikagile postulates that the Rastafari connection with Ethiopia constitutes a denial of origins in West Africa and is a “reflection of an inferiority

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effect, Ethiopianism cannot be divided from work on race and raciality in the world: Ethiopia and Ethiopians serve, by analogy, to designate black people” (2007, 77).17 This point is underlined by the Ethiopian World Federation (EWF), founded in New York in 1937 by Dr. Melaku Bayen, Haile Selassie’s personal physician, alongside African Americans who supported Ethiopia during the Italian occupation. The EWF has grown to be a predominantly Rastafari organization, with representatives still functioning in Jamaica and Ethiopia, among other countries. According to the General Overview of the organization, the “major goal” of the organization is as follows: “The Ethiopian (meaning all black people), World (everywhere), Federation (autonomous groups working together), desiring to do all we can to restore the continent of Ethiopia-Africa to her former state of complete independence” (EWF 2008). By making this statement, the EWF attempts to establish the universal nature of the concept of Ethiopia and, also, the relationship between Ethiopia and Africa. An Ethiopianist focus therefore leads the EWF to suggest that work on the development of Ethiopia “effect[s] a social and economic betterment of the race everywhere” (ibid.). The EWF affirms that Ethiopianism is interested in the fight for social justice, equality, and economic betterment for members of the African diaspora. This is a collective project—a focus on unity: “all black people” and “autonomous groups working together.” But it is also a project with a direct connection to a specific place and a very specific piece of land in Shashemene, Ethiopia. Land is of both literal and symbolic importance. According to Chamberlin, a desire for land and a sense of home and/or origins is at the center of the colonial conflict between “us” and “them”18—a conflict that takes on multiple shapes and guises. Rastafari claim Ethiopia as a site of origins, a home. This claim is made regardless of the fact that by claiming Ethiopia as a home they might also be referring to the continent of Africa. A legacy of European colonialism, conflicts over land and the complete dispossession of much of Africa created, for diaspora Africans, a vacuum whereby “home,” and all the spiritual, cultural, and social meanings that the notion of “home” contains, was in multiple, varied ways destabilized, fragmented, and replaced by an external notion (or notions) of home. Ethiopia acts as a means of restabilizing and bringing together the fragments of identity, providing a common sense of origins.

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can make real the emancipation from mental slavery of which Bob Marley sings in his famous “Redemption Song.”22 This ideal can be seen in utopian sensibilities regarding the space that is Shashemene. Erskine writes, “Rastas seek in their living to preserve a rhythm between themselves and nature” (2005, 91). Life in Shashemene allows Rastafari living there to denounce oppressive Babylon and embrace what is often referred to as “I-and-I consciousness.” This Rastafari philosophy embraces oneness with all living things—there is no hierarchy: “There is no individual, no super Rasta man who is able to impose his will on organizations and groups” (91). Members of the Nyabinghi, Bobo Ashanti, and Twelve Tribes of Israel sects (referred to as “mansions”) of Rastafari till the soil and live off the land in Ethiopia, existing in communion with each other and with nature: an agrarian, subsistence lifestyle is possible in Shashemene. This suggests the possibility of an idyllic lifestyle for the few hundred inhabitants of the Rastafari community. Though the first repatriates settled in Shashemene, Rastafari have expanded to other parts of Ethiopia. There are Rastafari who live in the capital city, Addis Ababa, as well as in certain areas in the north of the country, specifically the city of Bahir Dar. However, due to the history of the emperor’s land grant, Shashemene is of particular importance and contains the largest population of Rastafari. The problem, however, is that all that has been described above demonstrates that Rastafari themselves have a very specific view of Ethiopia/Africa. They see Ethiopia as homeland, as a liberatory space, a place in which “there is no hierarchy,” in which all are equal and unified. The dream of an actual place—a material piece of land that provides the opportunity to exit the racist, classist Babylon system—is provided by the existence of Shashemene. And Ethiopianism provides a mental space of acceptance alongside a unified, coherent sense of Ethiopian identity that can be taken on by the repatriates themselves. Yet, as an immigrant group, Rastafari are challenged by the reality of Ethiopia and the perceptions of Ethiopia’s people.

Migration and Diaspora In deciding on an approach to analyzing the Ethiopian perception of the Rastafari movement, it makes sense to start by thinking about issues

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economic self-interest in the face of an incoming labor force (Fetzer 2000, 13). Interestingly, however, Rastafari are often more wealthy than many Ethiopians and are viewed as potential business owners and development workers. Whereas this situation puts Rastafari in the position of foreigners—whether as investors or humanitarian workers—it gives them the opportunity to offer jobs and aid to the Ethiopian communities in which they live. Rather than entering the country as an incoming flood of workers competiting for Ethiopian jobs, Rastafari offer the potential of new businesses and programs—that is, they open up new possibilities rather than posing a threat. Additionally, Rastafari do not choose, either as individuals or as groups, to come to Ethiopia on account of the country’s economic potential. As we have seen, the reasons for their moving out of Babylon and coming to the Promised Land of Ethiopia are based in a belief system that helps them construct an identity of being Ethiopian. The Rastafari sense of already being citizens of, rather than immigrants to, the host society also causes them to challenge some of the assumptions made by theories of immigration. In the Rastafari context within Ethiopia, psychologist John W. Berry’s influential model of acculturation for immigrants seems to be a difficult fit (1980, 1997). Berry’s argument that immigrants confront a dilemma in balancing their traditional culture with the new culture of the host country is complicated by the Rastafari belief that their culture is that of Ethiopia. And then, further complicating the issue is the fact that Ethiopian identity is a variable and contested concept. This being said, there are instances where the Ethiopian perception of and attitudes toward Rastafari are in keeping with those of the Western, multicultural societies discussed in the literature on acculturation and immigration. Specifically, Ethiopians do feel a sense of threat to their culture and values in the face of Rastafari and make a great many assumptions about this incoming population. Thus, integrated threat theory, which postulates that host societies perceive threats from the immigrant community—realistic and symbolic (Van Oudenhoven et al. 2006, 644)—can help to explain some of the worries that Ethiopians have about Rastafari. Contact theories suggest that these perceived threats can be resolved through personal interaction with immigrants (Fetzer 2000, 15). The Rastafari settlement in Shashemene therefore

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“illusions” (Bly 1985, 129).26 Elliot Skinner asks for the “restoration of African identity for a new millennium” (1999, 28). In the contemporary Rastafari community located in Ethiopia, we have an example of attempts at such “restoration,” described and historically recorded in Bonacci’s work. But the response of the surrounding community has yet to be explored. With the relationship between Rastafari and Ethiopia, we have an opportunity to analyze a negotiation. Key to the construction of Ethiopian identity (or identities) is Ethiopia’s status as a historically independent nation, positioned as unique amongst African nations and disconnected from the European colonial project. Rastafari negotiate between an imagined, idealized, anticipated Ethiopia and the lived experience of life there. Paul Tiyambe Zeleza writes that “[t]he challenges of mapping out the dispersals of African peoples over the last millennia are truly daunting. Also extremely difficult to delineate are the changing engagements between these diasporas and Africa” (2005, 63). Understanding the great challenges, I hope through this book to engage with these “changing engagements” and contribute to the field of diaspora studies interested in intersections between indigenous and diaspora Africans, in this case between Ethiopians and Rastafari.

The Book This book is based on intensive fieldwork in Ethiopia between 2007 and 2008, as well as a number of shorter periods from 2004 to 2013, and explores the Ethiopian perception of the Rastafari movement as well as the Ethiopian engagement with Rastafari culture and vice versa. In terms of the scholarship on Rastafari, there is an obvious gap in the research. There is little explanation or discussion of how Ethiopians perceive Rastafari. The interplay between Ethiopians and Rastafari has yet to be fully investigated. Most studies of Rastafari discuss the reasons for and philosophy of repatriation, as well as the sense of what Ethiopia symbolizes, but they do not explore the reality of what happens after repatriation. These studies examine the contribution of Ethiopianism to the development of the movement, its philosophy, and worldview (Owens 1976; Chevannes 1994; Barrett 1997; Erskine 2005), but not Rastafari settlement in

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Rastafari community in Ethiopia. In so doing, it provides insight into the ways in which migration and claims of citizenship can challenge narratives of cultural and national identity. The relationship between the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari and Rastafari attempts to belong in Ethiopia reflect the wider reality of identity negotiation between immigrant and host community, African diaspora and Africa, historical narrative and present reality, among other factors. This being said, the Rastafari case differs fundamentally from most research on attitudes toward immigration and thus sheds light on the need to address the perceptions of the host community. For scholars of immigration, this book offers an opportunity to explore multiple migratory experiences. The ways in which Rastafari see themselves versus the ways they are seen means that this book is as much a study about immigration as it is about a diaspora return home. It also offers an analysis of south-south migration, movement that is becoming increasingly common. It provides a new and unique perspective on migration and the relationship between migrants and their host countries as well as diaspora and home. This study deals with a group of migrants to a non-Western nation, while most studies deal with Western nations (see Fetzer 2000). Moreover, Rastafari enter Ethiopia with a particular understanding of the country and their own sense of Ethiopianness and homecoming that is very different from the outlook of most immigrants to a new land. In the minds of Rastafari, they are not immigrants but Ethiopians returning home. This self-perception of being Ethiopian meets a population which for the most part does not acknowledge their Ethiopianness. Indeed, the Rastafari understanding of Ethiopianness is very different from an Ethiopian understanding of Ethiopia and Ethiopianness. I argue that this disjuncture is based on different narratives of the postcolonial Rastafari versus the noncolonial Ethiopian and how they come to communicate and dialogue with each other. For Rastafari, Ethiopia is the utopian Promised Land. Rastafari consider themselves Ethiopians. This singular self-definition is challenged by the reality of Ethiopia as an incredibly diverse and contested nation-state. The data that informs this study of the relationship between Rastafari and Ethiopians was collected largely within Ethiopia. I formally interviewed over ninety people, primarily in Shashemene. These individuals

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citizenship inform this work, helping to explain how Rastafari initiatives work toward acceptance in the eyes of everyday Ethiopians as well as the Ethiopian state. There is a large variety of both reactions and perceptions to Rastafari in Ethiopia, which provide a commentary on narratives of identity, nationality, and citizenship. This investigation into the relationship between Ethiopians and Rastafari ultimately presents a case study of multiple narratives of meaning coming together, both conflicting and negotiating with one another. While this relationship may be based on historical narratives, it also reflects the contemporary stories that the Ethiopians tell about Rastafari. In addition to providing an analysis of the specific context of the Ethiopian perception of repatriate Rastafari and the Rastafari movement, this book offers insights into the dynamics of immigrant/host relationships and the conceptualization of citizenship—be it a political claim for representation or a cultural claim for acceptance. Diaspora is a concept that is negotiated—who is defined as diaspora and who engages in this act of definition? The book illustrates how notions of citizenship, identity, and belonging develop, how the pan-African diaspora relates to the continent of Africa, how immigrants are perceived within a country more accustomed to outward migration, and how the reality of repatriation impacts both the repatriates and the host population of the country they wish to settle. This book expands the current literature on immigration by presenting a case study of a unique relationship between immigrants and a host society, and by engaging in a conversation about perception and immigration as well as pan-Africanism, identity, and citizenship. Looking into what happens when the Rastafari pan-African worldview and sense of repatriate identity meets Ethiopia and both the historic and contemporary reality of what it means to be Ethiopian allows for an analysis of how different communities navigate the notion of citizenship and the dynamic nature of the concept.

Outline of the Chapters Chapter 1 looks at how Ethiopia challenges the Rastafari perspective on Ethiopian identity. It begins to frame an analysis of the relationship between the way Rastafari view the meaning of Ethiopianness compared

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themselves deal with their lack of integration, in particular their lack of political recognition and right to citizenship. Rastafari have harnessed the potential of grassroots development initiatives. Acting as development workers within Ethiopia, Rastafari demonstrate how further integration into Ethiopian society may be achieved. Unlike traditional development workers who stay an average of one or two years, Rastafari wish to settle in Ethiopia. They have founded NGOs in Shashemene, established development initiatives, and opened hotels and businesses. This chapter confronts the fundamental obstacle confronting the Rastafari population, namely, their nonrecognition as citizens regardless of how long they have been living in Ethiopia. At present, the laws of Ethiopia do not allow for such recognition; there is simply no official policy on Rastafari and citizenship in Ethiopia. The challenge, therefore, is not only to find a way to negotiate such recognition, but also to recognize diverse conceptions of national identity—yet another negotiation. By looking at projects and initiatives undertaken by different groups of Rastafari, it becomes evident that citizenship, though officially denied to the Rastafari population, might be culturally within their grasp. Investment and development are part of the Ethiopian government’s model for the country. Chapters 6 and 7 provide a framework for understanding the potential for connection between Rastafari and the surrounding community as well as presenting matters for further investigation into Rastafari humanitarian and business projects and plans for future integration into the community in Shashemene and Ethiopia in general. Chapter 7 takes a specific look at recent strategies for citizenship and acceptance. Finally, the Conclusion discusses the resonance of Ethiopian and Rastafari experiences with regard to wider issues of immigration, integration, and identity. This volume, as the first in-depth investigation into the impact, role, and perception of Rastafari within Ethiopian society, offers those who study the movement a broader understanding of the implications of repatriation. Repatriation is a powerful theme that runs throughout the history of the Rastafari experience as well as in Rastafari thought and praxis. This book provides another piece to the puzzle. It not only can help increase our understanding of the global reach of Rastafari, but can also aid individual Rastafari wishing to make the move to Ethiopia by presenting repatriation as a process of negotiation between

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Note on Method: Situatedness and Shashemene I am making daily experiments now and I find I am able to take passing horses at a lively trot square across the line of fire . . . spokes well defined— some blur on top but sharp in the main . . . please notice when you get the specimens that they were made with the lens wide open and many of the best exposed when my horse was in motion. (Ondaatje 1991, 5)

I have visited Ethiopia thirteen times for periods as short as one month and as long as six. As an interdisciplinary scholar, I have drawn from numerous approaches in order to discern and discuss Ethiopian opinions of Rastafari. My educational background in literature, communications, and cultural studies has led me to collect oral narratives as well as written documentation; I have also engaged in ethnographic experiences in the collection of data. During my research, I spent four months teaching at a local college in Shashemene and speaking with members of the Ethiopian community in Shashemene as well as additional informants. I engaged in interviews with Ethiopians and Rastafari, both in Shashemene and Addis Ababa. The interview process involved my providing questions to the interviewees, which were translated into Amharic or Afaan Oromoo or conveyed in the original English. I obtained release forms approved by the Research Ethics Board at McGill University, and made sure that all interviewees signed these documents after I had explained my project as clearly as I possibly could. Some interviewees requested confidentiality. I have tried to provide for that here, understanding that sometimes anonymity within one’s own community is difficult to achieve. This point was made to interviewees. In addition, I did research at the Institute for Ethiopian Studies at Addis Ababa University, and along with my research assistant Salamawit Kidane, gathered media coverage. Though my research was based primarily on data collection, including collecting documents and conducting interviews, I involved myself in participant observation by working alongside teachers at the college, attending various college-related events and Rastafari gatherings. I also volunteered as a kindergarten teacher at a local NGO’s school. Being in Shashemene for an extended period also allowed me to gather both observations and experiences, often of everyday life and the daily

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for me being there, I did not have to deal with the assumption that I was in Shashemene as a tourist, and therefore only interested in the town’s unique Rastafari population. This made interviewing Ethiopians very easy, as they saw me as disconnected from Rastafari. The staff at the Habitat Office were aware of my research interests. They knew that I planned to spend an extended period of time in the country, specifically in Shashemene. But when I began the ethnographic experience, I felt like I was entering new territory. Although I knew a number of people in Shashemene and the surrounding communities, my identity was no longer that of development worker or volunteer, but that of a researcher. Instead of having a specific material project such as a housing development or water and sanitation initiative, I had to explain the intellectual project on which I had embarked. I have a working knowledge of Amharic, but I was not competent enough to deal with the complexity of ideas and perceptions. I worked with a translator, Genene Tasew, a local teacher and business owner whom I had come to know very well over a period of three years before I began interviewing for my research. I had explained my project numerous times and we discussed the research often, so he had a good idea of the reasons for the types of questions I was asking. I cannot deny that the language barrier played a role, but I attempted to speak Amharic to the best of my ability. My work as an English teacher meant that many people wanted to be interviewed in English as a means of practicing the language. Some of these interviews were less valuable than others. I interviewed as many people as possible so as to gauge when they were trying to provide answers they thought I would want to hear—sometimes verbally doubting themselves as having anything important to say—as opposed to simply answering questions. As Amit writes, “ethnographic field workers [exploit] intimacy as an investigative tool” (2000, 3). Given my initial work in Ethiopia with and for an NGO, I developed close relationships with various people who became, for research purposes, “informants.” I recognize that participant observation is “uneasily perched on the precipice between the inherent instrumentalism of this as of any research enterprise and the more complex and rounded social associations afforded by this particular method” (Amit 2000, 3). The personal and the professional are therefore very close here. Certainly, I do not expect to completely

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may have shifted, so I make no claim of a static evaluation of Ethiopian perception. I emphasize my positionality and my experience as I entered into this research project. I make no claims to completeness, and I understand the limitations of my experiences. As cultural studies scholar Keya Ganguly writes, “our accounts of the world (as well as ourselves) are inherently incomplete interpretations, rather than unmediated descriptions of the ‘really’ real” (1992, 61; emphasis in the original). I do, however, feel that what I have done here is, as Ondaatje writes in his introduction to The Collected Works of Billy the Kid, a book which attempts to describe the identity of the famous outlaw, to delve into multiple perceptions and layered experiences. The resulting “photograph” has “some blur,” but is “sharp in the main.” This is my aim: looking at as many perspectives as possible, recognizing that there will always be blur, but that I may provide the first steps toward a general portrait of the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari. I recognize that this book may be received by a diverse readership ranging from academics in fields as disparate as diaspora studies and African history to those with a general interest in Rastafari and/or Ethiopia. Dealing with perceptions means dealing with as wide a range of narratives as possible. I hope that in my desire to present the Ethiopian view of Rastafari I have remained thoughtful, been respectful of my research participants, and avoided simple generalizations. This will continue to be a work in progress, based on the reality of the topic and the changing, layered, complex notion of identity, especially within Ethiopia. I have therefore aimed to keep my “lens wide open” and acknowledge that the “best exposed” take into account “motion”—the dynamic nature of Ethiopia, Ethiopianness, and Ethiopians, who have experienced so much change and adaptation even within the last half-century.

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1 Ethiopianness

Contemporary tourists traveling through Ethiopia are shocked by how different each part of the country can be. The mountainous north, with its near-homogenous Orthodox residents, some Amhara and speaking Amharic, some Tigray and speaking Tigrinya, many dressed in the traditional white, scarflike gabis and natalas, could not appear more different than the hot, desert area of Harar, in the east of the country, with its predominantly Muslim population, including Oromo women in extraordinarily bright-colored clothing. And this is a contrast between just two different areas of Ethiopia. The forms of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism in Ethiopia possess elements specific to the country. Cultural variation from Hamer people in the south, specifically the Omo Valley, whose cow-jumping ceremony and intricate beaded clothing have fascinated anthropologists and tourists alike, contrasts with the northern nomadic Afar and the western Nuer, known for intricate facial scarification. The Ethnographic Museum of Ethiopia, located in Addis Ababa University, has an exhibit of the different cultures in the country. Walking through the exhibition is overwhelming—there are simply so many ethnic groups with myriad and varied cultural practices—some populations numbering in the hundreds, others in the millions, but all within Ethiopia. It is difficult to develop any coherent sense of what might be called “Ethiopianness” or Ethiopian identity within Ethiopia. What does it mean to be Ethiopian? For Rastafari, as we have seen, Ethiopia provides a space for unity amongst black peoples. The Ethiopian view (or rather views) of what it means to be Ethiopian is very different from the way Rastafari see the very same thing. Whereas the Rastafari view of what it means to be Ethiopian is based on an imperial narrative, this is but one of the huge variety of identity-informing narratives in the country. >>

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(2005, 29). It was a decisive victory which still stands as one of the most important examples of the resistance to European colonialism. Demonstrating this point, political scientists Paulos Milkias and Getachew Metaferia begin their edited collection about Adwa as follows: If Adwa holds a significant place in Africa’s history, it is because its meanings overflow the social and political conditions that made it possible and go beyond any relevance to its initial circumstances. The success at Adwa throws light on the normative dimensions of Ethiopian civilization; it challenges the demeaning Western conception of African cultures; it demonstrates that being targeted for colonization is not a prelude to fatality and that colonialism can be defeated; and, to Africans, it poses new political questions and sets novel historical tasks. (2005, 5)

According to Paulos and Getachew, Ethiopia’s triumph at Adwa demonstrated that the country—and perhaps Africa as a whole—need not accept colonialism: “colonialism can be defeated.” Ethiopia fought for and maintained its independence, eliminating the possibility of foreign intervention throughout the twentieth century. The country resisted Italy’s second attempt at colonialism, an invasion followed by only five years of occupation between 1936 and 1941.1 In a significant way, this series of historical events has placed the country in a space removed (but not necessarily separate) from the colonial and postcolonial struggles and narratives of other African nations. By postcolonial struggle, I mean the struggle against European colonial rule. Other alternate colonial narratives function in Ethiopia. Just as Adwa “poses new political questions” and “sets novel historical tasks,” I postulate that Ethiopia itself poses questions about traditional paradigms that have shaped theories of the citizen, the nation, and nationalism. The country presents a difficult task in trying to think about these very issues. The difficulty of speaking about Ethiopianness and/or Ethiopian identity seems to stem from this so-called “novel” nature of the country. Concepts that have been challenged in terms of a discussion of nationalism in the West are further complicated and challenged by the case that is Ethiopia. Ethiopian identity is and has always been contested, especially as the country has experienced three very different styles of government and nation building during the last hundred

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apparent to all and inscribed upon geographical surfaces, to a more open series of interactions drawing upon partially shared and intersecting ‘ethnoscapes’ of the imagination” (2002a, 2). Donham’s reference is to fellow anthropologist Arjun Appadurai’s idea of “ethnoscapes” in that Ethiopia is a site of multiple connections among different groups that are not necessarily connected to a particular space. Appadurai utilizes this term in order to acknowledge “the changing social, territorial, and cultural reproduction of group identity  .  .  .  groups are no longer tightly territorialized, spatially bounded, historically unselfconscious, or culturally homogeneous . . . the ethnoscapes of today’s world are profoundly interactive” (2003, 48). The identification of certain ethnicities is difficult, as is a definition of Ethiopia and Ethiopianness for exactly the reasons Appadurai presents. Whereas previous Ethiopian governments tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to insist upon specific boundaries, in the recent past these boundaries have changed frequently and their rationale has on each occasion been contested, thus underlining the “profoundly interactive” and “changing” nature of Ethiopian identity. Historian Donald N. Levine describes the historical development of the country known today as Ethiopia, tracking thousands of years of history and discussing the ways in which disparate ethnic groups have come together and separated over time to produce a nation that is, in the words of linguist Abraham Demoz, “the despair of the compulsive classifier” (quoted in Levine 1974, 33). Levine’s work details relationships among various ethnicities throughout the history of that part of Africa now called Ethiopia. In attempting to organize these groups (which, as mentioned above, exceed eighty in number), Levine admits that he must “abstain from any one principle of classification,” opting instead for a “flexible approach” (1974, 33). He cannot find any way in which to definitively divide the population of Ethiopia into clear sections. The resulting chart and map that appear in his book are full of intersecting arrows pointing in various directions, connecting various groups of people to other peoples, not to mention the overlapping of numerous geographical areas. It’s a confusing web of information that is hard to decode, understand, or appreciate. But this is the reality of Ethiopia. It is difficult to comprehend exactly and clearly what constitutes an Ethiopian—what does it mean to say, “I am Ethiopian”? To ask this question is not to fall into the trap of

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the lingua franca. This “Amharization” was a policy of the communist Dergue regime, “inherited from the Imperial regime” (Hammond 2002, 104). The establishment of ethnic regions could be seen as destabilizing this policy. The 1995 Constitution of the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia states that although “Amharic shall be the working language of the Federal Government,” “[a]ll Ethiopian languages shall enjoy equal state recognition” and “[m]embers of the federation may by law determine their respective working languages” (78). Language, along with other factors such as ethnicity and geographic location, has long been one of the many constituents of Ethiopian identity.

Haile Selassie and Amharization Political scientist and noted Ethiopianist Edmond Keller writes that under Haile Selassie there was an attempt “to create the myth of a multiethnic but unified nation-state whose citizens viewed their ‘Ethiopian’ national identity as the most important socio-political category” (1998, 109). Haile Selassie identified with the Amhara ethnic identity and Orthodox Christian religious faith, so this specific ethnic identity and religion were the blueprint for a broader Ethiopian character. To this end, Haile Selassie’s government “conscientiously avoided any reference to ethnic, linguistic or religious diversity and eschewed mentioning such matters in official documents” (110). Because Haile Selassie was the first to develop a constitution for Ethiopia, this lack of reference to diversity is of special importance. By avoiding the issue of Ethiopia’s ethnic diversity in this, the initial constitution, Haile Selassie makes a strong statement about his desire for a cohesive Ethiopian identity. The 1931 Ethiopian Constitution establishes a specific notion of Ethiopianness, thus defined by the imperial government. Also, the 1931 Constitution was based on Japan’s Meiji Constitution of 1889. For Haile Selassie, “the constitution was an instrument of centralization . . . such centralization was necessary for national unity and effective modernization” (Clarke 2004, 40). Looking to Japan, the socalled “Japanizers” in Ethiopia saw a successful society with a feudal system under an emperor. This was, of course, attractive to the imperial government of Ethiopia. Also, the fact that Haile Selassie chose to model the first constitution on that of a far more homogeneous state

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prime minister until 15 September 2012, when the party elected him chair of the EPRDF and de facto prime minister. However, it wasn’t until Meles’s government transitioned from the Dergue regime to a new form of government that the Ethiopian framework altered significantly through the institution of (some would say controversial) ethnic regions. This altered any sense of ethnic as well as Ethiopian identity. The changes instituted by the EPRDF government could not help but have an impact on Ethiopianness. The EPRDF replaced thirteen provincial regions with nine new regions that are directly associated with ethnicity. However, the capital of Addis Ababa was designated a multiethnic region unto itself and Dire Dawa, the second most populous city, also constitutes its own region. Benishangul Gumuz and SNNPR (Southern Nations, Nationalities and People’s Region) are also multiethnic regions, whereas Tigray, Afar, Amhara, Harari, Somali, and Oromia are all regions of a single ethnicity, as denoted by the regions’ names. This does not bear out as cleanly as the descriptions suggest, as Shashemene, the town in which the majority of Rastafari live, demonstrates. The town is located in Oromia and has a majority Oromo poulation, but is multiethnic. The Wolaita, Kombatta, Gurage, Amhara, Harari, and Oromo people, among others, together create a multicultural reality. Rastafari are simply yet another group in the spectrum of the town’s inhabitants. What is the result of ethnic federalism? Henze points to “serious questions” regarding “the working of an administrative system based on ethnic structuralism and decentralization. Will minority rights be respected and minorities protected? How will leaders of ethnic states be kept from creating self-perpetuating oligarchies?” (2000, 341). In asking these questions there is an obvious concern with the way ethnicity functions in Ethiopia. Reporting for the United States Institute of Peace, Henze described a country with sixty-three, mostly “ethnically based” (1995a, 33) political parties active by 1992, one year after the shift to EPRDF rule. “Emphasis on ethnicity has caused widespread unease among professionals, technocrats, and the old elite as well as among some ethnic groups themselves,” he wrote (33). Ethnic regions “can serve as a basis for regional development initiatives” (Henze 1995b, 4) inasmuch as they allow for a more localized focus—because the regional government has control or jurisdiction

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challenges to a sense of Ethiopian sovereignty. The Oromo question, however, has bearing on the case at hand, in that Shashemene is located in Oromia. Under the ethnic federalist government of the EPRDF, this is the Oromo nation. With the transition from the Dergue government and the advent of ethnic regions, the issue of Oromo nationalism has, as Barnes notes, gained ground. Though the Oromo are the most populous ethnic group in Ethiopia, the Oromo people have never held the seat of power in the country. However, nationalist sentiment among ethnic and/or cultural groups such as the Oromo did not begin with the fall of the Dergue and the rise of the EPRDF. Under the king, “Ethiopian identity was at a fundamental level based in the Amhara language and Ethiopian Orthodox religion” (Keller 1998, 111). Given the political dominance of the Amhara during the monarchy the sense of Oromo (or other ethnic groups’) alienation from power is nothing new. Indeed, a complex hierarchy of ethnicity existed even before Haile Selassie. But, as mentioned above, it was during the time of this emperor that this became a problem in the twentieth century. The new government, however, has been subject to much criticism on account of its handling of the contentious issue of ethnicity and power. Critic of the EPRDF Kahsay Berhe speaks from experience, having been a part of the present government at its formation and being disenchanted with it thereafter. Kahsay analyses the way in which the new government has dealt with the relationship between ethnicity and access to or alienation from the power structure in Ethiopia. In his Ethiopia: Democratization and Unity, a work about the rise of the TPLF and the transition from the military Dergue regime to the present government of Ethiopia, Kahsay discusses the nature of the Ethiopian state since the precolonial period. “In pre-colonial Africa,” he writes, “the common political entities were multiethnic empires. It is almost certain that a normal development of African nations into nation-states has been disturbed by the intervention of European colonists” (2005, 145). Ethiopia, as a “multinational” (145) entity, reflects the more recent reality of contemporary Western nations such as Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom, but also many other countries. As Kahsay writes, “today, the overwhelming majority of states in the world are multiethnic” (146). In Ethiopia and Africa in general, this has always been the case. The contestation among ethnic groups is part

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African country to have remained uncolonized: “Unlike . . . others that were later overrun by alien and destructive forces, Ethiopia maintained its brand of African civilization intact” (1996, 414). Tibebu then goes on to describe how this status, when viewed through the lens of Western Ethiopianist thought, caused Ethiopia to be separated from the rest of Africa, “systematically de-Africanized in the annals of Western high culture” (428). Ethiopia was, and to an extent still is, seen as being in Africa but not of Africa as a result of racist colonial thinking that viewed Ethiopia’s independence as an indication of a separate and superior society. Tibebu, for his part, argues that Ethiopian history should be “studied afresh. . . . A political economy approach to Ethiopian history, within the larger cosmos of African history, can be an alternative paradigm” (428). Herein lies the concept of Ethiopian exceptionalism. This idea arose numerous times in my research, particularly during an interview with Abiyi Ford,5 a professor at Addis Ababa University and former dean of the School of Journalism and Communications. Ford, who describes himself as “African by heritage and Barbadian by parentage, Ethiopian by birth, British by registration, American by naturalization and Ethiopian by repatriation,” represents a perspective on Ethiopianness based not only on his layered, multiple identities, but also on having lived in Ethiopia for many years—his parents were some of the first Garveyite settlers in the country. Speaking of the victory at Adwa, Ford provides the following explanation for exceptionalism: Right after the battle of Adwa, this was problematic for the European psyche as well. How can a major European force be defeated by a bunch of savages? That cannot be. Well, it’s because these are not really savages, these are sub-divisions of the Caucasoid race; this is why they were able to do this. And so the notion of Ethiopia being in Africa, but not of Africa, the land of Prester John,6 surrounded by a sea of Islam, Ethiopians lay dormant for centuries oblivious to their surroundings, Ethiopia not having anything to do with black Africa, etc. was a resurgence of literature along those lines. Ethiopians are not Negroes, they’re not Negroid, they’re not this, they’re different, some are Semitic.7  .  .  .  And this was picked up very, very effectively by the Ethiopians in high quarters and this is, in fact, post-Menelik literally that this became very, very strong. . . . A lot of scholars wrote in that sense. And they were people

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over the centuries the Oromo people have been colonized by Ethiopia—and by this he means highland peoples: the Amhara primarily and then the Tigray people. This colonialism is directly connected with the narrative of European colonialism. As he writes, “Ethiopian colonialism and world imperialism in collaboration have repressed the autonomous social development of Oromo society” (1998, 32). In this statement, Asafa is conflating the Oromo experience with that of colonized peoples worldwide. Continuing in this vein, Asafa insists that “[t]hose nations that were colonized and lost their political and cultural power could not use their accumulated past until they began their national liberation struggles. . . . Oromos refuted the ideologies of colonialism and cultural universalism” (32–33). Here again we see the connection between the Oromo and other colonized peoples, outlining a similar loss of power and declaring the need for resistance and struggle. Asafa also addresses the issue of Ethiopian exceptionalism in a 2008 article (Jalata 2008b) titled “Being In and Out of Africa.” However, unlike Tibebu Teshale, who describes Ethiopia as having been “systematically de-Africanized in the annals of Western high culture,” Asafa sees a “duality inherent in the concept of Ethiopianism.” He describes it as shift[ing] back and forth between claims of a “Semitic” identity when appealing to the White, Christian, ethnocentric, occidental hegemonic power center and claims of an African identity when cultivating the support of Sub-Saharan Africans and the African diaspora while, at the same time, ruthlessly suppressing the history and culture of non-Semitic Africans of the various colonized peoples, such as Oromos. (189)

Asafa, who is an activist as well as an academic,9 views Ethiopians as “suppres[sing] their Africanness or Blackness,” but blames “successive Ethiopian state elites” such as Emperor Haile Selassie, Mengistu Hailemariam, and Meles Zenawi, who “have used their Blackness to mobilize other Africans and the African diaspora for their political projects by confusing original Africa, Ethiopia, or the Black world with contemporary Ethiopia (former Abyssinia) and at the same time have allied with Euro-American powers” (ibid.). However, just as Asafa points to the inconsistencies in and inaccuracies of the so-called “Ethiopianist” discourse that seems to favor the

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percent of the survey respondents wished to be identified as Ethiopian rather than by any ethnic group identification (40). There is a tension, however, as respondents acknowledged an amount of “social pressure to have a specific ethnic affiliation (identity)” (4). Thus, even though there is a desire to connect with an overarching concept of Ethiopianness, the importance of ethnic identity is apparent.

Class and Ethiopianness In addition to this discussion of ethnicity, other factors also come into play. As Fikru Gebrekidan says, “it seems that in Ethiopia, class tends to trump race and ethnicity” (personal conversation, 2009). Class has certainly been an issue in a country where feudalism existed until 1974. Though Haile Selassie is viewed as a unifier, he “presided over a modernizing feudal kingdom” (Milkias 2006, xvii) with claim to roots in “the 3,000-year-old dynasty of the legendary Queen of Sheba and King Solomon” (xvii). Until the Ethiopian revolution that led to the establishment of the Dergue government, this ideological claim went unchallenged in the country. However, even at that time the large number of Ethiopians who had been abroad complicated the issue of Ethiopian identity. These numbers have increased with each passing decade, thereby further complicating the matter. These individuals have the resources to be able to travel abroad. Back in 1969, in a two-part article for the Addis Reporter, Gedamu Abraha and Solomon Deressa described the difficult situation in which a number of more privileged Ethiopians were caught between the modern and the traditional. This adds another layer to Ethiopian identity beyond that of multiethnicity. As Gedamu and Solomon put it, the 1960s, under Haile Selassie, “[were] a period of tension—the tension of the transitional situation” (“Part 1,” 13). Viewing these individuals as existing “in the dual world of ascriptive behaviour and achievement-oriented style of life” (“Part 2,” 11), Gedamu and Solomon suggest that they were (and perhaps are still) working to integrate different “value systems” (“Part 2,” 12). These upper-class individuals—city-dwellers who have opportunities to connect with a world beyond Ethiopia—“belong to no community . . . and possess nothing of [their] own” (“Part 2,” 12). It is interesting that Gedamu and Solomon viewed these individuals as “lost” and

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no predetermined way to arrive at some sort of balance or equilibrium. The levels of identity continue to grow and be complicated by the reality of Ethiopia. From this brief description of issues relating to Ethiopian identity and Ethiopianness, it is evident that the Ethiopian public does not present a coherent sense of what it means to be Ethiopian either to itself or to the outsider. When investigating and discussing the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari, it is important to keep this fact in mind. The Ethiopian sensibility is that identity is multifaceted. Even when Ethiopians attempt national identity formation—as the imperial government did through feudal means or the Dergue government through insistence on communist principles—their effort is undermined by other elements of the Ethiopian experience. To understand how this situation might intersect with the Rastafari sense of identity, theories of nation and nationalism become useful. These are ways in which the so-called postcolonial world deals with nation and nationality, and Rastafari come from this world.

Nation and Nationalism: Theories from the West, Applications in Ethiopia Sociologist Craig Calhoun begins the first chapter of Nations Matter: Culture, History, and the Cosmopolitan Dream by stating that In the wake of 1989 [i.e., the fall of communism] . . . [m]any embraced an ideal of cosmopolitan democracy. That is, they embraced not just cosmopolitan tastes for cultural diversity . . . ; not just the notion of hybridity with its emphasis on porous boundaries and capacious, complex identities; and not just cosmopolitan ethics emphasizing the obligations of each to all around the world. They embraced also the notion that the globe could readily be a polis, and humanity at large organized in democratic citizenship. (2007, 11)

The ideal of “cosmopolitan democracy” that takes into account different and complex sets of identities is a solution to a problem in Ethiopia as well, regardless of the supposed end of communism in 1989 (and 1991 in Ethiopia).10 In fact, in the wake of the transfer of power from Megistu

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discusses how language created a sense of “collective identity” through the medium of print (1998, 28). The use of Amharic (which is a printed rather than only an oral language like some Ethiopian languages) and the Ethiopian Orthodox faith have been galvanizing forces in the history of Ethiopia, although the attempt to create a nationally imagined community has always been undermined by the existence of alternative narratives. Rastafari, through their adherence to Haile Selassie, knowingly or unknowingly focus on the narrative of Amharization, as mentioned above. If, for Miller, “the nation is a oneness of imagination that binds citizens to states . . . it may be founded on genetics and/as history, or it may exist despite either or both of these, on the basis of policy, perhaps a postcolonial hangover of boundaries drawn to suit metropolitan bureaucrats and industrialists” (1998, 26). Ethiopia exists outside this paradigm. The reality of Ethiopian history and culture does not produce a similar colonial or postcolonial consciousness to that of Jamaica, for instance. Policies that have attempted to create a sense of Ethiopian identity in the last hundred years have met resistance; additionally, Ethiopians seem to possess an ability to layer their identities and see the identity formation process very differently. As an example, I turn to comparative literature scholar Melakneh Mengistu’s explanation, with reference to literary history, of how “Amharic [Ethiopian language] literature does not thematically conform to the rest of Black African fiction” (2005, 147). Melakneh notes that, unlike the situation in colonial Africa, Christianity is not deemed a “white” religion: The attitude of Ethiopians and other Africans towards Christianity appears to be diametrically opposed. Christianity is viewed as an intrinsically alien and destructive culture by Black African writers.  .  .  .  The church is regarded as an agent of evil since it has lured the people away from traditional gods.  .  .  .  On the other hand, wherever Christianity enters Amharic literature, it is never portrayed as an alien culture but as a deep-rooted heritage (148–49).

In addition, Melakneh also notes that although the “dominant theme of political African fiction is the theme of political struggle for independence” (149), the Ethiopian sociopolitical experience has not been like

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Oromo. Bonacci points toward this disjuncture between Rastafari and the surrounding community: On the local level, in Shashemene, the Rastas support the emperor, who, in the eyes of the Oromo people, represents a coercive central power. In a region still marked by a history of alienation from land and economic and social dominance, symbols of imperial power are not appreciated. At a national level, a group like the Rastas, who identify with a centralized imperial Ethiopian nation, the Amhara, a nation based in history, runs counter to a national imagination that is still being constructed and founded on ethnic distinctions and the autonomy of various federal regions. Paradoxically, Rasta identity and the power of their imagination have permitted them to leave everything behind to come to live in Shashemene, but this very same identity is a hindrance to their acceptance and their “absorption” by the nation of Ethiopia. (2007, 500)12

By referring to the Rastafari connection with the Haile Selassie regime, Bonacci here points toward a Rastafari conception of identity that is coherent. This conception views Ethiopia as an imperial nation under an Amhara, Orthodox Christian, monarchical tradition—thus making that particular ethnic and religious identity by default the definition of the national identity. In addition, the Rastafari view that Ethiopia is Africa presents a pan-Africanist perspective, one that would indicate a desire for the centralization of African states. Bonacci is right in that the clarity of the Rastafari vision is the source of its power: this clarity of purpose provides them with the impetus to get up and move from Jamaica or wherever they might be, and come to Ethiopia. This is a powerful narrative of identity. The reason why this might be a “hindrance to their acceptance” is related in part to the present government’s policy of ethnic federalism, but there are other challenges as well. In reference to the Ethiopians’ desire to categorize Rastafari, Shirlene Hall13 of the Jamaican Rastafarian Development Community (JRDC) explained to me why the founders of the JRDC chose the designation “Jamaican” when choosing a name for the nongovernmental organization they wished to found. The JRDC is involved in many different initiatives throughout Shashemene, the most well-known being a school that serves both Rastafari and Ethiopian communities.

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been postmodern, it has always dealt with Miller’s “plentitude” of “publics and their appropriate conduct” (1993, 48). They react to Rastafari by wanting them to fit into a category—perhaps a new one—to transform them into yet another ethnic group, another nation that can fit into the plural, perhaps cosmopolitan society of Shashemene specifically, and Ethiopia in general. What does it mean to be Ethiopian? This chapter has taken the first step toward answering this question, providing context for the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari, and explaining why this question is so difficult to address. Historically and culturally, Ethiopia is a contested space with numerous narratives of Ethiopian identity. While Rastafari view Ethiopia and Africa in a unified manner, the Ethiopians do not. Answering the question of what it means to be Ethiopian is much simpler when viewed through the frame of the Rastafari perspective. However, one must take into account different perspectives, understand the multifaceted nature of Ethiopianness, and keep the changing, contested notion of Ethiopianness in mind in order to arrive at a fuller picture.

2 Christianity and the King, Marriage and Marijuana

In July 2006, after having led a Habitat for Humanity building project in Shashemene, I returned to Addis Ababa, said goodbye to the volunteers, visited friends, and then promptly turned around and went back to the town where the majority of Rastafari repatriates have settled. The occasion was His Imperial Majesty’s 112th birthday, celebrated on 23 July, according to the Gregorian calendar, but the sixteenth of Hamle according to Ethiopia’s dating system. I had heard from a friend in Addis that there would be a Rastafari parade down the main road of Shashemene that afternoon. I sat at a café waiting for the parade, seemingly the only audience for the event. A few trucks with red, green, and gold spangles, full of flag-waving participants, went past. Their flags were those of the emperor’s regime, featuring the “Conquering Lion” symbol, waving to the rhythm of reggae music. The locals seemed nonplussed, continuing to go about their business, almost actively ignoring the event. I asked the waiter if he knew the reason for the parade, but he shook his head and shrugged. In addition to the parade, I was interested in attending the Rastafari celebration commemorating Haile Selassie’s birthday that evening. Needing someone who might be interested in accompanying me, I asked a fellow I had worked with at Habitat for Humanity. He introduced me to his childhood friend—a college English teacher and local business owner named Tsegaye,1 who was available and could come with me to the party. Given the local response (or lack thereof) to the parade, I was not surprised at his lack of enthusiasm about attending the birthday party, but he said he would be able to do so nonetheless. In advance of the evening event, I spent the remainder of the afternoon with Tsegaye, running errands and then helping to teach an English language class at a local college.2 60

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Figure 2.1. Haile Selassie birthday parade, 2007. Photo by the author.

Tsegaye asked if I would answer some of the students’ questions to help them practice their English, and I was only too happy to oblige. When I told the students I was doing research relating to Rastafari, the class giggled and made some comments and gestures that clearly referenced marijuana usage. One joked that maybe I just wanted to get my hands on “hashish.” I told the class I was less interested in ganja, and more interested in what Ethiopians thought about Rastafari and the movement in general. The students reacted with surprise. They seemed shocked that I would be interested in them and their opinions about Rastafari. One even responded, “Why do you want to talk to us and not them?” Ethiopians immediately assume that foreigners are interested in the unique inhabitants of their town. Upon arrival in Shashemene, foreigners are often approached by local youth, asking whether they want “high grade” (meaning marijuana) or whether they want to be shown the Rastafari part of town. To them a foreigner interested in Shashemene proper was rare, but one interested in what the inhabitants of this area think

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light not only on what Ethiopians think of the repatriated Rastafari, but also on what it means to be Ethiopian in a multiethnic society. While Tsegaye’s students assumed that nothing they could say about the newcomers to their community would be relevant, when they eventually expressed their views on the differences between Ethiopians and Rastafari they relied on the stereotype of marijuana usage. Tsegaye spoke generally about what makes Rastafari different from Ethiopians, and later made an attempt to integrate Rastafari into an Ethiopian framework of ethnicity, as contextualized and outlined in the last chapter. Connecting the Jamaicans to the Wolaita would connect them to an Ethiopian ethnic group, and the fact of intermarriage is most certainly a demonstration of acculturation, but, to Tsegaye, this revelation still divided him from them on the basis of ethnicity. In addition to exemplifying an Ethiopian narrative of ethnicity in Tsegaye’s connection of Jamaica with Wolaita, over the course of this day I gained insight into what I came to reognize as the major themes of the Ethiopian view of Rastafari, namely, their perceptions about Christianity and the king as well as matrimony and marijuana. I also observed the sense of threat that the Rastafari community presents. Ethiopia is generally a safe place with a very low crime rate, so there is little threat of crime or assault.5 But Tsegaye thought that I required “protection” from Rastafari. I collected numerous instances of these perceptions through interviews with Ethiopians as well as through documentation and academic study by Ethiopian scholars of Rastafari. From a historical perspective, the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari stems from both Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity and Emperor Haile Selassie himself. Despite the presence of some indicators of connection between Ethiopians and Rastafari, namely, marriage and community involvement, Ethiopians view Rastafari as a threat. This can be analyzed by means of integrated threat theory (Stephan and Stephan 2000), which explains how predjudices develop. Interactions between Rastafari and Ethiopians tend to mediate threat, especially within the space of Shashemene.

Christianity and the King Although the Rastafari movement presents a great variety of traits, one thing is certain: the former emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie, is

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divinity of Haile Selassie which to [Ethiopians] is outright paganism” (Minda 1997, 87). By calling it “outright paganism,” Ababu is demonstrating his strong negative reaction toward Rastafari. Regardless, Rastafari do attend the Orthodox Church. And at the same time they still worship Haile Selassie. At the birthday party, Tsegaye was comforted by the references to Jesus Christ. Clearly, with regard to the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari, it is important to look at how the movement is perceived as a belief system. What do Ethiopians think of Rastafari in terms of the king and Christianity?

The Emperor as Symbol During my research, I spent a lot of time seeking out at least one Ethiopian who shared the Rastafari belief in Haile Selassie as divine. I was told on a number of occasions, “Yes, I know someone who is Ethiopian, born in Ethiopia, who is Rastafari.” But when I met them, even those who referred to themselves as “Rasta” and agreed with the panAfricanist views of Rastafari always denied that Haile Selassie was God or divine. This does not mean that Ethiopian Rastafari do not exist, but it demonstrates that if they do, the numbers are probably rather small. Over the course of nearly a decade, I located and interviewed only one Ethiopian who believed in the divinity of the emperor. This one young man, Naod Seifu, explained that he was unique amongst his friends. In a subsequent email, he elaborated: Since my childhood, I was influenced by rastafarian phylosophy [sic] due to Bob Marley’s songs. The more I listen to reggae music the more my mind opens up for rastafarI. Since I give myself 100% to RastafarI it has been 2 years . . . I use to have dreadlocks but I have to trim them to work. In Ethiopia having dreadlocks is taken as bad behavior and inapropiate [sic]. . . Being an Ethiopian and believing that the king is a divine king is taken as a mad man. It is believed that being a Rasta is for Jamaicans only. . . . Ethiopia is where I belong. I believe that one day my struggles of being a RastafarI will end and many Ethiopians will join the movement.

It is clear from Naod’s comments that the perception of Rastafari in Ethiopia connects the movement with foreigners—specifically

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when they talk about Haile Selassie. They are not talking about what you and I or the rest of people know. They don’t have this kind of historical view of this person. They have this symbolic understanding about the living God. Then, at that time, during the 1930s, you see Haile Selassie emerging as a very important figure and of course afterwards he is one of the founders of the Organization for African Unity and internationally he is a very interesting figure. All of those things were very important symbolic elements, in order for [Rastafari] to make a decision in terms of who this person was, so I think that is how they came to the conclusion that Haile Selassie was God, and Ethiopia, heaven on earth.10

Alemseghed’s explanation points to a gap between what he refers to as an Ethiopian, “historic” notion of Haile Selassie, and the Rastafari “symbolic” view.11 There is a perceived divide between Rastafari and everyone else—Rastafari have one view and “the rest of the people” have another. His immediate reaction to Rastafari, namely, asking why Haile Selassie and why Ethiopia, demonstrates that the answer and framework of understanding for Ethiopians is very different from that of Rastafari. Exemplifying this situation is a narrative that I have come to term the “Miracle Story,” which describes the April 1966 visit of Haile Selassie to Jamaica in very different ways, depending on the perspective of the storyteller.

The Miracle Story “I know that the Jamaicans are here because of our king,” Daniel Wogu, an eighteen-year-old student and Shashemene inhabitant working toward acceptance in a medical program, told me. “They believe that he is sent from God to save them or make the black people free from slavery. They have their own history,” he continued. “As I have learned from Ethiopian history, they say that our king went to their country to visit and there were some unexpected happenings. There was rainfall or something. They say then that this proves that Haile Selassie is not actually a man, but is God.”12 Henock Mahari, an Ethiopian reggae musician born and raised in Addis Ababa, the city where he still lives and works, said something similar: “He was once in Jamaica and it hadn’t rained, and then it did

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provide further information about when or where this occurred or any other aspect of Haile Selassie’s visit. Most importantly, however, no storyteller could provide any specific source for the story. I tried to track down some semblance of source material, but to no avail. The essence of the tale, however, is significant: the miracle of rain directly relates to the consideration of the emperor as divine. Each of these stories underlines the importance of rain in Ethiopia, given the high numbers of subsistence farmers and the historic prevalence of famine-causing drought. Drought is perhaps mentioned because it makes sense to Ethiopians. In addition, acknowledging a perception of Haile Selassie performing a miracle can justify belief that the emperor is divine by linking him to the Orthodox Christian tradition of reading the miracles of Mary as part of the church service: “miracle stories were designed to be read in the churches and monasteries of the empire, as indeed they still are, during daily church services like the reading of the gospel” (Ya’kob and Haile 1992, 2). Given the role of miracle stories in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, this reading of the Rastafari faith can be viewed as inserting Rastafari into an Ethiopian understanding of religion. Thus the otherwise strange belief in the former emperor as God can be placed in the context of Ethiopian realities and an Ethiopian narrative of faith. Relief from drought and divine intervention are relevant to Ethiopian culture and belief. This provides an opening for Ethiopians to welcome Rastafari into the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. Watching the documentary footage by Vin Kelly of the Jamaica Information Service of Haile Selassie’s arrival in Jamaica on 21 April 1966,19 it is obvious from the wet tarmac that something quite different occurred when Haile Selassie arrived in Jamaica. As observer Dr. M. B. Douglas reported to Leonard Barrett, “The morning was rainy and many people were soaking wet. Before the arrival of the plane the Rastafarians said that ‘as soon as our God comes, the rain will stop.’ This turned out something like a miracle, because the rain stopped as soon as the plane landed” (Barrett 1997, 158). Though this description also described the event as a miracle, it is the complete opposite of the miracle outlined by my Ethiopian informants. Instead of Haile Selassie causing the rain to start, here he stops the rain so the celebration of his arrival can begin.

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further insight. Prince Ermias Sahle Selassie is the only son of Prince Sahle Selassie of Ethiopia and Princess Mahisente Habte Mariam. This grandson of Haile Selassie is the head of the Ethiopian Imperial Crown Council (the body that represents the Ethiopian royal family). He says that there is “no doubt that Haile Selassie did not encourage the Rastafari movement.” However, while he sees positive elements in the Rastafari movement, he insists that the Rastafari view of Haile Selassie as divine is “always a controversial issue.” Prince Bedemariam Mekonnen Haile Selassie, son of Prince Mekonnen Haile Selassie and Princess Sara Gizaw, presents a similar perspective. Since his father passed away before Prince Bede was christened,20 the prince had a close relationship with his grandfather. As he puts it: “My grandfather took us over to him and I grew up, my grandmother having passed away, in her room. He was closely taking care of my education, and he was like a father to me. If you see old pictures, you would not miss me in any one of those.”21 Prince Bede recalls hearing about Rastafari when he was a child and understanding Haile Selassie’s interest in Jamaica, but he also remembers that his grandfather did not wish to be considered divine. As a child I used to hear about it. After [Haile Selassie’s visit to Jamaica in 1966], he was really fascinated and it was not a one-way thing. His heart was very close to Jamaica as well. . . . And he wanted to be absolutely clear that he was not a saint or a messiah or whatever. He was just the emperor of Ethiopia and obviously he liked the whole of Africa to be liberated and he was very passionate about African Americans as well. He always felt that human beings were equal so they should be treated the same way.

There is no doubt in Prince Bede’s mind that the emperor pushed aside any sense of himself as divine: “[H]e never took that seriously, not for a second. He was not ambivalent about it.” Prince Bede was imprisoned during most of the Dergue regime— from 1974 to 1989, when he and other members of the royal family were released.22 Though he was firmly of the opinion that his grandfather thought of himself as a king, not as a divine figure, when I asked him about his feelings about the Rastafari relationship to Ethiopia, he spoke about the need to credit Rastafari.

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would lead him to sympathize with the movement. His patience with the movement is understandable—Rastafari hold his family’s history and the history of the imperial regime in high esteem. But he has also developed an understanding of how a belief in the divinity of Haile Selassie, the man who was his grandfather, could have occurred. Think of the oppression. The fact of colonialism, segregation, the oppression, slavery—what that had done to these people’s psyche and spirituality and people’s identity. It is only natural that you have to develop your own survival mechanisms and spiritual foundations that you could relate to because the spirituality being taught to you runs contrary to what spirituality stood for from your perspective. It is absolutely understandable how a movement like that could develop. There’s a logic: because of the history, the connection, what in principle it stood for against an evil, or perceived evil, and a sense of justice. And historical events: the rise of Marcus Garvey and the pan-Africanist movement, the rise of my grandfather to the world platform, and the League of Nations, and that continuity of the saga of oppression, that continuity of the struggle for rights, which came back through the civil rights movement, and so forth. It came from a historical period during which they had to navigate.

From Prince Ermias’s perspective, the Rastafari movement makes sense as a response to historical pressures. There is a “logic” to the movement and a cause and effect relationship between elements like the rise of Marcus Garvey and the pan-Africanist movement, and what Alemseghed Kebede might call a development of the “symbol” of freedom in the form of the emperor. Indeed, the biblical references to Ethiopia and the Solomonic myth connecting Haile Selassie to King David and the Queen of Sheba do provide a sense of divine ordination, but that does not make Haile Selassie himself divine. While the Rastafari support for the divinely ordained emperor and the monarchy is valued, the Rastafari offer of divinity was denied. Instead of encouraging the Rastafari belief, says Prince Ermias, the emperor offered them his own faith—that of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. “I think the biggest legacy for his majesty was to establish the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in the Western hemisphere in Jamaica, Trinidad and elsewhere,” says Prince Ermias. “This was the first time in

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We went there to bring the believers in Haile Selassie to the orthodox faith. When we got there, they had many errors, and it took a lot of effort to correct these errors. . . . When I went to Jamaica, we found a lot of people who believed in Haile Selassie as God. Haile Selassie made many efforts to tell them that he couldn’t be God, but it took a long time before Orthodox teachers arrived there. I visited after Haile Selassie’s death, and when I told them that Haile Selassie had died, many people were angry. They would say that he ascended, didn’t die.  .  .  .  Marcus Garvey took Haile Selassie’s words and changed them to indicate that Haile Selassie called himself God. When Haile Selassie was exiled in England, Haile Selassie made an effort to correct this, but the faith had already taken root and was difficult to correct.

Archbishop Yesehaq described a similar position to Liq Kahnat Misale, suggesting that teaching is necessary. “Rastafarians should not be ridiculed or condemned,” according to the Archbishop, but “be brought gradually to Jesus Christ” (208). The Ethiopian Orthodox Church can proselytize and reach out to Rastafari as Christian missionaries. As an example of a successful conversion, Liq Kahnat Misale insists that Bob Marley himself adopted Orthodox Christianity before his untimely death, but did not announce it in public to others. “I lived in Bob Marley’s house for four years,” he recalls. “Bob Marley’s children would come to church and serve the diaconate. I think that Bob Marley was a true Orthodox believer, but he didn’t come out with that. . . . Bob Marley’s Christian name was Birhane Selassie. He and his wife are true Christians.” Prince Ermias also tells this story of Marley’s conversion. To understand more about the Ethiopian Orthodox Church’s religious perspective on Rastafari, I met with a group of scholars from the Theological College of the Holy Trinity in Addis Ababa. We met at the patriarchate. All of them had had contact with Rastafari at one point or another and were familiar with the movement. The conversation was wide-ranging and all the scholars seemed to agree with each other, many nodding when others spoke, and one person’s comments were often interrupted by support and additional examples from another speaker. The fundamental problem these scholars had with Rastafari was the same one that Haile Selassie’s family, Archbishop Yesehaq, and Liq Kahnat Misale had: “They believe Haile Selassie is God. I have had

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candidate for sainthood, for which they agreed a case could be made based on the emperor’s contribution to the Church as a whole, a specific process would need to be followed. “In Ethiopian context,” one scholar said, “the canonization of saints has many steps. We have many King saints. King Lalibela and other kings. We respect them as saints. Not other than that.” The Rastafari tendency to interpret words literally, as discussed by Velma Pollard in her book Dread Talk: The Language of the Rastafari (2000), results in their reading more into Haile Selassie’s name than they should. This was made plain by one of the scholars: They start by interpreting the name itself. In Ethiopian Orthodox Church tradition, we have a family name, a baptismal name and an enthronement name. So Haile Selassie is the baptismal name of the emperor, Haile Selassie, which means the son of trinity, the power of trinity. . . . But they never understand this. They explain or interpret just simply the “power of the trinity” “Haile,” which means power, and “Selassie” means trinity. So the Emperor’s name itself creates an obligation to accept the “power of the trinity,” but this is a simple name. A baptismal name of Christians. Like Haile Gabriel, “power of Gabriel”. . . . Even though [Rastafari] accept the dogma or other prinicples, this becomes inherited knowledge from their parents. . . . People who live in Ethiopia and the people who live in Jamaica have different understandings of Haile Selassie. It needs a generation. Even the priests who serve in Jamaica at the Orthodox church, they believe in this power of the trinity of Haile Selassie. How can we influence them to come to know the exact knowledge because, in my opinion, they inherit this. It needs a generation to change this. . . . This is a kind of ignorance. So the Church chooses the way. First we preach the gospel, we multiply the believers. After a generation it comes to truth.

Rastafari are seen as having inherited mistaken assumptions. However, with education, they will understand that, for instance, Haile Selassie is but a name. Yes, there is meaning in the name, but that meaning exists within the context of Ethiopian cultural history and a tradition of naming. This will be difficult to change, especially if those serving as priests at the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in Jamaica themselves believe in the divinity of the emperor. This mixing of bits of the Orthodox Church

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deacons, and monks” in the church, he said. A third priest was also convinced that baptism indicated a rejection of the divinity of Haile Selassie. The priest was certain that baptism requires a conversion: “If they are baptized, they believe in God. Haile Selassie is just a leader. The problem is the unbaptized. . . . I had one friend who when I say Haile Selassie is dead, he say ‘no one prove it.’ There are a few baptized people, they believe in God. They accept all principles of the church.” For these local priests, the teachings of the Orthodox Church can show Rastafari the truth of the Ethiopian faith and educate them about Haile Selassie. He was a man, a king—some say a great king—and he died at the hands of the Dergue regime. Beyond the religious differences, this third priest also discussed a further divide between Rastafari and the people of Shashemene. This priest, whose perspective is framed by his work for over fifteen years at the Orthodox church located closest to the Jamaica sefer, discussed his own lack of understanding of the Rastafari belief system. He tried to rectify his lack of understanding by writing an essay on Rastafari as part of his theological education. But his research did not lead him to a greater appreciation or sense of closeness with Rastafari. He still feels very firmly that there is a divide: “They live here but we don’t know them.  .  .  .  they don’t exchange ideas. They live on an island.  .  .  .  The Jamaicans don’t like the people around them. The [Ethiopian] people see them as ganja smokers. Even the children of Jamaicans insult their Ethiopian counterparts. That is the problem.”26 This priest’s depiction presents the Jamaicans as self-isolating—disconnecting themselves from the wider Ethiopian population. The priest also suggested there are “only about ten” Rastafari who come to the church and that they only come to the one closest to them—they do not reach out. “Rastafarians are living near and around this town, but many people do not know much about them. . . . very few [Rastafari] are followers of this Church. They have their own religion. . . . There is a big gap between students of Jamaicans and people from Shashemene. No close interpersonal relationships.” He also discussed specific cultural differences related to the conception of race. “Rastafarians believe strongly in blackness,” he stated. “They have confidence in their blackness. Pride.” Whereas Rastafari wish to come to Africa and Ethiopia in particular, “Ethiopians,” he said, “want to go to America and Europe. Jamaicans

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acceptable intermarriage—all of which move Rastafari closer to assimilation into Ethiopian society. But again, this requires leaving Rastafari beliefs behind.

Marriage and Family What of the marriages between Rastafari men and Ethiopian women? If the church provides some integrative potential, do these unions contribute to integration between Rastafari and Ethiopians? Such marriages could be examples of the first level of exchange between different cultural groups described by cultural anthropologist Gayle Rubin (1975).. However, there is no equal exchange between groups,27 given that in all reported instances of Ethiopian and Rastafari marriages it is the woman who is Ethiopian—there seems to be no reciprocity. This is borne out by Ababu’s (Minda 1997) and Bonacci’s work (2008) and by my research as well. Likewise, Solomon Soroto indicates that Rastafari men choose women from neighbouring towns whereas Rastafari women are undesirable to local men: “[M]ost of the time, the women immigrants come to the area after either being married, divorced or getting too old to marry” (2008, 76). Also, I was told a number of times during my research that women would marry Rastafari for money. Since Ethiopians think that foreigners are wealthy, a woman (and her family) could view a Rastafari man as a means of marrying into wealth. As Solomon writes, “[F]or old Rasta man, his age does not matter to marry even a young Ethiopian woman as far as he has got money to induce her” (2008, 76). But even if driven by economic forces, do these multiethnic marriages indicate integration within the town or within Ethiopian society? Both Ababu and Bonacci describe some intermarriages, but cite no statistics. When I asked Gebre Gebru, Jamaican Consul General to Ethiopia, about statistics on intermarriage, his response was that although anecdotally he was aware of them, there are no statistics. Many people in Shashemene mentioned such marriages to me as an example of how the communities are connected. One of my students talked about how her cousin had married a Rastafari, and how her family liked him very much. I also spoke to Rastafari who described being happily married to Ethiopian women. However, Solomon questions the very legitimacy of the marriages between Rastafari and Ethiopians. He writes that he could not find

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kitchens” (1993, 112). As well, through his observations of interactions between Rastafari and local Ethiopians in the Shashemene market, Lewis suggests that “to the Amharic [sic], [Rastafari] appear gruff, short tempered and poorly tuned to the pace of the Amharic [sic] peasant,” and claims that the Rastafari community “keep to themselves” (1993, 112).29 Bonacci also provides three Ethiopian wives’ accounts of Rastafari, detailing the difficulty Rastafari have accepting outsiders: “‘They don’t like outsiders. . . . They think that only Jamaicans can be Rastas, but this can’t work! . . . They don’t like when others approach them and they don’t want others to believe in their God’” (2008, 426).30 Each of these comments charges that Rastafari do not connect with other cultures—Ethiopian culture being but one. In my interview with Vincent Wisdom, a Rastafari repatriate who moved to Ethiopia in 1976, we talked about how he first met his Ethiopian wife of now over two decades at a party. He then said that Ethiopian women are “glad to be with us.”31 However, he also said that his wife did not and does not share his faith: “She don’t fight me about my faith. I don’t fight her. She’s a Protestant.” The church his wife attends does not approve: “Some times they talk to her about it,” Wisdom reported, “how can she do a thing like that? Because the Rasta faith is different. [We] praise a person for God. What they cannot understand is how we get his majesty into it.” Even though Wisdom and his wife have been married for a long time and have five children, there is a disconnect as regards religious belief. And this disconnect is also present with his children: “They don’t share my faith. Two of them are Orthodox and one of them is Protestant, the others are too small.” The Rastafari belief system is not passed down in Vincent Wisdom’s family—a fact underlined by Ababu. The children of Rastafari who are born in Ethiopia, some to Rastafari/Ethiopian parents like Wisdom and his wife, distance themselves from the Rastafari faith. Mikkael, Wisdom’s son, says he never saw himself as Rastafari. He explains that he was born in an area where there were no Jamaicans: “From when I was born, I lived and played with Ethiopians, so I am more Ethiopian.”32 He was told about his father’s faith, but does not share it: “When I was 13 he explained his culture and religion. . . . As I learn and as I see and as I heard, a lot of people say [Haile Selassie] is a good person . . . he is a Christian and a king . . . I am Orthodox.” From Mikkael’s perspective,

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writes of the second generation of Rastafari born in Ethiopia, the children of repatriated Rastafari, the so-called “First Free Born Generation” (Minda 1997, 108). These individuals are so named because they are “free . . . from any kind of brutality by another religious group, nation or race” (108). For Ababu, the problem with the passing down of the Rastafari belief system is that this new generation does not understand the context of which their parents speak. After all, they have been born and raised in Zion. They therefore do not understand the existence of Babylon: The term Babylon is used by Rastafarians to express the harsh socio political experience they have passed through in their home land. Since members of the second generation are born and grow up here, such terrible experience is alien to them, and consequently, the reference of this experience, Babylon, is not used by them in the sense that their parents use it. (108)

In addition to a lack of comprehension of the challenges, obstacles, and difficulties of Rastafari life in Babylon—meaning the struggles repatriates endured over the course of their lives prior to moving to Ethiopia—there is also a lack of understanding of the history of slavery and colonialism which led to the creation of the African diaspora. This history is not part of the historical experience of Ethiopia,34 and therefore these young people do not understand the divide between Babylon and Zion. In addition, the children of Rastafari are not the only ones who have a difficult time understanding the Rastafari conception of Ethiopian identity. The average Ethiopian does not share this perspective either. Rastafari repatriate Sister Isheba Tafari, originally from Austria but living in Ethiopia since 1997, details the difference between the first and second generations of Rastafari in Ethiopia. To Sister Isheba, the second generation cannot be defined as Rastafari at all: “The spirit of loving to be in Ethiopia, all the expectations or visions or dreams that we connect to this, mostly in the second generation I don’t see it so much. They are more complaining, ‘why are we not in the West, why don’t we have a PlayStation 2, why don’t we have a fancy television’ and so on.”35 What Sister Isheba calls “expectations,” “visions,” and “dreams” are connected

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Again, the connections between Rastafari and Ethiopians are challenged by different narratives. Rastafari and Ethiopians view Haile Selassie differently, and they have differing cultures. Some level of integration is occurring at the level of church and family, but the Rastafari movement’s belief system is very different—stemming from a narrative reinforced by a different history, experience, and culture than that of Ethiopians. Intermarriage along with involvement in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, does not, then, lead to integration, but is more likely to lead to assimilation, in that the Rastafari belief system comes to be subsumed by the Ethiopian belief system. Members of the Ethiopian community, according to Solomon, are the arbiters of what is or isn’t a legitimate marriage, and in families the children of Rastafari are more likely to move away from the Rastafari belief system as they grow up in an environment in which, as the elder Rastafari said to Ababu, they “do not know what it means to be a second class citizen in another person’s country.”

Community Contact In the cases of Alemseghed Kebede and Prince Ermias there is an understanding of and respect for the belief system of Rastafari, even if they do not share these beliefs. However, on a general level there seems to be a lack of understanding of the worldview of Rastafari, specifically the threat of Babylon, as well as a worry that Rastafari culture is not compatible with Ethiopian culture. Even when Ababu Minda attempts to present connections between Rastafari and Ethiopians beyond intermarriage, his examples are limited: Generally speaking, the Rastas have a good relation with the local people. . . . Locals often greet them when they see them in town. Some Ethiopian youngsters have taken their style of dress and matted hair. Rastas also are known masons and carpenters, and they help the local people when the need arises. The Rasta music band plays during public festivals, annual school days and on weddings. A few young Rastas play football in the stronger teams for the town, most importantly, Ras Kabinda, a self trained physician, gives medical treatment for local patients free of charge. These few points indicate the good relationship Rastas have with the local people. (1997, 21)36

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Ethiopians, playing sports. Zerihun made it clear, however, that this success at sports happened in the past. Ababu’s statement that a few youth—which would indicate that they were not large in number—play football on local teams is also unremarkable. Sporting Rastafari do not have the same visibility as they once did in the past and, as Zerihun mentioned, at that time they were treated “like citizens.” They don’t have the same visibility in contemporary Ethiopian sport. However, even if these connections and positive indications were taken at face value as signs of acceptance and integration into Ethiopian culture, I cannot avoid the many informants whose stories depicted Rastafari as problematic—through the importation of cultural practices unacceptable to Ethiopian culture and of course the practice of smoking marijuana. From Tsegaye’s belief that I needed “protection” when attending the Rastafari celebration for Haile Selassie’s birthday to the perceived danger of drug use, Ethiopians see Rastafari as a threat to Shashemene and Ethiopian society.

Integrated Threat Theory and Ethiopian Negative Perceptions These negative perceptions, however, are just that—perceptions. The Ethiopian perception of Rastafari can be conceptualized by looking at it through the lens of integrated threat theory (ITT) (Van Oudenhoven et al. 2006, 644), used in discussion of attitudes towards immigrant communities, mostly in reference to plural, Western societies (Stephan and Stephan 2000). The theory suggests that host societies view newcomers in terms of various types of threats, which contribute to a prejudiced view of the incoming group. Threats can be realistic or symbolic, and manifest themselves in stereotype as well as anxiety in the host community. Between Ethiopians and Rastafari, there are no realistic threats, defined as actual physical confrontations between the communities. A number of Rastafari spoke to me about the incidence of break-ins, but no Ethiopian source suggested that there has ever been physical violence between Rastafari and other residents of Shashemene. Rather, it is a sense of symbolic threat to culture, belief, and way of life that contributes to anxiety and stereotype.

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cultivation and use of t’chat, a stimulant drug used by chewing the leaves of the t’chat plant. It makes sense that Rastafari would mention t’chat in their arguments with the police over marijuana. In my observation, t’chat is used by a range of people, from cab drivers to bus passengers to locals sitting and chewing while enjoying a cold soda pop or a cigarette. The use of t’chat is not viewed as socially unacceptable, even though I observed it being used by clearly destitute individuals whose erratic behavior and tell-tale bleary eyes (t’chat, over long periods of time, can limit and prevent sleep) denote a habit or possible addiction to the substance. Instead, the focus was on the dangers of marijuana. Though some students would only use the term “hashish” to describe marijuana, the majority of them used the words “cocaine” and “heroin” interchangeably with “hashish.” T’chat was never mentioned. Marijuana was seen as such a strong substance that the students considered it as harmful as cocaine or heroin. They saw “hashish” as extremely dangerous. The drug would surely influence and harm youth. Again providing a positive spin before offering a strong critique, another student voiced his opinion by saying: “We like them because they love our country, but some of the youth are attracted to them and they are losing their cultures. They are adapting their culture and clothes, and some of them are becoming addicted to drugs.” Another echoed this view: “Within their compounds they are cultivating this thing. If they use that land for some kind of crops, it would be better. They are influencing our culture.” These comments are in keeping with Ababu’s observation of “cultural” differences between Ethiopians and Rastafari, as some locals have problems with Rastafari “eating and dressing habits” as well as their “smoking of marijuana” (87). The threat of drug use contributes to anxiety about the loss of Ethiopian culture, and then expands to create a stereotype of Rastafari as drug-addicted peddlers of narcotics. In addition to the danger of drugs, Rastafari are perceived as threatening Ethiopian cultural values. According to the students, the impact of Rastafari, be it through drugs or clothing choice, is the loss of Ethiopian culture. Even a student who expressed some understanding of the historical and spiritual connection Rastafari have to Haile Selassie expressed a sense of unease that Rastafari practices were incommensurate with Ethiopian culture: “They

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How will Rastafari connect and integrate, overcoming perceptions and perspectives as far removed from reality as the tales of Haile Selassie’s arrival in Jamaica—perspectives that have evolved and developed from very distinct historical, spiritual, and cultural narratives? Some scholars theorize that contact between groups is a solution to threat (Allport 1979; Fetzer 2000). The idea is that if people interact with one another, if they live in the same neighborhoods and engage in everyday dialogue, prejudice will decrease and the incoming population will no longer be seen as a threat to the host community. Ababu provides some examples of contact, but differing views on religion, history, and culture seem to make acculturation difficult. As Solomon puts it, “strangers in Babylon, Rastafarians are aliens in the Promised Land, too” (2008, 79). To the extent that Rastafari come in contact with Ethiopians, they do so in the urban spaces of Shashemene. What is the impact of Shashemene on the acculturation of repatriates? Much like the differing historical, spiritual, and cultural narratives of Ethiopians and Rastafari, there are also differing spatial narratives in Shashemene. However, it is also true that these identities engage, communicate, and integrate in the space that is Shashemene, the site designated by Emperor Haile Selassie for the black people of the world.

3 Speaking of Space in/and Shashemene

Before arriving at Shashemene, one travels through a number of small communities, each one introduced by a small white sign with black letters in both English and Amharic. Maki, Ziway, Arsi Negele—every town’s name is announced by an identical government sign. Swaths of farmland separate these towns and villages, municipalities that look like clusters of buildings, lining the highway, each small shop or home or government building constructed primarily of mud—buildings constructed out of chika, the Amharic word for wattle and daub. As this is the Rift Valley, the road is straight and generally flat. The condition of the road to Shashemene is one of the best in the country. Unlike many narrow, dirt, and stone roads throughout the country, it is a two-lane paved highway. If one were to follow it beyond Shashemene, it could take one all the way to Nairobi. The weather is warmer here than in the higher altitude of Addis Ababa and the historic sites to the north, and the area is dusty even during the rainy season. Locals are constantly sweeping and cleaning, working to remove the dust that seems to sit still in the air. In this part of the country the soil is very sandy, which makes construction easy. But the cultivation of crops is sometimes difficult. A statue of a woman, the fabled Shashe after whom the town is named, stands at the entrance into town. Supposedly a former proprietor of one of the hotels in town, she is dressed in traditional Oromo white and beaded clothing and pouring coffee. The statue’s importance to the town’s residents is evident from the fact that it is often under repair, ensuring Shashe’s pristine appearance. A kilometer or so down the road one encounters a town of 100,000, full of shops, people, and motor vehicles. Large trucks, their drivers resting before continuing on their way to various locations in the south or north of the country, bespeak 94

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Shashemene’s role as a crossroads town. Small rickshaw taxis carry people up and down the roads and horse-drawn carriages ply the side streets, taking inhabitants to the large, open-air market in town—the largest of its kind in southern Ethiopia—or to any number of other businesses off the main roads. A number of hotels and restaurants line the main street, many of rather low quality. A brand-new Orthodox church has been built on the outskirts of town, but there are also a number of other Orthodox churches and Protestant places of worship. Mosques are evident too, demonstrating the religious variety in the town. The ubiquitous use of both Afaan Oromoo and Amharic also reveals that this is not a homogeneous community.1 For a number of years, just outside Shashemene there was a large painted billboard of Bob Marley on the roadside welcoming the visitor to Shashemene in three languages—Afaan Oromoo, Amharic, and English. The painting was a facsimile version of Bob Marley’s portrait on the cover of Legend,2 his multiplatinum-selling singles collection. The sign also depicted the Ethiopian flag and the flag of the Oromia region. Though the painting was formally commissioned by the Shashemene Urban Local Government (which is indicated in Afaan Oromoo), the actual paint job was not totally accurate or in proportion, and the resulting portrait of Jamaica’s most famous citizen looked more than slightly awkward. The same might be said of the spatial orientation of the Rastafari population in Shashemene. The issue of space is of considerable importance to repatriated Rastafari. After all, they have taken the concept of Ethiopianism and added to it a spatial dimension, transforming the idea of a symbolic Ethiopia into a reality. They save up the money to travel to Shashemene and establish businesses, aid in development, or simply fulfill their dream of repatriation. They move to be in the space that is Ethiopia. Thus far, I have argued that there is a clear gap between Ethiopians and Rastafari created by differing notions of identity—the former is based on the history of Ethiopia and ethnic variety that is far from the latter’s conception of identity shaped by a history of colonial oppression. This gap manifests itself spatially as well. The Rastafari conception of identity elicited a physical move. What caused them to repatriate was Ethiopianness or Africanness as they defined it—not Ethiopia. They altered their surroundings and space by traveling to and settling

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home, it is the Promised Land. As a piece of land, it takes on a particular symbolic resonance. Rastafari have created a sense of the space as blessed and divine through their conceptualization of Ethiopia. This is a specific ideal, and this view is significantly different from the conception of space by Ethiopians. This idealized, even utopian, sense of Shashemene is illuminated by the ways in which this space is lived in, interpreted, and conceptualized.4

Thinking about Space To understand these varied views of the space of Shashemene, postmodern geographers provide useful tools to think through how space becomes imbued with meaning. Philosopher and sociologist Henri Lefebvre provides strong reasons for the discussion of space and its production: “Instead of uncovering the social relationships . . . that are latent in spaces, instead of concentrating our attention on the production of space and the social relationships inherent to it . . . we fall into the trap of treating the space as space ‘in itself ’” (1991, 90). The discussion in this chapter takes stock of the “social relationships . . . latent” in Shashemene, recalling that “(Social) space is a (social) product . . . space thus produced also serves as a tool of thought and action; that in addition to the means of production it is also a means of control, and hence of domination, of power; yet that, as such, escapes in part from those who would make use of it” (26). The “space” of Shashemene has been produced in different ways by the people who exist within its borders, which have changed over time. In turn, those who “make use” of the space are themselves shaped by it. Geographer Edward Soja provides more perspective on Lefebvre’s analysis, writing that space is a “social product  .  .  .  simultaneously the medium and outcome, presupposition and embodiment, of social action and relationship” (1989, 129). In his terms, based on the research I have conducted with regard to both Ethiopia and Shashemene, I present data describing the “social product” that is the town of Shashemene—including both its Ethiopian and Rastafari inhabitants. Certainly, this spatialized conceptualization will be incomplete in that, based on my positionality and research limitations, it cannot take into account the entirety of all “social action[s]” and “relationship[s].” However, it

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I have noted the lack of discussion among scholars of Rastafari about their actual movement to Shashemene. Certainly, Bonacci (2007; 2008; 2012) has provided a detailed history of the Caribbean and the Rastafari presence in Ethiopia, specifically Shashemene. While she has focused on the historical timeline of the factors leading up to the land grant and the establishment of a settlement of Caribbean peoples in Ethiopia, I am more interested in the way Ethiopians perceive this series of historical events and how it culminated in the contemporary situation that I witnessed while engaging in fieldwork. The fact of the space itself and its location has led to a particular relationship between Ethiopians in the area of the Shashemene wereda5 and Rastafari. This analysis of space and its organization is important because it will reveal evidence of the social relationships in the town and the dynamics between them. Though repatriation has been discussed throughout the twentieth century in the context of the African diaspora, in Ethiopia actual space was delineated for repatriation. The importance of this gift of space by Emperor Haile Selassie to the EWF is underlined in documentation printed over fifty years after the land grant was made. Demonstrating the centrality of the granted space in Shashemene, the first page of a 2006 document entitled “General Overview” (part of the “Profile of the Organization”) reads as follows: “[A]s a result of the support Ethiopia received from the black people of the west during the Italian invasions 1935–1941, the Emperor granted five (5) Gashas of land in Shashemane, Ethiopia, to the E.W.F. Inc, for African people in the diaspora who desired to return to the motherland.”6 This grant of land by Haile Selassie to the African diaspora is a grant of space. However, this happened over half a century ago. Before investigating the spatial relationship of Rastafari to the city, I want to consider the spatial conceptualization of Ethiopia itself as the state went from feudalism to communism to the present regionalism, with corresponding changes in the control and management of space.

Reshaping Land/Reshaping Space in Ethiopia When Lefebvre writes that “the social and political (state) forces which engendered . . . space now seek, but fail, to master it completely” (1991, 26), he could be speaking of the numerous forces which have attempted

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Benti Getahun’s description of how land was distributed around Shashemene under Haile Selassie confirms Clapham’s analysis. Getahun speaks of government land “granted to the so-called balawuletas [“benevolents”] for their military services during the Italo-Ethiopian war” (1988, 8). These were soldiers from Eritrea who had abandoned the Italian forces in order to fight alongside the Ethiopian army. For their commitment to the Ethiopian cause, the emperor himself granted these soldiers land near Shashemene. Benti writes that the land was located in “Melka Oda in the outskirts of the town of Shashamanne [sic] on the way to Addis Ababa” (8). Interestingly, Benti notes that “oral sources” reported that these lands were granted to “punish the people of Shashamanne [sic] who had collaborated with the Italians” (8). Similarly, some of my oral sources mentioned that Haile Selassie granted land to Rastafari as a means of “punishment.” The sources would speak of it off hand, often not wanting to discuss it and laughing it off as speculation. But when I asked about it directly, they would say that the emperor must have chosen the land near Shashemene to make a statement to the Oromo—that by having Rastafari, who deify the emperor, live on these lands, the emperor was showing his power to the Oromo people, or, at the very least, frustrating them. As an example, one interviewee, who asked me not to reveal his identity, told me about a “rumor.” He said that “certain ethnic groups have an attitude towards [Rastafari],” but then told me to “drop it.” When I asked if he was referring to the Oromo, he said “yes,” that “the idea [was] that Haile Selassie gave land to Rastas and Eritreans in order to bother the Oromo.” The history of the land grant demonstrates that the land itself was not given just to Rastafari but to “the black people of the world,” only to be taken up predominantly by Rastafari later. Therefore Haile Selassie was probably not attempting to plant members of a specific movement in support of his regime next to an Oromo community. The first settlers to take up the offer of land in Shashemene were James and Helen Piper, originally from Montserrat and New York. According to Fikru Gebrekidan, they arrived in Ethiopia in 1955 and in 1961 they were still the only settlers in Shashemene (2005, 172). The first Rastafari to arrive was Noel Dyer, who, according to Bonacci, arrived on foot in 1965 (2007, 370), ten years after the Pipers. Even though the present community living on and around the land grant are Rastafari, from this evidence it would

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Figure 3.2. Map of the land grant (Bonacci 2008, 352).

reform in feudal land tenure relations was immediately attacked by the aristocracy as being “bought by a foreign enemy.” In parliament, which was already packed by the nobility, a land reform bill had been repeatedly rejected. (Milkias 2006, 190)

The aristocracy (and those the aristocracy deemed capable or acceptable) both owned and controlled the lands in Ethiopia, and had done so for centuries. It was, of course, in the interest of the government to maintain this situation because through the ownership of land the government was able to control the space of Ethiopia. When Paulos speaks of his own involvement in the student movement against Haile Selassie’s government, he recounts a 1967 conversation with Prince Michael Makonnen, the emperor’s grandson. The prince asked Paulos why the movement was against the imperial regime. The response: “Haile Selassie [is] an epitome of Ethiopian feudalism, and . . . if radical changes such as land reform were not instituted immediately, much violence would issue . . . [in] the impending revolution” (2006, 185–86). Those who opposed the monarchy saw the same leader and system that had provided Rastafari with the land grant— and the act of granting land in and of itself—as extremely problematic.

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Jamaican Embassy they petitioned the Dergue and reminded the Dergue why this land had been granted for our organization for the black people of the world and reminded them also that our parents also spilled blood in the defense of the Ethiopian integrity. There were some sympathetic members of the Dergue who discussed it and agreed that for the eighteen pioneer families that were present, each of them should get 2.2 hectares each which was the new land proclamation that farmers of a family size would have 2.2 hectares. . . . We have that proclamation signed by Mengistu, and in it he says that 2.2 hectares will go to the remaining settlers and more land will be given when you develop this.9

Ivan Coore, a repatriate who lived in Ethiopia for five years from 1970 to 1975, confirms this story. In March 1975, the locals in Shashemene plowed up to the doors of some Rastafari settlers’ homes. This demonstrated, according to Coore, “Haile Selassie done. It’s our time now . . . they came with guns and spears. If we had tried with resistance, we would have been massacred.”10 Coore helped to bridge differences between the Ethiopian government and Rastafari after the fall of the imperial regime. Acting in diplomatic capacity, he helped to negotiate the compromise of which King speaks. In view of the Dergue government’s approach, it would seem that after the land proclamation of 3 March 1975 the space granted to the “black people of the world”—as opposed to the people of Ethiopia— was transformed along with the space of Ethiopia. Before this moment, those who had settled on the land between the Melka Oda river and Shashemene—on land that had been bequeathed by a feudal leader— had arrived as foreigners, coming from elsewhere to live in Ethiopia. By signing a document that stated that “the eighteen pioneer families that were present . . . should get 2.2 hectares each which was the new land proclamation,” these pioneer families were being treated in the same way as Ethiopian families. There was parity between the treatment of Ethiopians and the treatment of the repatriates. It could be argued that at this moment the government tacitly acknowledged, through the allotment of space, the Ethiopianness of the settlers. But the overarching goal of land reform, the so-called encadrement, was to emphasize the power of the government. Given that the Dergue aimed to create a national sense of identity, part of the purpose of this

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the presence of Rastafari during the transition from Haile Selassie to the Dergue, or from feudalism (based on a hierarchy of space) to socialism (based on shared space). By signing the proclamation, Mengistu suggested that Rastafari were part of the shared space of Ethiopia. The fact that the Dergue took this action demonstrates that even though Rastafari continued to worship Haile Selassie (as they continue to do today), under this new government their land grant was respected to a degree. Gebre Gebru11 worked at the Jamaican Embassy in Ethiopia from 1985 until its closure (“for purely economical reasons”)12 in 1992. He is an Ethiopian who has since acted as the Honorary Consular General for Jamaica, acting as the liaison between Jamaican citizens and the Ethiopian government. He concurs with the above explanation, underlining the fact that the Dergue regime treated the Shashemene settlers the same way they treated Ethiopians: “During the emperor’s time, it used to be five gasha [between 400 and 500 acres]. During the military regime it was reduced to ten hectares. The military regime cut everything. The military regime did recognize them though by giving them a small amount of land each. Just like each Ethiopian. The policy was the same for Rastafarians as it was for Ethiopians.” In 1991, however, the space of Ethiopia was again altered as a result of the ethnic regionalism introduced by the incoming EPRDF government who took power from the communist regime. Had it worked according to the Dergue’s plan, all the towns and villages would have been engineered to function as a unit under the communist government. As it turned out, however, encadrement led to a level of autonomy beng granted to the outlying spaces, and as support for communism waned in the rest of the world, ethnically based opposition groups grew and took hold throughout the country. The TPLF was in the north, along with the EPLF, and the OLF (who eventually dropped out of the coalition, thereby bringing down the communist government) was, and remains, primarily in the south, where Shashemene is located. The OLF represented the interested of the southern Oromo population. When the EPRDF took power, there was a need to connect all these different ethnic groups together. Given that ethnic connection was the basis for the growth of the opposition groups, it is not surprising that ethnicity became the criterion for yet another shaping of the space within Ethiopia when the EPRDF government introduced ethnic federalism.

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present there is simply no land available for new Rastafari repatriates. “According to the emperor’s grant to the land,” he said, “there are many Jamaicans living in Shashemene, as you know. There were only eighteen people who have been granted land. Only eighteen in the history of the land grant. And no more. The government of Ethiopia stated that there is no additional land to offer to other Jamaicans. They don’t have enough land to offer them in that area or anywhere else.”

Municipal Organization of Space: A New Conceptualization The politics of space have played a large role in the development of Ethiopia and have affected Rastafari who have repatriated to the country. Shashemene’s spatial makeup has changed as well. The EPRDF government’s desire for ethnic regions has led to numerous changes in the use of space. As Demisse Shito, then mayor of Shashemene, told me in 2007, a new master plan was created for the city in 2003 (this was also mentioned by Gebre). This new master plan places the village of Melka Oda and the entire space of the original land grant within the boundaries of the city of Shashemene itself. This has affected Rastafari and the municipal government has responded. Both Rastafari and Ethiopian communities have lived through the major transformations of spatial consciousness that have occurred over three changes in government, and they both possess differing relationships to space. On 21 November 2007, a Community Development Forum was held at the Shashemene municipal government offices. A representative from the British Consulate was present, as was the Director of Oromia Representative Government and members of the municipal government, including Mayor Demisse. Members of the Rastafari community were also present and the forum was conducted in front of a public audience.13 This roll call is presented here so as to demonstrate the significance of this particular meeting. The first topic on the agenda was that of land. A member of the Rastafari delegation, Rastafari representative Ras Desai, made the following statement: It is not the intention of [Rastafari] to come as tourists but to live in Ethiopia on the land Emperor Haile Selassie give [sic] to the Black people of the world. The Mengistu Government changed policy and the land

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The mayor’s response to these statements is to discuss the issue of investment within the community. Given the mayor’s focus on “good government and urban development to reduce poverty in cities,”15 one might expect him to express an understanding of Ras DC’s position. However, Demisse immediately moves the discussion to the “Shashemene administrative portfolio,” asking that Rastafari ensure they do not have “money problems” when they register for investment, as this will prevent them from “meet[ing] stipulated criteria.” By encouraging Rastafari to invest, the mayor offers little recognition (or cognition) of the “Ghetto” environment of which Ras DC speaks. The context for the discussion is clearly confined to the city limits of Shashemene and to the realm of concerns specific to the spatial conception of the mayor and the municipal government. What is clear here is the existence of very different conceptions of what Lefebvre would call “lived space,” which results from a combination of “conceived” and “perceived” space (1991, 38–39). As organization specialist Zhongyuan Zhang writes in an interpretation of Lefebvre’s “spatial triad” (38–39), “The third term of lived space is balanced carefully between the two poles of conceived space (pure idealism) and perceived space (pure materialism). It embodies both elements without being reducible to either” (2006, 221). It would seem that Rastafari and the municipal government are setting the balance in very different ways in the records of the Community Development Forum. The mayor’s sense of space is weighted more heavily on the practical, economical, financial, and developmental side—the perceived space. There are many references to contemporary legislation, particularly in the comments of the land department representative, Samuel Makonnen. He speaks of the rules regarding land tenure and how the only way Rastafari can hope to receive an allotment is “through investment if they fulfill the criteria. [Makonnen’s] examples were [two hotels] for which land certificates were already provided in the areas of investment.” This demonstrates a material view of the space through monetary investment and development projects in the town. It also presents a specific understanding of the space and the role of Rastafari within it. However, a different maneuver is undertaken by Rastafari. They look outside the time and space of contemporary Shashemene to make an argument about the town. As we have seen, each of the three

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According to Atakilte, during the earlier research, the majority of the town identified as being of the Amhara ethnic group. However, this has changed and now the majority of the town identifies as Oromo. This being said, in interviews the inhabitants of the town demonstrated a decline of emphasis on ethnicity, preferring language as an identifying feature, though many people could speak both the major languages of the town: Amharic and Afaan Oromoo. The Ethiopian Orthodox Church had declined in influence, with the 2005 census revealing a drop in Orthodox adherents. This was the first time this had occurred in the history of the government census. While no one reported any conflict between Muslims and Christians during my research, it would seem that there is some tension between Orthodox Christians and Protestant Christians. When I spoke to Protestants, some of them said that the Orthodox Church was for the uneducated and illiterate. Based on this shift in issues relating to ethnicity, language, and faith, Atakilte described the townspeople as occupying multiple roles and identities depending on space and time: the people of Shashemene do not as a rule see themselves in any categorical way. This underlines the varied identity formations in Ethiopia. Shashemene is a site in which the many notions of Ethiopianness are being negotiated. Another new trend in the city is that of global migration. Whereas in the 1970s there were very few, if any, Shashemene residents who had left Ethiopia, now a number of migrants have left for the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. Though there are no other immigrant communities in Shashemene, this outward migration means that the sense of space in Shashemene is not limited to the city itself but is connected with the rest of the country through trade, and with the broader world beyond. As for the Rastafari community, it remains small in number—especially in proportion to the total population of Shashemene. Bjeren did not include Rastafari in her 1985 study, and they do not represent a large enough population to be included in her new data set either. However, although few, Rastafari are very visible—their existence in the Shashemene is marked by such things as the sign mentioned previously and brightly painted buildings. Also, the Rastafari themselves both use and move through the space noticeably differently from the Ethiopian population. As mentioned, before one actually gets to Shashemene proper, one travels through the Rastafari settlement where the presence of Rastafari

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especially on Saturday, the main market day in many towns across Ethiopia. Shashemene is no exception. I traveled through the market many times, as Tsegaye, my translator, had a job at a grade school near the market. I rarely witnessed Rastafari in the market area or near the busy arada (“town center”) near a bus station. I asked Tsegaye once how often he saw Rastafari in town, off the main road. His response: “Not very often. And they are always moving quickly; they are always lonely.” He then quickly corrected himself to say, “I mean they are always alone; Ethiopians usually walk together.” This is evidenced in the evenings by people crowding the main street, young people walking, eating corn roasted on the roadside, and chatting with each other. I was told, and also noticed, that this is a popular practice in the town. Large Isuzu trucks line the main road while their drivers rest and refuel, evidence of Shashemene’s reputation as a crossroads, a gateway to trade with the south of Ethiopia. The difference between this space and that of Rastafari is palpable. There are more people; there is obvious interaction between individuals on the street, greeting each other, chatting, buying and selling their goods. Foreign visitors walk relatively unnoticed, whereas in the Rastafari area Ethiopian youth constantly offer to provide the visitor a “tour” of the Jamaica sefer for a small fee. As part of my research I interviewed numerous Ethiopians as well as Rastafari living in Shashemene. Given my focus on Ethiopian perceptions, I would ask the Ethiopians questions about the Rastafari and the Jamaica sefer. As mentioned previously, the initial response of many interviewees was that I should ask the Jamaicans, and that I should go to the Jamaica sefer if I wished to know about the Jamaicans. When I said that I wished to know about the Ethiopian perception or opinion of the Jamaicans, they would often respond that I should speak to people who “live around them.” This was a common reply even in casual conversation. I should speak to someone who lived and/or worked in or near the Jamaica sefer to get “good information.” The message in this was that someone who lived closer to a space defined in a certain way would be able to impart knowledge about that definition. Spatial orientation led to greater understanding: for the Ethiopian population, to know Rastafari is to know the space of Rastafari. Those people who told me that they did not know about Rastafari often said that it

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of the Jamaica sefer. The focus on the “buying” of land—first at a low cost, and second for the purpose of producing drugs—shows that it is not just the drugs but the acquisition of land that is the problem. In neither case, however, was there any concrete evidence for either claim. The distance between the town proper and the Jamaica sefer gives credence to reports like Shemelis’s, since very few people travel to the Rastafari area. However, this could change. For myself, having been back and forth to Shashemene over the course of a decade, I have noticed great changes in the town even within the space of a few years. First, there has been obvious expansion that has narrowed the distance between what one might view as the center of town and the Jamaica sefer. New businesses have been opened, both Rastafari and otherwise, between the town proper and the location of the original land grant. In addition, a new bus station has opened, much closer to the Jamaica sefer than to the old bus station located in the area called arada. Moreover, since 2006 or so it has become much easier to travel between different parts of the city as a result of the availability of three-wheeled bajaj vehicles (so named for the Indian manufacturer Bajaj Auto Limited), which are inexpensive, motorcycle-driven rickshaw taxis. Bajaj taxis were completely unheard of in Shashemene until 2006. Before then one had to hire a car or take a gari (horse-drawn carriage). The ride was either expensive or very slow (garis would take almost twenty minutes to get from the middle of Shashemene to the Jamaica sefer). Zerihun Mohammed, who grew up in Shashemene during the 1970s, talked about just how far away Rastafari lived from the town: “The Jamaica sefer? That was very, very far from us. That intersection—the main highway [near where they live]— that was the end of the world for us.”20 In 2003, though there were certainly more cars on the road than there would have been in the 1970s, it still felt like the Jamaica sefer was a long way away. However, by 2013 the roads in Shashemene teemed with bajaj taxis, and it was both inexpensive and quick (less than five minutes) to travel from the end of town where the Jamaica sefer is located to the other end where the road bends toward Awassa, the closest town to the south. The difference between a five-minute taxi and a twenty-minute horse-cart ride may not seem like much, but for Shashemene residents this means that the entire town is more accessible and the distance between people has been shortened both literally and figuratively.

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Figure 3.3. Mural in exhibition area. Photo by author.

research center. Given that the city had expanded in 2003 to include the Jamaica sefer, King explained what the EWF had suggested and what resulted instead, as follows: When they told us that they have increased the city limits, we were now in an urban area, and that the only way we could get land was as investors, we called a community meeting and we devised and put together a project of commercial development on the lands on each side of the road—the front page, as we referred to it. Within that now, we wanted to develop shopping plazas, supermarkets, offices, banks, gas stations, restaurants, and cultural shops—the whole works. We engaged an architect and made a master plan of schematic drawings. We presented it to the local authorities, the idea being that we as a Rastafarian community would finance this commercial development. The only thing we wanted was the authorization. They didn’t give it. Instead, they hijacked the whole concept. There is a “V” formed by two roads in Shashemene. Right on the apex of the “V” we have proposed to erect a statue of His

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Oromo Space and Rastafari Space Asafa Dibaba, a scholar of Oromo culture, describes this divide the following way: Ethiopians are hospitable, but, practically, on the ground may be different. There are problems with granting land already owned by people that worsens the relationship between newcomers and the already indigenous people.  .  .  .  I think that from outside, one can infer problems. . . . When you look to [Haile Selassie’s] line, on his father’s side is Oromo, his mother Gurage . . . it doesn’t give sense. This person put into bondage his own people, from his father’s side. Then to be the one who freed Africans? I’m not happy with this.23

Asafa’s understanding of Selassie’s contested ethnic makeup is that it is half Oromo, half Gurage. This means that to Asafa, Haile Selassie acted as a colonial leader over his own ethnic group. Asafa makes a direct connection between this and land rights. From his perspective, Haile Selassie simply cannot be viewed as a liberator. If one views the former emperor in this way and then goes ahead and makes use of land originally owned by those oppressed by the emperor’s government, it “doesn’t give sense” for Asafa. Therefore, in Oromia a statue of Haile Selassie would, on top of everything else, most certainly not “give sense” in any way. When the EPRDF came to power in 1991 and introduced ethnic federalism, the region of Oromia was established. The regional government grants permission for all land use in Oromia (Hameso and Nebo 2000). Through the work of Asafa Jalata and from my conversation with Asafa Dibaba, it is evident that the Oromo have concerns about Rastafari use of land. Kebede Asfew, a bank manager who worked with Rastafari on business initiatives that required land acquisition, also acknowledged this reality. “The native people claim that the land is theirs. The Oromo people say that. . . . The Oromo see the Amhara as the invading group— they have expanded down to Kenya.” Kebede also described the tension between Rastafari and the local Oromo population: “I went to their religious festival. The Prime Minister from Trinidad and Tobago came to Shashemene and I was invited. I saw the ceremony. Even the PM himself took part. He said a lot. He looks Ethiopian, and he said it was

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of Haile Selassie was replaced by the Dergue, the Dergue didn’t like Rastafari. They didn’t let them build houses. They stayed during the Dergue regime, and, after the EPRDF came to power, there was democracy so they built houses and established their school. Their great problem is that they start something and they don’t finish it.

Leenco Ibsaa referred to the use of land for development projects: “They took land by saying that they would establish a great hospital for the Shashemene town ten years ago, but now it is still in the beginning stages.” By using the verb “to take,” he voices his complaint about the lack of progress on the hospital project in a particularly pejorative way. Echoing both Asafa Jalata and Asafa Dibaba, farmer Bunna Mohammed spelled out one of the main issues regarding Oromos’ acceptance of Rastafari. “In the Oromo region, Oromo people don’t like Haile Selassie. Generally, most of our society doesn’t like him.” Concurring, Usman said that “during the reign of Haile Selassie, here in [the Shashemene area], there is a separation between the Oromo and Amhara people.” In addition, the farmers are troubled by drug use. Leenco explained: “They have changed the norms of the culture of the young generation. For example, they use marijuana or the other drugs and the young participate. Unnecessary attention is therefore given to us. For instance, Shashemene town is given a bad reputation for drug abuse and crime.”

Utopia and “Our Original Shashemene” Ras Tagas King ends his statement about the dispute over the area on the outskirts of the town by referring to “our original Shashemene.” Likewise, the farmers use the words “our” and “us” to describe both themselves and their town. They are connected to this land as well—but in a very different way. King’s words, however, like those of the farmers, imply a sense of ownership over the space, but also, by using the word “original”—in the sense of a plan—an idea for the town. This being said, given the role of this space in Rastafari thought as the Promised Land, we may usefully think of it as a “space of utopia,” to use geographer and anthropologist David Harvey’s phrase. Harvey looks at the images of a variety of idealized city spaces over the course of recent history—from Edward Howard’s imagining of “new towns” (2000, 164) to Le Corbusier’s 1920s

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this nature could be seen as—and, in some instances, is explained as—a place for entertainment, including restaurants and shopping, in which a history of Rastafari and of Ethiopia is presented. Because this history is based on the differing sense of identity and space of the surrounding community, it risks being viewed negatively. In addition, the inhabitants of Shashemene view the narrative of the former Emperor Haile Selassie as a God who gifted the land as part of a “mythical past.” Although Rastafari can contribute to the space of Shashemene in numerous ways—their presence is a draw for tourists to Ethiopia and they present a positive image of Ethiopia abroad—the term “degenerate utopia” is nonetheless appropriate because such spaces, when they actually “materialize,” do not “offe[r] critique of existing state affairs on the outside” (167). While King’s idea of development is valuable and laudable, it needs to engage with the “existing state [of] affairs on the outside,” the lived space as defined by the relationship between all the inhabitants of that space. At present, there is a problem in terms of people’s understanding of differing notions of space. Given the fact that Rastafari make up less than half a percent of the Shashemene community, it would seem that in order to work toward development and integration the Rastafari community must understand how the space of Shashemene has been produced as well as how it exists now, in the present. This will help in the negotiation of belonging within the community. In addition to the historical context as well as the narratives told by Ethiopians—royals, priests, and common people—the disjuncture between Ethiopians and Rastafari can also be viewed through narratives of space. Basing this analysis in theories of space offers another way to contrast the different approaches of Rastafari and Ethiopians to Shashemene as well as Ethiopianness. In the next chapter, I move away from the particular space of Shashemene to address the representation of Rastafari at the popular level. This approach allows me to move away from what happens when Ethiopians and Rastafari share the space of a town like Shashemene, and to examine instead what happens when Ethiopians perceive Rastafari in the context of popular culture. A broader Ethiopian perception of Rastafari emerges through the framework of a large-scale event that presented Rastafari, through the lens of reggae, to the Ethiopian public.

4 Africa Unite, Bob Marley, Media, and Backlash

On 6 February 2005, a large concert was held in Meskel Square, a huge central piazza in Addis Ababa. Meskel Square is a stadium-sized area next to a confusing intersection of seven roads and nine lanes of traffic. Every September, during the Ethiopian Orthodox festival of Meskel— the “festival of the true cross,” meskel meaning “cross”—the square is flooded with people. A huge bonfire is set and priests celebrate the location of the “true” cross of Christ. In the past the square was used for elaborate, flamboyant rallies under the communist Dergue government. At present it is used for athletic training: mostly running in the mornings and soccer throughout the day. Crowds gather to view English Premier League football games on a giant screen at the end of the square in the evenings. Over the years, the square has hosted many cultural, religious, and government functions. Closing down this central square is quite a feat, but it was achieved to celebrate “Africa Unite,”1 a concert held in honor of the sixtieth anniversary of Jamaican reggae superstar Bob Marley’s birthday. Over the course of the day, performers included members of the Marley family, other Jamaican stars such as the I Threes, Senegalese musician Youssou N’Dour, Beninese Angélique Kidjo, and American R&B singer Lauryn Hill. There were dance troupes, demonstrations of Ethiopian music, and a few Ethiopian singers, but the concert only showcased the talents of one major Ethiopian pop star, the wildly popular Teddy Afro. Five hundred thousand people were expected, yet estimates in the media range from half that amount2 to four hundred thousand. In addition, during the days leading up to the concert, a symposium on pan-African unity was also held in Addis under the auspices of a number of United Nations organizations. There were 250 attendees to the symposium: young people, artists, academics, and activists.3 126

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Figure 4.1. The Africa Unite concert. Photo by Kidus Berhanu.

Because of the scale of these events and the ubiquity of the concert in the popular consciousness of Ethiopia, Africa Unite—and specifically the concert held on 6 February 2005—presents an ideal case study on the Ethiopian perception of Rastafari. In addition to the local Rastafari and Ethiopian communities in Shashemene, as well as the historical context of the Rastafari presence in Ethiopia, this international initiative broadens our understanding of the Ethiopian perception. The narratives about Rastafari produced by Ethiopian media further indicate a disconnect between Rastafari and Ethiopians. I have chosen journalistic reporting before and after the concert for analysis in view of cultural studies theorist Stuart Hall’s formulation of “encoding/decoding” (1991), which “allows for multiple interpretations of media texts during both the processes of production and reception” (Askew 2002, 5). For Hall, an “event must become a ‘story’ before it can become a communicative event” (Hall 1991, 508). This being the case, I have framed the analysis through the descriptions and representations of the event—stories—that were available through various media. I have already presented stories told about Rastafari by members of the Shashemene community. Here I focus on the stories told about Rastafari with regard to an event planned to celebrate the birth of the most prominent Rastafari who has ever lived: Robert Nesta Marley. In print

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a description as possible, given the resources and perspectives available, I collected articles from the state as well as private media in both English and Amharic and consulted reporters and producers of media in Ethiopia as well. The reaction to the concert, at first glance, was positive; however, the issues of pan-Africanism, the role of Haile Selassie, and the depiction of Ethiopia by the organizers and Rastafari performers are all viewed very differently by the Ethiopian population. Hence, through this approach I hope to discern elements of the relationship between Rastafari and Ethiopia as well as between differing concepts of identity. Further, some of Ethiopia’s religious communities—especially the Protestant ones—viewed the concert and related activities with questioning, suspicion, and what might be described as outright hostility. The Ethiopian Evangelical Church Makane Yesus, which, according to church documentation, is the largest Christian denomination in the country (after the Ethiopian Orthodox Church), compiled a booklet entitled “Former Ethiopian king Haile Selassie: Man or God? Rastafarians and their Beliefs” for distribution at the festivities. Another Protestant denomination, the Ethiopian Kale Hiwot Church, which also claims to be the largest Christian church in Ethiopia,4 published and distributed two pamphlets, “An Abomination in the Heart of Addis Ababa” and “Rasta Worship or Birthday Celebration” on 6 February. This printed literature by religious groups tells us how some Protestant communities view Rastafari in Ethiopia. As mentioned above, this concert and series of events was a focal point for many issues involving Rastafari in Ethiopia. Africa Unite is a springboard for the Rastafari response to Ethiopian opinion in advance of and following the event. The document entitled “Why Ethiopia & What Was Accomplished,” published by the Bob and Rita Marley Foundations and available online at the Africa Unite website, states that there was more to the event than celebrating Marley’s birthday. It was also about holding the symposium, discussing pan-African unity, and drawing attention to Ethiopia itself. The document states: “Many youth are now experiencing a new sense of unity under the banner of Rastafari” and Ethiopia is once again centre stage under the banner of His Imperial Majesty. It is time that the world acknowledged that he was neither a

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means of analyzing the Africa Unite event, allowing me to investigate many “meaningful structures.” Thick description demands the broadest approach to a subject by taking into account as many particulars as possible. Meanings engage with other meanings in a multitude of ways—all the ethnographer can only ever hope for is a view of culture that is “contested, temporal and emergent” (Clifford 1986, 19). What we see are bits and pieces: “Ethnographic truths are thus inherently partial—committed and incomplete” (7). While this technique prevents us from coming to any definitive conclusions, it also avoids the danger of generalization and results in a far more nuanced and relevant analysis. Anthropologists like Richard Price have acknowledged the incompleteness of any anthropological or ethnographic work: Price “has published a book that is a series of fragments . . . [so as] to present an inherently imperfect mode of knowledge which produces gaps as it fills them” (Clifford 1986, 8). Ethnography has moved from being singular and authoritative to being representative of “a multiplicity of descriptive experiments and interpretive paradigms” (Scholte, quoted in Stanton 1997, 20). I cite these intellectual influences on my work to underline that this case study cannot be a full and comprehensive view of the Africa Unite event. However, the move from a prescriptive to a self-reflexive approach and from culture as coherent subject to culture as symbol makes anthropology an ideal tool for the study of media and communications processes. Discussing media as a cultural product from an anthropological perspective inevitably “leads to an appreciation of the complexity of how people interact with media in a variety of social spaces and the resulting shifts in the sense of the local as its relation to broader social worlds becomes almost a routine part of life” (Ginsburg 2005, 20). The varied media and individual reactions detail these interactions. The numerous levels of interpretation underlying the different responses to the concert event present a unique view into these very relationships. With the Africa Unite concert, the local Ethiopian context contests, confronts, interfaces, and also clashes with the international image of Bob Marley and the broader social worlds of reggae and Rastafari. In addition, anthropology offers the tool of ethnography. As noted above, ethnography has developed over time into a self-reflexive form of study that pays “attention to cultural difference,” has “a commitment

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useful in discerning meaning from various types and levels of cultural production as well as in dealing with audience receptivity. Thus, to analyze Africa Unite through thick description, “encoding/ decoding” is an ideal investigative concept that becomes part of the media anthropological approach. In order to expand the analysis of media to include the audience one would also need an analytic tool to enable an understanding of the audience and its interactions with any given media product—here, the Africa Unite concert. Hall’s description of the “process . . . produced and sustained through the articulation of linked but distinctive moments—production, circulation, distribution/ consumption, reproduction” (1997, 128) is relevant to the production of the events of Africa Unite—how it was held would demonstrate a type of circulation of information. It’s also relevant in terms of the differing ways in which the event was consumed by the Ethiopian public and then reproduced in the Ethiopian press. The document produced by the Bob Marley Foundation and Rita Marley Foundation demonstrates the belief that certain meanings were encoded in the Africa Unite event. Each example from the Ethiopian media provides a way to investigate how these meanings were decoded through Ethiopian perception. By combining media anthropology with encoding/decoding to examine the Africa Unite event, I hope to show the wide-ranging impact of Rastafari in Ethiopia on as many levels and in as many ways as possible.

Journalism—Reporting from Differing Perspectives As mentioned above, the Africa Unite concert received wide attention in both the state and local media. By reviewing this reporting I will investigate the different currents of thought about the concert itself. First, however, we must understand that in Ethiopia there are both state and private media. I chose to examine the daily state media publications Addis Zemen (Amharic) and the Ethiopian Herald (English), which are available across the country, as well as three private media publications, the Reporter (Amharic), Addis Admas (Amharic), and the Ethiopian Reporter (English).7 These papers are available in some parts of the country but not in others. Articles have been drawn from these five publications because they provided the most thorough coverage of all the available reporting.8 In addition, my decision to analyze the

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published elsewhere, relying on unattributed translations from international newspapers. Two financial papers, Capital and Fortune, did report on the concert and related events in the context of arts and entertainment, but there was no broader coverage beyond a basic outline of the events being planned for Bob Marley’s birthday celebration. In addition, there are a number of newsletters and periodicals that reflect the ideas of various political parties and political interest groups. Such publications did not cover the Africa Unite concert. The aim of this media analysis is to take the stories surrounding the event and see what types of narratives and meanings emerge. The choice of quotations, the opinions expressed, and the elements covered in the different newspapers indicate an interaction between the culture of Ethiopia and that of the Rastafari: there are as many portrayals of Rastafari as there are of the Ethiopian perception of them. A cartoon published in the independent Amharic-language Reporter can act as an initial entry point into the discussion. It presents the Ethiopian state’s attempt to balance different perspectives. Elias Areda’s cartoon, reproduced here, shows a Rastafari musician (depicted with the iconic dreads and a guitar), clearly performing, as indicated by the microphone placed in front of him. A Rastafari man (perhaps a rendition of Bob Marley himself, though the caricature is unclear) is kneeling before a famous portrait of Emperor Haile Selassie, worshiping and praising the former Ethiopian king with his hands raised upward. The small man in the corner of the frame, who is holding up the portrait, is a caricature of then Ethiopian Prime Minister Meles Zenawi. The act of propping up the image illustrates a form of support (or perhaps approval) by the Ethiopian government to Rastafari for the Africa Unite event. This support could be viewed as political, calculated, and strategic—all possible interpretations of the image. By holding the picture, Meles could be read as controlling, perhaps even manipulating, the situation. The EPRDF’s antifeudal positioning, inherited from the Dergue regime, alongside the economic needs of Ethiopia as well as the reality of the African Union headquarters in Addis Ababa, put Meles’s government in a tight spot. Should they support Rastafari for economic and pan-African reasons? By doing so do they appear to be supporting the feudal Haile Selassie regime?

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could the placement of the microphone be seen as representing the concert event itself, thereby providing a reading of the concert as Rastafari worship of the emperor and the government as condoning this worship while not necessarily agreeing with it or being involved in it? As an introduction to a survey of journalistic coverage of the event, this cartoon, published in the independent media, presents a framework for analysis of the coverage. There is clearly a divide between what the state wished to convey versus the reality of the Rastafari content of the event in and of itself. As state media, the discourse of the Ethiopian Herald and Addis Zemen is intended to present Ethiopia—and its government—in the most positive light through its portrayal of the Africa Unite event. The independent media—the English- and Amharic-language Reporter and the Amharic-language Addis Admas—question this position and elaborate further views, some critical, about Rastafari.

State Media, State Promotion When viewed as a whole, the state media portrayed the event as a means of promoting Ethiopia and its government. Throughout the coverage, government media consistently distanced itself from anything that seemed to attach too much importance to Rastafari, preferring to focus on the ways in which the concert would benefit Ethiopia. Although there was some discussion of Rastafari, the major thrust of the coverage was to demonstrate how the event would promote a positive image of Ethiopia. Bob Marley was portrayed as a symbol of such overwhelmingly positive attributes as freedom, unity, and “brotherhood and sisterhood,” none of which were particularly controversial. Turning to the state media coverage, on 18 January 2005 the first major article about the concert was published in the Amharic-language newspaper, Addis Zemen. The article by Haile Gebru, titled “Bob Marley: Ethiopia’s Ambassador,” provides a short background about Rastafari, detailing the Ethiopian “miracle story” of the drought-relieving rain falling upon Emperor Haile Selassie’s arrival in Jamaica and Rita Marley’s subsequent conversion to Rastafari and marriage to Bob Marley. It then discusses how Marley represents peace, unity, and freedom and is a “bringer of good news”10 to the people of Africa. It is Marley who is praised, not Rastafari.

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One can thus read this text as a means of presenting local and international approval for the concert and related events as well as the blessing of various sponsors. Ethiopia’s participation is not necessarily related to Rastafari nor does it demonstrate that Ethiopia condones Rastafari beliefs. The focus on the “advancement of Africa,” “fighting poverty,” and the involvement of so many levels of government—local, federal, and international—distances the event from Rastafari. In fact, the emphasis on these elements can also be read also as demonstrating the Ethiopian government’s desire to reach out beyond the “Ras Tefarians” to “people who come from all over the world.” Similar statements of admiration for Bob Marley and calls for peace, unity, and respect for Africa are found throughout the coverage of the Africa Unite event in the state press. Announcing an art exhibit that was opening concurrently with the Africa Unite festivities, the Ethiopian Herald states that it will celebrate “the works of Bob Marley, history of Ethiopia as well as inspirations and visions of Africa.”12 This statement connects Marley, Ethiopia, and the wider continent of Africa. A specific focus on Ethiopia is underlined in a news story about the dedication of a square in Addis Ababa to Bob Marley. The mayor of Ethiopia’s capital city is quoted as saying “Bob Marley . . . used the struggle of the Ethiopian people for freedom as a greater inspiration for his work. He loved Ethiopian culture. . . . He used Ethiopia to inspire many as they fought for freedom.”13 The mayor’s words place much emphasis on Ethiopia, yet there is, of course, no reference to Rastafari. Ethiopia is not the Promised Land, but rather an “inspiration” for those fighting for “freedom.” As part of the celebrations, media reports indicate that Rita Marley was provided with “honorary residency” in Addis Ababa. In Addis Zemen¸ Haile Gebru describes this as follows: We Ethiopians, whether too little or too much, are grateful to those who provide for us and those who appreciate us. Therefore, by giving [honorary] name of national status, by giving the key to the city [residency in the city], by giving permission for residency for an undefined amount of time, and above all by giving honor and complete Ethiopian citizenship, we pay back our debt not mentioning the distant times but citing recent events.14

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The significance of the bestowal of citizenship on Rita Marley is underlined by its also being reported in the independent press. On 29 January the Ethiopian Reporter described the opening ceremony—the same ceremony described in the state news in which Rita Marley was awarded “honorary residence”—and the role of the Orthodox Church. Then Patriarch of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, His Holiness Abune Paulos, is described as providing his benediction for the event. Here again the focus is on “how much it means for Addis Ababa and Ethiopia for such a big event to take place here.”16 On 30 January, the Amharic-language Reporter also speaks of “honorary residency” and how there will be a square named in honor of Bob Marley.17 These facts are simply reported as news, with little further explanation or connection to the Rastafari population in the country. Alongside the disconnect between the concert and the Rastafari repatriate community as represented by Rita Marley’s honorary citizenship, the state media’s discussion of Bob Marley himself further removes him and his music from Rastafari. Indications of this disconnect are found in coverage by the Amharic state media. On 25 January 2005,18 Addis Zemen published an article titled “The African Union Is Bob Marley’s Vision.”19 In this unattributed piece, the writer begins with a rough translation of Bob Marley’s song “Africa Unite” and then discusses how Marley’s music provided a style for Rastafari. The writer argues that although Marley is connected to Rastafari and is from Jamaica, his music is not limited to either as it circulates worldwide and touches everyone. The article praises Marley generally, occasionally separating Marley’s greatness from Rastafari without specifically describing the latter. This article, published ten days before the large concert, may be seen as an attempt to increase the public’s comfort with Marley and disconnect him from Rastafari as a whole. If one were to criticize Marley on the basis of his Rastafari faith, an article like this would act as a means of lifting him above the criticism. According to the article, all the dignitaries present at this ceremony mentioned the need for unity, specifically African unity, in the face of problems such as poverty and war. The mayor of Addis Ababa points to the need to unite Africans both in the diaspora and on the continent. The deputy executive secretary of the Economic Commission for Africa, Josephine Ouedrago, reportedly spoke of Marley “ignit[ing] the fire of African self-determination” and Netsanet Asfaw pointed to

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Above these definitions, there was an article entitled “Bringing People Together under ‘Africa Unite.’” This piece discussed the celebrations, but also provided descriptions of conversations with Rastafari who were in attendance. The writer spoke to Desmond Martin, a Rastafari repatriate who has lived in Shashemene for over thirty years. Martin describes the NGO work instituted by the Rastafari community and the love he has for Ethiopia. He also states that Rastafarians “belong to the Orthodox Church” and that the “relationship [Rastafari] have with Ethiopians is so wonderful,” describing the integration of Rastafari in the Shashemene community and how the “majority” of Rastafari have married Ethiopian women. Though the article paints a portrait of how Rastafari have integrated into Ethiopian society, these facts are not borne out in reality.22 As mentioned earlier, there are Rastafari who are members of the Orthodox Church, but the Orthodox Church does not recognize belief in the divinity of Haile Selassie, a major element of Rastafari faith. Thinking back to the disconnect between Rita Marley’s honorary citizenship and the lack of recognition of Rastafari repatriates, this article seems to be overstating the case for Rastafari integration. The article’s claims of successful integration are not accompanied by any discussion of the real issues and the gap between the Ethiopian and Rastafari populations in Shashemene. Two other Rastafari speak with the writer of this article and underline the importance of African unity and working together as Africans for the benefit of African people. Charity and development projects such as the Rastafari school and funding for a medical center in Shashemene (a donation of US $50,000), are mentioned.23 In a later article, this health facility is discussed again: “The Bob Marley Foundation announced that it will build a health facility at a cost of US $50,000 in Shashemene.”24 The mayor of Shashemene, Demisse Shito, is quoted as saying that the town is in support, but he also calls upon the foundation to expand its reach beyond the town proper. Specifically, he says, “Jamaicans could invest in the woreda [“municipal zone”] where 68,000 hectares of land is designated as industrial zone.” Here government officials in Shashemene are strongly indicating their desire to have Rastafari act as investors. The goal is to connect with the community through investment. Again, by focusing on Rastafari as investors in the country, they avoid any discussion of citizenship and of the

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the event becomes simply a way of drawing attention to Ethiopia. These parties piggyback on the publicity, enjoying the opportunity to showcase their achievements. Ironically, there is no mention of any humanitarian or business achievements by the in-country Rastafari. As a final comment on the concert and related events, a week later a column titled “What Does Addis Benefit from Bob’s Birthday?”27 was published. This piece is about the fact that Ethiopia was able to host such an event even though it is viewed as a “poor” country—it “builds the confidence” of Addis. The writer also asserts that “it shows to the outside world that poverty doesn’t matter to decency.” Despite the assumption that poverty is linked to violence, he says, at the concert, even though there were hundreds of thousands of people, “NOTHING OUT OF LINE HAPPENED” (capital letters used by the writer for emphasis). Ethiopia has demonstrated that it is a safe place, and the reason for this is that “Ethiopian culture moulds its citizens to respond alike regardless of life standards. Religion and fear of God is considered by many as one of the main reason for this. That’s why despite the level of poverty and large population the number of crime committed compared with other African countries is minimal.” Clearly, the writer wants to show that Ethiopian identity is different from that of other African nations. However, immediately after differentiating Ethiopia from other countries, he discusses how African unity was an important part of the concert’s aims. But Ethiopia’s position is primary: “We know that all Ethiopia governments have done their best to unify the African continent and promote brotherhood and sisterhood.”

Independent Media: Another Perspective The independent press begins its coverage on 15 January 2005 with an interview with Rita Marley. She speaks of her intention to bring Bob Marley’s remains to Ethiopia. The interviewer, Henok Semaegzer, asks the question, “What would be the significance of Bob Marley’s remains to Ethiopia?” Her answer does not deal with Ethiopia and Ethiopians, but with the fact that the country is “[Bob’s] spiritual and physical resting place. . . . [I]f you listen to his interviews, he says ‘Ethiopia, Africa is my home.’ I’m just trying to be obedient.”28 This comment indicates that Ethiopia has (or had) significance for Bob Marley. But the significance

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present government for focusing away from the past in his song “Yasteseriyal.” This track, which demands recognition for history, has been banned by the government.30 On 29 January, an article appeared in the Arts and Culture section of the English-language Ethiopian Reporter on Bob Marley,31 together with an announcement of events planned for the following week. In the same issue, however, there was an article entitled “Ras Tafarianism and Repatriation: A Spiritual Fulfillment.”32 This provides much more information on the repatriated Rastafari than anything in the state media. In this piece, the writer speaks with “a repatriated Rastaman who prefers to be called Ras Qunteseb Kidane Meheret Selassie.” He is a Trinidadian, educated in England, who lived in Canada with his wife and three children. He now lives in Ethiopia with an Ethiopian wife and two Ethiopian-born children. The article presents this Rastafari’s life story and his philosophy of Afrocentricity. Though the piece attempts to be objective, certain comments suggest otherwise: “For Rastafarians, the coming back to Africa movement is more than just a desire to come to the poorest continent.” The writer also mentions the “poverty, famine, ethnic conflicts and political unrest in all corners of the continent.” These comments show that the writer’s view of Africa is different from those who see Ethiopia and Africa as a place of “sanctuary”—as Ras Qunteseb describes it. Indeed, he is quoted as saying that he “didn’t have an ideal Ethiopia or an image of perfect people,” but he did see it as a place of spiritual fulfillment. The writer insists on putting the term “holy land”—when associated with Ethiopia—in quotation marks. Continuing with this somewhat skeptical attitude, a reprint of Anthony Mitchell’s Associated Press (AP) story, “Ethiopians Suspicious of Marley Festival,” was published on the day of the concert. This article outlines some of the main issues raised by the Rastafari presence in the country: the fact that Rastafari are seen as “an oddity,” they “are accused of spreading drugs and crime,” and Haile Selassie himself “never held a particular affinity for Rastafarians.” Man-in-the-street comments about the AP article appear under the title “Vox Pop,” and provide a sampling of public opinion. Of the seven commentators, four suggest that the concert will be a boon for the country, drawing tourists and much needed foreign currency. Of the remaining three, one is worried about the lifestyle of Rastafari and the use of drugs, one is excited about the

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poor sound system and poor Ethiopian music fans who . . . were not given enough respect.” Henok goes on to discuss all the preparation and work invested in the concert and how the promises regarding the artists and the concert were “not fulfilled.” An audience member, twentyeight-year-old construction worker Tesfa Gebru, is quoted as saying, “I guess it was a VIP concert as the presentation and the sound system were designed to please the important ones.” A photograph accompanying the article depicts Rastafari audience members dancing, with the caption: “Africa unite was indeed a concert for the VIP.” The response to the question of the headline seems to be that the concert was a Rastafari concert for Rastafari—according to Henok’s piece, it was, just as the earlier article had declared, a “dreadlock Rasta jam.” Photographs of the event confirm that certain people—not just public government figures (including then Prime Minister Meles Zenawi) who would traditionally be front and center at public events—were able to get much closer to the action than the general public. Viewing Stephanie Black’s Africa Unite documentary which features concert footage of the event also confirms Henok’s comments regarding those who had the best seats in the house. Most of the people pictured close to the stage appear to be Rastafari. Granted, this could be a result of particular camera angles. In addition, one might argue that at any event as large as Africa Unite, the “VIPs” always have a better view. However, it was clearly an issue for Henok. He continues to express the opinion that the concert did not reach out to the Ethiopian public by describing how the host of the affair spoke English that was little understood and discussed marijuana, which “could be a ‘holly [sic] leaf ’ in the Rasta religion but it is definitely a substance of abuse that is illegal in Ethiopia.” Both these factors distanced the host from the audience and presented a political view that was at odds with the laws of the country. Answering the question in the headline, the concert was not for Ethiopia, according to Henok, it was for VIPs and for Rastafari. Not only does the article detail differences in opinion about marijuana, but it raises the problem of communication. The content of what was being said by the host of the concert was not only problematic, but the language was difficult to understand. According to the piece, the result of the lack of communication between Rastafari and the Ethiopian public was that instead of promoting unity, the event promoted a sense of

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pissed off and I left and I set my camera to shoot from distance. So that is how we put together the Inside Africa story for CNN and we had to deal with some international whatever-they-are companies or ETV and all this bullshit. It wasn’t properly branded or marketed in a way because it shouldn’t have been some greedy corporation or media whatever, saying “We have exclusive rights to this event.” Make it available for everybody! How much are you going to get by preventing others from shooting this? It was ill organized. . . . This points me to a very shaky image of the whole movement. Are you trying to make this as popular as possible so people know about it, so then you have more new foot soldiers joining the movement for Rastafarianism? They wanted to make money through that event. But what is the point? You want to make money or you want to talk about Rastafarianism? All these people who congregated at the square were not Rastafarians. They were Ethiopians and ferenjis [foreigners] who came to have a good time like a concert like you would find in Toronto or New York or whatever. It should have been separate because he is talking about the movement; he is trying to send a message across the board so others would learn. All we found was some fat ass priests of that establishment telling us all this bullshit. Nobody would even listen to that. Nobody would even care to listen.37

I provide this long statement by Tefera Ghedamu not to argue about who had the rights to the event, but rather to discuss one of the narratives being constructed by media commentators around the issue of access and entitlement. Tefera’s lack of access to the concert leads him into a discussion of the purpose of the concert, immediately leading him to conclude that the concert was about making money. He does this through his comparison of concertgoers at Africa Unite to concertgoers in other parts of the world, regardless of the Rastafari thrust of the concert. Utilizing the word “establishment” to describe Rastafari and discussing the “branding” of the concert presents the event as an economic reality rather than a means of showcasing the ideals of Rastafari. In fact, it reverses the Rastafari narratives. Tefera’s comments connect with those of Henok in that both of them point to the economic perspective. For both, the Africa Unite event was disconnected from Rastafari. For Henok, this was due to the preferential treatment given to the elite; for Tefera it was self-serving to the

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Creator, he is God, and now they go and spend money in order to properly receive his believers. . . .  Next Tuesday is the celebration of Emperor Tewodros’s 150th year since taking power. Not a single breath has been wasted on honoring [this day] for him. Without the desire to talk about Emperor Tewodros’s 150th year, for Bob’s 60th year, to do this much seems to involve a distorted connection between the government and the people. Last year was the 160th year since Emperor Menelik’s birthday, the 90th year from the year he died. Nothing was done for him even close to how Bob Marley is being revered in the government and population. It’s useful to remember our history in the age of Ehadeg, in which “Adwa Square” is named and called this, now it’s destroyed and next to it “African Diaspora” is what it’s called. Pushing aside the victory of Adwa and remembering “African Diaspora”—why this was chosen seems to point to a distortion in our way of thinking. There is a lot to say about this, but since today is the day of the concert, let’s just mention the sadness and distortion and leave it be. Let’s move to the positive aspects of the concert. At least three positive contributions can be attributed to the concert. The first is clear and at least the first half million of the people that go in person will enjoy the time. In every house people will enjoy it on TV. In other countries, the viewers will enjoy it. The arts have an important place. This is the main use. This concert will obtain a greater utility. Ethiopia has been known as a country of famine and war. Through this type of musical concert, because it will be distributed throughout the world, the world will see and know that Ethiopia is a place of concerts, dancing and enjoyment. Because of this, the concert will let the world see the positive aspects of our country. Where we have not achieved the results of many attempts, this stage may be successful. It has another primary use. For this holiday many foreigners will come. These guests will drop their money here and leave; they won’t take our money with them. The visit of these guests will open the door for future guests. It will provide a great contribution for the growth of tourism. The economic effect will not be small. Foreigners will fill our hotels. Our city will be alive. I don’t know how long it will last, but even for a few days Addis Ababa will have a special life—a life of music and joy. We

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and public relations value. Here the Reporter editorial underlines many of the same points that were made by the state media. What is problematic, however, is that resistance to the concert is based on the editorial’s fundamental difficulty in accepting the spiritual narrative of Rastafari. This is exemplified by those who vocally opposed the concert and who are mentioned in the Amharic-language Reporter: Bob Marley’s holiday is beyond a tourist attraction for Ethiopia. The ones who give their opinion say that the Jamaicans say that Haile Selassie is God and their goal and the goal of the production must be to spread their faith. . . . Many pamphlets are being spread in opposition, saying that the Orthodox believe Haile Selassie was man, not God. . . . It should be noted that the production’s effort to spread and teach the Rastafarian faith is being openly opposed by several groups.39

Along with the rest of the independent press coverage, this editorial presents a skeptical, questioning narrative. In English as well as Amharic, there are questions about the meaning and purpose of the event, the Amharic coverage raising far more serious questions of motive and analysis of the concert’s relevance to Ethiopia. By diverging from the state media, the Amharic independent press asks the government directly how the Rastafari vision of Haile Selassie and the history of the country can be made to fit with an Ethiopian perspective. Rastafari and Ethiopian narratives clash. A further clash stems from the religious questioning of Africa Unite, the very acts of protest discussed in the Reporter.

Protestant Problems: Trouble with Rastafari The question that religious groups asked in response to the concert was not “A concert for whom?” but more seriously, “A concert for what purpose?” The journalistic responses consist of narratives of meaning. Through the methodology of media anthropology and thick description, we can see how these narratives are in competion with one another, being covered by certain sources and ignored by others. This is because Rastafari occupy contested terrain in Ethiopia. The comparison between reports drawn from state media and independent media

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and not a god,” “Ethiopia is just a nation among the nations and not the promised land/Zion where Rastas need to return to,” and “Ethiopians are not special or chosen people but just normal African people.” The booklet also attempts to indict Rastafari through reference to drug use. Most of the passages it quotes are from Barry Chevannes, author of Rastafari: Roots and Ideology (1994), of the “West Indian University Sociology and Social work department.” Though the university is incorrectly named (it is the University of the West Indies), some quotations do seem to have been drawn from Chevannes’s work.41 Chevannes does not pass judgment in his research, though the quotations drawn from his book are used to do exactly that. The verdict on Rastafari is clear. After providing a general overview of how Rastafari belief is a form of idolatry, the booklet goes on to state that, given Ethiopia’s long history of Christianity, it does not fit in with Ethiopian culture. The text acknowledges that Marcus Garvey fought against colonialism and describes him as someone who, while not Rastafari himself, opened the way for the faith. Though the booklet lists aspects of Rastafari belief and practice such as important holidays and symbols, the main thrust of its contents is extraordinarily damning. According to the text, the Rastafari faith is dangerous for Ethiopians living abroad and leads to insanity. It tells the story of an Ethiopian who smoked marijuana with some Rastafari. Some of his Ethiopian friends became Rastafari and went “crazy.” Finally, the booklet charges that since Rastafari do drugs, they engage in homosexual relationships and rape both men and women. After making these extreme—and baseless—statements, the booklet ends by insisting that it is not trying to spread hatred against the Jamaican people. Instead, it wants to dissuade Ethiopians and blacks from converting. “Ethiopia has long been Christian, believing in one God, the Trinity. . . . [W]e need to be faithful to our culture and biblical tradition and we need to protect and distinguish ourselves from this faith.” The pamphlet handed out by the EKHC on the day of the concert, entitled “Rasta Worship or Birthday Celebration?”42 states that it was “prepared after consultations were held with EKHC theologians and other Ethiopian intellectuals on the subject matter.” The pamphlet’s first page immediately turns to the purpose of the concert, analyzing the banner slogan “Africa Unite.” The words of Bob Marley’s song of the

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Figures 4.3 and 4.4. Pamphlet examples in both Amharic and English.

country threatened by the potential negative impact of Rastafari), Rastafari represent something that is inimical to Ethiopia. This is similar to some of the journalistic statements, namely, that Rastafari are a threat to Ethiopian history and to the sense of Ethiopia as a country, a nation. A second pamphlet with the title “An Abomination in the Heart of Addis Ababa (Feb. 6, 2005),” was also handed out on the day of the concert in English and Amharic versions. Both versions of the pamphlet were given to me by Kasahun at the time of my interview with him. This takes particular aim at Rastafari from the perspective of history as well as the development of the country. The pamphlet begins by

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have claimed to be Orthodox Christians—and, of course, Orthodox priests have claimed Bob as Orthodox. Neither, however, has formally denounced their belief in Haile Selassie as divine. This is unacceptable to both the Orthodox Church and Protestant denominations (as well as the Catholic Church within Ethiopia). To consider the former emperor as divine is contrary to the beliefs of the Protestant and Orthodox Church. The pamphlet continues by arguing, through the use of the Bible, the same points as were made in the first pamphlet discussed: first, that Haile Selassie cannot possibly be a “Living God,” second, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah is actually Jesus Christ, and last, Ethiopia cannot possibly be Zion. With stinging clarity, the pamphlet states: “The Rastafarians would have us think that the feelings they have for us as a nation are mutual. . . . What a lie.” In a further argument against Rastafari, the pamphlet describes Shashemene as drug-ridden and suffering from a high incidence of HIV/AIDS. Also, it asks why Rastafari have not come to Ethiopia’s assistance in recent history—especially under the Dergue. Why did Rastafari not help Haile Selassie when he was “detained” under the Dergue? Why did they not help during the famine? Why have they not helped to develop the country? The pamphlet ends with the following statement: As Ethiopians, we speak to you Rastafarians; don’t pretend you love us when you are inspiring us to worship your false god. Celebrate your events anywhere but not here. Don’t come here claiming that our former emperor is God, and don’t call our nation Zion, for we are not. We are one of the African nations working towards economic and social development.

For all the discussion of economic development and social unity in the state newspaper coverage of the Africa Unite event, the worship of Haile Selassie prevents any of it being heard by the growing Protestant community in Ethiopia. And the Protestant community speaks for both itself and the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in making these arguments. The words of these documents consistently distance Christian Ethiopian culture from that of Rastafari. Given the emphasis on unity during the events and also in Rastafari philosophy, it is evident that the Protestant movement in Ethiopia is not, at present, able to connect with

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view of historical and present injustices, it mentions the need for reparations. However, there is still more to do, as the work of the Rita Marley Foundation with the “rural poor” (3) in Ghana shows. Acknowledging the poor in Shashemene, the document quotates from “a Headmaster in Shashamane [sic]” who says, “Many people understand now what this celebration is all about. They now realize that Bob Marley’s message is for everyone especially the poor. It is a great thing for Ethiopia” (3). Describing how the Marley family had heard Ethiopian children call out “Bob Marley, Jamaicans, freedom,” it suggests that this “evidenc[ed] approval and identification” (3) This is the only section in the document that mentions anything about Rastafari beyond Addis Ababa. It discusses the Marleys’ travel to Shashemene and mentions the plans for a stadium to be built in the town, but says nothing about the Rastafari community in the area. There is no discussion of the repatriate community or repatriation. This is a particularly glaring omission, given that the document mentions the honorary citizenship “bestow[ed] on Mrs. Marley” (4). Citizenship is such a fraught issue for Rastafari in Ethiopia that its omission from the document prevents the Africa Unite event from connecting with the lived experience of local Rastafari. Of the five goals listed as accomplished, the first three are indisputable. One: “the entire world once again joins in the celebration of Bob Marley’s birthday.” Yes, this was successfully achieved. Second: “the historic symposium  .  .  .  brought together 250 youth, artists, academics and activists from the continent and the Diaspora.” The film Africa Unite clearly shows that this symposium was very successful and many attendees were pleased with it and the connections made as well as projects initiated. Three: “the African world joins Ethiopia in recognition of the need for African Unity, while the rest of the world realizes the power of music as a unifying force.” Indeed, a concert attracting hundreds of thousands of people does say something about the unifying power of music. Likewise, the discussions at the symposium and in news media also raised the issue of African unity. Numbers four and five on this list, however, are perhaps less definitive accomplishments. Four states that “[o]ver the past year Ethiopia has experienced an awakening of unity amongst its people. Many youth are now experiencing a new sense of unity under the banner of Rastafari.” It is difficult to know what evidence the Bob Marley and Rita

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and Rita Marley Foundations as well as the Ethiopian government. The spirituality defined by Rastafari in this case is “under the banner of His Imperial Majesty.” Ethiopia is a deeply spiritual nation—whether one is Orthodox, Protestant, or otherwise—and the spirituality of Ethiopia, regardless of denomination, directly denies the spirituality of Rastafari. This situation is similar to the experience of Ethiopians and their Rastafari neighbors, as seen for example when the municipal government of Shashemene presented a very different perspective from Rastafari in relation to space. In the high-level international political context of the African Unite events, as in the community-oriented local political context of Shashemene, the Ethiopian response to the emotional spirituality of Rastafari is to focus on politics and commercial value. Just as the mayor of Shashemene spoke about economics and politics to Rastafari, the main thrust of the state and independent media was to talk in terms of the positive benefits of the concert. These benefits were financial and political, inasmuch as the concert and related events would draw tourist dollars to the country and Ethiopia could be showcased on the world stage as being safe and well-governed. In addition, the positive focus that the Rastafari movement provides reinforces Ethiopians’ belief that Ethiopia is special, unique, and exceptional. Following Dayan and Katz (1994), while the concert attempts to present an “idealized” version of Ethiopian society as safe and worthy of investment, different sources also present an idealized version of Rastafari. The idealized version conceptualized by the papers is one that attracts commercial investment and tourism to Ethiopia and does not threaten Ethiopian values—one that ignores the differences between narratives. This is the image painted by the state media. The independent press offers alternate views, but also presents the ideal version of Rastafari as attractive for reasons that do not challenge Ethiopian society. The Protestant churches may be radical and overstating the case against Rastafari, but their reaction is the only one that decodes the meaning of Rastafari as threat. This reality is in stark contrast to the stated success— perhaps another idealized version of Rastafari—presented by the Bob and Rita Marley Foundations. This version, while connected to Rastafari faith and ideals, is completely disconnected from the repatriate community—those Rastafari actually living in Ethiopia. Beyond this divide, the reference to the sponsors of the concert and the expressed relationship

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Ethiopian perception of Rastafari, we will be able to discuss it from a perspective shaped by those involved in fields of artistic creation. Music plays a role in the Rastafari movement and in its worldwide presence through the work of Bob Marley. In order to address the relationship between Rastafari and Ethiopians it is also essential to look at the importance and impact of music—specifically reggae music—in Ethiopia. Through Ethiopian music, musicians, and a visual artist inspired by reggae, Rastafari, and Bob Marley, we observe that there is an image of Rastafari in the popular Ethiopian imagination. This shows that Rastafari influence in Ethiopia can be studied in terms of its influence on Ethiopian culture and history, but that Rastafari elements can also be studied totally independently of these elements. It is also possible for Rastafari influence in art to be simply applied as a style, on the surface. Again, this reflects the varied narratives in Ethiopian society. Though reggae and Rastafari are connected, Ethiopians can disconnect the two, selectively appropriating elements that do not threaten Ethiopian identity.

Music and Rastafari The bond that connects music and Rastafari cannot be ignored. Certainly, it is difficult and problematic to insist on or to argue for an essential connection between religion and/or spirituality and music. Perhaps the relationship between music and religion might be better understood as a means of communication. If one looks, as anthropologist Diane Austin-Broos has, at the connection between religion and music within a Jamaican perspective, keeping in mind the origins of the Rastafari faith, one might find that “music in the church is a form of religious ‘realization’” (1997, 124). Through her description of the use of music in the Jamaican Pentecostal Church, she demonstrates how music helps one to become fully aware of or experience religious belief. Music allows for a communion with God, a conduit: “The songs act as vehicles of God’s power, and as a means of experiencing him” (Hopkins, quoted in Austin-Broos 1997, 125). Music’s ability to be the embodiment of God and carry one closer to awareness and perception of religious and spiritual truth accords with economist Jacques Attali’s view of music as “a path to knowledge” (1985, 20). If, as Attali argues, music “is a way of perceiving the world,” its

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Chevannes argues that “Nya-binghi” stemmed from the name of an African organization described in a 1935 article published by the Jamaica Times. The piece claimed that Nya-binghi meant “death to the whites” and had been founded by a Congolese king sometime in the 1920s (1994, 43).3 In what Chevannes calls an “unintended” yet “farreaching” (43) consequence of this article, the word has entered into Rastafari parlance to describe both the drumming as well as the “ritual dance” (164). Importantly, the symbolism of such musical ceremonies has grown over time. The use of the word “Nyabinghi” identifies the drumming event as African, thereby connecting Rastafari to the African continent. In terms of the drumming practice, Barrett describes how Rastafari music “emerged when Count Ossie introduced his ritual drumming” and how the music itself reflected Rastafari understanding: “The down beat of the drummer symbolizes the death of the oppressive society but it is answered by the akette drummers, a resurrection of the society through the power of Ras Tafari . . . it is a call to Africa” (1997, 190). Underlining this call to Africa are the Tabernacles where Binghi drumming and singing takes place. These circular areas are strewn with posters emblazoned with quotes from Haile Selassie and Afrocentric slogans, pictures of the emperor and Africa, and artifacts from Africa, either replicas created by Rastafari or the genuine article. Though this music is used in Rastafari worship, Rastafari belief does not articulate a particular musical orientation. The reverse is true: there is a particular musical orientation that articulates Rastafari. This music is reggae. Scholars of Rastafari and Jamaican music suggest that the sound of the drum used to accompany chanting is part of a developmental trajectory for reggae music. Reggae historians Steven Davis and Peter Simon present the same description of the beat, connecting it to a specific Jamaican musical style: “The basic Rasta rhythm is a sustained two-beat riff that swells and hypnotizes like a heartbeat. . . . Rastafarian drumming stems from one of the older Jamaican musical forms, burra . . . the burra and akete drumming shared the same outlaw philosophy and Trench Town stomping ground as reggae, and the two musics are mutually inclusive” (1977, 18–22). Reggae music lovers, unacquainted with Rastafari, will certainly recognize lyrics and melodies sung at Binghis. The connection with the burra, does, as Barrett wrote, underline the Rastafari connection with Africa, but it also has a direct historical

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In addition, though Rastafari may have been marginalized in Jamaican society, the Rastafari influence on music did not prevent the widespread popularity of reggae: “[T]hrough [reggae] . . . the Rastafari social movement has distinguished itself in the public’s mind” (Kebede and Knottnerus 1998, 503). The reason for this is the ability of music to disseminate a message, here being the connection to Africa in the rhythm and the narrative of resistance through lyrics. As a result of the involvement of Rastafari in reggae, a popular musical culture “based on the spirit of resistance” (Campbell 1987, 121) was (and still is being) created. In the music’s infancy, songs that had been sung amongst Rastafari “were now being released on record for all to hear. . . . [D]espite the component of idealism and deliverance, the songs were pregnant with criticism of the racial hierarchy of the society” (127). Due to the popularity of reggae in the postindependence period, reggae music helped the status of Rastafari in Jamaican society by “open[ing] possibilities at the cultural, political and technological level and was an inexhaustible source of courage and moral support” (134). There has always been non-Rastafari reggae music, but is through reggae that the marginalized Rastafari were transformed into “the bearers of protest, definers of discontent, and protagonists of rebellion in Jamaican society” (Watson 1974, 339). Songs by Rastafari artists like Bob Marley and the Wailers not only presented an alternate political perspective, but also “helped many [Jamaicans] to discover their roots and the richness of their cultural heritage” (Campbell 1987, 135) by making a connection to Africa in both the sound and lyrics of the music. Kebede and Knottnerus suggest that Rastafari “is primarily a political movement with a very strong religious component” (1998, 502). Certainly, through reggae, the religious messages were strongly stated, as was political commentary, thus causing reggae to provide vivid social commentary. However, the power of reggae and its Rastafari message, has not been limited to Jamaica. The movement from the confines of a small island in the Caribbean to a time when a concert would be held of the very same music, drawing hundreds of thousands of people to a square in Addis Ababa, was achieved in the name of Bob Marley. It would be difficult to argue against the statement that Bob Marley is the international face of Rastafari (Campbell 1987, 140–50). Anthropologist John Homiak has found through his research into representations of religious belief that “much of what makes specific

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One need only look at Rastafari music from its origins in Nyabinghi drumming and use in religious ceremonies to its political consciousness and resonance among oppressed people worldwide, to see how the strains of what has become one of the most well-known folk musics of the world not only articulates and spreads Rastafari beliefs, but also provides options and ideas for the “communal self-development” of which Gilroy speaks. Ethnomusicologist Kenneth Bilby has discussed how music became the most powerful means of spreading Rastafari beliefs through the circulation and migration of recordings (along with that of the Jamaican people): Although this music [reggae] becomes a primary vehicle for the expression of the movement’s ideas, it is a thoroughly “modern” electricallyamplified music, and is performed by an instrumental ensemble which differs little from that employed by American and European rock bands. The burgeoning local music industry continues to expand, and contributes to the rapid spread of the movement’s influence (1983, 203).6

Keeping the historical context of reggae and Rastafari in mind while listening to the growing number of Ethiopian reggae singers, from the dancehall of Johnny Ragga to the conscious reggae of Haile Roots, provides us an opportunity to reflect on the way that Ethiopians have interpreted what might be referred to as a Rastafari art form. The most popular Ethiopian singer, Teddy Afro, discusses many of the Rastafari movement’s “ideas” through his music. Afro has used the music of Rastafari—reggae music—to engage in a conversation about politics, freedom, and “communal self-development” in a specifically Ethiopian context.

Reggae in Ethiopia—The Purpose of the Music Of the popular Ethiopian artists who have performed reggae music, the most visible and perhaps the most famous today is Teddy Afro.7 His music is primarily Amharic pop which, like the majority of such music, deals with subjects relating to love and relationships. But he has also sung about Rastafari, as in his song “Bob Marley,” and has collaborated with Rastafari musicians, as evidenced in his video for that song. While

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to “our” music versus that of reggae. His music is a “blend” of cultures, but it includes his “own cultural things.” This mixture then becomes a hybrid. But the naming of the hybrid “chiggae” indicates a disjuncture between Rastafari and Ethiopian cultures. Whereas the “chi” in “chiggae” refers to the chikchika rhythm, it could also refer to the “chi” in “chichi,” a Patwa term for homosexual. The irony here is that prople in Rastafari circles would find it difficult to use the term “chiggae” in conversation on account of its literal meaning. However, Teddy Afro took more than a musical cue from Rastafari for his most well-known reggae-tinged song, “Yasteseriyal,” from his 2005 album of the same name. Due to the controversy surrounding the 2005 Ethiopian elections in which “the opposition claimed the voting was rigged, and European Union observers said it was marred by irregularities,”12 and because the song criticizes the present EPRDF government, it was banned from radio airwaves immediately and was still banned in 2010.13 We can see the Rastafari influence on “Yasteseriyal” in terms of the use of reggae as communicative tool. Just as the relationship with Rastafari has developed the music into a means of providing commentary on politics and society, so too Teddy Afro has taken up this challenge. Teddy, who reports that he began listening to reggae in his childhood, explains that he felt the need to make reggae music: “What drew me to reggae is feeling—a musical feeling that was inside me.”14 When I asked him whether or not his music has a political bent, Teddy did not deny this potential: “My songs preach love. I believe that unity and cooperation are at their core. And if unity and cooperation are the business of society at large, viewing [my songs] as having a political aspect cannot be considered out of the question.” Most popular, secular Amharic music—and the majority of Teddy’s music—“preaches love,” dealing mostly with love and personal relationships.15 In “Yasteseriyal,” Teddy uses reggae in a way that aligns with its developed function and presents commentary through lyrics opposing the government. Taking a cue from Bob Marley, whom Teddy refers to as “a great-hearted activist,” the song “Yasteseriyal” seems to share this activist bent. A translation16 of the song reveals its Rastafari references and its political content. The song begins with the chanting of “Jah yasteseriyal,” meaning “Jah will make them to be forgiven.” This is a play on the word “Jah,” which means “God” for Rastafari, but can also be viewed as a

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signaled the beginning of communist rule. The reference to seventeen needles is the number of years it took the opponents of the Dergue to prepare to overthrow Mengistu Hailemariam’s government. Teddy’s point here is that each time the government changes, there is actually no real change—it is all about power. Each of the leaders simply wants an opportunity to occupy the throne. The song continues with a call for forgiveness: “Forgive him,” sings Teddy, “but complain about what he abused us with.” He then asks for “teaching” and wants to make sure that Ethiopia learns from the past to grow toward unity: “Teach us mercy, make us one again.” He then sings, “Take something up and forgive each other. . . . We need the person who would tell us not to divide.” Both lines call for the unity of the country. Throughout “Yasteseriyal,” Teddy conveys a strong message not only of protest against the Ethiopian government, but also of his desire to see Ethiopians come together for peace and unity. Here, the perception of Rastafari and their music is relevant. Teddy is not simply utilizing the sound and rhythm of reggae, but he is also utilizing the mode as a political instrument—a mode that has a history that connects itself to Africa and is a tool for communication and the dissemination of ideas. Over his musical career, Teddy has become known not only for his love songs and songs that celebrate Ethiopian heroes (Haile Gebreselassie, the famed long-distance runner, is the topic of one of his songs). With “Yasteseriyal” he provides both the lyrics and sound of a reggae song. Like reggae lyrics sung by Rastafari, his lyrics call for social justice, the questioning of power structures, and the development of a unified Ethiopian national identity in a broad sense. Certainly, Teddy could be seen as simply making use of reggae as a convenient way to frame dissent. However, the following comments by Ethiopians interviewed in Addis Ababa’s record shops by Kristin Skare Orgeret on the topic of music, indicate that Teddy’s use of reggae is more than just convenient: Teddy’s songs opened new fields of discussion, and of course it happened in the period of the elections, so the two events went hand in hand [Music shop owner, interview 2007]. He [Teddy] provided us with new tools to carve our reality. He provided us with new images, or rather he opened our eyes to images that had

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Reggae and Rastafari Style On the other hand, the influence of reggae, Rastafari, and Jamaica can become completely nonspiritual and nonpolitical in the Ethiopian context and therefore be completely lacking in the socio-politico-spiritual relevance of a Teddy Afro-type interpretation. This approach disconnects both reggae and Rastafari from their political or spiritual roots, thereby further distancing Ethiopians from the history of the relationship between Rastafari and reggae, the narrative of Rastafari resistance, and the deeply held spiritual beliefs of the repatriates. Yes, reggae has become pop music in other parts of the world—even in Jamaica. However, given the centrality of Ethiopia to the Rastafari worldview and the fact that there is a repatriate population living in Ethiopia, stripping the political and spiritual from reggae seems also to distance Rastafari from those who wish to perform the music. Jonny Ragga is an example of this distancing. Looking at videos and listening to songs by Jonny Ragga, it evident that there is a reason for his moniker, namely, his desire to associate himself with “ragga.” A popular Ethiopian singer, Jonny Ragga reaches out to Jamaica for inspiration. In a video for the love song “Pick Up Da Phone,” he begins by speaking Jamaican Patwa: “Wha gwaan?” he says into the phone. The song vacillates back and forth between grammatically incorrect English (“I was pain in the ass, maybe,” for example) and bits of Patwa. Apart from a reggae-tinged beat, the reggae elements are minimal. Almost symbolically suggesting this, Jonny is filmed sitting in an upscale house, in a room with nothing but a Jamaican flag and two pictures of Bob Marley. None of this indicates support for Rastafari or, frankly, even for Bob Marley. The style is disconnected from any Rastafari meaning in the Ethiopian context. Token Jamaican paraphernalia appears again in “The Key,” a video in which Jonny is shown in front of large speaker boxes, emblematic of Jamaican mobile discos called “sound systems.”21 He shakes his dreadlocks while again singing a love song. Both these videos are far more similar to any random pop music video than to a Bob Marley or other Rastafari-influenced reggae song. The image that Jonny presents is not that of a spiritually or politically motivated Rastafari, but rather a pop star utilizing the outward trappings of a Rastafari image and combining

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Most Ethiopians are not into this faith. People might shout out “Rastafari” on the street, but I can’t say that they are Rastafarian. People always think that we are Rastafarian and call us Jamaican, but we tell them that we are not Rastafarian. We are Protestant. It is a bit confusing here. People see everyone as grouped together. It is a faith, but it is also a style. Because we love reggae music, some people might follow the faith and through time they might believe in it, but I don’t know anyone personally. The people I know who have the style are not Rastafarian.

Henock is able to separate the “faith” from the “style.”25 His desire to have dreadlocks came from a connection with the music, which is, as described above, deeply connected with Rastafari. Henock, however, finds it easy to separate reggae from Rastafari. As he said to me: Concerning music, everybody loves reggae music here. Bob Marley is famous and well known here. This is one of the influences. And reggae music and culture is getting bigger worldwide. It is less of a Rastafarian thing. It is not just Rasta. I see the music as originally theirs, but many artists have been adapting it to their beliefs. . . . I see it like normal music.

Even though Henock speaks about how reggae is special to him, he is quick to add that he sees it as “normal music”—just another genre, however popular worldwide. Whereas the narrative of reggae is difficult to recount without reference to Rastafari, especially in its Jamaican context, when it is experienced on the world stage, or even on an Ethiopian one, its connection to Rastafari—who Henock perceives as the “original” owners of reggae (a fact that many Jamaican historians of the genre might argue with)—becomes more distant and less relevant. Certainly, other recent Ethiopian reggae artists like Ras Mule and Jah Lude wear Ethiopian colors, dreadlocks, and other Rastafari trappings (interspersed with elements of American hip hop). Most of Ras Mule’s music is innocuous, his popular “Yeselet Lij” (“Child of Grace”) is a love song, and Jah Lude also sings love songs as well as songs that praise Ethiopian culture. He also voiced a song in tribute to former Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, entitled “Ende Esachew” (“Like Him”). Their music does not discuss Rastafari so much as Ethiopian themes and neither Ras Mule nor Jah Lude claim to be practicing Rastafari or

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of the people in Jamaica think you are God. So what do you have to say?” And he says, “I am a human being, just like you.” He tried to build a church in Jamaica. Orthodox church. That’s why he built the church. These people, it’s a long time that they have been outside their motherland and their culture and their religion, so they have to have what we believe, to show them how Ethiopians follow their god and how their culture and church looks. So that’s the truth for me. That’s what I understand. Even His Majesty tried to teach the truth.

Though it is clear that Haile Roots views Rastafari as a positive movement, it is also clear that he sees a difference between Ethiopians and Rastafari. Ethiopians have kept their “freedom and everything [they] had before.” This is not the case with Rastafari. Haile Roots expresses an understanding, a justification of Rastafari. It makes sense to him that Rastafari would want to attach themselves to Ethiopian culture, but they need to be “taught” about belief in god and religion. Rastafari is a “consciousness” of the need for positivity, freedom, and an understanding of black history, but as a faith it is incompatible with being an Orthodox Christian. For Haile Roots, consciousness is about expressing himself: “The life we are living. That’s what I try to write, and that’s what gives me satisfaction when I do that, so my music is conscious.” An example of one of his songs is “Nitsuh Quwanquwayen” (“Language of Innocence”). In this song, Haile Roots talks about returning to a more innocent mind-set. My childhood; my pure language Don’t spoil my child’s play My true lifestyle; my true life Let me escape into my free-life [CHORUS] Oldness is approaching me Youngness please return to me28

“When we are children,” he explains, “we are very clean, our hearts were pure, we have no enemy. We always smile and we want to play, we want to do happy things. But when we start to grow, and we start to learn

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I sing mostly reggae music, but I am not Rastafari. I believe in the Holy Bible and that is my rule. What the Bible says is it. There are some Orthodox, some Protestant, some Catholic, some Rastafari followers— but me, Christian, only Christian. I don’t interfere with the religion, but I very much like their music style—I love the music. Reggae music is real music, revolutionary music. I like the rhythm. Because of these things, this is what impressed me. This is why Bob Marley, especially, impressed me. He inspired me to be a singer. All people when they see you with dreads, they think Rastafari, but Rastafari is a philosophy or religion. I am Christian. When I was a kid, I liked Bob Marley, and when I saw him, I wanted to look like him because he inspired me to be a singer.

Though Yakob here refers to “real, revolutionary” music, he feels connected to the “music style” and “the rhythm” rather than the “philosophy of religion.” His dreadlock hairstyle is meant to connect him to the music of Bob Marley but not to the faith of the famous Jamaican singer. Beyond the resonance with music and success external to Ethiopia, Rastafari and especially reggae inspire him to involve himself in artistic creation. The connection seems to privilege the art of Rastafari. There is a sense that Rastafari are artistic, through reggae, but also through art in general.

Rastafari and Artistic Expression Rastafari end up being connected to an artistic temperament and viewed as a particularly creative group of people, regardless of (and divorced from) their belief system. Henock Mehari explained his feelings about how the Rastafari population have made an impact on Ethiopia through art: They have made a lot of contribution concerning art. There is an art school in Addis. All the students, if they arrive at the school without dreads, they will start to dread their hair. I don’t know why, but they do. You can easily tell if someone is going to art school because of this. They relate it to the inspiration behind their art. They make their beards like this too. It never has anything to do with drug use. It is always about the art.

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spiritual component to Getachew’s work? Yes, if this means “peace, love, freedom, and unity for Africa.” If it means a belief in Haile Selassie as divine or condoning marijuana usage? No. Getachew feels that Ethiopians should respect the love Rastafari have for Haile Selassie, and be “proud” that people “belove” the former emperor as a God. However, when pressed, Getachew mentioned how his “father worked in the palace” and that he “knew the emperor.” He then finished his remarks, saying, “[H]e is a king. I have my own outlook. . . . [T]here was no African who visited Europe like he did. He is a gift from God.” As for marijuana, Getachew insisted that he didn’t like to use it and suggested that young people should not use it either: “Most young people [who use marijuana] in Ethiopia are jobless, even if they have studied. They are spoiled by smoking marijuana. If my kid smokes marijuana, he is killing himself and his family too.” For Getachew, it is the celebration of Ethiopia and the values of peace, freedom, and unity that he respects about Rastafari. The religious element is eschewed as being outside an Ethiopian understanding—here presented as a personal knowledge. Getachew’s experience, as well as his father’s, having known Haile Selassie personally, is the reason for his concluding that the emperor was not divine. Though he does not believe in the Rastafari faith, Getachew discussed how the repatriates in Shashemene were “good role models” due to their building of “schools and clinics.” Thus, even though Getachew disagrees with Rastafari about the divinity of Haile Selassie and has issues with their use of marijuana, the value he finds in Rastafari stems from art, from the powerful social and political values expressed in the music, which in turn inspires his own artwork.

Where Is Rastafari Situated in the Art and Music of Ethiopians? There is a link between art in the form of reggae, and Rastafari, and this relationship and reggae itself are received, reinterpreted, retooled, and rethought in different ways by Ethiopians. Some artists will utilize the political thrust of Rastafari, such as Teddy Afro. Haile Roots is inspired by a wide range of reggae music, but is clear that his music has no interest in politics as he is more interested in his own version of “consciousness.” Just as his music is inspired by reggae, so his philosophy might

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Owens’s book, this very same issue was raised at the community development meeting held at the municipal government offices in Shashemene, which I discussed in chapter 3. One of the Rastafari representatives expressed surprise that there was no classification for the Rastafari Community who have been looking to be accorded the same rights as Ethiopians, since [they] argue as Ethiopians, who have returned after being away for hundreds of years. He made the appeal that [Rastafari] should not be treated as foreigners, but wished to be classified as Ethiopians returning home, noting that in many countries to which people migrate, classification is attached.

We should note that the Rastafari representative’s use of the term “Ethiopian” describes a situation that is different from the experience of the recent Ethiopian diaspora, citizens who leave the country for familial, educational, economical or other reasons,2 returning later in life to settle in their home country. Regardless of the difference in situation for repatriate Rastafari, the representative’s definition of himself in this way, as a homecoming citizen of Ethiopia rather than an immigrant seeking citizenship status, bears weight in the context of the Rastafari perception of Ethiopia, as discussed earlier. Joshua Smith,3 one of the partners in a tofu factory located in Shashemene, on land designated for industrial purposes, had a similar comment to make: One of the things that the Ethiopians and Africans don’t realize that we are Africans. They look at us like we are foreigners. But in our hearts, we are not foreigners. When they say these things it hurts us a lot. When we reach here, it’s not good to hear these things from them. So they should have more education about who we are and the purpose of us. They’ve been always talking about the citizenship thing. These initiatives are being made now. The interaction with the people is good. The young people, they like the Rastafarian movement. The older ones, the ones that were here before, they don’t really agree.

Given the Rastafari belief system, all these statements demonstrate a desire to be viewed as citizens of Ethiopia. As Smith says, Rastafari are

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that it requires a fight, and even if it does occur, for some the perception will remain that Rastafari are Rastafari, not Ethiopians. Complicating this issue are members of the Rastafari community who are transient—living in Ethiopia for short periods or splitting their time between Ethiopia and the West. These impermanent arrangements reflect the reality that Rastafari do not wish to give up the benefits of non-Ethiopian citizenship that they or their children enjoy.5 By maintaining their foreign nationality these members of the community are entitled to the advantages that come with holding a non-Ethiopian— and especially Western—passport (Gomes 2011, 132–35; 218–19). Priest Paul Phang, who has lived in Ethiopia since 1992, acts as a representative on the municipal council in Shashemene and is chairman of the Shashemene African Diaspora community. He acknowledges that this can be a problem when it comes to lobbying the government for citizenship rights: “Maybe a majority of us would like to have citizenship while maybe a next quarter of us don’t want to really have that kind of status. They would rather remain with their national identity. So this is something that is really holding us back in going forward.”6 Part of the problem is that the Ethiopian government lacks administrative experience relative to immigration and its concomitant procedures. Another reason is that there are no political or other processes to help newcomers integrate because Ethiopia is not a country for which immigration is a common concern. In 2005, according to data from the most recent United Nations census, only 0.7 percent of the population was classified as immigrant from an external nation. Of that number, over 90 percent were from neighboring nations, the vast majority being from Eritrea and Somalia, with smaller numbers from Sudan (Shaw 2007, 5–6).7 Rastafari, who number under a thousand, are therefore not only a marginal group in Ethiopia but also part of a small group of immigrants to the country. Rules of citizenship for groups such as the Sudanese, Somalis, or Eritreans are different in that some of these peoples (Somalis, for example, or the Tigray from Eritrea, and other ethnic groups from Sudan) are part of ethnic groups recognized by the Ethiopian government. Somalis can claim to be Somali Ethiopians and therefore gain citizenship rights.8 Though in 2002 an Ethiopian Expatriate Affairs General Directorate was established as part of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (in 2010

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Mulugeta. This does not include Jamaicans, but this is not for lack of trying. “They come to my office, some Canadian, some from the UK, USA, some European,” he explains. “They are diaspora, but they are not Ethiopian diaspora. . . . They want their own policy. They live here as a guest [sic].” Mulugeta underlines the fact that Rastafari can gain access to residency (which allows them to stay for fifteen years) through business investment. They also can marry Ethiopians and become residents. Mulugeta suggests that perhaps Ethiopian citizenship might be possible through immigration. But because “in general no one comes to Ethiopia and requests citizenship,” there is no developed process. Citizenship, however, won’t be enough. “They are not Ethiopian diaspora. If they are African diaspora, they are from another area. . . . They can only be Jamaican diaspora, even if they become Ethiopian citizens.” This undermines the Rastafari view of themselves as Ethiopian. Mulugeta underlines this fact by adding, “Haile Selassie did not offer citizenship.” As Rastafari are classified as foreigners, they do not have the same rights as Ethiopian citizens or government-defined diaspora. In addition, the Ethiopian Diaspora Association (EDA) established in September 2012 requires that members either be born in Ethiopia or claim Ethiopian parentage. The association, however, does offer honorary or associate membership to those they do not consider Ethiopian or of Ethiopian origin. As has been discussed previously, the right that is close to the hearts of all Rastafari repatriates or prospective repatriates is that of land—the promise held out by Emperor Haile Selassie. However, only with Ethiopian citizenship does access to land become possible; without this, one cannot acquire or lay claim to property. Many members of the EDA do not have access to land because they do not possess Ethiopian citizenship. The EDA wants to make it easier for the diaspora to invest in Ethiopia through the development of agreements with the Ethiopian government because this will give them access to land.12 As discussed earlier, after the Haile Selassie-supported government fell, the incoming Dergue regime issued proclamation 31, which nationalized all rural lands and declared them the collective property of Ethiopians (Bonacci 2007, 390).13 To review, in terms of specific land ownership, the results of this agreement between the communist government and the Rastafari repatriates, who were present in Shashemene and living on the granted land, meant that a fraction of the land grant

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tell where they are.” Gebre acknowledges that the government’s unofficial policy toward Rastafari is to leave them alone: “There is a policy that Ethiopia follows [that] they don’t harass the Jamaicans. I don’t know what will happen next. Because of the relationship they have with Ethiopia, the Ethiopian government is just keeping an eye on them and letting it go for the sake of the relationship, but no one will know what will come later.” What, then, are the possibilities for Rastafari? Since legal recognition of citizenship is not immediately forthcoming, and may never be, how can Rastafari negotiate or mediate this situation? Perhaps it requires an approach that takes an alternative view of citizenship. Because land rights present a barrier to traditional citizenship, the alternative might be the concept of cultural citizenship. This type of citizenship presents a need to engage differently with the community and country where they live.

Cultural Citizenship Sociologist Nick Stevenson argues that “citizenship should be seen as a social practice ‘in which the emphasis is less on legal rules and more on norms, practices, meanings and identities’” (2003, 331). Quoting fellow sociologist Jan Pakulski, Stevenson continues: “‘cultural’ citizenship should be viewed in terms of satisfying demands for full inclusion into the social community” (333). Since Rastafari do not fit the legal definition of “citizen,” they are left with the option of dealing with “norms, practices, meanings and identities” so as to attempt to “satisfy” the “demands” of the community that is Shashemene. These ideas of cultural citizenship, for Stevenson, are related to the ways in which “transnational spheres of governance, instantaneous news, and global networks amongst new social movements  .  .  .  undermine, or at least call into question, the correspondence that citizenship has traditionally drawn between belonging and the nation-state” (2003, 333). Given the contemporary connections between nations and cultures through technology as well as new unions and treaties, the sense of national identity has become less closely related to a specific country of birth. This concept of cultural citizenship has, therefore, been utilized in the context of globalized Western societies. The Rastafari experience in Ethiopia

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freedom of association, speech, information, a personal liaison” (1993, 12). We have seen that Rastafari have been involved in the management and administration of their own community and also the Shashemene community by meeting with the municipal government as well as the wider population, even if at a popular level, through the Africa Unite concert. Indeed, it is cultural citizenship that allows Rastafari a fuller involvement in the community in Ethiopia. Miller defines three “zones of citizenship”: The political (the right to reside and vote) The economic (the right to work and prosper) The cultural (the right to know and speak) (2007, 35)

As it stands, Rastafari are denied political citizenship and are offered economic citizenship—this has been described by reference to the municipal government’s requests that Rastafari invest in the community and start businesses. Through an engagement with the economic “zone of citizenship,” it would seem from a number of examples below, that Rastafari are in fact working toward cultural citizenship. For Miller, “citizenship has always been cultural” (2007, 51). However, Rastafari are increasingly confronting political, economic, and cultural divisions by means of development and investment in Ethiopia, thereby increasing what could be referred to as cultural citizenship capital. The context of the Rastafari situation is an Ethiopian government that, starting with Meles Zenawi and continuing with Hailemariam Desalegn, wishes to present itself as developmentalist. A “developmental state,” as the EPRDF has defined Ethiopia, is one that not only views development as the government’s most important responsibility, but also one in which the government should “intervene in the economy to facilitate growth and industrial transformation . . . [trying] to capture the advantages of private enterprise and the capacity of the state to muster economic development” (Kefele 2011, 3). Given this focus, a Rastafari engagement with development and business initiatives would, at the same time, engage with the culture of the Ethiopian government apparatus. This offers a potential space for recognition in the face of political obstacles—not to mention the obstacles of Ethiopian perception.

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projects of which Shewit writes, we can get some insight into the reasons behind the successes and failures. There are businesses that primarily serve the Rastafari community as well as visitors with an interest in the Jamaica sefer, such as the Zion Train Lodge, an establishment run by a French woman and Guadeloupian man, both Rastafari repatriates. There are also small restaurants that serve fresh juices and Jamaican dishes such as curry goat and rice and peas. In particular, repatriate Vincent Wisdom’s restaurant has found success, as indicated by an expansion of the restaurant and a busy outdoor seating area where Ethiopians and Rastafari enjoy juices—some containing more Caribbean fruits such as sour sop and sorrel (the Jamaican term for hibiscus juice). However, in addition to these and other small businesses that line the road leading into the town, members of the Rastafari community have established two flagship local hotels: the Majestic Rift Valley Hotel and the Lily of the Valley Hotel. Though the Majestic Rift Valley Hotel has changed ownership and is now run by Ethiopians,16 the hotel itself was developed through a partnership between Rastafari and Ethiopians. These hotels have attracted tourists to the area, but they are also used for community events (I attended a number of events at the then Rastafari-owned Rift Valley Hotel), local weddings, and conferences. The hotels themselves were developed through financial advice and assistance from the local Dashen Bank, a private bank that has branches throughout Ethiopia. In a 2007 interview, Kebede Asfew, the former manager of the Shashemene Dashen Bank17 described how the hotels “presented a feasibility study to the bank.” He explained the process: After we went through it we found that the project was viable. And that area is also a tourist area, given that you go from Addis to get to Arba Minch and the south. So tourists can pass by and have rest down there. It’s also good for people going to Wondo Genet. The money for the project will be repaid within eight year’s time. This was for both [hotel] projects. They were separate, but equally viable.18

Though the manager said he “would be very happy if they [meaning, Rastafari] would be given citizenship,” he was quick to explain to me that the owners of the hotels are not Ethiopian: “The Lily of the Valley

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community at large. Kebede felt that the hotel would be most useful for local business conferences and government functions. Relying on businesspeople and government officials would be more economically advantageous than relying on tourists. The tourist market for Shashemene is reasonable, given Ethiopia’s attractions in the area: the town is often a stopover on the way to the south, but there are also more local destinations beyond those mentioned by Kebede, such as Lake Awassa and the Bale Mountains. People do travel to Shashemene in order to see the Rastafari community, but this is admittedly a small number and, according to local comments, the majority of these visitors are foreigners. The people that Kebede discusses, those going to Arba Minch or to Wondo Genet, are, as he described, domestic tourists or business traffic. Thus, the reliance on the business of the Ethiopian population is what is most likely to make it possible for Rastafari to be able to pay back the loans of which Kebede speaks, as well as generate local acceptance for Rastafari development projects. On a small scale, Wisdom’s restaurant is an example of a business with local appeal. The use of the Rift Valley Hotel for events relating to the Ethiopian Millennium—including a municipal government ball—as well as weddings, which I have witnessed on at least half-a-dozen occasions,21 are additional examples of the economic potential of local businesses. Answering the question of what Rastafari should do and reflecting a focus on development, Kebede had the following response: They have to involve themselves through development. They have to invest. They have to attract further Jamaican investors. They also have to make their projects visible. The people need to know about the projects. If, for instance, a school is constructed, it is to the advantage of the population. They have to do those kinds of projects and shift the focus. Then, the whole opinion will be changed.

This would also allow the Rastafari community access to land. As he explained, Rastafari can gain land the “same way as anyone else. They can have ID as residents of Shashemene—as an expatriate resident. Like any other foreign investor, they can have an investment license and a work permit.” Gebre Gebru agreed with this advice:

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might help to refocus the Ethiopian perspective away from Kebede’s description of drug use and misbehavior. Along with larger scale, visible business initiatives such as the two hotels, Rastafari have established a tofu factory. The company, called Royal Afrakan Link (or “RALCO”), began as a joint venture between three Rastafari in 2004. This business is of particular interest as it connects the Rastafari practice of vegetarianism or veganism with the Ethiopian Orthodox practice of fasting. There are 250 fasting days in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church calendar. Only 180 of these days are required for those who are not monks, nuns, or clergy, and the fasting days fall on most Wednesdays and Fridays, except during longer periods of fasting. On these days and during these periods, “fast generally implies one meal a day to be taken either in the evening or after 2:45 pm with total abstention from meat, fats, eggs and dairy products.”23 Fasting essentially demands a vegan diet, which matches the requirements of certain Rastafari who abide by an Ital24 diet. Keeping Ital means not eating any meat or animal products. Tofu factory representative Joshua Smith described the parity between fasting and Rastafari eating restrictions: We had this dream, this idea, to come and provide fasting food. As Rastas, our true faith and culture is to abstain from eating meat products and animal products and provide for our community. Also, however, we decided to start the company because we are living here and we need to have things within our culture and also for Ethiopians because they have so many fasting days. So it is good for the Rasta community and it is good for the whole country.

As this explanation makes clear, the products of the tofu factory can act as a means of connecting Rastafari and the surrounding Ethiopian community. Attempting to provide for the needs of the Rastafari community while recognizing those of Orthodox Christians and reaching out to this population, the tofu factory creates a link between the two cultures. In addition, the soybeans used to make the tofu are purchased locally, thereby engaging with the domestic farming economy. Smith acknowledges that the company is “now providing on a small scale, nothing big, doing tofu, soya products,” but they are “going into farming programs now looking to grow into other products like soya

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but it was taken away from us. There is some tension between the Rasta and Oromo perspective, but now they are slowly coming around because the central or federal government gave directives to work with us more. But through the love of Ethiopia and our faith, we try our best to really do something here—to let them see that we do something.

Again, there is the focus on visibility, combined with acknowledgment of the Oromo perspective on Haile Selassie and land rights. Smith is sensitive to issues of ethnic identity and development in Shashemene and Ethiopia as a whole. This combined understanding is also evident in the company literature, which is available in both English and Amharic but unfortunately not in Afaan Oromoo. Not only does a pamphlet offered by the RALCO company suggest that the tofu be used for fasting meals, but it lays out the following threefold “vision”: 1. Provide its customers with an alternative from animal base foods to a more balanced lifestyle. 2. Provide the best fasting options for protein and nutrition with locally manufactured products. 3. Ensure that premium quality and affordability goes hand in hand.

In addition to a standard statement about the quality and price of its product, the pamphlet’s first two statements acknowledge the importance of both Ethiopian and Rastafari culture. Fasting is mentioned four times, and recognizing Ethiopians’ unfamiliarity with the product, RALCO not only explains the health benefits of their product, describing it as a “legitimate meat replacement” that is a “healthy alternative for protein intake at fasting times,” but also provides three recipes that use easily available local ingredients. Thus it makes a connection between Rastafari and Ethiopian cultures and attempts to integrate the new product with other products available in the country. If the company could communicate its products to the Oromo community, this would not only increase the potential growth of its business, but it would also indicate its willingness to commune and engage with the surrounding Oromo community. It would also recognize the business’s location within Oromia, whose regional language is Afaan Oromoo.

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international market you have to have that level of input.  .  .  .  Our full mandate is housing, welfare and all the rest of the infrastructure, so we started on the education project. . . . [W]hat we haven’t been successful with is the Ethiopian authorities . . . and also the Rastafarian community has its own internal problems.

As the JRDC explained to the mayor in the community development meeting, there were some problems with the administration of the school. The issues had to do with staffing problems and disagreements about how to run the institution. The JRDC said that the problems were the result of “individual ego” and not “factions.” According to the minutes of the 2007 community development meeting, “a Director from the Jamaican University of the West Indies” was hired to “assist in the development of the school.” It is difficult to tell whether these difficulties have created a perception of poor management or poor education. It is evident, however, that members of the Ethiopian community believe that the school initiative is not wholly humanitarian. I spoke to two former teachers28 who expressed their disillusionment with the school. The first teacher said the following: Before I joined the school I had a good opinion of the Rasta community. I still have this opinion of some of them. Most of them are here for the sake of their original identity. According to their belief, here is their original homeland that they have been taken from Africa to the New World for slavery. This movement is repatriation. You know why I appreciate them? Most of them are from the developed world. Ethiopia is “developing” [laughs]. Some scholars say we are the poorest of the poor nations. They are not materialist. It is all about identity. But what is happening right now is not good and doesn’t help Ethiopia. They have lived here for over thirty years. What is their contribution? They have one school. It’s not running properly. There is a big fight among the senior management staff. Not for the sake of the betterment of the children, or Ethiopians. It is always about their business. But I am not saying that everyone is getting involved in the fighting.

Clearly the bar has been raised high because Rastafari are seen as as foreigners. Because they are believed to be from the so-called “developed”

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the society. They say we will employ you, we are investing, and when you go and check, after ten years or after twenty years the society is living in the same standard of life. So my attitude towards them is almost negative.

Compounding this issue is the fact that, according to Desta Meghoo, representative of the Rita Marley Foundation, money was made available for a number of projects in Shashemene, including the JRDC school and a clinic to be built by an organization called the Nurses of Israel. “We gave the money,” insists Meghoo, but “Instead of them putting the responsibility on JRDC and Nurses of Israel whom we gave the money to, they put it back on Rita Marley. . . . These people have not taken responsibility. I can’t say what they did with the money.”30 The teacher seems to be aware of some of the Rastafari plans to develop Shashemene, and knows that money has been donated to specific initiatives. Unfortunately, the Ethiopian community, of which this teacher is but one example, does not see the outcome of the money that has been donated and the utopian, “self-sustainable model city” described by Ras Tagas King does not seem to be possible. Due to a lack of visible, quantifiable results these plans seem to have little chance of coming to fruition. As for the school, when compared with many schools in the Shashemene area, both government and private, it is obvious that it provides a high level of education. It is serving the community, over 95 percent of its students being non-Rastafari (Christian 2012). Its classes are quite small compared to other private and government schools, and the students receive an English-medium education from native English speakers. This contrasts with other educational environments. English classes in other Shashemene schools are taught by Ethiopians. I know from my experience as an English teacher at a local college, where all my colleagues were Ethiopian, that native English speakers are incredibly valuable. Often students from other classes would pack my classroom to double or triple capacity. Many students would tell me after class that, while they can learn English grammar from their Ethiopian teachers, it was very important to them to hear the pronunciation of a native speaker. For this reason if no other the school is undoubtedly a valuable addition to the community. However, the comments about the school demonstrate that Rastafari are viewed as an external, foreign group and are therefore held up to a higher standard than most.

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harvesters that serve 3,240 people. In 2008, they signed a second tripartite agreement with the Oromo government to provide additional rainwater harvesting systems. The project has also received the support of the German, British, and Australian embassies and has three main goals: 1. Improving the availability of water to the community in and around Shashemene. 2. Effectively using members of the community as a major factor in helping to teach the benefits of Rainwater Harvesting 3. Encouraging Educator Teams in the project to set up their own smallscale businesses dealing with Rainwater collection systems.32

It is important to juxtapose these goals with the goals of the EWF as stated in the preamble to the organization’s constitution. The political goals of independence and self-reliance are evident in this humanitarian project. The very name Self-Sustainable Water for Life Community Based Rain Water Harvesting Project, indicates that these goals are part of the initiative. In addition, the EWF’s project also works to bridge the Rastafari and Ethiopian communities. The EWF’s report presents a detailed understanding of Shashemene and acknowledgment of the “melting pot of various nationalities” (as stated in the report) living in the area. It details the need for fresh water, in particular the role of women in the procurement of this water. It is evident from the report of the project’s first two phases dated June 2007, as well as their 2010 update, that the EWF is functioning according to the results-based management approach often used by nongovernmental organizations in Ethiopia and the so-called developing world. The report clearly describes the expected outcomes by using the discourse of development: the results-based management language of impact.33 Results-based management is a system “used to measure and promote ‘progress’” (Murphy 2000, 11). Along with “strategic framework analysis,” results-based management is “presently imposed on the voluntary sector by public and private funders who are obsessed with ‘inputs,’ ‘outcomes,’ and ‘indicators’” (ibid.). The EWF’s reporting fits this mold. It is full of descriptions of specific results and indicators of

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are doing.” Another woman described the impact of the water harvester on her own family as well as the wider community: “Before, I had to go far to fetch water. It took a long time. Now it is in my own yard. The neighbors can use the water as well as my family. I give thanks.” These comments also shed light on the support the project provides for women, thereby allowing the EWF to engage with some of the government’s main international development objectives of helping and working to improve the lives of women. In addition to adhering to the United Nations’ Millennium Development Goal of environmental stability, the water harvesting project is also in line with the goals of gender equality, maternal health, and child health34—all three relevant to women. Though Rastafari is not known as a feminist movement— Obiagele Lake’s book Rastafari Women: Subordination in the Midst of Liberation Theology (1998)35 is but one critique of the movement for its treatment of women—the water harvesting project demonstrates a different side of Rastafari and adheres to the values of the international development community. As King describes it: This project also highlights the plight of women. The women are the ones who have to be fetching and carrying this water and it consumes the majority of their time during the working day. By giving them a rainwater harvesting system right there, at their house, it means that time that was spent fetching and carrying can now be dedicated to other things. So it’s a very important project, it’s been well appreciated and it’s helped to improve the relationship.

On many levels, the water harvesting project allows Rastafari to connect with the Ethiopian community on a governmental level and also on a local interpersonal level, especially with the Oromo people, who are members of four farmers’ associations affiliated with the project. The fact that the main stakeholders of the project are Oromo farmers gives it added importance as a means of promoting cultural citizenship. After all, Shashemene is located in the region of Oromia. Certainly, as mentioned previously, scholar and Oromo nationalist Asafa Jalata details the narrative of Oromo oppression by the Amhara, represented by Emperor Haile Selassie I. Since, according to Asafa, “Oromos  .  .  .  have been dominated and exploited by Ethiopian racial

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humanitarian project is on the same level as that of other NGOs. In Shashemene, NGOs—whether international or locally based—are both active and visible. For example, the Swedish International Development Agency has opened two youth centers, the Danish Red Cross constructed sanitary facilities, and Habitat for Humanity also has a locally run affiliate in the Shashemene community.

Yawenta Children’s Center Another project that has a humanitarian focus and places Rastafari in the position of development workers is that of Sister Isheba Tafari: the Yawenta Children’s Center, a home and school for children with HIV/AIDS. She is a white repatriate Rastafari from Austria who arrived in Ethiopia in 1997. In a 2012 conversation, Sister Isheba was quick to mention “working together” with local Ethiopians who “helped to make it possible.” Not only was the house now used for the organization donated by a local Ethiopian woman, but the board of directors contains both Ethiopians and Rastafari. “I wouldn’t want all people from outside,” she said. In addition, because Sister Isheba wanted to make sure she understood the needs of the community, she lived in Shashemene for seven years and in Addis Ababa for three before starting the project. She also consulted members of the community about what would be the most valuable: I did not want it to just be my idea. . . . I wanted to make a difference. Not so much in the Rasta community as such, but the Ethiopian community . . . I see it as a manifestation of my faith. . . . We looked at a need and tried to work on that. But it has grown from that time as well, as it goes along, when you see, when you connect with the people, you see what really the needs are and the reality of the situation.

Sister Isheba also explained how the development of the organization required her to reach out to different areas of the community: “As much as I lived here for so long, I learned a lot of new things about Shashemene. I got to go into areas of town that I’ve never been in. . . . I’ve got to know a different set of people.” One of the Ethiopians Sister Isheba got to know was Zerihun Mohammed, who became one of the main collaborators on the Yawenta

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have this perception that all we do is sit around and smoke ganja, listen to reggae music, and collect Western Unions and we don’t work.” The effectiveness of her project, like that of the EWF’s water harvesting and the JRDC school is evident to the community and helps to counteract negative perceptions and assumptions about Rastafari in Shashemene, and perhaps more generally in Ethiopia. Through the Yawenta Children’s Center, the community sees Rastafari “doing things” and this can make a difference. “I’ve had some amazing reactions,” says Sister Isheba. Overall, however, while Sister Isheba has achieved success with her organization, she is clear that she is functioning as a foreigner. As Rastas, we are going against the grain. I am at peace with that. That’s cool with me. I am not habesha, and I never will be. . . . Habesha is something you have to be born with. I love it here, I feel at home here, many people say I am an honorary Ethiopian because I speak Amharic so well, I have lived here for 15 years. They are trying to be nice. The Ethiopians I find in general to be nice people, and I get on with them. But I know it’s not really like that, and I have learned to live with that. As long as we’re good to each other, it’s cool. I’m not one of these people who just wants to integrate into the society and become like everyone else. I don’t see what the point of that is when I am a Rasta.

She is clear in her own mind that there is a disconnect between herself and Ethiopians. She has worked to engage with the community by learning Amharic and doing humanitarian work, but she is aware of the differences between herself and, as she puts it, habesha people. In fact, it is her lack of integration that has allowed her to develop an innovative program. “It wasn’t my aim to do the same thing as everyone else,” she says about her approach to education. When I interviewed Sister Isheba she spoke of wanting children to think for themselves and wanting to encourage them to have their own ideas. Her goal was to create a space that would be different from the traditional rote learning so prevalent in many Ethiopian schools. The desire to avoid becoming “like everyone else” causes her to develop innovative pedagogical programs and engage with educational models like Montessori. Thus Sister Isheba’s position as a foreigner not only allows her to provide a different service from what is available in Ethiopia, but it also

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Although Rastafari are making use of their position as foreigners in order to get involved in this way—after all, the role of the international NGO is that of an outsider—they also gain some stock in the cultural citizenship of which Stevenson and Miller speak. Rastafari are seeking to understand cultural norms, practices, and identities, to use Miller’s words, in order to gain the right to be part of a community despite their inability to access political citizenship rights. They are working in the community on important community projects. Within the water harvesting project itself, there is evidence of an increasing “positive acknowledgement of difference,” a factor of cultural citizenship (Miller 2002, 231). If Rastafari, who are viewed as different from the surrounding community, can also be viewed in an increasingly positive light, their level of acceptance in the community will increase, thereby increasing the power of their argument for citizenship. Viewing Rastafari as different, but beneficial—positive—allows for an increased desire by Ethiopians to have these newcomers remain in the community. The potential, therefore, for concurrent Rastafari integration and Ethiopian community development is great. Working within the available structures, the Rastafari are generating valuable cultural citizenship capital by doing things like registering as an indigenous NGO as well as running the JRDC school, the Self-Sustainable Water for Life project, and the Yawenta Children’s Center. Generating this capital, however, has unintended consequences. First, they are working in the context of international development and having to act as foreign development professionals. The JRDC school raises money through fund-raising events held in the United States and by overseas foundations.39 For the Yawenta Children’s Center, as Zerihun reports, “[Sister] Isheba is using her own networks and doing a very good job raising funds.” For the EWF’s water harvesting project, money is being solicited through connections with the Australian, British, and German embassies as well as their international fund-raising initiatives. Each of these are relying on Western donor money to fund their projects. Does this present an ideological compromise or contradiction? Are they taking money from Babylon to fund Zion? In the face of the as-yet-impossible-to-achieve goal of political citizenship, and ironically by making use of their capital as foreigners engaging in Western-funded NGO work, Rastafari are able to gain access to what is

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Demisse explained the limitations on Rastafari in Shashemene: “They can invest their money. They can participate in development for the city. They can participate in the city. But there are no rules or regulations regarding these people [as Ethiopians].” Demonstrating this participation is Priest Paul. His involvement in the municipal government is as chairperson of the Lemat (“development”) committee and he takes part in community policing as a board member. Having joined the Shashemene community in 1995, he developed a relationship with the Oromo Farmer’s Association in Melka Oda and in 1997 was able to gain access to a piece of land. Over the next ten years he conintued this relationship and in 2006–2007 he took a larger role in integrating with the municipality. “It’s like they were looking for someone they could actually work with,” he says. “The land was the main issue.”40 Priest Paul then goes on to describe the changes in land status in the Shashemene community following the downfall of the imperial regime. This had an effect on Rastafari. His work is to lobby for resettlement of Rastafari, aid them in negotiations, act as a mediator, and help newcomers to understand the local context. Kebele [“neighborhood/area”] administration makes it clear that any Rases coming to Shashemene and don’t integrate with I Man, then they will be find themself in serious problem. They had make it clear at that point—they acknowledge I Man. It was an adhoc process, but the passage of time now, where they have given I Man a position. . . . For me my role is to stabilize the community and get more respect for the community.

The connection that Priest Paul has with the local administration began through the kebele. In terms of solving the problem of citizenship and integration, he feels that the community “should find ways and means to try to work with the local administration.” To his credit, Priest Paul has received “recognition from the municipality and the Oromo police force.” There are no official Rastafari members of the police force, but there are, according to Priest Paul, “local security affiliated with the police.  .  .  .  Volunteer security personnel. Gradually these persons become police members. We have uniforms. For example, if a case arise with the community that involve a Rastafarian they would call for us.” This is yet another area of the community in which Rastafari have now become involved. From the municipal council to the police force, this

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community through the EWF’s water harvesting project. Rastafari have also moved into the realm of local government and are helping with law enforcement. Journalist Henok Fente, who covers current events and Ethiopian history, and also reported on the Africa Unite concert, discussed with me his thoughts about possibilities for the future. The government is a developmental state and that’s the rhetoric. It’s not enough to just talk about the rhetoric. The Rastafarian community has to make itself economically vital to the community. They have to present themselves as the solution to the country’s problem rather than the folks who are asking for something that was given to them a long time ago. So what the strategic shift has to be presented to the government is a private sector partnership, which the government is open to. Now, the government is selling large tracts of land to investors from China and from India through a lease agreement. Can the Rastafarian community come together and present themselves as a private sector investment partner where they can actually acquire more land, but most importantly keep the land that they have and generate jobs for the local community? That way they are working with the community, they are creating job opportunities, they are working with the government where they are making themselves economically viable and partners in development. . . . That seems to be the most sound and practical engagement that the Rastafarian community could be working towards.41

Even in the absence of political citizenship and in the face of Ethiopian perceptions of their otherness, it is clear from what Henok says as well as from what has been presented in this book that if Rastafari continue to strive to build businesses, engage in development, and involve themselves with the community they will gain cultural citizenship capital. From the way they have been perceived in history and their experience in Ethiopia, through to the ways in which Ethiopians have integrated Rastafari culture (or resisted doing so), we have seen how Rastafari have attempted to reach out and integrate themselves through their actions in Shashemene. These actions translate into alternate, and perhaps more clearly meaningful and practical levels of acceptance that might eventually translate into political recognition. Already, there are certain avenues that Rastafari are looking into taking.

7 Strategies of Ethnic Identity and African Diaspora

From 2003 to 2013 I heard numerous discussions of the issue of citizenship and representation for Rastafari repatriates, both among Rastafari as well as Ethiopians. I’d be told how Rastafari should or should not be allowed to consider themselves as Ethiopian. Rastafari themselves would complain, and many would say that they would keep fighting until citizenship was granted. Sister Ijahnya Christian, a more recent Rastafari repatriate to Ethiopia whom I spoke with in 2012, writes that “governments need to understand and appreciate that whatever their views of Rastafari spirituality, the basis of the Rastafari demand for repatriation and reparations resonates in the United Nations principle of the Right of Return. They need to consider that their failure to act may impede the tide but will not diminish the Rastafari resolve to return home” (2012, 40). Regardless of discussion, repatriation remains a must for Rastafari. Given this resolve, it’s apparent that the discussions will continue. Though most of what I have heard relates to future citizenship challenges, I have also been privy to comments about possible legal changes allowing for alteration in status for repatriates living in Ethiopia. A number of questions arise: What could change? Could Rastafari claim status as a distinct ethnic minority? Is this strategy likely to work? This idea of lobbying the government as a specific ethnic group represents one possible strategy. But perhaps there is a second strategy as well. In May 2012, the African Union, alongside the South African government and the PanAfrican Parliament, hosted the Global African Diaspora Summit. This was the first diaspora summit ever held. The African Union as an organization and the governments of different African nations are actively encouraging diaspora involvement in the continent. There has been 228

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much discussion in recent years of the value of the diaspora in development. Development professionals, businesspeople, policy makers, and academic researchers see the diaspora as a resource (Agunias and Newland 2012; Ashworth and Nanji 2012; Brinkerhoff 2008; Hosein, Franklin and Joseph 2009; Ionescu 2006; Robertson 2008). Harnessing the skills and knowledge of the diaspora for development seems an obvious result of today’s transnational connections between countries. The Ethiopian Diaspora Association is one of many associations that attempt to connect Ethiopians in the diaspora with the potential for involvement in their home country. Rastafari self-identify as members of the diaspora and they wish to involve themselves in Africa; their settlement patterns in Ethiopia demonstrate this. Could Rastafari leverage this interest in the involvement of the African diaspora in the development of Africa? There are possibilities that could lead to citizenship or recognition—possibilities that seem to be more and more viable.

Rastafari as a Nation: The Ethnic Identity Argument In a complete departure from previous Ethiopian regimes, the EPRDF government introduced a new constitution for the country. This covered all aspects of the running of the state, including the provision of a new definition for the country. Ethiopia was now established formally as a country made up of “nations, nationalities and peoples.” Article 39 of the 1995 Ethiopian constitution reads as follows: The Right of Nations, Nationalities and Peoples 1. Every nation, nationality or people in Ethiopia shall have the unrestricted right to self determination up to secession. 2. Every nation, nationality and people shall have the right to speak, write and develop its language and to promote its culture, help it grow and flourish, and preserve its historical heritage. 3. Every nation, nationality or people in Ethiopia shall have the unrestricted right to administer itself; and this shall include the right to establish government institutions within the territory it inhabits and the right to fair representation in the federal and state governments. (1995, 96)

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identified as the 5th Ethiopian Nations, Nationalities and Peoples Day. She states that Rastafari were identified as the eighty-third tribe (2012, 1) at this event. In addition, when I asked about Rastafari applying to the Ethiopian government under Article 39, Priest Paul said, “We did that. The parliament advise us [sic] to do that. We made a petition on behalf of the diaspora community and submit it to the Foreign Affairs Ministry, to the Prime Minister’s Office.”1 This petition was submitted in early 2012. By claiming to belong in this way Rastafari would be acting within a context of claims to ethnic identity made since the change to ethnic federalism under the EPRDF. Nor are they alone in contemplating a status claim under Article 39. As anthropologist Dereje Feyissa has argued, in the 1990s a new opportunity and political space opened up for many groups throughout Ethiopia, where differing ethnic groups “engage[d] in the intense politics of inclusion” (2010, 35; 2011, passim), made possible by the new regime’s ethnic federalism. In research on the Anywaa and the Nuer ethnic groups in the Gambella People’s National Regional State (GPNRS) region of Ethiopia, Dereje has tracked the fraught nature of Ethiopian identity. He calls the new opportunity—or new political space—of the 1990s a “demographic strategy of ethnic entitlement” (2010, 35). This means that a group or groups that represent larger numbers can dominate the regional state. In the GPNRS, one of the nine ethnic regions in the country, the Anywaa are dominant. Due to changes in the border between Ethiopia and Sudan, the Nuer are portrayed as “foreigners” by the Anywaa. During the time of the Dergue, there were advantages to claiming Sudanese citizenship, but post-1991, the Nuer “sought to make use of the new opportunities that trickle down from Ethiopia’s ethnic federalism” (Feyissa 2010, 34). It was more advantageous at that time to claim an Ethiopian connection. In response, the Anywaa have demanded that the Ethiopian state firmly establish the border between Sudan and Ethiopia, confirming their claim that the Nuer are foreigners in Ethiopia. This is not a “commitment to a national identity but rather a national framework within which ethnic interests are protected and renegotiated” (43). It is not about appealing to a sense of belonging as an Ethiopian, but rather about making use of the rules and regulations under ethnic federalism so as to make claims that will “protect” a particular ethnic

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given the rejection of the Manjo petition, it seems unlikely that a Rastafari claim would be recognized. Hypothetically, however, what would happen if Rastafari could be identified as such under current government policy? Yes, it would mean that they would be recognized as Ethiopian, but as an ethnic group of their own they would still be disconnected from all the other ethnic groups in the country. And codifying the minority status of the “Rasta people,” as Demisse Shito called them, in Ethiopian society may not resolve significant gaps in perception, identity, and expectation between them and Ethiopians. However, given the view of Ethiopianness in 2014 Ethiopia—an identity that takes into account multiple ethnicities—perhaps this is a more “Ethiopian” form of acceptance. Or at least it is in line with the practices of the current regime much the same way as the focus on development is in keeping with the government’s priorities as a self-styled developmental state. If this type of recognition is not forthcoming, however, there is another option.

Continental Priorities: The African Diaspora Strategy Between 2007 and 2012 the number of discussions of Rastafari representation in Ethiopia seemed to increase, and not just in terms of the idea of applying to the Ethiopian government as a nation. There has also been an increase in attention to Rastafari as exemplary of the African diaspora, which is happening alongside the worldwide excitement about diaspora contribution to development as mentioned above, and the African Union’s attempts to court this diaspora. In April 2012 members of the Rastafari community held a seminar at the Rastafari-owned Lily of the Valley Hotel in Shashemene entitled “Returning Home.” The seminar involved the local government, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs Diaspora Directorate, the African Union, and both the Ghanaian and Tanzanian ambassadors. According to a press release for the event, the goal of the seminar was to “share experiences and ideas which can foster stronger relations and cooperation between Africans at home and abroad towards Ethiopia/Africa’s development.” Rastafari Priest Paul was quoted as saying: We the descendants of Africans enslaved during the most heinous crime against humanity known as the Trans Atlantic Slave Trade, have never

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in Ethiopia, Ford connects with Rastafari through diaspora. This focus allows Rastafari to access yet another type of cultural citizenship. Yes, they feel they have a divine right to return home to Ethiopia, here expressed by Priest Paul in the press release, but they are also willing to classify themselves alongside all other members of the African diaspora. Addis Ababa-based Rastafari Desta Meghoo was also involved in the organization of the seminar and was the keynote speaker. In her address she spoke of the continued fight for legal recognition in Ethiopia on behalf of Rastafari as members of the African diaspora.4 It was not until two years after the establishment of the African Union, headquartered in Addis Ababa, that the contribution of the African diaspora was declared to be of significant import. According to amendments to the AU’s constitutive act, the organization “invite[s] and encourage[s] the full participation of the African Diaspora as an important part of our Continent, in the building of the African Union” (2003, 2). The African diaspora as a whole has been described at African Union gatherings as being the sixth region of the continent. Though this has not been established formally, it is certainly a mobilization platform. This diaspora includes, as African American founder of the Diaspora African Forum Mission in Ghana Erieka Bennett describes it, “two types of Diasporans—those of us taken during slavery and those who leave Africa to work in greener pastures” (Otas 2012). According to Bennett, it is the latter group that the AU is interested in at the moment. Given the launching of the Ethiopian Diaspora Association, an organization for those of Ethiopian heritage who have moved away from the country in relatively recent years, it is clear that Ethiopia’s priorities are similar. Regardless, at the African Union’s diaspora affairs summit held in May 2012, Diaspora Engagement Affairs director general Mulugeta Kelil recalls Rastafari asking to be considered diaspora. A Rastafari delegation did attend, but there were also other representatives, such as Bennett, who represented the pan-African community created by slavery. Though Ethiopia as a country may be focused on the more recent diaspora as opposed to the one that developed as a result of forced removal during the trans-Atlantic slave trade, the AU definition of diaspora is quite wide, “consisting of peoples of African origin living outside the continent, irrespective of their citizenship and nationality and who are willing to contribute to the development of the continent and

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We are seeking legal remedies for these issues. And the first thing that we need to do is define the group. . . . We are dealing with inheritance to the land of Ethiopia. The fact that you are Rastafari, that’s wonderful, that’s good, but it has gotten to the point that we have had to revert back to the African argument, to the African reasoning. That’s the only protection we have and the only way to keep the vehicle driving. Otherwise we’re going to be stuck in this quagmire.

Whereas the AU definition specifies the diaspora as containing individuals of “African origin,” Meghoo further clarifies the definition for Rastafari as she draws a line between Rastafari and the African diaspora. All members of the African diaspora can be Rastafari, but not all Rastafari are members of the African diaspora. She defines ethnicity by historical connection to slavery and the experience of blackness. This is not an all-inclusive picture. Though there are non-black Rastafari, Meghoo is speaking only of black Rastafari: “Whether you are a black baldhead, black rasta, this is what the movement was created for.” This strategy reflects both the AU’s focus on diaspora as well as the Ethiopian government’s ethnic federalist opportunities. Meghoo’s claim, as she puts it, removes faith from the equation—it attempts to clarify the Rastafari position in Ethiopia, but by removing the belief system it removes a number of Rastafari faithful from the equation as well. Meghoo sees the community stuck in a “quagmire” and this is how she suggests it move forward. Interestingly, by carving out the faith and focusing on the historical connection of Rastafari to Africa as well as an ethnic and historic connection to the black experience, Meghoo is eliminating a large part of what disturbs so many Ethiopians about Rastafari—their belief system, which is associated with the view that Haile Selassie was divine. One might postulate that this approach is in keeping with the available means of integration. Much as Rastafari in Shashemene are attempting to work within the existing system in order to build cultural citizenship capital, in the same way this approach attempts to navigate the systems provided by the Ethiopian government and the African Union. In 2011 a delegation of Rastafari sent a letter to the prime minister of Ethiopia discussing the history of the Rastafari community in Shashemene, the economic contribution of the repatriates, and the cultural

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view of the Ethiopian conception of Ethiopianness through an illustration of the way in which Ethiopians interact with and perceive Rastafari. This conflicted or contested conception drives the perception of ferenjoch, including the “black people of the world” to whom Haile Selassie granted land. In order to present Ethiopian perceptions of Rastafari, I have had to present Ethiopian perceptions of themselves. The ethnic variety of the country complicates the Rastafari Afrocentric notion of Ethiopia which shapes their understanding of what it means to be Ethiopian. This book demonstrates that the country’s myriad nationalities and ethnicities intersect with Rastafari attempts to become Ethiopian citizens. What results is a desire by Ethiopians for Rastafari to assume a specific ethnic identity, when in fact Rastafari, who hail from a variety of countries, represent numerous nationalities themselves. Rastafari have difficulty connecting with this concept of multiple nationalities, for their sense of Ethiopianness developed in a very different historical context, and views Ethiopia as a symbol of unity and solidarity. Given the reality of Rastafari settlement in Ethiopia and their failure to achieve Ethiopian government recognition through citizenship, one of the goals of this book has been to contextualize the relationship between Ethiopians and Rastafari. Taking the position that migrant and diaspora identities develop through a process of negotiation, it demonstrates that citizenship is an evolving concept regardless of its treatment under the law. If Rastafari cannot gain legal citizenship, there are other options for integration. The uniqueness of the Rastafari situation in Ethiopia sheds light on the development of what it means to be Ethiopian. There are several narratives that construct notions of Ethiopianness. The Rastafari definition of Ethiopia as a country is different from that of Ethiopians, and even within Ethiopia there have been and continue to be ethnic groups and governments who view the country’s identity and what it means to be a citizen of Ethiopia in varied ways. The Rastafari conception of Ethiopia has developed from their own sense of Ethiopianism, an ideology that views the country as a symbol of anticolonialism and antiimperialism, and of freedom, liberty, and justice. This is a specific narrative of Ethiopian identity constructed by and for Rastafari. The development of Ethiopianness within the country shows that on the Ethiopian side there are multiple narratives of Ethiopian identity.

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phenomenon becomes more and more prevalent, innovative analyses of new forms of migration will be increasingly important.

Describing the Relationship Against a backdrop of multiple Ethiopian identity narratives and exceptionalism, Ethiopians perceive Rastafari in ways that connect with their own history, spirituality, and community. Rastafari were welcomed by the emperor’s regime and accepted into the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and the community of Shashemene, but they must adapt their beliefs. Clearly, Rastafari who leave the belief in Haile Selassie’s divinity behind are better able to integrate. The Church provides an opportunity for integration into Ethiopian society, but on condition that Rastafari adapt by accepting the rules of the Church and leting go of the belief in Haile Selassie’s divinity. If they do these things, they will be accepted. The fear of marijuana develops into negative stereotypes of Rastafari, but these are no different from similar negative stereotypes of immigrants in Western society (Stephan and Stephan 2000). Although some elements of the situation between Ethiopians and Rastafari are unique, others are similar to the experiences of Western immigration and host communities in Europe and elsewhere. In order to further evaluate what occurs when Rastafari come in contact with Ethiopians in the space of Shashemene—the host community—it was important for me to look at how the ideas and narratives that have informed a spatial understanding of Shashemene have shifted over the years, leading here too to a variety of perceptions. In the context of this space and how it is used and perceived, Ethiopians and Rastafari act out separate identities. Consequently, Shashemene, the shared space where they both live, is used differently and understood in different ways, which can create conflict. Shared experience informs identity, but some experiences are unique to each group. That said, the Rastafari and Ethiopian communities, by virtue of sharing space in Shashemene, are engaged in a dialogue about this shared space which sheds light on the developing perception of self and group identity. The conflicts between them can develop into sites of increased understanding. But this requires thoughtful intervention, which is difficult when attempted on a larger scale.

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Haile Roots, and Jonny Ragga, among others, either connected to Rastafari or completely disconnected. Jonny Ragga’s case illustrates, in addition to a disconnection of reggae from Rastafari, a surprising link between reggae and American pop music as exemplary of wealth and of the West. Instead of music being a means of integrating Rastafari culture and increasing acceptance, Rastafari is transformed by Ethiopian cultural practice. A deeper understanding of the narrative of struggle and resistance against oppression that has informed the development of the Rastafari faith provides another compelling basis for understanding in Ethiopia. However, while the concert presented an opportunity for shared understanding of a pan-African experience, there is still a discernible gap between the Ethiopian conception of Haile Selassie as a man versus the Rastafari conception of the former emperor as divine.

Providing Insight on Rastafari Given that very little of the available literature on Rastafari (or Ethiopia) has addressed the reception they have received in the country that they consider the Promised Land, an investigation into this topic begins to fill a gap in the scholarship on Rastafari and also opens new avenues for further research. At each interview I completed, I asked if the interviewee could suggest other people I might speak to. The list of potential interviewees grew to an unwieldy length. There will always remain many more people to be interviewed. My research, like any attempt at ethnographic description, is an incomplete and only partially coherent description of the Ethiopian perception of the repatriated Rastafari and the implications arising from their presence. But as the first study to undertake an in-depth investigation into the impact, role, and perception of Rastafari in Ethiopian society, this book offers those who study the movement a broader understanding of the implications of repatriation. Repatriation is a powerful theme in Rastafari thought and praxis. This work looks at the impact of repatriation on Ethiopia as well as the repatriates themselves. Not only can it help increase our understanding of Rastafari’s global reach, but it can also aid individual Rastafari wishing to make the move to Ethiopia to understand that repatriation is a process of negotiation between communities. Increased cultural

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migration and the psychology of the migrant. Rastafari do not immigrate for economic reasons and do not see themselves as migrants. Though most studies of immigration focus on either the migrant or the host community, this book offers a perspective on the relationship between a host community and newcomers. In addition, investigation into the role of host communities in migration studies is a relatively small field, and this particular case is instructive in that it demands that attention be paid to the narratives of both natives and newcomers. Lack of awareness on either side can threaten integration. It is the intersection of these narratives that helps further our understanding of the issues that may or may not allow for acceptance. As a first attempt at describing the Ethiopian perception of the repatriated Rastafari population, this work is a beginning that can be continued, broadened, and expanded. It is a reminder of how, as Louis Chude-Sokei writes, “construction of Africa [is] forever threatened by not only the messy presence of an actual Africa, but even more so by literal Africans” (2012, 78). The connections made by interviewees between Rastafari and other Western references, such as the connection to Americans, is one such area that deserves further analysis. To what extent do Rastafari represent the West to Ethiopians? Given that Rastafari developed in opposition to the West, what would be the impact of such a perception on Rastafari integration? Alternatively, do Rastafari representat a black, African West for Ethiopians? How does this interaction between an indigenous African population and a diaspora African community compare to a range of other interactions between other indigenous African populations and diaspora African communities? In March 2013, the African Union, alongside the World Bank, held a consultation on a number of projects arising from the 2012 Diaspora Summit in South Africa. The projects included the creation of a database of the professional skills available in the African diaspora, the founding of an African diaspora investment fund, and the “development of a programme on the development marketplace for the diaspora as a framework for facilitating innovation and entrepreneurship among African people and the diaspora.”3 The summit also recommended the establishment of an African diaspora volunteer corps to bring their skills to the continent. The fiftieth anniversary celebrations of the African Union were held during the summit of 19 to 27 May 2013, with 2013

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in the country so as to accrue further cultural citizenship capital. It could also work to frame the requests for political recognition and citizenship within an Ethiopian context. Should both Rastafari and Ethiopians come to understand each other more fully, there is great potential for a productive relationship and cultural exchange that would contribute to the development of the country. Rastafari love Ethiopia and are proud to live in the country. The Bob Marley Africa Unite concert was a great public relations event for Ethiopia. Rastafari represent a powerful public relations voice and they are dedicated to the country and its people. Ethiopian popular music has been influenced by reggae. Rastafari musicians work with Ethiopian musicians to create new forms of music and new outlets for understanding each other’s culture. However, returning to the story with which I began this book, I think of the line Meskerem drew on the bus to Shashemene between herself and ferenjoch. For her, and for many Ethiopians, Rastafari are ferenjoch. Inasmuch as this book reveals the context for and issues underlying Meskerem’s perception and the perceptions of other Ethiopians, it also presents an initial description of the potential for connection and integration. There will be gaps between Rastafari and Ethiopians, but awareness on both sides can be increased. The relationship can be mutually beneficial from a development perspective. Working alongside Rastafari on business and humanitarian initiatives could be advantageous for a town like Shashemene and a country like Ethiopia. Even if Rastafari never achieve citizenship, Ethiopia will always be their Promised Land.

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Notes

Notes to the Introduction 1. Throughout this book I have chosen to utilize the word Rastafari to refer to both the movement and individuals. Over the course of my research I have been asked to avoid pluralizing “Rastafari” as well as shortening the term to “Rasta.” Acceptable in informal usage, as evidenced in some quotations found in this book, my usage reflects a formal preference for the entire word. I have also avoided “Rastafarian,” as the word “Rastafari” reflects the same meaning and maintains the “I” at the end of the word, a syllable important from the perspective of “I and I consciousness” (Erskine 91). The word “Rastafarianism” has also been avoided. Rastafari seek to avoid Western ideology—characterized by the “ism.” Finally, within this text, the word Rastafari does not take an article unless acting as an adjective (as in “the Rastafari community in Shashemene”). This would mean choosing “Rastafari in Shashemene” instead of “the Rastafari in Shashemene.” Though the sentences are equivalent in meaning, the second indicates a reference to specific people. Since the people and the movement and the consciousness are linked in the word “Rastafari,” the choice has been made to not use an article. 2. My conversation with Meskerem was not a formal interview. 3. In a 2012 conference paper, Bonacci suggested that the early settlers in Shashemene were referred to as “sädätäñña faranj [sic],” meaning “refugee, immigrant or emigrant” (4) foreigner: “This name identified them as coming from elsewhere like the white people, but they were also perceived as migrants and refugees in Ethiopia where they were planting new roots” (5). Bonacci draws this naming from a document that designates the sale of land. In conversation with a number of Amharic speakers, I was told that this would be a very rare occurrence and does not reflect a use of the term ferenj. 4. Central Statistical Agency of Ethiopia, 2007. 5. In Ethiopia, a family name system is not used. Individuals have a given name and their father’s name is used for the second name. Respecting this cultural difference, I have used both names at first mention and only first names at subsequent mentions in text. Haile Selassie is an exception, as he is always referred to by both names. For the sake of citation, and in order to stay in keeping with author-date

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is / The real revolutionaries / ‘Cause I don’t want my people to be / Tricked by mercenaries” (quoted in Farred 263). Here we see both an optimistic connection between Bob Marley, a member of the Caribbean diaspora, and the African continent, as well as a pragmatic commentary on present-day Africa. Sizzla Kalonji, “Leaving Babylon,” Famine Riddim, Kings of Kings, 2002. For further information on Rastafari theology, see Erskine 2005, especially chapters 3 and 4. As Price writes, “There is widespread consensus that four men, Leonard Howell, Joseph Hibbert, Achibald Dunkley, and Robert Hinds, were pivotal founders of Rastfari.” However, Howell “dominates most accounts of the early days of Rastafari” (2010, 53). Howell specifically outlined what have become foundational Rastafari beliefs in The Promised Key, which he authored using the pseudonym “G. G. Maragh.” The text claims the divinity of Haile Selassie and the location of Ethiopia as Promised Land through the use of various biblical references. Howell suggests that Haile Selassie’s coronation is itself a fulfillment of biblical prophecy—the crowning of “the King of Kings and Lord of Lords the conquering Lion of Judah, the Elect of God and the Light of the world” (Maragh 1988, 19). See Price (2003) for a discussion of the development of Ethiopianism with specific reference to Jamaica and Rastafari. Barry Chevannes has tracked the history—as it developed in Jamaica—of the idealization of Africa, specifically Ethiopia, in chapter 1 of Rastafari: Roots and Ideology (1994). “Toute la bibliothèque panafricaine mentionne, à un endroit ou l’autre, en quelques lignes ou en chapitres entiers la prégnance de l’éthiopianisme dans la formation de la pensée sociale, religieuse et nationaliste noire. En effet l’éthiopianisme est indissociable d’une lecture raciale du monde : l’Éthiopie et les Éthiopiens servirent, par analogie des phénotypes, à désigner les peuples noirs.” My translation. This concept is elaborated in If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories? Finding Common Ground (2004). Also notice the importance of the subject pronoun and who has the opportunity to use it—the act of postcolonial writing against colonial oppression tends first and foremost to require a “taking back” of the subject position. As Chamberlin writes, the act of creating a border, setting off a particular piece of land, is less about preventing the act of crossing and entering that space than it is an act of establishing that there is a space. Borders “function like the threshold of a church, or the beginning of a story; and they need to be acknowledged if proper respect is to be paid to those for whom the place is sacred or appropriate contempt shown to those who are polluting it” (2004, 63). The creation of these borders is, of course, also concomitant with a belief in what side of the border one might be on. Ras Tagas King (Resident Country Representative for the Ethiopian World Federation), interview, 1 September 2007.

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Notes to Chapter 1 1. The Ethiopian army called on British support to aid in the expelling of Italian occupation. 2. Carnochan describes the various ways in which Ethiopia has been viewed externally. The overwhelming majority of observers have focused on the extensive ancient history of the country as well as its mystery—hence the reason for these words in quotation marks here. Ethiopia has most certainly captured the imagination of many, including Rastafari (2008). 3. The Oromo population will be discussed later in this chapter. 4. According to the most recent data taken from the 2007 census, Oromo number 25,488,344 or 34.5% of the population. The second, third, and fourth most populous groups are as follows: Amhara 19,867,817, 26.9%; Somali 4,581,793, 6.2%; and Tigray 4,483,776, 6.1% (Statistical Agency of Ethiopia 2008). 5. Abiyi Ford (Dean of the School of Journalism and Communications, Addis Ababa University), interview, 28 July 2007. Ford was the first to mention the concept of Ethiopian exceptionalism to me. 6. Prester John is a reference to a medieval figure of European legend said to have ruled a Christian nation surrounded by Islamic countries. As legend has it, the land of Prester John could be Ethiopia. For more, see Carnochan 2008. 7. “Semitic” can refer to language, as Amharic and Tigrinya are Semitic languages alongside Arabic and Hebrew, to name but two others. Here Ford also seems to be referring to ethnicity, classing the Ethiopian population as related to the Middle East rather than the rest of Africa. 8. During my research I had a conversation with an Ethiopian returnee—he had been raised in America but after graduating from college, he had made his home in Addis Ababa, living there for the past decade. He spoke to me about being on a committee meant to organize commemorative events for the one hundredth anniversary of the Battle of Adwa. The idea was to celebrate the anniversary under the banner of “Adwa: An African Victory.” This was resisted by other members of the committee who insisted on the title, “Adwa: An Ethiopian Victory.” 9. Harold Marcus, in a review of Asafa Jalata’s 1993 book Oromia and Ethiopia: State Formation and Ethnonational Conflict, writes that “Asafa Jalata pretends no particular objectivity . . . provi[ding] a socio-historical construct from the Oromo side of the hill” (1994b, 599–600). In this work, my objective is not to defend Asafa as either an activist or an academic, but to present his work as a perception—a narrative that exists and informs what it means to be Ethiopian. 10. Perhaps the fall of the Ethiopian Dergue government could be related to the events of 1989. However, the internal struggles of Ethiopia and their impact, as described by Kahsay Berhe (2005), seem to have been more significant to Ethiopia than those of the West. 11. Here I refer to the title of the influential text The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Post-Colonial Literatures (Ashcroft, Griffiths and Tiffin, 1989).

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motor vehicle theft. The combined total of these offenses constitutes the Index used for trend calculation purposes. . . . The rate for all index offenses combined was only 115.99 per 100,000 population, compared with 1709.88 for Japan and 4123.97 for USA.” These are statistics from 2000. Found at http://www-rohan. sdsu.edu/faculty/rwinslow/africa/ethiopia.html. In this attempted interview with a local mullah, he was adamant that he had no comment about Rastafari and that Muslims had nothing to do with them. He recommended that I speak to Orthodox priests and parishioners. Asher Alameyu and Mulugeta Yilma (pastors, Gospel Light Church, Shashemene), interview, Shashemene, 31 July 2007. For more information on these pamphlets, see chapter 4. Solomon Soroto (tourism professional), interview, Addis Ababa, 24 June 2012. Alemseghed Kebede (professor), interview, Addis Ababa, 25 August 2007. Alemseghed’s commentary privileges a more recent history of Ethiopia and Haile Selassie. The Rastafari claim to Ethiopian identity could perhaps be viewed as “historic” in that it takes into account an ancient, biblical connection to Ethiopia that goes further back than West African histories of trans-Atlantic slavery. For an example of a connection between ancient Ethiopia and panAfrican experience, see Miriam Ma’at-Ka-Re Monges, “The Queen of Sheba and Solomon: Exploring the Shebanization of Knowledge” (2002). Monges utilizes the Bible and the Kebra Nagast (a fourteenth-century Ethiopian document) to provide a connection between the thinking of the Ethiopian-born Queen of Sheba (wife to Solomon, mother of Menelik, beginning the Solomonic line that connects to Haile Selassie) and African consciousness against a backdrop of Eurocentrism. For Alemseghed, however, his view is of the man; for him, Haile Selassie was the Ethiopian leader for the bulk of the twentieth century. Daniel Wogu (student), interview, Shashemene, 23 July 2007. Henock Mahari (musician), interview, Addis Ababa, 9 August 2007. Discussion, Afrika Beza College English Class, Shashemene, 24 July 2007. The Afrika Beza College is a private college located in Shashemene. My classes were part of a continuing education English-language instruction program. There were four teachers who taught courses; I was the only native speaker of English. The students ranged in age from their mid-teens to older, more mature students in their forties and fifties. In terms of linguistic ability, the students’ knowledge and experience in English was as wide-ranging as their ages. Also, the classes varied in size and makeup from day to day—many students packed my classes because, as I heard them say, they had heard that a ferenj was teaching. The majority of the students were male, though there were a marked number of female students as well. Shemelis Safa (teacher, Paradise Valley College, Shashemene), interview, Shashemene, 28 June 2007. The patriarchate is the office of the Patriarch, the spiritual leader of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church.

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different and does not connect with the narrative upon which the system of thought, concepts, and symbols of Rastafari are based. Isheba Tafari (repatriate, Yawenta Children’s Center), phone interview, 7 November 2012. Ababu Minda also writes quite a great deal in his thesis about the difficulties he himself had in attempting to work with and research the Rastafari community in Shashemene (1997, 8–9). These comments stem from a discussion with my Africa Beza College English Class, Shashemene, 24 July 2007. Daniel Wogu, email communication, 16 November 2012. “InI” is a Rastafari pronoun meaning “me; I; we; mine, myself ” (Pollard 2000, 46). It is both singular and plural.

Notes to Chapter 3 1. Given my involvement with Habitat for Humanity Ethiopia and my experience in the area from 2004 to 2013, this is my perception of the area’s characteristics. 2. The billboard says that the picture was painted by one Elias Samuel in 2004. Perhaps this was completed in advance of the Bob Marley sixtieth birthday concert and the subsequent celebrations in Shashemene. 3. Ras Tagas King (resident country representative for the Ethiopian World Federation), interview, Addis Ababa, 1 September 2007. 4. Rastafari also live in other areas of Ethiopia, primarily Addis Ababa—where Ras Tagas King makes his home. According to Gebre Gebru, the Jamaican consul general, Rastafari settle primarily in Shashemene, though increasingly in Addis Ababa. I am also aware of a much more recent Rastafari community outside Bahir Dar, the capital of the Amhara region in the north of the country. Gebre Gebru did not mention this community in our conversation on 11 January 2008. 5. The wereda is an administrative district of Ethiopia that is a collection of kebeles, the smallest level of administrative division. 6. An example of the support received is that of the Afro-West Indian League, founded in Trinidad in 1935 to raise awareness about and funds to fight the Italian occupation of Ethiopia. For more details, see Yelvington 1999. 7. As Milkias wrote in an email dated 5 March 2009: The land issue was the most important. In actual fact, that was the only weapon the students [including myself] had in attacking the regime and bringing about its overthrow. Our slogan was “Land to the Tiller.” I can even say that it would have been a daunting task for the revolutionaries to succeed to overthrow Haile Selassie had he listened to the advice of people like Ras Emeru, his cousin, and brought about land reform. The Emperor adamantly refused to go along with the dismantlement of feudalism. And land is at the core of feudalism. Some two thousand families, together with the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahdo Church and members of the Royal family controlled 90% of the land. Ninety percent of the people were landless peasants who paid

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16. Phone conversation, January 2009. 17. Tsega Siyak (preparatory student), interview, Shashemene, 31 July 2007. 18. Shemelis Safa (teacher, Paradise Valley College, Shashemene), interview, Shashemene, 28 June 2007. 19. For a description of the role of marijuana, or ganja, in the Rastafari faith, see Erskine 2005, 96–98. 20. Zerihun Mohammed (scholar), interview, Addis Ababa, 5 November 2012. 21. According to the Ethiopian calendar, the first day of the year 2000 was celebrated on 12 September 2007. 22. Ras Tagas King (Resident Country Representative for the EWF), interview, Addis Ababa, 1 September 2007. 23. Asafa Dibaba (scholar), interview, Addis Ababa, 5 January 2008. 24. Kebede Asfew seems to be confusing the prime minister of St. Vincent and the Grenadines with the prime minister of Trinidad and Tobago. The visit of the Vincentian prime minister, Mr. Ralph Gonsalves, occurred in 2005, as recorded by state media. See the following website for details: http://www.mfa.gov.et/ Press_Section/publication.php?Page=JointCommunique/Saint%20Vincent.htm 25. All names have been changed. The interviews took place in January 2008 and were translated from Afaan Oromoo.

Notes to Chapter 4 1. This event is to be an “annual celebration of the goals and vision of Bob Marley” and there have been subsequent events in Accra, Ghana in 2006 and a planned event in South Africa in 2007 that did not occur due to funding problems. Information from http://africa-unite.org/site/component/ option,com_frontpage/Itemid,55/. 2. Henok Semaegzer, “Africa Unite: Concert for Whom?” Ethiopian Reporter, 12 February 2005, 1. 3. This information is to be found in a document entitled “Why Ethiopia & What Was Accomplished,” available online by the Bob and Rita Marley Foundations, http://africa-unite.org/site/content/view/29/58/. 4. I have seen this claim being made by more than these two Protestant denominations. 5. From the Bob and Rita Marley Foundations’ “Why Ethiopia & What Was Accomplished.” 6. Anthropology has not necessarily always been engaged with “culture” per se. Franz Boas’s idea of culture, the founding idea of North American anthropology, was an integration of all four fields of anthro (physical, linguistic, social, and archaeological) (Clifford 1986, 4). Edward Evans-Pritchard, for instance, in his famous study of the Nuer, was after a “totalizing picture” (Pratt 1986, 41) of the society—his focus was less cultural and more social. 7. It should be noted that 2005 was the year of controversial elections, held three months after the Bob Marley concert. In light of the controversial results, which

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11. Shimelis Meressa, “Africa Unite Organizers Optimistic Bob Marley’s Birthday Celebration Promote Image of Ethiopia [sic],” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 121. 12. Ethiopian News Agency, “Africa Unite Art Exhibition Opens,” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 126. 13. Ethiopian News Agency, “Square Named after Bob Marley,” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 128. 14. Haile Gebru, “Bob Marley: Ethiopia’s Ambassador” (Ye Ityopia Ambasador), Addis Zemen, Vol. 64, No. 130, 5. 15. Anthony Mitchell, “Ethiopians Suspicious of Marley Festival,” Ethiopian Reporter, 5 February 2009, 23. 16. Hannah Wozene Kvam, “Africa Unite,” Ethiopian Reporter, 5 February 2005, 29. 17. “A Square Will Be Named in Honour of Bob Marley” (Bob Marley sim adebabey liseyen nwo), 22 Tir 1997, 40. 18. Titles have been translated from Amharic. In these notes I have provided a transliterated version of the Amharic titles. 19. “The African Union Is Bob Marley’s Vision” (Ye Afrika hibret inna ye Bob Marley raiy), Addis Zemen, Vol. 64, No. 37, 5. 20. Shimelis Meressa, “Bob Marley’s 60th Birthday Celebration Launched: City Administration Grants Rita Anderson Marley Honourary Residency,” Ethiopian Herald, Vol LXI, No. 125. 21. Andrew Heavens, personal email, 3 July 2007. 22. As discussed in chapter 2, intermarriage does occur. However, the statistics provided by Solomon Soroto (2008, 76) contradict the statement that a “majority” of Rastafari have intermarried with Ethiopians. 23. Melese Telahoun, “Bringing People Together under ‘Africa Unite,’” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 128. 24. Ethiopian News Agency. “Bob Marley Foundation to Build Health Facility in Shashemene,” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 134. 25. Shimelis Meressa, “Multitudes Assembled to Celebrate Bob Marley’s 60th Birthday,” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 129. 26. Ethiopian News Agency, “UN Country Team Participate in ‘Africa Unite’ Concert, Exhibition,” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 129. 27. Biniyam Wubishet, “What Does Addis Benefit from Bob’s Birthday?” Ethiopian Herald, Vol. LXI, No. 135. 28. Henok Semaegzer, “Rita Marley Interview,” Ethiopian Reporter, 15 January 2005, 25. 29. “What Does Bob Marley Have to Do with Us? And What about Rastafari?” (Bob Marley minachen nwo? Rastafaris minachen adelum?), Reporter, 22 Tir 1997, 59. 30. The song, and its connection to Rastafari, will be discussed in the following chapter. 31. Henok Semaegzer, “Africa Loves Bob Marley!” Ethiopian Reporter, 29 January 2005, 25. 32. Nolawi Melakedingle, “Ras Tafarianism and Repatriation: A Spiritual Fulfillment,” Ethiopian Reporter, 29 January 2005, 24.

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and pens as well as cultural events were well-supported and officially commended by the mayor.

Notes to Chapter 5 1. Abiyi Ford (Dean, Journalism and Communications, Addis Ababa University), interview, Addis Ababa, 17 July 2007. 2. Phone conversation, February 2009. 3. There is no real agreement on the origins of this organization. Barrett, quoting Robert I. Rotberg, suggested it was a “religio-political cult that resisted colonial domination from the last decade of the nineteenth century to about 1928. There is no agreement as to where the movement began . . . [Rotberg] suggested Ruanda-Urundi or Uganda” (1997, 121). 4. The association with West Africa may seem incongruous, given that Ethiopia is viewed as the Promised Land and is on the other side of the continent. Alternatively, this association can be viewed as being in keeping with the use of Ethiopia and Africa as interchangeable terms, as discussed in chapter 1. 5. Chevannes discusses the role of Jamaican migration in the spread of Rastafari beliefs, from the movement of Jamaicans to Britain in the late 1950s and early 1960s, to Canada in the mid-1960s and to the United States in the 1970s (1994, 262–63). 6. I quote the remainder of Bilby’s description to demonstrate the eventual global reach of reggae and Bob Marley (“a highly talented and ‘charismatic’ musician”), which also shows the eventual global reach of Rastafari: Meanwhile, an astute entrepreneur from the local elite realizes the potential appeal and marketability of local popular music abroad, particularly among white middle-class Americans and young Europeans, but also among fellow “sufferers” in other parts of the postcolonial world. A highly talented and “charismatic” musician is selected from the ranks of the movement, cast in a “pop star” mold, and promoted internationally. The timing is right, and the exotic “product” clicks. . . . Along with the music travels a rich body of cultic texts and visual symbols, which are interpreted variously by the consumers of the music in different parts of the world, but which nearly everywhere have a similar, more general ideological appeal, based on the movement’s apparent “utopian” thrust and anti-colonialist, anti-capitalist (or more vaguely, rebellious, anti-authority) stance. The movement becomes firmly established within the “world system” and, by the good grace of various interlocking social, economic, and political forces, scores “converts” and sympathizers in every corner of the globe (1983, 203). 7. Teddy Afro was arrested on 3 November 2006, “accused of killing 18-year-old Degu Yibelete, a homeless man who came from Gojjam to live with his uncle before becoming a street dweller.” He was tried, found guilty, and sentenced to six years’ improsonment and a fine of 18,000 Ethiopian birr on 8 December 2008. On 18 February 2009, his sentence was reduced by four years. (All information from the following publication: Hilina Alemu, “Teddy Afro’s Sentence

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10. 11.

12. 13.

14. 15.

16.

17. 18. 19. 20.

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21. For a description and history of the sound system, see Norman Stolzoff, Wake the Town and Tell the People: Dancehall Culture in Jamaica (2000). 22. “Diversity Matters,” Capital Ethiopia, August 2008. http://www.capitalethiopia. com/archive/2008/august/week2/interview.htm. 23. Local youth (student), interview, Shashemene, 19 June 2007. 24. Henock Mehari (musician, Addis Ababa), interview, 9 August 2007. All quotations from Mehari are from this interview. 25. Dreadlocks are commensurate with Rastafari belief. The style has been utilized as a marker of various types of identities and attitudes, political, cultural, individual, or otherwise. For a concise discussion and examples of black hair politics and the aesthetics of resistance as well as identity, see Paul Dash, “Black Hair Culture, Politics and Change” (2006). For a study that takes the meaning and symbolism of dreadlocks as its central focus, see M. Bahati Kuumba and Femi Ajanaku, “Dreadlocks: The Hair Aesthetics of Cultural Resistance and Collective Identity Formation” (1998). 26. For example, see Jah Lude’s interview on an April 2012 edition of the Kassa Show: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnLA58GP2KQ, uploaded 7 April 2012. 27. Personal communication by email, 10 January 2012. 28. Translation courtesy Ankober Yewondwossen. 29. From conversation with Addisalem Tesfaye, Addis Ababa. Reported to me in a personal email, 26 February 2012. 30. The name has been changed. (Singer, Addis Ababa), interview, 13 August 2007. All quotations come from this interview. 31. Getachew Yossef (teacher, Addis Ababa School for Fine Arts), interview, Addis Ababa, 20 January 2008. All quotations from Yossef are from this interview. 32. Henok Semeagzer, “Getachew Yossef: Singing Reggae on Canvas.” Ethiopian Reporter, 19 Februrary 2005, 25.

Notes to Chapter 6 1. Ras Tagas King (resident country representative for the Ethiopian World Federation), interview, Addis Ababa, 1 September 2007. 2. Here I use the term “diaspora” to refer to recent Ethiopian emigrants. Both Akyeampong (2000) and Zeleza (2005) use the term to describe recent African immigration to countries like Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United States, Zeleza arguing that these individuals, along with other dispersed peoples, expand Gilroy’s (1993) concept of the “Black Atlantic.” In Ethiopia, the word “diaspora” is used to refer to Ethiopians who have immigrated—those who come back to Ethiopia are commonly referred to as “returnees.” 3. Name changed by request (tofu factory partner), interview, Shashemene, 16 January 2008. 4. Giulia Bonacci confirmed that this individual had received Ethiopian citizenship by decree of the Ethiopian president. An unknown number of Rastfari had, before the deposition of Haile Selassie, received citizenship by imperial decree. However, this is not a common occurence.

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17. Kebede Asfew moved from Shashemene in 2009, to become manager of a Dashen Bank in the merkato (market) area of Addis Ababa. 18. Wondo Genet is a popular hot spring resort located a short drive (thirty minutes) from Shashemene. 19. The Gurage ethnic group is known for being business owners. Although this is a generalization, in the Addis Ababa Merkato—the largest market district in East Africa—the overwhelming majority of shop owners are Gurage. This would seem to be the case in Shashemene as well. 20. The potential impact of remittances can be significant. As Emmanuel Akyeampong writes, “[s]tatistics indicate that Ghanaian remittances from abroad far outstripped foreign direct investment in Ghana for every year between 1983 and 1990” (2000, 211). The level of remittances reported caused Ghana to send a representative to the United States so as to encourage Ghanaians in America to invest in their home country. For more information on the economy of remittances with specific reference to Jamaica, see Nelson, “Adrift in the Diaspora: Reflections on Loss of Home and Self ” (2004). 21. During the summer of 2007, I stayed at the Rift Valley Hotel in the course of my fieldwork. There were at least six weddings held during this period of time. I was not in attendance at any of these weddings, I simply observed that the receptions were held at the hotel. On a regular basis, it appeared that meetings were held at the hotel as well. As an example, on 6 September 2007 local mayors convened at the hotel for a lunch meeting. A 2008 description of the hotel provided in an M.A. thesis written by Addis Ababa University student Solomon Soroto described the local response to the Rift Valley Hotel as well as the Lily of the Valley Hotel: “the locals appreciate the Rastafarians’ effort to develop the town by building a [sic] splendid Hotels” (91). 22. Fasting is “strictly observed by all baptized members of the church” and involves abstinence from “meat, egg, butter, milk, and cheese” (Yesehaq 1997, 133). It would seem that the Rastafari in question was taking a more extreme approach. 23. There are seven official fasting periods in a year. These periods are as follows: 1. All Wednesdays and Fridays, except for the fifty days after Easter. 2. Tsome Nevivat, or the Fast of the Prophets. 3. Gahad of Christmas and Epiphany (the Vigils). 4. Nenawe (the Niniveh fast of three days). 5. Abye Tsome (the great Lent fast of fifty-five days). 6. Tsome Hawariat (the Fast of the Apostles). 7. Tsome Filseta (the Fast of the Assumption). (Yesehaq 1997, 133) For specific dates of the fasts, the Ethiopian Orthodox Church Calendar can be found online at http://www.ethiopianorthodox.org/english/calendar.html. 24. A basic description of an Ital diet is that it is all natural and vegetarian. For a treatment of Ital history, practices, and foods, see Dickerson, “I-tal Foodways: Nourishing Rastafarian Bodies” (2004).

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40. Priest Paul (Wesley) Phang (Ethiopia Black International Congress [EABIC]), interview, Shashemene, 14 June 2012. 41. Henok Fente (Voice of America journalist), phone interview, 2 February 2013.

Notes to Chapter 7 1. Priest Paul (Wesley) Phang (Ethiopia Black International Congress [EABIC]), interview, Shashemene, 14 June 2012. 2. Kafa and Sheka are located about four to five hundred kilometers southwest of Addis Ababa. Kafa is located partially in Oromia and partially in SNNPR. Sheka is located completely in SNNPR. Both areas are predominantly rural. 3. From the Returning Home Seminar in Shashemene, Ethiopia, Press Release. Available online at http://eabicbahamas.ning.com/profiles/blogs/ returning-home-seminar-in-shashemene-ethiopia. 4. Desta Meghoo’s keynote address was posted on Soundcloud on 8 May 2012: http://soundcloud.com/ethiopia-2. 5. This definition is taken from an article written by the AU to promote the South Africa summit. See here for further details: http://www.au.int/en/sites/ default/files/Article%20for%20publication%20on%20Global%20Diaspora%20 Summit%2017.05.12_1_.pdf. 6. Meaning a Rastafari who does not wear his or her hair in dreadlocks.

Notes to the Conclusion 1. Elizabeth Blunt, “Ethiopia Arrests ‘Coup Plotters,’” BBC News, 25 April 2009. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/8018731.stm. 2. J. Abbink describes the contested nature of the 2005 election in “Discomfiture of Democracy? The 2005 Election Crisis in Ethiopia and Its Aftermath” (2006). 3. This quotation was taken from an article written by the AU to promote the South Africa summit (http://www.au.int/en/sites/default/files/Article%20 for%20publication%20on%20Global%20Diaspora%20Summit%2017.05.12_1_. pdf). Further information about these projects as well as World Bank involvement can be found at http://go.worldbank.org/PEU6A8QH50 and other related World Bank webpages.

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Newspapers Addis Admas (Amharic) Addis Zemen (Amharic) Ethiopian Herald (English) Ethiopian Reporter (English) Reporter (Amharic)

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Index

Ababu Minda, 64–65, 81, 83–89, 91–93, 122 Abraha, Gedamu. See Gedamu Abraha Abraham Demoz, 39 Abune Paulos, 103, 141 Abyssinia, 49–50 acculturation, 19, 63, 93, 240, 254n31 Addis Ababa, 17, 29, 100, 106, 135, 139, 142, 198–99; African Union headquarters in, 135, 235; Africa Unite in, 126, 129, 132, 139, 141, 148, 150, 153–54, 159, 173, 244; alleged coup in, 239; as multiethnic region, 43; newspapers, 133–34; Rastafari in, 142, 198–99, 259n4 Addis Ababa School of Fine Arts, 187–88 Addis Admas, 133, 137, 262n9; circulation of, 134 Addis Reporter, 51–52 Addis Zemen, 133, 137, 139, 141–42; circulation of, 134 Adwa, Battle of, 36–37, 47, 86, 153, 154, 180, 255n8 Adwa Square, 153, 154 Afaan Oromoo, 40, 95, 108, 113, 209, 218 Afar, 35, 43 Africa: colonial domination of, 54; as Ethiopia, 13, 15, 36, 57, 59, 146, 172, 214, 242, 265n4; multicultural, 45; precolonial, 45; Rastafari connection to, 12–17, 24, 112, 170–74, 211, 222, 233–34, 236–37, 253n11 Africa Unite, 26, 32, 64, 126–66, 167, 173, 190, 244, 245, 264n44; artistic value,

154; attendance, 126, 144; as celebration of Bob Marley’s birthday, 163; commercialism of, 150–52; diaspora and, 141–42, 148, 152, 153, 154, 163; economic benefits of, 135, 144, 147, 153, 154, 165, 192; and Haile Selassie I, 129–30; and pan-African unity, 126, 129–30, 137, 139, 141–43, 145, 146, 149–50, 161, 163–64; performers, 126, political benefits of, 192, promotion of Ethiopia, 129, 137, 138, 140, 144, 145, 148, 153, 155, 156, 249; Protestant Church protest of, 155–62, 166; as Rastafari worship, 158–59, 162, as spiritual, 166; sponsors of, 138, 164; subsequent events, 261n1; symposium, 126, 129, 163, United Nations presence, 144; as worship of Haile Selassie I, 156, 161; VIPs, 149–50; “Why Ethiopia and What Was Accomplished,”129, 130, 162 Africa Unite (documentary), 149, 163, 167 “Africa Unite,” (song), 141, 157–58 Africa Unite mosaic, 118, 119 African Diaspora square, 141, 153, 154 African liberation, 6, 11, 174 African Media Development Initiative, 134 African Union, 138, 228, 233, 247, 248; definition of “diaspora,” 235–36, 237; diaspora and, 233–36, 237, 247–48; headquarters, 135 Afrika Beza College, 68, 90, 164, 202 Afro, Teddy. See Teddy Afro

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colonialism, 8, 10, 12, 85–86, 98, 154, 157; Ethiopian, 48, 49, 100; European, 56; Rastafari and, 73, 78; resistance to, 14, 37; Western, 54 communism, 42, 46, 99, 239; fall of, 53. See also Dergue regime Constitution of the Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia (1995), 50, 54, 56, 108; Article 6.2, 194; Article 33, 194; Article 39 (see also “Nations, Nationalities and Peoples”), 229–232; citizenship, 194, 232; cosmopolitan democracy, 53–54; land rights and, 108, 194, 198; language and, 41 contact theories, 19 Coore, Ivan, 105 cosmopolitan democracy, 53–54 cosmopolitan ideal, 53–54, 56 Cothran, Mary, 20 cultural citizenship, 24–25, 27; community membership and; 201–2; cultural capital, 201, 222–23, 226–27, 237, 246, 249; cultural knowledge, 208, 210, 223; community contribution, 208, 212; community involvement, 217; development and, 201; globalization and, 199–200; land acquisition and, 205–6; rights of, 201, 202 dancehall, 175, 182 Danish Red Cross, 219 Dashen Bank, 203 David, king of the United Kingdom of Israel and Judah, 73 Davis, Stephen, 171 Dayan, Daniel, 128, 165 Demisse Shito, 109, 110, 111, 143, 224–25, 230, 233 Demoz, Abraham. See Abraham Demoz Dereje Feyissa, 231 Deressa, Solomon. See Solomon Deressa

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cartoon, 135–37 Ethiopian revolution, 51 Ethiopian Rift Valley, 80 Ethiopian Tourism Commission, 138 Ethiopian World Federation. See EWF Ethiopianism: biblical roots, 11, 13; black nationalism, 14–15, Ethiopian exceptionalism and, 49–50; ideology, 10–11, pan-African, 14–16; and Rastafari, 17, 21, 95, 241, trans-Atlantic slave trade, 12–13, 16; of Ethiopians, 95–96 Ethiopianness, 25–26, 28, 33, 35–59, 166, 241; class and, 51–53; Rastafari conception of, 95 ethnic federalism, 38, 43–45, 56–59, 99, 107, 121, 231–32, 237, 246. See also EPRDF; ethnic regions ethnic regions, 28, 40, 43–44, 50, 107–9, 200, 240 Ethnographic Museum of Ethiopia, 35 ethnography, 131, 245 ethnoscapes, 39 ETV, 151 European Union, 54 Evans-Pritchard, Edward, 261n6 EWF (Ethiopian World Federation): Ethiopia to, 16; citizenship rights, 191; goals of, 15, 214–15; as an NGO, 215–16, 218–19, 222–23; Oromo community and, 118–19, 218; petition to Dergue regime, 104; Self-Sustainable Water for Life Community Based Rain Water Harvesting Project, 214–18, 221, 222, 223, 224, 227; Shashemene development, 118–19, 124–25; Shashemene land grant, 96, 99, 118–20, 124, 214, 215, 230 exceptionalism, Ethiopian, 36, 47–49, 56, 80, 165, 242, 243 famine, 36, 72, 161 fasting, 209, 269n22, 269n23 Farred, Grant, 20, 252–253n11

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Harar, 35, 78 Harari, 43 Harvey, David, 123–24 hashish. See marijuana Heavens, Andrew (Reuters), 142 Henock Mahari, 67, 183, 187–88, 190 Henok Semaegzer Fente, 145–46, 148, 149–50, 151–52, 227 Henze, Paul B., 40, 43 high grade. See marijuana Hill, Lauryn, 126, 144 hip hop, 182 HIV/AIDS, 161, 220 Homiak, John, 173 homosexuality, 160; in Rastafari culture, 157, 264n43 Howard, Edward, 123 Howell, Leonard, 10

Jamaican Embassy, 105, 107 Jamaican Pentecostal Church, 169 Jamaican Rastafarian Development Community. See JRDC Jamaican sefer, 3, 4, 79, 102, 114–17, 119, 122, 203 Japan, 41 Japanizers, 41–42 Jesus Christ, 161; Rastafari and, 61, 78 Jonny Ragga, 175, 181, 182, 184, 190, 245; “The Key,” 181; “Pick Up the Phone,” 181 JRDC (Jamaican Rastafarian Development Community), 4, 57–58, 230; school, 202, 210–13, 221, 223, 224, 226, 269n25, 270n39 Judah, Vernon, 16 Judaism, 35, 36, 80

idealized society, 128, 165 “imagined communities,” 54 immigration theory, 246–47 independent media, 145–155, 165; EPRDF limitations on, 262n7 Inside Africa, 150–51 Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, 29, 32 integrated threat theory, 26, 63, 89, 92 intermarriage, 81, 82, 83, 143, 197; legitimacy of, 81–82, 87 Islam, 35, 64, 80 Iyaric, 12. See also dread talk

Kahsay Berhe, Ethiopia: Democratization and Unity, 45 Kale Hiwot Church, 64, 129; protest of Africa Unite, 156–60 Katz, Elihu, 128, 165 Kebede, Alemseghed. See Alemseghed Kebede Kebede, Asfew, 121, 203, 208 kebele, 225, 252, 259 Kelil, Mulugeta. See Mulugeta Kelil Keller, Edmond, 41 Kelly, Vin, 69 Kidane, Salamawit. See Salamawit Kidane Kidjo, Angélique, 126, 138, 144 King, Tagas, 96, 104, 105, 118–19, 123, 124, 125, 140, 191–92, 213, 216, 218 King Solomon, 9, 12, 51 Kingston, Jamaica, 74, 170, 172 Knottnerus, David, 173 Kombatta, 3, 43

Jackson, Jennifer, 20 Jalata, Asafa. See Asafa Jalata Jamaica: as birthplace of Rastafari movement, 9, 14, 16; colonial domination of, 36, 54, and Ethiopia, 14; Rastafari in, 173; and trans-Atlantic slave trade, 14 Jamaica Information Service, 69 Jamaica Times, 171 Jamaican Consul General to Ethiopia, 81, 107. See also Gebre Gebru

Lake, Obiegale, 20; Rastafari Women: Subordination in the Midst of Liberation Theology, 217

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Nega, Berhanu. See Berhanu Nega Nuer, 35, 231, 232; as foreigners, 231 Nyabinghis, 17, 170, 172, 175, 176, 230 Okley, Judith, 32 OLF (Oromo Liberation Front), 42, 107 Omo Valley, 35 Ondaatje, Michael (The Collected Works of Billy the Kid), 29, 33 Organization for African Unity, 67 Oromia, 44, 108, 217; ethnic region of, 43; establishment of, 121; government of, 109, 214; Rastafari investment in, 143; Rastafari presence in, 56, 109–112 Oromo, 3, 40; colonial domination of, 46, 49, 56, 98, 100, 217, 218; culture, 118, 120; Haile Selassie I and, 101–2, 121, 123, 164, 209, 218; land claims of, 122; population, 43, 46, 107–8, 255n4; Rastafari and, 57, 120–23, 208–9, 217–18; water harvesting project and, 218. See also Afaan Oromoo Oromo Farmer’s Association, 225 Oromo nationalism, 44–46, 48–50 Oromo question, 42, 45 Orthodox Christian Church, 3, 18 Ouedrago, Josephine (Economic Commission for Africa), 141 Osorio, Francisco, 130 Owens, Joseph, 13; Dread: The Rastafarians of Jamaica, 192–93 Pakulski, Jan, 199 pan-African community, 40, 235, 240, 242 Pan-African Parliament, 228 pan-Africanism: African unification, 142; African Union and, 247–48; Africa Unite and, 126, 129, 154, 162, 245; EPRDF and, 135, 154; Ethiopian exceptionalism and, 48, 242; Ethiopianism and, 11, 13–14; Marcus Garvey and, 73; Haile Selassie and, 13, 40; Rastafari and, 25, 28, 40, 57; slavery and, 16, 235

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Safa, Helen I., 18 Safa, Shemelis. See Shemelis Safa Salamawit Kidane, 29, 32 Salmon, Sidney, 184 Sara Gizaw, princess, 71 Scott, William, 36 Seba, Wondimu. See Wondimu Seba segregation, 73 Seifu, Naod. See Naod Seifu Self-Sustainable Water for Life Community Based Rain Water Harvesting Project, 214–18, 221, 222, 223, 224, 227 Semaegzer, Henok. See Henok Semaegzer Fente Shack, William (Strangers in African Societies), 18, 20 Shashe, 94, 118 Shashemene, 1, 3–5, 16–17, 24, 26, 29, 56, 114; Community Development Forum, 109, 111, 260n13; as crossroads town, 95, 115, under Dergue regime, 104–7; under EPRDF regime, 108–9, 111; Ethiopianism and, 15; ethnicity of, 43; growth of, 117–19; land grant of, 4, 10, 17, 19, 21, 99 101–2, 109–10; Bob Marley’s visit to, 5, 163, 174; map of, 103; masterplan, 109, 198; migration, 113; as multi-cultural, 98, 112–13, 200, 215; NGOs in, 219; as Oromo, 118, 121–22; Oromo majority, 113; population of, 4, 112; as Promised Land, 97, 123, 246; Rastafari in, 61, 96, 113–14, 115–18; 122–25, 140, 143, 161, 165, 189, 197, 199, 200, 204–26, 230, 237, 240, 243, 246, 248; Rastafari investment in, 120–21, 122–23, 143–44, 163, 164, 203–27, 234; religions, 95, 113; as “self-sustainable model city,” 124; space of, 98–99, 110–12, 120, 125, 198, 243–44, 246; as utopia, 123–24 Shashemene African Diaspora community, 195, 224

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West, the, 85, 242; as Babylon, 84, 86; donor money, 223; as Zion, 86 West Africa, 265n4; and slave trade 13– 14 West Indies, 54 white people, 80, 86, 220 “Wings of a Dove” (Brathwaite), 11–12 Wisdom, Mikael, 83, 84 Wisdom, Vincent, 83, 203, 205 Wogu, Daniel, 67, 70, 90 Wolaita, 3, 43, 114; Jamaicans as, 62–63 women, 215, 217 Wondimu Seba, 210 woreda, 88 World Bank, 138, 247 World Food Program (WFP), 144 Yawenta Children’s Center, 219–23, 226 Yawney, Carole, 10, 13, Yesehaq, Archbishop. See Archbishop Yesehaq Yoruba, 172 Yoshida, Sayuri, 232 Yossef, Getachew. See Getachew Yossef Zeleke Gessesse, 144 Zeleza, Paul Tiyambe, 21 zemecha, 42, 106 Zenawi, Meles. See Meles Zenawi Zerihun Mohammed, 88, 89, 117, 219, 220, 223 Zhang, Zhongyuan, 111

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About the Author

Erin C. MacLeod holds a Ph.D. in communication from McGill University. Her research focuses on the relationship between Jamaica and Ethiopia, Rastafari and Jamaican music in Africa, Central America’s Caribbean Coast, and the connections between Africa and the African diaspora, and has been supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.

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