12 Foot Wings

For years I have wanted to more actively participate in Trinidad’s annual cultural street festival, Carnival. As some of you may know, it is still illegal to be gay in Trinidad. While things continue to slowly improve for gay Trinidadians I remain terrified about being myself fully there and especially during Carnival. As I prepare to participate in this year’s World Pride Parade in Toronto, I’ve been thinking a lot about Trinidad and Carnival and what they mean to me today.

Trinidad is a canvas that includes African, Indian and Caribbean people who were largely uprooted from their ancestral homes into slavery to serve lush agricultural plantations. In the late 18th century, plantation owners organized masquerades and balls before the more solemn and reflective season of Lent. Trinidadian slaves, who were often sold for a handful of brightly coloured beads, would weave similar beads into irreverent costumes of hope, freedom and self-expression as part of their own masquerades that they called “mass”. After Trinidad gained its independence in 1962, mass would blossom into a triumphant spectacle of pride and self-determination that is now more commonly referred to as Carnival.

For me, Carnival was an inexplicable wave of wonder. It seemed to engulf all of my senses. I was captivated with the words of humorous and political songs, tribal triumphant dances and flamboyant, ornate costumes. As I became older I began to marvel more at the beautiful bodies of male Trinidadians that swayed beneath their revealing costumes. I also would become aware of the harsh homophobia that bleeds into these festivities. Carnival would become increasingly bittersweet, stressful and intolerable for me. 

I would eventually discover a new emerging form of Carnival by a Trinidadian designer called Peter Minshall. While most designers seemed to create somewhat predictable Carnival themes, Minshall was creating large-scale public theatre with inspiring messages. His first theme that I discovered was called Papillon. It included over 2,500 human butterflies with 12-foot wings that fluttered through the streets of Trinidad’s capital city, Port of Spain. I cheered and wept as I experienced winged masqueraders eventually drop their florid, billowing wings to blanket our streets. This touching display of the transitory nature of life felt like an invitation for me to spread my own wings.

Every year Minshall’s costumes seemed to whisper to me that being different was not only okay but beautiful and necessary. As part of a school project, I was determined to meet Minshall and interview him when I was 16 years old. I don’t quite recall the specific contents of that interview but I remember being in the presence of a unique human being. While I would love to think we were kindred spirits, perhaps what felt most familiar about him was that he too was a gay man who was enslaved by this unbearably scary and unspeakable secret.

Minshall’s art would continue to flourish against a backdrop of intensifying public commentary. Over time the public discourse would become ov erpowered by dehumanizing bible quotes and raucous ridicule that reeked of heated homophobia that smolders deep within the complex culture of Trinidad. Minshall seemed to not even acknowledge his detractors and would go on to receive global recognition, including winning an Emmy Award in 2002 for his work on three Olympic opening ceremonies.

I will be visiting Trinidad in May and hope to meet with Minshall, who is now 73 years old. I want to thank him for the inspiration he has been to me personally. My aspiration is to recapture the artistry of Minshall and Trinidad’s Carnival that I have lost touch with. I hope to reclaim those brightly coloured beads of my past and weave them into the fabric of who I am today.

When I return from my visit to Trinidad, I will continue my preparations for Toronto’s pride parade. I am excited to be working with a group of individuals who will bring the spirit of Trinidad’s Carnival to this year’s parade. Our float will include our own Trinidadian gay masqueraders who will have the opportunity to celebrate Trinidad’s Carnival within the safety of Toronto’s Pride parade. In my mind’s eye my costume will convey my own brightly coloured 12-foot high and 12-foot wide wings of hope, freedom and self-determination. I can feel them beginning to unfurl and they are inspired by the courageous journey of gay Trinidadians like my own hometown hero Peter Minshall.