Alright, I am saying this as a woman of Grenada, and I am saying it without apology: there is something profoundly wrong with “Last Resort,” the calypso performed by Sour Serpent.
And if there is even the slightest possibility that this man may have to represent Grenada internationally as one of our Carnival Kings, then this is no longer merely a matter of whether one likes or dislikes a calypso.
It becomes a matter of what we are prepared to say, as a society, about the dignity of Grenadian women.
Because let us strip away the calypso. Strip away the comedy. Strip away the piccong. Strip away the seven or so minutes of what I can only describe as musical and lyrical ridiculousness.
What are we actually being asked to accept? Men are killing and sexually violating women because women have vaginas. And the proposed solution? Ask God to make Grenadian women without vaginas.
Make women without what? Their private parts. Really? Is this where we have arrived?
If this was supposed to be some clever creative spin on the very serious problem of sexual violence against women in Grenada, then it missed the mark by a long, long shot.
It didn’t merely miss the mark. It shot in the opposite direction. Because the problem is not women’s bodies.The problem is men who choose to violate women’s bodies.
The problem is the man who rapes.The problem is the man who beats. The problem is the man who kills.The problem is the man who believes that a woman’s body is his property.
The problem is the man who refuses to control himself and then expects society to reorganise itself around his lack of self-control. And somehow, according to this brilliant solution, it is the woman who must pay the price? She must be deprived of a perfectly normal part of her anatomy because some men cannot behave themselves?
What utter nonsense. What utter distaste. What an extraordinary abdication of male responsibility. Imagine applying that logic to anything else.
Men are breaking open shops in the villages and stealing all the shopkeeper’s hard-earned monies. So we ask God to make sure that shopkeepers do not make any money?
Men are stealing people’s cars, so we ask God to make all Grenadians walk everywhere and never own a vehicle.
Men are breaking into houses and stealing televisions, appliances and other valuables, so we ask God to make Grenadians own nothing worth stealing.
You see how stupid the logic sounds when we apply it to anything else? When men steal, we don’t ask God to make shopkeepers poor. When men steal cars, we don’t ask God to make people walk.
When men rob banks, we don’t ask God to abolish money. So why, when men violate women, the proposed solution is to change women’s bodies? Are we expected to laugh? No. We should not be laughing. We should be asking why this was considered acceptable in the first place.
And I have an even bigger question. Where were the women? Where were the women listening to this song and saying, “Hold on, something is fundamentally wrong here”?
Because if a man is killing women because of their bodies, the solution cannot possibly be to punish the bodies.
It cannot be to deform the victims. It cannot be to ask God to change women so that men can continue behaving exactly as they please. That is not social commentary. That is pappyshow.
And if this song was intended as satire, then satire has to make people think. It has to expose absurdity in a way that illuminates the problem. This one, in my view, simply becomes another absurdity. But then came the part that made this whole thing infinitely worse.
He was rewarded for it. Not merely allowed to sing it. Not merely allowed to compete with it.
Not merely allowed to make it to the finals. He was not deservingly booed. He was crowned joint King on Dimanche Gras night. And that, to me, is where the real scandal begins.
Because almost every calypsonian who sang to a man made some form of piccong about the absurdity of “Last Resort.” So the judges cannot reasonably say that they were unaware of what the song was about.
Perhaps someone will say: “The judges are not there to judge the sentiment of the song.” Fine. Let’s put sentiment aside. The melody was bad too. And I mean really bad.
On a night when Valene Nedd and Innocent delivered beautiful melodies in the second round, and Jerenton, Killa B and Father Paul also came with melodically pleasing performances, “Last Resort” stood out to me for all the wrong reasons.
The lyrics were weak. The concept was offensive. And the melody was even cheesier than the lyrics. That is not a recipe for a crown. That is a recipe for placing at the tail end of the results.
And yet here we are. Lil Jello won his crown fair and square. Nobody in that stadium needed to be persuaded about that. If the judges wanted a tie, there were other performances that could have produced a result far easier to understand.
Killa B? I could understand that. Valene Nedd? I could understand that. Innocent?
I could understand that. Father Paul? I could understand that.
Even young Jerenton, who came out and acquitted himself remarkably well, could have shared that crown without many people raising an eyebrow. But Sour Serpent? Sour Serpent? That is where the eyebrows went up.
And here is the part that I find almost impossible to comprehend. The judging panel, from the names announced from the stage, included several women the likes of Cathy Ann James, Shamora Maxwell and Asha Bailey, Women. Women who themselves have bodies. Women who themselves possess the very anatomy that this calypso essentially turns into the problem.
So I have to ask: What exactly did the women on that judging panel hear? What did they hear when this man asked God to make Grenadian women without vaginas?
Did they hear satire? Did they hear brilliance? Did they hear a winning melody? Did they hear a championship performance? They should all hang their heads in shame.
And if the judges believed that it was just not their responsibility to consider the message, then that is precisely the kind of thinking that needs to be challenged.
The judges’ decision may be final. But it does not have to be beyond criticism.
Football has VAR. Perhaps calypso needs V.A.G.I.N.A.
Very Absolutely, Grenada Is Not Accepting this Anymore. Because something went badly wrong here. And I am not suggesting that anyone should be harassed or abused over a judging decision. I am saying that the SMC should seriously examine whether those judges who rewarded material like this, which is lyrically degrading and melodically sub-standard, are appropriate people to continue serving on judging panels.
Maybe these people need to be suspended from the judging process indefinitely, same as what Fifa does to referees that are underwhelming.
If the SMC believes that the judging was sound, then say so. If it believes that the song was within the accepted boundaries of calypso, explain why. But don’t expect women or the populace to simply shut up and accept it because “the judges’ decision is final.”
No. We are allowed to question. We are allowed to object. We are allowed to say that something is offensive.
And I would willingly put my name to a petition calling on the relevant authorities to condemn the song as distasteful, offensive and degrading to the dignity of women.
I would also like to see the calypsonian publicly explain himself. And, frankly, an apology to the women of Grenada would not be out of place. Because last year, Sour Serpent was very vocal about what should happen when a calypsonian did not deserve a crown.
He foamed. He frothed. He thundered. He made it abundantly clear that if he had been in that position, he would have done the honourable thing.
Well. Karma has a funny way of remembering what we say. This is his moment. This is the opportunity to demonstrate that principle was not just something he expected from everybody else.
If he truly believes that a crown should only belong to a man who deserves it, then perhaps he should look at that trophy, look at that result and ask himself the question he so confidently asked of another man last year. “Do I really deserve this?” Because nobody is asking him to return a crown because they dislike him.
The question is whether the performance justified it. And if he believes his own rhetoric from last year, he knows exactly what to do. Give it back. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Because apparently, when the crown is somebody else’s, integrity is very easy to find.
When it is sitting on your own head, suddenly things become much more complicated.
And that, perhaps, is the greatest irony of “Last Resort.” A song supposedly about solving the problem of men and women has managed to expose another problem entirely:
Men demanding that women change while refusing to change themselves.
So, yes, Sour Serpent. Make women without what? Without dignity? Without bodily autonomy? Without the right to exist exactly as God made them? No.
The thing Grenada needs to make without is the kind of thinking that blames women’s bodies for men’s behaviour. That is the real “last resort.” And it should never have been our first one.
Tessa Lacrette