Caribbean Beat — November/December 2017 (#148)

The church’s roots were eclectic, mirroring the colony’s ethnic
diversity. Baptism had first come to Trinidad in the wake of
the Anglo-American War of 1812–15, when so-called “Merikins,”
former American slaves who had fought on the British side
against the fledgling United States, were settled in the Company
Villages in the south of the island. Their brand of Baptism, originating
largely in the southern slave states, certainly reflected the
experience of the African diaspora, and when missionaries from
London Baptist societies visited Trinidad in the early nineteenth
century they were struck — and alarmed — by what they saw as
“primitive” forms of worship.
Perhaps the most distinctive feature of the Spiritual Baptists’
services was the uninhibited shouting used as a form of expression.
As Frances Henry remarks in Reclaiming African Traditions
in Trinidad, “The practice of the religion also includes ‘baptism,
proving mournin’’; the phenomenon of possession by the Holy
Spirit; the physical manifestation of possession in the shaking,
dancing, speaking in tongues; and bringing back spiritual gifts.”
This fundamentally vocal element led practitioners to be known,
rather pejoratively, as Shouter Baptists.
Baptism rituals, as with mainstream churches, were important,
but more unique was the “mournin’” process, in which
initiates are deprived of food and water, their eyes covered, as
they sit or kneel on bare ground for up to a week. This is thought
to allow them to experience a symbolic death and resurrection,
whereby their old sins are cast out and a new beginning
is possible. This, together with the use of symbolic colours,
bells, flags, special robes and headdresses, chanting and, of
course, shouting, had little to do with the Baptism practised
in nineteenth-century London, and if anything it had strong
similarities — especially in the idea of spirit possession — with
Haitian Vodou and Cuban Santería.
To those used to the genteel rites and liturgy of the Church
of England, such practices were doubtless outlandish and
threatening. Fears concerning obeah
or black magic persisted from the
era of slavery. Previous legislation
had already proscribed
any form of “African” religion,
while the playing of drums was
outlawed in 1883. In the month
before the Shouters Prohibition Ordinance
came into law, the Port of Spain
Gazette fulminated against what it saw
as “a body that has mistaken noise for
enthusiasm, and shouting for religion
. . . it has long since degenerated into a
burlesque upon religion and a general
nuisance to every community where
it has squatted down and deceived
the feeble-minded.” With the aim
of suppressing this unwholesome
reminder of the past, the Ordinance
prohibited, among other things, the
ringing of bells, holding candles in
public places, and shaking of any sort.
Taking part in a Shouter service, using a
property for that purpose, or obstructing the police would result
in a fine of $240.
Prohibition rarely works in the way intended, and the
law seems to have done little to dissuade the Spiritual
Baptists from practising their religion. Many arrests were
made, and most charged with contravening the Ordinance
were fined. The case of one Teacher Bailey, recalled on the
excellent Obeah Histories website, is perhaps typical of the
defiant attitude shown by the Shouters. He and thirteen others,
according to the Port of Spain Gazette, were accused of taking
part in a meeting in Perseverance Village near Couva. “‘Teacher
Bailey’ appeared with his head bandaged around with a white
cloth, a cross firmly pressed against his breast, and a huge Bible
encased in red cloth. When asked whether he was guilty or not,
Bailey exclaimed with cross uplifted: ‘I will only answer such a
question if it comes from Christ; but not from any man.’ A plea
of not guilty was recorded.”
The apparently lenient judge reprimanded and dismissed the
thirteen others, but Bailey was considered responsible and fined
five shillings — which was paid by his supporters, some two
hundred of whom accompanied him away from the courthouse.
He remained unrepentant:
My father is fifty-eight years old, my mother forty-nine, and
from the time I was born, twenty-seven years ago, that is the
religion I found my mother and father following — not shouting,
but praying in the name of the Lord. (Holding his cross
uplifted, Bailey proceeded to say:) I am prepared to go to jail
every time, and to carry on these meetings, I will always do
so. Christ was persecuted for religion, and if I go to jail for
religion, it does not matter.
A system that jailed individuals for religious convictions was
clearly unsustainable, yet the Shouters Prohibition Ordinance
remained on Trinidad and Tobago’s statute book until 1951.
Then, with the rise of anti-colonial and nationalist sentiment in
the run-up to Independence, this relic of anti-African prejudice
was ditched. Prominent among those pressing for the repeal
were members of the new Legislative Council, elected by universal
suffrage, such as Albert Gomes and Uriah “Buzz” Butler,
himself a Spiritual Baptist preacher.
In 1995, the government went a step further, granting an annual
holiday on 30 March in honour of the Spiritual Baptist movement.
The religion thrives today, claiming between 100,000
and 200,000 adherents among a population of 1.3 million. In
modern, multi-ethnic Trinidad and Tobago, it has reclaimed its
place as a religion among equals as well as an indigenous faith, as
expressed by the government’s National Library website:
Although the origins of the Spiritual Shouter Baptist Faith in
Trinidad and Tobago can be traced to foreign countries, it has
evolved over time to become a unique, indigenous religion. It
has managed to fuse the spontaneity and rhythms of Africa
with the restrained, traditional tenets of Christianity to
produce a religion that is vibrant, expressive, and dynamic. n
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