Gustavo Vespoli speaks about authorities' indifference in the face of the shame of the 6th Reggae Carnival Cry at Charles Muller!

On Sunday, February 15, the 6th Grito de Carnaval Reggae took place at Praça Charles Muller (which, according to Alfredo Rasta of Associação Cultural Reggae, has nothing to do with Carnareggae). The free event was expected to draw 30,000 people and run from 12:00 to 22:00. However, the band Tribo de Jah — the last to perform — left the stage around 21:00 due to several "unforeseen incidents." These incidents left us convinced that São Paulo audiences are not ready for events like this, and that the festival should return to the venue where the previous five editions were held: São Miguel Paulista. Far away? Yes, but at least with respect on all sides.

Perhaps the biggest "unforeseen incident" was precisely the lack of respect — from the police and from many people who came to the show intending to disrupt that important celebration, alongside others who genuinely love reggae and carry with them the philosophy of peace and unity so central to the genre.

Those people would have had a great show, as the organizers gave their all, and the bands performed for free and delivered excellent work — some of the finest in national reggae were on that stage. It would have been quite a show, if the bands had not had to stop after every song to call attention to people beating each other up — often many against one, probably for no reason at all. They also had to intervene when someone was spray-painting in the area where the sound and lighting equipment was located.

In the end, every hour brought some act of violence or vandalism that forced the vocalists to halt their performances and explain reggae philosophy to people who clearly had nothing to do with the event, the moment, or the music. Alfredo Rasta himself went on stage countless times and tried every way possible — in vain — to contain those troublemakers with words and messages of peace, yet the people did not even seem ashamed when singled out on the big screen or by those speaking from the stage. Anyone at the show could hear appeals like: "Hey, you in the blue shirt, stop fighting, man, let's enjoy the reggae, the police can see you on the screen, this is only going to hurt you..." and the guy in the blue shirt could not care less, carrying on with his childish behavior.

And the police? There were plenty of them, and they stared at us as if we were the worst criminals in the world, yet they did not act against the real troublemakers — perhaps they were even enjoying the chaos and pleased to see reggae's image being tarnished. Many people still provoked them, as if wanting to make things worse and see Praça Charles Muller become a true battlefield between the police and us — all of us — since they would not care who was good or bad.

The reggae fan who went to Charles Miller could not have imagined the malice in the minds of so many people there. People gathered in groups, robbed those who were alone or in small numbers, and not only stole but beat them severely. Going up close to the stage was practically suicide, as the worst turmoil unfolded there, and those farther back could not even dance and enjoy the music in peace because stampedes kept breaking out — everyone running, most simply out of fear. Gradually the number of injured people increased in the corners, along with those who had passed out from drinking too much.

Couples could not enjoy a single moment of tranquility, because whenever it seemed the "war" had ended, someone would be cowardly beaten by more than twenty people, and when that person fell to the ground the cruelty only grew — people stomped on their head and kicked them until they tired out. Police??? No — the police were busy locating "pot smokers" and cracking down on them. If anyone intervened against these acts of cowardice, it was the fans themselves — reggae lovers who could not believe what they were seeing and even risked themselves trying to help those being beaten.

One particularly disturbing scene involved a young man standing off to the side who was ambushed by a group; when he tried to resist the robbery, he was beaten in every possible way — they even smashed a bottle over his head.

It was truly horrifying — it would have been horrifying anywhere — but the fact that it was a major free reggae show made it all the more painful for the reggae fans who had come to enjoy themselves and who had hoped the bad image associated with reggae was finally being laid to rest. It was not. On the contrary, as Zeider put it, those with a "Espirito de porco" managed to ruin the party of those with a "Espirito de Jah," and thoroughly tarnished the image of reggae and of the reggae fan.

The bands that played for free left with the feeling that their message had not been absorbed, the organizers were devastated by the savagery that overtook the festival, and the true reggae fans went home afraid — convinced that São Paulo should not receive another gift like this anytime soon, and if it does, it will surely be met with disgust.