To Smile or not to Smile . . . Is there a Question?

 

I captured this photo in August 2023 on one of Gethsemane’s now bohemian colonial streets in Cartagena de Indias, Colombia. The image resonated with me because it serves as a gentle reminder: “Here, and now, smile.” Although smiling seems like an easy thing to do, for some, it isn’t.

That day, I encountered a different perspective on laughter and smiles. As I strolled through the vibrant streets, I ran into a group of the city’s famous Palanqueras—women dressed in colorful skirts and turbans, their shawls gracefully draped around their shoulders. These women are experts at selling goods, balancing vast baskets of traditional treats and tropical fruit on their heads. They are named after San Basilio de Palenque, the first “free town” in the Americas, founded by those who escaped lives of slavery. Remarkably, this community remains mostly intact, not too far from Cartagena.

Now, let’s delve into the intriguing tradition that connects smiles and mourning. Since the times of slavery in this region, there existed a custom: mourning when a child is born and celebrating with laughter and music when someone dies. Why? When a child is born, everyone mourns because they enter a life of slavery. However, when that same person passes away, it becomes a time to celebrate because they are finally free.

This reflection took me back to my visit to New Orleans in 2022. While wandering through Lafayette Cemetery, I stumbled upon a traditional jazz funeral. The practice of playing joyful music at funerals in New Orleans has deep roots in the city’s history, including its painful legacy of slavery.

Jazz music itself emerged from gatherings by enslaved Africans in Congo Square, an outdoor space in New Orleans. These gatherings provided rare opportunities for enslaved people to express themselves freely through music and dance, significantly contributing to the development of jazz. Interestingly, once the deceased is laid to rest, the tone shifts dramatically—the band transitions to upbeat jazz music, symbolizing that the departed soul has journeyed to a better place.

As someone who has extensively explored South America, I’ve witnessed the remnants of slavery in various forms. In Cartagena’s historical museums, you’ll find historical city models depicting the sale and auctioning of slaves immediately after their arrival. The gold mines and museums of Ouro Preto in Brazil also bear witness to the signs advertising slave sales and the torture instruments used to subjugate them (see photo below). There, male slaves were expected to father numerous children, while each female slave was to give birth to at least a dozen children destined for the mines. The cruelty extended even to the children’s physical stature, as their testicles were crushed before puberty to ensure they could fit into the tiny mine openings.

And then there’s the United States—where visiting Thomas Jefferson’s hometown in Monticello reveals the somber truth of slave labor. Every part of his home, including the nails that hold it together, was built using enslaved labor. These reflections remind us that our shared history is intertwined with both darkness and resilience.

I’m not saying that in this moment, here and now, despite all our personal and human tragedies, one shouldn't smile because that's the meaning of life, sat cit ananda, tat vam asi, and all that jazz, and if you're "jazzing" then you should be smiling. But, at the same time, as we wear cotton, worship gold, listen to jazz music, or explore the human world around us, let’s remember that humanity’s interconnectedness binds us all—for better and for worse.