Work Text:
December 26 1988
Ringo Starr was up early and fully dressed. He had a wonderful Christmas in New York, with his children, step-children and the little grandbaby. It was the first Christmas he could remember in years. He had completed treatment at a center for his drug addiction and drinking, so this was the first Christmas in his adult life he didn’t have a drink. The ex-Beatle also didn’t take cocaine or those pills he used to love. Instead he practiced what he learned in treatment. Ringo and his wife Barbara were living one day at a time. Both were supporting each other from returning to nasty habits.
Being sober, the former Beatle wasn’t hung over like the supposed good old days. It was a nice feeling so he decided to do something nice for himself. Remaining sober for the holidays was considered a milestone in treatment. Barbara had already planned an early trip to the spa with a few friends who share their new lifestyle. Alone the drummer sat enjoying his breakfast, while thinking over what to do. Looking through the paper, he drank his coffee and browsed the entertainment information. List of bars clubs and other night life activities he used to do and loved, cluttered his options.
Going to the educational section, a list of safe activities were presented for him. A craft fair was going on at Central Park, along with live entertainment. “The Miracle Worker” was performing for free at the local university. All seemed nice but the famous man didn’t want to attract attention. Then going further in his options the seasoned musician saw that The Smithsonian Natural History Museum was opening soon. A museum the day after Christmas has to be pretty deserted. It would be nice to see all the ancient artifacts of the distant past.
Making up his mind, Starr downed his coffee and his healthy vegetarian breakfast of yogurt and blueberries and left to his chosen destination. Just like he expected, no one was there. The famous ex-Beatle was able to go in without a peep. Looking around at the lobby, Starr noticed a lot of pamphlets about an event scheduled to take place that afternoon. “Kwanzaa,” the literature read.
Ringo had heard of that word before. He was once acquainted with the late Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix. They were talented men, taken before their time. Both of these legends had mentioned this new celebration among the black Americans. It wasn’t an old tradition, it had to have started around the late 1960s. Still, being open minded the British gentleman looked through the colorful brochures and announcements. At noon there was going to be a gathering to celebrate this holiday, in the recreational center of the museum. African drumming and dancing was on the itinerary, along with the ritual and feast. Well this sounded delightful!
Drums originated in Africa, which the musician was well aware of. He knew his fortune came from a music created by this very culture. Rock and roll was African American and he felt a sense of humility come over him. Continuing his reading he learned that the holiday was created in 1966 after the Watt Riots a year prior. He remembered watching the news footage while with his old group and deceased manager, when that happened. The 1960s was also a time of civil unrest in the country he was visiting in. Somberly he kept reading through the material. Kwanzaa was Swahili for “first fruits.” So it was a harvest holiday. The tradition lasted seven days. From the day after Christmas to New Year’s..
The tradition was to use a candle holder similar to the Jewish menorah, to light seven candles. Three red, three green and one black candle in the middle between the two different colors. The candle holder was called a kinara. The black candle represented black culture, which made sense. Where the red wax sticks powerfully symbolized the blood of the struggle. The green candles stood for the bounty of the Earth.
On the wall was a poster of the “Seven Principles” with a description of each one.
Umoja which meant unity. A concept Starr could understand. He had been blessed with the circles he found himself surrounded.
Kujichagulia, which was self-determination, read in it’s description, “to define ourselves, name ourselves, create for ourselves and speak for ourselves.” The older man was sympathetic to a group of people fighting to define their community.
Ujima was work and responsibility towards the community.
Ujimaa was about work and economics. An encouragement to build up their society.
Nia was purpose. A collective goal to improve the community through vocational education.
Kuumba was creativity. Something that naturally drew the musician.
Imani was faith in the community and race that struggles to receive equality.
The list made the newly sober man reminisce on the twelve steps to recovery that he had undergone. It made sense for a culture to apply such concepts and he respected the idea. The Beatle also understood this was a very touchy issue. If he were black himself, he’d make an appearance to help promote it, but that wasn’t his place. Instead he pulled out his checkbook and gave a donation generously. He estimated what he had saved over his time being clean and wrote the number on his check but did so anonymously. There was no need to parade a good deed.
He had a few hours until people started showing up for the celebration, so Ringo chose to continue into the museum and had a lovely time. He was alone mostly and he enjoyed his solitude. As the musician left, he saw the families gathering for the festivities of the Kwanzaa celebration. Performers in costumes and African instruments were already in the room designated for the event. It looked like it was going to be a nice little show, but respectfully the famous man exited from a different area. He was grateful his sobriety afforded him the opportunity to make this little trip, and to learn something new. One day at a time.