Notting Hill Carnival is the perfect time to take to the streets and learn something new. Whether that’s immersing yourself in new sounds, jumping with a band for the first time, or bearing witness to jab jab (which took the internet by storm this year), there’s much to uncover. The mix of Caribbean traditions (steel pans, jouvert, playing mas), Jamaican sound system culture, and Brazilian samba schools is unique to NHC—and united by origin stories rooted in rebellion.
When we get festive, we must get political too. There are too many atrocities happening today and remnants of colonial destruction for us to forget the resistance and cross-cultural unity at the heart of Notting Hill Carnival’s story. When Trinidadian human rights activist, Claudia Jones, hosted the first indoor Caribbean carnival in 1959, she said, “a people’s art is the genesis of their freedom.” Her efforts to counter racial tension and violence laid the groundwork for our present-day celebrations—and for that I am truly grateful.
Last year, I wrote a reflection on NHC 2024. This year, we saw the return of street education (set in motion by the people)—I’m so here for it. After raising donations on Go Fund Me, the historian Kayne Kawasaki secured an iconic spot on Ladbroke Grove for Kelso Cochrane’s billboard to make this part of history impossible to overlook.
Although Jouvert was officially cancelled in 2024 (due to a lack official band participation), the early-morning tradition returned this year with the full force of drums and political stands against oppression. And that’s the thing… after years of successful commercialisation, Caribbean music reverberates in the mainstream. With our rich culinary delights, even our cuisine has a seat at the table.
But if we’re not careful, the less palatable side of Caribbean culture—everything rooted in anti-colonial defiance like jouvert, speaking creole or carnival’s origin story—will get lost.
Luckily, we have some incredible content creators, linguists, organisers and historians like Kayne who are dedicated to documenting, archiving and preserving cultural practices:
- KnowYourCaribbean | History and culture
- Two Saints | Creole, culture and languages
- Soir Kweyol | Creole, culture and languages
- Kayne Kawasaki | History and culture
- Lukeyism | Cropover and culture
- Cold Islanders | Community-focused cultural events in the UK
As each Carnival passes, we add to this line of history. The images we capture, stories we tell and how we choose to engage with all aspects of the culture determines NHC’s future. What do we want that to look like?
POV: You’re a carnival convert—from roaming civilian to masquerader
I have been going to NHC for as long as I can remember. As a child, I attended a soca school and felt the sweet vibrations of steel pans alongside other Caribbean kids.
Once I got older, I put on my brightest, most colourful outfit and draped an extra large Jamaican flag around my shoulders like a cape. Bursting with pride and joy, I felt unstoppable and at home amongst the masses of people.
One minute I’d be wandering sound-system-riddled streets in search of reggae and dancehall then checking my bestie’s family at Trini corner. Hours later I’d get twirled around by Colombians and Cubans at Portobello Road’s Latin corner.
Every year, I’d see jewelled masqueraders rolling waistlines and chipping their way to judging point. I’d either observe in awe or follow the trucks as far as I could to catch the sounds of soca.
Something from my teenage years affected me for far too long as an adult. I’m not sure whether it was body shame, the prim and properness of my parents, but it never crossed my mind that I could be one of those pretty girls.
I played mas for the first time a few years ago. It set my spirit alight. I loved playing in the colourful paint, and found myself lost in the moment—I was truly present. Swing around to 2025, I had the privilege of greasing it dung with dutty-mas-winning band Island Mas.
“Black blood in mi vein”
I had seen Grenadians go off to jab at fetes and drag chains with sea creatures hanging out of their mouths at Carnival in previous years. It was fierce and mesmerising, but I didn’t know what it all symbolised. If I was going to cover myself in oil and black paint too, I thought I should find out.
This conversation exploded across the internet the week following Carnival. People were asking: What is jab jab? Why do they wear horns? And what does it all mean? Others came with their judgment, dismissing these powerful traditional practices as the devil’s work. Once again, some fantastic content creators took the time to educate and correct the narrative.
Back to basics—why street education is a must
The shock that comes with the bold display of jab is part of that street education. We need more spaces to document our collective histories as diasporans in the city. Tourists flock to visit the colourful houses and Portobello Road Market all-year-round. Why don’t we have a permanent home for carnival history in Notting Hill? A place where industry professionals and band leaders can run workshops with adults and children, making and creating things to keep the spirit of Carnival alive beyond August.
Mek the people dem free up
Despite what some may think, when we step out adorned in jewels or covering one another in paint, we are not performing for onlookers. We are basking in free expression and liberation. As I’ve said before, carnival emerged in the Caribbean as an act of resistance; to oppose the enslavement of our people, with women in particular reclaiming autonomy over our bodies.
At NHC, I’m energised by my fellow masqueraders. I release everything that’s been weighing me down. Any stress locked in my hips loosens upon waistline activation.
When we dance, we unlock the freedom our ancestors preserved in drum patterns—for us and generations to come.
Though that freeness for female masqueraders and carnival goers is sometimes breached by wayward men who have lost their way.
Gemiah played pretty mas with Flagz this year. She told WorlMag that reuniting with family members brings her unparallelled joy, but she also thinks some bands need to revisit their safety protocols. As TikTokers have demonstrated, the route has major issues, particularly the approach to judging point, which poses additional challenges to managing safety.
The experiences of those inside and outside the ropes will be different. Either way, whether it’s a quick dance or photograph, consent is key. Entitlement and other foolishness needs to be left at the door. We all have a moral duty to call this kind of behaviour out. Next year, I’ll be holding a sign to speak on just that.
“Good good spirits”
Carnival is about everyone jumping up together and catching “the good good spirits” that the dynamic Trini duo Full Blown sing about. As cultural ambassador and historian, Fiona Compton, said it was beautiful to see men wining alone content. That kind of joy is contagious.
When we asked regular carnival goers about NHC 2025, they all emphasised the importance of feeling free and coming together: “I can be my fullest self and feel tied to the music and culture I love and have grown up around from a young age,” said Tansy. This is the kind of sentiment I want the hundreds of thousands of first-timers and visitors to feel when they pour into the city.
More education, more money: carnival not “carni”
This year, it seemed like more people than ever before were pushing for NHC to be called carnival—not “carni”. Jack, an actor and content creator, said: “People were coming on social media to vocalise how important it is to remember why it started, its roots—and calling out the wrongens and incorrectness at carnival. It was beautiful to see and well overdue in my opinion.”
For me, the elaborate and creative signs are what truly stood out. I’d love to see them stored in the archives. Whether it’s a call to gate-keep culture, a question to make people stop and think, or a cheeky inside joke, there’s room for all of these signs at Carnival. Each one reminds us that NHC is as much a demonstration as it is the second largest street party in the world.
When you attend Carnival, you navigate a sea of Caribbean music, body movement, and masterful craftsmanship—That is true togetherness.
The fact that people pooled money together to make the Kelso Cochrane billboard a reality was symbolic. Darcus Howe’s words, “If it wasn’t for the murder of Kelso Cochrane, carnival wouldn’t have happened,” stood strong, but not everyone recognised its significance.
“One moment stuck out like a saw thumb for me, when I saw the billboard of Kelso Cochrane and two white girls underneath having water splashed all over them, having no clue or respect for the billboard that was above them,” said Jack. Anecdotes like this are a wake up call. It’s all fun and games until all meaning is lost.
NHC is estimated to generate £400 million annually for London’s economy. Big brands make huge profits around Carnival; meaningful collaborations with content creators could help us share our stories on a bigger scale. Next year, I think outdoor advertisers like JCDecaux or Clear Channel Outdoor should offer these spots to local and community organisers for free in the run up to Carnival’s anniversary.
2026 marks 60 years of Notting Hill Carnival
Every year, mainstream media portrays carnival in a negative light with the talk of police, security measures and crime in an effort to shut it down. Despite all the noise, we push on, and now we have arrived at NHC’s 60th anniversary.
Berenice played mas with Caribbean Sessions this year.
She highlighted that we’re blessed to have retained some traditional Caribbean elements within our diasporic carnival, including Jouvert and Panorama with its glorious steel pan showcases. “It’s sad that they’re not better attended. I’d love there to be more ways for people to consider that part of their carnival weekend,” she said.
Jouvert returned with the bellowing beat of drums, people dressed in costume and protestors waving Palestinian flags. We must keep Darcus Howe’s words in our minds: “If it wasn’t for the murder of Kelso Cochrane, carnival wouldn’t have happened.” As a response to race riots, resistance is part of NHC’s DNA. In all our joyful exuberance, we can’t afford to let those elements fade.
Let’s get bigger, bolder and more brazen. Let’s bring more tradition, education and anti-colonial resistance to Notting Hill Carnival’s 60th anniversary.
See you on the road x
