Local fame, global silence; the concrete ceiling that is Jamaican theatre.
Jamaican theatre, born out of the island’s post-colonial past, emerged as a way to shape a new national identity and step away from European theatrical traditions that had long catered to colonial audiences. Independence created space for Jamaicans to claim the stage for themselves—to decide what stories were being told, who was telling them, and who was watching. For the first time, theatre became a vehicle for everyday Jamaicans to see their lives reflected and to share their experiences on their own terms.
Jamaican theatre has gifted the island with a rich tapestry of characters, laughter, and stories that not only entertain but also resonate deeply within Jamaican households. Performances from the likes of Oliver Samuels, Volier Johnson, Dahlia Harris, Keith “Shebada” Ramsey, Andrea “Delcita Coldwater” Wright, Glen Campbell, and a few other household names have been carved into our cultural memory for generations. From energetic stage plays to widely circulated DVDs and television specials, their work has shaped the island’s comedic and dramatic landscape.
To many Jamaicans, these performers seem successful. They are stars who have spent decades entertaining audiences, headlining shows, promoting Jamaican theatre, and earning respect. However, the truth about their financial situation remains murky. The theatre industry is opaque about pay, with no transparent salaries. While some performers may make what seems comfortable by local standards, their earnings pale in comparison to Western theatre actors with similar experience and acclaim. Outside the Caribbean, their impact is often unacknowledged, and their work rarely receives the same respect or exposure as even minor figures in British or American theatre. Being famous in Jamaica doesn’t automatically translate into broader opportunities, lucrative contracts, or a sustainable income.
The industry doesn’t open doors into international spaces; instead, local fame becomes a concrete ceiling. You can sell out theatres in Kingston but struggle to step onto a global stage. Even on the rare occasions that Jamaican plays tour internationally, it is mostly Jamaican and Caribbean immigrants who fill the seats. The diaspora shows up because these stories feel like home—but wider audiences rarely do. It’s a telling reminder that even when the stage moves abroad, the ceiling often comes with it.
There are very few mechanisms in place that promote Jamaican theatre abroad, unlike the music or tourism industries. The government has not meaningfully invested in this untapped goldmine of culture and talent. For example, look at the way people travelled for Vybz Kartel’s Freedom Street concert, Protoje’s Lost in Time festival, and Reggae Sumfest year after year. It isn’t far-fetched to imagine tourists adding “see a Jamaican play” to their itinerary. If there’s one thing that has proven true over time, it’s that Jamaica is almost always a hot topic—and the place to be.
Therefore, investing in theatre doesn’t just mean supporting performers and production companies—it also means investing in Jamaica’s economy. Tourists already flock to the island for music, food, and beaches; a showcase of Jamaican culture through theatre would only add to the beauty of an already beloved destination. It could also mean an economic boost for the cultural sector.
Increased investment and marketing could even inspire the creation of a streaming platform like Netflix dedicated to Jamaican and Caribbean media. This would help generate revenue for performers, open opportunities within the Western sphere of theatre and film, and preserve Jamaican culture for future generations. While Jamaica currently has a much smaller audience pool than the US or UK, with funding and vision, the market could grow and be sustained like the market for the music industry. Productions often rely on ticket sales alone, without strong government grants or corporate sponsorships. There are few large commercial theatres or established institutions to consistently fund or promote new work. All this means there’s little room to take creative risks, invest in emerging talent, or finance tours that might build a broader audience.
Streaming opens the Jamaican theatre industry to a wider and more Western audience. However, catering to foreign audiences could mean scripts begin to favour more English-heavy dialogue, risking cultural dilution. These are trade-offs worth considering carefully. Is gaining Western attention worth losing local love and authenticity?
One might argue that investing in local talent and community support should be enough. Isn’t striving for Western approval just a return to colonial dynamics—performing once again for white audiences while shaping our art to fit their tastes? And this is a valid critique, especially in a cultural space where authenticity is often compromised in the pursuit of recognition. But the issue isn’t about seeking validation from the West—it’s about access, equity, and visibility. Western media spaces are where global conversations about art, identity, and culture are being had. Jamaican theatre deserves to be part of that conversation—not as a novelty or exotic showcase, but as a legitimate and rich tradition with something to say.
There are more difficult discussions to be had before broadcasting Jamaican theatre to the world. Many popular plays still rely heavily on queer-coded or effeminate characters for comic relief—a tradition carried by male performers such as Shebada and Maxwell “Bashment Granny” Grant. These characters have become beloved staples, eliciting laughter and applause from packed audiences, but often as spectacles that parody femininity or reinforce stereotypes. The laughter may feel harmless in the moment, but it reinforces the idea that queerness is something to mock in public and shame in private—a story Jamaica has told for far too long.
Offstage, those same behaviours can provoke ridicule, suspicion, or even violence if an actor is perceived to be gay, queer, or feminine in real life. As we discuss the decline of Jamaican theatre, it is impossible to ignore that theatre is usually a reflection of society—and I don’t think Jamaica’s hostile relationship with queerness is something that should be packaged as authenticity and exported.
Jamaica has slowly evolved in terms of tolerance to queerness, especially with increased global interconnectedness via mediums like social media platforms. It has become clear that tolerance and acceptance are necessities for growth and progress within the industry; preserving Jamaican theatre also means evolving it.
Speaking of evolving, perhaps part of the decline in the Jamaican theatre industry is due to the rise of social media. Theatre was once the space to tell the story of the everyday Jamaican, with dramatized patois and mountains of social critique, some explicit and some implicit. Now, the average person can instantly share their stories—complete with the same patois and social commentary—with the world at the push of a button. Social media has become the stage—and whoever’s behind the camera becomes the performer. Not to mention, social media is a gig that pays.
Despite this, there is still passion. There are still people aspiring towards the theatre. Growing up watching local television, there were Bollywood series, Chinese dramas, and American movies—but very few Jamaican TV shows. There are still stories to be told, critiques of society to be made, and the talents of playwrights waiting to be showcased. Taking charge within the theatre industry means that while the government may be outsourcing the highest-paying jobs in other industries, it is a must that these jobs come from locals. It means Jamaican entertainment would no longer be edged out by imported shows and international streaming—it means a small stride in the decentring of the West.
Jamaican theatre has created icons who fill halls, make us laugh, and give us characters we love. But it has not built the ladders or opened the doors to help those icons climb higher. Local fame, while meaningful, has too often become a concrete ceiling. Until the industry develops clearer pathways for growth, transparent pay, and stronger connections to international markets, the brilliant talents of Jamaica’s actors risk being celebrated only within our shores—without the recognition or rewards they deserve.
Without real investment and honest reflection, Jamaican theatre risks becoming a relic—celebrated locally but ignored internationally. We have the stories, the talent, and the passion. What’s needed now is the will to build pathways that honour our culture without compromising it, and to ensure that the brilliant voices who fill our theatres are finally heard far beyond our shores.
As usual, videos below for your educational entertainment! p.s. I’ve included a few surprises;)
