By Nyan Reynolds

News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Thurs. Nov. 27, 2025: This week brought a kind of news that stops you where you stand. The great Jimmy Cliff passed away, and for many of us scattered across the Jamaican diaspora, his death felt personal in a way that is difficult to explain. You do not have to meet someone for them to shape your life. You do not need to shake their hand for their voice to guide you through childhood. Sometimes an artist becomes so deeply woven into your memory that losing them feels like losing a relative.

The late Jimmy Cliff (JimmyCliff.com image)

For me, that moment came when my mother called and said, “Nyan, Jimmy Cliff died.” She knows what his music meant to me. She knows what it meant to our home. She knows what it meant to the thousands of children who grew up in places where hope felt like a luxury and where struggle was the closest thing to normal. When she told me the news, it was as if the entire weight of my childhood stirred inside me. The world was rightfully honoring a global icon, but those of us who grew up in inner-city Kingston felt something even deeper. We were mourning the man who helped carry us through some of the hardest days of our lives.

Jimmy Cliff was a musician to the world, but to inner-city Jamaica he was something else entirely. He was the storyteller who made our pain “speakable.” He was the prophet who reassured us that brighter days would come. He was the familiar voice that traveled through zinc fences, wooden windows, tight alleys, crowded yards, and tiny kitchens filled with the smell of Sunday dinners. When he sang about rivers, rainbows, and sunshine, he was giving language to experiences we had no words for.

Circa 1997

To understand the depth of this loss, one must first understand the environment where Jimmy Cliff’s music took root. As a young boy growing up in Kingston, I lived in a house built from wood and secured by a roof of zinc sheets that rattled when the wind blew. Political violence had become a part of our backdrop. Poverty was not a passing condition but the frame through which we viewed the world. Our homes stood on fragile foundations of plywood and hope, and many of us were raised by mothers and grandmothers who stretched what little they had to keep us safe.

An example of a home in Jamaica 1990s

In those circumstances music was more than entertainment. It was survival. It was therapy. It was companionship. It was the only thing capable of lifting our spirits on days when everything else felt too heavy. Children of my generation learned to lean on music the way others leaned on social programs or safety nets. We did not have those. We had the radio. And on many nights, when the breeze moved softly through the wooden boards of our home, Jimmy Cliff’s voice filled the gaps between struggle and imagination.

His lyrics were not abstract poetry. They were reflections of the very world we were living in. When he sang “Many rivers to cross, but I can’t seem to find my way over,” he was not speaking metaphorically to children like us. He was naming the weight of poverty. He was capturing the exhaustion of families who fought for survival one day at a time. He was putting melody to the emotional and economic rivers we had to cross. Each verse felt like a confession we were too young to articulate, yet old enough to understand in our bones.

That song became an anthem for countless Jamaicans who felt stuck between where they were and where they hoped to be. It held the tension of wanting more but having so little, of dreaming big but living small, and of waking every morning with a heart that refused to give up. For those of us raised in inner-city Kingston, the line “This loneliness won’t leave me alone” was not simply a lyric. It was the reality of watching fathers disappear into the night, brothers get pulled into violence, and friends migrate only to become distant memories.

Jimmy Cliff sang into those wounds, and somehow his voice made the loneliness feel lighter.

Another song, “You Can Get It If You Really Want,” became the anthem of determination for Jamaica’s poorest communities. It reminded us that effort had value, even when opportunities did not. It encouraged the belief that perseverance could bend circumstances. Although the world often quoted the line “but you must try, try and try” as motivational advice, those words meant something different to a child who had to fight for everything, including joy.

Then there was “I Can See Clearly Now,” a song that captured the promise of better days with a simplicity only Jimmy Cliff could deliver. When he sang about the sunshine he had been praying for, those of us who grew up navigating danger, hunger, and instability knew exactly what he meant. We prayed for the same thing. We prayed for a break in the struggle. We prayed for a future that felt safer. We prayed for a day when our rivers would no longer feel so deep.

I often think back to those early years. I can still see my mother preparing dinner in our small wooden kitchen as Jimmy’s music rose from the radio in the corner. The house was simple, but his voice gave it warmth. There were times when I would sit near the window, listening to the sound of the zinc roof expanding under the heat, and for a moment the difficulties of life seemed manageable. Music has a way of coloring even the darkest memories. And Jimmy Cliff was part of the color that allowed many of us to hope.

As I grew older and eventually migrated, his songs continued to accompany me. They stayed with me through new challenges and unfamiliar worlds. Music like his becomes part of your identity, especially when it represents the place that raised you. It is no coincidence that I later wrote Echoes of Ska, a book that celebrates the early sounds of Jamaica’s musical evolution. I think, in many ways, the book was my way of honoring the artists who gave us something to hold onto when life felt unbearably heavy. It was a tribute to the men like Jimmy Cliff who shaped not only our culture but our resilience.

His passing forces us to reflect on the deeper metaphor in his music. Jimmy Cliff understood rivers, not just as bodies of water but as symbols of hardship, perseverance, and transformation. A river can be an obstacle or a path. It can separate or carry. It can drown or deliver. In our lives, we all face rivers that feel impossible to cross. For some, it is poverty. For others, it is violence, grief, trauma, or the quiet battles that no one sees.

Jimmy spent his life singing about these crossings. And in doing so, he prepared us for ours.

When I think of his death, I imagine the river he so frequently sang about. He has now reached the end of it. He has crossed the final stretch that no human returns from. For a man who carried the burdens of millions through his music, it feels fitting that his final rest is framed by the metaphor he gave us. He has reached the side where ancestors stand waiting. He has arrived at a peace he helped so many of us imagine during our hardest days.

The grief many Jamaicans feel today is layered. It is grief for an artist, yes, but also grief for a part of our past. Jimmy Cliff was one of the voices that shaped the emotional landscape of Jamaica’s inner cities. His music traveled through generations, binding families together through rhythm and resilience. His death reminds us of a time when struggle was all we knew, yet we survived because voices like his reassured us that our rivers could be crossed.

For the diaspora, the pain is unique. We carry our country in our hearts, not in our daily environment. When a cultural giant falls, the distance feels heavier. His music connected us to home even when home felt far away. Now that he has departed, the nostalgia grows louder. His songs become both memory and mourning.

As a writer, I feel a responsibility to honor his legacy. Echoes of Ska now holds a deeper meaning for me, because it reflects the very foundation Jimmy Cliff helped build. Without artists like him, there would be no stories to pass down, no cultural memory to preserve, and no soundtrack to remind us of who we are. His contributions shaped the platform from which many of us now speak, write, and create.

Jimmy Cliff’s journey has ended, but his music will continue to guide others across their own rivers. The melodies that once drifted through wooden houses in Kingston will keep traveling through generations long after all of us are gone. His voice will remain a bridge from hardship to hope, from sorrow to renewal, and from loneliness to the comfort of knowing that brighter days can and do come.

He has crossed over. He has reached the far side of the river he sang about. And for those of us who remain, the music he left behind will continue to light the way.

May his soul find rest. May his legacy live on. And may every child in Jamaica who still sits in a tiny wooden house under a zinc roof hear his voice and believe that they, too, can make it to the sunshine he promised.

Jimmy, you’ve crossed the river and from me to you, “here is the sunshine you’ve been praying for.” With love.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Nyan Reynolds is a U.S. Army veteran and published author whose novels and cultural works draw from his Jamaican heritage, military service and life experiences. His writing blends storytelling, resilience and heritage to inspire readers.  

BY NAN ET EDITOR

News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Mon. Nov. 24, 2025: Tributes from around the world began flooding social media and news platforms this morning, Nov. 24, 2025, within minutes of the heartbreaking announcement that Jamaican musical icon Jimmy Cliff had passed away at age 81. The news came through an emotional Instagram statement from his wife, Latifa Chambers, who revealed that the reggae legend died following a seizure and pneumonia.

Jamaican singer, musician and actor Jimmy Cliff, his head back as he sings in concert, 1990. (Photo by Mick Hutson/Redferns/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

“It’s with profound sadness that I share that my husband, Jimmy Cliff, has crossed over,” she wrote. “To all his fans around the world, please know that your support was his strength throughout his whole career … Jimmy, my darling, may you rest in peace. I will follow your wishes.”
The message was signed by Chambers and their children, Lilty and Aken, who thanked the global community for embracing the man whose music reshaped reggae and carried Jamaica’s spirit around the world.

Global Leaders and Music Icons Pay Tribute

Jamaica’s Prime Minister Andrew Holness was among the first to respond, calling Cliff “a true cultural giant whose music carried the heart of our nation to the world.”

“Jimmy Cliff told our story with honesty and soul,” Holness stated. “His music lifted people through hard times, inspired generations, and helped shape the global respect that Jamaican culture enjoys today.”

International tributes poured in just as quickly.

UB40’s Ali Campbell honored Cliff as “a true foundation, a pillar of our music, and one of the first to carry reggae out into the world.”

Reggae group Inner Circle wrote: “We’re devastated. Today we say goodbye to our friend and reggae legend, Jimmy Cliff… Your legacy is eternal, brother. Rest in Power.”

VP Records issued a statement saying “Rest in Power, Jimmy Cliff.” They added he will be sadly missed, fondly remembered, and forever honored for the legacy he leaves behind. Our thoughts and sincere condolences to his wife, children and family.”

A Monumental Career Rooted in Jamaican Soil

Born in St. James, Jamaica, in 1944, Jimmy Cliff’s rise began in Kingston under the guidance of producer Leslie Kong, who recognized the young singer’s raw talent. Cliff’s determination earned him early hits and led to his selection as one of Jamaica’s musical ambassadors to the 1964 World’s Fair in New York.

But it was his signing to Island Records later that decade that propelled him to international fame. His breakout hit, “Wonderful World, Beautiful People,” soared to No. 6 on the UK charts in 1969, marrying upbeat ska with lyrics critiquing global injustice. That balance of joy, activism, and optimism became his trademark.

His anti-war anthem “Vietnam” drew praise worldwide, including from Bob Dylan, who called it the “best protest song” he’d heard.

“The Harder They Come”: A Cultural Earthquake

Cliff’s legacy was cemented in 1972 when he starred in The Harder They Come, playing outlaw Ivanhoe “Rhyging” Martin. The film became a cornerstone of Jamaican cinema, while its soundtrack – which included “You Can Get It If You Really Want” and “The Harder They Come”—ignited global reggae fever.

In the U.S., the film’s 1973 release introduced millions to Jamaica’s music, language, and culture.

A Life of Reinvention and Global Influence

Cliff continued shaping music for decades. He toured the world, scored hits like “I Can See Clearly Now” from Cool Runnings, and collaborated with the Rolling Stones, Sting and Wyclef Jean. Bruce Springsteen popularized Cliff’s “Trapped” during his 1980s world tours, making it a concert staple.

Cliff won two Grammy Awards, was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and received Jamaica’s Order of Merit, one of the nation’s highest honors. In 2018 he broke his hip and had to cancel a tour.

His 2022 album Refugees, created with Wyclef Jean, was his final studio project – an echo of his lifelong devotion to themes of struggle, hope, and liberation.

A Loss Felt Across Generations

The grief expressed today spans continents and genres – musicians, political leaders, activists and fans all mourning a man whose work shaped reggae’s global identity.

Jimmy Cliff leaves behind a towering legacy: over 30 albums, iconic film roles, and songs that defined an era and inspired millions. Yet perhaps his greatest contribution was the message woven through every track – a belief in resilience, unity, and the unstoppable power of the human spirit.

Rest in power, Jimmy Cliff. The world will hear your music forever.

Here is a flashback to some of his past performances.

Jamaican singer Jimmy Cliff performs on the set of a pop music television show in London circa 1970. (Photo by Ron Howard/Popperfoto via Getty Images)

Jimmy Cliff at Circa 1980. (Photo by Maurice ROUGEMONT/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images)

Jimmy Cliff in 1986 (Photo by Murray Close/Sygma/Sygma via Getty Images)

Jamaican singer, musician and actor Jimmy Cliff, wearing a red jacket with yellow and green motifs, and his arms raised as he performs at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, at the Fair Grounds Race Course in New Orleans, Louisiana, 6th May 2000. (Photo by Leon Morris/Redferns/Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

Singer Jimmy Cliff performs onstage during day 1 of the 2012 Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival at the Empire Polo Field on April 13, 2012 in Indio, California. (Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images for Coachella)

Singer Jimmy Cliff performs on stage at Theater Circo Price on July 16, 2012 in Madrid, Spain. (Photo by Carlos R. Alvarez/WireImage)

Jamaican singer Jimmy Cliff performs during the Rototom Sunsplash festival in Benicassim, Castellon province, on August 16, 2014. Rototom runs from August 16 to 23. AFP PHOTO/ JOSE JORDAN (Photo by JOSE JORDAN / AFP) (Photo by JOSE JORDAN/AFP via Getty Images)

Jimmy Cliff performs at the Wickerman festival at Dundrennan on July 25, 2015 in Dumfries, Scotland. (Photo by Ross Gilmore/Redferns)

Jimmy Cliff performs on stage during Day 3 of Bestival 2018 at Lulworth Estate on August 4, 2018 in Lulworth Camp, England. (Photo by C Brandon/Redferns)

In this image released on December 21, (L-R) Jimmy Cliff and Shaggy perform onstage during Homeward Bound: A GRAMMY Salute To The Songs Of Paul Simon at Hollywood Pantages Theatre on April 06, 2022 in Hollywood, California. (Photo by Kevin Winter/Getty Images for The Recording Academy)

News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Fri. Nov. 21, 2025: Haitian-American rapper Pras Michel, a founding member of the legendary hip-hop group the Fugees, was sentenced on Nov. 20th to 14 years in federal prison following his 2023 conviction on multiple charges including conspiracy, money laundering, and illegal foreign lobbying.

Michel, whose full name is Prakazrel Samuel Michel, received the sentence from Judge Colleen Kollar-Kotelly in a Washington, D.C. federal courtroom, according to Billboard. After completing his prison term, he will also serve three years of supervised release. Federal prosecutors had pushed for a much longer sentence spanning several decades, while Michel’s attorneys urged the court to impose no more than three years.

Michel is expected to surrender on January 27th, and his legal team plans to appeal both the conviction and the sentence.

“Throughout his career, Pras has broken barriers,” said spokesperson Erica Dumas. “This is not the end of his story. He appreciates the outpouring of support as he approaches the next chapter.”

Michel was first indicted in 2019 on charges of funneling illegal foreign donations into Barack Obama’s 2012 re-election campaign. In 2021, prosecutors expanded the indictment to include additional counts of bank fraud, witness tampering, concealing material facts, violating the Foreign Agents Registration Act (FARA), and acting as an unregistered agent for China.

The case centered on Michel’s ties to Malaysian financier Low Taek Jho, the fugitive at the center of the massive 1MDB corruption scandal involving the theft of $4.5 billion. Prosecutors said Michel helped route money connected to the scheme and participated in a covert lobbying effort aimed at getting the Trump administration to drop investigations into Low and to facilitate the deportation of a Chinese dissident.

After his conviction, Michel sought a retrial, arguing his former attorney used an AI-generated closing argument, which he claimed amounted to ineffective counsel – a request the court ultimately rejected.

Amid the legal turmoil, Michel briefly reunited with Lauryn Hill and Wyclef Jean for Fugees performances in 2023 but later distanced himself from additional reunion plans.

THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT PRAS

1: Pras was born in Brooklyn to Haitian parents. He was raised in Irvington, New Jersey and attended Columbia High School in Maplewood, New Jersey.

2. When he was 15, he met Hill in school. In 1988, Pras introduced Hill to Wyclef Jean. Pras, Jean, and Hill began to rehearse under the guidance of Kool and the Gang’s producer, Ronald Khalis Bell, and subsequently they formed a musical group called The Rap Translators in 1989 (also known as Tranzlator Crew).

2: They would go on to become one of the most influential hip-hop groups of the 1990s with Pras as the founding member of the Grammy-winning group, The Fugees.

3: Beyond The Fugees’ multi-platinum success with The Score, Michel built a solo career with global hits like “Ghetto Supastar,” and expanded into film, producing documentaries such as Skid Row and the award-winning Sweet Micky For President.

4: His political involvement grew over the years, including fundraising for Democratic causes – activities that ultimately became central to the federal case that led to his conviction and the 14-year prison sentence.