BOSTON — Boston woke up to the pounding of steel drums, the glitter of feathers, and the sight of hundreds of cops lining Franklin Park this morning — because here, Carnival isn’t just about music and masquerade. It’s about survival.

At 5 a.m., the J’ouvert parade spilled into the park, blasting soca and calypso as dancers in sequins waved flags. But the joy came wrapped in razor wire memories — in 2023, eight people were shot before breakfast, blood splattering the streets while families ran for cover.

That dawn turned the Caribbean celebration into a crime scene. Police swarmed, suspects were dragged off, weapons recovered. Among those cuffed was Gerald Vick — now a household name in Boston’s courtrooms.

Charged in the 2023 shootout, Vick briefly slipped through the cracks. In December 2024 he sliced off his ankle monitor and vanished into thin air, sparking a manhunt. For months, he was Boston’s phantom fugitive, accused of turning Carnival into a warzone and then laughing at the law.

It wasn’t until July 2025 that authorities finally reeled him back in — a reminder that the gunfire of 2023 still casts a long shadow over today’s festivities.

Last summer, police made a preemptive sweep — 11 arrests and nine guns confiscated before a single float rolled. They were determined not to see another repeat of 2023’s carnage, or another Gerald Vick slipping away.

Blue Hill Avenue, once a riot of color and confetti, has become a street where bullets and brass bands march side by side. Even Mayor Michelle Wu, eager to boast about Boston’s diversity parades, can’t shake the ghosts of the past.

Back in 2014, 26-year-old youth worker Dawnn Jaffier was gunned down at Carnival — an innocent bystander killed in the middle of the party. The city has never forgotten.

This morning, police were everywhere. On horseback. In cruisers. Posted at every corner. “We’re ready,” one officer said bluntly, scanning the crowd. “We have to be.”

Organizers insist the festival is about unity and culture, not crime. But Carnival’s reputation is blood-stained, and neighbors wonder if every August will bring more headlines about crime scenes instead of costumes.

By the time the main parade snakes up Warren Street this afternoon, thousands will have danced, drank, and prayed the sound of gunshots won’t drown out the music.

For now, Boston braces. The drums pound. The streets throb with energy. And the city waits to see if this year’s Carnival ends in celebration — or carnage.