The Secret File: How a Teenager’s Controversial Song Paved the Way for Buju Banton’s Devastating DEA Drug Sting

The Homecoming of a King

The moment Buju Banton touched down on Jamaican soil on December 7, 2018, was not merely a celebrity returning home; it was a seismic event in the history of reggae music and national emotion. After nearly seven years of incarceration in U.S. federal prisons, the sight of the masses crowding Norman Manley International Airport was “very, very, very painful, traumatic, but surreal moment”. Fans broke through security barriers, pulling at him, hugging him, and weeping in a chaotic outpouring of national pride and relief.

Buju Banton, born Mark Anthony Myrie, had returned to the embrace of his people, emerging from the dark episode of his life not broken, but resurrected. This dramatic homecoming, however, serves as the final, triumphant chapter in a saga defined by a relentless struggle against forces he believes were determined to destroy him. At the heart of that struggle lies a dark “secret”—the leverage that authorities allegedly spent years waiting to exploit: a violent, homophobic song recorded when he was just a teenager. As Buju Banton himself reflected, “My enemies try to destroy me… they dwell on a thing called credibility, and if you destroy the credibility, it’s easier for you to destroy the man”. The drug charge that sealed his fate, he suggests, was not the start of his troubles, but the long-awaited culmination of a calculated campaign to dismantle the man behind the music.

From Salt Lane to Divine Intervention

Mark Anthony Myrie’s origins are deeply rooted in the harsh realities of Kingston, Jamaica. Growing up in Salt Lane, Myrie was immersed in a world where “police brutality and gang warfare were daily realities for young men”. Music offered the only escape and identity, requiring an authenticity that could not be faked. His nickname, Buju, a Maroon word for breadfruit, was given to him by his mother for being a chubby child.

By his teens, Buju was deejaying on Kingston sound systems, warming up crowds for bigger names and learning his craft in the furnace of Rambo International and Sweet Love sound systems. His voice, gruff and powerful, delivered street lyrics that resonated because they were authentic; he had lived the struggle he sang about.

A moment of profound, almost divine intervention occurred one day in 1986. While walking for his stepmother, 16-year-old Buju spotted a bright red mango on a tree in a car park. The spirit, he recalls, spoke to him clearly: “Climb this tree, sit in it, eat this mango, don’t come out until you’re finished”. While perched in the tree, a car pulled up directly beneath him, the door opened, and a voice called out: it was Shabba Ranks, one of Jamaica’s biggest dancehall superstars. Being called down by Shabba Ranks, a towering figure in the industry, was not random luck; it was a powerful connection that gave the teenage artist instant credibility and launched him into the heart of dancehall royalty.

Buju Banton’s real education came not just from the street, but from the masters like Major Worries, whom he considered “a teacher of all of us” in lyrical delivery and flow. Buju became part of this lineage, understanding that in Kingston Dance Hall, “you had to be about that life to do this music”. The experience of “police brutality, gang warfare… people trying to kill you, trying to defend yourself” gave him the authentic street perspective that fueled his music and resonated with listeners across Jamaica.

The Song That Became a Permanent Target

By 1988, at the age of 15, Buju walked into Blue Mountain Studios and recorded a song that would forever define his international reputation: “Boom Bye-Bye”. The song contained explicit, violent homophobic lyrics in Jamaican Patois, with Buju later claiming he wrote it about a pedophile who molested boys in his neighborhood. At the time, homophobia was deeply embedded in Jamaican dancehall, and the song circulated without major controversy.

No one could have imagined that a teenager’s hardcore dancehall track would explode into a global firestorm four years later when it was re-released without his authorization in 1992. This coincided with his breakthrough year, in which he broke Bob Marley’s record for most number one singles in Jamaica with his debut album, Mr. Mention.

The international backlash was swift and brutal. LGBTQ+ rights groups in the U.S., U.K., and Canada organized relentless protests wherever he performed. Venues canceled concerts, universities refused to book him, and activists labeled his work “murder music” promoting deadly violence. Buju saw himself as carrying on reggae music’s original purpose to “feed my people, educate them, uplift them”, but Boom Bye-Bye contradicted that mission entirely. The controversy followed him across every border, making international touring increasingly difficult.

The situation intensified in 2004 when Buju was charged with gay bashing in Jamaica after allegedly participating in an attack on gay men, though charges were dropped when victims refused to testify, fearing for their lives. By 2007, the Stop Murder Music campaign pressured him and other dancehall artists to sign the Reggae Compassionate Act, pledging to stop performing homophobic songs. Buju stopped performing Boom Bye-Bye publicly and claimed he had matured, but videos surfaced of him performing it after signing the pledge, suggesting damage control rather than genuine change. The internet went crazy, saying the song had made him a “permanent target for authorities across multiple countries” who now had a file to use whenever convenient. In March 2019, after his release from prison, Buju Banton officially removed Boom Bye-Bye from his catalog and pulled it from streaming platforms, recognizing the pain it caused.

The Spiritual Pivot and the DEA Trap

In the mid-1990s, the controversy spurred a dramatic transformation in Buju’s music. His 1995 album, Till Shiloh, marked a conscious pivot away from hardcore dancehall toward Roots Reggae, influenced by a deepening Rastafarian faith. Songs like “Untold Stories” showcased a new vulnerability, singing about poverty and struggle rather than violence and sex. Buju believed his profession as a singer was “divinely given to us”, and that music became his ministry to spread messages about black consciousness, spirituality, and social justice.

Despite this spiritual and artistic evolution, the international notoriety of “Boom Bye-Bye” had made him a marked man. The trap was sprung in the summer of 2009. Buju Banton, flying first class from Madrid to Miami, sat next to Alex Johnson, a Colombian drug dealer who had turned into a paid DEA confidential informant. Johnson, who received a $50,000 commission after the bust, struck up a conversation about music and life on the road.

According to Buju’s later testimony, Johnson steered the conversation towards drug dealing. Trying to impress someone he thought was a big player, the entertainer boasted about connections and his ability to broker cocaine deals—”empty talk from an entertainer trying to seem street”. Johnson was recording everything. Buju Banton’s defense attorneys later showed the jury that Buju refused Johnson’s advances and pressure for five months straight. As Buju would later reflect on his experience, when someone attempts to hurt you, “you don’t fight with them because no one on earth will ever believe you. It’s only God can prove your innocency”.

On December 4, 2009, Johnson called, begging Buju to drive to Sarasota and “finally see his sailboat,” urging him to “make an effort… it’ll all be worth it”. After five months of persistent pressure, Buju finally agreed to meet on December 8th, arriving at the Sarasota warehouse with two associates. Johnson and an undercover officer showed them bricks of cocaine. In the video that later convicted him, Buju tasted the cocaine. He later called it “the worst mistake of his life.” After tasting, one of his associates, Ian Thomas, called a contact interested in buying, with Buju chiming in, “find out how much he wants”.

The Fall and the Long Walk to Freedom

Buju Banton was not present when his associates returned to the warehouse two days later with $135,000 to buy five kilograms of cocaine and were subsequently arrested. Two hours away in Tamarak, police arrested Buju at home. He was charged with conspiracy to possess with intent to distribute cocaine, using phones for drug trafficking, and firearm possession. The internet went crazy, saying Buu was entrapped by the DEA specifically targeting him over the Boom Bye-Bye controversy.

Buju’s first trial in September 2010 ended in a mistrial because the jurors could not reach a unanimous verdict. While awaiting retrial, he was released on bail, with Stephen Marley, Bob Marley’s son, putting up his home as collateral for the bond. This support demonstrated the reggae community’s belief in his innocence and the suspicion that he was being unfairly prosecuted.

The second trial in February 2011 hinged on the video and audio recordings by informant Alex Johnson, who received a $50,000 commission after the bust. The warehouse video showing Buu tasting cocaine was particularly damaging. After 11 hours of deliberation over two days, the jury found Buju guilty of conspiracy to possess cocaine and using phones for drug trafficking.

On June 23, 2011, Judge James Moody sentenced Buju to 10 years in federal prison. The court later threw out the gun conviction after accepting that Buju did not carry weapons and did not know his associates were armed, reducing what could have been a much longer sentence. While in prison, Buju maintained his discipline, running around the yard and chapel three times daily, staying physically and mentally strong.

Upon his release on December 7, 2018, Buju Banton was immediately deported to Jamaica. The massive, emotional welcome at the airport became one of the most emotional moments in Jamaican music history. Prison taught Buju that forgiveness was his “greatest weapon against all our adversaries”. The ability to forgive, he found, enabled him to “continue our life on the path that the father wants us to continue on”.

On March 16, 2019, Buju performed his comeback concert, “Long Walk to Freedom,” at Jamaica’s National Stadium. The show sold out with 35,000 fans in attendance. The performance was electric, proving that seven years in prison could not diminish his connection with fans or his status as one of reggae’s greatest performers. He maintained that the intention of his enemies was to break him, but “the only way to circumvent that was forgiveness”.