Class Act

This is not about blind nationalism nor foolish pride. This is about something like purity, about some sort of ideal. It is about things making sense, for a change. Look to India and there you will see a team of Trinbagonians. Not some haphazard bunch of men with a sport in common, but a team. No star batsman, no star bowler, but a team. They spent the entire tournament as a unit.It was a total exhibition of class. Finally I feel like I could stand up with older men who have seen great West Indian teams of the past and say "Yes...I see one too."

Not a team by fluke, but intention, preparation and habit. Aspiring together and achieving together; exhibiting discipline, tolerance and productivity. A team that made us proud and surpassed our expectations. Dare I say more than we deserve? No, that would be wrong. If we did not deserve it, if it was not our time for such an example then, simply, it would not exist for us to see.

Now it is for us to take their example, to look at how Ganga and the management instilled a sense of responsibility into everyone and made a group of men, who had a sport in common, turn into a team. A team that didn't dissolve or turn into a pumpkin at midnight.

How this all came together in a land filled with the stench and stink of such shitty politicians is not important. What is important is that we've been shown a way put of our own filth. Not by some foreigner or some self-righteous conman, but by our own. Trinis like you and me who like ah fete and ah j'ouvert. Some who eat five finger from right off the tree, some who love pomerac and sorrel. Doing things in our own way, charting the unknown come hell, highwater or Udecott. I am thankful for this team and their example. True they came in second, and hats off to the other team for a game well played. Ganga himself admitted afterward that the team did crack under the pressure of the final with some players unable to find their form. They proved over the course of the tournament though, both in victory and their solitary loss that form is temporary, but class...class is permanent.

Jazz In the Calalloo

In the spirt of a recently concluded Sunday lunch, by today leftovers, this blog is a recipe for a quite unusual dish called 'Melting Pot'

Ingredients:

1 existing twin-island Republic population;
1 combination mixture of crude oil and river water;
85 exploited Chinese labourers;
400 plus murders for one calender year and counting;
1 Overworked Police Service;
100 sun kissed beaches;
A bevy of politicians;
1 looming smelter plant;
1 lb of salt for every citizen regardless of age, gender or health condition;
1 lb of sugar (see above);
Pepper;
1 beer (stag);
1 pseudo beer (carib);
1 bottle of Puncheon Rum;
1 pinch of concern;
Liberal helpings of the media;
1 Year of typical tropical weather;
1 earful of hearsay;
1 over done tag line (The Greatest Show on Earth);
1 outdated mentality (Carnival mentality);

Method:

Begin with bevy of politicians and apply to the existing twin-island Republic population pre-soaked in Carnival mentality.
Bevy of politicians are chilled and pre-wrapped in The Greatest Show on Earth tag line.
Feed Puncheon to overworked Police Service.
Skewer the overworked Police Service, add salt and sugar without regard for age, gender or any existing health conditions.
Ignore the looming smelter.
Combine all 85 Chinese labourers with half of the media.
Combine the other half of the media with the 400 murders plus and combine with previously overworked Police Service.
Ignore the looming smelter.
Prepare the 100 sun kissed beaches with equal amounts of Stag and Carib.
When this is done, shell the 1 year of typical tropical weather and mix in slowly (WARNING: DO NOT IMMERSE IN WATER, PRONE TO FLOODING).
Press play on earful of heresay.
Add one pinch of concern and pepper to taste.
Set to a boil in oil and water combination.
Do not ever decrease temperature, best consumed piping hot.
Before blessing the food, ignore the looming smelter.

Somebody tuh Hug Up

As I sit here typing I am faced with a most delicious question. What do I write? This question is not posed from that shadowy area known as writer’s block, where many a creative figure throughout time has been lost to the reverse of the crackheads’ itch. This reverse, absolutely no sense of sensation, is more dreaded by writers. This time, rather, I can savour a taste, a sensation of exhilaration and badassness as I realize that it is because I have so much from which to choose that I ask, ‘What do I write?’

Do I write about the national U20 football team and their World Cup experiences? In my mind I can already romanticize an older Leston Paul sitting, in what strangely is not a West Indian living room, with child on his lap who is idolizing some Italian footballer on the TV screen, and Leston beaming, telling the child about sharing a field, a moment of battle and camaraderie with this same man. I can see the amazement and wonder in this child’s eye.

Do I talk about the conflicting thoughts I have about Rio de Janeiro being awarded the Olympics in 2016? Indeed it is a triumph for the South American continent as Rio will be the first of its kind to be entrusted with the responsibility of hosting these time honoured games. A triumph too for Rio was chosen over Madrid, Tokyo, and Chicago (the not so subtle attempt at influence by the Obamas did not help the windy city).

But one cannot help but wonder what will be done with the favellas and its inhabitants that overlook the poshest parts of the city. Already having a ‘lower class’ stigma attached to them, what manner of oppression will be constructed and released by the government and other associated ‘organizers’? And one cannot also help but to recall that the current PNM (non)-government administration’s response to a similar problem when the eyes of the world blinked on our little island for a few days earlier this year, was to build a wall around them. Entrapment, endangerment, disgust and fear, were all employed under the guise of security, beautification and long-term planning. What will Brazil do?

Or do I write about my own intensely personal and ever enlarging internal journey? Perhaps I can use this form to confront the ‘self’ and address the ego. I can document here thoughts, feelings, actions, beliefs and emotions. I can undress; strip free of all labels, all judgments, in a systematic and symbolic fashion for all to see. I can share what I have learnt over time about ego and its role, about its triggers and suppressors, its pros and cons. Or I could delve into my struggles with both a specific, romantic love, and a universal love. Maybe then, I could bare my soul?

Or do I write about women who dare question the man’s world? The Gayatri Spivak’s, Melre Hodge’s and Atillah Springer’s amongst us. Modern day giants whose shoulders will one day support others. Now Sycorax is seen and heard. Her voice is powerful; her image is calm. Sycorax seeks not revenge but the safety of her children, the end to oppression, and a little bit of time to relax and hug her youth, because some things yuh could write about and other times yuh just really need to share yuh touch.

Divine Denial

What is a gun? What does it symbolize? I was talking to my mother about this and she concurred that guns symbolize power. Makes sense don't it? The question of what guns symbolize came to my head recently. I was watching a local news broadcast some night, may have been last night or on Wednesday...yeah it was Wednesday.

Anyway, I watching the screen dey and see dey talking bout how Trini police went on a Liat flight and seize ah Puerto Rican national who has a history of protesting, yuh know nah, ah professional wajang, with ah cause. As the story goes, the officers boarded the plane with guns drawn, some of the semi-automatic, find the man, take him off the plane, handcuff him then deport him.

Aite cool, so news time now and they interviewing acting commissioner Philbert. He defends the act of his officers stating the dangerous intent of one Alberto "Tito Kayak" de Jesus Mercado (from now on Jesus), and deems that to have not taken action would have been reckless.

Now I hear what the man say, but my brain start doing this thinking thing that it like nah. What the hell Philo mean? Yuh want tuh deport somebody, I could understand that. but explain why one would board an international flight with weapons drawn to remove a man who has never been associated with violent acts. Why not use the same three officers to escort him off the plane into a more secluded area?

See I studying how it look to the Spanish moms and dem, who sit down looking out the window, only fuh d door tuh open and three black, shiny, heavily armed and heavy breathing man tuh storm past she, hit she with ah rifle butt in she head, drag out ah man, only tuh hit she in she head again.

The irony is that Philo saying his main thing was not to be reckless. Yet his actions in authorizing such an operation was reckless. If Jesus had decided to strike an officer would he have been shot? If an officer tripped, trying to manouevre his bulky frame down the aisles of the Liat plane and his weapon went off, what would Philo have done then?

Jesus has been allowed entry into Israel, the United States, namely New York and the United Nation headquarters. But not Trinidad. And I believe that has more to do with our police force's incompetence rather than Jesus' danger level. To try to justify it any other way is a denial of divine proportions.

So guns symbolize power. A little power is a dangerous thing and right now it seems the little bit more that Philo get has made him a little more dangerous. I hope that it dissipates with the summit. Next thing you know we will have officers jumping out of jeeps with guns drawn at vehicular accident scenes when they coming to 'lend assistance'.
Oh...wait...that going on already...

Evil or Stupid

The choice seems simple, but the consequences are very grave. Are our leaders evil or are they stupid? Is the police force really just a bunch of bumbling idiots, or are they cantankerous and evil? Is the inability to find missing children as a result of criminals being smarter than the police and the existing public, or do the police know things that they are not sharing? And even worse are they withholding this information for personal gain or profit, while our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and cousins, nieces and nephews, godsons and goddaughters...while our children pay the price?

Were our politicians really unaware that the Brian Lara Stadium was being filled with condemned steel? Or has someone's pocket been lined with more coins and dollar bills than we can possibly hope to count in what lifetime?

If our leaders are this stupid then we are truly lost and our best bet is to endure our time under the direction of the dunce class. If they are stupid, then we should market ourselves as the world's greatest spectacle. Because that's what idiots do, make a spectacle of themselves. I can think of a catchy slogan, something like 'The Greatest Show on Earth' perhaps. It has a nice ring to it, something marketers seem to like.

If we are a nation led by idiots, then we should spend our money on entertainment, we should all be drinking and forgetting so that this terrible times passes quickly. If any one of us is harmed by the stupidity, a helpful word, a pat on the shoulder and a hot rum should fix the offendee right up.

If our leaders are evil then we need to speak up. The blood of dead children is not just on their hands but all of ours, since we as a society of a MILLION plus, sat by and did absolutely nothing.

We elected to spend time in church, filling buildings with our voices instead of filling streets with our love, concern and anger. We continue to treat our politics and its developments as soap operas, our politicians as favourite actors, and ourselves as shit.

If our leaders are evil, then they have been created, and continue to be nurtured by this very society. If our leaders are evil, we are responsible whether we voted them in or not, for they are a product of us. If our leaders are evil and we are unprepared to act to address this, then it's best that we accept our fate since we seem impotent, a body of people unwilling to struggle for anything better.