I just returned to the UK from spending about 3 weeks in Jamaica – not a holiday more a working visit. It allowed me once more to immerse myself in the everyday living of my home country after playing tourist to it for the past 2 decades.
It was great to be home. My experience there had its fair share of enjoyment but the over-riding impression was what I have to term, I suppose, “shock and awe” at what passes for normal daily activity there. As I like to explain to my UK friends, if what persisted on the criminal front here in the UK like “wha-a –go-on” in Jamaica “dis ya time”, we would have to call it a WAR. I mean 1,500 people murdered per year in a population of 2.5 million (Jamaica) is equivalent to over 30,000 people in a population of close to 60 million (UK). It’s a very bloody sort of insidious social warfare at that. I had 3 personal incidents in the space of my less than 3 weeks visit which put me in the picture of what “really a go-on in Jamdown”.
During my stay there, on one occasion, I heard about 8 gunshots go off at around 10pm at night in my uptown neighbourhood. Reports the following day informed me it was a licensed firearm holder dispensing justice as he was confronted at his gate by 3 assailants, one holding a firearm. He had killed 2 of them and the third escaped. I cannot fault him on defending himself in such circumstances but it made the Gordon House debate raging at the time in the country about capital punishment an oxymoron. I mean, not only is capital punishment still officially on the law books of the land but it is meted out almost daily on the streets by a wide range of Jamaicans – police, soldiers and such licensed firearm holders. The Justice System has broken down in the beloved country and this incident was a manifestation of that fact.
On another occasion driving through the rural town of Port Maria, the traffic that I was caught up in ground to a slow moving crawl. It was about 3pm and children leaving school were part of the throng of people on and off the sidewalks. Something, one sensed, was in the air but as an unseasoned visitor little was I to know what would happen next. A man ran down the middle of the street right past my car with something in his right hand up in the air. Not running with panic but at a pace of serious intent – like he had done this before and his life depended on it. He was followed by another man with what was clearly a gun, more considerately held pointed down towards the tarmac. He was not more than 6 seconds behind the first man. Then, after another 5 seconds, a more heavily armed uniformed policeman followed them – again passing my car - and then it all then began to make sense as behind them all came a police vehicle, siren blaring. The crowd looked on – some with animated curiosity and some with nonchalance – perhaps, notwithstanding my surprise, this event was not so unusual for rural Port Maria in 2008. The leading man – the wanted criminal gunman - turned off the road and went down into a gully course of sorts and some schoolchildren even went to follow him to see where he was going. Some of the town elders, with sense, chased the children back. No gunshots were heard subsequently so one can surmise he made good his escape and mercifully no innocent bystanders were afflicted by what is the scourge of gun culture in Jamaica, on that occasion. Law and Order has broken down all over Jamaica Land we Love and this incident was a manifestation of that fact.
Again a matter of perspective I guess but Jamaica appears to me to be the “Wild, Wild West”. We could do well look to the history of America and its gun culture - both its cowboy days of “settling the west” and to the likes of Al Capone in his heyday in Chicago - to learn a few lessons about what causes this lawlessness and how to address this rather serious and unacceptable state of affairs.
But it was the final personal incident that crystallised for me the root of the problem in Jamaica today. The least lethal, "innocuous" even, of my experiences provided an epiphany moment. I had parked my car on a Saturday morning on Knutsford Bouvelard to go buy a pattie in Tastees. I hadn’t been inside more than 5 minutes when I came out to see my car jacked up and ready for towing away by one of 2 wreckers plainly now in sight. There were a cadre of policemen and policewomen around, some observing at a distance. I explained to the tow truck driver that I was resident overseas and was not conversant with the law regarding parking on weekends in what was a dead New Kingston. True a yellow line marked the edge of the pavement but there were no signs annunciating on the parking restrictions in force and I was accustomed to a single yellow meaning “No Parking” only on busy week work-days. Of course “Ignorance of the Law is No Excuse” except in this case, in Jamaica now – as the events were to prove as they unfolded - “THE LAW IS AN ASS”. So we got into a discussion with a policewoman hovering nearby with some of the associated paperwork of this legal infringement – within earshot but not intervening.
The conversation was intriguing and masterfully steered by him to achieve his ultimate objective as I was soon to find out. I explained that I was a visitor and showed him my UK driving license. Was he going to “mash up” my weekend? I said I would ride with him to the downtown pound where the car was “destined” so I could pay the fine and recover the car quickly.
But this was not the reply he was looking for, clearly. Call me naïve initially, and in the end complicit, but eventually I was enlightened to pay him JA$3,000 on the spot rather than find my own way to pay the JA$4,000 fine downtown. His friend took the money on the “blind side” to the nearby cops and he let the car down. I had to enact the charade of getting into the car as a technicality of this accepted alternative to “due legal process”. The policewoman moved in to hand back the paperwork to the tow driver and then moved on to join her colleagues after the convoluted transaction was sealed.
So I had, unceremoniously, joined the countless other “otherwise law-abiding” Jamaicans to become party to this corrupt state of affairs and right under the approving nose of the local police force – who no doubt, upon reflection of the play enacted, were in on the scam from the very beginning.
Corruption is thriving in Jamaica and, like a cancer, it is corrupting the unwitting citizens of the beautiful land and this incident was a clear manifestation of that fact.
And so there we have it. My trip home was an educational experience for an overseas, uninitiated visitor about the breakdown of law and order arising from a barely functioning legal system in a systemic corrupt framework that is now Jamaica.
If my late father – who had helped frame the legal and justice system for Jamaica as a newly independent country forty-six years ago - had not been cremated, he would surely be turning in his grave.