Dear Sir: (a plea for help from the Team)

Dear Sir:
We need your help.  We need no vision crafted. A mission statement won’t help us here. We don’t need you to demonstrate heroic fearlessness “standing astride this narrow world like a Colossus”, Sir.  No swashbuckling, chest beating posturing needed. We are self-starters, Sir.  So don’t you worry about getting us engaged and on board. I know that all your leadership manuals (and you do read them, right?) drone on and on about “getting the stakeholders on board” and “getting motivation levels up”.  Your team consists of a bunch of people that actually take pride in what we do and derive great satisfaction when we give a dream legs. Lucky for you, you can use those manuals to prepare another scintillating speech to share at your next Rotary luncheon or when you talk to your mentees at your alma mater.  
Please help us by being clear as to what you want accomplished.  Paint us a picture: “this is what it should feel like, look like, smell like at the end.” Is the picture hazy in your mind, Sir? No problem! Share the part that is clear, the general idea that you have, and allow us to help you complete the end game picture.
It’s easier to fill in the blanks once we know where we’re going. We know you don’t know the shortcuts, the roads that are potholed, the detours…afterall, you don’t travel these roads daily. But we do! Once you tell us where we need to go to, WE can tell you the best way to get there.  Why don’t you make it easy for yourself and less frustrating for us by simply saying: “Team: we need to get to Mobay in 2 1/2 hours.” WE KNOW HOW TO DO THIS! WE DO THIS EVERYDAY! Please don’t say: “go over Sligoville, then turn right at Bog Walk, then use the new highway to by pass Mt. Rosser…when you come to the end of the highway, call me and tell me what time it is.”  Am I coming through clear, Sir? Allow us to do our jobs, to participate, to use our experience and our knowledge to give your dreams and your aspirations wings. Please.
I have been frank and I sincerely hope you receive this in the spirit in which it was given. 
Best regards,
Kelly

another (not so) random in-flight encounter

The drill was the same as it was a few months ago… I had just completed 2 days of meetings and was returning home, tired and thankfully not as dispirited as I was last time. I was still battling the tail end of the ‘flu and a tad worse for the wear having closed the bar a few hours earlier. Leave it to a real Rum Head like myself to spot the lone bottle of Wray and Nephew whites hidden on the second shelf to the back, pushed disrespectfully to the corner behind several other bottles of pretenders… I was literally standing on the lower rung of the bar stool directing the bartender and insisting that I needed “that bottle right there…yes…no…go more to the left…pull out those 2 bottles…no those….THERE YOU GO!” But I digress.

So I boarded the plane and made my way down the aisle looking for 11C. We were told that the flight was full (what’s new) and given specific instructions as to our hand luggage management. I thankfully had gotten an aisle seat and waited to see who my seat mates would be. Despite the ‘flu and the hangover (which had abated somewhat due to the Excedrin that I had snacked on earlier) I was in reasonably good spirits and had decided to play nice and smile.

You see, I have what people refer to as a “resting bitchy face”, which simply means that if I’m not smiling, I look as if I’m angry. I’ve been told that I’m intimidating and appear unfriendly and unapproachable. I’m not as bothered today by those judgments of others as I used to be, but I accept that a smile and a friendly word or two can lubricate deliberate and chance encounters making the experience more enjoyable for all. So, enter Rose. Rose came down the aisle, a woman about my age, short, round, wearing a sweat shirt, jeans and sneakers, hoodie draped over her handbag, pulling her carry-on down the aisle.  She smiled at me and said “this is me right here, but lemme find somewhere to put my bag”. I wished her good luck and she found a space way down in the plane.  When she came back and I extricated myself to allow her in, I remarked to her that she’s going to have hell retrieving it and disembarking once we had landed.  She agreed and said lemme go move it den. Ah boi. That decision resulted in me and Miss Rose playing musical seats, up, out, in, down over the next 5 minutes as she co-opted a flight attendant in her quest to optimally place her hand-luggage. I would normally be very irritated, but remember, I had decided to play nice and smile, come what may.  Miss Rose apologized as she squeezed in for, praise Jah, the last time and thanked me for understanding. We both laughed as I told her that I really was not about to stand up again and that she had better climb over me.  So she did and we laughed as she settled into her window seat.  And on that full flight, the only empty seat was the one between Miss Rose and me. My donuts (yes…7 Dunkin’ Donuts  for my favourite people back at home…it’s a thing I have with them…) and her bag and hoodie shared that middle seat.

“I like you” grinned Miss Rose at me.

“Well ok then!” I grinned back at her.  We exchanged names. Ever fass, I asked her if she was returning home, or going to JA for a visit. She explained that she was off to Jamaica to look for her mom and relax for 8 days. I told her that I was returning home after attending meetings in Florida for 2 days.

“Is yuh man that?” she asked as she pointed to my colleague who I was travelling with, sitting across the aisle from us.  Before I could answer, he said “yes…this is my wife.” She saw the look of horror on my face and realised that Steven was messing around.  I made the introductions, clarified the nature of our relationship and we settled back.  She complimented Steven and told him that he was a very handsome “half chiney man”.  Steven, good natured idiot that he is, remarked to Miss Rose that she too looked half Chinese…

I then took a good look Miss Rose.  I asked her if she was really half Chinese.  She was dark skinned, had in braids so I couldn’t assess her hair type and texture, had tiny, almost squinty eyes, high cheekbones and full lips on that broad smile of hers.

“Yes!”  I said to her…”you really look like you have some Asian somewhere there. What’s the dealio?”

Miss Rose explained that she was half Japanese (wait…what?!) and that she is this close to doing plastic surgery to shave down her cheekbones and widen her eyes.  I turned my body towards her and settled in for what I felt was going to be an interesting story.

“Tell me why” I invited.

Miss Rose’s mother is a black Jamaican woman who was married to an abusive man. He was working in England when Miss Rose mother went to work as a domestic helper for a Japanese family living in Jamaica. Mother ended up getting pregnant for the Japanese son. Miss Rose was born. She recounted this starting off very matter of factly, but growing hesitant as she revealed the truth of her origins.

“I guess you could say my momma was a ho” Miss Rose apologised.

“Oh hell no she wasn’t!” I countered. “She was lonely, abused and simply received affection where she found it…and look at the result of that..You!”

She smiled and wiped at her eyes, and said softly: “I guess.”

She went on: “My mother’s husband came back and she left that job and went back pregnant to live with him and their other children.  I was an outcast from the moment I was born. I was never accepted by the Japanese family, and my siblings mocked me and physically abused me. My step father was also abusive towards me, and my mother wasn’t able to shield me. I was made to do the hardest manual work while the other children played outside.  I was teased about my Japanese origins at school and tried to just keep to myself. There was a neighbour, a big man, who used to keep me company in the kitchen round the back where I often left alone for hours to work. From the age of  8 that man would have sex with me. He was the only person I had interaction with and he violated me and hurt me.” By this time she was crying as she recounted her story.  “When he died, I remember being so afraid.”

She explained to me that she was happy he was dead, afraid that it wasn’t true and that he would reappear to harm her and that she was once more alone…a contradictory mix of fears and emotions, too much for a child to bear, let alone process.

She went on to claim that she had made a good life for herself. “I’ve been living in the states for 33 years now. I’ve visited my Japanese relatives in Japan several times, and they have welcomed me.  I wrote to my mother and siblings and asked them to forgive me for anything that I may have done to hurt them.  I have given so much money to my brothers and sisters, my mother and even my now dead step father.  I paid for medical care for him in the years before he died and before he passed he asked me to forgive him.”

“So have you been able to forgive him and them?” I asked with some hesitation… You see, I accept today that forgiveness of self and others is the fundamental prerequisite for inner peace and moving on in life.  But I also accept that it is a process that comes after a decision to do so, and that to glibly admonish someone to forgive their detractor or abuser without acknowledging the hurt and understanding that forgiveness is not pressing a button is both disrespectful and inhumane.

Miss Rose wiped her eyes and was quick to say: “Of course I have. But I have a pain right here that never goes away”.

A pain right here that never goes away….

“So you think that by changing your face you will somehow expunge the cause of your unhappiness and pain, Rose?” I challenged gently. “You were not a mistake. You have survived and continue to make your way forward, helping others in the process.  Please don’t try to erase what God has put together.  You are perfectly beautiful as you are.  And wider eyes, more slender cheekbones looking back at you in the mirror will do nothing to affect the pain that you still feel, and they cannot erase the awful things that you experienced.”

She looked back at me saying nothing. I inhaled deeply: “May the God that has brought you this far, finish His work by hugging you tight tight and taking away the pain you feel. God bless you, Rose.”

I have been thinking about that (not so) random encounter.  I don’t know what I am supposed to take away from that encounter. What I do know is that once again it has been demonstrated very clearly to me that we all have a story…a back story. H and I have a list that we’ve been maintaining: “Interesting People We’d Like to Have Dinner With.” A bunch of people have made it to that list, based on things that intrigue us about the selectees: ” Fareed Zakaria, Hilary Clinton, Bill can come too, Oprah (at my insistence), Malcolm Gladwell, Lady Saw…to name some. To qualify you have to have original thought and a fine mind. Simple. These are all people in the public domain, easily identifiable because of their public personas. But interesting people are sitting right beside us on the plane, or lying beside us on the beach, or drinking to our left in the village bar, or waiting with us in the doctor’s office.

It is our humanity, our weaknesses, our strengths, our experiences that are all woven together to make up the beautiful tapestry that we are. To hide an experience or a failing out of shame, in order to project what we think is a more acceptable image, is to compromise the beautiful original work of art that we are. Miss Rose was open enough to share where she was on her journey. I suspect that her story is not over. I pray for the day when Rose realises that she can’t gift or buy her way to inner peace…that she is uniquely beautiful, a gift to the world…when the pain that sits right there goes away… that nothing she has done or not done has caused her adversity. And in the mean time, Rose lives her life. She goes to therapy, she works hard, she raises her family, she takes chances.  She has two failed marriages under her belt and she presses on in hope of finding love.

Last week I tweeted one morning that I was determined to listen more. One wise person on my time line agreed and admonished me to add “observe” to “listen”. Wise, wise words.  I have a friend who comes over as closed off, saying very little, arms folded tightly across his chest almost always. In response to my pestering him, he admitted that he observes people and tries to understand them and the context at hand. I suspect that there’s more that he’s not saying and that he too has some issues surrounding his own humanity that he’s processing. Listening and observing without a willingness to share will limit the value and beauty that can result from an encounter with another human, whether this encounter is deliberate or (not so) random.

So I have no profound revelation to share from that (not so) random encounter with Miss Rose. No ah ha! moment transformed my life. What happened was a memorable, interesting 90 minute trip back home, getting to know another human being, logging her story into my consciousness for later retrieval perhaps when I need to share with someone else or remind myself what strength and grace looks like. So I share it with you.  Take from it what you will. Listen, observe and be open. Let us acknowledge and embrace our own humanity as we journey on and share this planet. And know for sure, that our story nuh done yet.

Wanted: A viable, credible alternative to the PNP!

I will not spend too much time bemoaning our sad state of affairs as a nation.  I opt not to launch off into any long winded narrative replete with statistics aimed a demonstrating our status as a “failed state”. Who cares about an exchange rate of 113 JD : 1 USD.  The decline has slowed down!  But that has had zero effect on our grocery bill. We have certainly become very innovative in our bid to continue feeding ourselves and our families.  Good stuff! Now that we know the definition of employment (to be considered as employed you must have engaged in one hour of income generating activity in the week prior to the survey), who cares about the latest employment statistics that show that the employment rate has improved by 2.7% year on year in April 2014 to a whopping 86.4%! The fact that this administration claimed that Jamaica had 31 cases of Chik-V is great news…despite the fact that those of us in the productive sector are faced with  very real manpower issues as our teams remain at home, reporting “Chik-V like symptoms”.  Let’s not focus on that. The Prime Minister spent 70 minutes addressing Comrades and the wider public at the bashment that is the PNP Annual Conference.  She listed her administration’s successes over the past 2 ½ years and insisted that the PNP continues to “pass the people’s tests.”

There has not been a whole lot fact checking with respect to her claims.  The print and electronic media have simply by and large reported her statements.  Poor job, Media Peeps.  Two days after her speech, Nationwide Radio, having been chastened ion this regard by commentator Kevin O’Brien Chang, did a fact checking feature on PSMs speech.  Better late than never I suppose.  The youth arm of the Opposition JLP, G2K did something in this regard, although I would hardly term their efforts at fact checking “robust”:
“The organisation also noted the false portrayal of the PNP taking office in a period of 14 consecutive quarters of negative growth and would like to point out that in 2011, when the PNP took the reins of government; the country was on a growth path of over 1.5%.
 Prime Minister Portia Simpson-Miller must remember that this sort of analysis destroys her credibility and makes it more difficult for her to unite Jamaica to lead it down a truly transformational path,” added G2K Vice president, Matthew Samuda.” (https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=708914739157307).
The only official statement I could find from the Labour party proper on the Prime Minister’s speech, was a statement from Audley Gordon, Deputy General Secretary (https://www.facebook.com/AndrewHolnessJM/posts/875514722460380). 
It felt like the obligatory, predictable response from a party in opposition that is expected to rebut:
The Prime Minister’s presentation reflected a Party leader needing to ‘whip up’ her base but not a Prime Minister interested in the mandate of the people or the real issues affecting people. She dodged the issues of crime, the cost of electricity and even the current health epidemic! How can you then say you passed the peoples test?” 

He went on to lament the impending JPS fee hike and inflation and its impact on families trying to cope in today’s Jamaica. All true, Mr. DGS, but hardly breaking news.  We live it.  We feel it. We see it.  We live in Jamaica too, Mr. Gordon and the JLP, and we heard the Prime Minister.  Trust me when I tell you that we were more than able to come to our own conclusions as to the credibility and relevance of her pronouncements.
Former PM Bruce Golding defended the JLP against PSMs accusation of 4 missing years .  I’m all for setting the record straight, and I agree that PSM is entitled to her own opinions, but certainly not her own facts.  But establishing fact is only the beginning.
We need more from the Opposition party.  I suggest that they issue a specific mandate to the bright young resources of G2K to create a center for fact checking any and every claim made by the Party in Power.  Create and maintain a data base in this regard.  Very easy;  very, very important.  That’s the first step.  But more importantly, we need for the JLP to move beyond this very basic (albeit important) task of keeping the facts straight. What Jamaica needs is a viable, credible alternative to what we now have. Repeating to us what we already know adds absolutely no value to the process and renders you irrelevant.

I believe that the PNP is the default setting for Jamaica. The JLP is the override button. One only hits the override button if something has gone drastically wrong. More often than not, we hit restart, opting to start again with the same settings.  Think on these things, JLP.  You have to present a compelling reason for Jamaica to choose you.  That the PNP is not handling our business properly does not automatically mean that you’re it!

The JLP’s last press release as reflected on its website (http://www.jamaicalabourparty.com) is dated July 21, 2014.  The home page has a statement attributed to Dr. Baugh about Chick-V dated Sept 6. There is an option to look at the JLP’s position on a number of issues of national importance. Again, comments where they do exist (there is nothing under “crime” for example) feel platitudinous at best. I looked for something along the lines of “The JLP’s Vision for Jamaica”.  You see, I am in search of an alternative.  A credible alternative does not merely pick holes in their opponent’s arguments.  A credible alternative does not merely sit back and criticize the other party’s every move and misstep. We can and do do that already.  A credible alternative is just that: an option that presents a better way forward. All I see on the JLP website by way of an articulated vision for our beloved country is a link to their 2007 manifesto and their 2012 local government manifesto.  What is the JLP really offering Jamaica?  How does Jamaica look and feel under a Labour Party administration?  How will the quality of our lives change under the JLP? How will they do it? This is what we want to hear from the JLP. 

In between rattling off the usual rhetoric to do with Jamaica being better off under the PNP and of course, the fact that the PNP will most certainly win the next local and general elections, Madam PM repeatedly referenced that fact that we had passed IMF tests.  Yet 52 years post independence, I can’t help feeling let down that we monitor with such alacrity an agenda imposed on us. And yes, perhaps we are here because of how we have (mis)managed our own affairs.  But monitoring our performance against an IMF agenda does not mean that we have to discard Vision 2030.  Where does the Labour Party stand on Vision 2030?

Let us reframe the narrative around our politics.  Success must be defined as more than one girl from the country now sitting in Jamaica house.  Success must be considered as more than simply winning power.  We know success when we see it and feel it, and we aren’t doing either right now. I invite the labour party go beyond their present modus operandi , the ethos of which is summed up in  Dr. St. Aubyn Bartlet’s very telling tweet in response to an entirely reasonable plea from a citizen on Sept 21 2014 :

@tonispencer: PSM, where is the opportunity for the average Jamaican?  Those of us NOT in politics???? #PNPConference #Leadership #JLP

@drstab56: @tonispencer @fayvalwilliams ask the PNP #MAMMA P

Dr. St. Aubyn Bartlett is a former Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) member of parliament for Eastern St Andrew, and he is reportedly seeking to represent the party in a Manchester constituency in the next parliamentary elections.  Dr. Bartlett and the JLP: We heard what Mama had to say.  We feel and live under the conditions resulting from her administration of our country’s affairs.  We want to know what the JLP is offering.  You, Sir, passed up an opportunity to convince us that the JLP is a credible alternative.  

Jamaica needs a credible alternative. But the JLP obviously loves being in opposition. 

The Next Willing Nigger.

Let me definitively state from the outset: I am going to use the word “nigger” throughout this piece. I know it offends the sensibilities of some. Oprah for one has banned the use of “nigger” for understandable reasons: “You can’t be my friend and use the N word.” Fair enough.  That’s her choice.  Let me also state that I am deliberately using “nigger” and not “nigga”.  Recently Rachel Jeantel, of the Trayvon Martin murder case fame, took Don Lemon of CNN to school with respect to the use of the work “nigger” vs “nigga”. Jeantel clarifies that “nigga” is an affectionate greeting between black youth, rather like “dawg” and is acceptable in today’s culture.  “Nigger” remains a slur word, most offensive when used by anyone other than a black person. I am using “nigger” today as a descriptor of an attitude, a mental and emotional stance that some black people adopt as they navigate life.  In my definition, it is not in any way a complimentary descriptor…without apology.  A la Chris Rock (from Rock This) I am seeking to differentiate between black people and niggers. Rock sees “niggers” as a subset of the black community, a group he opines that glorifies ignorance and sloth and brags about fulfilling any minor responsibility.
Now please turn your mind to the character of Stephen, in Quentin Tarantino’s  Django Unchained. The movie is not without controversy, and again, understandably so. Full disclosure: I enjoyed it immensely!  I laughed at all the politically incorrect moments (remember the Klan portrayal with the pillow cases that had the eyes misaligned so the wretches couldn’t see properly?) and left the cinema having been thoroughly entertained.  But the character that stood out for me wasn’t Django, that fantasy composite of avenging negro, whipping the white slavers into submission.  It wasn’t the Oscar winning Dr. King Shultz.  It wasn’t Kerry Washington’s Broomhilda, trembling lower lip and all. Stephen, the house slave, played brilliantly by Samuel L. Jackson stayed with me long after the movie ended.  I despised him from start to finish.  His instant resentment of the free black man Django was the prelude to exploration of his craven and yes, niggardly character so perfectly portrayed by Jackson.   
Stephen was the house slave who had served the senior slaver, Mr. Candie and was now head cook and bottle washer on the plantation run by the junior Mr. Candie.  He managed to maintain a servile posture (limp and shuffle intact) while exerting his seniority, even as a slave, by summoning Mr. Candie to the library to discuss his doubts as to the true intent of Django and Dr. King Shultz.  He freely expressed his dismay when Monsieur Candie communicated his intent to have the free black man, Django sleep in the Great House:
Calvin Candie: Well, good. They’re spending the night. Go open the guest bedrooms and get two ready. 
Stephen: [mortified] He gawn stay in the Big House? 
Calvin Candie: Stephen. He’s a slaver. It’s different. 
Stephen: In the Big House? 
Calvin Candie: Well, you got a problem with that? 
Stephen: Aw, naw, naw. I ain’t got no problem with it. If you ain’t got no problem with burnin’ the bed, the sheets, the pillowcase, and everything else when this black-ass motherfucker’s gone! 
 
It was Stephen, the Head Nigger in Charge who spotted the vulnerability in the situation when he sensed that Django knew Broomhilda, another female house slave and somehow knew that he was there to rescue her (in fact: Broomhilda was Django’s wife, and she was the reason why he came to Candie Land).  Stephen sensed that weakness, if you will, and alerted Monsieur Candie and the script flipped from there.  A free, independent black man somehow threatened the existence and identity of this Senior Slave and in order for this comfortable, albeit far from optimal, status quo to be maintained, the Head Nigger in Charge felt obliged to get rid of this affront to his own existence. You see, the primary objective of the Next Willing Nigger is for him to gain entry to the Great House, to be recognized by those in power, to be identified amongst those he perceives as important, to the exclusion of anyone else.  His aim is not independence. Rather, his aim is to profile alongside those who rule. 
Dr. King Shultz was killed and Django was captured, tortured for a bit by said HNIC, and sold off to work in mines forever and ever amen.  Of course, you know how the story ends.  Django escapes  his captors,  goes back and kills a couple white men, rescues his wife and naturally, confronts Stephen before ending his life on earth:

Stephen: [singing] In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore. In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore… 
[continues signing] 
Stephen: In the sweet… 
Django: [Django appears and starts singing] By and by… Ohhhhhh! 
[Stephen, Miss Lara and everybody else in the room jerks up to Django, who is standing on the top balcony lighting candles] 
Django: Ya’ll gonna be together with Calvin in the “bye-and-bye…” 
[Django pauses as Billy Crash walks up] 
Django: … just a bit sooner than ya’ll was expecting! 
When Stephen realizes that the jig is up, miraculously, his limp and shuffle disappear.  He cusses Django out. He rails some more. Even when Django kneecaps him, in the midst of his pain and impaired state of being, that HNIC chooses to berate Django, evidence of his resentment of the free black man standing proud and undefeated before him.

Here we are, 52  years after independence from Britain. And things are not good.  The IMF is now our economic master. We glory in “passing their tests” because to fail will mean that New Massa won’t dispense money and we won’t be able to handle our affairs.  We have set aside our own vision for ourselves, our Vision 2030 and all attention is placed on our performance with respect to New Massa’s agenda.  We are smack dab in the middle of an environmental crisis. Raw sewage in our streets and in our seas. gullies chock full of plastic waste, uncollected solid waste is a reality in communities across the island. One may argue that our national debt, high crime, high unemployment, widespread poverty, the decline in our public education and health systems is as a result of poor leadership.  Dig deeper.  What does poor leadership really mean? Why do we have it? We took charge of this island in 1962 with basic infrastructure and systems of governance in place. Fast forward to 2014. Stop and think.  “It pap dung” would be a fair assessment.  But to simply explain our failure away by “poor leadership” doesn’t offer a precise enough diagnosis. “Political corruption” as an answer gets us closer to a more accurate diagnosis.  But what is the motivation that drives our leadership to make decisions that enrich them at the expense of Jamaica’s development? That motivation is, simply put, part of the Next Willing Nigger construct.      

Think of that promising young politician who comes to prominence on a ticket of change.  He promises to operate differently, to emphasise education and empowerment of the next generation and comes up smack dab against “The Way We Do Things Around Here.”  The Old Guard puts him in his place, and because his desire to be part of the Great House establishment supercedes his articulated desire for change, he becomes the Next Willing Nigger and plays ball with the Old Guard. Empowerment of the next generation dies as he charts a certain course towards the Great House.
Think of how decisions are made in this country, a nation in the throes of economic hardship.  Brand new SUVs are procured for representatives of the political hierarchy, while schools lack water tanks, fire engines are absent in key areas, pit latrines are the status quo in many rural schools and the elevators in the KPH remain in need of repair.  The Next Willing Niggers are all standing in line to enrobe themselves in the trappings of the Master en route to the Great House.

Think about this some more: we see Stephens everywhere on this island, every day of life.
Think of that co-worker who refuses to be guided by principle and instead chooses how he dispenses discipline, the final decision depending on who the subject is.  That over-riding dimension of “loyalty” instead of “principle” informs every single decision. The result is a promotion of mediocrity in an effort to remain in the good books of the perceived power brokers in the organisation.  That Next Willing Nigger now rests easy in the C-suite. Well done.
Prominent dailies are grabbed up and even that day’s headlines play second fiddle as readers turn eagerly to see the Beautiful People captured on page 2, living The Dream. Oppressive car loans allow the Next Willing Nigger to sport the latest luxury model, even though he parks it in a rented house, simply keeping up the appearances that he is certain will take him into the Great House.

As long as the Next Willing Nigger exists, as long as a system which rewards the Next Willing Nigger exists, those who operate on Principle will forever be marginalized, and Jamaica will never realize its full potential.

Vision 2030 what’s the latest?

LETTER PUBLISHED IN TODAY’S OBSERVER
http://www.jamaicaobserver.com/letters/What-has-become-of-Vision-2030-_17571027

Dear Editor,
I encourage Jamaicans everywhere to have a look at Vision 2030. It is easily accessed online at http://www.vision2030.gov.jm/.
Vision 2030 has as its central aim, the vision of “making Jamaica the place of choice to live, work, raise families, and do business”. Vision 2030 is the result of true consensus across political divides and various civil interest groups and, to my mind, is truly something that all Jamaicans everywhere can embrace. It is for and about Jamaica and Jamaicans.
Making Jamaica the place of choice to live, work and raise families is defined via a series of easy-to-understand goals. We are able to know if goals are being realised by more detailed outcomes that are assigned to each goal. And the document goes even further than merely listing goals and outcomes. It goes into some detail on how these goals will be achieved by assigning what I would call “to-dos”, specific initiatives, which, if implemented, will result in the stated outcomes.
Vision 2030 was launched in 2009. The same online link mentioned earlier points us to how we are tracking against the goals. Here’s the issue: The progress tracker takes us only as far as 2011. How have we been doing since 2011? Is Vision 2030 regarded by the present Administration as the national plan for moving us towards developed country status by 2030?
Richard Byles and the Economic Programme Oversight Committee have been doing a great job of monitoring Jamaica’s performance against International Monetary Fund (IMF) targets. Madame Lagarde said as much in her recent visit to the island. No doubt the IMF intervention in our affairs, at our behest, has been inevitable. Yet, 52 years post-Independence, I can’t help feeling let down that we monitor with such alacrity an agenda imposed on us, and we are here because of how we have (mis)managed our own affairs.
But monitoring our performance against an IMF agenda does not mean that we should discard Vision 2030. I would like to hear from the present Administration if Vision 2030 informs our sectoral strategies. I would like to hear from the PIOJ how we have been tracking in terms of the Vision 2030 goals since 2011.
Kelly McIntosh
kkmac218@gmail.com

can’t have a clean country without the state playing its role!!!

LETTER OF THE DAY PUBLISHED IN THE GLEANER SEPT 12 2014
http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20140912/letters/letters1.html

THE EDITOR, Sir: The garbage that is piling up, certainly around Kingston and St Andrew, is most certainly contributing to the heavy mosquito infestation we are currently experiencing and the spread of what is suspected to be the chikungunya virus.
Although not being reported by the authorities, and although not definitively confirmed by blood tests (these tests are done in Trinidad and the results are available after three weeks), there is strong anecdotal evidence of many persons coming down with chikungunya-like symptoms, including several of my own co-workers and their children.
No doubt, we as people have poor solid-waste management habits. We see people throwing plastic bottles out of car windows and people stopping along lonely suburban roads in the hills of St Andrew to dump full bags of garbage. Check out the roads and sidewalks the morning after any community dance: full of litter.
After a good shower of rain, our gullies become a raging torrent of muddy water with waves of garbage, the indisputable evidence of our careless and nasty solid-waste management practices and our wanton disregard for the environment.
Some say a public-education campaign is in order right now to change this nasty paradigm. There are calls for citizens to take personal responsibility as far as their own practices in this regard are concerned. But these efforts cannot and will not succeed without the active participation of the State.
What happens when garbage goes uncollected for more than a week? The householder has sorted and bagged and stocked his waste in receptacles for the NSWMA truck to pick up and dispose of. After a week, these receptacles become full and animals get at it. Rodents have a field day in it. It rains (hallelujah!) and water settles in the heaps that are forming. More days pass and no collection occurs. More waste is generated.
What are the options?
What is this well-informed citizen to do now? What is this responsible, not-inherently nasty taxpayer to do now? Carry the garbage in her car to where? To the dangerous Riverton City dump? What if she doesn’t drive? What then are our options in the face of uncollected garbage? Incur the expense to pay a private service, this after paying our taxes on our income and on our expenditure?
We need published garbage collection schedules for every community, that are actually adhered to. Where garbage collection cannot be done at least once per week, the NSWMA must go back to providing public skips where citizens can dispose of their waste. This is where public-education campaigns can be useful in terms of guiding the efficient, proper use of public dumping sites.
The citizens cannot do this alone. The State MUST prioritise good solid-waste management or face the inevitable outcomes of a nasty country and pay the price of rodent infestations and mosquito-borne diseases.
KELLY MCINTOSH
kkmac218@gmail.com

Productivity in Jamaica…we aren’t inherently lazy.

PUBLISHED IN THE GLEANER SEPT 14 2014
http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20140914/focus/focus6.html

Kelly McIntosh, Guest Columnist
“Hard work they had left behind with slavery.” These were the words of no less a person than former Singapore Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew, the man credited with transforming the fortunes and future of tiny Singapore. He made this observation about us as a people, during a visit to our island back in 1975.
We have heard time and again that Jamaica’s problem is low productivity, a sentiment underscored by a now well-known statement made popular on talk radio some years ago: “One Chiney can do five smaddy wuk.”
Productivity is defined as the effective and efficient use of resources (labour, capital, material, energy) in the production and supply of quality goods or services. So essentially, productivity measures how well we convert our resources into goods or services.
The Jamaica Productivity Summary Report 1972-2007 paints a damning picture of productivity in Jamaica. Apparently, labour productivity in Jamaica has been declining at an average annual rate of 1.3 per cent over the period 1973-2007. This is made worse by the reality that during 2003-2007, the decline increased to 1.8 per cent per year.
When we compare our situation to our Caribbean neighbours, it gets even worse. Over the same period, Trinidad & Tobago saw its labour productivity increase by an average of 1.5 per cent per year. By 2007, the productivity of a St Lucian worker was 1.6 times that of a Jamaican worker. The report ended with a very gloomy forecast of decreasing productivity going forward in Jamaica.
So was Lee Kuan Yew right? Did the talk-show caller speak truth? And what do the labour-productivity numbers really mean? Consider some other numbers as we seek to wrap our heads around this issue of productivity. The Economic and Social Survey of Jamaica 2013 shows that the number of reported industrial disputes increased in 2012 by 33 per cent. In 2012, the manufacturing sector reported the greatest number of man days lost because of industrial disputes relative to other sectors.
Turn your attention now to remittances. Gross remittance inflows in April 2014 were US$183.3 million, the highest on record. To further put the importance of remittances into perspective, consider that in 2011 they contributed 15 per cent to GDP, compared to tourism, which contributed under 10 per cent to GDP. These remittances, by and large, come from Jamaicans working overseas, especially in the USA.
So far, I’ve cited declined productivity numbers, drawn attention to our industrial relations climate, and cited the importance of money, which is generated outside of Jamaica, by Jamaicans and sent back to the island – three seemingly disparate issues. I now turn my mind to some personal observations that I will seek to link to productivity statistics, industrial relations climate and remittance inflows.
THE HANDCART LADY ON CHRISTMAS EVE
I remember one Christmas Eve I was making my way home in heavy traffic with my children. It was after 7 p.m. The light had just changed to green. Slowly making her way across the road, preventing me from moving on was a woman pushing a heavily laden cart with produce. She strained and pushed wearily, obviously heading home from selling all day. I wonder what conclusions we can draw about productivity in this instance.
CLEANING UP WINNIFRED BEACH
We were at Winnifred Beach in Portland two weeks ago. It was a Tuesday and very few people were there. We drove up and cautiously exited the vehicle. No one rushed to us, trying to hustle us for money. We walked from food stall to food stall, with no one harassing us, eventually made our dining decision and went to wait on the beach itself. A man and a woman were silently working, raking up seaweed, boxing it, and disposing of it some metres away. They were sweating in the Portland sun.
I knew that this was a public beach, not yet controlled by UDC, and I could stand it no longer. I went up to the man and asked him: “Who is paying you to clean up the beach?” He replied with quiet dignity: “We make our living on this beach, and it is therefore our responsibility to keep it clean.” I wonder what conclusions we can draw about productivity in this instance.
BOWDEN PEN FARMERS’ ASSOCIATION
We’re still in the parish of Portland. But now we’ve ascended into the interior of the parish, up in the John Crow Mountains. There is an eco-tourism outfit called Ambasabeth Cabins. Ambasabeth is 100 per cent powered by the sun, and watered from nearby rivers. Income is supplemented from farming, mostly ginger. The association is a community group, a cooperative that is largely run by women, complete with a mission and vision, supported with a 10-year plan. Formal management meetings are held, books are maintained, plans are formulated, implemented and reviewed. What conclusions can we draw about productivity in this instance?
LINKING IT ALL TO PRODUCTIVITY
The numbers indicate that productivity in Jamaica is indeed low. Yet Jamaicans are able to, in another context, generate income, live overseas from that income, and still send part of that income back to Jamaica, such that these inflows sent from overseas are the single largest contributor to our GDP. Why is that?
There are examples of small groups of people and select individuals in the island who exhibit a strong work ethic and who make a living. What makes these people different from their brothers and sisters who operate in a more formal, corporate or production setting in terms of their attitude and output?
Perhaps there is something about our Jamaican context that does not encourage productivity. Perhaps the ways that we have chosen to reward and incentivise labour, and manage labour relations in industry, do not encourage productivity. It is not coincidental that as labour productivity in Jamaica declined, so too did the real wage of workers in Jamaica (it fell by 1.2% between 1973 and 2007).
Basing the success of any enterprise on the inherent goodness and morality of the individual is not as sensible as basing success on sound and robust policies, systems and procedures. So in formal work settings where the worker knows that employers will find it difficult to sanction for lateness, absenteeism and so on, how will overall productivity be affected? What is the incentive for the worker to turn up and show up on any given day?
In private enterprise, when incentive schemes do not exist, and where they do exist on paper, do not in reality incentivise performance, how will this affect productivity?
We all know that the same worker that was repeatedly late for one job here in Jamaica will go overseas and show up on time for not one, but two and sometimes three jobs! The context overseas does not tolerate lateness and the worker knows this and conforms.
The citizens on Winnifred Beach have concluded that they benefit directly from having a clean beach. Patrons enjoying a clean beach environment will hang out there and more than likely buy food and drinks from them. There is an incentive that redounds directly to them if they keep the beach clean.
The Bowden Pen Farmers’ Association has discovered the dignity and independence that comes with owning and controlling the means of their subsistence. Largely independent of the system and the largesse of politicians, these farming folk plan and produce because they have discovered that their prosperity is directly proportional to the effort they put in.
The driving motivation behind Jamaicans generating money overseas, behind the workers on Winnifred Beach and behind the members of the Bowden Pen association is an inherent belief in the value of work, illustrated by the woman pushing the handcart on Christmas Eve.
Perhaps we could change the productivity metrics by changing the Jamaican context to one that leverages our natural propensity for work by incentivising and rewarding labour, while making no excuse for indiscipline. Shifting the paradigm in Jamaica to one which rewards productivity and sanctions indiscipline can happen, but this comes through effective leadership having a vision of what a productive Jamaica actually looks like, modelling the appropriate behaviours, and implementing sound public policy in support of this vision of a new Jamaica.
Kelly McIntosh is operations manager of a major food-export company. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and kkmac218@gmail.com. Follow Kelly’s blog at kellykatharin.blogspot.com.

Principle of Legitimacy and Crime Fighting in Jamaica

PUBLISHED IN THE GLEANER AUG  17 2014
http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20140817/cleisure/cleisure2.html

Kelly McIntosh, Contributor
We have been doing the same thing as it relates to ‘the fight against crime’ and expecting a different result for a few decades now. The latest iteration, the latest variation on the same tired theme, is a rehash of a unit formed in 2012 to ‘fight crime’.
The new MOCA is now a merger of the Jamaica Constabulary Force’s Anti-Corruption Branch and the former Major Organised Crime and Anti-Corruption Task Force. Yawn. We’ve seen this movie before and we know how it ends. Successive administrations have resorted to the time-worn tactic of creating/renaming a ‘special task force’ or creating/renaming a new ‘squad’ when their backs are against the wall for their abject failure to create a safe environment for the citizens of Jamaica.
Let’s go back just a little, shall we. We have had Echo Squad (1976), Ranger Squad (1980), Eradication Squad (1980), Area Four Task Force (1986), Operation Ardent (1992), ACID, shortly renamed SACTF (1993), Operation Justice (1995), Operation Dovetail (1997), Organised Crime Unit (1998), Operation Intrepid (1999), Crime Management Unit (2000), Organised Crime Investigation Division (2003), Operation Kingfish (2004) and Operation Resilience (2013).
At the beginning of 2014, National Security Minister Peter Bunting announced his plans for adding resources to this ‘fight against crime’: more boots on the ground, more vehicles, and new legislation to ‘get the bad guys’. I’m stifling yet another yawn. But try as I might, I cannot continue to merely exist, seeking to protect my psyche from the constant bombardment of warmed-up dishes of yesterday and grand announcements.
Has it not occurred to those tasked with the responsibility of leading us, of protecting us, of serving us that they have failed? That this ‘strategy’ of announcements and task forces and squads has yielded nothing? Have they not stopped to consider that perhaps their philosophical framework needs to be challenged at the very least and most likely discarded?
How successful has this approach of ‘getting tough on crime’ by way of a bigger, better squad/task force been? Look at the murder statistics! In spite of more than one dozen task forces/squads since the 1970s, this little island at the end of 2013 was declared in a UNODC report as having the sixth highest homicide rate in the world.
But let’s go back again, shall we, to track our progress on the road to this dubious honour: 1972: 152 murders, 1980: 899 murders, 1990: 543 murders, 2000: 887 murders, 2010: 1,428 murders, 2013: 1,200 murders. The 2013 murders represented a nine per cent increase over 2012 murders. Yes, the minister has been quick to point out that at the end of 2013, shooting was down by one per cent, rape was down by 16 per cent, and aggravated assault by 14 per cent. Only that persistent, niggling little metric, murders, was up.
Principle of legitimacy
So I return to the need for a new philosophical framework. In his most recent book (David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits and the Art of Battling Giants), Malcolm Gladwell outlines the ‘principle of legitimacy’ and how it applies to effectively dealing with crime and insurgency. He speaks about the three-decade-long unrest in Northern Ireland, despite more and more force being added to quell the situation there. He speaks of the tome Rebellion and Authority by Leites and Wolf (1970), which has served as the template for many governments and administrations, essentially recommending the addition of resources and coming down hard and with evident power and authority against those who dare to flout the so called rule of law. Leites and Wolf’s philosophy served as the template for the terms of engagement of the USA in Vietnam. We know how that worked for them.
The principle of legitimacy may seem counterintuitive at first glance, as its focus is not ‘how can I clamp down’ in the face of rebellion and antisocial activity. Gladwell states that when people in authority want the rest of us to behave, it matters first and foremost how they behave. Jamaica has been seeking to fight crime per the tenets of Leites and Wolf: more resources, more force, and more show of force.
It simply has not worked. It makes sense, therefore, to consider changing the philosophy that guides strategy. This theoretical framework, the principle of legitimacy, holds that desired behaviours will result when three conditions are met. First, the people who are asked to obey authority have to feel like they have a voice. Second, the law has to be predictable; consequences must be the same today, yesterday and forever despite who the lawbreaker is. And last, authority has to be fair – one group cannot be treated differently from another.
Think about your own effort as a parent to instill order in the home: chaos will reign if you punish the same infraction one way today, and ignore it tomorrow. Chaos will reign if you punish Child 1 but turn a blind eye to Child 2 who disobeys. And chaos will certainly reign if the children feel as if they don’t have a voice. The minute you turn your back, they will seek to give vent to any and every desire they have, like watching a forbidden show, or sneaking candy when they know they’re not to, or hiding to go online in spite of your instructions to the contrary.
Brooklyn example
Gladwell goes on to illustrate how using the principle of legitimacy to influence policing strategy in Brownsville, Brooklyn, resulted in a sustained fall in robberies in that town between 2003 and 2006. The police there recognised that they were seen as the enemy and deliberately set out to demonstrate in tangible ways that they were interested in the community (youth programmes, inserting themselves in family life, consistently and fairly applying sanctions) and not merely interested in simply laying down the law. Gladwell summed it up nicely: When the law is applied in the absence of legitimacy, it doesn’t produce obedience. It produces the opposite: backlash.
What have we to lose in considering this philosophical framework in the ‘fight against crime’? Do the Government and police force exhibit legitimacy? Does every Jamaican feel as if they have a voice? Scenes of poor, black people holding placards and blocking roads demanding justice keep looping in my mind – different district, always the same demographic, same plea.
Is the law predictable? Does every spliff smoker fear being arrested and jailed and possibly dying at the end of the day? It seems to me that laws are sometimes used as a tool of selective oppression, an instrument used to capture and condemn subjectively per the whim/agenda of the law enforcers. Are our authorities seen to be fair? Whether or not so-called police death squads really exist, it is a matter of record that extrajudicial killings in Jamaica are alarmingly high. In 2012, 219 Jamaicans were killed by the police, nine more than the 210 killed by the police in 2011. And in 2013, 245 Jamaicans were killed by police.
Police abuse
Think about reported beatings and verbal abuse at the hands of the police, and even death of persons in police custody. Hark back to the case of Agana Barrett in 1992 who died of suffocation in the Constant Spring lock-up after being crammed into a small cell with 16 other men. It took the State 11 years to award his mother $3.5m.
Fast-forward to 2014 where Mario Deane was arrested and taken into custody for possession of a ganja spliff. He died days later as a result of the beating he experienced while in the custody of the police. It took six days after Mario’s death for the personnel on duty to be interdicted. Can our authorities really be deemed legitimate?
I implore our Government and our police force to challenge their current assumptions about what it will take to fight crime in light of past actions and past results and this very compelling principle of legitimacy put forward by Gladwell. For if Mr Gladwell is indeed correct, continuing along the present trajectory of simply a greater show of force in the absence of an engaged citizenry, and fair and predictable law enforcement, will result in only one certain outcome.
Kelly McIntosh is operations manager of a major food-export company. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and kkmac218@gmail.com. Follow Kelly’s blog at kellykatharin.blogspot.com.

Ruth, Friendship and Life

I met Ruth in Grade 8 at St. Hugh’s High School here in Kingston.  She was already part of a group that included my childhood friend, Toni.  Ruth was tall and skinny, with a huge head of curly hair and even bigger glasses.  Ruth made friends easily and was effortlessly bright, excelling, if I remember correctly, at Math and the other science subjects.  Ruth was artistic too, right? (Toni: please correct me if I am wrong) I seem to remember her drawing and painting… This girl was always, always, ALWAYS smiling…smiling and talking. Ruth was a talker JShe always had an opinion, a story or a joke that she shared willingly and easily.
At the end of Grade 11, when most of us from our lunch group went on automatically to 6th form, Ruth decided to go to Austria for a year as part of a student exchange programme. Brave girl! She voluntarily deviated from the prescribed track that we all followed without question (graduate 5th form, on to 6th form, and then right after 6th form, university…right?!) From all accounts Ruth had a stellar year in Europe! She came back having made new friends, having done well in school IN ANOTHER LANGUAGE and with a bag of memories to last a lifetime.
Another thing that was different about Ruth was the fact that she had a boyfriend waaay before any of us! Hell, I never even had my first kiss until after high school! Ruth left school in lower 6th to marry her boyfriend and start their family.  I had the pleasure of being at her wedding. Toni was part of her wedding party if I again remember correctly. Ruth was an active member of her church, and her wedding was a celebration that included a few of us from school, her family and her extended family from church. I remember Mrs. P (Ruth’s mom) and Aunty B (Toni’s mom) fussing around to ensure that the bride was as beautiful as she could be.  Mrs. P treated Ruth’s friends as if they were her own children, and we were always welcome to the Stanton Terrace home.
And life went on.  I lost touch with Ruth but knew when Daughter 1 was born, saw a few pics (what a baby did favour her daddy!) and  I knew when Daughter 2 was born, a replica of her Ma.  Toni kept close to Ruth.  I found out that she migrated.  Years later, when I was a post graduate at UWI Mona, I saw Ruth again when she and Toni came to a fete at the Student’s Union.  Ruth had gained weight in all the right places and was a gorgeous as ever. 
Okay.  So far I’ve recounted mere facts about Ruth as I have remembered them.  It is at this reunion years after school, that I came face to face with the persona of Ruthie that I had, up until now, only had glimpses of.  Here’s the thing: Ruth shared with me (remember she is a talker, right?) some of her experiences as a mother.  She shared about her marriage. She was frank in her accounting, not glossing over stuff, not leaving out stuff…just sharing.  What struck me was her honesty and her humour and the absence of bitterness in her recounting stuff that she had gone through.  And listen: Ruth was not pretending.  That is who she was. You KNOW when someone is fronting or pretending . I know that Ruth was doing none of the above. That’s how she lived her life: never allowing regret or bitterness or anger to hold her down or back. Ruthie joked and laughed and spoke honestly and was constantly moving forward.
So while we went on to university and completed at least one degree before we were 22, Ruthie was being a wife and mom.  Toni can better fill in the chronological order here, but before her transition yesterday, Ruth had completed her first degree, and two post graduate degrees. While raising her daughters and living her life, she moved (again if I remember correctly) to Colorado, back to Boston and finally to Florida. I never knew her to be afraid. I always knew her to be making new friends.  I will forever remember Ruth living with a smile.
I never knew her daughters (I may have met Daughter 1 once when she was little one), but kept up with their progress through Toni Updates and pics on Facebook.  Ruthie did good. They seem to be accomplished, traveled, talented,  gorgeous like dem Mummy, properly educated women.   May God comfort you at this time, Girls. Your Mom was loved and admired and will continue to be loved and admired as long as we live.
Then when Toni told me of Ruth’s diagnosis back in 2011, I was floored.  I asked Toni if she thought it would be ok for me to reach out to Ruth. Ever the Best Friend, Toni consulted with Ruth, and in standard Ruthie fashion, I got the green light.
Ruthie: Toni told me of the latest developments with your health. Sending a whole heap of positive energy your way. You name Ruth…survivor of a whole heap of stuff. We’ll talk I am sure. Love, K.”
Hi Kelly: Yes, it sucks and it is going to suck. But I’ll get thru it just fine, I’m sure of it. Thanks for the positive vibes! Ruth”
Again, Ruth’s modus operandi with respect to how she lived her light was clear: she would fight this thing.  She would fight it with science and with humour. Ruth never paraded her illness around.  She was never a martyr seeking sympathy.  She did what she had to do and lived while doing it.  Ruthie lived for Fridays and for soca (I won’t hold that against her, or Toni or Jackie Wilcott J).
Ruth and Toni doing what they love: Carnival!
Ruth and Jackie doing what they love: more soca!
I saw her once in Jamaica after her diagnosis.  She was the picture of good health: glowing and beautiful, laughing and of course, talking about everything.  Toni opened her house to a couple of us one night and we finished a few bottles of wine and filled our bellies with food and laughter.
There was one particular Facebook post back in May of this year that forced me to confront the fact that Ruth was really sick.  She posted: “Thank God for pain medication”.  I had just finished my morning workout and meditation and was checking my various social media updates J and was floored when I saw it. I remember waking up H and saying: “Ruth is sick and she’s in pain.” I cried. I prayed. I loved her for her courage and for her uncomplaining soul! Even in the middle of her pain, her acknowledgement of her pain was a actually a prayer of thanksgiving. I inboxed her once I had composed myself and she replied with her usual forthrightness and humour.
How you do? The pain must be hot, don’t… Wish I could take it all away, Ruthie. you’re in my thoughts and prayers. You are a champion. Love you!”
Thanks Kelly! Yes, last night was certainly rough. I had to triple up on meds to get it to stop. It did hat mi sah! Woiiii…and to add to it this morning one of my big toe’s nail came completely off, another wonderful side effeck…..cho……..thanks for the prayers…..I am hanging in there jokified and with positive thoughts!”
Love you, Girlie
Love you too! Nuff hugs!
That was May 30. I never spoke with Ruth again.
Toni told me when the meds stopped working a few weeks ago. Toni then told me that things had taken a turn for the worst. She flew up to be with her Bestie. Toni kept me posted though the difficult last days. Toni did what many of wished we could do and was with our friend when she transitioned. Thank you, Miss T for your love and courage. I know it has been difficult for you. May God Bless you.
Forever Friends.
Ruth made her peace with God and was with her friends, daughters, mother and sister Fern as the Lord freed her from her pain. In attempting to cope with Ruth’s passing, a friend of mine encouraged me to look at it as a transition of her soul. She is not dead.  She is no longer here with us, and that makes us sad.  We miss her. But she has transitioned to eternity and lives on in heaven.
Toni summed it up best with this final post on Facebook:
                                                             “Fly my Friend. Soar!”
Pics Courtesy of Toni and Jackie 

Skin Hunger

He had the most perfect falsetto she had ever heard… a distinctive combination of power and pure melody that sat comfortably in the upper register.  His delivery of “Stay with me” was moving, plaintive, dignified, raw, human.  She listened to it on and off over a period of about 3 weeks, loving it more with every rotation. But yesterday she just couldn’t get enough of it.  And this morning she woke up singing it. It’s like that sometimes.  She would get up with that song on her mind, and find herself singing it in the shower as she readied herself for the day ahead; her “soundtrack for today” is how she referred to these feelings set to music.
This Sunday morning her daughter had school business to attend to, so chauffeur duties dominated her list of things to do on what should have been a lazy Sunday in bed. She cranked up Sam’s plea as she backed out of the garage.
Guess it’s true, I’m not good at a one-night stand
But I still need love ’cause I’m just a man
These nights never seem to go to plan
I don’t want you to leave, will you hold my hand?

Oh, won’t you stay with me?
‘Cause you’re all I need
This ain’t love, it’s clear to see
But darling, stay with me

Why am I so emotional?
No, it’s not a good look, gain some self-control
And deep down I know this never works
But you can lay with me so it doesn’t hurt


“Well you’re loving that song” her daughter commented dryly.
There’s something about it that keeps tugging at me. It’s such a human, painful, honest confession… He’s obviously hurting and willing to compromise by having a superficial sexual encounter just to keep the pain at bay even for a minute. That’s a rough place to be in. I hope never to find myself there”
“Well you’re married, so that doesn’t apply to you, Mom.”
Married people get lonely too, Hon.”
She looked sideways at her mother.
Remember when our marriage started breaking down? It was a very lonely place… There was so much tension between Daddy and I. There was a huge ocean of resentment, hurt, anger, pain. Even the simplest of exchanges was difficult, tedious and loaded with double meanings and things left unsaid.”
She kept talking as the memories flowed, unbidden, as if they needed to be given a voice to set them free.
Skin hunger.  That’s what Sam was talking about in that song. Have you ever heard of skin hunger? That’s the basic human need to touch and be touched.  Premature babies have a significantly higher survival rate when they are allowed to rest on their parents’ bare skin. Sam wanted to feel physical contact with another human being. He needed it.”
She inhaled deeply… she couldn’t stop now.  She pressed on.
During that incredibly rough period, I had to go to the doctor.  He was on the phone when he motioned me in and told me to have a seat.  I was in no rush.  I smiled at him and sat down.  He mouthed an apology and indicated that he was wrapping up.  It was apparent that the person on the other end was in no hurry to let Doc go. He mouthed another apology as I sat there just enjoying a moment of having to do absolutely nothing.  I waved him off with a smile: take your time, Sir.  He seemed to be offering reassurance and after a few more minutes, he simply reached out and rubbed my ankle in yet another attempt to make amends for not attending to me sooner. That simple gesture startled me out of my skin. In that moment I realized that it had been so, so long since I had felt the simple touch of another human being in a kind context. I wasn’t hugging you or your brother apparently… probably too engrossed in my own confusing and painful fog. My mother wasn’t nearby. And whatever energy I had was one hundred percent allocated to my duties to you guys and my job, trying to control the things that I could actually control.  As he rubbed my ankle, the tears came. I literally had to pinch my palm to stop the flow and gain some control. I shifted in my seat, coughed, wiped my eyes all in an effort to hide my reaction and re-center. He eventually ended his call, and we went on to deal with the real reason I had come to see him that day.”
“Awwww, and you’re crying now, Mom.  Why?”
Sweetie, I don’t even know. You know that things are much better with Daddy and I now. But that was such a low, low period in my life.  The memory of how horrible a time it was is obviously still there, and I’m having some strong residual feelings. I don’t fully understand why I’m moved to tears. Perhaps I needed to simply exorcise them by giving them voice and wings.”

My mother would likely be appalled at this discussion!  How can you share these things with an 18 year old?” She countered her own self: “My daughter’s smart enough to understand. This is life and she needs to know that if and when she has a similar experience, that there’s nothing wrong with her. And that her own mother, who always seems so capable and omnipotent, went through and came out on the other side. She need never feel less than because of her own humanity.”

She wiped her eyes and selected the song again.  She cranked the volume with an apology to her daughter and sang along with Sam. With empathy. Loudly.