The #ArticulateMinority: alive and kicking. Ignore us at your peril.

He dismissed them as the #articulateminority. He said the “average Jamaican” wasn’t interested in the things that seemed to consume those Jamaicans who agitated from the relative comfort of their keyboards and touchpads. He sought to divide us into middle class, educated keyboard warriors versus the masses that accepted t-shirts, curry goat and hot Guinness. He sought to dismiss us. That FORMER minister of government betrayed his ignorance of a changing world and lived to eat his words on Thursday February 25 2016.

On Thursday February 25 2016, the lowest voter turnout in Jamaican history booted the PNP from government. There was a 3 week period of campaigning, a period where we the electorate were denied the opportunity to hear and interrogate (albeit through our surrogates, the journalists) the plans of those seeking to serve through leadership. A 3 week period of campaigning that saw the ruling party offer up every excuse in the book NOT to debate: “How did he get that big house?” ” He called me a con-artist” I kid you not. Issues of national import, like waste management, environmental conservation, primary and early childhood education, security and health care took a back seat. Sigh.

The usual trappings of mass rallies, on-stage antics, hot, empty rhetoric all to the background music of those god-awful vuvuzelas were never in short supply. According to the pollsters, it was going to be a close race.

Righteous indignation raged on Twitter and on Facebook. “How dare they…” was the common sentiment echoed in cyberspace. I observed Comrades and members of the Showa posse arguing their points of view with vigour during this 3 week period. I saw fence sitters literally make up their minds up to the night before election day. I saw the pictures of purple inked fingers on election day. And I KNEW that the so called #articulateminority could no longer be dismissed. It appeared to me that they…WE…were shaping opinions, were framing the dialogue and we were determining what was important. The Articulate Minority was angry. We were angry at what was being dished up to us. We wanted to plumb issues that were important to us. We believed that our leaders were answerable to us (gasp!) We wanted to see our leaders and would be leaders defend their positions and answer for actions past. And when we were denied, we weren’t happy. At all.

I am eagerly anticipating the elector analysis that will be published in a few weeks as promised by the Electoral Office of Jamaica. I could be wrong, but I think that the record low voter turn out would have been worse had it not been for the youth vote and the #articulateminority. I think that naturally larger base of PNP supporters, unable to vote for the PNP in the face of their display of arrogance, opted to stay home, as they would rather die than vote for the JLP. My assumptions only. We’ll see once the data is published.

The defeat of the PNP in this particular election signals a change that will forever shift the paradigm that defines politicking in Jamaica. And it’s for the better methinks. It is a little harder to bamboozle the electorate, Guys. We have information. We spread information. WE determine what is important. WE tell you what we want to discuss. IGNORE US AT YOUR PERIL!

My own 20 year old daughter voted for the first time, and so did many of her friends. I scrolled her Twitter timeline with keen interest and many “Ohhhhhhs” realising that our very own millennials had strong views about the PNP, JLP and voting.

“This government was too arrogant to get my vote. Dem essentially screw di country…and pat demself pon di back fi it…”

I’m uncomfortable with the moniker “Articulate Minority”. I feel as if it reduces us to a temporary, insignificant, curious looking and sounding bunch. It has served as a rallying cry. A few of us gathered to protest during the Outameni Scandal, the genesis of our Christening by the Honourable Former Minister. I recoil every time someone sums us up as such. I much rather prefer #JamaicaTwitter or the more succinct #Twitta.

The #ArticulateMinority is birthed.

Let me be honest: I’m scared about the JLP tax plan. I stand to take home less money per month than I currently do if they implement the plan in its current iteration per the 10 Point Plan. But I’m also scared about the PNP’s continued emphasis on fiscal austerity to the exclusion of growth…won’t everything grind to a halt if all that is done is to extract more and more taxes? And where will that leave us? Passing successive IMF tests allows us to 1) assure the IMF that we’ll be able to repay them and 2) qualify for more loans. I want more than that. I want to flourish.

The morning after the Election, my almost 13yr old son who had stayed up until the end to see who was declared winner (Sure you can stay up, Son…this is history! It happens every 4 years…you can sleep on Friday night) responded to my fears about the JLP plan and my concern about economic growth: “Mummy: if the JLP gets Governance right, and reduces political corruption, then we’ll have growth. Nothing is more important than good governance.”

You hear that, Andrew Holness and the JLP and our Opposition PNP? Nothing is more important than good governance. We’re here to stay. You can’t take our voice. Listen up.

“A Mother’s Reckoning” by Sue Klebold, mother of Columbine killer.

I knew I had to read it. I favourited the NY Times tweet with the intention of getting into it when I had time to click on the link: “Readers respond to “A Mother’s Reckoning,” the memoir by Sue Klebold, mother of Columbine killer Dylan Klebold http://nyti.ms/21bYr0z “ 

It had happened in 1999, the most horrific school shooting in the USA in history. I remember watching the horror story unfold on CNN. It was easy to try to make sense of the unimaginable tragedy with the “mentally ill white boy raised by naive idiot parents who didn’t do their job” dismissal that I was going to use again and again to explain the all too frequent occurrences of mass shootings in the USA. 

But here was a well written and reasoned review of a memoir penned by the mother of one of the teen-aged killers, a boy who took his own life too and I was intrigued. I suspended judgement long enough to be curious about her own processing of the events that took place and the role of her offspring in them, and by extension, therefore,  her own role in the tragedy.

I bought her book.


And last night, waking up drenched in sweat (that’s happening more and more frequently these days…did somebody say perimenopause?) I quietly exited our bedroom and took up residence on the couch with the book. I am only a third of the way through, and maybe I’ll do a full review when I finish the book. But I’m compelled to share my thoughts at this stage:

Sue Klebold is extremely articulate. This may seem like a trite observation to do with the horror story that she’s writing about. But it is important. Her use of language and choice of words leave you with no questions as to what she’s trying to say. It allows for the reader to enter her space and mind and form their own conclusions. She’s not looking for absolution. She’s not looking to unburden herself. She’s not trying to protect her son. She is simply adding extremely valuable data to a conversation that is mandatory in today’s society. 

We do the best we can as parents. Sure there are horrid parents:abusive, substance abusers, mentally ill persons incapable of nurturing the ones in their care, etc. etc. But most of us try to do the best we can with our children, hoping and praying that they turn out healthy, happy and fulfilled. Listen, we don’t get a manual with each child. And we act and react with filters brought about by our own experiences, dreams and fears. It’s all we can do. And for most of us, our imperfect actions come from a place of perfect motive, that of love for our children. And yet in Sue Klebold’s case, what she got was a son who took lives and dreams, and shattered families including his/her own. Why? Why? Why?

Love: it keeps us going. In the weeks and months following the shooting at Columbine, as Sue Klebold tried to understand, to mourn, grappling with grief and guilt, as she navigated her forever altered existence through the fog and haze of a mind and soul trying desperately to cope, close friends and family supported her with love, practical love. They reminded the Klebolds that they were loved. They cooked for them. They shielded them from the understandable hate directed in full force towards them. They helped them screen calls. They took them into their houses. They helped her mourn the son she lost. They attended without judgement as she faced the inevitable guilt she felt. 

I found myself crying, having to put down the book at least 3 times to sort out my own reactions to what I was reading and to wipe my eyes so I could go on. I wept with regret for the mistakes I have made as a parent. I wept hoping and praying that God Himself would compensate for my own human weaknesses and mistakes that I made in tending to the blessings and gifts he had bestowed upon me in the form of my children. I prayed for wisdom. I wept with the complete understanding of what True Love is, myself having been buttressed from below, above and around at a very difficult time in my life by love devoid of judgement. Without love my own story could have had a very different ending.

And so I read on, intrigued by her own story. It is a tough story to tell and I am glad that she has done it.

A picture says a thousand words on behalf of the photographer and the viewer too.

There’s an estimate that gives the number of photographs taken in 2015 as 1 trillion. 1 trillion! Instagram, SnapChat, Facebook and Twitter allow us to say a thousand words with one picture. And we do. We snap our food, that weird person in front of us in the line at the supermarket, that beautiful sunset on our way home from work, our toddler caught in the act on being cute and so on and so forth.

Six photographers each had separate sessions with the same man, and the outcome was different in each case. Each photographer was given a different bio about the subject and the result was different in each case. The subject dressed the same for every photo session, but the photographer who was told that he was a recovering alcoholic captured him differently from the one who was told that he was a billionaire. Fascinating stuff!
So what’s more important: the point of view of the photographer or the point of view of the person looking at the photograph? As the article referenced above posits, images are indeed captured in a way that betrays or illustrates the photographer’s own biases and preferences. I photograph my own food all the time. I do it when I think I’ve prepared it well, or when I’ve prepared something new and I capture it this way so I can share it (because you care!) and look back at it and enjoy it all over again. Food is in my top 3 favourite things in the world. Without apology.
I capture family moments when we’re out and about for much the same reasons stated above. It’s fun to look back and remember that perfect day at the beach, or when we huffed and puffed up that mountain trail. Children change so quickly and looking back only fuels feelings of wonderment and gratitude.
Confession: I like to photograph random people too. I’d like to do it more often, but I’m scared to do it. I wonder about their stories. I make assumptions about them. I want to know what they think. And from time to time I wish I was brave enough more often to ask strangers for their permission to photograph them. On those occasions when I simply took the bull by the horns and was straightforward with a potential subject, politely requesting permission to take their picture I was indulged. I’d like to do more of these types of photographs.
My daughter photographs differently. Her images, to me, tend to be more artistic and she has, in my opinion, a natural eye for composition and focal points. Look at how we both captured Christmas dinner:
Kelly’s pic: I wanted to showcase my food
Rachael’s pic: She wanted perhaps to capture a vibe
Only she can articulate why she captures what she does the way she does. But when I started trying to identify my favourite photographs of hers, I quickly identified a recurring theme in my own head. What do the following photos communicate to you? Do you like them? Why?
  
“Anything is possible” is what these photographs communicate to me. I worry. A lot. Not sure if it is as a result of how I make my living as a worker in logistics and supply management where we constantly have to evaluate risk and form contingency plans, or if I ended up in this field because of my natural propensity to think of the worst possible outcomes. But even while I contemplate the worst that could happen, I consider myself the eternal optimist, always looking forward, anticipating better days. Looking up in spite of decaying walls closing in…doorways leading into new rooms, movement away from and into…verdant life around the still standing, though decaying structure.
NOTE: Rachael and I aren’t trained photographers. But with technology the way it is, we can express ourselves and capture images important to us and images we think you’d like to share, in the way we want to share it, with our own biases and filters (pun intended). Ain’t life grand 🙂
A picture is still worth a thousand words.

Kiting in Jamaica…A Shi++y Experience.

He called me before 7am, voice thick with distress.
“Kelly: I really didn’t go to business school to deal with this.”

“What’s the matter, my Friend?”
“Kelly. Kelly. Kelly…” And he related this tale of woe to me.  But before the tale of woe, some background and context for you, Gentle Reader.
My Friend is the distribution manager at the main distribution center of a large retail organisation in Jamaica. He has many,many years operations experience under his belt and is the holder of an MBA from a prestigious business school.
The organisation that he works for just invested a significant sum of money, literally millions of US dollars, upgrading their warehousing & distribution capacity and capabilities. The project provided employment for scores of Jamaicans in the inner city community of Kingston where the new distribution center (DC) is located.
My Friend complained. He was the voice of defeat tinged with disgust:
“Kelly. Kelly. Kelly. Dem a fling shit over the wall into the DC.”

Residents of the community adjoining the DC had resumed the practice of “kiting”. Nope. Quickly dispel those images of wide open spaces, breezy days and colourful kites being danced and flown by carefree children laughing gaily.
No.

“Kiting” is the practice of defecating into a black plastic bag (we call it “black scandal bag” here on the Rock), knotting the bag and slinging said bag with its contents away. “Away” means anywhere outside of the slinger’s immediate vicinity: a gully, an open field, or over a wall into a spanking new DC. I was not unfamiliar with this Jamaican urban phenomenon. I knew it by other names though: “helicopter” and “parachute”, the aforementioned used as verbs. “The squatter dem on the gully-bank nuh have nuh water. Dem haffi helicopter (or parachute) more time.”
See a “kite” on the ground there…Careful now!
My Friend had to endure patiently the complaints of the DC’s groundsman: 
“Mi nuh really come ya fi pick up shit yuh know, Sar.”

My Friend was squarely put in his place when he called the local police hoping for intervention and assistance: 
“Look. We not getting involved in that. Yuh haffi see if yuh can find somebody ova deh fi call and get dem fi sort out dat situation fi yuh. Wi ah tell yuh up front: wi nah deal wid dat.”
And so, My Friend, MBA notwithstanding, had to engage the Special Community Member given the “contract” for “bushing the yard” and seek help from him. The Special Community Member gave My Friend a name and a number: “Call him. Him ah di don fi di area. Him wi fix it fi yuh.”
Don: Noun. Community Leader who enforces the local code of conduct and rule of law. Exists in so-called inner-city communities characterised by high unemployement and poverty.
In speaking with the don, My Friend reminded him that the organisation had dug three pit latrines for the community as part of the project (see how operational costs balloon in a context of utter depravity?) and that he was kindly and humbly beseeching him to intervene and get the community members to use said pits and to desist from kiting going forward.
I knew that the DC owner (a man well known for being a neat freak) was scheduled to visit, and even as I commiserated with My Friend, I rolled in laughter, tears streaming down my face as I conjured up a scenario where Fastidious Owner Man saw one of these “kites” on the ground and kicked it in disgust only to have his foot rupture the “kite” and sink into the soft squishiness of its contents…
I was the only one laughing. Understandably.
I wondered aloud how “kiting” impacted the “Ease of Doing Business in Jamaica” index…I started rolling again. Alone. Again, understandably so. A clear case of “He who feels it (smells it, sees it) knows it.”
So here we are in 2016 Jamaica:
  • People shitting in bags.
  • Bags filled with shit being flung into the middle of a commercial operation.
  • Commercial operations being saddled with costs that other more civilized jurisdictions don’t have to contend with. So much for competitiveness.
  • The police, whose stated job is to “Serve, Protect and Reassure” doing none of the above. Weh law and order a go? Oh shit.
  • A commercial operation forced to do business with a community don.

And guess whose constituency all of this is happening in…

#JamaicaNice

Coming Clean on Toxic Thoughts…

“Have you ever found yourself in a less than desirable situation… say… a difficult marriage, a horrible job or been betrayed by a friend, relative or lover? Have you ever been wrongfully accused? 

If you’ve answered “yes” to any of the above, then you probably had “Toxic Thoughts”… you know those thoughts that are rooted in resentment and take on a life of their own as you plot revenge and conjure up scenarios where you triumph over the enemy.


So how did you deal with these Toxic Thoughts? How do you deal with them?”


I got many thoughtful responses to this post I did on my Facebook wall. So many of my friends contributed and participated with such honesty and humanity sharing from their personal journey. People who don’t know each other, whose only connection on my wall is that they know me, supported and cheered on each other. I was sent several inbox messages with those stories too personal to share on a Facebook wall. Some inbox messages were sincere words of encouragement and hope and “Go, Kelly! You can do this!” even though I didn’t confess to actually struggling with Toxic Thoughts in my FB status update. I am grateful. 

You all inspired me to try and pull your collective thoughts and input and experiences together into a playbook of sorts for dealing with Toxic Thoughts. So here goes…

Everyone has Toxic Thoughts at one time or another…
My most mild mannered, easy-going of friends confessed to having these feelings and thoughts. You are not alone.

Acknowledge Them
Face these thoughts. Articulate them. Don’t let them swirl in a murky, ill-defined mass in your mind and soul. 

Then Challenge Them
Sometimes you are simply the victim in the situation through no fault of your own.
Sometimes you are culpable in the whole mess.
Doesn’t really matter in the final analysis though. The net result is a miserable, hurting YOU, weighed down by these Toxic Thoughts that make you physically ill and show on your face.

Decide what you want
Some people hold on to anger and bitterness and use it as motivation.
But I’ve found righteous indignation to be tiring. Guilt is debilitating. The most desirable end state for me is one where I am free, happy and in a place to both receive and give goodness. 
So you don’t want to be constantly ruminating on your victim-hood, or plotting revenge… You want to freely celebrate someone else’s triumphs…You want energy that makes everything you do joyful and purposeful… You want the lines on your face to be from laughing too much, and not evidence of the constant internal grimacing that accompanies your Toxic Thoughts…
Good. Getting there…

Take Action!
Toxic thoughts apparently don’t simply expire over time. They have to be replaced. And replacing them requires some deliberate decisions then actions 

Some Practical Suggestions from my Friends:

  • Allow a set amount of time for rumination then clap your hands 3 times (ok the clapping is my idea!) and then decide enough!
  • Replace the ruminations with other thoughts: 

  1. Acknowledging what is good in your life
  2. Praying to God
  3. Giving thanks to God

  • Positive mantras like Bible verses that promise better days and healing and provision create new focal points and serve a pivots around which your entire outlook and attitude can shift
  • Accept what you cannot control
  • Do the things that make you fell better: Music or Walking or Dancing or Going to the beach  
  • Removing yourself from the situation (several people recommended this!)
  • Seek counselling from trained professionals or wise people who mean you well.
  • DO the opposite of how you are feeling. Feeling lonely? Call someone. Feeling like no one cares? Give someone a gift? Bemoaning how alone in the world you are? Invite friends over.
And remember this…

My wise cousin who knows a thing or two about how peoples minds work, reminded me that letting go and replacing Toxic Thoughts is often times not a one-off event, but rather a process. If you’re headed in the direction of Freedom, then you’re doing good…

“In my personal journey, I have discovered that sometimes forgiveness and letting go is not a one time thing. I don’t know why I always thought it was that way or that it had to be that way. Perhaps it should be that way. However, letting go in increments is still a victory. It’s still letting go. And by this I mean, I often work with people who believe all is lost when we worked through a problem LAST week but this week it popped back up causing distress. This doesn’t mean that it’s all over. It just means that gently and carefully we stitch up the heart again and go about our business. This is life. It’s not perfect. But in the end, that’s okay.”

And so, before I set off to work yesterday, I decided up front not to focus on everything that was not as I wanted it to be. And then as I rounded the corner, I saw this, and I knew that it was a gift to me… a reminder that life is more than I can see at a particular point in time. It was perfect. And it was splendid. And in that moment I gave thanks.
Sunrise over Kingston Harbour….

And nothing changed, you know…except me. I listened as people made their presentations. I heard the half-truths and the selective exaggerations. And as I listened and observed, the less than savory things about certain people still came to mind. But this time I acknowledged them even as I declined to pass judgement. 

One of my friends shared this on  my wall in response to my question on Toxic Thoughts. Think on these things…

From Nelson Mandela’s “Long Walk to Freedom”: In the Foreword written by former US President Bill Clinton, he notes: “I once asked Mandela to describe his long walk from prison to president. Mandela’s reply was: “When you are young and strong, you can stay alive on your hatred. And I did for many years.” Then one day after years of imprisonment, physical, and emotional abuse, and separation from his family, Mandela said, “I realized that they could take everything from me except my mind and my heart. They could not take those things. Those things I still had control over. And I decided not to give them away.” 

President Clinton, like any rational person, could not readily wrap his mind around what Mandela was saying, and so he pressed for more: “Tell me the truth,” he said to Mandela, “when you were leaving prison after 27 years and walking down that road to freedom, didn’t you hate them all over again?” and Mandela replied, “Absolutely I did, because they had imprisoned me for so long. I was abused. I didn’t get to see my children grow up. I lost my marriage and the best years of my life. I was angry. And I was afraid, because I had not been free in so long. But as I got closer to the car that would take me away, I realized that when I went through that gate, if I still hated them, they would still have me. I wanted to be free. And so I let it go.”



You can either focus on the walls around you or you can simply look up and see the endless possibilities…your choice. Photo Credit: Rachael McIntosh







Sail into Tomorrow…

“Sail Into Tomorrow” by Olivia Newton-John

If a ship of dreams bid me come, would I board it?
If I had their gold in my hands, would I hoard it?
If I knew the trials I must face, would I carry on at all?

Sail into tomorrow, living day to day
That’s all I can afford to do and all I’ll ever pay
Is a song to sing to thank you for making me alive
And a prayer to bring me comfort – Lord help us to survive

If his pretty eyes shone my way, would I leave you?
If I wasn’t sure he would stay, would I deceive you?
If I had to melt you with promises, would they stand or fall?

Sail into tomorrow, living day to day
That’s all I can afford to do and all I’ll ever pay
Is a song to sing to thank you for making me alive
And a prayer to bring you comfort – Lord help us to survive

If time should call me a fool, would I laugh or would I care?
Sail into tomorrow, living day to day
That’s all I can afford to do and all I’ll ever pay
Is a song to sing to thank you for making me alive
And a prayer to bring you comfort – Lord help us to survive
I fell in love with this song as a little girl. It was one of the cuts from Olivia Newton John’s album “Clearly Love” (1975). There was just something very haunting and wistful about this song…the words, the melody, Olivia’s pitch perfect voice… to my then 8 year old mind and soul.
Fast forward to Boxing Night 2015. I was in the shower getting ready to go watch The Force Awakens and out of the blue I found myself humming this song! I had not heard it in decades. 
I startled my own self. Wrapped in my towel, dripping wet perched on the edge of the bed, I snatched up my phone and searched for the lyrics. I just knew there was a message in there for me. And sho ’nuff, there was. The central theme resonated with me in a very real, a very strong, a very organic way: moving forward, in the face of uncertainty, taking it one day at a time, with faith, relying on Someone bigger than me. Here’s the thing…
Each new year has always represented for me, an opportunity to take stock, celebrate wins small and big, and anticipate the future. I’ve had difficult years. I’ve had great years. And I’ve also had non-eventful years. But on the eve of every new year, I pause and try to map out in my head and heart, always hopeful, the New Year coming. It has been no different this time around.
Many people pooh-pooh the notion of New Year Resolutions. No problem. I make no prescription for anyone here. This is simply my own story, my own heart.
  
I had hoped to end 2015 with a very clear picture of the trajectory of my professional life in particular. I thought that at this stage in 2015 I would have had at the very least, sharply defined options all in a neat and tidy row. Not so at all. It’s fuzzy. 2015 went by in a blur and here I am at the edge of what appears at this time to be a new year that looks burdensome and wearying based on  my current reality. 
While not one of those keen and avid goal setters (and nothing wrong with being one of those!), I must confess that I prefer to have in hand, timetables, plans, road-maps and context in order to feel settled and to provide direction. In order to be in control. There… I said it. So coming to the end of 2015 without any of the above in hand I was feeling a little out of my comfort zone and a little sad that the status quo seemed set to remain. 
But here’s the thing, events in my 47 years of life have taught me to chill: I don’t know everything. I can’t see around corners. There are so many things outside of my control. And He is able to do “exceedingly abundantly above anything that I can ask or think”.  My life lessons had brought me to a place where I was not as depressed or worried as I might have been say 10 or 15 years ago. I acknowledged the following to myself:
1. Even though I’d love to know, I don’t know what the future holds…
2. And I’m fine with that, as I know with certainty, that there is no randomness in my life. 
3. And I yield to that Higher Plan, all the while following the promptings within to prepare and to       get ready to switch course if necessary
And so I think that this song popping into my head from nowhere on Boxing Day was a gentle sign of reassurance that I was right where I was supposed to be at this time: uncertain, yet trusting. Moving forward, even though down the road is nothing but a hazy blur at this time. #grateful 
“Sail into tomorrow, living day to day

That’s all I can afford to do and all I’ll ever pay

Is a song to sing to thank you for making me alive

And a prayer to bring you comfort – Lord help us to survive.”


Beach Apartheid In Jamaica A Polarising Force

Letter of the Day published in The Daily Gleaner, Friday December 4
THE EDITOR, Sir:
I just returned from Grenada, where I spent a wonderful week.
As I sat on their premier beach, Grande Anse, I couldn’t help but compare and contrast Grenada’s approach to beach management and what I see happening here in Jamaica.
Grande Anse Beach, Grenada
The best beaches in Jamaica are open to all – but at a price.
Doctor’s Cave, Frenchman’s Cove, and Bamboo Beach Club are some of our most beautiful beaches that allow you entry once you pay anywhere between J$600 and J$800 per person. Work that out for a family of four.
Having paid that, you are not allowed to carry your own beach chair or picnic.
On beautiful Grand Anse, you pay no admission fee. You can carry your chair. Or you can rent from people who have chairs for rent. Some carry their chair, but the chair-rental man still makes a living from those who opt not to carry their own chair.
You can carry your picnic, or you can buy food from vendors outside the beach or from the one restaurant actually located on the beach.
There is free Wi-Fi along the length of the beach.
Garbage bins were strategically placed and managed, and all locals and tourists used them. The beach was clean. Tourists and locals freely intermingled, giving visitors the authentic Grenadian experience. Note, too, that there are hotels located along the stretch of beach called Grande Anse and the visitors use the same beach that non-visitors use.
Beach police patrol the stretch. There is very little hawking of wares on the beach. There is no loud, intrusive music.
If you need to use a restroom, there are facilities run by the State that you can use once you pay a small fee to the attendant on duty.
Here in Jamaica, it feels as if we deliberately set out to create a polarised society and a context where select people get to enrich themselves at the expense of others. We can all coexist. Look at Grande Anse!
KELLY MCINTOSH

Road Trip to Paradise Neglected: Parottee, Jamaica

We both needed it. Life gets stressful. So off to Parottee, St. Elizabeth we went.

Evidence of recent rains was a welcome sight as we headed west along the south coast. Clarendon which was parched just a few weeks ago showed signs of new life in the now green bush and the barely there trickle in the river. We made our way through Porus and climbed the hill into cool, evergreen Mandeville. A quick stop for ice at the top of Spur Tree ensured that we would be in business when we arrived at our final destination. Driving through Jamaica is one of the pleasures we still enjoy.

Three and a half hours after starting out (yes..we drive slowly) we were there: Parottee. Parottee is a small fishing village just beyond Black River. It has a West End, Negril vibe: chill, organic and very laid back. It’s laid out along a straight road running along the coast. The beach is not white sand though…it brownish, silty stuff that renders the sea itself kind of cloudy, and it does take some getting used to.

Road Trip Jamaica details: Overnight Stop at Idler’s Rest

H had made arrangements for us to overnight at one of several guest houses that exist in Parotee: Idler’s Rest.  Reviews on Trip Advisor warned us, but we go where angels fear to tread! “Strength…no weakness!”

Well…first warning: the parking lot was empty save for a lone pickup with a man and someone who was obviously his apprentice. H called it: “Lord…that looks like the plumber!” I remarked that we already have plenty of practice with buckets, so let’s rock and roll. As it turned out, it was the plumber. And yes, we had water issues. But I digress…

The hotel was obviously planned and decorated by an artist…the little touches and accent pieces are evidence enough. But it has an abandoned feel to it. I swear that we were the only ones there.

 

Idlers Rest boutique hotel in Parotee Jamaica
Idlers Rest in Parotee Jamaica

 

Basic room…very basic…

When a Jamaica Road Trip Involves a Boat Ride!

H had arranged a little adventure for us. YASSS! A fishing boat, arranged through the hotel, pulled right up on the shore. A well dressed, pleasant Huggie helped us into the pretty little fishing boat, equipped with a 60HP engine (a single outboard engine…yikes!) and off we went. We were headed for the famous Floyd’s Pelican Bar…a rugged construction in the middle of the ocean where one can go to drink, eat and soak up a very special vibe.

 

Huggie and his vessel. See the colour of the sand?

Along the way….

We moved along parallel to the coast before turning right to get to our final destination which was a mile offshore.

Captain Huggie at the controls!
Abandoned hotel in Parotee being claimed by the sea.
Pelicans?
Niceness galore



Approaching final destination 20 minutes later…

Totally unexpected!

 

Almost there…
Road Trip Jamaica Pelican Bar
Pelican Bar Jamaica

 

Final destination: Pelican Bar!

We ate…

 

Jamaica keto food Lobster stew at Pelican Bar Jamaica
Lobster stew at Pelican Bar Jamaica

Lobster stew…cabbage was plentiful in St. Elizabeth and so they used it! He confirmed that he was going to add coconut milk to the final product…I had to ask…

The Jacks were running, so that’s what was served….along with the freshest bammies ever.
Idlers at rest




We met…

Beautiful face of Parottee…

 

Young Serbian come to Jamaica as a fitness instructor. He carried his chicken & rice n peas to Pelican 🙂
No question as to where we were…

 

The rain came down and we all huddled under the thatched portions, warmed by the typical Jamaican libations on offer.

H and Floyd. This is all Floyd’s vision.
After the rain…

Jamaica Road Trip: Scenes from Parottee…

Someone’s thinking green in Parottee….

 

Signs of neglect and decay and dead dreams…
Wetlands in Parottee

 

Wetlands in Paraottee…

Parottee could easily be another Treasure Beach…there’s enough to go around. Of course massive investments would be needed in order to move from neglect to prosperity. And for investments to flow, a master developmental plan is needed: think music festivals, community tourism, literary festivals, sporting events, regattas, and so on. Treasure Beach is a short drive away and there’s enough to see in the parish of St. Elizabeth to keep visitors engaged and interested: Black River tours, Lovers Leap, day excursions to Negril, immersion in the life of the locals on the fishing beach. The plan would have to include training, beautifying the community and ensuring security. All very doable. All urgently needed.

The poverty in Parottee is real and palpable. You can see the shifts in relative wealth as you transition from Black River (bustling town with shops, markets, etc.) to Parottee (struggling fishing village..small, mean residences, abandoned hotels, bush…) to Treasure Beach (quaint, rustic, organised artists haven)

We’ll be back… promise….

 

From The Heart of a Champion to Good Governance: Making the Connection.

Jamaica is still basking in the after-glow of extra-ordinary performances of our athletes at the recently held World Championships. “How can we as a nation benefit from the success of our athletes?” is probably one of the most asked questions around town.  “How can we leverage Brand Jamaica?” they ask. 
Courtesy Jamaica Olympics
I practically fell off my couch (along with the rest of Jamaica I am sure) as I saw Usain Bolt stumble in his 100m semi-final race. I had tweeted just minutes before the race that it is impossible to correct any error over 100m, in ten seconds or less. Usain proved me wrong. He corrected his error, won that race and did it in under 10 seconds. Two hours later he went on to win the final race. That victory is attributable to more than physical ability. Usain Bolt demonstrated that he had what we refer to in Jamaica as a “Lion Heart”.
Novlene Williams-Mills, a track veteran over 400m and cancer survivor (VICTOR!), ran the leg of lifetime to inspire the world and set a new meet record. When you understand what cancer and its treatment does to your body, you realise that Novlene too opened up her “Lion Heart” and got the job done.
Much has been made about the sacrifices, financial and otherwise of Jamaica’s track athletes. A nation along with the rest of the world has watched with bated breath, hearts full of hope, lungs bursting along with the athletes as they have over and over again exploded across the finish line, sometimes against all odds.
By their own admission, many of our champions have attributed their success to the fact that they are Jamaican. They have cited their desire to make Jamaica proud and have spoken about their strong desire for victory and their relentless pursuit of it as an extension of them being Jamaican. Somehow, it seems, there is something about this Jamaican-ness that allows the Jamaican track athlete to pursue, with confidence, the top prize. It goes beyond the system that has at its core the ISSA Boys and Girls Athletics Championships that acts as an incubator and forces track talent to bubble to the top year after year. Adults and school children are witnesses to the immense raw talent that exists in our secondary schools. The champions of tomorrow are spotted here and opportunities overseas and indeed right here on the Rock ensure that transition from potential to actuality.
But Jamaica’s prowess on the track transcends any system. We, along with the rest of the world, believe that Jamaica is the sprint capital of the world. We see ourselves as sprinters and continue to dominate over the shorter distances. Our sprinters are our champions. We tell them they are. They know it. We position ourselves as champions of the sprints and plan, allocate resources and execute on our plans to dominate accordingly.
So we too watch in awe as our sprinters dominate and show to all in attendance that “Lion-Heart” that distinguishes the champions from the others that merely run fast. I sit on the edge of my bed and marvel at that “warrior-spirit” that forces the Jamaican athlete to decisively compartmentalise injury and unfortunate lane draws and focus with amazing single mindedness and clarity on The Goal: “mi ah go just run yah, Man!”
And as I marvel at this manifestation of the Lion-Heart and warrior spirit of our sprint champions, I have one question. My question is not “how can we leverage the success of our athletes to the benefit of Jamaica?” My one simple question is this: “How can we leverage the spirit of the Jamaican athletes and demand and obtain effective governance in Jamaica?”
Why is this “Lion-Heart” and this warrior spirit seemingly confined to the track, meanwhile back at home, the same Jamaica that produced giants on the track continues to wallow and indeed spiral downwards in a cesspool of crime, zero economic growth, poverty and political corruption? In the eternal words of Burning Spear, I recall some great men, and I think about our sons and daughters who have left our shores for foreign lands and in doing so have excelled and done well, and I once again wonder about our stagnation and even decline as an independent nation and I wonder how come.
I want to know how we can translate this “Lion-Heart” and warrior spirit to Jamaica Land we Love and conquer the world. Individual triumphs are to be admired and celebrated. But there is no reason why Jamaica should not likewise triumph. Short term fame for Jamaica because of the exploits of Jamaican track stars and any attendant economic spill-offs are not my quest. I want to see the spirit of the track champion rise up in each and every Jamaican and manifest in the form of complete dissatisfaction as to where we are as a country, and see us striving towards and demanding effective governance. Sometimes I wonder if our greatest strength as a people, our resilience in the face of hardship, is perhaps our greatest weakness too. Our ability to survive perhaps allows us to accept mediocrity in our leadership and governance norms, and ends up perpetuating a context where we do not demand more from our leaders.
Courtesy The Jamaica Gleaner
                                           
I am not relinquishing the role of the individual in changing the paradigm. I am not down playing the role of the individual and passing the blame on to Leadership. Not at all. But in national development, there really is no substitute for national vision and policy, and sound, effective governance that eschews corruption and has the good of the nation in the forefront of all its decisions and actions. So why do we, 53 years after independence from Britain, continue to accept the status quo of political corruption which is at the root of all that is wrong with Jamaica? Where is this “Lion-Heart” and this warrior spirit that has birthed champions on the track and yet seems to elude us as a collective? We choose to distance ourselves from the democratic processes and the few that have made the connection between effective governance and national well-being continue to toggle between orange and green hoping for better.
Governance has everything to do with a decision making process that supports a national vision. What do we want Jamaica to look like? How do we envision our lives and the lives of our families in a Jamaica that is prosperous and safe and where everyone has the same opportunity to make good on his or her personal dreams? And what of the quality and types of decisions that national leaders make in furtherance of this vision?
Good governance, effective governance looks like this: it is accountable, it is transparent, it follows the rule of law, it is responsive and it is equitable and inclusive.
Check it: effective governance puts in place structures and systems that make it difficult for political corruption to flourish. And having instituted these structures and systems, effective governance ensures that they are not handicapped, that their role is respected and that they are allowed to work. Effective governance ensures that limited resources are allocated in order to get the best return on investment in support of the national vision. So under effective governance, elementary education is never short-changed for example. Under effective governance, justice looks the same no matter how you speak or how you look or where in Jamaica you come from. Under effective governance, health care is properly resourced and administered. Under effective governance, security forces really do protect, serve and reassure.
Imagine a Jamaica where decision making is not based on box-ticking and appearances. Imagine a Jamaica where national contracts are not formed with personal enrichment on the part of the public administrator/leader as part of the decision making matrix.
Under effective governance Jamaica would not have to waste time seeking to exploit the success a few on the track, because a sound national vision and operating plan and engine would already be at work, ever moving towards national greatness and prosperity.
That we are already a nation of lion hearts possessed of a warrior spirit has been demonstrated. Now we need to wake up and channel our natural propensity for victory into demanding more and not settling for what has been dished out to us. 

Scrap Metal thieves derail internet service

Published in the Daily Gleaner, Aug 17, 2015
http://jamaicagleaner.com/article/letters/20150817/scrap-metal-thieves-derail-internet-service
THE EDITOR, Sir:
At the time of writing on Sunday, August 16, 2015, it is now Day 10 of no Internet in Coopers Hill, St Andrew. My neighbours are suffering, along with me and my family.
Our provider, LIME, has told us that “it’s a serious problem, affecting the entire area” and that they are unable to say when service will be restored. When confronted with the question of stolen cables in discussions with LIME, representatives of the company would neither affirm nor deny.
We called Flow with a view to switching to a provider that could actually provide and they, too, admitted that they’re not in a position to take on new customers at this time as their customers, too, are without service because of “a serious problem, affecting the entire area”.
This is the third time in about four years that we’ve been impacted in this way because of stolen cables. Forget my inconvenience because I can’t tweet or see what my family and friends are up to on Facebook. Forget the fact that I can’t pay my bills conveniently from the comfort of my own home. Don’t even think about the fact that I can’t monitor or manage my investments right now.
I wonder what I’d do if I ran a business from my home. Imagine not being able to interact with your stakeholders, to invoice your clients, to make and receive payment. School is about to resume. What of students needing to research and complete assignments?
I wish someone would quantify the net benefit to the country of the scrap metal trade. The Government’s decision to allow export of scrap metal is not fully thought out and is causing more problems than benefits.
Tell me what activity in Jamaica in 2015 generates enough scrap metal to warrant this so-called scrap metal industry. All it does is incentivise the pillaging of infrastructure to benefit very few and penalise those trying to be part of the 21st century.
I wish our telecoms companies would be more strident in decrying the costly side effect of this so-called scrap metal industry, both to their bottom lines and their customers. We, your customers, are with you on this one!
We anxiously await resumption of service.
KELLY MCINTOSH