Rasta is still a problem in 2014 Jamaica?

Rasta is still a problem in Jamaica? In 2014? Really? Here’s why I ask this…

Two weeks ago I was with a small group of third graders at my church’s learning centre where I volunteer. We were doing reading comprehension. The passage under review was a story about a little girl who hated school because she had no friends. The story went on to recount how she found another little girl who looked lonely at play time and how she struck up the courage to make friends with her and they all lived happily ever after. Of course, we discussed the story and we had lively discussion, answering questions and rendering opinions about play time, friends and school. Much to their dismay, I then asked them to write a short story about what happens at their own schools at break time. There were groans and moans: “me cyan write no story, Miss”. “How much sentence mek up a story, Miss?” “Nutten nuh gwaan a fi mi school at breaktime, Miss”. I answered every single question: “Yes you can write a story”. “I will accept a 6 sentence story”. “Use your imagination. Write down what you would like to have happen at breaktime”. Once they started, they couldn’t stop! I helped with spelling and punctuation, but the ideas were all theirs.

There’s a little boy in the class who I fell in love with from Day 1. I will refer to him as Kimani. That’s not his real name. He is tiny for his age, has smooth black skin, and dread locks down to his shoulder. Sometimes he lets them out. Sometimes they’re in a neat ponytail. He can read well. He is lively. He dances like James Brown. Sometimes he looks sad though. Sometimes he gets real quiet and doesn’t talk. Sometimes he looks angry. He always asks quietly if there is any extra food that he can carry home for his mother and baby brother. I have always had a soft spot for Kimani.

So they completed their stories eventually (I had to set a cut-off point for them…they just wanted to go on and on once they got started!) and then each child read their story to the class. The first little girl, I shall call her Janelle, told of a boy in her class named Kimani that the children did not like because his hair was different. She didn’t even try to hide the name. The real Kimani said: “Yes, mi know dem nuh like mi. But ah nuh mi hair!”. She countered with certainty: “Yes, ah yuh hair! Mi ask Lisa and she tell me she she nuh like yuh hair! Mi ask Rashawn and him tell mi she ah yuh hair too! A yuh hair dem nuh like. Dem seh yuh a Rasta bwoy!” I was stunned. We discussed tolerance, empathy and that appearances ought never to be the basis of judgments. I tried to be calm and neutral and understanding. Then Kimani gave me his story to read. He refused to stand up and read it aloud. His story started off in the third person about a little boy who he didn’t name, but as his story went on, he slipped into the first person and named the boy Kimani. Kimani was a little boy who didn’t have friends because everybody “hated him”. It ended with Kimani feeling very alone and unloved.

After class ended I hugged Kimani and told him that his different-ness is what made him great. That he was to be proud of his family and his heritage and that he wasn’t to make anyone cause him to dim his light. I told him to flash his locks when the haters start up. I don’t know if this will make a difference.

I didn’t know that rasta was an issue in Jamaica today. Remember when Babylon used to hold rastas and trim dem? Used to lock dem up? When locks were infra dig in civilized Jamaican society? So many middle class women sport locks today! In my office, in my family, in senior government positions, women and men with multiple degrees, in traditional professions…so why is Kimani vilified for the same hairstyle? Are dreadlocks are acceptable within the educated middle classes, but scorned in the ghettos, the very roots of the religion that birthed this look? Is Kimani’s experience symptomatic of Jamaica’s bipolar society, so aptly portrayed daily on page 2 and page 5 in the papers? Is the scorn of Kimani’s hair style linked to bleaching practices in some way? And at the same time, why are locks de rigueur amongst the middle classes today? Is society confused? Are our identities split somehow, seeking to be what we really are not, to identify with something that we aspire to?

Why can’t I watch the Winter Olympics? Why is our murder rate so high?

Have you ever had something denied to you that you knew was rightfully yours? Or have you ever been blamed for something that you never did? How did you feel? A tight knot of resentment right in the middle of your core, growing bigger with each passing second… If it had a colour it would be deep red…and the worst part about it is that there was nowhere for it to go… it just sits there getting hotter and redder and bigger with nowhere to go and you can’t even touch it or scratch it because your hands are tied tightly behind you… The rage. The indignation. The helplessness.

I wanted to watch Winter Olympics last week. I merrily turned to NBC only to see the increasingly familiar message from the cable provider: “no video” and a black screen. Kiss mi teet. It turns out that the only way I will get to watch the Sochi games is if I fork out more money to my cable provider and subscribe to SportsMax. Something feels so wrong about this arrangement. Something feels so unjust. I have paid for a service which ought to allow me the pleasure of watching the games. And some bodies here on this island have decided that they must make some money so I am denied what I have paid for and pay over monies to them to get what I already paid for.

I am not watching the games on my laptop. I don’t have a smart TV. I don’t have the cord that connects the laptop to my TV. I am not going to go through the trouble to block my IP address so I can find a good feed. I want to turn on my TV, switch to channel 104 and watch the freaking games, in my bed, or from my couch or wherever the hell I choose to watch them from. I want to see triple Lutzes, the luge, speed skating and ski jumping! I remember watching ski jumping as a teenager with some friends. One young man, today a famous entertainer in his own right (Hi, Terry!) summed up so articulately, so elegantly what I felt inside while I watched the intrepid gents soar off the ramp into the clear winter skies: “ Da bredda deh mus feel f*#! up just a sail tru di air wid him hand stiff a him side!!!”

Photo courtesy of National Geographic

So I pretend as if the games don’t exist and settle for another Law and Order or House Hunters marathon.

And if I feel this rage at this relative inconvenience, pause as I did, if even for one minute, and think about the MAJORITY of our Jamaican citizens who face injustice in even more real and frightful circumstances daily… the man who is in lock-up without being charged, without a “good lawyer” to get him out; without a family who can represent his case… the youth who is rounded up and herded with blows unto a truck by agents of the state, not nuh gunman or criminal doing this to him, but agents of the state, simply because he is in the wrong place at the wrong time… the woman who has to go to the Family Court and is verbally abused or at best treated with indifference because she feels, maybe she is, unable to articulate her case with poise and clarity…

Photo courtesy of the Daily Gleaner

I felt like stoning supn when I was denied a TV show that I had paid for. And we wonder why our murder rate is so high. And we wonder why our society has become so aggressive and brutish.

…Working my core

…Working my Core

Well school’s out. I live for times like these. Nope. I’m no longer in school (well, sorta, does online study count J?) but I have 2 that still are. When school in Jamaica is out, my normal 1 ½ hour commute becomes a 40 minute one. Can I get an Amen? This allows me lie in bed a little later. I normally rise at 4:30 to exercise. This morning my alarm went off at 6:00. I had put out my work out clothes from last night (cause you know that if I don’t do that, I have another excuse NOT to get up and work my butt) and I had already determined that I was gonna do the Pilates routine…such a great workout! My core gets tested, my spine lengthens and I’m left feeling all supple and energised. I really, really enjoy Pilates…once I get into it J. So anyways, the alarm went off. I promptly turned on my lamp and reached for my kindle. LOL! So much for putting out the work out clothes from the night before. I’m decisive, if nothing else. And in a split second I deferred my work out from this morning to tomorrow morning. Not an ounce of guilt. And I sank with pleasure back into my pillow, pulled the comforter higher (it’s deliciously chilly in my neck of the woods now) and proceeded to pick up where I had left off the night before. I’m in the middle of “Love..From Both Sides” by Nick Spalding. I’m starting to chuckle as I type. Here’s one review from Amazon:

‘Absolutely hilarious. Seriously, I’d warn you not to read it in public as people will look at you strangely as you attempt to do that supressed belly laugh thing that makes you look demented. Anyone who’s ever had a cringeful date that’s ended in humiliation (that’s pretty much all of us, then!) will heart this.’

Listen to me…my core may not have been tested by Pilates, but five minutes in, my core was certainly contracted as I convulsed in laughter. I struggled to maintain control in deference to my sleeping husband. But the tears streamed, the core contracted and I had to rise quickly from the bed and head to the kitchen, where I grabbed on to the counter and had a good belly laugh!!!

Breakfast completed, coffee had (sweetened with organic coconut sugar- delish! –that’s another blog post though) I retreated to complete my ablutions. I will spare you the gory details, but once again, my core contracted as I sat on the throne reading more of Mr. Spalding’s work, trying desperately to control my laughter since I was the only one in the house up at that hour. It was an exercise in futility. After a couple minutes of trying to stifle my laughter and control my core contractions, I gave up. I put down the kindle and let it rip…the laughter that is. I threw my head back and I roared. I let the tears roll. I snorted. I screeched. I moaned. I roared some more. The laughter throttled down. I wiped my eyes and then it began all over again. This went on for some time. I was indeed working my core! That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it!

Be warned: the book has in some “language” and “explicit scenes”. If it were a movie, it would be rated A18

less than stellar Customer Experience at Lee’s Food Fair, Red Hills Road.

I had a most unpleasant experience this evening at Lee’s Food Fair Limited, Red Hills Road branch. I am a regular shopper there, have been for years. I also shop at their Washington Boulevard Branch from time to time. I find their prices to be reasonable, they have a nice enough fresh produce section and their meat offerings are fresh and competitively priced. But this evening…

I had picked up the children and needed to buy some groceries having just returned from an extended stay overseas. I had put in a full day at the office, the kids likewise had had a long day at school and we just wanted to get the grocery shopping chore out of the way and head home to deal with homework, have dinner and prepare for the coming day.

I left them in the car, and headed into the grocery store. I started at the left hand side of the store, where the fresh produce section is. I wound my way efficiently up and down the aisles, picking up just what I needed. I eventually made my way to the opposite end of the store, to pick up what were supposed to be the final items on my list: chilled meats…you know, boneless chicken thighs, perhaps and piece of beef pot roast, maybe some pork depending on price. The shelves were empty. Nothing. No meat. No sign. Nobody. I looked around in wonderment, tired, slightly confused and became aware of rising irritation levels. I inhaled deeply and then pushed my trolley to the door to the supermarket’s back-room. I asked if I could speak to someone from the meat department. I really needed boneless thighs. I had promised my son to make garlic chilli chicken for him after he hugged me on my return and told me that he really missed my cooking. After almost 5 minutes, a gentleman in a butcher’s apron sauntered out and informed me that “the fridge nah work”. Duh. So can I get two trays of boneless chicken thighs please? “Mek mi see…mi nuh tink we have none”. Waiting…waiting…waiting…while he disappeared behind the doors. Enough is enough. I headed to the check-out area. While the cashier rang up my items (sans boneless thighs), I requested to speak to the Manager. “They are all in a meeting”. Businesses in Jamaica keep forgetting that the Customer is the reason why they are in any meeting to begin with; if we don’t buy what you are selling, you have precious little to meet about. I refused to budge. I spoke with two customer service reps behind the front counter and explained that I needed to speak to the manager, please tell him/her that I am waiting, and will continue to wait. I was determined to speak to a manager.

After 10 minutes, a lady approached me having descended the stairs. I will spare you the details of my rant. I will spare you a replay of my emotions that were out in full force. I will summarise my issues as follows:

1. How dare Lee’s not demonstrate respect for the Customer by advising them that some core products will be unavailable by way of a simple sign at the entrance to the supermarket? Give us the option to shop or not. Do not treat us like a captive audience, taking our time, energy and money for granted.

2. Mrs. Lee (I asked her her name after I introduced myself…she did not think it necessary to introduce herself to me. Perhaps she thought she knew me? Or that I knew her? ) said that no one told her that the fridge had broken down. Top management has FAILED, if their Supervisors did not find it necessary to advise them accordingly. Top Management has further failed if not one supervisor could summon up initiative to get a sign in place.

3. Too often simple back-office fixes can result in a way more pleasant experience for Customers. There were other fridges/freezers functioning in the supermarket. All it would take is for someone with just a little energy to rearrange some of the items in these functioning freezers, and use freed up space to merchandise the now displaced offerings from the chill area, ensuring that signs in the malfunctioning zone pointed valuable customers to the new location, complete with an apology for the inconvenience.

Mrs. Lee apologized, but I feel strongly enough to take the time to document this entire episode. My time is very valuable. I felt taken for granted. I hope Lee’s finds out why their supervisory staff have demonstrated such a laissez faire attitude towards the business that pays their salaries. I hope the person in charge of operations is made to answer for the lack of a work-around to a very real problem that the business experienced today. The Customer has options.

So disappointed with what happened to me at Lee’s today.

about high school graduations in Jamaica

So I was griping about Miss World’s graduation, scheduled for about 2 1/2 hours from now…after all, she doesn’t even know if she has passed her CSEC exams yet! And here in Jamaica, you don’t get to progress without CSEC subjects in hand. I was going on and on about how schools ought to wait until exam results are out before this big hoopla with cap, gown, pictures, rings, balls and the like. But my good friend Raymond forced me to think. Yesterday he offered his congrats to Miss World and commended me for being a great mom. I fended him off, remarking that results are pending. He replied with his usual forthrightness: “It doesn’t matter what the results are, Kelly. Rachael is a good girl. And you did your best with her. It could have been way different”. His comments marinated in my sub-conscious, and today I realised and accepted and celebrated. Rachael marks the end of five years of high school today. She made the honour roll every year since grade 7. She completed piano up to grade 4 level. She found her niche in the glee club at her school and the Music House became her haunt…a place where she automatically went to even when she didn’t have a rehersal or class there. She writes so well. She took to high school like a duck to water after feeling like an outsider at prep school, being such a quiet, introverted child. She is a funny, smart, witty and gorgeous girl who has stayed off drugs and did not get pregnant. She started grade 7 with her parents going through a dramatic and painful separation. She endured this, including moving house, her mom starting a new job and never missed a beat. Grade 11 was rough…for both of us. I felt that she lost focus and was not doing all she could to win. Both of us know what I mean, and we await CSEC results in August.

Our children are NOT us. We have been blessed with these little people, to nurture them, to provide for them and to help them be all they can be. I know I have not consistently been the best parent in the world for sure.

So today I celebrate with our daughter for completing five years of high school…for making us proud along the way. And we’ll be there no matter what to support and love her into her future. Congrats, Rachael. we love you.

Rachael in Grade 8

Rachael the Graduate

garbage collection and citizens associations

This was published in the Gleaner on Saturday May 24. I shared it on Facebook, and a friend asked a question which I have not answered yet: “Do you have a citizens association in Coopers Hill?”
She set me thinking… The simple answer is “no”. The logical response then ought to be: ” So start one, Kelly”. I’m sure I could. And yes, I have a raft of (valid) excuses: I have a full-time career, I am at school and I have school aged children who still need close supervision. But truth be told, I really don’t want to start a movement. (I might be more inclined to join a movement.) But here’s the ugly truth: I don’t want to get too close to my neighbours. I don’t want them to get too close to me. I want to pay my taxes and my bills and I want the system to work: electricity and water on demand, regular garbage collection, a responsive police and fire service and I want my neighbours to keep their grass low. And sure, I know the reality: the system doesn’t work as it should, and perhaps my constant cries would be amplified if shouted through the collective voice of a citizens association. Selfish? Perhaps. OK.Yes: it is selfish. My FB friend has thrown out a challenge which is bothering me… We’ll see…

Coopers Hill Tired Of Trash Service

http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20130525/letters/letters6.html

Published: Saturday | May 25, 20130 Comments

NSWMA boss Jennifer Edwards (left) and Local Government Minister Noel Arscott (in truck) had better get a handle on the shoddy garbage collection in Coopers Hill. – File

THE EDITOR, Sir:

Up to the time of writing on May 19, it has been two weeks since garbage was collected in Coopers Hill, St Andrew. This is how it has been over the past couple of months.

I don’t need to elaborate on all the undesirable effects of uncollected solid waste: rodent and insect proliferation come readily to mind.

What is really happening? Even as we pay dramatically increased property taxes, what are we to expect where garbage collection is concerned? The Government’s absolute failure to get this one little thing done underscores our belief that it is merely paying lip service to preservation of the environment.

Inconvenient though it may be, citizens with vehicles can load up their solid waste and take it to a public skip for disposal. What of those unable to do so? Well, what you get are garbage-strewn sidewalks, roaming dogs pillaging the mess, ad hoc stinkness, unsightly dumping sites springing up on the gorgeous hillsides that God blessed us with, gullies clogged with bags of solid waste, and the constant burning of garbage by those suffering at the hands of an administration that refuses to collect garbage in a timely manner.

What are we to do? Jamaica of yesteryear was a place that held ‘girl pickney’ to high standards of hygiene and cleanliness. “You cyaan do dat! You is a gyal pickney!”

Separate standards

I certainly do not impose two separate standards of hygiene in my household, one for my son and one for my daughter. But if only out of respect and deference towards our ancestors, I am imploring Madam Prime Minister, the first female PM of Jamaica, to hold her local government minister, Noel Arscott, and head of the National Solid Waste Management Authority (ironically a woman too!) accountable in this regard.

Let it not be said that you presided over a nasty administration and a filthy country, Madam PM. Please treat garbage collection as a priority. Allocate the necessary resources and insist upon an efficient operation.

Frustrated Property Tax Payer

Coopers Hill, St Andrew

about the J.P.S. Co. cries of doom and gloom!

So ever since the Jamaica Public Service Co. Ltd. has been sounding off about its financial woes, a growing sense of dread has been overcoming me. The latest wail is that the company will be out of cash by August. Now I am not fretting for myself, for reasons which I will outline shortly. But I am thinking about the few businesses plodding along in this extremely hostile context that is Jamaica today. We already are burdened with the highest energy costs in the region, and if you layer uncertainty of supply atop burdensome expenses, well…you can see how this will end. Let’s go back to the JPS’s latest alarm: out of cash by August. That is a holler for attention at the very least, but it must be some sort of call to action too. What do they want? Are they setting the stage to justify a rate hike? It is a fact that electricity usage has declined… Is this an index of economic growth/decline? Not sure. But for sure, ordinary citizens have really had no choice.

We’ve had to become Electricity Nazis in our own homes, using energy efficient bulbs, patrolling for lights being on for no reason, forgoing use of the electric water heater, unplugging everything once we are out of the house and there are some like my household who are almost totally off the grid. Yup. Some years ago, H had the foresight to begin to phase in the use of solar energy. To be totally honest, it was the unreliability of service from the JPS that prompted this move. The feeders in this area are old an unreliable and post-hurricane conditions were absolutely unbearable. But even though we would have light with or without JPS, as I said, I couldn’t help but worry about industry and therefore the state of the overall economy…the broader context within which I live and make a living.

So I was talking with H tonight, rehashing the day’s events. And he told me a story that lifted my spirits and gave me hope to press on. He decided to use the services of an automobile AC technician along South Camp Road. He only saw the sign, it was conveniently located (for him) and he only needed re-gassing…nothing complex. So he turned in and saw a modified shipping container serving as a small admin and waiting area. There was a steady stream of traffic in and out, including taxi men and commercial trucks, including trucks belonging to a well known haulage company. He took comfort in that fact, and noted that the owner was the head technician, moving around briskly and quite business-like. But he had to wait. H hates to wait. But as he sat waiting he noticed that atop the modified container, sat 2 solar panels. Wow! H’s fine engineering mind sat up and started noting the technical details of this AC business set-up. What he figured out and later confirmed in conversation with Mr. AC was that the solar panels provided enough energy for Mr. AC to run his AC repair business.

This simple entrepreneur had done his sums and determined that his competitiveness hinged on his ability to minimize his energy costs. Hence his current independence from the unreliable supply characteristic of the JPS and his lower energy costs.

H remarked that he is seeing more and more windmills on residences in St. Elizabeth too. Think of the new Digicel building Downtown, Kingston. Red Stripe recently announced plans to invest in their own energy plant. I am hoping that as JPS and the Government of Jamaica continue to piss around and play games (WHERE IS THE ENERGY POLICY?) we the people will do the necessary and invest in alternative energy sources.

And don’t gripe about the cost. Plan. Start. Phase in the darned thing. Incremental improvement may be the way you have to do it. Ain’t nothing wrong with that! So many people are comfortable borrowing money to buy a car, a liability that depreciates with every revolution of the tires. Buy a small car for cash and invest in alternative energy instead, People! That is worthwhile debt.

So I have to believe that the entrepreneurial class will not roll over and die. I have to believe that we will find a way to survive and thrive despite this Ineptocracy. (in-ep-toc’-ra-cy) – a system of government where the least capable to lead are elected by the least capable of producing, and where the members of society least likely to sustain themselves or succeed, are rewarded with goods and services paid for by the confiscated wealth of a diminishing number of producers.

about the scrap metal “trade” in Jamaica

I felt the need to rant after reading an article in the Jamaica Observer last week.
Here’s my letter that was published April 16 2013:

Dear Editor,

I make reference to your article carried Friday, April 12, 2013 “Mark your metal, Hylton urges”. This is not the answer to the problems associated with the restarted scrap metal industry.

To begin with, there is no manufacturing now taking place in Jamaica that produces enough scrap metal to sustain any sort of trade in this form of waste. I challenge anyone to prove me wrong here.

It means that the players in this industry will have to resort to other sources of metal to sustain their operations. Hence stolen cables, vandalised properties and compromised infrastructure like bridges, manholes and the like. I would like Minister Hylton to advise us how to “mark” kilometres of cable to prevent theft. I’d also like Minister Hylton to tell me how to “mark” my wrought iron gate, fence and garbage receptacle to prevent theft. His response to an industry that, I argue, offers a net negative value to the nation speaks volumes as to his absolute lack of appreciation for business basics and operational efficiencies. It is not enough to assure Flow, one of the most recent victims of stolen cables, that “rigorous regulations governing the scrap metal trade would make it difficult for stolen material to be exported”. He just does not get it.

The bottom line is that Flow is minus the use of its asset right now, whether the cables are exported now or later, representing a loss in terms of a reduced asset base and reduced income from customers to whom they cannot provide the service without these cables.

Get real, Minister, and get a grip.

Kelly McIntosh

about how we treat Jamaica

This is a very difficult post to make. My island, Jamaica, is one of the most beautiful places on Earth…from the gorgeous, magical seven mile stretch in Negril, to the hills of St. Andrew and Portland. But let’s go back to Negril…

I have been going to Negril at least twice per year since the birth of Miss World. It remains my absolutely favourite place in the world. I lie on the beach and people watch. The water is always calm. It’s blue and gorgeous. It is shallow for yards out. There is never ever any loud music to intrude on my thoughts. All I need is my rum, a glass, and a bucket of ice. Vendors go past offering everything from weed, to fruit, to juices, to pastry to music for sale. But they are never pushy. And it’s all part of the magic that is Negril. And then in the late evening, it all comes together in a perfect finale: the Negril Sunset. I dare you to find another to rival it.

We always, always, always stay at Negril Treehouse. yup, the same property where Stella got her groove back…or at least, where they filmed the pool scene in the movie of the same name.

View from my room at Negril Treehouse

Yes, this is shameless plug for this facility, and no they aren’t paying me for it. It’s owner managed and you feel Gail’s presence everywhere all the time. Sure, it’s an older property, but the gardens are beautiful and authentically Jamaican, and the rooms are clean with all the basics: bathroom, hot water, beds, cable TV and AC. And it is right on the 7 mile stretch. An added bonus is the fact that included in the reasonable rates is a top notch full breakfast inclusive of Jamaican favourites, fresh fruit and awesome coffee all served by friendly, attentive staff.

Repeated stays over the years have afforded me the opportunity to observe the receding coast line. Yes…once upon a time, there was sand between the beach bar and the water line. Now the sea laps up quite aggressively against the bar.

The sea lapping at the bar at Negril Treehouse

Sure it’s picturesque sitting in the bar sipping on your rum looking down into the gorgeous sea, knowing what it was before, and extrapolating forward, well, it’s just plain scary.

See the damaged wall from increasing battering from the sea

Close up of the damaged wall

(Futile?) efforts to halt the march of time…

So where do we go from here? Perhaps it’s time for me to get active in conservation efforts for what it’s worth. That 7 mile stretch was given to Jamaica by God. We didn’t have to create it, we didn’t have to buy it. All we are asked to do is to take care of it: don’t dump raw sewerage in the seas, protect the reefs, don’t eat parrot fish (OMG!), don’t steal sand! …and that’s another story altogether…the sand stealing, I mean. We continue to abuse nature’s gifts to this island: tearing down forests for the rapidly growing charcoal trade (Haiti: here we come!), creating garbage dumps any and everywhere and clogging our gullies.

The same “doan cyah” mentality is evident in how we treat our heritage sites…Port Royal, Three Finger Jack monument in St Thomas, that Columbus site in St. Ann, Lovers Leap and Fort Charlotte to name a few are run down and unimpressive.

Fort Charlotte in Lucea…a potential moneymaker in ruin!

Fort Charlotte in Lucea

They represent potential money earners for the communities within which they exist and for Jamaica as a whole. I’ve been on a quite a few glossily presented (pricey) tours overseas that lack half the authenticity and wow factor that our own history offers us. To be fair though, I saw adverts last week for private persons to take over the management of specific heritage sites. That’s a win-win approach.

It makes me sad and scared at the same time.

about surviving in the Information Age

I wrote to the Gleaner and they published it as an article:

http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20130319/cleisure/cleisure3.html

Spark Youth Interest

Published: Tuesday | March 19, 20130 Comments

Kelly McIntosh, Contributor

The evidence of poor problem-solving skills and the lack of ability to think critically is all too evident in the state of Jamaica today. Sure enough, corruption is at the root of many of the issues that beset our nation, but we cannot downplay our collective ability (or lack thereof) to make sound decisions and to tackle complex issues.

We need to start now, as early as possible in the education system, to teach our young how to analyse problems, how to approach solutions, and how to think critically.

When I was younger, the challenge was ferreting out information to do projects and complete assignments for school. Many of us can remember having to go to an actual library and being guided by the index cards housed in the wooden catalogue drawers.

Fast-forward to 2013: the challenge now is to decide what information to discard! Students simply Google the question or the topic. I have had to teach my own children basic research skills like cross-referencing and fact- and source-checking as they wade through the plethora of available information.

I do not think it is possible to critically analyse any issue without a sound grasp of language. Again, we are at the mercy of this new information age. Children write in shorthand, use creative acronyms, and learn to express themselves in 140 characters or less (think Twitter!). And while creativity is good, and the ability to summarise useful, this must be balanced by other opportunities where ideas can be fleshed out and opinions challenged and defended.

Here are my proposals for equipping our young for success in the information age:

1 Encourage reading from early. This is best done by giving children access to information about what interests them. Your son who is interested in animals, for example, will not read that book that you thrust into his hands with the best intentions in the world about toys coming to life after dark.

2 From as early as kindergarten and basic school, emphasise compre-hension. Have the children do more than merely answer questions based on facts contained in the passage. They must be encouraged to criticise and imagine. This can be done individually, by writing, and collectively, in the form of class discussions.

3 Treat maths as a language describing a situation, yet providing the way to a solution through the application of basic steps one after another. Emphasise the understanding of the fundamentals over mechanical replication. The children need to be taught to determine what the particular maths problem is asking them to do and what information is provided. Once they understand the fundamental operations, application in search of a solution becomes intuitive, rooted in common sense, and not necessarily the purview of the ‘math genius’ in the class.

4 Relate everything taught to everyday life, so applicability is always at the forefront.

5 Simply have conversations with your children. When driving, turn off the radio and, most definitely, put down the cell phone. Ask them about their day. Talk about something you read in the papers or saw on the news. Ask them their opinions. Have them defend their point of view.

Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and kkmac218@gmail.com.