The journey continues ... POLITICAL IMPACT – The Agony of Barbuda This column is going to get me into trouble with the authorities who sponsor this print organ, and therefore may not be published. So … What else is new, really? Man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trouble. Seems I’ve been in some sort of trouble – whether from internally or externally created causes – all my life. I guess that proves the Bible is Truth … at least about that one thing. I write about Antigua & Barbuda today. I seek to help my people know our History, so that we may understand our Present – and thus perhaps determine our Future as an independent nation. My elders insisted that I, and all children born on our tiny two-island subtropical paradise, receive some modicum of education. I really tried my best to comply. Yours Truly was not the best of students. A genetic tendency toward Dyslexia, a flaw that has expressed itself in my youngest child, made it extremely difficult for me to grasp the more arcane intricacies of mathematical logic in my younger years – to the chagrin of my father, who could not comprehend my weakness. This was long before anyone in our tiny two-island state of mind had ever heard of Dyslexia; so many innocent children afflicted by that deficiency were branded with the title “Dunce” by an insensitive and judgmental society. Luckily, my God-given compensation was an affinity for literary subjects, at which I excelled. From my earliest age I enjoyed a love of reading that rescued me from carrying the eternal stamp of “Dunce”. All my life I have read voraciously, distilled the essence of what I read – and remembered it. Higher levels of mathematical logic may still go right over my head; but the logic of philosophy is like air and water to my soul. One consequence of carrying around this double-edged sword is that I am entirely unable to adjust to the chief avenue of success available to the average denizen of our slap-happy little la-la land: I cannot (not “will not” – I cannot) resign myself to a life of kissing butt and licking boots, and of going along to get along. Somebody somewhere (I cannot seem to recall who) once said “Ye shall know the Truth, and the Truth shall set you free.” The truth of our tiny two-island state of mind is that knowing the Truth – and attempting to live by it – is a sure and certain way to get set up for ostracism. I guess that is the true meaning of “The Truth shall set you free.” The Sister Isle Barbuda is in a state of agony. The island I like to call “The Diamond Bigger than the Ritz” is up for grabs; and pirates from all corners of the Globe are hungry to gobble her up, and spit out her bones. The true agony of Barbuda is that too many of her children seem quite willing to help the pirates do just that, in return for a few scraps off the table. Such is the dark secret behind the historical failure of the Barbudans to implement any solid, large-scale development on their island – and not any intrinsic Barbudan opposition to investment. So … The pirates are coming again to the Spanish Main; and the eager natives are lining up to do what African peoples have always done: sell out their brothers and sisters for an immediate gain that will soon evaporate, as the island wisdom says, “Like butter ‘gainst sun.” And the already rich will get even richer, while the already poor get even poorer. Some of the poor may end up with a little bit more than they had before – but the very wealthy will strut laughing all the way to the bank … richer than all our tribes. We can forget about the fringe sweeteners like the new airport and the new hospital. Those are promises that need never have been made, may never come to fruition, and are in any case the responsibility of our own government. Nothing is intrinsically repugnant about a well-protected enclave community for the very rich, far away from the intrusions of commercial tourism, providing its own utilities, entertainment and transportation services: All dat good. The very rich can pay for that sort of thing, bless their greedy little hearts. But here is the human question: Can the very rich, even hidden behind their buffer zones and their high walls and state-of-the-art security systems, ever sleep easy knowing that they live in the midst of a cheated, abused, discontented populace who know full well that they have been robbed of their dignity in return for “jabs”? Certainly Messrs DeNiro and Packer, with all their wealth and with all their connections to so many others even wealthier than themselves, can come up with a better deal for the Barbudans than they have so far – even for the sake of future peace and goodwill. Why do the rich always believe they must ride the other guy into the ground in order to drive the hardest bargain they possibly can? What’s the percentage in that? Why must Paradise Found for the already wealthy always mean Paradise Lost for the native peoples? Why on Earth can’t we share the wealth and live happily together for the next two hundred years? DeNiro and Packer may succeed in establishing their paradise … but at the rate they are going they will never achieve the respect earned by, say, the Mellon family – that takes real class.
Posted on: Tue, 27 Jan 2015 10:18:20 +0000
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