Woe to my generation in Jamaica

By George Davis

Woe is me. Turning man in Jamaica when the country mash up. How unfortunate are members of my generation to be living and working in this country when taxation is at its highest in independent history. When morals, mores and ethical standards are treated like underwear, stained by skid marks, being handled by a discriminating household helper.

When good manners are unfashionable. When feral, hooligan behaviour is the established, accepted norm. When the political leaders talk more than they accomplish. When people wish the country mashes up further when the 'other' party is in charge of government, so that their party can have a chance to fix it and claim all the glory.

When police no longer see themselves as paragons of discipline and good examples. When sex is not sex if it isn't the sex performed in pornographic films. When adults who clearly don't know right from wrong attempt to lecture youngsters about the importance of knowing right from wrong.

When informer 'fi dead' if they speak about seeing our own committing serious crimes. When informers should come forward and tell all they know when they see our own being victimised by serious crimes.

When public disagreement with your political tribe on a point of principle is about as welcome as a stale, milk-powered fart in an overcrowded taxi without air conditioning on a rainy night. Woe is me, indeed.

Woe is me and my generation when big women bridle at being referred to, courteously, as ma'am. When big men forget that the more grey that's in their hair means the less filth which should come from their mouths.

When young women are convinced they can do what the guys do and more, yet still be a lady. When young men refuse to grow up, remaining stuck in a second or third childhood even when they reach 40.

When the man with the waist of his trousers closest to the ground is the man deemed by women to be sexiest. When the more layers of make-up that a woman is buried under is the more beautiful and confident she will feel. Woe is me, indeed.

Woe is me and my generation when we look in Parliament and struggle to identify quality, see hope. When you feel the bile of disgust rising in your stomach when forced to say the words 'Honourable him' or 'Honourable her'. When the circumstances under which politicians should step down from office keep being shifted like a woman fiddling with a wedgie.

When the tax you pay out of your salary is added to the tax you pay on every Jesus Christ expense you need to meet in order to survive. When you work six days per week, every week and can't afford to buy yourself a beer at month's end because purchasing power is weak.

tax and affordability

When both you and your lady work full-time professional jobs but can't afford to have a child. When you spend $3 million to get a degree over three years, then get a job paying 70 grand after taxes and have to pay 55 grand out of that to the student loan lender. Woe is me, indeed.

Woe is the feeling when you actually have to think about what to do when the gunmen come calling; not what to do if the gunmen come calling. When you can't bring your lady to a public beach for a night under the stars for fear someone will kill you just for the fun of it.

Yes, I live in a Jamaica where lice and chigger are not affecting children and adults. Where iced water and gas stoves are no longer a privilege. Where I don't have to depend on only one newspaper or only one radio station to tell me what's happening in the country.

Where as long as I want to I can attend university. Where I don't have to depend on someone who has travelled to tell me what's happening overseas.

But if these are what we comfort ourselves with after nearly 52 years of collecting obscene amounts of taxes from our citizens and enjoying huge amounts of aid from our friends around the world, then woe is me and us.

Selah.

George Davis is a journalist. Email feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and george.s.davis@hotmail.com.