Mark Wignall | Bad move by the PNP

A valid case can be made that the Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) who runs the governmental administration should adopt the most fiscally responsible position and arrange the outstanding parliamentary and municipal elections in one batch.

But the JLP is quite obviously a political party and, as I stated, it has governmental power. Under our arrangements that power gives it the option to play little games with the opposition People’s National Party (PNP). Remember now, the PNP is just as hungry in ravenously seeking out the ultimate feast – power at the next elections.

And of course the JLP which has had more than its fair share of popularity negatives needs to make a show, a flourish after the departure of its rock star, Dr. Nigel Clarke and the displacement of the North East St. Ann MP, Marsha Smith that its party and parliamentary infrastructure are still very much intact.

But, it must be asked; why is the PNP not in a state of readiness to contest the by elections in North East St. Ann?

Listen to this. From the JLP’s Young Jamaica. “Denial of the people’s right to choose by refusing to participate, the PNP robs the electorate of North East St Ann of their right to a fair and competitive election. The democratic process thrives on choice, and the PNP’s absence strips voters of a crucial option, undermining the very foundation of our political system.”

This is pure political fluff but,it places the opposition PNP on the backfoot. Once a party can only run its mouth in safe times but curl up when by-elections show up it places itself in a position to be laughed at by the diehards who support the other side. Could it be hurtful opinion polling?

Or maybe the PNP is short of funds so it has to hope that it gets to contest elections at wholesale rates instead of one this month and another at next never and then, a general election is sprung on the opposition. Retail shopping may prove to be too expensive.

IS THIS REAL PROGRESS?

Have you ever taken a casual look at the types of quality vehicles seen outside construction sites. Does this necessarily mean that the labourer mixing cement is being paid more handsomely in real money terms than in say, 1984?

I have a taxi driver acquaintance and we speak fairly often on the phone. “Many years ago, I used to support the JLP. But, Mark, is through the P.J. Patterson regime I get the chance to buy a ‘brand new second hand’ vehicle.”

Now he votes PNP every time.

Significant numbers of steel men, electricians, plumbers and tilers drive quality looking cars.When work is finished on the site and the units reach to market and go for $60 million, the progress takes a divergence. One batch treks up the totem pole of economic might. Another looks for work at the next site.

For many Jamaicans there is the knowledge that you can climb but only so much. Many of our youngsters look on at entertainers like Vybz Kartel and Buju and idolise them.

Many want to be the next best DJ on the hit parade or make it big in lottery scamming.Too many continue to see gunplay as the first resort in attaining a pocketful of cash.

SHOW ME THE SAFE HAVEN

In 1993 I travelled to a quiet community in St Mary called Enfield. I was doing some research among the small-farming community. I distinctly remember that when I was coming back in the late evening a cow decided that it was going to take its own sweet time walking directly in front of my car on the narrow road.

At one stage I stopped at a shop/bar for about a half hour. No other cars drove by. A quiet and peaceful deep rural community. Recently I read of killings there.

Places like Glendevon, and Rosemount in Montego Bay were, ‘country’ areas in the 1970’s. Not anymore.

Just about every community in Westmoreland, St Elizabeth, Hanover were safe havens where a man could read a newspaper in his car in peace. Now, young men with cell phone communication, big guns and dollar signs making up their mentality have rattled this country and not even the serenity of Flaggamon in South St. Elizabeth and Bluefields in Westmoreland can bring peace upon them. And because their minds are constantly in turmoil and conflicts can only be solved with the gun, those of us who are peaceful must dwell in the land where their demons roam.

IT DIDN’T BEGIN YESTERDAY

It was 15 minutes after midday as Norman leisurely walked down the narrow, paved lane in an underdeveloped community close to downtown Kingston. He was wearing his khaki school uniform. He was eating a rock cake. In the other hand he had a small box of orange juice. Coming up the lane were two boys chatting to each other. As he took another drink of the juice he casually gazed behind him. A young man going about his business.

It was against school policy to leave the premises during the lunch break. Norman didn’t think much of the regulation but asked himself why the canteen didn’t bake rock cake as delicious, like the little shop on the lane. And then, in a flash it happened.

The boy behind him held him in a firm-but-mild chokehold, a knife at his throat. The two boys that were coming up the lane. One knife point about an inch from one of Norman’s eyes. The other with a ratchet knife pressed against his belly region. One of the boys relieved him of his watch. Then a necklace which he had for the last five years.

It finished just as suddenly as it had begun. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest and sweat had broken out in his hands.

It was mid-1967 and I was 17. It was 15 minutes after midday as Norman leisurely walked down the narrow, paved lane in an underdeveloped community close to downtown Kingston. He was wearing his khaki school uniform and tie. He was eating a rock cake. In the other hand he had a small box of orange juice. Coming up the lane were two boys chatting to each other. As he took another drink of the juice he casually gazed behind him. A young man coming down the lane. All was okay.

It was against school policy to leave the premises during the lunch break. Norman respected the regulation but asked himself why the canteen didn’t bake rock cake as delicious like the little shop on the lane. And then, in a flash it happened.

The boy behind him held him in a firm but mild chokehold. A knife at his throat. The two boys that were coming up the lane? One knife pointed about an inch from one of Norman’s eyes. The other with a ratchet knife pressed against his belly region. One of the boys relieved him of his watch. Then a necklace which he had for the last five years.

It finished just as sudden as it had begun and they ran off. He could hear his heart thumping in his chest and sweat had broken out in his hands.

It was mid 1967 and I was 17.

Mark Wignall is a political and public affairs analyst. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and mawigsr@gmail.com.