By Mel Cooke, Freelance WriterComment is free, Facts are sacred - Beville DeBruin
IT HAS been about two years since I started writing a weekly column which appears on page 4 of The Gleaner and, like all annual marks, it is as good time as any for some reflection. Or, in my case, statement of purpose.
I guess the picture that appears with this column is not, shall we say, the accustomed image of a newspaper columnist. In addition the topics and positions, especially for Black people and against the US terrorism as directed by the latest white man who wants to rule the world, substituting big guns for any possible shortcomings, are not the regular fare.
A few people have expressed joyous surprise that this publication has carried the image and views and I am happy to say that the material has never been censored; neither have I ever been "advised" about what direction I should take or been given "suggestions" to tone down or tune up.
I think three have been rejected outright for vitriolic expression - and rightly so. I have resubmitted the exact thoughts, said less- shall we say adroitly, and they have been printed promptly.
The Gleaner is a firmly traditional, establishment media house. That is not unusual in this country, where only The Sunday Herald's first three pages tend to vary from the norm. The others, print and otherwise, may be newer, but generally they are certainly no different. However, my firmly non-traditional, anti-establishment views have been accommodated without a murmur or arm-twist.
Which brings me to why I write like I do. Jamaica is built upon the efforts of Black people, but some of us are the most subjugated people in this land of wood, water and murder, most likely to end up on the receiving end of a policeman's ire at his low wages.
We have also been told, whether outright or by the images of the successful in this country, that the dark-skinned Black person has no achievements and thus nothing to be proud of.
I resent that. I write about Black people because I want even one - just one - to stiffen his or her spine and feel good about themselves without the accoutrements of a hairpiece, bottle of Alizé, a credit card, SUV or appropriately pale bed partner to announce "me a smaddy".
'SERIOUS ISSUES'
I do not write much about the "serious issues" in Jamaica, as I consider it generally a waste of time. There is no fixing of the crime, the poverty, the squalor, the pothole-riddled roads and the cocaine trafficking without addressing the political situation and, by extension, the social stratification. For make no mistake about it, whether the PNP or the JLP is nominally in power, it is the same rather wealthy persons who run this little rock. They do not need "cock mout kill cock", breeder status or chi-chi man allegations to rule.
So when all this talk of inflation and devaluation and education and teachers' salaries and poverty alleviation comes up, I tend not to get involved, because it will never get better under the PNP or the JLP. I consider both of those political parties to have stolen Jamaica and Jamaicans' hope and future. If we do not get out from under their thumb, all else is fruitless.
In much the same way, that son of a Bush and co. are the wicked men on the international scene and I may not have missiles, but I do have my keyboard and will use it as weapon of word destruction against Hitler's progeny.
I am aware that there are some people who would rather these views not be expressed, a few of whom have written as much. As Mr. Beville DeBruin told me at Cornwall College about a year ago, "comment is free, facts are sacred". I have stuck faithfully to the facts; if anyone who has a problem with an opinion I express can prove my facts wrong or present new facts which alter the situation, I will apologise and/or adjust as required. Until then, their opinion is just as valid as mine.
Which leads me to the crux of the matter. There are those in this society who seem to feel that their opinion of you makes or breaks you, that a pat on the head or half-chewed bone of a compliment tossed casually your way is the high point of your life. And, conversely, that their criticism makes you cringe and curl up in the corner.
I find these people rather amusing, when I do think of them at all. They tend to be locally assembled whites, persons who are pulling themselves up (as they see it) the complexion ladder by selective browning breeding, roast breadfruit (oonu leave Dawn Ritch alone!).
APPROVAL
My dahlings, my dovecakes, my putusses, I do not require your approval, nor do I seek an invitation to the "right" function. I do not dislike or like oonu. Oonu jus deh deh, in much the same way that a bird does not approve or disapprove of a statue it craps upon. I do long, however, to be insulted by someone who can really, really write, so maybe those who have been attempting to throw barbs could consult a phenomenal talent like Claude Mills for pointers, so I can see if iron really does sharpeneth iron.
I do, however, treasure the reaction of the taxi driver, the bredren who bags at the supermarket, the student, the fellow newspaper writer, the studio engineer, the policeman, the person walking by a shop in Petersfield, Westmoreland, who asked "a yu name Mel Cooke?", who have told me that they found something interesting or a little bit of themselves in something I have written. This is regardless of whether they agree or not.
Because, in the end, I write as I do because I come in contact with the dancehall goer, the pseudo-intellectual, the Christian, the supermarket, the security guard, the mid-level manager and more and I am constantly amazed at how fantastic a country and culture we have.
I am so happy to be a product and part of it.
Next week: African explanation (Ritch reply, fourth and definitely final)
Melville Cooke is a freelance writer.
