Those of us who were flabbergasted by the violent events of last week in our country and incredulous about the reasons for their occurrence in the first place, will be trying valiantly now to put things in perspective. In other words, rationalising.

We’ll tell ourselves that what had its genesis in Tivoli Gardens and spread to other areas of the city and St Catherine was inevitable and a long time in coming. It was a letting out of the genie in the bottle, so to speak, and was absolutely necessary to have happened. This was the equivalent of, dare I say, a person holding in a fart and it finally escaping at the most inopportune time, say, in polite company around a dinner table somewhere. Not a pleasant experience for all involved.

The optimists among us will perhaps even go as far as contending that the mayhem and violence of last week will have marked a turning point in the tribalism that has been the hallmark of Jamaican politics for decades. I don’t know. I hope so but, I’m sorry, dear reader, I’m jaded. I’m not there yet. Maybe eventually I’ll get to that higher plane of enlightenment. But for now, I’m angry, angry that yet again in our country’s illustrious history, thugs have held law-abiding citizens to ransom, as prisoners in their own homes.

But more than anything, I’m profoundly embarrassed. Embarrassed to be part of the senseless savagery and primitiveness the rest of the world got to witness via satellite imagery. And we were all part of it, like it or not, regardless of whether we were actually part of that lunatic fringe slinging guns or not. For the fact is this: when Usain Bolt et al achieve monumental athletic feats on the world stage, do we not all share that reflected glory?

Do we not all preen about our in-the-news athletes’ success as though it were our own? When we beat pots and pans in Half-Way-Tree after another world-beating record is set by one of them, don’t we rejoice that “we win gold!” Well, in the same way that our countrymen’s success (in whatever field) is claimed as our own, then we have no choice but to appropriate their shame and disgrace when they keep up almshouse behaviour in full view of the world.

And that’s ultimately harder to do.

Is this embarrassment a third-world response? I’ve asked myself this a lot over these past few days. The desire to dig a hole and jump into it, whenever the foreign news covered the story. Did I feel small because of that small-island affliction we island people have that makes us want to be loved by our first-world friends? (No problem, mon. Big Ultra-Brite grin. Just don’t stop letting off those dollars/euros/pounds.) Some may suggest that right-thinking Jamaicans ought not to feel shamed by the actions of the lumpen element, those rabble-rousers who would seek to drag the nation into disrepute. Did Americans, for example, feel shame and humiliation in their identities as Americans when Bush, Cheney et al, during the worst days of the George Bush administration, were flaunting their crassness and greed and giving the American name, frankly, a black eye? I think the average American was mortified. As soon as the truth about the non-existence of weapons of mass destruction and the Bush administration’s real reason for invading Iraq came to light, I think they were horrified, and when the world started to classify them as ‘ugly’, their national pride, indeed, their national identity, took a battering. Which is why Barack Obama’s rhetoric, during his campaign for presidency, resonated so much with them. Hell, with us all, the people across the world who were held in his thrall by a mere stage appearance. The dignity and proud name that once belonged to the American people, in tatters in the wake of George W Bush, seemed to be on the brink of being repaired simply because of Obama’s regal bearing and his philosophy. All it needed, I’ve realised, was one man, one man to repair the image of Americans in the eyes of the world. A man who stood for a righteous cause, and suddenly, with his historical ascendency to the presidency, it seemed that all Americans weren’t money-grubbing, oil-seeking exploiters, dillholes and con artists.

Feeling embarrassed by the action of one’s fellow countrymen, then, seems to be a universal response, for which I need not feel badly about.

And speaking of embarrassing incidents, two words: Sarah Ferguson. Fergie, as we used to call her, Duchess of York, was recently caught out in a scandal, a tabloid sting in which she was taped attempting to sell access to her rich former husband, Prince Andrew. This so-called ‘access’ is apparently geared towards investors and businessmen who want to pitch business ideas to him. Fergie seems to have been doing this for a while, but especially now with times being as hard as they are and her being hard up for money. (Here’s to barracuda divorce lawyers who will get you a good settlement!). She was heard requesting £500,000 from the undercover newspaper reporter in exchange for her to “open doors” to her ex-husband.

The Brits are incensed at this, er, gaffe. The ordinary man, bloggers are up in arms about her actions, which they think brings the royal name into disrepute. Don’t mess with English people and their royals. She’s apologised but really, it’s probably just a matter of time until she screws up again. It’s not the first time she’s sullied the royals. Back in 1992, before she was officially divorced, pictures surfaced of her canoodling topless with a wealthy Texan financier who seemed to be sucking her toes. How vulgar, was the response at the time. That’s the same feeling I sense the British, shaking their heads in disgust even while maintaining that customary stiff upper lip, have with this latest scandal.

Ah, countrymen – you can’t live with ’em; you can’t take ’em anywhere.