I feel sorry for today’s young people. In many respects, they’re a shiftless bunch without the slightest concept of the sacrifices made by those who came before them so that they could hold a cellphone at the corner of their ear or spend a holiday weekend partying at some hip hotel out of town. I saw a group of them demonstrating on TV one night last weekend because the institution to which they belong blocked them from throwing a party.

It really would have been just a matter of time before it came down to that, wouldn’t it? The old ‘we want justice’ standard for the right to party.

In a way, we can’t blame them. What’s left for them to demonstrate about? They’re spoilt because we handed them everything on a platter. History will acknowledge mine was the generation that rose to the task and got the impossible done. One takes these things for granted, but things weren’t always this way. I was watching a 1994 episode of Living Single recently, in which a character was showing off his big clunky cellphone, which he admitted he was having problems using. Today, technology has advanced such that there are phones you can use to arm your house.

The seventies and the eighties were politically exhilarating times for us in Jamaica. There’s a black president in the White House today. But when I was a young girl, I always heard this recurring phrase used by my father and his peers: “You’ll never live to see a black man in the White House.” During the presidential campaign, when I told Daddy that the world was on the brink of change, he scoffed at me and repeated those same words.

In the eighties, we had, for example, heated debates in my sixth-form class about the pros and cons of the West Indian cricketers playing in South Africa. Back then, we knew of Nelson Mandela, who was unjustly locked away in prison and we were in solidarity with him. It was unreal to us that a system of government could exist that could legally segregate people based on their colour. This, mind you, wasn’t the colour prejudice we’d witnessed or that some of us had actually experienced firsthand in the United States and the UK when we went to those places for summer holidays. We didn’t have time to whine about not being able to party; our parents and elders, we understood, would always flop our show. What we were concerned about, however, was equal rights and justice for all people, South Africans included. Apartheid was an evil system of government, the back of which, we were passionately persuaded, had to be broken in our lifetime.

In those days, we had causes to fight for, causes to believe in, to go on strike for. And it occurs to me that what fed our hunger, our determination, was, in a way, our fear. How could we imagine things remaining the way they were for our children? We wanted the world to be better for our children. We didn’t want our sons and daughters to be denied opportunities. This was what motivated our forefathers, the generations before us. Our national heroes sacrificed their blood, sweat and tears to buck the system that we could be here taking for granted the very civil liberties we enjoy today. Old timers will recall the historic day that the first black teller began working in a bank. People came from far to witness that spectacle because up until then, a teller job had been the purview of young women of lighter hue. The next time you go to the bank, take a gander at who’s giving you your money and appreciate how far we’ve come.

And, while we’re on the subject of appreciating how far we’ve come… does anybody else see that the days of the bad man are over? As my BFF Andrew – happy birthday, son – and I were remarking recently: when we were children, there were certain names that filled us with dread. If you wanted to emphasise how bad a boy was, all you had to do was nickname him Saddam, Gadhafi, Sandokhan, Claudie Massop, Jim Brown, Natty Morgan, Feathermop, any character from the Shower Posse; names of that ilk. Of recent vintage we’ve had, of course, bin Laden, Joel Andem, Zeeks, ‘Dudus’ Coke, John Gotti, Salvatore ‘Sammy the Bull’ Gravano, to name but a few. Where the hell are they all today? Cut down or in prison. Who would believe Gadhafi would have met such a miserable end? Saddam Hussein was cowering in a hole when he was killed. And bin Laden was hiding behind the gates of his fortified compound.

Can you conceive of the world the kids are coming up to find now? A world free of the thugs and dictators who defined it, ruling with iron fists for such a long time – for we now know that, like the recently overthrown, long-time Middle Eastern dictators, men like Robert Mugabe, Kim Jong Il, and others who share their outlook cannot govern forever.

The world has changed

That means Jamaica, too, has changed. Hasn’t it? If, as the Government and the police force keep insisting, there’s been a major bite taken out of organised crime, with the taking away of the teeth of those elements who’d perpetuated crime and violence, then what justification can there still be for garrison communities? With Christopher ‘Dudus’ Coke – a don considered a political enforcer and the beginning of sorrows for former prime minister Golding – out the picture, does West Kingston still vote JLP? Are they now free agents? Or is it an atavistic impulse for them to put their X beside the bell? I’m just kind of wondering aloud; forgive me. I’ll grab the wheel back because I’m veering. But indulge me a moment longer. In Jamaica, a new prime minister was ushered in last week Sunday, marking what many seem to see as ‘young people time’. With the dons and what-have-yous gone, the very landscape has changed. What will young people do now? With all the opportunities that now present themselves, let’s hope the young don’t squander them with such hare-brained demands like the right to party.