OH YES! Bangarang time again! I told you, didn’t I, that not a week can pass us by without our engaging in a major war of words. So, here we go again. This time it is politicians and campaign contributions, the beginning of another nightmare. In horror movies, the voice usually comes from the crypt, resurrecting some old skeleton to haunt somebody or other. This time, in our duppy story, David Smith speaks from prison. Get ready for bones to rise up and chains to rattle before this haunting is over.

One agenda item which will have to be addressed is the promised reform of campaign funding. It cannot be business as usual. This is the knowledge age and while money is still power and some people have long been accepted as the ones who “run tings”, those who have lived by the creed that “when dawg bark, no man talk” must now recognise that the age of duppy is over.

THE OTHER HINT of bangarang is the recall of diplomats. If we’re to follow some of what is being said, a lotta persons have been labouring under the illusion that our diplomats, having been appointed by a particular administration, are expected to return to base as soon as there is a regime change. Now we are hearing that there is uncertainty about whether this is a written convention. Interestingly, it has come up for discussion in this our 50th year of nationhood.

Appointment of diplomats began with nationhood status. The first ambassador to Washington, DC was Sir Neville Ashenheim, a leading member of the legal fraternity at that time. To London went Lawrence Lindo, another public figure to be later knighted. Since those days, appointees have come and gone as high commissioners or ambassadors.

Some have been more distinguished than others. The Dean of them all, by public acclaim, has got to be Keith Johnson, a man to the manner born, as they say. He served variously at the United Nations and Washington. His suave style and effectiveness were unmatched. He served everybody. Today, we throw the word “icon” around loosely but he was it, long before we made it commonplace.

Others, in their time, have contributed in their particular way, to our image overseas, each with his/her own strength and weakness. This might be the first time, or one of very few times, I’ve been told, that the question of call and recall in our foreign service has been the subject for public controversy. ‘Chaka-chaka’ doesn’t sit well in the world of diplomacy. One is expected to sort things out quietly and out of sight, not in public rows. So, who’s listening?

A question being asked: is this a fight over “benefits and spoils?” This is not too far-fetched, when you think that a popular idea is that those who serve overseas have nothing to do but go to cocktail parties and live big life at taxpayers’ expense.

Not true, those involved say. Nobody wants to know, however, about the long, hard hours required in representing not only the Government back home in sensitive matters, but in taking care of business for our people who seem drawn to trouble in a strange land. “It’s hard work, believe it or not,” says one who has had the experience.

LAST WEEKEND I was in Port of Spain for the annual ANSA McAL Award of Excellence which is competed for among top achievers of the English-speaking Caribbean, in the arts, sciences and community development. Guyana, St Vincent, and Trinidad and Tobago were this year’s winners. The ceremony was well-crafted and beautifully carried out, as usual.

It was dry season in Trinidad while I was there but the rain was pounding down. Not to worry — vehicles choked the highways same way while, from radio call-in shows, talk poured and poured. Both media and audience were in the Government’s skin, as we would say. No area was off-limits. The prime minister was a major target.

Our politicians who cry that the media here is biased against them because we don’t suck up to them would benefit from a round or two of the searing criticism which the Trinis dish out against their leaders’ chupidness. Radio, TV, newspaper, all get their licks in, seeming unafraid of legal action or anything else. Who can’t stand the heat know where to go.

The T&T media digs deep. Nothing is off-limits. Feedback goes on night and day, spiced with the colourful vernacular. The society displays signs of wealth in the good life (fete, fun, food) but issues like crime, poverty, even illiteracy, were talked of candidly. A softer touch came from one radio show, where the focus of the host was to get listeners to profess love for their country.

The Air Jamaica-Caribbean Airlines marriage doesn’t seem to be a happy one. There is no word yet of divorce, but it’s like they could do with counselling. Transport minister claims that T&T taxpayers “have been paying for the luxury of Jamaicans flying at a fuel subsidy”. It appears that current airline tickets were calculated on a former fuel price, which is not applicable now, but due to the bilateral agreements, CAL has to pay the difference. There seems to be resentment against us as partners in the union.

The minister’s remarks certainly will not endear us to those who already don’t think too much of Jamaicans. I don’t really understand all that is going down with Air Jamaica (now extinct as far as we are concerned). What is the real status of the arrangement with CAL? Are we in or out? The sight of one forlorn Love Bird aircraft parked at a corner of the field at Piarco like an unwanted guest brought nuff sadness. Look what we come to!

A WORD TO THE WISE: Drug smugglers — especially young females traipsing round the Eastern Caribbean thinking they can outsmart the narco-cops — watch yourself. We are not the most difficult people to spot. This puts every Jamaican under suspicion. The undue attention paid to me and my one lickle grip by TT Immigration and Customs last Friday evening at the airport left me quite unamused.

As my mother would’ve said, “The good haffe suffer fe de bad”. Sorry Mama, I don’t buy that anymore. Nobody wants to be paying the price for those who can’t hear. Problem is, when they are caught, the stain rubs off on the rest of us. We never seem to learn that prison is not a nice place.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to every Mama/Mom/Ma/whatever. As one mother who refused to be put in storage advised her offspring: “And don’t give me no duster, box-a-powder, bed slippers and all that. There’s still life left. Take me out to dinner — and pour the wine”. You go, Mama girl. Enjoy!

gloudonb@yahoo.com