IF the tributes and the paid advertisements continue to pour in as they do, then by the time we get to September 13, the late Roger Clarke will have the most popular name on the planet. Rarely have I ever seen such love and admiration expressed for a politician, minister, and human being, and this coming from both sides of the political fence. Roger himself liked the applause, but even he must be a bit surprised at where some of the plaudits are coming from, including the JLP and inside the PNP.

A Don Anderson poll as to where he ranks in popularity at this time among his former colleagues would be interesting. I don’t recall him at anytime topping the polls in terms of party or national esteem, but the circumstances surrounding his sudden and unexpected passing have touched the hearts of many, as this is a storybook case of gone-too-soon. Right now he might even be more popular than the prime minister.

Not all the nice things being said about the late minister in death would have been said to him in life. In fact, some may wish that they could take back the stones that were flung at him in some of his weakest moments. But that is how life goes, especially in Jamaica where we reserve the finest tributes for the final church ceremony, rather than singing the praises of the loved one during his or her lifetime. We are a land of contradictions where what is often said is not necessarily what we mean. This applies particularly to politicians who must make promises and then worry later about having to fulfil them. “When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean, neither more nor less,” said Humpty Dumpty in Lewis Carroll’s famous book Alice in Wonderland.

If you were to come with me for a moment and revisit Alice’s wonderland you would be surprised at the similarities that Jamaica shares with the author’s contextual world when he wrote his children’s book in 1865.

Having had a recent reread myself, I would recommend it as a must-read for anyone who is frustrated with the futility of getting things done in a logical and meaningful way in Jamaica today.

The story is about a little girl named Alice who fell down a hole while chasing a rabbit and found herself in a fantasy land peopled by the most eccentric and hilarious characters who could easily fit into the Jamaican context.

The characters had their own rules which they made up as they went along and broke them just as casually. They had their own peculiar code of conduct which was summed up by the Duchess who told Alice, “My child, everyone in this world has got a moral, if only you can find it.” Life simply held no complications for these extraordinary folk.

Let us put Alice into Jamaican clothes and into a contemporary situation, with the sort of instances and issues that face Jamaica everyday. What is deadly serious to us becomes simple, funny, and no big thing to Lewis Carroll who takes a satirical view of these solemn matters.

For example, our contemporary Jamaican Alice comes across a group of politicians slapping a conference table with their hands while someone, perhaps the Mad Hatter, is addressing them.

“Oh,” says Alice, “they are applauding the speaker.”

“Nonsense, my child,” says the Duchess who is escorting her around the garden. “They are not applauding. He is a Cabinet minister who has just made a promise, and they are simply knocking on wood.”

“Why do those people carry buckets?” she asks the Duchess as she spots another group at the other end of the garden. “Oh, my child” says the kindly dowager, “these are our Cabinet ministers. They are waiting on the Queen to make her grand entrance and they use the buckets to bury their heads in the sand in case she asks any difficult questions. They always carry these buckets wherever they go. It’s a tool of the trade in our Wonderland.”

At this point Alice decides to leave the company of the Duchess as she has accepted an invitation to play croquet with the Queen. “Would you tell me please which way I ought to go from here?” she asks. “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” replies the Duchess.

“I don’t really care so long as I get somewhere.” “In that case” says the Duchess, “it doesn’t matter which way you go. You are sure to get there if you only walk long enough.”

Alice then finds herself in the company of a Mock Turtle who tells her he once had an old turtle for a teacher whom they called ‘Tortoise” In response to Alice’s inquisitive questioning, the Mock Turtle says that his teacher was so named because he ‘taught us’. He then rattles out the subjects he was taught at school, among them reading and writing, ambition, distraction, uglification and derision.

All of this was a bit difficult to fathom, although Alice said that she did find some similarity to the education system at home, and that she would take back some of the lessons with her.

But the biggest lesson was yet to come. The King, apparently, was about to lead a grand street parade that day, and he would be dressed in his new clothes. With a sad look on his face, the Mock Turtle gave Alice the background of why the King would be leading the parade and what would happen that day.

He explained that the King was a very vain man who loved new clothes and wore a different costume for every hour of the day.

The Mock Turtle knew, however, that two swindlers who wanted to make some money off the King, had pretended to be tailors and offered to make the King the finest outfit he had ever worn. It would be made of beautiful colours, extraordinary patterns, but in addition, it would be invisible to anyone in the land who was incompetent or stupid.

“Ah,” thought the King, “this will be wonderful, for now I will know which one of my ministers are incompetent or unfit for their posts.”

So the men spent weeks weaving and weaving in a private room, but the King was cautious about visiting the room, so he sent his Minister of Fashion, Entertainment and Culture to look and report on progress.

When the minister looked at the work base he thought to himself, “My goodness, I don’t see anything. The men seem to be sewing in the air with a pair of large scissors. And sewing with needles but no thread. Is it possible I am stupid and unfit? No one must know this. No, it will never do for me to say I was unable to see the material.”

He went back to the King and reported that it was beautiful, using all the buzz words that he had picked up from the swindlers. The other ministers also went to visit, looked in the room and saw nothing, but went back and told the King he was getting a number one outfit, the best in the land, fit for the fashion magazines. The Cabinet voted that the King should not keep the gown to himself, but should wear it in a procession for the entire world to see. The King agreed.

Well the King finally came to take a peek at the outfit, saw nothing, kept quiet, and was all over the tailors with compliments. He even presented them with the Order of the Country for the magnificent work they had done.

Then he had them dress him carefully in the invisible outfit.

Outside the palace that fateful day the streets were lined with people, including Alice. As the King appeared, leading the grand parade, the people clapped and cheered. “Beautiful,” they said to one another, “perfect fit. Goodness, the King’s new clothes are incomparable.”

And as the parade got close to Alice the King pirouetted and posed, turning around to show the people his wonderful outfit from every vantage point. Nobody in the crowd wanted it to be noticed that they were incompetent or unfit, or plain stupid.

Suddenly the voice of a little boy rang out. “But, mama, de King no have on nuh clothes, de King naked.” “Shut yu mout’, bwoy”, said the mother, feeling shamed by her son who was making the family look stupid. “Yu rude and a goin’ sen’ yu home mek yu father beat yu skin.” Her neighbours also started to hush the boy. “Tell him fe keep quiet, Liza. De bwoy fly past him nes’ fe true. Fas’y an’ outa order”.

But it was too late. The King had heard the little boy and suddenly realised that it was true. He was completely naked. He hung his head. And the people took up the cry, “The King has no clothes.” The Cabinet shoved their heads into their buckets of sand.

And Alice, shaking with laughter, made her final exit from Wonderland and returned to reality. Or so she thought. As she woke up and found herself back home in her garden, she saw the White Rabbit of her dreams staring at her. The rabbit ordered her to write down everything she had seen.

“But where shall I begin?” she asked.

“Begin at the beginning,” said the White Rabbit gravely, “and go on till you reach the end. Then stop.” As simple as that.

Lance Neita is a communications and public relations specialist. Comments to the Observer or to lanceneita@hotmail.com