Who Is That Guy?

As I lounge in my pyjamas in the middle of the last day of this year, nibbling homemade peanut brittle, while okra soup is cooking in the kitchen, what more natural thing to think about than how to overthrow governments?

My little daughter is often unexpected inspiration, though the links take some time to come through. This time, the connection was quite quick and not too indirect.

We were in the car heading off to a dinner. She's learning to read now and asked "What is N.O.V.?". I had no idea what she meant as I tried to concentrate on the road. Then I saw that she was reading the licensing sticker on the windshield. "Oh. That is short for November. Will you remember that?" I said. I then proceeded to sing a little ditty:

“Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder, treason and plot,
I know of no reason Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.”

Oh, her Daddy is so funny, but what was he singing? I told her that this song was to commemorate the failed plot led by Guy Fawkes (a converted Catholic of Yorkshire heritage) to blow up England's Parliament in 1605. (The plot, masterminded by Robert Catesby, was an attempt by a group of Catholic religious conspirators to kill King James the First, his family, and most of the aristocracy by blowing up the House of Lords during the Opening of Parliament.) This plot became immortalised into an English national pastime, like playing 'conkers'. I explained how as a boy in England, every time Autumn was coming would bring in the tradition of building a 'Guy'. You would find old clothes and fill them with newspapers, and build an effigy. This representation of the plotter would then be paraded around the streets in a box cart of even an old baby pushchair, as children would show off their handiwork and hope that people would offer money, "Penny for the Guy?", you asked, this money would then be used to buy fireworks to be set off on Guy Fawkes Night, November the fifth.

On that night, there would be 'bonfire parties', usually just in the street where you lived: in the 1960s and 1970s in England, car ownership was such that there was little risk of blowing up adjacent cars. If that risk existed, then you had to find some open ground. Some people always sought a hill so that the bonfires could be seen and also the firework displays would be more visible.

Now, the Caribbean spin. I met one of my mother-in-law's nephews this morning, who like her hails from the Bahamian island of Inagua. We spoke about Junaknoo and how that festival had become so elaborate in the past 30 years in The Bahamas.I recalled how as a boy in Jamaica, the festival had been small and during the daytime: men would dress in scary costumes with pants covered in crepe paper fringes, wearing masks that depicted various evil faces, and would play a guitar, penny whistle and a drum. As a child this was a terrifying sight. The nephew told me that this was how it was too several years ago. He then mentioned how they also celebrated November the Fifth. He described the festival and it's 'bonfire night', Inagua style. My mother-in-law confirmed this. The tradition seems to have waned but I understand is being revived. The Inaguan version of the 'Guy' was an effigy of anyone disliked.

I'm not aware of any other Caribbean places celebrating this event, but am happy to be corrected. It smacks of republicanism on the one hand and is of course based on a religious opposition that failed.

Well, the basis of the traditions are well set in England and they may not be as keenly followed now as they were when I was a boy. Just racking my memory I remember that we always had the time of our lives. Fireworks are dangerous. Boys love playing with fire. Boys are terrorists in short pants. Things I used to do or be involved with--I was no goody-goody, but I also was not allowed to get into trouble--included:

• putting an exploding firework in an empty milk bottle and seeing if the explosion would smash the bottle...very dangerous, but fun...
  
• popping a rocket firework into some one's letter box, lighting the touch paper, then running as the rocket roared into the house--we hoped that no one would walk in the direction of the firework...extremely dangerous and reckless, but amazing wheeze especially when done to one of the neighbourhood 'ogres'...
  
• tying a firework to a dog's or cat's tail...boys will be boys, tee-hee...
  
• putting a 'Catherine Wheel' firework (one that spins) on the wheel of your bicycle and riding while the fireworks flared; that was cool, especially at night time...
  
• putting fireworks inside the 'Guy' so that there were some extra surprises when it was on the bonfire...always a good idea to stay clear of the bonfire.
  

Back then, fun was cheap and did not involve batteries.

Christmas Sunday Blessing: The Devil's Whip Has Beaten Me.

The spirit of Christmas can often be miserable. Not the mean-spirited, Grinch-like behaviour that some cannot cast off even for a few days in December. But the weakening of the spirit that often comes at winter time, when the body is worn down and sees its best moment to trip us up. My little one's body had tripped her up from the day we set sail from Bim. Then, my wife's body had done the Watusi on her from the time she got home to Bahamaland. Now it was my turn. They had resorted to bottled potions. But I'm a bit old fashioned, and like many Caribbean people of my generation prefer to use the power of herbal medicine. Some, like me, are not at all attracted to pharmaceutical potions.

I felt the flu coming on a few days ago. My temperature was rising a little; limbs and joints were starting to ache; appetite was waning; thirst was high. “Where the cerasee?” I cried out. I went to the house of my wife’s aunt, where the bush had run rampant. “Sorry, Dennis. We pull it all up.” They did what? That’s like living in the desert and throwing away water. We all know that cerasee works for a range of ailments, so why pull it up. I had to go to another plan. Fever (lemon) grass is not ideal, but with mint and lime it can work to at least alleviate the agony. Add some rum, which I think only works to help you sleep, and my toddy was fixed. I felt good for a few hours.

Another herb that is good, quinqueliba,I had when I was in west Africa. But could I find it here? Not a chance. Good grief. What has development done to us? I could not go to a "herbalist" because here the potions they sell are the "devil's work" in terms of illegal herbs.

But God works in mysterious ways. We had a Christmas gift to deliver and when it was being delivered we were offered a few “snacks”. Well, Bahamian use of language is loose at best. The snack consisted of avocados with a mango salsa, then a platter, adorned with two types of roast turkey—one with crab stuffing; that’s enough already. Then there was fried grouper, peas and rice, macaroni and cheese, steamed vegetables, and roast ham. “Eat up, dears,” we were told. I explained that my appetite was poor because the flu. Then up flew our host. “You need the devil’s whip. That will fix you.” Surely, this sweet old lady was not part of some coven in the otherwise Christian Bahamas. She went to the kitchen.

Back she came a quarter of an hour later, with a dark grey brew in a mug. It smelt evil. It was not bitter like cerasee, but had a lingering dull taste. My mug went down into the mug smoothly. “Let me know if the devil does not whip your flu,” said our host with a grin, and I thought of those children's fairy tales and wondered who would kiss me later to wake me from a hundred year sleep. “Now before you go, how about some old fashioned coconut tart? Or some black cake?”. Oh, Lord preserve me, I thought.

My first born daughter, who had just arrived before we had to make our snack visit, was in heaven. Straight off the plane into "auntie's kitchen". Oh yes!

We joined the family for evening dinner, but of course did not want to eat. We watched as they patiently waited for their food then ate like starved waifs.

My night was torrid. I sweated like I was in a Turkish bath; my pyjamas were soaked. I barely coughed, but I could feel the cold breaking up. But my head stopped its throbbing. It seemed that the devil had whipped me. I felt good enough to go to church for Christmas Sunday. Of course, the church was bursting at the seams, as is always the case for the main festivals. While I listened to all the references about how The Devil will try to work his evil tricks and turn us to the wrong path, I thought with a wry smile how the devil had coaxed me back to health.

I spent a little time today trying to find a reference to this herb, about which I had never heard before, and eventually found something in a book of herbs from coastal Guyana (see A Guide to The Medicinal Plants of Coastal Guyana) and it also appears in herbal references to Pakistan and south east Asia. It goes by the clinical names Achyranthes Indica and Achyranthes Aspera and has common names of 'cow pimpler' and 'soldier rod', and is supposed to be good for colds, stomach problems and thrush--as my mother in law said, that's dealing with a lot of different viruses; I'll attest to two of those solutions. I can see from the picture how the name could have been gained. I'm not sure if I can find some to take home and let the devil have another chance to put his whip on me.

Foiled In The Act.

Bahamians love nothing more than a party. Not the music and the jump up. Not the singing and the eating. Not the toasting and the roasting. But the leaving. They cannot wait for the party to end to show what makes them possibly unique among people in the Caribbean region. Once the final bell has rung at a party and the host has said "It was so good to see you all," then Bahamians let rip with their national speciality--toting. My wife has told me that no self-respecting Bahamian woman will go to a party without some foil folded into her handbag. Its removal will often come with the dulcet, "You know my husband couldn't make it, so I want to take some home for him," and the lady will proceed to create a volcano mound of food on a paper plate that would have shamed her had she done it during the party.

Jamaicans can wax off a whole heap of food at a party and will probably be tempted to take some home, but it would be a sort of self-denial if there was a lot left to take. "Why me neva nyam off all o' di brisket when dem did serve it?" a Jamaican man might say, tears filling the corner of his eyes as he recalls how he had tried to be polite to the other guests and only put 18 slices on his plate.

Trinis will mix corn soup and roti with curry, and eat and drink and wuk up all they can at the party, and they too may be tempted to roll up a little morsel to sample at the homestead. But, from what I have seen they are ready to just grab a handful of food and it usually only lasts as far as the car.

So, if you were to put these three nationalities together at the end of a party, the Bahamian would skillfully anhilitate the competition, not only with the load that is taken, but also how it might be transported. "Why else you ahve a big handbag, my dear? You ahve to make space for the left overs," I once heard a bejewelled, wonderfully made up and coiffured woman utter after a little buffet in the church hall. The Bahamians even had a song, "Da Toters", about this pastime that was a hit a couple of Christmases ago, performed fittingly by a Junkanoo fun group called 'Sting'. Listen to it. Nothing need be added: "...seen it done at weddings and funerals too..."

Da Toters - K.B. ft. Sting Junkanoo Group

Culcha: De Feelin Ov Chrismus.

Christmas is a good time to reflect on the bases of our culture. In the Caribbean, we are not one people with one history and have no single identity. Even within a Caribbean country the cultural roots can be very different.

Take Jamaica, for example. We have the African heritage from the ancestors of slaves brought some 400 plus years ago and that gives the biggest numerical influence, and that stretches through much of the language, the music, the dance, the food, and what people think of as ‘the face’ of Jamaica. But we also have Indians and Chinese—mainly indentured labour who started to arrive in the 19th century—who have given us more influences on the culinary and commercial side than on the social side.In Jamaica, we are not big on Hindu or Muslim festivals such as Diwali or Ramadan (like in Guyana or Trinidad) and we don’t get much into Chinese New Year. We have Lebanese/Syrians roots, too—look, example at one of our famous prime ministers, Edward Seaga. Again, commercial and political influences come from this strand. Jewish people have also been an important part of the nation. We have white Europeans bases too, many there from the original slave trade and owning and overseeing plantations.

Look at one of out great authors, Anthony Winkler,and his marvelous books written by this whiter-than-white man but in what we can term a black voice—Jamaican patois—such as “The Painted Canoe”, “The Lunatic”, and “Going Home to Teach”. I’m not going to get into the various divides on racial and ethnic basis,such as the difference between “white Jamaicans” (who may be recent descendants from Europe) and “Jamaica whites” (island born and probably at best ‘off-white’ or in Jamaican accents, ‘half white’). I wont talk about “red women”. I am not getting into the “browning” thing”. Nor am I going to say who looks like a “Coolie” or “Chinee”. Many of us are well mixed up.

But, come the biggest festivals it is the black and Christian cultures that dominate. What I like most about this time is the reversion to the past, and it is especially to the slave heritage past, to old customs and musical styles, like mento (which is not that old), or quadrille. Mento’s hey day was in the 1920s and 1930s so is the music of my parents’ generation. For me, this is as much the music of Jamaica, and it has its variants in other islands, such as The Bahamas, and I seem to hear its strains more at Christmas than at other times. One thing I like about it is that I can understand most of the lyrics, which is not the case with a lot of reggae, especially dance hall.

Christmas is a feeling as much as a festival. It makes sense to feel "Christmassy". That feeling comes with the music, increases with the black cake, widens with the platters of food (turkey, ham, rice and peas, fried fish, mince pies), getting higher with the going to church and singing carols, and ends when you are ready to get back to what we call real life.

Buddy, Can You Lend Me A Dime?

I read a very sad story in today's New York Times (see report) about a man who shoplifted an item costing US$4.99, for which he was short US$1. It's not a laughing matter and should not be confused with the sport of 'urban sprinting' shown in the video:


Urban Shoplifting - Watch more Free Videos

My wife says that I 'push the envelope'. I will treat this in its most positive sense. What she refers to is the fact that I rarely accept what is presented to me on a plate as all that I can have.I put that down to some part of my Jamaican upbringing: "We mus' do betta dan dat, man," or that "Me is som'body," attitude. It's a combination of demanding respect, but also not settling for what you're offered. Much of life is negotiation, like it or not, and usually first offers are not the best. If you have ever been to a souk and had to haggle you will understand the idea of 'best price'. At its worst see what happens when you make a legitimate insurance claim against a company determined not to pay out.

I have a very simple principle: if you ask for something, you know that the worst that will happen is that you will be refused, and you are no worse off, but your wish may be granted and then you are better off. Here's an example from my current trip. You want more fries? Ask for it, and challenge the notion that you have to pay extra.

A few days ago I arrived at Washington National Airport and saw a stand selling phone accessories. I asked the lady to say honestly whether her prices were good or not, and she said they were comparable to Radio Shack. I then asked the price of something and the lady told me US$19.99. I then said, "What price for two? Can we haggle?" "Sure," she replied I bought two items and I saw the bill was for US$20.99. I have a notion that I call "The Give", which allows people to be generous if they are given a chance.

Our man in the shoplifting story clearly did not feel he could negotiate even US$1, either for the price to be moved or to bring the extra money later. That is dreadful. His community should be aware that he has fallen on harder economic times, but clearly if it did know, he did not feel that he could present that and reason with the store clerk or owner. I have often been in a situation where I challenged a store clerk to offer a discount or waive some fee and if she or he could not to let me speak to the owner. In a big corporate store like Macy's the owner will not be available but the manager may have enough freedom to do something.

Yesterday I went to downtown Nassau seeking a Christmas present for that special person in my life. I found a car park but did not have any change. I told the lady that I would pay when I got back. "Leave me a dollar, and pay me the rest when you get back," she said. Where was I going? For sure, I would not abandon the car, unless it had been stolen, and if I am a crook, she was well rid of me before I roughed her up.

I went to a store to buy an item that was already on sale. I asked the man serving me if he knew about 'brawta' (a bonus, something extra), which is common in Jamaica, especially in markets. He told me he did not. So, I said, what discount if I buy two items. He thought, played with his calculator and showed me the price for the two. I said, "You can do better than that, man." He tapped again and down came the price. Both sides satisfied, we then close the deal.

Is it fear or vanity that stops us doing things like what I described? I have a notion that these thing generate more things like it. But, if you don't make your case you cannot expect anything. I have been unemployed and without money and never went hungry for one day. I am not a hustler and I have never begged in the sense of panhandling. Sure, some of us are brought up with the notion that we do not ask for anything. Even if you were, there is the argument about knowing what could be your dues. Those can sometimes be no more than compassion. A favour can always be repaid. I often joke offering to wash dishes if I cannot pay: I do mean it, so feed me.

Sexing Up Parliament.

Barbados is drifting toward the bizarre. One MP, the personable Patrick Todd (Minister of State: Education & Human Resource Development; pictured), has apparently suggested that fellow MPs declare their sexual orientation (see Nation News). Now, he has said that he is not homophobic--interesting that he does not need to say that he is not hetero-phobic. But that does not mean the country is not. So, let an MP put his or her sexual head over the parapet and let's see how well they are received. It's not such a bad idea if you believe that Parliamentarians are now ready to be open about their assets as well as their 'liabilities'. You want to know what a fellow legislator likes between the sheets, or in the kitchen, or in the barnyard, or on the small screen, but you're balking at finding out how they obtained the assets and generate the they have? Come on, now. You're pulling one of my two legs.

I do not listen to the Bajan Parliament on the radio much, but it would be funny to hear the Speaker referring to the Member for St. Peter or St. John (the parishes just happen to be the seats of the previous and current prime ministers, and have no relationship to private parts), with the rider ('homosexual', or 'heterosexual', or 'uncertain sexual preference') while the budget debate is going on. Hansard will need to be read very carefully to ascertain how and why voting was the way it was. Did the gays gangs together to overturn the straights? Is a gay MPs constituency always at the bottom of the list when funds are being allocated? My curiosity is now pricked.

From now onI think Minister Todd should go by the nickname "Sweeney", in honour of the famous demon (butchering) barber of Fleet Street. I can imagine plenty a Bajan, who on hearing that his or her MP is not as straight as an arrow, would be ready with the cut-throat razor to do a little paring of the margin of the member for wherever. Makes me wince.

Barbados, for all the claims of 'little England", is not a liberal democracy. It could not handle having someone in Parliament like Matthew Parris or Lord (Peter--there you go again) Mandelson, who would be bringing their boyfriends to cocktail parties. Nor could it deal with the openness of US Congressman, Barney Frank, the openly gay representative from Massachusetts. It's not at the rabid end of the scale like Jamaica, where burning and killing is deemed "good for dem". But, I am not sure where toward that end of the scale it lies. So, Minister Todd, I think you are playing too much with your members. Nice idea, but it's time is not yet ripe.

Time Is Binding.

At a time when economic activities are supposedly falling at a rapid rate, even declining in some places, it comes as a surprise to me that people talk more and more about how busy they are. A simple argument would be that they are busy doing nothing, because the economic data does not show them producing much more of anything. Maybe people are running to stand still, but that is essentially the same thing.

“Oh, I can’t do that. I know it only takes 10 minutes but I don’t have them to spare,” is the sort of breathless plaint I hear so often. I just blink. I think I know what it is to be rushed. In the workplace for sure, people love to give deadlines--real or fictional--as a means of controlling activities: I know what you are up to for the next n hours. I know what it is to be rushed because I have not allowed enough time to do something: plane departs at 10; need to be at airport at 8; journey takes at least 1 hour; so I need to leave at 7, and it's now 7.15...Oh, s**t! I know what it is to have time taken away, and a sporting analogy is best: better players always seem to have more time, because they anticipate better, prepare better, and execute better; so when playing against a better player one always seems to have less time. So, this time thing can be constrictive.

I’m a lover of John Donne’s poetry, and adore especially “The Sun Rising”, whose opening stanza is:

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?

It's not a poem about nature, but about time in the sense that its natural rhythm can intrude, in this case upon lovers, and their time spent well during the night, must end as day break arrives. Time has run out for them, but they had enjoyed the ride, so to speak.

So, what is keeping so many people always on their toes? I’m not really sure. Living in a bucolic place like Barbados, where speediness is not something that one sees as evident in many, if any, activities, I can identify a lot of time lost because of traffic and road works, and the general inefficiency with which things are done. An American friend, who is staying at my house while I am on vacation, sent me a message last week about how he spent nearly two hours in line at the drivers' licensing department. After which time he asked to see the manager, having lost his temper by then. He questioned why there were no persons serving anyone for 45 minutes and told the manager that this was unacceptable and that his fellow Barbadians should not have to put up with this. Everyone cheered, apparently. Then, the line started to move, real fast. So, in Barbados, we can understand that the BPOs ('business prevention officer') can eat into our time.

Having spent the last few days in Washington DC, I did not notice any especially different pace to the way that life was being lived there than I did two years ago, when I last lived there. During the winter months people tend to move around faster to generate some heat or at least not let the cold take hold. People generally do not like the shorter days and want to cram more into what daylight exists, and that would make sense in a world where we did not have electricity to give light whenever we wanted it. But, overall, the pace of Washington seemed about the same. Even a trip to the shopping mall did not seem like a dip into a pool of frenzy. The few who were shopping seemed very relaxed in the pace at which they did it, belying an image portrayed in a current car ad.

Maybe the 'busyness' is a pure scheduling issue. I remember the days in the 1980s when the Filofax made new heights in social status as yuppies showed what it was to have a full diary, that way one seemed both important and busy. The extension of this was to have a personal digital assistant (PDA), a phone that also had features that helped to keep all of these activities in order: ‘to-do’ lists would pop up with their reminders and deadlines. “8am: Coffee with ...”; “9am: Call ...”; “9.30: Organize rodeo riders for birthday party”, and so on. So, when a call comes in and a friend says, “Can we have a coffee?” of course it’s going to be difficult because the day’s time slots have largely been filled. Forget spontaneity. “How about we try next month?” might come a supposedly helpful offer in reply. “No bother. I was thinking of committing suicide and wanted your advice. But given that you’re so busy, I’ll go ahead with the plan I have…” The phone line goes dead. New item for the calendar, "Funeral".

My watch shows me 12 hours and I know that the normal day has two sets of these. I tend to sleep between 6-8 hours, so that leaves me 16-18 hours for other things each day. I always have breakfast—though it seems that this is now a luxury for many, taken in the passage of some other activity—and it does not last long, say 30 minutes max. Later in the day I take lunch—again, a luxury it seems—and that can be between 30-60 minutes. I admit that my lunch is sometimes taken with an eye and ear on other things, but I do eat. So, meals gobble up about 1-2 hours of my day. That leaves 14-16 hours. Time wasters come into the picture—much less than they used to when I worked in an office—and now they are really pleasant with it, as they are usually building-related people; fixers, movers, painters, planters, etc.

My daughter comes from school and for about 2-4 hours I tend to be occupied with what she is up to, not always actively but in a sort of my eyes and ears are peeled for anything, especially when voices get raised and thumping sounds increase. So, where are we? That seems like about 10-12 hours left; I still seem to have half a day to waste.

I write, but I do that in and around all sorts of things, and maybe some 2-3 hours of the day have that as their activity. If I were to treat it as a discrete activity, that would put me down to around 7-9 hours left, enough for another sleep.

Maybe my life does not have that much going on, so it seems a bit ridiculous to me to talk about not having 10-15 minutes to do X or Y. I do not commute, so I do not waste say 1-2 hours in traffic. I do not go to meetings so that perhaps saves a few more hours: I must admit I was always wary of any meeting that went on much beyond 30 minutes, as I found that after that time most of the important stuff had been said and the rest of the time was waffle.

I'm not going to detail things any more, because I'm trying to deal with something in which I don't believe. This talk of no time is just utter hogwash. It may be that people cannot figure out the things to drop that are really not needed so end up like time equivalent of pack rats, having everything to do and no where to put it.

Is what is going on is not some variant of the 'Time bind', the concept introduced by sociologist, Arlie Hochschild (1997), when she published The Time Bind: When Work Becomes Home and Home Becomes Work, and dealt with the blurring distinction between work and home social environments? Hochschild found in her research that although every mother and nearly every father said "family comes first," few of these working parents questioned their long hours or took the company up on chances for "family friendly" policies like flextime working. Her conclusion is that the roles of home and work had reversed: work was offering stimulation, guidance, and a sense of belonging, while home had become the stressful place in which there was too much to do in too little time. For sure, I can see those who comment about time shortage that it's work time in an institution that is eating into other things. But, as I said before, working to produce what?

State of The Police.

I'm an unfortunate individual. I spent 30 years living in the UK, and was so unaccustomed to seeing police with guns that I am still fearful when I visit the US, while I live in Barbados, when I visit Jamaica, and see policemen with firearms. I know that police officers are not saints, so I am happier when I feel the stakes are even and they and I are unarmed.

I visited Washigton DC over the past few days and encountered perhaps the most shocking experience I have ever had with a police officer. I was searching for a parking space and saw a police car parked in front of the store I needed to visit. I pulled in front and got out just as the female officer returned to the car. "Excuse me, where could I find parking that would give me easy access to this store?" I asked. "You don't see de sign? Ev'wher' we got signs tellin' you whe' to park. Now move your car an' let me get out." OK, I thought. Bad day? I noted the licence plate of the car and went back to my car. I pulled ahead a few inches and the police car pulled out and made a fast U turn and went on her way. I used to have no fear of asking a police officer for directions. Now, I will be more wary.

I was always dumbfounded to see American policemen acting like louts while on duty: eating food like yobbos, talking as if they were in a crowded market, and behaving just like ordinary people. I was always accustomed to seeing what could be regarded as "better behaviour" by the police. I guess times have changed.

The police and may officials can be a law unto themselves, and that can be very scary.I am not in Barbados so am leery of offering comments on the case I read in the papers that two press workers were arrested while trying to follow a story on policy misconduct (see Nation Newspaper). From the distance of another island, further to the north, I will watch how this story unfurls.

What's In A Name? Plenty.

More and more over the past weeks, I have paid closer attention to the names that people have. I used to think that many people were named by sadistic parents to have monikers that would plague them all their lives. Now, I see that perhaps there's a sinister logic in some names and how lives pan out.

First up, Bernie Madoff (pronounced 'made off'): he is now the man of the mo. with his reported US$ 50 billion bilking of almost everyone who lived.

Next, the man who is now in charge of the US Securities and Exchange Commission, that is responsible (loosely of course) for supervising financial activities in investment, etc, Christopher Cox (pronounced 'cocks'--yes, like chickens, dummy, or the other things that we tell children not to play with if they don't want to go blind). I don't know if Chris was playing with his, but he was played for a sucker, that's evident, though he was not the first.

We have Illlinois Governor, Rod Blagojevich (pronounced 'blag-oh-ja-vich'). On the streets, a blag or to blag is lying to getting something (like into a club or some goodies) through confidence trickery or cheekiness. The man is the name, yo!

We also have George Soros (pronounced 'sore us'). Georgie was famous for breaking the Bank of England when he had more money to play with than the central bank and broke the back of the pound in currency speculation on what is called "Black Wednesday" (September 16, 1992), and forced the pound out of the European Exchange Rate Mechanism. The bank surely got sore. Soros is anything but sore now as one of the world's richest men. The Bank of England? Now trying to stop sterling slide off the cliff again.

I'm stretch a bit with Kenneth Lay, former CEO of Enron, and his co-executive Jeffrey Skilling ('is killing'), who were had up for a range of securities fraud charges. Lay has several meanings, including, to lie, to bet, to press down by force, to calm, to dispose of, to have sexual intercourse;o in some metaphorical or literal senses, our Ken was doing a lot of that. Jeff, clearly was the final nail. Ken and Jeff's lies were surely killing a lot of good people and a business.

These are some of the prominent instances that we know about, and I imagine our news hounds have enough material in their archives to titillate my senses that this is more than a string of coincidences. You know that I don't believe that things happen just by chance.

What's In your Blood Line? Are We All Cousins?

My first wife hails from part of Britain's landed gentry--although a long way back in the blood line. Among her great back-grandparents was the Earl of Hopetown in Scotland (see a little biography of the titled family and also some Scottish clan history), near the Scottish border country. Her ancestor was one of the earlier sons who decided to 'jack it in' when he realised he was going to inherit nothing. He moved southward from the northern reaches of Scotland, and the family ended up in places like the Isle of Man and then Cumberland. As a result of this lineage, her family uses the name Hope prominently among given names: her father carries it as his middle name with Anderson as his first.

One of the people I met early on in Barbados, who is now a friend, is Anderson Hope, the general manager of Purity Bakery. I believe that in no way is he a blood relative of my ex-wife's family. I don't know the slave-owning lineage in Barbados so cannot say much about whether there is some direct or indirect link to the original Scottish ancestors mentioned above.

My current wife's father carries a prominent British surname, Turner (derived from one who worked with a lathe), but hailing as he does from the Bahamas, he has never set foot on Scottish soil. Yet, he carries the names Selkirk (town in Scotland's border region) and Anderson; he gave those names to the only son he had.

I am not suggesting that in anyway this line of similarities in names is more than a set of occurrence that may be common. We know that the Bajan and Bahamians who carry the Anglophone names had them given probably by a slave owner or plantation overseer. So, let's not get too worked up about "family" names in the region. They are labels tagged on a few hundred years ago, and we may be living with a true cousin because of the confusion created when the colonizers did away with slaves' real names. But, just think about to whom you actually be related.

A Manifesto For The Caribbean: Professor Persaud's View

One of my Bimshire economist friends is the wise and learned Professor Avinash Persaud. He has been rising into the stratosphere of talking heads on financial crises and financial markets, on which he's a bit of an expert. He's the founder and CEO of Intelligence Capital (see their website at http://www.intelligence-capital.com/). I don't want to puff him up too much so that when we have one of our increasingly regular breakfasts together, either on a Saturday or midweek, I still have some kudos left to give. Avi, aka "The Husband" (see Notes from a small rock), may always be in need of an uplift if his beloved wife has been tying him to the tree in their yard and giving him his daily lashes for forgetting to do pick up the twins from school.

Avi is a Bimshire-born boy, but not one of the standard issues. He has a famous economist for a father and a novelist for a mother. So, one the one hand he is a natural whiz at economics, and on the other hand he can weave a good story if needed. He also has a British accent almost as clear as mine and a sense of humour and use of words that give mine a good run for the money. But, as they say, without further ado, let's get on with the show.

Avi has been whizzing around the major European and North American capitals advising on the global financial crisis and living it up in limos, but he has been thinking about his home spot a lot. Here is what he has to offer.
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I have just returned to Barbados from a quick tour of G7 capitals in my role as an economic and financial advisor on the current financial crisis. It is a wonderful morning in Barbados and it seems like a million miles away from the panic of the markets and policy makers in G7. It's cool, there is a little “Christmas breeze” and the sky is a wonderful baby blue with a few white fluffy clouds. I am sure it is the same across much of the Caribbean.

But all is not well in Bim, or any Caribbean tourist economy. There are murky economic clouds on the horizon. When I was last in Bim in late October, I predicted a 20% drop in tourist revenues over the following year – in part this was a realistic assessment of the economic recession hitting Barbados’ main tourist markets (the City of London, Canada, and the West Indies) and in part a wake up call to an industry still talking about a Barbados exception and the resilience of the “high-end”. Seeing the collapse of Aston Martin sales and "posh" building company, Robert Ellis, I now think I was being conservative.

When in London the source of most insight is your London cabbie. At the end of November when I was passing through London, one told me that "a couple weeks ago business had dropped off a cliff” and sure enough, a few weeks later, the November economic statistics revealed some of the steepest drops in consumption and production in the industrial economies. Last Tuesday my London cab driver told me that “business is worse than dire. All the Christmas parties have been cancelled.” For some reason the Caribbean tourist establishment always reaches for the same rescue blanket – subsidise air tickets. They seem to be addicted to this seemingly quick fix, but this strategy will inevitably fail the long-run goal of preserving the net value the islands get from tourism. Quite apart from the potential long-term damage to our branding (you will never see “The Four Seasons” selling discounted hotel rooms) this crisis is not about Barbados/Grenada/St Lucia becoming relatively expensive and requiring a subsidy to make to more competitive, it is about a loss of income of our core customers. In short, there is not a great deal a small island can do to withstand this kind of external shock, but there are a few, important things.

One of the key criteria for initiatives is that they have longer-term benefit as well as bringing short-term benefit. (Subsidising “bums on seats” fails that test.) Another criteria is about supporting national income during the crisis. Normally the best way of getting income into an economy quickly is through construction spending. Construction workers are paid cash and they spend it. The number of immigrants who man the construction teams complicates this story, but we must also be very careful about selecting projects that will improve our long-term economic capacity. No bridges to nowhere, please. This is the time for the government to embark on a project to make an island become a “wireless island”, where there is free wireless-Internet connection everywhere on the island below certain bandwidth. This would spur business activity, increase local sourcing, support entrepreneurism and general knowledge transfer and shift the brand of an island towards a more business friendly place. There are many other business facilitation initiatives the government could push through in the unity of a crisis. Better flood defenses so that heavy rains seen this season are less disruptive in the future would also be a good choice of infrastructure investment. This is the time to consider expensive, alternative energy projects like wind and solar farms. The islands could also do with a new school and hospital here and there. Construction spending will not reach all parts of the citizenry and a one-off welfare and reverse tax credit payment would help too.

Governments will worry about the impact this will have on the fiscal position and by extension the balance of payments. I think there is some confusion here. Deficits are easy to fund in a recession – people have few other places to put their money. A budget deficit of 5% would be funded, though, it would have been far easier to fund, if the Barbados government had followed my advice in the months before October to over-fund the deficit when there was local liquidity. That liquidity has now disappeared as I predicted it would - though this was an easy prediction to make. The problem is making sure that fiscal deficits are not ingrained in the system, but fall back as quickly as they rise. I readily admit this is easier said than done. Expenditures have to be delivered in one-off form and not for consumption purposes. Barbados’ balance of payments will come under pressure, but not because of the fiscal deficit.

The Barbados current account deficit was not financed by purchases of government bonds as a result of faith in the fiscal position, it was funded by real estate and real-estate related inflows from the UK and Trinidad. UK purchases were bolstered by a UK housing boom and a strong pound. Both are now gone. Trinidadian purchases were based on a strong petro-economy that will face challenges with oil prices around half of the level budgeted for. A slowing economy will help by reducing our import bill, but only at the expense of rising unemployment or underemployment. Overseas funded PFI projects to build infrastructure that will either generate or save foreign exchange revenues, like wind/solar infrastructure, toll roads, paid-for Internet access, would help the balance of payments in the short and long-term.

Another important idea that will help manage the crisis and will do wonders to an island's business brand was put forward by Barbadian entrepreneur Sir Ralp (Bizzy) Williams at the national consultation. The idea is not new. Bizzy argues that if there is a 20% shortfall in revenue say, instead of cutting 20% of the workforce and increasing unemployment, with the associated social ills, firms would commit to keeping workers on if they agree to work one less day a week and take home one day’s less wages (20%). Left like this and workers are taking all of the hit, but spreading it around themselves. They should negotiate conditions that ensure managers share some of the pain too. Managers could agree to participate in the 20% wage cut without the day off. If governments could support private initiatives like this, using their good offices as a broker, it would be a tangible result of social partnership and transform the business reputation from inflexible to flexible overnight.

There are three things to do then. First, try and arrange international PFI for construction projects that will boost long-term revenues or reduce expenditures like wind/solar infrastructure and a wireless island project. Second, initiate a one-off boost to welfare and reverse-tax credits. Issue a bond to fund this, call it the Solidarity Bond and urge everyone to take part in it, to do their share. Third, let the government act as an honest broker to support employment and wage flexibility agreements.

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Avi knows that I am not fully on board with all of these ideas, but it would be useful for the local audience to think about them.

Excellent!

Achieving excellence is a very hard process for those who are on the road themselves and for those who accompany the traveller. I have just come back from another brutal training session with a group (today only two) of young players. I have no intention of becoming a great tennis player in the sense that I want to be good, but am realistic in knowing that as I am already over 50, and only started playing five years ago, my chances of making it to the top level are virtually nil, except in the over 55 categories.

The mentors for an athlete, often a coach, are always a mixture of love and hate; when the coach is also the parent, look out. The mentors love to see you improve and they hate to see you under perform: they know how hard you have worked and wonder where all of the consistency, flair, fight, etc. have gone when they watch the limp rag performance against a no-hoper. For this story, my mentor is Sydeny Lopez, a former Barbados Davis Cup player, who has now graduated from mentor to TORmentor. But, with his cute baby face, how could you not like him?

As I left the training after my one hour session this morning, my "mentor" asked me to assess my year and where my tennis had gone since I started working with him. Actually, it's not been anywhere near a year, but it seems like a decade!

In a word, it has been painful. I know that one object that he has is that if I decide to help train Miss Bliss that I will teach her good technique.So, he has reconstructed my game to be not a modified squash player trying to play tennis: I naturally slice the ball with a one-handed backhand, and it dips wickedly as a result, but I need to know how to drive the ball, so I have had to learn how to play with a double-handed shot. Unnatural? I'd say. I carry my racket low, as one does on a squash court--in part to avoid hitting your opponent in the face or head, but on the tennis court, the racket needs to start high, then go low, then end high. My body is hurting today, not because of these changes but because in his effort to make me good, I have to drive myself even harder. We do not have bodies that heal rapidly like the teenagers, and if we are injured, the healing takes much, much longer. But, we have what the teens do not have: muscle memory from when we were their age and many things work just the same now as then, and although the speed of movement is less, we can show that we are not slouches. We have done it before and have to believe we can do it again. So, what do I say about my mentor? Under my breath, I mutter, "This will get better." I don't cry, but I do cry out. And at the end of a brutal session of "Give me one more. Give me one more. One more and you're done. That's out. I need it in. One more like that. Throw away the left hand. Bend that elbow. Good. Punch that elbow...." I look to the ground, wipe the sweat from my bottom lip, take a deep breath, and go to pick up balls.

The church bell rings. Escape! Seven o'clock. Time for me to make my exit, and check that Miss Bliss is ready for school. Everything is burning in my legs. My breath is fast but not uncontrolled. Sweat slides into the corner of my mouth, and tastes bitter. "I'll try to see you again later this afternoon and maybe tomorrow morning," I yell over my shoulder as I go to my car. What did I say? Am I on some medication that makes me amnesiac in minutes? The paunch that I had that had spurred me a few weeks ago to decide to go on a boot camp crack with tennis training, wobbles a little, as if it is laughing at me. "How do you fell, buddy?" my right leg asks my left hand. "Pretty sore, man. Pretty sore. I need ice. How about you? I feel bad, but I'm passing the pain on to the butt," groans my hand. But I feel better than one of my similarly aged friends who had his treatment last week (see photo alongside).

I reflect on the young player with whom I had warmed up this morning. He should have been able to put the ball on a rope to me again and again and again. But he hit one good ball, one bad ball, another bad ball, one good ball, one to the left, one in the sky. Does he have no sense that he needs to be able to hit the same spot time and again? Maybe he will get there and figure out that it's not about force, but about accuracy; it's not the flash, it's the final good shot. It's not the inches outside the court with a shot that was so good looking that it could be a highlight reel; it's the shot that is an inch inside the court that looks so boring that even a sloth would think that the stroke needed waking up. Does this young man have what it takes to put his body through the wringer, or does he believe that he can coast forever?

Although the pain is all about me, and the mental anguish is all about me, the improvement is shared. How do I feel after a decade of this that passed in a few months? If only I could share the pain. Agony! But agony plaited with so much pleasure. Really? Oh, yeah. My backhand is going in--down the line, cross court, lob. My forehand is regular and on fire when the ball comes to me short; I don't fear trying to hit it, and don't accept a little dink over the net. Coming to take the volley? Watch me pass you. "Aouhgnn! Yes!"

Have to thank the mentor. Sydeny, have a great Christmas and may Santa bring all you need. I don't want anything except good weather in Nassau so that I can show off my new stuff. Oh, and by the way, my inspiration is higher because I did break the mentor's service during the tournament.Sorry, had to get that in. Good ball! I am no longer afraid of his game. Bring it on!

Chips Off The Blog.

I dislike housework intensely, but sometimes I have to do it. This morning, I was intrigued by the statistics for readership of this blog. I can see each day from where people tap into the rich vein of my writing. In broad terms, most of the readers are from North America (the USA supplies over 30%, mainly from the east and central USA), and Barbados makes up 20%. But I have readership stretching around the globe, in Europe (especially the UK), into Africa, through the Middle East, Asia and into Australia. If I look at precise locations, I can see Qatar and Israel, which are intriguing, and Mumbai, Karlskrona (Sweden).

I'm shocked that the site manages to get about 3200 visitors a month, not unique necessarily, and they include me, but I am not boosting my own stats.

But I am very small pototoes and curiosity killed the cat. I had to dig deeper.

Technocrati reports regularly on 'the state of the blogsphere', and note that around 16 million blogs exist (it could now be closer to 20 million) [see latest report for 2008]. Taking a few of the statistics and comparisons they highlight:

Most bloggers are male and age under 35 (oops, I'm out of my age bracket big time, but I am young at heart). Most blogs are personal (I fit). Most bloggers are fully employed (not just blogging) and highly educated (well, of course). Most bloggers, by a large margin, are NOT single (do relationships drive people to blog?). Anyway, over your coffee or wine or late afternoon aperatif, you can look at the snapshot a bit more.

comScore MediaMetrix (August 2008)

• Blogs: 77.7 million unique visitors in the US
• Facebook: 41.0 million | MySpace 75.1 million
• Total internet audience 188.9 million

eMarketer (May 2008)

• 94.1 million US blog readers in 2007 (50% of Internet users)
• 22.6 million US bloggers in 2007 (12%)

Universal McCann (March 2008)

• 184 million have started a blog | 26.4 US
• 346 million read blogs | 60.3 US
• 77% of active Internet users read blogs

All Blogs Are Not Created Equal

• Take a quick journey into the size of the Blogosphere

  

Global Snapshot of Bloggers

Demographics	U.S. Bloggers (N=550)	European Bloggers (N=350)	Asian Bloggers (N=173)
Male	57%	73%	73%
Age
18-34 years old	42%	48%	73%
35+	58%	52%	27%
Single	26%	31%	57%
Employed full-time	56%	53%	45%
Household income >$75,000	51%	34%	9%
College graduate	74%	67%	69%
Average blogging tenure (months)	35	33	30
Median Annual Investment	$80	$15	$30
Median Annual Revenue	$200	$200	$120
% Blogs with advertising	52%	50%	60%
Average Monthly Unique Visitors	18,000	24,000	26,000

Segment Snapshot of Bloggers

Demographics	Personal (N=1015)	Corporate (N=156)	Professional (N=590)	With Advertising (N=695)	No Advertising (N=595)
Male	64%	70%	72%	66%	66%
Age
18-34 years old	52%	45%	48%	53%	45%
35+	48%	55%	52%	47%	55%
Single	36%	24%	31%	34%	34%
Employed full-time	52%	51%	55%	49%	56%
Household income>$75k	37%	49%	42%	40%	37%
College graduate	70%	74%	74%	69%	72%
Average blogging tenure (months)	35	35	38	35	33
Median Annual Investment	$100	$200	$150	$100	0
Median Annual Revenue	$120	$250	$300	$200	0
% Blogs with Advertising	53%	64%	59%	100%	0%
Average Monthly Unique Visitors	12,000	39,000	44,000	46,000	4,000

Global Bloggers by Gender

Demographics	Female (N=438)	Male (N=852)
Personal Blog	83%	76%
Professional Blog	38%	50%
Age
18-24 years old	9%	15%
25+	91%	85%
Single	29%	36%
Employed full-time	44%	56%
Median Annual Investment	$30	$60
Median Annual Revenue	$100	$200
% Blogs with advertising	53%	54%
Sell Through a Blog ad Network*	16%	7%
Have Affiliate ads*	41%	32%
Have Contextual ads*	61%	73%

* Among those with advertising on their blogs

The numbers vary but agree that blogs are here to stay, but they are being challenged by the opportunities to post stories in social networking sites (such as 'Notes' in Facebook), which I have regarded as backdoor blogging and if we were unionized would be the reason for a work-to-rule or wild cat strike. Our mantra could be, "Don't let Facebook hog the blog." Try it.

So, sorry to have started you off with a little brain exercise this morning, but after a great night's partying and a buzz still in my body, why should you get off free?

Virtually Done Redux.

If we could type like this would that make us happier? Click on the image to see it in larger form.

Many styles are available, and the software is easy to download for free (see link).

Virtually Done.

Social networking on the Internet really took off this decade, with the creation of MySpace (2003) and Facebook (2004). From their limited beginnings--in the case of Facebook, from just Harvard College, then just a few Ivy League colleges, then just students--they now can be used by almost any one or group.

I remember subscribing to Facebook in 2006 and my stepdaughter told me then to not go snooping around her profile. I had no idea what she was talking about at the time, and never went further than enrolling. Several months ago a friend, whom I met here in Barbados through our daughters being in the same class at school, mentioned at a kid's birthday party that Facebook was a great way to share photographs. I had struggled for years to be a sort of unofficial family pictorial chronicler, and had to deal with the clunkiness of trying to send images by e-mail (fine for a few, horror if many) or putting them onto a compact disc so that others could copy them. I never got into using things like Kodak gallery, where pictures are uploaded and then sent to an e-mail group. If I had, perhaps I would not have pursued Facebook. But once I discovered sharing the pictures on Facebook I discovered what others do, that you can discover other people, some of whom you knew a long time ago, and some that you are just getting to know.

But social networking is of course not new. As described in the language of intellectuals, it is a social structure formed of 'nodes' (points, made up of individuals, groups, organizations) connected by one or more specific types of interdependency, such as kinship, trade of goods and services, values, visions, ideas, financial exchange, friendship, etc. There should be no big mystery about networks. Families are great examples, as are neighbourhoods, which we can extend from the hamlet to the big city, to the country, to the world.

Networks have existed as long as more than one being inhabited our planet, and they are very evident and sometimes easier to understand and observe in the animal kingdom than they are amongst humans. Networks exist in other living things, and can be observed in the way that plants 'organize' themselves to either mutually support or find support from other things. Think about the way that plants use colour and pollen to attract insects to help propagation; or think about the way that certain plants can dominate a landscape. But let me put the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees to one side and focus on people.

As is common with language development, the current use of a word can often lead us to forget its true origin. 'Virtual' has its root in 'virtue', meaning strong (or in the old-fashioned world, manly) or true. So, it was once apt to say that the king was virtual, meaning he was strong and maybe morally correct. By contrast, saying the queen had virtue meant that she was chaste (NOT chased). Usage of the word has given 'virtual' the meaning 'almost something but not the real thing'. In one of its frequent appearances, 'virtual reality' means NOT real, and as science develops we can now don glasses that allow us to see a world other than that in which we actually live. A hologram is a good example of virtual reality, where you see the image of someone or something not the thing itself; like a dream but we can enjoy or dread the image while awake. But, more simply, one can think of photographs and books as representations of virtual reality--the words and images merely give an impression of what is or was. Some people still fear photographs because they think the are the real person extracted into a machine.

But 'virtual' has now become almost synonymous with things related to the Internet and what we affectionately call 'cyberspace'--the world of modern technology. Many of us greatly enjoyed the latest in virtual politics, when CNN's John King regaled us with his interactive political maps during the US presidential election campaign. There was no need to walk the streets to know what was going on.



In the past, social networks were kept together by many forms of contact: basically actual (eg, direct face-to-face meetings and visits), or virtual (meetings between surrogates, letters and other written communications). I use virtual here in the modern way.

But do we network socially in a different way through the space provided by Facebook? Someone posed this question with regard to its use by children (let's call these the pre-teens through to the twenty-somethings) and parents/adults. My own limited research amongst the friends I have who use Facebook suggests that the 'children' I know are very expressive both in terms of pictures and written content--foul language is not a barrier, nor are pictures that would surely embarrass if put out into a different public space. Adults and parents tend to be more circumspect, even intellectual, sharing pictures that are varied but rarely likely to embarrass now or later. Adults tend to share 'knowledge' about family and events, which may include articles from other sources or their own 'notes' that describe or comment on a range of issues, with or without their own comments, from which can spring sometimes a rich dialogue. But, children do this too, but with a different flourish and a lot of coded language. However, in essence, I do not find much real difference between children and adults except in content. It is hard to say if one group uses the space more than another, and looking at number of posts is not a good guide; frequency seems to be about individual time organization. Many of the children seem to 'chat' a lot through Facebook. Through Facebook it is easy to hold a 'dialogue' with whoever wants to read it.

I cannot tell if people use Facebook for more illicit things. We have read of cases where organizations have consulted Facebook to investigate behaviour (see Princeton's Public Safety admission). But, given that there is really no censorship, illicit images can be posted easily and the site can be used for illicit purposes.

One of Facebook's features is messaging, but as far as I understand these are private (at least to the Facebook public) if limited to direct contact with another user. But like everything on the Internet, the trace is there on a server somewhere, and someone may be watching or at least able to see, if the desire or need was there. So, as they say so often with e-mail exchanges, 'If you would be embarrassed to see the message in print don't send it'. Wikipedia reports a lot of cases where Facebook has been used to investigate crimes, including possible murder.

Facebook has 'walls': a space on every user's profile page that allows friends to post messages for the user to see. A user's wall is visible to anyone who is able to see that user's profile, which depends on their privacy settings.

Facebook has 'news feed', which appears on every user's homepage and highlights information including profile changes, upcoming events, and birthdays related to the user's friends. Initially, the this feature caused dissatisfaction among Facebook users; some complained it was too cluttered and full of undesired information, while others were concerned it made it too easy for other people to track down individual activities (such as changes in relationship status, events, and conversations with other users). In response to this dissatisfaction, Facebook issued an apology for the site's failure to include appropriate customizable privacy features. Since then, users have been able to control what types of information are shared automatically with friends. Users, if they so desire, are now able to prevent friends from seeing updates about different types of activities, including profile changes, wall posts, and newly added friends.

Facebook has 'notes', a blogging feature that allowed tags and embeddable images, like photographs.

Following one of my mottoes, "Only connect", I use Facebook to connect people whom I know know each other but seem to have not found each other on Facebook.

I was fascinated to find out yesterday that some parents are not friends with their children on Facebook because the latter do not this that is 'cool'. I don't know if I am odd in being friends with my children, and even using them as a source of finding other friends amongst children I know from earlier days.

I do not do a lot of searching for friends, though if I make a contact I ask if the person is on Facebook. But I have been found by, and found, old friends through Facebook, the strangest being someone I knew when I was 6 years old, who still lives in England. His daughter found me. A Google search will now let you know if someone has a Facebook profile.

Most things that happen on Facebook can be followed by e-mail, with notifications, which can be transferred to a mobile phone, so one can remain connected to the Facebook activities without being at a computer.

Limitations are important. I use 'friends only' as my default and then decide if within that group I want to customize to only a few people; somethings are not really for all friends to share. But, some of what I share with my friends they may wish to share with their friends, and as far as I can see there is nothing within Facebook to stop that. Generally, that's not something I do, but I note that while those who are not friends cannot get access to my profile, what I do need not be seen or read by them. Maybe someone will develop some autodestruct software for such transfers.

People can see when you are online, which is better than a phone, and use a messaging feature, but it seems to work only when online. A lady who helped me last week about whom I wrote last week sent me a message, but I was offline and never received it.

Most of my generation grew up in places where the telephone was the main way to connect quickly to people one could not see or visit easily; though we know that many used the phone in place of direct contact. In earlier times, the speediest things were letters and telegrams, and depending on where you lived, they could move quite slowly. I remember the hullabaloo when a telegram arrived, as it usually meant really important news like a death or a birth. Letters were and still are great to get, but most of my generation do not write letters but exchange constantly and sometimes at length by e-mail. The computer allows us to replace the telephone with features that allow us to talk to others connected to their computers (using software such as Skype, Gmail, Yahoo Messenger, etc).

If you are well-travelled and have friends and family dotted all over the world, modern technology, including networking sites like Facebook, shrink the world. I have managed to stay in touch with lots of developments with my family (Canada, US, Jamaica, Tortola, UK, Barbados, and wherever they travel) and friends (France, Guinea, Vietnam, US, Canada, Barbados, Trinidad, UK, Belgium, Madagascar, Senegal, and wherever they travel). We cannot talk on the phone with convenience because of time differences, work schedules, school schedules, moods, state of health, and other restrictions and limitations, but we have managed to share a lot about developments in our lives. I feel very connected to these people. If we are so inclined, the information is there to be consulted at our leisure.

The virtual is not real, but it can help us greatly enjoy the real. The virtual is not all virtue, but what is? The virtual is not more sinister in its intrinsic form than anything that someone wishes to misuse. Nevertheless, it is not for everyone to embrace, but those I know who have embraced the social networking in this virtual form seem to be very content with its results.

Rubbing Shoulders.

I have never figured out why people get excited about "celebrities". I can understand how certain positions in our society lead us to give respect, adulation, or other positive responses, as well as disgust, criticism, and a wave of negative reactions to certain individuals. Note, also, that our (western, capitalist) society tends to give these reactions to only certain types. Rare is it that we "celebrate" someone just for being good, like a nurse, or the dustman (garbage collector). We don't fall down on our knees, literally or metaphorically, for someone who has great religious credentials. Those days are long gone. We may even have forgotten how to love or revile our own relatives. Great Uncle Ned, who went to prison for stealing chickens back in 1880, is forgotten for Michael Vick and his sad story of dog baiting or O.J. Simpson and trying to steal back his memorabilia. Grandma Delores, whose recipe for roast lamb is the envy of the island, and has been passed down the family and is savoured every month, gets less recognition than a foul-mouthed, white-coated English chef who says "P*** off" in a Cockney accent on TV, and whose food you've never tasted.

We look for stars--rising or falling--and increasingly it seems, the less they actually produce or do for the rest of society that can be called good, the better. Look at Britney Spears. Why? Oh, she's spotted getting at the airport, looking again as if she is having trouble managing her life. Look at me. I'm pathetic too.

Politicians also get a good mixture of both reactions, not least because some of us had put our trust in them with our votes, or had shown our dislike for them with the lack of our votes: just look at the Governor of Illinois (Rod Blagojevich--hard to pronounce), with his 'potty' mouth, and his wife (for whom no one voted) who seems to have been more than a partner for life. Yikes! America seems to provide us with more than enough examples on the negative side. Look at Governor Spitzer--a man who clearly had no idea how to get value for money: you paid how much for some sexual titillation? Look at Senator Ted Stevens (Alaska)--bribes, what bribes?

But, I just don't understand the "fanaticism", such as wanting to hang around a hotel lobby to see Beyonce walk by. Actually, my hormones can understand that, but my brain does not. Why would I want to get a closer look at Denzil Washington, and hang around for hours hoping that he will walk by, or get all frothy and like a baby with my food when I see him at an adjacent table in a restaurant? I've seen the guy in films, close up too. What do I expect to see now? That he is only 4 feet 6 inches and has been fooling us by wearing Cuban heels? I visited Bequia last summer and someone mentioned that he came there in his yacht occasionally. I was dipping in the sea at the time, and I have not bathed since. Imagine. My feet in the same sea as Denzil's yacht.

I've been to a presidential inauguration ball (I palled around with Capitol Hill lobbyists), and I saw up close and a bit too personally the Gores with that famous kiss; I could almost taste it. It did not make a politician of me. I once trained in the same running camp as Linford Christie; I think I even beat him in some drills. Yet, I never got to be Olympic, World, European or C0mmonwealth Champion in the 100 metres. I went to Mexico in 1986 and visited the England football team in their hotel; I saw Diego Maradona up close and very personal over some chicharon (fried pork skin) before the final game, which his team, Argentina, then won. Yet, I have no World Cup medal to my name. My hair--or lack of it--makes me now resemble England footballing great, Bobby Charlton, though. Was that because we spoke when we met in Mexico City?

Look at me. I have had my share of personal fame and it continues. I've won athletic championships; my name is in the records book---can't take that away from me. I played football at a high level and had my sweat mix with that of international players, even shared a bath with a few. Cooooooo!

On a lesser scale, but up there, nonetheless, I got a letter published in the Barbados Advocate this week: it was my view on work and the benefits of telecommuting, spurred by a flash of stream of consciousness writing. Now, truth is that a liming buddy mentioned it to me last night; he and others shook my hand; they know good writing when they see it. That's as much pay as I could expect. For some reason, my assiduous reading of the papers had overlooked my own moment in the sunlight. It was on Wednesday and .... I've been on the radio a few times over the past few months. Sure, when I go to the school yard I have to deal with the adulation of other parents back-slapping me, or some children yelling "Uncle Dennis! I hear you in the radio. You're famous." After any of these instances I have to admit that I do feel a rush of pleasure: most of us like recognition. But I would be shocked to see people camping outside my house, or blocking my car, or pressing their underwear on me to sign, or other "foolishness". Hello, it's still me, guy. Bumbling, grumbling, laughing, crying, eating, sleeping, just like I used to. I don't even have the right to say that I am worth more; I certainly don't get offered any money more than I did before, and that's a big fat zero anyway.

We know that there is a large vicarious element of our lives. Association with important events or people rubs off, we believe. After some disaster, we can hear, "Last Monday I was on that same flight that crashed yesterday. Imagine that." So, what? You were not in the crash. Going back to the Denzil moments, what do we think is so special about saying, "Denzil Washington was in 'Nobu' when we had dinner there the other night. He was eating the same sushi dish as me! Feeding himself with his own chop sticks. I thought these stars all had helpers." Why would I think of myself as so honoured to be in the presence of someone I had seen in a film? I'm at a loss. If I said that I had read President-elect Obama's books that would have less eye-opening appeal than if I said that he and I had palled around on the basketball court in Chicago.

I can be pretty stupid myself, so why would I want to get excited about some wild escapade by some movie star? Come on! When my daughter crashed the car into our house, with not even a drop of alcohol in her system, why would I not think of that as being a major event and not better to be associated with that when some overpaid athletes crashes on the highway and get charged for driving under the influence?

Why would I want to think so little of myself that I could not wait to say that I was standing in someone else's shadow?

I dont think that I am narcissistic, but I am certainly not going to fawn over anyone. Least of all someone I do not really know. That said, I do plan to be in Washington DC on Inauguration Day next January. I will be a part of history, especially if I can score a ticket to see the swearing in. If not, I will have live with the fact that I was there for that day. But, I do not presume that my longing to see President-elect Obama become the 44th President of the United States will rub off on me in any way other than to say that I was present. I'll wave and yell like a lunatic and maybe he'll see and hear me and hail me next time we meet for a jog on the Washington Mall. I can hear it now: "Yo! DJ. Howya doin'?"

Needing A Good Kick Up The Backside.

If there is one thing I really cannot tolerate about how things go in this fair isle it's the fact that complaining is a sport where Bajans would have great Olympic prowess but doing is still a work-in-progress. Few people seem to realise that grumbling and groaning alone changes diddly squat.

"Come on, Jonesy! Do you want me to come on and kick it for you?" one of my football coaches used to scream. I get the same feeling when I read about the disasters of the national soccer team. Maybe I should drag my 50-plus year old body out and give them all a good kick up the a***.

As a former footballer, coach, referee, etc.--said it enough times now--I know a bad set up for developing football when I see one. So what is it about the way that things don't get done here that leaves the national team crying the same tears into their glasses of milk as they did a few months ago? (see Nation News report). Captain Norman Forde is blaming the team's inadequate preparation over the past three weeks for their winless performance and early exit from the Digicel Caribbean Championships Finals

Wasn't it a mere few months ago that the Bajan team was complaining about how they were badly prepared for their matches against the US in the World Cup, when they got thumped by something like a cricket score (see Convince Me Please). Some lame stories about how the Americans practised with balls while the Bajans had to practice with coucou rolled up in paper mache. Injustice! Which part of "not learning any lessons" is not being taken seriously? Pathetic!

The team, called the "Tridents", and those who manage and organize its football need to have those three prongs shoved up somewhere sensitive. The team trains on a piece of land (the YMCA field) where you would not even grave cows. Their warm-up match before playing Jamaica was their own under -17 national squad. Result? Don't ask. The referee robbed the team. Please. Imagine Michael Phelps racing against his gold fish in his mum's pond in preparation for the Olympics. Imagine Usain Bolt running in some hobnailed boots against a blind donkey in Trelawny in preparation for his quests in Beijing. Make sense?

I'm sure that Bajans would like to have some sporting success but they don't seem to have a clue about how to go about making improvements to a shoddy situation. Afterwards, the litany of excuses would embarrass a schoolboy who had just tried to tell his teacher that his pet weevil had eaten his house and that his homework was buried under the now rotted house. Who cares if another team like Grenada is better or not on paper? The match is played on grass. Duh!

As many good coaches say, "Just do your job!" If not, give us all a break. At least they did not manage to disgrace themselves totally, like some of the players in the following video:

Let's Be Friends.

My previous post was about a seemingly pleasant incident with some Muslim neighbours, which has at its base a first real contact between people previously unknown to each other and a gesture of goodwill. I was happy for this to occur because it was a nice piece to add to a series of discussions I had been having with an American lady about whom I had written before (see links to You cannot be serious and Happy Days). As a preface, I must say that I have no fear of Muslims, in the same way that I have no fear of any religious group. Members of my own faith have said and done many things to make me fearful, even though they may not have ever conducted any acts of terrorism. As a man married to a woman and the father of three girls, my concerns for their equal treatment, especially within my religion, is as high as my concern for their general and individual safety.

I wrote several weeks ago about an encounter that began by e-mail via this blog, with a woman I named "Daphne". Our first point of contact was about her fear of Muslims and how they could threaten her planned holiday to Barbados. She has lived most of the past few weeks dealing with a series of challenges I have posed, directly and indirectly about such fears, her political views, and more. She has in the process made many discoveries about herself. All of this was possible because she was willing to put her head about the turret and say "Here I am". She showed me that she had good points, from my very personal perspective, because she brought me a "peace offering" of boiled peanuts from South Carolina. I can be like Pooh and honey. She also demonstrated one of those truths that I hold self evident: that if you share a meal with someone you will end up sharing much more.

Some people express surprise that one can start interactions with "total strangers met on the Internet". I must say that I find that concern bizarre. It's hard to find anyone that I call a friend who did not start off as a complete stranger; that's even more apparent for the group of friends I now have in Barbados, only one of whom I had ever met before coming to this island. Once someone has moved to the elevated status of 'friend' it is not static, and needs to be nurtured. I take a dim view of friends who visit this island and don't make contact until after they have left and then say "I was in Barbados but...". That, my friend is not something I would ever do. If anything, I go the other way and try to prepare the person for a possible visit once I touch land.

Even my wife started off as a complete stranger to me. Her friends are certainly not my friends by obligation. I would not expect her to take my friends as being hers. It may happen, but it's a matter of luck and circumstances. Being introduced to someone does not make them known. I am always sitting with a wry smile on my face when I read stories about 'villains in our midst', such as spies, criminals, etc. and the way people trot out comments such as, "He seemed such a decent man", "She was a good neighbour", "Who would believe that this child next door could do such a thing?", which basically indicate that the persons that was there circulating with you were unknowns. So, proximity to people does not necessarily give knowledge about them. People let you know what they want to let you know about themselves. What you choose to know about people is what you are prepared to find out: it's also interesting how we reject the bad/accept the good about people we say and do the opposite for people we truly dislike.

But, back to Daphne. Our exchanges have encouraged her to write, and she offered me a piece last week and left me free to use it on the blog, if I wished. I am not a paid critic and have the left the piece basically untouched (though minor editing or additions I mark in red below; various observations I make in [...]). These are her thoughts and her expressions. I share below what she sent to met.

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It has been said that writing can be cathartic or can help you sort out your thoughts and feelings. I see it as bringing what’s in your heart and soul to the outside, organizing it, throwing away the trash and keeping the good stuff. I’ve never written anything just to do it without an audience in mind. But, here it goes.

About a month ago some of my family and I went on a trip. This was during the presidential election of 2008 – one of the most historical elections of all time. See, at that time I just about believed everything I heard from the media, e-mails, blogs, etc. I was doing a little research on the Internet and found a blog site that caused me to become quite upset about our up-coming trip to Barbados. The blog I read was about Muslims in Barbados and whether they would kill or not. [Here is the article from Barbados Free Press, entitled 'Muslims Wont Kill Anyone Unjustly'] The Muslim response was that they would not kill ‘without cause’. There were also some very demeaning, abusive remarks directed toward women. Well, I kept looking and found another responsible web/blog site and decided to be brave and send an e-mail to a total stranger to determine the safety of our trip. I really did not think I would ever hear from it. Within a few minutes, my e-mail was answered with an attitude! He said my note really disturbed him and he didn’t know what country I was looking into, but it was obviously not Barbados. They had a far less Muslim population than the US did and what difference did it make anyway? I was so relieved that he thought the question ridiculous, that I overlooked the attitude part. Now I could plan my trip and not worry about Muslim extremists.

But, this guy wouldn’t let it go and neither would I. So, somehow we ended up in a political discussion/debate via e-mail. The only problem with this is that he is much more educated and interested in the facts than I am. I’m a wife, mother and nurse that really only pays attention to politics during an election - unless there is something really major going on. He on the other hand is a very politically opinionated person who really does base his opinions on knowledge. Imagine that!

This was such an unequal exchange between the two of us. I must be a really secure person to not let this ‘walking encyclopedia’ of political, geographical, philosophical, social, financial and spiritual educated liberal intimidate the cr** out of me! But, what I lack in knowledge I am good at BS. Just kidding! Maybe he just wanted to sway my vote or maybe he wanted some humor in his life. No, he is a stickler for truth regardless of the reason and probably wanted to set the record straight.

In my defense, like a lot of Americans, we are too busy doing life to pay attention to politics. My statement has been that I am not a political person – that’s just not my thing. Now, I do see that it is important to pay attention and develop your own opinion. So, because I vote – I am a political person and to be a responsible voter you need to recognize the difference between media hype and truth.

December 2, 2008

One of the most frustrating things about these ‘conversations’ to me is that it seemed like my feelings toward terrorism (Islam in particular) were not adequately recognized. Tolerated maybe but not understood. The depth of my anger, hurt and disgust felt toward evil people and their purposes of attack was shocking to even me. Upon questioning several friends and acquaintances, I found that their feelings were equal to mine or greater! Some believed that the Muslim terrorists were trained from childhood to hate America, Christians, Jews, etc.

In my mind, I had it settled that those were evil men who happened to be Muslim who staged and carried out the crimes in the USA. But, I was wrong! My heart has never been settled on this subject. I researched the Koran and found that it does indeed tell them to kill infidels (non-Muslims). So the term Muslim extremist is accurate. Islam taken to the highest degree, which is what their scripture says, is to kill nonbelievers of their religion. How can one rationalize that in their mind to come to an acceptable peaceful mindset??? If Muslims follow their religion by the book – it will definitely lead them to destroy anyone that is not Muslim (unless they ignore of that part of the book). [I think this is a misinterpretation of "Jihad", which has four components and is meant to represent the duty of fighting against Satan ('struggle in the way of God'), which can, but need not, mean physically fighting against God's enemies. But it is essentially about self-comportment and leading a good religious life. See link to 'The Complete Idiot's Guide to Understanding Islam' or read the Koran.]

So, it appears that I have come full circle in my thoughts and feelings concerning Muslims. The only difference now is that I have researched it and found that the most dedicated ones are the most dangerous. I do not trust them or have a desire to be understanding or tolerant of their belief system. However, my Christianity says that Jesus died for them. So, what is my obligation?

They are a warring religion with individuals that belong to an organization based on an evil doctrine of killing. [We have not discussed this and I wont go any further than to recall the Christian Crusaders in the Middle Ages, which went on for nearly 300 years in fighting mainly Muslims, but also any groups viewed as "pagans" (which at the time included even Greek Orthodox Christians). Europe lives with the legacy of those wars to this day.] I really do not know any Muslims personally who are in my sphere of daily living. As bad as I hate to admit it.

I always like a happy ending . . . there simply isn’t one on this subject. With the exception that Jesus did die for the sins of Muslims and provided a way of escape from their battling turmoil. I pray God’s love is in my heart toward all people, and I’ll be ready to show them a different way if given the opportunity.I have learned many things from this friend, who I did get to meet in Barbados. He sparked a fire for understanding politics. Is there a book Politics for Dummies? [Yes there is, and here is the link.]

I have a great respect for our new President Elect Obama that I did not have before. I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts on this at a later time. It has been a journey over the past 6 weeks that has been a real roller coaster ride!

God places people in our lives for a reason. My thinking world has been changed during this process. The way I see things is clearer – maybe the hunger to know the truth in situations is greater. The rut of thinking the same way all the time, without question, has changed. Just because someone agrees with you does not make them your friend. It’s not always a good thing for everyone to agree and not question what is going on around them. Look at the frogs in the pan of water – they just sit their slowly cooking and not even knowing it until it’s too late, and they can’t jump out. Someone needs to pay attention!

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I agree with the notion that people come into our lives for a reason. I am also happy to say that I will gladly strike up a conversation with anyone, and it will go where ever it goes. That can lead to wonderful surprises (my apple and cherry crumble this week--thanks to '39 Steps'). At the weekend, we had a lady shyly ask if she could join us as we went on a wine tasting evening; she joined us and the band of friends who arrived afterwards. We got to know her a little and look forward to seeing her art show next year.

Certain items for children often say things better than erudite works. Kipling's Jungle Book as put out by Walt Disney may say it best on friendship:



To put icing on this cake, since I started writing this earlier in the morning, I have been to play tennis with a Bajan man I met several months ago during one of my regular visits to the farmers' market. We met again over the weekend, and agreed on a 6am hit. I introduced him to one of the friends I have made here, and they spent a good time on Saturday getting to know each other.

In an hour, I shall have breakfast with two people whom I have never met before. The man is Jamaican and writes several blogs, including 'Moving to Jamaica' (see link). We had some interchanges from last year when I was doing work for a conference on the Caribbean diaspora. His wife is from Trinidad and found me on Facebook, and she too is also a writer, but also a photographer, who is trying to help expatriate people make the transition to life in Jamaica. He turns out to be a good family friend of "Ja Niece", who is a godmother to my new friend, Thesephone, and who visited Bim earlier this year. I got a message via Gmail to say that they were in Bim for a few days and wondered if we could met in real, not virtual, life.

Following that, I shall possibly do a stint on the radio ("Brass Tacks") arranged by the husband of a new friend of my wife's whom she met at a bookclub (if I recall correctly). He will put me on a call-in program hosted by a man (Pat Hoyos) whom I first met one weekend while at the mall: I recognized his face and introduced myself and suggested we get together to find ways to collaborate on putting local and international economic issues on a more understandable basis. He in turn happens to have been married to a Jamaican woman whom I met for the first time some months ago at a regular social hosted by some new friends of ours. And so on it goes....

I now have a better understanding of why it is I am less inclined these days to read 'works of fiction'. Real life has plenty of interest, so why do I need 'make believe'?

For me, somethings are very clear. Friendship, if true, is like love: it's unconditional and it's unambiguous. Note how children play. "I'll be your friend if..." indicates that they know the worth of having friends, but feel that it's something you can negotiate; later in life they will call this diplomacy. Friends do not use each other as foils: no true friend ever negates that friendship by not being frank with the person who is supposed to be a friend. If a conversation holds phrases like "Those people whom you call friends say... about you" and this is the first you are hearing these views, then clearly these are not true friends. You may have to swallow some bitter pills with this discovery, but like a bad disease, once discovered you can find a way to deal with it. My antennae go on 'red alert' when I hear or overhear remarks such as "Let me tell you something about X..." and X is supposed to be a friend.

I never know who I will meet who can become my friend, but I do know that when I am in need my true friends rally to support me, and when they are in need I do whatever I can to help them. No questions asked, no explanations needed.

So let me go off and meet some friendly people.

Wonderful World. Beautiful People.

The world is a wonderfully odd place.

Yesterday, Muslim neighbours celebrated Tabaski ('Eid al-Adha')--the feast of the lamb, which commemorates when Abraham offered his son, Ishmael, as a sacrifice and act of obedience to God; God in his turn provided a lamb instead for the sacrifice. (While Muslims regard Ishmael as a prophet, in Judaism and Christianity, he has a much lesser, uncelebrated standing.) The tradition as we experienced it in Guinea is for the lamb (or goat) to be shared out with family, friends (Muslims or non-Muslims), as well as the poor members of the community. I am not sure which of the categories we fit here in Bim, though we are at least "members of the community".

The family concerned has only ever had one direct contact with us in the 18 months we have lived 1 house apart, that was when one of the daughters tried to do some fund raising for her Islamic school. So, I was not quite with it when the bell rang and a girl's voice uttered that she had a gift for me. "Who is this?" I asked. "Fat(i)ma," came the reply. I went to the gate and there were all the women of the family, some in yashmaks. I don't recall there being a special role for women in the distribution. Fatma handed me a plastic bag, and as I took it I knew that this "gift" had not been bought from any shop, as my hands realised the cool, soft sensation of flesh. I thanked her and her family, and uttered "Shukran" (Arabic for thanks); they looked back in surprise. I peeked inside the bag as soon as I closed the gate, and went to give it to my housekeeper.

In Guinea, the tradition during Tabaski was to celebrate the sharing by having a meal of roast lamb, prepared on a spit. In north and west Africa, the tradition has been to eat mechoui (whole roast lamb) with cous-cous;it's a north African tradition that has migrated. We were lucky enough to have several Muslim friends who invited us for this truly delicious meal. I also had the good luck to have it in a more traditional setting, under a tent in the desert, when I worked in Mauritania. There you have the extra sensational rocket of Mauritanian tea (minty, hot and sweet, and you have to have three servings).

Obviously, with only a part of the lamb, we cannot have mechoui here in Barbados, but we could roast it nicely and prepare the cous-cous.

Terms of Endearment. Obey The Law.

A very funny thing happened on the way to the market. I met a man, with whom I occasionally play tennis--he's much better than me, and I do my best to not look too bad. We were at a cocktail party on Friday evening. He greeted me as usual, and as usual, I kissed his wife on the cheek--no stiff British formalities, thank you. We chatted about tennis and about how his business was doing--selling fish products to restaurants on the west coast. Then, somehow, he got onto how husbands and wives get on. "Listen, mate. It's simple. Just say 'Yes, dear.' Go with the program. Women scream what they feel, we blokes bottle it up." His remark shocked me because if there is a man who does not bottle things up on the tennis court, it's him. My shock was hidden, though and I nodded, like the good dog.

A short while after, I scooted around the party floor and had a range of discussions, all of which touched on this same subject of couples and how they see each other, though sometimes only in the tangential space of my mind.

One lady, whom I had never met before, told me how she lived here but her husband did not, but that was alright. I probed. "He stays in Trinidad and comes here from Thursday to Monday every week," she added. I did the maths quickly, then queried, "But that means he's here more than he is there. So, why say he does not live here?" She gave some explanation that I just could not fathom but I sensed that in her mind (like when children have to deal with their parents' absence on travel), the time away though less bore down on her more.

Another European lady, who works for one of the regional development banks, pressed me to remind her of a definition of the stay-at-home male spouse that I had given some time ago ("STUDHs"--spouses travelling under duress happily), and for me to meet her husband for the first time. He is English and wants to write so is interested in my blog and other things about adjusting to life inside the nest rather than out in the fields.

The next day, when I managed to get to the market for my obligatory fish cutter and cappuccino breakfast, I met upon some of the usual suspects. Rose, who is my server du jour each Saturday, gave me her normal kiss, "See, I'm not sweaty today. Just cool and nice, just like this morning." I smiled, and knew better than to try to say something witty. Her friend, who was doing the frying, filled my sandwiches. "See how she wan' sweet him up? Look at the size of the fish! That will be $6 dollars each, now, or $12 for the two sandwiches. No discount for you!" I still had no courage to bat back the ball. "Wha' happen cat got you' tongue? Where you' wife? Abandoned you again?" Rose knows my buttons. "No, no. I just lef' her...at home sleeping with the little one. She may come by later," I eventually said, feeling that I had uttered something safe. I went off smiling and waited to see who else would pass by. Dawne soon arrived, but she is not for today's subject.

Now, one of the things about many couples is that they have their own language when it comes to affection and insults in public. One of the couples I met are learned friends. The wife, is a vivacious woman whose opinions will smack you in the eyes--and I have had my cussing and know that it's all "lerv". However, she uses a term for her learned partner-in-life that would normally make me bristle, but his bristly face never changes. So, I never run to his defence, feeling that however it may sound to me, to him it's alright.

Another friend, who is afflicted as I am by the urge to write a blog, had an exchange with me and we discussed her husband's travels and newly elevated position in the world of international finance. She refers to her husband in public as "The Husband" (see this post from Notes from a small rock, for example). Even though the term itself does not change, the assiduous reader--me--can sometimes detect in the writing certain inflections which suggest the need for at least one adjective. That may be "the damned...", "the truly beloved...", or "that lame horse..."--though, these implied additions always carry a tinge of affection.

I have always used neutrally the term "My Wife". However, because I know that I live in a world of stereotyping, I use it with a number of qualifiers. My wife is a career woman--I don't use "working: because we are all working. So, when we were both based in Washington and working for the IMF, and I had to introduce her to friends of mine, I added, "also an economist with the IMF" or "the mission chief for [country X]", or "Head of the Staff Association Committee". People we know tend to flounder when they cannot place you in some sort of socio-economic hierarchy, so even though I felt the qualifiers were a bit redundant, I saw that they had a calming effect on those we met. It also prevented them from descending into a pit of their own digging by asking "So, do you have a job, Mrs. Jones?" If you have never seen Miss Piggy when she gets angry, watch the video and stand clear:



Conversely, a few years ago, when my wife was taking time off from her regular job with the IMF to bear a child, move to Africa with me, have a sabbatical, write a research paper, organize an NGO, and run a project with the United Nations, I had to be a bit creative about my qualifiers. I'll be honest, in that I recall the sort of glazed doe-like expressions on people's faces when I (as a man of some not insubstantial standing in the socio-economic hierarchy of Guinea) introduced her as "doing a sabbatical", or something else that described well what she actually did. Never would I, or do I, or dare I add the natural qualifier "the mother of...". That qualifier turned the doe eyes into the greyed glass eyes one sees in zombies in some bad B horror movie, as they moved slowly in her direction. Oooh. Scary! Ironically, now that I am a STUDH, I have now lost my name and have become "the father of..." or "Rhian's dad", and I see those zombie eyes more than ever, but looking at me.

In many places, the terms that are associated with wives can often be seen as slightly disparaging. In England, for example, you have the Cockney rhyming slang terms for "wife", such as "trouble and strife", "fork and knife", and "bag for life" (see Cockney Rhyming Slang Dictionary). More obliquely, English people often refer to the wife and "she who must be [obeyed]". It's a short step from terms like that last one to think that "The Law" is a good term. My favourite has been for some time the "Minister for Interior Affairs" or the British equivalent the "Home Secretary".

Terms like "Honey", "Dearest One", "Sugar Dumpling" seem to be used by married couples only in movies; even the Obamas don't go there and they are now The First Lovie-dovies (or at least First-elect). We, or I should say I, use them for my children. If you hear a man using them on the telephone, then for me that is a sure sign he's talking to one of his kids or (look out) "de odda 'oman".

All of this to say that between people who know each other well, it's alright to KISS a lot (keep it simple, stupid). That is how I will act and The Law will be obeyed.

Food For Thought.

Today's "Down to Brass Tacks" had an interesting discussion about discipline in schools. Peter Wickham, who moderated, raised some provocative issues, the most challenging of which was the notion that children alone should not be held responsible for indiscipline; a large part of the responsibility should be borne by parents. That seems to make some intuitive sense to me, even though legally it could be difficult to implement.

However, some other notable points came up in the discussion, which I flag below.

"People talk pretty in this country but when it comes to taking action...people are not prepared to take the time to solve social issues." These were the words of Wendell Callender, former head of NCPA. They echo a view I have held since following issues here in Barbados.

Jeff Broomes, President of the Barbados Association of Principals of Public Secondary Schools, said that schools needed in-house psychologists and a second deputy principal to aid in managing indiscipline in local schools. However, he also told listeners that he did not believe the incidence (or did he mean 'incidents'?) of misbehaviour in schools had increased in a major way but might simply be seen in a more negative light now. That makes his proposals a little hard to reconcile.

The system of allocation of children [through the 11 plus exam] contributes [greatly] to problems in schools. "Ghetto" schools are created--a first punishment for the students--and the behaviour problems that arise are dealt with by corporal punishment and other forms of punishment--second punishment for students.

Not every person who has a child is a good parent; it takes no rocket science to make a women pregnant. Parenting calls for time, and that seems to be given less these days. Discipline needs to start at an early age.

Being a good person is not the same as being a good parent. There seems to be some huge confusion in the minds of people discussing the issue that somehow or other the fact that a parent is respected, well educated, prominent, or somehow seem very positively by society, they are immune to having children who are tyrants or have other discipline problems. Again, too much of that deferential behaviour that is common here.

Problems inside schools are not divorced from problems outside school.This should be obvious, but most of the commentary I have read and heard seem to make no connection that says children bring to school bad behaviour and attitudes that they have nurtured elsewhere, and the school is just one of the arenas where they play out. No real discussion occurs on causes. So, naturally, focus is on solutions, but they are useless or at best pander to mistaken notions, because they may not be treating the roots of the problems.

Are teachers equipped to deal with discipline? They are recruited for their skills as teachers. Their training as educators does not necessarily provide good training (if any) as carers for children. Teachers may have no inclination or aptitude for dealing with children's behavioural problems.

Very tangential, was a comment by phone from a representative of the Guyanese community, talking about a recent survey on sex workers. Her views were that if there is no demand then there will be no supply. Amusingly, in a way, she added that if Guyanese are prevalent among sex workers, then it reflects that the best rises to the top. Ooh la la!

This Sporting Life.

Every self-respecting man knows that Saturday is sports day, certainly if you were brought up in the UK.

For much of my school days I played football (soccer) on Saturday mornings, then went to watch professional football on Saturday afternoons. Although I also did track, that's the main way how I maintained a healthy body and mind and kept out of trouble, though I was often on the edge of fights at professional games, when hooligans from the rival teams would have their time in the spotlight, kicking and knifing and butting and generally creating havoc. You did not have to be a hooligan to be close to this madness as they would bring it to within feet of you, but the "gladiators"on both sides seemed to know who to involve.

From my late teens through to my early thirties, I played football every Saturday afternoon. My club played in a semi-professional league and that meant our matches involved travel over a large area in the southwest of England. Things got complicated for me at the start of my club career, as I had to play for my high school in the morning, then blister my way across London to make it for my club team. But, I was very fit then and so long as I had not picked up some injury playing two matches a day was no real problem. But, it's part of the rites of manhood in England to play football, then go to the pub afterwards for a pint or more of beer. As an under age teenager, I was not supposed to drink beer, and had to make do with either lemonade (shame) or get a shandy (beer with lemonade), where the beer part was less than half. Once I turned 18, or looked like I was over 18, full strength beer could flow into my veins and I did not have to weather the jibes of needing to drink milk because I was the team's baby.

I had a miserable spell in my late 20s, when I retired from football, and moped around wondering what to do with myself. My wife at that time kept well clear of this stalking tiger on Saturdays: my adrenalin was primed but it had little release, so I was more than a little prickly. I decided to make the best of the situation by again going to watch professional football, and occasionally taking my wife with me--not often though, because this was still essentially a man's world and standing on the terraces behind the goals, as we did then, was not really what most women enjoyed. They wanted to sit in the stands, on the sides, and there I would not go except if really pushed.

A wily veteran in his 60s, who once played for one of London's renowned tough professional teams, Millwall (see a little history), known as 'The Dockers' because of their origins in London's southeastern docks area, lured me back to football by asking me to play on his veteran team as a "ringer"--an under aged player (i.e., under 35). He had told me that he could play until he was over 70 so long as he avoided having sex with his wife before a match. That inspired me and I took the chance, and rediscovered a passion for playing, made stronger because I was able to dance around older men and look really good covering most of the pitch, and was so fast that I had little trouble dodging kicks and trips from these codgers. My Saturdays were back on track but also my passion was rekindled.

I took some months to get back into full training and resumed my club career, and so it stayed till I left the UK in my early 30s. In the US, I got into playing on Sunday mornings for several years as the IMF team I joined played in a league part of which played on Saturdays but the other half played on Sundays--that was really sacrilegious, but I had no choice. In cup competition, we would cross over to play on Saturdays occasionally.

After I qualified as a football referee, my Saturdays remained in tact as I officiated games on those days and then played the next. Once I got my coaching license, I was able to really multitask on Saturdays, with a mixture of refereeing and coaching. This had its upside because I was being paid around US$ 40 for refereeing and I would usually do two games on the weekends. It covered the cost of my gasoline bills.

Then I formed my own football team, after a few years with the IMF team. The team was aptly called 'Internationales' because its squad of some 20 plus players, barely had two players from the same country. I had a vision of soccer as a world language, and I tried to put it into action. As an IMF staff and sports club member I was able to strike a deal with the IMF for my team to play on their hallowed turf (the best in the DC area), but that meant changing game times to Saturday afternoons. I was again a happy man, as my team strutted their stuff, got promoted after the first season, and then spent a few years challenging for the top position.

But the body wears down, and in my early 40s my knees started to tell me that they were ready to take it easier. I had my cartilage removed in one knee, but with the magic of arthroscopic surgery was able to recover within weeks and start playing again. My knees got two more years of top level playing as I took on the role of player-coach-manager. But then, enough. Time to hang up the boots.

The US was a barren land for professional football for many years and the tradition of watching teams play was not well developed, so when I stopped playing for good I had no real option of going to watch professional teams. I coached and when I had a free afternoon, I would delve into American TV sports, but not much. I went into real retirement and rekindled my love of gardening. As I mowed and clipped a large lawn, I could have imagined that the turf was the old hallowed ground on which I would weave and dribble the ball on mazy runs, and as I emptied the basket of grass clippings I could have imagined punching the air as my shot sailed past the goal keeper into the back of the net. But my thoughts were really more prosaic: I focused on making sure that all the edges were neatly trimmed and that no pesky weeds were taking hold. I poured love onto the colony of gold fish developing in the pond that I had had installed. How the priorities change.

When I went to live in Guinea, I was bewildered by an amazing irony. Football was played everywhere: you could not drive through the capital on any day and not see at least a dozen games being played in the streets, or on the edge of the roadway, with teams of up to seven players kicking around on mini pitches, many of which were not marked, just limited by the pair of sidewalks and the goals created at each end. The professional teams--and calling them that was a stretch for many, though some were well funded--had a bizarre program of games across the country, but they played in a league that never seemed to start and end its season on time, and sometimes would not end, with the results sitting in disarray. Yet, football skills were sublime to watch. Those who now see many African players making their marks in clubs in Europe need to remember that many of them hone their skills in these kinds of settings, and having escaped to a saner world of organized football, are really in heaven on earth.

Now, as I move through a Saturday afternoon in Barbados, I get to take stock. My little daughter plays tennis on Saturday mornings. Dad plays at the same time. In recent months, I have 'reclaimed my manhood' by hunkering down and getting a healthy dose of live English Premier League football on TV. I watch alone most of the time as Miss Bliss and her mother have their bonding time, but also my household does not have in its vein the same football upbringing. Miss Bliss occasionally drags herself from 'Backyardigans' or some other program to help me holler and cheer for one team or another. I have moved from my one-time staple of a post-match beer to a during-match beer. My one-time staple of fish and chips after watching a match is a far flung dream. Flying fish is Bim's favourite, but honestly, it does not cut the mustard.

I pondered a few things as I watched Liverpool put a beating on Blackburn Rovers.

Playing sport, especially at a high level, comes with many perils. Injuries are the things that most athletes fear more than anything else; all the hard work can be destroyed for days, weeks, months, years, forever. Self-inflicted injuries are especially frustrating. But injuries caused by other people often leave an athlete mentally scarred even when he/she may be healed physically. A part of the brain goes into self-preservation mode at any occurrence that seems likely to re-injure the body. You pull back, but in doing so you run a greater risk of being hurt. A horrid vicious circle. I admire any athlete who recovers from a devastating injury and manages to perform at or near the previous best level. But, one of the characteristics of teams that do very well is a willingness to put the body into the danger zone more than teams that do poorly: it's hard to know what is cause or effect, but it was evident as Liverpool's players (in red) overcame the Blackburn opposition. The Scousers ended up with the ball at their feet more and were standing, while the Rovers players often missed and fell, or were tackled easily and fell. As I used to tell the kids I coached, if you are on your bottom you cannot do very much.

Success in sport is much more than physical ability. The mental or psychological aspect is really important, and for positive and negative reasons. For positives, you have to develop the fortitude that drives self belief to almost ridiculous levels: "You cannot beat me," you repeat in your head, even as you face near certain defeat. I saw it with Blackburn as they struggled to overcome a 0-2 deficit once Liverpool scored two goals midway through the second half; hope sprang for Blackburn when they got a goal in the dying minutes of regulation time. The truth is, until it is over, it is not over. It was over for Blackburn when one last attack floundered and on the breakaway Gerrard got a final goal for Liverpool. But the hope should never die. I remember playing in one soccer semi final. My team was leading 3-1 coming into the final five minutes of the 90 minute game. Then in a flurry of what I can only regard as madness, we concede a silly free kick; they scored: 3-2. From the kick off, we bungled things and in a panic, gave away a penalty; they scored: 3-3. From the kick off again, we bungled things and as the opposition player ran the ball out of play our defense stopped but the ball sailed into the penalty area and was in the back of the net. Goal kick we thought. Goal signalled the referee: the officials had not seen the ball was out of play and we were not in a world of instant replay. 3-4. Final whistle. Weren't we about to get a chance to play in the cup final? What final? That is heart breaking. They never gave up, and our hopes dwindled as theirs soared.

The negatives are usually some brand of arrogance, intended or perceived. As you build self confidence there is a tipping point, a fine line.It may be nothing more than self-confidence, which is what tips the scales in your favour. But opponents and observers may see this a cockiness, disrespect, and other less worthy attributes: remember the furore about how Usain Bolt celebrated his Olympic 100 meters victory.

The psychological aspects mean getting the edge; it may be minute but it only has to exist. I was lucky to have learned lessons about getting the edge from great athletes. I ran track for a club that had Olympic champions such as David Hemery: I watched them train and saw how they made little things work to give them just enough of an edge to win much more often than lose. Some of the edge came from simply knowing that you were fully prepared. My match day bagged was packed the night before, and checked on the day. The psychological edge can also come from intense physical preparation, so that mistakes are minimized, and timing is near perfect. That edge can come from having been through the pain barriers often. As a teenager, I forget how often I had to vomit after training as cramped stomach muscles took their toll on my insides as lactic acid had built up to high levels. Training always involves pain, but it's the speed of recovery that marks the progress. I would wipe up and shower and go home and my parents would hear my pleas, and I would eat and sleep and be ready for more another day. You learn that the last person standing will be the victor. I would know that my failure would not be because my body was ill-prepared.

My first squash coach, at university when I started to play, was the phenomenal Egyptian who had been world/British Open champion, Abou Taleb. He had won the title consecutively from 1964-66, and was so good and confident that he wagered £500 (that's a few thousand now) to anyone who could beat him. Fast forward, along came an Irishman named Jonah Barrington (see picture), who worked in a mill during the days and played squash the rest of the time: a workhorse, who redefined the war of attrition in squash. Top level matches often involve rallies of 30+ strokes for a point, and can end in a let and then restart with no score change. You only gain points when you are serving; winning a rally when you are not serving just gives you the right to serve. It can be a long hard slog to get to at least 9 points each set, and win by two clear points. Wearing down your opponent physically became Barrington's forte, and games lasting over three hours were not a problem for him. His training regimes were legendary for their masochistic brutality. Barrington beat Taleb in 1967 and went on to win each year until 1973, and is regarded rightly as one of the sports greatest players. Taleb was a master stroke player and as a coach he taught his forte but also stressed the Barrington legacy: you had to be prepared to be on court three hours if you wanted to win a best-of-five match. Play well; play with style; but you have to keep at it until you win.

The closeness of the players in a squash match means that it's hard to disguise your physical state, and that can be the psychological edge. How quickly can you restart a point? How do you look after a long rally of drives that finish with a drop shot? How willing are you to concede a let? Do you leave the court first at the end of a set to take your break and are you back on court first?

It's similar with sprinting, my speciality. You often win a 100 meters race before the starting line. All your preparation is done on the training track. But there are some final tweaks needed ahead of the race and they are psychological. On the warm-up track, does your routine show crispness and ease? Were there any signs of injuries: athletes spot a gait quickly. How did your coach look? At ease or a little worried? Once you get to the starting line, it starts again. The look you give to the opponents is key: your face does not lie, but it's the opponent who sees it not you, so eye contact is often avoided. You often avoid talking because your voice may show tremors. Are you truly relaxed? Are your nerves under control? Is your heart pounding? The routines we see are part of the dance to get the edge. Some will always be last into their blocks. Tyson Gay has his ritual drink of water. The stretching; the adjustment of the neck chain; the dusting of the fingers; the timing of the bow of the head. They all seek to get the edge. The gun is fired and a few seconds later, the race is won and damage has been done.

Now, as my races have all been run, and my goals have all been scored, I am left with a huge reservoir of physical and psychological preparation.

Panic usually means defeat will hit you sooner. Even emotions often lead to even performances: note that the mantra of the president-elect is "Obama does not do drama".

Quitting is not an option unless you cannot move at all: no pain, no gain.

Retaliation to provocation is a last resort, if it is ever taken. In football, you cannot afford to be expelled from the game because you are upset by trash talk; a black player needs to swallow hard when he/she hears the "N" word thrown in their face. If you fall, you have to get up again fast. If you are fouled, you note the culprit but no immediate action is needed: the referee is there to protect you and you leave him/her to do that job. (That said, you need to seize moments for quick revenge. In a team, revenge is shared, and you may have an "enforcer" whose job is to right the wrongs that the officials miss. It's a teams stars who tend to get targeted for "the treatment". So, you have enforcers, who are usually dispensable in the sense that they have good skills but are easier to replace, or they have a reputation and that means that when they are on the loose that alone may calm the situation and the metaphorical attack dog need not be let off the leash. I played on a team once whose enforcer was call "The Dog".)

If you lose, or look like losing, you have to find several points of grace: the victor gets the spoils but also the due respect, and part of that is in the quality of the handshakes and bows after the results are clear. The other point of grace comes from the mental repositioning that turns defeat into an opportunity. Coaches often stress that you build victories from defeat; you must learn how to lose, but don't make it a habit.

So, while it seems that all I am doing is chugging a beer as others do the sweating, there is more at work. I think, for example, of the young tennis players with whom I train occasionally. I watch for the psychological lessons that they are learning (Federer's early career was marked by a lot of racket abuse and verbal abuse of officials, now he is "Mr. Cool"). I give them some psychological checks: are they easily intimidated, does form crumble quickly when things go against them? I look to see what is making them drive: cutting the warm-up run is a bad sign; always having to be asked to work harder is a bad sign; arguing with the coach is a bad sign (such people don't stay too long); going beyond the limits of a drill is a good sign, etc.

As I hunker down and watch sports on TV, I look for the passion that the players show and how they get to their bliss points (winners find that easily), or their points of grace once defeat is certain. The road to a good sporting life is a hard one to travel and it is a long way to go. Remembering this has made my Saturdays become very enjoyable again.

Foot-In-Mouth Disease.

Every year, Wired News compiles a list of the most entertaining tech-centric misstatements and verbal foibles from government officials, CEOs and tech luminaries (see Wired's website). I am not sure why the prize should be limited to techie misstatements. The news is full of such misstatements, and in the era of the hot mike, many public figures are like dumb criminals who rob liquor stores and seem not to realize that almost everywhere has a video camera these days, and blab about people "under their breath" but in full ear shot.

I will scour news reports for such events, and see what warrants mentioning over a week. Had I started this idea earlier, I would have given the prize with glee, to the sneering Jesse Jackson on his off-camera moment when he wanted to squeeze the nuts of now President-elect Obama. I guess when Reverend Jackson cried on the night of November 4, after the Senator was declared president-elect, it was not because he could feel a certain tightness below the belt.

For me, this week's prize would go to Governor Ed Rendell (Democrat, Pennsylvania, National Governors Association chairman. He got caught by the hot mike giving his views on President-elect Obama's choice of Secretary of Homeland Security, Governor Janet Napolitano (Democrat, Arizona).

"Janet's perfect for that job. Because for that job, you have to have no life. Janet has no family. Perfect. She can devote, literally, 19-20 hours a day to it."

After a barrage of criticism, Governor Rendell was quick to reinterpret his comments:

"What I meant is that Janet is a person who works 24/7, just like I do. She has no life. Neither do I."

I am not going to get into it about what defines a life and what having no family is supposed to mean. I hope that Governor Napolitano will feel secure in whatever new home she lands in the Washington area, and will always have the welcome mat ready for her old buddy, Ed.

Finally, we have to remember that Governor Rendell was the man who said last February (with regard to his own state), regarding then Senator Obama, "Some whites are not ready to vote for an African American candidate." I like the Governor's dancing afterwards to clarify his comments, which you can watch.

Change We Can Believe In.

The current series of financial problems that are hitting many parts of national and international economic activities are bringing with them a series of hard questions that will be difficult to answer to every one's satisfaction. That is nothing new. But, when economic difficulties spread it is often hard to separate emotions from other aspects of reality. Most people would not volunteer to be without an assured and regular income, so when that is threatened the level of personal fear and concern usually rises to very high levels. We are seeing a lot of that fear in most of the world as the impact of financial crisis and slower economic activities put on a pincer movement that is squeezing the delicate parts of many countries, many companies and many people.

I have been asked recently about my views on government "bail outs", from the measures to save financial firms to the latest request for government help by the US automobile manufacturers (see New York Times report on Congressional hearings). I believe that private companies, especially those who deal with the buying and selling of risk, should resolve their problems without being saved by governments. In the case of the car industry, they should face bankruptcy, and use the provisions of that process to restructure themselves. I have real concerns about people losing their jobs. I have been there and done that a few times in my life--most galling was losing a job offered by the Bank of England before I even started working: a change of government eliminated a range of the Bank's work and it was easier to absorb some of the job losses by not hiring. That was a real smash-mouth experience, and luckily for me at the time, I had not actually resigned the position I held working in local government in Wales. I was quite devastated for a few month, but regrouped and used the compensation to provide a basis of savings. (I got a job offer from the Bank the next year, so I got where I wanted to be.) I have recently volunteered to resign from my employer of some 20 years and am going through another period of personal restructuring.

I would hope that my concern is a normal human response. But other responses exist and some are blatantly political or calculating. I know that if the employees were to lose their jobs the initial repercussions would be immense and negative on them, their families, and their communities. Things may never be the same again. But nothing lasts forever. Change never comes from simply holding on to what you have without thinking about how it can cope in the future. Making quill pens is not going to be the big industry in 2008 that it was centuries ago; the market that now exists for them is as exotic items not necessities.

My basic belief is that economic progress has always been about industries failing and new industries coming into existence: I wrote a thesis on this and the essential element of birth, death and reorganization of firms is as normal as night and day. The car industry replaced those activities that produced other forms of transport: horses and buggies had to find other takers. I loved the movie 'Ben Hur' and would have preferred to live in a world where we moved around in chariots: road rage was easier to deal with then, when you could really take it to others on the roads with swords and all sorts of means of damaging their vehicles and horses. So, I could be one person who really regretted the advent of the motor car.

But, I do not see a world where cars and trucks are not made. The questions are by whom, where, what kind, etc. I am not going to get all frothy about cars being made by Chinese, Koreans, Japanese, etc. They may be better at it, and if one option were for the Big Three to be merged or be taken over, then that could be the right solution. Jobs may remain, but not with people wearing GM or Ford apparel; that's largely what happened to the British car and motorcycle industry. Who remembers the Birmingham Small Arms (BSA) Company? They began in the 1860s making munitions, turned to bicycles in tee 1880s, went to making motor cycles in the 1900s, and at its peak, BSA was the largest motorcycle producer in the world. Competition from Japan in the 1960s started BSA's demise, and after a merger with Norton Villiers in the early 1970s, the company basically disappeared from making motorbikes. In the 1990s a group reformed the company and now it has a large spares business and has produced a number of limited-edition, retro-styled motorcycles.

Those who have headed the major US auto makers have shown that they do not have the right approach at the current time. The whole discussion becomes political very quickly--more so when recession and financial crisis are on every one's lips, but one has to look at the core of the problem. The cars produced have been for too long ones that consume too much of a resource that we know is running out; when it is cheap we easily forget that, when it is dear we try to swallow the pain of the higher price but continue consuming regardless. Cars should have been produced in the USA that can go for 70-100 miles a gallon or use a fuel that is more easily renewable. Resources should have gone into developing such vehicles decades ago. Change has been too slow, and the consequence of that will inevitably be failure.

The major US airlines went into bankruptcy, and after several years of restructuring are still in business and operating differently.

The US car makers have fought fuel efficiency legislation for years, rather than showing leadership and putting forward more aggressive proposals for cars to be fuel efficient; nickling and diming.

Also, if you rescue the auto industry who do you rescue next? There may be a case for looking carefully at how the industry or parts of the industry fit into the overall economy so that if the companies have to restructure one has a clear idea of what that may mean for existing commercial and financial relations. That was one of the failings of letting Lehman Brothers fail; it could have happened but perhaps more slowly or in a more orderly manner. Because it was chaotic, that led to other problems. There is no reason why the car industry need to descend into chaos.

Just today, The [London] Times reports that the current credit crisis has forced Honda to pull out of Formula One racing (see report), saving itself £200 million per year. Now, whether or not you think that this is a good sport, it shows that adaptation has to and does occur. But, what gives and how is also about priorities. As the report notes, this "deals a huge symbolic blow to the company’s image and could plunge the sport into crisis" [my emphasis]. The symbolism is not trivial but it's also not substantial. That is part of the problem facing the US car industry.

The US has gone through major industrial shake ups over the past 50 years, and some areas have been hit very hard. The steel making areas, now unaffectionately called "the rust belt" are perhaps the most evident for people to see. As I mentioned, the airlines too.

But companies form, reform, dismantle themselves, get reassembled. Look this week at British Airways and Qantas in yet another reorganization in the airlines industry.

When I worked in Wales, my first job was to restructure public bus services: that was simply a matter of reducing drastically the services available to towns and villages in north Wales. Populations had changed in size and had relocated, and the service schedules did not reflect the new realities. For many communities, the regular bus services was an important life line, whether the services were very frequent (say hourly) or less so (a few days a week). I had to deal with seeing the major bus company cut its services; that was the immediate negative. I then had to negotiate how services could be retained, at different levels and by different suppliers. Small, private bus companies existed and many of them bid to replace the major bus company or combine with them to come up with a new set of service schedules. Sure, there was anger, disappointment, accusations of uncaring attitudes, etc. Yes, we made attempts to explain the economic and social changes that were prompting the changes. Bottom line: services were pared overall, but a service was maintained everywhere that one had existed before, in some cases using 15 seat minibuses instead 45 seater coaches. Certain essentials were protected, such as services geared to dealing with journeys to school and work.

Car makers today need not be car makers tomorrow. In the same way that Wales was a country built on coal mining, steel making, and then shipbuilding in recent years, as these industries faced economic woes, the industries shrank and closed. People lost their jobs: I know first hand how that affected communities because I lived in Wales during some of the years when coal mines were being closed. Many of my friends were miners or in mining families and it was hard. But the economy was also changing. Wales was looking to attract new industries, car making, services especially in new technology sectors, and others. The changes were such that a generation of workers had to deal with their skills being obsolete; they retrained, remained unemployed, moved to other areas, did many things. Wales now has a different stronger economy.

My other view is that, if the car makers have a viable plan then the market for private financing should be tapped to come up with the money. The fact that that is not happening tells us several things.

• The current credit crunch might have occurred at the worst time for the car makers, but it's also a bad time for the whole economy.
• They initially came begging with no worked out plan, and now have some numbers, but do they make real financial sense?
• They may only want to ask for help when they face losses, but where are they to share their gains?
  

Heavy industry was once a mainstay of many economies. They had largely been in decline over the past century but are still very apparent. Services are now more important and diverse manufacturing activities exist. Manufacturing has diversified, for example, making car components. Farming remains important. The continuous decline in heavy industry (coal mining, iron smelting, steel making) over the 20th century, culminating in the virtual disappearance of industries such as coal-mining in Wales during the 1980s, left that country with very high levels of unemployment. But, it's part of a cycle.

Admitted, when one is not directly affected, it may seem easier to appear accepting of the kind of job loss and economic reshaping that lies ahead for the US. However, I was discussing over breakfast a few moments ago what has happened in the small world of my former employer, the IMF. Over recent months, it has allowed a large number of staff to leave and in the process allow early retirements and voluntary redundancies. It was a shocking and depressing exercise for many. Yet, several months later, after the world was adjusting to a need for a slimmer institution and representative offices in various countries were closed, talk is strong of the need for new staff and to reopen some of these offices. True, those such as myself who have left are not likely to make up part of any restaffing, but there are now openings at various levels for other people. Perhaps some of those financial experts in Wall Street will make the journey down Interstate 95 from New York to work in Washington. So, the economic wheel turns.

The change will not be easy and not without pain. But so often, by avoiding the pain and hardship now, all that is done is to pass those on to the future.

One Potato, Two Potato.

I am sorry to say that since arriving in Barbados nearly two years ago I remain unconvinced about certain "stylized facts" about the country. Highest on my list is the notion that Barbados has a highly educated population.

My gut feeling from encounters across the island have convinced me that, while many Bajans have gone through formal schooling and perhaps passed the prescribed tests, the population has levels of literacy and numeracy that are far lower than one would believe from statistics such as the literacy rate (99.7%), which ranks Barbados fifth in the world (see report on Wikipedia, using data from the United Nations Development Programme). For good measure, those same data rank Australia, France, Germany, Japan, the UK and the USA joint 18th (at 99%).

So, I was interested to see two reports today that fill out some of my gut feeling. First, was a report that the Ministry of Education has been slow in improving numeracy in schools (see Barbados Advocate reports). A national policy had been developed to improve literacy but similar action had not been taken regarding numeracy. The Minister of Education (addressing the Caribbean Subregional Meeting of the Regional Policy Dialogue on Education, held at the Barbados Hilton) also put his finger on something else, the "need for greater confidence in oral expression and the promotion of critical thinking skills in order to improve comprehension and problem solving competency". The second report notes that the Education Director of the Caribbean Development Bank found a "disturbing deficit" in literacy and numeracy levels among secondary school students and school leavers. Employers are the ones bearing the brunt of this shortcoming, but so are all of us.

I wont go beyond the opinions expressed in these report. I would, however, ask you to look at and think about evidence of the lack of oral expression and critical thinking skills in action from a previous generation of students. The Minister of Education has just chided school principals for sending children home for reasons that seemed to have nothing to do with bad behaviour. The reports suggest that in doing that principals have not made any oral expressions to the parents of these children that they are being "disciplined" and being sent home--to whom we do not know, because no evidence exists that the schools even check if anyone will be available to supervise these children. That seems like a dereliction of duty by the schools. In addition, critical thinking seems lacking in not coming up with solutions better than sending someone home. Some of the reasons reported, which include for matters such as breaking dress codes or not being able to be accommodated at some school ceremony, suggest a level of ludicrousness that borders on satire.

To round out these considerations, we also read in today's newspapers that the main branch of the National Library Service has reopened after being closed for two years. All I ask myself is what kind of country allows its main library to be out of commission for two years? Not one that argues that it is on the cusp of being developed, I would argue.

A lot of what happens in Barbados seems to smack of the knee jerk reaction to situations, rather than a well thought out or considered set of actions. My view on why that is has much to do with how people see the process of education. There seems to be an awful fear here that allowing challenges is of itself threatening, rather than something that helps develop strong powers of argument; the only way to deal with challenges is to categorize them as wrongs and therefore exercise sanctions against them. I went through education processes that emphasized accepting those things that made real sense not those that were spouted by people who were given positions of authority. An idiot in a uniform is still an idiot. Good reasons are easy to accept because they are good reasons. The news surrounding education establishments in Barbados over the past two years indicate a lot of "do what we say no matter how foolish it is", and if you don't we will tell you that you are breaking down the walls of our society.

The brain is a muscle and it needs needs solid training and exercise. I don't see much evidence that in general the education programmes that exist in Barbados are sufficiently muscular.

M Is For More Than Mother.

Here is a simple story of a woman, whom we will call M. She is the housekeeper, nanny, and cook for my friend, Thesephone. M is determined, and it shows in all she does. But that determination comes from the dramatic story of her life. She is not alone in having lived the hard part of this story, which has been a common place situation for women the world over, but still warrants the telling. Basically, she had little formal education but is now making up for lost time.

First, why was she denied an education? Because she is female. Therefore, she was required to stay home and look after younger siblings and the home while her mother, went out, probably as a domestic, to earn money to support the family, on her own.

What typically happens to women like her? Typically young women denied an education, often deny their daughters an education so that they can go out probably as a domestic, to earn money to support the family, on their own. The cycle continues.

Third, what future has she created for herself and her heirs, despite the odds? M, has two daughters to whom she has provided not only a primary, not only a secondary, but also a tertiary education. Further, she has successfully steered both girls clear of unplanned pregnancies, which could have derailed their pursuits. Both are now pursuing careers in their field of choice and have more power over their destinies than many a generation before them. And now having broken the cycle for her daughters, she starts again for herself, to realize dreams of her own.

That is a story some would call incredible. While living in Barbados, a strange land for her, M is now dealing with learning how to speak standard English. Like many Jamaicans, she can converse fluently and clearly in Patois, and can read standard English, but cannot speak it as it is usually written. M now goes to classes so that she can move through life without adding "h" where it does not exist, using "he" instead of "him", feeling comfortable trying to say "whose is this?" instead of "fi who dis?". That is not a simple challenge because it means denying the self that has been well developed over many years; it also means not feeling embarrassed by a lack that many are all too ready to point out.

M also has a healthy fear of water. Not like a dog who is suffering from rabies, or like a cat. But, like someone who cannot swim. While I love to feel the rolling waves push me around the beach as I wallow. As I play with Miss Bliss and throw her for somersaults into the water, and feel comfortable. So, M would deal with each of these with a terror that has to be seen to be believed. She really feels that the waves will pull her out, not just a few feet, but way off into the deep abyss. But, like her incredible story of how she educated her children, M is now trying to be not quite a Michael Phelps wannabee but at least able to make a few strokes and not just splutter around in the water. Like many Caribbean people, she still has some bizarre ideas about being in the sea, such as running for cover when it starts to rain. Now, I understand that M got a medal for being the most improved swimmer in her class.

I wish all the women I knew who had been denied an education had the gumption of M, and were willing to take up the challenges, even when the children are all grown up. My grandmother was like M, and she managed to ensure that while she could not get the education she deserved in rural Jamaica and had to go to the capital to work as a domestic her children got well educated. Those children, including my father, have in turn made sure that their children also got good educations. I was able to go to university as were most of my cousins of the same generation. We too have ensured that our children have had the chance for a good education, whether they are boys or girls. In keeping with current trends, the girls have done well, and most of the great grandchildren have managed to get university educations. It's hard to break the cycle, but we should be glad to know and support someone who tries to do that, and better still help make sure that they succeed.

Blissful Ignorance.

Barbados and I share something very special. The country gained its independence from Britain on November 30, 1966; some 340 years after the first wave of English settlers arrived, but some 800-odd years after the first signs of human life appeared on the island in the form of Carib and Arawak Indians. My relationship with Barbados seems more prosaic: I celebrate a wedding anniversary on the same date. How fitting then, that I should fly back to Barbados on November 30, after a week during which I participated in a sister-in-law's wedding.

It's funny that the day before I had been chatting with one of my brothers-in-law and a friend of his, saying that the wedding day represents one of those points of bliss for many people--maybe the highest. My contention was that people carry their highest level of hope into that day. The cynics would say quickly, "And it's downhill full speed from then on!" We punted these ideas around for a few minutes under a poinciana tree, and my wife--armed with a not-much-used-recently tennis racket--added a few glosses. As truly independent men--not a contradiction in terms if one is married--we are very comfortable having vigorous discussions with our wives. We do beat our own drum and have our own programs.

"The Law", which could be a good name for any wife, added that there are other bliss points, that are as high but of a different kind. Now you have to understand that my wife and I are both economists. In that discipline there is a clear definition of bliss points as a bundle of consumption that marks the level when the consumer is fully satisfied, and welfare is at its maximum, we would say: on the chart it is the point Z, which marks where the consumer is indifferent between two goods. It's a bit complex as discussed in microeconomics, but I hope you get the idea.

Now, in layman's terms, we continued to discuss that the day that the first child is born is also seemingly without much dispute another bliss point--at least potentially so. Again, the cynic, never far away, might jump up and say, "And if you weren't in despair after being married, now that some brat has come along to share food and hog up your personal time, then this really is staring into the abyss." There was no wag in our midst who jumped up to say, "If you got married and the bride was pregnant, then during the honeymoon night she gave birth you would call that true bliss? I don't think so." But had he/she been there this could have been another of those economist's 'on the one hand, on the other hand' moments. On the one hand, it would be good to have gotten the childbirth thing over so fast; but on the other hand, it would have been nice to have time to get used to one headache before this new one started.

The economists amongst you may already have reached the point that I am now about to touch. The discipline of economics is often referred to as 'the dismal science', because it often contains depressing, distressing, or despondency-filled predictions. What could be more dismal than all of the predictions of financial Armageddon that economists are now putting in front of us? But the dismality is that the discipline has the notion of 'diminishing returns'. This was first coined by Thomas Malthus, one of the most pessimistic of the dismal scientists, who predicted that population growth would force incomes down to the subsistence level. In Malthusian terms, the argument was that if a fixed input is combined in production with a variable input, using a given technology, increases in the quantity of the variable input will eventually depress the productivity of the variable input. Malthus argued that decreasing productivity of labor would depress incomes. Pretty depressing as it's written, eh.

Now, where does the notion of diminishing returns take us? It implies that for a man it's better to have just one wife, or really one woman: too many of them added to the one poor bloke's household must make the feller's productivity fall, and as more women are added the fall will be faster. That's the best argument I can make against polygamy. But, it also means that the Chinese approach of having only one child may not be as draconian as some would like to argue. Sure, having more bairns around when you have a field into which you can fling them to plant corn, and wheat, and pull yoken cattle may raise output. But, even the most loving of parents knows that these offspring aren't capable of producing much for a long time; in the mean time they need feeding like starving locusts. Simply put, the man--because biologically and emotionally the woman is going to argue that she hang tight with the little mites--has to go and do all the work in the baking sun, or frozen tundra, at least for about five years after the first child is born. All he reaps, they will eat. Where is the field of dreams?

So, after several years of seeing income pushed to subsistence level, first-born bairn comes along and says, "Dad, can I help you in the field?" As the dust settles after Dad falls dead faint beside his mule, the bairn looks on doe-eyed. With the words, "Sure, Tiger," the man's world will change. He will have help, that if well trained will reduce the effort he needs to expend, though the training process can be hard and seemingly unrewarding for a long time--more sense of diminishing returns. So, assume that Dadda has first child when he is 20; add five years of feeding without added help; add two years of initial training; add another year to ensure that the new kid can work unsupervised.That makes Dadda about 28. Any of you who are sportsmen will know that this is close to what is viewed as the 'prime age' of a man (see Time article).

So, where were we? Oh, yes. Bliss. It does exist. It lasts for more than a day. It can be built upon. But, you have to steer through a lot of choppy water and rough rapids along the way. Maybe it's a good thing you don't realize this at the start. So, think hard or at least differently next time you hear the phrase, 'Where ignorance in bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.'