Mark Wignall | Dream on, reparations on the way

At one end, we have the black nationalist who believes that he’ll never be black enough to attain his real value. At the other end are those who believe that the white Europeans were the most pragmatic and saw economic value in us.

The reparations advocate is an eternal optimist and sincerely believes that he can salvage much of that value. He knows that the Atlantic slave trade is not without its misunderstandings.

King Charles is no slouch when it comes to knowing when what is left out there involves the Caribbean, the monarchy and a plot to allow Charles dignity while giving up the trouble of earthly life.

Although Charles had a relative, Andrew, who was weak when it came to sexual escapades, the monarchy genuinely believes that it is superior to you and me. Frankly, Charles cannot generate even 20 per cent of what the slave owners were paid in an attempt to replace the shortfall (compensated emancipation).

Scholars like Sir Hilary Beckles have made a solid case that reparations are due. My position is that we have no means of enforcement. So, if a buy-in by the government of the day matches the monarchy going along with throwing pounds or euros into the midst of those who were dreaming, I would applaud. Because it would also mean that I have travelled hard while keeping my eyes shut.

Prince Andrew, his brother, fell in love with all the debauchery of Epstein and Trump. It makes you wonder what circumstances, or set of circumstances, could arise to make them easier.

Minister Babsy Grange genuinely believes that she can make a difference and that reparatory funds will eventually flow, like a stream at first, then like a river. If there is a part of her life that has her fingers crossed, welcome to the real world.

Reparations and positions of power go hand in hand. There is something in the air that wants to be that trigger for better times. I am certain that the African Studies Group at The University of the West Indies wants to act as a natural social accelerator. All power to them.

It is problematic to have this discussion without an oversize injection of politics. The Internet states that voters chose to leave the West Indies Federation in 1961. That is simply not true. The Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) did a ‘samfie’ job on the people. The JLP’s mantra was ‘Jamaica Yes, Federation No’. That meant, if you wanted Jamaica to experience that unique federation, it would mean you disliked your homeland.

So, here we are again. The monarchy wants us out the back door, or a side window. And we want it too. We don’t know why, but it’s an item.

NOT MUCH BEYOND THE FESTIVAL

After all, there will be a massive festival to celebrate the occasion. Should there be a reparations payout, the hardware stores are simply waiting.

The JLP under Dr Andrew Holness has to milk the reparations and republic matters because politics requires that he do so. But he has to be skillful in its application. He cannot plaster it on like peanut butter on cream crackers, or strawberry jam on white bread.

PNP President Mark Golding may have to go all in, especially if he wants to deal with any question of his light skin at this delicate time. The fact is, politics can be dirty, especially when it is coming from inside your own closet.

August 6, 1962 cannot be replicated. Youth, colours, food, controlled explosions, the noise from children, grown men struggling with Wray & Nephew, music and neon lights on Orange Street as I was dragged to church by my godmother each Sunday. I hated each trip.

It just occurred to me that there was a time when I didn’t speak of it and knew nothing about it: politics. As I stared through the bus window as it headed up Orange Street, a sign puzzled me. It was the ‘Striding Man’ from Johnnie Walker with the words, ‘Born 1820, still going strong’.

“How can that be so?” I thought. As time unfolded, it came to me that the JLP was led by a rabble-rouser called Bustamante and the People’s National Party (PNP) had at its head a gentleman known as Norman Manley.

In the wings of the JLP was an impatient, white-skinned firebrand known as Eddie Seaga. In the bushes, mired in poverty, was another side of politics that many of us were afraid of. Knives and machetes occupied that level.

As more of the things that made our lives better faded than grew, armed men followed some politicians because power loved power, and that sort of power meant they ate well and enjoyed a lengthy feast.

Elizabeth, Charles and that ilk, who made it seem as if we were the only ones with torn socks and acne, were not interested in anything that could emanate from the Caribbean. Again, we have to ask: Is there a rebirth of conscience?

The truth is, we’ve come a far way from seminal Rasta in Trench Town and some of the dirtiest, most matted sheep I ever saw living in a quarter-done Calvary Cemetery, and now here we are seeking a ‘bly’ from the white man because we believe the time is right to view his bank book and enjoy its contents.

We have come a far way from breaking granite and paving rural roads with it. Now we have awesome highways and splendid infrastructure. The perfect time to take that and run with it, and seek a healthy top-up, is now. Don’t you think?

Who wants to be a republic while we are walking around with our pockets filled with emptiness? As a child, I knew a huge cave in Clapham in the 1950s filled with ‘bat dung’. Men mined the stuff and grew rich from the expensive fertiliser. At the very least, in all this talk of reparations, we need our pockets to be filled with republic phosphorus or reparations guano.

King Philip has other mortal things to occupy his mind now. His end is simply theatre. We are seated in the wings.

Mark Wignall is a political and public affairs analyst. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com and mawigsr@gmail.com