Commentary

Jamdung justice

"Negro citizenship was a grotesque farce - Sambo and Dinah raised from the kitchen to the cabinet were a spectacle to make the gods laugh."

Charles W. Chestnutt, The Marrow of Tradition, 1858-1932.

Okay, so the past week has been nothing but its usual self, but one incident managed to stand out.

I was working on an article about the rape and murder of the three little girls this year. I decided to call some organisations and ask what their thoughts were on implementing a particular programme to monitor sex offenders.

No stance

I called one and imagine my surprise - I don't know why - when they said they "don't have a stance on the matter and it has never come up for discussion in their meetings."

I didn't give up. I called another organisation and was told they too didn't have a position on the matter and it was mainly "a policy issue for only the ministry to discuss."

What is this thing called justice in Jamdung? Where is the lock-down when our children are raped, molested or murdered? Where is the proactive outcry to have the perpetrators of these awful crimes brought to justice?

I thought back to when the 'man from the hill' died: "This is the last straw," I heard them cry, "We won't stand for this any longer!" People with wampum demanded justice for their own; policemen worked overtime. The Lord works in mysterious ways - the suspects were found before Jesus could help.

Public outrage

I thought of when 'man no. 2 from the hill' was killed. Oh, the public outrage. Beating the Lord, the police caught one of the suspects the same day.

I thought of Shaneika's father from the periphery of the hill: day one - the country weeps; day two - the condolences pour in; end of the month - just another statistic; next month, lockdown of country for other, yet, similar reason; circa day 100, only his family remembers and beholds every man as his daughter's murderer. Jesus waited. He could only help those I understand the fear. The police sold your neighbour the gun. Where do you turn? You run.

The fear. You have betrayed them - your neighbours. Your people. You are hunted.

I have heard the antipathy. Why speak against my own, where will I go? Will there be a protest when I am murdered?

I have heard the apathy. Who cares if my neighbour kills them? They don't care if he kills me or rapes my baby.

Suffering reigns. Don't call it Jamrock - well, as long as it doesn't damage the tourism product.

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