It’s Just Another Day for You and Me in Paradise

By Gabriel Christian Esq.

“Tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed. Things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.”

Ever the master of political statement, William Shakespeare’s word capture the terrible state in which Dominica now languishes. “An unweeded garden.” The phrase conspires up images of zebgwa, zebgwa everywhere. “That grows to seed.” The landscape has become barren. Male pawpaw trees produce no fruit. “Things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.” Note the imagery of rot and stench evoked by the words “rank” and “gross.” This is what now “possesses” Dominica.

The evidence is there to support it. Police officers complain publicly about drug overseers who cavort with government officers. Government cronies who have no visible means of income host parties and boast of making their first million. Young Dominican girls, still flush with the innocence of youth, join the ranks of defiled womanhood as they are recruited and later arrested overseas as drug mules. A government minister transports counterfeit money to Cuba and gives no explanation where the money came from. On weekends, prostitutes and parl reps mingle at a “respectable” nightclub while misguided Dominican women on other nights grope half-naked male strippers and slip their hard earned dollars into filthy thongs. A pastor who flaunts his friendship with the Prime Minister demands $50,000 from his congregation to celebrate his fiftieth birthday! Welcome to the new Dominica!

Bondye Seyen Mawi Josef!! Is this what Dominica has come to? Is this the paradise we boast about? Is this the “nature island” that we describe to our friends? Is this the island of 365 rivers? Is this the island which has produced the likes of Telford Georges, Reverend Phillip Potter, Bishop Joseph Bowers, Baroness Patricia Scotland and Mary Eugenia Charles? Is this the island which has nurtured so many professors at the UWI and in the US? Is this the Dominica which was once a metaphor for all that is pristine and pure, exotic and exuberant?

The people of Colihaut, with its proud traditions of slave rebellion and ban mové, now grope about, their village often covered by a thick dust from the nearby foreign-owned mining operation. The canoes lie on the beach as their nets slowly rot. The catch is almost non-existent now as the slag and waste from the mining operation of French national, Gardakan, choke the sea which has produced fish for decades. During the day, the venerable village is almost deserted. The few village elders no longer sit at the side of the road under the big breadfruit tree recounting stories of past glories. Now many of them cough; a dry rasping cough which seems to come from deep within their chests. The dust is slowly stifling the life of the village and the villagers. No abatement of this pernicious environmental disaster has been engaged by the authorities. No one knows exactly how much tarish is taken in cubic yards and how much of that income goes into our treasury. The plunder continues and the government does nothing even while two ministers drive past the village daily. Alas, it’s just another day for you and me in this beautiful paradise!

At New Town, it is not the white dust which is stifling the people. It is the white powder which effects are more insidious. A decade ago, Harlem Bombers reigned supreme, carrying the pride of New Town at the shoulders of its players. Now many young men shuffle and emerge from narrow passages, their features aged, wizened and ravaged by the cocaine which has transformed a vibrant hamlet into an urban landscape called Baghdad. There are no remedial programs to deal with their addiction. No government counseling programs. No opportunities to wean them away from the white powder. Welcome to the new Dominica!

In Roseau, the pace is more frenzied. Trucks and cars zip by. The Haitians are doing brisk business in the market. Paros hang around Whitchurch and Courts begging for a dollar. Others make a few dollars washing cars and vans at the New Bridge. At the corner of Cock and Old Streets, a paro pees openly at the side of the street, as a group of tourists from a cruise ship walks embarrassingly by. At night, dogs belonging to everyone but no one roam the streets, using every pillar, post or stand as a fire hydrant. Marlene sits in her outside roofless toilet even while she daily begs for some help from the authorities. Magway Ca! Welcome to the face of the new Dominica!! Welcome to the increasningly sad face of  Dominica!!!  Will this be the legacy of Labour?

On Kennedy Avenue, you approach the gleaming green multi-storey Financial building. The new technocrats strut about, seemingly intent on fulfilling a fictional duty. They seem oblivious to the distressing signs in the town. Suddenly, a man walks purposefully through the gleaming, glass doors to the PM’s office on the sixth floor. It is Barbadian Hartley Henry, the shadowy figure who now advises the Prime Minister. He acts as a Man Friday for the PM and the unsavoury bunch which is bivouacked outside Dominica, waiting for the fruits of their illegal gains. Henry evokes memories of another Bajan, Sidney Burnette Alleyne, the man who in the 1970s was implicated in plots to first invade Barbados and later Dominica. They view Dominica as easy prey, these human vultures who suck the blood of young and fledgling democracies and their unscrupulous leaders.

Tell me who your friends are and I will tell you who you are! Portsmouth has been a friend of Labour for half a century. Surely, Portsmouth must have a different story. After all, it has two ministers in government, Charles Savarin and Ian Douglas. Before them were Earl Leslie, RBD, Mike and Rosie. But the signs of decay are more pronounced here than almost anywhere. Huge rotting steel ships blight the view of the sea. There is no bustle of activity at Borough’s Square. Drugs and crime are everywhere. Buying a gun is easier in the town than it has ever been. Like the mango, gun play is always in season. Outside the new Rosie Douglas School, children used to play: “A ring a ring, a rosy/my pocket full of posy.” Today, young boys often stand outside the gates of the school, selling small packets of marijuana, as the townspeople keep their distance, wondering what had gone wrong in their town. On many a night, young criminals watch the movements on the yachts in Prince Rupert’s Bay biding their time to rob the unsuspecting occupants. Respect for law and property are slipping fast.

The government is busy building seawalls. They built a beautiful stadium. But there is no hive of activity within – except for the rare cricket match or parade. The youths of Roseau stare at the massive structure wondering when they would be allowed in for a game of cricket, football or basketball. Gardakan, the new Massa, is repairing the interior road. He operates in Dominica as he pleases. He illegally dredges the Layou River despite a government issued “Stop Work Order.” He is complicit in the environmental degradation of Colihaut and imports trucks and drivers to rob Dominicans of a chance to earn an honest living. But it’s okay! Because its just another day in Dominica!!

Now is the time to proclaim a new day in Dominica!! Now is the time for the people to assert its power. Now is the time to restore a semblance of dignity in Dominica. Do we have the courage to do it? Where we don’t, we have no right complaining.

Tagged as: Gabriel Christian