fuckery and livity
life in jamaica is hard. for everyone. although the pressure is certainly more focused on some people than others (particularly, poor and dark-skinned folk), it permeates the place and makes for an oppressive environment. everyday i encounter desperate people, bitter people, selfish people. interacting with them has become an extremely weary exercise. sometimes i don't want to leave my apartment. my appearance doesn't help. as a white man in a black and brown country, i stand out. my clothing tends to betray me as american (though i avoid wearing shorts), and the amount of time i spend "on the road" (e.g., walking or taking a bus--not driving in a car) suggests that i am a tourist. the assumption, therefore, is that i must have money. hence, one gathers, i can certainly afford to pay more for things than others do and to "let off" a likkle something to the handful of people that ask me daily. and because i still can't speak jamaican english in a convincing manner, those with whom i interact more closely also treat me opportunistically, dollar-signs in their eyes, or scornfully, as if irritated by my very presence. i may exaggerate the extent to which i am treated this way, but i do not think it is so much a product of my imagination. i have dozens of encounters for evidence. i feel a sense of constant injustice while i live here. i feel as if i am not being treated fairly, not related to "on-a-level," not seen as a human being with my own needs and desires, my own problems and struggles, my own insecurities and fears. (i realize, of course, that what i experience here is probably mild injustice when compared to say, the everyday prejudice and scorn experienced by most black people in the US. and the last thing i want to be is a whiny white-boy on the other side of the discrimination fence. but, for real, this hurts.) i do not like to be treated in a manner that i feel is unfair, yet people from all walks of life here--the homeless man on the street, the cashier at the store, the official at the government ministry--treat me as if i should know better than to enter this world. they exact payment either by soliciting money from me (especially homeless fellows and government clerks), making me wait (anyone with a paltry bit of power to hold over me), or abusing me (usually through some epithet or disrespectful act). at this point, i've had it with such "fuckery," as they aptly call it here.
for many jamaicans, fuckery is a way of life. it's a way of defending oneself and of striking back at the system. one way to understand it might be to see it as a response to the oppressive, dehumanizing conditions of life that prevail here for so many. no one escapes it. either you're so beaten down by and caught up in the system that you perpetuate the fuckery or you have to deal with it. constantly. last week i reached a saturation point. ironically, my lowest point coincided with the news that the department of corrections had finally approved a proposal that charlie and i submitted to them last september. the proposal had been in the works, with drafts going back and forth, for about six months. i could appreciate the irony of the situation, but i could not move myself to get excited. the intimate experience i have now had with bureaucratic and other institutional obstacles in jamaica has convinced me that any effort made within this structure is more or less futile. i could not imagine attempting the ambitious education project we had proposed for south camp prison, especially not with two and a half months left in our stay here (that's when our savings will run out) and, far as i know, no progress having been made on the prison's computer lab. my reply to charlie was sad and angry:
From: "Wayne Marshall" <wayne_marshall@hotmail.com>
To: nesson@law.harvard.edu
Subject: Re: dcs proposal
Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2003 15:08:53hey charlie,
to be completely honest, my heart is not in this anymore. i feel utterly beat down by jamaican bureaucracy and paltry power plays. i have no faith in ------- or ---'s ministry and much less in the dcs folks. let jamaicans lead and drive the project, as they require. let them have their certificates and their ceremonies. i'm sick of the way nothing happens around here. i'm sick of waiting for people. i'm sick of enduring constant abuse. i'm sick of expending good faith energy to no avail and little appreciation.
i will, of course, do what i can to aid you in your projects. if you are still interested in pursuing the prison project, and think it is feasible (and that it might happen sometime before july), i am happy to visit any prison you point me to and offer digital music instruction. but i'm not going to extend myself beyond that.
best,
wayne
as frequently as we communicate, charlie was a bit taken aback by the email. he said it had "steam" coming off it and that it seemed out of the blue. i guess i have been hiding my frustrations to a large extent. charlie wondered if my new attitude had been precipitated by a single event. but, as i understand it, there was no final straw, no singular cause, no sudden change responsible for the way i was feeling. just an unrelenting string of bad relations and trying experiences. i did my best to elaborate for him without detailing my every step for the last three months:
From: "Wayne Marshall" <wayne_marshall@hotmail.com>
To: nesson@law.harvard.edu
Subject: Re: dcs proposal
Date: Tue, 29 Apr 2003 17:23:21i'm sorry about letting off some steam. but i am really fed up with trying to live and deal with people in this country. and it covers quite a range of fuckery, from -------'s and --------'s misplaced cursings to -------'s self-serving righteousness to anyone on the street that asks me for money, expects me to pay more than i should for something, makes me wait an inordinate amount of time simply because they can, calls me a tourist, hisses at rebecca, etc. i've just reached a saturation point. i have been worn down. my rosy optimism is taking a serious beating. my faith in humanity is shaken. the tension i experience outside of my apartment eats at me. i fear that i take it out on rebecca simply because she's the only target in range, but for no good reason. for all of our successes here and all of our good times, living in jamaica has been an extremely trying experience.
i have begun feeling much less enthusiastic about all my endeavors here except: 1) experiences that are fun and enriching, such as going to beautiful places with becca, creating music and performing with friends; and 2) thesis- and blog-related work, which give me a chance to be critical about all the fuckery around here (though i have so far been rather restrained). i'm starting to feel that i will be ready to leave jamaica sooner than i had anticipated. as a result, i have picked up my activity level--as far as creation and information-gathering go. i will be sad to leave some things behind, but i doubt that jamaica will ever be a comfortable place for me, comfortable as it is.
best,
wayne
i also confided in several jamaicans, including a couple close friends. they were surprisingly sympathetic. of course, they are much more intimately acquainted with the jamaican-brand of fuckery than i. (let's face it: there's no escaping fuckery in the world. the US, especially in know-it-all cities like cambridge, has plenty of it. for some reason, though, it's getting to me here in a way that it doesn't up north.) one friend said he was surprised that i ever attempted to deal with the government. he avoided it as much as possible. as for people harassing me and becca on the street, he said i simply need to work on my patois a bit and really curse them out (e.g., "pussy! ease yourself!"). he told me i need to make the "ah" in words like "raas" and "claat" more guttural. i guess that's helpful advice, but i'm not really looking to escalate these situations or add to the negative vibes they put out. nevertheless, i was unable to restrain myself in giving a group of men my best italian-american body-language fuck-you the other night after i learned they had not simply hissed at becca but slapped her on the ass. that shit's not cool--"cultural mores" or not. another friend said next time something like that happens, i should call him and he'll paint the town blood-red for me--an offer i could never accept. but how does a pacifist live in a hostile environment without losing his mind? it gets damned difficult in a place like this. thank god i didn't grow up in texas.
although most jamaicans have extensive experience with fuckery of all kinds, some are even less tolerant of it than i am. as kind a person as dami may be, he demonstrates an incredibly short-fuse when it comes to fuckery. when dami begins cursing anyone who might unjustly cross him, the young, conscious dj transforms himself into a righteous gangsta. suddenly his gunman lyrics make sense, or at least gain context. for me, they lose the inauthenticity that much gangsta-rap seems to accrue with its hollywood-esque, cartoonish violence (which, for some, ironically, represents the apex of realness). when dami launches into such a tirade--complete with very real details about where, from whom, and how quickly he could equip himself for retaliatory, or better, pre-emptive, action--he is utterly believable. this is about survival, he says. right now in jamaica, he says, it is judgment day. there is no playing around. according to dami, three-quarters of jamaicans are good people, but a full quarter are conscious agents of fuckery. i'm not sure about the ratio, but it's clear that there are enough people participating in the system to keep it going. dami's response is "dun wid dem," as one of his songs goes. his main targets in the song are "hypocrites and heathens." and while i don't have any particular problem with heathens, hypocrites do piss me off. i could definitely cut them out of my life, if only it were possible. one thing that i may gain from this whole disheartening and maddening experience is an appreciation for the everyday conditions--in particular, interpersonal relations and institutional mazes--out of which dancehall's badman attitude, not to mention rasta's separatism, emerges. (hip-hop's aggression, one could argue, takes shape in a similar crucible, though with different local details.) of course, as believable and understandable as dami's response to fuckery may be, it does not seem like the most constructive approach.
still, for a couple days last week, "dun wid dem" sounded pretty good to me. i was more than ready to be dun wid the government, dun wid obstinate store-clerks, dun wid anybody who feels the need to exercise every little bit of power over me that he or she can. fuck a babylon dem. fuck this world that is so concerned with material things. fuck anyone who willingly participates in it, complicitly gains from it, and knowingly tightens its screws around those of us who are simply trying to live, and live simply. (long as "living simply" includes weblogs and drum machines, knamean?)
of course, "dun wid dem" is not a great life philosophy. it represents a withdrawal from the social, not an engagement with it. it may afford one some limited peace when it comes to dealing (or not dealing) with annoying strangers or ex-friends, but it doesn't work with close relations and it doesn't help to create a better world. moreover, it's not a terribly more comfortable way to live. the tension never really dissipates, it just gets ignored. i can't live that way. i can't live in such a state of suspended tension. somehow i've got to let it go, to rise above it, to be more carefree about the little things, more forgiving about people's ignorance and disrespect, and more sensitive about certain people's unhappy stations in life. if i cannot relate thusly to strangers, i realize, i will not be able to do so with friends and loved ones, either. i find it difficult to separate spheres of interaction, to transition seamlessly from relationship to relationship. irrespective of my best intentions, my attitude on the street comes home with me. my screwface sticks. the way that people relate to me here everyday--and the way i relate to them in turn--has corrupted my basic ability to relate. i grow defensive, then aggressive. i lose my patience. i either withdraw or lash out. i see the way that my jamaica-conditioned behavior threatens my closest relationships. i fear that i'm losing the core of my personal philosophy--a philosophy based on generosity and living by example, and a philosophy that, in my opinion, fosters the most meaningful relationships i can have and works toward social change in a real, if limited, way. this is a way of being that previously allowed me to float through life in a wonderful way. i felt enlightened, big, focused. i felt little fear. i cannot afford to lose this sense of purpose and perspective.
i want to live a good life. i know this is a vague and loaded statement, so let me elaborate a bit. essentially, i want to live in a way that transcends the work/joy dichotomy, that works toward minimal injury of others, that encourages growth and collaboration, that breaks the cycle of violence, anxiety, and nihilism and aspires to freedom, creating meaning, and appreciating the intense joy of being alive. i want to act in love and faith, to seek and relish truth, to have fun asking big questions and pondering age-old mysteries. this is my idea of livity--a rasta concept that i have yet to get a real hold on. i gather that livity refers to a better way of living, a means of transcending babylon's ills and living more in line with an idealized cosmic order. it seems like a vague concept and a rare practice. for some people, it would seem, livity ain't nothing but a vegetarian restaurant. much as i admire many of the tenets of rastafari, rastas themselves succumb too often to the fuckery, falling into cynicism and withdrawing from the world. far as i can see, that's no livity.
but, then again, there are strong and entrenched forces at work here. the legacies of slavery and colonialism continue to wreak havoc on people's psychologies and social relationships. the government and police force are utterly corrupt. they work hand-in-hand with organized crime, perpetuating a reign of terror upon those too poor to flee to the hills. their bloody hands are tied by the political-economic controls of the US, whose consumer market and drugs policy has made jamaica a conduit for cocaine and guns and whose economic and cultural domination uproot local production efforts. the world bank and IMF only compound the problem with their tantalizing loans and choking policy dictates. often times i marvel at the perseverance of the jamaican people. for all the bleakness of their situation, so many are able to squeeze the most out of life. there is an energy and a vibrancy here that i rarely find elsewhere. there is also a geniality and kindness that mitigates against the behavior of the desperate, the bitter, and the selfish. but at this point fuckery is as jamaican as bureaucracy, reggae, and jerk. one cannot avoid it, one can merely deal with it, attempt to rise above it (at least psychologically), and resist--in every interaction and transaction, and with all of one's being--the temptation to perpetuate its ills.
yes, life is hard in jamaica. i guess i just need to try harder.
[want to read a more specific description of jamaican fuckery? check out "life in triplicate."]