The other day an irate customer confronted me about an out of order credit card machine in my store. She said in these unsafe times she didn’t carry much cash. And on three occasions in the past week she had to leave her goods at the cashier because her keycard could not be processed. I apologetically told her that every time we called the bank promised to fix it  ‘tomorrow’. “Mr. Chang” the lady said sternly “how long you living in this country? Don’t you know that to get anything done here you have to go on bad? Get ignorant with the bank and you’ll see how fast they fix it!”

Well a shopkeeper has to keep his patrons happy, so I phoned the bank and told the lady in charge of credit cards that a customer had instructed me to get ignorant about the out of order keycard machine. Please don’t, she pleaded. We’re coming to fix it tomorrow for sure. Well I don’t know if it was the veiled threat of verbal violence that did it, but the machine was soon working. A few days later the same customer came up to me smiling. “Mr. Chang, I’m glad to see the machine is fixed. I told you the only way to get results in Jamaica is to go on bad!”

She was right of course. Moderately toned polite requests don’t get much response here. Apparently only the passionately expressed demand registers in Jamaican minds. But then we seem to demand maximum emotional intensity in every aspect of life – a nation of adrenaline junkies is how one American expatriot put it.

Dancehall music for instance constantly straddles the border between emotional release and social anarchy - “Out of control deejays spew obscenities, crowd goes wild, show ends in bottle throwing chaos” goes a stock stage show report headline. And look how often couples here goad each other into explosive arguments, only to collapse into each other’s arms. “I love it when my man beats me” a Jamaican lady once told me “because the making up afterwards is so sweet!”

Then there is the ritualistic process by which communities get their roads and water pumps repaired – trees and stones and rusted cars are scattered across the street, traffic is halted, placard carrying residents chant slogans, the police and press arrive, a community spokesman airs its grievances, a government official quickly promises prompt action, the protesters calm down, the debris is moved and things return to normal. Yet despite the sometimes white hot passions displayed, hardly anyone ever seems to get hurt. In fact these protests are almost like staged dramas where participants display the appropriate emotions without really intending to spill blood.

Is any other country on earth governed in essence by roadblocks? For the authorities here only seem to pay attention to angry protests. Matters in a community can’t be that bad, the thinking seems to be, if residents haven’t gotten irate enough to mount a roadblock.

Tivoli is another kettle of fish. Like most people I have no idea what exactly transpired on the weekend of July 7. Were the security forces trying to enforce their legal authority in a lawless armed garrison, or were innocent citizens defending themselves against brutal intruders? No one involved in the present circus inquiry appears to want the public to find out, for the sleeping judge and sealed lip opposition seem to be collaboratively using all available legal tricks to stage another grand cover up.

But the real culprit is a feckless electorate which has already consigned the 27 killed in 3 days to history’s dustbin. Why should the government or opposition take the public good into consideration when the public doesn’t seem to give a damn if they do? The PNP and JLP know that no matter how disgracefully they behave, voters will still give them alternating turns at the public trough. Why should a philanderer whose wife keeps forgiving him stop cheating?

Most inner city flare-ups however are probably best described as ongoing feuds between rival guerilla factions, though exactly what the goals of the opposing camps are is somewhat of a mystery. They might be to some extent fighting for scarce benefits and spoils, but these so called hostile tribes are not divided ethnically, racially or religiously. And it is difficult to see what the PNP or JLP has done to engender such fanatical loyalty, since neither party has created a particularly high quality of life for supporters. Anyway, what is to stop those involved from shouting for one side and secretly voting for another, or from simply changing shirts and joining the winning side after the elections? And why must allegiances be loudly broadcast to one and all?

Jamaican political hostilities often remind me of English football hooliganism, where blood is often shed solely to display absolute devotion to one’s side. There are no material payoffs involved for fanatical Manchester United or Liverpool supporters, for the most they can gain from their allegiance is the brief satisfaction of supporting a winning side. Yet they still at times eagerly engage in occasionally fatal pitched battles. Man must have a truly primeval need for group bonding if something so insignificant as kicking an air filled bladder can create such intense tribalism. And though our politicians no doubt unscrupulously exploit such emotions, the orange and green devotion here often has similarly irrational origins.

Now I find it amazing that despite our high homicide rate and penchant for demonstrations Jamaica has never witnessed a serious out of control mass disturbance. For even the far more peaceful and orderly United States has suffered conflagrations like the 1992 Los Angeles and 1968 Watts riots which left devastated areas looking like war zones.

But even our occasional gas riots are basically expanded three day roadblocks. A few cars might get burnt and some shop windows smashed and the occasional security force member killed, but the final death toll is usually no more than the normal amount for the period. It is as if people here have an instinctive knowledge of knowing just how far they can go without being engulfed by the flames they set.

Indeed life in Jamaica as a whole can almost be described as controlled chaos. And this constant emotional turbulence might explain why despite all the poverty and crime and daily aggravations of home so many Jamaicans find life overseas lacking in stimulation. Abroad, someone once remarked to me, you feel like a spectator in a formulaic play. Here you feel part of an unpredictable drama. And Jamaicans will tolerate anything except being bored. changkob@hotmail.com