http://jamaica-gleaner.com/gleaner/20050515/focus/focus1.html 
Published: Sunday | May 15, 2005

A WEEK ago, like most Jamaicans, I was in a state of despair about the country. Three policemen and two security guards had been killed in less than 24 hours, and the forces of anarchy seemed on the verge of overwhelming the nation. Was there any hope for this island? Was this the kind of country I wanted my children to grow up in?

Well, last weekend I spent Saturday at the beach in Negril and Sunday at the Red Stripe cricket mound. And, on both occasions, I found myself saying "Problems? What problems?"

A few years ago, a friend told me she would never leave Jamaica. She put it this way. People in most of America and Canada and Britain basically work 50 weeks of the year, so they can spend two weeks lying on the beach. But she could go to the beach practically anytime she wanted for almost nothing. Why would she ever want to emigrate?

A pretty simplistic view, one might say. But, while walking on the still powder-soft, white, Negril sands and floating in the balmy crystal-clear water, I remembered the conversation and nodded. For surely, this was as close to earthly perfection as life gets. At moments like this life does, indeed, seem a beautiful thing and Jamaica paradise reincarnate. How could I not love living here? And why wasn't I doing this every weekend?

LACK OF LEADERSHIP

The next day at the Red Stripe Mound a similar feeling came over me. As the game started, a friend and I started discussing Jamaica's problems and their causes. Naipaul, he asserted adamantly, was the only one who had ever been honest about this country. Ever since independence, Jamaica had been slowly slipping into a new kind of barbarianism, and a lack of leadership and vision was slowly dragging all of us down the abyss.

Well, the West Indies' pathetic display certainly added to our despondency. I had come hoping to see another Brian Lara masterpiece and some fireworks from Dwayne Smith, the 21-year-old youngster who some aficionados feel has as much or even more talent than Viv Richards did at his age. Sadly, both the maestro and the wunderkind failed to trouble the scorers. After a while, my friend could take it no more and headed for the bar.

I stuck around to watch Browne and Bradshaw try to add some respectability to the Windies' score, and they did manage to take us over the 150 mark and bat out the 50 overs with some lusty blows, to which the excitement-starved crowd applauded ecstatically. Despite the West Indies getting hammered yet again, everyone seemed to be having a great time. What with the bevy of skimpily dressed girls and the sound system pounding away between balls and the liquor flowing freely, the vibes were level indeed. And, if it's like this when the Windies are losing, it must be something else when we win.

As I went to get lunch, I came upon my friend with a glass of Appleton in his hand and a big smile on his face - his Naipaulean gloom had evidently vanished - engaged in a heated conversation about exactly what was wrong with the West Indies. Naturally, I added my two cents. All our cricket boards are incompetent. Yet, no other country has our raw talent. It just needs to be harnessed. We have some of the world's most promising under-23 players in Dwight Washington, Dwayne Smith, Dwayne Bravo, Jerome Taylor, Dinesh Ramdin and Xavier Marshall. If the big businessmen you see at cricket who claim to love the game chipped in to privately sponsor these youngsters to the Australian Cricket Academy, we could win the 2007 World Cup.

A huge shout interrupted us ­ a wicket for the Windies! We rushed around the front to see South African captain Graeme Smith departing to thunderous approval all around. Another wicket fell soon after and the crowd rose as one in ecstasy. Were the Windies going to pull off a miraculous comeback? Suddenly, every ball was being roared on and for a moment it was almost like the old days of Ambrose and Walsh. Then came the rain to chase off the players and bring on the covers.

With the field drenched and play stopped for a while, the now thoroughly soused crowd rocked to the hits being pumped out by the sound system. It's amazing, really. When dancehall first came out, critics claimed it would never last and people would get tired of it, and who would want to hear such gibberish in 10 years? Yet, the old school hits never fail to tear down the place, no matter what the crowd, and the mound went wild to Admiral Bailey and Tiger and Shabba Ranks. Love it or hate it, dancehall has an uncanny power to excite people.

PREFECT BLEND

I spotted my friend and clapped him on the back. "What would Naipaul make of this barbaric scene?" I shouted at him. He laughed at me. Truly, books are not life. And as I looked around, it struck me that this extremely happy bunch of people contained just about every possible mixture of black, white, yellow and brown. Surely, this was about as perfect an example of racial harmony as could be found anywhere on the planet.

Once again, I shook my head at how wonderful this country can be. One would have to be deaf and blind not to realise that this country has serious problems. But, you would have to be equally oblivious to reality not to realise how much we take for granted that other places envy. When we get it right here, it does not get any better.

This is the problem with Jamaica. Things never get quite so bad that all parts of society feel the concerted need for fundamental change. Somehow, there always seems to be to enough flashes of joy and excitement to take people's minds of the very real troubles confronting us. Whether it's Negril or cricket or carnival or the Reggae Boyz or Asafa and Veronica or Bounty and Beenie and Ellie or a big sound system dance, we keep getting distracted from our problems at hand.

To truly remake a society, you need sustained anger or resentment or concern. But, this country is so blessedly beautiful and its people so gifted at enjoying themselves, that the necessary pressure for real change never manages to build up. Whether this is a good or a bad thing, well, who can say? But I'm certainly going back to Negril soon and I've already ordered Mound tickets for the Pakistan matches.