Yes, I am from the Caribbean but No, I don't smoke weed

The first dinner party I hosted in Europe with a Caribbean theme took place within the my miniscule room situated within the secluded loft of my leafy college, for a few fellow student union members. I remember assiduously cycling to Mill Lane to purchase ripe hands of over-yellow plantains, pungent bottles of caramel browning and jerk sauce, hoping to impress with pure guesswork, my then unhoned culinary skills and a few bottles of overproof rum. It went well – meaning no one was violently and instantly ill) but there was a dip of disappointment as everyone looked expectantly in my direction for the perceived traditional Caribbean petit four of some wacky backy: high grade, home grown weed. I think I was too embarrassed to say that I did not smoke, and I concocted a half hearted excuse of having none “at the moment”. I was petrified to admit the bare truth: I had never smoked weed in my entire life.

Since then, however, I have been surprised at how many people expect me to be a ganja connoisseur. “Surely you were surrounded by it”. Yes. “Is the weed in the Caribbean stronger and purer?” I haven’t the foggiest but I suppose so- we do everything better in the Caribbean. “Can you post us some when you go back?” Heck no. I would probably know where to get it, but they would probably refuse to sell it to me, and then tell my mother who would give me a proper licking, even at my age. So would the woman at the Post Office.

A guy I used to date briefly once complained “You are so goody-goody, so square”, and tried to persuade me to try a cigarette. Asthmatic that I am, I was puffing and huffing at the sheer odour before the darned thing ever had the front to get to my lips. The constant requests for sweet lucy probably means that I have been probably been very unsuccessful in harbouring home the fact that although the Caribbean has a deserved reputation for being ultra cool and chillaxed, the easy-going attitude of its residents has nothing to do with cheeky cannabis. Many are surprised to know that in general, Caribbean culture is very conservative, in fact almost prudish when it comes to attitudes towards drugs and alcohol.

For example, away from the cannabis analysis, beer is not considered to be a woman’s drink. Nice girls would never drink beer. At parties, fetes and social gatherings, most women would have the sweet barley based non-alcoholic malta. For those feeling a bit adventurous, maybe watered down rum and Coke; the more well-heeled would have a glass or two of wine. A woman bearing a Heineken or Carib or Stag proudly (except maybe at Carnival) would be looked upon oddly. (Personally, I don’t care. There is nothing like a beastly cold beer on a hot day.)

Weed, on the other hand, is another thing altogether. It is strange because I quite like the smell. I can match certain childhood memories with its fragrance permeating the air, almost like nature burning her incense. My neighbour was a heavy smoker and he often congregated on the walls of the old battered bakery behind our house with his pals, lighting up several ounces of spliff at a time and ruminating on obscure topics in the indolent and sluggish way that only men who are high can. Smoky billows wafted across, under the gospo tree, and over the wooden fence to provide the sweet-smelling olfactory footage that accompanied me while I was doing my homework. My neighbour across the road sold it and the number of heads that disappeared in between the two stone houses on a daily basis, was like a Catholic procession. The weed disciples would leave the trading temple, stoned, eyes bloodshot but displaying lackadaisical signs of peace. The pungent aroma was never far away on big celebratory occasions and activities. To be honest, on most Sunday afternoons. I often saw large trays of dried marijuana at the home of a friend, whose father built up a steady relationship with la marijeanne. I was somehow, never tempted. I was never presented with it (it would be an affront), and the idea of smoking even a cigarette was so preposterous to me, that it never crossed my mind. None of my friends smoked. Cheeky drinking was more daring, and yes, more acceptable.

Fact is, Caribbean countries’ attitudes towards cannabis varies. The Holy Herb, revered by Rastafarians, occupies a unique musico-cultural and historical significance in Jamaica, for instance. It is by far the largest manufacturer and exporter of marijuana. That is not to say that the official stance is not decidedly miltant, to comply with European and American big stick anti-drug policies. I would say that there is an attitude of grudging tolerance. Contrast St. Vincent and the Grenadines, which after the collapse of the Caribbean banana industry, has occupied a singular place as having the largest and most systematically cannabis fields in the Eastern Caribbean. The topography of hilly mountainous land and the liberal attitude of Prime Minister Ralph Gonsalves easily lend themselves to covert farms in the inaccessible north. Mr Gonsalves was elected on a mandate of “Rastafari, I am your friend” and he currently leads the charge for the decriminalisation of marijuana in the region, especially for those who use it for religious rites. In Grenada, and many of the other Caribbean islands, weed is readily available and sold on the black market although there is a faux militancy about its use and cultivation. A few ganja farmers’ plantations are targeted sporadically to appease the Christian religious communities.

I have a fairly level-headed attitude towards consumption of marijuana. I believe in its decriminalisation for personal consumption for the mere reason I think law enforcement should be freed up to deal with child abuse, sexual abuse, incest, cocaine trafficking and other more serious and harmful offences.. After all, Bill Clinton, David Cameron and Barack Obama all admit to smoking weed and they have not turned out too shabbily.

I do not think it should be legalised, primarily because it would ultimately become useless for income generation, as with all other products, India and China will ultimately flood the markets. There is a hope that perhaps, Caribbean grown cannabis can become like Habanero cigars, a luxury product but the debate on legalisation will come in a subsequent blogpost. For me, however, I am a risk-adverse person so I am unlikely to touch it, especially having heard of and investigated the link between ganja and paranoia, depression, long term memory loss and schizophrenia, especially among young black people. No thank you very much. I can’t help thinking that I might just be that one person who goes off the rails, thinking I can fly after just that one spliff, and I am too much of a scaredy-cat to justify the jeopardy. Let’s just say that the number of young, potentially productive persons I have seen walking around like lethargic zombies, red-eyed crusts of their former selves truly startles me. Call me dull, call me wet around the ears or boring. I can do without this high. Please can I have a bottle of Ruinart instead.

The Caribbean's Cocaine Aristocrats

My neighbour was found dead in the Town That Never Sleeps (except that it now does because all the revellers are too old). He had no job but he had a lot of money.We shared the same family name so we must have been related somehow but I knew nothing about him except that he lived next door in a very small house, that he had many children and that he was found lying face down, shot and hauled like a beached whale into the yellow green and gold verandah of his best friend in the town of Gouyave. A salutary warning perhaps. We asked no questions. There were no investigations. Even now, for no reason, I shudder as I write this.  Pen mightier than sword. Pen mightier than sword. Or gun.  I repeat it. I remind myself. I comfort myself. They don't know where I live. At least I hope so.

In small sleepy Caribbean towns and villages, there would always be a man who has a big heart and an even bigger pocket. He would be self made, of not too wealthy stock, and  his background would not provide any explanation as to where his new found capital might have originated. The government of the day would be on side. He would have friends in lots of high places- the police and the armed forces. He would be responsible for entertainment events that bond villages, communities and towns and supposedly nurture talent. He would sponsor a few sporting and cultural activities. If he did not do so, he would be reputed to have properties in the UK and in the US. He would own a few legitimate businesses and companies that employ a number of people in the community. Through these, he maintains a veritable laundromat- dirty money is washed whiter than white. This man is venerated and idolised. Everybody is grateful.  He maintains power and control over his microcosm and maintains it with strict orders. The wife and mistress and girlfriend are loyal because they are all kept in a certain manner- weave, shoes, clothes.  Other bitches are damn jealous. He has cult status, so lavish is his spending, so profligate his giving. He imports European vehicles. If he smokes, he only smoke Cuban cigars. If he drinks, he only drinks Johnny Walker Black.

He is generous with his platitudes because they are the platitudes that the people who support him value- fetes, passa passa, more fetes and more parties. He will probably kill a cow or a sheep now and again  for the village- a sacrifice to the gods? His venues overflow, his reputation is consolidated, no one bats an eyelid or asks the important question of where this flood of investment capital comes from. Sure, there are whispers but no one dares to state the obvious. Meanwhile crime rates increase, there are stories of people who are found dead off small islands and guns appear to be swarming small fishing towns.

The Caribbean's position of being the Vortex of the Americas and its proliferation of small inlets and coves make it ideal to facilitate furtive, illegal transactions. Some Caribbean countries, like St. Vincent, have over 600 islets and states like The Bahamas are archipelagos consisting of more than 700 islands and 200 cays. Drug consumption is not rabid in the Caribbean- the epicentre and the controlling minds are in the West. Caribbean people are the proverbial middlemen in this new triangle trade. In the land of the middlemen, some get to be king.

Jamaica has long been key to the drug trade, given its long coastline, its proximity to the United States, the high number of ports, harbors, and beaches, and its closeness to the Yucatan and Windward Passages. Although the epicentre of the cocaine trade is Colombia, Jamaica’s west and south coast are the most popular areas for air trafficking. Middle men who are responsible for importing drugs to the West are appointed as local lords. Christopher Coke (is this a joke? Is his middle name Ganja?) seems to be one of the cocaine aristocrats that was so beloved by his flock, that they gave up their lives for him. It appears ironic that the greatest love, as defined by Jesus, to lay down one's lives for one's friends, was accorded to a known drug dealer. It is sad that his disciples did not make the link between the bitter gangfights in their communities or the abject poverty and violence that featured in Tivoli Gardens with a business that sucked the life out of their towns like ladiablesses taking souls. The drug trade pays no respect and pays no taxes. It is a system based on exploitation and does not reward hard work. Lives are dispensable. Children are customers. It is sadder though, that ordinary community minded individuals are so disenfranchised and abandoned by government, that they are left to be ruled and to be dependent on an illegal trade that operates above the law. Who will be their advocates?

To be honest, given the suspected link between Coke and the government, I  doubt the veracity of the evidence of the supposed honour bullets. I am not sure that these people actually gave up their lives- how are we not sure that they are victims of a shoot on sight policy, to destroy any evidence of any governmental collaboration or support? It seems very much like the prison fire cover up before a similar extradition many moons before. It has now come to light that the Government's party, the JLP, hired US firm Manatt Phelps &; Philips to request that the US government put in further information to support the extradition request. I  must admit that I would not ordinarily be shocked at opposition to an ordinary extradition request.  Small islands are fiercely protective of their own sovereignty and  my instinct was to say who the hell is America anyway (Obama or no Obama) to request extraditing a man who walked the streets of Brooklyn but who they lost track of? We are past the era of Manifest Destiny. In any event, Dudus' kilos of cocaine and informal network pales in comparison to underworld crime on the streets of New York and Baltimore.

I was more shocked and appalled that it was the national, incumbent political party that would choose to fund and instruct Counsel to lobby the US government to oppose Coke's extradition. What was the impetus and basis for this level of involvement? Investigations show that the funds came from Coke's business- Incomparable Enterprises Limited and went through the government's Tourism Enhancement Fund. The lawyers in question are alleged to have met with Mr Coke and knew directly that these funds were coming from him.  What message does that send? Who is really running Jamaica anyway? It is also reported that Mr Coke is very benevolent to the Government of Jamaica and recently hosted a party for the present Attorney General.

Rest assured, this is not only happening in Jamaica. With no accountability and no lobby for freedom of information in the Caribbean, this situation is only the top of the coconut tree. When we vote political parties in power,we do not know about the levels of illegal funding, kickbacks and deals that are made behind closed doors and about dodgy bequests that are not entirely above board. For now, given that more than 60 people have lost their lives and this man still cannot be found, it seems like the cocaine aristocrats are the ones who are in charge of our countries.

(Photo copyrighted and used from caribbeandreamstv.com)