On the other hand...

On the other hand, I hate to say this, but if you want a convincing pro-sterilization argument, have a look at today's blog on my site, called Worse than Fiction

Sterilising Negroes

An Indian Opposition senator has come up with a solution to our crime problem. All rather simple, really. He proudly stood up in the Senate on tuesday and proposed that the Government offer cash incentives to women "in specific communities that statistically have the highest crime rates in the country" to have abortions or to be sterilised. I don't need to point out that those "communities" are almost without exception poor black neighbourhoods.

Well, let me tell ya, the whole country has gone berserk. And rightly so. I'm not even going to give you a history lesson and bring up the specter of Hitler. I ain't even gonna point out how heinous the whole theory of eugenics it, and how vulgar and offensive it is to even think out loud that the mass sterilisation of black people would be a good idea.

I've only got one question for the Senator, and this is it: How much ya offering, sir? No, really, let's talk dollars and cents here. How much you planning on paying my people to get themselves done? What's a fetus go for these days? A pair of ovaries.? Are sperm ducts worth more or less?

Unfortunately for the crime rate, the Senator was fired by his party in less than two days. Pity. I'd have loved to have heard more. Incidentally, (and amusingly) this Senator had only been there for 3 months, and his first order of business was to bring in a priest to bless his chair because it was cursed. Why was it cursed? Because the last 2 men who sat in it died.

It's not easy living in the third world.

The farm

Nearly bought le farm today. Well, maybe nearly is a bit of an exaggeration. I had a few feet to spare. But it was disconcerting nonetheless. Had a meeting down in Mayaro today, a 2 hour drive to the south east coast. Always glad to get out of the office, I was pretty excited by the idea. Took my laptop with the fantasy of writing on the beach for an hour or two after the meeting. Wouldn't that have been neat.

Well, I did park on the beach around one, and had lunch there, but it's a very lonely coast, and as the saying goes, in space no-one can hear you scream. I angled my mirrors to let me watch all approaches behind me, just in case anybody had the idea of mugging the stupid single woman. Nobody did, but I scarpered as soon as lunch was over. Ah, well. Here are a few pics just to prove I'm not lying.

Anyhow, that experience wasn't exactly farm-worthy. What was farm-worthy took place along a strip of road called the Valencia stretch. It's a few miles of smooth straight road the brings out the Stiriling Moss in dumb people. I was driving mildly along when the car in front of me went into a tailspin and skated off the road in a cloud of dust. I thought maybe he'd blown a tyre. Then I realized he'd done it deliberately, to avoid the onslaught of a mini-bus (we call 'em maxi-taxis) whose dumbass driver thought it would be a capital idea to overtake 5 or 6 other maxi taxis at the same time.

I pulled and skated, he pulled and skated in the opposite direction, almost going up on two wheels, he had to brake so fast.

Nope, t'weren't a nice experience. Nosiree.

Jackass.

re the pix: I really ought to smile more, eh?

Be safe

Crime might change us in big ways, but it changes us in small ways, too. I noticed something the other day while I was watching a local talk show. At the end of the programme, the host congenially wished the audience, "Have a crime-free day."

I did a double take. Whatever happened to the standard, if a little time-worn, "Have a nice day?" Then I started listening. I was at the Post Office today. The post lady wished the lady in front of me farewell with, "Be safe."

I opened my ears, and I realise it's all around. We no longer say just "Bye" or "See you," or "Have a pleasant day." People are saying, "Be careful." "Be safe." "Hope you have a quiet night." We're all so aware of the situation, that even our hopes for each other have changed.

Sad, really.

I hate sick days

I hate sick days. I really do. They're so useless, mainly because when I'm home sick, I really am home sick, due to this annoying work ethic that I had bred into me that it's unacceptable to fake a sickie just for the hell of it. Thanks a bunch, mother.

It's 4 p.m. and this is the first time I've been vertical, other than to get something to eat or to go pee. Laryngitis, brought on by a wetting in the rain I got on Saturday while taking my kids to parade at the Kiddies carnival. (You can read more about that fine fiasco here.)

So here I am, home alone, kids where they belong, Rawle where he belongs, all the time in the world. I should be writing. Walking the dog. Watching baby daddy drama on Maury. But I'm too sick to do any of the above. Barely well enough to be coherent.

Damn sick days.

Madness

This was never supposed to be a blog about crime. It was supposed to be a cute and funny and even slightly rambling blog about whatever catches my fancy. And yet I find myself writing about little else. In the past few days I've been a little afraid of coming onto this site. Partly because I was worried about what I'd write, and partly because what I wanted to write about was so painful that I was afraid to confront it.

So much happens so fast we can't even digest it any more. Two 70 year olds (distant relatives of Rawle's) beaten to death in a house robbery, found with their 6- and 8-month old granddaughters slipping and sliding in their blood. yesteday, a 1 year old and a 3 year old shot accidentally by police in their own yard during a raid. And the political band plays on.

My birthday was 2 days ago. My grandmother, who is 92, called me with her birthday wish: "I can only hope that you live long enough to see your children grow up. That's all I have for you." Then her voice broke. Is this what we've come to? That we no longer can wish each other health, wealth, and happiness, but our only hope is to survive these terrible times?

I need to find some way to stop this spiral of horror and pain that I go through each time something like this happens. I know that I'm not alone; half the country is numb. We hide behind our burglar proofing and pray it won't be us next. We don't let our children play outdoors anymore. But what worries me is my mental state. I'm afraid to read the papers, and when I do, I wind up almost in tears. My response is not that uncommon, but is it normal? Or am I quietly going mad? Is this the beginning of a slide into depression? And if it is, would I be capable of recognising it?

Shutdown

I drove to work through ghost towns today. I made it to work in a little over half the time I usually take. When I dropped my son off 10 minutes before the start of school, he was the only child there. People have been staying home today out of fear of the call to shutdown in protest against crime.

I made it a point to come out because although I’m all for protest, and I’ve marched several times and carried several placards in my time, I don’t agree with “Shutting down the country”. It goes against our interest as a people. People aren’t staying home in protest, they’re staying home out of fear.

The organizer of the 3-day protest, a broadcaster on an Islamic station called Ishmael, (oh yes, he happens to be Muslim) was arrested last night under the Terrorism Act, which allows the police to hold someone without charge for 3 days. He was taken by 4 armed plainclothes cops in unmarked cars from his business during a barbecue. His friends and families thought it was a kidnapping as they did not identify themselves as cops, and formed a human barricade. Needless to say, it didn’t end nicely. Ishmael has also had his TV programme yanked and his license to rally on Saturday revoked.

When a government reacts to the voice of the people this way, things will only get worse. When the police comply with these draconian measures, we all have to be afraid. I didn’t support the protest, but I support the right to protest. What will happen when we get that right taken away?

Update:
In a desperate bid to save face after the stupid and high-handed arrest of Mr. Ishmael, the government has frantically perused the law books for something they can charge him with. They've come up with a beauty: they've charged him with distributing a flyer without the printer's name and address on it. He is now out on $10,000 bail. I've been in Public Relations for 15 years, and I never knew this was illegal.
I guess now I know.