A bright light in the darkness

THE EDITOR, Madam:

AS A young, white man, a college-educated US Peace Corps volunteer sent to Jamaica in the early ‘70s, the one truth I remember about my many adventures on the island was that, in those days, I could easily transit from a shanty slum in the worst part of Kingston to the swankiest club or resort in Ocho Rios or Montego Bay in only a few hours, without much concern for my safety.

Why, because, in the slum, I was a teacher and, in those days, “respect due to you” was given teachers by even the poorest mother. In the club, I was considered “acceptable” as an educated, standard Englishspeaking white man, someone who at least appeared to pose no threat of social conflict among the tourists there – such foolishness.

Today, I read a recent letter in The Gleaner in which the same situation is described again about life in Jamaica. This time, the date is the early ‘20s, the 2020s – my God, I tell myself – it’s 50 years later and, aside from the numbers, the description looks the same!

Still, Jamaica has a lot more people, many more clubs and resorts, and what else has changed? The teachers are far less respected and the clubs are far more exclusive. In one setting, I am constantly in danger from the rogue gang member’s whim, and in the other I find just being “acceptable” draws a lot more scrutiny. Being white and well-spoken isn’t enough. I must have the resources and appear far more affluent than I once had to be.

Still, there is one thing that hasn’t changed. I can still write a letter to The Gleaner in good faith and with a trusting heart, trying in one of the few ways I still can, to help out a people who once cared for its “pickney white boy” in a place I once was proud to call my second home. The truth is, I’m having a lot of trouble even doing that in the US today.

My local paper edits my letters politically and socially and, even then, they are seldom printed. There are “blacklists” for writers they don’t like, I am certain. The paper in the town where I grew up tells me some of them just “don’t” fit. All I can say is, God bless The Gleaner where an honest voice, right or wrong in opinion, can still be heard. It is still a bright light in the growing darkness of our world 50 years later.

ED MCCOY

Bokeelia, Florida