A Nation on the Brink . . .

“Today the country has been split asunder in ways Hitler could only dream of. There are vast chasms of hate and distrust between north and south, town and country, old and young. The last time things were this bad most of us were living in mud houses.” 

For a moment I thought I was reading about present-day Saint Lucia. What a relief to realize the Daily Mirror correspondent was commenting on the state of things political in Boris Johnson’s Brexit-fractured England. Still there was no escaping our own similar reality. Just when I had convinced myself we’d learned more than a few unforgettable lessons from our suicidal mistakes during “the era of green gold,” I found myself challenged by an unstoppable landslide of evidence to the contrary.

Conceivably in the name of party politics, it seems more and more of us are hell-bent on keeping alive the insane ritual of cutting off our noses to spite our Janus faces. More evidence of this mindless peculiarity surfaced on Monday, even as the prime minister was updating the nation on the ominous possibilities of TS Dorian. What a time for the more malodorous drains of Facebook to overflow their banks. 

“Let’s hope Dorian does for St. Jude what Allen has refused to do,” wrote one anonymous cretin of the soil from who knows what area of Brooklyn—with no consideration whatsoever for the collateral damage to the sainted doctors and nurses that for countless years have toiled at the makeshift medical facility despite intolerable working conditions under different procrastinating political administrations. No thought for the hospital’s patients and fellow Saint Lucians in the south and other parts of our island, some especially vulnerable to natural disasters. 

Then there was this jaw-dropping gibberish aimed directly at the prime minister: “When is the big gesture to Saint Lucia and its people? When are you taking up residence as PM of NEMO. Blessing in disguise!” The preceding was posted just minutes after the official announcement that by all indications Dorian could develop into a hurricane, in anticipation of which the country would be shut down from 6 p.m. until further notice.  The bulletin inspired one Facebook wag to write: “Dorian say Lucia horning him with Allen and he more destructive so he keeping away from that Shabeen . . .” 

More than his own fair share of Dorian-related detritus was also dumped on the leader of the House opposition, Philip J. Pierre, courtesy the anonymous denizens of the diaspora and other idle permanent residents of the devil’s workshops. For some the imminent arrival of Dorian offered the perfect opportunity to remind the beleaguered Pierre of perceived shortcomings that would sink his party’s efforts at returning to office. Others offered as further proof of Kenny Anthony’s superior intellect his posted good wishes, which they compared most unfavorably with his predecessor’s.

Tuesday morning brought more of the same. Some went so far as to suggest the authorities knew all along Dorian posed no threat to Saint Lucia, that the government had conspired with supermarket and other business owners to create a fake emergency situation that resulted in consumer items flying off their shelves. Oh, I almost forgot those who discovered every reason to praise the prime ministers of Barbados and St. Vincent for the way they handled Dorian, compared with our own prime minister’s dismal performance. Of course, there’s nothing unusual about dogs barking at moving caravans. But when canines cannot tell the difference between a caravan and their own tails, well . . . 

I am reminded of yet another Norman Mailer truism: “A nation that forms detailed opinions on the basis of detailed fact that is askew from the subtle reality becomes a nation of citizens whose psyches are skewed, item from detailed item, away from any reality!”