Footprints in the sky

Hmmm, what goes well with a big new house?  Why your own private jet of course.
It’s the ultimate accessory for young up and coming nations who want to squander as much of their wealth as possible on absolutely useless things.
Kind of like how so many low income households believe that having a huge television is much more of a priority than school books for their children.
The whole private jet hullabaloo reeks of that never see come see, conspicuous consumption that plagues all of us, from the richest to the poorest.  It reeks of I must take a loan to go to Miami to shop for Christmas. It also reeks of I must go to every all-inclusive fete for Carnival.
There’s a divine order in everything I suppose. So every fiefdom should have symbols of power and might before which the puny citizens can bow down in awe and wonderment at just what wonderful things their tax money can buy.
Coming down the road in a hot cramped up maxi taxi on Thursday I hear the Minister of Works and Transport Colm Imbert live and direct from the post-cabinet briefing say that he went online himself and did the research, he was the one who identified the Bombardier Global Xpress as the best plane.
Well whooptie doo and yippee yaaay for that.  We wouldn’t want to think that our government ministers weren’t doing their jobs.  I mean at least he wasn’t faffing about on Facebook on national time.
Long watery steups ring out in the maxi taxi as Imbert drones on and on, trying to defend the indefensible.  Traffic backed up on the highway I can see it.  Tired eyes of workers who had to get up before the butt crack of dawn and face three hours of traffic.  Bepping children and mothers bent over under the weight of long hours and high food prices and fighting to get public transport.
And Imbert drones on, defending the indefensible.
Every day the traffic gets worse and we lose minutes, hours of our productive young lives.  No worries. While most of us can’t get to our homes without having a bumper to bumper experience, some among us can now get to Russia without having to refuel. It’s cause for celebration indeed.
53 million dollars worth of celebration.  53 million dollars for a plane.  Not a hospital.  Not a bridge.  Not new roads for Mayaro.  Not even a blasted ferry going up the islands so that it might actually be cheaper to go to Jamaica than it is to go to New York.
Meanwhile, as local journalists frothed at the mouth to get up close and personal with the obsolete king to be, no-one bothered to ask why he decided to come out here at this particular moment in the first place?   I mean aside from trying to get away from the excessively mild English spring.
Even as he was getting flak from the British press about the huge carbon footprint his little trip to the islands was making.  I wonder if he gave Papa Patos a little private boof, as one royal to another, about the carbon footprint of a private jet.
I wonder how come the government took him to Asa Wright and not down to Union Village to the site of their experiment in ecocide.
And instead of running about trying to get the Prince to smile and give them the screw de lightbulb royal wave, it would have been really wonderful if our own press had rediscovered its gonads and pressed the prince on what he felt about the EPA that our governments have until March 15 to sign.
The EPA agreement on which many of our brighter minds agree is fraught with inconsistencies, inequalities and general salt-sucking for countries in the global south.
But maybe that doesn’t apply to us.  We have oil and gas and we will magically be transformed into a developed country soon.
Luckily for us, we can afford to buy a private jet.  It’s very prestigious, you know.  So prestigious in fact, that we most of us will never get to see or smell its interior.  Well, at least we’ll get to keep the footprint.

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