‘You know Camp, it’s almost been six months since Hamas attacked and murdered 1140 Israelis and took 240 hostages. Until now Hamas still holds over 130 Israeli hostages and none of the senior leaders of Hamas have been captured or killed.’
‘Also, none of its 2billion dollar annual budget has been curtailed. Hamas’ leaders, like Khaled Mashaal, whose cumulative net worth is estimated at 11billion dollars, live a life of luxury, staying at 5-star hotels in Qatar and Turkey and fly around in private jets, as their brothers and sisters starve and fight over aid in Rafah on the Egyptian border.’
‘Meanwhile tens of thousands of civilians have died in Gaza and the whole population of Gaza, now over 2.3 million, is at risk of a catastrophic famine.’
‘Where does Hamas get its millions and billions from?’ I asked, knowing Camp had an answer.
Our pub has become something of a hide out, only accessible by a set of steep stairs up from the boardwalk or down a never-ending staircase from the street level above. The town, in its infinite wisdom, pushed by an insurance company I’m sure, has removed the connecting ramp between the wharf and the building along with the pub’s front entrance, even though the ramp could hold a herd of elephants and more than the single vehicle traffic into the underground garage. It was built of steel beams and solid timbers. Now the garage is an empty inaccessible space and the patrons like Camp and I have to clamber down or up a steep flight of stairs. ‘Not exactly wheelchair accessible,’ Camp pointed out.
‘We went to see ‘One Love’ last week, the Bob Marley movie about the last few years of his roller coaster life that was cut short at only 36 years by a rare form of skin cancer. The mediocre film was produced by Brad Pitt, Rita and Ziggy Marley,’ I said, once I got comfortable in my old corner chair.
‘Oh yeah, how was that? I love the music but the man? One Love could have been named Many Loves,’ Camp said. ‘Didn’t he have a soccer team full of kids from many different women?’
‘Did you watch the Academy Awards?’ I asked Camp, knowing full well I’m going to get an ear full.
‘You’re talking to somebody that doesn’t even own a TV and I’m certainly not interested in the glamour and self-congratulating gizillinaires parading their gowns that cost more than some people earn in a year.’
‘There were some great movies made this year Camp and as one of the winners pointed out: Movies make memories and memories make history.’
‘And then the victors revise the history and make more movies about a fictional past. What about AI? Soon they’ll need no actors or locations. It will all be generated by a computer. It will be a perfect world. What memories? What history?’
‘I have to take you to a movie some day Camp. It’s not all fantasy and make believe. Some documentaries visually highlight the subject matter. It could be nature, music, even war. The Ukrainians docudrama Mariupol, about 20 days of the brutal Russian siege of that town, won an Oscar for best documentary. A first for Ukraine. The director said that he would much rather not have made the movie. Or The Zone of Interest, a disturbing film which is inspired by the real life of the commandant of the Auschwitz concentration camp. Also, the film industry is a good employer and over 5000 people work in movies and TV here in Hollynorth. These are good paying jobs Camp.’
‘You should know. Isn’t it what you did? I thought you always portrayed it as just an army of pushers, shovers, pullers, riggers, draggers of equipment and builders of temporary sets destined for the garbage heap. You called yourself a carnie. Setting up and tearing down rides.’
‘Well, that is one aspect. True, my job was just that, a job but the film industry offers a myriad of employment opportunities for people of all ages and genders and their trades: Carpenters, lighting techs, special effects, hair stylists, makeup and set decorators, greens and landscapers, costume and camera crews, caterers and drivers and then a whole army of post filming specialists from editors to musicians and visual and computer-generated effects people. Not to mention the actors and stunt people, stand-ins and extras, the production and locations teams, all of them making decent money.’
‘I guess it’s a more fun industry than an ammunitions or a fertilizer plant. All for our entertainment and leisure. I guess I’m in the wrong business. Mind you, I remember when there were video games and movie rental stores. I even sold tapes and Cd’s in the early days. Now it’s all streaming and uploading. It’s a never-ending world of zeros and ones determining everything from what we watch on our gadgets to what’s in our bank accounts to our personal info. Zero’s and One’s. We couldn’t exist without our plastic cards or digital identities. It’s a binary, plastic world.’
’Time to drink up. I’m going home and listen to Biden’s State of the Nation speech to the US Congress’, Camp said., downing his pint.
‘I promised to cook dinner tonight. I’m planning an eggplant casserole with left over spaghetti sauce. It’s always a winner,’ I said.
‘You can cook and listen, can’t you?’
‘Like multi-tasking? I prefer to cook with music, maybe some Steel Pulse reggae or the latest Stones album.’
Camp gave me an exasperated look. ‘This is going to be an important speech, a make-or-break moment for Biden.’
I took his comments to heart and instead of music turned on the telly and listened and watched the speech. Even Clare paid attention. It was worth our time. I consider it one of Biden’s best speeches ever. He’s a man of integrity and honour, having served his country for over 4 decades as a senator, vice-president and president. He could easily fold his tents and head out to pasture but his rival and adversary compels him to stick around and hopefully thwart Trump, his boot lickers in congress and cultish followers. Can he convince the American people to turn away from hate, racism and extremism? After listening to Biden’s passionate address, I have some hope and optimism. If not, we are all in trouble, walking down a dark road towards fascism and the demise of democracy as we know it.
We’ve seen it before, the flag waving and simplistic symbolism, the bigger than life lawn signs and the arm bands, buttons and silly hats, the stadium rallies and frenzied mass chants. It doesn’t bode well for a peaceful and democratic election and I’m afraid it will be a civil war no matter which side wins. But as Camp said many times before: ‘The world needs Trump to lose in November.’
I’m tired of seeing Trump’s mug on the front page every day and his primitive and vitriolic outbursts. People are becoming used to hear and read about his latest lies and baseless accusations, his pompous claims to greatness and his chest thumping, self-congratulatory outbursts. There is a general fatigue and resignation taking hold of many people about some inevitable trainwreck in the near future. Unavoidable and disastrous. Nobody wants to talk about it, read about it and Trump’s possible taking the presidency back has the characteristic of a bad joke that nobody wants to repeat. It makes me mad and even invades my sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about the future a Trump presidency would entail. Yes, it’s only four years and we’ll get over it. The world will still rotate on its axle and the sun will still rise in the east. And yet I can’t shake the feeling that there will be more unnecessary tragedy on the southern US border, in Ukraine and Gaza unless some smart, educated and committed people take charge and address these humanitarian crises with a sober and intelligent approach. Not Trump and his cronies. Not the Republicans.
As a Swiss-Canadian I feel I have some objective distance to what’s playing out in America right now. I like to think that I can watch this political drama from afar but I also know that it’s outcome in November will affect the whole world and suddenly my distance shrinks to where we’re all caught up in the fight for the survival of a fair democracy that upholds equality, liberty and respect. Even here in Canada, the forces of righteousness and restrictive social behavior are gaining traction. I don’t really understand this movement to the right, this drifting towards limitations of freedoms our generation fought so hard for.: Woman’s choices over their own bodies, our open-doors immigration policies, our tolerance of other’s, our acceptance of majority votes, our ability to agree to disagree, our opposition to bullies and dictators, our willingness to include, not exclude minorities. All of these virtues are threatened and the future of our world and the welfare of our children are in peril. But after last night’s speech I am a little bit more hopeful that in the end, common sense, dignity and respect will win the day.
Joshua is an island boy, bread and brought up by his mom, his aunt and his grandma.Who knows where the dad was? Joshua didn’t and he never questioned it since most of his friends were in similar situations. Growing up with the women was all he knew and they were kind and caring, full of laughter and discipline. School was mostly Jesus religion and memorizing, not much free thinking or improvisation. It’s the way it still is around here.
The rest of the world was a long way across the turquoise waters and Joshua had only been to the mainland once. The mainland being the big island, not a different country or a long way away from home. It was just a two-hour ferry trip and Joshua loved it even though his aunt spent most of the journey barfing into a paper bag.
Joshua spent a lot of time by himself. Naturally shy and small in stature he didn’t much care for sports or fishing but he liked music. Reggae was his favorite and he knew every Bob Marley song. There was an old dusty guitar without strings in his aunt Lizzy’s house. ‘Been here for ever,’ she said. ‘Belonged to old man Tanto who moved away a long time ago. Lives in Brooklyn now. It’s yours.’ Since there were no strings on it and nobody pointed that out for a long time, Joshua used the guitar as a drum. It sounded pretty good and when Gina, a Canadian-Italian woman, heard him beating out a reggae rhythm on the old guitar body she introduced Joshua to Zola, an accomplished drummer on the big traditional island drum.
Zola has his own island story which is quite amazing. He was an obsessed diver and harpoon fisherman until one day he stayed down too long and came up too fast. He got the bends badly and he almost died and it left his legs paralysed. ‘He’ll never walk again,’ was the dire prognosis but the doctors didn’t know the determination of Zola who slowly over time got out of his wheel chair and first on crutches and then on a single walking stick forced himself to walk again. He also didn’t give up diving since in the water he was floated free of gravity’s restrictions. The story goes that he went down and his partner in the small boat waited and waited but when Zola who was long overdue to surface didn’t come up, his partner took off and returned home convinced that Zola had finally gone to Davie Jones’s locker. Zola meanwhile had drifted far from the boat and when he eventually surfaced after running out of oxygen the boat and his partner were gone. It took Zola two days to make it back home, swimming to a nearby island, then the next day all the way back to shore. That was his last dive and instead he took up drumming and became just as obsessed with drumming as he was with diving and underwater fishing. He had an exceptional teacher in Winston Fleary. There was no money in drumming but Zola was so good that he was invited to all the island music events and to this day can always be heard and seen playing with everybody.
So, Zola took on Joshua as his understudy and Joshua took to drumming like a fish to water. Gina helped with a Go-fund campaign which raised enough dollars amongst her Toronto friends to have built two more island big drums, one of which became Joshua’s. There was enough money left over to give both of them a small stipend because drumming was not really an income producing occupation.
Another perennial tourist, Markus, a German sound technician, took a shine to the two drummers and especially the young Joshua. He saw his stringless guitar which Joshua sometimes used as a percussion instrument and offered to have it strung. Markus thought it was a salvageable old Spanish guitar. When he showed Joshua the refurbished instrument and played a few licks for him, Joshua had an epiphany and couldn’t wait for Markus to teach him the fundamentals of guitar playing. Again, the young island lad displayed a natural talent for the instrument and he soon spent all his time strumming instead of drumming. Zola was not too happy about it but he had to support his protégé’s passion and before too long the two of them became a duo who played gigs all over the small island, making a bit of money and many free drinks in return. Of course, the two always played a mesmerizing drum solo halfway through their set of reggae and calypso music. There was only one more thing missing in this constellation.
Shandelle’s mother was a soprano in the church choir and taught her daughter early on how to sing along with her. Shandelle knew all the gospel songs and hymns by the time she was a teenager. When she heard Zola and Joshua play at the local church picnic on a spring Sunday afternoon, she was smitten not just with the young man but by the rhythmic music of the duo. ‘I know many songs,’ she said shyly to Joshua during a break when she saw him getting some food at one of the stands. ‘
‘Oh yeah, and you can sing too?’ Joshua said with a grin.
‘I can sing with you if you like. I know reggae music.’
‘Ok, you’re on. You know Redemption song?’
‘Everybody know that song, mon.’
‘Let’s do it.’
When Shandelle sang a slow burning version of the iconic song, with Zola and Joshua accompanying her, the crowd gathered around and stopped what they were doing, caught up in the magic of the moment. That afternoon the three musicians formed the trio and called themselves. ‘Dreamcatchers’. Gina and Markus decided that this was the time to present the trio to the outside world. Markus recorded two songs with a mic and his computer and went to the mainland, i.e. the big island and played the two songs along with some photos of the trio to several resorts and clubs. In no time he had a few gigs in his back pocket and that’s how the ‘Dreamcatchers’ started their meteoric rise to the top, making the jump from the small Caribbean Island to Brooklyn, where they played in front of the vast diaspora of islanders.
We had a chance to see ‘Dreamcatcher’ last week, for a Valentine’s dance at the Mermaid, the island’s best hotel right on the beach. It was a surprise appearance, not scheduled or advertised but because all three were home for Carnival and some of the island’s other musicians played backup for the open mic. The guests arrived late, most of them jcb’s (just come back’s referring to locals who live and work off island, mostly in the US, Canada and England) They were all dressed in their fineries: sequins, jewelry and sculpted hair and glitzy long nails for the women and the men wore long pants, flowing shirts and shiny shoes. It felt like New Year’s Eve and the party went on until 3AM.
Gina and Markus were there as well, proud as peacocks of their progeny. When Zola, Joshua and Shandelle dedicated their ‘Island song’ to them, everybody rose and clapped and hollered, celebrating not just the two of them or the band but the fact that this symbiosis of locals and visitors, this fusion of local talent and foreign entrepreneurship brought about this very special achievement and success. We left shortly after we saw Gina dance with Joshua while Shandelle twirled a terrified Markus across the dance floor.
Bruno's point of view 