Oxy Moron, Contributor

Miss Jamaica Independence regrets the passing of Lady Bustamante, who was at her bedside when she was born in 1962. May her soul rest in peace.

But Miss Independence is also grieving for her beloved country, as she questions her progress or lack thereof. She believes she hasn't grown much, and now at 47, she is going through an extended middle-age crisis. She blames herself for the state the country is in, and she is convinced her birth was premature.

Afraid of downtown

Miss Independence is afraid to go downtown Kingston. She's ashamed to see the derelict buildings that dotted the city, and half-naked 'bang-belly' children roaming the streets. She refuses to visit the parish capitals, for in 1962 they were in a better shape than they are now. Black River, Falmouth and Morant Bay, in particular, she believes are in a time warp.

What puzzles her though is that the more they sing 'Eternal Father Bless our Land', the more crass and violent her people are getting; the more blood that washes the streets. And talking about people, she regrets to say she doesn't believe in the national motto anymore. We certainly are not one people, she bemoans; very different we are. The blacks versus the browns, the 'town' versus the 'gown', Riverton City versus the Garden of Cherries.

When she was born, there were so many expectations for her, but as time passed, the high hopes dissipated under the hot Jamaican sun. Political tribalism has raised her. She grew up around knives, machetes and guns. Poverty, illiteracy, social decadence and murders are her constant companions.

Now, just when she was holding on to a little Bolt of hope, she was most distraught Thursday night. Draped in her black, green and gold, she went to celebrate her big day. Then horror of horrors! There were cheerleaders flipping and somersaulting all over the National Stadium. She was beside herself because she just couldn't see how cheerleading factored in her Jamaican equation. She left the venue to reflect once again on her status and it wasn't good.

Fast approaching her 50th, Miss Jamaica Independence is really heartbroken, and is not sure if she will reach that milestone. There is a certain spectre hovering over her. Her head is hanging low as she sobs, crying all alone. As she weeps, she is saying, over and over again, "It's My Fault! It's My Fault!"

oxydmoron@gmail.com