by Colin Hyde

I am pretty certain Mary didn’t think that modern women would feel they have rights to share in the wine because of what she asked her Son to do. My gudnis, the way we see some Belizean women posing with the rum bottle! I can’t believe Chester Williams and Kareem Musa really made an infomercial that featured a woman police officer calling for the gun to be put away before kaak draw from the botella.

John said Mary looked at Jesus and said, Son, the people are out of drink; do something. Jesus fumbled because it wasn’t His time yet to show Himself; but it is so that man is likely to ask “how high” when a woman tells him to jump, and if that woman is your mother it’s an order. Only the foolish – or is it arrogant prohibitionist types – sneeze on what happened next. Go and check the vat, Braa. And the Master’s finest!

Of course, Jesus’s first miracle was all for fun, keeping up the life of the party. But He wasn’t about tolerating any rowdy or greedy behavior.

Singapore has never let go of the whip

So many local intellectual types have Lee Kuan Yew and Singapore on a pedestal. They can’t say two words about leaders and countries they admire without turning their eyes to the struggling little island that became one of the greatest economic miracles in the world. If you give an ear to our top shelf, all you will hear is Singapore dis, Singapore dat, and Singapore tarra.

And why can’t we be like Singapore? We can’t, because we put down the whip.

There are three advocates of the whip that are public, and two are big people: my pa, who is too old to get his voice out there anymore; Don Hector, who will go to his grave dreaming of seeing some local dastards get the Cat; and from a lesser realm, this corner. Singapore could not have achieved what it has without the whip. It’s hard to believe, but some people sneeze at incarceration. And the rich sneeze at fines. Nobody sneezes at the whip.

Since that American boy got his batam flogged after his spray painting spree on Singaporean cars, they walk the line. The Americans think they are rich enough to pay for anything. What’s the saying they spawned, something like “everything has a price”? Well, they couldn’t buy their way out of a gud bos a-a-behind.

I thought there were crimes where a good caning was the only punishment in Singapore, but the Wikipedia says it is always “ordered in addition to a prison sentence.” That page says only male convicts under the age of 50 can get caning.

Singapore Legal Advice, in the story, “Rape Laws in Singapore and How Offenders Can Be Punished”, says there are three bands of punishment for rape, and they are: Band 1: 10–13 years’ imprisonment and at least 6 strokes of the cane; Band 2: 13–17 years’ imprisonment and at least 12 strokes of the cane; Band 3: 17–20 years’ imprisonment and at least 18 strokes of the cane.

Some of the “aggravating factors that the court will consider while determining which band the offence falls within include: Group rape; Abuse of position and breach of trust; Premeditation; Violence; Rape of a vulnerable victim (a victim may be considered vulnerable because of his or her age, physical frailty, mental impairment, or learning disability); Forcible rape of a victim below 14; Hate crime; Serious physical or mental effects on the victim, e.g. the victim becomes pregnant, was transmitted a serious disease or develops a psychiatric illness; Deliberate infliction of special trauma.”

We claim that we are God’s favorite creation, and that might be so. What is certain is that we are the most wacko. A man humiliates a woman, and if her wiring is fragile she might be an emotional wreck for life; but no Cat for him, because we are to worry about the villain’s feelings.

P.S. Now there’s only two public advocates for caning, because I just got the message that my pa has set sail for the land of truth. Daydeh, Captain, you gave me more love than I deserved. I congratulate myself that I wasn’t foolish enough to try and measure up. You have to be special to bring in a 30-pound kabeeyo on a 10-pound-test hand line.

Sure-fire House quorum fix

There was a moment there on the second day of the budget debate when I thought I heard the Speaker say she wasn’t sure that there was a quorum in the House, which I took to mean that she would have to adjourn the session if the heads didn’t add up after she checked.

The Wikipedia says the British quorum is 40 out of 650 members, but they don’t have to meet that number at all times. One time when they absolutely must meet quorum is when a division is called. The British don’t give a daam about their House of Lords. The Wikipedia says a quorum is 30 of 753, but just 3 of them have to be around the table “for a debate to take place.”

It seems our House Standing Orders, 7 members on the floor, is a must at all times. Well, we can’t have a sitting shelved because our parliamentarians have more important things to do – they must have real top-of-the-line tamales at the market, why so many of them are skipping out these days. While we can’t force those high-paid pampered bohgaz to do our business after we elect them, we should do all we can because it is our work that’s being shirked when they skip off.

I think that with the permission of an elusive parliamentarian we could up our representation by 15% permanently. I can’t see Sista B refusing to help the situation. The simple solution is for one of our seamstresses to make a red dress to shape, and for the clerk to stuff it with things and set it to sit in that always vacant seat across the aisle from the government side. Don’t worry about the replica not being able to say “nay”. The ayes always have it anyway.

Buying the Pollard strategy

I told you I want my $2 for a book I sold internationally, but I can’t get it because I don’t have a bank account in the US. A friend told me that to get a bank account there I needed to renew my passport – I haven’t had one in 20 years – and I needed to apply for a worker’s visa to that country and ferret out a little job. I thought that over and concluded that I’m not likely to get any kind of job there, not even for a couple weeks. I wouldn’t be in line, not having gone to school in the US. Connections, I don’t have them.

This week I read a promo from Nick Pollard, the son, for a book he had written about his dad in politics, and also about his, the son’s personal life experiences. Our Dakta Udz liked the story so much she wrote her comments in English and Kriol! Mr. Pollard is selling the book online, in pdf, with certain securities to deter copying. The process will involve an online transfer to his account, and he will send the book to your email address. I don’t have a credit card, but I did have an online account. I’m sure I can pull that off again.

I don’t like reading on a laptop, but most of my research for my column I do online. Pdf is no paperback in the hand, but my dad would have said it knocks nothing to hell. I like the Pollard way, and as soon as I get online I’ll send for his story. It’s for sure that I want to read about Nick Pollard, the dad, the man my dad said was a true superstar.

I think I’ll pdf a story too. I’ve gotten a good share of thumbs up for my published stories. This one, not yet published, I am yet to find someone who likes it. But I do, so, like Petro Caribe, I’m going to roll it. I’m not breggin about my art, but I love my little characters. They’re all parts of me, the good and the questionable. Meet some of them in pdf.