by Colin Hyde

So, our two fishermen brothers will be off to the Hattieville/Boom Road at the end of September, and maybe they shouldn’t wait, shouldn’t have waited. Hey, I’m aware that incarceration is the end for some of us. I’m hoping here that they are the kind of people who have that incredible faith and that special genetic makeup that makes some men survive while other men go crazy. The fact is that only lawyers, top bank officials, and lead dons have the $100,000 the court told them to pay. Not even politicians have that kind of money.

If they had been confined in June, from the time of the crime, they would have been out for Krismos. While Krismos isn’t Krismos, isn’t the best if you’re broke, I expect their families might have been happy to have them around, if they are fair company, and they could have lost their pain of being deprived, in a bottle.

Now, especially because those two brothers aren’t going to jail for any impossible to justify violent act against people, or robbing the poor, we must demand that they aren’t exposed to any violence or extra hardship when they are in our care at the prison. Incarceration is serious punishment; there’s no need to pile it on, and we have no right to do that.

Whatever cells they are going into must be clean, and kept clean. On their first day they must be asked their sexual orientation. The men must declare which side they are on, because there are too many stories of sexual chaans in prisons. I say, those for the bedroom, your cells are on this side, and those for the closet, your cells are on that side. That seems bloody fair to me.

There must be hard labor, to suit the body type. We weren’t told the ages of the guys. We wouldn’t want any oldster fisherman being put on the roadside to brok stone. Their lessons must be geared to improve their fishing skills. And of course they’ll have to write a hundred times a day, before every class, “I will never again take marine Angel fish, and if I ever take one, or an undersized conch or lobster, I deserve five years and a public lashing.”

His poor form let all the substantial fish off the hook

I don’t recall if form and substance were the precise words lawyer Mr. Marshalleck used when he discussed the debacle, another massive defeat of the people of Belize in an inquiry of people who were accused of betraying the country’s trust. Ouch, this Mr. Marshalleck presided over it, this embarrassment and pain for our national treasury.

In an interview with Jules Vasquez, the lawyer said our defeat had nothing to do with the substance of the charges. Somebody said to me that a top lawyer should have had enough form to get the basic, ehm, formalities down right. Fooley me – I loved the poetry, Roy Davis – yeh, I was so impressed by the lawyer’s line, his poke at the justice system for being sucked in by technicalities, that I was about to forget the absolute boner of an interrogation that he presided over. I was caught up in thinking, my, how could they just bypass the substance of the exercise, and sue us on top? Ai, this guy with all this land that seemed to be shuffling around in San Pedro, what happened there, and the involvement of the top Toyota, what happened there, and what about the poor lady from the Central Bank who apparently didn’t pay cost price for a vehicle because our sympathetic former PM worried about her being thrown out, being put at the mercy of the world?

Brother, sister, da weh di…di…di goh aan wid fu we kontri? Okay, some of the charges seemed pretty petty, but there were big fish things, and Mr. Marshalleck let them off the hook. Hn, I heard Mr. Vasquez invite him, now that he’s all super wealthy, to give it all up, go into altruism, go serve for the low pay of a judge. Oh no, no, no. With that man’s poor interest in form, Dicky and Selgado won’t even have to go to court. I say, we need a far better penance from him.

Divide and conquer

I admit a wee bit of affection for Belize City. I didn’t spend much of my life in the place, but it is my birth turf. I left at the age of 13 for Belmopan, and at the age of 17 to the age of 19 you could consider my address to have been either Spanish Cay, the cabin of a sailboat, or the old capital — my head resting more or less equally among those three during those two years. Most of my life I’ve lived in Camalote, but I don’t claim the kind of rights there that I would have claimed in Belize City or Belmopan, had I lived my adult life in one of those places. But my wife, children and grandchildren are Camalote to the bone.

Despite being a “kohn ya”, yep, I told you that one year I challenged for an official seat on the village council, on condition that the nominations would be closed when they reached seven, the quota for councilors. In the previous election, the village had had trouble getting seven persons to run, and that’s why I offered myself. When the nominations weren’t closed at seven, I asked for my name to be struck off the list, because I wasn’t going to run if enough “baan deh” villagers wanted to serve on the front line.

On this election thing, I don’t like secret ballots. No, I’m not malicious. I know I’ve hurt people in my run through life, but I can swear that I’ve never ever hurt anyone intentionally. Okay, I’ve gotten into a few battles, and sometimes one has to do what one has to do. I’m not throwing stones at people who believe in the secret ballot, not at all. It’s just me. I will tell you who I’m voting for.

Hope you didn’t mind the roundabout, and you won’t get bex wid me for making this shameless stab at “divide and conquer”, in the interest of “poor” Belize City that is in the crosshairs, the grip of the Belize Peace Movement. Da Peini Connection — Jerry Enriquez, Hubert Enriquez, and Paul Morgan — are having their champagne moment, seeing Belize City on the ropes. But I’m going to attempt to bounce against their glass.

Bobby Lopez and Arthur Saldivar need to know they are being used, and before they get their little feelings hurt they should get the sense and jump off that ship. Arthur and Bobby, you don’t have any navel string buried in PG, and this is strictly their thing. Tek warning from a, friend: when the court brings down the hammer, and there are banners across Front Street in PG announcing the great victory, Jerry, Paul, and Hubert won’t give you any credit. You’ll be given seats at the far end of the table. I know the lonely feeling of being where I don’t belong. That’s how Arthur and Bobby will feel.

You two brothers are putting too much on your Belmopan friendship. This attack is rooted in Punta Gorda, and they’ll want the glory for themselves. I swear, not on the Bible, that I’m speaking from firsthand knowledge when I tell you that Jerry, Paul, and Hubert only go to Belize City when they have to. You two guys, with roots in the old capital, you carry the traitors’ brand. Traitors get paid in cash or lip service, but they never get love. And I know that it is love that you crave. Tek warning, get off that PG ship! It’s a bad feeling to wake up and find you’ve been used, been had.