Christmas...

At five past noon on Christmas Eve the clock on the Republic Bank Park Street branch announced to the world that it was a quarter past nine, and in typical Trinidad fashion, no one seemed to notice or care. Stuck behind a jeep load of police in the traffic that was trying to leave Observatory Street and enter Charlotte Street I was paying attention to them as they seemed to be paying close attention to everything else, especially anything that moved. Four doors open, four riot gear attired and heavily armed officers emerge in rehearsed formation, two on guard front and rear, two the up close inspection detail. For the passer by that was the object of their interest it was up against the wall, legs and arms spread as one officer searched every inch of his person while the other barked a series of questions, the answers to which could well determine where he spends his Christmas day. I know I imagined it, but I could swear I could hear his heart beating in his chest, this mouse caught in the cat's glare and cornered, himself surely wondering if he would be continuing on his way or if he would be a guest of the State for the Season. His smile as he walks on is visibly more of relief than humor and does nothing to hide the difference in his stride post encounter, but at least he was on his way under his own steam and I am sure to him, that is all that mattered then.

Looking around Belmont is at once both harsh and beautiful depending on which eyes you view it from, and, if you are capable of imagination, as old world as any where that grew up, found its best self and left its worst self behind. Caught in a time warp between its past and progress, its people are in limbo, half of them making a chance, the other half taking one. The idea of class segregation that communities like Westmoorings represents only compounded the problems that they were intended to solve. So good on paper, the destruction that is being wrought on society is best reflected in places like Belmont, creating a peasant class of those left behind.

I always wonder how we sing here every creed and race finds an equal place and then separate them and not see the contradiction. Bigger minds will discuss things like these at the appropriate time I am sure, but I cannot help but notice that many of our problems are self inflicted and are the result of our most reactive and juvenile decisions. To my mind in a society that works, Belmont would be an ideal place to live due to its blend of residences and commercial interests that serve the needs of the people within walking distance while providing employment among the same people on whom their businesses rely.

From my vantage point the people seemed caught up in the true spirit of true Trini Christmas, as many were seen to be busily still cleaning, painting and preparing for the big day. The abundance of Nativity scenes was a testimony to the faith of the people, again in contrast to those who had much more to be thankful for, but that has always been the contradiction of religion in this place. The other advantage communities offer is tradition, and holidays and festivities are best celebrated in places where there is some history among the people. Having grown up in Woodbrook, itself a community that worked when I was a child, I know this feeling first hand. One did not need to be of the faith to eat the food, and we knew what holiday was coming from well in advance and which houses were on the 'sure to get lash' list.

I know I am a romantic and a dreamer, but I wish that we could somehow find a way to return to a place where being Trini is enough and we did not have to gate people in or out. The legacy we are handing our children is a sterile world of mistrust and materialism that could never replace a good lime in a friend's house over the holidays, and I would trade all the dressed up overly promoted affairs for a good lime anytime, because it is no lie, Trini Christmas is the best.