The futility of it all

Woke up at 4.30am Wednesday morning this November 16th and began opening envelopes of Water Authority bills, Caribbean Utilities bills, credit card bills, insurance bills and outstanding bills; little bills but mostly big bills.

It is said that I always write and talk above people’s heads but I seriously wonder what heads because if we had heads we do not use them. It is unimaginable that we have allowed ourselves to become so dependent upon the monopolistic credit culture of these Islands.

Caymanians from all walks of life moan and groan about the high cost of everything including the bare necessities of life. If we get sick and cannot pay we must perish. If we fall behind with our electricity bills we get cut off. However the pay hard working people receive today is the same if not almost the same they have received for the last several years; yet there are few adjustments being made to their earnings due to the high cost of fuel or any other commodity.

The people struggle downhill with their cross while complaining to everyone besides those responsible for these imbalances in our midst. Life is for sale and poor people’s organs are being sold to the rich to allow them longer and healthier lives.

And so he who has much will have more; even more life than he who hath nothing but the illusion of having or having had.

This morning I thought of many mornings when we awoke to the sounds of roosters crowing; knowing that our early risings were not caused by our fear of drowning in a sea of debts. But because of our confidence in a new day, which again would be one that would not oppress us with restrictions on our means of survival, forcing dependence on corporate enslavers, but would hold out an unrestricted hope and faith in the gains from the North Sound and the yard grounds. Even the birds from the air and the water from the roofs and the sun and moon around us were ours. Assisting us in the struggle in life for life; but this morning like many other mornings I feel only that our rope has been much shorter than I would ever have imagined, or wished or said.

Our rope has become our chain, yet we continue to tell ourselves that there is hope for us to again gain some sense of stability and sanity in this sea of greedy dreams.

Our leaders complain, saying that we should be grateful and worship this system of unrepentant greed yet there is very little sharing with those in need, for too many now need. Who is not in need? Who can feel that if they became seriously ill they would have a fair shot at survival? I do not like what I see, nor admire what I hear and feel. I cannot say there is still a way out of this social and spiritual desert.

Or perhaps the only means of combating this desolation is through one or another form of mental and spiritual escape. Yet again escape from this reality will only cause us when we return to it, to only feel the chains on our minds being pulled tighter and tighter. But so it is now as I know it might be, so I dream for the past and scream at our future; and you?

Frank McField


  1. Free enterprise the profit engine, driven by the bones of those who forever reach; That would see in pursuit of it, desertion of national interest to seek leverage in the enemy camp.

    They say they need 100,000 souls to run this engine to maximum efficiency, Can you Imagine that camp.

    I doubt if the editor could even understand what our real mojoe is, and wonder if the word ground can even register a glimpse to the independence and sustainability within.

    I for one still remember which way the eye of the cassava stick is suppose to be looking, and listen to both roosters crow in the morning..

    Most of the lucky with the old mojoe are found sitting in the middle of a couple of forested acres still living the dream, connected to the grid or not..

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