With all the glory of its sunshine and being a beachgoers paradise, it is no secret that Jamaica also has a dark side — crime. Jamaica has an extremely high crime rate considering its size and this has been so for decades. Petty theft, robberies and break-ins are prevalent, but Jamaica is also no stranger to some of the worst on the world’s “dangerous” lists. This is true — we never meant to hide the constant darkness that plagues us. However, behind the resort gates is a much different story. You’re safe and unburdened. You’re not privy to iron bars that cover our windows and doors at night — an added hazard given the danger of entrapment in the event of fire. No, you sleep with barely closed wooden shutters, a live soundtrack of the waves of the Caribbean sea, while being delighted by the fresh sea breeze. We are not bothered by your ignorance, but at times envious of your lack of entanglements. There is the unspoken rule that tourists are off limits, as it should be; there is still some discipline here.
We bar every entrance to our homes, even the skylight above the second floor bathroom isn’t spared. Double, triple check the locks on our doors. Clutch our purses and hold our children tightly as we walk through our streets. Women transport currency in their bosoms. One must remain vigilant of their surroundings because letting your guard down could lead to severe consequences. This is life during daylight, come dawn there are a new set of rules to add. There is nothing out there for you. If you must, don’t go alone, stop for no one and say your prayers. Trust is scarce and remains a challenge to our well-being. Fear consumes the most innocent and religious of them all. Rich, poor, old, young, none is free of this threat.
Crime is not unique to Jamaica. High crime is generally the trademark of most poverty stricken developing countries. However unlawful and unforgivable, it’s a means and way of life for some. Sadly, the punishment is felt by us law-abiding citizens and seems rarely ever felt by the criminals. Jamaica wasn’t always ridden with high crime. My parents tell a tale of a hard, but carefree childhood growing up in Jamaica. A time when a padlock wasn’t required to secure the free water, captured by the night’s rainfall, stored in the outdoor tank. The punishment is the fear, which lives long after the threat of imminent danger has passed. Today my mother, who now resides in New York and has for decades, lives behind an embarrassing number of locks on her apartment door that act as her guard in exchange for a night’s rest. This is what she knows. Having, thankfully, never been a victim of a violent crime and out of the threat barriers, the trauma remains. In all that we do and the beauty we encompass, how much further could we be in our brightness light?
This is our punishment, lifelong trauma and an impermeable shell of being. It’s the seed of impatience, lack of empathy and understanding, and the inability to give and receive love. The barriers we require to protect our physical being rob us of the right to live whole and free lives. I long for a Jamaica like the one behind the resort gates, unencumbered and protected.