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Defending the Un-blown
BBC World television newscast Tuesday night actually reporting first confirmed Ebola virus case outside Africa, man in Texas, when wife calls out, from computer, where reading e-mail, “Simone landed Port-of-Spain lunchtime!” Simone normally lives Austin, Texas, presumably passed through same international airport as man who brought ebola to USA. Thought to self: “Hmmm. If Simone sneezed on Bajan in same corridor used by both arrivals and departures at Piarco Airport, Ebola could be in Barbados right now.”
Just what I need: lethal, swift virus kills 50 to 90 per cent of anybody who get it in three weeks; trying remember if Shakilah Bourne, who was on same plane back from T&T Film Festival as me, Bajan director of Two Smart and writer of Payday, was sniffling. Hmmm: was that really tattoo on her shoulder? Could it have been slightly decorative bruise? Sitting on own sofa watching BBC News but planet so immediately connected, could have African virus in blood right now; chuckle to self because was so worried about Chick-firetrucking-V while in Port-of-Spain. Chick-V, you feel like you dying; Ebola, you lucky if you live. Damn! was really hoping finish kitchen garden before I croaked; also Great West Indian Novel; and see what happen Kevin Spacey in House of Cards next February.
Suppose God and/or Ebola take me tonight or next eight-to-ten days? What cause worthy enough devote rest of life, both weeks of it, to? Perhaps hunt for subjects of sentences and proper grammar and syntax, all of which affecting column in spades. No shortage causes in Trinidad or world to back. Heartbreaking thought: will I see if Prof Kublalsingh, genuine hero, have sense keep self alive? Remember just last week write, this very space, about Earl Lovelace’s Taffy, who realise he shouldn’t die for people who so stupid they pelt a man with big stone when it have so much pebble lying about; Wayne Kublalsingh should read from Earl/Taffy first page: shouldn’t die for people who so stupid don’t realise could build a highway around a swamp than through it.
Saw masman Peter Minshall’s video on YouTube where Minsh line up matchboxes represent trucks carrying mountain to fill swamp. Minsh show how building highway through swamp require destroy, not just swamp, but mountain, too. But like Trini don’t care; not when, as Minsh point out, value of a truck could be a million US dullers a shot; and enough people getting pay; as if nobody give a firetruck, but plenty want to take one. Take truck to carry mountain to swamp really taking basket carry water. Wonder sometimes how people like Minsh, David Rudder, Wayne Kublalsingh, Sister Ruth, Father Harvey, Pricey, many others, go on putting one foot front other. Never sell out and take a wuk and eat-ah-food. Give so much of self; get nothing back but cuss and accusation.
Skin on elbow feel little irritation and suddenly frighten: cow itch or Ebola? Thing fast, in truth: Simone not in Penal yet, but Ebola on my couch in St Philip! Know Mother Nature doing best deal with plague humans but really didn’t want to be such an immediate part of solution. Double worry, now, remembering son home from school with vomiting and runny tummy: anything happen him or daughter, no sense sticking around; especially to watch dotish believers recast Ebola as God’s vengeance on bullers and rubbers, just like they try with Aids. Default position of believers: blame everything on anybody different, whether by race or by orientation. Used be black people get unconsidered hatred in spades, as were; now is LGBT people.
Suppose PM Kamla P-B get Ebola and die next three weeks? Would she have regrets over callous dismissal of possibility repeal anti-gay legislation in Trinidad? Problem with Trini politicians and unholy men: always see the “gay and lesbian,” never see the “people.” Wish a gay child on all them pastors, see if God give them little compassion then, or if they be first to stone own children to death, to please God? They see themselves as without sin.
Sudden blinding flash of light—nothing wrong TV, not real flash of light, just figurative one—as inspiration hit: devote rest of life, both weeks, to fighting for rights of those who can’t fight for selves: just like American abortion clinic-bombers take up cause of “the Unborn,” could start campaign for all those people who pretend to be heterosexual and rant and rave so vociferously against repealing anti-gay laws, to hide own latent desires. Never could understand why anyone else give a flying firetruck what two consenting adults do with one another in privacy of own home or dark corner of nightclub. Never could understand revulsion of someone else doing something you don’t want to do—like rib-eye lover wanting beat crap out of vegetarian for eating carrots.
But sudden, God-given inspiration see cause could die for, especially if, like 50-to-90 per cent of population, only have three weeks left: just like American abortion clinic-bombers fight for rights of unborn, could take up fight for closet homosexuals who pretend be disgusted by thought of same-gender love but really desperate for it themselves: how different their lives might be, like the unborn who get to live if abortion clinics destroyed, if, could get them off soapbox and into gay club? Forget “Road to Damascus” conversions, could have corridor-to-restrooms conversions by the score.
Smile spread on face even as accept possibility might have Ebola right this minute: God surely be pleased meet me at pearly gates when He realise was first, selfless defender of the un-blown?
BC Pires imagines it must really suck to be a Pentecostal pastor or Partnership prime minister. Email your unnatural causes to him at [email protected]
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