The new face of corruption

Daive A. Dunkley, Contributor

On Friday, December 3, a day that began like any other, I was made a criminal. After my morning routine, I headed to the FedEx office on Half-Way Tree Road, St Andrew, to post the contract for an academic article on freedom, using the resistance of slaves in Jamaica and Brazil in the 19th century.

It was ironic, I later thought, that I was degraded to a criminal on the same day. The police stopped me for a spot check on Ruthven Road, New Kingston, on the way back from FedEx. I pulled over, delivered my documents as the officer instructed and awaited his verdict.

Though I felt there was nothing to worry about, I was wrong. The licence for my car had passed the expiration date of October 2010. I did not realise this and accepted that I was wrong. I explained that I was not yet re-acquainted with every part of the system, but I would pay the high fees immediately, so that I could recover my vehicle within the day. Unconvinced of the necessity to impound my vehicle, I guessed, nevertheless, that someone stood to make no money if I was granted the simpler option to pay and produce the evidence at a police station that day. Knowing the reputation of our police, I resisted the temptation to verbalise these views.

Pitiful mendicant

I was standing on the sidewalk in my flip-flops and old jeans, looking pitiful like a mendicant, until a friend rescued me. Together, we went first to the revenue office in Cross Roads, where I paid the Government its fees. That part went by surprisingly quickly. However, our next trip, which took us through Tivoli Gardens, west Kingston, was not pleasant. We felt unsafe the entire journey. Reaching the government pound at Industrial Terrace only made us feel more unsafe. The place was deserted and dilapidated, and reminded me of scenes from the film Better Mus' Come. After about half an hour, one of two security guards came out hurling expletives to express his disgust for a frustrated customer. The customer had decided to vent his frustration after waiting for service for an hour, but did not use expletives. My wait lasted for an hour and a half, and I was not the only one. We were outside the gate like animals, waiting for food and water, and the hot sun intensified the odour of urine and faeces in the tiny derelict structure in which we huddled for protection from the sun's rays.

I felt stripped of my rights and dignity as a citizen, and wondered why it was necessary to punish me so severely for a road violation. I felt sorrier for the man who said this was the third pound he had been to since morning. The police gave him information that turned out to be false. The private towing companies decide where to take the vehicles. This practice lengthens the process and someone earns more money as a result. I was spared this only because my friend had informed me to await the wrecker and ask the driver where my vehicle would be taken.

Minutes of torture

Inside, the compound at Industrial Terrace was filled with vehicles of all types covered with dust. The rear section of a side wall was missing. The thought of my car being stolen entered my mind. I asked myself who would pay if my car went missing. The torture went on for another 20 minutes, while I waited on the only person recording our details to issue us papers and instructions as to where next to go. I was seated on a scorching metal chair, one of only three lined up in the sun outside the door of a wooden shack. The recorder was a woman, who said she was doing me a favour, since it was her lunch hour. I wondered why she was the only one there and why no computer in this modern age. Then I looked again at the wooden shack, and concluded that complaining to her was useless, since she was merely doing the bidding of an uncaring employer. Before going inside the compound, the guard mentioned buying her a drink to help her work faster.

As I looked around at her working conditions, I realised that this was exactly the kind of situation that encourages bribery and favouritism. She had smirked in response to my question about getting back my vehicle before the workday ended.

We left Industrial Terrace nearing the fourth hour of our outrageous ordeal, went straight to Lindo's Haulage and Wrecking on Waltham Park Road. I paid this company an unspeakable sum for towing my car. It was impossible to get a valid reason for the extravagant charge.

Next, we headed downtown to the Elletson Road Police Station. It was teaming with heavily armed officers, looking as if they were preparing for another incursion on the people they serve. I felt afraid and told my companion that we should leave quickly, but that proved to be delusional. After nearly an hour's wait, we were told by an unpleasant corporal that his superior had finished issuing releases for the day. My surprise multiplied when I looked at the time, 2:45 pm. It was obvious that my car would be held for the weekend, and I would be even poorer this Christmas because of one man who decides his duties to the public should end at mid-afternoon.

I asked for the time to return on Monday and was told 2-3 pm which, incidentally, is the time the changing of the guards at the station took place on Friday, and no one from the public is attended to until that process ends. I wondered if giving me that time was another strategy to delay the process to extort more money from me before I recovered my car. We went outside and returned to test the veracity of the time I was given. We did this twice, and we got different times from different officers, neither the same as the one given first.

The worst injustice was feeling tortured several times during the day for one infraction and, despite paying, I was still left without the use of my car.

Someone is clearly making big sums of money from this extortion, which is happening within the system, a more insidious corruption than usual. The Government is claiming it wants to eradicate corruption, but its systems are frustrating citizens and encouraging corrupt practices. The sinister face of this corruption is its undermining of the procedures. As long as it is so difficult to do the right thing, people will continue resorting to alternatives to make their problems disappear.

Priceless persecution

On the Monday, I calculated I had paid more than $30,000, but the persecution I was put through again at this point was priceless. Returning to the Elletson Road Station, I was told my car would be impounded for two weeks. My companion placed a quick call to contact the police commissioner's office, which said the two-week rule was fictitious. We returned inside the station and protested. Other people joined and supported us, all equally frustrated. People power prevailed and confidence in the police went down yet another notch.

Our next trip to Maxfield Avenue was to two offices of the Transport Authority, where I got a signature from one, and made another payment at the other and got another signature. The total time lost was another hour for services which could have been done at one office. More aggravating was the fact that the two offices are a mere stone's throw apart. It was stupidity bearing the mask of bureaucracy.

My suggestion is simply to reinvest some of the money from road violations into making a better system. The police who, in the aftermath, have to deal with road violators, should be trained for this job. Frustrating already disgruntled people is counterproductive. It produces more contempt and further undermines policing. All procedures can be handled in one building. People should not have to drive all over the city and especially to areas known to be unsafe. The Government should have its own haulage company to end the monopolisation by private companies that operate with powers of extortion.

The Government's pounds have to be better establishments and should be located more centrally. More employees, equipped with modern work tools, are needed, and paying them better would minimise favouritism and bribery. Enough money is surely made from road violations to give this country a system better than the one currently in Kingston, its capital.

Dr Daive A. Dunkley is an historian who teaches at the University of the West Indies, Mona. Feedback may be sent to daive.dunkley@gmail.com or columns@gleanerjm.com