Terrorists, dons and deejays

Swallowfield Chapel in Kingston seems like a decent church. It's diverse, youthful and vibrant. I visited last week - attending the 7 a.m. service. At seven on a Sunday morning, I'm usually either valiantly battling a team of ninjas or discussing current affairs over a bottle of Merlot with Miss Jamaica Universe Yendi Phillipps as she admiringly blushes at my utter brilliance and charm. I usually wake up about half-an-hour later. On that particular Sunday, however, I was in Swallowfield's congregation, convinced to attend at that ungodly hour by the strength of one of God's most powerful forces - a woman.

It was Youth Day, or something of the sort. Young people led the church in praise and worship. A duo of teenagers delivered a touching sermon about life's purpose - with one offering a heart-rending recollection of her recent suicide attempt. Mighty and Fancy Lion - Swallowfield's version of sketch comedy stars Ity and Fancy Cat - anchored the proceedings. It was heartening to see teenagers doing more than text messaging. One particular comment left me a bit uneasy, though. Fancy Lion - who couldn't have been older than 16 - attempted to energise the weary congregation by reminding us that "Bruce seh we're out of recession."

Bruce? By Bruce I imagined 'Fancy Cub' was referring to the Honourable Orette Bruce Golding, eighth prime minister of Jamaica.

I turned 12 on the day P.J. Patterson took office in 1992. At that age, I couldn't imagine referring to the prime minister simply as 'P.J.' A decade later, by the time of his last election, I, along with every man, woman, pickney, and dog, simply called him P.J. This casual way with our leaders is certainly not unusual - 'Busta', 'Eddie', 'Sista P' were commonly used monikers - among adults. But when children feel welcome to publicly refer to the elected leader of our nation simply by his first name, it signals that the floodgates of disrespect for our leaders, in general, and the office of prime minister, specifically, are wide open.

'You Can't Blame the Youths'

Peter Tosh said it best: "You can't blame the youths." This generation has grown up in an age where leaders have been accorded scant respect. The erosion of civility and cordiality in society is partly at fault. But politicians themselves deserve much of the blame. With their scandalous, obnoxious and discourteous behaviour, they have routinely proven themselves unworthy of the people's esteem.

I remember looking up to some of the giants of Jamaican politics. Irrespective of their ideologies or the true nature of their characters, in Edward Seaga and Michael Manley I saw gargantuan figures commanding tremendous respect among followers and peers alike. Whether they were inspiring throngs of adoring supporters or walking boldly into urban war zones, they appeared steadfast leaders worthy of a young boy's aspiration.

Today's youth have no such political heroes. It's unsurprising then that many of them, already devoid of father figures, are vulnerable to the philosophies of an array of egotistical opportunists. Deejay Vybz Kartel recently issued a statement claiming that his entire persona - the lewdness, the lunacy, the 'badmanism' - was simply a diversionary tactic aimed at distracting 'Babylon' from Kartel's real intentions - the upliftment of ghetto people (presumably including ghetto youth). I had been waiting for him to have his producer, Notnice, hose him down live on TVJ to reveal that even the bleaching thing was a carefully crafted ruse. (Pity that won't happen, as Notnice jumped the sinking Portmore Empire ship on Monday). Perhaps, then, Kartel's recent rant will truly appear sincere.

Even worse, the United States has voiced concerns that Jamaica's youth are at risk of being recruited by Islamic extremists. They're particularly fearful of Abdullah al-Faisal, the Jamaica-born extremist recently deported from the United Kingdom. And, of course, dons continue to maintain first right of refusal on the lives of disaffected, urban youth.

Why would any disenchanted youngster seek to be 'Bruce' when he could instead command substantially more respect as 'The President', earn fortune and fame as 'The Teacher', or, God forbid, gain 100 virgins as a martyr? The time bomb is ticking. It's probably too late for Bruce. But maybe the future generation of political leaders can inspire our disillusioned young men to aspire to greater things. Perhaps even one among them might command the respect needed to wrest these young hearts and minds from terrorists, dons, and dancehall artistes.

Din Duggan is an attorney working as a consultant with a global legal search firm. Email him at columns@gleanerjm.com or dinduggan@gmail.com. Follow him or view his past columns at facebook.com/dinduggan and twitter.com/YoungDuggan.