I live in a community where self-censorship is an act of survival.
Not the basic, common sense rules of action that prevent you from damaging another person or their property. This is a place where thoughts that are easily proclaimed in other places are generally reconsidered and usually muted. A place where Democrats don't bother to enter most elections and everyone does their damndest to avoid upsets, political and otherwise.
It's not a matter of political correctness as much as the infliction of the greater self. This island was once defined by its plantations, now the boundaries are set by castes and churches. Woe to those who don't understand the game or refuse to play.
This is the baby boomer retirement dream?
Every week a few more I-used-to-be-someones arrive and congratulate themselves for making such an exclusive and elegant choice. They turn their heads at the poverty and escalating decay they pass on the mainland to get here because their household help and minimum wage service workers have to come from someplace. Is it their fault it's not pretty?
Just a few miles of causeway and bridges and they've effectively separated themselves from humanity and any obligation that may entail. Even before they know the people of this island, they know their own entitlement. They glance at other late model luxury cars at intersections to check for the correct country club sticker before passing a nod or smile.
Any act of charity is a photo opp or a calculated effort to qwell insurgence or buy allegiance. If it can be all three, all the better.
Should it come as any surprise this is the place Bush (whose parents honeymooned here when his Dad actually was a fighter pilot) selected to host the G-8 Economic Summit this summer.
Misters Chirac, Blair, Putin, Martin, Prodi, Schroder, Berlusconi, Zoizumi... welcome to Mr. Bush's America.


Copyright Judi Griggs 2004