World Cup Identities

Remember two weeks ago I reminded folks that there are at least three main dynamics behind the enthusiasm of Caribbean people for selected World Cup teams? In short - football and self-identity – or a combination of the two.

There is another reason why we may extend support to a team. But at the current rate, T&T and Jamaica have too much work to do to get anywhere close to World Cup qualification in the near future and the others have even more remote ambitions/capabilities.

But, back to reality. The more knowledgeable would have as their first choice the teams that display the greatest skills on the pitch. They know the players. They can name more than three of them on their team of choice, complete with personal and team stats.

These people can also further validate such support through intimate knowledge of the major leagues in Europe and faint but sometimes reasonable acquaintance with what happens in Asia, Latin America, Oceania, and Africa.

But most of the rest of us also have other, non-footballing, reasons to assign support - or a combination of fair knowledge of the sport and a sense that the tournament is much more than a game.

One criterion does not automatically preclude the next. I have a close friend, let’s just call him PR, who backs teams “with more people who look like us” while knowing full well that footballing skills are often lodged in far more monochromatic teams of another hue.

That is where the other question of domestic and international politics enters the field of play. For instance, had Russia been involved in the current tournament, there would have been chaotic scenes at our bars. NATO, US and EU geo-politics, (non-playing) left- and right-wing posturing would have been on open display.

(By the way, did anyone of you note nominally socialist Russia’s defiant defence of free market conditions regarding the price of oil recently?)

This is not to say that legit connoisseurs of the game would also not have sentimental attachments to one team or the other. Those who lived and worked and were schooled in the UK were there, openly or quietly, backing England in front of their Windrush branded screens.

The English commentators who could not contain their enthusiasm, my Trini/UK friend in Colorado, Sycophantic Manu Bro (PR), Shifty OG, and the guys assembled at a Kingston hotel last Saturday still drying tears.

There are also those who fancy a North American destiny and mourned the early departure of the US team … and to a lesser extent, Canada’s.

I also know others who hold to the myth of German “efficiency” and the dated reputation of their impregnable (footballing) defence.

In short, emotions are difficult to attend to at the height of football passion; especially since there is also the question of self-identity. Take today’s match, for instance.

How more conflicted can anyone, from among us be when France (with so many players who look like us and names we know, and the magical Mbappé) comes up against the identity-conflicted Morocco in a World Cup semi-final?

Yes, two weeks ago I called the names Mbappé, Tchouaméni, Dembélé, Koundé and Konaté when declaring second-choice preference for France to win the tournament.

But, like so many others, completely missed the metaphorical opportunities made available by a determined Morocco team that keeps Palestinian flags in its kits and whose Sofiane Boufal described its win over Spain as a win “for the Arab world.” Contrarily, his coach promptly retorted that his team flies the flag of African football high.

It’s a country as much captured by global institutional arrangements – part of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) grouping to capture its duality - African/Islamic – as we are as an incidental attachment to “Latin American and Caribbean” groupings within the UN and other systems.

Yet, in the African/Islamic sense, Morocco is not Senegal or Cameroon - who beat Brazil 1-0 on December 2 - without the current passions now associated with Morocco in T&T.

Interesting, isn’t it? Today’s World Cup semi-final between France and Morocco brings together two teams that tell the story of international affairs in ways we in the Caribbean understand very well.

Yes, it’s football. Yes, there are issues associated with how global administration of the sport is conducted. But football and identity have merged in a hitherto unlikely place. We’re used to that here.

The Tempest and our times

Hopefully, people are noting that amid pervasive sadness and endemic turbulence, our writers, filmmakers, visual and performing artists are producing at a dizzying rate and, in the process, offering sharper awareness of possibilities and glimmers of hope.

The much-maligned young are leading the way in alleviating the multi-dimensional impacts of a failed generation. People still intent on promoting a notion of the same “good old days” that installed the brittle social, economic, and political infrastructure for all we now endure.

None of this is an attempt to diminish the magnitude of the challenges we face, or to suggest an easy solution. Or even to entirely dismiss past gains. But there are real questions related to viability and sustainability whose answers, if there are any, we cannot escape or resist.

There are civilisations far greater than ours over time that have declined, decayed, and eventually disappeared.

One of these days, I propose to put to anyone who pays attention, the suggestion that the required recalibration in how we think, and act threatens convulsions with tsunamic implications for the way politics, religion, law, medicine, engineering, journalism, and public thought and action are currently conducted.

Responses to the incidence of flooding tell us all we need to know about how societies are sometimes prone to self-delusion and myth.

Earnest, truthful interventions will find little space for any of these institutions and vocations in their current conditions. A complete rethink of our engagement of development will become necessary to assure that something resembling a future as a sovereign state remains on the horizon.

For sure, we are not alone in this. Our neighbours are similarly challenged, and we would do well to note the dramatic decline of highly touted exemplars further away. In the end, we may all have to encounter these challenges together, as is the case with resolving the climate crisis. To a great degree, we are not.

But, back to this glimmer of hope thing. I cannot recall a time when creative powers of this magnitude have emerged to counter false assertions of hopelessness. Follow Franka and Soyini and Barbara-Anne and Laura around and you will not survive half their itineraries – and they cover limited ground.

Music, books, art, drama, and dance are everywhere you turn. For some of us, emerging from the Covid cocoon has been slow and deliberate.

For me, there have just been Ramleela, the Independence and other art exhibitions, pan has resumed (and I have followed from some distance … but not for long), and the stages are coming alive with the sounds of music, poetry, and drama. Last Saturday there was UWI DCFA Jazz.

There are at least half a dozen new Caribbean books to acquire and read. And that is only by the folks I know and follow closely as friends and colleagues.

I had in fact initially thought about focusing today exclusively on the National Theatre Arts Company’s production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest, under the expert direction of Belinda Barnes. Because both the substance of the play and the space it provides for contemporary interpretation offered an opportunity to help us understand where we stand in 2022 T&T.

In the end, I suspect Belinda chose a less potentially contentious path. The plot, of course, (don’t feel bad, I could not remember much of it either) is so riddled with twists and turns there would have been multiple opportunities to exploit the numerous metaphors that awaited.

The task fell to the “narrative links” represented by two re-purposed Roman deities and one Greek goddess who become storytelling washer, obeah, and market women.

Island spirit, Ariel, was magnificently played by Syncytia Bishop and lead character, Prospero, by veteran Nickolai Salcedo on the evening I attended.

This is so much of our current crises and trials in The Tempest. There was a young talented cast to interpret this on stage, and to provide the links. This provided an irresistible opportunity that was not fully exploited, in my view, though the main principles were touched.

An overthrow and subsequent island exile. Insecure leadership. Magic (or the need for it). Vengeance. Rage. Love. And an eventual resolution.

All of this as our days of floods, continued violence, political intrigue, and cynical exploitation of grief and suffering continue.

There is something in the way the play’s surprising, non sequiturial conclusion (as presented on stage) raised questions of the kind we currently confront that are not easily dismissed.

NTACTT’s rendition, complete with original music by Nickolai Salcedo and others, supported by the National Steel Symphony Orchestra, helped take us on a journey we dare not fail to navigate.

 

 

Non-football World Cup choices

Listen to it here:

Okay, here’s an easy one. What’s the name of the team you’re backing at the FIFA World Cup? Then, try this one: Why are you backing that particular team?

The only folks who are not required to answer these questions are bandwagonists such as … let’s just call him PR. But, even in his case, I must confess he has stuck to a particular (losing) EPL team for much of the past few years, despite a lack of loyalty to individual players such as … CR (no relation).

So, PR is a bandwagonist when it comes to players, but not necessarily with his team, no matter the magnitude of licks being sustained. So, we know he isn’t going to back Portugal under any circumstances.

I am calling no names, because passions run high among Caribbean football supporters such as … let’s call her FM … and you can incur wrath even in relatively minor cases of mispronunciation. Repeat after me: It’s not “Kwatar.”

But, back to serious business. Name your team. Then carefully and concisely explain why you like that team.

Question A is pretty simple. The vast majority of Caribbean people I know – even if they can’t call the names of three players on the team at any point in time – place their confidence in Brazil. Okay, okay, the know-it-alls can explain why they prefer Argentina or France entirely on footballing grounds.

In some instances - largely for non-footballing reasons too embarrassing to raise here - some would cheer for Germany or even England. There are even the types who are mourning the absence of Italy.

To be fair, some people know their football and can rattle off the names of 5 and 6 and 7 top players from these teams. Ditto those whose second choice is either Senegal or Ghana.

So, we like Brazil. The Jamaicans think their national team plays the same style of football. LOL. Take a minute to catch your breath, then try to remember when T&T supporters made a similar claim.

And many of us would have loved to have seen Senegal or Ghana in the final showdown. There are also people like SM who take things one game at a time. The other day he messaged me to ask if I was impressed with Croatia! By this time today, he might have already called with expressions of solidarity for the players of Australia.

I have also come across some football stragglers who are amazed at the fact that the faces of the players representing a growing number of teams look nothing like the portraits of the people we see on the news who run those countries.

In fact, PR has been keeping track of the number of seemingly misplaced players who are scoring goals! Look! Look! EVEN this team and that team! Noticed something?

So, in answering the “why” question, we really aren’t talking too much football are we? I cannot lie. I back Brazil (even as Neymar has dedicated his first goal, in advance, to that thug Bolsonaro), but have a keen eye on France (because of football, I assure you … though there’s also Tchouaméni, Dembélé, Koundé and Konaté) and I have crossed my fingers on behalf of Senegal and Ghana (for reasons of the heart).

I am rather unapologetic about such fickleness, particularly with those who contend that politics – both of the capital “P’ and in lowercase – should not invade the field of sport. LOL!

If there is one country on the planet that should not be confused about this is T&T. Here, sport is capable of generating political cleavages in ways nothing else can.

Erroneously seen as exclusively and inelastically linked to behaviour and social performance, there has been more political investment in sport than virtually any other ameliorative intervention to address youth dysfunctionality – all falling way short of addressing the systemic inequities that have brought us here.

Consequently, malpractice, incompetence and conmanship are often overlooked as mere, even admirable, incidentals in pursuit of a greater good. Understand this dynamic and you can come to terms with the queasiness of those who love football but have serious problems with FIFA and the actions that have now taken us to Qatar.

So, today’s line-up of games offers a few favourites and dilemmas. Who’s backing Mexico against Saudi Arabia? France vs Tunisia? Poland against Argentina? Australia vs Denmark?

Every last one of us will be taking our pick. Not our first or second or third choices. But we will be there, cheering someone on. Take two minutes to ask yourself why.

 

From COP27 to Cup22

 It has not taken too long for global news agendas to start moving away from the critical outcomes of COP 27. Here, at home, FIFA World Cup 22 has taken over, and online news algorithms are already redirecting traffic back to Ukraine, China, Turkey and elsewhere.

The case had long been made for small island states of the Global South to be more acutely mindful of our own business. The agony of our small scientific and negotiating teams must be more fully appreciated as their return journeys leave the fastest of fading memories behind.

Kishan Kumarsingh and his ministry of planning team remained our top T&T COP performers. No grandstanding polemic. No flashy turns of phrases. But weary shoulders to the wheel.

Ditto the Alliance of Small Island States (AOSIS) technocrats that span the oceans and have at different times found impressive Caribbean leadership.

To them, the so-called (and so-far amorphous) “Climate Justice” Fund or “loss and damage” provision to offset climate damage to developing states, would hardly be the revolutionary intervention it has been made out to be.

There were key details of such a measure left hanging in the haze of early-morning deliberations in Egypt and there is this sinking feeling that yet-to-be-elaborated specifics may prove as elusive as application of longstanding, unmet financial commitments to assure effective adaptation in countries such as ours.

UN Secretary-General António Guterres has, as is his wont, chimed in optimistically: “Clearly this will not be enough, but it is a much-needed political signal to rebuild broken trust.” There will however be a view that “trust” has not readily been in abundant supply.

The noteworthy omission, through all this, to emphasise the value of global decarbonisation and to actively re-visit the 1.5-degree commitment of Paris and, later, Glasgow, is among the more important points of collective under-achievement, and broken trust.

True, there were some of us who wished to remain passively disengaged from this in the face of new and emerging financial fortunes. Guyana and Suriname have put their cards on the table, and T&T has already described a pathway to progress without immediately discarding the key assets of oil and gas.

Several African states also went to the table with the precise challenge to defer development in favour of an arrangement for which the big guns have habitually displayed a lack of trustworthiness, while a global financial environment exhibits chronic neglect.

This strikes at the heart of what is now known as the “just energy transitions” to ensure that a notion of socio-economic justice remains in the mix. In the Caribbean we are already witnessing the challenges both in the geo-political dynamics and internally – between communities, sectors, and peoples.

And who is to blame us for not trusting what is before us on the world stage? COP 27 essentially declared that fossil fuels will remain a feature of global economic growth – with natural gas now moving off-centre as a focal point in the emissions game and coal bearing the growing brunt of attention.

The combined impacts of supply chain disruptions, Russia’s assault on Ukraine, and numerous pandemic hangovers were all there to provide justification by the big and wealthy for slower going when it came to emissions targets. So, who are we?

The UAE, which hosts COP28 next year, has already declared its commitment to the oil and gas economy in indefinite terms.

At the current rate, there is little hope that either the 1.5 target would hold or that the means to adjust quickly and effectively to accelerated changes in natural conditions will become available.

Instead, there appears to be a signal that “patch and repair” of “loss and damage” will be the preferred option, and that financing for adaptation and, to some small degree, mitigation will have to await better global economic conditions.

All of this assumes there is time to spare. Some have declared “hyperbole” to claims of a crisis or an emergency. There are other compelling narratives to occupy our time and resources – violent crime, political dysfunction, faltering economies.

World CUP 22 offers fleeting comfort COP 27 could not have possibly presented. It’s not going to be enough.

All of society, all of the world

I used this space last week to explore some of the key issues for the Caribbean at COP27 which closes in Sharm El-Sheikh, Egypt on Saturday, describing some of them as required “reality checks.”

One is the unreliability of financial flows to support adaptation measures in the developing world, and the other critical one is the fact that the 1.5-degree threshold for global warming appears increasingly difficult to achieve.

The truth is, what we are attending to is a global phenomenon that requires multiple hands at work simultaneously and with an eye on the same objectives.

The implications for some key features of the planet are serious and far-reaching. Our natural environment, including plant and animal life, is already undergoing change through diminished biological diversity and the incursions of invasive species, among other impacts.

This, in turn, will have effects on already acknowledged food insecurity and the long list of dependent economic activities such as tourism, upon which most of our countries rely.

Extreme weather events also do not only mean heavier than average spells of rainfall, but a rising incidence of dry spells. In our region, there are already acknowledged water-scarce and challenged states.

We already know that even with heavy rainfall, water quality issues and their attendant costs pose serious issues for the availability of potable water.

Our very model of infrastructure-led development may also find itself confronting strong hurdles as the decarbonisation process worldwide slows some areas of productive endeavour.

It has also long been recognised that the small island and low-lying coastal developing states of the world require far more urgent decision-making and change on this matter.

I argued here last week that the real engine room at COPs comprises politicians, official negotiators, and a cadre of eminent scientists, both from our regions and of the Global North.

It is good that the civil society space is typically occupied and active at these events, but there is not much evidence that such activism has been effective in influencing the desired change, nor has it grown sufficiently to harness much broader, enlightened public opinion.

Had that been the case, our political parties in the Caribbean would have made the climate crisis (and it is a “crisis”) focal points of their recent election campaigns, and the issue would have framed a considerable cross-section of the parliamentary discourse.

Arguments and cross-talk about the incidence of extreme weather events would have included even passing mention of the phenomenon, and when it did, explanations of the distinction between climate and weather proffered.

We have already experienced 1.3 degree growth in global temperature – most of it at the hands of human activity. Even the most ardent flat-earther devotees have backed away from their earlier opposition to a notion of an anthropogenic connection.

It would be equally sensible though to heed the warnings that the 1.5-degree threshold seems set to be breached. Projected impacts on human populations, even at 1.5, appear dim.

This has real implications for how we undertake the develop assignment. This includes greater reliance on science, data-driven decision making, and broader alliances of civic elements.

Apart from the usual NGO suspects, who expected anything to emerge from sectors including construction, local government, law, energy, tourism, food production ahead of COP27?

Hopefully, someone will remind me of a spectacular submission from any of them.

Contrastingly, some of us in the reviled media have worked over many years to ensure that our coverage of the climate change challenge is founded on the available science and best practice policy responses.

In 2005, the Association of Caribbean Media Workers, together with Caricom’s Mainstreaming Adaptation to Climate Change (MACC) Project launched a handbook for journalists on the subject.

Then, in 2021, we introduced “Reporting the Climate Crisis - A Handbook for Caribbean Journalists” which I co-authored together with scientists Steve Maximay and Dr Dale Rankine.

Some of our better environmental reporters have been at Sharm El-Sheikh. I look forward to their comprehensive evaluations of the proceedings.

They would hopefully include the prospects for an all of society, all of world approach. Some of us need the reassurance that opportunities exist to achieve this.

 

 

The COP 27 reality checks

It’s trite but true that every single meeting of the Conference of the Parties (COP) under the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) is “the most urgent and important of them all.”

We have long gone past the debate over the human contribution to the challenge, and we are not talking about a situation that’s improving. The UN Secretary General, António Guterres, for example, has described the latest State of the Global Climate report as “a chronicle of climate chaos.”

Urgency and high priority are particularly the case in Sharm El-Sheikh at COP 27, because this is a time of reckoning when it comes to a number of key pillars of an unfolding global crisis.

The costs, of all types, of a joint response are however not being equitably distributed and the climate crisis is now characterised by a mix of exogenous and domestically fuelled political, economic and socio-cultural injustices.

Even so, the conclusions of a UNFCCC Standing Committee on Finance (SCF) report tabled at COP 27 find that “a sole focus on positive climate finance flows” in itself is “insufficient to meet the overarching purpose and goals of the Paris Agreement.”

“Finance flows,” the report says, “must integrate climate risks into decision-making and avoid increasing the likelihood of negative climate outcomes.”

Yes, there have been increases in financial flows but even the SCF is proposing that mere financial bean-counting, as instructive as it is, is inadequate to assess the real risks being engaged by developing countries.

There is also the fact we need to face when it comes to our “1.5 to Stay Alive” slogan – a Caribbean war cry integrated as a main target of the Paris Agreement as a cap on post-industrial global emissions.

The current COP will most likely signal the failure of the campaign. Sadly, it is the scientists, not the politicians or activists, who are most likely to lay the sombre news on the table.

Last week, The Economist boldly declared it was “time for some realism” regarding the 1.5 degree threshold for disaster.

The magazine urged activists and countries to pronounce honestly on the matter so that delegates in the halls of decision-making can be “chastened by failure (and) not lulled by false hope.” As highly vulnerable states, we too need to transition to the next level of advocacy and negotiation.

For, even as the developed world experiences the occurrence of extreme weather events, there is no guarantee it will suddenly dawn on them that, even in their respective backyards, the matter requires the interventions of all.

It is well known that the entire process has been characterised by the broken promises of wealthy countries, and major emitters, on the financing of survival measures for the most vulnerable nations.

Another reality check is that our Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs), as important as they are (and as locked into our own commitments and entitlements as they have been) are turning out to be of marginal value in the general scheme of things.

For one, and no matter what some activists and politicians claim, they were never expected to more than microscopically affect gross global emissions. Their real value resides in the promotion of more enlightened environmental management practices which should be par for the course in any event.

A rallying call, in these matters, to “save the planet” sells the t-shirts and dramatises the banner campaigns, but such activities are of more value in the process of saving ourselves from collective suicide. The climate crisis envisages murder.

Don’t get me wrong, the beach clean-ups and tree replanting activities are very important to the survival game, but they have little bearing in the context of difficult political negotiations that tap into wider global assets and address geo-political posturing.

This is the value of COP 27 which is first and foremost a political event, meant to be guided by science. When I attended COP 17 in Durban 11 years ago, one show-boating international NGO had an activist rappel down a multi-storey hotel to unveil a banner. Some of our own folks looked on jealously.

It may have helped earn media attention, fresh funding, and applause. But that was it, even as the true warriors infinitely more boldly engaged overwhelming odds around the conference table.

This time around, as T&T turns up alongside energy sector new-comers Guyana and Suriname, there can be expected to be far more intense reality-checking and nuancing of the slogans and catch-phrases. No single t-shirt or banner can capture the meaning.

Our pyramids of needs and assets must however now more fully occupy centre stage in Egypt. Important truths need to be told; reality checks explored.

Caricom’s Haiti question

A few weeks ago, a seasoned career diplomat asked me the shocking question: “What can Caricom do about Haiti?”

I replied tersely: “An honest response to your question will make me hate myself.”

After all, who am I? Haiti’s continued disintegration has been the subject of numerous academic studies and diplomatic actions and is the focus of constant attention by multilateral financial institutions, global NGOs, parachute journalists, and by no means least, the gaze of rich and powerful nations.

I made my first visit to the country in 1994 not long after the return of Jean-Bertrand Aristide following his expulsion in the coup d'état of September 1991. A Caricom staffer at the time I was the least of the apostles, with a camera and notepad. I subsequently visited twice, on other assignments.

More than a year after the 2010 earthquake that claimed at least 200,000 lives, while on the way to the south, I noted that the streets of Port-au-Prince remained littered with rubble. I thought then that the government should have insisted that self-serving NGOs and missionaries flooding the country should have had to clear at least some portion of the mess before getting down to whatever they were there to do.

I also knew that remote, single-cause and over-simplified resort by ideologues to the tale of colonial depravities had been insufficient to grasp contemporary disorders.

Inspired in part by CLR James’s 1958 “natural unity” case for the Commonwealth Caribbean and Haiti, some regional politicians and officials had aggressively advanced the case for Haitian accession to the Caricom grouping.

For contrast, by 1994, full membership by Suriname – another non-English speaking nation with a different history, constitution, and systems of law and politics – was short months away.

Suriname’s integration into the community experienced bumps and diversions in the early years, but grew into a meaningful, mutually beneficial relationship.

Haiti however presented a qualitatively different challenge. It remained a target for opportunistic foreign interference, possessed of chronic socio-political dysfunctionality including systemic inequality, plagued by abysmally low economic performance, and lacked basic resilience in the face of high vulnerability to natural disasters.

In 1994, with the supposed return to democratic functionality, Caricom had offered support in strengthening the public service - as if the remnants of our own embrace of British colonial civil service culture had not included serial challenges of their own.

I remember the long table at Hôtel Montana and the smug offer of orderliness in government business in the midst of an environment in which the notion of a cohesive state was virtually non-existent beyond the walls of the National Palace.

Those talks went nowhere. In fact, the main feature of the ongoing relationship has been in the area of diplomatic support. It is not that Haiti has been the movement’s most reliable ally either. Reciprocation has been uneven, and the flare-ups have been sharply instructive. Loyalty is clearly among the main casualties of survival mode.

Regionally inspired development support has also been problematic at best, and satisfaction of needs left largely to arrangements resulting from geo-political shenanigans.

PetroCaribe funding, for example, led to what has been described as “an orgy of corruption”, and the presence of other global powers has been financially bountiful but minus durable, long-term results.

Numerous international NGOs, faith-based organisations, and other philanthropic agencies of all varieties have been engaged.

Yet, the country’s pandemic response has been among the most appallingly deficient. The health sector is in shambles. Current vaccine uptake is around 2%.

The much-adored Barbados lifted, then reimposed, visa requirements for Haitian visitors while most of the rest of us never budged. Visa-free Guyana became a transit point for Haitian economic migrants.

Back in 2001, the very first act of the Association of Caribbean Media Workers was a call for justice in the murder of renowned journalist/broadcaster Jean Dominique.

Last Sunday, Haitian freelance journalist, Romelo Vilsaint, was killed by the police in Port-au-Prince while protesting the detention of a colleague. This followed the murder of radio journalist, Garry Tess, and just over a week ago, the shooting of Le Nouvelliste reporter, Roberson Alphonse.

Last week, Alphonse’s newspaper – the country’s most reputable news publication, founded in 1898 – painfully suspended its print edition over security fears.

I have spoken with journalists there who now venture out only after elaborate planning. Gangs rule and what calls itself a government has summoned external intervention (again). There is thus an open invitation to invasion.

Land today, at Toussaint Louverture, and tell me what you see, feel, hear.

What can Caricom do about Haiti? Can we honestly, without guilt and self-loathing, answer the question?