Thinking of my friends in Jamaica

Today I'm worried about my friends in and around Jamaica's capital city, Kingston, where heavily-armed drug gangs and the island nation’s security forces are clashing to decide the fate of a mobster wanted by the U.S. government.

I was an exchange student in Jamaica in 1990 and 1991, and I spent many days and nights in Kingston, not far from where the current chaos is unfolding. I understand the country’s economy and its security situation have deteriorated in recent years, though it was a rough enough place when I was there. One day, classes at the school I attended were interrupted by the sound of an explosion: The hardware store across the street had been firebombed by a gang because the owner had stopped paying “protection” money. Other highlights of my time in Jamaica included a few assaults and robberies, and on one occasion in Spanish Town, I watched as an angry mob bludgeoned and burned a man to death in the street because he had stolen a goat.

At the time, I chalked this stuff up to experience. I was 18 years old, and the crime and violence around me were just part of the adventure of traveling in a unfamiliar part of the world. I’m sure if I were to experience the same things today, as a recently civilized adult and a parent — with so much more invested in life — I would be traumatized.

All the same, I do want to go back to Jamaica some day. For every thug, there are a thousand kindhearted people. I can only imagine what life must be like today for the peaceful people of Kingston — the ones caught in the middle between the fighting factions, the ones who have important jobs to do and children who must be cared for and protected.

I could spin a hundred and one tales from my experiences in Jamaica, but now I have other work to do, which requires me to direct my focus to Fulton County. If you’re interested in reading more about my travels there, try the following: The Ride to Port Antonio.