The CNC3 Morning Show last week showed an interview with a fellow who started an online petition to reinstate the death penalty, and calls for it seem to be building. The tragic death of the young bank clerk seems to have found a spot on the national body which isn't numb from incessant battering, and has elicited another scream of pain.
Sadly, it'll die down soon, without anything useful resulting. The TTPS, government and opposition will remain the beasts they are, and the population will suppress its trauma through the usual means: alcohol, mostly, with large elements of sexual, domestic and social violence accompanying as usual, and a general deepening of the malaise.
But can anything be done other than point out the obvious? Maybe. I've written more than once in this space that the crime and violence which manifest all round don't just materialise. They are the end points of streams of social energy, policy, individual and taught and learned behaviour.
We behave the way our environment conditions and teaches us to behave. Because of other predisposing factors (genetics, home environment, church and communal socialization) most won't go out and murder people (not yet, anyway). Most will, however, internalize and project some degree of the violence around them. You see the animus flare on social media, hear it on radio talk shows, in the streets (a la #lifeinleggings). But is there a way to change the environment?
There is a specie of intervention which has worked in the past with great effect to change the mood and even behaviour of Trinidadians and Tobagonians. It is that noble television genre, the soap opera. And it's funny, but it's not a joke.
Soap operas. In the late 1980s, the country had a rare collective experience of shared values: those they saw in the soaps The Young and the Restless, and to a lesser extent, The Bold and the Beautiful. Local academics missed this phenomenon completely, but fortunately a foreign anthropologist, Danny Miller, noticed, and studied it. (It's published in the Media Studies Reader.)
It's easy, if you were not there, or in hazy retrospect, to downplay the moment. But for a few years, the country was consumed by the soaps. Newspapers ran daily soap updates, they were discussed in taxis, homes, temples, churches. I remember calypsos being sung. Their reach was incredible. And to what end? As Miller noted, people were using the soaps as a medium to discuss and derive personal and professional morality.
Trinidadians and Tobagonians were, to be crude about it, determining right and wrong from the behaviour of soap opera characters. This was the 1980s, when Kim Kardashian and her ilk weren't even born yet. And the phenomenon of media-conditioned behaviour had been theorized among academics, but was only just coming into mainstream consciousness.
Did it make T&T a better place? We'll never know because of 1990. (I'm guessing militant Islamists didn't watch TV at the time, as they do now.) But it did manage to take the edge off the NAR austerity. Despite the harrowing social and economic realities, there was a (however slight) lifting of the national mood. The soaps provided emotional respite, as art, high and low, is supposed to do.
As if to underline the effectiveness of media in altering the national mood, the opposite happened in 1997, when talk radio arrived. For the next decade of economic boom, the opposite of this generally positive conditioning happened. We became richer, but more socially hostile, criminal, and pathological.
So is there a lesson here? Here's where my pal, The Hon Maxie Cuffie, perhaps the most beloved Minister of Communications the world has ever seen, comes in. Perhaps the government could assist in bringing this electronic unguent to a traumatised population. Use the resources of the Ministry of Communication (GISL) to produce audio-visual works (radio plays, TV shows, movies, documentaries, public works of art) and disseminate them widely. No money? No problem: take the hundreds of millions wasted on Carnival.
Of course, immediate problems arise: What kind of shows would be produced, who would produce them and which stories would be told? We all know the flock of vultures that descend on state funding already have their formulas. Canboulay. Resistance. Pan. Black empowerment. A little Divali and Ramleela for colour.
From that, you might get the idea that the producers of cultural products are imaginatively limited, but you'd be wrong. There are many filmmakers, animators, TV producers, playwrights, artists manqu�, in the country now with solid projects, bawling for funding. So here's the idea: open the gates to them.
Carnival got over $200 million last year. Take a quarter of that, and disburse among the artistic community, with a minimum quality bar. Encourage or mandate youngsters to pair up with experienced hands. Create TV shows, radio plays, comic books, and public spectacle events, but with one caveat: No "cultyere", no "trah-dish-an". The focus would be on contemporary domestic, social and even political issues via comedy, drama, historical fiction and documentary.
Within a year, there would be a flood of work in a number of genres and media. It could seriously alter the national emotional landscape, change the conversation. It could make people feel better, more optimistic, more thoughtful.
It could work, although there are lots of reasons it won't. Politicians distrust anything that's simple, that works, and helps people feel better without contracts, frenzy, and "Vote PNM" attached.
There's also a preexistent ecosystem of cultural production which will react immediately to hijack the process. But none of this means it couldn't be tried. Here's the government's chance to actually do something. Will they take it? Maxie? Over to you.
