Luckily for Marlon James, he was not in Parliament for the budget debate. He'd have had a sibilant "Marlene," and a (hijacked) Facebook quip about "buying a bull-it proof vest and pants."
Marlon was in London to pick up the Man Booker Prize for Fiction last week Tuesday–the first Jamaican to take it ever, and the first Caribbean writer since VS Naipaul in 1971.
The Man Booker is big. For English-language literature, it's the Grammy, the Nobel and the Olympic gold.
His award-winning Brief History of Seven Killings puts Marlon James up with the handful of Jamaicans to earn worldwide brand recognition–Bob Marley in music, Usain Bolt in athletics, or "Butch" Stewart in international tourism.
Jamaican officialdom took no notice. Up to Thursday, I saw not one breath of congratulation from Portia Simpson Miller, not one breath from Culture Minister Lisa Hanna, not one breath from Education Minister Ronald Thwaites.
And nothing, either, from Jamaica's governor-general, Patrick Allen.
If a Jamaican was second runner up for Miss Universe, we'd have seen more fanfare.
And the prints? The Gleaner and the Jamaica Observer carried reports. They can't resist a bit of reflected glory.
But the Gleaner swiftly ran an editorial saying that "not to detract from Marlon James," he was not the first to do well. Zadie Smith, a British writer with a Jamaican mother, had made the Man Booker shortlist in 2005 for her novel On Beauty. Andrea Levy, both of whose parents are Jamaican, was shortlisted in 2010 for her Love Song.
Both are brilliant, exciting writers. But so is Marlon James. He is 100 per cent Jamaican. He wrote about Jamaica. Plus, he actually won the prize.
The Gleaner headed its editorial "The Telling of Truths." But that's precisely what the Gleaner and Observer are afraid to do. Neither mentioned Marlon's sexuality, or why he left Jamaica.
Which is odd, because it's a strong story. He told it in the New York Times earlier this year.
He said "I knew I had to leave my home country–whether in a coffin or on a plane."
He said: "At 28 years old, seven years out of college, I was so convinced that my voice outed me as a fag that I had stopped speaking to people I didn't know."
He wrote of adolescent bullying at school. He wrote of his time at an ad agency where: "The entrance to my cubicle was blocked by a boss with curious eyebrows who asked why all my magazines showed men on the covers."
He wrote of his 2007 job offer from Macalester College in Minnesota, and his flight out.
Jamaican newspapers aren't normally shy about people's sexuality.
We see headlines like: "Police hunt gay murder suspect," "Gay man objects to being handcuffed," "Gun-toting gays drive fear" and "Homo thugs!"
A dreadlocked, gay Jamaican man who scores a big international prize does not fit their narrative.
Jamaican culture has an unattractive strand of hatred. Three weeks ago, a homophobic rally in Kingston pulled a crowd of perhaps 20,000.
But in T&T, the weather has changed. The taunting of Barry Padarath scored an own-goal for the Government. For the UNC, the media and public response was a rare gift in an otherwise bleak budget debate.
Darryl Smith and Colm's hijacked Facebook page pushed even Sat Maharaj to a "Go strong, Barry." That's the same Sat who said last year: "These deviants we don't condone."
But if this government looks un-promising on the homophobia issue, Kamla's was no better.
Her unlamented "diversity" minister Rodger Samuel said in June: "This is a wild season. It does not mean I accept another person's lifestyle."
In March, Kamla's government hired a high-cost legal team to defend an immigration act which (on paper) bars homosexuals from on these shores. Legislation passed in 2012 threatens gay teens with life imprisonment.
Both parties have made their fashion statement; flared polyester pants and platform shoes.
But Pastor Cuffie notwithstanding, voters don't take these issues on.
Despite the homophobic campaign sneers, Padarath's Princes Town was the only seat where the UNC scored more this year than in 2010. The punters are two jumps ahead of the politicians.