A postcard from Mahogany Road
Half an hour until closing time
The Bluetooth speakers at this cafe have been crackling since we sat down just an hour ago. Hearing Christmas carols this monsoon season is … odd … to say the least.
I can’t stop thinking about Gaza. Over 20,000 victims killed in the past 10 weeks alone. 8,000 of them, children. Another 6,200 were women.1
All I mostly think off these days, especially when it highlights the choices of ‘First World’ “leaders” are the shards of the shattered smokescreen that have seeped into the veins of observers from the ‘Global South’, spectators from ‘Third World’ countries, and the consciousness of the ‘Other-ed’.
Masks have fallen. There’s not even an ounce of acting involved. The silence from those in power who “abstained” to put an end to genocide is telling. The glossiness of the celebrations held and lauded by embassies; together with all their the “vision and mission” statements by Western art funds, academic scholarships for aspiring leaders, women, coupled with whatever LinkedIn’s word of the year is (e.g. empower, uplift, synergy, etc). Suddenly—yes, suddenly—the conversation about climate emergency has taken centre stage. Suddenly, the ongoing crises of another country from the Global South is in the spotlight.
Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly.
The sudden showers on Mahogany Road has stopped. The table at the back erupts with laughter—again. Too loud in this small space, I think crankily.
The music, however, has changed to lo-fi R&B.
One minute until closing time.
The speakers still crackle though. The tune may have changed. The title may have changed. But you can’t mask what is already broken.
Until next week, wherever you are, I wish you and your loved ones a healthy, reflective and safe holiday season.