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<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=1 width="100%" border=0><TBODY><TR><TD><SPAN class=TopStory>Young lives gone up in smoke</SPAN>
<SPAN class=Subheadline></SPAN></TD></TR><TR><TD>Barbara Gloudon
Friday, January 12, 2007
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<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=5 width=80 align=left border=0><TBODY><TR><TD>
</TD></TR><TR><TD><SPAN class=Description>Barbara Gloudon</SPAN></TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><P class=StoryText align=justify>WHEN THE NEWS BROKE last week that a young man had been stabbed to death by another, in what was said to have been a dispute over ganja, the interest in some quarters seemed to have been more about the so-called "high society" status of the families from which the young men came, than the fact that two more young lives had been lost.<P class=StoryText align=justify>The life of one is no more. The life of the other is neither free nor clear. Whenever and in whatever way the closing chapter of this story is written, nothing will ever be the same for all concerned, especially their families. We're accustomed and inured to the culture of violence occurring in areas of poverty and ignorance. When the monster rears its head in suburbia, where "better class people" live, we react with shock and horror.<P class=StoryText align=justify>The conventions which are in place to ensure a fair trial to any accused limit comments on this or other cases before they are brought to the courts, so we may have to wait a while for all the details of this particular story to emerge. That leaves room for speculation, suss and plain "fass inna people business".<P class=StoryText align=justify>Whatever end of society in which you find yourself, however, there is no guaranteed insulation from pain like this. The glasshouse awaits all of us. Let's mind where we throw our stones. In a culture where parents bear shame for the misdeeds of their children, it is not often that we see a father, especially at the top end of society, speaking out on the sad history of his child.<P class=StoryText align=justify>In last Sunday's Observer, Mr Justice Lennox Campbell, a member of Jamaica's High Court, father of the slain young man, broke the silence and spoke openly of the pain suffered by a family when a child's life falls apart.<P class=StoryText align=justify>In a candid sharing with writer Olivia Leigh Campbell (who deserves commendations for the timing and sensitivity of the interview), he stripped away the cover of grief, pain and puzzlement which is felt by every family who has lost a promising child to mental illness/addiction. There are many more families like that right here, more than you'd believe, and they're to be found among all classes.<P class=StoryText align=justify>THE ADDICTION OF YOUNG PEOPLE is perhaps the best kept secret in middle-class Jamaica. More often than not, the tragic tale begins with a son, sometimes a daughter, who starts out as a bright, interesting, lovable member of the family. Then, one day, sometimes with very little warning, that child slips from the peak of intellectual achievement, from the place of honour in which he or she has been held, to a state no one could have imagined.<P class=StoryText align=justify>All too soon, the family begins to notice the eccentricities, the loss of interest in personal care, the lying and the subterfuge to get money, even thefts, which the rest of the family try to pretend are not happening. Then come the angry outbursts, the shame of seeing the loved one walking the streets like a homeless person, on the hunt for a turn at the chalice or a fix from "the white lady". The visits to the psychiatrist begin and go on and on. One minute it seems as if the medication and the therapy are working, then all too soon it is back to square one as nuff resistance is put up by the patient against the medication.<P class=StoryText align=justify>Parano
<SPAN class=Subheadline></SPAN></TD></TR><TR><TD>Barbara Gloudon
Friday, January 12, 2007
</TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
<TABLE cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=5 width=80 align=left border=0><TBODY><TR><TD>
</TD></TR><TR><TD><SPAN class=Description>Barbara Gloudon</SPAN></TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE><P class=StoryText align=justify>WHEN THE NEWS BROKE last week that a young man had been stabbed to death by another, in what was said to have been a dispute over ganja, the interest in some quarters seemed to have been more about the so-called "high society" status of the families from which the young men came, than the fact that two more young lives had been lost.<P class=StoryText align=justify>The life of one is no more. The life of the other is neither free nor clear. Whenever and in whatever way the closing chapter of this story is written, nothing will ever be the same for all concerned, especially their families. We're accustomed and inured to the culture of violence occurring in areas of poverty and ignorance. When the monster rears its head in suburbia, where "better class people" live, we react with shock and horror.<P class=StoryText align=justify>The conventions which are in place to ensure a fair trial to any accused limit comments on this or other cases before they are brought to the courts, so we may have to wait a while for all the details of this particular story to emerge. That leaves room for speculation, suss and plain "fass inna people business".<P class=StoryText align=justify>Whatever end of society in which you find yourself, however, there is no guaranteed insulation from pain like this. The glasshouse awaits all of us. Let's mind where we throw our stones. In a culture where parents bear shame for the misdeeds of their children, it is not often that we see a father, especially at the top end of society, speaking out on the sad history of his child.<P class=StoryText align=justify>In last Sunday's Observer, Mr Justice Lennox Campbell, a member of Jamaica's High Court, father of the slain young man, broke the silence and spoke openly of the pain suffered by a family when a child's life falls apart.<P class=StoryText align=justify>In a candid sharing with writer Olivia Leigh Campbell (who deserves commendations for the timing and sensitivity of the interview), he stripped away the cover of grief, pain and puzzlement which is felt by every family who has lost a promising child to mental illness/addiction. There are many more families like that right here, more than you'd believe, and they're to be found among all classes.<P class=StoryText align=justify>THE ADDICTION OF YOUNG PEOPLE is perhaps the best kept secret in middle-class Jamaica. More often than not, the tragic tale begins with a son, sometimes a daughter, who starts out as a bright, interesting, lovable member of the family. Then, one day, sometimes with very little warning, that child slips from the peak of intellectual achievement, from the place of honour in which he or she has been held, to a state no one could have imagined.<P class=StoryText align=justify>All too soon, the family begins to notice the eccentricities, the loss of interest in personal care, the lying and the subterfuge to get money, even thefts, which the rest of the family try to pretend are not happening. Then come the angry outbursts, the shame of seeing the loved one walking the streets like a homeless person, on the hunt for a turn at the chalice or a fix from "the white lady". The visits to the psychiatrist begin and go on and on. One minute it seems as if the medication and the therapy are working, then all too soon it is back to square one as nuff resistance is put up by the patient against the medication.<P class=StoryText align=justify>Parano
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