il semble que la Jamaïque ait finalement trouvé un moyen d’évaluer la performance du gouvernement et d’exiger davantage de ses élus.
Lancé durant le dernier trimestre de 2019, le portail jamaïcain d’#évaluation des responsabilités (JAMP de son acronyme anglais) est un site web révolutionnaire créé pour suivre les actions du gouvernement (dont les abus de pouvoir et les infractions à la loi) en donnant aux citoyens un accès illimité à leurs #représentants_politiques et en les informant sur le fonctionnement de leur #gouvernement.
Construit autour d’un “Account-A-Meter” qui permet aux particuliers, aux organisations de la société civile, aux médias, aux chercheurs (et au gouvernement lui-même via les commissions de contrôle parlementaire) de surveiller les manquements aux politiques publiques ou à la réglementation, le site offre aux visiteurs un accès direct à des agents spécialisés dans la supervision des responsabilités de l’État.
Le site dispose d’autres fonctionnalités utiles : un système de suivi de chaque député qui rapproche ainsi les électeurs de leurs représentants parlementaires et offre la possibilité d’évaluer leur performance ; un outil permettant aux citoyens de suivre en temps réel la progression des projets de loi dans les deux chambres du #Parlement et de communiquer avec leurs #élus.
Créée par Jeanette Calder, JAMP est une société non partisane, non gouvernementale et à but non lucratif qui se consacre à l’amélioration de la gouvernance en Jamaïque. J’ai rencontré Calder à son bureau de Kingston pour discuter – sous l’oreille attentive de son petit chien Baxter – de la manière dont elle espère que le JAMP comblera le fossé entre les responsables politiques et les citoyens. Ce qui est principalement ressorti de notre entretien, c’est que Calder est optimiste et qu’elle espère un changement positif.
Existe-t-il des équivalents de #JAMP au niveau mondial ?
Traduction Citation d’origine
JC : Nous sommes tous connectés. Je pense déjà à la création d’un réseau international. Bien qu’il y ait d’autres organisations de la société civile qui suivent les performances du gouvernement, j’ai cherché mais je n’ai pas encore trouvé d’organisations qui suivent les infractions grâce à un système numérique facile d’utilisation pour citoyens comme nous le faisons. Il existe d’autres organisations de la société civile qui suivent les performances du gouvernement, mais pas de la même manière.
Nous avons trouvé un site web au Mexique, mais le suivi des infractions est assuré par le gouvernement. Je les félicite pour cela, mais il y a une grande différence. Le site n’est pas le plus attrayant qui soit et bien qu’il soit riche en données, celles-ci ne sont pas présentées de manière à être facilement comprises par un visiteur du site. Ça n’a pas de sens d’informer les citoyens et de les laisser se débrouiller par eux-mêmes, il faut être plus explicite et leur indiquer les actions qu’ils peuvent entreprendre.
Battling for survival on the frontier of climate change
When the rains stopped coming two years ago, transforming Denise Reid’s once flourishing banana fields into an expanse of desiccated wasteland, she was bewildered at first.
Here in rural Portland, Jamaica’s wettest parish for as long as anyone can remember, farmers like Mrs Reid are battling for survival on the frontier of climate change.
“I couldn’t understand why it was so dry. We used to have lovely seasons; now everything has changed,” she says.
Evolving weather patterns are making their impact felt across the Caribbean in prolonged droughts, incessant bush fires and worsening storms.
And Jamaica’s reliance on rain-fed farming, with many smallholdings set on mountain slopes prone to landslides, has left the sector particularly vulnerable.
In a nation where one in six working people earns a living from agriculture, the losses are far-reaching and sorely felt.
Now, experts behind a trailblazing venture with innovative technology at its core hope to give islanders the tools to fight back.
A climate-smart project is being implemented and funded by the Netherlands-based Technical Centre for Agricultural and Rural Cooperation (CTA) in three parishes in the east of Jamaica, which is most susceptible to extreme weather.
Working closely with government agencies, the aim is to boost productivity and food security, while improving planters’ resilience and income.
Data is gleaned from weather satellites, combined with local met offices’ predictions and delivered to farmers via sophisticated weather apps. The free apps, downloaded onto smartphones, are capable of forecasting three months ahead.https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/624/cpsprodpb/0888/production/_108748120_78778da3-e072-40ae-93cb-24e46079696f.jpg
Farmers can also sign up for planting tips via text message and early warning alerts for hazards like flash floods and fires.
The work has seen 5,000 farmers across Portland, St Mary and St Thomas digitally profiled for the first time. Storing their personal details, plus information about their farms and produce, onto a national database means they can receive location-specific advice.
Coupled with savvy land management training and the development of drought-resistant seeds by the Jamaican government, farmers are expected to see up to a 40% increase in output within two to three years.
CTA’s senior programme coordinator Oluyede Ajayi, who heads similar work in Mali and Ethiopia, says the weather apps boast an impressive 88% reliability.
Mrs Reid may have lost hope for her beloved bananas but expects to reap thousands of pounds of hardier pineapples this year instead.
“I started with just 17 plants,” she says proudly, surveying the abundance of fruit thriving again at her Belle Castle orchard.
Mulching to retain moisture is just one of the techniques she was taught by attending local farmer forums. The regular gatherings are also used to share information from the apps to growers with limited internet connectivity.
’The river took it’
In neighbouring St Mary, parts of the Pagee River, used for irrigation by farmers for decades, have been bone dry since March.https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/624/cpsprodpb/9D5C/production/_108748204_be9a45d2-654a-4421-90cb-cc6850029821.jpg
Vultures soar above a former coconut plantation destroyed by one of hundreds of fires that have plagued the parish this summer.
Howard White lost his previous farm to intense floods.
“The river came and took it by night,” he recalls with a shudder. “My two feet trembled when I saw that but I knew I had to stay strong and replant.”
It is not just erratic rainfall giving him headaches but crucifying heat too, he continues, wiping his brow.
June was the hottest month ever recorded in Jamaica with temperatures topping 39C.
Still, thanks to the weather apps which tell him precisely how much rain he can expect for the next five days, along with wind direction and speed, temperature and humidity, his new farm higher up the hillside is thriving.
Mr White now plans to extend beyond plantain and coca plants and plant scotch bonnet peppers too.
He has also been taught to create contours in the sloped land, fringed with log barriers to prevent soil erosion.
’Leaps and bounds ahead’
CTA’s involvement has taken government efforts to help farmers to a new dimension, says Dwayne Henry, of Jamaica’s Rural Agricultural Development Authority (RADA).
“We are leaps and bounds ahead of where we were,” he tells the BBC.
“Some of the older folk take longer to warm up to the apps but they get there and are now relying on us to send out the information.”
The user-friendly, interactive design with brief, pithy text helps accommodate all literacy levels, Mr Henry explains.https://ichef.bbci.co.uk/news/624/cpsprodpb/EB7C/production/_108748206_a13e0225-5898-48c8-a520-dbd49f5ce033.jpg
Since the project began in June 2018, it has proved so popular the government now hopes to roll it out nationwide.
CTA’s Bertil Videt hopes the initiative will reap the rewards seen in Africa.
“We’ve seen vast differences in the yields of farmers in Mali using the project, compared to those who did not,” he explains.
Success cannot come soon enough for planters like Elaine Reid who says drought has reduced the size of her onions, slashing the income from her half-acre Belle Castle holding by half.
Her neighbour Kofi Mendes agrees. “We see climate change first-hand; we live it each day,” he says. “It makes me angry, sad, confused. Knowing how to adapt to it is crucial.”
Le reggae fait son entrée au natrimoine culturel de l’Humanité - France 24
Le #reggae, #musique popularisée dans le monde entier par son icône #Bob_Marley, a été inscrit, jeudi 29 novembre, sur la liste du patrimoine culturel immatériel de l’Humanité par un comité spécialisé de l’#Unesco réuni à Port-Louis, capitale de l’Île Maurice.
L’Unesco a souligné « la contribution » de cette musique jamaïcaine à la prise de conscience internationale "sur les questions d’injustice, de résistance, d’amour et d’humanité, et sa dimension à la fois « cérébrale, socio-politique, sensuelle et spirituelle ».
L’Unesco a souligné « la contribution » de cette musique à la prise de conscience internationale « sur les questions d’injustice, de résistance, d’amour et d’humanité »
A glimpse into Jamaica’s soul: the lost photographs of William Melvin Kelley
But Kelley, it turns out, was not just a brilliantly experimental novelist but an accomplished photographer. He died last year, aged 79, and his family are currently cataloguing the several thousand negatives he left behind, many of them documenting everyday life in Jamaica, where he and his family lived for nine years in the 1970s.
Je découvre le mag récent Pan African Music par l’intermédiaire d’un lien de Rocé disant qu’il a participé au dernier album du malien Pédro Kouyaté :
dans lequel il y a aussi Oxmo ou Mamani Keita.
Du coup, je découvre plein de choses en suivant les suggestions et menus… Beaucoup trop de choses à écouter, ça va encore me prendre la journée voire le week-end entier, cloitré dans ma chambre à écouter de la musique… Je suis tombé dans un nouveau puits sans fond.
Sachant que je suis du genre à avoir les larmes aux yeux quand j’entends de la kora :
Et comme ce dernier travaillait avec Habib Faye, le bassiste et arrangeur de Youssou N’dour notamment, qui est mort récemment (je ne connais pas du tout tout ce monde hein, je découvre) :
Habib Faye s’est retiré en laissant un grand vide, et beaucoup d’héritiers
Sans rapport mais dans le menu des trucs récents :
Clip du jour : Fuse ODG – Bra Fie (Come Home) feat. Damian Marley (ping @sinehebdo, pour le clip violence policière un peu, même si le thème principal est le retour en Afrique)
Oui, super porte d’entrée :)
Anthony Joseph : « J’espère créer un pont entre Trinidad et l’Europe »
‘Quebra Cabeça’ : l’afrobeat toujours plus urbain des Brésiliens de Bixiga 70
Criolo, l’enfant conscient de la Zona Sul
Brother Resistance, l’un des héros musicaux d’Anthony Joseph
Qui est Roy Lewis alias Lutalo Masimba, plus connu sous le patronyme très « Black pantherien » de Brother Resistance ? Depuis la fin des années 70 ce spoken artist barbu toaste de sa voix grave « rapso, la voix du peuple, le cœur de la lutte ! », sur fond de steel pan, cet idiophone au son cristallin si typique de son Trinidad-et-Tobago natal.
Full text: First independence speech by Kwame Nkrumah - MyJoyOnline.com
We have awakened. We will not sleep anymore. Today, from now one, there is a new African in the world!
discours intégral jusqu’à 7’25" (pas dans le même ordre que dans le texte ci-dessus) suivi de Kwame Nkrumah, par Blakk Rasta (Ghanéen, faut-il le préciser, puis à 13’45", ?)
Please don’t shoot me, we are one
Bra Fie (Come Home, 2018)
Fuse ODG featuring Damian Marley
Take the shackles off my feet
Make a go, make a go
It’s a battle with the beast
Take your shield, help me go
Come we go and takeover
New Africa, makeover
Let power, has and pray ya lord
Our father help us fight the war
Bra fie ooo, bra fie
Bra fie na y3 tw3n woo
Bra fie ooo, bra fie
Bra fie na y3 tw3n woo
Oh yes, thank you
I’m a human being in Africa
But a black man in America
African in England
Don’t forget where you are from
Ghana down to Suriname
Taken from our motherland
Don’t forget your mother tongue
Please don’t shoot me, we are one
Bra fie ooo, bra fie
Bra fie na y3 tw3n woo
Bra fie ooo, bra fie
Bra fie na y3 tw3n woo
Don’t overlook true wishes, binoculars
And please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten us
Your last children living anonymous
In a very strange land where dem carried us
And it must be a natural phenomenon
How we say can remember where we’re coming from
Even tru the brainwashing curriculum
Up through the ages and milleniums
Last 400 years has been fabulous
We been working as slaves, living ravenous
But to overdo ya stay can be hazardous
Now what I am, figure, thanks for having us
Please make a ya promise o promised land
And welcome me home any time I land
And make I feel like I belong with us
Until that day, no giving up
lol je sais, c’est Ablaye Cissoko qui joue de la kora :) (deuxième lien)
Mais bon c’est la même famille. Super l’interview merci ! (même s’il n’explique pas la différence, menteur, il dit que c’est différent, mais il n’explique pas en quoi précisément :D)
Ah ok pardon, je pensais que tu disais ça par rapport à ce que j’écrivais au départ, avec la phrase en dessous. :)
Bon, pour la peine, là une page où ça explique mieux la différence :
Hélène Lee : « Leonard Howell, le premier Rasta, désirait juste donner une terre aux gens pour pouvoir vivre libre »
Hélène Lee, spécialiste de la #Jamaïque, a enquêté sur le #Pinnacle, un vaste domaine qui accueillit en 1940 des milliers de descendants d’#esclaves africains, à l’origine du mouvement #Rasta. Elle retrace l’histoire de ce lieu et de son fondateur : #Leonard_Percival_Howell.
Pinnacle, le paradis perdu des Rastas
D’Hélène Lee et Bill Howell
Le Pinnacle (1940-1957) fut le creuset du mouvement rasta, le lieu où s’élabora la philosophie et le mode de vie qui allaient inspirer le reggae. Pourtant nous ne savons rien de cette expérience unique, véritable état dans l’État jamaïcain colonial, où plusieurs milliers de descendants d’esclaves africains réapprirent la fierté et l’autosuffisance sous la bannière rouge, jaune et verte de Ras Tafari.
Capitalism and Colonies. Jamaica and Saint-Domingue
Two recent books offer new perspectives on the slave system in the Caribbean, with a particular focus on Saint-Domingue. Their primary purpose – the economic development sustained by slavery – leads the authors to very different conclusions.
Sur FB, une explication du scandale #Windrush.
Ici le lien (à défiler)
#histoire #UK #Angleterre #immigration #travail #travailleurs_étrangers #travailleurs_immigrés #WWII #reconstruction #deuxième_guerre_mondiale #seconde_guerre_mondiale #colonies #colonisation #colonialisme #Jamaïque #Bahamas #Barbade #Îles_Vierges #Grenade #Saint-Christophe-et-Niévès #Trinité-et-Tobago #British_Nationality_Act #Commonwealth #nationalité #naturalisation #citoyenneté #Empire_Windrush #génération_Windrush #multiculturalisme #racisme_ordinaire #racisme #xénophobie #carnaval_de_Notting_Hill #Commonwealth_Immigrants_Act #environnement_hostile #hostile_environment #Theresa_May #sans-papiers #Brexit #renvois #expulsions #deuxième_génération #segundos #secundos #Amber_Rush
’National day of shame’ : #David_Lammy criticises treatment of Windrush generation
Labour MP says situation has come about because of the hostile environment that begun under Theresa May, as he blames a climate of far-right rhetoric. People who came to the UK in the 1950s and 60s are now concerned about whether they have a legal right to remain in the country. The government has admitted that some people from the Windrush generation had been deported in error, as Theresa May appeared to make a U-turn on the issue Some Windrush immigrants wrongly deported, UK admits.
Amber Rudd’s resignation letter in full and the Prime Minister’s response
Amber Rudd has resigned as home secretary amid increasing pressure over the way the Home Office handled immigration policy.
Her resignation came after leaked documents undermined her claims she was unaware of the deportation targets her officers were using.
Downing Street confirmed Theresa May had accepted Ms Rudd’s resignation on Sunday night. She is the fifth cabinet minister to have left their position since the Prime Minister called the snap election in June 2017.
Il grosso scandalo sull’immigrazione nel Regno Unito
I giornali britannici hanno scoperto che alcune politiche – promosse da Theresa May da segretaria agli Interni – hanno colpito persone che erano arrivate regolarmente
#Amber_Rudd, the Windrush scandal and the reluctant Remainer
The Windrush scandal is undoubtedly the scene of a crime, multiple crimes. But which scene and what crime now needs maximum public exposure?
’It’s like a death sentence’ : ex-NHS worker billed £4,388 for treatment
Falling ill on a visit from Jamaica became costly nightmare for #Pauline_Pennant, who had worked in UK for 30 years
Black history is still largely ignored, 70 years after Empire Windrush reached Britain
Now, 70 years and three to four generations later, the legacy of those who arrived on the Windrush and the ships that followed is being rightly remembered – albeit in a way which calls into question how much their presence, sacrifices and contributions are valued in Britain.
Chased into ’self-deportation’: the most disturbing Windrush case so far
As Amelia Gentleman reflects on reporting one of the UK’s worst immigration scandals, she reveals a new and tragic case.
In the summer of 2013, the government launched the peculiarly named Operation Vaken, an initiative that saw vans drive around six London boroughs, carrying billboards that warned: “In the UK illegally? Go home or face arrest.” The billboards were decorated with pictures of handcuffs and the number of recent immigration arrests (“106 arrests last week in your area”). A line at the bottom adopted a softer tone: “We can help you to return home voluntarily without fear of arrest or detention.”
The Conservatives’ 2010 manifesto promise to reduce migration to the tens of thousands had been going badly. It was time for ministers to develop new ways of scaring immigrants into leaving and for the government’s hostile environment policy to get teeth. More than 170,000 people, many of them living in this country legally, began receiving alarming texts, with warnings such as: “Message from the UK Border Agency: you are required to leave the UK as you no longer have the right to remain.”
The hope was that the Home Office could get people to “self-deport”, frightening them into submission. In this, politicians appeared to have popular support: a YouGov poll at the time showed that 47% of the public approved of the “Go home” vans. The same year, Home Office vehicles began to be marked clearly with the words “Immigration Enforcement”, to alert people to the hovering presence of border guards.
Operation Vaken ran for just one month, and its success was limited. A Home Office report later found that only 11 people left the country as a result; it also revealed that, of the 1,561 text messages sent to the government’s tip-off hotline, 1,034 were hoaxes – taking up 17 hours of staff time.
Theresa May’s former adviser Nick Timothy later tried to argue that the vans had been opposed by the prime minister and were only approved while she was on holiday. But others who worked on the project insisted that May had seen the wording on the vans and requested that the language be toughened up. Meanwhile, the Immigration Enforcement vehicles stayed, with their yellow fluorescent stripes and black-and-white checks, a sinister presence circling areas of high migration. Gradually, the broader strategy of intimidation began to pay off. Some people were frightened into leaving.
Guardian Today: the headlines, the analysis, the debate - sent direct to you
In my two years of reporting on what became known as the Windrush scandal, Joycelyn John’s experience was the most disturbing case I came across. Joycelyn arrived in London in 1963 at the age of four, travelling with her mother on a Grenadian passport as a British subject. She went to primary and secondary school in Hammersmith, west London, before working in hotels in the capital – including the Ritz and a Hilton.
Some time around 2009, she lost her Grenadian passport, which contained the crucial stamp giving her indefinite leave to remain. She had trouble getting a new passport, because her mother had married and changed her daughter’s surname from Mitchell to John. Because she never registered the change, there was a discrepancy between Joycelyn’s birth certificate and the name she had used all her adult life. She spent several years attempting to sort out her papers, but by 2014, aged 55, she had been classified as living in Britain illegally. She lost her job and was unable to find new work. For a while, she lived in a homeless hostel, but she lost her bed, because the government does not normally fund places for people classified as illegal immigrants. She spent two years staying with relatives, sleeping on sofas or the floor.
In that time, Joycelyn managed to gather 75 pages of evidence proving that she had spent a lifetime in the UK: bank statements, dentists’ records, medical files, tax records, letters from her primary school, letters from friends and family. But, inexplicably, this was not enough. Every letter she received from the Home Office warned her that she was liable to be deported to Grenada, a country she had left more than 50 years ago. She began to feel nervous about opening the door in case immigration officers were outside.
A Home Office leaflet encouraging people to opt for a voluntary departure, illustrated with cheerful, brightly coloured planes and published about the same time as the “Go Home” vans were launched, said: “We know that many people living in the UK illegally want to go home, but feel scared of approaching the Home Office directly. They may fear being arrested and detained. For those returning voluntarily, there are these key benefits: they avoid being arrested and having to live in detention until a travel document can be obtained; they can leave the UK in a more dignified manner than if their removal is enforced.” This appeal to the desire for a dignified departure was a shrewd tactic; the idea of being forcibly taken away terrified Joycelyn, who saw the leaflets and knew of the vans. “There’s such stigma... I didn’t want to be taken off the plane in handcuffs,” she says. She was getting deeper into debt, borrowing money from a younger brother, and felt it was no longer fair to rely on him.
When the hostile environment policy is working well, it exhausts people into submission. It piles up humiliations, stress and fear until people give up. In November 2016, Joycelyn finally decided that a “voluntary” departure would be easier than trying to survive inside the ever-tightening embrace of Home Office hostility. Officials booked her on a flight on Christmas Day; when she asked if she could spend a last Christmas with her brother and five sisters, staff rebooked her for Boxing Day. She was so desperate that she felt this was the best option. “I felt ground down,” she says. “I lost the will to go on fighting.”
By that point, she estimated she must have attempted a dozen times to explain to Home Office staff – over the phone, in person, in writing – that they had made a mistake. “I don’t think they looked at the letters I wrote. I think they had a quota to fill – they needed to deport people.” She found it hard to understand why the government was prepared to pay for her expensive flight, but not to waive the application fee to regularise her status. A final letter told her: “You are a person who is liable to be detained... You must report with your baggage to Gatwick South Virgin Atlantic Airways check-in desk.” The letter resorted to the favoured Home Office technique of scaring people with capital letters, reminding her that in her last few weeks: “YOU MAY NOT ENTER EMPLOYMENT, PAID OR UNPAID, OR ENGAGE IN ANY BUSINESS OR PROFESSION.” It also informed her that her baggage allowance, after a lifetime in the UK, was 20kg – “and you will be expected to pay for any excess”.
How do you pack for a journey to a country you left as a four-year-old? “I was on autopilot,” Joycelyn recalls. “I was feeling depressed, lonely and suicidal. I wasn’t able to think straight; at times, I was hysterical. I packed the morning I left, very last-minute. I’d been expecting a reprieve. I didn’t take a lot – just jeans and a few T-shirts, a toothbrush, some Colgate, a towel – it didn’t even fill the whole suitcase.” She had £60 to start a new life, given to her by an ex-boyfriend. She had decided not to tell her sisters she was going; she confided only in her brother. “I just didn’t want any fuss.” She didn’t expect she would ever be allowed to return to Britain.
In Grenada, she found everything unfamiliar. She had to scrub her clothes by hand and struggled to cook with the local ingredients. “It’s just a completely different lifestyle. The culture is very different.” She was given no money to set her up and found getting work very difficult. “You’re very vulnerable if you’re a foreigner. There’s no support structure and no one wants to employ you. Once they hear an English accent – forget it. They’re suspicious. They think you must be a criminal if you’ve been deported.”
Joycelyn recounts what happened to her in a very matter-of-fact way, only expressing her opinion about the Home Office’s consistent refusal to listen when I ask her to. But her analysis is succinct: “The way I was treated was disgusting.” I still find it hard to accept that the government threatened her until she felt she had no option but to relocate to an unfamiliar country 4,300 miles away. The outcome – a 57-year-old Londoner, jettisoned to an island off the coast of Venezuela, friendless and without money, trying to make a new life for herself – is as absurd as it is tragic.
In April 2018, the leaders of 52 countries arrived in London for the Commonwealth heads of government meeting. The Mall was decorated with flags; caterers at Buckingham Palace prepared for tea parties and state dinners. In normal times, this summit would have been regarded as a routine diplomatic event, heavy with ceremony and light on substance. But, with Brexit looming, the occasion was seen as an important opportunity to woo the countries on which Britain expected to become increasingly reliant.
A week before the event, however, the 12 Caribbean high commissioners had gathered to ask the British government to adopt a more compassionate approach to people who had arrived in the UK as children and were never formally naturalised. “I am dismayed that people who gave their all to Britain could be discarded so matter-of-factly,” said Guy Hewitt, the Barbados high commissioner. “Seventy years after Windrush, we are again facing a new wave of hostility.”
Hewitt revealed that a formal request to meet May had been declined. The rebuff convinced the Caribbean leaders that the British government had either failed to appreciate the scale and seriousness of what was happening or, worse, was aware, but did not view it as a priority. It smacked of racism.
By then, I had been covering cases such as Joycelyn’s for six months. I had written about Paulette Wilson, a 61-year-old grandmother who had been detained by the Home Office twice and threatened with deportation to Jamaica, a country she had left half a century earlier; about Anthony Bryan, who after 50 years in the UK was wrongly detained for five weeks; and about Sylvester Marshall, who was denied the NHS radiotherapy he needed for prostate cancer and told to pay £54,000 for treatment, despite paying taxes here for decades. Yet no one in the government had seemed concerned.
I contacted Downing Street on 15 April to ask if they could explain the refusal to meet the Caribbean delegation. An official called back to confirm that a meeting had not been set up; there would be other opportunities to meet the prime minister and discuss this “important issue”, she said.
It was a huge mistake. An article about the diplomatic snub went on the Guardian’s front page and the political response was instantaneous. Suddenly, ministers who had shown no interest were falling over themselves to express profound sorrow. The brazen speed of the official turnaround was distasteful to watch. Amber Rudd, then the home secretary, spoke in parliament to express her regret. The Home Office would establish a new team to help people gather evidence of their right to be here, she announced; fees would be waived. The prime minister decided that she did, after all, need to schedule a meeting with her Caribbean colleagues.
There were a number of factors that forced this abrupt shift. The campaigner Patrick Vernon, whose parents emigrated from Jamaica in the 50s, had made a critical connection between the scandal and the upcoming 70th anniversary of the arrival of the Empire Windrush at Tilbury Docks. A fortnight earlier, he had launched a petition that triggered a parliamentary debate, calling for an immigration amnesty for those who had arrived as British subjects between 1948 and 1971. For months, I had been describing these people as “Caribbean-born, retirement-age, long-term British residents”, a clunky categorisation that was hard to put in a headline. But Vernon’s petition succinctly called them the “Windrush generation” – a phrase that evoked the emotional response that people feel towards the pioneers of migration who arrived on that ship. Although it was a bit of a misnomer (those affected were the children of the Windrush generation), that branding became incredibly potent.
After months of very little coverage, the BBC and other media outlets began to report on the issue. On 16 April, the Guardian reprinted the photographs and stories of everyone we had interviewed to date. The accounts were undeniable evidence of profound and widespread human suffering. It unleashed political chaos.
It was exciting to see the turmoil caused by the relentless publication of articles on a subject that no one had previously wanted to think about. Everyone has moments of existential doubt about whether what they do serves a purpose, but, for two weeks last April, the government was held to account and forced to act, demonstrating the enormous power of journalism to trigger change.
At the Guardian’s offices in London, a team of reporters was allocated to interview the huge number of emerging Windrush voices. Politicians were contacted by constituents who had previously been nervous about giving their details to officials; they also belatedly looked through their constituency casebooks to see if there were Windrush people among their immigration caseload; finally, they began to speak up about the huge difficulties individuals were facing as a result of Home Office policy.
Editors put the story on the front page, day after day. Any hope the government might have had of the issue quickly exhausting itself was dashed repeatedly by damaging new revelations. For a while, I was unable to get through my inbox, because there were too many unhappy stories about the government’s cruel, bureaucratic mishandling of cases to be able to read and process. Caroline Bannock, a senior journalist who runs the Guardian’s community team, created a database to collect people’s stories, and made sure that everyone who emailed got an answer, with information on where to go for advice and how to contact the Windrush Taskforce, set up by Rudd.
I found the scale of the misery devastating. One morning, I came into work to find 24 messages on my answerphone from desperate people, each convinced I could help. I wanted to cry at my desk when I opened a letter from the mother of a young woman who had arrived in Britain from Jamaica in 1974, aged one. In 2015, after being classified as an illegal immigrant and sent to Yarl’s Wood detention centre, she had taken an overdose and died. “Without the time she spent in Yarl’s Wood, which we understand was extremely unpleasant, and the threat of deportation, my daughter would be alive today,” she wrote. The government had been aiming to bring down immigration at any cost, she continued. “One of the costs, as far as I am concerned, was my daughter’s life.”
Alongside these upsetting calls and letters, there were many from readers offering financial support to the people we interviewed, and from lawyers offering pro bono assistance. A reader sent a shoebox full of chocolate bars, writing that he wanted to help reporters keep their energy levels up. At a time when the reputation of journalism can feel low, it was rewarding to help demonstrate why independent media organisations are so important.
If the scene at the office was a smooth-running model of professionalism, at home it was chaos. I wrote until 2am and got up at 5am to catch up on reading. I tapped out so many articles over two weeks that my right arm began to ache, making it hard to sleep. My dictaphone overheated from overuse and one of its batteries exploded. I had to retreat entirely from family life, to make sure I poured out every bit of information I had. Shoes went missing, homework was left undone, meals were uncooked. There was an unexpected heatwave and I was aware of the arrival of a plague of ants, flies and fleas (and possibly nits), but there was no time to deal with it.
I am married to Jo Johnson, who at the time was a minister in May’s government. As a news reporter, I have to be politically independent; I let him get on with his job and he doesn’t interfere in mine. Life is busy and mostly we focus on the day-to-day issues that come with having two children. Clearly, there are areas of disagreement, but we try to step around anything too contentious for the sake of family harmony.
But the fact did not go unnoticed. One Sunday morning, Jo had to go on television to defend Rudd, returning home at lunchtime to look after the children so I could talk on the radio about how badly the government had got it wrong. I can see why it looks weird from the outside; that weekend it felt very weird. I had only one brief exchange about the issue with his brother Boris, who was then the foreign secretary, at a noisy family birthday party later in the year. He said: “You really fucked the Commonwealth summit.”
On 25 April, Rudd appeared in front of the home affairs select committee. She told MPs she had been shocked by the Home Office’s treatment of Paulette and others. Not long into the session, Rudd was thrown off course by a question put to her by the committee’s chair, Yvette Cooper. “Targets for removals. When were they set?”
“We don’t have targets for removals,” she replied with easy confidence. It was an answer that ended her career as home secretary.
In an earlier session, Lucy Moreton, the head of the Immigration Service Union, had explained how the Home Office target to bring net migration below 100,000 a year had triggered challenging objectives; each region had a removal target to meet, she said. Rudd’s denial seemed to indicate either that she was incompetent and unaware of how her own department worked, or that she was being dishonest. Moreton later told me that, as Rudd was giving evidence, colleagues were sending her selfies taken in front of their office targets boards.
Rudd was forced back to parliament the next day. This time, she admitted that the Home Office had set local targets, but insisted: “I have never agreed there should be specific removal targets and I would never support a policy that puts targets ahead of people.” But, on 29 April, the Guardian published a private memo from Rudd to May, sent in early 2017, that revealed she had set an “ambitious but deliverable” target for an increase in enforced deportations. Later that evening, she resigned.
When I heard the news, I felt ambivalent; Rudd hadn’t handled the crisis well, but she wasn’t responsible for the mess. She seemed to be resigning on a technicality, rather than admitting she had been negligent and that her department had behaved atrociously on her watch. The Windrush people I spoke to that night told me Rudd’s departure only shifted attention from the person who was really responsible: Theresa May.
Joycelyn John was issued with a plane ticket from Grenada to England in July 2018. “A bit of me was ecstatic, a bit of me was angry that no one had listened to me in the first place,” she told me when we met at her still-bare flat in June this year. She had been rehoused in September, but the flat was outside London, far from her family and empty; council officials didn’t think to provide any furniture. Friends gave her a bed and some chairs, but it was months before she was able to get a fridge.
In late 2018, she received a letter of apology from the then home secretary, Sajid Javid. “People of the Windrush generation who came to Britain from the Commonwealth, as my parents did, have helped make this country what it is today,” he wrote. “The experiences faced by you and others have been completely unacceptable.” The letter made her cry, but not with relief. “I thought: ‘What good is a letter of apology now?’ They ruined my life completely. I came back to nothing. I have had to start rebuilding my life from scratch at the age of 58.”
She still has nightmares that she is back in Grenada. “I can feel the heat, I can smell the food, I can actually taste the fish in the dream – in a good way. But mostly they are bad memories.” The experience has upended her sense of who she is. “Before this I felt British – I just did. I’m the sort of person who would watch every royal wedding on television. I feel less British now. I feel I don’t belong here, and I don’t belong there.”
While a government compensation scheme has been announced, Joycelyn, like most of the Windrush generation, has yet to receive any money. Since the government apologised for its “appalling” treatment, 6,000 people have been given documents confirming their right to live in the UK. Joycelyn is one of them. But, although her right to be here is now official, she hasn’t yet got a passport – because she can’t afford the fee. And she remains frightened. “I’m still looking over my shoulder all the time. I’m a nervous wreck.”
L’homme qui voulait posséder le monde
Dans ce portrait du fondateur du British Museum, collectionneur invétéré, savant curieux de son siècle et propriétaire d’esclaves en Jamaïque, l’historien James Delbourgo met en perspective la montée en puissance de l’Empire britannique.
School history assignment stirs up a storm in Jamaica over how slavery should be taught · Global Voices
illel Academy, a private school in an upscale area of Kingston, was at the centre of a recent debate over a history assignment for Grade 9 students which asked students to create a model for the punishment of a slave.
The wave of online anger began on Facebook, then graduated swiftly to Twitter, where a relatively short-lived but heated discussion began — on history, slavery, race, and class — leaving more questions than answers about how a deeply traumatic period in Jamaica’s history should be taught.
Situations contemporaines de #servitude et d’esclavage
Alexis Martig et Francine Saillant
Présentation. L’esclavage moderne : une question anthropologique ?
Jacques Ivanoff, Supang Chantavanich et Maxime Boutry
Adaptations et résiliences des pratiques esclavagistes en #Thaïlande et en #Birmanie
Formes contemporaines de la servitude pour dette et continuum des formes de travail en #Inde du sud : le cas du système #Palamur
#Domination et servitude dans le #Brésil rural contemporain : le « travail esclave » rural migrant
Jorge Pantaleón et Lucio Castracani
#Travail, morale et dépendance personnelle : les ouvriers agricoles mexicains et guatémaltèques dans les fermes québécoises
Réflexions sur les contours flous des limites entre #travail_domestique et servitude
Servir en ville (post)coloniale. Entre travail non libre et résistances par le bas au #Maroc
Michele A. Johnson
« Mi have to work ». La domesticité des « enfants » en #Jamaïque, 1920-1970
« Nou se pa bèt ! » : repenser l’#exploitation_infantile à partir des perspectives de jeunes migrants d’origine haïtienne qui grandissent en #République_dominicaine
Ambroise Dorino Gabriel
Les sous-entendus de l’Arrêt TC/0168/13 du Tribunal constitutionnel dominicain (note de recherche)
Abdias Nascimento. Esclavage, post-abolition et #émancipation
Une Histoire du premier rasta | Polemix & La Voix Off
L’histoire de Leonard Howell, (1898-1981), fondateur en 1940 de la toute première communauté rasta, racontée par l’historien Cédric Delaunay. Durée : 59 min. Source : Radio Béton
– L’Histoire de Leonard Howell, (1898-1981), fondateur en 1940 de la toute première communauté rasta.
– Racontée par l’historien #Cédric_Delaunay.
– A lire : La bible : « Le premier rasta » d’Hélène Lee.
– A écouter : « Tales of Mozambique » de and the #Mystic_Revelation_Of_RasTafari
’They don’t tell you why’: threatened with removal after 52 years in the UK
#Anthony_Bryan was nearly sent back to Jamaica despite not having been there since he was eight. His status remains precarious – and he’s not the only one
’Hostile environment’: the hardline Home Office policy tearing families apart
Theresa May has relentlessly pledged to make life as difficult as possible for illegal immigrants, but the harsh measures are also wrecking the lives of people who have a right to be here
’I felt like dirt’: disabled Canadian woman told to leave UK after 44 years
Polish war refugee who served in British Army turned down for UK passport
A grandfather who served in the Grenadier Guards and has lived in the UK for 67 years since fleeing the Nazis has been refused a British passport.
Two flights: the deportation game
This is Chris’s story. He is one of a growing number of people being deported from the #UK, even when they have spent most of their lives here. Like so many other deportees, Chris originally moved to Britain as a child. He speaks with a London accent, and the Jamaica of his childhood is a distant memory.
No Tears Left to Cry: Being Deported Is a Distressing Nightmare
On the 7th of September, 2016, 38 men and four women were forcibly removed from the #UK to Jamaica on a private, chartered flight. They were all Jamaican nationals, but for most, Britain is their home. Many moved to the UK as children. Most have British children of their own. Despite that, they were deported, en masse, in secret and at great expense to the British government.
Two flights: the deportation game
This is Chris’s story. He is one of a growing number of people being deported from the UK, even when they have spent most of their lives here. Like so many other deportees, Chris originally moved to Britain as a child. He speaks with a London accent, and the Jamaica of his childhood is a distant memory.
Jamaica at the mercy of climate change
Derrick Douglas and his fellow farmers have great difficulties working in the conditions that climate change forced on them. Like many islands, they will not be able to recover if we exceed the 1°-5° C limit. Fortunately, COP21 negotiations have been a success in this regard. Islands can’t wait.
1 : « Ballets mécaniques »
Des années 1920 aux années 1970, la « musique des bruits » théorisée par les #Futuristes est lentement devenue réalité, notamment via le Ballet mécanique de , la bande originale du film Planète interdite ou le #GRM de #Pierre_Schaeffer. Cette première génération a ouvert la voie aux premiers tubes joués au synthétiseur (Popcorn, Wendy Carlos), fascinés par la conquête de l’espace et la naissance du monde connecté.
2 : « Les hommes robots »
A la fin des années 60, plusieurs œuvres électroniques marquent leur temps, jusqu’à pénétrer la musique de #Pink_Floyd. En parallèle, la allemande, à la recherche d’une transe totale, expérimentent une nouvelle #musique_répétitive et minimale : le travail de #Can ou #Neu ! donnera finalement naissance à #Kraftwerk, qui dessine en quatre albums, de 1974 à 1978, ce que sera la pop électronique des trois décennies suivantes.
3 : « Deux platines et un microphone »
A la fin des années 1960, la #Jamaïque aussi découvre la puissance du studio moderne, où l’on peut désormais manipuler le son avec une nouvelle liberté. En sortiront le et la culture du #soundsystem, qui essaimeront jusqu’à New York. C’est là que cette nouvelle science de l’échantillonnage et de la transformation du son finira par absorber le #funk de #James_Brown pour donner naissance au #hip-hop, tandis qu’en Europe la graine dub créera une lignée qui va de la #jungle au #dubstep.
4 : « Le long ruban de musique »
Loin de son image frivole et purement mercantile, le #disco fut une révolution électronique importante. Il a inventé la discothèque, le DJ tout-puissant et les nuits où la musique ne s’arrête plus. Il s’est aussi transformé, au début des années 80, en une musique plus épurée et mécanique : la . Cette dernière a ensuite donné naissance à une branche majeure de la musique des 30 dernières années, éparpillée entre les tubes de #Madonna ou #Daft_Punk et l’underground des #free_parties des années 90.
5 : « Techno pop, ultra pop »
La dernière ligne droite électronique de la semaine commence par une plongée dans la #pop_synthétique du début des années 80, puis dans le le plus inventif. Deux sons qui ont inspiré des rejetons ombrageux de la house pour inventer une nouvelle musique offerte aux machines : la #techno. Un style froid et acéré qui s’est infiltré jusque dans les disques de #Björk et de #Radiohead, avant de nourrir l’explosion d’une dance music de stade, personnalisée par #David_Guetta ou #Calvin_Harris.
▶ Sister Nancy, « Bam Bam »
Sister Nancy, ou Muma Nancy, de son vrai nom Ophlin Russell-Myers, (née Ophlin Russell, le 2 janvier 1962 à Kingston, Jamaïque) est une chanteuse et DJ de reggae, et plus précisément de dancehall. Elle est mondialement célèbre pour avoir été la première femme DJ et a été décrite comme une « voix féminine dominante pendant plus de deux décennies » sur la scène dancehall.
Musique et Immigration :
On chante ici, on vit ici, on reste ici !
Dror, Siné Hebdo, le 16 décembre 2009
Deux figures de l’immigré dominent le débat public. À droite, celle du travailleur, toléré dans la mesure où il se laisse exploiter. À gauche, celle du damné de la terre, défendu pour ses souffrances. Elles occultent toutes deux un fait pourtant très simple : les immigrés ont une vie et des désirs propres, qui ne se réduisent pas aux lamentations de l’exil. Pour peu qu’on sache l’entendre, une musique en témoigne.
#Discographie sélective :
Poc Li Dente é Tcheu, Mayra Andrade, Cap Vert
Ya Rayah, par Dahmane El Harrachi ou par Rachid Taha, Algérie
Ach Adani, par Dahmane El Harrachi ou par Rachid Taha, Algérie
La carte de résidence, Slimane Azem et Nourredine Meziane, Algérie
Exil (Dayrib), Idir, Algérie
Tout le disque Origines Contrôlées, de Mouss et Hakim
Immigrés/Bitim Rew, Youssou N’Dour, #Sénégal
I Feel Like Going Home, Muddy Waters, U.S.
Come, Let Us Go Back To God, the Soul Stirrers, #U.S.
El Mayoral (Le maître des esclaves), Susana Baca, #Pérou
Africa Unite, Bob Marley, #Jamaïque
A La Sierra De Armenia (Seguiriya), La Niña De Los Peines, Espagne
Naci en Alamo, Remedios Silva Pisa, #Espagne
Imidiwan Winakalin, Tinariwen, Mali
Assouf, Tinariwen, #Mali
Sodade, Cesaria Evora, #Cap_Vert
Sawah (L’errant), Abdel Halim Hafez, #Egypte
Sanarjaou Yaoumann, Fairouz, #Liban
Oran Marseille, Khaled et IAM, Algérie / France
Ou veux-tu que j’aille, Tiken Jah Fakoly et Mouss & Hakim, #Côte_d’Ivoire / Algérie / France
Entre Deux, Sniper, Algérie / France
Manich Mena (Je ne suis pas d’ici), MAP, #Algérie / France
#black_mirror:Saison 2, épisode 9 : Early Reggae, #rude_boys et politricks
Le mot “Reggay” apparaît pour la première fois en 1968 dans un morceau des Maytals, comme une réponse au“Rocksteady” d’Alton Ellis deux ans plus tôt. Le Rocksteady aura été la musique des Rude Boys, ces petites frappes du ghetto dont … Continue reading →
Jamaican farmers face bleak future as EU axes cap on sugar beet production | World news | The Guardian
As ever, however, a flood of bad news is coming. Like most of the bad news this part of the world has ever received, this shift in fortunes has been made in Europe.
From the end of next year a change in EU policy will likely force these cane farmers and hundreds of thousands like them across Jamaica and beyond out of traditional work and into subsistence poverty.
The change is the end to the existing cap on European sugar beet production, which will flood a sugar market already, in anticipation, experiencing historic low prices.
Bob Marley entre deux mondes - par Romain Cruse
Pour Robert Nesta Marley, plus connu sous le surnom de « Bob », l’histoire a commencé ici, il y a 70 ans aujourd’hui. C’était le 6 février 1945, dans une maison humble depuis laquelle on aperçoit à perte de vue une mer de petites collines verdoyantes ondulant sous l’écume légère des nuages bas. Le paysage typique du cœur de la Jamaïque rurale, le « jardin » de l’île.
(photos Romain Philippon)
Je recommande plus que chaudement le livre "bass culture" de Lloyd Bradley.
Bob Marley n’occupe qu’un chapitre ▻http://books.google.fr/books?id=T-LhulMdIJ4C&pg=PA455&hl=fr&source=gbs_toc_r&cad=3#v=onepage&q
"pendant son séjour au sommet l’acteur le plus fameux du reggae n’exerça pratiquement aucune influence sur le développement de la musique à son niveau le plus basique-c’est à dire les studios de Kingstown.
La puissance de Marley était d’ordre spirituelle, source d’inspiration, intelectuelle et socio-politique. I lévoluait en marge de l’histoire du reggae."
Livre extraordinaire d’une ile en lutte contre deux colonialisme économique et politique avec l’Angleterre et culturel avec les Etats Unis. La possibilité d’une playlist...
2 Dans la guerre froide – la révolte et son double
Rock, soul, reggae et autres musiques
“Ça fait longtemps que l’on attendait un livre comme Bass Culture, mais cela en valait la peine. C’est un livre qui prend la musique populaire de cette petite île des Caraïbes et la traite aussi sérieusement et intellectuellement que n’importe quelle forme musicale, mais ne perd jamais de vue l’esprit, la force et la joie qui entrèrent dans sa conception. Un livre qui sait que le reggae est une affaire sérieuse mais n’oublie jamais que vous devez pouvoir danser dessus. La musique reggae a enfin le livre qu’elle mérite.” (Prince Buster)
Avec Bass Culture, Lloyd Bradley livre l’histoire passionnante et passionnée de la musique jamaïcaine, avec ses arrière-plans sociologique, politique, économique et spirituel, depuis les sound-systems des années cinquante en passant par le ska et le rocksteady, jusqu’à l’explosion de Bob Marley et au-delà. Il y analyse l’évolution musicale d’un genre qui, prenant sa source dans le calypso, va acquérir son autonomie et devenir l’une des formes les plus originales et fécondes de la musique populaire contemporaine. Tous les grands protagonistes de cette aventure donnent ici leur témoignage : Prince Buster, Horace Handy, Bunny Lee ; on y croise les figures mythiques de Lee “Scratch" Perry, Peter Tosh, Jimmy Cliff et bien d’autres. Au-delà de la musique, c’est une culture paradoxale qui est ici décrite, aussi bien en Jamaïque qu’en Angleterre, où se mêlent extrême violence (les combats de rue des rude-boys) et profonde spiritualité.
n y apprend aussi que le reggae, que l’on associe facilement à une certaine "cool attitude", a été et reste un véritable chant de lutte de la population noire et des opprimés jamaïcains s’inscrivant dans un contexte mondial de lutte pour la conquête de droits civiques... bref, à chaque page son lot de surprises et de déconstructions d’idées reçues.
Il est dur de synthétiser un ouvrage aussi dense, ’il s’agit là d’une véritable bible de la musique jamaïcaine. "
John Holt is rightly revered as Jamaica’s “finest interpreter of love ballads” but he could just as easily be regarded as one of its finest rock steady singers with The Paragons, one of its foundation vocalists at Studio One, or one of its best ever roots singers through his releases for Channel One in the seventies and Henry ‘Junjo’ Lawes in the eighties…