It Is Confusing

 

 

 

How light is too light

Without being flippant?

How serious is too serious

Without being distant?

 

Margins for error

And demarcating lines

Flummox and bewilder me

Most of the time.

 

It is confusing

To say the very least

And I am yearning as I write

For some relief.

 

He is too serious

And she is too light

And he has an earned doctorate

But not too bright.

 

From education reform

To education transformation

Is there a difference? Please rid me

Of my confusion.

 

 

And those bottom ones

Lodged in the cracks,

Will there be any hope for them

In their lack?

 

There is much talk

And bewitching rhetoric

But re these schools and those schools

Will this actually exit?

 

Fifty percent intake

From within its zone

Sounds amazingly progressive to me

But it’s a contentious bone.

 

How will they be selected

For the high-end schools?

Don’t pretend not to understand-

You are no fool.

 

 

Will HC and QC and

Cawmere and St Michael

Be given by the super powers that be

A clear principle?

 

Or will it be as usual

Dependent on the scores

Thus, the bright ones from the zone

Will have orientation tours?

 

I will not spell it out

You know what I mean,

Sounds like the old pecking order

From what I glean.

 

I still smell a rat

To coin a Bajan saying

But I am desperate for a change;

For change I am praying.

 

 

Will Parkinson and Springer

Get the bright ones too

And pertaining to such schools

Will the MOE alter its view?

 

We need an overhaul

In our education system

And to do this we must aptly identify

Its major problem.

 

 

It boggles my mind

That the MOE knows

But so far in this education reform venture

There is nothing to show.

 

We subtly ignore

Those at the bottom

Except, of course, when they become

A societal problem.

 

That is, on exiting school

And joining the block

And then society’s well-oiled engine

Begins to knock. 

 

Then more is promised

Like a heavy grade oil

And this old elitist, archaic system

Requires more toil.

 

Teachers to work harder

And longer hours

Along with decreasing autonomy

Meaning less power.

 

Power to problem solve

Via critical thought

And to teach clearly defined morals

As they seriously aught.

 

Pushing community

Where each helps the other:

Teacher to teacher; student to student

And an SOS is not a bother.

 

No doubt you would say

But this is admirable

And that’s why it’s confusing to me

That it’s not factual.

 

Too much remains

Just simply written down

And eventually becomes a document

That can’t be found.

 

 

Often stashed away

In some officer’s cabinet

Waiting for that officer or another

To vet.

 

For that proposal to die

A most unnatural death

And at the end of all the long talk,

Only “same-old” is left.

 

 

It is confusing

Most definitely to me

That the more we upgrade our skills

The less we see.

 

One would surely think

With such brilliant minds

We would have been further on

At this particular time.

 

EDUTECH in the nineties

And the following decade

But concerning our underachievers,

To little or no avail.

 

For some it’s comedy

For others it’s tragic

But for some others it’ so confusing

It’s making them sick.

 

So too, for our country

In this subtle malaise

Where the only success for some

Is to consistently fail.

 

This is why it’s confusing

When politicians speak

For what they so oratorically present

Falls at their feet. 

 

 

From a confused writer

That longs for policy clarity

As well as the kind of transparency

Open to public scrutiny.

 

Stewart Russell © September 1, 2025

 

Are We for Real?

 

From where I sit

I do a lot of thinking,

Sometimes not very constructive

But I think we are sinking.

 

Sinking in so many ways

I am amazed

But hoping, hopefully not hopelessly

It is a passing phase.

 

Tremendous reform

Albeit in talking and planning,

Meanwhile, as far as I can see,

Little positive happening.

 

Constitution reform

And social reform,

Add to the mix education reform

And public service reform.

 

Meanwhile what has been built

Is now left to lag

And as usual, only a few

Have so-called reason to brag.

 

Partisan blindness

And mounting narcolepsy

Driven by myriad promises

And abject apathy.

 

A false sense of wellbeing

Amidst the swelling strife

Particularly among the “better off”

In their so-called better life.

 

How long I ask, how long,

Before reform takes some shape?

How much more, I ask,

Can the most vulnerable take?

 

 

Living on promises

Like a car running on fumes,

Petrol long gone from the tank

And no wriggle room.

 

Looking forward to a harvest

With the hope of trickle down

While living in a fairy tale world

Managed by clowns.

 

All schools being equal

Except for the student intake,

Some making it to paradise

Others, just to the gate.

 

Yes, all schools are equal

But some more equal than others

And the equal ones at the bottom

Causing us a bother.

 

If the schools are equal

School children where they live,

Goodness gracious, even I can see this

And my brain is a sieve.

 

A lousy attempt at zoning

And persisting with the same,

Daring to expect a different result-

Tell me, isn’t this insane?

 

 

Pecking order established

From a long time ago

And whose children will go where?

Both you and I know.

 

It bothers me a whole lot

Re our student disbursement

In which some schools are stifled

And others given entitlement.

 

And the measuring rod used

Is a single assessment

Of English and Mathematics

With questionable intent.

 

With similar courses of study

Each school must be competitive

And irrespective of student intake

Must use their initiative.

 

Top order or bottom order

It makes no difference,

They must do competitively well

At the Ministry’s insistence.

 

Those who have it

And those who clearly lack it

Must produce simultaneously

Though some ill equipped.

 

The comparisons are rife

From school to school

But to expect good results from all

Is the folly of a fool.

 

Are we for real

Expecting blood from a stone

And putting plasters on crises

That are full-blown?

 

Are we for real

Regarding the crime scene

Tapping ourselves on the shoulders

Re what should have been?

 

Because what is current

Is not the promise made

And given all the talking and planning

We have blatantly failed.

 

Tackling the problem

At the point of the outcome

But seemingly afraid to touch those

That bring in the guns.

 

Similarly with drugs;

It’s the youngster with the spliff

But drug barons and importers

Hiding in our midst.

 

Anonymous?  I doubt it

But apparently so,

But then again, if you ask me,

Who am I to know?

 

Constitution reform

Promised since Election 2022,

Haven’t been hearing much on this

Have you?

 

Are we for real

Thinking everybody is blind

And cannot see the short change

And that we’re in a bind?

 

Answer me this question

Re the most vulnerable,

Are they in any better a position

Or in more trouble?

 

Come focus with me

On the increasing poverty

Not on the international façade

That is our country.

 

From outside we are a house

Appearing freshly painted

But its occupants with hardships

Are daily acquainted.

 

Are we for real

Believing that plaster is a cure

When after many years of negligence

Maintenance was ignored.

 

It’s like in with the new

And out with the old

But the new is not quite ready

Is the story we are told.

 

So that while we await reform

What we have is dying

And the leadership pontificates

On how hard they are trying.

 

It’s like building a bridge

To be suspended in midair

With absolutely nothing to support it

But this, obviously not clear.

 

 

And the church in all this

Speaks of an apathy

That says Jesus will soon return

Hence, no need to worry.

 

Are we for real

Or is it nothing to you

Dear leaders of our fair land

What the poor are going through?

 

 

 

The T20 World Cup has come

And it is almost gone,

Come Saturday, God willing

It will be game on.

 

In just a few hours

The final will have ended,

A relative few will have benefitted

But most will be offended.

 

A few will be singing

While counting their profits

But the poor and most vulnerable

Will struggle as of habit.

 

We are in this together

Often says the PM

But her challenges are nothing

Like poor people problem.

 

Whence the next meal

The children to send school

And this is not the exception;

This is the rule.

 

Whose children are failing?

Mainly poor people’s,

The wealthy and the better off

Are not so troubled.

 

 

Are we for real?

My question to the elected,

Will you continue towards the future

The present being neglected?

 

Is it nothing to you

All you that pass by

Seemingly unaware and uncaring

When the vulnerable sigh?

Yes, you kings and queens

How about the pawns?

Will the pawns be any better off

After World Cup is gone?

 

After World Cup is Gone

Life will go on

But many will still face the night

Hoping for a dawn.

 

A dawn that is elusive

A dawn repeatedly promised,

A dawn natural to a select few

But to most a myth.

 

Stewart Russell © June 27, 2024