My work part one: Disaster Meetings - in every sense of the word...

So: with my time in Jamaica drawing to a close, how much of an impact have I made on disaster planning in the Parish of St Elizabeth?

Well, that’s a difficult question to answer. My hours in the office have been consistently slow; we finished the five community profiles, but there is still no word from the Social Development Commission on when the remaining four will arrive. As an example of Jamaican work ethic it’s hardly surprising. It is hard to over emphasise just how slow – frustratingly slow – the pace of professional life can be on the island. For Renee, our young, stylish, professional boss, it is frequently a source of near despair. Thus I am leaving with our section of the south coast development plan yet to be completed.

I have been to two disaster meetings during my time here. ‘Disaster meetings’ is an appropriate term to use, as Renee pointed out ironically. The first was with RADA, the Rural Agricultural Development Something-or-other; a group of older-middle-aged farmers with representatives from the police and National Works Agency, discussing how they could lessen the impacts of hurricanes on the agricultural sector. We had been told the meeting started at 10am; when we arrived, the secretary knew nothing about it. After half an hour waiting in an empty room for a non-existent meeting, we were told that the meeting had been rescheduled at 2pm. No one had told our department.

So how will the agricultural sector respond to a disaster? Having attended the meeting, I haven’t a clue. Tasks were passed around the room and re-delegated to other departments and the emergency services, with none of the committee members there seeming to accept any responsibilities.

The second meeting was the actual Disaster Committee of the Parish – the highest authority on disaster response within St Elizabeth, chaired by Renee and involving the Mayor and all councillors. It started 45 minutes late; no aid agencies had turned up (it was soon clear why) and neither did half the councillors. None of the council members seemed to be interested in what was being said: phones were continually going off; private conversations and secret laughter were shared whilst others were talking; and the atmosphere occasionally bordered on the raucous, with shouting, people talking over one another, others not listening, phone calls, and councillors leaving and arriving at will. For the older male councillors, it seemed more of a demonstration in power politics – who could talk the loudest for longest without actually saying anything.

The younger members – Renee, the official from the national disaster committee, and Shane from the Planning Department – were unable to keep the meeting on track, despite their best efforts. The two dominant topics of discussion were “when should our meetings be scheduled?”, eventually settled by the Mayor (having concluded the topic to his satisfaction, he left) and frustration vented at the absence of the Red Cross and other aid organisations. But considering that the meeting lasted only forty minutes, started almost one hour late, and didn’t conclude anything save the timings of monthly meetings, it was clear that there was no need to bother showing up. The only way St Elizabeth can cope with disaster is through the preparedness of the general community, and the resourcefulness and expertise of key people like Renee.