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29th
May 2010
Indian
smoke signals
(First published
in 1994)
 Another
“Tobacco Awareness Month”
has gone by, and perhaps in other countries
too, either at this time or another, cancer
societies are leading the way in a gallant
effort to impart information about the
dangers of smoking, etc.
But tell me something, how many of us
were aware of “Tobacco Awareness
Month”? How many addicts kicked
the habit? I have a few friends who smoke,
and to my knowledge, none of them even
noticed that a drive was on to try to
persuade them to stop smoking.
During the month of May, we observed Labour
Day….sure; Mother’s Day…oh
yes; May Day Music Festival…we were
there; St. Lucia Jazz Festival…don’t
ask. Who remembered “Tobacco Awareness”?
Maybe there were just too many things
going on in May. Let’s do it again
next year and choose a quieter month---if
we can find one.
History contends that Sir Walter Raleigh,
upon visiting the New World, learnt the
“art” of smoking from the
Indians and took it back to the then civilized
world, whereupon it became fashionable.
The habit has stuck with us to this day.
History also makes it evident that the
“civilized” folk gave the
Indians a raw deal (gross understatement),
and took them for all they were worth.
Well I can’t help feeling that somewhere,
lying in his bed at night, some Indian
chuckles quietly to himself when he thinks
of what his people gave back to the oppressors
who had treated them so badly. Revenge
is sweet!
Of course, breaking the habit is not impossible.
I did it. I was taught how to smoke by
some friends in the seaside village of
Canaries, where my mother was born, and
where I used to spend my school vacation.
I was thirteen years old. After I passed
the thirty-year milestone, I tried twice
to stop, using the route of the New Year
resolutions, but unsuccessfully. I actually
stopped once for seven months, and once
for six. And then, on the fourth of April,
in the year that I was thirty-three years
old, a friend derided me and dared me
to stop. I crushed the butt which I was
grasping between my fingers at the time,
and that was it. I’ve never looked
back. To this day, I cannot understand
it, but I swear that I have never had
the urge to recommence. There were no
withdrawal symptoms; it’s been like
a miracle.
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Today,
I look upon the fourth of April as a more significant
date than even my birthday. For me, it was Liberation
Day. My rebirth. Easter, Carnival and Christmas,
all rolled into one.
So you see, if I can do it, you can, if you
want to. Just don’t let the habit overpower
you. Put it in its place. It’s no big
thing, just stop, that’s all. Think about
it this way: in a little cardboard box, there’s
a small rolled white stick, which beckons you
at will and commands you to light up and ingest
a quantity of foul smelling and foul tasting
cancer-causing smoke into your body; and you,
God’s Greatest Creation, with dominion
over everything on the earth, have no choice
but to obey, no will of your own to resist,
even if you want to? Ridiculous, isn’t
it? You deliberately go looking for lung cancer,
emphysema, bronchitis or at the very least that
hacking smoker’s cough.
Madness, sheer madness.
Hey, Whoa! I look back at what I’ve written
and realize that from paragraph four onwards,
I seem to be preaching; taking a holier-than-thou
attitude; blowing my trumpet; pontificating?
Sorry, didn’t mean to. I just got carried
away. You know what they say: there’s
no greater missionary than the converted (or
words to that effect). So please forgive me.
And to those smoking friends of mine who find
the above boring and a nuisance, never mind
me. Ignore me and just keep on smoking. Someone’s
got to fork out the tax monies that the Government
imposes on each packet of Cigarettes. If we
all stopped smoking, they would need to replace
that lost revenue from some other source, and
it would probably come from my pocket. As the
ad says, “Somebody’s gonna have
to pay”. And it may as well be you. So
maybe I should be thanking you for the savings
that I’m making.
Oh! Just one more thing that I’m happy
about. I never did like the feeling that when
that old Indian was chuckling in his bed at
night, I was the one he was laughing at.
Discuss
Story
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