TERRENCE HONORÉ

BUDGETS don’t excite me. But there is a reality that causes me to check myself. There is little to cheer about the drawn-out monologue of the budget presentation. It’s a combination of numbers and phrases couched in political clothes. A familiar checkered pattern, in black and white with plenty grey. All fashioned to convince that the money matters of state are secure, and the economic belt-tightening will not let things slip or sag, like the “saga boys” of our days.

But sectarian interest prevails. Each man looking for his morsel. His ears intent on hearing the favoured sound of more money for his domestic pocket and overseas coffers. But it’s all about what the finance man offers. In smiling demeanour, the finance minister delivers the budget…with the whole nation looking on, with avarice dripping from the mouths of some, and the poor man holding out his hand, pitifully. It’s very serious, this budget thing.

Looking like a law lord without his wig and other pompous things, the minister’s muttered words are heard across the land, equally by the “prince and the pauper.” But what does it matter, it’s just another year and somebody must count the money. So bravely, the finance minister spoke on.

But some things don’t add up. Not to the needy lady in the grocery or the ambitious businessman at the bank. The aspiring youth listens with anxiety and the old wise men in resignation, with the entrepreneurs standing by in anticipation. The economies of scale all seem in balance to the man who calls the tune. We are all dancing to a rhythm as a nation, like a road march on a Carnival Monday.

These are turbulent times, and the ship of state cannot be allowed to flounder. But people who live on pittance must continue to make their petitions to “the big banker in the sky.” And the poor child, with a tear in his eye, wonders at the source of his next meal, while others will feel the pain of the passing of a budget that seems like dry bread without butter.

There is an illusion that things are well with the economy; no epidemic of poverty or cancer of corruption to encounter. So, the budget was presented, and some people might even quote the calypsonian Rudder and say it was like “the ranting of a mad man.” Or even “the blissful, hopeful words of a man madly in love with the numbers.” An account’s glee.

We hear the ching ching of the counting, as the piles of million-dollar allocations rise, but we can’t see the growth of the economy. This budget thing is taxing our resolve, with the lingering loss of energy that is draining our ailing economy. There are too many holes in the bucket, as was sung by Mr Henry to his dear wife Liza, in the famous old nursery rhyme. And so much of our inheritance has been squandered.

But the main fixer, the finance minister, tried to put it all together, in the best way he can; there is a plan, but we can’t yet see the whole picture. Some light shone on the words being said, but the rest are to be revealed in time. Soon we will see how well the economy will do against