JAMAICA | An Obscenity: Holness' bloated $676-Million dollar, 28 member Executive

A Nation of Three Million Shoulders a Government Fit for Fifty Million—Chosen by Almost No One

The data don't lie, even when it has now become fashionable for some politicians to do. Jamaica's newly formed cabinet represents one of the most grotesque examples of governmental bloat in the democratic world, and Patrick Beckford's scathing analysis has ripped away the thin veneer of respectability that cloaks this political excess. 

But the mathematics of this scandal runs deeper than cabinet appointments—they expose a government claiming a mandate from a ghost electorate.

Consider this: Only 39% of eligible electors bothered to cast votes on September 3, and that's from a voters list so bloated and unclean it likely includes the dead, the departed, and the disinterested from years past. 

When you calculate that the governing party likely secured roughly half of that 39%, we're confronting a stark reality—this government, with its 15 cabinet members 12 Ministers of State and 1 Parliamentary with its JMD 676 million salary bill, was effectively chosen by fewer than 20% of eligible Jamaicans.

Of note, this salary bill does not include perquisites that are attached to these positions to include housing allowances, Motor vehicle allownces, foreign travel and special allowances.

The Legitimacy Vacuum

This democratic deficit becomes even more alarming when coupled with the PNP's Paul Buchanan's explosive application to void the Prime Minister's own constituency victory. 

His filing with the Constituted Authority doesn't merely challenge electoral results—it alleges systemic fraud that transforms Jamaica's democracy into theater. 

Ballot boxes that mysteriously took four hours to reach counting centers, JLP operatives allegedly invading polling stations, systematic voter suppression through violence, and electronic systems that conveniently failed when citizens attempted to vote—these aren't irregularities; they're evidence of potential electoral theft.

Against this backdrop of a 61% abstention rate and serious fraud allegations, the government's decision to appoint 28 Executive members reads less like administrative planning and more like looting. 

As Beckford meticulously documents, Britain manages 68 million citizens with 20 cabinet members. Singapore, with twice Jamaica's population, maintains the same modest number. Yet Jamaica, with the electoral participation of a village and the cabinet size of a major nation, claims democratic legitimacy.

Governance by the Few, Paid for by All

Former PNP cabinet minister Aloun Ndombe-Assamba's revelation about the financial hemorrhaging—JMD 676,017,293 in total salary packages—takes on new meaning when contextualized against voter turnout.

Every Jamaican, including the 61% who didn't vote (whether from disgust, disenfranchisement, or the bloated list's inaccuracies), must now fund this executive excess.

The breakdown remains staggering: the Prime Minister's JMD 28.6 million, fifteen cabinet ministers at JMD 22.8 million each, thirteen ministers of state extracting JMD 18.3 million annually.

But here's the truly perverse mathematics: with only 39% turnout and the governing party's marginal victory, each actual JLP voter effectively bought themselves a fraction of a cabinet minister. It's the world's most expensive electoral purchase—a government by the few, for the few, paid for by everyone.

The Parliamentary Pantomime

Beckford's exposure of the parliamentary arithmetic becomes even more absurd in this context. Of the governing party's 35 seats, 31 MPs now hold executive positions—an 86% absorption rate.

This means a government potentially elected by less than 20% of eligible voters has neutralized parliamentary oversight by turning almost every government MP into a paid executive.

Only five backbenchers remain: Malahoo, James, Warmy, Duane, and Andrew Morris—five voices to represent the checks and balances for three million people.

Four Hours to Steal a Mandate

Buchanan's specific allegations about those four-hour ballot box journeys gain profound significance when viewed against the 61% who didn't vote. Were these phantom hours used to manufacture the votes that the real electorate refused to provide?

When electronic voting systems "conveniently" failed, were they compensating for an electorate that had already failed to show confidence in the system?

The PNP General Secretary's data—that the opposition gained 97,000 more votes than in 2020 while the JLP added merely 5,000—suggests that even among the minority who voted, enthusiasm for the government was negligible.

Yet this government, with its tissue-thin mandate from a minority of a minority, awards itself one of the world's most bloated cabinets relative to population.

The Price of Apathy Meets the Cost of Corruption

Beckford's diagnosis of public apathy takes on tragic proportions when 61% of eligible voters stay home. But can we blame them? When voters lists aren't cleaned for years, when ballot boxes take mysterious four-hour journeys, when electronic systems fail selectively, apathy becomes a rational response to a system that appears irredeemably corrupt.

The silence from civil society that Beckford lambasts isn't just about the cabinet appointments—it's about an entire democratic apparatus in collapse. These "convenient loud mouths" remain quiet while less than 40% of an inflated voters list determines who controls JMD 676 million in annual salaries and billions more in national resources.

The Reckoning of the 20%

The convergence of these crises—minimal voter turnout, alleged electoral fraud, governmental bloat, and fiscal hemorrhaging—exposes a Jamaican state that has divorced itself from democratic legitimacy.

When roughly 20% of eligible voters can install a government that then rewards itself with 28 Executive positions, democracy hasn't just failed; it's been perverted into oligarchy with electoral decoration.

Beckford's proposed constitutional reform now seems almost inadequate. How do you reform a system where the majority has already voted with their feet by staying home? How do you challenge a bloated cabinet when the very electoral process that created it faces credible allegations of fraud?

How do you demand accountability from a government that potentially owes its existence to four-hour ballot box journeys and conveniently failing electronic systems?

The Ultimate Obscenity

This isn't just "obscenity against the people," as Beckford charges—it's an obscenity perpetrated by possibly 20% of the people against the other 80%. The JMD 676 million cabinet price tag represents more than waste; it's taxation without representation on a scale that would make colonial powers blush.

As Buchanan's legal challenge proceeds, Jamaica faces an existential question: Is this still a democracy when 61% don't participate, when those who do vote face alleged suppression and manipulation, and when the "winners" immediately create one of the world's most bloated governments relative to population?

The answer lies not in the courts alone but in whether the 61% who stayed home can be roused to reclaim their democracy—or whether Jamaica will remain governed by the few, for the few, at the expense of all.

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