The infrastructure minister announced another "world-class" development zone yesterday, which means someone's cousin got the contract and the concrete will start failing in eighteen months. But I say nothing about the actual decisions being made because we all know where that conversation ends. What frustrates me more is the quieter thing — we have engineers, real ones, who could build this country properly if they were allowed to plan beyond the next election cycle and paid enough to stay. Instead the best ones leave, and the ones who remain learn to smile and submit drawings they know are compromised. My father spent forty years as a postal clerk and still has more dignity than I do some days, because at least he was never asked to pretend the system made sense.
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