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| Sheldon Peart |
In my very first post, I mentioned the names of some Councillors I worked with at St Mary Parish Council-- Councillors who I admired, notwithstanding our strong differences sometimes.
Since then, for the most part, I have tried to keep my characters anonymous.
This week, however, I'm going to remove the cloak of secrecy from one of the politicians I've worked with.
I was transferred to St Mary Parish Council in 1990 and in my first Council meeting I was surprised that of thirteen Councillors, only one was from the opposition party. I didn't find it unique, however, since there was a similar situation in the eighties during my second sojourn in the parish.
At that first Council meeting, I observed that the opposition councillor asked numerous questions which I thought were misplaced and should be discussed in the Finance Committee. Hinting this to the Chairman, I was flabbergasted at his response that the Finance Committee was comprised of the twelve government Councillors only. The lone opposition voice was denied access to that committee. How could this be possible when knowledge of the finances of the Council was crucial to every councillor? The answer came many years later, having grown accustomed to political victimization and being convinced that politics and morality didn't always travel on the same street.
The words vibrant, intelligent, militant, witty and mischievous were the ones I thought of when I listened to the opposition councillor. Those very words aptly coloured him up to the time I retired from the service many years later.
So why did I admire this politician? Was he unlike the others who were, for the most part, pain in the neck, as well as in other parts? Certainly not. He was a political animal and he knew when and how to turn up the heat.
But here's why?
He was ambitious and didn't sit around waiting on a chance to propel him to the top. I remember him coming to my office just to talk. ( I think his spirit took me as much as mine took him) But he used to annoy me by asking a multitude of questions."Why do you do this?" "Why not another way?" "What would happen if you did it the other way?" Frustrated one day, I asked him if he had dreams of becoming the Secretary/Manager. If I have helped him in any way, it was because of the answer he gave me.
He said," No Busha, not your position, Mayor and Chairman of the Council."
I pulled back my chair and looked directly at him, wondering if I would have the pleasure of seeing this youngster elevated to that position and sitting beside me in a Council meeting.
I picked up two volumes of The Laws of Jamaica and gave them to him.
"Go prepare yourself,” I said to him. “Read the Parish Council Act and the Parochial Roads Act, then, every day when you have time, take another volume and continue reading "
He was as obedient as the little boy Samuel of biblical fame.
But that didn't help me. His new knowledge, which he flaunted in the Council meetings, especially when it suited the opposition stance he was advocating, was attributed to me…I was accused of being sympathetic to the opposition party, coaching him and supplying him with high-powered ammunition to fight them. It didn't bother me, though his continued presence in my office made people uncomfortable.
Fast forward a few years. There was a boisterous altercation in a Council meeting between this youngster and the then Mayor, and being two of a kind, none would relent.
"All this foolishness done when I become the next Mayor," the young politician blurted. And I joined in the laughter.
"You'll never live long enough to sit in this chair," replied the Mayor.
"Stay alive and you'll see," was his bumptious reply, without blinking.
Like Mary, I kept his words in my mind... wondering if and when. And this wasn't because I particularly wanted his party to win. I couldn't care less. They were all the same... It was more like a teacher seeing the tremendous potential in a student and wanting to see him excel.
So years later, came the Local Government elections. I wasn't excited, as my only secret wish didn't seem possible. I went to bed early. The results were of no real interest to me. They would start off nice and cooperative only to resort to the viciousness, oftentimes unwarranted.
My bedside phone rang about 9:00 pm and a sarcastic voice said, "You must be happy now that your party win and your boy going to be Mayor."
Still groggy, I said to the MP, "My party always win. It is SHP... I was sleeping. What are you talking about?"
"Sleeping? Thought you'd be chairing for your friend. They got a landslide victory."
"Good for them... Good night."
But I didn't go back to sleep. I was nervous. Would this young, bright politician who I had armed with so much information become Mayor and turn around to sting me? Would the political killer instinct in him rise to the fore?
At the swearing-in ceremony, I was heartened when I heard him sounding unlike a politician and more like a student I would have taught had I been his teacher.
He said, "I'm not here to be liked, though I would be happy if you like me. I'm here to be fair and just and to do what is right, not what is popular... even if it makes me unpopular.”
The right tone, I told myself. But he certainly wouldn't last.
I sat and reflected on the Council meeting several months before and looked at the outgoing Mayor seated around the horseshoe meeting table. His words rang out in my ears..."You'll never live long enough to sit in this chair."
If my memory serves me right, he was the only opposition Councillor after that election.
How quickly fortunes can change in politics!
Though the young Mayor was stubborn at times, pissed me off a few times and uttered choice but useless words when he couldn't have his way, we enjoyed a fairly good relationship.
He listened to my advice and took them... most times. I particularly liked that he trusted me to edit his letters and memoranda because I would temper his sometimes impulsive reaction. He was upfront with me if he thought the matter he intended to introduce was one that I would oppose vociferously. "Busha, this is raw politics," he would say,."See if this can work."
And most times it couldn't fit within the regulations.
But we had our battles, few though they may have been. He was a good politician and I learnt much about the inner workings of political parties. He knew every nook and cranny of his division, and called everyone by their names, albeit sometimes aliases.
We attended a funeral one Sunday and he had two others to attend the same day. When he arrived, I asked him how he was going to work out his three funerals. He smiled and said, " Watch me."
And I did just that. Pushing through the crowd at the door, he walked up the middle aisle, waving and nodding to people. The speaker, recognizing his presence, looked around to find a seat for him. But the Mayor bowed and said he was fine. Two minutes later, he waved to me and sped off to another funeral.
That's a politician for you.
Two of his initiatives will live with me. He was concerned about the number of illiterate people in his division and thought of a unique way to entice them to join the JAMAL classes he had arranged in a church building.
"How did you get them to attend?" I asked him.
"Easy. I told them to tell anyone who was curious and those who may want to laugh at them, that they were going to Bible study."
It worked wonders!
I won't ever forget his concern that there was no tertiary institution in the parish and convinced me to drive him in my new vehicle to discuss with the Principal of Moneague College the possibility of starting a campus in Port Maria. The rest is history. I don't know if the campus is still in the parish.
Mischievous as the often acclaimed ‘Big Boy’, Bobby Montague was still up to his old tricks, earning the ire of his opposition counterparts years ago when he introduced them to his obeah man uncle.
I used to wonder about the novel ideas he came up with, seemingly out of the blue. He wasn't an ardent Christian, so you work out the rest.
Continue to do well, my boy!
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