[dropcap]W[/dropcap]e begin our tale in 1982; a tale of machinations, triumph, misadventure and betrayal. A middle-aged Chandel Mol, described in Rick Wayne’s book “It’ll Be Alright In the Morning” as little more than a purposeful political jester, was in that year named leader of the resistance, to which he had devoted so many years. Charged with the responsibility of combatting the supposed evil empire, led by the highly accomplished Compton (who was flanked by his battle-tested lieutenants Mallet and Bousquet) the newly appointed chieftain began laying plans. The battle-weary resistance had been dealt many losses over the prior 15 years, during which time they had also developed a taste for flesh, routinely and publicly cannibalizing each other. The period between ’79 and ’82 was particularly tumultuous. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if the dog which persistently runs after the car is ever successful in its chase, the events of the period in question may be instructive. In ’79, the resistance was finally successful in arresting the reins of rule from Compton and his forces, only to be forced back to the polls three years prematurely. Their undoing was not rooted in dumb misfortune, but rather the frailties of man: blatant power-grabbing, flagrant corruption, and backstabbing.
These were dark days indeed. For a thing that is damaged from without, can, with consolidation and fortitude, be mended over time; however, one damaged from within, is in most cases, forever lost.
A steady hand and sober disposition were called for in this most precarious of times. Chandel Mol was deemed the man for the job.
The plan of this jester turned would-be hero was a simple one, if only for its design: unobtrusively consolidate his battle-weary troops (including the malcontent who defiantly fought under different banners) while exaggerating vulnerability so as to lull the (by all accounts) superior forces of Compton into complacency. All was going swimmingly; at least as far as Chandel mol was concerned. That is until he unwittingly courted disaster. Not by facilitating the installation of the then Gros Islet MP as leader of the resistance, but rather by not continuing to indulge him in his ambitions. Even those who insist that his denial of certain desires of the MP in question was just, and defend him in all that transpired subsequently, must surely admit the folly in introducing someone to the intoxicating effects of new power then denying further fixes. Though the Gros Islet MP was undoubtedly a valued member of the resistance, he also had a politically addictive personality – a claim also made by Compton when the MP defected from his camp for the resistance.
The wages for Cenac’s particular sin was utter ostracization. As he put it, he was “persecuted, tormented, derided, and humiliated”. Yet he soldiered on. Remaining loyal to the resistance. Until in 1987, in what he insisted was in large part an attempt to deny his tormentor further power, he defected to the enemy’s camp. He took what had been, up until then, an impregnable Labour stronghold and handed it to the enemy without so much as a peep to his troops (in Laborie), still reeling from the electoral skirmish of little more than a month earlier.
He was a hero no more. The man who once thought himself “the heart of Labour” was now persona non grata.
A villain only to be referenced for ridicule and scorn.
Fast forward to 2018. A beloved governor general is stepping down after two decades of service and a replacement is needed. In steps our hero turned villain, Chandel Mol — at the request of the PM and with the blessing of Her Majesty the Queen of course— to the chagrin of his many adversaries.
He was referred to as “a man of no merit” by Laborie’s latest favourite son. And called all manner of other names by others. His swearing-in ceremony was boycotted en masse with the boycott being dramatically foreshadowed. It would seem that the pill, which his former comrades were forced to swallow, had in fact remained lodged in their throats, no less bitter than the day it was taken. Perhaps the deimatic display of those who would have preferred Chandel Mol remain under the rock which he had called home for the better part of 25 years, was meant to keep him in check. But he had long become used to the designation forced upon him so many years ago. Like any good heel, he would not go quietly into the sweet oblivion of obscurity. The supposed jester turned villain would have his say.
He made quick work of his preliminary adversaries off the bat, facetiously apologizing for not being adorned in the ornate headwear to which so many Saint Lucians seemed partial – if the many memes were to be believed.
The light work aside, it was time for the main event. He opened with a couple of jabs — anyone with even a basic understanding of pugilism knows the importance of establishing a good stiff jab. “I am no less the governor general of the opposition for being appointed by the government.” Both jabs landing flushly. Highlighting the fact that despite the muss and fuss he is nonetheless their governor general, deftly underscoring that the appointment came at the hands of their political foes. The jabs landed so quickly that if you were not paying close attention you would have missed them. “A governor general is a symbol of unity. . . to bind us together.” Another jab. Imagine Chandel Mol, Julian Hunte, Phillip J. Pierre, Alva Baptiste et al bound together.
“I pray that the Almighty God would enlighten us all with knowledge of right . . . each one of us doing his or her duty justly, with malice towards none and charity for all.” He skillfully pivoted and put up his guard so as to avoid being hurt by clumsy rebuttals of suggested ill will.
“There is one law for all, the law of justice . . . the good of the people is the supreme law.” A well-placed uppercut connects with what could be seen as a veiled validation of his actions 30 years ago.
The impotence of his foe becoming increasingly apparent, he allows himself to be hit by acknowledging the upheaval for which his actions were the catalyst by way of a biblical quote. “I have virtually seen Heaven and Earth pass away before my eyes, yet wilted not.”
Finally, having tired from playing with his prey, he ends it with another uppercut in the exact same spot as the last. “Most importantly, we are forever to bear in mind that where power is given by the people for the benefit and happiness of the nation, there must be the strength to exercise it, and stubbornly too, where necessary.”
8,9,10. The bout ends in an upset. Who would have thought David capable of felling Goliath once more?
