Saint Lucia’s banana industry had never fully recovered from the effects of strikes orchestrated in 1973 by George Odlum and Peter Josie. When Premier John Compton relieved George Mallet of his agriculture portfolio shortly before the 1974 general elections it was generally assumed Compton, in private life a farmer, had decided to take charge of what was considered the government’s most important ministry. The job went to Ira d’Auvergne who had twice been rejected by the electorate.
Compton then declared 1975 Agriculture Year. This announcement was followed by phatic noises about a revised school curriculum “to encourage a new appreciation of local food.” Thousands of tax dollars were invested in colorful newspaper advertisements, radio discussions and “consciousness raising sessions” with the island’s farmers—as if already they were not painfully aware of the sad state of local agriculture and needed to be advised by city hotshots concerned mainly with keeping the shine on their platform shoes.
Alas, seventeen committees were not sufficient to bring about the highly promoted grand food exhibition that was to have climaxed Agriculture Year. The baby project manager Ira d’Auvergne delivered to “Daddy Compton” was stillborn.
Meanwhile George Odlum and Peter Josie continued to add to the premier’s problems. At the conclusion of a libel suit that centered on allegations Compton had acquired Crown lands for his personal use, Odlum had been ordered by a libel court to pay record damages of $60,000. In retaliation his outraged followers took to jeering at the premier and his wife whenever the showed up in public. On one occasion when Compton proudly reminded members of parliament of his record as a champion of the working class, the packed gallery exploded in a thunder of boos.
It was in this highly combustible atmosphere that Saint Lucia’s premier announced his intention to seek independence from Britain. Almost immediately there was strong opposition from the Labour Party’s radical Odlum-Josie wing. They demanded the premier settle the question of independence via a referendum. Compton refused, sparking protest demonstrations island-wide that more often than not resulted in clashes with the Special Services Unit that served only tear gas and rubber bullets, and on rare occasions the killer variety.
At a conference in London, the House opposition leader Allan Louisy had argued for an indefinite postponement of Compton’s independence ambitions. Plagued by its own socio-economic woes, the British government had ears only for Saint Lucia’s premier. Soon he would be crowing over state-controlled Radio St. Lucia and from the island’s sole TV station that come February 22, 1979 the island would be an independent nation with its own place at the United Nations General Assembly. Free at last! Free at last!
George Odlum issued his own ominous message: “Come Independence Day, Saint Lucia might not be the safest place in the world”—a stunning confirmation for the more conservative that he was behind the bombings that turned many late-night party addicts into early to bed chickens. A visiting British MP was rudely awakened from his hotel bed by an angry mob determined to be heard on the matter of “Compton’s trickery.” The SSU had to be called. Police charges were laid against Odlum. Through all of that Premier Compton prepared for his installation as his country’s first prime minister—even as the powerful Civil Service Association was gearing up for a showdown with the government over a pay dispute.
Many of the island’s schoolteachers had refused to attend classes, on the ground that the government had persistently refused to heed the recommendations of two respected tribunals. The government had instead appointed a committee to “review the issue”—a move that the CSA outright rejected. At a rally in William Peter Boulevard the premier complained that selfless dissidents were holding a gun to his head and demanding what they knew only too well he was in no position to deliver. He said he had absolutely no intention of taking another bank loan to accommodate irresponsible and selfish strikers that wanted him to “take from the have-nots to give to the haves!”
When hecklers raised their volume the premier reminded them they were free to leave the public service. Additionally, if they persisted with their outrageous demands and their protest activities they would soon discover “there are several ways to skin a cat!” He ordered on-strike teachers to return to work the following day or face dismissal—a threat that brought out more teachers in protest.
By February 19 the capital city of Castries was teeming with journalists from Canada, Europe, Japan, the U.K. and the Caribbean region. The BBC’s Martin Bell arrived with his camera crew and fell in love at first sight of George Odlum. Everywhere Odlum went Bell followed with his bulky videocams: Marchand, Soucis, Morne Dudon, all the ghetto areas where the SLP paragon was especially popular. Every explosive syllable that slipped out of the Oxonian Odlum’s mouth was picked up by Bell and company for the purposes of the BBC, replete with supportive rhetoric from intimidating angry snaggle-toothed fish vendors and dreadlocked followers of “Brother George” and Jah.
The London Times had been prescient enough to predict the Labour Party would “pose little threat to Mr. Compton’s government at election time,” thanks to the opposition’s “contradictory and often vague policies,” as if pellucid policies had ever guaranteed election victories in the Caribbean. Or, for that matter, the United Kingdom.
On the morning of February 20, 1979, at the government’s special invitation, some one hundred or so overdressed festive individuals gathered at the West Indies Associated State Secretariat in Castries to celebrate the imminent installation of John Compton as prime minister. The arrival of Princess Alexandra and her husband the next day did not attract hordes of excited flag-waving natives, as in earlier times whenever royalty visited. It is also true to say the anticipated scores of protesters never materialized. The dozen or so half-naked Rastas who showed up carrying anti-Independence placards that proclaimed the wrath of Jah kept well away from the scene of the crime. The following morning a press conference exclusively for visiting press representatives proved chaotic, with Compton doing his best to put out their fiery questions with answers dripping gasoline.
On the evening of February 21, even as the visiting princess was dishing out medals to some of the island’s more appreciated official peacemakers, SSU sharpshooters on the roof of Geest’s nearby banana shed and at other strategic points along Faux-a-Chaud Road guaranteed Queen’s peace was kept. They need not have worried. The ceremony ended shortly after midnight without a shot, save for the blanks fired by a police honor guard. By all Radio St. Lucia’s Margaret Robert-Steele reported, everything had gone strictly in accordance with the plans of Compton’s special committees. For others, however, it was another matter.
The cardboard revolutionaries, whose task it was to prematurely terminate the flag-raising ceremony, were finally too high on Dutch courage to carry out their assignments. Another set of sots managed to knockout several telephone lines in the island’s north when they were supposed to put out the lights at the site of the night’s main event. Radio St. Lucia, their main target, broadcast every little tidbit without disruption. The building that housed Radio Caribbean, also targeted for demolition, suffered no disturbance. Too late the wannabe saboteurs discovered they couldn’t tell an electric pole from a hole in the ground—and knew even less about explosives. Another crew abandoned “the people’s revolution” at first sight of the SSU. They determined it made no sense at all exposing their hides to machine-gun fire while their comrade leader sequestered himself miles from the battlefield with his fat-assed libidinous alibi!
The preceding is a truncated version of an account featured in Foolish Virgins, by Rick Wayne.
This article first appeared in the February 2021 edition of the STAR Monthly Review. Be sure to get your printed copy on newsstands or view it here: https://issuu.com/starbusinessweek/docs/star_monthly_review_february_2021
