The House of Fockers: No Place For Politicians in Bras!

Almost two centuries ago Jean-Baptiste Karr had concluded that a change of heart must accompany experience if there is to be lasting change. This was how he put it in 1849: “The more things change, the more they remain the same.” In his 1905 publication ‘The Life of Reason,’ George Santayana advised that “those who cannot recall the past are doomed to repeat it”—with emphasis on “cannot recall”—not to be confused with temporary memory impairment. It’s one thing to be distracted momentarily and quite another to be altogether incapable of recall. As different as is, say, an absent-minded individual from another afflicted with irreversible mental disabilities.

 So, what about us? Where do we fit in? Is it that most of us are permanently lumbered with the intellect of newborns? Or could it be that more than a few of us profit handsomely from feigned amnesia? Several days after the electorate decided to place the people’s business under new management, I wrote as part of a STAR editorial, the following: “Lucky for the invited school children that they were not returned to the House for the scheduled postprandial session. Maybe they had more pressing school assignments. That, or their protective teachers had sensed the need to spare their impressionable wards the experience of witnessing up close a debate among the nation’s only officially acknowledged “honorable gentlemen.”

The young students did not hear their elected representatives as they tossed at one another several outrageous allegations of fraud, duplicity, abuse of office, marital infidelity, victimization, false pretense, and a variety of threats that may have given Charles Manson cause for pause.    

My editorial appeared in the June 6, 1987 edition of the STAR. Then there was the unforgettable House meeting of January1982 that, but for the official record, some might’ve dismissed as the figment of a horror-story writer’s imagination. It began with the usual appeals to the Almighty, this time led by Fr. Patrick Anthony, followed by ritual New Year wishes from the Speaker. No sooner had his last word been spoken than the leader of the opposition was on his feet, eyes focused on a document in his hands. “I wish I could have reciprocated your good wishes to honorable members,” he said icily, “but whether they come true will depend on the outcome of this meeting.” He referred to a Bill on the Order Paper, entitled “Legislative Council Contracts with Government Disqualification Amendment Ordinance” and inquired whether the government intended to proceed with it. The Speaker assured him the matter would be addressed at the appropriate time.

The opposition leader was still on his feet when another MP stood up, on a point of order. He complained that a colleague to his right was making illegal use of a microphone. This firecracker was soon extinguished by the prime minister. He reminded MPs that House facilities were never intended for the convenience of passersby. In truth, this was something of a volte face on the part of the prime minister. Soon after his St. Lucia Labour Party took office in 1979 the government, prodded by one of its more radical elements, ceremoniously mounted loudspeakers on an outer wall of the parliament building, “so that the ordinary man in the street might stay abreast of government affairs” while basking on wood benches in sunny Constitution Park. Of course, much had changed since 1979; several government ministers had had good reason to change their minds about the true purpose of the loudspeakers.

“We move on,” the Speaker mumbled grumpily, eyes lowered. The leader of the opposition returned to the suspect Bill. “Mr. Speaker,” he growled, “I wish to draw your attention to the earlier offered prayer for the peace and tranquility of this country. I ask you to adjourn this meeting and advise the governor general that a serious constitutional situation has arisen. Nine members of this House have been disqualified from membership, including the prime minister. They withdrew money from the Treasury and failed to account for it within the specified time, one month, thereby contravening the law. And now they want to make legal what clearly is illegal.”

There was a second charge: A government MP had “undeclared interest in a government contract, contrary to Section 32 of the Constitution.”

The last allegation was rewarded with a thunderous roar from the gallery that threatened the ceiling. The unmistakable sound of choreographed chaos. The Speaker announced a short adjournment.

“Is that a motion?” queried the opposition leader. “Can a motion come from the chair?” The Speaker cleared his throat, looked to his right. He said the motion had come from the prime minister. He was barely audible when at 11.00 a.m. he said the House would resume after a thirty-minute recess. What followed was without precedent. Newspaper reporter Willie James was in the press box. His report:

“Odlum pushed back his chair. He ran to an open window overlooking parliament’s car park, inserted his fingers into his coat pocket and drew out a plastic whistle. Evidently, he came prepared. He blew his whistle three times. Four of five men known to have close connections with the whistle blower ran down the steps and exited the building. There was another whistle blast, followed by George Odlum shouting from the window: ‘C’mon! C’mon, C’mon!’

“Several individuals came running up the steps to the door nearest the public gallery. They did not enter, they stood together as if awaiting further instructions. Inside, George Odlum attempted to leap over the horse-shoe table where MPs normally sit. He failed; he was too fat. Then he tried to separate sections of the table. Again, without success. He tried a less athletic approach. His beefy buttocks on the table, he swung his legs over and landed a few feet from a varnished desk with the Mace on it. The sergeant-at-arms was in the process of taking it off its stand. Odlum pulled it away, then tossed it backward, over his head. Somehow it landed in the arms of Mikey Pilgrim, who ran with it to the open window. It seemed he would toss it to the large and boisterous mob below. Instead, he turned around and carefully placed the Mace on the press table, less than a foot from where I was standing. A police officer picked it up and transferred it to the sergeant-at-arms.”

Half an hour later, a clerk of parliament entered the chamber, now in shambles: overturned tables and chairs, broken windows and discarded debris, reminiscent of a scene not long after a hurricane had visited. Conceivably concerned for her own safety, the clerk shyly informed the rioters that the Speaker would not be back. She it was who had announced the day’s second adjournment, this time sine die!

We need revisit 2007, when another revolt was averted, thanks to the generosity of Marcus Nicholas, who sacrificed an annual ministerial salary of some $120,000, exclusive of  entertainment and other allowances, when he volunteered to be deputy Speaker. Earlier, the prime minister’s invitation to the opposition to nominate a candidate had been  rebuffed because, on his own admission, the opposition leader frowned on governments he considered “too large.” He was unimpressed by Marcus Nicholas’ demonstrated generosity. There was no other way for the prime minister to extricate himself from his situation, he said. As for Nicholas, he told reporters, “I did what needed to be done. I always put country first.”

It remains conjectural whether Nicholas was of the same mind when he addressed to the governor general the following: “In accordance with Section 60-2 of the Constitution, I signed a letter giving my support to the Honorable Stephenson King to serve as Prime Minister following the death of Sir John Compton. I now take this opportunity through this letter, to withdraw my support for Honorable Stephenson King and to remain an independent member of the House. I shall inform you in due course whom I am prepared to support as Prime Minister. Lest there be any misunderstanding, I repeat: I have withdrawn my support for Honorable Stephenson King as Prime Minister.” He also notified the governor general under separate cover of his resignation as deputy Speaker. The letter was copied to the House Speaker. The date: 17 May 2008. The Speaker was Sarah Flood-Beaubrun, who was replaced that same year by Rosemarie Husbands-Mathurin—upon her resignation to take a position at the United Nations.

Suffice it to say Speaker Mathurin regularly found herself up against a wall of opposition protests based on what members insisted was her unlawful convening of House meetings. They leaned for support on their own interpretation of Section 36 of the Saint Lucia Constitution, which speaks of parliament collectively electing, “as soon as convenient,” a member of the House whenever the office of deputy Speaker became vacant.

As had been his position in an earlier time, the opposition leader Kenny Anthony insisted in vain that the candidate be an MP from the government’s side. The matter came to a head shortly before the 2011 elections, reminding many of the 1982 debacle. The opposition finally stormed out, hurling as they went, all kinds of disparaging remarks at the Speaker’s chair and at seated and grinning government MPs. As he headed for the exit back of the Speaker’s throne, his clenched right hand pumping the air, Anthony fired his final salvo: “Criminals! Money launderers! Renegades.” The Speaker might just as well have stayed in bed that morning!

Which takes us to a recent House sitting that was unremarkable save for how one of the honorable gentlemen seemed to address a fellow MP. He later implied that his live address was somehow hacked to   create the false impression he, of all people, had engaged in gutter talk during a House debate. For three whole days suitably sensitive citizens had anonymously called accommodating electronic media outlets to say parliament had sunk to an all-time low, that they “and the world at large” were blown over by the way a popular MP had ended his House address. They were especially concerned about the impact on his impressionable monkey-see-monkey-do younger followers.

As for me, and considering our parliament’s earlier recalled recent history, I think they and “the world at large” over-reacted. As Nora Ephron delicately stated at the end of her legendary Esquire essay—A Few Words About Breasts—“I think they’re all full of shit!” Which loaded words had nothing to do with what you’re thinking, dear reader. At any rate, not directly.

Besides, in these unprecedented times of miracles and wonder, when truth is whatever your favorite echo chamber says is true, I choose to believe the speaker of the disavowed shocking words may have been thinking, at the end of his House performance, about a certain PG-rated movie starring Ben Stiller, Robert DeNiro and Owen Wilson. In the popular flick named Little Fockers, Stiller is the little Focker. Greg Focker. Also known as Gaylord Focker!   

To paraphrase an earlier mentioned French critic: The more things change on this Rock of Sages, the worse we get. Obviously Helen is in dire need of a new heart!