Was treachery at the heart of the no-confidence vote that sank the SLP in 1982?

[dropcap]T[/dropcap]he 1981 Budget debate had all the ingredients of a Hollywood soap opera: intrigue, unimaginable deception, double dealing, criminal accusations, unintended comedy—not to say the ever-present possibility of parliamentary fisticuffs. Then there was the question of Peter Josie’s loyalty. Long before he became an MP, he and George Odlum were like Siamese twins inseparably conjoined at their hearts. Lately, however, things had changed. More and more, Josie was reconsidering his relationship with the increasingly chameleonic Odlum. At the height of the factional dispute between Prime Minister Allan Louisy and his deputy George Odlum, while Josie was enjoying an extended vacation in New York, he received word that Odlum had decided to play by Louisy’s rules. Upon returning home, Josie told inquiring reporters how he felt about Odlum’s publicized change of heart and his declared readiness to work “with any Cabinet that emerges in the future.”

Josie had been Odlum’s chief campaigner for the office occupied by Allan Louisy. He had written to his prime minister a two-page letter and, in terms many considered demeaning, cautioned him to keep his promise and step down in favor of “an obviously more talented Odlum.” No surprise that Josie was extremely disappointed by his friend’s latest decision. He said he considered Odlum’s most recent volte-face sickening proof that he was merely spouting hot air when he talked about certain principles that prevented him from sitting in Cabinet with corrupt individuals. Nevertheless, with Budget Day around the corner, Josie sat down with Odlum, perchance to reconcile their differences and consider the political possibilities still open to them. From Odlum’s perspective, the Budget debate represented the perfect opportunity to force Louisy to stand down as prime minister. Yes, he was back to his original position.

He cited Section 55 (4b) of the Constitution Order: “If a Resolution of no Confidence in the government is passed by the House and the prime minister does not within three days resign or advise a dissolution, the governor general, acting in his own deliberate judgment, may dissolve parliament.” In which event fresh general elections would follow. Risky business. On the other hand there was Section 55 (2b): “In the exercise of his powers to dissolve parliament the governor general shall act in accordance with the advice of the prime minister: provided that if the prime minister advises a dissolution and the governor general, acting in his own deliberate judgment, considers that the government of Saint Lucia can be carried on without a dissolution and that a dissolution would not be in the interest of Saint Lucia, he may, acting in his own deliberate judgment, refuse to dissolve parliament.” In which case the MP that commands the most support in the House will be sworn in as prime minister—without an election and its attendant risks.

Odlum fully expected the five opposition UWP parliamentarians to support a Motion of No Confidence against the government. They had nothing to lose. But even with the cooperation of his own 3-man faction, the combined numbers in the House would still not be sufficient to unseat Louisy—who could safely count on the support of at least seven Labour MPs. Peter Josie’s vote was, therefore, absolutely crucial. Somehow, Odlum would have to reel in his old buddy. No easy task, considering Odlum’s private suspicion that Josie—encouraged by the CIA—had cut his own lucrative deal with Allan Louisy. As if to make matters worse, shortly before leaving home for the House on the final day of the debate, Odlum took a call from eminence grise Victor Fadelin that confirmed a nagging fear: in the best interests of the government, Josie had decided to play it safe and cast his vote for Louisy, despite an earlier contrary promise to Odlum.   

For a full hour on the morning of 14 April 1981, George Odlum, the Minister for Trade, Tourism and Foreign Affairs, addressed not so much the provisions as the author of what he referred to as a “bikini budget that reveals what is suggestive but conceals what is vital.” (He took full credit for Professor Aaron Levenstein’s original line about statistics.) Odlum was of the view that Allan Louisy lacked the will to implement his own Budget, and cited several examples of what he described as the prime minister’s effeteness. He also offered a hint of what it was like being a member of a divided government, with the right hand not knowing what the left was doing. The local tourism industry had come close to losing the vital services of a particular airline, Odlum revealed, largely because the prime minister, mindlessly pulling rank, insisted on dragging his feet. Bypassing his indecisive leader, Odlum said, he grabbed the bull by the horns and gave the airline the sought after official assurances. It took another two weeks before the full Cabinet entered the picture and agreed to accommodate the airline. Only then did it come to light that single-handedly he had saved the day by doing on time what needed to be done, regardless of the possible consequences to his career.   

Considering how often he had criticized the Compton administration for its square pegs in round holes, he said, how ironic that he should now find himself a member of another government comprising even more square pegs in the roundest of holes. “What is it about these government benches that once we sit on them we fall into the quicksand of corruption?” he asked, eyes fixed on the Speaker. He had been working for some ten years, he said, on a secret project: from his earliest days with the Forum he had tried to recruit a small nucleus of principled men who were at one on “certain fundamental issues concerning this country, its conduct, its economy, its social and political life . . . a body of brothers that Saint Lucia would be proud of.”

While listening to the contributors to the previous day’s debate, it had occurred to him that a blind man would have had no trouble identifying those who spoke with commitment. “When you hear the Honorable Minister for Agriculture describing his purpose, the functions and operations of his ministry,” he said, “when you consider the organized, analytical way he tackles his tasks, then you know the value of the period of his apprenticeship.” Their relationship from the late 1960s had always been peculiar, he said. They were like brothers in search of truth and principle.

He taught his brother what he knew and his brother brought him back to relating with their country’s farmers and workers. His academic experience had taken him away from that. His brother lived off him and he lived off his brother. They gave to each other equally.

Sometimes their relationship resembled that of teacher and student. Josie was always far more in touch with “the masses and the people.” Odlum’s own generous gift to his brother in search of truth was “the educational stimulus, the organizational material that makes him the formidable politician he is today.” Undeniably, they had come a long way together.

As Odlum surveyed the parliamentary chamber, he saw men “with whom we might’ve worked in a combined effort to create a cadre above public ridicule, above the tentacles of corruption; men shining with ideals, standing above the materialism that seems to dominate our thinking.” Also among the assembled were “some we attempted to bring into this cadre, into this orbit.” They fell by the wayside, said Odlum, his voice cracking.

He recalled the movement that died shortly after taking its first steps. By his calculated diagnosis, “political tentacles choked the life out of SLAM.” Its few survivors had little choice but to move into the “bosom of the Labour Party, the natural habitat for thinking that is rooted in the development of the ordinary man,” in the best interests of the principles of “an emerging working-class consciousness.” Within the Labour Party, they started their creative work. They took a party that was “in the wilderness, drifting and rudderless, without leadership, and by sheer hard work and sacrifice remade it into a viable political machine.” They started from the bottom, “at the grassroots level.” They worked with the unions, brought to the nation’s black people “a new feeling of dignity.” And for that they were “berated, derided as black-power advocates and racist,” never mind that their detractors knew the opposite was true.

Despite all of that, said Odlum, he and his political brother Peter Josie shouldered their burdens. They often reminded each other that it was up to them to do “the dirty work of increasing the consciousness of the people”—teaching them that the black man had to pull himself up by his boot straps if he hoped to achieve success. It was a bad time for a people whose history had created in them “a murderous inferiority complex.” With his brother Josie he took them from “a quagmire of hopelessness and imbued them with a new vision that was taken into the Saint Lucia Labour Party,” Odlum said. They explained to the party the true meaning of social consciousness. It meant taking “responsibility for ensuring that the national cake is redistributed.” As it had been with a more widely recognized Messiah, so Odlum’s own rewards were betrayal and disappointment. “Today I am often falsely accused by people who know better,” he said. “I am called a dictator, a communist. Why? Is it because I said the haves of this country must forego some of their excesses in the interest of the less fortunate of their communities? It’s the only way to establish an effective redistribution of this country’s resources.”

He acknowledged that the future was anything but bright. Being part of a government that valued party loyalty over objective criticism—and numbers over all else—only made matters worse. Reverting to his days as a schoolteacher imbuing his student with the tools that would make him a “formidable politician,” Odlum turned his attention once again to the Minister for Agriculture. “We must learn to appreciate a man for his principles,” he said. “We must help him, not pull him down.” He shuffled some papers on the table in front of him. “I come now to the sensitive matter of the leadership quarrel that has caused me as much pain as I am sure it has caused the Honorable Prime Minister.” But not for long. He soon returned to Josie, to their earliest days with the Labour Party when his friend often counterpointed his thinking, as he had counterpointed his friend’s—“almost like a Greek chorus.”

“In those days,” he recalled, they discussed everything, regardless of time or place,“whether driving, consuming corned beef in the countryside, or during organized demonstrations.” They always assessed their thoughts, one against the other. When they were about to join the Labour Party, Josie had a particular concern: he couldn’t figure out Allan Louisy’s reason for enlisting.

“At that time,” said Odlum, “there was a leadership dispute in the party that, strangely enough, did not involve me directly.” The chamber roared, the first interruption since the MP started his address. Odlum’s own countenance continued to reflect the seriousness of the moment, at any rate, as he saw it. He picked up from where he was interrupted: “Mr. Kenneth Foster was a contender for the party leadership. Actually, he was the de facto leader but there was a move to replace him. The current representative for East Castries took me aside and for the umpteenth time said: ‘I still cannot fathom why Louisy wants to enter politics. I suppose we’ll just have to take our chances.’ He was not alone. Others in my group were of the view that it was better to take a chance on the devil you know.” The devil being Kenneth Foster.

“After the 1974 elections,” said Odlum, “we realized that many of the promises of organization were being ignored. But ’74 was only the first leg. Things were different in 1979.” He and his faction took on the brunt of the work. Then, with Polling Day approaching, the party leader confided in him that he no longer looked forward to being prime minister. He said he hated airplanes, and he hated to travel. “He said we were the young ones,” Odlum recalled, “and it would be up to us to do most of the necessary work. ‘Just give me a couple of months. Maybe six, no more than a year.’”

Odlum’s reaction was by his word always the same: “Why do you need to serve for so short a time? What’s the point?” He had learned to respect Peter Josie’s hunches. Soon he, too, found himself giving a lot of thought to “the strange obsession.” Over and over he questioned himself about Louisy’s motives. Finally, it dawned on him that the more important question centered on “legitimacy”—on whether Louisy had done anything to deserve his position. The answer was obvious: others

had done the work for which Louisy intended to be rewarded! Odlum paused, smiled, dramatically lowered his head. “I am one of those creatures that do not harbor dark thoughts,” he said. “I wear my heart on my sleeve. I say what I’m thinking at all times, often to my detriment.” He had repeatedly referred to powerful members of his party as “gargoyles”—despite that “any fool knows this is no way to win your executive’s support.” But then when you are surrounded by “a certain type you have little choice but to call a spade a spade.”

He started to say something about the prime minister’s own assessment of his party executive when the House Speaker got in his way: “Honorable Member, are you about to go into the structure of the Saint Lucia Labour Party?” Another moment of levity, whether or not intended. Political positions set aside, the audience laughed. Even Louisy managed a distorted smile, but not Odlum.“ Yes, Mr. Speaker,” he said, his face set in stone. “I strayed. I wanted to deal with the leadership issue but I realize I must move on.” If in painting his prime minister’s portrait Odlum inadvertently omitted a carbuncle or two, well, the model completed the picture. Louisy spoke for more than an hour but nothing in what he said contradicted his Minister for Foreign Affairs. His pathetic attempts at responses to Odlum’s allegations only generated more unsettling questions. As for the suggestion that he lacked the necessary vision, the will and the strength of purpose to implement his own Budget, the best Louisy could do was obsequiously acknowledge a prime minister could not without the full support of his Cabinet deliver on his promises.

Repeatedly, the Leader of the Opposition demanded Louisy’s resignation. When at last the prime minister chose to respond, he said he would willingly step down if his party asked him to, but nothing the opposition might say would force him out. Besides, he said, the matter of his handing over to another elected MP was for the executive to decide. On his own, he did not have the constitutional authority to act. Turning wearily to the Speaker, the prime minister said: “I think I have occupied a long time in my reply. At this stage, I would just like to thank you.” He had barely taken his seat when the Speaker nodded in his direction. Once more the obviously worn-out old man was on his feet. He seemed to have aged ten years in the final hours of the debate. “Mr. Speaker,” he groaned, “I beg to move that the Standing Orders be suspended to allow the House to sit between the hours of 6:00 pm and 7:30 p.m.”

Confusion followed the opposition leader’s demand for a vote count. At 6:15 the prime minister called for a ten-minute recess. Seven minutes later, the House resumed. The Speaker agreed to refer the Estimates of Expenditure back to the House to determine who supported it, who didn’t. The nays easily overwhelmed the ayes. Still someone shouted: “Division! Division!” On the Speaker’s nod, the House clerk went from MP to MP and when each had stated his position on the issue, announced the final count: eight for the prime minister’s Budget, nine against. The agriculture minister Peter Josie had cast his vote with the opposition. For George Odlum, more proof of the power of his oratory!

The Leader of the Opposition stood up: “Mr. Speaker, I beg to give notice of the following motion that must be debated in accordance with the House Rules and Orders: that this honorable House has no confidence in the government.” The rest was mere formality. On 23 April 1981, Allan Louisy delivered his final address as Prime Minister of Saint Lucia: “My Dear People: I have tried as prime minister of this country since the Saint Lucia Labour Party formed the government on July 4, 1979 to get the wheels of government moving. Up to a point I’ve been successful. However, the task has not been easy; not because of the unwillingness of Saint Lucians to assist me but because of a senseless leadership struggle within the government that was apparently solved in August 1980 but raised its ugly head again in November 1980, the reason for which I am unaware. I have been honestly and sincerely hopeful that this matter would have been solved and so I maintained my position, not as I have been accused of, for the sake of holding on to power come what may, but because I felt I had a responsibility to the people of Saint Lucia, the majority of whom put my party in power. However, the defeat of the government on the 1981-82 budget indicated to me clearly, from statements made by my ministers, that they wanted a new captain.

“The vote against the Budget was not constitutionally a no-confidence vote against the government. It was a vote against me, personally. It would, therefore, be unjust and unconstitutional, on that premise by itself, to have requested a dissolution of the House. More so, since the verbal notice given in the House by the Leader of the Opposition to table a Motion of No-Confidence against the government has not been effected. In any event, I was supported by the majority of my ministers. In pursuance of my pledge to find another captain after the vote against the budget, I immediately proceeded to hold meetings day and night with my ministers and other responsible persons and of late these proceedings looked favorable.

“Last night, without prior notice or warning, I was suddenly visited at the prime minister’s residence by a delegation from the Civil Service Association. The delegation was well received by me in an atmosphere of mutual calm. I explained the circumstances of the impasse and informed the delegation that the deliberation looked fruitful. In the interim and with a view to finalizing the issue I dispatched one of my ministers with a companion to ascertain the whereabouts of the Honorable Remy Lesmond who, incidentally, had earlier indicated in writing his support for a new prime minister, which might well have settled successfully the issue. Sad enough and far beyond my control, I was informed that the Honorable Remy Lesmond had left the state this morning on the yacht Halcyon, together with ministers George and Jon Odlum, accompanied by one Victor Ducane and Mrs. Frances Michel. Consequently, the final proceedings have been delayed through no fault of mine.

“It is for you, my people, to decide whether at this juncture their departure was calculated to aggravate the present situation. In the meantime, I’ve received a letter from the Civil Service Association, in spite of my assurance given to them in good faith and which to me they seemed to appreciate. I am informed by the association that industrial action will be taken by workers in all government departments and ministries effective 6:00 a.m. tomorrow April 24, 1981 and that such action will continue until the dissolution of parliament.

“It is therefore obvious that the culmination of the matter is not too distant. I therefore crave your indulgence and the patience you have always shown. I have decided to stand down in favor of an elected member who commands the support of the majority of the members of the House. I wish to thank all those persons who have supported me in my long struggle of 21 months under very trying circumstances from elements within my very government and my party. In all that I have done I’ve tried to be honest, sincere, genuine and humane. All my actions towards my fellow man have been based on Christian principles. Whatever happens now, I never shall depart from them. May Saint Lucia at all times be in the hands of a democratic government, a government of the people, a government by the people and a government for the people.”        

The preceding was taken from Lapses & Infelicities by Rick Wayne