The Politics of Mr K

24, Jan 2000
"An extract from the manuscript The Thunder of My Name".

Disturbed by the loudspeakers, Billy eventually pushed the textbook away, and within minutes caught up with the band of people moving west on the main road. They were led by the incumbent representative and, once again, candidate for the area in another season of politics.

He sat in the back seat of one of the cars that drove slowly ahead of the flowing mass and he acknowledged every single emotional show of support with a nod of the head and a broad, engaging smile. Policemen diverted traffic through side streets as people filled the entire breadth of the roadway. They held high flags of the Mass People's Movement, MPM, and the red local flowers that had become, since its inception, the Party's emblem.

Billy found Ross, Nicky, Jake and the others among the rhythm section of the march. They were singing: "Run, yuh run, Pooransingh, oh, run, yuh run/But yuh hear what we doctor say/cheer, boys, cheer/with honesty and integrity/we go f... up NDP."

Beneath the joy and merry-making, Billy detected an undercurrent of solemnity. Ross came closer and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.
"Whey yuh was all de time?" he asked.
"Home," Billy replied, feeling no need to underscore, in such circumstances, the necessity for his ongoing studies.
"Man, we was looking fuh yuh since yesterday. Yuh hear what happen last night?"
"No!"
"Boy, ah car-load o' Indian pass and shoot at a MPM meeting in Socorro Junction."
"What!" Billy exclaimed in consternation, wondering then whether Pooransingh's instructions to his supporters to arm themselves had been taken to heart?

Could Pooransingh's personal hurt at being heckled in the Royal Savannah, coupled with the reference to his supporters as a recalcitrant minority, lead to bloody wars?

"Yeah, one man fall," Ross continued reporting. "He still in hospital, critical. So dem boys come up from the hills of Puerto Bello and we going inside Socorro," he added with a kind of sick, idiotic glee.

Ross simply delighted in the possibility of action, any action. Billy as usual was uncertain but could not bring himself to back out. As he considered Ross' whisperings, Jake handed him the cuatro and he began to strum the chords to the song they were singing.

As the band moved forward Billy could discern that there were two kinds of people around; those who were merely frolicking, flaunting openly their political persuasions, and others whose expression betrayed a deeper purpose.

When Nicky told him that the boys from Puerto Bello were carrying sticks of gelignite in their Adidas bags, he could at that point easily make the connection between attitude and posture and the blue and white shoulder-luggage.

Billy strummed the instrument feverishly as the rhythm picked up but he wondered whether Ross had withheld information by design. He resolved within himself to keep his eyes and ears alert to every, single possibility.

Now and again a vehicle strayed and found itself inching its way through the band. Once the occupants, regardless of racial stock, cheered the marchers on, they were allowed smooth passage. One particular car came through. Its occupants were an Indian family. The father who drove was clearly uncomfortable and unnerved. Ross went up to the car window.

"We don't want ah roti government!" he shouted and spat in the driver's face.
Billy flinched. Ross spat again. Other marchers punched. Billy strummed harder and he could feel his nerve endings tingle and vibrate as if exposed each to different stimuli.

Socorro Junction loomed ahead. Policemen lined the roadway, heavily armed with tear-gas, 303 rifles and shields. The leaders of the band attempted to turn into Socorro but a row of policemen sprang quickly into action blocking the marchers, rifles and bayonets at ready. An Indian Inspector of Police came forward with a bull-horn in hand.

"This is the police!" Inspector Ramdawan shouted. "You are to proceed along the main road. You shall not be permitted to go down to Socorro. This is a police advice! Please comply, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Boo! Boo!", the crowd of marchers responded and they inched forward. Billy could see those with the blue and white bags hustling forward. The line of African policemen shifted their stance, every sinew tense, their rifles fully extended.

continued