“My country is not a real country, it’s a pretend country,” my girlfriend shrieked on Monday night in freezing cold London town. Over night, the snow fell and we woke to a blanket of white and watched Londoners drag themselves out into the frostbitten city.
Before bedtime though, we’d managed to find a live stream on CNC3’s Web site on a mobile phone. What a world we live in where we can be instantly connected to Trinidad and its political farces from all the way across the Atlantic.
Imagine how long the news of Eric Williams’ election victory would have taken to reach the huddled masses of the Trini diaspora in 1961—a crackly World Service signal on a wireless radio, perhaps? A telegram from Port-of-Spain to London? A tiny article in the international section of the next day’s Times?
We tuned into our smartphone just as the honourable Prime Minister declared, “I've asked for and received the resignation of the honourable Attorney General.”
“Honourable” even in defeat, “honourable” even in disgrace.
Whether or not T&T is a country operating within the realm of fact or fiction, real or pretend, is not for me to say. But from where I’m sitting its political governance has turned into an Ealing Comedy—a caper, a laugh-a-minute cabaret show, an episode of the classic British sitcom Yes, Prime Minister.
I’m fairly out of touch with Trini politics here in chilly London. There’s enough domestic political nonsense to keep abreast of—it’s election year here too and it looks like being one of the most important in modern history. So I don’t know what’s really going on with the T&T government. And neither does the Prime Minister it seems.
I was aware that Ramlogan was to be removed—an event which would have prompted a collective exhaled sigh of relief from the general population, had it ended there. But the exhalation turned into giggles and then mirth as words continued to spilled out of Kamla’s mouth.
Griffith out, Nicholas in, Stacy out, Stacy in, Hamel-Smith out, Prakash double-in…the outings and innings were dished out with breathless aplomb.
And then a heart-stopping moment…“I ask the President to revoke the appointment of myself as…” Wait! No! Surely…Oh.
“…Minister of the People and Social Development.”
She’d ousted herself from her dual role at the Ministry of Pointlessness. A bit harsh, perhaps. She could have given herself more time to turn that ministry around. But if one has to flagellate, then let all be flagellated equally.
The honourable Prime Minister didn’t revoke her Prime Ministerial position or call an end to the farce. The farce will roll on…18 ministers fired in less than five years. It’s not what real countries do. You know those videos of countries where Parliamentary sessions descend into brawls? It’s what countries like that do.
“Did she just say Brent Sancho?” wailed my girlfriend, collapsing in hysterics and utter disbelief.
The PM had in fact said “Sanko” but was quickly corrected.
“Wasn’t he the one who had his ras pulled when they played England at the World Cup?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I think it was Peter Crouch who pulled his dreadlocks and scored a goal.”
Peter Crouch, Stoke City’s gangly freak of nature—who would have thought his name would ever grace this column? One never quite knows what Crouchy might do on the football field, but one thing you can be assured of, he won’t ever be given a ministerial appointment in the British government.
“His one contribution to T&T is having his ras pulled!” she continued. Although later, when she heard him interviewed on C News using words like “tenure” and “abundance” she felt sufficiently humbled at Sancho’s impressively speedy ascension to articulacy.
“Brent Sancho is also the holder of an associate degree in English from Essex Community College in the USA…” And after several searches on Google, I’m still unable to verify whether that college actually exists.
I turned to Facebook to get a handle on what the hell just happened. Trinis on Facebook are too sweet. As the news breaks the satire rolls in, in real time.
“What exact qualifications do you need to be a Minister?” one friend was asking.
“Sancho GT (get through)!” said another.
“Stacy like channa and aloo on a sohari leaf after puja—she get leave back,” said Dr Sheila Rampersad.
“Saucy Pow appointed Minister of Gender Affairs, Machel Montano appointed Minister of Road, Lurbz appointed Minister of Affairs…” one fellow quipped.
“Say what you want, like her or not, this PM has a hell of a lot more balls than any other male PMs who preceded her,” said another.
“Let the chips fall where they may,” said Kamla, with regard to the independent investigation. But frankly it could have been a general and anarchic statement about the immediate future of T&T.