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By Angela Massiah |
New York, March 23, 2007: I was indeed saddened to hear of the recent passing of Dr. Festus Brotherson, Jr. I knew him but, I would not suggest that we were friends. But, like it or not, he represented a symbol to me of a baleful period in Guyanese politics that preceded the mass exodus of an educated Black middle-class to many parts of the world as the PNC reigned.
I met him while I was moonlighting as a cub reporter at the Guyana Chronicle in the late 1970's, having ducked out of law studies abroad. The country had come through some very conciliatory years with the PNC, Independence in 1966 and Republican status in 1970 it seemed well under way to a period of reconciliation and prosperity. Forbes Burnham seemed to have found a formula for bringing relative peace and harmony to the land by reaching out and offering opportunities for Guyanese of all nationalities.
Then somewhere in the middle of all that forward movement he decided to make a sweeping left turn and with that the hopes and dreams for many disappeared. Guyanese were stunned when, out of nowhere, their government sought to pursue a socialist path and were prepared to use the levers of power not only to achieve its stated goals to "own and control" the country's national resources but the entire populace as well.
The system had all the hallmarks of reducing our population to a permanent state of cringing subservience. As the terrible sub-plot began to unfold, we saw efforts to stifle free speech, suppress dissent and intimidate those who fought back for their privileges and quality of life. In the middle of this new and unpopular adventure was none other than Festus Brotherson, Jr. like the miscreant son delirious with the madness of this dream that contained the seeds of its own demise the way they sought to implement it.
On or about 1976 Festus returned home from studies abroad. He was one in a group of 300 Guyanese conditional scholars, one of my cousins Charles Stull was a member of that group. Many folks remember Festus because he was the most vociferous in his opposition to the government's new socialist policies. As Festus and this elite group of Guyanese scholars were taken on tour of the new National Service centers around the nation and briefed about the new direction for the country, Festus was protesting vehemently that he was not going to stick around for this PNC government to 'stick any socialist nonsense down his throat'
However, in a sharp about face, it was none other than Festus himself who would become the most unabashed apostle of the Burnham era ill-fated socialist experiment, taking his readers through a whole new orientation as he became the editor in chief of the party's ponderous organ the New Nation. Many received the news of his new appointment with some degree of mirth as he was seen by the cynics to be now speaking from the other side of his mouth.
Within the New Nation he would establish a unit called the "Department of Propaganda and Agitation" of which he spoke with glee. Political observers said this unit was responsible for many undignified acts, some of them against of their core constituents who did not accede to the forced alliances and new oppressive rules that were in place.
Even though I was working at the Chronicle, I had begun voice training at Radio Demerara after a chance audition, a few months prior, turned up some unexpected voice qualities that they decided to train me for a coveted position as radio announcer. I was seemingly on the cusp of a broadcasting career when a vacancy at the Sunday Chronicle opened up for a features columnist. Wordsworth MacAndrew, with whom I had done some research work on his radio show "Ten Years with Chase", talked me into spreading my wings across the media. His letters of recommendation got me in there. Apart from my on the job training, I attended a free communications programme at the University of Guyana, one of the more appealing aspects to the nation's new policies. So, there I was when Festus came a calling.
The newspaper job was fascinating. I met and interviewed many interesting people across the board, from the influential, not so influential and all those in between. I also socialized with all our new found socialist block friends from countries from Yugoslavia, Korea, Russia and Cuba and our standard British, American and Canadian operatives of the various press and diplomatic corps that operated there. From Colgrain House to the Pegasus, it was non-stop social and professional activity I could not have fathomed in my wildest dreams.
I often answered the phone at the news desk. Once I spoke with noted scribe and radio analyst Hubert Williams who took the time to compliment me on my "excellent speaking voice" and advised me that I was in the wrong branch of the media. I was pleased by those remarks because it meant that the voice training I was receiving was effective.
Then, Festus called looking for someone, but before he asked for his party he greeted me with a compliment, "You have a beautiful speaking voice." This was followed by an infectious giggle. I opened up about the Radio Demerara training but said I was having the time of my life at the Chronicle broadcasting was now on the back burner.
He indicated that he hosted an evening show called "Action Line" on GBS where citizens were free to call in and voice their opinions on any given subject. His assistant was leaving, so he asked if I could revive my interest in broadcasting and come and work with him. In my youthful enthusiasm, I gave him a resounding yes, without thinking of consequences.
We got on famously at the start. Then, he began to uncork a political agenda that found no consonance with me at all. I would quickly discover that it was not enough to be a media operative in that heavily charged political climate, one had to become a spokesperson for the ruling party. Unfortunately, I had no such propensities and that did not sit well with him.
Our relationship was marked by testiness. All that comrade and comrade leader stuff drove me crazy along with all the socialist platitudes, "if you're not for me you're against me" and the one that trumped them all, the pious nonsense that "the party was paramount. These were not the only observable facts; apart from national service, mass games were introduced and another more poignant reality was their utter and complete dislike of objective truth. This placed the media on a collision course with the government and dedicated operatives were right in the line of fire. Reporters were no longer free to function as the watchdog for society, bringing stories to light so that their government could focus on a problem and maybe even fix it became an act of contempt.
In the meantime, my association with him and the show brought me all kinds of unwarranted attention. My professional relationship with Dr. Brenda DoHarris, developed after I interviewed her about an international women's day conference she attended in Beijing, China was a source of irritation to him. Brenda had studied abroad and returned home to teach English at her alma mater Bishops High School. She also happened to be a member of the Working Peoples Alliance (WPA) the intellectual group that was once headed by the late Historian Walter Rodney whom the party treated like an arch rival.
Festus called me right after I received a visit from Brenda. She stopped by to enquire if I needed anything since she was going to do some shopping in Barbados. It had come to that; Guyanese were going to neighbouring countries to shop because shortages had reached epidemic levels. During her visit, she had mentioned that some "fool" was always following her around. I paid no attention to the remark. But, it would be safe to conclude that Festus' phone call that evening and Brenda's "fool" were directly connected.
She was not the only member of WPA with an unpaid bodyguard. My next transgression came while having lunch at the Pegasus with my Chronicle colleague Grace Joseph, her friend Nancy Bullcock and Nancy's friend Pat Rodney, wife of the late Walter Rodney.
That evening, Festus was on the telephone again upbraiding me for being politically naive. "Comrade, he cried, Do you know who you had lunch with today?" Then it dawned on me that Pat Rodney was also being followed. I was young, hardy and had not a care in the world. This kind of scrutiny was an imposition and wanted no further part of it.
Not totally satisfied that he had shaken some political sense into me, Festus sought to destroy my promising media career by suggesting to a manager at Radio Demerara, who shall remain anonymous, that I be fired because I represented a political threat. Fortunately for me, his request fell on deaf ears.
Prior to that act of vengeance, I was relieved of my "Action Line" duties. I opted to attend a cocktail reception hosted by the Cuban Embassy. Spending an evening with two exceptionally handsome Cuban journalists with whom my colleague Grace Joseph and I had struck up pleasant professional relationships was more appealing than Festus and "Action Line". I notified him that I was unavailable to work that evening. Some goon on Festus' staff reported to him that I was at that reception. In a strongly worded letter he declared my actions contemptible because I chose pleasure over service since the "party was paramount". That letter was greeted with relief.
But, the party kept the country on political edge. I had not fully escaped his notice when I got out from under the yoke of Action Line. He personally had a hand in pitting colleague against colleague at the radio station. Hapless people, perhaps thinking it would put them ahead, placed expediency above principles to report to Festus silly remarks I would make either about him or the party. Apart from him scolding me each time to watch what I say about him, he would notify me who the snitches were and I continued to feed them tripe. He seemed to delight in the fact that he was able to manipulate folks into carrying out such low acts.
However, while the government was obsessed with monitoring the conduct rather than safeguarding the well-being of its citizens, they were neglecting the business of the nation. The country's infrastructure was in shambles, wooden buildings once well maintained were in tatters, roads were in a state of disrepair, water and power supply sporadic and foodstuff in woefully short supply. Queuing for essential food items became a norm along with the total breakdown of one's autonomy and quality of life.
When complaints were made about the collective discontent and disruption of the quality of life and when our votes became superfluous an insensitive government stopped listening. Instead, they got angry, intolerant and uncaring. They lashed out at their own constituents, alienated their grassroots support and those who complained drew the full array of totalitarian verbiage or were lined up for punitive measures. If the goals of the new socialist regime were to see everyone live as equals, the only common goal we shared was the wrath of an increasingly growing unpopular government prepared to humiliate those who questioned their motives.
While the Black population was feeling the heat from its own party, the PNC was bending over backwards to accommodate our Indian counterparts. Some of my Indian colleagues had thriving broadcasting careers during the PNC years. Rovin Deodat, a radio announcer who left to study in Canada returned to work at the Office of the President. Sharief Khan shuffled between Radio Demerara and the Chronicle guided by senior editors/correspondents Edwin Ali and Mohammed Hamaludin respectively. Our current ambassador to Washington Bayney Karran was also a Radio Demerara announcer before he studied Law and returned to serve with the PPP government. They seemed to have operated unperturbed under the PNC and now enjoy the best of both possible political worlds serving the party of their choice.
To reinforce this a bit further, I remember in 1992 attending a press conference in New York for the late Desmond Hoyte when the question was asked, how confident was he of victory given the population make up. His response was he expected to do well since he had reached out to the Indians and they were very pleased with the business opportunities he had afforded them. We all know now how that turned out. He even jokingly said his own constituents referred to him as "Desmond Persaud" because they believed he was catering too much to the Indians and have not given their issues the same attention.
The government would invite more trauma in the land in the form of two major tragedies that would impact Guyana, the Caribbean and the world communities. Several young Guyanese were victimized for their country's friendship with Cuba when a terrorist bomb, the first in aviation history, brought down a Cubana Airline in 1976 off the coast of Barbados. Many of us were still too young to understand why that happened. In 1978, a self-styled preacher named Jim Jones murdered his entire following of over 900 Americans in the jungle of Guyana where they were allowed to set up a commune. Many Guyanese were unaware of their existence.
So, in the early and mid-eighties, Black people fed up with the Marxist double-speak, severe shortages, decline in social and public services and being completely disenfranchised and demoralized from doing political battle with their government simply fled in disgust to many parts of the world. That exodus saw an entire Black middle class, their core constituents, disappear. With that were shattered hopes and dreams of the perfect world as we imagined it in the late 1960's and early 1970's.
Hoping for something different, those who remained voted for Cheddi Jagan in 1992 to punish the PNC for the lavish liberties it took with their base. Sadly, Dr. Jagan died in office and they never got to experience his leadership. What came after that still has many scratching their heads.
After 15 years, they too have shown no real signs that they know what to do with the reigns of power. In recent years we have heard is lots of happy talk about democracy, parroting the commonplace rhetoric from the West. But, they have failed to put in place the pillars that would allow them to qualify for that status. Their brand of democracy has been murder, violence and allegations of corruption in high office. People there can hardly remember what a safe society looks like. The country would have been on the brink of total collapse saved only by remittances in the millions from exiled nationals. But, many remain hopeful because they feel the steady deterioration can not last forever.
Leaving behind the chaos he helped create was Festus. I was told by a mutual acquaintance that he had come to the parting of the ways with the PNC when Hoyte took over. Evidence of that was soon to be seen in his writings in the Guyana Chronicle and other community newspapers where he was severely critical of the PNC government. It would be through one of those newspapers, Caribvoice, where we both contributed a column, and the paper's editor Annan Boodram, that he would re-establish contact with me some 20 odd years later.
He was overly friendly and romantic on the telephone which I found to be both hilarious and disturbing. I was taken aback because we never had that kind of relationship. Nor had I forgotten how badly the party, in which he played a key role, behaved towards their primary constituents. He talked about how sick his asthma made him and I attributed that to this softer approach. He continued to call me on a daily basis, each time with an invitation to visit him in Ohio. Luckily, my company changed its location as well as its telephone numbers. That brought the daily phone calls to a screeching halt. We were out of touch again.
About two years ago, while on-line he sent me an instant message complaining about my non-working contact numbers. After an exchange of pleasantries, he added my name to an on-line thread he had started and we remained in touch until one of the topics touched on broadcasting. I was actually teasing him about the shameful way he used "Action Line" to propagate for the PNC not knowing how sensitive he was about his past shenanigans with the party. After some very sharp back and forth where he revealed that he had atoned for that behaviour and was sorry for the way he broke into politics, he ordered me to cease further communication with him. This was just over a year ago. I obliged but not before I got in the last word of that exchange.
Speaking with some of my colleagues who came of age the same time I did with thriving political and media careers, they all but ducked out of commenting or simply remember him with much hilarity. One said casually that Festus was part of the "shirt jack" brigade pompous and liked being observed. That brought to mind this searing image that he owned. He had a very pronounced derriere and the back slit of the shirt jack would bounce up and down in a flirtatious manner as his sturdy form, impeccably dressed, would stride purposefully across a room. He would always introduce himself as Festus Brotherson, Jr. since he had not yet acquired a doctorate. He seemed robust and full of zest but everyone who knew him know he suffered endlessly with asthma. I found that out when I enquired why he drove an air-conditioned car.
On a lighter side, he liked perfume and was amused when heads would turn as he whisked by and folks would get a whiff of what he was wearing and stare. He brazenly displayed his collection to me which was kept in his desk drawer at New Nation. "Big bottles for big occasions and small bottles for smaller occasions," he once said.
He was also self-absorbed and had a penchant for big words; he believed it gave audiences a jolt. But, his big words and fancy vocabulary did not save him a few years back when he was invited to address his former colleagues and friends at a Tutorial reunion in Atlanta, Georgia. He complained to me bitterly that folks exhibited extremely bad manners when they talked through his entire keynote address, declaring he would never attend another one. Hearing it from those who attended, his speech was too long and too boring. No one I spoke to could recall what he said.
More often than not, people who have had a checkered past go quietly into the night but, he chose not to. He decided to make pompous use of his scholarship and writing skills to critique the PNC which had given him all the breaks to display that power he always flaunted. Whatever the epic personal drama that was going on in his own mind, he almost wanted to reverse everything he had ever said or done during that dubious era.
That caused him to lose all credibility with political peers and some who knew him after having stuck his neck out a mile in what many consider over zealous ways for the PNC party. It is not that people, over a period of time, can not change their minds if their revised opinions are at variance with the party they support. But, many believe that his defection was not out of conviction but one of monumental vanity.
But, I have to give credit where it is due, the moment Festus pulled me into GBS and Radio Demerara heard me on a rival station, there is no doubt that hastened my full-time employment with them. I excelled in that profession and was offered an opportunity to parlay my communications skills in foreign affairs which made it hard for me to leave. But, the whole society had changed; many of our quality citizens had left as well. Life there had become burdensome having to watch every word you utter. I decided it was time to dance to the beat of a different drum. Make no mistake, opportunities were there but the stakes were high for those who wanted to remain neutral.
For Festus, he never got the respect he was thriving for. Many who were around him at the time only remember him as an excessive caricature and not for the academic work and scholarship she had achieved in those years after the PNC.