ROWLEY IN THIS HALF-MADE SOCIETY

IN 1971, when the political opposition senselessly boycotted the general election, Prime Minister Dr. Eric Williams fielded a pick-up side in rural constituencies. 

Some weeks after he settled into office, one such Member of Parliament was visited by a delegation of residents, who complained about mosquitoes in overgrown bushes. 

The MP adjusted his tie, peered down his glasses, and growled: “Allyuh come to me wid dat?!  

“Lissen, I is a parliamentarian, a legislator; I make laws in the Red House of Trinidad and Tobago. 

“I does sit wid Dr. Williams, yuh hear?! 

“I doh deal wit’ mosquito an t’ing!” 

Instead of being chastened, the residents returned to their community bragging about “de boss” and how “he does make laws” and “be on TV.” 

The experience crossed my mind when I saw a social media picture of Prime Minister Dr. Keith Rowley sidling up to Caribbean icon Sir Viv Richards on the golf course, even as a third of the country endured the after-effects of another devastating and disease-infested flood.  

The national leader was seemingly disinterested while families at a coffee shop had just witnessed a brutal daylight killing, and the developed world cautioned their citizens about visiting this murder-ravaged land. 

The cost of food staples – which has gone up by 60 per cent since 2018 – is climbing again as a result of the destructive flood. 

But Rowley knows his land. 

Lackeys – including “independent” news people – were falling over themselves on social media to herald Rowley and congratulate his work. 

Only a few asked about the medical status of the 73-year-old leader after a third Covid-19 diagnosis. 

It is an episode straight out of one of V.S. Naipaul’s early cynical works, in which the author made out Trinidad and Tobago as a half-made land, barren and empty. 

“It is a simple, colonial and philistine society,” he grumbled. 

In an interview about the land of his birth, Naipaul had said: “Certain subjects as so holy that it becomes an act of virtue to lie.” 

He may have been referencing Dr. Williams, who was touted as the second brightest person in the world although we never found out who was the most brilliant. 

At public meetings in his early years as national leader, Williams would unleash a Latin phrase, to which doting supporters would turn to each other and gush: “Yuh hear de boss!” 

Some would later visit the nearby rum shop, lionising the leader in what could have been a graphic scene from a Naipaul satire. 

The writer said T&T substituted talent with intrigue. 

As if to fit the script, Rowley issued a statement the morning after the golf escapade calling for – hear this! – “visionary and competent leadership.”   

He was talking about regional cricket, but the bootlickers were out in full force hailing his perception even as social and economic turmoil plunder the land. 

Rowley understands the sharp paradox of life on these islands, and he exploits it for his political good. 

Meanwhile, the masses – like the mosquito victims – need a saviour from our worsening circumstances.