KINDNESS

For all those who will work for the reality of this effort, I humbly thank you.

I have come today. To the meeting place associated with my fellow countrymen. The Afro Guyanese. It would appear, the Square of the Revolution is where you gather to sound your disappointments in the governance of this great country of ours.

But today, you and I will lift our heads to the glorious future we will forge together.

I have read an article by Wilbert M. Stephenson. He was asked the question, “Stephenson, why do you as a Black, Guyanese man with a Buxtonian ancestry continue to write letters to the Editor of the Chronicle newspaper supporting that East Indian government.”

Racial indifferences always existed in Guyana, but now it has reached a level of major concern. And I do not see the current political culture of both the government and opposition parties bringing the country to a peaceful co-existence.

I enjoy a wonderful life. And I am forever grateful to the man who extended his KINDNESS to facilitate my life into a progressive and purposeful one. You see, God does not come down to earth to share out his attributes. He placed His infinite number of attributes in people-whether they are Amerindians, Afro, Indo or any of the other races among us.

It was 1959, my last year at Rosignol Government School. I had passed my Primary School Certificate Exams. Studied and wrote the Pupils Teachers Appointment Exams. The prospects of being selected as a teacher was slim-competitiveness was the elimination. With no money for High School in New Amsterdam, my future was unsure.

The Colonial Education System had introduced WOODWORKING in the curriculum of some schools. Blairmont Primary School was one of such school. And I was sent there for a six weeks course.

Headmaster Neville Bourne, taught the course.

Midway into the course, he mentioned to us (students from Blairmont, Rosignol and Ithaca) about a Special Trade School set up by Bookers to train young people to work on the sugar estates workshops. He got the Application Forms from Blairmont Estate office and gave it to us to be filled out and returned to him at particular date.

I neglected to fill mine or hand it in. He enquired several times when I was going to hand it in. Then one day, he asked me to stay back. He sat down and waited patiently until I completed the Application Form. He took it.

At the end of the course, he informed us all, he had submitted the applications to the estate. And we should look out for letters in the mail.

I had previously told him why I was reluctant in placing an application. My excuse did not deter him.

He was confident, each of his students will be called for interviews.

My father was banned from all sugar estate premises. I felt, I would be part of that prohibition.

A political detainee, in the 1953 Suspension of the Constitution. And was a People’s Progressive Party cell leader in Rosignol. In association with the Rosignol cell were Nathaniel Edwards, Murdoch, Sears, Lilmut Kawal and others. As with all Socialist/ Communist worldwide, there were definite character in their signatures. Like C.B. Jagan and L.F.S. Burnham. My father’s signature was S.M. Kuttapen.

In 1953, the Universal Adult Suffrage elections, I was eight years old, tasked with showing every house in the village with a voter where to place the “X’ beside the CUP. Political slogans had to be written everywhere. Bundles of Thunder had to be sold to ensure the electorate were constantly informed. As a Ghost letter writer, my penmanship improved considerably. My teachers complimented. At the political meetings, a Petromax lamp was lit to brighten up Rosignol Society Hall. I listened to them all. Most memorable was Sydney King. He wore whites-shirt and pants. And when he was in the village for meetings he drank only milk. In a special utensil, I fetched it to him.    

My father, a man of many trades and persuasion. He worked his way from the Cut and Load gang in the cane fields to Scale Checker as the cane was dumped from the punts to be weighed. He was an agitator for the PPP union GIWU. He accused the estate of cheating the cane-cutters on the weights. Always at odds with Estate management for his communist rhetoric.

When the Suspension of the Constitution was enacted, he took a militant stance. He flew a huge red flag in the village with the words PPP stitched on it. From that day and onwards, the Colonial Police came at 4.00 am. As children we were woken up whilst they tumbled everything in the house. Surveillance was constant for violation of the emergency order and distribution of subversive material. Numerous times, arrested and appeared in the court of the magistrate-each time the charges were dismissed. With Restriction Order to travel on Brindley Benn. Again, I was entrusted to dodge the Colonial Police to take him food provision and money for him and his family’s survival. The early morning raids continued on. Nothing was ever found-everything hidden in the sub-floor of the low stilt house. Then, the straw that broke the camel’s back, so to speak.

It was announced, the Governor, Sir Alfred Savage was to visit West Berbice. When that day came, all the Notable Colonial people of the area gathered at the Rosignol Railway Station to greet him. His Private Carriage pulled in at the Station. As he was being introduced to each of the filed individuals, there was great shuffle among the ordinary onlookers. There he was, S.M. Kuttapen with the huge portrait of Josep Stalin hung around his neck. He proceeded to traverse the railway station while the pomp and ceremony for the Governor continued on.

In the wee hours of the morning, the day of the Governor’s visit to Rosignol, the well-guarded Stalin portrait was transported to S.M. Kuttapen to be used as directed by the leadership of the People’s Progressive Party.

The leadership of the PPP were totally involved in handing over British Guiana into a Soviet Satellite. Upon the reading of the Suspension Order on the radio, the Governor revealed the actions by a number of high ranking PPP members. To the dismay of those attuned to the politic of the times, it was fervent discussions. Josep Stalin was the god to the hierarchy of the People’s Progressive Party. They travelled to the Soviet Block, paid homage to him in speeches, adulation and songs of praise. They shed tears of approval for this man, Josep Stalin. Yes, the man they revered, killed millions of his people, annihilated his opponents and possible successors. He was such a fearful man, he died alone without an attending physician. No physician dared to risk his own life at the possibility of being shot for giving the wrong prognosis.             

Socialism and Communism seemed that is all our politicians could have vision for us as an independent country. Forbes Burnham was an ardent believer in such thinking. Later, Rodney came to us with such designs as well.

Anyway.

July 15, 1954. As yet, the first rooster (cock) still in its slumber did not crow to announce the dawning of the new day. They came in full battle gear.  Yes, they came for S.M. Kuttapen. The Governor had had enough of his contempt for the Suspension Order. As usual, the banging on the door. By now the routine had settled in. My mother woke us up. My father opened the door. His usual greetings to David Rose, Assistant Commissioner of Police, a baccra (buccra) Guyanese. As usual, the search warrant would be read.  The Police would enter the house and start the tumbling. But that morning on July 1954, S.M.Kuttapen was informed of the Governor’s decision. He was handed the document. It read, “WHEREAS I am satisfied with respect to ………………………………, that it is expedient for securing the public safety and the maintenance of public order to make a Removal Order against him……………………”

The coolness of early morning breeze. The peaceful quietness of the early morning. Interrupted with sobbing. My mother broke down in tears - her world had changed.  

The kindness of David Rose allowed my father to change into travelling clothes. S.M. Kuttapen quickly hugged his wife and children. Quickly, refreshed the memory of my mother on what see must do.

He knew, it was only a matter of time, he would be arrested.

He stepped out the door. Immediately, surrounded by ranks of the Colonial Police with guns, bayonets attached to the muzzle ends. He was no longer visible. As he was taken away, only can be seen, were men in black uniforms, guns with attached bayonets in the air, slightly above the sea of steel helmets, the kind that were seen on the heads of the British soldiers who walked single filed through the village of Rosignol, in search of the Communist insurgences. A high-pitched whistle alerted the police. So many police filed past us as they marched behind one another. They had cordoned off the entire neighbourhood. Three lorries (trucks) full of Colonial Police followed the Black Mariah.

In the Black Mariah, S.M. Kuttapen was whisked away in the early morning, before the rise of villagers.

Held for a while in New Amsterdam Prison. Later, transferred to the Mazaruni Penal Settlement.

A day later, Lilmut Kawal was arrested in Harbanspur. He also was removed to a place to be appointed by the Governor, as long as the Order continues in operation.

With the PPP in captivity-its operatives detained, in prison or under house arrest. It was difficult for us. There was no financial assistance coming from anywhere. Others, of the Rosignol PPP celL made the suggestion.

And for months, every Saturday, I stood at the Blairmont Pay Office with an empty Ovaltine Can. A slot cut on the lid to accept the jill – a copper coin equivalent two cents. The collection was divided between the Kuttapen and Kawal families. Ground provisions and greens were donated by villagers.

At the earliest, the independence movement was like a drumbeat to me. It had rhythm and still has onto this day. During the political life of Guyana, I have recognized the drumbeat and quietly marched to it. Though it has been the drumbeat of 65 years confrontations.

S.M. Kuttapen, still in detention at Mazaruni Penal Settlement. The People’s Progressive Party had the separation between Extremists and Moderates. By the time, Congress was concluded on 13th February 1955 there were two PPP-a Burnhamite faction and Jaganite faction.

Like night and day. People went to bed one way and got up in a different way. The news of the Split reached Rosignol. Without any hesitation, there were Negroes sweeping cups (symbol of the PPP) and dragging cups tied to their bicycles. In a village where Indians fondly referred to their Afro neighbours as a cousin-Cousin Renee or Cousin Beauty. The women had Cousin added in front of their first names. The men were addressed as Brother with their last names. Now, there was distrust in the open. Perhaps hidden all along. Mild mannered people, took on the persona of indifference to Indians. Thank goodness, there were many sane Afro people in the village. We all survived those race riot years of the sixties peacefully.

The Black Mariah was once again in Rosignol. Close to ten months since its last appearance in the village. Two policemen rushed to the back door of the vehicle and opened it. S.M. Kuttapen stepped out. No one knew he was to be released on May 11, 1955. The last of the detainees at Mazaruni Penal Settlement.

Restricted, unable to travel outside of Rosignol. He wrote letters to the leadership of the People’s Progressive Party. The exchange of letters was the only form of communications. The village was politically divided. There were Burnhamites and Jaganites. Solutions were evasive from the leader of the Jaganite faction. It seems both sides had legitimate reasons for casting their support in the respective camps. Eventually, replies to his letters ceased-he had questioned the leadership too often.      

A troubled man with conflict of conscience.

S.M. Kuttapen had arrived at Rosignol from Albion Front in 1943. Family objections was going to deny him the girl he wished to marry. So, he stole her-so to speak. They get away together. That is the way it was said in those day. Frankly, it was a mutual thing. They eloped.  Strangers in the village and not knowing anyone, they became worried of the prospects of a place to live and start their lives together. They were very few East Indians in the village at the time. Worried. Thinking of returning back to Albion Front, but it was late for the ferry Powis across the Berbice River. Renni Douglas watched from her kitchen window for a while as the couple stood for the longest time by the Rosignol Society Hall. Finally, she came out of her house and enquired, “Are you children in some kind of trouble?”

Fortunately, there was a spare room in Renni Douglas’s house. They spent the night. And that very night, Brother Bentley arranged for Kuttapen to work in the gang of three men chopping cane at Blairmont Estate. Plans moved quickly. They rented downstairs of a house. Credit was vouched for by Cousin Renni at Shorty’s, one of two Chinese stores in the village. He was simply introduced as Kuttapen to Shorty when he purchased a cutlass and a file.

They had found guardians. Their children had God-parents- Cousin Renni was there for the first pregnancy, the delivery and nurturing of the child.  And all three of their children.

Forgiveness does not come easily when a girl disobeys her parents on marriage. The parents stayed away from their home. And they never visited Albion Front.

When S.M.K returned from detention at Mazaruni, he brought with him a trunk full of books. He was encouraged to read whatever he wished to read. And the government bought the books. After a while, books were suggested for him to read. His views had begun to change. After ten months of only reading, he was a man with many questions about the role of Communism in British Guiana.

He questioned too many things and too many times. He questioned the smear campaign mounted by the leadership of the Jaganite PPP against L.F.S. Burnham. Pleading such a position would alienate the African and the Indian.

He was finally blacklisted. Perhaps, the first in a line of individuals who dared to question the leadership of the People’s Progressive Party and tainted by character assassination.

Enough was enough. It seemed, the Colony’s government wanted to do a pamphlet on him. He refused the idea while in detention. But in 1958 he agreed to it.

It was published soon after. “Broken Faith”, was the heading on the cover of the tiny book/magazine.

He worked at the local sawmill doing odd jobs in carpentry. Later that year of 1958, he was hospitalized at the New Amsterdam Hospital for kidney stones. As faith would have it. David Rose visited the hospital one day, recognized him lying on the bed. Enquired what he was doing in life. Gave S.M.K a note to see him at his office when discharged.

He did see David Rose a few weeks later, after granted special permission from the Blairmont Police Station.to travel. Was sent over to the Public Works Department in Georgetown to uplift the necessary papers to start working for the PWD gang between Abary and Ithaca mending the red burnt brick roads    

I finished Primary School in the summer of 1959. Just as Headmaster Bourne had assured us. I received the letter from Blairmont Estate requesting that I assembled at the Blairmont Community Centre to write the selection examinations. There were several tests and interviews over a period of twelve months. Each, with a shorter selection list. After the first letter. Every day I waited by the Ritz Cinema for the postman, after tests and interviews. Somerset, the postman was excited for me. Whenever, he had a letter for me, he would search for me in the village to be sure I received it and shared the news with him.

We were wonderful people back then.

Jobs were difficult to find then. S.M.K was worried about when the Estate people found out who I was. So, he bought a Baker and Bourne Mathematic Books. The day, he brought it home, he gave me a slight lecture. He came from a family of school teachers and proud to say, his grandfather came from Madras to British Guiana. And their generations were Christians since the Apostle Thomas went to Madras in the First Century of the Lord. So, all things Tamil (Madrassie) he revered.  In his readings, he came across Srinivasa Ramanujan-a world renowned Tamil Mathematician who captivated the English minds with his Mathematics. S.M.K felt that God is the greatest Mathematician. Mathematic is logic and if understood, a person’s life can be fashioned with logics. I was tasked in solving every problem in the Baker and Bourne. Cover to cover. And I did, during the wait on Bookers.

It was March 1960, Somerset found me at the front of Ritz Cinema. I was there every day for two weeks after the last interview and test. The envelope in my hand. Previous times, I was at ease when I anxiously opened the envelope and shared the news with Somerset. But, this envelope was a decision on my fate. Somerset waited. I was calm. And I opened the envelope. Read it. Upon the word, ‘successful’ I read it aloud over and over to be sure I was correct. Somerset read it too.

Just as Headmaster Neville Bourne had assured us. I secured a place with a weekly pay pocket at 15 years old in a Trade School operated by Bookers Sugar Estates.     

I am forever grateful for his kindness. I enjoy a wonderful life and I have provided well for my family-my wife, my son and his wife and my grandchildren.

One gift can bring so much joy.

On the end of May 1960, as I entered Bookers Training Centre compound. There was the other students Headmaster Bourne had encouraged to apply. We had never seen each other during the test and interviews-it was staggered. Out of twenty places, Blairmont Estate had selected five. Four were from Headmaster Bourne’s woodworking course –myself, Guy Hooke, Mohammed Ishack and Vincent Henry.

Our history is full of kindness towards all races of people. I am hoping this coming election, my people choose a unified government. People in strength. And politicians who serve us well.

Written in support of Wilbert M. Stephenson.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Velutha Kuttapen

 e-mail:   timehri@golden.net

Twitter:   Velutha Kuttapen@VeluthaK 

www.timehritoday.blogspot.com