This month of March 2007 is the tenth-year milestone since Cheddi Jagan died in a country he had his initial political grounding in but which he was understandably ambivalent about.
In the decade since his passing I have made up my mind about his status from my own perspective. He qualifies to be one of my national heroes (like Hubert Nathaniel Critchlow – even with his lapses and like Linden F.S. Burnham – The earlier).
To me Cheddi Jagan – like his late brother, Speaker of the House, Derek – never lost his more rustic side and persona. Much travelled, and Internationalist as he was, a country-boy he remained, not in his sartorial standards, but certainly in mannerisms, sound and speech.
He perhaps never quite left his Port Mourant, Corentyne, Berbice, Sugar Estate range and life. Even many modern-day Berbicians, like their predecessors, are extra proud of their “Berbician” origins. Meet Cheddi Jagan, the man, young readers.
PORT MOURANT
A few descriptions by Cheddi Jagan himself of his Port Mourant boyhood: “RUM drinking, gambling, dancing, horse and mule-racing, and cricket were the principal pastimes of the whites. Cheating – padding of the paylists – was also practised on an extensive scale. Plantation life gave me the opportunity of seeing at first hand the raw deal which the labourers received. No doubt these experiences were the factors which led to my early interest in social and economic questions, and brought me later into political life”.
“At Port Mourant I had been a big fish in a small pond, a king in my own kingdom. There I was a leader. Emulating my father of whom I was very proud, I developed leadership qualities very early. I headed my own cricket team and played most of the other games successfully. Kusti (wrestling) allowed me to demonstrate my talents as the best fighter at Ankerville (a section of Port Mourant) and the nearby areas. And prowess at games involving marbles, bows and arrows earned for me the reputation of a banker in buttons, marbles and arrows.
Country life was full of rich experiences: perching on the fork of a tree at the center of the Kharian (threshing ground), prodding the oxen to urge them on their seemingly endless tramp-mashing (threshing) of padi; sleeping on padi haystacks under starry skies, even with clouds of mosquitoes buzzing around; watching cows grazing in the reaped padi fields; catching fish with hook and cast-nets; thrusting one’s hand into holes along the banks of empty trenches to find sometimes not fish but non-poisonous water snakes; shooting birds with slingshots; walking barefoot and pitching marbles in muddy puddles; burning the Holi heap and playing “mud” and “abir” at Phagwah time; and attending the August races.”
Cheddi recalls the cultural dilemmas of early (Berbician) East Indians who travelled to reside in Georgetown. One “Indian” custom he “endured” was humorous: “For example, it is unthinkable today for an Indian family to have a boy wearing earrings as I had to for a few years. Luckily, one of my brothers ended this practice in my family. In a scramble, he snatched off one of my gold earrings and threw it into the trench. My parents did not bother to replace it; the cost must have been an additional consideration. Another example was the practice of Indians taking Christian names, although they were not Christians. In my own family, the names of Derek, Doris, Patricia and Barbara eventually replaced Indian names. In my own case, in my “teens” I adopted my middle name “Berret”, for I thought it a fashionable thing to do.
So now you know! He was never really Bharrat at all! And boys are wearing earrings – just like girls!
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IN PARLIAMENT
Of course when the re-migrated young “political animal” Cheddi returned to British Guiana and its politics, Parliament then was the colonial Legislative Council dominated by the Plantocracy, Merchant and British Colonial Interests. I’ve learnt a few things about my earlier Hero H. N. Critchlow that diminishes him just a few percentage points.
But it is in the Legislative Council (1947-1953) that Cheddi Jagan became a crusader, a champion for the working class. Excerpts from his diary: “My Service in the Legislative Council from 1947 to 1953 was a most rewarding and stimulating experience.
I looked forward to the debates. On one occasion in January 1949, much to the exasperation of my wife, I cut short our holiday in St. Vincent to return for a budget debate.
At first I was rather na