Mark Wignall | The Eddie Seaga I knew

Eddie Seaga’s death has naturally taken me back to a time where we both shared an interest (for different reasons) in one small community, Tivoli Gardens, the nucleus of power and strife in the Western Kingston constituency.

In about three conversations we had about Tivoli Gardens, his passion for the people of West Kingston, but especially Tivoli Gardens, was expressed openly, with Seaga shedding tears quietly while I watched and waited, speechless, until he recovered.

In about mid-1996, the body of a Tivoli street fighter and gunman named Baugh was laying in its coffin when it was shot up by policemen, most of whom had long, pent-up rage inside them when it came to Tivoli Gardens, a place seen by many of its residents like unto Israel in the Middle East surrounded by hostile Arab countries.

After the shooting of the coffin, Tivoli gunmen responded by shooting up the Denham Town police station. Another firefight between the security forces and Tivoli gunmen was on in earnest. Through roadblocks and an aura of fear that one could almost touch, I ventured into the troubled areas of Tivoli Gardens, Denham Town and sections of Rema.

I telephoned Eddie Seaga and told him that what I had seen and was about to report on had potential to embarrass the People’s National Party (PNP) government. I naively asked if I could get a guarantee of safety from his Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) just in case some unsavoury street elements attached to the PNP threatened my safety.

“No, I cannot promise you that,” he said.

“OK, Mr Seaga,” I said. “You can appreciate that I am an independent operator and have no large organisation behind me to protect me, so I don’t think that I am going to write that story. There are many other things of interest to write about.”

LIFE-CHANGING LESSON

It is said that at least once in a person’s life one is offered a life-changing lesson from another who has attained national greatness. On the other end of the phone, Eddie Seaga said, “Once you write that story, everyone is going to stand up and take notice. After that even those who would want to harm you would find it almost impossible.”

I wrote the story and after many threats, most ironically from Seaga’s own JLP, I am still here. He was right.

In 1997, another firefight broke out between Tivoli and the security forces after four men were shot dead by the police on Albert Street in Denham Town. Among the people eventually killed was a little six-year-old boy.

Seaga cried while showing me gory pictures of a woman’s skull cracked apart by high-powered assault rifles, fired by the police or soldiers.

In 2001, I spent six hours inside Tivoli Gardens as ‘war’ raged. Again, Seaga cried as we sat alone behind closed doors at the Tivoli Gardens community centre and discussed many matters. Even as the intense love he had for the poor residents was written all over his countenance, one could sense a quiet acknowledgement that all was not to his liking as the gun was gaining too much prominence in Tivoli Gardens.

After a media party in Christmas 1996 which was held at Seaga’s residence at the swanky Paddington Terrace, my then wife, Ann-Marie, and I, along with Barbara Blake, were the last people to leave. We were seated close to Seaga and his new wife, Carla, while Seaga and I talked about his vast knowledge of the Jamaican culture.

At one stage, I interrupted him over a disagreement on a point about obeah. Barbara shushed me and said, “No please, no, let him speak.”

Seaga will speak long after his bones are interred. He was larger than life.

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