Max Albert and I continue our discussions on the Tobago Autonomy Question.
There are moments when a people must stop debating percentages, powers, and constitutional clauses, and ask a more uncomfortable question: how well do we remember the people who made the struggle possible? Today, we remember Dr Winston Churchill Murray.
Most Tobagonians know the towering place of ANR Robinson in our constitutional history. It is deserved. But history contains another extraordinary moment which deserves equal telling.
There was a tumultuous time in the recent parliamentary struggle over Tobago’s future. Tobagonians who had travelled to Parliament—including Hochoy Charles, Pamela Nicholson and Caedmon Murray—were among those vocally pressing the Tobago cause. Cries of “Free Tobago!” rang out. Speaker Arnold Thomasos ordered Tobago supporters removed from the House. Robinson, according to the oral history we have gathered, left in solidarity with them.
Winston Murray stayed. That distinction matters. Robinson chose protest and solidarity. Murray chose another strategy: he remained inside the parliamentary process.
Years later, Parliament was reminded that Murray and Overand “Bunny” Padmore of the PNM remained and negotiated until agreement was achieved.
And Murray did not merely stay. The Tobago House of Assembly credits him with securing important changes to the legislation establishing the modern Assembly, including something every Assemblyman since has inherited: a four-year term instead of the three years originally proposed. Murray also fought for the Assembly’s leadership to be a paid, full-time position.
But to understand Murray merely as the Tobago West parliamentarian standing beside Robinson is to misunderstand the man.
He was an intellectual. From humble beginnings in Charlotteville, he studied at Howard and Georgetown Universities and earned his doctorate in Latin American Studies from American University. At Mt Pelier, Murray established a school—a place of books and learning. In a peculiar Tobagonian sense, he was our Socrates, Plato and Aristotle rolled into one: questioning, teaching and provoking thought.
One of his important works bore a magnificent title: The Politics of the Dispossessed: Politics, Labour and Social Legislation in the Commonwealth Caribbean.
Murray did not merely write about workers. On Max Albert’s desk is an original government document Murray left in his keeping: Certificate of Registration No. 329 for the Tobago General Workers Union, dated July 29, 1977. Murray founded that union, distinct from the separately named Tobago Workers Union.
But 1977 tells us something else. That year, Murray established the Fargo House Movement, named for APT “Fargo” James, Tobago’s first representative in the national Parliament. It became a vehicle for Murray’s robust conception of Tobago’s identity and right to determine its affairs.
Then, on December 31, 1977, came an iconic act.
Murray raised a Tobago flag. At Fort James in Plymouth, the black, green, and red flag was hoisted as an assertion of Tobago’s distinct identity. Murray subsequently confirmed his part in the act, while Caedmon Murray and Benedict Armstrong have also confirmed the event and its symbolism. It revealed something profound about Murray’s politics. Robinson and Murray shared the objective of advancing Tobago, but differed philosophically and strategically over how the cause should be pursued. Robinson’s approach was more incremental; Murray’s became more robust.
Yet therein lies a fascinating contradiction. The more radical man was also the man who stayed at the negotiating table. Scholar. Teacher. Author. Trade unionist. Parliamentarian.
And a man who understood the dispossessed.
Is that not, in some respects, the Tobago story itself? A small island struggling for a meaningful voice over its resources, institutions, and destiny. Murray studied people on the margins—and entered Parliament to fight Tobago’s marginalisation.
Which brings us to something that troubles us deeply. What did Tobago do with Winston Murray? He died in Hampton, Virginia on New Year’s Day 2017, far from the Tobago for which he had fought. In March 2017, the Assembly announced that a three-member committee would recommend an appropriate way to honour his life, contribution, and legacy.
Years passed. A boulevard eventually received his name. We welcome it. But naming a road after a man and enshrining what that man means to a people are two different things. And here our disappointment becomes anger.
Why have successive Tobago administrations not done more? Where is the Winston Murray Institute for Tobago Studies? Where is the annual Winston Murray Lecture on self-government? Where are the scholarships in labour studies, political science, and Caribbean development? Where are his books in our schools? Where is the permanent memorial within the very Assembly whose four-year life bears his fingerprints? How did we allow this?
Robinson received his deserved place in history. Giving Murray his due cannot diminish Robinson in any way, shape or form. Tobago’s history can contain both men.
Robinson walked out with Tobago; Murray stayed inside for Tobago. Two patriots. Two strategies. One Tobago cause. He stayed, argued, and negotiated when it mattered. Tobago came away stronger because he did.
There is therefore a cruel irony with which we must end. Winston Murray wrote about the dispossessed. He organised workers among them. He devoted his intellect to understanding them. Yet, perhaps Tobago committed its own act of dispossession: we dispossessed Winston Murray of his rightful place in our history. That debt remains unpaid. And as Tobago again struggles to complete the unfinished business of its autonomy, there could hardly be a better time to pay it.
Not another passing tribute. Not another anniversary statement. Something permanent. Something profound. Something worthy of the man. Because when others believed the battle lost, Winston Murray did something deceptively simple.
He stayed.
