I’d like to share with you my memories of July 27, 1990. I know I’m a bit of a Johnny-come-lately since the anniversary was a week ago. And there have already been multiple write-ups containing both first-hand accounts and personal reflections. So what’s so special about mine? It’s because I think it represents the multitude of recollections from citizens who lived through those events, all of which make up the grand mosaic of what happened. The more of those pieces we have, the clearer the picture becomes. (And honestly, I didn’t want to write ANOTHER column on COVID-19 or the elections; there’s going to be ample opportunity to address those topics in the near future.) That being said, we all have our stories to tell regarding the attempted coup – so here’s mine…
July 27, 1990. I was 11-years-old, enjoying my summer holidays and anticipating starting secondary school in September. That Friday afternoon, my sister and some of her friends took my brother and me to Astor cinema in Woodbrook to see a double feature; it was the 4:15 showing.
About 20 minutes into the second film, the doors to the theatre were flung open—the movie didn’t stop nor were the lights turned on—we were just told that “everybody had to get out”. So out we went.
After being unceremoniously ejected from the cinema, its patrons lingered on Baden-Powell Street not knowing what had happened and why; remember—these were the days before mobile phones.
We weren’t standing there for long when things suddenly turned chaotic. There were screams and the crowd began to scatter away from the cinema. I only caught a glimpse of what everyone was running from—a group of armed men dressed in dark blue coming towards us. To this day I never confirmed who they were… but I’d like to think those were officers from the nearby police station.
Either way, nobody stuck around to find out. I, along with my sister, her friends, and my brother, ran as fast as we could down French Street and onto Ariapita Avenue. By now it was around 6.30 pm. News of what was taking place hadn’t gone public, so everyone was going about their business as usual. Needless to say, our frantic group attracted a lot of stares from bystanders. Fortunately, we met the father of one of my sister’s friends who gave us a ride home. By the time we arrived, Abu Bakr (formerly known as Lennox Philip) had already made his first televised address, informing the population that, “…government has been overthrown”. It was the first time I ever heard the word “coup”. And, after its meaning was explained to me, it was the first time I ever felt terror. At 11 years old I thought the world as I knew it was coming to an end.
No one in the house slept that night. As paranoid as it sounds now, I had thoughts that thieves were going to break in and murder my entire family. Earlier in the evening, my father had received word that his business had been looted and was burning, along with a portion of downtown Port-of-Spain.
Peering through the windows, we watched as trucks drove towards the capital empty and came back full. It was easy to think that the anarchy would continue. After all, who was going to stop it? If the police and the army couldn’t protect the government, how could they protect us? The sun rose the following morning but did little to alleviate my fears. And the thick could of smoke that hung in the air cast a foreboding shadow of uncertainty. Was the worst behind us, or was it still to come?
Thankfully, our country, our democracy, survived. Even now, thirty years later, every time I think about it, the one question that I keep coming back to is whether the events of July 27, 1990, are still relevant? I’m not trying to diminish its importance, only to ponder on what it means to us today. And it’s not that we have forgotten. The recent protests by the residents of Morvant/Laventille caused Port-of-Spain denizens to evoke that ill-fated Friday. But what lessons, if any, did we learn?
The man who led that insurrection portrays himself as a Robin Hood-like figure who was fighting a righteous cause. His son, who has never denounced those actions, is running for political office. And the terrorist group that tried to overthrow the government, as a “religious organisation”, received taxpayer funds as part of the COVID-19 relief package. And yet, no one kicked up a fuss.
Is the attempted coup so far in the past that we aren’t filled with indignation over these things? Or are we just content to shake our heads and chalk it up to “Trinidad not being a real place”? This is reason enough for those of us who lived through those events to share our memories with those who came after. Whether you were a shopper fleeing downtown, a reporter trapped inside a media house, a soldier reporting for duty, or a frightened 11-year-old boy, we all carry a piece of the story.
And just as our country survived, the truth must survive as well.