Retired Parliament worker recalls trauma of attempted coup: Caught in the Chamber

OVER the past week, Newsday has highlighted stories of the key players in the attempted coup of 1990. People from soldiers to politicians, loved ones of those killed and even a member of Abu Bakr's Jamaat al Muslimeen have all given their stories.

But what of those who worked at the Red House on that fateful day, 30 years ago? They too have stories to tell, stories which still haunt them three decades after the event which shook TT's soul and changed its history forever.

Over the past week, the Parliament also began to share the account of some survivors of the coup with staff members via internal memos written by the survivors.

Newsday contacted director of communications at the TT Parliament Colleen Holder, who sought and got permission from Marlene Andrews – a parliamentary attendant at the time of the attempted coup – to have her account published.

Today, Andrews is enjoying the fruits of her labour in retirement, but time has not dimmed her memory of the traumatic events of July 27, 1990. This is her story.

My name is Marlene Andrews and I am a survivor of the attempted coup which occurred on July 27, 1990. That Friday started out as any work day. As a parliamentary attendant at that time, part of my duties involved assisting MPs in the Chamber.

The sitting commenced at 1.30 pm, proceeded as usual and was suspended by the Speaker at 4.30 pm for the tea break. At 5 pm the sitting resumed, with the Honourable Minister Joseph Toney on his legs completing his contribution.

A short while into minister Toney’s contribution, the honourable prime minister, Mr ANR Robinson, seated on minister Toney’s left, motioned to me to take a note from him to an Opposition member. Just as I was about to take possession of the note I heard loud noises, which I could not immediately identify at the time.

Although not understanding what was happening I headed for the front door and was almost knocked down by members of the Prime Minister’s security detail who were rushing into the chamber towards him, while people from the public gallery were scampering, obviously trying to get out of the chamber as well.

GOD KEPT

ME GOING

I made my way out of the chamber, running down the corridor on the Abercromby Street side of the Red House, and at that time there was rapid gunfire. I made an attempt to exit through the private entrance which was usually used by parliamentarians, but quickly changed my mind and headed for the St Vincent Street side of the Red House, from where I observed Police Headquarters on fire.

Only God kept me going and I found refuge in the accounts department, where I met my co-worker Gertrude James, a few police officers and a man who I later learned had been in the public gallery. We were all huddled under desks, still unsure of what was occurring, but the sounds of gunshots continued unabated. I was terrified.

We were there for what seemed like forever, with Gertrude and I embracing each other, crying and praying that we make it out alive. We shared stories about our families, which I guess was a coping mechanism for us.

By this time the police officers had taken off as much of their uniforms as possible.

In an attempt to shift my huddled position, I had to ask the gentleman from the public gallery to release my legs, which he had been holding on to for dear life. When he did so, I removed my stockings and repositioned myself after which he promptly took possession of my legs once again. When I look back at that moment, I guess that was his coping mechanism.

We remained there, wondering what was happening and when it would be over, as we continued to pray for rescue.

Around 4 am on Saturday, we heard footsteps up the corridor and it appeared as though whoever they belonged to was kicking doors and presumably checking the offices, but luckily we had locked the door.

After some time had elapsed, and the footsteps receded, one of the officers indicated that we would have to make a move while it was still dark and advised that we roll ourselves down the corridor and then run down the stairs which led to the Registrar General’s department.

I JUMPED OVER

BASANTA'S BODY

As we made it down the stairs, Mr Basanta, an estate constable, recognised me and quickly unlocked the gate which allowed us to access that area. A burst of gunfire erupted and we scampered in different directions, with me ending up in a toilet stall by myself.

When the gunfire stopped, I could hear a voice calling for help and realised it was Mr Basanta. I stood on the toilet seat and was able to see him with blood oozing from his body. He had been shot. I was petrified.

I continued to pray for God’s intervention which would bring safety to me.

I heard the chime of the clock at the nearby Holy Trinity Cathedral signalling that it was 5 am and I made the decision to get out of the Red House. I decided that if I was to die at that point, at the very least I would not make it easy for them to kill me.

With that decision made, I now had to jump over the body of Mr Basanta, the man who really made it possible for me to get away from the Parliament level of the building. I made a dash for the window, jumped out, and as I hit the ground it was speed, running eastbound towards Frederick Street.

Again, there was the sound of rapid gunfire, which seemed to give me more speed as I ran past the church, across Hart Street looking for somewhere to hide. I spotted a door which I thought would lead to somewhere, anywhere away from the Red House, and soon realised it was the holding area for garbage just before what we now know as the Subway food outlet.

I remained there, barefooted amongst the maggots and whatever else might have been there, until the door was opened at around 6.15 am by a man. I later learnt that he was a looter looking for empty boxes to carry away items he looted from nearby stores.

The man asked me if I was a Red House staff member and I nodded, as I could not speak. I just continued crying. He then held my hand and took me over to soldiers who were on Frederick Street. Still not quite aware of what was taking place, I could only tell them of my experience in answer to their questions.

TAKE ME TO

MY HUSBAND

It was only then I knew what had happened and apparently was still happening.

The soldiers wanted to take me to the army base, as that was their instruction with respect to survivors they encountered, but I begged them to allow me to go to my home, where my husband and three children were all traumatised, as they were aware of what was taking place in the Parliament chamber, but had no idea if I was alive or dead. Thank God, they agreed.

When asked to give a contact number for my husband, it took me three attempts to finally give the correct one. When they contacted my husband, they directed him to come into Port of Spain via Broadway to the corner of Frederick Street, facing north with his headlights on and blinking.

The soldiers were kind and wanted to lift me, as I was barefooted and the street was littered with broken glass, but feeling safer and knowing that God was with me, I opted to walk. I was just anxious to get to my husband. After about half an hour, I was escorted by the soldiers to my husband’s car. I remember seeing tears in his eyes, watching me as I entered the car. It is only then that I really felt safe.

We drove straight to the Holy Trinity Church in Arouca, where the priest prayed with and for me. We thanked God for my safe return to my family and prayed for the safety of those who were trapped in the Red House. Then it was home to my children.

Without a doubt that was the worst experience of my life. It has caused me to be always mindful of how life as you know it can change, one way or the other, in the blink of an eye.

I often reflect on those who lost their lives, including Mr Mervyn Teague from the Government Broadcasting Unit, who was ahead of me as we ran out of the Chamber. He was shot at the bottom of the private entrance stairway, where I first wanted to go.

I pray that officer Basanta, Mr Teague and the souls of all the others who were taken that day, are at peace.

I thank God every day, even now 30 years later, for sparing my life and I try to live my purpose for which I believe He caused me to escape death. I also thank God for the strength and frame of mind to document my experiences of July 27, 1990, for the first time.

Editor's note: Marlene Andrew's story was shared for the first time with staff members of the Parliament on July 28, 2020.