'Heliporting' back in time

Darrell P Allahar

WE HAVE been commemorating the abolition of slavery in the British Empire since 1985 when we became the first independent country to declare Emancipation Day a national public holiday.

On August 1, 1834 the UK’s Slavery Abolition Act 1833 came into force and the law, at least in the British Empire, ended an evil institution which had existed for centuries before.

We celebrate the freeing of fellow human beings from the dehumanising bondage that they suffered in providing a free source of labour for those plantation owners and investors who profited handsomely by the West Indian sugar trade.

The basis of the institution of slavery was the notion that some human beings were mere property available to be exploited, because they were considered subhuman and they possessed no human rights or dignity whatsoever. Those enslaved were denied their personal liberty, suffered degrading treatment, sexual exploitation, were kept in abominable conditions, were prevented from forming family units, enjoying family life, and were not permitted to practise their religion.

We quite rightly celebrate the recovery of the God-given liberties of our brothers and sisters. They, at the stroke of midnight on August 1, 1834, were no longer considered in the eyes of the law as individuals undeserving of human dignity and basic human rights.

Indeed, in our Republican Constitution of 1976, we as a people acknowledged “…the supremacy of God, faith in fundamental human rights and freedoms, the position of the family in a society of free men and free institutions, the dignity of the human person and the equal and inalienable rights with which all members of the human family are endowed by their Creator.”

As a country, we have tried to ensure that our supreme law was firmly anchored in an appreciation of the horrors of our past, and our greatest aspirations in not repeating those atrocities in the future.

But have we lived up to those lofty aspirations as a people? Can life in contemporary Trinidad be said to be one where human dignity is respected and protected?

I do not wish to diminish the immense importance of Emancipation Day – which we observed on Tuesday – to all of us. However, as we celebrate the restoration of human dignity to those from whom it was so brutally taken, we should also pause to reflect on whether we are living up to the ideals which we annually commemorate.

An elderly member of my immediate family was denied entry into a government ministry because she was wearing a sleeveless top, which, mind you, was perfectly modest and broke no law. Every year for two days, we allow those with much less clothing to “free-up” in our streets, in a festival which is heavily subsidised by the same government to whose ministry my relative was denied entry.

These days, whenever I visit a bank or a government office, I must first tell the security guard at the door sufficient details of my private business in order for me to be allowed to even look inside of the building. No one can deny that there is a pervasive and stifling environment of oppression where ordinary folk are daily confronted by uniformed officers, frequently wielding semi-automatic rifles and the attendant attitude that accompanies heavy weapons.

Some weeks ago, a group of Venezuelan migrants at a nightclub in St James were reportedly detained by the police and immigration authorities and transported to the Chaguaramas heliport. I understand that some 138 people of both sexes are currently detained there awaiting deportation from TT. I understand that they have not been told when this will eventually happen.

There are reports of the deplorable conditions under which these migrants are held. I have received reports that both men and women have to use the same bathroom facilities for bathing and for answering the calls of nature. It has also come to my attention that they are offered a monotonous diet featuring sardines, white rice and bread and channa – certainly not the sumptuous fare that is served in the tearoom at the Red House.

I have received reports that even the food that the migrants receive from their friends and family outside are either taken away by the Coast Guard, or are left in conditions which make them inedible when the food finally reaches inside the building.

The information communicated to me by some migrants reveal a very sad and desperate place, where hundreds of men and women lie in the open on mattresses and have never ventured outside of the building since their capture. I have heard stories about the disgusting smells of urine, sweat and bodily waste permeating the humid air, swarms of mosquitoes, and the sobbing at night of those who do not know what fate they await.

My information has also revealed that some of the inmates of the heliport are subjected to the nastiest verbal abuse from those who are put in charge of them. I have received reports of certain men being called derogatory names and being told in the most degrading way that “allyuh Spanish should go back home because we don’t want any of you here.” There has also been one reported allegation of the rape of a detainee, which I hope is being investigated by the authorities.

There are other reports of at least one attempted suicide, a miscarriage and a lack of proper medical attention, save and except for a lone paramedic who offers Panadol for every ailment.

I do not, with respect, think that we have come a long way from 1834. In fact, it may fairly be said that the State is guilty of engaging in aspects of the same dehumanising conduct which we celebrated being freed from on Tuesday.

So while we so deservedly sing, dance and celebrate, we should also similarly and deservedly shed a tear, and spare a thought for those 138 of our fellow human beings who are being subjected to sub-human treatment at a “concentration camp” facility on a former US Army base. Ironically, we also celebrated the liberation of that same army base when Chaguaramas was given up by the US in 1963.

Unfortunately, we appear to have “heliported” back in time, but alas those in the heliport seem, to some of us, to be invisible.

Darrell P Allahar is an attorney