When my dad became the Postmaster General during the early 1960’s, there was no Western Union and no Money Gram in British Honduras. Belizeans in the States were advised to buy postal money orders when they wanted to send money home, but many just put U.S. dollars inside their letters. They were not supposed to do this. Cash money inside flimsy letters became a major temptation for the postal workers, especially the postmen.
There were two Christmas holidays when I worked as a teenager in Belize. It would either have been 1962 and 1963, or 1963 and 1964. I’m really not sure. In any case, for high school teenagers here in those days, the best Christmas jobs were at the Post Office, which would take on extra workers to handle the increased Christmas mail, which included boxes and packages.
When my dad got a stint at James Brodies on Albert Street for my first Christmas job, I was resentful of the fact that he did not take me on at the Post Office. I became even more resentful when it became clear that the Brodies jobs was a manual one, where I had to do things like clean rotten potatoes, stack cans of milk and clean the show windows. I think the experience was valuable, but at the time I really didn’t care for it that much.
My dad never said anything to me about what I considered a strange decision, but the following Christmas I did work at the Post Office. And it wasn’t easy being the son of the boss. The senior workers were skeptical and sarcastic at times, but it was still better than being at Brodies. So, I endured.
My dad is a brilliant man, but I don’t believe he is a classic managerial type. Managers should be possessed of some toughness, I understand, and the rap against my dad was that he was “soft.” In a larger economy, my dad would have excelled in what they call “think tanks” in the United States.
My dad never discussed his job at home. He never complained. But as the years have gone by, I have grown to believe that there was a clique inside the Post Office, which went along with a conspiracy of silence. There were systems and procedures the Postmaster could mandate, but, to repeat, the temptation to steal was great amongst the employees. And systems and procedures are only as effective as the workers want and allow them to be.
A couple weeks ago, I asked my dad about his experiences. It was not a long conversation. He cited one famous case of dishonesty, that involving a postman who was the “outside” son of a high ranking civil servant. The dude would take the mail to his mother’s office (she was a nurse), tear open the letters one by one, take the money from those which contained cash, and discard all the mail afterwards. He was caught red-handed, but beat the rap in court, with the aid of a skilful lawyer.
This case gives you a sense of the human hurt created by personal dishonesty. Imagine how many poor people in Belize were depending on specific money from relatives in the States. After Hurricane Hattie in 1961, Belizeans migrated to America by the thousands. Some of those torn letters would have included money sent from husbands/fathers abroad to wives/mothers for children at home. The thief didn’t care. This is what corruption is about – me, myself and I.
In the work environment, workers are loyal to each other. You won’t last long as an informer. In certain jobs, your life actually depends on your fellow workers. Take the Police Department. When cops go out on patrol, they have to be loyal to each other, above all. This is real.
For the last few months, the Hon. Prime Minister, Dean Barrow, and my dad have held regular conversations on my dad’s upstairs verandah, which is next door to me on Seashore Drive. I have never participated in those discussions, and probably never will. Those are between my dad and the P.M.
My dad is a scrupulously honest man. The Prime Minister has emphasized honesty in his administration. It is very difficult to achieve honesty in an organization as large as the Government of Belize. In fact, I would say it is impossible. But, the Prime Minister is well-intentioned. If he were not, he would not be spending those times with my dad.
Incidentally and in conclusion, people from the Musa/Fonseca faction must have seen the P.M.’s vehicle in front of my dad’s home one time. I presume my son-in-law, Hon. PUP Deputy Leader, Mark Espat, may have been visiting me at the same time. So the Musa/Fonseca people published in their newspaper that there was a secret meeting between the P.M., Hon. Espat and myself. They manufactured news.
The reality is that I will support my son-in-law (and my son) in all their PUP campaigns and elections. I am sure the P.M. assumes this. What Mr. Barrow presently has going with my dad, is something special. The conversations Mark Espat and I have are our own.
You know the deal. Power to the people.