“This whole episode has caused me to reflect on the real jeopardy that looms over the head of politicians who pursue their work with zeal and gusto” — John Saldivar.

I have never personally met Mr. John Saldivar. However, unbeknownst to himself, he some-what established an affinity with me by calling himself John Berchmans. He lived about four hundred years ago, and is part of a trilogy of youths who died very early as they were pursuing their vocation to become Jesuit priests. The other two are Aloysius Gonzaga and Stanislaus Kostka. If you are not Catholic, please don’t get nervous. We Catholics believe that they are not dead but very much alive in Heaven; and this is why we refer to them as Saints, to whom we pray for spiritual guidance.

John Berchmans (I say Berkman) entered the Jesuit seminary in Mechlin, Belgium, in Europe about 1616. At about the same time, a more mature man was taking a ship to South America. Pedro Claver, a Spaniard, was on a ship on his way to Colombia to work as a priest to serve the slaves from Africa, who were being sold at the biggest slave mart in the world at Cartagena, Colombia.

Berchmans died about five years after joining the Jesuits; Claver labored for over forty years, becoming the Slave of the Slaves. It is legendary that whenever, day or night, a ship would come to port, Claver would be on dock waiting to dive into the belly of the ship, a hellhole, to attend to the survivors of that dreadful Atlantic crossing. For forty years these wretched of the earth were Claver’s passionate focus. Is there any doubt that other men and women by their soulful commitment made the rest of mankind realise that slavery was an abomination and could not continue in this world?

We today need to be reminded of the horrific conditions in which these Africans, who were forced into slavery, were brought in these ships, chained to one place for the whole journey of about two months, eating, sleeping, urinating, and defecating in that one place, to which they were confined by chains, not allowed to go on the deck to enjoy cooling and refreshing breezes. It must have been a living hell! Can you imagine the stench? Can you imagine the nausea that the ordinary man must have suffered to enter that space?

Peter Claver, the religious brother of John Berchmans, would jump up out of the deepest sleep caused by hours of fatiguing attention to these men who were slaves brought from Africa. Chances are that if Berchmans had finished his studies as a priest, he would have lived to go to Cartagena. He did not; he died five years after becoming a Jesuit.

If John Saldivar had not started to refer to himself as John Berchmans, I probably would not be writing this article.

I have little anecdotes from my own political experience that have taught me how challenging this special vocation can be.

It was 1974. While I was running in my first election for the Pickstock seat, my wife and her friend, a fellow campaigner, had coaxed a very old man, very dark, very tall, but totally, completely blind. He rode with them to the polling station on the 2nd floor of Riverside Hall. They took very, very good care of this precious cargo, a sure, positive vote for me. For days he had been coached to say the name he was to speak aloud when asked whom he wanted to vote for. But when asked, he deliberately, confidently shouted out “George Price”. The elections officer informed him that George Price was not a candidate, and he had to vote either for Adolfo Lizarraga or Paul Rodriguez. When he heard that Lizarraga was running, he shouted out, “Yes, Lizarraga!” Naturally, you can guess how my wife and her friend Helen felt.

This man (I don’t remember his name, regrettably), he lives on in my mind and heart. He taught me the true meaning of “the will of the people”, and of conscience. In my mind, heart and soul, he has become to me a symbol of what all voting should be — something sacred, representing the best instincts of a person, a fellow human being. You have to have the heart of a slave owner to think that you can buy him.

I don’t believe that any of our Belizean politicians have the spirit or heart of slave owners, but it is so human to get carried away to deceive yourself to think that the end justifies the means. It never has and never will!

It is also human to think that slavery could never happen again. But three hundred years after slavery in Cartagena, the Nazi government in Germany persecuted, enslaved, and holocausted six million Jews. Man, driven by lust for power and by godless greed, is capable of anything. Therefore, it is necessary for us to nip in the bud any form of slavery that rears its head in our midst. One way that it could arise again is through making people dependent. Isn’t this what Mr. Saldivar, in his apologia, has told us that he has been doing to his constituents? Isn’t this what he has confessed to doing?

Mr. Saldivar has publicly declared sorrow for whatever he has done. But the sorrow expressed in the context he has given is not satisfactory. It speaks to me of sorrow for being caught. If contrition is to be real, it must proceed from an expression of the realization that the deed itself is wrong. Maybe his words should be followed by deeds.
In Belize national life it would be a signal moment of public instruction if he would publicly declare his assets and divide it into two parts, keeping for himself what he needs to carry on his personal life and giving the rest to a secure, safe charity that will definitely help the poor.
Not to belabour the point, but for public enlightenment: if you buy a person’s vote, you are participating in the same kind of evil that slave-owners were guilty of.

Perhaps we Belizeans don’t appreciate democracy as we should; because to achieve it, none of us had to shed our blood, as in other places, like America.

We Belizeans should never forget the words spoken by Abraham Lincoln on a field at Gettysburg where thousands had already died to defeat slavery and preserve democracy: “Government of the people, by the people, for the people survived on account of this battle against slavery.”

There is no perfect form of government in this world, in this life. And there will never be any such, for the present owners of this life and of this world are weak and fallible.

In this life, hopefully we will never have to shed our blood, but peacefully we all have to agree there is at least one single, simple act that we must perform perfectly now and again. It is a simple X that we mark on a ballot paper. That mark is you; it is your blood; it is your completely free and liberated conscience which proclaims in God’s presence, “I endorse this person to rule my affairs for the COMMON GOOD of all.”