Dr. Douglas, I beg you ten thousand pardon. You better than me, I can’t go with you. I am only one man, an old man, you are ten in one. I can’t go wid you. I give up. I have tried to fight you but you more than me. I capitulate. For two years now I fighting you. I came out like a champion. You had to beg me a break, “Don’t go on so bad, don’t call me no Pathologic liar. I don’t like it. Stay philosophical.” That time you thought you were slipping I challenged you to step down, to observe your own three term limit. I described you as a dictator in the making with undemocratic ambitious and surrounded By minions who would do your will and carry out your wishes. I went to town with you called you all kinds of names. I denounced you for trading away our land to the modern colonialist white people. I called you a niggar for falling under the control of Sugars, Christophe Harbour and the other shady characters who hide out in our country. Some of the people who hated you took me to task for calling you a niggar, an Uncle Tom. They said when I call you a niggar I mean them too and although I tried to show that such an argument was ridiculous, I just couldn’t convince them. They looked at me as vulgar for portraying you in such graphic language, and some of them even distanced me from them. I really didn’t mean to offend you, personally, believe me, but when I look at my beloved country, and when I Consider the history of the Caribbean, and when I go over all the Economics I studied years ago, at the University of The West Indies, it pained my heart to see you, a man many years the junior of my generation a man who is supposed to be modern trying to take my country back to the dark days of white colonialism. I found it hard to accept that a young man who does not love his country can hold its highest office. I remember my boyhood days when the white people of St. Kitts lived exclusively in the out of the way places. They had their exclusive tennis and billiard clubs, their own bars and their own black barmen Robert Bradshaw did not like this at all and he fought hard to break down those racial barriers in our society. Although we had nothing and lived mainly in the slums, he tried to embolden us with the idea that we could live like white people He laid the foundation in the Education System. He challenged the bastions of Educational privilege so that the sons and daughters of the underclass could acquire the marketable skills which would earn them big houses , big dollars like them. Education was the engine and he had innovators like Willie Dore, Victor Jones, Wilmoth Nicholls, Joseph Manchester, Sydney Morris and me, to pioneer a system of Education which breached the barriers of the aristocracy for thousands of black boys and girls including you, your brothers and sisters. Robert Bradshaw’s work had dramatic results. In my boyhood the white people at the Victoria Road Tennis Club had a servant whose name was Barman. None of us, boys knew what his real name was although all the boys from college Street and Market Street knew him very well,we. never heard any of the white people call him anything but “Barman”. Thanks to Robert Bradshaw, Barman’s son carries his name proudly as the Head of a Government Department, and a member of the sporting society. One of Barman’s grandsons is a doctor, actively involved in sport. The White men of the St. Christopher Billiards Club at the Square were served By a buttler, Ogal Hendricks. For most of my growing up, Ogal either sat at the door of the club or served the white men with their drinks. In the Bradshaw’s dispensation, however, Ogal retired, the Billiards lost its relevance and Ogals children became respectable black citizens. One of his grandsons, Scott Caines, is a prosperous businessman. Bradshaw’s work was replicated in many households in St. Kitts. It was aimed at the raising of the self esteem of the Black people of St. Kitts, who had learnt for many generations that their role in life was to genuflect to the white people. You claim to be his heir and godchild, but what you have done essentially, is to turn back the hands of the clock. You took the lands which your godfather left to improve the lives of the poor and turned them into ghettos. Bradshaw took the land from the white people to take black people to the next level. Housing was a very important factor in his mind. He deplored and loathed the CHA houses which the colonial white people offered the poor in the 1950’s. He dreamed of nice houses which would raise the level of the black family’s self esteem. That was why as much as lay in his power, he encouraged developments like Dorset and Green lands, Pond Site and New Pond Site, where black people could get land, design the houses they could afford, seek credit and build houses of their choice, houses that they could be proud of, that make the family comfortable and could hold the modern furniture. You reversed the process By creating ghettos where the poor can be kept in their places in little pathetic look alike homes. While Bradshaw was a slum clearer, you have become a ghetto builder. But your friends and minions don’t live in the ghettos because you give them opportunities to build huge dream houses and the ability to pay for them. They have to pay a price, though, personal allegiance to you. They have to forgo their self esteem. And they fear you more than they fear God Your strategy has worked. You keep the poor in the ghettos, sedated with wukkin up music, free drinks, fireworks and other glitter. You mesmerize them and hypnotize them into voting for you without telling them why. They are too drunk or too obsessed with sexual gyrations to listen anyway. People say that you work with obeah and deal with the super natural. In my small days I used to hear about men who were alleged to have become rich By selling souls including their own to the Devil. According to the report, human bloodshed was the basic requirement in this rite of passage from rags to riches. HUMAN BLOOD! We used to be afraid of such men, although we could never prove that the tales about them were true. I am afraid of you and although I cannot verify that you deal in necromancy, I can’t go with you, I beg you pardon, Ten Thousand! I decided to beg you pardon while talking to a young friend, a nice young man whose head is squarely on his shoulder, who works hard for his living and always has a hand outstretched to help others. I told him that I had invented a concept in Education called Project Strong, had perfected it over eleven years and then retired without compensation from the Government. I had no written or informal contact and although the transaction has all the elements of a common contract your government is using that as an excuse to deny me my rights. He suggested that I approach you with the promise to stop criticizing you if you decide to pay me the money which I claim. I almost agreed with him promising to think about it. As soon as he left, my spiritual advisor, Deacon James, visited me from his own sick bed. He came with a message from God. “Don’t give up the struggle. Brother Washie , God told me to give you this message.” And he gave me many words of encouragement. When he left, I was strengthened in my resolve. Should I really come to you and apologize for talking on my country’s behalf? Should I do this to get from you money which I deserve? Should I sell my birthright of freedom for a mess of pottage? Then I would be no different from the minions who surround you, afraid to tell you when you are wrong, because they are afraid to lose their comfort. Sorry, Dr. Douglas. No Way! A change me mind. Thanks, Deacon James.