Growl of a Wounded Leopard! - April 3, 2001

By Earl Bousquet

The most we know about leopards in these tropical susnshine islands is that they never change their spots. But Amerindian and Bush Negro hunters in the jungles of the Guianas will also tell you that a wounded leopard must never, ever be trusted -- especially when cornered. Aged and weaker than in its younger days, the particular carnivore will gather all its survival instincts and lash out with all its deadly strength at the very first chance it gets. For that final do-or-die attack, it will summon all its viciousness and ferocity.

Unfortunately for the growling species, however, the hunters of the Amazonian hinterland have come to know it very well. They have studied its ways well over the years. Its tactics are now well known by even the youngest of today’s hinterland inhabitants. Even those animal species it once easily and mercilessly preyed upon have come to know what to expect of the aged leopard.

Battle scarred, no longer able to mate, losing teeth and slowed-down by the inevitable decline in its physical strength, a rapidly aging leopard’s quickly becomes unable to roam the jungle unchallenged. Consequently, conservationists fear that indigenous species of the ferocious cat family in an increasingly hostile habitat will continue to decline in number, as their skins continue to fetch top dollar prices on the world market in the illegal international trade in endangered species.

            George Odlum today behaves like a cornered, wounded leopard. Fired by his Prime Minister, regarded as a Judas by his former Cabinet and St. Lucia Labour Party colleagues, having disregarded his entire family’s concern and wise counsel and accepted by SLP, UWP, his Alliance colleagues -- and indeed all of St. Lucia -- as one who really believes the Prime Ministership of St. Lucia was willed to him by his late father, he finds himself unable to navigate himself out of the cul de sac.

            Failing to convince even the children of St. Lucia today of the wisdom of his ways, scorned by even those who once adored and idolized him, the wounded political tiger is starting to lash out in all directions. Tired, slow and devoid of the sharp instincts he was once credited with, he finds the jungle terrain quite changed in today’s political landscape. The young leopards no longer follow him ad the younger tigers no longer fear him. His old soldiers have grown tired of his senseless incursions into impossible battles. No political camp fully trusts him. And even the most loyal of his “Cardboard Soldiers” have deserted their General. Not even his co-chairman in the alliance, Sir John Compton, is fully convinced that this particular leopard had changed his spots and seems less likely than ever, to ever be prepared to be led in government by Odlum. (In fact, Sir John has designated the Foreign Affairs portfolio for Odlum in a post election alliance government.)

            After three decades of politics, everyone above the age of 40 has lived to see “Brother George” make the greatest turnarounds ever in local politics. The revolving door ofOdlum’is political life has taken him from the FORUM and SLAM in the late sixties and early 70s, through the SLP to the late 70s, in the political wilderness in the 80s, “rescued from a Marigot rum shop” by John Compton in the early 90s, given refuge in the SLP once again in the late 90s and finally fired by his Prime Minister at the start of the 21^st century.

            Rational thinking would have it that the only thing left for the battle-scarred general to do after a litany of political failures would be to bow gracefully out of the arena while there was still time to rescue his rapidly sliding image as a fighter for the people. It’s clear the old warlord is tired. He has become so battle weary that his war tactics are more akin today to using traditional bows and arrows in the age of nuclear weaponry and satellite military technology. But the irrationality of the man himself wouldn’t allow him to accept that wars are no longer fought in jungles or on battlefields.

            Experienced hunters will also tell you that a wounded leopard is usually quite predictable. But knowledge of its instinctive reactions always ensures that it’s just a matter of time before it’s subdued. Whether it’s trapped, speared or simply tranquilized with potent arrows or blowpipe darts depends on how it behaves when cornered.

George Odlum’s chequered political history is as spotted as a leopard’s skin. His ability to swing from party to party and position to position in pursuit of his insatiable thirst and hunger for the Prime Ministership is akin to the cat’s flying leaps from tree to tree after a faster, elusive prey. But his Tarzan-like swings from pillar to post are not new.

A quarter-of-a-century ago, Odlum caused the postponement of the Labour Party’s national convention in Augier when he opposed Kenneth Foster for the leadership of the party in 1976. Just a few years earlier, he had declared on FORUM and SLAM platform that he was “not interested in politics” or in taking over the leadership of the Labour Party, which he had joined just before the 1974 election with just that hope in mind. When he lost his bid to become Party Leader that year and was out-manoeuvered by the party’s leadership, he blamed “the gargoyles” and accused them of shutting him out from a position he considered he was ordained for.

Twenty-five years later, Odlum again finds himself in the unenviable position of trying to convince an already otherwise convinced nation that he has put aside all previous pretensions to the throne; that he no longer harbours deep down inside that insatiable hunger and thirst for absolute leadership and power; that he and John Compton can be two equal parts of a hydra-headed monster and no one should be afraid to trust them.

            His flirtation and dalliance with the Alliance has deepened his greed for power. But by his words and actions, he is also deepening his own political grave. Unwilling and unable to accept that that “the masses” no longer follow him blindly, he is wont not to want to pause and look back for fear of the nothingness he will see. Instead, Odlum has resorted to the growling threats of a cornered carnivore.

Fearful that his spotted scalp may now be nearer than ever to adorning the walls of a future museum of political anthropology, his pride wounded by rejection, he has squared up for what he has every reason to believe will be the biggest and ultimate fight of his political life.

Having boxed himself into a tight corner, he will do what it takes to deal that final, fatal blow. Like the wounded leopard, he won’t go down without a fight, without first tasting flesh and blood. Anything in his way – lamb or tiger – will pay for his survival.

Unfortunately, however, the young soldiers who followed “Brother George” in his feverish pursuit of power in the past 25 years have long grown up and gotten wiser to the ways of today’s political jungle. Those on whom he would wish to prey in his final battle have learned well of his ways over the years and there is no new trick he can come up with that will surprise them.

Odlum’s lonely survival struggle continues. He growls loudly with the hope that the threatening sound will ward off all who hear it. But, in any jungle, the roar of a lion is always more respected and feared. Not heard as often, lions carefully choose their prey and their battles. And when they roar, even leopards are careful enough to avoid their path.

Has George Odlum heard the roar of the lions of today’s concrete jungle? Can he sustain the war he has declared on those who know him best? Time alone will tell. But, as this cornered leopard has himself often publicly admitted of late, time is simply not on his side.

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