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Onstage with him were a dozen or so young men and women in red shirts and black pants. By his own account, they are his most trusted constituents. He described as “unusual” their meeting on a recent Wednesday evening in Independence Square. Kenny Anthony was still Saint Lucia’s prime minister in March 2014 when he delivered it to the townspeople. Some residents consider the square—with its freedom-celebrating centerpiece—a monument to his work as Vieux Fort South’s parliamentary representative. Others take curious pride in its notoriety as their town’s breezy equivalent of the best little whorehouse in Texas.
He had declared himself the night’s sole speaker because, as he put it, “I wish to share with you matters that concern you and me. No one else.” Which was somewhat bewildering, to say the least, considering the hardly exclusive venue, the deafening PA system, and the unrestricted transmission to every peeping Tom and Jane with access to the internet. At the end of a somewhat hyperbolic introduction by a pudgy, over-excited man dressed in strict accordance with the evening’s code, by all he prophesied a believer in miracles, the night’s star lifted his six-feet-something slowly off his chair and expressed to the St. Lucia Labour Party for “understanding the peculiarity and unusual nature” of the meeting. For two decades without interruption, he had been the organization’s head honcho.
On the unforgettable late afternoon of April 21, 1996, he had started his acceptance speech with a passage from Shakespeare’s Henry VI. Barely audible for the sustained, enthusiastic shouts of acclamation from the floor of the packed Laborie Boys’ School, he read energetically from a multi-page manuscript: “In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility. But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the tiger. Stiffen your sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage.”
Much had changed since he first took over the reins of the St. Lucia Labour Party. Gone was the belly that for the greater part of his political career had been a soft target for his detractors. As if already merciless age had not done him bad enough, there were also the stunning consequences of his publicized health issues. He appeared skeletal. Evidently, he had lost more than just his appetite for late-night official steak dinners and expensive wines. He no longer lived for fawning throngs and deafening ovations.
This was how he explained the conspicuous absence of his present-day parliamentary colleagues from the Independence Square stage: “I asked that I be alone with you, my constituents, and that they do not share this platform with me. They understood.” He paused, appeared to take a deep breath, and then, sotto voce, added: “I appreciate it.”
He said it was not his intention to discuss at the meeting anything related to government projects. Neither would he be responding to pronouncements by Lady Lee, the opposition United Workers Party’s election challenger for his Vieux Fort South seat. That, he promised, wagging a somewhat menacing index finger, would come later. He wanted simply to express his gratitude to the wonderful people who had given him the opportunity to serve them, and their country, for the past 28 years. Upon him they had generously bestowed “the greatest honor.” But for their unwavering support, he repeated possibly for the fourth time, he could not have been for three terms Saint Lucia’s prime minister. He could not have been in a position to shape the nation’s “future development.” It seemed to have slipped his mind, conceivably a senior moment, that under our particular political system constituents do not elect prime ministers. In our neck of the woods, House colleagues make this most important decision, later to be blessed unquestioned by the local representative of the King or Queen of England.
Throughout his political career, he said, silvered head bowed, he’d hardly spoken about himself. Even his most loyal apostles could not say with certainty what were his academic credentials. Neither his various other accomplishments. He seldom discussed such matters. On this night to remember, however, for “very special reasons, and in a very limited way,” he would make up for the particular dereliction.
Next to politics, he trumpeted, his greatest achievements were in academia. Not many knew he is probably one of the few, “if not the only person,” to have graduated from the University of the West Indies with two first class honors degrees: one in politics and history, the other in law. He paused at the lectern, eyes focused on the papers in his left hand, as if unsure whether to proceed: “When I did my PhD at the University of Birmingham in the United Kingdom,” he tooted at last, “I was awarded a PhD without an oral examination. Almost unheard of in universities. The examiners thought my thesis was excellent. The quality, they reasoned, spoke for itself. It was convincing. Well researched. If there was a blemish, it was insignificant.”
Another pregnant pause, this time chin held high, seemingly hypnotized eyes staring straight ahead. When he spoke again, it was in a tone that at once suggested both vanity and virtue: “I value these academic judgments next to my sojourn in politics.” Once more he swung around to face his seated guests, perhaps checking for possible Doubting Thomases among them. “I will always retain the title by which you know me: Doc. It will always be a celebration of my academic achievements, not a celebration of the politics I shared with you over the years.” It was unclear whether he had been introduced as Doc when first he encountered those now sharing his stage. Interesting, too, that in his circumstances he had described “Doc” as a title, an official acknowledgement of his scholastic accomplishments. Not necessarily associated with intimacy. Or endearment!
It had been a long, memorable journey to where he now stood to deliver hosannas to himself and to fellow prime ministers who had devoted more years than he had to public service. For one, Ralph Gonsalves of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, whom he conjectured was about 78 years old. Trinidad & Tobago’s Keith Rowley, too, recently retired at age 75. And then there was Sir John. When he hung up his gloves in 1996, he was 71.
As for the man of the moment himself, come January 8, 2026, he revealed, he will be 75, “in the departure lounge, preparing, awaiting my call.” Throughout his journey, he reminisced, he had been the beneficiary of his constituents’ respect, their love, their affection, their loyalty. He had made many “beautiful and enduring friendships.” Alas he had, and was sad to acknowledge it, also “lost some friends, sometimes because of misunderstandings [hand on heart], sometimes because I was unable to deliver what was demanded of me.” But he never harbored any rancor, malice, or hatred. Always he had remained grateful for all he had been given.
One more time he addressed directly the seated special invitees. “On this journey you stayed with me, even when I was most vulnerable, at my lowest ebb. When the people of Saint Lucia by a majority turned their backs on me and the government I led, you never failed me. You stood with me. You gave me an armchair of comfort. You hugged me. I could never, ever, have asked for more.” Hard to believe those faces that could easily have belonged to his grandchildren, had been at his side through good and bad times, and for as long as he had intimated. Perhaps he only went back to 2016. No matter, who would argue about giant servings of flattering hyperbole, merited or not—especially when generously garnished with love and appreciation.
Perhaps for the benefit of the significantly absent, who may have permitted time and familiarity and envy to dull their senses, who for lack of enlightenment may on occasion have underestimated what he kept hidden under a cloak of humility, he presented his credentials. He was effectively still a political virgin in 1997, he said, when he rescued a disorganized, leaderless and downcast St. Lucia Labour Party from the quicksands of opposition wilderness and carried them on his then unscarred back up the perilous road to the Promised Land.
He won his own seat by a majority of 965 votes when the voter turn-out was a near miraculous 70.2 percent. His victim in the historic 1997 encounter was “the famous . . . or infamous . . . Peter Josie.” In 2001 his majority was 1308, with a turn-out of only 52.91 percent. His opposition this time was the generally well liked, though not necessarily as a politician, Hillary Saltibus. He it was who, in his role as master of ceremony, had introduced the sole act to the tiny Independence Square audience. Like others (save Peter Josie, who in vain had wrestled him for control of the Vieux Fort seat, Saltibus was now, by Kenny Anthony’s own sappy declaration, “a dear friend.”)
In 2006, an obviously ailing and relatively feeble John Compton famously came out of retirement to return the United Workers Party to power. Although by his own account Anthony was devastated by his loss to a geriatric with one foot in the grave, he took comfort in the fact that he had retained his own seat with a 624 majority. The turn-out then was 62.27 percent. His challenger was a Vieux Fort-based physician named Ulric Mondesir, rumored to have done most of his campaigning while writing prescriptions at his clinic. (Compton passed barely a year after the 2006 elections. Stephenson King inherited the position of prime minister.)
In 2011, after the Labour Party leader’s stint in opposition, his majority climbed. Almost doubling to 1241, he informed the Vieux Fort gathering. The turn-out was 56.44 percent of eligible voters. His victim on the occasion, a swineherd named Karl Daniel, the winner’s reputed relative, returned to his swine.
He raised his voice, as if in competition with the stridulating night insects in Independence Square. “In 2016, when I faced my greatest challenge,” he recalled, “when there was a major swing against the St. Lucia Labour Party, I won my seat by 338 votes. The turn-out was 53.45 percent. My UWP opponent was, once again, Ulric Mondesir. His best showing.”
The 2021 general election was special. It had brought him the greatest personal satisfaction. He won the constituency by 1563 votes, his greatest majority in all the years he had represented Vieux Fort South. The turn-out was 46.5 percent. The UWP candidate was Hermangild Francis, a former deputy police commissioner with whom he had “history.” For a moment he was silent. Contemplative. The smile that played hide-and-seek under his mustache barely softened his demeanor. Rather, it conjured up a conniving Brer Fox with steaming rabbit stew on his mind.
As if he were reliving a particular good-news moment, he sang-song—in slow motion: “It was . . . a . . . resounding . . . sweet . . . victory!”Why? We can only conjecture. Perhaps the sweetener was home-brewed. An acquired taste.
Revisiting his election statistics had further convinced him of his specialness that in 1979 had moved the recently elected Labour government of Allen Louisy to amend a law for the purpose of facilitating his membership in the Senate, that he was several cuts above his colleagues, that he was “a blessed politician.” (Applause! Applause! Weak applause, true enough, but then, how loud can a dozen pair of hands, however enthusiastic, clap?) “That is why . . .”
He abruptly changed course. “I’m not here to defend the Labour Party tonight. Neither am I here to excoriate [one of his favorite words] Lady Lee. That will come later.” (An ominous signal? To whom? The earlier mentioned Lady Lee? His missing party colleagues?)
“I want to share with you these personal feelings,” he went on, “what they’ve meant to me, and why you have been so important to me all my life . . . in those 28 years that we’ve shared together. I believe I have achieved something that no other politician has achieved. Or can make claim to. In the journey I have just described, I fought elections against five UWP candidates. Three of them became my good friends, and subsequently openly supported me, including Dr. Ulric Mondesir who came closest to winning this seat for the United Workers Party.” Actually, it is widely bruited about that the good doctor’s political battles were of the WWE variety. That Mondesir had always been secretly a member of Kenny Anthony’s fan club!
Something in the atmosphere seemed to resurrect the long dormant school teacher in his soul. He appeared to revert to Kenny Anthony the one-time school principal. Or was that Kenny Anthony the UWI lecturer shaking that familiar lance-like index finger at particular individuals not necessarily in sight? “Let this be a lesson to others,” he hoarsely bellowed. “There is room in politics for civility and respect. And those of you who campaigned with me all those years can vouch that I never denigrated Hillary Saltibus. I never denigrated Karl Daniel. Regardless of how formidable the challenge from Ulric Mondesir, I never attacked or abused him. I hope this lesson—that there is room in politics for humility and respect—is learned. If we have done anything in Vieux Fort South, it is that we have handled our politics differently. With class, with civility, with decorum, with respect and understanding.” He saw no need to reference the other constituencies, took no responsibility for the way his colleagues may have conducted their 2021 campaign “against the Chastanet family.”
He paused, perhaps to savor the approving sounds from his back-up group, then returned to the “sweet” majority he received in the 2021 elections. The numbers convinced him that even regular followers of the UWP had decided the time had come to trust him with their vote. “I thank them, I recognize them.”
On the other hand: “It is true there are UWPs who hate and detest me. That’s normal. It’s understandable. But deep in their hearts they know I’ve tried to be a just and fair politician. When it was possible to do so, I have helped all who approached me. All who have come my way. All who have sought my help—even to my personal detriment.”
He did not overlook the elderly and the sick, neither those no longer breathing. It mattered not the party of their affiliation. He recalled some names, and vowed never to forget how loyal to him they had been, especially in the earliest days of his career. He recalled, too, the difference he and his administration had made in their lives. Whenever he was on-island and not ill or saddled with a major emergency, he traveled up and down the constituency to be with residents, to hear their woes, to hear their difficulties, to hear their challenges, to feel their pain.
“That is the meaning of commitment,” he said. “I maintain the regime even to this day. One Wednesday I’m in my office, the next Wednesday I’m traveling throughout the constituency to see for myself the status of projects you requested. It is this passion, this construct of putting people first at all times that was at the heart of the policies of the government I led. But tonight I will not go down Memory Lane and list all the policies. I will cite a few just to remind you.”
Space does not permit on this occasion inclusion all the reminders. Let the following suffice. He recalled it was his administration that had created the Poverty Reduction Fund, his government that had conceived and implemented Proud, which allows long-time squatters to own the lands they occupied. He said he prayed the present government will continue what he had started and make sure the people continue to own the land.
He hoped the day’s Labour Party government would not “betray the residents of Bruceville, that finally they will be given ownership of the land, land that has been surveyed in a preliminary way.” It was also a government under his leadership that had created the opportunity for every Saint Lucian child to get a place at a local secondary school. He who had started to prepare them, if only inadvertently, for life in the era of Artificial Intelligence, by providing students with laptops. His government it was that had created the controversial STEP program “to provide a modicum of income to the poor and marginalized.”
And then there was the matter of “modern sporting infrastructure” that his government had provided, an important fact that he said he “almost forgot to mention.” He lamented what had happened to “what is now St. Jude Hospital,” prayed its construction would soon be completed and the Odlum stadium returned to the sporting community. He “honored, applauded and respected” the fact that the government under Philip J. Pierre is continuing most of the programs initiated by the administration which I led over three terms. It is great credit to him that he’s adding to those programs he inherited.” Surprisingly, the applause was barely audible.
“I know there have been occasions when I have disappointed some of you,” he went on. “Despite your disappointment, you have believed in me, trusted me. Because you know who I am. I know you were disappointed when I chose not to join the Cabinet after the last general elections. I owe you an explanation. I will now give you that explanation.”
It seemed even noisy crickets abruptly went silent. As for the fidgety apostles back of him, now they seemed frozen. Petrified, even. The long-time object of their unswerving devotion had signaled his intention to drop a bombshell in Independence Square: “I hope after you’ve heard my explanation you will understand there are still politicians who can think about this country as a whole. Who can think about Saint Lucia before party.”
Now he was speaking extemporaneously. Presumably from the heart. “We still have politicians who can put aside their own emotional wants and desires, who can put their country first. Some of you believe the only way a constituency can benefit is for its parliamentary representative to be in the Cabinet. To have a seat at the table. And you are not wrong,” he blared. “Sometimes our Cabinet do not understand that all constituencies matter, in equal measure. And precisely because there is something called equity, there must be absolute fairness in the treatment of all constituencies. And it’s not because a particular representative is at a Cabinet table that the Cabinet should be used as a mechanism to divert all resources, or the bulk of resources, to the constituencies represented by that individual. This thinking is myopic. It is archaic.”
It was pretty obvious the particular Cabinet he had referenced. He envisaged another, a 25-30-member Cabinet down the road. “Do we then make every parliamentarian a minister or parliamentary secretary?” He cited the UK Parliament with a membership of over six hundred elected members but had a Cabinet of around thirty to forty members. “Obviously, all of them cannot be ministers. That would be an absurd proposition, and we have to mature in our politics. We must create the right precedents in the development of our country. No matter how disappointed you may be by our politicians, you must never give up on what is right, proper and in the best interests of this country. Never!” Was that Kenny Anthony summoning the tiger, summoning up the blood, disguising fair nature with hard-favor’d rage? Was Kenny Anthony advocating resistance?
The small movements back of him were once again in evidence. Perhaps what he said had not not quite measured up to the promised explanation for choosing not to be a member of Philip Pierre’s admittedly over-populated Cabinet that included, for the first time in the nation’s political history, two elected independents. He reminded of a man maneuvering a minefield, mindful of every step: “I believe it would’ve been an unfair burden on our country to have had two former prime ministers in the Cabinet, along with its current prime minister.”
Whaaat! Did Kenny Anthony actually expect his audience, at home and abroad, to buy into what he seemed to be saying was the reason he had chosen not to be part of a Cabinet comprising Pierre and Stevenson King and his long alleged arch foe Richard Frederick? The last mentioned, who has yet to savor the sweets of the office of prime minister, was by no means a newcomer to Cabinet. How could Saint Lucia have suffered from their combined talents and experience, good and bad? But Kenny Anthony casually dismissed this dream team as a “burden on the country.” The math simply did not math—especially when it is recalled that the Constitution was recently amended to accommodate the ministerial ambitions of a deputy Speaker. There is nothing on record indicative of concern on the part of Kenny Anthony. Indeed, the vacant deputy Speaker’s chair was taken over by none other than Kenny Anthony, the former prime minister Kenny Anthony.
On his big night in Independence Square, which was not a farewell night, as some had surmised, he offered another reason for staying in his corner, keeping his distance from Pierre’s Cabinet. But before that, he implied his 2016 resignation as party leader was to afford Pierre the opportunity to learn the ropes of leadership, so to speak. “The best way I could’ve served the St. Lucia Labour Party,” he said, “was to allow Philip J. Pierre to govern in his own image, in his own style, on his own terms, freely and unhindered by my presence. It would have been unfair for him to be walking on eggshells just because I was around him, casting my shadow. In short, I have never ever wanted to cast my shadow over the government of the Saint Lucia Labour Party.”
What to make of the above? How does one man, a man way past his peak, let us say, imagine himself capable of overshadowing not only a government but a whole party as well? Arrogance? Delusion? Or is it that Kenny Anthony considers himself ordained by the Almighty, “a blessed politician,” as he put it? Readers are free to speculate.
More on that later. Let me end now with my observation that not once in Independence Square did Kenny Anthony cite a government program that had originated under the current prime minister. The best he could say was that Pierre had been wise enough to continue what Kenny Anthony had started when he ruled the roost. Ironically, it was thanks largely to Pierre and a small group I need not identify that Kenny Anthony found himself unopposed leader of the St. Lucia Labour Party, and only a few months later into the office of prime minister. In that recalled general election Pierre topped all polls. Ain’t life a beach?
Meanwhile, the SLP has not commented publicly on Kenny Anthony’s announcement in Vieux Fort that he will not be contesting the next general elections. Oh, but one Cabinet member has: “With hindsight at my disposal, I think you were a great leader!” Doubtless, this Cabinet member will find concurrence with at least one of our three living former prime ministers!
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