Melville Cooke
I HAD expected Donald 'Zekes' Phipps to be freed of murder charges and return to rule Matthews Lane and downtown Kingston adjoining and Reneto DeCordova Valentino Adams to be permanently sidelined from the Jamaica Constabulary Force.
I was totally wrong on the first count and a little less so on the second; Adams is back to active duty in something vaguely called intelligence gathering (where, as someone whom I perceive to be a genuinely bright man, he belongs), but not on his beloved streets (where my skin would 'Crawle' to see him again).
To have both men from different sides of the law, but both having the reputation of keeping order by shall we say rigorous methods, being tried in the same building at the same time was sheer drama that a scriptwriter would have been hard-pressed to conjure up. But then, that is the story (literally and figuratively) of Jamaica.
However, the trials, especially Phipps', were more than simply sensational murder cases. They were, I contend, the real Jamaican elections. Whether the Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) or the People's National Party (PNP) wins a general election, the same kind of people will be in power. The rising public power of the dons was, however, another thing entirely; it was a potential power shift of cataclysmic proportions.
The key word is 'public' and there was no greater public display of that public power than in 1999 when Zekes, after being taken into custody, dismissed the crowd howling for their leader's freedom from before the Central Police Station in downtown Kingston with the reassurance 'me soon come'.
The casual confidence of the statement was stunning. There was absolutely no anger, no doubt, no gloating in his voice or demeanour. Taken into custody and within the precincts of the major police station in the capital of the country, Zekes was as sure that he would 'soon come' as you and I are sure that the Blue Mountains are in place.
The confidence was not misplaced.
SUPREME PUBLIC MOMENT
It was his supreme public moment and, I believe, the start of his downfall. For it is one thing to wield power; it is quite another to wield it publicly. And Zekes and Adams wielded the power of their immense personal popularity way too publicly for those who were supposed to be actually 'running things'.
Think about it. At one point, Adams was more quoted and courted, certainly by the press, than the police commissioner. And I used to hear a few bus conductors call out 'Zekes Town!' when heading out from Cross Roads, announcing the popularity of a man who was all over the newspapers. Those who 'run things' do not appreciate those to whom they delegate the messier parts of the engine of power appearing to hold the steering wheel.
Hence we ended up at the court of King Street, a court in Zekes' domain and a place where Adams would have expected to see people he captured on trial. Hence we witnessed the death of donship, at least, of the public kind.
If Zekes had been killed, his legend would have only grown. As it was, with the seizure of millions at his home and, much more significantly, the pre-murder allegation of homosexuality, his popularity and hence the source of his power was bled to death.
Zekes is, for all practical intents and purposes, dead. Bun Man and Bulbie from Spanish Town are dead. Andrew Phang is dead. Chubby Dread is dead. Willie Haggart is dead. Joel Andem is taken care of.
We are witnessing the death of donship, especially of the very public kind. When it is all over, I expect only three real dons to remain, all of whom are very private figures; the man from Mandeville, the man from the 25 acres and the man who rules east. And no more will be allowed to rise.
Adams? Still have a work.
Melville Cooke is a freelance writer.
