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A career worth having
Posted: Sunday, June 2, 2002
By Donna Yawching
I’M CONSIDERING a career change. I’m tired of being a poor-ass writer; it’s time to get practical. I’ve examined the full range of career options, and I’ve decided that I want to be whatever it is that Oma Panday used to be, before she became a professional politician’s wife. Common rumour had whispered that she was Panday’s maid, back in the good old days; but I understand that this is apocryphal. Too bad: I was just getting ready to pick out a nice sexy apron. NUDE (the acronym for the National Union of Domestic Employees) would have taken on a whole new meaning, with me on the job.
Am I being a bit precipitous here, do you think? Are you suggesting that I should hang on to my day job? But, if Oma could save TT$10 million doing whatever it was—well, why not me? It’s true that I don’t fill out a Poison costume in quite the same way; but I’m a hard worker, and dedicated when I put my mind to it. So I just want to let prospective employers know that I’m ready, willing and able to do whatever is necessary to fatten up my London bank account, the number of which will be provided upon signing of the contract, along with my vehicle preference.
Okay, so I’m joking. Ha ha. Can we assume that Mr Panday is being similarly hilarious when he tells us all those nancy stories about his secret London bank account—the one which, depending on whom you choose to believe, may contain anywhere between TT$2m to $10m? The one which he managed, conveniently, to overlook when called upon as a public official to declare his and his family’s assets, under the Integrity in Public Life Act?
The fictions have been flowing in thick and fast. First Mr Panday declared that he “should not comment” if an investigation is underway. Well, that must be a first for him: this is a man who has never let any such niceties prevent him from saying his piece, the more abusively the better. Certainly, the probes into the EBC and the Biche High School have not been privy to such polite consideration.
Noting that judicious silence wasn’t getting him anywhere, Mr Panday’s next tack was bravado: “Let them investigate, I’m not afraid.” This has got to be a joke, because if he is found guilty of non-disclosure of this money (and it seems pretty obvious that he never declared it) he could be summarily convicted, fined heavily and jailed. Damn right he’s afraid: who wouldn’t be?
Next, he denies having a $10m bank account, but does not specify whether this means that he has an $11m one, or if it is just $9m. He did admit to having a London account, though; and as I understand it, a declaration of assets means a declaration of all assets, even if they haven’t crossed the $10m mark.
Dismissing the money (however much it may be) as “merely the account by which I service my children’s education” is disingenuous and simply not good enough, despite Panday’s tender paternal air when he uttered these touching words. For one thing, as the whole nation is aware, his daughters are occupying one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in one of the world’s most expensive cities. Paying their $10,000 a month rent alone would necessitate a very healthy bank balance (and this is, investigation has shown, a subsidised rent; though subsidised by whom, we are yet to find out).
One presumes that Panday’s daughters also need to eat, pay school fees, buy clothes, move around (no public transit here, I’ll warrant), etc; and nothing I’ve heard so far suggests that either of them is employed. Daddy must have deep pockets indeed; and as I recall, our Prime Ministers do not make a fortune—not above the table, anyway.
Finally, when all else fails, as the detective novels say, cherchez la femme. The money, Mr Panday suddenly declares, is not his, but Oma’s: he only became a signatory for practical purposes, and does not consider himself to be the “beneficial owner” of the account.
Well, this is where my job application comes in; because as far as I know, the wife of the PM is not a paid position (unless you’re Hazel Manning); and so Oma must have stashed away the money during her earlier unspecified career. Of course, there is also the possibility that she won the Lotto, but we would probably have heard about it. And if there were any rich uncles who died two years ago, that should be very easy to prove. Anything else raises unhealthy suspicions, and Panday is doing his wife no favours when he throws her to the wolves like that. Mr Manning is quite right to accuse him of using her as a scapegoat.
By now, of course, only true head-banging UNC diehards could be believing a single word that Panday is saying; and only they would give credence to his claim that he, a lawyer by profession, was not familiar with the provisions of a law that was passed during his own administration. And passed, what’s more, the same year that he was made a signatory on “Oma’s” enviable account. If you’ll believe that, do I have a bridge for you!
Of course, the old Silver Fox still has a few tricks left: already he’s engaging in diversionary tactics. All of a sudden, inflammatory talk of jhandis and tantalising hints of reconciliation with Ramesh have pushed the London bank account right out of the headlines. Panday is no fool: he knows that in T&T, out of sight is out of mind.
So what if some of his MPs are threatening revolt if Ramesh returns? It’s all sleight of hand: Panday knows just how to make them “heel” when he’s ready. He may be playing with fire, but it won’t be the first time. And while everyone watches with bated breath to see if he gets burnt, guess what gets forgotten? Exactly
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