By Barbara Arrindell
In March, Antiguans have been known to march, protest, and riot. When scanning our history it is not uncommon to find our people, enslaved and free, butting heads with the police during the month of March. Before we take a look at some of these incidents I’ll share some information about the starting point of our Police Force.
“No proper policing was carried out before 1813 when, in St John’s, five ‘reputable white men . . . assisted by about as many discreet black or coloured persons’ were formed into a rudimentary police force. As well as attending at the magistrates’ courts they were also used to patrol the streets, ‘taking up slaves who were found selling . . . on working days, unless they could produce a pass from their owners.’ They also were responsible for imposing a curfew on the slaves at 9:30 each night, chasing the ‘country negroes’ out of town, and obliging ‘such as resided in the capital to return to their houses’. How effective they were, considering how many rules and regulations the slaves had managed to flout over the years, is open to question. Whether such constables were ever employed, or indeed needed, to replace the ‘night watches’ used in places like Parham or Falmouth is also open to doubt, and probably depended largely on the state of the parish funds. (Taken from Page 124 of A History of Antigua by Brian Dyde.)
**With talks of emancipation in the air, the authorities attempted to find ways to clip the wings of the Black population.**
“A far more successful effort to do this was made in 1831 with the enactment of a law ‘for more effectually enforcing a due observance of the Lord’s Day’, which prohibited the holding of the Sunday market from 18 March of that year – without substituting any other day in lieu. This omission was intentional.
For the slaves the abolition of the Sunday market meant a serious reduction in the amount of enjoyment they would be able to derive from the one day of the week on which they were not required to work for their owners. Also, as many of them worked for themselves in or around the market on that day, or brought or sent in produce to sell, it meant the end of a major source of income. As a result, publication of the new law in February soon produced many signs of unrest around the island. The main objection was less concerned with the prospect of losing a market on Sunday than with the denial of their right to have a market at all. Agitation grew worse the next month and on 18 March, which was a Friday, hundreds of slaves ‘assembled in the Great Market of St John’s and in other places’ in order to protest, using language which Governor Ross later reported as ‘frequently violent and menacing, and accompanied by furious gesticulations and brandished cudgels’. It was too much for the few town police to handle, and troops belonging to the 86th Regiment (which had taken over garrison duties a year earlier) were called in from Fort Shirley. After much confusion and a great deal of commotion, and following the arrest of the more vociferous protesters, the crowd was eventually dispersed; the last few ‘obstinate women’ not until nearly nightfall. During the following week, beginning on Sunday, 20 March, many cane fields were set on fire: the majority of these were in the parish of St Philip in the easternmost part of the island, but some were on estates uncomfortably close to St John’s. Martial law was imposed, the militia called out and the 86th Regiment placed on full alert. Such activities brought an end to the fires within a few days and eleven suspected arsonists were rounded up. The next month, after they had been tried by court-martial, six were acquitted, four were sentenced to be flogged and one, a slave from a plantation in St Philip’s, to be hanged. “ Taken from pages 131 &132 A History of Antigua by Brian Dyde
**Unrest in Barbuda in March 1858, resulted in a riot in Antigua****.**
“The lease ignored the anomalous constitutional status of the island, and even if Barbuda now had a resident magistrate in addition to several unpaid special constables, there remained no law and no court, and hence no proper way of settling disputes or of keeping order. The increasing antagonism between Barbudans and Antiguans, fuelled by discontent on both sides about the lack of law and order in Barbuda, which resulted in the riot which took place in St John’s in March 1858, eventually brought about a resolution. Alarmed by what had taken place, mostly as a result of its refusal to act earlier, the Legislature at last agreed to extend its authority to Barbuda.” Taken from page 197 of A History of Antigua by Brian Dyde.
**In March 1918, the police found themselves facing a fed up nation.**
“On 1 March 1918 the acting Governor, Thomas Best, alarmed at all that was taking place, declared martial law and called out the Defence Force, which had had nothing to do since early August 1914. The police force was ordered to set about restoring order, by finding those responsible for firing the cane-fields and arresting those, like Charles Martin, who were perceived as troublemakers. Over a week later, at much the same time as Martin very sensibly left the island together with several other men for whom the police were searching, George Weston and Williams Collins were named as prime suspects in connection with the cane fires. By midday on Saturday 9 March, when it was generally known that the police were searching for Weston and Collins, a large number of people accompanied the two men to the police station in St John’s.
These were mainly from the poorer, western part of the city where Weston lived, and where he had already begun to acquire something of his later reputation as a spokesman for the underdog with a passionate interest in the education and welfare of black people. All might have been well, but before the two suspects reached the police station they were picked out for abuse by an irate and overbearing estate overseer and accused of fire-raising. At this the crowd became increasingly noisy and unruly, the accuser was manhandled and the police were prevented from carrying out the arrests.
Within an hour or so the crowd had become a mob, and by early afternoon the authorities considered they had a riot on their hands. The Riot Act was read only after attempts by the Chief of Police, the acting Governor and the Bishop to persuade the people to disperse had all proved futile. A warning was then given that the police, now armed, would use force to clear the streets if this still remained necessary after another hour had elapsed. Amid all the noise and confusion it is doubtful if more than a tiny fraction of the mob heard this warning, or that the stick-wielding and missile-throwing troublemakers in the middle or on the fringes had any idea of just how seriously their actions were being regarded; no sign of a dispersal took place.
Accordingly, the period of grace expired, and without further warning the order was given for the police to fire one volley into the mass of people before them. This had the required effect and, amid even greater noise and confusion, with screaming men and women running blindly in all directions, the street emptied. Eighteen people were left behind – three who had been killed outright and fifteen with wounds of varying seriousness – and the riot was over. Surprisingly, in view of the bloodshed and loss of life, the event was soon largely forgotten. The three men whose names remain connected with the affair did not become martyrs or folk heroes. Collins was given a three-year jail sentence; Martin never returned from exile; and Weston, after being cleared of all charges, soon left for the United States where he eventually became the vice-president of the Universal Negro Improvement Association established by Marcus Garvey. To the authorities it was no more than a period of ‘misunderstanding and unrest [that] terminated in a riot which had to be quelled by force of arms and which caused much expense and anxiety to the Government.’”
Taken from page 222 of A History of Antigua by Brian Dyde.
