The recent haul of 19 guns, including high-powered ones and about 10,000 rounds of ammunition, which were said to have been surreptitiously removed from the police armoury and stashed at a house in the Mountain View area, is troubling to me not just because of the obvious.

The positive in the story is that the guns were recovered. What is really troubling is that in one of the largest gun finds in many years, no claim was made that it came as the result of intelligence, information and the investigative skills of a crack team of police professionals carrying out their duties.

The police just happened to be patrolling the area at the time. They just happened to see some men acting suspiciously. And although the police had the option to conclude that the suspicious-looking people acting suspiciously could have been just overcharged on seeing the police looking at them in a suspicious manner, and drive away, they did not. As we were told, there was intervention, a significant gun find, and in two shakes of a duck’s tail, the entire hierarchy of the police force was on the scene.

In expressing glee over the find, and much too hurriedly, promoting the police personnel who were directly involved, we are led away from considering that in a case where renegade policemen conspired to steal and did steal firearms from the police armoury, all of it simply flew over the head of the intelligence unit in the police force. In other words, the gun find was a “buck up”.

If we look at it from the wrong end, it is not stupid to consider that were we relying on the intelligence arm of the Force, it is more than likely that the guns would now be in the hands of the nefarious end users and our collective lives would be more prone to death by the gunman’s bullet.

Let me tell you a story. In early 1981 after the storm and stress of the years before, and especially in the near-civil war six-month period leading up to the October 1980 elections, a friend and I in an old Cortina parked the vehicle in front of Jones’ Barbers on East Queen Street.

We were more “adventurous” than many during the “war” of 1980. We had found a watering hole on the lower end of Hanover Street slap in the middle of a political zone loyal to the JLP. Then, the JLP was at a popularity level never before seen, and dare I say it is not likely to be seen again in my time. As village philosophers, we would on Friday visit and encounter many boys who were becoming captivated by the gun.

In these discussions we would try to convince them to complete school because many had indicated that during the period when the “war” had prevented them from attending, they had simply lost interest in what school had to offer. Too many of them in such inner-city settings had either lost an uncle, a cousin or a father to the gun, or the closest male father figure in their lives was in prison doing time on murder convictions.

So, in 1981 we left the car and walked towards Hanover Street. At the corner where the Gaiety Theatre was, a youngster about 10 years old was sitting. “Yuh looking for somewhere, Sir?” he asked.

During the times in 1980 we had never entered Hanover Street from the top end, a zone loyal to the PNP. We figured that since the elections were over, goods were miraculously back on the supermarket shelves and the guns had grown silent, we could take a chance in territory politically unfamiliar to us. “How dung suh stay?” I asked him.

“Oh, it cool man,” he said.

It was about 8 pm and the air was still. We passed a little two-stool bar amid the many burnt-out husks of buildings. My friend David suggested we not stop there but proceed all the way to our old haunt at the lower end of Hanover Street.

As we neared another burnt-out two-storey building, a boy came out with a cigarette in his mouth. “Yu can gimme a light, boss,” he said. I told him that I didn’t smoke and moved on.

Suddenly from out of the buildings, on both sides of the road, boys came running out. All had long knives in their hands and as they got closer, I could see that some of the knives were really sharpened-down machetes. My heart felt dislocated as I froze. Most of the boys were in their mid-teens.

My friend David knew karate and assumed his stance. “Cut di crap, David,” I stuttered, fearing that their numbers – about 12 or more would overwhelm us. I had $16 in my pocket, not exactly small change then. As they ran up and surrounded us, one asked, “Whey onnu a do yah so?”

I wanted to tell him that we were just “trampoozing”, but the words got stuck in my throat as my mouth became totally void of moisture. I could not form words. It was then that I realised that the boy we had previously spoken to was one of them.

As they went through our pockets, one with a pistol (he was about 13), was taunting us. I gave him my $16 and as he searched David he came up with five cents. He turned to me. “A dis alone yu fren have?”

My voice gradually returned. I told them that my friend was broke. They took the money plus a gold Parker fountain pen that I was never without. The one with the gun kept on saying as he circled us, “Mi waan kill a #@& bwoy tonight.” He knew his own brand of psychology well. It worked.

Suddenly a bigger guy ran out and I recognised him as one of those I had been “lecturing” in the bar at the lower end of the road. “How much dem tek from yuh!” he asked. I told him. He then asked me who had taken it. It was the one with the gun and also a knife so I told him that I didn’t remember. As one of the youngsters attempted to remove my wedding band, the big guy dragged away his hand then snatched the Parker pen from one and gave it back to me.

We lived to tell the tale, but I will never forget the look of total power that was reflected in the face of the one with the gun. Since that time I have come across many more, but the ones of recent times are afraid of nothing and expect death to claim them early. Plus, the guns now are hardly your “one pop” weekend specials or revolvers.

There are now high-powered Mack 10s, M-16s, Uzis and Glock 9mm.

The JCF needs to disclose the full truth on the gun find and just as it hurriedly promoted the deserving personnel involved, it needs to speed up the process of telling the nation who are the “bigger ups” involved. With too many guns in the hands of young desperadoes, the Force has added to our woes.

The “buck up” story needs to give way to a better truth.

observemark@gmail.com