RAFFIQUE SHAH PAYS TRIBUTE TO SHMOO EULOGY FOR ABRAHAM MAHMOOD BY RAFFIQUE

^{RAFFIQUE SHAH PAYS TRIBUTE TO SHMOO}

^{EULOGY FOR ABRAHAM}^MAHMOOD

Raffique Shah wrote the following eulogy for Abraham Mahmood. It was delivered at the funeral by Lutch Rampersad)

I extend condolences to the Mahmood family on the passing of their beloved brother, uncle, cousin, Abraham, or Shmoo, as we, his brothers in arms, fondly called him. My personal health challenges do not allow me to be present at the funeral, but I am there in spirit.

Also, I thought it was important that on behalf of a group of us who have known each other for more than fifty years, and who have stayed the course, never wavering, that I pay tribute to this valiant brother.

He read a lot, and having met and talked with Rudolph Lord, who was from Lower St James, often called ‘De Village’, they both explored issues such as anti-colonialism, anti-racism, and seeking solutions to problems in our T&T that remained challenges only because the politicians made them difficult.

I was curious about his background and upbringing since he was the only Arab (Trinis would say ‘Syrians’) in the army, and he was not a commissioned or senior officer. That was highly unusual.

But Shmoo was a highly unusual person, one who had the fire of revolution, the thirst for change, consuming him. He would do anything to bring about change, even put his life at extreme risk if he thought it would make a difference.

To fast-forward our relationship, by the time the events of 1970 unfolded, Shmoo was more of a revolutionary than I was. On the morning of the mutiny, he was on sick leave and had come to Teteron to get an extension from the Medical Officer. As the takeover of the army’s main camp got underway, he went into action at the ammunition bunker where he helped prime hand-grenades and distribute ammunition to the rebel soldiers.

When the mutiny ended, he was a prime target for arrest: like approximately 50 of the almost 100 soldiers arrested and charged with treason and mutiny, among multiple offences. He would face a magistrate and a court-martial, and spend 27 months in prison that were made bearable only because of our revolutionary development as prisoners, and that we stood for and by each other to mitigate the impact jail could have on anyone.

Shmoo’s development was so advanced, he wrote these immortal lines while in his cell one day, in January 1971, when I was delivering my address to the court martial. I was so impressed with them, I read them into the court records. Listen to prisoner Abraham Mahmood:

‘Lately, I find myself going into my cell and locking the door. It is a snap lock and a vigorous pull locks it. It may seem strange to ordinary prisoners who want to spend as much time as possible outside. But in my cell, I am free. For when I lock myself in, I am locking out hatred, fear, suspicion and all the things that affect me and make the society that put me here. I am free from its hypocrisy, its strains and tensions until the door is opened and the Prison Officer shows his face. Sometimes smiling, telling me I can come out for air or to eat or bathe. He thinks he is being humane and he expects me to be grateful. Welcome back to the society, he seems to be saying. I think to myself and smile hypocritically at him and those who put me here. I would like to say to them, “You have not locked me in. You have locked yourselves out. I have long withdrawn from your society. Thanks for giving me sanctuary. Your party politics has shown me you consider me an enemy and for this I am grateful. For I can now show you my contempt and dislike of you with an easy conscience.”

Powerful words befitting a philosopher, not a prisoner. You gathered here today are privileged to hear them for the first time since 1971, January 13 to be precise, when I read them into the Court Martial records. Then, I had been misled into believing that they were penned by Private Ivan King. The truth about the author came out on the court precincts, but I have not had the opportunity make the correction publicly until today, at his funeral. Shmoo and others knew of it.

Anyway, with determination as expressed in that single reflective paragraph, we soldier-revolutionaries virtually breezed through prison, mostly on our terms, not the authorities. Not many people are aware that six or eight months prior, we had seized control of the division of the prison in which we were housed. We took down the heavy wooden doors to the cells, declared ‘C’ Division ‘liberated’, and proceeded to run it as a military camp. We assured the authorities that we won’t break out of prison, that we’d allow the courts to decide our fate. They tried to beat us back into the cells, but they were routed in a running battle that we won. Shmoo, along with Charlie Bradshaw, who died in New York a few weeks ago, Leroy Bates, Tambie Richens, Lennox Crowe and most other mutineers were on the frontline.

While we remained in prison and conducted analyses of the mutiny, we concluded that a major weakness of ours, or a strength, depending on one’s perspective, was our determination to not spill the blood of our fellow citizens.

For example, whatever nonsense you may hear to the contrary, we mutineers had the firepower and skills to blow the Coast Guard out of existence - their HQ, two fast patrol boats, and other craft. But we decided to withdraw, with our 84mm armour-piercing anti-tank Gustavs (vs their 40mm Bofors), not to add dozens of GPMGs capable of firing up to 1200 rounds per minute, and men bristling with anger after Private Bailey was killed. Shmoo was there, along with Robbie Miller, Maxie Taylor, Tripper Antoine, Maurice Noray…

Shmoo would later say, ‘We could die for the revolution, but we could not kill for it!’

Rex Lassalle and I, mounting a strategic legal battle through our lawyers Allan Alexander, Desmond Allum and Lennox Pierre, struck a major blow when the local Court of Appeal ruled in our favour on a ‘condonation’ plea we had made. By July 1972 the Privy Council dismissed the State’s appeal, and over the ensuing hours we walked free from the Port Of Spain prison…with all our men. Shmoo was there.

He would go on to physically support the young idealists of the National United Freedom Fighters (NUFF). He became active in NJAC when most of the NUFF freedom fighters were killed in battle or arrested and imprisoned. In the 1986 general elections when the NAR swept the PNM out of office for the first time in 20 years, Shmoo was there. He fought for NJAC in the Couva North seat, coming up against Basdeo Panday. There are many more stories to be told of the exploits of Abraham Shmoo Mahmood. Maybe here is not the place and now is not the time for me to tell them.

Abraham Shmoo Mahmood lived an exciting, adventuresome, daring life. Let us celebrate it, not mourn his death. He must be chuckling even as we do. Thanks for all you have done for your country, Bro. Salud!

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