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Aboard the Portia train
Published in the Jamaica Gleaner: Sunday | August 5, 2007
Dawn Ritch, Columnist
The Jamaica Labour Party is currently outspending the People's National Party (PNP) in advertising by a factor of about four to one.
During this time, Mrs. Simpson Miller has criss-crossed the country like a laser beam. She's held public meetings wherever she's seen five people gathered on the side of the road. She's stopped at every opportunity.
In 2006, two weeks before the People's National Party's internal election, I joined the Portia train for a tour of the parish of Portland. I was an hour late for the start and they left without me. I was told to catch up with them at Somerset Falls in Portland.
When I arrived there were a hundred cars parked outside. At the start of Mrs. Simpson Miller's campaign for the presidency, she was lucky to have even three cars leave town with her.
Ninety cars left Somerset Falls for the motorcade into the town of Port Antonio. I was so confused by the congestion, I got lost and pulled out of the motorcade to wait at the start of the hill climb up to Moore Town. That was to be the next campaign stop.
After waiting there for at least an hour, I heard the steady rev of engines on a mission, and turned on my ignition. They swept past me with cries of "Dawn, Dawn, try to keep up!" A tight convoy of 28 cars headed up the road to Moore Town. I was about sixth in the motorcade because I bored the line.
Appalling roads
Every passer-by shouted that the road was appalling, and indeed it was. People ran from their shops, and children out of schools. One of them pressed a pack of biscuits into Mrs. Simpson Miller's hand.
Abuse about road conditions, water and electricity met us at every turn. Eventually we got to Moore Town where the monument to Nanny had been erected. It was a dead end, and so I parked midway, facing back down the road. It was by now becoming clear to me that when this train got under way it moved as a single organism. Every cell or vehicle moved at one time, and there was no room for slowpokes or accidents.
There was a school up there in Moore Town, and Portia made an impromptu speech while standing on the lower steps of the monument. One of the things she said to the audience, which included scores of children, was that they need never limit their aspirations or their ambitions. The mere fact, she said, that she could offer herself for the presidency of the PNP, and come asking for their support, was proof positive of that.
Later when she got to a certain part of her speech, I knew she'd be leaving soon, and went back to my vehicle. I drove past all the other parked cars, to wait for her in a lay-by with my engine running. The road wasn't just full of craters, it was muddy. Again there was the tumult of people and engines. First came the security car, and then hers with a bodyguard shouting to me, "Dawn, come now!"
I gassed the vehicle and skated across the mud into third in line. The two cars ahead looked back at me with surprise and appreciation. They hadn't wanted me to drive my own car, fearing that I'd just get in the way.
Picked up pace
By the time we passed through Port Antonio a second time it was nightfall. The next campaign stop was Manchioneal. A siren went on in the lead car, and the pace of the Portia train picked up by at least another 50 miles an hour. I haven't had so much fun driving since I was a teenager. I was in heaven.
We dodged potholes and any oncoming traffic brave enough to face us our numbers had now dropped to eight or 10 vehicles, we were still something to encounter. This was a non-stop flight to Manchioneal, the featured public meeting of the tour. Nothing on earth was going to cause us to be any later than we already were.
The Portia train was forced to come to a complete halt outside Manchioneal. There was no room in the town for our vehicles. As we inched into the town I saw the impossible happen. I saw seven vehicles, mine among them, park with military precision in the tiniest little gas station in the whole wide world. It was a miracle.
People were packed like sardines up and down the road and standing on every rooftop. Norock star could have got a greater welcome. Taking my vehicle back out of that gas station, and through those people, as well as past all the cars parked on the side of the road, was going to need a science degree. While I was thinking about it I got a message that Portia wanted me to go to the back of the adjoining bar.
Private meeting
Mrs. Simpson Miller was having a private meeting with about 24 people in the back of the bar. She stood just 20 feet away from me, but I don't remember who they were or what she said. I only recall the sound of her voice murmuring in the background, while I enjoyed an authoritative curry goat and looked at the moonlit bay.
While she was at the podium talking her heart out to at least 2,000 people, I left. I nosed my vehicle through the crowd listening to her, and nobody banged on the car. I went to the top of the hill, some way from the town, and waited. When the motorcade finally came it was with sirens blaring. I jumped in behind the last of five cars for the sweetest ride I'd ever had back to Kingston.
The motorcade didn't stop again until it reached the Flour Mills at Kingston Harbour. I rolled up well pleased with myself. Portia was already on the sidewalk talking with members of her team, and asked me what I thought of the day. I told her I just loved the siren, and the fast driving. She laughed, and said the people didn't like the siren though. That was the end of the conversation.
In 2006, she proved she didn't need a massive advertising campaign in order to win an election. I expect she'll do the same again this month. Mrs. Simpson Miller does her campaigning one person at a time. It's a priceless commodity in any politician.
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