Mark Titus, Enterprise Reporter

A sugar cane cutter employed to the St Thomas Sugar Company in Duckenfield harvests cane for milling. - Photo by Gareth Manning

A slew of very comical expletives, not meant in any threatening terms, resounded from field workers at the Duckenfield sugar factory as they tried to make light of the very serious plight they were now in.

While it is not often one finds the funny side to vexing issues, laughter is possibly the only cure for the ills that they foresee even as they sojourn in the land of uncertainty.

"Right now, mi nuh sure what the next move is," said Cecil Osbourne, a veteran cane cutter.

"All I want to know is when they paying me my money, I have my children to take care of, the youngest one just start Happy Grove (High School) September and is me she looking to for support," he said.

"A 18 dem give me," the 66-year-old quipped to the amusement of his colleagues when he was met with quizzical looks from members of the Gleaner team.

Redundancy disappointment

It was not long ago that they had gathered at the St Thomas facility in anticipation of receiving their portion of a $2.7-billion redundancy package slated for workers in the sugar industry. But the promised September 30 payout did not materialise, leaving many disgruntled.

Nevertheless, Osbourne is cognisant of the fact that his age and ignorance regarding the use of mechanical devices might not qualify him to be among the few to be rehired when the Brazil-based ethanol manufacturer takes charge.

"Mi nuh know fi nobody," he declares, aborting his efforts at using the English language. "If them give mi a dollar, a so, and if dem nuh call mi back, a so ... if not, mi will find something else do."

Another young man told The Gleaner that the management stopped them from working and told them that they would be getting a 14-week redundancy payment.

"You know how much people drop down when they realise say them nah get the money?"

"Nuff a wi count di chicken before di hen," was Osbourne's parting shot before a militant 'Major Gun' stepped into the midst of the group.

"Mi want you fi put it on di TV," he instructed.

"Is not TV, a newspaper," offered 'Tallman', who claimed to be a supervisor. An animated Major Gun ignored him and continued, "You ever hear 'bout Paul Bogle? How 'im march from Stony Gut go confront di big man dem? Well, that is nothing to wha' is going to happen if Friday come and nuh money nuh run."

In the dark

While many Fridays have passed since and Major Gun's rebellion has not occurred, these men are still in the dark about their future.

A group of mainly field workers at the Monymusk sugar factory in Clarendon related a litany of woes being experienced at the facility. These men, too, are worried that not long from now they will be without a job.

Some, while looking to the construction industry as an option, were not altogether confident that work would be consistently available for them to earn a living.

The discontent was similar at the Frome sugar factory in Westmoreland.

The Hampden Estate and Long Pond factory in the parish of Trelawny have figured prominently in the heyday of sugar production in Jamaica, but have seen a steady decline over the last two decades, with both facilities producing a combined 20,000 tonnes of the sweetener during the 2000/2001 crop.

The Hampden factory, which had the capacity to produce 15,000 tonnes of sugar and which generated some 12,000 tonnes in 1997, made only 5,000 tonnes during the 2001/2002 season.

Despite the availability of approximately 1,284 hectares of land for planting cane, only 676 hectares was used. This was not helped by the serious financial problems experienced by the estate over the last 15 years of operation, which saw it being placed into receivership because it was incapable of paying its creditors. The records show that during the period 1997-2002, Hampden sustained losses of over $45 million.

In 2002, the Government brought the curtains down on full-scale activities at Hampden, leaving more than 200 workers jobless.

According to Jonathan Bartley, former mayor of Falmouth and councillor for the Wakefield division in which the estate is located, this decision affected not only the workers, but also communities in the vicinity of the estate such as Deeside, Bounty Hall, Wakefield and Friendship, as well as communities in eastern St James, namely Dumphries and Canaan.

They know nothing else

"Most of the citizens in my division, which in most parts surrounds the property, spent all their lives on the estate. They know nothing else," he said.

"So, when they closed down, it affected a lot of persons, including the business operators in the villages who depend mainly on trade from the workers."

"Hampden in its prime caused a boom in the communities, just as how its closure has left a number of locals without a means of living."

Louis Brown, 86, of Bounty Hall, has fond memories of her days as a cane farmer.

"Those days, it was something you could eat bread out of," she told The Gleaner.

"I remember one year when I went to collect my payment and I had to look good, and wondered if they mistakenly paid me the wrong amount, it was excellent," she exclaimed.

Mama Brown never ventured into cane farming until the death of her husband in 1977 and from one acre in her first season, she soon added six more acres. There was never a dull moment in those days, and through cane farming, she was able to school her eight children all by herself.

At Hampden, we were directed to the barracks where a group of men sat playing dominoes. It was their last day of work; but they were not advised about their salaries and were not sure what to do.

"The management stop we from work, but the union says we must continue. No one is coming to us to explain, is the (broadcast) news we hearing everything on," said Tyrone Roderick, another veteran cane farmer.

These men were working in the industry from the days of sugar production and were among the few that remained at the facility even after Government scaled down activity there.

The village of Clark's Town was created in the post-Emancipation period, and at one time had as much as 10 sugar factories. All belonged to the Clark family.

Divestment package

Of the lot, only the Long Pond sugar factory exists today, and is among the five facilities that are part of the divestment package being offered to Infinity Bio-Energy Limited. This proposal is not only expected to put many out of work, but will also affect commercial businesses in this sugar-dependent community.

"We are concerned about what is happening," said Ainsley Reid, who operates a haberdashery in the town.

"A lot of businesses here strive off the operation of the factory and, frankly, keeping it open is far better than what might happen if it is not divested," he explained.

Reid, who grew up on the Long Pond property where his stepfather worked and has seen the results of both government and private management, said that the factory was more efficient when run by private investors.

According to him, not only was the welfare of the immediate staff of paramount importance, but there were certain perks for their families and the community in general.

However, with the Government at the helm, he explained, there is a picture of wanton waste and inefficiency.

The ambiguity of the proposed divestment to the Brazil-based company has left residents unsettled, while others are trying their hand at other things. One such individual is 55-year-old Edwin Brown, a cane farmer for over 15 years.

Brown told the story of how his first crop yielded three tonnes of cane and consistently harvested 15 to 20 thereafter. So far removed is the situation from the glory days that Brown was on his bicycle selling ice cream at the Clark's Town crossroad when the Gleaner team caught up with him.

"Sugar business wreck in Trelawny," he bemoaned, "... and I can't just sit down waiting on them to fix it; I have to find something to do."

It was lunchtime at the Clark's Town Primary School where we caught up with 59-year-old cane farmer, Viola Livingston. She was among a number of vendors at the school gate selling to the students during the break.

"Things nuh pretty now, first time something did a gwaan but nuh now," lamented 'Miss Ethylyn', as she is affectionately called.

"Me and my husband started cane farming with an acre of land long time ago. Those days we always make money but now nothing happening. Those days were really good days, but now me worried because no one has said anything to us."

With the odds stocked heavily against she and her ageing husband gaining a contract to supply the new owners with sugar cane, she said the school gates selling might become her permanent source of subsistence.

Nowhere to go

The lunch break was almost over and field workers were preparing to rejoin the tractor-drawn wagon that takes them into the fields. Their responsibility is to place fertiliser at the roots of the sugar cane, a task which begins at 6 o'clock each morning and goes on until late afternoon.

Roselyn Barrette, who has been working in the fields for more than 30 years, has nowhere to go.

"Years ago, we were called to a meeting and promised that certain parts of the property would be given to workers to build house, but until this day, we have heard nothing," she complained.

"No one has said anything to us," she continued.

"I am worried, very worried but we will just have to hope and pray that having laboured here all our lives, it will not be in vain."