​A Voice From The Flames:

 An eyewitness account of the 1937 Labour Riots in Trinidad.
I remember it like it was yesterday. The air was thick with the smell of burning petrol, the cries of anger, and the promise of change. I was twenty-five years old, a young man working the oil fields in Fyzabad. The discontent that had been simmering for years finally erupted into the madness of 1937.
The oil fields were our lifeblood and our chains. For generations, men like me toiled under the relentless sun, drilling for black gold that enriched foreign hands while we lived in squalor. Our lives were a cycle of labour and poverty, with no end in sight. The colonial masters and local overseers held all the power, and we had none. But something was changing. The whispers of discontent grew louder, and the spark was lit by one man—Tubal Uriah "Buzz" Butler.
Butler was a man of fire and brimstone, his speeches ignited the hope that had long been dormant in our hearts. He spoke of justice, of fair wages, of a future where our children would not be bound by the same chains. On June 19th, a gathering was called in Fyzabad. Hundreds of us, workers from all over Trinidad, assembled to hear Butler speak. The air was electric with anticipation.
As Butler's voice rang out, calling for a strike, a unified cry of agreement rose from the crowd. It was the first time I felt the true power of solidarity. But the colonial authorities were not blind to our gathering storm. They saw Butler as a threat, a trigger that could ignite a full-blown rebellion. As we marched through the streets, demanding our rights, the police confronted us, their guns and batons raised.
The clash was inevitable. I remember the chaos, the sounds of struggle, and the first shot fired. It was like a dam had burst. I saw friends fall, blood staining the earth, but I also saw courage. Men and women who had been beaten down for so long stood tall and fought back. We were no longer silent; our voices rose in unison against the oppression.
In the midst of the riot, I found myself alongside Elma Francois, a woman whose passion for justice matched Butler's. Her presence was a beacon, her words a rallying cry. "We fight for our future!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. Inspired, I fought harder, my anger transforming into a determined force.
The days that followed were a blur of strikes, protests, and clashes with the authorities. The news of our struggle spread like wildfire across Trinidad, and soon, the entire island was gripped by the spirit of resistance. The colonial government, faced with unprecedented unrest, had no choice but to negotiate.
It wasn't an easy victory, and it didn't come without a cost. Lives were lost, and even more were injured. Butler and Francois faced imprisonment, but their sacrifice was not in vain. The riots led to significant changes in labour laws and the formation of trade unions, giving workers like me a voice we had long been denied.
Now, as I look back on that time period, I feel a mix of pride and sorrow. Pride for what we achieved, and sorrow for those who didn't live to see the fruits of our struggle. Labour Day in Trinidad is more than a public holiday; it's a reminder of our resilience, our unity, and the enduring spirit of the people.
Every year, when June 19th comes around, I tell my grandchildren the story of the Labour Riots. I want them to know that the rights we enjoy today were not given, but earned through sweat, blood, and unwavering determination. The flame of 1937 still burns within me, and it is my sincere hope that it kindles one within you.
An excerpt from the personal collection of Joseph Crawford (1987)  (Source:  Sanfernando Community North Library, June 19, 2024)