After I stopped envisioning my then coworkers as the severest of mumbling and helpless sheep, their “God knows best” and “let’s not protest- it could be worse” attitude grated less and less on my nerves. Many spent much of those days trying to work as usual, but really just listening for the latest news on our boss- R. Allen Stanford- and the ever unfolding saga.  It was ironic and strange- something you would scoff at and dismiss as “too well scripted” if it was written in some novel.

Here we were, a news company, with the biggest story to hit the island in ages and it involved our boss, and by extension us. So, we really couldn't have a real go at it.

Here we were, a news company, so very close to the source, but anxiously waiting on the international media for some hint, minute or great, on our fate. It was a situation which made a mockery of all the rules and, in turn, the reality we had long been taught to accept. Some wondered aloud and silently what changes would be wrought upon their professional lives. For quite a few of the staff, the R. Allen Stanford newspaper company was their entire professional life.

On March 31^st, we received a letter informing us of new-cost saving measures.  The letter came at a time when we were being told to take care to turn off lights when the building was unoccupied. At this time, we were also being entreated to clean up after ourselves.  We needed to consider carefully our use of paper and equipment around the office. It was also around this time that our managers became ripe with talk that the company (and other Stanford companies) had never made a profit and had always been bailed out by Mr. Stanford.

Management, in a bid to survive without the customary bailout from our employer, began rationing kitchen supplies: sugar, milk, teabags, paper towels, water and the like. I remember some staff members took to mumbling their doubt that the lack of sugar could save the company from anything- except maybe, diabetes.

The 31^st March letter assured, “…your management is determined to do all it can to preserve the jobs of all SPPL staff.” We were assured that everyone- top and bottom- would suffer a pay cut. Line staff would work four days instead of five and “managers, supervisors and staff in specialized areas” would work a full five-day week. A few mutinous souls had a minor row because they felt managers were up to no good. They wondered why it was not being made clear what percentage pay-cut managers would be suffering. They wondered about the likely impact of the proposed pay cuts.

These were not pretty times. But, they were revealing times, which, spoke to the characters of line staff and management.  We were past the days when line staff and managers gathered outside to watch a friendly race between two staff members. We were past the days when you knew you were being talked about behind your back but didn’t care, because you really hadn’t the horrors stories of your working girl/boy friends in other companies.

More and more, it felt like a battle line was being drawn somewhere and that you could never be sure who was on what side. I remember thinking how silly the entire thing was and how much more equipped we staff, particularly in the newsroom, should be with handling something like this. We had learnt nothing, it seemed, from all the stories we had written. And, all our past arrogant critiques of employees in other businesses/industries seemed forgotten.

We were prepared to fight, yes, but more and more, it became apparent that, in the midst of the darkness and madness, the fight would be among ourselves.

Coming Next Tuesday: #14 The Battle Lines Get Drawn