In early 2009, almost two years after I’d been serving as a features writer, and almost overnight- it seemed, the international media began buzzing with news of the mini-Madoff that was supposedly "Sir R. Allen Stanford".

It was quite like waking up one day to find yourself on display.  We felt very keenly the eyes of the world upon us- with those eyes being so very sure that the island’s government and its people had been properly duped by the “Texan investor”. Quite a few condescending pieces were written about the island, its swaying palm trees and the puppet that it was to this American businessman.

At work- at the Stanford owned newspaper- managers did their best to walk around as before; the company’s staff was told very little. The most that was being said was that there was very little to tell.  Some staff was adamant that they would wake up the next day and discover the situation resolved.  Others thought that the situation sounded like very serious business. In time, R. Allen Stanford was arrested, a receiver took up residence at the Stanford International Bank, the Bank of Antigua changed hands and name, and in quick time, the Stanford Eagle, affixed to the breasts of Stanford employees, lost much of its glint and lure.

Back then, it seemed as if every day brought some new angle or twist.  Investors were mad. R. Allen Stanford was poor. R. Allen Stanford lied about his business past.  A top Antiguan official was thought to be involved in the entire Ponzi scheme. This top official was to be extradited to the U.S. This top official and Stanford  had taken a blood oath….

I remember that quite a few of my co-workers began taking to the water cooler position more often- huddling in corners as if to ward off some evil. In these corners (many formed somewhere near my desk), they would murmur about this or that, but seemed, for the most part, reluctant to say anything within earshot of managers.

I also remember once (or maybe a hundred times) thinking that a large percentage of the staff was nothing but cowards and the severest of mumbling helpless sheep. So ready to murmur dissent in a corner; so unready to do much else.  But, that thought was quickly followed by an understanding that perhaps I, and a few others, had options they didn’t and lesser financial responsibilities than they did. Indeed, had they not hinted at this, quite sufficiently, in the past?  Also, what we were facing was quite unprecedented. None of us knew what to do. This was entirely bigger than us all.

And so, I stopped seeing sheep trotting by or huddling together. I began seeing people so used to being spoonfed and being told to think- but only think this much.  At a newspaper company of all places, they had been kept in hand and were pretty much on their way to being like the people in that movie- Wall E.  I could only hope that the resistance would start before the movie ended.

Coming Next Tuesday: #13 The Days of Madness Begin…