"EVERY important milestone, historical or otherwise, every important institution, every important liberalisation of right, personal rights, have been ushered in by the Progressive Liberal Party or this government,” Dr Bernard Nottage, Minister of National Security and Government Leader in the House, proudly boasted on the floor of the House on August 8.

What utter rubbish! What a distortion of history. It is true that it was the PLP, headed by the late Sir Lynden Pindling, who finally raised the torch of majority rule, but those who went ahead, selflessly and painfully chipping away at the hard rock of prejudice to achieve the recognition of all Bahamians as equals – regardless of colour or station in life — cannot be forgotten. They were the ones who led and made the victory possible. They suffered much in the struggle.

As the PLP strutted around after their 1967 victory, they behaved, and at times even now, continue to act as though the history of this country started with them on July 10, 1967. It did not. The story started way before 1967. Many people went before, struggled and suffered, and died gaining only an inch or so in the fight for equality, but that inch took them closer and closer to the goal of majority rule… and eventually independence.

It is impossible to know where to start in this story as there were so many isolated cases of heroism and sacrifice of personal comfort as one man held out a helping hand to his fellow man. Many lives, both Bahamian and foreign, are interwoven in this fabric called Bahamian history, especially in its upward movement — and this long before Dr Nottage and the PLP were ever heard of.

We shall try to highlight only a few, starting with an Irishman — LD Powles– appointed stipendiary and circuit justice of the Bahamas in the summer of 1886. Powles’ first impression was of a people “so remarkably contented that there cannot be much the matter with their condition,” so he was surprised at being told that “the bulk of them are just as much slaves as they were 50 years ago.” This was a reference to the “trucking act”, which kept them under bondage for the rest of their lives. It was a system of being paid for services in kind rather than in cash, meaning that the debtor was in lifelong bondage to his creditor, never seeing cash for his labours.

As Mr Powles settled into the community, the more he saw of how “the coloured people” were disadvantaged, the more he tried to assist them. He was particularly upset by the discovery that “it was not uncommon among the native whites to strike their coloured female servants as though they were still slaves.”

Shortly after his arrival here he announced from the bench of the Nassau Police court on January 1, 1887 that for a time, he would send all persons convicted before him of striking a woman to prison without option of a fine – except in very extenuating circumstances. Within the month he had sent three black men to prison for assaults on women.

Then came the famous Lightbourn case — the case that cost him his job and loss of pension.

A delicate looking black girl presented herself before him complaining that her master, Lightbourn, had beaten her, turning her out of doors without paying her wages. Her witnesses were “three respectable and quite disinterested black witnesses, who saw the assault committed.”

Magistrate Powles convicted Lightbourn, sending him to prison for one month. The town held its collective breath in disbelief. How dare this foreign magistrate breach the cherished code? White Bahamians did not go to prison.

While the local whites poured scorn on his head, an Englishman told him: “This is the first case of level justice I have seen in all the years I have been here.” Of course, the blacks were jubilant and went about “crying out that justice had come to them at last from England.”

When Powles was banished to England for his lack of judgment, minus all monies owed him, Bahamian blacks organised a petition to the secretary of state for the colonies, urging his return. Failing that they petitioned that he be replaced by a “member of the English, Scotch or Irish Bar or by a properly qualified coloured magistrate.”

Powles was marked down as an “upright, fearless, and independent magistrate, from whom all classes of Her Majesty’s subjects might expect justice.” He left the colony having proved that all men were equal under the law, and, regardless of colour, anyone who broke the law would see the prison doors open wide to take him in. Magistrate Powles left his mark on the land and brought blind Justice closer to all Bahamians.

“The Land of the Pink Pearl” was banished in the Bahamas. Today it is almost impossible to find a copy of the book, written by this Irish magistrate.

And then there was the issue of the right of all Bahamians to have a newspaper. This need gave birth to The Tribune in November 1903.

Leon Dupuch was a printer employed at The Nassau Guardian, which was established in 1844 by the Moseley family. The only problem was that The Guardian catered only to the Government House set — in other words the colonial officials, their friends and family.

White Bay Street merchants felt left out and wanted their own newspaper. They looked around to find one of their own who had some background in the newspaper business. Leon Dupuch was their man. He also felt that The Guardian’s horizons were too narrow, so he took his life’s savings and with his fellow shareholders invested all he had in The Watchman.

However, he was soon disillusioned, his friends’ idea of a newspaper was not his idea. He wanted a newspaper for all Bahamians, whether they lived on the north side of Government House or on the southern side, under Gregory Arch and “over the hill.” Leon felt that both black and white Bahamians had equal rights to a newspaper. His partners disagreed and so the break came. The Watchman closed.

With a small treadle press — a part of which can still be seen in The Tribune’s foyer — a case of type, no money, but enormous confidence, a confidence larger than the small stature of the man, Leon struck out on his own. The Tribune was founded in November, 1903. It was an uphill battle, all the town, once his friends, were now his enemies. And they were out to crush his impudence.

In those days The Tribune was located on Market Street north. One day his third child — Etienne— only five years old, snitched a bundle of papers and ran under Gregory Arch and over the hill to sell them. This was the first time that a paper route in the Farm Road area was started. Of course, his father brought him home at the end of a switch, but eventually this became Etienne’s route and the building of friendships with the people of that area that were never broken. At last the Bahamas had a newspaper for all of its citizens. Leon felt that they all had a right to know.

However, the pressure of the town was too much for Leon. He was in his forties when he suffered a heart attack while completing a job at The Tribune. He was rushed to hospital and died a few days later.

The Tribune was left in the inexperienced hands of a very young family.

We shall continue this story tomorrow up to the day that former prime minister Hubert Ingraham opened the airwaves for all Bahamians to have a say in how they want their country administered.