I was recently sent this by a good family friend and it was by Freddie Kissoon. It makes for good reading and interesting for discussion. Check it out.
A voice from the grave that
speaks to me, tells me I'm wrong
About a week after my daughter entered Marian Academy to do her high school studies, she came up to me and told me that she wanted to pursue a degree in philosophy. I got a heart attack and died. I think my wife who was in the room and heard what she spoke dropped dead too.
After I re-emerged alive, I told her to stay away from that subject. It is a branch of human knowledge whose themes essentially centre on morbid subjects like the pessimism and fragility of life, the meaningless of the human condition, etc.
I urged her to keep away from philosophical subjects because one tends to become angst-ridden when one reads all these philosophy books that elevates the spirit but one day, we wake up to find that hope, optimism and expectations are dashed when one sees how the cruelty of reality brutalises the human condition.
I explained to her that students who read for a philosophy degree tend to become smothered with angst because philosophy holds out hope for the human condition but the practice of life is a road paved with good intention but its poison lilies will ultimately destroy your soul.
Today all the philosophy books I read have come back to torment me. I had immense optimism that the future would have worked 22 years ago on this very day, August 6, when I heard the news while reading a book in the John F. Kennedy Library on North Road that President Forbes Burnham had died.
The future for me and my friends, some of whom had died in the struggle for a free and just Guyana , was now assured. But country comes first and I know Guyana would dream again after August 6, 1985. The war had ended. Many were killed, tortured and imprisoned. But Guyana , like the Phoenix , would rise again.
Today, the Phoenix lies lifeless like a bird shot down by a hunter. The promise of tomorrow never came. Twenty two years ago President Burnham died and all I have in my hands to show my country is the inevitability of angst. What went wrong? How could such a beautiful struggle that resulted in the same freedom the East Germans got when they chopped down the Berlin Wall could have eluded a country that fought so hard for bread, justice and racial equality.
Look at Guyana today—there is no bread, no justice, no racial equality. Who says philosophy is right? Philosophy is about the uselessness of life. What went wrong? I don't have the answer. Something went wrong and in Guyana , the days of Burnham have come back. But back then I was a dreamer. I don't know if I can dream again.
When we fought Burnham, I was a willow; now I'm an oak. Shall we dream again? Can we still dream? I look in the mirror and I see the eyes of Burnham. They talk to me. Burnham says that I was wrong about him. I look away from the stare of Burnham. I turn and talk to the mirror and I ask the question – was I wrong?
For twenty-two years Burnham has been speaking to me from his grave. All I can hear is the echo of rebuke. I was wrong about him, he says. He tells me to look at my country today. And tell him what I see. I am ashamed to carry on the discourse. I see what Burnham shows me. I juggle the curves on my visage to hide the guilt. I let an intestinal smile hide the angst in my eyes.
Then I resume my poetry with Forbes Burnham. Yes, I see what he is showing me. Heartless men and women run Guyana today; the very territory we took away from Mr. Burnham and his anointed one – Desmond Hoyte. Mr. Burnham smiles as if to say that our misplaced emotions have caused the destruction of Guyana .
Forbes Burnham smiles as if to say: “I could have told you that these people would have been worse than me.”
President Burnham died 22 years ago and I as my fingers move on the keyboard to type yet another page about him, I know in my heart that I may be wrong about many of the things I wrote about him back then, now when I compare what is happening to my country.
I denounced him long before 1985 when he passed away. I participated in the angry struggle against him because I believed he was an unjust ruler. But inside the bosom of my heart, I carry the stain in my mind that those that succeeded him and his disciple, Desmond Hoyte after 1992, from the PPP may be worse than him.
The sycophants and parasites tell me everyday in the streets that Burnham was the worst thing to have happened to Guyana . The apologists and soup-drinkers tell me everyday in the streets that Burnham didn't believe in justice, freedom and democracy. Then I look to the heavens and I ask the stars to open the skies and let me in because the thought of knowing that our present governors are more heartless than Burnham is too much to bear.
I open the window and the savannah I see in the morning sun has the faces of our new rulers juxtaposed alongside that of Forbes Burnham and the interrogation begins anew. From his grave, Burnham begins his torture of my psyche. The angst in my eyes gives Burnham the answer he wanted to hear from me so long ago. Yes I believe there is no bread, no justice, no democracy, no freedom in Guyana today as in the seventies and eighties.
But maybe there were moments of the truth under Burnham that have vanished since 1992.
The tiny political elite and their nouveau riche friends own the country. Title has passed in their names. Under Burnham the land was still in the name of the Guyanese people. The money dried up under Burnham so the water stood at a trickle and the electricity became an infrequent visitor.
The post-Burnham and post-Hoyte state is drowning in money but where is it? Lights are going. Water has gone. We had treason accused in the dark days. We have treason accused now. We had the murder of an outspoken anti-government activist then. We have one now. We had a trade union movement that was disrespected then. We have one that is still disrespected but by a new government.
We had a subdued judiciary that was shaped when the shapers wanted it be bent. The new artists are still molding the judiciary. We had a state media then that was a Pavlovian dog. It is still running to its owner for food when the bell rings. The owner is not Burnham but those who succeeded him.
My wife is a chemical engineer and in her own diplomatic style she managed to persuade our daughter to drop philosophy in preference for a science field. Today she is at university doing the natural sciences. It was a relief. So only one member of the Kissoon household has to look back and reflect on the harshness of history and the brutality and injustice that characterise an unchanging Guyana .
Guyana may be worse today than when Burnham ruled it. That pain is unbearable. As it pierces your heart you wonder why life fails good men ad women who sacrifice their body and soul so justice can flow. But life's fountain is like a tap to be controlled by hands that are carved in blood.
Walter Rodney is dead. The spirit is dead. But the dream can never die.
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