Revolutionary Love II (On Justice)

(This is a write up from Sherlina Nageer about the groundings event held on Friday 18th July, 2014 in Georgetown , Guyana )

The theme was still revolutionary love. But it was death that was on my mind. Just a few days earlier I’d found out about the unexpected death of an old friend and former co-worker of mine- someone my age, our birthdays just days apart. His was a good passing though- albeit tragically untimely- painless and quick, under the open sky, surrounded by loved ones.  Too many others aren’t so lucky. Ron Somerset 18, Shemroy Boyeau 24, and Allan Lewis 46 had been in their community, surrounded by their neighbors, peacefully expressing themselves and resisting abuse by the government when they were shot and killed by the Guyana police farce. I’m sure there was a memorial service or something in Linden, but a skim of the daily newspapers on the morning of July 18th 2014 showed nary a mention of the events from two years ago- not one article nor letter. Apparently most Guyanese have already forgotten. Maybe they think that because there was a Commission of Inquiry and some money (a paltry $10- $15KUSD, while the Commissioners raked in more than $72- 81KUSD) given to the families, that justice was served, story done. More likely though is that most Guyanese remain stuck in survival mode, barely able to keep their heads above water. Atrocities come and go but we just keep on keeping on- shit is inevitable, right? Never going to change is the prevailing mentality. Catch some joy when and where you can and just hope that you and yours live to see the next day. There is so much dysfunction in our society today that making any real change seems impossible. Instead of substantive change we get things like beauty pageants as female empowerment, clean up campaigns as waste management, sweetie factories and expanding fry chicken joints as development. But as Robert Nesta said- you can’t fool all the people all the time and since we’d decided to hold another groundings this Friday, I knew that talking about the Linden Martyrs was going to be my starting point. There can be no love without justice, bell hooks had said.

Rain had fallen earlier in the day and the place was hot and humid. Piles of garbage were once again strewn on the grass. The chips and sweetie vendor wasn’t there and I wondered if she was ok. Last time, she hadn’t wanted to talk about love with me, had kept her face serious serious and closed off. I got a lotta problems on my mind is all she’d said when I tried to engage her. I picked the table with the most shade and set up the few books I had, plus the sign I’d printed with the faces of the three martyrs. 3pm came; I took a deep breath, and started even though nobody else had arrived yet. The first people I talked to were a mother and son. She remembered the shooting; he didn’t. I asked them if they thought we had enough justice in Guyana. Of course not, she said, telling me how much better things were in Cayenne (French Guiana). There- even if you’re an immigrant, even if you don’t have legal papers, the police don’t beat you. They put you out of their country, yes, but they don’t torture or brutalize you. I asked her why she thought things were so different there but she said didn’t know. Maybe it’s because the white people are still in charge over there, she hazarded. Indeed. Ironic isn’t it- that the countries that were once at the forefront of global rape, plunder, enslavement and exploitation are now, comparatively, paragons of human rights and justice. When black and brown rulers and police now abuse their ‘own kind’ with impunity, so powerdrunk that all other allegiances are negated. It’s an upside down world indeed. We gyaff some more about why Guyanese are the way they are- mostly talk but no action. They’re too afraid, she says, and want other people to do the work for them. The son, in his early 20’s is mostly quiet, listening to and agreeing with his mother. He takes the Murakami book and asks when we’ll be there again. I collect their numbers and promise to let them know.

Vidya turned up then, as they were leaving. He had brought some magazines as well as a little oragami box he’d made out of newspaper that he was beyond proud of J I cooed admiringly and took pictures of him posing with his creation. Inside the box were more bell hooks and audre lorde quotes, as well as bits from various letters and newspaper articles about the Linden Martyrs. A young man who we both know shows up, in a nice skyblue shirtjac like only old men of a certain era and government employees wear these days. I complimented him on his style. Randy has had about half a dozen or so jobs in the past two years that I’ve known him. He first came to my attention after he got fired from one place of employment for reporting corruption that he witnessed. Instead of the people taking the bribe getting fired, he was the one let go. All his efforts to get justice had come to naught- there was nothing any of the political parties or lawyers he attempted to tell his story to could do to help him. And so he went from job to job. He had just gotten through at GWI, he told me this time; he just needed to complete and pass the physical. He was afraid of needles tho and was hoping that they would waive the blood test requirement. I wished him well and told him to help himself to a book or magazine. He picked the thickest novel and settled down on a nearby bench with it. An older man in a straw hat came up and Vidya engaged him.

I accosted a man in a suit and tie, waving the photo of the Linden Martyrs at him. He remembered them well and told me about his experiences getting teargassed after the 1997 elections. People are afraid, he said, and we need more, better leaders. I tell him that I feel every individual has leadership potential and that things are worse in other countries but people still speak out more. He agreed but kept harping on the leader thing. Nobody trusts anybody, he says, that’s why they don’t come out when actions are called. They prefer safety and comfort- nobody wants to suffer. But they’re already suffering, I said. Yes, but they don’t want to suffer more. He doesn’t have much hope that things will change. He himself has mostly stopped his activism after getting threatened, telling of the time one night when a strange man came to his gate and warned him to watch himself.

As we’re talking, another man joins the conversation. He tells me that he knows me from People’s Parliament, and asks me if I’m still at the office on Princess St. Eh eh, I say, you know nuff tings bout me! Yea, he says, if you move right or left, I’ll probably know. I half seriously, half joking say that he sounds like a policeman and he just smiles, doesn’t deny. I am not frightened tho and we continue gyaffing as suit and tie man leaves. He also talks mostly about fear and trust as the impediments to justice. I read him a bit from Audre’s essay on the transformation of silence into action and how silence will not protect anyone; we all have to die anyway. Yes yes, he agrees, but. I ask him if he has any children and if he doesn’t feel compelled to act to make the world a better place for them. He has a 9 yr old son, he says and tries to provide the best possible life for him. From there we get on the topic of beating children.

I’d seen a market vendor lashing her son with a belt just a few days before, in full view of passersby as well as the Stabroek police outpost. The child seemed about 8 or 9 years, not a big boy, and his mother was whaling on him, really putting her back into the beating. I stopped and joined the small crowd of onlookers, adults as well as other children. Most of the other adults were urging her on. Another vendor, when I asked why the child was getting licks, told me that he had run away from her and was liming with bad company. All right, stop now, I said half heartedly to the mother. He get enough licks. Of course she bused me- that it was her child, I must mind my own business, nobody could tell her what to do with her child. I wanted to do more, but I just stood there and watched with the other people as she gave him more lashes. Honestly, I was afraid that she might turn the belt on me. Somebody made a joke about it ending up on Youtube, like the case of the other Caribbean mother who had made a video of herself beating her daughter then uploaded it to social media. Other people were encouraging her- of course he must get licks. How else he gon learn? They said things like when parents don’t discipline their children and they turn out bad, people does blame them. Finally, the beating stopped. Freed from his mother’s grasp, the little boy promptly ran away. I sighed and resumed walking.

Undercover policeman said yes, he beats his son, that he has to learn to listen. But it’s a confusing message, isn’t it- I tried to reason with him. Parents beating their children is mixing up love with violence. So as children grow up, they think it’s ok/normal for the two to go together- that is love they’re getting when in reality it’s abuse. He scoffs and asks me if I wasn’t beaten when I was a child. Of course I was- in fact, one of my most vivid childhood memories is of my father in a rage, raining down blows and everybody cowering in fear. I turned out relatively ok and have a good relationship with my dad and all but still- I'm going on 40 and that's one of my most vivid childhood memories still. Mr policeman asks me how come more people aren’t there on the street, how come it’s just Vidya and me. Amaraydha is sick, Vidya had told me. I don’t know why other people aren’t there- maybe they’re busy, working for their daily bread. I tell him he’s welcome to join us. He laughs and says he’s going to go talk with his friends. There are a group of other men sitting on a far bench- maybe they’re all undercover policemen. Whatever. I give him an extra flyer of the Linden Martyrs handout and tell him to share it with them.

The street seems less busy than last week. One thing missing is the schoolchildren as school's now on holiday. I miss talking to the youth. The passivity of the older folks depresses me. At least, even if a young person is docile today, they still have time to change their outlook and become more active. After all, it’s their future, right, and even if it’s just self-interest motivating them, at least that’s slightly better than just accepting the status quo. Of course, the lack of proper education (by this I mean teachings on love and empathy for self, others, the world) as well as the dearth of positive role models has created some vicious young people. I think of a young man I know, himself a victim of multiple forms of abuse, who regularly abuses women, and who seems bent on a path of self-destruction despite the opportunities for redemption that he’s offered. Directly across from where we’re grounding is a hardware store that was the target of a robbery a couple of months ago. The young man who attempted to hold up the store’s employee who was en route to the bank with the day’s profits, was shot to death. Just last week, another youthman was killed as he attempted to rob a customer at another store. There’s a lot of public commentary after incidents like these- from Guyanese of all hues and locations. It infuriates me to see all the time and energy wasted on raging after the fact; I know that most of the people talking are doing nothing substantive to help improve the situation. Dialogue can only accomplish so much; what children need most is loving interaction and to be safe, nurtured, and encouraged in all their endeavors, from as early on as possible. But it seems like the adults- from parents to state agencies- are completely clueless. Child wards of the state are pretty much just warehoused- fed and housed, but with scant attention paid to their healthy development or wellbeing (this I have seen first hand for myself). The minister in the Ministry directly across from where we’re grounding- Culture, Youth, and Sport- has himself belittled the underage girls who alleged they were raped in a facility that he has ultimate oversight of. No wonder then, that a generation of youth are sprouting who love money and material things more than themselves and their fellow human beings, who feel no compunction about gunning down another human (this includes the so-called ‘bandits’ as well as those ‘policing’ them btw). What they really crave is love but since they can’t or don’t know how to access that- money and power become their substitutes.

Vidya, I see, is deep in a gyaff with 2 young people, as well as an elder, grandfatherly-looking man. I hear him baiting the elderly man, asking him what he’s waiting for to take action, that he surely has plenty of time now that he’s retired etc. I’m tempted to go join their conversation, but the point is to engage as many people as possible, so I continue scanning the street. Just as I’m about to succumb to despair, a tall young man appears and we get to gyaffing. I ask him if he ever gets harassed by the police. No, he says, he is a good Christian boy and I laugh. As if that alone is protection! He’s a sweetheart though, earnest and thoughtful and it is true- having a caring, involved family and support is key in healthy youth development. He takes a National Geographic magazine for his little sister- it might help her with her schoolwork he says. After him is a woman in a GPL (the electric company) shirt. She immediately recognized the Linden Martyrs and tells me that Sharma Solomon- the Regional Chairman of Linden who was at the forefront of the protests- is a family member of hers. She could tell me a thing or two, she says, but another day. I am disappointed but am soon gyaffing with two female security guards- different from the two sour ones from last week. These two are chatty and have little maple leaf pins on their uniform; I guess correctly that they work at the Canadian Embassy. One, the mother of a young girl, is most concerned about the epidemic of older men preying on young children. I ask her what she thinks causes that and she says emphatically- a mental problem! I agree but the fact that it’s so widespread means that economics and power are also factors, no, I ask her. She agrees and says we should bring back hanging. I tell her the studies have shown that capital punishment doesn’t reduce crime but she remains adamant. I think some crimes are unforgiveable indeed, and that too many criminals are getting away with rape and murder in our society today, but, aside from punishment, I’m more interested in prevention. We’re talking about justice so I ask her if she thinks it’s ok for people to take matters into their own hands. Yes, she says emphatically again. Her friend joins in here to say- but if people start to do that, a lot of cops are going to die. Laughing, they leave, telling me to bring some romance novels for them next time.

I look around. Vidya is still gyaffing with the 2 young people. I engage a middle aged Indo-Guyanese man with a badge that identifies him as an employee of the Sugar Workers Union. He guesses that the Linden Martyrs are bandits. I correct him and ask him what he thinks about what happened in 2012. He is against violence he says, and that they should not have blocked the road and inconvenienced people. I ask him then, what he thinks about the recent rice farmers protest in Essequibo- by a bunch of mostly Indo-Guyanese folks. They blocked the road too, burnt tyres etc. People gotta get their money, he said. Then he told me about a time recently when he wasn’t getting his salary and he had to raise up his voice and ting. So you understand now, I ask? He seems to get it. But then he takes off his badge, puts it in his pocket, and tells me he has to go, that he doesn’t want to get in trouble for talking to me. Trouble for what, I ask him, but he’s already walking away.

Vidya is still talking to the young people. I spy another guy in a shirt and tie, a young Indo-Guyanese and make a beeline for him. He doesn’t recognize the Linden Martyrs, so I tell him. He asks if we’re also talking about the Lusignan massacre folks. Is true- police killing innocent civilians and bandits murdering people are quite similar to each other but the difference that does exist is significant. He is serious and attentive and we talk for a long time about justice and the need to build stronger communities. He, like so many others, is looking out for himself first and foremost and tells me quite clearly that he would not intervene if he saw a man beating a woman, child, animal or any combination thereof- except of course if it was someone he knew- a friend or family member. He has certain goals he wants to accomplish in life and he isn’t about to put himself in any unnecessary danger. He agrees it’s sad he feels that way, acknowledges that it doesn’t make for a good society and he knows that yes, if he’s ever in a situation where he needs help from strangers, he may not get it if they have the same mindset as he, but he’s not changing his stance. If he gets an opportunity to migrate, he’ll take it, he says. Young ambitious Indo-Guyanese, in a nation ruled for the last two decades by a mainly Indo-Guyanese party who still use apanjat and race baiting to maintain their stranglehold, but like so many of his counterparts, he sees no future in Guyana and is ready and waiting to beat out. I watch him walk away with a heavy heart.

I’m rather dispirited at this point plus it’s past our ‘official’ end time but Vidya is still gyaffing with the young couple. I join them at last and Vidya excitedly makes the young man show me a piece that he has written expressing his love for Guyana and his commitment to making a positive change. After the last guy I talked to, this young man is healing balm to my soul. Instead of wrapping up, we talk and talk and talk some more. He tells me that he’d seen me at the environmental cleanup community consultation and how disappointed he had been at how the youth had been treated by the big men in government, how it seems like they’re just being used, tokenized. I explain my issues with voting and together we brainstorm other ways of creating change. He asks Vidya and me if we think we’re accomplishing anything. Is a sincere question and one that I ask myself continuously. We ask him if we impacted him in any way and both he and his girl friend say yes, that we’ve given them lots to think about. This is the 4th Groundings that we’ve held and this was the first time that somebody we randomly stopped on the street stayed and talked to us for the entire session. We encourage them to ground in their own environments- either home or school communities. They take Vidya’s newspaper origami box and we talk about recycling and planting seeds. It’s a big job this, and we have to work together if we’re going to make any dent in things. Everybody has a role to play but there’s no need to wait until local government elections- just take some sort of positive action in your community every day and encourage others to do the same. It doesn’t matter if others think you’re mad and you don’t need plenty money. Speaking of cheap, as we walk to the bus park Vidya’s cheap new chinee slippers fall apart and he has to take them off and walk barefoot. In the streets of Georgetown is only mad people does tek big chances like dat and everyone we pass looks at us funny but we’re used to that now.