The eyes of Guyanese are opening

Dear Editor,
“You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating just the same.” That is a famous line from the 1991 movie “Fried Green Tomatoes”, a movie which certainly scored high on the Rotten Tomatoes List.
That is what is happening to the PPP/C Government. The President certainly has a big and loving heart, and he is culpable of overlooking so many trivialities expressed and exercised by the Opposition, and even the neutralities, in leaps and bounds and/or bits and pieces perpetually, habitually, or seldomly. But the “man for all seasons” rises above the water, and, like the purine flower in the pond, blossoms to provide the fragrance and beauty of an admirable and impressive sight.
Mudslinging is a famous pastime for the Coalition, but they continue to miss their target, and every time they pivot, their pendulum only ricochets with a boomerang effect! Their cannons are landing as soft slingshot pellets, only to crumble in a tiny heap of dust, useless and harmless.
Even the birds on the electric wires are chirping happily, knowing that their aim is way off target. What’s next, and who’s next are the fearless questions the guys in the barn are braying over.
This one-ton-man imposter show is acting a solitary and lonely role in the circus. The audience is bored and too tired to boo, and, slowly but surely, the departure line grows faster and longer. Reality kicks in, and the supporting cast refuses to play along, even to a funeral tune. A cyclone storm is funnelling its way and gathering the guilty and innocent in its path. The gravy train made its last stopover two years ago, and has diverted on a different track. Those consumers have run out of goods, gas and grenade, and are now desperately searching in the dark and clawing at anything which faintly passes by.
Whether it makes sense or bears any significance, its application becomes paramount for dressing purposes, and must be utilised in order to survive and to reflect a fight is still being carried on to show worthy of their salt.
Regardless of their redundancy or retardness, a state of intellectual bankruptcy is fertilised, posing no risk of exposure to advertise a stage of potential lunacy. An acceptable norm, it has become an anticipated expectation to hear the toothless lion roar in all shapes and forms. A net is cast, and small fries are caught, baited with intangibles and indigestion. It’s only a matter of time before they will release themselves from this illusion, regain consciousness, and allow reality to kick in. Refusing to endure a nightmare any longer, they will arise to a rude awakening, to see that Mr. Hyde is really Dr. Jekyll.
During the twenty-eight years of false hope, the small man never became the real man. He lived from hand to mouth, day to day, suffering in agony and poverty, but too ashamed to declare the treatment received was harsh and cruel, because of false pride of having a Kabaka at the helm. Most of them did not want to admit the pain and suffering they endured while they watched the devilish, devious and damaging monstrosities that were taking place. They alluded quietly and behind closed doors, complaining only to themselves. While the line of luxury and a higher standard of living increased for those in high society, the man in the street became marginalized, and the poverty line gap skyrocketed. This absurdity shook many of them to declare war, and they rightfully sought greener pastures.
This retaliation accounted for a mass exodus of flight by night, whether legally or illegally. Desperation drove even the diehards to experience a change of heart, and march they did without looking back or having a second thought.
Inequality is not a two-year-old story, but one which unfavourably commenced from the daunting days and nights of frauds and deceits created by the rigours of elections from that era. Racism took birth when greed fermented the minds of the selfish, and it was planted to handcuff those who blindly joined the line to follow an ambitious leader, one who was power drunk and consumed with the attire of affluence of a General who imagined he would live and rule forever. He did not cater for Plan B.
Even though his successor tried a thing or two, “moe fya, slo fya” took an indent to liquidate any credibility he may have gained. At the end of the day, the spirit from the past contaminated the meaning of any good intent, and the dawn of the day signalled refined danger.
With the advent of a fairy godmother waving a magic wand, or perhaps the big heart of the wise man from the North, a country with destiny was saved from ruination. Juggling with politics and economics, a saviour brought the nation from the jaws of death to breathe new life with progress and development for twenty-three short-lived years. It was a clean-up campaign from the mess amassed by ruthless administrators.
So, desperate for a change, a further five years of unfaithful promises saw the good life was meant for the chosen few only, at the expense of the mass. Entangled in a maze, this game of tomfoolery became a pronounced joke. All inherited gains were quickly converted to losses. It was a time to borrow from the future in order to live in the present and forget the bitter lessons from the past.
Filling the pockets was the name of the game, and at stake was the sweet jackpot to provide the cover for the dirty hands. Democracy took a dive once again, only to emerge with the help of the ABCE, CARICOM and the patriots of the determined.
Now that the country is once again showing massive progress, do you really want to believe in those who provided false hope and nightmares all over again? Guyanese are no longer stupid!

Yours respectfully,
Jai Lall