Dear Editor,
Almost a half-century ago, a rare man had a dream in America. Over a week ago, dreams died in Lusignan, and a nightmare has since hovered over Guyana. About a day ago, the temporary insanity receded, and the dreams that had fled cautiously returned. They returned because I-for no reason-suddenly remembered the times and history that preceded that memorable dream of Martin.
In the bitterness and rage that follow Lusignan, it is timely to remember what went before and even as he shared his dream. There were the places called Montgomery and Mississippi; the Night-riders and their hoods; the unconcerned and ineffectual authorities; the bombings and shootings and killings. And this man dared to dream.
It is well to recall the beatings of John Lewis and others (they never knew if they were going to return alive); the killing of Evans in his driveway (and his wife’s temporary hatred of all things white); and the dogs and hoses and unsympathetic jurists. And still the man dreamed, while this holocaust of injustice and inhumanity and guns and death enveloped his words and movement.
His dream-however we wish to reconfigure it-remains a towering monument to the indomitable spirit of man in the face of unforgiving odds. It beckons and stands to guide us in these dark times after Lusignan for we too have our own realities.
Realities where 45s are trumped by 47s; where hooded riders are replaced by masked drivers; and where anyone can recognize our versions of O’Connor, Wallace, and Fabus.
After Lusignan, I think that I can feel the pain of the victims and the community; and I know, without a doubt, that I share the pain of my fellow Guyanese, and that it will remain indelibly etched. It was so for Agricola and Bagotstown (two communities with which I have shared a good part of my native history); but through the pain and outrage and insanity, we must still dream.
For those who think I am deluded or foolish, I acknowledge their criticisms. But I will first challenge myself to dream that our destiny can be different; and I reach out to like minded compatriots to do similarly in these most trying of times. That through the haze and uncertainty and impotence, we will rededicate ourselves to being instruments of reason and change; that we will fight against fear and guilt and helplessness; and racism and oppression from any quarter.
Remember that-while Martin marched forward with only his dream, and Stokely challenged white America to “move over, or we gonna move over you”, and Eldridge declared that America is a very sick society, but I am the sickest of all-only one philosophy has lingered and keeps sustaining itself in even the most difficult of circumstances. It is because of this that I stand ready to lend word and thought and hand and penny to those who too believe that they cannot succumb, but must overcome. I have challenged myself, I ask others to do likewise, and then let us challenge each other. I believe-even dream-that while the odds are overwhelming, they are not insurmountable.
Yours faithfully,
G.H.K. Lall
