The loss of a loved one, a friend or even a mere acquaintance is usually a time for reflection on the transience of things, an assessment of the accomplishments of the departed and the impact he or she may have had on one’s life. The death of a national leader is no exception, save that the reaction is usually more public and charged, both emotionally and politically.
Former President Janet Jagan’s passing has, of course, occasioned an outpouring of grief, musings on a life of sacrifice and dedication to her adopted country, opinions on her political positions and actions, and unsurprisingly, if rather disappointing in the timing, some bitterness and contumely. That said, the graciousness of Opposition Leader Robert Corbin in acknowledging her legacy of rich service and urging reflection upon the importance of unity, is worthy of praise in the context of Guyana’s polarised politics.
In his very personal ‘Looking back,’ last Sunday, Ian McDonald reflects on how best to judge one’s life and contribution, based on certain essential principles: commitment to family, treatment of other people, performance in the workplace, fulfilment of one’s ambitions and responsibilities, and “maintenance of the soul.” It is perhaps another of life’s little ironies that Dr McDonald should have penned this primer, based on his own lifetime of service and a worldview framed by what we might regard as his Renaissance humanism, just as Guyana was entering a period of official national mourning for the former head of state.
Death, to be sure, does give pause for thought. And even as obituaries and eulogies abound, to put Mrs Jagan’s life, work and legacy in their proper historical context is a task beyond the scope of this editorial. That should be left to others, equipped with the intellectual rigour, methodological tools and requisite sense of historical objectivity, to undertake at the right time, when emotions are well under control.
In this respect, we turn for guidance to the just published biography of Dr Eric Williams, the controversial, founding Prime Minister of Trinidad and Tobago, by Professor Selwyn Ryan, the noted political scientist and former director of the Sir Arthur Lewis Institute of Social and Economic Studies at St Augustine.
Launched in Barbados last week and in Trinidad on Tuesday, Eric Williams: the Myth and the Man has already been acclaimed by personalities such as Ken Gordon and Bridget Brereton, Professor of History at UWI, St Augustine, for the depth of its scholarship and the breadth, incisiveness and balance of its analysis.
Professor Ryan’s magnum opus, a weighty tome of 842 pages, is a hybrid of historical narrative, political science and biography. The author’s explanation of his methodology and approach, in an article in the Express on March 22, is instructive.
“Biographies, like obituaries, seek to tell readers something about the life and legacy of the person under scrutiny. They usually go beyond recitation of fact and detail to interrogate what was attempted by the actor, what was achieved or not achieved, and whether the failure was due to error, incompetence, wilful departure, challenges of personality, or some objective constraint imposed by the physical, political or ideological environment.”
In this respect, various questions arise. What criteria should be used to judge the actor, “especially if he (or she) is a controversial or a beloved and respected iconic public figure”? Should the subject be judged by the “heroic myths” constructed around his personality and deeds or by accounts “contrary to those narratives”? From whose perspective should the story be told, that of those close to the actor or that of those who were either opposed to him or negatively affected by his actions? Obviously, questions of bias arise on both sides. And what if the leader was either physically or psychiatrically ill, without being aware that his vision and perspective were affected? Where does established fact yield to informed guesswork?
Professor Ryan is well aware of these pitfalls and also points out that there are “narratological considerations.” That is, “Should the actor …be judged in terms of what obtained and was deemed legitimate at the time, or by contemporary standards of what is right or wrong? If the narrative is being scripted long after the event, or even shortly after, whose memories or perspectives are being privileged? It is well known that memories are capricious, selective and mediated by ideology and demographic factors, including ethnicity and gender.” And of course, with the passage of time, some judgments are subject to revision.
Thus, in this seminal study of Dr Williams, seemingly destined to be regarded as the definitive biography of a complex and enigmatic man and an invaluable history of the political evolution of Trinidad and Tobago, Professor Ryan opts for the balanced approach favoured by Plutarch, painting a portrait of a man and his times, a heroic yet flawed figure, who emerges as neither the hero of the constructed myths nor the “wicked genius that some saw.”
It is 28 years since the death of Eric Williams and we are told that Professor Ryan’s magisterial work was some 20 years in gestation. All this would suggest that it is still too early to pass judgment on Janet Jagan’s contribution to the political landscape of Guyana. But an era has ended and the time has surely come for authoritative studies on the life and times of Forbes Burnham, Desmond Hoyte and Cheddi Jagan.
Hopefully, someone is already undertaking the task. Historians and political scientists, such as Cary Fraser, Peter Fraser, David Hinds, Clem Seecharan, are certainly capable of the type of scholarship needed to bring us to a better understanding of the motives, virtues, human weaknesses, deeds, triumphs and mistakes of the generation that shaped our nation and brought us to where we are today. Perhaps only then will we be able to lay the ghosts of the past to rest and allow the healing to begin. But it will take time.
