We may never know the truth behind the acid attack on Mr Pretipaul Jaigobin, the former Assistant Treasurer of the Guyana Cricket Board in May last year. It was a vicious, calculated and barbaric act that could only have been conceived in the mind of a miscreant. It has left him physically, maybe even mentally scarred, perhaps for life. It has left his family with ugly memories which they must carry for the rest of their lives. That apart, and from what he is reported to have said, the incident has persuaded him that worse could happen if he pursues the matter. He has said publicly that he believes that he knows who was behind the act. That knowledge, it appears, has informed him that his best course of action is to let the matter rest. He is, he says, fearful for his family. The implications of his pronouncement are chillingly clear.
The motive for the attack is not the point at issue here. Even if, as Mr Jaigobin appears to believe, what happened to him is cricket-related, the implications of the act do not belong in the realm of the sport. From the nature of the attack itself to Mr Jaigobin’s stated decision not to take the matter further, the whole affair resembles a gangland tale in which terror is ruthlessly dispensed with the motive of intimidating the victim into silence.
That is the context within which we must see the attack on Mr Jaigobin. Otherwise, we may be tempted to treat it as a kind of aberration, a squabble within the sport of cricket that simply went too far. That is not the realm within which its contemplation belongs. The truth is that the dousing of Mr Jaigobin with acid provides a poignant reminder of a growing propensity, here in Guyana for people to pursue terrible, often terminal options as means of dispute settlement. It is an unmistakable mark of a descent into darkness.
You have to feel for Mr Jaigobin and for his family. The picture of his disfigured face leaves a visual image that will dwell forever within the intimacy of their home. There is no evading or concealing it. The episode will be reflected upon and probably spoken of, time and again, within the confines of the family. Their collective tragedy will be replayed over and over in their minds and at times, they will relive the painful freshness of the incident. The collective family burden apart, Mr Jaipaul himself, except he has a change of heart, will have to live alone with the knowledge that in addition to the physical hurt, his attackers succeeded in frightening him into a humiliating silence that may well deny him closure to his ordeal.
All of us ought too to be shocked, outraged and frightened by what happened to Mr Jaigobin because – and with due regard to his terrible injury and its permanent physical and mental scars – the tragedy transcends the victim. It provides yet another sobering reminder that we live with monsters in our midst, who often are able to conceal their real selves inside cloaks of respectability, and that we are sometimes unable to protect ourselves from the physical manifestations of their twisted minds.
Mr Jaigobin’s tragedy also reminds us that we live in times and in a society in which there is a distressing absence of assurance that justice will be served, even in cases of the most outrageous wrongdoing. Sometimes, too often, the victim must settle for public expressions of outrage that do little to take the hurt away and official promises to get to the bottom of the matter which, invariably, go nowhere.
We ought, too, to be revolted by the very idea that Mr Jaigobin is correct in the view that he has expressed, that is, that the disfigurement of his face was cricket-related. For if it is indeed the case that cricket – any sport for that matter – has become a sanctuary for thugs and hoodlums then we do damage to more than just the sport itself. We disfigure the very fabric of our society, disentitling ourselves to the claim we so glibly make to being a civilized nation. What happened to Mr Jaigobin reminds us of much that is horribly wrong in our country.
