Dear Editor,
Three years ago, I identified the local lunatic fringe to Guyanese readers. Now it is time to revisit this burgeoning domestic fraternity.
For starters, there is real disturbing news for the few remaining rational Guyanese: the local lunatic fringe is not a fringe element anymore; daily its core swells with the vacuous, the incomprehensible, and the utterly lost. Also, I apologize upfront to those who are unable to recognize themselves; it was heavy going, so there is only space for the hardcore and the hardwired.
I appeal to my fellow Guyanese not to go looking for themselves. The missing links are just as loved and highly (dis)regarded. And speaking of love, this is the perfect place from which to start.
At the top of the heap stand two men: one is a regular newspaperman, the other is, well… just a plain paper man. In the annals of this country, no two men have been so much in love with themselves, their own pronouncements, and their self-created pedestals. They are both self-appointed authorities ‒ sole and final authorities ‒ on most things, including those of which they know absolutely nothing. What is not manufactured is imagined.
One likes to share how his friends love him, the other how much he loves his comrades, and both how many of these they each have, even when, in one instance, these same friends are publicly insulting. The name calling (and dropping) continues.
Hands down the civil servant has to have the most delightful job in the country: the taxpayers reward him handsomely for unparalleled propaganda trajectory and velocity, inclusive of his love for himself, his love for his party, and his love for the good life lived in his exclusive circle. While this dewy-eyed fundamentalist writes, with a straight face, of his love for parts of the country, motherhood, and sick animals, he has not said a word about love for the money markets or banking sector, here or anywhere else.
Silence is indeed golden, but as some bright American once said, “a billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you are talking real money.” Except, this senior official is numbingly dumb on this.
Next, there is another fine (not to be taken literally) gentleman who is in everything, yet knows nothing. The latter is a given, but surely the man can read the records; that is, if he remembers where they are hidden, and prior to discovering the miracle of the shredder. I think he should be chairman of the local lunatic fringe chapter, in keeping with his other stand-up routines. Think of this: the chap is in real estate, energy, airport management, the hospitality sector, the gambling industry, investment banking, taxation, and accounting, to name only a few areas. He is Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley and JP Morgan Chase compressed into 200 kilos of… that is best left to the imagination. In addition, he is a media ventriloquist. In the local House of Lords, he is Lord High Chancellor Winsome of Emptiness under Shallowness. Just try getting anything sensible out of this servant of people in dark places with dark secrets.
Unsurprisingly, this year’s crop of fringe elements has a new feature: it comes in packs, and departments; sometimes entire entities. I continue with these Praetorian Guards.
If called a bland blank wall of uselessness, or stealth weapon, it would fit. In Guyana, they advertise them as government PR departments; in effect, ministerial image enhancers doubling as media cosmetologists. For the local PR departments that inhabit ministries, the public is inconsequential at best, and non-existent, for the most part. Consider this standard press release. Monday –no comment. Tuesday –refer to Monday. Wednesday –what is so difficult in understanding “N-O”? Guyanese should remember that Soviet newspaper named Pravda –it means ‘truth.’ It is the same truth practised here.
Similarly, membership in the lunatic fringe encompasses those ministerial advisers hanging out there and having a jolly time. Are minsters this dumb? No answer is required. How do these advisers justify their presence? What do they actually do, other than suppress unwanted news? What is their claim to fame, other than baying at the moon, telling ministers what they want to hear, and ensuring that the ministers are barricaded from the public and public concerns? Clearly, these guys have mastered the dubious art of saying much without saying anything. Issues –there are none; angry citizens –ditto. These in-house undertakers comfort ministers by singing (How great thou art!); by burying the unwanted; and by cremating remains. If this not sheer lunacy, then what is? The characteristic advice to ministers is encrypted, but interpretable: hide yourself; stay hidden; don’t say a word; if blindsided, insist on constitutional right against self-incrimination. And when all else fails, refer the pestiferous to the PR department (the ‘no comment’ experts). It’s a dirty job, but somebody has got to do it. I keep going.
This year’s award for Most Enlightening Lunatic Utterance must go to that Lincolnesque pronouncement from a powerbroker who stated that citizens can’t get rich offering condiments in public spaces. That’s telling them, buddy! Tell them to get a government job, or become a contractor. Procurement is where it is. They should join the party and learn from it. These days people have to be told everything, including the obvious.
How about that other fellow? That would be Sherriff Ben Hur waging war on outlaw buildings, seizing outspoken citizens, and keeping the nation safe from outrageous columnists (Fifth), assorted serial miscreants, and voluble rabble-rousers. Talk about a one man demolition department and black operations visionary. There should be a video game with this local hero.
On the must-be-included list, there was that professorial fellow, who placed his firearm (licensed hopefully) on the table during a conversation with his colleague and superior. It could be argued that this encompassed friendly persuasion, emphasizing a classroom point, or simply establishing the contours of discussion. This is how business is done in Guyana, boss. Power does grow out of the barrel of gun, and never more so than when in nervous hands and stressed minds. This geriatric frat boy has to be a candidate for social promotion; if that fails, then how about political promotion… What do you say, chancellor? This is what the vice stands for in your world.
Still, amidst this thundering cavalcade of the mentally unwashed, there is one who takes the cake, indeed a whole cake shop for arguably the greatest domestic exhibition of ignorance, vapidity, and raw untreated vulgarity in the last half century. The scene of the crime was City Hall. The perpetrator was that character who reportedly stated something to the effect that Georgetown is now in a better state than it ever was. Is this the drain-clogged, waterlogged, garbage-strewn, rodent-infested, roach-motel capital city? No, this can’t be Georgetown, Guyana, but tiny Georgetown in DC. Did this person escape from somewhere to roam in city chambers and council halls? It goes without saying that such a person should be kept under lock and key –forget about the key. This has nothing to do with cleanliness or radiance or ambience. Rather there appears to be serious vision issues, major olfactory problems, and an absence of any standards whatsoever. I see marginal mental magnitude and questionable breeding, if any.
Like I said, the lunatic fringe is now brigade strength; it keeps growing. This is but a snapshot of the jarringly discordant ruckus by the unseemly and coarse (“commonclass” as Guyanese say) that graces the domestic day.
Yours faithfully,
GHK Lall