The circus that plays out daily on our roads would be laughable were it not for the fallout. We tend to find humour in the most improbable places. The mayhem on every main road in the country offers ample material. As with a traditional circus, there are animals involved, though not the usual line-up of dancing bears or prancing horses. Arguably, our procession of mangy mongrels, free-ranging cows, goats, sheep and the odd shambling skeletal donkey offers added thrills and spills. The unpredictable antics of some pedestrians and their ill-judged forays across the line of traffic only serve to heighten the drama. The stakes for these hapless participants are higher than for the circus performer. Not for these a mere crack of the whip if they fail to negotiate a tricky junction or dodge a wayward driver. The penalty for a slip-up by our participants (two-legged or four-legged) is often injury or loss of life.
Our growing affinity with cars is part of our embrace of mainstream North American culture. We’ve seen the movies and the endless streams of cars flowing along highways with mesmerising synchronicity. Now we all want to own a car, preferably a big one. Unfortunately, like the child who covets the shiny gadget from the TV commercials but has no idea how to operate it, we haven’t read the manual. We have no idea of how to play the game. We haven’t even bothered to learn the rules. The metropolitan car culture (now in decline) was premised on several fundamentals: a network of large roads to accommodate the huge volumes of traffic generated by this form of transportation, the rigorous separation of pedestrians from fast-flowing traffic and, most importantly, a rule-based society. Such a thing is wholly absent in Guyana today. Hence the circus.
We exhibit a collective disdain for rules and regulations in our use of the roads and in our general conduct. Our grandmothers would call it ‘lawless’ behaviour. In an era when most road-users walked or cycled, this behaviour was a mere inconvenience; one might ‘steups’ at the errant pedestrian or cyclist. Now that more road-users drive (with varying levels of competence), lawless behaviour leads to chaos and carnage. We lack the common will to obey the rules of road use. We lack a shared understanding of how to negotiate traffic, how to treat other road-users with courtesy and consideration. Our drivers lack a collective and ingrained fear of the consequences of speeding, driving under the influence of alcohol, jumping a red light or a stop sign. As we add more vehicles to already congested roads, we create a circus with periodic bouts of carnage.
Our transport network, perhaps mirroring our society, has become increasingly fragmented over the last half century. Once there were ferries, trains and buses to convey passengers in bulk and according to published schedules. Now there is a profusion of speedboats, minibuses and taxis and a commensurate increase in traffic. In some ways, our current transport network embodies the virtues and vices of capitalism writ large. Passengers can hail a minibus at any point. Taxis are cheap and plentiful. Thus there are a large number of drivers whose primary aim is to complete as many journeys in a day as possible; speed is of the essence. The driver who observes the speed limit, stops only where he should and takes only the stipulated number of passengers is at a distinct disadvantage.
In a relatively short time, many of us have morphed from being pedestrians, cyclists or users of public transport to being drivers. Buried within the transition lies a significant adjustment in our use and perception of public space. We no longer perceive the hazards or discomforts of the pedestrian or cyclist. One writer, Rebecca Solnit called the phenomenon ‘Car Brain’. She lamented the loss of a world ‘no longer human in scale.’ Paul Salopek, a journalist attempting to walk across the world, described cars as “without a doubt the defining artefacts of our civilisation. They have reshaped our minds in ways that we long ago ceased thinking about.” He charts “a dramatic shift in human consciousness” and argues that its effects are more drastic than those of the web revolution.
It was not always thus. There was a time, not so long ago, when our roadways belonged as much to pedestrians as to vehicles. It was a common ritual to ‘walk a road’. Roads are still used like this in many suburbs and villages. Often the main road is the hub of community life. As the number of vehicles has increased, there has been little attempt to divert heavy traffic away from communities and to protect the more vulnerable road users (cyclists and pedestrians). A couple of centuries after its inception, pavements are still a rarity in Georgetown, perhaps viewed by our planners as a frivolous indulgence. Where they exist, they are rarely linked by pedestrian crossings or protected by barriers. At a junction, pedestrians are often forced to negotiate the full flow of traffic to get to the next pavement or walkway or their destination. Many busy roads are narrow and rutted, particularly along the margins, so that pedestrians end up jostling for space with vehicular traffic in the central portion of the road. Cycle lanes do not exist.
Detailed and timely local data about road traffic deaths and injuries may ultimately shock us into action. However the depths of the horror can be glimpsed in the news reports. When the toddler, Shamaine Cort, and her teenage aunts were killed on the Corentyne Public Road allegedly by an intoxicated driver last week, the child’s body was flung some distance by the impact. Mustak Alli, a father of four who was the cyclist killed on the East Coast Demerara road in a recent hit-and-run, lost his brother Altaf a year ago in similar circumstances. Six year old Joseph Quallis, out on an errand in La Penitence, ran from a speeding car, was pinned to the steel bars of a fence when the driver lost control, and died later of his injuries.
Globally, according to the World Health Organisation, road traffic accidents are the leading cause of death for young people aged 5 to 29, especially in developing countries. Some local road safety groups such as Mothers In Black refer to ‘road crashes’ rather than ‘accidents’ to emphasise that many such events can be anticipated and prevented. A few years ago, the WHO estimated that for every road fatality, there are 30 to 45 injuries on the road. Given what we know of road fatality levels in Guyana, this hints at what the WHO called a ‘hidden epidemic’. A few weeks ago, when the Guyana National Road Safety Council met, one official, opined: “the onus is on all to ensure we have safer roads in Guyana.” And, indeed, it is.
We are living (and dying) with the circus on our roads. It reflects the fragmentation of the society at large. As the society has atomised, the disconnect has become more pronounced. We have retreated into gated communities and grilled, guarded abodes. On the roads, those of us who can seek safety in SUVs and supersized vehicles. What about those who cannot?
