Nicholas Peters’ “Imagining Future Guyanas” is the last of four non-fiction works we decided to feature this month. Peters began his professional life in journalism at Kaieteur News. It was there that he was introduced to the transformative power of people and their stories, as he observed the delicate and robust role that journalists have in protecting human rights. He recently completed reading for his Master of Arts in Human Rights at the University of Sussex, where he studied as a Chevening scholar. Peters has spent life divided between the Demerara East Coast, Hinterland and Georgetown. All of these places have impacted how he sees the cultural and geographical diversity that is inherent in Guyana. For him, Guyana is an interesting experiment in what it means to be South American, Caribbean and Guyanese in a postcolonial globalised world. His writing aims to capture the intricate and connected lives that we live as we move between place, time and space, as it reflects stories that are not conventionally listened to.
TWR: You’ve cultivated a career out of advocating for the rights of minority groups, having gained an appreciation for the critical role journalists play in protecting human rights. When did you first recognise the power of the pen for creating social change?
NP: I’d say that I’m still building my career because in many ways I still feel as if I am in the foundational stage and have a lot to learn. There were several moments early in my professional life when I recognised the “power of the pen”. One of those moments was after one of the National Toshao Conferences a few years back when I interviewed some Toshaos who had alleged that they were prohibited from speaking critically at the meetings. I think that that was the first time I was face to face with some of the issues which affected Guyanese indigenous peoples when it came to their rights to land, their way of life, livelihood and as citizens. These issues are complicated to talk about, but these community leaders were brave enough to speak, have their stories recorded and shared to the public at great personal risk. I think that was when I realised the responsibility that journalists, writers and other media professionals have when ensuring that peoples’ basic right to free speech and freedom of expression are protected. After that, I saw again and again from the young and old to farmers and office professionals to ‘coastlanders’ and ‘hinterlanders’ and other groups, the lengths and distances to which people took to get stor[ies] heard.
Another pivotal moment of recognition was during the 2015 General Elections. I remember that time as being filled with a lot of tension, uncertainty and a desire for change. I particularly remember the opposition that media outlets like Stabroek News and Kaieteur News faced from the government. This opposition was because of their critical stance of those in power and their coverage of issues that highlighted the problems of the average person. To me, that just shows the power that the pen has because there were powerful entities that wanted to silence these stories. Despite these efforts though, people read these stories, those stories were shared and ultimately people voted for a change. That was a practical demonstration of the power of the pen – it took time but eventually, a change happened.
That’s why I think it’s important that we don’t forget those times when stories were silenced and advocates for our rights died. Activists like Walter Rodney and Courtney Crum-Ewing must occupy a space in our collective memory so that we don’t return to a time when people were silenced, and their rights threatened. We must be vigilant, especially with a compromised constitution, because those threats to our basic rights are returning – from all sides of the political spectrum.
TWR: As an activist, do you often find yourself gravitating to the non-fiction genre to reach readers and raise awareness or have you found fiction to be equally as impactful?
NP: I love both fiction and non-fiction but in terms of raising awareness, I’ve found that non-fiction has had the greater reach to readers here for me. My favourite part of writing non-fiction is that it allows me to meditate on what I see now, reflect on its history and where I think things will go. People like to read things that are relatable and where they can find representation. I think that because the Guyanese experience is not represented in a lot of what we consume, people tend to gravitate to the non-fiction genre to find that representation. There are several factors, like accessibility, that contribute to why we don’t see more Guyanese representation. People here turn to media like the newspaper for representation because it is accessible, and so my writing has been more impactful because of that. I think that that accessibility is changing with the proliferation of the internet though. That isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy writing fiction. In fact, fiction has had the greatest impact on my writing. So, these days I’m trying to write more fiction as a challenge to myself and as an experiment to see how others respond to that writing. With the internet now an integral part of our lives I think myself, and other writers have the opportunity to produce and share more forms of Guyanese fiction.
TWR: You describe your stories as unconventional. What do you think essentially sets your work apart from that of other storytellers? How does your cultural heritage and the diversity of the spaces you grew up in influence the way you tell stories?
Nicholas: In terms of my fiction writing, what I’ve written I approach from a queer lens because those are the stories I want to read. Unfortunately, because of the social prejudices that members of the queer community face, I think that that complicates my relationship with my writing and what I choose to share publicly. So that’s one component of how I think it’s unconventional.
In terms of how my cultural heritage influences the way I tell stories I try to see how different perspectives can influence single events. I ask myself several times during my writing process how an event can be interpreted differently because of someone’s life experiences and background. Factors like gender, ethnicity, age, location, economic class, sexual orientation and political beliefs influence how people experience the same event. For instance, a new road to certain hinterland regions could mean more economic opportunities for coastlanders, but a threat to their livelihood for villagers in that area. Both sides have valid reasoning for how they feel and so will influence what happens. For storytelling, listening and understanding a diversity of experiences, improves the quality of the stories we tell. Guyana is the best place to exercise this lesson because of how diverse the country is in terms of places and people.
TWR: Imagining Future Guyanas explores the idea of a reimagined Guyana and the futures we can create by just engaging our imaginations. Notably, you won an award for your piece, A Centuries Old Flame, which itself explores Guyana’s future. Do you take the same liberties in that piece as you urge other writers to in your advice to “imagine a Guyanese future that is outside the colonial and modern boxes we live in today”?
NP: I think I did so in more subtle ways. That piece didn’t go in the direction of a future that would be radically different from the one we’re in now. It was more a critique of what will happen when we don’t think outside of those boxes, that we will be doomed to repeating history. For that story, I wanted to show people that wealth doesn’t always equate to progress or radical change. In most instances, wealth has led to very superficial change and doesn’t really change society. Looking back on it, I was inspired by what was happening in places like the Middle East, North Africa, Singapore and the United States – places generally looked at favourably because of their wealth but still have problems rooted in their respective societal histories. This was reinforced when I visited Trinidad after writing A Centuries Old Flame for the first time, where I was surprised at how much it reminded of a future Guyana, in good and bad ways. Wealth won’t heal our collective trauma and it won’t prevent us from repeating history. It also doesn’t mean that the rights of women, the economically disadvantaged, indigenous peoples and the LGBTQI community will be protected.