Dear Editor,
As the rollicking Christmas Season comes, I thought I would herald its arrival in patriotic style. Today, I do so, through paying homage to the sterling few, who rose above the competition, despite their own limitations (pronounced and well-known), and an environment (not the best). It is the joyous highpoint of season and year: National Awards.
For starters, the most innovative and potentially profitable local content award goes to Halliburton for its pioneering mud capturing and mud-transforming plant on Water Street. It is an inspired choice for a local project, given the abundant population of human resource ingredients (so-called mud-heads), especially political ones. Halliburton would be blessed with a continuing crowd of customers and volunteers, offering themselves as prime specimens for remolding and reincarnation. Return on invested capital should put Hess to shame. I acknowledge that naming a foreign company as the winner in the local content game is bizarre. But Guyanese better get used to the future: soon we may be a minority, through huge foreign waves promised. The seawall will prove to be inadequate to the task and Halliburton is just the newest.
The Hippocratic award (not to be confused with the hypocritical medal for shady overachievement) is due this year, since there are so many quack medicine men in the jurisdiction. With the many newly minted doctors around-political doctors, social and civil society spin doctors, and Doctor(s) of Divinity-it was the keenest of contests. There were numerous dunce cap figures competing. It was all in vain, as an electoral spectre, long caricatured, won compliments of the prestigious UWI, which made space via its chic and correct bow to mental infantilism and suspected academic revisionism. There is now a doctor in the house (the one over there); just don’t expect loyalty to any Hippocratic oath, or excellency of any degree.
The runner-up for the best political heavy of 2019, has to go to the AFC and its menacing, and all-too-convincing, performance in the battle for that prestigious number 2 spot. In a nod to Guyana’s alarming foreign presence, there was an unprecedented three-way tie for the most influential political presence in Guyana by ExxonMobil, Rusal, and Troy. The Trinidadians came in a close fifth. The PNC and PPP came in for honourable mention, which says so much as to how far things have deteriorated in this country. It was an inspired evening for the three foreign behemoths, which had already carted away the prize for the most feared and despised commercial entity in all of Guyana. In view of some of the known local business scoundrels, it is some achievement by the outsiders, who have not only made Guyana their home, but have ousted Guyanese from their once rewarding nests via this incoming brigandage. It is a likeable battalion of crawling corporate creatures.
Not to leave out the ladies, the trophy for the Most Impressive Performance-aka the big stick award-belongs to the very adaptable chairwoman of Gecom. It was for conduct above and beyond, and in the line of fire, too. The good woman-the new Guyanese earth mother-beat everyone silly and into respectable cowering silence; grown men, known for volume and vindictiveness sought cover through the CCJ and via retreat to Babu John to commiserate with local spirits and imported baccoos from Paramaribo. It did not do an ounce of good for flagging spirits. What was believed heard (during the courtship) from the then chairwoman-in-waiting were strains of the Beatles, “She loves me…yeah, yeah, yeah.” The good news is that is a lot of lovin’ and was interpreted by the two sides to mean three votes for each one counted; the bad news is: for whom?
An also-ran for exemplary conduct was the Commissioner of Police, who collapsed into ignominious defeat, while rushing from one personnel crisis to another. This was despite the advantage of sirens, bullhorns, dazzling strobe lights, and the blessing of a blue-ribbon sheepskin from a foreign institution. Somebody forgot to send the memo that the Marquis of Queensbury rules were in force, which would have been ignored anyway, since some men are a law unto to themselves. So much for a nation of laws, and not of men; indeed, there is always present a certain kind of unruly and unruled man, and of which the police are the best example.
Recognition for best performing minister went to those without portfolios: not a single Guyanese, not even His Most Serene Excellency, knows what they do, how much they make, whether they have declared assets to the Integrity Commission, and how anyone is able to justify their existences, including the incumbents. It is the best example of a growing shadow government in full-fledged operations. Second place winners in this category went to those ministers to the spirit world and of assorted miraculous healings, unconvincing devilish exorcisms, and the Guyanese version of the fashionable American prosperity Gospel practices. Now, who are the biggest racketeers? No checks, please; cash only.
A special award had to be crafted for the most excellent one; the challenge was how to recognize the unique, while speaking respectfully to reality sans advertising and governance follies. I came up with what the ancients may applaud: the wisest one of all. For it is a paradox of power that leaders have to take what they get to get where they want. Take away the local head and there is domestic disaster. As always, the party comes first, which is what makes Guyana such a joyous country; the man knows the truth of his party people.
The triumphant party for best critic of the year, perhaps of all time, is still in the balance. Those from the distaff side were noticeably absent, making a mockery of Hamlet’s, “methinks the lady doth protest too much.” There are no Guyanese Queen Gertrude(s) on which to hang the garland, even though Volda and Vindhya (sounds suspiciously like Valkyries out of Viking lore) are no slouches in the barbwire department and may have something to say about that gender-centric slight. I hasten to assure that none was intended. I mean how can anyone in their right mind ignore the marathon (oil) man? Or the man from labour toiling uphill? Or the majestic and poetic Sunday bard, with his nuanced and sophisticated repartees that run the gamut of literary lights and annals?
As an aside, I acknowledge that there were built-in prejudices. Some people are found so repulsive that their nominations for other awards were scratched and votes in their favour overlooked. They would have won hands down the titles for Best Horror Performances (talking and stalking, called campaigning here). The reality is that Guyana has its very own Nightmare on Church Street; don’t worry about Friday the 13th, fear March 2. Yes, I know, even the gods recoil in fear and agitation from the political hysterias marketed. It has been a good season. And, through it all, there was the president, a true Rock of Alcatraz. It is most apropos, since that is the kind of sinister gathering over which he stands shaky guard. To him, goes the tribute for the most benevolent and forgiving (if not condoning) political leadership. Uneasy lies his head, on which rests a crown of poisoned thistles and thorns (comrades, too).
What a country!
Yours faithfully,
GHK Lall
