I thought about Kescia Branche this week. Kescia, my theatre colleague, was murdered three years ago. I often remember the last time I saw her about two weeks before her death; she was bright-eyed and full of life. Swiftly bright eyes full of life become full of fear as the darkness of death penetrates them. Many wept for murdered women this week. From the Monica Reeses to the Shonette Dovers we have observed too many minutes of silence because too many Guyanese women have been murdered.
Our hands are weapons of destruction. They tap on the babies’ hands to scold them and beat on the senses of our growing children. Our actions become trauma in motion. The dysfunction manifests in these violent cycles. We are scars we never healed from, loveless and broken before we had the chance to be whole.
Our tears and blood fertilise the soil. We disturb restless spirits around shallow graves, unmarked graves and the graves of those for whom justice was never; and what grows are thorns that continuously pierce those left behind; vines spring from the roots where skeletons lay to further entangle the haunted living to continue these violent cycles.
Shonette Dover many of us did not know you. We only know the pictures that were circulated when you were reported missing. But your parents and your siblings knew you. Your grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and others knew you. Your murderer knew you.
I thought about the hands that held the weapon used to shoot you. Those hands of destruction trained to hit instead of comfort; to destroy instead of mend, and to kill instead of preserve. But those same hands caress and cuddle women into believing it is love and normal to hurt in love.
Shaquawn Alleyne, I thought of you, too. You have been accused of killing Shonette Dover and you are on the run. I am reminded how easily distracted we are as a society. A young woman is dead, and somehow the focus has shifted in some circles to the sexuality of the fugitive and the sexuality of others who it is alleged may have helped him to escape.
Suanna Wilson, I thought of you too. Your body was not hidden in a shallow grave. You bled in front of your son while your murderer drove away and ingested poison because he too was broken. The silence of the boys taught to suppress their feelings becomes the silence of the men who cannot cope. Our emotionally detached men are many and they often do not comprehend that they are cold, selfish and cruel. They are conditioned from birth; their wounds are continuously worsened by insecurities; the toxic masculinity that moulded them imprisons them while help is scarce.
Lawrence Brummell, I thought of you, too. Remembering the phone call from a friend who knew you. “He was a nice guy,” she said, “I knew he would not have wanted to live.”
Here nice guys sometimes become murderers. Lawrence Brummell, I wished you had walked away.
You died not only from the poison you ingested but from the poisonous society that encourages and preserves violence. We were trained to resort to violence in our homes. We are influenced by the media, television, films, video games; the society is violent. Often it was our parents first and then our teachers. Those lashes, slaps and punches are the norm for many; but we keep telling ourselves the abuses we call corporal punishment do not harm us. We keep repeating it, hoping that we can wave magic wands and adults will unlearn what they learned as children and not perpetuate the same.
“I got licks as a child and I turned out good. I got licks as a child and I turned out good.”
And repeat…
We try to convince ourselves while clicking our heels like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz trying to find her way back home.
Did we really turn out good? Do we maintain the cycle of violence? Do we struggle to control our anger? Are we often unhappy? Do we struggle to express ourselves? Do we struggle with mental health issues? Even when we are self-aware and develop self-control, when our patience is tested by our children or other loved ones, are we not sometimes tempted to choose violence because it is what has been ingrained in us? And do we not often choose violence?
“We must all work to unlearn the violence. We must all work to unlearn the violence.”
And repeat…
If we refuse to change, the violent cycles will never end. Episodes of outrage will continue when women are degraded, stabbed, shot, burned, poisoned and strangled.
If we refuse to change, episodes of outrage will continue when abusive women degrade men and sometimes kill them too.
Are we tired yet?
The Guyana Police Force failed Shonette and her family. How was her body not discovered? Did they search the house when she was reported missing? Did they search the yard? Do we have detection dogs here that can smell blood and decay? Are our detectives inept?
For almost a month that young woman was left in that shallow grave and her alleged killer is now on the run. Her life mattered. She, too, was born with a purpose. Her death and Suanna’s death should inspire us to save the next woman at risk. The work to escape these violent cycles is work for the collective.
Stop the abuse of children.
Stop the abuse of women.
Stop the abuse of men.
Empower, educate and create more spaces where children, women and men feel safe to seek help and express themselves.
Empower our women so that they can leave at the first sign of abuse. Create safe housing around the country where they can seek refuge when they escape violent situations. There should be financial aid for those who need assistance after leaving abusive relationships.
Stop laughing at men who are abused. Whether it is the police or the community, the culture of mocking men who are abused has led to many suffering in silence which has often resulted in dire consequences.
The police, religious leaders, relatives and friends, stop telling women to work it out with their abusive partners when their faces are swollen, and he has threatened to dig her grave.
Aren’t we tired?
