Dear Editor,
Something rather unfortunate now visits the letter columns. It is where others dive headfirst into exchanges between sword fencing letter pairs. More knotting follows, knitting disappears. Hypotheti-cally, John Doe shares a political position, which means reflexive racial coloration. The door to dispute opens, with numerous demons jostling to rush out and declare war. When I drum up interest to proceed beyond the captions, the poignant and entertaining bathe. Poignant because old piercing reminders ripple; entertaining because there are blatant aspects of partisanship, propagandizing, and self-promoting, all disguised as noble ideals and democracy’s essences. No matter how uncritically looked at, the issues boil down to this slippery precipice: ancient histories of who did what to whom, when and how; whose truth is more irrefutable; hence, possessing more validity. Self-assessed, naturally. But matters are not contained there, there is this new phenomenon of tag team wrestling, where third parties plunge between the epistolary jousters to wield more war-scarred battleaxes. Occasional stirrings of interest quickly lead to shaking the noggin and distancing. I experience all those, with the first (interest) being at the bottom of the pile, and for the simple reason of: to what point? Where to? Certainly, not real truths and lasting reconciliation, even a remote chance of either occurring. When we keep being expert archeologists (or racial gravediggers), then it is likely that there will be more detritus than artifacts, more putridity than preserved bodies. From my perspective, we are not learning anything new, other than how much we love to hate one another, and sticking it to each other, like warring domestic partners, with the aim of maiming more. And finding renew-ed psychic value in refreshing those hatreds, to the state of continuing readiness for more of the same energizing histories, which we condemn ourselves to repeat.
In this startling new Guyanese mutation, interested third parties (political, hence racial) insert themselves by jumping feet first into the fray to flay about in Guyana’s versions of ultimate fighting. Now, there is political Pansy and racial Roger appearing out of nowhere and creating what is, in effect, a Guyanese Royal Rumble, a showdown and smack-down in Georgetown. The letter columns now resemble outside GECOM, around Ashmin’s, and inside the Arthur Chung Convention Center. Remember the vulgar National Assembly. Note that I say nothing of new arrivals being unsolicited by the original parties to the discussion; possible breach of etiquette; or of palpable racial gang warfare. Though not quite literal, it is definitely visceral; and since the same political and racial carousels are unavoidable, I return back to that point: what is the point of this? To score points? To run-up racial scoreboards? To run some out of town? Whether intended or not, this is what matters distil to: exercises in futility, a best; at their worst, in hypocrisy. To underscore my position: identify innocent; better still, name reconcilers, point out racial propagandizers. The first two are nonexistent, the last abundant. Though camouflaged, I detect supremacy at the roots.
Sincerely,
GHK Lall
