Monday morning, May 22, we all woke to shocking and horrific news! I read with shock and disbelief about the fire in Mahdia that claimed the lives of many young people and injured many more: children – girls whose parents had entrusted their care to others as they hoped the education they sought away from their homes would put them in good stead for life; sisters; cousins; perhaps young aunts. The young son of the dormitory house mother was also lost. I had questions. I had anger. Today, I have questions and I have anger.
We lost 18 young girls on their journey to womanhood. I am saddened. I am heartbroken. And I am angry that they spent their last hours behind grills that are meant to protect them, because as a man told me, “We need to protect people girl children.” Grills are the solution to some fundamental changes this society needs; Safety and security for all, especially our women and children.
I am thankful and worried for those who survived. What might their journey of physical, emotional, and psychological recovery be like? I pray they are able to heal. I am skeptical about fully, but I am hopeful. My heart aches for the bodies which may be permanently altered by fire; no doubt some thought processes may be also. But I am hopeful. My heart aches for those left behind and for those who must comfort the survivors: fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, teachers. Communities. Micobie, Chenapau, and Karisparo in mourning while the nation grieves. I am gutted!
As I travelled to visit a friend on Monday afternoon with bananas from my garden, the bus stopped and a pretty girl with plaits and little ‘hair knobs’ disembarked in her St Stanislaus uniform. I couldn’t help but wonder whether she knew why those girls slept in a heavily grilled dormitory and whether she knew of the threats to her body. That is our society. I thought of Iceland where women can walk the streets late at night without fear and how in my country I cannot. I thought of the times I walked home late at night in another land, daring to do what I would not at home. I thought of the times I felt threatened because of my body, not there but here; more comfortable in another’s land than in my own.
I am angry because when will enough be enough? When will we as a society cease to be fearful, accepting, and easily mollified?
We live in a culture of negligence, a culture of apathy, a culture of “it doesn’t directly affect me so let me go on with my life.” We are a society that is overrun by fear, that is preoccupied with the basics of survival and existing in a particularly difficult country – one made difficult because you feel you cannot speak up as there might be repercussions. Many whisper their discontent. Few shout their discontent. Fingers point at who should fix the problems and there is an irksome sense that the loudest shouts are met with superficial placation.
When I think about culture, I often think about it in the sense of the arts. But after grills that secured girls’ bodies against one kind of threat resulted in their victimhood to another, culture in terms of the arts is an uncertain thing to me. Indeed, although a cultural practitioner I wonder, what can art change? What can making artwork to encourage varied conversations on violence against women and girls, as I did for most of a decade do except leave me jaded and pained? On my self-assured days, I think it is giving voice to the voiceless and courting and validating allies. But what can making artwork that calls on more men to be allies do when other women with very visible platforms within easily accessible cultural forms – music, for instance – sexualise and objectify their bodies thereby suggesting to some men that all our bodies are to be so subjected? What can making such visual art do when few people bother with visual art and fewer still understand what they are looking at when they look?
Grills to protect that orifice on a female’s body explored by choice or force. I thought it. Feared it. And Monday afternoon in an interrupted conversation with others it was repeated. I cringed. My individual thought was that it was cultural and societal lunacy that grills are normalised rather than efforts to eradicate the threat; the illness some suffer from – the inclination to violate the bodies of women and girls. Covid received a strong global response but the pandemic of abuse of women’s and girls’ bodies is normalised in music and videos and in places like Guyana goes unabated daily. We speak constantly of the race issue in Guyana but that is allowed to persist. The insecurity we feel for the people and things we value, particularly our women and girls. The macro indicators of the illness get attention sometimes but the micro indicators do not; they are allowed to fester. Why should anyone live in fear of harm to their body? Live behind grills for fear of harm?
Along with those who grieve the tragedy of Mahdia, I grieve. And I pray for cultural practitioners who will help us see, recognise, and transform ourselves for the better. I pray for cultural production that is a catalyst for positive socio-cultural change. I pray for cultural production that probes minds and hearts, sees those as principal recipients of provocation, and leaves the intellectually-safe and quickly-produced “pot-boiling” hustle alone.
Please don’t let these lives and sufferings go in vain.
Condolences to the family, friends, and communities that grieve the loss of such youthful lives. Prayers of healing and restoration for the survivors and those who must support their recovery. Prayers of gratitude to those who did the work to save and are doing as needed to restore the lives of those who remain with us.
Rest in Peace, Dear Children. Heal, Dear Nation
(This presentation was delivered with slight modification at the University of Guyana’s ‘Women, Culture and Society’ Symposium on May 24, 2023.)
Akima McPherson is a multimedia artist, art historian, and educator.
