It was refreshing that no politicians were invited to speak this year at the observance of the African Holocaust Day (Maafa Day) at the Seawall Bandstand. It was a calm afternoon with no heckling, few distractions, or other disturbances as was seen last year when government officials and politicians were present.
The sun was sharp, but the small gathering was determined to honour those who were stripped of their culture, language, spirituality, dehumanised, colonised, enslaved, and who perished under the weight of their oppressors’ scorn. Oppressors who did not know the true essence of the Divine, yet some claimed to know God and even in some instances claimed that the atrocities they brought on the people they subjugated was the will of God. The oppressors and the enslaved worshipping the same God never made sense to me.
For those who may not know, the African Holocaust Day or Maafa Day is celebrated every October 12th. It was on this date in 1492, that one of the fathers of lies, Christopher Columbus, claimed to have discovered lands already occupied by Indigenous peoples in this part of the world. The “Maafa”, a Kiswahili word means great tragedy or disaster and that is what explorers or liars like Christopher Columbus brought to this part of the world. Imperialism, the trans-Atlantic slave trade, and colonisation were no doubt a package of the greatest crimes against humanity.
On the Maafa Day every October 12 when we walk into the ocean at high tide, pour libation, whisper prayers and lay wreaths to the millions who would have fought and perished, we know that bones still lie on the seabed, that restless spirits roam the ocean, that these spirits dance with the wind, that their screams are loud in every corner of this Earth. The world is in shambles. I say that because of the injustices that have been done to Indigenous peoples around the world, this world will never know peace. There will always be wars and rumours of wars. The great tragedies that shock and humble us will not cease. The world as a collective will never know peace because there are restless spirits of those who were tortured, murdered, dehumanised, had their cultures obliterated and the price has not been paid for these crimes. This while there were other groups of people who thought themselves superior and sat on thrones of thorns.
The fight for respect and reparations for people of African descent continues. Some of us ask, why has that day not come yet? Why still some of the descendants of enslaved Africans are still in many instances fighting to stand united in their power and for their place in society?
In Guyana today one can feel the tension. Atrocities like what happened in Mocha occurred, but no justice followed. We speak of people of African descent who were murdered in this country during the crime spree and police brutality of the early 2000s, but where is the justice? Instead, the people continue to wait for a miracle or another imperialist to call their saviour.
I began by saying that it was refreshing that no politicians were invited to speak this year. While they may be somewhat relevant, much of the responsibility continues to rest on their backs for how the descendants of former enslaved Africans are often regarded in this country. The other part of the responsibility lies on the descendants themselves – those who have no fight in them, those who care not to know who they really are and those who have given up.
There are those who have stopped believing in the tales and promises of the people we have made leaders in this country. Those who have seen the evils of what people with too much power can do. Those who have felt the weight of a country under threat of collapse by its own doing. Those who have seen the disrespect of our ancestors and those who still breathe. Those who have observed those whose actions conflict with their words. I have been long tired of the performances whenever the occasion called for politicians to speak. Where the people stand like sheep in this country, the wolves among them are often the ones who they have made their leaders. Who in times have shown that they are all for self; who in times have shown that they will sell us to the highest bidder; who in times have shown that they are disconnected from themselves and therefore disconnected from the people; who are inauthentic and not fit to lead.
There under the tent at the Seawall Bandstand, the sounds of the drums were sweet. Bishop Andrew Irving oversaw the libation ceremony, and messages were brought by Dr. Rudi Guyan and Chief Eric Phillips. Dr. Rudi Guyan spoke about the true nature of the African Holocaust while Chief Eric Phillips spoke on the Holocaust and African Guyanese in “One” Guyana and what that should really mean. Those of us who are honest and not blinded by hoaxes and promises, know that “One Guyana” is not what it purports to be. If anything, it is the opposite of what it should be. But I have elaborated on that so many times.
As I stood there, observing the people gathered, and the bystanders, I looked at how the Seawall Bandstand has been upgraded. I remember a few months ago when I was shocked when I went there an afternoon, and all the vendors were gone. When I walked to Camp Street and found some of them on that side of the seawall one vendor said that they were told to vacate the area and the First Lady had something to do with the upgrading of it. Today was the first time I was there since the changes were made. I do admit it looks great. I saw that now there are restaurants and bars on the southern side of the Seawall Bandstand but the area where the vendors used to be is vacant.
I assume that most of the vendors who used to sell there are still in the area between Camp Street and Kitty seawall.
I thought about how a country that belongs to all of us can be controlled by a few people who are temporarily in the seats of power. Our ancestors would have worked to build this country, but their descendants can now be told where they do or do not belong. Whether it is that they can be told that they can no longer sell at a particular spot on the seawall, or they cannot live a certain place because they are squatters, or they can be bullied off their ancestral lands because a road must pass through, or they can be asked to sell their ancestral lands for a pittance because a gas-to-shore project must happen, these are trying times.
At the culmination of this year’s observance of the Maafa I was reminded that the road ahead is long, the battle continues, but Guyana still belongs to all of us.
