Dear Editor,
The birth and death of Cheddi Jagan coincidentally occurred in the month of March. The print media this year is replete with tributes, remembrances, and comments. This year seems to have exceeded the coverage of previous years. I think the singular item of note this year is the release of historian Clem Seecharan’s opus (700 pages +) “Cheddi Jagan and the Cold War.” Almost all the content in the contributions seems to revolve around the ideology of Dr. Jagan and how that ideology shaped his life. I never met Dr. Jagan, but I would like to relate the impact Jagan’s life had on me personally. I am sure thousands of youths share the same experience. To us, Jagan personified the vision in Wordsworth’s lines: “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven.” Years later, Walter Rodney must have served the same role to a different generation of youths. These leaders made us feel we had the power to change the world.
In that early phase, Jagan had people around him like Ramjohn Holder, Clive Thomas, Lawrence Mann, Colin Moore, to name a few. Just to have those kinds of folks gave us role models in the flesh. We youngsters idolized them and strove to become like them.
I first experienced Dr. Jagan on elections day in 1961. I was a teenager still in high school and not old enough to vote. Dr. Jagan had a victory parade in which he was heavily garlanded and travelled in an open convertible car. He was coming all the way from Berbice to the Parade Grounds where he would speak to those gathered. He spoke, as always, passionately. Way in his speech he remarked: “all history has been a history of class struggle.” As Jagan paused for effect, a black youth standing next to me immediately jumped forward and exclaimed ecstatically, “the first words in the Bible.” My God, I thought, there is more poetry here than in my high school classroom. I was on cloud nine. The next day the main newspaper in then British Guiana carried a headline that was chilling to me: “Conquering Hero Returns to City.” As an amateur appreciator of Literature, I thought that headline was the stuff of poetry. It sent goosebumps down my spine.
On becoming Premier, Dr. Jagan went to the United States to seek economic development aid. He was a guest on the venerable TV news magazine program “Meet the Press.” As usual the questioners turned the heat on their foreign guest, but in the end Cheddi prevailed with a rhetorical proposition that went something like the following. “If you will not consider my requests for development aid because of the shade of my democracy, then, gentlemen, it is not my democracy on trial, but yours.” Not known for drama, Cheddi’s tone was somewhat melodramatic. It gave me convulsions to hear my home-boy talk to the powers that be in that manner.
My next epiphany occurred on Independence Night, May 26, 1966. I was an usher at the flag raising ceremony. Mr.Burnham and his entourage had arrived at the park and were seated. The spotlight was on them in full blast. Dr. Jagan arrived later and immediately there was a noticeable shuffle as all the lights, cameras, and their handlers were hurriedly moved to focus on Dr. Jagan, leaving Burnham and his people in almost total darkness. That by itself would not have been surprising if it were temporary, but they stayed focussed on Cheddi. I speculated on who of the two gentlemen was the real star of the show.
The next day in Parliament was a revelation. That session is perhaps the most important ever held in an independent Guyana. Everybody who was somebody had to be there. It was an event not to be missed. As leader of the opposition, Dr. Jagan had the right to speak. When his turn came, there was an eerie silence. The proverbial pin drop could be heard in the dead quiet. I am not quoting him verbatim but from memory and this, in part, is how it went. “Mr. Speaker, there is no such thing as a cooperative republic. Republics are either socialist or capitalist. Ask any of our advisors. We all read the same classics.” A mild giggle could be heard. It is the kind of reaction produced by guilt, shame and embarrassment. Every person present knew they were witnessing a highway robbery in broad daylight. More so, they appeared to be on the side of the robber. Yet, all the sophistry of the Kabaka could not take the glow from the coolie boy of Port Mourant. By “losing” Cheddi had won.
Sincerely,
P. D. Sharma
Los Angeles, California
