Guyanese artists need to support the teachers

THE teachers have done it. At the time of writing this article, they are still the streets, striking in order to express their desire for a better living wage, from a government that notoriously rewarded its ministers an unwarranted raise in pay very soon after it came into power, a damning opening move that pretty early on established, in the minds of the Guyanese voting populace, a sense of where the government’s priorities lay. Now that the teachers have taken to the streets in order to demand restitution for their years of having to teach, parent, counsel, and help the children of the country, it is imperative that their calls are heard and supported by all Guyanese, and that we collectively see that the government stands by whatever promises it makes to the teachers.

I think that artists in Guyana- writers, visual artists, actors, directors, fashion designers, should show solidarity with the teachers in their fight for betterment, simply because artists, perhaps more than those in many other occupations, know what it is like to be marginalised, to be shortchanged, and to be never rewarded properly, whether through compensation or respect for the hard work that they do. This is the thing that connects us with the teachers, and while the various art forms have yet to be popularised and accepted to the extent where artists are able to hold a strike that is on par with that of the teachers, it is still essential for artists to lend their voices to the pain of the teachers, not only because of the similarities between their struggles and our ongoing, never-ending pain, but also because almost every single artist can point out at least one teacher who played a vital part in that individual’s formation as the artist he/she is today. Almost every one of us had a teacher who served as the catalyst that sent us veering off into the right direction, into that beautiful void we call fate or destiny or truth. That teacher who saw something in the future writer that no one else saw. That teacher who brought materials from home to help the future fashion designer to make his/her first costume; That teacher who showed the future sculpture how to hold his/her knife; The teacher who taught the future actress how to find the character from within.

Teachers have always been instrumental in the lives of artists and while every working person in the world owes a debt to teachers, artists, in particular, have an even greater debt to pay, simply because, in the Guyanese society, it is rare for anyone, especially a teacher, to encourage someone to go into an artistic field. It is an infrequent and precious thing.

I have very few memories of doing anything artistic when I was in primary school. I remember being in Diwali and Phagwah shows put on by the schools. Those were very big back in the days. Also, back then I was religious – well, as religious as one can be when being a part of religion, to a child, was a norm and an unavoidable expectation, linked to family, education, success and self-worth. In any case, I have memories of being a part of these school shows that were directed and choreographed by the teachers who actively recruited students to be a part of them. However, my real growth as a writer and director truly began when I was in high school, when my English teachers made me write creative essays and short stories, when my teachers taught me how to analyse literature, when my teachers introduced me to Shakespeare and Martin Carter and works of Caribbean fiction, where the characters looked and sounded like me, where their stories could easily be the stories of me and my peers. I devoured the Shakespearean plays and I wrote and directed early scripts that were staged in awkward, heavily-graded skits, inspired by my love of movies, which we staged in English B classrooms. It took me a long time to realise it, but it was during these assignments, created and led by teachers, that my appreciation for the arts, for literature and drama really emerged and developed. These moments in the classroom were the early indicators of the person I was to become.

There were some terrible teachers, of course, but the ones who mattered and helped and guided me outshone them, in real life, in memory, and in the legacy that is my life, in much the same way that the life of each student serves as a legacy for each of the teachers that came into contact with them.

At Queen’s College, there was Ms. Savory, who was still a student at the Cyril Potter College of Education when she began teaching me, I believe, in Second Form. She was important to me because while my parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles had already made me fall in love with stories, it was this teacher who showed me how strong stories could be. She was the one who taught me the strength and beauty of literary analysis. Mr. Talmah, on the other end of the spectrum, as an older, more experienced, male teacher, furthered this love of literary analysis and he encouraged my writing, making me feel as if I was capable of doing something, as if I was talented and good at something, while all around me my colleagues studied hard to become doctors and lawyers as my abysmal Math grades kept going lower and lower.

Later on, inspired by the powerful impact of these two teachers to love literature so much that I ended up studying the subject at university, I encountered many more teachers who changed my life. Ms. Miller taught me the importance of including women writers and about always bringing a feminist perspective to the table. Ms. Abigail blew my mind with her craft at teaching and with the way she was able to show me how Caribbean literature could be as beautiful as any other type of literature in the world. Mr. Hosein made me embrace my Guyanese Creole – after years of trying to speaking perfect English because Queen’s College students were expected to speak a certain way back in those days. Ms. Bennett and Dr. Tumbridge introduced me to Literary Theory and Postcolonial Literature – the two strands of literary study that are, in my opinion, the most important for Guyanese writers. Dr. Mohamed taught me how to write plays. Mr. Creighton taught me every single thing I know about theatre, about folklore, about staging a play, about writing poetry, and about the gorgeous, wild, diverse history of literature in the world.

Without my teachers, I would not be the person I am today. Perhaps, it is now cliché to say that, but cliché does not mean untrue. I hope the teachers who are striking get what they are looking for so they can return to shaping the future of the country. I wish them well.

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