“I ask Berbicians to have dignity and respect themselves . . . I ask Berbicians not to be stupid, idiotic and self-destructive. Have pride and dignity and do not be misled by barefaced lies that can easily be seen.” (Kaiteur News, March 10). Such brazen condescension smacks of abysmal stupidity.
In his quest to enlighten Berbicians, Freddie Kissoon tells them to “forget about what President Burnham did. Even if you didn’t like him because he banned flour, it was all of Guyana, not East Indians alone.”  If he is implying that only ‘East Indians’ live in Berbice he is blatantly ignorant..
The columnist tells Berbicians to examine the evidence he presents and “they will see for themselves that the present government is the worst administration we have ever had in the history of this land.”
Well, Berbicians would not give credence to unsubstantiated ‘evidence’- the “white guy’” and the parliamentary secretary, for example, who do not seem to have names. And Berbicians, would never subscribe to the view that the Jagdeo government is the worst Guyana has ever had. For there were times in the 70s and 80s when the situation in Guyana was bleak and the country was blighted, as described in the following poem written by a Berbician.
The rain fell lightly,/ The land yielded little./ Then the rain fell more lightly,/ And the land yielded less./ So trouble began / In country and town./
It was bleak in the country,/ But folks improvised/  With plain cook up rice/  With salt and pepper/ And mango or  coconut chutney./
It was tougher in the towns,/ Without windfall mango,/ Or coconut for chutney./ Rice was scarce,/ And pepper expensive./ Instead of three meals,/ Hungry folks had just one,/ If they were lucky./
One special treat / Country folks enjoyed,/ Was fish from the sea,/ Or swamps or backdam,/ For those who had cast nets,/ Or those who could buy them./
But the foremost luxury, / That everyone could’ve afforded, / Was the buck crab that marched,/ in July and August./
And every single year,/ Town came to country,/ With festive spirit,/ To partake in the ritual/ Of catching buck crab./
But at last! / Woe befell one and all. / When the crabs stopped marching, / and went into hiding. /
It was election year,/ So the story goes,/ And they were afraid,/ That the government would catch them, And put them to vote,/ So they went under cover,/  And never came back,/ Till the comrade left office.  
Pure Gold (2001)