In a few weeks Guyana will observe its 50th Independence anniversary. The observances will coincide with the first anniversary of the current government.

IN A FEW weeks’ time, Guyana will observe its 50th Independence anniversary. The observances will coincide with the first anniversary of the current government. From all indications, Guyana is ready for a big party; that is part of who we are as a Caribbean people. In a sense, the very act of celebration is an affirmation of freedom. The plantation was a closed space, with all the horrors bottled up therein; so, logically, emancipation and independence meant reclamation of the open space. That is where our carnival spirit comes from, and why cricket speaks to, and of, our spirit.

“All our people ask for is some love and respect, some sweet caress, some happiness.”

Bob Marley, the poetic genius of our Caribbean Independence, was moved in the 1970s to ask of the powers that be: “Why can’t we roam this open country/Oh why can’t we be what we want to be/We want to be free.”

Bob Marley asks a very serious question in that verse: Why can’t we be free? This is the question I want to pose today. If you come out of the bowels of slavery, indentureship and colonialism, your appetite for f reedom is bound to be large. We Guyanese are no different. That is why when May 1966 arrived, we sang the freedom song in a land that was no longer strange to us. We had turned a “strange land” into a freedom space. The challenges were many, but in the end we overcame.

You see, Independence was not about who the political father was or which party led us to 1966; it was and is more profound. It was and is about FREEDOM — the opportunity for the sufferers to suffer no more. Bob Marley’s chant pierces our consciousness: we want to be free.

But have we really been free? Can we roam the open country? Fifty years later, are we what we want to be?
Marley would simultaneously proclaim: “No chains around my feet/But I am not free/I have never known what happiness is/I have never known what sweet caress is.”

We have survived the plantation and we have survived the harshness of Independence, but as Brother Eusi Kwayana, our own sage, would say, the scars of bondage are raw; and I submit that bondage is not a thing of the past, it is very much
in our present.

That is why when my national newspaper dispatches history to the pit of hell, I weep for Guyana. Our foreparents did not fashion a history of survival, resistance and freedom for some lost soul to write it out of history. As Marley would ask—“where is the love to be found?”

In Guyana we have not known what happiness is these fifty years; we have not known what sweet caress is. It is not that some of our leaders have not meant well. It is not that our people have not raised their voices in protest against the agents of unhappiness. It is not that there have been no socio-economic advances. It is not that our collective creative imagination has not soared. We have done right in the sight of God and humanity, but still we are not free to be what we want to be.

So, to quote Marley again, we forward “in this generation.” But is it triumphantly? Come next month, what songs will we sing? Will we join Brother Bob to sing redemption songs? Or will we party as if we are fully free? Please let us leave some time and space to reflect on our journey and our present condition. Let us not depend on Google to explain our history — our story; we are better than that. Our own Martin Carter speaks for all of us: “From the niggeryard of yesterday I come with my burden/To the world of tomorrow I turn with my strength.”

Our current government finds itself in a tight spot; it is a rare product: it has the burden of facilitating that love and happiness and sweet caress which Brother Bob talked about. Brother Granger calls it the “good life.” All our people ask for is some love and respect, some sweet caress, some happiness. I see it in their eyes and hear it in their voices, and touch it when I touch flesh with them. Our politics have never been easy. But we have got to face our demons and cast them out.

Ras Michael Jeune: Rootsman to the Core; Artistic to the Core
Ras Michael Jeune was my friend, my mentor, my brother. In a little wooden house at Buxton-Friendship Line Top, he taught me and others how to write and read poetry, and how to write period. He taught us drama and storytelling and short story writing. He is for me Guyana’s best short story writer of his generation. Michael was the first person to clarify for me what is the meaning of democracy and dictatorship. It came out in an argument he had with a “lil hot hand” name John Cromwell. Mike introduced me to the poetry/chant of Andre Tanker and the artistry of Ken Corsbie, Marc Matthews, Johnny Agard and Henry Muttoo. It was he who explained to me that Walter Rodney was an artist too, and that Kwayana had that touch of genius.

I love you Mike. Go back to your ancestors and continue your work of the mind and of poor people looking to break free. This year, Emancipation at Buxton Line Top would not be the same, but the first libation will be for you: Rootsman to the bone, artistic to the core.

More of Dr. Hinds ‘writings and commentaries can be found on his YouTube Channel Hinds’ Sight: Dr. David Hinds’ Guyana-Caribbean Politics and on his website www.guyanacaribbeanpolitics.com. Send comments to dhinds6106@aol.com