MY daughter insists that I should write my memoir. She believes my life was interesting and so was my contribution to my country. But she thinks I will not do it and she will have to ghost-write it. What I have done in the dozens of thousands of columns I have published over a 36-year period is to include snippets of autobiography. This column here is another autobiographical note.
When I became a youthful political activist, at that early stage, I accepted that I would be an object for people to throw things at. Over 55 years of social activism, the throwing has not stopped. I shrug my shoulder and accept that it comes with the territory. Last year, I saw the throwing again at the wedding of the Editor-in-Chief at the Chronicle.

That incident motivated me to write a column titled, “The ghost that follows me.” Space will not permit an abbreviated repetition of its contents. What I will do here is to offer another dimension of my political life which manifested itself three times in three consecutive days last week. Here then is another page from my unwritten autobiography.

Last Wednesday, at Mattai’s Supermarket, a customer behind me spoke to me as I was being attended to. He was African-Guyanese with a slight American accent. He said to me he would never believe I am a soup-drinker, but he asked me to discuss why the politics of Freddie Kissoon has changed so dramatically and he would like to hear my answer.

It was not possible to discuss my transformation (I don’t know if my philosophical politics has been transformed) because I had to go but I left my cell number for us to have coffee. I never heard back from him. The next day, Thursday, Charrandass Persaud and I went to DEMICO to grab a bite. We walked over to the Stabroek Square.

Lots of people called out to me and Charran. One particular person came up and spoke to me (the quote here may not be his identical words.) He said: “Maan Freddie, yuh must come back maan, why yuh left we.” I smiled at him and told him it was a long story but Charran and I got to go. I tapped him on the shoulder and said to him: “Hope I see you again and we will talk.”
The next day, Friday, it was Phagwah. Chronicle columnist, Leonard Craig and I travelled up the East Coast to attend the funeral of deceased AFC activist, Nigel Ralph. I got along well with Nigel and after the AFC got into power and I began to denounce their betrayal of philosophical freedoms, Nigel would berate me whenever he saw me. His lament was always the same: “Freddie you belong with us.” After I started supporting the Ali presidency, Nigel would accost me, and loudly shout at me exclaiming: “Freddie duh is not you maan, Freddie how could turn so.”

So, while the service was going on at Jerrick’s Funeral Parlour in Paradise, I got out to escape the long sermon, and let the Atlantic breeze do to me what I have never done to myself – comb my hair. I always do that because I find those pastors get carried away and never stop.

I left Craig at the service and wandered around Paradise. As I was returning to Jerrick’s, walking on the parapet, this gentleman hailed out to me: “Freddie wuh yuh doing till up here, maan?” I told him it was a funeral service for an AFC activist that passed away.

You are not going to believe what he said to me. I swear on my parents’ grave it is the truth. He yelled out: “Suh yuh gaan back with the AFC, good.” Before I could give him my response, he exclaimed again: “Freddie wuh you doing maan, why yuh change maan?”

So, in three consecutive days, the same question was put to me. It has been visiting me since May 2015 when I began to denounce the government of APNU+AFC. Here is my answer which is contained in many, many columns before this one. One day, I realised that what I believed in at the deepest philosophical levels about justice, liberty, class and racial equality, the WPA and AFC had no respect for and did not believe in those priceless values.

I was psychologically manipulated all my life by political animals I trusted. The WPA and AFC lacerated my soul. They killed the dreams I carried in my bosom since a teenager in Wortmanville. The WPA and AFC in power and civil society comrades I embraced since the 1970s, that supported rigged elections, was a world I never wanted to see again. That is where I stand today.

DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the Guyana National Newspapers Limited.