Dear Editor,
When the annals of Guyana’s political history are written, if the account of what transpired is accurately and objectively recorded, many reading it will pause at the name Eusi Kwayana and observe, “it is remarkable that throughout a period when individual and group egos seem to dictate the course of actions of most political leaders, one such as this was around in Guyana”. At least that is my thinking, and I do not believe that it is, by any stretch of the imagination, an isolated perspective. Eusi Kwayana represents a role model for activist leadership, not only in Guyana, but in many developing countries that are overburdened with an abundance of symbolism in the character of the leaders we seem to be continually reproducing, and a dearth of the kind of substance that gave the world the Mahatma Gandhis, the Martin Luther Kings, and the Nelson Mandelas. Kwayana is one of the too few exceptions to that rule in our dear native land, this octogenarian who is, or ought to be, to all of us a real national treasure.
I first became aware of the existence of this Guyanese son some four decades ago while walking with my mother through the avenue in Main Street Georgetown. As we passed the Government House, I espied a gaunt figure pacing up and down in front of the gates of the building. He would walk the few steps it took to get to one side of the concrete walk way in front of the gates. And then he would turn and retrace his steps going to the other side. My memory tells me that he was dressed in all white with a colored shawl across his shoulders, but that could be a product of the image of the man that has become fastened in my mind over the years. Now this was a time when in my young and embryonic understanding of things in the world in general and Guyana in particular, the continuum of colour with its fixed assignment of power and privilege ruled. As we passed the building I could see that there was a small crowd gathered, milling around in the avenue. We too stopped and joined the gathering of whispering adults, the contents of their conversations easily passing through one of my ears and out of the next. Curiously I inquired of my mother who the man was and why he was walking up and down in front of the Government House. She bent down and whispered in my ear that this was Sydney King, and explained that he was protesting against our Colonial Governance. There was a certain degree of awe and veneration in her voice as she pronounced the name and described the activity. But I was way too young then to conceptualize the historical importance of that poignant scenario, and the significance of the lonely and gaunt figure trudging to and fro in front of the abode of the powers that be.
Frequently, in the US in particular but generally all over the world, we tend to adorn individuals with the designation of hero based on absolutely nothing related to the true meaning of the word. Athletes, entertainers, politicians, people who do things that are positive, but do so because it happens to be their job and for which they are, in most instances, handsomely recompensed or compensated. But the ones who, on a daily basis, uncomplainingly accept what Martin Luther King described as “the battering rams of historical necessity” upon their shoulders by putting their lives and bodies on the line in pursuit of a bill of rights for their fellow citizenry, become fleeting blips on the radars of our consciousness. Nowhere is this more glaringly apparent than in the local scenario, where, with the exception of one lone voice crying in the wilderness of a daily newspaper column, a true hero of Guyana might be a leaf severed from its stem and fluttering to the ground for all the attention that is paid to his life’s contribution to pre and post independent struggles in his nation. Heroes are those who at great risk of personal injury and even death, and without thought of rewards or compensation for their actions, do things in service to individuals, groups, nations or the world. Eusi Kwayana’s life, in my estimation, neatly dovetails into that definition.
One of the regrets of my life is that I never had the opportunity to meet and converse with Bro Kwayana, to ask of him questions that have always puzzled me and continue to puzzle me to this day. to get his personal take on many of the flawed characters who bask in the inheritance of the struggle he waged, and whose knowledge and understanding of where our nation has come from and where it is going, seemingly, can be accommodated in the smallest of thimbles. So I would like to add my voice to those entreating Bro Kwayana to provide us with the treasure of history saved in the data bank of his memory. I would entreat him to take advantage of the technology of the day, and record for posterity and the good of Guyana, his memoirs of the political and social turbulence that has defined our experience as a nation these past six decades or so. I believe that he has given a lot and has received nothing in return for his sacrifices. It is sad that we have to demand more from him, but what choice do we have.
And since we are making this demand of him I believe it would be reciprocally fair for Bro Kwayana to petition us for whatever contributions we can make towards providing us with an important documentation of a portion of our nation’s history.
Yours faithfully,
Robin Williams
