The aging but still unwise government is asking Guyanese to join in its celebration of a Blue Christmas. This year-round merriment is graced by blue velvet and the enchanting whispers and touches of many a hard blue note. And in true Little Boy Blue fashion, the government has its own horn and a blueprint, too. It is a blueprint on how to disappoint expectant Guyanese.
This government came riding to the rescue on wings of cellophane, while proclaiming itself a reincarnation of the Blues Busters. It has proven to be anything but, as Guyanese grapple with how to respond to the dreary heartache of authentic blues, and the presence of blue balls of anxiety and embarrassment.
To those in denial, take a close look at this always clever and helping government: its elected people and selected ones live with “chestnuts roasting on an open fire” in already steamy Guyana, while the lowly people long for and ask for only two front teeth, and a meagre two per cent (by two) more, and come with the short and dirty end of a mistletoe stick.
Surely, such a quick kiss from Santa Claus would not drain the national treasury; a lot of mommies would be ecstatic with such a kiss, even with the children seeing. Daddy would be understanding.
Since such a buss is withheld (and subject to all manner of teeth and tongue), it is going to be a “White Christmas” of a different kind for public servants, teachers, nurses, and the whole pantheon of struggling underpaid and overlooked Guyanese workers.
In the homes of these hardy people, there will not be many “tiny tots with their eyes all aglow.” Rather, it is the sweaty anxiety that comes with the knowledge that the regular “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” has been replaced by Winston the white-eyed parrot.
The language body and spoken of the latter is of a Guyanese Scrooge.
Listen to his own version of what ought to be a Christmas song: “no money, no love.” And to this, the empty handed, empty fridge, empty basket Guyanese men and women workers belt out in reply that soaring thundering Donna Summer riposte, “She works hard for the money.” And so do all the men, too.
Editor, I beg on behalf of the working people: give it to them, please. Pay them. Leave the high people; take care of the little ones. In the face of official intransigence, as said earlier, it promises to be a different “White Christmas.” This one would be from those snowy tracks left on forlorn faces by the tears streaking the cheap white talcum powder.
It is cheap because nothing expensive or highfaluting can be afforded. That is the preserve of the Lords High Chancellors, and those who make their high living possible.
Given the circumstances, many an embittered Guyanese worker will look deep within, and take comfort from denying their financial trials and tribulations.
They do so through retreating and transporting themselves to the spiritual sanctuary of “away in a manger.” It is all that they have to soothe and give succour.
Now while the grim multitudes languish outside the palace gates, the government people on the inside are well-positioned to do good for themselves.
After all, there is a David (a king by any measurement); a Moses (a liberator by some hazy definition); a Raphael (an archangel best left to the imagination); a Noel (an enduring Christmas ghost); and by George, there is a Joseph (a foster father of dubious presence and always on the run).
Johnny Mathis gave the world of listeners only “One star, one shining star…” The government represents a whole galaxy of glittering ones.
The shining lights have a message for struggling Guyanese of all persuasions: “Oh come all ye faithful, joyful and rejoicing…” That is how disconnected rulers and ruled have become. It promises to be a self-made Christmas. Just like the ones always known and loved.