It is too late for actions that could have prolonged or saved the life of Beyoncé Ross. No wishes or prayers and no outrage or sorrow can change the reality of the casket or coffin made of fine wood, the white dress and flowers, the hymns and sermons about the afterlife, and the cries of relatives and friends wishing to see her on that cycle riding for gold again. Though I did not know the teen and only became aware of her plight a couple of weeks ago, I cannot help but feel a sense of culpability. I feel culpability because too long we have been a people who are quick to react rather than quick to stand and demand the changes we need. We like to chant “we are the change” in times of campaigns and marches, yet we continue to allow party loyalty, nepotism and race to divide and impede us.
I will shout progress when there are no more deaths because our healthcare system is deficient. I will shout progress when our education system caters to the needs of all children. I will shout progress when we are truly unified as a people. I will shout progress when every Guyanese can afford to live.
Poverty is death. Poverty is violence. Poverty will creep into places of comfort and joy to trample every chance for peace of mind. Poverty will snigger at one’s desperation and mock one’s struggles to remain sane. Often, I am confronted by the desperate faces of men, women and children and it is easier to ignore their condition because it is too difficult to face human suffering and carry on like all is well.
