Whenever I develop a rush of blood and think that there is nothing new under the sun to learn, I am sharply reminded of the folly of my ways and that I should know better. I look over there in Manchuria, and there is astonishment followed by perplexity, and last the usual good old-fashioned skepticism.
Right under the gaze, there is this rapid transformation of Mr. Hyde into Dr. Jekyll. From being the demon incarnate, there is the picture of the Machiavellian leader of the DPRK now gamboling around delightedly as everybody’s favou-rite political panda squeeze. I hasten to beg forgiveness from the politically correct word police, who may interpret my innocent description as prejudiced, body-shaming, or animal insulting. The fact is that today, everyone has a thing for Kim. Whereas many wanted to be like Mike in days gone by, now it is where the world just lives to bong with Jong. Overnight he has progressed at supersonic speed from a combination of Caligula, Nero, and Genghis Khan (some of my favourite people) to an adorable, lovable Mother Teresa; a Quaker of the first water, and it is not of the heavy variety used in reactors. I nominate him to replace that red-cheeked fellow on the oats boxes. Forget about chicken soup for the soul, this fellow is good for the heart, nerves, future, and bank account.
Relative to the latter, I would hope that savvy Guyanese are capitalizing with some options on commodity prices, as the fireworks to come are sure to induce volatility. I can’t believe I am writing all of this; count me among the unbelievers. First, I see this as the power of the press in action; none is better at this than the Americans. When the omens are favourable, and the interest present, the image makers can take Judas and convert him into Juvenal or John the Baptizer. Guyanese do not need the fervour of revival gathering to persuade as they have the local press maestros alternately poisoning, humouring, indoctrinating, exposing (includes flesh and farthings), and sometimes informing and enlightening. It is a jolly good show and daily, too.
In the beginning, the press made Mr. Kim into a tormentor without equal; now that same press has him beating swords into ploughshares. My thinking is that those ploughshares have hidden teeth. I confess to having great difficulty when two erratic, unsteady, and undisciplined characters smoke peace pipes near nuclear arsenals. It is time to find shelter by Kaieteur Falls. I predict that this sudden lovefest will hold for a time; call it the honeymoon period. When reality steps in such as a roving eye (and other obvious shortcomings and calculations), both men will resort to form. In this instance, when the world stops cheering and moves on to other challenges, there will be jilting and shortchanging and cuckolding. The leopard (make that two of them) cannot shed skin or change spots. There are no prenuptials for this marriage made in heaven (the one they built for themselves). There will be the characteristic willingness to turn on and betray partner when it is realized that all the excitement and passion in life is reduced to the boring routines of infrastructure, social welfare, economy, and good behavior.
Finally, the Nobel Prize screening committee, being the lazy, gullible, people they are, already declare themselves satisfied that they have found those (two of them) who meet any definition and standard of fit and proper. As Sam Cook sang, “What a wonderful world ….” Given the two lovelies involved, I prefer Jerry Lewis’ It’s a mad, mad, mad world. I think it is a better fit. For those who think that this madness is reserved for the international stage, shelve the thought. There are parallels here in sunny Guyana. Leaders who used to spend lots of time and energy trashing A, B, and C are suddenly exemplars of great care and never-before-heard courtesies in their comments on that alphabet soup of powerbrokers. Words are sugarcoated, attitudes are deferential, and footsteps are on tiptoe. One-time local political fiends are now the picture of slick sickening sweetness. I think something is in the cards, as the crafty work to get in good graces. I say national front, perhaps? It is that or the barren wilderness. Forget about demographics; the only number that matter is in that five billion (Uncle Sam) investment. Like the clever fellow from above the 38 parallel, the former local ruffians have discovered that politics is about histrionics fueled with antics that can lead to whole lot of emetics.