The world is coming to an end. For those bracing in resistance to anticipated religious teachings about to be foisted on them, I comfort by saying: Think again, as I am talking about the changing domestic political world. The old order-wicked, blasphemous, and sinful-is coming to an end.
There were two things, both originating from the opposition camp that alerted to the coming apocalypse. First, the opposition spoke up publicly on behalf of the government. I repeat: however twisted or turned, the opposition stood in sympathy, if not solid defense of the wretched government and those even more dreadful mineral contracts. To put in my words, I saw the opposer-in-chief engaged in spirited partnering through pointing out that this is the barren reality of Third World habitats; that it is part of the ransom extracted from helpless undeveloped countries; and that these things amount to the ultimatum of take or leave. Don’t waste time, as time means money. Make up your mind and quickly. I did think that I detected some self-serving, self-defence in that unprecedented unsolicited advocacy, which also came pro bono. It has no equal. Something is up; mark my words. I prophesy (everybody knows what happens to those who do) that this is paving the way, setting the tone, and taking the lead. And who better than the master of that murky unyielding universe! Such momentous repositioning cannot be left to nonentities and small fry; this is big fisherman seas. After all, the big reward of big fish is what is unfolding behind the shade.
As if that was not enough, and more than overwhelming for a small-minded fellow like me (reacclimatizing to the level of the locals) there came a second supporting proclamation, compliments of a suddenly cooperative opposition. This time, the representation was over the smoky issue of weed and sentencing. Everybody, save for the truly vengeful, protest that the sentencing levels are too suffocating, too imprisoning. It is a tale of crime and punishment Singaporean style. This is Guyana, so wha is a lil possessin an smokin, a couple of grams of nature’s pleasures. Think of this: gram for gram, it might be wiser and more enriching to traffic in the hard stuff (cocaine), since the maximum in the pen is four short years. With good behaviour that peters to a fraction; with good cash, time has no bars. But I wandered. For here was the vaunted opposition closing ranks, albeit slyly, with developing government positives. Accidental? I say not; visionary (as in 2020?), highly probable. Now I regret that the old ways are on the way out. The founding fathers (plural) must be horrified; all those years of struggle, and now sellout for things as trivial as oil and gas. Just don’t tell that to local talking (and writing) heads.
Sticking to politics, I am reminded in this Independence season that there are many interpretations and applications of freedom. There is that alleged murderer (alleged) who took freedom in his own hands and emancipated himself in Venezuela. According to a section of the media, he was delivered a suspended sentence by the new champions of contracts and weed. All of us should have loving caring fathers (and political godfathers) like this one. The speculator in me asks: how many benefited similarly? How many more man killers and dog killers are roaming around free and frisky as the Golden Arrowhead? I prefer the Malaysian and Myanmar versions of justice. Still, having been pardoned once; it is helpful to hope in this time of leniency.
In the next instance, the former SWAT head will protest that leniency is conspicuously absent from his affair with spirits. From the inception, I had issues with the righteousness of that still unfolding law enforcement séance. A senior official is surrounded by cases of the delectable and there are no questions, no knowledge; only purposeful enshrouding ignorance all around. Even if they were cases of Pampers, I would have been curious. Of course, if that cache belonged to me, I would have distanced self from the action. Then again, with all those spirits assembled under one roof, even teetotalers would be tempted to surrender. I recognize that with so much premium beverages on wheels that warranted pulling over for drunk driving. Seriously, something is not right about the story; not right about the police handlings; and not right about the complexions embedded and now surfacing.
Like I said, something is afoot, and the slow witted (like me) are left in the dark, and without the false fortification of a few belts. This is the new Guyanese world order.