The wounds we nurse

A montage of wounds is on display in Guyana. But the kaleidoscope of red and pink gashes seems not to have persuaded most of us to change or demand a better society. Instead, we watch our bodies bleed, often pretending that we have healed. We love to keep up appearances here; pretending that the injustice and immorality are seething under the surface and only occasionally erupting.

Yet we hear gunshots that kill people. We see women terrified and screaming in the street, robbed and bleeding while the hands of men are red with blood as they render assistance in an onset of lasting trauma. These occurrences are as close as posts on social media, next door and at our doors; they occur in the golden glow of the sunshine, in the calm and coolness of dusk and in the dark of the night.

These wounds are the stabs from the thieves with cutlasses raised to maim and murder. Bicycle bandits move in droves. Masked men on motorcycles speed from the scenes of crimes. We close our car windows and clutch our purses and bags as they approach. Some young men/boys who are still supposed to be in school are causing people to cower under the shadow of madness that has inhabited their souls. They are victims of a failed society. Our acceptance of this uneasiness and fear is a wound.

These wounds are taxi drivers being hijacked and having bullets exploded into their heads. Many who seek an honest living are victims of the wounded ones who continue to inflict the wounds because of the pain of their wounds. Relatives are left in pain and children grieving before they are mature enough to understand the impact of pain.

The wounds are the decapitated bodies of young men in fields whose names are Henrys and Singhs and many other combinations of the alphabet. It is watching their mothers collapse under the weight of sorrow, wailing, questioning and alleging that those who murdered their children are still walking free and that bribes have been paid in the place of justice while those that are accused shout about their innocence. 

These wounds are about the women who have been murdered by the hands of their spouses; spouses who sometimes froth at the mouth or hang from trees. I heard one man too many say that women deserve to be beaten as men must have their respect. I have seen too many cowards, both men and women, try to justify gender-based violence. I feel like no more will I look at them or cringe because my wound is that injury that is perhaps now just numb. Like many others I have become accustomed to these open festering wounds and have resolved that some cannot be saved.

These wounds are children being physically and sexually abused. This pandemic has worsened the suffering of many children. Paedophilia often goes unchecked in this nation. Rapists are bailed and some rape again. Degenerates defend degenerates. The open wounds of depravity often place blame on our children for their demise at the hands of adults. Monsters are some of the parents who sacrifice and hurt their children. These wounds are the cold flesh of children who were too young to fully understand the complexities of life but collapsed under its weight by their own hands.

These wounds are parents grappling with their frustrations in this pandemic. Adjusting to the roles of teacher and student because they, too, are learning so much about patience and the invaluable contributions of our teachers to society.

The wounds are about how teachers also have not quite adjusted to the new norm. From the leaked voice notes we have heard the frustrations, like teachers cursing at students, and parents begging for less lessons because they are overwhelmed. And the children who have not seen much of a sentence or mathematical problems in almost a year – their wounds may lead to other wounds. We see the poverty wounds leading to violence and to prison wounds. It is self-determination and intervention that will save many.

These wounds are about how a painting can make rounds on social media and inspire debates about who is valued and not in this country. They are reminders about how we have and continue to hurt each other; about how we try to justify the oppression and victimization of Guyanese – some thinking it a joke to laugh and mock the pain of others. When the heavy knees of karma land on their necks, who will dress their wounds?

These wounds are the fresh incisions we are seeing on those on whom attempts have been made to disempower; like those who have been fired without just cause. Whether it is due to the closing of a college or letters of dismissal without warning, there are many wounded families on the breadline. There is panic in a pandemic hardening the hearts of those who will never forget or forgive.

These wounds are promises of increased salaries still to be fulfilled. There are questions about oil contracts, environmental concerns and money. Has the average man’s life been improved since the production began? Can the average man see glimpses of a Dubai-like nation? Twenty-five thousand COVID relief; is that all we are worth? And even that many have been denied. More wounds. There are many allegations about corruption around the distribution of the COVID grant. The teams walking pass houses of Guyanese citizens who are home or not making their way down some streets. Some saying that only the owners of the properties are to receive while a large section of the population pays rent. Other reports of no such questions being asked about home ownership and the many famous pink forms that have been filled.

There are wounds about the closure of sugar estates. We see thousands on the breadline at different periods. Sugar workers have not been spared. Many have been rehired and are convinced that sugar will become profitable again soon when we are producing for more than we can sell for. Delusions? Deliberate deception? Do we expect a miracle? Or years from now people will believe it was just a myth?

These wounds are self-inflicted. It is not just the restless ones who gave into the hopelessness and decided it was time to go, but all of us are wounded. The greatness of the nation we can have has been delayed and denied. Not just a nation where the distribution of wealth is closer to fair, but one where the corrupt will be labeled corrupt, where collectively we will not excuse evil and vindictiveness, and where our sovereignty we all will guard and be prepared to stand together against anyone who threatens it.

Our wounds are rooted in those we choose to assault, diminish and lie to us for periods of five years. Foolishly they are often judged by what they say and not by their actions. We hold them in high esteem even though their leadership is poor, and they do little to heal our wounds.