The Parrot speaks – “…Time cannot erase…”

Jun 29, 2008 Features / Columnists

---

The Parrot would never dream of even contemplating any boast of being in possession of an iota of ability to entertain in the form of singing. Despite my talent in this department being zero, zilch, nada, I am not dissuaded from dreaming of it moving upwards.

I am also not optimistic of this particular dream materializing; however, I never lose a chance to exercise my vocal chords whilst relishing in my daily aqueous sanitation routine of my plumage in the privacy of my nest.

I can be easily compared to the “discards” of the numerous talent shows we all seem to be hooked on. If there is any aptitude in this department that may be worth boasting of, it is my profound knowledge of the melodious tunes and lyrics of a vast majority of past and contemporary songs. This allows me to hum with confidence. 

Many songs have been “covered” over the years by various artistes, meaning they were re-done to a different musical score with a few occasions the lyrics slightly altered. Generally, the lyrics have remained intact.

“Amazing Grace” readily comes to mind. This phenomenon of “covering”, covers for the inability for Parrots like me to sing; we can claim to be “singing” despite being off-key and sounding absolutely ridiculous. It, however, allows us to sing to our own rhythm.

Talented singers are sometimes fortunate to be contracted in mega record deals and sing invariably to their own tune. Pop Stars pop to mind. Still there are others who fail to “see” or accept their inability to soothingly entertain, but may be contracted for other reasons. This category tends to sing to the tune of the person signing the check. The “checkee” may never be told of his/her inability, unless the deal goes south.

Local media operatives can be similarly categorized like singing I just alluded to. However, a fourth category may need to be added; those who sing the same tune ALL the time. Even if they were melodiously convincing at first, the frequency of bellowing the same tune has become abusive to the cochlea and has caused even the ardent of “listeners” to “tune out”.

Eventually, they tend to sound just as ridiculous as the off-key Parrots. One such “song” that has been repeated ever so often is entitled “Elected Dictatorship”. I wanted to comment on this song for some time now but was constrained since other issues took precedence. While in colloquial terms the “song” can be considered “stale”, the Parrot can help to refresh it by attempting to “cover” it. The “covering” will, however, see a change in lyrics whilst the tune will be adopted from the popular “Boyhood Days”.

The Parrot will start from the premise that the boyhood days of the person(s) consumed by the “Elected Dictatorship” theory would have been in the political era of the past administration headed by the “Kabaka”.

Burnham “elected” and imposed himself and ruled with an iron-fist over a nation whose potential, if nurtured then, would have been the “seeds” that could have “germinated”, back then, into the kind of “plants” we see so abundantly today; plants of different species and which have sprung up in the vast majority of inhabited areas.

Reminiscing now, shades of Zimbabwe are becoming visible. This space is too minuscule to chronicle the atrocities Guyanese were forced to endure under Forbes.

Still reminiscing the boyhood days, a number of images flash by: images of those potent enough to oppose LFS being beaten and jailed and some killed; banning of news print to publishers who dare to print the truth; journalists banned and some banished; ballot boxes being stuffed and stolen; long lines for fuel and food; banning of basic food items including flour; access roads with crater sized potholes; drawing potable water from a broken main in an infected gutter; a totally collapsed social infrastructure; the politicizing of the Judiciary; being forced into National Service or to labour on estates, including Hope, as a prerequisite to obtain documentation of academic achievement and making Guyana kneel on the “altar” of bankruptcy amongst others. These were actions that were almost impossible to counter. Zimbabwe? No. Burnham’s way.

These atrocities led to a massive exodus of our country men and women. The brain-drain didn’t just pop up like some over night “Pop” star; its genesis was way back in the boyhood days. Those who forget, conveniently perhaps, should remove the wool from their eyes and observe today’s “plants”: freedom of expression, the vast improved social and physical infrastructure, health care, education; foreign investments and international recognition, to list a few. Our roads can hardly accommodate the “tsunami-like” increase in the volume of motor vehicles imported over the last sixteen years, and not forgetting electrical appliances and gadgets which are no longer a luxury to a privileged few, but are part of the “landscape” of homes herein.

So the question is, who is the real dictator? Singing (well trying) to Eminem’s tune, “would the real dictator please stand up. Please stand up…” Oops, I forgot. He can’t. He died in 1985. The mausoleum in the Botanical Garden is testimony to this. Even though twenty-three years have passed, we can still sing to the tune that I was about to commence earlier:-

“Remember the boyhood days,
Remember Odo’s ways
Remember what you couldn’t say,
Now it’s a brand new day,
Remember the still aching pains,
Remember today’s gains… 
I remember still, and I always will,
Time cannot erase, the Burnham days.”
Squawk! Squawk!

---

---