KISSOON, SHAKESPEARE & NAIPAUL AS WRITERS – IN THAT ORDER

Mar 19, 2012 Letters

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Dear Editor,
Prominent Kaieteur News columnist Mr. Frederick Kissoon croons in pointing out the haste in which the PPP/C made amends after its Dr Roger Luncheon lamented at the libel trial that they could not at that time identify qualified black Guyanese as ambassadors. Writing in the KN of 3-16-12 under “the world is still deceived by ornament”, Kissoon waxes Shakespearean by way of the Merchant of Venice. How more impressive can this writer get?
Offering Dr Luncheon up in court was no other than former President Jagdeo’s lawyer Mr. Anil Nandlall. Now that featherless legal eagle has emerged as Guyana’s new Attorney General. Amazing!
So if Mr. Kissoon feels he is Guyana’s new hero after the botched libel suit against him and KN, is he to be credited for motivating the class advocating PPP/C to right a wrong to black Guyanese? Why shouldn’t he be celebrating or even get a free dinner as a reward? Especially since the libel trial resulted in the appointments of black Guyanese as ambassadors of their country. Look what it even did for the career of the former President’s legal adviser.
When Guyana’s historical socialist party can quickly rectify and address black concerns, it should be commended.  But after 20 years in power, why has the PPP/C government been unable to similarly implement any meaningful changes of racially balancing Guyana’s armed forces in accordance with the October 1965 ICJ recommendations commissioned by the PNC?  Conscious that Mr. Kissoon is fed up with the AFC and may team up with trade unionist Mr. Lincoln Lewis to launch a new political party, the self-admitted Africanised Mr. Kissoon’s tackling the issue of racial imbalance in Guyana’s armed forces may yet endear him to Guyana’s Indian electorate. When previous hints by our Benebas have resulted in our Quashebas quickly taking notice, why should Mr. Kasson not cash in?
So who actually gets credit for all these dramatic changes with Guyana’s diplomats? Mr. Kissoon obviously feels that he is also eminently qualified. (Ambassador?) Can anyone doubt that he has been a most vigilant watchman of the PPP/C government with his penalizing pen power criticisms?  A sort of black VS Naipaul of Guyana perhaps?
This brings to mind the exploits of the man who was watching the bees in the Nobel laureate’s  celebrated “Miguel Street”. Titled B.Wordsworth, Sir Vidyadhar wrote:
“The strangest caller came one afternoon at about four o’clock. I had come back from school and was in my home clothes. The man said to me, “Sonny, may I come inside your yard?” He was a small man and he was tidily dressed. He wore a hat, a white shirt, and black trousers. I asked, “What you want?” He said, “I want to watch your bees.” We had four small palm trees and they were full of uninvited bees. I ran up the steps and shouted, “Ma, it have a man outside here. He say he want to watch the bees.” My mother came out, looked at the man, and asked in an unfriendly way, “What you want?” The man said, “I want to watch your bees.” His English was so good, it didn’t sound natural, and I could see my mother was worried. She said to me, “Stay here and watch him while he watch the bees.”
The man said, “Thank you, Madam. You have done a good deed today.” He spoke very slowly and very correctly as though every word was costing him money. We watched the bees, this man and I, for about an hour, squatting near the palm trees. The man said, “I like watching bees.
Sonny, do you like watching bees?” I said, “I ain’t have the time.” He shook his head sadly. He said, “That’s what I do, I just watch. I can watch ants for days. Have you ever watched ants? And scorpions, and centipedes, and congorees—have you watched those?” I shook my head. I said, “What you does do, mister?” He got up and said, “I am a poet.” I said, “A good poet?” He said, “The greatest in the world.” “What your name, mister?” “B. Wordsworth.” “B for Bill?” “Black. Black Wordsworth. White Wordsworth was my brother. We share one heart. I can watch a small flower like the morning glory and cry.” I said, “Why you does cry?”
“Why, boy? Why? You will know when you grow up. You’re a poet, too, you know. And when you’re a poet you can cry for everything.” I couldn’t laugh. He said, “You like your mother?” “When she not beating me.” He pulled out a printed sheet from his hip pocket and said, “On this paper is the greatest poem about mothers and I’m going to sell it to you at a bargain price.
For four cents.”  I went inside and I said, “Ma, you want to buy a poetry for four cents?” My mother said, “Tell that blasted man to haul his tail away from my yard, you hear.” I said to B. Wordsworth, “My mother say she ain’t have four cents.”  B. Wordsworth said, “It is the poet’s tragedy.”
But Mr. Kissoon should not have to face such a tragedy.  Indeed. When a man writes so profusely week after week on practically everything, progressing to also quoting Shakespeare, even provoking comparisons with Sir VS Naipaul’s legendary fame, how can anyone fail to consider him a really suitable, talented and moreso excellent candidate for a Nobel Prize. Seriously.
Sultan Mohamed

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