As long as there are people standing on the street corner, in the rain…

Jan 19, 2014 Letters

DEAR EDITOR,
“Why y’all out here? Was it your sons/brothers/fathers that got killed in Linden?”
No, we weren’t blood relatives of those martyred in Linden. We were just “ordinary” women and men, outraged that our fellow Guyanese, peacefully standing up for their rights in their community, could be mowed down by police with impunity. That’s why we left the comfort of our homes and set up camp outside of Parliament building. We called on our fellow Guyanese to join us in speaking out publicly against police brutality and other abuses of power.
Sharon Harding was one of the first persons to join our protest action, dubbed the People’s Parliament. She quickly became an invaluable member of the group, camping out many nights with us – including after the police confiscated our tents, leaving us without any shelter from the elements. When she wasn’t camping out, she was bringing food and other supplies for us – often from her own home and limited resources. She was not scared and did not hesitate to bring her children and grandchildren with her – indeed she saw it as a vital part of their education.
Two years later, one of Sharon’s sons is now a victim. Colwyn Harding, 23 years old, was allegedly sodomized by a Constable with his police baton, while others are reported to have looked on and did nothing to stop the brutalization. Colwyn has been left severely injured, with his intestines ruptured; dependent on colostomy bags for the unknown future.
A vigil on Wednesday January 15th, outside the Georgetown Public Hospital Corporation, saw about 40 people attending. It was raining heavily. The cardboard signs got soggy and the people were “like wet rats.” However, “even after 6pm people didn’t want to go home,” reported Joy Marcus of Red Thread.
Vigils and pickets continue, as well as fundraising for Colwyn’s medical care, and organizing around legal actions to get justice and hold the police accountable. And on January 16th we learned that Colwyn’s family and friends are now on a 24-hour watch at his bedside after police and prison officers, in front of witnesses who included a nurse attending to Colwyn, returned to the hospital and assaulted him, while he remained shackled to his bed, trying to seize the cellphone that had been provided to him by his family.
One cannot help feeling a sense of fatality and futility about it all. We have been here before. We cry never again, but every time we think it can’t get worse, it does. People are victimized, in more and more brutal ways. Some other people stand on street corners and shout and wave placards. There are calls for resignation, accountability, compensation. Many more stay home but vent from the comfort and safety of their computer screens. Some stay silent because they believe in the police. Others are ashamed to have their friends and relatives overseas see the barbarity of Guyana instead of the nice, nice Kaieteur Falls and the rare birds. We cry up but then we go about our daily lives. Because that is what survival looks like and if it’s one thing we Guyanese know and are good at, it’s surviving.
There is a quote from Walter Rodney that says – “It is only direct action on the part of the people, your own perception of what is possible, that can produce change.” It seems like we Guyanese have given up on change. Or maybe it’s that we have been beat down for so long that we cannot perceive a different world. Even though we soak up all things foreign – Hollywood, Bollywood, Nollywood – we remain mired in outdated notions of racial prejudice, partisan politricks, and corruption. Band aids on top of gaping, life-threatening wounds are accepted, and when we are told to bring our own dressing, we sit quietly in line and wait our turn, barely holding on, just surviving.
There is a difference though, between mere survival and a good life. It’s the difference between having bread in your belly and fear in your head. There are a lot of frightened people in Guyana. They can seem to be in the majority, drowning out all signs of hope. But as long as there are people standing on the street corner, in the rain, holding soggy placards, I know we have still some humanity left. And as long as we have that, we have a chance. Join us. Be the change you want to see.
Joy Marcus, Red Thread
Sherlina Nageer, Red Thread
Vanessa Ross, Red Thread

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