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Nocturnal escapades in a post-dictatorship city

Jun 22, 2015 Features / Columnists, Freddie Kissoon

There are things in tiny populated Georgetown that are public secrets. The smallness of space and population makes this possible. The fallen dictators loved la dolce vita. They could be seen in bacchanalian mood nightly.
Donald Ramotar, while President never hid his karaoke nights at Sleepin International on Brickdam. The second home of many PPP bigwigs was Palm Court. The obvious question is, will they still paint the town as they did when power was a plaything in their hand?
Guessing the answer isn’t hard for two reasons. The expenditure was charged to the particular Ministry. The bills were high because cheap wine and liquor were never on the table.  A coterie of hangers-on and wannabees had to be feted too. Where is that money going to come from now? They don’t have power, which means they cannot raid the treasury. They don’t have power, which means they cannot collect loaded envelopes from contractors and investors.
Secondly, facing the public is a huge deterrent. When the little dictators wined and dined, the mood was one of domination. There was a never-ending queue of sycophants who came up to the table; “Mr. President, what nonsense I saw Kaieteur News wrote about you? Don’t worry Mr. President we are with you.”  Minister Benn you are doing a fine job; chase them off the parapets, get rid of them.”  “Darling Priya, I loved how you sock it to the Ambassador; child I watched it on Youtube and you were out of this world.”
The little dictators got panegyrics wherever they go and it dizzied their heads. I saw the lady with her Canadian accent in the supermarket last year. She was looking at Irish Spring soap and the shoppers came up, “You look lovely today; how are the kids?” “Minister, there is a new cereal on the market, you must try it, please let me buy a few boxes for the kids, I would love to.”
The eulogies will not be there as they drive up to the gas station. The little pump attendant won’t recognize them because their pictures are gone from the pages of the Kaieteur News, Stabroek News and the nightly newscasts. Gone are the days when people patronize the little dictators. The fall from grace is never easy for tyrannical leaders. How do they face the public?
They know as they watch into the face of the cashier, the waiter, the shop attendant, the motorist at the traffic signal, there will be the thought of; “Is that what the Minister has become?” The air, aura, hubris, hauteur, eugenics will not be there. Facing the public is always easy and never hard at all when you retire from your powerful job, when you resign to move on, or when you were modest with the authority you had.
The PPP monarchs barked at the public. They treated the public with contempt. They could call up lawyer, doctor, judge, journalist, engineer, public servant, professor, soldier, policeman and they all came running; “Yes Mr. President, yes Mr. Minister, yes it will be done right away, I will work on it right this minute.”
This was the style of the kingdom of the Jagdeoites. Like a sand castle, a huge tidal wave came and swept the kingdom away.
I lived under two successive PNC Governments, and it would be an act of evil lies if I said that the Ministers of that era were pompous and arrogant. The irony of the PNC Government under Forbes Burnham was that the most feared man was the most down-to-earth – Hamilton Green. PNC Ministers were by nature people who exhibited few tendencies of pomposity.
One explanation for this attitude could lie in psychology. The PNC leaders were insecure people. Burdened by accusations of rigged elections and surrounded by an encroaching ocean of critics and anti-government activists, PNC leaders sought to mollify society by the nice-guy appearance. The opposite obtained under the PPP from 1999 onwards. Armed with invincibility and ruling over a sheepish society, PPP leaders were fixated on the ostentation of power.
Every public speech, every public act reminded the listener and the watcher that Guyana had kings and queens. The outrageous behaviour at the residence of the American Ambassador had its Freudian determinants.
Will they still pursue la dolce vita?  Will it still be vive le en rose? I doubt it. They will avoid the karaoke platform, cocktail circuit, New Thriving dinners, and the poolside at the Marriott. The nocturnal abandonment will be in Pradoville One and Two. The escapade will not be public, but private. The little dictators will dine in private, too ashamed to face post-dictatorship Guyana.

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