Murder most foul; and a question of hanging

Oct 08, 2017 Countryman, Features / Columnists

By Dennis Nichols
The first part of this title, borrowed from the Shakespearean tragedy ‘Hamlet’ was uttered by

Dennis Nichols

the ghost of the prince’s dead father seeking revenge for his death; but it could also be an incongruous epilogue to the life story of the two elderly women who were callously murdered in their bedrooms almost a week ago.
I knew them well, and over the years observed the respect with which they were regarded by persons within and without the church community to which they belonged.
Now I look at the outrage their deaths has triggered, which leads to the second part – a reminder that many Guyanese are asking why no one has walked the dreaded path to the gallows since 1997.
With regard to the question of capital punishment, I remain skeptical over its enforcement, primarily because its application from sentence to execution can be as barbaric and inhumane in its own way as the act or acts that precipitated it. In addition, I do not think it will be a strong enough deterrent of human savagery to justify its enforcement.
But being skeptical does not mean I am against looking at its merits in specific instances such as the premeditated and pitiless obliteration of the lives of our most vulnerable citizens – children, women, (particularly in domestic abuse) and the elderly.
Life has become cheap, but so too has death, meaning that increasingly many of the perpetrators of bloodshed seem to have no problem with putting the noose around their own necks or otherwise taking their own lives. Bandits know they risk death in their brazen acts either from the guns of the police or from businessmen and citizens who are ‘packing.’
Hanging may act as a temporary curb for some, but to the heartless soul and the seared conscience, its impact may barely register. Ignorance, institutionalised immorality, and poverty will do that to the human psyche not only in Guyana, but everywhere.
Nevertheless, I am reminded of the perception many Guyanese had that there was a drop in the murder rate following the last executions by hanging in this country 20 years ago, of Death Row inmates, Ayube Khan and Rockliffe Ross. They say it worked, even though not for very long.
Then there was that affidavit filed on behalf of Ross, in which it was stated that since the warrant of execution was read to him, he had been unable to sleep, and had experienced numbness since Khan had been hanged. He was quoted as saying that “Despite not witnessing the execution, I felt the prison vibrate when the gallows swung. The memory and feeling of that has left me tormented and afraid.”
I wonder if the seemingly soul-less killers of today would experience similar fear and dread!
Last Tuesday morning, I stood and watched speechless, in near disbelief, as the strangled bodies of two women I’d known for decades, two stalwarts of the Full Gospel Church, were wheeled out from the neat, unpretentious white cottage (now cordoned off with yellow tape) that has stood at the corner of South Road and Albert Streets for the past 50 years or more.
Less than an hour earlier at my sister’s home in East Ruimveldt, we’d got a call from my son at our South Road residence just two houses away from that cottage. He spoke haltingly and the words came out in an unnatural staccato “Bandits – in Sister Fraser’s house – you know – at the corner – she and Sister Phyllis – they murder them.” “What! Are you sure?” Silence. Then “Yes.”
My sister’s grief was instantaneous, heartbreaking hurt. In addition to knowing them for as long as I did, she’d been a constant companion to them at the South Road Full Gospel Assemblies of God Church across the road for over 30 years.
As I watched the outpouring of anguished grief outside the house, several persons, understandably vented their pent up emotions with cries of “Bring back de rope” adding vocal incredulity over the manner in which these elderly God-fearing women had met such an end.
The inexplicability factor kicked in for me. Both women I imagine would have expected divine protection against such horror.
The selfless sacrifice on behalf of others, the daily prayers and spiritual warfare, the unending affirmations of faith, and the expectancy of salvation should have guaranteed a gentler departure from this earth. So why?
I have a theory of sorts, but the most I can say now is that the manner of someone’s death is not necessarily an indication of the way he/she lived, nor a clue as to the state of his/her relationship with the Creator.
The nameless dread that would have gripped those women as they were bound and strangled may have been but a fleeting moment of terror – a final physical rebellion of the body to extreme stress, disconnected from a spirit already freed from temporal pain. I hope that I am right.
I got to know Sister Fraser just before Guyana became a republic in 1970. Tall, slim, and stately, she exuded grace and a simple charm that endeared her to others almost immediately. In the early seventies I would hang out with a group of guys that included her two eldest sons, Tony and Martin.
Our liming spots included one just foot away from the entrance to their home at the South Road-Albert Street junction. There we rapped (That was seventies slang for discussed) about politics, philosophy, patriotism – and girls. If Sister Fraser occasionally overheard our militant and hormone-provoked ramblings she was tactful enough to ignore them, or offer tidbits of sage advice.
Sister Phyllis was more feisty and energetic. A Sunday School teacher for most of her life, she tutored and helped mould the minds of hundreds of children, including some of mine, who would occasionally participate in the Vacation Bible School (VBS) programmes during school holidays.
Stern, yet affably down-to-earth, she took their childish antics in stride. A great-niece of hers noted in a Facebook post that “Auntie Phyllis had just gotten her visa for America, and we thought we had all the time in the world for us to plan her cross country tour.” It was not to be.
Sister Fraser, on the other hand, had travelled extensively including visits to the United States, Israel and India, the last being the birthplace of her maternal grandfather. Her husband had died by accident before she came to live on Albert Street with the seven children she subsequently raised as a single mother, assisted by her cousin Phyllis. She had lived in the United States for several years, but had no intention of returning there.
Relatives were said to be already planning how her 90th birthday was going to be celebrated.
Sound of mind and body, she however preferred to spend the remainder of her golden years in the land of her birth, with maybe more time to engage in one of her favourite pastimes – reading, even as she continued to serve in her church and her God. That also was not to be.
A killer, or killers, ended the aspirations of both women along with the plans that their loved ones had for them in their twilight years. The police have so far arrested five individuals (One with Sister Fraser’s cellphone) for questioning in connection with their murder. Two have reportedly confessed. Charges are likely to follow.
Should a subsequent trial lead to conviction and sentence of death for the perpetrator/s of this abominable act, would you support the return of the hangman’s noose as a fitting penalty? The negative ramifications could be huge for a country like ours. It’s not a question that should be taken lightly, or left hanging.
But neither should Constance Fraser or Phyllis Caesar have had their lives ended so viciously; so vilely; and so vulgarly. What do you think?