A Guyanese extravaganza

Feb 25, 2020 Letters

DEAR EDITOR,

I thought I had seen and heard almost everything, but I must confess Guyana on Sunday, February 23rd, as a newly serenaded 50-year-old dowager took the icing and left me breathless, more than deafened, too. I would have thought that as a maturing 50-year old, with youthful years behind her, the rhythms and vocals and steps would be a shade lower and somewhat slower on this milestone occasion. Wrong again.
It was louder than any Fourth of July that I knew; more raucous than any West Indian Day parade in Brooklyn, and I can recall a few of those with some nostalgia. As I listened (forced to) and absorbed the clashing cacophonies of racing drumbeats, pulsating syncopations, and blaring voices in an endless blur of sound, I must admit that I have never encountered the equivalent of this Guyanese celebratory extravaganza. It was more than Trinidad and Tobago’s annual Carnival about to be unleashed, or Mardi Gras in New Orleans, or the Greatest Show on Earth in Rio. Come to think of it, Guyana’s big bash was all three combined in one wall of sound, which would have made Phil Spector proud, if not throw a tantrum in envy.
There was the chutney music competing with the West Indian fare for ear space and attention, which brings to mind a sobering fact. There was nothing more than a small handful of Guyanese music that caught my attention. It is ironic that on what was Guyana’s special day and biggest party ended up being controlled and dominated by ingredients that were distinctly non-Guyanese. As I listened joylessly-it couldn’t be otherwise, given the warring, warbling, wounding performances coming from multiple points of the compass – I am thinking that this is more excitement than the original Emancipation Day of long ago. Or that Guyanese were signaling to the world and hailing it with the joy of having won the lottery.
Somehow this was no ordinary Mashramani celebration; it was more than the regular one, the louder, gaudier ones. There was a reckless abandon about it all, as though there is going to be no tomorrow, so let’s drink and be merry today. And that it was. Without a doubt, I believe the ecstasies and frenzies that were on display at earsplitting, spirit sapping decibels were intended to send the world a simple message: we have arrived, and we will not be trifled with anymore. Like I said, this has to be more than the regular Republic Day routines of music and march and dancing in the streets (and parks).
I think it was all of that and then some more. It was about elections celebrations by determined members from the increasingly testy political camps of the two majors, with each side sensing and claiming victory already. Seasoned men are gambling big on this particular season by putting all on the line and going all out. I cannot find fault with them, since there is so much at stake, so much that could be lost, while right at the fingertips. So, as I evaluate things, this year’s Republic festivities was more than the biggest birthday bash; it was about marshaling and rallying the troops in massive exhibitions of enthusiasm and free flowing spirit (spirits, too). No side wanted to be left behind and looking limp. Even the mighty opposition, usually sedate for this holiday, was out in force (in separate celebration, of course) and not giving any ground. And this was in my limited view of the city only. From the rollicking affairs on Saturday night, all day Sunday, and late into the night, I gather that not only ExxonMobil made a killing and came out way ahead. Clearly, there is a huge number of Guyanese, who believe that they have done better than Exxon, are poised to do better, and will actually do much better, through their own contractual (read party) winnings.
Yes, that was where and to what all the musical mayhems, the dancing sensations, and the atmospheric upheavals pointed. For, at bottom, the participation, celebrations, and gyrations of Sunday February 23rd were about more than Mashramani. They were about elections and oil. Who is going to come out on top; and who was going to get to drive off into the sunset with the Queen of the Prom on their arm…. I understand fully, since I would be carrying on in the same manner, if I had such a vested interest in how things turn out post March 2nd. We don’t have to go to Rio or the French Quarter to live it up. It is right here, and it can’t be bettered.

Sincerely,
GHK Lall

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