Speeding to the Grave

Apr 22, 2025 Features / Columnists, Peeping Tom

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Peeping Tom…

Kaieteur News– Years ago, six persons died following a road accident. Five of them sat in a speeding vehicle and never said a word. Not a murmur, not a plea, not a warning to the driver to ease up on the gas pedal. They rode the vehicle like a rollercoaster toward their own demise—and it wasn’t the first time Guyanese have done so, nor will it be the last.

But why do we stay quiet?

It’s not, as some believe, because we suffer from low self-esteem. The issue is far more nuanced than that. Guyanese are not weak or spineless. What we are is burdened by a social complex—one forged in decades of scarcity, dependence, and uneven power relationships between service providers and consumers. It is this deep-seated cultural inheritance that continues to silence us, even when our lives are on the line.

From private cars to taxis, minibuses to company vehicles, the phenomenon is the same. The driver is king, and the passengers are expected to be grateful subjects. Whether we’re heading to work, to the airport, or to Sunday lunch at our auntie’s house, we often behave like we owe the driver something. And in our silence, we sometimes pay with our lives.

Let us be clear: the issue is not confined to public transport. The same submission plays out in the private sphere. How many times have you been in a friend’s or relative’s car and, even as the vehicle weaved dangerously through traffic, you gripped the seat tighter but never said, “Slow down”? How often have you justified your silence by saying, “I didn’t want to offend them” or “It’s their car”?

What’s worse, we’ve convinced ourselves that speaking up is somehow disrespectful. As if it’s impolite to value your own safety. As if the person pressing the pedal to the floor is beyond reproach. This is no act of courtesy—it’s a psychological trap, one that Guyanese have carried for generations.

To understand where it came from, we need to revisit the days when standing in line was a national pastime. When basic goods were rationed, and you had to charm or beg the cashier to let you buy an extra tin of milk. When travel documents required you to tiptoe around tax officials or risk having your file “misplaced.” When market vendors held power over who got that pound of chicken or slab of soap. Service providers became the gatekeepers of survival, and the public learned to bow—if not literally, then internally.

Even the butcher had sway. He gave you bones for meat, and you took it. Because if you didn’t, next time, you’d be left with nothing. That culture of submission crept into every transaction, even into those that we now pay for at full price.

Yes, Guyana has changed. There’s more competition now. We have more choices. We can shop around, compare prices, take our business elsewhere. But in some sectors—especially transport—the power dynamic remains skewed. People still act as if the driver is doing them a favour, not a service. Even when they are the ones paying, they hesitate to speak.

So when the vehicle starts to speed, and the passengers grip their seats, close their eyes, and whisper prayers under their breath, they’re not passive because they lack courage. They are silent because, subconsciously, they have been trained to equate assertiveness with ingratitude.

It’s not enough to tell people “speak up.” We need to untangle the psychological inheritance that keeps them quiet. We need to remind people, again and again, that paying for a ride means you are a customer, not a beggar. That your voice matters more than the driver’s ego. That refusing to die silently is not an act of disrespect.

The issue here is not a shortage of traffic officers. It’s not poor signage or dimly lit roads—although those certainly don’t help. It is, at its core, a crisis of mindset.

We cannot save lives with slogans alone. “Speed Kills” means nothing if we’re too afraid to tell the person with their foot on the accelerator to slow down. We must re-educate ourselves, and each other, to believe that our safety comes first—not our fear of offending someone, not our desire to “keep the peace,” not even our sense of loyalty to a friend or relative behind the wheel.

Until we change this mentality, we will continue to read about horrific crashes, attend the funerals, wipe the tears, and then get into another vehicle and say nothing.

So the next time you’re in a car—whether it’s a taxi, a friend’s ride, or your uncle’s pick-up—and you feel the speed rising beyond reason, say something. Don’t wait for someone else to speak first. Don’t rationalize the silence. Say it clearly, calmly, and firmly: “Please slow down.”

It’s not just your right. It might be your last chance.

(The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of this newspaper.) 

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