Coming Back (eBook)

Chapter One - A big irony and an elusive understanding

The media landscape was constantly inundated with reports of cases of suicide and failed attempts. It seemed a fixture in the news over the past six years or so and led to the country being given the unfortunate label of having the highest suicide rate per capita in the world.

That may have shocked many who were not necessarily following what appeared as a noticeable trend. The obvious question was; how could a country with about three quarters of a million people, come to have the highest rate of self-inflicted deaths?

Then, for the masses, that probably wasn’t an unfair question since, more than likely, they were unaware of the international formulas that would precipitate such pronouncements. For those following the foreign news broadcast, now made easily available through the seeming excitement of cable television, the label bestowed upon the country was probably unsurprising.

At some point during that trend, the prominent and influential international news conglomerate, Al Jazeera, carried a report on what they believed to be an alarming rate of suicide in this third world nation; Guyana.

I saw it and was taken aback; not because of the suicide rate angle, but in some disbelief that such a respected and mega news outfit, would actually have the time to invest in human and technical resources for a story nestled in the small and only English-speaking country in South America.

That new label was no ordinary development for the country, for it was once again propelled into the international spotlight; at least so I thought. I related and discussed it with colleagues and we all expected that news to snowball. After all, this is the country known for the infamous Jonestown massacre in which over nine hundred American citizens were forced into committing suicide by their cult leader, Rev Jim Jones.

Years after that, when the country topped that unfortunate list, suicide related discussions suddenly heated up through various organizations and individuals seemingly jockeying to be branded as advocates, probably with the expectation of benefits to come. Disappointment may have crept in after the expected international news snowball failed to materialize, at least with the optimists like myself.

In 1978, Guyanese were probably the last to know of the mass suicide in their own densely forested backyard where only foreigners died. As boys, our stares were affixed to the sky during the ensuing days after it was eventually announced on radio.

“It’s a flying elephant; look”, screamed an excited young village pal.

“No, it’s not. It’s a big sky-bird”, yelled another.

Scores excitedly pointed and competed to demonstrate who was more knowledgeable on what traversed constantly and noisily over our houses.

Those few days provided images never seen before. As a matter of fact, there were unimaginable. As good as we were in making up stories, this was one we couldn’t construct.

We subsequently learnt they were aircraft airlifting bodies from Jonestown to the Timehri International Airport, now the Cheddi Jagan International Airport (CJIA). That provided an air show for us who lived along the East Bank of the Demerara River.

Despite the “mega birds” in the sky, we could not truly understand the magnitude of what was unfolding. We were young, playful, carefree, happy and probably never heard the word suicide. We heard of Jonestown and we knew it to be a village on the East Bank just on the periphery of the City of Georgetown.

We kept hearing the elders lamenting over the deaths of many people at a place which, for them and us, was a just about five miles away. With the belief of that occurring so close to home, some semblance of fear might have crept in.

In reality, it was a different Jonestown, hundreds of miles away in the heart of the jungle and relatively close to the Venezuelan border. At our age, we couldn’t image the distance and our only attachment was the sense of loss we felt when the ‘flying elephants’ ceased to hover. That new-found excitement was stolen.

At that time, there was no internet or cellphones. I am not certain if those words actually existed then. The sprinkling of land lines was just for the privileged few. Battery operated radios were the main conduits for information.

Newspaper for us had a different purpose; the same usage as toilet paper. Personal hygiene aside, the international media outfits spared no effort in racing to what was probably at that moment, a country unheard of, at least by some.

One of their colleagues, a correspondent, Don Harris (born, Roy Darwin Humphrey) from the leading American Network, NBC, was killed along with a United States Congressman, Leo Ryan, during the Jonestown massacre. It seemed unheard of; Americans in Guyana to live; Americans dead in a foreign land at the behest of one of their own. The stakes were too high for missing out.

Other than war, I understand that incident had the unfortunate record of claiming the most American lives in a single occurrence of mass deaths until being eclipsed by the bombing of the World Trade Center in Manhattan, New York, on Tuesday, September 11, 2001.

At that time, in 1978, the average Guyanese citizen was consumed with trying to eke out a livelihood in a country where its economy and social and physical infrastructures were collapsing or already did. The political climate that reeked of oppression, forced those with the means, to escape by any way possible to the country Jim Jones and his dead flock escaped from; the United States of America.

There could not have been a bigger irony in the history of the nation of Guyana. It was similar to a victim being trapped in a room and frantically screaming,

“Let me out, let me out”, and those on the outside shouting, “let me in, let me in”.

After viewing the Al Jazeera news story, I was convinced that suicide on a mass scale was therefore nothing new to this small country, which has vast untapped potential.

In retrospect, as boys, we were probably insulated and never knew how close we came to be able to understand the effects of suicide. We technically basked in its result and looked for excitement when others grieved. Of course, we didn’t know better.

We knew, that death and its aftermath, were scary and that’s why whenever we pointed to a nearby cemetery, we immediately bit our tens fingers, all from one hand at a time, and counted our ten toes aloud.

The myth was, if that ritual wasn’t observed after pointing, the appendages would rot and fall off. In many ways, those rituals may have served to embolden us, for we had the armory to confront the fear.

We were innocent and, somehow, we laughed at death. Nothing therefore could have forewarned how my life would subsequently become so intertwined with suicide; which clearly, is not a laughing matter.

In those innocent years, laughter prevailed and tears were scarce, probably forced to flow from a prolonged disciplinary whipping. In the troubled adult era, laughter could not be found and tears needed no prodding.

But how many would remember the Jonestown massacre some forty-two years after, is a different issue. Since those four decades, cellphones are now ubiquitous and the internet a most vital necessity. That exemplifies the vast difference in generations and the country’s rapid and unprecedented transformation through modernization.

Media entities swiftly mushroomed thereby increasing competition to inform a receptive mass, with social media a now fixed part of life; a new culture for many. While as boys we gazed in astonishment at the “flying elephants”, never in our wildest imagination could we have fathomed the technological revolution that was to come.

That aside, other obvious questions are; why after having achieved the second uncontested world record relating to suicide, the highest rate being the latest, the international media did not swarm the country like they did in 1978? Why after this damming revelation, suicide education and prevention were not made a priority by the government of the day as some had called for? I was one.

Some posit that the international media was occupied with things far more important like, the fight against terrorism, the Arab Spring, the war in Syria and the refugee crisis, among others. Similarly, for the Guyana government on either side of the 2015 change, other priories seemed foremost; probably understandably so in a country trying to sustain its new found development. Questions surrounding the value of human capital could not have been avoided in some quarters.

It may be fair to note that, locally, not many would have seen that Al Jazeera’s report simply because access to cable television was limited. At the time, I believe that service might have been confined to the City and its environs, while suicide was seemingly more prevalent in the far rural areas.

While that may probably offer a seemingly plausible excuse for the general citizenry, especially in the areas of concern, those in authority could not claim one. They seemed aware of the Jonestown settlement before 1978. Importantly, the news report in question, did not only allude to the high suicide rate, but highlighted the shockingly easy access to chemicals, especially pesticides, in some rural farming communities.

That report should have been a reminder, more so a warning, thereby raising the proverbial red flags. The ingestion of poison seemed the preferred choice for suicide, predominantly by one particular ethnic group; Guyanese of East Indian ancestry.

Of course, suicides were...