March 5, 2014 By
March 1, 2014 By
Satiricus is a “cricket tragic”. Meaning he loves cricket but the sentiment was never reciprocated on the cricket field. But like most unrequited love, the rejection only made the flame of his love for the game burn brighter. And like any self-respecting cricket couch potato, he followed every scrap of news on the game. Even the background stuff.
So his day was made when he read the Guyana Cricket Board had moved to the courts to stop the National Assembly from passing a Motion to have cricket be organised in accordance with the law. What nonsense!!! Who were the government and the opposition to say cricket should be placed under the law? Didn’t they know that cricket was a law unto itself? And if cricket was above the law, shouldn’t the administrators of cricket also be above the law?
Satiricus was no legal whiz – well he wasn’t even a lawyer, to his eternal chagrin – but this didn’t need any legal background, did it? Who the heck were the government and the opposition and all the legislators to think they could poke their noses into the sacred game? What the heck did they ever do for cricket? Build the Stadium at Providence? Jeez, that only cost $4 billion which the government had to borrow from India and all Guyanese had to repay in 20 years.
Up kept grounds all over the country? Well they should be grateful to be given an opportunity to serve cricket and its administrators. After all, the latter had to do the back breaking labour of signing letters that players took to the U.S. Embassy to get visas. It wasn’t their fault that most of the players didn’t return. And look how much “bad name” these administrators got! Satiricus’ blood boiled in anger at the high handedness of the politicians from both sides of the bench to tell these long suffering officials they should get their associations legally incorporated!
“Heck!” Satiricus exclaimed, “Didn’t these stupid politicians realise that cricket was an amateur sport?” It was a game for gentlemen. Look how hardworking these officials were – and without a salary! They jetted off to capitals in first class and had to stay in five star hotels and only get an honorarium of US$5000 per day. This was chicken feed to the gentlemen and forced them to live like peasants. The shame.
It wasn’t their fault that cricket now generated billions of dollars in revenues. That didn’t mean that these gentlemen had to get into the grubby business of getting bookkeepers and auditors to keep accounts, did it? Satiricus fumed, “What’s going on in this world, when a gentleman’s word is not their bond?”
Satiricus hoped the courts would do the right thing and let the game remain in the hands of the honourable gentlemen class. And cricket officials were all honourable, weren’t they?
February 26, 2014 By
Satiricus was relieved beyond belief. Here it was for all these years − more years that he liked to think about – he’d been beating up on himself for being such a dummkopf. It had surfaced as far back as nursery school when he just couldn’t count from one to two – after a whole year. It wasn’t much different for the rest of his school life. His mother had told him it wasn’t his fault. The nurse had dropped him on his head soon after he was born.
But amazingly hope now beats anew in his breast. There it was in black and white in the yellow journalistic rag, the MuckrakerKN, that his problem was really “Mental Processing”!! And the report made sure Satiricus knew what was “mental processing”. This was “all things a person can do with their mind”. Right away, Satiricus knew this was some deep stuff. A person wasn’t just one person – he was many and that was why the article spoke of “their mind”. Satiricus, a good student in Sunday School, remembered that some people contained “multitudes”.
So, Satiricus now knew, his problem wasn’t that he wasn’t smart or anything like that – he just wasn’t doing Mental Processing. The article had described how people committed suicide because they weren’t doing enough Mental Processing. So Satiricus figured if Mental Processing could solve the problem of suicide – it would be a cinch for his dumbness.
And Satiricus was happy the article described just how he could get to do Mental Processing. There was a University right here in Guyana, that could teach Mental Processing. The name of the University was the Merican University of Research and it even had its own acronym – MUOR. Imagine that – pretty soon he’d be a graduate of MUOR and be able to argue with people like Mook Lall and CN Sharna.
Satiricus was doubly impressed. All his life he had heard that universities did “research”. And as a reporter he’d heard people complain that UG didn’t do enough research. But imagine here was a university that did nothing but research!!! “Wow!!” thought Satiricus, “Imagine going to a university like that!” He’d be doing research all the time –
and on Mental Processing. He wouldn’t have to study any books, or snotty subjects like maths and such stuff.
All he had to do was throw back and do Mental Processing. Satiricus wondered if he could get a Masters Degree in Mental Processing if he concentrated all the time on Angelina Jolie. Or better yet, even a PhD if he just Mentally Processed her lips?
February 22, 2014 By
Satiricus was ecstatic. As he’s confessed before, when he was a small boy, he’d always hoped to be a lawyer. Using all those fancy words, like “sine die”, and “sine qua non”; jumping up and shouting “incompetent, irrelevant, immaterial!!” (Young Satiricus had seen Perry Mason on TV) …and more to the point, earning the big bucks, had made lawyering his lodestar.
Only his miserable grades at CSEC had stood in his way. So he’d done the next best thing – become a news hack where his editor could yell how “incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial” his articles were. But now hope beat anew in the breast of Satiricus. It didn’t matter he couldn’t make it through the door of the law school at UG – much less Hugh Wooding: anybody could now practise law!
And not only ordinary law. Like finding out whether a fowl thief of his mother’s fowl also had rights over the fowl and so could not be charged for larceny – whether petty or grand. Now ordinary folks could even argue Constitutional Law! All you needed was to have an opinion on something and you could tell even Senior Counsels they are “incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial!” It helped too, if you were part of the Opposition.
Take this lady Jam-it Bull-Can. For years Satiricus has seen her long – very long – letters in the press about our trees. Satiricus had never read any of them – there was only so many hours of the day, after all – but he’d figured she certainly knew a lot about trees. Satiricus had this mental image of Bull-Can always hugging one tree or another.
Occasionally, however, Satiricus wondered if Bull-Can could see the forest for the trees. Not least because that’s tough when you’re clinging on to a trunk for dear life. But here it was Bull-Can had solved – just like that! – a legal conundrum that had divided Courts, the Attorney General, the Ex and Present -Speakers of Parliament and every lawyer in town!
The legal issue had to do with a similar problem that’d confronted Hamlet hundreds of years ago: to cut or not to cut, that is the question. Like the little boy who told the Emperor he had no clothes, Bull-Can cut the legal Gordian knot by ruling “cut!” Why? Well…”Duh” she retorted: didn’t everyone see “the importance of the budget as the ultimate lever of control of the legislature over the executive in tripartite Jeffersonian government”.
Now Satiricus hazily remembered from his news backgrounding grunge work that in the U.S., the Legislature has been explicitly given “the spending power”, and the same wasn’t true for Guyana. But what did poor, unlettered Satiricus know?
He could only see the forest, not the trees.
February 19, 2014 By
Satiricus was impressed. As a boy, he’d hoped to become a lawyer one day. “Well, that’s not exactly true,” he thought. He’d first hoped to be a detective. Everyday in the newspapers, he used to read about “crack crime sleuths” rushing to the scenes of crimes and “cracking” them – just like that. But as he grew up he heard less and less of these stories and figured the breed was dead.
He would’ve been a lawyer too – if only his grades were better. “But,” he sighed, “whatever will be, will be. And being a news hack does have its benefits.” Like hanging out with the boys and telling his editor he was doing “research”. They were discussing the latest manoeuver of NoGel Huge in his struggle to remain in the KFC and in politics.
“You got to hand it to the boy!” Satiricus exclaimed.”Classic diversionary tactics.”
“Well, they had him on the back foot, you know,” chimed in Suresh. “How could a man who said he was the next Rodney, not tell them that he was the Company Secretary to Shyte Global?”
“Even if he bin fuhget, de fat check going into he bank account every month, shoulda remind he!” Pointed out Cappo.
“And then everybody remember how he remove evidence from the crime scene at Buxton,” pointed out Hari, who’d been looking at CSI, Miami! quite a lot. “Man, you does get jail for that!
“But why they blame the man for not telling the judge that he know the foreman of the jury in the Lusignan Massacre case?” asked Georgie. He was visiting from New York and was buying drinks.
“Yeah!” said Satiricus in an aggrieved tone. “NoGel is a busy lawyer. He was only the man lawyer for six years. He coulda forget the man!”
“Budday!” shouted Hari as he slapped Satiricus on the back, “NoGel was jury tampering. I see that on CSI!”
“And now deh seh dat NoGel sell a house to some teacher lady fuh $26 million and tek out a mortgage for $26 million de same time,” pointed out Cappo. “No wonda Naga Man na sayin a word! He too scared some ah he same tricks gon expose!”
“You not talking about all the money NoGel tek from them people in Linden!” protested Suresh.
“But NoGel strike back, boy,” said Satiricus with a smile. “The man make a master stroke. He say that prosecutor let off the man who confess he was wid Fineman.”
“What that got to do with all the underhand and illegal things he do?” asked Hari, in exasperation.
“What illegal thing?” asked Satiricus. “NoGel said he pay big money to bring down experts for them Linden people.”
“You mean he pay fram de lady $26 million?” asked Cappo with a smile.
“And Sato my friend,” said Teacher Samad, who’d been listening carefully. “Not because the man was with Fineman, mean he killed with Fineman.”
“And,” concluded Hari, “Sometimes you got to use a thief to catch a thief. The thieves that NoGel got free.”
February 15, 2014 By
Satiricus was tired. He was tired of this Anti-Money Laundering Bill. It had dominated not only the newspapers but – more the (vexed) point – the daily briefings the Editor had with the news hounds. “I mean, how much can a fella take?” Satiricus had fretted to the boys at the back street dive. They were gathered there in their usual Friday night conclave, solving the world’s problems, while they wet their throats.
Cappo, the CaneCutter, pointed to the headline on the MuckrakerKN, “Yuh mean dis?” And he then read out laboriously, “Govt flouts new deadline ahead of CFATF review”.
“Flouts?” interjected Teacher Samad and then went on his classroom voice. “‘Flout’ is like when you break or ignore a law or rule or something and you don’t hide what you doing or showing any fear or shame.”
“Yeah!” agreed Suresh. “Is like when Cappo bin out with that dutty-skin ‘bad gyaal’ and he walk all around the village with she!”
“Ai!! Me bin drunk dat day!” Cappo replied hotly. “Wha you excuse when yuh jump around naked last week? Wha you bin flouting then?”
“That was “flaunting”, me friend,” retorted Suresh with a smile. “And ah had on me red buckta. Ah was gettin ready for Mash!”
“Hold it chaps,” said Satiricus firmly as he sat up with a start. It all now made sense to him. He’d been all confused before, but now his brain was suffused with a light. And he’s only had a dozen Banks. “I don’t care if the two of you flouncing yuh petticoat. But if the government “flout” the new deadline, it mean they know the bill no good, but yet they backing it. Just like what the Jhaat and GrainJa saying!”
“Budday, is dat I bin tellin’ you all dis time!” shouted Cappo. “If de government pass dis bill, is how de opposition guh survive?”
“That’s right,” agreed Teacher Damad. “Is who you think giving them all their funding? That is why they can tell the regular businessmen to “go to hell!” when they ask them to support the bill.”
“I now understand,” said Satiricus quietly. “And you know the most important thing in a democracy is to have an opposition.”
“Well, dat is why de MuckrakerKN saying de guvment flout de bill,” said Cappo disgustedly. “Dey know is only de drug dealers and de money launders keeping the opposition alive.”
“Take away that, and you have no opposition in Guyana!” Exclaimed Satiricus in wonder. “How brazen can this government be?”
“Dey not only brazen. Dey brigah too. Dey flout de bill,” concluded Cappo
February 12, 2014 By
Satiricus was, as usual, confused. After all, master strategist GrainJa, leader of WAPNU, PEENC and of the entire band of oppositionists, had just made some moves in the Law-Making-Body (LMB). Satiricus was quite aware that GrainJa had been suckled by the great Kabaka himself – and with that master strategist, nothing was what it seemed on the surface. Of course, all of the Kabaka’s moves had all backfired – but that was neither here nor there, thought Satiricus, when it came to his acolytes following his purple path.
The important thing was that the Kabaka was a chess player, and by golly, GrainJa was going to move his players on the board. But Satiricus was struggling to figure out where Granger was going with the moves he’d made Monday night in the LMB. Here it was, he’d just lost a queen…and Debbie was not one iota less than that. Fast on her feet, cutting wit, astounding grasp of the rules of the LMB, versed in security matters and any other portfolio like foreign affairs thrown at her – why, everyone was looking to see who GrainJa would replace her with!
But it became clear that GrainJa thought Debbie was irreplaceable when it came to filling even one of her roles. It would take multitudes. GrainJa would now himself take care of Debbie’s foreign affairs portfolio: the King would replace the Queen. But he’d be assisted by one of the court helpers – a female unknown named Sell Man. But Sell Man wouldn’t occupy the Queen’s seat in the front bench. That would be taken by Bull (sh*t) Can… but he wouldn’t be a queen.
Debbie’s Queen role on the big throne would now be played by Base-ill, which everyone, including Satiricus, thought would’ve been filled by Omna Wally. Now Satiricus thought he understood GrainJa’s move here. Base-ill was from the old PEENC and GrainJa needed to buy him off to fend off attacks from GreenBridge. But what about Omna? Weren’t women going to be miffed to have their ranks depleted, in this age of gender awareness? Satiricus brow became furrowed.
Aha, thought Satiricus, that’s why the master strategist GrainJa had brought in that female doctor to fill Debbie MP spot!! What a master stroke! No one would realise that she was just a place-holder and didn’t bring any substance to the table!!! And more importantly, she’d be beholden to GrainJa, the King. His handmaiden, so to speak.
And the strategist hadn’t even been finished with his moves. In the night of the long knives, he’d moved Kiss (too) Soon, who thought she could be Queen and had been acting up accordingly, back to being a pawn on the back bench. “That’ll teach her and Solo Man a lesson!” thought Satiricus. “For backing North Ton”.
But while GrainJa was busy making his chess moves, he hadn’t realised GreenBridge and his supporters had checkmated him by making him the fall guy for FATF imposing sanctions on Guyana.
He’d be losing corn and husk.
February 9, 2014 By
Satiricus was in a reflective mood. And he hadn’t even taken a drink. This unusual circumstance had been brought on by a report he’d read. Seems some “stench” had caused councillors of Linden to abandon the Region 10 RDC meeting and flee. Satiricus couldn’t believe the story could be possibly true. How could that hero of the Linden uprising, Solo Man, keep meetings for six months in a place that was so stink? Nah…it didn’t sound right.
Then it hit Satiricus: the story of the stinky councillors’ meeting was an “allegory”. There was a hidden meaning in the story that was supposed to deliver a moral message. Or it could be a political message, even though Satiricus thought politics and morality have very little acquaintance. Satiricus remembered that other story he’s read about a “stench” in the land. It was Hamlet – the play by Shakespeare.
Now Satiricus was no bookworm, but, lord knows, he’d suffered through enough Hamlet during his CSEC days. Wasn’t it Marcellus who’d burst out to his friend Horatio, “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”? But it was’t a smell he’d been talking about. Earlier, noticing the drunken and depraved behaviour of the new king and his court, Hamlet had expressed his disgust at such behaviour, which made Danes seem to be morally disgusting like “swines”.
And so it was, Satiricus furrowed his brow and wondered what the heck was “rotten” in Linden that’d caused grown men (indeed, one was the brave leader of the entire working class of Guyana) to flee. What was it, like Hamlet, they’d seen? Well, there’d been that wild and riotous behaviour Solo Man had encouraged a year and a half ago. Three persons had died and billions had gone up in smoke. But Satiricus figured that was old news and it had faded.
So he read back the story. “Do a ‘close’ reading, Satiricus!” his old literature teacher had warned. And he noticed that no matter how much the councillors complained about the “stench”, Solo Man told them to bear chafe, since “the matter was well known”. “Aha! So it was something the councillors all knew about,” concluded Satiricus. And Solo Man wasn’t affected by the “stench” – that was the other clue.
Satiricus smiled. He’s solved the mystery about what was rotten in the region of Linden. It was Solo Man. He’d been getting too big for his britches ever since he’d held the country to ransom by blocking the roads to the interior. He acted like he was the new king – bigger than Grain Ja, much less Prezzie. It was obvious he’d graduated (more likely “sunk”, thought Satiricus) to the depraved and dissolute behaviour that’d shocked Hamlet, and now shocked his (Solo Man’s) fellow RDC councillors.
As Horatio had replied for Denmark, Satiricus thought, “Heaven help Linden!”
February 5, 2014 By
Satiricus was vindicated. He’d always said the police could do much more than they did – if they were more highly trained. Look at how FreeLicks cracked the case about the Berbice protest – just like that! Here it was that the present COP Browndell, the DPPP, Internal Affairs, and Complaints on Police Office were all running around like chicken without their heads. And with one quick drive up to Berbice – case closed!!!
FreeLicks didn’t mince any words. He said there was no way in hell the cops accused of participating in the robbery could’ve done it. The man was trained by the British! Maybe Scotland Yard? How’d he do it? Well, Satiricus had gotten a tape of the conversation between FreeLicks (Voice 2) and the moustachioed fella from the PNCEE (Voice 1) – who was his old contact man when he’d been the COP.
Voice 1: “Wha goin on?”
Voice 2: “Ah deh.”
Voice 1: “Ah just come from court and Ah settle de matter with the Mook and de magistrate who sue he fuh libel.”
Voice 2: “How much you settle fuh?”
Voice 1: “Hundred thou..”
Voice 2: (laugh)…(cough) “Ah think y’all woulda seh hundred million!”
Voice 1: “Nah! He call and tell me how police call he and tell he dat Ah gat gun problem…He blackmail me.”
Voice 1: “But who police coulda do dat, boy?”
Voice 2: “Boy, he payin a lot of people …and a lotta people know he tekking stories from any-whe, right? Police get five, six thousand and dey feel nice.”
Voice 1: “Anyway, me ain’t gat time wid dah. Tell me how you fix dat thing in Berbice.”
Voice 2: (Laugh)…(cough)… “Bannuh! You all shoulda bin there fuss. Is you all people deh accusin.”
Voice 1: “Ah did say something…but you know Number One ain’t deh.”
Voice 2: (Laugh)…(cough)… “He always running ‘way, when things get hot.”
Voice 1: “But tell me about Berbice, nah?”
Voice 2: “Bai, you shoulda been de fuss set a people. Is just like de time when Ah talk to you about de Agricola massacre. Ah still got me contacts, you know.”
Voice 1: “You de help. You give we information.”
Voice 2: “Ah deliberately turn the thing upside down in Berbice. Ah seh dat de policeman was not at de scene. Dey was in de station.”
Voice 1: “But de people seh dey call de station and no answer!”
Voice 2: “Bannuh. Is wha schupidness yuh de pan? If Ah seh suh, is suh. You na see how de Stabber print it and didn’t question me. Ah get train by de British, you know. We gat people to tell the big lie in de press. All awee is one.”
Voice 1: “OK. Bannuh. How about dat gun licence you gon get fuh me friend?”
February 1, 2014 By