Satiricus is baffled. What’s Fate Hard-ears’ problem? What exactly is this woman griping about the PNCEE and the APANU? She’s obviously spent too much time abroad and forgotten that a West Indian woman is supposed to know her place. And what is that place, you young whippersnappers may ask? Well to provide care and sustenance for her man, thank you. And ‘sustenance’ covers a whole lot of ground. Thank God even though the PNCEE is hiding its spots as “APANU”, Granger is carrying on in the grand tradition established by the founder-leader.
“Ai man! Is wuh de woman do dem?” Cyril was Kuldeep’s cousin visiting from lodge. He seemed perturbed. “All she want is wuk for de party.”
“She na waan fo wuk,” interrupted Cappo. “Come straight. She waan fo be leader!”
“An is wuh wrang wid duh?” Cyril was still riled up.
“What the arse, you mean? This is the PNC you talking about, boy!” Suresh jumped up. “They have traditions to keep up.”
“But wimmen always wukking for de party,” Cryil continued. “Ah read ‘bout Winifred Gaskin and dem other wimmen who brace Forbes in de beginning.”
“Ah hope yuh read careful. Dem ‘brace’ Forbes, ok? Not lead he!” Cappo sounded as if he had slammed a trump on the table.
“But check out at all de qualification dis Hard-ears woman get! Two masters, PhD and ah doan know wuh else!” Cyril continued. “Duh don’t count?”
“Like you don’t understand PNC culture, bai,” Hari butted in. “PNC is the upholder of the West Indian way of life.”
“Is not how many papers she gat. Is how many pickney she can mek!” Bungi was getting into the spirit.
“That’s right,” Suresh continued. “Make women leaders and that is the end of our way of life!”
“So how come Janet turn leader of PPP.” Cyril wasn’t giving up. “Tell me duh!”
“Ha! Yuh see how dem lose dem majority!” Cappo slapped the table in triumph. “Could be dat was de cause!”
“Ah doan believe y’all!” Cyril rolled his eyes. “So wha is gonna happen to Backa?”
“Lemme tell yuh something. Backa guh stay right at de back,” intoned Cappo. “Ah gon tek bet pan da!” She gat the right name for the position.
“Bai Cyril, you na see wha happen when the APANU put she up fuh Speaker?” Bungi leaned forward. “Deh drap she right away fuh Trat Man!”
“Even though Trot Man had cursed them out,” noted Suresh. “Men is the Boss in PNC!”
“And they drop that other nice lady, Reel, from the deputy speaker job, just to sweeten Backa,” Hari pointed out. “They play woman against woman and nobody noticed.”
“A hope you notice no other woman complain? PNC women know they place.” Suresh looked directly at Cyril.
“Well how ‘bout dat one from Bartica? She complain.” Cyril came right back.
“Bai, you na hear wha de party seh? She not only a woman, she fram de bush.” Cappo was chortling. “If PNCEE na gat time fuh town lady wid papers, you think deh gat time wid woman fram de bush?”
“Ah give up wid you bannas. And de PNCEE,” said Cyril, shaking his head.
“Once the PNCEE keep up we culture, boy,” Hari concluded with a smile. “Keep women in they place!”

Satiricus is aghast. President Ramotar had accused the APANU/KFC of rigging the last elections! Satiricus is not shocked by the accusation. He is shocked the president appeared shocked that the APANU/KFC had rigged.  Satiricus’ point being that as an old hand in the politics business, the president should know that rigging was an integral part of the heritage of the PNCEE. Did he think that just because it changed its name to the APANU and now joined with the KFC, it would abandon its birthright? The nerve!

“Listen Bai. You gat fo give Jack he jacket.” Cappo was firm. “De PNCEE bring rigging to Guyana! Dem fellas rig so lang dem na know how fo vote if dem na rig.”

“Well, don’t give them all the credit. The CIA Committee 303 trained them well. Not to mention the funds it gave them since 1962.” Samad couldn’t help being the teacher. That was his day job.

“A’right, a’right! Me know dat but you gat fo admit, dem bais was good students,” Cappo said admiringly. “Dem turn out betta dan de teacha!”

“How did PNCEE rig it, let us count the ways,” Suresh challenged. “Overseas voting! Horses voting in London! PNC got 98 per cent.”

“Proxy!” shouted Bungi. “Remember how one man coulda vote fo 10 people?”

“Postal voting!” contributed Hari.

“Padding de voters list!” was Cappo’s contribution. “Even people who dead fo 10 year coulda vote!”

“Voters’ ID!” said Samad. “The Americans printed it for them.”

“Da na count!” objected Cappo. “Dem use de false ID fo vote fo dead people!”

“Army seizing the ballot boxes!” Suresh returned to the fray. “I had an Uncle Sammy in the GNS. Those fellas fingers used to get sore with writing in fake ballots.”

“He!He! Well yuh Uncle Sammy na bin so bright. De poll counters use to find de ballots roll up wid rubber bands in bundles!”

“And abee use fo find ballot box floating in de canal,” Bungi continued.

“But all of that was ‘wrong and strong’ rigging. That was when the Americans were backing Burn Ham and the PNCEE.” Hari challenged the table. “Big up Hyte! The man introduced the ‘delayed count’ in 1997!”

“That counts as rigging?” demanded Samad.

“Well, the man has his agents hold back the Statement of Polls after he saw he had lost big time.” Hari came right back. “The delay gave him the excuse to protest and riot and cut the PPP’s term by two years! That’s rigging!”

“Me hear da bin a Car Bin wuk,” advised Cappo. “He bin a study law in Trinidad, and he had fo fly back, quick quick.”

“Ok! Ok! Take a bow!” Samad conceded to Hari. “That was how Car Bin became chief.”

“So why Donald upset? You know what them old people does say about ‘dogs that suck eggs’? And Car Bin is still around. He’s the oldest dog of the lot” Satiricus returned to his original question.

“Well, Donald is an optimist. Look at how he brought all of them opposition to the table. He’s just disappointed.” Suresh explained.

“Who he most disappointed wid is dat Ram Jhaat Tan and Naga Man go alang wid de rigging’,” concluded Cappo.

Satiricus is a happy man. A very relieved man, if you ask him. He’s been worried that the country was going to the dogs.  More to the pups actually, since it was the behaviour of the youths that disturbed his equilibrium. Look how they were getting on in public – what with their ‘blackballing’ and ‘daggering’ and calling it ‘dancing’. But the APANU youths were going to put a stop to all that.
“Eh! Eh! Ah see dem APANU Youths gon start deh own Mash Band!” Cappo looked round the table. “Ah wha goin’ on?”
“Is clean up, deh gon clean up alyuh Mash! Alyu only wining and carrying on dirty!” Bungi was enjoying getting back at his usually domineering cane-cutting partner Cappo.
“Who is dis ‘alyu’ yuh talking about?” Cappo demanded aggressively.
“Man, like you were on vacation, or what?” Suresh slid into the conversation. “It’s your PPP!”
“What?” Cappo sounded dumbfounded. Samad explained patiently, “It was in the papers, boy. The APANU Youth woman Nesta said the PPP only had ‘wining’ for Mash in the last 19 years. They will fix all of that with their own bands now.”
“Lemme get dis straight. Befo’ 1992 Mash na had ‘wining’ wid de PNCEE fo’ 28 years?” Cappo opened his palms in supplication.
“Well, Mash only start in 1970 and so the PNCEE didn’t have 28 years with it,” corrected Samad with a smirk.
“Yuh know what de arse me mean!” growled Cappo.
“All I know Nesta said Man-Tony, the minister, admit the PPP only push ‘wining’ at Mash, and the APANU Youths will change all of that!” Suresh sounded suspiciously like he was smirking too.
“So, how deh gon do dat?” Cappo demanded.
“Man, put two and two together, na!” Bungi was still enjoying himself. “Is de same people organising the APANU bands dat organise  all dem march in de election.”
“That’s right, Cappo. These APANU Mash bands will be marching with discipline like when they marched from Cuffy Square.” Samad joined in the enlightenment of Cappo. “The police were so jealous of their discipline that they shot the poor youths with rubber pellets. Remember?”
“Dat is de kinda Mash march we need. Not all dem ‘wining’ alyu does do!” Bungi rubbed it in.
“So Nesta and de 0.007 Bond gon march without shaking anything?” Cappo was confused again. “That’s it?”
“Well,” suggested Suresh, “Don’t forget they also marched on Suraj Ballsy and Go Cool. They have plenty other experience.”
“Yuh right! Deh could march wid candle in dem hands and look up at de sky.” Bungi sounded excited. “Dem cyaan ‘wine’ when dem doin’ dat.”
“OK. Me hear. So de APANU band, walking straight wid deh eye in de sky, wid candle in deh hand, gon show down GTee&Tee and Diji Sell and dem adda band and mek dem stap “wining’?” Cappo sounded incredulous and his voice had risen noticeably.
“Get it right, me brother. This is the new dispensation that the people voted in November 28!” Samad was definitely gloating now. “APANU and KFC will now pass a law to ban wining!”
“Mash 2012: You can’t ‘wine’ and you can’t delve!” Suresh concluded pithily. “What’s the use of power if you can’t use it?”

Satiricus is proud of Ram Jhat Tan. After years of denial, he’s finally out of the closet. In the beginning, he used to hit out at “them”; he denied even being one of them. He was different. But deep down Satiricus knew better: he had been around quite a while now. These were just the symptoms of someone ashamed of his impulses; knew that it was not copasetic but just couldn’t help himself. Ram Jhaat Tan was what he was and he loved power: so what was wrong if he now accepted that he was in coalition with APANU?
“Boy, you see how KFC and APANU double-bank Donald?” Hari sounded worried. “I thought Ram Jhaat Tan said he would vote with the PPP if they put forward something sensible.”
“Me friend, me know Ram Jhaat Tan.” Cappo was serious. “De only ‘sensible thing’ fuh him is if Donald mek him president!”
“Suh he think Grain Jah guh mek he president?” Bungi  looked astounded. “He jus gettin’ used!”
“People like Ram Jhaat Tan are like crabs-in-the-barrel .” Suresh looked around the table. “If he can’t get to the top, he will make sure he pull anybody ahead of him down.”
“But give de man some credit na. He na gat no way fuh guh.” Cappo wanted to make his point strongly and slapped the table. “Trat Man dun deh wid APANU fuh get Speaker wuk. Naga Man mad wid he because de Jhaat betray he fuh Trat Man. De Jhaat gat fuh join dem!”
“Talking about Naga Man, I can’t hear anything from him nowadays. What’s going on?” Hari seemed to want to move on.
“You right. The man was not on any of the delegations that met with Donald. They treating him like he is a small boy”. Suresh was smiling as he said this. Naga Man wasn’t high on his hit-parade.
“Is all a dem gone. Wheh Baby Jesus Van East deh? Ram Jhaat Tan all alone,” said Cappo mournfully. The table couldn’t figure whether he was serious. “De boy had to jine up APANU”.
“Why?” demanded Hari.
“Listen friend. Ram Jhaat Tan didn’t get two vote fram 47 village in 2006. Is Naga Man pull dem Berbice votes and give KFC de seven seats”. Cappo leaned forward for emphasis. “Deh pramise Naga Man vice president and deh couldn’t even give him Speaker. He gone and Berbice vote gone!” “Ah see wheh yuh goin” Bungi finished up for his old buddy. “Suh if he jine up wid APANU he can get a seat next time like Keith Scott!”
“Dats right. And more important, he gon get duty free!” Cappo smirked. “De boy gat he priorities straight, yuh know!” Suresh looked at Cappa and smiled, “You’re a person with an open mind, Cappo. I can feel the breeze from here!”
“Wha yuh mean?” Cappo took the gibe good naturedly. He guffawed.
“Ram Jhaat Tan don’t know Grain Ja. He will never trust Ram Jhaat Tan after what he said about PNC. Ram Jhaat Tan can vote with APANU all he wants. He’d dead meat.”
As the table drank to that, Satiricus had his doubts however. He’d seen stranger bedmates in politics. Wasn’t Roop Na Rain, erstwhile comrade of Rod Knee, in bed and under the sheets with Grain Ja?. Ram Jhaat Tan was just coming out of the closet into his natural home.

Satiricus is amazed at the unreasonableness of people – especially Guyanese people. They expect politicians to be consistent between what they say and what they do. Well maybe they have a case with those politicians that still had an ideology – like the PPP. You know where they are supposed to stand and you can judge them those standards. But how dare they expect men like Ram Jhaat Tan to follow suit when they believe in nothing?
“Ram Jhaat Tan now seh dat it wrang fo people fram foreign fo get MP wuk?” Cappo’s eyebrow were almost touching the ceiling, in surprise. “Well, he accepted that the Constitution doesn’t allow people who swear  loyalty to a foreign power to hold office in Guyana?” Samad, the teacher, tried to set the record straight.
“But de KFC whole campaign been fo get wan seat in Parliament fo people fram foreign!” Cappo was almost shrieking in indignation. “Look how hard Sase de Flour man wuk!” “Bai, is how laang you in dis business?” Cappos’s canecutting comrade Bungi was patient. “Dat was just fo get de Yankee dallah! De campaign done now and sweet talk done too!”  “Ai man. Cheddi nevah bin like dat and Ram Jaaat Tan seh he a wan Cheddi man. Cheddi nevah salt soap people,” complained Cappo aggrievedly.
“But that is where you are a dinosaur, Cappo,” interjected Suresh. “Ram Jhaat Tan is the new-breed politician.’ “That’s right – tell the people what they want to hear; mamaguy them!” Kuldeep picked up the explanation. “You got to get with the times, boy!” “Listen chap. Me na wan mad man. Me bin in politics fo wan laang time. Me know wha yuh gat fo do.” Cappo leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But e gat wan limit, man.” “Politicians like Ram Jhaat Tan have no limits, boy! Is all for one and one for none! And you know with Ram Jhaat Tan who is #1!” Suresh was laughing.
“But is not only Ram Jhaat Tan a play de game,” Bungi faced his partner squarely. ‘You na think Sase de Flour Man know Ram Jhaat Tan bin a bull s**t he?” “Wha yuh mean?” Cappo demanded. “Bai all dem chaps a smart-man. De Flour Man and de Naga Man and all a dem know all de talk about ‘rule of law’ and dem fancy words na mean nuthin.” Bungi was sombre. He didn’t usually give long speeches. “Is just fo get powah.”
“Well, all me know is de old people used to seh, ‘All smart fly does end up in cow backside’. And dat is whe Ram Jhaat tan gon end up!”Cappo slapped the table.
Satiricus looked around the table at his comrades. What did they know? Didn’t they remember Ram Jhaat Tan’s economics Guru, Sase The Flour Man had quoted from their Guru, Ayn Rand? Greed is good! Look out for #1! Winning is everything! Tell them what they want to hear! Welcome to the brave new world of Ram Jhaat Tan and the KFC. Black is white and up is down.
But maybe Cappo had a point? It did appear that Trot Man had outmanoeuvred Ram Jhaat Tan who now had neither corn nor husk. Cow’s behind?

Satiricus was pleased. He was happy that Ram Jhaat Tan had gone to T&T and told them “Third Parties” were the way to solve their racial problem.
Those uppity Trinis were too full of themselves. They wouldn’t even accept they had a race problem. They were always looking down their noses at Guyanese because of our race problem.
“Ah tell you boy, dem KFC fellas ain’t selfish at all.” Anant was Trini and visiting Guyana with the latest chutney show that is now a weekly feature here.  He was a friend of Suresh, who was hooked on chutney.  “Look how Ram Jhaat Tan come down and tell we we got a race problem!”
“But I thought you all never had a race problem as we!” Satiricus raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah boy, me too! I thought we solve dat with carnival and soca.” Anant sounded doleful. “Every February we does play Mas and dat make we Trini to the bone.”
“So, ah wha Ram Jhaat Tan tell ah-you?” Cappo sounded curious. “Because abee a try prappa hard fo solve abee race problem wid Carnival too. Abee ah call am ‘Mash’.”
“Well, he tell we we shouldn’t worry about de race problem because he solve it in Guyana. And you know alyou got de race problem baad!” Anant sounded a bit more cheerful when he contemplated the Guyanese predicament. “If he can solve alyou race problem, he said the Trini race problem going to be a breeze!”
“And how exactly did Comrade Ram Jhaat Tan solve our race problem?” Suresh was smiling so the question didn’t come over as antagonistic.
“Well, he said the secret was to get the Indians to vote for the Third Party. Is them Indians like to vote race. The last time the Creole fella Trot Man couldn’t do that. This time he was the boss and he mash up de PP&P!” Anant paused.
“But didn’t the Third Party that Ram Jhaat Tan was talking to in T&T get votes from all races?” Samad sounded confused.
“Aha! That is the master stroke that Ram Jhaat Tan advised we boys!” Anant was gleeful. He almost rubbed his hands. “That was the mistake! We should only go after the Indian vote. Is them got the race problem!”
“But if Ram Jhaat Tan in Guyana and you all in T&T only get Indian vote, isn’t that racial voting?” Samad sounded even more confused.
“Boy, I thought so at first. But then Ram Jhaat Tan explained it: You got to fight fire with fire!” Anant slapped the table to emphasise the clinching point. “Is them Indians racial!”
“Man. I certainly was stupid!” Suresh exclaimed. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, that is why you’re a salesman and Ram Jhaat Tan is a great leader who will go down in history for solving the race problem in Guyana and T&T.” Samad looked up at the ceiling.
“I hope they invite him to Suriname soon,” said Anant excitedly.
“Why? Dem gat race problem too?” Cappo was surprised.
“Well, duh!! They have Indians over there, don’t they?” Anant had the enthusiasm and certainty of the new convert.
Satiricus decided to use the word ‘guru’ only because ‘charlatan’ was too long to fit into the headline.

Satiricus was very perturbed. He didn’t know what the world was coming to. How dare the University Council not renew Kissoon’s contract! The man always maintained the highest standard of the UG: mediocrity in education but excellence in opposition activism. That was the problem with the PPP administration – new or old: they expected government and other public employees to adopt imperialist bourgeois habits. Produce! Produce! Produce!

“Wha deh mean de man na produce? Me read de man produce two paper in 26 year. Ah how much mo deh want de man fo produce?” Cappo was smiling. “Like dem think producing paper is like cutting cane, or wha?”

“Boy, in this university business, it’s ‘produce or perish’. It’s a tough life.” Samad, the teacher, fell into the gaff. “The lecturers have to teach sometimes 20 hours a week! How they expect Kiss Soon to write papers?”

“Is not only that. The man had other runnings to take care of.” Suresh was solicitous. “He had to put up his three storey house?”

“I blame the PPP for all this trouble. It refused to accept that UG was meant to provide the opposition, especially the PNC, with employment.” Hari was scathing.

“Exactly! What is this nonsense about producing papers? Once you doing opposition work, how you have time to produce papers?” Samad sounded affronted.

“Me know dis ‘paper” a wan hard thing. Me do two in lil ABC.” Bungi’s voice expressed indignation. “Dat is why dey shouldn’t mek Kiss Soon work de full 20 hour a week. Me think two hour ok fo he.”

“That’s right. That’ll give him enough time to picket with his friends Bench Cack and Link Khan.” Suresh was firm. “That is national service. He should get extra pay for that!”

“Den it gat the libel and slander de man does produce every day fo de Muckraker,” Cappo interjected. “And Kiss Soon na even tek money fo dat. De man is a saint!”

“Dat’s right! An look how Koor Shid a hound de man fo pay tax pan he Muckraker salary!” Bungi commiserated to his canecutting partner. “When de man na even get wan salary deh.”

“Not only that. Kiss Soon does go out with the Muckraker crime reporters late in the night. All for free.” Samad shook his head. “But what you have to admire is all the free lunches and dinners the fellow had to consume.”

“But what the council doesn’t appreciate is with all the extra work, Kiss Soon and other opposition lecturers taught their students so well.” Suresh said admiringly.

“Even Donald should appreciate that. Look what a wonderful greeting they gave him when he went to UG to have the debate.” Hari was ever on the ball.

“Yes. Donald couldn’t speak for minutes. He was too choked up over the reception.”  Samad finished off.

“Well, he comrade dem, all deh behind deh friend,” noted Cappo. “Me sure Bench Cack gon leh he drive de big four-wheel vehicle he driving around.”

“Nah. Naga gon give him he MP duty free vehicle. Naga seh ‘one for all and all fo one!” Bungi was not one to forget.

“I say we make a collection for Kissoon, the martyr!” announced Suresh suddenly. The fellas around the bar all dug into their pockets and placed their contribution on the table.

Satiricus tallied up the takings and finally asked, “Who’s going to give Kiss Soon the $20?”

Satiricus had a dream. Now Satiricus is a great fan of Martin Luther King Jr and a greater fan of work. Satiricus always gets goose-bumps when he listens to MLK’s great “I have a dream” speech. He would challenge anyone to listen to it and remain unmoved. Monday before last was the great man’s day and as usual, Satiricus let the oratory wash over him that evening. He fell asleep.
And there was Grain Ja, in front of teeming masses with the great monument of Cuffy at his back, “Two score years ago, a great Guyanese, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, made the great Declaration of Sophia. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to our peoples who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice under the yoke of the dastardly PPP. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
“I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of the creed of that Declaration. I have a dream that one day soon, the party will once again be paramount and its flag will fly over the Court of Appeals. I have a dream that one day on the banks of the Tumatumari we shall once again launch our National Service and all our youths, boys and girls of all races shall give meaning to our National Motto: One People, One Nation, One Destiny.”
I have a dream.
I have a dream that one day even the institution of GECOM, an institution sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that one day, down in Bel Air, with its vicious racists, with its Commissioner Suru Ballsy having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Bel Air the Commissioner and his minion Go Cool, while sipping champagne , will accept that our darling little boys and girls with candles in their hands are only praying for their health. And that they and their families will come out and join them as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from crowded square of Stabroek Market where you have been harangued by that termagant Nest Tor. To survive that is to know death.  Some of you have come from Congress Palace where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the chicken fried rice and chow mein you had to eat every day. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Take Brother 0.007 Bond; he had to pistol whip a barber – that is delivering creative suffering.
I have a dream.
And when this dream becomes reality, when we allow the Declaration of Sophia to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every county and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when we will once again destroy our economy and we can shout:
Broke once again! Broke once again!
Thank God Almighty, we are broke once again!
And Satiricus woke up in a sweat!

Satiricus was flummoxed. He’d always held, almost as an article of faith, that the drive for survival was the strongest instinct in all animals – including man. Didn’t they say that even a cornered puppy will fight? So he was more than a bit puzzled at the laid back attitude of the PPP after their reversals in the last elections.

“Ai man, tell me something? Is what the PPP doing about bringing back their voters back home?” Kuldeep had been out for a while and that made him even more anxious about where things were headed. He was looking at Cappo.

“Wha me gon tell you? Almost two months gane and me na see nobady from tap side.” Cappo was  dyed in the wool PPP partisan, and for him, this was quite an accusation.

“As a salesman, I travel from one end of this coast to the other and let me tell you: is the same thing all over!” Suresh sounded glum. “It looks like nobody’s minding the store!”

“Janet bin teach abee wan thing: keep de party groups going. All de groups dead.” Cappo sounded disgusted. “ Last election, abee na gat nobady fo bring out dem old and sick people.”

“But what happened? Don’t they care for their own survival? Next go around they might be thrown out completely,” Hari was also down in the dumps “If Grain Ja and Trot Man get into government, is hell to pay after the stunt they pulled in parliament”.

“Survival? Some of them PPP ministers – especially the legal one – he only sporting. Suresh looked frustrated. ” And he from de Coast where got plenty wok to do.”

 “Is the same thing in Berbice. Dem get rid of de regional chairman, but dem gat fo get a chap who gat mo energy!” Bungi had married a girl from Berbice and was up to speed on matters Berbician.

“Ah tell dem dat dey cyan wait till de last minute fo patch up things. Deh gat fo get dem tail out fram Georgetown, and get out into de field,” Cappo said, but he didn’t sound too hopeful.

“Well Donald is still the general secretary,” Samad pointed out. “He has to start cracking the whip.”

“Yes, he bring back some of the old fellas. But he has to make sure they do some work.” Hari advised.

“Ah see de same thing in de cane field. Deh put all kind a foreman and supervisor but none a dem want fo com in de field.” Cappo was now bitter. “Dem just like fo cack dem foot up in de affice. You cyan grow can cane and supporters fram affice!”

“The biggest problem why they lost votes was that their local bosses became too arrogant.” Suresh interjected. “Each one of them think they were bigger than Bharrat! If the party people don’t change them, is worse the next time!”

“The funniest thing,” said Samad, “is that all the PPP big ones use to tell me that Jagdeo was so effective in his job because he would be up till dayclean going over facts and figures. He was the most prepared man at every meeting and he could carry the day”.

“Cheddi was de same way, you know. Me Daddy tell me dat,” Cappo was reflective. “You wud think dat dem go learn how fo get up.”

“Well they better learn quick!” Satiricus concluded. “Especially  that legal chap who look like he more interested in being a ‘show boy’, singing karaoke than studying the Constitution.”

“ Who na hear gon feel,” concluded Cappo.

Satiricus is gloomy. He has just read a letter from an old-time activist Frank Fyffe bemoaning the desecration of Cuffy during the APNU rallies and meetings that were held in front of his statue in the Square of the Revolution. Satiricus has long felt this way but is diffident in bringing up the matter: even though Cuffy is a national figure, ethnic sensitivities are a ticklish matter. And, he figures, what does he know?
“And the man said that one of the APNU fellas climb up and sit on Cuffy’s head!” Samad was almost squeaking in indignation. “He should have climbed on Roopnaraine’s head!”
“A wha hurt me mo, is when me read wha de man who mek de statue seh. Leh me show alyu,” Cappo pointed to the letter in the paper and read the anguished words of Philip Moore: “Look, the last time when me pass deh by Cuffy meh shame! If yuh see condom wha deh pon Cuffy, meh seh, ‘lawd wha dis!’ Same thing meh bin ah try fuh tell Forbes, God, man hmmmmm!“
“Well, Moore was a spiritual man, you know.” Satiricus still had a rueful look. “He wanted a Cuffy to inspire African Guyanese in their everyday lives. Forbes wanted a Cuffy to inspire African Guyanese to satisfy his political ambitions.”
“Forbes and the present crop of his successors wouldn’t know African spirituality if it bit them on their behinds.” Samad was cutting.
“Yes, me see Moore bin tell Burnham for put de statue in an African village.” Bungi was obviously on the same wavelength as his cane-cutting partner Cappo.
“You know, I think Moore was reincarnated,” Suresh’s voice was hushed in awe. “How else you can explain how he created his works?”
“Me na doubt you. But de man a live like a Sadhu, you know. Dem people a get inspiration fram higher spirits.” In reaction to the arched eyebrows around the table, Cappo continued hastily, “A gat family fram Berbice who know de man!”
“So that is why, you like the spirits?” Suresh couldn’t resist the dig.
“Doan mek joke, boy! Dem APNU politician already mekking too much joke wid serious thing.” It looked like a raw nerve of Cappo’s had been touched. “You know why Jagan call the school whe he teach abee, ‘Accrabe’? He bin serious about dese things.”
“Grain Ja serious too – just like he hero Forbes.” Bungi jumped in and you could tell he and Cappo had been talking things over, while they had been cutting and loading their five tons. “Dem sit down in dem fancy air-condition office in Georgetown and den deh stir up ordinary African people in front of Cuffy!”
“My friend, these politicians will not change. Is not the same thing 0.007 Bond try when he marched from Cuffy and dared the police to fire rubber pellets?” Samad was livid. “For what? SoPs!”
“And last Sunday, Grain-Ja tell Suspender Ram that after all the fussing and checking of the SoPs, nothing was wrong with the count!” Suresh looked at TV a lot.
“So dem just try a ting in front of Cuffy?” Cappo was incredulous.
Satiricus thought of Fyffe’s question as to what Moore must be thinking of the present shenanigans in front of Cuffy. He was sure Moore must be shaking his head. But not in surprise, just resignation. He had seen it all before. African Guyanese were being taken for another ride; and Cuffy was being used to confuffle them by another set of hustlers.