The Main street murder scene was a mere stone’s throw away from the President’s residence

The media was ablaze with the developments from a Guyana Police Force detective about what went down in the murder of a citizen on Main Street, Georgetown, in the vicinity of a well-patronized watering hole. It was a sensational murder, a mysterious one made more so by subsequent developments, and one that has eluded solving. In the court of public observation and opinion, it has been solved, and for a while now. But today, my focus is neither on the murder and jarring loss of life (with a word of apology to the family), nor on alleged cover up, nor on claims of corruption, which is the Siamese extension of official cover up. As important as all those three elements are, I highlight an altogether different and higher consideration; it is one that no one wants to talk about, even when it involves their own, dearly held own.

The premeditated murder was executed on Main Street. Automatic fire rained. Bullets flew all over; or, to use the preferred local lingo, warheads littered the landscape and raced in all directions. The President of this Republic, Irfaan Ali, and his family, lives right there. Not the proverbial mile of the crow, but a mere stone’s throw away. He and his people may or may not have been in the line of fire, directly or indirectly; but they were too close for comfort. I assert that it was too close, whether on the edges of an innocuous arc 100 yards away, or still greater. It was too close for the dignity of this nation’s head of state, any national leader. His dignity was assailed, his office transgressed by the worst degree of wanton disrespect; and the peace of his presidential presence was violated, trampled upon, and made subservient to the criminal dictates, criminal priorities, and criminal objectives of those of great standing in this society. I may argue of greater standing than that of the President and presidency themselves. To add still greater indignity on the office of the presidency, the leader himself rushed to defuse the assault on his office, the sanctity of his official home, the honor of his presence. I ask only this: why?

As if part of a finely choreographed choir and orchestra, the loyalists and worshippers, and people who say they love, cherish, and respect President Ali so many have been similarly negligible in publicly articulating their anger, their anxieties, their alarm. When law-abiding citizens (like me) dare to venture a word of counsel, an offering of wisdom, the warriors come out in full force, and the daggers are unleashed. I may differ on those reactions, but I recognize them as the self-assigned role of loyal protectors of the President’s honour, and unswerving defenders of the President’s place. But as before, and respectfully put to the President, why is this so? Why the silence? Why is there no outrage, none of the characteristic sharp concern, not a whiff or sniff of the reflexive wrath that ought to have accompanied that murder, and its proximity to the President’s residence? This is regardless of whether he or his family (or his circle of sentinels) were in danger, or not even remotely imperiled.

I sense that this is another expression of the corruption that plagues Guyana, and I still persist: why is this so?

Last, some names have seasoned the domestic air, and from the sounds of them, they are no strangers to His Excellency. In fact, they are his brothers at many levels. And if it is on the money that his own have gone to these lengths to get their man by the means employed, then I have only one little question remaining: who is safe, could be secure, or would be so reckless as to trust our systems? Political system. Leadership system. Law enforcement system. System of citizenship. Oh, and one more, the system and practice of brothers and sisters contributing honestly and earnestly in the public space, as in right here. I close this out now: as should be known, I am far from a fan of President Irfaan. In this instance, though, I am a better friend than his best friends. For where there is evil, even the fire of friendly ones, I cannot and will not pretend not to see, not to hear, not to know. And also not to speak and not to write.