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Kate Smiley's avatar

I'm impressed with your intuitively rapid response to this "emerging" situation, Mathew. My father was born in Guyana (British Guiana at that time) in 1930, so I've had an interest in it, although I've never visited, and my father never returned after leaving for schooling in the UK at 14. After Cambridge and engineering he turned down a test-pilot role with Rolls Royce and worked in computer science from 1957.

But from his multi-cultural childhood he became passionate about global economics, the problems with third-world aid, and was deeply influenced by the work of Henry George and theories land value taxation; tax reform by reducing labour and capital tax and increasing land and natural resource tax. I suspect it is still relevant but relies on some amount of moral fortitude which is sadly lacking:

"More is given to us than to any people at any time before; and, therefore, more is required of us. We have made, and still are making, enormous advances on material lines. It is necessary that we commensurately advance on moral lines. Civilization, as it progresses, requires a higher conscience, a keener sense of justice, a warmer brotherhood, a wider, loftier, truer public spirit. Failing these, civilization must pass into destruction."

-Henry George

Albert Einstein said of George’s writing that “one cannot imagine a more beautiful combination of intellectual keenness, artistic form and fervent love of justice.”

Anyway my father eventually married an Australian and moved to Sydney where he discovered surfing. I'll include an excerpt from his memoirs (he died 2 years ago) on his childhood in Guyana which you may find interesting:

"We grew up under a number of cultural influences. The ancestry of my classmates included African, Bengali, Chinese, Portuguese, American and English. In my class room da Silva on my left is reading a Superman comic under his French grammar. “Matty” Matthews, a powerful black on my right, is arm wrestling me. Prasad, in the row behind, suddenly whispers “Look out man, here come de teacher” and we all stand up as Forbes Burnham, our black teacher of French, enters. They were my friends and only later did I learn of their diverse cultures and what brought their families together here. Miller, a small, quiet black boy, complained one day “Me Mum done always hitting me head with de roti roller.” Next week he was not there, kicked by a donkey over the weekend and we all attended the funeral. We filed past the open coffin. The relatives were loudly distraught, but Miller was inscrutable as ever. We miss him. Some of my father’s colleagues on Legislative Council were lawyers of Bengali ancestry. Our dentist, Doctor Wong, studied in America, as did Cheddi Jagan who later became Guyana’s first elected president.

On hot, lazy afternoons we played cricket in a field lined with paperbarks and eucalypts. In the Boy Scouts we were learning bush survival skills developed in Africa by the English general Baden Powell. After the Boer War he started the Boy Scouts movement while his wife started the Girl Guides. There was an Open Day at the Scout hall and Dad had been invited. We erected our bell tent, tied our reef knots, and demonstrated first aid on each other. Dad approved in a rare display of enthusiasm, and agreed to my going on scout camp. So, four weeks later we sat round the camp fire in the bush, watching shooting stars and singing a song about something called a kookaburra in a gum tree. Across the lake was an Amerindian camp which we reached next day in dugout canoes. They were rough-hewn and narrow so balancing, paddling and steering at the same time was a new skill we were learning. In the middle of their camp was a wild pig called a Peccarie lying on the dirt. Shot with a bow and arrow, it was about to be roasted on an open fire, none too soon as it was now covered in flies. Though missionaries built houses for tribes like this one, hammocks slung between trees under matting shelters better provided for the flexible life style more appropriate to nomadic survival in the bush. Later I will travel to the countries of Superman, cricket, and kookaburras. There I will find less tolerant cultures than the one I was fortunate to grow up in. But I will also read about some of the political turbulence created by my high school French teacher.

While I was still at school I knew Forbes had been away for two years at the London School of Economics and I think he must have acquired skills there that anticipated Stalin, for he later assassinated at least two of his opponents. Dr Walter Rodney was blown up by a car bomb, while a cult called The House of Israel was paid to dispose of a troublesome Jesuit priest, Fr. Morrison, who had been preaching what today we would call human rights. But the hit gang made a mistake, and a different priest, Fr. Bernard Drake, was beaten to death. Morrison later forgave the man who killed Drake, and wrote a modern history of Guyana. Morrison also tipped off Ryan, the American congressman, about Americans imprisoned in Jim Jones’ Peoples Temple cult settlement in the bush. My brother Tim once met a distant relative of ours, Guy Spence, who was Burnham’s pilot and who had flown up to Jonestown to bring Congressman Ryan back to Georgetown. As they were about to board the plane to come back there was a gunfight, the plane was shot up, Ryan was killed and Guy was lucky enough to be able to take off and carry a wounded woman back to Georgetown. Subsequently, 914 people died in the mass suicide.

Multinationals. ‘Bookers Guiana’ was the name given to the multinational Booker Bros, which had previously reformed and modernised a run-down plantocracy. Bookers then found itself in the position of a sugar monopoly. They were unsuccessfully targeted first by Jagan’s land redistribution programs on behalf of the people, and then by Burnham’s nationalisation programs very much on behalf of himself. Another multinational, a subsidiary of ALCOA, had also attained monopoly status, over the extraction of aluminium ore. A further gold mining subsidiary, with links to the Australian BHP company, was involved in a mining disaster when some three million litres of cyanide and heavy-metal waste were dumped into the Essequibo, a river upon which the livelihoods of some 23,000 people depend. As far as I know, Cheddi Jagan’s land reform programs, that might have curbed these resource-hungry multinationals and lifted that poverty-stricken society out of stagnation, continued to be resisted by the self-seeking cronies Forbes’ left behind him. But, unfortunately, land reform died with Cheddi. When Burnham died, his body was embalmed in Moscow, finally coming to rest in a mausoleum in the Botanic Gardens, where we used to play hide and seek as children.

On the names of places. Someone once wrote “Nothing is more tedious than a landscape without names”. Quite wrong. The “unknown region” is exciting precisely because we think it contains no names. And then when we slowly find that it does, nothing is more beautiful than the poetry of Amerindian names: Demerara, Essequibo, Mazaruni, Cuyuni, Arakaka, Pakaraima, Kaieteur, and Roraima. And then nothing is more fascinating than the origins of European settler’s names: the Dutch names for land reclamation, stellings and kokas, and the European names recording nostalgia, success and failure: New Amsterdam, Chateaux Margot, La Repentier, La Penitance, Good Intent, Better Luck, Success, Perseverance, and Adventure.

On growing up in Guyana. Tim and I grew up at the intersection of quite diverse cultural and political influences. Our family life was English traditional but, as far as conversation was concerned, virtually silent within which Tim and I built our own individual activities and hobbies. Our school life in contrast was multicultural, noisy and vibrant in which we learned to speak in a patois which our parents understood but pretended not to. My gang of six school friends was a kind of mild paramilitary in which we played out the characters in the Foreign Legion movie we had seen. The Boy Scouts was fun, with exciting camps in the bush, while the earning of proficiency badges was not taken all that seriously. All in all, our lives were pleasant and relaxed in a lazy, tropical country where nothing much seemed to happen. Even my French teacher, Forbes Burnham, was affable, sitting on the front of the teacher’s desk chatting instead of dictating from behind it.

On politics in Guyana. But I had no idea then that Burnham would become a president who would collaborate with CIA covert operations, murder his political opponents, and bankrupt the country. When the US finally tumbled to what had been going on, Kennedy’s special assistant, Arthur Schlesinger was to describe Burnham as “an opportunist and demagogue intent only on personal power”. Reading an obituary in 2009 for someone called Janet Jagan has reminded me of all this. Cheddi Jagan’s father had arrived from Bengal as an indentured labourer. Somehow he managed to send Cheddi to Queens College from where he studied dentistry in the US and where he married Janet, a white Marxist. Back in Guyana, they won the first free elections in 1953 in a landslide victory on a land reform platform. This displeased the British government which sent in troops and warships, and jailed the Jagans until 1957. Their return to power then displeased the Americans, and JF Kennedy ordered the CIA to destabilise the government. This was so successful that my old teacher Forbes Burnham, backed by the US, seized control. When he died in 1985, he had run up a debt five times the size of the GDP, bankrupting the economy. Guyana, rich in natural resources, became one of the Western hemisphere’s poorest nations."

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Allen's avatar

A little history.

Guyana: THE FACES BEHIND THE MASKS

https://nsarchive.gwu.edu/sites/default/files/pdf/cia-rdp90-00845r000100190003-4-pages-18-25.pdf

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