Dear Editor,

Dr. Ian Mc Donald in his column last Sunday was obviously touched by the sorrow of bereavement, the loss of human potential, the heartrending cry of those who mourn. Yet there is a greater sorrow than this: a pain that is cold and disguised, a death that gazes from the eyes of the hopeless. They walk around every day, they talk and laugh; but just beneath the facade, there is a tear. I see it ever so often.

Guyana is, in this sense, a land of the living dead. We are not happy. We are not looking forward to anything really. We are not satisfied. We are not even sure of who we are, of where we fit in the grand scheme of things. There is no reward for success, nothing to strive for. Who can tell that after we build another will not brutally steal. Who can tell that our labour will be counted.

God thus becomes most important to us. Creation assumes a new significance. It is good to know that there is someone who cares and will someday right all wrongs. But does God exist? Dr. Mc Donald, I remember, once surmised that maybe he doesn't, that there is no life after death and the judgment myth served only to frighten us into obedience to a dictated norm. Until now, no one has conclusively proven him wrong because so much of what is leaned on as evidence reflects a schizophrenic denial of reality.

Why do the righteous suffer? What benefit is there in an honest answer? Why does the bitter weeping of victims rise up to utter silence? When does the global calamity of horrendous exploitation end? Must I rise up and exact my own revenge? Must I speak lies and contort the truth to survive? Is this not survival of the fittest? Surely, there is a way, and truth has become a consistent lie.

Tell me, you who march up and down the dais, ranting and raving about love, touching the poor so that they fall, you who perform ritual after ritual, you who shout aloud at the break of dawn, bowing down towards the distant east: is not this world your flock? What have you done? Look about you.