Yes, he can. I think he can.
Nigel Hughes, a name known of things great and small in Guyana. Then there are some other things, not as brightly enlightening. Is Nigel Hughes, the one that Guyanese can put their trust in, someone to carry them to where they have never been before? Again, I think he can. Before anyone braces in expectation of a crown of diamonds to be placed by me, to adorn the head of Mr. Hughes, then with all their knowing, Guyanese still don’t know me.
Guyanese thought that David Arthur Granger would be their rescuer, a mover to a different place. I did. I lost; moved on. There was the hope harbored deep inside that, against the odds, despite his limitations, Mohamed Irfaan Ali would rise above his circumstances, lead the way. I confess to failure again. In Aubrey Compton Norton, admittedly a work in progress, the sense that a new beginning, a strong standing, had arrived. Man, how many times is one allowed to falter and fall? It is not Mr. Norton. It is me.
Somewhere along the way, I listened to people who said to me that there is a new Bharrat Jagdeo in the making, and post-2020 will be the proof. I have waited so long for that, that my knees are wilting, leading to more forlorn crumpling. If not for this oil, then for what? If not any of these luminous Guyanese, then who? Is there someone? Is there someone waiting to be found, like that shepherd boy that was overlooked, like that child in the manager that three wise came looking for from a great distance?
It is said that hope springs eternal, and though my chest is stained and scarred for the battles lost with hope, there is little choice left. For hopelessness, my fellow citizens, is one of the worse evils, if not the worst. I refuse to refer to hopelessness, to make hopelessness a morning star. If I do, then there may as well be a readiness to cringe before Mr. Alistair Routledge and call him master. And that I cannot do, will not do. So, help me, God. I am still looking and have not forgotten Nigel Hughes. It is time that I got to him, by process of elimination, by the arithmetic of default, by the infusion of yet another vision.
With all the respect that I can muster, Mr. Sherrod Duncan may fancy himself as a serious contender. But he is not the liberator to take Guyanese to any land, much more a promised one. I regret if any feelings are hurt. The next step, perhaps the one before, is for Mr. David Patterson to make a sacrifice for the greater good and take himself out of the running for leadership of that smaller party. He has now done so. The only man standing should be Mr. C. A. Nigel Hughes, Esq, and I hope that I got that right. Let this be known about me: there must be no fear of failure, there must never be any failing to try. For a better Guyana. For brighter hope, when hope should be a thing of the past, and the richness of Guyanese reality is profound because it is that prosperous.
Mr. Hughes and Mr. Norton must then figure out what and who offers the better pulling power, the greater traction, and the higher inspiration for a more enduring charge against well-established odds. Mr. Norton should know his own limitations; it is in his hands to decide what he must do, what is the better option. With such a path cleared, arrangements made, then the focus shifts again to Nigel Hughes, but this time he would be all alone. It gets lonely at the head of the table, my brother. There will be some interferences and turbulences that block passage, which reject any appeal to reason, which do not yield willingly. Those challenges are his to overcome.
The first is that miscalculation, that abomination, about 34, wherever that was derived from, however intellectually cobbled together. On occasion, losses must be cut. I learned that the hard way at the tables and tracks. Tomorrow will be another day. But there are those who will ensure that yesterday is not forgotten. There will be dirt, and with all Guyana’s waters and its prolific waterfalls and rainfall, there will be much mud to dig up, and more to toss around. His stomach and constitution had better be made of pig iron. It is either that, or sausage and bacon become the lot of Mr. Hughes. Of course, the Aubrey Norton development puts both a pall on the leadership issue. Moreover, it makes matters topsy-turvy, unpredictable.
Still, I give Nigel Hughes the gift of Rudyard Kipling. If he was to persevere, and if he were to ascend, and if he were to continue fearlessly, then despite the flaws and the occasional farce, the day can still be his to win and to own. If anyone of the men, whose names I mentioned earlier, had risen to their fullest height and with the cleanest and most compelling leadership strokes, then there would be no need for this sharing about Nigel Hughes, or any other. Guyanese have been blessed with incomparable riches. It has been their curse, their calumny, their lurching from crisis to crisis, with the leaders that they love, and through whom they have lost. Nigel Hughes? I say why not…. How much more wrong can this hapless nation be. To hope is to keep trying. To languish with disappointment is to have given up on hope. And that, my fellow Guyanese, I cannot do.
