Monument fuh so…

Satiricus was inspired. Every country has to have heroes and martyrs. And after a lull of so many years, almost every day heroes were being discovered. And why not? We Guyanese were certainly full of heroes, among other things. But what really moved Satiricus almost to tears was that the discovery of heroes did not end with just some platitude or other.
People, left right and centre were constructing monuments to their heroes. That’s right. People were shelling our hard-earned bucks to construct monuments just so the rest of benighted souls like Satiricus would never forget just who had sacrificed so much that he could enjoy the good things of life.
Satiricus sniffled and wiped his nose.
Take the monument at Buxton erected just a couple of years ago. The government had acted rather silly and just rebuilt the old village landmark of Tipperary Hall. Who the heck cared about Tipperary Hall? It was just an old building where almost every event of importance had been commemorated since the village had been purchased after the abolition of slavery. Who cared about that? What was memorable about that? What kind of sacrifice was that?? Now consider the new monument, constructed just across from Tipperary Hall – just to remind all the ignorant folks in the government what real heroism was all about. These were the heroes who had killed dozens of policemen and even more civilians, terrorised large sections of the village, raped and impregnated several of the young women, robbed others of millions of dollars and other such noble deeds. All for the “freedom” of their people.
Satiricus learnt after the monument was constructed as to what a great sacrifice these young men had made. They had such great futures ahead of them, when they would’ve been released from Georgetown’s Camp Street jail. But they sacrificed all of that when they broke out on Republic Day. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Satiricus, who wiped another tear from his eye.
Then there was the new monument built at the bridge at Linden where those three young men had been shot. The organising members of Parliament had admitted they were illegally blocking a bridge through which supplies passed to the entire interior population. They knew those people would suffer. They stoically held back their tears for that suffering when they gave their testimony. But hey!!! thought Satiricus, heroes gotta do what heroes gotta do.
And the billions that went up in smoke? Well, when you’re a hero, you can’t make an omelette without breaking some shells. Or burning some schools or offices.
By now Satiricus was weeping openly. He wished he could be a hero.