Martin Carter’s House, Lamaha St., Georgetown, Guyana (author’s photo, taken February 2024)
“This is the dark time, my love”. Martin Carter (1927-1997), Guyanese poet.
Carter wrote this poem sometime between 1953-54 during British rule in Guiana (pre-independence spelling). A time when Churchill’s Government sent troops to a country that had recently elected a socialist government, posing a threat to the continued exploitation of the Guiana’s people and natural resources by the USA, Canada and the UK. This was the “dark time” Martin Carter wrote of, now more than 70 years ago.
I am reminded, daily, of this dark time we now live in when academics on both sides of the Atlantic, are hounded and vilified in person, online and in the press. Workers, spouses, teachers in schools, students and corporate employees who have felt they can no longer sustain the daily oppression, quietly leave this earth. Their names are forgotten by the world, but daily remembered by their loved ones. This is, indeed, the dark time.
“All round the land brown beetles crawl about. The shining sun is hidden in the sky”
So often, during these times, it feels like we are in “the season of oppression, dark metal, and tears.” Yet, I am sure Martin Carter and others in the Guiana of the 1950s, including my own parents, would want us to look beyond this time, envision and work towards a different future than our present, as they did, so bravely. Through their legacies and in the prose and poems that remain, Carter evokes this moment that has not been overcome even with the passage of time; lest we forget.
The beetles may have changed their colours but they still “crawl about” and we have evidence of this wherever we look. Every news feed reports renewed strikes against those who dare to call out the abuses of power. And even those too young to understand are denied their right to normalcy; school and work, play and sleep, safety at home, love and care.
Although it may be difficult to be hopeful, “A Luta Continua”, as sung by Miriam Makeba. So, the struggle continues. When we think one battle has been won, another one rages in our midst.
This summer we have seen the highest temperatures in places in the northern hemisphere, floods, landslides and whole areas with their inhabitants, washed away, in the Global Majority. Struggles in places whose names we find difficult to pronounce and others, in areas we are unable to place on a map. But in each space, there are children and adults continuing their struggle, which is also ours.
The end of August, here in my home, brings a promise of new crops for next year as the earth is made ready to plant in September. The harvests of maize, wheat, rye and barley are over. Gardeners with small holdings sell their produce on the roadsides and onions, cucumbers and tomatoes are available in small quantities to take home and enjoy. Fresh herbs, tiny pink carnations and lush sage leaves survived the heat wave outside my kitchen and children, with their parents, ready themselves for another school year. Winter slowly turns to spring in the south and somehow, we continue into September with renewed hope and possibilities.
Thank you as always Dr. Patricia for giving us a reflection that both sobers and inspires.
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Hello Elijah, I am glad you found something for yourself in the blog post and thank you for sharing with the world.
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We dare not lose hope.
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Wendy, you are so right!
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get up, stand up 🔊
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“…brings a promise of new crops for next year as the earth is made ready to plant…survived heat wave outside my kitchen and children, with their parents, ready themselves for another school year. Winter slowly turns to spring in the south and somehow, we continue into September with renewed hope and possibilities“. I reread and reread these lines. I like how you use imagery to describe hope. There is so much happening, but losing hope should never be one of them. This should be published in anthropological magazines.
“But in each space, there are children and adults continuing their struggle, which is also ours.” This phrase is even more powerful. Places and names we can not pronounce, yet their fight is our fight as well. Do you understand how inspiring and powerful these words are Patricia? Every month end, I add a note that reminds me to read your work. And every time I read, I see and hear different voices and sounds. This is a compilation of reflections, observations and stories that should be widely shared. As always, thank you very much for this literature.
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Francisco, I am honoured to know that these blog posts mean so much to you. They are sent out from my desk hoping to connect with family and friends, but also with those I do not know. Thank you for reading so deeply into my words that I share with you as you return the gift with yours.
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Francisco is such an inspiration, he is really great, now I wish I had met him but he had already left WK
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We must always have hope and trust that all will work out well in the end. In the meantime, we should aim to give our children the best of our own childhood experiences so they can also relive what we enjoyed. Running through forests, jumping into the deep end of swimming pool, mind you, not even knowing how to swim! but that seems to be the most exciting part of the pool as you scrambled your way up to breathe!! To top it all painting our hands up to our elbows with white paint because we wanted to wear long white gloves and have a tea party (cookies were made out of mud patties) – guess what we couldn’t wash the paint off! Yikes! All sorts of solutions were recommended and tried and we were close to tears. When I think of all those ‘unsafe’ moments I really say God exists because how else were we saved from danger? But today, it’s very different, we need to be there as parents to supervise and ensure that our children are safe. But still thank you to all those young fan times, I still treasure them today and no matter how dard it may be, there is always light at the end of the tunnel. Thank you for another warm read Patricia.
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Celiwe, how lovely to share your reminiscing on you childhood in the Kingdom of Eswatini. This will be the childhood days of our children and grandchildren and I guess they, too, will look back fondly, I hope. Listening to the Leah and Desmond Foundation message this month, I am reminded of August being the month to celebrate women in Southern Africa. Thank you for being part of this blog and my life.
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Our paths were meant to cross and I am blessed to also have you in my life.
Have a lovely day.
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This is a beautiful piece, thank you Patricia. I so wish everyone would choose HOPE each day. It is a small act, but its return is immeasurable.
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Thank you Madeline. I am sure your words resonate with many.
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Martin Carter’s words, “This is the dark time, my love,” resonate with a painful relevance today. While he wrote them in response to political oppression and injustice in colonial Guiana, they speak equally to the darkness that many South African women are feeling this week as our country confronts another horrific surge in femicide and violence against women. This has been a particularly devastating week, marked by the loss of more women’s lives at the hands of those who should never have harmed them. The darkness we face is not only in the brutality of these crimes, but in the fear, grief, and anger they leave behind. As South Africa reels in shock, Carter’s words feel less like a historical reflection and more like a call to conscience: this is the dark time; but it must not be the final word.
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It is indeed a dark time in SA. The agony is unimaginable and these crimes against women, our sisters, is heartbreaking. Thank you for highlighting this for us all and to be vigilant with our women friends and being there for them and their families who grieve them. But, as you say, this cannot and must not be the final word.
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