There is something profoundly disturbing about a society in which a grieving daughter must repeatedly explain that her anguish is genuine, that her demands for accountability are not politically manufactured, and that her public expressions of sorrow are not calculated attacks upon a government. Such is the indignity confronting Jasmin Cort, whose father, Neil Cort, and uncle, Kenneth Cort, remain among those whose bodies have not been recovered following the sinking of the MV Barima on July 18, 2026. Nearly four months later, the family remains deprived of the elementary human consolation of recovering their loved ones and laying them to rest. Yet, amid this unresolved tragedy, Ms Cort finds herself defending not merely her right to protest, but the authenticity of her grief.
The expectation that Ms Cort should apologise for the political interpretations attached to her expressions of grief is as unreasonable as it is morally indefensible. Grief is not an activity that requires official approval, nor is its legitimacy determined by the political affiliations of those who sympathise with it. A daughter who has lost her father under circumstances that raise serious questions about public safety and institutional responsibility cannot reasonably be expected to confine her sorrow to private mourning merely because it embarrasses those entrusted with governing the country.
Indeed, when tragedy occurs in circumstances involving public infrastructure, regulatory oversight and possible institutional failures, the demand for answers enters the realm of public accountability: private suffering and public responsibility therefore are not mutually exclusive.
Ms Cort has repeatedly insisted that she is a daughter first, then a protester, particularly against the background of allegations that her demonstrations are politically motivated. She should not be compelled to make such a distinction as though political expression were itself a disqualification from sympathy. Even if her grief has developed into political consciousness, even if she has become openly critical of the government, and even if her demands coincide with those advanced by opposition parties, none of these circumstances invalidates her suffering.
The suggestion that grief becomes less authentic when it challenges political authority rests upon a dangerous premise: that the bereaved are entitled to compassion only for as long as their sorrow remains politically convenient. Such a proposition reduces mourning to an exercise in public compliance.
This is precisely the distinction that ought to trouble a democratic society. A government cannot reasonably expect citizens to mourn a tragedy while remaining indifferent to the circumstances in which it occurred. Nor can public officials claim the exclusive authority to determine when mourning should end, how it should be expressed, or whether expressions of dissatisfaction have crossed some imaginary boundary between acceptable sorrow and unacceptable politics.
The events of October 30, when Ms Cort participated in a demonstration coinciding with the visit of King Charles III, further illustrate the tensions surrounding her campaign. Reports and images documented a confrontation with police near the Kingston seawall, with Ms Cort alleging that officers physically assaulted her. The incident raises legitimate questions about the policing of peaceful demonstrations and the treatment of citizens seeking redress.
The presence of an international dignitary does not suspend the constitutional freedoms of ordinary Guyanese. Neither should the desire to present an agreeable national image require bereaved families to conceal their anguish from public view. If the circumstances surrounding the MV Barima disaster remain sufficiently troubling to provoke demonstrations months after the vessel sank, then the appropriate response is to address those concerns, not to condemn the visibility of those who continue to raise them.
It is equally important to recognise that Ms Cort’s demands are neither abstract nor incomprehensible. She wants her father and uncle recovered. She wants credible explanations concerning the disaster. She wants accountability wherever the evidence establishes responsibility. These are ordinary expectations arising from an extraordinary loss. The existence of a Commission of Inquiry does not extinguish her right to ask questions, criticise official responses or insist that the recovery of the missing remain a national priority.
There are, of course, legitimate concerns about the possibility of political organisations appropriating the suffering of bereaved families. The responsibility for avoiding political exploitation rests principally with those seeking to exploit the tragedy, not with the families whose suffering has attracted public attention. Ms Cort should not have to withdraw from demonstrations, moderate her criticism or distance herself from every political figure who expresses solidarity merely to establish that her grief is sincere.
More importantly, the political consequences of her actions should not be confused with their emotional origins. It is often precisely through personal encounters with institutional failure that citizens develop a deeper understanding of politics and the obligations of the state. To insist otherwise is to suggest that the bereaved must remain politically passive if they wish to retain public sympathy. Such expectations are offensive especially when directed at a woman.
The most troubling aspect of this controversy is the apparent inversion of responsibility. Instead of concentrating exclusively on whether the families have received adequate information, whether recovery efforts are progressing and whether public institutions have properly discharged their obligations, attention is repeatedly diverted towards the motives and methods of those demanding answers. In this way, the conduct of the grief becomes the controversy, while the unresolved institutional circumstances of the grief recedes into the background.
That inversion must be rejected.
Discussion