Dear Editor,
I read with great amusement the recent flurry of commentary, including the enthusiastic paternal declarations from the resident U.S. ambassador (who I believe has amazing body language) regarding the latest bilateral agreements between Guyana and the United States. Watching this public spectacle immediately brought back fond memories of my own daughter’s upbringing.
When she was small, we frequently took her out to sit-down restaurants. Naturally, we permitted her to sit at the adult table with us. However, despite her elevated seating arrangement, we always ordered exclusively from the kids’ menu on her behalf. She had a seat, a napkin, and a glass of water, but the options, chicken tenders or macaroni, were strictly pre-determined.
Oddly enough, when we visited relatives and friends, she was unceremoniously banished to the literal “kids’ table” in the corner alongside the rest of CARICOM. I often sensed her confusion at this shifting treatment: at the restaurant, she was given the illusion of adult status while being fed a toddler’s diet; at regional gatherings, she was packed onto the kids’ bench to share a single bowl of crayons with her neighbours, strictly segregated from the real decision-makers.
It was not until her college years that she finally mustered the courage to confess her deep-seated resentment over those years. When I asked why she had waited so long to air her grievances, the answer was painfully obvious: she was young, poor, and utterly powerless. She depended entirely on our resources, shelter, and security to survive. Naturally, whenever she ventured to exercise her “freedom of speech” as a minor, I made sure to remind her of that exact dependency. Power, after all, dictates who gets to write the menu and who simply swallows what is served.
Watching our sovereign nation participate in these grand announcements feels remarkably like watching my young daughter at the restaurant. We are graciously handed a seat at the big table, surrounded by sophisticated talk of “partnership” and “mutual cooperation,” while being handed a pre-selected menu designed elsewhere—all while the rest of our CARICOM family remains seated squarely at the kids’ table in the corner. Should we ever express mild dissatisfaction, a subtle glance from our benevolent guardians is usually enough to remind us whose financial backing, security apparatus, and goodwill keep the lights on.
It took my daughter years of financial independence to finally speak her mind without fear of losing her allowance. One can only wonder how many decades of development it will take for smaller nations and regional blocs to realize that sitting at the adult table means very little if you aren’t the one paying the bill, or choosing the meal.
Sincerely,
Keith Bernard
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